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THE 

DRAMATIC  WORKS 


SHAKSPEARE. 


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1 


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i 


I 


I 


THE 


DRAMATIC  WORKS 

OF 

SHAKSPE  ARE, 

FROM  THE  TEXT  OP  JOHNSON,  STEEVENS  AND  REED. 

TTTTH 

SUMMARY  REMARKS  OX  EACH  PLAY,  COPIOUS  GLOSSARY,  AND  YARIORUM  N(TE& 
^mMUu1)tH  tottj)  a  33ottrait  of  SJafespcare  mts  mang  Kllustratfonu. 


Tke  bouae  in  which  Shakspeara  waa  bora* 


NEW  YOKK: 
LEAYITT  &  AJuLBl^  BROS., 

ijTo.  8  HOWARD  STREET. 


?■  7  S'3 


BIOGRAPHICAL  MEMOlll 


OF 


W.  SHARSPEARE. 


After  all  the  laborious  research  which  has  been 
espeuded  on  the  subject  of  Shakspeare's  biography, 
few  particulars  are  known  on  those  points  which 
would  be  most  gratifying  to  the  curiosity  of  his 
^     rational  admirers.  We  may  trace  his  ancestors  to  the 
^     doomaday  book,  and  his  posterity  till  they  dwindle 
[\j     into  tongueless  obscurity  ;  but  of  his  own  habits  and 
cc     domestic  character  we  know  comparatively  nothing, 
%     Dnring  his  eaily  days,  his  path  in  life  was  so  hum- 
ble, that  all  o(ir  inqniiies  necessarily  terminate  in 
disappointment;  and  of  the  more  busy  period  of 
his  existence,  when  he  wrote  for  the  stage,  and  was 
_^      the  public  favourite,  his  remarkable  humility  of 
^      mind  and  manners  induced  him  to  avoid  the  eye  of 
notoriety  ;  and,  unfortunately,  there  was  no  Bosvvel! 
^     or  Medwin  to  make  memoranda  of  his  conversations, 
:3     or  transmit  to  our  times  a  fac-simile  of  the  great 
dramatist  in  the  familiar  moments  of  relaxation  and 
^     friendly  intercourse.    Such  hiatuses  in  tlie  life  of 
^     Shakspeare  cannot  novi'  be  supplied ;  more  than 
j«     two  hundred  years  have  elapsed  since  his  mortal 
5     reniains  were  left  to  moulder  beneath  a  tomb,  over 
^     which  Time  has  shaken  the  dust  of  his  wings  too 
.j^     often  to  allow  of  our  recovering  details,  local  and 
X,     fugitive,  however  interesting.    Rowe  was  the  first, 
^     whose  researches  elicited  anythinpr  like  a  satisfac- 
^     tory  memoir  of  our  great  bard.    Poets  and  critics 
2>     have  laboriously  re-trodden  his  steps ;  the  genius  of 
Pope  and  the  acumen  of  Johnson  have  been  em- 
ployed  on  the  same  subject,  but  the  sun  of  their 
^     adoration  had  gone  down  before  their  intellectual 
telescopes  were  levelled  to  discover  its  perfections. 
Malone  has  done  the  most,  and  appears  indeed  to 
liave  exhausted  the  subject:  but,  Irom  inadvertency 
or  carelessness,  he  has  overlooked  many  particulars 
which  deserve  preservation.    Having  turned  o\  er  a 
variety  oi"  books,  and  consulted  every  accessible 
ftathority,  we  shall  attempt  to  condense,  under  one 
bead,  such  recollections  of  Shakspeare,  as  are  at 
present  scattered  over  many  volumes,  as  well  as  the 
more  obvious  and  I'ainiliar  portions  of  his  history. 

Jt  appeals  a  family,  designated  indifferently 
Shaxper,  Shakespeare,  Shakspere,  and  Shak- 
speare, were  well  known  in  Warwickshire  during 
the  sixteenth  century.  Rowe  says :  "  It  seems  by 
the  rei^ister  and  other  public  writings  of  Stratford, 
that  the  poet's  family  were  of  good  figure  and  fashion 
there,  and  are  mentioned  as  gentlemen."  Tiiis 
Bccouri  tuiiis  out  to  be  veiy  incorrect;  for  on 
wfcrence  to  the  authorities  cited,  we  fiud  that  tlje 


Shakspeares,  though  their  property  was  respect- 
able, never  rose  above  the  rank  of  tradesmen  or 
husbandmen.  Nothing  is  known  of  the  immediate 
ancestors  of  John  Shakspeare,  the  poet's  father, 
who  was  originally  a  glover,  afterwards  a  butcher, 
and,  in  the  last  place,  a  wool-stapler,  in  the  town  of 
Stratford.  Being  very  industrious,  his  wealth  gave 
him  importance  among  his  neighbours,  and  having 
served  various  offices  in  the  borough  with  credit, 
he  ultimately  obtained  its  supreme  municipal  ho- 
nours,  being  elected  high-bailiff,  at  Michaelmas 
1568.  His  townsfolk  no  doubt  considered  this  the 
summit  of  earthly  felicity;  but  however  reverend 
the  corporation  of  Stratford  in  its  own  estinjation, 
we  cannot  but  smile  at  these  erudite  sages,  out  of 
nineteen  of  whom,  as  we  find  from  their  signatures, 
attached  to  a  public  document,  1564,  only  seven 
were  able  to  write  their  names.  While  chief  n>a- 
gistrate  of  the  borough,  and  on  his  marriage  with 
Alary  Arden,  he  obtained  a  grant  of  arms  from  the  * 
Herald's  College,  and  was  allowed  to  impale  hia 
own  achievement  with  that  of  the  ancient  family  of 
the  Ardens. 

In  the  deed  respecting  John  Shakspeare,  his  pro 
perty  is  declared  to  be  worth  five  hundred  pounds, 
a  sum  by  no  means  inconsiderable  in  thos''  days; 
and,  on  the  whole,  we  have  sufficient  evidence  of 
his  worldly  prosperity.  From  some  unexplained 
causes,  however,  his  affairs  began  tv.  alter  for  the 
worse  about  1574,  and  after  employing  such  expe- 
dients to  relieve  his  growing  necessities  as  in  the 
end  served  only  to  aggravate  them,  he  at  length 
fell  into  such  extreme  poverty,  that  he  was  obliged 
to  give  security  for  a  debt  of  five  pounds;  and  a 
distress  issuing  for  the  seizure  of  his  goods,  it  waa 
returned  :  "  Joh'es  Shakspere  nihil  habet  unde  distr 
potest  levari."  (John  Shakspere  has  no  effects  oa 
which  a  distraint  can  be  levied.)  During  the  last 
ten  years  of  his  life  we  have  no  particidar  account 
of  his  circumstances  ;  but,  as  in  159/  he  describes 
himself  as  "of  very  small  wealth  and  very  few 
friends,"  we  may  justly  suppose  that  he  remained 
in  great  indigence.  He  seems,  indeed,  to  have  fallen 
into  decay  with  his  native  town,  the  trade  of  which 
was  almost  ruined  ;  as  we  may  learn  from  the  sup 
plication  of  the  burgesses,  in  1590.  The  town  ha*» 
then  "  fallen  into  much  decay,  for  want  ol  such  trade 
as  heretofore  they  had  by  clothing,  and  making  of 
yarn,  employing  and  mainlining  a  number  of  poor 
people  by  the  same,  which  now  live  ia  great  peniuf 

Si 


LIFE  OF  SIIAKSPEARB. 


end  misery,  by  reason  they  are  not  set  at  work  as 
before  they  have  been." 

John  Shakspeare  died  in  1601.  His  family  con- 
•isted  of  eiyht  children,  Jane,  Margaret,  William, 
Gilbert,  Lone,  Anne,  Richard,  and  Edmund. 
Lorie  and  Margaret  died  when  but  a  few  months 
ohl.  Of  Gilbert  nothing  is  known  but  the  register 
of  his  baptism.  Jane  married  one  Hart,  a  hatter 
of  Strat/ord.  and  died  in  1646,  leaving  three  sons. 
She  is  mentioned  with  much  kindness  in  her  il- 
liisttions  brother's  will;  and  the  descendants  of 
her  chiidreo  were  to  be  found  in  Stratford  within 
these  ievv  years.  In  1794,  a  house  of  Shakspeare's, 
in  Henley -street,  belonged  to  Thomas  Hart,  a 
butcher,  and  the  sixth  in  descent  from  Jane.  Anne 
Shakspeare  died  an  infant ;  Richard,  according  to 
tlie  parish  register,  was  buried  in  1612.  Edmund 
Shakspeare,  actuated  probably  by  his  brother's  re- 
putation at  the  theatre,  became  an  actor;  he  per- 
Jbrmed  at  the  Globe,  lived  in  St.  Saviour's,  South- 
wark,  and  was  interred  in  the  churchyard  of  that 
parish,  on  the  31st  of  December,  1607. 

William  Shakspeare  was  born  April  23d,  1554, 
at  Stratford-upon-Avon.  The  house,  in  which  the 
poet  first  saw  the  light,  was  bought  in  1597,  from  a 
family  of  the  name  of  Underhill.  It  had  been  called 
the  great  house,  not  because  it  is  really  large,  but 
on  account  of  its  having  been  at  that  time  the  best 
in  the  town.  In  its  present  dilapidated  state,  the 
ablest  artists  have  exerted  their  skill,  to  preserve 
the  outline  of  so  remarkable  a  building  for  the 
gratification  of  posterity,  and  the  most  minute  par- 
ticulars concerning  it  have  been  collected  with  the 
ntinost  avidity. 

The  chamber,  in  which  our  unrivalled  dramatist 
is  said  to  hiive  draun  his  first  breath,  is  pencilled 
over  with  the  nunes  of  innumerable  visitors  in 
every  grade  of  life.  Royalty  has  been  proud  to 
pay  tins  simple  tribute  to  exalted  intellect ;  and 
genius  has  p;i(ised  in  its  triumphs,  to  inscribe  these 
hallowed  wails  with  the  brief  sentences  which  re- 
cord its  love  and  veneration  for  the  wonderful 
man,  who  orsce  lecognised  this  lowly  tenement  as 
his  home.  Tne  I'ollowinj;  lines  are  ascribed  to  Lu 
cien  iiiionaparte,  who,  duriijg  his  stay  in  England, 
made  an  excursion  into  Warwickshire,  expressly 
to  gratify  his  curiosity  respecting  our  all  praised 
-  — ,v    Shakspeare : 

"  The  eye  of  Genius  glistens  to  admire 
How  memory  kails  tlie  sound  of  Shakspeare's  lyre. 
One  tear  I'll  shed  to  form  a  crystal  shrine 
Of  all  that  s  grand,  immortal,  and  divine. 
Let  princes  o'er  tiieir  subject  kingdoms  rule, 
'Tis  Sliaksoeare's  province  to  couunand  the  soul! 
To  add  one  leaf,  oh,  Shakspeare  !  to  thy  bays, 
How  vain  the  etfort,  and  how  mean  my  lays ! 
Immortal  Shakspeare  !  o'er  thy  hallovv'd  page. 
Age  becomes  taught,  and  youth  is  e'en  made  sage.* 

This  house,  so  venerable  on  account  of  its  former 
inmate,  is  now  divided,  one  part  being  a  butcher's 
shop,  and  the  other  a  public-house. 

Of  Shakspeare's  infancy  we  know  nothing,  ex 
cept  that  he  narrowly  escaped  falling  a  victim  to 
the  plague,  which  at  that  time  almost  depopulated 
his  native  town.  We  next  find  him  at  the  free 
gramma  -school  of  Stratford,  where  we  may  sup- 

f)ose  he  .  cquired  the  small  Latin  and  less  Greek," 
or  which  lien  Jonson  gives  him  credit.  But  even 
this  imperfect  species  of  education  was  soon  inter- 
rupted, the  poverty  of  his  father  presenting  an 
insurmountable  obstacle  to  his  further  progress. 
There  can  be  little  doubt,  however,  that  his  quick 
and  apprehensive  mind  would  profit  materially  even 
by  this  limited  supply  of  instruction.  In  after  life, 
he  seeiTjs  to  have  been  acquainted  with  Italian  and 
French,  but  these  languages  he  probably  acquired 
through  his  own  unassisted  industry.  He  now  for  a 
considerable  period  remaintdat  home,  and  attended 
to  his  father's  occupation,  that  of  i  butcher;  and 
Aubrcv,  an  author  in  whoru  we  should  not  put  iB»» 


plicit  confidence,  relates  that  young  Shakspear» 
killed  a  calf"  in  high  style,"  and  graced  the  slaughter 
with  an  oration.  The  same  writer  informs  hs,  that 
growing  disgusted  with  this  employment,  he  com- 
menced schoolmaster,  but  this,  from  his  juvenility  at 
the  time  mentioned,  is  highly  improbable. 

Shakspeare's  eighteenth  year  was  scarcely  past, 
when,  relinquishing  his  school,  or  his  office,  (for 
Malone  makes  him  an  attorney's  clerk),  he  ven- 
tured to  contract  that  important  engagement,  oa 
which  the  happiness  or  misery  of  life  generally 
turns.  He  selected  for  his  wife  Anne  Hathaway, 
the  daughter  of  a  reputable  yeoman  in  fke  vicinity 
of  Stratford.  At  her  marriage,  she  waa  f  ight  years 
older  than  her  husband,  and  Shakspeare's  domestic 
felicity  does  not  appear  to  have  been  advanced  by 
the  connexion.  In  the  year  following,  1583,  his 
daughter  Susanna  was  born  ;  and  in  eighteen  months 
afterwards,  his  wife  bore  him  twins,  a  boy  and  a 
girl,  baptized  by  the  names  of  Hamnet  and  Judith. 
This  was  the  whole  of  the  poet's  family  ;  from  which 
we  are  perhaps  justified  in  concluding,  as  there  are 
other  circumstances  to  ntrengthen  the  opinion,  that 
his  connubial  lot  was  not  enviable ;  indeed,  hi« 
wife's  years  were  so  ill-assorted  to  his  own,  that 
little  congeniality  of  sentiment  was  to  be  expected. 
Hamnet,  Shakspeare's  only  son,  died  at  the  early 
age  oi"  twelve  years,  an  event  long  and  deeply  re- 
gretted :  the  daughters,  Susanna  and  Judith,  were 
married,  and  had  children.  Shakspeare's  last  lineal 
descendant  was  Lady  Barnard,  buried,  in  1670,  at 
Abingdon  in  Berkshire.  Some  branches  of  the  fa- 
mily still  exist,  and  are  resident  at  Tewkesbury  and 
Stratford ;  they  are  in  great  indigence,  and  it  reflects 
disgrace  on  the  age,  that  a  proposal  for  their  benefit, 
recently  made,  received  hardly  any  atteotioa. 
Surely,  when  our  nobility  patronise  the  refuse  of 
society,  in  the  shape  of  pedestrians  and  pugilists, 
their  generosity  might  be  exercised  in  succouring 
those  who  claim  kindred  with  him,  who  was  the 
glory  of  his  country  and  of  human  nature. 

The  marriage  of  our  bard  proved  his  want  of 
worldly  prudence ;  nor  was  the  next  important 
event  of  his  life  of  a  discreeter  nature,  yet  it  led 
to  his  London  journey,  and  consequently  was  the 
first  step  towards  his  future  distinction.  "  Siiak- 
speare  (we  quote  from  Dr.  Drake)  was  now,  to  all 
appearance,  settled  in  the  country  ;  he  was  carrying 
on  his  own  and  his  father  s  business ;  he  was 
married,  and  had  a  family  around  him  :  a  situatiou 
in  which  tiie  comforts  of  domestic  privacy  migiit  be 
predicted  within  his  reach,  but  which  augured  little 
of  that  splendid  destiny,  that  universal  iame,  and 
unparalleled  celebrity,  which  awaited  his  future 
career."  Mere  trifles  frequently  change  the  whole 
course  of  existence,  and  so  it  happened  in  the  pre- 
sent instance.  Shakspeare's  companions  were  loose 
and  dissolute,  idle,  and  immoderately  fond  of  plea- 
sure, and  some  of  them  were  in  the  I'requent  practice 
ui'  deer-stealing.  The  embryo  dramatist  was  of  ten 
induced  to  join  them  in  their  predatory  exploits, 
particularly  in  their  intrusions  on  the  property  of 
sir  Thomas  Lucy,  of  Charlecote,  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Stratford.  Detection  followed  ;  and  Shak- 
speare, imagining  himself  treated  with  undue  seve- 
rity, affixed  in  revenge  a  scurrilous  bal'nd  to  the 
gate  of  Charlecote  Park.  The  whole  o5  ..lis  offen- 
sive production  has  been  receritly  dis3C  J.t:red ;  vre 
copy  it  as  a  curiosity,  though  it  certainly  does  do 
credit  to  the  head  or  heart  of  the  author. 

Complete  Copy  of  the  Verses  on  Sir  Thamas  Lucy 

A  parliament  member,  a  justice  of  peace, 
At  home  a  poor  scarecrow,  in  London  an  asse : 
If  Lucy  is  lowsie,  as  some  volke  miscall  it, 
Synge  lowsie  Lucy  whatever  befall  it. 

He  thinks  hymself  greate,  yet  an  asse  in  hys  st&ts, 
"We  allowe  bye  his  eares  but  with  asses  to  liUUJ : 
If  Lucy  is  lowsie,  as  some  volke  miscall  it, 
Synge  lowsie  Lucy  whatever  befall  it. 


1 


LIFE  Oh  RH. 


[AKSPEARE. 


He's  ft  haughty,  proud,  insolent  knighte  of  the  shire, 
At  home  nobodye  love«,  yet  there's  many  him  feare  : 
If  Lucy  is  lowsie,  as  some  volke  miscall  it, 
Syn?:e  lowsie  Lucy  whatever  befall  it. 

To  the  sessions  he  went,  and  did  sorely  complain 

His  parke  hid  l»een  robb'd,  and  his  deer  they  were  slaine  : 

This  Lucy  is  lowsie,  as  some  volke  miscall  it, 

Synge  lowsie  Lucy  whatever  befall  it. 

He  !A\d  'twas  a  ryot,  his  men  had  been  beat, 
His  venson  was  stole,  and  clandestinely  eat : 
Soe  Lucy  is  lowsie,  as  some  volke  miscall  it, 
Synge  lowsie  Lucy  whatever  befall  it. 

So  haughty  was  he  when  the  fact  was  confess'd, 
He  sayd  'twas  a  crime  that  could  not  be  redress'd  : 
Soe  Lucy  is  lowsie,  as  some  volke  miscall  it, 
Synge  lowsie  Lucy  whatever  befall  it. 

Though  lucies  a  dozen  he  paints  in  his  coat. 
His  name  it  shall  Lowsie  for  Lucy  be  wrote : 
For  Lucy  is  lowsie,  as  some  volke  miscall  it, 
Synge  lowsie  Lucy  whatever  befall  it. 

If  a  juvenile  frolick  he  cannot  forgive, 
We'll  synge  lowsie  Lucy  as  long  as  we  live  : 
And  Lucy  the  lowsie  a  libel  may  call  it. 
We'll  synge  lowsie  Lucy  whatever  befSall  it. 

Sir  Thomas,  enraged  at  this  aggravation  of  injury 
by  insult,  increased  in  harshness  to  the  juvenile 
offender,  who  soon  felt  compelled  to  quit  the  home 
of  his  infancy,  and  the  residence  of  his  family.  The 
time  of  his  aeparture  is  doubtful ;  it  was  probably 
about  This  whole  story,  however,  has  lately 

fallen  into  disrepute,  and  his  removal  to  London 
has  been  ascribed  to  natural  inclination,  or  domes- 
tic infelicity  ;  perhaps  estrangement  from  his  wife. 
This  supposition  is  in  a  degree  confirmed,  by  the 
negligent  way  in  which  she  is  noticed  in  his  will ; 
and  the  circumstance  of  his  not  living  with  her 
after  1584.  It  is  singular  too,  that  an  entry  ap- 
pears in  the  Stratford  register,  which  records  the 
burial  of  a  child  named  "  Thonias  Green,  alias 
Shakspeare.''''  The  conclusion  which  may  be  drawn 
from  this  circumstance  is  evident.  For  the  sake 
of  the  poet's  memory,  we  trust  that  the  deer-steal- 
ing story  is  fabulous ;  but  it  is  certainly  confirmed 
by  several  particulars  in  the  Second  Part  of  Henry 
IV.  and,  indeed,  by  the  whole  character  of  Justice 
Shallow. 

The  inhabitants  of  Shakspeare's  native  town 
were  passionately  fond  of  dramatic  entertainments. 
Travelling  companies  of  players  appear  to  have 
visited  Stratford  on  more  than  twenty  occasions, 
between  1559,  (when  the  poet  was  under  six  years 
of  age,)  and  1587.  Bnrbage  and  Green,  two  cele- 
brated actors,  were  his  townsmen,  and  eve.-i  from 
childhood  his  attention  must  have  beeu  attracted  to 
the  stage,  by  the  powerful  influence  of  novelty,  and, 
in  all  probability,  by  his  personal  acqiiaintance  with 
some  of  the  comedians.  When,  therefore,  his  views 
in  life  were  unavoidably  altered,  it  was  natural  that 
the  theatre  should  present  itself  to  his  mind  as  his 
best  asylum  ;  and  directing  his  fugitive  steps  to  the 
metropolis,  he  became  a  player,  and,  in  the  end,  a 
writer  for  the  stage.  The  tale  of  Shakspeare's  at- 
tending at  the  Globe,  on  his  fi»st  arrival  in  London, 
to  take  the  charge  of  gentlemen's  horses,  during 
the  performance,  is  much  doubted  at  present ;  but 
it  seems  likely  that  the  hrst  office  he  held  in  the 
theatre,  was  that  of  or  prompter's  attend- 

ant. He  did  not  long  continue  in  that  capacity,  being 
soon  admitted  to  perform  minor  parts  in  the  popular 
plays  of  that  period. 

Shakspeare  followed  the  profession  of  an  actor 
upwards  of  seventeen  years,  and  till  within  about 
thirteen  years  of  his  death ;  but  we  have  good 
reason  to  suppose  that  six  shillings  and  eight-pence 
a  week  was  the  highest  reward  of  his  dramatic 
efforts.  Of  his  merit  as  a  player,  we  have  no 
positive  data  on  which  to  found  an  estimate,  and 
acct)rdingly  there  is  great  dilFerence  of  opinion 
among  his  critics.    Tragedians  and  dramatists  were 


not  then  so  jealously  watched  as  at  present;  dinma! 
reviewers  were  unknown,  and  an  actor's  fauifc 
depended  entirely  on  the  caprice  of  judges,  who 
were  too  frequently  very  incompetent  to  form  a  cor- 
rect decision.  From  some  satirical  passages  in  tlie 
writings  of  his  contemporaries,  we  may  fairly  sup- 
pose that  he  was  not  a  favourite  (jerformer  with  the 
public.  His  instructions  to  the  players  in  Hamlet, 
however,  bespeak  such  mastery  in  their  art,  and  are 
in  themselves  so  excellent,  that  we  are  sttongly 
inclined  to  believe,  that  his  unpopidarity  must  be 
attributed  more  to  the  bad  taste  of  his  auditors,  than 
from  the  deficiency  of  his  own  powers.  Acting, 
considered  as  a  science,  was  then  in  its  infancy  ;  lie 
that  "  strutted  and  bellowed  "  most,  would  be 
esteemed  the  best  actor.  Shakspeare's  adherence 
to  nature  would  be  misunderstood,  and  his  gentle- 
ness would  be  censured  as  tameness. 

The  only  characters,  which  we  know  with  cer- 
tainty to  ha\  e  been  personated  by  Shakspeare,  are 
the  Ghost  in  Hamlet,  and  Adam  in  As  You  Like  \t 
his  name  appears  in  the  list  of  players  attached  to 
Ben  Jonson's  Sejanus,  and  Every  Man  in  his  Hu- 
mour ;  but  it  is  sufficiently  evident,  that  he  never 
sustained  any  very  important  part ;  and,  but  fur  his 
genius  as  a  poet,  which  neitiier  indigence  nor  ob- 
scurity could  repress,  that  name,  which  we  now  re- 
peat with  reverence  and  love,  would  have  been 
in  the  darkness  of  oblivion.  That  Shakspeare  was 
not  more  successful  on  the  stage,  might  arise  from 
the  injustice  and  false  taste  of  his  audience  ;  but 
this  is  hardly  to  be  lamented,  since,  had  lie  bf^en 
eminent  as  an  actor,  he  would  probably  ha\e 
neglected  composition.  ''It  may  indeed  be  con- 
sidered  (says  Dr.  Drake)  as  a  most  fortunate  cir- 
cumstance for  the  lovers  of  dramatic  poetry,  thai 
our  author,  in  point  of  execution,  did  not  attain  to 
the  loftiest  summit  of  his  profession.  He  would  in 
that  case,  it  is  very  probable,  have  either  sat  down 
content  with  the  high  reputation  accruing  to  hina 
from  this  source,  or  would  have  found  little  time 
for  the  labours  of  com  osition ;  and,  consequently, 
we  should  have  been  in  a  great  degree,  if  not 
altogether,  deprived  of  what  now  constitutes  the 
noblest  efforts  of  human  genius." 

Despised  as  an  actor,  Shakspeare  aspired  to 
distinction  as  an  author;  and  notwithstanding  his 
mighty  capacity,  he  was  for  a  long  time  content 
with  altering  and  revising  the  productions  of  others. 
Of  the  dramas  produced  previous  to  IGOO,  there 
were  some  which  abounded  with  felicitous  ideaa 
and  effective  situations;  but  the  writers  had  used 
their  materials  with  little  skill,  and  the  touch  of  a 
master  was  required  to  reduce  them  to  order  and 
consistency.  Tlie  noblest  geniuses  of  the  age  did 
not  refuse  such  employment.  Decker,  Ruwiry, 
Heywood,  and  Jonson,  were  often  occupied  in  con 
ferring  value  on  such  productions:  and  to  tliis  un- 
thankful labour,  the  early  eftbrts  of  our  bard  were 
modestly  confined. 

Dramatists  were,  generally  speaking,  abjectly 
poor  ;  they  were  enthralled  by  managers,  either  for 
past  favours,  existing  debts,  or  the  well-founded 
apprehension  of  needing  their  assistance.  What  can 
be  more  affecting,  than  to  find  the  illustrious  Ben 
Jonson  supplicating  from  Henslowe  the  advance  of 
a  sum  so  paltry  as  '•'■five  shillings."  Tlie  calling 
Shakspeare  embraced  was,  in  a  majority  of  instances, 
anything  rather  than  profitable  :  his  mighty  mind 
could  scarcely  have  selected  any  sphere  ol'  action 
more  barren  of  reward  :  but  the  camp,  the  senate, 
and  the  bar,  were  then  almost  exclusively  filled 
by  the  young  scions  of  nobility;  and  ])referring  to  f)e 
first  among  his  brother  authors,  however  humble 
their  prospects,  he  poured  out  all  the  wealth  of  bia 
intellect  on  the  stage,  and  laid  the  fouridation  of  a 
renown,  which  is  perpetually  increasing,  and  is 
never  likely  to  he  equalled. 

No  portion  of  Shakspeare's  history  is  more  rb- 
soure  than  the  peviod  at  which  he  first  ventured  ta 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


rely  on  the  resources  of  his  own  mind,  and  produce 
AH  original  drama  on  the  stage  which  he  had  so 
often  trod  unnoticed.  Every  attempt  to  select  from 
the  long  list  of  his  wonderful  productions  the  one 
which  had  paved  the  way  for  his  future  eminence, 
ois  maiden  effort  in  the  arena  of  his  coming  glories, 
has  ended  in  uncertainty  and  disappointment.  The 
Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  and  the  Comedy  of 
Errors,  have  been  pitched  upon,  but  almost  any  of 
his  other  plays  might  have  been  chosen  with  an 
equal  approximation  to  truth.  Our  bard,  however, 
was  well  known  as  a  dramatic  writer  in  1592,  and 
there  is  reason  to  suppose  that  all  his  compositions 
for  the  sta^e  were  written  between  1590  and  1613, 
a  period  of  about  twenty-three  years.  And  when 
't  is  considered  that  we  possess  thirty  of  his  plays, 
which  are  indisputably  genuine,  besides  several,  the 
authenticity  of  which  is  doubtful,  the  marvellous 
power  and  range  of  his  intellect  will  be  sufficiently 
evident.  According  to  tlie  chronological  order  in 
which  the  critics  have  placed  his  dramas,  his  genius 
appears  in  fall  vigour  from  its  first  flight  to  the 
moment  when  its  eagle  pinions  becan»e  quiescent  for 
ever.  A  Midsummer  Night  s  Dream  is  the  second 
inscription  on  the  luminous  column  of  his  renown. 
Othello,  The  Tempest,  and  Twejfth  Night,  are 
engraven  in  characters  of  light  on  its  base.  Other 
minds  have  had  their  infancy,  their  maturity,  and 
their  decline.  In  other  intellects,  even  the  most 
lesplendent,  we  observe  the  unfoldings  of  genius,  as 
of  the  gradual  unfolding  of  the  morning's  light,  its 
maturity  as  of  the  full  blaze  of  noon,  and  its  decline 
and  decay  as  the  twilight  of  evening  and  the 
darkness  of  night.  Milton  wrote  Sampson  Agonistes 
befoie  Paradise  Lost,  and  Paradise  Regained  after 
it;  but  the  rise,  progress,  and  termination  of  Shak- 
speare's  brilliant  career  were  equally  glorious.  In 
combining  author  and  actor  in  his  own  person,  the 
dramatist  might  in  some  degree  alleviate  his  pecu- 
niary difliiculties,  but  it  could  scarcely  have  redeemed 
him  from  the  indigence  under  which  his  brother 
writers  were  rvi*i!'t<r::3g ;  yet  his  superlative  merits 
as  a  poet  soon  advanced  him  in  the  regard  of  the 
great  and  the  noble.  The  players  in  his  time  were 
constantly  denominated  and  treated  as  servants  ; 
find  M'hen  the  actor's  duty  made  his  presence  neces- 
«ary  at  his  patron's  mansion,  the  buttery  was  the 
jnly  place  to  which  he  expected  admittance.  On  the 
contrary,  the  friendship  of  the  dramatist  was  fre- 
quently sought  by  the  opulent :  even  noblemen  made 
Dim  their  companion,  and  chose  him  at  once  as  the 
object  of  bounty  and  esteem.  In  this  manner,  Shak- 
Bpeare  became  the  bosom  associate  of  the  all-ac- 
complished lord  Southampton.  That  nobleman's 
father-in-law,  sir  Thomas  Heminge,  was  treasurer 
of  the  queen's  chamber,  in  which  capacity  it  was  his 
duty  to  reward  the  actors  employed  at  court :  thus 
plays  and  players  were  almost  forced  upon  the  notice 
of  lord  Southampton,  and  the  hold  theatrical  amuse- 
ments had  on  his  mind,  is  evident,  even  at  a  late 
period  of  his  life,  from  his  shunning  the  court  for  a 
diurnal  attendance  at  the  Globe  ;  his  entertainment 
of  Cecil  with  "  plaies  and  his  ordering  Richard  II. 
to  be  performed  on  the  night  previous  to  the  rebel- 
lion of  the  earl  of  Essex.  Shakspeare's  intimacy 
with  Southampton  commenced  when  the  latter  was 
about  twenty  years  of  age,  and  from  the  dedications 
prefixed  to  Venus  and  Adonis  in  1593,  and  the  Rape 
of  Lucrece  in  1594,  it  is  apparent  that  their  friend- 
ship was  cemented  by  great  liberality  in  the  patron, 
and  lively  gratitude  in  the  poet. 

Howe,  on  the  authority  of  Davenant,  relates,  that 
m  order  to  enable  Shakspeare  to  complete  a  pur- 
chase, Southampton  at  one  time  presented  him  with 
a  thousand  pounds,  a  gift  truly  princely.  The 
tradition  derives  credit  from  the  wealth  which  the 
dramatijk  is  known  to  have  possessed  in  a  few 
jrears  subsequently  t&  his  arrival  in  London;  for  it 
IS  oootrury  to  probability,  that  his  opulence  could 
bftve  ariseu  from  his  emolomeuts,  either  as  actor 


or  author.  All  his  original  productions  were  sold 
absolutely  to  the  theatre,  and  the  gain  accrttiitg 
from  them  could  not  have  been  large,  as  he  neithef 
published  his  plays,  ncir  received  advantage  from 
their  dedication  to  the  wealthy.  Some  of  his  dra- 
mas were  printed  in  liis  life-time :  but  this  was  done 
surreptitiously,  and  was  at  once  a  liaud  on  author, 
proprietor,  and  reader. 

Of  Shakspeare's  comparative  opulence  there  cao 
be  no  doubt;  in  1597,  he  purchased  New  Places 
the  most  respectable  n)ansion  in  his  native  Strat- 
ford, and  went  to  considerable  expense  in  alterations 
and  repairs.  A  drawing  of  it  is  seen  in  the  margir 
of  an  ancient  survey  made  by  order  of  sir  George 
Carew,  (ai'terwards  baron  Carew,  of  Clopton,  and 
earl  of  Totness,)  and  foimd  at  Clopton.  near  Strat- 
ford upon- A  von,  in  1785. 

In  the  succeeding  year,  we  find  Richard  Quyney, 
a  townsman,  applying  to  him  as  a  person  of  sub- 
stance, for  the  loan  oi  thirty  pounds y  and  shortly 
after,  we  find  him  expressing  liis  readiness  to  lend, 
on  proper  security,  a  sum  of  money  lor  the  use  of 
the  town  of  Stratford.  His  continued  fid\  ance  in 
worldly  consideration  is  indicated  by  his  further 
purchases.  In  1602,  according  to  Wheeler,  he  gave 
£320,  for  one  hondred  and  seventy  acres  of  land, 
which  he  added  to  his  estate  in  New  Place.  In 
1605.  he  bought  for  £440  a  moiety  of  the  great  and 
small  tithes  of  Stratford  ;  and  in  l6l3,  a  tenement  in 
Blackfriars  for  £140.  It  is  remarkable  in  this  latter 
purchase,  that  only  £80  of  the  money  was  paid 
down,  the  residue  being  left  as  a  mortgage  on  the 
premises.  Malone  is  of  opinion  that  his  annual 
income  could  not  have  been  less  than  £200,  which, 
at  the  age  when  he  lived,  was  equal  to  £800  at 
present. 

Several  of  the  nobility,  particiilaily  the  earls  of 
Pembroke  and  Montgomery,  vied  with  Southampton 
in  conferring  benefits  on  Siiakspeare,  and  lie  was  dis- 
tinguished in  a  most  flattering  manner,  by  the  favour 
of  two  successive  sovereigns.  We  are  told  that 
the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  (the  first  draught  of 
which  was  finished  in  a  fortnight,)  was  written  ex- 
pressly at  the  command  of  the  Virgin  Queen,  who 
being  highly  delighted  with  Falstaff's  humour  in 
Henry  IV.,  wished  him  to  be  exhibited  under  the 
influence  of  love.  The  character  of  Falstaff,  one  of 
the  happiest  and  most  original  of  all  the  author's 
efforts,  was,  according  to  Bowman  the  player,  who 
cited  sir  VVilliam  Bishop  as  his  authority,  drawn 
from  a  townsman  of  Stratford,  who  either  faithlessly 
broke  a  contract,  or  spitefully  refused  to  part  with 
some  land,  for  a  valuable  consideration,  adjoining  to 
Shakspeare's,  in  or  near  that  town. 

The  author's  reputation  was  no  doubt  increased  by 
the  approbation  of  his  royal  mistress,  which  in  all 
likelihood  was  the  only  solid  advantage  he  obtained 
from  her  notice.  Rowe  celebrates  the  "  many  gra- 
cious marks  of  her  favour"  which  Shakspeare  re- 
ceived ;  but  no  traces  of  any  pecuniary  reward  from 
her  munificence  is  to  be  found,  and  the  almost  inva- 
ri  ible  parsimony  of  Elizabeth  towards  literary  men, 
may  fairly  induce  us  to  question  whether  her  gene- 
rosity was  exhibited  in  anything  more  substantial 
than  praise,  notwithstanding  all  the  elegant  flattery 
which  the  poet  offered  on  the  shrine  of  her  vanity 
Elizabeth  was  certainly  a  very  highly-gifted  wo- 
man, but  she  was  too  selfish  to  pay  for  applause, 
which  she  was  sure  of  obtaining  at  an  easier  rate. 

In  James  I.  the  stage  found  a  warm  and  generous 
patron.  In  1599,  he  gave  protection  to  a  company 
of  English  comedians  in  his  Scottish  capital ;  and 
he  had  no  sooner  ascended  the  British  throne,  thaa 
he  effected  an  absolute  change  in  the  theatrical 
world.  In  the  first  year  of  his  reign,  an  act  of  par- 
liament passed,  which  took  from  the  nobility  the 
privilege  of  licensing  comedians,  and  all  the  skele- 
ton companies  then  existing  were  imraediatelv 
united  into  three  regular  establishments,  ^atronis^a 
by  the  royal  family.    Henry,  priuce  of     ales,  be- 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


I 


mm«  the  patron  of  lord  Nottingham's  company, 
which  pcHformed  at  the  Curtain  ;  the  earl  of  Wor- 
cester's servants,  who  commonly  acted  at  the  Red 
Bull,  were  turned  over  to  the  queen,  and  ulti- 
mately designated  Children  of  the  Revels ;  while 
the  king  declared  the  lord  chamberlain's  company 
under  his  own  especial  care.  The  license  which 
James  granted  to  Laurence  Fletcher,  William 
Shakspeare,  Richard  Buibage,  and  others,  dated 
May  19,  1603,  constituted  them  his  servants,  gave 
them  legal  possession  of  their  usual  house,  the 
Qlobe,  and  allowed  them  to  exhibit  every  kind  of 
dramatic  representation,  in  all  suitable  places  in 
bi»  dominions.  From  this  document  we  learn  that 
the  Globe  was  the  theatre  generally  occupied  by 
the  lord  chamberlain's  servants  ;  but  they  had  some 
interest  in  the  house  at  Blackfriars,  which,  in  the 
end,  they  purchased.  At  these  theatres  all  Shak- 
speare's  plays  were  originally  acted  ;  the  Globe  was 
the  summer,  the  Blackfriars  the  winter  house  of 
.he  company  with  which  he  was  connected. 

Inspired  with  feelings  of  gratitude  for  the  dis- 
tinction accorded  to  his  associates,  or  in  compli- 
ance with  the  servile  spirit  of  the  times,  Shakspeare 
assiduously  courted  a  monarch,  whose  ear  was 
ever  open  to  the  blandishments  of  flattery.  In  op- 
position to  historical  evidence,  Banquo,  the  ances- 
tor of  James,  is  represented  in  the  tragedy  of  Mac- 
beth, as  noble  in  mind,  and  free  from  the  guilt  of 
Duncan's  murder.  There  is  another  passage  in 
the  same  play  respecting  the  eftlcacy  of  the  royal 
touch  in  curing  the  evil,  highly  complimentary, 
and  this  delicate  praise  richly  merited  the  honour 
it  is  said  to  have  earned, — "an  amicable  letter," 
penned  by  king  .James's  own  hand.  Dayenant,  if 
we  may  credit  Oldys,  possessed  this  curious  epis- 
tle, and  related  the  circumstance  to  Sheffield,  duke 
of  Buckingham.  The  favour  shown  by  Elizabeth 
ayd  her  successor  to  Shakspeare  was  a  lact  familiar 
«  his  own  day.    Ben  Jonson  says, — 

«  Sweet  swan  of  Avon,  what  a  siffht  it  were 
To  see  thee  in  our  waters  yet  appear; 
And  mark  those  flights  upon  the  banks  of  ThamBB, 
That  did  so  please  Eliza  and  our  James." 

Shakspeare  seems  to  have  cherished  a  sincere 
regard  for  James.  There  are  pass-iges  in  the  last 
written  of  his  plays,  which  refer  to  that  monarch 
in  highly  laudatory  terms;  and  in  a  curious  MS. 
volume  of  poems,  written  apparently  about  the 
period  of  the  Revolution,  the  following  lines  occur, 
which  are  confidently  ascribed  to  our  poet : — 

'  Shakspeare  upon  the  ELing. 

*  Crownes  have  their  compasse,  length  of  dayes  their  date; 

Triumphes  their  tombes,  felicity  her  fate  : 

yf  more  than  earth  can  earth  make  none  partaker, 

B  It  knowledge  makes  the  king  most  like  his  Maker.* 

Though  Elizabeth  and  James  were  particularly 
fona  of  dramatic  representations,  it  does  not  appear 
that  they  ever  visited  the  public  theatres ;  they 
gratiiif'd  their  taste  by  commanding  the  comedians 
to  peif'irm  plays  at  court.  These  entertainments 
vr°.re  os'tally  given  at  night,  which  arrangement 
su  <^d  the  actors,  as  the  theatres  were  generally 
opt  -  in  the  morning.  The  ordinary  fee  for  such 
a  {^erformance  in  London  was  £o:  Vis:  4d.  and  an 
additional  £3.  6s  :  8d.  was  sometimes  bestowed  by 
the  bounty  of  royalty. 

Shakspeare  ^ 'on  became  im.portant  in  the  ma- 
nagement of  tlic  theatre,  and  participated  in  all 
che  emoluments  of  the  company.  It  is  impossible 
to  estimate  his  ivicome  from  this  source  :  we  are 
ignorant  into  how  many  shares  this  theatrical  pro- 
perty was  divided;  nor  can  we  tell  what  proportion 
of  them  was  enjoyed  by  our  poet.  If,  however, 
he  was  equal  with  Heminges,  who  is  joined  with 
hnn  in  the  iicerse,  we  are  auth'^rized  by  his  partner 
to  assert  that  it  produced  "  a  |  od  yearly  income." 


This  worldly  elevation  induced  him  to  quit  the 
drudgery  of  an  actor,  which  employment  he  speak* 
of  in  his  Sonnets  with  disgust,  and  henceforth  he 
seems  to  have  yielded  all  the  powers  of  his  com 

f)rehensive  mind  to  the  improvement  of  dramatic 
iterature.  The  affectionate  wish  which  Shakspeare 
formed  in  early  life,  to  return,  after  his  biflliani 
career,  to  his  native  Stratford,  and  die  at  home, 
induced  him  to  purchase  New  Place,  in  1597.  In 
the  pleasure  ground  of  that  unassuming  mansion,  he 
planted  with  his  own  hand  a  mulberry  tree,  which 
flourished  for  many  years,  and  was  regarded  with 
reverence.  To  this  favourite  spot,  in  1613  or  1614,  he 
retired  from  the  ap^ilauses  of  his  contemporaries- 
and  the  bustle  of  the  world,  to  the  genuine  reposo 
and  unsophisticated  pleasures  of  a  country  life  Au- 
brey informs  us,  that  it  was  our  bard's  custom  to 
visit  Stratford  yearly;  but  previous  to  1596,  the 
place  of  his  residence  in  London  has  not  been 
discovered.  He  then  lodged  near  the  Bear  Garden 
in  Southwark,  and  it  is  not  improbable  that  he 
remained  there  till  his  final  retirement  from  the 
metropolis. 

We  shall  now  throw  together  such  facts  as  we 
have  gleaned  in  a  careful  course  of  reading,  with 
reference  to  the  subject,  as  may  serve  to  illustrate 
the  manners,  habits,  and  individual  character  of 
Shakspeare. 

The  following  abstract  of  his  life  is  from  Aubrey  : 
"Mr.  William  Shakspeare  was  bom  at  Stratfbrd-upoc* 
Avon,  in  the  county  of  Warwick ;  his  father  was 
a  butcher,  and  I  have  been  told  heretofore  by  some 
of  his  neighbours,  that  when  he  was  a  boy  he  ex- 
ercised his  father's  trade ;  but  when  he  killed  a 
calfe,  he  would  doe  it  in  a  high  style  and  make  a 
speech.  There  was,  at  that  time,  another  butcher's 
son  in  that  towne,  that  was  helde  not  at  all  inferior 
to  him  for  a  naturall  witt,  his  acquaintance  and 
coetanean,  but  died  young.  This  Wm.  being  in- 
clined naturally  to  poetry  and  acting,  came  to  Lon- 
don, I  guesse  about  eighteen,  and  was  an  actor  at 
one  of  the  playhouses,  and  did  act  exceedingly  well. 
Now  B.  Jonson  never  was  a  good  actor,  but  an 
excellent  instructor.  He  began  early  to  make  es- 
sayes  at  dramatic  poetry,  which  at  that  time  wa« 
very  lowe,  and  his  playes  took  well.  He  was  a 
handsome  well  shap't  man,  and  of  a  verie  readie 
and  pleasant  smooth  witt :  the  humour  of  the  consta- 
ble in  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dreanie,  he  happened 
to  take  at  Grendon,  in  Bucks,  which  is  the  loade 
from  London  to  Stratforde,  and  there  was  living  that 
constable  about  1642,  when  I  first  came  to  Oxon, 
Mr.  Jos.  Howe  is  of  that  parishe,  and  knew  him. 
Ben  Jonson  and  he  did  gather  humours  of  men 
dayly,  wherever  they  came.  One  time,  as  he  was 
at  a  tavern  at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  one  Combes, 
an  old  rich  usurer,  was  to  be  buryed,  he  makes  there 
this  extemporary  epitaph : 

'  Ten  in  the  hundred  the  devill  allowes. 

But  Combes  will  have  twelve,  he  sweares  and  vowei 

If  any  one  ask  who  lies  in  this  tombc, 

Hoh,  quoth  the  devill,  'tis  my  John  o'Comhe.' 

"  He  was  wont  to  goe  to  his  native  countrie  onc6 
a  yeare.  I  think  I  have  been  told,  that  he  left  2  ot 
300  lib.  per  annum,  or  thereabout,  to  a  sister.  J 
have  heard  sir  Wm.  Davenant  and  Mr.  Thomas 
Shadwell  (who  is  counted  the  best  comedian  w* 
have  nowy  say  that  he  had  a  most  prodigious  witt' 
and  did  admire  his  naturall  parts  beyond  all  other 
dramaticall  writers.  He  was  wont  to  say,  that  h« 
never  blotted  out  a  line  in  his  life  ;  sayd  Ben  Jon- 
son, I  wish  he  had  blotted  out  a  thousand.  His 
comedies  will  remain  witt  as  long  as  the  English 
tongue  is  understood,  for  that  he  handles  mores 
hominum  :  now  our  present  writers  reflect  so  much 
upon  particular  persons  and  coxcombities,  that 
twenty  years  hence  they  will  not  be  understood." 

There  is  no  such  character  in  the  MidsumBtei 
Night's  Dream  as  a  constable,    Aubrey  moat  pro- 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEAIIE 


heMy  referred  to  the  sapcious  Dogberry  in  Much 
Ado  about  Nothing.  Tnis  account,  though  seem- 
ingly sanctioned  by  good  authority,  and  written 
most  probably  witliin  thirty  years  ol"  Shakspeare's 
death,  is  treated  by  his  biograpliers  as  incredible  ; 
yet  it  IS  well  worth  preservation,  for  we  cannot 
find  any  reasonable  grounds  on  which  Aubrey's  tes- 
timony should  be  rejected.  The  story  of  the  epitaph 
is  variously  told.  In  the  following  version  the  wit  is 
certainly  heightened  :  "Mr.  John  Combe  had  amassed 
cc^asiderable  wealth  by  the  practice  of  usury ;  he 
wa«  Shakspeare's  intimate  friend.  In  the  gaiety  of 
conversation  he  told  the  poet  that  he  fancied  he  in- 
tended to  furnish  his  epitaph ;  and  since  whatever 
might  be  said  of  him  alter  he  was  dead  must  be  un- 
known to  him,  he  reqiusied  it  might  be  written  forth- 
with. The  bard  immediately  gave  him  the  following 
%  erses : — 

*  Ten  ill  the  hundred  lies  here  engrav'd  ; 

'Tis  a  hundred  to  ten  his  soul  is  not  sav'd : 

If  any  man  ask,  Who  lies  in  this  tomb? 

Oh  !  oh  !  quolh  the  devil,  'tis  my  John-a  Combe.* 

Peck,  in  his  Memoirs  of  Milton,  4tn.  1740,  has 
introduced  another  epitaph,  which  he  attributes, 
though  it  does  not  appear  on  what  authority,  to  Shak- 
epeare.  It  is  on  a  Tom-a-Combe,  otherwise  Thin- 
beard,  brother  to  the  above-named  John,  who  is 
noticed  by  Rovve : 

"  Thin  in  beard,  and  thick  in  purse. 
Never  man  beloved  worse  : 
He  went  to  the  grave  with  many  a  curse; 
I'he  devil  and  he  had  both  one  nurse. » 

Much  has  been  .said  of  the  rivalship  and  dissen- 
sion between  Ben  Jonson  and  Shakspeare  :  we  shall 
give  a  few  particulars,  from  which  we  think  it  will 
appear  that  they  both  were  entirely  free  from  per- 
sonal ill  will.  Pope  says,  that  Jonson  "  loved  Shak- 
speare as  well  as  honoured  his  memory,  celebrates 
the  honesty,  openness  and  frankness  of  his  temper, 
and  only  distinguishes,  as  he  reasonably  ought, 
between  the  real  merit  of  the  author,  and  the  silly 
and  derogatory  applauses  of  the  players."  Gil- 
christ, a  very  clever  critic,  published  a  pamphlet 
to  prove  that  Jonson  was  never  a  harsh  or  envious 
rival  of  Shakspeare,  and  that  the  popular  opinion  on 
that  subject  is  altogether  erroneous.  Rovve  gives 
us  the  subjoined  anecdote,  which  has  been  thought 
worthy  of  credit :  "  Mr.  Jonson,  who  was  at  that  time 
altogetiier  unknown  to  the  world,  had  offered  one 
of  his  plays  to  the  players,  in  order  to  have  it  acted  ; 
and  the  persons  into  whose  hands  it  was  put,  after 
having  turned  it  carelessly  and  superciliously  over, 
were  just  upon  returning  it  to  him  wilh  an  ill-na- 
tured answer,  that  it  would  be  of  no  service  to  their 
company,  when  Shakspeare  luckily  cast  his  eye 
upon  it,  and  found  something  so  well  in  it  as  to  en- 
gage him  first  to  read  it  through,  and  afterwards  to 
recommend  Mr.  Jonson  and  his  writings  to  the 
public."  It  is  not  a  little  remarkable,  that  Jonson 
seems  to  have  held  a  higher  place  in  public  estima- 
tion than  our  poet,  for  more  than  a  century  after  the 
death  of  the  latter.  Within  that  period,  Ben's  works 
went  through  numerous  editions,  and  were  read 
with  eagerness,  while  Shakspeare's  remained  in  com- 
parative neglect  till  the  time  of  Rowe:  of  this  fact, 
abundant  evidence  might  be  given;  not  only  was 
Jonson  preferred,  but  even  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
with  many  dramatic  writers  infinitely  below  them  in 
merit,  were  exalted  above  him.  The  following  pas- 
sages are  curious,  and  will  satisfactorily  show  the 
little  estimation  our  bard's  works  were  held  in  by 
the  million  of  that  day. 

"  You  see 

What  audience  we  have,  what  company 

To  Shakspeare  comes ;  whose  mirth  did  once  beguile 

Dull  hours,  and  buskin'd,  made  even  sorrow  smile : 

So  lovely  were  the  wounds,  that  men  would  say, 

They  could  endure  the  bleeding  a  whole  day. 

Jie  bas  but  few  friends  lately  ."—Prologue  to  the  Sigters. 


*  Shakspeare  to  thee  was  dull,  wh(  »e  best  jest  Hm 

I'  th'  lady's  questions,  and  the  fool's  rep  ies; 
Whose  wit  our  nicer  times  would  obsceneness  calli 
And  which  made  bawdry  pass  for  comical. 
Nature  was  all  his  art ;  thy  vein  was  free 
As  his,  but  without  his  scurrility." 

Verses  on  Fletcher,  by  William  Cartvrright.IM^. 

"  In  our  old  plays,  the  humour,  love,  and  passion, 
Like  doublet,  hose,  and  closk,  are  out  of  fashion; 
That  which  the  world  call'd  wit  in  Shakspeare  k  »ge. 
Is  laugh'd  at  as  improper  for  our  stage." 

Prologue  to  Shirley's  Love  Tricks,  ICWi 

•  At  every  shop,  while  Shakspeare's  lofty  style 
Neglected  lies,  to  mice  and  worms  a  spoil ; 
Gilt  on  the  back,  just  smoking  from  the  prpss. 
The  apprentice  shews  you  D'Urfey's  Hudibras; 
Crown's  Mask,  bound  up  with  Settle's  choicest  labours, 
And  promises  some  new  essay  of  Babors." 

Satire,  published  in  1680. 

In  the  Spectator,  Addison  has  several  papers,  in 
which  a  very  high  character  is  given  of  Shak- 
speare's genius :  but  it  is  evident  from  the  quota- 
tions introduced,  that  the  elegant  critic  had  no  ac- 
quaintance with  his  original,  but  through  the  me- 
dium of  Davenant's  new  modelled  editions  of  his 
great  god-fathefs  dramas.  This  fact  is  partly  ac- 
counted lor  on  the  principle  that  classical  literature 
and  the  learning  of  the  schools  were  esteemed  in 
those  days  as  the  best  criterions  of  talent.  Jonson's 
constant  objection  to  Shakspeare,  was  the  want  of 
that  species  of  knowledge  ;  and  upon  his  proficiency 
in  it,  he  arrogated  the  superiority  to  himself.  All 
classical  scholars,  however,  did  not  sanction  Jon- 
son's claims  ;  since,  among  the  warmest  admirers  c£ 
Shakspeare,  was  one  of  the  most  learned  men  of  his 
age,  the  great  and  excellent  Hales.  "On  one  occa- 
sion, the  latter,  after  listening  in  silence  to  a  warm 
debate  between  sir  John  Suckling  and  Jonson 
reported  to  have  interposed,  by  observing  * 
it'  Shakspeare  had  not  read  the  ancients,  he 
likewise  not  stolen  anything  from  them,  and  i.i.. . 
if  he  (Jonson)  would  produce  anyone  topic  finely 
treated  by  any  of  them,  he  would  undertake  to 
show  something  upon  the  same  subject,  at  least  as 
well  written  by  Shakspeare.'  A  trial,  it  is  added, 
being  in  consequence  agreed  to,  judges  were  ap- 
pointed to  decide  the  dispute,  who  unanimously 
voted  in  favour  of  the  English  poet,  after  a  candid 
examination  and  comparison  of  the  passages  pro- 
duced by  the  contending  parties."  All  this  prove-* 
nothing  more  than  a  collision  of  intellect  between 
these  great  men,  which  might  exist  without  a  particle 
of  enmity  or  malicious  feeling,  and  there  are  several 
circumstances  to  favour  the  opinion  that  Shak- 
speare and  Jonson  lived  together  on  the  moat 
friendly  terms.  Our  bard,  in  all  probability,  as- 
sisted in  the  composition  of  Sejanus;  and  on  his 
death,  Jonson  wrote  an  elegy  in  his  honour,  in- 
scribed his  effigy  with  panegyrical  verses,  and  fur 
nished  a  preface  for  the  first  edition  of  his  plays 
nor  did  the  lapse  of  years  cool  his  regard,  or  efface 
from  his  mind  the  recollection  of  his  companion 
in  his  declining  days,  he  declared  with  all  the 
energy  of  truth,  "  I  loved  the  man,  and  do  honoui 
his  memory,  on  this  side  idolatry,  as  much  as  any.' 

Fuller's  comparative  view  of  these  illustrious 
writers  is  highly  interesting  :  "Shakspeare  was  ai 
eminent  instance  of  the  truth  of  that  rule  :  Poeta  not 
Jit,  sednascitur,  (one  is  not  made  but  born  a  poet.' 
Indeed  his  learning  was  but  very  little  ;  so  that  a* 
Cornish  diamonds  are  not  polished  by  any  lapidary^ 
but  are  pointed  and  smoothed  even  as  they  are 
taken  out  of  the  earth,  .so  nature  itself  was  all  the 
art  which  was  used  upon  him.  Many  were  the  wit 
combats  betwixt  him  and  Ben  Jonson,  which  two 
I  beheld,  like  a  Spanish  great  yalleon,  and  au 
English  man  of  war  'f  Master  Jonson,  like  the 
former,  was  built  far  higher  in  Isarning,  solid,  but 
slow  in  his  performances.    Shakspeare,  with  the 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


X 


Bft^Heh  man  of  war,  fesser  in  bulk,  but  lighter  in 
saihng,  couid  turn  with  all  tides,  and  take  advan- 
tage of  all  winds,  by  the  quickness  of  his  wit  and 
invention." 

The  following  anecdote,  preserved  by  Malone, 
will  serve  to  show  the  habits  of  close  intimacy  in 
which  these  great  and  amiable  men  lived.  In  the 
Berious  business  of  life,  rivals,  and  even  enemies, 
are  often  obliged  to  associate  ,  but  when  we  find 
men  seeking  each  other  in  the  season  of  relaxation, 
and  mingling  thoughts  in  their  sportive  humours,  we 
may  safely  pronounce  theuj  to  be  friends.  An  ami- 
cable dispute  arose  concerning  the  njotto  of  the 
Globe  theatre,  "  Totus  mundus  ayit  histrionein  ;" 
(all  the  world  acts  a  play;)  some  condemned  it 
Rs  anmeaning,  others  ueclared  it  to  be  a  hue  piece 
of  sententious  wisdom  ;  Jonson,  being  asked  for  his 
opinion.,  wrote  on  a  scrap  of  paper, 

*  If  but  stage  actors  all  the  world  displays. 
Where  shall  we  tind  spectators  of  their  plays?" 

Shakspeare  smiled,  and  takiiig  the  pen,  set  down 
these  lines  under  Ben's  couplet: 

"  Little  or  much  of  what  we  see,  we  do, 
We're  all  both  actors  and  spectators  too.» 

All  this  may  be  called  trifling ;  but  even  trifles 
become  interesting,  when  connected  with  a  Jonson 
and  a  Shakspeare. 

jMr.  Gilford  has  triumphantly  proved,  that  the 
once  generally  received  opinion  of  .Jonson's  malig- 
nant feelings  towards  his  friend  and  benefactor,  is 
void  of  the  slightest  foundation  in  fact ;  on  the  con- 
trary, we  are  justified  in  believing  that  the  author 
of  Sejanns  was,  on  all  occasions,  ready  to  admit  the 
wonderful  merit  of  his  less  learned,  but  more  highly- 
pjfted  contemporary.  lines  under  Shak spear's 

«fiigy  breathe  the  warmest  spirit  of  reverence  and 
ove  : 

*  The  fi^ire  that  thou  here  seest  put, 
It  was  for  gentle  Shakspeare  cut ; 
Wlierein  the  graver  had  a  strife 
With  nature  to  outdo  the  life. 

O,  could  he  but  have  drawne  his  wit 
As  well  in  brass,  as  he  hath  hit 
His  face,  the  print  would  then  surpass 
All  that  was  ever  writ  in  brass  : 
But  since  he  cannot,  rcailer,  looke 
Not  ou  his  picture  but  his  booke.* 

The  anecdf)tes  subjoined  rest,  perhaps,  on  slight 
authority;  l>iit  every  particular  relative  to  our  un- 
rivalled dramatist  has  such  powerfnl  attraction, 
that  we  should  not  feel  justified  in  witliholding  t.'iem. 

Queen  Elizabeth  used  sometimes  to  sit  behind 
the  scenes,  \\hi!e  her  favourite  plays  were  perfwrm- 
ing:  one  evening.  Shaksoeare  enacted  the  part  of 
a  monarch  (probably,  in  llein-y  IV.).  The  audience 
knew  that  her  majesty  was  present.  She  crossed  the 
staire  wliile  ShakH[)eare  was  acting,  and  being 
loudly  greeted  by  the  spectators,  curtsied  politely 
to  the  poet,  who  took  no  notice  of  her  condescension. 
VVIien  behind  the  scenes,  she  caught  his  eye  and 
moved  again,  but  still  he  would  not  throw  olf  his 
character  to  pay  her  any  attention.  This  made  her 
majesty  think  of  some  means  to  know  whether  she 
could  induce  him  to  forget  the  dignity  ofiiis  charac- 
ter while  on  the  stage.  Accordingly,  as  he  was  about 
to  make  his  exit,  she  stepped  before  him,  dro('[)fd 
her  glove,  and  re-crossed  the  stage,  which  Shak- 
speare noticing  took  it  up  with  these  Vvords,  so 
immediately  aflrr  finishing  his  speech,  that  they 
seemed  to  belong  to  it : 

■  And  though  now  bent  on  this  high  embassy. 
Yet  stoop  we  to  laJce  up  our  cousin's  glore." 

He  then  withdraw  from  the  stage,  and  presented  the 
rk»ve  to  the  queen,  who  was  n!u(,h  pleased  with  his 
behaviour,  and  coniplimented  him  on  its  propriety. 
One   cveaiug,  Bi-rbage  performed  Richard  III. 


and  while  behind  the  scenes,  Shakspeare  overhesH 
him  making  an  assigiiation  with  a  lady  of  consider- 
able beauty.  Burbage  was  to  knock  at  herchamb*>f 
door  ;  she  was  to  say,  '"'  Who  comes  there  ?"  and  oi. 
receiving  for  answer,  "  "Tis  I,  Richard  the  Third,' 
the  favourite  tragedian  was  to  be  adn)itted.  Shak 
speare  instantly  determined  to  keep  the  appoini- 
meut  himself.  Tapping  at  the  lady's  door,  he  n^de 
the  expected  response  to  her  interrogatory,  and 
gained  admittance,  I'he  poet's  eloquence  soon  con- 
verted the  fair  one's  anger  into  satisfaction  ;  but  the 
real  Simon  Pure  quickly  arrived  ;  he  rapped  loudly^ 
and  to  the  expected  qfiery  replied,  "  'Tis  I,  Richard 
the  Third."  "  Then,"  quoth  Shakspeare,  "  go  thy 
ways,  Burby,  for  tliou  knowest  that  William  the 
Conqueror  reigned  before  Bichard  the  T/iird.^ 
Shakspeare's  associates,  during  his  residence  ia 
London,  were  the  great  spirits  who  were  engaged, 
like  him,  in  the  pursuit  of  literary  distinction  :  with 
Fletcher  he  was  particularly  intimate,  and  it  is 
believed  he  assisted  hint  largely  in  the  coinpositioQ 
of  The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen,  Rowley,  Forde,  IMas- 
singer,  and  Decker  were  also  indebted  to  his  liberal 
muse  :  indeed,  there  is  scarcely  any  draniatist  of 
his  age  to  whom  the  light  of  his  genius  was  not 
extended, 

A  tradition  exists  of  a  literary  club,  of  which 
Shakspeare  was  a  member,  and  which  included  tlie 
following  illustrious  names:  Jonson,  Fletcher;  Sel- 
den,  Cotton,  Carew,  Martin,  Beaumont,  and  Donne, 
The  meetings  of  such  a  phalanx  of  talent  must 
necessarily  have  been  attended  with  "  the  feast  isi' 
reason  and  the  flow  of  soui." 

Of  Shakspeare's  convivial  disposition,  the  fol- 
lowing legendary  story,  told  by  Joim  Jorda*i,  a 
native  of  Stratford,  might  be  given  as  evidence; 
though,  certainly,  it  does  not  redound  ranch  to  his 
credit,  Shakspeare,  says  the  tradition,  loved  hearty 
draughts  of  English  beer  or  ale,  and  there  were  two 
clubs  of  persons  who  met  at  a  village  called  Bid- 
ford,  about  seven  miles  below  Stratford,  wlio  dis- 
tinguished themselves  by  the  designation  of  topers 
and  sippers,  the  former  of  whom  could  drink  the 
•most  without  being  intoxicated  ;  the  latter,  how- 
ever, were  superior  to  most  other  drinkers  in  the 
country.  These  lovers  of  John  Barleycorn  chal- 
lenged all  England  to  drink  with  them,  to  try  the 
strength  of  their  heads  ;  the  Stratford  bard  and  his 
comjjaiu'ons  accepted  it,  and  went  to  Bidford,  on 
a  Whit- Monday,  to  encounter  the  topers;  but 
they  were  gone  to  Evesham  fair  uj)on  a  like  expe- 
dition, so  that  Shakspeare  and  his  Stratford  friends 
were  forced  to  sit  down  with  the  sippers  ;  upon  trial, 
they  found  themselves  inferior  to  tlieir  opponents  ; 
the  poet  and  his  companions  became  so  intoxicated 
that  they  were  forced  to  decline  further  tiial. 
Leaving  Bidford,  they  proceeded  hon)eward,  but 
poor  \ViUiam,  when  he  had  gone  about  half  a  mile_, 
laid  himself  down  on  the  turf,  under  the  houghs  oi 
a  crab  -  tree,  where  he  reposed  for  tiie  night. 
Awaking  with  the  lark,  he  was  invited  to  return  ta 
Bidford  and  renew  the  contest,  but  he  refused 
telling  them,  that  he  had  drunk  with 

*  Piping  Pebworth,  Dancing  Marston, 
HaviDted  Hillborough,  and  Hunpcry  Grafton, 
With  Dadgiiig  Exhall,  Papist  Wixford, 
Beggarly  Broom,  and  Drunken  Bidford." 

'i'hese  epithets,  we  are  told,  are  still  given  tj  these 
adjoining  villages  ;  and  the  readt  r  will,  according 
to  his  degree  of  faith,  credit  or  reject  a  tale,  the 
particulars  of  which  correspond  so  ill  with  the 
bard  s  character. 

There  is  a  tradition  in  Stratford,  of  our  poet's 
likening  the  carbuncled  face  of  a  drunken  I  Jack- 
smith  to  a  inaple.  The  smith  addressed  him  as  h» 
leaiit  over  a  mercer's  door,  thus  : 

Sbakgpeare,  tell  mc  if  you  can, 

between  a  youth  and  a  youug  man." 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 
Td  wliich  Shakapeare  instantly  answered : 

«  Tliou  son  of  fire,  with  thy  face  like  a  mnple,  [apple." 
The  same  difference  as  between  a  scalded  and  a  coddled 

This  story  was  told,  upwards  of  fifty  years  since,  to 
a  gentleman  at  Stratford,  by  a  person  who  was  then 
more  than  eighty  years  old,  whose  lather  might 
iiave  been  a  contemporary  of  Shakspeare.  Perhaps, 
however,  it  was  only  a  version  of  a  story  told  oi 
'i'arleton,  the  clown. 

We  c  ome  now  to  speak  of  some  traditional  gal- 
lantries of  wtir  poet ,  they  may  not  deserve  entn;e 
credence,  but  it  would  not  be  satisfactory  to  omit 
them  altogether.  In  his  journeyings  between 
Stratford  and  London,  Shakspeare  oiten  put  up  at 
the  Crown  Inn,  Oxford  ;  the  hostess  was  beantilul 
and  witty :  the  host,  a  discreet  citizen,  of  a  satur- 
nine complexiors,  but  a  lover  of  plays  and  play- 
wrights, and,  more  particularly,  of  his  visitor.  Ihe 
b«rd's  frequent  calls,  and  the  loveliness  of  the 
landlady,  gave  occasion  to  the  following  story  : 
Young  'William  Davenant,  afterwards  air  William, 
was  then  a  slip  of  a  school-boy,  of  about  eiglit  years 
old  :  this  lad  was  so  much  attached  to  Shakspeare, 
that  whenever  he  heard  of  his  arrival  he  would  quit 
the  school  to  see  him.  One  day,  an  old  townsman, 
observing  the  boy  hastening  homewards  with 
breathless  impatience,  demanded  of  him  whither  he 
was  running  in  that  eager  manner.  "To  see  my 
god-father  Shakspeare,"  was  the  reply.  "  There's 
a  good  boy,"  said  the  citizen;  ''but  have  a  care 
you  don't  take  God  s  name  in  vain." 

From  the  Sonnets  of  our  author  we  may  conclude 
that  he  had  loriiied  an  unhappy  attachment,  for 
while  he  celebrates  the  charms  of  his  fair  enslaver 
in  the  most  hyperbolical  terms,  he  is  at  no  less  pains 
to  proclaim  the  utter  worthlessness  of  her  charac- 
ter. He 


*  Swore  her  fair,  and  thought  her  bright, 
While  she  was  black  as  hell,  and  dark  as  i 


light.* 


With  the  perverseness  so  common  in  affairs  of 
gallantry,  the  lady  neglected  the  poet,  and  placed 
ber  love  on  a  youth  of  remarkable  beauty,  the  dear 
friend  and  associate  of  the  dramatist  himself.  The 
yoiuig  man's  participation  in  this  violation  of  atfec- 
tion  and  friendship  is  uncertain,  as  appear*  from 
several  passages,  and,  in  particular,  from  the  I44th 
Sonnet,  wliich  we  quote,  as  it  epitomises  the  whole 
oi  the  tale : 


«  Two  loves  I  have  of  comfort  and  despair, 
Which  like  two  spirits  do  suggest  me  still ; 
The  better  angel  is  a  man  right  lair, 
The  worser  spirit  a  woman  colour'd  ill. 
To  win  me  soon  to  hell,  my  female  evil 
Tempteth  iny  b -tter  angel  from  my  side, 
And  would  corrupt  my  saint  to  be  a  devil, 
Wooing  his  pwrity  with  her  foul  pride : 
And  whether  that  my  angel  be  turn'd  fiend, 
Suspect  I  may,  yet  not  directly  tell; 
And  being  both  from  me,  both  to  each  friend, 
1  guess  one  atigel  in  another's  hell ; 
Yet  this  shall  I  ne'er  know,  but  live  in  doubt. 
Till  my  bad  angel  fire  my  good  one  out." 


A 
end 


breach,  however,  did  ensue  between  the  bard 
lis  good  spirit ;  yet  the  pangs  of  separation 


soon  proved  intolerable;  and  in  defiance  of  his  jea- 
lousies and  doubts,  Shaksjjeare  took  back  his  friend 
to  his  bosom,  with  an  affection  which  seemed  more 
powerful  for  this  short  interruption. 

It  hris  {4ftbn  been  mentioned  as  singular,  that 
Shakspeare  does  not  appear  to  have  written  any 
C';a)rnendatx>ry  verses  on  his  literary  companions, 
to  which  his  great  good-nature,  it  might  have  been 
Buppirsed,  would  have  inclined  him;  it  was  not 
kiio\\'a  that  he  \vm\  composed  even  a  solitary  stanza 
to  applaud  the  living  or  eulogize  Ihe  dead.  The 


annexed  epitaphs,  '.f  they  I  nulhentic,  anl  thet 
have  much  of  Shakspeare's  n  -unier  about  them,  wsil 
prove,  that,  in  two  instances  at  lea  t,  he  laid  aside 
that  diffidence  of  his  own  merits,  which  made  liim 
undervalue  the  plau.iits  of  a  uh  se,  the  slightest 
breath  of  whose  praise  would  l.;>ve  conferred  im- 
mortaliiy.-  In  a  MS.  volume  of  poems,  by  Hernck 
and  others,  in  tlie  handwriting  of  Charles  1.,  pre- 
served in  the  Bodleian  library,  is  the  loilowing  epi- 
taph, ascribed  to  our  poet: 

«  AN  EPITAPH. 

«  When  God  was  pleas'd,  the  world  unwilling  yet, 
Elias  James  to  nature  payd  his  debt, 
And  hc-re  reposeth  ;  as  he  liv'd,  he  dyde; 
The  sayiiig  iii  him  strongly  verefied,— 
Such  life,  such  death  :  then,  the  known  truth  to  t«!l. 
He  liv'd  a  godly  life,  and  dyde  as  well. 

«  WM.  SHAKSPEARE,» 

Sir  William  Dugdale,  in  his  Visitation  Book, 
describes  a  monument  in  Tongue  church,  Salop, 
erected  in  memory  of  sir  Thomas  Stanley,  who  died 
about  the  year  1600.  After  a  long  prose  inscription, 
the  frail  marble  was  charged  with  the  following 
poetical  encomiums  : 

*  These  following  Verses  were  made  by 
WILLIAM  SHAKSPEARE,  the  late  famous  Tragsdiwi; 

*  Written  upon  the  east  end  of  this  tomb. 
«  Aske  who  lyes  here,  but  do  not  weepe ; 
He  is  not  dead,  he  doth  but  sleepe. 
This  stony  register  is  for  his  bones. 
His  fame  is  more  perpetual  than  these  stones : 
And  his  own  goodness,  with  himself  being  goOB, 
Shall  live,  when  earthly  monument  is  none." 

*  Written  upon  the  west  end  thereof 
*  Not  monumental  stone  preserves  our  fame. 
Nor  skye  aspiring  pyramids  our  name. 
The  memory  of  him  for  whom  this  stands, 
Shall  out- live  marble,  and  defacers'  hands. 
When  all  to  time's  consumption  shall  be  given, 
Stanley,  for  whom  this  stands,  shall  stand  in  heaven  ■ 

Shakspeare  seems  to  have  had  no  personal  con 
nexion  with  the  theatre  lor  about  three  years  pre- 
viously to  his  death,  and  this  scanty  remnant  of  his 
days  was  passed  in  peace  and  comfort.  Rowe  says  : 
"  The  latter  part  of  his  life  was  spent,  as  all  men  ol 
good  sense  would  wish  theirs  may  be,  in  ease,  retire- 
ment, and  the  conversation  of  his  friends.  His 
pleasurable  wit  and  good-nature  engaged  him  in 
the  acquaintance,  and  entitled  him  to  the  friendship, 
of  the  gentlemen  of  the  neighboui  hood."  And  m 
the  words  of  Dr.  Drake,  "lie  was  hij^h  in  reputa- 
tion as  a  poet,  favoured  by  the  great  and  accom- 
plished, and  beloved  by  all  who  knew  him."  Nothing 
can  be  more  delightful  than  to  contemplate  this 
wonderful  man,  in  the  vigour  of  his  age,  and  in  the 
full  possession  of  his  amazing  faculties,  retiring 
from  the  scene  of  his  well-earned  triumphs,  to  find, 
in  the  comparative  seclusion  of  his  native  town, 
that  repose  and  quietude  both  of  mind  and  body 
which  is  not  to  be  looked  for  in  the  hustle  of  the 
world.  And  if  he,  whose  glory  was  to  hll  the  mi- 
verse,  and  whose  pursuits  (if  anything  conuei  ted 
with  time  can  be,)  were  worthy  of  an  immortal 
soul,  could  pant  for  retirement  in  the  meridian  ol 
his  days,  what  excuse  have  they,  who,  in  senectud© 
and  feebleness, continue  to  toil  among  the  mole-hills 
of  earth  for  a  little  perishable  gold,  for  which  they 
have  no  use  when  they  have  obtained  it  ? 

Shakspeare  retired  from  the  metropolis  at  a  period 
little  past  the  prime  of  life.  We  meet  with  no  hint 
of  any  failure  in  his  constitution;  and  the  execution 
of  his  will,  in  "  perfect  health  and  memory,"  on  th« 
26th  of  March,  1616,  warrants  no  immediate  expec- 
tation of  his  decease.  The  curtain  was  now  to  fall, 
however,  ou  hU  earthly  stage  of  existence.  He  dieo 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


on  ttc  23d  of  April,  the  anniversary  of  his  birth, 

luiring  exactly  completed  his  titty  second  year.  On 
the 25th,  two  dajs  alter  his  death,  his  body  vv«s  laid 
in  its  original  dust,  being  buried  under  the  north  side 
of  the  chancel  of  the  great  church  at  Stratford;  a 
flat  stone,  protecting  all  that  was  perisliable  of  the 
remaioa  of  Stiakspeare,  bears  this  inscription: 


«  Good  frend,  for  Jesus'  sake,  forbeare 
To  digs  the  dust  enclosed  here  ! 
Bless'd  be  the  man  that  spares  these  stones. 
And  curst  be  he  that  moves  my  bones.* 


The  common  opinion  is,  that  these  lines  were 
written  by  the  poet  himself ;  bat  this  notion  has, 
perhaps,  originated  solely  from  the  use  of  the  word 
"  my"  in  the  closing  line.  "  The  imprecation,"  says 
Malone,  was  probably  suggested  by  an  apprehension 
"that  our  authors  remains  might  share  the  same 
fate  with  those  of  the  rest  of  his  countrymen,  and  be 
added  to  the  immense  pile  of  human  bones  deposited 
in  Stratford  charnel-house." 

We  shall  now  give  a  brief  abstract  of  Shakspeare's 
will,  which  is  yet  extant  in  the  Prerogative  Office. 
It  bears  date,  March  25,  1616,  and  commences  with 
the  following  paragraphs  : 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  amen.  I,  William  Shak- 
Bpeare,  at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  in  the  county  of 
Warwick,  gent,  in  perfect  health  and  memory,(God 
be  praised  !)  do  make  and  ordain  this  my  last  will 
and  testament  in  manner  and  form  following;  that  is 
to  say  : 

"  First.  I  commend  my  soul  into  the  hands  of  God 
my  Creator, hopinaj,  and  assuredly  believing,  through 
the  only  merits  of  Jesus  Christ,  my  Saviour,  to  be 
made  partaker  of  life  everlasting:  and  my  body  to 
the  earth,  whereof  it  is  made." 

It  then  proceeds  to  make  the  bequests  enumerated 
below  : 

To  his  dangher  Judith  he  gave  £150  of  lawful 
English  money;  £100  to  be  paid  in  discharge  of  her 
marriage-portion  witiMn  one  year  after  his  decease, 
an  l  the  remaining  £50  upon  her  giving  up  to  her 
fider  sister,  Susanna  Hall,  all  lier  right  in  a  copy  hold 
tenement  and  appurt^^nances,  parcel  of  the  manor  of 
Howington.  To  tlie  said  Judith  he  also  bequeathed 
£150  niore,  if  she  or  any  of  her  issue  were  living 
three  years  from  the  date  of  his  will ;  but,  in  the 
contrary  event,  then  he  directed  that  £100  of  the 
sum  should  be  paid  to  his  niece,  Elizabeth  Hall,  and 
I  he  proceeds  of  the  £50  to  his  sister  Joan,  or  Jone 
Hart,  for  life,  with  residue  to  her  children.  He 
further  gave  to  the  said  Judith  a  broad  silver-gilt 
bowl.  To  his  sister  Joan,  beside  the  contingent 
bequest  above  mentioned,  he  gave  £20  and  all  his 
wearing  apparel ;  also  the  house  in  Stratford,  in 
which  she  was  to  reside  for  her  natural  life,  uader 

he  yearly  rent  of  twelvepence.    To  her  three  sons, 

William  Hart,  Hart,  and  Michael  Hart,  he  gave 

£5  a- piece,  to  be  paid  within  one  year  after  his 
decease.  To  his  grand-daughter,  Elizabeth  Hall, 
he  bequeathed  all  his  plate,  the  silver  bowl  above 
2xcepted.  To  the  poor  of  Stratf  »rd  he  bequeallied 
£iO;  to  Mr.  Thomas  Cole,  his  sword;  to  Thomas 
Russel,  £5;  to  Francis  Collins,  esq.  £13:  QsiSd.; 

0  Hamlet,  (Hammet)  saddler,  £1  :  6*:  ^d.  to  buy 
Bring;  and  a  like  sum,  for  the  same  purpose,  to 
W^ilUam  Reynolds,  gent.  Anthony  Nash^  gent.  John 
Hemynge,  Richard  Burbage,  and  Henry  Cundell, 
his  "  fellows  ;"  also,  twenty  shillings  in  gold  to  his 

Bdsun,  William  Walker,  'lo  his  daughter,  Susanna 
all,  be  beoiv^thed  New  Place,  with  its  appurte- 
nances; two  messuages,  or  tenements,  with  their 
appurtenaoces,  situated  in  Henley-street;  also,  all 
his  ^  barns,  stables,  orchards,  gardens,  lands,  te- 
cemeats,  and  hereditaments  whatsoever,  situate, 
Ijiug,  and  being,  or  to  be  had,  received,  perceived 
cr  takes,  withia  the  towns,  hamlets,  villages,  fields. 


and  grounds  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,  Old  Stratford, 
Bishopton,  and  Welcombe,  or  in  any  of  them,  in  tiic 
said  c<>unty  of  Warwick  ;  and  also,  all  that  mes- 
suage or  tenement,  with  the  appurtenances,  wherein 
one  John  Robinson  dwelleth,  situated,  lying,  and 
being  in  the  Blackfriars,  London,  near  the  Ward- 
robe: and  all  my  other  lands,  tenements,  and 
hereditaments  whatsoever,  to  have  and  to  hold  all 
and  singular  the  said  premises,  with  their  appurte- 
nances, unto  the  said  Susanna  Hall,  for  and  during 
the  term  of  her  natural  life  ;  and,  after  her  decease, 
to  the  first  son  of  her  body,  lawfully  issuing,  and  lo 
the  heirs  male  of  her  said  first  son,  lawfully  issuing; 
and  for  default  of  such  issue,  to  the  second  eon  ot 
her  body,  lawfully  issuing,  and  to  the  heirs  male  of 
the  said  second  son,  lawfully  issuing;"  and  so  Ibrth, 
ag  to  third,  fouith,  fifth,  sixth,  and  seventh  sons  of 
her  body,  and  their  heirs  male  :  "  and  for  default  of 
such  issue,  the  said  premises  to  be  and  remain  to  my 
niece.  Hall,  and  the  heirs  male  of  her  body,  lawfully 
issuing;  and  for  default  of  such  issue,  to  her  daughter 
Judith,  and  the  heirs  male  of  her  body,  lawfully- 
issuing  :  and  for  default  of  such  issue,  to  the  right 
heirs  of  me  the  &aid  William  Shakspeare."  To  the 
said  Susanna  Hall  and  her  husband,  whom  he  ap- 
pointed executors  of  his  will,  under  the  direction  of 
Francis  Collins,  and  Thomas  Russel,  esqrs,  he 
further  bequeathed  all  the  rest  of  his  "  good«,  chat- 
tels, leases,  plate,  jewels,  and  household  stuff  what- 
soever," after  the  payment  of  his  debts,  legacies, 
and  funeral  expenses;  with  the  exception  of  his 
'^second-best  bed,  with  the  furniture^  which  con- 
stituted the  only  bequest  he  made  to  his  wife,  and 
that  by  insertion  alter  the  will  was  written  out. 

A  tew  additional  facts  respecting  Shakspeare's 
family  may  be  acceptable.  His  wife  survived  him 
seven  years,  and  was  buried  between  his  grave  and 
the  north  wall  of  the  chancel,  under  a  stone  inlaid 
with  brass,  and  inscribed  thus : 

"Heere  lyeth  interred  the  bodj^e  of  Anne,  wife  of 
Mr.  William  Shakspeare,  who  departed  this  life  th« 
sixth  day  of  August,  1623,  being  of  the  age  of  aixty- 
seven  yeares." 

It  may  be  supposed  that  the  poet's  marriage  was 
not  productive  of  much  domestic  comfort.  She  dil 
not  reside  with  him  in  London;  their  children  were 
born  very  early  after  their  union  ;  and  we  have  seen 
how  coldly  she  is  noticed  in  the  will. 

The  causes  which  led  to  the  striking  difference 
which  Shakspeare  makes  in  his  testament  between 
his  daughters  are  unknown ;  but  Susanna  is,  evi- 
dently, the  favourite.  Judith  married  Thomas 
Quiney,  a  gentleman  of  good  family,  by  whom  she 
had  three  children,  but  they  died  young,  leaving  no 
posterity.  The  art  of  writing  was  not  among  thia 
lady's  accomplishments,  as  her  mark  appears  to  a 
deed,  still  extant,  accompanied  by  the  explana'toty 
appendage  of  "  Signum  Judith  Shakspeare.^''  Her 
elder  sister  married  Dr.  Hall,  a  physician  of  consi- 
derable reputation.  After  her  father's  death,  she 
resided  with  her  husband  at  New  Place.  She  be- 
came a  widow,  and  was  honoured,  for  some  time, 
with  the  company  of  Henrietta  Maria,  the  queen  of 
Charles  I.  Her  only  child,  Elizabeth  Hall,  the  niece 
mentioned  in  Shakspeare's  will,  continuod  to  reside 
there  when  she  became  lady  Barn  ird.  This  lady, 
though  twice  married,  left  no  children.  She  died  in 
16j9 — 70,  and  in  her  the  family  of  our  bard  becanje 
extinct.  Mrs.  Susanna  Hall  died  in  July,  J649,  ag(  .f 
sixty-six  ;  she  was  buried  at  Stratford,  and  the  ?ol- 
lowing  record  of  her  wit,  piety,  and  humanity,  wa« 
inscribed  on  her  tomb.  The  lines  do  not  uc  r  ap- 
pear on  the  stone,  but  they  have  been  preserved  by 
Dugdaie. 

'  Witty  above  her  «exe,  but  that's  not  all. 
Wise  to  salvation,  was  good  mispress  Hall  : 
Something  of  Shakspeare  was  in  that,  but  thit 
Wholly  of  him  with  whom  she's  now  ia  bl#M. 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPF.ARE. 


Tlien,  passRDger,  liast  ne'er  a  tearc. 
To  weep  w  itlj  her,  that  wept  with  all : 

That  wept,  jet  set  herselfe  to  chcre 
Them  up  with  comforts  cordial)  ? 

Her  love  shi^U  live,  her  mercy  spread, 

When  thou  hast  ne'er  a  tcare  to  shed.* 


We  have  thus,  as  briefly  as  the  importance  of 
sach  a  memoir  would  permit,  gone  over  the  meagre 


hio^aphical  remains  of  the  noblest  dramatic  po« 
the  world  has  ever  predated.  Without  attemptiii| 
to  draw  the  character  of  this  matchless  writer,  vv« 
have,  occasionally,  in  the  conrse  of  our  narrative, 
endeavoured  to  mark  the  feeling  of  respect  and  ad- 
miration by  which  we  are  inHuenced  while  coD" 
templating  the  mighty  f>erformances  of  a  mind 
which,  with  little  assistance  from  education,  sur^ 
passed  all  the  eflbrts  of  ancient  or  modern  genius. 


Ctironologtcal  ^vtftv  of  ^iiaifts(prare*5J  3BramaiE;, 

ON  THE  AUTHORITY  OP  MALONE,  CHALMERS,  AND  DRAKE. 


The  ensuing  enumeration  of  Shakspeare's  dramas, 
with  the  dates  assigned  by  the  most  generally  re- 
ceived authorities,  is  given  merely  as  a  matter  of  cu- 
riosity; for  the  learned  commentators  are  so  much 
at  variance  in  their  chronology,  that  it  deserves 
Uttle  or  no  attention.  Indeed,  when  we  reflect  that 
the  fiist  edition  of  our  author  did  not  appear  till 
several  years  after  his  death,  and  was  then  pub- 
lislied  by  the  players,  who,  it  can  scarcely  be  sup- 
posed, would  pay  any  regard  to  the  order  of  time 
in  their  arrangement  of  the  dramas,  it  must  be  ob- 
vious, that  with  a  very  few  exceptions,  the  dates 
fiven  to  those  compositions  are  purely  conjectural. 


A  cloud  rests  over  Shakspeare's  career  as  an  author, 
which  is  not  now  likely  to  be  dispersed  ;  those  who 
were  most  familiar  with  the  operations  of  his  ex- 
traordinary genius,  seem  to  have  been  hardly  awars 
"  that  he  was  not  for  a  day,  but  for  all  time  they 
paid  their  shillings  and  applauded  his  productions 
on  the  stage,  perhaps,  but  they  had  little  taste  or 
inclination  to  do  thr-m  justice  in  the  closet.  Shak- 
speare  himself  api  ears  to  have  been  remarkably 
careless  of  his  own  fame :  he  produced  his  grea 
works  without  effort,  and  bequeathtM  them  to  hu 
country,  unconscious  of  their  merit,  and  reckless  Oi 
their  fate. 


Malone.  Chalmers 

Pericles   nvt  acknowledc/ed  . 

First  Part  of  King  Henry  VI   1589   .    .    J 589  . 

Second   .   .    ditto  1590   ..    1590  . 

Third     .   .    ditto  1591    .   .    1.595  . 


A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream   1592  .  .  1598 

Comedy  of  Errors   1593  .  .  1591 

Taming  of  the  Shrew   1594  .  .  1598 

Love's  Labour's  Lost    1594  .  .  ]59'2 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona   1595  .  .  1595 

Romeo  and  Juliet   3595  .  .  1592 

Hamlet   1596  .  .  1597 

King  John   1596  .  .  J598 

King  Richard  II   1597  .  .  1595 

King  Richard  III   1597  .  .  1595 

First  Part  of  King  Henry  IV   1597  .  1596 

Second    .    .    ditto   1598  .  .  1597 

Merchant  of  Venice   1598  .  1.597 

All's  well  that  Ends  well   1598  .  .  1599 

King  Henry  V   1599  .  .  1597 

Much  Ado  about  Nothing   1600  .  .  1599 

As  You  Like  It   1600  .  .  1599 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor   1601  .  .  1595 

Kmg  Henry  VIII   1601  ,  .  1613 

Troilus  and  Cressida   1602  .  .  1600 

Measure  for  Measure   1603  .  .  lJi04 

The  Winter's  Tale   1604  ..  1501 

King  Lear.   Id05  ,  ,  1605 

Cymbeline   1505  .  .  1606 

Macbeth   1506  .  1605 

Julius  Caesar   .  1607  .  .  16U7 

Antony  and  Cleopatra   1608  .  .  1608 

Timon  of  Athens   1609  .  .  1601 

Corinlanus   J610  .  .  1609 

Othello   1611  .  .  1614 

The  Tempest   1612  .  .  1613 

Twelfth  Night   1614  .  .  1608 

Titn«  Andronicns.  not  acknowledged  by  these  critics,  nor  indeed  bv  any  author  of  r£eiiH>  k«i 
originally  published  about  1589. 


Drake. 
1590 
1592 
1592 
1592 
1593 
1591 
K94 
1591 
1595 
1593 
1597 
1598 
1596 
1595 
1596 
1593 
1597 
1598 
1598 
1599 
1600 
1601 
1602 
1601 
16  3 
1610 
1601 
1605 
16J6 
1607 
1608 
1602 
H>09 
1612 
1611 
1613 


CONTENTS, 


Bwgraphical  Memoir  of  Shakspeare  «  ▼ 

Chronological  Order  of  Shakspeare's  Dramas   ZIV 

^.^empest   I 

Two  GenMemen  of  Verona.    .       .       ,       ,   "7 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor   33 

/^-^weHth  Night ;  or,  What  you  Will  ,    .       .  53 

Measure  for  Measure.   71 

Mucli  Ado  About  Nofhing.          .       .    92 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream.  .               .       .      .       ....  HI 

Love's  Labour's  Lost   127 

Merchant  of  Venice.   148 

As  \  on  Like  It  ,       .  167 

All's  Well  that  Ends  Well   187 

Taming  of  the  Shrew   208 

W interns  Tale   228 

Comedy  of  Errors.   261 

Macbeth.   265 

King  John   283 

,  —  Richard  II   302 

—  Henry  IV.— Part.  1   323 

—  Henry  IV.— Part.  If   346 

—  Henry  V   370 

—  Henry  VI  —Part.  1   393 

—  Henry  VI.— Part.  II   414 

—  Henry  VI —Pa«^.  Ill   438 

—  Richard  III   461 

—  Henry  VI il   4S9 

Tfoilns  and  Cressida             .       .       ,       ,   5!3 

Timon  of  Athens.    5.'i9 

Coriolanus   558 

Julius  Cffisar     58.5 

Antony  and  Cleopatra.          .       .       »       .       .              ....  GO-1 

Cymbelinft.    iVMi 

Titus  Andronicus.          ...    656 

Pericles,  Prince  of  Tyre                                                                     .  675 

King  Lear   69.'? 

^J{omeo  and  Jnliet    719 

Hamlft,  prince  of  Denmark   742 

Othello.  Moor  of  Venice  ♦      .  771 

Glossary  •«••••••• 

Explanatorj  Nolei.  •...ttX^ 


TEMPEST, 


It  Is  observed  of  The  Tempest,  that  its  plan  is  regular;  (bis  the  author  of  The  Revisal  thinks,  what  I  think  too, 
atcidental  eftect  of  tlie  story,  not  intended  or  regarded  by  our  author.  But,  whatever  might  be  Shakspeare's  intention  io 
forming  or  adopting  the  plot,  he  has  made  it  instrumental  to  the  production  of  many  characters,  diversified  with  boundless 
invention,  and  preserved  with  profound  skill  in  nature,  extensive  knowledge  of  opinions;  and  accurate  obserA  atiou  ol 
life.  In  a  single  drama  are  here  exhibited  princes,  courtiers,  and  sailors,  all  speaking  in  their  real  characters.  There  is 
the  agency  of  airy  spit  its,  and  of  an  earthly  goblin;  the  operations  of  magic,  the  tumults  of  a  sl<Hm,  the  adventurns  ol 
a  desert  island,  the  nnti\e  effusion  of  untaught  atfection,  the  punishment  of  guilt,  and  the  linal  happiness  of  the  pair  foi 
whom  our  passions  and  reason  are  equally  interested.  Johnson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED 


ALONSO.  King  of  Naples. 
SEBASTIAN,  kis  Brother. 
PROSl'EKO,  the  riqhtJuL  Duke  of  Milan. 
ANTONIO,  his  BroUier,  the  usinpiny  Duke  of  Milan. 
FERDINAND.  Son  to  the  King  of  Naples. 
GONZALO,  an  hviest  old  Counsellor  of  Naples. 
ADRIAN,        J  . 
FRANCISCO,  \ 

CALIBAN,  a  savage  and  d" for  wed  Slave, 
TRINCULO,  a  Jester. 


STEPHANO,  a  drunken  Butler. 

Master  of  a  Ship, — Boatswain,— and  3Iarin4r», 

MIRANDA,  Daughter  to  Prospero. 

ARIEL,  an  airy  Spirit. 

IRIS,  , 

CERES,  \ 

JUNO,      >  Spirits. 

Nymphs,  % 

Reapers,  ' 

Other  Spirits  attending  on  Prospero* 


ScENE^ — The  Sea,  with  a  Ship;  afterwards  an  uninhabited  Island. 


ACT  1. 

Scene  1. — On  a  Ship  at  Sea. — A  storm,  with 
thunder  and  liyhtning. 
Enter  a  Ship-master  and  a  Boatswain. 
Master.  Boatswain, — 
Boats.  Here,  master:  What  cheer? 
Master.  Good  :  Speak  to  the  mariners :  fall  to't 
varely,  or  we  run  ourselves  aground :  bestir,  bestir. 

Enter  Mariners.  [Exit. 
Boats.  Heigh,  my  hearts;  cheerly,  cheerly,  my 
hearts ;  yare,  ya;v  :  Take  in  the  top-sail ;  Tend  to 
the  master's  whistle. — Blow  till  thou  burst  thy  wind, 
if  room  enougli ! 

Entsr  Alonso,  Sebastian,  Antonio,  Ferdinand, 
GoNZALO,  and  others. 

Alyn.  Good  Boatswain,  have  care.  Where's  the 
master?    Play  the  men. 

Boats.  I  pray  now,  keep  below. 

Ant.  Where  is  the  master,  Boatswain? 

Boats.  Do  you  not  hear  him?  You  mar  our  la- 
bour; keep  your  cabins:  you  do  assist  the  storm. 

Gon.  Nay,  good,  be  patient. 

Boats.  When  the  sea  is.  Hence !  What  care 
these  roarers  for  the  name  of  king?  To  cabin:  si- 
lence ;  trouble  us  not. 

Gon.  Good;  yet  remember  whom  thou  ha.st  aboard. 

Boats.  None  that  I  more  love  than  myself.  You 
are  a  counsellor;  if  you  can  command  these  ele- 
ments to  silence,  and  work  the  peace  of  the  present, 
we  will  not  hand  a  rope  more;  use  your  authority. 
If  you  cannot,  give  thanks  you  have  lived  so  long, 
and  make  yourself  ready  in  your  cabin  for  the  mis- 
hance  of  the  hour,  if  it  so  hap. — Cheerly,  good 
hearts. — Out  of  our  way,  I  say.  [Exit. 

Gon.  I  have  great  comfort  from  this  fellow  :  me- 
s,  he  hath  no  drowning  mark  upon  him ;  his 
complexion  is  perfect  gallows.  Stand  fast,  good  fate, 
to  his  hanging  I  make  the  rope  of  his  destiny  our 
cable,  for  our  own  doth  little  advantage !  If  he  be  not 
born  to  be  hanged,  our  case  is  miserable.  [Exeunt. 
Re-enter  Boatswain. 

Boats.  Down  with  the  topmast;  yare;  lower, 
l>wer;  bring  her  to  try  with  main  course.  {A  cry 
within.)  A  plague  upon  this  howling !  they  are 
ouder  than  the  weather,  or  our  office. — 

Re-enter  Sebastian,  Antonio,  and  Gonzalo. 
Vet  again  ?  wiiat  do  you  here  ?    Shall  we  give  o'er, 
and  drown?    Have  you  a  mind  to  sink  ? 

Seb.  A  pox  o'  your  throat!  you  bawling,  blas^ 
phemous,  incharitable  dog! 

lioats.  Work  you,  then. 


Ant.  Han?  cur,  hang!  you  whoreson,  insolent 
noise-maker,  we  are  less  afraid  to  be  drowned  than 
thou  art. 

Gon.  I'll  warrant  him  from  drowning ;  though 
the  ship  were  no  stronger  than  a  nut-shell,  and  as 
leaky  as  an  unstaunched  wench. 

Boats.  Lay  her  a-hold,  a-hold ;  set  her  two 
courses;  olfto  sea  again,  lay  her  olf. 

Enter  Mariners,  wet. 
Mar.  All  lost!  to  prayers,  to  prayers !  all  lost 

[Exeunt 

Boats.  What,  nmst  our  mouths  be  cold  ?  [thrm, 

Gon.  The  king  and  prince  at  prayers !  let  us  assist 
For  our  case  is  as  theirs. 

Seb.  I  am  out  of  patience.  [drunkards,— 

Ant.  We  are  merely  cheated  of  our  lives  by 
This  wide-chapped  rascal ; — 'Would,  thou  might'st 
The  washing  often  tides  !  [lie  drowning', 

Gon.  He'll  be  hanged  yet ; 
Though  every  drop  of  water  swear  against  it. 
And  gape  at  wid'st  to  glut  him. 

{A  confused  noise  within.) — Mercy  on  us !  We 
split,  we  split ! — Farewell,  my  wife  and  children  \ 
Farewell,  brother!    We  split,  we  split,  we  split! — 

Ant.  Let's  all  sink  with  the  king.  [Exit. 

Seb.  Let's  take  leave  of  him.  \Exit 

Gon.  Now  would  I  give  a  thousand  furlongs  of 
sea  for  an  acre  of  barren  groimd  ;  long  heath,  brown 
furze,  any  thing:  The  wills  above  be  done!  but  I 
would  fain  die  a  dry  death.  [Exit, 

Scene  II. — The  Islafid :  before  the  Cell  of 
Prospero. 
Enter  Prospero  and  Miranda. 

Mira.  If  hy  your  art,  my  dearest  father,  you  have 
Put  the  wild  waters  in  this  roar,  allay  them : 
The  sky,  it  seems,  would  pour  down  stinking  pitcli, 
But  that  the  sea,  mounting  to  the  welkin's  cheek. 
Dashes  the  fire  out.    O,  t  have  suffered 
With  those  that  I  saw  suft'er!  a  brave  vessel. 
Who  had  no  doubt  some  noble  creatures  in  hor, 
Dash'd  all  to  pieces.    O,  the  cry  did  knock 
Against  my  very  heart!    Poor  souls!  they  perish'di 
Had  I  been  any  god  of  power,  I  would 
Have  sunk  the  sea  within  the  earth,  or  e'er 
It  should  the  good  ship  so  have  swallow'd,  aud 
The  freighting  souls  within  her. 

Pro.  Be  collected 

No  more  amazement:  tell  your  piteoua  heart. 
There's  no  harm  done. 

Mira,  O,  woe  the  day 

Pro,  Vo  harm. 

I  have  done  aothing  but  in  care  of  thee, 


2 


TEMPEST. 


Act  L 


(Of  t'i'ee   rny  dpaii 'ont' !  ihv3e,  my  daughter!;  who 
Art  ignorant  of  what  thou  art,  nought  knowing 
f)f  Vvliet.  ce.  I  aM  ;  uoi  that  J  ar.i  more  better 
.''niaVi  ;Prusj>i?io  tr;astei  of  a  fuU  poor  cell, 
Anci  thy  no  greater  lather. 

Mir  a.  More  to  know 

Did  never  meddle  with  my  thoughts. 

Pro.  'Tis  time 

1  sliould  inform  thee  further.  Lend  thy  hand, 
And  pluck  my  magic  jarnient  from  me. — So; 

{Lays  down  his  mantle.) 
Lie  there  my  art — Wipe  thou  thine  eyes;  have 
comfort. 

The  direful  spectacle  of  the  wreck,  which  touch'd 

The  very  virtue  of  compassion  in  thee, 

I  have  with  such  provision  in  mine  art 

So  safely  ordered,  that  there  is  no  soul — 

No,  not  so  much  perdition  as  an  hair. 

Betid  to  any  creature  in  the  vessel  [down  ; 

Which  thou  heard'st  cry,  which  thou  saw'st  sink.  Sit 

For  thou  must  now  know  further. 

Mira.  You  have  often 

Begun  to  tell  me  what  I  am ;  but  stopp'd. 
And  left  liie  to  a  bootless  inquisition ; 
Concluding,  Stay,  not  yet. — 

Pro.  The  hour's  now  come  ; 

The  very  minute  bids  thee  ope  thine  ear ; 
Obey,  and  be  attentive.    Can'st  thou  remember 
A  time  belbre  we  came  unto  this  cell '? 
I  do  not  think  thou  can'st ;  tor  then  thou  was  not 
Out  three  years  old. 

Mira.  Certainly,  sir,  I  can. 

Pro.  By  what?  by  any  other  house,  or  person  ? 
01"  any  thing  the  image  tell  me,  that 
Hath  kept  with  thv  remembrance. 

Mira.  '  'Tis  far  off; 

And  rathei  like  a  dream  than  an  assurance, 
That  my  remembrance  warrants;    Had  I  not 
Four  or  five  women  once,  that  tended  me?      [is  it. 

Pro.  Thou  had'st,  and  more,  Miranda :  but  how 
That  this  lives  in  thy  mind  ?    VVhat  seest  thou  else 
In  the  dark  backward  and  abysm  of  time  ? 
If  thou  reniember'st  aught,  ere  thou  cam'st  here, 
Mow  thou  cam'st  here,  thou  may'st. 

Mira.  But  that  I  do  not. 

Pro.  Twelve  years  since,  Miranda,  twelve  years 
Thy  father  was  the  duke  of  Milan,  and  [since, 
A  prince  of  power. 

mira.  Sir,  are  not  you  my  father? 

Pro.  Thy  mother  was  a  piece  of  virtue,  and 
She  said — thou  wast  my  daughter;  and  thy  father 
Was  duke  of  Milan ;  and  his  only  heir 
A  princess ;  no  worse  issued. 

Mira.  O,  the  heavens  ! 

What  foul  play  had  we,  that  we  came  from  thence  ? 
Or  blessed  was't,  we  did  ? 

Pro.  Both,  both,  my  girl: 

By  foul  play,  as  thou  say'st,  were  we  heav'd  thence  ; 
But  blessedly  holp  hither. 

Mira.  O,  my  heart  bleeds 

To  tliink  o'  the  teen  that  I  have  turn'd  you  to, 
Whicli  is  from  my  remembrance  !  Please  you,  turther. 

Pro.  My  brotiier,  and  thy  uncle,  call'd  Antonio, — 
1  pray  thee,  mark  me, — that  a  brother  should 
Be  so  perfidious  I — he,  whom  next  thyself. 
Of  all  the  world  I  lov'd,  and  to  him  put 
The  manage  of  my  state  ;  as,  at  that  time. 
Through  all  the  signioriesii*;  was  the  first, 
And  Piospero  the  prime  di;ke ;  being  so  reputed 
In  dignity,  and,  for  the  liberal  arts. 
Without  a  parallel  :  those  being  all  my  study,  ■ 
The  government  I  cast  upon  my  brother, 
And  to  my  state  grew  stranger,  being  transported, 
And  rapt  in  secret  studies.    Thy  false  uncle — 
Dost  thou  attend  me  ? 

Mira.  Sir,  most  heed  fully. 

Pro.  Being  once  perfected  how  to  grant  suits. 
How  to  deny  them;  whom  to  advance,  and  whom 
To  trash  for  over-topping;  new  created  [them, 
The  creatures  that  were  mioe;  I  say,  or  ciiaug  d 


Or  else  new  fof  m'd  them  ;  having  both  the  key 
Of  officer  and  office,  set  all  hearts 
To  what  tune  pleas'd  his  ear  ;  that  now  he  was 
The  ivy,  which  had  hid  my  princely  trunk,  [not, 
And  suck'd  my  verdure  out  on't. — Thou  attend'^* 
I  pray  thee,  mark  me. 

Mira.  O,  good  sir,  T  do. 

Pro.  I  thus  neglecting  wurldly  ends,  all  dedicat« 
To  closeness,  and  the  bettering  of  my  mind 
With  that,  which,  but  by  being  so  retir'd, 
O  er-priz'd  all  popular  rate,  in  my  false  bi  other 
A  wak'd  an  evil  nature  :  and  my  trust. 
Like  a  good  parent,  did  beget  of  liim 
A  falsehood,  in  its  contrary  as  great 
As  my  trust  was  ;  which  had,  indeed,  no  limit, 
A  confidence  sans  bound.    He  being  thus  lorded. 
Not  only  with  what  my  revenue  yielded, 
But  what  my  power  might  else  exact, — like  one. 
Who  having,  unto  truth,  by  telling  of  it. 
Made  such  a  sinner  of  his  memory. 
To  credit  his  own  lie, — he  did  believe 
He  was  the  duke  ;  out  of  the  substitution. 
And  executing  the  outward  lace  of  royalty, 
With  all  prerogative  ; — Hence  his  ambition 
Growing, — Dost  hear  ? 

Mira.       Your  tale,  sir,  would  cure  deafness. 

Pro.  To  have  no  screen  between  this  part  Im» 
play'd. 

And  him  he  play'd  it  for,  he  needs  will  be 
Absolute  Milan :  Me,  poor  man  ! — my  library 
Was  dukedom  large  enough;  of  temporal  royalties 
He  thinks  me  now  incapable  :  confederates 
(So  dry  he  was  ibr  sway)  with  the  king  of  Naples, 
To  give  him  annual  tribute,  do  him  homage; 
Subject  his  coronet  to  the  crown,  and  bend 
The  dukedom,  yet  unbow'd,  (alas!  poor  Milan!) 
To  most  ignoble  stooj)ing. 

Mira.  O,  the  heavens  ! 

Pro.  Mark  his  condition,  and  the  event ;  then  tell 
If  this  might  be  a  brother,  ^n?*, 

Mira.  I  should  sin 

To  think  but  nobly  of  my  grandmother: 
Good  wombs  have  borne  bad  sons. 

Pro.  Now  the  conditioiw 

The  king  of  Naples,  being  an  enemy 
To  me  inveterate,  liearkei  s  my  brother's  suit; 
Which  was,  that  he  in  lieu  o'  tlie  premises, — 
Of  homage,  and  I  know  not  how  much  tribute,— 
Should  presently  extirpate  me  and  mine 
Out  of  the  dukedom  ;  and  confer  fair  Milan, 
With  all  the  honours,  on  my  brother:  Whereon, 
A  treacherous  army  levied,  one  midnight 
Fated  to  the  purpose,  did  Antonio  open 
The  gates  of  Milan  ;  and,  i'the  dead  of  darkness. 
The  ministers  for  the  purpose  hurried  thence 
Me,  and  thy  crying  self. 

Mira.  Alack,  for  pity  J 

I,  not  rememb'ting  how  I  cried  «ut  then. 
Will  cry  it  o'er  again  :  it  is  a  hint. 
That  wrings  mine  eyes. 

Pro.  Hear  a  little  further. 

And  then  I'll  bring  thee  to  the  present  business. 
Which  now's  ujjon  us :  without  the  which,  this  story 
Were  most  impertinent. 

Mira,  Wherefore  did  they  not 

That  hour  destroy  us  ? 

Pro.  Well  demanded,  wench  ; 

My  tale  [jrovokes  that  question.  Dear,  they  durst  not; 
(So  dear  the  love  my  people  bore  me)  nor  set 
A  mark  so  b'oody  on  the  business ;  but 
With  colours  fairer  painted  their  foul  ends. 
In  few,  they  hurried  us  aboard  a  bark  ; 
Bore  MS  some  leagues  to  sea;  where  theyprepai^d 
A  rottt  n  carcass  of  a  boat,  not  rigg'd, 
Nor  tackle,  sail,  nor  mast;  the  very  rats 
Instiiif  tiv ely  had  quit  it:  there  they  hoist  us, 
To  ciy  to  the  sea,  that  roar'd  lo  u'^  ;  to  sigh 
To  the  winds,  whose  })ify,  sighing  back  again. 
Did  us  but  loving  wrong. 

Mira.  Alack !  what  troubU 


Scene  2. 


TEMPEST. 


Was  I  then  to  yot ! 

Pro.  O !  a  chenibim 

Thou  wast,  that  dii  preserve  ine!  Thou  didst  smile, 
Infused  with  a  fortitude  from  heaven, 
When  I  have  deck'd  the  sea  with  drops  full  salt ; 
Under  my  burden  groan'd ;  which  raised  in  me 
An  undergoing  stomach,  to  bear  up 
Against  what  should  ensue. 

Mira.  How  came  we  ashore  ? 

Pro.  By  Providence  divine. 
S^)me  food  we  had,  and  some  fresh  water,  that 
A  noble  Neapolitan,  Gonzalo, 
Out  of  his  charity  (who  being  then  appointed 
Master  of  this  design,)  did  give  us ;  with 
Rich  garments,  linens,  stuffs,  and  necessaries. 
Which  since  have  steaded  much  ;  so  of  his  gentleness, 
Knowing  I  lov'd  my  books,  he  i'urnish'd  me. 
From  my  ovvn  library,  with  volumes  that 
1  priz'd  above  my  dukedom. 

Mira.  'Would  I  might 

But  ever  see  that  man  ! 

Pro.  Now  I  arise  : — 

Sit  still,  and  hear  the  last  of  our  sea-sorrow. 
Here  in  this  island  we  arriv'd  ;  and  here 
Have  I,  thy  school-master,  made  thee  more  profit 
Than  other  princes  can,  that  have  more  time 
For  vainer  hours,  and  tutors  not  so  careful,  fyou,  sir, 

Mira.  Heavens  thank  you  for't !  And  now,  I  pray 
(For  still  'tis  beating  in  my  mind,)  vour  reason 
For  raising  this  sea-storm  ? 

Pro.  Know  thus  far  forth. — 

By  accident  most  strange,  bountiful  Fortune, 
Now  my  dear  lady,  hath  mine  enemies 
Brought  to  this  shore  :  and  by  my  prescience 
I  find  my  zenith  doth  depend  vpon 
A  most  auspicious  star;  whose  influence 
If  now  I  court  not,  but  omit,  my  fortunes 
Will  ever  after  droop. — Here  cease  more  questions  ; 
Thou  art  inclin'd  to  sleep  ;  'tis  a  good  dulness. 
And  giv«  it  way  ; — I  know  thou  can'st  not  choose. 

(Miranda  sleeps.) 
Come  away,  servant,  come :  I  am  ready  now ; 
Approach,  my  Ariel;  come. 

Enter  Ariel. 

An.  All  hail,  great  master!  grave  sir,  hail  !  1  come 
To  ansv^■er  thy  best  pleasure  ;  be't  to  fly, 
To  swim,  to  dive  into  the  fire,  to  ride 
On  the  curi'd  clouds  :  to  thy  strong  bidding,  task 
Ariel,  and  all  his  quality. 

Pro.  Hast  thou,  spirit, 

Perform'd  to  point  the  tempest  that  1  bade  thee  ? 

Ari.  To  every  article. 
I  boarded  the  king's  ship  ;  now  on  the  beak, 
Now  in  the  waist,  the  deck,  in  every  cabin, 
I  flam'd  amazement:  sometimes  I'd  divide. 
And  burn  in  many  places  ;  on  the  top-mast, 
1'he  yards  and  bowsprit,  wonid  I  flame  distinctly, 
'i'lien  meet  and  join  :  .Jove's  lightnings,  the  precursors 
O'  the  dreadful  thunder-claps,  more  momentary 
And  sight  out  running  were  not:  the  fire  and  cracks 
)f  sulphurous  roaring,  the  most  mighty  Neptune 
eem'd  to  besiege,  and  make  his  bold  waves  tremble  ; 
Yea,  his  dread  trident  shake. 

Pro.  My  brave  spirit ! 

Who  was  so  firm,  so  constant,  that  this  coil 
Would  not  infect  his  reason? 

Ari.  *  Not  a  soul 

But  felt  a  fever  of  the  mad,  and  play'd 
Some  tricks  of  desperation  :  all,  but  mariners, 
Plung'd  in  the  foaming  brine,  and  quit  tlie  vef«el.. 
I  hen  all  a-fire  with  me  :  the  king's  son,  Ferdinand, 
With  hair  up-staring,  (then  like  reeds,  not  hair,) 
Was  the  first  man  that  leap'd  ;  cried,  "  Hell  is  empty, 
And  all  the  devils  are  here." 

P.'-o.  Why,  that's  my  spirit ! 

But  was  not  this  nigh  shore  ? 

Ari.  Close  by,  my  nmster. 

Pro.  But  are  they,  A  iel,  sale  ? 

Ari.  Not  a  hair  peris h'd  ; 


On  their  sustaining  garments  not  a  blemish, 
But  fresher  than  beiore  :  and,  as  thou  bad'st  mt. 
In  troops  I  have  dispers'd  tliem  'bout  the  isle 
The  king's  son  have  I  landed  by  himself ; 
Whom  I  left,  cooling  of  the  air  witri  signs 
In  an  odd  angle  of  the  isle  and  sitting, 
His  arms  in  this  sad  knot. 

Pro.  Of  the  king's  ship 

The  mariners,  say,  how  thou  hast  dispos'd, 
And  all  the  rest  o'  the  fleet? 

Ari.  Safely  in  harbour 

Is  the  king's  ship  ;  in  the  deep  nook,  where  one* 
Thou  call'dst  me  up  at  midnight  to  fetch  dew 
From  the  still-vex'd  Bermoothes,  there  she's  hid: 
The  mariners  all  under  hatches stow'd  ; 
whom,  with  a  charm  join'd  to  their  suffer'd  laboar 
1  liave  left  asleep:  and  for  the  rest  o'  the  fleet, 
Which  I  disj  ers'd,  they  all  have  met  again ; 
And  are  upon  the  Mediterranean  flote. 
Bound  sadly  home  for  Naples  ; 
Supposing  that  they  saw  the  king's  ship  wreck'd, 
And  his  great  person  perish. 

Pro.  Ariel,  thy  charge 

Exactly  is  perform'd  ;  but  there's  more  work  : 
What  is  the  time  o"  the  day  ? 

Ari.  Past  the  mid  season. 

Pro.  At  least  two  glasses  :  the  time  'twixt  six  and 
Must  by  us  both  be  spent  most  preciously,  [now, 

Ari.  Is  there  more  toil?  Since  thou  dost  give  me 
pains. 

Let  me  remember  thee  what  thou  hast  promis'd, 
Which  is  not  yet  perform'd  me. 


Pro. 


How 


moody ' 


What  is't  thou  can'st  demand  ? 
Ari.  My  liberty. 

Pro.  Before  the  time  be  out?  no  more. 
Ari.  I  praj  ti;e9 

Remember,  I  have  done  thee  worthy  service  ; 
Told  thee  no  lies,  made  no  mistakings,  serv'd 
Without  or  grudge  or  grumblings :  thou  didst  proniia© 
To  bate  me  a  full  year. 

Pro.  Dost  thou  forget 

From  what  a  torment  I  did  free  thee  ? 
Ari.  No 
Pro.  Thou  dost ;  and  think'st 
It  much  to  tread  the  ooze  of  the  salt  deep  : 
To  run  upon  the  sharp  wind  of  the  nortli^ 
To  do  me  business  in  the  veins  o'  the  earth, 
When  it  is  bak'd  with  frost. 
Ari.  I  do  not,  sir. 

Pro.  Thou  liest,  malignant  thing  I  Hast  thou  forgot 
The  f"ul  witch  Sycorax,  who,  with  age  and  envy, 
Was  grown  into  a  hoop  ?  hast  thou  forgot  her? 
Ari.  No,  sir. 

Pro.  Thou  hast :  where  was  she  born  ? 

speak ;  tell  me. 
Ari.  Sir,  in  Argier. 

Pro.  O,  was  she  so?  I  iiust. 

Once  in  a  month,  recount  what  thou  hast  been, 
Which  thou  forget'st.  This  damn'd  witch,  Sycorax, 
For  mischiefs  manifold,  and  sorceries  terrible 
To  enter  human  hearing,  from  Argier, 
Thou  know'st,  was  banislrd  ;  for  one  thing  si  e  did. 
They  would  not  take  her  life  .  is  not  this  true  ? 
Ari.  Ay,  sir.  [child 
Pro.  This  blue-ey'd  hag  was  hither  brought  witk 
And  here  was  left  by  the  sailors.  Thou,  my  slave, 
As  thou  report'st  thyself,  wast  then  her  servant : 
And,  for  thou  wert  a  spirit  too  delicate 
To  act  h»-r  earthly  and  abhorr'd  commands, 
Refusing  her  grand  bests,  she  did  confine  tl'.e«» 
By  help  of  her  more  potent  ministers, 
And  in  her  most  unmitigabie  rage. 
Into  a  cloven  pine  ;  within  w  liich  rift 
Imprison  d,  thou  did  st  painfully  lemain 
A  dozen  years  ;  within  which  space  she  died. 
And  h  ft  thee  there;  where  thou  did'st  vent  thy  groana 
As  last  as  mill- wheels  strike  :  then  was  this  it.laud, 
(Save  for  the  son  that  she  did  litter  here, 
A  freckled  whelp,  hag-!    ^n,)  not  honour* d  with 


TEMPEST. 


Aci  I 


A  human  shape. 

Ari.  Yes  ;  Caliban,  her  son. 

Pro.  Dull  tiling-,  1  say  so ;  he,  that  Caliban, 
Whom  now  I  keep  in  service.   Thou  best  know'st 
VV^hat  torment  I  did  find  thee  in  :  thy  groans 
Did  make  wolves  howl,  and  penetrate  the  breasts 
( )rever-an<,'ry  bears  ;  it  was  a  torment 
I'o  lay  upon  the  damn'd,  which  Sycorax 
Could  not  again  undo ;  it  was  mine  art. 
When  I  arriv'd,  and  heard  thee,  that  made  gape 
The  pine,  and  let  thee  out. 

An.  I  thank  thee,  master 

Pro.  If  thou  more  murmur'st,  I  will  rend  an  oak. 
And  peg  thee  in  his  knotty  entrails,  till 
Thou  hast  howl'd  away  twelve  winters. 

Ari.  Pardon,  master : 

I  will  be  correspondent  to  command. 
Arid  do  my  spiriting  gently. 

Pro.  Do  so  ;  and  after  two  days 

1  will  discbarge  thee. 

Ari.  That's  my  noble  master 

W^iiat  shall  1  do?  say  what  ?  what  shall  1  do  ? 

Pro.  Go,  make  thyself  like  to  a  nymph  of  the  sea  ; 
Be  subject  to  no  sight  but  mine  :  invisible 
'1\>  every  eye-ball  else.   Go,  take  this  shape. 
And  hitiier  come  in't:  hence,  with  diligence. 

[Exit  Ariel. 

Awake,  dear  heart,  avvake  !  thou  hast  slept  well  ; 

Avvake  ! 

Mira.  The  strangeness  of  your  stoiy  put 
Heaviness  in  me. 

Pro.  Shake  it  oW :  come  on  ; 

We'll  visit  Caliban,  my  slave,  who  never 
Yields  us  kind  answer. 

Mira.  'Tis  a  villain,  sir, 

I  do  not  love  to  look  on. 

Pro.  But,  as  'tis, 

W^e  cannot  miss  him :  he  does  make  our  fire, 
Fetch  in  our  wood,  and  serve  in  offices 
'i'liiit  prorit  us.    What,  ho!  slave!  Caliban  I 
T\un\  earth,  thou  !  speak, 

Cal.  (Within.J  There's  wood  enough  within. 

Pro.  Come  Ibrth,  I  say  :  there's  other  business  for 
Cuine  forth,  thou  tortoise!  when? —  [thee  : 

Re-enter  Arikl,  like  a  water-nymph. 
Fine  apjtarition  !  My  quaint  Ariel, 
Hark  m  thine  ear. 

Ari.  My  lord,  it  shall  be  done.  {Exit. 

Pro.  Thou  poisonous  slave,  got  by  the  devil  himself 
L  pon  thy  wicked  dam,  come  forth  1 
Enter  Caliban. 

Cal.  As  wicked  dew  as  e'er  my  mother  brush'd 
Witii  raven's  feather  front  unwholesome  fen, 
)Vop  on  you  both  I  a  south-east  blow  on  ye, 
A  id  blistt^r  you  all  o'er!  [cramps. 

Pro.  For  this,  be  sure,  to-night  thou  shalt  have 
iSide-stitciies  that  shall  pen  thy  breatli  up  ;  urchins 
Shall,  ibr  tliat  va? t  of  night  thattiiey  may  work. 
All  exercise  on  thee  :  thou  shalt  be  pinch'd 
(Vs  thick  as  honey-combs,  each  pincli  more  stinging 
'I'iian  bees  that  made  tliem. 

Cal.  I  must  eat  my  dinner. 

T  lis  island's  vvmq,  by  Sycorax  my  mother, 
Wnich  thou  tak'st  from  me.  When  thou  cam'st  first 
Thou  sti  ok  st  me,  and  mad'st  much  of  me  •  would'st 
give  me 

\\'';iter  with  berries  in't;  and  teach  me  how 
name  the  bigger  light,  and  how  the  less, 
j'liat  burn  by  day  and  night :  and  then  I  lov'd  thee, 
And  sheu'd  the«  all  th§*qualities  o'  the  isle,     [tile  ; 
1  he  fresh  sprin^js,  brine  pits,  barren  place,  and  fer- 
Ctirsed  be  I  <hal  did  so  I — All  the  charms 
Of  Sycorax,  toa  Is,  beetles,  bats,  light  on  you  ! 
For  I  am  all  the  subjects  that  you  liave, 
\Vhich  first  vvat  mine  own  king  ;  and  here  you  sty  me 
In  this  hard  roc^,  whiles  you  do  keep  from  me 
The  rest  of  tltc  island. 

PrQ.  Thou  most  lying  slave,  [thee. 

Whom stripea  aay  move,  not  kindness:  I  have  us'd 


Filth  as  thou  art,  vvith  human  care  ;  and  lodg'd  the 
In  mine  own  cell,  till  thou  didst  seek  to  violate 
The  honourof  my  child. 

Cal.  O  ho,  O  ho  ! — 'would  it  had  been  done  ' 
Thou  didst  prevent  me  ;  I  had  peopled  else 
This  isle  with  Calibans. 

Pro.  Abhorred  slave. 

Which  any  print  of  goodness  will  not  take. 
Being  capable  of  all  ill !  I  pitied  thee, 
l^ook  pains  to  make  thee  speak,  taught  thee  eachhom 
One  thing  or  other:  when  thou  did'st  not,  savage. 
Know  thine  own  meaning,  but  would'st  gabble  like 
A  thing  most  brutish,  1  endow'd  thy  purposes 
With  words  that  made  them  known  :  but  thy  vile  race, 
Though  thou  did'st  iearn,  had  that  in't,  which  good 
natures 

Could  not  abide  to  be  with  ;  therefore  wast  thou 
Deservedly  confin'd  into  this  rock. 
Who  had'st  deserv'd  more  than  a  prison. 

Cal.  You  taught  me  language;  and  my  profit  on'l 
Is,  I  know  how  to  curse  :  the  red  plague  rid  you, 
For  learning  me  your  language  I 

Pre.  Hag-seed,  hence! 

Fetch  us  in  fuel ;  and  be  quick,  thou  wert  best. 
To  answer  other  business.    Slirug'st  thou,  malice  ? 
If  thou  neglect'st.  or  dost  unwillingly 
What  I  command,  I'll  rack  thee  with  old  crampsj 
Fill  all  thy  bones  with  aches:  make  thee  roar. 
That  beasts  shall  tremble  at  thy  din. 

Cal.  No,  'pray  thee  ! — 
I  must  obey  :  his  art  is  of  such  power,  \^Asi(it 
It  would  control  my  dam's  god,  Setebos, 
And  make  a  vassal  of  him. 

Pro.  So,  slave  :  hence  ! 

{Exit  Caliban^ 

Re-enter  Ariel,  invisible,  playing  and  singing t 
Ferdinand  following  him. 
ARIEL'S  SONG. 
Come  unto  these  yellotv  sands, 

And  then  take  hands  : 
Covrfsied  when  you  have,  and  kiss'd^ 

(  The  ivi/d  tuaves  ivhistj 
Foot  it  j'eatly  here  and  there  ; 
And,  siveet  sprites,  the  burden  bear. 

Hark,  hark'. 
Bur.  Bowgh,  wowgh.  {Dispersedly  ) 

The  ivatch-dogs  bark : 
Bur.  Bowgh,  wowgh.  {Dispersp-dly  ^ 

Hark,  har  !  I  hear 
The  strain  of  strutting  chanticle 
Cry,  Cock-a-doodle-doo. 
Fer  Where  should  this  music  be?  i'  the  air  « 
the  earth  ? 

It  sounds  no  more  : — and  sure,  it  waits  upon 
Some  god  of  tlie  island.    Sitting  on  a  bank. 
VVeeping  again  the  king  my  father's  wreck, 
This  music  crept  by  me  upon  the  waters ; 
Allaying  both  their  Airy,  and  my  passion. 
With  its  sweet  air  :  thence  1  have  follow'd  it, 
Oi-  it  hath  drawn  me  rather  : — But  'tis  gone. 
No,  it  begins  again. 

Ariel  sings. 
Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies  ; 

Of  his  bones  are  coral  made  ; 
Those  are  pearls  that  ivere  his  eyps 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade, 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea  change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange. 
Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell : 
Hark  !  now  I  hear  them. — ding-dong,  beii. 

[Burden,  ding-dong 
Fer.  The  ditty  does  remember  my  drown'd  father: 
This  i?  no  mortal  business,  nor  no  scMmd 
That  the  earth  owes: — I  hear  ii  now  above  me. 

Pro.  The  i'ringed  curtains  of  thine  eye  advance. 
And  say,  what  thou  seest  yond', 

Mira.  What  is't?  a  spirit? 

Lord,  how  it  looks  about '  Believe  me,  s.T, 


Scene  2. 


TEMPEST. 


8 


It  carries  a  brave  fdrni : — But  'tis  a  spirit,  [senses 

Pro.  No,  wench  ;  it  eats  and  sleeps,  and  hath  such 
As  we  liave,  such  :  this  gallant,  which  thou  seest, 
Was  iu  the  wreck;  and  but  he's  something  stain'd 
With  grief,  that's  beauty's  canker,  thou  might'stcall 
A.  goodly  person  :  he  hath  lost  his  fellows,  [him 
And  strays  about  to  find  theni. 

Mira.  I  raight  call  him 

A  thing  divine;  for  nothing  natural 
I  ever  saw  so  noble. 

Pro.  It  goes  on,  (Asida.) 

As  my  soul  prompts  it: — Spirit,  fine  spirit!  I'll  free 
Within  two  days  lor  this.  [thee 

Fer.  Most  sure,  the  goddess 

On  whom  these  airs  attend  ! — Vouchsafe  my  prayer 
May  know,  if  you  remain  upon  this  island : 
And  that  you  will  some  good  instruction  give, 
How  I  may  bear  me  here  :  My  prime  request, 
Which  I  do  last  pronounce,  is,  O,  you  wonder ! 
If  you  be  maid  or  no? 

Mira.  No  wonder,  sir; 

But,  certainly  a  maid. 

Fer.  My  language  !  heavens  ! — 

.  am  the  best  of  them  that  speak  this  speech. 
Were  I  but  where  'tis  spoken. 

Pro.  How!  the  best? 

What  wert  thou,  if  the  king  of  Naples  heard  thee? 

Fer.  A  single  thing,  as  I  am  now,  that  wonders 
To  hear  thee  speak  of  Naples.   He  does  hear  me  ; 
And,  that  he  does,  I  weep  :  myself  am  Naples, 
Who  with  mine  eyes,  ne'er  since  at  ebb,  beheld 
The  king  my  father  wreck'd. 

Mira.  Alack,  for  mercy  I 

Fer.  Yes,  faith,  and  all  his  lords;  the  duke  of  Milan 
And  liis  brave  son,  being  twain. 

Pro.  The  duke  of  Milan, 

And  his  more  braver  daughter,  could  control  thee 
Tf  now'twere  fit  to  do't : — At  the  first  sight  {Aside.) 
They  hiive  chang'd  eyes  : — Delicate  Ariel, 
MJ  set  thee  free  for  this! — A  word,  good  sir; 
I  fear  you  have  done  yourself  some  wrong:  A  word. 

Mira.  Why  speaks  my  father  so  ungently  ?  This 
Is  the  third  man  that  e'er  I  saw ;  the  first 
That  e'er  I  sigh'd  for  :  pity  move  ray  father 
To  be  inclin'd  my  way  I 

Fer.  O,  if  a  virgin, 

And  your  atfection  not  gone  forth,  I'll  make  you 
The  queen  of  Naples. 

Pro.  Soft,  sir ;  one  word  more.— 

They  are  both  in  cithers  powers;  but  this  swift 
business 

I  must  uneasy  make,  lest  too  light  winning  {Aside.) 
Make  the  prize  light. — One  word  more;  I  charge 
thee. 

That  thou  attend  me  :  thou  dost  here  usurp 
The  name  thou  ow'st  not;  and  hast  put  thyself 
Upon  this  island;  as  a  spy,  to  win  it 
Worn  me,  the  lord  ou't. 

Fer.  No,  as  I  am  a  man. 

Mir.  There's  nothing  ill  can  dwell  in  such  a  temple: 
If  the  ill  spirit  have  so  fair  an  house, 
Good  things  will  strive  to  dwell  with't. 

Pro.  _         Follow  me.— (To  Ferd.) 

Speak  not  you  for  him  ;  he's  a  traitor. — Come. 
I'll  miinacle  tliy  neck  and  feet  together : 
Sea-water  shalt  thou  drink,  thy  Ibod  shall  be 
The  fresh-brook  muscles,  wither'd  roots,  and  husks 
Wherein  tlie  acorn  cradled.  Follow. 

Fer.  _  No; 

I  will  resist  such  entertainment,  till 
Mine  enenjy  has  more  power.  {He  draws.) 

Mira.  O,  dear  father, 

Make  not  too  rash  a  trial  of  him,  for 
Hf 's  gentle,  and  not  fearful. 

Pro.  What,  I  say, 

My  foot  my  tutor!  Put  thy  sword  up,  traitor; 
Who  mak'st  a  shew,  but  dar'st  not  strike,  thy  con- 
science 

Is  so  possess  d  with  guilt:  come  from  thy  ward; 
War  1  can  here  disarm  thee  with  this  stick. 


And  make  thy  weapon  drop. 

Mira.  Beseech  you,  fattier! 

Pro.  Hence  !  hang  not  on  my  garments. 

Mira.  Sir,  ha>e  pity 

I'll  be  his  surety. 

P*-o.  Silence  .  one  word  more 

Shall  make  me  chide  thee,  if  not  hate  thee.  Whnt  ■ 
An  advocate  for  an  impostor?  hush! 
Thou  think'st,  there  are  no  more  such  shapes  as  he 
Having  seen  but  him  and  Caliban :  Foolish  wench 
To  the  most  of  men  this  is  a  Caliban, 
And  they  to  him  are  angels. 

Mira.  My  affections 

Are  then  most  humble  ;  I  have  no  ambition 
To  see  a  goodlier  man. 

Pro.  •  Come  on  ;  obey  :  {To  Ferd, 

Thy  nerves  are  in  their  infancy  again, 
And  have  no  vigour  in  them. 

Fer.  So  they  are  : 

My  spirits,  as  in  a  dream,  are  all  bound  up. 
My  father's  loss,  the  weakness  which  I  feel, 
The  wreck  of  all  my  friends,  or  this  man's  threats. 
To  whom  I  am  subdued,  are  but  light  to  me, 
Might  I  but  through  my  prison  once  a  day 
Behold  this  maid  :  all  corners  else  o'  the  earth 
Let  liberty  make  use  of;  space  enough 
Have  1  in  such  a  prison. 

Pro.  It  works  : — Come  on. — 

Thou  hast  done  well,  fine  Ariel  I— Follow  me. — 

{To  Ferd.  and  Mir.) 
Hark,  what  thou  else  shalt  do  me.  {To  Ariel.) 

Mira.  Be  of  comf  ort ; 

My  father's  of  a  better  nature,  sir. 
Than  he  appears  by  speech  ;  this  is  unwonted, 
Which  now  came  from  him. 

Pro.  Thou  shnlt  be  as  freo 

As  mountain  winds  :  but  then  exactly  do 
All  points  of  my  command. 

Ari.  To  the  syllable. 

Pro.  C-ome,  follow :  speak  not  for  him.  [Exeunt, 

ACT  II. 

Scene  1. — Another  part  sf  the  Island. 

Enter  Alonso,  Sebastian,  Antonio,  Gonzalo, 
Adrian,  Francisco,  and  others. 

Con.  'Beseech  you,  sir,  be  merry  :  you  have  cause 
(So  have  we  all)  of  joy  ;  for  our  escape 
Is  mucli  beyond  our  loss.  Our  hint  of  woe 
Is  common;  every  day,  some  sailor's  wife, 
The  masters  of  some  merchant,  and  the  merchant, 
Have  just  our  theme  nf  woe  :  but  for  the  miracle, 
I  mean  our  preservation,  few  in  millions 
Can  speak  like  us  :  then  wisely,  good  sir,  weigh 
Our  sorrow  with  our  comfort. 

A  Ion.  Pr'ythee,  peace. 

Seb.  He  receives  comfort  like  cold  porridge. 

Ant.  The  visitor  will  not  give  him  o'er  so. 

Seb.  Look,  he's  winding  up  the  watch  of  his  wit, 
by  and  by  it  will  strike. 

Gon.  Sir,— 

Seh.  One:— Tell. 

Gon.  When  every  grief  is  entertain'd,  that's  offcr'd, 
Comes  to  the  entertainer — 
Seb.  A  dollar. 

Goji.  Dolour  comes  to  him,  indeed ;  you  have 
spoken  truer  than  you  purposed.  [should 
Seb.  Vou  have  taken  it  wiselier  than  I  meant  vos 
Gon.  Therefore,  my  lord, — 
Ant.  Fy,  vJiat  a  spendthrift  is  he  of  bis  tongue  ! 
Alon.  I  pr'ythee,  spare. 
Gon.  Well,  I  have  done  :  But  yet — 
Seb.  He  will  be  talking. 

Ant.  Which  of  them,  he,  or  Adrian  for  a  joot 

wager,  first  begins  to  crow? 
Seb.  The  old  cock. 
Ant.  The  cockrel. 
Seb.  Done  :  The  wager? 
Ant.  A  laughter. 
Seb.  A  match. 


TEMPEST. 


Act  IL 


Adt.  Though  this  island  seera  to  be  desert, — 
SbK  Hi>,  ha,  ha! 
Ant.  So,  you've  pay'd. 

Adr  Uninhabitable,  aud  almost  inaccessible, — 
•S^fc!^  Yet. 
Adi  Yet— 

Ant.  He  could  not  miss  it. 

Adt  .  It  must  needs  be  of  subtle,  tender,  and  de- 
Jicale  temperance. 

Ant.  Temperance  was  a  delicate  wench,  [livered. 

Seh.  Ay,  and  a  subtle;  as  he  most  learnedly  de- 

Adr.  l^he  air  breathes  upon  us  here  most  sweetly. 

Seh.  As  if  it  had  lungs,  and  rotten  ones. 

Ant.  Or,  as  'twere  perfumed  by  a  fen. 

Hon.  Here  is  every  thing  advantageous  to  life. 

Ant.  True  ;  save  means  to^live. 

Seh.  Of  that  there's  none,  or  little.  [green! 

(ion.  How  lush  and  lusty  the  grass  looks!  how 

Ant.  The  ground,  indeed,  is  tawny. 

Seh.  With  an  eye  of  green  in't. 

Ant.  He  misses  not  much. 

Seh.  No  ;  he  doth  but  mistake  the  truth  totally. 

Qon.  But  the  rarity  of  it  is  (which  is  indeed  almost 
(joyond  credit), — 

Seh.  As  many  vouch'd  rarities  are. 

Gun.  That  our  garments  being,  as  they  were, 
drenched  in  the  sea,  hold,  notwithstanding,  their 
freshness,  and  glosses;  being  rather  new  dy'd,  than 
stain'd  with  salt  water. 

Ant.  If  but  one  of  his  pockets  could  speak,  would 
it  not  say,  he  lies? 

Seh.  Ay,  or  very  falsely  pocket  up  his  report. 

Qon.  Methinks,  our  garments  are  now  as  fresh  as 
when  we  put  them  on  first  in  Afric,  at  the  marriage 
of  the  king's  fair  daughter,  Claribel,  to  the  king  of 
7\inis. 

Seh.  'Twas  a  sweet  marriage,  and  we  prosper  well 
iU  our  return. 

Adr.  Tunis  was  never  graced  before  with  such  a 
paragon  to  their  queen. 

Gon.  Not  since  widow  Dido's  time. 

Ant.  Widow?  a  pox  o'  that!  How  came  that 
widow  in?  Widow  Dido! 

Seh.  What  if  he  had  said,  widower  iEneas  too  ? 
good  lord,  how  you  take  it ' 

Adr.  Widow  Dido,  said  you  ?  you  make  me  study 
of  tiiat :  She  was  of  Carthage,  not  of  Tunis. 

Gon.  This  Tunis,  sir,  was  Carthage. 

Adr.  Carthage  ? 

Gon.  I  assure  you,  Carthage. 

Ant.  His  word  is  more  than  the  miraculous  harp. 

Seh.  He  hath  rais'd  the  wall,  and  houses  too. 

Ant.  What  impossible  matter  will  he  make  easy 
next? 

Seh.  I  think  he  will  carry  this  island  home  in  his 
pocket,  aud  give  it  his  son  for  an  apple. 

Ant.  And,  sowing  the  kernels  ol'  it  in  the  sea, 
bring  forth  more  islands. 

Gon.  Ay? 

Ant.  Why,  in  good  time 

Gon.  Sir,  we  were  talking,  that  our  garments  seem 
now  as  fresh,  as  when  we  were  at  Tunis  at  the  mar- 
riage of  your  daughter,  who  is  now  queen. 

Ant.  And  the  rarest  that  e'er  came  there. 

Seh.  'Bate,  I  beseech  you,  widow  Dido. 

Ant.  O,  widow  Dido ;  ay,  widow  Dido, 

Gon.  Is  not,  sir,  my  doublet  as  fresh  as  the  first 
day  I  wore  it?  [  mean,  in  a  sort. 

An^  That  soi  t  was  well  fish'd  for. 

Gon  When  I  wore  it  at  your  daughter's  marriage  ? 

Alon.  You  cram  these  words  into  mine  ears,  against 
The  stomach  of  my  sense.  Would  I  had  never 
Married  my  daughter  there  !  for,  coming  thence. 
My  son  is  lost;  and,  in  my  rate,  she  too, 
Wh'jis  so  far  from  Italy  remov'd, 
J  ne'er  again  shall  see  her.    O  thou  mine  heir 
Of  Naples  and  of  Milan,  what  stra  ige  fish 
Hath  made  his  meal  on  thee  ! 

Fran.  Sir,  he  may  live ; 

I  saw  hitn  beat  tbe  surges  under  him 


And  ride  upon  their  liacks;  he  trod  the  water. 

Whose  enmity  he  flung  aside,  and  breasted 

The  surge  most  swoln  that  met  him  ;  his  bold  head 

'Bove  the  contentious  waves  he  kept,  and  oar'd 

Himself  with  his  good  arms  in  lusty  stroke 

To  the  shore,  that  o'er  his  wave-worn  basis  bow'd 

As  stooping  to  relieve  him  :  I  not  doubt, 

He  came  alive  to  land. 

Alon.  No,  no,  ht's  gone. 

Seh.  Sir,  you  may  thank  yourself  for  this  great  loss 
That  would  not  bless  our  Europe  with  your  daughter 
But  rather  lose  her  to  an  African ; 
Where  she,  at  least,  is  banish'd  from  your  eye. 
Who  hath  cause  to  wet  the  grief  on't 

Alon.  Pr'ythee,  peace. 

Seh.  You  were  kneel'd  to,  and  iraportun'd  other- 
By  all  of  us  ;  and  the  fair  soul  herself  [vvis« 
Weigh'd,  between  lothness  and  obedience,  at 
Which  end  o'  the  beam  she'd  bow.    We  have  lost 
I  fear,  for  ever  :  Milan  and  Naples  have  [your  son, 
More  widows  in  them  of  this  business'  making. 
Than  we  bring  men  to  comfort  them  :  the  fault's 
Your  own. 

Alon.  So  is  the  dearest  of  the  loss. 

Gon.  My  lord  Sebastiaii, 

The  truth  you  speak  doth  lack  some  gentleness. 
And  time  to  speak  it  in ;  you  rub  the  sore. 
When  you  should  bring  the  plaster. 

Seh.  Very  well. 

Ant.  And  most  chirurgeonly. 

Gon.  It  is  foul  weather  in  us  all,  good  sir. 
When  you  are  cloudy. 

Seh.  Foul  weather  ? 

Ant.  Very  foui. 

Gon.  Had  T  plantation  of  this  isle,  my  lord, — 

Ant.  He'd  sow  it  with  nettle-seed. 

Seh.  Or  docks,  or  mallow*. 

Gon.  And  were  the  king  of  it.  What  would  I  do? 

Seh.  'Scape  being  drunk,  for  want  of  wine. 

Gon.  r  the  commonwealth,  I  would  by  contraries 
Execute  all  things:  for  no  kind  of  traffic 
Would  I  admit ;  no  name  of  magistrate ; 
Letters  should  not  be  known  ;  no  use  of  service, 
Of  riches,  or  of  i  overty  ;  no  contracts. 
Successions  ;  bound  of  land,  tilth,  vineyard,  none . 
No  use  of  metal,  corn,  or  wine,  or  oil : 
No  occupation;  all  men  idle,  all; 
And  women  too ;  but  innocent  and  pure  : 
No  sovereignty : — 

Seh.  And  yet  he  would  be  king  on't 

Ant.  The  latter  end  of  his  commonwealth  forgets 
the  beginning. 

Gon.  All  things  in  common  nature  should  produce 
Without  sweat  or  endeavour:  treason,  felony. 
Sword,  pike,  knife,  gun,  or  need  of  any  engine. 
Would  I  not  have :  but  nature  should  bring  forth. 
Of  its  own  kind,  all  foizon,  all  abundance, 
To  feed  my  innocent  people. 

Seh.  No  marrying  among  his  subjects? 

Ant.  None,  man;  all  idle;  whores,  and  knaves. 

Gon.  I  would  with  such  perfection  govern,  sir. 
To  excel  the  golden  age. 

Seh.  '  Save  his  majesty  I 

Ant.  Long  live  Gonzalo ! 

Gon.  And,  do  you  mark  me,  sir? —  fras 

Alon.  Pr'  ythee  no  more  :  thou  dost  talk  nothing  to 

Gon.  I  do  well  believe  your  highness ,  and  did  it 
to  ministe.r  occasion  to  these  ^mtlemea,  who  'ii'e 
of  such  sensible  and  nimble  lung*,  that  they  always 
use  to  laugh  at  nothing. 

Ant.  'Twas  you  we  laugh'd  at. 

Gon.  Who,  in  this  kind  of  merry  fooling,  am  no- 
thing to  you :  so  you  may  continue,  and  laugh  al 
nothing  still. 

Ant.  What  a  blow  was  there  given! 

Seh.  An  it  had  not  fallen  flat-long. 

Gon.  You  are  gentlemen  of  brave  mettle ;  yon 
would  lift  the  moon  out  of  her  sphere,  if  she  wouW 
continue  in  it  five  weeks  without  changing. 

Enter  Ariel  invisihle,  j^^aying  solemn 


J3CENE  1. 


TEMPEST. 


8eb.  We  would  so,  and  then  go  a  bat  fowling. 

^nt.  Nay^  ofood  my  lord,  be  not  angry. 

Gon.  No,  I  warrant  yon;  I  will  not  adventure 
my  discretion  so  weakly.  Will  you  laugh  me  asleep, 
for  I  am  very  heavy  ? 

Ant.  Go  sleep,  and  hear  us. 

(All  sleep  but  Alon.  Seb.  and  Ant ) 

Alon.  What,  all  so  soon  asleep  !  I  wish  mine  eyes 
W^ouid,  with  theniseh  es,  slmt  up  my  thoughts :  I 
They  are  inclin'd  to  do  so.  ["find, 

Seb.  Please  you,  .sir, 

Do  not  omit  the  heavy  offer  of  it: 
It  seldom  visits  .sorrow ;  when  it  doth. 
It  is  a  comforter. 

Ant.  We  two,  my  lord. 

Will  guard  your  person,  while  you  take  your  rest. 
And  watch  your  safety. 

Alon.  Thank  you  :  Wondrous  heavy. — 

[^Alonso  sleeps.    Exit  Ariel. 

Seb.  What  a  strange  drowsiness  possesses  them! 

Ant.  It  is  the  quality  o'  the  climate. 

Seb.  ^     ^  Why 

Doth  it  not  then  our  eye-lids  sink?  I  find  not 
Myself  dispos'd  to  sleep. 

Ant.  Nor  T;  my  spirits  are  nimble. 

They  fell  together  all,  as  by  consent; 
They  dropp'd,  as  by  a  thunder  stroke.  What  might, 
Worthy  Sebastian  ? — O,  what  might  ? — No  more  : — 
And  yet,  methinks,  1  see  it  in  thy  face,  [and 
What  thou  should'st  be :  the  occasion  speaks  thee ; 
My  strong  imagination  sees  a  crown 
Dropping  upon  thy  head. 

Seb.  What,  art  thou  waking? 

Ant.  Do  you  not  hear  me  speak  ? 

Seb.  I  do ;  and,  surely. 

It  is  a  sleepy  language ;  and  thou  speak'st 
Out  of  thy  sleep:  What  is  it  thou  did'st  say? 
This  is  a  strange  repose,  to  be  asleep 
With  eyes  wide  open  ;  standing,  speaking,  moving. 
And  yet  so  fast  asleep. 

Ant.  Noble  Sebastian, 

Thou  let'st  thy  fortune  sleep — die,  rather ;  wink'sl 
Whiles  thou  art  waking. 

Seb.  Thou  dost  snore  distinctly ; 

There's  meaning  in  thy  snores. 

Ant.  I  am  more  serious  than  my  custom :  you 
Must  be  so  too,  if  heed  me  ;  which  to  do, 
Trebles  thee  o'er. 

Seb.  Well ;  I  am  standing  water. 

Ant.  I'll  teach  you  how  to  flow. 

Seb.  Do  so :  to  ebb. 

Hereditary  sloth  instructs  me. 

Ant.  O, 
If  you  but  knew,  how  you  the  purpose  cherish. 
Whiles  thus  you  mock  it!  how,  in  stripping  it, 
You  more  invest  it!  Ebbing  men,  indeed, 
Most  often  do  so  near  the  bottom  run, 
By  their  own  fear,  or  sloth. 

Seb.  Pr'ythee,  say  on  : 

The  setting  of  thine  eye,  and  cheek,  proclaim 
A  matter  from  thee ;  and  a  birth,  indeed. 
Which  throes  thee  much  to  yield. 

Ant.  Thus,  sir: 

Although  this  lord  of  weak  remembrance,  this 
(Who  shall  be  of  as  little  memory, 
Wlien  he  is  earth'd,)  hath  here  almost  persuaded 
(For  he's  a  spirit  of  persuasion  only,) 
The  king  his  son's  alive  ;  'tis  as  impossible 
That  he's  undrown'd,  as  he  that  sleeps  here,  swims. 

Seb.  I  have  no  hope 
That  he's  undrown'd. 

J^nt.  O,  out  of  that  no  hope. 

What  great  hope  have  you  !  No  hope,  that  way,  is 
Another  way  so  high  an  hope,  that  even 
Ambition  cannot  pierce  a  wink  beyond, 
But  doubts  discovery  there.    Will  you  grant,  with 
That  Feidinand  is  drown'd?  [me, 

Seb  He's  gone. 

j^yil^  Then,  tell  me, 

Who's  tke  next  heir  of  Naples? 


Seb.  ^  ^  Claribel- 

^  Ant.  She,  that  is  queen  of  Tunis  ;  she,  that  oTnt-IIf 
Ten  leagues  beyond  man's  lilo  ;  she,  that  fromNaplei» 
Can  have  no  note,  unless  the  sun  were  post, 
(The  man  i'  the  moon's  too  slow,)  till  new  born  chin* 
Be  rough  and  razorable  ;  she,  from  whom 
We  were  all  sea-swallow'd,  though  some  cast  agaii*! 
And  by  that  destin'd  to  perform  an  act. 
Whereof  what's  past  is  prologue  ;  what  to  come. 
In  yours  and  my  discharge. 

Seb.  What  stufT  is  this  ? — How  «-ay  you  T 

Tis  true,  my  brother's  daughter's  queen  of  Tunia: 
So  is  she  heir  of  Naples  ;  twixt  which  regions 
There  is  some  space. 

Ant.  A  space  whose  every  cubit 

Seems  to  cry  out.  How  shall  thai  Ciaribel 
Measure  us  bach  to  Naples? — Keep  in  Tunis, 
And  let  Sebastian  wake ! — Say,  this  were  death 
That  now  hath  seiz'd  them  ;  vvliy,  they  were  no  wors* 
Than  now  they  are  :  there  be,  that  can  rule  Naplea, 
As  well  as  he  that  sleeps ;  lords,  that  can  prate 
As  amply,  and  unnecessarily. 
As  this  Gonzalo;  1  myself  could  make 
A  chough  of  as  deep  chat.    O,  that  you  bore 
The  mind  that  I  do !  what  a  sleep  were  this 
For  your  advancement!  Do  you  understand  meT 

Seb.  Methinks,  I  do. 

Ant.  And  how  does  your  contf  i 

Tender  your  own  good  fortune? 

Seb.  I  remember. 

You  did  supplant  your  brother  Prospero. 

Ant.  True . 

And,  look,  how  well  my  garments  sit  upon  me ; 
Much  feater  than  before  :  My  brother's  servants 
Were  then  my  fellows,  now  they  are  my  n)en. 

Seb.  But,  for  your  conscience — 

Ant.  Ay,  sir;  where  lies  that?  if  it  were  a  kibe, 
'Twould  put  me  to  my  slipper:  but  I  feel  not 
This  deity  in  my  bosom  ;  twenty  consciences, 
That  stand  'twixt  me  and  Milan,  candied  be  thtj. 
And  nielt,  ere  they  molest !  Here  lies  your  brother* 
No  better  than  the  earth  he  lies  upon, 
If  he  were  that  which  now  he's  like  ;  whom  I, 
With  this  obedient  steel,  three  inches  of  it. 
Can  lay  to  bed  lor  ever:  whiles  you  doing  thus, 
To  the  perpetual  wink  f  or  aye  might  put 
This  ancient  morsel,  this  sir  Prudence,  who 
Should  not  upbraid  our  course.    For  all  the  rest 
They'll  take  suggestion,  as  a  cat  laps  milk; 
They'll  tell  the  clock  to  any  business  that 
W e  say  'befits  the  hour. 

Seb.  Thy  case,  dear  friend. 

Shall  be  my  precedent;  as  thou  gotst  Milan, 
I'll  come  by  Naples.    Draw  thy  sword  ;  one  stroke 
Shall  free  thee  from  the  tribute  which  thou  pay'st; 
And  I  the  king  shall  love  thee. 

Ant.  Draw  together: 

And  when  I  rear  my  hand,  do  you  the  like. 
To  fall  it  on  Gonzalo. 

Seb.     '  O,  but  one  word.  {They  converse  apart., 
Music.    Re-enter  Ariel,  invisible. 

Ari.  My  master  through  his  art  foresees  the  danger 
That  these,  his  friends,  are  in;  and  sends  me  forth, 
(For  else  liis  project  dies,)  to  keep  them  living. 

(Sings  in  Gonzalo  s  ear.) 
While  you  hrre  do  snoring  He, 
Open-ry'd  Conspiracy 
His  timt  doth  take: 
If  of  life  vov  keep  a  care. 
Shake  off  sh<r)iber,  and  beware; 
Awake !  Awake  I 

Ant.  Then  let  us  both  be  sudden   {Thry  wake\ 

Gon.  Now,  good  angels,  preserve  the  king! 

Alo'f  Why,  how  now.  ho !  awake!  Wh.v  are  you 
Wherefore  this  ghastly  looking  ?  [drawn  ? 

Q„n  What's  the  matter  f 

Seb.  Whiles  we  stood  here  securing  your  repow 
Even  now,  we  heard  a  hollow  burst  of  bellowing 
Like  bulls,  or  ratlier  lions;  did  it  not  wake  you 
It  struck  mine  ear  most  terribly. 

Alon.  ^  heard  nothing. 


8 


TEMPEST. 


Act  IL 


Ant.  O,  'twas  a  din  to  friglit  a  monster's  ear ; 
To  tn^ke  an  earthquake  I  sure  it  was  the  roar 
Of  a  whole  herd  of  lions. 
A  Ion.  Heard  you  thisj  Oonzalo? 

Gon.  Upon  mine  honour,  sir,  I  heard  a  humnnng. 
And  that  a  strange  one  too,  which  did  awake  me : 
1  sliak'd  yon,  sir,  lud  cry'd  ;  as  mine  eyes  open'd, 
saw  their  weapons  drawn  : — there  was  a  noise, 
'hat's  Verify  :  best  stand  upon  our  guard  ; 
)r  that  we  quit  this  place  :  let's  draw  our  weapons. 
Alon.  Lead  oft' this  ground  ;  and  let's  make  further 
or  my  poor  son  [search 
Gon.  Heavens  keep  him  from  these  beasts ! 

or  he  is,  sure,  i'  the  island. 
Alon.  Lead  away. 

Ari.  Prospero,  my  lord,  shall  know  wliat  I  have 
done  :  [Aside.) 
So,  king,  go  safely  on  to  seek  thy  son.  [Exeunt. 
Scene  II. — Another  part  of  the  Island. 
Enter  Caliban,  with  a  burden  of  wood. 
A  noise  of  thunder  heard. 
Cal.  All  the  infections  that  the  sun  sucks  np 
From  bogs,  fens,  flats,  on  Prosper  fall,  and  make  him 
iiy  inch- meal  a  disease  !    His  spirits  hear  me, 
And  yet  I  needs  must  curse.  But  they'll  nor  pinch. 
Fright  me  with  urchin  shows,  pitch  me  i'  the  mire. 
Nor  lead  me,  like  a  fire-brand, in  the  dark 
Out  of  my  way,  unless  he  bid  tliem ;  but 
For  every  trifle  are  they  set  upon  me : 
Sometime  like  apes,  that  moe  and  chatter  at  me, 
And  a.'ter,  bite  me;  then  like  hedge  hogs,  which 
Lie  tumbling  in  n»)  bare-foot  way,  and  mount 
'J'heir  pricks  at  my  foot  fall ;  sometiaie  am  I 
All  wound  with  adders,  who,  with  cloven  tongues, 
1)  >  hiss  me  into  madness  : — Lo  !  now  !  lo ! 

Enter  Trinculo. 
Here  comes  a  spirit  of  his  ;  and  to  torment  me, 
For  bringing  wood  in  slowly  :  I'll  fall  flat; 
Perchance,  he  will  not  mind  me. 

Trin.  Here's  neither  bush  nor  shrub,  to  bear  oft' 
any  weather  nt  all,  and  another  storm  brewing;  I 
hear  it  sine  '  the  wind :  yond'  same  black  cloud, 
yond"  huge  one,  looks  like  a  foul  bumbard  that 
would  shed  his  liquor.  If  it  should  thunder,  as  it  did 
bel'ore,  I  know  not  where  to  hide  my  head:  yond' 
same  cloud  cannot  choose  but  fall  by  pailfuls. — What 
have  we  iiere  ?  a  man  or  a  fish  ?  Dead  or  alive  ?  A 
fish:  he  smells  like  a  fish;  a  very  ancient  and  fish- 
like sntell ;  a  kind  of,  not  of  the  newest,  Poor-John. 
A  strange  tish :  Were  I  in  England  now  (as  once 
1  was,)  and  had  but  this  fish  painted,  not  a  holyday 
Ibol  there  but  would  give  a  piece  of  silver:  there 
would  this  monster  make  a  man ;  any  strange  beast 
tiiere  makes  a  man:  when  they  will  not  give  a  doit 
.  relieve  a  lame  beggar,  they  will  lay  out  ten  to  see 
a  dead  Indian.  Legg'd  like  a  man !  and  his  fins  like 
arms  !  Warm,  o'  my  troth  '  I  do  now  let  loose  my 
opinion,  hold  it  no  longer ,  this  is  no  fish,  but  an 
islander,  that  hath  lately  sufl'ered  by  a  thunderbolt. 
(Thunder.)  Alas!  the  storm  is  come  again;  my  best 
way  is  to  creep  under  his  gaberdine ;  there  is  no 
other  shelter  hereabout:  Misery  acquaints  a  man 
with  strange  bedfellows.  I  will  here  shroud,  till 
the  dregs  oi'  tlie  storm  be  past. 
Enter  Stephano,  singing ;  a  bottle  in  his  hand. 
Steph.    I  shall  no  more  to  sea,  to  sea, 

Here  shall  I  die  ashore  ; — • 
Tliis  is  a  very  scurvy  tune  to  sing  a  man's  funeral  ; 
Well,  here's  my  comfort.  {Brinks.) 
The  master,  the  swabber,  the  boatswain,  and  I, 

The  gunner,  and  his  mate, 
h^Sd  Mall^  Meg,  and  Marian,  and  Margery, 
But  none  of  us  card  for  Kate : 
For  she  had  a  tongue  with  a  tang, 
Would  cry  lo  a  sailor.  Go  hang  : 
She  lovd  not  the  savour  of  tar  nor  of  pitch,  {itch: 
Yet  a  tailot  might  scratch  her  ivhereer  she  did 
Then  to  sea,  boys,  and  let  her  hung. 


This  IS  a  scurvy  tune  too:  but  nere's  mj  comfort 

{Drinks. 

Cal.  Do  not  torment  me  :  O  ! 

Ste.  What's  the  matter?  Have  we  devils  here? 
Do  you  put  tricks  upon  us  with  savages,  and  men 
of  Inde?  Ha!  I  have  not  'scai)'d  drowning,  to  be 
afeard  now  of  your  four  legs  ;  for  it  hath  been  said 
As  proper  a  man  as  ever  went  on  four  legs,  cannot 
make  him  give  ground  :  and  it  shall  be  said  so  again, 
while  Stephano  breathes  at  nostrils. 

Cal.  The  spirit  tornjents  me  :  O  ! 

Ste.  This  is  some  monster  of  the  isle,  with  fouz 
legs;  who  hath  got,  as  I  take  it,  an  ague:  Wnere 
the  devil  should  he  learn  our  language?  I  will  give 
him  some  relief,  if  it  be  but  for  that,  of  1  can  re 
co\'er  him,  and  keep  him  tame,  and  get  to  Naples 
with  him,  he's  a  present  for  any  emperor  that  ever 
trod  on  neat's-leather. 

Cal.  Do  not  torment  me,  pr'ythee ; 
I'll  bring  my  wood  home  faster. 

Ste.  He's  in  his  fit  now  ;  and  does  not  talk  after 
the  wisest.  He  shall  taste  of  my  bottle:  if  he  have 
never  drunk  wine  afore,  it  will  go  near  to  remove 
his  fit:  if  I  can  recover  him,  and  keep  him  tame,  I 
will  not  take  too  umch  for  him :  he  shall  pay  for  him 
that  hath  him,  and  that  soundly. 

Cal.  Thou  dost  me  yet  but  little  hurt;  thoa  wilt 
Anon,  I  know  it  by  thy  trembling  : 
Now  Prosper  works  upon  thee. 

iS^e.  Come  on  your  ways  ;  o|)en  your  mouth:  here 
is  that  which  will  give  language  to  you,  cat:  open 
your  mouth  :  this  will  shake  your  shaking,  I  :an  tell 
you,  aad  that  soundly  :  you  cannot  tell  who's  vour 
friend  :  open  your  chaps  again. 

Trin.  I  should  know  that  voice :  It  should  be — 
But  he  is  drowned ;  and  these  are  devils  :  O !  de* 
fend  me  I — 

Ste.  Four  legs  and  two  voices;  a  most  delicate 
monster !  His  forward  voice  now  is  to  speak  well 
of  his  friend;  his  backward  voice  is  to  utter  foul 
speeches,  and  to  detract.  If  all  the  wine  in  my 
bottle  will  recover  him,  I  will  help  his  ague  :  Come, 
— Amen  !    I  will  pour  some  in  thy  other  mouth. 

Trin.  Stephano, — 

Ste.  Doth  thy  other  mouth  call  me?  Mercy! 
mercy!  This  is  a  devil,  and  no  monster:  I  will 
leave  him^  I  have  no  long  spoon. 

Trin.  Stephano!— if  thou  beest  Stephano,  touch 
me,  and  speak  to  me;  for  I  am  Trinculo; — be  not 
afeard, — thy  good  friend  Trinculo. 

Ste.  If  thou  beest  Trinculo,  come  forth  ;  I'll  pull 
thee  by  the  lesser  legs:  if  any  be  Trinculo's  legs, 
these  are  they.  Thou  art  very  IMnculo,  indeed. 
How  canist  thou  to  be  the  siege  of  this  moon-calf* 
Can  he  vent  'I'rinculos? 

Trin.  1  took  him  to  be  killed  with  a  thunder- 
stroke: — But  art  thou  not  drowned,  Stephano?  I 
hope  now,  thou  art  not  drowned.  Is  the  storm 
overblown?  I  hid  me  under  the  dead  moon-calf's 
gaberdine,  for  fear  of  the  storni  :  And  art  thou  living, 
Stephano?  O  Stephano,  two  Neapolitans  'scap'd! 

Ste.  Pr'ythee,  do  not  turn  me  about ;  my  stomach 
is  not  constant. 

Cal.  These  be  fine  things,  an  if  they  be  not  sprites 
That's  a  brave  god,  and  bears  celestial  liquor  • 
I  will  kneel  to  him. 

Ste.  How  didst  thou  'scape?  how  cam'st  thcji 
hither?  swear  by  this  bottle,  how  thou  cam'st  hither. 
I  escaped  upon  a  butt  of  sack,  which  the  sailois 
heaved  over-board,  by  this  bottle!  which  1  made 
of  the  bark  of  a  tree,  with  mine  own  hands  since  1 
was  cast  a  shore. 

Cal.  I'll  swear,  upon  that  bottle,  to  be  thy 
True  subject;  for  the  liquor  is  not  earthly. 

Ste.  Here  ;  swear  then  how  thou  escap"dst. 

Ti'in.  Swam  ashore,  man,  like  a  duck;  I  can 
swim  like  a  duck,  I'll  be  sworn. 

Ste.  Here,  k;ss  the  book  :  though  thou  cans/ 
swim  like  a  duck,  thou  art  made  like  a  goose. 

Tt  in.  O  Stephano,  bast  mvi  i"ure-  of  this '/ 


Act  III.    Scene  1. 


TEMPEST. 


Ste.  The  whole  butt,  man  ;  my  cellar  is  in  a  rock 
hv  the  se;i-side,  where  my  wine  is  iiid.  How  now 
moon-calf?  how  does  thine  ague  ? 

Cal,  Hast  thou  not  dropped  from  heaven? 

Ste.  Out  o'  the  moon,  1  do  assure  thee  :  I  was 
the  man  in  the  moon,  when  time  was. 

Cal.  I  have  seen  thee  in  her,  and  I  do  adore  thee  : 
My  mistress  shewed  me  thee,  thy  dog,  and  bush. 

Ste.  Come,  swear  to  that ;  kiss  the  book  :  1  will 
fnrnish  it  anon  with  new  contents  :  swear. 

Trin.  By  this  good  light,  this  is  a  very  shallow 
monster: — I  afeard  of  him? — a  very  weak  monster  : 
— The  ujan  i'  the  moon? — a  most  poor  credulous 
monster  :  Well  drawn,  monster,  in  good  sooth. 

Cal.  I'll  shew  thee  every  fertile  inch  o'  the  island 
And  kiss  thy  foot:  I  pr'ythee,  be  «iiy  god. 

Trin.  By  this  light,  a  most  perfidious  and  drunken 
monster;  when  his  god's  asleep,  he'll  rob  his  bottle, 

Col.  I'll  kiss  thy  foot :  I'll  swear  myself  thy  sub- 

Ste.  Come  on  then  ;  down,  and  swear.  [ject, 

Trin.  I  shall  laugh  myself  to  death  at  this  puppy- 
headed  monster :  A  most  scurvy  monster '  1  could 
find  in  my  heart  to  beat  him, — 

Ste.  Come,  kiss 

Trin.  — but  that  the  poor  monster's  in  drink  :  an 
abominable  monster!  [thee  berries; 

Cal.  I'll  shew  thee  the  best  springs;  I'll  pluck 
ni  fish  for  thee,  and  get  thee  wood  enough. 
\  plague  upon  the  tyrant  that  I  serve  ! 
I'll  bear  him  no  more  sticks,  but  follow  thee, 
I'hou  w<»nd'rous  xwau. 

Trin.  A  most  ridiculous  monster;  to  make  a 
wonder  of  a  poor  drunkard. 

Cal.  I  pr'ythee.  let  me  bring  thee  where  crabs  grow; 
And  I,  with  my  long  nails,  will  dig  thee  pig-nuts 
Shew  thee  a  jay's  nest,  and  instruct  thee  how 
To  snare  the  nimble  marmozet ;  I'll  bring  thee 
To  clust'ring  filberds,  and  sometimes  I'll  get  thee 
Young  sea-mells  from  the  rock.  Wilt  thou  go  with  me'^ 
Ste.  I  pr'ythee  now,  lead  the  way,  without  any 
more  talkitig. — Trinculo,  the  king  and  all  our  com- 
pany else  being  drowned,  we  will  inherit  here. — 
B»re;  bear  my  bottle.  Fellow  Trinculo,  we'll  fill 
him  by  and  by  again. 

Cal.  Farewell,  master  ;  fareivell,  farewell. 

{Sings  drunhenly.) 
Trin.  A  howling  monster;  a  drunken  monster. 
Cal.  No  more  dams  I'll  make  for  fish; 
Nor  fetch  in  firing 
At  requiring, 
Nor  scrape  trenchering,  nor  wash  dish  ; 
'Ban,  'Ban,  Ca — Caliban, 
Has  a  neiv  master — Get  a  new  man. 
Freedom,  hey-day !   hey-day,  freedom !  freedom, 
hey  day,  freedom  ! 
Ste.  O  brave  monster!  lead  the  way.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — Before  Prosperous  Cell. 
Enter  Ferdinand,  bearing  a  log. 
Ver.  There  be  some  sports  are  painful ;  but  their 
labour 

Delight  in  tiiem  sets  off :  some  kinds  of  baseness 
Are  nobly  undergone  ;  and  most  poor  matters 
Point  to  rich  ends.    This  my  mean  task  would  be 
As  heavy  to  me,  as  'tis  odious  ;  but 
The  mistress,  which  i  serve,  quickens  what's  dead. 
And  makes  my  labours  pleasures  :  O,  she  is 
Ten  times  more  gentle  than  her  father's  crabbed  ; 
And  he's  compo.s'd  of  harshness.    I  must  remove 
Some  thousands  of  these  logs,  and  pile  them  up. 
Upon  a  sore  injunction :  my  sweet  mistress 
Weeps,  when  siie  sees  me  work;  and  says,  such 
Had  ne'er  like  executor.    I  ibrget:  [baseness 
But  these  sweet  thoug  hts  do  even  refresh  my  labours; 
Most  busy  less,  when  I  do  it. 

Enter  Mirand.i  ;  and  Prospero  at  a  distance. 

Mira  Alas,  now !  pray  you, 

Work  not  so  bard  :  I  would,  t/ie  lightning  had 


Burnt  up  those  logs,  that  you  ate  enjoin'd  to  pile! 
Pray,  set  it  down,  and  rest  yoif  •  when  this  bums, 
'Twill  weep  for  having  wearied  you.  My  father 
Is  hard  at  study ;  pray  now,  rest  yourself; 
He's  safe  for  these  three  hours. 

Fer.  O  most  dear  mistres* 

The  sun  will  set,  before  I  shall  discharge 
What  I  must  strive  to  do. 

Mira.        '  If  you'll  sit  dowo, 

I'll  bear  your  logs  the  while  •  Pray  give  me  thati 
I'll  carry  it  to  the  pile. 

Fer.  No,  precious  creature . 

I  had  rather  crack  my  sinews,  break  my  back 
Than  you  should  such  dishonour  undergo, 
While  I  sit  lazy  by. 

Mira.  It  would  become  me 

As  well  as  it  does  you  :  and  I  should  do  it 
With  much  more  ease  ;  for  my  good  w^ll  is  to  it. 
And  yours  against. 

Pro.  Poor  worm  !  thou  art  infected  , 

This  visitation  shews  it. 

Mira.  You  look  wearily,  [me 

Fer.  No,  noble  mistress ;  'tis  fresh  morning  witij 
When  you  are  by  at  night.    I  do  beseech  you, 
(Chiefly,  that  I  might  set  it  in  my  prayers,) 
What  is  your  name  ? 

Mira.  Miranda  : — O  my  father, 

I  have  broke  yoqr  best  to  say  so  I 

Fer.  Admir'd  Miranda. 

Indeed,  the  top  of  admiration  ;  worth 
What's  dearest  to  the  world  !    Full  many  a  lady 
I  ha\  e  ey"d  with  best  regard  ;  and  many  a  time 
The  harmony  of  their  tongues  hath  into  bondage 
Brought  my  too  diligent  ear  :  for  several  virtues 
Have  I  lik'd  several  women;  never  any 
With  so  full  soul,  but  some  defect  in  her 
Did  quarrel  with  the  noblest  grace  she  ow'd. 
And  put  it  to  the  foil :  but  you,  O  you. 
So  perfect,  and  so  peerless,  are  created 
Of  every  creature's  best.  ' 

Mira.  I  do  not  know 

One  of  my  sex ;  no  woman's  face  remember. 
Save,  from  my  glass,  mine  own  ;  nor  have  I  ^een 
More  that  I  may  call  men,  than  you,  good  friend. 
And  my  dear  father  •  how  features  are  abroad, 
I  am  skill-less  of ;  but,  by  my  modesty, 
(The  jewel  in  my  dower,)  I  would  not  wish 
Any  companion  in  the  world  but  you  ; 
Nor  can  imagination  form  a  shape. 
Besides  yourself,  to  like  of  -  but  I  prattle 
Something  too  wildly,  and  my  father's  precepts 
Therein  forget. 

Fer.  I  am,  in  my  condition, 

A  prince,  Miranda;  I  do  think,  a  king; 
(I  would,  not  so!)  and  would  no  more  endure 
This  wooden  slavery,  than  I  would  suffer 
The  flesh-fly  blow  my  mouth. — Hear  my  soul  speaks 
The  very  instant  that  I  saw  you,  did 
My  heart  fly  to  your  service  ;  there  resides. 
To  make  me  slave  to  it ;  and,  for  your  sake, 
Am  I  this  patient  log-man. 

Mira.  Do  you  love  me  ? 

Fer.  O  heaven,  O  earth,  bear  witness  to  this  sound, 
And  crown  what  I  profess  with  kind  event. 
If  I  speak  true  ;  if  hollowly,  invert 
What  best  is  boded  me,  to  mischief!  1, 
Beyond  all  limit  of  what  else  i'  the  world. 
Do  love,  prize,  honour  you. 

Mira.  1  am  a  fool. 

To  weep  at  what  I  am  glad  of. 

Pro.  Fair  encounter 

Of  two  most  rare  affections !    Heavens  rain  grace 
On  that  which  breeds  between  them ! 

Fer.  Wherefore  weep  you? 

Mira.  At  mine  nnworthiness,  that  dare  not  offer 
What  I  desire  to  give;  and  much  less  take, 
What  I  shall  die  to  want:  but  this  is  triiliug; 
And  all  the  more  it  seeks  to  hide  itself. 
The  bigger  bulk  it  shews.    Hence,  'Sashiul  ctumiiigi 
And  prompt  me,  plain  and  holy  inne  fince 


10 


TEMPEST. 


Act  til 


I  am  your  wife,  if  you  will  marry  me  , 
If  not,  I'll  die  your  maid  :  to  be  your  fellow 
You  may  deny  me ;  but  I'll  be  your  servant, 
Whether  you  will  or  no. 

Fet  My  mistress,  dearest, 

And  I  thus  humble  ever. 

Wlira.  My  husband  then  ? 

Fer.  Ay,  witn  a  heart  as  willing 
A  «  bondage  e'er  of"  freedom  :  here's  my  hand. 

Mira  And  mine,  with  my  heart  in"t  :  And  now 
farewell, 
Till  half  an  hour  hence. 

Fer.  A  thousand  !  thousand  ! 

[Exeunt  Fer.  and  Mir. 

Pro.  So  glad  of  this  as  they,  I  cannot  be. 
Who  are  siirpris'd  with  all  ;  but  my  rejoicing 
At  nothing  can  be  more.    L'U  to  my  book ; 
For  yet,  ere  supper  time,  must  I  perform 
Much  business  appertaining.  [Exit. 

Scene  II. — Another  part  of  ike  Island. 
Enter  Stephano  and  Trinculo  ;  Caliban  fol- 
lowing, tvit/i  a  bottle. 

Ste.  Tell  not  me ; — when  the  butt  is  out,  we  will 
drink  water;  not  a  drop  before:  therefore  bear  up, 
and  board  'em  :  Servant-monster,  drink  to  me. 

Trin.  Servant-monster?  the  folly  of  this  island! 
They  say,  there's  but  live  upon  this  isle  :  we  are 
three  of  them  ;  if  the  other  two  be  brained  like  us, 
the  state  totters.  , 

Ste.  Drink,  servant- monster,  when  I  bid  thee; 
thy  eyes  are  almost  set  in  tliy  head. 

Trin.  Where  should  they  be  set  else?  he  were  a 
braipe  monster  indeed,  if  th-.  y  were  set  in  his  tail. 

Ste.  My  man-monster  }>ath  drowned  his  tongue 
in  sack  :  for  my  part,  the  sea  cannot  drown  me  :  I 
swam,  ere  I  could  recover  the  shore,  five-and-thirty 
leagues,  off  and  on,  by  this  light.  Thou  shalt  be  my 
lieutenant,  monster,  or  my  standard.  [standard. 

Trin.    Your  lieutenant,   if  you   list;   he's  no 

Ste.  We'll  not  run,  monsieur  monster, 

Trin.  Nor  go  neither :  but  you'll  lie,  like  dogs ; 
and  yet  say  nothing  neither. 

Ste.  Mooncalf,  speak  once  in  thy  life,  if  thou 
beesta  good  moon-calf 

Cal.  How  does  thy  honour  ?  Let  me  lick  thy  shoe  : 
I'll  not  serve  him,  he  is  not  valiant. 

Trin.  Thou  liest,  most  ignorant  monster;  I  am 
in  case  to  justle  a  constable.  Why,  thou  deboshed 
fish  thou,  was  there  ever  a  man  a  coward  that  hath 
drunk  so  much  sack  as  I  to-day?  Wilt  thou  tell  a 
monstrous  lie,  being  but  half  a  fish,  and  half  a 
monster  ? 

Cal.  Lo,  how  he  mocks  me !  wilt  thou  let  him, 
my  lord  ? 

Trin.  Lord,  quoth  he! — that  a  monster  should 
be  such  a  natural! 

Cal.  Lo,  lo,  again !  bite  him  to  death,  I  pr'ythee. 

Ste.  Trinculo,  keep  a  good  tongue  in  your  head  ; 
if  you  prove  a  mutineer,  the  next  tree — The  poor 
monster's  my  subject,  and  he  shall  not  suff'er  in- 
dignity. 

Cat.  I  thank  my  noble  lord.  Wilt  thou  be  pleas'd 
to  hearken  once  again  the  suit  I  made  thee? 

Ste.  Marry  will  I  :  kneel  and  repeat  it;  I  will 
stand,  and  so  shall  Trinculo. 

Enter  Ariel,  invisible. 

Cal.  As  I  told  thee 
Before,  I  am  subject  to  a  tyrant ; 
A  sorcerer,  tnat  by  his  cimning  hath 
Cneated  me  of  this  island. 

Art.  Thou  liest. 

Cal.  Thou  liest,  thou  jesting  monkey,  thou  I 

would  my  valiant  master  would  destroy  thee  : 
I  do  not  lie. 

Ste.  Trinculo,  if  you  trouble  him  any  more  in  his 
tale,  by  this  hand,  I  will  supplant  some  of  your 

Trin.  Why,  I  said  nothing.  [teeth. 

Ste.  Mum  then,  and  no  more. —  [To  Caliban.) 
Proceed. 


Cal.  I  say,  by  si  rcery  he  got  this  isle  , 
From  me  he  got  it.    II'  thy  greatness  will 
Revenge  it  on  him — ibr,  I  know,  thou  dar'st; 
But  this  thing  dare  not. 

Ste.  That's  most  certain. 

Cal.  1'hou  shalt  be  lord  of  it,  and  I'll  serve  thee, 

Ste.  How  now  shall  this  be  compassed?  CnosS 
thou,  bring  me  to  the  party  ? 

Cal.  Yea,  yea,  my  lord  ;  I'll  yield  him  thee  asleep 
Where  thou  may'st  knock  a  nail  in  his  head. 

Ari.  Thou  liest,  thou  canst  not.  [patch  .~- 

Cal.  What  a  pied  ninny's  this?    Thou  scuivy 
I  do  beseech  thy  greatness,  give  him  blows. 
And  take  his  bottle  from  him  ;  when  that's  gone. 
He  shall  drink  nought  but  brine;  ibr  I'll  not  shew 
Where  the  quick  freshes  are.  [hitii 

Ste.  Trinculo,  run  into  no  further  danger :  inter- 
ru,  t  the  monster  one  word  further,  and,  by  this 
hand,  I'M  tnrn  my  mercy  out  of  doors,  and  make  a 
stock-fish  of  thee. 

Trin.  Why,  what  did  I?  I  did  nothing:  I'll  go 
further  off. 


Ste.  Didst  thou  not  say,  he  lied  ? 
Ari.  Thou  liest. 


Ste.  Do  I  so?  take  thou  that.  {Strikes  him.)  As 
you  like  this,  give  me  the  lie  another  time 

Trin.  1  did  not  give  the  lie: — Out  o'  your  wits, 

and  hearing  too  ?  A  pox  o'  your  bottle  !  this  can 

sack,  and  drinking  do. — A  murrain  on  your  monster, 
and  the  devil  take  your  fingers ! 

Cal.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Ste.  Now,  forward  with  your  tale.  Pr'ythee 
stand  further  off. 

Cal.  Beat  him  enough  :  after  a  little  time, 
I'll  beat  him  too. 

Ste.  Stand  further. — Come,  proceed. 

CaJ.  Why,  as  I  told  thee,  'tis  a  custom  with  him 
I'  the  afternoon  to  sleep  :  there  thou  may'st  brain  lum 
Having  first  seiz'd  his  books;  or  with  a  Idg 
Batter  his  skull,  or  paunch  him  with  a  stake, 
Or  cut  his  wezand  with  thy  knife  :  reniernber, 
First  to  possess  his  books  ;  for  without  them 
He's  but  a  sot,  as  I  am,  nor  hatii  not 
One  spirit  to  command  :  they  all  do  hate  him. 
As  rootedly  as  I  :  burn  but  his  books ; 
He  has  brave  utensils,  (for  so  he  calls  them,) 
Which,  when  he  has  a  house,  he'll  deck  withal 
And  that  most  deeply  to  consider,  is 
The  beauty  of  his  daughter;  he  himself 
Calls  her  a  nonpareil :  I  ne'er  saw  woman 
But  only  Sycorax  my  dam,  and  she  ; 
But  she  as  far  surpasseth  Sycorax, 
As  greatest  does  least. 

Ste.  Is  it  so  brave  a  lass* 

Cal.  Ay,  lord  ;  she  will  become  thy  bed,  I  warrant. 
And  bring  thee  forth  brave  brood. 

Ste.  Monster,  I  will  kill  this  man  :  his  daughter 
and  I  will  be  king  and  queen  ;  (  save  our  graces  !  { 
and  Trinculo  and  thyself  shall  be  viceroys  : — Dost 
thou  like  the  plot,  Trinculo? 

Trin.  Excellent. 

Ste.  Give  me  thy  hand ;  I  am  sorry  I  beat  thee 
but,  while  thou  livest,  keep  a  good  tongue  in  thy  head. 

Cal.  Within  this  half  hour  will  he  be  asleep ; 
Wilt  thou  destroy  him  then  ? 

Ste.  Ay,  on  mine  honoui 

Ari.  This  will  1  tell  my  master. 

Cai.  Thou  mak'st  me  merry  :  I  am  full  of  pleasure 
Let  us  be  jocund  :  will  you  troll  the  catch 
You  taught  me  but  while-ere? 

Ste.  At  thy  request,  -monster,  I  will  do  reason^ 
any  reason  :  Come  on,  Trinculo  let  us  sing.  (Siiiga  ) 

Flout  'em,  and  shout  'em ;  and skotit  'em,  and 
Thought  is  free.  [Jiout  'em  ; 

Cal.  Th;it's  not  the  tune. 

{Ariel  plays  the  tune  oi  a  tabor  and  pipe.) 

Ste.  What  is  this  same  ? 

Trin.  This  is  the  tune  of  our  catch,  played  by  tht 
picture  oi' Tsio-body. 


Scene  3. 


TEMPEST. 


11 


Ste.  If  thou  beest  a  man,  shew  thyself  in  thy 
likeness  :  if  tlioti  he  ist  a  devil,  take  it  as  thou  Hst. 

Trin.  O,  forgive  me  my  sins! 

Ste.  He  that  dies,  pays  all  debts  :  I  defy  thee  : — 
Mercy  upon  us ! 

Cat  Art  thou  afeard? 

cste.  No,  monaster,  not  I. 

Cal.  Be  not  afeard  ;  the  isle  is  full  of  noises, 
Sounds,  and  sweet  airs,  that  give  delight,  and  hurt  not. 
Sometimes  a  thousand  twangling  instruments 
Will  hum  about  mine  ears ;  and  sometimes  voices. 
That,  if  I  tKen  had  wak'd  after  long  sleep. 
Will  make  me  slee[)  again  :  and  then,  in  dreaming, 
The  clouds,  methought,  would  open,  and  shew  riches 
Ready  to  drop  upon  me  ;  that,  when  I  wak'd, 
I  cry'd  to  dreani  again, 

Ste.  This  will  prove  a  brave  kingdom  to  me, 
where  I  shall  have  my  music  for  nothing. 

Cal.  When  Prospero  is  destroyed. 

Ste.  That  shall  be  by  and  by  :  I  remember  the 
story.  [and  after,  do  our  work. 

Trin.  The  sound  is  going  away  :  let's  follow  it, 

Ste.  Lead,  monster;  we'll  follow. — I  would,  I 
could  see  this  taborer  :  he  lays  it  on. 

Trin.  Wilt  come  ?  I'll  follow,  Stephano.  [Exeunt. 
Scene  III. — Another  part  of  the  Island. 
Enter  Alonso,  Sebastian,  Antonio,  Gonzalo, 
Adrian,  Francisco,  and  others. 

Gon.  By'r  lakin,  I  can  go  no  further,  sir; 
IVIy  old  bones  ache  :  here's  a  maze  trod,  indeed. 
Through  forth-rights  and  meanders  !   By  your  pa- 
I  nee^s  must  rest  me.  [tience, 

Aiua.  Old  lor^d,  1  cannot  blame  thee, 

Wko  am  myself  attach'd  with  weariness, 
To  the  dulling  of  my  spirits :  sit  down,  and  rest. 
Even  here  I  will  put  off  my  hope,  and  keep  it 
No  longer  ibr  my  flatterer  :  he  is  drown'd, 
Whom  thus  we  stray  to  find ;  and  the  sea  mocks 
Ou!  frustrate  search  on  land.    Well,  let  him  go. 

Ant.  I  am  right  glad  that  he's  so  out  of  hope. 

[Aside  to  Sebastian.  ] 
l>o  not,  for  one  repulse,  forego  the  purpose 
That  you  resolv'd  to  effect. 

Seh.  The  next  advantage 

Will  we  take  thoroughly. 

Ant.  Let  it  be  to-night; 

For,  now  they  are  oppress'd  with  travel,  they 
Will  not,  nor  cannot,  use  such  vigilance. 
As  when  they  are  fresh. 

Seb.  I  say,  to-night :  no  more. 

Solemn  and  strange  music ;  and  Prosper©  above, 

invisible.  Enter  several  strange  Shapes,  bring- 
ing in  a  banquet ;  they  dance  about  it  with  gentle 

actions  of  salutation ;  and,  inviting  the  King, 

§fc.  to  eat.  they  depart. 

Alon.  What  harmony  is  this?  my  good  friends, 

Gon.  Marvellous  sweet  music  1  [hark  ! 

Alon.  G'wG  us  kind  keepers,  heavens!  What 
were  these  ? 

Seb.  A  living  drollery  :  Now  I  will  believe. 
That  there  are  unicorns  ;  that  in  Arabia 
There  is  one  tree,  the  phoenix'  throne;  one  phoenix 
At  this  hour  reigning  there. 

Ant.  I'll  believe  both : 

And  what  does  else  want  credit,  come  to  me, 
And  I'll  be  sworn  'tis  true  ;  Travellers  ne'er  did  lie. 
Though  fools  at  home  condemn  them. 

Gon.  If  in  Naples 

I  should  report  this  now,  would  they  believe  me  ? 
If  I  should  say,  I  saw  such  islanders, 
(For,  certes,  these  are  people  of  the  island,) 
vVho,  though  they  are  of  monstrous  shape,  yet^  note. 
Their  manners  are  more  gentle-kind,  than  of 
Our  human  generation  you  shall  find 
Many,  nay,  almost  any. 

Pro.  Honest  lord. 

Thou  hast  said  well  ,  for  some  of  you  there  present, 
Are  worse  than  devils.  {Aside.) 

Alon.  I  cannot  too  much  muse, 


Such  shapes,  such  gestuie,  and  such  sound  eft* 

pressing 

(Although  they  want  the  use  of  tongue)  a  kinu 
Of  excellent  dumb  discourse. 

Pro.  Praise  in  departing.  [Aside}^ 

Fran.  They  vanish'd  strangely. 

Seb.  No  matter,  sinct 

They  have  left  their  viands  behind  ;  for  we  have 

stomachs. — 
Will't  please  you  taste  of  what  is  here  ? 

A  Ion.  Not  I. 

Gon.  Faith,  sir,  you  need  not  fear.  When  we 
were  boys. 

Who  would  believe  that  there  were  mountaineers, 
Devv-lapp'd  like  bulls,  whose  throats  had  hanging 
at  them 

Wallets  of  flesh  ?  or  that  ti)ere  were  such  men. 
Whose  heads  stood  in  their  breasts?  which  now  we 
Each  putter-out  on  five  for  one,  will  bring  us  [find 
Good  warrant  of. 

Alon.  I  will  stand  to,  and  feed. 

Although  my  last :  no  matter,  since  I  feel 
The  best  is  past: — Brother,  my  lord  the  duke, 
Stand  to,  and  do  as  we. 

Thunder  and  lightning.  Enter  Ariel  lihe  a  harpy 
claps  his  tvings  upon  the  table,  and  with  a  quaint 
device,  the  banquet  va?iishes. 
Ari.  You  are  tliree  tnen  of  sin,  whom  destiny 
(That  hath  to  instrument  this  lower  world. 
And  whatisin't,)  the  never-surfeited  sea 
Hathcaused  tobelch  up;  and  on  this  island 
Where  man  doth  not  inhabit;  you  'mongst  men 
Being  most  unfit  to  live.    I  have  made  you  mad; 

{Seeing  Alon.  Seb.  Q'c.  draw  their  swords.) 
And  even  with  such  like  valoar,  men  hang  and  drowa 
Their  proper  selves.    You  fools  !  I  and  my  fellow 
Are  ministers  of  fate  ;  the  elements. 
Of  whom  your  swords  are  teuiper'd,  may  as  well 
W ound  the  loud  wind**,  or  with  bemock'd-at  stabs 
Kill  tlie  still-closing  waters,  as  diminish 
One  dowle  tliat's  in  my  plume  ;  my  fellow-ministel 
Are  like  invulnerable  :  if  you  could  hurt. 
Your  swords  are  now  too  massy  for  your  strength* 
And  will  not  be  uplifted  :  but,  remember, 
(For  that's  my  business  to  you,)  that  you  three 
From  Milan  did  supplant  good  Prospero, 
Expos'd  unto  the  sea,  which  hath  requit  it 
Him,  and  his  innocent  child :  for  which  foul  deed 
The  powers,  delaying,  not  forgetting,  have 
Incens'd  the  seas  and  shores,  yea,  all  the  creatures 
Against  your  peace  :  thee,  of  thy  son,  Alonso, 
Tliey  have  bereft ;  and  do  pronounce  by  me, 
Ling'ring  perdition  (worse  than  any  death 
Can  be  at  once,)  shall  step  by  step  attend  [froia 
You  and  your  ways;  -.yliose  wraths  to  guard  yoa 
(Which  here,  in  this  most  desolate  isle,  else  falls 
Upon  your  heads,)  is  nothing,  but  heart's  sorrow. 
And  a  clear  life  ensuin-g. 

He  vanishes  in  thunder  :  then,  to  soft  music,  enter 
the  Shapes  again,  and  dance  with  tnops  and 
mowes.  and  carry  out  the  table.         [hast  thou 
Pro.  (Aside.)  Bravely  the  figure  of  this  harpy 
Perform'd,  my  Ariel ;  a  grace  it  had,  devouring  . 
Of  my  instruction  hast  thou  nothing  'bated. 
In  what  thou  hadst  to  say :  so,  with  good  life. 
And  observation  strange,  my  meaner  ministers 
Their  several  kinds  have  done:  my  high  charms  woi  k. 
And  these,  mine  enemies,  are  all  knit  up 
In  their  distractions :  they  now  are  in  my  power; 
And  in  these  fits  I  leave  them,  whilst  I  visit 
Young  Ferdinand,  (whonj  they  suppose  is  drown'd,^ 
And  his  and  my  loved  darling. 

[Exit  Pro.  from  above 
Gon.  V  the  name  of  something  holy,  sir,  why  stan^ 
In  this  strange  stare  ?  f yoa 

Alon.  O,  it  is  monstrous  !  monstrous  I 

Methought,  the  billows  spoke,  and  told  me  of  it; 
The  winds  did  sing  it  to  me ;  and  the  thunder. 
That  dt^ep  yid  dreadful  organ-pipe,  pronounc'd 
The  name  of  Prosper ;  it  dia  oass  my  trespaaSi 


12 


TEMPEST. 


Act  IV 


rherefore  my  son  i'  the  ooze  is  bedded  ;  and 
'11  seek  him  deeper  than  e'er  plummet  sounded. 
And  with  him  there  lie  mudded.  [Exil. 

SeL  But  one  fiend  at  a  time, 

1 11  fight  their  legions  o'er. 

Ant.  I'll  be  thy  second. 

[Exeunt  Seb.  and  Ant. 

Gon.  All  three  of  them  are  desperate  ;  their  great 
Like  poison  given  to  work  a  great  time  after,  [guilt, 
N  )w  'gins  to  bite  the  spirits  : — I  do  beseech  you, 
That  are  of  suppler  joints,  follow  them  swiitiy. 
And  hinder  them  from  what  this  ecstasy 
May  now  provoke  them  to. 

Jict/  Follow,  I  pray  you. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  T. — Before  Prosperous  Cell. 

Enter  Prospero,  Ferdinand,  and  Mrnxmyx. 

Pro.  If  I  have  too  austerely  pu;iish'd  you, 
V^our  compensation  makes  amends  ;  for  I 
Have  gi\en  yoa  here  a  thread  of  mine  own  life, 
Or  tliat,  for  which  I  live  ;  whom  once  again 
I  teud^^r  to  tliy  hand  :  all  thy  vexations 
\\'ere  but  ray  trials  of  thy  love,  and  thou 
Hast  strangely  stood  the  test :  here,  afore  heaven, 
I  ratify  this  my  rich  gift.    O  Ferdinand, 
Du  nut  sinile  at  me,  tliat  I  boast  her  olf, 
l^ur  thou  shalt  find  she  will  outstrip  all  praise. 
Ami  make  it  halt  behind  her. 

Fe?:  1  do  believe  it, 

-Agiiinst  an  oracle. 

Pro.  Then,  as  my  gift,  and  thine  own  acquisition 
VVoitliily  purchas'd,  take  my  daughter;  but 
if  tliou  d«st  break  her  virgin  kuot  before 
All  s;air,timonious  ceremouies  may 
Wish  I'dll  and  holy  rite  be  tnitiister'd, 
No  swtiet  aspersion  shall  tiie  heavens  let  fall 
To  make  this  contract  grow;  but  barren  hate, 
&hO!:r  ey'd  disdain,  and  discord,  shall  bestrew 
Til'"  union  of  your  bed  with  .weeds  so  loathly, 
I'lrit  you  shall  hate  it  both:  therefore,  take  heed. 
As  Hymen's  lamps  shall  light  you. 

Fer.  As  I  hope 

I  'M-  q  liet  days,  fair  issue,  and  long  life, 
W'ltii  sucli  love  as  'tis  now;  the  murkiest  den. 
The  most  opportune  place,  the  strong'st  suggestion 
Oisr  worser  Genius  can,  shall  never  melt 
Alme  honour  into  lust ;  to  take  away 
I'lie  edj^e  of  that  day's  celebration, 
VV'lien  1  shall  tliink,  or  Phoebus'  steeds  are  founder'd. 
Or  iiiglit  kept  chain'd  below. 

Pro.  Fairly  spoke: 

8it.  tnen,  and  talk  with  her,  she  is  thine  own.— 
VV Hat,  Ariel ;  my  industrious  servant,  Ariel ! 
Enter  Ariel. 

An.  What  would  my  potent  master  ?  here  I  am. 

iVo,  Thou  and  thy  meaner  fellows  your  last  service 
Did  worthily  perform  ;  and  I  must  use  you 
fn  such  another  trick :  go,  bring  the  rabble, 
O'er  whom  I  gave  thee  power,  here,  to  this  place  : 
Incite  them  to  quick  motion ;  for  I  must 
Bestow  upon  the  eyes  of  this  young  couple 
Some  vanity  of  mine  art;  it  is  my  promise. 
And  they  expect  it  from  me. 

Ari.  Presently  ? 

Pro  Ay,  with  a  twink. 

Ari.  Before  you  can  say,  Come,  and  go, 
And  bjeathe  twice  ;  and  cry,  so,  so; 
Each  one,  tripping  on  his  toe, 
Will  be  here  with  mop  and  mowe  : 
Do  you  love  me,  master?  no. 

Pro.  Dearly,  my  delicate  Ariel.  Do  not  approach. 
Till  thou  dost  hear  me  call. 

Art.  Well,  I  conceive.  [Exit. 

Pro.  Look,  thou  be  true  :  do  not  give  dalliance 
Too  much  the  rein  :  the  strongest  oaths  are  straw 
»o  thv*  fire  i'  the  blood  :  be  more  abstemious. 
Or  else,  gr'i»d  night,  your  vow  1 


i^er.  I  warr»nt  you,  sir; 

The  white-cold  virgin  snow  noon  mv  heart 
Abates  the  ardour  of  my  liver. 

Pro.  ^  Well.— 

Now  come,  my  Ariel ;  bring  a  corollary, 
Rather  than  want  a  spirit :  appear,  and  pertly.— 
No  tongue  ;  all  eyes  ;  be  silen^  {Soft  music) 

A  Masque.    Enter  Iris 

Ins.  Ceres,  most  bounteous  lady,  thy  rich  leas 
Of  wheat,  rye,  barley,  vetches,  oats,  and  pease  ; 
Thy  turfy  mountains,  where  live  nibbling  sheep, 
And  flat  meads,  thatch'd  with  stover,  tliem  to  keep 
Thy  banks  with  peonied  and  lilied  brims. 
Which  spongy  April  at  thy  best  betrims,  [groves 
To  make  cold  nymphs  chaste  crowns  ;  and  the  brooa 
Whose  shadow  the  dismissed  bachelor  loves. 
Being  lass-lorn  ;  thy  pole-clipt  vineyard  ; 
And  thy  sea-marge,  steril,  and  rocky-hard. 
Where  thou  thyself  dost  air  :  the  queen  o'  the  sky. 
Whose  watery  arch,  and  messenger,  am  I, 
Bids  thee  leave  these  ;  and  with  her  sovereign  grace 
Here  on  this  grass-plot,  in  this  very  place. 
To  come  and  sport :  her  peacocks  fly  amain 
Approach,  rich  Ceres,  her  to  entertain 
Enter  Ceres 

Cer  Hail!  many-colour'd  messenger,  that  ne'et 
Dost  disobey  the  wile  of  Jupiter; 
Who,  with  thy  saffron  wings,  upon  my  flowers 
Difiusest  honey-drops,  refreshing  showers; 
And  with  each  end  of  thy  blue  bow  dost  crown 
My  bosky  acres,  and  my  unshrubb'd  down. 
Rich  scarf  to  my  proud  earth  ;  why  hath  thy  queen 
Summon'd  nie  hither,  to  this  short-grass'd  green? 

Iris.  A  contract  of  true  love  to  celebrate  ; 
And  some  donation  fi-eely  to  estate 
On  the  bless'd  lovers. 

Cer.  Tell  me,  heavenly  bow, 

If  Venus,  or  her  son,  as  tiiou  dost  know. 
Do  now  attend  the  queen  ?  since  they  did  plot 
l^he  means,  that  dusky  Dis  my  daughter  got. 
Her  and  her  blind  boy's  scandal'd  conjpany 
1  have  forsworn. 

Iris.  Of  her  society 

Be  not  afraid  ;  I  met  her  deity 
Cutting  the  clouds  towards  Paphos ;  and  er  son 
Dove-drawn  with  her;  here  thougSit  they  to  have  done 
Some  wanton  charm  upon  tliis  man  and  maid. 
Whose  vows  are  that  no  bed  ride  shall  be  paid 
TiH  Hymen's  torch  be  lighted  :  but  in  vain  ; 
Mars's  hot  minion  is  return'd  again  ; 
Her  waspish-headed  son  has  broke  his  arrows, 
Swears  he  will  shoot  no  more,  but  play  with  sparrows 
And  be  a  boy  right  out. 

Cer.  Highest  queen  of  state, 

Great  Juno  comes ;  I  know  her  by  her  gait. 
Efiter  Juno. 

Jun.  How  does  my  bounteous  sister?  Go  with  m^ 
To  bless  this  twain,  that  they  may  prosperous  be 
And  honour'd  in  their  issue. 

SONG. 

Jun.  Honour,  riches,  marriage-blessing. 
Long  continuance,  and  increashig, 
Hourly  joys  be  still  upon  you  ! 
Juno  sings  her  blessings  on  you. 
Cer,  Earth's  increase,  and  foizon  plenty; 
Bands  and  garners  never  empty  ; 
Vines,  with  clust'rimi  bunches  grom^ng 
Plants,  ivith  goodly  burden  boiving , 
Spring  come  to  you,  at  the  farthest. 
In  the  very  end  of  harvest  1 
Scarcity,  and  want,  shall  shun  you; 
Ceres'  blessing  so  is  on  you. 
Fer.  Tiiis  is  a  most  majestic  vision,  and 
Harmonious  charmingly:  May  I  be  bold 
To  think  these  spirits  ? 

Pro.  Spirits,  which  by  m\»  ai* 

I  have  from  their  confines  call'd  to  enact 
My  present  fancies. 


Scene  1. 

Fer.  Let  me  live  here  ever  ; 

So  rare  a  wonder'd  father,  and  a  wife. 
Make  tliis  place  Paradise.  {Juno  and  Ceres  ivhispvr, 
and  send  Iris  on  employment. ) 

Pro.  Sweet  now,  silence  ; 

hmo  and  Ceres  whisper  seriously  ; 
There's  something  else  to  do:  hush,  and  be  mute, 
Or  else  our  spell  is  marr'd.  [brooks. 

Iris.  You  nymphs,  call'd  Naiads,  of  the  wand'ring 
W^ith  your  sedg'd  crowns,  and  ever  harmless  looks. 
Leave  your  crisp  channels,  and  on  this  green  land 
Answer  your  summons  :  Juno  does  command  : 
Come,  temperate  nymphs,  and  help  to  celebrate 
A  contract  of  true  love  ;  be  not  too  late. 

Enter  certain  Nymphs. 
Yon  stm-burn'd  sicklemen,  of  August  weary. 
Come  hither  from  the  furrow,  and  be  merry; 
Make  holyday  :  yonr  rye-straw  hats  put  on, 
And  these  ftes-i  nymphs  encounter  every  one 
In  country  footing.  * 
Enter  certain  Reapers,  properly  habited:  they 
Join  ivith  the  Nymphs  in  a  graceful  dance ; 
toivards  the  end  whereof  Prospero  starts  sud- 
denly, and  speaks  ;  after  luhich,  to  a  strange, 
hollow,  and  confused  noise,  they  heavily  vanish. 
Pro.  [Aside.)  I  had  forgot  that  Ibul  conspiracy 
Of  the  beast  Caliban,  and:  his  coniederates. 
Against  my  life  ;  the  minute  of  their  plot 
Is  almost  come. — [To  the  Spirits.)  Well  done  ; — 
avoid  ; — no  more.  [passion 
Fer.  This  is  most  strange  :  yonr  father's  in  some 
That  works  him  strongly. 

Mira.  Never  till  this  day. 

Saw  I  him  touch'd  with  anger  so  distemper'd. 

Pro.  Yon  do  look,  my  son,  in  a  niov'd  sort. 
As  if  you  were  dismay'd  :  be  cheerful,  sir: 
Our  revels  ;jow  are  ended  :  these  our  actors. 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air  : 
And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision, 
The  cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
I'he  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Vea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve  ; 
And,  like  this  unsubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind  :  we  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  of,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep. — Sir,  I  am  vex'd  ; 
Bear  with  my  weakness  ;  my  old  brain  is  troubled. 
Be  not  disturb  d  with  my  inhrmity  : 
If  you  he  pleased,  retire  into  my  cell. 
And  there  repose;  a  turn  or  two  I'll  walk. 
To  still  my  beating  naind. 

Fer.  Mira.  We  wish  you  peace. 

iExeunt. 

Pro.  Come  with  a  thought : — I  thank   you : — 
Ariel,  come. 

Enter  Ariel. 
An.  Thy  thoughts  I  cleave  to :  What's  thy  plea- 
Pro.  Spirit,  [sure  ? 
We  must  prepare  to  meet  with  Caliban. 

Ari.  Ay,  my  commander;  when  I  presented  Ceres, 
I  thought  to  have  told  thee  of  it ;  but  I  fear'd. 
Lest  I  might  anger  thee.  [varlets? 
Pro.  Say  again,  where  didst  thou  leave  these 
Ari.  1  told  you,  sir,  they  were  red-hot  with  drink- 
So  full  of  valour,  that  they  smote  the  air  [ing  ; 
For  breathing  in  their  faces  ;  beat  the  ground 
Vor  kissing  of  their  feet :  yet  always  bending 
Toward  their  project  :  then  I  beat  my  tabor, 
At  which,  like  unback'd  colts,  they  prick'd  their  ears, 
^dvanc'd  thf ir  eye  lids,  lifted  up  their  noses, 
\s  they  smelt  music  ;  so  I  charm'd  their  ears. 
That,  calf-like,  they  my  lowing  follow'd,  through 
Tooth'd  briers,  sharp  furzes,  pricking  goss,  and 
thorns, 

Which  enter'd  their  frail  shins  :  at  last  I  left  them 
{.'  the  filthy  mantled  pool  beyond  your  cell. 
There  dancing  up  to  the  chins,  that  the  foul  lake 
O'erstunk  their  feet 


la 

Pro.  This  was  well  done,  my  bin! 

Thy  shape  invisible  retain  thou  still : 

7^he  trumpery  in  my  house,  go,  bring  it  hither. 

For  stale  to  catch  these  thieves. 

Ari.  I  go,  1  go.  [Exit. 

Pro.  A  devil,  a  born  devil,  on  whose  nature 
Nurture  can  never  stick  ;  on  whom  my  pains, 
Humanely  taken,  all,  all  lost,  quite  lost, 
And  as,  with  age,  his  body  uglier  grows. 
So  his  mind  cankers   I  will  plague  them  all. 
Re-enter ARiEL,loade7i  with  glistering  apparel,^  c 
Even  to  roaring  : — Come,  hang  them  on  this  line. 

{Prospero  and  Ariel  remain  invisible.} 
Enter  Caliban,  Steph.\no,  ««t/TRiNCULO,  all  wet 

Cal.  Pray  you,  tread  softly,  that  the  blind  mole 
may  not 

Hear  a  foot  fall  :  we  now  are  near  his  cell. 

Ste.  Monster,  your  fairy,  which,  you  say,  is  a 
harmless  fairy,  has  done  little  better  than  played  the 
Jack  with  us. 

Trin.  Monster,  I  do  smell  all  horsc-piss ;  at 
which  my  nose  is  in  great  indignation. 

Ste.  So  is  mine.  Do  you  hear,  monster?  If  I 
should  take  a  displeasure  against  you  ;  look  you, — 

Trin.  Thou  wert  but  a  lost  monster. 

Cal.  Good,  my  lord,  give  me  thy  favour  still 
Be  patient,  for  the  prize  I'll  bring  thee  to  [softly. 
Shall  hoodwink  this  mischance    therefore,  speak 
All's  hush'd  as  midnight  yet. 

Trin.  Ay,  but  to  lose  our  bottles  in  the  pool, — 

Ste.  There  is  not  only  disgrace  and  dishonour  ic 
that,  monster,  but  an  infinite  loss. 

Trin.  That's  more  to  me  than  my  wetting :  yet 
this  is  your  harmless  fairy,  monster. 

Ste.  I  will  fetch  off  my  bottle,  though  I  be  o'er 
ears  for  my  labour. 

Cal.  Pr'ythee,  my  king,  be  quiet:  seest  thou  here 
This  is  the  mouth  o'the  cell :  no  noise,  and  ente'  ; 
Do  that  good  mischief,  which  may  make  this  isliii:,!. 
Thine  own  for  ever,  and  I,  thy  Caliban, 
For  aye  thy  tbot-licker. 

Ste.  Give  me  thy  hand :  I  do  begin  to  have  bl'^ory 
thoughts. 

Trin.  O  king  Stephano!  O  peer  !  O  worthy 
Stephano!  look,  what  a  wardrobe  here  is  for  thee  ! 

Cal.  Let  it  alone,  thou  fool ;  it  is  but  trash. 

Trin.  O,  ho,  monster;  we  know  what  belongs  tc 
a  frippery: — O  king  Stephano ! 

Ste.  Put  oifthat  gown,  Trinculo;  by  this  hand, 
I'll  have  that  gown. 

Trin.  Thy  grace  shall  have  it  [mean, 

Cal.  The  dropsy  drown  this  fool!  what  do  you 
To  doat  thus  on  such  luggage  ?  Let's  along. 
And  do  the  murder  first:  if  he  awake, 
From  toe  to  crown  he'll  fill  our  skins  with  pinches ; 
Make  us  strange  stuff.  * 

Ste.  Be  you  quiet,  monster. — Mistress  line,  is  not 
this  my  jerkin  ?  Now  is  the  jerkin  under  the  line : 
now,  jerkin,  you  are  like  to  lose  your  hair,  and  pro^e 
a  bald  jerkin. 

Trin.  Do,  do .  we  steal  by  line  and  level,  and 
like  your  grace. 

Ste.  1  thank  thee  for  that  jest ;  here's  a  garmen  ■ 
for't,  wit  shall  not  go  unrewarded,  while  I  am  king 
of  this  country  •  Steal  by  lifie  and  level,  is  an  excel- 
lent pass  of  pate  ;  there's  another  garment  fbr't. 

Trin.  Monster,  come,  put  some  lime  upon  your 
fingers,  and  away  with  the  rest. 

Cal.  I  will  have  none  on't :  we  shall  lose  our  time, 
And  all  be  turn'd  to  barnacles,  or  to  apes 
With  foreheads  villanous  low. 

Ste.  Monster,  lay-to  your  fingers;  help  to  near 
this  away,  where  my  hogshead  of  wine  is,  or  I'D 
turn  you  out  of  my  kingdom :  go  to^  carry  this. 

Trin.  And  this. 

Ste.  Ay,  and  this. 
A  noise  of  hunters  heard.  Enter  divers  Spirits  M 

shape  of  hounds,  and  hunt  them  about;  Pro»- 
I    pero  and  Ariel  setting  them  on. 


TEMPEST. 


14 


TEMPEST. 


Act  T 


Pro.  ^ey.  Mountain  hey! 

Art.  Silver  !  there  it  goes,  Silver*. 

P*-o.  Fury,  Fury  !  there,  Tyrant,  there  !  hark, 
hark. !  [Cal.  Ste.  and  Trin.  are  driven  out. 
Go,  charge  my  goblins  that  they  grind  their  joints 
W\i\\  dry  convulsions  ;  shorten  up  their  sinews 
With  aged  cramps  ;  and  more  pinch-spotted  make 
Than  pard,  or  cat  o'  mountain.  [them, 

Ari.  Hark,  they  roar. 

Pro.  Let  them  he  hunted  soundly.   At  this  hour 
Lie  at  my  mercy  all  mine  enemies: 
Shortly  shall  all  my  labours  end,  and  thou 
Shalt  have  the  air  at  freedom  :  for  a  little. 
Follow,  and  do  me  service.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  L — Before  the  Cell  of  Prospero. 
Enter  Prospero  in  his  magic  robes ;  and  Ariel. 

Pro.  Now  does  my  project  gather  to  a  head  : 
My  charms  crack  not;  my  spirits  obey  ;  and  time 
Goes  upright  with  his  carriage.    Bow]s  the  day  ? 

Ari.  On  the  sixth  hour;  at  which  time,  my  lord, 
5fou  said  our  work  should  cease. 

Pro.  I  did  say  so. 

When  first  1  rais'd  the  tempest.    Say,  my  spirit. 
How  fares  the  king  and  his  ? 

Ari.  Confin'd  together 

In  the  same  fashion  as  you  gave  in  charge  , 
Just  as  you  left  them,  sir;  all  prisoners 
In  the  lime  grove,  vvliich  weather-fends  your  cell; 
They  cannot  budge,  till  you  release.    The  king, 
His  brother,  and  yours,  abide  all  three  distracted  ; 
And  the  remainder  mourning  over  them, 
Brim-full  of  sorrow,  and  dismay  ;  but  chiefly 
Him  you  term"d,  sir.  The  good  old  lord  Gonzalo  ; 
His  tears  run  down  his  beard,  like  winter's  drops 
From  eaves  of  reeds  :  your  charm  so  strongly  works 
That  if  yon  now  beheld  them,  your  affections  [them. 
Would  become  tender. 

Pre.  Dost  thou  think  so,  spirit  ? 

Art.  Mine  would,  sir,  were  I  human. 

Pro.  And  mine  shall. 

Hast  thou,  which  art  but  air,  a  touch,  a  feeling, 
Of  their  afflictions  ?  and  shall  not  myself. 
One  of  their  kind,  that  relish  all  as  sharply, 
Passion  as  they,  be  kindlier  mov'd  than  thou  art  ? 
Though  with  their  high  wrongs,  I  am  struck  to  the 
Yet,  with  my  nobler  reason'gainst  my  fury  [quick. 
Do  I  take  part :  the  rarer  action  is 
In  virtue  than  in  vengeance  :  they  being  penitent. 
The  sole  drift  of  my  purpose  doth  extend 
Not  a  frown  further:  Go,  release  them,  Ariel ; 
My  charms  I'll  break,  their  senses  I'll  restore. 
And  they  shall  be  themselves. 

Ari.  I  ll  fetch  them  ,  sir.  [Exit. 

Pro.  Ye  elves  of  hills,  brooks,  standing  lakes,  and 
And  ye,  that  on  the  sands  with  printless  loot  [groves, 
Do  chase  the  ebbing  Neptune,  and  do  fly  him, 
W'hen  he  comes  back;  you  demi-puppets,  that 
By  moon-shine  do  the  green-sour  ringlets  make, 
\V''hereof  the  ewe  not  bites  ;  and  you,  whose  pastime 
Is  to  make  midnight  mushrooms  ;  that  rejoice 
To  hear  the  solemn  curfew  ;  by  whose  aid 
(Weak  masters  though  ye  be,)  1  have  be-dimm'd 
f  he  noon  tide  sun,  call'd  forth  the  mutinous  winds, 
A  nd  'twixt  the  green  sea  and  the  azur'd  vault 
Szt  roaring  war  ;  to  the  dread  rattling  thunder 
Have  I  given  lire,  and  rilted  Jove's  stout  oak 
With  his  own  bolt :  the  strong-bas'd  promontory 
Hive  I  made  shake  ;  and  by  the  spurs  pluck'd  up 
The  pine  and  cedar:  graves,  at  my  command. 
Have  waked  their  sleepers;  oped,  and  let  them  fortt 
By  my  so  potent  art.  But  this  rough  magic 
I  here  abjure:  and,  when  I  have  requir'd 
Sonie  heavenly  music,  (which  even  now  I  do,) 
To  work  mine  end  upon  their  senses,  tha 
This  airy  charm  is  for,  I'll  break  my  stutt" 
Bury  it  certain  fathomi  in  the  earth, 


And  deeper  than  did  ever  plummet  sound, 

I'll  drown  my  book.  (Solemn  music.') 

Re-enter  Ariel  :  after  him  Alonso,  with  a  frantic 

gesture,  attended  by  Gonzalo  ;  Sebastian  ana 

Antonio  in  like  manner,  attended  by  Adrian 

and  Francisco  :  they  all  enter  the  circle  tvkich 

Prospero  had  made,  and  there  stand  charmed  ' 

lohich  Prospero  observing,  speaks. 
A  solemn  air,  and  the  best  comfortei 
To  an  unsettled  fancy,  cure  thy  brains. 
Now  useless,  bsil'd  within  thy  skull !  There  stands 
For  you  are  spell-stopp'd. — 
Holy  Gonzalo,  honourable  man. 
Mine  eyes,  even  sociable  to  the  shew  of  tLine, 
Fall  fellovvly  drops. — The  charm  dissolves  apace  ; 
And  as  the  morning  steals  upon  the  night. 
Melting  the  darkness,  so  their  rising  senses 
Begin  to  chase  the  ignorant  fumes  that  mantle 
Their  clearer  reason. — O  my  good  Gonzalo, 
My  true  preserver,  and  a  loyal  sir 
To  him  thou  follow'st;  I  will  pay  thy  graces 
Home,  both  in  word  and  deed. — Most  cruelly 
Didst  thou,  Alonso,  use  me  and  my  daughter : 
Thy  brother  was  a  furtherer  in  the  act ; — 
Thou'rt  pinch'd  for't  now,  Sebastian. — Flesh  and 
You  brother  mine,  that  entertain'd  ambition,  [blood 
Expell'd  remorse  and  nature  ;  who,  with  Sebastian, 
(Whose  inward  pinches  therefore  are  most  strong,) 
Would  here  have  kill'd  your  king  ;  I  do  forgive  thee. 
Unnatural  though  thou  art ! — Their  understanding 
Begins  to  swell ;  and  the  approaching  tide 
Will  shortly  fill  the  reasonable  shores. 
That  now  lie  foul  and  muddy.    Not  one  of  them. 
That  yet  looks  on  me,  or  would  know  me  : — Ariel 
Fetch  me  the  hat  and  rapier  in  my  cell  •  [Exit  Art 
I  will  dis-case  me,  and  myself  present, 
As  I  was  sometime  Milan  : — quickly,  spirit; 
Thou  shalt  ere  long  be  free.  jp€Tc 
Ariel  re-enters  singing,  and  helps  to  attire  Prm 

Ari.  Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I : 
In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie  : 
There  I  couch  ivhen  oivls  do  cry. 
On  the  bat's  back  I  do  Jiy, 
After  summer,  merrily : 
Merrily,  merrily,  shall  I  live  now, 
Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bougft 

Pro.  Why, that's  my  dainty  Ariel :  1  shall  miss  thee  , 
But  yet  thou  shalt  have  freedom:  so,  so,  so. — 
To  the  king's  ship,  invisible  as  thou  art : 
There  shalt  thou  find  the  mariners  asleep 
Under  the  hatches ;  the  master,  and  the  boatswaiik, 
Being  awake,  enforce  them  to  this  place  ; 
And  presently,  I  pr'ythee. 

Ari.  I  drink  the  air  before  me,  and  return 
Or  e'er  your  pulse  twice  beat.  [Exit 

Gon.  All  torment,  trouble,  wonder,  and  amazement 
Inhabits  here.  Some  heavenly  power  guide  us 
Out  of  this  fearful  country  ! 

Pro.  _    Behold,  sir  king. 

The  wronged  duke  of  Milan,  Prospero  : 
For  more  assurance  that  a  living  prince 
Does  now  speak  to  thee,  I  embrace  thy  body; 
And  to  thee,  and  thy  company,  I  bid 
A  hearty  welcome. 

Alon.  Whe'r  thou  beest  he,  or  no. 

Or  some  enchanted  trifle  to  abuse  me. 
As  late  I  have  been,  I  not  know :  thy  pulse 
Beats,  as  of  flesh  and  blood  ;  and  since  I  saw  the*. 
The  afllictiou  of  my  mind  amends,  with  which, 
I  fear,  a  madness  held  me :  this  must  crave 
(An  if  this  be  at  all,)  a  most  strange  story 
Thy  dukedom  I  resign;  and  do  entreat  fperc 
Thou  pardon  me  my  wrongs  -—But  how  should  Pros' 
Be  living,  and  be  here  ? 

Pro.  First,  noWe  friend, 

Let  me  embrace  thine  age  ;  whose  honour  cannot 
Be  measur'd  or  confin'd. 

Gon.  Whether  this  bo, 

Or  be  not,  I'll  urt  swear 


Scene  1. 

Pro.  /on  do  yet  taste 

Some  subtilties  o'  the  isle,  that  will  not  let  you 
Believe  things  certain. — Welcome,  my  friends  all  • — 
But  you,  my  brace  of  lords,  were  I  so  minded, 

{Aside  to  Seb.  and  Ant.) 
I  here  could  pluck  his  highness'  frown  upon  you, 
And  justify  you  traitors  ;  at  this  time 
I'll  tell  no  tales. 

Seb.  The  devil  speaks  in  him.  {Aside.) 

Pro.  No : — 

For  you,  most  wicked  sir,  whom  to  call  brother 
W^ould  even  infect  my  month,  I  do  forgive 
rhy  rankest  faidt ;  all  of  them  ;  and  require 
My  dukedom  of  thee,  which^perforce,  I  know. 
Thou  must  restore, 

Alon.  If  thou  beest  Prospero, 

Give  us  particulars  of  thy  preservation  : 
How  thou  hast  met  us  here,  who  three  hours  since. 
Were  wreck'd  upon  this  shore ;  where  I  hav  e  lost, 
How  sharp  the  point  jf  this  remembrance  is  ! 
My  dear  sou  Ferdinand. 

Pro.  I  am  woe  for't,  sir. 

Alon.  Irreparable  is  the  loss  ;  and  Patience 
Says  it  is  past  her  cure. 

Pro.  I  rather  tliink, 

7ou  have  not  sought  her  help;  of  whose  soft  grace 
For  the  like  loss,  I  have  her  sovereign  aid. 
And  rest  myself  content. 

Alon.  You  the  like  loss  ? 

Pro.  As  great  to  me,  as  late  ;  and,  portable 
To  nmke  the  dear  less,  have  I  means  much  weaker 
Than  you  may  call  to  comfort  you ;  for  1 
Have  lost  my  daughter. 

Alon.  A  daughter  ? 

0  heavens  !  that  they  were  living  both  in  Naples. 
The  king  and  queen  there  !  that  they  were,  I  wish 
Myself  were  mudded  in  that  oozy  bed  [ter? 
Where  my  son  lies.  When  did  you  lose  yourdaugh- 

Pro.  In  this  last  tempest.  I  perceive,  these  lords 
At  this  encounter  do  so  much  admire, 
That  they  devour  their  reason  ;  and  scarce  think 
Their  eyes  do  offices  of  truth,  their  words 
Are  natural  brea^ii  :  but,  howso'er  you  have 
B?en  justled  I'rom  yo^r  senses,  know  for  certain. 
Tha.  I  am  Prospero,  and  that  very  duke 
VVhich  was  thrust  forth  of  Milan  ;  who  most  strangely 
Upon  this  shore,vvhere  you  were  wreck'd,was  landed. 
To  be  the  lord  on't.    No  more  yet  of  this ; 
For  'tis  a  chronicle  of  day  by  day, 
Not  a  relation  for  a  breakfast,  nor 
Befitting  tliis  first  meeting.    Welcome,  sir; 
This  cell's  my  court  :  here  have  I  few  attendants, 
And  subjects  none  abroad  :  pray  you,  look  in. 
My  dukedom  since  you  iiave  given  me  again, 

1  will  requite  you  with  as  good  a  thing; 

At  least,  bring  forth  a  wonder,  to  content  ye, 
As  nmch  as  me  my  dukedom, 
T/ie  entrance  of  th£  Cell  opens,  and  discovers  Fer- 
dinand and  Miranda  playing  at  chess. 

Mir.  Sweet  lord,  you  play  me  false. 

Per.  No,  my  dearest  love, 

I  would  not  for  the  world. 

Mira.  Yes,  for  a  score  of  kingdoms  you  should 
And  I  would  call  it  fair  play.  [wrangle, 

Alon.  If  this  prove 

A  vision  of  the  island,  one  dear  son 
Siiall  I  twice  lose 

Seb,  A  most  high  miracle  I 

Per.  Though  the  seas  threaten,  they  are  merciful  : 
I  have  curs'd  them  without  cause.  {Fer.  kneels  to  Al.) 

Alon.  Now  all  the  blessings 

Of  a  glad  father  compass  thee  about ! 
Arise,  and  say  how  thou  cam'st  here. 

Mira.  O  !  wonder ! 

How  many  goodly  creatures  are  there  here  ! 
How  beauteous  mankind  is  !    0  brave  new  world. 
That  has  such  people  in't ! 

Pro.  Tis  new  to  thee,  [at  play  ? 

Alon.  What  is  this  maid,  with  whom  thou  wast 


13 

Ycur  eld'st  acquaintance  cannot  be  three  houra: 
Is  she  the  goddess  that  hath  sever'd  us. 
And  brought  us  thus  together  ? 

Fer.   ^  Sir,  she's  monUu* 

But,  by  immortal  Providence,  she's  mine ; 
1  chose  her,  when  I  could  not  ask  my  father 
For  his  advice  ;  nor  thought  I  had  one  :  she 
Is  daughter  to  this  famous  duke  of  Milan, 
Of  whom  soolten  I  have  heard  renown. 
But  never  saw  before  ;  of  whom  I  have 
Received  a  second  life,  and  second  father 
This  lady  makes  him  to  me. 

Alon.  I  am  her's  ; 

But  O,  how  oddly  will  it  sound,  that  I 
Must  ask  my  child  forgiveness  ! 

Pro.  There,  sir,  stop, 

Let  us  not  burden  our  remembrances 
With  a  heaviness  that's  gone, 

Gon.  I  have  inly  wept. 

Or  should  have  spoke  ere  this.  Look  down,  y^"  gods 
And  on  tiiis  couple  drop  a  blessed  crown  ; 
For  it  is  you,  that  have  chalk'd  forth  the  way 
Which  brought  us  hither! 

Alon.  I  say,  Amen,  Gonzalo. 

Gon.  Was  Milan  thrust  from  Milan,  that  his  issu« 
Should  become  kings  of  Naples?  O,  rejoice 
Beyond  a  common  joy  ;  and  set  it  down 
With  gold  on  lasting  pillars:  in  one  voyage 
Did  Claribel  her  husband  find  at  Tunis; 
And  Ferdinand,  her  brother,  found  a  wife, 
W^here  he  himself  was  lost;  Prospero  his  dukedom. 
In  a  poor  isle  :  and  all  of  us,  ourselves, 
W^hen  no  man  was  his  own. 

Alon.    Give  me  your  hands  :  {To  Fer.  and  Mir.) 
Let  grief  and  sorrow  still  embrace  his  heart. 
That  doth  not  wish  you  joy  ! 

Gon.  Be't  so  !  Ament 

Re-enter  Ari£L,  ivith  the  Master  and  Boatswain 
amazedly  following. 

0  look,  sir,  look,  sir;  here  are  more  of  us  ! 

1  prophesied,  if  a  gallows  were  on  land. 

This  fellow  could  not  drown, — Now,  blasphemy, 
That  swear'st  grace  o'erboard,  not  an  oath  on  shore  ? 
Hast  thou  no  month  by  laud?  What  is  the  news? 

Boats.  The  best  news  is,  that  we  have  safely  found 
Our  king  and  company;  the  next,  our  ship, — 
Which,  but  three  glasses  since,  we  gave  out  split, 
Is  tight,  and  yare,  and  bravely  rigg'd,  as  wheu 
We  first  put  out  to  sea. 

Ari.  ^  Sir,  all  this  service  > 

Ha^e  I  done  since  I  went,  \{A$id9.) 

Pro.  My  tricksy  spirit ,' } 

-il/on.Thf  se  are  not  natural  events:  they  strengthen. 
From  stratige  to  stranger : — Say,  how  came  you  hi* 

Boats.  If  I  did  think,  sir,  I  vvtre  well  awake,  [tber  ? 
I'd  strive  to  tell  you.  We  were  dead  of  sleep. 
And  (how  we  know  not,)  all  clapp'd  tmder  hatches, 
Where,buteven  now,with  strange  and  several  noisps, 
Ol  roaring,  shrieking,  howling,  gingling  chains, 
And  more  diversity  of  soimds,  all  horrible, 
We  were  awak'd;  straightway,  at  liberty  : 
Where  we,  in  al  her  trim,  freshly  beheld 
Our  royal,  good,  and  gallant  ship;  our  master 
Capering  to  eye  her  :  on  a  trice,  so  please  yon. 
Even  in  a  dream,  were  we  divided  irom  thern. 
And  were  brought  moping  hither. 

Ari.  Was  t  well  done  ?  | 

Pro.  Bravely,  my  diligence,  Thoushalt  /  (Aside.) 
be  free.  * 

Alon.  This  is  as  strange  a  maze  as  e'er  men  tiadl 
And  there  is  in  this  business  more  that  nature 
Was  ever  conduct  of :  souie  oracle 
Must  rectify  our  knowledge. 

Pro.  Sir,  my  liege. 

Do  not  infest  your  mind  with  beating  on 
The  strangeness  of  this  business;  at  pick'd  leisara 
Which  shall  be  shortly,  single  I'll  resolve  you 
(Which  to  you  shall  seem  probable,)  of  every 
These  happen'd  accidents   till  when,  be  cheerful 


TFMPEST, 


16 


TEMPEST. 


Act  V, 


And  think  of  each  fhinj?  well. — Come  hither,  spirit : 
8et  Caliban  and  his  companions  free  :  {Aside.) 
Untie  the  spell.  [Exit  Ariel.]  How  tares  my  gracious 
There  are  yet  missing  of  your  company  [sir  ? 

Some  few  odd  lads,  that  you  remember  not. 
Re-enter  Ariel  driving  in  Caliban,  Siephano, 
7nd  1'rinculo,  in  their  stolen  apparel. 

Ste.  Every  man  shift  for  all  the  rest,  and  let  no 
man  lake  care  for  himself;  for  all  is  but  fortune: — 
Coragio,  bully-monster,  Coragio ! 

Trin.  If  these  be  true  spies  which  I  wear  in  my 
hea-^,  here's  a  goodly  sight. 

CuL  O  Setebos,  these  be  brave  spirits,  indeed ! 
How  fine  my  master  is  J  J  am  afraid 
He  will  chastise  me. 

Seb.  Ha,  ha! 

What  things  are  these,  my  lord  Antonio? 
Will  money  bny  them? 

Ani.  Very  like  ;  one  of  them 
f  8  a  plain  fish,  and,  no  doubt,  marketable. 

Pro.  Mark,  but  the  badges  of  these  men,  my  lords, 
Then  say,  if  they  be  true: — This  mis-shapen  knave, 
His  mother  was  a  witch  ;  and  one  so  strong 
That  could  control  the  moon,  make  flows  and  ebbs. 
And  deal  in  her  command,  without  her  power: 
These  three  have  robb'd  me  :  and  this  demi-devil 
(For  he's  a  bastard  one,)  had  plotted  with  them 
To  take  my  life  :  two  of  these  fellows  you 
Must  know,  and  own:  this  thing  of  darkness  I 
Acknowledge  mine. 

CaL  I  shall  be  pinch'd  to  death. 

Alon.  Is  not  this  Stephano,  my  drunken  butler? 

Seb.  He  is  drunk  now  :  where  had  he  wine  ?  [they 

Aloti.  And  Trinculo  is  reeling  ripe.  Where  should 
Find  this  grand  liquor,  that  hath  gilded  them? — 
cam'st  thou  in  this  pickle  ''' 

Trin.  1  have  been  m  such  a  pickle,  since  I  saw  you 
V«st,  that,  I  fear  me,  will  never  out  of  my  bones  :  I 
»hall  not  fear  fly-blowing. 

Seb.  Why,  how  now,  Stephano  ?  [cramp. 

Ste.  O,  touch  me  not ;  I  am  not  Stephano,  but  a 

Pro.  You'd  be  king  of  the  isle,  sirrah  ? 

Ste.  I  should  have  been  a  sore  one  then. 

Alon  This  is  as  strange  a  thing  as  e'er  I  look'd  on. 

{Pointing  to  Caliban.) 

.Pro.  He  is  as  disproportion'd  in  his  manners, 
A.S  in  his  shape  ; — Go,  sirrah,  to  my  cell* 
Fake  with  you  your  companions  ;  as  you  look 
To  have  my  pardon,  trim  it  handsomely. 

€ivl  Ay,  that  I  will ;  and  Til  be  wise  hereaftnr. 


And  seek  for  grace.  What  a  thrice  double  ass 
Was  I,  to  take  this  drunkard  for  a  god, 
And  worship  tliis  dull  fool  • 

Pro.  Go  to ;  away  !    [found  it» 

Alon.  Hence,  and  bestow  your  luggage  where  you 
Seb.  Or  stole  it  ratlier.  [Exeunt  Cal.Ste.and  Trin 
Pro.  Sir,  I  invite  your  highness,  and  your  train 
To  my  poor  cell :  where  you  shall  take  your  rest 
For  this  one  night;  which  (part  of  it,)  I'll  waste 
With  such  discourse,  as,  1  not  doubt,  shall  make 
Go  quick  away:  the  story  of  my  life. 
And  the  particular  accidents,  gone  by. 
Since  1  came  to  this  isle  :  and  in  the  morn, 
I'll  bring  you  to  your  ship,  and  so  to  Naples, 
Where  I  have  hope  to  see  the  nuptial 
Of  these  our  dear-beloved  solemnized; 
And  thence  retire  me  to  my  Milan,  where 
Every  third  thought  shall  be  my  grave. 

Alon.  I  long 

To  hear  the  story  of  your  life,  which  must 
Take  the  ear  strangely. 

Pro.  ril  deliver  all ; 

And  promise  you  calm  seas,  auspicious  gales, 
And  sail  so  expeditious,  that  shall  catch 
Your  royal  fleet  far  off, — My  Ariel; — chick, — 
That  is  thy  charge ;  then  to  the  elements 
Be  free,  and  fare  thou  well ; — {aside.)  Please  j 

draw  near.  [Exsurt. 

EFILOGVE.— Spoken  by  Prospero. 

Now  my  charms  are  all  o'erthrown. 
And  what  strength  I  have's  mine  own 
Which  is  most  faint :  now,  'tis  true, 
I  must  be  here  confin'd  by  you. 
Or  sent  to  Naples.  Let  me  not, 
Since  I  have  my  dukedom  got. 
And  pardon'd  the  deceiver,  dwell 
In  this  bare  island,  by  your  spell; 
But  release  me  from  my  bands. 
With  the  help  of  your  good  hands. 
Gentle  breath  of  yours  my  sails 
Must  fill,  or  else  my  project  fails. 
Which  was  to  please  :  now  I  want 
Spirits  to  enforce,  art  to  enchant ; 
And  my  ending  is  despair. 
Unless  I  be  reliev'd  by  prayer ; 
Which  pierces  so,  that  it  assaults 
Mercy  itself,  and  frees  all  faults. 
As  you  from  crimes  would  pardon'd 
Let  your  indulsence  set  cie  4r*«. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA, 


I!  this  play  there  is  a  strange  mixture  of  knowledge  and  ignorance,  of  care  and  negligence.  The  versification  is 
t  fcxceiient,  the  allusions  are  learned  and  just ;  but  the  author  conveys  his  heroes  by  sea  from  one  inland  tow<| 
to  another  in  the  same  country,-  he  places  tlie  emperor  at  Milan,  and  sends  Viis  young  men  to  attend  him,  but  neve 
mentions  him  more;  he  makes  Proteus,  after  an  interview  with  Silvia,  say  he  has  only  seen  her  picture:  and,  if  wfr 
may  credit  the  old  copies,  he  has,  by  mistaking  places,  lef  his  scenery  inextricable.  The  reason  of  all  this  confusion 
seems  to  be,  that  lie  took  his  story  from  a  novel,  which  he  sometimes  followed,  and  sometimes  forsook  ;  sometimes  remem- 
bered, and  sometimes  forgot. 

That  this  play  is  nglitiv  attributed  to  Shakspeare,  I  have  little  doubt.  If  it  be  taken  from  him,  to  whrra  shall  it 
lie  given?  This  question  may  be  asked  of  all  the  disputed  plays,  except  Titus  Andronicus ;  and  it  will  be  found  more 
credible,  that  Shakspeare  might  sometimes  sink  below  his  highest  flights,  thau  that  any  other  should  rise  up  to  bit 
lowAM.  JohllS07l. 


rUKE  OF  MIL  AN,  Father  to  Silvia. 
PROTEUs!^^'  }  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 
ANTONIo",  Father  to  Proteus. 
THURIO,  afooiish  Rival  to  Valentine. 
EGLAMOUR,  A{/e?u  for  Silvia,  in  her  escape. 
SPEED,  a  cloxctiish  Servant  to  Valentine. 
LAUJSCE,  Servant  to  Proteus. 

Scene, — Sofnetimes  in  Verona;  t 


PANTHINO,  Servant  to  Antonio. 
Host,  where  Julia  lodges  in  Milan. 
Out  lavs. 

JULIA,  a  Lady  of  Verona,  beloved  by  Proteus. 
SILVIA,  the  Duke's  Daughter,  beloved  by  Valentint, 
LUCETTA,  Waiting-woman  to  Julia. 
Servants,  Musicians, 
in  Milan  ;  and  on  the  Frontiers  of  Mantua. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — An  open  Place  in  Verona. 
Enter  Valentine  and  Proteus. 

Val.  Cease  to  persuade,  my  loving  Proteus; 
Home-keepins  youth  have  ever  homely  wits  ; 
Wer't  not,  affection  chains  thy  tender  days 
To  the  sweet  glances  of  thy  honour'd  love 
r  rather  would  entreat  thy  company, 
To  see  the  wonders  of  the  world  abroad. 
Than  living-  dully  slnggardiz'd  at  home, 
Wear  out  thy  youth  with  shapeless  idleness. 
But,  since  thon  lov'st,  love  still,  and  thrive  therein^ 
Even  as  I  would,  when  I  to  love  begin. 

Pr&.  Wilt  thou  begone  ?  Sweet  Valentine,  adieu! 
Think  on  thy  Proteus,  when  thou,  haply,  seest 
Sotne  rare  note- worthy  object  in  thy  travel : 
Wish  me  partaker  in  thy  liappiness. 
When  thou  dost  meet  gco^,'.  hap  ;  and,  in  thy  danger, 
It'evet  danger  do  environ  ^-feee. 
Commend  thy  grievance  to  my  holy  prayers. 
For  1  will  be  thy  bead's-man,  Valentme. 

Val.  And  on  a  love-book  pray  for  my  success. 

Pro.  Upon  some  book  I  love,  I'll  pray  for  thee. 

Val.  That's  on  some  shallow  story  of  deep  love, 
tlow  young  Leander  cross'd  the  Hellespont. 

Pro.  That's  a  deep  story  of  a  deeper  love  ; 
For  he  was  more  than  over  shoes  in  love. 

Val.  'Tis  true  :  for  you  are  over  boots  in  love. 
And  yet  you  never  swam  the  Hellespont. 

Pro.  Over  the  boots  ?  nay,  give  me  not  the  boots. 

Val.  No,  I'll  not,  for  it  boots  thee  not 

Pro.  What? 

Val.  To  be 

In  love,  where  scorn  is  bought  with  groans;  coy 
looks. 

With  heart-sore  sighs  ;  one  fading  moment's  mirth, 
With  twenty  watchful,  weary,  tedious  nights: 
If  haply  won,  perhaps,  a  hapless  ga'n; 
If  lost,  why  then  a  grievous  labour  won; 
However,  but  a  folly  bought  with  wit. 
Or  else  a  wit  by  folly  vanquished. 

Pro.  So,  by  your  circumstance,  you  call  me  fool. 

Val.  So,  by  your  circumstance,  I  fear,  you'll 
prove. 

Pro.  'Tis  love  you  cavil  at;  I  am  not  love. 

Val.  Love  is  your  master,  for  he  masters  you: 
And  he,  that  is  so  yoked  by  a  fool, 
Methinks,  should  not  be  chronicled  for  wise. 

Pro.  Yet  writers  say,  As  in  the  sweetest  bud 
The  eating  canker  dwells,  so  eating  love 
Inhabits  in  the  finest  wits  of  all. 

Val.  And  writers  say.  As  the  most  forward  bud 
Is  eaten  by  the  canker  ere  it  blow, 
Even  80  by  love  the  young  and  tender  wit 


Is  turn'd  to  folly ;  blusting  in  the  bud. 
Losing  his  verdure  even  in  the  prime. 
And  all  the  fair  effects  of  future  hopes. 
But  wherefore  waste  I  time  to  counsel  thee. 
That  art  a  votary  to  Ibnd  desire  ? 
Once  more  adieu  :  ray  father  at  the  road 
Expects  my  coming,  there  to  see  me  shipp'd. 

Pro.  And  thither  will  I  bring  thee,  valentine 

Val.  Sweet  Proteus,  no ;  now  let  us  take  our  leave 
At  Milan,  let  me  hear  from  thee  by  letters, 
Of  thy  success  in  love,  and  what  news  else 
Betideth  here,  in  absence  of  thy  friend ; 
And  I  likewise  will  visit  thee  with  mine. 

Pro.  All  happiness  bechance  to  thee  in  Milan .' 

Val.  As  much  to  you  at  home  !  and  so,  farewell. 

\Exit  Valentv90 

Pro.  He  after  honour  hunts,  I  after  love. 
He  leaves  his  friends,  to  dignify  theui  more ; 
1  leave  myself,  my  friends,  and  all  for  love. 
Thou,  Julia,  thou  hast  metamorplios'd  me ; 
Made  me  neglect  my  studies,  lose  my  time. 
War  with  good  counsel,  set  the  world  at  nought; 
Made  wit  with  musing  weak,  heart  sick  with  thought 

Enter  Speed. 
Speed.  Sir  Proteus,  save  you :  saw  you  my  master? 
Pro.  But  now  he  parted  hence,  to  embark  for 
Milan. 

Speed.  Twenty  to  one  then,  he  is  shipp'd  already 
And  I  have  play'd  the  sheep,  in  losing  him. 

Pro.  Indeed  a  sheep  doth  very  often  .stray. 
Ad  if  the  shepherd  be  awhile  away. 

Speed.  You  conclude  that  my  master  is  a  shepherd 
then,  and  I  a  sheep  ? 

Pro.  I  do.  [  I  wake  or  sleep. 

Speed.  Why  then  my  horns  are  his  horns,  whether 

Pro.  A  silly  answer,  and  fitting  well  a  sheep 

Speed.  This  proves  me  still  a  slieep. 

Pro.  True  ;  and  thy  master  a  shepherd. 

Speed.  Nay,  that  I  ran  deny  by  a  circumstance. 

Pro.  It  shall  go  hard,  but  I'll  prove  it  by  another 

Speed.  The  shepherd  seeks  the  sheep,  and  not  the 
sheep  the  shepherd;  but  1  seek  my  master,  and  my 
master  seeks  not  me  :  therefore,  I  am  no  sheep. 

Pro.  The  sheep  for  fodder  follow  the  shepherd, 
the  shepherd  for  food  follows  not  the  sheep;  thon  for 
wages  followest  thy  master,  thy  master  f  )r  wage* 
follows  not  thee :  therefore,  thou  art  a  sheep. 

Speed.  Such  another  proof  will  n>ake  me  cry  baa. 

Pro.  But  dost  thou  hear  ?  gav'st  thou  my  letter  to 
Julia? 

Speed.  Ay,  sir;  I,  a  lost  mutton,  gave  your  letter 
to  her,  a  laced  mutton;  and  she,  a  laced  mutton, 
gave  me,  a  lost  mutton,  nothing  for  my  labou?. 

Pro.  Here's  too  small  a  pai-^^re  for  surK  ^  store 


18 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Act  I. 


at*  muttons.  [best  stick  her. 

Speed.  If  the  ground  be  overcharged,  you  were 
Pro.  Nay,  in  that  you  are  astray ;  'twere  best 
pound  you.  [ior  carrying  jrour  letter. 

Speed.  Nay,  sir,  less  than  a  pound  shall  serve  me 
Pro.  You  mistake;  I  mean  the  pound,  a  pinfold. 
Speed.  From  a  pound  to  a  pin  ?  fold  it  over  and 
over,  [  lover. 

Tis  threefold  too  little  for  carrying  a  letter  to  your 
Pro.  But  what  sai(^  she  ?  did  she  nod  ? 
Speed.  I.  [Speed  nods. 

Pro.  Nod,  I ;  why,  that's  noddy. 
Speed.  You  mistook,  sir;  I  say,  she  did  nod  :  and 
you  ask  me,  if  slie  did  nod  ;  and  1  say,  I. 
Pro.  And  that  set  together,  is — noddy. 
Speed.  Now  you  have  taken  the  pains  to  set  it 
together,  take  it  for  your  pains.  [letter. 
Pro.  No,  no,  you  shall  have  it  for  bearing  the 
Speed. 
with  you, 


Speed.  Well,  I  perceive,  I  must  be  fain  to  bear 


Pro.  Why,  sir,  how  do  you  bear  with  me  ? 
Speed.  Marry,  sir,  the  letter  very  orderly ;  hav- 
*.ng  nothing  but  the  word,  noddy,  for  my  pains. 
Pro.  Beshrew  me,  but  you  have  a  quick  wit. 
Speed.  And  yet  it  cannot  overtake  your  slow  purse. 
Pro.  Come,  come,  open  the  matter  in  brief:  what 
said  she  ? 

Speed.  Open  your  purse,  that  the  money,  and  the 
matter,  may  be  both  at  once  delivered.  [she? 

Pro.  Well,  sir,  here  is  for  your  pains  :  what  said 

Speed.  Truly,  sir,  I  think  you'll  hardly  win  her. 

Pro.  Why  ?  Could'st  thou  perceive  so  much  from 
hor  ? 

Speed.  Sir,  I  could  perceive  nothing  at  all  from 
her;  no,  not  so  much  as  a  ducat  for  delivering  your 
letter:  and  being  so  hard  to  n\e  that  brought  vour 
mind,  I  fear,  she'll  prove  as  hard  to  you  in  telling 
her  mind.  Give  her  no  token  but  stones;  for  she's  as 
hard  as  steel. 

Pro.  What,  said  she  nothing? 

Speed.  No,  not   so   much  as — take  this  for  thy 
pains.  To  testify  your  bounty,  1  thank  you,  yon  have 
testern'd  me ;  in  requital  wiiereof,  henceforth  carr 
your  letters  yourself:  and  so,  sir,  I'll  commend  you 
to  my  master.  [wreck  ; 

Pro.  Go,  go,  be  g'>ne,  to  save  your  ship  from 
Which  cannot  perish,  having  thee  aboard, 
Being  destined  to  a  drier  death  on  shore  : — 
I  must  go  send  some  better  messenger; 
I  fear,  my  Julia  would  not  deign  my  lines, 
Receiving  them  trom  such  a  worthless  post. 

lExeunt. 

Scene  II. — The  same.    Garden  of  Julia's  House. 
Enter  Julia  atid  Lucetta. 

Jill.  But  say,  Lucetta,  now  we  are  alone, 
Woul'dst  thou  then  counsel  me  to  fall  in  love  ? 

Ltic.  Ay,  madam,  so  you  stumble  not  unheedfrPy. 

Jul.  Of  all  the  fair  resort  of  gentlemen. 
That  ev*ry  day  with  parle  encounter  me, 
In  thy  opinion,  which  is  worthiest  love? 

X(?(6\  Please  you,  repeat  their  names,  I'll  shew 
According  to  my  shallow  simple  skill.        [my  minu 

Jul.  NVhat  think'st  thou  of  the  fair  sir  Eglamour? 

Luc.  A.s  of  a  knight  well-spoken,  neat  and  fine ; 
But,  Were  I  you,  he  never  should  be  mine, 

Jul.  What  think'st  thou  of  the  rich  Mercatio? 

Luc.  Weil  of  his  wealth  ;  but  of  himself,  so,  so. 

Jul.  What  think'st  thou  of  the  gentie  Proteus  ? 

Luc.  Lord,  lord,'  to  see  v^hat  folly  reigns  in  us! 

Jul.  How  now!  \that  means  this  passion  at  his 
name  ? 

Luc.  Pardon,  dear  madim  ;  'tis  a  passing  shame. 
That  I,  unworthy  body  as  I  am, 
Shoii'd  censure  thus  on  lovely  gentlemen. 
Jul.  Why  not  ok  Proteus,  as  of  all  the  rest  ? 

L>ic  Then  thus,  of  many  good  I  think  him 

Jul.  Your  reason?  [best 
JLuc.  t  have  no  other  but  a  woman's  reason  ; 
i  thiak  hino.  so,  because  I  think  him  so. 


Jul.And  woiild'st  thou  have  me  cast  my  love  on  him? 
Luc.  Ay,  if  you  thought  your  love  not  cast  awr.y. 
Jid.  Why,  he  of  all  the  rest  hath  never  niov'd  nic. 
Luc.  Yet  he  of  all  the  rest,  I  think,  best  loves  ye. 
Jul.  His  little  speakii}g  shews  Iks  love  but  siv.all. 
Luc.  Fire,  that  is  closest  kept,  burns  most  of  all. 
Jul.  They  do  not  love,  that  do  not  show  their  lo\  e. 
Luc.  O,  they  lo\e  least,  that  let  men  know  their 
Jid.  I  would,  I  knew  his  mind.  [  love 

Luc.  Peruse  this  paper,  madam 

Jul.    To  Julia, — Say,  from  whom  ? 
Luc.  .        That  the  contents  will  shew 

Jid.  Say,  say  ;  who  gave  it  thee  ? 
Luc.  Sir  Valentine's  page  ;  and  sent,  I  think  ,  frorr 
Proteus  : 

He  would  have  given  it  you,  but  t,  being  in  the  way 
Did  in  your  name  receive  it ;  pardon  the  fault,  I  pray 

Jul.  Novv,  by  my  mcdesty,  a  goodly  broker! 
Dare  you  presume  to  harbour  wanton  lines?. 
To  whisper  and  conspire  against  my  youth? 
Now,  trust  me,  'tis  an  office  of  great  worth. 
And  you  an  officer  fit  for  the  place. 
There,  take  the  paper,  see  it  be  return'd  ; 
Or  else  return  no  more  into  iny  sight,  [hate 

Luc.  To  plead  for  love,  deserves  more  fee  than 

Jid.  Will  you  be  gone  ? 

Lite.  That  you  may  ruiriinate.  [Exit. 

Jul.  And  yet,  I  would,  1  had  o'erlook'd  the  letter 
It  were  a  shame  to  call  her  back  again. 
And  pray  her  to  a  fault  for  which  ]  chid  her. 
What  fool  is  she,  that  knows  1  am  a  maid. 
And  would  not  force  the  letter  to  my  view  ! 
Since  maids,  in  modesty,  say  No,  to  that 
Which  they  would  have  the  protlerer  construe.  Ay 
Fie,  fie !  how  wayward  is  this  foolish  love, 
'J'hat,  like  a  testy  babe,  will  scratch  the  nurse, 
And  presently,  all  humble,  kiss  the  rod  , 
How  churlishly  I  chid  Lucetta  hence. 
When  willingly  I  vvould  have  had  herhere^ 
How  angrily  I  taught  my  brow  to  frowa 
When  inward  joy  onforc'd  my  heart  to  suiilfc . 
My  penance  is,  to  call  Lucetta  bacfe 
And  ask  remission  for  my  folly  past  :— 
What  ho  !  Lucetta  I 

Re-enter  IiUt;ett>. 
Luc.  What  would  yom  ladyjtitijf  t 

Jul.  Is  it  near  dinner-time 

Luc.  I  would  it  wore* 

That  you  might  kill  your  stomach  on  your  meat, 
And  not  upon  your  t^iaid. 

Jtd.  What  is't  you  tooK.  up 

So  gingerly . 

Luc.  Nothing. 

Jul.  Why  didst  thou  stoop,  then  ^ 

Lue.  fo  t'«ke  a  paper  up,  that  1  let  fall 

Jul.  And  is  that  paper  nothing  ? 

Luc.  Nothing  concerning  me 

Jul.  Then  let  it  lie  for  those  that  it  concerns. 

Luc.  Madam,  it  will  not  lie  where  it  concern.s 
Vnless  it  have  a  false  interpreter. 

Jul.  Some  love  of  yours  hath  writ  to  you  in  rhyme. 

Luc.  That  I  might  siag  it,  madam,  to  a  tune  • 
Give  me  a  note :  your  ladyship  can  set. 

Jul.  As  little  by  such  toys  as  may  be  possible: 
Best  sing  it  to  the  tune  of  Light  o'  love. 

Luc.  It  is  too  heavy  for  so  light  a  tune. 

Jul.  Heavy?  belike,  it  hath  some  burden  then. 

Luc.  Ay;  and  melodious  were  it,  would  yoa 

Jul.  And  why  not  you  ?  [sing  it, 

Luc.  I  cannot  reach  so  high. 

Jul.  Let'.s  see  your  song  : — How  now,  minion? 

Luc.  Keep  tune  there  still,  so  you  will  sing  it  out 
And  vet,  methinks,  I  do  not  like  this  tune 

Jul.  You  do  not? 

Luc.  No,  madam,  it  is  too  sharp. 

Jul.  You,  minion,  are  too  saucy. 

Luc.  Nay,  now  you  are  too  flat, 
And  mar  the  concord  with  too  harsh  a  descant ; 
There  wanteth  but  a  a^ean  to  fill  your  song. 


Act  II.    Scene  1. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


1^ 


Jul.  The  n.ean  is  drown'd  with  your  unruly  base. 

Luc.  Indeed,  1  bid  the  base  for  Proteus. 

Jul.  This  babble  shall  not  henceforth  trouble  me. 
Here  is  a  coil  vvitli  protestation  ! — [Tears  the  letter.) 
Go,  get  you  gone ;  and  let  the  papers  lie  : 
Vou  would  be  tingering  them,  to  anger  me. 

Luc.  She  makes  it  strange ;  but  she  would  be 
best  pleas'd 

To  be  so  anger'd  with  another  letter.  [Exit. 
Jul.  Nay,  would  f  were  so  anger'd  with  the  same! 

0  hateful  hands,  to  tear  such  loving  words] 
Injurious  wasps,  to  feed  on  such  sweet  honey, 
And  kill  the  bees,  that  yield  it,  with  your  stings ! 
I'll  kiss  each  several  paper  for  amendis. 

And,  here  is  writ — kind  Julia; — unkind  Julia! 
As  in  revenge  of  thy  ingratitude, 

1  throw  thy  name  against  the  bruising  stones, 
Trampling  contemptuously  on  thy  disdain. 
Look,  here  is  writ — love-wounded  Proteus  ' — 
Poor  wounded  name  !  my  bosom,  as  a  bed. 

Shall  lodge  thee,  till  thy  wound  be  throughly  heal'd  ; 

And  thus  I  search  it  with  a  sovereign  kiss. 

But  twice,  or  thrice,  was  Proteus  written  down? 

Be  calm,  good  wind,  blow  not  a  word  away. 

Till  I  have  found  each  letter  in  the  letter, 

Except  mine  own  name ;  that  some  whirlwind  bear 

Unto  a  ragged,  fearful,  hanging  rock. 

And  throw  it  thence  into  the  raging  sea ! 

Lo,  here  in  one  line  is  his  nanie  twice  writ, — 

Poor  forlorn  Proteus,  passionate  Proteus, 

To  the  stveet  Julia;  that  I'll  tear  away ;  • 

And  yet  I  will  not,  sith  so  prettily 

He  couples  it  to  his  complaining  names  ; 

Thus  will  1  fold  them  one  upon  another; 

Now  kiss,  embrace,  contend,  do  what  you  will. 

Re  enter  Lucetta. 

Ijuc.  Madam,  dinner's  ready,  and  your  father 
Jul.  Well,  let  us  go.  [stavs. 
Lvc  What,  shall  these  papers  lie  like  tell-tales 
here  ? 

Jul.  If  you  respect  them,  best  to  take  them  up. 

Luc.  Nay,  I  was  taken  up  for  laying  them  down  . 
Yet  here  they  shall  not  lie,  tor  catching  cold. 

Jul.  I  see  you  have  a  month's  mind  to  them. 

Luc.  Ay,  madam,  you  may  say  what  sights  you 
1  see  things  too,  although  you  judge  I  wink.     [see  ; 

Jul.  Come,  come  wiil'tplease  you  go?  ^Exeunt. 

Sc.  III. — The  same.  A  Room  in  Antonio's  house. 
Enter  Antonio  and  PANxmNO. 

Ant.  Tell  me,  Panthino,  what  sad  talk  was  that? 
Wherewith  my  brother  held  you  in  the  cloister? 

Pan  '  Twas  of  his  nephew  Proteus,  your  .son. 

Ant.  Why,  what  of  him  ? 

Pan.  He  wonder'd,  that  your  lordship 

Would  suffer  him  to  spend  his  youth  att  home  ; 
While  other  men,  of  slender  reputation. 
Put  forth  their  sons,  to  seek  preferment  out : 
Some,  to  the  wars,  to  try  their  fortune  there  ; 
Some,  to  discover  islands  far  away  ; 
Some,  to  the  studious  universities. 
For  any,  or  for  all  these  exercises, 
He  said,  that  Proteus,  your  son,  was  meet; 
And  did  request  me,  to  importune  you, 
To  let  him  spend  his  time  no  more  at  home. 
Which  w-^idd  be  great  impeachment  to  his  age, 
In  having  known  no  travel  in  his  youth. 

Ajit.  Nor  need'st  thou  nu>ch  importune  me  t  J  that. 
Whereon  this  month  I  have  been  hammering 
I  have  consider'd  well  his  loss  of  time  ; 
And  how  he  cannot  be  a  perfect  man, 
Not  b>;ivig  try'd  and  tutor'd  in  the  world  : 
Experiei.ce  is  by  industry  atchiev'd, 
And  perfected  by  the  swift  course  of  time  : 
Then,  (ell  me,  whither  were  I  best  to  send  him? 

Pan.  I  think,  your  lordship  is  not  ignorant. 
How  his  companion,  youthful  Valentine, 
Attends  th«  erapecor  in  his  royal  court. 


Ant.  1  know  it  well.  [thither 

Pan.  'Twere  good,  I  think,  your  lordship  Jienthina 
There  shall  he  practist  tilts  and  tournaments. 
Hear  sweet  discourse,  converse  with  Hoblemen; 
And  be  in  eye  of  every  exercise. 
Worthy  his  youth  and  nobleness  of  birth. 

Ant.  I  like  thy  counsel;  well  hast  thou  advis'd 
And,  that  thou  may'st  perceive  how  well  I  like  it. 
The  execution  of  itsiiall  make  known; 
Even  with  the  speediest  execution 
I  will  despatch  nim  to  the  emperor's  court. 

Pan.  'lo  morrow,  may  it  please  you,  Don  Al- , 
With  other  gentlemen  of  good  esteem,  [phonso. 
Are  journeying  to  salute  the  emperor. 
And  to  commend  their  service  to  his  will. 

Ant.  Good  company  ;  with  them  shall  Proteus  go  % 
And,  in  good  time, — now  will  we  break  with  him. 

Enter  Proieus. 
Pro.  Sweet  love  !  sweet  lines,  sweet  life  ! 
Here  is  her  hand,  the  agent  of  her  heart ; 
Here  is  her  oath  for  love,  her  honour's  pawn  . 
O,  that  our  fathers  would  applaud  our  loves. 
To  seal  our  happiness  with  their  consents  ? 

0  heavenly  Julia  !  [there  ? 
Ant.  How  now  ?  what  letter  are  you  reading 
Pro.  May't  please  your  lordship,  'tis  a  word  or 

Of  commendation  sent  from  Valentine,  [two 
Deliver'd  by  a  friend  that  came  from  him. 

Ant.  Lend  me  the  letter;  let  use  see  what  news. 

Pro.  There  is  no  news,  my  lord  ;  but  that  he  writei 
How  happily  he  lives,  how  well-belov'd. 
And  daily  graced  by  the  emperor; 
Wishing  me  with  him,  partner  of  his  fortune. 

Ant.  And  how  stand  you  affected  to  his  wish? 

Pro.  As  one  relying  on  your  lordship's  will. 
And  not  depending  on  his  friendly  wish. 

Ant.  My  will  is  something  sorted  with  his  wLsb 
Muse  not  that  I  thus  suddenly  proceed  ; 
For  what  I  will,  1  will,  and  there  an  end. 

1  am  resolv'd,  that  tliou  shalt  spend  some  time 
With  Valentinus  in  the  emperor's  court ; 
What  maintenance  he  from  liis  friends  receives 
Like  exhibition  thou  shalt  have  from  me. 
To-morrow  be  in  readiness  to  go  ; 

Excuse  it  not,  for  I  am  peremptory. 

Pro.  My  lord,  I  cannot  be  so  soon  provided 
Please  you,  deliberate  a  day  or  two.  'thee 

Ant.  Look,  what  thou  want'st,  shall  be  sent  aftei 
No  more  of  stay;  to-morrow  thou  must  go. — 
Come  on,  Panthino  ;  you  shall  be  employ'd 
To  hasten  on  his  expedition.  [Exeunt  Ant.  and  Pan, 

Pro.  Thus  have  I  shunn'd  the  fire,  for  fear  ol 
burning ; 

And  drench'd  me  in  the  sea,  where  lam  drown'd 
I  fear'd  to  shew  my  father  Julia's  letter. 
Lest  he  should  take  exceptions  to  my  love  • 
And  with  the  vantage  of  mine  own  excuse 
Hath  he  excepted  most  against  my  love. 
O,  how  this  spring  of  love  resembleth 

The  uncertain  glory  of  an  April  day; 
Which  now  shews  all  the  beauty  of  the  sun. 

And  by  and  by  a  cloud  takes  all  away  I 

i2e  e«^er  Panthino. 

Pan.  Sir  Proteus,  your  father  calls  for  you , 
He  is  in  haste;  therefore,  I  pray  you,  go. 

Pro.  Why,  this  it  is  !  my  heart  accords  thereto ; 
And  yet  a  thousand  times  it  answers  no.  [Exeunt 

ACT  IL 

Scene  I. — Milan.   An  Apartment  in  the  Duiti^$ 
Palace. 
Enter  Valentine  and  Speed 
Speed.  Sir,  your  glove. 

Val.  Not  mine  ;  my  gloves  are  on.  [but  one 
Speed.  Why  then  this  may  be  yours,  for  this  is 
Val.  Ha !  let  me  see  ;  ay,  give  it  me,  it's  mine 

Swf-et  ornament  that  decks  a  thing  divine  ] 

Ah  Silvia  !  Silvia  I 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Act  IL 


'Spe«d.  Madam  Silvia!  madam  Silvia.' 

Val.  How  now,  sirrah  ? 

Speed.  She  is  not  within  hearing,  sir. 

Val.  Why,  sir,  who  bade  you  call  her? 

Speed.  Your  worship,  sir;  or  else  I  mistook. 

Val.  Well,  you'll  still  be  too  forward.  [slow. 

Speed.  And  yet  I  was  last  chidden  for  being  too 

Val.  Go  to,  sir;  tell  me,  do  you  know  madam 

Sneed.  She  that  your  worship  loves?  [Silvia? 

Val.  Why,  how  know  yon  that  I  am  in  love  ? 

Syeed.  Marry,  by  these  special  marks: — First, 
you  have  learned,  like  Sir  Proteus,  to  wreath  your 
arms  like  a  male-content;  to  relish  a  love-song,  like 
a  Robin-red-breast ;  to  walk  alone,  like  one  that 
hath  the  pestilence ;  to  sigh,  like  a  school-boy  that 
had  lost  his  A,  B,  C  ;  to  weep,  like  a  young  wench 
that  had  buried  her  grandam  ;  to  fast,  like  one  that 
takes  diet:  to  watch,  like  one  that  fears  robbing; 
to  speak  puling,  like  a  beggar  at  Hallowmas.  You 
were  wont,  when  you  laughed,  to  crow  like  a  cock  ; 
when  you  walked,  to  walk  like  one  of  the  lions: 
when  you  fasted,  it  was  presently  after  dinner; 
when  you  looked  sadly,  it  was  for  want  of  money  : 
and  now  you  are  metamorphosed  with  a  mistress, 
that,  when  I  look  on  you,  I  can  hardly  think  you 
my  master. 

Val.  Are  all  these  things  perceived  in  me  ? 

Speed.  They  are  all  perceived  without  you. 

Val.  Without  me  ?  they  cannot. 

Speed.  Without  you ;  nay,  that's  certain,  for, 
without  you  were  so  simple,  none  else  would ;  but 
you  are  so  without  these  follies,  that  these  follies  are 
within  you,  and  shine  through  you  like  the  water  in 
an  urinal ;  that  not  an  eye,  that  sees  you,  but  is  a 
pbvsician  to  comment  on  your  malady. 

Val.  But  tell  me,  dost  thou  know  my  lady  Sylvia  ? 

Speed.  She,  that  you  gaze  on  so,  as  she  sits  at 
gupper ? 

Val.  Hast  thou  observed  that?  even  she  I  mean. 

Speed.  Why^^fiir,  I  know  her  not. 

lal.  Dost  thoa  know  her  by  my  gazing  on  her, 
and  j'et  knowest  her  not  ? 

Speed.  Is  she  not  hard-favoured,  sir"? 

Val.  Not  so  fair,  boy,  as  well  favoured. 

Speed.  Sir,  I  know  that  well  enough. 

Val.    What  dost  thou  know?  [favoured. 

Speed.  That  she  is  not  so  fair,  as  (of  you)  well 

Val.  I  mean,  that  her  beauty  is  exquisite,  but  her 
favour  infinite. 

Speed.  That's  because  the  one  is  painted,  and 
<Jie  ^her  out  of  all  count. 

Val.  How  painted?  and  how  out  of  count? 

Speed.  Marry,  sir,  so  painted  to  make  her  fair, 
that  no  man  counts  of  her  beauty.  [beauty. 

Val.  How  esteemest  thou  me  ?  I  account  of  her 

Speed.Yoa  never  saw  her  since  she  was  deformed. 

Val.  How  long  hath  she  been  deformed  ? 

Speed.  Ever  since  you  loved  her. 

Val.  I  have  loved  her  ever  since  I  saw  her;  and 
still  I  see  her  beautiful. 

Speed.  If  you  love  her,  you  cannot  .see  her. 

Val.  Why? 

Speed.  Because  love  is  blind.  O.  that  you  had 
mine  eyes;  or  your  own  had  the  lights  they  were 
wont  to  have  when  you  chid  at  sir  Proteus  forgoing 
Dn^  arte  red ! 

Val.  What  should  I  see  then? 

Speed.  Your  own  present  folly,  and  her  passing 
df.formity:  for  he,  being  in  love,  could  not  see  to 
garter  his  hose ;  and  you,  being  in  love,  cannot  see 
to  put  on  your  hose. 

Val.  Belike,  boy,  then  you  are  in  love ;  for  last 
morning  you  could  not  see  to  wipe  my  shoes. 

Speed.  True.,  sir,  I  was  in  love  with  my  bed :  I 
thank  you,  yos:  swinged  me  for  my  love,  which 
BJdkes  me  the  bolder  fe:  chid?  you  for  yours. 

Val.  In  conclusion,  I  stand  affected  to  her. 

Speed.  I  would  you  were  set ;  so  your  affection 
would  cease.  [lines  to  one  she  loves. 

Val.  Last  night  she  enjoined  me  to  write  some 


Speed.  And  have  you  ? 
Val.  I  have. 

Speed.  Are  they  not  lamely  writ  • 

Val.  No,  boy,  but  as  well  as  I  can  do  them 

Peace,  here  she  comes. 

Enter  Silvia. 
Speed.  O  excellent  motion!  O  exceeding  puppet ! 

now  will  he  interpret  to  her.  [Aside.)  [morrows, 
Val.  Madam  and  mistress,  a  thousand  good- 
Speed  O,  'give  you  good  even !  here's  a  millioo 

of  manners.  {Aside.) 

Sil.  Sir  Valentine  and  servant,  to  you  two  thou- 
sand, [it  him.  (Aside.) 
Speed.  He  should  give  her  interest,  and  she  gives 
Val.  As  you  enjoin'd  me,  I  have  writ  your  letter 

Unto  the  secret  nameless  friend  of  yours  ; 

Wliich  1  was  much  unwilling  to  proceed  in 

But  for  my  duty  to  your  ladyship.  [done. 
Sil.  I  thank  you,  gentle  servant :  'tis  very  clerkly 
Val.  Now  trust  me,  madam,  it  came  hardly  off; 

For,  l^ing  ignorant  to  whom  it  goes, 

I  writ  at  random,  very  doubtfully.  [pains? 
Sil.  Perchance  you  think  too  much  of  so  much 
Val.  No,  madam;  so  it  stead  you,  I  will  write. 

Please  you  command,  a  thousand  times  as  much: 

And  yet, — 

Sil.  A  pretty  period  !  Well,  I  guess  the  sequel; 
And  yet  I  will  not  name  it : — and  yet  I  care  not; — 
And  yet  take  this  again  : — and  yet  I  thank  you; 
Meaning  henceforth  to  trouble  you  no  more. 

Speed.  And  yet  you  will ;  and  yet  another  yet. 
[Aside.)  [like  it? 

Val.  What  means  your  ladyship?  do  you  not 

Sil.  Yes,  yes;  the  lines  are  very  quaintly  writ: 
But  since  unwillingly,  take  them  again* 
Nay,  take  them. 

Val.  Madatrj,  they  are  for  you. 

Sil.  Ay,  ay:  you  writ  them,  sir,  at  my  request; 
But  1  will  none  of  them  ;  they  are  for  you  ■ 
I  would  have  had  them  writ  more  movingly. 

Val.  Please  you,  I'll  write  your  ladyship  another 

Sil.  And  when  it"s  writ,  for  my  sake  read  it  over; 
And  if  it  please  you,  so;  if  not,  why,  so. 

Val.  Kit  please  me,  madam!  what  then? 

Sil.  Why,  if  it  please  you,  take  it  for  your  labour 
And  so  good  morrow,  servant.  ^Exit  Silvia. 

Speed.  O  jest  unseen,  inscrutable,  invisible, 
As  a  nose  on  a  man's  face,  or  a  weathercock  on  a 
steeple !  [suitor 
My  master  sues  to  her;  and  she  hath  taught  her 
He  being  her  pupil,  to  become  her  tutor 
O  exceWent  device  !  was  there  ever  heard  a  better? 
That  my  master,  being  scribe,  to  himself  should 
write  the  letter? 

Val.  How  now,  sir?  what,  are  you  reasoning  with 
yourself? 

Speed.  Nay,  I  was  rhyming  ;  'tis  you  that  have 
the  reason. 

Val.  To  do  what? 

Speed.  To  be  a  spokesman  from  madam  Silviau 
Val.  To  whom  ?  [  figure. 

Speed.  To  yourself :  why,  she  wooes  you  by  a 
Val.  What  fiff  ure  { 
Speed.  By  a  letter,  I  should  say. 
Val.  Why,  she  hath  not  writ  to  me? 
Speed.  What  needs  she,  when  she  hath  made  yon 
write  to  yourself?  Why,  do  you  not  perceive  the  jest? 
Val.  No,  believe  me 

Speed.  No  believing  you  indeed,  sir;  but  did  yoo 
perceive  her  earnest? 

Val.  She  gave  me  none,  except  an  angiy  word. 

Speed.  Why,  she  hath  given  you  a  letter. 

Val.  That's  the  letter  I  writ  to  her  friend. 

Speed.  And  that  letter  hath  she  deliver'd,  and 
there  an  end. 

Val.  I  would,  it  were  no  worse. 

Speed.  I'll  warrant  you,  'tis  as  well . 
For  often  you  have  tvrif  to  her;  and  she,  in  modesty. 
Or  else  for  want  of  idle  time,  could  nut  again  reply; 


?!5CENE  4. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


21 


r  fearing  else  some  tnessenger,  that  might  her 
mind  discover, 
Herself  hath  taught  her  love  himself  to  write  unto 
her  lover. — 

All  this  I  speak  in  print,  for  in  print  I  found  it. — 
Why  muse  you,  sir  ?  'tis  dinner  time. 
y<xl.  I  liave  dined. 

Speed.  Ay,  but  hearken,  sir;  though  the  cameleon 
IjO\  e  can  l"(.*ed  on  the  air,  I  am  one  that  am  nourished 
by  uiy  victuals,  and  would  fain  have  meat;  O.  be  not 
hke  yotir  mistress;  be  moved,  be  mo\ e6..[_Exeunt. 

ScKNE  IT. —  Verona.  A  Room  in  Julia's  House. 

Enter  Proteus  and  Julia. 
Pro.  Have  patience,  gentle  Julia. 
Jul.  I  must,  where  is  no  remedy. 
Pro.  When  possibly  I  can,  I  will  return. 
Jul.  If  you  turn  not,  you  will  return  the  sooner: 
Keep  this  remembrance  for  thy  Julia's  sake. 

{Giving  a  ring.) 

Pro.  Why  then  we'll  make  exchange  ;  here,  take 
you  this. 

Jul.  And  seal  the  bargain  with  a  holy  kiss. 

Pro.  Here  is  my  hand  for  my  true  constancy ; 
And  when  that  hour  o'er-slips  me  in  the  day. 
Wherein  I  sigh  not,  Julia,  for  thy  sake, 
I'he  next  ensuing  hour  some  foul  mischance 
Torment  me  for  my  love's  forgetfulness .' 
My  fatlier  stays  my  coming ;  answer  not ; 
The  tide  is  now :  nay,  not  the  tide  of  tears ; 
That  tide  will  stay  me  longer  than  I  should ; 

[Exit  Julia. 
Julia,  farewell. — What!  gone  without  a  word? 
Ay,  so  true  love  should  do  :  it  cannot  speak  ; 
For  truth  hath  better  deeds,  than  words,  to  grace  it. 
Enter  Panthino. 

Pan.  Sir  Proteus,  you  are  staid  for. 

Pro.  Go  ;  I  come,  1  come  : — 
Alas  !  this  parting  strikes  poor  lovers  dumb. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — The  same.  A  Street. 
Enter  Launce,  leading  a  dog. 
Laun.  Nay,  'twill  be  this  hour  ere  I  have  done 
weeping;  all  the  kind  of  tlie  Launces  have  this  very 
lauFt;  I  liave  received  my  proportion,  like  the  pro- 
digious son,  and  am  going  with  Sir  Proteus  to  the 
Imperial's  court.  I  think,  Crab  my  dog  be  the 
sourest-natured  dog  that  lives  :  my  mother  weeping, 
my  fotiier  wailing,  my  sister  crying,  our  maid  howling, 
our  cat  wringing  her  hands,  and  all  our  house  in  a 
great  perplexity,  yet  did  not  this  cruel-hearted  cur 
shed  one  tear;  he  is  a  stone,  a  very  pebble-stone, 
and  has  no  more  pity  in  him  than  a  dog:  a  Jew  would 
have  wept  to  have  seen  our  parting ;  why,  my  grandam 
having  no  eyes,  look  you,  wept  herself  blind  at  .my 
parting.  Nay,  I'll  show  you  the  manner  of  it :  Tiiis 
shoe  is  my  father; — no,  this  left  shoe  is  my  father; — 
no,  no,  this  left  shoe  is  my  mother; — nay,  timt  cannot 
be  so  neither ; — yes,  it  is  so,  it  is  so ;  it  hath  the 
worse r  sole :  this  shoe,  with  the  hole  in  it,  is  my 
mother,  and  this  my  father;  a  vengeance  on't !  there 
'tis:  now,  sir,  this  staff  is  my  sister;  for,  look  you, 
she  is  as  white  as  a  lily,  and  as  small  as  a  wand : 
this  hat  is  Nan,  our  maid;  I  am  tiie  dog: — no,  the 
dog  is  himseli",  and  I  am  the  dog, — O,  the  dog  is  me, 
ftnd  I  auj  myself;  ay,  so,  so.  Now  come  I  to  my 
father;  Father,  your  blessing  ;  now  should  not  the 
•hoe  speak  a  word  for  weeping;  now  should  I  kiss 
my  fatiier;  well,  he  weeps  on  : — now  come  I  to  my 
mother,  (O,  that  she  could  speak  now !)  like  a  good 
woman; — well,  I  kiss  her; — why,  there  'tis;  here's 
my  mother's  breath  up  and  down;  now  come  I  to  my 
sister;  mark  the  moan  she  makes:  now,  the  dog  all 

bis  while  sheds  not  a  tear,  nor  speaks  a  word  ;  but 

ee  how  I  lay  the  dust  with  my  tears. 

Enter  Panthino, 
Pan.  Launce,  away,  away,  aboard  ;  thy  master  is 
shipped  and  thou  art  to  post  after  with  oars.  What's 


the  matter?  why  weep'st  thou,  man?  Away,  ass  > 
you  will  lose  the  tide,  if  you  tarry  any  longer. 

Laun.  It  is  no  matter  if  the  ty'd  were  lost  j  for  it 
is  the  nnkindest  ty'd  that  ever  any  man  ty'd. 

Pan.  What's  the  unkindest  tide  ? 

Laun.  Why,  he  that's  ty'd  here  ;  Crab,  my  dog 

Pan.  Tut,  man,  I  mean  thou'lt  lose  the  flood  :  an^ 
in  losing  the  flood,  lose  thy  voyage;  a-nd,  in  losing 
thy  voyage,  lose  thy  master,  and,  in  losing  tliy  master^ 
lose  tl}y  service;  and,  in  losing  thy  service, — Why 
dost  thou  stop  my  mouth  ? 

Laun.  For  fear  thou  should'st  lose  thy  tongue 

Pan.  Where  should  1  lose  my  tongue  ? 

Laun.  In  thy  tale. 

Pan.  In  thy  tail? 

Laun.  Lose  the  tide,  and  the  voyage,  and  tine 
master,  and  the  service  ?  The  tide  ! — Why,  man^ 
if  the  river  were  dry,  I  am  able  to  fill  it  with  my 
tears;  if  the  wind  were  down,  I  could  drive  the  boat 
with  my  sighs.  [thee. 

Pan.  Come,  come  away,  man ;  I  was  sent  to  call 

Laun.  Sir,  call  me  what  thou  darest. 

Pan.  Wilt  thou  go  ? 

Laun.  Well,  I  will  go.  [Exeunt 

Scene  IV. — Milan.  An  Apartment  in  the  Duke's 
Palace. 

Enter  Valentine,  Silvla,  Thurio,  and  Speed 
Sil.  Servant — 
Val.  Mistress? 

Speed.  Master,  sir  Thurio  frowns  on  you. 

Val.  Ay,  boy,  it's  for  love. 

Speed.  Not  of  you. 

Val.  Of  my  mistress  then. 

Speed.  'Tvvere  good,  you  knocked  him. 

Sil.  Servant,  you  are  sad. 

Val.  Indeed,  madam,  I  seem  so. 

Thu.  Seem  you  that  you  are  not? 

Val.  Haply  I  do. 

Thu.  So  do  counterfeits. 

Val.  So  do  you. 

Thu.  What  seem  I,  that  1  am  not? 
VaL  Wise.  ^ 

Thu.  Wiiat  instance  of  the  contrary  ? 
Val.  Your  folly. 

Thi.  And  how  quote  you  my  folly? 
Val.  I  quote  it  in  your  jerki,). 
Thu.  My  jerkin  is  a  doublet. 
Val.  Well,  then,  I'll  double  yoi.r  folly. 
Thu.  How?  '  ctiOQf 

Sil.  What,  angry,  sir  Thurio?  do  you  change 
Val.  Give  hiui  leave,  madam ;  he  is  a  kind  of 
cameleon. 

Thu.  That  hath  more  mind  to  feed  on  your  blood, 
than  live  in  your  air. 

Val.  You  have  said,  sir. 

Thu.  Ay,  sir,  and  done  too,  for  this  time. 

Val.  I  know  it  well,  sir;  you  always  end  ere  yoa 
begin. 

Sil.  A  fine  volley  of  words,  gentlemen,  and  quickly 
shot  oft'. 

Val.  'Tis  indeed,  madam;  we  thank  the  giver. 
Sil.  Who  is  that,  servant? 

Val.  Yourself,  sweet  lady;  for  yon  gave  the  fiie 
sir  Thurio  borrows  his  vvit  from  your  ladyship's 
looks,  and  spends  what  he  borrows,  kindly  in  your 
company. 

TAm.  Sir,  if  you  spend  word  for  word  with  ine,  I 
shall  make  your  vvit  bankrupt. 

Val.  I  know  ii  well,  sir;  you  have  an  exchequer 
of  words,  and,  I  think,  no  other  treasure  to  give  your 
followers;  for  it  appears  by  their  V)are  liveries,  that 
they  live  by  your  bare  words.  [father. 

Sil.  No  more,  gentlemen,  no  more ;  here  comes  my 

Enter  DuKE. 
Duke.  Now,  daughter  Silvia„  you  are  hard  beset 
Sir  Valentine,  your  father's  in  good  health* 
What  say  you  to  a  letter  from  your  friends 
Of  much  good  news''* 


22  .  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Val.  My  lord,  I  will  be  thankful 

To  any  happy  messenger  from  thence. 

Duke.  Know  you  Don  Antonio,  your  countryman? 

Val.  Ay,  my  good  lord,  I  know  the  gentleman 
To  be  of  worth,  and  wortliy  estimation, 
And  not  without  desert  so  well  reputed. 

Duke.  Hath  he  not  a  son  ? 

Val.  Ay,  my  good  lord  ;  a  son,  that  well  deserves 
The  honour  and  regard  of  such  a  father. 
Duke.  You  know  him  well  f 

Val.  I  knew  him,  as  myself ;  for  from  our  infancy 
We  have  convers"d,  and  spent  our  hours  together : 
And  though  myself  have  been  an  idle  truant. 
Omitting  the  sweet  benefit  of  time, 
To  clothe  mine  age  with  angel-like  perfection ; 
Yet  hath  Sir  Proteus,  for  lhat's  his  name, 
Made  use  and  fair  advantage  of  his  days; 
His  years  but  young,  but  his  experience  old; 
His  head  unmellow  d,  but  his  judgment  ripe; 
And,  in  a  word,  (for  far  behind  his  worth 
Come  all  the  praises  that  I  now  bestow,) 
He  is  complete  in  feature,  and  in  mind. 
With  all  good  grace  to  grace  a  gentleman. 

Duke.  Beshrew  me,  sir,  but,  if  he  make  this  good, 
He  is  as  worthy  for  an  empress'  love. 
As  meet  to  be  an  emperor's  coimsellor. 
Well,  sir;  this  gentleman  is  come  to  me, 
With  commendation  from  great  potentates  ; 
And  here  he  nieans  to  spend  his  time  a- while : 
I  think,  'tis  no  unwelcome  news  to  you. 

Val.  Should  I  have  wish'd  a  thing,  it  had  been  he. 

Duke.  Welcome  him  then  according  to  his  worth  ; 
Silvia,  I  speak  to  you;  and  you,  sir  Thurio: — 
For  Valentine,  I  need  not  'cite  him  to  it : 
I'll  send  him  hitlier  to  you  presently.    [Exit  Duke. 

Val.  This  is  the  gentleman,  I  told  your  ladyship, 
flad  come  along  with  me,  but  that  his  mistress 
Did  hold  his  eyes  lock'd  in  her  crystal  looks. 

Sil.  Belike,  tliat  now  she  hath  enfranchis  d  them 
Upon  some  other  pawn  for  fealty.  [still. 

Val.  Nay,  sure,  I  think  she  holds  them  prisoners 

Sil.  Nay,  (hen  he  should  be  bhnd ;  and,  being 
blind. 

How  could  he  see  his  way  to  seek  out  you  ? 

Val.  Why,  lady,  love  hath  twenty  pair  of  eyes. 

T/m.  They  say,  that  love  hath  not  an  eye  at  all. 

Val.  To  see  such  lovers,  Thurio,  as  yourself; 
Upon  a  homely  object  love  can  wink. 

Enter  Proteus. 

Sil.  Have  done,  have  done ;  here  comes  the  gen- 
tleman, [seech  you, 

Val.  Welcome,  dear  Proteus  ! — Mistress,  I  be- 
Confirm  his  welcome  with  some  special  I'avour. 

Sil.  His  worth  is  warrant  for  his  welcome  hither. 
If  this  be  he,  you  oft  have  wish'd  to  hear  from. 

Val.  Mistress,  it  is :  sweet  lady,  entertain  him 
To  be  my  fellow-servant  to  your  ladyship. 

Sil.  Too  low  a  mistress  for  so  high  a  servant. 

Pro.  Not  so,  sweet  lady ;  but  too  mean  a  servant 
To  have  a  look  of  such  a  worthy  mistress. 

Val.  Leave  otf  discourse  ol' disability  : — 
Sweet  lady,  entertain  him  for  your  servant. 

Pro.  My  duty  will  I  boast  of,  nothing  else. 

Sil.  And  duty  never  yet  did  want  his  meed  ; 
Servant,  you  are  welcome  to  a  worthless  mistress. 

Pro.  I'll  die  on  him  that  says  so,  but  yourself. 

Sil.  That  you  are  welcome  !* 

Pfo.  No;  that  you  are  worthless. 

Enter  Servant. 
Ser.  Madam,  my  lord  your  father  would  speak 
with  you 

Sil.  I'll  wait  upon  his  pleasure.  {Exit  Servant.) 
Come,  sir  Tiiurio, 
Gio  with  me: — Once  more,  new  servant,  welcome: 
L'U  leave  yo'i  to  confer  of  home  affairs; 
When  you  have  done,  we  look  to  hear  from  you. 
Pro.  Wf'il  both  attend  upon  your  ladyship. 

i  Ex sunj.  Silvia,  Thurio,  and  Speed. 


Act  IL 

Val.  Now,  tell  me,  how  do  all  from  whence  you 

came  ? 

Pro.  Your  friends  are  well,  ani  hav(^  them  much 
Val.  And  how  do  yours  ?  [commended. 
Pro.  I  left  them  all  in  health. 

Val.  How  does  your  lady?  and  how  thrives  your 
love  ? 

Pro.  My  tales  of  love  were  wont  to  weary  you 
I  know,  you  joy  not  in  a  love-discourse. 

Val.  Ay,  Proteus,  but  that  life  is  alter'd  now : 
I  have  done  penance  for  contenming  love; 
Whose  high  imperious  thoughts  iiave  punish'd  me 
With  bitter  fasts,  with  penitential  groans. 
With  nightly  tears,  and  daily  heart  sore  sighs; 
For,  in  revenge  of  my  contempt  of  love, 
Love  hath  chas'd  sleep  from  my  enthralled  eyes. 
And  made  them  watchers  of  mine  own  heart's  sorrow 
O,  gentle  Proteus,  love's  a  mighty  lord; 
And  hath  so  humbled  me,  as,  I  confess. 
There  is  no  woe  to  his  correction. 
Nor,  to  his  service,  no  such  joy  on  earth  ! 
Now,  no  discourse,  except  it  be  of  love  ; 
Now  can  I  break  my  fast,  dine,  sup,  and  sleep. 
Upon  the  very  naked  name  of  love. 

Pro.  Enough;  I  read  your  fortune  in  your  eye: 
Was  this  the  idol  that  you  worship  so? 

Val.  Even  she  ;  and  is  she  not  a  heavenly  saint? 

Pro.  No;  but  she  is  an  earthly  paragon. 

Val.  Call  her  divine. 

Pro.  I  will  not  flatter  her. 

Val.  O,  flatter  me;  for  love  delights  in  praises. 

Pro.  When  1  was  sick  you  gave  me  bitter  pills; 
And  I  must  minister  the  like  to  you. 

Val.  Then  speak  the  truth  by  her;  if  not  divine. 
Yet  let  her  be  a  principality, 
Sovereign  to  all  the  creatures  on  the  earth. 

Pro.  Except  niy  mistress. 

Val.  Sweet,  except  not  auj; 

Except  thou  will  except  against  my  love. 

Pro.  Have  I  not  reason  to  prefer  mine  own? 

Val.  And  I  will  help  thee  to  prefer  her  too; 
She  shall  be  dignified  with  tliis  high  honour,— 
To  bear  my  lady's  train  ;  lest  the  base  earth 
Should  from  her  vesture  chance  to  steal  a  kiss. 
And,  of  so  great  a  favour  growing  proud. 
Disdain  to  root  the  summer-swelliug  flower. 
And  make  rough  winter  everlasting. 

Pro.  Why,  Valentine,  what  braggardism  is  this? 

Val.  Pardon  me,  Proteus:  all  1  can,  is  nothing 
To  her,  whose  worth  makes  other  worthies  nothing; 
She  is  alone. 

Pro.  Then  let  her  alone.  [own; 

Val.  Not  lor  the  world :  why,  man,  she  is  mine 
And  I  as  rich  in  having  such  a  jewel. 
As  twenty  seas,  if  all  their  sands  were  pearl. 
The  water  nectar,  and  the  rocks  pure  gold. 
Forgive  me,  that  I  do  not  dream  on  thee. 
Because  thou  seest  me  dote  upon  my  love. 
My  foolish  rival,  that  her  father  likes, 
Only  for  his  possessions  are  so  huge. 
Is  gone  with  her  along ;  and  I  must  after. 
For  love,  thou  know'st,  is  full  of  jealousy. 

Pro.  But  she  loves  jou? 

Val.  Ay,  we  are  betroth 'd . 

Nay,  more,  our  marriage  hour. 
With  all  the  cunning  ♦lanner  of  our  flight, 
Determin'd  of:  how  I  must  climb  her  window; 
The  ladder  made  of  cords ;  and  all  the  means 
Plotted ;  and  'greed  on,  for  my  happiness 
Good  Proteus,  go  with  me  to  my  chamber, 
In  these  affairs  to  aid  me  witii  thy  counsel. 

Pro.  Go  on  before ;  I  shall  enquire  you  forta. 
I  must  unto  tlie  road,  to  disembark 
Some  necessaries  that  I  needs  must  use ; 
And  then  I'll  presently  attend  you. 

Val.  Will  you  make  haste? 

Pro.  I  will.  {'Exit  Vol, 

Even  as  one  heat  another  bent  expels. 

Or  as  one  nail  by  strength  drives  out  another 

So  the  remembrance  of  my  former  love 


Scene  7. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


23 


is  by  a  newer  object  quite  forgotten. 
Js  it  mine  eye,  or  Valeiitiniis'  praise, 
Her  true  perfection,  or  my  false  transgression, 
That  makes  me  reasonless,  to  reason  thus  ? 
She's  fair  ;  and  so  is  Julia,  that  I  love  ; — 
That  1  did  love,  for  now  my  love  is  thaw'd ; 
VVhich,  like  a  waxen  image  'gainst  a  fire, 
Bears  no  impression  of  the  thing  it  was, 
Methitiks,  my  zeal  to  Valentine  is  cold  ; 
And  that  I  love  him  not,  as  I  was  wont: 
O !  but  I  love  his  lady  too,  too  much ; 
And  that's  the  reason  I  love  h\m  so  little. 
How  shall  1  dote  on  her  with  more  advice, 
Tlmt  thus  without  advice  begin  to  love  her? 
'Tis  but  her  picture  I  have  yet  beheld, 
And  that  hath  dazzled  my  reason's  light; 
Bat  when  I  look  on  her  perfections, 
There  is  no  reason  but  I  shall  be  blind. 
If  I  can  check  my  erring  love  I  will  ; 
If  not,  to  compass  her  Til  use  my  skill.  lExit. 

Scene  V. —  The  same.    A  street. 
Enter  Speed  and  Launce. 
Speed.   Launce !  by  mine  honesty,  welcome  to 
Milan. 

haun.  Forswear  not  thyself,  sweet  youth ;  for  I 
am  not  welcome.  I  reckon  this  always — that  a  man 
is  never  undone,  till  he  be  hanged  ;  nor  welcome  to 
a  place,  till  some  certain  shot  be  paid,  and  the  hostess 
say,  welcome 

Speed.  Come  on,  you  mad-cap,  I'll  to  the  ale 
house  with  you  presently;  where,  for  one  shot  of 
five-pence,  thou  shalt  have  five  thousand  welcomes. 
Rut,  sirrah,  how  did  thy  master  part  with  madam 
Julia? 

Laun.  Marry,  after  they  closed  in  earnest,  they 
parted  very  fairly  in  jest. 

Speed.  But  shall  she  marry  him? 
haun.  No. 

Speed.  How  then?  shall  he  marry  her? 
Laun.  No,  neither. 
Speed.  What,  are  they  broken  ? 
Laun.  No,  they  are  both  as  whole  as  a  fish. 
Speed.  Why  then,  how  stands  the  matter  with 
them? 

Laun.  Marry,  thus;  when  it  stands  well  v;Ith 
him,  it  stands  well  with  her.  [not. 

Speed.  What  an  ass  art  thou  ?  I  understand  thee 

Laun.  What  a  block  art  thou,  that  thou  can'st 
not !    My  statF  understands  me. 

Speed.  What  thou  say'st  ? 

Laun.  Ay,  and  what  1  do,  to« :  look  thee,  I'll  but 
lean,  and  my  staff  understands  me. 

Speed.  It  stands  under  thee,  indeed. 

Laun.  Why,  stand  under  and  understand  is  all  one. 

Speed.  But  tell  me  true,  vvill't  be  a  match  ? 

Laun.  Ask  my  dog :  if  he  say,  ay,  it  will ;  if  he 
say,  no,  it  will ;  if  he  shake  his  tail,  and  say  nothing, 
it  will. 

Speed.  The  conclusion  is  then,  that  it  will. 

Laun.  Thou  shalt  never  get  such  a  secret  from 
me,  but  by  a  parable. 

Speed.  'Tis  well  that  I  get  it  so.  But,  Launce, 
how  say'st  thou,  that  my  master  is  become  a  notable 
lover? 

Laun.  I  never  knew  him  otherwise. 
Speed.  Than  how  ? 

haun.  A  notable  lubber,  as  thou  reportest  him 
to  be.  [me. 
Speed.  Why,  thou  whoreson  ass,  thou  mistakest 
Laun.  Why  fool,  I  meant  not  thee,  I  meant  thy 
master. 

Speed.  I  tell  thee,  my  master  is  become  a  hot  lover. 

haun.  Why,  I  tell  thee,  I  care  not  though  he 
burn  himself  in  love.  If  thou  wilt  go  with  me  to  the 
ale-house,  so;  if  not,  thou  art  an  iJebrew,  a  Jew, 
and  not  worth  the  name  of  a  Christian. 

Speed.  Why? 

Laun.  Because  thou  hast  not  so  much  charity 


in  thee,  as  to  go  to  the  ale  with  a  Christian  Will 
thou  go  ? 

Speed.  At  thy  service.  [Exeuni 
Sc.  VI. — The  same.  An  Apartment  in  the  Palac* 
Enter  Proteus. 

Pro.  To  leave  my  Julia,  shall  1  be  forsworn  j 
To  love  fair  Silvia,  shall  I  be  forsworn  ; 
To  wrong  my  friend,  I  shall  be  much  forsworn  ; 
And  even  that  povyer,  which  gave  ir.e  first  my  ratii 
Provokes  me  to  tliis  threefold  perjury. 
Love  bade  me  swear,  and  love  bids  me  forswear. 

0  sweet-suggesting  love,  if  thou  hast  sinn'd, 
Teach  me,  thy  tempted  subject,  to  excuse  it. 
At  first  I  did  adore  a  twinkling  star. 

But  now  I  worship  a  celestial  sun. 
Unheedful  vows  may  heedlidly  be  broken; 
And  he  wants  wit,  that  wants  resolved  will 
To  learn  his  wit  to  change  the  bad  for  better.— 
Fye,  fye,  unreverend  tongue !  to  call  her  bad, 
Whose  sovereignty  so  ott  thou  hast  preferr'd 
With  twenty  thousand  soul  confirming  oaths. 

1  cannot  leave  to  love,  and  yet  I  do ; 

But  there  I  leave  to  love,  where  I  should  love 

Julia  I  lose,  and  Valentine  T  lose: 

II' I  keep  theui,  1  needs  must  lose  myself; 

If  I  lose  them,  thus  find  I  by  their  loss. 

For  Valentine,  myself:  lor  Julia,  Silvia. 

I  to  myself  am  dearer  than  a  Iriend  ; 

For  love  is  still  more  precious  in  itself : 

And  Silvia,  witness  heaven,  that  made  her  fair! 

Shews  Julia  but  a  swarthy  Ethiope. 

I  will  forget  that  Julia  is  alive, 

Rememb'ring  that  my  love  to  her  is  dead ; 

And  Valentine  I'll  hold  an  enemy, 

Aiming  at  Silvia  as  a  sweeter  friend. 

I  cannot  now  prove  constant  to  myself, 

Without  some  treachery  used  to  Valentine 

This  night,  he  meaneth  with  a  corded  ladder. 

To  climb  celestial  Silvia's  chamber- window ;  \ 

Myself  in  counsel,  his  competitor: 

Now  presently  I'll  give  her  father  notice 

Of  their  disguising,  and  pretended  flight; 

Who,  all  enrag'd,  will  banish  Valentine  ; 

For  Thurio,  he  intends,  shall  wed  his  daughter 

But,  Valentine  being  gone,  I'll  quickly  cross. 

By  some  sly  trick,  blunt  Thurio's  dull  proceed' ng. 

Love,  lend  me  wings  to  make  my  purpose  swift, 

As  thou  hast  lent  me  wit  to  plot  this  drif  t.      I  Exit. 

Scene  VII. —  Verona.  A  Room  in  Julia's  House 
Enter  Julia  and  Lucetta. 

Jul.  Counsel,  Lucetta  ;  gentle  girl,  assist  me  ! 
And,  even,  in  kind  love,  I  do  conjure  thee,— 
Who  art  the  table  wherein  all  my  thoughts 
Are  visibly  character'd  and  engrav'd, — 
To  lesson  me  ;  and  tell  me  some  good  mean. 
How,  with  my  honour,  I  may  undertake 
A  journey  to  my  loving  Proteus. 

Luc.  Alas!  the  way  is  wearisome  and  long. 

Jul.  A  true-devoted  pilgrim  is  not  weary 
To  measure  kingdoms  with  his  feeble  stei)s  ; 
Much  less  shall  she,  that  hath  love's  wings  to  fly; 
And  when  the  flight  is  made  to  one  so  dear. 
Of  such  divine  perfection,  as  sir  Proteus. 

Luc.  Better  forbear,  till  Proteus  make  return. 

Jul.  O,  know'st  thou  not,  his  looks  are  my  soul'* 
Pity  the  dearth  that  I  have  pined  in,  '  [leod? 

By  longing  for  that  food  so  long  a  time. 
Didst  thou  but  know  the  inly  touch  of  love. 
Thou  vvould'st  as  soon  go  kindle  fire  with  snow, 
As  seek  to  quench  the  fire  of  love  with  words. 

Luc.  1  do  not  seek  to  quench  your  love's  hot  fire; 
But  qualify  the  fire's  extreme  rage,  '-^ 
Lest  it  should  burn  above  the  bounds  of  reason. 

Jul.  The  more  thou  dam'bt  it  up,  tiie  more  it  burns 
The  current,  that  with  gentle  murmur  glides. 
Thou  know'st,  being  stopp'd,  impatiently  doth  rage ; 
But,  when  his  fair  course  is  not  hindered, 
He  makes  sweet  music  with  the  enamel'd  stoneti. 


24 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Act  III. 


Giving  a  geicle  kiss  to  every  sedge 
He  ovei  taketh  ia  his  pilgriinao:e ; 
And  so  by  many  winding  nooks  he  strays. 
With  willing  sport,  to  the  wild  ocean. 
Then  let  me  go,  and  hinder  not  my  course: 
I'll  be  as  patient  as  a  gentle  stream, 
And  make  a  pastime  ot  each  weary  step, 
Till  the  last  step  hav  e  brought  me  to  my  love ; 
And  there  I'll  rest,  as,  after  much  turmoil, 
A  blessed  soul  doth  in  Elysium. 

Luc.  But  in  what  habit  will  you  go  along? 

Jul.  Not  like  a  woman;  for  1  would  prevent 
The  loose  encounters  of"  lascivious  men  : 
Gentle  Lucetta,  fit  me  with  such  weeds 
As  may  beseem  some  well  reputed  page. 

Luc.  Why  then,  your  ladyship  must  cut  your  hair. 

Jul.  No,  girl;  I'll  knit  it  ^^^)  in  silken  strings, 
With  twenty  odd-conceited  true-love  knots  : 
To  be  fantastic,  may  become  a  youth 
Of  greater  time  than  1  shall  show  to  be,   [breeches  ? 

Luc.  Wiiat  fashion,  madam,  shall  I  make  your 

Jul.  That  tits  as  well,  as — "  tell  me,  good  my  lord, 
"  What  compass  will  you  wear  your  farthingale  ?" 
Why,  even  that  fashion  thou  best  lik'st,  Lucetta. 

Luc.  You  must  needs  have  them  with  a  cod-piece, 
madam. 

Jul.  Out,  out,  Lucetta;  that  will  be  ill-favour'd. 

Luc.  A  round  hose,  madam,  now's  not  worth  a  pin. 
Unless  you  have  a  cod-piece  to  stick  pins  on. 

Jul.  Lucetta,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  let  me  have 
What  thou  think'st  meet,  and  is  most  mannerly  : 
But  tell  me,  wench,  how  will  the  world  repute  me. 
For  undertaking  so  unstaid  a  journey  ? 
I  fear  me,  it  will  make  me  scandaliz'd. 

Luc.  If  you  think  so,  then  stay  at  home,  and  go  not. 

Jul.  Nay,  that  I  will  not. 

Luc.  Then  never  dream  of  infamy,  but  go. 
If  Proteus  like  your  journey,  when  you  come. 
No  matter  who's  displeas'd,  when  you  are  gone  . 
Xfear  me  he  will  scarce  be  pleas'd  withal. 

Jul.  That  is  the  least,  Lucetta,  of  my  fear : 
A  thousand  oaths,  an  ocean  of  his  tears, 
And  instances  as  infinite  of  love. 
Warrant  me  welcome  to  my  Proteus. 

Luc.  All  these  are  servants  to  deceitful  men. 

Jul.  Base  men,  that  use  them  to  so  base  effect; 
But  truer  stars  did  govern  Proteus'  birth  : 
His  words  are  bonds,  his  oaths  are  oracles; 
His  love  sincere,  his  thoughts  immaculate ; 
His  tears,  pure  messengers  sent  from  his  heart; 
His  heart  as  far  from  fraud,  as  heaven  from  earth. 

Luc.  Pray  heaven,  he  prove  so,  when  you  come 
to  him ! 

Jul.  Now,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  do  him  not  that 
To  bear  a  hard  opinion  of  his  truth  ;  [wrong. 
Only  deserve  my  love,  by  loving  him ; 
And  presently  go^with  me  to  my  chamber. 
To  take  a  note  of  what  I  stand  in  need  of. 
To  furnish  me  upon  my  longing  journey. 
All  that  is  mine  I  leave  at  thy  dispose. 
My  goods,  my  lands,  my  reputation  ; 
Only,  in  lieu  thereof,  despatch  me  hence  • 
Come,  answer  not,  but  to  it  presently; 
I  am  impatient  of  my  tarriance.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  m. 

Scene  I. — Milan.    An  Anti-room  in  the  Duhe^s 
Palace. 

Enter  Duke,  Thurio,  aiid  Proteus. 

Duhe.  Sir  Thurio,  give  us  leave,  I  pray,  awhile  ; 

We  have  some  secrets  to  confer  about.  

lExit  Thurio. 
flow  tell  me,  Proteus,  what's  your  will  with  me  ? 

Pro.  My  gracious  lord,  that  which  I  would  dis- 
The  law  of  friendship  bids  me  to  conceal:  [cover. 
But,  when  I  call  to  mind  your  gracious  favours 
Done  to  me,  undeserving  as  I  am. 
My  duty  pricks  me  on  to  utter  that, 
Whi'^.h  else  no  worldly  good  should  draw  from  me. 


Know,  worthy  prince,  sir  Valentine,  my  friend, 

This  night  intends  to  steal  away  your  daughtei  ; 

Myself  am  one  made  privy  to  the  plot. 

1  know,  you  have  determin'd  to  bestow  her 

On  Thurio,  whom  your  gentle  daughter  hates  , 

And  should  she  thus  be  stolen  away  from  you. 

It  would  be  much  vexation  to  your  age. 

Thus,  for  my  duty's  sake,  I  rather  chose 

To  cross  my  friend  in  his  intended  drift. 

Than,  by  concealing  it,  heap  on  your  head 

A  pack  of  sorrows,  which  would  press  you  dowH; 

Being  unpievented,  to  your  timeless  gra\o. 

Duke.  Proteus,  I  thank  tiiee  for  thine  honest  care 
Which  to  requite,  command  me  while  1  live. 
This  love  of  theirs  myself  have  often  seen. 
Haply,  when  they  have  judged  me  fast  asleep; 
And  oftentimes  have  purpos'd  to  forbid 
Sir  Valentine  her  company,  and  my  court: 
But,  fearing  lest  my  jealous  aim  might  err. 
And  so,  unworthily,  disgrace  the  man, 
(A  rashness  that  1  ever  yet  have  shunn'd,) 
I  gave  him  gentle  looks ;  thereby  to  find 
That,  which  thyself  hast  now  disclos'd  to  me. 
And,  that  thou  may'st  perceive  my  fear  of  this. 
Knowing  that  tender  youth  is  soon  suggested, 
I  nightly  lodge  her  in  an  upper  tower. 
The  key  whereof  myself  have  ever  kept; 
And  thence  she  cannot  be  convey'd  away. 

Pro.  Know,  noble  lord,  they  have  devis'd  a  mean 
How  he  her  chamber-window  will  ascend. 
And  with  a  corded  ladder  fetch  her  down  ; 
For  which  the  youthful  lover  now  is  gone, 
And  this  way  comes  he  with  it  presently ; 
Where,  if  it  please  you,  you  may  intercept  him 
But,  good  my  lord,  do  it  so  cunningly,  , 
That  my  discovery  be  not  aimed  at; 
For  love  of  you,  not  hate  unto  my  friend, 
Hath  made  me  publisher  of  this  pretence. 

Duke.  Upon  mine  honour,  he  shall  never  know 
That  I  had  any  light  from  thee  of  this. 

Pro.  Adieu,  my  lord  ;  sir  Valentine  is  coming. 

Enter  Valentine.  [Exit, 

Duke.  Sir  Valentine,  whither  away  so  fast  ? 
Val.  Please  it  your  grace,  there  is  a  messenger 
That  stays  to  bear  my  letters  to  my  friends, 
And  I  am  going  to  deliver  them. 

Duke.  Be  they  of  much  import  ? 

Val.  The  tenor  of  them  doth  but  signify 
My  health,  and  hapjjy  being  at  your  court. 

Duke.  Nay,  then  no  matter  ;  stay  with  me  awhile 
1  am  to  break  with  thee  of  some  affairs. 
That  touch  me  near,  wherein  thou  must  be  secret. 
'Tis  not  unknown  to  thee,  that  I  have  sought 
To  match  my  friend,  sir  Thurio,  to  my  daughter. 

Val.  I  know  it  well,  my  lord  ;  and,  sure,the  match 
Were  rich  and  honourable  ;  besides,  the  gentleman 
Is  full  of  virtue,  bounty,  worth,  and  qualities 
Beseeming  such  a  wife  as  your  fair  daughter  : 
Cannot  your  grace  win  her  to  fancy  him  ?  [ward 

Duke.  No,  trust  me;  she  is  peevish,  sullen,  fro 
Proud,  disobedient,  stubborn,  lacking  duty; 
Neither  regarding  that  she  is  my  child. 
Nor  fearing  me  as  if  I  were  her  father: 
And,  may  I  say  to  thee,  this  pride  of  hers. 
Upon  advice,  hath  drawn  my  love  from  her; 
And,  where  I  thought  the  remnant  of  mine  age 
Should  have  been  cherish'd  by  her  child-like  duty, 
I  now  am  full  resolved  to  take  a  wife. 
And  turn  her  out  to  who  will  take  her  in  : 
Then  let  her  beauty  be  her  wedding -dower 
For  me  and  ray  possessions  she  esteems  not. 

Val.  What  would  your  grace  have  me  to  dointiiiif 

Duke.  There  is  a  lady,  sir,  in  Milan,  here. 
Whom  I  affect ;  but  she  is  nice,  and  coy. 
And  nought  esteems  my  aged  eloquence  : 
Now,  therefore,  would  I  have  thee  to  my  tutor 
(For  long  agone  I  have  forgot  to  court : 
Besides,  the  fashion  of  the  time  is  chang  d  ;) 
How,  and  which  way,  I  may  beitow  myself. 


Scene  1. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


25 


'J'l}  be  regarded  m  her  snn  bright  eye. 

Val.  Win  her  with  gifts,  it'  she  respect  not  words: 
Dumb  jewels  often,  in  their  silent  kind, 
More  than  quick  words,  do  move  a  woman's  mind. 
Duke.  But  she  did  scorn  a  present  that  I  sent  her. 
Val.  A  woman  sometimes  scorns  what  best  con- 
Send  her  another ;  never  give  her  o'er ;     [tents  her  : 
For  scM-n  at  first  makes  after-love  the  more. 
If  she  do  frown,  'tis  not  in  hate  of  you^ 
But  rather  to  beget  more  love  in  you  : 
If  she  do  chide,  'tis  not  to  have  you  gone  ; 
For  why,  the  fools  are  mad,  if  left  alone. 
Take  no  repulse,  whatever  she  doth  say  ; 
For,  get  you  gone,  she  doth  not  mean  away  : 
Flatter,  and  praise,  commend,  extol  their  graces  ; 
i'hongh  ne'er  so  blark,  say,  they  have  angels'  faces. 
Tliat  man  that  hath  a  tongue,  I  say,  is  no  man, 
If  with  his  tongue  he  cannot  win  a  woman. 

Duke.  Rut  she,  I  mean,  is  promis  d  by  her  friends 
Unto  a  youthful  gentleman  of  worth  ; 
And  kept  severely  from  resort  of  men. 
That  no  man  hath  access  by  day  to  her. 

Val.  Why  then  I  would  resort  to  her  by  night. 
Duke.  Ay,  but  the  doors  be  lock'd,  and  keys  kept 
That  no  man  hath  recourse  to  her  by  night.  [safe, 
Val.  What  lets,  but  one  may  enter  at  her  window  ? 
Duke.  Her  chamber  is  aloft,  far  from  the  ground  ; 
And  built  so  shelving,  that  one  cannot  climb  it 
Without  apparent  hazard  of  his  life. 

Val.  Wliy  then,  a  ladder,  quaintly  made  of  cords, 
To  cast  up  with  a  {)air  of  anchoring  hooks. 
Would  serve  to  scale  another  Hero's  tower. 
So  bold  Leander  would  adventure  it. 

Duke.  Now,  as  thou  art  a  gentleman  of  blood, 
Advise  me  where  I  may  have  such  a  ladder,  [that. 
Val.  When  would  you  use  it?  pray,  sir,  tell  rae 
Duke.  This  very  night  j  for  love  is  like  a  child, 
r\\M  longs  for  every  thing  that  he  can  come  by. 
Va/.  By  seven  o'clock  I'll  get  you  such  a  ladder. 
D:ik(^.  Hut,  hark  thee  ;  I  will  go  to  her  alone ; 
H".v  sliall  I  best  convey  the  ladder  thither? 

Val.  It  will  be  light,  my  lord,  that  you  may  bear  it 
Under  a  cloak,  that  is  of  any  length.      _  [turn. 
Di:k?  A  cloak  as  long  as  thine  will  serve  the 
Val.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 
Ihike.  Then  let  me  see  thy  cloak ; 
'11  get  me  one  of  such  another  length. 

Val.  Why,  any  cloak  will  serve  the  turn,  my  lord. 
Duke.  How  sliall  I  fashion  me  to  wear  a  cloak  ? — 
I  pray  thee,  let  me  feel  thy  cloak  upon  me. — 
VVhat  letter  is  this  same  ?  What's  here? — To  Silvia? 
And  here  an  engine  fit  for  my  proceeding  I 
I'll  be  so  bold  to  break  the  seal  for  once.  [Reads. 
My  thoughts  do  harbour  with  my  Silvia  nightly  ; 

And  slaves  they  are  to  me,  that  send  them  Jiying : 
0,  could  their  master  come  and  go  as  lightly, 
Himself  would  lodge,  ivhere  senseless  they  are 
lying. 

My  herald  thoughts  in  thy  piire  bosom  rest  them  ; 

While  I,  their  king,  that  thither  them  importune, 
Do  curse  the  grace  that  with  such  grace  hath 
bless  d  them, 

Because  myself  do  want  my  servants'  fortune  : 
I  curse  myself,  for  they  a-^e  sent  by  me,  [.be. 
That  they  should  harbour  where  their  lord  should 
What's  here  ? 

Silvia,  this  night  Iivill  enfranchise  thee  : 
'Tis  so;  and  here's  the  ladder  for  the  purpose. — 
Why,  Phaeton,  (for  thou  art  Merops'  son,) 
Wilt  thou  aspire  to  guide  the  heavenly  car. 
And  with  thy  daring  folly  burn  the  world? 
Wilt  fhou  reach  stars,  because  they  shine  on  thee? 
Go,  base  intruder  !  over- weening  slave  I 
Bestow  thy  fawning  smiles  on  equal  mates  ; 
And  think,  my  i^atience,  more  than  thy  desert, 
Is  privilege  for  thy  departure  hence  : 
Thank  me  for  this,  more  than  for  all  the  favours. 
Which,  all  too  much,  I  have  bestow'd  on  thee. 
But  if  thou  linger  in  my  territories, 
Long-er  than  swiftest  expedition 


Will  give  thee  time  to  leave  our  royal  conrt. 
By  hea\en,  n»y  wrath  shall  far  exceed  the  love 
I  ever  bore  my  daughter,  or  thyself. 
Be  gone,  I  will  not  hear  thy  vain  excuse  ; 
But  as  thou  lov'st  thy  life,  make  speed  from  hencei 

[Exit  Duie. 

Val.  And  why  not  death,  rather  than  living  tor- 
To  die,  is  to  be  banish'd  front  myself :  [meat  V 

And  Silvia  is  myself :  banish'd  fi-om  ner, 
Is  self  from  self;  a  deadly  banishment ! 
What  light  is  ligiit,  if  Silvia  be  not  seen? 
What  joy  is  joy,  if  Silvia  be  not  by? 
Unless  it  be  to  think  that  she  is  by. 
And  feed  upon  the  shadow  of  perfection. 
Except  I  be  by  Silvia  in  the  night. 
There  is  no  music  in  the  nightingale  : 
Unless  I  look  on  Silvia  in  the  day. 
There  is  no  day  for  me  to  look  upon : 
She  is  my  essence  ;  and  I  leave  to  be. 
If  I  be  not  by  her  fair  influence 
Foster'd,  illiunin'd,  cherish'd,  kept  alive. 
I  fly  not  death,  to  fly  his  deadly  doom  : 
Tarry  I  here,  I  but  attend  on  death  • 
But,  fly  I  hence,  I  fly  away  from  life. 

Enter  Proteus  and  Launce. 
Pro.  Run,  boy,  run,  run,  and  seek  him  out. 
Latin.  So-ho!  so- ho! 
Pro.  What  seest  thou  ? 

Laun.  Him  we  go  to  find  :  there's  not  a  hair  oi's 
head,  but  'tis  a  Valentine. 
Pro.  Valentine  ? 
Val.  No. 

Pro.  Who  then  ?  his  spirit? 
Val.  Neither.  ' 
Pro.  What  then? 
Val.  Nothing. 

Laun.  Can  nothing  speak  ?  master,  shall  T  stnk©  ? 
Pro.  Whom  would'st  thou  strike  ? 
Laun.  Nothing. 
Pro.  Villain,  forbear. 

Laun.  Why,  sir,  I'll  strike  nothing:  1  pray  yon,— 

Pro.  Sirrah,  1  say,  forbear : — Friend  Valentine, 
a  word.  [news, 

Val.  My  ears  are  stopp'd,  and  cannot  hear  good 
So  much  of  bad  already  hath  possess'd  them. 

Pro.  Then  in  dumb  silence  will  I  bury  mine. 
For  they  are  harsh,  untuneable,  and  bad. 

Val.  Is  Silvia  dead? 

Pro.  No,  Valentine. 

Val.  No  Valentine,  indeed,  for  sacred  Silvia  f— 
Hath  she  forsworn  me  ? 
Pro.  No,  Valentine. 

Val.  No  Valentine,  if  Silvia  have  forsworn  me  J — 
What  is  your  news?  [vanish'i. 

Laun.  Sir,  there's  a  proclamation  that  you  are 

Pro.  That  thou  art  banished,  O,  that's  the  news 
From  hence,  from  Silvia,  and  from  me  thy  friend. 

Val.  O,  I  have  fed  upon  this  woe  already. 
And  now  excess  of  it  will  make  me  surfeit. 
Doth  Silvia  know  that  I  am  banished  ? 

Pro.  Ay,  ay;  and  she  hath  ofter'd  to  the  doom^ 
(Which,  unrevers'd,  stands  in  effectual  force,) 
A  sea  of  melting  pearl,  which  some  call  tears  . 
Those  at  her  father's  churlish  feet  she  tender'd; 
With  them,  upon  her  knees,  her  humble  self ; 
Wringing  her  hands,  whose  whiteness  so  became 
As  if  but  now  they  waxed  pale  for  woe  :  [tljea, 
But  neither  bended  knees,  pure  hands  held  up. 
Sad  sighs,  deep  groans,  nor  silver-shedding  tf  ars. 
Could  penetrate  her  uncompassionate  sire: 
But  Valentine,  if  he  be  ta'en,  must  die. 
Besides,  her  intercession  chaf'd  him  so. 
When  she  for  thy  repeal  was  suppliant, 
That  to  close  prison  he  commanded  her, 
With  many  bitter  threats  of  biding  there. 

Val.  No  more ;  unless  the  next  word,  that  tbo« 
speak'st. 

Have  some  malignant  power  upon  my  life  : 
If  so,  I  tray  thee,  breathe  it  in  mine  ear. 


26  TvVO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


As  ending^  anthem  of  my  endless  dolour. 

Pro.  Cease  to  lament  for  that  thou  can'st  not  help, 
And  study  help,  for  that  which  thou  lament'st 
Time  is  the  nurse  and  breeder  of  all  good. 
Here  if  thou  st&y,  thou  canst  not  see  thy  love; 
Besides,  thy  staying  will  abridge  thy  life. 
Hope  is  a  lover's  st^tlT;  walk,  hence  with  that. 
And  manage  it  against  despairing  thoughts. 
Thy  letters  may  be  here,  though  thou  art  hence ; 
Which,  being  writ  to  me,  shall  be  deliver'd 
Even  in  the  milk-white  bosom  of  thy  love. 
The  time  now  serves  not  to  expostulate: 
Come,  I'll  convey  thee  through  the  city  gate; 
And,  ere  I  part  with  thee,  confer  at  lar.-^e 
Of  all  that  may  concern  thy  love-aftairs: 
As  thou  lov'st  Silvia,  though  not  for  thyself, 
Regard  thy  danger,  and  along  with  me. 

Val.  I  pray  thee,  Lautice,  an  if  thou  seest  my  boy, 
Bid  him  make  haste,  and  meet  me  at  the  north-gate. 

Pro.  Go,  sirrah,  find  him  out. — Come,Valentine. 

Val.  O  my  dear  Silvia  !  hapless  Valentine  ! 

[Exeunt  Valentine  and  Protects. 

Latin.  I  am  but  a  foo*l,  look  you  ;  and  yet  I  have 
the  wit  to  think,  my  master  is  a  kind  of  knave  :  but 
that's  all  one,  if  he  be  but  one  knave.  He  lives 
not  now,  that  knows  me  to  be  in  love  ;  yet  I  am  in 
love ;  but  a  team  of  horse  shall  not  pluck  that 
from  me  ;  nor  who  'tis  I  love,  and  yet  'tis  a  woman : 
but  that  woman,  I  will  not  tell  myself ;  and  yet  'tis 
a  milkmaid ;  yet  'tis  not  a  maid,  for  she  hath  had 
gossips  :  yet  'tis  a  maid,  for  she  is  her  master's  maid, 
and  serves  for  wages.  She  hath  more  qualities 
than  a  water  spaniel, — which  is  much  in  a  bare 
christian.  Here  is  the  cat-log  {Pulling  out  a  paper) 
of  her  conditions.  Impritnis,  She  can  fetch  ana 
carry.  Why,  a  horse  can  do  no  more  ;  nay,  a  horse 
cannot  fetch,  but  only  carry  ;  therefore,  is  she  better 
than  a  jade.  Item,  She  can  milk  ;  look  you,  a  sweet 
virtue  in  a  maid  with  clean  hands. 

Enter  Speed, 

Speed.  How  now,  signior  Launce  ?  what  news 
with  your  mastership? 

Laun.  With  my  master's  s!iip?  why,  it  is  at  sea. 

Speed.  Well,  your  old  vice  still ;  mistake  the 
svord  :  what  news  then  in  your  paper? 

Laitn.  The  blackest  news  that  ever  thou  heard'st 

Speed.  Why,  man,  how  black? 

hnun.  Why,  as  black  as  ink. 

Sjieed.  Let  me  read  them. 

Laun.  Fye  on  thee,  jolt  head  ;  thou  canst  not  read. 

Speed.  Thuu  liest,  I  can.  [  thee  ? 

Latin.  I  will  try  thee :  tell  me  this :  who  begot 

Speed.  Marry,  the  son  of  my  grandfather. 

Laun.  O  illiterate  loiterer!  it  was  the  son  of  thy 
f  randinother ;  this  proves,  that  thou  canst  not  read. 

Speed.  Come,  fool,  come  :  try  me  in  thy  paper. 

Laun.  There  ;  and  St.  Nicholas  be  thy  speed  ! 

Speed.  \m])Y\m\s,  She  can  milk. 

Lami.  Ay,  that  she  can. 

S/ieed.  Item,  She  brews  good  ale. 

Laun.  And  thereof  comes  the  proverb, — Blessing 
of  your  heart,  you  brew  good  ale. 

Speed.  Item,  She  can  sew. 

Laun.  That's  as  much  as  to  say.  Can  she  so? 

Sjiced  Item,  She  can  knit. 

Laun.  What  need  a  man  care  for  a  stock  with  a 
wench,  when  she  can  knit  him  a  stock? 

Speed.  Item,  She  can  wash  and  scour. 

Laun.  A  special  virtue ;  for  then  she  need  not  be 
Viaslied  and  scoured. 

Speed.  Item,  She  can  spin. 

Laun.  Then  may  I  set  the  world  on  wheels,  when 
t!ie  can  spin  for  her  living. 

Speed.  Item,  She  hath  many  nameless  virtues. 

Laun.  That's  as  much  as  to  say,  bastard  virtues; 
(hat,  indeed,  know  not  their  fathers,  and  therefore 
bave  nc)  names. 

Speed.  Here  follow  her  vices. 

Laun.  Close  at  the  heels  of  her  virtues. 


Act  hi 

Speed.  Item,  She  is  not  to  he  kissed  fasting,  im 
respect  of  her  breath. 

Laun.  Well,  that  fault  may  be  mended  with  a 
breakfast :  read  on. 

Speed.  Item,  She  hath  a  sweet  mouth. 

Laun.  That  makes  amends  for  her  sour  breath- 

Speed.  Item,  She  doth  talk  in  her  sleep. 

Laun.  It's  no  matter  {or  that,  so  she  sleep  not  Id 
her  talk. 

Speed.  Item,  She  is  slow  in  words. 

Latin.  O  villain,  tl/at  set  this  down  among  her 
vices!  To  be  slow  in  words,  is  a  woman's  only 
virtue :  I  pray  thee,  out  with't;  and  place  it  for  ht» 
chief  virtue. 

Speed.  Item,  She  is  proud. 

Laun.  Out  with  that  too ;  it  was  Eve's  legacy, 
and  cannot  be  taVn  from  her. 

Speed.  Item,  She  hath  no  teeth.  [crusts. 
Laun.  I  care  not  for  that  neither,  because  I  love 
Speed.  Item,  She  is  curst. 

Laun.  Well ;  the  best  is,  she  hath  no  teeth  to  bite. 

Speed.  She  ivill  often  p>~aise  her  liquor. 

Laun.  If  her  liquor  be  good,  she  shall :  if  she  will 
not,  I  will ;  for  good  things  should  be  praised. 

Speed.  Item,  She  is  too  liberal. 

Laun.  Of  her  tongue  she  cannot;  for  that's  writ 
down  she  is  slow  of:  of  her  purse  she  shall  not;  for 
that  I'll  keep  shut:  now  of  another  thing  she  may; 
and  that  I  cannot  help.    Well,  proceed. 

Speed.  Item,  She  hath  tnore  hair  than  wit,  and 
more  faults  than  hairs,  and  more  wealth  than 
faults. 

Laun.  Stop  there;  I'll  have  her;  she  was  mine, 
and  not  mine,  twice  or  thrice  in  that  last  article : 
rehearse  that  once  more. 

Speed.  Item,  She  hath  more  hair  than  wit, — 
Laun.  More  hair  than  wit, — it  may  bt ;  I'll  prove 
it:  the  cover  of  the  salt  hides  the  salt*  and  there 
fore  it  is  more  than  the  salt ;  the  hair  that  covers  the 
wit,  is  more  than  the  wit;  for  the  greater  liides  tha 
less.   What's  next? 
Speed. — And  more  faults  than  haurs, — 
Laun.  That's  tnonstrous :  O,  that  that  were  out  i 
Speed. — And  more  wealth  than  faults. 
Laun.  Why,  that  word  makes  the  la u Its  gracious. 
W~ell,  I'll  have  h^^  aud  if  it  be  a  match,  as  nothing 
is  injpossible, — 

Speed.  What  then? 

Laun.  Why,  then  I  will  tell  thee, — that  tby 
master  stays  for  thee  at  the  north  gat^'. 
Speed  For  me  ? 

Laun.  For  thee?  ay;  who  art  thou?  he  hath  staid 
for  a  better  man  than  thee. 

Speed.  Atid  must  I  go  to  him? 

Laun.  Thou  must  run  to  him,  for  thou  hast  staid 
so  long,  that  going  will  scarce  serve  the  turn. 

Speed.  Why  didst  not  tell  me  sooner  ?  'pox  of 
your  love-letters !  [Exit. 

Laun.  Now  will  he  be  swinged  for  reading  my 
letter:  an  unmannerly  slave,  that  will  thrust  him- 
self into  secrets! — I'll  after,  to  rejoice  in  the  boy's 
correction.  [Exit. 

Scene  II. — The  same.  A  Room  in  the  Duke's  Pa- 
lace. Enter  Duke  and  Thurio  ;  Proteus  behind. 

Duke.  Sir  Thurio,  fear  not,  but  that  she  will  love 
Now  Valentine  is  banish'd  from  her  sight.  (.you^ 

Thu.  Since  his  exile  s'ae  hath  despis'd  me  most. 
Forsworn  my  company,  and  raii'd  at  me, 
That  I  am  desperate  of  obtaining  her. 

Duke.  This  weak  impress  of  love  is  as  a  fig-sre 
Trench'd  in  ice ;  whicii  with  an  hour's  heat, 
Dissolves  to  water,  and  doth  lose  his  form. 
A  little  time  will  melt  her  frozen  thoMghts, 
And  worthless  Valentine  shall  be  forgot. — 
How  now,  sir  Proteus?  Is  your  countryman. 
According  to  our  proclamation,  gone? 

Pro.  Gone,  my  good  lord. 

Duke.  My  daughter  takes  his  going  grievously. 
Pro.  A  little  time,  my  lord,  will  kill  that  griet 


Act  IV.    Scene  1. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


27 


Dtthe,  So  I  believe ;  but  Thnrio  thinks  not  so. — 
Proteus,  tlie  good  conceit  1  hold  of  thee, 
(For  thou  hast  shown  some  sign  of  good  desert,) 
Makes  nie  the  better  to  confer  with  thee. 

Pro.  Longer  than  I  prove  loyal  to  your  grace, 
Let  me  not  live  to  look  upon  your  grace. 

Duhe.  Thon  know'st,  how  willingly  I  would  effect 
The  match  between  sir  Thurio  and  my  daughter. 

Pro.  I  do,  my  lord. 

Duke  And  also,  I  think,  thou  art  not  ignorant 
■J^ow  she  opposes  her  against  my  will. 

Pro.  She  did,  my  lord,  when  Valentine  was  here. 

Duke.  Ay,  and  perversely  she  persevers  so. 
What  might  we  do,  to  make  the  girl  forget 
The  lo\e  of  Valentine,  and  love  sir  Thurio  ? 

Pro.  The  best  way  is,  to  slander  Valentine 
With  falsehood,  cowardice,  and  poor  descent; 
Three  things  that  women  highly  hold  in  hate. 

Duke.  Ay,  but  she'll  think,  that  it  is  spoke  in  hate. 

Pro.,.  Ay,  if  his  enemy  deliver  it: 
Therefore  it  must,  with  circumstance,  be  spoken 
By  one, whom sheesteemeth  as  his  Iriend. 

Duke.  Then  you  must  undertake  to  slander  him. 

Pro.  And  that,  my  lord,  I  shall  be  loth  to  do: 
Tis  an  ill  office  for  a  gentleman  ; 
Esfjecially,  against  his  very  friend.  [him, 

Duke.  Wliere  your  good  word  cannot  advantage 
Your  slander  never  can  endamage  him  ; 
Therefore  the  office  is  indifferent. 
Being  entreated  to  it  by  your  friend. 

Pro.  You  have  prevail'd,  my  lord  •  if  I  can  do  it. 
By  aught  that  I  can  speak  in  his  dispraise, 
8he  shall  not  long  continue  love  to  him. 
But  say,  this  weed  her  love  from  Valentine, 
It  follows  not,  that  she  will  love  sir  Thnrio. 

Thu.  Therefore,  as  you  unwind  her  love  from  him, 
Lest  it  should  ravel,  and  be  good  to  none. 
You  must  provide  to  bottom  it  on  me  : 
Which  must  be  done,  by  praising  me  as  much 
As  you  in  worth  dispraise  sir  Valentine.  fkiud; 

Duke.  And,  Proteus,  we  dare  trust  you  in  this 
Because  we  know,  on  Valentine's  report. 
You  are  already  love's  firm  votary, 
And  cannot  soon  revolt  and  change  your  mind. 
Upon  this  warrant  shall  you  have  access, 
Where  you  with  Silvia  may  confer  at  large; 
For  she  is  lumpish,  heavy,  melancholy. 
And,  for  your  friend's  sake,  will  be  glad  of  you; 
Where  you  may  temper  her,  by  your  persuasion, 
'*^o  hate  young  Valentine,  and  love  my  friend. 

J*ro.  As  much  as  I  can  do,  1  will  effect: — 
But  you,  sir  Thurio,  are  not  sharp  enough  ; 
Vou  must  lay  lime,  to  tangle  her  desires, 
By  wailful  sonnets,  whose  composed  rhymes 
Should  be  full  fraught  with  serviceable  vows. 

Duke.  Ay,  much  the  force  of  heaven-bred  poesy. 

Pro  Say,  that  upon  the  altar  of  her  beauty 
You  sacrifice  your  tears,  your  sighs,  your  heart; 
Write  till  your  ink  be  dry;  and  witii  your  tears 
iVloist  it  again  ;  and  f  rame  some  feeling  line. 
That  may  discover  such  integrity  : 
For  Orpheus'  lute  was  strung  with  poets'  sinews  ; 
Whose  golden  touch  could  soften  steel  and  stones. 
Make  tigers  tame,  and  huge  leviathans 
Forsake  unsounded  deeps  to  dance  on  sands. 
After  your  dire  lamenting  elegies. 
Visit  by  night  your  lady's  chamber- window 
VV'itli  some  sweet  concert:  to  their  instruments 
Tune  a  deploring  dump;  the  night's  dead  silence 
Will  well  become  such  sweet  complaining  grievance. 
This,  or  else  nothing,  will  iniierit  her.  [love. 

Duke.  This  discipline  shows  thou  hast  been  in 

Thu.  And  thy  advice  this  night  I  II  put  in  practice : 
Therefore,  sweet  Proteus,  my  direction-giver. 
Let  us  into  the  city  presently, 
To  sort  some  gentlemen  well  skill'd  in  music  : 
I  have  a  sonnet  that  will  serve  the  turn. 
To  give  the  onset  to  tliy  good  advice. 

Duke.  About  it,  genflemen. 

Pro.  We'll  wait  upon  your  grace  till  afte.r  sr  pper : 


And  afterwards  determine  our  proceedings. 
Duke.  Even  now  about  it;  I  will  {lardon  you. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT.  IV. 

SciiNE  I. — A  Forest,  near  Mantua. 
Enter  certain  Outlaws. 

1  Out.  Fellows,  stand  fast ;  I  see  a  passenger. 

2  Out.  If  there  be  ten,  shrink  not,   but  down 

with  'em. 

Enter  Valentine  and  Speed, 

3  Out.  Stand,  sir,  and  throw  us  tiiat  you  have 

about  you  ; 
If  not,  we'll  make  you  sit,  and  rifle  you. 

Speed.  Sir,  we  are  undone  !  these  are  the  villaiuB 
That  all  the  travellers  do  fear  so  much. 

Val.  My  friends,— 

1  Out,  That's  not  so,  sir;  we  are  your  enemies. 

2  Out.  Peace;  we'll  hear  him. 

3  Out.  Ay,  by  my  beard,  will  we ; 
For  he's  a  proper  man. 

Val.  Then  know,  that  I  have  little  wealth  to  lose 
A  man  I  am,  crossed  with  adversity: 
My  riches  are  these  poor  habiliments, 
Of  which  if  you  should  here  disfurnish  me, 
You  take  the  sun)  and  substance  that  I  have. 

2  Out.  Whither  travel  you? 
Val.  To  Verona. 

1  Out.  Whence  came  you? 
Val.  From  Milan. 

3  Out.  Have  you  long  sojourn'd  tfiere  ?  [staia, 
Val.  Some  sixteen  months  ;  and  longer  might  hew 

If  crooked  fortune  had  not  thwarted  me. 

1  Out.  What,  were  you  banish'd  thence? 
Val.  I  was. 

2  Out.  For  what  offerlce? 

Val.  For  that  which  now  torments  me  to  rehearse 
I  kili'd  a  man,  whose  death  I  much  repent; 
But  yet  I  slew  him  manfully  in  fight, 
Without  false  vantage,  or  base  treachery. 

1  Out.  Why,  ne'er  repent  it,  if  it  were  done  «n  • 
But  were  you  banifh'd  for  sosmall  a  fault? 

Val.  I  was,  and  held  me  glad  of  sii.:h  a  doom. 

1  Out.  Have  you  the  tongues? 

Val.  My  youthful  travel  therein  ra?de  me  happy 
Or  else  I  often  had  been  miserable. 

3  Out.  By  the  bare  scalp  of  Robin  Hood's  fat  frini; 
This  fellow  were  a  king  for  our  wild  faction. 

1  Out.  We'll  have  him  ;  sirs,  a  word. 

Speed.  Master,  be  one  of  them; 

It  is  an  honourable  kind  of  thievery. 
Val.  Peace,  villain ! 

2  Out.  Tell  us  this  :  have  you  any  tiling  to  take  to? 
Val.  Nothing,  but  my  fortune. 

3  Om^.  Know  then,  that  some  of  us  are  gentlemen, 
Such  as  the  fiiry  of  ungovern'd  youth 

Thrust  from  the  company  of  awful  men; 
Myself  was  from  Verona  banislied, 
For  [)ractising  to  steal  away  a  lady. 
An  heir,  and  near  allied  unto  the  duke. 

2  Out.  And  1  from  Mantua,  for  a  gentleman. 
Whom,  in  my  mood,  I  stabb'd  unto  the  hea>  t. 

1  Out.  And  I,  for  such  like  petty  crimes  as  these. 
But  to  the  purpose, — (for  vve  cite  our  faults, 

T'hat  they  may  hold  excus'd  our  lawless  lives,) 
And,  partly,  seeing  you  are  beautified 
W  ith  goodly  shape  ;  and  by  your  f»wn  report 
A  linguist;  and  a  man  of  such  perfection. 
As  we  do  in  our  quality  much  want; — 

2  Out.  Indeed,  because  you  are  a  Isinish  d  man. 
Therefore,  above  the  rest,  we  parley  to  you  : 

Are  you  content  to  be  our  general? 
To  make  a  virtue  of  necessity. 

And  live,  Hs  we  do,  in  this  wilderness?  [consort? 

3  Out.  What  say'st  thou?  wilt  thou  be  of  oaf 
Sny,  ay,  and  be  the  captain  of  us  all : 

We'll  do  thee  homage,  and  be  rul'd  by  thee 
Love  thee  as  our  commander,  and  our  king. 

I  Out.  But  if  thou  scorn  our  (  ourtesy,  thou  dieii 


28 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Act  IV. 


2  Out.  Thou  shalt  not  live  to  brag  what  we  have 
olFer'd. 

Frt/.  T  take  your  offer,  and  will  live  with  you ; 
Provided  tiiat  you  do  no  outrages 
On  silly  women,  or  poor  passengers. 

S  Out.  No,  yre  detest  such  vile  base  practices. 
Come,  g3  with  us,  we'll  bring  thee  to  our  crews, 
And  shew  thee  all  the  treasure  we  have  got; 
Which,  with  ourselves,  all  rest  at  thy  dispose. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — Milan.  Court  of  the  Palace. 
Enter  Proteus. 

Pro.  Already  have  I  been  false  to  Valentine, 
^nd  now  I  must  be  as  unjust  to  Thurio. 
Under  the  colour  of  commending  him, 
I  have  access  my  own  love  to  prefer; 
But  Silvia  is  too  fair,  too  true,  too  holy, 
To  be  corrupted  with  my  worthless  gifts. 
When  I  protest  true  loyalty  to  her. 
She  twits  nie  with  my  falsehood  to  my  friend  ; 
When  to  her  beauty  I  commend  my  vows. 
She  bids  me  think,  how  I  have  been  forsworn 
In  breaking  faith  with  Julia  whom  J  lov'd : 
And,  Botwithstanding  all  her  sudden  quips, 
Tl.e  least  whereof  w  ould  quell  a  lover's  hope, 
i'et,  spaniel-like,  the  more  she  spurns  my  love, 
The  more  it  grows,  and  fawneth  on  her  still. 
But  here  comes  Thurio :  now  must  we  to  her  window, 
And  give  some  evening  music  to  her  ear. 

Enter  Thurio  and  Musicians. 

Thu.  How  now,  sir  Proteus?  are  you  crept  be- 
fore us  ? 

Pro.  Ay,  gentle  Thurio ;  for,  yon  know,  that  love 
Will  creep  in  service  wiiere  it  cannot  go. 

Thu.  Ay,  but,  I  hope,  sir,  that  you  love  not  here. 

Pro.  Sir,  but  I  do  ;  or  else  I  would  be  hence. 

Thu.  Whom?  Silvia? 

Pro.  Ay,  Silvia, — for  your  sake. 

Thu.  I  thank  you  for  your  own.  Now,  gentlemen. 
Let's  tune,  and  to  it  lustily  awhile. 
Enter  Host,  at  a  distance ;  an'd  Julia,  in  boy^s 
clothes. 

Host.  Now,  my  young  guest !  methinks  you're 
allycliolly  ;  I  pray  you,  why  is  it? 

Jul.  Marry,  mine  host,  because  I  cannot  be  merry. 

Host.  Come,  we'll  have  you  merry  :  I'll  bring  yon 
w'lete  you  shall  hear  music,  and  see  the  gentleman 
vjat  yon  ask'd  for. 

Jill.  But  shall  I  hear  him  speak  ? 

Host.  Ay,  that  you  shall. 

Jul.  That  will  be  music.  (Music  plays  ) 

Host.  Hark!  hark! 

Jul.  Is  he  among  these? 

Host.  Ay ;  but  peace,  let's  hear  'em. 

SONG. 

ff^ko  is  Silvia?  what  is  she. 

That  all  our  swains  commend  her  ? 
Holy,  fair,  and  wise  is  she; 

The  heavens  such  grace  did  lend  her 
That  she  might  admired  be. 
Is  she  kind,  as  she  is  fair  ? 

For  beauty  lives  with  kindness : 
Love  doth  to  her  eyes  repair. 

To  help  him  of  his  blindness  ; 
And,  being  help'd,  inhabits  there. 
Then  to  Silvia  let  us  sing, 

That  Silvia  is  excelling ; 
iShe  excels  each  mortal  thing. 

Upon  the  dull  earth  dwelling : 
To  her  let  us  garlands  bring. 
Host.  How  now  ?  are  you  sadder  than  you  were 

befoje? 

How  do  you,  man?  the  music  likes  you  not. 
Jul.  You  mistake  ;  the  musician  likes  me  not. 
Host.  Why,  my  pretty  youth? 
Jul.  He  plays  false,  father 


Host.  How?  out  of  tune  on  tlie  strings? 

Jul.  Not  so;  but  yet  so  false  that  he  grieves  mj 
very  heart-strings. 

Host.  You  have  a  quick  ear. 

Jul.  Ay,  I  would  I  were  deaf!  it  makes  nie  ha» 
a  slow  heart. 

Host.  I  perceive,  you  delight  not  in  music. 

Jul.  Not  a  whit,  when  it  jars  so. 

Host.  Hark,  what  fine  change  is  in  the  music  ! 

Jul.  Ay  ;  that  change  is  the  spite.  L^hing 

Host.  You  would  have  them  always  play  but  on 

Jul.  I  would  always  have  one  play  but  one  thijig 
But,  host,  doth  this  sir  Proteus,  that  we  talk  on 
often  resort  unto  this  gentlewoman  ? 

Host.  I  tell  you  what  Launce,  his  man,  told  me 
he  loved  her  out  of  all  nick. 

Jul.  Where  is  Launce  ? 

Host.  Gone  to  seek  his  dog ;  which,  to-morrow 
by  his  master's  command,  he  must  carry  for  a  pre- 
sent to  his  lady. 

Jul.  Peace .'  stand  aside !  the  company  parts. 

Pro.  Sir  Thurio,  fear  not  you  !  I  will  so  plead. 
That  you  shall  say,  my  cunning  drift  excels. 

Thu.  Where  meet  we  ? 

Pro.  At  saint  Gregory's  well. 

Thu.  Farewell.  {Exeunt  Thurio  and  Musicians  ) 
Silvia  appears  above,  at  her  windotv. 

Pro.  Madam,  good  even  to  your  ladyship. 

Sil.  I  thank  you  for  your  music,  gentlemen  ; 
Who  is  that,  tliat  spake  ? 

Pro.  One,  lady,  if  you  knew  his  pure  heart's  truth. 
You'd  quickly  learn  to  know  him  by  his  voice. 

Sil.  Sir  Proteus,  as  I  take  it. 

Pro.  Sir  Proteus,  gentle  lady,  and  your  servant. 

Sil.  What  is  your  will  ? 

Pro.  That  I  may  compass  yours. 

Sil.  You  have  your  wish  ;  my  will  is  even  this,— 
l^hat  presently  you  hie  you  home  to  bed. 
Thou  subtle,  perjur'd,  false,  disloyal  man  ! 
Think'st  thou,  I  am  so  shallow,  so  conceitless 
To  be  seduced  by  thy  flattery. 
That  hast  deceiv'd  so  many  with  thy  vows? 
Return,  return,  and  make  thy  love  amends. 
For  me, — by  this  pale  queen  of  night  I  swear, 
I  am  so  far  from  granting  thy  request, 
That  I  despise  thee  for  thy  wrongful  suit ; 
And  by  and  by  intend  to  chide  myself, 
Even  for  this  time  I  spend  in  talking  to  thee. 

Pro.  I  grant,  sweet  love,  that  I  did  love  a  lady 
But  she  is  dead. 

Jul.  'Twere  false,  if  I  should  speak  it; 
For,  I  am  sure,  she  is  not  buried.  {Aside.; 

Sil.  Say,  that  she  be  ;  yet  Valentine,  thy  friend. 
Survives  ;  to  whom,  thyself  art  witness, 
I  am  betroth'd  :  and  art  thou  not  asham'd 
To  wrong  him  with  tl'.y  iniportunacy  ? 

Pro.  I  likewise  hear,  that  Valentine  is  dead. 

Sil.  And  so,  suppose  am  I ;  for  in  his  grave. 
Assure  thysell,  my  love  is  buried. 

Pro.  Sweet  lady,  let  me  rake  it  from  the  earth, 

Sil.  Go  to  thy  lady's  grave,  and  call  hers  thence  j 
Or,  at  the  least,  in  hers  sepulchre  thine. 

Jul.  He  heard  not  that.  {Aside.) 

Pro.  Madam,  if  your  heart  be  so  obdurate. 
Vouchsafe  me  yet  your  picture  for  my  love, 
The  picture  that     hanging  in  your  chamber; 
To  that  I'll  speak,  to  that  I'll  sigh  and  weep : 
For,  since  the  substance  of  your  perfect  self 
Is  else  devoted,  I  am  but  a  shadow ; 
And  to  your.shadow  I  will  make  true  love.  [it 

Jul.  If 'twere  a  substance,  you  would  sure  decftivtt 
And  make  it  but  a  shadow,  as  I  am.  {Aside.) 

Sil,  I  am  very  loth  to  be  your  idol,  sir: 
But,  since  your  falsehood  shall  become  you  well 
To  worship  shadows,  and  adore  false  shapes. 
Send  to  me  in  the  morning,  and  I'll  send  it : 
And  so,  good  rest. 

Pro,  As  wretches  have  o'er-night, 

That  wait  for  execution  in  the  morn. 

^Exeunt  Proteus ;  and  Silvia.,  from  above 


Scene  4  TWO  GENTLEM£ 

Jul.  Host,  will  yon  go? 

Host.  By  iny  hallidoiu,  I  was  fast  asleep. 

Jui.  Pray  you,  where  lies  sir  Proteus? 

Host.  Marry,  at  my  house.  Trust  nie,  I  think, 
tis  almost  day. 

Jul.  Not  so  ;  bnt  it  hath  been  the  longest  night 
That  e'er  I  watch'd,  and  the  most  heaviest.  [Exeunt 

Scene  III. — The  same. 
Enter  Eglamour. 
Egl.  This  is  the  hour  that  madam  Silvia 
Entreated  me  to  call,  and  know  her  mind  ; 
There's  some  great  matter  she'd  employ  me  in. — 
Madam,  madam  I 

Silvia  appears  above,  at  her  window. 
Sll  Who  calls? 

EyI.  Your  servant,  and  your  friend; 

One  that  attends  your  ladyship's  command. 

SiL  Sir  Eglamour,  a  thousand  times  good-morrow. 

Eyl.  As  many,  worthy  lady,  to  yourself. 
According  to  your  ladyship's  impose, 
1  am  thus  early  come,  to  know  what  service 
It  is  your  pleasure  to  command  me  in. 

Sii.  O  Eglamour,  thou  art  a  gentleman, 
(Tliink  not,  I  flatter,  for,  I  swear,  I  do  not,) 
Valiant,  wise,  remorseful,  well  accomjilish'd. 
Thou  art  not  ignorant,  what  dear  good  will 
I  bear  unto  the  banish'd  Valentine  ; 
Nor  how  my  ftither  would  enforce  me  marry 
Vain  Thurio,  whom  my  very  soul  abhorr'd. 
Thyself  hast  lov'd  ;  and  I  have  heard  thee  say 
No  grief  did  ever  come  so  near  thy  heart. 
As  when  thy  lady  and  thy  true  love  died. 
Upon  whose  grave  thou  vow'dst  pure  chastity.  > 
Sir  Eglamour,  I  would  to  Valentine, 
To  Mantua,  where,  I  hear,  he  makes  abode ; 
And,  for  the  \fviys  are  dangerous  to  pass, 
I  do  desire  thy  wcrthy  company, 
Upon  whose  faith  and  honour  I  repose. 
Urge  not  my  father's  anger,  Eglamour, 
But  think  upon  my  grief,  a  lady's  grief: 
And  on  the  justice  of  my  flying  hence. 
To  keep  me  from  a  most  unholy  match, 
Which  heaven  and  fortune  still  reward  with  plagues. 
I  do  desire  thee,  even  from  a  heart 
A.s  full  of  sorrows  as  the  sea  of  sands, 
Vo  bear  me  company,  and  go  with  me  : 
If  not,  to  hide  what  I  have  said  to  thee. 
That  I  may  venture  to  depart  alone. 

Ef/l.  Madam,  I  pity  much  your  grievances ; 
Which  since  I  know  they  virtuously  are  placed, 
I  give  cimsent  to  go  along  with  you ; 
Recking  as  little  what  betideth  me 
As  much  I  wish  all  good  befortune  you. 
When  will  you  go? 

Sil.  This  evening  coming. 

Eyl.  Where  shall  I  meet  you  ? 

SiL  At  friar  Patrick's  cell. 

Where  I  intend  holy  confession. 

Eyl.  I  will  not  fail  your  ladyship  : 
flood-morrow,  gentle  lady. 

Sil.  Good-morrow,  kind  sir  Eglamour.  (Exeunt.) 

Scene  IV. — l^ie  same. 
Enter  Launce,  with  his  dog. 
When  a  man's  servant  shall  play  the  cur  with 
him,  look  you,  it  goes  hard  :  one  that  I  brought  up 
of  a  puppy  ;  one  that  I  saved  from  drowning,  when 
three  or  tour  of  his  blind  brothers  and  sisters  went 
to  it!  I  have  taught  him — even  as  one  would  say 
precisely,  Thus  1  would  teach  a  dog.  I  was  sent 
to  deliver  him,  as  a  present  to  mistress  Silvia,  from 
my  master;  and  I  came  no  sooner  into  the  dining- 
chaniber,  but  he  steps  me  to  her  trencher,  and  steals 
her  capon's  leg.  O,  'tis  a  foul  thing,  when  a  cur 
cannot  keep  himself  in  all  companies !  I  would 
have,  as  one  should  say,  one  that  takes  upon  him 
to  be  a  d<ig  -ndeed,  to  b<^,  as  it  were,  a  dog  at  all 
things.  If  I  had  not  had  more  wit  than  he.  to 
take  a  fault  upon  me  that  he  did,  I  think  verily  he 


T  OF  VERONA.  29 

had  been  hanged  for't;  sure  as  I  tive  be  had  euP 
fered  for't.  you  shall  judge.  He  thrusts  nie  aim 
self  into  the  company  of  three  or  four  gentleman 
like  dogs,  under  the  duke's  table  :  he  had  not  beeo 
there  (bless  the  mark)  a  pissing  while,  but  all  the 
chamber  smelt  him.  Out  with  the  dor/,  says  one 
IVhat  cur  is  that?  says  another;  Whip  him  out, 
says  the  third  ;  Hany  him  up,  s:tys  the  duke.  I, 
having  been  acquainted  with  the  smell  before, 
knew  it  was  Ciab;  and  goes  me  to  the  fellow  that 
whips  the  dogs  :  Friend,  quoth  I,  you  mean  to  whip 
the  doy  '!  Ay,  marry,  do  I,  quoth  he.  You  do  hitn 
the  more  wro7ig,  quoth  I ;  'twas  I  did  the  thiny  yov 
wot  of.  He  makes  me  no  more  ado,  but  whips  me 
out  of  the  chamber.  How  many  masters  would 
do  this  for  their  servant?  Nay,  I'll  be  sworn,  I 
have  sat  on  the  stocks  for  puddings  he  hath  stolen, 
otherwise  he  had  been  executed :  I  have  stood  on 
the  pillory  for  geese  he  hath  killed,  otherwise  he  had 
sutiered  for't :  thou  think'st  not  of  this  now  ! — Nay, 
I  remember  the  trick  you  served  me,  when  I  took 
my  leave  of  madam  Silvia ;  did  not  I  bid  thee  still 
mark  me,  and  do  as  I  do?  When  did'st  thou  see 
me  heave  np  my  leg,  and  make  water  against  a 
gentlewoman's  farthingale  ?  didst  thou  ever  see  me 
do  such  a  trick  ? 

Enter  Proteus  and  Julia. 

Pro.  Sebastian  is  thy  name  ?  I  like  thee  wftll. 
And  will  employ  thee  in  some  service  presently. 

Jtd.  In  what  you  please; — I  will  do  what  I  can. 

Pro.  I  hope  thou  wilt. — How  now,  you  whoreson 
peasant  ?  ( To  Launce.) 

Where  have  you  been  these  two  days  loitering? 

Laun.  Marry,  sir,  I  carried  mistress  Silvia  the  dog 
you  bade  me. 

Pro.  And  what  says  she  to  my  little  jewel  ? 

Laun.  Marry,  she  says,  your  dog  was  a  cur  ;  and 
tells  you,  currish  thanks  is  good  enough  for  such  a 

Pro.  But  she  received  my  dog?  [present. 

Laun.  No,  indeed,  she  did  not:  her**  have  / 
brought  him  back  again. 

Pro.  What,  didst  thou  offer  her  this  from  me  f 

Laun.  Ay  sir;  the  other  squirrel  was  st-^len  fi  om 
me  by  the  hangman's  boys  in  the  market-place  :  and 
then  1  offered  her  mine  own  ;  who  is  a  dog  as  big  as 
ten  of  yours,  and  therefore  the  gift  the  greater. 

Pro.  Go,  get  thee  hence,  and  find  my  dog  again. 
Or  ne'er  return  again  into  my  sight. 
Away,  I  say  :  stay'st  thou  to  vex  me  here  ? 
A  slave,  that,  still  an  end,  turns  me  to  shame. 

\Exit  Launce, 

Sebastian,  I  have  entertained  thee. 
Partly,  that  I  have  need  of  such  a  youth. 
That  can  with  some  discretion  do  mf  business. 
For  'tis  no  trusting  to  yon  foolish  lowt ; 
But,  chiefly,  for  thy  face,  and  thy  behaviour. 
Which  (if  my  augury  deceive  nie  not) 
Witness  goo3  bringing  np,  fortune,  and  trnth: 
Therefore  know  thou,  for  this  I  entertain  thee. 
Go  presently,  and  take  this  ring  with  thee. 
Deliver  it  to  madam  Silvia  : 

She  loved  me  well,  deliver'd  it  to  me.  [token 
Jul.  It  seems  you  loved  her  not,  to  leave  bei 

She's  dead,  belike. 

Pro.  Not  so :  I  think,  she  Uv£8 

Jid.  Alas ! 

Pro.  Why  dost  thou  cry,  alas  ? 

Jul.  I  cannot  choose  but  pity  her. 

Pro.  Wherefore  should'st  thou  [lity  her? 

Jul.  Because,  methinks  that  she  loved  you  as  H 
As  you  do  love  your  lady  Silvia  : 
She  dreams  on  him,  that  has  forgot  her  love ; 
You  dote  on  her,  that  cares  not  for  your  lof  e. 
'Tis  pity,  love  should  be  so  contrary; 
And  thinking  on  it  makes  me  cry,  alas  ! 

Pro.  Well,  give  her  that  ring,  anJ  therewithal 
This  letter; — that's  her  chamber. — Tell  my  lady, 
I  claim  the  promise  for  her  heavenly  picture. 
Your  message  done,  hie  home  unto  i»y  chamber^ 


80 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


Act  V. 


Where  thou  shalt  find  me  sad  and  solitary.[^Jj;.  Pro. 

Jtil.  How  many  women  would  do  such  a  message? 
Alas,  poor  Proteus  !  thou  hast  entertained 
A  fox,  to  be  the  shepherd  of  thy  Iambs: 
Alas  ,  poor  fool !  why  do  I  pity  him 
That  with  his  veiy  heart  despiseth  me  ? 
Because  he  loves  her,  he  despiseth  me ; 
Fiecause  I  love  him,  I  must  pity  him. 
This  ring  1  gave  him,  when  he  parted  from  me, 
To  bind  him  to  remember  my  good  will : 
And  now  am  I  (unhappy  messenger) 
To  plead  for  that,  which  I  would  not  obtain; 
To  carry  that  which  I  would  have  refns'd  ; 
To  praise  his  faith,  which  I  would  have  disprais'd. 
I  am  my  master's  true  confirmed  love  ; 
But  cannot  be  true  servant  to  my  master. 
Unless  I  prove  false  traitor  to  myself. 
Yet  I  will  woo  for  him  ;  but  yet  so  coldly, 

heaven  it  knows,  I  would  not  have  him  speed. 

Enter  Silvia,  attended. 
Gentlewoman,  good  day !  I  pray  you,  be  my  mean 
To  bring  me  vvhere  to  speak  with  madam  Silvia. 

8'd.  What  would  you  with  her,  if  that  I  be  she  ? 

Jid.  If  you  be  she,  1  do  entreat  your  patience 
To  hear  me  speak  the  message  1  am  sent  on. 

Sil.  From  whom? 

Jul.  From  my  master,  sir  Proteus,  madam. 
Sil.  O  ! — he  sends  you  for  a  picture  ? 
Jul.  Ay,  madam. 

Sil.  Ursula,  bring  my  picture  there. 

{Picture  brought.) 
Go,  give  your  master  this  :  tell  him  from  me. 
One  Julia,  that  his  changing  thoughts  forget. 
Would  better  fit  his  chamber  than  this  shadow. 

Jul.  Madam,  please  you  peruse  this  letter.  

Pardon  me,  madam  ;  I  have  unadvis'd 
Delivered  you  a  paper  that  I  should  not ; 
This  is  the  letter  to  your  ladyship. 

Sil.  f  pray  thee,  let  me  look  on  that  again. 

Jtd.  It  may  not  be ;  good  madam,  pardon  me. 

Hil.  There,  hold 
I  will  not  look,  upon  your  master's  lines: 
]  know  they  are  stuff'd  with  protestations, 
And  full  of  new-found  oaths;  which  he  will  break. 
As  easily  as  I  do  tear  his  paper. 

Jttl.  Madam,  he  sends  your  ladyship  this  ring. 

Sil.  The  more  shame  for  him  that  he  sends  it  me ; 
For,  I  have  heard  him  say  a  thousand  times. 
His  Julia  gave  it  him  at  his  departm-e: 
Though  his  false  finger  hath  profan'd  the  ring, 
Mine  shall  not  do  his  Julia  so  much  wrong. 

Jul.  She  thanks  you. 

Sil.  What  say'st  thou  ? 

Jid.  I  thank  you,  madam,  that  you  tender  her: 
Poor  gentlewoman  !  my  master  wrongs  her  much. 

Sil.  Dost  thou  know  her? 

Jtd.  Almost  as  well  as  I  do  know  myself : 
To  think  upon  her  woes ,  I  do  protest, 
That  I  have  wept  an  hundred  several  times.  [her. 

Sil.  Belike,  she  thinks  that  Proteus  hath  forsook 

Jid.  I  think  she  doth,  and  that's  her  cause  of 

Sil.  Is  she  not  passing  fair  ?  [sorrow. 

Jid.  She  hath  been  fairer,  madam,  than  she  is: 
When  she  did  think  my  master  lov'd  her  well. 
She,  in  my  judgment,  was  as  fair  as  you  ; 
But  since  she  did  neglect  her  looking-glass. 
And  threw  her  sun-expelling  mask  away, 
The  air  hath  starv'd  the  roses  in  her  cheeks. 
And  pinch'd  the  lily-tincture  of  her  face, 
Tiiat  now  she  is  become  as  black  as  I, 

Sil.  How  tall  was  she  ? 

Jul.  About  my  stature:  for,  at  Pentecost. 
When  all  onr  pageants  of  dehght  were  play'l. 
Our  youth  got  me  to  play  the  woman's  part. 
And  I  was  trimm'd  in  mr\dam  Julia's  gown; 
Which  served  me  as  fit,  by  all  men's  judgment. 
As  if  the  garment  had  been  made  for  me  : 
Therefore,  J  know  she  is  about  my  height. 
And,  at  that  time,  I  made  her  weep  a-good. 


For  I  did  play  a  lamentable  part; 
Madam,  twas  Ariadne,  passioning 
For  Theseus'  perjury,  and  unjust  flight; 
Which  I  so  lively  acted  with  my  tears. 
That  my  poor  mistress,  moved  therewithal. 
Wept  bitterly  ;  and,  would  I  might  be  dead^ 
If  I  in  thought  felt  not  her  very  sorrow. 

Sil.  She  is  beholden  to  thee,  gentle  youth  I— 
Alas,  poor  lady !  desolate  and  left! — 
I  weep  myself,  to  think  upon  thy  words. 
Here,  youth,  there  is  my  purse  ;  I  give  thee  this 
For  thy  sweet  mistress'  sake,  because  thou  lov'sther 
Farewell.  iExit  Silvig 

Jul.  And  she  shall  thank  you  for't,  if  e'er  yo 
know  her. 

A  virtuous  gentlewoman,  mild,  and  beautiful. 

I  hope  my  master's  suit  will  be  but  cold. 

Since  she  respects  my  mistress'  love  so  much. 

Alas,  how  love  can  trifle  with  itself! 

Here  is  her  picture :  let  me  see  ;  I  think. 

If  I  had  such  a  tire,  this  face  of  mine 

Were  full  as  lovely  as  is  this  of  hers : 

And  yet  the  painter  flatter'd  her  a  little. 

Unless  I  flatter  with  myself  too  much. 

Her  hair  is  auburn,  mine  is  perfect  yellow : 

If  that  be  all  the  difi'erence  in  his  love, 

I'll  get  me  such  a  colour'd  periwig. 

Her  eyes  are  grey  as  glass  ,  and  so  are  mine: 

Ay,  but  her  forehead's  low,  and  mine's  as  high 

What  should  it  be,  that  he  respects  in  her. 

But  1  can  make  respective  in  myself, 

If  this  fond  love  were  not  a  blinded  god  ? 

Come,  shadow,  come,  and  take  this  shadow  up, 

For  'tis  thy  rival.   O  thou  senseless  ibrm, 

Thou  shalt  be  worshipp'd,  kiss'd,  lov'd,  and  adord. 

And,  were  there  sense  in  this  idolatry. 

My  substance  should  be  statue  in  thy  stead. 

I'll  use  thee  kindly  tor  thy  mistress'  sake. 

That  us'd  me  so  ;  or  else,  by  Jove,  1  vow 

I  should  have  scratch'd  out  your  unseeing  eyes. 

To  make  my  master  out  of  love  with  thee.      f  Exit 

ACT  V. 
Scene  I. — The  same.   An  Abbey 
Enter  Eglamour, 
Egl  The  sun  begins  to  gild  the  western  sky ; 
And  now,  it  is  about  the  very  hour 
That  Silvia,  at  Patrick's  cell,  should  meet  me. 
She  will  not  fail ;  for  lovers  break  not  hours. 
Unless  it  be  to  come  before  their  time  ; 
So  much  they  spur  their  expedition. 

Enter  Silvia. 
See  where  she  comes  :  Lady,  a  happy  evening  f 

Sil.  Amen,  amen!  go  on,  good  Eglamour  I 
Out  at  the  postern  by  the  abbey- wall ; 
I  fear  I  am  attended  by  some  spies. 

Egl.  Fear  not :  the  forest  is  not  three  leagues  oft  . 
If  we  recover  that,  we  are  sure  enough.  [Exeunt 

Scene  II. — The  same.    An  Apartment  in  the 
Duke's  Palace. 
Enter  Thurio,  Proteus,  and  Julu- 

Thu.  Sir  Proteus,  what  savs  Silvia  to  my  suit? 

Pro.  O,  sir,  I  find  her  milder  than  she  was  ; 
And  yet  she  takes  exceptions  at  your  person. 

Thu.  What,  that  my  leg  is  too  long  ? 

Pro.  No  ;  that  it  is  too  little.  ^  [rounder 

Thu.  I'll  wear  a  boot,  to  make  it  somewhat 

Pro.  But  love  will  not  be  spurr'd  to  what  it  loaths. 

Thu.  What  says  she  to  my  face  ? 

Pro.  She  says,  it  is  a  fair  one. 

Thu.  Nay,  then  the  wanton  lies ;  my  face  is  black, 

Pro.  But  pearls  are  fair ;  and  the  old  saying  is. 
Black  men  are  pearls  in  beauteous  ladies'  eyes. 

Jjil.  'Tis  true,  such  pearls  as  put  out  ladies'  eyes 
For  I  had  rather  wink  than  look  on  them.  (Aside.) 

Thu.  How  likes  she  my  discourse? 

Pro.  Ill,  when  you  talk  of  war.  [peace? 

Thu.  But  well,  when  I  discourse  of  love  and 


SCEITE  A. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  YERONA. 


81 


Jul.  But  better,  indeed,  whfu  you  hold  your 
peace.  C Aside.) 
Thu.  What  says  she  to  my  valour? 
Pro.  O,  sir,  she  makes  no  doubt  of  that. 
Jul.  She  needs  not,  when  she  knows  it  cowardice. 

( Aside.) 

Thu.  What  says  she  to  my  birth  ? 

Pro.  That  you  are  well  deriv'd. 

Jul.  True  ;  from  a  gentleman  to  a  fool.  (Aside.) 

Thu.  Considers  she  my  possessions? 

Pro.  O,  ay  ;  and  pities  them. 

Thu  Wherefore? 

J?il.  That  such  an  ass  should  owe  thera.  (Aside.) 
Pro.  That  they  are  out  by  lease. 
Jul.  Here  comes  the  duke. 

Eiiter  DUKJE. 
Duke,  flow  now,  sir  Proteus  !  how  now,  Thurio  .' 
"Which  of  you  saw  sir  Eglamour  of  late  ? 
Thu.  Not  I. 
Pro.  Nor  I. 

Duke.  Saw  you  my  daughter? 

Pro.  Neither. 

Duke.  Why,  then  she's  fled  unto  that  peasant 
And  Eglamour  is  in  her  company.         [Valentine  ; 
'Tis  true  ;  for  friar  Laurence  met  them  both. 
As  he  in  penance  wander'd  through  the  forest : 
Him  he  knew  well,  and  guess'd  that  it  was  she  ; 
But,  being  mask'a^  he  was  not  sure  of  it: 
Besides,  she  did  intend  confession 
At  Patrick's  cell  this  even  ;  and  there  she  was  not: 
These  likelihoods  confirm  her  flight  from  hence. 
Therefore,  1  pray  you,  stand  not  to  discourse. 
But  mount  you  presently  ;  and  meet  with  me 
Upon  the  rising  of  the  mountain- foot 
Tiiat  leads  towards  Mantua,  whither  they  are  fled. 
Despatch,  sweet  gentlemen,  and  follow  me.  [Exit. 

Thu.  Why,  this  it  is  to  be  a  peevish  girl, 
riiat  flies  her  fortune  when  it  follows  her  : 
I'll  after,  more  to  be  reveng'd  on  Eglamour, 
i'han  for  the  love  of  reckless  Silvia.  [Exit. 

Pro.  And  I  will  follow  more  for  Silvia's  leve, 
Than  hate  of  Eglamour  that  goes  with  her.  [Exit. 

Jul.  And  I  will  follow,  more  to  cross  that  love, 
riiau  hate  for  Silvia,  that  is  gone  for  love.  [Exit. 

Scene  III. — Frontiers  of  Mantua.    The  Forest. 
Enter  Silvia  and  Outlaws. 

1  Out.  Come,  come  ; 

Be  patient,  we  must  bring  you  to  our  captain. 

Sil.  A  thousand  more  mischances  than  this  one 
Have  h^ani'd  me  how  to  brook  this  patiently. 

2  Out.  Come,  bring  her  away. 

1  Out.  Where  is  the  gentleman  that  was  with  her? 

3  Out.  Being  nimble-footed,  he  hath  out-run  us. 
But  Moyses,  and  Valerius,  follow  him. 

Go  thou  with  her  to  the  west  end  of  the  wood, 
There  is  our  captain:  we'll  follow  him  that's  fled  : 
The  thicket  is  beset,  he  cannot  'scape  [cave  : 

1  Out.  Come,  I  must  bring  you  to  our  captain's 
Fear  not ;  he  bears  an  honourable  mind. 
And  will  not  use  a  woman  lawlessly. 

Sil.  O  Valentine,  this  I  endure  for  thee.  {Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — Another  part  of  the  Forest. 
Enter  Valentine. 
\al.  How  use  doth  breed  a  habit  in  a  man! 

This  shadowy  desert,  unfrequented  woods, 

I  better  brook  than  flourishing  peopled  towns  : 

Here  can  I  sit  alone  ,  unseen  of  any, 
^  And,  tu  the  nightingale's  complaining  notes, 
"Tune  my  distresses,  and  record  my  woes. 

O  thou  that  dost  inhabit  in  my  breast. 

Leave  not  the  mansion  so  long  tenantless  ; 

Lest,  growing  ruinous,  the  building  fall. 

And  leave  no  memory  of  what  it  vvas  ! 

Repair  me  with  thy  presence,  Silvia  ; 

Thou  gentle  nymph,  cherish  thy  forlorn  swain  ! 

\Vliat  hallooing,  and  what  stir,  is  this  to-day  ? 

iiiese  are  my  mates,  that  make  their  wills  their  law, 


Have  some  unhappy  passenger  in  chase: 

They  love  me  well :  yet  1  have  much  to  do. 

To  keep  them  from  uncivil  outrages. 

Withdraw  thee,  Valentine  ;  who's  this  comes  here? 

[Steps  asidt- 

Enter  Proteus,  Silvia,  and  Julia. 

Pro.  Madam,  this  service  I  have  done  for  you, 
(Though  you  respect  not  aught  your  servant  doth,} 
To  hazard  life,  and  rescue  you  from  him 
That  would  have  forc'd  your  honour  and  your  love 
Vouchsafe  me,  for  my  meed,  but  one  fair  look  ; 
A  smaller  boon  than  this  I  cannot  beg, 
And  less  than  this,  I  am  sure,  you  cannot  give. 

Val.  How  like  a  dream  is  this  1  see  and  hoar ! 
Love,  lend  me  patience  to  forbear  a  while.  [Asuie.] 

Sil.  O  miserable,  unhappy  tliat  I  am  ! 

Pro.  Unhappy  were  you,  madam,  ere  I  came ; 
But,  by  my  coming,  I  have  made  you  happy. 

Sil.  By  thy  approach  thou  mak'st  me  mos<t  unhappy 

Jul.  And  me,  when  he  approaclieth  to  your  pre- 
sence. {Aside.) 

Sil.  Had  I  been  seized  by  a  hungry  lion, 
I  would  have  been  a  breakfast  for  the  beast. 
Rather  than  have  false  Proteus  rescue  me. 
O,  heaven  be  judge,  how  I  love  Valentine, 
Whose  life's  as  tender  to  me  as  my  soul ; 
And  full  as  much,  (for  more  there  cannot  be,) 
I  do  detest  false  perjur'd  Proteus  : 
Therefore  be  gone,  solicit  n:e  no  more. 

Pro.  What  dangerous  action,  stood  it  next  to  death 
Would  I  not  undergo  for  one  calm  look  ? 
O,  'tis  the  curse  in  love,  and  still  approv'd. 
When  women  cannot  love  where  they're  belov'd. 

Sil.  When  Proteus  cannot  love  where  he's  belo« 'd 
Read  over  Julia's  heart,  thy  first  best  love. 
For  whose  dear  sake  thou  didst  then  rend  thy  faith 
Into  a  thousand  oaths ;  and  all  those  oaths 
Descended  into  perjury,  to  love  me. 
Thou  hast  no  faith  left  now,  unless  thou  had'st  two 
And  that's  far  worse  than  none  ;  better  have  none 
Thau  plural  faith,  which  is  too  much  by  one . 
Thou  counterfeit  to  thy  true  friend 

Pro.  In  love. 

Who  respects  friends  ? 

Sil.  All  men  but  Proteus. 

Pro.  Nay,  if  the  gentle  spirit  of  moving  words 
Can  no  way  change  you  to  a  milder  form, 
I'll  woo  you  like  a  soldier,  at  arms'  end  ; 
And  love  you  'gainst  the  nature  of  love,  'brce  you 

Sil.  O  heaven ! 

Pro.  I'll  force  thee  yield  to  my  desiie. 

Val.  Ruffian,  let  go  that  rude  uncivil  touch  ; 
Thou  friend  of  an  ill  fashion ! 

Pro.  Valentine !       [loye , 

Val.  Thou  common  friend,  that's  without  faith  or 
(For  such  is  a  friend  now,)  treacherous  man  ! 
Thou  hast  beguil'd  my  hopes ;  nought  but  niine  eye 
Could  have  persuaded  me :  now  I  dare  not  say, 
I  have  one  friend  alive ;  thou  would'st  disprove  me. ' 
Who  should  be  trusted  now.  when  one's  right  haud 
Is  perjur'd  to  the  bosom  ?  Proteus, 
I  am  sorry  1  must  never  trust  thee  more, 
But  count  the  world  a  stranger  for  thy  saka 
The  private  wound  is  deepest:  O  time,  mostcarstt 
'Mongst  all  foes,  that  a  friend  should  be  the  worffti 

Pro.  My  shame  and  guilt,  confound  me  — 
Forgive  me,  Valentine  :  if  hearty  sorrov» 
Be  a  sufficient  ransom  for  ofl'ence, 
I  tender  it  here  ;  I  do  as  truly  suffer. 
As  e'er  I  did  commit. 

Val.  Then  I  am  paid ; 

^And  once  again  I  do  jeceive  thee  honest : — 
Who  by  repentance  is  not  satisfied. 
Is  not  of  heaven,  nor  earth ;  for  these  are  j^leae'ii; 
By  penitence  the  Eternal's  wrath's  appeas'd  : — 
And,  that  my  love  may  appear  plain  and  free. 
All  that  was  mine  in  Silvia  I  give  thee. 

Jtil.  O  n»e,  unhappy  !  (Faints.. 

Pro.  Look  to  the  boy. 


as 

Vtd.Wliy,  boy!  why,  wag!  how  now?  what  is 
Look  up ;  speak.  [the  matter? 

JaJ.  O  good  sir,  my  master  charg  d  me 

To  deliver  a  ring  to  madam  Silvia  ; 
iVhich,  out  of  my  neglect,  was  nev  er  done. 

Pro.  Where  is  that  rin.u,  boy  ? 

Jul.       Here  'tis ;  this  is  it.        {Gives  a  ring  ) 

Pro.  How !  let  me  see  ; 
>Vhy  this  is  the  ring  I  gave  to  Julia. 

Jul.  O,  cry  you  mercy,  sir,  I  have  mistook. 
riiLB  is  the  ring  you  sent  to  Silvia. 

[Shews  another  ring ) 

i'ro.  But  how  cam'st  thou  by  thi^  "ing?  at  my 
I  gjive  it  unto  Julia.  [depart, 

Jul.  And  Julia  herself  did  give  it  me  , 
And  Julia  herself  hath  brought  it  hither. 

iVo.  How  I  Julia  ! 

Jul.  Behold  her  that  gave  aim  to  all  thy  oaths. 
And  entertain'd  them  deeply  in  her  h:^art : 
How  oft  hast  thou  with  perjury  cleft  th^  root? 
O  Proteus,  let  this  habit  make  thee  blush; 
Be  thou  asham'd,  that  I  have  took  upon  me 
Such  an  immodest  raiment;  if  shame  live 
In  a  disguise  of  love  i 

It  is  the  lesser  blot,  modesty  finds,  [minds. 
Vj'omen  to  change  their  shapes,  than  men  their 
Pro.  Than  men  their  minds  !  'tis  true  ;  ')  heaven ! 
were  man 

But  constant,  he  were  perfect :  that  one  error    [sins : 

Fills  him  with  faults ;  makes  him  run  through  all 

Inconstancy  falls  off,  ere  it  begins : 

What  is  in  Silvia's  face,  but  I  may  spy 

More  fresh  in  Julia's  with  a  constant  eye  ? 
VaL  Come,  come,  a  hand  from  either  : 

Let  me  be  blest  to  make  this  happy  close ; 

Twere  pity  two  such  friends  should  be  long  foes. 
Pro.  Bear  witness,  heaven,  I  have  my  wish  for 
Jul.  And  I  have  mine.  [ever. 

Enter  Outlaws,  with  Duke  and  Thurio. 
Out.  A  prize,  a  prize,  a  prize  ! 

Val.  Forbear,  I  say :  it  is  my  lord  the  duke. 
Your  grace  is  welcome  to  a  man  disgrac'd, 
Banish'd  Valentine. 
Duke.  Sir  Valentine  ! 

Yonder  is  Silvia  ;  and  Silvia's  mine. 
VaL  Thurio,  give  back,  or  else  embrace  thy  fJeath; 
tkmc*  Bot  within  the  measure  of  mv  wrath: 


Act  V, 

Do  not  name  Silvia  thine  ;  if  once  again, 
Milan  shall  not  behold  thee.    Here  she  standi. 
Take  but  possession  of  her  with  a  touch ; — 
I  dare  thee  but  to  breathe  upon  my  love. — 

Thu.  Sir  Valentine,  1  care  not  for  her,  I ; 
I  hold  him  but  a  fool,  that  will  endanger 
His  body  for  a  girl,  that  loves  him  not . 
I  claim  her  not,  and  therefore  she  is  thine. 

Duke.  The  more  degenerate  and  base  art  thou, 
To  make  such  means  for  her  as  thou  hast  done. 
And  leave  her  on  such  slight  conditions. — 
Now,  by  the  honour  of  my  ancestry, 
[  do  applaud  thy  spirit,  Valentine^ 
And  think  thee  worthy  of  an  empress'  love. 
Know,  then,  I  here  forget  all  former  griefs. 
Cancel  all  grudge,  repeal  thee  home  again. — 
Plead  a  new  state  in  thy  unrivall'd  merit, 
To  which  I  thus  subscribe, — sir  Valentine, 
Thou  art  a  gentleman,  and  well  deiiv'd  ; 
Take  thou  thy  Silvia,  for  thou  hast  deserv'd  her. 

Vol.  I  thank  your  grace  ;  the  gift  hath  made  me 
happy. 

I  now  beseech  you,  for  your  daughter's  sake. 
To  grant  one  boon  that  I  shall  ask  of  you. 

Duke.  I  grant  it,  for  thine  own,  whate'er  it  be, 
Val.  These  banish'd  men,  that  I  have  kept  withal, 
Are  men,  endued  with  worthy  qualities; 
Forgive  them  what  they  have  committed  here. 
And  let  them  be  recall'd  from  their  exile  : 
They  are  reformed,  civil,  full  of  good. 
And  fit  for  great  employment,  worthy  lord.     [thee : 
Duke.  Thou  hast  prevail'd:  I  pardon  them  and 
Dispose  of  them,  as  thou  know'st  their  deserts. 
Come,  let  us  go  ;  we  will  include  all  jars 
With  triumphs,  mirth,  and  rare  solemnity. 

VaL  And  as  we  walk  along,  I  dare  be  bold 
With  our  discourse  to  make  your  grace  to  smile  : 
What  think  you  of  this  page,  my  lord  ?  [blushen. 
Duke.  I  think  the  boy  hath  grace  in  Vim;  Ire 
VaL  I  warrant  you,  my  lord,  more  grace  tl'in  haj 
Duke.  What  mean  you  by  tliat  saying  ? 
VaL  Please  you,  I'll  tell  you  as  we  pass  ak  ^g, 
That  you  will  wonder  what  hath  fortuned. — 
Come,  Proteus  ;  'tis  your  penance,  but  to  hear 
The  story  of  your  loves  discovered  : 
That  done,  our  day  of  marriage  shall  be  yours: 
One  feast.onehou'se.ooe  mutual  happiness.  [Mf 


TVfO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR, 


Of  this  play  there  is  a  tradition  preserved  by  Mr.  Rowe,  that  it  was  written  at  the  command  of  O^een  Eliznbetli, 
who  was  so  delighted  with  the  character  of  Falstaff,  that  slie  wished  it  to  be  diffused  througli  more  plays ;  but  suspecting 
that  it  might  pall  by  continued  uniformity,  directed  the  poet  to  diversify  his  manner,  oy  shewing  liim  in  love.  No 
lask  is  harder  tiian  that  of  writing  to  the  ideas  of  another.  Shakspeare  knew  what  the  queen,  if  the  story  be  tine, 
seems  not  to  have  known,  that  by  any  real  passion  of  tenderness,  the  selfish  craft,  the  careless  jollity,  and  tlv/"  lazT 
luxury  of  Falstaff  must  have  suffered  so  much  abatement,  that  little  of  his  former  cast  would  have  remained.  I'alsfaft 
c  iuld  not  love,  but  by  c  easing  to  be  Falstaff.  He  could  only  counterfeit  love,  and  his  professions  could  be  prompted, 
not  by  the  hope  of  pleasure,  but  of  money.  Thus  the  poet  approached  as  near  as  he  could  to  the  work  enioincd 
him;  yet  having  perhaps  in  the  former  plays  completed  his  own  idea.,  seems  not  to  have  been  able  to  give  Falstafll 
all  his  former  power  of  entertainment. 

This  comedy  is  remarkable  for  the  variety  and  number  of  the  personages,  who  exlilbit  more  ctiaracters  appropri- 
ated and  discriminated,  than  perhaps  can  be  lonnd  in  any  other  play. 

WTiether  Shakspeare  was  the  first  ihat  produced  upon  the  English  stage  tlie  effect  of  language  distorted  and  depraved 
by  provincial  or  foreign  pronunciation,  I  cannot  certainly  decide.  This  mode  of  forming  ridiculous  ciiaracters  can 
confer  prnise  only  on  him  who  originally  discovered  it,  for  it  requires  not  much  of  either  wit  or  judgment;  its 
success  must  be  derived  almost  wholly  from  the  player,  but  its  power  in  a  skilful  mouth,  even  he  that  despises  it 
is  unable  to  resist. 

The  conduct  of  this  drama  is  deficient;  the  action  begins  and  ends  often,  before  the  conclusion,  and  the  different 

£arts  inigiit  change  places  without  inconvenience  :  but  its  general  power,  that  power  by  which  all  works  of  genius  shall 
nally  be  tried,  is  such,  that  perhaps  it  never  yet  had  reader  or  spectator  who  did  not  think  it  too  soon  at  the  end. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  JvhTison. 

PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


SIR  JOHN  FALSTAFF. 
FKNTON. 

SHALLOW,  n  covntry  Jnsfice. 
SLENDER,  Cousin  to  Shallow. 

Mr  PAGB'  I         Gentlemen  dwelling  at  Windsor. 
WILLIAM  PAGE,  a  Boy,  Son  to  Mr.  Page. 
olR  HUGH  EVANS,  a  Welch  Parson. 
Dr.  CAIUS,  a  French  Physician. 
Host  of  the  Garter  Inn. 


M  PA 

^'ANS,  a  Welch 
French  Physicit 
'.rter  Inn. 

Scene, — Windsor ^  and  the  Paris  adjacent. 


BARDOLPH,— PISTOL,— NYM,  Followers  of  Falstaff. 
ROBIN,  Page  to  FALSTAFF. 
SIMPLE,  Servant  to  Slender. 
RUGBY,  Servant  to  Dr.  Caius. 
Mrs.  FORD. 
Mrs.  PAGE. 

Mrs.  ANNE  PAGE,  her  Bavqhter,  in  love  with  Fentom. 
Mrs  QUICKLY,  Servant  to  Dr.  Caius. 
Servants  to  Page,  Ford,  etc. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. —  TVindsor.   Before  Page's  House. 
Enter  Justice  SiiAiiLOW,  Slender,  and  Sir  Hugh 
Evans. 

Shal.  Sir  Hugh,  persuade  me  not ;  I  will  make 
Star-'jhamber  matter  of  it :  if  he  were  twenty  sir 

Jjhn  Falstaffs,  he  shall  not  abuse  Robert  Shallow, 

esquire. 

Slen.  In  the  county  of  Gloster,  justice  of  peace, 
and  coram. 

Shal.  Ay,  cousin  Slender,  and  Cust-alorum. 

S'cjt.  Ay,  and  r  at  olorum  too ;  and  a  gentleman 
born,  master  parson  ;  who  writes  \\\mse\i  armigero  ; 
in  any  bill,  warrant,  quittance,  or  obligation,  armi- 
gero. 

Shal.  Ay,  that  we  do ;  and  have  done  any  time 
these  three  hundred  years. 

Sleii.  All  his  successors,  gone  before  him,  have 
done't ;  and  all  his  ancestors,  that  come  after  him, 
may  :  they  may  give  the  dozen  wiute  luces  in  their 

Shal.  It  is  an  old  coat.  [coat. 

Eva.  The  dozen  white  louses  do  become  an  old 
coat  well ;  it  agrees  well,  passant  :  it  is  a  familiar 
beast  to  man,  and  signifies — love. 

Shal.  The  luce  is  the  fresh  fish ;  the  salt  fish  is 
an  old  coat. 

Slen.  I  may  quarter,  coz? 

Shal.  Yon  may,  by  marrying. 

Eva.  It  is  marring,  indeed,  if  he  quarter  it. 

Shal.  Not  a  whit. 

Eva.  Yes,  py'r  lady  ;  if  he  has  a  quarter  of  your 
coat,  there  is  but  three  skirts  for  yourself,  in  my 
simple  conjectures  :  but  this  is  all  one  :  if  sir  John 
Falstaff  have  committed  disparagements  unto  you, 
I  am  of  the  church,  and  will  be  glad  to  do  my  be- 
nevolence, to  make  atonements  and  compromises 
between  you. 

SJtal.  'J'lie  Council  shall  hear  it :  it  is  a  riot. 

Eva.  It  is  not  meet  the  Council  hear  a  riot ; 
tiiere  is  no  fear  of  Got  in  a  riot :  the  Council,  look 
y)u,  shall  desire  to  hear  the  fear  of  Got,  and  not 
to  hear  a  riot ;  take  your  vizaments  in  that. 

Shal.  Ha  !  o'  my  life,  if  I  were  young  again,  the 
•word  should  end  it. 


Eva.  It  is  petter  that  friends  is  the  sword,  and 
end  it;  and  there  is  another  device  in  my  prain, 
which,  peradventure,  prings  gout  discretions  with 
it  :  there  is  Anne  Page,  which  is  daughter  te 
master  George  Page,  which  is  pretty  virginity. 

Slen.  Mistress  Anne  Page  ?  She  has  brown  hair, 
and  speaks  small  like  a  woman. 

Eva.  It  is  that  fery  verson  for  all  the  'orld;,  as 
just  as  you  will  desire;  and  seven  hundred  pounds 
of  monies,  and  gold,  and  silver,  is  htr  giandsire, 
upon  his  death's-bed,  ( Got  deliver  to  a  joyful 
resurrections!)  give,  when  she  is  able  to  overtake 
seventeen  years  old  :  it  were  a  goot  motion,  if  we 
leave  our  pribbles  and  prabbles,  and  desire  a 
marriage  between  master  Abraham,  acd  mistresa 
Anne  Page.  [pound  ? 

Shal.  Did  her  grandsire  leave  her  seven  hundred 

Eva.  Ay,  and  her  father  is  make  her  a  petter  penny. 

Shal.  I  know  the  young  gentlewoman ;  she  has 
good  gifts. 

Eva.  Seven  hundred  pounds,  and  possibilities, 
is  good  gifts. 

Shal.  Well,  let  us  see  honest  master  Page  is 
Falstaff  there  ? 

Eva.  Shall  1  tell  yon  a  lie  ?  I  do  despise  a  liar, 
as  I  do  despise  one  that  is  false  ;  or,  as  I  despise 
one  that  is  not  true.  The  knight,  .sir  Johr^,  13 
there ;  and  I  beseech  you,  be  ruled  by  your  well- 
willers.  I  will  peat  the  door  (Jcnochs)  lor  master 
Page.    What,  hoa  J   Got  pless  your  house  here  ! 

Enter  Page. 
Page.  Who's  there  ? 

Eva.  Here  is  Got's  plessing,  and  your  friend,  and 
justice  Shallow  :  and  here  young  master  Slender: 
that,  peradventures,  shall  tell  you  another  tale,  ii 
matters  grow  to  your  likings. 

Page.  I  am  glad  to  see  j-our  worsk^p;?  well : 
thank  you  for  my  venison,  master  Shallow. 

Shal.  Master  Page,  I  am  glad  to  see  fcn  mucl 
good  do  it  your  good  heart !  I  wished  your  venison 
l^etter;  it  was  ill  killed  : — How  doth  good  mistress 
Page? — and  I  love  you  always  with  my  heart,  la 

Page.  Sir,  I  thank  you.  [with  my  heart 

ShoJ.  S=r,  I  tliank  you ;  by  yea  and  no,  I  do. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR.  Act  I. 


U 

f'age  1  am  glad     see  you,  good  master  Slender. 

ISlen.  How  does  your  lallow  greyhound,  sir?  1 
heard  say,  he  was  out-run  on  Cotsale. 

Page.  It  could  not  be  judged,  sir. 

Slen.  You'll  not  confess,  you  11  not  confess, 

Shal.  That  he  will  not; — 'tis  your  fault,  'tis  your 
auit: — 'tis  a  good  dog. 

Page.  A  cur,  sir. 

Ska/.  Sir  Ve's  a  good  dog,  and  a  fair  dog ;  can 
there  be  more  said  ?  he  is  good,  and  fair. — Is  sir 
John  Falstaff  here  ? 

Page.  Sir,  he  is  within  ;  and  I  would  I  could  do 
a  good  office  between  you. 

Eva.  It  is  Si  oke  as  a  Christians  ought  to  speak. 

S/iaL  He  hath  wrong'd  me,  master  Page. 

Page.  Sir,  he  doth  in  some  sort  confess  it. 

S/ial.  If  it  be  confess'd,  it  is  not  redress'd ;  is  not 
that  so,  master  Page?  He  hath  wrong'd  me;  in- 
deed, he  hath  ; — at  a  word  he  hath  ; — believe  me  ; — 
Robert  Shallow,  esquire,  saith,  he  is  wrong'd. 

Page.  Here  comes  sir  John. 

K?iter  Sir  John  Falstaff,  Bardolph,  Nym,  and 
Pistol. 

Fal.  Now,  master  Shallow ;  you'll  complain  of 
me  to  the  king  ! 

Skal.  Knight,  you  have  beaten  my  men,  killed 
my  deer,  and  broke  open  my  lodge. 

Pal.  But  not  kiss'd  your  keeper's  daughter? 

Shal.  Tut,  Br^iui .'  this  shall  be  answer'd. 

Fal.  I  will  answer  it  straight; — I  have  done  all 
this  : — that  is  now  answer'd. 

S/ial.  The  Council  shall  know  this. 

Fal.  'l\vere  better  ibr  you,  if  it  were  known  in 
vounsel   you'll  be  laugh'd  at. 

Eva.  Pauca  verba,  sir  John,  goot  worts. 

Fal.  Good  wurts !  good  cabbage. — Slender,  I 
broke  your  head  ;  what  matter  have  you  against  me  ? 

Slen.  Marry,  sir,  I  have  matter  in  my  head  against 
you  ;  and  against  your  coney-catching  rascals,  Bar- 
dolph, Nyiii,  and  Pistol.  They  carried  me  to  tiie 
tavern,  and  made  me  drunk,  and  afterwards  picked 
my  pocket. 

Bard.  You  Banbury  cheese  ! 

Slen.  Ay,  it  is  no  matter. 

Pist.  How  now,  Mephostophilus  ? 

Slen.  Ay,  it  is  no  matter. 

Nym.  Slice,  I  say  !  paucUy  pat/ca ;  slice  !  that's 
my  humour.  [cousin  ? 

Slen.  Where's  Simple,  my  man  ? — can  you  tell, 

Eva.  Pe'ace  :  I  pray  you  !  Now  let  us  under- 
stand •  there  is  three  umpires  in  tiiis  matter,  as  I 
understand  :  that  is — master  Page,  Jide licet,  master 
l"age;  and  there  is  myseW,  Jidelicet,  myself;  and 
the  three  party  is,  lastly  and  finally,  mine  host  of 
the  Garter.  [them. 

Page.  We  three,  to  hear  it,  and  end  it  between 

Eva.  Ferry  goot :  I  will  make  a  prief  of  it  in  my 
ote-book;  and  we  will  afterwards  'ork  upon  the 
cause,  with  as  great  discreetly  as  we  can. 

Fal.  Pistol,— 

Pist.  He  hears  with  ears. 

Eva.  The  tevil  and  his  tarn  !  what  phrase  is  this. 
He  hears  with  ears?  Why,  it  is  afiectations. 

Fal.  Pistol,  did  you  pick  master  Slender's  purse  ? 

Slen.  Ay,  by  these  gloves,  did  he,  (or  I  would  I 
might  never  come  in  mine  own  great  chamber  again 
else,)  of  seven  groats  in  mill  sixpences,  and  two 
Kdward  shovel-boards,  that  cost  me  t'wo  shilling  and 
two  pence  a-piece  of  Yead  Miller,  by  these  gloves. 

Fal.  Is  this  true.  Pistol? 

Eva.  No  •  it  is  false,  if  it  is  a  pick-purse. 

Pist.  Ha,  thou  mountain-foreigner  I — Sir  John  and 
master  mine, 
f  combat  challenge  of  this  latten  bilbo: 
Word  of  denial  in  thy  labras  here  ; 
Word  of  denial :  froth  and  scum,  thou  liest. 

Slen.  By  these  gloves,  then  'twas  he. 

Ifym.  Be  advis'd,  sir,  and  pass  good  humours ;  I 
will  say,  marry  trap,  with  you,  if  you  run  the  nut- 


honk's  humour  on  me;  that  is  the  very  note  of  st, 

Slen.  By  tiiis  hat,  then  he  in  the  red  face  had  it: 
for  though  I  cantiot  remember  what  did  when  yoo 
made  me  drunk,  yet  I  am  not  altogether  an  ass. 

Fal.  What  say  you,  Scarlet  and  John  ? 

Bard.  Why,  sir,  for  my  part,  1  say,  the  f^entla- 
man  had  drunk  himself  out  of  his  five  sentences. 

Eva.  It  is  his  five  senses  •  fie,  what  the  li^norance  is ! 

Bard.  And  being  fap,  sir,  was,  as  tliey  sav,  ca. 
shier'd  ;  and  so  conclusions  pass  d  the  careires. 

Slen.  Ay,  you  spake  in  Latin  then  too;  but  'tia 
no  matter:  I'll  ne'er  be  drunk  whilst  1  live  again, 
but  in  honest,  civil,  godly  comj)any,  ibr  this  trick 
if  I  be  drunk,  I'll  be  drunk  with  those  tliat  have 
the  fear  of  God,  and  not  with  drunken  knaves. 

Eva.  So  God  'udge  me,  that  is  a  virtuonp  mind. 

Fal.  You  hear  all  these  matters  denied,  gentle- 
men  ;  you  hear  it. 

Enter  Mistress  Anne  Page,  tvith  ivine;  Mistress 
Ford  and  Mistress  Page  folioivtng. 

Page.  Nay,  daughter,  carry  the  wine  in :  we'll 
drink  within.  [Exit  Anne  Page. 

Slen.  O  heaven  !  this  is  mistress  Anne  Page. 

Page.  Hovv  now,  mistress  Ford  ? 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford,  by  my  troth,  you  are  very  well 
met :  by  your  leave,  good  xmstre ss.{Kissing  her  ) 

Page.  Wife,  bid  these  gentlemen  welcome  : — 
Come,  we  have  a  hot  venison  pasty  to  dinner;  come, 
gentlemen,  I  hope  we  shall  dr'uk  down  all  uiikind- 
ness.  [Exeunt  all  but  Shal.  Slen.  and  Evans 

Slen.  I  had  rather  than  forty  sliilliags,  I  had  aiy 
book  of  Songs  and  Sonnets  here  : — 

Enter  Simple. 
How  now,.  Simple  !  Where  have  you  been  ?  I  must 
wait  on  myself,  must  I?    You  have  nut  The  Book 
of  Riddles  about  you,  have  you  ? 

Sim.  Book  of  Riddles  I  why,  did  you  not  lend  it 
to  Alice  Siiortcake  upon  Allhallowmas  last,  a  loit- 
night  afore  Michaelmas  ? 

Shal.  Come,  coz ;  come,  coz ;  we  stay  for  yoa, 
A  word  with  you,  coz:  marry,  this,  coz  :  there  is, 
as  'twere,  a  tender,  a  kind  of  tender,  made  afaro 
by  sir  Hugh  here  ;— do  you  understand  uie  ? 

Slen.  Ay,  sir,  you  shall  find  me  refesonaole  *  if  it 
be  so,  I  shall  do  that  that  is  reason. 

Shal.  Nay,  but  understand  me. 

Slen.  So  J  do,  sir. 

Eva.  Give  ear  to  his  motions,  master  Slender .  I 
will  description  the  matter  to  you,  if  you  be  capacity 
ofit  ,  , 

Slen.  Nay,  I  will  do  as  my  cousin  Shallow  says : 
I  pray  you,  pardon  me;  he's  a  justice  of  peace  in 
his  country,  simple  though  I  stand  here. 

Eva.  But  this  is  not  the  question ;  the  question 
is  concerning  your  marriage. 

Shal.  Ay,  there's  the  point,  sir. 

Eva.  Marry,  is  it;  the  very  point  of  it ;  to  mistresa 
Anne  Page. 

Sleii.  Why,  if  it  be  so,  I  will  marry  her,  upon 
any  reasonable  demands. 

Eva.  But  can  you  afiection  the'oman?  Let  u« 
command  to  know  that  of  yo'ir  mouth,  or  ot"  your 
lips;  for  divers  philosophers  hold,  that  the  lips  is 
parcel  of  the  mouth; — therefore,  precisely,  "'su 
you  carry  your  good  will  to  the  maid  ? 

Shal.  Cousin  Abraham  Slender,  can  you  love  her? 

Slen.  I  hope,  sir, — 1  will  do,  as  it  shall  become 
one  that  would  do  reason. 

Eva.  Nay,  Got's  lords  and  his  ladies,  you  mixat 
speak  possitable,  if  you  can  carry  her  your  dfsiie* 
towards  her. 

Shal.  That  you  must  :  will  you,  upon  good 
dowry,  marry  her  ? 

Slen.  I  will  do  a  greater  thing  than  that,  upon 
your  request,  cousin,  in  any  reason. 

Shal.  Nay,  conceive  me.  conceive  me,  sv^eel 
coz ;  what  I  do,  is  to  pleasure  you,  coz :  can  you 
love  the  maid? 


Scene  3. 


MERRY  WIVES 


OF  WINDSOR. 


85 


Slen.  1  will  marry  her,  sir,  at  your  request;  but 
if  there  be  no  great  love  in  the  beginning,  yet  hea- 
ven may  decrease  it  upon  better  acquaintance,  when 
we  are  married,  and  have  more  occasion  to  know  one 
anotlier:  I  hope,  upon  familiarity  will  grow  more 
•.ontempt;  but  if  you  say,  marry  her,  I  will  marry 
er,  that  I  am  freely  dissolved,  and  dissolutely. 
hva  It  IS  a  feiv  discretion  answer;  save,  the 
aul'  is  in  tW  'ort  dissolutely :  the  'ort  is,  according 

0  our  meaning,  resolutely ; — his  meaning  is  good. 
Shal.  Ay,  1  think  my  cousin  meant  well. 

Slen.  Ay,  or  else  I  would  I  might  be  hanged,  la. 

Re  enter  Anne  Page. 
Shal.  Here  comes  fair  mistress  Anne : — Would 

1  were  young,  for  your  sake,  mistress  Anne! 
Anne.  Tlie  dinner  is  on  the  table ;  niy  father 

desires  your  worships'  company. 

Shal.  I  will  wait  on  him,  fair  mistress  Anne. 

Eva.  Od's  plessed  will !  I  will  not  be  absence  at 
the  grace.  [Exeunt  Shal.  and  Sir  H.  Evans. 

Anne.  Will't  please  your  worship  to  come  in,  sir  ? 

Slen.  No,  I  tJiank  you,  ibrsooth,  heartily  ;  I  am 

Anne.  The  dinner  attends  you,  sir.  [very  well. 
Slen.  I  am  not  a-hungry,  J  thank  you,  forsooth, 
o,  sirrah,  for  all  you  are  my  man,  go,  wait  upon 
y  cousin  Shallow:  [Exit  Simple.]  A  justice  of 
eace  sometime  may  be  beholden  to  his  friend  for 
a  man: — I  keep  but  three  men  and  a  boy  yet,  till 
my  mother  be  dead:  but  what  though?  yet  I  live 
like  a  poor  gentleman  born. 

Anne.  I  may  not  go  in  without  your  worship : 
they  would  not  sit  till  you  come. 

Slen.  I'faitli,  I'll  eat  nothing  :  I  thank  you  as 
much  as  though  I  did. 

Anne.  I  pray  you,  sir,  walk  in. 

Slen.  I  had  rather  walk  here,  1  thank  you ;  I 
bruised  my  shin  the  other  day  with  playing  at  sword 
and  dagger  with  a  master  of  fence,  three  veneys 
for  a  dish  of  stewed  prunes;  and,  by  my  troth,  I 
cannot  abide  the  smell  of  hot  meat  since.  Why  do 
your  dogs  bark  so  ?  be  there  bears  i'  the  town  ?  [of 

Anne.  J  think  there  are,  sir;  I  heard  them  talked 

Slen.  I  love  the  sport  well  :  but  I  shall  as  soon 
quarrel  at  it,  as  any  man  in  England :— you  are 
afraid,  if  yon  see  the  bear  loose,  are  you  not? 

Anne.  Ay,  indeed,  sir. 

Sle7t.  TJiat's  meat  and  drink  to  me  now :  I  have 
seen  Sackerson  loose,  twenty  times ;  and  have  taken 
him  by  the  chain  :  but,  I  warrant  you,  the  women 
have  so  cried  and  shriek'd  at  it,  that  it  pass'd  : — but 
women,  indeed,  cannot  abide  'em;  they  are  very  ill- 
favoured  rough  things. 

He-enter  Page. 

Page.  Come,  gentle  master  Slender,  come ;  we 
stay  lor  you. 

Slen.  I'll  eat  nothing,  1  thank  you,  sir. 
_  Page.  By  cock  and  pye,  you  shall  not  choose, 
sir  :  come,  come. 

Slen.  Nay,  pray  you,  lead  the  way. 

Page.  Come  on,  sir. 

Slen.  Mistress  Anne,  yourself  shall  go  first. 
Anne.  Not  I,  sir;  pray  you,  keep  on. 
Slen.  Truly,  I  will  not  go  first ;  tridy,  la :  I  will 
not  do  you  that  wr  Jig. 
Anne.  I  pray  yon,  sir. 

Slen.  I  ll  rather  be  unmannerly  than  trouble'some  ; 
ou  do  yourself  wrong,  indeed,  la.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II.— The  same, 
hnter  Sir  Hugh  Evans  and  Simple. 
Eva.  Go  your  ways,  and  ask  of  Doctor  Caius' 
nuse,  which  is  the  way  :  and  there  dwells  one  mis- 
ress  Quickly,  which  is  in  the  manner  of  his  nurse, 
-ir  his  dry  nurse,  or  his  cook,  or  his  laundry,  his 
washer,  and  his  wringer. 
Simp.  Well,  sir. 

Eva.  Nay,  it  is  petter  yet :— give  her  this  letter ; 
for  it  is  a  'omao  that  altogether's  acquaintance  with 


mistress  Anne  Page:  and  the  letter  is  to  de.-iiie  and 
require  her  to  solicit  your  master's  desires  to  mis- 
tress Anne  Page  :  I  pray  you,  begone  :  I  will  make 
an  end  of  my  dinner;  there's  pippins  and  cheese  to 
come.  [Exeunt 

Scene  HI. — A  Roo?n  in  the  Garter  Inn. 

Enter  Falstaff,  Host,  Bardolph,  Nym,  Pistol 
and  Robin. 

Fal  Mine  host  of  the  Garter,— 

Host.  What  says  «ny  bully-rook  ?  Speak  schf>- 
larly,  and  wisely.  [ot  my  followers. 

Fal.  Truly,  mine  host,  I  must  turn  away  some 

Host.  Discard,  bully  Hercules;  cashier  :  let  them 
wag ;  trot,  trot. 

Fal.  I  sit  at  ten  pounds  a  week- 

Host.  Thou'rt  an  emperor,  Ccesar,  Keisar,  and 
Pheezar.  1  will  entertain  Bardolph  ;  he  shall  draw, 
he  shall  tap  :  said  I  well,  bully  Hector? 

Fal.  Do  so,  good  mine  host. 

Host.  1  have  spoke;  let  him  follow  :  let  me  see 
thee  froth,  and  lime  :  1  am  at  a  word ;  follow. 

lExit  Host. 

Fal.  Bardolph,  follow  him ;  a  tapster  is  a  good 
trade  :  an  old  cloak  makes  a  new  jerkin  ;  a  withered 
serving-man,  a  fresh  tapster  go  ;  adieu. 

Bard.  It  is  a  life  that  1  have  desired;  I  will 
thrive.  [Exit  Bard. 

Pist.  O  base  Gongarian  wight '  wilt  thou  tlie 
spigot  wield  ? 

Nym.  He  was  gotten  in  drink  :  is  not  the  humour 
conceited  ?  His  mind  is  not  heroic,  and  there's  the 
humour  of  it. 

Fal.  I  am  glad,  I  am  so  acquit  of  this  tinder- 
box  ;  his  theits  were  too  open  ;  hrs  filching  was  like 
au  unskilful  singtr,  he  kept  not  time.  Iresf.t. 

Nym.  The  good  humour  is,  to  steal  at  a  minute's 

Pis.  Convey,  the  wise  it  call :  steal !  foh  ;  a  fico 
for  the  phrase  ! 

Fal.  VV  ell,  sirs,  I  am  almost  out  at  heels„ 

Pist.  Why  then,  let  kibes  ensue 

Fal.  There  is  ikj  remedy ;  1  mu.st  coney-catch  | 
1  must  shift. 

Pist.  Young  ravv?ns  must  have  food. 

Fal.  Which  of  you  know  Ford  of  this  town? 

Pist.  I  ken  the  wight ;  he  is  ol"  substance  good. 

Fal.  My  honest  lads,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  ana 

Pist.  Two  yards,  and  more.  [about. 

Fal.  No  quips  now.  Pistol  :  indeed  I  am  in  the 
waist  two  yards  about :  but  I  am  now  about  no  waste; 
I  am  about  thrift.  Briefly,  I  do  mean  to  rr;ake  love 
to  Ford's  wife  ;  I  spy  entertainment  in  her;  she  dis- 
courses, she  carves,  she  gives  the  leer  of  in\itation  : 
I  can  construe  the  action  of  her  familiar  style ;  and 
the  hardest  voice  of  her  behaviour,  to  be  English'd 
rightly,  is,  1  am  sir  John  Falstaff's. 

Pist.  He  hath  studied  her  well,  and  translated 
her  well ;  out  of  honesty  into  English.  [pass? 

Nym.   The  anchor  is  deep  :  will  that  humoii 

Fal.  Now,  the  report  goes,  she  has  all  the  rule 
of  her  husband's  purse ;  she  hath  legions  of  angels 

Pist.  As  many  devils  entertain  ;  and,  To  her,  boy, 
say  J.  [me  the  angels. 

'Nym.  The  humour  rises ;  it  is  good  :  humour 

Fal.  1  have  writ  me  here  a  letter  to  ht- r  :  and 
here  another  to  Page's  wife ;  who  even  now  gave 
me  good  eyes  too,  examin'd  my  parts  with  most 
judicious  eyelids  :  sometimes  the  beam  of  her  vie\f 
gilded  my  foot,  sometimes  my  portly  belly. 

Pist.  Then  did  the  sun  on  dung  hill  shine 

Nyi7i.  1  thank  thee  for  that  humour. 

Fal.  O,  she  did  so  course  o'er  my  exteriors  wi 
such  a  greedy  intention,  that  the  appetite  of  he 
eye  did  seem  to  scorch  me  up  like  a  burning  glass 
Here's  another  letter  to  her:  she  bears  the  purse 
too;  she  is  a  region  in  Guiana,  all  gold  and  bounty. 
I  will  be  cheater  to  them  b().th,  and  they  shall  be 
exchequers  to  me  ;  they  shall  be  my  East  and  \V<'st 
Indies,  and  I  will  trade  to  them  both.    Go.  beai 


^  MERRY  WIVES 

thou  t!iis  letter  to  mistress  Page ;  and  thou  this  to 
laistress  Ford:  we  will  thrive,  lads,  we  will  thrive. 

Pist.  Shall  1  sir  Pandarus  ol"  Troy  become, 
And  by  my  side  wear  steel  ?  then,  Lucifer  take  all ! 

Nym.  I  will  run  no  base  humour :  here,  take  the 
hnmour  letter  ;  I  will  keep  the  'haviour  of  reputation. 

Fal.  Hold,  sirrah,  {to  Rob.)  bear  you  these  let- 
ters tightly ; 
Sail  like  my  pinnace  to  these  golden  shores.— 
Rogues,  hence,  avauut!  vanish  like  hail-stones,  go  ; 
Trudge,  plod,  away,  o'  the  hoof;  seek  shelter,  pack  I 
Falstalf  will  learn  tlie  humour  of  this  age, 
EVench  thrift,  you  rogues  ;  iiiysell',  and  skirted  page. 

lExeunt  Fal.  and  Rob  'm. 

Pist.  Let  vultures  gripe  thy  guts  i  i'or  gourd  and 
fullam  holds, 
And  high  and  low  beguile  the  rich  and  poor: 
Tester  Til  have  in  pouch,  when  thou  slialt  lack, 
Base  Phrygian  Turk  ! 

Nym.  1  have  operations  in  my  head,  which  be 
hismours  of  revenge. 

Pist.  Wilt  thou  revenge  ? 

Nym.  By  welkin,  and  her  star ! 

Pist.  With  tvit,  or  steel  ? 

Nym.  With  both  the  humours,  I : 

1  will  discuss  the  humour  of  this  love  to  Page. 
Pist.  And  I  to  Ford  siiall  eke  unfold, 
How  Falstaft",  varlet  vile. 
His  dove  will  prove,  his  gold  will  hold. 
And  his  soft  couch  defile. 
Nym.  My  humour  shall  not  cool  :  I  will  incense 
Page  to  deal  with  poison;  1  will  possess  him  with 
yellowness,  for  the  revolt  of  mien  is  dangerous:  that 
IS  say  true  humour. 

Pist.  Thou  art  the  Mar.s  of  malcontents  :  I  se- 
ond  thee  ;  troop  c  n.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  TV. — A  Room  in  Dr.  Cains''  House. 

Enter  Mistress  Quickly,  Simple,  and  Rugby, 

Quick.  What:  John  Rugby! — I  pray  thee,  go 
to  the  casement,  and  see  if  you  can  see  my  master, 
master  Doctor  Caius,  coming  :  if  he  do,  i'faith,  and 
find  any  body  in  the  house,  here  will  be  an  old 
abusing  of  God's  patience,  and  the  king's  English. 

Ru(^.  I II  go  watch.  {Exit  Rugby. 

_  Quick.  Go;  and  we'll  have  a  posset  for't  soon  at 
night,  in  faith,  at  the  hitter  end  of  a  sea-coal  fire. 
An  honest,  willing,  kind  fellow,  as  ever  servant 
shall  come  in  house  withal;  and,  I  warrant  you,  no 
tell-tale,  nor  no  breed-bate;  his  worst  fault  is,  that 
he  is  given  to  prayer;  he  is  something  peevish  that 
way:  but  nobody  but  has  his  fault;— but  let  that 
pass.    Peter  Simple,  you  say  your  name  is? 

Siin.  Ay,  for  fault  of  a  better. 

Quick.  And  master  Slender's  your  master? 

Sim.  Ay,  forsooth. 

Quick.  Does  he  not  wear  a  great  round  beard, 
like  a  glover's  paring  knife  ? 

Sim.  No,  forsooth  :  he  hath  but  a  little  wee  face, 
with  a  little  yellow  beard;  a  Cain -coloured  beard. 

Quick.  A  softly-spri/^hted  man,  is  he  not? 

Sim.  Ay,  forsooth  :  but  he  is  as  tall  a  man  of  his 
hands,  as  any  is  between  this  and  his  head  ;  he  hath 
fought  with  a  warrener. 

Quick.  How  say  you  ? — O,  I  should  remember 
him  ?  Does  he  not  hold  up  his  head,  as  it  were?  and 
strut  in  his  gait? 

Sim.  Yes,  indeed,  does  he. 

Quick  Well,  heaven  .send  Anne  Page  no  worse 
fortune  !  Tell  master  parson  Evans,  I  will  do  w  hat 
I  can  for  your  master:  Anne  is  a  good  girl,  and  I 
wish — 

Re-enter  Rugby. 

Rug.  Out,  alas  !  here  come-3  my  master. 

Quick.  We  shall  all  be  shent :  run  in  here,  good 
young  man;  go  into  this  eloset,  (Shuts  Simple  in 
the  closet.)  He  will  not  stay  long. — What,  John 
Rugby  !  John,  what,  John,  I  say ! — Go,  John,  go 
enquire  for  my  master ;  I  doubt,  he  be  not  well, 


OF  WINDSOR.  Act  L 

that  he  comes  not  home  : — and  down,  dovm,  ad<  ^itf». 

a,  &c.  [Sings.) 

Enter  Doctor  Catus. 

Caius.  Vat  is  you  sing?  I  do  not  like  dcse  toy.s, 
Pray  you,  go  and  vetch  me  in  my  closet  un  boitiet 
vei'd;  a  box,  a  green-a  box ;  do  intend  vat  S  sp(;ak  . 
a  green-a  box. 

Quick.  Ay,  forsooth,  I'll  fetch  it  you.  I  am  glad 
he  went  not  in  himself:  if  he  had  found  the  young 
man,  he  would  have  been  horn-mad.  {Aside.) 

Caius.  Fe,fe  fe.fe.  ma  foi,  il  fait  fort  chaucl 
Je  m'en  vais  d  la  Cour, — la  grande  ajf'aire. 

Quick.  Is  it  this,  sir  ? 

Caius.  Ouy :  mette  le  au  mon  pocket;  depeche 
quickly  : — Vere  is  dat  knave  Rugby  ? 
Quick.  What,  John  Rugby  !  John  I 
Rug.  Here,  sir. 

Caius.  You  are  John  Rugby,  and  you  are  Jack 
Rugby  :  come,  take-a  your  rapier,  and  come  after 
my  heel  to  de  court. 

Riig.  'Tis  ready,  sir,  here  in  the  porch. 

Caius.  By  my  trot,  I  tarry  too  long : — Od's  me ! 
Quay  joublief  dere  is  some  simples  in  my  closet, 
dat  1  will  not  ibr  the  varld  1  shall  leave  behind. 

Quick.  Ah  nie !  he'll  find  the  young  man  there, 
and  be  mad  ! 

Caius.  0  diable,  diable!  vat  is  in  my  closet? — 
Villainy  !  larronl  {Pidling  Simple  out )  Rugby,  my 

Quick.  Good  master,  be  content,  [rapier 

Caius.  Verefore  shall  1  be  content-a? 

Quick.  'Wq  young  man  is  an  iionest  man, 

Caius.  Vat  shall  de  honest  man  do  in  my  closet? 
dere  is  no  honest  man  dat  shall  come  in  my  closet. 

Quick.  I  beseech  you,  be  not  so  phlegmatic  ;  hear 
the  truth  of  it  •  he  came  of  an  errand  to  me  from 

Caius.  Veil.  [parson  Hugh. 

Sim.  Ay,  forsooth,  to  desire  her  to — 

Quick.  Peace,  I  pray  you, 

Caius.  Peace-a  your  tongue: — Speak-a  your  tale. 

Su}i.  To  desire  this  honest  gentlewoman,  y')nr 
maid,  to  speak  a  good  word  to  Mrs,  Anne  Page  for 
my  master,  in  the  way  of  marriage. 

Quick.  Tliis  is  all,  indeed,  la  ;  but  I'll  ne'er  put 
my  finger  in  the  fire,  and  need  nf>t, 

Caius.  Sir  Hugh  send-a  you  ? — Rugby,  baillez 
me  some  paper  :  tarry  you  a  little-a  while,  ( Jf  rttes.") 

Quick.  I  am  glad  he  is  so  quiet :  if  he  had  been 
thoroughly  moved,  you  should  ha*e  heard  him  so 
loud,  and  so  melancholy  ; — but  notwithstanding, 
man,  I'll  do  your  master  what  good  I  can  :  and  the 
very  yea  and  the  no  is,  the  French  doctor,  my  mas- 
ter,— I  may  call  him  my  master,  look  you,  for  I 
keep  his  house  ;  and  I  wash,  wring,  brew,  bake, 
scour,  dress  meat  and  drink,  make  the  beds,  and 
do  all  myself: —  [hand. 

Sim.  'Tis  a  great  charge,  to  come  under  one  body's 

Quick.  Are  you  avis'd  o'  that?  you  shall  find  it  a 
great  charge  :  and  to  be  up  early  and  down  late  ; — 
but  notwithstanding,  (to  tell  you  in  your  ear:  1 
would  have  no  words  of  it;)  my  master  himself  is 
in  love  with  mistress  Anne  Page  :  but  notwithstand- 
ing that, — 1  know  Anne's  mind, — that's  neither 
here  nor  there. 

Caius.  You  jack'nape;  give-a  dis  letter  to  sir 
Hugh  ;  by  gar,  it  is  a  shallenge  ;  I  will  cut  his  troat 
in  de  park ;  and  I  vill  teach  a  scurvy  jack-a-nape 
priest  iiO  meddle  or  make : — you  may  be  gone  ;  it  is 
not  good  you  tarry  here  : — by  gar,  1  will  cut  all  his 
two  stones  ;  by  gar,  he  shall  not  have  a  stone  (o  trow 
at  his  dog.  [Exit  Simple. 

Quick.  Alas,  he  speaks  but  for  his  friend. 

Caius.  It  is  no  matter-a  for  dat; — do  not  yoB 
tell-a  me  dat  I  shall  have  Anne  Page  for  myself? — 
by  gar,  I  vill  kill  de  Jack  Priest;  and  I  have  ap 
pointed  mine  host  of  de  Jarterre  to  measure  out 
weapon  : — by  gar,  I  vill  myself  have  Anne  Page. 

Quick.  Sir,  the  maid  loves  you,  and  all  shall  be 
well :  we  must  give  folks  leave  to  prate  :  what,th« 
good-jer ' 


A-CT  IL    Scene  1, 


MERRY  WIVES 


OF  WINDSOR. 


ST 


Cains.  Rugby,  come  to  de  court  vit  me  : — By 
gar  if  1  have  not  Anne  Page,  I  shall  turn  your  head 
oul  of  my  door  : — Follow  my  heels,  Rugby. 

[Exeunt  Cams  and  Rugby. 

Quick.  You  shall  have  An  fools-head  of  your  own. 
No,  I  know  Anne's  minrl  for  that :  never  a  woman  in 
VVindsor  knows  more  of  Anne's  mind  than  I  do; 
Eior  can  do  more  than  I  do  with  her,  I  thank  heaven. 

Fent.  {Within.)  Who's  within  there,  ho? 

Quick.  Who's  there,  I  trow?  Come  near  the 
House,  J  pray  you. 

Enter  Fenton. 

Fen.  How  now,  good  w  )man  ;  how  dost  thou  ? 

Quick.  The  better,  that  it  pleases  your  good 
worship  to  ask.  [Anne  ? 

Fen.  What   news?  how  does   pretty  mistress 

Quick.  In  truth,  sir,  and  sli^  js  pretty,  and  honest, 
and  gentle;  and  one  that  is  you^  friend,  I  can  tell 
you  that  by  the  way;  1  praise  heaven  for  it. 

Fent.  Shall  I  do  any  good,  thinkest  thou?  Shall 
I  not  lose  my  suit  ? 

Quick.  Troth,  sir,  all  is  in  his  hands  above  :  but 
notwithstanding,  master  Fenton,  I'll  be  sworn  on  a 
book,  she  loves  you : — have  not  your  worship  a 
Mart  above  your  eye? 

Fent.  Yes,  marry,  have  I;  what  of  that? 

Quick.  Well,  thereby  hangs  a  tale; — good  faith, 
it  is  such  another  Nan : — but,  I  detest,  an  honest 
maid  as  ever  broke  bread  : — we  had  an  hour's  talk 
of  that  wart: — I  shall,  never  laugh  but  in  that 
maid's  company  !  But,  indeed,  she  is  given  too 
much  to  allicholly,  and  musing  :  but  for  you — 
Well,  go  to. 

Fent.  Well,  I  shall  see  her  to-day;  hold,  tliere's 
money  for  thee  ;  let  me  have  thy  voice  in  my  behalf : 
if  thou  seest  her  before  me,  commend  me — 

Quick.  Will  I?  i'foith,  that  we  will;  and  1  will 
tell  your  worship  more  of  the  wart,  the  next  time 
we  have  confidence;  and  of  other  wooers. 

Fetit.  Well,  farewell;  I  am  in  great  haste  now. 

[Exit. 

Quick.  Farewell  to  your  worship. — Truly,  an 
honest  gentleman;  but  Anne  loves  him  not;  fori 
know  Anne's  mind  as  well  as  another  does  : — out 
upo  I't !  what  have  I  forgot  ?  [Exit. 

ACT  n.  Scene  I.— Before  Pages  House. 
Enter  Mi.stress  Page»  7vit/i  a  letter. 

Mrs.  Page.  V^'hat !  have  I  'scap'd  love-letters  in 
the  holy-day  tinae  of  my  beauty,  and  am  I  now  a 
subject  for  them     Let  me  see  :  [Reads.) 

Ask  me  no  reason  why  Hove  you;  for  though  love 
use  reason  for  his  precisian,  he  admits  him  not  for 
h  '.s  counsell'or  :  you  are  not  young,  no  more  am  I; 
yo  to  then,  there's  sympathy  :  yon  are  merry,  so  am 
I ;  Ha  !  ha  !  then  there's  more  sympathy  :  you  love 
sack,  and  so  dol ;  would  you  desire  better  sympa- 
thy ?  Let  it  suffice  thee,  mistress  Page, [at  the  least, 
if  the  love  of  a.  soldier  can  suffice),  that  I  love  thee. 
I  will  not  say,  pity  me,  tis  not  a  soldier-like 
phrase  :  but  I  say,  love  me.    By  me, 

Thine  own  true  knight, 

By  day  or  night, 

Or  any  kind  of  light, 

With  all  his  might 

For  thee  to  fight,     John  Falstafp. 

What  a  Herod  of  Jewry  is  this  !— O  wicked,  wicked 
world  : — oae  that  is  well  nigh  worn  to  pieces  with 
age,  to  show  himself  a  young  gallant!  What  an 
nnweiohed  behaviour  hath  this  Flemish  drunkard 
picked  (with  the  devil's  name)  out  of  my  conver- 
sation, that  he  dares  in  this  manner  assay  me  ? 
Why,  he  hath  not  been  thrice  in  my  company  I — 
What  should  I  say  to  him  ? — I  was  then  frugal  of 
my  mirth  : — heaven  forgive  me  ! — Why,  I'll  exhibit 
a  bill  in  the  parliament  for  the  putting  down  of  men 
How  shall  I  be  revenged  on  him?  for  revenged  I 
will  be.  as  sure  as  his  g  jts  are  made  of  puddings. 


Enter  Mistress  Ford. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Mistress  Page  !  trust  me.  1  was  going 
to  your  house. 

Mrs.  Page.  And,  trust  me,  I  was  coming  to  you. 
You  look  very  ill.  [show  to  the  contrary 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  I'll  r>e 'er  believe  that ;  1  have  to 

Mrs.  Page.  'Faith,  but  you  do,  in  my  mind, 

Mrs.  Ford.  Well,  I  do  then;  ^et,  I  say,  I  could 
show  you  to  the  contrary  :  O,  mistress  Page,  give 
me  some  counsel ! 

Mrs.  Page.  What's  the  matter,  woman  ? 

31rs.  Ford.  O  woman,  if  it  were  not  for  oia 
trifling  respect,  I  could  come  to  such  hononr! 

Mrs.  Page.  Hang  the  trifle,  woman ;  take  iSe 
honour  :  what  is  it? — dispense  with  trifles;  — 
what  is  it? 

Mrs.  Ford.  If  I  would  buc  go  to  hell  for  an  ele 
nal  moment,  or  so,  I  could  be  knighted. 

Mrs.  Page.  What?  thou  best ! — Sir  Alice  Ford! 
— These  knights  will  hack  ;  and  so  thou  shouldst 
not  alter  the  article  of  thy  gentry. 

Mrs.  Ford.  We  burn  day  light: — here,  read, 
read  ; — perceive  how  I  might  be  knighted. — I  shall 
think  the  worse  of  fat  men,  as  long  as  I  have  an 
eye  to  make  difference  of  men's  liking  :  and  yet 
he  would  not  swear ;  praised  women's  modesty  : 
and  gave  such  orderly  and  well-behaved  reproof  to 
all  uncomeliness,  that  I  would  have  sworn  his  dis- 
position would  have  gone  to  the  truth  of  his  words  : 
but  they  do  no  more  adhere  and  keep  place  together 
than  the  hundredth  Psalm  to  the  t-une  of  Green 
Sleeves.  What  tempest,  I  trow,  threw  this  whale, 
with  so  many  tons  of  oil  in  his  belly,  ashore  at 
Windsor  ?  How  shall  I  be  revenged'  on  him  ?  ( 
think  the  best  way  were  to  entertain  him  with  hope, 
till  the  wicked  fire  of  lust  have  melted  him  in  his 
own  grease. — Did  you  ever  hear  the  like  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Letter  for  letter  ;  but  that  the  name 
of  Page  and  Ford  diflers  ! — To  thy  great  comfort 
in  this  mystery  of  ill  opmions,  here's  the  twin-bro- 
ther of  thy  letter  :  but  let  thine  inherit  first ;  for,  i 
protest,  mine  never  shall.  I  warrant,  he  hath  a 
thousand  of  these  letters,  writ  with  blank  space  fof 
different  names  (sure  niore),  and  these  are  of  the 
second  edition  :  he  will  |  rint  them  out  of  doubt; 
for  he  cares  not  what  he  puts  i«to  the  yjress  when 
he  would  put  us  two.  I  had  rather  be  a  giantess, and 
lie  under  mount  Pelion.  Well,  I  will  find  you 
twenty  lascivious  turtles,  ere  one  chaste  man. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  this  is  the  \  ery  same  ;  the  very 
hand,  the  very  words:  what  doth  he  think  of  us? 

Mrs.  Page.  Nay,  I  know  not  :  it  makes  me  al- 
most ready  to  wrangle  with  mine  own  honesty.  I'll 
entertain  myself  like  one,  that  I  am  not  acquainted 
withal  ;  for,  sure,  unless  h^^  know  some  strain  in  me, 
that  I  know  not  myself,  he  would  never  have  board- 
ed me  in  this  fury. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Boarding,  call  you  it  ?  I'll  be  sure 
to  keep  him  above  deck. 

Mrs.  Page.  So  will  I ;  if  he  come  under  niy 
hatches,  I'll  never  to  sea  again.  Let's  be  reveng'd 
on  iiim  :  let's  appoint  him  a  meeting;  give  him.  a 
show  of  comfort  in  his  suit ;  and  lead  him  on  with 
a  fine  baited  delay,  till  he  hath  pawn'd  his  horses  to 
mine  host  of  the  Garter. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  I  will  consent  to  act  any  vil- 
lany  against  him,  that  may  not  sully  the  chariness 
of  our  lionesty.  O,  that  my  husband  saw  this  letter, 
it  would  give  eternal  food  to  his  jealousy. 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  look,  where  he  comes ;  and 
my  good  man  too  :  he's  as  far  from  jealousy,  as  J 
am  from  giving  him  cause :  and  that,  I  hope,  is  an 
unmeasurable  distance. 

Mrs.  Ford.  You  are  the  happier  woman. 

Mrs.  Page.  Let's  consult  together  against  thla 
greasy  knight  :  come  hither.  \  T//ey  retire. 

Enter  Ford,  Pistol,  Page,  and  Nyal 

Ford  Well,  I  hope,  it  be  not  so. 

Pist.  Hope  is  a  curfail  dog  in  some  i 
Sir  John  affects  thy  wife. 


429-431 


88 


MERRY  WIVES 


OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  n. 


Ford.  Wl  f,  sir,  my  wife  is  not  young.  [poor, 
PinL  He  wooes  both  high  and  low,  both  rich  and 

Both  young  and  old,  one  with  another.  Ford  ; 

He  loves  tliy  gaily  inaut'ry ;  Ford,  perpend. 
Ford.  Love  my  wife  ?  [thou, 
Pist.  With  liver  burning  hot  :  prevent,  or  go 

Like  sir  Acteon,  with  Ringwood  at  thy  heels : — 

O,  odious  is  tlie  name  ! 
Ford.  What  name,  sir  ? 

Pist.  The  horn,  I  say  :  farewell.  [night : 

Take  heed  ;  have  open  eye  ,  for  thieves  do  loot  by 
Take  heed,  ere  summer  comes,  or  cuckoo  birds  do 

Away,  sir  corporal  Nym.   [sing.— 

Believe  it,  Page  ;  he  speaks  sense.       [Exit  Pistol. 

Ford.  I  will  be  patient;  I  will  Hud  out  tliis. 

Nt/m.  And  this  is  true;  {to  Page.)  I  like  not 
the  Imiiiour  of  lying.  He  hath  wronged  me  in 
some  humours;  I  should  have  borne  the  humoured 
etter  to  her:  but  I  have  a  sword,  and  it  shall  bite 
upon  my  necessity.  He  loves  your  wife ;  there's 
the  short  aud  the  long.  My  name  is  corporal 
Nym ;  I  speak,  and  I  avouch.  'Tis  true  : — my 
name  is  Nym,  and  Falstati' loves  your  wife. — Adieu  ! 
Move  not  the  humour  of  bread  and  cheese;  and 
e  humour  of  it    Adieu.  {Exit  Nym. 

Page.  The  humour  of  it,  quoth'a !  here's  a  fellow 
frights  humour  out  of  his  wits. 

Ford-  I  will  seek  out  FalstatF.  [rogue. 

Page.  I  never  heard  such  a  drawling,  affecting 

Ford.  If  1  do  find  it,  well. 

Page.  1  will  not  believe  such  a  Catalan,  though  the 
priest  o"  the  town  commended  him  for  a  true  man. 

Ford.  'Twas  a  good  sensible  fellow  :  well. 

Page   How  now,  Meg?  [you, 

Mrs.  Page.    Whither  go  you,  George  ? — Flark 

Mrs.  Ford.  How  now,  sweet  Frank  t  why  art 
thou  melancholy  ? 

Ford.  1  melancholy  ?  I  am  not  melancholy. — 
Get  you  home,  go 

Mrs.  Ford.  Faith,  thou  hast  some  crotchets  in 
thy  head  now. — Will  you  go,  mistress  Page  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Have  with  you.--You'll  come  to 
dinner,  George  ?  Look,  who  comes  yonder  :  she 
shall  be  our  messenger  to  this  paltry  knight.  {Aside 
ioMrs.  Ford.) 

Enter  Mistress  Quickly. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Trust  me,  I  thought  on  her:  she'll  fit  it. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  are  come  to  see  my  daughter 
Anne  ?  [good  mistress  Anne  ? 

Quick.  Ay,  fovsooth  ;    and,  I  pray,   how  does 

Mrs.  Page.  Go  in  w  th  us,  and  see  :  we  have  an 
hours  talk  with  you. 

lExeunt  Mrs.  Page,  Mrs.  Ford  and  Mrs.  Quichly. 

Page.  How  now,  master  Ford  ?■ 

Ford.  You  have  heard  what  this  knave  told  me  : 
did  you  not  ?  [me  ? 

Page.  Yes ;  and  you  heard  what  the  other  told 

Ford.  Do  you  think  there  is  truth  in  them  ? 

Page.  Hang  'em,  slaves;  I  do  not  think  the 
k-night  would  offer  it  :  but  these  that  accuse  him  in 
liis  intent  towards  our  wives,  are  a  yoke  of  his 
discarded  men  :  very  rogues,  now  they  be  out  of 

F\rd.  W ere  they  his  men  ?  [service. 

Page.  Marry,  were  they. 

Ford.  I  like  it  never  the  better  for  that. — Does 
\it  lie  at  the  Garter? 

Page.  Ay,  urarry.  does  he.  If  he  skould  intend 
this  voyage  toward-!  my  wife,  I  would  turn  her 
loose  to  him  ;  and  <vhat  he  gets  more  of  her  than 
sliarp  words,  let  it  lie  oa  my  hea-d. 

Ford.  I  do  not  misdoubt  my  wife  •  but  I  would 
b%  loath  to  turn  them  together  :  a  man  may  be  too 
confident:  I  would  have  nothing  lie  on  my  head : 
I  cannot  be  thus  satisfifd. 

Page.  Look,  where  my  ranting  host  of  the  Garter 
I  )njes :  there  is  either  liquor  in  his  pate,  or  money 
Ml  his  purse,  when  he  looks  so  merrily. — How  now, 
host  ? 


Enter  Host  anfl  St  allow 
Host.  How  noSv,  bully-rook  ?  thou'rt  a  gentle 
man:  cavalero-justice,  I  say. 

Shal.  I  follow,  mine  host,  I  follow. — Good  even, 
and  twenty,  good  master  Page  !  Master  Page,  wiH 
you  go  with  us  ?  we  have  sport  in  hand.  [rook. 
Host.  Tell  him,  cavalero  justice  ;  tell  him,  buUy- 
Shal.  Sir,  there  is  a  fray  to  be  fought,  between 
sir  Hugh  the  Welch  priest,  and  Cains  the  French 
doctor.  [you. 
Ford.  Good  mine  hosto'the  Garter,  a  word  with 
Host.  What  say'st  thou,  bully-rook?  {They  gc 
aside.) 

Shal.  Will  you  {to  Page)  go  with  us  to  behold 
it?  My  merry  host  hath  had  the  measuring  of  their 
weapons ;  and,  I  think,  he  hath  appointed  them 
contrary  places :  for,  believe  me,  I  hear,  the  par.^on 
is  no  jester.  Hark,  I  will  tell  you  what  our  spori 
shall  be.  [guest-cavalier? 

Host.  Hast  thou  no  suit  against  my  knight,  iny 

Ford.  None,  I  protest:  but  I'll  give  you  a  pottle 
of  burnt  sack  to  give  me  recourse  to  him,  and  tell 
him  my  name  is  Brook  :  only  for  a  jest. 

Host.  My  hand,  bully  :  thou  shalt  have  egress  and 
regress;  said  I  well  ?  and  ihy  name  shall  be  Brook: 
it  is  a  merry  knight. — ^Vill  you  go  on,  hearts  ? 

Shal.  Have  with  you,  mine  host. 

Page.  I  have  heard,  the  Frenchman  hath  good 
skill  in  his  rapier. 

Shal.  Tut,  sir,  I  could  have  told  you  more :  in 
these  times  you  stand  on  distance,  your  passes, 
stoccadoes,  and  I  know  not  what:  'tis  the  heart, 
master  Page  ;  "tis  here,  'tis  here.  I  have  seen  the 
time,  with  my  long  sword,  I  would  have  made  you 
four  tall  iellows  skip  like  rats. 

Host.  Here,  boys,  here,  here!  shall  we  wag? 

Page.  Ha\e  with  you: — I  had  rather  hear  thena 
scold  than  fight.  [Exeunt  Host,  Shalloiv  and  Page 

Ford.  Tliough  Page  be  a  secure  lool,  and  stands 
so  firmly  on  his  wife's  frailty,  yet  I  cannot  put  c(I 
my  opinion  so  easily :  she  was  in  his  company  at 
Page's  house ;  arid,  what  they  made  there,  J  know 
not.  Well,  I  will  look  furtlier  into't:  and  I  have  a 
disguise  to  sound  Falstaff:  if  I  find  her  honest, 
I  lose  not  my  labour;  if  she  be  otherwise,  'tis  laboui 
well  bestovved.  [JExit 

Scene  IT. — A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn 

Enter  Falstaff  and  Pistol. 

Fal.  I  will  not  lend  thee  a  penny. 

Pist.  Why,  then  the  world's  mine  oyster 
Which  1  with  sword  will  open. — 
I  will  retort  the  sum  in  equipage. 

Fal.  Not  a  penny.  I  have  been  content,  sir,  you 
should  lay  my  countenance  to  pawn:  I  have  grated 
upon  my  good  friends  for  three  reprieves  for  you  and 
your  coach-fellow,  Nym ;  or  else  you  had  looked 
through  the  grate,  like  a  geminy  of  baboons.  I  am 
damned  in  hell,  for  swearing  to  gentlemen  my  friends, 
you  were  good  soldiers,  and  tall  fellows:  and  whet 
mistress  Bridget  lost  the  handle  of  her  fan,  I  took'i 
upon  mine  honour,  thou  hadst  it  not. 

Pist.  Didst  thou  not  share?  hadst  thou  not  fi 
teen  pence  ? 

Fal.  Reason,  you  rogue,  reason  think'st  tho 
I'll  endanger  my  soul,  gratis?  At  a  word,  hang 
no  more  about  me,  I  am  no  gibbet  for  you: — go.— 
A  short  knife  and  a  throng; — to  your  manor  o. 
Pickt-hatch,  go. — You'll  not  bear  a  letter  for  me, 
you  rogue  !  —  You  stand  upon  your  honour! — Why 
thou  'nconfinable  baseness,  it  is  as  much  as  I  cap 
do  to  keep  the  terms  of  my  honour  precise.  I,  I, 
I  myself  sometimes,  leaving  the  fear  of  heaveu  jn 
the  left  hand,  and  hiding  mine  honour  lU  ni\  neces- 
sity, am  lain  to  shuifle,  to  hedge,  and  to  lurch;  and 
yet  you,  rogue,  will  esconce  your  rags,  your  cat- 
a-mountain  looks,  your  red-lattice  phrases,  and 
vour  bold- beating  oaths,  under  the  shelter  of  youi 
honour  !    Y  ou  will  not  do  it,  you  ? 


BcENE  2.  MERRY  WIVES 

Pist.  I  do  relent;  What  wonld'st  thou  more  of 
Ejiiter  Robin.  [man? 

Sob.  Sir,  here's  a  woman  would  speak  with  you. 
Fai.  Let  her  approach. 

Enter  Mistress  Quickly. 

Quich.  Give  your  worship  good-morrow. 
FaL  Good-morrow,  good  wife. 
Quich.  Not  so,  an't  please  your  worship. 
Fal.  Good  maid,  then. 

Quich.  I'll  be  sworn;  as  my  mother  was,  the  first 
tour  I  was  born. 

Fal.  I  do  believe  the  swearer:  what  with  me? 

Quich.  Shall  I  vouchsafe  your  worship  a  word 
or  two  ? 

Fal.  Two  thousand,  fair  woman ;  and  I'll  vouch- 
safe thee  the  hearing. 

Quich.  There  is  one  mistress  Ford,  sir; — I  pray, 
come  a  little  nearer  this  ways:  —  1  myself  dwell 
with  master  doctor  Caius. 

Fal.  Well,  on  :  Mistress  Ford,  you  say,  

Quich.  Your  worsliip  says  very  true  :  I  pray 
your  woi-ship,  come  a  little  nearer  this  ways. 

Fal.  I  warrant  thee,  nobody  hears ; — mine  own 
people,  mine  own  people. 

Quich.  Are  they  so?  Heaven  bless  them,  and 
make  them  his  servants! 

Fal.  Well:  Mistress  Ford;— what  of  her? 

Quich.  Why,  sir,  she's  a  good  creature.  Lord, 
lord  I  your  worship's  a  wanton  :  well,  heaven  for- 
give you,  and  all  of  us,  I  pray  ! 

Fal.   Mistress  Ford  ; — come,  mistress  Ford, — 

Quich.  Marry,  this  is  the  short  and  the  long  of 
it  ;  you  have  brought  her  into  such  a  canaries,  as 
'tis  wonderful.  The  best  courtier  of  them  all,  when 
the  court  lay  at  Windsor,  could  never  have  brought 
her  to  such  a  canary.  Yet  there  has  been  knights, 
and  lords,  and  gentlemen,  with  their  coaches;  I 
warrant  you,  coach  after  coach,  letter  after  letter, 
gift  after  gift;  smelling  so  sweetly,  (all  musk,)  and 
80  rushling,  I  warrant  yon,  in  silk  and  gold;  and 
in  such  alligant  terms;  and  in  such  wine  and  sugar 
of  the  best,  and  the  fairest,  that  would  have  won 
any  woman's  heart ;  and,  I  warrant  you,  they  could 
never  get  an  eye-wink  ot  her. — I  had  myself  twenty 
angels  given  me  this  morning  :  but  1  defy  all  an- 
gels, ( in  any  such  sort,  as  they  say,)  but  in  the  way 
of  honesty: — and,  I  warrant  you,  they  could  ne\er 
get  her  so  much  as  sip  on  a  cup  with  the  proudest 
of  them  all  :  and  yet  there  has  been  earls,  nay, 
which  is  more,  pensioners ;  but,  I  warrant  you,  all 
is  one  with  her.  f  good  she  Mercury, 

Fal.  But  what  says  she  to  me  ?  be  brief,  my 

Quich.  Marry,  she  hath  received  your  letter;  for 
the  which  she  thanks  you  a  thousand  times  :  and 
she  gives  you  to  notify,  that  her  husband  will  be 
absence  from  his  house  between  ten  and  eleven. 

JP«/.  Ten  and  eleven? 

Quich.  Ay.  forsooth ;  and  then  you  may  come 
and  see  the  picture,  she  says,  that  yon  wot  of ; — 
master  Ford,  her  husband,  will  be  from  home. 
Alas!  the  sweet  woman  leads  an  ill  life  with  him; 
he's  a  very  jealousy  man :  she  leads  a  very  fram- 
pold  life  with  him,  good  heart. 

Fal.  Ten  and  eleven  :  woman,  commend  me  to 
her  :  I  will  not  fail  her. 

Quich.  Why,  you  say  well :  but  I  have  another 

essenger  to  your  worship :  Mistress  Page  hath 
cr  hearty  commendations  to  you  too; — and  let 
tne  tell  you  in  your  ear,  she's  as  fartuous  a  civil 
modest  wife,  and  one  ( I  tell  you  )  that  will  not  miss 
rou  morning  nor  evening  prayer,  as  any  is  in 
Windsor,  whoe'er  be  the  otiier :  and  she  bade  me 
tell  your  worship,  that  her  husband  is  seldom  from 
home :  but,  she  hopes,  there  vvill  come  a  time.  I 
never  knew  a  woman  so  dote  upon  a  man;  surely, 
I  think  you  have  charuis,  la  ;  yes,  in  truth. 

Fal.  Not  1,  I  assure  thee;  setting  the  attraction 
of  u»Y  good  iKirts  asido,  I  have  uo  other  charms. 


OF  WINDSOR.  z% 

Quich.  Blessing  on  your  heart  lor't! 

Fal.  But,  I  pray  thee,  tell  nie  this  .  has  FcTid'i 

wife,  and  Page's  wife,  acquainted  each  oth^r  how 
they  love  me  ? 

Quich.  That  were  a  jest,  indeed  ! — they  hai-e  cot 
so  little  grace,  I  hope  •  — tliat  were  a  trick,  indeed ! 
But  mistress  Page  vvould  desire  you  to  send  hei 
your  little  page,  of  all  loves ;  her  husband  has  a 
niarvellous  inlection  to  the  little  page  :  and,  trr\y, 
master  Page  is  an  honest  man.  Never  a  wile  iu 
Windsor  leads  a  better  life  than  she  does;  do  what 
she  will,  say  what  she  will,  take  all,  pay  all,  go  to 
bed  when  she  list,  rise  when  she  list,  all  is  as  she 
will ;  and,  truly,  she  deserves  it :  for  if  there  be  a 
kind  woman  in  Windsor,  she  is  one.  You  must 
send  her  your  page  ;  no  remedy. 

Fal.  Why,  I  will. 

Quich.  Nay,  but  do  so  then:  and  look  yoi\  Le 
may  come  and  go  between  you  both;  and,  in  any 
case,  have  a  nay  word,  that  you  may  know  one 
another's  mind,  and  the  boy  never  need  to  under- 
stand any  thing;  for  'tis  not  good  that  childreo 
should  know  any  wickedness  :  old  folks,  you  know, 
have  discretion,  as  they  say,  and  know  the  world. 

Fal.  Fare  thee  well :  conmiend  me  to  them  both  : 
there's  my  purse  ;  I  am  yet  thy  debtor. — Boy,  go 

along  with  this  woman.  This  news  distracts  me  ! 

[Exeunt  Quichly  and  Rohin. 

Pist.  This  punk  is  one  of  Cupid's  carriers : 
Clap  on  more  sails;  pursue,  up  with  your  fights;^ 
Give  fire  ;  she  is  my  prize,  or  ocean  whelm  them  ill  I 

[Exit  Pistol. 

Fal.  Say'st  thou  so,  old  .lack?  go  thy  ways;  I'll 
make  more  of  thy  old  body  than  I  have  done.  \\'ill 
they  yet  look  after  thee  ?  Wilt  thou,  after  the 
expence  of  so  much  money,  be  now  a  gainer? 
Good  body,  I  thank  thee  :  let  them  say,  'tis  grossly 
done  ;  so  it  be  fairly  done,  no  nuitter. 

Enter  Bardolph. 

Bard.  Sir  John,  there's  one  master  Brook  be  ow 
vvould  fain  speak  with  you,  and  be  acquainted  with 
you;  and  hath  sent   your   worship   a  mornirii's 

FaL  Brook,  is  his  name  ?  [draught  of  sa  tk. 

Bard.  Ay,  sir. 

Fal.  Call  him  in.  [Exit  Bardolph.]  Such  Broob 
are  welcome  to  me,  that  o'erllow  such  liquor.  A  \  \ 
ha !  mistress  Ford  and  mistress  Page,  have  I  e  ^ 
compassed  you  ?  go  to  ;  via  ! 

Re-enter  Bardolph,  with  Ford  disguised. 
Ford.  Bless  you,  sir. 

Fal.  And  you,  sir  :  would  you  speak  with  me  ' 

Ford.  I  make  bold  to  press  with  so  little  pre* 
paration  upon  you. 

Fal.  You're  welcome:  what's  your  will? — Give 
us  leave,  drawer.  [Exit  Bardolph. 

Ford.  Sir,  I  am  a  gentleman  that  have  spent 
much  ;  my  name  is  Brook. 

Fal.  Good  master  Brook,  I  desire  more  ac- 
quaintance of  you. 

Ford.  Good  sir  John,  I  sue  for  yours  :  not  to 
charge  you;  tor  I  must  let  you  understand,  I  think 
myself  in  better  plight  for  a  lender  than  you  are; 
the  which  hath  something  embt)ldeiied  me  to  this 
unseasoned  intrusion  :  for  they  say,  if  money  go 
before,  all  ways  do  lie  open. 

Fal.  Money  is  a  good  soldier,  sir,  and  will  on- 

Ford.  Troth,  and  I  have  a  bag  of  money  hers 
troubles  me  :  if  you  will  help  me  to  bear  it,  sii 
John,  take  all,  or  half,  for  easing  me  of  the  carnage. 

Fal.  Sir,  I  know  not  how  1  may  d'^serve  to  be 
your  porter.  [hearing, 

?Wd.  1  will  tell  you,  sir,  if  yor.  vvili  give  ine  the 

Fal.  Speak,  good  master  Brook;  I  shall  be  glad 
to  be  your  servant. 

Ford.  Sir,  1  hear  you  are  a  scholar,  —  I  will  be 

brief  with  you,  and  you  have  been  a  man  long 

known  to  me,  though  I  had  never  so  good  means, 
as  desire,  to  make  rnyseli"  acquainted  with  you.  J 


40 


MERRY  WIVES 


OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  it. 


shall  discover  a  thing  to  you,  wherein  I  must  very 
much  lay  ope  a  mine  own  imperfection:  but,  good 
sir  John,  as  jou  have  one  eye  upon  my  follies,  as 
you  hear  them  unfolded,  turn  another  into  the  re- 
gister of  your  own  :  that  I  may  pass  with  a  reproof 
the  easier,  sith,  you  yourself  know,  how  easy  it  is 
to  be  nich  an  oflenJer. 

Fal.  Very  well,  sir ;  proceed. 

Ford.  There  is  a  gentlewoman  in  this  town,  her 
Husband's  nante  is  Ford, 

Fal.  Well,  sir. 

Ford.  I  have  long  loved  her,  and,  I  protest  to 
yju,  bestowed  much  on  her:  followed  her  with  a 
noting  observance  ;  engrossed  opportunities  to  meet 
her;  fee'd  every  slight  occasion,  that  could  but 
niggardly  gi\e  me  sight  of  her;  not  only  bought 
many  presents  to  give  her,  but  have  given  largely 
to  many,  to  know  what  she  would  have  given  • 
briefly,  I  liave  pursued  her,  as  love  hath  pursued 
me  ;  which  hath  been,  on  the  wing  of  all  occasions. 
But  whatsoever  I  have  merited,  either  in  my  mind 
©r  in  my  means,  meed,  I  am  sure,  I  have  received 
none;  unless  experience  be  a  jewel;  that  I  have 
purchased  at  an  infinite  rate ;  and  that  hath  taught 
me  to  say  this  [sues; 
Love  like  a  shadow  flies,  token  substance  love  pur- 
Pursuing  that  that  flies,  and  flying  what  pursices. 

Fal.  Have  you  received  no  promise  of  satisfac- 
tion at  her  hands  ? 

Ford.  Never. 

Fai.  Have  you  importunt-d  her  to  such  a  purpose? 
Ford.  Never. 

Fal.  Of  what  quality  was  your  love  then  ? 

Ford.  Like  a  fair  house,  built  upon  another  man's 
g:round  ;  so  that  I  have  lost  my  edifice,  by  mistak- 
ing the  place  where  I  erected  it.  [  1?*^®  ^ 

Fal  To  what  purpose  have  you  unfolded  this  to 

Ford.  When  I  have  told  you  that.  I  have  told 
you  all.  Some  say,  that,  though  she  appear  honest 
to  me,  yet,  in  other  places,  she  enlargeth  her  mirth 
(10  i'ar,  that  there  is  shiewd  construction  made  of 
her.  Now,  sir  John,  here  is  the  heart  of  my  pur- 
pose :  you  are  a  gentleman  of  excellent  breeding, 
admirable  discourse,  of  great  admittance,  authen- 
tic iti  your  place  and  person,  generally  allowed  for 
your  many  war-like,  court-like,  and  learned  pre- 
parations. 

Fal  O,  sir! 

Ford.  Believe  it,  for  you  know  it:  —  There  is 
money;  spend  it,  spend  it;  spend  more;  spend  all 
I  have ;  only  give  me  so  much  of  your  time  in  ex- 
change of  it,  as  to  lay  an  amiable  siege  to  the  ho- 
nesty of  this  Ford's  wife  :  use  your  art  of  wooing, 
win  her  to  consent  to  yon;  if  any  man  may,  you 
Hiay  as  soon  as  any. 

Fal.  Would  it  apply  well  to  the  vehemency  of 
your  affection,  that  I  should  win  what  you  would 
enjoy?  Methiuks,  you  prescribe  to  yourself  very 
preposterously. 

Ford.  O,  understand  my  drift!  she  dwells  so 
securely  on  the  excellency  of  her  honour,  that  the 
folly  of  my  soul  dares  nut  present  itself ;  she  is  too 
bright  to  be  looked  against.  Now,  could  I  come  to 
her  with  any  detection  in  my  hand,  my  desires  had 
instance  and  argument  to  commend  themselves ;  I 
could  drive  her  then  from  the  ward  of  her  purity, 
her  reputation,  her  marriage  vow,  and  a  thousand 
other  her  defences,  which  now  are  too  strongly  em- 
battled against  me  •  wiiat  say  you  to't,  sir  John  ? 

Fal.  Master  Brook,  I  will  first  make  bold  with 
your  money  ;  next,  give  me  your  hand  ;  and  last, 
as  I  am a^entieman,  you  shall,  if  you  will,  enjoy 
Ford's  wife. 

Ford.  O,  good  sir  ! 

FaL  Master  Brook,  I  say  yon  shall.  [none. 
Ford.  Want  no  money,  sir  John,  you  shall  want 
Fal.  Want  no  mistress  Ford,  master  Brook,  you 
ghall  want  none.    I  shall  be  with  her,  ( I  may  tell 
^ou),  by  her  own  appointment;  even  as  yot  came 
ttt  to  aie.  her  assistant,  or  go -between,  parted  from 


me  :  1  say,  T  shall  be  with  her  between  ten  an^ 
eleven  ;  for  at  that  time  the  jealous  rascally  knave, 
her  husband,  will  be  forth.  Come  you  to  me  at 
night;  you  shall  know  how  I  speed. 

Ford.  I  am  blest  in  your  acquaintance.  Do  you 
know  Ford,  sir  ? 

Fal.  Hang  him,  poor  cuckoldly  knave  !  I  know 
him  not: — yet  I  wrong  him  to  call  him  poor;  they 
say,  the  jealous  wittoUy  knave  hath  masses  of  mo- 
ney :  for  the  which  his  wife  seems  tome  well  fa- 
voured. I  will  use  her  as  the  key  of  the  cuckoldly 
rogue's  coffer;  and  there's  my  harvest-home. 

Ford.  I  would  you  knew  Ford,  sir;  that  you 
might  avoid  him,  if  you  saw  him. 

Fal.  Hang  him,  mechanical  salt-butter  rogue ' 
I  will  stare  him  out  of  his  wits;  I  will  awe  him 
with  my  cudgel  :  it  shall  hang  like  a  meteor 
o'er  the  cuckold's  horns :  master  Brook,  thou  shalt 
know,  I  will  predominate  o'er  the  peasant,  and  thou 
shalt  lie  with  his  wife. — Come  to  me  soon  at  night :  — 
Ford's  a  knave,  and  I  will  aggravate  his  stile ;  thou, 
master  Brook,  shalt  know  him  for  a  knave  and 
cuckold  :  — come  to  me  soon  at  night.  [Exit. 

Ford.  What  a  damned  Epicurean  rascal  is  this ! 
— My  heart  is  ready  to  crack  with  impatience. — 
Who  says,  this  is  improvident  jealousy  ?  My  wife 
hath  sent  to  him,  the  hour  is  fixed,  the  matcit  is 
made.  Would  any  man  have  thought  this? — See 
the  hell  of  having  a  false  woman '.  my  bed  shall  be 
abused,  my  cofiers  ransacked;  my  reputation  gnawn 
at ;  and  1  shall  not  only  receive  this  villanous 
wrong,  but  stand  under  the  adoption  of  abominable 
terms,  and  by  him  that  does  me  this  wrong. 
Terms  I  names!  Amaimon  sountls  well;  Luci- 
fer, well;  Barbason,  well;  yet  they  are  devils'  ad- 
ditions, the  names  of  fiends  :  but  cuckold  I  wittol- 
cuckold !  the  devil  himself  hath  not  such  a  name. 
Page  is  an  ass,  a  secure  ass  ;  he  will  trust  his  wife, 
he  will  not  be  jealous  :  I  will  rather  trust  a  Fleming 
with  my  butter,  parson  Hugh  the  Welchman  with 
my  cheese,  an  Irishman  with  my  aqua-vitae  bottle, 
or  a  thief  to  walk  my  ambling  gelding,  than  my  wife 
with  herself :  then  she  plots,  then  she  ruminates, 
then  she  devises  :  and  what  they  think  in  their 
hearts  they  may  effect,  they  will  break  their  hearts 
but  they  will  effect.  Heaven  be  praised  for  my 
jealousy  !  —  Eleven  o'clock  the  hour  ;  —  I  will  pre- 
vent this,  detect  my  wife,  be  revenged  on  Falstaff, 
and  laugh  at  Page.  I  will  about  it;  better  three 
hours  too  soon,  than  a  minute  too  late.  Fie,  fie,  fie  ! 
cuckold!  cuckold  !  cuckold!  [Fxit 

Scene  lU.— Windsor  Park. 
Enter  Caius  and  Rugby. 
Caius.  Jack  Rugby. 
Rug.  Sir. 

Caius.  Vat  is  de  clock,  Jack? 

Rug.  'Tis  past  the  hour,  sir,  that  sir  Hugh  pro- 
mised to  meet. 

Caius.  By  gar,  he  has  save  his  soid,  dat  he  is  no 
come ;  he  has  pray  his  Pible  veil,  dat  he  is  no  come  : 
by  gar.  Jack  Rugby,  he  is  dead  already,  if  he  be 
come. 

Rug.  He  is  wise,  sir;  he  knew  your  worship  would 
kill  him  if  he  came. 

Caius.  By  gar,  de  herring  is  no  dead,  so  as  I  vill 
kill  him.  Take  your  rapier.  Jack;  I  vill  tell  yo« 
how  I  vill  kill  him. 

Ru^.  Alas,  sir,  I  cannot  fence. 

Caius.  Villany,  take  your  ra{>ier. 

Rug.  Forbear ;  here's  company. 

Enter  Host,  Shallow,  Slender,  and  VaGR. 
Host.  'Bless  thee,  bully  doctor. 
Shal.  Save  you,  master  doctor  Caius. 
Page.  Now,  good  master  doctor! 
Slen.  Give  you  good-morrow,  sir. 
Caius.  Vat  be  all  you,  one,  two,  tree.  Tour,  com* 
for? 

Host.  To  see  thee  fight,  '.o  see  thee  foin,  to  see 


Act  III.    Scene  1.  MERRY  WIVES 

thee  traverse,  to  see  thee  here,  to  see  thee  there ;  to 
Bfee  thee  pass  thy  piinto,  thy  stock,  tliy  reverse,  thy 
distance,  thj  inontant.  Is  he  dead,  my  Ethiopian  ? 
is  he  dead,  niy  Francisco?  ha,  bully!  What  says  my 
Escii.apids?  my  Galeij  ?  my  heart  of  elder  ?  ha!  is 
he  dead,  bully  Stale  ?  is  he  dead  ? 

Caitis.  By  gar,  he  is  de  coward  Jack  priest  of  the 
voHd  ;  he  is  not  show  his  face. 

Host.  Thou  art  a  Castilian  king.  Urinal!  Hector 
of  Greece,  my  boy  ! 

^  Caius.  I  pray  you,  bear  vitness  dat  me  have  stay 
six  or  seven,  two  or  tree  hoars  for  him,  and  he  is  no 
come. 

S/ial.  He  is  the  wiser  man,  master  doctor  :  he  is 
a  curer  of  souls,  and  you  a  curer  of  bodies;  if  you 
should  fight,  you  go  against  the  hair  of  your  profes- 
sion ;  is  it  not  true,  master  Page? 

Page.  Master  Shallow,  you  have  yourself  been  a 
great  fighter,  though  now  a  man  of  peace. 

Shal.  Bodykins,  master  Page,  though  1  now  be 
old,  and  of  the  peace,  if  I  see  a  sword  out,  my  linger 
itches  to  make  one  :  though  we  are  justices,  and 
doctors,  and  churchmen,  master  Page,  we  have  some 
salt  of  our  youth  in  us ;  we  are  the  sons  of  women, 
master  Page. 

Parje.  'Tis  true,  master  Shallow. 

Shal.  It  will  be  Ibund  so,  master  Page.  Master 
doctor  Caius,  I  am  come  to  letch  you  home.  I  am 
sworn  of  the  peace;  you  have  showed  yourself  a 
wise  physician,  and  sir  Hugh  hath  shown  himself  a 
wise  and  patient  churchman  :  you  must  go  with  me, 
master  doctor. 

Host,  Pardon,  guest  justice : — A  word,  monsieur 
Muck-water. 

Caius.  Muck-vather!  vat  is  dat? 

Host.  Muck  -  water,  in  our  English  tongue,  is 
valour,  bully. 

Caius.  By  gar,  then  I  have  as  much  muck-vater 

as  de  Englishman.  Scurv  y  jack-dog  priest!  by  gar, 

iiie  vill  cut  his  ears. 

Host.  He  will  clapper-claw  thee,  tightly,  bully. 

Caius.  Clapper-de-claw?  vat  is  dat? 

Host.  That  is,  he  will  make  thee  amends. 

Caius.  By  gar,  me  do  look,  he  shall  clapper-de- 
claw  nje ,  for,  by  gar,  me  vill  have  it. 

Host.  And  I  will  provoke  him  to't,  or  let  him  wag. 

Cains.  Me  tank  you  for  dat. 

Host.  And  moreover,  bully, — But  first,  master 
guest,  and  master  Page,  and  eke  cavalero  Slender, 
go  you  through  the  town  to  Frogmore.  (  Aside  to 
them. ) 

Page.  Sir  Hugh  is  there,  is  he  ? 

Host.  He  is  there  :  see  vvliat  humour  he  is  in  ;  and 
I  will  bring  the  doctor  about  by  the  fields  :  will  it 
do  well  ? 

Shal.  We  will  do  it. 

Page,  Shal.  andSlen.  Adieu,  good  master  doctor. 

[Exeunt  Page,  Shallow,  and  Slender. 

Caius.  By  gar,  me  vill  kill  de  priest;  lor  he 
speak  for  a  jack-an-ape  to  Anne  Page. 

Host.  Let  him  die:  but,  "first,  sheath  thy  impa- 
tience; throw  cold  water  on  thy  choler  :  go  about 
the  fields  with  me  through  Frogmore  ;  I  will  bring 
thee  where  mistress  Anne  Page  is,  at  a  farmhouse, 
a-feasting :  and  thou  shalt  woo  her  :  Cry'd  game, 
said  1  well? 

Caius.  By  gar,  me  tank  you  for  dat :  by  gar,  I 
love  you  •  and  I  shall  procure-a  you  de  good  guest, 
de  earl,  de  knight,  de  lords,  de  gentlemen,  my 
j-atients. 

Host.  For  the  which  I  will  be  thy  adversary 
towards  Anne  Page;  said  I  well? 
Caius.  By  gar,  tis  good  ;  veil  said. 
Host.  Let  us  wag  then. 

Caius.  Come  at  my  heels,  Jack  Rugby.  {Exeunt. 
ACT  III. 
Scene  I. — A  Field  near  Frogmore. 
hfiter  Sir  Hugh  Evans  and  Simple. 
Eva.  1  pray  you  now,  good  master  Slenders  ser- 


OF  WINDSOR.  41 

ving  man,  and  friend  Simple  by  your  name,  wnich 
vvay  have  you  looked  for  master  Caius,  that  calls 
himself  i>oc^or  of  Physic? 

Sim.  Many,  sir,  the  city-ward,  the  park-ward; 
every  way ;  old  Windsor  way,  and  every  way  but 
the  town  way. 

Eva.  I  most  fehenaently  desire  you,  yov  will  also 
look  that  way. 

Sim.  I  will,  sir. 

Eva.  'Pless  my  soul !  how  full  of  cholers  I  am, 
and  trempling  of  mind  ! — I  shall  be  glad,  if  he  ha\e 
deceived  me:  — how  melancolies  I  am!  —  I  will 
knog  his  urinals  about  his  kaave's  costaid,  when  I 
have  good  opportunities  for  the  'ork — 'pless  my 
soul !  (  Sings. ) 

To  shallow  rivers,  to  xvhose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals ; 
There  ivill  ive  make  our  peds  of  roses 
And  a  thousand  vagrant  posies. 
To  shallow — 
'Mercy  on  me !   I  have  a  great  dispositions  to  cry. 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals  : 
When  as  I  sat  in  Pabijlon, — 
And  a  thousand  vagrant  posies. 
To  shallow — 
Siin.  Yonder  he  is  coming,  this  way,  sir  Hugh. 
Eva.  Ht^.  welcome  : — 

To  shallow  rivers,  to  ivhose  falls — 
Heaven  prosper  the  right! — Wliat  weapons  is  he? 

Sim.  No  weapons,  sir :  there  comes  my  master, 
master  Shallow,  and  another  gentleman  from  Frog- 
more, over  the  stile,  this  way. 

Eva.  Pray  you,  give  me  my  gown  ;  or  else  k'^ep 
it  in  your  arms. 

Enter  Page,  Shallow,  and  Slender. 
Shal.  How  now,  master  parson"''  Good-morrow, 
good  sir  Hugh.     Keep  a  gamester  from  the  dire, 
and  a  good  student  from  his  book,  and  it  is  uod- 
Slen.  Ah,  sweet  Anne  Page  !  |  derful 

Page.  Save  you,  good  sir  Hugh  ! 
Eva.  'Pless  you  irom  his  nuTcy  sake,  all  of  you  ! 
Slial.  What !  the  sword  and  the  word  !  do  you 
study  them  both,  master  parson  ? 

Page.  And  youthful  still,  in  your  doublet  aiid 
hose,  this. raw  rheumatic  day? 

Eva.  There  is  reasons  and  causes  for  it. 
Page.  We  are  come  to  you,  to  do  a  good  office, 
master  parson  ? 
Eva.  Fery  well :  what  is  it  ? 

Page.  Yonder  is  a  most  reverend  gentleman,  who, 
belike,  having  received  wrong  by  some  person,  is  at 
most  odds  with  his  own  gravity  and  patience,  that 
ever  you  saw. 

Shal.  I  have  lived  fourscore  years,  and  upwards; 
I  never  heard  a  man  of  his  place,  gravity,  and  learu 
ing  so  wide  of  his  own  respect. 

Eva.  What  is  he  ? 

Page.  I  think  you  know  him ;  master  doctor 
Cains,  the  renowned  French  physician. 

Eva.  Gofs  will,  and  his  passion  of  my  heart  !  1 
had  as  lief  you  would  tell  me  of  a  mess  of  porridge. 

Page.  Why  ? 

Eva.  He  has  no  more  knowledge  in  Hibocrates 
and  Galen, — and  he  is  a  knave  besides  ;  a  cowaidly 
knave,  as  you  would  desires  to  be  acquainted  withal. 

Page.  I  warrant  you,  he's  the  man  should  fight 
with  iiim. 

Slen.  O,  sweet  Anne  Page  1 

Shal.  It  appears  so,  by  his  weapons  : — Keep  tlie^o 
asunder; — here  comes  doctor  Caius. 

Enter  Host,  Caius,  and  Rugby. 

Page.  Nay,  good  master  parson,  keep  in  3'our 

Shal.  So  do  you,  good  master  doctor,  [weapon. 

Host.  Disarm  them,  and  let  them  question  ;  let 
them  keep  their  limbs  whole,  and  hack  our  English. 

Caius.  [  pray  you,  let-a  me  speak  a  word  vityout 
ear:  verefore  vill  you  not  meet-a  me?  ^ 

Eva.  Pray  you,  use  your  patience  :  in  good  time. 


42 


MERRY  WIVES 


OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  III. 


Caius.  By  gar,  you  are  de  coward,  de  Jack  dog, 
John  ape. 

Eva.  Pray  you,  let  ns  not  be  laugliing-stogs  to 
other  men's  humours  ;  I  desire  you  in  friendship,  and 
I  will  one  way  or  other  make  you  amends  : — I  will 
koog  your  uri.ials  about  your  knave's  cogscomb,  for 
missing  ySm-  meetings  and  appointments. 

Caius.  D table  !  —  Jack  Kugby,  —  mine  Host  de 
Jarterre,  have  I  not  stay  for  him,  to  kill  him?  have 
I  n.)t,  at  de  place  1  did  appoint? 

Eva.  As  I  am  a  Christian's  soul,  now,  look  you, 
this  is  the  place  appointed  ;  I'll  be  judgment  by  mine 
host  of  the  Garter. 

Host.  Peace,  I  say,  Giiallia  and  Gaul,  French 
and  Welch  ;  soul-cuier  and  body  curer. 

Catus.  Ay,  dat  is  very  good!  excellent! 

Host.  Peace,  1  say  ;  hear  mine  host  of  the  Garter. 
Am  1  politic  ?  am  I  subtle  ?  am  I  a  Machiavel  ? 
Shall  1  lose  my  doctor?  no ;  he  gives  me  the  potions, 
and  the  motions.  Shall  I  lose  my  parson?  my  priest? 
my  sir  Hugh  ?  no  ;  he  gives  me  the  proverbs,  and  the 
no-verbs. — Give  me  thy  hand,  terrestrial  ;  so  : — Give 

nie  thy  hand,  celestial ;  so.  Boys  of  art,  I  have 

deceived  you  both ;  I  have  directed  you  to  wrong 
places  :  your  hearts  are  mighty,  your  skins  are 
whole,  and  let  burnt  sack  be  the  issue. —  Come,  lay 
their  swords  to  pawn  ,  —  Follow  me,  lad  of  peace  ; 
follow,  follow,  follow. 

Shal.  Trust  me,  a  mad  hoat :  —  Follow,  gentle- 
men, follow. 

Slen.  O,  sweet  An  ie  Page  ! 

\ Exeunt  Shallow,  Slender,  Page  atcd  Host. 

Cains.  Hal  do  I  perceive  dat?  ha\e  you  make -a 
de  sot  of  us?  ha,  ha  I 

Eva.  This  is  well ;  he  has  made  us  his  vlouting- 
etog.  I  desire  you,  t!)at  we  may  be  friends,  and  let 
us  knog  our  prains  together,  to  be  revenge  on  this 
same  scab,  scurvy,  cogging  companion,  the  host  of 
the  Charter. 

Caius.  By  gar,  vit  all  my  heart;  he  promise  to 
bring  me  vere  is  Anne  Page :  by  gar,  he  deceive  me 
too. 

Eva.  Well,  I  will  smite  his  noddles  ;  — Pray  you, 
follow.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — The  Street  in  Windsor. 
Etiter  Mistress  Page  and  Robin. 

Mrs.  Page.  Nay,  keep  your  way,  little  gallant; 
you  were  wont  to  be  a  follower,  but  now  you  are  a 
leader  :  whether  had  you  rather,  lead  mine  eyes, 
or  eye  your  master's  heels  ? 

Rob.  1  had  rather,  forsooth,  go  before  you  like  a 
man,  than  follow  him  like  a  dwarf. 

Mrs.  Page.  O  you  are  a  flattering  boy ;  now,  I 
see,  you'll  be  a  courtier. 

Enter  FoRD, 

Ford.  Well  met,  mistress  Page  :  whither  go  you  ? 
Mrs.  Page.  Truly,  sir,  to  see  your  wife :  is  she 
at  home  ? 

Ford.  Ay;  and  as  idle  as  she  may  hang  together, 
for  want  of  company  :  I  think,  if  your  husbands 
were  dead,  you  two  would  marry. 

Mrs.  Page.  Be  sure  of  that,— two  other  husbands. 

Ford.  W  here  had  you  this  pretty  weathercock  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  I  cannot  tell  what  the  dickens  his 
oame  is  my  husband  had  him  of:  what  do  you  call 
j:)ur  knifilit's  name,  sirrah? 

Rob.  Sir  John  FalstafF. 

Ford.  Sir  John  Falstalf !  ' 

Mrs.  Page.  He,  he;  I  can  never  hit  on's  name. 
-There  is  such  a  league  between  my  good  man  and 
he  ! — Is  your  wife  at  home,  indeed  ? 

Ford.  Indeed,  she  is. 

Mrs.  Page.  By  your  leave,  sir; — lam  sick,  till 
I  see  her.  \  Exetint  Mrs.  Page  and  Robin. 

Ford.  Has  Page  any  brains?  hath  he  any  eyes? 
hath  he  any  thinking?  Sure,  they  sleep;  he  bath 


no  use  of  them.  Why,  this  boy  will  carry  a  letter 

twenty  miles,  as  easy  as  a  cannon  will  shoot  point- 
blank  twelve  score.  He  pieces  out  bis  wife's  incli' 
nation ;  he  gives  her  folly  motion,  and  adrantage 
and  now  she's  going  to  my  wife,  and  Falstaflf  s  boy 
with  her.  A  man  may  hear  this  shower  sing  in  the 
wind  ! — and  Falstatt''s  boy  with  her  ! — Good  plots  ' 
— they  are  laid  ;  and  our  revolted  wives  share  dam- 
nation together.  Well ;  I  will  take  him,  then  torture 
my  wife,  pluck  the  borrowed  veil  of  modesty  from 
the  so  seeming  Mrs.  Page,  divulge  Page  hims.elf  fcr 
a  secure  and  wiU'ul  Acta^on ;  and  to  these  violeni 
proceedings  all  my  neighbours  shall  cry  aim,  {Clock 
strikes.)  The  clock  gives  me  my  cue,  and  my  as- 
surance bids  me  search  :  there  I  shall  find  Falstatf  : 
I  shrill  be  rather  praised  for  this,  than  mocked  ;  for 
it  is  as  positive  as  the  earth,  is  firm,  that  Falstalf  is 
there  :  I  will  go. 

Enter  Page,  Shallow,  Slender,  Host,  Sir  Hugh 
Evans,  Caius,  and  Rugby. 

Shal.  Page,  ^c.  Well  met,  master  Ford. 

Ford.  Trust  me,  a  good  knot :  I  have  good  cheer 
at  home  ;  and,  I  pray  you,  all  go  with  me. 

Shal.  I  must  excuse  myself,  master  Ford. 

Slen.  And  so  must  I,  sir  ;  we  have  appointed  to 
dine  with  mistress  Anne,  and  I  would  not  break 
with  her  for  more  money  than  I'll  speak  of. 

Shal.  We  have  lingered  about  a  match  between 
Anne  Page  and  my  cousin  Slender,  and  this  day  we 
shall  have  our  answer. 

Slen.  I  hope.  I  have  your  good  will,  father  Page. 

Page.  You  have,  master  Slender;  I  stand  wholly 
for  you  : — but  my  wife,  master  doctor,  is  for  you 
altogether. 

Cains.  Ay,  by  gar;  and  de  maid  is  love-a  me ;  my 
nnrsh-a  Quickly  tell  me  so  miish. 

Host.  What  say  you  to  young  master  Fenton  ?  he 
capers,  he  dances,  he  has  eyes  of  youth,  he  writes 
verses,  he  speaks  holyday,  he  smells  April  and  May  • 
he  will  carry't,  he  will  carry't;  'tis  in  his  buttons 
he  will  carry't. 

Page.  Not  by  my  consent,  I  promise  you.  The 
gentleman  is  of  no  having  :  he  kept  company  with 
the  wild  Prince  and  Poins ;  he  is  of  too  liigh  a  re- 

fion,  he  knows  too  much.  No,  he  shall  not  knit  a 
not  in  his  fortunes  with  the  finger  of  my  substance  . 
if  he  take  her,  let  him  take  lier  simply  ;  the  wealth  1 
have  waits  on  my  consent,  and  my  consent  goes  not 
that  way. 

Ford.  I  beseech  you,  heartily,  some  of  you  go 
home  with  me  to  dinner;  besides  your  cheer,  you 
shall  have  sport;  1  will  shew  you  a  monster. — 
Master  doctor,  you  shall  go; — so  shall  you,  master 
Page  ; — and  you,  sir  Hugh. 

Shal.  Well,  fare  you  well : — we  shall  have  the 
freer  wooing  at  master  Page's. 

[Exeunt  Slinlloiv  and  Slender. 

Caius.  Go  home,  John  Rugby;  1  come  anon. 

[Exit  Rugby. 

Host.  Farewell,  my  hearts :  I  will  to  my  honest 
knight  Falstaft',  and  drink  canary  vvith  him. 

[Exit  Host. 

Ford.  [Aside.)  I  think,  I  shall  drink  in  pipe  wine 
first  with  him;  I'll  make  him  dance.  Will  you  go, 
gentles  ? 

All.  Have  with  you,  to  see  this  monster.  [Exeunt 
Scene  III. — A  Room  in  Ford's  house. 
Enter  Mistress  Ford  and  Mistress  Page. 
Mrs.  Ford.  What,  John  !  what,  Hubert ! 
Mrs.  Page.  Quickly,  rjuickly !  Is  the  bud  ban- 
ket— 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  warrant : — What,  Robin,  J  say. 

Enter  Serva7its,  with  a  baskoi] 
Mrs.  Page.  Come,  come,  come. 
Mrs.  Ford.  Here,  set  it  down.  [be  brici 

Mrs.  Page.  Give  your  men  the  charge  ;  we  mu* 
Mrs.  Ford.  Marry,  as  I  told  you  before,  John 


Scene  8.        '  MERRY  WIVES 

and  Robert,  be  ready  here  hai  J  by  in  the  brew- 
house ;  and,'\vhen  I  suddenly  call  you,  come  forth, 
and  (without  any  pause,  or  staggering),  take  this 
basket  on  your  shoulders:  that  done,  trudge  with  it 
in  all  haste,  and  carry  it  among  the  whitsters  in 
Datchet  mead,  and  there  empty  it  in  the  muddy 
ditch,  close  by  the  Thames  side. 
Mrs.  Page.  You  will  do  it  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  hav  e  told  them  over  and  over ;  they 
.ack  no  direction  :  be  gone,  and  come  when  you  are 
calle  [Exeunt  Servants. 

Mrs.  Page.  Here  comes  little  Robin. 

Enter  Robin. 

Mrs.  Ford.  How  now,  my  eyas  musket?  what 
news  with  you  ? 

Rob.  My  master,  sir  John,  is  come  in  at  your  back- 
door, mistress  Ford  ;  and  requests  your  company. 

Mrs.  Page.  \  ou  little  Jack-a-lent,  have  you  been 
true  to  us  ? 

Rob  Ay,  I'll  be  sworn:  my  master  knows  not  of 
your  being  here ;  and  hath  threatened  to  put  me 
into  everlasting  liberty,  if  I  tell  you  of  it;  for,  he 
swears,  he'll  turn  me  away. 

3irs,  Page.  Thou'rt  a  good  boy  ;  this  secrecy  of 
thine  sliall  be  a  tailor  to  thee,  and  shall  make  thee 
a  new  doublet  and  hose. — I'll  go  hide  me. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Do  so:— Go  tell  thy  master,  lam 
a.one.    Mrs.  Page,  remember  you  your  cue. 

[Exit  Robin. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  warrant  thee ;  if  T  do  not  act  it, 
hiss  me.  [Exit  Mrs.  Page. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Go  to  then;  we'll  use  this  unwhole- 
some humidity,  this  gross  watery  pumpion; — we'll 
teach  him  how  to  know  turtles  from  jays. 

Enter  Falstaff. 

Fal.  Have  J  caught  thee,  my  heavenly  jewel? 
Why,  now  h  t  me  die,  for  I  have  lived  long  enough  ; 
this  is  the  period  of  my  ambition  :  O  this  blessed 
hour  I 

Mr.i.  Ford.  O  sweet  Sir  John  I 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford,  I  cannot  cog,  T  cannot  prate, 
niistress  Ford.  Now  shall  I  sin  in  my  wish:  I 
would  thy  husband  were  dead  ;  I'll  speak,  it  before 
the  besthird,  I  would  make  tiiee  my  ladj-. 

Mrs.  Ford.  1  your  lady,  sir  John !  alas,  I  should 
be  a  pitiful  lady. 

Fal.  Let  the  court  of  France  show  me  such  an- 
other; I  see  how  thine  eye  would  emulate  the  dia- 
mond ;  thou  hast  the  right  arched  bent  of  the  brow, 
that  becomes  the  ship- tire,  the  tire- valiant,  or  any 
tire  of  Venetian  adniittance. 

Mrs.  Ford.  A  plain  kerchief,  sir  John  :  my  brows 
become  notliing  else;  nor  that  well  neither. 

Fal.  Thou  art  a  traitor  to  say  so  :  thou  would'st 
make  an  absolute  courtier;  and  the  tirnj  fixture  of 
thy  foot  would  give  an  excellent  motion  to  my  gait, 
ill  a  semi-circled  farthingale.  I  see  what  thou  wert, 
it  fortune  thy  foe  were  not ;  nature  is  thy  friend  : 
come,  thou  canst  not  hide  it.  [me. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Believe  me,  there's  no  such  thing  in 

Fal.  What  made  me  love  thee?  let  that  persuade 
thee,  there's  something  extraordinary  in  thee.  Come, 
I  cannot  cog,  and  say,  tliou  art  this  and  that,  like  a 
many  of  these  lisping  hawthorn  buv's,  that  come  like 
women  in  men's  apparel,  and  smeh  like  Buckler's- 
bury  in  simj-le-time  ;  I  cannot :  but  I  1(\  -e  thee  ;  none 
but  thee :  and  thou  deservt  st  it. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Do  not  betray  me,  sir ;  I  fear,  you 
love  mistress  Page. 

Fal.  Thou  might'st  as  well  say,  I  love  to  walk  by 
he  Counter-gate ;  wliicli  is  as  hatefid  to  me  as  the 
eek  of  a  lin)e-kiln. 

Mrs  Ford.  Well,  heaven  knows,  how  I  love 
yi)u  ;  and  you  shall  one  day  find  it. 

Fal.  Keep  in  that  mind;  I'll  deserve  it. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay  I  must  tell  you,  so  you  do  ;  or 
e  'se  I  could  not  be  in  that  mind. 


OF  WINDSOR.  43 

Rob.  [ivithin.)  Mistress  Ford,  mistress  Ford^ 
here's  mistress  rage  at  the  door,  sweating,  and 
blowing,  and  looking  vt'ildly,  and  would  needs  speak 
with  you  presently.  [behind  the  arras, 

Fal.  She  shall  not  see  me  ;  T  will  ensconce  me 
Mrs.  Ford.  Pray  you,  do  so.  she's  a  very  tattling 
woman. —  {Falstaff  hides  himself.] 

Enter  Mistress  Page  and  Robin. 

What's  the  matter?  how  now  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  O  mistress  Ford,  what  have  yoo 
done  ?  You're  shamed,  you  are  overthrown,  you  are 
undone  for  ever.  [Page  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  What's  the  matter,  good  mistress 

Mrs.  Page.  O  well-a  day,  mistress  Ford  !  havicg 
an  honest  man  to  your  husband,  to  give  him  such 
cause  of  suspicion  I 

Mrs.  Ford.  What  cause  of  suspicion? 

Mrs.  Page.  What  cause  of  suspicion? — Out  up. 
on  you  !  how  am  I  mistook  in  you ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  alas  !  what's  the  matter? 

Mrs.  Page.  Your  husband's  coming  hither,  wo- 
man, with  all  the  oflficers  in  Windsor,  to  search  foi 
a  gentleman,  that,  he  says,  is  here  now  in  the  house, 
by  your  consent,  to  take  an  ill  advantage  of  his  ab- 
sence. You  are  undone.  [so,  I  hope. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Speak  louder. — [Aside.) — Tis  not 

Mrs.  Page.  Pray  heaven  it  be  not  so,  tiiat  you 
have  such  a  man  here  ;  but  'tis  most  certain,  your 
husband's  coming  with  half  Windsor  at  his  heels,  to 
search  for  such  a  one.  I  come  before  to  tell  you ; 
if  you  know  yourself  clear,  why  I  am  glad  of  it: 
but  if  you  have  a  friend  here,  convey,  convey  him 
out.  Be  not  amazed ;  call  all  your  senses  to  you  ,' 
defend  your  reputation,  or  bid  farewell  to  your  good 
life  for  ever. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What  shall  I  do  ?— There  is  a  gentle- 
man, my  dear  friend ;  and  I  fear  not  mine  own 
shame,  so  much  as  his  peril  :  1  had  rather  than  a 
thousand  pound,  he  were  out  of  the  house. 

Mrs.  Page.  For  shame,  never  stand  you  hadra 
ther,  and  you  had  rather ;  your  husband's  here  at 
hand,  bethink  you  of  some  conveyance  :  in  the 
house  you  cannot  hide  him. — O,  how  have  you  de- 
ceived me! — Look,  here  is  a  basket;  if  he  be  o/ 
any  reasonable  stature,  he  may  creep  in  here  ;  and 
throw  foul  linen  upon  him,  as  if  it  were  going  to 
bucking:  or, it  is  whiting-time,  send  him  by  your 
two  men  to  Datchet  mead.  [shall  I  do? 

Mrs.  Ford.  He's  too  big  to  go  in  there .  what 

Re  enter  Falstaff. 

Fal.  Let  me  see't,  let  me  see't!  O  let  me  see't ! 
I'll  in,  r  i  in  ; — follow  your  friend's  counsel : — I'll  in. 

Mrs.  Page.  What!  Sir  John  Falstaff!  Are  tlie^e 
yom-  letters,  knight? 

Fal.  I  love  thee,  and  none  but  thee ;  help  me 
away  :  let  me  creep  in  here  ;  I'll  never — 
[He  goes  into  the  basket ;  they  cover  him  with 
foul  linen.) 

Mrs.  Page.  Help  to  cover  yor» master,  boy:  call 
your  men.  mistress  Ford  : — You  dissembling  kniuht! 

Mrs.  Ford.  What,  John,  Robert,  John  !  [Ex-d 
Robin.  Reenter  Servants.]  Go  take  up  tlifse 
clothes  here,  quickly;  where's  the  cowl-statf?  look, 
how  you  drunible  :  carry  them  to  the  laundress  in 
Datchet  mead  ;  quickly,  come. 
E7iter  Ford,  Page,  Caius,  and  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 

Ford.  Pray  you,  come  near:  if  I  suspect  \vith<iut 
cause,  why  then  make  sport  at  me,  then  let  me  be 
your  jest;  1  deserve  it. — How  now?  whither  brai 
you  this  ? 

Serv.  To  the  laundress,  forsooth. 

Mrs.  Ford.WUy,  what  have  }^>ii  todo  whithertlicy 
bear  it?  you  were  best  meddle  with  buck-washing. 

Ford.  'Buck  ?  I  would  I  could  wash  myself  of 
the  buck!  Buck,  buck,  buck?  ay,  buck!  I  Mai 
rant  you.  buck;  and  of  the  season  too;  it  sljall  ap 
pear.'  [Ex^funi  Servanta  with  the  basket.]  Gectl 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  II  L 


men,  I  have  breamed  to-night;  Til  tell  yon  my 
dream.  Here,  here,  here  be  my  keys  :  ascend  my 
chambers,  search,  seek,  find  out :  I'll  warrant  we'll 
unkennel  the  fox: — Let  me  stop  this  way  first: — 
ao,  now  uncape. 

P  lye.  Good  master  Ford,  be  contented:  you 
wrong  yom^ell'tjo  much. 

Ford.  True,  Diaster  Page. — Up,  Gentlemen ;  you 
thall  see  sport  anon  :  follow  me,  gentlemen.  lExit. 

Eva.  'J  his  is  fei-y  fantastical  humours,  and  jea- 
,*?isies. 

Cuius.  By  gar,  'tis  no  de  fashion  of  France  :  it  is 
not  jealous  in  France. 

2''a(je.  Nay,  follow  him,  gentlemen ;  see  the  issue 
of  his  search.     [Exeunt  Evans,  Pacje,  and  Cains. 

Mrs.Paye.  Is  thei-e  not  a  double  excellency  in  tliis? 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  know  not  which  pleases  me  better, 
that  my  husband  is  deceived,  or  sir  John. 

Mrs.  Pacje.  What  a  taking  was  he  in,  when  your 
husband  asked  who  was  in  the  basket  , 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  am  half  afi-aid  he  will  have  need  of 
wasihng ;  so  throwing  him  into  the  water  will  do  him 
a  beneht. 

Mrs.  Page.  Hang  him,  dishonest  rascal !  I  W(i,r'Id 
all  of  the  same  strain  wer  e  in  the  same  distress. 

Mrs.  Ford.  1  tliink,  my  husband  hath  some  special 
Buspicion  of  Falstaff  s  being  here,  lor  I  never  saw 
him  so  gross  in  his  jealousy  till  now. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  will  lay  a  plot  to  try  that  :  and  we 
will  yet  have  more  tricks  with  Falstaft':  his  disso- 
lute disease  will  scarce  obey  this  medicine. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Shall  we  send  that  foolish  canion, 
misti-ess  Quickly,  to  him,  and  excuse  his  throwing 
into  the  water;  and  give  him  another  hope,  to  be- 
tray liim  to  another  punishment? 

Mrs.  Page.  We'll  do  it;  let  him  be  sent  for  to- 
morrow eit^ht  o'clock,  to  have  amends. 
He  enter  Ford,  Page,,  Caius,  and  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 

Ford.  1  cannot  find  him :  may  be,  the  knave 
brag'jed  of  that  he  could  not  compass. 

Mrs.  Page.  Heard  you  tiiat  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  Ay,  ay,  peace  : — ^you  use  me  well, 
oiaster  Ford,  do  you? 

i^orc/.  Ay,  I  do  so.  [thoughts! 

Mrs.  Ford.  Heaven  make  vou  better  than  your 

Ford.  Artien.  [ter  l  ord. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  do  yourself  mighty  wrong,  mas- 

Ford.  Ay,     ;  I  must  bear  it. 

Eva.  If  there  be  any  pody  in  the  house,  and  in  the 
chambers,  and  in  the  coffers,  and  in  the  presses, 
heaven  forgive  my  sins  at  the  dv.y  of  judgment  I 

Cains.  By  gar,  nor  I  too ;  dere  is  no  bodies. 

Page.  Fie,  fie,  master  Ford .  are  you  not  ashamed? 
What  spirit,  what  devil  suggests  tliis  imagination? 
I  would  not  have  your  distemper  in  this  kind,  for 
the  wealth  of  Windsor  Castle. 

Ford.  Tis  my  fault,  master  Page :  T  suffer  for  it. 

Eva.  You  sulfer  for  a  pad  conscience  :  your  wife 
is  as  honest  a  'omans,  as  I  will  desires  among  five 
thousand,  and  five  hundi'ed  too. 

Caius.  By  gar,  I  see  'tis  an  honest  woman. 

Ford.  Well; — I  proniised  you  a  dinner: — Come, 
come,  walk  in  the  park  :  I  pray  you,  pardon  me ;  I 
will  hereafter  make  known  to  you,  why  I  have  done 
this.-^Cotne,  wife; — come,  mistress  Page;  I  pray 
you.  pardon  me;  pray  heartily,  i)ardon  me. 

Page.  Let's  go  in,  gentlemen ;  but,  trust  me,  we'll 
mock  birn.  I  do  invite  you  to-moiTOw  naorning  to 
my  house  to  breakfast;  after,  we'll  a-birding  toge- 
thf^r ;  I  liave  a  fine  hawk  for  the  bush :  shall  it  be  so  ? 

Fo7'd.  Any  thing.  rconapany. 

Eva.  If  there  is  one,  I  shall  maki  two  in  the 

Caius.  If  there  be  one  or  two,  I  shall  make-a  de 
Eva.  hi  your  teeth:  for  shame  [tuid. 

Ford.  Pray  you  go,  master  Page. 

Eva.  I  pray  you  now,  remembrance  to-morrow 
»n  the  lousy  knave,  n-'ine  host. 

Caius  Dat  is  good  ■  by  gan  vit  all  my  heart. 
Eva.  A  lou^  knave  \  to  have  his  gibes,    and  his 
«okeries.  '  'Exeunt. 


Scene  IV.  -4  Room  in  Page's  House. 
Enter  Fenton  and  Mistress  Anne  Page. 
Fent.  I  see,  I  cannot  get  thy  father's  love ; 
Theielore  no  more  turn  me  to  him,  sweet  Nan. 
Anne.  Alas  !  how  then  ? 

Fe?it.  Why,  thou  must  be  thyself 

He  doth  object,  I  am  too  great  of  birth; 
And  that,  my  state  being  gall'd  with  my  expence 
I  seek  to  heal  it  only  by  his  wealth  : 
Besides  these,  other  bars  he  lays  before  me,— - 
iVly  riots  past,  my  wild  societies; 
And  tells  me,  'tis  a  thing  impossible 
I  should  love  thee,  but  as  a  property. 

Anne.  May  be,  he  tells  you  true. 

Fent.  No,  heavpn  so  speed  me  in  my  time  to  come 
Albeit,  I  will  confess,  thy  lather's  wealth 
Was  the  first  motive  that  I  woo'd  thee,  Anne  ; 
Yet,  wooing  thee,  I  found  thee  of  more  value 
"^I'han  stamps  in  gold,  or  siniis  in  sealed  bags  j 
And  "tis  the  very  ricliesof  thyself 
That  now  I  aim  at. 

Anna.  Gentle  master  Fentoa, 

Yet  seek  my  father's  love  :  still  seek  it,  sir: 
11"  opportuuity  and  humblest  suit 
Cannot  attain  it,  why  then — Hark  you  hither. 

{They  converse  apart. 

Enter  SHALLOW,  Slender,  and  Mrs.  Quickly. 

Shal.  Break  their  talk,  mistress  Quickly  ;  my 
kinsman  shall  speak  for  himself. 

Sien.  I'll  make  a  shaft  or  a  bolt  on't :  slid,  'tis  but 
venturing. 

Shal.  Be  not  disrnay'd. 

Slen.  No,  she  shall  not  dismay  me :  I  care  no< 
for  that, — but  that  I  am  afeard. 

Quick.  Hark  ye;  master  Slender  would  speak  a 
word  with  you. 

Anne.  I  come  to  him. — This  is  my  father's  choice. 
O,  what  a  world  of  vile  ill-lavour'd  laults 
Looks  handsome  in  three  hundred  pounds  a-year ! 

[Aside^^ 

Quick.  And  how  does  good  master  Fenton  ?  Pray 
you,  a  word  with  yon. 

Shal.  She's  coming;  to  her,  coz.  O  boy,  thoK 
hadst  a  father ! 

Sleji.  I  had  a  father,  mistress  Anne; — my  uncle 
can  tell  you  good  jests  of  him  : — Pray  you,  uncle 
tell  mistress  Anne  the  jest,  how  ray  lather  stole  tvvc 
geese  out  of  a  pen,  good  uncle, 

Shal.  Mistress  Anne,  my  cousin  loves  you. 

Sle?i.  Ay,  that  1  do;  as  well  as  I  love  any  woman 
in  Gloucestershire. 

Shal.  He  will  maintain  you  like  a  gentlewoman 

Slen.  Ay,  that  I  will,  come  cut  and  long-tail,  un 
der  the  degree  of  a  'squire. 

Shal.  He  will  make  you  a  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  jointure.  [himself 

Anne.  Good  master  Shallow,  let  him  woo  for 

Shal.  Marry,  I  thank  you  for  it;  I  thank  you  ibr 
that  good  coinfoi-t. — She  calls  you,  coz  :  I'll  leave  you. 

Anne.  Now,  master  Slender. 

Slen.  Now,  good  Mistress  Anne. 
,  Amie.  What  IS  your  will  ? 

Slen.  My  will?  'od's  heartlings,  that's  a  pretty 
jest,  indeed  !  I  ne'er  made  my  \vill  yet,  I  thank 
heaven;  I  am  not  such  a  sickly  creature,  I  give 
heaven  praise.  fvvith  me  ? 

Anne.  I  mean,  master  Slender-,  what  would  you 

Slen.  Truly,  for  mine  own  part,  I  would  little  0{ 
nothing  with  you  :  your  father,  and  my  uncle,  have 
made  motions:  if  it  be  my  luck,  so;  if  not,  happj 
man  be  his  dole  !  They  can  tell  you  how  things  go 
better  than  I  can  :  you  may  ask  your  father;  hei^ 
he  comes. 

Enter  Page  and  Mistress  Page. 
Page.  Now,  master  Slender : — Love  him,  daugh 
ter  Anne. — 

Why,  how  now  !  What  does  master  Feuton  here  ? 


Scene  5. 


MERRY  WIVES 


OF  WINDSOR. 


45 


You  wrong  me,  sir,  thus  still  to  haunt  my  house: 
I  told  you,  sir,  my  dau^^liter  is  disposed  of. 

Fent  Nay,  master  Page,  be  not  impatient. 

Mrs.  Page.  Good  master  Fenton,  come  not  to  my 

Page.  She  is  no  match  for  you.  [child. 

Fent.  Sir,  will  you  hear  me  ? 

Page.  No,  good  master  Fenton. 

Come,  master  Shallow;  come,  son  Slender;  in: — 
Knowing  my  mind,  you  wrong  me,  master  Ftnton. 

[Exeunt  'Page,  Shallow,  and  Slender. 

Quick.  Speak,  to  mistress  Page.  [daughter 

Fmt.  Good  mistress  Page,  for  that  I  love  your 
In  such  a  righteous  fashion  as  I  do. 
Perforce,  against  all  ciiecks,  rebukes,  and  manners, 
I  must  advance  the  colours  of  my  love, 
And  not  retire:  let  me  have  your  good  will. 

Anne.  Good  mother,  do  not  marry  me  to  yond' 
fool.  [husband. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  mean  it  not ;  I  seek  you  a  belter 

Quick.  1'hat's  my  master,  master  doctor. 

Anne.  Alas,  I  had  rather  be.  set  quick  i'  the  earth. 
And  bowl'd  to  death  with  turnips. 

Mrs.  Page.  Come,  trouble  not  yourself  :  good 
master  Fenton, 
1  will  not  be  your  friend,  nor  enemy: 
My  daughter  will  1  question  how  she  loves  yon, 
And  as  1  find  her,  so  am  I  affected ; 
'Till  then,  farewell,  sir: — She  must  needs  go  in ; 
Her  father  will  be  angry. 

[Exeunt  Mrs.  Page  and  Anne. 

Fent.  Farewell,  gentle  mistress:  I'arewell,  Nan. 

Quick.  This  is  my  doing  now; — Nfiy,  said  I,  will 
you  cast  away  your  child  on  a  fool,  and  a  physician  ? 
look  on  master  Fenton  : — this  is  my  doing. 

Fent.  I  thank  thee  ;  and  I  pray  tiiee,  once  to  night 
Give  my  sweet  Nan  this  ring :  there's  for  thy  pains. 

[Exit. 

Quick.  Now  heaven  send  thee  good  fortune !  A 
kind  heart  he  hath  :  a  woman  would  run  through  tire 
and  water  for  such  a  kind  heart.  But  yet,  I  would 
my  master  had  mistress  Anne;  or  I  would  master 
Slender  had  her  ;  or,  in  sooth,  I  would  master  Fenton 
had  her  :  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  them  all  three  ;  for 
so  I  liave  promised,  and  I'll  be  as  good  as  my  word; 
but  speciously  for  master  Fenton.  Well,  I  must  of 
another  erraud  to  sir  John  Falstaff" from  my  two  mis- 
<Te3Sts  ;  what  a  beast  am  I  to  slack  it!  [Exit. 

Scene  V. — A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 
Enter  Falstaff  and  Baremjlph. 
FaJ.  Bardolph,  I  say, — 
Bard.  Here,  sir. 

Fal.  Go  fetch  me  a  quart  of  sack;  put  a  toast  in't. 
[Exit  Bard.}  Have  I  lived  to  be  carried  in  a  basket, 
like  \  barrow  of  butcher's  offal ;  and  to  be  thrown 
into  Thames?  Well,  if  I  be  served  such  another 
trick,  ril  have  my  brains  ta'en  out,  and  butter'd,  and 
give  them  to  a  dog  for  a  new  year's  gift.  The  rogues 
flighted  me  into  the  river  with  as  little  remorse  as 
they  would  have  drowned  a  bitch's  blind  pup})ies, 
fil'teen  i'  the  litter  :  and  you  may  know  by  my  size, 
that  I  have  a  kind  of  alacrity  in  sinking;  if  the  bot- 
tom were  as  deep  as  hell,  I  should  down.  I  had 
been  drowned,  but  that  the  shore  was  shelvy  and 
shallow;  a  death  that  I  abhor  ;  for  the  water  swells 
a  man;  and  what  a  tiling  should  I  have  been,  when 
I  had  been  swelled  !  I  should  liave  been  a  mountain 
of  mummy. 

Re-enter  Bakdolph,  with  the  wine. 
Bard  Here's  mistress  Quickly,  sir,  to  speak  with 
you. 

Fal.  Come,  let  me  i)our  in  some  sack  to  the 
Thames  water;  fur  my  belly's  as  cold,  as  if!  had 
swallowed  snow  balls  for  pills  to  cool  the  reins.  C:dl 

Bard.  Come  in,  woman.  [her  in. 

Enter  Mistress  QuiCKLY. 

Quick.  By  your  leave  ;  I  cry  you  mercy  :  give 
your  worship  good-morrow. 


FaL  Take  away  these  chalices  :  go  brew  rve 
pottle  of  sack  finely. 
Bard.  With  eggs,  sir? 

Fal.  Simple  of  itseli';  I'll  no  pullet-sperm  iu  njy 
hre\vi\g.Q.—[Exit  Bardolph^ — How  now  ? 

Quick.  Many,  sn-,  1  come  to  your  worship  from 
mistress  Ford. 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford  !  I  have  had  ford  enough  :  I 
was  thrown  into  the  ford  :  I  have  my  b'-lly  full  of  ford. 

Quick.  Alas  the  day  !  godd  heart,  that  was  not  her 
fault :  she  dues  so  take  on  with  her  men ;  they  mistook, 
their  erection.  [man's  promise, 

Fal.  So  did  I  mine,  to  build  upon  a  foolish  wo- 

Quick.  Well,  she  laments,  sir,  for  it,  that  it  would 
yearn  your  heart  to  see  it.  Her  liusband  goes  this 
morning  a-birding;  she  desires  you  once  more  to 
come  to  her  between  eight  and  nine  :  I  must  carry 
her  word  quickly  :  she'll  make  you  amends,  1  warrant 
you. 

Fal.  Well,  I  will  visit  her  :  tell  her  so ;  and  bid 
her  think  what  a  man  is  :  let  her  consider  his  frailty, 
and  then  judge  of  my  merit. 

Quick.  I  will  tell  her. 

Fal.  Do  so.    Between  nine  and  ten,  say'stthou? 

Quick.  Eight  and  nine,  sir! 

Fal.  Well,  be  gone  :  I  will  not  miss  her. 

Quick.  Peace  be  with  you,  sir.  [Exit 

Fal.  1  marvel,  I  hear  not  of  master  Brook;  he 
sent  me  word  to  stay  within  :  I  like  his  money  wek. 
O,  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Ford. 
Ford.  Bless  you,  sir! 

Fal.  Now,  master  Brook?  you  come  to  know 
what  hath  [)assed  between  me  and  Ford's  wife? 

Ford.  That,  indeed,  sir  John,  is  my  business. 

Fal.  Master  Brook,  I  will  not  lie  to  you  ;  I  was  &1 
her  house  the  hour  she  appointed  me. 

Ford.  And  how  sped  you,  sir? 

Fal.  Very  ill-favouredly,  master  Brook. 

Ford.  How  so,  sir?  Did  she  change  her  tletcF 
mi  nation  ? 

FaL  No,  master  Brook ;  but  the  peaking  cornuto, 
her  husband,  master  Brook,  dwelling  in  a  continuaj 
'larum  of  jealousy,  comes  me  in  the  instant  of  onr 
encounter,  after  we  had  embraced,  kissed,  protested, 
and,  as  it  were,  spoke  the  prologue  of  our  comedy 
and  at  his  heels  a  rabble  of  his  companions,  thithet 
provoked  and  instigated  by  his  distemper,  and  for- 
sooth, to  search  his  house  for  his  wife's  love. 

Ford.  What,  while  you  were  there? 

FaL  While  I  was  there. 

Ford.  And  did  he  search  for  you,  and  could  not 
find  you  ? 

FaL  You  shall  hear.  A.'?  good  luck  would  have  it, 
comes  in  one  mistress  Page;  gives  intelligence  of 
Ford's  approach  ;  and,  by  her  invention  and  Ford's 
wife's  distraction,  they  conveyed  me  into  a  buck- 

Ford.  A  buck-basket !  [basket. 

FaL  By  the  Lord,  a  buck-basket:  rammed  me  in 
with  foul  shirts  and  smocks,  socks,  foul  stockings, 
and  greasy  napkins;  that,  master  Brook,  there  was 
the  rankest  compound  of  villanous  smell,  that  ever 
offended  nostril. 

Ford.  And  how  long  lay  you  there? 

FaL  Nay,  you  shall  hear,  master  Brook,  what  1 
have  suffered  to  bring  this  woman  to  evil  fur  your 
good.  Being  thus  crammed  in  the  basket,  a  couple 
of  Ford's  knaves,  his  hinds,  were  called  forth  by 
their  mistress,  to  carry  me  in  the  name  offoul  clothes 
to  Drttcliet-Iane  :  they  took  me  on  their  shoulders, 
met  the  jealous  knave  their  master  in  the  door,  who 
asked  them  once  or  twice  what  they  had  in  their 
basket:  I  quaked  for  fear,  lest  the  lunatic  kna'^o 
would  have  searched  it ;  but  fate,  ordaining  he  should 
be  a  cuckold,  held  his  hand.  Well  :  on  went  he  ihr 
a  search,  and  away  went  I  for  foul  clothes  But 
mark  the  sequel,  masti^r  Brook  :  I  suffered  the  panga 
of  three  several  deaths  :  first,  an  intolerable  fright, 
to  be  detected  with  a  jealous  rotten  bell-wether :  next 


46 


MERRY  WIVES 


OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  IV 


to  he  compassed,  like  a  good  bilbo,  in  the  circum- 
lerence  of  a  peck,  liilt  to  point,  heel  to  head  :  and 
then,  to  be  stopped  in,  like  a  strong  distillation,  with 
stinking  clothes,  that  fretted  in  their  own  grease  : 
think  ot"  that, — a  man  of  my  kidney, — think  of  tmt ; 
that  atn  as  subject  to  heat,  as  butter;  a  man  ot  ron- 
timial  dissolution  and  thaw;  it  was  a  miracle  to 
'scape  sntibcation.  And  in  the  height  of  this  bath, 
when  1  was  more  than  half  stewed  in  grease,  like  a 
Dutch  dish,  to  be  thrown  into  the  Thames,  and 
cooled,  glowing  hot,  in  that  surge,  like  a  horse-shoe  ; 
j.iiik  of  that, — hissing  hot,— think  of  that,  master 
Brook. 

Ford.  In  good  sadness,  sir,  I  am  sorry  that  for  my 
sake  you  have  sutfered  all  this.  My  suit  then  is 
desperate  ;  you'll  undertake  her  no  more. 

hal.  Master  Brook,  I  will  be  thrown  into  Etna, 
as  I  have  been  into  Thames,  ere  I  will  leave  her  thus, 
ller  husband  is  this  morning  gone  a-birding  :  I  have 
received  from  her  another  embassy  of  meeting ;  'tvvixt 
eight  and  nine  is  the  hour,  master  Brook. 

Ford.  'Tis  past  eight  already,  sir. 

Fal.  Is  it?  I  will  then  address  me  to  my  appoint- 
ment. Come  to  me  at  your  convenient  leisure,  and 
you  shall  know  how  I  speed ;  and  the  conclusion 
shall  be  crowned  with  your  enjoying  her  :  adieu. 
You  shall  have  her,  master  Brook  ;  master  Brook, 
you  shall  cuckold  Ford.  [Exit. 

Fjrd.  Hum  !  ha  !  is  this  a  vision  ?  is  this  a  dream  ? 
do  1  sleep?  Master  Ford,  awake;  awake,  master 
Ford  ;  there's  a  hole  made  in  your  best  coat,  master 
Ford.  This 'tis  to  be  married  !  this 'tis  to  have  linen 
and  buck-baskets! — Well,  I  will  proclaim  myself 
what  I  am  :  I  will  now  take  the  lecher;  he  is  at  my 
house:  he  cannot  'scape  me;  'tis  impossible  he 
should  ;  he  cannot  creep  into  a  half-penny  purse,  nor 
into  a  pepper-box  ;  but,  lest  the  de\  il  that  guides 
hinj  should  aid  him,  I  will  search  impossible  places. 
'J'houf^h  what  T  am  I  cannot  avoid,  yet  to  be  what  I 
would  not,  shall  not  make  me  tame  ;  if  1  have  horns 
to  make  one  mad,  let  the  proverb  go  with  me,  I'll 
bs  horn-mad.  [Exit. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.— The  Street. 
Enter  Mistress  Page,  Mistress  Quici-kly,  and 
William. 

Mrs.  Page.  Is  he  at  master  Ford's  already,  think'st 
thou  ? 

Quick.  Sure  he  is  by  this,  or  will  be  presently ; 
but  truly  he  is  very  courageous  mad,  about  his 
throwing  into  the  water.  Mistress  Ford  desires  you 
to  come  suddenly. 

Mrs.  Page.  I'll  be  with  her  bv  and  by^  I'll  but 
bring  my  young  man  here  to  school.  Look,  where  his 
njaster  comes;  'tis  a  playing-day,  I  see. 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 
How  now,  sir  Hugh?  no  school  to-day ?  [play. 

Eva.  No ;  master  Slender  is  let  the  boys  leave  to 

Quick.  Blessing  of  his  heart ! 

Mi-s.  Page.  Sir  Hugh,  my  husband  says,  my  son 
profits  nothing  in  the  world  at  his  book  ;  I  pray 
you,  ask  him  some  questions  in  his  accidence. 

Eva.  Come  hither,  William;  hold  up  your  head; 
come. 

Mrs.  Page.  Come  on,  sirrah  :  hold  up  your  head ; 
H  iswer  your  master,  be  not  afraid. 

Eva.  William,  how  many  numbers  is  in  nouns? 
mil.  Two. 

Qiiicl:  Truly,  1  thought  there  had  been  one  num- 
hi'r  more  ;  because  they  say,  od's  nouns. 

Eva.  Peace  your  tattliugs. — What  is  fair,  Wil- 

TFill.  Pulcher.  [liam? 

Quich  Poulcats !  there  are  fairer  things  than 
ponlcats,  sure. 

Ev.  You  are  a  very  simplicity 'oman;  I  pray 
you,  peace. — What  is  Icpis,  William? 

Will  A  stoue 


Eva.  And  what  is  a  stone,  William? 

Will.  A  pebble.  [youi  praiii, 

Eva.  No,  it  is  lapis;  I  pray  you  remember  io 

fTill.  Lapis. 

Eva.  That  is  good,  William.  What  is  he,  Wil- 
liam, that  does  lend  articles  ? 

Will.  Articles  are  borrowed  of  the  pronoun ;  and 
be  thus  declined,  Singidariter,  nominativo,  hie 
h<BC,  hoc. 

Ev.  Nominativo,  hig,  hag,  hog ; — pray  yoil 
mark  ;  genetivo  hujus  :  well,  what  is  your  accusU' 
live  case  ? 

Will.  Accusativo,  hinc. 

Eva.  I  pray  you,  have  your  remembrance,  child  : 
Accusativo.  hing,  hong,  hog.  [y<J'i. 

Quich.  Hang  hog  is  Latin  for  bacon,  I  warrant 

Eva,  Leave  your  prabbles,  'oman.  What  is  the 
focative  case,  William  ? 

Will.  O — vocativo,  O, 

Eva.  Remeiriber,  William,  focative  is  caret 

Quick.  And  that's  a  good  root. 

Eva.  'Oman,  forbear. 

Mrs.  Page.  Peace. 

Ev.  What  is  your  genitive  case  plural,  William  ? 
Will.  Genitive  case  ? 
Eva.  Ay. 

Will.  Genitive^ — horum,  harum,  horum. 
Quick.  Vengeance  of  Jenny's  case  !  lie  on  her  ! 
— never  name  her,  child,  if  she  be  a  whore. 
Eva.  For  shame,  'oman. 

Quick.  Yon  do  ill  to  teach  the  child  such  words: 
he  teaches  him  to  hick  and  to  hack,  which  tl)ey  li 
do  fast  enough  of  themselves,  and  to  call  horum  :— 
fie  upon  you ! 

Eva.  'Oman,  art  thou  lunatics?  hast  thou  no 
nn'derstandings  for  thy  cases,  and  the  numbeis  oi 
the  genders  ?  Thou  art  as  foolish  christian  crt"^- 
tures  as  I  would  desires. 

Mrs.  Page.  Pr'ythee,  hold  thy  peace 

Eva.  Shew  me  now,  William,  some  deciepsiom 
of  your  pronouns. 

PFilL  Forsooth,  I  have  forgot. 

Eva.  It  is  ki,  k<s,  cod;  \i  you  forget  your  kiee, 
your  kces,  and  your  cods,  you  must  be  prcecljes. 
Go  your  ways,  and  play,  go.  [he  was. 

Mrs.  Page.  He  is  a  better  scholar,  than  1  thought 

Eva.  He  is  a  good  sprag  memory.  Farewell, 
mistress  Page. 

Mrs.  Page.  Adieu,  good  sir  Hugh.  [Exit  Sir 
Hugh.]  Get  you  home,  boy. — Come,  we  slay  too 
long.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  II. — A  Room  in  Ford's  House. 
Enter  Falstaff  and  Mistress  Ford. 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford,  your  sorrow  hath  eaten  up  my 
sufferance  :  I  see,  you  are  obsequious  in  your  Jove, 
and  i  profess  requital  to  a  hair's  breadth  ;  not  only, 
mistress  Ford,  in  the  simple  office  of  love,  but  in  all 
the  accoutrement,  complement,  and  ceremony  of  i\. 
But  are  you  sure  of  your  husband  now? 

Mrs.  Ford.  He's  a  birding,  sweet  sir  John. 

Mrs.  Page.  {Within.)  What  hoa,  gossip  Ford 
what  hoa  I 

Mrs.  Ford  Step  into  the  chamber,  sir  John. 

[Exit  Fahta^ 

Enter  Mistress  Page 
Mrs.  Page.  How  now,   sweetheart  ?  who's  ai 
home  beside  yourself? 

M7-S.  Ford.  Why,  none  but  mine  own  people. 
Mrs.  Page.  Indeed?  , 

Mrs.  Ford.l>(o,  certainly :— speak  louder.  {Asidi'l 
Mrs.  Page.  Truly,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  nobo<ly 
Mrs.  Ford.  Why  1  _  [here. 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  woman,  your  husband  is  in  hisi 
old  Itmes  again :  he  so  takes  on  yonder  with  m^ 
husband ;  so  rails  against  all  married  mankind  ;  s? 
curses  all  Eve's  daughters,  of  what  complexion 
soever ;  and  so  butfets  himself  on  the  forehead, 
crying  Peer-out,  peer-out!  that  any  madness.  1  ev 


Scene  2. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


47 


yet  beheld,  seenned  but  tameness,  civility,  and  pa- 
tience, to  this  his  distemper  1.3  is  in  now :  I  am  glad 
the  fat  ktiif^ht  is  not  here. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  does  he  talk  of  him? 

Mrs.  Page.  Of  none  but  him  ;  and  swears,  he 
was  carried  out,  the  last  time  he  searched  for  him, 
in  a  basket :  protests  to  my  husband,  he  is  now  here  ; 
and  hath  drawn  him  and  the  rest  of  their  company 
from  their  sport,  to  make  aiiother  experiment  of  his 
suspicion  ;  but  I  am  glad  the  knight  is  not  here  ;  now 
he  shall  see  his  own  tbolery. 

Mrs.  Furd.  How  near  is  he,  mistress  Page  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Hard  by ;  at  street  end ;  he  will  be 
here  anon. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  am  undone  ! — the  knight  is  li^re. 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  then  von  are  utterly  shamed, 
and  he's  but  a  dead  man.  What  a  won)an  are  you  ? 
— Away  with  him,  away  with  him;  better  shame 
than  murder. 

Mrs.  Furd.  Which  way  should  he  go  ?  how  should 
I  bestow  him    Shall  I  put  him  into  the  basket  again  V 

Re-enter  Falstaff. 

Fal.  No,  I'll  come  no  more  i'  the  basket.  May  I 
Dot  go  out,  ere  he  come  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Alas,  three  of  master  Ford's  brothers 
watch  the  door  with  pistols,  that  none  shall  issue 
out;  otherwise  you  might  slip  away  ere  he  came. 
But  what  make  you  here?  Lchinmey. 

Fal.  What  shall  I  do? — I'll  creep  up  into  the 

Mrs.  Furd.  There  they  always  used  to  discharge 
their  birding  pieces:  creep  into  the  kiln-hole. 

Fal.  Where  is  it? 

Mrs.  Ford.  He  will  seek  there,  on  my  word. 
Neitlier  press,  cofi'er,  chest,  try^k_,  well,  vault,  but 
he  hath  an  abstract  for  the  remembrance  of  such 
places,  and  goes  to  tliem  by  his  note  :  there  is  no 
hiding  you  in  the  house. 
5     Fal.  I'll  go  out  then. 

Mrs.  Page.  If  you  go  out  in  your  own  semblance, 
you  ()it-,  sir  Julin.    Unless  you  go  out  disguised, — 

Mrs.  Ford.  How  might  we  disguise  him? 

Mrs.  Page.  Alas  the  day,  I  know  not.  There  is 
no  woman's  gown  big  enough  tor  him ;  otherwise, 
he  might  put  on  a  hat,  a  muftler,  and  a  kerchief,  and 
so  e.sca[)e. 

Fal.  Good  hearts,  devise  something:  any  extre- 
mity, rather  than  a  mischief. 

Mr'i.  Ford.  My  maid's  aunt,  the  fat  woman  of 
Brentford,  has  a  gown  above. 

Mrs.  Page.  On  n»y  word,  it  will  serve  him  ;  she's 
as  big  as  he  is  ;  and  there's  her  thrum'd  hat^  and  her 
muffler  tdO :  run  up,  sir  John. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Go,  go,  sweet  sir  John  :  mistress  Page 
and  I  will  look  some  linen  for  your  head. 

Mrs.  Page.  Quick,  quick;  we'll  come  dress  you 
straight:  ptit  on  the  gown  the  while.  [Exit  Falstaff. 

Mrs.  Ford.  V  would,  my  husband  vvonld  meet 
him  in  this  shape  :  he  cannot  abide  the  old  woman  of 
Brentford ;  he  swears,  she's  a  witch ;  forbade  her 
my  house,  and  hath  threatened  to  beat  her. 

Mrs.  Page.  Heaven  guide  him  to  thy  husband  s 
cudgel;  and  the  devil  guide  his  cudgel  afterwards! 

Mrs.  Ford.  But  is  my  husband  coming? 

Mrs.  Page.  Ay,  in  good  sadness,  is  he ;  and 
ifilks  of  the  basket  too,  howsoever  he  hath  had  in- 
telligence. 

Mn.  Ford.  Well  try  that;  for  I'll  appoint  my 
men  to  carry  the  basket  again,  to  meet  him  at  the 
door  with  it,  as  they  did  last  time. 

Mrs.  Page.  Nay,  but  he'll  be  here  presently : 
let's  go  dress  him  like  the  witch  of  Brentford. 

Mrs.  Ford.  \'\\  first  direct  my  men,  what  they 
shall  do  with  the  basket.  Go  up.  1  11  bring  linen 
for  him  straiglit.  [Exit. 

Mrs.  Page.  Hang  him,  dishonest  varlet!  we  can- 
not misuse  him  enough. 

We'll  leave  a  proof,  by  that  which  we  will  do, 

Wives  may  be  merry,  and  yet  h  )nest  too :  , 


We  do  not  act,  that  often  jest  and  iangli ; 
'Tis  old  but  true.  Still  swine  eat  all  the  draff. 

[Exit. 

Re-enter  Mistress  Ford,  tvith  tico  Se7'vants. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Go,  sirs,  take  the  basket  again  on  your 
shoulders  ;  your  master  is  hard  at  door  ;  il'  he  bid  yon 
set  it  down,  obey  him  :  quickly,  despatch.  [Exit. 

1  Serv.  Come,  come,  take  it  up.  [again. 

2  Serv.  Pray  heaven,  it  be  not  full  of  the  knigiii 
I  Serv.  I  hope  not;  I  had  as  lief  bear  so  much 

lead. 

Enter  Ford,  Page,  Shallow,  Caius.  and  Sir 
Hugh  Evans. 

Ford.  Ay,  but  if  it  prove  true,  tnaster  Page, 
have  you  any  way  then  to  unfool  me  again? — Set 
down  the  basket,  villain: — Somebody  call  my  wile : 

 You,  youth  in  a  basket,  come  out  heie  ! — O, 

you  panderly  rascals  !  there's  a  knot,  a  ging,  a  par  k, 
a  conspiracy  against  me  :  now  shall  the  devil  be 
shamed.  VVMiat !  wife,  I  say!  come,  come  ibrth : 
behold  what  honest  clothes  you  send  forth  to  the 
bleaching. 

Page.  Why,  this  passes;  Master  Ford,  you  are 
not  to  go  loose  any  longer;  you  must  be  pinioned. 

Eva.  Why  this  is  lunatics!  this  is  mad  as  a  mad 
dog !  [deetl 

Shal.  Indeed,  master  Ford,  this  is  not  well;  in- 
Enter  Mistress  Ford. 

Ford.  So  say  1  too,  sir. — Come  hither,  mistress 
Ford  ;  mistress  Ford,  the  honest  woman,  the  modest 
wife,  the  \irtuous  creature,  that  hath  the  jealous  foni 
to  her  husband  I  I  suspect  without  cause,  mistress, 
do  I  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  Heaven  be  my  witness,  you  do,  if  you 
suspect  me  in  any  dishonesty. 

Ford.  Well  said,  brazen-face;  hold  it  out.-  

Come  forth,  sirrah. 

[Pulls  the  clothes  out  of  the  bavkH 

Page.  This  passes  !  [al'.»ue, 

Mrs.  Ford.  Are  yon  not  ashamed  ?  let  the  cioll  es 

Ford.  I  shall  find  you  anon. 

Eva.  'Tis  unreasonable  !  Will  you  take  up  y^fW 
wife's  clothes  ?    Come  away. 

Ford.  Empty  the  basket,  I  say. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  man,  why — 

Ford.  Master  Page,  as  1  am  a  man,  there  was  one 
conveyed  out  of  my  house  yesterday  in  this  basket : 
why  may  not  he  be  there  again  ?  In  my  house  1 
am  sure  he  is:  my  intelligence  is  true  ;  my  jealousy 
is  reasonable:  pluck  me  out  all  the  linen. 

Mrs.  Ford.  If  you  find  a  man  tiiere,  he  shall  d'e 
a  flea's  death. 

Page.  Here's  no  man. 

Shal.  By  my  fidelity,  this  is  not  well,  master  F(»rd  ; 
this  wrongs  you. 

Eva.  Master  Ford,  you  must  pray,  and  not  fol- 
low the  imaginations  of  ymir  own  heart:  this  is 
jealousies. 

Ford.  Well,  he's  not  here  I  seek  for. 

Page.  No,  nor  no  where  else,  but  in  your  brain. 

Ford.  Help  to  search  my  house  this  one  time  :  if 
I  find  not  what  I  seek,  show  no  colour  for  my  ex- 
tremity, let  me  for  ever  be  yoin-  table-sport;  let 
them  say  of  me,  As  jealous  as  Ford,  that  searched 
a  hollow  walnut  lor  his  wife's  lenian.  Satisfy  me 
once  more  ;  once  more  search  with  me. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What  hoa,  mistress  Page  !  come  you, 
and  the  old  woman,  down ;  my  husband  will  come 
into  the  chamber. 

Ford.  Old  woman!  What  old  woman's  that? 

M7's.  Ford.  Why,  it  is  my  maid's  aunt  of  Brent 
ford. 

Ford.  A  witch,  a  quean,  an  old  cozening  quean  I 
Have  I  not  forbid  her  my  house  ?  Slie  comes  cl' 
errands,  does  she  ?  We  are  simple  men  ;  we  do  riot' 
know  what's  brought  to  pass  under  the  profession 
of  fortune-telling.  She  works  by  charms,  by  spe 
by  the  figure,  and  such  daubery  as  this  is;  beyond 
our  element:  we  know  nothing. — Come  down,  you 
witch,  you  hag  you  ;  come  down,  1  say. 


48 


MERRY  WIVES 


OF  WINDSOR. 


Act 


Mrs.  Ford.  INay^  good,  sweet  nnsband, — good 
gentlemen,  let  him  not  strike  the  old  woman. 

Enter  Faj-staff  in  women's  clothes,  ledby  Mistress 
Page. 

Mrs.  Pifge.  Come,  mother  Prat,  ;ome,  give  me 
y(Mir  hand. 

Ford,  ril  prat  her :  Out  of  my  door,  you 

witch  [beats  him),  you  rag,  you  baggage,  you  pole- 
cat, you  ronyon !  out!  out!  Pll  conjure  you,  Pll  for- 
tune tell  you.  [Exit  Falstaff. 
3lrs.  Page.  Are  you  not  ashamed  ?    1  tliink,  you 
Bw  killed  the  poor  woman. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  he  will  do  it: — 'Tis  a  goodly 
credit  for  you. 

Ford.  Hang  her,  witch  ! 

Eva.  By  yea  and  no,  I  think,  the  'oman  is  a  witch 
indeed :  I  like  not  when  a  'oman  has  a  great  peard  ; 
I  spy  a  great  peard  under  her  muffler. 

Ford.  Will  you  follow,  gentlemen?  I  beseech 
you,  follow ;  see  but  the  issue  of  my  jealousy :  if  I 
cry  out  thus  upon  no  trail,  never  trust  me  when  I 
open  again.  [come,  gentlemen. 

Page.  Let's  obey  his  humour  a  little  further : 

[Exeunt  Page,  Ford,  Shallow,  and  Evans. 

Mrs.  Page.  Trust  me,  he  beat  him  most  pitifully. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  by  the  mass,  that  he  did  not; 
he  beat  him  most  nnpitifully,  methought. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  ll  have  the  cudgel  hallowed,  and 
hurigu'er  the  altar;  it  hath  done  meritorious  service. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What  think  you  ?  May  we,  with  the 
warrant  of  womanhood,  and  the  witness  of  a  good 
conscience,  pursue  him  with  any  iarther  revenge  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  The  spirit  of  wantonness  is,  sure, 
ec  ired  out  of  lum ;  if  the  devil  have  him  not  in  fee- 
simple,  with  fine  and  recovery,  he  will  never,  I  think, 
in  the  wav  of  waste,  attempt  us  again. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Shall  we  tell  our  husbands  how  we 
bave  served  him  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Yes,  by  all  means ;  if  it  be  but  to 
Bcrape  the  figures  out  of  your  husband  s  brains.  If 
tliey  can  find  in  their  hearts,  the  poor  unvii  tuous  fat 
knight  siiall  be  any  further  afflicted,  we  two  will  still 
be  the  ministers. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I'll  warrant,  they'll  have  him  publicly 
shamed;  and,  methinks,  there  would  be  no  l  eriod  to 
the  jest,  should  he  not  be  publicly  shamed. 

Mrs.  Page.  Come,  to  the  foige  with  it  then,  shape 
it:  1  wo(dd  not  have  things  cool.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn, 
Enter  Host  and  Bardolph. 
Bard.  Sir,  the  Germans  desire  to  have  three  of 
your  horses:  the  duke  himself  will  be  to-morrow  at 
court,  and  they  are  going  to  meet  him. 

Host.  What  duke  should  that  be,  comes  so  se- 
cretly ?  I  hear  not  of  him  in  the  court:  let  me  speak 
with  the  gentlemen;  they  speak  English? 
Bard.  Ay,  sir;  I'll  call  them  to  you. 
Host.  They  shall  have  my  horses;  but  I'll  make 
4hem  pay,  I'll  sauce  them:  they  have  had  my  house 
a  week  at  command;  1  have  turned  away  my  other 
guests:  tliey  must  come  olf;  111  sauce  them;  come. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — A  Room  in  Ford^s  House. 
Enter  Page,  Ford,  Mistress  Page,  Mistress  Ford, 
and  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 

Eva.  'Tis  one  of  the  pest  discretions  of  a  'oman  as 
ever  i  did  iooK  uikiu.  [nii  instant? 

Page.  And  did  he  send  yon  both  these  letters  at 

Mrs.  Page,  Within  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Ford.  Pardon  me,  wife  :  henceforth  do  what  thou 
I  rather  will  suspect  the  sun  with  cold,  [wilt; 
Than  thee  with  wantonness:  now  doth  thy  honour 
In  him,  that  was  of  late  an  heretic,  [stand. 
As  firm  as  faith. 

Page.  'Tis  well,  'tis  well ;  no  more. 

Be  not  OS  extreme  in  submission 


As  in  offence  ; 

But  let  our  plot  go  forward  :  let  our  wives 
Yet  once  again,  to  make  us  public  sport. 
Appoint  a  meeting  with  this  old  fat  tellow, 
Where  we  may  take  him.  and  disgrace  him  for  it. 
Ford.  There  is  no   better  way  than  that  the« 
spoke  of. 

Page.  How  !  to  send  him  word  they'll  meet  him 
in  tlie  park  at  inidni;  bt !  fie,  fie  ;  he'll  never  come. 

Eva.  You  say,  he  hz-G  been  thrown  into  the  rivers, 
and  has  been  grievously  peaten,  as  an  old  'oman* 
niethinks,  there  should  be  terrors  in  him,  that  he 
should  not  come  ;  methinks,  his  fiesh  \f  punished,  he 
shall  have  no  desires. 

Page.  So  think  I  too,  [he  comes, 

Mrs.  Ford.  Devise  but  how  you'll  use  him  wiieo 
And  let  us  two  devise  to  bring  him  thither. 

Mrs.  Page.  Tnere  is  an  old  tale  goes,  that  Herne 
the  hunter. 
Sometime  a  kee{)er  here  in  Windsor  fo  est. 
Doth  all  the  winter  time,  at  stiH  midnight, 
W alk  round  about  an  oak,  with  great  ragg'd  horns  , 
And  there  he  blasts  the  tiee,  and  takes  the  cattle  ; 
And  makes  milch-kine  yield  blood,  and  shakes  a 
In  a  most  hideous  and  dreadful  manner:  [chain 
You  have  heard  of  such  a  spirit;  and  well  you  know, 
The  .superstitious  idle-headed  eld 
Receiv'd,  and  did  deliver  to  our  age, 
This  tale  of  Herne  the  hunter  for  a  truth. 

Page.  Why,  yet  there  want  not  many  that  do 
In  deep  of  night  to  walk  by  tliis  Heme's  oak  :  [fear 
But  What  of  this  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  Marry,  this  is  our  device  ; 
That  Falstatt  at  that  oak  shall  meet  with  us. 
Disguised  like  Herne,  with  huge  horns  on  his  head. 

Page.  Well,  let  it  not  be  doubted  but  he'll  come 
And  lu  this  shape:  when  you  have  brought  him 
thither, 

What  shall  be  done  with  him  ?  what  is  your  plot  ? 
Mrs.  Page,  That  likev/ise  iiave  we  thought  upon 
and  thus : 

Nan  Page,  my  daughter,  and  my  little  son. 

And  three  or  four  more  of  their  growth,  we'll  dress 

Like  urchins,  ouphes,  and  iairies,  green  and  whitti 

With  rounds  of  waxen  tapers  on  tiieir  heads, 

And  rattles  in  their  hands;  upon  a  sudden. 

As  Falstalf,  she,  and  I,  are  newly  met. 

Let  them  from  I'ortli  a  saw-pit  rush  at  once 

With  some  diti'used  song  ;  upon  their  sigh  , 

W e  two  in  great  amazed.iess  will  fiy  : 

TTien  let  them  all  encircle  him  about. 

And,  fairy-like,  to  pinch  the  unclean  knight ; 

And  ask  him,  why,  that  hour  of  iairy  revrl. 

In  their  so  secret  paths  he  dares  to  tread. 

In  shape  profane. 

Mrs.  Ford.  And  till  he  tell  the  truth. 

Let  the  supposed  fairies  pinch  him  sound, 
And  burn  tiiin  with  their  tape  i  s. 

Mrs.  Page.  Tiie  truth  being  knowu, 

We'll  all  present  ourselves  ;  dis-horn  tlie  spirit. 
And  tjiock  him  home  to  Windsor. 

Ford.  The  children  musl 

Be  practis'd  well  to  this,  or  they'll  ne  er  do't. 

Eva.  I  will  teach  the  children  their  behaviours, 
and  I  will  be  like  a  jack  a-napes  pi'"'^  to  hum  the 
knight  with  my  taber.  [vizards 

Ford.  That  will  be  excellent.  '  t'li  go  buy  them 

Mrs.  Page.  My  Nan  shall  he  the  queen  of  all  the 
Finely  attired  in  a  robe  of  white.  [fairies, 

Page.  That  silk  will  1  go  buy: — and  in  that  tin.e 
Shall  master  Slender  steal  my  Nan  away,  (Aside) 

Ana  marry  her  at  Eton.  Go,  send  to  lalstati 

straight. 

Ford.  Nay ,  I'll  to  him  again  in  the  name  of  Brook 
He  ll  tell  me  all  his  purpose  :  sure,  he'll  come. 

Mrs.  Page.  Fear  not  you  that :  go,  get  us  pro- 
And  tricking  lor  our  fairies.  j  perties^ 

Eva.  Let  us  about  it :  it  is  admirable  pleasures^ 
and  very  honest  knaveries. 

iExeunl  Page,  Ford  and  Evans 


Scene  6.  MERRY  WIVES 

Mrs.  Page   Go,  Mrs.  Fdi  J, 
Send  quickly  to  Sir  Jolin,  to  know  liis  luind. 

[Exit  Mrs.  Ford. 
ril  to  the  doctor;  he  hath  my  good  will. 
And  none  but  he,  to  marry  with  Nan  Page. 
That  Slender,  though  well  landed,  is  an  idiot  ; 
And  he  my  husband  best  of  all  affects  : 
Th(?"  doctor  is  well  money'd,  and  his  friends 
Potent  at  court;  he,  none  but  he,  shall  have  her. 
Though  twenty  thousand  worthier  come  to  crave  her. 

[Exit 

Scene  V. — A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 
Enter  Host  and  Simple. 
Host.  What  would'st  thou  have,  boor?  wbat, 
ftick-skin  ?  speak,  breathe,  discuss  ;  brief,  short, 
i|uick,  snap. 

Sim.  Marry,  sir,  I  come  to  speak  with  sir  John 
FaLstaff  from  my  master  Slender. 

Host.  'J'^here's  his  chamber,  his  house,  his  castle, 
nis  standing  bed,  and  truckle-bed ;  'tis  painted 
about  with  ttie  story  of  the  prodigal,  fresh  and  new  : 
ho,  knock  and  call;  he'll  speak  like  an  ^?z^//ropo- 
pharjinian  unto  thee  :  knock,  I  say. 

Sim.  There's  an  old  woman,  a  fat  woman,  gone 
lip  into  his  chamber ;  I'll  be  so  bold  as  stay,  sir, 
till  she  come  down;  I  come  to  speak  with  her, 
indeed. 

Host.  Ha !  a  fat  woman  I  the  knight  may  be 
robbed:  I'll  call. — Bully  knight!  Bully  sir  John! 
speak  from  thy  lungs  military :  art  thou  there  ?  it 
is  thine  host,  thine  Ephesian,  calls. 

Fal.  (Above.)  How  now,  mine  host? 

Host.  Here's  a  Bohemian-Tartar  tarries  the  com- 
ing down  ol'thy  fat  woman  :  let  her  descend,  bully, 
let  her  descend  ;  my  chambers  are  honourable  :  fye  ! 
fr-vacy  ?  fye  I 

Enter  Falstaff 

Eal.  There  was,  mine  host,  an  old  fat  woman  even 
now  with  me  ;  but  she's  gone.  [Brentford  ? 

Sim.  Pray  you,  sir,  was't  not  the  wise  woman  of 

Fal.  Ay,  marry,  was  it.  muscle-shell :  what  would 
you  with  her  ? 

Sim  My  master,  sir,  my  master  Slender,  sent  to 
her,  seeing  her  go  through  the  streets,  to  know, 
sir,  whether  one  Nyrn,  sir,  that  beguiled  him  of  a 
chain,  had  the  chain,  or  no. 

Fal.  I  spake  with  the  old  woman  about  it. 

Sim.  And  what  says  she,  I  pray,  sir? 

Fal.  Marry,  she  says,  that  the  very  same  man, 
that  beguiled  master  Slender  of  his  chain,  cozened 
him  of  it. 

Si?n.  I  would  I  could  have  spoken  wit-h  the  wo- 
man herself;  I  had  other  things  to  have  spoken  with 
her  too,  from  him. 

Fal.  What  are  they  ?  let  us  know. 

Host.  Ay,  come  ;  quick. 

Sim.  I  may  not  conceal  them,  sir. 

Fal.  Conceal  them,  or  thou  diest. 

Si?n.  Why,  sir,  they  were  nothing  but  about  mis- 
tress Ann  Page:  to  know  if  it  were  my  master's 
fortune  to  have  her,  or  no. 

Fal.  'Tis,  'tis  his  fortune. 

What,  sir?  [told  me  so. 

Fal.  To  have  her, — or  no:  go;  I  say  the  woman 

Sim.  May  I  be  so  bold  to  say  so,  sir? 

Fal.  Ay,  sir  Tike ;  who  more  bold? 

Sim.  I  thank  your  worshi|j :  I  shall  make  my 
master  j;lad  with  these  tidings.  [Exit  Simple. 

Host.  Thou  art  clerkly,  thou  art  clerkly,  sir  John. 
Was  there  a  wise  woman  with  thee  ? 

Fal.  Ay,  that  there  was,  mine  host;  one,  that 
Aath  taught  me  more  wit  than  ever  I  learnea  before 
m  my  life :  and  I  paid  nothing  for  it  neither,  but 
Was  paid  for  my  learning. 

Enter  Bardolph. 

Bard.  Out.  alas,  sir!  cozenage  !  mere  cozer\age  ! 

Host.  Where  he  my  horscs  ?  speak  well  of  them, 
varletla. 


OF  WINDSOR.  49 

lia/cL  Run  away  with  the  cozeners:  for  so  B4)on 
as  I  came  beyond  Eton,  they  threw  me  oif.  from 
behind  one  of  them,  in  a  slough  of  mire:  and 
spurs,  and  away,  like  three  German  devils,  three 
Doctor  Paustuses. 

Host.  They  are  gone  but  to  meet  the  duke,  vi|. 
lain  :  do  not  say,  they  be  fled  ;  Germans  are  honesi 
men. 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 

Eva.  Where  is  mine  host? 

Host.  What  is  the  matter,  sir  ? 

Eva.  Have  a  care  of  your  entertainments :  there 
is  a  friend  of  mine  come  to  town,  tells  me,  there  is 
three  cousin  Germans.,  that  has  cozened  all 
hosts  of  Reading,  of  Maidenhead,  of  Colebrook, 
of  horses  and  money.  1  tell  you  for  good-will, 
look  you :  you  are  wise,  and  full  of  gibes  and 
vlouting-stogs  ;  and  'tis  not  convenient  you  shonld 
be  cozened :  fare  you  well.  [_Exit. 

Enter  Dr.  Caius. 

Caius.  Vere  is  mine  host  de  Jarterre? 

Host.  Here,  master  doctor,  in  perplexity,  an 
doubtful  dilemma. 

Caius.  I  cannot  tell  vat  is  dat :  but  it  is  tell-a 
me,  dat  you  make  grand  preparation  for  a  duke 
de  Jarmany .  by  my  trot,  dere  is  no  duke,  dat  de 
court  is  know  to  come  ;  I  tell  you  for  good  vill : 
adieu.  _    _  \_ExiL 

Host.  Hue  and  cry,  villain,  go : — assist  me,  knight ; 
r  am  undone: — fly,  run,  hue  and  cry,  villain,  I  am 
undone  !  [Exeunt  Host  and  Bardolph. 

Fal.  I  would  all  the  world  might  be  cozened  ;  for 
[  iiave  been  cozened  and  beaten  too.  If  it  should 
come  to  the  ear  of  the  court,  how  I  have  been 
transformed,  and  how  my  transformation  hath  been 
washed  and  cudgeled,  they  would  melt  me  out  of 
ny  fat,  drop  by  drop,  and  liquor  fishermen's  boots 
Mtii  me  ;  I  warrant  they  would  whip  me  with  their 
ine  wits  till  I  were  as  crest-fallen  as  a  dried  pear. 
I  never  prospered  since  I  forswore  myself  at/jr/m^m 
Well,  if  my  wind  were  but  long  enough  to  say  my 
prayers,  I  would  repent. — 

Enter  Mistress  Quickly. 

Now  !  whence  come  you  ? 

Quick.  From  the  two  parties,  forsootli. 

Fal.  The  devil  take  one  party,  and  his  dam  the 
other,  and  so  they  shall  be  both  bestowed  !  I  have 
suffered  more  for  their  sakes,  more,  than  the  villanous 
inconstancy  of  man's  disposition  is  able  to  beai. 

Quick.  And  have  not  they  suffered  ?  Yes,  1  war- 
rant;  speciously  one  of  them;  mistress  Ford,  good 
heart,  is  beaten  black  and  blue,  that  you  cannot  see 
a  white  spot  abcut  her. 

Fal.  What  tell'st  thou  me  of  black  and  blue  ?  I 
was  beaten  myself  into  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow  : 
and  I  was  like  to  be  apprehended  for  the  witch  ot 
Brentford  ;  but  that  my  admirable  dexterity  of  wit, 
my  coimterfeiting  the  action  of  an  old  woman,  de- 
livered me,  the  knave  constable  had  set  me  i'  the 
stocks,  i'  the  common  stocks,  for  a  witch 

Quick.  Sir,  let  me  speak  with  you  in  your  cham- 
ber:  you  shall  hear  how  things  go ;  and,  1  warrant, 
to  your  content.  Here  is  a  letter  will  say  some- 
what. Good  hearts,  what  a  do  here  is  to  bring  you 
together !  Sure,  one  of  you  does  not  serve  heaven 
well,  that  you  are  so  crossed. 

Fal.  Come  up  into  my  chamber.  [Exetnit. 

Scene  Yl.— Another  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 

Enter  Fenton  and  Host. 
Host.  Master  Fenton,  talk  not  to  me  ;  my  mind 
is  heary,  I  will  give  over  all. 

Fent.  Yet  hear  me  speak :  assist  me  in  my  pur 

fose, 
am  a  gentleman,  I'll  give  thee 
A.  hundred  pounds  in  gold  more  than  your  lois. 


50 


MERRY  WIVES 


OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  V, 


Host.  I  will  hear  yoii,  master  Fenton ;  aud  I 
will,  at  the  least,  keep  your  counsel. 

Feiit.  From  time  to  time  1  have  acquainted  you 
With  the  dear  love  1  bear  to  fair  Anne  Page  ; 
Wlio,  mutually,  hath  answer'd  my  atiection 
[So  far  forth  as  herself  might  be  her  chooser,) 
Even  to  my  wish  :  1  have  a  letter  from  her 
Of  such  contents  as  you  will  wonder  at  ; 
The  mirth  whereof  so  larded  with  my  matter, 
'J^hat  neither,  singly,  can  be  manifested. 
Wit)  out  the  show  of  both  ; — wherein  fat  FalstafF 
Uith  a  great  scene  :  the  image  of  the  jest 

[Shoiving  the  letter.) 
I'll  s'lovv  you  here  at  large.    Hark,  good  mine  host . 
To  night  at  Heme's  oak,  just  'twixt  twelve  and  one, 
Must  my  sweet  Nan  present  the  fairy  queen: 
The  purpose  why,  is  here;  in  which  disguise, 
VVhile  other  jests  are  something  rank  on  foot. 
Her  father  liath  conimanded  her  to  slip 
Away  with  Slender,  and  witii  him  to  Eton 
In>inediateiy  to  mai  ry  :  she  hath  consented  . 
Now,  sir. 

Her  mother,  even  strong  against  that  match. 
And  firm  for  doctor  Gains,  hath  appointed 
'I'hat  he  shall  likewise  shuffle  her  away, 
VV^hile  other  sports  are  tasking  of  their  minds. 
And  at  the  deanery,  where  a  priest  attends, 
Straight  marry  her  :  to  this  her  mother's  plot 
She,  seemingly  obedient,  likevvise  hath 
Made  promise  to  the  doctor; — Now,  thws  it  rests: 
Her  father  means  she  shall  be  all  in  white  ; 
And  in  that  habit,  when  Slender  sees  his  time 
To  take  her  by  the  hand,  and  bid  her  go. 
She  shall  go  with  him  : — her  mother  hath  intended. 
The  better  to  denote  her  to  the  doctor, 
(For  they  must  all  be  mask'd  and  vizaided,) 
That,  quaint  in  green,  she  shall  be  loose  enrob'd. 
With  ribbands  pendant,  tlariiig  'bout  her  head  ; 
And  when  the  doctor  spies  his  vantage  ripe. 
To  pinch  her  by  the  hand,  and,  on  that  token, 
1'he  maid  hath  given  consent  to  go  with  him. 

Host.  Which  means  she  to  deceive?  father  or 
mother  ? 

Fki^it.  Both,  my  good  host,  to  go  along  with  me  : 
And  here  it  rests, — that  you'll  procure  tiie  vicar 
To  stay  for  me  at  church,  'twixt  twelve  and  one. 
And.  in  the  lawful  name  of  marrying. 
To  give  our  hearts  united  ceremony.  [vicar; 

Host,  Well,  husband  your  device;  I'll  to  the 
Bring  yon  the  trraid,  you  shall  not  lack  a  priest. 

Fent.  So  shall  I  ever  more  be  bound  to  tliee ; 
Besides,  I'll  make  a  present  recompense.  [Exeujit. 

ACT  V. — Scene  I. — A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 
Enter  Falstaff  and  Mrs.  Quickly. 

Fal.    Pr'ythee,  no  more  pratt'ling  ; — go  I'll 

hold  .  this  is  the  third  time  ;  1  hope,  good  luck 
lies  in  odd  numbers.  Away,  go  ;  they  say,  there  is 
divinity  in  odd  ninnbers,  eitiier  in  nativity,  chance, 
or  death. — Away. 

Quick,  ril  provide  yon  a  chain  ;  and  I'll  do  what 
I  can  to  get  you  a  pair  of  horns. 

Fal.  Away,  I  say  ;  time  wears  :  hold  up  your  head, 
and  mince.  [Exit  Mrs.  Quichly. 

Enter  Ford. 

How  now,  master  Brook  ?  Master  Brook,  the  matter 
will  be  known  to-night,  or  never.  Be  you  in  the 
Park  about  midnight,  at  Heme's  oak,  and  you  shall 
see  wonders. 

Ford.  Went  you  not  to  her  yesterday,  sir,  as  you 
told  ine  you  had  appointed  ? 

Fal.  1  went  to  her,  master  Brook,  as  you  see, 
like  a  j>oor  old  man  :  but  I  came  from  her,  master 
Brook,  like  a  poor  old  woman.  That  same  knave, 
her  husband,  hath  the  finest  mad  devil  of  jealousy 
in  him,  master  Brook,  that  ever  governed  frenity. 
I  will  tell  you. — He  beat  me  grievously,  in  the  shape 
of  a  woman  ;  for  in  the  shape  of  njan,  inaster  Brook, 
I  fe«r  not  Ooliah  wiih  a  weavers  beam;  because  I 


know  also,  lifp  is  a  shuttle.  I  am  in  haste  ,  g^o  alone 
with  me ;  1  11  tell  you  all,  master  Brook.  Since  I 
pluck'd  geese,  play'd  truant,  and  whip'd  top,  I  knew 
not  what  it  was  to  be  beaten,  till  lately.  Follow  me 
I'll  tell  you  strange  things  of  this  knave  Ford  :  on 
whom  to  night  I  will  be  revenged,  and  I  will  deliver 
his  wife  into  your  hand. — Follow  •  strange  things  in 
hand,  master  Brook  !  follow.  [Exeunt 

Scene  IL— Windsor  Park. 
Enter  Page,  Shallow,  and  Slendbr. 

Page.  Come,  come :  we'll  couch  i'  the  castie 
ditch,  till  we  see  tne  light  of  our  fairies. — Hemeiu 
her,  son  Slender,  my  daughter. 

S^en.  Ay,  forsooth;  1  have  spoke  with  her,  and 
we  have  a  nay-word,  how  to  know  one  another.  1 
come  to  her  in  white,  and  cry,  mum;  she  cries, 
budget ;  and  by  that  we  know  one  another. 

Shal.  'J'hat's  good  too:  but  what  needs  either  your 
mum,  or  her  budget  1  the  white  will  decipher  her 
well  enough. — it  hath  struck  ten  o'clock. 

Page,  'i'he  night  is  dark;  light  and  spirits  will 
become  it  well.  Heaven  prosper  our  sport  !  No  man 
means  evil  but  the  devil,  and  we  shall  know  him  by 
his  horns.   Let's  away  ;  follow  me.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — The  Street  in  Windsor. 
Enter  Mrs.  Page,  Mrs.  Ford,  and  Dr.  Caius. 

Mrs  Page.  Master  Doctor,  my  daughter  is  in 
green  :  when  you  see  your  time,  take  her  by  the 
hand,  away  with  her  to  the  deanery,  and  despatch 
it  quickly  :  go  before  into  the  park ;  we  two  must 
go  together. 

Caius.  I  know  vat  I  have  to  do ;  adieu. 

Mrs.  Page.  Fare  you  well,  sir.  ^  [Exit  Caiub. 
My  husband  will  not  rejoice  so  much  at  the  abuse  of 
Falstaft",  as  he  will  chate  at  the  doctor's  marrying  my 
daugiiter  •  but  'tis  no  matter;  better  a  little  eluding, 
than  a  great  deal  (  f  heart  break. 

Mrs.  Ford.  W\\e\  e  is  Nan  now,  and  her  troop  of 
fairies  ?  and  the  Welch  devil,  Hugh  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  They  are  all  couched  in  a  pit  hard  by 
Heme's  oak,  with  obscure  lights  ;  which  at  the  veiy 
instant  of  Falstatt's  and  our  meeting,  they  will  at 
once  display  to  the  night. 

Mrs.  Ford.  That  cannot  choose  but  amaze  him. 

Mrs.  Page.  If  he  be  not  amazed,  he  will  be 
mocked  ;  if  he  be  amazed,  he  will  every  way  be 
mocked. 

Mrs.  Ford.  We'll  betray  him  finely.  [lecnery, 
Mrs.  Page.  Against  such  lewdsters,  and  their 

Those  that  betray  them  do  no  treachery. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I'he  hour  draws  on ;  to  the  oak,  u» 

the  oak  1  [Exeunt. 

Scene  W .—  Windsor  Park. 
Enter  .Sir  Hugh  Evans,  and  Fairies. 
Eva.  Tr'xh,  trib,  fairies ;  come  ;  and  remember 
your  parts:  be  pold,  I  pray  you:  follow  me  into  tne 
pit;  and  when  I  give  you  the  watch-'ords,  do  as  I 
pid  you  ;  come,  come  ;  trib,  trib.  {Exeunt- 

Scene  V. — Another  part  of  the  Park. 
Mnter  Falstaff  disguised,  tvith  a  buck's  head  on 
Fal.  The  Windsor  bell  hath  struck  twelve:  the 
minute  draws  on ;  now,  the  hot-blooded  gods  assist 
me: — Remember,  Jove,  thou  wast  a  bull  for  thy 
Europa  ;  love  set  on  thy  horns. — O,  powerful  love  ! 
tiiat,  in  some  respects,  makes  a  beast  a  man ;  in 
some  other,  a  man  a  beast. — You  were  also,  Jupiter 
a  swan,  for  the  love  of  Leda : — O,  onmipotent  lov 
how  near  the  god  drew  to  the  complexion  of  a  goose 
— A  fault  done  first  in  the  form  of  a  beast; — O.  Jove, 
a  beastly  fault!  and  then  another  fault  in  the  sem- 
blance of  a  fowl ;  think  on't,  Jove ;  a  foul  fault. — 
When  gods  have  hot  backs,  what  shall  popr  men  do? 
For  me,  I  am  here  a  Windsor  stag,  and  the  fattest, 
I  think,  i'  the  forest :  send  me  a  cool  rut  time,  Jove 
or  who  can  blame  me  to  pi.ss  my  taliow?--» 
comes  here my  doe? 


Scene  5. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


51 


Enter  Mrs.  Ford  and  Mrs.  Page. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Sir  John  ?  art  thou  there,  my  deer, 
my  male  deer  ? 

Fal.  My  doe  with  the  black  scut?— Let  the  sky 
rain  potatoes ;  let  it  thunder  to  the  tune  of  Green 
Sleeves;  hail  kissing  comfits,  and  snow  eringoes;  let 
there  come  a  temjjest  of  provocation,  I  will  shelter 
me  here.  {Embracing  her.) 

Mrs.  Ford.  Mistress  Page  is  come  with  me, 
sweetheart. 

Fal.  Divide  me  like  a  bribe-buck,  each  a  haunch  ; 
I  will  keep  my  sides  to  myself,  my  shoulders  for  the 
fellow  of  this  walk,  and  my  horns  1  bequeath  to  your 
husbands.  Am  I  a  woodman  ? 'ha !  Speak  I  like 
Heme  the  hunter? — Why,  now  is  Cupid  a  child  o< 
conscience  ;  he  makes  restitution.  As  1  am  a  true 
spirit;  welcome  I  (Noise  within  ) 

Mrs.  Page.  Alas  !  what  noise  ? 

Mrs.  Ford.  Heaven  torsive  our  sins  I 

Fal.  What  should  this  be? 

Mrl'.pZge.}    Away,  away.      [They  run  off.) 

Fal.  I  think  tlie  devil  will  not  have  me  dnmned, 
est  the  oil  that  is  in  me  shoidd  set  hell  on  fire  ;  he 
Aould  never  else  cross  me  thus. 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans,  like  a  satyr;  Mrs. 
Quickly,  and  Pistol  ;  Anne  Page,  as  the  Fairy 
Queen,  attended  by  her  brother  and  others, 
dressed  like  fairies,  ivith  waxen  tapers  on  their 
heads. 

Quick.  Fairies,  black,  grey,  green,  and  white. 
You  moonshine  revellers,  and  shades  of  night. 
You  orphan-heirs  of  fixed  destiny. 
Attend  your  office,  and  your  quality. — 
Crier  Hobgoblin,  make  the  fairy  o-yes.  [toys. 

Pist.   Elves,  list  your  names;  sifence,  you  airy 
Cricket,  to  Windsor  chimneys  shalt  thou  leap : 
Where  fires  thou  find'st  unrak'd,  and  hearts  unswept. 
There  pinch  the  maids  as  blue  as  bilberry: 
Our  radiant  queen  hates  sluts  and  sluttery. 

Fal.  They  are  fairies;  he  that  speaks  to  them, 
shall  die : 

I'll  wink  and  couch  :  no  man  i\>Ar  works  must  eye. 

[Lies  down  upon  hi»  face.) 
Eva.  Where's  Pedef — Go  you,  and  where  you 
find  a  maid, 

That,  ere  she  sleep,  has  thrice  her  prayers  said, 

Raisr  up  the  organs  of  her  fantasy. 

Sleep  she  as  sound  as  careless  infancy; 

But  those  as  sleep,  and  think  not  on  their  sins. 

Pinch  them,  arms,  legs,  backs,  shoulders,  sides,  and 

Quick.  About,  about ;  [shins. 
Search  Windsor-castle,  elves,  within  and  out: 
Strew  good  luck,  ouphes,  on  every  sacred  room; 
That  it  may  stand  till  the  perpetual  doom, 
(n  state  as  wholesome,  as  in  state  'tis  fit ; 
Worthy  the  owner,  and  the  owner  it. 
The  several  chairs  of  order  look  you  scour 
With  juice  of  balm,  and  every  precious  flower. 
Each  fair  instalment,  coat,  and  several  crest. 
With  loyal  blazon,  evermore  be  blest  I 
And  nightly,  meadow-fairies,  look,  you  sing, 
hike  to  the  Garter's  compass,  in  a  ring: 
The  expressure  that  it  bears,  green  let  it  be. 
More  fertile-fresh  than  all  the  field  to  see ; 
And,  Hony  soil  qui  mal  y  pense,  write. 
In  emerald  tufts,  flowers  purple,  blue,  and  white: 
Like  sapphire,  pearl,  and  rich  embroidery,  \ 
Buckled  below  fair  knighthood's  bending  knee:  > 
Prairies  use  flowers  for  tlieir  charactery.  J 
Away  ;  disperse  :  but,  till  'tis  one  o'clock, 
Our  dance  of  custom,  round  about  the  oak 
Of  Heme  the  hunter,  let  us  not  forget. 

Eva.  Pray  you,  lock  hand  in  hand ;  yourselves  in 
order  set ; 

And  twenty  glow-worms  shall  our  lanterns  he, 
To  guide  our  measure  round  about  the  tree. 
But,  stay ;  I  smell  a  man  of  middle  earth. 


Fal.  Heavens  defend  me  from  that  Welch  fairy! 
Lest  he  transform  me  to  a  piece  of  cheese  J 

Pist.  worm,  thou  wast  o'er-look'd  even  i 

thy  birth. 

Quick.  With  trial  fire  toiich  me  his  finger-end  ( 
If  he  be  chaste,  the  flame  will  back  descend. 
And  turn  him  to  no  pain  ;  but  if  he  start. 
It  is  the  flesh  of  a  corrupted  heart. 

Pist.  A  tri»d,  come. 

Eva.  Come,  will  this  wood  take  firto 

{They  burr,  him  with  their  takers, 
Fal.  Oh,  oh,  oh  : 

Quick.  Corrupt^  corrupt,  and  tainted  in  desire  J 
j  About  him,  fairies  ;  sing  a  scornful  rhyme  : 
'  And,  as  you  trip,  still  pinch  him  to  your  time. 

Eva.  It  is  right ;  indeed  he  is  f  ull  of  lecheries  atd 
iniquity. 

(  SONG. 

Fie  on  vinfid  fantasy  ! 

Fie  on  lust  and  l^txicry  ! 

Jjust  is  but  a.  bloody  fire. 

Kindled  with  unchaste  desire. 

Fed  in  heart ;  whose  fames  aspire. 

As  thoughts  do  blow  them,  higher  and  higher 

Pinch  him,  fairies,  midually  ; 

Pinch  him  for  his  villany  ; 
Pinch  him,  and  burn  him.  and  turn  him  about. 
Till  ca7idles,  and  starlight,  and  moonshine  be  out 

During  this  song,  the  fairies  pinch  Falstaff 
Doctor  Cains  comes  one  ivay,  and  steals  away 
a  fairy  in  green;  Slender  another  tvay,  an 
takes  off  a  fairy  in  ivhite ;  and  Fenton  coinea 
and  steals  away  Mrs.  Anne  Page.  A  noise  of 
hunting  is  made  luithin.  All  the  fairies  run 
away.  Falstaffpullsojfhis  buck's  head,  and  rises. 

Enter  Page,  Ford,  Mrs.  Page,  and  Mrs.  FoRa 
They  lay  hold  of  him. 
Page.  Nay,  do  not  fly;  I  think,  we  have  watch'd 
you  now : 

Will  none  but  Heme  the  hunter  serve  your  turn? 
Mrs.  Page.  I  pray  you,  come  ;  hold  up  the  jest  ns 
higher:  — 

Now,  good  sir  John,  how  like  you  Windsor  wives? 
See  you  these,  husband  ?  do  not  these  fair  yokes  ^ 
Become  the  forest  better  than  the  town  ? 

Ford.  Now,  sir,  who's  a  cuckold  now? — Master 
Brook,  FalstafFs  a  knave,  a  ctickoldly  knave;  here 
are  his  horns,  master  Brook  ;  and,  master  Brook,  he 
hath  enjoyed  nothing  of  Ford's  but  his  buck  basket, 
his  cudgel,  and  twenty  pounds  of  money;  which 
must  be  paid  to  Master  Brook  ;  his  horses  are 
arrested  for  it,  master  Brook. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Sir  John,  we  ha\e  had  ill  luck;  we 
could  never  meet.  I  will  neA'er  take  you  for  my 
love  again,  but  I  will  always  count  you  my  deer. 

Fal.  I  do  begin  to  perceive  that  I  am  made  an  ass. 

Ford.  Ay,  and  an  ox  too ;  both  the  proofs  are 
extant. 

Fal.  And  these  are  not  fairies?  I  was  three  oi 
four  times  in  the  thought,  they  were  not  fairies:  and 
yet  the  guiltiness  of  n  y  mind,  the  sudden  surprise 
of  my  powers,  drove  the  grossness  of  the  foppery 
into  a  received  belief,  in  despite  of  the  teeth  of  all 
rhyme  and  reason,  that  they  were  fairies.  See  now 
how  wit  may  be  made  a  Jack-a  lent,  when  'tis  upon 
ill  employment! 

Eva.  Sir  John  Falstaff,  serve  Got,  and  leave  yo 
desires,  and  fairies  will  not  pinse  you. 

Ford.  Well  said,  fairy  Hugh.  ^yo« 
Eva.  And  leave  you  your  jealousies  too,  I  pray 
Ford.  I  will  never  mistrust  my  wife  again,  till 
thou  art  able  to  W(X)  her  in  good  English. 

Fal.  Have  I  laid  my  brain  in  the  sun,  and  dried 
it,  that  it  wants  matter  to  prevent  so  gross  o'er 
reaching  as  this?    Am  I  ridden  with  a  Welch  goa 
too?    Shall  I  hav(.  a  coxcomb  of  frize?    'Tis  tiia 
I  were  choked  with  a  piece  of  toasted  cheese. 


62 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  T 


M!va.  Seose  is  not  good  to  give  putter ;  your  pelly 
is  all  putter. 

Fal.  Seese  and  putter!  have  I  lived  to  stand  at 
the  taunt  of"  one  that  makes  fritters  of  English?  This 
M  enough  to  be  the  decay  of  lust  and  late -walking, 
through  the  realm, 

Mrs,  Page.  Why,  sir  John,  do  you  think,  though 
we  would  have  thrust  virtue  out  of  our  hearts  by  the 
head  and  shoulders,  and  have  given  ourselves  without 
Bcruple  to  hell,  that  ever  the  devil  could  have  made 
you  our  delight? 

Ford.  What,  a  hedge- pudding  ?  a  bag  of  flax  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  A  pulled  man?  [trails? 

Page.  Old,  cold,  withered,  and  of  intoleraole  en- 

Ford.  And  one  that  is  as  slanderous  as  Satan  ? 

Page.  And  as  poor  as  Job  ? 

Ford.  And  as  wicked  as  his  wife  ? 

Eva.  And  given  to  fornications,  and  to  taverns, 
and  sack,  and  wine,  and  metheglins,  and  to  drinkings, 
and  swearings,  and  starings,  pribbles,  and  prabbles? 

Fal.  Well,  I  am  your  theme :  you  have  the  start 
of  me  ;  I  am  dejected  ;  I  am  not  able  to  answer  the 
Welch  flannel :  ignorance  itself  is  a  plummet  o'er 
me  ;  use  me  as  you  will. 

Ford.  Marry,  sir,  we'll  bring  you  to  Windsor,  to 
one  master  Brook,  that  you  have  cozened  of  money, 
to  whom  you  should  have  been  a  pander:  over  and 
above  that  you  have  sufl'ered,  I  think,  to  repay  that 
money  will  be  a  biting  affliction. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  husbaud,  let  that  go  to  make 
amends : 

Forgive  that  sum,  and  so  we'll  all  be  friends. 

iord.  Well,  here's  my  hand  ;  all's  forgiven  at  last. 

Page.  Yet  be  cheerful,  knight:  thou  shalt  eat  a 
posset  to-night  at  my  house  ;  where  I  will  desire  thee 
to  laugh  at  my  wife,  that  now  laughs  at  thee :  tell 
her,  master  Slender  hath  married  her  daughter. 

Mrs.  Page.  Doctors  doubt  tiiat:  if  Anne  Page  be 
my  daughter,  she  is,  by  this,  doctor  Caius'  wife. 

(Aside.) 

Enter  Si-ender. 

Slen.  Whoo,  ho !  ho !  fother  Page  ! 

Page.  Son  !  how  now  ?  how  now,  son  ?  have  you 
despatched  ? 

Slen.  Despatched  ! — Fil  make  the  best  in  Gloces- 
tershire  know  on't;  would  I  were  hanged,  la,  else. 

Page.  Of  what,  son  ? 

Slen.  I  came  yonder  at  Eton  to  marry  mistress 
Anne  Page,  and  she's  a  great  lubberly  boy  :  if  it  had 
not  been  i'  the  church,  I  would  have  swinged  him, 
.>r  he  should  have  swinged  me.  If  I  did  not  think  it 
bad  been  Anne  Page,  would  I  might  never  stir,  and 
'tis  a  post- master's  boy. 

Page.  Upon  my  life  then  you  took  the  wrong. 

Slen.  What  need  you  tell  n)e  that?  I  think  so. 
when  I  took  a  boy  for  a  girl :  if  I  had  been  married 
to  him,  for  a  1  he  was  in  woman's  apparel,  I  would 
out  have  had  him. 

Page.  Why,  this  is  your  own  folly.  Did  not  I  tell 
you,  how  you  should  know  my  daughter  by  her  gar- 


S/en.  I  went  to  her  in  white,  and  cry'd  mum,and 
she  cried  budget,  as  Anne  and  I  had  appointed  ;  and 
yet  it  was  not  Anne,  but  a  post  master's  boy. 

Eva.  Jeshu  !  Master  Slender,  cannot  you  see  but 
marry  boys  ? 

Page.  O,  I  am  vexed  at  heart:  what  shall  1  do? 

Mrs.  Page.  Good  George,  be  not  angry  :  1  knew 
of  your  {)urpose ;  turned  my  daughter  into  green  • 
and,  indeed,  she  is  now  with  the  doctor  at  the 
deanery,  and  there  married. 

Enter  Caius. 

Caius.  Vere  is  mistress  Page?  By  gar,  \  ara 
cozened;  \  ha'  married  un  gargon,  a  toy  ;  un  pay 
san,  by  gar,  a  boy ;  it  is  not  Anne  Page :  by  gar,  1 
am  cozened. 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  did  you  take  her  in  green 

Caius.  Ay,  be  gar,  and  'tis  a  boy  :  be  ga-,  I'll  raise 
all  Wmdsor.  [Evit  Caius. 

Ford.  This  is  strange:  who  hath  got  ihe  right 
Anne  ? 

Page.  My  heart  misgives  me  :  here  con>cs  master 
Fenton. 

Enter  Fenton  and  Antve  Page. 

How  now,  master  Fenton  ?  [pardon ; 

Anne.  Pardon,  good  father!  good  my  mother, 
Page.  Now,  mistress  !  how  chance  you  went  not 

with  master  Slender  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Why  went  you  not  with  master  dr»c- 

tor,  maid  ? 

Fent.  You  do  amaze  her;  hear  the  truth  of  it 
You  would  have  married  her  most  shamefullv, 
Where  there  was  no  proportion  held  in  love*. 
The  truth  is.  She  and  I,  long  since  contracted. 
Are  now  so  sure,  that  nothing  can  dissolve  us. 
The  offence  is  holy,  that  she  hath  comn)Uted  ; 
And  this  deceit  loses  the  name  of  craft, 
Of  disobedience,  or  unduteons  title  : 
Since  therein  she  doth  evitate  and  shun 
A  thousand  irreligious  cursed  hours,  [her. 
Which  forced  marriage  would  have  brought  upon 

Ford.  Stand  not  amazed  :  here  is  no  remedy  : — 
In  love,  the  heavens  themselves  do  guide  the  state; 
Money  buys  lands,  and  wives  are  sold  by  fate. 

Bm.  I  am  glad,  though  you  have  ta'en  a  special 
stand  to  strike  at  me,  that  your  arrow  hath  glaii'^ed. 

Page.  Well,  what  remedy  ?  Fenton,  heaven  give 
thee  joy  ! 

What  cannot  be  eschew'd,  must  be  embrac'd 
Bal.  When  night- dogs  run,  all  sorts  of  deer  are 
chas'd, 

Eva.  I  will  dance  and  eat  plums  at  your  we 
Mrs.  Page.  Well,   I  will  muse  no  furth 
Master  Fenton, 
Heaven  give  you  many,  many  merry  days 
Good  husband,  let  us  every  one  go'  ome. 
And  laugh  this  sport  o'er  by  a  country  Are 
Sir  John  and  all. 

Fo^d.  Let  it  be  so:—  Sir  John, 
To  master  Brook  you  yet  shall  hold  vour  \r 
For  he,  to  night,  shall  lie  with  Mrs.  Ford. 


TWELFTH  NIGHT, 

OE,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


This  plsy  is  in  the  graver  part  elegant  and  easy,  and  in  some  of  the  lighter  scenes  exquisitely  humorous.  Aguo- 
che<;k  is  drawn  with  ^tvat  propriety,  but  his  character  is,  in  a  great  measure,  that  of  natural  fatuity,  ai\d  is  there- 
fore r. ot  the  proper  prey  of  a  satirist.  The  soliloquy  of  Malvolio  is  truly  comic  ;  he  is  betrayed  to  ridicule  merely  bf 
bis  pride.  The  marriage  of  Olivia,  and  the  su.  ceeding  perplexity,  though  well  enough  contrived  to  divert  oa  thi 
sta^e,  wants  credibility,  and  fails  to  produce  the  proper  instruction  required  in  the  drama,  as  it  exhibits  no  ji 
picture  of  life. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


ORSINO.  Di(ke  of  lUyrta. 

SEB.\ST1AN,  a  young  Gentleman,  Brother  to  Viola. 
ANTONIO,  a  Sea  Captain,  Friend  to  Sebastia?i. 
A  Sen  Captain,  Friend  to  Viola. 
VALENTINE,  )   ^  „  „    n  i. 

CUHIO,  I   Gentlemen  attending  on  the  Duke, 

SIR  TOBY  BELCH,  Uncle  of  Olivia. 
SIR  ANDREW  AGUE  CHEEK. 


Servants  to  Olivia. 


MALVOLIO,  Steward  to  OHvia. 
FABIAN,  " 

Clovni , 

OLIVIA,  a' rich  Countess. 
VIOLA,  in  love  with  the  Duke. 
MARIA,  Olivia's  Woman. 
Lords,  Priests,  Sailors,  Officers, 
Attendants. 


Scene, — A  City  in  Illyria;  and  the  Sea  coast  near  it. 


Musicians  and  oi/uf 


ACT  1. 

Scene  I. —  An  Apartment  in  the  Duke's  Palace. 
Enter  Duke,  Curio,  Lords ;  Musicians  attending. 

Duke.  If  rmisic  be  the  food  of  love,  play  on. 
Give  me  excess  of  it ;  that,  surfeiting, 

The  appetite  may  sicken,  and  so  die.  

That  strain  again; — it  had  a  dying  fall 
O,  it  came  o'er  my  ear  like  the  sweet  south. 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
Stealing,  and  giving  odour. — Enough;  no  more, 
'Tis  not  so  sweet  now,  as  it  was  before. 
O  spirit  of  love,  how  quick  and  fresh  art  thou 
That,  notwithstanding  thy  capacity 
Receiveth  as  the  sea,  nought  enters  there. 
Of  what  validity  and  pitch  soever. 
But  falls  into  abatement  and  low  price. 
Even  in  a  minute  '  so  full  of  shapes  is  fancy, 
That  it  alone  is  high-fantastical. 

Cur.  Will  you  go  hunt,  my  lord? 

Duke.  What.  Curio? 

Cur.  '  The  hart. 

Duke.  Why,  so  I  do,  the  noblest  that  I  have  • 
O,  when  mine  eyes  did  see  Olivia  first, 
Methought  she  purged  the  air  of  pestilence  : 
That  instant  was  1  turn'd  into  a  hart ; 
And  my  desires,  like  fell  and  cruel  hounds, 
E'er  since  pursue  me.  -  How  now  ?  what  news  from 
her? 

Enter  Valentine. 
Val.  So  please  my  lord,  1  might  not  be  admitted. 
But  from  her  handmaid  do  return  this  answer  : 
The  element  itself,  till  seven  years  heat. 
Shall  not  behold  her  face  at  ample  viewi 
But,  like  a  cloistress,  she  will  veiled  walk. 
And  water  once  a-day  her  chamber  round 
With  eye  offending  brine  :  all  this,  to  vSeason 
A  brother's  dead  love,  which  she  would  keep  fresh. 
And  lasting,  in  her  sad  remembrance. 

Duke.  O,  she  that  hath  a  heart  of  that  fine  frame, 
To  pay  this  debt  of  love  but  to  a  brother. 
How  will  she  love,  when  the  rich  golden  shaft 
Hath  kill'd  the  flock  of  all  affections  else 
That  live  in  her!  when  liver,  brain,  and  heart, 
These  sovereign  thrones,  are  all  supplied,  and  fili'd. 
Her  sweet  perfections)  with  one  self  king! — 
Away  before  me  to  sweet  beds  of  flowers  ; 
Love-thoughts  lie  rich,  when  canopied  with  bowers. 

[  Exeunt. 

Scene  l\.—The  Sea-coast. 
Eftter  \  lOLPi.,  Captain,  and  Sailors. 
Vio  What  country,  friends,  is  this? 


Cap.  Illyria,  lady 

Vio.  And  what  should  I  do  in  Illyria? 
My  brother  he  is  in  Elysium.  sailors  ? 

Perchance  he  is  not  drown'd  : — What  think  yon, 

Cap.  It  is  perchance,  that  you  yourself  were  saved. 

Vio.  O  my  poor  brother!  and  so,  perchance, 
may  he  be.  \  chance. 

Cap.  True,  madam  :  and,  to  comfort  you  with 
Assure  yourself,  after  our  ship  did  split, 
When  you,  and  that  poor  number  saved  wilh  you, 
Hung  on  our  driving  boat,  I  saw  youi  brother. 
Most  provident  in  peril,  bind  tiimself 
''Courage  and  hope  both  teaching  him  the  practice 
To  a  strong  mast  that  lived  upon  the  sea  ; 
Where,  like  Arion  on  the  dolphin's  back, 
I  saw  him  hold  acquaintance  with  the  waves, 
.So  long  as  I  could  see. 

Vio.  For  saying  so,  there's  goldr 

Mine  own  escape  nnfoldeth  to  my  hope. 
Whereto  thy  speech  serve.s  for  authority. 
The  like  of  him.    Know'st  tiiou  this  country? 

Cap.  Ay,  madam,  well;  for  I  was  bred  and  born 
Not  three  hours'  travel  frou»  this  very  place. 

Vio.  Who  governs  here  ? 

Cap.  A  noble  duke ,  in  nature 

As  in  his  name. 

Vio.  What  is  his  name  ? 

Cap.  Orsino. 

Vio.  Orsino!  t  have  heard  my  father  name  him  . 
He  was  a  bachelor  then. 

Cap.  And  so  is  now. 

Or  was  so  very  late :  for  but  a  month 
Ago  I  went  from  hence;  and  then  'twas  fresh 
In  murmur,  {  as,  you  know,  what  great  ones  do. 
The  less  will  prattle  of,)  that  he  did  seek 
The  love  of  fair  Olivia. 

Vio.  What's  she? 

Cap.  A  virtuous  maid,  the  daughter  of  a  coudl , 
That  died  some  twelve  month  since;  then  leaving  hw 
In  the  protection  of  his  son,  her  brother, 
Who  shortly  also  died  ;  for  whose  dear  love^ 
They  say,  she  hath  abjured  the  company 
And  sight  of  men. 

Vio.  O,  that  I  served  that  lady 

And  might  not  be  delivered  to  the  world. 
Till  I  had  made  mine  own  occasion  mellow. 
What  my  estate  is. 

Cap.  That  were  hard  to  con^pass : 

Because  she  will  admit  no  kind  of  suit. 
No,  not  the  duke's. 

Vio.  There  is  a  fair  behaviour  in  thee,  captain; 
And  though  that  nature  with  a  beauteous  wall 
Doth  oft  close  in  pollution,  yet  of  fhee  _ 
I  will  believe,  thoa  hast  a  mind  that  suits 


TWELFTH  NIGHT, 


Act  I. 


With  this  thy  fair  and  outward  character. 
I  pray  thee,  and  I'll  pay  thee  bounteously, 
Conceal  me  what  I  am,  and  be  my  aid 
For  such  disguise  as,  haply,  shall  become 
The  form  of  my  intent.    Til  serve  this  duke  ; 
Thou  shalt  present  me  as  an  eunuch  to  him, 
It  may  be  worth  thy  pains ;  for  [  can  sing, 
And  speak  to  him  in  many  sorts  of  music, 
That  will  allow  me  very  worth  his  service. 
What  else  may  hap,  to  titne  I  will  commit; 
Only  shape  thou  thy  silence  to  my  wit. 

Cap,  Be  you  his  eunuch,  and  your  mute  Til  be  : 
When  my  tongue  blabs,  then  let  mine  eyts  not  see  ! 

Vio.  I  thank  thee  :  lead  me  on.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  HI. — A  Rootn  in  Olivia's  house. 
Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Maria. 

Sir  T.  What  a  plague  means  my  niece,  to  take 
the  death  of  her  brother  thus  ?  I  am  sure,  care's  an 
enemy  to  life. 

Mar.  By  my  troth,  Sir  Toby,  you  must  come  in 
earlier  o'nights  ;  your  cousin,  my  lady,  takes  great 
exceptions  to  your  ill  hours. 

Sir  To.  Why,  let  her  except  before  excepted. 

Mar.  Ay.  but  you  must  confine  yoursell'  within 
the  modest  limits  of  order. 

Sir  To.  Confine  !  I'll  confine  myself  no  finer  than 
1  am :  these  clothes  are  good  enough  to  drink  in, 
and  so  be  these  boots  too  '  an  they  be  not,  let  them 
hang  themseh  es  in  their  own  straps. 

Mar.  That  quaffing  and  drinking  will  undo  you  : 
I  heard  my  lady  talk  of  it  yesterday  ;  and  of  ft 
foolish  knight,  that  you  brought  in  one  night  heW 
to  be  her  wooer. 

Sir  To.  Who?  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek ? 

Ma?'.  Ay,  he. 

Sir  To.  He's  as  tall  a  man  as  any's  in  lUyria. 

Mar.  VVhafs  that  to  the  purpose? 

Sir  To.  Why,  he  has  three  thousand  ducats  a-year. 

Mitr.  Ay  but  he'll  have  but  a  year  in  all  these 
ducats ;  he's  a  very  Ibol,  and  a  prodigal. 

Sir  To.  Fye,  that  you'll  say  so !  he  plays  o'the 
viol-de-gambo,  and  speaks  three  or  four  languages 
word  for  word  without  book,  and  hath  all  the  good 
gifts  of  nature. 

Mar.  He  hath,  indeed, — almost  natural :  for,  be- 
sides that  he's  a  fool,  he's  a  great  quarreller;  and, 
but  that  he  hath  the  gift  of  a  coward  to  allay  the 
gust  he  hath  in  quarrelling,  'tis  thought  among  the 
prudent,  he  would  quit^kiy  have  the  gift  of  a  grave. 

Sir  To.  By  this  hand,  they  are  scoundrels,  and 
substractors,  that  say  so  of  him.    Who  are  they  ? 

Mar.  Thtry  that  add,  moreover,  he's  drunk  nightly 
in  your  company. 

Sir  To.  With  drinking  healths  to  my  niece  ;  I'll 
drink  to  her,  as  long  as  there  is  a  passage  in  my 
throat,  and  drink  in  Illyria  :  he's  a  coward,  and  a 
coystril,  that  will  not  drink  to  my  niece,  till  his 
brains  turn  o'  the  toe  like  a  parish  top.  What, 
wench?  Castillano  vtd,5o;  for  here  comes  sir  An- 
drew Ague-face. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek. 

Sir  A.  Sir  Toby  Belch  I  how  now,  sir  Toby  Belch? 

Sir  To.  Sweet  sir  Andrew! 

Sir  And.  Bless  you,  fair  shrew. 

Mar.  And  you  too,  sir. 

Sir  To.  Accost,  sir  Andrew,  accost. 

Sir  And.  What's  that? 

Sir  To.  My  niece's  chamber-maid. 

Sir  And.  (jood  mistress  Accost,  I  de^re  better  ac- 

Mar.  My  name  is  Mary,  sir.  [quaintance. 

Si*"  And.  Good  mistress  Mary  Accost  

Sir  To.  Vou  misdate,  knight;  accost,  is,  front 
Iser,  board  h'^^r,  woo  her,  assail  her. 

Sir  And.  By  my  troth,  I  would  not  undertake  her 
in  this  company.     Is  that  the  meaning  of  accost? 

Mar.  Fare  you  well,  gentlemen 


Sir  To.  An  thou  let  part  so,  sir  Andrew,  'would 
thou  might'st  never  draw  sword  again. 

Sir  And.  An  you  part  so,  mistress,  I  would  I 
might  never  draw  sword  again.  Fair  lady,  do  you 
think  you  ha\  e  fools  in  hand  ? 

Mar.  Sir,  I  have  not  you  by  the  hand. 

Sir  And.  Marry,  but  you  shall  have  ;  and  here's 
my  hand. 

Mar.  Now,  sir,  thought  is  free  :  I  pray  you,  bring 
your  hand  to  the  buttery-bar,  and  let  it  drink. 

Sir  And.  Wherefore,  sweet  heart?  what's  your 

Mar.  It's  dry,  sir.  [metaphor? 

Sir  Ar.d.  Why.  I  think  so  ;  I  am  not  such  an  ass, 
but  I  can  keep  my  hand  dry.    But  what's  your  jest? 

Mar.  A  dry  jest,  sir. 

Sir  And.  Are  you  full  of  them? 

Mar.  Ay,  sir;  1  have  them  at  my  fingers'  ends 
marry,  now  I  let  go  your  hand,  I  am  barren. 

[Exit  Maria 

Sir  To.  O  knight,  thou  lack'st  a  cup  of  canary 
when  did  I  see  thee  so  put  down? 

Sir  And.  Never  in  your  life,  I  think ;  unless  yon 
see  canary  put  me  down  :  methinks,  sometimes  I 
have  no  more  wit  than  a  Christian,  oi  an  ordinary 
man  has  :  but  I  am  a  great  eater  of  beef,  and,  I  be- 
lieve, that  does  haim  to  my  wit. 

Sir  To.  No  question. 

Sir  And.  An  I  thought  tliat,  I'd  forswear  it.  I'll 
ride  home  to-morrow,  sir  Toby. 

Sir  To.  Pourqiioy ,  my  dear  knight! 

Sir  And.  What  is  pourquoy  'l  do  or  not  do?  I 
would  I  had  bestowed  tliat  time  in  the  t(»iigijes,  that 
I  have  in  fencing,  dancing,  and  bear-baiting  ;  O,  had 
I  but  followed  the  arts  I  [of  hair. 

Sn-  To.  Then  hadst  thou  had  an  excellent  head 

Sir  And.W\\^ ,  would  that  have  mended  my  hair? 

Sir  To.  Past  question ;  for  thou  seest,  it  will  noi 
curl  by  nature.  [not  ? 

Sir  And.  But  it  becomes  me  well  euougli,  does't 

Sir  To.  Excellent!  it  hangs  like  flax  on  a  distafi': 
and  I  hope  to  see  a  housewife  take  thee  between  her 
legs,  and  spin  it  off. 

Sir  And.  'Faith,  I'll  home  to-morrow,  sir  Toby  : 
your  niece  will  not  be  seen;  or,  if  she  be,  it's  four 
to  one  she'll  none  of  me  :  the  count  iiimself,  here 
hard  by,  wooes  her. 

Sir  To.  She'll  none  o'  the  count ;  she'll  not  mate 
above  her  degree,  neither  in  estate,  years,  nor  wit: 
I  have  heard  her  swear  it.  T  .t,  there's  life  in't,  man. 

Sir  And.  I'll  stay  a  month  longer.  I  am  a  fellow 
o'  the  strangest  mind  i'  the  world :  I  delight  in 
masques  and  revels  sometiiires  altogether. 

Sir  To.  Art  thou  good  at  these  kicksliavvs,  knight? 

Sir  And.  As  any  man  in  Illyria,  whatsoever  he 
be',  under  the  degree  of  my  betters  ;  and  yet  1  will 
not  compare  with  an  old  man. 

•SVrTo.What  is  thy  excellence  in  a  galliard,  knight? 

Sir  And.  'Faith,  I  can  cut  a  caper. 

Sir  To.  And  I  can  cut  the  mutton  to't. 

Sir  And.  And,  I  think.  [  have  the  back  trick, 
simply  as  strong  as  any  man  in  Illyria. 

Sir  To.  Wherefore  are  these  things  hid?  where- 
fore have  these  gifts  a  curtain  before  them  ?  are 
they  like  to  take  dust,  like  mistress  Mall's  pic- 
ture ?  why  dost  ttiou  not  go  to  church  in  a  galiiard  ? 
and  come  home  in  a  coranto?  My  very  walk  should 
be  a  jig!  1  would  not  so  much  as  make  water,  but 
in  a  sink  a-pace.  What  dost  thou  mean?  is  it  a 
world  to  hide  virtues  in  ?  I  did  think,  by  the  excel 
lent  constitution  of  thy  leg,  it  was  formed  under  the 
star  of  a  galliard. 

Sir  And.  Ay,  'tis  strong,  and  it  does  'iidifTerent 
well  in  a  flame-coloured  stock.  Shall  we  set  about 
some  re' els?  [under  Taurus  ? 

Sir  Tc  What  shall  we  ■^o  e.se  ?  were  we  not  born 

Sir  And.  Taurus?  that's  sides  and  heart. 

Sir  To.  No  sir;  it  is  legs  and  thighs.  Let  me 
see  thee  caper:  ha!  higher:  ha,  ha' — excellent! 

{Exeunt, 


Scene  5. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


55 


Scene  IV  —  A  Room  in  the  Dukes  Palace. 
Enter  VaTiENTine,  one/ Viola  in  mau's  attire^ 

Val.  If  the  duke  continue  these  favours  towarcls 
you  Cesario,  you  are  like  to  be  much  advanced: 
he  Kath  known  you  but  three  days,  and  aheady  you 
are  no  stranger. 

Vio.  You  either  fear  his  humour,  or  my  negli- 

Sence,  that  you  call  in  question  the  continuance  of 
is  love:  is  he  inconstant,  sir,  in  his  favours? 
Val.  No,  believe  me. 

Enter  Duke,  CuRio,  and  Attendants. 

Vio.  I  thank  you.    Here  comes  the  count. 

Duke.  Who  saw  Cesario,  ho  ? 

Vio.  On  your  attendance,  my  lord  :  here. 

Duke.  Stand  you  awhile  aloof. — Cesario, 
Tliou  know'st  no  less  but  all :  I  have  unclasp'd 
To  thee  the  book  even  of  my  secret  soul : 
Therefore,  good  youth.addressthy  gait  unto  her; 
Be  not  deny'd  access,  stand  at  her  doors. 
And  tell  them,  there  thy  fixed  foot  shall  grow, 
Till  thou  have  audience. 

Vio.  Sure,  my  noble  lord. 

If  she  be  so  abandon'd  to  her  sorrow 
As  it  is  spoke,  she  never  will  admit  me. 

Duke.  Be  clamorous,  and  leap  all  civil  bounds. 
Rattier  than  make  unprofited  return. 

Vio  Say,  1  do  speak  with  her,  my  lord  ;  what  then? 
Duke.  O,  then  unfold  the  passion  of  my  love, 
Sirprise  her  with  disccurse  of  my  dear  faith: 
If  sliall  become  thee  well  to  act  my  woes; 
Sue  will  attend  it  better  in  thy  youth, 
Tlian  in  a  nuncio  of"  more  grave  aspect. 

Vio.  I  think  not  so,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Dear  lad,  believe  it  j 

Fur  tliey  shall  yet  belie  thy  ha  py  years, 
Tliat  say,  thou  art  a  man  :  Diana's  lip 
Is  not  more  smooth  and  rubious ;  thy  small  pipe 
Is  as  the  maiden's  organ,  shrill,  and  sound, 
And  ail  is  semblative  a  woman's  part. 
1  know,  thy  constellation  is  right  apt 
For  ttiis  affair: — Some  four,  or  five,  attend  him; 
All,  if  you  will;  fori  myself  am  best. 
When  least  in  company  : — Prosper  well  in  thisj 
And  thou  shalt  live  as  freely  as  thy  lord, 
'Vo  cfill  his  fortunes  thine. 

Vio.  I  ll  do  my  best. 

To  woo  your  lady  :  yet  {Aside.)  a  barful  strife  ! 
Waoe'er  I  woo,  myself  would  be  his  wife.  [_Exeunt. 

Scene  V»  -A  Room  in  Olivia's  house. 

Enter  Maria  and  Cloion.  j 

Mar.  Nay,  either  tell  me  where  thou  hast  been, 
or  I  will  not  open  my  lips  so  wide  as  a  bristle  may  ! 
enter,  in  way  of  thy  excuse  :  my  lady  will  hang  thee 
for  tfiy  absence. 

Clo.  Let  her  hang  me  !  he,  that  is  well  hanged  in 
tliis  world,  needs  to  fear  no  colours. 

Mar.  Make  that  good. 

Clo.  He  sliall  see  none  to  fear. 

Mar.  A  good  lenten  answer.  I  can  tell  thee  where 
that  saying  was  born,  of //e«r  }to  colours. 

C/o.  Wiiere,  good  mistress  Mary  ? 

Mar.  In  the  wars  ;  and  that  may  you  be  bold  to  say 
in  your  foolery. 

Clo.  Well,  God  give  them  wisdom,  that  have  it; 
and  those  that  are  fools,  let  them  use  tlieir  talents. 

Mar.  Yet  you  will  be  hanged,  for  being  so  long 
absent:  or,  to  be  turned  away,  is  not  that  as  good  as 
a  hanging  to  you  ? 

Clo.  Many  a  good  hanging  prevents  a  bad  mar- 
riage; and  for  turning  away,  let  summer  bear  it  out. 

Mar.  You  are  resolute  then? 

Clo.  Not  so  neither;  but  ^  am  resolved  on  two 
points. 

Mar.  That,  if  one  break,  the  other  will  hold  :  or,  if 
both  break,  your  gaskins  fall. 

Clo  Apt,  in  good  faith;  very  apt'  Well,  go  thy 


way  ;  if  sir'I  oby  would  It-ave  drinking,  tl 
witty  a  piece  of  love's  flesh  as  anv  in  llli 


Iiou  vvert  as 

.   ...  .Ilyria. 

Mar.  1  eace,  you  rogue,  no  more  o'that;  her« 
comes  my  lady  :  make  your  excuse  wisely,  you  wej-^i 

Enter  Olivia  and  Malvolio. 
Clo.   Wit,  an't  be  thy  will,  put  me  into  good 
fooling!    Tfiose  wits,  that  think  they  have  thee,  do 
very  oft  prove  fools;  and  I,  that  am  sure  I  lack  thee, 
may  pass  for  a  wise  man  :  for  what  says  Qninapaios  t 

Better  a  witty  fool,  than  a  foolish  wit.  God  blew 

thee,  lady  ! 

Oli  Take  the  fool  away.  [lady. 
Clo.  Do  you  not  hear,  fellows?    Take  away  the 

OH.  Go  to,  you're  a  dry  fool ;  I'll  no  more  of  you : 
besides,  you  grow  dishonest. 

Clo.  Two  faults,  madonna,  that  drink  and  good 
counsel  will  amend;  for  give  tfie  dry  fool  drink, 
then  is  the  fool  not  dry;  bid  the  dishonest  man 
mend  himself;  if  he  mend,  he  is  no  longer  disho- 
nest; if  he  cannot,  let  the  botcher  mend  him:  any- 
thing, that's  mended,  is  but  patched:  virtue,  that 
transgresses,  is  but  patched  with  sin;  and  sin,  that 
amends,  is  but  patched  with  virtue :  if  that  this 
simple  syllogism  will  serve,  so  ;  if  it  will  not,  what 
remedy  ?  As  there  is  no  true  cuckold  but  calamity, 
so  beauty's  a  flower: — the  lady  bade  take  away  the 
fool  ;  therefore,  I  say  again,  take  her  away. 

Oli.  Sir,  I  bade  them  take  away  you. 

Clo.  Misprision  in  the  highest  degree  i  —  Lady, 
Cucullus  non  facit  monacum  ;  that's  as  much  as 
to  say,  I  wear  not  motley  in  my  brain.  Good  ma- 
donna, give  me  leave  to  prove  you  a  fool. 

Oli.  Can  you  do  it? 

Clo.  Dexterously,  good  madonna. 

Oli.  Make  your  proof. 

Clo.  I  must  catechise  you  for  it,  madonna ;  good 
my  mouse  of  virtue,  answer  me. 

Oli.  Well,  sir,  for  want  of  other  idleness,  I'll  'bid* 
your  proof. 

Clo.  Good  madonna,  why  mourn'st  thou  ? 

Oli,  Good  fool,  for  my  brother's  death. 

Clo.  I  tliink,  his  soul  is  in  hell,  madonna. 

OH.  I  know  his  soul  is  in  heaven,  fool. 

Clo.  The  more  fool  you,  madonna,  to  mourn  fof 
your  brother's  soul  being  in  heaven. — Take  away  the 
fool,  gentlemen. 

Oli,  What  think  you  of  this  fool,  Malvolio?  dotii 
he  not  mend  ? 

Mai.  Yes ;  and  shall  do,  till  the  pangs  of  death 
shake  him  :  infirmity,  that  decays  the  wise,  doth  ever 
make  the  better  fool. 

Clo.  God  send  you,  sir,  a  speedy  infirmity,  for  the 
better  increasing  your  folly  !  Sir  Toby  will  be  sworn 
that  I  am  no  fox ;  but  he  will  not  pass  his  word  for 
two-pence  that  you  are  no  fool. 

oli.  How  say  you  to  that,  Malvolio  ? 

Mai.  I  marvel  your  ladyship  takes  delight  in  such 
a  barren  rascal ;  1  saw  him  put  down  the  other  day 
with  an  ordinary  fool,  that  has  no  more  brain  than  a 
stone.  Look  you  now,  he's  out  of  his  guard  already; 
unless  you  laugh  and  minister  occasion  to  him,  he  is 
gagged.  I  protest,  I  take  these  wise  men,  that  crow 
so  at  these  set  kind  of  fools,  no  better  than  the  fools' 
zanies. 

OH.  O,  yon  are  sick  of  self-love,  Malvolio,  and 
taste  with  a  distempered  appetite.  To  be  generous, 
guiltless,  and  of  free  disposition,  is  to  take  those 
tilings  for  bird  bolts,  that  you  deem  cannon-bullets: 
there  is  no  slander  in  an  allowed  fool,  tiioiigh  he  do 
notiiing  but  rail  ;  nor  no  railing  in  a  known  discreet 
man,  though  he  do  nothing  but  reprove. 

Clo.  Now  Mercury  endue  thee  with  leasing, 
thou  speakest  well  of  fools. 

Re  enter  Maria. 
Mar.  Madam,  there  is  at  the  gate  a  young  gen- 
tleman, much  desires  to  speak  with  you. 
Oil.  From  the  count  Oisino,  is  it  f 


5e 


TWELFTH  NIGHT, 


Act  L 


Mar.  I  know  not,  madam ;  'tis  a  fair  young  man, 
and  well  attended. 

OH.  Who  of  my  people  hold  him  in  delay? 

M.ar.  Sir  Toby,  madam,  your  kinsman. 

OH.  Fetch  him  oft',  1  pray  yon  ;  he  speaks  nothing 
nt  madman:  fie  on  him!  [Exit  Maria.]  Go  you, 
Malvolio  :  if  it  be  a  suit  from  the  count,  I  am  sick, 
or  not  at  ho^e  ;  what  you  will,  to  dismiss  it.  fExii 
Malvolie.  ]  Now  you  see,  sir,  how  your  fooling  grows 
old,  and  people  dislike  it. 

Clo.  Thou  hast  spoke  for  us,  madonna,  as  if  thy 
eldest  son  should  be  a  fool ;  whose  skull  Jove  cram 
with  brains,  for  here  he  comes,  one  of  thy  kin,  has 
a  most  v/eak  pia  mater. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch. 

OIL  By  mine  honour,  half  drunk.-  What  is  he  at 
the  gate,  cousin  ? 

Sir  To.  A  gentleman. 

OH.  A  gentleman  ?  What  gentleman  " 

Sir  To.  'Tis  a  gentleman  here— A  plague  o'  these 
pickle-herrings  ! — How  now,  sot  ? 

Clo.  Good  Sir  Toby,  

OH.  Cousin,  cousin,  how  have  you  come  so  eariy 
Ivy  this  lethargy  ?  [the  gate. 

Sir  To.  Lechery  !  I  defy  lechery :  there's  one  at 

Qli.  Ay,  marry  ;  what  is  he  ? 

Sir  To.  Let  him  be  the  devil,  an  he  will,  1  care 
not ;  give  me  faith,  say  L    Well,  it's  all  one.  iExit. 

OH.  What's  a  drunken  man  like,  fool  ? 

Clo.  Like  a  drown'd  man,  a  fool,  and  a  madman  : 
One  draught  above  heat  makes  him  a  fool  ;the  second 
mads  him  ;  and  a  third    rowns  him, 

OH.  Go  thou  and  see  the  coroner,  and  let  him  sit 
o'  my  coz ;  for  he's  in  the  third  degree  of  drink,  he's 
rown'd  :  go,  look  after  him. 

Clo.  He  is  but  mad  yet,  madonna  ;  and  the  fool 
shall  look  to  the  madman.  [Exit  Clown. 

Re-enter  Malvolio. 

Mat  Madam,  yond' young  fellow  swears  he  will 
iip^^ak  with  you.  I  told  him  you  were  sick  :  he  takes 
on  hiRi  to  understand  so  much,  and  therefore  comes 
to  speak  with  you :  I  told  him  you  were  asleep;  he 
seems  to  have  a  fore-knowledge  of  that  too,  and 
therefore  comes  to  speak  with  you.  What  is  to  be 
said  to  him,  lady?  he's  fortified  against  any  denial. 

OH.  Tell  him,  he  shall  not  speak  with  me. 

Mai.  He  has  been  told  sl>  ;  and  he  says,  he'll  stand 
«at  your  door  like  a  sheritrs  post,  and  be  the  sup- 
porter of  a  bench,  but  he'll  speak  with  you. 

OH.  What  kind  of  man  is  he  ? 

Mai.  Why,  of  man  kind. 

OH.  What  manner  of  man? 

Mai.  Of  very  ill  manner ;  he'll  speak  with  you, 
will  you,  or  no. 

OH.  Of  what  personage,  and  years,  is  he  ? 

Mai.  Not  yet  old  enough  for  a  man.  nor  young 
enough  for  a  boy ;  as  a  squash  is  before  'tis  a  peas- 
cod,  or  a  codling  when  'tis  ahnost  an  apple  :  'tis  with 
him  e'en  standing  water,  between  boy  and  man.  He 
is  very  well-favoured, and  bespeaks  very  shrewishly; 
one  would  think,  his  mother's  milk  were  scarce  out 
of  him. 

Oli.  Let  him  approach :  call  in  my  gentlewoman. 
Mai.  Gentlewoman,  my  lady  calls.  lExit. 

Re-enter  Maria. 
Oltv.  Give  me  my  veil :  come,  throw  it  o'er  my 
fat  e  ;  we'll  once  more  hear  Orsino's  embassy. 

Enter  Viola. 
Vio.  The  honoura'.le-  lady  of  the  house,  which  is 
»lie?_  [will? 
Oli.  Speak  to  me,  I  shall  answer  for  her ;  your 
Vio.  Most  ladiaut,  exquisite,  and  unmatchable 
auty, — I  pray  you,  tell  me,  if  this  he  the  lady  of 
the  house,  for  I  never  saw  her:  I  would  be  loath  to 
cast  away  my  speech  ;  for,  besides  that  it  is  excel- 
\e^i\^  well  penn'd^  I  have  taken  great  pains  to  con 


it.  Good  beauties,  let  me  sustain  no  scorn  •  I  am 
very  comptible,  even  to  the  least  sinister  usage. 

Oli.  Whence  came  you,  sir? 

Via.  I  can  say  little  more  than  I  have  studied, 
and  that  question's  out  of  my  part.  Good  gentle 
one,  give  me  modest  assurance,  if  you  be  the  ladv  of 
the  house,  that  \  may  proceed  in  my  speech. 

Oli.  Are  you  a  comedian  ? 

Vio.  No,  my  profound  heart :  and  yet,  by  the  very 
fangs  of  mafjice,  I  swear,  I  am  not  that  \  pla^  A:e 
you  the  lady  of  the  house? 

Oli.  If  I  do  not  usurp  myself,  I  am. 

Vio.  Most  certain,  if  you  are  she,  you  do  usurp 
yourself;  for  what  is  yours  to  bestow,  is  not  yours  to 
reserve.  But  this  is  from  my  commission:  I  will  on 
with  my  speech  in  your  praise,  and  then  shew  you 
the  heart  of  my  message. 

Oli.  Come  to  what  is  important  in't :  I  forgive  you 
the  praise.  [poetical. 

Vio.  Alas,  I  took  great  pains  to  study  it,  and  'tis 

OH.  It  is  the  more  like  to  be  feigned ,  I  pray  you, 
keep  it  in.  I  heard  you  were  saucy  at  my  gates,  and 
allov/ed  your  approach,  rather  to  wonder  at  you  than 
to  hear  you.  If  you  be  not  mad,  be  gone ;  if  you 
have  reason,  be  brief:  'tis  not  that  time  of  moon  with 
me,  to  make  one  in  so  skipping  a  dialogue. 

Mar.  Will  you  hoist  sail,  sir?  here  lies  your  way. 

Vio.  No,  good  swabber  ;  I  am  to  hull  here  a  little 
longer, — Some  mollification  for  your  giant,  sweet 

OH.  Tell  me  your  mind.  [lady. 

Vio.  I  am  a  messenger. 

Oli.  Sure,  you  have  some  hideous  matter  to  de- 
liver, when  the  courtesy  of  it  is  so  leartul.  Speak 
your  oflice. 

Vio.  It  alone  concerns  your  ear.  I  bring  no 
overture  of  war,  no  taxation  of  homage  ;  1  hold  th^ 
olive  in  my  hand  ;  my  words  are  as  full  of  peace  as 
matter. 

Oli.  Yet  you  began  rudely.  What  are  you?  what 
would  you  ? 

Vio.  The  rudeness,  that  hath  appeared  in  me 
have  I  learn'd  from  my  entertainment.  What  I  ann 
and  what  I  would,  are  as  secret  as  maidenhead:  to 
your  ears,  divinity;  to  any  other's,  profanation. 

Oli.  Give  us  the  place  alone  :  we  will  hear  this 
divinity.  [Exit  Maria.]  Now,  sir,  what  is  your  text  ? 

Vio.  Most  sweet  lady,  

Oli.  A  comfortable  doctrine,  and  much  may  be 
said  of  it.    Where  lies  your  text? 
Vio.  In  Oisino's  bosom, 

Oli.  In  his  bosom?  In  what  chapter  of  his  bosom? 

Vio.  To  answer  by  the  method,  in  the  first  of  hia 
heart.  [more  to  say? 

Oli.  O,  I  have  read  it ;  it  is  heresy.  Have  you  no 

Vio.  Good  madam,  let  me  see  your  face. 

OH.  Have  you  any  commission  from  your  lord  to 
negociate  with  my  face  ?  you  are  now  out  of  your 
text :  but  we  will  draw  the  curtain,  and  shew  you 
the  picture.  Look  you,  sir,  such  a  one  as  I  was 
this  present :  is't  not  well  done  ?  (Unveiling.' 

Via.  Excellently  done,  if  God  aid  all.  [weather. 

Oli.  'Tis  in  grain,  sir ;  'twill  endure  wind  and 

Vio.  'Tis  beauty  truly  blent,  whose  red  and  white 
Nature's  own  sweet  and  cunning  hand  laid  on: 
Lady,  your  are  the  cruel'st  she  aljve. 
If  you  lead  these  graces  to  the  grave. 
And  leave  the  world  no  copy. 

OH.  O,  sir,  1  will  not  be  so  hard-hearted  ;  I  will 
give  out  divers  schedules  of  my  beauty  :  it  shall 
be  inventoried ;  and  every  particle,  and  utensil, 
labelled  to  my  will  :  as,  item,  two  lips  indifferent 
red;  item,  two  grey  eyes,  with  Hds  to  them;  item, 
one  neck,  one  chin,  and  so  forth.  Were  you  sen* 
hither  to  'praise  me  ? 

Vio.  I  see  you  what  you  are  :  you  are  too  proud , 
But,  if  you  were  the  dev<l,  you  are  fair. 
My  lord  and  master  loves  you ;  O,  such  love 
Could  be  but  recompens'd,  though  you  were  crown  d 
The  nonpareil  of  beauty  ! 

Oli.  How  does  he  love  me  ' 


Act  ir.    Scene  2^ 


OR,  WHAT 


YOU  WILL. 


57 


Vio.  With  adorations,  with  fertile  tears. 
With  groans  that  thunder  love,  with  sighs  of  fire. 
Oil.  Your  lord  does  know  my  mind,  I  cannot  love 
him  : 

Yet  I  suppose  him  virtuous,  know  him  noble. 
Of  great  estate,  of  fresh  and  stainless  youth  ; 
In  voices  well  divulg'd,  free,  learn'd,  and  valiant, 
And,  in  dimension,  and  the  shape  of  nature, 
A  gracious  person  :  but  yet  I  cannot  love  him ; 
He  u)ight  have  took  his  answer  long  ago. 

Vio.  If  1  did  love  you  in  my  master's  flame. 
With  such  a  suffering,  such  a  deadly  life. 
In  your  denial  I  would  find  no  sense, 
(  would  not  understand  it. 

Oli.  Why,  what  would  you  ? 

Vio.  Make  me  a  willow  cabin  at  your  gate, 
A.nd  call  upon  my  soul  within  the  house  j 
Write  loyai  cantons  of  contemned  love; 
And  sing  them  loud  even  in  the  dead  of  night; 
Holla  your  name  to  the  res  erberate  hills. 
And  make  the  babbling  gossip  of  the  air 
Cry  out,  Ohvia  !  O,  you  should  not  rest 
Between  the  elements  of  air  and  earth. 
But  you  should  pity  me.  [age  ? 

Oli.  You  might  do  much  :  what  is  your  parent- 

Vio.  Above  my  fortunes,  yet  ray  slate  is  well ; 
I  am  a  gentleman. 

Oli.  Get  you  to  your  lord  ; 

I   annot  love  him  ;  let  him  send  no  more  ; 

ess,  perchance,  you  come  to  me  again, 
Te  tell  me  how  he  takes  it.    Fare  you  well : 
1  thank  you  for  your  pains  :  spend  this  for  me. 

Vio.  1  am  no  fee'd  post,  lady  ;  keep  your  purse  • 
My  master,  not  myself,  lacks  recompense. 
Love  make  his  heart  of  flint,  that  you  shall  love; 
M.nd  let  your  fervour,  like  my  master's,  be 
Plac'd  in  contempt!  Farewell,  fair  cruelty.  [Exit. 

Oli.  What  is  your  parentage  ? 
Above  mi/  fortunes,  yet  my  state  is  well; 

I  am  a  yentleman.  Fll  be  sworn  thou  art; 

Thy  tongue,  tliy  lace,  tliy  limbs,  actions,  and  spirit, 
Do  give  thee  five-fold  blazon : — Not  too  fast : — soft ! 
sol  1 1 

Unless  the  master  were  the  man. — How  now  ? 
Even  so  quickly  may  one  catch  the  plague? 
Metbinks,  I  feel  this  youth's  perfections. 
With  an  invisible  and  subtle  stealth, 
To  creep  in  at  mine  eyes.    Well,  let  it  be.— 
What,  ho,  Malvolio  I 

Re-enter  Malvolio. 

WaL  Here,  madam,  at  your  service. 

Oli.  Run  after  that  same  peevish  messenger. 
The  county's  man  :  he  left  this  ring  behind  him. 
Would  I,  or  not ;  tell  him,  1 11  none  of  it. 
Desire  him  not  to  flatter  with  his  lord, 
Nor  hold  him  up  with  hopes  ;  I  am  not  for  him: 
If  that  the  youth  will  conje  this  way  to-morrow, 
I'll  give  him  reasons  for't.    Hie  thee,  Malvolio, 

Mai.  Madam,  I  will.  \Exit. 

Oli.  I  do  I  know  not  what ;  and  fear  to  find 
Mine  eye  too  great  a  flatterer  ibr  my  mind. 
Fate,  shew  thy  force  :  ourselves  we  do  not  owe  ; 
What  is  decreed,  must  be  ;  and  be  this  so !  [Exit. 

ACT  n. 

Scene  I, — The  Sea-coast. 
Enter  Antonio  and  Sebastian. 

Ant.  Will  you  stay  no  longer?  nor  will  you  not 
that  I  go  with  you  ? 

Seb.  By  yout  patience,  no  my  stars  shine  darkly 
over  me ;  the  malignancy  of  my  fate  might,  per- 
haps, distemper  yours  ;  therefore  1  shall  crave  of  you 
your  leave,  that  I  may  bear  my  evils  alone :  it  were 
a  bad  recompense  for  your  love,  to  lay  any  of  them 
on  you.  fbound. 

Ant.  Let  me  yet  know  of  you,  whither  you  are 

Seb.  No,  'sooth,  sir ;  my  determinate  voyage  is 
mere  extravagancy    But  I  perceive  in  you  so  ex- 


cellent a  touch  of  modesty,  that  you  will  not  titorl 
from  me  wiiat  I  am  willing  to  keep  in  ;  therefore  it 
charges  nie  in  manners  the  rather  to  express  my- 
self. You  nuist  know  of  me,  then,  7\nionio,  ray 
nauie  is  Sebastian,  whjch  I  called  Roderigo ;  my 
father  was  that  Sebastian  oi'  Messaline,  whom,  \ 
know,  you  have  heard  of:  he  left  behind  him,  n'ly. 
S"lf,  and  a  sister,  botii  born  in  au  hour.  If  the  hea- 
vens had  been  pleased, 'would  we  had  so  ended.' 
but,  you,  sir,  altered  that;  for,  some  hour  before  yoa 
took  rue  from  the  breach  of  the  sea,  was  my  sister 

Ant.  Alas,  tlie  day!  [drown'd, 

Seb.  A  lady,  sir,  though  it  was  said  she  much  re- 
sembled me,  was  yet  oi  many  accounted  beautiful; 
but,  though  1  couid  not,  with  such  estimable  won- 
der, overfar  believe  that,  yet  thus  far  1  will  boldly 
publish  her,  she  bore  a  mind  that  envy  could  not 
but  call  fair  :  she  is  drowned  already,  sir,  with  salt 
water,  though  1  seem  to  drown  her  remembrance 
again  with  more. 

Ant.  Pardon  me,  sir,  your  bad  entertainment. 

Seb.  O,  good  Antonio,  forgive  me  your  trouble. 

Afit.  If  you  will  not  niurder  me  for  my  love,  let 
me  be  your  servant. 

Seb.  If  you  will  not  undo  what  you  have  done, 
that  is,  kill  him  whom  you  have  recovered,  desire  it 
not.  Fare  ye  well  at  once  :  my  bosom  is  fidl  of 
kindness  ;  and  I  am  yet  so  near  the  manners  of  my 
mother,  that  upon  the  least  occasion  more  mine 
eyes  will  tell  tales  of  me,  I  am  bound  to  the  count 
Orsino's  court :  farewell,  f  Exit 

Ant.  The  gentleness  of  all  the  gods  go  with  the«! 
T  have  many  enemies  in  Orsino  s  couit. 
Else  would  I  very  shortly  see  thee  there  : 
But,  come  what  may,  I  do  adore  thee  so. 
That  danger  shall  seem  sport,  and  I  will  go.  [ExiL 

Scene  II, — A  Street. 

Enter  YiohA;  MxhYOLio  following. 

Mai.  Were  not  you  even  now  with  the  coimteatt 
Olivia  ? 

Vio.  Even  now,  sir ;  on  a  moderate  pace  I  hav« 
since  arrived  but  hither. 

Mai.  She  returns  this  ring  to  you,  sir ;  you  mighj 
have  saved  me  my  pains,  to  have  taken  it  away 
yourself  Slie  adds  moreover,  that  you  shou  Id  put 
your  lord  into  a  desperate  assurance  she  will  none 
of  him  :  and  one  thing  more;  that  you  be  never  so 
hardy  to  come  again  in  his  aftairs,  unless  it  be  to 
report  your  lord's  taking  of  this.    Receive  it  so. 

Vio.  She  took  the  ring  of  nie  :  I'll  none  of  it. 

Mai.  Come,  sir,  you  peevishly  threw  it  to  her; 
and  her  will  is,  it  should  be  so  returned  :  if  it  be 
worth  stooping  for,  there  it  lies  in  your  eye  ;  if  not, 
be  it  his  that  finds  it.  [Exii. 

Vio.  I  lelt  no  ring  with  her  :  what  means  tbia 
lady  ? 

Fortune  forbid,  my  outside  have  not  charm'd  her] 

She  made  good  view  of  me  ;  indeed,  so  much. 

That,  sure,  methought,  her  eyes  had  lost  her  tongiW| 

For  she  did  speak  in  starts  distractedly. 

She  loves  me,  sure ;  the  cunning  of  her  passion 

Invites  me  in  this  churlish  messenger. 

None  of  my  lord's  ring !  whv,  he  sent  her  nooe. 

I  am  the  man  ; — if  it  be  so  (as  'tis), 

Poor  lady,  she  were  better  love  a  dream. 

Disguise,  I  see,  thou  art  a  wickedness. 

Wherein  the  pregnant  enemy  does  much. 

How  easy  is  it  for  the  proper-false 

In  women's  waxen  hearts  to  set  their  foriras! 

Alas,  our  frailty  is  the  cause,  not  we  ; 

For,  such  as  we  are  made  of,  such  we  be. 

How  will  this  fadge  ?  iVly  raa.ster  loves  her  deaHf 

And  I,  poor  monster,  fond  as  much  on  him; 

And  she,  mistaken,  seems  to  dote  on  me  : 

What  will  become  of  this  ?  As  I  am  man. 

My  state  is  desperate  for  uiy  master's  love* 

As  I  am  woman,  now  alas  the  day! 

What  thrittless  sighs  shall  poorOlivia  Oreath©  ? 


53 


TWELFTH  NICIHT, 


O  time,  thoii  must  untangle  this,  not  I ; 

[t  is  too  hard  a  knot  lor  me  to  untie.  [Exit 

Scene  III. — A  Ruom  in  Olivias  house. 
Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch  a7id  Sir  Andrew  Ague- 
cheek. 

Sur  To.  Approach,  sir  Andrew  :  not  to  be  a-bed 
after  midnight,  is  to  be  up  betimes;  and  diluculo 
surgere,  thou  know'st, — 

Sir  And.  Nay,  by  my  troth,  I  know  not  :  but  I 
know,  to  be  up  late,  is  to  be  up  late. 

Sir  To-  A  false  c()nclusi(m ;  I  hate  it  as  an  un- 
filled can :  to  be  up  after  midnight,  and  to  go  to  bed 
then,  is  early  :  so  that,  to  go  to  bed  after  midnight, 
is  to  go  to  bed  betimes.  Do  not  our  lives  consist  of 
the  four  elements  ? 

Sir  And.  'Faith,  so  they  say ;  but,  I  think,  it  rather 
consists  of  eating  and  drinking, 

8'>r  To.  Thou  art  a  scholar;  let  us  therefore  eat 
and  drink. — Marian,  I  say  !  a  stoop  of  wine  ! 

Enter  Clown. 

Sir  And.  Here  comes  the  fool,  i'faith. 

Clo.  How  now,  my  hearts  ?  Did  you  never  see 
the  picture  of  we  three  ? 

Sir  To.  Welcome,  ass.  Now  let's  have  a  catch. 

Sir  And.  By  my  troth,  the  fool  has  an  excellent 
breast.  I  had  rather  than  tbrty  shillings  I  had  such 
a  leg;  and  so  sweet  a  breath  to  sing,  as  the  fool  has. 
fn  sooth,  thou  wast  in  very  gracious  fooling  last 
night,  when  thou  spokest  of  Pigrogromitus,  of  the 
Vapians  passing  the  equinoctial  of  Quenbiis ;  'twas 
very  good,  i'faith.  I  sent  thee  sixpence  for  thy 
leman  :  hadst  it  ? 

Clo.  I  did  impeticos  thy  gratillity;  for  Malvolio's 
nose  is  no  whipstock  :  my  lady  has  a  white  hand, 
and  the  myrmidons  are  no  bottle-ale  houses. 

Sir  And.  Excellent!  Why,  this  is  the  best  fool- 
H3^,  when  all  is  done.    Now.  a  song. 

Sir  To.  Come  on  ;  there  is  sixpence  for  you  :  let's 
feave  a  song. 

Sjy  And.  There's  a  testril  of  me  too  :  if  one  knight 

give  a   [good  life? 

Ch,  WouH  you  have  a  love-song,  or  a  song  of 

Sir  To.  A  love-song,  a  love-song. 

Sir  And.  Ay,  ay ;  I  care  not  for  good  life. 

SONG. 

Clo.  0  mistress  mine,  ivJiere  are  yon  roaming? 
0,  stay,  and  hear  ;  your  true  lovers  coming, 

That  can  sing  both  high  and  low  : 
Trip  no  further,  pretty  sweeting  ; 
Journeys  end  in  lovers'  meeting. 
Every  wise  mari  s  son  doth  kno  w. 
Sir  And.  Excellent  good,  i'faith ! 
Sir  To.  Good,  good. 
Clo.  What  is  love  !  "tis  not  hereafter; 

Present  mirth  hath  present  laughter  ; 

Wliafs  to  come,  is  still  unsure  : 
In  delay  there  lies  no  plenty  ; 
Then  come  kiss  me,  siveet-and-txveaity , 
Youth's  a  stuff  will  not  endure. 

Sit  And.  A  mellifluous  voice,  as  I  am  a  true  knight. 

Sir  To.  A  contagious  breath. 

Sir  Arid.  Very  sweet  and  contagious,  i'faith. 

Sir  To.  To  hear  by  tlie  nose,  it  is  dulcet  in 
contagion.  But  shall  we  make  the  welkin  dance 
indeed  ?  Shall  we  rouse  the  night-owl  in  a  catch, 
that  will  draw  three  souls  out  of  one  weaver  ?  shall 
we  do  that?  [a  catch. 

Sir  And.  An  you  love  me.  let's  do't :  I  am  a  dog  at 

Clo.  ByV  lady^  sir,  and  s'^^me  dogs  will  catch  well. 

Sir  And.  Most  certain  :  let  our  catch  be.  Thou 
knave. 

Clo.  Hold  thy  peace,  thou  knave,  knight?  I  shall 
be  constrain'd  in't  to  call  thee  knave,  knight. 

Str  And.  Tis  not  the  first  time  I  have  constrain'd 
one  to  call  me  knave.  Begin,  fool;  it  begins,  Hold 
thy  pfMce. 

Clo  1  shall  ne\'er  begin,  if  I  hold  mv  peace. 


Sir  And  Good,  i'faith  .  Come,  begin.  {They  sing 
a  catch.) 

Enter  Maria. 

Mar.  What  a  catterwauling  do  you  keep  here. 
If  my  lady  have  not  called  up  her  steward,  Mal- 
volio,  and  bid  him  turn  you  out  of  doors,  neve* 
trust  me. 

Sir  To,  My  lady's  a  Catalan,  vve  are  politicians : 
Malvolio's  a  Peg-a-Ramsay,  and  Three  merry  men 
be  ice.  Am  not  I  consanguineous'-'  am  I  not  of  her 
blood  V  Tilly  vally,  lady  !  There  dwelt  a  man  m 
Babylon,  lady,  lady  !  {Singing.)  [fooling. 

Clo.    Beshrew   me,  the  knight's  in  admirable 

Sir  And.  Ay,  he  does  well  enough,  if  he  be  dis- 
posed, and  so  do  1  too;  he  does  it  with  a  bettei 
grace,  but  I  do  it  more  natural. 

Sir  To.   0,  the  twelfth  day  of  December, — 

{Singing.) 

Mar.  For  the  love  o'  God,  peace. 

Enter  Malvolio. 

Mai.  My  masters,  are  you  mad  or  what  are  you? 
Ha\  e  you  no  wit,  maimers,  nor  honesty,  but  to  gabble 
like  tinkers  at  this  time  of  niglit?  Do  ye  make  an 
alehouse  of  my  lady's  house,  that  ye  squeak  out 
your  coziers'  catches  without  any  mitigation  or 
remorse  of  voice?  Is  there  no  respect  of  place, 
persons,  nor  time,  in  you  ?  [Sneck  up  ! 

Sir  To.  We  did  keep  time,  sir,  in  our  catches. 

Mai.  Sir  Toby,  I  nuist  be  round  with  you.  My 
lady  bade  me  tell  you,  that,  though  she  hcft  l)ou!s  you 
as  her  kinsman,  she's  nothing  allied  to  your  disorders. 
If  you  can  separate  yourself  and  your  nn'sdemeanors, 
you  are  welcome  to  the  house  ;  ii"  not,  an  it  would 
please  you  to  take  leave  of  her,  she  is  very  willing 
to  bid  you  fa'ewell.  \meds  be  gone. 

Sir  To.  Farewell,  dear  heart,  since  I  wusi 

Mar.  Nay,  good  sir  Toby. 

Clo.  His  eyes  do  sheiv  his  days  xre  almost  done 

Mai.  Is't  even  so  ? 

Sir  To.  But  I  will  never  die 

Clo.  Sir  Toby,  there  you  lie. 

Mai.  This  is  much  credit  to  you. 

Sir  To.  Shall  I  bid  him  go?  {Singing.) 

Clo.  TT'hat  an  if  you  do  ? 

Sir  To.  Shall  I  bid  him  go,  and  spare  not? 

Clo.  0  no.  no,  no,  no.  you  dare  not. 

Sir  To.  Out  o'  time?  sir,  ye  lie. — Art  any  more 
than  a  steward?  Dost  thou  think,  because  thou  art 
virtuous,  there  shall  be  no  more  cakes  and  ale  ? 

Clo.  Yes,  by  Saint  Anne  ;  and  ginger  shall  be  hot 
i'  the  mouth  too. 

Sir  To.  Thou'rt  i"the  right. — Go,  sir,  rub  your 
chain  with  crums  : — A  stoop  of  wine,  Maria.' 

Mai.  Mistress  Mary,  if  you  priz'd  my  lady's  fa- 
vour at  any  thing  more  than  contempt,  you  would 
not  give  means  for  this  uncivil  rule  ;  she  shall  know 
of  it.  by  this  hand.  [Exit 

Mar.  Go  shake  your  ears. 

Sir  And.  'Twere  as  good  a  deed  as  to  drink  when 
a  man's  a-hungry,  to  challenge  him  to  the  field  ;  and 
then  to  break  promise  with  him,  and  make  a  fool 
of  him. 

Sir  To.  Do't,  knight:  I'll  write  thee  a  challenge; 
or  I'll  deliver  thy  indignation  to  him  by  word  ol 
mouth. 

Mar.  Sweet  sir  Toby,  be  patient  for  to  night  • 
since  the  youth  of  the  count's  was  to-day  with  my 
lady,  she  is  much  out  of  qtn"et.  For  monsieur  Mai 
yolio,  let  me  alone  with  him:  if  I  do  not  gu.l  him 
into  a  nayword,  and  make  him  a  cotnmon  recreation, 
do  not  think  I  have  wit  enough  to  lie  straight  in  my 
bed  :  I  know,  I  can  do't. 

Sir  To.  Possess  us,  possess  us ;  tell  us  something 
of  him. 

Mar.  Many,  sir,  sometimes  he  is  a  kind  of  Pu- 
ritan. 

Sir  And.  O,  if  I  thought  tnat,  I'd  beat  him  i.. 


Scene  4. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


Sir  To.  What,  for  being  a  Puritan  ?  thy  exqui- 
lite  reason,  dear  knight? 

Sir  And.  I  have  no  exquisite  reason  for't,  but  I 
have  reason  good  enough. 

Mar.  The  devil  a  Puritan  that  he  is,  or  any 
ithing  constantly  but  a  time  pleaser;  an  affectioned 
ass.  that  cons  state  without  book,  and  ntters  it  by 
great  swarths  :  the  best  jjersuaded  of  himself,  so 
crammed,  as  he  thinks,  with  excellencies,  that  it  is 
his  ground  of  faith,  that  all,  that  look  on  him,  love 
him  ;  and  on  that  vice  in  him  will  my  revenge  find 
Dotable  cause  to  work. 

Sir  To.  What  wilt  thou  do  ? 

Mar.  I  will  drop  in  his  way  some  obscure  epistles 
of  love;  wherein,  by  the  colour  of  his  beard,  the 
shape  of  his  leg,  the  manner  of  his  gait,  the  expres- 
sureofhis  eye,  forehead,  and  complexion,  he  shall 
find  himself  most  feelingly  personated  :  I  can  write 
very  like  my  lady,  your  niece  ;  on  a  forgotten  matter 
we  can  hardly  make  distinction  of  our  hands. 

Sir  To.  Excellent!  I  smell  a  device. 

Sir  And.  I  have't  in  my  nose  too. 

Sir  To.  He  shall  think,  by  the  letters  that  thou 
wilt  drop,  that  they  come  from  my  niece,  and  that 
she  is  in  love  with  him.  [colour. 

Mar.  My  purpose  is,  indeed,  a  horse  of  that 

Sir  And.  And  your  horse  now  could  make  him 

Mar.  Ass,  I  doubt  not.  [an  ass. 

Sir  And.  O,  'twill  be  admirable. 

Mar.  Sport  royal,  I  warrant  you  :  I  know,  my 
physic  will  work  with  him.  I  will  plant  you  two, 
and  let  the  fool  make  a  third,  where  he  shall  find  the 
letter;  observe  his  construction  of  it.  For  this  Hight, 
to  bed,  and  dream  on  the  event.  Farewell.  \Mxit. 

Sir  To.  Good  night,  Penthesilea. 

Sir  And.  Before  me,  she's  a  good  wench. 

Sir  To.  She's  a  beagle,  true-bred,  and  one  that 
adores  me;  whato'that? 

Sir  And.  I  was  adored  once  too. 

Sir  To.  Let's  to  bed,  knight. — Thou  hadst  need 
send  for  more  money. 

Sir  And.  If  I  cannot  recover  your  niece,  I  am  a 
foul  way  out. 

Sir  To.  Send  for  money,  knight ;  if  thou  hast  her 
not  in  the  end,  call  me  Cut.  [you  will. 

Sir  And.  li"  I  do  not,  never  trust  me,  take  it  how 

Sir  To.  Come,  come ;  I'll  go  burn  some  sack, 
'tis  too  late  to  go  to  bed  now :  come,  knight ;  come, 
kuight.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — A  Room  in  the  Duke's  Palace. 

Enter  DuBLE,  Viola,  Curio,  and  others. 
Duke.  Give  me  some  music: — Now,  good  mor- 
row, friends :  

Now,  good  Cesario,  but  that  piece  of  song, 
That  old  and  antique  song  we  heard  last  night ; 
Methought  it  did  relieve  niy  passion  much  ; 
More  than  light  airs  and  recollected  terms. 

Of  these  most  brisk  and  giddy-paced  times;  

Come,  but  one  verse.  [should  sing  it. 

Cur.  He  is  not  here,  so  please  your  lordship,  that 
Duke.  Who  was  it? 

C?zr.  Feste,  the  jester,  my  lord  ;  a  fool  that  the 
lady  Olivia's  father  took  much  delight  in:  he  is 
about  the  house. 

Duke.  Seek  him  out,  and  play  the  tune  the  while. 

[Exit  Curio. — Music. 
dome  hither,  boy  ;  if  ever  thou  shalt  love. 
In  the  sweet  pangs  of  it  remember  me  : 
For,  such  as  I  am,  all  true  lovers  are  ; 
Unstaid  and  skittish  in  all  motions  else, 
Pave,  in  the  constant  image  of  the  creature 
That  is  belov'd. — How  dost  thou  like  this  tune? 

Vio.  It  gives  a  very  echo  to  the  seat 
Where  love  is  thron "d 

Duke.  Thou  dost  speak  masterly : 
]S%  life  upim't,  young  though  thou  art,  thine  eye 
Hath  stay'd  upon  some  favour  that  it  loves  ; 
Hath  i^  uot,  boy? 

Vio.  A  little,  by  your  favour. 


Duke.  What  Kind  of  woman  is"t  ? 
Vio.  Of  your  complexioik 

Duke.  She  is  not  worth  thee  then.  What  years, 
Vio.  About  your  years,  my  lord.  [i'faith  ? 

Duke.  Too  old,  by  heaven :  let  still  the  woma« 
An  elder  than  herself;  so  wears  she  to  him,  Uako 
So  sways  she  level  in  her  husband's  heart. 
For,  boy,  however  we  do  praise  ourselves, 
Otn-  fancies  are  more  giddy  and  unfirm. 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  worn, 
Than  women' ^  are. 

Vio.  I  think  it  well,  my  lord 

Duke.  Then  let  thy  love  be  younger  than  thyself. 
Or  thy  affection  cannot  hold  the  bent : 
For  women  are  as  roses  ;  whose  fair  flower. 
Being  once  display'd,  doth  fall  that  very  hour. 

Vio.  And  so  they  are  :  alas,  that  they  are  so; 
To  die,  even  when  they  to  perfection  grow  ! 

Re-enter  CuRio,  and  Clown. 

Duke.  O  fellow,  come,  the  song  we  had  last 
Mark  it,  Cesario;  it  is  old,  and  plain:  [night:— 
Tlie  spinsters  and  the  knitters  in  the  sun. 
And  the  free  maids,  that  weave  their  thread  with 
Do  use  to  channt  it;  it  is  silly  sooth,  [bones. 
And  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  love, 
Like  the  old  age. 

Clo.  Are  you  ready,  sir? 

Duke.  Ay  ;  pr'ythee,  sing.  {Music.) 
SONG. 

Clo.    Cone  away,  coine  atvay,  death. 
And  in  sad  cypress  let  ix<a  be  laid; 

Fly  aivay,Jiy  away,  breath; 
I  am  slain  by  a  fa  ir  cruel  maid. 
My  shroud  of  white,  stuck  all  ivith  yew, 

0,  prepare  it ; 
My  part  of  death  no  one  so  true 

Did  share  it.  j 
Not  a  floiver,  not  a  flower  siveet, 
On  my  black  coffin  let  there  be  strown  ; 

Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet  {thrown; 
My  poor  corpse,  where  my  bones  shall  l§ 
A  thousand  thousand  sighs  to  sat  e. 

Lay  me,  0,  ivhere 
Sad  true  lover  neerfmd  my  grave. 
To  weep  there. 
Duke.  There's  for  thy  pains. 
Clo.  No  pains,  sir;  1  take  pleasure  in  singingf,  sir. 
Duke.  I'll  pay  thy  pleasure  then. 
Clo.  Truly,  sir,  and  pleasure  will  be  paid,  one 
time  or  another. 

Duke.  Give  me  now  leave  to  leave  thee. 
'  Clo.  Now,  the  melancholy  god  protect  thee  ;  and 
the  tailor  make  thy  doublet  of  changeable  taiiata, 
for  thy  mind  is  a  very  opal  ! — I  woidd  have  men  of 
such  constancy  put  to  sea,  that  their  business  might 
be  every  thing,  and  their  intent  every  where  ;  for 
that's  it,  that  always  makes  a  good  voyage  of  no- 
thing.— Farewell.  \_Exit  Clown. 

Duke.  Let  all  the  rest  give  place.  

[Exeunt  Curio  and  Attendants, 
Once  more^  Cesario, 
Get  thee  to  yon'  same  sovereign  cruelty  : 
Tell  her,  my  love,  more  noble  than  the  world. 
Prizes  not  quantity  of  dirty  lands : 
The  parts,  that  fortune  hath  bestow'd  upon  her. 
Tell  her,  I  hold  as  giddily  as  fortune; 
But  'tis  that  miracle,  and  queen  of  gems, 
That  nature  pranks  her  in,  attracts  my  soul. 
Vio.  But,  if  she  cannot  love  you,  sir? 
Duke.  I  cannot  be  so  answer'd. 
Vio.  'Sooth,  but  you  niiuti 

Say,  that  some  lady,  as,  perhaps,  there  is. 
Hath  for  your  love  as  great  a  pang  of  heart 
As  you  have  for  Olivia:  you  cannot  love  her; 
You  tell  her  so  :  must  she  not  then  be  answer'd? 

Duke.  There  is  no  woman's  sides, 
Can  bide  the  beating  of  so  strong  passion 
As  love  doth  give  my  heart :  no  wo   m's  heart 


60 


TWELFTH  NIGHT, 


Act  II. 


bo  big,  to  hold  so  much ;  they  lack  retention. 
Alas,  their  love  may  be  called  appetite, — 
No  motion  of  the  liver,  but  the  palate, — 
That  suffer  surfeit,  cloyment,  and  revolt ; 
But  mine  is  all  as  hungry  as  the  sea, 
And  can  digest  as  much  :  make  no  compare 
Between  that  love  a  woman  can  bear  me, 
And  that  I  owe  Olivia. 

Vio.  Ay,  but  I  know, — 

Duke.  What  dost  thou  know  ? 

Vio.  Too  well  what  love  women  to  men  may  owe  : 
In  faith,  they  are  as  true  of  heart  as  we. 
My  father  had  a  daughter  loved  a  man. 
As  it  might  be,  perhaps,  were  I  a  woman, 
I  should  your  lordship. 

Duke.  And  what's  her  history  ? 

Vio.  A  blank,  my  lord  :  She  never  told  her  love, 
But  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  i'  the  bud. 
Feed  on  her  damask  cheek  :  she  pin'd  in  thought; 
And,  with  a  green  and  yellow  melancholy, 
ishe  sat  like  patience  on  a  monument, 
Smiling  at  grief.    Was  tiot  this  love,  indeed  ? 
We  men  may  say  more,  swear  mure  :  but,  indeed, 
Our  shows  are  more  than  will ;  for  still  we  prove 
Much  in  our  vows,  but  little  in  our  lo\e. 

Duke.  But  died  thy  sister  of  her  love,  my  boy  ? 

Vio.  I  am  all  the  daughters  of  my  father's  house. 
And  all  the  brothers  too  ; — and  yet  I  know  not. — 
Sir,  shall  I  to  this  lady  ? 

Duke.  Ay,  that's  the  theme. 

To  her  in  haste  ;  give  her  this  jewel ;  say. 
My  love  can  give  no  place,  bide  no  delay.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — Olivia's  Garden. 
Enter  HirTosy  Belch,  Sir  Andrew  Ague  cheek, 
a7id  Fabian. 
Sir  To.  Come  thy  ways,  signior  Fabian. 
F'afj.  Nay,  I'll  come  ;  if  I  lose  a  scruple  of  this 
sport  let  me  be  boiled  to  death  with  melancholy. 
[   6'/r  To'  Would'st  thou  not  be  glad  to  have  the 
fliijgudlj  rascally  slieep-biter  come  by  some  notable 
shame 

Fuh.  I  would  exult,  man  :  you  know,  he  brought 
n  e  out  of  favour  with  my  lady,  about  a  bear-baiting 
liere. 

Sir  To.  To  anger  him,  we'll  have  the  bear  again  ; 
and  we  will  fool  him  black  and  blue: — Shall  we 
not.  Sir  Andrew  ? 

Sir  And.  An  we  do  not,  it  is  pity  of  our  lives. 

Enter  Maria. 

Sir  To.  Here  comes  the  little  vilJain  : — How 
now,  my  nettle  of  India? 

Mar.  Get  ye  all  three  into  the  box-tree:  Ma!- 
volio's  coming  down  this  walk  ;  he  has  been  yonder 
i'  the  sun,  practising  behaviour  to  his  own  shadow, 
this  half  hour :  ohserve  him,  for  the  love  of  mockery  ; 
for,  I  know,  this  letter  will  make  a  contemplative 
ifliot  of  him.  Close,  in  the  name  of  jesting!  {The 
men  hide  them.selves.)  Lie  thou  there ;  {throws 
down  a  letter]  for  here  comes  the  trout  that  must 
be  caught  with  tickling  iExit  Maria. 

Enter  Malvolio. 

Mai.  'Tis  but  fortune  ;  all  is  fortune.  Maria 
once  told  me,  she  did  affect  me  :  and  I  have  heard 
herself  come  thus  neao,  that;  should  she  fancy,  it 
siiould  be  one  of  my  complexion.  Besides,  she  uses 
n»e  with  a  more  exalted  respect,  than  any  one  else 
that  follows  her.    What  should  I  think  on't? 

Sir  To.  Here's  an  over-weening  rogue.' 

Fah.  O,  peace !  Contemplation  makes  a  rare 
turkey-cock  of  him ;  how  he  jets  under  his  advanced 
lumes ! 

Sir  And.  'Slight,  I  could  so  beat  the  rogue  ! — 

Sir  To.  Peace,  I  S3v. 

Mai.  To  be  Count  Malvolio!— 

Sir  To.  Ah,  rogue  ! 

Sir  And.  Pistol  him,  pistol  him. 

^iV  To.  Peace,  p«ace  ! 


Mai.  There  is  example  for't ;  the  lady  of  thr 

strachy  married  the  yeoman  of  the  wardrobe. 

Sir  And.  Fie  on  him,  Jezebel ! 

Fab.  O,  peace  !  now  he's  deeply  in ;  look,  how; 
imagination  blows  him.  i 

Mal.^  Having  been  three  months  married  to  her^ 
sitting  in  my  state, — 

Sir  To.  O,  for  a  stone-bow,  to  hit  him  in  the  eye  I 

Mai.  Calling  my  officers  about  me,  in  my  branched 
velvet  gown;  haying  come  froin  a  day-bed,  wherei 
I  left  Olivia  sleeping. 

Sir  7^0.  Fire  and  brimstone ! 

Fab.  O,  peace,  peace  ! 

Mai.  And  then  to  have  the  humour  of  state  :  and 
after  a  demure  travel  of  regard, — telling  them,  I  knov*> 
my  place,  as  1  would  they  should  do  theirs, — to  asli! 
for  my  kinsman  Toby  : 

Sir  To.  Bolts  and  shackles  I 

Fab.  O,  peace,  peace,  |)eace !  no\v,  now. 

Mai.  Seven  of  my  people,  with  an  obedient  startyl 
make  out  for  him:  I  frown  the  while;  and  per-f 
chance,  wind  up  my  watch,  or  play  with  some  rich 
jewel,    Toby  approaches;  court'sies  there  to  me: 

Sir  To.  Shall  this  fellow  live  ? 

Fab.  Though  our  silence  be  drawn  from  us  with 
cars,  yet  peace. 

Mai.  I  extend  my  hand  to  him,  thus,  quenching 
my  familiar  smile  with  an  austere  regard  oi  control : 

Sir  To.  And  does  not  Toby  take  you  a  blow  o'the 
lips  then  ? 

31al.  Saying,  Cousin  Toby,  my  fortunes  having 
cast  me  on  your  niece,  yive  me  this  prerogative  oj 
speech : — 

Sir  To.  What,  what? 

Mai.  You  must  amend  your  drunkenness. 
Sir  To.  Out,  scab  ! 

Fab.  Nay,  patience,  or  we  break  the  sinews  si 
our  plot. 

Mai  Besides,  you  waste  the  treasure  of  you* 
time  ivith  a  foolish  kniyht  ; 

Sir  And.   I'hat's  me,  1  warrant  you. 

Mai.  One  Sir  Andrew :  [fook 

Sir  Attd.  I  knew,  'twas  I ;  for  many  do  call  m# 

Mai.  What  employment  have  we  here  ?  {Tak- 
ing up  the  letter.) 

Fab.  Now  is  the  woodcock  near  the  gin. 

Sir  To.  O,  peace  !  and  the  spirit  of  humours  io 
timate  reading  aloud  to  him  ! 

Mai.  By  my  life,  this  is  my  lady's  hand  •  these 
be  her  very  6^'s,  her  [7's,  and  her  7''s;  and  thus 
makes  she  her  great  P's.  It  is,  in  contempt  ol 
question,  her  hand. 

Sir  And.  Her  C's,  her  U's  and  her  Ts :  why 
that? 

Mai.  {reads.)  To  the  unknown  beloved,  this,  and 
my  good  tvishes  :  her  very  phrases  ! — By  your 
leave,  wax.— Soft ! — and  the  impressuie  her  Lu- 
crece,  with  which  she  uses  to  seal :  'tis  my  lady : 
to  whom  should  this  be  ? 

Fab.  This  wins  him,  liver  and  all. 
31al.  {reads.)  Jove  knows  I  love  : 
But  who? 
Lips  do  not  move, 
No  man  must  know. 
No  man  7nust  know. — What  follows  ?  the  number 
altered! — No  man  must  know  : — If  this  should  b 
thee,  Malvolio? 

Sir  To.  Marry,  hang  thee,  brock  ! 
Mai.  I  may  command,  where  I  adore  : 
But  silence,  like  a  Lucrece  knife, 
TT'ith  bloodless  stroke  my  heart  doth  gore 
M,  O,  A,  I,  doth  sway  my  life. 
Fab.  A  Fustian  riddle  ! 
Sir  To.  Excellent  wench,  say  I. 
Mai.  M,  O,  A,  I,  doth  sway  mydife. — Nay,  bui 
first,  let  me  see, — let  me  see, — let    e  see. 

Fab.  What  a  dish  of  poison  hath  slie  dress'd  himt 
Sir  To.  And  with  what  wing  the  stannyel  cheokii 
at  it. 

Mai.  I  may  command  where  I  adore*  Why,  sh* 


Act  til    Scene  1.  OR,  WHAT 

may  command  me;  I  serve  Iier,  she  is  my  lady. 
Why,  this  is  evident  to  any  formal  capacity.  There 
j  is  no  obstruction  in  this  : — And  the  end,— What 
should  that  alphabetical  position  portend?  if  J 
could  make  that  resemble  something  in  me, — 
Softly  l—M,  0,  A,  L— 

I  Sir  T.  O,  ay !  make  up  that : — he  is  now  at  a 
cold  scent. 

Fab.  Sowter  will  cry  upon't,  for  all  this,  though 
it  be  as  rank  as  a  fox. 

Ma/.  iW,— Malvolio; — M,— why,  that  begins  my 
Dame. 

Fab.  Did  not  I  say,  he  would  word  it  out  ?  the 
cur  is  excellent  at  faults. 

Mai.  M, — But  then  there  is  no  consonancy  in  the 
sequel :  that  suffers  under  probation  :  A  should 
follow,  but  0  does. 

Fab.  And  0  shall  end,  I  hope. 

Sir  To.  Ay,  or  I'll  cudgel  him,  and  make  him 
cry,  0. 

Mai.  And  then  7  comes  behind. 
Fab.  Ay,  an  you  had  an  eye  behind  you,  you 
night  see  more  detraction    t  your  heels,  than  for- 
hines  before  you. 

Mai.  M,  O,  A,  I; — This  simulat'on  is  not  as  the 
former: — and  yet,  to  crush  this  a  little,  it  would 
;)ow  to  me,  for  every  one  of  these  letters  are  in  my 
lame.  Soft!  here  follows  prose. — If  this  fall  into 
jhy  hand,  revolve-  In  my  stars  I  am  above  thee  ; 
fmt  he  not  afraid  of  greatness  :  some  are  born 
yreat,  some  achieve  greatness,  and  some  have 
'greatness  thrust  upon  them.  Thy  fates  open  their 
'imids ;  let  thy  blood  and  spirit  embrace  them. 
Arid,  to  inure  thyself  to  what  thou  art  like  to  be, 
7asl  thy  humble  slough,  and  appear  fresh.  Be 
opposite  with  a  kinsman,  snrly  with  servants  : 
lei  thy  tongue  tang  arguments  of  state  ;  put  thy- 
t^lf  into  the  trick  oj' singularity  :  she  thus  advises 
'^hee,  that  sighs  for  thee.  Kemember  who  com- 
mended thy  yellow  stockings ;  and  ivished  to  see 
\lhee  ever  cross-gartered :  I  say,  remember.  Go 
[|fo,-  thou  art  made,  if  thou  desirest  to  be  so  ;  if 
lot,  let  me  see  thee  a  steivard  still,  the  fellow  of 
servants,  and  not  worthy  to  touch  fortune  s 
'ingers.  Farewell.  She,  that  ivould  alter  services 
vith  thee, 

The  fortunate-unhappy. 
Oay-light  and  champian  discovers  not  more  :  this 
s  open.  I  will  be  proud,  1  will  read  politic  au- 
i.hors,  I  will  baffle  Sir  Toby,  I  will  wash  off  gross 
icquaintance,  I  will  be  point-de-vice,  the  very  man. 
I  Jo  not  now  fool  myself,  to  let  imagination  jade 
,  lie  ;  for  every  reason  excites  to  this,  that  my  lady 
I  oves  me.  She  did  commend  my  yellow  stockings 
I'bf  late,  she  did  praise  my  leg  being  cross-gartered  ; 
md  in  this  she  manifests  herself  to  my  love,  and, 
i/vith  a  kind  of  injunction,  drives  me  to  these  habits 
i)f  her  liking  I  thank  my  stars,  I  am  happy.  I 
mil  be  strange,  stout,  in  yellow  stockings,  and 
l;ro,ss-gartered,  even  with  the  swiftness  of  putting 
')n.  Jove,  and  my  stars  be  praised  ! — He  re  is  yet 
I  postscript.  Thou  tanst  not  choose  but  know  who 
\  am.  If  thou  entertainest  my  love,  let  it  appear 
n  thy  smiling ;  thy  smiles  become  thee  well : 
'herefore  in  my  presence  still  smile,  dear  my 
^i^weet,  I  prythee.  Jove,  1  thank  thee. — I  will 
imile;  I  will  do  every  thing  that  thou  wilt  have  me. 

[Exit. 

'    Fab.  I  will  not  give  my  part  of  this  sport  lor  a 
)ension  of  thousands  to  be  paid  from  the  Sophy. 
1  Sir  To.  I  could  marry  this  wench  for  this  de\ice  : 
Sir  And.  So  could  I  too. 

Sir  To.  And  ask  no  other  dowry  with  her,  but 
inch  another  jesL 

Enter  Maria. 

Sir  And.  Nor  1  neither. 
Fab.  Here  comes  my  noble  gull-catcher. 
Sir  To.  W  ilt  thou  set  thy  foot  o'  my  neck  ? 
Sir  And.  Or  o'  mine  either  'I 


YOU  WILL, 

Sir  To.  Shall  1  play  my  freedom  a(  tray -trip  and 

become  thy  bond-slave  ;* 

Sir  And.  Ffaith,  or  I  either'' 

Sir  To.  Wliy,  thou  hast  put  him  in  such  a  dreajot 
that  when  the  image  of  it  leai  es  him,  he  must  run 
mad. 

Mar.  Nay,  but  say  true  ;  does  it  work  upon  him  ? 

Sir  To.  Like  aqua-vitae  with  a  midwife. 

Mar.  If  you  will  then  see  the  fruits  of  the  sport, 
mark  his  first  approach  before  niy  lady  •  he  will 
come  to  her  in  yellow  stockings,  and  'tis  a  colour 
she  abhors  ;  and  cross  gartered,  a  fasliioii  slie  de- 
tests;  and  he  will  smile  upon  her,  which  will  now 
be  so  unsuitable  to  her  disposition,  being  addicted 
to  a  melancholy  as  she  is,  that  it  cannot  but  turn 
him  into  a  notable  contempt :  if  you  will  see  it, 
follow  me. 

Sir  To.  To  the  gates  of  Tartar,  thou  most  excel- 
lent devil  of  wit ! 
Sir  And.  I'll  make  one  too.  [Exeunt. 

ACT.  in. 

Scene  I. — Olivia's  Garden. 
Eriter  Viola,  and  Clown  ivith  a  tabor. 

Vio.  Save  thee,  friend,  and  thy  music  :  dost  thou 
live  by  thy  tabor  ? 

Clo.  No,  sir,  I  live  by  the  church. 

Vio.  Art  tUou  a  churchman  ? 

Clo.  No  such  matter,  sir,  I  do  live  by  the  church  : 
for  I  do  live  at  niy  house,  and  my  house  doth  stand 
by  the  church. 

Vio.  So  thou  may'st  say,  the  king  lies  by  a  beg- 
gar, if  a  beggar  dwell  near  him  ;  or,  the  church 
stands  by  thy  tabor,  if  thy  tabor  stajjd  by  the 
church. 

Clo.  You  have  said,  sir. — To  see  this  age! — A 
sentence  is  but  a  cheveril  glove  to  a  good  wit;  how 
quickly  the  wrong  side  may  be  turned  outward! 

F/y.  Nay,  that's  certain;  they  that  dally  nicely 
with  words,  may  quickly  make  them  wanton,  ' 
Clo.   I  would,  therefore,  niy  sister  had  had  no* 
Vio.  Why,  man?  [name,  sir 

Clo.  Why,  sir,  her  name's  a  word  ;  and  to  dally 
with  that  word,  might  make  my  sister  wanton:  but 
indeed,  words  are  very  rascals,  since  bonds  di* 
graced  them. 

Vio.  Thy  reason,  man? 

Clo.  Troth,  sir,  I  can  yield  you  none  without 
words;  and  words  are  grown  so  false,  1  am  loath  to 
pro\'e  reason  with  them, 

Vio.  I  warrant,  thou  art  a  nierry  fellow,  and 
carest  for  nothing. 

Clo.  Not  so,  sir,  I  do  care  for  something :  but  in 
my  conscience,  sir,  1  do  not  care  for  you  ;  if  that  be 
to  care  for  nothing,  sir,  I  would  it  would  make  you 
invisible. 

Vio.  Art  thou  not  the  lady  Olivia's  fool  ? 

Clo.  No,  indeed,  sir  ;  the  lady  Olivia  has  no  folly: 
she  will  keep  no  fool,  sir,  till  she  be  married  ;  and 
fools  are  as  like  husbands,  as  pilchards  are  to  her- 
rings, the  husband's  the  bigger;  I  am,  indeed,  woi 
her  fool,  but  her  corrupter  ol  words. 

^ io.  I  saw  thee  late  at  the  count  Orsiiio's. 

Clo.  Foolery,  sir,  does  walk  about  the  orb,  like 
the  sun  ;  it  shines  every  where.  I  would  be  sorry, 
sir,  but  the  fool  should  be  as  oft  with  your  mastt-r, 
as  with  my  mistress :  1  tnink  I  saw  your  wisdom 
there. 

Vio.  Nay,  an  thou  pass  upon  me,  I'll  no  more 
with  thee.   Hold,  there's  expences  for  thee 

Clo.  Now  Jove,  in  his  next  commodity  of  hair 
send  thee  a  beard  ! 

Vio.  By  my  troth,  I'll  tell  thee,  I  am  almost  sick 
for  one  ;  tiiough  1  would  not  have  it  grow  on  my 
chin.   Is  thy  lady  within? 

Clo.  Would  not  a  pair  of  these  ha\e  bred,  sir? 

Vio.  Yes,  being  kept  together,  and  put  to  use. 

Clo.  I  would  play  lord  Fandarus  ol  Phrygia.  sir 
to  bring  a  Cressida  to  this  Troilus. 


62 


TWELFTH  NIGHT, 


Act  IIL 


Vio.  I  understand  you,  sir ;  'tis  well  begg'd. 

do.  The  matter,  I  hope,  is  not  great,  sir,  beg- 
eing  but  a  beggar ;  Cressida  was  a  beggar.  My 
lady  is  within,  sir.  1  will  construe  to  theni  whence 
you  come ;  who  you  are,  and  what  you  would,  are 
out  of  my  welkin  :  I  might  say,  element;  but  the 
word  is  over-worn.  [Exit. 

Vi).  This  fellow's  wise  enough  to  play  the  Ibol  ; 
And,  to  do  that  well,  craves  a  kind  of  wit  : 
He  must  observe  their  mood  on  whom  he  jests. 
The  quality  of  persons,  and  the  lime  ; 
And,  like  the  haggard,  cherk  at  every  feather 
That  coMies  belbre  his  eye.   'I'his  is  a  practice, 
As  full  of  labour  as  a  wise  man's  art  : 
For  folly,  that  he  wisely  shows,  is  fit ; 
But  wise  meji,  folly-l'allen,  quite  taint  their  wit. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch  a?id  Sir  Andrew  Ague- 
Cheek. 

Sir  To.  Save  you,  gentleman. 
Vio.  And  you,  sir. 

Sir  And.  Dieu  votis  garde,  monsieur. 

Vio.  El  vous  aussi  ;  voire  serviteur. 

Sir  And.  I  hope,  sir,  you  are  ;  and  I  am  yours. 

Sir  To.  W  ill  you  encounter  the  house  'i  my  niece 
is  desirous  you  should  enter,  if  your  trade  be  to  her. 

Vio.  I  am  bound  to  your  niece,  sir:  I  mean,  she 
is  the  list  of  my  voyage. 

Sir  To.  Taste  your  legs,  sir,  put  them  to  motion. 

Vio.  My  legs  do  better  understand  me,  sir,  than 
I  understand  what  you  mean  by  bidding  me  taste 

Sir  To.  1  mean  to  go,  sir,  to  enter.         [my  legs. 

Vio.  1  will  answer  you  with  gait  and  entrance  : 
but  we  are  prevented. 

Enter  Olivia  and  Maria. 
Most  excellent  accomplished  lady,  the  heavens  rain 
odours  ou  you  I  [odours!  well. 

Sir  And.  That  youth's  a  rare  courtier  :  Rai?i 

Vio.  My  matter  hath  no  voice,  lady,  but  to  your 
own  most  pregiiatit  and  vouchsafed  ear. 

Sir  And.  Odours,  pregnant,  and  vouclisafed : — 
ril  get  'em  all  three  ready.  [to  my  hearing. 

on.  Let  the  garden  door  be  shut,  and  leave  me 

\Exemit  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  and  Maria. 
Give  me  your  hand,  sir. 

Vio.  My  duty,  madam,  and  most  hmnble  service. 
OH.  V\  liat  is  your  name? 

Vio.  Cesario  is  your  servant's  name,  fair  princess. 

OH.  My  servant,  sir  !  'Twas  never  merry  world, 
Since  lowly  feigning  was  call'd  compliment: 
You  are  servant  to  the  count  Orsino,  youth. 

Fio.  And  he  is  yours,  and  his  must  needs  be 
yours  ; 

Your  servant's  servant  is  your  servant,  madam. 

on.   For  him,  I  tliink    not   on   him:   for  his 
thoughts,  [me ! 

Would  they  were  blanks,  rather  than  fill'd  with 

Vio.  Madam,  I  couie  to  whet  your  gentle  thoughts 
On  his  behalf:— 

0/i.  O,  by  your  leave,  I  pray  you  ; 

I  bade  you  never  speak  again  of  him  : 
13ut,  would  you  undertake  anotiier  suit, 
1  had  ratiier  hear  you  to  solicit  that. 
Than  music  from  the  spheres. 

Vio  Dear  lady,  

Oh.  Give  me  l(?ave,  I  beseech  you  :  I  did  send. 
After  the  last  enchantment  you  did  here, 
A  ring  in  chase  of  you  ;  so  dul  I  abuse 
Myself,  my  servant,  and,  I  fear  me,  you: 
Under  your  harti  construction  must  I  sit. 
To  force  tb  vt  on  you,  in  a  shameful  cunning, 
Which  you  knew  none  of  yours  :  what  might  you 
Have  you  not  set  mine  honour  at  the  stake,  [think  ? 
And  baited  it  with  all  the  unmuzzled  thoughts. 
That  tyrannous  heart  can  think  ?    To  one  of  your 
receiving 

Rnougb  is  shown  ;  a  Cyprus,  not  a  bosom, 
Hides  my  poor  heart:  so  let  me  hear  you  speak. 


Vio.  I  pity  you. 
0/i.  'J'hat's  a  degree  to  love. 
Vio.  No,  not  a  grise  ;  for  'tis  a  vulgar  proof. 
That  very  oft  wc  pity  enemies. 

OH.    Why,  then,    melhinks,  'tis  time  to  smil 

0  world,  hew  apt  the  poor  are  to  be  proud  I  [again 
if  one  should  be  a  prey,  how  much  the  better 

To  fall  before  the  lion  than  the  wolf?  {Clock  strikes. 
The  clock  upbraids  me  with  the  waste  of  time. — 
Be  not  afraid,  good  youth,  I  will  not  have  you  : 
And  yet,  when  wit  and  youth  is  come  to  harvest. 
Your  wife  is  like  to  reap  a  proper  man  • 
There  lies  your  way,  due  west. 

Vio.  Then  westward-h 

Grace,  and  good  disposition  'tend  your  ladyship  .' 
You'll  nothing,  madam,  to  my  loi  d  by  me  ? 

OH.  Stay  : 

1  pr'ythee,  tell  me,  what  thou  think'st  of  me. 

Vio.  That  you  do  think,  yon  are  not  what  you  are. 

OH.  If  I  think  so,  I  think  the  same  of  yon. 

Vio.  Then  think  you  right  ;  J  am  not  what  I  am. 

OH.  I  would  you  were  as  I  would  have  you  be  ' 

Vio.  Would  it  be  better,  madam,  tlian  I  am, 
I  wish  it  might ;  for  now  I  am  your  fool. 

OH.  O,  what  a  deal  ot'scorn  looks  beautiful 
In  the  contempt  and  anger  of  his  lip  ! 
A  nuird'rous  guilt  shews  not  itself  more  soon 
Than  love  that  would  seem  hid  :  lo\e's  night  is  noon 
Cesario,  by  the  roses  of  the  spring. 
By  maidhood,  honour,  truth,  and  every  thing, 
I  love  thee  so,  that,  maugre  all  thy  pride. 
Nor  wit,  nor  reason,  can  my  passion  hide. 
Do  not  extort  thy  reasons  from  this  clause. 
For,  that  I  woo,  thou  therefore  hast  no  cause  : 
But,  rather,  reason  thus  with  reason  fetter  : 
Love  sought  is  good,  but  given  unsought,  is  better, 

Vio.  By  innocence  I  swear,  and  by  my  youth 
I  have  one  heart,  one  bosom,  and  one  truth. 
And  that  no  woman  has  ;  nor  never  none 
Shall  mistress  be  of  it,  save  1  alone. 
And  so  adieu,  good  madam  ;  never  more 
Will  I  my  master's  tears  to  you  deplore. 

OH.  Yet  come  again*  for  thou,  peihaps,  ma^  a, 
mo\  e 

That  heart,  which  now  abhors,  to  like  his  ld\  e, 

lExev.,^1 

Scene  H. — A  Ro^m  in  Olivia's  house. 
Enter  SiR   Toby  Belch,  Sir  Andrew  Actk 
CHEEK,  and  Fabian. 
Sir  And.  No,  faith.  I  II  not  stay  a  jot  longer. 
Sir  To.  Thy  reason,  dear  venom,  give  lliy  reason. 
Fab.  You  must  needs  yield  your  reason,  sir  An' 
drew. 

Sir  And.  Marry,  T  saw  your  niece  do  more  favours 
to  the  count  s  serving  man,  tiian  ever  she  bestowed 
upon  me  ;  1  saw't  i'the  orchard.  [n»e  that. 

Sir  To.  Did  she  see  thee  the  while,  old  boy?  tell 

Sir  And.  As  plain  as  I  see  you  now. 

Fab.  This  was  a  great  argument  of  love  in  her 
toward  you. 

Sir  And.  'Slight !  will  you  make  an  ass  o'  me  ? 

Fab.  I  will  ppove  it  legitimate,  sir,  upon  the  oaths^ 
of  judgment  and  reason. 

Sir  To.  And  they  have  been  grand  jurymen,  since 
before  Noah  was  a  sailor.- 

Fab.  She  did  shew  favour  to  the  youth  in  yow 
sight,  only  to  exasperate  you,  to  awake  your  dor- 
mouse valour,  to  put  fire  in  your  heart,  and  brim- 
stone in  your  liver  :  you  should  then  have  accosted 
her;  and  with  some  excellent  jests,  fire-new  from 
the  mint,  you  should  have  banged  the  youth  into 
dumbness.  This  was  looked  for  at  your  liand,  and 
this  was  baulked:  the  double  gilt  of  this  opportu- 
nity you  let  time  wash  o(F,  and  you  are  now  sailed 
into  the  north  of  my  lady's  opinion:  where  you  will 
hang  like  an  icicle  on  a  Dutchman's  beard,  unless 
you  do  redeem  it  by  some  laudable  attempt,  either 
of  valour,  or  policy. 

Sir  And.  And't  be  any  way,  \i  must  be  with  va-. 


Scene  3. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


63 


kour;  for  policy  I  hate  :  I  had  as  lief  be  a  Brownist 
as  a  poliMcian. 

Sir  To.  Why  then,  hiiild  me  thy  fortunes  upon 
the  basis  of  valour.  Challenge  me  the  count's  youth 
to  fight  with  him ;  hurt  him  in  eleven  places  ;  my 
niece  shall  take  noteof  it ;  and  assure  thyself,  there  is 
no  love-broker  in  the  world  can  more  prevail  in  man's 
commendation  with  woman,  than  report  of  valour. 
Fab.  There  is  no  way  but  this,  sir  Andrew, 
Sir  And.  Will  either  of  you  bear  me  a  challena;e 
to  him  ? 

Sir  To.  Go.  write  it  in  a  martial  hand  ;  be  curst 
and  brief ;  it  is  no  matter  how  witty,  so  it  be  elo- 
quent and  full  of  invention  :  taunt  him  with  the 
licence  of  ink  :  if  thou  thou'st  him  some  thrice,  it 
shall  not  be  amiss;  and  as  many  lies  as  will  lie  in 
thy  sheet  of  paper,  although  the  sheet  were  big 
enough  for  the  bed  of  Ware  in  England,  set  'em 
down  ;  go,  about  it.  Let  there  be  gall  enough  in 
thy  ink  ;  tliough  thou  write  with  a  gouse-pen,  no 
matter  :  about  it. 

Sir  And.  Where  shall  I  find  yon  ? 

Sir  To.  We'll  call  tliee  at  the  cnhiculo  :  go. 

lExit  Sir  Andrew. 

Fab.  This  is  a  dear  manakin  to  you,  sir  Toby. 

Sir  To.  I  have  been  dear  to  him,  lad  ;  some  two 
thousand  strong,  or  so. 

Fab.  We  shall  have  a  rare  letter  from  him  :  but 
you'll  not  deliver  it. 

Sir  To.  Never  trust  me  then;  and  by  all  means 
etir  on  the  youth  to  an  answer.  I  think,  oxen  and 
vvainropes  cannot  hale  them  together.  For  Andrew, 
if  he  were  opened,  and  you  find  so  much  blood  in 
his  liver  as  will  dog  the  foot  of  a  flea,  I'll  eat  the 
rest  of  the  anatomy. 

Fab,  And  his  opposite,  the  youth,  bears  in  his 
visage  no  great  presage  of  cruelty. 

Enter  Maria, 

Sir  To.  Look  where  the  youngest  wren  of  nine 
conies. 

!  Mar.  If  you  desire  the  spleen,  and  will  laugh 
yourselves  into  stitches,  follow  nie  :  yon' gull  Mal- 
j  volio  is  turned  heathen,  a  very  reuegado ;  for  there 
is  no  Christian  that  means  to  be  saved  by  believing 
rightly,  can  ever  believe  such  impossible  passages 
of  grossness.    He's  in  yellow  stockings. 

Sir  To.  And  cross-gartered  ? 

Mar.  Most  villanously  ;  like  a  pedant  that  keeps 
a  school  i'  the  church. — I  have  dogged  him,  like  h's 
murderer :  he  does  obey  every  point  of  the  letter 
that  I  dropped  to  betray  him.  He  does  smile  his 
''ace  into  more  lines,  than  are  in  the  new  map,  with 
the  augmentation  of  the  Indies :  you  have  not  seen 
such  a  thing  as  'tis;  I  can  hardly  forbear  hurling 
things  at  hini.  I  know,  my  lady  will  strike  him  :  if' 
she  do,  he'll  smile,  and  take't  fur  a  great  favour 

Sir  To.  Come,  bring  us,  bring  us  where  he  is. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  HI. — A  Street. 
Enter  Antonio  and  Sebastian. 
Seb.  I  would  not,  by  my  will,  have  troubled  you  ; 
But,  since  you  make  your  pleasure  of  your  pains, 
I  will  no  further  chide  you. 

Ant.  I  could  not  stay  behin     on  ;  my  desire,, 
More  sharu  than  filed  steel,  di     pur  me  forth ; 
And  not  all  love  to  see  you,  (      ugh  so  much. 
As  might  have  drawn  one  to  a  longer  voyage, ) 
I  But  jealousy  what  might  befal  your  travel, 
)  Being  skilless  in  these  parts;  which  to  a  stranger, 
'  Unguided,and  unfriended,  often  prove 
R  Dugh  and  unhospitable  .  my  willing  love, 
The  rather  by  these  arguments  of  fear, 
Sei  forth  in  your  pursuit. 

Seb.  My  kind  Antonio, 

[  can  no  other  answer  make,  but,  thanks, 
And  thanks,  and  ever  thanks.  Often  good  turns 
Are  shufHed  off  with  such  nncurrent  pay  : 
But,  were  my  worth,  as  is  my  conscience,  firm, 
Vou  should  find  better  dealing.    What's  to  do? 


Shall  we  go  see  the  reliques  of  this  town  ? 

Ant.  To-morrow,  sir;  best,  first  go  see  yxmt 
lodging. 

Seb.  I  ani  hot  weary,  and  'tis  long  t©  night ; 
I  pray  you  let  us  satisfy  our  eyes 
With  the  memorials,  and  the  things  of  fame, 
That  do  renown  this  city. 

Ant.  'Would,  you'd  pardcn  me, 

I  do  not  without  danger  walk  these  streets  :  | 
Once,  in  a  sea  fight,*gainst  the  count  his  gallies 
I  did  some  service;  of  such  mte,  indeed, 
That,  were  I  ta'en  here,  it  vvould  scarce  be  answer'd 

Seb.  Belike,  you  slew  great  number  of  his  people. 

And.         offenct;  is  not  of  such  a  bloody  nature; 
Albeit  the  quality  of  the  time,  and  quarrel. 
Might  well  have  given  us  bloody  argument. 
It  might  have  since  been  answer'd  in  repaying 
What  we  took  from  them ;  which,  for  traffic'.s  sake. 
Most  of  our  city  did  :  only  myself  stood  out; 
Fur  which,  if  1  be  lapsed  in  this  place, 
I  shall  pay  dear. 

Seb.  Do  not  then  walk  too  open. 

Aiid.  It  doth  not  fit  me.    Hold,  sir,  here's  my 
In  the  south  suburbs,  at  the  Elephant,  [purse; 
Is  best  to  lodge  :  I  will  bespeak  our  diet, 
Whiles  you  beguile  the  time,  and  feed  your  know- 
ledge. 

With  viewing  of  the  town  ;  there  shall  you  have  me. 
Seb.  I  your  purse  ? 

xint.  Haply,  your  eye  shall  light  upon  some  toy 
You  have  desire  to  purchase  ;  and  your  store, 
1  think,  is  not  for  idle  markets,  sir.  [an  hour. 

Seb.  I'll  be  your  purse  bearer,  and  leave  you  loi 

Ant.  To  the  Elephant. — 

Seb.  I  do  remember.  [Exeiini. 

Scene  IV. — Olivias  Garden. 
Enter  Olivia  and  Maria. 

Oli.  I  have  sent  alter  him  :  he  says,  he'll  come; 
How  shall  I  fieast  him  ?  what  bestow  on  hmi  ? 
For  youth  is  bought  more  oft,  than  begg'd,  or  bor- 

I  speak  too  loud.   [row'd. 

Wtiere  is  Mai  volio  7 — he  is  sad  and  civil, 

And  suits  well  for  a  ser\ant  with  my  fortunes;-— 

Wliere  is  Mai  volio? 

Mar.  He's  coming,  madam  ; 

But  in  stmnge  manner.    He  is  sure  possess'd. 

Oli.  Why,  what's  the  mattt-r?  does  he  rave? 

Mar.  No,  madam, 

He  does  nothing  but  smile  :  your  ladyship 
W ere  best  have  guard  about  you,  if  lie  come 
For,  sure,  the  man  is  tainted  in  his  wits, 

Oli.  Go  call  him  hither. — I'm  as  mad  as  he. 
If  sad  and  merry  madness  equal  be. — 

Enter  MalVolio. 
How  noAV,  Malvolio? 

Binl.  Sweet  lady,  ho,  ho.  {Smiles  fantastically. 

Oli.  Smil'st  thou? 
I  sent  for  thee  upon  a  sad  occasion. 

Mai.  Sad,  lady?  I  could  be  sad    this  does  make 
some  obstruction  in  the  blood,  this  cross-gartering 
but  what  of  that,  if  it  please  the  eye  of  one,  it  is 
w^ith  me  as  the  very  true  sonnet  is  :  Please  one,  an 
please  all. 

Oli.  Why.  how  dost  thou,  man?  what  is  the  matter 
with  thee  ? 

Mai.  Not  black  in  my  mind,  though  yellow  in 
my  legs:  it  did  come  to  his  hands,  and  commatidj 
shall  be  executed.  I  think,  we  do  know  the  sweet 
Roman  hand. 

Oli.  \N\\i  thou  go  to  bed,  Malvolio?    [to  thee 
Mai.  To  bed?  ay,  sweetheart;  and  I'll  come 
Oli.  God  comfort  thee !  Why  dost  thou  smile  so 
and  kiss  thy  hand  so  oft? 

Mar.  How  do  you,  Malvolio? 
Mai.  At  your  request?     Yes;  nightingales  an. 
swer  daws. 

Mar.  Why  appear  you  with  this  ridiculous  bold 
ness  before  my  lady? 
Mai.  Be  not  afraid  of  greatness  ' — 'twas  well  wr 


TWELFTH  NIGHT, 


Act  III. 


OIL  Wliat  meanest  thou  hy  that,  Malvolio? 
Mai.  Soine  are  born  areat, — 
OIL  Ha  ? 

MaL  Some  achieve  greatness, — 
OIL  What  say'st  tliou  ? 

MaL  And  some  have  greatness  thrust  upon  them. 
OIL  Heaven  restore  tliee  ! 

MaL  Remember  icho  commended  thy  yellow 
OIL  Tliy  yellow  stockings  ?  [^stockings: — 

MaL  And  wished  to  see  thee  cross-gartered. 
OH.  Cross-gartered?  [so; — 

Mai.  Go  to  ;  thou  art  made,  if  thou  desirest  to  be 
OH.  Am  I  made  ? 

Mai.  If  not,  let  me  see  thee  a  servant  still. 
OH.  Why,  this  is  very  midsummer  madiiess. 

Enter  Servant. 

Ser.  Madam,  the  young  gentleman  of  the  count 
Orsino's  is  returned;  I  could  hardly  entieat  iiim 
back  :  he  attends  your  ladyshi{»'s  pleasure. 

OH.  I'll  come  to  him.  [Exit  Servant.]  Good 
Maria,  let  this  fellow  he  looked  to.  Where's  my 
cousin  Toby  ?  Let  some  of  my  people  have  a  special 
care  of  him;  I  would  not  have  him  miscarry  for  the 
nalt  of  my  dowry. 

[Exeunt  Olivia  and  Maria. 

Mul.  Oh ,  oh !  do  you  come  near  me  now '/  no 
worse  man  than  sir  Toby  to  look  to  me  ?  This  con- 
cars  directly  with  the  letter:  she  sends  him  on 
jjurpose,  that  I  may  appear  stubborn  to  hitn ;  for  she 
incites  me  to  tliat  in  the  letter.  Cast  thy  humble 
slough,  says  she ; — be  opposite  ivith  a  kinsman, 
surly  ivith  servants, — let  thy  tongue  tang  argu- 
ments of  state, — put  thyself  into  the  trick  of  sin- 
gularity ;  and,  cwnsequently,  sets  down  tlie  man- 
ner how;  as,  a  sad  face,  a  reverend  carriage,  a  slow 
tongue,  in  the  habit  of  some  sir  of  note,  an(i  so  forth. 
I  have  limed  her;  but  it  is  Jove's  doing,  and  Jove 
make  me  thankiul!  And,  when  she  went  away  now, 
Let  this  fellow  be  looked  to  :  Fellow  !  not  Malvolio, 
nor  ailer  my  degree,  but  fellow.  Why,  every  thing 
adheres  together ;  that  no  dram  of  a  scruple,  no 
scruple  of  a  scruple,  no  obstacle,  no  incredulous 
or  unsafe  circumstance, — What  can  be  said  ?  No- 
thing, that  can  be,  can  come  between  tne  and  the  full 
prospect  of  my  hopes.  Well,  Jove,  not  1,  is  the  doer 
of  this,  and  he  is  to  be  thanked. 

Re-enter  Maria,  with  Sir  Toby  Belch  and 
Fabian. 

Sir  To.  Which  way  is  he,  in  the  name  of  sanc- 
tity ?  If  all  the  devils  iu  hell  be  drawn  in  little,  and 
Legion  himself  possessed  him,  yet  Til  speak  to  him. 

Fab.  Jlere  he  is,  here  he  is: — How  is't  with  you, 
sir  ?  how  is't  with  you,  man  ? 

MaL  Go  off;  I  discard  you  ;  let  me  enjoy  my  pri- 
vate ;  go  of}". 

Mar.  Lo,  how  hollow  the  fiend  speaks  within 
him!  did  not  I  tell  you? — Sir  Toby,  my  lady  prays 
you  to  have  a  care  of  him. 

MaL  Ah,  ah  !  does  she  so? 

Sir  To.  Go  to,  go  to ;  peace,  peace,  we  must  deal 
ently  with  him;  let  me  alone. — How  do  you,  Mal- 
rolio?  how  is't  with  you?  What,  man!  defy  the 
devil:  consider,  he's  an  enemy  to  mankind. 

MaL  Do  you  know  what  you  say  ? 

Mar.  La  you,  an  you  speak  ill  of  the  devil,  how  he 
takes  it  at  heart  ?    Pray  God,  he  be  not  bewitched  ! 

Fab.  Carry  his  water  to  the  wise  w(unan. 

Mar.  Marry,  and  it  shall  be  done  to-morrow 
morniiig-,  if  I  live.  My  lady  would  not  lose  him  for 
more  than  I'll  say. 

MaL  How  now,  mistress  ? 

Mar.  O  lord  I 

Sir  To.  Pr'ythee,  hold  thy  peace ;  this  is  not  the 
<vay  :  do  you  not  see,  you  move  hiui  ?  let  me  alone 
with  him. 

Fab.  No  way  but  gentleness  ;  gently,  gently  :  the 
fiend  is  rough,  and  will  not  be  roughly  used. 

Sir  T<j.  VVhy,  now  now,  lay  bawcock  ?  how  dost 

Uhou,  chuck  ? 


MaL  Sir? 

Sir  To.  Ay,  Biddy,  come  with  me.  W^hat,  man! 
'tis  not  for  gravity  to  play  at  cherry-pit  with  &atan  • 
Hang  him,  foul  collier! 

Mar,  Get  him  to  say  his  prayers ;  good  sir  Toby, 
get  him  to  pray. 

My  prayers,  minx  ?  [  liness. 

Mar.  No,  I  warrant  you,  he  will  not  hear  of  god 

MaL  Go,  hang  yourselves  all!  you  are  idle  shal 
low  things:  I  am  not  of  your  element-  you  shall 
know  more  hereafter.  [E.vit 

Sir  To.  Is't  possible? 

Fab.  If  this  were  played  upon  a  stage  now,  1 
could  condenm  it  as  an  improbable  fiction. 

Sir  To.  His  very  genius  hath  taken  the  infection 
of  the  device,  man. 

Mar.  Nay,  pursue  him  now ;  lest  the  device  take 
air,  and  taint. 

Fab.  Why,  we  shall  make  him  mad,  indeed. 

Mar.  The  house  will  be  the  quieter. 

Sir  To,  Come,  we'll  have  him  in  a  dark  room, 
and  bound.  My  niece  is  already  in  the  belief,  that 
he  is  mad ;  we  may  carry  it  thus,  for  our  pleasure, 
and  his  penance,  till  our  very  pastime,  tired  out  of 
breath,  prompt  us  to  have  mercy  on  him  :  at  wliich 
time,  we  will  bring  the  device  to  tiie  bar,  and  crown 
thee  for  a  finder  of  madmen.  But  see,  but  see. 
Enter  Sir  Andrew  Ague  cheek. 

Fab.  More  matter  for  a  May  morning. 

Sir  And.  Here's  the  challenge,  read  it ;  I  was 
rant,  there's  vinegar  and  pepper  iu't. 

Fab.  Is't  so  saucy  ? 

Sir  And.  Ay,  is  it,  I  warrant  him  :  do  but  read. 
Sir  To.  Give  me.  (Reads)  Youth,  whatsoever 
thou  art,  thou  art  but  a  scurvy  felloiv 
Fab.  Good  and  valiant 

Sir  To.  W under  not,  nor  admire  not  in  thy  mind, 
why  I  do  callthee  so,  for  I  will  sheiv  thee  no  reason 
fort 

Fab.  A  good  note  :  that  keeps  you  tVom  the  blow 
of  the  law. 

Sir  To.  Thou  comest  to  the  lady  Olivia,  and  in 
my  sight  she  uses  thee  kindly :  but  thou  liest  in  thy 
throat,  that  is  not  the  matter  I  challenge  thee  for. 

Fab.  Very  brief,  aitd  exceeding  good  sense-less. 

Sir  To.  I  will  way  lay  thee  going  home;  ivher« 
if  it  be  thy  chance  to  kill  me,  

Fab.  Good. 

Sir  To.  Thou  killest  me  like  a  rogue  and  a  villain 
Fab.  Still  you  keep  o  the  windy  side  of  the  law 
good. 

Sir  To.  Fare  thee  well;  and  God  have  mercy 
upon  one  of  our  souls  '.  He  may  have  mercy  upon 
mine  ;  but  my  hojje  is  better,  and  so  look  to  tliyself. 
Thy  friend,  as  thou  usest  him,  and  thy  sworn 
enemy,  Andrew  Ague-ciieek. 

Sir  To.  If  tliis  letter  move  him  not,  his  legs 
cannot:  I'll  give't  him. 

Mar.  You  may  have  very  fit  occasion  for't  ;  he  is 
now  in  some  conmierce  with  my  lady,  and  will  by 
and  by  depart. 

Sir  To.  Go,  Sir  Andrew ;  scout  me  for  him  at  the 
corner  of  the  orchard,  like  a  bum-bailifF:  so  soon 
as  ever  thou  seest  him,  draw  ;  and,  as  thou  drawest 
swear  horrible ;  for  it  comes  to  pass  oft,  that  a  ter- 
rible oath,  with  a  swaggeringaccent  sharply  twanged 
off,  gives  manhood  more  approbation  than  ever 
proof  itself  would  have  earned  him.  Away. 

Sir  And.  Nay,  let  me  alone  for  swearing,  [Exit. 

Sir  To.  Now  will  not  I  deliver  his  letter :  for  the 
behaviour  of  the  young  gentleman  gives  him  out  to 
be  of  good  capacity  and  breeding;  his  employment 
between  his  lord  and  my  niece  conhrms  no  less  ; 
therefore  this  letter,  being  so  excellently  ignorant, 
will  breed  no  terror  in  the  youth,  he  will  find  it 
comes  from  a  clodpole.  But,  sir,  I  will  deliver  his 
challenge  by  word  of  mouth  ;  set  upon  Ague  cheek 
a  notable  report  of  valour;  and  drive  the  gentleman, 
(as,  I  know,  his  youth  will  aptly  receive  it,)  into  • 
most  hideous  opinion  of  his  rage,  skill,  fury,  and  in»- 


Scene  4. 


OR.  WHAT 


YOU  WILL. 


65 


petuosity.  This  will  so  frignt  tnern  botn,  that  they 
will  kill  one  another  by  the  look,  like  cockatrices. 

Enter  Olivia  and  V^iola. 

Fah.  Here  he  comes  with  your  niece  :  give  theni 
way,  till  he  take  leave,  and  presently  after  him. 

Sir  To,  I  will  meditate  the  while  upon  some  horrid 
message  lor  a  cliallenge. 

\Exeu7it  Sir  To.  Fab.  ^  Mar. 

OH.  I  have  said  too  much  nnto  a  heart  ot  stone, 
And  laid  mine  honour  too  tmchary  out: 
There's  something  in  me,  that  reproves  my  fanit ; 
Unt  such  a  headstrong  potent  fault  it  is, 
That  it  but  tnocks  reproof.  [bears, 

Vio.  With  the  same  'havionr  that  your  passion 
Go  on  my  master's  griefs. 

on.  Here,  wear  this  jewel  for  me,  'tis  my  picture  ; 
Refuse  it  not,  it  hath  no  tongue  to  vex  you  : 
And,  I  beseech  you,  come  again  to-morrow. 
What  shall  you  ask  of  me,  that  III  deny; 
I'hat  honour,  sav'd,  may  upon  asking  give?  fter. 

Vio.  Nothing  but  this,  your  true  love  for  my  mas- 

Oii.  How  with  mine  honour  may  I  give  him  that, 
Which  I  have  given  to  you  ? 

Vio.  I  will  acquit  you  ! 

OH.  Well,  come  again  to-morrow.  Fare  thee  well: 
A  tiend,  like  thee,  might  bear  my  soul  to  hell.  [Exit. 

Rc-ifnter  Sir  To:jy  Belch  and  Fabian. 
Sir  To.  OentleHian,  God  save  thee. 
Vio.  And  you,  sir. 

Sir  To.  Tliat  defence  thou  hast,  betake  thee  to't : 
of  what  nature  the  wrongs  are  thou  hast  done  him, 
I  know  not;  but  thy  iotercepter,  full  of  despight, 
bloody  as  the  hunter,  attends  thee  at  the  orchard 
end  :  dismount  thy  tuck,  be  yare  in  thy  pre[)aration, 
for  thy  assailant  is  quick,  skilful,  and  deadly. 

Vio.  You  mistake,  sir;  I  am  sure,  no  man  hath 
any  quarrel  to  me ;  my  remembrance  is  very  free 
and  clear  from  any  image  of  otFence  done  to  any  man. 

Sir  Ti/.  You'll  find  it  otiierwise,  1  assure  you  : 
therefore,  if  you  hold  your  life  at  any  price,  betake 
you  to  your  guard;  for  your  opposite  hath  in  him 
what  youth,  strength,  skill,  and  wrath,  can  furnish 

Vio.  I  pray  you,  sir,  what  is  he  ?        [man  withal. 

Sir  To.  He  is  knight,  dubbed  with  unhacked 
rapier,  and  on  carpet  consideration  ;  but  he  is  a 
devil  in  private  brawl ;  souls  and  bodies  hath  he 
divorced  three  ;  and  his  incensement  at  this  moment 
is  so  implacable,  that  satisfaction  cati  be  none  but 
by  pangs  of  death  and  sepulchre  :  hob,  nob,  is  his 
word  ;  give  t,  or  take't. 

Vio.  I  will  return  again  into  the  house,  and  desire 
some  conduct  of  the  lady.  I  am  no  tighter.  1  have 
heard  of  some  kind  of  men,  that  put  quarrels  pur- 
posely on  others,  to  taste  tlieir  valour  :  belike  this 
is  a  man  of  that  quirk. 

Sir  To.  Sir,  no  ;  his  indignation  derives  itself  out 
of  a  very  competent  injury ;  therefore,  get  you  on, 
and  give  him  his  desire.  Back  you  shall  not  to  the 
house,  unless  you  undertake  that  with  me,  which 
with  as  nuich  safety  you  might  answer  him:  there- 
fore, on,  or  strip  your  sword  stark  naked  ;  for  meddle 
you  must,  thats  certain,  or  forswear  to  wear  iron 
about  you. 

Vio.  This  is  as  uncivil,  as  strange.  I  beseech  you, 
do  me  this  courteous  oifice,  as  to  know  of  the  knight 
what  my  olVence  to  him  is ;  it  is  something  of  my 
negligence,  nothing  of  my  purpose. 

Sir  To.  I  will  do  so. — Signior  Fabian,  stay  yoii 
by  this  gentleman  till  my  return.     [Exit  Sir  Toby. 

Vio.  JPray  you,  sir,  do  you  know  of  this  matter  ? 

Fab.  I  know,  tlie  knight  is  incensed  against  you, 
even  to  a  niortal  arbitrement;  but  nothing  of  the 
circumstance  more. 

Vio.  I  beseech  you,  what  manner  of  man  is  he  ? 
Fab.  Nothing  of  that  won  lerful  promise,  to  read 
him  by  his  form,  as  you  are  like  to  find  him  in  the 
proof  of  his  valour.    He  is,  indeed,  sir,  the  most 
;»lful,  bloody,  and  fatal  opposite,  that  you  could 


possibly  have  found  in  any  part  of  lllyria  :  will 
yon  walk  tovvards  him  ?  I  will  make  yonr  peace 
with  h  in,  if  I  ran. 

Vio.  I  shall  be  much  bound  to  you  fort :  i  nm 
one,  that  would  rather  go  with  sir  priest,  thau  sir 
knight  :  I  care  not  who  knows  so  mu(;h  of  my 
mettle.  iExtviti 
Re-enter  Sir  Toby,  ivith  Sir  Andrew, 

Sir  To.  Why,  man,  he's  a  very  devil  ;  I  have  not 
seen  such  a  virago.  I  had  a  pass  with  him,  rapier, 
scabbard,  and  all,  and  he  gives  me  the  stuck-in  with 
such  a  mortal  motion,  that  it  is  inevitable;  and  en 
the  answer,  he  pays  you  as  surely  as  your  feet  hit 
the  ground  they  step  on :  they  say,  lie  has  been 
fencer  to  the  Sophy. 

Sir  And.  Pox  on't,  I'll  not  meddle  vvith  him. 

Sir  To.  Ay,  but  he  will  not  now  be  pacified  • 
Fabian  can  scarcp  hold  him  yonder. 

Sir  And.  Plague  on't  ;  an  I  thought  he  had  been 
valiant,  and  so  cunning  in  fence,  I'd  have  seen  him 
damned  ere  I  d  have  challenged  him.  Let  him  let  the 
matter  slip,  and  I'll  give  him  my  horse,  grey  Capilet. 

Sir  To.  I  ll  make  the  motion  :  stand  here,  make 
a  good  show  on't;  this  shall  end  without  the  pcMdi 
tion  of  souls  :  marry,  I'll  ride  your  hoi  se  as  m  ell  as 
I  ride  you.  [Aside  ) 

Re-enter  Fabian  and  Viola. 

I  have  his  horse  {to  Fob.)  to  take  up  the  quarrel ; 
I  have  persuaded  him  the  youth's  a  devil. 

Fab.  He  is  as  horribly  conceited  of  him  ;  ana 
pants,  and  looks  pale,  as  if  a  bear  were  at  his  heeU 

Sir  To.  There's  no  remedy,  sir;  he  will  fight  with 
you  for  his  oath's  sake  :  marry,  he  hath  bett*.ir  be- 
thought him  of  his  quarrel,  and  he  finds  that  now 
scarce  to  be  worth  talking  of :  therefore  dra-v,  for 
the  supportance  of  his  vow  ;  he  {)rotests,  he  will  no! 
hurt  you. 

Vio.  Pray  God  defend  me  !  A  little  thing  would 
make  me  tt^ll  them  how  much  I  lack  of  a  man.  (^s«c/e 

Fab.  Give  ground,  if  you  see  him  furious. 

Sir  To.  Come,  sir  Andrew,  there's  no  remedy 
the  gentleman  will,  for  his  honour's  sake,  have  one 
bout  with  you  ;  he  cannot  by  the  duello  avoid  it  : 
but  he  has  promised  me,  as  he  is  a  gentleman  and  a 
soldier,  he  will  not  hurt  you.    Come  on:  to't. 

Sir  And.  Pray  God,  he  keep  his  oath.  {Draws 

Enter  Antonio. 

Vio.  I  do  assure  you  'tis  against  my  will.  {Draws 

Ant.  Put  up  your  sword  ; — if  this  young  gentle 
Have  done  oft'ence,  I  take  the  fault  on  me ;  [man 
If  you  offend  him,  I  for  him  defy  you.  {Drawing. 

Sir  To.  You  sir?  why,  what  are  you? 

Ant.  One,  sir,  that  for  his  love  dares  yet  do  more 
Than  you  have  heard  him  brag  to  vou  he  will. 

Sir  To.  Nay,  if  yon  be  an  undertaker,  I  am  for 
you.  {Draws.) 

Enter  fiuo  Officers.  [ficers. 
Fob.  G  good  sir  Toby,  hold ;  here  come  the  of- 
S'.r  To.  I'll  be  with  you  anon.  [To  Antonio.) 
Vio.  Pray,  sir,  put  up  your  sword,  if  you  please. 

{To  Sir  Andrew.) 
Sir  And.  Marry,  will  I,  sir  ; — and,  for  that  1 
promised  you,  I'll  be  as  good  as  my  word :  he 
will  bear  you  easily,  and  reins  well. 

1  Q/f.  This  is  the  man ;  do  thy  office. 

2  Olf.  Antonio,  I  arrest  thee  at  the  suit 
Of  count  Orsino. 

Ant.  You  do  mistake  me,  sir, 

1  OJ".  No,  sir,  no  jot;  I  know  your  favour  well. 
Though  now  you  have  no  sea-cap  on  your  head. 
Take  him  avvay  ;  he  knows,^  I  know  him,  well. 

Ant.  I  must  obey. — This  comes  with  seeking  you; 
But  tht-re's  no  remedy  ;  I  shall  answer  it. 
What  will  you  do  ?  Now  my  necessity 
Makes  me  to  ask  you  for  my  purse  :  it  g.rieves  me 
Much  more,  for  what  I  cannot  do  for  you,, 
Than  what  betals  m.vself.    You  stand  amaa'd  ; 

5 


66 


TWELFTH  NIGHT, 


Act  IV 


But  be  of  comfort. 
2  Off.  Come,  sir,  away. 

Ant.  I  must  entreat  of  you  some  of  ti  at  money. 

Vio.  What  money,  sir  ? 
For  the  fair  kindness  you  have  show'd  me  here, 
And,  pjirt,  beins  prompted  by  your  present  trouble, 
O.,  t  of  my  lean  and  low  ability 
I'll  lend  yon  something  :  my  having  is  not  much  ; 
I'll  make  division  of  my  present  with  you  : 
Hold,  there  is  half  my  coffer. 

Ant.  Will  you  deny  me  now? 

Is't  [)ossible,  that  n)y  deserts  to  you 
Can  lack  persuasion  ?    Do  not  tempt  my  misery, 
Lest  that  it  make  me  so  unsound  a  man, 
As  to  upbraid  you  witli  those  kindnesses 
That  1  have  done  for  you. 

Yto.  I  know  of  none  ; 

Nor  know  I  you  by  voice,  or  any  feature ; 
I  hate  ingratitude  more  in  a  man, 
Tban  lying,  vainness,  babbling,  drunkenness. 
Or  any  taint  of  vice,  whose  strong  corruption 
inhabits  our  frail  blood. 

Ant.  O  heavens  themselves  ! 

2  Off.  Come,  sir,  1  pray  you,  go.  [see  here. 

Ant.  Let  me  speak  a  little.  This  youth,  that  you 
I  snatch 'd  one  half  out  of  the  jaws  of  death  ; 

Reliev'd  him  with  such  sanctity  of  love,  

And  to  his  image,  which,  metlionght,  did  promise 
Most  venerable  worth,  did  I  devotion.  [away. 

1  Off.  VVliat's  that  to  us?  The  time  goes  by; 

Ant.  But,  O,  how  \  ile  an  idol  proves  this  god  ! — 
Thou  hast,  Sebastian,  done  good  feature  shame. — 
In  nature  tliere's  no  blemish,  but  the  mind  ; 
None  can  be  call'd  deform'd,  but  the  unkind  : 
Virtue  is  beauty  ;  but  the  beauteous-evil 
Are  empty  tiunks,  o'erflourish'd  by  the  devil. 

I  Off.  The  man  grows  mad  ;  away  with  him. 
CoMie,  come,  sir. 

Ant.  Lead  me  on.  [Exeunt  Officers  tvith  Antonio, 

Vio.  Methinks,  his  words  do  from  such  passion 
That  ne  oeiieves  nnnself ;  so  do  not  I.  [fly, 
Prove  true,  imagination,  O,  prove  true, 
That  I,  dear  brother,  be  now  ta'en  for  you  ! 

Sir  To.  Come  hither,  knight;  come  hither,  Fa- 
bian :  we'll  whisper  o'ei  a  couplet  or  two  of  most 
sage  saws, 

Vio.  He  nam'd  Sebastian  ;  I  my  brother  know 
Yet  living  in  my  glass;  even  such  and  so. 
In  favour  was  my  brother;  and  he  went 
Still  in  this  fashion,  colom-,  ornament. 
For  him  I  imitate  :  O,  if  it  prove. 
Tempests  are  kind,  and  salt  waves  fresh  in  love  ! 

[Exit. 

Sir  To.  A  very  dishonest  paltry  boy,  and  more  a 
coward  than  a  hare  :  his  dishonesty  appears,  in 
leaving  his  friend  here  in  necessity,  and  denying 
him ;  and  for  his  cowardship,  ask  Fabian.       [in  it. 

Fab.  A  coward,  a  most  devout  coward,  religious 

Sir  And.  'Slid,  I'll  after  him  again,  and  beat  him. 

Sir  To.  Do,  cuif  him  soundly,  but  never  draw 
thy  sword. 

Sir  And.  An  I  do  not, —  [E.xit. 
Fab.  Come,  let's  see  the  event. 
Sir  To.  I  dare  lay  any  money,  'twill  be  nothing 
yet  [Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — The  Street  before  Olivia's  House. 
Enter  Sebastian  and  Clown. 

Clo  Will  you  make  me  believe,  that  I  am  not 
»€nt  for  you  ? 

Seb.  Go  to,  go  to,  tnou  art  a  foolish  fellow  ; 
Let  me  be  clear  of  thee. 

Clo.  Well  held  out,  i'faith  I  No,  I  do  not  know 
jrou ;  nor  I  am  not  sent  to  you  by  my  lady,  to  bid 
you  come  speak  with  her ;  nor  yout  name  is  not 
master  Cesario ;  nor  this  is  not  my  nose  neither. — 
Nothing,  that  is  so,  is  so. 

Seb.  1  pr'ythee,  vent  thy  folly  somewhere  else  * 
Thouknow'st  not  me 


Clo.  Vent  my  folly  !  he  has  heaid  that  word  o 
some  ^reat  man,  and  new  applies  it  to  a  fool.  Vent 
my  folly  !  I  am  afraid  this  great  lubber,  the  world, 
will  prove  a  cockney. — I  pr'ythee  now,  ungird  thy 
strangeness,  and  tell  me  what  I  shall  vent  to  my 
lady  :  shall  I  vent  to  her,  that  thou  art  coming  ? 

Seb.  I  pr'ythee,  foolish  Greek,  depart  from  me 
There's  money  for  thee  ;  if  you  tarry  longer, 
I  shall  give  worse  payment. 

Clo.  By  my  troth,  thou  hast  an  open  hand  :  — 
These  wise  men,  that  give  fools  money,  get  theia- 
selves  a  good  report  after  fourteen  years  purchase. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew,  Sir  Toby,  and  Fabian. 

Sir  And.  Now,  sir,  have  1  met  you  again  i  there's 
for  you.  {Striking  Sebastian.) 

Seb.  Why,  there's  for  thee,  and  there,  and  there: 
are  all  the  people  mad?     [B  ea  tiny  Sir  Andretv.) 

Sir  To.  Hold,  sir,  or  I'll  tiirow  your  dagger  o'er 
the  house. 

Clo.  This  will  I  tell  my  lady  straight:  I  would  not 
be  in  some  of  your  coats  for  two-pence,  [Exit.  Clo. 

Sir  To.  Come  on,  sir;  hold.  {Holding  Sebastian.) 

Sir  And.  Nay,  let  him  alone,  I'll  go  another  way 
to  work  with  him  ;  1  11  have  an  action  of  battery 
against  him,  if  there  be  any  law  in  illyria  :  though 
I  struck  him  first,  yet  ifs  no  matter  for  that. 

Seb.  Let  go  thy  hand. 

Sir  To.  Come  sir,  I  will  not  let  you  go.  Come 
my  young  soldier,  put  up  your  ir^n:  you  are  well 
fleshed  ;  come  on.  [thou  now  ? 

Seh.  I  will  be  free  from  thee.  What  wouldsi 
If  thou  dar'st  tempt  me  furtiier,  draw  thy  sword 

[Draics.) 

Sir  To.  What,  what?  Nay,  then  I  must  have  an 
ounce  or  two  of  this  malapert  blood  irom  you. 

Enter  Olivia.  {Draws.) 

OH.  Hold,  Toby  ;  on  thy  liie,  I  charge  thee,  h(»Id 
Sir  To.  Madam  ? 

OH.  Will  it  be  ever  thus?  Ungracious  wretcl , 
Fit  for  the  mountains,  and  the  barbarous  caves. 
Where  manners  ne'er  were  preach'd  !  out  of  my 

Be  not  offended,  dear  Cesario  I   [sight 

Rudesby,  be  gone  ! — I  pr'ythee,  gentle  friend, 

[Exeunt  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andreiv,  and  Fabian 
Let  thy  fair  wisdom,  not  thy  passion,  sway 
In  this  uncivil  and  unjust  extent 
Against  thy  peace.    Go  with  me  to  my  house , 
And  hear  thou  there  how  many  fruitless  pranks 
This  ruffian  hath  botch'd  u[),  (hat  thou  thereby 
May'st  smile  at  this:  thou  shait  not  choose  but  go 
Do  not  deny :  beshrew  his  soul  for  me. 
He  started  one  poor  heart  of  mine  in  thee, 

Seb.  W  liat  relish  is  in  this  ?  how  runs  the  stream  ? 
Or  1  am  mad,  or  else  this  is  a  dream  ; — 
Let  fancy  still  my  sense  in  Lethe  steep  ; 
If  it  be  thus  to  dream,  still  let  me  sleep. 

OH.  Nay,  come,  I  pr'ythee  :  "would  thou'dst  be 

Seb.  Madam,  I  will,  [rul'd  by  me  ! 

OH.  O,  say  so,  and  so  be  !  [Exeunt 

Scene  II,  A  Room  in  Olivia's  House. 
Enter  Maria  and  C/otvn. 
Mar.  Nay,  1  pr'ythee,  put  on  this  gown,  and  thi. 
beard ;  make  him  believe  thou  art  sir  Topas  the 
curate  ;  do  it  quickly  :  Til  call  sir  Toby  the  whilst 

[Exit  Maria 

Clo.  Well,  I'll  put  it  on,  and  I  will  dissemble 
myself  in't ;  and  I  would  I  were  the  first  that  ever 
dissembled  in  such  a  gown.  I  am  not  fat  cuoiigh 
to  become  the  function  well ;  nor  lean  enoiigii  te 
be  thought  a  good  student :  but  to  be  said,  an  ho- 
nest man,  and  a  good  housekeeper,  goes  as  fairly 
as  to  say,  a  careful  man.  and  a  great  scholar.  Tlw 
competitors  enter. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Marla 

Sir  To.  Jo-  e  bless  thee,  master  parson. 
Clo.  Bone    dies,  Sir  Toby ;  for  as  the  old 


Scene  3. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


of  Prague,  that  ne^■er  saw  pen  ^nd  ink,  very  wittily 
said  to  a  niece  of  king  Gorboduc,  That,  that  in,  is  : 
so  1,  being  master  parson,  am  master  parson  :  for 
what  is  that,  but  that?  and  is,  but  is  ? 

Sir  To.  To  him,  sir  Topas. 

CIo.  What,  hoa,  I  say, — Peace  in  this  prison  I 

Sir  To.  The  knave  counterfeits  well ;  a  good  knave. 

Mai.  [in  an  inner  chamber.)  Who  calls  there  ? 

Clc.  Su-  Topas,  the  curate,  who  comes  to  visit 
Malvoilo  the  lunatic.  [my  lady. 

Mai.  Sir  Topas,  sir  Topas,  good  Sir  Topas,  go  to 

Clo.  Out,  hyperbolical  fiend  !  how  vexest  thou 
this  man  V  talkest  thou  nothing  but  of  ladies  ? 

Sir  To.  Well  said,  master  parson. 

Mai.  Sir  Topas,  never  was  man  thus  wronged  : 
good  sir  Toi)as,  do  not  think  I  am  mad  ;  they  have 
laid  me  here  in  hideous  darkness. 

Clo.  Fye,  thou  dishonest  Sathan  !  I  call  thee  by 
the  most  modest  terms ;  for  I  am  one  of  those 
gentle  ones,  that  will  use  the  devil  himself  with 
courtesy  :  say'st  thou,  that  house  is  dark  ? 

Mai.  As  hell,  sir  Topas. 

Cl'j.  Wliy,  it  hath  bay-windows,  transparent  as 
barricadoes,  and  the  clear  stones  towards  thi" 
south-north  are  as  lustrous  as  ebony;  and  yet 
cumplainest  thou  of  obstruction  ? 

Mai.  1  am  not  mad,  sir  Topas ;  I  say  to  you, 
this  house  is  dark. 

Clo.  Madman,  thou  errest  :  I  say,  there  is  no 
darkness,  but  ignorance ;  in  which  thou  art  more 
puzzled,  than  the  Egyptians  in  their  fog. 

Mai.  I  say,  this  house  is  as  dark  as  ignorance, 
though  ignorance  were  as  dark  as  hell ;  and  I  say, 
there  was  nevcM'  man  thus  abused  :  I  am  no  more 
mad  than  you  are  ;  make  the  trial  of  it  in  any  con- 
stant question. 

Clo.  What  is  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras,  con- 
cerning wild  fowl  ?  [inhabit  a  bird. 

Mai.  That  the  soul  of  our  grandam  n:ii;ht  haply 

Clo.  What  thinkest  thou  of  his  opinion  ; 

Mai.  I  think  nobly  of  the  soul,  and  no  way  ap- 
p'ove  his  opinion. 

Clo.  Fare  tliee  well  :  remain  thou  still  in  dark- 
ness •  thou  shalt  hold  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras, 
ere  I  will  allow  of  thy  wits;  and  fear  to  kill  a 
woodcock,  lest  thou  dispossess  the  soul  of  thy 
grandam.    Fare  thee  well. 

Mai.  Sir  Topas,  sir  Topas  ! 

Sir  To.  My  most  exquisite  sir  Topas  . 

Clo.  Nay,  I  a:ii  for  all  waters. 

Mar.  Tliou  might'st  have  done  this  without  thy 
beard,  and  gown  ;  he  sees  thee  not. 

Sir  To.  'I'o  him  in  thine  own  voice,  and  bring 
Hie  word  how  thou  fiudesl  him  :  I  would  we  were 
well  rid  of  this  knavery.  If  he  may  be  convenient- 
ly delivered.  I  would  he  were ;  for  I  am  now  so 
far  in  offence  with  my  niece,  that  I  cannot  pursue 
with  any  safety  tiiis  sport  to  the  upshot.  Come  by 
and  hy  to  my  ciiamber.  [Exeunt  SirTohy  and  Maria. 

Clo.  Hey  Rubin,  jolly  Robin, 

'Veil  me  how  thy  lady  does.  {Singing.) 

Mai.  Fool — 

Clo.  My  lady  is  unkind,  perdy. 
Mai.  f  ool,— 

Clo.    Alas,  tvhy  is  she  so  ? 

Mai.  F(.oi,  1  say  ;— 

Clo.  She  loves  another — Who  calls,  ha  ? 

Mai.  (jootl  tool,  as  ever  thou  wilt  deserve  well 
at  my  hand,  help  me  to  a  candle,  and  pen,  ink,  and 
|ia{.M-  .  us  \  a:ii  a  gentleman,  I  aill  live  to  be  ttiank- 

f'U.  Master  Malvolio  !  [ful  to  thee  for't. 

Mai.  Ay,  good  fool. 

Clo.  Alas,  sir,  how  fell  you  besides  your  five  wits  ? 

Mai.  Fool,  there  was  uever  man  so  notoriously 
abused  •  I  am  as  well  in  my  wits,  fool,  as  thou  art. 

Clo.  But  as  well  ?  then  you  are  mad,  indeed,  if 
jou  be  no  better  in  your  wits  than  a  f  lol. 

Mai.  They  have  here  [iropertied  me;  keep  me 
in  darkness,  send  ministers  to  me,  asses,  and  clo 
all  tliey  ca  i  tu  *ace  me  out  of  my  wits.  ^ 


Clo.  Advise  yon  what  you  say;  th^  minister  is 
here. — Malvolioj  Malvolio,  thy  wits  the  heavens 
restore  I  endeavour  thyself  to  sleep,  and  leave  thw 

Mai.  Sir  Topas,   [vain  bibble  babble. 

Clo.  Maintain  no  words  with  him,  good  fellow. — 
Who,  I,  sir  ?  not  I,  sir.  God  b'wi'you,  good  sir 
Topas. — Marry,  amen. — I  will,  sir,  1  will 

Mai.  Fool,  fool,  fool,  I  say.— 

Clo.  Alas,  sir,  be  patient.  What  say  you,  sir  ?  I 
am  shent  for  speaking  to  you. 

Mai.  Good  fool,  help  me  to  some  light,  and 
some  paper;  I  tell  thee,  I  am  as  well  in  my  wits 
any  man  in  Illyria. 

Clo.  Well-a-day, — that  you  were,  sir  i 

Mai.  By  this  hand,  I  am :  good  fool,  some  ink. 
paper,  and  light,  and  convey  what  I  will  set  down 
to  my  lady  ;  it  shall  advantage  thee  more  than  ever 
the  bearing  of  letter  did. 

Clo.  I  will  help  youto't.  But  tell  me  true,  ail 
you  not  mad  indeed  ?  or  do  you  but  counterfeit  ? 

Mai.  Believe  me,  [  am  not;  I  tell  thee  true, 

Clo.  Nay,  I'll  ne'er  believe  a  madman,  till  I  see 
his  brains.  1  will  fetch  you  light,  and  paper,  and  ink. 

Fal.  Fool-  I'll  requite  it  in  the  highest  degree  : 
I  pr'ythee,  gone. 

Clo.  I  am  gone,  sir. 

And  anon,  sir., 
I'll  be  with  you  again. 
In  a  trice, 
Like  to  the  old  vice. 
Your  need  to  sustain; 

Who  with  dagger  of  lath^ 
In  his  rage  arid  his  ivrath, 

Cries  ah,  ha  !  to  the  devil: 
Like  a  mad  lad, 
Pare  thy  nails ,  dad, 

Adieu,  goodman  drivel.  '.ExiU 

Scene  UL— Olivias  Garden. 
Enter  Sebastian. 
Seb.  This  is  the  air ;   that  is  the  glorious  suk 
This  pearl  she  gave  me,  I  do  feel't,  and  see't  : 
And  though  'tis  wonder  that  enwraps  me  thus^ 
Yet  'tis  not  madness.    Where's  Antonio  then  ? 
I  could  not  find  him  at  the  Elephant : 
Vet  there  he  was;  and  there  1  found  this  credit, 
That  he  did  range  the  town  to  seek  me  out. 
His  counsel  now  might  do  me  golden  service  ; 
For  though  my  soul  disputes  well  with  my  sense. 
That  this  may  be  some  error,  but  no  madness. 
Yet  doth  this  accident  and  flood  of  fortune 
So  far  exceed  all  instance,  all  discourse. 
That  I  am  ready  to  distrust  mine  eyes. 
And  wrangle  with  my  reason,  that  persuades  me 
To  any  other  trust,  but  that  I  am  mad. 
Or  else  the  lady's  mad;  yet,  if 'twere  so,  [lowers, 
Slie  could  not  sway  her  house,  command  her  fol- 
Take,  and  give  back,  affairs,  and  their  despatch, 
With  such  a  smooth,  discreet,  and  stable  bearing. 
As.  I  perceive,  she  does :  there's  something  in 't. 
That  is  deceivable.    But  here  comes  the  ludy. 

Enter  Olivia  and  a  Priest. 

OH.  Blame  not  this  haste  of  mine:  if  you  mean 
Now  go  with  me.  and  with  this  holy  man,  ['veil. 
Into  the  chantry  by  :  there,  before  him, 
And  underneath  that  consecrated  root. 
Plight  me  the  full  assurance  of  your  tn  'h  • 
'i  hat  my  most  jealous  and  too  doubtful  soul 
May  live  at  peace  :  he  shall  conceal  it, 
Whdes  you  are  willing  it  shall  come  to  note  ; 
What  time  we  will  our  celebration  keep 
Arc-ording  to  my  birth. — What  do  you  say? 

Seb.  I  ll  fillow  this  good  nmn,  and  go  with  you  ; 
And,  having  sworn  truth,  ever  will  be  true. 

OH.  Then  lead  the  way,  good  father;  ^And 

heavens  so  shine, 
That  they  may  fairly  note  this  act  of  mine  !  [Exeunt 


68 


TWELFTH  NIGHT, 


Act  V. 


ACT  V. 

SoRNE  I. — The  Street  before  Olivia's  house. 
Enter  Clown  and  Fabian. 
Fah.  Now,  as  thou  lovest  me,  let  me  see  his  letter, 
CIo  Good  master  FaUan,  grant  uie  another  request. 
Fab.  Any  thing. 

(Jlo.  Do  nv»t  desire  to  see  this  letter. 
Fab.  That  is,  to  give  a  dog,  and,  in  recompense, 
itfS'.re  my  dog  again. 

Enter  Duke,  Viola,  and  Attendants. 
Duke.  Belong  you  to  the  lady  Olivia,  friends? 
Clo.  Ay,  sir;  we  are  sonie  oi  lier  trappings. 
l)u!ce.  i  know  thee  well  :  liow  dost  thou,  my 
good  t'ell(AV  y  [worse  lor  my  friends. 

Ciu.  Truly,  sir,  the  better  fur  my  toes,  and  tlie 
Duke.  J  list  tiie  contrary ;  the  better  for  tliy  iVieuds. 
Clo.   No,  sir,  the  worse. 
Duke.  How  ran  that  be  ? 

Via.  Man  y,  sir,  they  praise  nie,  and  make  an  ass 
of  me;  now,  my  foes  tell  me  plainly  l  anianass: 
si>  that  by  my  foes,  sir,  1  proht  m  the  knowledge  ol 
luysell;  and  by  niy  I'riends  1  am  abused  :  so  that, 
csjiiclusioris  to  be  as  kisses,  if  your  f-nr  negatives 
make  your  two  alKrmatives,  why,  tiien  tiie  worse 
for  my  friends,  and  the  better  for  my  loes. 

Duke.  Why,  this  is  excellent. 

do.  liy  my  troth,  sir,  no;  though  it  please  you 
to  be  one  of  u»y  friends.  [tliere's  gold. 

Duke.  'I'hou   shalt  not  be  the  worse  for  ine ; 

Clo.  But  that  it  wo(dd  be  double-dealing,  sir,  1 
would  you  could  make  it  another. 

Duke..  O,  you  give  me  ill  counsel. 

Clo.  Put  your  grace  in  your  pocket,  sir,  for  this 
once,  and  let  your  liesh  and  blood  obey  it. 

Duke.  Well,  I  will  be  so  much  a  sinner  to  be  a 
d  )uble  dealer;  there's  another. 

Clo.  Primo,  secundo,  tertio,  is  a  good  play  j  and 
tliL'  old  sayaig  is,  the  tliird  pays  for  all  :  tlie  triplex, 
sii,  is  a  good  tripping  measure;  or  the  bells  ot  i'St. 
Bt  noet,  sir,  may  put  you  in  mind;  One,  two,  three. 

Duke.  You  can  fuol  no  more  money  out  of  me 
at  this  throw  :  if  you  will  let  your  lady  know,  I  nm 
here  to  speak  with  her,  and  bring  her  along  with 
you,  it  may  awake  my  bounty  iurtner. 

Clo.  Marry,  sir,  lullaby  to  your  bounty,  fill  I 
couie  again.  1  go,  sir;  but  I  would  not  iiave  you 
to  think,  tiiat  my  desire  of  ha\iug  is  the  sin  of 
covetousuess  :  but,  as  you  say,  sir,  let  your  bounty 
take  a  nap,  I  will  awake  it  anon.         [Exit  Clown. 

Enter  Antonio  and  Officers. 
Vio.  Here  comes  the  man,  sir,  that  did  rescue  me. 
Duke.  Tiiat  face  ol'his  1  do  remember  well; 
Yet,  when  1  saw  it  last,  it  was  besmear'd 
As  black  as  Vulcan,  in  ihe  smoke  of  war : 
A  bawbliu^L;  vessel  was  he  captain  of, 
For  shaiiow  draught,  and  bulk,  unprizable  ; 
Witt)  which  such  scathful  grapple  did  he  make 
With  tile  uiDst  nobie  bottom  ot  our  fleet, 
Tiiid  very  envy,  and  the  tongue  of  loss, 
Cry'd  i'auie  and  honour  on  him. — What's  the  matter? 

i  OJ'.  Orsino,  this  is  that  Antonjo, 
TivAi  took  the  Phoenix,  and  her  fraught,  from  Candy  ; 
And  this  h  lie,  that  did  the  'J'iger  board. 
When  your  young  nephew  Titus  lost  his  leg  : 
th're  in  the  streets,  desperate  of  shame,  and  state, 
In  private  brabble  did  we  apprehend  him. 
^    Vio.  rie  did  me  kindness,  sir;  drew  on  my  side  ; 
But,  in  conclusion,  put  strange  speech  upon  me, 

I  kiJMW  not  vviiat  'twas,  but  distraction. 

Duke.  Notable  pirate  !  thou  salt-water  thief ! 
VVlidt  ioolisti  boldness  brought  thee  to  their  mercies, 
VVhoui  thou,  in  terms  so  bloody,  and  so  dear, 

II  st  made  thine  enemies? 

Ant.  Orsino,  noble  sir. 

Be  plt  as'd  that  I  shake  off  these  names  you  give  me  ; 
Aiitonio  never  yet  was  thief,  or  pirate. 
Though,  i  confess,  on  base  and  ground  enough,  I 


Orsino  s  enemy.    A  witchcraft  drew  loe  hither; 
That  most  ungrateful  boy  there,  by  your  side. 
From  the  rude  sea's  enrag'd  and  loamy  RiOuth 
Did  I  redeem ;  a  wreck  past  hope  he  was ; 
His  life  1  gave  him,  and  did  thereto  add 
My  love,  without  retention,  or  restraint, 
All  his  in  dedication  :  for  his  sake. 
Did  I  expqse  myself,  pure  for  his  love. 
Into  the  danger  of  this  adverse  town; 
Drew  to  delend  him,  when  he  was  beset; 
VVhere  being  appreliended,  his  false  cunniaji 
(Not  meaning  to  partake  with  me  in  danger^ 
Taught  him  to  face  me  out  of  his  acquainti.nc«., 
And  grew  a  twenty-years-removed  thing, 
While  one  would  wink ;  denied  me  mine  own  pa»M 
Which  I  had  recommended  to  his  use 
Not  half  an  hour  before. 

yio.  How  can  this  be  ? 

Duke.  When  came  he  to  this  town  ?  [foie^ 
Ant.  To-day,  my  lord;  and  for  three  months  be. 
(No  interim,  not  a  minute's  vacancy,) 
Both  day  and  night  did  we  keep  company. 

Enter  Olivia  and  Attendants. 

Duke.   Here  comes  the  countess;  now  heavtn 

walks  on  earth.  

But  for  thee,  iellow,  fellow,  thy  words  are  madneaa: 
Three  months  this  youth  hath  tended  upon  me; 
But  more  of  that  anon.  Take  him  aside. 

on.  What  would  njy  lord,  but  that  he  may  not 
Wherein  Olivia  may  seem  serviceable? —  [have, 
Cesario,  you  do  not  keep  promise  with  me. 

Vio.  Madam  ! 

Duke.  Gracious  Olivia,   [lord,-— 

Oli.  What  do  you  say,  Cesario? — Good  my 
Vio.  My  lord  would  speak,  my  duty  hushes  owt 
Oli.  If  it  be  aught  to  the  old  tune,  my  lord. 

It  is  as  fat  and  lulsome  to  mine  ear 

As  hov\ling  after  music. 
Duke.  Still  so  cruel  ? 

Oli.  Still  so  constant,  lord. 

Duke.  What!  to  perveiseness?  you  uncivillady 
To  whose  ingrate  and  unauspicious  altars 
My  soul  the  laithfuU'st  offerings  hath  breath'd  out, 
'I'liat  e'er  devotion  tender'd  i  What  shall  I  do  ? 

Oli.   Even  what  it  please  my  lord,  thi».t  shall 
become  him. 

Duke   Why  should  I  not,  had  I  the  heart  to  do  it. 
Like  to  the  Egyptian  thief,  at  point  of  death, 
Kill  what  I  love;  a  savage  jealousy. 
That  sometimes  savours  nobly  ? — But  hear  me  this  . 
Since  you  to  non-regardance  cast  my  faith. 
And  that  J  partly  know  the  instrument 
That  screws  me  from  my  true  place  in  your  favour^ 
Live  you,  the  marble-breasted  tyrant,  s  ill; 
But  this  your  minion,  whom,  1  know,  you  love. 
And  whom,  by  heaven  I  swear,  I  tender  dearly 
Him  will  I  tear  out  of  that  cruel  eye. 
Where  he  sits  crowned  in  his  master's  spite. — 
Come,  boy,  with  me ;  my  thoughts  are  ripe  in  mis 
Pll  sacrifice  the  lamb  that  I  do  love,  [cliief 
To  spite  a  raven's  heart  within  a  dove.  {Going. 

Vio.  And  I,  most  jocund,  apt,  and  willingly. 
To  do  you  rest,  a  thousand  deaths  vvould  die. 

{Following. 

OH.  Where  goes  Cesario  ? 

Vio.  After  him  I  lo^  f 

More  than  I  love  these  eyes,  more  than  my  liie 
More,  by  all  mores,  than  e'er  I  shall  love  wile  • 
It  I  do  leign,  you  witnesses  above. 
Punish  my  life,  for  tainting  of  my  love  ! 

Oli.  Ah  me,  detested!  how  am  I  beguil'd  ! 

Vio.  Who  does  beguile  you  ?  who  does  *lo  ycu 
wrong? 

Oli.  Hast  thou  forgot  thyself?  Is  it  so  long? — 
Call  Ibrth  the  holy  father.       [Exit  an  Attendant 
Duke.  Come  away.  {To  Viola. 

Oli.  Whither,  ny  lord?  Cesario,  husband,  stay 
Duke.  Husbanc"  ? 

Oli.  Ay,  husband  ;  cai>  he  that  deny 


Scene  1.  OR,  WHAT 

Duke.  Her  hv.sband,  sirrah  ? 

Vio.  No,  my  lord,  not  I. 

OIL  Alas,  it  is  the  baseness  of  thy  fear, 
That  makes  thee  strangle  thy  propriety : 
Fear  not,  Cesario,  take  thy  fortunes  up ; 
Be  that  thou  know'st  thou  art,  and  then  thou  art 
As  great  as  that  thou  fear'st. — O,  welcome,  father! 

Re-enter  Attendant  and  Priest. 
Father,  1  charge  thee,  by  thy  reverence. 
Here  to  unfold  (though  lately  we  intended 
To  keep  in  darkness,  what  occasion  now 
Reveals  belbre  'tis  ripe.)  what  thoti  dost  know, 
Hath  newly  past  between  this  youth  and  me. 

Priest.  A  contract  of  eternal  bond  of  love, 
ConHrrn'd  by  mutual  joinder  of  your  hands. 
Attested  by  the  holy  close  of  lips, 
Strengthened  by  interchangement  of  your  rings  ; 
And  all  the  ceremony  of  this  compact 
Seal'd  in  my  function,  by  my  testimony: 
Since  when,  my  watch  hatli  told  me,  toward  my 
f  have  travelled  but  two  hours.  [grave 

Duke.  O,  thou  dissembling  cub !  what  wilt  thou  be, 
When  time  hath  sovv'd  a  grizzle  on  thy  case? 
Or  will  not  else  thy  craft  so  quickly  grow, 
That  thine  own  trip  shall  be  thine  ovt-rthrow? 
Farewell,  and  take  her;  but  direct  thy  leet. 
Where  thou  and  I  henceforth  may  never  nieet 

Vio.  My  lord,  I  do  protest, — 

Oli.  O,  do  not  swear ; 

Hold  little  faith,  though  thou  hast  too  much  fear. 
Enter  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek,  with  his  head 
broke. 

Sir  And.  Fur  the  love  of  God,  a  surgeon ;  send 
one  presently  to  sir  Toby. 
OIL  What's  the  matter? 

Sir  And.  He  lias  broke  my  head  across,  and  has 
given  sir  Toby  a  bloody  coxcouib  too  :  for  the  love  of 
God.  your  help  :  1  had  rather  than  forty  pound  I 
were  at  home. 

OH.  Who  has  done  this,  sir  Andrew? 

Sir  And.  The  count's  gentleman,  one  Cesario  : 
we  took  him  for  a  coward,  but  he's  the  very  devil 

Duke.  My  gentleman,  Cesario!  [incardinate. 

Sir  And.  Od's  lifelings,  here  he  is  : — You  broke 
my  head  lor  notl;ing  ;  and  that  that  I  did,  I  was  set 
on  to  do't  by  sir  Toby. 

Vio.  VVliy  do  you  speak  to  me  ?  I  never  hurt  you  : 
You  Jrevv  your  sword  upon  me,  without  cause  ; 
But  i  bespake  you  fair,  and  hurt  you  not. 

Sir  And.  If  a  bloody  coxcomb  be  a  hurt,  you 
have  hurt  me  ;  I  think,  you  set  nothing  by  a  bloody 
coxcomb. 

Enter  Sir  ToBY  Belch,  drunk,  led  by  the  Cloivn. 
Here  conies  Sir  Toby  halting,  you  shall  hear  more  : 
but  if  he  had  not  been  in  drink,  he  would  have  tickled 
you  othergates  than  he  did. 

Duke.  How  now,  gentleman?  how  is't  with  you ? 

Sir  To.  That  s  all  one  ;  he  has  hurt  me,  and  there's 
the  end  on't. — Sot,  did'st  see  Dick  surgeon,  sot? 

Clo.  O,  he's  drunk,  sir  Toby,  an  hour  agone  ;  his 
eyes  were  set  at  eight  i'  the  morning. 

Sir  To.  Then  he's  a  rogue.  After  a  passy- measure, 
or  a  pavin,  I  hate  a  drunken  rogue. 

on.  Away  with  him  ;  who  hath  made  this  havock 
with  tliem?  [be  dressed  together. 

Sir  And.  I'll  help  you,  sir  Toby,  because  we'll 

Sir  To.  Will  you  help  an  ass-head,  and  a  cox 
i:i>'iib,  and  a  knave?  a  tnin-faced  knave,  a  gull? 

on.  Get  hirii  to  bed,  and  let  his  hurt  be  look'd  to. 
[Exeunt  Clown,  Sir  Toby,  and  Sir  Andre  it. 

Enter  S!:pastian. 
Seb.  I  am  soiiy,  madam,  I  have  hurt  your  kinsman  ; 
But,  had  it  been  the  brother  of  my  blood, 
t  must  have  done  do  less,  with  wit,  and  safety. 
You  throw  a  strange  regard  upon  me,  and 
By  that  I  do  perceive  it  hath  oifended  you ; 
Pardon  me,  sweet  one,  even  lor  the  vows 
We  made  eacli  otuer  but  sli  late  a^^o. 


YOU  WILL.  69 

Duke.  One  face,  one  voice,  one  habit,  and  two 

A  natural  perspective,  that  is,  and  is  not.  [persous, 

Seb.  Antonio,  O  my  dear  Antonio  ! 
How  have  the  hours  rack'd  aad  tortur'd  me. 
Since  I  have  lost  thee. 

A7it.  Sebastian  are  you? 

Seb.  Fear'st  thou  that,  Antonio? 

Ant.  How  have  you  made  division  of  yourself  ?-• 
An  apple,  cleft  in  two,  is  not  more  twin 
Than  these  two  preatures.    Which  is  Sebastian  ? 

Oli.  Most  wonderful ! 

Seb.  Do  I  stand  there?    I  never  had  a  brother 
Nor  can  there  be  that  deity  in  my  nature. 
Of  here  and  every  where.    I  had  a  sister, 
Whom  the  blind  waves  and  surges  have  devour'd 
Of  charity,  what  kin  are  you  to  me  ?     {To  Viola.) 
What  countryman?  what  name  ?  what  parentage? 

Vio.  Of  Messaline  :  Sebastian  was  my  father; 
Such  a  Sebastian  was  my  brother  too. 
So  went  he  suited  to  his  watery  tomb  : 
If  spirits  can  assume  both  form  and  suit. 
You  come  to  fright  us. 

Seb.  A  spirit  1  am,  indeed  j 

But  am  in  that  dimension  grossly  clad, 
Which  from  the  womb  I  did  participate. 
Were  you  a  woman,  as  the  rest  goes  even, 
I  should  my  tears  let  fall  upon  your  cheek. 
And  say — Thrice  welcome,  drowned  Viola! 

Vio.  My  father  had  a  mole  upon  his  brow. 

Seb.  And  so  had  mine. 

Vio.  And  died  that  day,  when  Viola  from  her  birih 
Had  nuniber'd  thirteen  years. 

Seb.  O,  that  record  is  lively  in  my  soul ! 
He  finished,  indeed,  his  mortal  act. 
That  day  that  made  my  sister  thirteen  years. 

Vio.  if  nothing  lets  to  make  us  Jiapjiy  b'^th 
But  this  my  masculine  usurp'd  attire, 
Do  not  embrace  me,  till  each  circumstaBce 
Of  place,  time,  fortune,  do  cohere,  and  jump; 
That  I  am  Viola  :  which  to  confirm, 
I'll  bring  you  to  a  captain  in  this  town. 
Where  lie  my  mai(Ien  weeds  ;  by  whose  gentle  help 
I  was  preserv'd,  to  serve  this  noble  count : 
All  the  occurrence  of  my  fortune  since 
Hath  been  between  this  lady,  and  this  lord. 

Seb.  So  comes  it,  lady,  you  have  been  mistook : 
But  nature  to  her  bias  drew  in  that.     {To  Olivia.) 
You  wou'd  have  been  contracted  to  a  maid; 
Nor  are  you  therein,  by  my  life,  deceiv'd. 
You  are  betroth'd  both  to  a  maid  and  man. 

Duke.  Be  not  amaz'd  ;  right  noble  is  his  blood. — 
If  this  be  so,  as  yet  the  glass  seems  true, 
I  shall  have  share  in  this  most  happy  wreck  : 
Boy,  thou  hast  said  tome  a  thousand  times,  {To  Vio) 
Thou  never  should'st  love  woman  like  to  me. 

Vio.  And  all  those  sayings  will  I  over-swear; 
And  all  those  swearings  keep  as  true  in  soul, 
As  doth  that  orbed  continent  the  fire 
Ti.at  severs  day  from  night. 

Duke.  Give  me  thy  hand  ; 

And  let  me  see  thee  in  thy  woman's  weeds. 

Vio.  The  captain,  that  did  bring  rne  first  on  shore, 
Hath  my  maid's  garments  :  he,  upon  some  action. 
Is  now  in  durance  ;  at  Mal  volio's  suit, 
A  genllemaii,  and  I'oilower  of  my  lady's. 

on.  He  shall  enlarge  him  :  fetch  MalvoUo  hither:— 
And  yet,  alas,  now  I  remember  me, 
Tiiey  say,  poor  gentleman,  he's  much  distract. 

Re-enter  Cljwn,  with  a  letter. 

A  most  extracting  frenzy  of  mine  own 

From  my  remembran'-e  clearly  banish'd  his.  — 

How  does  he,  sirraii  ? 

C/t).  Truly,  madam,  he  h)lds  Belzebub  at  the 
stave's  end,  as  well  as  a  man  in  his  case  may  do: 
he  has  here  writ  a  letter  to  you,  1  should  have  given 
it  you  tC'^day  morning;  Imt  as  a  luaduiati's  epistles 
are  iin     Sj.els,  so  it  skills  not  much,  wb.en  they  are 

OIL  O^.eu  ic,  and  lea  l  iL  [.delivered. 


TWELFTH  NIGHT,  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


Act  V. 


tjio.  iiook  then  to  be  well  edified,  when  the  fool 
delivers  the  madman  : — By  the  Lord,  madam, — 

Oil.  How  now  !  art  thou  mad  ? 

Clo.  No  madam,  I  do  but  read  madness  :  an  yonr 
ladyship  will  have  it  as  it  otight  to  be,  yon  mnst 

On.  Pr"yt'*ee,  read  i' thy  right  wits.     [allow  rox. 

Clo.  80  \  do,  madonna;  but  to  read  his  right  wits, 
.s  to  read  thus  :  therefore  perpend,  my  princess,  and 
give  ear. 

Oli.  Head  it  yon,  sirrah.  [To  Fabian.) 

Fab.  (reads.)  By  the  Lord,  madam,  you  ivrong 
me,  and  the  world  shall  knotv  it :  though  you  /tave 
put  me  into  darkness,  and  given  yonr  drunlcen 
cousin  ride  over  me,  yet  have  I  the  benefit  of  my 
senses  as  luell  as  your  ladyship.  I  have  your  own 
letter  that  indiiced  me  to  the  semblance  I  put  on; 
with  the  ivhich  I  doubt  not  but  to  do  myself  much 
right  or  you  much  shame.  Thinh  of  me  as  you 
please.  I  leave  my  duty  a  little  unthought  of,  and 
speak  out  of  my  injury. 

The  madly-used  Malvolio. 

on.  Did  he  write  this  ? 
Clo.  Ay,  madaTn. 

DuTcB.  This  savours  not  much  of  distraction. 
Oli.  See  him  delivered,  Fabian  ;  bring  him  hither. 

['Exit  Fabian. 

My  lord,  so  please  yon,  these  things  further  thought 
To  think  me  as  well  a  sister  as  a  wife.  [on. 
One  day  shall  crown  the  alliance  on't,  so  please  you. 
Here  at  my  house,  and  at  my  proper  cost. 
Duke.  Madam,  I  am  most  apt  to  embrace  your 
offer. — 

Your  master  quits  you;  {To  Viola.)  and,  for  your 

service  done  him. 
So  much  against  the  mettle  of  your  sex, 
So  lar  btneath  yoiir  soft  and  tender  breeding, 
And  since  you  call'd  me  master  for  so  long. 
Hero  is  my  hand ;  you  shall  from  this  time  be 
Your  master's  mistress. 

Oli.  A  sister  ? — you  are  she. 

Re-enter  Fabian,  tvith  Malvolio. 

Duke.  Is  this  the  madnian  ? 

Oli.  Ay,  ray  lord,  the  same  : 

How  now,  Malvolio? 

Mai.  Madam,  you  have  done  me  wrong. 

Notorious  wrong. 

Oli.  Have  I,  Malvolio?  no. 

Mai.  Lady,you  have.  Pray  you,  peruse  that  letter : 
You  must  not  now  deny  it  is  your  hand. 
Write  from  it,  if  you  can,  in  hand,  or  phrase; 
Oi  say,  'tis  not  your  seal,  nor  your  invention: 
You  can  say  none  of  this  :  well,  grant  it  then. 
And  tell  me,  in  the  modesty  of  honour, 
Why  you  have  given  me  such  clear  lights  of  favour; 
Bade  me  come  smiling,  and  cross-garter'd  to  you. 
To  put  on  yellow  stockings,  and  to  frown 
Upon  sir  Toby,  and  the  lighter  people  : 
And,  acting  this  in  an  obedient  hope, 
Why  have  you  suif">''d  me  to  be  imprison'd^ 
Kept  in  a  dark  hous-?,  visited  by  the  priest. 
And  made  the  most  notorious  geek,  and  gull. 
That  e'er  invention  play'd  on?  tell  nwe  why. 

Oli.  Alas,  Malvolio,  this  is  not  my  writing, 
Thoiig,h,  1  confe®!,  much  like  the  character: 
B'lt,  out  of  noes'  on,  'tis  Maria's  hand. 
And  fiow  1  do  b*  think  me.  it  was  she 


First  told  me,  thou  wast  mad ;  then  ram  st  in  smiling, 
And  in  such  forms  which  here  were  presuppos'd 
l^pon  thee  in  the  letter.    Pry  thee,  be  content: 
This  practice  hath  most  shrewdly  pass'd  upon  thee", 
But,  when  we  know  the  grounds  and  authors  ot  it. 
Tho«  shalt  be  both  the  plaintiff  and  the  judge 
Of  thine  own  cause. 

Fab.  Good  madam,  hear  me  speak; 

And  let  no  quarrel,  nor  no  brawl  to  come. 
Taint  the  condition  of  this  present  hour. 
Which  I  have  wonder'd  at.    In  hope  it  shall  tfot, 
Most  freely  I  confess,  myself,  and  Toby, 
Set  this  device  against  Malvolio  here, 
Upon  some  stubborn  and  uncourteous  parts 
VVe  had  conceiv'd  against  him»:  Maria  writ 
The  letter,  at  sir  Toby's  great  importance; 
In  recompense  whereof,  he  hath  married  her. 
How  with  a  sportful  malice  it  was  follow'd. 
May  rather  pluck  on  laughter  than  revenge  ; 
If  that  the  injuries  be  justly  weigh'd, 
That  have  on  both  sides  past. 

Oli.  Alas,  poor  fool!  how  have  they  bafBed  thee! 

Clo.  Why,  some  are  born  great,  some  achieve 
greatness,  and  some  have  greatness  thrown  upon, 
them.  I  was  one,  sir,  in  this  interlude;  one  sir 
Topas,  sir;  but  that's  all  one  : — By  the  Lord,  fool., 
I  am  not  mad; — But  do  you  remember?  Madam, 
tvhy  laugh  you  at  such  a  barren  rascal?  an  you 
smile  not,  he's  gaggd  :  and  thus  the  whirligig  of 
time  brings  in  his  revenges. 

Mai.  I'll  be  revenged  on  the  whole  pack  of  you- 

[Exit 

OH.  He  hath  been  most  notononsly  abus'd. 

Duke.  Pursue  him,  and  entreat  him  to  a  peace  :— 
He  hath  not  told  us  of  the  captain  yet; 
When  that  is  known,  and  golden  time  convents, 
A  solemn  combination  shall  be  made 
Of  our  dear  souls. — Meantime,  sweet  sister. 
We  will  not  part  from  hence. — Cesario,  come  ; 
For  so  you  shall  be,  while  you  are  a  man  ; 
But,  when  in  other  habits  you  are  seen, 
Orsino's  mistress,  and  his  fancy's  queen.    { ExeunU 

SONG. 

Clo.  When  that  I  was  and  a  little  tiny  boy. 

With  hey,  ho,  the  ivind  and  the  ram, 
A  foolish  thing  was  but  a  toy. 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  ivhen  I  came  to  mans  estate, 

With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  ram, 

'Gainst  knave  and  thief  men  shut  their  gait 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  ivhen  I  came,  alas!  to  wive. 

With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain. 

By  swaggering  could  I  never  thrive. 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  when  I  came  unto  my  bed. 

With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain. 

With  toss-pots  still  had  drunken  head. 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

A  great  while  ago  the  ivorld  begun, 
With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 

But  thafs  all  one,  our  play  is  done. 
And  ivell  strive  to  please  you  every  d(tg 

[Exit. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE 


The  novel  of  Giraldi  Cirithio,  from  wliich  Shakspeare  is  supposed  to  have  borrowed  this  fable,  may  be  rei,i  la 
Shakspeare  Jlliistrated,  elegantly  Iranslaled.  with  remarks  which  will  assist  the  inquirer  to  discover  how  luueb 
iiOsufditv  Shakspeare  lias  admitted  or  avoided. 

1  cannot  but  suspect  that  some  other  had  new-modelled  the  novel  of  Cinfhio,  or  written  a  story  which  iu  seme 
particulars  resembled  it,  and  that  Cinthio  was  not  the  author  whom  Shakspeare  immediately  followed.  The  empei'or 
in  Cinthio  is  named  Maximine  :  the  duke,  in  Shakspearc's  enumeration  of  the  persons  of  the  drama,  is  called  Vin- 
centio.  This  appears  a  very  slight  remark;  but  since  the  duke  has  no  name  in  the  play,  nor  is  ever  mentioned  hut  by 
his  title,  why  should  he  be  called  Vincentio  among  the  persons,  but  because  the  name  was  copied  from  the  story, 
and  placed  superlluousiy  at  the  head  of  the  list,  by  the  mere  habit  of  transcription?  It  is  iherefore  likely  that  there 
was  then  a  story  of  Vincentio  duke  of  Vienna,  dift'erent  frotn  that  of  Maximine  emperor  of  the  Romans. 

Of  this  play,  the  light  or  comic  part  is  very  natural  and  pleasing,  but  the  grave  Scenes,  if  a  few  passages  he 
excepted,  havo  more  labour  than  elegance.  The  plot  is  rather  intricate  than  artful.  The  time  of  the  action  is  inde- 
finite:  some  time,  we  know  not  hnw  much,  must  have  elapsed  between  the  recess  of  the  duke  and  the  imprisonment 
of  Clodio;  for  he  must  have  learned  the  story  of  Mariana  in  his  disguise,  or  he  delegated  his  power  'i  man  alreadr 
known  to  be  corrupted.   The  unities  of  action  and  place  are  sufliciently  preserved.  lo.hnsoy 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


VINCENTIO,  Duke  of  Vienna. 

ANGELO,  Lord  Deputy  in  the  Duke's  absentee. 

ESCALUS,  an  ancient  Lord,  joined  vnth  Angela  in  the 

depututio7t. 
CLAUDIO,  a  younq  Gentleman. 
liUCIO,  a  Fdntasiie. 
Two  other  like  Gentlemen. 

VARRIUS,  a  Gentleman,  Servant  to  the  Duke. 
Provost. 

THOMAS,— PETER,— iiwo  Friars. 
A  Jitstice. 

ELBOW,  a  sitnple  Constable. 


FROTH,  a  foolish  Gentleman. 
Clvicn.  Servant  to  Mrs.  Over-done. 
ABHORSON.  an  Executioner. 
BARNARD INE,  a  dissolute  Prisoner, 
ISABELLA,  Sister  to  Claudia. 
MARIANA,  betrothed  to  Angela. 
JULIET,  beloved  by  Claudia. 
FRANCISCA,  a  Nun. 
Mistress  OVER  DONE,  a  Bawd. 
Lords,  Gentlemen,  Guards,  Officers  and  otker 
Attendants. 


Scene, — Vienna. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — An  Apartment  in  the  Duke's  Palace. 
Enter  Duke,  Escalus,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 
Duke.  Escalii.s, — 
Escal.  My  lord. 

Duke.  Oi"  government  the  properties  to  unfold. 
Would  seem  in  me  to  att'ect  speech  and  discourse; 
Since  I  am  put  to  know,  liiat  your  own  science 
Exceeds,  in  that,  the  lists  of  all  advice 
My  strength  can  give  you  :  then  no  more  remains 
But  that  to  your  sufficiency,  as  your  worth  is  able, 
And  let  them  work.    The  nature  of  our  people, 
Our  city's  institutions,  and  the  terms 
For  common  justice,  you  are  as  pregnant  in, 
As  art  and  practice  hath  enriched  any 
That  we  remember:  there  is  our  commission. 
From  which  we  would  not  have  you  warp. — Call 
I  say,  bid  come  before  us  Angelo. —  [hither, 
[Exit  an  Attendant. 
What  figure  of  us,  think  you,  he  will  bear  ? 
For  you  must  know,  we  have  with  special  soul 
Elected  him  our  absence  to  supply; 
Lent  him  our  terror,  dresi  him  with  our  love ; 
And  given  his  deputation  all  the  organs 
Of  our  own  power:  what  think  you  of  it? 

Escal.  If  any  in  Vienna  be  of  worth 
To  undergo  such  ample  grace  and  hour, 
It  is  lord  Angelo. 

Enter  Ani'.elo. 

Duke.  Look,  where  he  comes. 

Ang.  Always  obedient  to  your  grace's  \y\\\, 
I  come  to  know  your  pleasure. 

Duke.  Angelo, 
There  is  a  kind  of  character  in  thy  life. 
That,  to  the  observer,  doth  thy  history 
Fully  unfold:  thyself  and  thy  belongings 
Are  not  thine  own  so  proper,  as  to  waste 
Thyself  upon  thy  virtues,  them  on  thee. 
Heaven  doth  with  us,  as  we  with  torches  do ; 
Not  light  them  for  themselves:  for  if  our  virtues 
Did  not  go  forth  of  us, 'twere  all  alike 
As  if  we  had  them  not.  Spirits  are  not  finely  touch'd, 
But  to  fine  issues:  nor  nature  never  lends 
The  smallest  scruple  of  her  excellence 


But,  like  a  thrifty  goddess,  she  determines 

Herself  the  glory  of  a  creditor. 

Both  thanks  and  use.    But  I  do  bend  my  speech 

To  one,  that  can  my  part  in  hin)  advertise ; 

Hold  therefore,  Angelo ; 

In  our  remove,  be  thou  at  full  ourself: 

Mortality  and  mercy  in  Vienna 

Live  in  thy  tongue  and  heart:  Okl  Escalus, 

Thjiigh  first  in  question,  is  thy  sec(mdary: 

Take  thy  commission. 

Ang.  Now,  good  my  lord. 

Let  there  be  some  more  test  made  of  my  metaJ, 
Before  so  noble  and  so  great  a  figure 
Be  stamp'd  upon  it. 

Duke.  No  more  evasion  : 

We  have,  with  a  leaven'd  and  prepared  choice, 
Proceeded  to  you ;  therefore  take  your  lionours. 
Our  haste  from  hence  is  of  so  quick  condition. 
That  it  prefers  itself,  and  leaves  unquestion'd 
Matters  of  needful  value.    We  shall  write  to  yott. 
As  time  and  our  concernings  shall  importune. 
How  it  goes  with  us  ;  and  do  look  to  know 
What  doth  befall  you  here.    So,  fare  you  we } : 
To  the  hopeful  execution  do  I  leave  you 
Of  your  comnussions. 

Ang.  Yet,  give  leave,  my  lord. 

That  we  may  bring  you  something  on  the  way. 

Duke.  My  haste  may  not  admit  it; 
Nor  need  you,  on  mine  honour,  have  to  do 
With  any  scruple :  your  scope  is  as  mine  own ; 
So  to  enforce,  or  qualify  the  laws, 
As  to  your  soul  seems  good.    Give  me  your  hand; 
rU  privily  away  :  I  love  the  people. 
But  do  not  like  to  stage  me  to  their  eyes : 
Though  it  do  well,  I  do  not  relish  well 
Their  loud  applause,  and  aves  vehement : 
Nor  do  I  think  the  man  of  safe  discretion. 
That  does  aft'ect  it.    Once  more,  fare  vou  well. 

Ang.  The  heavens  give  safety  to  yon  purposes.^ 

Ewcal.  Lead  forth,  and  bring  you  baclc  in  happi> 
ness. 

Duke.  I  thank  you :  fare  you  well.  [Extl 
Escal.  I  shall  desire  yon,  sir,  to  give  nie  leave 
To  have  free  speech  with  you ;  and  it  ccuccrns  me 
To  look  into  the  bottom  of  mj  place  : 
A  power  I  have  ;  but  of  what  strength  and  nature 


72 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  I. 


1  am  not  yet.  instructed. 

Ang.  "f is  so  with  me : — Let  us  withdraw  toge- 
And  we  may  soon  our  satisfaction  have  [ther, 
Touching  that  point. 

Escal.  I'll  wait  upon  your  honour.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — A  Street. 

Enter  Lucio  and  two  Gentlemen. 
Lucia.  If  the  duke,  with  the  other  dukes,  come 
not  to  ccimposition  witli  the  kins  "f  Hungary,  why, 
tlieii  all  the  dukes  fall  upon  the  king. 

1  Ge7it.  Heaven  grant  us  its  peace,  but  not  the 
king  of  Hungary's ! 

2  Getii.  A  men. 

Lucio.  Thou  concludest  like  the  sanctimonious 
pirate,  that  went  to  sea  with  the  ten  commandments, 
out  scraped  one  out  of  the  table. 

'2  Gent.  Thou  shalt  not  steal  ? 

Lucio.  Ay,  that  he  razed. 

1  Gent.  Why,  'twas  a  commandment  to  command 
the  csjitain  and  all  the  rest  from  their  functions; 
they  put  forth  to  steal :  there's  not  a  soldier  of  us  all, 
that,  iki  the  thanksgiving  before  meat,  doth  relish  tiie 
petition  well,  that  prays  for  peace. 

"2  Gent.  I  never  heard  any  soldier  dislike  it. 
Lucio.  I  believe  thee;  ibr,  I  think,  thou  never 
Wast  where  grace  was  said. 

2  Gent.  No?  a  dozen  times  at  least. 
J  C;6;«^.  What?  in  metre? 

Lucio.  In  any  proportion,  or  in  any  language. 

1  Gent.  I  think,  or  in  any  religion. 

Lucio.  Ay  !  why  not?  Grace  is  grace,  despite  of 
nil  controversy:  as  for  example:  I'tinu  thyself  art 
a  wicked  ^  illain,  despite  of  all  grace. 

1  Gent.  Well,  there  went  but  a  pair  of  sheers 
between  us. 

Lucio,  1  grant;  as  there  may  between  the  lists 
and  the  vehet:  thou  art  the  list. 

1  Gent.  And  thou  the  velvet:  thou  art  good  vel- 
vet ihou  art  a  three-pil'd  piece.  I  warrant  thee  : 
1  iiad  as  lief  be  a  list  of  an  English  kersey,  as  be 
;iil  (l,  as  thou  art  pil'l,  for  a  French  velvet.  Do  I 
speak  feelingly  now  ? 

Lucio.  1  tiiiuk  thou  dost;  and,  indeed,  with  most 
painl'ul  feeling  of  thy  speech:  I  will,  out  of  thine 
own  conl'ession,  learn  to  begin  thy  health  ;  but,  whilst 
I  live,  forget  to  drink  after  thee. 

1  Gent.  1  tiiink,  I  have  done  myself  wrong  ;  have 
{  not  ?  [tainted  or  I'ree. 

2  Gent.  Yes,  that  thou  hast;  whether  thou  art 
Lucio.  Behold,  behold,  where  madam  Mitigation 

comes  I  I  have  purchased  as  many  diseases  under 
her  roof,  as  come  to — 

2  Gent.  To  what,  I  pray  ? 

I  Gent.  .).tdgfc. 

•2  (rent.  To  three  thousand  dollars  a-year. 

1  Gent.  Ay,  and  more. 

Lucio.  A  French  crown  more. 

1  Gent.  Thou  art  always  figuring  diseases  in  me  : 
hut  thou  art  full  of  error;  I  am  sound. 

Lucio.  Nay,  not  as  one  would  say,  healthy  ;  but 
so  sound,  as  tilings  that  are  hollow:  thy  bones  are 
hollow :  impiety  has  made  a  feast  cf  thee. 

Enter  Baivd. 

1  Gent.  How  now  ?  which  of  your  hips  has  the 
most  profound  sciatica  ? 

Bawd.  Well,  well;  there's  one  yonder  arrested, 
and  curried  to  prison,  was  worth  five  thousand  of 
you  ad. 

1  Gent  Who's  that,  I  pray  thee  ? 

Hated.  Mai  ry,  sir,  tliat's  Claiidio,  signior  Claudio. 

1  Gvnt.  Claudio  to  t)rison  !  'tis  not  so. 

Bawd.  Nity,  but  I  know,  'tis  so:  I  saw  him  ar 
resvd  ;  saw  hun  cio-rit-d  nway;  and.  wliich  is  more, 
within  these  three  days  his  head's  to  be  choi)ped  oft". 

Lucio.  But,  after  all  this  fooling,  I  would  not  have 
it  so  :  ai  t  tlioii  sure  of  tais 

liaivd.  I  am  too  sure  of  it:  and  it  is  for  getting 
Uiadam  Juiietti  witii  child 


Lucto.  Believe  me,  this  may  be ;  he  promised  to 
meet  me  two  hours  since  ;  and  he  was  ever  precise 
in  promise- keeping. 

2  Gent  Besides,  you  know,  it  draws  something 
near  to  the  speech  we  had  to  such  a  purpose. 

1  Gent.  But  most  of  all,  agreeing  with  tie  pro- 
clamation. 

Lucio.  Away  ;  let's  go  learn  the  truth  of  it. 

[Exeunt  Lucio  and  Gentlemen. 

Bawd.  Thus,  what  with  the  war,  what  with  the 
sweat,  what  with  the  gallows,  and  what  «ith  po- 
verty,  I  am  custom-shrunk.  How  now?  what's  the 
news  with  yon  ? 

Enter  Cioivn. 

Clo.  Yonder  man  is  carried  to  prison. 
Baivd.  Well ;  what  has  he  done  ? 
Clo.  A  woman. 

Bawd.  But  what's  his  offence  ? 

Clo.  Groping  for  fronts  in  a  peculiar  river. 

Bawd.  What,  is  there  a  maid  with  child  by  him? 

Clo.  No ;  but  there  is  a  woman  with  maid  by  him: 
you  have  not  heard  of  the  proclamation,  have  you? 

Bawd.  VVhat  proclamation,  man? 

Clo.  All  houses  in  the  suburbs  of  Vienna  must  be 
pluck'd  down. 

Bawd.  And  what  shall  become  of  those  in  the  city? 

Clo.  They  shall  stand  for  seed  :  they  had  gone 
down  too,  but  that  a  wise  burgher  put  in  for  them. 

Bawd.  But  shall  all  our  houses  of  resort  in  the 
suburbs  be  ptilTd  down? 

Clo.  To  the  ground,  mistress. 

Baivd.  Why,  here's  a  change,  indeed,  in  the  con> 
monwealth  I    What  shall  become  of  me? 

Clo.  Come  ;  fear  not  you  :  good  counsellors  lack 
no  clients:  though  you  change  your  place,  yon  need 
not  change  your  trade;  I'll  be  your  tapster  still. 
Courage;  there  will  be  pity  taken  on  you:  you,  that 
have  worn  your  eyes  almost  out  in  the  serv  ce,  y  u 
will  be  considered.  [withdraw. 

Bawd.  What's  to  do  here,  Thomas  Tapster?  Let's 

Clo.  Here  comes  signior  Claudio,  led  by  the  pro- 
vost to  prison  ;  and  there's  madam  Juliet.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — The  same. 

Enter  Provost,  Claudio,  Juliet,  and  Offiimrs; 
Lucio,  and  two  Gentlemen. 

Claud.  Fellow,  v,'hy  dost  thou  show  me  thus  to 
the  world  ? 
Bear  me  to  pris(;n,  where  I  am  committed. 

Pro.  I  do  it  not  in  evil  disposition. 
But  from  lord  Angelo  by  special  charge. 

Claud.  Tims  can  the  demi  god,  Authority, 
Make  us  pay  down  for  our  olfence  by  weight.-  • 
The  words  of  heaven  ; — on  whom  it  will,  it  will  j 
On  whom  it  will  not,  so;  yet  slnl  tis  just. 

Lucio.  Why,  how  now,  Claudio?  whence  comes 
this  restraint? 

Claud.  From  too  much  liberty,  my  Lucio,  liberty 
As  surfeit  is  the  father  of  mucli  fast. 
So  e\ery  scope  by  the  immoderate  use 
Turns  to  restraint:  our  natures  do  pursue, 
(Like  rats  that  ravin  down  their  proper  bane,) 
A  tiiirsty  evil ;  and  when  we  drink,  we  die. 

Lucio.  If  I  could  speak  so  wist;iy  under  an  airesi 
I  would  send  for  certain  of  my  creditrrs  :  and  yet, 
t  say  the  truth,  I  had  as  lief  have  the  foppery  oj 
freedom,  oS  the  morality  of  imprisonment.—  What's 
thy  olfence,  Claudn.? 

Claud.  What,  but  to  speak  of  would  oifeud  again, 

Lucio.  What  is  it  ?  murder  :* 

Claud.  No. 

Lucio  Lechery? 

Claud.  Call  it  so. 

Pruv.  Away,  sir;  you  must  go. 

Claud.  Oiie  word,  good  friend : — Lucio,  a  word 
with  you.  {Takes  him  aside.) 

Lucio.  A  hundred,  if  they'll  do  you  any  good. — 
Is  lechery  so  look'd  after  ?  fcontrad 

Claud.  'I'hus  stands  it  with  me: — Upon  a  true 


Scene  5. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


73 


L  got  possession  of  Julietta's  Ked  ; 

You  know  the  lady ;  she  is  last  my  wife. 

Save  that  we  do  the  ienuuciation  lack 

Ol'culward  order:  this  we  catne  not  to, 

Only  tor  propagation  of  a  dower 

Remaining  in  the  coffer  of  her  friends; 

From  whom  we  thought  it  meet  to  hide  our  love. 

Till  time  had  made  them  for  us.    But  it  chances, 

The  stealth  of  our  most  mutual  entertainment. 

With  character  too  gross,  is  writ  on  Juliet. 

Lucio.  With  child,  perhaps  ? 

Claud.  Unhappily,  even  so. 
And  the  new  deputy  now  for  the  duke, — 
Whether  it  be  the  fault  and  glimpse  of  newness 
Or  whether  that  the  body  public  be 
A  horse,  whereon  the  governor  doth  ride. 
Who,  newly  in  the  seat,  that  it  may  know 
He  can  command,  lets  it  straight  feel  the  spur : 
Whether  the  tyranny  be  in  his  place, 
Or  in  his  eminence  tliat  fills  it  up, 
[  stagger  in: — But  this  new  governor 
Awakes  me  all  the  enrolled  penalties,  [wall 
Which  have,  like  unscour'd  armour,  hung  by  the 
Sn  long,  that  nineteen  zodiacs  have  gone  round, 
A.nd  none  of  them  been  worn;  and,  for  a  name. 
Now  puts  the  drowsy  and  neglected  act 
Freshly  on  me  : — 'tis  surely,  lor  a  name. 

Lucio.  I  warrant,  it  is :  and  thy  head  stands  so 
tickle  on  thy  shoulders,  that  a  milk-maid,  if  she  be 
in  love,  may  sigh  it  otF.  Send  after  the  duke,  and 
appeal  to  him. 

Claud.  I  have  done  so,  but  he's  not  to  be  found. 
I  pr'ythee,  Lucio,  do  me  this  kind  service : 
This  day  my  sister  should  the  cloister  enter, 
And  there  receive  her  approbation  : 
Acquaint  her  with  the  danger  of  my  state; 
Implore  her,  in  my  voice,  that  she  make  friends 
To  the  strict  deputy  ;  bid  herself  assay  him; 
I  have  great  hope  in  that :  for  in  her  youth 
There  is  a  prone  and  speechless  dialect. 
Such  as  moves  men  ;  beside,  she  hath  prosperous  art. 
When  she  will  play  with  reason  and  discourse. 
And  well  she  can  persuade. 

Lucio.  I  pray,  she  may  •  as  well  for  the  encou- 
ragement of  the  like,  vvhich  else  would  stand  under 
grievous  imposition;  as  for  the  enjoying  of  thy  life, 
who  I  would  be  sorry  should  be  thus  Ibolishly  lost 
at  a  game  of  tick-tack.    I'll  to  her. 

Claud.  I  thank  you,  good  friend  Lucio. 

Lucio.  Within  two  hours,  

Claud.  Come,  officer,  away.  [Exeunt 

Scene  IV. — A  Monastery. 
Enter  Duke  and  Friar  Thomas. 

DuL-e.  No,  holy  father;  throw  away  that  thought ; 
Believe  not,  that  the  dribbling  dart  of  love 
Can  pierce  a  complete  bosom  :  why  I  desire  thee 
To  give  me  secret  harbour,  hath  a  purpose 
More  grave  and  wrinkled  than  the  aims  and  ends 
Of  burning  youth. 

Fri.  May  your  grace  speak  of  it? 

Duke.  My  holy  sir,  none  better  knows  than  you 
How  I  have  ever  lov'd  the  life  remov'd ; 
And  held  in  idle  price  to  haunt  assemblies. 
Where  youth,  and  cost,  and  witless  bravery  keeps. 
I  have  deliver'd  to  lord  Angelo 
(A  man  of  stricture,  and  firm  abstinence,) 
My  absolute  power  and  place  here  in  Vienna, 
And  he  supposes  me  travell'd  to  Poland  ; 
For  so  I  have  strew'd  it  in  the  common  ear, 
And  so  it  is  receiv'd  :  now,  pious  sir, 
1  ou  will  demand  of  me,  why  I  do  this? 

Fri.  Oladiy,  my  lord.  [laws, 

Duke.  We  have  strict  statutes,  and  most  biting 
(The  needful  bits  and  curbs  for  head-strong  steeds,) 
Which  for  these  fourteen  years  we  have  let  sleep; 
Even  like  an  o'er-grown  lion  in  a  cave, 
That  goes  not  out  to  prey:  now,  as  fond  fathers 
Having  bound  up  the  threat'ning  twigs  of  birch 
Odj  to  Stick  it  in  their  children's  sight. 


For  terror,  not  to  use  ;  in  time  the  rod 
Becomes  more  mock'd  than  fear'd :  so  our  decreef, 
Dead  to  infliction,  to  themselves  are  dead  , 
And  liberty  plucks  justice  by  the  nose  ; 
The  baby  beats  the  nurse,  and  quite  athwart 
Goes  all  decorum. 

Fri.  It  rested  in  your  grace 

To  unloose  this  tied  up  justice,  when  you  {'leas  d 
And  it  in  you  more  dreadful  would  have  seem'd, 
Than  in  Lord  Angelo. 

Duke.  I  do  tear,  too  dreadful : 

Sith  'twas  my  fault  to  give  the  people  scope, 
''I'would  be  my  tyranny  to  strike,  and  gall  them 
For  what  I  bid  them  do :  for  we  bid  this  be  done. 
When  e\'il  deeds  have  their  permissive  pass. 
And  not  the  punishment.    Therefore,  indeed,  na 
I  have  on  Angelo  imj)os'd  the  office  ;  [father 
Who  may,  in  the  ambush  of  my  name,  strike  home, 
And  yet  my  nature  never  in  the  sight. 
To  do  it  slander :  and  to  behold  his  sway, 
1  will,  as  'twere  a  brother  of  your  order. 
Visit  both  prince  and  people  :  therefore,  I  pr'ythee. 
Supply  me  with  the  habit,  and  instruct  me 
How  I  may  forraaUy  in  person  bear  me 
Like  a  true  friar.    More  reasons  for  this  action. 
At  our  more  leisure  shall  I  render  you  ; 
Only,  this  one  : — Lord  Angelo  is  precise  ; 
Stands  at  a  guard  with  envy  ;  scarce  confesses 
That  his  blood  flows,  or  that  his  appetite 
Is  more  to  bread  than  stone  :  hence  shall  we  see. 
If  power  change  purpose,  what  our  seemers  be. 

[  Exeunit 

Scene  V. — A  I^unnery. 
Enter  Isabella  and  Francisca. 

Isab.  And  have  you  nuns  no  further  privileges  ? 

Fran.  Are  not  these  large  enough  ? 

Isab.  Yes,  truly  :  I  speak  not  as  desiring  more  ; 
But  rather  wishing  a  more  strict  restraint 
Upon  the  sister-hood,  the  votarists  oi  saint  Clare. 

Lucio.  Ho  !  Peace  be  in  this  place  I     ( JVilhitu) 

Isab.  Who's  that  vvhsch  calls  7 

Fran.  It  is  a  man's  voice:  gentle  Isabella, 
Turn  you  the  key,  and  know  his  business  of  him* 
You  may,  I  may  not;  you  are  yet  unsworn  : 
When  you  have  vow'd,  you  must  not  speak  with 
But  in  the  presence  of  the  prioress  :  [men. 
Then,  if  you  speak,  you  must  not  shew  your  face; 
Or,  if  you  shew  your  face,  you  must  not  speak. 
He  calls  again ;  I  pray  you  answer  him.  [Exit. 

Isab.  Peace  and  prosperity  !  Who  is't  that  calls  ? 

Enter  Lucio. 

Lucio.  Hail,  virgin,  if  you  be ;  as  those  cheek-roses 
Proclaim  you  are  no  less!  Can  you  so  stead  nie, 
As  bring  me  to  the  sight  of  Isabella, 
A  novice  of  this  place,  and  the  fair  sister 
To  her  unhappy  brother  Claudio? 

Isab.  Why  her  unhappy  brother?  let  me  ask  ; 
The  rather,  for  I  now  must  mate  yo-u  know 
I  am  that  Isabella,  and  his  sister,  [you: 

Lucio.  Gentle  and  fair,  your  brother  kindly  greetf 
Not  to  be  weary  with  you,  he's  in  prison. 

Isab.  Woe  me  !    For  what  ? 

Lucio.  For  that,  which,  if  myself  might  be  his  judge 
He  should  receive  his  punishment  in  thanks* 
He  hath  got  his  friend  with  child. 

Isab.  Sir,  make  me  not  your  story. 

Lucio.  It  is  trno. 

I  would  not — though  'tis  my  familiar  s)n 
With  maids  to  seem  the  lapwing,  and  to  jest. 
Tongue  far  from  heart, — play  with  all  virgins  bo: 
I  hold  you  as  a  thing  ensky'd,  and  sainted ; 
By  your  renouncement,  an  immortal  spirit; 
And  to  be  talk'd  with  in  sincerity. 
As  with  a  saint. 

Isab.  You  do  blaspheme  the  good,  in  mocking  me 

Lucio.  Do  not  believe  it.    Fewness  and  truth 
'tis  thus: 

Your  brother  and  his  lover  have  c  ibrac'd. 


u 

As  those  that  feed  grow  full ;  as  blossoming  time. 
That  from  the  seedness  the  bare  fallow  brings 
To  teeming  foison ;  even  so  her  plenteous  womb 
Expresseth  his  full  tilth  and  husbandry. 

Isab.  Some  one  with  child  by  him  ? — Mv  cousin 
J.diet? 

Lucij.  Is  she  your  cousin  ?  [names, 
Isab.  Adoptedly;  as  school-maids  change  their 
By  vain,  though  apt  affection, 
Lucio.  _  She  it  is. 

Isab.  O,  let  him  marry  her! 
hucio.  This  is  the  point. 

I'he  duke  is  very  strangely  gone  from  hence  ; 
Bore  many  gentlemen,  myself  being  one, 
fn  hand,  and  hope  of  action  ;  but  we  do  learn 
By  those  that  know  the  very  nerves  of  state. 
His  givings  out  were  of  ati  infinite  distance 
From  his  true-meant  design.    Upon  his  place. 
And  with  full  line  of  his  authority. 
Governs  lord  Angelo ;  a  man  whose  blood 
Is  vei7  snow-broth;  one  who  never  feels 
The  wanton  stings  and  motions  of  the  sense ; 
But  doth  rebate  and  blimt  his  natural  edge 
With  profits  of  the  tnind,  study  and  fast. 
He  (to  give  fear  to  use  and  libeity, 
Which  have,  for  long,  run  by  the  hideous  law. 
As  mice  by  lions),  hath  pick'd  out  an  act, 
Under  whose  heavy  sense  your  brother's  life 
Falls  into  forfeit:  he  arrests  him  on  it; 
And  follows  close  the  rigour  of  the  statute, 
To  make  him  an  example:  ail  hope  is  gone, 
Unless  you  hai'e  the  grace  by  your  fair  prayer 
I'o  soften  Angelo:  and  that's  my  pith 
Of  business  'twixt  you  and  your  poor  brother. 
Isab.  Doth  he  so  seek  his  life  ? 
Lucio.  Has  censur  d  him 

Already  ;  and,  as  1  hear,  fhe  provost  hath 
A  warrant  for  his  executi  )n. 

lsaf<.  Alas  !  what  poor  ability's  in  me 
1 0  do  him  gooil  ? 

Luino.  Assay  the  power  you  have. 

Isab.  My  power!  Alas  I  I  doubt, — 
hucio.  Our  doubts  are  traitors. 

And  make  us  lose  the  good  we  oft  might  win. 
By  fearing  to  attempt :  go  to  lord  Angelo, 
And  let  him  learn  to  knovv,  when  maidens  sue. 
Men  give  like  gods;  but  when  they  weep  and  kneel. 
All  their  petitions  are  as  freely  theirs 
As  they  themselves  would  owe  them. 
Isab.  I'll  see  what  I  can  do. 
Lucio.  But,  speedily. 

Isab.  I  will  about  it  straight ; 
No  longer  staying  but  to  give  the  mother 
Notice  of  my  affair,    I  humbly  thank  you  : 
Commend  me  to  my  brother:  soon  at  night 
I'll  send  him  certain  word  of  my  success. 
Lucio.  I  take  my  leave  of  you. 
Isab.  Good  sir,  adieu.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — A  Hall  in  Angelo's  house. 

Enter  Angelo,  Escalus,  a  Justice,  Provost, 
Officers,  and  other  Attendants. 

Ang.  We  must  not  make  a  scare-crow  of  the  law. 
Setting  it  up  to  fear  the  birds  of  prey. 
And  let  it  keep  one  shape,  till  custom  make  it 
Their  perch,  and  not  their  terror. 

Escal.  Ay,  but  yet 

Let  us  be  keen,  and  rather  cut  a  little, 
Than  fall,  and  bruise  to  death:  alas!  this  gentleman, 
Whon)  [  would  save,  had  a  most  noble  father. 
Let  but  your  honour  know, 
(Whom  I  believe  to  be  most  strait  in  virtue,) 
That,  in  the  working  of  your  own  affections. 
Had  time  coher'd  with  place,  or  place  with  wishing. 
Or  that  the  resolute  acting  of  your  blood 
Could  have  attain'd  the  efiect  of  your  own  purpose, 
Whether  you  had  not,  sometime  in  your  life, 
rr'd  iu  this  point  which  now  you  censure  him. 


Aer  it 

And  pull'd  the  law  upon  yon, 

Ang.  Tis  one  thing  to  be  tem[ited,  Escalus 
Another  thing  to  fall.    I  not  deny. 
The  jury,  passing  on  the  prisoner's  life. 
May,  in  the  sworn  twelve,  have  a  thief  or  two 
Guiltier  than  him  they  try:  what's  open  made  <« 
justice. 

That  justice  seizes.    What  know  the  laws. 
That  thieves  do  pass  on  thieves?    'Tis  very  pi  eg. 
nant. 

The  jewel  that  we  fiud,  we  stoop  and  take  it. 

Because  we  see  it;  but  what  we  do  not  see, 

We  tread  upon,  and  never  think  of  it. 

You  may  not  so  extenuate  his  ofience. 

For  I  have  had  such  faults;  but  rather  tell  me 

When  I,  that  censure  him,  do  so  offend. 

Let  mine  own  judgment  pattern  out  my  death. 

And  nothing  come  in  partial.    Sir,  he  must  die. 

Escal.  Be  it  as  your  wisdom  will, 

■^g-  Where  is  the  provost  ? 

Prov.  Here,  if  it  like  your  honour. 
^  ^ng.  See  that  Claudic 

lie  executed  by  nme  to-morrow  morning: 
Bring  him  his  confessor,  let  him  be  prepar'd  ; 
For  that's  the  utmost  of  his  pilgrimage. 

[Exit  Provost. 

^  Escal.  Well,  heaven  forgive  him!  and  forgive  us 
Some  rise  by  sin,  and  some  by  virtue  fall :        full ! 
Some  run  from  brakes  of  vice,  and  answer  none  ; 
And  some  condemned  for  a  fault  alone. 

Enter  Elbow,  Froth,  Clown,  Officers,  ^V. 

Elb.  Come,  bring  them  away :  if  these  be  good 
people  in  a  commun-weal,  that'do  nothing  but  use 
their  abuses  in  common  houses,  I  know  no  law; 
bring  them  away, 

Ang.  How  now,  sir!  What's  your  name?  and 
what's  the  matter  ? 

EJb.  If  it  please  your  honour,  I  am  the  poor  duke's 
constable,  and  my  name  is  Elbow;  I  do  lean  upon 
'ustice,  sir,  and  do  bring  in  here  before  your  good 
lonour  two  notorious  benefactors, 

A7ig.  Benefcictors  ?  Well;  what  benefactors  are 
they  ^  are  they  net  malefactors  ? 

Elb.  If  it  please  your  honour,  I  know  not  well 
what  they  are:  but  precise  villains  they  are,  that  I 
am  sure  of;  and  void  of  all  profanation  m  the  world, 
that  good  christians  ought  to  have. 

Escal.  This  comes  off  well ;  here's  a  wise  officer. 

Ayig.  Go  to:  what  quality  are  they  of?  Elbow  is 
your  name  ?    Why  dost  thou  not  speak,  Elbow  ? 

Clo.  He  cannot,  sir;  he's  out  at  elbow. 

Ang.  What  are  you,  sir? 

Elb.  He,  sir?  a  tapster,  sir;  parcel-bawd;  one 
that  serves  a  bad  woman;  whose  house,  sir,  was,  as 
the)^  say,  plnck'd  down  in  the  suburbs  ;  and  now  she 

rofesses  a  hot-house,  whir  h,  I  think,  is  a  very  ill 

ouse  too. 

Escal.  How  know  you  that  ? 
Elb.  My  wife,  sir,  whom  I  detest  before  heaven 
and  your  honour, — 
Escal  How  !  thy  wife  ? 

Elb.  Ay  sir;  whom,  I  thank  heaven,  is  an  honest 
woman, — 

Escal.  Dost  thou  detest  her  therefore  ? 

Elb.  I  say,  sir,  I  will  detest  myself  also,  as  well 
as  she,  that  this  house,  if  it  be  not  a  bawd's  house, 
it  is  pity  of  her  life,  for  it  is  a  naughty  house. 

Escal.  How  dost  thou  know  that,  constable  ? 

Elb.  Marry,  sir,  by  my  wife;  who,  if  she  had 
been  a  vyoman  cardinally  given,  might  have  beea 
accused  in  fornication,  adultery,  and  all  uncleanli- 
ness  there. 

Escal.  By  tne  woman's  means  ? 

Elb.  Ay,  sir,  by  mistress  Over  done's  means:  but 
as  she  spit  in  his  face,  so  she  defied  him. 

Clo.  Sir,  if  it  please  your  honour,  this  it  not  so, 

Elb.  Prove  it  before  these  varlets  here,  thou  ho. 
nourable  man,  prove  it. 

Escal.  Do  you  hear  how  he  misplaces'!  {To Angtlo,) 


MEASURE  rCR  MEASURE. 


Scene  1. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


75 


^h.  Sir,  she  came  in  great  \^lth  child  ;  and  long- 
ing ( saving  your  honour's  reverence  )  for  stew'd 
prunes ;  sir^  we  had  but  two  in  the  house,  which  at 
that  very  distant  time  stood,  as  it  were,  in  a  fruit- 
dish,  a  dish  of  some  tliree-pence  ;  your  honours  have 
seen  such  dishes;  they  are  no'  China  dishes,  but 
^cry  good  dishes, 

Escal.  Go  to,  go  to  :  no  matter  for  the  dish,  sir. 

Clo.  No  indeed,  sir,  not  ol"  a  pin  :  you  are  therein 
ill  the  right:  but,  to  the  point  ■  as  I  say,  this  mistress 
Klbow,  being,  as  1  say,  with  child,  and  being  great 
belly'd,  and  longing,  as  I  said,  for  prunes ;  and 
naving  but  two  in  the  dish,  as  I  said,  master  Frotli 
liere,  this  very  man,  having  eaten  the  rest,  as  I  said, 
and,  as  T  say,  paying  for  them  very  honestly  ; — for, 
as  you  know,  master  Froth,  I  could  not  give  you 
three-pence  again. 

Froth.  No,  indeed. 

Clo.  Very  well :  you  being  then,  if  you  be  remem- 
ber'd,  cracking  the  stones  of  the  foresaid  prunes. 

Froth.  Ay,  so  I  did,  indeed. 

Clo.  Why,  very  well  •  I  telling  you  then,  if  you  be 
remeniber'd,  that  such  a  one,  and  such  a  one,  were 
past  cure  of  the  thing  you  wot  of,  unless  they  kept 
very  good  diet,  as  I  told  you. 

Froth.  All  this  is  true. 

Clo.  Why,  very  well  then. 

Escal.  Come,  you  are  a  tedious  fool :  to  the  pur- 
pose.— What  was  done  to  Elbow's  wife,  that  he 
hath  cause  to  complain  of?  Come  me  to  what  was 
done  to  her, 

Clo.  Sir,  your  honour  cannot  come  to  that  yet. 

Escal.  No,  sir,  nor  I  mean  it  not. 

Clo.  Sir,  but  you  shall  come  to  it,  by  your  ho- 
nour's leave  :  and,  I  beseech  you,  look  into  master 
Froth  here,  sir  ;  a  man  of  fourscore  pound  a  year  ; 
whose  father  died  at  Hallowmas; — Was't  not  at 
Hallowmas,  master  Froth  ? 

Froth.  All-hollond  eve. 

Clo.  Why,  very  well ;  I  hope  here  be  truths  :  he, 
sir,  sitting,  as  I  say,  in  a  lower  chair,  sir; — 'twas  in 
the  Bunch  of  Grapes,  where,  indeed,  you  have  a 
delight  to  sit:  have  you  not? 

Froth.  1  have  so ;  because  it  is  an  open  room, 
and  good  for  winter. 

Clo.  Why,  very  well  then ; — I  hope  here  be  truths. 

Ang.  This  will  last  out  a  night  in  Russia, 
When  nights  are  longest  there :  I'll  take  my  leave. 
And  leave  you  to  the  hearing  of  the  cause ; 
Hoping,  you'll  find  good  cause  to  whip  them  all. 

Escal.  I  think  no  less :  good  morrow  to  your 
lordship.  [Exit  Anyelo. 

Now,  sir,  come  on :  what  was  done  to  Elbow's  wife, 
once  more? 

Clo.  Once,  sir  ?  there  was  nothing  done  to  her  once. 

Elb.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  ask  hira  what  this  man 
did  to  my  wife. 

Clo.  I  beseech  your  honour,  ask  me. 

Escal.  Well,  sir :  what  did  this  gentleman  to  her  ? 

Clo.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  look  in  this  gentleman's 
face : — Good  master  Froth,  look  upon  his  honour ; 
'tis  for  a  good  purpose  :  doth  your  honour  mark  his 

Escal.  Ay,  sir,  very  well.  (face? 

Clo.  Nay.  I  beseech  you,  mark  it  well. 

Escal.  Well,  I  do  so, 

Clo.  Doth  your  honour  see  any  harm  in  his  face  ? 
Escal.  Why,  no. 

Clo.  I'll  be  supposed  upon  a  book,  his  face  is  the 
worst  thing  about  him :  good  then ;  if  his  face  be 
Uie  worst  tiling  about  him,  how  could  master  Froth 
do  the  constable's  wife  any  harm?  J  would  know 
that  of  your  honour.  Cto  it? 

EscaL  He's  in  the  right :  constable,  what  say  you 

Elb,  First,  an  it  like  you,  the  house  is  a  respected 
house  ;  next,  this  is  a  respected  fellow ;  and  his 
mistress  is  a  respected  woman. 

Clo.  By  this  hand,  sir,  his  wife  is  a  more  re- 
spected [terson  than  any  of  us  all. 

Elb.  Varlet,  thou  liest;  thou  liest,  wicked  varlet: 


the  time  is  yet  to  come,  that  she  was  ever  respect© 
with  man,  woman,  or  child. 

Clo.  Sir,  she  was  respected  with  him  before  ha 
married  with  her. 

Escal.  Which  is  the  wiser  here  ?  justice,  or  ini- 
quity?— Is  this  true  ? 

Elb. Oihon  caitiff!  O  thou  varlet!  O  thou  wicked 
Hannibal  !  I  respected  with  her,  before  1  was  mar- 
ried to  her!  If  ever  I  was  respected  with  her,  or  she 
with  me,  let  not  your  worship  think  me  the  pooi 
duke's  officer  : — Prove  this,  thou  wicked  Hannibal, 
or  I'll  have  mine  action  of  battery  on  thee. 

Escal.  If  he  took  you  a  box  o'  th'  ear,  you  mighl 
have  your  action  of  slander  too, 

Elb.  Marry,  I  thank  your  good  worship  for  it: 
what  is't  your  worship's  pleasure  I  should  do  with 
this  wicked  caitiff? 

Escal.  Truly,  officer,  because  he  hath  some  of- 
fences in  him,  that  thou  wouldst  discover  if  thou 
couldst,  let  him  continue  in  his  courses,  till  thoa 
know'st  what  they  are, 

Elb.  Marry,  I  thank  your  worship  for  it: — Thoa 
see'st,  thou  wicked  varlet  now,  what's  come  upon 
thee;  thou  art  to  continue  now,  thou  varlet;  thou 
art  to  continue. 

Escal.  Where  were  you  born,  friend  ?  {ToFroth.) 

Froth.  Here  in  Vienna,  sir. 

Escal.  Are  you  of  fourscore  pounds  a-year? 

Froth.  Yes,  and't  please  you,  sir, 

Escal.  So, — What  trade  are  you  of,  sir? 

{To  the  Cloivn.) 

Clo.  A  tapster ;  a  poor  widow's  tapster. 

Escal.  Your  mistress's  name  ? 

Clo.  Mistress  Over-done. 

Escal.  Hath  she  had  any  more  than  one  husband  ? 

Clo.  Nine,  sir;  Over-done  by  the  last. 

Escal  Nine  ! — Come  hither  to  me,  master  Froth. 
Master  Froth,  I  would  not  liave  you  acquainted  with 
tapsters  ;  they  will  draw  you,  master  Froth,  and  yoa 
will  hang  them :  get  you  gone,  and  let  me  hear  no 
more  ot  you. 

Froth.  I  thank  your  worship  :  for  mine  own  part, 
I  never  come  into  any  room  in  a  taphouse,  but  I  am 
drawn  in, 

Escal.  Well ;  no  more  of  it,  master  Froth ,  fare- 
well, [Exit  Frolh.] — Come  you  hither  to  me,  master 
tapster  ;  wliat's  your  name,  master  tapster? 

Clo.  Poiiipey. 

Escal.  What  else  ? 

Clo.  Bum,  sir. 

Escal.  'Ti  oth,  and  your  bum  is  the  greatest  thing 
about  you;  so  that,  in  the  beastliest  sense,  yon  are 
Pompey  the  great.  Pompey,you  are  partly  a  bawd, 
Pompey,  howsoever  you  colour  it  in  being  a  tapster. 
Are  you  not  ?  come,  tell  me  true ;  it  shall  be  the 
better  for  you. 

CVo,  Truly,  sir,  I  am  a  poor  fellow,  that  would  live. 

Escal.  How  would  you  live,  Pompey?  by  being  a 
bawd?  What  do  you  think  of  the  trade,  Pompey? 
is  it  a  lawful  trade  ? 

Clo.  If  the  law  would  allow  it,  sir. 

Escal.  But  the  law  will  not  allow  it,  Pompey; 
nor  it  shall  not  be  allowed  in  Vienna. 

Clo.  Does  your  worship  mean  to  geld  and  spay 
all  the  youths  in  the  city  ? 

Escal.  No,  Pompey. 

Clo.  Truly,  sir,  in  my  poor  opinion,  they  will  to'! 
then :  if  your  worship  will  take  order  for  the  drabs 
and  the  knaves,  you  need  not  to  fear  the  bawds. 

Escal.  There  are  pretty  orders  beginning,  1  can 
tell  you  :  it  is  but  heading  and  hanging. 

Clo.  If  you  head  and  hang  all  that  offend  that 
way  but  for  ten  year  together,  you'll  be  glad  to  give 
out  a  commission  for  more  heads.  If  this  law  hold 
in  Vienna  ten  years,  I'll  rent  the  fairest  house  in  it, 
after  three-pence  a  bay  :  if  you  live  to  see  this  come 
to  pass,  say  Pompey  told  you  so. 

Escal.  Thank  you,  good  Pompey  ;  and,  in  requital 
of  your  prophecy,  hark  you, — I  advise  you,  let  rne 
not  find  you  before  me  again  upon  wny  complainl 


T6 

whatsoever,  no,  not  for  dwelling  where  you  do :  if  I 
do,  Pompey,  I  shall  beat  you  to  your  tent,  and  prove 
a  shrewd  Caesar  to  you  ;  in  plain  dealina:,  Poinp<ey,  I 
shall  have  you  whipt:  so  for  this  time,  Pompey,  fare 
you  well. 

Clo.  I  thank  your  worship  for  your  good  counsel ; 
but  I  shall  follow  it,  as  the  flesh  and  fortune  shall 
better  determine. 

VMiip  me  ?  No,  no ;  let  carman  whip  his  jade  ; 

The  valiant  heart's  not  whipt  out  of  his  trade.  [Exit. 

EscaL  Come  hither  to  me,  master  Elbow;  come 
hither,  master  constable.  How  long  have  you  been 
in  this  place  of  constable  ? 

Elb.  Seven  years  and  a  half,  sir. 

Eacal.  I  thought,  by  your  readiness  in  the  office, 
you  had  continued  in  it  some  time :  you  say,  seven 
years  together  ? 

EIL  And  a  half,  sir. 

Escal.  Alas !  it  hath  been  great  pains  to  you ! 

They  do  you  wrong  to  put  you  so  oft  upon't ;  are 

there  not  men  in  your  ward  sufficient  to  servo:  it? 
Elh.  Faith,  sir,  few  of  any  wit  in  such  matters : 
they  are  chosen,  they  are  glad  to  choose  n)e  for 

tliem;  I  do  it  for  some  piece  of  money,  and  go 

through  with  all. 

^  Escal.  Look  you,  bring  me  in  the  name  of  some 
six  or  seven,  the  most  surfit  ient  of  your  parish. 

Elb.  To  your  worship's  house,  sir  ? 

Escal.  To  my  house  :  fare  you  well.  [Exit  Elbow. 
What's  o'clock,  think  you  ? 

Just.  Eleven,  sir. 

Escal.  I  pray  you  home  to  dinner  with  me. 

Jtisi.  I  humbly  thank  you. 

Escal.  It  grieves  me  for  the  death  of  Claudio ; 
But  there's  no  remedy. 

Just.  Lord  Angelo  is  severe. 

Escal.  It  is  but  needful : 

Mercy  is  not  itself,  that  oft  looks  so; 
Pardon  is  still  the  nurse  of  second  woe  : 
But  yet, — poor  Claudio  ! — There's  no  remedy. 
Come,  sir.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  W. — Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Provost  and  a  Servant. 
Ser.  He's  hearing  of  a  cause ;  he  will  come 
I'll  tell  him  of  you.  [straight. 

Prov.  Pray  you,  do.  [Exit  Servant.^  I'll  know 
His  pleasure  ;  may  be,  he  will  relent :  alas, 
He  hath  but  as  offended  in  a  dream! 
All  sects,  all  ages,  smack  of  this  vice  ;  and  he 
To  die  for  it!— 

Enter  Ancelo. 

Ang.      _         Now,  what's  the  matter,  provost? 

Prov.  Is  it  your  will  Claudio  shall  die  to-morrow  ? 

Ang.  Did  I  not  tell  thee,  yea  V  hadst  thou  not 
Why  dost  thou  ask  again  ?  [order  ? 

Prov.  Lest  I  might  be  too  rash : 

Under  your  good  correction,  1  have  seen, 
When,  after  execution,  judgment  hath 
Repented  o'er  his  doom. 

Ang.  ^  Go  to ;  let  that  be  mine  : 

Do  you  your  office,  or  give  up  your  place. 
And  you  shall  well  be  spar'd. 

Prov.  I  crave  your  honour's  pardon  — 

What  shall  be  done,  sir,  with  the  groaning  Juliet  ? 
She's  very  near  her  hour. 

Ang.  Dispose  of  her 

1  0  some  more  fitter  place  ;  and  that  with  speed. 

Re-enter  Servant. 

Serv.  Here  is  the  sister  if  the  man  condemn'd, 
Desires  access  to  you. 

Ang.  Hath  he  a  sister  ? 

Prov.  Ay,  my  good  lord  ;  a  very  virtuous  maid, 
And  to  be  shortly  of  a  sisterhood. 
If  not  already. 

./4ng.  Well,  let  her  be  admitted. 

lExit  Servant, 
isee  you  the  fornicatress  be  remov'd* 


Act  H 

Let  her  have  needful,  but  not  lavish,  means: 
There  shall  be  order  for  it. 

Enter  Lucio  «wo?  Isabella. 

Prov.  Save  your  honour  !      {Offering  to  i  etir€. 

Ang.  Stay  a  little  while. — [To  Isnb.)    You  art 
welcome  :  what  s  your  will  ? 

Isab.  I  am  a  woeful  suitor  to  your  honour, 
Please  but  your  honour  hear  nie. 

Ang.  Well ;  what's  your  suit? 

Isab.  There  is  a  vice,  that  most  I  do  abhor. 
And  most  desire  should  meet  the  blow  of  justice  ; 
For  which  I  would  not  plead,  but  that  I  must; 
For  which  I  must  not  plead,  but  that  I  am 
At  war,  'twixt  will,  and  will  not. 

Any.  Well ;  the  matter  ? 

Isab.  I  have  a  brother  is  condemn'd  to  die* 
I  do  beseech  you,  let  it  be  his  fault. 
And  not  my  brother 

Prov.  Heaven  give  thee  moving  graces  j 

Ang.  Condemn  the  fault,  and  not  the  actor  of  it! 
Why,  every  fault's  condemn'd,  ere  it  be  done  : 
Mine  were  the  very  cypher  of  a  function. 
To  find  the  faults,  whose  fine  stands  in  record. 
And  let  go  by  the  actor. 

Isab.  O  just,  but  severe  law  ! 

I  had  a  brother  then. — Heaven  keep  your  honour  I 

[Retiring.) 

Lucio.  [To  Isab.)  Giv't  not  o'er  so:  to  him  again 
intreat  him  ; 
Kneel  down  before  him,  han^-  upon  his  gown  ; 
You  are  too  cold :  if  you  should  need  a  pin, 
You  could  not  with  more  tame  a  tongue  desire  it 
To  him,  I  say. 

Isab.  Must  he  needs  die  ? 

Ang.  Maiden,  no  remedy 

Isab.  Yes  ;  I  do  think  that  you  might  pardon  him. 
And  neither  heaven,  nor  man,  grieve  at  the  mercy 
Ang.  1  will  not  do't. 

Isab.  But  can  you  if  you  would? 

Ang.  Look,  what  I  will  not,  that  I  cannot  do. 
Isab.  But  might  you  do't,  and  do  the  world  no 
wrong, 

If  so  your  heart  were  touch'd  with  that  remorse 
As  mine  is  to  him  ? 

Ang.  He's  sentenc'd  ;  'tis  too  late 

Lucio.  You  are  too  cold.  [To  Isabella.) 

Isab.  Too  late  ?  why,  no  ;  I,  that  do  speak  a  word. 
May  call  it  back  again :  well  believe  this. 
No  ceremony  that  to  great  ones  'longs, 
Not  the  king's  crown,  nor  the  deputed  sword. 
The  marshal's  truncheon,  nor  the  judge's  robe. 
Become  them  with  one  half  so  good  a  grace. 
As  mercy  does.    If  he  had  been  as  you 
And  you  as  he,  you  would  have  slipt  like  him; 
But  he,  like  you,  would  not  have  been  so  stern. 

Ang.  Pray  you,  begone. 

Isab.  I  would  to  heaven  I  had  your  potency, 
And  you  were  Isabel  !  would  it  then  be  thus  ? 
No  ;  {  would  tell  what  'twere  to  be  a  judge, 
And  what  a  prisoner. 

Lucio.  Ay,  touch  him  :  there's  the  vein.  [Aside.) 

Ang.  Your  brother  is  a  forfeit  of  the  law, 
And  you  but  waste  your  words. 

Isab.  Alas  !  alas ! 

Why,  all  the  souls  that  were,  were  forfeit  once ; 
And  He,  that  might  the  vantage  best  have  took. 
Found  out  the  remedy.   How  would  you  be. 
If  he,  which  is  the  top  of  judgment,  should 
But  judge  you  as  you  are  ?  O,  think  on  that ; 
And  mercy  then  will  breathe  within  your  lips 
Like  man  new  made. 

Ang.  Be  you  content,  fair  maid  , 

It  is  the  law,  not  I,  condemns  your  brother ; 
W ere  he  my  kinsman,  brother,  or  my  son. 
It  should  be  thus  with  him;  —  he  must  die  to- 
morrow, [spare  him . 

Isab.  To-morrow?  O,  that's  sudden  !  Spare  him. 
He  s  not  prepar'd  for  death  !  Even  fo'-  our  kitchens 
We  kill  tiie  fowl  of  season  ;  shall  we  serve  heaven 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURK 


MEASUEE  FOR  MEASURE.  77 


Scene  3. 

With  less  respect  than  we  do  minister 
To  our  gross  selves  ?  (iood,  good  my  lord,  bethink. 
Who  is  it  that  hath  died  for  this  offence  ?        [you  : 
There's  many  have  committed  it. 

Lucio.  Ay,  well  said. 

Ang.  The  law  hath  not  been  dead,  though  it  hath 
Those  many  had  not  dar'd  to  do  that  evil,      [slept : 
II  the  first  man,  that  did  the  edict  infringe, 
H;i  \  answer'd  for  his  deed :  now,  'tis  awake; 
I'h  es  note  of  what  is  done  ;  and,  like  a  prophet, 
Ij  "  ks  in  a  glass,  that  shows  what  future  evils, 
(Eiilier  now,  or  by  remissness  new  conceiv'd. 
And  so  in  progress  to  be  hatch'd  and  born,) 
Are  now  to  have  no  successive  degrees. 
But.  where  they  live,  to  end. 

Isah.  Yet,  show  some  pity, 

Ang.  I  show  it  most  of  all,  when  I  show  justice; 
For  then  I  pity  those  I  do  not  know, 
Wliich  a  dismiss'd  offence  would  after  gall ; 
And  do  him  right,  that,  answering  one  foul  wrong. 
Lives  not  to  act  another.    Be  satisfied ; 
Your  brother  dies  to-morrow:  be  content. 

Isab.  So  you  must  be  the  first,  that  gives  this  sen- 
tence ; 

And  he  that  sutFers  :  O,  it  is  excellent  \ 
To  have  a  giant's  strength  ;  but  it  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  giant. 

Lucio.  That's  well  said. 

Isab.  Could  great  men  thunder 
As  Jove  hiinselt  does,  Jove  would  ne'er  be  quiet. 
For  every  pelting,  petty  officer. 
Would  use  his  heaven  for  thunder  •.  nothing  but 

Merciful  heaven  !  [thunder.  

Thou  rather,  with  thy  sharp  and  sulphurous  boit, 
Split'st  the  unwedgeable  and  gnarled  oak, 
Than  the  soft  myrtle  ; — ^.O,  but  man,  proud  man ! 
Drest  in  a  little  brief  authority  ; 
iMost  ignorant  of  what  he's  most  assur'd. 
His  glassy  essence, — like  an  angry  ape. 
Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven. 
As  make  the  angels  weep  ;  who,  with  our  spleens. 
Would  all  themselves  laugh  mortal. 

Lucio.  O,  to  him,  to  him,  wench  :  he  will  relent; 
He's  coming,  I  perceive 't. 

Prov.  Pray  heaven,  she  win  him  ! 

Isab.  We  cannot  weigh  our  brother  with  ourself: 
Great  men  may  jest  with  saints  :  'tis  wit  in  them  ; 
But,  in  the  less,  foul  profanation. 

Lucio.  Thou'rt  in  the  right,  girl ;  more  o'  that. 

Isab.  That  in  the  captain's  but  a  cholerick  word, 
Wliicb  in  the  soldier  is  flat  blasphemy. 

Lucio.  Art  advis'd  o'  that  ?  more  on't. 

Any.  Why  do  you  put  these  sayings  upon  me  ? 

Isab.  Because  authority,  though  it  err  like  others, 
Hatli  yet  a  kind  of  medicine  in  itself, 
Tiiat  skins  the  vice  o'  the  top  :  go  to  your  bosonj  ; 
Knock  tliere  ;  and  ask  your  heart,  what  it  doth  know 
That's  like  my  brother's  fault:  if  it  confess 
A  natural  guiltiness,  such  as  is  his. 
Let  it  not  sound  a  thought  upon  your  tongue 
Against  my  brother's  life. 

Ang.  She  speaks,  and  'tis 

Such  sense,  that  my  sense  breeds  with  it. — Fare  you 

Isab.  Gentle  my  lord,  turn  back.  [well. 

Ang.  I  will  bethink  me : — Come  again  to-morrow. 

Isab.  Hark  !  how  I'll  bribe  you:  good  my  lord, 

Ang.  How!  bribe  me?  [turn  back. 

Isab.  Ay,  with  such  gifts,  that  heaven  shall  share 
with  you,  . 

Lucio.  You  had  marr'd  all  else. 

Isab.  Not  with  fond  shekels  of  the  tested  gold. 
Or  stones,  whose  rates  are  either  rich,  or  poor, 
As  fancy  values  them  :  but  with  true  prayers, 
That  shall  l>e  up  at  heaven,  and  enter  there. 
Ere  sun-rise:  prayers  from  preserved  souls. 
From  fasting  maids,  whose  minds  are  dedicate 
To  nothing  temporal. 

Ang.  Well :  come  to  me 

To-morrow. 

Lucio.  Go  to ;  it  is  well ;  away.  [Aside  to  Isabel,) 


Isab.  Heaven  keep  your  hono-.jT  safe! 

Ang.  Amen;  fori 

Am  that  way  going  to  temptation,  [Aside.) 
Where  prayers  cross. 

Isab.  At  what  hour  to-moriow 

Shall  I  attend  your  worship? 

Ang.  At  any  time  'fore  noon. 

Isab.  Save  your  honour  ! 

[Exeunt  Lucio,  Isabella,  and  Prxwoat, 

Ang.  From  thee  ;  even  from  thy  virtue  !— 

What's  this?  what's  this?  Is  this  her  fault,  or  mine? 
The  tempter,  or  the  tempted,  who  sins  most  ?  Ha! 
Not  she  ;  nor  doth  she  tempt  :  but  it  is  I, 
That  lying  by  the  violet,  in  the  sun. 
Do,  as  the  carrion  does,  not  as  the  flower. 
Corrupt  with  virtuous  season.    Can  it  be, 
'J'hat  niodesty  may  more  betray  our  sense 
Than  woman's  lightness  ?    Having  wasfe  grouna 
Shall  we  desire  to  raze  the  sanctuary,  [enouffh, 
And  pitch  our  evils  there?  O,  fy,  fy,  f y ! 
What  dost  thou  ?  or  what  art  thou,  Angelo  ? 
Dost  thou  desire  her  foully,  for  those  things 
That  make  her  good  ?  O,  let  her  brother  live  ; 
Thieves  tor  their  robbery  have  authority. 
When  judges  steal  theniselves.    What?  do  I  lov« 
That  I  desire  to  hear  her  speak  again,  [her. 
And  feast  upon  her  eyes  ?  What  is't  I  dream  on  . 

0  cunning  enemy,  that  to  catch  a  saint. 

With  saints  dost  bait  thy  hook  !  Most  dangerous 
Is  that  temptation,  that  doth  goad  us  on 
To  sin  in  loving  virtue  ;  never  could  the  strumpet. 
With  all  her  double  vigour,  art  and  nature. 
Once  stir  my  temper  ;  but  this  virtuous  maid 
Subdues  me  quite  : — Ever,  till  now, 
When  men  were  fond,  I  smil'd,  and  wonder'd  Viovt 

[Exit 

Scene  III. — A  Room  in  a  Prison. 
Enter  Duke,  habited  like  a  Friar,  and  Prcvvst^ 
Duke.  Hail  to  you.  Provost !  so  I  think  j'ou  are. 
Prov.  I  am  the  provost:  what's  your  will,  good 
friar  ? 

Duke.  Bound  by  my  charity,  and  my  bh.'ss  d  Jrder, 

1  come  to  visit  the  fifflicted  spirits 

Here  in  the  prison  :  do  me  the  common  right 
To  let  me  see  them  ;  and  to  make  me  know 
The  nature  of  their  crimes,  that  I  may  minister 
To  them  accordingly,  [needfuL 

Prov.  I  would  do  more  than  that,  if  more  were 
Enter  Juliet. 
Look,  here  comes  one  ;  a  gentlewoman  of  mine. 
Who,  falling  in  the  flames  of  her  ow^n  youth. 
Hath  blister'd  her  report :  she  is  with  child  ; 
And  he,  that  got  it,  sentenc'd  ;  a  young  man 
More  fit  to  do  another  such  offence. 
Than  die  for  this. 

Duke.  When  must  he  die  ? 

Pro.  As  I  do  think,  to  morrow. — 
I  have  provided  for  you  ;  stay  a  while,  [To  Juhet.) 
And  you  shall  be  conducted. 

Duke.  Repent  you,  fair  one,  of  the  sin  you  carry? 

Juliet.  I  do  ;  and  bear  the  shame  most  patiently. 

Duke.  I'll  tecich  you  how  you  shall  arraign  youi 
conscience, 
And  try  your  penitence  if  it  be  sound. 
Or  hollowly  put  on. 

Juliet.  I'll  gladly  learn. 

Duke.  Love  you  the  man  that  wrong'd  you  ? 

Juliet.  Yes,  as  I  love  the  woman  that  wrong'd  liira. 

Duke.  So,  then,  it  seems,  your  most  oftenceful  uel 
Was  mutually  committed? 

Juliet.  Mutually. 

Duke.  Then  was  your  sin  of  heavier  kind  than  his 

Juliet.  I  do  confess  it,  and  repent  it,  father. 

Duke.  'Tis  meet  so,  daughter:  but  lest  yon  do 
repent. 

As  that  the  sin  hath  brought  you  to  this  shame, — 
Which  sorrow  is  always  toward   ourselves,  not 
heaven  : 

Showing,  we'd  not  spare  heaven,  as  wp  love  it, 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  IL 


ISut  as  we  stand  m  fear,— 

Juliet.  I  do  repent  me,  as  it  is  an  evil ; 
And  take  the  shame  with  joy. 

Duhe  There  rest. 

Your  partner,  as  I  hear,  must  die  to-morrow. 
And  I  am  going  with  instruction  to  him. — 
Grace  go  with  you  !  Benedicite  !  \_ExiL 

Juliet.  Must  die  to-morrow  !  O  injurious  love, 
That  respites  me  a  life,  whose  very  comfort 
Is  still  a  dying  horror! 

Prov.  'Tis  pity  of  him.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — A  Room  in  Anyelo's  house. 
Enter  Angelo. 
Aug.  When  I  would  pray  and  think,  I  think  and 
pray 

To  several  subjects  :  heaven  hath  my  empty  words  ; 
Whilst  my  invention,  hearing  nr)t  my  tongue. 
Anchors  on  Isabel :  heaven  in  my  mouth, 
As  if  I  did  but  only  chew  his  name  ; 
And  in  my  heart,  the  strong  and  swelling  evil 
Of  my  conception:  the  state  whereon  I  studied. 
Is  like  a  good  thing,  being  often  read, 
Grown  learVl  and  tedious  ;  yea,  my  gravity, 
Wherein  (let  no  man  hear  me)  I  take  pride. 
Could  I,  with  boot,  change  for  an  idle  p!un\e, 
Which  the  air  beats  for  vain.    O  place!  O  form  ! 
How  often  dost  thou  with  thy  case,  thy  habit, 
Wrench  awe  from  fools,  and  tie  tiie  wiser  souls 
To  thy  false  seeming?  Blood,  thou  still  art  blood  : 
Let's  write  good  angel  on  the  devil's  horn, 
'Tis  not  tlie  devil's  crest. 

Enter  Servant. 
How  now,  who's  there  ? 

Serv.  One  Isabel,  a  sister, 

Pesires  access  to  you. 

Any.  Teach  her  the  way.    [Exit  Serv. 

O  heavens ! 

Why  does  my  blood  thus  muster  to  my  heart ; 
Making  both  it  unable  for  itself. 
And  dispossessing  all  the  other  parts 
Of  necessary  fitness  ? 

So  play  the  ioolish  throngs  with  one  that  swoons; 
Come  all  to  help  him,  and  so  stop  the  air 
By  which  he  should  revive  :  and  even  so 
The  general,  subject  to  a  well-wish'd  king. 
Quit  their  own  part,  and  in  obsequious  tondness 
Crowd  to  his  presence,  wiiere  their  untaught  love 
Must  needs  appear  otfence. — 

E?iter  Isabella. 
How  now,  fair  maid  ? 
Isab.  I  am  come  to  know  your  pleasure. 

Ang.  That  you  might  know  it,  would  much  better 
please  me, 

Tijan  to  demand  what  'tis.  Your  brother  cannot  live. 
Isab.  Even  so  ? — Heaven  keep  your  honour  ! 

[Retiring. 

Any.  Yet  may  he  live  a  while :  and,  it  may  be. 
As  long  as  you,  or  I  :  yet  he  must  die. 
Isab.  Under  your  sentence  '' 
Ang.  Yea. 

Isab.  When,  I  beseech  you?  that  in  his  reprieve. 
Longer,  or  shorter,  he  may  be  so  fitted. 
That  his  soul  sicken  not. 

Ang.  Ha!  Fy,  these  filthy  vices!  It  were  as  good 
To  pardon  him,  that  hath  from  nature  stolen 
A  man  already  made,  as  to  remit 
Their  saucy  sweetness,  that  do  coin  heaven's  image, 
In  stamps  that  nre  forbid :  'tis  all  as  easy 
Falsely  to  take  away  a  life  true  made. 
As  to  put  mettle  in  restrained  means, 
To  make  a  false  one. 

Isab.  'Tis  set  down  so  in  heaven,  but  not  in  earth. 

Ang.  Say  you  so?  then  I  shall  poze  you  quickly. 
Which  had  you  rather,  Tliat  the  most, just  law 
Now  took  your  brother's  life  ;  or,  to  redeem  him, 
Give  up  your  body  to  such  sweet  uncleanness. 
As  she  that  he  hath  stain'd  ? 

liab  Sir,  believe  this. 


I  had  rather  give  my  body  than  my  soul. 

Ang.  I  talk  not  ot  your  soul  ;  our  cornpell  d  sins 
Stand  more  for  number  than  accompt. 

Isab.  How  say  y  v\  ? 

Ang.  Nay,  I'll  not  warrant  that;  for  I  can  »peak 
Against  the  thing  I  say.    Answer  to  this ; — 
I,  now  the  voice  of  the  recorded  law. 
Pronounce  a  sentence  on  your  brother's  life  : 
Might  there  not  be  a  charity  in  sin. 
To  save  this  brother's  life  ? 

Isab.  Please  you  to  t?v)'i 

I'll  take  it  as  a  peril  to  my  soul. 
It  is  no  sin  at  all,  but  charity. 

Ang.  Pleas'd  you  to  do't,  at  peril  of  ycnr  soul, 
Were  equal  poize  of  sin  and  charity. 

Isab.  That  I  do  beg  his  life,  if  it  be  sin. 
Heaven,  let  me  bear  it !  you  granting  of  my  suit. 
If  that  be  sin,  I'll  make  it  my  morn  prayer 
To  have  it  added  to  the  faults  of  mine. 
And  nothing  of  t  our  answer. 

Ang.  Nay,  but  hear  me  : 

Your  sense  pursues  not  mine:  either  you  are  ignorant 
Or  seem  so,  craftily  ;  and  that's  not  good. 

Isab.  Let  me  be  ignorant,  and  in  nothing  good. 
But  graciously  to  know  I  am  no  better. 

Ang.  Thus  wisdom  wishes  to  appear  most  bright, 
When  it  doth  tax  itself :  as  those  black  masks 
Proclaim  an  enshield  beauty  ten  times  louder 
Than  beauty  could  displayed. — But  mark  me  ; 
To  be  received  plain,  I'll  speak  more  gross  : 
Your  brother  is  to  die. 

Isab.  So. 

Ang.  And  his  offence  is  so,  as  it  appears 
Accountant  to  the  law  upon  that  pain. 
Isab.  True. 

Ang.  Admit  no  other  way  to  save  his  life, 
(As  I  subscribe  not  that,  nor  any  other, 
i3ut  in  the  loss  of  question,)  that  you,  his  sister. 
Finding  yourself  desir'd  of  such  a  person, 
Whose  credit  with  the  judge,  or  own  great  place, 
Could  fetch  your  brother  from  the  manacles 
Of  the  all- binding  law  ;  and  that  there  were 
No  earthly  mean  to  save  him,  but  that  either 
You  must  lay  down  the  treasures  of  your  body 
To  this  supposed,  or  else  let  him  suf}'er: 
What  would  you  do  ? 

Isab.  As  much  for  my  poor  brother,  as  myself: 
That  is,  were  I  under  the  terms  of  death. 
The  impression  of  keen  whips  I'd  wear  as  rubies. 
And  strip  myself  to  death,  as  to  a  bed 
That  longing  I  have  been  sick  for,  ere  I'd  yield 
My  body  up  to  shame. 

Ang.  Then  must  your  brother  die. 

Isab.  And  'twere  the  cheaper  way: 
Better  it  were,  a  brother  died  at  once, 
Than  that  a  sister,  by  redeeming  him. 
Should  die  for  ever. 

Ang.  Were  not  you  then  as  cruel  as  the  sentence. 
That  you  have  slander'd  so? 

Isab.  Ignomy  in  ransom,  and  free  pardon. 
Are  of  two  houses:  lawful  mercy  is 
Nothing  a-kin  to  foul  redemption. 

Ang.  You  seem'd  of  late  to  make  the  law  a  tyrant, 
And  rather  prov'd  the  sliding  of  your  brother 
A  merriment  than  a  vice. 

Isab.  O,  pardon  me,  my  lord  ;  it  oft  falls  out. 
To  have  what  we'd  have,  we  speak  not  what  we  meanv 
I  something  do  excuse  the  thing  I  hate, 
For  his  advantage,  that  I  dearly  love. 

Ang.  We  are  all  frail. 

Isab.  Else  let  my  brother  die 

If  not  a  feodary,  but  only  he. 

Owe,  and  succeed  by  weakness. 

Ang.  Nay,  women  are  frail  tea 

Isab.  Ay,  as  the  glasses  where  they  view  theniK 
selves ; 

Which  are  as  easy  broke  as  they  make  forms. 
Women  ! — Help  heaven  !  men  their  creation  ma 
In  j)rofiting  by  them.    Nay,  call  us  ten  times  fr 
For  we  are  soft  as  our  complexions  are, 


Act  hi.    Scene  1.  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


And  credulnus  to  false  prints. 

An^.  I  think,  it  well : 

And  trom  this  testimony  of  your  own  sex, 
(Since,  J  suppose,  we  are  made  to  be  no  stronger 
rhiin  faults  may  shake  our  frames,)  let  me  be  bold  ; — 
I  do  arrest  youi  words ;  be  that  you  are, 
That  is,  a  woman ;  if  you  be  more,  you're  none  • 
ff  you  be  one,  (as  you  are  well  express'd 
By  all  external  warrants,)  show  it  now, 
By  piittint;-  on  the  destin  a  livery. 

Isab.  I  have  no  tongue  but  one :  gentle  my  lord. 
Let  me  intreat  you  speak  the  former  language. 

Ang.  Plainly  conceive,  I  love  you. 

Isab.  My  brother  did  love  Juliet ;  and  you  tell  me. 
That  he  shall  die  for  it. 

Anrj.  He  shall  not,  Isabel,  if  you  give  me  love. 

Isab.  I  know,  your  virtue  hath  a  licence  in't. 
Which  seems  a  little  fouler  than  it  is. 
To  pluck  on  others. 

Any.  Believe  me,  on  mine  honour, 

My  words  express  my  purpose. 

Isab.  Ha!  little  honour  to  be  much  believ'd. 
And  most  pernicious  purpose  ' — Seeming,  seeming  ! 
I  will  proclaim  thee,  Angelo;  look  fort: 
Sign  me  a  present  pardon  for  my  brother, 
Or,  with  an  outstretch'd  throat,  I'll  tell  the  world 
Aloud,  what  man  thou  art. 

Ang.  Who  will  believe  thee,  Isabel? 

My  unsoil'd  name,  the  ansterjness  of  my  life, 
My  vouch  against  you,  and  my  place  i'  the  state, 
Will  so  your  accusation  overweigh. 
That  you  shall  stifle  in  your  own  report. 
And  smell  of  calumny.    I  have  begun; 
And  now  I  give  my  sensual  race  the  rein  : 
Fit  thy  consent  to  my  sharp  appetite  ; 
Lay  by  all  nicety,  and  proliiious  blushes. 
That  banish  what  they  sue  for ;  redeem  thy  brother 
By  yielding  up  thy  body  to  my  will ; 
Or  else  he  must  not  only  die  the  death. 
But  thy  unkindness  shall  his  death  draw  out 
To  lingering  sufferance  :  answer  me  to-morrow, 
Or  by  the  affection  that  now  guides  me  most, 
V\\  prove  a  tyrant  to  him  •  as  for  you, 
Say  what  you  can,  my  false  o'erweighs  your  true. 

lExit. 

Isab.  To  whom  shall  I  complain  ?  Did  I  tell  this. 
Who  would  believe  me?    O  perilous  mouths. 
That  bear  in  them  one  and  the  self-same  tongue. 
Either  of  condemnation  or  approof ! 
Bidding  the  law  make  court'sy  to  their  will ; 
Hooking  both  right  and  wrong  to  the  appetite. 
To  follow  as  it  draws  I    I'll  to  my  brother: 
Though  he  hath  fallen  by  prompture  of  the  blood, 
Yet  halh  he  in  him  such  a  mind  of  honour, 
Tiiat  had  he  twenty  heads  to  tender  down 
On  twenty  bloody  blocks,  he'd  yield  them  up, 
Before  his  sister  should  her  body  stoop 
To  such  a^iorr'd  pollution. 
Then  Isabel,  live  chaste,  and,  brother,  die : 
More  than  our  brother  is  our  chastity. 
I'll  tell  him  yet  of  Angelo's  request. 
And  fit  his  mind  to  death,  for  his  soul's  rest.  [Exit. 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — A  Room  in  the  Prison. 

Enter  Duke,  Claudio,  and  Provost. 

Duke.  So,  then  you  hope  of  pardon  from  lord 
Angelo  ? 

Claud.  The  miserable  have  no  other  medicine, 
But  only  hope  : 

[  have  hope  to  live,  and  am  prepar'd  to  die. 

Duke.  Be  absolute  for  death  ;  either  death,  or  liff;. 
Shall  thereby  be  tne  sweeter.  Reason  thus  with  life — 
If  I  do  lose  thee,  I  do  lose  a  thing 
That  none  but  fools  would  keep:  a  breath  thou  art, 
(Servile  to  all  the  skicy  influences,) 
That  dost  this  habitation,  where  thou  keep'st. 
Hourly  afflict  merely,  thou  art  death's  fool ; 


79 

For  him  thou  labour'st  by  thy  flight  to  shun, 
And  yet  run'st  toward  hirn  still :  thou  art  not  noble 
For  all  the  accommodations  that  tliou  bear'st. 
Are  nurs'd  by  baseness :  thou  art  by  no  means 
valiant ; 

For  thou  dost  fear  the  soft  and  tender  fork 
Of  a  poor  worm  :  thy  best  of  rest  is  sleep. 
And  that  thou  oft  provok'st;  yet  grossly  fear'st 
Thy  death,  which  is  no  more.  Thou  art  not  thyself; 
For  thou  exist'st  on  many  a  thousand  grains 
That  issue  out  of  dust:  happy  thou  art  not; 
For  what  thou  hast  not,  still  thou  striv'st  to  get; 
And  what  thou  hast,  Ibrget'st :  thou  art  not  certain,' 
For  thy  complexion  shifts  to  strange  effects. 
After  the  moon:  if  tho!i  art  rich,  thou  art  poor: 
For,  like  an  ass,  whose  back  with  ingots  bows^ 
Thou  bear'st  thy  heavy  riclies  but  a  journey. 
And  death  unloads  thee  :  friend  hast  thou  none , 
For  thine  own  bowels,  which  do  call  thee  sire. 
The  mere  eflusion  of  thy  proper  loins. 
Do  curse  the  gout,  serpigo,  and  the  rheum. 
For  ending  thee  no  sooner:  thou  hast  nor  youth,  nor 

But,  as  it  were,  an  after-dinner's  sleep, 
Dreaming  on  both:  for  all  tliy  blessed  youtn 
Becomes  as  aged,  and  doth  beg  the  alms 
Of  palsied  eld  ;  and  when  thou  art  old,  and  rich. 
Thou  hast  neither  heat,  affection,  limb,  nor  beauty, 
To  make  thy  riches  pleasant.  What's  yet  in  this. 
That  bears  the  name  of  life?  Yet  in  tiiis  life 
Lie  hid  more  thousand  deaths :  yet  death  we  fear. 
That  makes  these  odds  all  even. 

Claud.  I  humbly  thank  you 

To  si>e  to  live,  I  find,  I  seek  to  die ; 
And,  seeking  death,  find  life  :  let  it  come  on. 

Enter  Isabella. 
Isab.  What,  ho!  Peace  here;  grace  ^nd  good 

company !  [a  welcome 

Prov.  Who's  there?  come  in:  the  wish  deserve* 
Duke.  Dear  sir,  ere  long  1  11  visit  you  attain. 
Claud.  Most  holy  sir,  I  thank  you. 
Isab.  My  business  is  a  word  or  two  with  Claudio. 
Prov.  And  very  welcome.    Look,  signior,  here's 

your  sister. 
Duke.  Provost,  a  word  with  you. 
Prov.  As  many  as  you  please 

Duke,  Bring  them  to  speak,  wh^  i  e  I  may  be  con- 

ceal'd. 

Yet  hear  them.  [Exeunt  Duke  and  Provost. 

Claud.  Now,  sister,  what's  the  comfort  ? 

Isab.  Why,  as  all  comforts  are  ;  most  good  in  deed : 
Lord  Angelo,  having  affairs  to  heaven. 
Intends  you  for  his  swift  ambassador, 
Where  you  sliall  be  an  everlasting  leiger. 
Therefore  your  best  appointment  make  with  speed  j 
To-morrow  you  set  on. 

Claud.  Is  there  no  remedy? 

Isab.  None,  but  such  remedy,  as,  to  save  a  headi 
To  cleave  a  heart  in  twain. 

Claud.  But  is  there  any  ? 

Isab.  Yes,  brother,  yon  may  live; 
There  is  a  devilish  mercy  in  tlie  judge. 
If  you'll  imploi  e  it,  that  will  free  your  life, 
But  fetter  you  till  death. 

Claud.  Perpetual  durance  ? 

Isab.  Ay,  just,  perpetual  durance  ;  a  restr  iiot. 
Though  all  tiie  world's  vastidity  you  had. 
To  a  determiu'd  scope. 

Claud.  But  in  what  nature  ? 

Isab.  In  such  a  one  as  (you  consenting  to't) 
Would  bark  your  honour  from  that  trunk  you  betV. 
And  leave  you  naked. 

Claud.  Let  me  know  the  point. 

Isab.  O,  I  do  fear  thee,  Claudio;  and  I  quake 
Lest  thou  a  leverous  life  should'st  entertain, 
And  six  or  seven  winters  more  respect 
Than  a  perpetual  honour.    Dar'st  thou  die  ? 
The  sense  of  death  is  most  in  apprehension; 
And  the  poor  beetle,  that  we  tread  upon. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  Act  III. 


80 

In  corporal  sufferaoce  finds  a  pang  as  great 
As  when  a  giant  dies. 

Claud.  Why  give  you  me  this  shame  ? 

Think  you  I  can  a  resohition  fetch 
From  flowery  tenderness  ?  If  I  must  die, 
I  will  encounter  darkness  as  a  bride, 
And  hug  it  in  mine  arms  [grave 

Isab.  There  spake  my  brother;  there  my  father's 
Did  utter  forth  a  voice  !    Yes,  thou  nuist  die  : 
Thou  art  too  noble  to  conserve  a  life 
In  base  appliances.  This  outward-sainted  deputy, — 
Whose  settled  visage  and  deliberate  word 
Nips  youth  i'the  head,  and  lollies  doth  enmew, 
As  falcon  doth  the  fowl, — is  yet  a  devil ; 
His  filth  within  being  cast,  he  would  appear 
A  pond  as  deep  as  hell. 

Claud.  The  princely  Angelo? 

Isab.  O,  'tis  the  cunning  livery  of  hell, 
The  damned'st  body  to  invest  and  cover 
In  princely  guards!  Dost  thou  think,  Claudio, 
If  I  would  yield  him  my  virginity, 
Thou  might'st  be  freed  ? 

Claud.  O,  heavens  !  it  cannot  be. 

Isab.  Yes,  he  would  give  it  thee,  from  this  rank 
offence, 

So  to  offend  him  still :  this  night's  the  time 
That  I  should  do  what  I  abhor  to  name, 
Or  else  thou  diest  to- morrow. 

Claud.  Thou  shalt  not  do't. 

Isab.  O,  were  it  but  my  life, 
I'd  throw  it  down  for  your  deliverance 
As  frankly  as  a  pin. 

Claud.  Thanks,  dear  Isabel. 

Isab.  Be  ready,  Claudio,  for  your  death  to-morrow. 

Claud.  Yes. — Has  he  affections  in  him. 
That  thus  can  make  him  bite  the  law  by  the  nose. 
When  he  would  forc^  it?  Sure  it  is  no  sin; 
Or  of  the  deadly  seven  it  is  the  least. 

Isab.  Which  is  the  least? 
•    Claud.  If  it  were  damnable,  he,  being  so  wise, 
Why,  would  he  (or  the  momentary  trick 
Be  perdurably  fin'd? — O  Isabel! 

Isab.  What  says  my  brother? 

Claud.  Death  is  a  fearful  thing. 

Isab.  And  shamed  life  a  hateful. 

Claud.  Ay.  but  to  dl-?,  and  go  we  know  not  where  ; 
To  lie  in  cold  t)bstr(iclion,  and  to  rot; 
This  sensible  warm  motion  to  become 
A  kneaded  clod  ;  and  the  deiiglited  spirit 
To  bathe  in  fiery  tioods,  or  to  reside 
In  thrilling-  regions  of  thick  ribbed  ice; 
To  be  im()rison'd  in  the  viewless  winds, 
And  blown  with  restless  violence  round  about 
The  pendent  world,  or  to  be  worse  than  worst 
Of  those,  that  lawless  and  incertain  thoughts 
Imagine  howling! — tis  too  horrible! 
The  weariest  and  most  loathed  worldly  life. 
That  age.  ache,  penury,  and  imprisonment 
Can  lay  on  nature,  is  a  paradise 
To  what  we  fear  of  death. 

Isab.  Alas  !  alas  ! 

Claud.  Sweet  sister,  let  me  live : 

What  sin  you  do  to  save  a  brother's  life. 
Nature  dispenses  with  the  deed  so  far. 
That  it  becomes  a  virtue. 

Isab.  O,  you  beast ! 

,0,  faithless  coward!  O,  dishonest  wretch! 
Wilt  thou  be  made  a  man  out  of  my  vice? 
Is"t  not  a  kind  of  incest,  to  take  life  [think? 
From  thine  own  sister's  shame?    What  should  I 
Heaven  shield,  my  mother  play'd  my  father  fair! 
For  such  a  warped  slip  of  wilderness 
Ne'er  issu'd  from  his  blood.    'I'ake  my  defiance! 
Die  ;  perish  !  might  but  my  bending  down 
Reprieve  thee  from  thy  fate,  it  should  proceed  : 
I'll  pi  ay  a  thousand  prayers  for  thy  death. 
No  word  to  save  thee. 

Claud.  Nay,  hear  me,  Isabel. 

Isab.  O,  fy,  fy,  fy ! 

Thy  sin's  ost  accidental,  but  a  trade  : 


Mercy  to  thee  would  prove  itself  a  bawd  • 
'Tis  best  that  thou  diest  quickly.  [Going. 
Claud.  O  hear  me,  Isabella, 

Re-enter  Duke. 

Duke.  Vouchsafe  a  word,  young  sister,  but  one 
Isab.  What  is  your  will  ?  [word. 
Duke.   Might  you  dispense  with  your  leisure,  I 
would  by  and  by  have  some  speech  with  you:  th« 
satislactiou  I  would  require,  is  likewise  your  cwu 
ben-^fit. 

Isab.  I  have  no  superfluous  leisure  :  my  stay  ma%t 
be  stolen  out  of  other  affairs ;  but  1  will  attend  you  a 
while. 

Duke.  {To  Claudio,  aside.)  Son,  I  have  over 
heard  what  hath  past  between  you  and  your  sister. 
Angelo  had  never  the  purpose  to  corrupt  her;  only 
he  hath  made  an  essay  of  her  virtue,  to  practise  his 
judgment  with  the  disposition  of  natures  ;  she,  having 
the  truth  of  honour  in  her,  hath  made  him  that  gra- 
cious denial,  which  he  is  most  glad  to  recei\e:  1  am 
confessor  to  Angelo,  and  I  knov  this  to  be  true; 
therefore  prepare  yourself  to  death :  do  not  satisfy 
your  resolution  with  hopes  that  are  fallible:  to- 
morrow you  must  die;  go  to  youi  knees,  and  make 
ready. 

Claud.  Let  me  ask  my  sister  pardon.   I  am  so  out 
of  love  with  life,  that  I  will  sue  to  be  rid  ol  it, 
Duke.  Hold  you  there  :  farewell.  [Exit  Claudio. 

Re-enter  Proijost. 

Provost,  a  word  with  you. 

Prov.  What's  your  will,  father? 

Duke.  That  now  you  are  come,  you  will  be  gone  • 
leave  me  awhile  with  the  maid;  my  mind  promises 
with  my  habit,  no  loss  shall  touch  her  by  my  company. 

Pruv.  In  good  time.  \Exit  Provost. 

Duke.  The  hand  that  hath  made  you  fair,  hath 
made  you  good :  the  goodness,  that  is  cheap  io 
beauty,  makes  beauty  brief  in  goodness;  but  grace^ 
being  the  soid  of  your  complexion,  should  keep  the 
body  of  it  ever  fair.  The  assault,  that  Angelo  hath 
made  to  you,  fortune  hath  convey'd  to  my  under- 
standing; and,  but  that  frailty  hath  examples  for  his 
falling,  I  should  wonder  at  Angelo.  How  would  you 
d(j  to  content  this  substitute,  and  to  save  your  brother  ? 

Isab.  I  arn  now  going  to  resolve  him:  1  had  ra- 
ther my  brother  die  by  the  law,  than  my  son  should 
be  unlawfully  born.  But  O,  how  much  is  the  good 
duke  deceived  in  Angelo!  If  ever  he  return,  and  I 
can  speak  to  him,  I  will  open  my  lips  in  vain,  oi 
discover  his  government. 

Duke,  'i'hat  shall  not  be  much  amiss:  yet,  as  the 
matter  now  stands,  he  will  avoid  your  accusation ; 
he  made  trial  of  you  only. — Therefore,  fasten  your 
ear  on  my  advisings;  to  tlie  love  I  have  in  doing 
good,  a  remedy  presents  itself.  I  du  make  myself 
believe,  that  you  may  most  uprighteously  do  a  poor 
wronued  lady  a  merited  benefit;  redeem  your  bro- 
ther from  the  angry  law;  do  no  stain  to  your  own 
gracious  person;  and  much  please  the  absent  duke, 
if,  peradventure,  he  shall  ever  return  to  have  hear 
ing  of  this  busines. 

Isab.  Let  me  hear  you  speak  further;  I  have 
spirit  to  do  any  thing  that  appears  not  foul  in  the 
truth  of  my  spirit. 

Duke.  Virtue  is  bold,  and  goodness  never  fear- 
ful. Have  you  not  heard  speak  of  Mariana,  the  sister 
of  Frederick,  the  great  soldier,  who  miscarried  at 
sea  ? 

Isab.  I  have  heard  of  the  lady,  and  good  words 
went  with  her  name. 

Duke.  Her  should  this  Angelo  have  married ,  was 
aflianced  to  her  by  oath,  and  the  nuptial  appointed, 
between  which  time  of  the  contract,  and  limit  of 
the  solemnity,  her  brother  Frederick  was  wre'-ked 
at  sea,  having  in  that  perish'd  vessel  the  dowry  oi 
his  sister.  But  mark,  how  heavily  this  fel  to  th» 
poor  gentlewoman  •  there  she  lost  a  u 


Scene  2. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


81 


nowned  brother,  in  his  love  toward  her  ever  most 
kind  and  natural ;  with  him  the  portion  and  sinew  of 
her  fortune,  her  marriage-dowry;  witli  both,  her 
combinate  husband,  this  well-seeming  Angelo. 

Isab.  Can  this  be  so?  Did  Angelo  so  leave  her? 

Duhe.  Left  her  in  her  tears,  and  dry'd  not  one  of 
them  with  his  comfort;  swallowed  his  vows  whole, 

1)retending  in  her  discoveries  of  dishonour:  in  few, 
)et;towed  heron  her  own  lamentation,  which  siie  yet 
wears  for  his  sake ;  and  he,  a  niarble  to  her  tears,  is 
washed  with  them,  but  relents  not. 

Isab.  What  a  merit  were  it  in  death,  to  take  this 

{>oor  maid  from  the  world  !  What  corruption  in  this 
ife,  that  it  will  let  this  man  live  I — But  how  out  of 
this  can  she  avail  ? 

Duke.  Ft  is  a  rupture  that  you  may  easily  heal  : 
and  the  cure  of  it  not  only  saves  your  brother,  but 
keeps  you  from  dishonour  in  doing  it. 
Isab.  Show  me  how,  good  father. 
Duke.  This  fore-named  maid  hath  yet  in  her  the 
contin-iance  of  her  first  nifection  ;  his  unjust  unkind- 
ness,  that  in  all  reason  shou'd  have  quenched  her 
love,  hath,  like  an  impediment  in  tlie  current,  made 
it  more  violent  and  unruly.  (Jo  you  to  Angelo  ;  an  - 
.swer  his  requiring  with  a  plausible  obt  dience  ;  agree 
with  his  demands  to  the  point :  only  refer  yourself  to 
this  advantage, — first,  tliat  your  stay  with  liim  may 
not  be  long;  that  the  time  may  have  all  shadow  and 
silence  in  it,  and  the  place  answer  to  convenience  : 
this  being  granted  in  course,  now  follows  all.  W e 
shall  advise  this  wronged  maid  to  stead  up  your 
appointment,  go  in  your  place ;  if  the  encounter 
acknowledge  itself  hereafter,  it  may  compel  him  to 
her  recompense :  and  here,  by  this,  is  your  brother 
saved,  your  honour  untainted,  the  poor  Mariana 
advantaged,  add  the  corrupt  deputy  scaled.  The 
maid  will  I  frame,  and  make  fit  for  his  attempt.  If 
you  think  well  to  carry  this  as  you  may,  the  double- 
ness  of  the  benefit  defends  the  deceit  from  reproof. 
What  thijik  you  of  it? 

Isab.  The  image  of  it  gives  me  content  already ; 
and,  I  trust,  it  wi.l  grow  to  a  most  prosperous  per- 
fection. 

Diike.  It  lies  much  in  your  holding  up:  haste  you 
speedily  to  Angelo;  if  for  this  night  he  entreat  you 
to  his  bed,  give  him  promise  of  satisfaction.  I  will 
presently  to  St.  Luke's  ;  there,  at  the  moated  grange, 
resides  this  dejected  Mariana  :  at  that  place  call 
upon  me  ;  and  despatch  with  Angelo,  that  it  may  be 
quickly. 

[sab.  I  thank  you  for  this  comfort :  fare  you  well, 
good  father.  [Exeunt  severally. 

Scene  II. — The  Street  before  the  Prison. 
Enter  Duke,  as  a  Friar;  to  him  Elbow,  Clown, 
and  Officers. 

Elb.  Nay,  if  there  be  no  remedy  for  it,  but  that 
rou  will  needs  buy  and  sell  men  and  women  like 
beasts,  we  shall  have  all  the  world  drink  brown  and 
vvhite  bastard. 

Duke.  O,  heavens  !  what  stuft'is  here  ! 

C/o.'Twas  never  merry  world,  since,  of  two  usur- 
ies, the  merriest  was  put  down,  and  the  worser 
allow'd  by  order  of  law  a  furr'd  gown  to  keep  him 
warm;  and  furr'd  with  fox  and  lamb  skins  too,  to 
signify,  that  craft,  being  richer  than  innocency,  stands 
for  the  facing.  ffriar. 

Elb.  Come  your  way,  sir. — Bless  you.  good  father 

Duke.  And  you,  good  brother  faihgr;  what 
offence  hath  this  man  made  you,  sir? 

Elb.  Marry,  sir,  he  hath  otlVnded  the  law ;  and, 
sir,  we  take  him  to  be  a  thief  too,  sir;  for  we  have 
found  upon  him,  sir,  a  strange  pick-lock,  which  w? 
have  sent  to  the  deputy. 

Duke.  Fy,  sirrah  ;  a  bawd,  a  wicked  bawd  ! 
The  evil  that  thou  causest  to  be  done. 
That  is  thy  means  to  live  :  do  thou  but  think 
What  'tis  to  cram  a  maw,  or  clothe  a  back, 
From  such  a  filthy  vice;  say  to  thyself, — 
lu  their  abominable  and  beastly  touches 


I  drink,  I  eat,  array  myself,  and  live. 
Canst  thou  believe  thy  living  is  a  life, 
So  stinkingly  depending?  Go,  mend,  go,  mend. 

do.  Indeed,  it  does  stink  in  some  soit,  sir;  bo 
yet,  sir,  I  would  prove   [for  sia, 

Duke.  Nay,  if  the  devil  have  given  thee  proofs 
Thou  wilt  prove  his.    Take  him  to  prison,  officer. 
Correction  and  instruction  must  both  work  , 
Ere  this  rude  beast  will  profit. 

Elb.  He  must  before  the  deputy,  sir  ;  he  has  giver 
him  warning  :  the  deputy  cannot  abide  a  wliore- 
master;  if  he  be  a  whoremonger  and  comes  before  hiiL, 
he  were  as  good  go  a  mile  on  his  errand. 

Duke.  That  we  were  all,  as  some  would  seem  to  bci 
Free  fiom  our  faults,  as  iaults  from  seeming,  free  ' 

Enter  Lucio. 

Elb.  His  neck  will  come  to  your  waist,  a  cord,  sir 

Clo.  I  spy  comlbrt ;  I  cry  ,  bail :  here's  a  gentle-^ 
man,  and  a  friend  of  rniiie. 

Lucio.  How  now,  noble  Pompey  ?  What,  at  tho 
heels  of  Ca'sar?  Art  thou  led  in  triumph?  What, 
is  there  none  of  Pygmalion's  images,  newly  made 
woman,  to  be  had  now,  for  putting  the  hand  in  the 
pocket,  and  extracting  it  clutch'd?  What  reply? 
Ha  !  VVhat  say'st  thou  to  this  tune,  matter,  and 
method?  Is't  not  drown'd  i'  the  last  lan?  Ha! 
Wiiat  say'st  thou,  trot?  Is  the  world  as  it  was, 
!nan  ?  Which  is  the  way  ?  Is  it  sad,  and  few  words  ? 
Or  how?  The  trick  of  it? 

Duke.  Still  thus,  and  thus!  still  worse  ! 

Lucio.  How  doth  my  dear  morsel,  thy  mistress  ? 
Procures  she  still  ?  Ha  ? 

Clo.  Troth,  sir,  she  hath  eaten  up  all  her  beef, 
and  she  is  herself  in  the  tub. 

Lucio.  Why,  'tis  good;  it  is  the  right  of  it:  it 
must  be  so  :  ever  your  fresh  whore,  and  your  {)0w- 
der'd  bawd:  an  unshunn'd  consequence;  it  mmi 
be  so  :  art  going  to  prison,  Pompey  ? 

Clo.  Yes,  faith,  sir. 

Lucio.  Why,  'tis  not  amiss,  Pompey :  farewell  ; 
go ;  say,  I  sent  thee  thither.  For  debt,  Pompey  ? 
Or  how  ? 

Elb.  For  being  a  bawd,  for  being  a  bawd. 

Lucio.  Well,  then  imprison  him  :  if  imprisonment 
be  the  due  of  a  bawd,  why,  'tis  his  right :  bawd  is 
he,  doubtless,  and  of  antiquity  too :  Ijawd-born.— 
Farewell,  good  Pompey :  commend  me  to  the  prison, 
Pompey:  you  will  turn  good  husband  now,  Pompey; 
you  will  keep  the  house.  [bail. 

Clo.  I  hope,  sir,  your  good  worship  will  be  my 

Lucio.  No,  indeed,  will  I  not,  Pon)pey ;  it  is  not 
the  wear.  I  will  pray.  Pompey,  to  increase  your 
bondage :  if  you  take  it  not  patiently,  why,  your 
mettle  is  the  more.  Adieu,  trusty  Pompey. — Bless 
you,  friar. 

Duke.  And  you. 

Lucio.  Does  Bridget  paint  still,  Pompey?  Ha? 

Elb.  Come  your  ways,  sir;  come. 

Clo.  You  will  not  ba  I  me  then,  sir? 

Lucio.  Then,  Pompey?  nor  how. — What  news 
abroad,  friar ?  What  news? 

Elb.  Come  your  ways,  sHr ;  come. 

Lucio.  Go, — to  kenn*^!,  Pompey,  go. 

[Exeunt  Elbow,  Clown,  and Qfficets. 
What  news,  friar,  of  the  duke  ? 

Duke.  I  know  none  :  can  you  tell  me  of  any? 

Lucio.  Some  say,  he  is  with  the  emperor  of 
Russia ;  other  some,  he  is  in  Rome :  but  where  is 
he,  think  you  ? 

Duke.  I  know  not  where  but  wheresoever,  1 
wish  him  well. 

Lucio.  It  was  a  mad  fantastical  trick  of  him  to 
steal  from  the  state,  and  usurp  the  beggary  he  was 
never  born  to.  Lord  Angelo  dukes  it  well  in  his 
absence  :  he  puts  transgression  to't. 

Duke.  He  does  well  in't. 

Lucio.  A  little  more  lenity  to  lechery  would  cU 
no  harm  in  him  :  something  too  crabbed  that  way 
friar. 

6 


82 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  III. 


Di  ke.  It  is  too  general  a  vic«.,  and  severity  must 

*^^Lucio.  Yes,  in  good  sooth,  the  vice  is  of  a  great 
kindred ;  it  is  well  ally'd  :  but  it  is  impossible  to 
extirp  it  quite,  friar,  till  eating  and  drinking  be  put 
down.  They  say,  this  Angelo  was  not  made  by  man 
and  woman,  after  the  downright  way  of  creation  :  is 
it  true,  think  you  ?  •,  o 

DuK-e.  How  should  he  be  made,  then  ; 

Lucio.  Some  report,  a  sea-maid  spawn'd  him  :  — 
Some,  that  he  was  begot  between  two  stock-hshes  : 
—But  it  is  certain,  that  when  he  makes  water,  las 
urine  is  congeal  d  ice  ;  that  I  kno%v  Jo  be  true  :  and 
he  is  a  motion  ungenerative,  that  s  intalhb  e. 

Duke.  Yon  are  pleasant,  sir ;  and  speak  apace. 

Lucio.  Whv,  what  a  ruthless  thing  is  this  in  lum, 
for  the  rebellion  of  a  cod- piece,  to  take  away  the 
life  of  a  man  ?  Would  the  duke,  that  is  absent,  have 
done  this  ?  Ere  he  would  have  hang'd  a  man  for  the 
getting  a  hundred  bastards,  he  w^ould  have  paid  tor 
the  nursing  a  thousand  :  he  had  some  teehng  ol  the 
sport;  he  knew  the  service,  and  that  instructed  him 
to  mercy.  ,      ,      ,   ,  ,  i  j 

Duke.  I  never  heard  the  absent  duke  much  de- 
tected for  women;  he  was  not  inclined  that  way. 

Liccio.  O,  sir,  you  are  decened. 

Z)M^e.  'Tis  not  possible. 

Ltwio.  Who  ?  not  the  duke  ?  yes,  your  beggar  of 
fifty ;— and  liis  use  was,  to  put  a  ducat  in  her  c  ack- 
disli :  tlie  duke  had  crotchets  in  him :  he  would  be 
drunk  too;  that  let  me  inform  you. 

Duke.  You  do  him  wrong,  surely. 

Lucio.  Sir,  1  was  an  inward  ol  his  :  a  shy  lellow 
was  the  duke  :  and,  I  believe,  I  know  the  cause  of 
his  withdrawing.  .      ,     >,  r> 

Duke.  What,  I  pr'ythee,  might  be  the  cause 

Lucio.  No —pardon  ;— 'tis  a  secret  must  be  lock  d 
within  the  teeth  and  the  lips:  but  this  I  can  let  you 
understand,— The  greater  tile  ot  the  subject  held  the 
d'nke  to  be  wise,  . 

Duke.  Wise  ?  why,  no  question  but  he  was.  _ 

Liicio.  A  very  superficial,  ignorant,  unweighing 
fellow.  .  „ 

Duke.  Either  this  is  envy  in  you,  fo  ly,  or  mis- 
taking;  the  very  stream  of  his  life,  and  the  business 
he  hath  helmed,  must,  upon  a  warranted  need,  give 
him  a  better  proclamation.  Let  him  be  but  testi- 
monCrd  in  his  own  bringings  forth,  and  he  shall 
appear  to  the  envious  a  scholar,  a  statesman,  and 
a  soldier:  therefore,  you  speak  unskilfully;  or,  it 
your  knowledge  be  more,  it  is  much  darken  d  in 
your  malice. 

L?icio.  Sir,  I  know  him,  and  I  love  him. 

Duke.  Love  talks  with  better  knowledge,  and 
knowledge  with  dearer  love. 

Li'cio.  Come,  sir,  I  know  what  I  know. 

Duke.  I  can  hardly  believe  that,  since  you  know 
not  what  you  speak.  But,  if  ever  the  duke  return, 
'as  our  prayers  are  he  mav,)  let  me  desire  you  to 
make  your  answer  before  him:  if  it  be  honest  you 
have  spoke,  you  have  courage  to  maintain  it:  1  atn 
bound  to  call  upon  you  ;  and,  I  pray  you  your  name 

Lucio.  Sir,  my  name  is  Lucio ;  well  known  to  the 

^"j)uke.  He  shall  know  you  better,  sir,  if  I  may  live 
to  report  you. 

Lucto.  I  fear  you  not. 

Duke.  O,  you  hope  the  duke  will  return  no  more  ; 
or  you  imagine  me  too  unhurtful  an  opposite.  But, 
mdeed,  I  can  do  you  little  harm :  you'll  forswear 
this  agaiiu  ,         ,   ,      .  • 

Lucio.  I'll  be  hang'd  first:  thou  art  deceiv  d  in 
me,  friar.  But  no  more  of  this :  canst  thou  tell,  if 
Cla'udio  die  to-morrow,  or  no  ? 

Duke.  Why  should  he  die,  sir  ? 

Lucio.  Why?  Tor  tilling  a  bottle  with  a  tun-dish. 
1  would,  the  duke,  we  talk  of,  were  returnd  a^ain : 
this  uusenitui'd  agent  will  unpeople  the  province 
with  continency  ;  sparrows  must  not  build  in  his 
bouse-«aves,  because  they  are  lecherous.    1  he  duke 


yet  would  have  dark  deeds  darkly  answer'd ;  h« 
would  never  bring  them  to  light  would  he  were 
return'd !  Marry,  this  Claudio  is  condemn'd  for 
untrussing.  Farewell,  good  friar;  I  pr'ythee,  pray 
for  me.  The  duke,  1  say  to  thee  again,  would  eat 
mutton  on  Fridays.  He's  now  past  it ;  yet,  and  I 
say  to  thee,  he  would  mouth  with  a  beggar,  though 
she  smelt  brown  bread  and  garlic :  say,  that  I  said 
so.    Farewell.  [Exit. 

Duke.  No  might  nor  greatness  in  mortality 
Can  censure  'scape ;  back- wounding  calumny 
The  whitest  virtue  strikes  :  what  king  so  strong. 
Can  tie  the  gall  up  in  the  slanderous  tongue 
But  who  comes  here  ? 
Enter  EscALUS,  Provost,  Bawd,  and  Officers 
Escal.  Go,  away  with  her  to  prison. 
Bawd.  Good  my  lord,  be  good  to  me  ;  your  honour 
is  Hccounted  a  merciful  man:  good  my  lord. 

Escal.  Double  and  treble  admonition,  and  still 
forfeit  in  the  same  kind  ?  This  would  make  mercy 
swear,  and  play  the  tyrant. 

Prov.  A  bawd  of  eleven  years  continuance,  may 
it  please  your  honour. 

Bawd.  My  lord,  this  is  one  Lucio's  information 
against  me :  mistress  Kate  K.eep-down  was  with 
child  by  him  in  the  duke's  time,  he  promised  her 
marriage ;  his  child  is  a  year  and  a  quarter  old, 
come  Philii)  and  Jacob  :  I  have  kept  it  myself ;  and 
see  how  he  goes  about  to  abuse  me. 

Escal.  Tiiat  fellow  is  a  fellow  of  much  license  :— 
let  him  be  called  before  us.— Away  with  her  to 
pris(Ui :  go  to;  no  more  words.  [Exeunt  Bawd  and 
Ojficers.]  Protest,  my  brother  Angelo  will  not  be 
aiter'd,  Claudio  must  die  to-morrow:  1ft  him  be 
fiirnish'd  with  divine?,  and  have  all  charitable  pre- 
paration ;  if  my  brother  wrought  by  my  pity,  it  shoiila 
not  be  so  with  him. 

Prov.  So  please  you,  this  friar  hath  been  witl: 
him,  and  advised  him  for  the  entertainment  of  death 
Escal.  Good  even,  good  father. 
Duke.  Bhss  and  goodness  on  you  ! 
Esced.  Ot  whence  are  you  ? 

Duke.  Not  of  this  country,  though  my  chance  is 
now 

To  use  it  for  my  time  :  I  am  a  brother 
Of  gracious  order,  late  come  from  the  see. 
In  special  business  from  his  holiness. 

Escal.  What  news  abroad  i'  the  world? 
Duke.  None;  but  that  there  is  so  gieat  a  fever  on 
goodness,  tliat  the  dissolution  of  it  must  cure  it : 
novelty  is  onlv  in  request;  and  it  is  as  dangerous  to 
be  aged  in  any  kind  of  course,  as  it  is  virtuous  to  be 
constant  in  any  undertaking.  There  is  scarce  truth 
enough  alive,  to  make  societies  secure  ;  but  security 
enougii,  to  make  fellowships  accurs'd  :  much  u|)on 
this  riddle  runs  the  wisdom  of  the  world.  '\  his 
new  is  old  enough,  yet  it  is  every  day's  news.  J 
prav  you,  sir,  of  what  disposition  was  the  duke  ? 

Escal  One,  that,  above  all  other  strifes,  ecu 
tended  especially  to  know  himself. 

Duke.  What  pleasure  was  he  given  to  ? 
Escal.  Rather  rejoicing  to  see  another  merry, 
than  merry  at  any  thing  which  profess'd  to  make 
him  rejoice  :  a  gentleman  of  all  temperance.  But 
leave  we  him  to  his  events,  with  a  prayer  they  may 
prove  prosperous ;  and  let  me  desire  to  know,  hoTJ 
you  find  Claudio  pre.  ared.  I  am  made  to  under- 
stand, that  you  have  lent  him  visitation.  _ 

Duke.  He  professes  to  have  received  no  sinister 
measures  from  his  judge,  but  most  willingly  humbles 
himself  to  the  determination  of  justice  :  yet  had  he 
framed  to  himself,  by  the  instruction  of  his  frailty, 
many  deceiving  promises  of  life ;  which  I,  by  my 
good  leisure,  have  discredited  to  him,  and  now  is  he 
resolved  to  die. 

Escal.  You  have  paid  the  heavens  your  function, 
and  the  prisoner  the  very  debt  ot  your  calling.  I 
have  labour'd  for  the  poor  gentlemau.  to  the  ex- 
treU'Mt  shore  of  my  modesty  ;  but  my  brother  justice 


Act  IV.    Scene  2.  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


have  I  found  so  severe,  that  he  hath  forced  me  to 
tell  hini,  he  is  indeed — justice. 

Duke.  If  his  own  life  answer  the  straitness  of  his 
proceeding,  it  shall  become  .lira  well ;  wherein,  if 
ne  chance  to  fail,  he  hath  se'^cenced  hmiself. 

Escal.  I  am  going  to  visit  tiie  prisoner  :  fare 
you  well. 

Duke.  Peace  be  with  you  ! 

[Exeunt  Escalus  and  Provost. 
He,  who  the  sword  of  heaven  will  bear. 
Should  be  as  holy  as  severe  ; 
Pattern  in  himself  to  know, 
Grace  to  stand,  and  virtue  go  ; 
More  nor  less  to  others  paying, 
Than  by  self-otFences  weighing. 
Shame  to  him,  whose  cruel  striking 
Kills  for  faults  of  his  own  liking  I 
1  wice  treble  shame  on  Angelo, 
To  weed  my  vice,  and  let  his  grow ! 
0,  what  may  man  within  him  hide. 
Though  angel  on  the  outward  side  ! 
How  may  likeness,  made  in  crimes. 
Making  practice  on  the  times. 
Draw  with  idle  spiders'  strings 
Most  [jond'rous  and  substantial  things ! 
Craft  against  vice  I  must  apply: 
With  Angelo  to-night  shall  lie 
His  old  betrothed,  but  despis'd  ; 
So  disguise  shall,  by  the  disguis'd. 
Pay  with  falsehoold  false  exacting, 
And  perform  an  old  contracting. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — A  Room  in  Marianas  House. 
Mariana  discovered  sitting ;  a  Boy  singing. 
SONG. 

Take,  oh  take  those  lips  away. 

That  so  sa  eetly  ivere  forsworn  ; 
And  those  eyes,  the  break  cf  day, 

Lights  that  do  mislead  the  in^rn  : 
But  my  kisses  bring  again, 

bring  again. 
Seals  of  love,  but  seaVd  in  vain, 

seal  din  vain. 

Mart.  Break  off  thy  song,  and  haste  thee  quick 
away  ; 

Here  comes  a  man  of  comfort,  whose  advice 
Hath  often  stiil'd  my  brawding  discontent. — 

[Exit  Boy. 

Enter  Duke. 

I  cry  you  mercy,  sir;  and  well  could  wish. 
You  had  not  found  iiie  here  so  musical  : 
Let  me  excuse  me,  and  believe  me  so, — 
My  mirth  it  much  displeas'd,  but  pleas'd  my  woe. 
Duke.  'Tis  good  :  though  music  oft  hath  such  a 
charm. 

To  make  bad,  good,  and  good  provoke  to  harnti. 
I  pray  you,  tell  me,  hath  any  body  inqui  ed  for  me 
here  to-day  ?  much  upon  this  time  have  I  promis'd 
here  to  meet. 

Mart.  You  have  not  been  Inquired  after :  I  have 
«at  here  all  day. 

Enter  Isabella. 

Duke.  I  do  constantly  believe  you  : — The  time  is 
come,  even  now.  I  shall  crave  your  forbearance  a 
.ittle  :  may  be,  I  will  call  upon  you  anon,  for  some 
advantage  to  yourself. 

Mari.  I  am  always  bound  to  you.  [Exit. 

Duke.  Very  well  met,  and  welcome. 
What  is  the  news  from  this  good  deputy  ? 

Isab.  He  hath  a  garden  circuuunur'd  with  brick, 
Whose  westt^rn  side  is  with  a  vineyard  back'd  ; 
And  to  that  vineyard  is  a  planched  gate, 
Thut  makes  his  opening  with  this  bigger  key 
This  other  doth  comma,^d  a  little  door. 


83 

Which  from  the  vineyard  to  the  garden  leads  , 
There  have  I  made  my  promise  to  call  on  him, 
Upon  the  heavy  middle  of  the  night.  (way  ? 

Duke.  But  shall  you  on  your  knowledge  find  thii 

Isab.  I  have  ta'en  a  due  and  wary  note  upout; 
With  whispering  and  most'guilty  diligence. 
In  action  all  of  precept  he  did  show  me 
The  way  twice  o'er. 

Duke.  Are  th^re  no  other  tokens 

Between  you  'greed,  concerning  her  observance  ? 

Isab.  No,  none,  but  cnly  a  repair  i'  the  dark; 
And  that  I  have  possessed  him,  my  most  stay 
Can  be  but  brief:  for  I  have  made  him  know, 
I  have  a  servant  comes  with  me  along. 
That  stays  upon  me  ;  whose  persuasion  is, 
I  come  about  my  brother. 

Duke.  'Tis  well  borue 

I  have  nut  yet  made  known  to  Mariana 
A  word  oi'this  : — What,  ho !  within  !  come  forth ! 

Re-enter  Mariana. 

I  pray  you  be  acquainted  with  this  maid; 
Slie  comes  to  do  you  good. 

Isab.  I  do  desire  the  likt. 

Duke.  Do  you  persuade  yourself,  that  I  respect 
you !  [found  it. 

Mari.   Good  friar,  I  know  you  do,  and  have 

Duke.  Take  then  this  your  companion  by  the  hand, 
W  ho  hath  a  story  ready  for  your  ear: 
I  shall  attend  your  leisure  ;  but  make  haste  ; 
The  vaporous  night  approaclies. 

Mari.  VV^iirt  please  you  walk  aside? 

[Exeunt  Mariana  and  Isabella, 

Duke.  O  place  and  srrealness.  uiillKuis  oi'  lalse 
Are  struck  upon  thee !  volumes  of  report  [eyea 
Run  with  these  false  and  most  contrarious  quests 
Upon  thy  doings  !  thousand  'scapes  of  wit 
Make  thee  the  father  of  their  idle  di  eam. 
And  rack  thee  in  their  fancies! — Welcome!  How 
agreed  ? 

Re-enter  Mariana  and  Isabellj^. 

Isab.  She'll  take  the  enterprise  upon  hei">  father, 
If  you  advise  it. 

Duke.  It  is  not  my  consent. 

But  my  entreaty  too. 

Isab.  Little  have  you  to  say. 

When  you  depart  from  \v"\  but,  soft  and  Lm, 
Remember  now  my  bra 

Mari.  Pear  me  not. 

Duke.  Nor,  gentle  daughter,  I'ear  you  not  at  all  ] 
He  is  your  husband  on  a  pre-contract : 
To  bring  you  thus  together,  'tis  no  sin  ; 
Sith  that  the  justice  of  your  title  to  him 
Doth  tlt)unsh  the  deceit.    Come,  let  us  go; 
Our  corn's  to  reap,  for  yet  our  tithe's  to  sow. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — A  Room  in  the  Prison. 

Enter  Provost  and  Clown. 

Prov.  Come  hither,  sirrah  :  can  you  cut  ofT  a 
man's  head  ? 

Clo.  If  the  man  be  a  bachelor,  sir,  I  can  :  but  if  he 
be  a  married  man,  he  is  his  wife's  head,  and  I  can 
never  cut  off  a  woman's  Iiead. 

Prov.  Come,  sir,  leave  me  your  snatches,  and 
yield  me  a  direct  answer.  To-morrow  morning  are 
to  die  Claudio  and  Barnardine  :  here  is  in  our  pri- 
son a  common  executioner,  who  in  his  office  lacks  a 
helper;  if  you  will  take  it  on  you  to  assist  him,  it 
shall  redeem  you  from  your  gyves;  if  not,  you  shall 
have  your  full  time  of  imprisonment,  and  your  de- 
liverance with  an  unpitied  whippping  ;  for  you  have 
been  a  notorious  bawd, 

Clo.  Sir,  I  have  been  an  unlawful  bawd,  timeout 
of  mind  ;  but  yet  I  will  be  content  to  be  a  lawful 
hangman.  I  would  be  glad  to  receive  some  instruc- 
tion from  my  fellow  partner.  [the 

Prov.  What  ho.  Abhorson !  Where's  Abihci3on^ 


84 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  IV. 


Enier  Abhorson. 
Abhor.  Do  you  call,  sir? 

Frov.  Sirrah,  here's  a  fellow  will  help  you  to- 
tnorrow  in  your  execution  :  if  you  think  it  meet, 
compound  with  hini  by  the  year,  and  let  him  abide 
liere  with  you;  if  not,  use  him  for  the  present,  and 
'lisiuiss  him  :  he  cannot  plead  his  estimation  with 
you  ;  he  hath  been  a  bawd. 

Abhor.  A  bawd,  sir  ?  Fy  upon  him,  he  will  dis- 
credit our  mystery. 

Prov.  Go'  to,  sir ;  yoa  weigh  equally ;  a  feather 
will  turn  the  scale.  [Exit. 

Clo.  Pray,  sir,  by  your  good  favour,  (for,  surely, 
?ir,  a  good  favour  you  have,  but  that  you  have  a 
hauging  look,)  do  you  call,  sir,  your  occupation  a 
mystery? 

Abhor.  Ah,  sir,  a  mystery. 

6Vo.  Painting,  sir,  I  have  heard  say,  is  a  mystery  ; 
and  your  whores,  sir,  being  members  of  mj  occu- 
pation, using  painting,  do  prove  my  occupation  a 
mystery:  but  what  mystery  there  should  be  in 
hanging,  if  I  should  be  hanged,  I  cannot  imagine. 

Abr'f>^.  Sir,  it  is  a  mystery. 

Clo.  Prooi'. 

Abhor.  Every  true  man's  apparel  fits  your  thief : 
rf  it  be  too  little  for  your  thief,  your  true  man  thinks 
it  big  enough;  if  it  be  too  big  for  your  thief,  your 
thief  thinks  it  little  enough:  so  every  true  man's 
aijparel  fits  your  thief. 

Re-enter  Provost. 

Prov.  Are  you  agreed  ? 

(Jlo.  Sir,  I  will  serve  him;  fori  do  find,  your 
liangman  is  a  more  penitent  trade  than  your  bawd  ; 
ke  doth  oftener  ask  forgiveness. 

Prov.  You,  sirrah,  provide  your  block  and  your 
axe,  to-morrow,  four  o'clock. 

Abhor.  Come  on,  bawd  ;  I  will  instruct  thee  in  my 
trade  ;  follow. 

Clo.  I  do  desire  to  learn,  sir ;  and  I  hope,  if  you 
have  occasion  to  use  me  for  your  own  turn,  you 
shall  find  me  yare  :  ior,  truly,  sir,  for  your  kindness, 
1  owe  you  a  good  turn. 

Prov.  Call  hither  Barnardine  and  Claudio  : 

[Exeunt  Clown  and  Abhorson. 
O*  e  has  my  pity ;  not  a  jot  the  other, 
Bt  .'ng  a  murderer,  though  he  were  my  brother. 

Enter  Claudio. 
Look,here's  the  warrant,  Claudio,  for  thy  death  : 
'Tis  now  dead  midnight,  and  by  eight  to-morrow 
Thou  must  be  made  immortal.     Where's  Barnar- 
dine''' [labour 

Claud.  As  fast  lock'd  up  in  sleep,  as  guiltless 
When  it  lies  starkly  in  the  travellers  bones  : 
He  will  not  wake. 

Prov.  Who  can  do  good  on  him  ? 

Well,  gj'  prepare  yourself.  But  hark,  what  noise  ? 

[Knocking  within.) 
Heaven  give  your  spirits  comfort !     [Exit  Claudio. 

By  and  by  : — 
1  hope  it  is  some  pardon,  or  reprieve, 
For  the  most  gentle  Claudio. — Welcome,  father. 

Enter  Duke. 
Duke.  The  best  and  wholesomest  spirits  of  the 
night  [late  ? 

Envelop  you,  good  provost !    Whc  jailed  here  of 
Prov.  None,  since  the  curfew  rung. 
Duke.  Not  Isabel  ? 

Prov.  No. 


Duke. 


They  wiH  then,  ere't  be  long. 


Prov  What  comfort  is  for  Claudio  ? 

Duke.  Tiiere's  some  in  hope. 

Prov.  It  is  a  bitter  deputy. 

Duke.  Not  so,  not  so  ;  his  'ife  is  par^tllel'd 
Even  with  fciie  stroke  and  line  ui"  his  great  justice  ; 
He  doth  witli  holy  abstinence  subdue 
That  in  himself,  which  he  spurs  on  his  power 
To  qualify  in  others  :  were  lie  iiieal'd  [nous; 
With  that  which  he  corrects,  then  were  he  tyrau 


Jut  this  being  so, he's  just.— Now  are  they  come.— 
[Knock  within. — Provost  yoes  out. 
This  is  a  gentle  provost:  seldom,  when 
The  steeled  gaoler  is  the  friend  of  men. — 
How  now  ?    What  noise  ?    That  spirit's  possess 

with  haste,  [strokes. 
That   wounds   the   unsisting  postern   with  these 

Provost  returns,  speaking  to  one  at  the  door. 

Prov.  There  he  must  stay,  until  the  officer 
Arise  to  let  him  in  ;  he  is  call'd  up. 

Duke'.  Have  you  no  countermand  for  Ciandio  yet 
But  he  must  die  to-morrow  ? 

Prov.  None,  sir,  none, 

Duke.  As  near  the  dawning.  Provost,  as  it  is, 
Yon  shall  hear  more  ere  morning. 

Prov.  Happily, 
You  something  know;  yet,  I  believe,  there  comes 
No  counterm'and ;  no  such  example  have  we  : 
Besides,  upon  the  very  siege  of  justice. 
Lord  Angelc  hath  to  the  public  ear 
Prol'ess'd  the  contrary. 

Enter  a  Messenger, 

Duke.T\i\s  is  his  lordship's  man. 

Prov.  And  here  comes  Claudio'j  pardon. 

Me^s.  My  lord  hath  sent  yon  this  note :  and  by 
me  tliis  further  charge,  that  you  svverve  not  from 
the  smallest  article  of  it,  neither  in  time,  matter,  uoi 
other  circumstance.  Good-morrow ;  for,  as  I  ti'ke 
it,  it  is  almost  day. 

Prov.  I  shall  obey  him.  [Exit  Messev<jer 

Duke.  This  is  his  pardon  ;  purchas'd  by  such  sm 

[Aside. 

For  which  the  pardoner  himself  is  in  : 

Hence  hath  offence  his  quick  c-elerity, 

When  it  is  borne  in  high  authority  : 

When  vice  makes  mercy,  mercy's  so  extended. 

That  for  the  fault's  love,  is  the  ofiender  I'riended  — 

Now,  sir,  what  news  ? 

Prov.  1  told  you :  lord  Angelo,  belike,  tiiinkiu 
me  remiss  in  mine  office,  awakens  me  with  th^ 
unwonted  putting  on  :  niethinks,  strangely  ;  for  u 
hatfi  not  used  it  before. 

Duke.  Pray  you.  let's  hear. 

Prov.  [Reads.)  Whatsoever  yon  may  hear  to  t/i& 
contrary,  let  Claudio  be  executed  by  Jour  of  the 
clock  ;  and,  in  the  afternoon,  Barnardine  :  for  my 
better  satisfaction.  Let  me  Jtave  Claudio  s  /t(r  adsent 
me  by  five.  Let  thisbedulyperform' d;  with  a  thought 
that  more  depends  on  it  than  tve  must  yet  deliver. 
Thus  fail  not  to  do  your  o£ice,  as  you  ivill  answ  r 
it  at  your  peril. — What  say  you  to  this,  sir  ? 

Duke.  What  is  that  BarnarJine, who  is  to  be  ex 
cuted  in  the  afternoon  ? 

Prov.  A  Bohemian  born;  but  here  nursed  up  fwid 
bred  :  one  that  is  a  prisoner  nine  years  old. 

Duke.  How  came  it,  that  the  absent  duke  had  not 
either  deliver  d  him  to  his  liberty,  or  executed  him  ? 
I  have  heard,  it  was  ever  his  manner  to  do  so. 

Prov.  His  friends  still  wrought  reprieves  for  him  . 
and,  indeed,  his  fact,  till  now  in  the  government  o 
lord  Angelo,  came  not  to  an  undoubtful  proof. 

Duke.  Is  it  now  apparent  ? 

Prov.  Most  manifest,  and  not  denied  by  himself. 

Duke.  Hath  he  borne  himself  penitently  in  pri- 
How  seems  he  to  be  touch'd  ?  [son 

Prov.  A  man  that  apprehends  death  no  mor 
dreadfully,  but  as  a  drunken  sleep;  careless,  reck- 
less, and  fearless  of  what  s  past,  present,  or  to  cooii* , 
insensible  of  mortality,  and  desperately  mortal. 

Duke.  He  wants  advice. 

Prov.  He  will  hear  none  :  he  hath  evermore  hail 
the  liberty  of  the  prison;  give  him  leave  to  escape 
hence,  he  would  not ;  drunk  many  times  a  day,  if  not 
many  days  entirely  drunk.  We  have  very  often 
awaked  him,  as  if  to  carry  him  to  execution,  and 
showed  him  a  seeming  warrant  for  it  :  it  hath  not 
moved  him  at  all. 

Duke.  More  of  him  anon.  There  is  written  in 
your  brow,  Provost,  hone^ity  and  r.oustancy :  if  1 


Scene  3.  MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


read  it  not  truly,  my  ancient  skill  begnilos  me ;  but 
in  the  boldness  of  my  cunning,  I  will  lay  myself  in 
hazard.  Claudio,  whom  here  you  have  a  warrant  to 
eiecute,  is  no  greater  forfeit  to  the  law  than  Angelo, 
who  hath  sentenced  hrm  :  to  make  you  understand 
this  in  a  manifested  effect,  I  crave  but  four  days 
respite  ;  for  the  which  you  ate  to  do  me  both  a  pre- 
«e;it  and  a  dangerous  courtesy. 

Prov.  Pray,  sir,  in  what  ? 

Duke.  In  the  delaying  death. 

Prov.  Alack!  how  may  I  do  it?  having  the  hour 
lintited  ;  and  an  express  command,  under  penalty, 
to  deliver  his  head  in  the  view  ol"  Angelo  .  1  may 
make  my  case  as  Claudio's,  to  cross  this  in  the 
smallest. 

Duke.  By  the  vow  of  mine  order,  I  warrant  you, 
if  my  instructions  may  be  your  guide.  Let  this 
Barnardine  be  this  morning  executed,  and  his  head 
borne  to  Angelo. 

Prov.  Angelo  hath  seen  them  both,  and  will  dis- 
cover the  favour. 

Duke.  O,  death's  a  great  disguiser:  and  you  may 
add  to  it.  Shave  the  head,  and  tie  the  beard;  and 
say,  it  was  the  desire  of  the  penitent  to  be  so  bared 
before  his  death  :  you  know,  the  course  is  com- 
mon. If  any  thing  fall  to  you  upon  this,  more  than 
thanks  and  good  fortune,  by  the  saint  whom  I  pro- 
fess, [  will  plead  against  it  with  my  life. 

Prov.  Pardon  me,  good  father ;  it  is  against  my 
oath.  [  deputy  ? 

Duke.  Were  you  sworn  to  the  duke,  or  to  the 

Prov.  To  him  and  to  his  substitutes. 

Duke.  You  will  think  you  have  made  no  offence, 
'f  the  duke  avouch  the  justice  of  your  dealing? 

Prov.  But  what  likelihood  is  in  that  ? 

Duke.  Not  a  resemblance,  but  a  certainty.  Yet 
since  I  see  you  fearful,  that  neither  my  coat,  inte- 
grity, nor  my  persuasion,  can  with  ease  attempt  you, 
1  will  go  further  than  I  meant,  to  pluck  all  fears  out 
of  you.  Look  you,  sir,  here  is  the  hand  and  seal  of 
the  duke.  You  know  the  character,  1  doubt  not ; 
and  the  signet  is  not  strange  to  you. 

Prov.  i  know  them  both. 

Duke.  The  contents  of  this  is  the  return  of  t<he 
duke;  you  shall  anon  over-read  it  at  your  pleasure; 
where  you  shall  find,  within  these  two  days  he  will 
be  here.  This  is  a  thing  that  Angelo  knows  not : 
fi)r  he  this  very  day  receives  letters  of  strange  tenor  ; 
pt^rchance,  of  the  duke's  death;  perchance,  enter- 
ing into  some  monastery;  but,  by  chance,  nothing 
of  what  is  writ.  Look,  the  unfolding  star  calls  up 
the  shepherd  :  put  not  yourself  into  amazement, 
how  these  things  should  be  :  all  ditliculties  are  but 
«asy  when  they  are  known.  Call  your  execu- 
tioner, and  off  with  Bernardine's  head:  I  will  give 
him  a  present  shrift,  and  advise  him  for  a  bet- 
ter place.  Yet  yuu  are  amazed;  but  this  shall  ab- 
solutely resolve  you.  Come  away;  it  is  almost 
clear  dawn.  [Exeunt. 
Scene  III. — Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Clown. 
fUo.  I  am  as  well  acquainted  here  as  I  was  in 
our  house  of  profession  :  one  would  think,  it  were 
mistress  Over  done's  own  house,  for  here  be  many 
of  her  old  customers.  First,  here's  young  master 
Rash ;  he's  in  for  a  commodity  of  brown  paper  and 
old  ginger,  ninescore  and  seventeen  pounds  ;  of 
which  he  made  five  marks,  ready  money  :  marry, 
the  ginger  was  not  much  in  recjuest,  for  the  old 
women  were  all  dead.  Then  is  there  here  one 
master  Caper,  at  the  suit  of  master  Three- |>ile  the 
Tiercer,  for  some  four  suits  of  peach  coloured  satin, 
which  now  peaches  him  a  beggar,  'i'hen  have  we 
ere  young  Dizy,  and  young  master  De-.-p-vow,  and 
master  Coppt-r-spur,  and  master  Starve-lackey  the 
lapier  and  dagger-man,  and  young  Drup-heir  that 
«iiird  lusty  Pudding,  and  master  Forthright  the 
tilter,  and  brave  master  Shoe-tie  the  great  traveller, 
aii'i  wild  Half-can  that  stabb'd  Pots,  und,  I  think, 


85 

forty  more ;  all  great  doers  in  our  trade,  and  are 
now  for  the  Lord" s  sake. 

Enter  Abhorson. 

Abhor.  Sirrah,  bring  Barnardine  hither. 

Clo.  Master  Barnardine  !  you  must  rise  and  be 
hang'd,  master  Barnardine ! 

Abhor.  What,  ho,  Barnardine  ! 

Barnar.  {Within.)  A  pox  o'  your  throats!  Wlis 
makes  that  noise  there  ?  What  are  you? 

Clo.  Your  friends,  sir;  the  hangman:  you  must 
be  so  good,  sir,  to  rise  and  be  put  to  death. 

Barnar.  {^T  ithin.)  Away,  you  rogue,  away;  I 
am  sleepy. 

Abhor.  Tell  him,  he  must  awake,  and  that  quickly 
too. 

Clo.  Pray,  master  Barnardine,  awake  till  you  are 
executed,  and  sleep  afterwards. 

Abhor.  Go  in  to  him,  and  fetch  liim  out. 

Clo.  He  is  coming,  sir,  he  is  coming ;  I  hear  his 
straw  rustle. 

Enter  Barnardine. 

Abhor.  Is  the  axe  upon  the  block,  sirrah? 
Clo.  Very  ready,  sir, 

Barnar.  How  now,  Abhorson  ?  what's  the  news 
with  you  ? 

Abhor.  Truly,  sir,  I  would  desire  you  to  clap  into 
your  prayers  ;  for,  look  you,  the  warrant's  come. 

Barnar.  You  rogue,  I  have  been  drinking  all 
night,  I  am  not  fitted  for't. 

Clo.  O,  the  belter,  sir ;  for  he  that  drinks  all  night, 
and  is  hanged  betimes  in  the  morning,  may  sleep  the 
sounder  all  the  next  day. 

Enter  Duke. 

Abhor.  Look  you,  sir,  here  comes  your  ghostly 
father  :  do  we  jest  now,  think  you  ? 

Duke.  Sir,  induced  by  my  charity,  and  hearing 
how  hastily  you  are  to  depart,  I  am  come  to  advise 
you,  comfort  you,  and  pray  with  you. 

Barnar.  Friar,  not  1  ;  I  have  been  drinking 
hard  all  night,  and  I  will  have  more  time  to  pre- 
pare me,  or  they  shall  beat  out  my  brains  with 
billets  :  I  will  not  consent  to  die  this  day,  that's 
certain,  [you, 

Duke.  O,  sir,  you  must  :  and  therefore,  I  beseech 
look  forward  on  the  journey  you  shall  go, 

Barnar.  I  swear,  I  will  not  die  to-day  for  any 
man's  persuasion. 

Duke..  But  hear  you, — 

Barnar.  Not  a  word ;  if  you  have  any  thing  to 
say  to  me,  come  to  my  ward ;  for  thence  will  not  I 
to-day.  [Exit. 

Enter  Provost. 

Duke.  Unfit  to  live,  or  die  :  O,  gravel  heart!  — 
After  him,  fellows  ;  bring  him  to  the  block. 

[Exeunt  Abhorson  and  Clown, 

Prov.  Now,  sir,  how  do  you  find  the  prisoner? 

Duke.  A  creature  unprepar'd,  unmeet  for  death; 
And,  to  transport  him  in  the  mind  he  is. 
Were  damnable. 

Prov.  Here  in  the  prison,  faihe» 

There  died  this  morning  of  a  cruel  fever 
One  Ragozine,  a  most  notorious  pirate, 
A  man  of  Claudio's  years;  his  beard,  and  head. 
Just  of  his  colour  :  what  if  we  do  omit 
This  reprobate,  till  he  were  well  inclined ; 
And  satisfy  the  deputy  with  the  visage 
Of  Ragozine,  more  like  to  Claudio? 

Duke.  'O,  'tis  an  accident  that  heaven  urovideil 
Despatch  it  presently  ;  the  hour  draws  on 
Prerix'd  by  Angelo  :  see,  this  be  done. 
And  sent  according  to  command  ;  whiles  I 
Persuade  this  rude  wretch  willingly  to  die. 

Prov.  This  shall  be  done,  good  father,  presently. 
But  Barnardine  must  die  this  afternoon  : 
And  how  shall  we  continue  Clandio, 
To  save  me  from  the  danger  that  might  comfe 


8e 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  rV, 


ir  he  were  known  alive?  [holds, 

Duke.  Let  this  be  done  ; — Put  them  u  secret 
Both  Barnardine  and  Ciaudio  :  ere  twice 
rise  sun  hath  made  his  journal  greeting  to 
The  under  generation,  you  shall  find 
Your  salety  manifested. 

Prov.  1  am  your  free  dependent. 

Duke.  Quick,  despatch 

And  semi  the  head  to  Angelo.  [Exit  Provost. 
Kow  will  I  write  letters  to  Angelo, — 

The  provost,  he  shall  bear  them,  whose  contents 

Shall  witness  to  him,  I  am  near  at  home ; 
And  that,  by  great  injunctions,  1  am  bound 
To  enter  publicly:  him  I'll  desire 
'^"o  meet  me  at  the  consecrated  fount, 
A.  league  below  the  city ;  and  from  thence. 
By  cold  gradation  and  weal-balanced  form. 
We  shall  proceed  with  Angelo. 

Re-enter  Provost. 

Prov.  Here  is  tlie  head  ;  I'll  carry  it  myself, 

Duke.  Convenient  is  it :  make  a  swift  return  ; 
For  I  would  commune  with  you  of  such  things, 
That  want  no  ear  but  yours. 

Prov.  _         I'll  make  all  speed.  [.E.vit, 

Isab.  [WithiJi.)  Peace,  ho,  be  here  ! 

Duke.  The  tongue  of  Isabel ;  —  she's  come  tc 
know. 

If  yet  her  brother's  pardon  be  come  hither  : 
But  I  will  keep  her  ignorant  of  her  good. 
To  make  her  heavenly  comforts  of  despair. 
When  it  is  least  expected. 

Enter  Isabella. 
Isab.  Ho,  by  your  leave. 

Duke.  Good  morning  to  you,  fair  and  gracious 
daughter. 

Isab.  The  better,  given  me  by  so  holy  a  man. 
Ilith  yet  the  deputy  sent  my  brother's  pardon? 

Duke  He  hath  releas'd  him,  Isabel,  from  the 
His  head  is  off,  and  sent  to  Angelo.  [world  : 

Isab.  Nay,  but  it  is  not  so. 

Du1c».  It  is  no  other : 

Show  your  wisdom,  daughter,  in  your  close  patience. 

[sab.  0,  I  will  to  him,  and  pluck  out  his  eyes. 

Duke.  You  shall  not  be  admitted  to  his  sight. 

Isab.  Unhappy  Ciaudio  !  Wretched  Isabel ! 
Injurious  world  !  Most  damned  Angelo  ! 

Duke.  This  nor  hurts  him,  nor  profits  you  a  jot : 
Forbear  it  therefore  ;  give  your  cause  to  heaven. 
Mark  what  I  say ;  which  you  shall  find 
By  every  syllable,  a  faithful  verity :  [eyes  ; 

The  duke  comes  home  to-morrow ; — nay,  dry  your 
One  ol  our  convent,  and  his  confessor, 
Gives  me  this  instance  :  already  he  hath  carried 
Notice  to  Escalus  and  Angelo; 
Who  do  prepare  to  meet  him  at  the  gates, 
There  to  give  up  their  power.    II'  you  can,  pace 

your  wisdom 
In  that  good  path  that  I  would  wish  it  go  ; 
And  you  shall  have  your  bosom  on  this  wretch, 
Grace  of  the  duke,  revenges  to  your  heart. 
And  general  honour. 

isab.  I  am  directed  by  you. 

Duke.  This  letter  then  to  friar  Peter  give ; 
'TIS  that  he  sent  me  of  the  duke's  return  : 
Say,  by  this  token,  I  desire  his  company 
At  Mariana's  house  to-night.    Her  cause,  and  yours, 
ril  perfect  him  withal ;  and  he  shall  bring  you 
Before  the  duke  ;  and  to  the  head  of  Angelo 
Accuse  him  home,  and  home.    For  my  poor  self, 
I  am  combined  by  a  sacred  vow. 
And  shall  be  absent.  Wend  you  with  this  letter : 
Command  these  fretting  waters  from  your  eyes 
With  a  light  heart ;  trust  not  my  holy  order. 
If  1  pervert  your  course. — Who's  here  ? 

l^ter  Lucio. 
Lucio.  Good  even! 

Friar,  where  is  the  provost  ? 
Puke.  Not  within,  sir. 


Lucio.  O,  pretty  Isabella,  I  am  pale  at  mm« 
heart,  to  see  thine  eyes  so  red  :  thou  must  be  pa 
tient  :  1  am  fain  to  dine  and  sup  with  water  and 
bran;  I  dare  net  for  my  head  fill  my  belly,  one 
fruitful  meal  would  set  me  t»  "t :  but  they  saj  the 
duke  will  be  here  to  monow.  By  my  troth,  Isabel, 
I  lov'd  thy  brother:  if  the  old  fantastical  duke  o 
dark  corners  had  been  at  home,  he  had  lived. 

[Exit  IsabellA 

Duke.  Sir,  the  duke  is  marvellous  little  beholde 
to  your  reports  ;  but  the  best  is,  he  lives  not  in  them 

Jjucio.  Friar,  thou  knowest  not  the  duke  so  wel 
as  I  do :  he's  a  better  woodman  than  thou  takest 
him  for. 

Duke.  Well,  you'll  answer  this  one  day.  Fare 
ye  well. 

Lucio.  Nay,  tan-y;  I'll  go  along  with  thee  ;  I  can 
tell  thee  pretty  tales  of  the  du^e. 

Duke.  You  have  told  me  too  many  of  him  al- 
ready, sir,  if  they  be  true;  if  not  true,  none  were 
enough. 

Lucio.  I  was  once  before  him  for  getting  a  wench 
with  child. 

Duke.  Did  you  such  a  thing? 

Lucio.  Yes,  marry,  did  I  :  but  was  fain  to  for- 
swear it ;  they  would  else  have  married  me  to  the 
rotten  medlar. 

Duke.  Sir,  your  company  is  fairer  than  honest : 
rest  you  well. 

Lucio.  By  my  troth,  I'll  go  with  thee  to  the 
lane's  end  :  if  bawdy  talk  oflend  you,  we'll  have 
very  little  of  it:  nay,  friar,  I  am  a  kind  of  bur,  I 
shall  stick.  [Exeunt. 
Scene  IV. — A  Room  in  Angela's  House. 
Enter  Angelo  and  Escalus. 

Escal.  Every  letter  he  hath  writ  hath  disvouch'd 
other. 

Ang.  In  most  uneven  and  distracted  manner. 
His  actions  show  much  like  to  madness:  pray  hea 
ven,  his  wisdom  be  not  tainted!  And  why  meet  hiic 
at  the  gates,  and  re-deliver  our  authorities  there? 

Escal.  I  guess  not. 

A?ig.  And  why  should  we  proclaim  it  in  an  hour 
before  his  entering,  that  if  any  crave  redress  of  in- 
justice, they  shoidd  exhibit  their  petitions  in  the 
street  ? 

Escal.  He  shows  his  reason  for  that,  to  have  a 
despatch  of  complaints  ;  and  to  deliver  us  from  de- 
vices hereafter,  which  shall  then  have  no  power  Ic 
stand  against  us. 

Ang.  Well,  I  beseech  you,  let  it  be  proclaim'd 
Betimes  i'  the  morn,  I'll  call  you  at  your  house : 
Give  notice  to  such  men  of  sort  and  suit. 
As  are  to  meet  him. 

Escal.  I  shall,  sir :  fare  you  well.  {Exit 

Ang.  Good  night. — 
This  deed  unshapes  me  quite,  makes  me  unpregnaut 
And  dull  to  all  proceedings.    A  deflower'd  maid  ! 
And  by  an  eminent  body,  that  enforc'd 
The  law  against  it ! — But  that  her  tender  shame 
Will  not  proclaim  against  her  maiden  loss,  [no 
How  might  she  tongue  me  ?  Yet  reason  dares  her?— 
For  my  authority  bears  a  credent  bulk. 
That  no  particular  scandal  once  can  touch. 
But  it  confounds  the  breather,  fie  should  have  liv'd. 
Save  that  his  riotous  youth,  with  dangerous  sense. 
Might,  in  the  limes  to  come,  have  ta'en  revenge. 
By  so  receiving  a  dishonour'd  life,  [liv'd 
VVith  ransom  of  such  shame.  'Would  yet  he  had 
Alack,  when  once  our  grace  we  have  forgot. 
Nothing  goes  right :  we  would,  and  we  would  not 

[Exit. 

Scene  Y. — Fields  without  the  Totvn. 
Enter  Duke  in  his  own  habit,  and  Friar  Peter. 
Duke.  These  letters  at  fittmie  deliver  me. 

[Giving  letiertt 
The  provost  knows  our  purpose,  and  our  plot. 
The  matter  being  afoot,  keep  your  instruction. 
And  hold  you  ever  to  our  special  drift ; 


Act  y.    Scene  1. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


87 


Though  sometimes  you  do  blench  from  this  to  that, 
As  cause  doth  minister.   Go,  call  at  Flavins'  house, 
And  tell  him  where  1  stay :  give  the  like  notice 
To  Valentiniis,  Rowland,  and  to  Crassiis, 
And  bid  tliem  bring  the  trumpets  to  the  gate; 
But  send  me  Flavius  first. 

F.  Peter.  It  shall  be  speeded  well. 

[.Exit  Friar. 

Enter  Varrius. 

Duke.  1  thank  thee,  Varrius;  thou  hast  made 
good  haste  : 

Come,  we  will  walk  :  there's  other  of  our  friends 
Will  greet  us  here  anon,  my  gentle  Varrius. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  Yl.Street  near  the  City  Gate. 
Fmter  Isabella  and  Mariana. 

Isab.  To  speak  so  indirectly,  I  am  loath ; 
A  would  say  the  truth  ;  but  to  accuse  him  so, 
That  is  your  part:  yet  I'm  advis'd  to  do  it; 
He  says,  to  veil  full  purpose. 

Mari.  Be  rul'd  by  him. 

Isab.  Besides,  he  tells  me,  that,  if  peradventu.e 
He  speak  against  me  on  the  adverse  side, 
I  should  not  think  it  strange  ;  for  'tis  a  physic. 
That's  bitter  to  sweet  end. 

Mari.  1  would,  friar  Peter — 

Isab.  O,  peace ;  the  friar  is  come. 

Enter  Friar  Peter. 
F.  Peter.  Come,  I  have  found  you  out  a  stand 
most  fit, 

W^here  you  may  have  such  vantage  on  the  duke. 
He  shall  not  pass  you  :  twice  have  the  trumpets 

sounded  ; 
The  generous  and  gravest  citizens 
Have  hent  the  gates,  and  very  near  upon 
The  duke  is  ent'ring ;  therefore  hence,  away. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — A  public  Place  near  the  City  Gate. 
Marl4NA  {veiled),  Isabella,  and  Peter,  at  a  dis- 
tance. Enter  at  opjiosite  doors,  Duke,  Varrius, 
Lords;  Angelo,   Escalus,  Lucio^  Provost, 
Officers,  and  Citizens. 

Duke.  My  very  worthy  cousin,  fairly  met: — 
Our  old  and  iaithful  friend,  we  are  glad  to  see  you. 
Anfj.  and  Escal.  Happy  return  be  to  your  royal 

grace  I 

Duke.  Many  and  hearty  thankings  to  you  both. 
We  have  made  inquiry  ot  you ;  and  we  hear 
Such  goodness  of  your  justice,  that  our  soul 
Cannot  but  yield  you  forth  to  public  thanks, 
Foreruiming  more  requital. 

Ang.  You  make  my  bonds  still  greater. 

Duke.  O,  your  desert  speaks  loud  ;  and  I  should 
wrong  it. 

To  lock  it  in  the  wards  of  covert  bosom. 
When  it  deserves  with  characters  of  brass 
A  forted  residence,  'gainst  the  tooth  of  time 
And  razure  of  oblivion:  give  me  your  hand, 
And  let  the  subject  see,  to  make  them  know 
That  outward  courtesies  would  fain  proclaim 
Favours  tliat  keep  within. — Come,  Escalus; 
You  must  walk  by  us  on  our  other  hand ; — 
And  good  supporters  are  you. 

Peter  and  Isabella  come  f  )rward. 

F  Peter.  Now  is  your  time ;  speak  loud,  and 
kneel  before  him. 

liob.  Justice,  O  royal  duke  !  Vail  your  regard 
Upon  a  wrong'd,  I'd  fain  have  said,  a  maid  ! 
O  worthy  prince,  dishonour  not  your  eye 
By  throwing  it  on  any  other  object, 
Till  you  have  heard  me  in  my  true  complaint, 
And  given  me,  justice,  justice,  justice,  justice  ! 

Duke.  Relate  your  wrongs  :  in  what  ?  By  whom  ? 
Be  brief: 


Here  is  lord  Angelo  shall  give  you  justice  : 
Reveal  yourself  to  him. 

Isab.  O,  worthy  duke. 

You  bid  me  seek  redemption  of  the  devil 
Hear  me  yourself;  for  that  which  I  must  speak 
Must  either  punish  me,  not  being  believ'd. 
Or  wring  redress  from  you :  hear  me,  O,  hear  lae, 
here. 

Ang.  My  lord,  her  wits,  I  fear  me,  are  not  firm 
She  hath  been  a  suitor  to  me  for  her  brother. 
Cut  off  by  course  of  justice ! 

Isab.    ,  By  course  of  justice 

Ang.  And  she  will  speak  most  bitterly,  and 
strange.  [speak . 

Isab.  Most  strange,  but  yet  most  truly,  will  I 
That  Angelo's  forsworn  ;  is  it  not  strange  ? 
That  Angelo's  a  murderer;  is't  net  strange? 
That  Angelo  is  an  adult'rous  thief. 
An  hypocrite,  a  virgin-violator  ; 
Is  it  not  strange,  and  strange  ? 

Duke.  Nay,  ten  times  strange 

Isab.  It  is  not  truer  he  is  Angelo, 
Than  this  is  all  as  true  as  it  is  strange  : 
Nay,  it  is  ten  times  true  ;  for  truth  is  truth 
To  the  end  of  reckoning. 

Duke.  Away  with  her : — Poor  soul, 

She  speaks  this  in  the  infirmity  of  sense. 

Isab.  O  prince,  I  conjure  thee,  as  thou  believ'st 
There  is  another  comfort  than  this  world. 
That  thou  neglect  me  not,  with  that  opinion 
That  I  am  touch'd  with  madness;  make  not  im 
possible 

That  which  but  seems  unlike  :  'tis  not  impossible. 

But  one,  the  wicked'st  caititfon  tb^  ground. 

May  seem  as  shy,  as  grave,  as  just,  as  absolute. 

As  Angelo  ;  even  so  may  Angefo, 

In  all  his  dressings,  characts,  titles,  forms. 

Be  an  arch-villain  ;  believe  it,  royal  prince. 

If  he  be  less,  he's  nothing;  but  he's  more, 

Had  I  more  name  for  badness. 

Duke.  By  mine  hone  st^ 

If  she  be  mad,  (as  I  believe  no  other,) 
Her  madness  hath  the  oddest  frame  of  sense, 
Such  a  dependency  of  thing  on  thing, 
As  e'er  I  heard  in  madness. 

Isab.  O,  gracious  duke 

Harp  not  on  that;  nor  do  not  banish  reason 
For  inequality:  but  let  your  reason- serve 
To  make  the  truth  appear,  where  it  seems  hid  ; 
And  hide  the  false,  seems  true. 

Duke.  Many  that  are  not  mad 

Have,  sure,  more  lack  of  reason.    What  woulc* 
you  say  ? 

Isab.  I  am  the  sister  of  one  Claudio, 
Condemn'd  upon  the  act  of  fornication 
To  lose  his  head  ;  condemn'd  by  Angelo  : 
I,  in  probation  of  a  sistei'^ood, 
W^as  sent  to  by  my  brother ;  one  Lucio 
Was  then  the  messenger; — 

Lucio.  That's  I,  an't  like  your  grac^ 

1  came  to  her  from  Claudio,  and  desir'd  her 
To  try  her  gracious  fortune  with  lord  Angelo, 
For  her  poor  brother's  pa i  don. 

Isab.  That's  he,  indeed. 

Duke.  You  were  not  bid  to  speak. 

Lucio.  No,  my  good  lord 

Nor  wish'd  to  hold  my  peace. 

Duke.  I  wish  you  now  Ihen 

Pray  you,  take  note  of  it:  and  when  you  have 
A  business  for  yourself,  pray  heaven,  you  then 
Be  perfect. 

Lncto^  I  warrant  your  honour. 

Duke.  The  warrant's  for  yourself;  take  hesd  to  it 

Isab.  This  gentleman  told  somewhat  of  my  taje 

Lucio.  Right, 

Duke.  It  may  be  right;  but  you  are  in  the  wrODJi 
To  speak  before  your  time. — Proceed. 

IsaJb.  I  we5!| 

To  tL  s  pernicious  caitiff  deputy. 

Z>j.   t  That's  somewhat  madly  apoken. 


88 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  v. 


Isab.  Pardon  it ; 

The  phrase  is  to  the  matter. 

Duke.  Mended  again:  the  matter; — Proceed. 

Isab.  In  brief, — to  set  th.e  needless  process  by, 
How  I  persuaded,  how  I  pray'd,  and  kneel'd, 
Uovv  he  refell'd  me,  and  how  I  reply'd 
'For  this  was  ot  iauch  length,)  the  vile  conclusion 
{  now  begin  with  grief  and  shame  to  utter: 
He  would  not,  but  by  gift  of  my  chaste  body 
To  his  concupiscible  intemperate  lust, 
Kelease  my  brother;  and,  after  much  debatement, 
My  sisterly  remorse  confutes  mine  honour. 
And  I  did  yield  to  him :  but  the  next  morn  betimes, 
His  purpose  surfeiting,  he  sends  a  warrant 
For  my  poor  brothei-'s  head. 

Duke.  This  is  most  likely! 

Isab.  O  that  it  were  as  like  as  it  is  true ! 

Duke.  By  heaven,  fond  wretch,  thou  know'st  not 
what  thou  sp-v?ak'st ; 
Or  else  thou  art  suborn'd  against  his  honour. 
In  hateful  practice:  first,  his  integrity 
(Stands  without  blemish  : — next,  it  imports  no  reason. 
That  with  such  vehemency  he  should  pursue 
Faults  proper  to  himself:  if  he  had  so  offended. 
He  would  have  weigh'd  thy  brother  by  himself, 
And  not  have  cut  him  off":  sonie  one  hath  set  you  on  ; 
Confess  the  truth,  and  say  by  whose  advice 
Thou  cam'st  here  to  complain. 

Isab.  And  is  this  all  ? 

Tlien,  t)h,  you  blessed  ministers  above. 
Keep  me  in  patience ;  and,  with  ripen'd  time. 
Unfold  the  evil  which  is  here  wrapt  up 
In  countenance! — Heaven  shield  your  grace  from 
woe, 

As  I,  thus  wrong'd,  hence  unbelieved  go! 

Duke.  I  know,  you'd  fain  be  gone  : — An  officer! 
To  prison  with  her: — Shall  we  thus  permit 
A  blasting  and  a  scandalous  breath  to  fall 
On  liim  so  near  us?  This  needs  must  be  a  practice. 
Who   knew  of  your  intent,  and  coming  hither? 

Isab.  One  that  I  would  were  here,  friar  Lodo- 
wick. 

Duke.  A  ghostly  father,  belike  : — Who  knows 

that  Lodowick  ? 
Lucio.  My  lord,  I  know  him  ;  'tis  a  meddling 

friar ; 

1  do  not  like  the  man :  had  he  been  lay,  my  lord. 
For  certain  words  he  spake  against  your  grace 
In  your  retirement,  1  had  swing'd  him  soundly. 
Duke.  Words  against  me  ?   This'  a  good  friar, 
belike  I 

And  to  set  on  this  wretched  woman  here 
Against  our  substitule ! — Let  this  friar  be  found. 

Lucio.  But  yesternight,  my  lord,  she  and  that 
1  saw  them  at  the  prison:  a  saucy  friai,  [friar 
A  very  scurvy  fellow. 

F.  Peter.  Blessed  be  your  royal  grace  ! 

I  have  stood  by,  my  lord,  and  I  have  heard 
Your  royal  ear  abus'd  :  first,  hath  this  woman 
Most  wrongfully  accus'd  your  substitute  ; 
Who  is  as  free  from  touch  or  soil  with  her, 
As  siie  from  one  ungot. 

Duke.  We  did  believe  no  less. 

Know  you  that  friar  Lodowick,  that  she  speaks  of? 

F.  Peter.  I  know  him  for  a  man  divine  and  holy  ; 
Not  scurvy,  nor  a  temporary  meddler, 
As  he's  reported  by  tliis  gentleman  ; 
And,  on  uiy  trust,  a  man  that  never  yet 
Did.  as  he  voucliea,  misreport  your  grace. 

Luoto.  My  lord,  most  villanously;  believe  it 

F.  Peter.  Well,  he  in  time  may  come  to  clear 
himself; 

But  at  this  instant  he  is  sick,  my  lord. 

Of  a  strange  fever :  upon  his  mere  request, 

(Being  come  to  knowledge  that  there  was  complaint 

Intended  "gainst  lord  Angelo,)  came  I  hither. 

To  speak,  as  frouj  his  mouth,  what  he  doth  know 

l"?  true,  and  false  ;  and  what  he  with  his  oath, 

And  all  probation,  will  make  up  full  clear,  [man, 

Whensoever  he's  ",oi  vented.    First,  for  this  wo- 


(To  justify  this  worthy  nobleman, 
So  vulgarly  and  personally  accus'd,) 
Her  shall  you  hear  disproved  to  her  eyes. 
Till  she  herself  confess  it. 

Duke.  Good  friar,  let's  bear  it 

[Isabella  is  carried  off",  yuardedi 
Mariana  comes  forward.) 
Do  you  not  smile  at  this,  lord  Angelo  ? — 

0  heaven.'  the  vanity  of  wretched  fools!— 
Give  us  some  seats. — Come,  cou.siu  Angelc  \ 
In  this  rU  be  impartial  ;  be  you  judge 

or  your  own  cause. — Is  this  the  witness,  friar? 
Fir  st,  let  her  show  he-  face  ;  and,  after,  speak. 

Mari.  Pardon,  my  lord  ;  I  will  not  show  my  face, 
Until  my  husband  bid  me. 

Duke.  What,  are  you  married  ? 

Mari.  No,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Are  yon  a  maid? 

Mari.  No,  my  lord. 

Duke.  A  widow,  then  ? 

Mari.  Neither,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Why,  you 

Are  nothing  then  : — Neither  maid,  widow,  nor  wife? 

Lucio.  My  lord,  she  may  be  a  punk  j  for  many 
of  them  are  neither  maid,  widow,  nor  wife. 

Duke.  Silence  that  fellow:  1  would,  he  had  some 
To  prattle  for  himself.  [cause 

Lucio.  Well,  my  lord. 

Mari.  My  lord,  I  do  confess  1  ne'er  was  married; 
And,  I  confess,  besides,  I  am  no  maid  : 

1  have  known  my  husband;  yet  my  husband  knows 
That  ever  he  knew  me.  [not, 

Lucio.  He  was  drunk  then,  my  lord;  it  can  be 
no  better. 

Duke.  For  the  benefit  of  silence,  'would  thou 
wert  so  too. 

Lucio   Well,  my  lord. 

Duke.  This  is  no  witness  for  lord  Angelo. 

Mari.  Now  I  come  to't,  my  lord : 
She,  that  accuses  him  of  iornication. 
In  self-same  manner  doth  accuse  my  husband; 
And  charges  him,  my  lord,  with  such  a  time. 
When  I'll  depose  1  had  him  in  mine  arms. 
With  all  the  effect  of  love. 

Ang.  Charges  she  more  than  me  ? 

Mari.  Not  that  I  know. 

Duke.  No  ?  you  say,  your  husband. 

Mari.  Why,  just,  my  lord,  and  that  is  Angelo, 
Who  thinks,  lie  knows,  that  he  ne'er  knew  iiiy  body, 
But  knows,  he  thinks,  that  he  knows  Isabel's. 

Ang.  This  is  a  strange  abuse : — Let's  see  thy 
face. 

Mari.  My  husband  bids  me;  now  I  will  unmask 

( Unveiling.) 

This  is  that  face,  thou  cruel  Angelo,  [on* 
Which,  once  thou  swor'st,  was  worth  (he  looking 
'i'liis  is  the  hand,  which,  with  a  vow"d  contract. 
Was  fast  belock'd  in  thine  :  this  is  the  body» 
That  took  away  the  match  from  Isabel, 
And  did  supply  thee  at  thy  garden-house 
In  her  imagin'd  person. 

Duke.  Know  you  this  woman  ? 

Lucio.  Carnally,  she  says. 

Duke.  Sirrah,  no  more. 

Lucio.  Enough,  my  lord. 

Ang.  My  lord,  I  must  confess,  1  know  this 
woman ; 

And,  five  years  since,  there  was  some  speech  o/ 
marriage 

Betwixt  myself  and  her;  which  was  broke  off. 

Partly,  for  that  her  promised  proportions 

Came  short  of  composition;  but,  in  chief. 

For  that  her  reputation  was  disvalued 

In  levity  :  since  which  time,  of  five  years, 

I  never  spake  with  her,  saw  her,  nor  heard  from  her 

Upon  my  faith  and  honour. 

Mari.  Noble  prince, 

As  there  comes  light  from  heaven,  and  vvoi  ds  from 
breath. 

As  there  is  sense  in  truth,  and  truth  in  virtue. 


Scene  X 

I  am  affianc'd  this  man's  wife,  as  strongly 

As  words  could  raake  up  vows  :  and  my  good  lord, 

But  Tuesday  night  last  gone,  in  his  garden-house. 

He  knew  me  as  a  wife  :  as  this  is  true 

Let  me  in  safety  raise  me  from  my  knees  ^ 

Or  else  for  ever  be  confixed  here, 

A  marble  monument! 

Ang.  I  did  but  smile  till  now ; 

Now,  good  my  lord,  give  me  the  scope  of  justice ; 
My  patience  here  is  touch'd :  I  do  perceive. 
These  poor  informal  women  ar**  no  more 
But  instruments  of  some  more  mightier  member, 
That  sets  them  on  :  let  me  have  way,  my  lord. 
To  find  this  practice  out. 

Duke.  Ay,  with  my  heart ; 

And  punish  them  unto  your  height  of  pleasure. — 
Thou  foolish  friar;  and  thou  ptrnicious  woman. 
Compact  with  her  that's  gone !  think'st  thou,  thy 
oaths,  [saint. 
Though  they  would  swear  down  each  particular 
Were  testimonies  against  his  worth  and  credit. 
That's  seal'd  in  approbation  ?— You,  lord  Escalus, 
Sit  with  my  cousin  ;  lend  him  your  kind  pains 
To  find  out  this  abuse,  whence  'tis  deriv'd. — 
There  is  another  ft  iar  that  set  them  on  ; 
Let  him  be  sent  for. 

F.  Peter.  Would  he  were  here,  my  lord  :  for  he, 
indeed. 

Hath  set  tlie  women  on  this  complaint  : 

Vour  provost  knows  the  place  where  he  abides. 

And  he  may  fetch  him. 

Duke.  Go,  do  it  instantly. —         [Exit  Provost. 
And  you,  my  noble  and  well-warranted  cousin. 
Whom  it  concerns  to  hear  this  matter  forth, 
Do  with  your  injuries  as  seems  you  best. 
In  any  chastisement .  I  for  a  while 
Will  leave  you  ;  but  stir  not  you,  till  you  have  well 
Determined  upon  these  slanderers. 

Escal.  My  lord,  we'll  do  it  thoroughly. —  [Exit 
Duke.]  Signior  Lucio,  did  not  you  say,  you  knew 
that  friar  Lodowick  to  be  a  dishonest  |)erson  ? 

Lucio.  Cucullus  nonfacit  monachum :  honest  in 
nothing,  but  in  his  clothes;  and  one  that  hath  spoke 
most  villanous  speeches  of  the  duke. 

Escal.  We  shall  entreat  you  to  abide  here  till  he 
come,  and  enforce  tht-m  against  him:  we  shall  find 
this  friar  a  notable  fellow. 

Lucio.  As  any  in  Vienna,  on  my  word. 

Escal.  Call  that  same  Isabel  here  once  again; 
[To  an  Attendant.)  I  would  speak  \yith  her:  pray 
you,  my  lord,  give  me  leave  to  question  ;  you  shall 
see  how  I'll  handle  her. 

Lucio.  Not  better  than  he,  by  her  own  report. 

Escal.  Say  you  ? 

Lucio.  Marry,  sir,  I  think,  if  you  handled  her 
privately,  she  would  sooner  confess;  perchance, 
publicly  she'll  be  ashamed. 

Re-enter  Officers  with  Isabella  ;  the  Duke  in 
the  Friar's  habit,  and  Provost. 

Escal.  I  will  go  darkly  to  work  with  her. 

Lucio.  That's  the  way;  for  women  are  light  at 
midnight. 

Escal.  Come  on,  mistress:  (To  Isahella.)  here's 
a  gentlewoman  denies  all  that  you  have  said. 

Lucio.  My  lord,  here  comes  the  rascal  I  spoke 
fif ;  here,  with  the  provost. 

Escal.  In  very  good  time : — speak  not  you  to  him 
we  call  upon  you. 

Lucio.  Mum. 

Escal.  Come,  sir:  did  you  set  these  women  on 
«  slander  lord  Angelo?  they  have  confess'd  you 
Duke.  'Tis  false.  [did. 
Escal.  Huw  !  know  you  where  you  are  ? 
Duke.  Respect  to  your  great  place !  and  let  the 
devil 

Be  sometime  honour'd  for  his  burning  throne  : — 
Where  is  the  duke  ?  'tis  he  should  hear  me  speak. 

Escal.  The  duke's  in  us;  and  we  will  hear  you 
Look,  j'ou  speak  justly.  [speak : 


89 

Duke.         Boldly,  at  least: — But,  O,  poorsoul% 

Come  you  to  seek  the  Ian  b  here  of  the  fox  ? 

Good  night  to  your  redress.     Is  the  duke  gone? 

'J'hen  is  your  cause  gone  too.    The  duke's  unjust 

^riius  to  retort  your  manifest  appeal, 

And  put  your  trial  in  the  villain's  mouth. 

Which  "here  you  come  to  accuse. 
Lucio.  This  is  the  rascal ;  this  is  he  I  spoke  of 
Escal.  Why,  thou  unreverend  and  unhallow'd 
friar ! 

1s  t  not  enough,  thou  hast  suborn'd  these  women 
To  accuse  this  worthy  man;  but,  in  foul  moutK, 
And  in  the  witness  of  his  proper  ear. 
To  call  him  villain  ? 

And  then  to  glance  from  him  to  the  duke  himself  J 
To  tax  him  with  injustice  ?    Take  him  hence  ; 
To  the  rack  with  him : — We'll  touze  you  joint  by 
joint. 

But  we  will  know  this  purpose  . — What !  unjust? 

Duke.  Be  not  so  hot;  the  duke 
Dare  no  more  stretch  this  finger  of  mine,  than  he 
Dare  rack  his  own  ;  his  subject  am  I  not. 
Nor  here  provincial :  my  business  in  this  state 
Made  me  a  looker-on  here  in  Vienna, 
Where  I  have  seen  corruption  boil  and  bubble. 
Till  it  o'er-run  the  stew  :  laws,  ior  all  faults ; 
But  faults  so  countenanc'd,  that  the  strong  statutes 
Stand  like  the  forfeits  in  a  barber's  shop. 
As  much  in  mock  as  mark. 

Escal.  Slander  to  the  state  !  Away  with  him  to 
prison. 

Ang.  What  can  you  vouch  against  him,  signior 
Lucio  ? 

Is  this  the  man  that  you  did  tell  us  of  ? 

Lucio.  'Tis  he,  my  lord. — Come  hither,  goodraan 
bald  pate  :  do  you  know  me  ? 

Duke.  I  remember  you,  sir,  by  the  sound  of  youi 
voice  :  I  met  you  at  the  prison,  in  the  absence  of 
the  duke. 

Lucio.  O,  did  you  so?    And  do  you  remember 
what  vou  said  of  the  duke  ? 
Duke.  Most  notedly,  sir. 

Lucio.  Do  you  so,  sir  ?  And  was  the  duke  a 
flesh-monger,  a  fool,  and  a  coward,  as  you  then  re- 
ported him  to  be  ? 

Duke.  You  must,  .sir,  change  persons  with  me, 
ere  you  make  that  my  report:  you,  indeed,  spoke 
so  of  him  ;  and  much  more,  nuich  worse. 

Lucio.  O  thou  damnable  fellow!  Did  not  I  pluck 
thee  by  the  nose,  for  thy  speeches  ? 

Duke.  I  protest  I  love  the  duke,  as  I  love  my- 
self 

Ang.  Hark;  how  the  villain  would  close  now, 
after  his  treasonable  abuses. 

Escal.  Such  a  fellow  is  not  to  be  talk'd  withal:— 
away  with  him  to  pri.son  : — where  is  the  provost? — 
— away  with  him  to  prison;  lay  bolts  enough  upon 
him  :  let  him  speak  no  more  : — away  with  those 
giglots  too,  and  with  the  other  confederate  com- 
panion.    {The  Provost  lays  hands  on  the  Duke.) 

Duke.  Stay,  sir;  stay  awhile. 

Ang.  What  I  resists  he  ?    Help  him,  Lucio. 

Lucio.  Come,  sir;  come,  sir ;  come,  sir  ;  fob,  sir: 
why,  you  bald-pated,  lying  rascal !  you  must  be 
hooded,  must  you?  Show  your  knave's  visage,  with 
a  pox  to  you .  show  your  sheep-biting  face,  and  be 
hang  d  an  hour  !  Will't  not  off?  [Duke.) 
{Pulls  off  the  Friar's  hood,  ana  discovers  the 

Duke.  Thou  art  the  first  knave,  that  e'er  made  a 
duke. — 

First,  provost,  let  me  bail  these  gentle  three;— 
Sneak  not  away,  sir  ;  {tp  Lucio.)  for  the  Iriar  and  voa 
Must  have  a  word  anon: — lay  hold  on  him. 

Lucio.  This  may  prove  worse  than  hanging. 

Duke.  What  you  have  spoke,  I  pardon ;  sit  yott 
down. —  {To  Escahia  ^ 

We'll  borrow  place  oi  him.— Sir,  by  your  leave : 

{To  Angela^ 
Hast  thou  or  word,  or  wit,  or  imj «.  lence. 
That  yet  can  do  thee  office  ?    If  tl,  i  hast 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


90 

Rely  upon  it  tul  my  tale  be  heard, 
And  hold  no  longer  out. 

Ang.  O  my  dread  lord, 

I  sliould  be  guiltier  than  my  guiltiness, 
To  think  I  can  be  undiscernible, 
When  I  perceive,  your  grace,  like  power  divine. 
Hath  look'd  upon  my  passes  :  then,  good  prince, 
No  longer  session  hold  upon  my  shame. 
But  let  my  trial  be  mine  own  confession  ; 
Immediate  sentence  then,  and  sequent  death. 
Is  all  the  grace  I  beg. 

Duke.  Come  hither,  Mariana  : — 

Say,  wast  thou  e'er  contracted  to  this  woman  ? 

Ang.  I  was,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Go  take  her  hence,  and  marry  her  in- 
stantly.— 

Do  you  the  office,  friar;  which  consummate, 
Return  him  here  again  : — Go  with  him,  provost. 

[Exeunt  Angela,  Mariajia,  Peter  and  Provost. 

Escal.  My  lord,  I  am  more  amaz'd  at  his  dis- 
honour. 

Than  at  the  strangeness  of  it. 

Duke.  Come  hither,  Isabel: 

Your  friar  is  now  your  prince  :  as  I  was  then 
Advertising,  and  holy  to  your  businesa. 
Not  changing  heart  with  habit,  I  am  still 
Attorney'd  at  your  service. 

Ls-ah.  O,  give  me  pardon. 

That  1,  your  vassal,  have  employ'd  and  pain'd 
Vour  unknown  sovereignty. 

Duke.  You  are  pardon'd,  Isabel : 

And  now,  dear  maid,  be  you  as  free  to  us. 
Your  brother's  death,  I  know,  sits  at  your  heart ; 
And  you  may  marvel,  whj  I  obscur'd  myself, 
Labouring  to  save  his  life;  and  would  not  rather 
Make  rash  remonstrance  of  my  hidden  power. 
Than  let  him  so  be  lost :  O,  most  kind  maid. 
It  was  tlie  swift  celerity  of  his  death. 
Which  I  did  think  witli  slower  foot  came  on. 
That  brain'd  my  purpose  :  but,  peace  be  with  him  ! 
Hiat  life  is  better  life,  past  fearing  death. 
Than  that  which  lives  to  fear:  make  it  your  comfort, 
So  happy  is  your  brother. 

Re-enter  Angelo,  Mariana,  Peter,  and  Provost. 
Isab.  I  do,  my  lord. 

Duke.  For  this  new- married  man,  approaching 
here. 

Whose  salt  imagination  yet  hath  wrong'd 
Your  well-defended  honour,  you  must  pardon 
For  Mariana's  sake  :   but   as  he  adjudged  your 
brother, 

(Being  criminal,  in  double  violation 
Of  sacred  chastity,  and  of  promise-breach, 
Thereon  dependent,  for  your  brother's  life,) 
The  very  mercy  of  the  law  cries  out 
Most  audible,  even  from  his  proper  tongue. 
An  Angelo  for  Claudia,  death  for  death. 
Haste  still  pays  haste,  and  leisure  answers  leisure ; 
Like  doth  quit  like,  and  Measure  stiW  for  Measure. 
Then,  Angelo,  thy  fault's  thus  manifested  • 
Which  though  thou  wouldst  deny,  denies  thee 
vantage  : 

We  do  condenm  thee  to  the  very  block. 

Where  Ciaudio  stoop'd  to  death,  and  with  like 

haste ; 
Away  with  him. 

Mari.  O,  my  most  gracious  lord, 

I  hope  you  will  not  mock  me  with  a  husband ! 
■  Duke.  It  is  your  husband  mock'd  you  with  a 
husband : 

Consenting  to  the  safeguard  of  your  honour, 
I  thought  your  marriage  fit;  else  im{)utation. 
For  that  he  knew  you,  might  reproach  your  life. 
And  choke  your  good  to  come  :  for  his  possessions. 
Although  by  confiscation  they  are  ours. 
We  do  instate  and  widow  you  withal. 
To  biiy  you  a  better  husband. 

Mari.  O,  my  dear  lord, 

I  crave  no  other,  nor  no  better  man. 


Act  V, 

Duke.  Never  crave  him;  we  are  definitive. 
Mari.  Gentle,  my  liege, —  {Kneehng., 
Diike.  You  do  but  lose  your  labour: 

Away  with  him  to  death. — Now,  sir,  to  you. 

{To  Lucio.) 

Mari.  O,  my  good  lord! — Sweet  Isabel,  taka 
my  part ; 

Lend  me  your  knees,  and  all  my  life  to  come 
I'll  lend  you  all  my  life  to  do  you  servict. 

Duke.  Against  all  sense  you  do  imp6rtune  her  : 
Should  she  kneel  down  in  mercy  of  this  fact. 
Her  brother's  ghost  his  paved  bed  would  break. 
And  take  her  hence  in  horror. 

Mari.  Isabel, 
Sweet  Isabel,  do  yet  but  kneel  by  me  ; 
Hold  up  your  hands,  say  nothing,  I'll  speak  all. 
They  say,  best  men  are  moulded  out  of  faults; 
And,  for  tlie  most,  become  much  more  the  better 
For  being  a  little  bad  :  so  may  my  husband. 
O,  Isabel !  will  you  not  lend  a  knee  ? 

Duke.  He  dies  for  Claudio's  death. 

Isab.  Most  bounteous  sir, 

{Kneeling  \ 

Look,  ?*'it  please  you,  on  this  man  condemned. 

As  if  mj  brother  liv'd  :  I  partly  think, 

A  due  sincerity  govern'd  his  deeds, 

'Till  he  did  look  on  me  ;  since  it  is  so, 

Let  him  not  die:  my  brother  had  but  justice. 

In  that  he  did  the  thing  for  which  he  died : 

For  Angelo, 

His  act  did  not  o'ertake  his  bad  intent; 

And  must  be  buried  but  as  an  intent 

That  perish'd  by  the  way  :  thoughts  are  no  subjects^ 

Intents  but  merely  thoughts. 

Mari.  Merely,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Your  suit's  unprofitable  ;  stand  up,  1  say.— 
I  have  bethought  me  of  another  fault: — 
Provost,  how  came  it,  Ciaudio  was  bej.eaded 
At  an  unusual  hour? 

Prov.  It  was  corjmanded  so. 

Duke.  Had  you  a  special  warrant  for  the  deed  i' 

Prov.  No,  my  good  lord ;  it  was  by  private 
message. 

Duke.  For  which  I  do  discharge  you  of  your  office  . 
Give  up  your  keys. 

Prov.  Pardon  me,  noble  lord: 

I  thought  it  was  a  fault,  but  knew  it  not ; 
Yet  did  repent  me,  after  more  advice: 
For  testimony  whereof  one  in  the  prison, 
That  should  by  private  order  else  have  died, 
I  have  reserv'd  alive. 

Duke.  What's  he  ? 

Prov.  His  name  is  Barnardine. 

Duke.  I  would  thou  had'st  done  so  by  Ciaudio.— 
Go,  fetch  him  hither  ;  let  me  look  upon  him. 

[Exit  Provost 

Escal.  I  am  sorry,  one  so  learned  and  so  wise 
As  you,  lord  Angelo,  have  still  appear'd. 
Should  slip  so  grossly,  both  in  the  heat  of  blood. 
And  lack  of  temper'd  judgment  aftervvards. 

Ang.  I  am  sorry,  that  such  sorrow  I  procure  : 
And  so  deep  sticks  it  in  my  penitent  heart, 
That  I  crave  death  more  willingly  than  mercy ; 
'Tis  my  deserving,  and  I  do  entreat  it. 

Re-enter  Provost,  Barnardine,  Claudio,  and 
Juliet. 

Duke.  Which  is  that  Barnardine  ? 
Prov.  This,  my  lord 

Duke.  There  was  a  friar  told  me  of  this  man ; — 
Sirrah,  thou  art  said  to  have  a  stubborn  soul. 
That  apprehends  no  further  than  this  world. 
And  squar'st  thy  life  according.  Thou'it  condemn''! 
But  for  those  earthly  faults,  I  quit  them  all; 
And  pray  thee,  take  this  mercy  to  provide 

For  better  times  to  come  :  Friar,  advise  him ; 

I  leave  him  to  your  hand. — What  muffled  fellow 
that  ? 

Prov.  This  is  another  prisoner,  that  I  sav'd. 
That  should  have  died  when  Ciaudio  lost  his  h 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASCJRE. 


Scene  1. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


As  like  almost  to  Claudio,  as  himself. 

{Un7nuffles  Claudio.) 

Dule.  U  he  be  like  your  brother,   {To  Isabella.) 
for  his  sake 
Is  he  pardon'd  ;  and,  for  your  lovely  sake, 
Give  me  your  hand,  and  say  you  will  be  mine, 
He  is  my  brother  too:  but  fitter  time  ibr  that. 
By  this,  lord  Angelo  perceives  he's  safe  ; 
Methinks,  I  see  a  quickening  in  his  eye  : — 
Well,  Angelo,  your  evil  quits  you  well: 
Look  that  you  love  your  wife  ;  her  worth,  worth 
I  find  an  apt  renussion  in  myself:  [yours. — 

And  yet  here's  one  in  place  I  cannot  pardon : — 
You,  sirrah,  {To  Lucio.)  that  knew  me  for  a  fool, 

a  coward, 
One  all  of  luxury,  an  ass,  a  madman  ; 
Wherein  have  1  so  deserv'd  of  you. 
That  you  extol  me  thus  ? 

Lucio.  'Faith  my  lord,  I  spoke  it  but  according 
to  the  trick  :  if  you  will  hang  me  for  it,  you  may, 
but  I  had  rather  it  would  please  you,  I  might  be 
whipp'd. 

Duke.  Whipp'd  first,  sir,  and  hang'd  after. — 
Proclaim  it,  provost,  round  about  the  city  ; 
li  any  woman's  wrong'd  by  this  lewd  fellow, 
(As  I  have  heard  him  swear  himself,  there's  one 
Whom  he  begot  with  child,)  lot  hei  appear, 
And  he  shall  marry  her ;  the  c-aptial  finish'd, 


Let  him  be  whipp'd  and  hang-'d. 

Lucio.  I  beseech  your  highness,  ffo  not  marry  me 
to  a  vvliore  !  Your  highness  said  even  now,  I  made 
you  a  duke;  good  my  lord,  do  not  recompeiise  me 
in  making-  me  a  cuckold. 

Duke.  Upon  mine  honour,  thou  shalt  marry  her. 
Thy  slanders  I  forgive  ;  and  therewithal 
Remit  thy  other  forfeits  : — Take  him  to  prison: 
And  see  our  pleasure  herein  executed. 

Lucio.  Marrying  a  punk,  my  lord,  is  pressing  (o 
death,  whipping,  and  hanging. 

Duke.  Slandering  a  prince  deserves  it. — 
She,  Claudio,  that  you  wrong'd,  look  you  restore.— 
Joy  to  you,  Mariana ! — love  her,  Angelo  ; 
1  have  confess'd  her,  and  I  know  her  virtue. — 
Thanks,  good  friend  Escalus,  for  thy  much  goodne 
There's  more  behind,  that  is  more  gratulate. 
Thanks,  provost,  for  thy  care,  and  secrecy; 
We  shall  employ  thee  in  a  worthier  place  :- 
Forgive  him,  Angelo,  that  brought  you  home 
The  head  of  Ragozine  for  Claudio's; 
The  offence  pardons  itself. —  Dear  Isabel, 
I  have  a  motion  nmch  imports  your  good  : 
Whereto,  if  you'll  a  willing  ear  inclme. 
What's  mine  is  yours,  and  what  is  yours  is  mine:— 
So,  bring  us  to  our  palace  ;  where  we'll  show 
What's  yet  behind,  that's  meet  you  all  should  know* 

lEsstmt» 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING 


This  play  may  be  justlv  said  to  sontain  two  of  the  inosf  sprightly  characters  that  Shakspeare  ever  drew.  The  wit, 
the  humourist,  the  gentleman,  and  the  soldier,  are  combined  in  Benedick.  It  is  to  be  lamented,  indeed,  that  the 
first  and  most  splendid  of  tliese  distinctions,  is  disgraced  by  unnecessary  protaneness ;  for  (he  goodness  of  his  lieart 
is  hardly  sulixcient  to  atone  for  the  license  of  his  tongue.  The  too  sarcastic  levity,  which  flashes  out  in  the  conver- 
s«ition  of  Beatrice,  may  be  excused  on  account  of  the  steadiness  and  friendship  so  apparent  in  her  behaviour,  when 
uhe  urges  her  lover  to  risk  his  life  by  a  challenge  to  Claudio.  In  the  conduct  of  the  fable,  liowever,  there  is  an 
imperfection  similar  to  that  which  Dr.  Johnson  has  pointed  out  in  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor second  con- 
trivance is  less  ingenious  than  tlie  first :— or,  to  speak  more  plainly,  the  same  incident  is  become  stale  by  repetition 
I  wish  some  other  methcd  had  been  found  to  entrap  Brairice,  than  that  very  one  which  before  had  been  success- 
fully practised  on  Benedick.  Muck  Ado  About  Nothing  (as  I  understand  from  one  of  Mr.  Vertue  s  MSS.)  formerly 
passed  under  the  title  of  Benedick  and  Befitrix.  Heiniug  the  player  received,  on  the  20th  of  May;  1613,  the  sum  o7 
forty  pounds,  and  twenty  pounds  more  as  his  majesty's  gratuity,  for  exhibiting  six.  plays  at  Hampton  Court,  among 
which  was  this  comedy.  Steevetis. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


ff>ON  PEDRO,  Prince  of  Arragon. 
DON  JOHN,  his  bastard  Brother. 

CLAUDIO,  a  young   Lord  of  Florence,  favourite  to 
Don  Pedro. 

BENEDICK,  a  young  Lord  of  Padua,  favourite  likewise 

of  Don  Pedro. 
LEONATO,  Governor  of  Messina. 
ANTONIO,  his  Brother. 
BALTHAZAR,  Servant  to  Don  Pedro. 


?0NRa3e^'  \  followers  of  Don  John. 


vErg  Esf  ^'  }  "^'^^  /"''^"^  OMcers. 
A  Sextvn. 
A  Friar. 
A  Boy. 

HERO,  Daughter  to  Leonato. 
BEATRICE,  l^iece  to  Leonato. 
MAHGARET, 
URSULA, 


I  Gentlewomen  attending  on  Hero. 
Messengers,  Watch,  and  Attendants. 


Scene, — Messina. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — Bzfore  Leonato's  [louse. 

Etter  Leonato,  Hero,  Beatrice,  and  others,  with 
a  Messenger. 

Leon.  I  learn  in  this  letter,  that  Don  Pedro  of 
Arragon  comes  this  night  to  Messina. 

Mess.  He  is  very  near  by  this ;  he  was  not  three 
Ifaoues  off,  wlien  1  left  him. 

Leon.  How  many  gentlemen  have  yon  lost  in  this 
action  ? 

Mess.  But  few  of  any  sort,  and  none  of  name. 

Leon.  A  victory  is  twice  itself,  when  the  achiever 
brings  home  full  numbers.  I  find  here,  that  Don 
Pedro  hath  bestowed  much  honour  on  a  young  Flo- 
rentine, called  Clandio. 

Mess.  Much  deserved  on  his  part,  and  equally 
remembered  by  Don  Pedro :  he  hath  borne  himself 
beyond  the  promise  of  his  age;  doing,  in  the  figure 
of  a  lamb,  the  feats  of  a  lion  :  he  hath,  indeed, 
better  bettered  expectation,  than  you  must  expect 
of  me  to  teli  you  how. 

Leon.  He  hath  an  uncle  here  in  Messina  will  be 
very  much  glad  of  it. 

Mess  I  have  already  delivered  him  letters,  and 
there  appears  much  joy  in  him  ;  even  so  much,  that 
toy  could  not  show  itself  modest  enough  without  a 
badge  of  bitterness. 

Leon.  Did  he  break  out  into  tears  ? 

Mess.  In  great  measure. 

Leon.  A  kind  overflow  of  kindness :  there  are 
no  faces  truer  than  those  that  are  so  washed.  How 
much  better  is  it  to  weep  at  joy,  than  to  joy  at 
weeping? 

Beat.  I  pray  you,  is  signior  Montanto  returned 
from  the  wars,  or  no  ? 

Mess.  I  know  none  of  that  name,  lady ;  there  was 
none  such  in  the  army  of  any  sort. 

Leon.  What  is  he  that  you  ask  for,  niete  ? 

Hero.  My  cousin  means  signior  Benedick  of 
Padua.  [he  was. 

Mess.  O,  he  is  ret  irned  ;  and  as  pleasant  as  ever 

Beat.  He  set  up  his  bills  here  in  Messina,  and 
challenged  Cupid  at  the  flight ;  and  my  uncle's  fool, 
reading  the  challenge,  subscribed  for  Cupid,  and 
challenged  him  at  the  bird-bolt.-^I  pray  you,  how 
many  hath  he  killed  and  eaten  in  these  wars?  But 
how  many  hath  he  killed  ?  for,  indeed,  I  promised  to 
eat  a!l  of  his  killing. 


Leoti.  Faith,  nitce,  you  tax  signior  Benedick  to« 
much  ;  but  he'll  be  meet  with  you,  1  doubt  it  not 

Mess.  He  hath  done  good  service,  lady,  in  these 
wars. 

Beat.  You  had  musty  victual,  and  he  hath  holp  to 
eat  it :  he  is  a  very  valiant  trencher-man,  he  hath  an 
excellent  stomach. 

Mess.  And  a  good  soldier  too,  lady. 

Beat.  And  a  good  soldier  to  a  lady  ; — but  what  is 
he  to  a  lord  ? 

Mess.  A  lord  to  a  lord,  a  man  to  a  man  ;  stuffed 
with  all  honourable  virtues. 

Beat.  It  is  so,  indeed;  he  is  no  less  than  a 
stuffed  man  :  but  for  the  itutEng, — Well,  we  are 
all  mortal. 

Leon.  You  must  not,  sir,  mistake  my  niece  ;  there 
is  a  kind  of  merry  war  betwixt  signior  Betiedick  and 
her:  they  never  meet,  but  there  is  a  skirmish  of  wit 
between  them. 

Beat.  Alas,  he  gets  nothing  by  that.  In  our  last 
conflict  four  of  his  five  wits  went  halting  off,  and 
now  is  the  old  man  governed  with  one :  so  that  if 
he  have  wit  enough  to  keep  himself  warm,  let  h'lu 
bear  it  for  a  difference  between  hiniself  and  his 
horse  :  for  it  is  all  the  wealth  that  he  hath  left,  to  be 
known  a  reasonable  creature. — Who  is  his  compa- 
panion  now?  He  hath  every  month  a  new  swor.i 
brother. 

Mess.  Is  it  possible  ? 

Beat.  Very  easily  possible :  he  wears  his  faith  but 
as  the  fashion  of  his  hat,  it  ever  changes  with  the 
next  block.  [boot 

Mess.  I  see,  iady,  the  gentleman  is  not  in  yrtWf 

Beat.  No :  an  he  were,  I  would  burn  my  stu 
But,  I  pray  you,  who  is  his  companion  ?  Is  there  IWV 
young  squarer  now,  that  will  make  a  voyage  "With 
him  to  the  devil  ? 

Mess.  He  is  most  in  the  company  of  the 
noble  Claudio. 

Beat.  O  Lord !  he  will  hang  upon  him  like 
disease :  he  is  sooner  caught  than  the  pestilenca 
and  the  taker  runs  presently  mad.    God  help  th 
noble  Claudio!  if  he  have  caught  the  Benedick,  it 
will  cost  him  a  thousand  pound  ere  he  be  cured 

Mess.  I  will  hold  friends  with  you,  ladv 

Beat.  Do,  good  friend. 

Leon.  You  will  never  run  mad,  niece. 

Beat.  No,  not  till  a  hot  January. 

Mess.  Don  Pedro  is  approached. 


Scene  1. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


93 


Enter  Don  Pedro,  at/ended  hij  Balthazar  and 
others,  Don  John,  Claudio,  and  Benedick. 

D.  Pedro.  Good  signior  Leonato,  you  are  come 
to  nicct  your  trouble  :  the  fashion  of  the  world  is  to 
avoid  cost,  and  you  eucoutiter  it, 

Leon.  Never  came  trouble  to  my  house  in  th;5 
likeness  of  your  grace  :  for  trouble  being  gone,  cota 
fort  should  remain  ;  but,  when  you  depart  front.  r» 
sorrow  abides,  and  happiness  takes  his  leave 

D.  Pedro.  You  embrace  your  charge  "tjo  wl- 
lingly. — 1  think,  this  is  your  daughter. 

Leon,  fler  mother  hath  many  times        lo^  so. 

Bene.  Were  you  in  doubt,  sir,  that  yoi  a«Kfid  her  ? 

Leon.  Signior  Benedick,  no  ;  for  fch*,  i  w^e  you  a 
child. 

D.  Pedro.  You  have  it  full,  Berviick :  we  may 
guess  by  this  what  you  are,  bein^3^nian.  Truly, 
the  lady  fathers  herself: — Be  1m  .py,  lady!  for  you 
are  like  an  honourable  father. 

Bene.  If  signior  Leonato  be  hfr  father,  she  woidd 
not  have  his  head  on  her  shc<7:  le^-s,  for  all  Messina, 
as  like  hiiu  as  iliie  is. 

Beat.  I  wond'-r  that  yoif  vill  still  be  talking,  si- 
gnior Be  ledick  ;  nobody  wi^rWs  you. 

Bene.  What,  my  dear  lady  Disdain  I  are  you  yet 
living? 

Beat.  Is  it  possible^,  dafdain  should  die,  while  she 
hath  such  meet  food  to  feed  it,  as  signior  I3enedick  ? 
Courtesy  itself  must  ionvert  to  disdain,  if  you  come 
in  her  presence. 

Bene.  Then  is  courtesy  a  turn-coat: — But  it  is 
certain,  I  am  loved  of  all  ladies,  only  you  excepted  : 
and  I  would  I  could  find  my  heart,  that  1  had  not 
a  hard  heart;  for,  truly,  I  love  none. 

Beat.  A  dear  happiness  to  women  ;  they  would 
else  have  been  troubled  with  a  pernicious  suitor.  I 
thank  God,  and  my  cold  blood,  I  am  of  your  humour 
f>r  that;  I  had  rather  hear  my  dog  bark  at  a  crow, 
than  a  man  swear  he  loves  me. 

Bene.  God  keep  your  ladyship  still  in  that  mind  I 
fo  some  gentleman  or  other  shall  'scape  a  predesti- 
nate scratclied  face. 

Beat.  Scratching  could  not  make  it  worse,  an 
'twere  such  a  face  as  yours  were. 

Bene.  Well,  you  are  a  rare  parrot-teacher. 

Beat.  A  bird  of  my  tongue  is  better  than  a  beast 
of  yours. 

Bene.  I  would,  my  horse  had  the  speed  of  your 
tongue;  and  so  good  a  continuer:  but  keep  your 
way  o'  God's  name  ;  1  have  done. 

Beat.  You  always  end  with  a  jade's  trick  ;  I  know 
you  of  ohl. 

D.  Pedro.  This  is  the  sum  of  all :  Leonato, — 
signior  Claudio,  and  signior  Benedick, — my  dear 
friend  Leonato  hath  invited  you  all.  I  tell  him,  we 
shall  stay  herj  at  the  least  a  month  ;  and  he  heartily 
prays  some  occasion  may  detain  us  longer:  I  dare 
swear  he  is  no  hypocrite,  but  prays  from  his  heart. 

Leon.  If  you  swear,  my  lord,  you  shall  not  be 
forsworn. —  Let  me  bid  you  welcome,  my  lord  :  being 
reconciled  to  the  prince  your  brother,  I  owe  you  all 
duty. 

D.  John.  J  thank  you :  I  am  not  of  many  words, 
but  I  thank  you. 

Leon.  Please  it  your  grace  lead  on  ? 

D.  Pedro  Your  hand,  Leonato ;  we  will  go  to- 
gether.     [Exeunt  all  but  Benedick  and  Claudio. 

Claud.  Benedick,  didst  thou  note  the  daughter 
of  sigiiior  Leonato  ? 

Bene.  I  noted  her  not ;  but  I  looked  on  her. 

Claud.  Is  she  no*^  a  modest  young  lady  ? 

Bene.  Do  you  question  me  as  an  honest  man 
should  do,  for  my  simnle  true  judgment ;  or  would 
you  have  ine  .'peak  after  my  custom,  as  being  a 
professed  tyrant  to  their  sex  V 

Claud.  No,  1  pray  tiiee,  speak  in  sober  judgment. 

Bene.  Why,  i'faith,  niethinks  she  is  too  low  for 
a  high  praise,  too  brown  for  a  fair  praise,  and  too 
little  for  a  great  praise :  only  this  commendation  I 


can  afford  her;  that  vtfe  "bz  other  tlmn  she 's,  sli« 
were  unhandsome  j  and  Wing  jx^  other  but  as  she  is, 
I  do  not  Uke  be/. 

Clav^.  Tfcou  tiiinkest  I  am  in  spovt ;  I  pray  thee, 
iell  ns?  trEily  how  thou  likest  her.  [her? 

Ben^^.  Would  you  buy  her,  that  you  inquire  after 

Claud.  Can  the  world  biry  such  a  jewel  ? 

Bens.  Yea,  ana  a  case  to  put  it  mto.  But  speak 
yiiju  this  with  a  sad  brow?  or  do  you  play  the  flout 
\Wf^  Jack;  to  tell  us  Cupid  is  a  good  hare-finder  ani 
Vulcan  a  rare  carpenter?  Come,  in  what  key  shziO. 
a  man  take  you,  to  go  in  the  song? 

Claud.  In  mine  eye,  she  is  the  sweetest  lady  tha 
ever  I  looked  on. 

Bene.  I  can  see  yet  without  spectacles,  and  I  sr« 
no  such  matter  :  there's  her  cousin,  an  she  wer» 
not  possessed  with  a  fury,  exceeds  her  as  much  ii 
beauty,  as  the  first  of  May  doth  the  last  of  Decern 
ber.  But  I  hope  you  have  no  intent  to  tarn  hus. 
band  ;  have  you  ? 

Claud.  I  would  scarce  trust  myself,  thou|^h  I  had 
sworn  the  contrary,  if  Hero  would  be  my  wife. 

Bene.  Is  it  come  to  this,  i'faith  ?  Hath  not  the 
world  one  man,  but  he  will  wear  his  cap  with  sus- 
picion ?  Shall  I  never  see  a  bachelor  of  threescore 
again?  Go  to,  i'faith  :  an  thou  wilt  needs  thrust  thy 
neck  into  a  yoke,  wear  the  print  of  it,  and  sigh 
away  Sundays,  Look,  Don  Pedro  is  returned  to 
seek  you. 

Re-enter  Don  Pedro, 

D.  Pedro.  What  secret  hath  held  you  here,  that 
you  follovved  not  to  Leonato's?  [to  tell. 

Bene.  I  would,  your  grace  would  constrain  me 

D.  Pedro.  I  charge  thee  on  thy  allegiance. 

Bene.  You  hear.  Count  Claudio  :  I  can  be  secret 
as  a  dumb  man,  I  would  have  you  think  so  ;  but  or 
my  allegiance, — mark  you  this,  on  my  allegiance 
— he  is  in  love.  With  who?  —  now  that  is  your 
grace's  part. — Mark,  how  short  his  answer  is: — 
with  Hero,  Leonato's  short  daughter, 

Claud.  If  this  were  so,  so  were  it  utterea. 

Bene.  Like  the  old  tale,  my  lord :  "  it  is  not  so, 
nor  'twas  not  so  ;  but,  indeed,  God  forbid  it  should 
be  so." 

Claud.  If  my  passion  change  not  shortly,  God 
forbid  it  should  be  otherwise. 

D.  Pedro.  Amen,  if  you  love  her;  for  the  lady  is 
very  well  worthy, 

Claud.  You  speak  this  to  fetch  me  in,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  1  speak  my  thought. 

Claud.  And,  in  faith,  my  lord,  I  spoke  mine. 

Bene.  And,  by  my  two  faiths  and  troths,  ray  lord, 
I  spoke  mine. 

Claud.  That  T  love  her,  I  feel. 

D-  Pedro.  That  she  is  worthy,  I  know. 

Bene.  That  I  neither  feel  how  she  should  be 
loved,  nor  know  how  she  should  be  worthy,  is  the 
opinion  that  fire  cannot  melt  out  of  me ;  I  will  die 
in  it  at  the  stake. 

D.  Pedro.  Thou  wast  ever  an  obstinate  heretic  in 
the  despite  of  beauty. 

Claud.  And  never  could  maintain  his  part,  but 
in  the  force  of  his  will. 

Bene.  That  a  woman  conceived  me,  I  thank  her; 
that  she  brought  me  up,  I  likewise  give  her  most 
humble  thanks :  but  that  I  will  have  a  recheat 
winded  in  my  forehead,  or  hang  my  bugle  in  an 
invisible  baldrick,  all  women  shall  pardon  me  : 
because  I  will  not  do  them  the  wrong  to  mistrust 
any,  I  will  do  myself  the  right  to  trust  none ;  and  the 
fine  is  (for  the  which  1  may  go  the  finer),  I  will  live 
a  bachelor.  [with  lov*?. 

D.  Pedro.  I  shall  see  thee,  ere  I  die,  look  pale 

Bene.  With  anger,  with  sickness,  or  with  hunger, 
my  lord  ;  not  with  love  :  prove,  that  ever  I  l<»se  niore 
blood  with  love,  than  I  will  get  again  with  drinking, 
pick  out  mine  eyes  with  a  ballad-maker's  pen,  and 
hang  me  up  at  the  door  of  a  brothel  house,  for  {h» 
sign  of  blind  Cupid. 


U  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


p.  Pedro.  Well,  if  ever  thon  dost  fall  from  this 
faith,  thou  wilt  prove  a  notable  argumeut. 

Bene.  If  I  do,  hang  me  in  a  bottle  like  a  cat,  and 
ehoot  at  me  :  and  he  that  hits  me,  let  him  be  clapped 
on  the  shoulder,  and  called  Adam,  f 
^  J).  Pedro.  Well,  as  time  shall  trf  : 
In  time  the  savage  bull  doth  bear  the  yoke. 

Bene.  Tlie  savage  bull  may ;  bat  if  ever  the  sen- 
sible Benedick  bear  it,  pluck  olF  the  bull's  horns, 
and  set  them  in  my  forehead :  and  let  me  be  vilely 
painted ;  and  in  such  great  letters  as  they  write. 
Here  is  good  horse  to  hire,  let  them  signify  under 
my  sign, — here  you  may  see  Benedick  the  married 
man. 

Claud.  If  this  should  ever  happen,  thoii  would'st 
be  horn  mad. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  if  Cupid  have  not  spent  all  his 
quiver  in  Venice,  thou  wilt  quake  for  this  shortly. 
■  Bene.  I  look  for  an  earthquake  too  then. 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  you  will  teuiporize  with  the 
hours.  In  the  mean  time,  good  signior  Benedick, 
repair  to  Leonato's ;  commend  me  to  him,  and  tell 
him,  1  will  not  fail  him  at  supper;  for,  indeed,  he 
hath  made  great  preparati(m. 

Bene.  1  have  ahnost  matter  enough  in  me  for  such 
an  embassage ;  and  so  I  commit  you — 

Claud.  To  the  tuition  of  God :  from  mv  house, 
(if  I  had  it)—         _  [Benedick. 

J),  Pedro.  The  sixth  of  July  :  your  loving  friend. 

Bene.  Nay,,  mock  not,  mock  not :  the  body  of 
your  discourse  is  some  time  guarded  with  fragments, 
and  the  guards  are  but  slightly  basted  on  neither: 
ere  you  flout  old  ends  any  further,  examine  your 
conscience  :  and  so  I  leave  you.  [Exit. 

Claud.  My  liege,  your  highness  now  may  do  me 
good.  [how, 

]).  Pedre.  My  love  is  thine  to  teach  ;  teach  it  but 
And  thou  shalt  see  how  apt  it  is  to  learn 
Any  hard  lesson  that  may  do  thee  good. 

Claud.  Hath  Leonato  any  son,  my  lord? 

D.  Pedro.  No  child  but  Hero,  she's  his  only  heir : 
Dost  thou  affect  her,  Claudio  ? 

Claud.  O,  my  lord. 

When  you  went  onward  on  this  ended  action, 
I  look'd  upon  her  with  a  soldier's  eye, 
That  lik'd,  but  had  a  rougher  task  in  hand 
Than  to  drive  liking  to  the  name  of  love  : 
But  now  I  am  return'd,  and  that  war-thoughts 
Have  left  their  places  vacant,  in  their  rooms 
Come  tlironging  soft  and  delicate  desires, 
All  prompting  me  how  fair  young  Hero  is, 
Saying,  1  lik'd  her  ere  I  went  to  wars. 

D.  Pedro.  Thou  wilt  be  Hke  a  lover  presently, 
And  tire  the  hearer  with  a  book  of  words : 
If  thou  dost  love  fair  Hero,  cherish  it; 
And  I  will  break  with  her,  and  vvith  her  father. 
And  thou  shalt  have  her  :  Was't  not  to  this  end, 
That  thou  began'st  to  twist  so  fine  a  story  ? 

Claud.  How  sweetly  do  you  minister  to  love. 
That  know  love's  grief  by  his  complexion  ! 
But  lest  my  liking  might  too  sudden  seem, 
I  would  have  salv'd  it  with  a  longer  treatise. 

J).  Pedro.  What  need  the  bridge  much  broader 
than  the  flood  ? 
The  fairest  grant  is  the  necessity  : 
Look,  what  will  serve,  is  fit :  'tis  once,  thou  lov'st ; 
And  I  will  fit  thee  with  the  remedy. 
I  know,  we  shall  have  revelling  to  night ; 
I  will  assume  thy  part  in  some  disguise, 
And  tell  fair  Hero  I  am  Claudio  ; 
And  in  her  bosom  I'll  unclasp  my  heart, 
And  take  her  hearing  prisoner  with  the  force 
And  strong  encounter  of  my  amorous  tale  : 
Then,  after,  to  her  father  will  I  break  ; 
A  nd,  the  conclusion  is,  she  shall  be  thine  : 
in  practice  let  us  put  it  presently.  [Exeunt. 
ScENB  II. — A  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 
Enter  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

JLeon.  How  now,  brother?  Where  is  my  cousin, 
four  soii  ?  Hath  he  provided  this  music  ;* 


AOT  I, 

Ant.  He  is  very  busy  about  it.  But,  brother,  I  con 
tell  you  strange  news  that  you  yet  dreamed  not  of, 
Leon.  Are  they  good  ? 

Ant.  As  the  event  stamps  them  ;  but  they  have  a 
good  cover,  they  shew  well  outward.  The  prince 
and  Count  Claudio,  walking  in  a  thick-pleached  alley 
in  my  orchard,  were  thus  much  overheard  by  a  man 
of  mine  :  the  prince  discovered  to  Claudio,  that  he 
loved  my  niece  your  daughter,  and  meant  to  ac- 
knowledge it  this  night  in  a  dance  ;  and,  if  he  found 
her  accordant,  he  meant  to  take  the  present  time  by 
the  top.  and  instantly  break  with  you  of  it. 

Leon.  Hath  the  fellow  any  wit,  that  told  you  this? 

Ant.  A  good  sharp  fellow :  1  will  send  for  him, 
and  question  him  yourself 

Leon.  No,  no;  we  will  hold  it  as  a  dream,  till  it 
appear  itself: — but  I  will  acquaint  my  daughter 
withal,  tliat  she  may  be  the  better  prepared  for  an 
answer,  if  peradventure  this  be  true.  Go  you,  and 
tell  her  of  it.  {Several  persons  cross  the  stage.) 
Cousins,  you  know  what  you  have  to  do. — O,  I  cry 
you  mercy,  friend ;  you  go  with  me,  and  1  will  use 
your  skill: — good  cousins,  have  a  care  this  busy 
time.  [Exeunt 
Scene  III. — Another  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 
Enter  Don  John  and  Conrade. 

Con.  What  the  goujere,  my  lord  !  why  are  vou 
thus  out  of  measure  sad  ? 

D.  John.  There  is  no  measure  in  the  occasion  that 
breeds  it,  therefore  the  sadness  is  without  limit. 

Con.  You  should  hear  reason. 

D.  John.  And,  when  I  have  heard  it,  what  bless- 
ing bringeth  it  ?  [ferance. 

Con.  If  not  a  present  remedy,  yet  a  patient  suf- 

D.  John.  I  wonder,  that  thou,  being  (as  thou 
say'st  thou  art)  born  under  Saturn,  goest  about  to 
apply  a  moral  medicine  to  a  mortifying  mischief.  I 
cannot  hide  what  I  am :  I  must  be  sad,  when  1  have 
cause,  and  smile  at  no  man's  jests  ;  eat  when  I  have 
stomach,  and  wait  for  no  man's  leisure  ;  sleep,  when 
I  am  drowsy,  and  tend  to  no  man's  business ;  laugh 
when  J  am  merry,  and  claw  no  man  in  his  humour. 

Con.  Yea,  but  you  must  not  make  the  full  sho\\ 
of  this,  till  you  may  do  it  without  controlment 
You  have  of  late  stood  out  against  your  brother, 
and  he  hath  ta'en  you  newly  into  his  grae-e ;  where 
it  is  impossible  you  should  take  true  root,  but  by 
the  fair  weather  that  you  make  yourself :  it  is  need- 
ful that  you  frame  the  season  for  your  own  harvest. 

D.  John.  I  had  rather  be  a  canker  in  a  hedge, 
than  a  rose  in  his  grace ;  and  it  better  fits  my  blood 
to  be  disdain'd  of  all,  than  to  fashion  a  carriage  to 
rob  love  from  any:  in  this,  though  I  cannot  be  said 
to  be  a  flattering  honest  man,  it  must  not  be  denied, 
that  I  am  a  plain-dealing  villain.  I  am  trusted  with 
a  muzzle,  and  enfranchised  with  a  clog;  therefore  I 
have  decreed  not  to  sing  in  my  cage  :  if  I  had  my 
mouth,  I  would  bite ;  if  I  had  my  liberty,  I  would 
do  my  liking  :  in  the  mean  time,  let  me  be  that  I 
am,  and  seek  not  to  alter  me. 

Con.  Can  you  make  no  use  of  your  discontent  ? 

D.  John.  I  make  all  use  of  it,  for  I  use  it  only 
— Who  comes  here  ?  Wliat  news,  Borachio  ? 
Enter  Borachio. 

Bora.  I  came  yonder  from  a  great  supper ;  the 
prince,  your  brother,  is  royally  entertained  by  Leo- 
nato ;  and  I  can  give  you  intelligence  of  an  intended 
marriage. 

D.  John.  Will  it  serve  for  any  model  to  build  « 
mischief  on  ?   What  is  he  for  a  fool,  that  betroths 
himself  to  unquietness? 

Bora.  Marry,  it  is  your  brother's  right  hand 

D.  John.  Who?  the  most  exquisite  Claudio? 

Bora.  Even  he. 

D.  John.  A  proper  squire !  and  who,  and  who? 
which  way  looks  he?  [Leonato. 
Bora.  Marry,  on  Hero,  the  daughter  and  heir  of 
D.  John.  A  very  forward  March  chick!  How 
came  you  to  tliis  ? 


Act  II.    Scene  1. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


95 


Bora.  Being  entertained  for  a  perfumer,  as  I  was 
smoking  a  musty  room,  comes  me  the  prince  and 
Claudio,  liand  in  hand,  in  sad  conference  :  I  whipt 
me  behind  the  arras;  and  there  heard  it  agreed 
upon,  that  the  prince  should  woo  Hero  for  himself, 
and  having  obtained  her,  give  her  to  count  Claudio. 

D.  John.  Come,  come,  let  us  thither ;  this  may 
prove  food  to  my  displeasure :  that  young  start-up 
falh  all  the  glory  of  my  overtiirow  ;  if  I  can  cross 
him  any  way,  I  bless  myself  every  way  :  you  are 
Voth  sure,  and  will  assist  me? 

Con.  To  the  death,  my  lord. 

D.  John.  Let  us  to  the  great  supper  ;  their  cheer 
ISthe  greater,  that  1  am  subdued  :  'would  the  cook 
Were  of  my  mind  ! — Shall  we  go  prove  what's  to  be 
iflne  ? 

Bora.  We'll  wait  upon  your  lordship.  \Exeunt. 
ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — A  Hall  in  Leonato's  House. 
Enter  Leonato,  Antonio,  Hero,  Beatrice,  and 
others. 

Leon.  Was  not  count  John  here  at  supper  ? 
Ant.  I  saw  him  not. 

Beat.  How  tartly  that  gentleman  looks!  I  never 
can  see  him,  but  I  am  heart-burned  an  hour  after. 

Hero.  He  is  of  a  very  melancholy  disposition. 

Beat.  He  were  an  excellent  man,  that  were  made 
just  in  the  mid  way  between  him  and  Benedick  : 
the  one  is  too  like  an  image,  and  says  nothing  ;  and 
the  other,  too  like  r.iy  lady's  eldest  son,  evermore 
tattling. 

Leon.  Then  half  signior  Benedick's  tongue  in 
count  John's  mouth,  and  half  count  John's  melan- 
choly in  signior  Benedick's  face, — 

Beat.  With  a  good  leg,  and  a  good  foot,  uncle, 
and  money  enough  in  his  purse,  such  a  man  would 
wiii  any  woman  in  the  world, — if  he  could  get  her 
good  will. 

Leon.  By  my  troth,  niece,  thou  wilt  never  get  thee 
a  husband,  if  thou  be  so  shrewd  of  thy  tongue. 

Ant.  In  faith  she  is  too  curst. 

Beat.  Too  curst  is  more  than  curst :  I  shall  les- 
sen God's  sending  that  way  :  for  it  is  said,  God 
sends  a  curst  cow  short  horns  ;  but  to  a  cow  too 
curst  he  sends  none.  [no  horns. 

Leon.  So,  by  being  too  curst,  God  will  send  you 

Beat.  Just,  if  he  send  me  no  husband  ;  for  the 
ov'hich  blessing,  I  am  at  him  upon  my  knees  every 
»norning  and  evening  :  Lord!  I  could  not  endure  a 
husband  with  a  beard  on  his  face;  I  had  rather  lie 
in  the  woollen.  [no  beard. 

Leon.  You  may  light  upon  a  husband  that  hath 

Beat.  What  should  I  do  with  him  ?  dress  him  in 
my  apparel,  and  make  him  my  waiting  gentlewo- 
man ?  He  that  hath  a  beard  is  more  than  a  youth  ; 
and  he  that  hath  no  beard,  is  less  than  a  man  :  and 
he  that  is  more  than  a  youth,  is  not  for  me  ;  and  he 
that  is  less  than  a  man,  I  am  not  for  him  :  there- 
fore I  will  even  ttke  sixpence  in  earnest  of  the 
bear-herd,  and  lead  his  ape.s  into  hell. 

Leon.  Well  then,  go  you  into  hell  ? 

Beat.  No ;  but  to  the  gate  ;  and  there  will  the 
devil  meet  me,  like  an  old  cuckold,  with  horns  on 
his  head,  and  say,  Get  you  to  heaven,  Beatrice,  yet 
you  to  heaven  ;  here  s  no  place  for  you  maids  :  so 
deliver  I  up  my  apes,  and  away  to  Saint  Pefer  for 
the  heavens :  he  shews  me  where  the  bachelors  sit, 
and  there  live  we  as  merry  as  the  day  is  long. 

Ant.  Well,  niece  {to  Hero.)  I  trust,  you  will  be 
luled  by  your  father. 

Beat.  Yes,  faith  ;  it  is  my  cousin's  duty  to  make 
courtesy,  and  say.  Father,  as  it  please  you  : — but 

f et  for  all  tliat,  cousin,  let  him  be  a  handsome  fel- 
ow,  or  elsp  make  another  courtesy,  and  say,  Father, 
it  please  me. 
Leon.  Well,  niece,  I  hope  to  see  you  one  day 
6tted  with  a  husband. 

Beat.  Not  till  God  make  men  of  some  other  metal 


than  earth.  Would  it  not  gneve  a  woman  to  be 
over-mastered  with  a  piece  of  valiant  dust?  to  make 
an  account  of  her  life  to  a  clod  of  wayward  mail? 
No,  uncle,  I'll  none  :  Adam's  sons  are  my  brethren; 
and  truly,  I  hold  it  a  sin  to  match  in  my  kindred. 

Leon.  Daughter,  remember  what  I  told  you  :  if 
the  prince  do  solicit  you  in  that  kind,  you  know 
ynur  answer. 

Beat.  The  fault  will  be  in  the  music,  cousin,  if 
you  be  not  woo'd  in  good  time  :  if  the  prince  be 
too  important,  tell  him,  there  is  measure  in  every 
thing,  and  so  dance  out  the  answer.  For  hear  me, 
Hero;  wooing,  wedding,  and  repenting,  is  as  a 
Scotch  jig,  a  measure,  and  a  cinque-pace  :  the  first 
suit  is  hot  and  hasty,  like  a  Scotch  jig,  and  full  as 
fantastical ;  the  wedding,  mannerly-modest,  as  a 
measure  full  of  state  and  ancientry;  and  then  comes 
repentance,  and,  with  his  bad  legs,  falls  into  the 
cinque-pace  faster  and  faster,  till  he  sink  into  hia 
grave. 

Leon.  Cousin,  you  apprehend  passing  shrewdly. 

Beat.  I  have  a  good  eye,  uncle  ;  I  can  see  a  church 
by  dfiy-liglit. 

Leon.  The  revellers  are  entering ;  brother,  make 
good  room. 

Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  Bal- 
thazar ;    Don  John,  Borachio,  Margaret, 
Ursula,  and  others,  masked. 
D.  Pedro.  Lady,  will  you  walk  about  with  youf 

friend  ? 

Hero.  So  you  walk  softly,  and  look,  sweetly,  and 
say  nothing,  I  am  yours  for  the  walk  ;  and,  espe- 
cially, when  I  walk  away. 

D.  Pedro-  With  me  in  your  company? 

Hero.  I  may  say  so,  when  I  please. 

D.  Pedro.  And  when  please  you  to  say  so? 

Hero.  When  I  hke  your  favour;  for  God  defend, 
the  lute  should  be  like  the  case  I 

D.  Pedro.  My  visor  is  Philemon's  roof ;  within 
the  house  is  Jove. 

Hero.  Why,  then  your  visor  should  be  thatch'd. 

D.  Pedro.  Speak  low,  if  you  speak  lo\  e. 

{Takes  her  aside.) 

Bene.  Well,  I  would  you  did  lii;e  me. 

Mary.  So  would  not  I,  for  your  own  sake  ;  for  I 
have  many  ill  qualities. 

Bene.  Whicti  is  one  ? 

Mary.  1  say  my  prayers  aloud.  [Amen. 
Bene.  1  lo»e  you  the  better;  the  hearers  may  cry, 
Mary.  God  match  me  with  a  good  dancer  I 
Balth.  Amen. 

Mary.  And  God  keep  him  out  of  my  sight,  when 
the  dance  is  done  ! — Answer,  clerk. 

Balth.  No  more  words  ;  the  clerk  is  answered. 

Urs.  I  know  you  well  enough  ;  you  are  signior 
Antonio. 

Ant.  At  a  word,  I  am  not, 

Urs.  I  know  you  by  the  waggling  of  your  head. 

Ant.  To  tell  you  true,  I  counterfeit  him. 

Urs.  You  could  never  do  him  so  ill-well,  unless 
you  were  the  very  man :  here's  his  dry  hand  up 
and  down ;  you  are  he,  you  are  he. 

Ant.  At  a  word,  I  am  not. 

Urs.  Come,  come;  do  you  think  I  do  not  knovy 
you  by  your  excellent  wit?  Can  virtue  hide  itself f 
Go  to,  mum,  you  are  he  :  graces  will  appear,  and 
there's  an  end. 

Beat.  Will  you  not  tell  me  who  told  you  so? 

Bene.  No,  you  shall  pardon  me. 

Beat.  Nor  will  you  not  tell  me  who  you  are? 

Bene.  Not  now. 

Beat.  That  I  was  disd  iinful, — and  that  I  had  mj 
good  wit  out  of  (he  Hundred  merry  Tales; — Well 
(his  was  signior  Benedick  that  said  so. 

Bene.  W  hat's  he  ? 

Beat.  I  am  sure,  you  knew  him  well  enough. 
Bene.  Not  I,  believe  me. 
Beat.  Did  he  never  make  vou  laugh? 
Bene.  I  pray  you,  what  is  he 


96 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  IL 


Beat.  Why,  he  is  the  prince's  jester  :  a  very  dull 
fool  ;  only  his  gift  is  in  devising  impossible  slanders  : 
Done  but  libertines  delight  in  him  ;  and  the  com- 
mendation is  not  in  his  wit,  but  in  his  villany ;  for 
he  both  pleaseth  men  and  angers  them,  and  then 
thoy  laugh  at  him,  and  beat  him  :  I  am  sure  he  is 
in  the  fleet :  T  would  he  had  boarded  me. 

Bene.  When  I  know  the  gentleman,  I'll  tell  him 
what  you  say. 

Beat.  Do,  do:  he'll  but  break  a  comparison  or 
two  on  me  ;  which,  peradventure,  not  marked,  or 
not  laughed  at,  strikes  him  into  melancholy  and 
tlien  there's  a  partridge'  win^  saved,  for  the  fool 
will  eat  no  supper  that  night.  {Music  within.)  We 
must  follow  the  leaders. 

Bene.  In  every  good  thing. 

Beat.  Nay,  if  they  lead  to  any  ill,  I  will  leave 
them  at  the  next  turning.  {Dance.) 
[Exeunt  all  but  Don  John,  Borachio,  and  Claudio. 

D.  John.  Sure,  my  brother  is  amorous  on  Hero, 
and  hath  withdrawn  her  father  to  break  with  him 
about  it :  the  ladies  follow  her,  and  but  one  visor 
remains.  [bearing. 

Bora.  And  that  is  Claudio  :  I  know  hitu  by  his 

D.  John.  Are  not  you  signior  Benedick? 

Claud.  You  know  me  well  ;  I  am  he. 

D.  John.  Signior,  you  are  very  near  my  brother 
in  li'.s  love  :  he  is  enamour'd  on  Hero  ;  1  pray  you, 
dissuade  him  from  her,  she  is  no  equal  for  his  birth  : 
you  may  do  the  part  of  an  honest  man  in  it. 

Ciatid.  How  know  you  he  loves  her? 

D.  John.  I  heard  him  swear  his  affection. 

Bora.  So  did  I  too  ;  and  he  swore  he  would 
marry  her  to-night. 

D.  John.  Come,  let  us  to  the  banquet 

[Exeunt  Don  John  and  Borachio. 

Claud.  Thus  answer  J  in  name  of  Bened*ck, 
But  hear  these  ill  news  with  the  ears  of  Claudio. — 
'  i'ls  certain  so  ; — the  prince  wooes  for  himself 
F.i<-ri(lship  is  constant  in  all  other  things, 
^S  i\r  in  the  office  and  affairs  of  love  : 
'i'lieref'ore,  all  hearts  in  love  use  their  own  tongues; 
Let  every  eye  negotiate  for  itself, 
Anil  trust  no  agent:  for  beauty  is  a  witch, 
Ai^ainst  whuse  charms  faith  melteth  into  blood. 
Ttiis  is  an  accident  of  hourly  proof. 
Which  1  mistrusf-ed  not :  farewell,  therefore,  Hero  I 

Re-enter  Beniedick. 
Bene.  Count  Claudio  ? 
Claud.  Yea,  the  same. 
Bene.  Come,  Will  you  go  with  me  ? 
Claud.  Whither  ? 

Bene.  Even  to  the  next  willow,  about  your  own 
business,  count.  What  fashion  will  you  wear  the 
garland  of  ?  About  your  neck,  like  an  usurer's  chain? 
or  under  your  arn«,  like  a  lieutenant's  scarf?  You 
must  wear  it  one  way,  for  the  prince  hath  got  your 
Hero. 

Claud.  I  wish  him  joy  of  her. 

Bene.  Why,  that's  spoken  like  an  honest  drover  ; 
80  they  sell  bullocks.  But  did  you  think  the  prince 
would  have  served  you  thus? 

Claud.  I  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Bene.  Ho!  now  you  strike  like  the  blind  man; 
'twas  the  boy  that  stole  your  meat,  and  you'll  beat 
the  post. 

Claud.  If  it  will  not  be,  I'll  leave  you.  [Exit. 

Bene.  Alas !  poor  hurt  fowl !  Now  will  he  creep 
into  sedges.—- — But,  that  my  lady  Beatrice  should 
know  me,  and  not  know  me!  The  prince's  fool  ! — 
Ha!  it  may  be,  I  go  under  that  title,  because  I  am 
merry. — Yea ;  but  so :  I  am  a]>t  to  do  myself 
wroog-  :  I  apfi  not  so  reputed  :  it  is  the  base,  the 
bitter  disposTtion  of  Beatrice,  that  puts  the  world 
into  her  person,  and  so  gives  me  out.  Well,  I'll  be 
revenged  as  I  may. 

Re-enter  Don  Pedro,  Hero,  and  Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.  Now,  signior,  where's  the  count? 
Did  you  see  him  ? 


Bene.  Troth,  my  Ic  sd,  I  have  played  the  pait  of 
lady  Fame.  I  found  him  here  as  melancholy  as  a 
lodge  in  a  warren  ;  I  told  him,  and,  1  think,  I  told 
him  true,  that  your  grace  had  got  the  good  will  o! 
this  young  lady  ;  and  I  ofl'ered  him  my  company  to 
a  willow  tree,  either  to  make  him  a  garland,  as  being 
forsaken,  or  to  bind  him  up  a  rod,  as  being  worthy 
to  be  whipped, 

D.  Pedro.  To  be  whipped  !  What's  his  fault? 

Bene.  The  flat  transgression  of  a  scho?'  boy; 
who,  being  overjoy'd  with  finding  a  birds  nest, 
shews  it  his  companion,  and  he  steals  it. 

D.  Pedro.         thou  make  a  trust  a  transgression  ? 
The  transgression  is  in  the  stealer. 

Bene.  Yet  it  had  not  been  amiss,  the  rod  had** 
been  made,  and  the  garland  too;  for  the  garland'' 
he  might  have  worn  himself;  and  the  rod  he  might 
have  bestow'd  on  you,  who,  as  1  take  it,  have  stol'n 
his  bird's  nest. 

D.  Pedro.  I  will  but  teach  them  to  sing,  and 
restore  them  to  the  owner. 

Bene.  If  their  singing  answer  your  saying,  by  mj 
faith,  you  say  honestly. 

D.  Pedro.  The  lady  Beatrice  Imth  a  quarrel  to 
you  ;  the  gentleman,  that  danced  with  lier,  told 
her  she  is  much  wronged  by  you. 

Bene.  O,  she  misused  me  past  the  endurance  of 
a  block  ;  an'oak,  but  with  one  green  leaf  on  it, 
would  have  answer'd  her;  my  \ery  \isor  began  to 
assume  life,  and  scold  with  her :  she  told  me,  not 
thinking  I  had  been  myself,  that  I  was  the  prince's 
jester;  that  I  was  duller  than  a  great  thaw  ;  huddling 
jest  upon  jest,  with  such  impossible  conveyance, 
upon  me,  that  I  stood  like  a  man  at  a  mark,  with  a 
whole  army  shooting  at  me  :  she  speaks  poniards, 
and  every  word  stabs  :  if  her  breath  were  as  terrible 
as  her  terminations,  there  were  no  living  near  her, 
she  would  infect  to  the  north  star.  I  would  not 
marry  her,  though  she  were  endowed  with  ali  that 
Adam  had  lett  him  before  he  transgressed  :  she 
would  have  made  Hercides  have  turned  spit;  yea, 
and  have  cleft  his  club  to  make  the  fire  too.  Cotne, 
talk  not  of  her;  \ou  shall  find  her  the  infernal  Ate  ia 
good  apparel.  I  would  to  God.  some  scholar  would 
conjure  her;  for,  certainly,  while  she  is  here,  a  n)an 
may  live  as  quiet  in  hell  as  in  a  sanctuary  •  and 
people  sin  upon  purpose,  because  \hvy  would  go 
thither ;  so,  indeed,  all  disquiet,  horror,  and  per 
turbation  follow  her. 

Re-enter  '^'^AUDio  and  Bbatrick. 

D.  Pedro.  Look,  here  she  corae.s. 

Bene.  Will  your  grace  couunand  me  any  service 
to  the  world's  end?  1  will  go  on  ttie  slightest  errand 
now  to  the  Antipodes,  that  you  can  devise  to  send 
me  on  ;  I  will  letch  you  a  tooth-picker  now  from  the 
farthest  inch  of  Asia;  bring  you  the  length  of  Prester 
John's  foot ;  fetch  you  a  hair  off'  the  great  Cham  s 
beard;  do  you  any  embassage  to  the  Pigmies,  rather 
than  hold  three  words' conference  with  this  harpy: 
you  have  no  employment  for  me  ? 

D.  Pedro.  None,  but  to  desire  your  good  company 

Bene.  O  God,  sir,  here's  a  dish  I  love  not;  I  can- 
not endure  my  lady  Tongue.  [Exit 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  lady,  come  ;  you  have  lost  the 
heart  of  signior  Benedick. 

Beat.  Indeed,  my  lord,  he  lent  it  me  a  while  ;  and 
I  gave  him  use  /or  it,  a  double  heart  f(»r  his  single 
one :  marry,  once  before,  he  won  it  of  me  with  false 
dice,  therefore  your  grace  may  well  say,  I  have  lost  it 

£>.  Pedro.  You  have  put  him  down,  lady,  you 
have  put  him  down. 

Beat.  So  I  would  not  he  should  do  me,  my  lord, 
lest  I  should  prove  the  mother  of  fools.    1  have-' 
brought  count  Claudio,  whom  you  sent  me  to  seek. 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  how  now,  count?  wherefore  are 
'      Claud.  Not  sad,  my  lord.  (you  sad? 

D.  Pedro.  How  then?  Sick? 

Claud.  Neither,  my  lord. 

Beat.  The  count  is  neither  sad,  nor  sick,  nor 


Scene  2. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


97 


merry,  nor  well .  but  civil,  cotine^;  civil  as  an  orange, 
and  gometliing  of  tliat  jealous  coiiiijlexion. 

D,  Pedro.  I'faith,  lady,  1  itiink  your  blazon  to  be 
true  ;  though,  I'll  be  sworn,  ifhe  be  so,  his  conceit  is 
f^ilse.  Here.  Claudio,  I  have  wooed  in  thy  name, 
and  iair  Hero  is  won ;  I  have  broke  with  her  lather, 
and  his  good  will  obtained:  name  the  day  of  mar- 
tiaae,  and  God  give  thee  joy  I 

'  id-um.  Count,  take  o<"  me  niy  daughter,  and  with 
llfir  niy  fortunes  ;  his  grace  hath  made  the  match,  and 
il  grace  say  Amen  to  it ! 

Beat.  Speak,  count,  'tis  your  due. 

ClauU.  Silence  is  tiie  perfectest  herald  of  joy :  I 
were  but  little  happy,  if  I  could  say  how  niucii. — 
Lady,  as  you  are  none,  I  am  youi's:  1  give  away 
myself  for  you,  and  dote  upon  the  exchange. 

Beat.  Speak,  cousin;  or,  if  you  cannot,  stop  his 
moutii  with  a  kiss,  and  let  hint  not  speak,  neither. 

D.Pedro.  In  i'aith,  lady,  you  have  a  merry  iieait. 

Beat.  Vea,  my  lonl ;  I  tnauk  it,  poor  fool,  it  keeps 
on  the  windy  side  of  care:  tny  cousin  tells  iiim  in 
his  ear,  that  he  is  in  her  heart. 

Claud.  And  so  she  doth,  cousin. 

Beat.  Good  lord,  fir  alliance  ! — Thus  goes  every 
one  to  the  woild  but  I,  and  I  am  sun  burned  ;  I  may 
sit  in  a  corner,  and  cry,  heigh-ho!  ibra  husband. 

D.  Pedro.  Lady  Beatrice,  I  will  get  yoti  one. 

Beat.  1  would  rather  have  one  uf  your  father's 
getting  :  hath  your  grace  ne'er  a  brotlier  like  you  ? 
lour  father  got  excellent  husbands,  if  a  maid  could 
come  bv  them. 

D.  Pedro.  Will  you  have  me,  lady? 

Beat.  No,  my  lord,  unless  I  might  have  another 
for  working-days :  your  grace  is  too  costly  to  wear 
everyday; — But,  I  beseech  your  grace,  pardon  me; 
I  was  born  to  speak  all  tnirtli,  and  no  matter, 

D.  Pedro.  Your  silence  nu)st  offends  me,  and  to 
be  merry  best  becomes  you  ;  for,  out  of  question,  you 
were  born  in  a  merry  hour. 

Beat.  No,  sure,  my  lord,  my  mother  cvy'd  ;  but 
then  there  was  a  star  danced,  and  under  that  was  I 
born. — Cousins,  God  give  you  joy  I 

Leon.  Niece,  will  you  look  to  those  things  I  told 
you  of  / 

Beat.  I  cry  you  mercy,  uncle. — By  your  grace's 
pardon.  [Exit  Beatrice. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  a  pleasant-spirited  lady. 

Leon.  There's  little  of  the  melancholy  element  in 
her,  my  lord  :  she  is  never  sad,  but  wiien  she  sleeps  ; 
and  nuteversad  then,  t'or  I  have  heard  my  daughter 
say,  she  hath  oi'ten  dreamed  of  unhappiness,  and 
waked  herself  with  laughing.  [band. 

D.Pedro.  She  cannot  endure  to  hear  tell  of  a  hus- 

Leon.  O,  by  no  means;  she  mocks  ail  her  wooers 
out  of  suit.  [dick. 

B.  Pedro.  She  were  an  excellent  wife  for  Bene- 

Leon.  O  lord,  my  lord,  if  they  were  but  a  week 
married,  they  would  talk  themselves  mad. 

D.  Pedto.  Count  Claudio,  when  mean  you  to  go 
to  chin  ch  ? 

Claud.  To  morrow,  my  lord  :  time  goeson  crutches, 
till  love  have  all  his  rites. 

Leon.  Not  till  iVlonday,  my  dear  son,  which  is 
hence  a  just  seven-night;  and  a  time  too  brief  too,  to 
have  all  things  answer  my  minc^. 

J).  Pedro.  Come,  you  shake  the  head  at  so  long  a 
breathing;  but  I  warrant  thee,  Claudio,  the  time 
shall  not  go  dully  by  us ;  1  will,  in  the  interim, 
undertake  one  of  Hercules' labours ;  which  is,  to 
bririg  signior  Benedick  and  the  lady  Beatrice  into  a 
mountain  of  affection,  the  ane  with  the  other.  I 
would  fain  have  it  a  match  ;  and  1  doubt  not  but  to 
fashion  it,  if  you  three  will  but  minister  such  assist- 
ance as  I  shall  give  you  direction. 

Leon.  My  lord,  1  am  for  you,  though  it  cost  me 
ten  nights'  watchings. 

Claud.  And  I,  my  l«)rd. 

D.  Pedro.  And  you  too,  gentle  Hero? 

Hero.  I  will  do  any  modest  otiice,  my  lord,  to 
help  my  cousin  to  a  good  husband. 


D.  Pedro.  And  Benedick  is  not  the  unhopefullest 
husband  that  I  know:  thus  far  can  I  praise  him;  he 
is  of  a  noble  strain,  of  approved  valour,  and  con- 
tinued honesty.  I  will  teacli  you  how  to  humour  yout 
cousin,  that  slie  shall  fall  in  love  with  Benedick: — 
and  1,  with  your  two  helps,  will  so  practise  on  Bene- 
dick, that,  in  despite  of  his  quick  wit  and  his  queasy 
stomach,  he  shall  lall  in  love  with  Beatrice.  If  we 
can  do  this,  Cupid  is  no  longer  an  archer  ;  his  ylory 
shall  be  ours,  for  we  are  the  only  love-gods.  Go  in 
with  ine,  and  I  will  tell  you  my  driit.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — Another  Roo?n  in  Leonato's  Hi  use. 
Enter  Don  John  and  Borachio. 

D.  John.  It  is  so  ;  the  count  Claudio  shall  ma 
the  daughter  of  Leonato, 

Bora.  Yea,  tny  lord,  but  I  can  cross  it. 

D.  John.  Any  bar,  any  cross,  any  impedini 
w  11  be  medicinable  to  me  :  I  am  «!ck  in  displeasure 
him  ;  and  whatsoever  comes  athwart  his  atlecti 
ranges  evenly  with  mine.   How  canst  thou  cross 
marriage  ? 

Bora.  Not  honestly,  my  lord  ;  but  so  covertly, 
that  no  dishonesty  shall  appear  in  me. 

I).  JoJm.  Shew  mt  briefly  how. 

Bora.  I  think,  1  told  your  lordship,  a  year  since, 
how  much  I  am  in  the  favour  of  Margaret,  the  wait- 
ing-gentlewoman to  Hero. 

D.  John.  I  remember. 

Bora.  I  can,  at  any  unseasonable  instant  of  the 
night,  appoint  her  to  look  out  at  her  lady's  chamber- 
window,  [this  marriage? 
IJ.  John.  What  life  is  in  that,  to  be  tlie  death  of 
Bora.  'I'he  poison  of  that  lies  in  you  to  temper. 
Go  you  to  the  prince  your  brother;  s[)are  not  to  teli 
him,  that  he  hath  wronged  his  honour  in  marrying 
the  renowned  Claudio  (whose  estimation  do  you 
mightily  hold  up)  to  a  contaminated  stale,  such  a  one 
as  Hero. 

D.  John.  What  proof  shall  I  make  of  that? 

Bora.  Proof  enough  to  misuse  the  prince,  to  vex 
Claudio,  to  undo  Hero,  and  kill  Leonato:  look  you 
for  any  other  issue  ? 

D.  John.  Only  to  despite  them,  1  will  endeavour 
any  thing. 

Bora.  Go  then,  find  me  a  meet  hour  to  draw  Don 
Pedro  and  the  count  Claudio,  alone:  tell  them,  that 
you  know  that  Hero  loves  me  ;  intend  a  kind  of  zeal 
both  to  the  prince  and  Claudio,  as — in  love  of  your 
brother's  honour,  who  hath  made  this  match;  and 
his  friend's  reputation,  who  is  thus  hke  to  be  cozened 
with  the  semblance  of  a  maid, — that  you  have  dis- 
covered thus.  They  will  scarcely  believe  this  with- 
out trial :  offer  them  instances;  which  shall  bear  no 
less  likelihood,  than  to  see  me  at  her  chamber-win- 
dow ;  hear  me  call  Margaret,  Hero;  hear  Margaret 
term  me  Borachio:  and  bring  them  to  see  this,  the 
very  night  before  tlie  intended  wedding:  for,  in  the 
mean  time,  1  will  so  fashion  the  matter,  that  Hero 
siiall  be  absent ;  and  there  shall  a()[)ear  such  seeni- 
ing  truth  of  Hero's  disloyalty,  that  jealousy  shall  be 
call'd  assurance,  and  all  the  preparation  overthrown. 

D.  John.  Grow  this  to  what  adverse  issue  it  can 
I  will  p't  it  in  practice:  be  cunning  in  the  working 
this,  and  thy  fee  is  a  thousand  ducats. 

Bora.  Be  you  constant  in  tf  e  accusation,  and  D»y 
cunning  shall  not  shame  me. 

D.  John.  I  will  presently  -o  learn  their  day  o' 
marriage.  [Exeunt 

Scene  III. — Leonato'' s  Garden. 
Enter  Benedick  and  a  Boy. 
Bene.  Boy, — 
Boy.  Signior. 

Bene.  In  my  chamber- window  lies  a  book  ;  bring 
it  hither  to  me  in  the  orchard. 
Boy.  I  am  here  already,  sir 

Bene.  I  know  that;  but  I  would  have  thee  lience, 
and  here  again.  [Exit  Boy.] — I  do  much  wonder, 
that  one  man  seeing  how  much  another  man  is  a 


08  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


fool  when  he  dedicates  his  behaviour?  to  love,  will, 
after  he  hath  laughed  at  such  shallow  tollie  i  in  others, 
beconte  tlie  argument  of  his  own  scorn,  by  falling  in 
love:  and  such  a  man  is  Claudio.  I  have  known, 
when  there  was  no  music  with  him  but  the  drum 
and  fife ;  and  now  had  he  rather  hear  the  tabor  and 
the  pipe  :  I  have  known,  when  he  would  have  walked 
ten  mile  a-foot,  to  see  a  good  armour;  and  now  will 
he  lie  ten  nights  awake,  carving  the  fashion  of  a 
new  doublet.  He  was  wont  to  speak  plain,  and  to 
the  purpose,  like  an  honest  man,  and  a  soldier;  and 
now  is  he  turn'd  orthographer ;  his  words  are  a  very 
fantastical  banquet,  just  so  many  strange  dishes. 
May  I  be  so  converted,  and  see  with  these  eyes? 
I  cannot  tell;  I  think  not:  I  will  not  be  sworn,  but 
love  may  transform  me  to  an  oyster;  but  Til  take 
my  oath  on  it,  till  he  have  made  an  oyster  of  me,  he 
shall  never  make  me  such  a  fool.  One  woman  is 
fair;  yet  I  am  well :  another  is  wise;  yet  I  am  well  : 
another  virtuous;  yet  I  am  well :  but  till  all  graces 
be  in  one  woman,  one  woman  shall  not  come  in  my 
grace.  Rich  she  shall  be,  that's  certain;  wise,  or  I'll 
none ; \irtuous,  or  I'll  never  cheapen  her;  fair,  or 
I'll  never  look  on  her;  mild,  or  come  not  near  me  ; 
noble,  or  not  I  for  an  angel;  of  good  discourse,  an 
excellent  musician,  and  her  hair  shall  be  of  what 
colour  it  please  God.  Ha  !  the  prince  and  monsieur 
Love!  I  will  hide  me  in  the  arbour.  {Withdraws.) 
Enter  Don  Pedro,  Leonato,  and  Claudio. 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  shall  we  hear  this  music? 

Claud.  Yea,  my  good  lord: — How  still  the  even- 
ing is. 

As  hush'd  on  purpose  to  grace  harmony  ! 

D.  Pedro.  See  you  where  Benedick  hath  hid 
himself  ? 

Claud.  O,  very  well,  my  lord :  the  music  ended, 
W  e'll  Ht  the  kid  fox  with  a  penny-worth. 

Enter  Balthazar,  ".vith  music. 
D.  Pedro.  Come,  Balthazar,  we'll  hear  that  song 
again. 

Bulth.  O  good  my  lord,  tax  not  so  bad  a  voice 
To  slander  music  any  more  than  once. 

D.  Pedro.  I  t  is  the  witness  still  of  excellency. 
To  put  a  strange  face  on  his  own  perfection; — 
I  pray  thee,  sing,  and  let  me  woo  no  more. 

Balth.  Because  you  talk  of  wooing,  I  will  sing; 
Since  many  a  wooer  does  commence  his  suit 
To  her  he  thinks  not  worthy  ;  yet  he  wooes; 
Yet  will  he  swear,  he  loves. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  pray  thee,  come  : 

Or,  if  thou  wilt  hold  longer  argument. 
Do  it  in  notes. 

Balth.  Note  this  before  my  notes, 

There's  not  a  note  of  mine,  that's  worth  the  noting. 

D.  Pedro.  Why  these  are  very  crotchets,  that  he 
upeaks ; 

Note,  notes,  forfcooth,  and  noting!  {Music.) 

Bene.  Now,  Divine  air!  now  is  his  soul  ravished  ! 
— Is  it  not  strange,  that  sheeps'  guts  should  hale 
tiouls  out  of  men's  bodies? — Well,  a  horn  for  my 
money,  when  all's  done. 

Balthazar  sings. 
I. 

Balth  Siqh  no  more,  ladies,  sif/h  no  more, 
Men  tcere  deceivers  ever  ; 
One  foot  in  aea  and  one  on  shore; 
To  one  thinff  constant  never : 
Then  si(jh  not  so, 
Bui  let  them  r/o. 
And  be  you  hlillie  and  bonny  ; 
Converting  all  your  sounds  of  woe 
Into,  Hey  nonny,  nonny. 

IL 

Sing  no  more  ditties,  sing  no  mo 
Of  dumps  so  dull  and  heavy  ; 

The  fraud  of  men  was  ever  so, 
Since  summer  first  was  leavy. 
Then  sigh  not  so,  §f^c. 


Act  IL 

D.  Pedro,  By  my  troth,  a  good  soug. 

Balth.  And  an  ill  singer,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Ha  ?  no ;  no,  faith ;  thou  singest  well 
enough  for  a  shift. 

Bene.  {Aside.)  An  he  had  been  a  dog,  that  shouM 
hive  howled  thus,  they  would  have  hanged  him: 
and,  I  I  ray  God,  his  bad  voice  bode  no  mischief  I 
I  had  as  lief  have  heard  the  night-raven,  come  what 
plague  could  have  come  after  it. 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  marry  {to  Claudio] ; — Dost  thoa 
hear,  Balthazar?  I  pray  thee,  get  us  some  excel- 
lent music  ;for  to-morrow  night  we  would  have  it  at 
the  lady  Hero's  chamber-witidow. 

Balth.  'I'he  best  I  can,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Do  so :  farewell.  [Exeunt  Balthazar 
and  music.']  Come  hither,  Leonato :  what  was  it 
you  tiild  me  of  to-day?  that  your  niece  Beatrice  was 
in  love  with  signior  Benedick? 

Claud.  O.  ay: — Stalk  on,  stalk  on.  the  fowl  sits. 
{Aside  to  Pedro.)  1  did  never  think  that  lady  would 
have  loved  any  man. 

Leon.  No,  nor  I  neither;  but  most  wonderfyl 
that  she  should  so  dote  on  signior  Benedick,  whom 
she  hath,  in  all  outward  behaviowrs,  seemed  ever  to 
abhor. 

Bene.  Is't  possible?  Sits  the  wind  in  that  corner? 

{Aside.) 

Leon.  By  my  troth,  my  lord,  I  cannot  tell  what  to 
think  of  it;  but  that  she  lo\es  him  with  an  enraged 
affection, — it  is  past  the  infinite  of  thought. 

D.  Pedro.  May  be,  she  doth  but  counterfeit 

Claud.  'Faith,  like  enough. 

Leon.  O  God  !  counterfeit !  There  never  was  conn- 
terl'eit  of  passion  came  so  near  the  life  of  passion,  as 
she  discovers  it.  [she  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  what  effects  of  passion  shew* 
Claud.  Bait  the  hook  well ;  this  fish  will  bite. 

{Asids.) 

Leon.  What  effecfs,  my  lord  !  She  will  sit  you,— 
You  heard  my  daughter  tell  you  how 
Claud.  Slie  did,  indeed. 

D.  Pedro.  How,  how,  I  pray  you?  Yon  amaz9 
me  :  I  would  have  thought  her  s})int  had  been  inviu 
cible  against  all  assaults  of  affection. 

Leon.  1  would  have  sworn  it  had,  my  lord;  espe* 
cially  against  Benedick. 

Bene.  {Aside.)  I  should  think  this  a  gull,  but  that 
the  white  bearded  fellow  speaks  it :  knavei7  cannot, 
sure,  hide  itself  in  such  reverence. 

Claud.  He  hath  taen  the  infection;  hold  it  up. 

[Aside.) 

D.  Pedro.  Hath  she  made  her  affection  knovvn  to 
Benedick?  [torment. 

Leon.  No;  and  swears  she  never  will  ;  that's  hei 

Claud.  'Tis  true,  indeed  ;  so  your  daughter  says  : 
Shall  I,  says  she,  that  have  so  oft  encountered  him 
with  scorn,  tvrite  to  him  that  I  love  him? 

Leon,  'i'his  says  she  now  when  she  is  beginning  to 
write  to  him  :  for  she  ll  be  up  twenty  times  a  night; 
and  there  will  she  sit  in  her  suiock,  till  she  hav« 
writ  a  sheet  of  paper: — my  daughter  tells  us  all. 

Claud.  Now  you  talk  of  a  sheet  of  paper,  I  re- 
member a  pretty  jest  your  daughter  told  us  of. 

Leon.  O  ! — When  she  had  writ  it,  and  whs  readmj 
it  over,  she  found  Benedick  and  Beatrice  betweec 
the  sheet? — 

Claud.  That. 

Leon.  O  !  she  tore  the  letter  into  a  thousand  half, 
pence ;  railed  at  herself,  that  she  (cliouSd  be  so  im- 
modest to  write  to  one  that  she  knew  would  floul 
her  :  I  measure  him,  says  she,  by  my  cnvn  spirit ;  fof 
I  should  flout  him,  if  he  writ  to  me;  yea,  though 
I  love  him,  1  should. 

Claud.  Then  down  upon  her  k  aees  she.  falls, 
weeps,  sobs,  beats  her  heart,  tears  her  hair,  prays, 
curses : — 0  sweet  Benedick  !  God  give  me  patience! 

Leon.  She  doth  indeed;  my  daut>hter  says  so: 
and  the  ecstacy  hath  so  much  overborne  her,  thai 
my  daughter  is  .sometime  afraid  she  will  do  a  de*- 
perate  outrage  to  herself:  it  is  very  true. 


Act  III.    Scene  1.         MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


99 


D.  Pedro.  It  were  good,  that  Benedick  knew  of 
ri  by  some  other,  if  she  will  not  discover,  it. 

Claud.  To  what  end  ?  He  would  make  but  a 
»|'ortof  it,  and  torment  the  poor  lady  worse. 

D.  Pedro.  An  he  should,  it  were  an  alms  to  hang 
him:  she's  an  excellent  sweet  lady  :  and^  out  of  all 
gasoicion,  she  is  virtuous. 

Claud.  And  she  is  exceeding  wise. 

IK  Pedro.  In  every  thing,  but  in  loving  Benedick. 

Leon.  O  my  lord,  wisdom  and  blood  combating 
in  so  tender  a  body,  we  have  ten  proofs  to  one,  that 
blood  hath  the  victory.  I  am  sorry  for  her,  as  I 
have  just  cause,  being  her  uncle  and  her  guardian. 

jD.  Pedro.  1  would  she  had  bestowed  this  dotage 
on  me;  I  would  have  datfd  all  other  lespects,  and 
made  her  half  myself :  I  pray  you,  tell  Benedick  of 
it,  and  hear  what  he  will  say. 

Leon.  Were  it  ^ood,  think  you  ? 

Claud.  Hero  tliinks  surely  she  will  die;  for  she 
says,  she  will  die,  if  he  love  her  not;  and  she  will 
die,  ere  she  makes  her  love  known  ;  and  she  will  die 
if  he  woo  her,  rather  than  she  will  'bate  one  breath  of 
her  accustomed  crossness. 

D.  Pedro.  She  doth  well  :  if  she  should  make 
tender  of  her  love,  'tis  very  possible  he'll  scorn  it : 
f  »r  the  man,  as  you  know  all,  hath  a  contemptible 

Claud.  He  is  a  very  proper  man.  [spirit. 

D.  Pedro.  He  hath,  indeed,  a  good  outward  hap- 
piness. 

Claud.  'Fore  God,  and  in  niy  mind  very  wise. 

D.  Pedro.  He  doth,  indeed,  shew  some  sparks 
that  are  like  wit. 

Leon.  And  I  take  him  to  be  valiant. 

D.  Pedro.  As  Hector,  I  assure  you  :  and  in  the 
managing  ul  quarrels  you  may  see  he  is  wise ;  lor 
either  he  avoids  them  with  great  discretion,  or  un- 
dert-ikes  them  with  a  most  Christian-like  fear. 

Leon.  If  he  do  fear  God,  he  must  necessarily  keep 
peace  ;  il  he  break  the  peace,  he  ought  to  enter  into 
a  quarre'I  with  fear  and  trembling. 

J).  Pedro.  And  so  will  he  do;  for  the  man  doth 
fear  God,  howsoever  it  seems  not  in  liim,  by  some 
large  jests  he  will  make.  Well,  I  am  sorry  for  your 
niece  :  shall  we  go  see  Benedick,  and  tell  him  of  her 
love  ? 

Claud.  Never  tell  him,  my  lord;  let  her  wear  it 
out  with  ^ood  counsel. 

Leon.  N  ly,  that's  impossible;  she  may  wear  her 
hear  t  out  first. 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  we'll  hear  further  of  it  by  your 
daughter;  let  it  cooi  the  while.  I  love  Benedick 
well :  and  1  could  wish  he  would  modestly  examine 
himself,  to  see  how  much  he  is  unworthy  so  good  a 
lady. 

Leon.  My  lord,  will  you  walk?  dinner  is  ready. 

Claud.  If  he  do  not  doat  on  her  upon  this,  I  will 
never  trust  my  expectation.  {Aside.) 

D.  Pedro.  Let  there  be  the  same  net  spread  fur 
her;  and  that  must  your  daughter  and  her  gentle- 
woman cany.  The  s{)ort  will  be,  when  they  hold 
one  an  opinion  of  another's  dotage,  and  no  such 
matter;  that's  the  scene  that  I  would  see,  which  will 
be  merely  a  dumb  show.  Let  us  send  her  to  call 
him  in  to  dinner.  {Aside.) 
[.Exeunt  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  and  Leonato. 

Benedick,  advances  from  the  arbour. 
Bene.  This  can  be  no  trick  :  the  conference  was 
Badly  borne, — 'i'hey  have  the  truth  of  this  from  Hero. 
They  seem  to  pity  the  lady  ;  it  seems,  her  atl'ections 
have  their  fuU  bent.  Lo\e  me  !  why,  it  must  be  re- 
quited. I  hear  how  I  am  censured  :  they  say,  I  will 
bear  myself  proudly,  if  I  perceive  the  love  come 
from  her;  they  say  too,  that  she  will  rather  die  than 
give  any  sign  of  aifection. — I  did  never  think  to 
marry  : — I  must  not  seem  proud  : — Happy  are  they, 
that  hear  their  detractions,  and  can  put  them  to 
mendmg.  They  say,  the  lady  is  fair;  'tis  a  truth,  I 
can  bear  thetA  witness:  and  virtuous; — 'tis  so,  I 
cannot  reprove  it :  and  wise,  but  lor  loving  me  — 


By  my  troth,  it  is  no  addition  to  her  wit;—  nor  no 
great  argument  of  her  folly,  for  I  will  be  horribly  io 
love  with  her. — I  may  chance  ht.ve  some  odd  quiika 
and  remnants  of  wit  broken  on  me,  because  I  havo 
railed  so  long  against  marriage :  but  doth  not  th« 
appetite  alter'?  A  man  loves  the  meat  in  his  youtL 
that  he  cannot  endure  in  his  age  :  shall  quips,  anil 
sentences,  and  these  paper  bullets  of  the  brain,  awe 
a  man  from  the  career  of  liis  humour?  No:  the  worlij 
must  be  peopled.  When  I  said,  I  would  die  a  ba- 
chelor, 1  did  not  think  I  should  live  till  I  weie 
married. — Here  comes  Beatrice  :  by  this  day,  slie"* 
a  fair  lady  :  1  do  spy  some  marks  oi  love  in  her 

Enter  BEATRirp 

Beat.  Against  my  will,  I  am  sent  to  bid  you  con* 
in  to  dinner. 

Bene.  Fair  Beatrice,  I  thank  you  for  your  pains. 

Beat.  I  took  no  more  pains  lor  those  thanks,  than 
you  take  pains  to  thank  me ;  if  it  had  been  painful, 
1  woidd  not  have  come. 

Bene.  You  take  pleasure  in  the  message  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  just  so  much  as  you  may  take  upon 
a  knife's  point,  and  choke  a  daw  withal : — You  have 
no  stomach,  signior ;  fare  you  well.  [Exit. 

Bene.  Ha !  Against  my  will  I  am  sent  to  hid  you 
come  to  dinner — there's  a  double  meaning  in  that.  1 
took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks,  than  you  took 
pains  to  thank  me — that's  as  .nuch  as  to  say.  Any 
pains  that  I  take  for  you  is  as  easy  as  thanks: — If  I 
do  not  take  pity  of  her,  I  am  a  villain ;  if  I  do  not  love 
her,  I  am  a  Jew  :  I  will  go  get  her  picture.  [Exit, 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — Leonatd's  Garden* 
Enter  Hero,  Margaret,  ar.d  Ursula. 

Hero.  Good  Margaret,  run  thee  into  the  parLitr 
There  shalt  thou  find  my  cousin  Beatrice 
Proposing  with  the  Prince  and  Claudio  : 
Whi.sper  her  ear,  and  tell  her,  I  and  Ursula 
Walk  in  the  orchard,  and  our  whole  discourse 
Is  all  of  her;  say,  that  thou  overheard'st  us; 
And  bid  her  steal  into  the  pleached  bower. 
Where  honey- suckles,  ripen'd  by  the  sun, 
Forbid  the  sun  to  enter; — like  favourites. 
Made  proud  by  princes,  that  advance  their  pride 
Against  that  power  that  bred  it : — there  will  she  hida 
listen  our  purpose  :  this  is  thy  office ;  [her. 
Bear  thee  well  in  it,  and  leave  us  alone. 

Marg.  I'll  make  her  come,  I  warrant  you,  pre- 
sently. _  [Exit 

Hero.  Now,  Ursula,  when  Beatrice  doth  cc me. 
As  we  do  trace  this  alley  up  and  down. 
Our  talk  must  only  be  of  Benedick  : 
When  I  do  name  him,  let  it  be  thy  part 
To  praise  him  more  than  ever  man  did  merit  : 
My  talk  to  thee  must  be,  how  Benedick 
Is  sick  in  love  with  Beatrice  :  of  this  matter 
Is  little  Cupid's  crafty  arrow  made. 
That  only  wounds  by  hearsay.    Now  begin; 

Enter  Beatrice,  behind. 

For  look  where  Beatrice,  like  a  lapwing,  runs 
Close  by  the  ground,  to  hear  our  conference. 

Urs.  The  pleasant'st  angling  is  to  see  the  fish 
Cut  with  her  golden  oars  the  silver  stream. 
And  greedily  devour  the  treacherous  bait  • 
So  angle  we  for  Beatrice;  who  even  now 
Is  couched  in  the  woodbine  coverture  : 
Fear  you  not  my  part  of  the  dialogue. 

Hero.  Then  go  we  near  her,  that  her  ear  I<M» 
nothing 

Of  the  false  sweet  bait,  that  we  lay  for  it. 

{They  advance  to  ths  bowmr) 
No,  truly,  Ursula,  she  is  too  disdainful ; 
1  know,  her  spirits  are  as  coy  and  wild 
As  haggards  of  the  rock. 

Urs.  But  are  you  sure. 


100 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  nr. 


Tliat  Benedick  loves  Beatrice  so  entirely?  [lord. 
Hero.  So  says  the  prince,  and  my  new-trothed 
Ui  s.  And  did  tbey  bid  yon  tell  her  of"  it,  madam  ? 
Hero.  They  did  intreat  me  to  acquaint  her  of  it : 
But  1  persuaded  them,  if  they  lov'd  Benedick, 
I'o  \v;sli  him  wrestle  with  aflection, 
A  nd  never  to  let  Beatrice  know  of  it. 

Urs:  Why  did  you  so  ?  Doth  not  the  gentleman 
Deserve  as  full,  as  fortunate  a  bed. 
As  rver  Beatrice  shall  couch  upon? 

Hero.  OUodoflove!  Ijsnow,  he  doth  deserve 
As  tiiuch  as  may  be  yielded  to  a  man : 
But  nature  never  fram'd  a  woman's  heart 
l^r  prouder  stuff  than  that  of  Beatrice  : 
Disdain  and  scorn  ride  sparkling  in  her  eyes, 
Misprising  what  they  look  on;  and  her  wit 
Values  itself  so  highly,  that  to  her 
Ail  matter  else  seems  weak  :  she  cannot  love. 
Nor  take  no  sh  ipe  nor  project  of  afiection, 
She  is  so  sell-endeared. 

Urs.  Sure,  I  think  so  ; 

And  theiefore,  certainly,  it  were  not  good, 
Slie  kriew  his  love,  lest  she  make  spurt  at  it. 

Hero.  VViiy,  you  speak  truth  :  I  never  yet  saw  man. 
How  wise,  how  noble,  young,  how  rarely  featur'd, 
But  she  would  spell  him  backward:  if  fair  friced, 
Siie'd  swear,  the  gentleman  should  be  her  sister; 
[f  black,  wiiy  nature,  drawing  of  an  antic, 
Made  a  foul  blot;  if  tall,  a  lance  ill-headed; 
[flow,  an  agate  very  vilely  cut: 
Jf  speakin;,',  why,  a  vane  blown  with  all  winds; 
If  silt-nt,  why  a  block,  moved  with  none. 
Sc  turns  she  every  nran  the  wrong  side  out; 
And  ntver  gives  to  truth  and  virtue,  that 
Which  simpleness  and  merit  purchaseth. 

Urs.  Sure,  sure,  such  carping  is  not  commendable. 
Hero.  No :  not  to  be  so  odd,  and  from  all  fashions, 
As  Beatrice  is,  cannot  be  coumiendable  : 
B'lt  who  dare  fell  her  so?  If  I  should  speak. 
She'd  mock  mo  into  air;  O,  she  would  laugh  me 
Out  of  myself,  press  me  to  death  with  wit. 
Therefore  let  Benedick,  like  cover'd  fire, 
Consume  avvay  in  sighs,  waste  inwardly  : 
Ft  were  a  l)etter  death  than  die  with  mocks; 
Which  is  as  bad  as  die  with  tickling. 

Urs.  Vet  tell  her  of  it;  hear  wiiat  she  will  say. 
Hero.  No;  rather  I  will  go  to  Benedick, 
And  counsel  iiiuj  to  f^ght  agamst  his  passion  : 
And,  truly,  1  11  devise  some  honest  slanders 
To  stain  my  cousin  with :  one  doth  not  know. 
How  much  an  ill  word  may  empoison  liking. 

Urn.  O,  do  not  do  your  cousin  such  a  wrong. 
She  cannot  be  so  much  without  true  judgment, 
(Having  so  swift  and  excellent  a  wit. 
As  she  is  priz'd  to  have,)  as  to  refuse 
So  rare  a  gentleman  as  signior  Benedick. 

Hero.  He  is  the  only  man  of  Italy, 
Always  excepted  my  dear  Claudio. 

Urs.  \  pray  you,  be  not  angry  with  me,  madam. 
Speaking  my  fancy;  signior  Benedick, 
For  siiape,  for  bearing,  argument  and  valour, 
Goes  foremost  in  report  through  Italy. 

Hero.  Indeed,  he  hath  an  excellent  good  name. 
Urs.  His  excellence  did  earn  it,  ere  he  had  it. — 
When  are  you  married,  madam ?  [in; 

Hero.  VVhy,  every  day  ; — to  morrow  :  come,  go 
I'll  shew  thee  some  attires;  and  have  thy  counsel. 
Which  is  the  best  to  furnish  me  to-morrow. 

Urc  She's  lim'd,  I  warrant  you;  we  have  caught 
iier,  madam. 

'    Hero.  If  it  prove  so,  then  loving  goes  by  haps  : 
Some  Cupid  kills  with  arrows,  some  with  traps. 

[Exeunt  Hero  and  Ursula. 

Beatrice  advances. 

Beat.  What  fire  is  in  mine  ears  ?  Can  this  be  true  ? 

Stand  I  condemn'd  for  pride  and  scorn  so  much^ 
Contempt,  farewell!  and,  maiden  pride,  adieu! 

No  glory  lives  behind  the  back  of  such. 
And,  Benedick,  love  on,  I  will  requite  thee; 


Taming  my  wild  heart  to  thy  loving  hand  ; 
If  thou  dost  love,  my  kindness  shall  incite  thee 

To  bind  our  loves  up  in  a  holy  band  : 
For  others  say,  thou  dost  deserve  ;  and  I 
Belie\e  it  better  than  reportingly.  [Exit 

Scene  II. — A  Room  in  Leonato^s  House. 
Enter  Don  Pedro,  Claudio,  Benedick,  and 
Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.  I  do  but  stay,  till  your  marriage  bs 
consummate,  and  then  I  go  toward  Arragon. 

Claud.  I'll  bring  you  thither,  ray  lord,  if  you'U 
vouchsafe  me. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  that  would  be  as  great  a  soil  in 
the  new  gloss  of  your  marriage,  as  to  shew  a  child 
his  new  coat,  and  forbid  him  to  wear  it.  I  will  only 
be  bold  with  Benedick  for  his  company;  for,  from 
the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot,  he  is 
all  mirth ;  he  hath  twice  or  thrice  cut  Cupid's  bow- 
string, and  the  little  hangman  dare  not  shoot  at  him  : 
he  hath  a  heart  as  sound  as  a  bell,  and  his  tongue  in 
the  clapper;  for  what  his  heart  thinks,  his  tongue 
speaks. 

Bene.  Gallants,  I  am  not  as  I  have  been. 

Leon.  So  say  I ;  methinks,  you  are  sadder. 

Claud.  I  hope,  he  be  in  love. 
p.  Pedro.  Hang  him,  truant ;  there's  no  true  drop 
of  blood  in  him,  to  be  truly  touch'd  with  love  :  if  he 
be  sad,  he  wants  money. 

Bene.  I  have  the  tooth  ach|f 

D.  Pedro.  Draw  it. 

Bene.  Hang  it.  [warda 
Claud.  You  must  hang  it  tirst,  and  draw  it  after- 

jy.  Pedro.  What !  sigh  for  the  tooth-ach  ? 

Leon.  Where  is  but  a  humour,  or  a  worm? 

Bene.  Well,  every  one  can  master  a  grief,  but  he 
Claud.  Yet  say  1,  he  is  in  love.         [that  has  it 

D.  Pedro.  There  is  no  appearance  of  fancy  is 
him,  unless  it  be  a  fancy  that  he  hath  to  strange  dis- 
guises ;  as,  to  be  a  Dutchman  to-day;  a  Frenchman 
I  to-morrow  ;  or  in  the  shape  of  two  countries  at  once, 
as,  a  German  from  the  waist  downward,  all  slops; 
and  a  Spaniard  from  the  hip  upward,  no  doublet; 
unless  he  have  a  fancy  to  this  foolery,  as  it  appears 
he  hath,  he  is  no  fool  for  fancy,  as  you  would  have 
it  appear  he  is. 

Claud.  If  he  be  not  in  love  with  some  woman, 
there  is  no  believing  old  signs:  he  brushes  his  hat 
o'mornings;  what  should  that  bode  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Hath  any  man  seen  him  at  the  barber's  ? 

Claud.  No,  but  the  barber's  man  hath  been  seen 
with  him ;  and  the  old  ornament  of  his  cheek  hath 
already  stuffed  tennis-balls. 

Leon.  Indeed,  he  looks  younger  than  he  did,  by 
thr>  loss  of  a  beard. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  he  rubs  himself  with  civet:  can 
you  smell  him  out  by  that  ? 

Claud.  That's  as  much  as  to  say,  the  sweet 
youth's  in  love.  [choly. 

D.  Pedro.  The  greatest  note  of  it  is  his  melaa- 

Claud.  And  when  was  he  wont  to  wash  his  fa'ce  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  or  to  paint  himself?  for  the  which, 
I  hear  what  they  say  of  him. 

Claud.  Nay,  but  his  jesting  spirit ;  which  is  now 
crept  into  a  lutestring,  and  now  governed  by  stops. 

D.  Pedro.  Indeed,  that  tells  a  heavy  tale  for  him  ; 
conclude,  conclude,  he  is  in  love. 

Claud.  Nay,  but  I  know  who  loves  him. 

D.  Pedro.  That  would  I  know  too ;  I  warrant, 
one  that  knows  him  not. 

Claud.  Yes,  and  his  ill  conditions ;  and,  in  despil» 
of  all,  dies  for  him.  [warda, 

D.  Pedro.  She  shall  be  buried  with  her  face  up^ 

Bene.  Yet  is  this  no  charm  for  the  tooth-ach.— - 
Old  signior,  walk  aside  with  me:  I  have  studied 
eight  or  nine  wise  words  to  speak  to  you,  which 
these  hobby-horses  must  not  hear. 

[Exeunt  Benedich  and  Leonaie 

D.  Pedro.  For  my  life,  to  break  with  him  ab<Ma>t 
Beatrice 


Scene  3. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


101 


Claud.  'Tis  even,  so:  Hero  and  Margaret  have  by 
this  played  their  parts  witii  Beatrice  ;  and  tiien  the 
two  beats  will  not  bite  one  another,  when  they  meet. 


Enter  Don  John. 

Don  John.  My  lord  and  brother,  God  save  yon. 

D.  Pedro.  Good  den,  brother. 

J).  John.  If  your  leisure  served,  I  would  speak 

D.Pedro.  Itipiivate?  [with  you. 

D.  John.  If  it  please  you  : — yet  count  Claudio  may 
l?ar;  ibr  what  I  would  speak,  of,  concerns  him. 

D.  Pedro.  What's  the  matter? 

D.  John.  Means  your  lordship  to  be  married  to- 
morrow?   {To  Claudio.) 

D.  Pedro.  You  know,  he  does. 

D.  John.  I  know  not  that,  when  he  knows  what 
I  know.  [discover  it. 

Claud,      there  be  any  impediment,  I  pray  you, 

D.  Jrlm.  You  may  think,  I  love  you  not;  let  that 
uppe^r  hereafter,  and  aim  better  at  me  by  that  I  now 
wil'  ^nanifest:  for  my  brother,  I  think,  he  holds  you 
*vell;  and  in  dearness  of  heart  hath  holp  to  effect 
vour  ensuing  marriage:  surely,  suit  ill  spent,  and 
mbour  ill  bestowed! 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 

D.  John.  I  came  hither  to  tell  you:  and,  circum- 
fit^iaces  sliortened  (for  she  hath  been  too  long  a  talk- 
''Dg  of),  the  lady  is  disloyal. 

Claud.  Who?  Hero 

D.  John.  Even  she;  Leonato's  Hero,  your  Hero, 
/•■^ery  man's  Hero. 
Claud.  Disloyal? 

p.  John.  The  word  is  too  good  to  paint  out  her 
wjckedness  ;•!  could  say,  she  were  worse  ;  think  you 
•<f  a  worse  title,  and  I  will  ht  her  to  it.  Wonder 
not,  till  further  warrant:  go  but  with  me  to-night, 
you  shall  see  her  chamber-window  entered  ;  even  the 
ttight  before  her  wedding-day:  if  you  love  her  then, 
to-morrow  wed  her;  but  it  would  better  fit  your 
Honour  to  change  your  mind. 

Claud.  May  this  be  so  ? 

D.  Pedro.  I  will  not  think  it. 

D.  Jithru  If  you  dare  not  trust  that  you  see,  con- 
fess not  tiiat  you  know  :  if  you  wdl  follow  me,  I  will 
shew  you  enough ;  and,  when  you  have  seen  more, 
and  heard  more,  proceed  accordingly. 

Claud.  If  1  see  any  thing  to-niglit  why  I  should 
not  marry  her  to-morrow  ;  in  the  congregation,  where 
I  should  wed,  there  will  1  shame  her. 

D.  Pedro.  And,  as  I  wooed  for  thee  to  obtain  her, 
I  will  join  v^ith  thee  to  disgrace  her. 

D.  John.  I  will  disparage  her  no  farther,  till  you 
are  my  vyitnesses:  bear  it  coldly  but  till  midnight, 
and  let  the  issue  shew  itself. 

D.  Pedro.  O  day  untowardly  turned  ! 

Claud.  O  mischief  strangely  thwarting! 

D.  John.  O  plague  right  well  prevented  ! 
So  will  you  say,  when  you  have  seen  the  sequel. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  HI.— J.  Street. 
Enter  Dogberry  and  Verges,  with  the  Watch. 

Voyb.  Are  you  good  men  and  true? 

Very.  Yea.  or  else  it  were  pity  but  they  should 
suffer  salvation,  body  and  soid. 

Doyb.  Nay,  that  were  a  punishment  too  good  for 
them,  if  they  should  have  any  allegiance  in  them, 
being  cho.seu  for  the  prince's  watch. 

Very.  Well,  give  tliem  their  charge,  neighbour 
Dojiberry.  [man  to  be  constable? 

Doyb.  First,  who  think  y  )u  the  most  des\rtless 

1  Watch.  Hugh  Oatcake.  >ir,  or  George  Seacoal ; 
for  they  can  write  and  read. 

Doyb.  Come  hither,  neighbour  Seacoal :  God  hath 
blessed  you  with  a  good  name :  to  be  a  well  favoured 
man  is  the  gift  of  ibrtune ;  but  to  write  and  read 
comes  by  natme. 

2  TVatch.  B(ith  which,  master  constable,  

Doyb.  You  have  ;  I  knew  it  would  be  your  answer. 

Tell,  for  yciar  favr-y:,  jir,  why,  give  God  thanks, 


and  make  no  boast  of  it;  and  for  your  writing  an<| 
reading,  lef  that  appear  when  there  is,  no  need 
such  vanity.'  Y«ni  nrc  thought  heie'  tc  be  the  most 
senseless  and  fU  m'.'n  for'tlie  constalM'e  "of  the  w  atch 
therefore  bear  you  the  lantern  :  this  is  juiir  cnarge  ; 
you  sh;-ll  contpreueno  all  »aj.'r-)ni  "her  vck  are  to 
bid  any  i\\:\n  ^(anJ,  ii' tue  [.riiice's  .'laii  e. 

3  fVatch.  How  if  he  will  not  stand  ? 

Doyb.  Why,  then,  take  no  note  of  hiai,  but  1.  t 
him  go;  and  pre.sently  call  the  rest  of  the  wj,  tc.i 
togetiier,  and  thank  God  you  are  rid  of  a  knave. 

Very.  If  he  will  not  stand  when  he  is  bidden,  he 
is  none  of  the  prince's  subjects. 

Doyb.  True,  and  they  are  to  meddle  with  none 
but  the  prince's  subjects  : — You  shall  also  make  no 
noise  in  the  streets;  for,  for  the  watch  to  babble  and 
talk,  is  most  tolerable  and  not  to  be  endured. 

2  Watch.  We  will  rather  sleep  than  talk  ;  we 
know  what  belongs  to  a  watch. 

Doyb.  Why,  you  speak  like  an  ancient  and  most 
quiet  watchman  ;  for  I  cannot  see  how  sleeping  should 
offend  :  only  have  a  care  that  your  bills  be  not  stolen  : 
— Well,  you  are  to  call  at  all  the  ale-houses,  and  bid 
those  that  are  drunk  get  them  to  bed. 

2  14'^atch.  How  if  they  will  not  ? 

Doyb.  Why  then,  let  them  alone  till  they  are 
sober;  if  they  make  you  not  then  the  better  answer, 
you  may  say,  they  are  not  the  men  you  took  them  for. 

2  Watch.  Well,  sir. 

Doyb.  If  you  meet  a  thief,  you  may  suspect  hi.n, 
by  virtue  of  your  office,  to  be  no  true  man:  and,  for 
such  kind  of  men,  the  less  you  meddle  or  make  with 
them,  why,  the  more  is  for  your  honesty. 

2  Watch.  If  we  know  him  to  be  a  thief,  shall  w  e 
not  lay  hands  on  him? 

Doyb.  Truly,  by  your  office,  you  may  ;  but,  I  think, 
they  that  touch  pitch  will  be  defiled  :  the  most  peace- 
able way  for  you,  if  you  do  take  a  thief,  is,  to  h  t 
him  shew  himself  what  he  is,  and  steal  out  of  yo;  :- 
company.  [puf  Vtw  . . 

Fer^.' You  have  been  always  called  a  mercilii!  man, 

Doyb.  Truly,  I  would  not  hang  a  dog  by  rny  w  i;i  , 
much  more  a  man,  who  hath  any  honesty  in  h'v.n. 

Very.  If  you  hear  a  child  cry  in  the  night,  viu 
must  call  to  the  nurse,  and  bid  her  still  it. 

2  Watch.  How  if  the  nurse  be  asleep,  and  w  ill 
not  hear  us? 

Doyb  Why  then,  depart  in  peace,  and  let  t!.e 
child  wake  her  with  crying:  for  the  ewe  that  w.l! 
not  hear  her  lamb  when  it  baes,  will  never  answ  er  a 
calf  when  he  bleats. 

Very.  'Tis  very  true. 

Doyb.  This  is  the  end  of  the  charge.  You,  con- 
stable, are  to  present  the  prince's  own  person  ;  il'  you 
meet  the  prince  in  the  night,  you  may  stay  him. 

Very.  Nay,  by'r  lady,  that,  I  think,  he  cannot. 

Doyb.  Five  shillings  to  one  on't,  with  any  man 
that  knows  the  statues,  he  may  stay  him  :  many 
not  without  the  prince  be  willing :  for,  indeed,  tlie 
watch  ought  to  offend  no  man ;  and  it  is  an  offence 
to  stay  a  man  against  his  will. 

Very.  By'r  lady,  I  tliink,  it  be  so. 

Doyb.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Well,  roasters,  good  night: 
an  there  be  any  matter  of  weight  chances,  call  up 
me  :  keep  your  fellows'  counsels  and  your  own,  ai/d 
good- night. — Come,  neighbour. 

2  Watch.  Well,  masters,  we  hear  our  charge 
let  us  go  sit  here  upon  the  church-bench  till  two,  and 
then  all  to  bed. 

Doyb.  One  word  more,  honest  neighbours :  I  pray 
you,  watch  about  signior  Leonato's  door;  (or  tiiO 
wedding  being  there  to-morrow,  there  is  a  great  cud 
to-night:  adieu,  be  vigilant,  I  beseech  you. 

[Exeunt  Doyberry  and  Veryes 

Enter  Borachio  and  Conrade. 
Bora.  What!  Conrade, — 

Watch.  Peace,  stir  not.  {Asiue.'l 

Bora.  Conrade,  I  say  ! 

Con.  H-^re,  man,  I  am  at  thy  elbow. 


102 

Bora.  Mass,  and  my  elbow  itched ;  I  thought, 
there  would  a  s^iab  follow. 

Con.  J  wili  ewp  thee  ae  answer  ''or  that;  and  now 
,orvvard  vvitH  tiiy  tale.  -    "  ' 

Bora.  Stand  thee  close  then  under  this  pent- 
house,/lor 'U'driy.'Mes  rain;  and  I  wiil,  liko  a  true 
JriinkaVd,  jtirer      to  Ihee.     '  (close. 

U'atc/i,  (Aside.)  Some  treason,  masters;  yet  stand 

Bora.  Therelore  know,  I  have  earned  of  Don 
l.ohn  a  thjusand  ducats.  [dear? 

Con.  Is  it  possible  that  any  villainy  should  be  so 

Bora.  Thou  should'st  rather  ask,  if  it  were  possible 
any  viUainy  should  be  so  rich  ;  lor  when  rich  villains 
have  noed  of  poor  ones,  poor  ones  may  make  what 

Con.  I  wonder  at  it.  [price  they  will. 

Bora.  That  shews,  thou  art  unconfirmed :  thou 
knovvest,  that  tlie  fashion  of  a  doublet,  or  a  hat,  or  a 
cicak,  is  nothing  to  a  man. 

Con.  Yes,  it  is  apparel. 

Bora.  I  mean,  the  fashion. 

Con.  Yes,  the  fashion  is  the  fashion. 

Bora.  Tush !  I  may  as  well  say,  the  fool's  the  fool. 
Biitseest  thou  not  what  a  deformed  thief  this  fashion 
is? 

Watch.  I  know  that  Deformed;  he  lias  been  a 
vile  thief  this  seven  year;  he  goes  up  and  down  hke 
a  gentleman :  I  remember  his  name. 

Bora.  Didst  thou  not  hear  somebody  ? 

Con.  No;  'twas  the  vane  on  the  bouse. 

Bora.  Seest  thou  not,  J  say,  what  a  deformed 
thief  this  fashion  is?  how  giddily  he  turns  about  all 
the  hot  bloods,  between  fourteen  and  five-and-thirty  ? 
/sometime,  i'ashioning  them  like  Pharaoh's  soldiers 
in  the  reechy  painting;  sometime,  like  god  Bel's 
priests  in  the  old  church  window  ;  sometime,  like  the 
sliavenHercules  in  the  smirched  worm-eaten  tapestry, 
where  his  cod  piece  seems  as  massy  as  his  club? 

Con.  All  this  I  see;  and  see,  that  the  fashion 
wears  out  mire  apparel  than  the  man :  but  art  not 
tljpu  thyself  giddy  with  the  fashion  too,  that  thou 
hast  slul'ted  out  of  thy  tale  into  telling  me  of  the 
tashion  ? 

Bora.  Not  so,  neither :  but  know,  that  I  have  to- 
uiglit  wooed  Margaret,  the  lady  Hero's  gentle- 
woman, by  the  name  of  Hero;  she  leans  me  out  at 
ner  mistiess's  chamber- window,  bids  me  a  thousand 
times  good-night. — 1  tell  this  tale  vilely  I — 1  should 
first  tell  thee,  how  the  Prince,  Claudio,  and  tny 
master,  planted,  and  placed,  and  possessed  by  my 
master,  Don  John,  saw  afar  off  in  the  orchard  this 
amiable  encounter. 

Con.  And  thought  they  Margaret  was  Hero  ? 

Bora.  Two  of  them  did,  the  Prince  and  Claudio  ; 
but  tile  devil  my  master  knew  she  was  Margaret; 
and  partly  by  his  oaths,  which  first  possessed  them, 
partly  by  the  dark  night,  which  did  deceive  them, 
out  chiefly  by  my  villainy,  which  did  confirm  any 
slander  that  Don  John  had  made,  away  went  Claudio 
enraged ;  swore  he  would  meet  her,  as  he  was  ap- 
pointed, next  morning  at  the  temple,  and  there,  be- 
fore the  whole  congregation,  shame  her  with  what 
he  saw  over-night,  and  send  her  home  again  without 
a  husband.  [stand. 

1  Watch.  We  charge  you  in  the  prince's  name, 

2  Watch.  Call  up  the  right  master  Constable :  we 
Jiave  here  recovered  the  most  dangerous  piece  of 
lechery  that  ever  was  known  in  the  commonwealth. 

1  Watch.  And  one  Deformed  is  one  of  them ;  I 
mow  him,  he  wears  a  lock. 
Con.  Masteis,  masters. 

'i  Walch.  You'll  be  made  bring  Deformed  forth, 
f  A^arraiit  you. 
Con.  Masters, — 

1  Watch.  Never  speak;  we  chaige  you,  let  us 
obey  you  to  go  with  us. 

Bora.  We  are  like  to  prove  a  goodly  commodity, 
l<?ing  taken  up  of  these  men's  bills. 

Con.  A  couimodity  in  questiou,  I  warrant  you. 
Come,  we'll  obey  you.  [Exeunt. 


Act  IIL 

Scene  IV. — A  Room  in  LeonatoU  House. 
Enter  Hero,  Margaret,  and  Ursula. 

Hero.  Good  Ursula,  wake  my  cousin  Beatrice,  and 
desire  her  to  rise. 

Urs.  I  will,  lady. 

Hero.  And  bid  her  come  hither. 

Urs.  Well.  [Exit  Ursula. 

Mary.  Troth,  I  think,  your  other  rabato  were 
better. 

Hero.  No,  pray  thee,  good  Meg,  I'll  wear  this 

Marg.  By  my  troth,  it's  not  so  good ;  and  I  warrant, 
your  cousin  will  say  so. 

Hero.  My  cousin's  a  fool,  and  thou  art  another ; 
I'll  wear  none  but  this. 

Mary.  I  like  the  new  tire  within  excellently,  if 
the  hair  were  a  thought  browner:  and  your  gown's 
a  most  rare  fashio«,  i'faith.    I  saw  the  duchess  of  • 
Milan's  gown,  that  they  praise  so. 

Hero.  O,  that  exceeds,  they  say. 

Marg.  By  my  troth,  it's  but  a  night-gown  in 
respect  of  your's  :  cloth  of  gold,  and  cuts,  and  laced 
witii  siUer;  set  with  pearls,  down  sleeves,  side- 
ysleeves,  and  skirts  round,  underborne  with  a  blueish 
tinsel:  but  for  a  fine,  quaint,  graceful,  and  excel- 
lent fashion,  yours  is  worth  ten  on't. 

Hero.  God  give  me  joy  to  wear  it,  for  my  heart 
is  exceeding  heavy  !  [man. 

Marg.  'Twill  be  heavier  soon,  by  the  weight  of  a 

Hero.  Fy  upon  thee  !  art  not  ashamed  ? 

Mary.  Of  what,  lady  ?  of  speaking  honourably  ? 
Is  not  marriage  honourable  in  a  beggar?  Is  not 
your  lord  honourable  without  marriage  ?  I  think, 
you  would  have  me  say,  saving  your  reverence, —  a 
husband:  an  bad  thinking  do  not  wrest  true  speak- 
ing, I'll  offend  nobody  :  Is  there  any  harm  in — the 
heavier  for  a  hushandl  None,  I  think,  an  if  it  be 
the  right  husband,  and  the  right  wife  ;  otherwise  'tis 
light,  and  not  heavy:  ask  mj  lady  Beatrice  else, 
here  she  comes. 

Enter  Beatrice 
Hero.  Good  morrow,  coz. 

Beat.  Good  morrow,  sweet  Hero.  [tune  ? 

Hero.  Why,  how  now !  do  you  speak  in  the  sick 

Beat.  I  am  out  of  all  other  tune,  methinks. 

Marg.  Clap  us  into — Eight  o^  love ;  that  gcea 
without  a  burden  ;  do  you  sing  it,  and  I'll  dance  it. 

Beat.  Yea,  Liyht  o'  love,  with  your  heels  !— 
then,  if  your  husband  have  stables  enough,  ^  ou'll  see 
he  shall  lack  no  bai  ns.  [with  my  heels. 

Mary.  O  illegitimate  construction !  I  scorn  that 

Beat.  'Tis  almost  five  o'clock,  cousin ;  'tis  time 
you  were  ready.  By  my  troth,  I  am  exceeding  ill  • 
— hey  ho ! 

Mary.  For  a  hawk,  a  horse,  or  a  husband  ? 

Beat.  For  the  letter  that  begins  them  all,  H. 

Marg.  Well,  an  you  be  not  turned  Turk,  there'i 
no  more  sailing  by  the  star. 

Beat.  What  means  the  fool,  trow  ? 

Mary.  Nothing  I ;  but  God  send  every  one  thei. 
heart's  desire  !  [an  excellent  perfum* 

Hero.  These  gloves  the  count  sent  me,  'ifcey  ai 

Beat.  I  am  stuffed,  cousin,  I  cannot  smell. 

Mary.  A  maid,  and  stutFed !  there's  goodly  catch 
ing  of  cold. 

Beat.  O,  God  help  me  !  God  help  me  !  how  lon^ 
have  you  profess'd  apprehension? 

Mary.  Ever  since  you  left  it :  d«th  not  my  wig" 
become  me  rarely  ? 

Beat.  It  is  not  seen  enough,  you  should  wear  ii 
in  your  cap. — By  my  troth,  I  am  sick. 

Marg.  Get  you  some  of  this  distilled  Carduut 
Benedictus,  and  lay  it  to  your  heart ;  it  is  the  only 
thing  for  a  qualm. 

Hero.  There  thou  prick'st  her  with  a  thistle. 

Beat.  Benedictus!  why  Benedictus?  you  have 
some  moral  in  this  Benedictus. 

Mary.  Moral  ?  no,  by  my  troth,  I  have  no  moral 
meaning;  I  meant,  plain  holy-thistle.     You  iim»J 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


ACT  IV.  Scene  1. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


109 


think,  perchance,  that  T  think  yon  are  in  love  :  nay, 
by'r  lady,  I  am  not  snch  a  fool  to  think  what  I  list ; 
nor  I  list  not  to  think  wliat  I  can;  nor  indeed.  I 
«annot  think,  if  1  would  think  my  heart  out  of 
thinking,  that  you  are  in  love  or  that  yon  will  be  in 
love,  or  that  yon  can  be  in  love  :  yet  Penedick  was 
■uch  another,  and  now  is  he  become  a  man  :  he 
swore  he  would  never  marry  ;and  yet  now,  in  despite 
of  his  heart,  he  eats  his  meat  without  grudtting  : 
and  how  you  may  be  converted  I  know  not ;  but  nie- 
thinks.  you  look  with  your  eyes  as  other  women  do. 

Beat.  What  pace  is  this,  that  thy  tongue  keeps? 

Marj.  Not  a  false  gallop. 

Re  enter  Uksula. 

Urs.  Madam,  withdraw  ;  the  prince,  the  count, 
signior  Benedick.  Don  John,  and  all  the  gallants  of 
the  town,  are  come  to  fetch  you  to  church. 

Hero.  Help  to  dress  me,  good  coz,  good  Meg, 
good  Ursula.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. —  Another  Room  in  Leonato's  house. 

Enter  Leonato,  ivUh  Dogberry  and  Verges. 

Lion.  What  would  you  with  me,  honest  neigh- 
bour? 

Doyb.  Marry,  sir,  I  would  have  some  con6dence 
with  you,  that  decerns  you  nearly. 

Leon  Brief,  I  pray  yon  ;  for  you  see,  'tis  a  busy 

Dotjb.  Marry,  this  it  is,  sir.  [time  with  me. 

Verg.  Yes,  in  truth  it  is,  sir. 

Leon.  What  is  it,  my  good  friends  ? 

Doijb.  Goodman  Verges,  sir,  speaks  a  little  off 
the  matter  :  an  old  man,  sir,  and  his  wits  are  not  so 
blunt,  as,  God  help,  I  would  desire  they  were;  but 
in  faith,  honest,  as  the  skin  between  his  brows 

f^e^'j-  Ves.  I  thank  God,  I  am  as  honest  as  any 
man  living,  that  is  an  old  man,  and  no  honester 
than  I.  [hour  Verges. 

Doffb.  Comparisons  are  odorous  :  palabras,  neigh- 

Leon.  Neighbours,  you  are  tedious. 

Doijb.  It  pleases  your  worship  to  say  so.  but  we 
•re  the  poor  duke's  otticers  ;  bti4,tru{y,  for  mine  own 
part,  if  I  were  as  tedious  as  a  king,  1  could  find  in 
my  heart  to  bestow  it  all  on  your  worship. 

Leon.  All  thy  tedionsness on  me!  ha! 

Doyb  Yea,  and  'twere  a  thousand  times  more 
than  'tis  :  for  I  hear  as  good  exclamation  on  your 
worship,  as  of  any  man  in  the  city;  and  though  I 
be  but  a  poor  mnn,  I  am  glad  to  hear  it. 

y  erg.    Vnd  so  ami. 

Leon  I  would  fain  know  what  you  have  to  say. 

Very.  Marry,  sir,  our  watch  to-night,  excepting 
your  worship's  pre.sence,  have  ta'en  a  couple  of  as 
arrant  knaves  as  any  in  Messina. 

Dogb  A  good  old  man,  sir;  he  will  be  talking; 
as  they  say,  When  the  age  is  in,  the  wit  is  out; 
God  help  ns!  it  is  a  world  to  see  ! — Well  said, 
i'faith,  neighbour  Verges:  — well,  God's  a  good 
man  ;  an  two  men  ride  of  a  horse,  one  must  ride  be- 
hind : — An  honest  soul,  i'faith.  sir,  by  my  troth  he 
is,  as  ever  broke  bread  :  but,  God  is  to  be  worship- 
ped :  All  men  are  not  alike  ;  alas,  good  neighbour  ! 

Leon.  Indeed,  neighbour,  he  comes  too  short  of 

/Jojri  Gifts,  that  God  gives.  [you. 

Leon.  I  must  leave  you. 

Doyb  One  word,  sir  :  our  watch,  sir,  have  in- 
deed comprehended  two  auspicious  persons,  and 
we  would  have  them  this  morning  examined  before 
four  worship. 

^  Leon.  Take  their  examination  yourself,  and  bring 
it  me;  I  am  now  in  great  haste,  as  it  may  appear 
Dogb.  It  shall  be  suffigance.  [unto  you 

•     heon.  Drink  some  wine  ere  you  go  :  fare  you  well. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mets.  My  lord,  they  stay  for  you  to  give  your 
daughter  to  her  husband. 

Leun.  1  will  wait  upon  them ;  I  am  ready. 

[Exeunt  Leonato  and  Messenger. 
^  Dogb.  Go,  good  partner,  go,  get  you  to  Francis 
Ueacoal.  bid  him  bring  his  pen  and  inkhorn  to  the 


gaol  :  we  are  now  to  examination  th  ^se  men. 

Very.  And  we  must  do  it  wisely. 

Doyb.  We  will  spare  for  no  wit,  I  warrant  you  ; 
here's  t\\M.{touching  his  forehead)  shall  drive  .some 
of  them  to  a  non  com:  only  get  the  learned  writer 
to  set  down  our  excomniunication,  and  meet  me  at 
the  gaol.  [Exeunt. 
ACT  IV. 

ScENR  I. — The  inside  of  a  Church. 

Enter  Don  Pf  uno.  Don  3 OHs,  Leonato,  Frtar , 
Claudio,  Benedick,  Hero,  ««£/ Beatrice,  etc. 

Leon.  Come,  friar  Francis,  be  brief ;  only  to  the 
plain  form  of  marriage,  and  you  shall  recount  their 
particular  duties  afterwards.  jlady  t 

Friar   You  come  hither,  my  lord,  to  marry  this 

Claud  No.  [marry  her, 

Leon.  To  be  married  to  her.  friar;  you  come  to 

Friar   Lady,  you  com.e  hither  to  be  married  to 

Hero  I  do.  [this  count  ? 

Friar.  If  either  of  you  know  any  inward  impedi- 
ment why  you  should  not  be  conjoined,  I  cnarge 
you,  on  your  souls,  to  utter  it. 

Claud.  Know  you  any,  Hero  ? 

Hero   None,  my  lord. 

Friar   Know  you  any,  count  ? 

Leon   1  dare  make  his  answer,  none. 

Claud  O.  what  men  dare  do  !  what  men  may  do  I 
what  men  daily  do  !  not  knowing  what  they  do ! 

Bene.  How  now  !  Interjections  ?  Why,  then  some 
be  of  laughing,  as,  ha  !  ha  !  he  !  [leave ; 

Claud.  Stand  thee  by,  friar  : — Father,  by  vonr 
Will  you  with  free  and  unconstrained  soul 
Give  ine  this  maid,  your  daughter? 

Leon   As  freely ,  son.  as  God  did  give  her  me. 

Claud  And  what  have  I  to  give  yon  back,  whose 
worth 

May  connterpoi.se  this  rich  and  precious  gift? 

D.  Pedro.  Nothing,  unless  you  render  her  again. 

Claud.  Sweet  prince,  you  learn  me  noble  thank* 
There,  Leonato,  take  her  back  again;  [fulness.— 
Give  not  this  orange  to  your  friend  ; 
She's  but  the  siv;n  and  semblance  of  her  honour  :— 
Behold,  how  like  a  maid  she  blushes  here  : 
O,  what  authority  and  show  of  truth 
Can  cunning  sin  cover  itself  withal  I 
Comes  not  that  blood,  as  modest  evidence, 
To  witness  simple  virtue  ?    Would  you  not  swear 
All  you  that  see  her,  that  she  were  a  maid, 
By  these  exterior  shows  ?    But  she  is  none  : 
She  knows  the  heat  of  a  luxurious  bed  : 
Her  bhish  is  guiltiness,  not  modesty. 

Leon.  What  do  you  mean,  my  lord  ? 

Claud,  Not  to  be  married 

Not  knit  my  soul  to  an  approved  wanton. 

Leon.  Dear  my  lord,  if  you,  in  your  own  proof, 
Have  vanquished  the  resistance  of  her  youth. 
And  made  defeat  of  her  virginity  

Claud.  I  know  what  you  would  say;  If  I  have 
known  her. 

You'll  .say,  she  did  embrace  me  as  a  husband, 
.^nd  so  extenuate  the  'forehand  sin  : 
No,  Leon;ito. 

1  never  tempted  her  with  word  too  Urge  ; 
But.  as  a  brother  to  his  sister,  «how'd 
Bashful  sincerity,  and  comely  love. 

Hero  And  seem'd  1  ever  oiherwise  to  yt,„? 

Claud  Outon  thy  seeming  !  I  will  write  against  it 
You  seem  to  me  as  Dian  in  her  orb  ; 
As  chaste  as  is  the  bud,  ere  it  be  blown  ; 
But  yon  are  more  intemperate  in  your  blood 
Than  Venus,  or  those  pamper'd  animalg 
That  rage  in  savage  sensuality. 

Hero.  Is  my  lord  well,  that  he  doth  speak  so  wide? 

Leon  Sweet  prince,  why  speak  not  you  ? 

D  Pedro  What  should  I  speak  ? 

I  stand  di.shonour*d,  that  have  gone  about 
'I'o  link  my  dear  friend  to  a  common  stale, 

Leon.  Are  these  things  iuoken?  or  do  1  but  dream? 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  Act  IV, 


104 

D.  John.  Sir,  they  are  spoken,  and  these  things 
are  true. 

Bene.  This  looks  not  like  a  nuptial. 

Hero.  True,  O  God  ! 

Claud.  Leonatn,  stand  I  here  ? 
e~this  the  prince  ?    Is  this  the  prince's  brother? 

this  face  Hero's?    Are  our  eyes  our  own ? 

Lfon.  All  this  is  so  ;  but  what  of  this,  my  lord  ? 

Claud.  Let  me  but  move  one  question  to  your 
daughter ; 
And,  by  that  fatherly  and  kindly  power 
That  you  have  in  her,  bid  her  answer  truly. 

Leon.  I  charae  thee  do  so,  as  thou  art  my  child. 

Hero.  O  God  defend  n.e !  how  am  I  beset! — 
What  kind  of  catechising  call  you  this  ? 

Claud.  To  make  yon  answer  truly  to  your  name. 

Hero.  Is  it  not  Hero?  Who  can  blot  that  name 
With  any  just  reproach  ? 

Claud.  Marry,  that  can  Hero ; 

Hero  itself  can  blot  out  Hero's  virtue. 
What  man  was  he  talk'd  with  you  yesternight 
Out  at  your  window,  betwixt  twelve  and  one  ? 
Now,  if  you  are  a  maid,  answer  to  this. 

Hero.  I  talk'd  with  no  man  at  that  hour,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  then  are  you  no  maiden. — 
Leonato, 

I  am  sorry  you  must  hear:  upon  mine  honour. 
Myself,  my  brother,  and  this  grieved  count, 
Did  see  her,  hear  her,  at  that  hour  last  night. 
Talk  with  a  ruffian  at  her  chamber-window  ; 
Who  hath,  indeed,  most  like  a  liberal  villain, 
Confess'd  the  vile  encounters  they  have  had 
A  tliousand  times  in  secret. 

D.  John.  Fy,  fy!  (hey  are 

Not  to  be  nam'd,  my  lord,  not  to  be  spoke  of ; 
Tfiere  is  not  chastity  enough  in  language, 
Without  olience,  to  utter  them  :  thus,  pretty  lady, 
I  am  sorry  for  thy  much  niisgovernment. 

Claud.  O  Hero!  what  a  Hero  hadst  thou  been. 
If  half  thy  outward  graces  had  been  placed 
About  thy  thoughts,  and  counsels  of  thy  heart! 
Rut,  fare  thee  well,  most  foul,  tnost  fair;  farewell, 
Thou  pure  impiety,  and  impious  purity! 
F'or  thee  I'll  lock  up  all  the  gates  of  love, 
An  I  on  niy  eye-lids  shall  conjecture  hang, 
To  turn  all  beauty  into  thoughts  of  harm. 
And  never  shall  it  more  be  gracious. 

Leon.  Hath  no  man's  dagger  here  a  point  for  me? 

{Hero  sivoons.) 

Beat.  Why,  how  now,  cousin?  wherefore  sink 
you  down  ?  [thus  to  light, 

D.  John.  Come,  let  us  go:  these  things,  come 
Smother  her  spirits  up. 

[Exetaii  Don  Pedro,  Don  John,  and  Claudio. 
Bene.  How  doth  the  lady  ? 

Beat.  Dead,  I  think  ; — help,  uncle  : — 

Hero!  why.  Hero! — Uncle! — Siguier  Benedick! — 
friar ! 

Leon.  O  fate,  take  not  away  thy  heavy  hand  ! 
Death  is  the  fairest  cover  for  her  shame. 
That  may  be  wish'd  for. 

Beat.  How  now,  cousin  Hero? 

Friar.  Ha\e  comfort,  lady. 

Leon.  Dost  thou  look  up? 

Friar.  Yea  ;  wherefore  should  she  not  ?  ^ 

Leon.  Wherefore?  Why,  doth  not  every  earthly 
Cry  shame  upon  her?  Could  she  here  deny  [thing 
'i'he  story  that  is  printed  in  her  blood  ? — 
Do  not  li\e,  Hero ;  do  not  ope  thine  e^^es  : 
F(ir  di<i  I  think  thou  wouldst  not  quickly  die, 
Thought  I  thy  spirits  were  stronger  than  thy  shames, 
My-elf  woidd,  on  the  rearward  ol'  reproaches, 
St) ike  at  thy  life.    Griev'd  I,  I  had  but  one  ? 
Chid  I  for  that  at  frugal  nature's  frame  ? 
O,  one  too  much  by  thee  !  Why  had  I  one  ? 
Why  e\er  wast  thou  lovely  in  my  eyes? 
Why  had  I  not  with  charitable  hand. 
Took  up  a  beggar's  issue  at  my  gates  ; 
Who  smirched  thus,  and  mired  with  infamy, 
'  might  ha  'e  said.  No  part  of  it  is  mine, 


This  shame  derives  itself  fro7n  unknoivn  loins  f 
But  mine,  and  mine  I  lov'd,  and  mine  I  prais'd 
And  mine  that  I  was  proud  on ;  mine  so  much 
That  I  myself  was  to  myself  not  mine 
Valuing  of  her  ;  why,  slie — O,  she  is  falh  d 
Into  a  pit  of  ink  !  that  the  wide  sea 
Hath  clrops  too  few  to  wash  her  clean  agaia  * 
And  salt  too  little,  which  may  season  give 
To  her  foul  tainted  fiesh  ! 

Bene.  Sir,  sir,  be  patient: 

For  my  part,  I  am  so  attir'd  in  wonder, 
I  know  not  what  to  say. 

Beat.  O,  on  my  soul,  my  cousin  is  belied! 

Bene.  Lady,  were  you  her  bedfellow  last  niglit 

Beat.  No.  truly,  not ;  although,  until  last  night, 
I  have  this  twelvemonth  been  her  bedfellow. 

Leon.  Confirm'd,  confirm'd !  O,  that  is  strongei 
made, 

Which  was  before  barr'd  up  with  ribs  of  iron  1 
Would  the  two  princes  lie  '?  and  Claudio  lie  ? 
Who  lov'd  her  so,  that  S[)eaking  of  her  foulness 
Wash'd  it  with  tears  ?    Hence  from  her ;  let  her  die 

Friar.  Hear  me  a  little  ; 
For  I  have  only  been  silent  so  long. 
And  giv  en  way  unto  this  course  of  fortune. 
By  noting  of  the  lady:  I  have  mark'd 
A  thousand  blushing  apparitions  start 
Into  her  face  ;  a  thousand  innocent  shames 
In  angel  whiteness  bear  away  those  blushes; 
And  in  her  eye  there  hath  appear'd  a  fire. 
To  burn  the  errors,  that  these  princes  hold 
Against  her  maiden  truth  : — Call  me  a  fool; 
Trust  not  my  reading,  nor  my  observations. 
Which  with  experimental  seal  doth  vvarraut 
The  tenour  of  my  book  ;  trust  not  my  age> 
My  reverence,  calling,  nor  divinity, 
If  this  sweet  lady  lie  not  guiltless  here 
Under  some  biting  error, 

Leon.  Friar,  it  cannot  be 

Thou  seest,  that  all  the  grace  that  she  hath  left 
Is,  that  she  will  not  add  to  her  dansnation 
A  sin  of  perjury;  she  not  denies  it: 
Why  seek'st  thou  then  to  cov  er  with  excuse 
That  which  appears  in  proper  nakedness? 

Friar.  Lady,  what  man  is  he  you  are  accus'd  of. 

Hero.  They  know,  that  do  accuse  me  ;  I  know 
If  I  know  more  of  any  man  alive,  ^none 
Than  that  which  maiden  modesty  doth  warrant. 
Let  all  my  sins  lack  mercy  !  — O  my  father, 
Prove  you,  that  any  man  with  me  convers'd 
At  hours  unmeet,  or  that  I  yesternight 
Maintain'd  the  change  of  words  with  any  creature. 
Refuse  me,  hate  me,  torture  me  to  death. 

Friar.  There  is  some  strange  misprision  in  the 
princes. 

Bene.  Two  of  them  have  the  very  bent  of  honour 
And  if  their  wisdoms  be  misled  in  this, 
The  practice  of  it  lives  in  John  the  bastard, 
Whose  spirits  toil  in  frame  of  villainies. 

Leon.  I  know  not:  If  they  speak  but  truth  of  her 
These  hands  shall  tear  her;  if  they  wrong  her  ho 
The  proudest  of  them  shall  well  hear  of  it.  [nour 
Time  hath  not  yet  so  dried  this  blood  of  mine. 
Nor  age  so  eat  up  my  invention, 
Nor  fortune  made  such  ha\  oc  of  my  means. 
Nor  my  bad  life  reft  me  so  much  of  friends. 
But  they  shall  find,  awak'd  in  siicli  a  kind. 
Both  strength  of  limb,  and  policy  of  mind,  | 
Ability  in  means,  and  choice  of  friends. 
To  quit  me  of  them  throughly. 

Friar.  Pause  a  while, 

And  let  my  counsel  sway  you  in  this  case 
Your  daughter  here  the  princes  left  for  dead ; 
Let  her  awhile  be  secretly  kept  in. 
And  publish  it,  that  she  is  dead  indeed : 
Maintain  a  mourning  ostentalior  ; 
And  on  your  family's  old  monument 
Hang  mournful  epitaphs,  and  do  all  rites 
That  appertain  unto  a  burial.  [this  do 

Leon.  What  shall  become  of  this?    What  will 


Scene  2.  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Friar.  Marry,  this,  well  carried,  shall  on  her 
behalf 

Change  slander  to  remorse  ;  that  is  some  good : 

But  not  lor  that  dream  I  on  this  strange  course, 

But  on  this  travail  look  for  greater  birth. 

She  dying,  as  it  must  be  so  maintain'd. 

Upon  the  instant  that  she  was  accus'd, 

Shall  be  lamented,  pitied,  and  excus'd. 

Of  every  hearer:  for  it  so  falls  out, 

That  what  we  have  we  prize  not  to  the  worth, 

Whiles  we  enjoy  it ;  but  being  lack'd  and  lost. 

Why,  then  we  rack  the  value,  then  we  find 

The  virtue,  that  possession  would  not  show  us 

Whiles  it  was  ours.  So  will  it  fare  with  Claudio: 

When  he  shall  hear  she  died  upon  his  words. 

The  idea  of  her  life  shall  sweetly  creep 

Into  his  study  of  imagination ; 

And  every  lovely  organ  of  her  life 

Shall  come  apparell'd  in  more  precious  habit, 

More  moving-delicate,  and  full  of  life. 

Into  the  eye  and  urospect  of  his  soul. 

Than  when  she  iiv'd  indeed  : — then  shall  he  mourn, 

(If  ever  love  had  interest  in  his  liver,) 

And  wish  he  had  not  so  accused  her; 

No,  though  he  thought  his  accusation  true. 

Let  this  be  so,  and  doubt  not  but  success 

Will  fashion  the  event  in  better  shape 

Than  I  can  lay  it  down  in  likelihood. 

But  if  all  aim  but  this  be  leveil'd  false. 

The  supposition  of  the  lady's  death 

Will  quench  the  wonder  of  her  infamy  : 

And,  if  it  sort  not  vveil,  you  may  conceal  her 

iAs  best  befits  her  wounded  iH-putation,) 
n  some  recliisive  and  religious  life, 
Out  of  all  eyes,  tongues,  minds,  and  injuries. 

Bene.  Signior  Leonato,  let  the  friar  advise  you  : 
And  though,  you  know,  my  inwardness  and  love 
Is  very  much  unto  the  prince  and  Claudio, 
Tet,  by  nmi^  honour,  I  will  deal  in  this 
As  secretly,  and  justly,  as  your  soul 
Should  with  your  body. 

Leon.  Being  that  I  flow  iu  grief, 

The  smallest  twine  may  lead  me. 

Friar.  'Tis  well  consented  ;  presently  away  ; 
F:r  to  strange  aores  strangely  they  strain  the 
cure. — 

Come,  lady,  die  to  live;  this  wedding  day. 

Perhaps,  is  but  prolonged ;  have  patience,  and 
endure.  [Exeunt  Friar,  Hero,  and  Leonato. 
Bene.  Lady  Beatrice,  have  you   wept  all  this 
while  ? 

Beat.  Yea,  and  I  will  weep  a  while  longer. 
Bene.  I  will  not  desire  that. 
Beat.  You  have  no  reason,  I  do  it  freely. 
Bene.  Surely,  I  do  believe  your  fair  cousin  is 
wrong  d. 

Beat.  Ah,  how  much  might  the  man  deserve  of 
me.  that  woidd  right  her  ! 

Bene.  Is  there  any  way  to  shew  such  friendship  ? 

Beat.  A  very  even  way,  but  no  such  friend. 

Bene.  May  a  man  do  it? 

B-.at.  It  is  a  man's  office,  but  not  yours. 

Bene.  I  do  love  nothing  in  the  world  so  well  as 
von  ,  is  not  tiiat  strange  ? 

Beat.  As  strange  as  the  thing  I  know  not  :  it 
were  as  possible  for  me  to  say,  I  loved  nothing  so 
well  ai  you  :  but  believe  me  not;  and  yet  1  lie  not; 
1  confess  nothing,  nor  I  deny  nothing : — I  am  sorry 
lOr  my  cousin. 

Bene.  By  my  sword,  Beatrice,  thou  lovest  me. 

Beat.  Do  not  swear  by  it,  and  eat  it. 

Bene.  I  will  swear  by  it,  that  you  love  me;  and 

will  make  him  eat  it,  that  says,  1  love  not  you. 

Beat  Will  you  not  eat  your  word  ? 

Bene  \Vith  no  sauce  that  can  be  devised  to  it: 
1  protest,  I  lovo  thee. 

Beat.  VVhy  then,  God  forgive  me  ! 

Bene.  What  olVence,  sweet  Beatrice? 

Beat.  You  have  staid  me  in  a  happy  hour;  I  was 
About  to  protest,  I  loved  you. 


105 

Bene.  And  do  it  with  all  thy  heart. 

Beat.  I  love  you  with  so  much  of  my  heart,  that 

none  is  left  to  protest. 

Bene.  Come,  bid  me  do  any  thing  for  thee 

Beat.  Kill  Claudio. 

Bene.  Ha !  not  for  the  wide  world. 

Beat.  You  kill  me  to  deny  it:  Farewell. 

Bene.  Tarry,  sweet  Beatrice. 

Beat.  I  am  gone,  though  1  am  here ; — ^^ITiere  U 
no  love  in  you : — Nay,  I  pray  you,  let  rae  go. 

Bene.  Beatrice, — 

Beat.  In  faith,  1  will  go. 

Bene.  We'll  be  friends  first. 

Beat.  You  dare  easier  be  friends  with  me,  thaa 
fight  with  mine  enemy. 

Bene.  Is  Claudio  thine  enemy  ? 

Beat.  Is  he  not  approved  in  the  height  a  villain, 
that  hath  slandered,  scorned,  dishonoured  my  kins- 
woman  ? — O,  that  I  were  a  man  ! — What !  bear  'j«*r 
in  hand  until  they  come  to  take  hands,  and  then, 
with  public  accusation,  uncovered  slander,  unmiti- 
gated rancour, — O  God,  that  I  were  a  man.  I  would 
eat  his  heart  in  the  market  place. 

Bene.  Hear  me,  Beatrice  ; — 

Beat.  Talk  with  a  man  out  at  a  window  ? — a  pro- 

Bene.  Nay,  but  Beatrice  ; —  [per  saying. 

Beat.  Sweet  Hero  ! — she  is  wronged,  she  is  slan- 

Bene.  Beat —  [dered,  she  is  undone. 

Beat.  Princes,  and  counties !  Surely,  a  princely 
testimony,  a  goodly  count-confect ;  a  sweet  gallant, 
surely !  O,  that  I  were  a  man  for  his  sake  ,  or  that 
I  had  any  friend  woidd  be  a  man  for  my  sake  !  But 
manhood  is  melted  into  courtesies,  valour  into  com- 
pliment, and  men  are  only  turned  into  tongue,  and 
trim  ones  too  :  he  is  now  as  valiant  as  Hercules,  that 
only  tells  a  lie,  and  swears  it : —  I  cannot  be  a  man 
with  wishing,  therefore  1  will  die  a  woman  with 
grieving.  [love  thee. 

Bene.  Tarry,  good  Beatrice :  By  this  hand,  1 

Beat.  Use  it  for  my  love  some  other  way  than 
swearing  by  it.  [hath  wronged  Hero  ? 

Bene.  Think  you  in  your  soul  the  count  (/laudio 

Beat.  Yea,  as  sure  as  I  have  a  thought,  or  a  soul. 

Bene.  Enough,  I  am  engaged,  I  will  challenge 
him ;  I  will  kiss  your  hand,  and  so  leave  you :  by 
this  hand,  Claudio  shall  render  me  a  dear  account. 
As  you  hear  of  me,  so  think  of  me.  Go,  comfort 
your  cousin :  I  must  say,  she  is  dead ;  and  so,  fare- 
well. [ExeuTtt 

Scene  II. — A  Prison. 

Enter  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  Sexton,  in  gowns , 
and  the  Watch,  with  Conrade  and  Borachio. 

Doyh.  Is  our  whole  dissembly  appeared  ? 

Verg.  O,  a  stool  and  a  cushion  for  the  sexton ! 
Sexton.  Which  be  the  malefactors  ? 
Doyb.  Marry,  that  am  I  and  my  partner. 

Verg.  Nay,  that's  certain ;  we  have  the  exhibition 
to  examine. 

Sexton.  But  which  are  the  offenders  that  are  to  be 
examined  ?  let  them  come  before  master  constable. 

Dogb.  Yea,  marry,  let  them  come  before  me.  — 
What  is  your  name,  friend  ? 

Bora.  Borachio. 

Doyb.  Pray  write  down — Borachio.  Your 

sirrah  i  ^  [Conra 

Con.  I  am  a  gentleman,  sir,  and  my  name 

Doyb.  Write  down — master  gentleman  Conra 
— Masters,  do  you  serve  God? 

Con.  Bora.  Yea,  sir,  we  hope. 

Doyb.  Write  down— that  they  hope  they  ser>« 
God:— and  write  God  first;  for  God  defend  but 
God  should  go  before  such  villains  !— Masters,  it  ia 
proved  already  that  you  are  little  better  than  false 
knaves  ;  and  it  will  go  near  to  be  thought  so  shortly. 
How  answer  you  for  yourselves  i 

Con.  Marry,  sir,  we  say  we  are  none. 

Doyb.  A  marvellous  witty  fellow,  I  assure  you 
but  1  will  go  about  with  him.— C   ne  you  hither 


106 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  V. 


«imh  ;  a  word  ?n  your  ear,  sir;  I  say  to  you,  it  is 
thoMglit  you  are  false  knaves. 

Born.  Sir,  I  say  to  you,  we  are  none. 

Dofjb.  Well,  stand  aside. —  Fore  God,  they  are 
both  in  a  tale  :  have  you  writ  down — that  they  are 
cone  ? 

Sexton,  Master  constable,  you  go  not  tlie  way  to 
examine  '  you  must  call  forth  the  watch,  that  are 
their  accusers. 

Do(jh.  Yea,  marry,  that's  the  eftest  way : — Let 
the  watch  come  forth: — Masters,  I  charge  you,  in 
the  prince's  name,  accuse  these  men 

1  Watch.  This  man  said,  sir,  that  Don  John,  the 
prince's  brother,  was  a  villain. 

Doyb.  Write  down  —  prince  John  a  villain: — 
Why  this  is  flat  perjury,  to  call  a  prince's  brother — 

Bora.  Master  constable, —  [villain. 

Doyb.  Pray  thee,  fellow,  peace ;  I  do  not  like 
^ly  look,  I  promise  thee. 

Sexton.  What  heard  you  him  say  else  ? 

2  Watch.  Marry,  that  he  had  received  a  thou- 
sand ducats  of  Don  John,  for  accusing  lady  Hero 
wnnigfully. 

Dogb.  Flat  burglary,  as  ever  was  committed. 
Very.  Yea,  by  the  mass,  that  it  is. 
Sexton.  What  else,  fellow? 

1  Watch.  And  that  count  Claudio  did  mean, 
upon  his  words,  to  disgrace  Hero  before  the  whole 
assembly,  and  not  marry  her. 

Doyb.  O  villain!  thou  wilt  be  condemned  into 
tverlasting  redemption  for  this. 
Sexton.  What  else  ? 

2  Watch.  This  is  all. 

Sexton.  And  this  is  more,  masters,  than  you  can 
deny.  Prince  John  is  this  morning  secretly  stolen 
away  ;  Kero  was  in  this  manner  accused,  in  this 
very  rianner  refused,  and  upon  the  grief  of  this, 
sudilenly  died. — Master  constable,  let  these  men 
be  bound,  and  brought  to  Leonato's :  I  will  go  be- 
fore, and  shew  him  their  examination.  [Exit. 

Doyb.  Come,  let  them  be  opinioned. 

Very.  Let  them  be  in  band. 

Con.  Olf,  coxcomb ! 

Doyb.  God's  my  life,  where 's  the  sexton?  let 
him  write  down — the  prince's  officer,  coxcomb. — 
Come,  bind  them  :  Thou  naughty  varlet! 

Con.  Away !  you  are  an  ass,  you  are  an  ass. 

Doyb.  Dost  thou  not  susp  ect  my  place  ?  Dost 
thou  not  suspect  my  years  ? — O  that  he  were  here 
to  write  me  down — an  ass!  but,  masters,  remem- 
ber, that  I  am  an  ass;  though  it  be  not  written 
down,  yet  forget  not  that  I  am  an  ass : — No,  thou 
villain,  thou  art  fidl  of  piety,  as  shall  be  proved 
upon  thee  by  good  witness.  I  am  a  wise  fellow; 
and,  which  is  more,  an  officer ;  and,  which  is  more, 
a  houseliolder ;  and,  which  is  more,  as  pretty  a 
piece  of  flesh  as  any  is  in  Messina;  and  one  that 
knows  the  law,  go  to;  and  a  rich  I'ellow  enough, 
goto;  and  a  fellow  that  hath  had  losses;  and  one 
that  hath  two  gowns,  and  every  thing  handsome 
about  him  : — Bring  him  away.  O,  that  1  had  been 
writ  down — an  ass  !  [Exeunt. 
ACT  V. 

Scene  L — Before  Lemtato's  House. 
Enter  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

Ant.  If  you  go  on  thus,  you  will  kill  yourself; 
'\nd  'tis  not  wisdom,  thus  to  second  grief 
Against  yourself. 

Jjeon.  I  pray  thee,  cease  thy  counsel. 

Which  falls  into  mine  ears  as  profitless 
As  water  in  a  sieve  :  give  not  me  counsel ; 
Nor  let  no  comforter  delight  mine  ear. 
But  such  a  one,  whose  wrongs  do  suit  with  mine. 
Bring  me  a  father,  that  so  lov'd  his  child. 
Whose  joy  of  her  is  overwhelm'd  like  mine. 
And  bid  him  speak  of  patience  ; 
Measure  his  woe  the  length  and  breadth  of  mine. 
And  let  it  answer  every  strain  for  strain  ; 
As  thus  for  thusj  and  such  a  grief  for  such. 


In  every  lineament,  branch,  shape,  and  form: 
If  such  a  one  will  smile,  and  stroke  his  beard  : 
Cry — sorrow,    wag  I  and  hem,  when  he  should 
groan ; 

Patch  grief  with  proverbs  ;  make  misfortune  »'«-unk 

With  candle-wasters :  bring  him  yet  to  me. 

And  I  of  him  will  gather  patience. 

But  there  is  no  such  man  :  for,  brother,  men 

Can  counsel,  and  speak  comfort  to  that  grief 

Which  they  themselves  not  feel ;  but,  tasting  it. 

Their  counsel  turns  to  passion,  which  before 

Would  give  preceptial  medicine  to  rage, 

Fetter  strong  madness  in  a  silken  thread. 

Charm  ach  with  air,  and  agony  with  words: 

No,  no;  'tis  all  men's  office  to  speak  patience 

To  those  that  wring  under  the  load  of  sorrow  ; 

But  no  man's  virtue,  nor  sufficiency. 

To  be  so  moral,  when  he  shall  endure 

The  like  himself:  therefore  give  me  no  counsel: 

My  griefs  cry  louder  than  advertisement. 

Ant.   Therein  do  men  from  children  notiiinf 
difier.  rblood': 

Leon.  I  pray  thee,  peace ;  I  will  be  flesh  ana 
For  there  was  never  yet  philosopher, 
'J'hat  could  endure  the  tooth-ach  patiently  ; 
However  they  have  writ  the  style  of  gods. 
And  made  a  pish  at  chance  and  sufferance. 

Ant.  Yet  bend  not  all  the  harm  upon  yourself; 
Make  those,  that  do  ofiend  you,  suffer  too. 

Leon,  There  thou  speak'st  reason  :  nay,  I  will  do 
My  soul  doth  tell  me,  Hero  is  belied  ;  [so  : 

And  that  shall  Claudio  know,  so  shall  the  prince. 
And  all  of  them,  that  thus  dishonour  her. 

Enter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio. 
Ant.  Here  comes  the  prince,  and  Claudio,  hastily. 
D.  Pedro.  Good  den,  good  den. 
Claud.  Good  day  to  both  of  you. 

Leon.  Hear  you,  mv  lords, — 
D.  Pedro.  We  have  srnne  haste,  Lecaato, 

Leon.  Some  haste,   my  lord  .  —  well,  fare  you 

well,  my  lord  : — 
Are  you  so  hasty  now? — well,  all  is  one. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  do  not  quarrel  with  us,  good 

old  man. 

Ant.  If  he  could  right  himself  with  quarrelling^ 
Some  of  us  would  lie  low. 

Claud.  Who  wrongs  him  ? 

Leon.  Marry 
Thou,  thou  dost  wrong  me  ;  thou  dissembler,  thou  :— 
Nay,  never  lay  thy  hand  upon  thy  sword, 
I  fear  thee  not. 

Claud.  Marry,  beshrew  my  hand. 

If  it  should  give  your  age  such  cause  of  lear  : 
In  faith,  my  hand  meant  nothing  to  my  sword. 

Leon.  Tush,  tush,  nia  i,  never  fleer  and  jest  at 
I  speak  not  like  a  dotard,  nor  a  fool ;  [n»e  : 

As,  under  privilege  of  age,  to  brag 
Wliat  I  have  done  being  young,  or  what  would  doj 
Were  I  not  old  :  Know,  Claudio,  to  thy  head, 
Thou  hast  so  wrong'd  niine  innocent  child  and  me. 
That  I  am  forc'd  to  lay  my  reverence  by ; 
And,  with  grey  hairs,  and  bruise  of  many  days. 
Do  challenge  thee  t(»  trial  of  a  man. 
I  say,  thou  hast  belied  mine  innocent  child ; 
Thy  slander  hath  gone  thro^^gh  and  through  hrr 
And  she  lies  buried  with  her  ancestors  :  [heart, 
O  !  in  a  tomb  where  never  scandal  slept, 
Save  this  of  her's,  fram'd  by  thy  villainy. 

Claud.  My  villainy ! 

Leon.  Thine,  Claudio ;  thiue,  f  say, 

D.  Pedro.  You  say  not  right,  olci  nun. 
Leon.  My  lord,  my  lord, 

I'll  prove  it  on  his  body,  if  he  dare  ; 
Despite  his  nice  fence,  and  his  active  practice. 
His  May  of  youth,  and  bloom  of  lustyhood. 
Claud.  Away,  I  will  not  have  to  do  with  ycn- 
Leon.  Canst  thou  so  daff  me?  Thou  hast  kiH'i 
my  child  ; 

If  thou  kill'st  me,  boy,  thou  shalt  kill  a  man 


Scene  1. 

Ani.  He  snail  kill  two  of  ns,  and  men  indeed  ; 
But  that's  no  matter;  let  him  kill  one  first; — 
Win  me  and  wear  uie, — let  him  answer  me  ;  — 
Come,  follow  me,  boy  ;  come,  boy,  follow  me  : 
Sir  boy,  I'll  whip  you  from  your  foining  fence  ; 
Nay, as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  will. 
Jjeoti.  Brother, —  [niece  , 

Ant.  Content  yourself :  God  knows,  I  lov'd  njy 
And  she  is  dead,  slander'd  to  death  by  villains. 
That  dare  as  well  answer  a  man,  indeed. 
As  1  dare  take  a  serpent  by  the  tongue : 
Boys,  apes,  braggarts,  Jacks,  milksops  ! — 
JLion.  Brother  Antony, — 

Ant.  Hold   you  content ;  What,  man !   I  know 
them,  yea, 

And  what  they  wei^h,  even  to  the  utmost  scruple  : 
Scambling,  out-facing,  fashion- mong'ring  boys, 
ITiat  lie,  and  cog,  and  flout,  deprave  and  slander, 
Go  anticly,  and  shew  outward  hideousness. 
And  speak  off  half  a  dozen  dangerous  v/ords. 
How  they  miglit  hurt  their  enemies,  if  they  durst, 
And  this  is  all. 

Leon.  But,  brother  Antony, — 

Ant.  Come,  'tis  no  matter ; 

Do  not  you  meddle,  let  me  deal  in  this. 

D.   Pedro.  Gentlemen  both,  we  will  not  wake 
your  patience. 
My  heart  is  sorry  for  your  daughter's  death  ; 
But,  on  niy  honour,  she  was  charg'd  with  nothing 
But  what  was  true,  and  very  full  of  proof. 

Leon.  My  lord,  my  lord, — 

/).  Pedro.  I  will  not  hear  you. 

Leon.  No  ? 

Brother,  away  : — I  will  be  heard  ; — 

Ant.  And  shall, 

i  \t  some  of  us  will  smart  for  it. 

[E.xeunt  Leonato  and  Antonio. 

Enter  Benedick. 

D.  Pedro  See,  see ;  here  comes  tlie  man  we 
went  to  seek. 
Claud.  Now,  signior  !  what  news  ? 
Bene.  Good  day,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Welcome,  signior  :  You  are  almost 
eome  to  j^art  alniost  a  fray. 

Claud.  We  had  like  to  have  had  our  two  noses 
unapped  oft"  with  two  old  men  without  teeth. 

D.  Pedro.  Leonato  and  his  brother  :  What  think'st 
thou  ?  Had  we  fought,  I  doubt,  we  should  have 
been  too  young  for  them. 

Bene.  In  a  false  quarrel  there  is  no  true  valour. 
I  came  to  seek  you  both. 

Claud.  We  have  been  up  and  down  to  seek  thee ; 
for  we  are  high-proof  melancholy,  and  would  fain 
have  it  beaten  away  :  Wilt  thou  use  thy  wit? 

Bene.  It  is  in  my  scabbard  ;  shall  I  draw  it  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Dost  thou  wear  thy  wit  by  thy  side  ? 

Claud.  Never  any  did  so.  though  very  many  have 
been  beside  their  wit. — I  will  bid  thee  draw,  as  we 
do  the  minstrels  ;  draw,  to  pleasure  us. 

1).  Pedro.  As  I  am  an  honest  man,  he  looks 
pale  : — Art  thou  sick,  or  angry  ? 

^  Claud.  What !  courage,  man  I  What  though  care 
killed  a  cat,  thou  hast  mettle  enough  in  tnee  to 
kill  care. 

Bene.  Sir,  I  shall  meet  your  wit  in  the  career,  an 
you  charge  it  against  me: — I  pray  you,  choose 
another  subject. 

Claud.  Nay,  then  give  him  another  staff:  this 
last  was  broke  cross. 

D.  Pedro.  By  this  light,  he  changes  more  and 
Bi  )re-;  I  think,  he  be  angry  indeed. 

Claud.  If  he  be,  he  knows  how  to  turn  his  girdle. 

Bene.  Shall  I  spea!:  a  word  in  your  ear  ? 

Claud.  God  bless  me  from  a  challenge  ! 

Bene.  You  are  a  villain;  I  jest  not; — I  will 
make  it  good  how  you  dare,  with  what  you  dare, 
and  when  you  dare  : — Do  me  right,  or  I  will  pro- 
test your  cowardice.    You  have  killed  a  sweet 


lady,  and  her  death  shall  fall  heavy  on  you  :  Lei 
me  hear  from  you.  '  [good  cheer, 

Claud.  W^ell,  I  will  meet  you,  so  I  may  havo 

D.  Pedro.  What,  a  feasr  ?  a  feast? 

Claud.  I'faith,  1  thank  him  ;  he  hath  bid  me  to 
a  calf's  head  and  a  capon,  the  which  if  I  ^o  not 
carve  most  curiously,  say  my  knife's  naught. — Shall 
I  not  find  a  woodcock  too  ? 

Bene.  Sir,  your  wit  ambles  well ;  it  goes  easily 

D.  Pedro.  I'll  tell  tiiee  how  Beatrice  praised  thy 
wit  the  other  day  :  1  said,  thou  hadst  a  fine  wit; 
True,  says  she,  a  fine  little  one  :  No,  said  I,  a  great 
wit ;  Riy/it,  s.iys  she,  a  great  gross  one  :  Nay,  said 
I,  a  good  wit ;  Just ,  sn\d  she,  it  hurts  no  body :  Nay, 
said  I,  the  gentleman  is  wise  ;  Certain,  said  she,  <i 
ivise  gentleman  :  Noy,  saul  I,  he  hath  the  tongues; 
That,  I  believe,  said  she.  for  he  swore  a  thing  to  me 
on  Monday  night,  which  he  forstvore  on  Tuesday 
morning;  there's  a  double  tongue;  there's  twc 
tongties.  Thus  did  she,  an  liour  together,  trans-shape 
tl»y  particular  virtues :  yet,  at  last,  she  concluded 
with  a  sigh,  thou  wast  the  properest  man  in  Italy. 

Claud.  For  the  which  she  wept  heartily,  and 
said,  she  cared  not. 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  that  she  did ;  but  yet,  for  al! 
that,  an  if  she  did  not  hate  him  deadly,  she  would 
love  him  dearly  :  the  old  man's  daughter  told  us  all. 

Claud.  All,  all;  and  moreover,  God  saw  him 
when  he  was  hid  in  the  garden. 

D.Pedro.  But  when  shall  we  set  the  savage  bull'a 
horn  on  the  sensible  Benedick's  head  ? 

Claud.  Yea,  and  text  underneath.  Here  divclU 
Betiedick  the  married  man  '/ 

Bene.  Fai  e  you  well,  boy  ;  you  know  my  mind 
I  will  leave  you  now  to  your  gossip  like  humour: 
you  break  jests  as  braggarts  do  their  blades,  which, 
God  be  thanked,  hurt  not. — My  lord,  for  yom 
many  courtesies  I  thank  you  :  I  must  discontinue 
your  company  :  your  brother,  the  bastard,  is  fled 
from  Messina  :  you  have,  among  you,  killed  a  swee> 
and  innocent  lady  :  For  my  lord  Lack-beard,  there 
he  and  I  shall  meet ;  and  till  then,  peace  be  witK 
him.  [Exit  Benedick 

D.  Pedro.  He  is  in  earnest. 

Cloud.  In  most  profound  earnest;  and,  I'll  war- 
rant you,  for  the  love  of  Beatrice. 

D.  Pedro.  And  hath  challenged  thee  ? 

Claud.  Most  sincerely. 

D.  Pedro.  What  a  pretty  thing  man  is,  when  ho 
goes  in  his  doublet  and  hose,  and  leaves  off  his  wit. 

Enter  Dogberry,  Verges,  and  the  Watch,  with 
CoNRADE  and  Borachio. 

Claud.  He  is  then  a  giant  to  an  ai^e  :  but  then  ia 
an  ape  a  doctor  to  such  a  man. 

D.  Pedro.  But,  soft  you,  let  be ;  pluck  op,  my 
heart,  and  be  sad  !  Did  he  not  say,  my  brother 
was  fled  ? 

Dogb.  Come,  you,  sir;  if  justice  cannot  tame 
you,  she  shall  ne'er  weigh  more  reasons  in  her 
balance  :  nay,  an  you  be  a  cursing  hypocrite  once, 
you  must  be  looked  to. 

D.  Pedro.  How  now,  two  of  my  brother's  men 
bound  !  Borachio,  one  ! 

Claud.  Hearken  after  their  offence,  my  lord  .' 

D.  Pedro.  Officers,  what  offence  hav  e  these  men 
done  ? 

Dogb.  Many,  sir,  they  have  committed  false  re* 
port;  moreover,  they  have  spoken  untruths;  se- 
condarily, they  are  slanders;  sixth  and  lastly,  they 
have  belied  a  lady;  thirdly,  they  have  verified  un- 
just things,  and,  to  conclude,  they  are  lying  knaves. 

D.  Pedro.  First,  I  ask  thee  what  they  have  done: 
thirdly,  I  ask  thee  what's  their  offence ;  sixth  ana 
lastly,  why  they  are  committed  ;  and,  to  conclude, 
what  you  lay  to  their  charge  ? 

Claud.  Rightly  reasoned,  and  in  his  own  division  i 
and,  by  my  troth,  there's  one  meaning  well  suited. 

D.  Pedro.  Whom  have  you  oflended,  masters^ 
that  you  are  thus  bound  to  your  answer  ?  tbii 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


108 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  V 


learned  constable  is  too  cunning  to  be  understood : 
\N  hat  s  your  oiFeiice  ? 

Bora.  Sweet  prince.  let  me  go  no  further  to 
,jine  answer:  do  you  hear  nie,  and  let  this  count 
ell  me.  I  nave  deceived  even  your  very  eyes  : 
'W'hat  your  wisdoms  could  not  discover,  these 
shallow  fools  have  brought  to  li^ht;  who,  in  the 
night,  overheard  me  confessing  to  this  man,  how 
Don  John,  y^our  brother,  incensed  me  to  slander  the 
lady  Hero;  how  you  were  brought  into  the  orchard, 
and  saw  me  court  Margaret  in  Hero's  garments; 
how  you  disgraced  her,  when  you  should  marry 
her  :  my  villainy  they  have  upon  record ;  which  I 
had  rather  seal  with  my  death,  than  repeat  over  to 
my  shame  :  the  lady  is  dead  upon  mine  and  my 
master's  false  accusation ;  and,  briefly,  I  desire 
Qothing  but  the  reward  of  a  villain. 

D.  Pedro.  Runs  not  this  speech  like  iron  through 

your  blood  ? 
Claud.  I  have  drunk,  poison,  whiles  he  uttered  it. 
D.  Pedro.  But  did  my  brother  set  thee  on  to  this  ? 
Bora.  Y  ea,  and  paid  me  richly  for  the  practice  of  it. 
D.  Pedro.  He  is  compos'd  and  frani'd  of  trea- 
And  fled  he  is  upon  this  villainy.  [chery: — 

Claud.  Sweet  Hero  !  now  tliy  image  doth  appear 
In  the  rare  semblance  that  I  loved  it  first. 

Doyb.  Come,  bring  away  the  plaintiffs  ;  by  this 
time  our  sexton  hath  reformed  signior  Leonato  of 
the  matter  :  and,  masters,  do  not  forget  to  specify, 
when  time  and  ulace  shall  serve,  that  1  am  an  ass. 

Verg.  Here,  nere  comes  master  signior  Leonato, 
and  the  sexton  too. 

Re-enter  Leonato  and  Antonio,  ivith  the  Sexton. 

Leon.  Which  is  the  villain  ?  Let  me  see  hiseyes  ; 
That,  when  I  note  another  man  like  him, 
I  may  avoid  him  :  Which  of  these  is  he  ? 

Bora.  If  you  would  know  your  wronger,  •  look 
on  me. 

Leon.  Art  thou  the  slave,  that  with  thy  breath 
Mine  innocent  child  ?  [hast  kill'd 

Bora.  Yea,  even  I  alone. 

Leon.  No,  not  so,  villain  ;  thou  bely'st  thyself ; 
Here  stand  a  pair  of  honourable  men, 
A  third  is  flid,  that  had  a  hand  in  it : — 
I  thank  you,  princes,  for  my  daughter's  death  ; 
Record  it  with  your  high  and  worthy  deeds ; 
'Twas  bravely  done,  if  you  bethink  you  of  it. 

Claud.  I  know  not  how  to  pray  your  patience, 
Yet  I  must  speak  :  Choose  your  revenge  yourself; 
Impose  me  to  what  penance  your  invention 
Can  lay  upon  my  sin  :  yet  sinn'd  I  not, 
But  in  mistaking. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  soul,  nor  I ; 

And  yet,  to  satisfy  this  good  old  man, 
I  would  bend  under  any  heavy  weight, 
That  he'll  enjoin  me  to. 

Leon.  I  cannot  bid  you  bid  my  daughter  live, 
That  were  impossible  ;  but  I  pray  you  both. 
Possess  the  people  in  iMessina  here 
How  innocent  she  died  :  and,  if  your  love 
Can  labour  aught  in  sad  invention. 
Hang  her  an  epitaph  upon  her  tomb. 
And  sing  it  to  her  bones  ;  sing  it  to-night : — 
To-morrow  morning  come  you  to  my  house ; 
And  since  you  could  not  be  my  son  in  law. 
Be  yet  my  nephew  :  my  brother  hath  a  daughter, 
Almost  the  copy  of  my  child  that's  dead, 
And  she  alone  is  heir  to  both  of  us  ; 
Give  her  the  right  you  should  have  given  her  cousin,, 
And  so  dies  my  revenge. 

Claud.  O,  noble  sir, 

Your  over  kindness  doth  wring  tears  from  me  ! 
I  do  embrace  your  offer;  and  dispose 
Few-  hencefiyth  of  poor  Claudio,  [ing  ; 

Leo7i.  To-njorrow  then  I  will  expect  your  com- 
To-night  I  take  my  leave. — This  naughty  man 
Shall  face  to  face  be  brought  to  Margaret, 
Who,  I  believe,  was  pack'd  in  all  this  wrong, 
Hir  d  to  it  by  your  brother. 

Bora  No,  by  my  soul,  she  was  not ; 


Nor  knew  not  what  she  did  ,  when  she  spoke  to  me 
But  always  hath  been  just  and  virtuous. 
In  any  thing  that  I  do  know  by  her. 

Dogb.  Moreover,  sir,  (which,  indeed,  is  not  under 
white  and  black,)  this  plaintifi"  here,  the  offender, 
did  call  me  ass  :  I  beseech  you,  let  it  be  remembered 
in  his  punishment :  And  also,  the  watch  heard  thera 
talk  of  one  Deformed :  they  say,  he  wears  a  key  in 
his  ear,  and  a  lock  hanging  by  it ;  and  borrows  mo- 
ney in  God's  name  ;  the  which  he  hath  used  so  long, 
and  never  paid,  that  now  nien  grow  hard-hearted, 
and  will  lend  nothing  for  God's  sake  :  pray  you,  ex- 
amine him  upon  that  point. 

Leon.  I  thank  thee  for  thy  care  and  honest  pains.  , 
Dogb.  Your  worship  speaks  like  a  most  thankful  I 
and  rex  erend  youth  ;  and  I  praise  God  for  you. 
Leon.  There's  for  thy  pains. 
Dogb.  God  save  the  foundation  !     [I  thank  thee. 
Leon.  Go,  I  discharge  thee  of  thy  prisoner,  and 
Dogb.  I  leave  an  arrant  knave  with  your  worship  ; 
which.,  I  beseech  your  worship,  to  correct  yourself, 
for  the  example  of  others.  God  keep  your  worship; 
I  wish  your  worship  well ;  God  restore  you  to  health: 
I  humbly  give  you  leave  to  depart;  and  if  a  merry 
meeting  may  be  wished,  God  prohibit  it. — Come, 
neiglibour.  [Exeunt  Dogberry ,  Verges,  and  Watch. 
Leon.  Until  to-morrow  morning,  lords,  farewell. 
Ant.  Farewell,  my  lords ;  v*"e  look  for  you  to- 
D.  Pedro.  We  will  not  fail.  [morrow 
Claud.  To  night  I'll  mourn  with  Hero. 

{Exeunt  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio. 
Leon.  Bring  you  these  fellows  on ;  we'll  talk  with 
Margaret, 

How  her  acquaintance  grew  with  this  lewd  fellow. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — Leonatds  Garden. 
Enter  Benedick  and  Margaret,  meeting 

Beyie.  Pray  thee,  sweet  mistress  Margaret,  de- 
serve well  at  my  hands,  by  helping  me  to  the  speech 
of  Beatrice.  [of  my  beauty  ? 

Marg.  Will  you  then  write  me  a  sonnet  in  praise 

Bene.  In  so  high  a  style,  Margaret,  that  no  man 
living  shall  come  o\er  it;  for,  in  most  comely  truth, 
thou  deservest  it. 

Marg.  To  have  no  man  come  over  me  ?  why,  shall 
I  always  keep  below  stairs? 

Bene.  Thy  wit  is  as  quick  as  the  greyhound's 
mouth  ;  it  catches.  [which  hit,  but  hurt  not. 

Marg.  And  your's  as  blant  as  the  fencer's  foils. 

Bene.  A  most  manly  wit,  Margaret,  it  will  not 
hurt  a  woman:  and  so,  I  pray  thee,  call  Beatrice:  I 
give  thee  the  bucklers.  [our  own. 

Marg.  Give  us  the  swords,  we  have  bucklers  of 

Bene.  If  you  use  them,  Margaret,  you  must  put  ir 
the  pikes  with  a  vice  ;  and  they  are  dangerous  wea- 
pons for  maids. 

Marg.  Well,  I  will  call  Beatrice  to  you,  who,  1 
think,  hath  legs.  [Exit. 

Bene.  And  therefore  will  come. 

The  god  of  love,  {Singing.) 
That  sits  above, 
And  knows  me,  and  knoivs  me, 
How  pitiful  I  deserve, — 
I  mean,  in  singing ;  but  m  loving, — Leander  the  goo3 
swimmer,  Troilus  the  first  employer  of  pandars,  and 
a  whole  book  full  of  these  quondam  carpet-mongers, 
whose  names  yet  run  smoothly  in  the  even  road  of  a 
blank  verse,  why,  they  were  never  so  truly  turned 
over  and  over  as  my  poor  self,  in  love:  Marry,  I 
cannot  shew  it  in  rhyme  ;  I  have  tried  ;  I  can  find  out 
no  rhyme  to  lady  but  baby,  an  innocent  rhyme  ;  for 
scorn,  horn,  a  hard  rhyme ;  for  school,  fool,  a  bab- 
bling rhyme  ;  very  ominous  endings :  no,  I  was  not 
born  under  a  rhyming  planet,  nor  I  cannot  woo  in 
festival  terms. 

Enter  Beatrice. 
Sweet  Beatrice,  wouldst  thou  come  when  I  called 

thee  ? 


Scene  4.  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT 

Beat.  Yea,  sigmor,  and  depart  when  you  bid  me. 
Bene.  O,  stay  but  till  then  ! 

Beat.  Then  is  spoken  ;  fare  yon  well  now  : — and 
yet,  ere  1  go,  let  me  go  with  that  I  came  lor,  which 
Is,  with  know'ng  what  hath  passed  between  you  and 
Glaiulio  [thee. 

Bene.  Only  foul  words ;  and  thereupon  I  will  kiss 

Beat.  Foul  words  is  but  foul  wind,  and  foul  wind 
is  but  foul  breath,  and  foul  breath  is  noisome ;  there- 
fore I  will  depart  unkissed. 

Bene.  Thou  iiast  irif^hted  the  word  out  of  his  right 
sense,  so  Ibrcible  is  thy  wit :  but  I  must  tell  thee 
i.laiiily  Claudio  undergoes  my  challenge  ;  and  either 
1  must  sliortly  hear  from  him,  or  I  will  subscribe 
him  a  i  oward.  And,  I  pray  thee  now,  tell  me,  for 
which  of  my  bad  parts  didst  thou  first  fall  in  love 
with  me  ? 

Beat.  For  them  all  together;  which  maintained 
so  politic  a  state  of  evil,  that  they  will  not  admit  any 
good  part  to  intermingle  with  them.  But  for  which 
of  my  good  parts  did  you  first  suffer  love  for  me 

Bene.  Suffer  love;  a  good  epithet!  I  do  sutler 
love,  indeed,  for  I  love  thee  against  my  will. 

Beat.  In  spite  of  your  heart,  I  think  ;  alas !  poor 
heart !  If  you  spite  it  for  my  aake,  I  will  spite  it  for 
yours;  for  I  will  never  lo\e  that  which  my  friend 
hates. 

Beiie.  Thou  and  I  are  too  wise  to  woo  peaceably. 

Beat.  It  appears  not  in  this  confession  ;  there's  not 
one  wise  man  among  tvventy  that  will  praise  himself. 

Bene.  A  n  old,  an  old  instance,  Beatrice,  that  lived 
in  the  time  of  good  neighbours  .  if  a  man  do  not  erect 
iu  this  age  his  own  %mb  ere  he  dies,  he  shall  live 
no  longer  in  monument  than  the  bell  rings,  and  the 
widow  weeps. 

Beat.  An. I  how  long  is  that,  think  yon? 

Bene.  Question  ?— Why.  an  hour  in  clamour,  and 
a  quarter  in  rheum :  therefore  it  is  most  expedient 
for  the  wise,  (if  Don  Worm,  his  conscience,  tind  no 
impediment  to  the  contrary,)  to  be  the  trumpet  of  his 
own  \  irtues,as  I  am  to  myself:  So  inncii  for  praising 
myself,  (who,  I  myself  will  bear  witness,  is  praise- 
worthy,) and  now  tell  me.  How  doth  your  cousin  ? 

Beat.  Very  ill. 

Bene.  And  how  do  you? 

Beat.  Very  ill  too. 

Bene.  Serve  God,  love  me,  and  mend :  there  will 
I  leave  you  too,  lor  here  comes  one  in  haste. 

Enter  Ursula. 

Zhs.  Madam,  you  must  come  to  your  uncle ; 
yonder's  old  coil  at  home  :  it  is  proved,  my  lady  Hero 
nath  been  falsely  accused,  the  prince  and  Claudio 
mightily  abus'd  :  and  Don  John  is  the  author  of  all, 
who  is  fled  and  gone:  will  you  come  presently? 

Beat.  Will  you  go  hear  this  news,  signior  ? 

Bene.  I  will  live  in  thy  heart,  die  in  thy  lap,  and 
be  buried  in  thy  eyes  ;  and,  moreover,  I  will  go  with 
thee  to  thy  uncle's.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — The  Inside  of  a  Church. 
filnterDon  Pedro,  Claudio,  and  Attendants,  ivith 
7nusic  and  tapers. 
Claud.  Is  this  the  monument  of  Leonato? 
Atten.  It  is,  my  lord. 
Claud.  (Reads  from  a  scroll.) 

Done  to  death  by  slanderous  tongues, 

W OS  the  Hero  that  here  lies : 
Death,  in  yuerdon  of  her  tvrongs. 

Gives  her  fame,  luhich  never  dies  : 
So  the  life  that  died  with  shame. 
Lives  in  death  with  glorious  fame. 
Hang  thou  there  upon  the  tomb,  (affixing  it.) 
Praising  her  ivhen  I  am  dumb. — 
No\T,  music,  sound,  and  sing  your  solemn  hymn. 
SONG. 

Pardon,  Goddess  of  the  night, 
Those  ihat  sleiv  thy  virgin  knight ; 


NOTHING.  lot 

For  the  which,  with  songs  of  woe. 
Round  about  her  tomb  they  go. 
Midnight,  assist  our  inoan  ; 
Help  us  to  sigh  and  groan, 

Heavily,  lieavily : 
Graves,  yaivn,  a7id  yield  your  dead 
Till  death  be  uttered. 
Heavily,  heavily. 
Claud.  Now  unto  thy  bones  good  night! 

Yearly  will  1  do  this  rite. 
D.  Pedro.   Good  morrow,  masters ;  pot  yom 
torches  out;  [day 
The  wolves  have  prey'd ;  and  look,  the  gentle 
Before  the  wheels  of  Phoebus,  round  about 

Dapples  the  drowsy  east  with  spots  of  gray . 
Thanks  to  you  all,  and  leave  us;  fare  you  well. 
Claud.  Good  morrow,  masters;  each  his  several 
way.  [wfeds ; 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  let  us  hence,  and  put  on  oth^ir 
And  then  to  Leonato's  we  will  go. 

Claud.  And  Hymen  now    with   luckier  issue 
speed's. 

Than  this,  for  whom  we  render'd  up  this  woe  ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — A  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 
Enter  Leonato,  Antonio,  Benedick,  Beatrice, 
Ursula,  Friar,  and  Hero. 
Friar.  Did  I  not  tell  you,  she  was  innocent? 
Leon.  So  are  tiie  prince  and  Claudio,  who  accused 
Upon  the  error  that  you  heard  debated  :  [her 
But  Margaret  was  in  some  fault  for  this; 
Although  against  her  will,  as  it  appears 
In  the  true  course  of  all  the  question. 

Ant..  Well,  I  am  glad  that  all  things  sort  so  well 
Bene.  And  so  am  I,  being  else  by  i'aitli  enforc'd 
To  call  young  Claudio  to  a  reckoning  for  it. 

Leo7i.  Well,  daughter,  and  you  gentlewomen  aU 
Withdraw  into  a  chamber  by  yoms^hes; 
And,  when  I  send  i'or  you,  come  hither  mask'd: 
The  prince  and  Claudio  promis'd  by  this  hour 
To  visit  me  : — You  know  your  office,  brother, 
I'ou  must  be  father  to  your  brother's  daughter. 
And  give  her  to  young  Claudio.     [Exeunt  Ladies. 
Ant.  Which  I  will  do  with  confirm  d  countenance. 
Bene.  Friar.  1  must  entreat  your  pains,  I  think. 
Friar.  To  do  what,  signior? 
Be7ie.  To  bind  ine,  or  undo  me,  one  of  them.— > 
Signior  Leonato,  triitli  it  is,  good  signior. 
Your  niece  regards  me  with  an  eye  ot  favour,  [troe. 
Leon.  That  eye  my  daughter  lent  her:  'tis  most 
Bene.  And  I  do  with  an  eye  of  love  requite  her. 
Leo7i.  The  sight  whereof,  I  think,  you  had  from  mc, 
From  Claudio  and  the  prince  ;  but  what's  your  wili? 

Be7ie.  Your  answer,  sir,  is  enigmatical' 
But,  for  my  will,  my  will  is,  your  good  will 
May  stand  with  ours,  this  day  to  be  conjoin'd 
In  the  estate  of  honourable  marriage; — 
In  which,  good  Iriar,  I  shall  desire  yoar  help. 
Leon.  My  heart  is  with  your  liking. 
Friar.  Vnd  my  helpi. 

Here  comes  the  prince,  and  Claudio. 

Enter  Don  Pedro  and  Claudio,  tvith  Attendants. 
D.  Pedro.  Good  morrow  to  this  fair  assembly. 
Leo7i.   Good  morrow,  prince  ;  —  good  morrow 
Claudio : 

We  here  attend  you  :  are  you  yet  determin'd 
To-day  to  marry  with  my  brother's  daughter? 
Claud.  I'll  hold  my  mind,  were  she  an  EfJiiopo. 
Leon.  Call  her  forth,  brother;  here's  the  friai 
ready.  [Exit  Antonio 

D.  Pedro.  Good  morrow.  Benedick :  why,  what's 
the  matter. 
That  you  have  such  a  February  faee, 
So  full  of  irost,  of  storm,  and  cloudiness? 

Claud.  I  think,  he  thinks  upon  the  savage  bull:-* 
Tush,  fear  not,  man,  we'll  tip  thy  horns  wvlh  gold. 
And  all  Europa  shall  rejoice  at  thee ; 
As  once  Europa  did  at  lusty  jove. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  Act  V 


110 

W^hen  he  would  play  the  noble  beast  in  love. 

Bene.  Bdll  Jove,  sir,  had  an  amiable  low ; 
A.n(l  some  such  strange  bull  lenp'd  your  father's  cow. 
And  got  a  calf  in  that  same  noble  feat, 
Much  like  to  you,  for  you  have  just  his  bleat. 

Re-enter  Antonio,  with  the  ladies  mashed. 

(■laud.  For  this  I  nwr  you:  here  come  other 

reckonings. 
^Vhich  is  the  lady  I  must  seize  upon? 
Ant.  'I'his  same  is  she,  and  I  no  give  you  her. 
Claud.  Why,  then  she's  mine :  sweet,  let  me  see 

your  face. 

Leon.  No,  that  you  shall  not,  till  you  take  her  hand 
Before  this  friar,  and  swear  to  marry  her. 

Claud.  Give  me  your  hand  before  this  holy  friar; 
)  am  your  husband,  if  you  like  of  me. 

Hero.  And  when  I  lived,  I  was  your  other  wife : 
And  when  you  loved,  you  were  my  otiier  husband. 

Claua    Another  Hero?  [Unmaskiny. 

Hero.  Nothing  certainer : 

( )ne  lieiu  died  defil'd  •  but  I  do  live. 
And.  surely  as  I  live,  I  am  a  maid. 

D.  Padro.  The  fornuer  Hero  !  Hero,  that  is  dead  ! 

Leon  She  died,  my  lord,  but  whiles  her  slander 
lived. 

Priaf   All  this  amazement  can  I  qualify  ; 
VVhen,  after  that  the  holy  rites  are  ended, 
I'll  tell  you  largely  of  fair  Hero's  death: 
Meantime,  let  wonder  seem  familiar. 
And  to  the  chapel  let  us  presently. 

Bene.  Soil  and  fair,  friar. — Which  is  Beatrice  ? 

Beat.  I  answer  to  that  name;  {un7naslcs.)  What 
is  your  will  ? 

Bene.  Do  not  you  love  me  ? 

Beat.  No.  no  more  than  reason. 

Bene.  Why,  then  your  uncle,  an<l  the  prince,  and 
Clandio, 

Have  been  decei'  ed:  for  they  svvore  you  did. 
Btiat.  Do  no!  you  love  me  ? 

Bene  No,  no  more  than  reason. 

Beat  Why,  then  my  cousin,  Margaret,  and  Ursula, 
Are  mu:h  deceiv'd;  lor  they  did  swear,  you  did. 
Bene.  They  swore,  that  you  were  almost  sick  for 
u»e.  [for  me. 

Beat.  They  snore  that  you  were  well-nigh  dead 
Bene,  'Tis  no  such  matter : — Then,  you  do  rot 
love  me  ? 

Beat.  No,  tritlj  ,  but  iu  friendly  recompeusf . 


Leon.  Conie,  cousin,  I  am  sure  you  love  the  geir 
tlemao. 

Claud.  And  I'll  be  sworn  upon't,  that  he  loves  bei 
For  here's  a  paper,  written  in  his  hand, 
A  halting  sonnet  of  his  own  pure  brain, 
Fashion'd  to  Beatrice. 

Hero.  And  here's  another. 

Writ  in  my  cousin's  hand,  stolen  from  her  pocket, 
Containing  her  atfection  unto  Benedick. 

Bene.  A  miracle  !  here's  our  own  hands  agains 
our  hearts ! — Come,  I  will  have  thee  ;  but,  by  this 
light,  I  take  thee  for  pity. 

Beat.  I  would  not  deny  yon;  But,  by  this  good  daj 
I  yield  upon  great  persuasion  ;  and,  partly,  to  save 
your  life,  for  I  was  told  you  were  in  a  consumption. 

Bene.  Peace,  I  will  stop  your  mouth.  [Kissing  her.) 

D.  Pedro.  How  dost  thou,  Benedick,  tlie  marriea 
man  ? 

Bene.  I'll  tell  thee  what,  prince  ;  a  college  of  wit- 
crackers  cannot  flout  me  out  of  my  humour :  dost  thoii 
think,  I  care  for  a  satire,  or  an  epigram  ?  No :  if  a  man 
will  be  beaten  with  brains,  he  shall  wear  nothing 
handsome  about  him  :  in  brief,  since  I  do  purjtose  to 
marry,  I  will  think  nothing  to  any  purpose,  that  the 
world  can  say  against  it;  and  therefore  never  flout 
at  me  for  what  I  have  said  against  it;  for  man  is  a 
giddy  thing,  and  this  is  my  conclusion. — For  thy 
part,  Claudio,  I  did  think  to  have  beaten  thee  ;  but  in 
that  thou  ait  like  to  be  my  kinsman,  live  unbruised, 
and  love  my  cousin. 

Claud.  I  had  well  hoped,  thou  woiddst  have  de- 
nied Beatrice,  that  I  might  have  cudgelled  thee  out 
of  thy  single  life,  to  make  thee  a  double  dealer; 
which,  out  ()f  question,  thou  wilt  be,  if  my  cousin  do 
not  look  exceeding  narrowly  to  thee. 

Bene.  Come,  come,  we  are  friends: — let's  have  a 
dance  ere  we  are  married,  that  we  may  lighten  oui 
own  hearts,  and  our  wives'  heels. 

Leon.  We'll  have  dancing  afterwards. 

Bene.  First,  o'  my  word  ;  therefore,  play,  fnusic. — 
Prince,  thou  art  sad  ;  get  thee  a  wife,  get  thee  a  wife  : 
there  is  no  staff  more  reverend  than  one  tipped  with 
horn. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  My  lord,  your  brother  John  is  ta'en  in  flight. 
And  brought  with  armed  men  back  to  Messina. 

Bene.  Think  not  on  him  till  to-mornnv;  I'll  devise 
thee  brave  punishments  for  hisn. — Strike  up,  pipers, 
[Dance  — Exeunt 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Wild  and  fantastical  as  this  play  is,  all  the  parts  in  their  various  modes  are  well  written,  and  give  the  kind 
of  pleasure  which  the  author  designed.  Fairies  iti  his  time  were  much  in  fashion;  coniincu  tradition  had  made 
Ihem  familiar,  and  Spencer's  poem  had  made  them  great.  Johnson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


THESEUS,  Duke  of  Athens. 
EGEUS.  Father  to  Hermia. 

LYSANDEJl,— DEMETRIUS,— m  love  with  Hermia. 
PHII.OSTRATK,  Master  of  the  Rebels  to  Theseus. 
QUINCE,  the  Carpenter. 
SNUG,  the  Joiner. 
BOTTOM,  the  Weaver. 
FLUTE,  the  BfUows  mender. 
SNOUT,  the  Tinker. 
STARVELING,  the  Tailor. 

HIPFOLYTA,  Queen  of  the  Amazons,  betrothed  to 

Theseus. 

IIERMIA,  Daughter  to  Egeus,  in  love  with  Lysander. 
HRLEISA.m  love  with  Demetrius 


OBERON,  King  of  the  Fairies. 
TlT.\NiA,  Quffn  of  the  Fairies. 
PUCK,  or  Robin  Goodfellow,  a  FcUrr. 
PEAS  BLOSSOM,  . 


Fairies. 


COBWiiB. 
iMOTH, 

MUSTARD  SEED,  ) 
Ft/ramus,  \ 

WaU^'  >  Characters  in  the  Interlude  "performed 
Moonshine,  I  '^'^  C^^^vsns. 

Lion,  I 

Other  Fairies  attending  their  King  and  Queen. 
Attendants  on  Theseus  and  tiippolpla. 

Scene, — Athens,  and  a  Wood  not  far  from  it. 


ACT  r. 

Scene  I. — Athens.  A  Room  in  the  Palace  of 
Theseus. 

Enter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Philostrate, 
and  Attendants. 

The.  Now,  fair  Hippolyta,  our  nuptial  hour 
Diaws  on  apace  ;  four  happy  day.s  bring  in 
Another  moon:  but,  oh,  nietliinks,  liow  slow 
"I'tiis  old  moon  wanes !  she  lingers  iny  desires, 
Like  to  a  step-dame,  or  a  dowager, 
Lon<;  withering  out  a  young  man's  revenue. 

Hip.  Four  days  will  quickly  steep  themselves  in 
nights; 

Four  nights  will  quickly  dream  away  the  time; 
A  I'l  then  the  moon,  like  to  a  sil\er  bow 
New  bent  in  heaven,  shall  behold  the  night 
\J<  our  solemnities. 

The.  Go,  Philostrate, 

Stir  uj)  the  Athenian  youth  to  merriments  ; 
Awake  the  pert  and  nimble  spirit  of  nurth  ; 
Turn  melancholy  forth  to  funerals. 
The  pale  companion  is  not  lor  our  pomp. — 

[Exit  Philostrate. 
Hippolyta,  I  woo'd  thee  with  my  sword, 
*\nd  won  thy  love,  doing  thee  injuries; 
But  I  will  wed  thee  in  another  key. 
With  pomj),  with  triumph,  and  with  revelling. 

Enter  Egeus,  Hermia,  Lysander,  and 

DEJlETtlUS. 

E<je.  Happy  be  Theseus,  our  renowned  duke  ! 
The.  Thanks,  good  Egeus:  What's  the  news 
with  thee  ? 

Eifje.  Full  of  vexation  come  T,  with  complaint 
Aganist  my  child,  my  daughter  Hermia. — 
Stand  forth,  Demetrius; — my  noble  lord, 
'I'liis  man  bath  my  consent  to  marry  her: — 
Stand  fortii,  Lysander; — and,  my  gracious  duke. 
This  hath  bewitch'd  the  bosom  of  my  child  : 
7''i)OU,  thou,  Lysander,  thou  hast  given  her  rhymes. 
And  interchang'd  love-tokens  with  my  child  : 
Thou  h.^st  by  moon-light  at  her  window  sung, 
With  fe'gning  voice,  verses  of  feigning  love; 
And  stolen  the  impression  of  her  fantasy 
With  bracelets  of  thy  hair,  rings,  gawds,  conceits. 
Knacks,  trifles,  nosegays,  sweetmeats ;  messengers 
Of  strong  prevailirient  in  unharden'd  youth  : 
"With  cunning  hast  thou  filch'd  my  daughter's  heart; 
Turu'd  her  obedience,  which  is  due  to  me. 
To  stubborn  harshness  : — And,  my  gracious  duke, 
Be  it  so  she  will  not  here  before  your  grace 
Consent  to  marry  with  Demetrius, 
I  beg  the  ancient  privilege  of  Atliens; 
A.S  she  is  mine,  i  may  dispose  of  her : 


Which  shall  be  either  to  this  gentltman. 
Or  to  her  deatii ;  according  to  our  law. 
Immediately  provided  in  that  case.  [maid: 

The.  What  say  you,  Hermia  ?  be  advised,  fair 
To  you  your  father  should  be  as  a  god; 
One  thatcompos'd  your  beauties;  yea,  and  one 
To  whom  you  are  but  as  a  form  in  wax, 
By  him  imprinted,  and  within  his  power 
'lo  leave  the  figure,  or  disfigure  it. 
Demetrius  is  a  worthy  gentleman. 

Her.  So  is  Lysander. 

The.  In  himself  he  is: 

But,  in  this  kind,  wanting  your  father's  voice, 
The  other  nmst  be  held  tlie  worthier. 

Her.  1  would  my  father  look'd  but  with  my 
eyes.  [look. 

The.  Rather  your  eyes  must  with  his  judgtaeul 

Her.  1  do  entreat  your  grace  to  pardon  me. 
I  know  not  by  what  power  I  am  made  bold ; 
Nor  how  it  may  concern  my  modesty 
In  such  a  presence  liere  to  plead  my  thoughts  i 
But  I  beseech  your  grace,  that  I  rnay  know 
The  worst  that  may  befall  me  in  this  case. 
If  I  refuse  to  wed  Demetrius. 

The.  Either  to  die  the  death,  or  to  abjure 
For  ever  the  society  of  men. 
Therefore,  lair  Hermia,  question  your  desires, 
Know  of  your  youth,  examine  well  your  blood, 
Whether,  if  you  yield  not  to  your  father's  choice. 
You  can  endure  the  livery  of  a  nun ; 
For  aye  to  be  in  shady  cloister  mew'd, 
To  live  a  barren  sister  all  your  life. 
Chanting  faint  hymns  to  the  cold  fruitless  moon. 
I'hrice  blessed  they,  that  master  so  their  blood. 
To  undergo  such  maiden  pilgrimage  : 
But  earthlier  happy  is  the  rose  distili'd, 
Than  that,  whici),  withering;  on  the  virgin  thorn. 
Grows,  lives,  and  dies,  in  single  blessedness. 

Her.  So  will  I  grow,  so  live,  so  die,  my  lord. 
Ere  I  will  yield  my  virgin  patent  up 
Unto  his  lord-ship,  whose  unwished  yoke 
My  soul  consents  not  to  give  sovereignty.  [moon. 

The.  Take  time  to  pause;  and,  by  the  next  nei» 
(The  sealing-day  betwixt  my  love  and  me, 
^  For  everlasting  bond  of  fellowship,) 
Upon  that  day  either  prepare  to  die, 
For  disobedience  to  your  father's  w  ill '. 
Or  else,  to  wed  Demetrius,  as  he  would: 
i  Or  on  Diana's  altar  to  protest 
For  aye,  austerity  and  single  life. 

Dem.  Relent,  sweet  Hermia; — And.  Lysander 
Thy  crazed  title  to  my  certain  right.  [yield 

Lys.  Vou  have  her  fixther's  love,  Demetrius, 
Let  me  have  Hermia's:  do  you  marry  him. 

Ege.  Scornful  Lysander  !  true,  he  hath  my  love; 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  I. 


And  what  is  mine  my  love  shall  render  him ; 
And  she  is  mine  ;  and  all  my  right  of  her 
I  do  estate  unto  Demetrius. 

Lys.  I  am,  my  lord,  as  well  deriv'd  as  he. 
As  well  possess'd  ;  my  love  is  more  than  his  ; 
My  fortunes  every  way  as  fairly  rank'd. 
If  not  with  vantage,  as  Demetrius'; 
And,  which  is  more  than  all  these  boasts  can  be, 
I  am  belov'd  of  beauteous  Hermia  : 
Why  should  not  I  then  prosecute  my  right  ? 
Demetrius,  I'll  avouch  it  to  his  head. 
Made  love  to  Nedar's  daughter,  Helena, 
And  won  her  soul ;  and  she,  sweet  lady,  dotes. 
Devoutly  dotes,  dotes  in  idolatry, 
Upon  this  spotted  and  inconstant  man. 

The.  I  must  confess,  that  I  have  heard  so  much, 
And  with  Demetrius  thought  to  have  spoke  thereof; 
But,  being  over-full  of  self-afFairs, 
My  mind  did  lose  it. — But,  Demetrius,  come; 
And  coHie,  Egeus;  you  shall  go  with  me, 
I  have  some  private  schooling  tor  you  both. — 
For  yon,  fairHennia,  look  you  arm  yourself 
To  fit  your  fancies  to  your  lather's  will ; 
Or  else  the  law  of  Athens  yields  you  up 
(VVhich  by  no  means  we  may  extenuate,) 
To  death,  or  to  a  vow  of  single  life. — 
Come,  my  Hippolyfa;  what  cheer,  my  love  ? 
Demetrius,  and  Egeus,  go  along : 
I  must  employ  you  in  some  business 
Against  our  nupti  d  ;  and  confer  with  you 
01  something  nearly  that  concerns  yourselves. 

Ege.  With  duty  and  desire  we  follow  you. 

[Exeunt  Thes.  Hip.  Ege.  Dem.  and  train. 

Lys.  How  now,  my  love  ?    Why  is  your  cheek 
so  pale  ? 

How  chance  the  roses  there  do  fade  so  fast? 

Her.  Belike,  for  want  of  rain;  which  I  could 
well 

Beteem  them  from  the  tempest  of  mine  eyes. 

Lys.  Ah  me!  for  aught  that  ever  I  could  read, 
Could  ever  hear  by  tale  or  history. 
The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth: 
But,  either  it  was  dilferent  in  blood  ; — 

Her.  O  cross !  too  high  to  be  enthralfd  to  low  ! 

Lys.  Or  else  misgrali'ed,  in  respect  of  years; — 

Her.  O  spite  !  too  old  to  be  engaged  to  young! 

Lys.  Or  else  it  stood  upon  the  choice  ol  lriends; — 

Her.  O  hell !  to  choose  love  by  another's  eye! 

Lys.  Or,  if  there  were  a  sympathy  in  choice, 
War,  death,  or  sickness  did  lay  siege  to  it; 
Making  it  momentary  as  a  sound, 
Swift  as  a  shadow,  sliort  as  any  dream; 
Brief  as  the  liglitning  in  the  collied  night. 
That,  in  a  spleen,  unfolds  both  heaven  and  earth, 
And  ere  a  man  hath  power  to  say, — Behold  ! 
The  jaws  of  darkness  do  devour  it  up  : 
So  quick  bright  things  come  to  confusion. 

Her.  If  then  true  lovers  have  been  ever  cross'd, 
ft  stands  as  an  edict  in  destiny : 
Then  let  us  teach  our  trial  patience, 
Because  it  is  a  customary  cross ; 
As  due  to  love,  as  thoughts  and  dreams,  and  sighs. 
Wishes,  and  tears,  poor  fancy's  followers. 

Lys.  A  good  persuasion;  therefore,  hear  me, 
I  have  a  widow  aunt,  a  dowager  [Hermia. 
Of  great  revenue,  and  she  hath  no  child  : 
From  Athens  is  her  house  remote  seven  leagues; 
And  she  resj^rects  me  as  her  only  son. 
There,  gentle  Hermia,  may  I  marry  thee ; 
And  to  that  place  the  sharp  Athenian  law 
Cannot  pursue  us  :  if  thou  lov'st  me  then. 
Steal  forth  thy  father's  house  to-morrow  night; 
And  in  the  wood,  a  league  without  the  town. 
Where  I  did  meet  thee  once  with  Helena, 
To  do  observance  to  a  morn  of  May, 
There  will  I  stay  for  thee. 

Her.  My  good  Lysander ! 
I  swear  to  thee  hy  Cupid's  strongest  how; 
By  his  best  arrow  with  the  golden  head ; 
By  the  simplicity  of  Venus'  doves; 


By  that  which  knitteth  souls,  and  prospers  loves; 
And  by  that  fire,  which  burn'd  the  Carthage  queei^ 
When  the  i'alse  Trojan  under  sail  was  seen ;  • 
By  all  the  vows  that  ever  men  have  broke. 
In  number  more  than  ever  vvomen  spoke  ;— 
In  that  same  place  thou  hast  appointed  me, 
To-morrow  truly  will  I  meet  with  thee.  [Helena 
Lys.  Keep  promise,  love:  Look,  here  comes 

Enter  Helena. 

Her.  God  speed  fair  Helena  !  Whither  away  ? 

Hel.  Call  you  me  fair!  that  fail  again  unsay. 
Demetrius  loves  your  lair:  O,  happy  fair! 
Your  eyes  are  load-stars;  and  your  tongue's  sweet 
More  tuneable  than  lark  to  shepherd  s  ear,  [air 
When  wheat  is  green,  when  hawthorn-buds  appear. 
Sickness  is  catching;  O,  were  favour  so! 
Your's  woidd  I  catch,  fair  Hermia,  ere  I  go; 
My  ear  should  catch  your  voice,  my  eye  your  eye. 
My  tongue  should  catch  your  tongue's  sweet  melody. 
Were  the  world  mine,  Demetrius  being  Ijated, 
The  rest  I'll  give  to  be  to  you  translated. 
O,  teach  me  how  you  look  ;  and  with  what  art 
You  sway  the  motion  of  Demetrius'  heart. 

Her.  I  frown  upon  him,  yet  be  loves  me  still. 

Hel.  O,  that  your  frowns  would  teach  my  smiles 
such  skill ! 

Her.  I  give  him  curses,  yet  he  gives  me  love. 
Hel.  O,  that  my  prayers  could  such  aftection 
move  ! 

Her.  The  more  I  hate,  the  more  he  follows  me. 
Hel.  The  more  I  love,  the  more  he  hateth  me 
Her,  His  folly,  Helena,  is  no  fault  of  mine. 
Hel.  None,  but  your  beauty;  would  that  fault 
were  mine ! 

Her.  Take  comfort ;  he  no  more  shall  see  my  face; 
Lysander  and  myself  will  fly  this  place. — 
Before  the  time  I  did  Lysander  see, 
Seem'd  Athens  as  a  paradise  to  me : 
O  then  what  graces  in  my  love  do  dwell. 
That  he  hath  turn'd  a  heaven  into  hell ! 

Lys.  Helen,  to  you  our  minds  we  will  unfold: 
To-morrow  night,  when  Phoebe  doth  behold 
Her  silver  visage  in  the  wat'ry  glass. 
Decking  with  liquid  pearl  the  bladed  grass, 
(A  time  that  lovers'  flights  doth  still  conceal,) 
Through  Athens'  gates  have  we  devis'd  to  steal. 

Her.  And  in  the  wood,  where  olten  you  and  I 
Upon  faint  primrose-beds  were  wont  to  lie, 
Emptying  our  bosoms  of  their  counsel  sweet, 
There  my  Lysander  and  myself  shall  meet: 
And  thence,  from  Athens,  turn  away  our  eyes. 
To  seek  new  friends  and  stranger  companies. 
Farewell,  sweet  playfellow;  j)ray  thou  for  us. 
And  good  luck  grant  thee  thy  Demetrius  ! — 
Keep  word,  Lysander :  we  must  starve  our  sight 
From  lovers'  food,  till  morrow  deep  midnight. 

[Exit  Her?nia. 

Lys.  I  will,  my  Hermia. — Helena,  adieu  : 
As  you  on  him,  Demetrius  dote  on  you  !  [Exit  Lys, 

Hel.  How  happy  some,  o'er  other  some  can  be  ! 
Through  Athens  I  am  thought  as  fair  as  she. 
But  what  of  that?  Demetrius  thinks  not  so; 
He  will  not  know  what  all  but  he  do  know. 
And  as  he  errs,  doting  on  Hermia's  eyes. 
So  I,  admiring  of  his  qualities. 
Things  base  and  vile,  holding  no  quantity. 
Love  can  transpose  to  form  and  dignity. 
Love  looks  not  with  the  eyes,  but  with  the  mind; 
And  therefore  is  wing'd  Cupid  painted  blind: 
Nor  hath  Love's  mind  of  any  judgment  taste; 
Wings,  and  no  eyes,  figure  unheedy  haste  : 
And  therefore  is  Love  said  to  be  a  child, 
Because  in  choice  he  is  so  oft  beguil'd. 
As  waggish  boys  in  game  themselves  forswear. 
So  the  boy  Love  is  perjur'd  every  where  : 
For  ere  Demetrius  look'd  on  Hermia's  eyne. 
He  hail'd  down  oaths,  that  he  was  only  mine  ; 
And  when  this  hail  some  heat  from  Hermia  felt, 
So  he  dissolv'd,  and  showers  of  oaths  did  melt. 


Act  II.    Scene  1. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


113 


will  go  tell  him  of  fair  Hermia's  flight : 
Then  to  the  wood  will  he,  t(^-morrow  night, 
Pursue  lier:  and  for  this  intellig-ence, 
ff  I  have  thanks,  it  is  a  dear  expence : 
Rut  herein  mean  I  to  enrich  my  pain. 
To  have  his  sight  thither,  and  back,  again.      ^ Exit. 

Scene       -The  same.  A  Rooin  in  a  Cottage. 
Enter  Snug,  Bottom.  Flute,  Snoui,  Quince, 
and  Starveling. 

Quin.  Is  all  our  company  here  ? 

Bot.  You  were  best  to  call  them  generally,  man 
by  man,  according  to  the  scrip. 

Qmn.  Here  is  th:^  scroll  of  every  man's  name, 
which  is  thought  fit,  throu<;h  all  Athens,  to  pl  iy  in 
our  interlude  before  the  duke  and  duchess,  on  his 
wedding-day  at  night. 

Bot.  First,  good  Peter  Quince,  say  what  the  play 
treats  on ;  then  read  the  nanit^s  of  the  actors;  and 
so  grow  to  a  point 

Quin.  Marry, our  play  is — The  most  lamentable  co- 
medy, and  most  cruel  death  of  Pyramus  and  Thisby. 

Bot.  A  very  good  piece  of  \vork,  I  assure  you, 
and  a  merry. — Now,  good  Peter  Quince,  call  forth 
your  actors  by  the  scroll  — Masters,  spread  your- 
selves, [weaver. 

Quin.  Answer  as  T  call  you. — Nick  Bottom,  the 

Bot.  Ready  :  Name  what  part  I  am  for,  and 
proceed.  [ramus. 

Quin.  You,  Nick  Bottom,  are  set  down  for  Py- 

Bot.  What  is  Pyramus  ?  a  lover,  or  a  tyrant? 

Qui7i.  A  lover,  that  kills  himself  most  gallantly 
for  love. 

Bot.  That  will  a^k  some  tears  in  the  true  per- 
forming of  it :  if  I  do  it,  let  the  audience  look  to 
their  eyes;  I  will  move  storms,  I  will  condole  in 
some  measure.  To  the  rest: — Yet  my  chief  humour 
is  for  a  tyrant :  I  could  play  Ercles  rarely,  or  a  part 
t)  tear  a  cat  in,  to  make  all  split. 

"  The  raging  rocks, 

"  V/ith  shivering  shocks, 

"  Shall  break  the  locks 

"  Of  prison-gates : 
^  And  Phibbus'  car 
'  Shall  shine  from  far. 
And  make  and  mar 
"  The  foolish  fates.*' 
This  was  lofty  ! — Now  name  the  rest  of  the  players. 
— This  is  Ercles'  vein,  a  tyrant's  vein ;  a  lover  is 
more  condoling. 

Quin.  Francis  Flute,  the  bellows-mender. 
F/u.  Here,  Peter  Quince. 
Quin.  You  must  take  Thisby  on  you. 
Flu.  What  is  Thisby?  a  wandeiing  knight? 
Quin.  It  is  the  lady  that  Pyramus  must  love. 
Flu.  Nay,  faith,  let  me  not  play  a  woman ;  I 
have  a  beard  coming. 

Quin.  That's  all  one  ;  you  shall  play  it  in  a  mask, 
and  you  may  speak  as  small  as  you  will. 

Bot.  An  I  may  hide  my  lace,  let  me  play  Thisby 
too  :  I'll  speak  in  a  monstrous  little  voice  ; — Thisne, 
Thisne — Ah,  Pyranms,  my  lover  dear  ;  thy  Thisby 
dear !  and  lady  dear  ! 
Quin.  No,  no ;  you  must  play  Pyramus;  and  Flute, 
Bot.  Well,  proceed.  [you  Thisby. 

Qnvn.  Robin  Starveling,  the  tailor. 
6tar.  Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Quin.  Robin  Starveling,  you  must  play  Thisby's 
w  other. — Tom  Snout,  the  tinker. 
Snout.  Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Quin.  You,  Pyramus's  father:  myself,  Thishy's 
father; — Snug,  the  joiner,  you  tne  lion's  part:— 
and,  I  hope,  here  is  a  play  fitted. 

Snug.  Have  you  the  lion's  part  written  ?  pray  yon, 
if  it  be,  give  it  me,  for  I  am  slow  of  study. 

Quin.  You  may  do  it  extempore>  for  it  is  nofhing 
but  roaring, 

Bot.  Let  me  play  the  Hon  too :  1  will  roar,  that 
will  do  any  man's  heart  good  to  hear  me ;  I  will 


roar,  (hat  I  will  make  the  duke  say,  Let  him  roar 
again.  Let  hi7n  roar  again. 

Quin.  An  you  should  do  it  too  terribly,  you  would 
fright  the  duchess  and  the  ladies,  that  they  w  ^uld 
shriek  ;  and  that  were  enough  to  hang  us  all. 

All.  Tiiat  would  hang  us  every  motliei's  son. 

Fot.  I  grant  you,  friends,  if  that  you  should  fright 
the  ladies  out  of  their  wits,  tliey  would  have  no  more 
discretion  but  to  hang  ns :  but  I  will  aggravate  inv 
voice  so,  that  I  will  roar  you  as  gently  as  any  suc  k- 
ing-dove ;  I  will  roar  you  an  'twere  any  night 
ingale. 

Quin.  You  can  play  no  part  but  Pyramus:  for 
Pyramus  is  a  sweet-laced  man ;  a  i)ro[)er  man  ?  ^ 
one  shall  see  in  a  summer's  day;  a  most  lovely, 
gentleman-iike  man  ;  therefore  you  must  needs  play 
Pyramus. 

Bot.  Well,  I  will  undertake  it.  What  beard  were 
I  best  to  play  it  in  ? 

Q^dn.  Why,  what  you  will. 

Bot.  I  will  discharge  it  in  either  your  straw- 
coloured  beard,  your  orange-tawny  beard,  your 
purple-in-grain  beard,  or  your  French-crown-co- 
loured beard,  your  perfect  yellow. 

Quin.  Some  of  your  French  crowns  have  no  hair 
at  all,  and  then  you  will  play  bare -faced. — But, 
masters,  here  are  your  parts:  and  I  am  to  entreat 
you,  request  you,  and  desire  you,  to  con  them  by 
to-morrow  night;  and  meet  me  in  the  palace  wood, 
a  mile  without  the  town,  by  moon-nght ;  there  will 
we  rehearse  :  for  if  we  meet  in  the  city  we  shall  be 
doggd  with  company,  and  our  devir ^s  known.  In 
the  mean  time  I  will  draw  a  bill  of  properties,  such 
as  our  play  wants.    I  pray  you,  fail  me  not. 

Bot.  We  will  meet ;  and  there  we  may  "ehearse 
more  obscenely,  and  courageously.  Take  pjiins  ;  b« 
perfect ;  adieu. 

Quin.  At  the  duke's  oak  we  meet. 

Bot.  Enough ;  hold,  or  cut  bow-strings.  [Exew^, 

ACT  II. 

Scene  1  —A  Wood  near  Athena. 
Enter  a  Fairy  at  one  door  and  PucK  at  another 
Puck.  Bow  now,  spirit !  whither  wander  you? 
Fai.  Over  hill,  over  dale. 

Thorough  bu.sh,  thorough  brier, 

Over  park,  over  pale, 

Thorough  flood,  thorough  fire, 

I  do  wander  every  where, 

Svvifter  than  the  moones  sphere  ; 

And  I  serve  the  fairy  queen, 

To  dew  her  orbs  upon  the  green  : 

The  cowslips  tall  her  pensioners  be  ; 

In  their  gold  coats  spots  you  see  ; 

Those  be  rubies,  fairy  favours  : 

In  those  freckles  live  their  savours : 
I  must  go  seek  some  dew-drops  here. 
And  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear. 
Farewell,  thou  lob  of  spirits,  I'll  be  gone  ; 
Our  queen  and  all  her  elves  come  here  anon. 

Puck.  The  king  doth  keep  his  revels  here  to-night  j 
Take  heed,  the  queen  come  not  within  his  sight. 
For  Oberon  is  passing  fell  and  wrath, 
Because  thatsne,  as  her  attendant,  hath 
A  lovely  boy,  sbjYn  from  an  Indian  king; 
She  never  had  so  sweet  a  changeling  : 
And  jealous  Oberon  would  have  the  child 
Knight  of  his  train,  to  trace  the  forests  wild  : 
But  she,  perforce,  withholds  the  loved  boy  ; 
Crowns  him  with  flowers,  and  makes  him  all  her  jot: 
And  now  they  never  meet  in  grove,  or  green. 
By  fountain  clear,  or  spangled  star-light  sheen, 
But  they  do  square  ;  that  all  their  elves,  for  fear. 
Creep  into  acorn  cups,  and  hide  them  there. 

Fai.  Either  I  mistake  your  shape  and  making  quite 
Or  else  you  are  that  shrewd  and  knavish  sprite, 
Call'd  Robin  Goodfellow :  are  you  not  he. 
That  fright  the  maidens  of  the  villagery  ; 
Skim  milk ;  and  sometimes  labour  in  the  quc-rn. 
And  bootless  make  the  breathles.<J  housewife  chum 

8 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  II. 


ad  sometime  make  the  dri-nk  to  bear  no  barm  ; 
Mislead  night- wanderers,  laughing  at  their  harm? 
Those  that  Ilobgobhn  call  you,  and  sweet  Puck, 
Yon  do  their  work,  and  they  shall  have  good  luck  : 
Are  not  you  he  ? 

Puck.  Thou  speak'st  aright ; 

1  am  that  merry  wanderer  of  t!ie  night. 
[  jest  to  Oberon,  and  make  him  smile, 
When  I  a  fat  and  bean-fed  horse  beguile. 
Neighing  in  likeness  of  a  filly  foal : 
Ami  sometime  lurk  I  in  a  gossip's  bowl. 
In  very  likeness  of  a  roasted  crab ; 
Ai.d,  when  she  drinks,  against  her  lips  I  bob. 
And  on  her  wither'd  dew-lap  pour  the  ale. 
The  wisest  aimt,  telling  the  saddest  tale, 
Sometime  for  three-foot  stool  mistaketh  me  ; 
Then  slip  1  i'roin  her  bum,  down  topples  she, 
And  tailor  cries,  and  falls  into  a  cough ; 
And  then  the  whole  quire  hold  their  hips,  and  loffe  ; 
And  waxen  in  their  mirth,  and  neeze,  and  swear, 
A  merrier  hour  was  never  wasted  there. — 
But  rooui,  Faery,  here  comes  Oberon. 

Fai.  And  here  my  mistress  : — Would  that  he  were 
gone ! 

Scene  II. — Enter  Oberon,  at  one  door,  with  his 
train,  and  Titania,  at  another,  with  hers. 

Obe.  Ill  met  by  moon-light,  proud  Titania. 

Tita.  What,  jealous  Oberon  ?  Fail y,  skip  hence  ; 
I  have  forswouj  his  bed  and  company. 

Obe.  Tarry,  rash  wanton  ;  Am  not  1  thy  lord? 

Tita.  Then  1  must  be  thy  lady  :  but  I  know. 
When  thou  hast  stol'n  away  from  fairy  land. 
And  in  the  shape  of  Corin  sat  all  day. 
Playing  on  pipes  of  corn,  and  versing  love 
To  amorous  Phiilida.    Why  art  thou  here, 
Come  lion)  the  farthest  steep  of  India? 
But  that,  forsooth,  the  bouncing  Amazon, 
Vour  buskin'd  mistress,  and  your  warrior  love, 
To  Theseus  must  be  wedded;  and  you  come 
To  give  their  bed  joy  and^prosperity. 

Obe.  How  canst  thou  thus,  for  shame,  Titania, 
Glance  at  my  credit  with  Hippolyta, 
Knovvitig  I  kuow  thy  love  to  I'heseus  ? 
Didst  thou  not  lead  hiiai  through  the  glimmering 
From  Perigenia,  whom  he  ravished  ?  [night 
And  make  hiuj  with  fair  JEig\6.  break  his  faith, 
With  Ariadne,  and  Antiopa  ? 

Tita.  These  are  the  forgeries  of  jealousy  : 
And  never,  since  the  middle  summer's  spnng, 
Met  we  on  hill,  in  dale,  forest,  or  mead. 
By  paved  fountain,  or  by  rushy  brook. 
Or  on  the  beaciied  margent  of  the  sea, 
To  dance  our  ringlets  to  the  whistling  wind. 
But  v^ith  thy  brawls  thou  hast  disturb'd  our  sport. 
Therefore  the  winds,  piping  to  us  in  vain. 
As  in  revenge,  have  suck'd  np  from  the  sea 
Contagious  fogs;  which  falling  in  the  land. 
Have  every  peltmg  river  made  so  proud, 
'I'liat  they  ha»  e  overborne  their  contments  : 
The  ox  hath  therefore  stretch'd  his  yoke  in  vain, 
The  ploughman  lost  his  sweat ;  and  the  green  corn 
Hath  rotted,  ere  his  youth  attaiti'd  a  beard  : 
The  fold  stands  empty  in  the  drowned  field. 
The  crows  are  fatted  with  the  murrain  flock  ; 
The  nine  men's  morris  is  fill'd  up  with  mud; 
And  the  quaint  mazes  in  the  wanton  green. 
For  lack  of  tread,  are  undistinguishable ; 
The  human  mortals  want  their  winter  here; 
No  night  is  now  with  hymn  or  carol  blest : — 
Therefore  the  moon,  the  governess  of  floods. 
Pale  in  her  anger,  washes  all  the  air. 
That  rheumatic  diseases  do  abound  : 
And  thorough  this  distemperature,  we  see 
I'be  seasons  alter;  hoary-headed  frosts 
Fall  in  the  fresh  lap  of  the  crimson  rose ; 
And  on  old  Hyom's  chin,  and  icy  crown, 
An  odorous  chaplet  of  sweet  summer  buds 
Is,  as  in  mockery,  set :  the  spring,  the  summer, 
The  chilling  autumn,  angry  winter,  change 


Their  wonted  liveries;  and  the  'mazed  world, 
By  their  increase,  now  knows  not  which  is  which* 
And  this  same  progeny  of  evils  comes 
From  our  debate,  from  our  dissension ; 
We  are  their  parents  and  original. 

Obe.  Do  you  amend  it  then  ;  it  lies  in  you : 
Why  shoidd  Titania  cross  her  Oberon  ? 
I  do  but  beg  a  little  changeling  boy. 
To  be  my  henchman. 

Tita.  Set  your  heart  at  reit, 

The  fairy  land  buys  not  the  child  of  me. 
His  mother  was  a  vot'ress  of  my  order : 
And,  in  the  spiced  Indian  air,  by  night, 
Full  often  hath  she  gossip'd  by  my  side  ; 
And  sat  with  me  on  Neptune's  yellow  sands. 
Marking  the  embarked  traders  on  the  flood; 
When  we  have  laugh'd  to  see  the  sails  conceive. 
And  grow  big  bellied,  with  the  wanton  wind: 
Which  she,  with  pretty  and  with  swimming  gait, 
(Following  her  womb,  then  ricl)  with  my  young 
Would  imitate ;  and  sail  upon  the  land,  [squire,; 
To  fetch  me  trifles,  and  return  again. 
As  from  a  voyage,  rich  with  merchandize. 
But  she,  being  mortal,  of  that  boy  did  die ; 
And,  for  her  sake,  I  do  rear  up  the  boy ; 
And,  for  her  sake,  I  will  not  part  with  him. 

Obe.  How  long  witfiin  this  wood  intend  you  stay? 

Tita.  Perchance,  till  after  Theseus' wedding-day. 
If  you  will  patiently  dance  in  our  round 
And  see  our  moon  light  revels,  go  with  us  ; 
If  not,  shun  me,  and  1  will  spare  your  haunts. 

Obe.  Give  me  that  boy,  and  1  will  go  with  thee. 

Tita.  Not  for  thy  kingdom.    Fairies,  a\\ay  : 
We  shall  chide  downright,  ii  I  longer  stay. 

lExeunt  Titania  and  her  train. 

Obe.  Well,  go  thy  way:  thou  shalt  not  from  this 
Till  I  torment  thee  lor  this  injury. —  [grove. 
My  gentle  Puck,  come  hither :  tnou  remember>t 
Since  once  I  sat  upon  a  promontory. 
And  heard  a  mermaid,  on  a  dolphm's  back. 
Uttering  such  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath, 
That  the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song  : 
And  certain  stars  shot  madly  from  their  spheres, 
To  hear  the  sea  maid's  music. 

Puck.  I  remember 

Obe.  That  very  time  I  saw,  (but  thou  could'st  not,) 
Flying  between  the  cold  moon  and  the  earth, 
Cupid  all  arm'd:  a  certain  aim  he  took 
At  a  fair  vestal,  throned  by  the  west; 
And  lous'd  his  love-shaft  smartly  from  his  bow, 
As  it  should  pierce  a  hundred  thousand  hearts: 
But  1  might  see  young  Cupid's  fiery  shaft 
Quenoh'd  in  the  chaste  beams  of  the  wat'ry  moon  ; 
And  the  imperial  vot'ress  passed  on, 
In  maiden  meditation,  fancy-free. 
Vet  mark'd  I  where  the  bolt  of  Cupid  fell : 
It  fell  upon  a  little  western  flower, — 
Before,  milk-white  ;  now  purple  with  love's  wound, 
And  maidens  call  it  love-in-idleness. 
Fetch  me  that  flower;  the  herb  I  show'd  thee  once 
The  juice  of  it  on  sleeping  eye-lids  laid. 
Will  make  or  man  or  woman  madly  dote 
Upon  the  next  live  creature  that  it  sees. 
Fetch  me  this  herb ;  and  be  thou  here  again. 
Ere  the  leviathan  can  swim  a  league. 

Puck.  I'll  put  a  girdle  round  about  the  earth 
In  forty  minutes.  [Exit  Pnek 

Obe.  Having  once  this  juice, 

I'll  watch  Titania  when  she  is  asleep. 
And  drop  the  liquor  of  it  in  her  eyes  : 
The  next  thing  then  she  waking  looks  upon, 
.  (Be  it  on  lion,  bear,  or  wolf,  or  bull. 
On  meddling  monkey,  or  on  busy  ape). 
She  shall  pursue  it  with  the  soul  of  love. 
And  ere  I  take  this  charm  off  from  her  sight, 
(As  I  can  take  it,  wHi  another  herb,) 
I'll  make  her  render  up  her  page  to  me. — 
But  who  comes  here  ?  I  am  invisible; 
And  I  will  over-hear  their  conference 


SCE^E  3. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


IIK 


Enter  Demetrius,  Helena  following  htm. 

Dem.  I  love  thee  not,  therefore  pursue  me  not 
Where  is  Lysander,  and  fair  Hermia  ? 
The  one  I'll  slay,  the  other  slayeth  rue. 
Thou  tuld'st  nie,  they  were  stoCn  into  this  wood. 
And  here  am  I,  and  wood  within  this  W(/od, 
Because  i  cannot  meet  with  Hermia. 
Hence,  get  thee  gone,  and  follow  me  no  more. 

Hel.  You  draw  me,  you  hard-hearted  adamant; 
But  yet  you  draw  not  iron,  for  my  heart 
Is  true  as  steel :  leave  you  your  oower  to  draw. 
And  I  shall  have  no  power  to  follow  you. 

Dem.  Do  I  entice  j'ou  ?  Do  I  speak  you  fair  ? 
Or,  rather,  do  I  not  in  plainest  truth 
Tell  you — I  do  not,  nor  I  cannot  love  you  ? 

Hel.  And  even  for  that  do  I  love  you  the  more. 
I  am  your  spaniel ;  and,  Demetrius, 
'We  more  you  beat  me,  I  will  fawn  on  you: 
Use  me  but  as  your  spaniel,  spurn  me,  strike  me. 
Neglect  me,  lose  me  ;  only  give  me  leave. 
Unworthy  as  I  am,  to  follow  you. 
What  worser  phice  can  I  beg  in  your  love, 
(And  yet  a  place  of  high  respect  with  me,) 
Than  to  be  used  as  you  use  your  dog  ? 

Dem.  Tempt  not  too  much  the  hatred  of  my  spirit; 
For  I  am  sick,  when  I  do  look  on  thee. 

Hel.  And  I  am  sick,  when  I  look  not  on  yoii. 

Dem.  You  do  impeach  your  modesty  too  much. 
To  leave  the  city,  and  commit  yourself 
Into  the  hands  of  one,  that  loves  you  not; 
To  trust  the  opportunity  of  night, 
And  the  ill  counsel  of  a  desert  place. 
With  the  rich  worth  of  your  virginity, 

Hel.  Your  virtue  is  my  privilege  for  that. 
Tt  is  not  night,  when  I  do  see  your  face. 
Therefore  I  think  I  am  not  in  the  night : 
Nor  doth  this  wood  lack  worlds  of  company  ; 
For  you,  in  my  respect,  are  all  the  world. 
Then  how  can  it  be  said,  I  am  alone. 
When  all  the  world  is  here  to  look  on  me  ? 

Dem.  I'll  run  from  thee,  and  hide  me  in  the  brakes, 
And  leave  thee  to  the  mercy  of  wild  beasts. 

Hel.  The  wildest  hath  not  such  a  heart  as  you. 
Run  when  you  will,  the  story  shall  be  chang'd  ; 
Apollo  flies,  and  Daphne  holds  the  chase  ; 
The  dove  pursues  the  griffin  ;  the  mild  hind 
Makes  speed  to  catch  the  tiger:  bootless  speed  ! 
When  cowardice  pursues,  and  valour  flies, 

De7n.  I  will  not  stay  thy  questions;  let  me  go: 
Or,  if  thou  follow  me,  do  not  believe 
But  I  shall  do  thee  mischief  in  the  wood. 

Hel.  Ay,  in  the  temple,  in  the  town,  the  field. 
You  do  me  mischief,  Fy,  Demetrius! 
Your  wrongs  do  set  a  scandal  on  my  sex  ; 
We  cannot  fight  for  love,  as  men  may  do ; 
We  should  be  woo'd,  and  were  not  made  to  woo. 
I'll  follow  thee,  and  make  a  heaven  of  hell. 
To  die  upon  the  hand  I  love  so  well. 

lExeunt  Dem.  and  Hel. 

Obe.  Fare  thee  well,  nymph:  ere  he  do  leave 
this  grove, 

riiou  shalt  fly  him,  and  he  shall  seek  thy  love. — 

Re-enter  PuCK. 
Hast  thou  the  flower  there  ?  Welcome,  wanderer. 
Puck.  Ay,  there  it  is. 

Obe.  I  pray  thee,  give  it  me. 

know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows, 
Where  ox-lips  and  the  nodding  violet  grows; 
Quite  over-canopied  with  lush  woodbine. 
With  sweet  musk-roses,  and  with  eglantine  : 
There  sleeps  Titania,  some  time  of  the  night, 
Luird  in  these  flowers  with  dances  and  delight; 
And  there  the  snake  throws  her  enamell'd  skin. 
Weed  wide  enough  to  wrap  a  fairy  in: 
A-nd  with  the  juice  of  this  I'll  streak  her  eyes. 
And  make  her  full  of  hateful  fantasies. 
Take  thou  some  of  it,  and  seek  through  this  grove : 
A  sweet  Athenian  lady  is  in  love 
With  a  disdainful  youth :  anoint  his  eyes ; 


But  do  it,  when  the  next  thing  he  espies 
May  be  the  lady  :  thou  shalt  know  the  man 
By  the  Athenian  garments  he  hath  on. 
Effect  it  with  some  care ;  that  he  may  prove 
More  fond  on  her,  than  she  upon  her  love  : 
And  look  thou  meet  me  ere  the  first  cock  crow. 
Puck.  Fear  not,  my  lord,  your  servant  shall  do  so 

[Exexni 

Scene  III. — Another  pari  of  the  Wood 
Enter  Titania,  with  her  train, 
Tita.  Come,  now  a  roundel.^nd  a  fairy  song 
Then,  fpr  the  third  part  of  a  minute,  hence  ; 
Some  to  kill  cankers  in  the  nmsk-rose  buds : 
Some,  war  with  rear-mice  for  their  leathern  wings, 
To  make  my  small  elves  coats  ;  and  some,  keep  back 
The  clamorous  owl,  that  nightly  hoots,  and  wonders 
At  our  quaint  spirits:  sing  me  now  asleep; 
Then  to  your  offices,  and  let  me  rest. 

SONG. 
I. 

1  Fai.  You  spotted  snakes,  with  double  tonyuSt 
Thorny  hedge-hogs,  be  not  seen  ; 
Newts,  and  blind  worms,  dona  wrong; 
Come  not  near  our  fairy  queen  : 

CHORUS. 

Philomel,  with  melody, 
Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby  : 
Lulla,  lulla,  lidlaby  ;  lulla,  luUa,  lullaby : 
Never  harm,  nor  spell  nor  charm. 
Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh  ; 
So,  good  night,  with  lullaby, 

II. 

2  Fai.  Weaving  spiders,  come  not  here  : 

Hence,  you  long-legg'd spinners,  henci  { 
Beetles  black,  approach  not  near; 
TForm,  nor  snail,  do  no  of'ence, 

CHORUS. 
Philomel,  with  melody,  §Cc. 
1  Fai.  Hence,  away ;  now  all  is  well  ; 
One,  aloof,  stand  sentinel. 

[Exeunt  Fairies.    Titania  sleeps 

Enter  Oberon. 
Obe.  What  thou  seest,  when  thou  dost  wake, 

[Squeezes  the  jiower  on  Titania's  eye-lids. 
Do  it  for  thy  true-love  take  ; 
Love,  and  languish  for  his  sake; 
Be  it  ounce,  or  cat,  or  bear, 
Pard,  or  boar  with  bristled  hair. 
In  thy  eye  that  shall  appear 
When  thou  wak'st,  it  is  thy  dear ; 
Wake,  when  some  vile  thing  is  near.  {Exit, 
Enter  Lysander  and  Hermia, 
hys.  Fair  love,  you  faint  with  wandering  in  th« 
wood ; 

And,  to  speak  troth,  I  have  forgot  our  way, 
We'll  rest  us,  Hermia,  if  you  think  it  good, 

And  tarry  for  the  comfort  of  the  day. 

Her,  Be  it  so,  Lysander;  find  you  out  a  bed. 
For  I  upon  this  bank  will  rest  my  head. 

Lys,  One  turf  shall  serve  as  pillow  for  us  both 
One  heart,  one  bed,  two  bosoms,  and  one  troth. 

Her.  Nay,  good  Lysander;  lor  my  sake,  my  d 
Lie  further  oft"  yet,  do  not  lie  so  near. 

Lys.  O,  take  the  sense,  sweet,  of  my  innocen 
Love  takes  the  meaning,  in  love's  conference 
I  mean,  that  my  heart  unto  yours  is  knit ; 
So  that  but  one  heart  we  can  make  of  it :  ^ 
Two  bosoms  interchained  with  an  oath ; 
So  then,  two  bosoms,  and  a  single  troth. 
Then,  by  your  side  no  bed-room  me  deny; 
For,  lying  so,  Hermia,  I  do  not  lie. 

Her.  Lysander  riddles  very  prettily.— 
Now  much  beshrew  my  manners  and  my  prioef 
If  Hermia  meant  to  say,  Lysander  lied. 
But,  gentle  friend,  for  love  and  courtesy 


116 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  m 


further  ofiT ;  in  human  modcv^ty 
Such  separation,  as,  may  well  be  said. 
Becomes  a  virtuous  bachelor  and  a  maid  : 
So  far  be  distant ;  and  good  night,  sweet  friend 
Thy  love  ne'er  alter,  till  thy  sweet  life  end  ' 

L]/s.  Amen,  Amen,  to  that  fair  prayer,  say  I 
And  the  1  end  life,  when  I  end  loyalty  ! 
'ilere  is  my  bed :  sleep  give  thee  all  his  rest ! 

Her.  VVith  Jialf  that  wish  the  wisher's  eyes  be 
press'd  !  {They  sleep.) 

Enter  PucK. 
Puck,  Through  the  forest  have  I  gone. 
But  Athenian  found  I  none, 
On  whose  eyes  I  might  approve 
This  flower's  force  in  stirnng  love. 
Night  and  silence  !  who  is  here  ? 
Weeds  of  Athens  he  doth  wear : 
This  is  he,  my  master  said. 
Despised  the  Athenian  maid  ; 
And  here  the  maiden,  sleeping  sound. 
On  the  dank,  and  dirty  ground. 
Pretty  soul !  she  durst  not  lie 
Near  this  lack,  love,  kill-courtesy. 
Churl,  upon  thy  eyes  I  throw 
All  the  power  this  charm  doth  owe  : 
When  thou  wak'st,  let  love  forbid 
Sleep  his  seat  on  thy  eye-lid. 
So  awake,  when  I  am  gone, 
For  1  nmst  now  to  Oberon.  [Exit. 

Enter  Demetrius  and  Helena,  running. 

llel.  Stay,  though  thou  kill  me,  sweet  Deme- 
trius, [me  thus. 

Dv7n.  I  charge  thee,  hence,  and  do  not  haunt 

Hel.  O,  wilt  thou  darkling  leave  me  ?  do  not  so. 

Dem.  Stay,  on  thy  peril ;  I  aioue  will  go. 

{Exit  Demetrius. 

Hel.  O,  I  am  out  of  breath  m  this  fond  chase  ! 
Tiie  more  my  prayer,  the  lesser  is  my  grace. 
Happy  is  Hermia,  whereso'er  she  lies; 
For  she  hatn  blessed  and  attractive  eyes, 
l-ftnv  came  her  eyes  so  bright?  Not  with  salt  tears  : 
If  so,  my  eyes  are  oftener  wash'd  than  hers. 
No,  no,  I  am  as  ugly  as  a  bear  ; 
For  beasts  that  meet  me,  run  awav  for  fear: 
Tlierelbre,  no  marvel,  though  Demetrius 
Do,  as  a  monster,  fly  my  presence  thus. 
What  wicked  and  aissenibling  glass  of  mine 
Made  me  coinpare  with  Hermia's  sphery  eyne  ? — 
But  who  is  here? — Lysander!  on  t!ie  ground! 
Dead  ?  or  asleep  ?  I  see  no  blood,  no  wound  : 
Lysander,  if  you  live,  good  sir,  awake. 

Lys.  And  run  through  fire  I  will,  for  thy  sweet 
sake.  {Tf^aking.) 
Transparent  Helena!  Nature  here  shows  art, 
INiat  through  thy  bosom  makes  me  see  thy  heart. 
Where  is  Demetrius  ?  0,  how  fit  a  word 
Is  that  vile  name,  to  perish  on  my  sword? 

Hel.  Do  not  say  so,  Lysander;  say  not  so  : 
What  though  he  love  your  Herraia?  Lord,  what 
though  ? 

Yet  Hermia  still  loves  you :  then  be  content. 

Lys.  Content  with  Hermia?  No:  I  do  repent 
The  tedious  minutes  1  with  her  have  spent. 
Not  Herrnia,  but  Helena  I  love: 
Who  will  not   hange  a  raven  for  a  dove  ? 
T"he  will  of  niaj  is  by  his  reason  sway'd  : 
And  reason  says  you  are  the  worthier  maid. 
Thir.gd  growing  are  not  ripe  until  their  season  ; 
So  I,  being  young,  till  now  ripe  not  to  reason ; 
And  touching  now  the  point  of  human  skill, 
lleason  becomes  the  marshal  to  my  will. 
And  leads  me  to  your  eyes ;  where  I  o'erlook 
Love's  stories,  written  in  love's  richest  book. 

iie^.  Wherefore  was  I  to  this  keen  mockery  born  ? 
When,  at  your  hands,  did  1  deserve  this  scorn? 
Is't  not  enough,  is't  not  enough,  young  man. 
That  I  did  never,  no,  nor  never  can, 
DeseJ  ve  a  sweet  look  from  Demetrius'  eye. 


But  you  must  fiout  my  insufficiency  ? 
Good  troth,  you  do  me  wrong,  good  sot/h,  you  dtt 
In  such  disdainful  manner  me  to  woo. 
But  fare  you  well :  perforce  I  must  coufesa, 
I  thought  you  lord  of  more  true  gentleness. 
O,  that  a  lady,  of  one  man  refus'd, 
Shoidd,  of  another,  therefore  be  abus'd  !         [  Egit. 
Lys.  She  sees  not  Hermia : — Hermia,  sleep  tboa 
there ; 

And  never  may'st  thou  come  Lysander  near! 
For,  as  a  surfeit  of  the  sweetest  things 
The  deepest  loathing  to  the  stomach  brings; 
Or,  as  the  heresies,  that  men  do  leave. 
Are  hated  most  of  those  they  did  deceive  ; 
So  thou,  my  surl'eit,  and  my  heresy. 
Of  all  be  hated  ;  but  the  most  of  me  ! 
And  all  rny  powers,  address  your  love  and  mi^ht, 
To  honour  Helen,  and  to  be  her  knight !  [Exit. 
Her.  [Starting.)  Help  me,  Lysander,  help  me ! 
do  thy  best, 

To  pluck  this  crawling  serpent  from  my  breast! 
Ah  n)e,  for  pity  ! — what  a  dream  was  here  ? 
Lysander,  look,  how  I  do  quake  with  fear! 
Methought  a  serpent  eat  my  heart  away. 
And  you  sat  smiling  at  his  cruel  prey  : — 
Lysander  !  what,  remov'd?  Lysander  !  lord  ! 
VVhat,  out  of  hearing  ?  gone  ?  no  sound,  no  word  ? 
Alack,  where  are  you?  speak,  an  if  you  hear; 
Speak,  of  all  loves;  1  swoon  almost  with  fear. 
No  ? — then  1  well  perceive  you  are  not  nigh : 
Either  death,  or  you.  I  II  find  immediately.  \^Exit 

ACT  II L 

Scene  I. — The  same.    The  Queen  of  Fairies 

lying  asleep. 
Enter  QuiNCE,  Snug,  Bottom,  Flute,  Snout 

and  Starveling. 
Bot.  Are  we  all  met  ? 

Quin.  Pat,  pat;  and  here's  a  marvellous  conve- 
nient place  for  our  rehearsal :  this  green  plot  shall 
be  our  stage,  this  hawthorn  brake  our  tyring  house  ; 
and  we  will  do  it  in  action,  as  we  will  do  it  before 

Bot.  Peter  Quince, —  [the  duke 

Quin.  What  say'st  thou,  bully  Bottom  ? 

But.  There  are  things  in  this  comedy  of  P^ramus 
and  Thisby,  that  will  never  please.  First,  Pyranius 
must  draw  a  sword  to  kill  himself;  which  the  ladies 
cannot  abide.    Hovv  answer  you  that  ? 

Snout.  By'rlakin,  a  parlous  fear. 

Star.  I  believe,  we  must  leave  the  killing  out, 
when  all  is  done. 

Bot.  Not  a  whit:  I  have  a  device  to  make  all 
well.  Write  me  a  prologue  :  and  let  the  prologue 
seem  to  say,  we  will  do  no  harm  with  our  swords  : 
and  that  Pyramus  is  not  killed  indeed  :  and,  for  the 
more  better  assurance,  tell  them,  that  I  Pyramus  am 
not  Pyramus,  but  Bottom  the  weaver  :  this  will  put 
them  out  of  fear. 

Quin.  Well,  we  will  have  such  a  prologue ;  and  it 
shall  be  written  in  eight  and  six. 

Bot.  No,  make  it  two  more ;  let  it  hb  vritten  ir 
eight  and  eight 

Snout.  VVill  not  the  ladies  be  afeard  of  the  liou? 

Star.  I  fear  it,  I  promise  you. 

Bot.  Masters,  you  ought  to  consider  with  your- 
selves :  to  bring  in,  God  shield  us!  a  lion  among 
ladies,  is  a  most  dreadful  thing ;  for  there  is  not  a 
more  fearful  wild-fowl  than  your  lion,  living;  and  we 
ought  to  look  to  it.  [is  not  a  liou. 

Snout.  Ttierefore,  another  prologue  must  tell,  he 

Bot.  Nay,  you  must  name  his  name,  and  half  his 
face  must  be  seen  through  the  lion's  neck ;  ana  he 
himself  must  speak  through,  saying  thus,  or  to  the 
same  defect, — Ladies,  or  fair  ladies,  I  would  wish 
you,  or,  I  would  request  you,  or,  1  would  entreat 
you,  not  to  fear,  not  to  tremble ;  my  life  for  yours.  If 
you  think  1  come  hither  as  a  lion,  it  were  pity  of  ray 
life  :  no,  I  am  no  such  thing;  I  am  a  man  as  othet 
men  are  : — and  there,  indeed,  let  him  name  his  nam® 
and  tell  them  plainly,  he  is  Snug  the  joiner. 


Scene  1. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


117 


Quin.  Well,  it  shall  be  so.  But  there  is  two  hard 
Aings;  that  is.  to  bring-  the  moon-light  into  a  cham- 
ber •  (or  you  know,  Pyramus  and  Thisby  meet  by 
moon-light.  ,       .    [our  play  ? 

SftMo.  Doth  the  moon  shine  that  night  we  play 

Bot.  A  calendar,  a  calendar !  look  in  the  almanack; 
ficd  out  moon-shine,  find  out  moon-shine. 

Quin.  Yes,  it  doth  shine  that  night. 

BoL  Why,  then  you  may  leave  a  casement  of  the 
great  'chamber  window,  where  we  play,  open ;  and 
the  moon  may  shine  in  at  the  casement. 

Quin.  Ay  ;  or  else  one  must  come  in  with  a  bush  ol 
thorns  and  a  Iante^n,  and  say,  he  comes  to  disfigure, 
or  to  present,  the  person  of  moon-&hine.  Then,  there 
is  another  tiling  :  we  must  have  a  wall  in  the  great 
chamber;  for  Pyramus  and  Thisby,  says  the  story, 
did  talk  through  the  chink  of  a  wail. 

Snug.  You  never  can  bring  in  a  wall.— What  say 
you.  Bottom?  .      n  j 

Bot.  Some  man  or  other  must  present  wail :  and 
let  him  have  some  plaster,  or  some  loam,  or  some 
rough-cast  about  him,  to  signify  wall ;  or  let  him  hold 
his  fingers  thus,  and  through  that  cranny  shall  Py- 
ramus and  Thisby  whisper.         .       „  ^ 

Quin.  If  that  may  be,  then  all  is  well.  Come,  sit 
down,  every  mother's  son,  and  rehearse  your  parts. 
Pyramus,  you  begin  :  when  you  have  spoken  your 
speech,  enter  into  that  brake  ;  and  so  every  one  ac- 
cording to  his  cue. 

Enter  PuoK  behind. 

Puck.  What  hempen  home-spn.ns  have  we  swag- 
gering here. 
So  near  the  cradle  of  the  fairy  queen? 
What,  a  [Jay  toward?  I'll  be  an  auditor; 
An  actor  too,  perhaps,  if  I  see  cause. 

Quin.  Speak,  Pyramus  ;— Tiiisby,  stand  forth. 

Pyr.Thishij,tkeJloioers  of  odious  savours  sweet— 

Quin.  Odours,  odours. 

Pyr.  odours  savours  sweet  : 

So  doth  thy  breath,  my  dearest  Thisby  dear.  — 
But,  hark,  a  voice !  stay  thou  but  here  a  while. 

And  by  and  by  I  will  to  thee  appear.  [Exit. 

Puck.  A  stranger  Pyramus  tiiau  e'er  play'd  h^^re  ! 

[Aside.) — [Exit. 

This.  Must  I  speak  now  ? 

Quin.  Ay,  marry,  must  you  :  for  you  must  under- 
stand, he  goes  but  to  see  a  noise  that  he  heard,  and  is 
to  come  again.  t/'"^' 

This.  Most  radiant  Pyramus,  most  lily  white  oj 

OJ  colour  like  the  red  rose  on  triumphant  brier, 
Most  briskly  juvenaL  and  eke  most  lovely  Jew, 

As  true  as  truest  horse,  that  yet  would  never  tire, 
III  meet  thee,  Pyramus,  at  Ninny  s  tomb. 

Quin.  Ninus'  tomb,  man  :  why  you  must  not  speak 
that  yet:  that  you  answer  to  Pyramus  :  you  speak 
all  your  part  at  once,  cues  and  aU.  Pyramus  enter; 
vour  cue  is  past ;  it  is,  never  tire. 

Rt'  enter  PucK,  and  Bo  itom  with  an  asss  head. 
This.  0,—As  true  as  truest  horse,  that  yet  would 
never  tire.  ■ 

Pyr.  IJ  I  were  fair,  Thisby,  I  ivere  only  thine : — 
Quin.  O  moustious  !  O  strange  !  we  are  haunted. 
Pray,  masters  !  iiy,  masters  '.  help  '.  [Exeunt  Clowns. 
Puck,  ril  follow  you.  I  II  lead  you  about  a  round, 
Through  bog,  through  bush,  through  brake,  through 
brier ; 

Sometime  a  horse  I'll  be,  sometime  a  hound, 

A  hog,  a  headless  bear,  sometime  a  fire  ; 
And  neigh,  and  bark,  and  grunt,  and  roar,  and  burn. 
Like  horse,  hound,  hog,  bear,  fire,  at  every  turn. 

[  Exit. 

Bot.  Why  do  they  run  away?  this  is  a  knavery  of 
fhetn,  to  make  me  afeard. 

Re-enter  Snout. 
Snout.  O  Bottom,  thou  art  changed !  what  do  I 
■ee  00  thee  •* 


Bot.  What  do  you  see?  you  see  an  ass  a  her^J  of 
your  own  ;  do  you  ? 

Re-enter  Quince. 
Quin.  Bless  thee,  Bottom!  bless  thee    tbou  art 
translated.  f  E.vi£. 

Bot.  I  see  their  knavery  :  this  is  to  make  an  ass 
of  me ;  to  fright  me,  if  they  could  But  I  will 
stir  from  this  place,  do  what  they  can  :  I  will  walk 
up  and  down  here,  and  I  will  sing,  that  they  shall 
hear  I  am  not  afraid.  {Sings) 
The  ousel-cock,  so  black  of  hue, 

With  orange-tawny  bill. 
The  throstle  with  his  note  so  true. 
The  wren  with  little  quill; 
Tita.  What  angel  wakes  me  from  my  flowery- 
bed?  {Waking.) 
Bot.  The  finch,  the  sparrow,  and  the  lark, 
The  plain-song  ctickoc  gray. 
Whose  note  full  many  a  man  doth  mark. 
And  dares  not  answer,  nay  ; — 
for,  indeed,  who  would  set  his  wit  to  so  foolish  a 
bird  ?  who  would  give  a  bird  the  lie,  though  he  cry 
cuckoo  never  so? 

Tita.  I  pray  thee,  gentle  mortal,  sing  again 
Mine  ear  is  much  enamour'd  of  thy  note. 
So  is  mine  eye  enthralled  to  thy  shape  ; 
And  thy  fair  virtue's  force  perforce  doth  move  me, 
On  the  first  view,  to  say,  to  swear,  I  love  thee. 

Bot.  Methinks,  mistress,  you  should  have  little 
reason  for  that ;  And  yet,  to  say  the  truth,  reason 
and  love  keep  little  company  together  now-a-days  ; 
The  more  the  pity,  that  some  honest  neighbours 
will  not  make  them  friends.  Nay,  I  can  gleek  upott 
occasion. 

Tita.  Thou  art  as  wise  as  thou  art  beautiiul. 

Bot.  Not  so,  neither  :  but  if  I  had  wit  enough  to 
get  out  of  this  wood,  I  have  enough  to  serve  imm 
own  turn. 

Tita.  Out  of  this  wood  do  not  desire  to  go ; 
Thou  sh  ilt  remain  here,  whether  thou  wilt  or  na 
I  am  a  spirit,  of  no  common  rate  ; 
The  summer  still  doth  tend  upon  my  state. 
And  I  do  love  thee  :  therefore,  go  with  me ; 
I'll  give  thee  fairies  to  attend  on  thee  ; 
And  they  shall  fetch  thee  jewels  from  the  deep. 
And  sing,  while  thou  on  pressed  flowers  dost  sleep: 
And  I  will  purge  thy  mortal  grossness  so, 
That  thou  shalt  like  an  airy  spirit  go.— 
Peas-blossom  !  Cobweb  !  Moth  !  and  Mustard-seed  t 

Enter  four  Fairies. 

1  Fai.  Ready. 

2  Fai.  And  I. 

3  Fai.  And  I. 

4  Fai.  Where  shall  we  go 
Tita.  Be  kind  and  courteous  to  this  gentleman 

Hop  in  his  walks,  and  gambol  in  his  eyes; 
Feed  him  with  apricocks,  and  dewberries; 
With  purple  grapes,  green  figs,  and  mulberries 
The  honey  bags  steal  from  the  humble-bees, 
And,  for  night-tapers,  crop  their  waxen  thighs, 
And  ligiit  them  at  the  fiery  glow-worm's  eyes, 
To  have  my  love  to  bed,  and  to  arise  ; 
And  pluck  the  wings  from  painted  butterflies. 
To  fan  the  moon-beams  from  his  sleeping  eyes: 
Nod  to  him,  elves,  and  do  him  courtesies.  ' 

1  Fai.  Hail,  mortal ! 

2  Fai.  Hail! 

3  Fai.  Hail  I 

4  Fai.  Hail !  u  .  i 
Bot.  I  cry  your  worships  mercy,  heartily.  —  1 

beseech,  your  worship's  name. 

Cob.  Cobweb,  . 

Bot.  I  shall  desire  you  of  more  acCf<mmtance,gQOd 
master  CobA'eb  :  If  I  cut  my  finger,  I  shall  raaka 
bold  with  vou.— Your  nan;e,  honest  gentleman  ; 

Peas.  Peas  blossom. 
^     Bot.  I  pray  you,  commesd  me  tc  piistr«ss  hquaah. 


118 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Aci  m 


your  rnothprj  and  to  master  Peas-cod,  yoiir  father. 
Good  master  Peas-blossom,  I  shall  desire  you  of 
more  acquaintance  too.  —  Your  name,  I  beseech 

Mus.  Mustard-seed.  [you,  sir? 

Bot.  Good  master  Mustard  -  seed,  I  know  your 
patience  well :  that  same  cowardly,  giant-like  ox- 
beef  hath  devoured  many  a  gentleman  of  your 
house  :  I  promise  you,  your  kindred  hath  made  my 
eyes  vaster  ere  now.  I  desire  you  more  acquaint- 
ance, good  master  Mustard-seed.  [bower. 

Tita.   Come,  wait  upon  him ;  lead  him  to  my 

The  moon,  methinks,  looks  with  a  watery  eye  ; 
And  when  she  weeps,  weeps  every  little  flower, 

liamenting  some  enforced  chastity. 

Tie  up  my  love's  tongue,  bring  him  silently. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — Another  part  of  the  Wood. 
Enter  Oberon. 
Obe.  I  wonder,  if  Titania  be  awak'd  ; 
Then,  what  it  was  that  next  came  in  her  eye. 
Which  she  must  dote  on  in  extremity. 

Enter  Puck. 
Here  comes  my  messenger. — How  now,  mad  spirit ! 
What  night-rule  now  about  this  haunted  grove  ? 

Puck.  My  mistress  with  a  monster  is  in  love. 
Near  to  her  close  and  consecrated  bower. 
While  she  was  in  her  dull  and  sleeping  hour, 
A  crew  of  patches,  rude  mechanicals. 
That  work  for  bread  upon  Athenian  stalls. 
Were  met  together  to  rehearse  a  play. 
Intended  for  great  Theseus'  nuptial  day. 
The  shallowest  thick-skin  of  that  barren  sort. 
Who  Pyramus  presented,  in  their  sport 
Forsook  his  scene,  and  enter'd  in  a  brake : 
When  I  did  him  at  this  advantage  take, 
A  ll  ass's  nowl  I  fixed  on  his  head  ; 
Anon,  his  Thisbe  must  be  answered. 
And  lurth  my  mimic  comes  :  when  they  him  spy. 
As  wild  geese  that  the  creeping  fowler  eye. 
Or  russet-pated  choughs,  many  in  sort. 
Rising  and  cawing  at  the  gun's  report, 
Sever  themselves,  and  madly  sweep  the  sky  ; 
So,  at  his  sight,  away  his  fellows  fly  : 
And,  at  our  stamp,  here  o'er  and  o'er  one  falls ; 
He  murder  cries,  and  help  from  Athens  calls. 
Their  sense,  thus  weak,  lost  with  their  fears,  thus 
strong. 

Made  senseless  things  begin  to  do  them  wrong : 
For  briers  and  thorns  at  their  apparel  snatch  ; 
Some,  sleeves ;  some,  hats :  from  yielders  all  things 

I  led  them  on  in  this  distracted  fear,  [catch. 
And  left  sweet  Pyramus  translated  there  : 

When  in  that  moment  (so  it  came  to  pass,) 
Titania  wak'd,  and  straightway  lov'd  an  ass. 

Obe.  'J'his  falls  out  better  thati  I  could  devise. 
But  hast  thou  yet  latch'd  the  Athenian's  eyes 
With  the  love-juice,  as  I  did  bid  thee  do  ? 

Puck.  I  took  him  sleeping, — that  is  finish'd  too, — 
And  the  Athenian  woman  by  his  side ; 
Timt  when  he  wak'd,  of  force  she  must  be  ey'd. 

Enter  Demetrius  and  Hermia. 

Ooe.  Stand  close  ;  this  is  the  same  Athenian. 

Puck.  This  is  the  woman,  but  not  this  the  man. 

Dem.  O,  why  rebuke  you  him  that  loves  you  so? 
Iny  breath  so  bitter  on  your  bitter  foe.  [worse  ; 

Her.  Now  I  but  chide,  but  I  should  use  thee 
F'.)r  thou,  1  fear,  hast  given  me  cause  to  curse. 

II  (liou  hast  slain  Lysander  in  his  sleep, 
Being  o'er  shoes  in  blood,  plunge  in  the  deep. 
And  kill  ni i  too. 

The  sun  was  not  so  true  unto  the  day. 
As  he  to  me .  Would  he  have  stol'n  away 
From  sleeping  Hermia?  I'll  believe  as  soon. 
This  whole  earth  may  be  bor'd ;  and  that  the  moon 
May  through  the  centre  creep,  ard  so  displease 
Her  brother's  noon-tide  with  the  Antipodes, 
it  camhX      but  thou  hast  miirder'd  him ; 


So  should  a  murderer  look :  so  dead,  so  grim. 

Dem.  So  should  the  muraer'd  look;  and  so  should  U 
Pierc'd  through  the  heart  with  your  stern  cruelty : 
Yet  you,  the  murderer,  look  as  bright,  as  clear. 
As  yonder  Venus  in  her  glimmering  sphere. 

Ser.  What's  this  to  my  Lysander?  where  is  he? 
Ah,  good  Demetrius,  wilt  thou  give  him  me  ? 

Dem.  I  had  rather  give  his  carcase  to  my  hounds. 

Her.  Out,  dog!  out,  cur!  thou  driv'st  me  past  the 
bounds 

Of  maiden's  patience.    Hast  thou  slain  him  then? 
Henceforth  he  never  number'd  among  men  I 
Oh !  once  tell  true,  tell  true,  even  for  my  sake  ; 
Durst  thou  have  look'd  upon  him,  being  awake. 
And  hast  thou  kill'd  him  sleeping?  O  bi-ave  touch! 
Could  not  a  worm,  an  adder,  do  so  much  ? 
An  adder  did  it;  for  with  doubler  tongue 
Tiian  thine,  thou  serpent,  never  adder  stung. 

Dem.  You  speod  yo'jr  passion  on  a  mispns'd 
I  am  not  guilty  of  JLysander's  blood  ;  [mood  : 

Nor  is  he  dead,  for  aught  that  I  can  te!L 

Her.  I  pray  thee,  tell  me  then,  that  he  is  veil. 

Dem.  An  if  I  could,  what  should  I  get  therefore  ? 

Her.  A  privilege,  never  to  see  me  more. — 
And  from  thy  hated  presence  part  I  so: 
See  me  no  more,  whether  he  be  dead  or  no.   [Ejf-  \ 

Dem.  There  is  no  following  her  in  this  fierce  vein; 
Here,  therefore,  for  a  while  I  will  remain, 
So  sorrow's  heaviness  doth  heavier  grow 
For  debt,  that  bankrupt  sleep  doth  sorrow  owe  ; 
Which  now,  in  some  slight  measure  it  will  pay. 
If  for  his  tender  here  I  make  some  stay.  {Lies  down  ' 
^  Obe.  What  hast  thou  done  ?  thou  hast  mistake? 
quite, 

And  laid  the  love-juice  on  some  true-love's  sight: 

Of  thy  misprision  must  perforce  ensue 

Some  true  love  turn'd,  and  not  a  false  turn'd  true. 

Puck.  Then  fate  o'er-rules;  that,  one  man  holdinf 
A  million  fail,  confounding  oath  on  oath.  [troth 
Obe.  About  the  wood  go  swifter  than  the  wind. 
And  Helena  of  Athens  look  thou  find: 
All  fancy-sick  she  is,  and  pale  of  cheer 
With  sighs  of  love,  that  cost  the  fresh  bK»od  dear: 
By  some  illusion  see  thon  bring  her  here  , 
I'll  charm  his  eyes,  against  she  do  appeal 

Puck.  I  go,  I  go  ;  look  how  I  go ; 
Swilter  than  arrow  from  the  Tartar's  bow  iJileil, 
Obe.  Flower  of  this  purple  die. 

Hit  with  Cupid's  archery, 

Sink  in  apple  of  his  eye  ! 

When  his  love  he  doth  espy,  ' 

Let  her  shine  as  gloriously 

As  the  Venus  of  tne  sky. — 

When  thou  wak'st,  if  she  be  by. 

Beg  of  her  for  remedy. 

Re  enter  Puct. 
Puck.  Captain  of  our  fairy  baud, 

Helena  is  here  at  hand  ; 

And  the  youth,  mistook  by  me. 

Pleading  lor  a  lover's  fee  j 

Shall  we  their  fond  pageant  see  ? 

Lord,  what  fools  these  mortals  be ! 
Obe.  Stand  aside :  the  noise  they  make. 

Will  cause  Demetrius  to  awake. 
Puck.  Then  will  two  at  once,  woo  one; 

That  must  needs  be  sport  alone  ; 

And  those  things  do  best  please  me. 

That  beial  preposterously. 

Enter  Lysander  and  Helbna. 
Li/s.  Why  should  you  think,  that  I  should  wooi? 

scorn  ? 

Scorn  and  derision  never  come  in  tears ; 
Look,  when  I  vow,  I  weep ;  and  vows  so  bom. 

In  their  nativity  all  truth  appears. 
How  can  these  things  ia  me  seem  scorn  to  you. 
Bearing  the  badge  of  faith,  to  prove  them  true  7 

Hel.  You  do  advance  your  cunning  more  and  mor. 

When  truth  kills  truth,  O  devilish-holy  fray  J 


Scene  2. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


119 


Thcscvows  are  Hermia's:  will  you  give  her  o'er? 
Weigh  oath  with   oath,  and  you  will  nothing 
weigh : 

Your  vows,  to  her  and  me,  put  in  two  scales. 
Will  even  weigli  j  and  both  as  light  as  tales. 

Lys.  I  had  no  judgmetit,  when  to  her  I  swore. 

He/.  Nor  none,  in  my  mind,  now  you  give  her  o'er. 

Lys.  Demetrius  loves  her,  and  he  loves  not  you. 

Detn.  {Awaking.)   O  Helen,  goddess,  nymph, 
perfect,  divine ! 
To  what,  my  lf)ve,  shall  I  compare  thine  eyne  ? 
Crystal  is  muddy.    O,  how  ripe  in  show 
Thy  lip^,  those  kissing  cherries,  tempting  grow  I 
l^hat  pure  congealed  white,  high  Taurus'  snow, 
Fann'd  with  tlie  eastern  wind,  turns  to  a  crow. 
When  thou  hold'st  up  thy  hand  :  O,  let  me  kiss 
This  princess  of  pure  white,  this  seal  ol'  bliss  ! 

Hel.  O  spite  !  O  hell !  I  see  you  all  are  beut 
To  set  against  me,  for  your  merriment. 
If  you  were  civil,  and  knew  courtesy. 
You  would  not  do  me  thus  much  injury. 
Can  you  not  hate  me,  as  I  know  you  do. 
But  you  must  join,  in  souls,  to  mock  me  too? 
If  you  were  men,  as  men  you  are  in  show. 
You  would  not  use  a  getitle  lady  so ; 
To  vow,  and  swear,  and  superpraise  my  parts. 
When,  I  ain  sure,  you  hate  me  with  your  hearts. 
You  both  are  rivals,  and  love  Hermia ; 
And  now  both  rivals,  to  mock  Helena: 
A  trim  exploit,  a  manly  enterprize. 
To  conjure  tears  up  in  a  poor  maid's  eyes. 
With  your  derision!  none,  of  noble  sort, 
Would  so  offend  a  virgin ;  and  extort 
A  poor  soul's  patience,  all  to  make  you  sport. 

JLys.  You  are  unkind,  Demetrius^  be  not  so; 
For  you  love  Hermia  ;  this,  you  know,  I  know  : 
And  here,  with  all  good  will,  with  all  my  heart. 
In  Hermia's  lo\e  I  yield  you  up  my  part; 
And  yours  ol'  Helena  to  me  bequeath. 
Whom  I  do  love,  and  will  do  to  ray  death. 

HeL  Never  did  mockers  waste  more  idle  breath. 

Dem.  Lysander,  keep  thy  Hermia:  I  will  none  : 
If  e'er  I  lov'd  her,  all  tiiat  love  is  gone. 
My  heart  with  her  but,  as  guest- wise,  sojourn'd : 
And  now  to  Helen  is  it  home  return'd. 
There  to  remain. 

Li/s.  Helen,  it  is  not  so. 

Dem.  Disparage  not  tlie  faith  thou  dost  not  know. 
Lest,  to  thy  peril,  thou  aby  it  dear. — 
Look,  where  thy  love  comes;  yonder  is  thy  dear. 

Enter  Hermia. 

Her.  Dark  night,  that  from  the  eye  his  function 
takes. 

The  ear  more  quick  of  apprehension  makes; 
Wherein  it  dotti  impair  the  seeing  sense, 
It  pays  the  hearing  double  recompense ; 
Thou  art  not  by  mine  eye,  Lysander,  found  ; 
Mine  ear,  I  thank  it,  brought  me  to  thy  sound. 
But  why  unkindly  didst  thou  leave  me  so? 

Lys.  Why  should  he  stay,  whom  love  doth  press 
to  go  ?  [side  ? 

Her,  What  love  could  press  Lysander  from  my 

Irt/s.  Lysander's  love,  that  would  not  let  him  bide. 
Fair  Helena;  who  more  engilds  the  night 
Than  all  yon  fiery  oes  and  eyes  of  light.  [know, 
Why  seek'st  thou  me  ?  could  not  tiiis  make  thee 
Tltf;  hate  I  bear  thee  made  me  leave  thee  so  ? 

Tier.  You  speak  not  as  you  think  ;  it  cannot  be. 

Hel.  Lo,  she  is  one  of  this  confederacy  ! 
Now  I  perceive  they  have  conjoin'd,  all  three, 
To  fashictn  this  false  sport  in  spite  of  me. 
Injurious  Hermia !  most  ungrateful  maid  ! 
Have  you  conspir'd,  have  you  with  these  contriv'd 
To  bait  me  with  this  foul  derision  ? 
Is  all  the  counsel  that  we  two  have  shar'd, 
Tl  e  sisters'  vows,  the  hours  that  we  have  spent, 
VN  hen  we  have  cliid  the  hasty-footed  time 
For  parting  us, — O,  and  is  all  forgot  ? 


All  school-days'  friendship,  childho.^  lunoceDce? 

We,  Hermia,  like  two  artificial  gods. 

Have  with  our  neelds  created  both  one  flower, 

Both  on  one  sampler,  sitting  on  one  cushion. 

Both  warbling  of  one  song,  both  in  one  key; 

As  if  our  hands,  our  sides,  voices,  and  minds, 

Had  been  incorporate.    So  we  grew  togetUei, 

Like  to  a  double  cherry,  seeming  parted 

But  yet  a  union  in  partition, 

Two  lovely  berries  moulded  on  one  stem; 

So,  with  two  seeming  bodies,  but  one  hearty 

I'wo  of  the  first,  like  coats  in  heraldry. 

Due  but  to  one,  and  crowned  with  one  cresL 

And  will  yoii  rend  our  ancient  love  asunder, 

To  join  with  men  in  scorning  your  poor  friend? 

It  is  not  friendly,  'tis  not  maidenly  : 

Our  sex,  as  well  as  I,  may  chide  you  for  it ; 

Though  I  alone  do  feel  the  injury. 

Her.  I  am  amazed  at  your  passionate  words 
I  scorn  you  not;  it  seems  that  you  scorn  me. 

HeL  Have  you  not  set  Lysander,  as  in  scorn. 
To  follow  me,  and  praise  my  eyes  and  face  V 
And  made  your  other  love,  "Demetrius, 
(Who  even  but  now  did  spurn  me  with  his  foot,) 
To  call  me  goddess,  nymph,  divine,  and  rare. 
Precious,  celestial?  Wherefore  speaks  he  this 
To  her  he  hates  ?  and  wherefore  dotli  Lysande* 
Deny  your  love,  so  rich  within  his  soul. 
And  tender  me,  forso<jth,  affection ; 
But  by  your  setting  on,  by  your  consent? 
What  though  1  be  not  so  in  grace  us  you, 
So  hung  upon  with  love,  so  fortunate; 
But  miserable  most,  to  love  unlov'd? 
This  you  should  pity,  rather  than  despise. 

Her.  I  understand  not  '^  liat  you  mean  by  thia 

Hel.  Ay,  do,  persevci,  counterfeit  sad  looks. 
Make  mowes  upon  me,  when  1  turn  ray  bac& ; 
Wink  at  each  otl'^r ;  hold  the  sweet  jest  up: 
This  sport,  well  carried,  shall  be  chronicled. 
It  you  have  any  pity,  grace  or  manners. 
You  would  not  make  me  such  an  argument. 
But,  fare  ye  well:  'tis  partly  mine  own  fault; 
Wiiich  death,  or  absence,  soon  shall  remedy, 

Lys.  Stay,  gentle  Helena,  hear  my  excuse  ; 
My  love,  my  life,  my  soul,  fair  Helena  ! 

Hel.  O  excellent ! 

Her.  Sweet,  do  not  scorn  her  so. 

Dem.  If  she  cannot  entreat,  1  can  compel. 

Lys.  Thou  canst  compel  no  more  than  she  en- 
treat; [prayers.—- 
Thy  threats  have  no  more  strength,  than  her  weak 
Helen,  I  love  thee  ;  by  my  life,  J  do; 
1  swear  by  that,  which  1  will  lose  for  thee. 
To  prove  him  false,  that  says  I  love  thee  not. 

Dem.  I  say,  I  love  thee  more  than  he  can  do. 

Lys.  If  ihou  say  so,  withdraw,  and  prove  it  toa 

Dem.  Quick,  come, — 

Her.  Lysander,  whereto  tends  all  this? 

Lys.  Away,  you  Elhiop  I 

Dem.  No,  no,  sir : — he  will 

Seem  to  break  loose  ;  take  on,  as  you  would  follow  J 
But  yet  come  not :  you  are  a  tame  man,  go! 

Lys.  Hang  off,  thou  cat,  thou  burr :  vile  thing,  lei 
loose ; 

Or  I  will  shake  thee  from  me,  like  a  serpent. 

Her.  Why  are  you  grown  so  rude  V  what  change 
Sweet  love  ?  [is  thia» 

Lys.  Thy  love  ?  out,  tawny  Tartar,  out ! 

Out,  loathed  medicine!  hated  potion,  hence! 

Her.  Do  you  not  jest  ? 

Hel.  Yes,  sooth  ;  and  so  d6  you, 

Lys.  Demetrius,  I  will  keep  my  word  with  the« 
Dem.  I  would,  I  had  your  bond;  for  I  perceive, 
A  weak  bond  holds  you;  I'll  not  trust  your  word. 
Lys.  What,  should  I  hurt  her,  strike  her,  kill  het 
dead  ? 

Although  1  hate  her,  I'll  not  harm  her  so.  [hate? 

Her.  What,  can  you  do  me  greater  barm,  than 
Hate  me  !  whe  -eibre  ?  O  me  !  what  news,  oiy  love  " 
Am  not  I  Heripia  ?  Are  not  you.  Lysander 


I  am  as  fair  now,  as  1  was  erewhHe.         [left  me ; 
ijince  niglit  you  lov'd  me;  yet,  since  night  you 
Why,  then  you  left  me, — O,  the  gods  forbid  I — 
(n  earnest,  shall  I  say  ? 

Lys.  Ay,  by  my  life ; 

And  never  did  desire  to  see  thee  more. 
Therefore,  be  out  of  hope,  of  question,  doubt, 
Be  certain,  nothing  truer ;  'tis  no  jest, 
That  I  do  hate  thee,  and  love  Helena. 

Her.  O  ii»e  !  you  juggler  !  you  cunker-blossom  ! 
Von  thief  of  love  !  what,  have  you  conie  by  night. 
And  stol'n  my  love's  heart  from  him  ? 

Hel.  Fine,  i'faith  ! 

Have  you  no  modesty,  no  maiden  shame. 
No  touch  of  bashfulness?   What,  will  you  tear 
[rnpatient  answers  from  my  gentle  tongue  ? 
Fy,  fy  !  you  counterfeit,  you  puppet  you  ! 

Her.  Puppet!  why  so?    Ay,  that  way  goes  the 
game. 

Now  I  perceive,  that  she  hath  made  compare 

Between  our  statures,  she  hath  urg'd  her  height; 

And  with  her  personage,  her  tall  personage, 

Her  height,  forsooth,  she  hath  prevail'd  with  hira. 

And  are  you  grown  so  high  in  his  esteem, 

Because  I  am  so  dwarfish,  and  so  low  ? 

How  low  am  I,  thou  painted  maypole?  speak; 

How  low  am  I  ?  I  am  not  yet  so  low, 

But  that  piy  nails  can  reach  unto  thine  eyes. 

Hel.  I  pray  you,  though  you  mock  me,  gentle- 
Let  her  not  hurt  me  :  1  was  never  curst ;        [men ; 
[  have  no  ^ift  at  all  in  shrewishness  ; 
I  am  a  right  maid  for  my  cowardice ; 
liet  her  not  strike  me:  you,  perhaps,  may  think. 
Because  she's  sometiiing  lower  than  myself, 
'J'hat  I  can  match  her. 

Her,  Lower !  hark,  again. 

Hel.  Good  Hermia,  do  not  be  so  bitter  with  me. 
i  evermore  did  Icve  you,  Hermia. 
Did  ever  keep  your  counsels,  never  wrong'd  you; 
Save  that,  in  love  unto  Demetrius, 
[  told  him  of  your  stealth  uuto  this  wood: 
He  follow'd  you  ;  for  love,  1  follow'd  him. 
|5ut  he  hath  chid  me  hence  ;  and  threatened  me 
To  strike  me,  spurn  me,  nay,  to  kill  me  too: 
knd  now,  so  you  will  let  me  q  iiet  go, 
Vo  Athens  will  I  bear  my  folly  back, 
Knd  follow  you  no  further:  let  me  go: 
iT'ju  see  how  simple  and  how  fond  I  am. 

Her.  Why,  get  you  gone:  who  is't  that  hinders 
you  ? 

Hel.  A  foolish  heart  that  I  leave  here  behind. 

Her.  What,  with  Lysander? 

Hel.  With  Demetrius. 

Lys.  Be  not  afraid ;  she  shall  not  harm  thee, 
Helena.  [part. 

Dem.  No,  sir ;  she  shall  not,  though  you  take  her 

Hel.  O,  when  she's  angry,  she  is  keen  and  shrewd : 
h\\e  was  a  vixen  when  she  went  to  school ; 
And,  though  she  be  but  little,  she  is  fierce. 

Her.  L  ttle  again  ?  nothing  but  low  and  little  ? — 
Why  will  yon  suffer  her  to  flout  me  thus? 
Let  me  come  to  her. 

Lys.  Get  you  gone,  you  dwarf; 

You  minimus,  of  hind'ring  knct-grass  made; 
You  bead,  you  acorii. 

Dem.  You  are  too  officious, 

In  hor  behalf  that  scorns  your  services. 
L(:t  Ler  alone;  speak  not  of  Helena; 
Take  not  her  part:  for  if  thou  dost  intend 
Never  so  little  show  of  lovk>  to  her. 
Thou  shalt  aby  it. 

Jbys.  Now  nhe  holds  me  not;  • 

Now  follow,  if  thou  dar'st,  to  try  whose  right, 
Or  thine  or  mine,  is  most  in  Helena. 

Dem.  Follow?  nay,  I'll  co  with  thee,  cheek  by 
jole.  [Exeunt  Lys.  and  Dem. 

Her.  You.  ntistress.  all  this  coil  is  'long  of  jou  : 
Nav,  go  not  bacfc. 

del.  I  will  not  trust  you,  I ; 

Nor  longer  stay  in  your  curst  company. 


Act  111. 

Your  hands,  than  mine,  are  quicker  lor  a  fray, 
My  legs  are  longer  though,  to  run  away.  iKxit 

Her.  I  am  amaz'd,  and  know  not  what  to  say 

[Exit,  pursuing  Helena, 

Obe.  This  is  thy  negligence  :  still  thou  niistak'st, 
Or  else  committ'st  thy  knaveries  wilfully 

Puck.  Believe  me,  king  of  shadows,  1  mistook. 
Did  not  yoti  tell  me,  I  should  know  the  man 
By  the  Athenian  garments  he  had  on  ? 
And  so  far  blameless  proves  my  enterpriae. 
That  I  have  'nointed  an  Athenian's  eyes  : 
And  so  far  am  I  glad  it  so  did  sort, 
As  this  their  jangling  I  esteem  a  sport.  [figbt 

Obe.  Thou  seest,  these  lovers  seek  a  place  ta 
Hie  therefi)re,  Robin,  overcast  the  night; 
The  starry  welkin  cover  thou  anon 
With  drooping  fog,  as  black  as  Achsroa; 
And  lead  these  testy  rivals  so  astray. 
As  one  come  not  within  another's  way. 
[jike  to  Lysander  sometime  frame  thy  tongue. 
Then  stir  Demetrius  up  with  bitter  wrong; 
And  sometime  rail  thou  like  Demetrius; 
And  from  each  other  look  thou  lead  them  thus. 
Till  o'er  their  brows  death-counterfeiting  sleep 
With  leaden  legs  and  batty  wings  doth  creep: 
Then  crush  this  herb  into  Lysander's  eye  ; 
Whose  liquor  hath  this  virtuous  property. 
To  take  from  thence  all  error,  with  nis  might. 
And  make  his  eye-balls  roll  with  wonted  sight. 
When  they  next  wake,  all  this  derision 
Shall  seem  a  dream,  and  fruitless  vision; 
And  back  to  Athens  shall  the  lovers  wend. 
With  league,  whose  date  till  death  shall  never  enA 
Whiles  I  in  this  afllair  do  thee  employ, 
I'll  to  my  queen,  and  beg  her  Indian  boy; 
And  then  1  will  her  charmed  eye  release 
From  monster's  view,  and  all  things  shall  be  peace. 

Puck.  My  faiiy  lord,  this  must  be  done  with  hastej 
For  night's  swift  dragons  cut  th^  clouds  full  fast, 
And  yonder  shines  Aurora's  hnrbhiger; 
At  whose  approach,  ghosts,  wandering  here  and 
there. 

Troop  home  to  church- yards  :  daiimed  spirits  all. 

That  in  cross-ways  and  floods  have  burial. 

Already  to  their  wormy  beds  are  gone  ; 

For  fear  lest  day  should  look  their  shames  upon. 

They  wilfully  themselves  exile  from  light, 

And  must  for  aye  consort  with  black-biow'd  night 

Obe.  But  we  are  spirits  of  another  sort: 
I  with  the  morning's  love  have  oft  nmde  sport; 
And,  like  a  forester,  the  groves  may  tread. 
Even  till  the  eastern  gate,  all  fiery  red. 
Opening  on  Neptune  with  fair  blessed  beams, 
'J'urns  into  yellow  gold  his  salt  green  streams. 
But,  notwithstanding,  haste;  make  no  delay: 
We  may  efl'ect  this  business  yet  ere  day.  [Exit  Ober, 
Puck.  Up  and  down,  up  and  down; 

I  will  lead  them  up  and  down: 

I  am  fear'd  in  field  and  town ; 

Goblin,  lead  them  up  and  down. 
Here  comes  one. 

Enter  Lysander, 

Lys.  Where  art  thou,  proud  Demetrius  ?  speak 
thou  now.  [art  thou  ? 

Puck.  Here,  villain;  drawn  and  ready  Wher« 
Lys.  I  will  be  with  thee  straight. 
Puck.  Follow  me  then 

To  plainer  ground.  [Exit  Lys.  as  following  the  voic«. 

Enter  Demetrius. 

Dem.  Lysander  !  speak  again. 

Thou  runaway,  thou  coward,  art  thou  fled? 
Speak.    In  some  bush  ?  Where  dost  thou  hide  thy 
head? 

Puck.  Thou  coward,  art  thou  bragging  to  the  start. 
Telling  the  bushes,  that  thou  look'st  for  wars. 
And  wilt  not  come?  Come,  recreant:  coa\e,  tbol 
child  ; 

I'll  whip  thee  with  a  rod   he  is  defil'd, 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  IV.    Scene  1. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


121 


rhat  draws  a  sword  on  thee. 
Dem.  Yea  ;  art  thou  there  ? 

Puck.  FolloM  my  voice  ;  we'll  try  manhood  here. 

[Exeunt. 

Re-enter  Lysander. 
Lys.  He  goes  before  me^  and  still  dares  me  on; 
When  I  come  where  he  calls,  then  he  is  gone. 
The  vilLiin  is  much  lighter  heel'd  than  I : 
t  tollow'd  last,  but  f  aster  he  did  fly  ; 
That  fallen  am  I  in  dark  uneven  way, 
And  here  will  rest  me.    Come,  thou  gentle  day  ! 

{Lies  down.) 
For  if  but  once  thou  show  me  thy  grey  light, 
ril  find  Demetrius,  and  revenge  this  spite.  {Sleeps.) 
Re-enter  Puck  and  DeiMETRIus. 
Puck.  Ho,  ho  !  ho,  ho!  Coward,  why  com 'st  thou 
not  ? 

Dem.  Abide  me,  if  thou  dar'st;  for  well  I  wot, 
Thou  runn'st  before  me,  shitting  every  place  ; 
And  dar'st  not  stand,  nor  look,  me  in  the  face. 
Where  art  thou  ? 

Puck.  Come  hither ;  I  am  here. 

Dem.  Nay,  then  thou  mock'st  me.    Thou  shalt 
buy  this  dear, 
If  ever  I  tiiy  f  ace  by  day-light  see : 
Now,  go  tliy  way. —  Faintness  constraineth  me 
To  measure  out  my  length  on  this  cold  bed. — 
By  day's  approach  look  to  be  visited. 

{Lies  down  and  sleeps.) 
Enter  Helena. 
Hel.  O  weary  night,  O  long  and  tedious  night. 
Abate  thy  hours  :  sliine,  comforts,  f  rom  the  east  ; 
That  I  may  back  to  Athens  by  day-light. 

From  these,  that  my  poor  company  detest: — 
A.nd,  sleep,  that  sometimes  shuts  up  sorrow's  eye, 
Steal  me  a  wtiile  from  mine  own  company.  {Sleeps.) 
Puck.  Yet  but  three  ?  Come  one  more  j 
Two  of  both  kinds  make  up  four. 
Here  she  comes,  curst  and  sad  : — 
Cupid  IS  a  knavish  lad, 
Thus  to  make  poor  females  mad. 

Enter  Hermia. 
Iter.  Never  so  weary,  never  so  in  woe, 

Bedabbled  witli  the  dew,  and  torn  with  briers; 
I  can  no  further  crawl,  no  further  go; 

My  legs  can  keep  no  pace  with  my  desires. 
Here  will  I  re-st  nie,  till  the  break  of  day. 
Heavens  shield  l.ysander,  if  they  mean  a  fray ! 

[Lies  dotvn.) 

Puck.  On  the  ground 

Sleep  sound  • 

I'll  apply 

To  your  eye, 
Gentle  lover,  remedy 
{Squeezing  the  juice  on  Ly Sander's  eye.) 

When  thou  wakest. 

Thou  takest 

True  delight 

In  the  sight 

Of  thy  former  lady's  eye  : 
And  the  country  proverb  known, 
That  every  man  should  take  his  own. 
In  your  waking  shall  be  shown  : 
Jack  shall  have  Jill ; 
Nought  shall  go  ill ; 
fhe  man  shall  have  his  mare  again,  and  all  shall  be 
well.  [Exit  Puck, —Dem.  Hel.  §Cc.  sleep. 
ACT  IV. 
Scene  I. — The  same. 
Enter  Titania  and  Bottom,  Fairies  attending ; 
Oberon  behind,  unseen. 
Tita.  Come,  sit  thee  down  upon  this  flowery  bed. 
While  I  thy  amiable  cheeks  do  coy, 
^nd  stick  musk-ioses  in  thy  sleek  smooth  head. 
And  kiss  thy  fair  large  ears,  my  gentle  joy. 
Bot.  Wiiere's  Peas-blossom? 
Peas.  Ready. 


Bot.  Scratch  my  head.  Peas-blossom. — \^liere'« 
monsieur  Cobweb  r 
Cob.  Ready. 

Bot.  Monsieur  Cobweb ;  good  monsieur,  get  yonr 
weapons  in  your  hand,  and  kill  me  a  red-hipped 
humble-bee  on  the  top  of  a  thistle  ;  and,  good  mon- 
sieur, bring  me  the  horn  y-bag.  Do  not  fret  yourself 
too  much  in  the  action,  monsieur;  and,  good  mon- 
sieur, have  a  care  the  honey-bag  break  not;  I  would 
be  loth  to  have  you  over-flown  with  a  honey-bag, 
signior. — Where's  monsieur  Mustard-seed  ? 

Must.  Ready. 

Bot.  Give  me  your  neif;  monsieur  Mustard-seed. 
Pi-ay  you,  leave  your  courtesy,  good  monsieur. 
Must.  What's  your  wili  V 

Bot.  Nothing,  good  monsieur,  but  to  help  cava- 
lero  Cobweb  to  scratch.  I  must  to  tiie  barber's, 
monsieur;  for,  methinks,  I  am  marvellous  hairy 
about  the  face :  and  I  am  such  a  tender  ass,  if  my 
hair  do  but  tickle  me,  I  must  scratch. 

Tita.  What,  wilt  thou  hear  some  music,  my  sweet 
love  ? 

Bot.  I  have  a  reasonable  good  ear  in  music :  let 
us  have  the  tongs  and  the  bones.  (eat. 
Tita.  Or,  say,  sweet  love,  what  thou  desir'st  to 
Bot.  Truly,  a  peck  of  provender;  I  could  munch 
your  good  dry  oats.  Methinks,  I  have  a  great  desire 
to  a  bottle  of  hay :  good  hay,  sweet  hay,  hath  no 
fellow. 

Tita,  I  have  a  venturous  fairy,  that  shall  seek 
The  squirrel's  hoard,  and  fetch  thee  new  nuts. 

Bot.  I  had  rather  have  a  handful,  or  two,  of  dried 
peas.  But,  I  pray  you,  let  none  of  your  people 
stir  me ;  1  have  an  exposition  of  sleep  come  upon 
me.  (arms. — 

Tita.  Sleep  thou,  and  I  will  wind  thee  in  my 
Fairies,  be  gone,  and  be  all  ways  away. 
So  doth  the  woodbine,  the  sweet  honeysuckle. 
Gently  entwist, —  the  female  ivy  so 
Enrings  the  barky  fingers  of  the  elm. 
O,  how  1  love  thee!  how  I  dote  on  thee!  {They  sleep.) 

Oberon  advances.   Enter  Puck. 
Obe.  Welcome,  good  Robin.    See'st  thou  this 
sweet  sight  ? 
Her  dotage  now  1  do  begin  to  pity. 
For  meeting  her  of  late,  behind  the  wood, 
Seeking  sweet  savours  for  this  hateJ -.il  fool, 
I  did  upbraid  her,  and  fall  out  with  her : 
For  she  his  hairy  temples  then  had  rounded 
With  coronet  of  fresh  and  fragrant  flowers  ; 
And  that  same  dew,  which  sometime  on  the  buds 
Was  wont  to  swell,  like  round  and  orient  pearls 
Stood  now  within  the  pretty  flouerets'  eyes. 
Like  tears  that  did  their  own  disgrace  bewail. 
When  I  had,  at  my  plesure,  taunted  her, 
And  she,  in  mild  terms,  begg'd  my  patience, 
I  then  did  ask  of  her  her  changeling  child  ; 
Which  straight  she  gave  me,  and  her  fairy  sent 
To  bear  him  to  my  bower  in  fairy  land. 
And  now  I  have  the  boy,  1  will  undo 
This  hateful  imperfection  of  her  eyes. 
And,  gentle  Puck,  take  this  transformed  sc&lp 
From  oft*  the  head  of  this  Athenian  swain ; 
That  he,  awaking,  when  the  other  do. 
May  all  to  Athens  back  again  repair; 
And  think  no  more  of  this  night's  accidents. 
But  as  the  fierce  vexation  of  a  dream. 
But  first  I  will  release  the  fairy  queen. 

Be,  as  thou  wast  wont  to  be ; 

{Touching  her  eyes  with  an  herb') 

See,  as  thou  wast  wont  to  see  : 

Dian's  bud  o  er  Cupid  s  flower 

Hath  such  force  and  blessed  power 
Now,  my  Titania ;  wake  you,  my  sweet  queen. 

Tita.  My  Oberon !  what  visions  have  1  seen  I 
Methought  I  was  enamoiir'd  of  an  ass. 
Obe.  There  lies  your  love. 

Tif.a.  How  came  thes*.  things  to  pass? 

O,  how  mine  eyes  do  loath  hia  visai    now  I 


122 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


.'jCT  lY 


Obe.  Silence,  a  while. — Robin,  take  off  this  head. — 
Titania,  music  call ;  and  strike  more  dead 
Than  common  sleep,  of  all  these  five  the  sense. 
Tita.  Music,  ho!  music  ;  such  as  chaniieth  sleep. 
Puck.  Now,  when  thou  waV'st^  with  thine  own 

fool's  eyes  peep. 
Obe.  Sound,  music.    [Still  music.)    Come,  my 
queen,  take  hands  with  me. 
And  rock  the  ground  whereon  these  sleepers  be.  ■ 
Now  thou  and  I  are  new  in  amity  ; 
Aad  will,  to-morrow  midnight,  solemnly, 
Dpince  in  duke  Theseus'  house  triumphantly. 
And  bless  'it  to  all  fair  posterity  : 
There  shall  the  pairs  of  faithful  lovers  be 
Wedded,  with  Theseus,  all  in  jollity. 
Puck.  Fairy  king,  attend  and  mark ; 

I  do  hear  the  morning  lark. 
Obe.  Then,  my  queen,  in  silence  sad. 
Trip  we  after  the  night's  shade ; 
We  the  globe  can  compass  soon. 
Swifter  than  the  wand'ring  moon, 
Tita.  Come,  my  lord;  and  in  our  flight, 
Tell  me  how  it  came  this  night. 
That  I  sleeping  here  was  found. 
With  these  mortals  on  the  ground.  [Exeunt, 
{Ho7-ns  sound  tvilhin.) 

Banter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Egeus,  and  train. 
The.  Go,  one  of  you,  find  out  the  forester; — 
For  now  our  observation  is  perform'd  : 
And  since  we  have  the  vaward  of  the  day, 
My  love  shall  hear  the  music  of  my  hounds. — 
Uncouple  in  Jhe  western  valley  ;  go  : — 
Despatch,  I  say,  and  find  the  forester. — 
We  will,  fair  queen,  up  to  the  mountain's  top. 
And  mark  the  musical  confusion 
Of  hounds  and  echo  in  conjunction. 

Hip.  I  was  with  Hercules,  and  Cadmus,  once, 
When  in  a  wood  of  Crete  they  bay'd  the  bear 
With  hounds  of  Sparta:  never  did  1  hear 
Such  gallant  chiding;  for,  besides  the  groves. 
The  skies,  the  fountains,  every  region  near 
Seam'd  all  one  mutual  cry:  I  ne\er  heard 
So  H.iisical  a  discord,  such  sweet  thunder. 

The.  My  hoimds  are  bred  out  of  the  Spartan  kind. 
So  fiew'd,  so  sanded  ;  and  their  heads  are  hung 
With  ears  that  sweep  away  the  morning  dew; 
Crook-knee'd,  and  dew  laj)p'ci  like  Thessalian  bulls; 
Slow  in  pursuit,  but  match'd  in  mouth  like  bells, 
Each  under  each.    A  cry  more  tuneable 
Was  never  hoUa'd  to,  nor  clieer'd  with  horn. 
In  Crete,  in  Sparta,  nor  in  Thessaly  :      [are  these  ? 
Judtye,  when  you  hear. — But,  soft;  what  nymphs 

Eye.  My  lord,  this  is  my  daughter  here  asleep; 
And  this  Lysander  ;  this  Demetrius  is  ; 
This  Helena,  old  Nedar's  Helena: 
I  wonder  of  their  being  here  together. 

The.  No  doubt,  they  rose  up  early,  to  observe 
The  rite  of  May  ;  and  hearing  our  intent. 
Came  here  in  grace  of  our  solemnity. — 
Jiut,  speak,  Egeus;  is  not  this  the  day. 
That  Hermia  should  give  answer  of  her  choice  ? 

Ege.  It  is,  my  lord.  [horns. 

The.  Go,  bid  the  huntsmen  wake  them  with  their 

Horns  and  shout  within.  Demetrius,  Lysander, 
HERjtfiA  and  Helena,  wake,  and  start  up. 
The.  Good-morrow,  friends.    Saint  Valentine  is 
past ; 

Begin  these  wood-birds  but  to  couple  now? 

Lys.  Pardon,  my  lord. 

[He  and  the  rest  kneel  to  Theseus.) 

The,  I  pray  you  all,  stand  up, 

f  know,  you  are  two  rival  enemies  ; 
[low  comes  this  gentle  concord  in  the  world 
That  hatred  is  so  far  from  jealousy. 
To  sleep  by  hate,  and  fear  no  enmity  ? 

hifs.  My  lord,  I  shall  reply  araazedly 
Halt  'sleej),  half  waking; :  but  as  yet,  1  swear, 
ft  cmmot  trulj  say  ho^  ]  came  here  : 


J  But,  as  I  think,  (fo"  truly  would  f  speak  — 

And  now  I  do  bethink  me,  so  it  is  ;) 
I  I  came  with  Hermia  hither :  our  intent 
j  Was  to  be  gone  from  Athens,  where  we  might  be 
j  Without  the  peril  of  the  Athenian  law. 

Eye.  Enough,  enough,  my  lord  ;  you  have  enoughs 
:  I  beg  the  law,  the  law,  upon  his  head. —  [trius 
Hiey  would  hove  stol'n  away,  they  would,  Dctue 
Thereby  to  ha\e  defeated  you  and  me: 
You,  of  your  wife  ;  and  me,  of  my  conseut. 
Of  my  consent  that  she  should  be  your  wife. 

Dein,  My  lord,  fair  Helen  told  me  of  their  stecUb 
Of  this  their  purpose  hither,  to  this  w^jd; 
And  I  in  fury  hither  follow'd  them  ; 
Fair  Helena  in  fancy  following  me. 
But,  my  good  loid,  I  wot  not  by  what  power, 
(But,  by  some  power  it  is,)  my  love  to  He.iBiiw,, 
Melted  as  doth  the  snow,  seems  to  me  nc^ 
As  the  remembrance  of  an  idle  gawd. 
Which  in  my  childhood  I  did  dote  upon : 
And  all  the  faith,  the  virtue  of  my  heait, 
The  object,  and  the  pleasure  of  nsine  eye, 
Is  only  Helena.    To  her,  my  lord. 
Was  I  betroth'd  ere  I  saw  Hermia ; 
But,  like  in  sickness,  did  I  loath  this  food  ; 
But,  as  in  health,  come  to  my  natural  taste. 
Now  do  I  wish  it,  love  it,  long  for  it. 
And  will  for  evermore  be  true  to  it. 

The.  Fair  lovers,  you  are  fortunately  met : 
Of  tliis  discourse  we  will  hear  more  anon. — 
Egeus,  I  will  overbear  your  will; 
For  in  the  temple,  by  and  by  with  us, 
These  couples  shall  eternally  be  knit. 
And,  for  the  morning  now  is  something  worn. 
Our  purpos'd  hunting  shall  be  set  aside. — 
Away,  with  us,  to  Athens:  three  and  thr&c, 
We'll  hold  a  feast  of  great  solemnity. — 
Come,  Hippolyta. 

[Exeunt  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Egeus,  unci 
Dem.  These  things  seem  small  acd  uid»*tin« 
guishable. 

Like  far  off  mountains  turned  into  cXor.dn. 

Her.  Methings,  I  see  these  things  with  parted  <  y« 
When  every  tiling  seems  double 

Hel.  So  methinks  : 
And  I  have  ibund  Demetrius  like  <B;ewel, 
Mine  own,  and  not  mine  own. 

Dem.  It  wems  to  me, 

Tliat  yet  we  sleep,  we  dream. — !})o  not  you  think, 
'I'he  duke  was  here,  and  bid  u&  Ibllow  him? 

Her.  Vea;  and  my  father. 

Hel.  And  Hippolyta, 

Lys.  And  he  did  bid  us  follow  to  the  temple. 

Dem.  Why  then,  we  are  aw9,ie  :  let's  follow  him  ; 
And,  by  the  way,  let  us  recouot  our  dreams. 

[Exeunt. 

As  they  go  out.  Bottom  awakes. 

Bot.  When  my  cue  comes,  call  me,  and  I  will  an- 
swer:— my  next  is.  Most  fair  Pyramus. — Hey 
ho! — Peter  Quince!  Flute,  tthe  bellows-mender 
Snout,  the  tinker !  Starveling!  God's  my  life  !  stolen 
hence,  and  left  me  asleep !  I  have  had  a  most  rare 
vision.  I  have  had  a  dream, — past  the  wit  of  man 
to  say  what  dream  it  was: — Man  is  but  an  ass,  if 
he  go  about  to  expound  this  dream.  Methought  ] 
was — there  is  no  man  can  tell  what.  Methought  1 
was,  and  methought  I  had, — but  man  is  but  a 

fatched  fool,  if  he  will  ofter  to  say  what  methought 
had.  The  eye  of  man  hath  not  heard,  the  ear  of 
man  hath  not  seen  ;  man's  hand  is  not  able  to  taste, 
his  tongue  to  conceive,  nor  his  heart  to  report,  what 
my  dream  was,  I  will  get  Peter  Quince  to  write  a 
ballad  of  this  dream:  it  shall  be  called  Bottom* 
Dream,  because  it  hath  no  bottom  ;  and  I  will  sing  it 
in  the  latter  end  of  a  play,  before  the  duke :  per- 
ad venture,  to  make  it  the  more  gracious,  I.  shall 
sing  it  after  death. 


Act  Y.    Scene  1. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


123 


S(  £NB  1. — Athens.  A  Room  in  Quince's  House. 
Eniet  Quince,  Flute,  Snout,  and  Starveling. 

Quin.  Have  you  seut  to  Bottom's  house  ?  is  he 
come  home  yet  ?  [is  transported. 

Star.  He  cannot  be  heard  of.    Out  of  doubt,  he 

Flu.  Jf  he  come  not,  tiien  the  play  is  marred;  it 
£[oes  not  forward,  doth  it  ? 

Qul7i.  It  is  not  possible  :  you  have  not  a  man  in 
all  Atliens  able  to  discharge  ryramus,  but  he. 

Flu.  No;  he  hath  simply  the  best  wit  of  any 
l^andycral't  man  in  Athens. 

Quin.  Yea,  and  the  best  person  too :  and  he  is  a 
very  paramour,  for  a  sweet  voice. 

Flu.  You  must  say,  paragon:  a  paramour  is,  God 
bless  us,  a  thing  of  nought. 

Enter  Snug. 
Snug.  Masters,  the  duke  is  coming  from  the 
temple,  and  there  is  two  or  three  lords  and  ladies 
more  married  :  if  our  sport  had  gone  forward,  we 
bad  all  been  niade  men. 

_  Flu.  O  sweet  bully  Bottom !  Thus  hath  he  lost 
sixpence  a-day  during  his  life;  he  could  not  have 
scaped  sixpence  a-day :  an  the  duke  had  not  given 
him  sixpence  a-day  for  playing  Pyramus,  I'll  be 
hanged;  he  would  have  deserved  it:  sixpence  a-day, 
in  Pyramus,  or  nothing. 

Enter  Bottom. 
Bat.  Where  are  these  lads?  where  are  these  hearts? 
Quin.  Bottom  ! — O  most  courageous  day  !  O  most 
happy  hour ! 

Bot.  Masters,  I  am  to  discourse  wonders :  but 
ask  me  not  what;  for  if  I  tell  you,  I  am  no  true 
Atheniac.  I  will  tell  you  every  thing,  right  as  it 
fell  out. 

Quin.  Let  us  hear,  sweet  Bottom. 

Bot.  Not  a  word  of  me.  All  that  I  will  tell  yon, 
is,  that  the  duke  hath  dined  :  get  your  apparel  to- 
gether ;  good  strings  to  your  beards,  new  ribbons 
to  your  pumps;  meet  presently  at  the  palace  ;  every 
man  look  o'er  his  part;  for,  the  short  and  the  long 
is,  our  play  is  preferred.  In  any  case,  let  Thisby 
have  clean  linen  ;  and  let  not  him,  that  plays  the 
lion,  pare  his  nails,  for  they  shall  hang  out  for  the 
lion's  claws.  And,  most  dear  actors,  eat  no  onions, 
nor  garlick,  for  we  are  to  utter  sweet  breath  ;  and 
I  do  not  doubt,  but  to  hear  them  say,  it  is  a  sweet 
comedy.    No  more  words ;  away ;  go  away. 

^Exeimt. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — The  same.  An  Apartment  in  the  Palace 
of  Theseus. 
Enter  Theseus,  Hippolyta,  Philostratb, 

Lords,  and  Attendants. 
Hip.  'Tis  strange,  my  Theseus,  that  these  lovers 
speak  of.  [lieve 
The.  More  strange  than  true.    I  never  may  be- 
These  antique  fables,  nor  these  fairy  toys. 
Lovers,  and  madmen,  have  such  seething  brains. 
Such  shaping  fantasies,  that  apprehend 
More  than  cool  reason  ever  comprehends. 
The  lunatic,  the  lover,  and  the  poet. 
Are  of  imagination  all  compact: 
One  sees  more  devils  than  vast  hell  can  hold ; 
Tliat  is,  the  madman:  the  lover,  all  as  frantic. 
Sees  Helen's  beauty  in  a  brow  of  Egypt: 
The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling. 
Doth  glance  Irom  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to 
heaven ; 

And,  as  imagination  bodies  forth 

The  forms  ol  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 

Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 

A  local  habitation,  and  a  name. 

Such  tricks  hath  strong  imagination: 

That,  if  it  would  but  apprehend  so?ne  joy. 

It  comprehends  some  bringer  of  that  joy ; 


Or,  in  the  night,  imagining  some  fear. 
How  easy  is  a  bush  suppos'd  a  bear? 

Hip.  But  all  the  story  of  the  nigiit  to  d  ovor« 
And  all  their  minds  transfigiir  d  so  together. 
More  wituesseth  than  fancy's  images. 
And  grows  to  something  of  great  constancy  ; 
But,  howsoever,  strange,  and  admirable. 

Enter  Lysander,  Demetrius,  Hermia,  and 
Helena. 

The.  Here  come  the  lovers,  full  of  joy  and  mirth.— 
Joy,  gentle  friends  !  joy,  and  fresh  days  of  love, 
Accompany  your  hearts ! 

Lys.  More  than  to  us 

Wait  on  your  royal  walks,  your  board,  your  bed! 

The.  Come  now  ;  what  masks,  what  dances  shal! 
we  have. 

To  wear  away  this  long  age  fif  three  hours. 
Between  our  after-supper,  and  bed-time? 
Where  is  our  usual  manager  of  mirth? 
What  revels  are  in  hand  ?  Is  there  no  play. 
To  ease  the  anguish  of  a  torturing  hour"? 
Call  Philostrate. 

Philost.  Here,  mighty  Theseus. 

The.  Say,  what  abridgment  have  you  for  this 
evening  ? 

What  mask  ?  what  music  ?  How  shall  we  beguile 
The  lazy  time,  if  not  with  some  delight? 

Philost.  There  is  a  brief,  how  many  sports  are  ripe; 
Make  choice  of  which  your  highness  will  see  first 
{Giving  a  paper 

The.  {Reads.)  The  battle  with  the  Centaurs,  it 

be  sung. 

By  an  Athenian  eunuch,  to  the  harp. 

We'll  none  of  that:  that  have  I  told  my  love. 
In  glory  of  my  kinsman  Hercules. 

The  riot  of  the  tipsy  bacchanals, 

Tearing  the  Thracian  singer  in  their  rage. 

That  is  an  old  device;  and  it  was  play'd 
When  I  from  Thebes  came  last  a  conqueror. 

The  thrice  three  Muses  mourning  for  the  death 
Of  learning,  late  deceased  in  beggary. 

That  is  some  satire,  keen,  and  critical. 
Not  sorting  with  a  nuptial  ceremony. 

A  tedious  brief  scetze  of  young  Pyramus, 
And  his  love  Thisbe :  very  tragical  mirth 

Merry  and  tragical?  tedious  and  brief? 
That  is,  hot  ice,  and  vvonderous  Strang*  snow. 
How  shall  we  find  the  concord  of  this  discord? 
Philost.  A  play  there  is,  my  lord,  some  ten  word» 

.  ^^"^  '■>  . 

Which  is  as  brief  as  1  have  known  a  play ; 
But  by  ten  words,  my  lord,  it  is  too  long; 
Which  makes  it  tedious:  for  in  all  they  play 
There  is  not  one  word  apt,  one  player  fitted. 
And  tragical,  my  noble  lord,  it  is; 
For  Pyramus  therein  doth  kill  himself. 
Which,  when  I  saw  rehears'd,  I  must  confess. 
Made  mine  eyes  water;  but  more  merry  tears 
The  passion  of  loud  laughter  never  shed. 

The.  What  are  they  that  do  play  it? 

Philost.  Hard-handed  men,  that  work  in  Athens 
here, 

Which  never  labour'd  in  their  minds  till  now; 
And  now  have  toii'd  their  unbreath'd  memories 
With  this  same  play,  against  your  nuptial. 

The.  And  we  will  hear  it. 

Philost.  No,  my  noble  lord 

It  is  not  for  you  :  I  have  heard  it  over. 
And  it  is  notning,  nothing  in  the  world; 
Unless  you  can  find  sport  in  thrir  intents. 
Extremely  strecch'd  and  conn'tK  with  crnel  pain. 
To  do  you  service. 

The.  I  will  hear  that  play : 

F'or  never  any  thing  can  be  amiss. 
When  simpleness  and  duty  tender 't.  .^i 


I 
) 


124 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  V 


3o,  bring  them  in :  and  take  your  places,  ladies. 

[Exii  Philostrate. 
Hip.  I  love  not  to  see  wretchedness  o'ercliarged. 
And  duty  in  his  service  perishing.  [thing. 
The.  Why,  gentle  sweet,  you  shall  see  no  such 
Hip.  He  says,  they  can  do  nothing  in  this  kind. 
Thtt.  The  kinder  we,  to  give  them  thanks  for 
nothing. 

Our  sport  shall  be,  to  take  what  they  mistake : 
And  what  poor  duty  cannot  do, 
Noble  respect  takes  it  in  might,  not  merit. 
Where  I  have  come,  great  clerks  have  purposed 
To  greet  me  with  prwneditated  welcomes  ; 
VVhere  I  liave  seen  them  shiver  and  look  pale. 
Make  periods  in  the  midst  of  sentences. 
Throttle  their  practis'd  accent  in  their  fears, 
And,  in  conclusion,  dumbly  h  ive  broke  ofif, 
Not  paying  me  a  welcome  :  trust  me, sweet. 
Out  of  this  silence,  yet,  I  pick'd  a  welcome; 
And  in  the  modesty  of  fearful  duty 
I  read  as  much,  as  from  the  rattling  tongue 
Of  saucy,  and  audacious  eloquence. 
ljO\e,  therefore,  and  tongue-tied  simplicity, 
fn  least,  speak  most,  to  my  capacity. 

Enter  Philostrate. 
Philost.  So  please  your  grace,  tiie  prologue  is 
addrest. 

Tlie.  Let  him  approach.  {Flourish  of  trumpets.) 
Enter  Prologue. 

Prol.  If  we  offend,  it  is  with  uur  good  will, 

Thot  you  should  think,  we  come  not  to  offend, 
hut  with  yoodtoiU.    To  show  our  simple  skill, 

That  is  the  true  beg  ln7iing  of  our  end. 
Consider  then,  we  come  but  in  despite^ 

Tfe  do  not  come  as  minding  to  content  you. 
Our  true  intent  is.    All  for  your  delight,  \you, 

J'Ve  are  not  here.    That  you  should  here  repent 
T/te  actors  are  at  hand;  and,  by  their  show, 
Ygu  shall  know  all,  that  you  are  like  to  know. 

The.  This  fellow  doth  not  stand  upon  points. 

Lys.  He  hath  rid  his  prologue,  like  a  rough  colt; 
he  knows  not  the  stop.  A  good  moral,  my  lord :  it 
is  not  enough  to  speak,  but  to  speak  true. 

Hip.  Indeed  he  hath  played  on  this  prologue, 
like  a  child  ou»Tecorder;  a  sound,  but  not  in  go- 
vernment. 

The.  His  speech  was  like  a  tangled  chain ;  no- 
thing-impaired, but  all  disordered.    Who  is  next? 

Enter  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  Wall,  Moon-shine, 
and  Lion,  as  in  dumb  show. 

Prol.  "  Gentles,  perchance,  you  wonder  at  this 
show ; 

"  But  wonder  on,  till  truth  make  all  things  plain. 
This  man  is  Pyramus,  if  you  would  know  ; 
"  This  beauteous  lady  'I'hisby  is,  certain, 
**  This  man,  with  lime  and  rough-cast,  doth  present 
"  Wall,  that  vile  wall  which  did  these  lovers 
sunder : 

"And  through  wall's  chink,  poor  souls,  they  are 
content 

"  To  whisper ;  at  the  which  let  no  man  wonder. 
This  man,  with  lantern,  dog,  and  bush  of  thorn, 
"  Presenteth  moon  shine :  for.  if  you  will  know. 
By  moon-shine  did  these  lovers  think  no  scorn 
"  To  meet  at  Ninus'  tomb,  there,  there  to  woo. 
**  This  grisly  beast,  which  by  name  lion  hight, 
"  The  trusty  Thisby,  coming  first  by  night, 
**  Did  scare  away,  or  rather  did  affright: 
**  And,  as  she  tied,  her  mantle  she  did  fall ; 

"  Which  lion  vile  with  bloody  mouth  did  stain : 
**  Anon  comesPjraraus,  sweet  youth,  and  tall, 
"  And  finds  his  trusty  Thisby's  tnantie  slain  : 
**  Whereat  with  blade,  with  bloody  blameful  blade, 

"  He  bravely  broach'd  his  boiling  bloody  breast; 
"And,  Thisby  tarrying  in  tnulbrrry  shade, 
"  His  dagjfer  drew,  and  died.   For  all  the  rest. 


"  Let  lion,  moon-shine,  wall,  and  lovers  twain, 
"  At  large  discourse,  while  here  they  do  remain." 
[Exeunt  Prol.  Thisbe,  Lion,  and  Moon-shint, 

The.  I  wonder,  if  the  lion  be  to  speak. 

Dejn.  No  wonder,  my  lord  :  one  lion  may,  when 
many  asses  do. 

W all,  "  In  this  same  interlude,  it  doth  befall, 
"  That  I,  one  Snout  by  name,  present  a  wall ; 
"  And  such  a  wall  as  I  would  have  you  think, 
"  That  had  in  it  a  cranny'd  hole,  or  chink, 
"  Through  w  hich  the  lovers,  Pyramus  and  Thisby 
"  Did  wliisper  often  veiy  secretly.  [show 
"  This  loam,  this  rough-cast,  and  this  stone,  dcth 
"  That  I  am  that  same  wall ;  the  truth  is  so : 
"  And  this  the  cranny  is,  right  and  sinister, 
"  Through  which  the  fearful  lovers  are  to  whisper." 

The.  Would  you  desire  lime  and  hair  to  speak 
better? 

Dem.  It  is  the  wittiest  partition,  that  ever  I  heard 
discourse,  my  lord. 

The.  Pyramus  draws  near  the  wall:  silence! 

Enter  Pyramus. 
Pyr.  "  O  grim-look'd  night !    O  night  with  hue 
so  black  ! 

"  O  night,  which  ever  art,  when  day  is  not! 
"  O  night,  O  night,  alack,  alack,  alack, 

"  I  fear  my  Thisby's  promise  is  forgot ! — 
"  And  thou,  O  wail,  O  sweet,  O  lovely  wall, 

"  That  stand'st  between  her  father's  ground  and 
mine ; 

"  Thou  wall,  O  wall,  O  sweet  and  lovely  wall, 
"Shew  me  thy  chink,  to  blink  through  with  mine 

eyne.  ( Wall  holds  up  kis  fingers.) 

"  Thanks,  courteous  wall :  Juve  shield  thee  well 

for  ttiis ! 

"  But  what  see  I  ?  No  Thisby  do  I  see. 

^'  O  wicked  wall, through  whom  I  see  no  bliss  ; 

"  Curst  be  thy  stones  tor  thus  deceiving  me  !  " 

The.  The  wall,  methinks,  being  sensible,  shouljH 
curse  again. 

Pyr.  No,  in  truth,  sir,  he  should  not.  Deceiving 
me,  is  Thisby's  cue  :  she  is  to  enter  now,  and  I  am 
to  spy  her  through  the  wall.  You  shall  see,  it  will 
fall  pat  as  I  told  you  : — yonder  she  comts. 

Enter  Thisbe. 
This.  "  O  wall,  full  often  hast  thon  heard  ujy 
moans, 

"  For  pat  ting  my  fair  Pyramus  and  me  : 
"  My  cherry  lips  have  often  kiss'd  thy  stones ; 
"  Thy  stom  s  with  lime  and  hair  knit  up  in  thee." 
Pyr.  "  I  see  a  voice  :  now  will  I  to  the  chink, 
"  To  spy  an  I  can  hear  my  Thisby's  face. 
"  Thisby  !  " 

This.  "  My  love  !  thou  art  my  love,  I  think." 
Pyr.  "Tliink  what  thou  wilt,  I  am  thy  lover's 
grace ; 

"  And  like  Limander  am  I  trusty  still." 

This.  "  And  I  like  Helen,  till  the  fates  me  kill" 
Pyr.  "  Not  Shafalus  to  Procrus  was  so  true." 
This.  "  As  Shafalus  to  Procrus,  I  to  you." 
Pyr.  "  O,  kiss  me  through  the  hole  of  this  vile 
wall." 

This.  "  I  kiss  the  wall's  hole,  not  your  lips  at  all." 
Pz/r.  "Wilt   thou   at  Ninny's  tjmb  meet  me 

straightway?" 
This.  "  Tide  hfe,  tide  death,  I  come  without 

delay." 

TT'all.'-'-  Thus  have  I,  wall,  my  part  discharged  so  \ 
"  And,  being  done,  thus  wall  away  doth  go." 

[JRxeunt  Wall,  Pyramus  and  Thisbe. 

The.  Now  is  the  mural  down  between  the  two 
neighbours. 

Dem.  No  remedy,  my  lord,  when  walls  arc  so 
wilful,  to  hear  without  warning. 

Hip.  This  is  the  silliest  stuff' that  ever  I  heard. 

The.  The  best  in  this  kind  are  but  shadows:  and 
the  worst  are  no  worse,  if  itnaginafion  aniend  them. 

Hip.  It  must  be  your  imagination  then,  and  not 
theirs. 


Scene  1. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


125 


The.  If  we  imagine  no  worse  of  them,  than  they 
of  themselves,  they  may  pass  for  excellent  men. 
Here  come  two  noble  beasts  in,  a  moon  and  a  lion. 

Enter  Lion  and  Moon-shine. 
Lion.  "  You,  ladies,  you,  whose  gentle  hearts  do 
fear  [floor, 
"  The  smallest  monstrous  mouse  that  creeps  on 
**  May  now,  perchance,  both  quake  and  tremble, 
here,  ^ 
When  lion  rough  in  wildest  rage  doth  roar. 
**  Then  know,  that  1,  one  Snug,  the  joiner,  am 
"  A  lion  fell,  nor  else  no  lion's  dam  : 
'*  i'oi  if  I  should  as  lion  come  in  strife 
"  Into  this  place,  'twere  pity  on  my  life." 
The.  A  very  gentle  beast,  and  of  a  good  conscience. 
Dem.  The  very  best  at  a  beast,  my  lord,  that  e'er 
I  saw. 

Lys.  This  lion  is  a  very  fox  for  his  valour. 

The.  True  ;  and  a  goose  for  his  discretion. 

De7n.  Not  so,  my  lord ;  for  his  valour  cannot 
t-^irry  liis  discretion  ;  and  the  fox  carries  the  goose. 

The.  His  discretion,  I  am  sure,  cannot  carry  his 
ralour ;  for  the  goose  carries  not  the  fox.  It  is 
well :  leave  it  to  his  discretion,  and  let  us  listen  to 
the  moon. 

Moon.  "  This  lantern  doth  the  horned  moon 
present;  " 

Detn.  He  should  have  worn  the  horns  on  his  head. 
The.  He  is  no  crescent,  and  his  horns  are  invi- 
sible within  the  circumference. 

Moon,   "  This  lantern  doth  the  horned  moon 
present ; 

^  Myself  the  man  i'th'moon  do  seem  to  be." 

The.  This  is  the  greatest  error  of  all  the  rest :  the 
man  should  be  put  into  the  lantern:  how  is  it  else 
the  man  i'the  moon  ? 

Dem.  He  dares  not  come  there  for  the  candle  : 
for,  you  see,  it  is  already  in  snuff*. 

Hip.  I  am  weary  of  this  moon:  would,  he  would 
change  ! 

The.  It  appears,  by  his  small  light  of  discretion, 
that  he  is  in  the  wane :  but  yet,  in  courtesy,  in  all 
reason,  we  must  stay  the  time. 

Lys.  Proceed,  n>ooo. 

moon.  "  All  that  I  have  to  say,  is,  to  tell  you  that 
the  lantern  is  the  moon ;  I,  the  man  in  the  moon ; 
this  thorn-bush,  my  thorn-bush;  and  this  dog,  my 
dog^" 

Dem.  Why,  all  these  should  be  in  the  lantern ; 
for  they  are  in  the  aioon.  But  silence ;  here  comes 
Thisbe. 

Enter  Thishe. 
This.  "  This  is  old  Ninny's  tomb  •  where  is  my 
love?" 

Lion. "  Oh — .^''{The  lion  roars. — Thisbe  runs  off.) 
Dem.  Well  roared,  lion. 
The.  Well  run,  Thisbe. 

Hip.  Well  shone,  moon. — Truly,  the  moon  shines 
with  a  good  grace. 

The.  Well  moused,  Won.  {The  lion  tears  Thisbe' s 
tiantle,  and  exit.) 

Dem.  And  so  comes  Pyramus. 

Lys.  And  then  the  moon  -vanishes. 

Enter  Pyramus. 
Pyr.  "  Sweet  moon,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  sunny 
beams ; 

"  I  thank  thee,  moon,  for  shining  now  so  bright : 
For,  by  thy  gracious,  golden,  glittering  streams. 
**  I  trust  to  taste  of  truest  Thisby's  sight. 
"  But  stay  ; — O  spite  ! 
"  But  mark  ; — Poor  knight, 
**  What  dreadful  dole  is  here ! 
"  Eyes,  do  you  see  ? 
"  How  can  it  be  ? 
"  O  diinty  duck  !  O  dear  ! 
"  Thy  mantle  good, 
"  What,  stain  d  with  blood" 


"  Approach,  ye  furies  fell! 
"  O  fates !  come,  come  ; 
"  Cut  thread  and  thrum  ; 
"  Quail,  crush,  conclude,  and  quell !" 
The.  This  passion,  and  the  death  of  a  dearfriead, 
would  go  near  to  make  a  man  look  sad. 

Hip.  Beshrew  my  heart,  but  I  pity  the  man. 
Pyr.  "  O,  wherefore,  nature,  didst  thou  liona 
frame? 

"  Since  lion  vile  hath  here  deflower'd  my  dear: 
"Which  is — no,  no — which  was  the  fairest  dame, 
"That  liv'd,  that  lov'd,  that  lik'd,  that  look 'd 
with  cheer. 
"  Come,  tears,  confound  ; 
"  Out,  sword,  and  wouiid 
"  The  pap  of  Pyramus : 
"  Ay,  that  left  pap, 
"  Where  heart  doth  hop : — 
"  Thus  die  I,  thus,  thus,  thus. 
"  Now  am  I  dead, 
"  Now  am  I  fled  ; 
"  My  soul  is  in  the  sky : 

"  Tongue,  lose  thy  light ! 
"  Moon,  take  thy  flight ! 
"  Now  die,  die,  die,  die,  die."  {Dies.) 

[Exit  Moonshine, 
Dem.  No  die,  but  an  ace,  for  him ;  lor  he  is  butone. 
Lys.  Less  than  an  ace,  man ;  for  he  is  dead  ;  he 
is  nothing. 

The.  With  the  help  of  a  surgeon,  he  might  yet 
recover,  and  prove  an  ass. 

Hip.  How  chance  moon- shine  is  gone,  before 
Thisbe  comes  back  and  finds  her  lover? 

The.  She  will  find  him  by  star-light.-  Here  she 
comes ;  and  her  passion  ends  the  play. 

Enter  Thisbe. 

Hip.  Methinks,  she  should  not  use  a  long  one, 
for  such  a  Pyramus;  I  hope,  she  will  be  brief. 

Dem.  A  mote  will  turn  the  balance,  which  Py- 
ramus, which  Thisbe,  is  the  better. 

Lys.  She  hath  spied  him  already  with  those  sweet 
eyes. 

Dem.  And  thus  she  moans,  videlicet.-^ 
This.  "  Asleep,  my  love  ? 

"  VV^hat,  dead,  my  dove? 
"  O  Pyramus,  arise, 

"  Speak,  speak.    Quite  dumb? 

"Dead,  dead?    A  tomb 
"  Must  rover  thy  sweet  eyes. 

"  These  lily  brows, 

"  This  cherry  nose, 
"  These  yellow  cowslip  cheeks, 

"  Are  gone,  are  gone: 

"  Lovers,  make  moan! 
"  His  eyes  were  green  as  leeks. 

"  O  sisters  three, 

"  Come,  come  to  me, 
"  With  hands  as  pale  as  milk  ; 

"  Lay  them  in  gore, 

"  Since  you  have  shore 
"  With  shears  his  thread  of  silk 

"  Tongue,  not  a  word  : — 

"  Come,  trusty  sword  ; 
"  Come,  blade,  my  breast  imbrue 

"  And  farewell,  friends  \ — 

"  Thus  Thisbe  ends  : 
"  Adieu,  adieu,  adieu."  {D-  f») 

The.  Moon-shine  and  lion  are  left  to  bury  the 
dead. 

Dem.  Ay,  and  wall  too. 

Bot.  No,  I  assure  you ;  the  wall  is  down  (hat 
parted  their  fathers.  Will  it  please  you  to  see  the 
epilogue,  or  to  hear  a  Bergoniask  dance,  between 
two  of  our  company. 

The.  No  epilogue,  I  pray  you ;  for  your  play 
needs  no  excuse.  Never  excuse ;  for  when  the 
players  are  all  dead,  there  need  none  to  be  blamed. 
Marry,  if  he  that  writ  it  had  played  Pyram'JS,  aud 
hanged  himself  in  Thisbe's  garter  it  would  Lave 


126 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  V, 


been  a  fine  tragedy:  and  so  it  is,  trnlv;  and  very 
notahly  discnarged.    But  come,  your  Bergomask  : 
your  epilogue  alone.  {Here  a  dance  of  Clowns.) 

The  iron  tongue  of  midnight  hath  told  twelve  :  

Lovers,  to  bed;  'tis  almost  fairy  time. 

I  fear  we  sh;ill  out-sleep  the  coming  morn, 

As  much  as  we  this  night  have  overvvatch'd. 

This  palpab.e-gross  play  hath  well  beguil'd 

The  heavy  gait  of  night.— Sweet  friends,  to  bed. 

A  fortnight  hold  we  this  solemnity, 

In  nightly  revels,  and  new  jollity.'  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Puck. 

Puck.  Now  the  hungry  lion  roars, 

And  the  wolf  behowls  the  moon  ; 
Whilst  the  heavy  ploughman  snoresij 

All  with  weary  task  fordone. 
Now  the  wasted  brands  do  glow, 

Whilst  the  scritch-owl,  scritching  loud. 
Puts  the  wretch,  that  lies  in  woe. 

In  remembrance  of  a  shroud. 
Now  it  is  tlie  tirfne  of  night, 

That  the  graves,  all  gaping  wide. 
Every  one  lets  forth  his  sprite. 

In  the  church-way  paths  to  glide : 
And  we  fairies,  that  do  run 

By  the  triple  Hecat's  team, 
From  the  presence  ol' the  sun. 

Following  darkness  like  a  dream. 
Now  are  frolic  ;  not  a  mouse 
Sball  disturb  this  hallow'd  house: 
I  am  sent,  with  broom,  before. 
To  sweep  the  dust  behind  the  door. 

Enter  Oberon  andTvi\^ix,  with  their  train. 
Oie.  Through  this  house  give  glimmering  light. 
By  the  dead  and  drowsy  fire  : 
Every  elf,  and  fairy  sprite, 

Hop  as  light  as  bird  from  brier ; 
And  this  ditty,  after  me. 
Sing,  and  dance  it  trippingly. 
TUa,  First,  rehearse  this  song  by  r'»te ! 
1 0  each  word  a  warbling  note. 


Hand  in  hand,  with  fairy  grace. 
Will  we  sing,  and  bless  this  place. 

SONG,  AND  DANCE. 
Obe.  Now,  until  the  break  of  day. 

Through  this  house  each  fairy  gtray. 

fo  the  best  bride-bed  will  we. 

Which  by  us  shall  blessed  bej 

And  the  issue,  there  create. 

Ever  shall  be  fortunate. 

So  shall  all  the  couples  three 

Ever  true  in  loving  be :  1 

And  the  blots  of  nature's  hand  ' 

Shall  not  in  their  issue  stand ; 

Never  mole,  hare-lip,  nor  scai; 

Nor  niark  prodigious,  such  as  are 

Despised  in  nativity, 

Shall  upon  their  children  be.— 

With  this  field-dew  consecrafc. 

Every  fairy  take  his  gait ; 

And  each  several  chamber  bless. 

Through  this  palace  with  sweet  peace : 

E'er  shall  it  in  safety  rest. 

And  the  owner  of  it  blest. 
Trip  away  ; 
Make  no  stay; 

Meet  me  all  by  break  of  day. 

[Exeunt  Oberon,  Titania  and  tram 
Puck.  If  we  shadows  have  offended, 

Think  but  this,  [and  all  is  mendedf^ 

That  you  have  but  slumbered  here, ' 

While  these  visions  did  appear  ; 

And  this  iveak  and  idle  theme. 

No  more  yiehfmg  but  a  dream, 

irentles,  do  not  reprehend ; 

If  you  pardon,  we  ivill  mend. 

And,  as  Im  an  honest  Puck, 

If  ive  have  unearned  luck 

Now  to  scape  the  serpe7iVe  tongue, 

fr  g  will  make  amends,  ere  long  : 

Else  the  Puck  a  liar  call. 

So,  good  night  unto  you  all. 

Give  me  your  hands,  if  we  befriends. 

And  Rubin  shall  restore  amends.  [Exit, 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


In  this  plfiy,  wliich  all  the  editors  have  concyrred  to  censure,  and  some  have  rejected  as  unworthy  of  our  poet* 
ft  must  be  confessed  that  there  are  many  passages  mean,  childish,  and  vulgar:  and  some  which  ought  not  to  bare 
been  exhibited,  as  we  are  told  they  were,  to  a  maiden  queen.  But  there  are  scattered  through  the  whole  many 
■parks  of  geniua;  nor  is  there  any  play  that  has  more  evident  marks  of  the  hand  of  Shakspeare.  Johnson^ 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


FERDINAND,  King  of  Navarre. 
BIROi>f,  i 

LONGAVILLE,    >  Lords,  attending  on  the  King. 
DUMAIN,  ) 

BOYET,  >  Lords,  attending  on  the  Princess  of 

MERCAOE,          (  France. 

DON  ADRIANO  DE  ARMADO,  a  fantastical  Spaniard. 
SIR  NATHANIEL,  a  Curate. 
HOLOFERNES,  a  Schoolmaster. 
DULL,  a  Constable. 


COSTARD,  a  Clown. 

MOTH,  Page  to  Armado. 

A  Forester.  ' 

PRINCESS  OF  FRANCE, 

ROSALINE,  / 

MARIA,  >  Ladies,  attending  on  the  Priuctttit 

KATHARINE,  ) 

JAQUENETTA,  a  country  Wench. 

Officers  and  Others,  Attendants  on  the  King  and 
Princess. 


Scene, — Navarre. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — Navarre.  A  Park  with  a  Palace  in  it. 
Enter  the  King,  Biron,  Longaville,  and 

DUMAIN. 

King.  Let  fame,  that  all  hunt  after  in  their  lives. 
Live  register'd  upon  our  brazen  tombs. 
And  then  grace  us  in  the  disgrace  of  death; 
When,  spite  of  cormorant  devouring  time, 
The  endeavour  of  this  present  breath  may  buy 
That  h(monr,  which  shall  bate  his  scythe's  keen 
And  make  us  heirs  of  all  eternity.  [edge. 
Therefore,  brave  conquerors  ! — for  so  you  are. 
That  war  against  your  own  affections. 
And  the  huge  army  of  the  world's  desires, — 
Our  late  edict  shall  strongly  stand  !t  force  : 
Navarre  shall  be  the  wonder  of  the  world; 
Our  court  shall  be  a  little  academe. 
Still  and  contemplative  in  living  a^rt. 
You  three,  Biron,  Dumain,  and  Longaville, 
Have  sworn  lor  three  years'  term  to  live  with  me. 
My  fellow  scholars,  and  to  keep  those  statutes. 
That  are  recorded  in  this  schedule  here  : 
Your  oaths  are  past,  and  now  subscribe  j  our  names : 
That  his  own  hand  may  strike  his  honour  down, 
That  violates  the  smallest  branch  herein  : 
If  you  are  arm'd  to  do,  as  sworn  to  do. 
Subscribe  to  your  deep  oath,  and  keep  it  too. 

Long.  1  am  resolv'd:  'tis  but  a  three  years'  fast; 
The  mmd  shall  banquet,  though  the  body  pine  : 
Fat  paunches  have  lean  pates;  and  dainty  bits 
Make  rich  the  ribs,  but  bank'rout  quite  the  wits. 

Dum.  My  loving  lord,  Dumain  is  mortified; 
The  grosser  manner  of  these  world's  delights 
He  throws  upon  the  gross  world's  baser  slaves* 
To  love,  to  wealth,  to  pomp,  I  pine  and  die ; 
'^ith  all  these  living  in  philosophy. 

Biron.  I  can  but  say  the  protestation  over. 
So  much,  dear  liege,  1  have  already  sworn. 
That  is,  to  live  and  study  here  three  years. 
But  there  are  other  strict  observances  : 
As,  not  to  see  a  woinan  in  that  term  ; 
Wliich,  I  hope  well,  is  not  enrolled  there  : 
And,  one  day  in  a  week  to  touch  no  food ; 
knd  but  one  meal  on  every  day  beside  ; 
"^he  which,  I  hope,  is  not  enrolled  there  : 
And  then,  to  sleep  but  three  hours  in  the  night. 
And  not  he  seen  to  wink  of  all  the  day; 
(When  I  was  wont  to  think  no  harm  all  night. 
And  make  a  dark  night  too  of  half  the  day  ;) 
Which,  I  hope  well,  is  not  enrolled  there  : 
O,  these  are  barren  tasks,  too  hard  to  keep ; 
Not  to  see  ladies,  study,  fast,  not  sleep. 

King.  Y  our  oath  is  pass'd  to  pass  away  from  these. 

Biron.  Let  me  say  no,  my  liege,  an  if  you  please  ; 
I  only  swore  to  srnd^  with  your  grace. 


And  stay  here  in  your  court  for  three  years'  space. 

Long.  You  swore  to  that,  Biron,  and  to  the  re«4 

Biron.  By  yea  and  nay,  sir,  (hen  I  swore  in  jest—* 
What  is  the  end  of  study?  let  me  know. 

King.  Why,  that  to  know^,  which  else  we  should 
not  know.  [common  sense  ? 

Biron  Things  hid  and  barr'd,  you  mean,  from 

King.  Ay,  that  is  study's  god-like  recompense 

Biron.  Come  on  then,  I  will  swear  to  study  so, 
To  know  the  thing  I  am  forbid  to  know: 
As  thus, — To  study  where  I  well  may  dine. 

When  I  to  feast  expressly  am  forbid  ; 
Or,  study  where  to  meet  some  mistress  fine, 

When  mistresses  from  common  sense  are  hid 
Or,  having  sworn  too  hard-a-keeping  oath. 
Study  to  break  it,  and  not  break  my  troth. 
If  study's  gain  be  thus,  and  this  be  so,  ^ 
Study  knows  that,  which  yet  he  doth  not  know:  > 
Swear  me  to  this,  and  I  will  ne'er  say,  no.  ) 

King.  These  be  the  stops  that  hinder  study  quite, 
/Vnd  train  our  intellects  to  vain  delight. 

Biron.  Why,  all  delights  are  vain  ;  but  that  mott 
vain, 

Which,  with  pain  parchas'd,  doth  inherit  pain  : 
As,  painfully  to  pore  upon  a  l»ook. 

To  seek  the  light  of  truth ;  while  truth  the  whiU 
Doth  falsely  blind  the  eyesight  of  his  look  : 

Light,  seeking  light,  aoth  light  of  light  beguile: 
So,  ere  you  find  w  here  light  in  darkness  lies. 
Your  light  grows  dark  by  losing  of  your  eyes. 
Study  me  how  to  please  the  eye  indeed. 

By  fixing  it  upon  a  fairer  eye ; 
Who  dazzling  so,  that  eye  shall  be  his  heed. 

And  give  him  light  that  was  it  blinded  by. 
Study  is  like  the  heaven's  glorious  sun, 

That  will  not  be  deep-search'd  with  saucy  looks; 
StnafI  have  continual  plodders  ever  won, 

Save  base  authority  from  others'  books. 
These  earthly  godfathers  of  heaven's  lights, 

That  give  a  name  to  every  fixed  star, 
Have  no  more  profit  of  their  shining  nights, 

Than  those  that  walk,  and  'vot  not  what  they  are 
Too  much  to  know,  is  to  know  nought  but  fame; 
And  every  godfather  can  give  a  name. 

King.  How  well  he's  read,  to  reason  again* 
reading !  [ceeding 

Dum.  Proceeded  well,  to  stop  all  good  pro 

Long.  He  weeds  the  corn,  and  still  lets  grow  th 
weeding.  fa-breeditig 

Biron.  The  spring  is  near,  when  green  geese  ar 

Du7n.  How  follows  that  ? 

Biron.  Fit  in  his  place  and  time 

Dtim.  In  reason  nothing. 

Biron.  Something  then  in  rhyme. 

Long.  Biron  is  like  an  envious  sneaping  frost,  ^ 
That  bites  the  fiifst-borM  infants  of  the  spring. 


128 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


Act  L 


Biron.  Well,  say  I  am ;  why  shonld  proud  sum- 
mer boast, 

Defore  the  birds  have  any  Ciuse  to  sing  ? 
Why  should  I  joy  in  an  abortive  birth  ? 
At  Christmas  I  no  more  desire  a  rose,  ) 
Than  wish  a  snow  in  May's  new-fangled  shows;? 
But  like  of  each  thing,  that  in  season  grows.  ' 
So  you,  to  stiidj  now  it  is  too  late, 
Climb  o'er  the  house  to  unlock  the  little  gate. 

King.  Well,  sit  you  out:  go  home,  Biron  ;  adieu  ! 

Biron.  No,  my  good  lord ;  I  have  sworn  to  stay 
with  you : 

And,  though  I  have  for  barbarism  spoke  more, 

Than  for  that  angel  knowledge  yon  can  say. 
Yet  confident  I'll  keep  what  I  h  ue  swore. 

And  bide  the  penance  of  eacn  three  years'  day. 
Give  me  the  paper,  let  me  read  the  same  •  \ 
And  to  the  strict'st  decrees  I'll  write  luy  name.f 

Ki7ig.  How  well  this  yielelinj;  rescues  thee  * 
from  shatne !  j 

Biron.  {Reads.)  Item,  That  no  ivoman  shall 
come  within  a  mile  of  my  court. — 
And  hath  this  been  proclaim'd  l 

Long.  Four  days  ago. 

Biron.  Let's  see  the  penalty. 
{Reads.) — On  pain  of  losing  her  tongue. — 

Who  devis'd  this? 

Long.  Marry,  that  did  I. 
Biron.  Sweet  lord,  and  why  ? 
Long.  To  fright  them   hence  with  that  dread 
penalty. 

Biron.  A  dangernus  law  against  gentility. 

{Reads.)  liem,  If  any  man  beseento  talk  tvith 
a  ivoman  ivithiji  the  term  of  three  years,  he  shall 
endure  such  public  shame  as  the  rest  of  the  court 
can  possibly  devise. — 
This  article,  my  liege,  yourself  must  break; 

For  well  you  know,  here  comes  in  embassy 
The  French  king's  daughter,  with    yourself  to 
P  speak, — 

A  maid  of  grace,  and  complete  majesty, — 
About  surrender  up  of  Aquitain 

To  hl*r  decrepit,  sick,  and  bed-rid  father: 
Therefore  this  artic  le  is  made  in  vain, 

Or  vainly  conies  the  admired  princess  hither. 

King.  What  say  you,  lords?  why,  this  was  quite 
forgot. 

Biron.  So  study  evermore  is  overshot; 
While  it  doth  study  to  have  what  it  would, 
It  doth  forget  to  do  the  thing  it  shouJd  : 
And  when  it  hath  the  thing  it  hunteth  most, 
Tis  won,  as  towns  with  lire  ;  so  won,  so  lost. 

King.  We  must,  of  (brce,  dispense  with  this  de- 
ihe  must  lie  here  on  niere  necessity.  [cree  ; 

Biron.  Necessity  will  make  us  all  forsworn 
Three  thousand  times  within  this  three  years' 
space : 

For  every  man  with  his  affects  is  born ; 

Not  by  might  master'd,  but  by  special  grace: 
If  I  break  faith,  this  word  shall  speak  for  me, 
I  am  forsworn  on  mere  necessity. — 
So  to  the  laws  at  large  I  write  my  name : 

(Subscribes.) 

And  he,  that  breaks  them  in  the  least  degree, 
Stands  in  attainder  of  eternal  shame  : 

Suggestions  are  to  others  as  to  me ; 
But,  I  believe,  although  I  seem  so  loth, 
I  am  the  last,  that  will  last  keej)  his  oath. 
But  is  there  no  quick  recreation  granted  ? 
King.  Ay,  "hat  there  is :  our  court  you  know  is 
haunted 

With  a  refined  traveller  of  Spain  ; 
A,  man  in  all  the  world's  new  fashion  planted. 

That  hath  a  mint  of  phiases  in  his  brain : 
One,  whom  the  music  of  his  own  vain  tongue 

Doth  ravish,  like  enchanting  harmony; 
A  man  of  complements,  whom  right  and  wrong 

Have  chose  as  umpire  of  their  mutiny : 
This  child  oi'  fancy,  th?4  Armado  hight, 

For  interim  to  our  studies,  shall  relate. 


In  high-born  words,  the  worth  of  many  a  knight 

From  tawny  Spain,  lost  in  the  world's  debate* 
How  you  delight  my  lords,  I  know  not,  I; 
But,  I  protest,  I  love  to  hear  him  lie. 
And  I  will  use  him  for  my  minstrfcl.iy. 

Biron.  Armado  is  a  most  illustrious  wight, 
A  man  of  fire-new  words,  fashion's  own  knighi. 
Long.  Costard  the  swain,  and  he,  shall  be  oui 
sport ; 

And  so  to  study,  three  years  is  but  short 

Enter  Dull  xvith  a  letter,  and  Costaru 
Dull.  Which  is  the  duke's  own  f>ersonP 
Biron.  This,  fellow;  What  would'st? 
Dull.  I  myself  reprehend  his  own  person,  for  I 

am  his  grace's  tharborough :  but  I  would  see  his 

own  person  in  flesh  and  blood. 
Biron.  This  is  he. 

Dull.  Signior  Arme — Arme — commends  you. 
There's  villainy  abroad;  this  letter  will  tell  you 
more.  [nue. 

Cost.  Sir,  the  contempts  thereof  are  as  touching 

King.  A  letter  froni  the  magnificpnt  Armado. 

Biron.  How  low  soever  the  matter,  I  hope  in 
God  for  high  words.  [us  patience ! 

Long.  A  high  hope  for  a  low  having .  God  grant 

Biron.  To  hear?  or  forbear  hearing? 

Long.  To  hear  meekly,  sir,  and  to  laugh  mode 
rately;  or  to  forbear  both. 

Biron.  Well,  sir,  be  it  as  the  style  shall  give  U3 
cause  to  climb  in  the  merriness. 

Cost.  The  matter  is  to  me,  sir,  as  concerning 
Jaqiienetta.    The  manner  of  it  is,  I  was  taken  with 

Biron.  In  what  manner  ?  [the  manner 

Cost.  In  manner  and  form  folIf^T^'ing,  sir;  a!l 
these  three  :  I  was  seen  with  her  in  the  h^-p?r  house, 
sitting  with  her  upon  the  form,  and  taken  iu;.k>wingf 
her  into  the  park ;  which,  put  together,  is  in  man- 
ner and  form  following.  Now,  sir,  fof  the  rj.aa- 
ner, — it  is  the  manner  of  a  man  to  speak  to  a 
woman:  for  the  form, — in  some  form. 

Biron.  For  the  following,  sir? 

Cost.  As  it  shall  follow  in  my  correction;  and 
God  defetid  the  right! 

King.  Will  you  hear  this  letter  with  attention? 

Biron.  As  1  would  hear  an  oracle. 

Cost.  Such  is  the  simplicity  of  man  to  hearken 
after  the  th  sh. 

King.  {Reads.)  Great  deputy,  the  welkin  s  vice- 
gerent,  and  sole  dominator  of  Navarre,  my  soul's 
eai'th's  God,  and  body's  fostering  patron, — 

Cost.  Not  a  word  of  Costard  yet. 

King.  So  it  is, — 

Cost.  It  may  be  so:  but  if  he  say  it  is  so,  he  is, 
in  felling  true,  but  so,  so. 

King.  Peace.  [fight! 
Cost. — be  to  me,  and  every  man  that  dares  not 
King.  No  words. 

Cost. — of  other  men's  secrets,  I  beseech  you. 

King.  So  it  is,  besieged  ivith  sable-coloured 
melancholy ,  I  did  cominend  the  black-oppressing 
humour  to  the  itiost  wholesome  physic  of  thy 
health-giving  air;  and,  as  I  am  a  gentleman, 
betook  myself  to  walk.  The  time  lohen?  About 
the  sixth  hour;  when  beasts  most  graze,  birds 
best  peck,  and  men  sit  down  to  that  nourish- 
ment which  is  called  supper.  So  much  for  the 
time  xvhen:  noiu  for  the  ground  which;  which 
I  mean  I  ivalked  ujion :  it  is  ycleped  thy  park. 
Then  for  the  place  where ;  ivhere,  1  mean^ 
I  did  encounter  that  obscene  and  most  preposte- 
rous event,  that  draweth  from  my  snow-whits 
pen  the  ebon  coloured  ink,  which  here  thou 
viewest,  beholdest,  surveyest,  or  seest :  but  to  the 
place,  tvhere, — It  standeth  north-north  east  and 
by  east  from  the  west  corner  of  thy  curious 
knotted  garden  :  there  did  I  see  that  loiv-spirited 
swain,  t)iat  base  minnow  of  thy  mirth, 

Cost.  Me. 

King. — that  unletter' d  small-knowing  smclf, 


Scene  2. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST 


12S 


Cost.  Me. 

King. — that  shallotv  vassal, 
Cost.  StiSI  me. 

King. — which,  as  1  remember ,  Right  Costard, 
Cost.  O  me ! 

King. — sorted  and  consorted,  contrartj  to  thy 
estaohshed proclaimed  edict  and  continent  canon, 
with — ivith — 0  loith — hut  with  this  I  passion  to 
zay  lohere-with. 

Cost.  With  a  wench. 

King. — ivith  a  child  of  our  grandmother  Eve, 
a  fethale;  or,  for  thy  more  sweet  understanding, 
(I  looman.  Him  I  [as  my  ever-esteemed  duty 
pricks  me  on)  have  sent  to  thee,  to  receive  the 
meed  of  punishment,  by  thy  sweet  grace's  officer, 
Antony  Dull;  a  man  of  good  repute,  carriage, 
bearing,  and  estimation. 

Dull.  Me,  an't  shall  please  you ;  I  am  Antony 
Dull 

King.  For  Jaquenetta,  {so  is  the  tveaker  vessel 
called,  ivhich  I  apprehended  with  the  aforesaid 
srvain,)  I  keep  her  as  a  vessel  of  thy  law's  fury  ; 
and  shall,  at  the  least  of  thy  sioeet  notice,  bring 
her  to  trial.  Thine,  in  all  compliments  of  devoted 
and  heart-burning  heat  of  duty, 

Don  Adriano  de  Akmado. 

Biron.  This  is  not  so  well  as  1  looked  tor,  but  the 
best  that  ever  I  heard. 

King.  Ay,  the  best  for  the  worst. — But,  sirrah, 
what  say  you  to  this? 

Cost.  Sir,  1  confess  the  wench. 

King.  Did  yon  hear  the  proclamation? 

Cost.  I  do  confess  much  of  the  hearing  it,  but 
little  of  the  marking  of  it. 

King.  It  was  proclaimed  a  year's  imprisonment, 
to  be  taken  with  a  wench. 

Cost.  I  was  taken  with  none,  sir;  I  was  taken 
w'th  a  damosel. 

King.  Weil,  it  was  proclaimed  damosel. 

Cost.  This  was  no  damosel  neither,  sir;  she  was 
a  virgin. 

King.  It  is  so  varied  too ;  for  it  was  proclaimed 
virgin. 

Cost.  Tf  it  were,  T  deny  her  virginity;  I  was 
taken  with  a  maid. 

King.  This  maid  will  not  serve  your  turn,  sir. 

Cost.  This  maid  will  serve  my  turn,  sir. 

King.  Sir,  1  vvill  pronounce  your  sentence ;  You 
sliall  fast  a  week  with  bran  and  water. 

Cost.  I  had  rather  pray  a  month  with  mutton  and 
porridge. 

King.  And  Don  Armado  shall  be  your  keeper. — 
My  lord  Biron,  see  him  deliver'd  o'er — 
And  go  we,  lords,  to  put  in  practice  that. 

Which  each  to  other  hath  so  strongly  sworn. — 
[Exeunt  King,  Longaville,  and  Dumain. 
Biron.  I'll  lay  my  head  to  any  good  man's  hat, 
Thes'i  oaths  and  laws  will  prove  an  idle  scorn. — 
Sirrah,  come  on, 

Cost.  I  siilfer  for  the  truth,  sir:  for  true  it  is,  I 
was  taken  with  Jaquenetta,  and  Jaquenetta  is  a  true 
girl :  and  therefore,  Welcome  the  sour  cup  of  pros- 
perity! Affliction  may  one  day  smile  again,  and  till 
then.  Sit  thee  down,  sorrow!  [Exeunt. 
Scene  tl. — Another  of  the  same.  Armada's 
House. 

Enter  Armado  and  Moth. 

Arm.  Boy,  what  sign  is  it,  when  a  man  of  great 
spirit  grows  melancholy? 

Moth.  A  great  sign,  sir,  that  he  will  look  snd. 

Arm.  Why,  sadness  is  one  and  the  self-same 
things,  dear  imp. 

Moth.  No,  no ;  O  lord,  sir,  no. 

Arm.  How  canst  thou  part  sadness  and  melan- 
cholv,  my  tender  juvenal? 

Moth.  By  a  familiar  demonstration  of  the  work- 
ing, my  tough  senior. 

Ann.  Why  tough  senior?  why  tough  senior? 

Moth.  Why  tender  juvenal  ?  why  tender  juvenal? 


Arm,.  I  spoke  it,  tender  juvenal,  as  a  ^ougruent 
epitheton,  appertaining  to  thy  young  days,  which 
we  may  nominate  tender. 

Moth.  And  I,  tough  senior,  as  an  appertinent 
title  to  your  old  time,  which  we  may  name  tough. 

Arm.  Pretty,  and  apt. 

Moth.  How  mean  you,  sir?  i  pretty,  and  ray 
sayiiig  apt?  or  I  apt,  and  my  saying  pretty  ? 

Arm.  Thou  pretty,  because  little.  [apt? 

Moth.  Little  pretty,  because  little :  wherefore 

Arm.  And  therefore  apt,  because  quick. 

Moth.  Speak  you  this  in  my  praise,  master 

Arm.  In  thy  condign  praise. 

Moth.  I  will  praise  an  eel  with  the  same  praise. 

Ar7n.  What?  that  an  eel  is  ingenious  ? 

Moth.  That  an  eel  is  quick. 

Arm.  T  do  say,  thou  art  quick  in  answers  :  thoo 
heatest  my  blood. 

Moth.  I  am  answered,  sir. 

Arm.  I  love  not  to  be  crossed. 

Moth.  He  speaks  the  mere  contrary,  crosses  love 
not  him.  [Aside.) 

Arm.  I  have  promised  to  study  three  years  with 
the  duke. 

Moth.  You  may  do  it  in  an  hour,  sir. 

Arm.  Impossible, 

Moth.  How  many  is  one  thrice  told  ? 
Arm.  I  am  ill  at  reckoning,  it  titteth  the  spirit  of 
a  tapster. 

Moth.  You  are  a  gentleman,  and  a  gamester,  sir. 

Art)i,  I  confess  both ;  they  are  both  the  varnish 
of  a  complete  man. 

Moth.  Then,  I  am  sure,  you  know  how  much 
the  gross  sum  of  deuce  ace  amounts  to. 

Arm.  It  doth  amount  to  one  more  than  two. 

Moth.  Which  the  base  vulgar  do  call,  three. 

Arm.  True. 

Moth.  Why,  sir,  is  this  such  a  piece  of  study? 
Now  here  is  three  studied,  ere  you'll  thrice  wink : 
and  how  easy  it  is  to  put  years  to  the  word  three 
and  study  three  years  in  two  words,  the  dancing 
horse  will  tell  you. 

Arm.  A  most  fine  figure  ! 

Moth.  To  f-fove  you  a  cypher.  [Aside.) 

Arm.  I  will  hereupon  confess,  I  am  in  love  :  and, 
as  it  is  base  for  a  soldier  to  love,  so  am  I  in  love 
with  a  base  wench.  If  drawing  my  sword  against 
the  humour  of  afJection  would  deliver  me  from  the 
reprobate  thought  of  it,  I  would  take  desire  pri- 
soner, and  ransom  him  to  any  French  courtier  for 
a  new  devised  courtesy.  I  think  scorn  to  sigh;  me- 
thinks,  I  should  out-swear  Cupid.  Comfort  me, 
boy  :  what  great  men  have  been  in  love  ? 

Moth.  Hercules,  master. 

Arm.  Most  sweet  Hercules! — More  authority, 
dear  boy,  name  more ;  and,  sweet  my  child,  let 
them  be  men  of  good  repute  and  carriage. 

Moth.  Sampson,  master:  he  was  a  man  of  good 
carriage,  great  carriage ;  for  he  carried  the  town- 
gates  on  his  back,  like  a  porter:  and  he  was  m 
love. 

Arm.  O  well-knit  Sampson !  strong-jointed  Samp- 
son !  I  do  excel  thee  in  my  rapier,  as  much  as  tlior 
didst  me  in  carrying  gates.  I  am  in  love  too. — 
Who  was  Sampson's  love,  my  dear  Moth? 

Moth.  A  woman,  master. 

Arm.  Of  what  complexion  ? 

Moth.  Of  all  the  four,  or  the  three,  or  the  two, 
or  one  of  the  four. 

Arm.  Tell  me  precisely  of  what  complexion  ? 

Moth.  Of  the  sea-water  green,  sir. 

Arm.  Is  that  one  of  the  tour  complexions? 

Moth.  As  I  have  read,  sir;  and  the  best  of  them 
too. 

Arm.  Green,  indeed,  is  the  colour  of  lovers:  but 
to  have  a  love  of  that  colour,  methinks,  Sampsoa 
had  small  reason  for  it.  He,  surely,  affected  her 
for  her  wit. 

Moth.  It  was  so,  sir;  for  she  had  a  green  wit* 
Arm.  My  love  is  most  immaculate  white  and  red 

9 


130 


LOVE'S  LABOCJR  LOST. 


Act  n 


Moth.  Most  maculate  thoughts,  master,  are 
nuisked  nnder  sucii  colours. 

Arm.  Delitie,  define,  well  educated  infant. 
Moth.  iMy  father's  wit,  and  my  ino'i^^^r's  tongue! 
assiit  tne  !  [and  pathetical ! 

Arm.  Sweet  in\ocation  of  a  child :  most  pretty. 
Moth.  If  she  be  u'ade  of  white  and  red, 
Her  faults  will  ne'er  be  known; 
For  blushing^  cheeks  by  laults  are  bred. 

And  I'ears  by  pale-white  shown; 
Then,  if  slie  tear,  or  be  to  blame. 

By  this  you  shall  nut  know; 
For  still  her  cheeks  possess  the  same. 
Which  native  she  doth  owe. 
A  dangerous  rhyme,  master,  agait)st  the  reason  of 
white  and  red.  [and  the  Beggar  ? 

Arm.  Is  there  not  a  ballad,  buy,  of  the  King 
Moth.  The  world  was  very  guilty  of  such  abali;.\i 
some  three  ages  since  :  but,  I  think,  nuw  'tis  not  to 
be  found  ;  or,  if  it  were,  it  wuuld  iieither  serve  for 
tije  writing,  nor  the  tune.  ^ 

Ar7n.  1  will  have  the  subject  newly  writ  o'er, 
tliat  I  may  example  my  digression  by  some  mighty 
precedent.  Boy,  I  do  lose  that  country  girl,  that 
I  took  in  the  park  with  the  rational  hind  Costard; 
she  deserves  well. 

Moth.  To  be  wliipped  ;  and  yet  a  better  love  than 
ttiy  master.  (Aside.) 
Arm.  iSing,  boy;  my  spirit  grows  heavy  in  love. 
Moth.  And  that's  great  marvel,  loving  a  light 
Ana.  I  say,  sing.  [wench. 
Moth.  Forbear  till  this  company  be  past. 

Enter  Dull,  Costard,  and  Jaquenetta. 

Dull.  Sir,  the  duke's  pleasure  is,  that  you  keep 
Costard  safe  :  and  you  must  let  \\\n\  take  no  delight, 
nor  tio  pei^nce  ;  biit  a'  must  fast  three  days  a- week  : 
for  this  damsel,  I  must  kee{>  her  at  the  park  :  she  is 
allowed  lor  the  day-woman.    Fare  you  well. 

Arm.  Ida  betray  myself  with  blushing. — Maid, 

Jaq.  Man. 

Ann   I  will  visit  thee  at  the  lodge. 

Jaq.  I'hat's  hereby. 

Ann.  I  know  where  it  is  situate. 

Jaq.  Lord,  how  wise  you  are  ! 

Arm   I  will  tell  thee  wonders. 

Jaq.  VVitii  that  face  ? 

Arm   \  love  thee. 

Jaq.  So  I  heard  you  say. 

Arm.  And  so  iarewell. 

Jaq.  Fair  weatiier  alter  you  ! 

Duil.  Come,  Jaquenetta,  away. 

[Exeunt  Dull  and  Jaquenetta. 

Arm.  Villain,  thou  shall  fast  for  thy  otfences,  ere 
thou  be  pardoned. 

Cost.  Well,  sir,  I  hope,  when  I  do  it,  I  shall  do 
it  on  a  fiill  stomach. 

Arm.  'i'hou  shalt  be  heavily  pimished. 

Cost.  I  am  more  bound  to  you,  than  your  fellows, 
for  they  are  but  lightly  rewarded. 

Ar)u.  Take  away  this  villain;  shut  him  up. 

Moth.  Come,  you  transgressing  slave ;  away. 

Cost.  Let  me  not  be  pent  up,  sir;  I  will  fast 
being  loose.  [shalt  to  piison. 

Moth.  No,  sir;  that  were  fast  and  loose;  thou 

Cost.  Weil,  ii  ever  I  do  see  the  merry  days  of 
desolation  that  1  have  seen,  some  shall  see — 

Mjih.  What  shall  some  see? 

Cost.  Nay  nothing,  master  Moth,  but  what  they 
j  .ok  upon.  It  is  not  for  prisoners  to  be  too  silent 
in  their  words  :  and,  therefore,  I  will  say  nothing: 
I  thank  God,  1  have  as  little  patience  as  another 
niau  ;  and,  therefore,  I  can  be  quiet. 

[Exeunt  Moth  and  Costard. 

Arm.  I  do  affect  the  very  ground,  which  is  base, 
where  her  shoe,  which  is  baser,  guided  by ^ her 
foot,  which  is  basest,  doth  tread.  I  shall  be  for- 
Bworn,  (which  is  a  great  argument  of  falsehood,)  il' 
I  love  :  and  i>uvA  can  that  be  true  love,  which  is 
/alaeiy  atteni])tedV    Love  is  a  familiar;  love  is  a 


devil :  there  is  no  evil  ange;  bjit  k/ve.  Y  et  Samp, 
son  was  so  tempted ;  and  he  had  an  excellent 
strength  :  yet  was  Solomon  so  seduced ;  and  he 
had  a  very  good  wit.  Cupid's  butt-shaft  is  too 
hard  for  Hercules'  club,  and  therefore  too  much 
odds  for  a  Spaniard's  rapier.  The  first  and  second 
cause  will  not  serve  my  turn  ;  the  passado  he  re- 
spects not,  the  duello  he  regards  not:  his  disgrace 
is  to  be  called  boy;  but  his  glory  is  to  subdue  men. 
Adieu,  valour!  rust,  rapier!  be  still,  drum!  foi 
your  manager  is  in  love  ;  yea,  he  loveth.  Assist 
me,  some  extemporal  god  of  rhyme  ;  for,  I  aiij 
sure,  I  shall  turn  sonneteer.  Devise,  wit ;  write, 
pen  ;  for  1  am  for  whole  volumes  in  folio. 

[Exit. 

ACT  IL 

Scene  I. — Another  part  of  the  same.  A  Pavilion 
and  Tents  at  a  distance. 

Enter  the  Princess  of  France,  Rosalink, 
Marl\,  Katharine,  Boyet,  Lords,  and  other 
Attendants. 

Boyet.  Now,  madam,  summon  up  your  dearest 
spirits  : 

Consider  who  the  king  your  father  sends  ; 

To  whom  he  sends;  and  what's  his  embassy: 

Yourself,  held  precious  in  the  world's  esteem, 

To  parley  with  tlie  sole  inhentor 

O*  all  perfections  that  a  man  niay  owe. 

Matchless  Navarre  ;  the  plea  of  no  less  weight 

'I'han  Aquitain;  a  dowry  for  a  queen. 

Be  now  as  prodigal  of  all  dear  grace, 

As  nature  was  in  making  graces  dear. 

When  she  did  starve  the  general  world  beside. 

And  prodigally  gave  them  all  to  you.  [mean, 

Prin.  Good  lord  Boyet,  my  beauty,  though  but 
Needs  not  the  painted  flourish  of  your  praise  ; 
Beauty  is  bought  by  judgment  of  the  eye, 
Not  utter'd  by  base  sale  of  chapmen's  tongues; 
i  am  less  proud  to  hear  you  tell  my  worth. 
Than  you  much  willing  to  be  counted  wise 
In  spending  your  wit  in  the  praise  of  mine. 
But  now  to  task  the  tasker,— Good  Boyet, 
You  are  not  ignorant,  all-telling  fame 
Doth  noise  abroad,  Navarre  hath  made  a  vow, 
Till  oainful  study  shall  out-wear  three  years. 
No  woman  may  approach  his  silent  court: 
Therel'ore  to  us  seemeth  it  a  needful  course. 
Before  we  enter  his  Ibrbidden  gates, 
To  know  his  pleasure;  and  in  that  behalf,  J 
Bold  of  your  worthiness,  we  single  you 
As  our  best-moving  fair  solicitor: 
Tell  bim,  the  daugiiter  of  the  king  of  France, 
On  serious  business,  craving  quick  despatch. 
Importunes  personal  conference  with  his  grace. 
Hast:?,  signify  so  much ;  while  we  attend. 
Like  humbly- visag'd  suitors,  his  high  will. 

Boyet.  Proud  of  employment,  willingly  I  go. 

[Exit, 

Prin.  All  pride  is  willing  pride,  and  your's  is  sc.— 
Who  are  the  votaries,  my  loving  lords. 
That  are  vow-fellows  with  this  virtuous  duke  ? 

1  Lord.  Longaville  is  one. 

Prin.  Know  you  the  man  ? 

Mar.  I  know  him,  madam;  at  a  marriage  feast. 
Between  lord  Perigort  and  the  beauteous  heir 
Of  Jaques  Falconbridge  solemnized. 
In  Normandy  saw  I  this  Longaville: 
A  man  of  sovereign  parts  he  is  esteemed  ; 
Well  fitted  in  the  arts,  glorious  in  arms: 
Nothing  becomes  him  ill,  that  he  would  well. 
The  only  soil  of  his  fair  virtue's  gloss, 
(If  virtue's  gloss  will  stain  with  any  soil,) 
Is  a  sharp  wit  match'd  with  too  blunt  a  will  ; 
VVhose  edge  hath  power  to  cut,  whose  will  still  wills 
It  should  none  spare  that  come  within  his  povv-er. 

Prin.  Some  merry  mocking  lord,  belike;  is't  so? 

Mar.  They  say  so  most,  that  most  his  hamoara 
know. 


Scene  1. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


181 


Prin.  Such  efaort-liv'd  wits  do  wither  as  they  grow. 
WIjo  are  ttse  rest  ? 

Kath,  The  young  Dutnain,  a  well  accoinplish'd 
0/"a,l,  that  virtue  love,  for  virtue  lov'd :  ^  [youth. 
Most  power  to  do  must  harm,  least  knowing  ill ; 
For  hs  hath  wi^  to  make  an  ill  shape  good. 
And  shape  to  win  grace  though  he  had  no  wit. 
1  saw  liim  at  the  duke  Alen9on's  once  ; 
And  much  too  little  of  that  good  i  saw, 
\n  my  report,  to  his  great  worthiness. 

Res.  Another  of  these  students  at  that  time. 
Was  there  with  him:  if  {  have  heard  a  truth, 
Biron  tiiey  call  hi.ii  :  but  a  merrier  man, 
Within  Ihe  limit  of  becoming  mirth, 
I  never  spent  an  hour's  talk  withal : 
His  eye  begets  occasi<m  for  his  wit ; 
For  every  object  tliat  the  o«e  doth  catch, 
The  other  t(nns  to  a  mirth-moving  jest; 
Which  his  fair  tongue  (conceit's  expositor,) 
Deli\  ers  in  such  apt  and  gracious  words. 
That  aged  ears  play  truant  at  his  tales. 
And  younger  hearings  are  quite  ravished; 
So  s>\eet  and  voluble  is  his  discourse. 

Prin.  God  bless  my  ladies !  are  tliey  all  in  love ; 
That  every  one  her  own  hath  garnished 
With  sHch  bedeckin^^  ornaments  of  praise  ? 

Mar,  Here  comes  Boyet. 

Re-enter  Boyet. 

Prin.  Now,  what  admittance,  lord? 

Boyet.  Navarre  had  notice  of  your  fair  approach  ; 
And  tie,  and  his  competitors  in  oath. 
Were  all  address'd  to  meet  you,  gentle  lady, 
Before  I  came.    Marry,  thus  much  I  have  learnt, 
He  rather  means  to  lodge  you  in  the  field, 
fLike  one  that  comes  here  to  besiege  his  court,) 
Than  seek  a  dispensation  for  his  oath. 
To  let  you  enter  his  unpeopled  house. 
Here  comes  Navarre.  {The  Ladies  mask.) 

E.iter  King,  Longaville,  Dumain,  Biron,  and 
Attendants. 

King.  Fair  princess,  welcome  to  the  court  of 
Navarre. 

Prin.  Fair,  I  give  you  back  again;  and,  welcome 
[  have  not  yet:  the  roof  of  this  court  is  too  hi^h  to 
be  yours ;  and  welcome  to  the  wild  fields  too  base 
to  be  mine. 

King.  You  shall  be  welcome,  madam,  to  my  court. 
Prin.  I  will  be  welcome  then;  corid.';ct  me  tliither. 
King.  Hear  me, dear  lady;  J  liave  sworn  an  oath. 
Prin.  Our  lady  help  my  lord  !  he'll  be  forsworn. 
hing.  Not  for  the  world,  fair  madam,  by  my  will. 
Prin.  Why,  will  shall  break  it;  will,  and  no- 
thing else. 

King.  Y'our  ladyship  is  ignorant  what  it  is. 

Prin.  Were  my  lord  so,  his  ignorance  were  wise. 
Where  now  his  knowledge  must  prove  ignorance. 
[  hear  your  grace  hath  sworn-out  house-keeping: 
'Tis  deadly  sin  to  keep  that  oath,  my  lord. 
And  sin  to  break  it : 
But  pardon  me,  I  am  too  sudden-bold ; 
To  teach  a  teacher  ill  beseemeth  me. 
Vouchsafe  to  read  the  purpose  of  my  coming, 
(^nd  suddenly  resolve  rae  in  my  suit.(G/ye6'  a  paper.) 

King.  Madam,  I  will,  if  suddenly  1  may. 

Prin.  You  will  the  sooner,  that  I  were  away; 
For  you'll  prove  perjur'd,  if  you  make  me  stay. 

Biron.  Did  not  I  dance  with  you  in  Brabant  once? 

Ros.  Did  not  I  dance  with  you  in  Brabant  once  ? 

Biron.  I  know  you  did. 

Ros.  How  needless  was  it  then 

To  ask  the  question ! 
Biron.  You  must  not  be  so  quick. 

Ros.  'Tis  long  of  you  that  spur  me  with  such 
questions.  ['twill  tire. 

Biron.   Your  wit's  too  hot,  it  speeds  too  fast, 
Ros.  Not  tid  it  leave  the  rider  in  the  mire. 
Biron.  What  time  o'day  ? 


Ros.  The  hour  that  fools  should  ask. 

Biron.  Now  fair  befal  your  mask! 

Ros.  Fair  fall  the  face  it  covers  1 

Biron.  And  §end  you  many  lovers'. 

Rps.  Amen,  so  you  be  none. 

Biron.  Nay,  then  will  I  be  gone. 

King.  Madam,  your  father  here  doth  intimate 
The  payment  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns; 
Being  but  the  one  half  of  an  entire  sum, 
Disbursed  by  my  father  in  his  wars. 
But  say,  that  he,  or  we,  (as  neither  have,) 
lleceiv'd  that  sum;  yet  there  remains  unpaid 
A  hundred  thousand  more;  in  surety  of  the  which, 
One  part  of  Aquitain  is  bound  to  us. 
Although  not  valued  to  the  money's  worth 
If  then  the  king  your  father  will  restore 
But  that  one  half  which  is  unsatisfied. 
We  will  give  up  our  right  in  Aquitain, 
And  hold  fair  friendship  with  his  majesty. 
But  that,  it  seems,  he  little  purposeth. 
For  here  he  doth  demand  to  have  repaid 
An  hundred  thousand  crowns;  and  not  demands. 
On  payment  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns, 
To  have  his  title  live  in  Aquitain ; 
Which  we  much  rather  had  depart  withal. 
And  have  the  money  by  our  father  lent. 
Than  Aquitain  so  gelded  as  it  is. 
Dear  princess,  were  not  his  requests  so  far 
From  reason's  yielding,  your  fair  self  should  make 
A  yielding,  'gainst  some  reason,  in  my  breast, 
And  go  well  satisfied  to  France  again. 

Prin.  You  do  the  king  my  father  too  much 
wrong, 

And  wrong  the  reputation  of  your  name. 

In  so  unseeming  to  confess  receipt 

Of  that,  which  hath  so  faithfully  been  paid. 

King.  I  do  protest,  I  never  heard  of  it; 
And,  if  you'll  prove  it,  I'll  repay  it  back, 
Or  yield  up  Aquitain. 

Prin.  We  arrest  your  word 

Boyet,  you  can  produce  acquittances. 
For  such  a  sum,  from  special  officers 
Of  Charles  his  father. 

King.        .  Satisfy  me  so. 

Boyet.  So  please  your  grace,  the  pacKet  is  not 
come, 

Where  that  and  o4her  specialties  are  bound  ; 
To-morrow  you  shall  have  a  sight  of  tiiem. 

King.  It  shall  suffice  me  :  at  which  interview, 
All  liberal  reason  I  will  yield  unto. 
Mean  time,  receive  such  welcome  at  my  hand. 
As  honour,  without  breach  of  honour,  may 
Make  tender  of  to  thy  true  worthiness  ; 
You  may  not  come,  lair  princess,  in  my  gates  ; 
But  here  without  you  shall  be  so  receiv'd. 
As  you  shall  deem  yourself  lodg'd  in  my  heart. 
Though  so  denied  fair  harbour  in  my  house. 
Your  own  gix)d  thoughts  excuse  me,  and  farewell: 
To-morrow  shall  we  visit  you  again. 

Prin.  Sweet  health  and  fair  desires  consort  your 
grace  ! 

King.  Thy  own  wish  wish  I  thee  in  every  place  1 
[Exeunt  King  and  his  train 
Biron.  Lady,  I  will  commend  you  to  my  ovyn 

heart.  [be  glad  to  see  it. 

Ros.  'Pray  you,  do  my  commendations  ;  I  would 
Biron.  I  would,  you  heard  it  groan. 
Ros.  Is  the  fool  sick  ? 
Biron.  Sick  at  heart. 
Ros.  Alack,  let  it  blood. 
Biron.  Would  that  do  it  good  ? 
Ros.  My  physic  says,  I. 
Biron.  Will  you  prick't  with  your  eye  ? 
Ros.  No  poynt,  with  my  knife. 
Biron.  Now,  God  save  thy  life  ! 
Ros.  And  yours  from  long  living  ! 
Biron.  I  cannot  stay  thanksgiving.  (Retiring.) 
Dum.  Sir,  I  pray  you,  a  word :  What  lady  is 

that  same  ? 

Boyet.  The  heir  of  Alen$on,  Rosaline  her  name 


132 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


Act  ill 


Dum.  A  rallant  iadyl  Monsieur,  fare  yoii  well. 

[Exit. 

Long,  I  beseech  you  a  word  :  what  is  she  in 
the  white?  [the  light. 

Boyet.  A  woman  sometimes,  an  you  saw  her  in 
Lo7ig.  Perchance,  light  in  the  hght :   I  desire 
her  name. 

Boyet.  She  hath  but  one  for  herself ;  to  desire 
Ibat,  were  a  shame. 

Long.  Pray  yon,  sir,  whose  daughter  f 

Boyet.  Her  mother's,  1  have  heard. 

Long.  God's  blessing  on  your  beard  ! 

^oyet.  Good  sir,  be  not  otfended: 
She  is  an  heir  of  Falconbridge. 

Long.  Nay,  my  choler  is  ended, 
^ihe  is  a  most  sweet  lady.  •  t 

Boyet.  Not  unlike,  sir  ;  that  may  be.  [Exit  Long. 

Biron.  What's  her  name,  in  the  cap  i" 

Boyet.  Katharine,  by  good  hap. 

Biron.  Is  she  wedded,  or  no  r 

Boyet.  To  her  will,  sir,  or  so. 

Biron.  You  are  welcome,  sir  ;  adieu  I 

Boyet.  Farewell  to  me,  sir,  and  welcome  to  you. 

[Exit  Biron. — Ladies  unmask. 

Mar.  That  last  is  Biron,  the  merry  mad-cap  lord; 
Not  a  word  with  him  but  a  jest. 

Boyet.  And  every  jest  but  a  word. 

Pi  in.  It        well  done  of  you  to  take  him  at  his 
word.  ,         ^  [board. 

Boyet.  I  was  as  willing  to  grapple,  as  he  was  to 

i»i^/r.  Two  hot  sheeps,  marry  ! 

Boyet.  And  wherefore  not  ships  C 

No  Sheep,  sweet  lamb,  unless  we  feed  on  your  lips. 

Mar.  You  sheep,  and  I  pasture  ;  shall  that  finish 

Boyet.  So  you  grant  pasture  for  ine.      [the  jest 


Mar. 


{Offering  to  kiss  her.) 
Not  so,  gei 


-  '"^'^  beast ; 
My'lTps  are  no  common,  though  several  they  be. 
Boyet.  Belonging  to  whom  ^ 

^lar.  '^o  my  fortunes  and  me. 

Prin.  Good  wits  will  be  jangling :  but,  gentles, 

The  civil  war  of  wits  were  much  better  used 
On  Navarre  and  his  book-men  ;  ior  h§re  'tis  abused, 
Boij'.t.  Ifmy  observation,  (which  very  seldom  lies,) 
By  the  heart  s  still  rhetoric,  disclosed  with  eyes, 
Deceive  nie  not  now,  Navarre  is  infected. 
Prin.  With  what  ?  .  ,     ^  j 

Boyet.  With  that  which  we  lovers  entitle,  aflected. 
P/vn.  Your  reason?  [retire 
Boyet.  Why,  all  his  behaviours  did  make  their 
To  tlie  court  of  his  eye,  peeping  thorough  desire  : 
His  heart,  like  an  agate,  with  your  print  impressed, 
Proud  with  his  form,  in  his  eye  i)ride  expressed : 
His  tongue,  all  impatient  to  speak  and  not  see. 
Did  stumble  with  haste  in  his  eye-sight  to  be  ; 
All  senses  to  that  sense  did  make  their  repair. 
To  feel  only  looking  on  fairest  of  fair  : 
Methought  all  his  senses  were  lock'd  in  his  eye. 
As  jewels  in  crystal  for  some  prince  to  buy; 
Who,  tend'ring  their  own  worth,  from  where  they 

were  glass'd. 
Did  point  you  to  buy  them,  along  as  you  pass'd. 
His  lace's  own  margent  did  quote  such  amazes, 
That  all  eyes  saw  his  eyes  enchanted  with  gazes  : 
1  'll  give  you  Aquitain,  and  all  that  is  his, 
Ab  you  give  him  for  my  sake  but  one  loving  kiss. 
Prin.  Come,  to  our  pavilion:  Boyet  is  dispos'd— 
Boyet.  But  to  speak  that  in  words,  which  his  eye 
hath  disclos'd: 

I  Mily  have  made  a  mouth  of  his  eye, 

II  y  adding  a  tongae  which  I  know  will  not  he. 
iios.  Thou  art  an  old  love-monger,  and  speak'st 

skilfully.  [of  him. 

Mar.  He  is  Cupid's  grandfather,  and  learns  news 
Ros.  Then  was  Venus  like  her  mother;  for  her 

father  is  but  grim. 
Boyet.  Do  you  hear,  my  mad  wenches  t 

Mor.  No 


What  then,  do  yoa  see  ? 


Ros.  Ay,  our  way  to  be  gone. 

Boyet.  You  are  too  hard  for  me, 

ACT  III. 

Scene  \.— Another  part  of  the  same. 
Enter  Armado  and  Moth. 

Ann.  Warble,  child  ;  make  passionate  my  sens* 
of"  hearing.  ^. 

Moth.  Concolinel   [bingmg  ] 

Arm.  Sweet  air  !— Go,  tenderness  of  years  ;  lake 
this  key,  give  enlargement  to  the  swain,  bring  him 
festinately  hither:.  1  must  employ  him  in  a  letter  to 
inv  love. 

'Moth.  Master,  will  you  win  your  love  with  a 
French  brawl?  ,.     .    „       ,  „ 

Arm.  How  mean'st  thon  ?  brawling  in  1^  rench  ( 
Moth.  No,  my  complete  master:  but  to  jig  off  a 
tune  at  the  tongue's  end,  canary  to  it  with  your 
feet,  humour  it  with  turning  up  your  eye-lids;  sigh 
a  note,  and  sing  a  note ;  sometime  through  the 
throat,  as  if  you  swallowed  love  with  singing  love  ; 
sometime  through  the  nose,  as  it"  you  snuffed  up 
love  by  smelling  love  ;  with  your  hat  perthouse-like, 
o'er  the  shop  of  your  eyes ;  with  your  arms  crossed 
on  your  thin  belly-doublet,  like  a  rabbit  on  a  spit; 
or  your  hands  in  your  pocket,  like  a  man  after  the 
old  painting;  and  keep  not  too  long  in  one  tune, 
but  a  snip  and  away  :  these  are  complements,  these 
are  humours ;  these  betray  nice  wenclies— that  would 
be  betrayed  without  these  ;  and  make  them  men  of 
cote,  (do  you  note,  men?)  that  most  are  aflected 

to  these.  ,       ,  „  •  •  <» 

Arm.  How  hast  thou  purchased  this  expeneucoT 

Moth.  By  my  penny  of  observation. 

Arm.  But  O,— but  O,— 

^Gth.  —  the  hobby-horse  is  forgot. 

Arm.  Callest  thou  my  love,  hobby-horse? 

Moth.  No,  master;  tlie  hobby-horse  is  but  a 
colt,  and  your  love,  perhaps,  a  hackney.  But  have 
you  forgot  your  love  ? 

Arm.  Almost  I  had. 

Moth.  Negligent  student !  learn  her  by  heart. 

Arm.  By  heart,  and  in  heart,  boy. 

Moth.  And  out  of  heart,  master:  all  those  three 
I  will  prove. 

Arm.  What  wilt  thou  prove  ? 

Moth.  A  man,  if  1  live:  and  this,  by,  m,  and 
without,  upon  the  instant:  by  heart  you  love  her, 
because  your  heart  cannot  come  by  her  :  in  heart 
you  love  lier,  because  your  heart  is  in  love  with  her  ; 
and  out  of  heart  you  love  her,  being  out  of  heart thst 
you  cannot  enjoy  her. 

Arrn.  I  am  all  these  three. 

Moth.  And  three  times  as  much  more,  and  yet 
nothing  at  all.  l^^^r. 

Arm.  Fetch  hither  the  swain ;  he  must  carry  me 

Moth.  A  message  well  sympathized ;  a  horse  to 
be  ambassador  for  an  ass  ! 

Arm.  Ha,  ha  I  what  say  est  thou  ? 

Moth.  Marry,  .sir,  you  must  send  the  ass  upcn  the 
horse,  for  he  is  very  slow-gaited  :  but  1  go. 

Arm.  The  way  is  but  short;  away, 

MotL  As  swift  as  lead,  sir. 

Arm.  Thy  meaning,  pretty  ingenious  ? 
Is  not  lead  a  metal  heavy,  dull,  and  slow? 

Moth.  Minime,  honest  master ;  or  rather,  master 

Arm.  I  sav,  lead  is  slow.  I***' 

Moth.  '  You  are  too  swift,  sir,  to  say  so. 
Is  that  lead  slow  which  is  fir'd  frorji  a  gun? 

Arm.  Sweet  smoke  of  rhetorick ! 
He  reputes  me  a  cannon ;  and  the  bullet,  that's  he  :— 
I  shoot  thee  at  the  swain.  ,  r  ^ 

Moth.  Thump  then,  and  1  flee. 

[Exit 

Arm.  A  most  acute  ju venal;  voluble  and  freeof 
grace  !  •     i  r 

By  thy  favour,  8we«jt  welkin  I  must  sigh  in  thy  iace 


Scene  1. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


133 


Most  rnde  melancholy,  valour  gives  thee  place. 
My  herald  is  returned. 

Re-enter  Moth  and  Costard. 
Moth.  A  wonder,  master;  here's  a  Costard  broken 
in  a  shin. 

Arm.  Some  enig-ma,  some  riddle  :  come, — thy 

I  envoy  ; — begin. 
Cost.  No  egma,  no  riddle,  no  Venvoy ;  no  salve 
ill  the  mail,  sir:  O,  sir,  plantain,  a  plain  plantain: 
uc  Venvoy,  no  Venvoy,  no  salve,  sir,  but  a  plantain  ! 

Arm.  By  virtue,  thon  enforcest  laughter  ;  thy  silly 
thought,  my  spleen ;  the  heaving  of  my  lungs  pro- 
vokes me  to  ridiculous  smiling:  O,  pardon  me,  my 
stars  !  Doth  the  inconsiderate  take  salve  i'or  Venvoy, 
and  the  word,  Venvoy,  for  a  salve  ^ 

Moth.  Do  the  w^ise  think  them  other  ?  is  not-- 
Vem'joy  a  salve  ?  I  make  plain 

Arm.  No,  page  :  it  is  an  epilogue  or  discourse,  to 
Some  obscure  precedence,  that  hath  tofore  been  sain. 
I  will  example  it : 

The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee, 
Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three. 
There's  the  moral :  now  the  Venvoy. 

Moth.  I  will  add  the  Venvoy :  say  the  moral  again. 
Arm.  The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee, 

Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three. 
Moth.  Until  the  goose  came  out  of  door. 
And  stay'd  the  odds  by  addiiig  four. 
Now  will  I  begin  your  moral,  and  do  you  follow 
with  my  Venvoy. 

The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee, 
Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three  : 
Arm.  Until  the  goose  came  our  of  door. 

Staying  the  odds  by  adding  four. 
Moth.  A  good   Venvoy,  ending  in  the  goose: 
Would  you  desire  more  ? 
Cost.  The  boy  hath  sold  him  a  bargain,  a  goose, 
that's  flat:— 

Sir,  your  penny  worth  is  good,  an  your  goose  be  fat. — 
To  sell  a  bargain  well,  is  as  cunning  as  fast  and  loose : 
i.et  nje  see  a  fat  Venvoy  ;  ay,  that's  a  fat  goose. 
Ann.  Come  hither,  come  hither :  how  did  this 

argument  begin? 
Moth.  By  saying  that  a  Costard  was  bi-oken  in  a 
shin. 

Then  call'd  you  for  the  Venvoy. 

Cost.  True,  and  I  for  a  plantain  :  thus  came  your 
argument  in ; 
Then  the  boy's  fat  Venvoy,  the  goose  that  you  bought ; 
And  he  ended  the  market. 

Arm.  But  tell  me ;  how  was  there  a  CosteU-d 
broken  in  a  shin? 

Moth.  I  will  tell  you  sensibly. 

Cost.  Thou  hast  no  feeling  of  it,  Moth  !  I  will  speak 
that  Venvoy. 

I,  Costard,  running  out,  that  was  safely  within. 
Fell  over  the  threshold,  and  broke  my  shin. 

Arm.  We  will  talk  no  more  of  this  matter. 

Cost.  Till  there  be  more  matter  in  the  shin. 

Ann.  Sirra-h  Costard,  I  will  enfranchise  thee. 

Cost.  O  marry  me  to  one  Fiances; — 1  smell 
gome  Venvoy,  some  goose,  in  this. 

Arm.  By  my  sweet  soul,  I  mean,  setting  thee  at 
liberty,  enfreedoming  thy  person ;  thou  wert  im- 
mured, restrained,  captivated,  bound. 

Cost.  True,  true;  and  now  you  will  be  my  pur- 
gation, and  let  me  loose. 

Ann.  I  give  thee  thy  liberty,  set  thee  from  dur- 
ance: and,  in  lieu  thereof,  impose  on  thee  nothing 
but  this:  bear  this  significant  to  the  country  maid 
iaquenetta:  there  is  remuneration;  {giving  him 
pioney)  for  the  best  ward  of  mine  honour  is,  re- 
warding my  dependents.    Moth,  follow.  [Exit. 

Moth.  Like  the  sequel,  I. — Signior  Costard,  adieu. 

Cost.  My  sweet  ounce  of  man's  flesh  I  my  inconv 
Jew!  [Exit  Moth. 

Now  wlil  I  look  to  his  remuneration.  Remune- 
ration! O,  that's  the  Latin  word  for  three  farthings: 
three  tkirtiiin^s — xetmrnxaiion.—  Wliat  s  the  price 


of  this  inkle  ?  a  penny : — No,  /'//  give  you  a  rems» 
nerationi  why,  it  carries  it. — Renumerution  ! — 
why,  it  is  a  fairer  name  than  Fren<'h  crown.  I  will 
never  buy  and  sell  out  of  this  word. 

Enter  BmoN. 
Biron.  O,  my  good  knave  Costard  !  exceeding^ly 
well  met. 

Cost.  Pray  yon,  sir,  how  much  carnation  ribbon 
may  a  man  buy  for  a  remuneration? 

Biron.  What  is  a  remuneration? 

Cost.  Marry,  sir,  halfpenny  farthing. 

Biron.  O,  why  then,  three-farthings  worth  of  silk. 

Cost.  I  thank  your  worship  :  God  be  with  you ! 

Biron.  O,  stay,  slave  :  I  must  employ  thee: 
As  thou  wilt  win  my  favour,  good  my  knave. 
Do  one  thing  for  me  that  I  shall  entreat. 

Cost.  When  vt'ould  you  have  it  done,  sir? 

Biron.  O,  this  afternoon. 

Cost.  Well,  I  will  do  it,  sir:  fare  you  well. 

Biron.  O,  thou  knowest  not  what  it  is. 

Cost.  I  shall  know,  sir,  when  I  have  done  it. 

Biron.  Why,  villain,  thou  must  know  first. 

Cost.  1  will  come  to  your  worship*  to-iaorrow 
morning. 

Biron.  It  must  be  done  this  afternoon.  Hark, 
slave,  it  is  but  this  : 

The  princess  comes  to  hunt  here  in  the  park. 
And  in  her  train  there  is  a  gentle  lady  ; 
When  tongues  speak  sweetly,  then  they  name  her 
name, 

And  Rosaline  they  call  her:  ask  for  her; 
And  to  her  white  hand  see  thou  do  commend 
This  seal'd-up  counsel.  There's  thy  guerdon  ;  go. 

[Gives  him  money.) 

Cost.  Guerdon, — O,  sweet  guerdon  !  better  thai* 
remuneration;  eleven-pence  farthing  better :  mcsi 
sweet  guerdon ! — I  will  do  it,  sir,  in  print.  — 
G  ue  rdon — t^e  m  une  ration,  [Exit 

Biron.  O  ! — And  I,  forsooth,  in  love  I  I  tbit  hay 
been  love's  whip  ; 
A  very  beadle  to  a  humorous  sigh  ; 
A  critic  ;  nay,  a  night-watch  constable  , 
A  domineering  pedant  o'er  the  boy. 
Than  whom  no  mortal  so  magnificent; 
This  wimpled,  whining,  purbhnd,  wayward  boy 
This  senior-junior,  giant-dwarf,  Dan  Cupid  ; 
Regent  of  love-rhymes,  lord  of  folded  arms. 
The  anointed  sovereign  of  sighs  and  groans, 
Liege  of  all  loiterers  and  malcontents, 
Dread  prince  of  plackets,  king  of  codpieces. 
Sole  injperator,  and  great  general 
Of  trotting  paritors,  O  my  little  heart! 
And  I  to  be  a  corporal  of  his  field. 
And  wear  his  colours  like  a  tumbler's  hoopi 
What?  I !  I  love !  I  sue  !  I  seek  a  wife! 
A  woman,  that  is  like  a  German  clock,  ■  • 

Still  a  repairing;  ever  out  of  frame  ;  * 
And  never  going  aright,  being  a  watch, 
But  being  watch'd  that  it  may  still  go  right? 
Nay,  to  be  perjur'd,  which  is  worst  of  all  ; 
And,  among  three,  to  love  the  worst  of  all; 
A  whitely  wanton  with  a  velvet  brow. 
With  two  pitch  balls  stuck  in  her  face  for  eyes; 
Ay,  and,  by  heaven,  one  that  will  do  the  deed. 
Though  Argus  we,-e  her  eunuch  and  her  guard  t 
And  I  to  sigh  for  her!  to  watch  for  her ! 
'i'o  pray  for  her !  Go  to ;  it  is  a  plague. 
That  Cupid  will  impose  for  my  neglect 
Of  his  almighty  dreadful  little  might. 
Well,  I  will  love,  write,  sigh,  pray,  sue,  and  groas  : 
Some  men  must  love  my  lady,  and  sou:e  Joan.  [Exit 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — Another  part  of  th.e  sanrn. 

Enter  the  Princess,  Rosaline,  Maria.  Katha 
KINE,  BOYET,  Lords,  Attendants,  and  a  Foresier 
Prin.    Was  that  the  king,  tliat  spurr'd  his  hoxm. 
so  hard 


1S4 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


Act  r?, 


Ag-ninst  the  steep  uprising  of  the  hill? 

Boyet.  I  know  not ;  but,  I  think,  it  was  not  he. 
Prin.   Whoe'er  he  was,  he  shoAt  d  a  mounting 
mind. 

Well,  lords,  to-day  we  shall  have  our  despatch ; 
On  Saturday  we  will  return  to  France. — 
Then,  forester,  my  Inend,  where  is  the  bush, 
That  we  must  stand  and  play  the  murderer  in? 

l^o7\  Here  by,  upon  the  edge  of  yonder  coppice  ; 
A  stund,  wliere  you  may  make  the  fairest  shoot. 

Prin.    I  thank  my  beauty,  1  am  fair  that  shoot, 
A.nd  thereii|)on  thou  speak  st,  the  fairest  shoot. 

For.  Pardon  me,  nmdam,  for  1  meant  not  so. 

Prin.  What,  what  ?  lirst  praise  me,  and  again 
say,  no  ? 

0  short-liv'd  pride  !  not  fair?  alack  for  woe  ! 
For.  Y  es,  madam,  fair. 

Prin.  Nay,  never  paint  me  now  ; 

Where  iair  is  not,  praise  cannot  mend  the  brow. 
Here,  good  my  glass,  take  this  for  telling  true  ; 

{Giviny  him  money.) 
Fair  payment  for  foul  words  is  more  tiian  due. 

For.  Nothing  bu(  fair  is  that  which  you  inherit. 

Prin.  See,  see,  my  beauty  will  be  sav  d  by  merit. 

0  heresy  in  fair,  fit  tor  these  days  i 

A  giving  hand,  though  foul,  sliall  have  fair  praise* — • 

But  coHie,  the  bow: — Now  mercy  goes  to  kill. 

And  shooting  well  is  then  accounted  ill. 

1'hus  wilt  I  save  my  credit  in  the  shoot : 

Not  wounding,  pity  would  not  let  me  do"t ; 

If  wounding,  then  it  was  to  show  my  skill, 

That  more  for  praise,  than  purpose,  meant  to  kill. 

And,  out  of  question,  so  it  is  sometimes; 

Glory  grows  guilty  oi' detested  crimes  ; 

Wlien,  for  fame's  sake,  lor  praise,  an  outward  part. 

We  bend  to  that  the  working  of  the  heart : 

As  I,  lor  praise  alone,  now  seek  to  spill 

1  he  poor  deer's  blood,  that  my  heart  means  no  ill. 
Boyet.  Do  not  curst  wives  hold  tliat  sell'-sove- 

reingty 

Only  for  praise'  sake,  when  they  strive  to  be 
Lords  o'er  their  lords  ? 

Prin.  Only  for  praise  :  and  praise  we  may  afford 
To  any  lady  tiiat  subdues  a  lord. 

Enter  Costard. 

Prin.  Here  comes  a  member  of  the  common- 
wealth, [the  head  lady  ? 

Cost.  God  dig-you-den  all !    Pray  yon,  which  is 

Priiv  Thou  shalt  know  her,  i'ellow,  by  the  rest 
that  have  no  heads. 

Cost.  Which  is  the  greatest  lady,  the  highest? 

Prin.   Tlie  thickest,  and  the  tallest. 

Cost.  Tlie  thickest,  and  the  tallest!    it  is  so; 
truth  is  truth. 
An  your  waist,  mistress,  were  as  slender  as  my  wit. 
One  of  these  maids'  girdles  for  your  waist  should 
be  fit.  [here. 
Are  not  yo\i  the  chief  woman?  you  are  the  thickest 

Prin.   What's  your  will,  sir  ?  what's  your  will  ? 

Cost.  I  have  a  letter  from  monsieur  Biron,  to  one 
lady  Rosaline.  [of  mine  : 

Prin.   O,  thy  letter,  thy  letter ;  he's  a  good  friend 
Stand  aside,  good  bearer. — Boyet,  you  can  carve  j 
Break  up  this  capon. 

Boyet.  I  am  bound  to  serve. — 

This  letter  is  mistook,  it  importeth  none  here; 
It  is  writ  to  Jaquenetta. 

Prin.  We  will  read  it,  I  swear: 

Break  the  neck  of  thr  wax,  and  every  one  give  ear. 

Boyet  (Reads).  By  heaven,  that  thou  art  fair, 
is  most  infallible  ;  true,  that  thou  art  beauteous ; 
truth  itself  that  thou  art  lovely  :  more  fairer  than 
fair,  beautiful  than  beauteous ;  truer  than  truth 
itself,  have  commisoration  on  thy  heroical  vassal ! 
The  magnanimous  and  most  illustrate  king 
Cophetiia  set  eye  upon  the  pernicious  and  indubi- 
tate  beggar  Zenelopuon  ;  and  he  it  was  that  tnight 
rightly  say,  veni,  vidi,  vici ;  lohich  to  anatomize 
in  ihe  vulc^'ar,   ^ 0  base  and  obscure  vulgar)  ! 


videlicet,  he  came,  mtv,  and  overcame:  he  cnme 
one  ;  satv,  tivo ;  overcame,  three.  Who  came?  tht 
Icing  ;  Why  did  he  come  l  to  see  ;  Why  did  he  see  ? 
to  overcome  :  To  whom  came  he  ?  to  the  beggar; 
What  saw  he  1  the  beggar  ;  Who  wercame  he  } 
the  beggar :  The  cojichtsion  is  victory ;  On 
whose  side  ?  the  Icing's  :  the  captive  is  enrich' d; 
0«  whose  side  /  the  beggar  s  ;  The  caiastrf\phb  is 
a  nuptial;  On  iv/wse  side?  The  king's?—  »?o,  on 
both  in  one,  or  one  in  both.  I  am  the  king ,  Jot  stf 
stands  ihe  comparison:  thou  the  beggar ;j or  s6 
witnesselh  thy  lowliness.  Shall  I  command  Ihy 
love?  I  may  :  Shall  1  enforce  ihy  love?  I  could: 
Shall  1  entreat  thy  love?  I  will.  What  shalt 
thoti  exchange  for  rags?  robes  ;  For  titles,  titles; 
For  thyself,  we.  Thus,  expecting  thy  reply,  1 
profane  my  lips  on  thy  foot,  my  eyes  on  thy  pic- 
ture, and  my  heart  on  Lhy  Hvery  part. 

Thine,  in  the  dearest  design  of  industry, 
Don  Adriano  de  Armado, 
Thus  dost  thou  hear  the  Neiuean  lion  roar 

'Gainst  thee,  thou  lamb,  that  standest  as  his  prey 
Submissive  fall  his  princely  feet  before, 

And  he  from  forage  will  incline  to  play  : 
But  if  thou  strive,  poor  soul,  what  art  thou  then  ? 
Food  for  his  rage,  repasture  for  his  den. 

Pr  'm.   What  plume  of  feathers  is  he,  that  indifed 
this  letter?  [better? 
What  vane  ?  wliat  weather  cock  ?  did  you  ever  hear 

Boyet.  1  any  much  deceived,  but  I  remember  the 
style.  [erewliile. 

Prin.  Else  your  memory  is  bad,  going  o'er  it 

Boyei.  This  Armado  is  a  Spaniard,  that  keeps 
here  in  court ; 
A  phantasm,  a  Monarcho,  and  one  that  makes  sport 
To  the  prince,  and  his  book-mates. 

Prin.  'J'hou  fellow,  a  word  : 

Who  gave  thee  this  letter? 

Cost.  I  told  you  ;  my  lord, 

Prin.  To  whom  should'st  thou  give  it? 

Cost.  From  my  lord  to  my  lady. 

Pr'm.  From  which  lord,  to  which  lady? 

Cost.  Fron»  my  lord  Biron,  a  good  master  of  mine, 
To  a  lady  of  France,  that  he  call'd  Ilosaline. 

Prin.   Thou  hast  mistaken  his  letter. — Gome, 
lords,  away. 

Here,  sweet,  put  up  this ;  'twill  be  thine  another  day. 

\Exit  Princess  and  train. 
Boyet.  \y\\o  is  the  suitor?  who  is  the  suitor? 
Ros.  Shall  1  teach  you  to  know? 
Boyd,  Ay,  my  continent  of  beauty. 
Rus.  Why,  she  that  bears  the  bow. 

Finely  put  ofii'!  [marry, 
Boyet.  My  lady  goes  to  kill  horns;  but,  if  thou 
Hang  nje  by  the  neck,  if  horns  that  year  miscarry. 
Fmely  |)ut  on ! 

Ros.  Well  then,  I  am  the  shooter. 
Boyet.  And  who  is  your  deer? 

Ros.  If  we  chuse  by  the  horns,  yourself:  come 
Finely  put  on,  indeed! —  [near. 
Mar.  You  still  wrangle  with  her,  Boyet,  and  she 
strikes  at  the  brow.  [her  now  ? 

Boyet.  But  she  herself  is  hit  lower :  have  I  hit 
Ros.  &hall  I  come  ijpon  thee  with  an  old  saying, 
that  was  a  man  when  king  Pepin  of  France  was  a 
little  boy,  as  touching  the  hit  it? 

Boyet.  So  I  may  answer  thee  with  one  as  old, 
that  was  a  woman  when  queen  Guinever  of  Brilaio 
was  a  little  wench,  as  touching  the  hit  it. 

Ros.  Thou  canst  not  hit  it,  hit  it,  hit  it,  (Singing.) 

Thou  canst  not  hit  it,  my  good  man. 
Boyet.  An  I  cannot,  cannot,  c.innot, 
An  I  cannot,  another  can. 

[Exeunt  Ros.  .ind  Kaik, 
Cost.  By  my  troth,  most  pleasant !  how  botii  did 
fit  it!  [buth  did  hit  it 

Mar.  A  mark  marvellous  well  shot ;  for  thev 
Boyet.  A  mark !  O,  mark  but  that  mark ;  A 
mark,  says  my  lady!  [ba. 
Let  the  mark  have  a  prick  in't,  to  mete  at,  if  it  maj 


Scene  2. 


LOVE'S  LABOUE  LOST. 


18S 


Mar.  Wide  o'  the  bow  hand!  I'faith  your  hand 
is  out.  [hit  the  clout. 

Cosi.  Indeed,  a'  must  shoot  nearer,  or  he'll  ne'er 
Bm/et.  An  if  my  hand  be  out,  then,  belike  your 
hand  is  in,  [the  pin. 

Co.sf.  Then  will  she  get  the  npsliot  by  cleaving 
Hilar.  Come,  come,  you  talk  greasily,  your  lips 
grow  foal. 

Cost  She's  too  hard  for  you  at  pricks,  sir;  chal- 
lenge her  to  bowl. 
Boyet.  I  tear  too  much  rubbing;  Good  night,  my 
good  owl.       [Exeunt  Boyet  and  Maria. 
Cost.  By  njy  soul,  a  swain  !  a  most  simple  clown  I 
Jjord,  lord !  how  the  ladies  and  I  have  put  turn  down  ! 
O'  my  troth,  most  sweet  jests  1  most  incony  vulgar 
wit!  [were,  so  fit. 

When  it  comes  so  smoothly  olf,  so  obscenely,  as  it 
^  Armatho  o'  the  one  side, — O,  a  most  dainty  n>an  ! 
'J'o  see  him  walk  before  a  lady,  and  to  bear  her  fan ! 
To  see  him  kiss  his  hand !  and  how  most  sweetly  a' 

will  swear ! — 
And  his  page  o' t'  other  side,  that  handful  of  wit ! 
Ah,  heavens,  it  is  a  most  pathetical  nit! 
{Shouting  loithin.)  Sola,  sola  ! 

[Exit  Costard,  running. 

Scene  TT. — The  same. 
Enter  Holofernes,  Sir  Nathaniel,  and  Dull. 

Natk.  Very  reverent  sport,  truly  ;  and  done  in  the 
testimony  of  a  good  conscience. 

Hoi.  The  deer  was,  as  you  know,  in  sanguis, — 
blood  :  ripe  as  a  pomewater,  who  now  hangeth  like 
a  jewel  in  the  ear  of  c(slo, — the  sky,  tlie  welkin, 
the  heaven  ;  and  anon  falieth  like  a  crab  on  the  face 
of  terra, — the  soil,  the  land,  the  earth. 

Nath.  Truly,  master  Holofernes,  the  epithets  are 
sweetly  varied,  like  a  scholar  at  the  least:  but,  sir, 
I  a-s'snre  ye,  it  was  a  buck  of  the  hrst  head. 

Hoi.  Sir  Nathaniel,  haud  credo. 

Dull.  ''J\vas  iKit  a  haud  credo  ;  'twas  a  pricket. 

Hal.  Most  barbarous  intimation !  yet  a  kind  of 
insinuation,  as  it  were,  in  via,  in  way  of  explica- 
tion ;  facere,  as  it  were,  replication,  or  rather 
ostentare,  to  show%  as  it  were,  his  inclination, — after 
his  undressed,  unpolished,  uneducated,  unprnned, 
untrained,  or  rather  unlettered,  or,  ratherest,  un- 
confirmed fashion, — to  insert  again  my  haud  credo 
lor  a  deer.  [a  pricket. 

Dull.  I  said,  the  deer  was  not  a  haud  credo ;  'twas 

Hoi.  Twice  sod  simplicity,  bis  coctus  ! — O  thou 
monster  ignorance,  how  deformed  dost  thou  look  ! 

Nath.  Sir,  he  hath  never  led  of  the  dainties  that 
are  bred  in  a  book ;  he  hath  not  eat  paper,  as  it 
were  he  hath  not  drunk  ink:  his  intellect  is  not 
replenished  ;  he  is  only  an  animal,  only  sensible  in 
the  duller  parts ; 

And  such  barren  plants  are  set  before  us,  that  we 

thankful  should  be 
(Which  we  of  taste  and  feeling  are)  for  those  parts, 

that  do  fructify  in  us  more  than  he. 
For,  as  it  would  ill  become  me  to  be  vain,  indiscr.>et, 
or  a  fool,  [a  school  : 

So,  were  there  a  patch  set  on  learning,  to  see  him  in 
But,  omne  bene,  say  I;  being  of  an  old  father's  mind, 
Many  can  brook  the  weather,  tJiat  love  not  the 
wind.  [your  wit, 

Dull.  You  two  are  book-men  :  can  you  tell  by 
What  was  a  month  old  at  Cain's  birth,  that's  not 
hve  weeks  old  as  yet  ?  [man  Dull. 

Hoi.  Dictynna,  good  man  Dull ;  Dictynna,  good 
Uull.  What  is  Dictynna  V 

Nath.  A  title  to  Piioebe,  to  Luna,  to  the  moon. 

HoL  The  moon  was  a  month  old,  when  Adam 
was  no  more  ;  [fivescore. 
And  raught  not  to  five  weeks,  when  he  came  to 
The  allusion  holds  in  the  exchange. 

Dull.  'Tis  true  iiideed ;  the  collusion  holds  in  the 
exchange. 

Hul.  God  comfort  thy  capacity !  I  say,  the  allu- 
sion holds  iii  the  exchange. 


Dull.  And  I  say,  the  pollusaoii  nolds  in  the  ex- 
change ;  for  the  moon  is  never  but  a  month  old  : 
and  I  say  beside,  that  'twas  a  pricket  that  tlie  prin- 
cess kill'd. 

Hoi.  Sir  Nathaniel,  will  you  hear  an  extemporal 
epitaph  on  the  death  of  the  detr  ?  and,  to  huinoui 
the  ignorant,  I  have  call'd  the  deer  the  princess 
kill'd,  a  pricket. 

Nath.  Perge,  goc-d  master  Holofernes,  perge  ;  sc 
it  shall  please  you  to  aorogatc  «rvirr»'ity 

Hoi.  I  will  something  affect  the  letter;  f(«r  it 
argues  facility. 

The praiaejul princess  p I erc'd and prick'd  a  pretty 
}) leasing  pricket ; 
Sofne  say,  a  sure;  but  not  a  sore,  till  now  made 
sore  icith  shooting. 
The  dogs  did  yell;  jmt  L  to  sore,  then  sorel  jumps 
from  thicket ;  [hooting. 
Or  pricket,  sore,  or  else  sorel;  the  people  fall  a- 
If  sore  be  sore,  then  L  to  sore  makes  fifty  sores  ; 

0  sore  LI  \more  L. 

Of  one  sore  I  an  hundred  make,  by  adding  but  urte 
Nath.  A  rare  talent ! 

Dull.  II"  a  talent  be  a  claw,  look  how  he  claws 
him  with  a  talent. 

Hoi.  This  is  a  gift  that  I  have,  simple,  simple; 
a  foolish,  extravagant  spirit,  full  of  tonus,  figures, 
shapes,  objects,  ideas,  apprehensions,  motions,  revo- 
lutions :  these  are  begot  in  the  veiitricle  of  memory, 
nourished  in  the  womb  ol' pia  mater ;  and  dcliver'd 
upon  tlie  mellowing  of  occasion  :  but  the  >iii't  is  good 
in  those  in  whom  it  is  acute,  and  I  am  thankful  lor  it. 

Nath.  Sir,  I  praise  the  Lord  for  you  ;  and  s\i  r.'tay 
my  parishioners ;  for  their  sons  are  well  tutor'd  by 
you,  and  their  daughters  profit  very  greatly  under 
you  :  you  are  a  good  member  of  the  coumionv\ealth. 

HoL  Mehercle,  if  their  sons  be  ingenious,  they 
shall  want  no  instruction  :  if  their  dauglrers  be  ca- 
p;ible,  i  will  put  it  to  them  :  but,  vir  sapit  qui  patina 
loquitur:  a  soul  feminine  saluteth  us. 

Enter  Jaquenetta  and  Costxrd. 

Jaq.  God  give  yoj  good  niorrow,  master  person. 

Hoi.  Master  person, — quasi  pers-on.  And  if  ouo 
should  be  pierced,  which  is  the  one  ? 

Cost.  Marry,  master  schoolmaster,  he  that  U 
likest  to  a  hogshead. 

Hoi.  Of  piercing  a  hogshead  !  a  good  lustre  of 
conceit  in  a  turf  of  earth;  fire  enough  for  a  flint, 
pearl  enough  for  a  swine  :  'tis  pretty,  it  is  well. 

Jaq.  Good  master  parson,  be  so  good  as  ead  me 
this  letter;  it  was  given  me  by  Costard,  and  sent 
me  from  Don  Armatho  :  I  beseech  you,  read  it. 

Hoi.  Fausie,  precor  gelidd  quando  pecus  o?nne 
sub  mnbrd 

Ruminat,— and  so  forth.  Ah,  good  old  Mantuan! 
I  may  speak  of  thee  as  the  traveller  doth  of  Venice : 

 Yinegia,  Vinegia, 

Chi  non  te  vede,  ei  non  te  pregia. 
Old  Mantuan!  old  Mantuan!  Who  uuderstandeth 
thee  not,  loves  thee  not. —  Ut,  re,  sol,  la,  vii,fa.-~ 
Under  pardon,  sir,  what  are  the  contents  ?  (tr,  rather, 
as  Horace  says  in  his — What,  my  soul,  verses  ? 

Nath.  Ay,  sir,  and  very  learned. 

Hoi.  Let  me  liear  a  staff,  a  stanza,  a  verse  ;  Lege, 
domine. 

Nath.  If  love  make  me  forsworn,  how  shall  I 

swear  to  love  ? 
Ah,  never  faith  could  hold,  if  not  to  beauty 
vowed !  [prove  ; 

Though  to  myself  forsworn,  to  thee  Til  faithfuj 
Those  thoughts  to  me  were  oaks,  to  thee  like 
osiers  bowed.  [eyes ; 

Study  his  bias  leaves,  and  makes  his  book  thine 
W'^liere  all  those  pleasures  hve,  that  art  would 
comprehend:  [aufiice, 
If  knowledge  be  the  mark,  to  knov,  thoe  shal 
Well  learned  is  that  tongue,  that  well  r.an  the 
commend :  [wonder 
All  ignorant  that  soul,  that  *ees  thes  wi 


1H6  LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


'Which  is  to  me  soaie  praise,  that  I  thy  parts 
admire;)  [iul  thunder. 

Thy  eye  Jove's  lightning  bears,  thy  voice  his  dread- 
Which,  not  to  anger  bent,  is  mus^c,  and  sweet  fire. 
Celestial,  as  thou  art,  oh  pardon,  love,  this  wrong, 
That  sings  heaven's  praise  with  such  an  eartiily 
tongue  ! 

Hoi.  You  find  not  the  apostrophes,  and  so  miss 
the  accent  :  let  me  supervise  the  canzonet.  Here 
are  only  numbers  ratified ;  but,  for  the  elegancy,  fa- 
cility, and  golden  cadence  of  poesy,  caret.  Ovidius 
Naso  was  tiie  man:  and  why  indeed,  Naso;  but  for 
smelling  out  the  odoril'erous  tiovvers  of  fancy,  the 
jerks  of  invention  ?  Imitari,  is  nothing  :  so  doth  the 
liound  his  master,  the  ape  his  keeper,  tlie  tired  horse 
his  rider.  But,  damosella  virgin,  was  this  directed 
to  you  ? 

Jaq.  Ay,  sir,  from  one  Monsieur  Biron,  one  of 
the  strange  queen's  lords. 

Hoi.  I  will  overglance  the  superscript.  To  the 
snoiv-white  hand  of  the  most  beauteous  Lady  Ro- 
saline. 1  will  look  again  on  the  intellect  of  the  letter, 
for  the  nomination  of  the  party  written  unto. 

Your  ladyship's  in  all  desired  employment,  Bi- 
RON.  Sir  Nathaniel,  this  Biron  is  one  of  tlie  votaries 
with  the  king  ;  and  here  he  hath  framed  a  letter  to  a 
sequent  of  the  stranger  queen's,  which,  accidentally, 
or  by  the  way  of  progression,  hath  miscarried. — Trip 
and  go,  my  sweet;  deliver  this  paper  into  the  royal 
hand  of  tlie  king;  it  may  concern  much  :  stay  not 
thy  compliment;  1  forgive  thy  duty;  adieu. 

Jaq.  Good  Costard,  go  with  me. — Sir,  God  save 
your  life  ! 

Cost.  Have  with  thee,  my  girl. 

[Exeimt  Cost,  and  Jaq. 

'Nath.  Sir,  you  have  done  this  in  the  fear  of  God, 
very  religiously  ;  and,  as  a  certain  father  saith  

tlol.  Sir,  tell  not  me  of  the  father,  I  do  fear  co- 
lourable colours.  But,  fo  return  to  the  verses;  did 
they  please  you,  sir  Nathaniel  ? 

Nath.  Marvellous  well  for  the  ])en. 

Hal.  I  do  dine  to-day  at  the  father's  of  a  certain 
pupil  of  mine  ;  where  if,  before  repast,  it  shall  please 
you  to  gratify  the  table  with  a  grace.  I  will,  on  my 
piivilege  1  have  with  the  parents  of  the  foresaid 
child  or  pupil,  undertake  your  ben  venuto ;  where  I 
will  prove  those  verses  to  be  very  unlearned,  neither 
jsavouring  of  poetry,  wit,  nor  invention  :  I  beseech 
your  society. 

Nath.  And  thank  you  too  :  for  society  (saith  the 
text),  is  tlie  happiness  of  life. 

Hoi.  And,  certes,  the  text  most  infallibly  con- 
cludes it. — Sir,  [to  Dull)  I  do  invite  you  too;  you 
shall  not  say  me,  nay  :  pauca  verba. — Away;  the 
gentles  are  at  game,  and  we  will  to  our  recreation. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  HI. — Another  part  of  the  same. 
Enter  Biron,  ivith  a  paper. 
Biron.  The  king  he  is  hunting  the  deer;  I  am 
coursing  myself :  they  have  pitch'd  a  toil ;  I  am 
toiling  in  a  pitch;  pitch,  that  defiles;  defile  !  a  foul 
word.  Well,  Set  thee  down,  sorrow!  for  so,  they 
say,  the  ibol  said,  and  so  say  I,  and  1  the  iool. 
\V\  ell  proved,  vviti  By  the  Lord,  this  love  is  as  mad 
as  Ajax  :  it  kills  sheep;  it  kills  me,  I  a  sheep: 
'Veil  proved  again  on  my  side  !  I  will  not  love  :  if 
1  do,  hang  me ;  i'faith,  I  will  not.  O,  but  her  eye, 
--by  this  light,  but  for  her  eye,  I  would  not  love 
her;  yes.  tor  her  two  eyes.  Well,  I  do  nothing  in 
the  world  but  lie,  and  lie  in  ray  throat.  By  heaven, 
i  do  love  :  and  it  hath  taught  me  to  rhyme,  and  to 
he  melancholy  ;  and  here  is  part  of  my  rhyme,  and 
here  my  melancholy.  Well,  she  hath  one  o'  my 
■sonnets  already;  the  clown  bore  it,  the  fool  sent  it, 
and  the  lady  hath  it :  sweet  clown,  sweeter  fool, 
■sweetest  lady !  By  the  world,  I  would  not  care  a 
pin,  if  the  other  three  were  in  :  here  comes  one 
with  a  piper;  God  give  him  grace  to  groan,  ifiets 
up  into  a  tr(^.) 


Act  IV 

Enter  the  King,  with  a  paper. 
King.  Ah  me  ! 

Biron.  (Aside.)  Shot  by  heaven !— Proceed 
sweet  Cupid;  thou  hast  thump'd  him  with  thy  bird 
bolt  under  the  left  pan  : — I'taith  secrets. — 

King.  (Reads.)  So  sweet  a  kii-s  the  golden  sun 
gives  not 

To  those  fresh  tnorning  drops  upon  the  ro«e, 
As  thy  eye-beams,  xvhen  their  fresh  rays  hav% 
smote 

The  night  of  dew  that  on  my  cheehs  down  flows 
Nor  shines  the  silver  moon  one  half  so  bright 

Through  the  transparent  bosom  of  the  deep, 
As  doth  thij  face  through  tears  of  mine  give  light ; 

Thou  shin'st  in  every  tear  that  I  do  tveep  ; 
No  drop  but  as  a  coach  doth  carry  thee, 

So  ridest  thou  trimnphing  in  my  looe  ; 
Do  but  behold  the  tears  that  sivell  in.  me. 

And  they  thy  glory  through  my  grief  will  sliow: 
Bid  do  not  love  thyself;  then  thou  wilt  keep 
My  tears  for  glasses,  and  still  make  me  tveep. 
0  queen  of  queens,  hoiv  far  dost  thou  excel  I 
No  thought  can  think,  nor  tongue  of  mortal  tell. — 
How  shall  she  know  niy  griels  ?  ['II  drop  the  paper : 
Sweet  leaves,  shade  folly.  Who  is  he  comes  here  f 

(Steps  atide^ 

Enter  Longaville,  with  a  paper. 
What,  Longaville  !  and  reading  I  listen,  ear. 
Birofi.  Now,  in  thy  likeness,  one  more  fool  ap 
pe^r !  (Aside.) 
Long.  Ah  me  !  I  am  forsworn. 
Biron.  Why,  he  comes  in  like  a  perjure,  wearinj 
papers.  (Aside. 
King.   In  love,    I  hope ;   Sweet  fellowship  it 
shame !  (Aside. 
Biro7i.  One  drunkard  loves  another  of  the  name, 

(Aside.) 

Long.  Am  T  the  first  thf  t  have  been  perjur'd  so  ; 
Biron.  (Aside.)  I  could  put  thee  in  comfort ;  not 
by  two,  that  1  know  :  [society. 
Thou   mak'st   the  triumviiy,    the   corner-cap  of 
The  shape  of  Love's  Tyburn,  that  hangs  up  sim- 
plicity, [move  : 
Long.  I  fear,  these  stubborn  lines  lack  power  to 
O  sweet  Maria,  empress  of  my  love  ! 
These  numbers  will  I  tear  and  write  in  proso. 
Biron.  (Aside.)  O,  rhymes  are  guards  on  wanton 
Cupid's  hose : 
Disfigure  not  his  slop. 

Long.  This  same  shall  go. — 

(He  reads  the  sonnet) 
Did  not  the  heavenly  rhetoric  of  thine  eye 
{^Gainst  ivhom  the  world  cannot  hold  argif 
ment,) 

Persuade  my  heaH  to  this  false  perjury  1 

Vows,  for  thee  broke,  deserve  not  punishment. 
A  woman  I  forsivore  ;  but,  I  iviil  prove, 

Thou  being  a  goddess,  I  forsivore  ?iot  thee : 
My  voiv  teas  earthly,  thou  a  heavenly  love; 

^Thy  grace,  being  gaind,  cures  all  disgrace  in  me. 
Vows  are  but  breath,  and  breath  a  vapour  is  : 

Then  thou,  fair  sun,  which  on  my  earth  dost 
shine, 

Exhal'st  this  vapour  vow  ;  in  thee  it  is : 
If  broken  then,  it  is  no  fault  of  mine  ; 
If  by  me  broke.     What  fool  is  not  so  wise. 
To  lose  an  oath  to  win  a  paradise  '! 
Biron.  (Aside.)  'I'his  is  the  liver  vein,  which 
makes  flesh  a  deity  : 
A  green  goose,  a  goddess  :  pure,  pure  idolatry. 
God  amend  us,  God  amend  !  we  are  much  out  a'  the 
way. 

Enter  Domain,  with  a  paper. 
Long.  By  whom  shall  i  send  this  ? — Company 
stay.  (Slejijiing  aside. 

Biron.  (Aside.)  All  hid,  all  hid,  an  oid  infant  plajr 
Like  a  demi  god  here  sit  I  in  the  sky, 
And  wretched  fools'  secrets  heedfuily  o'er-eye. 


Scene  8 

More  sacks  to  the  mill!  O  heavens,  I  have  my  wish ! 
Dumain  traxisfoi  iii'd  :  four  woodcocks  in  a  dish ! 
JJum.  O  most  divine  Kate  ! 

Biran.  O  most  profane  coxcomb  !'  (Aside.) 

Dum.  By  heaven,  the  wonder  of  a  mortal  eye  I 
Biron.  i^y  heart,  she  is  but  corporal ;  there  you 
lie.  [Aside.) 
Dum.  Her  amber  hairs  for  foul  have  amber  coted. 
Biron.  An  amber-colour'd  raven  was  well  noted. 

[Aside.) 

Dum.  As  upright  as  the  cedar. 

Biron.  Stoop,  I  say  ; 

Her  shoulder  is  with  child.  [Aside.) 

Dum.  As  fair  as  day. 

Biron.  Ay,  as  some  days  ;  but  then  no  sun  niust 
shine.  [Aside.) 

Dum.  O  diat  I  had  my  wish ! 

Long.  And  I  had  mine  !  (Aside.) 

King.  And  I  mine  too,  good  lord  !  (Aside.) 

Biron.  Amen,  so  I  had  mine  :  is  not  that  a  good 
word  ?  (Aside.) 

Dum.  I  would  forget  her;  but  a  fever  she 
Reigns  in  my  blood,  and  will  remember'd  be. 

Biron.  A^fever  in  your  blood,  why,  then  incision 
Would  let  lier  out  in  saucers;  sweet  misprision  ! 

(Aside.) 

Dum.  Once  more  I'll  read  the  ode  that  1  have 
writ. 

Biron.  Once  more  I'll  mark  how  love  can  vary 
wit.  (Aside.) 

Dum.  On  a  day,  ( alach  the  day  !J 

Love,  ivfiose  month  is  ever  May^ 
Spied  a  blossom,  passing  fair. 
Playing  in  the  wanton  air  : 
Through  the  velvet  leaves  the  wind, 
All  unseen,  'gan  passage  find: 
That  the  lover,  sick  to  death, 
Tf'ish'd  himself  the  heavens  breath. 
Air,  quoth  lie,  thy  cheeks  may  blow ; 
Air,  ivould  I  might  triumph  so  ! 
But  alach,  my  hand  is  sworn. 
Ne'er  to  pluck  thee  from  thy  thorn  : 
Vow,  alack,  for  youth  unmeet ; 
Youth,  so  apt  to  pluck  a  sweet. 
Do  not  call  it  sin  in  me, 
That  I  atn  forsworn  for  thee  i- 
Thou,f  )r  whom  even  Jove  toould  swear, 
Juno  but  an  Ethiop  were  ; 
And  deny  himself  for  Jove, 
Turning  mortal  for  thy  love. — 

This  will  I  send  ;  and  something  else  more  plain. 
That  shall  express  niy  true  love's  fasting  pain. 
O,  would  the  King,  Biron,  and  Longaville, 
Were  lovers  too  !  Ill,  to  example  ill. 
Would  from  my  forehead  wipe  a  perjur'd  note  ; 
For  none  offend,  where  all  alike  do  dote. 
Long.  Dumain,  [advancing)  thy  love  is  far  from 
cliarity. 

That  in  love's  grief  desir'st  society  : 

Vou  inay  look  pale,  but  1  should  blush,  1  know, 

To  be  o'er  heard,  and  taken  napping  so. 

King.  Come,  sir,  [advancing)  you  blush ;  as  his 
your  case  is  such ; 
you  chide  at  him,  ofiending  twice  as  much; 

on  do  not  love  Maria;  Longaville 
Did  never  sonnet  for  her  sake  compile  ; 
Nor  never  lay  his  wreathed  arras  athwart 
His  loving  bosom,  to  keep  down  his  heart! 
I  have  been  closely  shrouded  ia  this  bush, 
And  mark'd  you  both,  and  for  yoa  both  did  blush. 
I  heard  your  guilty  rhymes,  observ'd  your  fashion; 
Saw  sii'hs  reek  from  you,  noted  well  your  passion  : 
Ah  rael  says  one  ;  O  Jove  !  the  other  cries ; 
One,  her  hairs  were  gold,  crystal  the  other's  eyes  : 
You  would  for  paradise  break  faith  and  troth ; 

[To  Long.) 

And  Jwe,  for  your  love,  would  infringe  an  oath. 

(To  Dumain.) 
What  vill  Biron  saif,  when  that  he  shall  hear 


187 

A  faith  infring'd,  which  such  a  zeal  did  swear? 
How  will  he  scorn  ?  how  will  he  spend  his  wit? 
How  will  he  triumph,  leap,  and  laugh  at  it? 
For  all  the  wealth  that  ever  1  did  see, 
I  would  not  have  him  know  so  much  by  me. 

Biron.  Now  step  I  forth  to  whip  hypocrisy. — 
Ah,  good  my  liege,  I  pray  thee,  pardon  me. 

(Descends  from  the  tree. 
Good  heart,  what  grace  hast  thou,  tiius  to  reprove 
These  worms  for  loving,  that  art  most  in  love  ? 
Your  eyes  do  make  no  coaches  ;  in  your  tears. 
There  is  no  certain  princess  that  appears ; 
You'll  not  be  perjured,  'tis  a  hateful  thing; 
Tush,  none  but  minstrels  like  of  soniieting. 
But  are  you  not  asham'd  ?  nay  are  you  not. 
All  three  of  you,  to  be  thus  nmch  o'ershot? 
You  found  his  mote ;  the  king  your  mote  did  see; 
But  I  a  beam  do  find  in  each  of  three. 

0,  what  a  scene  of  foolery  I  have  seen, 

Of  sighs,  of  groans,  of  sorrow,  and  of  teen  ! 

0  me,  with  what  strict  patience  have  1  sat. 
To  see  a  king  transformed  to  a  gnat ! 

To  see  great  Hercules  whipping  a  gigg. 
And  profound  Solomon  to  tune  a  jij^g, 
And  Nestor  play  at  push-pin  with  the  boys. 
And  critic  Timon  laugh  at  idle  toys  ! 
Where  lies  thy  grief,  O  tell  me,  good  Dumain, 
And,  gentle  Longaville,  where  lies  thy  pain? 
And  where  my  liege's  ?  all  about  the  breast 
A  caudle,  ho! 

Ki?ig.         Too  bitter  is  thy  jest. 
Are  we  betray'd  thus  to  thy  over-view? 

Biron.  Not  you  by  me,  but  I  betray'd  to  youj 

1,  that  am  honest;  I,  that  hold  it  sin 
To  break  the  vow  I  am  engaged  in ; 

1  am  betray'd,  by  keeping  ccmpany 

With  moon-like  men,  of  strange  inconstancy 
When  shall  you  see  me  write  a  thing  in  rhyn^e  ? 
Or  groan  for  Joan  ?  or  spend  a  minute's  tiuje 
In  pruning  me  ?    When  shall  you  hear,  that  I 
Will  praise  a  hand,  a  foot,  a  face,  an  eye, 
A  gait,  a  state,  a  brow,  a  breast,  a  waist, 
A  leg,  a  hmb? — 

Knig.  Soft ;  whither  away  so  fast? 

A  true  man,  or  a  thief,  that  gallops  so? 

Biron.  1  post  from  love ;  good  lover,  let  me  go. 

Enter  Jaquenetta  and  Costard. 
Jaq.  God  bless  the  king! 

King.  What  present  hast  thou  thf*-e  ? 

Cost.  Some  certain  treason. 

King.  What  mais.es  treason  here  ? 

Cost.  Nay,  it  makes  nothing,  sir. 

King.  If  it  mar  nothing  neither. 

The  treason,  and  you,  go  in  peace  away  together. 

Jaq.  I  beseech  your  grace,  let  this  letter  be  read ; 
Our  parson  misdoubts  it;  'twas  treasoa,  he  said. 

King.  Biron,  read  it  over.  (Giving  him  tlie  letter^ 
— Where  hadst  thou  it? 

Jaq.  Of  Costard. 

King.  Where  hadst  thou  it  ? 

Cost.  Of  Dun  Adraniadio,  Dun  Adramadio. 

King  How  now !  what  is  in  you  ?  why  dost  thou 
tear  it  ?  [not  fear  it 

Biron.  A  toy,  my  liege,  a  toy  ;  your  grace  needs 

Long.  It  did  move  him  to  passion,  and  therefore 
let's  hear  it. 

Dum.  It  is  Biron's  writing,  and  here  is  his  name. 

[Picks  up  the  pieces.) 
Biron.  Ah,  you  whorescn  loggerhead,  (io  Cos- 
tard) you  were  born  to  do  me  shamerf— 
Guilty,  my  lord,  guilty  ;  I  confess,  I  confess. 
King.  What? 

Biron.  That  you  three  fools  lack'd  me  faol  ta 
make  up  the  mess  ; 
He,  he,  and  you,  my  liege,  and  I, 
Are  pic^-  purses  in  love,  and  we  deserve  to  die. 
O,  dismiss  thisi  audi*"ace,  and  I  shall  tell  you  more. 

Dum.  Now  the  iiumber  i^-sven 

Biron.  True  siue  •  've  sure  fow-. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST 


138 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


Act  IV 


Will  these  turtles  be  gone  ? 

King.  Hence,  sirs  ;  away. 

Cost.  W alk  aside  the  true  folk,  and  let  the  traitors 
stay.  [Exeunt  Cost,  and  Jaquenet. 

Siron.  Sweet  lords,  sweet  lovers,  O  let  us  em- 
brace ! 

As  true  we  are,  as  flesh  and  blood  can  be: 
The  sea  will  ebb  and  flow,  heaven  show  his  iace ; 

Young  blood  will  not  obey  an  old  decree  : 
W  e  cannot  cross  the  cause  why  we  were  born ; 
herefore,  oCall  hands  must  we  be  forsworn. 
King.  What,  did  these  rent  lines  show  some  love 
of  tliine?  [heavenly  Rosaline, 

Biron.  Did  they,  quoth  you  ?  Who  sees  the 
That,  lilce  a  rude  and  savage  man  of  Inde, 

At  tlie  first  opening  of  the  gorgeous  east. 
Bows  not  his  vassal  head ;  and,  sti  ucken  blind. 

Kisses  the  base  ground  with  obedient  breast? 
"A  hat  peremptory  eagle-sighted  eye 

Dares  look  upon  the  heaven  of  her  brow. 
That  is  not  blinded  by  her  majesty  ?  [now? 

King.  What  zeal,  what  fury  liath  inspir'd  thee 
My  love,  her  mistress,  is  a  gracious  moon  ; 
She,  an  attending  star,  scarce  seen  alight. 
Biron.  My  eyes  are  tlien  no  eyes,  nor  I  Biron  : 
O,  but  for  my  love,  day  would  turn  to  night! 
Of  all  complexions  the  cuU'd  sovereignty 

Do  meet,  as  at  a  fair,  in  her  fair  cheek  ; 
Where  several  worthies  make  one  dignity  ; 

Where  nothing  wants,  that  want  itsell  doth  seek. 
Lend  me  the  flourish  of  all  gentle  tongues. — 

Fy,  pointed  rhetoric!  O,  she  needs  it  not: 
To  things  of  sale  a  seller's  praise  belongs  ;  [blot. 

She  passes  praise;  then  praise  too  short  doth 
A  wither'd  hermit,  live-score  winters  worn. 

Might  shake  olT  lifty,  looking  in  her  eye  : 
Beauty  doth  \  arnish  age,  as  if  new  born, 

And  gives  the  crutch  the  cradle's  infancy. 
O,  'tis  llie  sun  that  maketh  all  things  shiue  ! 
King.  By  heaven,  thy  love  is  black  as  ebony. 
Biron.  Is  ebony  like  her?  O  wood  divine! 
A  wife  of  such  wood  were  felicity. 
O,  who  can  gi\e  an  oath  ?  wiiere  is  a  book? 

'J'hat  1  may  swear,  beauty  dolh  beauty  lack, 
If  thnt  she  harn  not  of  her  eye  to  look: 

No  face  is  lair,  tliat  is  not  full  so  black. 
Kmg.  O  par  (lox  !  Black  is  the  badge  of  hell, 
Tiie  hue  of  dungeons,  and  the  scowl  of  night ; 
And  beauty's  crest  becomes  the  heavens  well. 

Biron.  Devils  soonest  tempt,  resembling  spirits 
of  light. 

O,  if  in  black  my  lady's  brows  be  deckt. 

It  mourns,  tiiat  painting,  and  usurping  hair. 
Should  ravish  doters  with  a  false  asp^t; 

And  therefore  is  she  born  to  make  black  fair. 
Her  favour  turns  the  fashion  of  the  days  ; 

For  native  blood  is  counted  painting  now; 
And  therefore  red,  that  would  a\  oid  dispraise. 
Paints  itself  black,  to  imitate  her  brow. 
^Duni.  To  look  like  her,  are  chimney-sweepers 
black.  [bright. 
hong.  And  since  her  time,  are  colliers  counted 
King.  And  Ethiops  of  their  sweet  complexion 
crack.  [light. 
Dum.  Dark  needs  no  candles  now,  for  dark  is 
Biron.  Your  mistresses  dare  never  come  in  rain. 

For  fear  their  colours  should  be  wash'd  away. 
King,  "i'were  good  yours  did  ;  for,  sir,  to  tell 
von  plain, 

I'll  find  a  fairer  face  not  wash'd  to-day. 
Biron.  I'll  prove  her  fair,  or  talk  till  dooms-day 

here,  [she. 
King.  No  devil  will  fright  thee  then  so  much  as 
Dum.  I  never  knew  man  hold  vile  stuff" so  dear. 
Long.  Look,  here's  thy  love  :  my  foot  and  her 

face  see.  {Shoimng  his  shoe.) 

Biron.  O,  if  the  streets  were  paved  with  thine 

eyes. 

Her  feet  were  much  too  dainty  for  such  trej»d  I 
Dum.  O  vile  I  theii  as  she  goes,  what  tipwi.rd  liea 


The  street  should  see,  as  she  walk'd  over  head 

King.  But  what  of  this?  Are  we  no4;  all  in  lo\e? 

Biron.  O,  nothing  so  sure  \  and  thereby  all  for 
sworn.  [now  prov« 

King.  Then  leave  this  chat ;  and,  good  Biron, 
Our  loving  lawful,  and  our  faith  not  torn,  [evil 

Dum.  Ay,  marry,  there; — some  flattery  for  tlii 

hong.  O,  some  authority  how  to  proceed; 
Some  tricks,  some  quillets,  how  to  cheat  the  devi 

Dum.  Some  salve  for  perjury. 

Biron.  O,  'tis  more  than  need  !— 

Have  at  you  then,  aff"ection's  men  at  arms  : 
Consider,  what  you  first  did  swear  unto  ; — 
To  fast, — to  study, — and  to  see  no  woman  ; — 
Flat  treason  'gainst  the  kingly  state  ol"  youth. 
Say,  can  you  fast?  your  stomachs  are  too  yoiuig; 
And  abstinence  engenders  maladies. 
And  where  that  you  have  vow'd  to  study,  lords. 
In  that  each  of  you  hath  forsworn  his  book  : 
Can  you  still  dream,  and  pore,  and  thereon  look? 
For  when  would  you,  my  lord,  or  you,  or  you. 
Have  found  the  ground  of  study's  excellence. 
Without  the  beauty  of  a  woman's  face  ? 
From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive  ; 
They  are  the  ground,  tlie  books,  the  academes. 
From  whence  doth  spring  the  true  Promethean  fire 
Why,  universal  plodding  prisons  up 
The  nimble  spirits  in  the  arteries; 
As  motion,  and  long-during  action,  tires 
The  sinewy  vigour  of  the  traveller. 
Now,  for  not  looking  on  a  woman's  face. 
You  have  in  that  forsworn  the  use  of  eyes; 
And  study  too,  the  causer  of  your  vow: 
For  where  is  any  author  in  the  world. 
Teaches  such  beauty  as  a  woman's  eye  ? 
Learning  is  but  an  adjunct  to  oursell', 
And  where  we  are,  our  learning  likewise  is. 
Then,  when  ourselves  we  see  in  ladies'  eyes. 
Do  we  not  likewise  see  our  learning  tliere  ? 
O,  we  have  made  a  vow  to  study,  lords ; 
And  in  that  vow  we  have  forsworn  our  books  j 
For  when  would  you,  nry  liege,  or  you,  or  you. 
In  leaden  contemplation,  have  found  out 
Such  fiery  numbers,  as  the  pronrpting  ey.es 
Of  beauteous  tutors  have  enrich'd  you  with? 
Other  slow  arts  entirely  keep  the  brain  ; 
And  therefore  finding  barren  practisers, 
Scarce  show  a  harvest  of  their  heavy  toil: 
But  love,  first  learned  in  a  lady's  eyes. 
Lives  not  alone  immured  in  the  brain  ; 
But  with  the  motion  of  all  elements, 
Courses  as  swift  as  thought  in  every  power; 
And  gives  to  every  power  a  double  power,  ' 
Above  their  functions  and  their  offices. 
It  adds  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye  ; 
A  lover's  eyes  will  gaze  an  eagle  blind  ; 
A  lover's  ear  will  hear  the  lowest  sound, 
When  the  suspicious  head  of  theft  is  stopp'd. 
Love's  feeling  is  more  soft,  and  sensible. 
Than  are  the  tender  horns  of  cockled  snails; 
Love's  tongue  proves  dainty  Bacchus  gross  iu  tast«  » 
For  valour  is  not  love  a  Hercules, 
Still  climbing  trees  in  the  Hespendes? 
Subtle  as  sphinx  ;  as  sweet,  and  musical, 
As  bright  Apollo's  lute,  strung  with  his  hair  ; 
And,  when  love  speaks,  the  voice  of  all  the  god» 
Makes  heaven  drowsy  with  the  liarmony. 
Never  durst  poet  touch  a  pen  to  write, 
Until  his  ink  were  temper'd  with  love's  sigho. 
O,  then  his  lines  would  ravish  savage  ears. 
And  plant  in  tyrants  mild  humility 
From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  1  derive  : 
They  sparkle  still  the  right  Promethean  fire ; 
They  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  academes, 
That  show,  contain,  and  nourish  all  the  world. 
Else,  none  at  all  123  aught  proves  excellent ; 
Then  fools  yoa  were  these  women  to  forswear ; 
Or,  keepii.g  what  is  sworn,  you  w  11  i^rove  foola. 
For  wisdom's  sake,  a  word  that  .ill  men  love; 
0{  for  love's  sake,  a  word  that  bves  all  men; 


Act  V.    Scene  1. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


1B% 


Or  for  n«eii's  sake,  the  authors  of  these  women ; 
Or  women's  sake,  by  whom  we  men  are  men ; 
Let  ns  once  lose  our  oaths,  to  find  ourselves. 
Or  else  we  lose  ourselves,  to  keep  oui  oaths : 
It  is  religion  to  be  thus  forsworn; 
For  charity  itself  fulfils  the  law  ; 
And  who  can  se\er  love  from  charity? 

King.  Saint  Cupid,  then!  and,  soldiers,  to  the 
field !  [lords ; 

Biron.  Advance  your  standards,  and  upon  them. 
Pell-mell,  down  with  tiiem !  but  be  first  advis'd, 
In  conflict  that  you  get  the  sun  of  them. 

Long.  Now  to  plain  dealing  ;  lay  these  glozes  by: 
Shall  we  resolve  to  woo  these  girls  of  France  ? 

King.  And  win  them  too;  therefore  let  us  devise 
Some  entertainment  for  them  in  their  tents. 

Biron.  First,  from  the  park  let  us  conduct  them 
thither ; 

Then,  h(\ineward,  every  man  attach  the  hand 
Of  his  fair  mistress:  in  the  afternoon 
We  will  with  some  strange  pastime  solace  them, 
Such  as  the  shortness  of  the  time  can  shape  ; 
For  revels,  dances,  masks,  and  nierry  hours. 
Fore-run  fair  Love,  strewing  her  way  with  flowers. 

King.  Away,  away  I  no  time  shall  be  omitted, 
That  will  be  time,  and  may  by  us  be  fitted. 

Biron.  Allans  I  aliens! — Sow'd  cockle  reap'd  no 
corn ; 

And  justice  always  whirls  in  equal  measure  : 
Light  wenches  may  prove  plagues  to  men  forsworn  ; 
If  so,  our  copper  buys  no  better  treasure. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — Another  part  of  the  same. 
Enter  Holofernes,  Sir  Nathaniel,  and  Dull. 
Hoi.  Satis  quod  sufficit. 

Nath.  I  praise  God  for  you,  sir:  your  reasons  at 
dinner  have  been  sharp  and  sententious ;  pleasant 
without  scurrility,  witty  without  affection,  audacious 
without  impudency,  learned  without  opinion,  and 
strange  without  heresy.  I  did  converse  this  quon- 
dam day  with  a  companion  of  the  king's,  who  is 
intituled,  nominated,  or  called,  Don  Adriano  de 
Armado. 

Hoi.  Novi  hominem  tanquam  te:  his  humour  is 
lofty,  his  discourse  peremptory,  his  tongue  filed, 
his  eye  ambiti(His,  his  gait  majestical,  and  his  ge- 
neral behaviour  vain,  ridiculous,  and  Thrasonical. 
He  is  too  picked,  too  spruce,  too  affected,  too  odd, 
as  it  were,  too  peregrinate,  as  I  may  call  it. 

Nath.  A  most  singular  and  choice  epithet. 

{Takes  out  his  table-book.) 

Hoi.  He  draweth  out  the  thread  of  his  verbosity 
finer  than  the  staple  of  his  argument.  I  abhor  such 
fanatical  fantasms,  such  insociable  and  point-devise 
companions,  such  rackers  of  orthography,  as  to 
speak,  dout,  fine,  when  he  should  say,  doubt;  det, 
when  he  should  pronounce,  debt;  d,  e,  b,  t;  not 
d,  e,  t;  he  clepeth  a  calf,  cauf;  half,  hauf;  neigh- 
bour, vacatur,  nebour  ;  neigh,  abbreviated,  ne : 
this  is  abhominable,  (which  he  would  call  abomiu- 
able,)it  insinuateth  me  of  insanie  ;  Ne  intelligis,  do- 
fwewe.^' to  make  frantic,  lunatic. 

Nath.  Laus  deo,  bone  intelligo. 

Hoi.  Bone?  bone,  for  bene:  Priscian  a  little 

watch'd  ;  'twill  serve. 

Eyiter  Armado,  Moth,  and  Costard. 
Nath.  Videsne  quis  venit? 
Hoi.  Video,  H  gaudeo. 

Arm.  Chirra'  _  {To  Moth.) 

Hoi.  Quare  Chirra,  not  sirrah  ? 

Arm.  Men  of  peace,  well  encounter'd. 

Hoi.  Most  military  sir,  salutation. 

Moth.  Thi  y  have  been  at  a  great  feast  of  lan- 
guages, and  stolen  the  sci  ;  ps.  (7b  Costard,  aside.) 

Cost.  O,  they  have  lived  long  in  the  alms-basket 
of  words  I  1  marvel,  thy  master  hath  not  eaten  thee 


for  a  word  •  for  thou  art  not  so  long  by  the  head  as 
honorific ahilitudinitatibus :  thou  art  easiei  sv^^ai- 
iowed  than  a  flap  dragon. 

Moth.  Peace  ;  the  peal  begins. 

Arm.  Monsieur,  {to  Hoi.)  are  you  not  letter'd  ? 

Moth.  Yes,  yes  ;  he  teaches  boys  the  horn- book 
What  is  a,  b,  spelt  backward  with  a  horn  oa  his 
head  ? 

Hoi.  Ba,  piceritia,  with  a  horn  added. 

Moth.  Ba,  most  silly  sheep,  with  a  horn :—  Foa 
hear  his  learning. 

Hoi.  Quis,  quis,  thou  consonant? 

Moth.  The  third  of  the  five  vowels,  if  you  repeat 
thenj ;  or  the  fifth,  if  I. 

Hoi.  I  will  repeat  them,  a,  e,  i. — 

Moth.  The  sheep :  the  other  two  concludes  it ;  o,  ii. 

Arm.  Now,  by  the  salt  wave  of  the  Mediterra- 
neum,  a  sweet  touch,  a  quick  venew  of  wit :  snip, 
snap,  quick  and  home;  it  rejoiceth  my  intellect: 
true  wit.  [wit-old. 

Moth.  Offer'd  by  a  child  to  an  old  man  ;  which  is 

Hoi.  What  is  the  figure  ?  what  is  the  figure  ? 

Moth.  Horns.  [gig. 

Hoi.  Thou  disputest  like  an  infant:  go,  whip  thy 

Moth.  Lend  me  your  horn  to  make  one,  and  I 
will  whip  about  your  infamy  circum  circa;  a  gig  of 
a  cuckold's  horn ! 

Cos.  An  I  had  but  one  penny  in  the  world,  thou 
shouldst  have  it  to  buy  gingerbread  :  hold,  there  is 
the  very  renumeration  I  had  of  thy  master,  thou 
half-penny  purse  of  wit,  thou  pigeon-egg  of  discre- 
tion. O,  an  the  heavens  were  so  pleased,  that  thou 
wert  but  my  bastard,  what  a  joyful  father  wouldst 
thou  make  me  !  Go  to  ;  thou  hast  it  ad  dunghill, 
at  thy  fingers'  ends,  as  they  say. 

Hoi.  O,  I  smell  false  Latin  ;  dunghill  for  unguem. 

Arm.  Arts-man,  prceambula ;  we  will  be  singled 
from  the  barbarous.  Do  you  not  educate  jouth  at 
the  charge-house  on  the  top  of  the  mountain  I 

Hoi.  Or,  mons,  the  hill. 

Ar7n.  At  your  sweet  pleasure,  for  the  mountain. 
HoL  I  do,  sans  question. 

Arm.  Sir,  it  is  the  king's  tuost  sweet  {)lea.sure  and 
afltection,  to  congratulate  th<:  princess  at  iier  pavi- 
lion, in  the  posteriors  of  this  day ;  which  the  rude 
multitude  call,  the  afternoon. 

Hoi.  The  posterior  of  the  day,  most  generous  sir, 
is  liable,  congruent,  and  measurable  for  the  after- 
noon :  the  word  is  well  cull'd,  chose  ;  sweet  and 
apt,  I  do  assure  you,  sir,  I  do  assure. 

Arm.  Sir,  the  king  is  a  noble  gentleman;  and 
my  familiar,  I  do  assure  you,  very  good  friend  : — 
for  what  is  inward  between  us,  let  it  pass: — I  do 
beseech  thee,  remember  thy  courtesy ; — I  beseech 
thee,  apparel  thy  head  ; — and  among  other  importu- 
nate and  most  serious  designs,— and  of  great  import 
indeed,  too; — but  let  that  pass: — for  I  must  tell 
thee,  it  will  please  his  grace  (by  the  world)  sometime 
to  lean  upon  my  poor  shoulder  ;  and  with  his  royal 
finger,  thus,  dally  with  my  excrement,  with  my 
mustachio  :  but,  sweet  heart,  let  that  pass.  By  the 
world,  1  recount  no  fable;  some  certain  special 
honours  it  pleaseth  his  greatness  to  impart  to  Ar- 
mado, a  soldier,  a  man  of  travel,  that  hath  seen  the 
world:  but  let  that  pass.  The  very  all  of  all  is, — 
but,  sweet  heart,  I  do  implore  secrecy, — that  the 
king  would  have  me  present  the  princess,  sweet 
chuck,  with  some  delightful  ostentation,  or  show, 
or  pageant,  or  antic,  or  fire-work.  Now,  under- 
standing that  the  curate  and  your  sweet  self  are 
good  at  such  eruptions,  and  sudden  breaking  out  ol 
mirth,  as  it  were,  I  have  acquainted  you  withal,  to 
the  end  to  crave  your  assistance. 

Hoi.  Sir,  you  ghall  present  before  her  the  nine 
worthies. — Sir  Nathaniel,  as  concerning  souie  ej- 
tertainraent  of  time,  some  show  in  the  posterior  of 
this  day,  to  be  rendered  by  our  assistajice, — the 
king's  command,  and  this  most  gallant,  illustrate, 
and  learned  gentleman, — before  the  princess;  I 
none  so  fit  as  to  present  the  niot  vorthies. 


140 


LOYE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


Act  V 


Naih.  Where  ■will  you  find  men  worthy  enough 
Jo  present  them  ? 

Hoi.  Joshua,  yourself ;  myself,  or  this  gallant 
gentleman,  Judas  Maccabeeus ;  tliis  swain,  because 
of  his  great  limb  or  joint,  shall  pass  Pompey  the 
great;  the  page,  Hercules. 

Attn.  Pardon,  sir,  error:  he  is  not  quantity  enough 
for  that  worthy's  thumb  :  he  is  not  so  big  as  the  end 
of  his  club. 

Uol.  Shall  I  have  audience  ?  he  shall  present 
Hercules  in  minority :  ]us  enier  and  exit  shall  be 
strangling  a  snake ;  and  1  will  ha\  e  an  apology  for 
that  purpose. 

Moth.  An  excellent  device!  so,  if  any  of  the 
audience  hiss,  you  may  cry  :  well  done,  Hercules! 
now  thou  crushest  the  snake  !  that  is  the  way  to 
make  an  oli'ence  gracious ;  though  few  have  the 
grace  to  tlo  it. 

Arm.  For  the  rest  of  the  worthies? 

Hoi.  1  will  play  three  myself. 

Moth.  Tluice-woithy  gentleman! 

Arm.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  thing? 

Hoi  We  attend. 

Arm.  We  will  have,  if  this  fadge  not,  an  antic. 
I  beseech  you,  follow. 

Hoi.  Via,  goodman  Dull !  thou  hast  spoken  no 
word  all  this  wiiile. 

Dull.  Nor  understood  none  neither,  sir. 

Hoi.  Allons!  we  will  employ  thee. 

Dull.  I'll  n>ake  one  in  a  dance,  or  so :  or  T  will 
play  on  the  tabor  to  the  worthies,  and  let  them  dance 
the  hay, 

Hoi.  Most  dull,  honest  Dull,  to  our  sporl,  away. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — Another  part  of  the  same.  Before  the 

Princess's  Pavilion. 
Enter  the  Princess,  Katharine,  Rosaline,  and 
Maria. 

Prin.  Sweet  hearts,  we  shall  be  rich  ere  we  depart, 
i  fairings  come  thus  plentifully  in: 
A.  lady  wall'd  about  with  diamonds! 
Look  you,  what  I  have  nnm  the  loving  king. 

Rgs.  Madaui,  came  nothing  else  along  with  that? 

Prin.  Notliiiig  but  this  ?  yes,  as  much  love  in 
rhyme, 

As  would  be  cramm'd  up  in  a  sheet  of  paper, 
Writ  on  both  sides  the  leaf,  margent  and  all ; 
That  he  was  fjin  to  seal  on  Cupid  s  name. 

Ros.  That  was  the  way  to  make  his  godhead  waxj 
For  he  hath  been  five  thousand  years  a  boy. 

Rath.  Ay,  and  a  shrewd  unhappy  gallows  too. 

Ros.  You'll  ne'er  be  friends  with  him;  he  kill'd 
your  sister. 

Kath.  He  made  her  melancholy,  sad,  and  heavy; 
And  so  she  died;  had  she  been  light,  like  you. 
Of  such  a  merry,  nimble,  stirring  spirit. 
She  might  have  been  a  grandarn  ere  she  died: 
And  8l)  may  you  ;  for  a  light  heart  lives  long. 

Ros.  What's  your  dark  meaning,  mouse,  of  this 
light  word  ? 

Kath.  A  light  condition  in  a  beauty  dark.  [out. 

Ros.  W e  need  more  light  to  find  your  meaning 

Kath.  You'll  mar  the  light,  by  taking  it  in  snuiF ; 
Therefore,  I'll  darkly  end  the  argument. 

Ros.  Look,  what  you  do,  you  do  it  still  i'  the  dark. 

Kath.  So  do  not  yo<i ;  for  you  are  a  light  wench. 
Indeedj  1  weigh  not  you;  and  therefore 
lii;ht.  [for  me. 

Kath.  You  weigh  me  not, — O,  that's  you  care  not 

Hos.  Great  reason  ;  for.  Past  cure  is  still  past  care. 

Prin.  Well  bandied  both  ;  a  set  of  wit  w^ll  play'd. 
But  Rosaline,  you  have  a  iavour  too ; 
Who  sent  it?  and  what  is  it? 

Ros.  I  would,  you  knew  ; 

An  if  my  face  were  but  as  fair  as  yours. 
My  favour  were  as  great ;  be  witness  this. 
Nay,  I  have  verses  too,  I  thank  Biron : 
The  numbers  true  ;  and,  were  the  numb'ring  too, 
I  were  the  fairest  goddess  on  the  ground: 


I  am  compar'd  to  twenty  thousand  fairs. 
O,  he  hath  dra\^  n  my  picture  in  his  letter  I 
Prin.  Any  thing  like? 

Ros.  Much,  in  the  letters  ;  nothing  in  the  praise 
Prin.  Beauteous  as  ink  :  a  good  conclusion. 
Kath.  Fair  as  a  text  B  in  a  copy  book. 
Ros.  'Ware  pencils!  How?  let  me  not  die  youj 
debtor, 

My  red  dominical,  my  golden  letter : 

O,  that  your  face  were  not  so  lull  of  O's  I 

Kath.  A  pox  of  that  jest !  and  beshrew  all  shrows  . 

Prin.  But  what  was  sent  to  you  from  fair  Dumain? 

Kath.  Madam,  this  glove. 

Prin.  Did  he  not  send  you  twain  ^ 

Kath.  Yes,  madam ;  and  moreover. 
Some  thousand  verses  of  a  fa  thful  lover: 
A  huge  translation  of  hypocrisy. 
Vilely  compil  d,  profound  simplicity.  tville  ; 

Mar.  This,  and  these  pearls,  to  me  sent  Longa- 
The  letter  is  too  long  by  half  a  mile.  [heart, 

Prin.  1  think  no  less:  dost  thou  not  wish,  in 
The  chain  were  longer,  and  the  letter  short?  [part 

Mar.  Ay,  or  I  would  these  hands  might  never 

Prin.  We  are  wise  girls,  to  mock  our  lovers  so. 

Ros.  They  are  worse  fools  to  purchase  mocking  so. 
1  hat  same  Biron  I'll  torture  ere  1  go. 
O,  that  I  knew  he  were  but  in  by  the  week  I 
How  I  would  make  him  fawn,  and  beg,  and  seek; 
And  wait  the  season,  and  observe  tiie  times, 
And  spend  his  prodigal  wits  in  bootless  rhymes; 
And  shape  his  service  wholly  to  my  behests; 
And  make  him  proud  to  make  me  proud  that  jests ! 
So  portent-like  would  I  o'ersway  his  state. 
That  he  should  be  my  fool,  and  I  his  fate. 

Prin.  None  are  so  surely  caught,  when  they  are 
catch'd. 

As  wit  turn'd  fool :  folly,  in  wisdom  hatch'd, 
Hath  wisdom's  warrant,  and  the  help  of  school; 
And  wit's  own  grace  to  grace  a  learned  fool. 

Ros.  The  blood  of  youth  burns  not  with  suck 
excess. 

As  gravity's  revolt  to  wantonness. 

Mar.  Folly  in  fools  bears  not  so  stn^ng  a  note. 
As  foolery  in  the  wise,  when  wit  doth  dote; 
Since  all  the  power  thereof  it  doth  apply, 
To  prove,  by  wit,  worth  in  simplicity. 

Enter  Bo  yet. 

Prin.  Here  comes  Boyet,  and  mirth  is  in  his  face. 
Boyet.  O,  I  am  stabb'd  with  laughter  ?  Where's 

her  grace  ? 
Prin.  Thy  news,  Boyet? 

Boyet.  Prepare,  madam,  prepare  I — 

Arm,  wenches,  arm  '  encounters  mounted  are 
Against  your  peace- :  love  doth  approach  disguis'd, 
Armed  in  arguments ;  you'll  be  surpris'd  : 
Muster  your  wits  ;  stand  in  your  own  defence  ; 
Or  hide  your  heads  like  cowards,  and  fly  hence. 

Prin.  Saint  Dennis  to  Saint  Cupid!  What  are  they, 
That  charge  their  breath  against  us  ?  say,  scout,  say 

Boyet.  Under  the  cool  shade  of  a  sycamore, 
I  thought  to  close  mine  eyes  some  half  an  hour; 
When,  lo!  to  interrupt  my  purpos'd  rest, 
Toward  that  shade  I  might  behold  addrest 
Th^  king  and  his  companions:  warily 
I  stole  into  a  neighbour  thicket  by. 
And  overheard  what  you  shall  overhear; 
That  by  and  by,  disguis'd  they  will  be  here. 
Their  herald  is  a  pretty  knavish  page, 
That  well  by  heart  hath  conn'd  his  embassage  " 
Action,  and  accent,  did  they  teach  him  there  ; 
Thus  must  thou  speak,  ana  thus  thy  body  beetf  ' 
And  ever  and  anon  they  nmde  a  doubt. 
Presence  majestical  would  put  him  out ; 
For,  quoth  the  king,  an  angel  shalt  thou  see  ; 
Yet  fear  not  thou,  but  speak  audaciously. 
Tlie  boy  reply'd.  An  anyel  is  not  evil ; 
I  should  have  fear  d  lier^  had  she  been  a  devil. 
With  that  all  laugh'd,  and  clapp'd  him  OQ  tat 
ihoulder ; 


Scene  2. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


Making  the  bold  wag  by  their  praises  bolder. 

One  rubb'd  his  elbow,  thus;  and  fleer'd,  and  swore, 

A  better  speech  was  never  spoke  before  : 

Another,  witii  his  finger  and  his  thumb, 

Cry'd,  Via  !  ive  will  dot,  come  what  will  ccme  : 

The  Ih)  .-d  he  caper'd,  and  cried,  All  goes  well: 

The  fourth  turn  d  on  tlie  toe,  and  down  he  fell. 

With  that,  they  all  did  tumble  on  the  ground, 

With  such  a  zea  ous  laughter,  so  profound, 

I'hat  in  this  spleen  ridiculous  appears, 

To  check  their  folly,  passion's  solemn  tears.  ^ 

Prin.  But  what,  but  what,  come  they  to  visit  us? 

Boyet.  They  do,  they  do;  and  are  apparel'd 
thus, — 

Like  Muscovites,  or  Russians :  as  I  guess. 
Their  purpose  is,  to  parle,  to  court,  and  dance  : 
And  every  one  his  love-feat  will  advance 
tJnto  his  several  mistress ;  which  they'll  know 
By  favours  several,  which  they  did  bestow. 
Prin.  And  will  they  so?  the  gallants  shall  be 
task'd : 

For,  ladies,  we  will  every  one  be  mask'd : 
And  not  a  man  of  them  shall  have  the  grace, 
Despight  of  suit,  to  see  a  lady's  face. 
Hold,  Rosaline,  this  favour  tliou  shalt  wear; 
And  then  the  king  will  court  thee  for  his  dear; 
Hold,  take  thou  this,  my  sweet,  and  give  me  thine  ; 
So  shall  Biron  take  me  for  Rosaline. — 
And  change  you  favours  too  ;  so  shall  your  loves 
Woo  contrary,  deceiv'd  by  these  removes. 

Bos.  Come  on  then;  wear  the  favours  most  in 
sight. 

Kath.  But,  in  this  changing,  what  is  your  intent? 

Prin.  The  effect  of  my  intent  is,  to  cross  theirs  ; 
They  do  it  but  in  mocking  merriment; 
And  mock  for  mock  is  only  my  intent. 
'I'heir  several  counsels  they  unbosom  shall 
To  loves  mistook  ;  and  so  be  mock'd  withal. 
Upon  the  next  occasion  that  we  meet, 
\Vith  visages  display'd,  to  talk,  and  greet. 

Ros.  But  shall  we  dance,  if  they  desire  ns  to't? 

Prin.  No ;  to  the  death,  we  will  not  niove  a  foot ; 
Nor  to  their  penn'd  speech  render  we  no  grace  ; 
But,  while  'tis  spoke,  each  turn  away  her  face. 

Boyet.  Why,  that  contempt  will  kill  the  speaker's 
heart. 

And  quite  divorce  his  memory  from  his  part. 

Prin.  Therefore  I  do  it;  and,  f  make  no  doubt. 
The  rest  will  ne'er  come  in,  if  he  be  out. 
There's  no  such  sport,  as  sport  by  sport  o'erthrown  ; 
To  make  theirs  ours,  and  ours  none  but  our  own  : 
So  shall  we  stay,  mocking  intended  game  ; 
And  they,  well  mock'd,  depart  away  with  shame. 

[Trumpets  sound  within.) 

Boyet.  The   trumpet  sounds ;  be  mask'd.  the 
maskers  come.  [The  Ladies  mash.) 

Enter  the  King,  Biron,  Longaville,  and  Dumain, 
in  Russian  habits,  and  masked ;  Moth,  Mu- 
sicians, and  Attendants. 

Moth.  All  hail  the  richest  beauties  on  the  earth! 

Boyet.  Beauties  no  richer  than  rich  taffeta. 

Moth.  A  holy  parcel  of  the  fairest  dames, 

(The  ladies  turn  their  backs  to  him.) 
That  ever  turned  their — baclcs — to  mortal  views  ! 

Biron.  Their  eyes,  villain,  their  eyes. 

Moth.  That  ever  turned  their  eyes  to  mortal 
vietvs  I  Out — 

Boyet.  True ;  out,  indeed. 

Moth.  Out  of  your  favours,  heavenly  spirits, 
^ot  to  behold—  [voucJisafe 
Biron.  Once  to  behold,  rogue. 
^  Moth.  Once  to  behold  with  your  sun-beamed 

eyes,  with  your  sun-beamed  eyes — 

Boyet.  They  will  not  answer  to  that  epithet. 
Yon  were  best  call  it,  daughter-beamed  eyes. 
Moth.  They  do  not  mark  me,  and  that  brings  me 
out. 

Biron.  Is  this  your  perfectness?  be  gone,  you 
rogue. 


Ros.  What  would  these  strangers?  know  their 

minds,  Boyet : 
If  they  do  speak  our  language,  'tis  our  will 
'I'hat  some  plain  man  recount  their  purposes : 
Know  what  they  would. 

Boyet.  What  woidd  you  with  the  princess? 

Biron.  Nothing  but  |  eace,  and  gentle  visitation. 

Ros.  What  would  they,  say  they? 

Boyet.  Nothing  but  peace,  and  gentle  visitation. 

Ros.  Why,  that  they  have ;  and  bid  them  so  be 
gone.  [gone. 

Boyet.  She  says,  you  have  it,  and  you  may  bo 

King.  Say  to  her,  we  have  measur'd  many  miles. 
To  tread  a  measure  with  her  on  this  grass. 

Boyet.  They  say  that  they  have  measur'd  many 
a  mile. 

To  tread  a  nieasure  with  you  on  this  grass. 

Ros.  \i  is  not  so :  ask  them,  how  many  inches 
Is  in  one  mile  :  if  they  have  measur'd  many. 
The  measure  then  of  one  is  easily  told. 

Boyet.  If,  to  come  hither,  you  have  measur'd 
miles. 

And  many  miles  ;  the  princess  bids  you  tell. 
How  many  inches  do  fill  up  one  mile. 

Biron.  ' T^W  her,  we  measure  them  by  weary- 
steps. 

Boyet.  She  hears  herself. 

Ros.  How  many  weary  steps. 

Of  many  weary  miles  you  have  o'ergone, 
Are  number'd  in  the  travel  of  one  mile? 

Biron.  We  number  nothing  that  we  spend  for 
Our  duty  is  so  rich,  so  infinite,  [you ; 

That  we  may  do  it  still  without  accompt. 
Vouchsafe  to  show  the  sunshine  of  your  face, 
That  we,  like  savages,  mjy  worshi[)  it. 

Ros.  My  face  is  but  a  moon,  and  clouded  too. 

King.  Blessed  are  clouds,  to  do  as  such  clouds  do.' 
Vouchsafe,  bright  moon,  and  these  thy  stars,  <» 
shine 

(Those  clouds  remov'd,)  u<pon  our  wat'ry  eyne. 

Ros.  O  vain  petitioner!  beg  a  greater  matter; 
Thou  now  request'st  but  moonshine  in  the  water. 
King.  Then,  in  our  measure,  do  but  vouchsafe 
one  change : 
Thou  bid'st  me  beg  ;  this  begging  is  not  strange. 
Ros.  Flay,  music,  then,  nay,  you  must  do  it 
soon.  {Music  play.) 

Not  yet ; — no  dance  :- — thus  change  I  like  the  moon. 
King.  Will  you  not  dance  ?  How  come  you  thus 
estrang'd  ? 

Ros.  You  took  the  moon  at  full ;  but  now  she's 
chang'd. 

King.  Yet  still  she  is  the  moon,  and  I  the  man. 
The  music  plays;  vouchsafe  some  motion  to  it 
Ros.  Our  ears  vouchsafe  it. 
King.  But  your  legs  should  do  it 

Rus.  Since  yon  are  strangers,  and  come  here  by 
chance. 

We'll  not  be  nice  :  take  hands  ; — we  will  not  dance. 

King.  Why  take  we  hands  then  ? 

Ros.  Only  to  part  friends 

Conrt'sy,  sweet  hearts  ;  and  so  the  measure  ends. 

King.  More  measure  of  this  measure ;  be  not 
nice. 

Ros.  We  can  afford  no  more  at  such  a  price. 
King.  Prize  you  yourselves ;  what  buys  your 

company  ? 
Ros.  Your  absence  only. 

King.  That  can  never  Sx*. 

Rus.  Then  cannot  we  be  bought:  and  so  adieu; 
Twice  to  your  visor,  and  half  once  to  yon ! 

King.  If  you  deny  to  dance,  let's  hold  more  cJmt. 
Ros.  In  private,  then. 

King.  I  am  best  pleas'd  with  that. 

[They  converse  apart.) 
Btron.  White-handed  mistress,  one  sweet  wora 

with  thee.  [three. 
Prin.  Honey,  and  milk,  and  sugar;  there  is 
Biron.  Nay  then,  two  treys,  (an  if  you  grow  so 

nice,) 


142 

Metheglin,  wort,  and  malmsey  ; — Well  run,  dice  ! 
There's  halt  a  dozen  sweets. 

Prin.  Seventh  sweet,  adieu  ! 

Since  you  can  cog,  I'll  play  no  more  with  you. 

Biron.  One  word  in  secret. 

Prin.  Let  it  not  be  sweet. 

Biron.  Thou  griev'st  my  gall. 

Prin.  Gall  !  bitter. 

Biron.  Therefore  meet. 

[They  converse  apart.) 

Dunu  Will  you  vouchsafe  with  me  to  change  a 
word  ? 

Mar.  Name  it. 


Dum.  Fair  lady, — 

Mar.  Say  you  so  ?  Fair  lord, — 

Take  that  for  your  fair  lady. 

Dum.  Please  it  you, 


As  much  in  private,  and  Fll  bid  adieu. 

{They  converse  apart.) 
Kath,  What,  was  your  visor  made  without  a 
tongue  ? 

honq.  I  know  the  rejrson,  lady,  why  you  ask. 
Kath.  O,  for  yoiir  reason  !  quickly,  sir;  I  long. 
Long.    You  have  a  double  tongue  within  your 
mask. 

And  would  afford  my  speechless  visor  half. 

Kath.  Veal,  quoth  the  Dutchman; — Is  not  veal 

a  calf? 
Long.  A  calf,  fair  lady  ? 
Kath.  No,  a  fair  lord  calf. 

Long.  Let's  part  the  word. 

Kaih.  No,  I'll  not  be  your  half: 

Take  ail,  and  wean  it;  it  may  prove  an  ox. 

Long.  Look,  how  you  butt  yourself  in  these 
sliarp  mocks! 
Will  you  give  horns,  chaste  lady?  do  not  so. 

Kath.  Then  die  a  calf,  before  your  horns  do  grow. 
hong.  One  word  in  private  with  you,  ere  1  die. 
Kath.  Bleat  soflly  then,  the  butcher  hears  you  cry. 

[They  converse  apart.) 
Boyet.  The  tongues  of  mocking  wenches  are  as 
keen 

As  is  the  razor's  edge  invisible, 
Cutting  a  smaller  hair  than  may  be  seen  ; 

Above  the  sense  of  sense  :  so  sertsible 
Seemelh  their  conference  ;  their  conceits  have  wings. 
Fleeter  than  arrows,  bullets,  wind,  thought,  swifter 
things. 

Ros.  Not  one  word  more,  my  maids ;  break  off, 
break  off. 

Biron.  By  heaven,  all  dry-beaten  with  pure  scoff! 
King.  Farewell,  mad  wenches;  you  have  simple 
wits. 

[Exeunt  King,  Lords,  Moth,  Music,  and  Atten- 
dants. 

Prin.  Twenty  adieus,  my  frozen  Muscovites. — 
Are  these  the  breed  of  wits  so  wonder'd  at? 

Boyet.  Tapers  they  are,  with  your  sweet  breaths 
puff'd  out. 

Ros.  Well-liking  wits  they  have;  gross,  gross ; 
fat,  fat. 

Prin.  O  poverty  in  wit,  kingly-poor  flout ! 
Will  they  not,  think  you,  hang  themselves  to  night? 

Or  ever,  but  in  visors,  show  their  faces  ? 
This  pert  Biron  was  out  of  countenance  quite. 

Ros.  O !  they  were  all  in  lamentable  cases ! 
The  king  was  weeping-ripe  for  a  good  word. 

Prin.  Biron  did  swear  himself  out  of  all  suit. 

Mar.  Dumain  was  at  my  service,  and  his  sword  : 
No  nom^,  quoth  I;  my  servant  straigiit  was  mute, 

Kath.  Lord  Longaville  said,  I  came  o'er  his  heart; 
And  trow  you  what  he  cail'd  me  ? 

Prin.  Qualm,  perhaps. 

Kath.  Yes,  in  good  faith. 

Prin.  Go,  sickness  as  thou  art! 

Ros.  Well,  better  wits  have  worn  plain  statute- 
caps. 

But  will  yoii  hear?  the  king  is  my  love  sworn. 
Prin.  And  quick  Biron  iiath  plighted  faith  to  me, 
Katf    And  Longaville  was  i'or  my  service  born. 


Act  V 

Mar.  Dumain  is  mine,  as  sure  as  bark  on  tree. 

Boyet.  Madam,  and  pretty  niistre&ses,  give  ear* 
Immediately  they  will  again  be  here 
In  their  own  shapes;  for  it  can  never  be, 
They  will  digest  tJiis  ha-rsh  indignity. 

Prin.  Will  they  return  ? 

Boyet.  They  will,  they  will,  God  knows; 

And  leap  for  joy,  though  they  are  lame  with  blows; 
Therefore,  change  favours;  and,  when  riiey  repair. 
Blow  like  sweet  roses  in  this  summer  air. 

Prin.  How  blow  ?  bow  blow  ?  speak  to  be  under- 
stood. 

Boyet.  Fair  ladies,  mask'd,  are  roses  in  their  bud* 
Dismask'd,  their  damask  sweet  commixture  shown, 
Are  angels  vailing  clouds,  or  roses  blown. 

Prin.  Avaunt,  perplexity  !  What  shall  we  do, 
If  they  return  in  their  own  shapes  to  woo  ? 

Ros.  Good,  madam,  if  by  me  you'll  be  advis'd. 
Let's  mock  them  still,  as  well  known,  as  disguis'd: 
Let  us  conriplain  to  them  what  fools  were  here, 
Disguis'd  like  Muscovites,  in  shapeless  gear ; 
And  wonder,  what  they  were  ;  and  to  what  end 
Their  shallow  shows,  and  prologue  vilely  penu'd. 
And  their  rough  carriage  so  ridiculous, 
Should  be  presented  at  our  tent  to  ns. 

Boyet.  Ladies,  withdraw;  the  gallants  are  at  hand. 

Prin.  Whip  to  our  tents,  as  roes  run  over  land. 
[Exeunt  Princess,  Ros.  Kath.  and  Maria, 

Enter  the  King,  Biron,  Longaville,  and 
Dumain,  in  their  proper  habits. 

KtJig.  Fair  sir,  God  save  you  !  Where  is  the 
princess  ? 

Boyet.  Gone  to  her  tent:  Please  it  your  majesty. 
Command  me  any  service  to  her  thither? 

King.  That  she  vouchsafe  me  audience  for  one 
word. 

Boyet.  I  will ;  and  so  will  she,  I  know,  my  lord. 

[Exit, 

Biron.  This  fellow  pecks  up  wit,  as  pigeons  pea*; 
And  utters  it  again,  when  God  doth  please : 
He  is  wit's  pedlar;  and  retails  his  wares 
At  wakes,  and  wassels,  meetings,  markets,  fairs; 
And  we  that  sell  by  gross,  the  Lord  doth  know. 
Have  not  the  grace  to  grace  it  with  such  show. 
This  gallant  pins  the  wenches  on  his  sleeve; 
Had  he  been  Adam,  he  had  tempted  Eve : 
He  can  carve  too  and  lisp:  why,  this  is  he 
That  kiss'd  away  his  hand  in  courtesy; 
This  is  the  ape  of  form,  monsieur  the  nice, 
That,  when  he  plays  at  tables,  chides  the  dice 
In  honourable  terms ;  nay,  he  can  sing 
A  mean  most  meanly ;  and,  in  ushering. 
Mend  him  who  can:  the  ladies  call  him,  sweet; 
The  stairs,  as  he  treads  on  them,  kiss  his  feet; 
This  is  the  flower  that  smiles  on  every  one. 
To  show  his  teeth  as  white  as  whales'bone: 
And  consciences,  that  will  not  die  in  debt. 
Pay  him  the  due  of  honey-tongued  Boyet. 

Kifig.  A  blister  on  his  sweet  tongue,  with  my 
heart. 

That  put  Armado's  page  out  of  his  part  1 

Enter  the  Princess,  ushered  ^i^Boyet  ;  Rosaline, 
Maria,  Katharine,  and  Attendants. 

Biron.  See  where  it  comes  ! — Behaviour,  what 
wert  thou. 

Till  this  manshow'd  thee?  and  what  art  thou  now? 
King.  All  hail,  sweet  madam,  and  fair  time  of  day! 
Prin.  Fair,  in  all  hail,  is  foul,  as  I  conceive. 
Kijig.  Construe  my  si)eechts  better,  if  you  may 
Prin.  Then  wish  me  better,  I  will  gi\e  you  leave. 
King.  We  can»e  to  visit  you  ;  and  purpose  now 

To  lead  you  to  our  court:  vouchsafe  it  then. 
Prin.  This  field  shall  hold  me  ;  and  so  hold  your 
vow  : 

Nor  God,  nor  I,  delight  in  perjiir'd  men. 
King.  Rebuke  me  not  for  that  which  you  provoke; 
'J'he  virtue  ol  your  eye  must  break  my  oath. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


Scene  2.  ^  LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


14$ 


Prin.  Yon  nick-name  virtue:  vice  you  should 
have  spoke ; 
For  \irtue"s  office  never  breaks  men's  troth. 
Now,  by  niy  maiden  honour,  yet  as  pure 

As  the  unsullied  lily,  I  protest, 
A  world  of  torments  though  1  should  endure, 

1  would  nut  yield  to  be  your  house's  guest: 
So  n^uch  1  hate  a  breaking  cause  to  be 
Of  heavenly  oaths,  vow'd  with  integrity. 
Kw(j.  O,  you  have  liv'd  in  desolation  here, 

Unseen,  unvisited,  much  to  our  shame. 
Prin,  Not  so,  my  lord  ;  it  is  not  so,  I  swear  ; 
We  have  had  pastimes  here,  and  pleasant  game; 
A  mess  of  Russians  lelt  us  but  of  late. 
Kijig.  How,  madam  ?  Russians  ? 
Prin.  Ay,  in  truth,  my  lord; 

Trim  gallants,  full  of  courtship  and  of  state, 

Ros.  Madam,  speak  true : — it  is  not  so,  my  lord  ; 
My  lady,  (to  the  manner  of  the  days,j 
In  coiu  tesy,  gives  undeserving  praise. 
We  four,  indeed,  confronted  here  with  four 
In  Russian  habit ;  here  they  stay'd  an  hour, 
And  talk'd  apace ;  and  in  that  hour^  my  Urd, 
They  did  not  bless  us  with  one  happy  word. 
1  dare  not  call  them  fools ;  but  this  1  think, 
When  they  are  thirsty,   fools  would  fain  have 
drink. 

Biron.  This  jest  is  dry  to  me. — Fair,  gentle 

sweet. 

Your  wit  makes  wise  things  foolish  :  when  we  greet 
With  eyes  best  seeing  heaven's  fiery  eye. 
By  light  we  lose  light :  your  capacity 
Is  of  that  nature,  that  to  your  huge  store 
Wise  things  seem  foolish,  and  rich  things  but  poor. 
Ros.  This  proves  you  wise  and  rich,  for  in  my 
eye, — 

Biron.  1  am  a  fool,  and  full  of  poverty. 
Ros.  Rut  that  you  take  what  doth  to  you  belong, 
It  were  a  fault  to  snatch  words  from  my  tongue. 
Biron.  O,  1  am  yours,  and  all  that  I  possess. 
Ros.  All  the  fool  mine  ? 

Biron.  I  cannot  give  you  less. 

Ros  Which  of  the  visors  was  it  that  you  wore  ? 
l?2r(?7z.  Where  ?  when?  what  visor?  why  demand 
you  this  ? 

Ros.  Tliere,  then,  that  visor ;  that  superfluous  case. 
That  hid  the  worse,  and  show'd  the  better  face. 
Kin<j.  We  are  descried:  they'll  mock  us  now 
downright. 

Dum.  Let  us  confess,  and  turn  it  to  a  jest. 
Prin.  Amaz'd,  my  lord  ?  Why  looks  your  iiigh- 
ness  sad  ? 

Ros.  Help,  hold  his  brows  !  he'll  swooe  ?  Why 
look  you  pale  ? — 
Sea-sick,  I  think,  coming  from  Muscovy. 

Biron.  Thus  pour  the  stars  down  plagues  for 
perjury. 

Can  any  face  of  brass  hold  longer  out  ? — 
Here  stand  I,  lady ;  dart  thy  skill  at  me ; 

Bruise  me  with  scorn,  confound  me  with  a  flout; 
Thrust  thy  sliarp  wit  quite  through  my  ignorance  ; 

Cut  me  to  pieces  with  thy  keen  conceit  j 
And  I  will  wish  thee  never  more  to  dance. 

Nor  never  more  in  Russian  habit  wait. 
O!  never  will  I  trust  to  speeches  penn'd. 

Nor  to  the  motion  of  a  school-boy's  tongue ; 
Nor  never  come  in  visor  to  my  friend  ; 

Nor  woo  in  rhyme,  like  a  blind  harper's  song: 
TafTata  phrases,  silken  terms  precise. 

Three- pil'd  hyperboles,  spruce  affectation. 
Figures  pedanticai :  these  summer-flies 

Have  blown  me  lull  of  maggot  ostentation  : 
f  do  forswear  thetu  :  ami  I  here  protest. 

By  this  white  glove,  (how  white  the  hand,  God 
knows !) 

Henceforth  my  wooing  mind  shall  be  express'd 

In  russet  yeas,  and  honest  kersey  noes  : 
And,  to  begin,  wench, — so  God  help  me,  la! — 
My  love  to  thee  is  siiund,  sans  crack  or  flaw 
Ros.  S^ins  SAj^s,  I  pray  you. 


Biron.  Yet  I  have  a  trick 

Of  the  old  rage  : — bear  with  me,  I  am  sick; 
I'll  leave  it  by  degrees.    Soil,  let  us  see; 
Write,  Lord  have  mercy  on  us,  on  those  three  ; 
They  are  infected,  in  their  hearts  it  lies  ; 
They  have  the  plague,  and  caught  it  of  your  eyes*. 
These  lords  are  visited;  you  are  not  free. 
For  the  Lord's  tokens  on  you  do  I  see. 

Prin.  No,  they  are  free,  that  gave  these  tokens 
to  us. 

Biron.  Our  states  are  forfeit,  seek  not  to  undo  us 

Ros.  It  is  not  so  :  for  how  can  this  be  true, 
That  you  stand  forfeit,  being  those  that  sue  ? 

Biron.  Peace  ;  for  1  will  not  have  to  do  with  y(m. 

Ros.  Nor  shall  not,  if  I  do  as  1  intend. 

Biron.  Speak  for  yourselves  my  wit  is  at  an  end 

King.  Teach  us,  sweet  madam,  for  our  rude 
transgression 
Some  fair  excuse. 

Prin.  The  fairest  is  confession 

Were  you  not  here,  but  even  now,  disguis'd  ? 

King.  Madam,  I  was. 

Prin.  And  were  you  well  advis'd  i 

King.  I  was,  fair  madam. 

Prin.  When  you  then  were  here. 

What  did  you  whisper  in  your  lady's  ear? 

King.  Tliat  more  than  all  the  world  I  did  respect 
her. 

Prin.  When  she  shall  challenge  this,  you  will  re- 
ject her. 
King.  Upon  mine  honour,  no. 
Prin.  Peace,  peace,  forbear; 

Your  oath  once  broke,  you  force  not  to  forswear. 
King.  Despise  me,  when*  1  break  this  oath  of 
mine. 

Prin.  I  wall ;  and  therefore  keep  it : — Rosaline, 
What  did  the  Russian  whisper  in  your  ear  ? 

Ros.  Madam,  he  swore,  tiiat  he  did  hold  me  dear 
As  precious  eye-sight ;  and  did  value  me 
Above  this  world  :  adding  thereto,  moreover, 
That  he  would  wed  me,  or  else  die  my  lover. 

Prin.  God  give  thee  joy  of  him  !  the  noble  lord 
Most  honourably  doth  uphold  his  w^ord. 

King.  What  mean  you,  madam  ?  by  my  life  mj 
troth, 

I  never  swore  this  lady  such  an  oath. 

Ros.  By  heaven,  you  did  ;  and  to  confirm  it  plain, 
You  gave  me  this  :  but  take  it,  sir,  again. 

King.  My  faith,  and  this,  the  princess  I  did  give  ; 
I  knew  her  by  this  jewel  on  her  sleeve. 

Prin.  Pardon  me,  sir,  this  jewel  did  she  wear; 
And  lord  Biron,  I  thank  him,  is  my  dear: — 
What;  will  you  have  me,  or  your  pearl  again? 

Biron.  Neither  of  either;  I  remit  both  twain. — 
I  see  the  trick  on't; — Here  was  a  consent 
(Knowing  afore-hand  of  our  merriment,) 
To  dash  it  like  a  Christmas  comedy: 
Some  carry-table,  some  please-man,  some  slight^zany, 
Some  mumble-news,  some  trencher-knight,  some 
Dick,— 

That  smiles  his  cheek  in  years  ;  and  knoAVS  the  trick 
T'o  make  my  lady  laugh,  when  she's  dispos'd, — 
Told  our  intents  before  :  which  once  disclos'd. 
The  ladies  did  change  favours;  and  then  we, 
Following  the  signs,  woo'd  but  the  sign  of  she. 
Now,  to  our  perjury  to  add  more  terror. 
We  are  again  forsworn;  in  will,  and  error. 
Much  upon  this  it  is  : — And  might  not  you, 

{To  Boyet. 
Forestal  our  sport,  to  make  us  thus  untrue? 
Do  not  you  know  my  lady's  foot  by  the  squire, 

And  laugh  upon  the  app  e  of  her  eye  ? 
And  stand  between  her  back,  sir,  and  the  lire. 

Holding  a  trencher,  jesting  merrily  ? 
You  put  our  page  out:  go,  you^are  allow'd  ; 
Die  when  you  will,  a  smock  shall  be  your  siiroud. 
You  leer  upon  me,  do  yo'j  ?  there's  an  eye, 
>Vounds  like  a  leaden  SAVord. 

Boyet.  Full  njerrily 

Hath  this  brave  manage,  this  caixw,  been  run. 


flu 

iron,  Lo,  he  is  tilting  straight!  Peace;  I  have 
done. 

Enter  CosTARD. 
Welcome,  pure  wit  I  tlioii  partest  a  fair  fray. 

Cost.  O  Lord,  sir,  they  would  know, 
Whether  the  three  worthies  shall  come  in,  or  no. 

Biron.  What,  are  tliere  but  three  ? 

Cost.  No,  sir ;  but  it  is  vara  fine, 

For  every  one  pursents  three. 

Biron.  And  three  times  thrice  is  nine. 

Cost.  Not  so,  sir;  under  correction,  sir;  I  hope 
it  is  not  St) : 

Vovi  cannot  beg  iis,  sir,  I  can  assure  you,  sir;  we 

know  what  we  know: 
I  hope,  sir,  chree  times  thrice,  sir, — 

Biron.  Is  not  nine. 

Cost.  Under  correction,  sir,  we  know  whereuntil 
it  doth  amount.  [nine. 

Biron.  By  Jove,  I  always  took  three  threes  for 

Cost.  O  Lord,  sir,  it  were  pity  you  should  get 
yr.ur  li\ing  by  reckoning,  sir. 

Biroii.  How  much  is  it  / 

Cost.  O  Lord,  sir,  the  parties  themselves,  the 
artors,  sir,  will  show  whereuntil  it  doth  amount: 
f*>r  my  own  part,  I  am,  as  they  say,  but  to  par- 
f^'.ct  one  man, — e'en  one  poor  man ;  Pompion  the 
preat,  sir. 

Biron.  Art  thou  one  of  the  worthies? 

Cost.  It  pleased  them  to  think  me  worthy  of 
Pompion  the  great:  ibr  mine  own  part,  I  know 
not  tl'e  degree  of  the  worthy ;  but  1  am  to  stand 
♦or  him. 

Biron.  Oo,  bid  them  prepare. 

Cost.  We  will  tinn  it  linely  olf,  sir;  we  will  take 

some  care.  \_Kxit  Costard. 

Kintj.  Uiron,  they  will  shame  us,  let  them  not 

approach. 

Biron.  W  e  are  shame-proof,  my  lord :  and  'tis 
some  policy 

To  have  one  sliow  worse  than  the  king's  and  his 
company. 

King.  I  say,  they  shall  not  come.  [now; 

Prin.  Nny,  my  good  lord,  let  me  o'er-rule  you 
That  spoi  t  best  pleases,  that  doth  least  know  how  : 
Where  zeal  stri\es  to  coiitent,  and  the  contents 
Die  in  the  zeal  ot  them  w  hich  it  presents. 
Their  Ibrm  coni'ounded  makes  most  form  in  mirth  ; 
When  great  tilings  labouring  perish  in  their  birth. 

Biron.  A  riglit  description  of  our  sport,  my  lord. 

Enter  Armado. 
Arm.  Anointed,  I  implore  so  much  expence  of 
tliy  royal  sweet  breath,  as  will  utter  a  brace  of  words. 
[Armciflo  converses  tvit/itheKinfj ,  and  delivers 

htm  a  paper.) 
Prin.  Doth  this  man  serve  God  ? 
Biron.  Why  ask  you? 

Prin.  He  speaks  not  like  a  man  of  God's  making, 
Artn.  'I'liat'.s  all  one,  my  fair,  sweet,  honey  mo- 
narch :  for,  I  protest,  the  schoolmaster  is  exceeding 
fantastical;  too,  too  vain;  too,  too  vain:  but  we 
will  put  it,  as  they  say,  to  for  tuna  della  yuerra. 
I  wish  you  the  peace  of  mind,  most  royal  couple- 
inent!  [Exit  Armada. 

King.  Here  is  like  to  be  a  good  presence  of  wor- 
thies: he  presents  Hector  of  Troy;  the  swain, 
Pompey  the  great;  the  parish  curate,  Alexander; 
Annado's  page,  Hercules ;  the  pedant,  Judas  Ma- 
chabaius. 

And  if  these  four  worthies  in  their  first  show  thrive. 
These  lour  will  change  habits,  and  present  the 
other  five. 

Biron.  'I'here  is  five  in  the  first  .show. 

K  big.  \qw  are  deceiv'd,  'tis  not  so. 

Biron.  The  pedant,   the  braggart,   the  hedge 
priest,  the  fool,  and  the  boy: — 
Abate  a  throw  at  novum  ;  and  the  whole  world 
again,  [vein. 
Cannot  i)ri<  k  out  five  such,  take  each  one  in  his 


Act  V. 

King.  The  ship  is  under  sail,  and  here  she  coci* 
amain. 

{Seats  brought  for  the  King,  Princess,  §!'c.) 
Pageant  oj  the  Nine  W art  hies. 
Enter  Costasd  armed,  for  Pompey. 
Cost.  I  Pomjiey  am,  

Boyet.  You  lie,  you  are  not  he 

Cost.  1  Pompey  am,  

Boyet.  VVith  libbard's  head  on  knee 

Biron.  Well  said,  old  mocker ;  1  must  needs  bd 
friends  with  thee. 

Cost.  I  Pompey  am,  Pompey  surnam'd  the 

big;— 
Dum.  Tiie  great. 

Cost,  it  is  great,  sir; — Pompey  snrnam^d  ths 
great ; 

That  ofi  injield,  ivith  targe  and  shield,  did  make 

my  foe  to  siveat : 
And  travelling  along  this  coast,  I  here  a??i  come 

by  chance ; 

And  lay  my  arms  before,  the  legs  of  this  stveet 
lass  of  France.  [done. 
If  your  ladyship  would  say,  Thanhs,  Pompey,  1  had 
Prin.  Great  thanks,  great  Pompey. 
Cost.  'Tis  ndt  so  nuicli  worth  :  but,  I  hope,  I  waa 
perfect:  I  made  a  little  fault  in,  great. 

Biron.  My  hat  to  a  halfpenny,  Pompey  proves 
the  best  worthy. 

Enter  Nathaniel  armed,  for  Alexander. 
Nath.  Pf^ hen  in  the  world  I  liv'd,  I  was  the 
ivorld  s  commander  ; 
By  east,  ivest,  north,  and  south,  I  spread  my 

conquering  might , 
My  'scutcheon  plain  declares,  that  1  im  Ali- 
sander. 

Boyet.  Vour  nose  says,  no,  you  are  not;  for  it 

stands  too  right. 
Biron.  Vour  nose  smells,  no,  in  this  moat  tf  nd^r- 

smelling  knight. 
Prin.  The  conqueror  is  dismay'd  :  proceed,  good 

Alexander. 

Nath.  PFhen  in  the  world  I  Ik  d,  I  was  ths 

tvorld  s  commander ; — 
Boyet.  Most  true,  'tis  right;  you  were  so,  Ali- 

sander, 

Biron.  Pompey  the  great, — 
Cost.  Your  servant,  and  Costard. 

Biron.  Take  away  the  conqueror,  take  away  Ali- 
sander. 

Cost.  O,  sir,  {to  Nath.)  you  have  overthrown 
Alisander  the  conqueror!  You  will  be  scraped  out 
of  the  painted  cloth  lor  this :  your  lion,  that  holds 
his  poll-ax  silting  on  a  close-stool,  will  be  given  to 
A-jax:  he  will  be  the  ninth  worthy.  A  conqueror 
and  afeard  to  S[)eak  !  run  away  for  shame,  Alisander 
[Nath.  retires.)  There,  an't  shall  please  you  ;  a  fool- 
ish mild  man ;  an  honest  man,  look  you,  and  soon 
dash'd !  He  Is  a  marvellous  good  neighbour,  in 
sooth ;  and  a  very  good  bowler :  but  for  Alisander, 
alas  yen  see,  how  'tis; — a  little  o'erparted  : — But 
there  are  worthies  a-coming  will  speak  tlieir  mind  iu 
some  other  sort. 

Prin.  Stand  aside,  good  Pompey. 
Enter  Hw^ofernes  armed,  for  Judas,  and  Moth 
armed,  for  Hercules. 

Hoi.  Great  Hercules  is  presented  by  this  imp, 
TV  hose  club  kill'd  Cerberus,  that  thee-htaUed 
canus; 

And,  when  he  ivas  a  babe,  a  child,  a  shrimp. 

Thus  did  he  strangle  serpents  in  his  manus ; 
Quoniam,  he  seemeih  in  7rJnority; 
Ergo,  /  co?ne  with  this  apology. —  _ 
Keep  some  state  in  thy  exit,  and  vanish.  [Exit  Moih 

Hoi.  Judas  I  am, — 

Dmn.  A  Judas  ! 

Hoi.  Not  Iscariot,  sir, — 
Judas  I  am,  ycleped  Machabeeus. 

Dui».  Judas  Machabaius  dipt,  is  plain  Judas. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


Scene  2. 


i^OVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


145 


Biroru  A  kissing  traitor : — How  art  thou  prov'd 

Jndas  ? 
ol.  Judas  I  am. — 
Dum.  The  tnuic  sliarne  for  you,  Judas. 
TIol.  What  mean  yon,  sir  ? 
Boyet.  To  make  Judas  hang  himself. 
Hoi.  Begin,  sir;  you  are  my  elder. 
Biron.  Well  follow'd :  Judas  was  hang'd  on  an 
elder. 

Hoi.  1  will  not  be  put  out  of  countenance. 
Biron.  Because  thou  hast  no  face. 
Hoi.  What  is  this  ? 
Boyet.  A  cittern  head. 
Dum.  The  head  of  a  bodkin. 
Biron.  A  death's  face  in  a  ring. 
Long.  The  f;ice  of  an  old  Roman  coin,  scarce  seen. 
Boyet.  The  pummel  of  Caesar's  faulchion. 
Vu7n.  The  carved-bone  face  on  a  flask. 
Biron.  Si.  George's  half-cheek  in  a  brooch. 
Dum.  Ay,  and  in  a  brooch  of  lead. 
Bii'oii..  Ay,  and  worn  in  the  cap  of  a  tooth-drawer : 
And  now,  forward ;  for  we  have  put  thee  in  coun- 
tenance. 

Hoi.  You  have  put  me  out  of  countenance. 
Biron.  False  ;  we  have  given  thee  faces. 
Hoi.  Cut  you  have  outfac'd  them  all. 
Biron.  An  thou  wert  a  lion,  we  would  do  so. 
Boyet.  'ITierelore,  as  he  is,  an  ass,  let  him  go. 
And  so  adieu,  sweet  Jude  !  nay,  why  dost  thou  stay? 
Dum.  For  the  latter  end  of  his  name, 
Biron.  For  the  ass  to  the  Jude;  give  it  him; — 

Jud  as,  away. 
Hoi.  This  is  not  generous,  not  gentle,  not  humble. 
Boyet.  A  light  for  monsieur  Judas:  it  grows 

dark,  he  may  stumble.  [baited! 
Prin.  Alas,  poor  Machaba?us,  how  hath  he  been 

Enter  Armado  armed,  for  Hector. 
Biron.   Hide  thy  head,  Achilles;  here  comes 

Hector  in  arms. 
Dum.  Though  my  mocks  come  home  by  me,  1 

will  now  be  merry. 
King.  Hector  was  but  a  Trojan  in  respect  of  this. 
Boyet.  But  is  tliis  Hector  ? 

Dum.  I  think,  Hector  was  not  so  clean  timbered. 

Long.  His  leg  is  too  big  for  Hector. 

Dum.  More  call,  certain. 

Boyet.  No  ;  he  is  best  endued  in  the  small. 

Biron.  This  cannot  be  Hector. 

Dum.  He's  a  god  or  a  painter;  for  he  makes  faces. 

Ar7n.  The  armipotent  Mars,  of  lances  the  al- 
mighty, 
Gave  Hector  a  gift. — 

Dmn.  A  gilt  nutmeg. 

Biron.  A  lemon. 

Long.  Siuok  with  cloves. 

Dum.  No,  cloven. 

Arm.  Peace  ! 
The  armipotetit  Mars,  of  lances  the  almighty, 

Gave  Hector  a  gift,  the  heir  of  Ilion  ;  [yea 
A  man  so  breath' d,  that  certain  he  would  fight. 

From  morn  tdl  night,  out  of  his  pavilion. 
I  am  that  Jiower, — 

Dum.  That  mint. 

Long.  That  columbine. 

Arm.  Sv.eet  lord  Longaville,  rein  thy  tongue. 

Lang.  I  must  ratliei  give  it  the  rein ;  for  it  runs 
against  Hector. 

Dum.  Ay,  and  Hector's  a  greyhound. 

Artn.  The  sweet  war-man  is  dead  and  rotten : 
gweet  chucks,  beat  not  the  bones  of  the  buried ; 
when  he  breath'd,  he  was  a  man — But  I  will  for- 
ward with  my  device:  sweet  royalty,  [to  the  Prin- 
tess.)  bestow  on  me  the  sense  of  hearing. 

{Biron  whispers  Costard.) 

Prin.  Speak,  brave  Hector;  we  are  much  de- 
lighted. 

Arm.  I  do  adore  thy  sweet  grace's  slipper. 
Boyet.  Loves  iier  by  the  foot. 
Dum.  He  uiMy  not  by  the  y  ard. 


Arm.  This  Hector  far  surmounted  Hannibal.'— 

Cost.  The  party  is  gone,  fellow  Hector,  she  is 
gone  ;  she  is  two  months  on  her  way. 

Arm.  What  meanest  thou  ? 

Cost.  Faith,  unless  you  play  the  honest  Trojan, 
the  poor  wench  is  cast  away :  she's  quit  k ;  the 
child  brags  in  her  belly  already;  'tis  youfs. 

Arm.  Dost  thou  infaraonize  me  among  poten- 
tates? tiiou  shalt  die;. 

Cost.  Then  shall  Hector  be  whipp'd  for  Jaque- 
netta  that  is  quick  by  him;  and  hang'd,  foi  Pom. 
pey  that  is  dead  by  him. 

Dum  Most  rare  Pompey  I 

Boyet.  Renowned  Pompey ! 

Biron.  Greater  than  great,  great,  great,  grea^ 
Pompey  !  Pompey  the  huge  ! 

Dum.  Hector  trembles. 

Bircn.  Pompey  is  mov'd : — More  Ates,  mor 
Ates ;  stir  them  on '  stir  them  on ! 

Dum.  Hector  will  challenge  him. 

Biron  Ay,  if  he  have  no  more  man's  blood  in'a 
belly  than  will  sup  a  flea. 

Arm.  By  the  north  pole,  I  do  challenge  thee. 

Cost.  I  will  not  fight  with  a  pole,  like  a  northern 
man;  I'll  slash  ;  I'll  do  it  by  the  sword: — I  pray 
you,  let  me  borrow  my  arms  again. 

Dum.  Room  for  the  incensed  worthies 

Cost.  I'll  do  it  in  my  shirt. 

Dum.  Most  resolute  Pompey  ! 

Moth.  Master,  let  rae  take  you  a  button-hole 
lower.  Do  you  not  see,  Pompey  is  uncasing  for 
the  combat?  What  mean  you ?  you  will  lose  your 
reputation. 

Arm,  Gentlemen,  and  soldiers,  pardon  mt\  I 
will  not  combat  in  my  shirt. 

Dum.  You  may  not  deny  it;  Pompey  hath  ma'le 
the  challenge. 

Arm.  Sweet  bloods,  I  both  may  and  will. 

Biron.  What  reason  have  you  for't  ? 

Arm.  The  naked  truth  of  it  is,  I  have  no  shiit 
I  go  woolward  for  penance. 

Boyet.  True,  and  it  was  enjoin'd  him  in  Rome 
for  want  of  linen;  since  when,  I'll  be  sworn,  he 
wore  none,  but  a  dish-clout  of  Jaquenetta's ;  aiM^ 
that  'a  wears  next  his  heart,  for  a  favour. 

Enter  Mercade. 

Mer.  God  save  you,  madam  ! 

Prin.  Welcome,  Mercade ; 
But  that  thou  interrupt'st  our  merrimenl. 

Mer.  I  ara  sorry,  madam ;  for  the  news  I  bring. 
Is  ht;avy  in  my  tongue.    The  king  your  father — 

Prin.  Dead,  for  my  life. 

Mer.  Even  so  ;  my  tale  is  told.  [cloud. 

Biron.  Worthies,  away ;  the  scene  begins  to 

Arm.  For  mine  own  part,  I  breathe  free  breath: 
I  have  seen  the  day  of  wrong  through  the  little  hole 
of  discretion,  and  I  will  right  myself  like  a  soldier. 

[Exeunt  fforihies. 

King.  How  fares  your  majesty  ? 

Prin.  Boyet,  prepare;  1  will  away  to  night. 

King.  Madam,  not  so;  I  do  beseech  you,  stay. 

Prin.  Prepare,  I  say. — I  thank  you,  gracious 
lords, 

For  all  your  lair  endeavours ;  and  entreat. 
Out  of  a  new-sad  soul,  that  you  vouchsafe 
In  your  rich  wisdom,  to  excuse,  or  hide, 
The  liberal  opposition  of  our  spirits: 
If  over-boldly  we  have  borne  ourselves 
In  the  converse  of  breath,  your  gentleness 
Was  guilty  of  it — Farewell,  worthy  lord! 
A  heavy  heart  bears  not  an  humble  tongue  : 
Excuse  me  so^  toming  so  short  of  thanks 
For  my  great  suit  so  easily  obtain'd. 

King.  The  extreme  parts  of  time  extremely  form 
All  causes  to  the  purpose  of  his  speed; 
And  oiten,  at  his  very  loose,  decides 
That,  which  long  process  could  not  arbitrate  8 
And  though  the  mourning  brow  of  progeny 
Forbid  tfce  snuliug  courtesy  of  love  * 


U6 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


Act  V 


you; 


full  of 

[love ; 


The  holy  soit,  which  fain  it  would  convince ; 
Yet,  since  love's  argument  was  first  on  foot. 
Let  not  the  cloud  of  sorrow  jiistle  it 
From  what  it  purpos'd ;  since,  to  n  ail  friends  lost, 
Is  not  by  much  so  wholesome,  prof.table 
^.s  to  rejoice  at  friends  but  newly  found. 
Prin.  I  understand  you  not;  my  griefs  are  dou- 
ble, [grief;— 
Biron.  Honest  plain  M'ords  best  pierce  the  ear  of 
4nd  by  these  badges  understand  the  king. 
For  your  fair  sakes  have  we  neglected  time, 
Play'd  foul  play  with  our  oaths ;  your  beauty,  la- 
dies. 

Hath  much  deformed  us,  fashioning  our  humours 
Even  to  the  opposed  end  of  our  intents: 
A.pd  what  in  us  hath  seenj'd  ridiculous, — 
As  love  is  full  of  unbefitting  strains; 
All  wanton  as  a  child,  skipping,  and  vain; 
Form'd  by  the  eye,  and,  therefore,  like  the  eye. 
Full  of  strange  shapes,  of  habits,  and  of  forms, 
Varyinof  in  subjects  as  the  eye  doth  roll 
To  eveiy  varied  object  in  his'  glance  : 
Which  party-coated  presence  of  loose  love 
Put  on  by  us,  if,  in  your  heavenly  eyes. 
Have  misbecom'd  our  oaths  and  gravities. 
Those  heavenly  eyes,  that  look  into  these  faults, 
Suggested  us  to  make  :  tlierefore,  ladies, 
Our  love  being  yours,  the  error  that  love  makes 
Is  likewise  yours  :  we  to  ourselves  [)rove  false. 
By  being  once  false  for  ever  to  bf'  *rue 
To  those,  that  make  us  both,-  fair  ladies 
And  even  that  falsehood,  in  itself  a  sin. 
Thus  purifies  itself,  and  turns  to  grace. 

Pytn.  We   have  receiv'd  your  letters 
Your  favours,  the  ambassadors  ol'  love  ; 
And,  in  our  maiden  council,  rated  them 
At  courtship,  pleasant  jest,  and  courtesy, 
As  bombast,  and  as  lining  to  the  time; 
But  more  devout  than  this,  in  our  respects, 
Have  we  not  been;  and  therefore  met  your  loves 
In  their  own  fashion,  like  a  merriment. 

Dum.  Our  letters,  madanj,  shovv'd  much  more 

than  jest. 
Lojty.  So  did  our  looks. 

Ros.  We  did  not  quote  them  so. 

King.  Now,  at  the  latest  minute  of  the  hour. 
Grant  us  your  loves. 

Prin.  A  time,  methinks,  too  short 

To  make  a  world-vvithout-end  bargain  in: 
No,  no,  my  lord,  your  grace  is  perjur'd  much. 
Full  of  dear  guiltiness  :  and,  therefore,  this, — 
If  for  my  love  (as  there  is  no  such  cause) 
Vou  will  do  aught,  this  shall  you  do  for  me : 
Your  oath  1  will  not  trust;  but  go  with  speed 
To  some  forlorn  and  naked  hermitage. 
Remote  from  all  the  pleasures  of  the  world 
There  stay,  until  the  twelve  celestial  signs 
Have  brought  about  their  annual  reckoning: 
If  this  austere  in>ociable  life 
Change  not  your  offer,  made  in  heat  of  blood  ; 
If  frosts,  and  fasts,  hard  lodging,  and  thin  weeds, 
Nip  not  he  gaudy  blosson^  of  your  love, 
But  that  it  bear  this  trial,  and  last  love ; 
Then,  at  the  expiration  of  the  year. 
Come  challenge,  challenge  me  by  these  deserts. 
And,  by  this  virgin  palm,  now  kissing  thine, 
1  wdl  be  thine;  and,  till  that  instant,  shut 
My  woeful  self  up  in  a  mourning  house; 
Raining  the  tears  of  lanientation 
For  the  remembrance  of  my  father's  death. 
If  this  thou  do  deny,  let  our  hands  part; 
Neither  intitled  in  the  other's  hea.-t. 

King.  If  this,  or  more  than  this,  I  would  deny. 
To  flatter  up  these  powers  of  mine  with  rest. 
The  sudden  hand  of  death  close  up  mine  eye  ! 
Hence  ever  then  my  heart  is  in  thy  breast. 
Biron.  And  what  to  me,  my  love,  and  what  to 
me  ? 

Rot.    ou  must  be  purged  too,  your  sins  are  rank 
ou  are  attaint  with  li"dts  and  i>erjury  ; 


Therefore,  if  you  my  favour  mean  to  get, 

A  twelvemonth  shall  you  spend,  and  never  rest, 

Unt  seek  the  weary  beds  of  people  sick. 

Dum   But  what  to  n.e,  mv  love  ?  but  what  to  ms 
Kat/i.  A  wife!— A  beard,  fair  health,  and 
nesty ; 

With  three-fold  love  J  wish  you  all  these  three 

Diwt.  O,  shall  I  say,  J  thank  you,  gentle  wife  ? 
7,n         ^^^^'^>  '»y  loi  d;— a  twelvemonth  and  a  day 
HI  mark  no  words  that  sniooth-fac'd  wooers  s.iy  • 
Come  when  the  king  doth  to  my  lady  come, 
llien,  if  I  have  much  love,  I'll  give  you  some. 
Bum  I'll  serve  thee  true  and  faithfully  till  then 
Kat/i.  Yet  swear  not,  lest  you  be  forsworn  again 
Long.  What  says  Maria  ? 
„,/*^f^-  At  the  twelvemonth's  end 

I II  change  my  black  gown  for  a  faithful  friend. 
-Low^.  ['11  stay  with  patience  ;  but  the  time  is  long 
mar.  The  liker  you  ;  few  taller  are  so  young, 
^''f  j"',  Studies  my  lady  ?  mistress,  look  ou  nw^ 
Behold  the  window  of  my  heart,  mine  eye, 
What  humble  suit  attends  thy  answer  there; 
Impose  some  service  on  me  for  tiiy  love, 

Ros.  Oil  have  I  heard  of  you,  my  lord  Biron, 
Before  1  saw  you  :  and  the  world's  large  tojigue 
Proclaims  you  for  a  man  replete  with  mocks  ; 
Full  of  comparisons  and  wounding  flouts  ; 
Which  you  on  all  estates  will  eiecute, 
l^hat  lie  within  the  merc^  of  your  wit : 
To  weed  this  wormwood  from  your  triiitful  brain; 
And,  therewithal,  to  win  ine,  if  you  please. 
(Without  flie  which  I  am  not  to  be  won,)  ' 
1  ou  sliall  this  twelvemonth  term,  fr-  ni  day  to  day. 
Visit  the  speechless  sick,  and  still  ci  'iverse 
w?^!'  ^5!"''^'""^  wretches:  and  your  task  shall  be, 
VVith  all  the  fierce  endeavour  of  your  wit. 
To  enforce  the  pained  impotent  to  smile. 

Biron.  To  move  wild  laughter  in  the  throat  of 
death  ? 

It  cannot  be  ;  it  is  impc  isible  : 
Mirth  cannot  move  a  s(  ni  in  agony. 
Ros.   Why,  that's  the  way  to  choke  a  gibiBg 
spirit. 

Whose  influence  is  begot  of  tSat  loose  grace, 
W  hich  shallow  laughing  hearers  give  to  fools; 
A  jest's  prosperity  lies  in  tlie  ear 
Of"  him  that  hears  it,  never  in  the  tongue 
Of  him  that  makes  it:  then,  if  sickly  ears, 
DeaI  'd  with  the  clamours  of  their  own  dear  groam. 
Will  hear  your  idle  scorns,  continue  then. 
And  I  will  have  you,  and  that  fault  withal; 
But,  if  thev  will  not,  throw  away  that  spirit, 
And  I  shall  find  you  empty  of  that  fault. 
Right  joyful  of  your  reformation. 
B, 


[befall, 

A  twelvemonth  ?  well,  befall  what  will 
I'll  jest  a  twelvemonth  in  an  hospital. 
Prin.  Ay,  sweet  my  lord;  and  so  I  take  my 

leave.  {To  the  King 

King.  No,  madam  :  we  will  bring  you  on  your  way. 
Biron.  Our  wooing  doth  not  end  like  an  old  play : 
Jack  hath  not  Jill:  these  ladies'  courtesy 
Migl  t  well  have  made  our  sport  a  comedy. 

King.  Come,  sir,  it  wants  a  twelvemonth  and  a 
day, 

And  then  'twill  end. 
Biron.  That's  too  long  for  a  play. 

Enter  Arm  ado. 
Arvi.  Sweet  majesty,  vouchsafe  me, — 
Prin.  Was  not  that  Hector? 
Vufn.  The  worthy  knight  of  Troy. 
Arm.  1  will  kiss  thy  royai  finger,  and  takeleare: 
I  am  a  votary  ;  I  have  vowed  to  iaqueiietta  to  hold 
the  plough  for  tier  sweet  love  three  years.  But, 
most  esteemed  greatness,  will  yoi  hear  the  dialogue 
that  the  two  learned  men  have  compiled,  in  praise 
of  the  owl  and  the  cuckoo?  it  should  have  foilowed 
in  the  end  of  our  show. 

King.  Call  them  forth  quickly,  we  will  do  so. 
Arm.  Holla  I  approach. 


dCENE  2. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR  LOST. 


Bitfer  HoLOFERNEs,  Nathaniel,  Moth,  Cos- 
tard, and  others. 

This  side  is  Hiems,  winter;  this  Ver,  the  spring  ; 
the  oos  maintain'd  by  the  owl,  the  other  by  the 
curkoo.    Ver.  begin. 

SONG. 
I. 

Spring.   When  daisies  pled,  and  violets  blue, 
And  lady-sjnocks  all  silver-white, 
And  cuclcoo-bnds  of  yellow  hue, 

Do  paint  the  meadows  with  delight. 
The  cuckoo  then,  oni  every  tree, 
Mocks  married  men,  for  thus  sings  he, 
Cuckoo  ; 

Cuckoo,  cuckoo, — 0  ivord  of  fear, 
Unpleasing  to  a  married  ear  ! 

i-  II. 

When  shepherds  pipe  on  oaien  straws. 

And  merry  larks  are  ploughmen's  clocks. 
When  turtles  tread,  and  rooks,  and  daws, 

And  maidens  blench  their  summer  smocks, 
*Ffie  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree, 
Mocks  martted  7nen,for  thus  sings  he, 
'  Cuckoo  I 


Cuckoo,  cuckoo, — 0  word  of  fe 
Unpleasing  to  a  married  ear  ! 

III. 

fVint.  When  icicles  hang  by  the  wall. 

And  Dick  the  shepherd  blows  his  naU 
And  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall, 

And  ?nilk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail, 
TT  hen  blood  is  nipp'd,  and  ways  be  foui^ 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

To-who ; 
Tu-whit,  to-who,  a  merry  note. 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

JV. 

When  all  aloud  the  wind  doth  bloto. 

And  coughing  drowns  the  parsons  seiw 
And  birds  sit  brooding  i?i  the  snoiv. 

And  Marians  nose  looks  red  and  raw 
When  roasted  crabs  hiss  in  the  bowl, 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl, 

To-who  ; 
Tu-whit,  to-ivho,  a  merry  note. 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 

Arm.  The  words  of  Mercnry  are  harsh  after 
songs  of  Apollo,    You,  that  way ;  we,  tliis  waj. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE 


Of  the  Merchant  of  Venice  the  style  is  even  and  easy,  with  few  peculiarities  of  diction,  or  anomalies  of  constrae* 
tioii.   The  comic  part  raises  laughter,  and  the  serious  tixes  expectation.   The  probability  of  either  one  or  the  othcj 
story  cannot  be  maintained.    The  union  of  two  actions  in  one  event  is  in  this  drama  eminently  happy.  Dryden 
was  much  pleased  with  his  own  address  in  connecting  the  two  plots  of  his  Spanish  Friar,  which  yet,  1  believe,  the 
tic  will  find  excelled  by  this  plav.  Johnson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


DUKE  OF  VENICE. 

PRINCE  OF  MOROCCO,  »    c„;tn^c  m  Pnr-t;^ 
PRINCE  OF  ARRAUON,  \  ^"'^""^^ 
ANTONIO,  the  Merchant  of  Venice. 
BASSANIO,  his  Friend, 
SALANIO,  ) 

SALARINO,  >  Friends  to  Antonio  anu  Bassnnic 
GRATIANO,  \ 

LORENZO,  in  Love  with  Jessica. 
SHYLOCK,  a  Jew. 
TUBAL,  a  Jew,  his  Friend. 


LAUNCELOT  GOBBO,  a  Clown,  Servant  to  Shylocl. 
OLD  GOBBO,  Father  to  Launcelot. 
SALERIO,  a  Messenger  from  Venice. 
LEONARDO,  Servant  ttt  Bassanio. 

STeJh^NO*^'  }  ^^^^^"^^  Portia. 
PORTIA,  a  rich  Heiress. 
NERISSA,  her  Waiting  maid. 
JESSICA,  Daughter  to  Shy  lock. 

Mugjiificoes  of  Venice,  Officers  of  the  Court  of  Justict, 
Goaler,  Servants,  and  other  Attendants. 


Scene, — Partly  at  Venice,  and  partly  at  Belmont,  the  Seat  of  Portia,  on  the  Continent. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. —  Yejiice.  A  Street. 
Enter  Antonio,  Salarino,  and  Salanio. 
Ant.  In  sooth,  I  know  not  why  I  am  so  sadj 
ft  wearies  nie  ;  yon  say,  it  wearies  yoti  ; 
JBut  \\0JV  I  caught  it,  found  it,  or  came  by  it. 
What  start"  'tis  made  of,  whereof  it  is  born, 
I  am  to  learn ; 

And  such  a  waut-wit  sadness  makes  of  me, 
Tliat  1  have  much  ado  to  know  myself. 

Solar.  You  mind  is  tossing  on  the  ocean ; 
There,  where  your  argosies  with  portly  sail, — 
Like  signiors  and  rich  burghers  of  the  flood. 
Or,  as  it  were,  the  pageants  of  the  sea, — 
Do  overpeer  the  petty  trafiickers, 
That  curt  sy  to  them,  do  them  reverence, 
As  they  fly  by  tliem  with  their  woven  wings. 

Salan.  Believe  me,  sir,  had  I  such  venture  forth. 
The  better  part  of  my  affections  would 
Be  with  my  hopes  abroad.    I  should  be  still 
Plucking  the  grass,  to  know  where  sits  the  wind ; 
Peering  in  maps,  for  ports,,  and  piers,  and  roads; 
And  every  object  that  might  make  me  fear 
Misfortune  to  my  ventures,  ouf  of  doubt. 
Would  make  me  sad. 

Salar.  My  wind,  cooling  my  broth, 

Would  blow  nr.e  to  an  ague,  when  1  thought 
What  harm  a  wind  too  great  might  do  at  sea. 
I  should  not  see  the  sandy  hour-glass  run. 
But  I  should  think  of  shallows  and  of  flats  ; 
And  see  my  wealthy  Andrew  dock'd  in  sand. 
Vailing  her  high-top  lower  than  her  ribs. 
To  kiss  her  burial.    Should  1  go  to  church, 
And  see  the  holy  ed.Hce  of  stone, 
And  not  bethink  me  stiaight  of  d  angerous  rocks? 
Which  touching  but  my  gentle  vessel's  side. 
Would  scatter  all  her  spices  on  the  stream  ; 
Enrobe  the  roaring  waters  with  my  silks ; 
And,  in  a  word,  but  even  now  worth  this. 
And  now  worth  nothing?  Shall  I  have  the  thought 
To  think  on  this;  and  shall  1  lack  the  thought. 
That  such  a  thing,  bechanced,  would  make  me  sad? 
But  tell  not  me;  I  know,  Antonio 
Js  sad  to  think  upon  his  merchandize. 

Ant.  Believe  me,  no:  1  thank  my  fortune  for  it. 
My  ventures  are  not  in  one  bottom  trusted, 
Nor  to  one  place ;  nor  is  my  whole  estate 
Upon  the  fortune  of  this  present  year: 
Therefore,  my  merchandize  makes  me  not  sad. 

Salan.  Why  then  you  are  in  love. 

Ant.  Fy,  fy! 

Salan.  Not  in  love  neither?    Then  let's  say, 
you  are  sad, 

ecause  you  are  not  merry:  and  'twere  as  easy 


For  you,  to  laugh,  and  leap,  and  say,  you  are 
merry,  [Janus, 
Because  you  are  not  sad.     Now,  by  two-headed 
Nature  hath  fram'd  strange  fellows  in  her  time  : 
Some  that  will  evermore  peep  through  their  eyes, 
And  laugh,  like  parrots,  at  a  bag  piper; 
And  other  of  such  vinegar  aspect, 
That  they'll  not  show  their  teeth  in  way  of  smile. 
Though  Nestor  swear  tiie  jest  be  laughable. 

Enter  Bassanio,  Lorenzo,  and  Gratiano. 
Salan.  Here  comes  Bassanio,  your  most  noble 
kinstnan, 

Gratiano,  and  Lorenzo  :  fare  you  well ; 
We  leave  you  now  with  better  company. 
Salar.  I  would  have  staid  till  I  had  made  you 
merry. 

If  worthier  iriends  had  not  prevented  me. 

Ant.  Your  worth  is  very  dear  in  my  regard. 
I  take  it,  your  own  business  calls  on  you, 
And  you  embrace  the  occasion  to  depart. 
Salar.  Good  morrow,  my  good  lord.s. 
Bass.  Good  signiors  both,  when  shall  we  laugn  ? 
Say,  when  ? 
You  grow  exceeding  strange  :  must  it  be  so? 
Salar.   We  ll  m:)ke  our  leisures  to  attend  on 
yours.       [Exeunt  Salarino  and  Salanio  • 
Lor.  My  lord  Bassanio,  since  you  have  found 
Antonio, 

We  two  will  leave  you:  but,  at  dinner-time, 
I  pray  you,  have  in  mind  where  we  must  meet. 

Bass.  I  will  not  fail  you. 

Gra.  You  look  not  well,  signior  Antonio; 
You  have  too  much  respect  upon  the  world : 
They  lose  it.  that  do  buy  it  with  much  care. 
Believe  me,  you  are  marvellously  chang'd. 

Ant.  I  hold  the  world  but  as  the  world,  Gra 
tiano ; 

A  stage,  where  every  man  must  play  a  part. 
And  mine  a  sad  one. 

Gra.  Let  me  play  the  fool : 

With  mirth  and  laughter  let  old  wrinkles  come; 
And  let  my  liver  rather  heat  with  wine, 
Than  my  heart  cool  with  mortifying  groans 
Why  should  a  man,  whose  blood  is  warm  within. 
Sit  like  his  grandsire  cut  in  alabaster? 
Sleep,  when  he  wakes?  and  creep  into  thejaundic* 
By  being  peevish  ?  I  tell  thee  what,  Antonio,— 
I  love  thee,  and  it  is  my  love  that  speaks ; — 
There  are  a  sort  of  men,  whose  visages 
Do  cream  and  mantle,  like  a  standing  pond; 
And  do  a  wilful  stillness  entertain, 
W'ith  purpose  to  be  dress'd  in  an  opinion 
Of  wisdom,  gravity,  profound  conceit: 
As  who  should  say,  /  am  Sir  Orach^ 


Scene  2. 


MERCHANT 


OF  VENICE. 


149 


And,  when  I  ope  my  lips,  let  no  dog  bark  / 

O,  my  Antonio,  I  do  know  of  these. 

That  therefore  only  are  reputed  wise, 
i  For  saying  nothing;  who,  1  am  very  sure,  [ears, 
i  If  they  should  speak,  would  almost  damn  those 
\  Which,  hearing  them,  would  call  their  brothers 
l|  I'll  tell  thee  more  of  this  another  time :  [fools. 
!  But  tish  not,  with  this  melancholy  bait, 
j  For  this  fool's  gudgeon,  this  opinion. — 

Come,  good  Lorenzo: — Fare  ye  well,  a  while; 

I'll  end  my  exhortation  after  dinner.  .  [time: 
Lo7-.  Well,  we  will  leave  you  then  till  dinner- 
1  I  must  be  oue  of  these  same  dumb  wise  men, 
I  For  Gratiano  never  Itts  me  speak.  [more, 
!  Qra.  Well,  keep  me  company  but  two  years 
j  Thou  shalt  not  know  the  sound  of  tliine  own  tongue. 

Ant.  Farewell:  I'll  grow  a  talker  for  this  gear, 
j  Grat.  Thanks,  i'faith ;  for  silence  is  only  com- 
j  mendable 

j  In  a  neat's  tongue  dried,  and  a  maid  not  vendible. 

[Exeunt  Gratiano  and  Lorenzo. 
\     Ant.  Is  that  any  thing  now? 

Bass.  Gratiano  speaks  an  infinite  deal  of  nothing, 
more  than  any  man  in  all  Venice :  his  reasons  are 
as  two  grains  of  wheat  hid  in  two  bushels  of  chaff ; 
you  shall  seek  all  day  ere  you  find  them ;  and, 
when  you  have  them,  they  are  not  worth  the  search. 

Ant.  Well ;  tell  me  now,  what  lady  is  this  same, 
To  whom  you  swore  a  secret  pilgrimage, 
That  you  to  day  promised  to  tell  me  of  ? 

Bass.  'Tis  not  unknown  to  you,  Antonio, 
How  much  I  have  disabled  mine  estate, 
By  something  showing  a  more  swelling  port 
Than  my  faint  means  would  grant  continuance  : 
Nor  do  I  now  make  moan  to  be  abridg'd 
From  surh  a  noJ)le  rate ;  but  my  chief  care 
li,  to  come  fairly  olf  from  the  great  debts, 
VVheiein  my  time,  something  too  prodigal, 
Ilath  left  tne  gaged :  to  you,  A»tonio, 
I  owe  the  most,  in  money,  and  in  love  • 
And  Irom  your  love  I  have  a  warranty 
To  unburthen  all  my  plots,  and  purposes, 
How  to  get  clear  of  all  the  debts  I  owe. 

Ant.  1  pray  ycu,  good  Bassanio,  let  rae  know  it ; 
4Lnd,  if  it  stand,  as  you  yourself  still  do. 
Within  tiie  eye  of  honour,  be  assur'd. 
My  purse,  my  person,  my  extremest  means. 
Lie  all  unlock'd  to  your  occasions. 

Bass.  In  my  school  days,  when  I  had  lost  one 
I  shot  his  fellow  of  the  self-same  flight  [shaft, 
The  sell-same  way,  with  more  advised  watch. 
To  find  the  other  forth  :  and,  by  advent'ring  both, 
f  oft  found  both  :  I  urge  this  childhood  proof, 
Because  wiiat  follows  is  pure  innocence. 
I  owe  you  much  ;  and,  like  a  wilful  youth. 
That  which  1  owe  is  lost ;  but  if  you  please 
To  shoot  another  arrow  that  self  way 
Which  you  did  shoot  the  first,  I  do  not  doubt, 
A.S  I  will  watch  the  aim,  or  to  find  both, 
Or  bring  your  latter  hazard  back  again, 
And  thankfully  rest  debtor  for  the  first.  [time, 

Ant.  You  know  me  well;  and  herein  spend  but 
To  wind  about  my  love  with  circumstance  : 
And,  out  of  doubt,  you  do  me  now  more  wrong. 
In  making  question  of  my  uttermost. 
Than  if  you  had  inade  waste  of  all  I  have : 
Then  do  but  say  to  me  what  I  should  do. 
That  in  your  knowledge  may  by  me  be  done, 
And  I  am  piess'd  unto  it:  therefore,  speak. 

Bass.  In  Belmont  is  a  lady  richly  left. 
And  she  is  fair,  and.  i'airer  than  that  word. 
Of  wond'rous  virtues;  sometimes  from  her  eyes 
I  did  receive  fair  speechless  messages: 
Her  na.ne  is  Portia;  nothing  undervalued 
To  Cato's  daughter,  Brutus'  Portia. 
Nor  is  the  wide  world  ignorant  of  her  worth  ; 
For  the  four  winds  blow  in  from  every  coast 
Renowned  suitors  :  and  her  sunny  locks 
Hang  on  tier  temples  like  a  golden  fleece; 
Which  makes  her  seat  of  Belment,  Colchos'  strand, 


And  many  Jasons  come  in  quest  of  her. 
O,  my  Antonio,  had  I  but  the  meauB 
To  hold  a  rival  place  with  one  of  theaa, 
I  have  a  mind  presages  me  such  thrift, 
That  I  should  questionless  be  fortunate. 

Ant.  Thou  know'st,  that  all  my  fortunes  are  at 
Nor  have  I  money,  nor  couimodity  [seftl 
To  raise  a  present  sum  :  therefore  go  forth. 
Try  what  my  credit  can  in  V'enice  do; 
That  shall  be  rack'd,  even  to  the  uttermost. 
To  furnish  thee  to  Belmont,  to  fair  Portia. 
Go,  presently  inquire,  and  so  will  I, 
Where  money  is ;  and  I  no  question  make, 
To  have  it  of  my  trust,  or  for  my  sake.  [Extnni 

Scene  II. — Belmont.  A  Room  in  Portia's  House. 
Enter  Portia  and  Nekissa. 

Por.  By  my  troth,  Nerissa,  my  little  body  \» 
aweary  of  this  great  world. 

Ner.  You  would  be,  sweet  madam,  if  your  mi- 
series were  in  the  same  abundance  as  your  good 
fortunes  are :  and  yet,  for  aught  I  see,  they  are  as 
sick,  that  surfeit  with  too  much,  as  they  that  starve 
with  nothing  :  it  is  no  mean  happiness,  therefore,  to 
be  seated  in  the  mean;  superfluity  comes  sooner  by 
white  hairs,  but  com()etency  lives  longer. 

Por.  Good  sentences,  and  well  pronounced. 

Ner.  They  would  do  better,  if  well  followed. 

Pur.  If  to  do  were  as  easy,  as  to  know  what 
were  good  to  do,  chapels  had  been  churches,  and 
poor  men's  cottages,  princes'  palaces.  It  is  a  good 
divine  that  follows  his  own  instructions:  I  can 
easier  teach  twenty  what  were  good  to  be  done, 
than  be  one  of  the  twenty  to  follow  mine  own  teach 
ing.  The  brain  may  devise  laws  for  the  blood; 
but  a  hot  temper  leaps  over  a  cold  decree  :  such  a 
hare  is  madness  the  youth,  to  skip  o'er  the  meshea 
of  good  counsel  the  cripple.  But  this  reasoning-  la 
not  in  the  fashion  to  choose  me  a  husband  : — O  me, 
the  word  choose !  I  may  neither  choose  whom  J 
would,  nor  refuse  whom  I  dislike;  so  is  the  will 
of  a  living  daughter  curb'd  by  the  will  of  a  d-^ad 
father : — Is  it  not  hard,  Nerissa,  that  I  car  Jiot 
choose  one,  nor  refuse  none  ? 

Ner.  Your  father  was  ever  virtuous;  and  holy 
men,  at  tiieir  deatti,  have  good  inspirations;  there- 
fore, the  lottery,  that  he  hath  devised  in  these  three 
chests,  of  gold,  silver,  and  lead,  (whereof  who 
chooses  his  meaning,  chooses  you,)  will,  no  doubt, 
never  be  chosen  by  any  rightly,  but  one  who  you 
shall  rightly  love.  But  what  warmth  is  there  ia 
your  affection  towards  any  of  these  {.rincely  suitors 
that  are  already  come? 

Por.  I  pray  thee,  over-name  them;  and  as  thou 
namest  them,  I  will  describe  them  ;  and  according 
to  my  description,  level  at  my  affection. 

Ner.  First,  there  is  the  Neapolitan  prince. 

Por.  Ay,  that's  a  colt,  indeed,  for  he  doth  no- 
thing but  talk  of  his  horse  and  he  makes  it  a  great 
appropriation  to  his  owrj  good  parts,  that  he  can 
shoe  him  himself :  I  am  much  afraid,  my  lady  his 
mother  played  false  with  a  smith. 

Ner.  Then  is  there  the  county  Palatine. 

Por.  He  dath  nothing  but  frown  ;  as  who  should 
say.  And  if  ym  tvill  not  have  me,  choose  :  he  hears 
merry  tales,  and  smiles  not:  I  fear,  he  will  prove 
the  weeping  ;)hilosopher  when  he  grows  old,  being 
so  full  of  unmannerly  sadness  in  his  youth.  I  had 
rather  be  married  to  a  death's  head  with  a  bone  in 
his  mouth,  than  to  either  of  these.  God  defend  me 
from  these  two  !  [La  Bon? 

Ner.  How  say  you  by  the  French  lord,  Monsieur 

Por.  God  made  him,  and  therefore  let  him  pass 
for  a  man.  In  truth,  I  know  it  is  a  sin  to  be  a 
mocker;  but,  he  I  why,  he  hath  a  horse  better  than 
the  Neapolitan's;  a  better  bad  habit  of  frowning 
than  the  count  Palatine  :  he  is  every  man  in  no  man : 
if  a  throstle  sing,  he  falls  straight  a  capering:  he 
will  fence  with  his  own  shadow:  if  1  should  marry 
him,  I  should  marry  twenty  husbands  •  if  he  wom 


160 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  I 


despise  me,  I  would  forgive  him ;  for  if  he  love  me 
to  madness,  I  sliall  never  requite  him. 

Ner  What  say  you  then  to  Faulconbridge,  the 
young  baron  of  England  if 

Por.  You  know,  I  say  nothing  to  him;  for  he 
understands  not  me,  nor  I  him:  he  hath  neither 
liatin,  French,  nor  Italian  ;  and  you  M  ill  come  into 
the  court  and  swear,  that  I  have  a  poor  penny-worth 
in  the  English.  He  is  a  proper  man's  picture  ;  but, 
alas!  who  can  converse  with  a  dumb  show?  How 
oddly  he  is  suited!  I  think,  he  bought  his  doublet 
1»  Italy,  his  round  hose  in  France,  his  bonnet  in 
Germany,  and  his  behaviour  every  where. 

Ner.  \Vhat  think  you  of  the  Scottish  lord,  his 

eighbour ? 

Por.  That  he  hath  a  neighbourly  charity  in  him  ; 
for  he  borrowed  a  box  of  the  ear  of  the  English- 
man, and  swore  he  would  pay  him  again,  when  he 
was  able :  I  think,  the  Frenchman  became  his 
surety,  and  sealed  under  for  another. 

Ner.  How  like  you  the  young  German,  the  duke 
of  Saxony's  nephew  ? 

Por.  Very  vilely  in  the  morning,  when  he  is 
sober ;  and  most  vilely  in  the  af  ternoon,  when  he 
is  drunk  :  when  he  is  best,  he  is  little  worse  than 
a  man ;  and  when  he  is  worst,  he  is  little  better 
than  a  beast:  an  the  worst  fall  that  ever  fell,  I 
hope,  I  shall  make  shift  to  go  without  him. 

±^er.  If  he  should  orter  to  choose,  and  choose  the 
right  casket,  you  should  refuse  to  perlbi  in  your  fa- 
thers  will,  if  you  should  refuse  to  accept  hun. 

Por.  'I'herefore,  for  f  ear  of  the  worst,  I  pray  thee, 
set  a  deep  glass  of  Rhenish  wine  on  the  contrary 
casket:  for,  if  the  devil  be  within,  and  that  tempt- 
ation without,  I  know  he  will  choose  it.  1  will  do 
any  thing,  Nerissa,  ere  I  will  be  married  to  a 
sponge. 

Ner.  You  need  not  fear,  lady,  the  having  any  of 
these  lords;  they  have  acquainted  me  with  their 
determinations:  which  is,  indeed,  to  return  to  their 
home,  and  to  trouble  you  with  no  more  suit ;  unless 
you  may  be  won  by  souie  other  sort  than  your  father's 
lujposition,  de|)Cnding  on  the  caskets. 

Por.  If  1  live  to  be  as  old  as  Sibylla,  I  will  die 
as  chaste  as  Diana,  unless  1  be  obtained  by  the 
manner  of  my  father's  will:  I  am  glad  this  parcel 
of  wooers  are  so  reasonable;  for  there  is  not  one 
among  them  but  I  dote  on  his  very  absence,  and  I 
pray  God  grant  them  a  fair  de[)arture. 

Ner.  Do  you  not  remember,  lady,  in  your  father's 
time,  a  Venetian,  a  scholar,  and  soldier,  that  came 
hither  in  company  of  the  Marquis  of  Montferrat  V 

Por.  Yes,  yes,  )t  was  Bassanio ;  as  I  think,  so 
was  he  called. 

Ner.  True,  madam:  he,  of  all  the  men  that  ever 
my  foolish  eyes  looked  upon,  was  the  best  deserv- 
ing a  fair  lady. 

Por.  I  remember  him  well  ;  and  I  remember  him 
worthy  of  thy  praise. — How  now  !  what  news  ? 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Serv.  'T^\e  four  strangers  seek  for  you,  madam, 
to  take  their  leave  :  and  there  is  a  fore-runner 
come  from  a  fifth,  the  prince  of  Morocco  ;  who 
brings  word,  the  prince,  his  master,  will  be  here 
to-night. 

Por.  If  I  could  bid  the  fifth  welcome  with  so 
good  heart  as  1  can  bid  the  other  four  farewell,  I 
should  be  glad  of  his  approach  :  if  he  have  the  con- 
dition of  a  saint,  and  the  complexion  of  a  devil, 
I  had  rather  he  should  shrive  me  than  wive  me. 
CoB.e,  Merissa. — Sirrah,  go  before. — W^hiles  we 
shut  the  gate  upon  one  wooer,  another  knocks  at 
tlie  door.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. —  Venice.   A  public  Place. 
Enter  Bassanio  and  Shylocx. 
Shy.  Three  thousand  ducats, — well. 
Bass.  Ay.  sir,  for  tliree  months. 
Hhj/.  For  three  months, — well. 


Bass.  For  the  \^hich,  as  I  told  yoo,  A.ntamo  shaO 

he  bound. 

S/iy.  Antonio  shall  become  bound, — well. 

Bass.  May  you  stead  me  ?  Will  you  pleasure 
me?   Shall  I  know  your  answer? 

Ski/.  Three  thousand  ducats,  for  three  months, 
and  Antonio  bound. 

Bass.  Your  answer  to  that. 

Shy.  Antonio  is  a  good  man.  [contrary  ? 

Bass.  Have  you  heard  any  imputation  to  the 

Shi/.  Hoj  no,  no,  no,  no  ; — my  meaning  in  saying 
he  is  a  good  man,  is  to  have  you  understand  me, 
that  he  is  sufficient :  yet  his  means  are  in  .suppo- 
sition:  he  hath  an  argosy  bound  to  Tripolis,  another 
to  the  Indies ;  I  understand  moreover  upo*:  the 
Rialto,  he  hath  a  third  at  Mexico,  a  fourth  foi 

England,  and  other  ventures  he  hath,  squander'd 

abroad;  but  ships  are  but  boards,  sailors  but  men: 
there  be  land-rats,  and  water-rats,  water-thieves, 
and  land-thieves;  I  mean,  pirates;  and  then,  there 
is  the  peril  of  waters,  winds,  and  rocks : — The 
man  is,  notwithstanding,  sufficient; — three  thousand 
ducats; — I  think,  I  may  take  his  bond. 

Bass.  Be  assured  you  may. 

Shy.  I  will  be  assured,  I  may;  and,  that  I  may 
be  assured,  I  will  bethink,  me  :  may  I  speak  with 
Antonio  ? 

Bass.  If  it  please  you  to  dine  with  us. 

Shy.  Yes,  to  smell  pork  ;  to  eat  of  the  habita- 
tion which  your  prophet,  the  Naaarite,  conjured  the 
devil  into;  1  will  buy  with  you,  sell  with  you,  talk 
w^ith  you,  walk  with  you,  and  so  following;  but  I 
will  not  eat  with  you,  drink  with  you,  nor  pray  with 
you.  What  news  on  the  Rialto? — Who  is  he 
comes  here  ? 

Enter  Antonio. 

Bass.  This  is  signior  Antonio. 

Shy.  (Aside.)  How  like  a  fawning  publican  he 
I  hate  him,  for  he  is  a  Christian:  [looksJ 
But  more,  for  that,  in  low  simplicity, 
He  lends  out  money  gratis,  and  brings  down 
The  rate  of  usance  here  with  us  in  Venice. 
If  I  can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip, 
I  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him. 
He  hates  our  sacred  nation ;  and  he  rails. 
Even  there  where  merchants  most  do  congregate, 
On  me,  my  bargains,  and  my  well-won  thrift. 
Which  he  calls  interest:  cursed  be  my  tribe, 
If  I  forgive  him  ! 

Bass.  Shylock,  do  you  hear? 

Shy.  I  am  debating  of  my  present  store; 
And,  by  the  near  guess  of  my  memory, 
I  cannot  instantly  raise  up  the  gross 
Of  full  three  thousand  ducats:  What  of  that? 
Tubal,  a  wealthy  Hebrew  of  my  tribe. 
Will  furnish  me  :  But  soft;  how  many  montks 
Do  you  desire? — Rest  you  fair,  good  signior; 

{To  Antonio] 
Your  worship  was  the  last  man  in  our  mouths. 

Ant.  Shylock,  albeit  1  neither  lend  nor  borrow, 
By  taking,  nor  by  giving  of  excess, 
Yet,  to  supply  the  ripe  wai  ts  of  my  friend, 
rU  break  a  custom  : — Is  he  yet  possess'd. 
How  much  you  would  ? 

Shy.  Ay,  ay,  Ihree  thousand  ducats^ 

Ant.  And  for  three  months. 

Shy.  I  had  forgot, — three  months,  you  told  me  sa 

Well  then,  your  bond;  and,  let  me  see,  BhI 

hear  you  : 

Methought,  you  said,  you  neither  lend,  nor  borrow 
Upon  advantage. 

Afit.  I  do  never  use  it. 

Shy.  When  Jacob  graz'd  his  uncle  Laban's  sheep 
This  Jacob  from  our  holy  Abraham  was 
(As  his  wise  mother  wrought  in  his  behalf,) 
The  third  possessor;  ay,  he  was  the  third. 

Ant.  And  what  of  hiin  ?  dnd  he  take  interest 

Shy.  No,  not  tnke  interest:  not,  as  you 
Directly  interest;  mark  what  Jacob  did 


Act  II.    Scene  1. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


151 


When  Laban  and  hiis.self  were  compromis'd. 

That  all  the  eaiilings  which  were  streak'd,  and  pied. 

Should  fall  as  Jacob's  hire;  the  ewes,  being  rank, 

Id  the  end  of  autumn  turned  to  the  rams  : 

And  when  the  work  of  generation  was 

Between  these  woolly  breeders  in  the  act. 

The  skilfil  shepherd  peel'd  me  certain  wands. 

And,  in  the  doing  of  the  deed  of  kind, 

He  stuck  them  up  before  the  fulsome  ewes ; 

Who,  then  conceiving,  did  in  eaning  time 

Fall  party-colour'd  lambs,  and  those  were  Jacob's 

This  was  a  way  to  thrive,  and  he  was  blest; 

And  thrift  is  blessing,  if  men  steal  it  not.  [for; 

Ant.  This  was  a  venture,  sir,  that  Jacob  serv'd 
A  thing  not  in  his  power  to  bring  to  pass, 
Butsway'd,  and  fashion'd,  by  the  hand  of  heaven. 
Was  this  inserted  to  make  interest  good  ? 
Or  is  your  gold  and  silver,  ewes  and  rams  ? 

Shy.  I  cannot  tell ;  I  make  it  breed  as  fast : — 
But  note  me,  signior. 

Ant.  ■  Mark  you  this,  Bassanio, 

The  devil  can  cite  scripture  for  his  purpose. 
An  evil  soul,  producing  holy  witness, 
Is  like  a  villain  with  a  smiling  cheek; 
A  goodly  apple  rotten  at  the  heart ; 
O,  what  a  goodly  outside  falsehood  hath!  [sum. 

Shy.  Three  thousand  ducats, — 'tis  a  good  round 
Three  months  from  twelve,  then  let  me  see  the  rate. 

^n^.  Well,  Sliylock,  shall  we  be  beholden  to  you? 

Shy.  iSignior  Antonio,  many  a  time  and  oft, 
In  the  Rialto  you  have  rated  me 
About  my  monies,  and  niy  usances  : 
Still  have  I  borne  it  with  a  patient  shrug; 
For  sutferance  is  the  badge  of  all  our  tribe  : 
You  call  me — misbeliever,  cut  throat  dog, 
And  spit  upon  my  Jewish  gaberdine, 
And  all  for  use  of  that  wliich  is  mine  own. 
Well  then,  it  now  appears,  you  need  my  help  : 
Go  to,  then ;  you  come  to  me,  and  you  say, 
Sh^loik,  tve  would  have  monies  ;  You  say  so  ; 
You,  that  did  void  your  rheum  upon  my  beard. 
And  loot  me,  as  you  spurn  a  stranger  cur 
Over  your  threshold  ;  monies  is  your  suit. 
Wiiat  should  1  say  to  you  ?    Should  I  not  say. 
Hath  a  dog  money 't  is  it  possible, 
A  cur  can  lend  three  thousand  ducats?  or 
Shall  1  bend  low,  and  in  a  bondman's  key. 
With  bated  breath,  and  whispering  humbleness. 
Say  this,  

Fair  sir,  you  spit  on  me  on  W  ednesday  last ; 
You  spurn  d  me  such  a  day  ;  another  tune 
You  calld  me — dog  ;  and  for  these  courtesies 
I'll  lend  you  thus  much  monies. 

Ant.  I  am  as  like  to  call  thee  so  again. 
To  spit  on  thee  again,  to  spurn  thee  too. 
If  thou  wilt  lend  this  money,  lend  it  not 
As  to  thy  Iriends ;  (for  when  did  friendship  take 
A  breed  for  barren  metal  of  his  friend  ?) 
But  lend  it  rather  to  thine  enemy  ; 
Who,  if  he  break,  thou  may'st  with  better  face 
Exact  the  penalty. 

Shy.  Why,  look  you,  how  you  storm  ! 

I  would  be  friends  with  you,  and  have  your  love, 
Forget  the  shames  that  you  have  stain'd  me  with. 
Supply  your  present  wants,  and  take  no  doit 
Gf  usance  for  my  monies,  and  you'll  not  hear  me  : 
This  is  kind  I  offer. 

Ant.  This  were  kindness. 

Shy.  This  kindness  will  I  show : — 

Go  with  me  to  a  notary,  .seal  xnt  there 
Your  single  bond  ;  and,  in  a  merry  sport, 

you  repay  me  not  on  such  a  day, 
In  sucb  a  place,  such  sum,  or  sums,  as  are 
Express'd  in  the  condition,  let  the  forfeit 
Be  nominated  for  an  equal  pound 
Of  your  fair  flesh,  to  be  cut  oifand  taken 
la  vvhat  part  of  your  body  pleaseth  me. 

Ant.  Content,  in  laith ;  I'll  seal  to  such  a  bond, 
And  say,  there  is  much  kindness  in  the  Jew. 

Bass.  You  shall  not  seal  to  such  a  bond  for  me, 


I'll  rather  d  ivell  in  my  necessity. 

Ant.  Why,  fear  not,  man  ;  I  will  not  forfeit  il« 
Within  these  two  months,  that's  a  month  befoi 
This  bond  expires,  I  do  expect  return 
Of  thrice  three  times  the  value  of  this  bond. 

Shy.  O  father  Abraham,  what  these  Christians  are, 
Whose  own  hard  dealings  teaches  them  suspect 
The  thoughts  of  others!  Pray  you,  tell  me  this; 
If  he  should  break  his  day,  what  should  I  gain 
By  the  exaction  of  the  forfeiture  ?  | 
A  pound  of  man's  flesh,  tasen  from  a  man. 
Is  not  so  estimable,  profitable  neither. 
As  flesh  of  muttons,  beefs,  or  goats.    I  say. 
To  buy  his  favour,  I  extend  this  friendship  : 
]f  he  will  take  it,  so;  if  not,  adieu  : 
And,  for  my  love,  I  pray  you,  wrong  me  not. 

Ant.  Yes,  Shylock,  1  will  seal  unto  this  bond. 

Shy.  Then  meet  me  forthwith  at  the  notary's ; 
Give  him  direction  for  this  merry  bond, 
And  I  will  go  and  purse  the  ducats  straight ; 
See  to  my  house,  left  in  the  fearful  guard 
Of  an  unthrifty  knave  ;  and  presently 
I  will  be  with  you.  [Exit 

Ant.  Hie  thee,  gentle  Jew. 

This  Hebrew  will  turn  Christian;  he  grows  kind. 

Bass.  I  like  not  fair  terms,  and  a  villain's  mind. 

A7it.  Come  on;  in  this  there  can  be  no  dismay, 
My  ships  come  home  a  month  before  the  day. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  H. 

Scene  I. — Belmont.  A  Boom  in  Portia's  House. 
Flourish  of  cornets.   Enter  the  Prince  op  Mo- 
rocco, atid  /'is  train;  Portia,  Nerissa,  and 

other  of  her  Attendants. 

Mor.  Mislike  me  not  for  my  complexion. 
The  shadow'd  livery  of  the  burnish'd  sun^ 
To  whom  I  am  a  neighbour,  and  near  bred. 
Bring  me  the  fairest  creature  northward  born. 
Where  Phoebus'  fire  scarce  thaws  the  icicles. 
And  let  us  make  incision  lor  your  love. 
To  prove  whose  blood  is  reddest,  his,  or  mine. 
I  tell  thee,  lady,  this  aspect  of  mine 
Hath  fear'd  the  valiant;  by  my  love,  I  swear. 
The  best-regarded  virgins  of  our  clime 
Have  lov'd  it  too  :  I  would  not  change  this  hoe. 
Except  to  steal  your  thoughts,  my  gentle  queen. 

Por.  In  terms  of  choice  I  auj  not  solely  led 
By  nice  direction  of  a  maiden's  eyes; 
Besides,  the  lottery  of  my  destiny 
Bars  me  the  right  of  voluntary  choo-sing  : 
But,  if  my  father  had  not  scanted  me, 
And  hedg'd  me  by  his  wit,  to  yield  myselt 
His  wile,  who  wins  me  by  that  means  I  told  you^ 
Yourself,  renowned  prince,  then  stood  as  fair. 
As  any  corner  I  have  look'd  on  yet, 
For  my  affection. 

Mor.  Even  for  that  I  thank  you  ; 

Therefore,  1  pray  you,  lead  me  to  the  caskets. 
To  try  my  fortune.    By  this  scimitar,— 
That  slew  the  Sophy,  and  a  Persian  prince. 
That  won  three  fields  of  Sultan  Solyman, 
I  would  out-stare  the  sternest  eyes  that  looV, 
Out-brave  the  heart  most  daring  on  the  eart  , 
Pluck  the  young  sucking  cubs  from  the  she-beai. 
Yea,  m(jck  the  lion  when  he  roars  for  prey. 
To  win  thee,  lady  :  but,  alas  the  while  I 
If  Hercules  and  Lichas  play  at  dice 
Which  is  the  better  man,  the  greater  throw 
May  turn  by  fortune  from  the  weaker  hand  . 
So  is  Alcides  beaten  by  his  page  ; 
And  so  may  I,  blind  fortune  leading  me, 
Miss  that,  which  one  unworthier  may  attain. 
And  die  with  grieving. 

Por.  You  must  take  your  chance 

Ai.d  either  not  attempt  to  choose  at  all, 
Or  swear,  before  you  choose, — if  you  choose  wroDg^ 
Never  to  speak  to  Jady  afterward 
In  way  of  marriage  ;  thert  fore  be  advis'd. 

Mor.  Nor  wil  not ;  come,  bring  me  unto  my  chanO 


152 


MERCHANT 


OF  VENICE, 


Act  H 


JPor.  First,  forward  to  the  temple ;  after  dinner 
Your  hazard  shall  be  made. 
Mot  .  Good  fortune  then  !  (Cornets.) 

o  make  me  bless'd,  orcursed'st  among  men. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — Venice.  A  Street. 
Enter  Launcelot  Gobbo. 
haun.  Certainly  my  conscience  will  serve  me  to 
run  from  this  Jew,  my  master  :  the  riend  is  at  mine 
elbow  :  and  tempts  me,  saying  to  me,  Gobbo,  Laun 
celot  Gobbo,  good  Launcelot,  or  good  Gobbo,  or 
good  Launcelot  Gobbo,  use  your  legs,  take  the 
start,  run  aivay  :  My  conscience  says,  —  no,  take 
heed,  honest  Lauiwelot ;  take  heed,  honest  Gobbo  ; 
or  as  aforesaid,  honest  Launcelot  Gobbo;  do  not 
run ;  scorn  running  with  thy  heels.  Well,  the  snost 
courageous  fiend  bids  me  pack ;  via!  says  the  fiend  ; 
away  I  says  the  fiend,  for  the  heavens  ;  rouse  up  a 
brave  mind,  says  the  fiend,  and  run.  Well,  my 
conscience,  hanging  about  the  neckof  tiiy  heart,  says 
very  wisely  to  me, —  my  honest  friend  Launcelot, 
being  an  honest  mans  son,  or  rather  an  honest 
woman's  son; — for,  indeed,  my  father  did  something 
smack,  something  grow  to,  he  had  a  kind  of  taste  : 
well,  my  conscience  says,  Launcelot,  budge  not; 
budge,  says  the  fiend;  budge  not,  says  my  con- 
science :  Conscience,  say  I,  you  counsel  well;  fiend, 
say  I,  you  counsel  well  :  to  be  ruled  by  my  con- 
science, I  should  stay  with  the  Jew,  tny  master,  who 
(God  bless  the  mark  ! )  is  a  kind  of  devil;  and,  to 
run  away  from  the  Jew,  I  should  be  ruled  by  the 
fiend,  who,  saving  your  reverence,  is  the  devil  him- 
self: Certainly,  the  Jew  is  the  very  devil  incarna- 
tion; and,  in  my  conscience,  my  conscience  is  but 
a  kind  of  hard  conscience,  to  offer  to  counsel  me  to 
stay  with  the  Jew  :  The  fiend  gives  the  more  friendly 
counsel  :  I  will  run,  fiend;  my  heels  are  at  your 
commandment,  I  will  run. 

Enter  Old  Gobbo,  with  a  basket. 

Gob.  Master,  young  man,  you,  I  pray  you;  which 
is  the  way  to  master  Jew's  ? 

Laun.  {Aside.)  O  heavens,  this  is  my  true  be- 
gotten father!  who,  being  more  than  sandrblind, 
high-gravel  blind,  knows  me  not: —  [  will  try  con- 
clusions with  him. 

Gob.  Master,  young  gentleman,  I  pray  you,  which 
IS  the  way  to  master  Jew's? 

Laun.  Turn  up  on  your  right  hand,  at  the  next 
turning,  but,  at  the  next  turning  of  all,  on  your  left; 
marry  at  the  very  next  turning,  turn  of  no  hand,  but 
turn  down  indirectly  to  the  Jew's  house. 

Gob.  By  God's  sonties,  'twill  be  a  hard  way  to 
hit.  Canyon  tell  me.  whether  one  Launcelot,  that 
dwells  with  him,  dwell  with  him,  or  no  ? 

Laun.  Talk  you  of  young  master  Launcelot? — 
Mark  me  now;  [aside.)  now  will  1  raise  the  waters : 
— Talk  you  of  young  master  Launcelot  ? 

Gob.  No  master,  sir,  but  a  poor  man's  son;  his 
father,  though  I  say  it,  is  an  honest  exceeding  poor 
man,  and,  (Jod  be  thanked,  well  to  live. 

Laun.  Well,  let  his  father  be  what  he  will,  we 
talk  of  young  master  Launcelot. 

Gob.  Your  worship's  friend,  and  Launcelot,  sir. 

Laun.  But  I  pray  you  ergo,  old  man,  ergo,  I  be- 
seech you;  Talk  you  of  young  master  Launcelot? 

Gob.  Of  Launcelot,  an't  please  your  mastership. 

Laun.  Ergo,  master  Launcelot;  talk  not  of  mas- 
ter Launcelot,  father;  for  the  young  gentleman  (ac- 
cording to  fates  and  destinies,  and  such  odd  sayings, 
the  sisters  three,  and  such  branches  of  learning,)  is. 
Indeed,  deceased;  or,  as  you  would  say,  in  plain 
terms,  gone  to  heaven. 

Gob.  iViai  ry,  God  forbid !  the  boy  was  the  very 
tafFof  mj  age,  my  very  prop. 

haun.  Do  I  look  like  a  cudgel,  or  a  hovel-post, 
ft  staff,  or  a  prop? — Do  you  know  me,  father? 

Qob.  Alack  the  day,  I  know  you  not,  young  gen- 


tleman :  but,  I  pray  yon,  tell  me,  h  my  boy  fGocI 

rest  his  soul!)  alive  or  dead  ? 

Laun.  Do  you  not  know  me,  fatl  er? 

Gob.  Alack,  sir,  I  am  sand-blind,  1  know  you  not 

Laun.  Nay,  indeed,  if  you  had  your  eyes,  you 
might  tail  of  the  knowing  me  :  it  is  ?  wise  father  that 
knows  his  own  child.  Well,  old  m?n,  I  will  tell  you 
news  of  your  son  :  give  me  yonr  ble.ising  :  truth  will 
come  to  light;  murder  cannot  be  hid  long,  a  man'i 
son  may;  but,  in  the  end,  truth  will  out. 

Gob.  Pray  you,  sir,  stand  up ;  I  am  sure  you  ^ro 
not  Launcelot,  my  boy. 

Laun.  Pray  you,  let's  have  no  more  fooling  about 
it,  but  give  me  your  blessing:  1  am  Launcelot,  your 
boy  that  was,  your  son  that  is,  your  child  that  shaSl  be. 

Gob.  I  cannot  think  you  are  my  son. 

Laun.  1  know  not  what  1  shall  think  of  that;  but 
I  am  Launcelot,  the  Jew's  man;  and,  I  am  sure^ 
Margery,  your  wife,  is  my  mother. 

Gob.  Her  name  is  Margery,  indeed  :  I'll  be  sworn, 
if  thou  be  Launcelot,  thou,  art  mirje  own  ilesh  and 
blood.  Lord  worshipp'd  might  he  be  !  what  a  beard 
hast  thou  got  !  thou  hast  got  more  hair  on  thy  chin, 
than  Dobbin  mythillhorse  has  on  his  tail. 

Laun.  It  should  seem,  then,  that  Dobbin's  tail 
grows  backward  ;  I  am  sure  he  had  more  hair  on 
his  tail,  than  I  have  on  my  face,  when  1  last  saw  him. 

Gob.  Lord,  how  art  thou  changed!  How  dost 
thou  and  thy  master  agree  ?  I  have  brought  him  a 
present;  how  'gree  you  now? 

Laun.  Well,  well ;  but  for  mine  own  part,  as  I 
have  set  up  my  rest  to  run  away,  so  I  will  not  rest 
till  I  have  run  some  ground  :  my  master's  a  very  Jew  : 
Give  him  a  present!  give  him  a  halter  :  1  am  faiuish'd 
in  his  service  ;  you  may  tell  every  finger  I  have  with 
my  ribs.  Father,  I  am  glad  vou  arp  cotnp  ;  give  me 
your  present  to  one  master  Bassanio,  who,  indietd^ 
gives  rare  new  liveries  ;  if  I  serve  not  him,  I  will  run 
as  far  as  God  has  any  ground. — O  rare  fortune  I 
here  comes  the  man;— to  him,  father  :  for  I  am  a 
Jew,  if  I  serve  the  Jew  any  longer. 

Enter  Bassanio,  with  Leonardo,  and  other 
Followers. 

Bass.  You  may  do  so ; — but  let  it  be  so  hasted, 
that  supper  be  ready  at  the  farthest  by  five  of  the 
clock  :  see  these  letters  deliver'd  ;  put  the  liveries 
to  making;  and  desire  Giatiano  to  come  anon  to  niy 
odging.  [Exit  a  Servant. 

Laun.  To  him,  father. 

Gob.  God  bless  your  worship 

Bass.  Gramercy  :  VVould  st  thou  aught  with  me  ? 

Gob.  Here's  my  son,  sir,  a  poor  boy, — 

Laun.  Not  a  poor  boy,  sir,  but  the  rich  Jew's 
man  ;  that  would,  sir,  as  my  father  shall  specify, — 

Gob.  He  hath  a  great  infection,  sir,  as  one  would 
say,  to  serve, — 

Laun.  Indeed,  the  short  and  the  long  is,  i  serv  i 
the  Jew,  and  I  have  a  desire,  as  my  father  shall 
specify, — 

Gob.  His  iTKtster  and  he  (saving  your  worship's 
reverence,)  are  scarce  cater-cousins  : — 

Laun.  To  be  brief,  the  very  truth  is,  that  the 
Jew  having  done  me  wrong,  doth  cause  me,  as  my 
father,  being  I  hope  an  old  man,  shall  frutify  unto 
you, — 

Gob.  I  have  here  a  dish  of  doves,  that  I  would 
bestow  upon  your  worship ;  and  my  suit  is,— 

Laun.  In  very  brief,  the  suit  is  impertinent  to 
myself,  as  your  worship  shall  know  by  this  honest 
old  man;  and,  though  I  say  it,  though  old  man,  yet, 
poor  man,  my  father. 

Bass.  One  speak  for  both  ; — What  would  you  ? 

Laun.  Serve  you,  sir. 

Gob.  This  is  the  very  defect  of  the  matter,  sir. 

Bass.  I  know  thee  well,  thou  hast  obtain'd  thy  sili 
Shylock,  thy  master,  spoke  with  me  this  day. 
And  hath  preferr'd  thee,  if  it  be  preferment, 
To  leave  a  rich  Jew's  service,  to  become 
The  follower  of  so  poor  a  gentleman. 


Scene  6.  MERCHANT 

Laun.  The  old  proverb  Is  very  w  ell  parted  between 
my  master  Shylock  and  you,  sir;  you  have  the  grace 
of  God,  sir,  and  he  hath  enough. 

Bass.  Thou  speak'st  it  well :  Go,  father,  witli 
thy  sen  : 

Take  leave  of  th)  old  m?»jter,  and  inquire 
Mv  lodging  out. — Give  him  a  livery 

( To  his  Followers.) 
More  guarded  than  his  fellows:  see  it  done. 

Laun.  Fatlier,  in: — T  cannot  get  a  service,  no; 

I  have  ne'er  a  tongue  in  niy  head  ! — Weil  ;  (look- 
ng  on  his  palm.)  if  any  man  in  Italy  have  a  fnirer 
table,  which  doth  offer  to  swear  \X[)on  a  book ! — I 
Hhall  have  good  fortune;  goto,  here's  simple  line 
of  life!  here's  a  small  trifle  of  wives  :  alas,  fifteen 
wives  is  nothing;  eleven  widows,  and  nine  maids,  is 
a  simple  coming-in  for  one  man ;  and  'then,  to 
'scape  drowning  thrice  ;  and  to  be  in  peril  of  my  life 
wilh  the  edge  of  a  feather-bed  ; — here  are  simple 
'scapes  !  Well,  if  fortune  be  a  woman,  she's  a  good 
wench  lor  this  gear. — Father,  come;  I'll  take  my 
leave  of  the  Jew  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

[Exeunt  Launcelot  and  old  Qohbo. 

Bass.  I  pray  thee,  good  Leonardo,  think  on  this; 
These  things  being  bought,  and  orderly  bestow'd. 
Return  in  haste,  for  i  do  feast  to-night 
iMy  best  esteem'd  acquaintance  ;  hie  thee,  go. 

Leon.  My  best  endeavours  shall  be  done  herein. 

Enter  Gratiano. 

Gra.  Where  is  your  master? 

Leon.  Yonder,  sir,  he  walks. 

[_Exit  Leonardo. 

Gra.  Signior  Bassanio,  

Bass.  Gratiano! 

Gra.  I  have  a  suit  to  yon. 

Bass.  You  have  obtain'd  it. 

Gra.  You  must  not  deny  me ;  I  must  go  with 
you  to  Belmont.  [Gratiano  ; 

Bass.  VVhy,   then  you  must; — But  hear  thee. 
Thou  art  too  wild,  too  rude,  and  bold  of  voice; — 
Parts  that  become  thee  happily  enough. 
And  in  such  eyes  as  ours  appear  not  faults; 
But  where  thou  art  not  known,  why,  there  they  show 
Something  too  liberal ; — pray  thee,  take  pain 
To  allay  with  some  cold  drops  of  modesty 
Thy  skipping  spirit ;  lest,  through  thy  wild  behaviour, 
I  be  misconstrued  in  the  place  I  go  to. 
And  lose  my  hopes. 

Gra.  Signior  Bassanio,  hear  me  : 

If  I  do  not  put  on  a  sober  habit. 
Talk  with  respect,  and  swear  but  now  and  then, 
Wear  prayer-books  in  my  pocket,  look  demurely ; 
Nay  more,  while  grace  is  saying,  hood  mine  eyes 
Thus  with  my  hat,  and  sigh,  and  say,  amen  ; 
ITse  all  the  observance  of  civility. 
Like  one  well  studied  in  a  sad  ostent 
To  please  his  grandam,  never  trust  me  more. 

Bass.  Well,  we  shall  see  your  bearing. 

Gra.  Nay,  but  I  bar  to-night;  you  shall  not  gnge 
By  what  we  do  to-night.  [me 

Bass.  No,  that  were  pity ; 

I  would  entreat  yon  rather  to  put  on 
Y  our  boldest  suit  of  mirth,  for  we  have  friends 
That  purpose  merriment;  but  fare  you  well, 
I  have  some  business. 

Gra.  And  I  must  to  Lorenzo,  and  the  rest; 
But  we  will  visit  you  at  supper-time.  [Exeunt 

Scene  IIL — The  same.     A  Room  in  ShylocJc's 
House. 

Ent"^  Jessica  end  Launcelot. 
Jes.  I  am  soi  ry,  thou  wilt  leave  my  father  so  ; 
Onr  house  is  hell,  and  fhou,  a  merry  devil. 
Didst  rob  it  of  some  taste  of  tediousuess  : 
But  fare  thee  well ;  there  is  a  ducat  for  thee. 
And,  Launcelot,  soon  at  supper  shalt  thou  see 
Lorenzo,  who  is  thy  new  master's  guest : 
Givp  him  this  letter;  do  it  secretly, 


OF  YENICE.  153 

And  so  farewell ;  I  would  not  have  my  father 
See  me  talk  with  thee. 

Laun.  Adieu  ; — tears  exhibit  my  tongue. — Mo«( 
beautiful  pagan, — most  sweet  Jew  !  If  a  Christian 
do  not  play  the  knave,  and  get  thee,  I  am  much  de- 
ceived :  but,  adieu  !  these  foolish  drops  do  scmewha' 
drown  my  manly  spirit;  adieu!  [ExU 

Jes.  Farewell,  good  Launcelot. 
Alack,  M'hat  heinous  sin  is  it  in  me, 
To  be  asham'd  to  be  my  father's  child  ! 
But  though  I  am  a  daught»-r  to  his  blood, 
I  am  not  to  his  manners  :  O  Lorenzo, 
If  thou  keep  promise,  1  shall  end  this  strife ; 
Become  a  Christian,  and  thy  io\ing  wile.  [Exit. 

Scene  \N.—The  same.    A  Street. 

Enter  Gratiano,  Lorenzo,  Salarino,  and 
Salanio. 

Lor.  Nay,  we  will  slink  away  at  supper  time; 
Disguise  us  at  my  lodging,  and  return 
All  in  an  hour. 

Gra.  We  have  not  made  good  preparation. 

Salar.   We  have  not  spoke  us  yet  of  torch- 
bearers. 

Salan.  "I'is  vile,  unless  it  may  be  quaintly  order'd; 
And  better,  in  my  mind,  not  undertook. 

Lor.  'Tis  now  but  four  o'clock  ;  we  ha\  e  two  hours 
To  furnish  us  ; — 

Enter  Launcelot,  tvith  a  letter. 

Friend  Launcelot,  whaf  s  the  news 

Laun.  An  it  shall  please  you  to  break  up  this,  it 
shall  seem  to  signify. 

Lor.  1  know  the  hand  :  in  faith,  'tis  a  fair  hand ; 
And  whiter  than  the  paper  it  writ  on. 
Is  the  fair  hand  that  writ. 

Gra.  Love-news,  in  faith. 

Laun.  By  your  leave,  sir. 

Lor.  Whither  goest  thou  ? 

Laun.  Marry,  sir,  to  bid  my  old  master  the  Jew 
to  sup  to-night  with  my  new  master  the  Christian. 

Lor.  Hold  here,  take  this: — tell  gentle  Jessica, 
I  will  not  fail  her! — speak  it  privately  ;  go. — 
Gentlemen,  [^Exit  Launcelot. 

Will  you  prepare  you  for  this  masque  to-night  ? 
I  am  provided  of  a  torch-bearer. 

Salar.  Ay,  marry,  I'll  be  gone  about  it  straight. 

Salan.  And  so  will  I. 

Lor.  Meet  me  and  Gratiano, 

At  Gratiano's  lodging,  some  hour  hence. 
Salar.  'Tis  good  we  do  so. 

[Exeunt  Salar.  and  Salan 
Gra.  Was  noCK^i  letter  from  fair  Jessica  ? 
Lor.  I  must  n^eeds  tell  thee  all  :  she  hath^  di, 
rected. 

How  I  shall  take  her  from  her  father's  house ; 

What  gold,  and  jewels,  she  is  furnish'd  with ; 

What  page's  suit  she  hath  in  readiness. 

If  e'er  the  Jew  her  father  come  to  heaven. 

It  will  be  for  his  gentle  daughter's  sake: 

And  never  dare  misfortune  cross  her  foot. 

Unless  she  do  it  under  this  excuse,— 

That  she  is  issue  to  a  faithless  Jew. 

Come,  go  with  me ;  peruse  this,  as  thou  goest : 

Fair  Jessica  shall  be  my  torch-bearer.  [Exeuitl 

Scene  V. — The  same.   Before  Shyloch's  House 
Enter  Shylock  and  Launcelot. 
Shy.  Well,  thou  shalt  see,  thy  eyes  shall  be  tb/ 
judge. 

The  difference  of  old  Shylock  and  Bassanio: 
What,  Jessica  ! — thou  shalt  not  gormandize. 
As  thou  hast  done  with  me  ; — What  Jessica  !— 
And  sleep  and  snore,  and  rend  apparel  out; 
Why,  Jessica,  I  say  ! 

Laun.  Why,  Jessica  I 

Shy.  Who  bids  thee  call  ?  I  do  not  bid  thee  caR.. 
Laun.  Your  worship  was  wont  to  tell  me,  I  conid 
do  nothing  without  bidding. 


154:  MERCHANT 

Enler  Jessica. 
"    Jeg.  Call  you  ?  What  is  your  will  ? 

Shy.  I  am  bid  forth  to  supper,  Jessica : 
There  are  my  keys: — But  wherefore  should  I  go? 
I  am  not  bid  for  love  ;  they  flatter  me : 
But  yet  rU  go  in  hate,  to  I'eed  upon 
The  prodigal  Christian. — Jessica,  my  girl. 
Look  to  my  house  : — I  am  right  loth  to  go  ; 
There  is  some  ill  a-brevving  towards  my  rest. 
For  I  did  dream  of  money-bags  to-night. 

Laun.  1  beseech  you.  sir,  go ;  my  young  master 
doth  expect  yoiw  reproach. 

Shy.  So  do  I  his. 

Laun.  And  they  have  conspired  together, — I 
will  not  say,  you  shall  see  a  masque  ;  but  if  you  do, 
then  it  was  not  for  nothing  that  my  nose  fell  a 
bleeding  on  Black-Monday  last,  at  six  o'clock  i"  the 
morning,  falling  out  that  year  on  Ash- Wednesday 
was  four  year  in  the  afternoon.  [Jessica  : 

S/ii/.  What!  are  there  masques?  Hear  you  me, 
tiock  up  my  doors:  and  when  you  hear  the  drum, 
And  the  vile  squeaking  of  the  wry-neck'd  file. 
Clamber  not  you  up  to  the  casements  then, 
Nor  thrust  your  head  into  the  public  street, 
To  ^aze  on  Christian  Ibols  with  varnish'd  laces; 
Biit  stop  my  house's  ears,  I  mean  my  casements  : 
Let  not  the  sound  of  shallow  foppery  enter 
My  sober  house. — By  Jacob's  staff  I  swear, 
I  have  DO  mind  of  feasting  forth  to  night : 
But  1  will  go. — Go  you  before  me,  sirrah  : 
Say,  I  will  come. 

Laun.  I  will  go  before,  sir. — 

Mistress,  look  out  at  window,  for  all  this  ; 
There  will  come  a  Christian  by. 
Will  be  worth  a  Jewess'  eye.  [Exit  Latin. 

Shij.  What  says  that  fool  of  Hagar's  oti'spring,  ha? 
Jes.  His  words  were,  Farewell,  mistress :  no- 
thing else.  [feeder. 
Shy.  The  patch  is  kind  enough ;  but  a  huge 
Snail-slow  in  profit,  and  he  sleeps  by  day 
More  than  the  wild  cat;  drones  hive  not  with  me; 
Therefore  I  part  with  him  ;  and  part  with  him 
To  one,  that  I  would  have  him  help  to  waste 
His  borrow'd  piuse. — Well,  Jessica,  go  in; 
Perhaps,  I  will  retain  immediately; 
Do  as  I  bid  you. 

Shut  doors  after  you  :  fast  bind,  fast  find  ; 

A  proverb  never  stale  in  tluifty  mind.  [Exit. 

Jes.  Farewell  ;  and  if  my  fortune  be  not  crost, 
1  ha\  e  a  father,  you  a  daughter,  lost.  [Exit. 

Scene  W.—The  Same. 

Enter  Gratia.no  and  Salarino,  masqued, 

Gra.  This  is  the  pent-house,  under  which  Lo- 
Desir'd  us  to  make  stand.  [renzo 

Salar.  His  hour  is  almost  past, 

Gra.  And  it  is  marvel  he  out-dwells  his  hour. 
For  lovers  ever  run  before  Uie  clock. 

Salar.  O,  tea  times  laster  Venus'  pigeons  fly 
oseal  love's  bonds  new  riiade,  than  they  are  wont, 

o  keep  obliged  faith  unforfeited  ! 

Gra.  That  ever  holds:  who  riseth  from  a  feast. 
With  that  keen  appetite  that  he  sits  down? 
Where  is  the  horse,  that  doth  untread  again 
His  tedious  measures  with  the  nnbated  fire 
That  he  did  pace  them  first?  All  things  that  are. 
Are  with  more  spirit  chased  than  enjoy'd. 
Haw  like  a  younker,  or  a  prodigal. 
The  scarfed  bark  puts  from  her  native  bay, 
H  igg'd  and  embraced  by  the  strumpet  wind  ! 
How  like  the  prodigal  doth  she  return  ; 
With  over-weather'd  ribs,  and  ragged  sails, 
Lean,  rent,  a&d  beggar'd  by  the  strumpet  wind ! 

Enter  Lorenzo. 
Salar.  Here  comes  Lorenzo; — more  of  this  here- 
after, [abode  ; 
Lor.  Sweet  friends,  vour  patience  for  my  long 
Not  I,  but  my  ail'airs,  have  naade  you  wait. 


OF  VENICE. 

When  you  shall  please  to  play  the  thieves  for  wives 
I'll  watch  as  long  for  you  then. — Approach; 
Here  dwells  my  father  Jew: — Ho  !  who's  withiD? 

Enter  Jessica  above,  in  boy's  clothes. 

Jes.  Who  are  you?  Tell  me,  for  more  certainty. 
Albeit  I'll  swear  that  I  do  know  your  tongue. 

Lor.  Lorenzo,  and  thy  love. 

Jes.  Lorenzo,  certiiin  ;  and  my  love,  indeed  ; 
For  who  love  I  so  much  ?  And  now  who  knows. 
But  you,  Lorenzo,  whether  I  am  yours? 

Lor.  Heaven,  and  thy  thoughts,  are  witness  thai 
thou  art.  [paios 

Jes.  Here,  catch  this  casket;  it  is  worth  the 
I  ans  glad  'tis  night,  you  do  not  look  on  me. 
For  I  am  much  asham'd  of  my  exchange: 
But  love  is  blind,  and  lovers  catuiot  see 
The  pretty  folies  that  thenuseUes  commit; 
For  if  they  could,  Cupid  hin\.self  would  blush 
To  see  fne  thus  transformed  to  a  boy. 

Lor.   Descend,  for  you  must  be  my  forch-hearer 

Jes.  What,  must  I  hold  a  candle  to  my  shames? 
They  in  themselves,  good  sooth,  are  too,  too  light. 
Why,  'tis  an  office  of  discovery,  love  ; 
And  I  should  be  obscur"d. 

Lor.  So  are  you,  sweet. 

Ev  en  in  the  lov  ely  garnish  of  a  boy. 
But  come  at  once  ; 

For  the  close  night  doth  play  the  runaway. 

And  we  are  staid  for  at  Bassanio's  feast. 

Jes.  I  will  make  fast  the  doors,  and  gild  myself 

With  some  more  ducats,  and  be  with  y(ui  straight. 

[Exit,  from  above* 
Gra.  Now,  by  my  hood,  a  Gentile,  and  no  Jew 
Lor.  Beshrew  me,  but  1  love  her  heartily. 

For  she  is  wise,  ii  I  can  judge  of  her; 

And  fair  she  is,  if  that  mine  eyes  he  true; 

And  tiiie  she  is,  as  slie  hath  prov'd  herself; 

And  therefore,  like  herself,  wise,  fair,  and  true, 

Shall  she  be  placed  in  my  constant  soul. 

Enter  Jessica,  beloiv. 
What,  art  thou  come? — On,  gentlemen,  away; 
Our  Diasquing  mates  by  this  time  for  «s  stay. 

[Exit  with  Jessica  and  Salar  ma. 

Enter  Antonio. 
Ant.  Who's  there  ? 
Gra.  Signior  Antonio? 

Aiit.  Fy,  fy,  Gratianol  where  are  all  the  rest? 
'Tis  nine  o'clock:  our  friends  all  stay  for  you  :— 
No  masque  to-night;  the  wind  is  come  about, 
Bassanio  presently  will  go  aboard  : 
I  have  sent  twenty  out  to  seek  for  you, 

Gra.  I  am  glad  on  t ;  I  desire  no  more  delight, 
Than  to  be  under  sail  and  gone  to-night.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  WW.— Belmont.  A  Room  in  Portias  House. 
Flourish   of  Cornets.    Enfi-r  PoHTl-\,  with  the 

Prince  of  AIokocco.  and  both  their  trains. 

Por.  Go,  draw  aside  the  curtains,  and  discover 
The  several  caskets  to  this  noble  prince  : — 
Now  make  your  choice.  [bears; — 

Mor.  The  first,   of  gold,  who  this  inscrii)tion 
Who  chooseth  me,  shall  <jain  ivhat  many  men 
desire. 

The  second,  silver,  which  this  promise  carries; — 
W ho  chooseth  me,  shall  (jet  as  7niich  as  he  deserves 
This  third,  dull  lead,  with  warning  all  as  blunt; — 
ho  chooseth  me,  must  fjive  and  hazard  all  he 
hath. 

How  shall  1  know  if  I  do  choose  the  right  ? 

Por.  The  one  of  them  contains  my  pictin-e,  p*-ince  1 
If  you  choose  that,  then  I  am  yours  withal. 

Mor.  Some  god  direct  my  judgment  I  I/et  D»e  see 
I  will  survey  tlie  inscriptions  back  again; 
Wliat  says  this  leaden  casket? 
W/io  chooseth  me,  must  tjite  and  hazard  all  hs 
hath. 

Must  give — For  what?  for  lead  ?  hazard  for  lea  ■ 


Scene  9. 


MERCHANT 


OF  VENICE. 


155 


This  casket  threatens :  men,  that  hazard  all. 
Do  it  in  hope  of  fair  advantages : 
A  golden  mind  stoops  not  to  shows  of  dross  ; 
I'll  then  nor  give,  nor  liazard,  aught  for  lead. 
What  says  the  silver,  with  her  virgin  hue  ? 
Wko  chooseth  me,  ehallget  as  much  as  he  deserves. 
As  much  as  he  deserves  ? — Pause  there,  Morocco, 
And  weigh  thy  value  with  an  even  hand  : 
11' thou  be'.st  rated  by  thy  estimation. 
Thou  dost  deserve  enough  ;  and  yet  enough 
May  not  extend  sfc  far  as  to  the  lady; 
And  yet  to  be  afeard  of  my  deserving, 
Wore  but  a  weak  disabling  of  myself. 
As  much  as  I  deserve  !— Wliy,  that's  the  lady; 
1  do  in  birth  deser\e  her,  and  in  fortunes. 
In  graces,  and  in  qualities  of  breeding; 
But  more  than  these,  in  love  I  do  deserve. 
What  if  I  stray'd  no  further,  but  chose  here  ? — 
Let's  see  once  more  this  saying  grav'd  in  gold  : 
Who  chooseth  me.,  shall  gain  what  many  men 
desire. 

Why,  that's  the  lady :  all  the  world  desires  her : 
From  the  four  corners  of  the  earth  they  come, 
'J'o  kiss  this  shrine,  this  mortal  breathing  saint. 
The  Hyrcanian  deserts,  and  the  vasty  wilds 
Of  wide  Arabia,  are  as  through-fares  now. 
For  princes  to  come  view  fair  Portia  : 
The  wat'ry  kingdom,  whose  ambitious  head 
Spits  in  the  face  of  heaven,  is  no  bar 
To  stop  the  foreign  spirits ;  but  they  come, 
As  o'er  a  brook,  to  see  fair  Portia. 
One  of  these  three  contains  her  heavenly  picture. 
Is't  like,  that  lead  contains  her?  Twere  damnation 
To  think  so  base  a  thought ;  it  were  too  gross 
To  rib  her  cerecloth  in  the  obscure  grave. 
Or  shall  I  think,  in  silver  she's  immur'd, 
Being  ten  times  undervalued  to  try'd  gold? 
O  sinfid  thought !    Never  so  rich  a  gem 
Was  set  in  worse  than  gold.  They  have  in  England 
A  coin,  .hat  bears  the  figure  of  an  angel 
Stamped  in  gold  ;  but  that's  insculp'd  upon  ; 
But  here  an  angel  in  a  golden  bed 
Lies  all  within. — Deliver  me  the  key; 
Here  do  I  choose,  and  thrive  I  as  I  may  ! 
Por,  There,  take  it,  prince ;  and  if  my  form  lie 
there. 

Then  T  am  yours.  [He  unlocks  the  golden  casket.) 

Mar.  O  hell  !  wiiat  have  we  here  ? 
A  carrion  death,  within  whose  empty  eye 
There  is  a  written  scroll  ?    I'll  read  the  writing. 
All  that  glisters  is  not  gold, 
Often  have  you  heard  tluit  told  i 
Many  a  man  his  life  hath  sold, 
But  my  outside  to  behold: 
Gilded  tombs  do  tvor?ns  infold 
Had  you  been  as  wise  as  bold, 
Young  in  limbs,  in  judgment  old. 
Your  ansiver  had  not  been  inscrolVd  : 
Fare  you  ivell;  your  suit  is  cold. 
Cold,  indeed;  and  labour  lost: 
Then,  farewell,  heat;  and,  wf^lcome,  frost. — 
Portia,  adieu  !  \  have  too  griev'd  a  heart 
To  take  a  tedious  leave  :  thus  losers  part.  [Exit. 
Por.  A  gentle  riddance:  Draw  the  curtains, 

go ;  

Let  all  of  his  complexion  choose  me  so.  [Exeunt. 
Scene  VIH. —  Venice.    A  Street. 
Enter  Salarino  and  Salanio. 
Salar.  Why  man,  1  saw  Bassanio  under  sail; 
With  him  is  Gratianf>  gone  along  ; 
nd  in  their  ship,  I  am  sure,  Lorenzo  is  not. 
Salon.  The  villain  Jew  with  outcries  rais'd  the 
duke ; 

Who  went  with  him  to  search  Bassanio's  ship. 

Salar.  He  came  too  late,  tlie  ship  was  under  sail : 
But  there  the  duke  was  given  to  understani. 
That  in  a  gondola  were  seen  together 
Lorenzo  and  his  amorous  Jessica  : 
Besides,  Autonio  certify'd  the  duke. 


They  were  not  with  Bas.sanio  in  his  ship. 

Salan.  I  never  heard  a  passion  so  confus'd, 
So  strange,  outrageous,  and  so  variable. 
As  the  dog  Jew  did  utter  in  the  streets  : 
My  daughter  I— 0  my  ducats  I — 0  my  daughi&p 
Fled  with  a  Christian! — 0  my  christian  ducatsl-^ 
Justice  !  the  law  !  my  ducats,  and  my  daughter! 
A  sealed  bag,  two  sealed  bags  of  ducats. 
Of  double  ducats,  stoVn  from  me  by  my  daughter 
And  jewels  ;  tivo  stones,  two  rich  and  precious 
stones, 

StoVn  by  my  daughter! —  Justice  !  find  the  gtrl . 
She  hath  the  stones  upon  her,  and  the  ducais  ! 

Salar.  Why,  all  the  bovs  in  Venice  follow  him, 
Crying, — his  stones,  his  daughter,  and  his  ducats. 

Salan.  Let  good  Antonio  look  he  keep  his  day. 
Or  he  shall  pay  for  this. 

Salar.  Marry,  well  remember'd  : 

T  reason'd  with  a  Frenchman  yesterday ; 
Who  told  me,— in  the  narrow  s'eas,  that  part 
The  French  and  English,  there  misc;*rried 
A  vessel  of  our  country,  richly  fraught : 
I  thought  upon  Antonio,  when  he  told  me  ; 
And  wish'd  in  silence,  that  it  were  not  his. 

Salan.Yon  were  best  to  tell  Antonio  what  you  hear, 
Yet  do  not  suddenly,  for  it  may  grieve  him. 

Salar.  A  kinder  gentleman  treads  not  the  earth, 
r  saw  Bassanio  and  Antonio  part : 
Bassanio  told  him,  he  would  make  some  speed 
Of  his  return  ;  he  answer'd — Do  not  so, 
Slubber  not  business  fur  my  sake,  Bassanio, 
But  stay  the  very  riping  of  the  time  ; 
And  for  the  Jew^s  bond,  which  he  hath  of  me. 
Let  it  not  enter  in  your  mind  of  love  : 
Be  merry ,  and  employ  your  chief  est  thoughts 
To  courtship,  and  such  fair  ostents  of  love 
As  shall  conveniently  become  you  there  : 
And  even  there,  his  eye  being  big  with  tears. 
Turning  his  face,  he  put  his  hand  behind  him, 
And  with  affection  wondrous  sensible, 
He  wrung  Bassanio's  hand,  and  so  they  parted, 

Salan.  I  think,  he  only  loves  the  world  for  him. 
I  pray  thee,  let  us  go,  and  find  him  out. 
And  quicken  his  embraced  heaviness 
With  some  delight  or  other. 

Salar.  Do  we  so.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IX. — Belmont.  A  Rooi7i  in  Poriia-s  House. 
Enter  Nerissa,  luith  a  Servant. 
Ner.  Quick,  quick,  I  pray  thee,  draw  the  curtain 
straight; 

The  prince  of  Arragon  hath  ta'en  his  oath. 
And  comes  to  his  election  presently. 

Flourish  of  cornets.  Enter  the  Prince  op  Arra- 
gon, Portia,  and  their  trains. 

Por.  Behold,  there  stand  the  casketj3,  noble  prince. 
If  you  choose  that  v.'herein  I  am  contain'd, 
Straight  shall  our  nuptial  rites  be  solemnis'd  ; 
But  if  you  fail,  without  more  speech,  my  lord. 
You  must  be  gone  from  hence  immediately. 

Ar.  I  am  enjoin'd  by  oath  to  observe  three  things 
First,  never  to  unfold  to  any  one 
Which  casket  'twas  I  chose ;  next,  if  I  fail 
Of  the  rij^ht  casket,  never  in  my  life 
To  woo  a  maid  in  way  of  marriage  ;  lastly. 
If  I  do  fail  in  fortune  of  my  choice, 
Immediately  to  leave  you  and  be  gone. 

Por.  To  these  injunctions  every  one  doih  swea». 
That  comes  to  hazard  for  my  worthless  self. 

Ar.  And  so  have  I  addn  ss'd  me.  Fortune  now 
To  my  heart's  hope! — Gold,  silver,  and  base  lead» 
Who  chooseth  me,  must  give  and  hazara  ai' 
hath. 

You  shall  look  fairer,  ere  I  give,  or  hazard. 
What  says  the  golden  chest?  ha  !  let  me  see  :— 
Who  chooseth  me,  shall  gain  what  many 
desire. 

What  many  men  desire? — That  many  may  be 
Bv  the  fool  multitude,  that  choose  by  show. 


156 


MERCHANT 


OF  VENICE. 


Act  III 


Not  learning  more  than  the  fo3cl  eye  doth  teach  ; 
Which  pries  not  to  the  interior,  but,  like  the  martlet. 
Builds  in  the  weather  on  the  outward  wall, 
Even  in  the  force  and  road  of  casualty. 
I  will  not  choose  what  many  men  desire, 
Because  I  will  not  jimip  with  common  spirits. 
And  rank  me  with  the  barbarous  multitudes. 
Why,  then  to  thee,  thou  silver  treasure  house; 
Tell  me  once  more  what  title  thou  dost  bear  : 
Who  chooseth  me,  shall  get  as  much  as  he  de- 
serves ; 

And  well  said  too  :  for  who  shall  po  about 
To  cozen  fortune,  and  be  honourable 
Without  the  stamp  of  merit !  Let  none  presume 
To  wear  an  undeserved  dignity. 
O.  that  estates,  degrees,  and  offices. 
Were  not  deriv'd  corruptly  !  and  that  clear  honour 
Were  purchas'd  by  the  merit  of  the  wearer! 
How  many  then  should  cover,  that  stand  bare  ? 
How  many  be  commanded,  that  command  ? 
How  much  low  peasantry  would  then  be  glean'd 
From  the  true  seed  of  honour?  and  how  much 
hoiiour 

Pick'd  from  the  chatf  and  rnin  of  the  times. 
To  be  new  varnish'd  ?    Well,  but  to  my  choice  : 
Tf^ko  chooseth  me,  shall  get  as  much  as  he  deserves. 
I  will  assume  desert : — Give  me  the  key  for  this, 
And  instantly  unlock  my  fortunes  here.  [there. 
Por.  Too  long  a  pause  for  that,  which  you  find 
Ar.  What's  here  ?  the  portrait  of  a  blinking  idiot, 
Presenting  me  a  schedule  ?  I  will  read  it. 
How  nuich  unlike  art  thou  to  Portia  ? 
How  much  unlike  my  hopes,  and  my  deservings? 
Who  chooseth  me,  shall  have  as  much  as  he  de- 
serves. 

Did  1  deserve  no  more  than  a  fools  head? 
Is  that  my  prize?  are  my  deserts  no  better? 

Por.  To  offend,  and  judge,  are  distinct  offices, 
And  of  opposed  natures. 

At  What  is  here? 

The  fire  seveyi  times  tried  this  ; 

Seven  times  tried  that  judgment  is. 

That  did  never  choose  atniss : 

Some  there  be,  that  shadows  liss  ; 

Such  have  but  a  shadow's  bliss  : 

There  be  fools  alive,  I  ivis, 

Silver'd  o'er ;  and  so  was  this. 

Take  tvhat  ivife  you  ivill  to  bed, 

I  ivill  ever  be  your  head: 

So  begone,  sir,  you  are  sped. 

Still  more  fool  I  shall  appear 

By  the  time  J  .it?»er  here  : 

With  o-ae  fool's  head  I  came  to  woo. 

But  I  go  away  with  two. — 

Sweet,  adieu  !  I  ll  keep  my  oath. 

Patiently  to  bear  my  wroth. 

[Exeunt  Arragon  and  train. 
Por.  Thus  hath  the  candle  sing'd  the  moth. 
O  these  deliberate  fools!  v/hen  they  do  choose, 
They  have  the  wisdom  by  their  wit  to  lose 
Ner.  The  ancient  saying  is  no  heresy  ; — 
Hanging  and  wiving  goes  by  destiny. 
Por.  Come,  draw  the  curtain,  Nerissa. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Serv.  Where  is  ray  lady  ? 

Por.  Here  ;  what  would  my  lord  ? 

Serv.  Madam,  theie  is  alighted  at  your  gate 
A  young  Venetian,  one,  tha^comes  before 
-«  To  signify  the  approaching  «T  his  lord  : 
From  whom  he  bringeth  sensible  regreets; 
To  wit,  besides  commends,  and  courteous  breath, 
Gifts  of  rich  value  :  yet  I  have  not  seen 
So  likely  an  ambassador  of  love  ; 
4  day  in  April  never  came  so  sweet. 
To  show  how  costly  summer  was  at  hand, 
Aa  this  fore-spurrer  comes  before  his  lord. 

Per.  No  more,  I  pray  thee  ;  I  am  half  afeard, 
Thou  wilt  sny  anon,  he  is  some  kin  to  thee. 


Thou  spend'st  such  high-day  wit  In  praisinjg;  him. 
Come,  come,  Nerissa :  for  I  long  to  see 
Quick  Cupid's  post,  that  comes  so  mannerly, 
Ner.  Bassauio,  lord  Love,  if  thy  will  it  be  ! 

[Exeunt 

ACT  in. 

Scene  I. — Venice.   A  Street* 
Enter  Salanio  and  Salarino 

Salan.  Now,  what  news  on  the  Rialto? 

Salar.  Why,  yet  it  lives  there  uncheck'd,  tlia 
Antonio  hath  a  ship  of  rich  lading  wreck'd  on  the 
narrow  seas;  the  Goodwins,  I  think  they  call  the 
place ;  a  very  dangerous  flat,  and  fatal,  where  the 
carcases  of  many  a  tall  ship  lie  buried,  as  they  say, 
if  my  gossip  report  be  an  honest  woman  of  her  word. 

Salan.  I  would  she  were  as  lying  a  gossip  in  that, 
as  ever  knapp'd  ginger,  or  made  her  neighbours 
believe  she  wept  for  tlie  death  of  a  third  husband  : 
but  it  is  true, — without  any  slips  of  prolixity,  or 
crossing  the  plain  high-way  of  talk, — that  the  good 

Antonio,  the  honest  Antonio,  O  that  I  had  a  title 

good  enough  to  keep  his  name  company  ! — 

Salar.  Come,  the  full  stop. 

Salan.  Ha, — what  say'st  thou? — Why,  the  eui 
is,  he  hath  lost  a  ship. 

Salar.  I  would  it  might  prove  the  end  of  his  losses! 

Salan.  Let  me  say  amen  betimes,  lest  the  devil 
cross  my  prayer ;  for  here  he  comes  in  the  likeness 
of  a  Jew. — 

Enter  Shylock. 
How  now,  Shylock?  what  news  among  the  mer- 
chants ? 

Shy.  You  knew,  none  so  well,  none  so  well  as 
you,  of  my  daughter's  flight. 

Salar.  That's  certain;  I,  for  my  part,  knew  .he 
tailor  that  made  the  wings  she  flew  withal. 

Salan.  And  Shylock,  for  his  owr  j  art,  knew  the 
bird  was  fledg'd ;  and  then  it  is  the  complexion  3t 
them  all  to  leave  the  dam. 

Shy.  She  is  damn'd  for  it 

iSamr.  That's  certain,  if  the  devil  may  be  her  judge. 

Shy.  My  own  flesh  and  blood  to  rebel ! 

Salan.   Out  upon  it,  old  carrion  !   rebels  it  at 
these  years  ? 

Shy.  I  say,  my  daughter  is  my  flesh  and  blood. 

Salar.  There  is  more  difference  between  thy  flesh 
and  hers,  than  between  jet  and  ivory;  more  between 
your  bloods,  than  there  is  between  red  wine  and 
rhenish  : — But  tell  us,  do  you  hear  whether  Antonio 
ha\e  had  any  loss  at  sea  or  no? 

Shy.  Thei-e  I  have  another  bad  match :  a  bank- 
rupt, a  prodigal,  who  dare  scarce  show  his  lit  ud  on 
the  Rialto  ; — a  beggar,  that  u  ed  to  come  so  ^niug 
upon  the  mart; — let  him  look  to  his  bond  -  he  uas 
wont  to  call  me  usurer; — let  him  look  to  his  hr-iul: 
he  was  wont  to  lend  money  for  a  Christian  coui  tt-i  r  ; 
— let  him  look  to  his  bond. 

Salar.  Why,  I  am  sure,  if  he  forfeit,  tho-u  wilt  uol 
take  his  flesh  :    What's  that  good  for? 

Shy.  To  bait  fish  withal:  if  it  will  feed  nolVi'ng 
else,  it  will  feed  my  revenge.  He  hath  disgrnced  o»e, 
and  hindered  me  of  half  a  million:  lau^^htd  at  mj 
losses,  mocked  at  my  gains,  scorned  my  nation, 
thwarted  my  bargains,  cooled  my  friends,  heated 
mine  enemies;  and  what's  his  reason?  I  am  a  Jew: 
Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes  ?  hath  not  a  Jew  hands,  organs, 
dimensioiis,  senses,  affections,  passions?  fed  \>ith 
the  same  food,  hurt  with  the  same  weapons,  subject 
to  the  same  diseases,  healed  by  the  same  means, 
warmed  and  cooled  by  the  same  winter  and  summei 
as  a  Christian  is?  if  you  prick  us,  do  we  not  bleed 
if  you  tickle  us,  do  we  not  laugh  ?  if  you  poison  us, 
do  we  not  die?  and  if  yon  wrong  us,  shall  we  not 
revenge  ?  if  we  are  like  you  in  the  rest,  we  will  re- 
semble you  in  that.  If  a  Jew  wrong  a  Christian, 
what  is  his  humility  ?  revenue.  If  a  Christian  wrong 
a  Jew,  what  should  his  sufferance  be  by  Christian 


Scene  2.  MERCHANT 

example?  wby,  revenge.  The  villaiuy,  you  teach 
me,  I  will  execute  ;  and  it  shall  go  hard,  but  I  will 
better  the  instruction. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Strv.  Gentlemen,  my  master  Antonio  is  at  his 
house,  and  desires  to  speak  with  you  both. 

Salar.  We  have  been  up  and  down  to  seek  him. 

Enter  Tubal, 

Salan.  Here  comes  another  of  the  tribe  ;  a  third 
cannot  be  matched,  unless  the  devil  himself  turn 
Jew.  [Exeunt  Salan.  Salar.  and  Servant. 

Shy  How  now,  Tubal,  what  news  from  Genoa  ? 
hast  thou  found  my  daughter? 

Tub.  ]  often  came  where  I  did  hear  of  her,  but 
cannot  find  her. 

Sht/.  Why  there,  there,  there,  there  !  a  diamond 
gone,  cost  me  two  thousand  ducats  in  Frankfort  I 
The  curse  never  fell  upon  our  nation  till  now;  I 
never  felt  it  till  now  : — two  thousand  ducats  in  that ; 
and  other  precious,  precious  jewels. — 1  would  my 
daughter  were  dead  at  my  foot,  and  the  jewels  in 
her  ear!  'would  she  were  hears'd  at  my  foot,  and 
the  ducats  in  her  cotiin  !  No  news  of  them  ? — W  hy, 
so : — and  I  know  not  what's  spent  in  the  search  : 
Why,  thou  loss  upon  loss !  the  thief  gone  with  so 
much,  and  so  much  to  find  the  thief;  and  no  satis- 
faction, no  revenge:  nor  no  ill  luck  stirring-,  but 
M'hat  lights  o'  my  shoulders;  no  sighs,  but  o'  my 
breathing  ;  no  tears,  buto'  my  shedding. 

Tub.  Yes,  other  men  have  ill  luck  too;  Antonio, 
as  I  heard  in  Genoa, — 

Sht/.  What,  what,  what?  ill  luck,  ill  luck? 

Tub.  — hath  an  argosy  cast  away,  corning  from 
Tripolis.  [it  true  ? 

Shy.  I  thank  God,  1  thank  God: — Is  it  true?  is 

Tub.  I  spoke  with  some  of  the  sailors  that  es- 
caped the  wreck. 

Shy.  I  thank  thee,  good  Tubal ; — Good  news, 
good  news  :  ha  !  ha ! — Where  ?  in  Genoa. 

Tub.  Your  daughter  spent  in  Genoa,  as  I  heard, 
one  night,  fourscore  ducats  ! 

Shy.  Thou  stick'st  a  dagger  in  me  :  1  shall 

never  see  my  gold  again  :  tourscore  ducats  at  a 
sitting  I  fourscore  ducats  ! 

Tub.  There  came  divers  of  Antonio's  creditors  in 
my  company  to  Venice,  that  swear  he  cannot  choose 
but  break. 

Shy.  I  am  very  glad  of  it :  I'll  plague  him  ;  I'll 
torture  him  ;  I  am  glad  of  it. 

Tub.  One  of  then>  showed  me  a  ring,  that  he  had 
of  your  daughter  for  a  monkey. 

Shy.  Out  upon  her!  Thou  torturest  me,  Tubal : 
it  was  uiy  turquoise ;  I  had  it  of  Leah,  when  I  was 
a  bachelor  :  i  would  not  have  given  it  for  a  wilder- 
ness ol  monkeys. 

Tub.  But  Antonio  is  certainly  undone. 

Shy.  Nay,  that's  true,  that's  very  true :  Go, 
Tubal,  fee  me  an  olficer,  bespeak  him  a  fortnight 
before:  I  will  have  the  heart  of  him,  if  he  forfeit: 
for  were  he  out  of  Venice,  I  can  uiake  what  mer- 
chandise I  will :  Go,  go.  Tubal,  and  meet  me  at  our 
synagogue :  go,  good  Tubal,  at  our  synagogue, 
Tubal  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II, — Belmont.    A  Room  in  Portia's  House. 
Enter  Bassanio,  Portia,  Gratiano,  Nerissa, 
and  A  ttendants.    The  cashets  are  set  out. 

Pc?:  I  pray  you,  tarry  ;  pause  a  day  or  two. 
Before  you  hazaid:  for,  in  choosing  wrong, 

lose  your  company  ;  therefore,  forbear  a  while  : 
There's  something  tells  uie,  (but  it  is  not  love,) 
I  would  not  lose  you  ;  and  you  know  yourself. 
Hate  counsels  not  in  such  a  quality  : 
But  lest  you  should  not  understand  me  well, 
(And  vet  a  maiden  hath  no  tongue  but  thought,) 
I  wciuld  detain  you  he^e  some  munth  or  two, 
Before  you  venture  for  me.    I  could  teacli  you 
How  to  cfeoose  right,  but  then  I  am  forsworn  ; 


OF  VENICE.  157 

So  will  I  never  be  :  so  may  you  miss  me } 

But  if  you  do,  you'll  make  me  wish  a  sin, 

That  I  had  been  forsworn.    Beshrewyonr  eyea, 

They  have  o'er-look'd  me,  and  divided  me  ; 

One  half  of  me  is  yours,  the  other  half  yours,— « 

Mine  own,  1  would  say;    but  if  mine,  then  yours. 

And  so  all  yours:  O !  these  naughty  times 

Put  bars  between  the  owners  and  their  rights  ; 

And  so,  though  yours,  not  yours. — Prove  it  £o. 

Let  fortune  go  to  hell  for  it, — not  I. 

I  speak  too  long ;  but  'tis  to  peize  the  time  ; 

To  eke  it,  and  to  draw  it  out  in  length. 

To  stay  you  from  election. 

Bass.  Let  me  choose  : 

For  as  I  am,  I  live  upon  the  rack. 

Por.  Upon  the  rack,  Bassanio  ?  then  confess 
What  treason  there  is  mingled  with  your  love. 

Bass.  None,  but  that  ugly  treason  of  mistrust. 
Which  makes  me  fear  the  enjoying  of  my  love. 
There  may  as  well  be  amity  and  life 
'Tween  snow  and  fire,  as  treason  and  my  love, 

Por.  Ay,  but  I  fear,  you  speak  upon  the  rack, 
Where  men  enforced  do  speak  any  thing, 

Bass.  Promise  my  life,  and  I'll  confess  the  trutk 

Por.  Well  then,  confess,  and  live. 

Bass.  Confess,  and  love 

Had  been  the  very  sum  of  my  confession  : 

0  happy  torment,  when  my  torturer 
Doth  teach  me  answers  for  deliverance  ! 
But  let  me  to  my  fortune  and  the  caskets. 

Por.  Away  then  :  I  am  lock'd  in  one  of  them  ; 
If  you  do  love  me,  you  will  find  me  out, — 
Nerissa,  and  the  rest,  stand  all  aloof. — 
Let  music  sound,  while  he  doth  make  his  choice; 
'I'hen  if  he  lose,  he  makes  a  swan-like  end. 
Fading  in  music  :  that  the  comparison 
IVIay  stand  more  proper,  mv  eye  shall  be  the  stream 
And  wat'ry  death-bed  for  Kim  :  He  may  win; 
And  what  is  music  then  ?    then  music  is 
Even  as  the  flourish,  when  true  subjects  bow 
To  a  new-crowned  monarch  ;  such  it  is, 
As  are  those  dulcet  sounds  in  break  of  day, 
That  creep  into  the  dreaming  bridegroom's  ear, 
And  summon  him  to  marriage.    Now  he  goes. 
With  no  less  presence,  but  with  much  more  love. 
Than  young  Alcides,  when  he  did  redeem 
The  virgin  tribute  paid  by  howling  Troy 
To  the  sea-monster:  I  stand  for  sacrifice^ 
The  rest  aloof  are  the  Dardanian  wives, 
With  bleared  visages,  come  forth  to  view 
The  issue  of  the  exploit.    Go,  Hercules  I 
Live  thou,  I  live: — With  much  much  more  dismay 

1  view  the  fight,  than  thou  that  makest  the  fray. 

Music,  whilst  Bassanio  coniments  on  the  caskeet 
to  himself. 

SONG. 

1.  Tell  me,  where  is  fancy  bred. 
Or  in  the  heart,  or  in  the  head? 
Hoiv  beyut,  how  nourished? 

Reply. 

2.  It  is  enyender'd  in  the  eyes, 
TViih  gazing  fed:  and  fancy  dies 
In  the  cradle  where  it  lies  : 

Let  us  all  ring  fancy's  knell ; 

Til  begin  it,  Ding,  dong,  bell. 

All.         Ding,  dong,  bell. 

Bass.  — So  may  the  outward  shows  be  ^ftst 
themselves ; 
The  world  is  still  deceiv'd  with  ornament, 
lu  law,  what  plea  so  tainted  and  corrupt. 
But,  being  season'd  with  a  gracious  voice,  » 
Obscures  the  show  of  eviP'  In  religion, 
What  damned  error,  but  some  sober  brow 
Will  bless  it,  and  approve  it  with  a  text, 
H  dmg  the  grossness  with  fair  ornament? 
There  is  no  vice  so  simple,  hut  assumes 
Sume  mark  of  virtue  on  his  outward  parts. 


158  xVCERCHANT 

Hov»  many  cowards,  ^hose  hearts  are  all  as  false 

As  stairs  of  sand,  wear  yet  upon  their  chins 

The  beards  of  Hercules,  and  frowning  Mars; 

VV^feo,  inward  search'd,  have  livers  white  as  milk? 

And  thesp  assume  but  valour's  excrement, 

To  render  them  redoubted.    Look  on  beauty, 

And  you  shall  see  'tis  purchas'd  by  the  weight; 

Which  therein  works  a  miracle  in  nature, 

Making  them  lightest  that  wear  most  of  it : 

So  are  tho^e  crisped  snaky  golden  locks. 

Which  make  such  wanton  gambols  with  the  wind. 

Upon  supi^osed  fairness,  often  known 

To  be  the  dowry  of  a  second  head, 

The  scull  that  bred  them,  in  the  sepulchre. 

Thus  ornament  is  but  the  guiled  shore 

To  a  most  dangerous  sea  ;  the  beauteous  scarf 

Veiling  an  Indian  beauty ;  in  a  word, 

The  seeming  truth  which  cunning  times  put  on 

To  entrap  the  wisest.    Therefore,  thou  gaudy  gold, 

Hard  food  for  Midas,  I  will  none  of  thee  : 

Nor  none  of  thee,  thou  pale  and  common  drudge 

'Tween  man  and  man:  butfhou,  thou  nieagre  lead. 

Which  rather  threat'nest,  than  dost  promise  aught, 

Thy  plainness  moves  me  more  than  eloquence. 

And  here  choose  I :   Joy  be  the  consequence ! 

Por.  How  all  the  other  passions  fleet  to  air. 
As  doubtful  thouglits,  and  rash-embrac'd  despair. 
And  shudd'ring  fear,  and  green-ey'd  jealousy. 

0  love,  be  moderate,  allay  thy  ecstasy. 
In  measure  rain  thy  joy,  scant  this  excess  : 

1  feel  too  much  thy  blessing,  make  it  less, 
For  fear  I  surfeit  1 

Bass.  What  find  I  here  ? 

COpening  the  leaden  casket.) 
Pair  Portia's  counterfeit?  Whatdemi-god 
Hath  come  so  near  creation?  Move  these  eyes? 
Or  whether,riding  on  the  balls  of  mine, 
Seem  they  in  motion?  Here  are  sever'd  lips. 
Parted  with  sii^ar  breath ;  so  sweet  a  bar 
Should  sunder  such  sweet  friends  :  Here  in  her  hairs 
The  painter  plays  the  spider;  and  hath  woven 
A  golden  mesh  to  entrap  the  hearts  of  men, 
J'^aster  than  gnats  in  cobwebs:  but  her  eyes, — 
How  could  he  see  to  do  them  ?  having  made  one, 
Melhinks,  it  should  have  power  to  steal  both  his. 
And  leave  itself  unfurnish'd :  Yet  look,  how  far 
The  substance  of  my  praise  doth  wrong  this  shadow, 
In  underprizing  it,  so  far  this  shadow 
Ooth  lini"})  behind  the  substance. — Here's  the  scroll, 
Tlie  continent  and  summary  of  my  fortune. 

You  that  choose  not  by  the  vieiv. 
Chance  as  fair,  a?id  choose  as  true  I 
Since  this  fortune  falls  to  you, 
Be  content,  and  seek  no  new. 
If  you  he  well  pleas' d  with  this. 
And  hold  your  fortune  for  your  bliss, 
Turn  you  where  your  lady  is. 
And  claim  her  with  a  loviny  kiss. 

A  gentle  scroll ; — Fair  lady,  by  your  leave ; 

(Kissing  her.) 
[  come  by  note,  to  give  and  to  receive. 
Like  one  of  two  contending  in  a  prize, 
TJiat  thinks  he  hath  done  well  in  people's  eyes. 
Hearing  applause,  and  universal  shout, 
Giddy  in  spirit,  still  gazing,  in  a  doubt 
Whether  those  peals  of  praise  be  his  or  no  ; 
So,  thrice  fair  lady,  stand  I,  even  so  ; 
As  doubtful  whether  what  I  see  be  true, 
Until  confirm'd,  sign'd,  ratified  by  you. 

Pro.  Yon  see  me,  lord  Bassanio,  where  I  stand, 
Sucb  9s  I  am  :  though,  for  myself  alone, 
I  woald  not  be  ambitious  in  my  wish. 
To  wish  myself  much  better ;  yet,  for  you, 
I  would  be  trebled  twenty  times  myself ; 
A  thousand  times  more  fair,  ten  thousand  times 
More  rich 

lliat  only  to  stand  high  on  your  account, 
I  might  in  virtues,  beauties,  livings,  friends, 
IDxceed  account :  but  the  full  sum  of  me 


OF  YENICE. 

Ts  sum  of  something ;  which,  to  term  m  ^ 
Is  an  unlesson'd  girl,  unschoofd,  unpractis'd  : 
Happy  in  this,  she  is  not  yet  so  old 
But  she  may  learn  ;  and  happier  than  this. 
She  is  not  bred  so  dull  but  she  can  learn  ; 
Happiest  of  all,  is,  that  her  gentle  spirit 
Commits  itself  to  yours  to  be  directed. 
As  from  her  lord,  her  governor,  her  king. 
Myself,  and  what  is  mine,  to  you  and  your<9 
Is  now  converted  :  but  now  I  was  the  lord 
Of  this  fair  mansion,  master  of  my  servants, 
Queen  o'er  myself;  and  even  now,  but  now, 
l^is  house,  these  servants,  and  this  same  myseif. 
Are  yours,  my  lord  ;  1  give  them  with  this  ring  ; 
Which  when  you  part  from,  lose,  or  give  away. 
Let  it  presage  the  ruin  of  your  love, 
And  be  my  vantage  to  exclaim  on  you. 

Bass.  Madam,  you  have  bereft  me  of  all  words. 
Only  my  bluod  speaks  to  you  in  my  veins  • 
And  there  is  such  confusion  in  my  powers, 
As,  after  some  oration  fairly  spoke 
By  a  beloved  prince,  there  doth  appear 
Among  the  buzzing  pleased  multitude; 
Where  every  something,  being  blent  together, 
Turns  to  a  wild  of  nothing,  save  of  joy, 
fclxpress'd,  and  not  express'd  :  But  when  this  riug 
Parts  from  this  finger,  then  parts  life  from  hence; 
O,  then  be  bold  to  say,  Bassanio's  dead. 

Ner.  My  lord  and  lady,  it  is  now  our  time. 
That  have  stood  by,  and  seen  our  wishes  prosnei. 
To  cry,  good  joy  :  Good  joy,  my  lord  and  lady ! 

Gra.  My  lord  Bassanio,  and  my  gentle  lady, 
I  wish  you  all  the  joy  that  you  can  wish; 
For  1  anv  sure,  you  can  wish  none  from  me : 
And,  when  your  honours  mean  to  solemnize 
The  bargain  of  your  faith,  1  do  beseech  you. 
Even  at  that  time  I  may  be  married  too. 

Ba»s.  With  all  my  heart,  so  thou  canst  get  a  wife 

Gra.  I  thank  your  lordship;  you  have  got  me  Ofi* 
My  eyes,  my  lord,  can  look  as  swift  as  yours  : 
You  saw  the  mistress,  I  beheld  the  maid  ; 
You  lov'd,  I  lov'd ;  f(<r  intermission 
No  more  pertains  to  me,  my  lord,  than  you. 
Your  fortune  stood  upon  the  caskets  there  ; 
And  so  did  mine  too,  as  the  matter  falls  : 
For  wooing  here,  until  I  sweat  again; 
And  swearing,  till  my  very  roof  was  dry 
With  oaths  of  love ;  at  last,— if  promise  last, — 
I  got  a  promise  of  this  fair  one  here, 
To  have  her  love,  provided  that  your  fortune 
Achiev'd  her  mistress. 

Por.  Is  this  true,  Nerissa  ? 

Ner.  Madam,  it  is,  so  you  stand  pleas'd  withal. 

Bass.  And  do  you,  Gratiano,  mean  good  faith  ? 

Gra.  Yes,  'faith,  my  lord.  [marriage. 

Bass.  Our  feast  shall  be  much  honour'd  in  your 

Gra.  We'll  play  with  them,  the  first  boy  for  a 
thousand  ducats. 

Ner.  What,  and  stake  down  ? 

Gra.  No ;  we  shall  ne'er  win  at  that  sport,  aud 

stake  down.  

But  who  comes  here  ?  Lorenzo,  and  his  infidel  ? 
What,  my  old  Venetian  friend,  Salerio  ? 

Enter  Lorenzo,  Jessica,  and  Salerio. 

Bass.  Lorenzo,  and  Salerio,  welcome  hither ; 
If  that  the  youth  of  my  new  interest  here 
Have  power  to  bid  you  welcome :  By  your  leave, 
I  bid  my  very  friends  and  countrymen. 
Sweet  Portia,  welcome. 

Por.  So  do  I,  my  lord ; 

They  are  entirely  welcome.  Ilord. 

Lor.  I  thank  your  honour:— For  my  part,  no} 
My  purpose  was  not  to  have  seen  you  here ; 
But  meeting  with  Salerio  by  the  way. 
He  did  entreat  me,  past  all  saying  nay. 
To  come  with  him  along. 

Sale.  I  did,  my  lord. 

And  I  have  reason  for  it.    Siguior  Antonio 
Commends  him  to  you.    fGives  Bassanio  a  ietlermj 


Scene  4. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


159 


Bast.  Hre  I  ope  his  letter, 

I  pray  yon  tell  me  how  my  good  friend  doth. 

Sa/e.  Not  sick,  my  lord,  unless  it  be  in  mind  ; 
Nor  well,  unless  in  mind  :  his  letter  there 
Will  show  you  his  estate.  [come. — 

Gr7.  Nerissa.  cheer  yon'  stranger;  bid  her  wel- 
Vout  iiand.  Salerio  ;  What's  the  news  from  Venice  ? 
How  .^oth  tliat  royal  mercliant,  good  Antonio? 
i  know,  he  vvill  be  glad  of  our  success  ; 
We  are  tlie  Jasons,  we  have  won  the  ileece. 

Sa/e.  'Would  you  had  won  the  fleece  that  he  hath 
lost  I  [same  paper. 

Pur.  'I'here  are  some  shrewd  contents  in  yon' 
I'hat  steal  the  colour  from  Uassanio"s  cheek  : 
Some  dear  friend  dead  ;  else  nothing  in  the  world 
Could  turn  so  much  the  constitution 
Of  any  constant  man.    What,  worse  and  worse  ? — 
With  leave,  Bassanio  ;  I  am  half  yourself, 
And  I  must  freely  have  the  half  of  any  thing 
That  tliis  same  paper  brings  you. 

Bass.  O,  sweet  Portia, 

Here  are  a  few  of  the  unpleasant'st  words, 
Thate\er  blotted  paper!  (jentle  lady, 
When  I  ilid  first  impart  my  love  to  you, 
I  freely  told  you,  all  the  wealth  I  had 
Ran  in  my  veins,  I  was  a  gentleman  ; 
And  then  I  told  you  true  :  and  yet,  dear  lady. 
Rating  myself  at  nothing,  you  shall  see 
How  much  I  was  a  braggj-rt :  when  I  told  you 
My  estate  was  nothing,  I  siioidd  then  have  told  you 
'I'hat  I  was  worse  titan  nothing;  for,  indeed, 
I  have  eti^ajjd  myself  to  a  dear  friend, 
Eugag'd  my  friend  to  his  mere  enemy, 
To  feed  my  means.    Here  is  a  letter,  lady; 
The  pajier  as  tiie  body  of  my  friend. 
And  every  word  in  it  a  gaping  wound. 
Issuing  life-blood. —  But  is  it  true,  iSalerio? 
Ha\e  a  I  his  ventures  fail'd?  What,  not  one  hit? 
From  'I'ripolis,  from  .Mexico,  anrl  Dngland, 
Frosn  Ijisboo,  Barbary,  and  India 
And  not  one  vessel  'scape  the  dreadful  touch 
Of  merchant-marring  rocks  i 

Sale.  Not  one,  my  lord. 

Besides,  it  should  appear,  that  if  he  had 
The  present  money  to  discharge  the  Jew, 
He  woidd  not  take  it:  never  did  I  know 
A  creature,  tiiat  did  bear  the  shape  of  man, 
So  keen  and  greedy  to  con  oimd  a  man  : 
He  plies  tile  diske  at  morning,  and  at  night; 
And  doth  impeach  the  freedom  of  the  state. 
If  they  deny  him  justice  :  twenty  merchants. 
The  duke  himsell,  and  the  magnllicoes 
Of  greatest  port,  have  all  persuaded  with  him; 
Hut  none  can  drive  him  irtim  the  envious  plea 
Of  forfeiture,  of  justice,  and  his  bond. 

Jes.Wlien  I  was  with  him,  I  have  heard  him  swear. 
To  Tubal,  ami  to  Chus,  his  countrymen, 
hat  he  would  rather  have  .Antonio's  flesh, 

an  twenty  times  the  value  of  the  sum 
t  he  did  owe  him  :  and  I  know,  my  lord, 
w.  authority,  and  power  deny  not, 
ill  go  hard  with  poor  .•\ntonio. 
or.  Is  it  your  dear  friend,  that  is  thus  in  trouble  ? 
OSS.  The  dearest  friend  to  me,  the  kindest  man, 
best  condition'd  and  unwearied  spirit 

doing  courtesies  ;  and  one,  in  whom 
The  anrient  Roman  honour  more  appears. 
Than  any  that  draws  breath  in  Italy. 
Por.  What  sum  owes  lie  the  Jew  '^ 

Has.t.  For  me,  three  thousand  ducats. 

P  r.  W  hat, no  more '^ 

Pay  him  six  thousand,  and  deface  the  bond; 
Doubli'  six  thousand,  and  then  treble  that, 
Bffore  a  friend  of  this  description 
Shall  lose  a  hair  through  Bassanio's  fault. 
First,  go  with  me  to  church,  and  call  me  wife  : 
And  then  away  to  Venice  to  your  friend  ; 
For  never  shall  you  lie  by  Portia's  side 
With  an  inquiet  soul.    You  shall  have  gdd 
Topay  tlw  petty  debt  twenty  times  over  ; 


When  it  is  paid,  bring  your  trne  friend  along: 
My  maid  Nerissa,  and  mysell",  mean  time. 
Will  live  as  maids  and  widows.    Come,  away  j 
For  you  shall  hence  upon  your  wedding-day  : 
Bid  your  friends  welcome,  show  a  mer>-y  cheer; 
Since  you  are  dear  bought,  I  will  love  you  dear. 
But  let  me  hear  the  letter  of  your  friend. 

Bass.  ( Reads. J  Siveet  Basmnio,  my  ships  hatt 
all  miscarried,  my  creditors  grow  cruel,  my  estat 
is  very  low,  my  bond  to  the  Jew  is  forfeit ;  an 
since,  paying  it,  it  is  impossible  I  should  lii>e 
all  debts  are  cleared  between  you  and  I,  if  1  migli 
but  see  you  at  tny  death:  notwithstanding,  u^ 
your  pleasure  :  if  your  love  do  not  persuade  yoo 
to  come,  let  not  my  letter. 

Por.  O  love,  despatch  all  business,  and  be  gone 
Bass.  Since  I  have  your  good  leave  to  go  away, 
I  will  make  haste  :  but,  till  I  come  again, 
No  bed  shall  e'er  be  guilty  of  my  stay, 

No  rest  be  interposer  'twixt  us  twain.  [Exeunt 

Scene  lil.— Venice.    A  Street. 
Enter  Shylock,  Salanio,  Antonio,  and  Gaoler, 
Shy.  Gaoler,  look  to  him  ;  tell  not  me  of  mercy  ; — 
This  is  the  fool  that  lent  out  money  gratis ; — 
Gaoler,  look  to  him. 
Ant.  Hear  me  yet,  good  Shy^»ck. 

Shy.  I'll  have  ray  bond  ;  speak  not  againsi  my 
bond ; 

I  have  sworn  an  oath,  that  I  will  have  ray  bond  : 
Thou  call'dst  me  dog,  before  thou  had'st  a  cause  : 
Bat,  since  I  am  a  dog,  beware  my  fangs  : 
The  duke  shall  grant  me  justice. — I  do  wonder* 
Thou  naughty  gaoler,  that  thou  art  so  fond 
To  come  abroad  with  him  at  his  re^juest. 

Ant.  I  I  ray  thee,  hear  me  speak.  [speak; 

Shy.  I'll  have  my  bond;  I  will  not  heai  thee 
1*11  have  my  bond  ;  and  therefore  speak  no  more 
I'll  not  be  made  a  soft  and  dull-ey'd  fool. 
To  shake  the  head,  relent,  and  sigh,  and  yield 
To  Christian  intercessors.    Follow  not; 
I'll  have  no  speaking;  I  will  have  my  bond.  {SsU* 

Salan.  It  is  the  most  impenetrable  cur 
That  ever  kept  with  men. 

Ant.  Let  him  alone; 

I'll  follow  him  no  more  with  bootless  prayers. 
He  seeks  my  life  ;  his  reason  well  I  know; 
I  oft  deliver'd  from  his  forfeitures 
Many,  that  have  at  times  made  moan  to  me ; 
Therefore  he  hates  me. 

Salan.  I  am  sure,  the  duke 

Will  never  grant  this  forfeiture  to  hold. 

Ant.  The  duke  cannot  deny  the  course  of  law< 
For  the  commodity  tliat  strangers  have 
With  us  in  Venice,  if  it  be  denied, 
Will  much  impeach  the  justice  of  the  state  ; 
Since  that  the  trade  and  profit  of  the  city 
Consisteth  of  all  nations.    Therefore,  go: 
These  griefs  and  losses  have  so  'bated  me. 
That  I  shall  hardly  spare  a  pound  of  flesh 

To-morrow  to  my  bloody  creditor.  

Well,  gaoler,  on  : — Pray  Gcd,  Bas.sanio  come 
To  see  me  pay  his  debt,  anc^  then  I  care  not ! 

[Exeunt. 

ScenbTV. — Belmont.   A  Room  in  Portia's  House. 
Enter  Portia,  Nerissa,  Lorenzo,  Jessica,  ana 
Balthazar. 

Lor.  Madam,  although  I  speak  it  in  your  presenc© 
Vou  have  a  noble  and  a  true  conceit 
Of  godlike  amity;  which  appears  most  strongly 
In  bearing  thus  the  absence  of  your  lord. 
But,  if  you  knew  to  whom  you  show  this  honour 
How  true  a  gentleman  you  send  relief, 
How  dear  a  lover  of  my  lord  your  husband, 
I  know,  you  would  be  prouder  of  the  work* 
Than  customary  bounty  can  enforce  you. 

Por.  I  never  did  repent  for  doing  good, 
Nor  shall  not  now  :  for  in  companions 
That  do  converse  and  waste  the  time  tc^«  ^ 


160 


MERCHANT 


OF  VENICE. 


Act  ITx* 


^Vhose  souls  (]o  bear  an  eqnal  yoke  of  love. 

There  must  be  needs  a  like  proportion 

Ot"  lineaments,  ot"  manners,  and  ofspirit; 

Which  makes  me  think,  that  this  Antonio, 

Being  the  bosom  lover  of  my  lord, 

Must  needs  be  like  my  lord  :  if  it  be  so. 

How  little  is  the  cost  I  have  bestow^'d, 

In  purchasing  this  semblance  of  my  soul 

From  out  the  state  of  hellish  cruelty  ? 

This  comes  too  near  the  praising  of  nyself ; 

Therefore,  no  more  of  it:  hear  othei  things. — 

Ijorenzo,  I  commit  into  your  hands 

'I'he  husbandry  and  manage  of  my  house. 

Until  my  lord's  return  :  for  mine  ovi  n  part, 

i  have  toward  heaven  breath'd  a  secret  vow. 

To  live  in  prayer  and  contemplation, 

Only  attended  by  JSerissa  here, 

Until  her  husband  and  my  lord's  return  : 

Tiiere  is  a  monastery  two  miles  off", 

And  there  we  will  abide.    I  do  desire  you, 

Not  to  deny  this  imposition  ; 

The  which  my  love,  and  some  necessity. 

Now  lays  upon  you. 

Lor.  Madam,  with  all  my  heart; 

J  shall  obey  you  in  all  fair  commands. 

Por.  My  people  do  already  know  my  mind. 
And  will  acknowledge  you  and  Jessica 
In  place  of  lord  Bassanio  and  myself. 
So  tare  you  well,  till  we  shall  meet  again.        [you  ! 

Lor.  Fair  thoughts,  and  happy  hours,  attend  on 

Jess.  I  wish  your  ladyship  all  heart's  content. 

Por.  I  tliank  you  for  your  wish,  and  am  well  pleas'd 
To  wish  it  back  on  you  :  fare  you  well,  Jessica. — 

[Exeunt  Jessica  and  Lorenzo. 

Now,  Balthazar, 

As  I  have  ever  found  thee  honest,  true. 
So  let  me  find  thee  still  :  take  this  same  letter, 
Aid  use  thou  all  the  endeavour  of  a  man, 
n  speed  to  Padua  ;  set",  thou  render  this 
hxio  my  cousin's  hand,  doctor  Bellario;  [thee, 
And,  look,  what  notes  and  garments  he  doth  give 
Bring  them,  I  pray  thee,  with  iuiaoin'd  speed 
Unto  tr,e  tranect,  to  the  couunon  terry 
Which  trades  to  Venice  : — waste  no  time  in  words, 
l>iit  get  thee  gone ;  I  shall  be  there  before  thee, 
Balth.  Madam,  I  go  with  all  convenient  speed. 

[Exit. 

Por.  Come  on,  Nerissa ;  I  have  work  in  hand, 
That  you  yet  know  not  of:  we'll  see  our  husbands. 
Before  they  think  of  us. 

Aer.  "        Shall  they  see  us  ? 

Por.  They  shall,  Nerissa  ;  but  in  such  a  habit. 
That  they  shall  think  we  are  accomplished 
With  what  we  lack.    I'll  hold  thee  any  wager. 
When  we  are  both  accoutred  like  young  men, 
ri{  prove  the  prettier  fellow  of  the  two, 
And  wear  my  dagger  with  the  braver  grace  ; 
And  speak,  between  the  change  of  man  and  boy. 
With  a  reed  voice  ;  and  turn  two  mincing  steps 
Into  a  niauly  stride  ;  and  speak  of  frays. 
Like  a  fine  bragging  youth:  and  tell  quaint  lies. 
How  honourable  ladies  sought  my  love. 
Which  I  denying,  they  fell  sick  and  died  ; 
I  could  not  do  with  all: — then  I  II  repent, 
And  wish,  lor  all  that,  that  1  had  not  kili'd  them: 
And  twenty  of  these  puny  lies  Til  tell. 
That  men  shall  swear,  I  have  discontinued  school 
Above  a  twelvemonth  : — I  have  within  my  mind 
A  thousand  raw  tricks  of  these  bragging  Jacks, 
Which  I  will  practise. 

Ner.  Why,  shall  we  turn  to  men? 

Por.  Fy !  what  a  question's  that, 
If  thou  wert  near  a  lewd  interpreter? 
But  come,  I'll  tell  thee  all  my  whole  device, 
When  I  am  in  my  coach,  which  stays  for  us 
At  the  park  gate  ;  and  therefore  haste  away, 
For  we  must  measure  twenty  miles  to-day.  [Exeunt. 
Scene  V. — The  same.    A  Garden. 
Enter  Launcelot  Jessica. 

haun.  \  es,  truly     lor,  look  you,  tlie  sins  of  the 


father  are  to  be  laid  upon  the  children;  therefore, 
I  promise  you,  I  fear  you.  I  was  always  plain  with 
yoa,  and  so  now  I  speak  my  agitation  of  the  matter: 
therefore,  be  of  -good  cheer;  for,  truly,  I  tliink, 
you  are  damned.  There  is  but  one  hope  in  it  thas' 
can  do  any  good;  and  that  is  but  a  kind  of  bastard 
hope  neither. 

Jess.  And  what  hope  is  that,  I  pi  ay  thee? 

Lau7i.  Marry,  you  may  partly  hope  that  yoiir 
father  got  you  not,  that  you  are  not  the  Jew 
daui^hter. 

Jess.  That  were  a  kind  of  bastard  hope,  indeed 
so  the  sins  of  my  mother  should  be  visited  upon  me. 

Laun.  Truly  then  I  fear  you  are  damned  both  by 
father  and  mother :  thus  when  1  shun  Sc}Ua,  your 
father,  I  fall  into  Charybdis,  your  mother:  well, 
you  are  gone  both  ways. 

Jess.  I  shall  be  saved  by  my  husband  ;  he  hatb 
made  me  a  Christian. 

Laun.  Truly,  the  more  to  blame  he :  we  were 
Christians  enough  before ;  e'en  as  many  as  could 
well  live,  one  by  another :  this  niaking  of  Chris- 
tians will  raise  the  price  of  hogs  :  it"  we  grow  all  to 
be  pork-eaters,  we  shall  not  sliortly  have  a  rasher 
on  the  coals  for  money. 

Enter  Lorenzo. 

Jess.  I'll  tell  my  husband.,  Launcelot,  what  yon 
.say  ;  here  he  comes. 

Lor.  I  shall  grow  jealous  of  you  shortly,  Laun< 
celot,  if  you  thus  get  my  wile  into  corners. 

Jess.  Nay,  you  need  not  fear  us,  Lorenzo:  Laun- 
celot and  I  are  out :  he  tells  me  ilatly,  there  is  no 
mercy  for  me  in  heaven,  because  1  am  a  Jew'a 
daughter  :  and  he  says,  you  are  no  good  member 
of  the  commonwealth  ;  tor,  in  converting  Jews  to 
Christians,  you  raise  the  price  of  pork. 

Lor.  1  shall  answer  that  better  to  the  commoa- 
wealth  than  you  can  the  getting  up  of  the  ne  gro's 
belly;  the  Moor  is  with  ciuld  by  you,  Lauix  elct. 

Laun.  It  is  much,  that  the  Aloor  should  be  moi*e 
than  reason:  but  if  she  be  less  than  an  honest  wo- 
man, she  is,  indeed,  more  than  I  took  her  ior. 

Lor.  How  every  fool  can  play  upon  the  wonl ' 
I  think,  the  best  grace  of  wit  will  sliortly  turn  into 
silence;  and  discourse  grow  commendable  in  none 
only  but  parrots. — Go  in,  sirrah ;  bid  them  prepar* 
for  dinner. 

Ijaun.  That  is  done,  sir ;  they  have  all  .stomarhs. 

Lor.  Goodly  lord,  what  a  wit-snapper  are  you  I 
then  bid  them  prepare  dinner.  [word 

Laun.  That  is  done  too,  sir;  only,  cover  is  the 

Lor.  Will  you  cover  them,  sir  ? 

Laun.  Not  so,  sir.  neither;  I  know  my  duty. 

Lor.  Yet  more  quarrelling  with  occasion  I  Wilt 
thou  show  the  whole  wealtli  of  tiiy  wit  in  an  instant? 
I  pray  thee,  understand  a  plain  man  in  his  plain 
meaning :  go  to  thy  fellows ;  bid  them  cov  er  the 
table,  serve  in  the  meat,  and  we  will  come  in  to 
dinner. 

Laun.  For  the  table,  sir,  it  shall  be  served  in  ; 
for  the  meat,  sir,  it  shall  be  covered  ;  for  your 
coming  to  dinner,  sir,  why,  let  it  be  as  humours  and 
conceits  shall  govern.  [Exit 

Lor.  O  dear  discretion,  how  his  words  are  suited  . 
The  fool  hath  planted  in  liis  memory 
An  army  of  good  words :  and  I  do  know 
A  many  fools,  that  stand  in  better  place, 
Garnish'd  like  him,  that  for  a  tricksy  word 
Defy  the  matter.  •  How  cheer'st  thou,  Jessica? 
And  now,  good  sweet,  say  thy  opinion. 
How  dost  thou  like  the  lord  liassanio's  wife  ? 

Jes.  Past  all  expressing:  it  is  very  meet. 
The  lord  Bassanio  live  an  upright  life  ; 
For,  having  such  a  blessing  in  his  lady, 
He  finds  the  joys  of  heaven  here  on  earth; 
And,  if  on  earth  he  do  not  mean  it,  it 
Is  reason  he  should  never  come  to  heaven. 
Why,  if  two  gods  should  play  some  heavenly  raatok 
And  on  the  wa^er  lay  two  earthly  women 


Act  IV.    Scene  1. 


MERCHANT 


OF  VENICE. 


And  Portia  one  there  must  be  something  else 
Pawn'd  with  the  other;  for  the  poor  rude  world 
Hath  not  her  fellow. 

Lor.  Even  such  a  husband 

Hast  thou  of  me,  as  she  is  for  a  wife. 

Jes.  Nay,  but  ask  my  opinion  too  of  that. 

Lor.  I  will  anon  ;  first,  let  us  go  to  dinner. 

Je.s.  Nay,  let  me  praise  you, while  I  have  a  stomach. 

Lor.  No,  pray  tliee,  let  it  serve  for  table-talk.  : 
Then,  howsoe'er  thou  speak'st,  'mong  other  things 
i  .shall  digest  it. 

Jes.  Well,  Ml  set  you  forth.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. —  Venice.    A  Court  of  Justice. 

Enter  the  Duke,  the  Maynificoes ;  Antonio,  Bas- 
SANio,  Gratiano,  Salarino,  Salanio,  and 
others. 

Duke.  What,  is  Antonio  here? 

Ayit.  Heady,  so  [)lease  your  grace.  [answer 

Duke.   I  am  sorry  for  thee ;  thou  art  come  to 
A  stony  adversary,  au  inhuman  wretch 
Uncapable  of  pity,  \oid  and  empty 
From  any  dram  ol"  mercy. 

Ant.  I  have  heard, 

Vour  grace  hath  ta'ftO  great  pains  to  qualify 
His  rigorous  course  ;  but  since  he  stands  obdurate, 
And  tiiat  no  lawful  means  can  carry  me 
Out  of  his  envy's  reach,  I  do  oppose 
]My  patience  to  his  fury  ;  and  airi  arm'd 
To  sufler,  with  a  quietness  of  spirit, 
The  very  tyranny  and  rage  of  his. 

Duke.  Go  one,  and  call  tlie  Jew  into  the  court. 

Salan.  He's  ready  it  the  door :  he  comes,  my  lord. 

Enter  Shylock. 
Duke  Make  room,  and  let  him  stand  before  our 
face. — 

Shylock,  the  world  thinks,  and  I  think  so  too. 

That  thou  but  lead'st  this  fashion  of  thy  malice 

To  the  last  hour  of  act;  and  then,  'tis  thought, 

'I'hou'lt  show  thy  mercy,  and  remorse,  more  strange 

Than  ia  thy  strange  apparent  cruelty  : 

And  where  thou  now  exact'st  the  penalty, 

(VVhich  is  a  pound  of  this  poor  mercliant  s  flesh,) 

Thou  wilt  not  only  lose  the  forfeiture, 

But,  toiich'd  with  human  gentleness  and  love. 

Forgive  a  nioiety  of  the  principal; 

Glancing  an  eye  of  pity  on  his  losses, 

That  have  of  late  so  huddled  on  his  back; 

Enoug-h  to  press  a  royal  merchant  dt)wn. 

And  pluck  commiseration  of  his  state 

From  brassy  bosoms,  and  rough  hearts  of  flint. 

From  stubborn  Turks,  and  Tartars,  never  train'd 

To  offices  of  tender  courtesy. 

We  all  expect  a  gentle  answer,  Jew.  [pose ; 

Shy.  I  have  possess'd  your  grace  of  what  1  pur- 
And  by  our  holy  Sabbath  have  1  sworn, 
To  have  the  due  and  forfeit  of  my  bond  : 
If  you  d^ny  it,  let  the  danger  light 
Upon  your  charter,  and  your  city's  freedom. 
You'll  ask  me,  why  I  rather  choose  to  have 
A  weight  of  cwrrioh  flesli,  than  to  receive 
Three  thousand  ducats  :  I'll  not  answer  that: 
But,  say,  it  is  my  humour  :  is  it  answer'd  ? 
What  if  my  house  be  troubled  with  a  rat, 
And"J  be  pleas'd  to  give  ten  thousand  dueat-s 
To  have  it  baned  ?    What,  are  you  answer'd  yet? 
S«jmf;  mm  there  are,  love  not  a  gaping  pig ; 
Some,  that  are  mad,  if  they  behold  a  cat; 
And  others,  when  the  bag-pipe  sings  i'  the  nose, 
Cannot  contain  their  urine  ;  for  atfection, 
Mistress  of  passion,  sways  it  to  the  mood 
Of  what  it  likes,  or  loathes.  Now,  for  your  answer  : 
As  there  is  no  firm  reason  to  be  render'd, 
Why  he  cannot  abide  a  gaping  pig; 
Why  he.  a  harmless  necessary  cat ; 
Why  he,  a  swollen  bagpipe ;  but  of  force 
htast  yield  to  such  inevitable  shaoie. 


As  to  ofTend,  himself  being  offended  ; 

So  can  I  give  no  reason,  nor  1  will  not. 

More  than  a  lodged  hate,  and  a  certain  loathing, 

I  bear  Antonio,  that  1  follow  thus 

A  losing  suit  against  him.    Are  you  answer'd? 

Bass.  'J'his  is  no  answer,  thou  unfeeling  man, 
To  excuse  the  current  of  thy  cruelty.  [answer. 

Shy.  I  am  not  bound  to  please  thee  with  n»y 

Bass.  Do  all  men  kill  the  things,  they  do  not  love  ? 

Shy   Hates  any  man  the  thing,  he  would  not  kill  ? 

Bass.  Every  offence  is  not  a  hate  at  first. 

Shy.  What,  would'st  thou  have  a  serpent  sting 
thee  twice  ? 

Ant.  I  pray  you,  think  you  question  with  the.  Jew: 
You  may  as  well  go  stand  upon  the  beach. 
And  bid  the  main  flood  bate  his  usual  height; 
You  may  as  well  use  question  with  the  wolf, 
Why  he  hath  made  the  ewe  bleat  lor  the  lamb; 
You  may  as  well  forbid  the  mountain  pines 
To  wag  their  high  tops,  and  to  uiake  no  noise. 
When  they  are  fretted  with  the  gusts  of  heaven; 
You  may  as  well  do  any  thing  most  hard, 
As  seek  to  soften  that  (than  which  whats  harder?) 
His  Jewish  heart: — Therefore,  I  do  beseech  you, 
Make  no  more  ofl'ers,  use  no  farther  means. 
But,  with  all  brief  and  plain  conveniency. 
Let  me  have  judgment,  and  the  Jew  his  will. 

Bass.  For  thy  three  thousand  ducats  here  is  six. 

Shy.  If  every  ducat  in  six  thousand  ducats 
Were  in  six  parts,  and  every  part  a  ducat, 
I  would  not  draw  them,  I  would  have  my  bond.  ^ 

Duke.  How  shalt  thou  hope  for  mercy,  rend'ring 
none?  [wrong? 

Shy.  What  judgment  shall  I  dread,  doing  m 
You  have  among  you  many  a  purchas'd  slave. 
Which,  like  your  asses,  and  your  dogs,  and  mules. 
You  use  in  abject  and  in  slavish  parts. 
Because  you  bought  them  : — Shall  I  say  to  you. 
Let  thenj  be  free,  marry  them  to  your  heirs? 
Why  sweat  they  under  burdens?  let  their  beds 
Be  made  as  soft  as  yours,  and  let  their  palates 
Be  season'd  with  such  viands?   You  will  answer. 
The  slaves  are  ours: — So  do  1  answer  you: 
The  pound  of  flesh,  which  1  demand  ol"  him. 
Is  dearly  bought,  is  mine,  and  I  will  have  it: 
If  you  deny  me,  fy  upon  your  law !  ■ 
There  is  no  force  in  ttie  decrees  of  Venice : 
I  stand  for  judgment:  answer;  shall  I  have  it? 

Duke.  Upon  my  power,  I  may  dismiss  this  conrt, 
Unless  Bellario,  a  learned  doctor. 
Whom  I  have  sent  for  to  determine  this. 
Come  here  to  day, 

Salar.  My  lord,  here  stays  without 

A  messenger  with  letters  from  the  doctor. 
New  come  from  Padua. 

Duke.  Bring  us  the  letters ;  Call  the  messenger, 

Bass.  Good  cheer,  Antonio  !    What,  man?  cou. 
rage  yet ! 

The  Jew  shall  have  my  flesh,  blood,  bones,  and  all. 
Ere  thou  shalt  lose  for  me  one  drop  of  blood. 

Ant.  I  am  a  tainted  wether  of  the  flock, 
Meetes.t  for  death  ;  the  weakest  kind  of  fruit 
Drops  earliest  to  the  ground,  .and  so  let  rae: 
You  cannot  better  be  employ'd,  Bassanio, 
Than  to  live  still,  pnd  write  mine  epitaph. 

Enter  Nerissa,  drbssed  like  a  lawyer's  clerk 

Duke.  Came  you  from  Padua,  from  Bellario? 

Ner.  From  both,  my  lord  :  Bellario  greets  your 
grace.  [Presents  a  letter.] 

Bass.  Why  dost  thou  whet  thy  knife  so  earnestly? 

Shy.  To  cut  the  forfeiture  from  that  bankrupt 
there.  (Jcv, 

Gra.  Not  on  thy  sole,  but  on  fhy  soul,  harslf 
Thou  makest  thy  knife  keen :  but  no  metal  can. 
No,  not  the  hangman's  axe,  bea   half  the  keenness 
Of  thy  sharp  envy.    Can  no  prayers  pierce  thee  ? 

Shy.  No,  none  that  thou  hast  wit  enough  to  make. 

Gra.  O,  be  thou  damn'd,  inexorable  dog! 
And  for  thy  life  let  justice  b*  accus'd. 


162 


MERCHANT 


OF  VENICE. 


Act  IV, 


Tbou  almost  iK.ak'st  me  wavei  in  my  faith, 
To  hold  opinion  with  Pythagoras, 
That  souls  of  animals  infuse  themselves 
Into  the  trunks  of  men  :  thy  currish  spirit 
Govern'd  a  wolf,  who,  hang'd  for  human  slaughter. 
Even  from  the  gullows  did  his  fell  soul  fleet, 
And,  whilst  tiio  i  lay'st  in  thy  unhallow'd  dam, 
Infus'd  itself  in  thee  ;  for  thy  desires 
Are  wolfish,  bloody,  starv'd,  and  ravenous. 

Shy.  Till  thou  can'st  rail  the  seal  from  oif  my  bond. 
Thou  but  ofFend'st  thy  hmgs  to  speak  so  loud  ; 
Repair  thy  wit,  good  youth,  or  it  will  fall 
To  cureless  ruin. — I  stand  here  for  law. 

Duke.  This  letter  from  Bellario  doth  commend 
A  young  and  learned  doctor  to  our  court : — 
where  is  he  ? 

Ner.  He  attendeth  here  hard  by, 

To  know  your  answer,  whether  you'll  admit  him. 

Duke.  With  all  my  heart: — some  three  or  four 
of  you. 

Go  give  him  courteous  conduct  to  this  place. — 
Meantime,  the  court  shall  hear  Bellaria's  letter. 

(Clerk  reads.)  Your  yrace  shall  understand,  that, 
at  the.  receipt  of  your  letter,  I  am  very  sick :  hut 
in  the  instant  that  your  messeyiger  came,  in  loving 
visitatio?i  ivas  ivith  7ne  a  young  doctor  of  Rome, 
his  name  is  Balthasar :  I  acquainted  Jam  tvith 
the  cause  in  controversy  betiveeii  the  Jew  and 
Antonio  the  merchant :  ice  turned o" er  many  books 
together :  he  is  furnished  iviih  my  opinion  ;  ivhich, 
bettered  with  his  own  learning,  (  the  greatness 
whereof  1  cannot  enough  co7nmend.)  comes  with 
him,  at  my  importunity ,  to  fill  up  your  grace  s 
request  in  my  stead.  I  beseech  you.  let  his  lack 
of  years  be  no  impediment  to  let  him  lack  a 
reverend  estimation  ;  for  J  never  knew  so  young 
a  bo.iy  with  so  eud  a  head.  I  leave  him  to  your 
gracious  acce[jtance,  whose  trial  shall  better 
publish  his  commendatiim. 

Duke.  You  hear  the  iearn'd  Bellario,  what  he 
writes : 

And  here,  1  take  it,  is  the  doctor  come. — 
Enter  Portia,  dressed  like  a  doctor  of  laws 

Give  me  your  hand  :  cauie  you  from  old  Bellario? 
Por.  i  did,  my  lord. 

Duke.  You  are  welcouie  :  take  your  place. 

Are  you  acquainted  with  the  dilference 
That  holds  this  present  question  in  the  court? 

Por.  I  am  informed  thoroughly  of  the  cause. 
Which  is  tlie  merchant  here,  and  which  the  Jew? 

Duke.  Antonio  and  old  Shylock,  both  stand  forth. 

Por.  [s  your  name  Shylock  ? 

Shy.  Shylock  is  my  name. 

Por.  Of  a  strange  nature  is  the  suit  you  follow; 
Yet  in  such  rule,  that  the  Venetian  law 
Cannot  impugn  you,  as  you  do  proceed. — 
You  stand  within  his  danger,  do  you  not  '^.  {To  Ant.) 

Ant.  Ay,  so  he  says. 

Por.  Do  j'ou  confess  the  bond  ? 

Ant.  I  do. 

Por.  Then  must  the  Jew  be  merciful. 

Shy.  On  what  com[)ul3ion  must  I  ?  tell  me  that. 

Por.  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd  ; 
It  droppeth,  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath  ;  it  is  twice  bless  d  : 
ft  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes; 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest :  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown: 
His  sceptre  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power. 
The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty. 
Wherein  dofh  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings; 
But  mercy  is  above  this  sceptred  sway, 
It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings, 
It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself; 
And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's, 
W  hen  mercy  seasons  justice.    Thereiore,  Jew, 
Thcugli  justice  be  thy  plea,  consider  this, — 
That,  in  the  course  of  justice,  none  of  us 

d  see  sahatioa:  we  do  pray  for  mercy  ; 


And  that  same  prayer  doth  teaoh  us  all  to  render 

The  deeds  of  mercy.    I  have  spoke  thus  much. 
To  mitigate  the  justice  of  thy  plea  ; 
Which  if  thou  follow,  this  strict  court  of  Venice 
Must  needs  give  sentence  'gainst  the  merchant  thertt 

Shy.  My  deeds  upon  my  head  !  I  crave  the  law, 
The  penalty  and  forfeit  of  my  bond. 

Por.  Is  he  not  able  to  discharge  the  money? 

Bass.  Yes,  here  I  tender  it  for  him  in  the  coort  ' 
Yea,  twice  the  sum  :  if  that  will  not  suffice, 
I  will  be  bound  to  pay  it  ten  times  o'er, 
On  forfeit  of  my  hands,  my  head,  my  heart: 
If  this  will  not  suffice,  it  must  appear. 
That  malice  bears  down  truth.  And  I  beseech  yoo, 
Wrest  once  the  law  to  your  authority; 
To  do  a  great  right,  do  a  little  wrong; 
And  curb  this  cruel  devil  of  his  will. 

Por.  It  must  not  be  ;  there  is  no  power  in  Venice 
Can  alter  a  decree  established  : 
'Twill  be  recorded  for  a  precedent; 
And  many  an  error,  by  the  same  example. 
Will  rush  into  the  state  :  it  cannot  be. 

Shy.  A  Daniel  come  to  judgment: — yea,  a  Da- 
niel ! — 

O  wise  young  judge,  how  do  I  honour  thee  ! 
Por.  I  pray  you,  let  me  look  upon  the  bond. 
Shy.  Here  'tis,  most  reverend  doctor,  here  it  is. 
Por.  Shylock,  there's  thrice  thy  money  olFer'd 
thee. 

Shy.  An  oath,  an  oath,  I  have  an  oath  in  heaven 
Shall  I  lay  perjury  upon  my  soul? 
No,  not  for  Venice. 

Por.  Why,  this  bond  is  forfeit; 

And  lawfully  by  this  the  Jevv  may  claim 
A  pound  of  flesh,  to  be  by  him  cut  ofl' 
Nearest  the  merchant's  heart: — Be  merciful; 
Take  thrice  thy  money;  bid  me  tear  the  bond. 

Shy.  When  it  is  paid  according  to  the  teoour.— 
It  doth  appear,  you  are  a  wortliy  judge ; 
You  know  the  law,  your  exposition 
Huth  been  most  sound  :  I  charge  you  by  the  law, 
Whereof  you  are  a  well-deserving  pillar. 
Proceed  to  judgment:  by  my  soul  I  swear, 
Tliere  is  no  power  in  the  tongue  of  man 
To  alter  me  :  I  stay  here  on  my  bond. 

Ant.  Most  heartily  1  do  beseech  the  court 
To  gi\e  the  judgment. 

Por.  Why  then,  thus  it  is. 

You  must  prepare  your  bosom  for  his  knife: 

Shy.  O  noble  judge  !   O  excellent  young  man  ' 

Por.  For  the  intent  and  purpose  of  the  law 
Hath  full  relation  to  the  };enalty, 
Which  here  appeareth  due  upon  the  bond. 

Shy.  'Tis  very  true:  O  wise  and  upright  judge  ! 
How  much  more  elder  art  thou  than  thy  looks  ! 

Por.  Therefore  lay  bare  your  bosom. 

Shy.  Ay,  his  breast* 

So  says  the  bond  ; — Doth  it  not,  noble  judge  ? — 
Nearest  his  heart,  those  are  the  very  words. 

Por.  It  is  80.  Are  there  balance  here,  to  weigh 
The  flesh? 

Shy.  I  have  them  ready.  [charge, 

Por.  Have  by  some  surgeon.  Shylock,  on  your 
To  stop  his  wounds,  lest  he  do  bleed  to  death. 

Shy.  Is  it  so  nominated  in  the  bond  ? 

Por.  It  is  not  so  express'd  ;  but  what  of  that? 
'Twere  good  you  do  so  much  for  charity. 

Shy.  I  cannot  find  it;  'tis  not  in  the  bond. 

Por.  Come,  merchant,  have  you  any  thing  to  say? 

Ant.  But  little  ;  I  am  arm'd,  and  well  prepar'd.— • 
Give  me  your  hand,  Bassanio;  i'are  you  well! 
Grieve  not,  that  I  am  fallen  to  this  for  you  ; 
For  herein  fortune  shews  herself  more  kind 
Than  is  her  custom  :  it  is  still  her  use. 
To  let  the  wretclied  man  outlive  his  vvealth. 
To  view  witli  iiollow  eye,  and  wrinkled  brow. 
An  age  of  poverty  ;  lioni  which  lingering  penance 
Of  such  a  misery'doth  she  cut  me  off. 
Comnjend  me  to  your  honourable  wife: 
Tell  her  tlie  process  of  Antonio's  end. 


Scene  1. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


163 


ay,  how  I  lov'd  yoa  ;  speak  me  fair  in  death ; 
And,  when  the  tale  is  told,  bid  her  be  judge. 
Whether  Bassanio  had  not  once  a  love. 
Repent  not  you,  that  you  shall  lose  your  friend. 
And  he  repents  not  that  he  pays  your  debt ; 
For,  if  the  Jew  do  cut  hut  deep  enough, 
J'll  pay  it  instantly  with  all  my  heart. 

Bass.  Antonio,  1  am  married  to  a  wife. 
Which  is  as  dear  to  me  as  life  itself; 
But  life  itself,  my  wife,  and  all  the  world. 
Are  not  with  me  esteem'd  above  thy  life  : 
I  would  lose  all,  ay,  sacrifice  them  all 
Here  to  this  devil,  to  deliver  you.  [that, 

Por.  Your  wife  would  give  you  little  thanks  for 
If  she  were  by,  to  hear  you  make  the  offer. 

Gra.  I  have  a  wife,  whom,  I  protest,  I  love  ; 
I  would  she  were  in  heaven,  so  she  could 
Entreat  some  power  to  change  this  currish  Jew. 

Ner.  'Tis  well  you  offer  it  behind  her  back; 
The  wish  would  make  else  an  unquiet  house. 

Shi/.  These  be  the  Christian  husbands :  I  have  a 
daughter; 
Would  any  of  the  stock  of  Barabbas 
Had  been  her  husband,  rather  than  a  Christian ! 

{Aside.) 

We  trifle  time  ;  I  pray  thee,  pursue  sentence. 
Por.  A  pound  of  that  same  merchant's  flesh  is  ■ 
thine ;  .  . 

The  court  awards  it,  and  the  law  doth  give  it.  | 
Shy.  Most  rightful  judge  !  [breast ;  ' 

Por.  An.d  you  must  cut  tiiis  flesh  from  off  his 
The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it. 

Shj/.  Most  learned  judge  I — A  sentence;  come, 
prepare. 

Por.  Tarry  a  little  ; — there  is  something  else. — 
This  bond  doth  give  thee  here  no  jot  of  blood; 
The  words  expressly  are,  a  pound  of  flesh  : 
Take  then  thy  bond,  take  thou  thy  pound  of  flesh ; 
But  in  the  cutting  it,  if  thou  dost  shed 
One  drop  of  Christian  blood,  thy  lands  and  goods 
Are,  by  the  laws  of  Venice,  confiscate 
Unto  the  state  of  Venice.  [j'ldge  ! 

Gra.  O  upright  judge  !  Mark,  Jew; — O  learned 

Shj,  Is  that  the  law  ? 

Por.  Thyself  shalt  see  the  act: 

For,  as  thou  urgest  justice,  be  assurd. 
Thou  shalt  have  justice,  more  than  thou  desir'st. 

Gra.  O  learned  judge  I — Mark,  Jew; — a  learned 
judge  ! 

Shy,  1  take  this  offer  then ; — pay  the  bond  thrice. 
And  let  the  Christian  go. 
Bass.  Here  is  the  money. 

Por.  Soft; 

The  Jew  shall  have  all  justice ; — soft ! — no  haste ; — 
He  sliall  have  nothing  but  the  penalty. 

Gra.  O  Jew!  an  upright  judge,  a  learned  judge! 

Por.  Therefore,  prepare  thee  to  cut  oft' the  flesh. 
Shed  thou  no  blood  ;  nor  cut  thou  less,  nor  more. 
But  just  a  pound  of  flesh:  if  thou  tak'st  more^ 
Or  less,  than  a  just  pound, — be  it  but  so  much 
As  makes  it  light,  or  heavy,  in  the  substance, 
Or  the  division  of  the  twentieth  part 
Of  one  poor  scruple  ;  nay,  if  the  scale  do  turn 
But  in  the  estimation  ol'  a  hair, — 
Thou  diest,  and  all  thy  goods  are  confiscate. 

Grra.  A  second  Daniel,  a  Daniel,  Jew! 
Now,  infidel,  I  have  thee  on  tlie  hip, 

Por.  Why  doth  the  Jew  pause?  tiike  thy  forfeiture. 

Shy.  Give  me  my  principal,  and  let  me  go. 

Bass.  I  have  it  ready  for  thee  ;  here  it  is. 

Por.  He  hath  refiis'd  it  iti  tlie  open  court ; 
He  sliall  have  meiely  justice,  and  his  bond. 

Ch'a.  A  Daniel,  still  say  I ;  a  second  Daniel ! — 
1  thank  thee,  Jew,  for  teaching  me  that  word. 

Shy.  Shall  1  not  have  barely  niy  principal? 

Por.  Thou  shalt  have  notiiing  but  the  forfeiture 
I'o  be  so  taken  at  thy  peril,  Jew. 

Shy.  Why  then  the  devil  give  him  good  of  it  I 
I'll  stay  no  longer  question. 

For,  Tarry,  Jew; 


The  law  hath  yet  another  hold  on  yoo. 
It  is  enacted  in  the  laws  of  Venice, — 
If  it  be  prov'd  against  an  alien, 
That  by  direct,  or  indirect,  attenix)ts. 
He  seek  the  life  of  any  citizen. 
The  party,  'gainst  the  which  he  doth  co&tn^« 
Shall  seize  on  half  his  goods:  the  other  haif 
Comes  to  the  privy  coffer  of  the  state ; 
And  the  offender's  life  lies  in  the  mercy 
Of  the  duke  only,  'gainst  all  other  voice. 
In  which  predicament,  I  say,  thou  stand'st 
For  it  appears  by  manifest  proceeding. 
That,  indirectly,  and  directly  too 
Thou  hast  contriv'd  against  the  very  life 
Of  the  defendant;  and  thou  hast  incurr'i 
The  danger  formerly  by  me  rehears'd. 
Down,  therefore,  and  beg  mercy  of  the  duke. 
Gra.  Beg,  that  thou  may'st  have  leave  to  hadg 
thyself: 

And  yet,  thy  wealth  being  forfeit  to  the  state. 
Thou  hast  not  left  the  value  of  a  cord ; 
Therefore,  thou  must  be  hang'd  at  the  state's  charge. 

Duke.  Tiiat  thou  shalt  see  the  difference  of  our 
I  pardon  thee  thy  life  before  thou  ask  it:  [spiriti 
For  half  thy  wealth,  it  is  Antonio's; 
The  other  half  comes  to  the  general  state. 
Which  humbleness  may  drive  unto  a  fine. 

Por.  Ay,  for  the  state  ;  not  for  Antonio. 

Shy.  Nay,  take  my  life  and  all,  pardon  not  that: 
You  take  my  house,  when  you  do  take  the  prop 
That  doth  sustain  my  house  ;  you  take  my  life. 
When  you  do  take  the  means  whereby  1  live. 

Por.  What  mercy  can  you  render  him,  Antonio? 

Gra.  A  halter  gratis  ;  nothing  else,  for  God's  sako 

Ant.  So  please  my  lord  the  duke,  and  all  the  court. 
To  quit  the  fine  for  one  half  of  his  good;! ; 
I  am  content,  so  he  will  let  me  have  , 
The  other  half  in  use, — to  render  it. 
Upon  his  death,  unto  the  gentleman 
That  lately  stole  his  daughter : 
Two  things  provided  more, — That,  for  this  favottT, 
He  presently  become  a  Christian  ; 
The  other,  that  he  do  record  a  gift. 
Here  in  the  court,  of  all  he  dies  possessed. 
Unto  his  son  Lorenzo,  and  his  daughter. 

Duke,  tie  shall  do  this;  or  else  I  do  recant 
The  pardon  that  I  late  pronounced  here.  faay? 

Por.  Art  thou  contented,  Jew  ?  what  dost  thoa 

Shy.  1  am  content. 

Por.  Clerk,  draw  a  deed  of  gift. 

Shy.  I  pray  you,  give  me  leave  to  go  from  hence : 
I  am  not  well ;  send  the  deed  after  me. 
And  1  will  sign  it. 

Duke.  Get  thee  gone,,  but  do  it. 

Gra.  In  christening  thou  shalt  have  two  god- 
fathers ; 

Had  I  been  judge,  thou  should'st  have  had  ten  more. 
To  bring  thee  to  the  gallows,  not  the  font. 

[Exit  Shyloch, 

Duke.  Sir,  I  entreat  you  home  with  me  to  dinner 

Por.  I  humbly  do  desire  your  grace  of  pardon 
I  must  away  this  night  toward  Padua, 
And  it  is  meet  I  presently  set  forth.  [not.— 

Duke.  I  am  sorry  that  your  leisure  serves  yo 
Antonio,  gratify  this  gentleman; 
For,  in  my  mind,  you  are  much  bound  to  him. 

[Exeunt  Duke,  Magnijicoes  and  train 

Bass.  Most  worthy  gentlemen,  I  and  my  friend 
Have  by  your  wisdom  been  this  day  acquitted 
Of  grievous  |  enalties  ;  in  lieu  whereof, 
Three  thousand  ducats,  due  unto  the  Jew, 
We  freely  cope  your  courteous  pains  withal. 

Ant.  And  stand  indebted,  over  and  above. 
In  love  and  service  to  you  evermore, 

Por.  He  is  well  paid,  that  is  well  satisfied; 
And  I,  delivering  you,  am  satisfied. 
And  therein  do  account  myself  well  paid; 
My  mind  was  never  yet  more  mercenary. 
I  pray  you,  know  me,  when  we  meet  again f 
I  ,  'jsk  yoa  well,  and  so  I  take  my  leave. 


1G4  MERCHANT 

Bass.  Dear  sii,  of  torce  I  must  attempt  you 
further; 

Take  some  rentembrance  of  us,  as  a  tribute, 
Not  as  a  fee  :  grant  me  two  things,  I  pray  you. 
Not  to  deny  me,  and  to  pardon  me. 

Par.  You  press  me  far,  and  therefore  I  will  yield- 
Give  me  your  gloves,  1  11  wear  ttieni  for  your  sake  ; 
And,  for  your  love,  I'll  take  this  ring  from  you: — 
Do  not  draw  back  your  hand;  I'll  take  no  more  j 
And  you  in  love  shall  not  deny  me  this. 

Bass.  This  ring,  good  sir, — alas,  it  is  a  trifle  ; 
I  will  not  shame  myself  to  give  you  this. 

Por.  I  will  have  nothing  else  but  only  this  ; 
And  now,  methinks,  I  have  a  mind  to  it.  [value. 

Bass.  There's  more  depends  on  this  than  on  the 
The  dearest  ring  in  Venice  will  1  gi\e  you, 
And  find  it  out  by  proclamation  ; 
Only  for  this,  1  pray  you  pardon  me. 

Por.  I  see,  sir,  you  are  liberal  in  offers ; 
Y^ou  taught  me  first  to  beg;  and  now,  methinks. 
Yon  teach  me  how  a  beggar  should  be  ansvver'd. 

Bass.  Good  sir,  this  ring  was  given  me  by  my  wife; 
And,  when  she  put  it  on,  she  made  me  vow, 
'i'hat  1  should  neither  sell,  nor  give,  nor  luse  it. 

Por.  Tliat  'souse  serves  many  men  to  save  their 
gifts. 

An  if  your  wife  be  not  a  mad  woman, 

And  know  how  well  I  have  deserv'd  this  ring, 

She  would  not  hold  out  enemy  for  ever. 

For  giving  it  to  nv.'.    Well,  peace  be  with  you  ! 

[Exeunt  Portia  and  Nerissa. 

Ant.  My  lord  Bassanio,  let  him  have  the  ring; 
Let  liis  deservings,  and  my  love  withal, 
Be  valued  'gainst  your  wife's  commandment. 

Bass.  Go,  Giatiano,  run  and  overtake  him. 
Give  him  the  ring  ;  and  bring  liim,  if  thou  can'st, 
Unto  Antonio's  house  : — away,  make  haste. 

[_Exit  Gratiano. 
Come,  you  and  I  will  thither  presently; 
And  in  the  morning  early  will  we  botU 
I'ly  toward  Belmont:  Come,  Antonio.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — The  Same.    A  Street. 
Enter  Portia  and  Nerissa. 
Por.  Inquire  the  Jew's  house  out,  give  him  this 
deed. 

And  let  him  sign  it;  we'll  away  to  night. 
And  be  a  day  before  our  husbands  houje  : 
This  deed  will  be  well  welcome  to  Lorenzo. 

Enter  Gratiano. 

Gra.  Fair  sir,  you  are  well  overtaken : 
My  lord  Bassanio,  upon  more  advice, 
Hath  sent  you  here  this  ring ;  and  doth  entreat 
Your  ctunpany  at  dinner. 

Por.  That  cannot  be: 

This  ring  I  do  accept  most  thankfully. 
And  so,  1  pray  you,  tell  him :  furthermore, 
I  pray  you  show  my  youth  old  Shy  lock's  house. 

Gra.  That  will  1  do. 

Ner.  Sir,  I  would  speak  with  you . — 

I'll  see  if  I  can  get  my  husband's  ring,  (To  Portia.) 
Which  1  did  make  him  swear  to  keep  for  ever. 

Por.  Thou  may'st,  1  warrant;   we  shall  have 
old  swearing, 
That  they  did  give  the  rings  away  to  men; 
But  we'll  outface  them,  and  outswear  them  too. 
Away,  make  haste;  thou  know'st  where  I  will  tarry 

Ner.  Come,  good  .sir,  will  you  show  me  to  thiv 
house  ?  [Exeunt 

ACT  V. 

ScB3fS  I,— Belmont.    Avenue  to  Portia's  House 
Enter  IjORENZo  awo?  Jrssica. 
Lor.  The  moon  shines  bright: — In  such  a  night 
as  this, 

Wlien  the  sweet  vnnd  did  gently  kiss  the  trees, 
And  they  did  make  no  noise  •  in  such  a  night, 
Troilus,  methinks,  mounted  tiie  Trojan  whIIs, 


OF  VENICE.  Act  Y 

And  sigh'd  his  soul  toward  the  Grecian  tenia. 
Where  Cressid  lay  that  night. 

Jes.  In  such  a  night. 

Did  Thisbe  fearfully  o'ertrip  the  dew; 
And  saw  the  lion'«  shadow  ere  himself. 
And  ran  dismay'd  away. 

Lor.  In  such  a  night. 

Stood  Dido  with  a  willow  in  her  hand 
Upon  the  wild  sea  banks,  and  wav'd  her  lov« 
To  come  again  to  Carthage. 

Jes.  In  such  a  night, 

Medea  gather  d  the  enchanted  herbs. 
That  did  renew  old  iEson. 

Lor.  In  such  a  night, 

Did  Jessica  steal  from  the  wealthy  Jew; 
And  with  an  unthrift  love  did  run  from  Venice, 
As  far  as  Belmont. 

Jes.  And  in  such  a  night. 

Did  young  Lorenzo  swear  he  lov'd  her  well; 
Stealing  her  soul  with  many  vows  of  faith. 
And  ne'er  a  true  one. 

Lor.  And  in  such  a  night 

Did  pretty  Jessica,  like  a  little  shrew. 
Slander  her  love,  and  he  forgave  it  her. 

Jes.  I  would  out-night  you,  did  nobody  come  : 
But,  hark,  I  hear  the  footing  of  a  man. 

Enter  Stephano. 
Lor.  Who  comes  so  fast  in  silence  of  the  night  ? 
Steph.  A  friend. 

Lor.  A  friend  ?  what  friend  ?  your  name,  I  praj 
you,  friend  ? 

Steph.  Stephano  is  my  name  ;  and  I  bring  word, 
My  mistress  will  before  the  break  of  day 
Be  here  at  Belmont:  she  doth  stray  about 
By  holy  crosses,  where  she  kneels  and  prays 
For  happy  wedlock  hours. 

Lor.  Who  comes  witli  he»\ 

Steph.  None,  but  a  holy  hermit,  and  her  maid- 
I  pray  you,  is  my  master  yet  returned  /  [him.— 

Lor.   He  is  not,  nor  we  have  not  aes^rd  froa,  ' 
But  go  we  in,  I  pray  thee,  Jessica, 
And  ceremoniously  let  us  prepare 
Some  welcome  for  the  mistress  o(  tL»e  aoase. 

Enter  Lausclwt. 
Laun.  Sola,  sola,  wo  ha,  ho,  sola,  sola ! 
Lor.  Who  calls  ? 

Laun.  Sola !  did  yo«  s^'e  ntaster  Lorenzo,  and 
mistress  Lorenzo?  sola,  &ola  ! 
Lor.  Leave  hollaing,  rean ;  herft. 
Laun.  Sola!  wheri-?  where? 
Lor.  Here. 

Laun.  Tell  him,  there's  a  post  come  from  my 
master,  with  h'u.  horn  full  of  good  news;  my  m  ster 
will  be  here  etc  morning.  [l^xit 

Lor.  Sweet  soul,  let's  in,  and  there  expect  Uit  ii 
coming. 

And  yet  no  matter: — Why  should  we  go  in  ? 
My  frjfe-nd  Stephano,  signify,  I  pray  you, 
Within  the  house,  your  mistress  is  at  hand  ; 
And  bring  your  music  forth  into  the  air. — 

[Exit  Siephan 

How  sweet  the  moon- light  sleeps  upon  this  bank  I 
Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears ;  soft  stillness,  and  the  night. 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 
Sit,  Jessica;  look,  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold ; 
There's  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thou  behold* 
But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings. 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-ey'd  cherubim  : 
Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls ; 
But,  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 
Doth  grossly  close  it  in,  we  cannot  hear  it  — 

Enter  Musicians. 
Come,  ho,  and  wake  Diana  with  a  hymn  ; 
With  sweetest  touches  |>ierce  your  mistrew*  CMT 
And  draw  her  home  with  music. 


Scene  1. 


MERCHANT 


OF  VENICE. 


ICS 


Jes.  I  ara  never  merry,  when  I  hear  sweet  mu- 
sic. {Music.) 
Lor.  The  reason  is,  your  spirits  are  attentive : 
For  do  but  note  a  wild  and  wanton  herd. 
Or  race  of  youthful  and  unhandled  colts, 
^'etching  mad  bounds,  bellowing,  and  neighing  loud. 
Which  is  the  hot  condition  of  their  blood  ; 
If  they  but  hear  perchance  a  trumpet  sound, 
j  Or  any  air  of  music  touch  their  ears. 
Yon  shall  perceive  theni  make  a  mutual  stand. 
Their  savage  eyes  turn'd  to  a  modest  gaze. 
By  the  sweet  power  of  music :  therefore,  the  poet 
Did  feign,  that  Orpheus  drew  trees,  stones,  and 
floods ; 

Since  nought  so  stockish,  hard  and  full  of  rage, 
But  music  for  the  time  doth  change  his  nature: 
The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 
Nor  is  not  mov'd  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  s;  oils ; 
Thi  motions  of  his  spirit  are  dull  as  night. 
And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus  : 
Let  no  such  man  be  trusted. — Mark  the  music. 
Enter  Portia  and  Nerissa,  at  a  distance. 

Par.  That  light,  we  see,  is  burning  in  my  hall. 
How  far  that  little  candle  throws  his  beams ! 
So  shines  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty  world. 

Ner.  When  the  moon  shone,  we  did  not  see  the 
candle. 

Por.  So  doth  the  greater  glory  dim  the  less : 
A  substitute  shines  brightly  as  a  king, 
Until  a  king  be  by;  and  then  his  state 
Empties  itself,  as  doth  an  inland  brook 
Into  the  main  of  waters.    Music  !  hark  ! 

Ner.  It  is  your  music,  madam,  of  the  house. 

Por.  Nothing  is  good,  I  see,  without  respect; 
Methinks,  it  sounds  much  sweeter  than  by  day. 

Ner.  Silence  bestows  that  virtue  on  it,  madam. 

Por.  The  crow  doth  sing  as  sweetly  as  the  lark. 
When  neither  is  attended  ;  and,  I  think. 
The  nightingale,  if  she  should  sing  by  day. 
When  every  goose  is  cackling,  would  be  thought 
No  better  a  musician  than  the  wren. 
How  many  things  by  season  season'd  are 
To  their  right  praise,  and  true  perfection ! — 
Peace,  hoa !  the  moon  sleeps  with  Endymion, 
And  v/ould  not  be  awak'd !    [Music  ceases., 

Lor.  ^  That  is  the  voice, 

Or  I  am  much  deceiv'd,  of  Portia.  [cuckoo, 

Pot.  He  knows  me,  as  the  blind  man  knows  the 
By  the  bad  voice. 

leor.  Dear  lady,  welcome  home. 

Por.  We  have  been  praying  for  our  husbands' 
welfare, 

Which  speed,  we  hope,  the  better  for  our  words. 
Are  they  return'd  ? 

Lor.  Madam,  they  are  not  yet ; 

But  there  is  come  a  messenger  before. 
To  signify  their  coming. 

Por.  Go  in,  Nerissa, 

Give  order  to  my  servants,  that  they  take 
No  note  at  all  of  our  being  absent  hence ; 
Nor  you,  Lorenzo; — Jessica,  nor  you. 

[A  tucket  sounds.) 

Lor.  Your  husband  is  at  hand,  I  hear  his  trumpet: 
VVe  are  no  tell-tales,  madam  ;  i'ear  you  not. 

Por.  Tliis  night,  methinks,  is  but  the  day-hghtsick. 
It  looks  a  little  paler ;  'tis  a  day. 
Such  as  the  day  is  when  the  sun  is  hid. 

Enter  Bassanio,  Antonio,  Grat:ano,  and  their 
Followers. 

Bass.  We  should  hold  day  with  the  Antipodes 
If  you  would  walk  in  absence  of  the  sun. 

Por.  Let  me  give  light,  but  let  me  not  be  light; 
For  a  light  wife  doth  make  a  heavy  husband. 
And  never  be  Bassanio  so  for  me ; 
lJut  God  sort  ail  I — You  are  welcome  home,  my 
lord.  [friend. — 

Bass.  \  thank  you,  madam  :  give  welcome  to  my 
This  is  the  saaia,  this  is  Antonio, 


To  whom  I  am  so  infinitely  bound.  [him; 

Por.  You  should  in  all  sense  be  much  bound  to 
For,  as  I  hear,  he  was  much  bound  for  you. 

Ant.  No  more  than  I  am  well  acquitted  of. 

Por.  Sir,  you  are  very  welcome  to  our  house : 
It  must  appear  in  other  ways  than  words. 
Therefore  1  scant  this  breathing  courtesy. 

[Qratiano  and  Nerissa  seem  to  talk  apart.) 

Gra.  By  yonder  moon,  I  swear,  you  do  me  wrong. 
In  faith,  I  gave  it  to  the  judge's  clerk  : 
Would  he  were  gelt  that  had  it,  for  my  part. 
Since  you  do  take  it,  love,  so  much  at  heart 

Por.  A  quarrel,  ho,  already?  what's  the  matter  ? 

Gra.  About  a  hoop  of  gold,  a  paltry  ring 
That  she  did  give  me  ;  whose  posy  was. 
For  all  the  world,  like  cutler's  p'>etry 
Upon  a  knife.  Love  me,  and  leave  me  not. 

Ner.  What  talk  you  of  the  posy,  or  the  value  ? 
You  swore  to  me  when  1  did  give  it  you, 
That  you  would  wear  it  till  your  hour  of  death ; 
And  that  it  should  lie  with  you  in  your  grave  : 
Though  not  for  me,  yet  for  your  vehement  oaths. 
You  should  have  been  respective,  and  have  kept  ii 
Gave  it  a  judge's  clerk  ! — but  well  I  know. 
The  clerk  will  ne'er  wear  hair  on  his  face,  that  had  it 

Gra.  He  will,  an  if  he  live  to  be  a  man 

Ner.  Ay,  if  a  woman  live  to  be  a  man. 

Gra.  Now,  by  this  hand,  1  gave  it  to  a  youth,-— 
A  kind  of  boy  ;  a  little  scrubbed  boy. 
No  higher  than  thyself,  the  judge's  clerk ; 
A  prating  boy,  that  begg'd  it  as  a  fee ; 
I  could  not  for  my  heart  deny  it  him.  [yon, 

Por.  You  were  to  blame,  I  must  be  plain  with 
To  part  so  slightly  with  your  wife's  first  gift; 
A  thing  stuck  on  with  oaths  upon  your  finger. 
And  riveted  so  with  faith  unto  your  flesh. 
I  gave  my  love  a  ring,  and  made  him  swear 
Never  to  part  with  it  ;  and  here  he  stands ; 
I  dare  be  sworn  for  him ,  he  would  not  leave  it. 
Nor  pluck  it  from  his  finger,  for  the  wealth 
That  the  world  masters.    Now,  in  faith,  Gratiano, 
Yoii  give  your  wife  too  unkind  a  cause  of  grief; 
An  'twere  to  me,  I  should  be  mad  at  it. 

Bass.  Why,  I  were  best  to  cut  my  left  hand  off, 
And  swear  I  lost  the  ring  defending  it.  [Aside.\ 

Gra.  My  lord  Bassanio  gave  his  ring  away 
Unto  the  judge  that  begg'd  it,  and,  indeed, 
Deserv'd  it  too;  and  then  the  boy,  his  clerk. 
That  took  some  pains  in  writing,  he  begg'd  mine  % 
And  neither  man,  nor  master,  would  take  aught 
But  the  two  rings. 

Por.  What  ring  gave  you,  my  lord  ? 

Not  that,  I  hope,  which  you  receiv'd  of  me. 

Bass.  If  I  could  add  a  lie  unto  a  fault, 
I  would  deny  it ;  but  you  see,  my  finger 
Hath  not  the  ring  upon  it ;  it  is  gone. 

Por.  Even  so  void  is  your  false  heart  of  trulk 
By  heaven,  I  will  ne'er  come  in  your  bed 
Until  I  see  the  ring. 

Ner.  Nor  I  in  yours. 

Till  I  again  see  mine. 

Bass.  Sweet  Portia, 

If  you  did  knovv  to  whom  I  gave  the  ring. 
If  you  did  know  for  whom  1  gave  the  ring. 
And  would  conceive  for  what  I  gave  the  ring. 
And  how  unwillingly  I  left  the  ring, 
When  naught  would  be  accepted  but  the  ring. 
You  would  abate  the  strength  of  your  disipleaftOl'®. 

Por:  If  you  had  known  the  virtue  of  the  ring. 
Or  half  her  worthiness  that  gave  the  ring. 
Or  your  own  honour  to  contain  the  ring, 
Yo  i  would  not  then  have  parted  with  the  rii^« 
What  man  is  there  so  much  unreasonable. 
If  you  had  pleas'd  to  have  defended  it 
With  any  terms  of  zeal,  wanted  the  modesty 
To  urge  the  thing  held  as  a  ceremony  ? 
Nerissa  teaches  me  what  to  believe  ; 
I'll  die  f  )r  t  but  some  woman  had  the  ring. 

Bass.  No,  by  mine  honour,  madam,  by  my  soul. 
No  vvomau  h-id  it,  but  a  civil  doctor. 


m  MERCHANT 

WiaSjfc  did  refase  three  thousand  ducats  of  me, 

And  begg'd  the  ring ;  the  which  I  did  deny  him. 

And  suffer  d  him  to  go  displeas'd  away ; 

Even  he  that  i\ad  held  up  the  very  life 

Of  my  dear  friend.  What  should  I  say,  sweet  lady? 

1  was  enforc'd  to  send  it  after  him  ; 

I  was  beset  with  shame  and  courtesy  ; 

My  honour  would  not  let  ingratitude 

So  much  besmear  it:  Pardon  me,  good  lady  ; 

For.  by  these  blessed  candles  of  the  night. 

Had  you  been  there,  I  think,  you  would  have  begg'd 

I'he  ring  of  me  to  give  the  worthy  doctor. 

Por.  Let  not  that  doctor  e'er  come  near  my  house : 
Since  he  hath  got  the  jewel  that  I  lov'd. 
And  that  which  you  did  swear  to  keep  for  me, 
r  will  become  as  liberal  as  you  ; 
ni  not  deny  him  any  thing  1  have, 
No,  not  my  body,  nor  my  husband's  bed  : 
Know  him  1  shall,  I  am  well  sure  of  it : 
Lie  not  a  night  from  home ;  watch  me  like  Argus  : 
If  you  do  not,  if  I  be  left  alone. 
Now,  by  mine  honour,  which  is  yet  miae  own, 
ni  have  that  doctor  for  my  bedfellow. 

Ner.  And  I  his  clerk ;  therefore  be  well  advis'd, 
How  you  do  leave  me  to  mine  own  protection. 

Gra.  Well,  do  you  so:  let  not  me  take  him  then  ; 
For,  if  I  do,  I'll  mar  the  young  clerk's  pen. 

Ant.  I  am  the  unhappy  subject  of  these  quarrels. 

Por.  Sir,  grieve  not  you;  you  are  welcome,  not- 
withstanding. 

Bass.  Portia,  forgive  me  this  enforced  wrong; 
And,  in  the  hearing  of  these  many  friends, 
I  swear  to  thee,  even  by  thine  own  fair  eyes. 
Wherein  I  see  myself,  

Pur.  Mark  you  but  that ! 

In  both  my  eyes  he  doubly  sees  himself: 
In  each  eye  wne  : — swear  by  your  double  self. 
And  there's  an  oath  of  credit. 

Bass.  Nay,  but  hear  me  : 

Pardon  this  fault,  and  by  my  soul  I  swear, 
J  never  more  will  break  an  oath  with  thee. 

A  nt.  I  once  did  lend  my  body  for  his  wealth  ; 
Which,  but  for  him  that  had  your  husband's  ring, 

(To  Portia.) 
Had  quite  miscarried  :  I  dare  be  bound  again. 
My  soul  upcn  the  forfeit,  that  your  lord 
Will  never  more  break  faith  advisedly. 

Por.  Then  you  shall  be  his  surety  :  give  him  this ; 
And  bid  him  keep  it  better  than  the  other. 

Ant.  Here,  lord  Bassanio,  swear  to  keep  this  ring. 

Bass.  By  heaven,  it  is  the  same  I  gave  tlie  doctor! 

P.V.  I  had  it  of  him  :  pardon  me,  Bassanio; 
For  by  this  ring  the  doctor  lay  with  mm. 


OF  VENICE.  Act  V, 

Ner.  And  pardon  mft,  my  gentle  Gratiano ; 
For  that  same  scrubbed  boy,  the  doctor's  clerkj 
In  lieu  of  this,  last  night  did  lie  with  me. 

Gra.  Why,  this  is  like  the  mending  of  highways 
In  summer,  where  the  ways  are  fair  enough: 
What!  are  we  cuckolds,  ere  we  have  deserv'd  it? 

Por.  Speak  not  so  grossly. — You  are  all  amaa'd  ■ 
Here  is  a  letter,  read  it  at  your  leisure  ; 
It  comes  from  Padua,  from  Bellario: 
There  you  shall  find,  that  Portia  was  the  doctor 
Nerissa  there,  her  clerk  :  Lorenzo  here 
Shall  witness,  I  set  forth  as  soon  as  you. 
And  but  even  now  return'd  ;  I  have  not  yet 
Enter'd  my  house. — Antonio,  you  are  welcome, 
And  I  have  better  news  in  store  for  you. 
Than  you  expect :  unseal  this  letter  soon  ; 
There  you  snail  find,  three  of  your  argosies 
Are  richly  come  to  harbour  suddenly  : 
You  shall  not  know  by  what  strange  accident 
I  chanced  on  this  letter. 

Ant.  I  am  dumb. 

Bass.  Were  you  the  doctor,  and  I  knew  you  not, 

Gra.  Were  you  the  clerk,  that  is  to  make  me 
cuckold  ? 

Ner.  Ay ;  but  the  clerk  that  never  means  to  do  it. 
Unless  he  live  until  he  be  a  man. 

Bass.  Sweet  doctor,  you  .shall  be  my  bedfellow ; 
When  I  am  absent,  then  lie  with  my  wife. 

Ant.  Sweet  lady,  you  have  given  me  life  aad 
living; 

For  here  I  read  for  certain,  that  my  ships 
Are  safely  come  to  road. 

Por.  How  now,  Lorenzo  " 

My  clerk  hath  some  good  comforts  too  for  you. 

Ner.  Ay,  and  I'll  give  them  him  without  a  fee.— 
There  do  I  give  to  you,  and  Jessica, 
From  the  rich  Jew,  a  special  deed  of  gift. 
After  his  death,  of  all  he  dies  possess'd  of. 

Lor.  Fair  ladies,  you  drop  manna  in  the  way 
Of  stars  ed  people. 

Por.  It  is  almost  morning. 

And  yet,  I  am  sure,  you  are  not  satisfied 
Of  these  events  at  full :  let  us  go  in  ; 
And  charge  us  there  upon  inter'ga tones. 
And  we  will  answer  all  things  faithfully. 

Gra.  Let  it  be  so  :  the  first  iuter'gatory 
That  my  Nerissa  shall  be  sworn  on,  is. 
Whether  till  the  next  night  she  had  rather  aifty  ; 
Or  go  to  bed  now,  being  two  hours  to  day : 
But  were  the  day  come,  I  should  wish  it  dark. 
That  I  were  couching  with  the  doctor's  clerk. 
Well,  while  I  live,  I'll  fear  no  other  thing 
So  sore,  as  keeping  .safe  Nerissa's  rin?.  [Exeuul 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT 


Of  this  play  the  fable  is  wild  and  pleasing.  I  know  not  how  the  adies  wiU  approve  tie  fari  ,(y  witl^  which  botk 
Rc^alind  and  Celia  give  away  ibeir  liearts.  To  Cel.a  much  may  be  forgiven,  for  the  heroism  of  htr  friendship  The 
Character  (5  Jaques  is  natural  «  id  well  preserved.  The  comic  dialogue  is  ver>  .p^ghllJ^  with  less  mixture  of  low 
Sfonery  tlian  in  some  other  pl.ys ;  a.Id  the  graver  part  is  elegant  and  han..omous  By  has  enmg  to  the  end  o! 
this  work  Shakspeare  sui.pressed  tV.e  dialogue  between  the  usurper  and  the  hermit,  and  lost  an  opportunity  «. 
exhibiting 'a  moral  lesson,  in  which  he  might  have  found  matter  worthy  of  his  highest  powers.  Johnson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


DUKE,  lirirtg  In  exile. 

FREDERICK,  Brother  to  the  Duke,  and  Usurper  of  his 
JJomitiions. 

AMIENS,   ♦    Lords  attending  upon  the  Duke  in  his 

JAQUES,    J  banishme7it. 

LE  BEAU,  a  Courtier  attending  upon  Frederick. 

CHARLES,  his  Wrestler. 

OLIVER,  J 

JAQUES,      >  Sons  of  Sir  Rowland  De  Bois. 
ORLANDO, S 

DENNIS,  }  -^^^^""^^  '^^  Oliver. 


TOUCHSTONE,  a  Clown. 

SIR  OLIVER  MAR-TEXT,  a  Viear. 

SYLVHJS.  }  Shepherds. 

WILLIAM,  a  Country  Fellow,  in  love  with  Audref. 

A  Person  representing  Hyme7i. 

ROSALIND,  Daughter  to  the  banished  Duke. 

CELIA,  Daughter  to  Frederick. 

PHEBE,  a  Shepherdess. 

AIT  RE\    o  Ci-vntrv  Wevrh. 

Loras  oe^onging    lo  u.e  two  Dukes;  Pages,  torestns 
and  other  Attendants. 


The  Scene  lies,  first,  near  Oliver's  House ;  afterwards,  partly  in  the  Usurper's  Court,  ana  pur-tl^ 

in  the  Forest  of  Arden. 


ACT  L 

Scene  I. — An  Orchard,  near  Oliver's  House. 
Enter  Orlando  and  Adam. 

Orl.  As  I  remember,  Adam,  it  was  upon  this  fa- 
shion bequeathed  me  :  By  will,  but  a  poor  thousand 
crowns;  awl,  as  thou  say'st,  charged  my  brother, 
on  his  blessing,  to  breed  me  well  :  and  there  begins 
my  sadness.  My  brother  Jaques  he  keeps  at  school, 
and  report  speaks  goldenly  of  his  profit  :  for  my 
part,  he  keeps  me  rustically  at  home,  or,  to  speak 
more  properly,  stays  me  here  at  home  unkept :  for 
call  you  that  keeping  for  a  gentleman  of  my  birth, 
that  dilfers  not  from  the  stalling  of  an  ox  ?  His 
horses  are  bred  better ;  for,  besides  that  they  are 
fair  with  their  feeding,  they  are  taught  their  manage, 
and  to  that  end  riders  dearly  hired  :  but  I,  his  bro- 
ther, gain  nothing  under  him  but  growth ;  for  the 
which  his  animals  on  his  dunghills  are  as  nmch  bound 
to  him  us  L  Besides  this  nothing,  that  he  so  plenti- 
fully gives  me,  the  something  that  nature  gave  me, 
his  countenance  seems  to  take  from  me  :  he  lets  me 
feed  with  his  hinds,  bars  me  the  place  of  a  brother, 
and,  as  much  as  in  him  lies,  mines  my  gentility  with 
my  education.  Tliis  it  is,  Adam,  that  grieves  me  : 
and  the  spirit  of  my  father,  which  I  think  is  within 
me,  begins  to  mutiny  against  this  servitude  :  1  will 
no  longer  endure  it,  though  yet  I  know  no  wise  re- 
medy how  to  avoid  it. 

Enter  Outer. 

Adam.  Yonder  comes  my  master,  your  brother, 

Orl.  Go  apart,  Adam,  and  thou  shalt  hear  how 
ke  will  shake  me  up. 

Oli.  Now,  sir !  what  make  you  here  ? 

Orl.  Nothing  :  I  am  not  taught  to  make  any  thing. 

Oli.  What  mar  you  then,  sir  ? 

Orl.  Marry,  sir,  I  am  helping  you  to  mar  that 
which  (jod  made,  a  poor  unworthy  brother  of  yours, 
with  idleness.  [awhile. 

Oli.  Marry,  sir,  be  better  employ'd,  and  be  naught 

Orl.  Shall  I  keep  your  hogs,  and  eat  husks  with 
them?  What  proditjal  portion  have  I  spent,  that 
■  I  should  come  to  such  penury  ? 

Oil.  Know  you  wiiere  you  are,  sir? 

Orl.  O,  sir,  very  well :  here  in  your  orchard. 

Oli.  Know  you  before  whom,  sir  ? 

Orl.  Ay,  belter  than  he  I  am  before  knows  me. 
I  know,  you  are  my  eldest  brother;  ard,  in  the  gen- 
tle condition  of  blood,  you  should  bo  ktiow  me. 
The  courtesy  of  nnfi^ns  allows  you  my  better,  in 
that  you  are  the  firstborn;  but  the  Slme  tradition 
takes  not  away  my  blood,  were  there  tv  Bnty  brothers 


betwixt  us  :  I  have  a.s  much  of  my  father  in  me,  aa 
you  :  albeit,  I  confess,  your  coming  before  me  is 
nearer  to  his  reverence. 
Oli.  What,  boy ! 

Orl.  Come,  come,  elder  brother,  you  are  too 
young  in  this. 

Oli.  Wilt  thou  lay  hands  on  me,  villr.in''' 
Orl.  I  am  no  villain :  I  am  the  youngest  inp  3^ 
sir  Rowland  de  Bois ;  he  was  my  father ;  and  h*? 
is  thrice  a  villain,  that  says  such  a  father  begot 
villains:  wert  thou  not  my  brother,  I  would  not  tnk*^ 
this  hand  from  thy  throat,  till  this  other  had  pulled 
>ut  thy  tongue  for  saying  so ;  thou  hast  railed  oa 
thyself. 

Adam.  Sweet  masters,  be  patient;  for  your  fa- 
ther's remembrance,  be  at  accord. 
Oli.  Let  me  go,  I  say. 

Orl.  I  will  not,  till  I  please  :  you  shall  hear  me 
My  father  charged  you  in  his  will  to  give  nte  good 
education :  you  have  trained  me  like  a  peasant, 
obscuring  and  hiding  from  me  all  gentleman-like 
qualities:  the  spirit  of  my  father  grows  stiong  in 
me,  and  I  will  no  longer  endure  it :  therefoK  allow 
me  such  exercises  as  may  become  a  geutleii.an,  c 
give  me  the  poor  allottery  my  father  left  ine  by 
testament ;  with  that  I  will  go  buy  my  fortunes. 

Oli.  And  what  wilt  thou  do?  beg,  when  that  is 
spent  ?  Well,  sir,  get  you  in  ;  I  will  not  long  be 
troubled  with  you  :  you  shall  have  some  part  of 
your  will  :  I  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Orl.  I  will  no  further  otfend  you  than  becomes 
me  for  my  good. 

Oli.  Get  you  wit^  him,  you  old  dog. 

Adam.  Is  old  dog  my  reward  ?  Most  true,  I  have 
lost  my  teeth  in  your  service. — God  be  with  my  old 
master !  he  would  not  have  spoke  such  a  word. 

[Exeunt  Orlando  and  Adam. 

Oli.  Is  it  even  so  ?  begin  you  to  grow  upon  me? 
I  will  physic  your  rankness,  and  yet  give  no  thou- 
sand crowns  neither.   Hola,  Dennis  i 
Enter  Dennis. 

Den.  Calls  your  worship  ? 

Oli.  Was  not  Charles,  the  duke's  wrestler,  ben 
to  speak  w  ith  me  ? 

Den.  So  please  you,  he  is  here  at  the  door,  and 
imoortunes  access  to  you. 

OH.  Call  him  iu.  [Exit  Dennis.]— 'Twill  bo  a 
good  way  ;  and  lo-morrow  the  wrestling  is. 
Enter  Charles. 

Cha.  Good  morrow  to  your  worship. 

Oli.  Good  monsieur  Charles! — what's  the  new 
news  at  the  new  court? 


168 


AS  YOU 


LIKE  IT 


Act  L 


Cha,  Therfi's  no  news  at  the  court,  sir,  but  the 
old  news  :  that  is,  the  old  diiiie  is  banished  by  his 

irounger  brother  the  new  duke  ;  and  three  or  four 
oving  lords  have  put  themselves  into  voluntary 
exile  with  him,  whose  lands  and  revenues  emicii 
the  new  duke;  therefore  he  gives  them  good  leave 
to  wander. 

OIL  Can  you  tell,  if  Rosalind,  the  duke's  daugh- 
ter, be  banish  ill  with  her  father? 

Cha  O,  no;  for  the  duke's  daughter,  her  cousin, 
lo  loves  her, — being  ever  from  their  cradles  bred 
together, — that  she  woidd  have  followed  her  exile, 
jr  have  died  to  stay  behind  her.  She  is  at  the  court, 
end  no  less  beloved  of  her  uncle  than  his  own 
d  iutrhter ;  and  never  two  ladies  loved  as  they  do. 
OIL  Where  will  the  old  duke  live?* 
Cha.  'J'hey  say,  he  is  already  in  the  forest  of  Ar- 
den,  and  a  maiiy  merry  men  with  him;  and  there 
they  live  like  the  old  Robin  Hood  of  England : 
they  say,  many  young  gentlemen  flock  to  hini  every 
day;  and  fleet  the  time  carelessly,  as  they  did  in 
tJie  golden  world.  [new  duke  ? 

OIL  What,  you  wrestle  to-morrow  before  the 
Cha.  Marry,  do  I,  sir;  and  I  came  to  acquaint 
fou  with  a  matter.  I  am  given,  sir,  secretly  to 
understand,  that  your  younger  brother,  Orlando, 
lath  a  disposition  to  come  in  disguis'd  against  me 
'o  try  a  fall :  to-morrow,  sir,  I  wrestle  for  my 
;redit;  and  he  that  escapes  me  without  some  broken 
I'mib,  shall  acquit  him  well.  Your  brother  is  but 
^oung,  and  tender;  and,  for  j^our  love,  I  would  be 
oath  to  foil  him,  as  I  must,  for  my  own  honour,  if 
oe  come  in  :  therelbre,  out  of  my  love  to  you,  I 
oatne  hither  to  acquaint  you  withal ;  that  either  you 
juight  stay  liiui  from  his  intendment,  or  brook  such 
lisgrace  well  as  he  shall  run  into;  in  that  it  is  a 
tiling  of  his  own  search,  and  altogether  against 
fliy  will. 

OIL  Charles,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  love  to  me, 
which  thou  slialt  And  I  will  most  kindly  requite.  I 
had  myself  notice  of  my  brother's  purpose  herein, 
and  have  by  underhand  means  laboured  to  dissuade 
him  from  it;  but  he  is  resolute.  Ill  tell  thee, 
Charles, — it  'is  the  stubbornest  young  lellow  of" 
France  ;  full  of  ambition,  an  envious  emulutor  of 
every  mans  good  parts,  a  secret  and  villainous  con- 
triver against  me  his  natural  brother;  therefore  use 
thy  discretion ;  1  had  as  lief  thou  didst  break  his 
neck  as  his  flnger  :  and  thou  wert  best  look  to't; 
for  if  thou  dost  him  any  slight  disgrace,  or  if  he  do 
not  mightily  grace  himself  on  thee,  he  will  practise 
against  thee  by  poison,  entrap  thee  by  some  trea- 
clierous  device,  and  never  leave  thee,  till  he  hath 
ta'en  tliy  life  by  some  indirect  means  or  other  :  tor, 
I  assure  thee,  and  almost  with  tears  I  speak,  it,  there 
is  not  one  so  young  and  so  villainous  this  day  living. 
I  speak  but  brotherly  of  him  ;  but  should  1  anato- 
mise him  to  thee  as  he  is,  I  must  blush  and  weep, 
and  thou  must  look  pale  and  wonder. 

Cha.  I  am  heartily  glad  I  came  hitherto  you  :  if 
he  come  to-morrow,  I'll  give  him  his  payment :  if 
ever  he  go  alone  again,  I'll  never  wrestle  for  prize 
more  :  and  so,  God  keep  your  worship  I  [Exit. 

OIL  Farewell,  good  Ctiarles. — Now  will  1  ^tir 
this  gamester:  I  hope,  I  shall  see  an  end  of  hiui ; 
for  my  soul,  yet  1  know  not  why,  hates  nothing 
more  than  he.  Yet  he's  gentle;  never  school'd,  and 
y<!t  learr.ed ;  fidl  ot  noble  device;  of  all  sorts  en 
chantingly  beloved;  and,  indeed,  so  much  in  the 
heart  of  the  world  and  especially  of  my  own  people, 
wrho  best  know  him,  that  I  am  altogether  misprised  : 
but  it  shall  not  be  so  long  ;  this  wrestler  sliall  clear 
r1)  :  nothing  remains,  but  that  I  kindle  the  boy 
Ihither,  which  now  I'll  go  about.  [Exit. 

ScRKE  II. — A  Lawn  hefa  e  the  Duke's  Palace. 

Enter  Rosaijnd  and  Celia. 

Cel,  I  pray  thee, Rosalind,  sweet  my  coz,  be  merry. 
Roa.  Dear  (/elia,  I  show  more  mirth  <han  1  am 


mistress  of;  and  vvould  you  yet  I  were  mpvrier? 
Unless  you  could  teach  me  to  forget  a  banished  fa- 
ther, you  must  not  learn  me  how  to  remember  any 
extraordinary  pleasure. 

CeL  Herein,  I  see,  thou  lovest  me  not  with  the 
full  weight  that  I  love  thee  :  if  my  uncle,  thy  ba 
nished  father,  had  banished  thy  uncle,  the  duke  my 
lather,  so  thou  hadst  been  still  with  me,  1  could 
have  taught  my  love  to  take  thy  father  for  mine ; 
so  would  st  thou,  if  the  truth  of  fhy  love  to  me  were 
so  righteously  temper'd  as  mine  is  to  thee. 

Ros.  VVell,  I  will  forget  the  condition  of  my 
estate,  to  rejoice  in  yours, 

CeL  You  know,  my  father  hath  no  child  but  I, 
nor  none  is  like  to  ha\  e  ;  and,  truly,  when  he  dieSj 
thou  shalt  be  his  heir  :  for  what  he  hath  taken  away 
from  thy  father  perforce,  I  will  render  thee  again  in 
affection  ;  by  mine  honour,  I  will ;  and  when  1  break 
that  oath,  let  me  turn  monster  :  therefore,  my  sweet 
Rose,  my  dear  Rose,  be  merry, 

Rus.  From  henceforth,  I  will,  coz,  and  devise 
sports  :  let  me  see  ;  What  think  you  of  falling  in 
love  ? 

CeL  Marry,  I  pr'ythee,  do,  to  make  sport  withal : 
but  love  no  man  in  good  earnest;  nor  no  further  in 
sport  neither,  than  with  safety  of  a  pure  blush  thou 
may'st  in  honour  come  off  again. 

llos.  What  shall  be  our  sport  then? 

CeL  Let  us  sit  and  mock  the  good  liousewife, 
Fortinie,  from  her  wheel,  that  her  gilts  may  hence- 
Ibrth  be  l^estowed  equally. 

Ros.  L""\vould  we  could  do  so;  for  her  benefits 
are  rniglitily  misplaced  :  and  the  bountiful  blind 
woman  doth  most  mistake  in  her  g;fts  to  women. 

CeL  "Tis  true  :  for  those  that  she  makes  fair,  she 
scarce  makes  honest ;  and  those  that  she  makes 
honest,  she  makes  very  ill-favour'dly. 

Ros.  Nay,  now  thou  goest  from  fortune's  oflice 
to  nature's  :  fortune  reigns  in  gifts  of  the  world, 
not  in  the  lineaments  of  nature. 

Enter  Touchstone 

CeL  No  ?  When  nature  hatli  made  a  fair  creature, 
may  she  not  by  fortune  fall  into  tiie  tire  I — Though 
nature  hath  given  us  wit  to  llout  at  Ibrtune,  hath  not 
fortune  sent  in  this  fool  to  cut  otf  the  argument  ? 

Ros.  Indeed,  there  is  fortune  too  hard  lor  nature; 
when  fortune  makes  natine's  natural  the  cutter  off 
of  nature's  wit. 

CeL  Peradventure,  this  is  not  fortune's  work  nei- 
ther, but  nature's;  who  perceiving  our  natural  wits 
too  didl  to  reason  of  such  godd.  sses,  hath  sent  this 
natural  for  our  whetstone  :  for  always  the  dulness 
of  the  fool  is  the  whetstone  of  his  wits.  —  How  now, 
wit  ?  whither  wander  you  ?  [  father 

Touch.  Mistress,  you  must  come  away  to  your 

CeL  VVere  you  made  the  messenger? 

Touch.  No,  by  mine  honour;  but  1  was  bid  to 
come  for  you. 

Ros.  VVhere  learned  you  that  oath,  fool  ? 

Touch.  Of  a  certain  knight,  that  swoie  by  his 
honour  they  were  good  pancakes,  and  swore  by  his 
honour  the  mustard  was  naught:  now,  I  II  stand  lo 
it,  tlie  pancakes  were  naught,  and  the  mustard  was 
good  :  and  yet  was  not  the  kaight  forsworn. 

CeL  How  prove  you  that,  in  the  great  heap  ol 
your  knowledge  ? 

Ros.  Ay,  marry;  now  unmuzzle  your  wisiloin. 

Touch.  Stand  you  both  lorth  now:  str  :)ke  youi 
chins,  and  swear  by  your  beards  that  I  am  a  knave. 

CeL  By  our  beards,  if  we  had  them,  thou  art. 

Touch.  By  my  knavery,  ii  I  had  it,  then  1  were 
but  if  you  swear  by  that  that  is  not,  you  are  not  for. 
sw'orn  :  no  more  was  this  knight,  swearing  by  his 
honour,  for  he  never  had  any  ;  or,  if  he  had,  he  had 
sworn  it  away,  before  ever  he  saw  those  pancake* 
or  that  mustard. 

CeL  Pr'ythee,  who  is't  that  thou  mean'st? 

Touch.  One  thatold  Frederick,  your  father,  love* 

CeL  My  father  s  love  is  enough  to  honour  h  m. 


Scene  2. 


AS  YOU 


LIKE  IT. 


169 


Enongb !  speak  no  more  ui  him ;  you'll  be  whipp'd 
for  taxation,  one  of  these  days. 

Touch.  The  more  pity,  that  fools  may  not  speak 
wisely,  what  wise  men  do  foolishly. 

Cel.  By  my  troth,  thou  say'st  true  :  for  since  the 
ittle  wit,  that  fools  have,  was  silenced,  the  little 
oolery,  that  wist'  men  have,  makes  a  great  show. 
Here  comes  M.  Le  Beau. 

Enter  Le  Beau. 

Ros.  With  his  njouth  full  of  news. 

Ce/.  Which  he  will  put  on  us,  as  pigeons  feed 
Iheir  yoimg. 

Ros.  Then  shall  we  be  news  cramm'd 

CV/.  All  the  better;  we  shall  be  the  more  mar- 
ketable. Bon  jour,  Monsieur  Le  Beau  :  What's 
the  news  ?  [sport. 

Le  Beau.  Fair  princess,  you  have  lost  much  good 

CV/,  Sport?  of  what  colour? 

Le  Beau.  What  colour,  madam?  How  shall  I 
answer  you  ? 

Ros:  As  wit  and  fortune  will. 

Touch.  Or  as  the  destinies  decree. 

Cel.  W  ell  said  ;  that  was  laid  on  with  a  trowel. 

Touch.  Nay,  if  1  keep  not  my  rank,  

Ros.  Thou  losest  thy  old  smell. 

Le  Beau.  \ o\\  amaze  me,  ladies  :  I  would  have 
lold  you  of  good  wrestling,  which  you  have  lost 
the  sight  of. 

Ros.  Y  et  tell  us  the  manner  of  the  wrestling. 

Le  Beau.  1  will  tell  yow  the  beginning,  and,  if  it 
please  your  ladyships,  you  may  see  the  end;  for 
the  best  is  yet  to  do ;  and  here,  where  you  are,  they 
nre  coming  to  perform  it. 

Cel.  VVell, — the  beginning,  that  is  dead  and 
buried. 

Le  Beau.  There  comes  an  old  tnan  and  his  three 
sons,  

Cel.  I  could  match  this  beginning  with  an  old  tale. 

Le  Beau.  Tliree  proper  young  men,  of  excellent 
g;rowth  and  presence  ;  

Ro^.  With  bills  on  tiieir  necks, — Be  it  known 
unto  lil  men  by  these  presents,  

Le  Btait.  The  eldest  of  the  three  wrestled  with 
Charles,  the  dukc-'s  wrestler;  which  Charles  in  a 
moment  threw  hiuj,  and  broke  three  of  his  ribs, 
that  there  is  little  hope  oi"  life  in  him  :  so  he  served 
the  second,  and  so  the  third  :  yonder  they  lie  ;  the 
pcusr  old  man,  their  father,  making  such  pitiful  dole 
over  tliem,  that  all  the  beholders  take  his  part  with 

Ros.  Alas.'  [weeping. 

Touch.  But  what  is  the  sport,  monsieur,  that 
the  ladies  have  lost  ? 

Le  Beau.  Why,  this  that  I  speak  of. 

Touch.  'Vhns  men  may  grow  wiser  every  day  !  it 
is  the  Hist  time  tfiat  ever  1  heard,  breaking  of  ribs 
was  sport  for  ladies. 

Cel.  Or  I,  1  promise  thee. 

Ros.  But  is  there  any  else  longs  to  see  this  broken 
music  in  his  sides  ?  is  there  yet  another  dotes  upon 
rib-breaking  ? — Shall  we  see  this  wrestling,  cousin  ? 

Le  Beau.  You  must,  if  you  stay  here  :  for  here 
is  the  [jldce  appointed  for  the  wrestling,  and  they 
are  ready  to  perform  it. 

Cel.  Yonder,  sure,  they  are  coming :  let  us 
now  stay  and  see  it. 

Flourish.  Enter  Duke  FREDERfCK,  Lords,  Or- 
lando, Charles,  and  Attendants. 

Duke  F.  Come  on ;  since  the  youth  will  not  be 
entreated,  his  own  peril  on  his  forwardness. 

Ros.  Is  yonder  the  man? 

Le  Beau.  Even  he,  madam.  [cessfully. 

Cel.  Alas,  he  is  too  young  :  yet  he  looks  suc- 

Duke  F  How  now,  daughter,  and  cousin  ?  are 
you  crept  hitiier  to  see  the  wrestling? 

lios.  Ay,  my  liege  :  so  please  you  give  us  leave. 

Duki:  F.  Yoa  will  take  little  delight  in  it,  I  can 
tell  you,  there  is  such  odds  in  the  men  :  in  pity  of 
Ihe  challenger's  youth,  I  would  fain  dissuade  him. 


but  he  will  not  be  entreated  :  Speak  to  him,  ladies 
see  if  you  can  move  him. 

Cel.  Call  him  hither,  good  Monsieur  Le  Beaa. 

Duke  F.  Do  so;  I'll  not  be  by.    [Duke  goi$ 

apart.) 

Le  Beau.  Monsieur  the  challenger,  the  princesses 
call  for  you. 

Orl.  1  attend  them,  with  all  respect  and  Inty. 

Ros.  Young  man,  have  you  challenged  Charlei 
the  wrestler? 

Orl.  No,  fair  pnncess ;  he  is  the  general  chal- 
lenger :  I  come  but  in,  as  others  do,  to  try  with 
him  the  strength  of  my  youth. 

Cel.  Young  gentleman,  your  spirits  are  too  bold 
for  your  years  :  you  have  seen  cruel  proof  of  this 
man's  strength  :  if  you  saw  yourself  with  your  eyes, 
or  knew  yourself  with  your  judgment,  the  fear  of 
your  adventure  wpuld  counsel  you  to  a  more  equal 
enterprise.  We  pray  you,  for  your  own  sake, 
to  embrace  your  own  safety,  and  give  over  this 
attempt. 

Ros.  Do,  young  sir;  your  reputation  shall  not 
therefore  be  misprised  :  we  will  make  it  our  suit  to 
the  duke,  that  the  wrestling  might  not  go  forward, 

Orl.  I  beseech  you,  punish  me  not  with  your  hard 
thoughts  :  wherein  I  confess  me  much  guilty,  to 
deny  so  fair  and  excellent  ladies  any  thing.  But  let 
your  fair  eyes,  and  gentle  wishes,  go  with  me  to 
my  trial :  wherein  if  1  be  foiled,  there  is  but  one 
shamed,  that  was  never  gracious;  il' killed,  but  one 
dead,  that  is  willing  to  be  so  :  I  shall  do  my  friends 
no  wrong,  for  I  have  none  to  lament  me  :  the  world 
no  injury,  for  in  it  I  have  nothing;  only  in  the 
world  I  fill  up  a  place,  which  may  be  better  sup- 
plied when  1  have  made  it  empty, 

Ros.  The  little  strength  that  I  have,  I  would  it 
were  with  you. 

Cel.  And  mine,  to  eke  out  her's.  [in  you . 

Ros.  Fare  you  well.   Pray  heaven,  I  be  deceived 

Cel.  Your  heart's  desires  be  with  you, 

Cha.  Come,  where  is  this  young  gallant,  that  ia 
so  desirous  to  lie  with  his  mother  earth  ? 

Orl.  Ready,  sir ;  but  his  will  hath  in  it  a.  mow 
moiiest  working. 

Duke  F.  You  shall  try  but  one  fall. 

Cha.  No,  I  warrant  your  grace ;  you  shall  no\ 
entreat  him  to  a  second,  that  have  so  mightily  per 
suaded  him  from  a  first. 

Orl.  You  mean  to  mock  me  after;  you  should 
not  have  mocked  me  before  :  but  come  your  ways. 

Ros.  Now,  Hercules  be  thy  speed,  young  man  ! 

tel.  I  would  I  were  invisible,  to  catch  the  strong 
fellow  by  the  leg.    {Charles  and  Orlando  wrestle^ 

Ros.  O  excellent  young  man! 

Cel.  If  I  had  a  thunderbolt  in  nn'ne  eye,  I  can 
tell  who  should  down,  {Charles  is  thrown.  Shout.) 

Duke  F.  No  more,  no  more. 

Orl.  Yes,  I  beseech  your  grace  ;  I  am  not  yel 
well  breathed. 

Duke  F.  How  dost  thou,  Charles  ? 

Le  Beau.  He  cannot  speak,  my  lord. 

Duke  F.  Bear  him  away.  {Charles  is  borne  &3ii. 
What  is  thy  name,  young  man  ? 

Orl.  Orlando,  my  liege ;  the  youngest  son  of  sir 
Rowland  de  Bois.  [man  else 

Duke  F.  I  would  thou  hadst  been  son  to  some 
The  world  esteem'd  thy  father  honourable, 
Bu+  I  did  find  him  still  mine  enemy  : 
Tnou  shouldst  have  better  pleas'd  me  with  this  deed, 
Hadst  thou  descended  from  another  house. 
But  fare  thee  well ;  thou  art  a  gallant  youth ; 
I  would,  thou  hadst  told  me  of  another  father. 

[Exeunt  Duke  Fred,  train,  and  Le  Beau. 

Cel.  Were  I  my  father,  coz,  would  I  do  this  ? 

Orl.  I  am  more  proud  to  be  sir  Rowland's  son, 
His  youngest  son; — and  would  not  change  that 
To  be  adopted  heir  to  Frederick.  [calling 

Ros.  My  father  lov'd  sir  Rowland  as  his  soul. 
And  all  the  world  was  of  my  I'atlier'i^  mind  : 
Had  I  before  known  this  young  m;*    nis  solv. 


170 


AS  YOU 


LIKE  IT. 


Act  I 


I  should  have  given  hhn  tears  unto  entreaties 
Ere  he  should  thus  have  ventur'd. 

Cel.  Gentle  cousin. 

Let  us  go  thank  him,  and  encourage  him  : 
My  father's  rough  and  envious  disposition 
Sticks  me  at  heart. — Sir,  you  have  well  deserv'd  : 
If  you  do  keep  your  promises  in  love. 
But  justly,  as  you  have  exceeded  promise, 
Your  mistress  shall  be  happy. 

Roi.  Gentleman, 

{Giving  him  a  chain  from  her  neck.) 
Wear  this  for  me ;  one  out  of  suits  with  fortune  ; 
I'hat  could  give  more,  but  that  her  hand  lacks 
Shall  we  go,  coz?  [means. — 

Cel.  Ay  : — Fare  you  well,  fair  gentleman. 

Orl.  Can  I  not  say,  I  thank  you  ?  My  better  parts 
Are  all  thrown  down-,  and  that,  which  here  stands  up. 
Is  but  a  quintain,  a  mere  lifehss  block. 

Ros.  He  calls  us  back  :  my  pride  fell  with  my 
fortunes  : 

I'll  ask  him  what  he  would  : — Did  you  call,  sir? — 
Sir,  you  have  wrestled  well,  and  overthrown 
Iklore  than  your  enemies. 

Cel.  Will  you  go,  coz  ? 

Ros.  Have  with  you  : — Fare  your  well. 

[Exeunt  Rosalind  and  Celia. 
Orl.  What  passion  hangs  these  weights  upon  my 
tongue  ? 

I  cannot  speak  to  her,  yet  she  urg'd  conference. 

Re-enter  Le  Beau. 
O  poor  Orlando  I  thou  art  overthrown  : 
Or  Cliarles,  or  something  weaker,  masters  thee. 

Le  Beau.  Good  sir,  I  do  in  friendship  counsel  you 
To  leave  this  place  :  Albeit  you  have  deserv'd 
High  commendation,  true  applause,  and  love; 
Yet  such  is  now  the  duke's  condition, 
That  he  misconstrues  all  that  you  have  done. 
The  duke  is  humorous;  what  he  is,  indeed, 
IVIore  suits  you  to  conceive,  than  me  to  speak  of. 

Orl  1  thank  you,  sir :  and,  pray  you,  tell  uie  this ; 
Which  of  the  two  was  daughter  of  the  duke. 
That  here  was  at  the  wrestlmg? 

Le  Beau.  Neither  his  daughter,  if  we  judge  by 
manners ; 

But  yet,  indeed,  the  shorter  is  his  daughter  : 
The  other  is  daughter  to  the  banish'd  duke, 
4.nd  here  detain'd  by  her  usurping  uncle. 
To  keep  his  daughter  company;  whose  loves 
Are  dearer  than  the  natural  bond  of  sisters. 
But  I  can  tell  you,  that  of  late  this  duke 
Haih  ta'en  displeasure  'gainst  his  gentle  niece ; 
Grounded  upon  no  other  argument. 
But  that  the  people  praise  her  for  her  virtues, 
And  pity  her  for  her  good  father's  sake  ; 
And,  on  my  life,  his  malice  'gainst  the  lady 
Will  suddenly  break  forth.-— Sir,  fare  you  well ! 
Hereafter,  in  a  better  world  than  this, 
Tshall  desire  more  love  and  knowledge  of  you. 
Orl.  I  rest  much  bounden  to  you  :  fare  you  well ! 

[Exit  Le  Beau. 
Thus  must  I  from  the  smoke  into  the  smother; 
From  tyrant  duke,  unto  a  tyrant  brother  : — 
But  heavenly  Rosalind  I  [Exit. 

Scene  III. — A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Celia  and  Rosalind. 

Cel.  Why,  cousin ;  why,  Rosalind ; — Cupid  have 
Biercy  ! — Not  a  word  ? 

Ros.  Not  one  to  throw  at  a  dog. 

Cel.  No,  thy  words  are  too  precious  to  be  cast 
away  upon  curs,  throw  some  of  them  at  me  ;  come, 
lame  me  with  reasons. 

Ros.  Then  there  were  two  cousins  laid  up ;  when 
'the  one  should  be  lamed  with  reasons,  and  tne  other 
'flaad  without  any. 

Cel.  But  is  all  this  for  your  father? 

Ros.  Ko,  some  of  it  for  my  child's  father :  O,  how 
fall  of  briexs  is  this  working-day  world ! 

C«l,  They  are  but  burs,  cousin,  thrown  upon  thee 


in  holyday  foolery;  if  we  walk  not  in  the  trodden 

paths,  our  very  petticoats  will  catch  them. 

Ros.  I  could  shake  them  Cii  my  coat;  these  b»r«i 
are  in  my  heart. 

Cel.  Hem  them  away.  [hira. 

Ros.  I  would  try ;  ii  I  could  cry  hem,  and  have 

Cel.  Come,  come,  wrestle  with  thy  aflections 

Ros.  O,  they  take  the  part  of  a  better  wrestler 
than  myself. 

Cel.  O,  a  good  wish  upon  you  !  you  will  try  in 
time,  in  despite  of  a  fall. — But,  turning  these  jests 
out  of  service,  let  us  talk  in  good  earnest :  Is  it 
possible,  on  such  a  sudden,  you  should  ftill  into  so 
strong  a  liking  with  old  Sir  Rowland's  youngest  son? 

Ros.  The  duke  my  father  lov'd  his  father  dearly. 

Cel.  Doth  it  therefore  ensue,  that  you  should  love 
his  son  dearly  ?  By  this  kind  of  chase,  I  should 
hate  \\\n\,  for  my  father  hated  his  father  dearly  ;  yet 
I  hate  not  Orlando. 

Ros.  No,  'faith  ;  hate  hira  not,  for  my  sake. 

Cel.  Why  should  I  not?  doth  he  not  deserve  well  ? 

Ros.  Let  me  love  him  for  that ;  and  do  you  love 
him,  because  I  do: — Look,  here  comes  the  duke. 

Cel.  With  his  eyes  full  (tf  anger. 

Enter  Duhe  Frederick,  ivith  Lords. 

Duke  F.  Mistress,  despatch  you  with  your  safest 
And  get  you  from  our  court.  [haste, 

Ros.  Me,  uncle  ? 

Dtike  F.  You,  cousm  • 

Within  these  ten  days  if  that  thou  be'st  found 
So  near  our  public  court  as  twenty  miles. 
Thou  diest  for  it. 

Ros.  I  do  beseech  your  grace, 

Let  me  the  knowledge  of  my  fault  bear  with  me  ; 
If  with  myself  I  hold  intelligence. 
Or  have  acquaintance  with  mine  own  desires ; 
If  that  I  do  not  dream,  or  be  not  frantic, 
(As  I  do  trust  I  am  not,)  then,  dear  uncle. 
Never,  so  much  as  in  a  thought  unborn. 
Did  I  offend  your  highness. 

Duke  F.  Thus  do  all  traitors ; 

If  their  purgation  did  consist  in  words. 
They  are  as  innocent  as  grace  itself : — 
Let  it  suffice  thee,  tliat  I  trust  thee  not. 

Ros.  Yet  your  mistrust  cannot  make  me  a  traitor : 
Tell  me  whereon  the  likelihood  depends. 

Duke  F.  Thou  art  thy  father's  daughter,  there'i 
enough. 

Ros.  So  was  I,  when  your  highness  took  hia 
dukedom ; 

So  was  I,  when  your  highness  banish'd  him : 
Treason  is  not  inherited,  my  lord  ; 
Or,  if  we  did  derive  it  from  our  friends. 
What's  that  to  me  ?  my  father  was  no  traitor : 
Then,  good  my  liege,  mistake  me  not  so  much. 
To  think  my  poverty  is  treacherous. 

Cel.  Dear  sovereign,  hear  me  speak. 

Duke  F.  Ay,  Celia  ;  we  stay'd  her  for  your  sake 
Else  had  she  with  her  father  rang'd  along. 

Cel.  I  did  not  then  entreat  to  have  her  stay. 
It  was  your  pleasure,  and  your  own  remorse ; 
I  was  too  young  that  time  to  value  her, 
But  now  I  know  her :  if  she  be  a  traitor. 
Why  so  am  I ;  we  still  have  slept  together, 
Rose  at  an  instant,  learn'd,  play'd,  eat  together; 
And  wheresoe'er  we  went,  like  Juno's  swans, 
Still  we  went  coupled,  and  inseparable. 

Duke  F.  She  is  too  subtle  for  thee  ;  and  hei 
Her  very  silence,  and  her  patience,  [smoothnoM 
Speak  to  the  people,  and  they  pity  her. 
Thou  art  a  fool :  she  robs  th  ee  of  thy  name ; 
And  thou  wilt  show  more  Wight,  and  seem  moni 
virtuous, 

When  she  is  gone  :  then  opr  n  not  thy  lips ; 

Firm  and  irre»'0cable  is  my  doom 

Which  I  have  pass'd  upon  her ;  she  is  banish'd. 

Cel.  Pronounce  that  sentence  then  on  me,  ra^ 
I  cannot  live  out  of  her  company.  [liege 

Duke  F.  You  are  a  fool : — You,  niece,  provide 
yourself ; 


Act  II.    Scene  2.  i        AS  YOU 

If  you  out-stay  the  time,  upon  inJne  honour, 
And  in  the  greatness  of  my  word,  you  die. 

[Exeunt  Duke  Frederic  and  Lords. 

Cel.  O  my  poor  Rosalind  !  whither  wilt  thou  go  ? 
Wilt  thou  change  fathers  ?  I  will  give  thee  mine. 
Xcharge  thee,  be  not  thou  more  griev'd  than  1  am. 

Ros.  I  have  more  cause. 

Cel.  Thou  hast  not,  cousin  ; 

Pr'ythee,  be  cheerful :  know'st  thou  not,  the  duke 
Hath  banish'd  me,  his  daughter  ? 

Ros.  That  he  hath  not. 

Cel.  No?  hath  not?  Rosalind  lacks  then  the  love 
Which  teacheth  thee,  that  thou  and  I  am  one  : 
Shall  we  be  sunder'd  ?  shall  we  part,  sweet  girl  ? 
No ;  let  my  father  seek  another  heir. 
Therefore  devise  with  me,  how  we  may  fly. 
Whither  to  go,  and  what  to  bear  with  us : 
And  do  not  seek  to  take  your  change  upon  you. 
To  bear  your  griefs  yourself,  and  leave  me  out ; 
For,  by  this  heaven,  now  at  our  sorrows  pale, 
Sav  what  thou  canst,  I'll  go  along  with  thee. 

Ros.  Why,  whither  shall  we  go  ? 

Cel.  To  seek  my  uncle. 

Ros.  Alas,  what  danger  will  it  be  to  us, 
Maids  as  we  are,  to  travel  forth  so  far  ? 
Beauty  provoketh  thieves  sooner  than  gold. 

Cel.  I'll  put  myself  in  poor  and  mean  attire. 
And  with  a  kind  of  umber  smirch  my  face  ; 
The  like  do  you  ;  so  shall  we  pass  along. 
And  never  stir  assailants. 

Ros,  Were  it  not  better. 

Because  that  I  am  more  than  common  tall. 
That  I  did  suit  me  all  points  like  a  man  ? 
A  gallant  cui  tie  ax  upon  my  thigh, 
A  boar-spear  in  my  hand  ;  and  (in  my  heart 
Lie  there  what  hidden  woman's  fear  there  will) 
We'll  have  a  swashing  and  a  martial  outside  ; 
As  many  other  mannish  cowards  have, 
That  do  outface  it  with  their  semblances. 

Cel.  What  shall  I  call  thee,  when  thou  art  a  man  ? 

Ros.  ril  have  no  worse  a  name  than  Jove's  own 
page. 

And  therefore  look  you  call  me  Ganymede. 
But  what  will  you  be  call'd  ? 

Cel.  Something  that  hath  a  reference  to  my  state  ; 
No  longer  Celia,  but  Aliena. 

Ros.  But,  cousin,  what  if  we  assay'd  to  steal 
The  clownish  fool  out  of  your  father's  court? 
Would  he  not  be  a  comfort  to  our  travel  ? 

Cel.  He'll  go  along  o'er  the  wide  world  with  me  ; 
Leave  me  alone  to  woo  him  :  Let's  away. 
And  get  our  jewels  and  our  wealth  together; 
Devise  the  fittest  time,  and  safest  way 
To  hide  us  from  pursuit,  that  will  be  made 
After  my  flight :  Now  go  we  in  content. 
To  liberty,  and  not  to  banishment.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  n. 

Scene  I. — The  forest  of  Arden. 
Enter  Duke  Senior,  Amiens,  and  other  Lords, 
in  the  dress  of  Foresters. 
Duke  S.  Now,  my  co-mates,  and  brothers  in 
exile. 

Hath  not  old  custom  made  this  life  more  sweet 

Than  that  of  painted  pomp?    Are  not  these  woods 

More  free  from  peril  than  the  envious  court  ? 

Here  feel  we  but  the  penalty  of  Adam, 

I'he  season's  difference  ;  as,  the  icy  fang, 

And  churlish  chiding  of  the  winter's  wind  ; 

Which,  when  it  bites  and  blows  upon  my  body. 

Even  till  1  shrink  with  cold,  I  smile,  and  say, — 

This  is  no  flattery  :  these  are  coimsellors. 

That  feelingly  persuade  me  what  1  am. 

Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity  ; 

Which,  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous. 

Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head  ; 

And  this  our  life,  exempt  from  public  haunt, 

Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 

SenuoQS  in  stones,  and  good  iu  every  thing. 


LIKE  IT.  171 

Ami.  I  would  not  change  it  :  Happy  is  you 

grace. 

That  can  translate  the  stubbornness  of  fortaoe 
Into  so  quiet  and  so  sweet  a  style. 

Duke  S.  Come,  shall  we  go  and  kill  us  veuiaon* 
And  yet  it  irks  me,  the  poor  dappled  fools, — 
Being  native  burghers  of  this  desert  city, — 
Should,  in  their  own  confines,  with  forked  heads 
Have  their  round  haunches  gor d. 

1  Lord.  Indeed,  my  lor«J 

The  melancholy  Jaques  grieves  at  that; 
And,  in  that  kind,  swears  you  do  more  usurp 
Than  doth  your  brother,  that  hath  banish'd  you. 
To-day,  my  lord  of  Amiens,  and  myself^ 
Did  steal  behind  him,  as  he  lay  along 
Under  an  oak,  whose  antique  root  peeps  out 
Upon  the  brook,  that  brawls  along  this  wood : 
To  the  which  place  a  poor  sequester'd  stag,  / 
That  from  the  hunter's  aim  had  ta'en  a  hurt,  ' 
Did  come  to  languish  ;  and,  indeed,  my  lord. 
The  wretched  animal  heav'd  I'orth  such  groans. 
That  their  discharge  did  stretch  his  leathern  coat 
Almost  to  bursting  ;  and  the  big  round  tears 
Cours'd  one  another  down  his  innocent  nose 
In  piteous  chase  :  and  thus  the  hairy  fool. 
Much  marked  of  the  melancholy  Jaques, 
Stood  on  the  extremest  verge  of  the  swift  brook, 
Augmenting  it  with  tears. 

Duke  S.  But  what  said  Jaques  i 

Did  he  not  moralize  this  spectacle  ? 

1  Lord.  O,  yes,  into  a  thousand  siniilies. 
First,  for  his  weeping  in  the  needless  stream  : 
Poor  deer,  quotii  he,  thou  mak'st  a  testament 
As  worldlings  do,  giving  thy  sum  of  more 

To  that  which  had  too  much  :  Then,  being  aloce^ 
Left  and  abandon'd  of  his  velvet  friends; 
'Tis  right,  quoth  he;  thus  misery  doth  part 
The  flux  of  company :  Anon,  a  careless  herd, 
F'ull  of  the  pasture,  jumps  along  by  him, 
And  never  stays  to  greet  him  ;  Ay,  quoth  Jaques, 
Siveep  on.  you  fat  and  greasy  citizens  ; 
'Tis  just  the  fashion:  Wherefore  do  you  Icoh 
Upon  that  poor  and  broken  bankrupt  there 't 
Thus  most  invectively  he  pierceth  through 
The  body  of  the  country,  city,  court. 
Yea,  and  of  this  our  life  :  swearing,  that  we 
Are  mere  usurpers,  tyrants,  and  what's  worse. 
To  fright  the  aninials,  and  to  kill  them  up, 
In  their  assign'd  and  native  dwelling  place. 
Duke  S.  And  did  you  leave  him  in  this  contein 
plation  ?  [menting 

2  Lord.  We  did,  my  lord,  \yeeping,  and  conu 
Upon  the  sobbing  deer 

Duke  S.  Show  me  the  place 

I  love  to  cope  him  in  these  sullen  fits. 
For  then  he's  full  of  matter. 

2  Lord.  I'll  bring  you  to  him  straight.  [Exeunt 

Scene  II. — A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Duke  Frederick,  Lords,  and  Attendants 
Duke  F.  Can  it  be  possible,  that  no  man  saw  them 
It  cannot  be  :  some  villains  of  my  court 
Are  of  consent  and  sufferance  in  this. 

1  Lord.  I  cannot  hear  of  any  that  did  see  her. 
The  ladies,  her  attendants  of  her  chanber, 
Saw  her  a-bed  ;  and,  in  the  morning  early. 
They  found  the  bed  untreasur'd  of  their  mistress 

2  Lord.  My  lord,  the  roynish  clown,  at  whom  M 

oft 

Your  grace  was  wont  to  laugh,  is  also  missing. 
Hesperia,  the  princess'  gentlewoman. 
Confesses,  that  she  secretly  o'erheard 
Your  daughter  and  her  cousin  much  commend 
The  parts  and  graces  of  the  wrestler. 
That  did  but  lately  foil  the  sinewy  Charles; 
And  she  believes,  wherever  they  are  gone. 
That  youth  is  surely  in  their  cornijany. 

Duke  F.  Send  to  his  brother :  fetch  th 
If  he  be  absent,  bring  his  brother  to  me, 
I'll  make  him  find  him    do  this  suddenly » 


AS  YOU 


LIKE  IT. 


Act  It 


And  let  noJ  search  and  inquisition  quail 

To  bring  again  these  foolish  runaways.  [Exeuni, 

Scene  III. — Before  Oliver's  House 
Enter  Orlando  and  Adam,  meeting. 

Orl.  Who's  there?  [master, 

Adam.  What!  nny  young  master?  O,  my  gentle 
O,  my  sweet  master,  O,  you  memory 
Of  old  Sir  Rowland  !  why,  what  make  you  here  ? 
Why  are  yon  virtuous     Why  do  people  love  you? 
And  wherefore  are  yoi/  gentle,  strong,  and  valiant  ? 
Why  would  you  be  so  fond  to  overcome 
The  bony  priser  of  the  humorous  duke  ? 
Vour  praise  is  come  too  swiftly  home  before  you. 
Know  you  not,  master,  to  some  kind  of  men 
Their  graces  serve  them  but  as  enemies  ? 
No  more  do  yours  ;  your  virtues,  gentle  master, 
Are  sanctified  and  holy  traitors  to  you. 
O,  what  a  world  is  this,  when  what  is  comely 
Envenoms  him  that  bears  it  I 

Orl.  Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 

Adam.  O,  unhappy  youth, 

Come  not  within  these  doors  ;  within  this  roof 
The  enemy  of  all  your  graces  lives  : 
Vour  brother — (no,  no  brother :  yet  the  son — 
Vet  not  the  son  ; — I  will  not  call  him  son — 
Of  hira  I  was  about  to  call  his  father,) — 
Hath  heard  your  praises  ;  and  this  night  he  means 
To  burn  the  lodging  where  you  use  to  lie. 
And  you  within  it :  if  he  fail  of  that. 
He  will  have  other  means  to  cut  you  off  : 
I  overheard  him,  and  his  practices. 
This  is  no  place,  this  house  is  but  a  butchery  ; 
Abhor  it,  fear  it,  do  not  enter  it.  [me  go  ? 

Orl.  Why,  whither,  Adam,  wouldst  thou  have 

Adam  No  matter  whither,  so  you  come  not  here. 

Orl.  Wliat,  wouldst  thou  have  me  go  and  beg  ray 
food  ? 

Or,  with  a  base  and  boisterous  sword,  enforce 
A  thievish  living  on  the  common  road  ? 
This  I  must  do,  or  know  not  what  to  do  : 
Vet  this  I  will  not  do,  do  how  I  can  ; 
f  rather  will  subject  me  to  the  nmlice 
Of  a  diverted  blood,  and  bloody  brother. 

Adam.  But  do  not  so:  I  have  five  hundred  crowns, 
The  thrifty  hire  I  saved  under  your  father, 
Which  I  did  store,  to  be  my  foster  nurse, 
When  service  should  in  my  old  limbs  lie  lame. 
And  unregarded  age  in  corners  throwti ; 
Take  that :  and  He,  that  doth  the  ravens  feed, 
Vea,  providently  caters  for  the  sparrow. 
Be  comfort  to  my  age  !  Here  is  the  gold  ; 
All  this  I  give  you  :  Let  me  be  your  servant; 
Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty  : 
For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood; 
Nor  did  not  with  unbashfiil  forehead  woo 
The  means  of  weakness  and  debility  : 
Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter. 
Frosty,  but  kindly:  let  me  go  with  you  : 
I'll  do  the  service  of  a  younger  man 
In  all  your  business  and  necessities. 

Orl.  O  good  old  man  ;  how  well  in  thee  appears 
The  constant  service  of  the  antique  world, 
When  service  sweat  for  duty,  not  for  meed  ! 
Thou  art  not  for  the  fashion  of  the ^e  tinies. 
Where  none  will  sweat,  but  for  promotion ; 
A  ad  having  that,  do  choke  their  service  up 
Eve;i  with  the  having :  it  is  not  so  with  thee. 
But,  poor  old  man,  thou  prun'st  a  rotten  tree, 
That  cannot  so  much  as  a  blossom  vield, 
tn  lieu  of  ^1  thy  pains  and  husbandry  : 
But  come  thy  ways,  we'll  go  along  together; 
And  ere  we  have  thy  youtliful  wages  spent. 
We'll  light  upon  some  settled  low  content. 

Adam.  Master,  go  on ;  and  I  will  follow  thee, 
To  the  last  gasp,  with  truth  and  loyalty.— 
From  seventeen  years  till  now,  almost  fourscore, 
Here  lived  I,  but  now  live  here  no  more. 
At  seventeen  years  many  their  fortunes  seek  ; 


But  at  fourscore,  it  is  too  late  a  week: 
Yet  fortune  cannot  recompense  me  better. 
Than  to  die  well,  and  not  my  master's  debtor. 

{ExeunU 
Scene     .—The  forest  of  Arden. 
E?tfer  Rosalind  in  boys  clothes,  Cflu,  drest  lik* 
a  Shepherdess,  and  Touchstone. 
Ros.  O  Jupiter  !  how  weary  are  my  spirits  ! 
Touch.  I  care  not  for  my  spirits,  if  my  legs  were 
not  weary. 

Ros.  1  could  find  in  my  heart  to  disgrace  my 
man's  apparel,  and  to  cry  like  a  woman  :  but  I  must 
comfort  the  weaker  vessel,  as  doublet  and  hose 
ougfit  to  show  itself  courageous  to  petticoat;  there- 
fore, courage,  good  Aliena. 

Cel.  I  pray  you,  bear  with  me  ;  I  cannot  go  no 
further. 

Touch.  For  my  part,  I  had  rather  bear  with  you, 
than  bear  you :  yet  I  should  bear  no  cross,  if  1  did 
bear  you ;  for,  I  think,  you  have  no  money  in  your 
purse. 

Ros.  Well,  this  is  the  forest  of  Arden. 

Touch.  Ay,  now  am  I  in  Arden  :  the  more  fool 
I;  when  I  was  at  home,  I  was  in  a  better  place; 
but  travellers  must  be  content. 

Ros.  Ay,  be  so,  good  Touchstone  : — Look  you, 
who  comes  here ;  a  young  man,  and  an  old,  in  so- 
lemn talk. 

Enter  CoRiN  and  SiLVius. 

Cor.  That  is  the  way  to  make  her  scorn  you  still, 

Sd.  O  Corin,  that  thou  knew'st  how  I  do  love  her. 

Cor.  I  partly  guess  ;  for  I  have  lov'd  ere  now. 

Sil.  No,  Corin,  being  old,  thou  canst  not  guess; 
Though  in  thy  youth  thou  wast  as  true  a  lover 
As  ever  sigh'd  upon  a  midniglit  pillow: 
But,  if  thy  love  were  ever  like  to  mine, 
(As  sure  J  think  did  never  man  love  so,) 
How  many  actions  most  ridiculous 
Hast  thou  been  drawn  to  by  thy  fantasy? 

Cor.  Into  a  thousand,  that  1  have  forgotten. 

Sil.  O,  thou  didst  then  ne'er  love  so  heartily  : 
If  thou  remember'st  not  the  slightest  folly 
That  ever  love  did  make  thee  run  into. 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd  : 
Or,  if  thou  hast  not  sat  as  I  do  now. 
Wearying  thy  hearer  in  thy  mistress'  praise. 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd  :  ^ 
Or,  if  thou  hast  not  broke  from  company. 
Abruptly,  as  my  passion  now  makes  me. 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd  ;  O  Phebe,  Phebe,  Phebe  ! 

[Exit  Silvius. 

Ros.   Alas,   poor  shepherd !   searching  of  th;^ 
wound, 

I  have  by  hard  adventure  found  mine  own. 

Touch.  And  1  mine  :  I  remember,  when  I  was  in 
lo»  e,  I  broke  my  sword  upon  a  stone,  and  bid  him 
take  that  for  coming  a-night  to  Jane  Smile  :  and  I  re 
member  the  kissing  of  her  batlet,  and  then  the  cow'd 
dugs  that  her  pretty  chopp'd  hands  had  milk"d  :  and 
I  remember  the  wooing  of  a  peascod  instead  of  her; 
from  whom  I  took  "two  cods,  and,  gi"^''^:?  ^^^^  them 
again,  said  with  weeping  tears.  Wear  these  for  my 
sake.  We.  that  are  true  lovers,  run  n)to  strange 
capers;  but  as  all  is  mortal  in  nature,  so  is  all  nature 
in  love  mortal  in  folly. 

Ros.  Thou  speak'st  wiser,  than  thou  art  'ware  o£ 

Touch.  Nay,  1  shall  ne'er  be  'ware  of  mine  owa 
wit,  till  I  break  my  shins  against  it. 

Ros.  Jove  !  Jove  !  this  shepherd's  passion 
Is  much  upon  my  fashion. 

Touch.  And  mine  ;  but  it  grows  something  stale 
with  me. 

Cel.  I  pray  you,  one  of  you  question  yond'  man, 
If  he  for  gold  will  give  us  any  food; 
I  faint  almost  to  death. 

Touch.  Holloa  :  you,  clown  ! 

Ros.  Peace,  fool ;  he's  not  thy  kinsman 

Cor.  Who  calls  ? 


Scene  7.  AS  YOU 

*    Touch.  Your  betters,  sir. 

Cor.  Else  are  they  very  wretched. 

Ro8.  Peace,  1  say: — 

Good  f  van  (o  yoH,  friend. 

Cor.  And  to  yow,  gentle  sir,  and  to  you  all. 

Ros.  I  pr'ythee,  shepherd,  if  that  love,  or  gold. 
Can  in  this  desert  place  buy  entertainment, 
Bring,  ns  where  we  may  rest  ourselves,  and  feed  : 
Here's  a  young  maid  with  travel  much  oppress'd. 
And  faints  for  succour. 

Cor.  Fair  sir,  T  pity  her, 

A  nd  wish  for  her  sake,  more  than  for  mine  own, 
My  fortunes  were  more  able  to  relieve  her  : 
But  I  am  shepherd  to  another  man. 
And  do  not  sheer  the  fleeces  tlmt  I  graze ; 
My  master  is  of  churlish  disposition, 
And  little  recks  to  find  the  way  to  heaven 
By  doing  deeds  of  hospitality  : 
Besides  his  cote,  his  tiocks,  and  bounds  of  feed. 
Are  now  on  sale,  and  at  our  sheepcote  now, 
By  reason  of  his  absence,  there  is  nothing 
That  you  will  feed  on  ;  but  what  is,  come  see. 
And  in  my  voice  most  welcome  shall  you  be. 

Ros.  What  is  he  that  shall  buy  his  flock  and  pas- 
ture? [erewhile, 

Cor.  That  young  swain,  that  you  saw  here  but 
That  little  cares  for  buying  any  thing. 

Ros.  1  pi  ay  thee,  if  it  stand  with  honesty. 
Buy  thou  the  cottage,  pasture,  and  the  flock, 
And  thou  shalt  have  to  pay  for  it  of  us.  [place, 

Cel.  And  we  will  mend  thy  wages  :  I  like  this 
And  willingly  could  waste  my  time  in  it. 

Cor.  Assuredly,  the  thing  is  to  be  sold : 
Go  with  me;  if  you  like,  upon  report, 
The  soil,  the  profit,  and  this  kind  of  life, 
I  will  your  very  faithful  feeder  be, 
4nd  buy  it  with  your  gold  right  suddenly.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — The  same. 

Enter  Amiens,  Jaques,  and  others. 

SONG. 

Ami.    Under  the  greenivood  tree^ 
JVko  loves  to  lie  ivith  me. 
And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  birds  throat, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither; 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy. 
But  tvinter  and  rough  weather. 

Jaq.  More,  more,  I  pr'ythee,  more.  [Jaqnes. 
Ami.  It  will  make  you  melancholy,  monsieur 
Jaq.  I  thank  it.    More,  1  pr'ythee,  more.    I  can 

suck  melancholy  out  of  a  song,  as  a  weasel  sucks 

eggs:  More,  I  pr'ythee,  more.  [please  you. 

And.  My  voice  is  ragged  •  I  know,  I  cannot 
Jaq.  I  do  not  desire  you  to  please  me,  I  do  desire 

you  to  sing  :  Come,  more  5  another  stanza  ;  Call  you 

them  stanzas  ? 

Ami.  What  you  will,  monsieur  Jaques. 

Jaq.  Nay,  I  care  not  for  their  names ;  they  owe 

me  nothing  :  Will  you  sing  ?  [self. 
Ami.  More  at  your  request,  than  to  please  my- 
Jaq.  Well  then,  if  ever  I  thank  any  man,  I'll 
bauk  you  :  but  that  they  call  compliment,  is  like 

the  encounter  of  two  dog  apes ;  and  when  a  man 

thanks  me  heartily,  methiuks,  I  have  given  him  a 

penny,  and  he  renders  me  the  beggarly  thanks. 

Come,  sing;   and  you  that  will  not,  hold  your 

tongues. 

Ami,  Well,  I'll  end  the  song.— Sirs,  cover  the 
while  ;  the  duke  will  drink  under  this  tree  :— 'he  hath 
been  all  this  day  to  look  you. 

Jaq.  And  i  liave  been  all  this  day  to  avoid  him. 
He  is  too  disputable  for  my  company  :  I  think  of  as 
many  matters  as  he  ;  but  I  give  heaven  thanks,  and 
make  lio  boast  of  them.    Come,  warble,  come. 


LIKE  IT.  173 
SONG 

Who  doth  ambition  shun,  (All  together  here.) 

And  loves  to  live  i  the  sun, 
Seeking  the  food  he  eat  s. 
And  pleased  ivith  what  he  gets. 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither} 
Here  shall  he  see  ' 
No  enemy. 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Jaq.  I'll  give  you  a  verse  to  this  note,  that  I  mauSo 
yesterday  in  despite  of  my  invention. 
Ami.  And  I'll  sing  it. 
Jaq.  Thus  i-t  goes  : 

If  it  do  come  to  pass, 

That  any  man  turn  ass. 

Leaving  his  wealth  and  ease 

A  stubborn  tvill  to  please, 
Ducddme,  ducdame,  ducdame 

Here  shall  he  see, 

Ch'oss  fools  as  he. 
An  if  he  will  come  to  Ami. 

A7ni.  What's  that  ducddme? 

Jaq.  'Tis  a  Greek  invocation,  to  call  fools  into  a 
circle.  I'll  go  sleep  if  I  can ;  if  I  cannot,  I'll  rail 
against  all  the  first-born  of  E^ypt. 

Atni.  And  I'll  go  seek  the  duke  ;  his  banquet  is 
pre  par 'd.  [Exeunt  severally. 

Scene  VI. — The  same. 

Enter  Orlando  and  Adam. 

Adam.  Dear  master,  I  can  go  no  further  :  O,  I  die 
for  food !  Here  lie  I  down,  and  measure  out  my 
grave.    Farewell,  kind  master. 

Orl.  W^hy,  how  now,  Adam!  no  greater  heart  in 
thee?  Live  a  little  ;  comfort  a  litlle ;  cheer  thyself 
a  little  :  if  this  uncouth  forest  yield  any  thing  savage 
I  will  either  be  food  for  it,  or  bring  it  for  food  to 
thee.  Thy  conceit  is  nearer  death  than  thy  powers. 
For  my  sake,  be  comfortable;  hold  death  awhile  at 
the  armsVnd  :  I  will  here  be  with  thee  presently; 
and  if  I  bring  thee  not  something  to  eat,  I'll  give 
thee  leave  to  die  :  but  if  thou  diest  before  1  come, 
thou  art  a  mocker  of  my  labour.  Well  said!  thou 
look'st  cheerily  :  and  I'll  be  with  thee  quickly. — Yet 
thou  liest  in  the  bleak  air :  Come,  I  will  bear  thee 
to  some  shelter;  and  thou  shall  not  Hie  for  lack  of  a 
dinner,  if  there  live  any  thing  in  this  desert.  Cheerly, 
good  Adam  !  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VII. —  The  same.    A  table  set  out. 
Enter  Duke  Senior,  Amiens,  Lords,  and  others. 

Duke  S.  I  think  he  be  transform'd  into  a  beast  j 
For  I  can  no  where  find  him  like  a  man. 

1  Lord.  My  lord,  he  is  but  even  now  gone  hence  ; 
Here  was  he  merry,  hearing  of  a  song. 

Duke  S.  If  he,' compact  of  jars,  grow  musical, 
We  shall  have  shortly  discord  in  the  spheres : — Qo, 
seek  him  ;  tell  him,  I  would  speak  with  him. 

Enter  Jaques. 
1  Lord.  He  saves  my  labour  by  his  own  ap'jroach, 
Duke  S.  Why,  how  now,  monsieur!  what  a  liili» 
is  this, 

That  your  poor  friends  must  woo  your  company  ? 
What!  you  look  merrily. 

Jaq.  A  fool,  a  fool !  1  met  a  fool  i'  the  forest 

A  motley  fool ; — a  miserable  world  ! — 
As  I  do  live  by  food,  I  met  a  fool ; 
VVho  laid  him  down  and  bask'd  him  in  the  sun, 
And  raii'd  on  lady  Fortune  in  gocd  terms. 
In  good  set  terms, — and  yet  a  mo  Jey  fooi. 
Good  morrotv,  fool,  quoth  I :  Nc  .sir,  quoth  he, 
Call  me  not  fool,  till  heaven  hath  sent  tnej'vrtum 
And  then  he  drew  a  dial  from  his  poke; 
And  looking  on  it  with  lack-lustre  eye,  1 
Says,  very  wisely,  It  is  ten  o'clock  : 
Thus  may  we  see,  qtiotli  he,  hoiv  the  world  wags  , 
'Tis  but  an  hour  ac  o.  since  it  was  nine  ; 


174 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  IL 


And  aft<ir  an  h  mr  more,  'twill  be  eleven  ; 
And  so,  from  hour  to  hour,  we  ripe  and  ripe. 
And  then,  fr(r~i  hour  to  hour,  we  rot  and  rot. 
And  thereby  angs  a  tale.    When  I  did  hear 
The  motley  fojl  thus  mural  on  the  time, 
My  lungs  began  to  crow  like  chanticleer, 
That  fools  should  be  so  deep-contemplative; 
And  I  did  laugh,  sans  intermission, 
An  hour  by  his  dial. — O  noble  fool ! 
A  worthy  fool !  Motley's  the  only  wear. 

Duke  S.  What  fool  is  this  ?  [tier; 

Jaq.  O  worthy  fool  ! — One,  that  hath  been  a  cour- 
And  says,  if  ladies  be  but  young  and  fair, 
They  have  the  gift  to  know  it:  and  in  his  brain, — 
Which  is  as  dry  as  the  remainder  biscuit 
After  a  voyage, — he  hath  strange  places  cramra'd 
With  observation,  the  which  he  vents 
In  mangled  forms  : — O,  that  I  were  a  fool ! 
I  am  ambitious  for  a  motley  coat. 

Duke  S.  Thou  shalt  have  one. 

Jaq.  It  is  my  only  suit ; 

Provided,  that  yon  weed  your  better  judgments 
Of  all  opinion  that  grows  rank  in  them, 
That  I  am  wise.    I  must  have  liberty 
Withal,  as  large  a  charter  as  the  wind. 
To  blow  on  whom  I  please;  for  so  fools  have; 
And  they,  that  are  most  galled  with  my  folly. 
They  most  must  laugh  :  And  why,  sir,  must  they  so? 
The  why  is  plain  as  way  to  parish  church  : 
He,  that  a  fool  doth  very  wisely  hit, 
Doth  very  foolishly,  although  he  smart. 
Not  to  seem  senseless  of  the  bob  :  if  not, 
The  wise  man's  folly  is  anatomiz'd 
Even  by  the  squand'ring  glances  of  the  fool. 
lnv»  st  me  in  my  motley ;  give  me  leave 
To  jpeak  my  nn'nd,  and  1  will  through  and  through 
C'f  Jnse  the  foul  body  of  the  infected  world, 
]f  ihey  will  patiently  receive  my  tnedicine. 

Puke  S,  Fy  on  thee !  I  can  tell  what  thou  wouldst 
do. 

Jaq.  What,  for  a  counter,  would  I  do,  but  good  ? 

Duke  S.  Most  mischievous  foul  sin,  in  chiding  sin: 
For  thou  tliyself  hast  been  a  libertine. 
As  sensual  as  the  brutish  sting  itself; 
And  all  the  embossed  sores,  and  headed  e\'i1s, 
That  thou  with  license  of  free  foot  hast  canglit, 
Would'st  thou  disgorge  into  the  general  world. 

Jaq.  Why,  who  cries  out  on  pride, 
That  can  therein  tax  any  private  party  ? 
Doth  it  not  flow  as  hugely  as  the  sea, 
Till  that  the  very  very  means  do  ebb? 
What  woman  in  the  city  do  I  name. 
When  that  1  say.  The  city-woman  bears 
The  cost  oi' princes  on  unworthy  shoulders? 
Who  can  come  in,  and  say,  that  I  mean  her. 
When  such  a  one  as  she,  such  is  her  neighbour  ? 
Or  what  is  he  of  basest  function. 
That  says,  his  bravery  is  not  on  my  cosi, 

S^'hinking  that  I  mean  him,)  but  therein  suits 
is  folly  to  the  mettle  of  my  speech? 
There  then ;  How,  what  then  ?  Let  me  see  wherein 
My  tongue  hath  wrong'd  him  :  if  it  do  hini  right. 
Then  he  hath  wrong'd  himself ;  if  he  be  free, 
Why  then,  my  taxing  like  a  wild-goose  flies, 
Uoclaim'd  of  any  man. — But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Orlando,  with  his  sword  drawn. 
Orl.  Forbear,  and  eat  no  more. 
Jaq.  VVhy,  I  have  eat  none  yet. 

Orl.  Nor  shalt  not,  till  necessity  be  serv'd. 
Jaq.  Of  what  kind  should  this  cock  come  of? 
Duke  S.  Art  thou  thus  bolden'd,  man,  by  thy 
distress ; 

Ortfse  a  rude  despiser  of  good  manners. 
That  in  civility  thou  seem'st  so  empty  ? 

Orl.  You  toiich'd  my  vein  at  first;  th*^  thorny  point 
Of  bare  distress  hath  ta'en  froiit  me  the  show 
Of  smooth  civility  :  yet  am  1  inland  brec'. 
And  know  some  nurture  :   Hut  forbear,  I  saf^ 
He  dies,  that  touches  any  of  'his  fruit. 


Till  I  and  ray  affairs  are  answered. 

Jaq.  An  you  will  not  be  answered  with  reason, 
I  must  die.  [shall  force, 

Duke  S.  What  would  you  have  ?  your  gentlenew 
More  than  your  force  move  us  to  gentleness. 

Orl.  I  almost  die  for  food,  and  let  me  have  it 

Duke  S.  Sit  down  and  feed,  and  welcome  to  OJI 
table.  [you: 

Orl.  Speak  you  so  gently?  Pardon  me,  I  juaf 
I  thought  that  all  things  had  been  savage  here  ; 
And  therefore  put  I  on  the  countenance 
Of  stern  commandment :  but  whate'er  you  are. 
That  in  this  desert  inaccessible, 
Under  the  shade  of  melancholy  boughs. 
Lose  and  neglect  the  creeping  hours  of  time ; 
If  ever  you  have  look'd  on  better  days; 
If  ever  been,  where  bells  have  knoll'd  to  church; 
If  ever  sat  at  any  good  man's  feast; 
If  ever  from  your  eye-lids  wiped  a  tear, 
And  know  what 'tis  to  pity,  and  be  pitied; 
Let  gentleness  my  strong  enforcement  be  : 
In  the  which  hope,  I  blush,  and  hide  my  sword. 

Duke  S.  True  is  it,  that  we  have  seen  better  days; 
And  have  witli  holy  bell  been  knoll'd  to  church  ; 
And  sat  at  good  men's  feasts;  and  wip'd  o\n  eyes 
Of  drops,  that  sacred  pity  hath  engender'd : 
And  therefore  sit  you  down  in  gentleness, 
And  take  upon  command  what  help  we  have, 
That  to  your  wanting  may  be  ministred. 

Orl.  Then,  but  forbear  your  food  a  little  while. 
Whiles,  like  a  doe,  I  go  to  find  my  fawn, 
And  give  it  food.    There  is  an  old  poor  man. 
Who  after  me  hath  many  a  weary  step 
Limp'd  in  pure  love;  till  he  he  first  suffic'd, — 
Oppress'd  with  two  weak  evils,  age  and  hunger,w— 
I  will  not  touch  a  bit. 

Duke  S.  Go  find  him  out, 

And  we  will  nothing  waste,  till  you  return. 

Orl.  I  thank  ye;  and  be  bless'd  for  yourgoo4 
comfort !  \^£xit 

Duke  S.  'Vhon  seest,  we  are  not  all  alone  unhappy 
This  wide  and  universal  theatre 
Presents  more  woeful  pageants  than  the  scene 
Wherein  we  play  in. 

Jaq.  All  the  world's  a  stage. 

And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players: 
They  have  their  exits,  and  their  entrances; 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts. 
His  acts  being  seven  ages.    At  first,  the  infant. 
Mewling  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arms  ; 
And  then,  the  whining  school-boy,  with  his  satchel, 
And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 
Unwillingly  to  school;  and  then,  the  lover; 
Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woeful  ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress'  eye-brow  :  then,  a  soldier. 
Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard. 
Jealous  in  honour,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel. 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputation 

Even  in  the  cannon's  month*^  and  then,  the  justice; 
In  fair  round  belly,  with  good  capon  lin'd, 
Wil'n  eyes  severe,  and  beard  of  formal  cut. 
Full  of  wise  saws  and  modern  instances, 
And  so  he  plays  his  part:  the  sixth  age  shifts 
Into  the  lean  and  slipper'd  pantaloon; 
With  spectacles  on  nose,  and  pouch  on  side  ; 
His  youthiul  hose  well  sav'd,  a  world  too  wide 
For  his  shrunk  shank ;  and  his  big  manly  voice. 
Turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 
And  whistles  in  his  sound:  last  scene  of  all. 
That  ends  this  strange  eventful  history, 
It  second  childishness,  and  mere  oblivion  ; 
Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  every  thinj 

Re-enter  Orlando  with  Adam. 
Duke  S.  Welcome:  set  down  ycur  venerabto 
And  let  him  feed  [burden^ 
Orl.  1  thank  you  most  for  him. 

Adam.  So  had  you  need: 
'  I  scarce  can  speak  to  thank  you  for  myself. 

Duke  S.  W  elcome,  fall  to ;  I  will  not  trouble  you 


Act  in>   Scene  2.  AS  YOU 

As  yet,  to  question  you  about  your  fortunes  ; — 
Ciive  as  some  music ;  and,  good  cousin,  sing. 

Amiens  sings. 

SONG 

I. 

blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind, 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 

As  man's  ingratitude  ; 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen, 
Because  thou  art  not  seen, 
Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 
Metghf  ho!  sing  heigh,  ho!  unto  the  green  holly: 
Most friendship  is  feigning,  tnost  loving  mere  folly! 
Then,  heigh,  ho,  the  holly  ! 
This  life  is  most  jolly. 

II. 

Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky 
That  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 

As  benefits  forgot : 
Though  thou  the  ivaters  warp. 
Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 
As  friend  remembered  not. 
Heigh,  ho!  sing  heigh,  ho!  &c. 
Duke  S.  If  that  you  were  the  good  sir  Rowland's 
son, — 

As  you  have  whisper'd  faithfully  you  were  : 

And  as  mine  eye  doth  his  effigies  witness 

Most  truly  lima'd,  and  living  in  your  face, — 

Be  truly  welcome  hither:  I  am  the  duke. 

That  lov'd  yoiir  father:  the  residue  of  your  fortune, 

00  to  my  cave  and  tell  me. — Good  old  man. 
Thou  art  right  welcome  as  thy  master  is ; 
Support  him  by  the  arm. — Give  me  your  hand, 
A.nd  let  me  all  your  fortunes  understand.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I, — A  Room  in  the  Palace, 
Enter  Duke  Frederk^k,  Oliver,  Lords,  and 
Attendants. 
Duke  F  Not  see  him  since  ^  Sir,  sir,  that  can- 
not be ; 

But  were  I  not  the  better  part  made  mercy, 

1  should  not  seek  an  absent  argument 

Of  my  revenge,  thou  present:  but  look  to  it ; 

Find  out  thy  brother,  whereso'er  he  is ; 

Seek  him  with  candle ;  bring  him,  dead  or  living. 

Within  this  twelvemonth,  or  tui-n  thou  no  more 

To  seek  a  living  in  our  territory. 

Thy  lands,  and  all  things  that  thou  dost  call  thine. 

Worth  seizure,  do  we  seize  into  our  hands  ; 

Tin  thou  canst  quit  thee  by  thy  brother's  mouth. 

Of  what  we  think  against  thee. 

OH.  O,  that  your  highness  knew  my  heart  in  this ! 

never  lov'd  my  brother  in  my  life. 

Duke  F.  More   villain   thou. — Well,  push  him 
out  of  doors ; 
And  let  my  officers  of  such  a  nature 
Make  an  extent  upon  his  house  ;md  lands; 
Do  this  expediently,  and  turn  him  going.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  ll.—The  Forest. 
Enter  Orlando,  with  a  paper. 

Orl.  Hang  there,  my  verse,  in  witness  of  my  love  : 

And  thou,  thrice-crowned  q  jeen  of  night,  survey 
With  thy  chaste  eye,  from  thy  pale  sphere  above, 

Thy  huntress'  name,  that  my  full  life  doth  sway. 
O  Rosalind  !  these  trees  shall  be  my  books. 

And  in  their  barks  my  thoughts  I'll  character; 
That  every  eye,  which  in  this  forest  looks, 

Shall  see  thy  virtue  witness'd  every  where. 
Run,  run,  Orlando  ;  carve,  on  every  tree, 
The  fair,  the  chaste,  and  unexpressive  she.  [Exit, 

Enter  CoRiN  a^id  Touchstone. 
Cor.  And  how  like  you  this  shepherd's  life,  mas- 
Touchstone 


LIKE  IT.  175 

Touch.  Truly,  shepherd,  in  respect  of  its«lf,  it 
a  good  life;  but  in  respect  that  it  is  a  shepherd'* 
life,  it  is  naught.  In  respect  that  it  is  solitary,  I 
like  it  very  well ;  but  in  respect  that  it  is  private, 
it  is  a  very  vile  life.  Now  in  respect  it  is  in  tho 
fields,  it  pleaseth  me  well ;  but  in  respect  it  \n  not 
in  the  court,  it  is  tedious.  As  it  is  a  spare  lifr?,  look 
you,  it  fits  my  humour  well ;  but  as  there  is  no  more 
plenty  in  it,  it  goes  much  against  my  stomach.  VliSi 
any  philosophy  in  thee,  shepherd  ? 

Cor.  No  more,  but  that  I  know,  the  more  on© 
sickens,  the  worse  at  ease  he  is ;  and  that  he  that 
wants  money,  means,  and  content,  is  without  three 
good  friends  : — That  the  property  of  rain  is  to  wet, 
and  fire  to  burn  :  that  good  pasture  makes  fat  sheep  ; 
and  that  a  great  cause  of  the  night,  is  lack  of  the 
sun  :  that  he,  that  hath  learned  no  wit  by  nature 
nor  art,  may  complain  of  good  breeding,  or  comes 
of  a  very  dull  kindred. 

Touch.  Such  a  one  is  a  natural  philosopher. 
Wast  ever  in  court,  shepherd  ? 

Cor.  No,  truly. 

Touch.  Then  thou  art  damn'd 

Cor.  Nay,  I  hope,  

Touch.  Truly,  thou  art  damn'd  ;  like  an  ill  roasted 
egg,*all  on  one  side. 

Cor.  For  not  being  at  court?  Your  reasoK . 

Touch.  Why,  if  thou  never  wast  at  coti/t,  thon 
never  saw'st  good  manners;  if  thou  never  saw'st 
good  manners,  then  thy  manners  must  be  wicked ; 
and  wickedness  is  sin,  and  sin  is  damnation ;  thoa 
art  in  a  parlous  state,  shepherd. 

Cor.  Not  a  whit.  Touchstone :  those,  that  are 
good  manners  at  the  court,  are  as  ridiculous  in  the 
country,  as  the  beha\iour  of  the  country  is  n)Ost 
mockable  at  the  court.  You  told  me,  you  sakte 
not  at  the  court,  but  you  kiss  yonr  hands ;  that 
courtesy  would  be  uncleanly,  if  courtiers  were  shep. 
herds. 

Touch.  Instance,  briefly  ;  come,  instance. 

Cor.  Why,  we  are  still  handling  our  ewes;  au^l 
their  fells,  you  know,  are  greasy. 

Touch.  Wliy,  do  not  your  courtier's  hands  sweat  ? 
and  is  not  the  grease  of  a  mutton  as  wholesome  as 
the  sweat  of  a  man  ?  Shallow,  shallow :  a  better 
instance,  I  say  ;  come. 

Cor.  Besides,  our  hands  are  hard. 

Touch.  Your  lips  will  feel  them  the  sooner.  Shal 
low,  again  ;  a  more  sounder  instance,  come. 

Cor.  And  they  are  often  tarr'd  over  with  the  sur- 
gery of  our  sheep  ;  and  would  you  h;ive  us  kiss  tar? 
The  courtier's  hands  are  perfumed  with  civet. 

Touch.  Most  shallow  man !  Thou  worms-meat, 
in  respect  of  a  good  piece  of  flesh  •  Indeed  !— Learn 
of  the  wise,  and  perpend  :  Civet  is  of  a  baser  birth 
than  tar ;  the  very  uncleanly  flux  of  a  cat.  Mend 
the  instance,  shepherd. 

Cor.  You  have  too  courtly  a  wit  for  me  ;  I'll  rest 

Touch.  Wilt  thou  rest  damn'd  ?  God  help  thee, 
shallow  man!  God  make  incision  in  thee!  thou  art 
raw. 

Cor.  Sir,  I  am  a  true  labourer ;  I  earn  that  I  eat, 
get  that  I  wear;  owe  no  man  hate,  envy  no  man's 
happiness  ;  glad  of  other  men's  good,  content  with 
my  harm:  and  the  greatest  of  my  pride  is,  to  see 
my  ewes  graze,  and  my  lambs  suck. 

Touch.  That  is  another  simple  sin  in  you ;  to 
bring  the  ewes  and  the  rams  together,  and  to  olfer 
to  get  your  living  by  the  copulation  of  cattle  :  to  be 
bawd  to  a  bell-wether;  and  to  betray  a  she-lamb  of 
a  tvvelvemonth,  to  a  crooked-pated,  old,  (  ickoldly 
ram,  out  of  all  reasonable  match.  If  thou  be'st 
not  danm'd  for  this,  the  devil  himself  vrill  ha  ;e  no 
shepherds;  I  cannot  see  else  how  thou  shoultist 
'scape. 

Cor.  Here  comes  young  master  Ganymede,  my 
new  mistress's  brother. 

Enter  Rosalind,  reading  a  pcqcir, 
Ros.  Ft  om  the  east  to  western  Indt 


i.f«  AS  YOU 

No  jewel  is  like  Rosalind. 
Her  worth,  being  mounted  on  the  wind, 
Through  all  the  world  bears  Rosalind. 
All  the  pictures,  fairest  lin'd, 
Are  but  black  to  Rosalind. 
Let  no  face  be  kept  in  mind, 
But  the  fair  of  Rosalind. 
Touch.  I'll  rhyme  yoii  so,  eight  years  together; 
d'nners,  and  suppers,  and  sleeping  hours  excepted  ; 
it  is  the  right  butter-woman's  rank  to  market. 
Ros.  Out,  fool ! 
Touch.  For  a  taste :  

If  a  hart  do  lack  a  hind, 

Jjet  him  seek  out  Rosalind. 

If  the  cat  will  after  kind, 

So,  be  sure,  will  Rosalind. 

Winter-garments  must  be  lind, 

So  must  slender  Rosalind. 

They  that  reap,  ?/iust  sheaf  and  bind ; 

Then  to  cart  ivitk  Rosalind. 

Sweetest  nut  hath  sourest  rind, 

Such  a  nut  is  Rosaiind. 

He  that  sweetest  rose  will  find, 

Must  find  love's  prick,  and  Rosalind. 

This  is  the  very  false  gdlop  of  verses ;  why  do  you 
infect  yourself  with  thern  ?  [tree. 

Ros.  Peace,  you  dull  fool  ;  I  found  them  on  a 

Touch.  Truly,  the  tree  yields  bad  IVuit. 

Ros.  I'll  graif  it  with  you,  and  then  1  shall  gralf 
it  with  a  medlar:  then  it  will  be  the  earlit^st  truit 
in  the  country  :  for  you'll  be  rotten  ere  you  be  half 
ripe,  and  that's  tlie  right  \ii)ue  of  the  medlar. 

Touch.  Vou  have  said  ;  but  whether  wisely  or  no, 
let  the  forest  judge. 

Enter  Celia,  reading  a  paper. 
Rose.  Peace  ! 
Here  comes  my  sister,  reading;  stand  aside. 
Cil   Why  should  t/tis  desert  silent  be  if 
lor  U  is  un/>eoj>led/  No; 
Tongues  III  hang  on  every  tree, 

That  shall  civil  sayings  show. 
Some,  how  brief  the  iife  of  man 

Runs  his  erring  pilgrimage  ; 
That  the  stretching  of  a  span 

Buckles  in  his  sum  of  age. 
Some,  of  violated  vows 

'Twixt  the  souls  of  friend  and  friend: 
But  upon  the  Jairest  boughs. 

Or  at  every  sentence''  end, 
Will  I  Rosalinda  tvrite; 

Teaching  all  that  read,  to  know 
The  quintessence  of  every  sprite 

Heaven  would  in  little  show. 
Therefore  heaven  nature  charg'dy 

That  one  body  should  be  filVd 
With  all  graces  ivide  enlarg'd: 

Nature  presently  dislilld 
Helens  cheek,  but  not  Iter  heart: 

Cleopatra's  majesty ; 
Atalanta's  better  part ; 

Sad  Lucretius  modesty. 
Thus  Rosalind  of  many  parts 

By  heavenly  synod  ivas  devis'd; 
Of  many  faces,  eyes,  and  hearts, 

To  have  the  touches  dearest  priz'd. 
Heaven  tvould  that  she  these  gifts  should 
And  1  to  live  and  die  her  slave.  [have, 

Roi.  O  most  gentle  Jupiter ! — what  tedious  ho- 
mily of  love  have  you  wearied  yuur  pari'^hioiiers 
withal,  and  never  cry'd.  Have  patience,  c^ood 
people ! 

Cel.  How  now!  back,  friends; — Shepherd,  go 
oflf  a  little: — Go  with  him,  sirrah. 

Touch.  Come,  shepherd,  let  us  make  an  honour- 
able retreat ;  though  not  with  bag  and  baggage,  yet 
witii  scrip  and  s:  rip  page. 

[Exeunt  Corin  and  Touchstone. 


LIKE  IT.  AoT  IIL 

Cel.  Didst  thou  "iiear  these  verses  ? 

Ros.  O,  yes,  I  heard  them  all,  and  mowetoo;for 
some  of  them  had  in  them  more  feet  than  the  verses 
woidd  bear.  [verses. 

Cel.  'J'hat's  no  matter;  the  feet  riiight  bear  the 

Ros.  Ay,  but  the  feet  were  lame,  and  could  not 
bear  themselves  without  the  verse,  and  therefore 
stood  lamely  in  the  verse. 

Cel.  But  didst  thou  hear,  without  w^ondering  how 
thy  name  should  be  hang'd  and  carved  upon  thes« 
trees  ? 

Ros.  I  was  seven  of  the  nine  days  out  of  the 
wonder  before  you  came :  for  look  here  what  I 
found  on  a  palm-tree:  I  was  never  so  be-rhymtd 
since  Pythagoras'  time,  that  I  was  an  Irish  rat, 
which  I  can  hardly  remember. 

Cel.  Trow  you,  who  hath  done  this? 

Ros.  Is  it  a  man? 

Cel.  Ainl  a  chain,  that  you  on-ce  wore,  about  his 
neck:  change  you  colour? 
Ros.  I  prytlite,  who? 

Cel.  O  lord,  lord  !  it  is  a  hard  matter  for  frends 
to  meet ;  but  mountains  may  be  reniovea  with 
earthquakes,  and  so  encounter. 

Ros.  Nay,  but  who  is  it? 

Cel.  Is  It  possible  ? 

Ros.  Nay,  I  pray  thee  now,  with  most  petitionary 
veliriiieiice,  tell  me  who  it  is. 

Cel.  O  wonderful,  wonderful,  and  most  wonderful 
wonderful,  aiid  yet  again  wonderlul,  and  alter  that 
out  of  all  whooping  I 

Ros.  Good  my  comjilexion !  dost  thou  th^nk, 
thougti  I  am  capaiisou'd  like  a  man,.  1  have  a  doub- 
let and  hose  in  my  disposition?  One  inch  of  delay 
more  is  a  South-sea-oti'  discovery.  I  pr'ythee,  tell 
me,  who  is  it?  quickly,  and  speak  apace:  1  wonlu 
thou  couldst  stammer,  that  thou  miglit'st  pour  this 
concealed  man  out  ot  thy  mouth,  as  wine  comes  out 
of  a  narrow-mouth'd  bottle;  either  too  much  at 
once,  or  none  at  all.  I  pr'ythee,  take  the  cork  out  of 
thy  mouth,  that  1  may  drink  thy  tidings. 

Cel.  So  you  may  put  a  man  in  your  bell^. 

Ros.  Is  he  of  Gods  making?  What  manner  of 
man  ?  Is  his  head  worth  a  hat,  or  his  chin  worth  a 
beard  ? 

Cel.  Nay,  he  hath  but  a  little  beard. 

Ros.  Why,  God  will  send  more,  if  the  man  wi'l 
be  thankful  :  let  me  stay  the  growth  of  his  beard, 
ii  thou  delay  me  not  the  knowledge  of  his  chin. 

Cel.  It  is  young  O.lando;  that  tripp'd  up  thj 
wrestler's  heels,  and  your  heait,  both  in  an  instant. 

Ros.  Nay,  but  the  devil  take  mocking;  speak 
sad  brow,  and  true  maid. 

Cel.  rfaith,  coz,  'tis  he 

Ros.  Orlando? 

Cel.  Orlando. 

Ros.  Alas  the  day!  what  shall  I  do  with  my 
doublet  and  hose? — What  did  he,  when  thou  saw's!: 
him?  What  said  he  ?  Mow  look'd  he  ?  Whereiu 
went  he?  What  makes  he  here?  Did  he  ask  fo^ 
me  ?  Where  remains  he  ?  How  parted  he  with  thee? 
and  when  shalt  thou  see  him  again  ?  Answer  me 
one  word. 

Cel.  You  must  borrow  me  Garagantua's  moutb  / 
first :  'tis  a  word  too  great  for  any  mouth  of  this 
age's  size  :  To  say,  ay,  and  no,  to  these  particulars, 
is  more  than  to  answer  in  a  catechism. 

Ros.  But  doth  he  know  that  I  am  in  this  fcrest, 
and  in  man's  apparel  ?  Looks  he  as  freshly  a?  he  did 
the  day  he  wrestled  ? 

Cel.  It  is  as  easy  to  count  atomies,  as  to  xfsolve 
the  propositions  of  a  lover: — but  take  a  taste  of  my 
finding  him,  and  relish  it  with  a  good  observance, 
i  louud  him  under  a  tree,  like  a  dropp'd  acorn. 

Ros.  It  may  well  be  call'd  Jove's  tree,  when  il 
drops  forth  such  fruit. 

CeL  Gi  ve  me  audience,  good  madam. 

Ros.  Proceed. 

Cel.  There  lay  he,  stretch'd  along,  like  a.  wounded 
knight. 


Scene  2.  AS  YOU 

Ros.  Thongh  it  be  pity  to  see  such  a  sight,  it  well 
becomes  the  ground. 

Cel.  Cry,  holla!  to  thy  tongue,   I  pr'ythee ;  it  _ 
curvets  very  unseasonably.    He  was  fiirnish'd  like 
a  hunter. 

Ros.  O  ominous !  he  comes  to  kill  my  heart. 

Cel.  I  would  sing  my  song  without  a  burden  : 
thou  britig'st  me  out  of  tune. 

Ros.  Do  you  not  know  I  am  n  woman?  when  I 
think,  I  must  speak.    Sweet,  say  on. 

Enter  Orlando  and  Jaques. 

Cel.  You  bring  me  out ; — Soft !  conies  he  not  hers  ? 

Ros.  'Tis  he  ;  slink  by,  and  note  him. 

[Celia  and  Rosalind  retire.) 

Jaq.  I  thank  you  for  your  cdinpiUiy  ;  but,  good 
faith,  I  liad  as  lief  have  been  myself  alone. 

Orl.  And  so  had  I ;  but  yet,  for  fashion's  sake,  I 
thank  you  too  for  your  society.  [can. 

Jaq.  God  be  with  you ;  let's  meet  as  little  as  we 

Orl.  I  do  desire  we  may  be  better  strangers. 

Jaq.  I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  trees  with  writing 
ove-songs  in  their  barks. 

Orl.  I  pray  you,  mar  no  tnore  of  my  verses  with 
reading  them  ill-favouredly. 

Jaq.  Rosalind  is  your  love's  name  ? 

Orl.  Yes,  just. 

,Taq.  I  do  not  like  her  name. 

Orl.  There  was  no  thought  of  pleasing  you,  when 
she  was  christen'd. 

Jaq.  What  stature  is  she  of? 

Orl.  Just  as  high  as  my  heart. 

Jaq.  You  are  full  of  j^retty  answers  :  Have  you 
not  been  acquainted  with  goldsmiths'  wives,  and 
conn'd  them  out  of  rings  ? 

Orl.  Not  so;  but  1  answer  you  right  painted 
cloth,  from  whence  you  have  studied  your  questions. 

Jaq.  You  have  a  niuible  wit;  I  think  it  was  made 
of  Atalanta's  heels.  Will  you  sit  down  with  me? 
and  we  two  will  rail  against  our  mistress  the  world, 
and  all  our  misery. 

Orl.  I  will  chide  no  breather  in  the  world,  but 
myself  against  whom  I  know  most  faults. 

Jaq.  The  worst  fault  you  have,  is  to  be  in  love. 

Orl.  'Tis  a  fault  I  will  not  change  for  your  best 
virtue.    1  am  weary  of  you, 

Jaq.  By  my  troth^  1  was  seeking  for  a  fool,  when 
I  Ibund  yon. 

Orl.  He  is  drown'd  in  the  brook ;  look  but  in, 
and  you  shall  see  him. 

Jaq.  There  shall  I  see  mine  own  tigure. 

Orl.  Which  I  take  to  be  either  a  fool,  or  a  cypher. 

Jaq.  I'll  tarry  no  longer  with  you  :  farewell,  good 
signior  love. 

Orl.  I  am  glad  of  your  departure  :  adieu,  good 
monsieur  melancholy.  '  [ward. 

Exit  Jaques. — Celia  and  Rosalind  come  for- 

Ros.  I  will  speak  to  him  like  a  saucy  lacquey, 
and  under  that  habit  play  the  knave  with  him. — 
Do  you  hear,  forester  ? 

Orl.  Very  well ;  what  would  you  ? 

Ros.  1  pray  you,  what  is't  o'clock  ? 

Orl.  You  should  ask  me,  what  time  o'  day ;  there's 
no  clock  in  the  forest. 

Ros.  Then  there  is  no  true  lover  in  the  forest; 
else  sighing  every  minute,  and  groaning  e\ery  hour, 
would  detect  the  lazy  foot  of  time,  as  well  as  a  clock. 

Orl.  And  why  not  the  swii't  foot  of  time  ?  had  not 
that  been  as  proper? 

Ro.<i.  By  no  means,  sir :  Time  travels  in  divers^ 
paces  with  divers  persons  :  I'll  tell  you  who  time 
ambles  withal,  who  time  trots  withal,  who  time 
gallops  withal,  and  who  he  stands  still  withal. 

Orl.  I  pr'ythee,  who  doth  he  trot  withal  ? 

Ros.  Marry,  he  trots  hard  with  a  young  mald^. 
between  the  contract  of  her  marriage,  and  the  day 
it  is  solemnized  :  if  the  interiiu  be  but  a  se'nnight, 
time's  pace  is  so  hard,  that  it  seems  the  length  of 
^even  years. 

Orl.  Who  ambles  time  withal  ? 


LIKE  IT.  177 

Ros.  With  a  priest  that  lacks  Latin,  and  a  tirh 
man  that  hath  not  the  gout :  for  the  one  sleeps 
,  easily,  because  he  cannot  study  ;  and  the  other  lives 
merrily,  because  he  feels  no  pain  :  the  one  lacking 
the  burden  of  lean  and  wasteful  learning;  the  other 
knowing  no  burden  of  heavy  tedious  penury  :  These 
time  ambles  withal. 

Orl.  Who  doth  he  gallop  withal  ? 
Ros.  With  a  tliief  to  the  gallows  :  for  though  he 
go  as  softly  as  foot  can  fall,  he  thinks  himself  too 
soon  there. 

Orl.  Who  stays  it  still  withal  ? 
Ros.  With  lawyers  in  the  vacation  :  for  they  sleep 
between  term  and  term,  and  then  they  perceive  not 
how  time  moves. 

Orl.  Where  dwell  you,  pretty  youth? 
Ros.  With  this  shepherdess,  my  sister;  here  hi 
the  skirts  of  the  forest,  like  fringe  upon  a  petticoat 
Orl.  Are  you  native  of  this  place  ? 
Ros  As  the  coney,  that  you  see  dwell  where  she 
is  kindled. 

Orl.  Your  accent  is  something  finer  than  you  could 
purchase  in  so  removed  a  dwelling. 

Ros.  I  have  been  told  so  of  many  :  but,  indeed, 
an  old  religious  uncle  of  mine  taught  me  to  speak, 
who  was  in  his  youth  an  in  land  man  ;  one  that 
knew  courtship  too  well,  for  there  he  fell  in  love. 
1  have  heard  him  read  many  lectuies  against  it;  and 
I  thank  God  I  am  not  a  woman,  to  be  touch  d  with 
so  many  giddy  offences  as  he  hath  generally  tax'd 
their  whole  sex  withal. 

Orl.  Can  you  remember  any  of"  the  principal  evils, 
that  he  laid  to  the  ciiarge  of  women  ? 

Ros.  There  were  none  principal ;  they  were  all 
like  one  another,  as  half-pence  are  :  every  one  fault 
seeming  monstrous,  till  his  i'ellow  fault  came  to 
match  it 

Orl.  I  pry'tliee,  recount  some  of  them. 
Ros.  No ;  I  w'ill  not  cast  away  my  jihysic,  but 
on  those  that  are  sick.  There  is  a  man  haunts  the 
forest,  that  abuses  our  young  plants  with  carving 
Rosalind  on  their  barks ;  hangs  odes  upon  haw- 
thorns, and  elegies  on  brambles;  all,  ibrsooth, 
deii'ying  the  name  of  Rosalind  :  if  I  could  meet 
that  fancy  monger,  1  would  give  him  some  good 
counsel,  tor  he  seems  to  have  the  quotidian  of  love 
upon  him. 

Orl.  I  am  he  that  is  so  love- snaked  ;  I  pray  you 
tell  me  your  remedy. 

Ros.  There  is  none  of  my  uncle's  marks  upon  yon : 
he  taught  nie  how  to  know  a  man  in  love  ;  in  which 
catje  of  rushes,  I  am  sure,  you  are  not  prisoner. 
Orl.  What  were  his  marks  ? 
Ros.  A  lean  cheek  ;  which  you  have  not  :  a  blue 
eye,  and  sunken  ;  which  you  have  not :  an  unques- 
tionable sirit ;  which  you  have  not :  a  beard  neg- 
lected \  which  you  have  not : — but  I  pardon  you  for 
that ;  lor,  simply,  your  having  in  beard  is  a  younger 
brother's  revenue  : — Then  your  hose  should  be  un- 
garter'd,  your  bonnet  unhanded,  your  sleeve  unbut- 
ton'd,  your  shoe  untied,  and  every  thing  about  you 
demonstrating  a  careless  desolation.  But  you  are 
no  such  man;  you  are  rather  point-de-vice  in  your 
aceoutreniPiits ;  as  loving  yourself,  than  seeming 
the  lo'-  er  of  any  other. 

Orl.  Fair  youth,  I  would  I  could  make  thee  be- 
lieve J  love. 

Ros,  Me  believe  it  ?  you  may  as  soon  make  her 
that  you  iove  believe  it ;  which  I  warrant,  she  is 
apter  to  do,  than  to  confess  she  does  :  that  is  one  of 
the  points,  in  the  which  women  still  give  the  lie  to 
their  consciences.  B\it,  in  good  sooth,  are  yo'i  he 
tliat  hangs  the  verses  on  the  trees,  wherein  Rosa- 
lind is  so  admired  ? 

Orl.  I  swear  to  thee,  youth,  by  the  white  hand  of 
Rosalind,  t  am  that  he,  that  unfortunate  he. 

Ros.  But  are  you  so  much  in  love  as  your  rhymes 
speak?  [much 
Orl.  Neither  rhyme  nor  reason  can  express  how 
Ros.  Love  is  merely  a  madness ;  and,  i  tell  voa, 

12 


AS  YOU 


LIKE  IT. 


Act  IU 


lieserves  as  "well  a  dark  house  and  a  whip,  as  mad- 
■m<£Q  do  :  and  the  reason  why  they  are  not  so  [.u- 
Qisiied  and  cured,  is,  that  the  lunacy  is  so  ordinary, 
that  the  whippers  are  in  love  too  :  Yet  I  profess 
curing  it  by  counsel. 

Orl.  Did  you  ever  cure  any  so? 

Jios.  Yes,  one ;  and  in  tins  manner.  He  was  to 
imagine  me  his  love,  his  mistress ;  and  I  set  him 
every  day  to  woo  me  :  at  which  time  would  I, 
being  but  a  moonish  youth,  grieve,  be  effeminate, 
changeable,  longing,  and  hking ;  proud,  fantastical, 
apish,  shallow,  inconstant,  full  of  tears,  full  of 
einiles ;  lor  every  passion  something,  and  for  no 
passion  truly  any  thing,  as  boys  and  women  are  for 
the  niosl  part  cattle  ol'  this  colour :  would  now  like 
him,  now  loath  him  ;  then  entertain  him,  then  for- 
swear him;  now  weep  for  him,  then  spit  at  him; 
that  I  drave  my  suitor  irom  his  mad  humour  of  love, 
to  a  living  humour  of  madness;  which  was,  to  for- 
swear tae  full  stream  of  the  world,  and  to  live  in  a 
nook  merely  monastic  :  And  thus  1  cured  him; 
and  this  way  will  i  take  upon  me  to  wash  your  liver 
as  clean  as  a  sound  sheep's  heart,  that  tliere  shall 
not  be  one  spot  of  love  in  t. 

Orl.  1  would  not  be  cured,  youth. 

Ros.  I  would  cure  you,  if  you  would  but  call  me 
Rosalind,  and  f.ome  every  day  to  my  cote,  and  woo 
nie.  [me  where  it  is. 

Orl.  Now,  by  the  faith  of  my  love,  I  will;  tell 

Run.  Go  with  me  to  it,  and  I'll  show  it  you ;  and, 
by  the  way,  you  shall  tell  me  where  in  the  forest 
you  live  :  'vVill  you  go? 

Orl.  With  all  my  heart,  good  youth. 

Rus.  JSay,  you  must  call  me  Rosalind: — Come, 
sister,  will  you  go  ?  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey;  Jaques  at  a 
distance  observinij  them. 

Touch.  Come  apace,  good  Ar.drey  ;  1  will  fetch 
np  your  goats,  Audrey:  And  liow,  Audrey  am  I 
the  man  yet Doth  my  simple  feature  content  you  ? 

Aud.  Your  features !  Lord  warrant  us  !  what 
I'eatures  ? 

Touch.  I  auj  here  with  thee  and  thy  goats,  as  the 
most  capricious  poet,  honest  Ovid,  was  among  the 
Goths. 

Jaq.  O  knowledge  ill-inhabited  I  worse  than  Jove 
in  a  tliatch'd  house  1  {Aside.) 

Touch.  When  a  man's  verses  cannot  be  under- 
stood, nor  a  man's  good  wit  seconded  with  the  for- 
ward cliild,  understanding,  it  strikes  a  man  more 
dead  tlian  a  great  reckoning  in  a  little  room  : — 
Truly,  I  would  the  gods  had  made  thee  poetical. 

Aud.  I  do  not  know  what  poetical  is  :  Is  it 
honest  in  deed  and  word  ?    Is  it  a  true  thing  ? 

Touch.  No,  truly ;  lor  the  truest  poetry  is  the 
most  feigning;  and  lovers  are  given  to  poetry  ;  and 
what  they  swear  in  poetry,  may  be  said,  as  lovers, 
they  do  leign. 

Aud.  Do  you  wish  then,  that  the  gods  had  made 
me  poetical  ? 

Touch.  I  do,  truly  :  for  thou  swear'st  to  me,  thou 
art  honest ;  now,  if  thou  wert  a  poet,  I  might  have 
some  hope  thou  didst  feign. 

Aud.  Would  you  not  have  me  honest? 

Touch.  No  truly,  un  ess  thou  wert  hard  favour'd ; 
for  honesty  coupled  to  beauty,  is  to  have  honey  a 
sauce  to  sugar. 

Jaq.  A  material  fool  I  {Aside.) 

Aud.  Well,  I  am  not  fair;  and  therefore  I  pray 
the  gods  make  me  honest ! 

Touch.  Truly,  and  to  cast  away  honesty  upon  a 
foul  slut,  were  to  put  good  meat  into  an  unclean  dish. 

Aud.  I  am  not  a  slut,  though  1  thank  the  gods  1 
am  foul. 

Touch.  Well,  praised  be  the  gods  for  thy  foulness  I 
•luttishneso  may  come  hereafter.  But  be  it  as  it 
way  be,  1  wiil  marry  thee  :  and  to  that  end,  I  have 
been  with  »Sir  Oliver  Mar-text,  the  vicar  of  the  next 


village  :  who  hatl  promised  to  meet  me  in  this  place 

of  tiie  forest,  and  to  couple  us. 

Jaq.  I  would  fain  see  this  meeting.  \Andi^ 

Aud.  Well,  the  gods  give  us  joy! 

Touch.  Amen.  A  man  may,  if  he  were  of  a  fear 
ful  heart,  stagger  in  his  attempt:  for  here  we  have 
no  temple  but  the  wood,  no  assembly  but  horn- 
beasts.  But  what  though?  Courage  !  As  horns  are 
odious,  they  are  necessary.  It  is  said, — Many  a 
man  knows  no  end  of  his  goods  :  right :  many  a 
man  has  good  horns,  and  knows  no  end  of  them. 
Well,  that  is  the  dowry  of  his  w^ile ;  'tis  none  of  his 

own  getting.    Horns?    Even  so:  Poor  men 

alone  ?  No,  no  ;  the  noblest  deer  hath  thena  as 

huge  as  the  rascal.  Is  the  single  man  therefore 
blessed  ?  No  :  as  a  wall'd  town  is  more  worthier 
than  a  village,  so  is  the  forehe'ad  of  a  married  man 
more  honourable  than  the  bare  brow  ol' a  bachelor: 
and  by  how  much  defence  is  better  than  no  skill,  by 
so  much  is  a  horn  more  precious  than  to  want. 

Enter  Sir  Oliver  Mar-text. 
Here  comes  sir  Oliver:  Sir  Oliver  Mar  text,  you  are 
well  met:  Will  you  despatch  us  here  under  this 
tree,  or  shall  we  go  with  you  to  your  chapel ! 

Sir  OH.  Is  there  none  here  to  give  the  woman? 

Touch.  I  will  not  take  her  on  gift  of  any  man. 

Sir  OH.  Truly  she  must  be  given,  cr  the  marriage 
is  not  lawful. 

Jaq.  [Discovering  himself.)  Proceed,  proceed; 
1  11  give  her. 

Touch.  Good  even,  good  master  What  ye  callt. 
How  do  you,  sir?  You  are  very  well  met.  God'ild 
you  for  your  last  company  :  I  am  very  glad  to  see 
you  : — Even  a  toy  in  hand  here,  sir  : — Nay,  pray 
be  cover'd. 

Jaq.  Will  you  be  married,  motley  ? 

Touch.  As  the  ox  hath  his  bow,  sir,  the  horse  his 
curb,  and  the  faulcon  her  bells,  so  man  hath  his  de- 
sires ;  and  as  pigeons  bill,  so  wedlock  would  be 
nibbling. 

Jaq.  And  will  you,  being  a  man  of  your  breeding, 
be  married  under  a  bush,  like  a  beggar?  Get  you  to 
church,  and  have  a  good  priest,  that  can  tell  you 
what  marriage  is:  this  fellow  will  but  join  you  to- 
gether as  they  join  wainscot;  then  one  of  you  will 
prove  a  shrunk  pannel,  and,  like  gi  een  timber,  warp, 
warp. 

Touch.  I  am  not  in  the  mind  but  I  were  better 
to  be  married  of  liim  than  of  another:  for  he  is  not 
like  to  marry  me  well ;  and  not  being'well  married, 
it  will  be  a  good  excuse  for  me  hereafter  to  leave 
my  wife.  {Aside.) 

Jaq.  (io  thou  with  me,  and  let  me  counsel  thee. 

Touch.  Come,  sweet  Audrey  ; 
We  must  be  married,  or  we  must  live  in  bawdry. 
Farewell,  good  master  Oliver  I 

Not — O  sweet  Oliver, 
O  brave  Oliver, 
Leave  me  not  behi'  the«; 
But — Wind  away. 
Begone,  1  say, 
I  will  not  to  wedding  wi'  thee. 
[Exeunt  Jaques,  Touchstone,  and  Audrey. 

Sir  Oli.  'Tis  no  matter:  ne'er  a  fantastical  knave 
of  tnem  all  shall  flout  me  out  of  my  calling.  [Exit 

Scene  I  V. — The  same.    Before  a  cottage. 

Enter  Rosalind  and  Celia. 
Ros.  Never  talk  to  me,  1  will  weep 
Cel.  Do,  I  pr'ythee;  but  yet  have  the  grace  to 
consider,  that  tears  do  not  become  a  man. 
Ron.  But  ha\e  I  not  cause  to  weep  ? 
Cel.  As  good  cause  as  one  would  desire;  theiv- 
fore  weep. 

Ros.  His  very  hair  is  of  the  dissembling  colonr. 
Cel.  Something  browner  than  Judas  s  :  marry,  hit 
kisses  are  Judas  s  own  children. 

Ros.  riaith,  his  hair  is  of  a  good  colour. 


Scene  5.  AS  YOU 

Cel.  An  excellent  colour :  your  chesnat  was  ever 
the  on  y  coloor. 

Ros.  And  his  kissing  is  as  full  of  sanctity  as  the 
touch  of  holy  bread. 

Cel.  He  hath  bought  a  pair  of  cast  lips  of  Diana 
a  nun  of  winter's  sisterhood  kisses  not  more  reli- 
giously; the  very  ice  of  chastity  is  in  them. 

Ros.  But  why  did  he  swear  he  would  come  this 
morning,  and  comes  not  ? 

Cel  Nay  certainly,  there  is  no  truth  in  him. 

Ros.  Do  you  think  so  ? 

Cel.  Yes  :  I  think  he  is  not  a  pick- purse,  nor  a 
horse-stealer ;  but  for  his  verity  in  love,  I  do  think 
him  as  concave  as  a  cover'd  goblet,  or  a  worm-eaten 
nut. 

Ros.  Not  true  in  love  ? 

Cel.  Yes,  when  he  is  in  ;  but,  I  think  he  is  not  in. 
Ros.  You  have  heard  him  swear  downright,  he 
was. 

Cel  IVas  is  not  is  :  besides,  the  oath  of  a  lover 
is  no  stronger  than  the  word  of  a  tapster;  they  are 
both  the  coiifirmers  of  false  reckonings.  He  attends 
here  in  the  forest  on  the  duke  your  father. 

Ros.  I  met  the  duke  yesterday,  and  had  much 

Juestion  with  liim  :  he  asked  me,  of  what  parentage 
was  ?  I  told  him,  of  as  good  as  he  ;  so  he  laugh'd, 
and  let  nie  go.  But  what  talk  we  of  fathers,  when 
there  is  such  a  man  as  Orlando  ? 

Cel.  O,  that's  a  brave  man !  he  writes  brave 
verses,  speaks  brave  words,  swears  brave  oaths, 
and  breaks  them  bravely,  quite  traverse,  athwart 
the  heart  of  his  lover;  as  a  puny  tilter,  that  spurs  his 
horse  but  on  one  side,  breaks  his  staff  like  a  noble 
goose  :  but  all's  brave,  that  youth  mounts,  and  folly 
guides  : — Who  comes  here? 

Enter  CoRiN. 

Cor.  Mistress,  and  master,  you  have  oft  inquired 
After  the  shepherd,  that  complained  of  love; 
Who  you  saw  sitting  by  me  on  the  turf. 
Praising  tlie  proud  disdainful  shepherdess. 
That  was  his  mistress. 

Cel.  Well,  and  what  of  him? 

Cor.  If  you  will  see  a  pageant  truly  play  d, 
Between  tiie  pale  complexion  of  true  love 
And  the  red  glow  of  scorn  and  proud  disdain. 
Go  hence  a  little,  and  I  shall  conduct  you, 
If  you  will  mark  it. 

Ros.  O  come,  let  us  remove  ; 

The  sigltt  of  lovers  feedeth  those  in  love  : — 
Bring  us  unto  tiiis  sight,  and  you  shall  say 
I'll  prove  a  busy  actur  in  tlieir  play.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — Another  part  of  the  Forest. 
Enter  SiLVius  and  Phebe. 
Sil.  Sweet  Phebe,  do  not  scorn  me;  do  not, 
Phebe  : 

Say,  that  you  love  me  not ;  but  say  not  so 
In  bitterness  :  The  common  executioner, 
Whose  heart  the  accustom'd  sight  of  death  makes 
hard. 

Falls  not  the  axe  upon  the  humbled  neck. 
But  first  begs  pardon  ;  Wdl  you  sterner  be 
Than  he  that  dies  and  lives  by  bloody  drops? 
Ew^er  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  Corin,  at  a  distance. 

Phe.  I  would  not  be  thy  executioner; 
I  fly  thee,  for  I  woidd  not  injure  thee. 
Thou  tell'st  n»e,  there  is  murder  in  mine  eye  : 
Tis  pretty,  sure,  and  very  probable, 
That  eyes, — that  are  the  Irail'st  and  softest  things, 
Who  shut  their  coward  gates  on  atomies, — 
Should  be  call'd  tyrants,  butchers,  murderers  I 
Now  I  do  frovvn  on  thee  with  all  my  heart ; 
And,  if  mine  eyes  can  wound,  now  let  them  kill 
tliee ; 

Now  counterfeit  to  swoon;  why  now  fall  down; 
Or,  if  thou  can'st  not,  O,  for  sliauie,  for  shame, 
I/ie  not,  to  say  mine  eyes  are  murderers. 
Now  show  the  wound  mine  eye  liath  made  in  thee  : 
Scratch  thee  but  with  a  pin,  and  there  remains 


LIKE  IT.  IJd 

Some  .5car  of  it ;  lean  bnt  upon  a  rneh. 

The  cicatrice  and  capable  nnpressure  _ 

Thy  palm  some  moment  keeps  :  but  now 

Which  I  have  darted  at  thee,  hurt  thee  mtt; 

N(^r,  I  am  sure,  there  is  no  force  in  eyes 

That  can  do  hurt. 

Sil.  O  dear  Phebe, 

If  ever,  (as  that  ever  may  be  near,) 
You  meet  in  some  fresh  cheek  the  power  of  fancy, 
Then  shall  you  know  the  wounds  invisible,  ^ 
That  love's  keen  arrows  make. 

Phe.  But,  till  that  time. 

Come  not  thou  near  me  :  and  tvhen  that  time  comes, 
AfHict  me  with  thy  mocks,  pity  me  not; 
As,  till  that  time,  I  shall  not  pity  thee. 

Ros.  And  why,  I  pray  you?  {Advancing.)  Who 
might  be  your  movner. 
That  you  insult,  exult,  and  all  at  once, 
Over  the  wretched  ?  What  though  you  have  mora 

beauty, 

(As,  by  my  faith,  I  see  no  more  in  you 
Than  without  candle  may  go  dark  to  bed,) 
Must  you  be  therefore  proud  and  pitiless  ? 
Why,  what  means  this  ?  Why  do  you  look  on  me? 
I  see  no  more  in  you,  than  in  the  ordinary 
Of  nature's  sale-work  : — Od's  my  little  life  ! 
I  think,  she  means  to  tangle  my  eyes  too: 
No,  'faith,  proud  mistress,  hope  not  af.er  it ; 
'Tis  not  your  inky  brows,  your  black-silk  hair, 
Your  bugle  eye-balls,  nor  your  cheek  of  cream 
That  can  entame  my  spirits  to  your  vyorship. — 
You  foolish  shepherd,  wherefore  do  you  follow  her 
Like  foggy  south,  puffing  with  wind  and  rain  ? 
You  are  a  thousand  times  a  properer  man. 
Than  she  a  woman  :  'Tis  such  fools  as  you. 
That  make  the  world  full  of  ill-favour'd  children: 
'Tis  not  her  glass,  but  you,  that  flatters  her; 
And  out  of  you  she  sees  herself  nioie  projjer. 
Than  any  of  her  lineaments  can  show  her. — 
But,  mistress,  know  yourself ;  down  on  your  kner% 
And  thank  heaven,  fasting,  for  a  good  man's  love : 
For  I  must  tell  you  friendly  in  your  ear, — 
Sell  when  you  can  ;  you  are  rjot  for  all  markets: 
Cry  the  man  mercy;  love  him;  take  his  off'er ; 
Foul  is  most  fijul,  beijg  foul  to  be  a  scoff*er. 
So,  take  her  to  thee,  shepherd  : — tare  you  well. 
Phe.  Sweet  youth,  I  pray  you,  chide  a  year  to- 
gether ; 

I  had  rather  hear  you  chide,  than  this  man  woo. 

Ros.  He's  fallen  in  love  with  her  foulness,  and 
she'll  fall  in  love  with  my  anger:  if  it  be  so,  as  {-Asi 
as  she  answers  thee  with  frowning  looks,  I'll  sauce 
her  with  bitter  words, — Why  look  you  so  upon  me? 

Phe.  For  no  ill  will  I  bear  you. 

Ros.  I  pray  you,  do  not  fall  in  love  with  me, 
For  I  am  falser  than  vows  made  in  wine  : 
Besides,  I  like  you  not :  if  you  will  know  ray  house 
'Tis  at  the  tuft  of  olives,  here  hard  by  : — 
Will  you  go,  sister  ? — Shepherd,  ply  her  hard : 
Come,  sister. — Shepherdess,  look  on  him  better. 
And  be  not  proud  :  though  all  the  world  could  see 
None  could  be  so  abus'd  in  sight  as  he. 
Come,  to  our  flock. 

[Exeunt  Rosalind.  Celia,  and  Corin. 

Phe.  Dear  shepherd !  now  I  find  thy  saw  of 
might ; 

Who  ever  lou'd,  that  lov'd  not  at  first  eight  ? 
Sil.  Sweet  Phebe, — 

Phe.  Ha  !  what  say'st  thou.  Silvias  1 

Sil.  Sweet  Phebe,  pity  me. 

Phe.  Why,  1  am  sorry  for  thee,  gentle  Silviaa. 

Sil.  Wherever  sorrow  is,  relief  would  be ; 
If  you  do  sorrow  at  my  grief  in  love, 
By  giving  love,  your  sorrow  and  my  grief 
VVere  both  extermined. 

Phe.  Thou  hast  my  love  ;  is  not  that  neighbourly? 

Sil.  I  would  have  ycu. 

Phe.  Why,  that  were  covetonsness. 

Silvius,  the  ti«ne  was,  that  I  hated  thee  ; 
And  vet  it  is  not,  that  I  bear  thee  loV€: 


180 


AS  rOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  IV. 


But  since  that  tnou  canst  talk  of  love  so  well, 
J'ltiv  company,  wliich  erst  was  irksome  to  me, 
\  wiii  endure  ;  and  I'll  employ  thee  too  : 
13  U'.  tio  mt  look  tor  further  recompense. 
Than  thine  own  gladness  that  thou  art  employ'd. 

Sil.  So  holy,  and  so  perfect  is  my  love, 
And  I  in  such  a  po\erty  of  grace, 
lliat  I  shall  think  it  a  most  plenteons  crop 
To  glean  the  broken  ears  after  t'he  man 
Thai  the  main  harvest  reaps :  loose  now  and  then 
A  scatter'd  smile,  and  that  I'll  live  upon. 

P/ie.  Know'st  thou  the  youth  that  spoke  to  me 
ere  while  V 

Sil.  Not  very  well,  but  I  have  met  him  oft; 
And  he  hath  bought  the  cottage  and  the  bounds, 
That  the  old  carlot  once  was  master  of. 

Phe.  Think  not  I  love  him,  though  1  ask  for  him;  j 
'Tis  but  a  peevish  boy  : — yet  he  talks  well ;—  j 
But  what  care  I  for  words  ?  yet  words  do  well. 
When  he,  that  speaks  them,  pleases  those  that  hear.  ] 
It  is  a  pretty  youth  : — not  \ery  pretty  : —  I 
But,  sure,  he's  proud;  and  yet  his  pride  becomes  | 
him  : 

He'll  make  a  proper  man  :  The  best  thing  in  hira 
Is  his  complexion;  and  faster  than  his  tongue 
Did  make  offence,  his  eye  did  he;d  it  up. 
He  IS  not  tall ;  yet  for  his  years  he's  tall : 
His  leg  is  but  so  so ;  and  yet  'tis  well : 
I'here  was  a  pretty  redness  in  his  lip; 
A  little  riper  and  more  lusty  red 
Than  lhat  mix'd  in  his  cheek ;  'twas  just  the  dif- 
ference 

Betwixt  the  constant  red,  and  mingled  damask. 
There  be  some  women,  Silvius,  had  they  mark'd 
him 

In  parcels  as  I  did,  would  have  gone  near 

To  lall  in  love  with  him  :  but,  lor  my  part, 

I  love  him  not,  nor  hate  him  not;  and  yet 

{  have  moie  cause  to  hate  him  than  to  love  him  : 

For  what  had  he  to  do  to  chide  at  n)e  ? 

He  said,  mine  eyes  were  black,  and  my  hair  black  ; 

And,  now  I  am  reniember'd,  scorn'd  at  me  : 

1  marvel,  why  I  answer'd  not  again: 

But  that's  all  one  ;  omittance  is  no  quittance. 

I'll  write  to  him  a  very  taunting  letter, 

And  thou  shalt  bear  it .  Wilt  thun,  Silvius  ? 

Sil.  Phebe,  with  all  my  heart. 

P/ie.  I'll  write  it  straight ; 

The  matter's  in  my  head,  and  in  my  heart: 
I  will  be  bilter  with  him,  and  passing  short : 
Go  with  me,  Silvius.  [ExJ'unt. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — The  same, 
Entei'  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  Jaques. 

Jaq.  1  pr'ythee,  pretty  youth,  let  me  be  better 
acqtiamted  with  thee. 

Kos.  They  say  you  are  a  melancholy  fellow. 

Jaq.  I  am  so  ;  I  dt)  love  it  better  than  laughing. 

Ros.  Those  that  are  in  extremity  of  either,  are 
abominable  fellows  ;  and  betray  themselves  to  every  ' 
modern  censure,  worse  than  drunkards. 

Jaq.  Why,  'tis  good  to  be  sad  and  say  nothing. 

Ros.  Why  then,  'tis  good  to  be  a  post. 

Jaq.  I  have  neither  the  scholar's  melancholy, 
which  is  emulation ;  nor  the  musician's,  which  is 
fnnlastical  ;  nor  the  courtier's,  which  is  proud ;  nor 
the  soldier's,  which  is  ambitious  ;  nor  the  lawyer's, 
which  is  politic  ;  nor  the  lady's,  which  is  nice  ;  nor 
the  lover's,  which  is  all  these  :  but  it  is  a  melancholy 
of  mine  own,  compounded  of  many  simples,  extracted 
from  many  objects  ;  and,  i:ideed,  the  sundry  con- 
templation of  my  travels  in  which  my  often  rumin- 
ation wraps  me,  is  a  most  h'lmorous  sadness. 

Ros.  A  traveller!  By  my  faith,  you  have  great 
reason  to  be  sad:  I  fear,  you  have  sold  your  own 
lands,  to  see  other  men's  ;  then,  to  have  seen  much, 
and  to  have  nothing,  is  to  have  rich  eyes  and  poor 
banris. 

^aq.  Yes,  I  have  gained  my  experience. 


Enter  Orlando. 

Ros.  And  your  experience  makes  yoa  sad  I 
rather  have  a  fool  to  make  me  merry,  thnn  expe- 
rience to  make  me  sad  ;  and  to  travel  for  it  too. 

Orl.  Good  day,  and  happiness,  dear  Rosalind  ! 

Jaq.  Nay  then,  God  be  wi'  you,  an  you  talk  ir> 
blank  verse.  [Exit. 

Rot.  Farewell,  monsieur  traveller  :  Look,  you 
lisp,  and  wear  strange  salts ;  disable  all  the  bene- 
fits of  your  own  country  ;  be  out  of  love  with  your 
nativity,  and  almost  chide  God  for  niaking  you  that 
conntenarice  yon  are  ;  or  I  will  scarce  think  you  hav^e 
swam  in  a  gondola. — W'hy,  how  now,  Orlando! 
wliere  have  you  been  all  this  while?  You  a  lover? 
— An  you  serve  me  such  another  trick,  never  come 
in  my  sight  more. 

Orl.  Aly  fair  Rosalind,  I  come  within  an  hour  of 
my  promise. 

Ros.  Break  an  hour's  promise  in  love  ?  Me  that 
will  divide  a  minute  into  a  thousand  parts,  and 
break  but  a  part  of  the  thousandth  part  of  a  minute 
in  the  affairs  of  love,  it  may  be  said  of  him,  that 
Cupid  hath  clapp'd  him  o'  the  shoulder,  but  I  warrant 
him  heart-whole. 

Orl.  Pardon  me,  dear  Rosalind. 

Ros.  Nay,  an  you  be  so  tardy,  come  no  more  in 
my  sight :  I  had  as  lief  be  woo'd  of  a  snail. 

Or/.  Of  a  snail  ? 

Ros.  Ay,  of  a  snail ;  for  though  he  comes  slowly, 
he  carries  his  house  on  his  head;  a  better  jointure, 
I  think,  than  you  can  make  a  woman  :  besides,  he 
brings  l)is  destiny  with  him. 

Orl.  What's  that  ? 

Ros.  Why,  horns;  which  such  as  you  are  fain  to 
be  beholden  to  your  wives  for  :  but  hi-  comes 
armed  in  his  fortune,  and  prevents  the  slanrler  of  I  is 
wife.  jviriuous. 

Orl.  Virtue  is  no  horn-maker;  and  my  Rosalind  is 

Ros.  And  I  am  your  Rosalind. 

Cel.  It  pleases  him  to  call  you  so;  but  he  hath  a 
Rosalind  of  a  better  leer  than  you. 

Ros.  Come,  woo  me,  woo  me  ;  for  now  I  am  in 
a  holiday  humour,  and  like  enough  to  consent: — 
What  would  you  say  to  me  now,  an  I  were  your 
very  Rosalind? 

Orl.  I  would  kiss,  before  I  spoke. 

Ros.  Nay,  you  were  better  speak  first;  and  when 
you  were  gravelled  for  lack  of  m  !t!er,  y  u  might 
take  occasion  to  kiss.  Very  good  oraturs,  when 
they  are  out,  they  will  spit;  and  lor  lovers,  lacking 
(God  warn  us  !)  matter,  the  cleanliest  shift  is  to  kiss. 

Orl.  How  if  the  kiss  be  denied 

Ros.  Then  she  puts  you  to  entreaty,  and  there 
begins  new  matter.  [mistress  ? 

Orl.  W^ho  could  be  out,  being  before  his  beloved 

Ros.  Marry,  that  should  you,  if  I  vvere  your 
mistress  ;  or  1  should  think  my  honesty  ranker  than 
my  wit. 

OrL  What,  of  my  suit  ? 

Ros.  Not  out  of  your  apparel,  and  yet  out  of  your 
suit.    Am  not  I  your  Rosalind  ? 

Orl.  1  take  some  joy  to  say  you  are,  because  I 
would  be  talking  of  her.  [you. 

Ros  Well,  in  her  person,  I  say,  I  will  not  have 

Orl.  Then,  in  mine  own  person,  I  die. 

Ros.  No,  faith,  die  by  attorney.  Tiie  poor  world 
is  almost  six  thousand  \ears  old,  and  in  all  this  (itne 
there  was  not  any  man  died  in  his  own  person,  vide- 
licet, in  a  love-cause.  Troilus  had  his  brains  dashed 
out  with  a  Giecian  club  ;  yet  he  did  what  he  coulJ 
to  die  btfore  ;  and  he  is  one  of  the  patterns  of  lovt, 
Leandi  r,  he  would  have  lived  many  a  fair  year 
though  Hero  had  turned  nun,  if  it  had  not  betn  fo 
a  hot  midsimimer  night  :  for,  good  youth,  he  wen 
but  forth  to  wash  him  in  the  Hellespont,  anri 
beiuM  taken  with  the  cramp,  was  drowned  ;  ar  d  th» 
foolish  chroniclers  of  that  age  found  it  was — Her#, 
ot  Sestos.  But  these  are  all  lies;  men  have  died 
from  time  to  tiaie,  and  worms  have  eaten  them,  bni 
not  ibr  love. 


Scene  3.  AS  YOU 

Orl.  I  would  not  have  my  riglit  Rosalind  of  this 
•nind;  for,  1  protest,  her  frow  n  mif^ht  kill  me. 

Rus.  By  this  hiuid,  it  will  not  kdl  ti  fly  :  But 
come,  now  1  will  he  your  llosalind  in  a  more 
coming-on  disposition;  and  ask  me  what  you  will, 

will  grant  it. 

Orl.  'I'hen  love  me,  Rosalind. 

lios.  Ves,  faith  will  I,  Fridays  and  Saturdays, 

Orl.  And  wilt  thou  ha'.e  me  i  [and  all. 

Ros.  Ay,  and  twenty  such. 

Orl.  VV  hat  say  s»  tlicu  ? 

Run.  Are  you  not  good  ? 

Orl.  I  hope  so. 

Rus.  VVliy  then,  can  one  desire  too  much  of  a  good 
tUin^  ? — Come,  sister,  you  shall  be  the  priest,  and 
marry  us. — Citve  me  your  hand,  Orlando  : — What  do 
you  say,  sister  i 

Orl.  I'ray  thee,  marry  us. 

Cel.  I  cannot  say  the  words. 

Rus.  \o\\  tniist  Ijegin,  Will  you,  Orlando, — 

6V/.  Cio  to  :  W  ill  you,  Orlando,  ha\  eto\vife 

Orl.  1  w  ill.  Ithis  Rosalind  ? 

Rus.  Ay,  but  when? 

Orl.  W'liy  now  ;  as  fast  as  she  can  marry  us. 
Rus.  Tiien  you  njust  say, — 1  lake  t/ie.e,  Rosalind, 
fur  tvife. 

Orl.  i  take  thee,  Rosalind,  for  wife. 

Rus.  I  might  ask  you  for  your  conmiission ;  but, 
—  I  do  take  thee,  Orlando,  lor  my  husband  :  Tiiere 
a  girl  goes  before  the  priest:  and,  certainly,  a 
woman's  thought  runs  belore  iier  actions. 

Orl,  So  do  all  thoughts  :  they  are  winged. 

Rus.  Now  tell  iue,  how  long  you  would  have  her, 
after  you  ha\e  possessed  her. 

Orl.  Vor  ever,  and  a  tlay. 

Rus.  Say  a  day,  without  the  ever  :  No,  no,  Or- 
lando; men  are  April  when  they  woo,  December 
when  they  wed ;  maids  are  May  when  they  are 
iiiai(U,  but  the  sky  changes  when  they  are  wives.  I 
will  be  more  jealous  ol  thee  tlian  a  Barbary  cock- 
pigeon  over  his  lien;  more  clamorous  than  a  parrot 
n,i,fainst  rain  ;  more  new-fangled  tlian  an  ape  ;  more 
^iddy  in  my  desires  than  a  monkey  ;  I  will  weep 
lisr  notliing,' like  Diana  in  the  fountain,  and  I  will 
Ho  that  wiien  you  are  disposed  to  be  merry ;  I  will 
bugh  like  a  hyen,  and  that  when  thou  art  inclined 
lo  sleep. 

.0/7.  But  will  my  Rosalind  do  so? 
Rus.  By  my  life,  she  will  do  as  1  do. 
Orl.  O.  but  she  is  wise, 

Rus.  Or  else  she  could  not  have  the  wit  to  do 
this:  tiie  wiser,  the  waywarder  :  Make  the  doors 
npon  a  woman's  wit,  and  it  will  out  at  the  casement; 
shut  that,  and  'twill  out  at  the  key-hole  ;  stop  that, 
'tw  ill  lly  with  the  smoke  out  at  the  chimney. 

Orl.  A  nran,  that  had  a  wife  with  such  a  wit,  he 
iijiuht  say, —  Tf^it,  wlidker,  ivilt ! 

Rus:  5iay,  you  might  keej)  tliat  ch<»ck  for  it,  till 
you  met  your  wife's  wit  going  to  your  neighbour's 
bed.  [that? 

Orl.  And  what  wit  could  wit  have  to  excuse 

Rwi.  Marry,  to  say, — she  came  to  seek  you  there. 
You  shall  never  take  her  without  her  answer,  unless 
you  take  her  w  ithout  her  tongue.  O,  that  woman 
that  cannot  make  her  faidt  her  husband's  occasion, 
let  her  never  imrse  her  child  herself,  for  she  will 
breed  it  like  a  fool.  ,  [thee. 

Orl.  i'\)r  tiiese  two  hours,  Rosalind,  I  will  leave 

Ros.  Alas,  dear  love,  [  cannot  lack  thee  two  hours. 

Orl.  1  must  attend  the  duke  at  dinner;  by  two 
o'clock  I  will  be  with  thee  again. 

Ros.  Ay,  go  yoiu-  ways,  go  your  ways; — I  knew 
what  you  would  prove  ;  my  friends  told  me  as  tnuch. 
aiul  I  tliougiit  no  less: — that  llattering  tongue  of 
yours  won  me  : — 'tis  but  one  cast  away,  and  so, — 
come,  death. — Two  o'clock  is  your  hour? 

Orl.  Ay,  sweet  Rosalind. 

Ros  By  my  troth,  and  in  good  earnest,  and  o 
God  mend  nie,  and  by  all  pretty  oatlis,  tliat  are  not 
dangerous,  if  you  break,  one  jot  of  your  promise, 


LIKE  IT.  18t 

or  come  one  minute  behind  your  hour,  I  will  think 
you  the  most  patbetical  break-promise,  and  the  most 
hollow  lovtr,  and  the  most  unworthy  of  her  you  call 
Rosalind,  that  may  be  chosen  out  of  the  gross  band 
of  the  unfaithful :  therefore,  beware  my  censure,  and 
keep  your  promise. 

Orl.  With  no  less  religion,  than  if  thou  we rt  in- 
deed my  Rosalind  :  so,  adieu. 

Ros.  Well,  time  is  the  old  justice,  thatexamineB 
all  such  oifenders,  and  let  time  tj-y  :  Adieu! 

{Exit  Orlando. 

Cel.  You  have  simply  misus'd  our  sex  in  your 
love-prate  :  we  must  have  your  doublet  and  hose 
plucked  over  your  head,  and  shew  the  world  what 
the  bird  hath  done  to  her  own  nest. 

Ros.  O  coz,  coz,  coz,  my  pretty  little  coz,  that 
thou  didst  know  how  many  fathom  deep  I  am  in 
love  !  But  it  cannot  be  sounded  ;  my  affection  hath 
an  unknown  bottom,  like  the  bay  ot  Portugal. 

ChI.  Or  rather  bottomless;  that  as  fast  as  you 
pour  affection  in,  it  runs  out. 

Ros.  No,  that  same  wicked  bastard  of  Venus> 
that  was  begot  of  thought,  conceived  of  spleen,  and 
born  of  njadness  ;  that  blind  rascally  boy,  that  abuse.s 
every  one's  eyes,  because  his  own  are  out,  let  him 
be  judge,  how  deep  I  am  in  love  : — I'll  tell  thee, 
Aliena,  I  cannot  be  out  of  the  sight  of  Orlando  :  I'll 
go  find  a  shadow,  and  sigh  till  he  come. 

Cel.  And  I'll  sleep.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  II. — Another  part  of  the  Forest. 
Enter  Jaques  and  Lords,  in  the  habit  of  Foresters. 
Jaq.  Which  is  he  that  killed  the  deer? 

1  Lord.  Sir,  it  was  I. 

Jaq.  Let's  present  him  to  the  duke,  like  a  Roman 
conqueror ;  and  it  would  do  well  to  set  the  deer's 
horns  upon  his  head,  for  a  branch  of  victnry  : — Have 
you  no  song,  forester,  for  this  purpose  ? 

2  Lord.  Yes,  sir. 

Jaq.  Sing  it;  'tis  no  matter  how  it  be  in  tune,  so 
it  make  noise  enough. 

SONG. 

1.  What  shall  he  have  that  Icill'd  the  deer? 

2.  His  leather  shin  and  horns  to  ivear. 

1.  Then  sing  him  home  : 
Take  thou  no  scorn,  to  wear  the  horn  ;  \  The  rest 
//  was  a.  crest,  ere  thou  wast  born,    f  shall  bear 

1.  Thy  father's  father  IV ore  it ;  |this  bur- 

2.  And  thy  father  bore  it :  '  den. 
All.  The  horn,  the  horn,  the  lusty  horn, 

Is  not  a  thing  to  laugh  to  scorn. 

Scene  III.— The  Forest. 
Enter  Rosalind  and  Celia. 
Rus.  How  say  you  novv  ?    Is  it  not  past  two 
o'clo(^k?    And  here  much  Orlando! 

Cel.  I  warrant  you,  with  pure  love,  and  troubled 
brain,  he  hath  ta'en  his  bow  and  arrows,  and  is  gone 
forth — to  sleep  : — Look,  who  comes  here. 

Enter  SiLvius. 

67/.  My  errand  is  to  you,  fair  youth  ; — 
My  gentle  Phebe  bid  me  give  you  this  : 

[Giving  a  letter.) 
I  know  not  the  contents  ;  but,  as  I  guess, 
By  the  stern  brow  and  waspish  action 
Which  she  did  use  as  shf  was  writing  of  it, 
It  bears  an  angry  tenour.  pard  )n  me, 
I  atn  but  as  a  gudtless  messenger. 

Ros.  Patience  herself  would  startle  at  this  lelterj 
And  play  the  swaggerer;  bear  (his,  bear  all : 
She  says  I  am  not  fair  ;  that  I  lack  manners  ,  [mci 
She  calls  me  proud  ;  and,  that  she  could  not  lov« 
Were  man  as  rare  as  phoenix  ;  Od's  my  will  , 
Her  love  is  not  the  hare  that  1  do  hunt : 
Why  writes  she  .so  to  me? — Well,  shepherd  wel^ 
This  is  a  letter  of  your  own  de\  ice. 

Sil.  No,  I  protest,  I  know  not  the  couten<», 
Phebe  did  write  it 


182  AS  YOU 

tlo$.  Come,  come,  you  are  a  fool, 

And  turu  A  into  the  extremity  of  love, 
f  sau  her  hand  :  she  has  a  leathern  hand, 
A  fretstone-colotird  hand  ;  I  verily  did  think, 
That  her  old  gloves  were  on,  but  "twas  her  hands; 
She  has  a  huswife's  hand  ;  b'lt  that's  no  matter  : 
I  say,  she  never  did  invent  this  letter; 
This  is  a  man's  invention,  and  his  hand. 

Sil.  Sure,  it  is  hers. 

Hos.  Why,  'tis  a  boisterous  and  cruel  style, 
A  style  for  challengers;  why,  she  defies  me. 
Like  Turk  to  Christian :  woman's  gentle  brain 
Could  not  drop  iorth  such  giant  rude  invention. 
Such  Ethiop  words,  blacker  in  their  effect 
Than  in  their  countenance  ; — Will  you  hear  the 
letter? 

Sil.  So  please  you,  for  T  never  heard  it  yet; 
Yet  beard  too  much  of  Phebe's  cruelty.  [writes. 

RcJt.  She  Phebes  me  :  Mark  how  the  tyrant 
Art  thoti  god  to  shepherd  turnd,  [Reads.) 
That  a  maiden's  heart  hath  hurndl 
Can  a  woman  rail  tluis  V 

SiL     Call  you  this  railing? 

Ros.    Why,  thy  godhead  laid  apart, 

Warrst  thou  with  a  woman  s  heart  ? 
Did  you  ever  hear  such  railing? — 

Whiles  the  eye  of  man  did  woo  me, 
That  could  do  no  vengeance  to  tne. — 
Meaning  me  a  beast. — 

If  the  scorn  of  your  bright  eyne 
Have  power  to  raise  such  love  in  mine 
^laclc,  in  me  what  strange  effect 
Would  they  work  in  mild  aspect? 
Whiles  you  chid  me,  I  did  love ; 
How  then  might  your  prayers  move  ! 
He,  that  brings  this  love  to  thee, 
Little  knoivs  this  love  m  me  : 
And  by  him  seal  up  thy  mind; 
ffhether  that  thy  youth  and  kind 
irm  the  faithful  offer  take 
Of  me,  and  all  that  I  can  make  ; 
Or  else  by  him  my  love  deny. 
And  then  I II  study  how  to  die. 

Sil  Call  you  this  chiding? 

Cel.  Alas,  poor  shepherd  ! 

Ros.  Do  you  pity  him  ?  no,  he  deserves  no  pity. — 
Wilt  thou  love  such  a  woman  ? — What,  to  make 
thee  an  instrument,  and  play  I'alse  strains  upon  thee  ! 
not  to  be  endured  I—  Well,  go  your  way  to  her,  (for 
I  see,  love  hath  made  thee  a  tame  snake,)  and  say 
this  to  her : — That  if  she  love  me,  I  charge  her  to 
love  thee  :  if  she  will  not,  I  will  never  have  her, 
unless  thou  entreat  for  her. — If  you  be  a  true  lover, 
hence,  and  not  a  word ;  for  here  com^s  more  com- 
jiany.  [Exit  Silmus. 

Enter  Oliver. 

OH.  Good  morrow,  fair  ones.   Pray  you,  if  you 
know 

Where,  in  the  purlieus  of  this  forest,  stands 
A  sheep  cote,  fenc'd  about  with  olive-trees  ? 

Cel.  West  of  this  place,  down  in  the  neighbour 
bottom. 

The  rank  of  osiers,  by  the  murmuring  stream. 
Left  on  your  right  hand,  brings  you  to  the  place : 
Hut  at  this  hour  the  house  doth  keep  itself. 
There's  none  within. 

Oli.  If  that  an  eye  may  profit  by  a  tongue. 
Then  I  should  know  you  by  description 
Such  garments,  and  such  years  :  The  boy  is  fair. 
Of  female  favour,  and  bestows  himself 
Like  a  ripe  sister:  but  the  woman  loiv. 
And  brovner  than  her  brother.    Are  not  you 
'\'\\(*  owner  of  the  house  I  did  inquire  for  ? 

Cel.  It  is  no  boast,  being  ask'd,  to  say,  we  aie. 

OH.  Orlando  doth  commend  him  to  you  both  ; 
And  to  that  youth,  he  calls  his  Rosalind, 
Ke  sends  this  bloody  napkin:  Are  you  he  ? 

Ros.  i  am  ;  what  must  we  understand  by  this  ? 


LIKE  IT.  Act  IV 

Oh.  Some  ol  my  shame  :  if  you  will  know  of  mb 
What  man  I  am,  and  how ,  and  why,  and  wher« 
This  handkerchief  was  stain'd. 

Cel.  1  pray  you,  teJl  it 

OH.  When  last  the  young  Orlando  parted  from 
He  left  a  promise  to  return  again  [  OU; 

Within  an  hour;  and  pacing  through  the  forest. 
Chewing  the  food  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy; 
Lo,  what  befel  !  he  threw  his  eye  aside. 
And,  mark,  what  objf'ct  did  present  itself! 
Under  an  oak,  whose  boughs  were  moss'd  with  aga. 
And  high  top  bald  with  dry  antiquity, 
A  wretched  ragged  man,  o'ergrown  with  hair. 
Lay  sleeping  on  his  back  :  about  his  neck 
A  green  and  gilded  snake  had  wreath'd  itself. 
Who  with  her  head,  nimble  in  threats,  approach'^ 
The  opening  of  his  mouth  ;  but  suddenly 
Seeing  Orlando,  it  unlink'd  itself. 
And  with  indented  glides  did  slip  away 
Into  a  bush  :  under  which  bush's  shade 
A  lioness,  with  udders  all  drawn  dry. 
Lay  coiictiiiig,  head  on  ground,  with  cat-like  watcia, 
When  that  the  sleeping  man  should  stir;  for  'tis 
The  royal  disposition  of  that  beast. 
To  prey  on  nothing  that  doth  seem  as  dead  : 
This  seen,  Orlando  did  approach  the  man. 
And  found  it  was  his  brother,  his  elder  brother. 

Cel.  O,  I  have  heard  him  speak  of  that  same 
brother ; 

And  he  did  render  him  the  most  unnatural, 
Th;»t  lived  'mongst  men. 

OH.  And  well  he  might  so  do 

For  well  I  know  he  was  unnatural. 

Ros.  But,  to  Orlando; — Did  he  leave  him  there, 
Food  to  the  suck'd  and  hungry  lioness? 

OH.  Twice  did  he  turn  his  back,  and  purpos'd  so; 
But  kindness,  nobler  ever  than  revenge. 
And  nature,  stronger  than  his  just  occasion, 
Made  him  give  battle  to  the  lioness, 
Wiio  quickly  fell  before  him  ;  in  which  hurtling 
From  miserable  slumber  I  awak'd. 

Cel.  Are  you  his  brother? 

Ros.  Was  it  you  he  rescued  ? 

Cel.  Was't  you,  that  did  so  oft  contrive  to  kill 
him  ? 

OH.  'Twas  I ;  but  'tis  not  I :  I  do  not  shame 
To  tell  you  what  I  was,  since  my  conversion 
So  sweetly  tastes,  being  the  thing  I  am. 

Ros.  But,  for  the  bloody  napkin? — 

OH.  By  and  by 

When  from  the  first  to  last,  betwixt  us  two. 
Tears  our  recountments  had  most  kindly  bath'd, 
As,  how  I  came  into  that  desert  place; 
In  brief,  he  led  me  to  the  gentle  duke. 
Who  gave  me  fresh  array,  and  entertainment, 
Coumiitting  me  unto  my  brother's  love ; 
Who  led  me  instantly  unto  his  cave, 
Inhere  stripp'd  himself,  and  here  upon  his  arm 
The  lioness  had  torn  some  flesh  away. 
Which  all  this  while  had  bled ;  and  now  he  fainted. 
And  cry'd,  in  fainting,  upon  Rosalind. 
Brief,  1  recover'd  him;  bound  up  his  wound; 
And,  after  some  small  space,  being  strong  at  heart, 
He  sent  me  hither,  stranger  as  I  am. 
To  tell  this  story,  that  you  might  excuse 
His  broken  promise,  and  to  give  this  napkin, 
Dyed  in  his  blood,  unto  the  shepherd  youth 
That  he  in  sport  doth  call  his  Rosalind. 

Cel.  Why,  how  now,  Ganymede  ?  sweet  Gany- 
mede ?  [Rosalind  faints.) 

OH.  Many  will  swoon  when  they  do  look  on  blood 

Cel.  There  is  more  in  it: — cousin — Ganymede! 

OH.  Look,  he  recovers. 

Ros.  I  would,  I  were  at  home* 

Cel.  We'll  lead  you  thither  : — 
I  prav  you,  will  you  take  him  by  the  arm? 

Oh.  Be  of  good  cheer,  youth: — You  a  man?— 
You  lack  a  man's  heart. 

Ros.  I  do  so,  I  confess  it.  Ah,  sir,  a  body  woniol 
think  this  was  ,weli  counterfeited :  1  pray  you, 


Act  \.    Scene  2.  AS  YOU 

our  brother  how  well  I  counterfeited. — Heigh 
o!— - 

GIL  This  was  not  counterfeit ;  there  is  too  great 
estimony  in  your  complexion,  that  it  was  a  passion 
of  earnest. 

Ros.  Counterfeit,  I  assure  you. 

OH.  Weil  then,  take  a  good  heart,  and  counter- 
feit to  be  a  man. 

Ros.  So  I  do :  but  i'faith,  I  should  have  been  a 
^vtonmn  by  right. 

Cel.  Come,  you  look  paler  and  paler ;  pray  you, 
draw  homewards: — Good  sir,  go  with  us. 

OH.  That  will  T,  lor  I  must  bear  answer  back 
ilow  you  excuse  my  brother,  Rosalind. 

Ros.  I  shall  devise  something:  but,  I  pray  you, 
commend  my  counterfeiting  to  him : — Will  you  go? 

lExeunt. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I. —  T/ie  satne. 
Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey. 

Fouck.  We  shall  find  a  time,  Audrey  ;  patience, 
gentle  Audrey. 

Aud.  'Faith,  the  priest  was  good  enough,  for  all 
the  old  gentleman's  saying. 

Touch.  A  most  wicked  sir  Oliver,  Audrey,  a  most 
vile  Mar  text.  But,  Audrey  ,  there  is  a  youth  here 
in  the  forest  lays  claim  to  you. 

Aud.  Ay,  I  know  who  'tis  ;  he  hath  no  interest  in 
me  in  the  world :  here  comes  the  man  you  mean. 

Enter  William. 

Touch,  It  is  meat  and  drink  to  me  to  see  a  clown. 
By  my  troth,  we  that  liave  good  wits,  have  much  to 
answer  for;  we  shall  be  flouting^  we  cannot  hold. 

U^ill.  Good  even,  Audrey. 

Aud.  God  ye  good  even,  William. 

Tf^ill.  An  !  good  even  to  you,  sir. 

Touch.  Good  even,  gentle  friend :  cover  thy 
head,  cover  thy  head  :  nay,  prithee,  be  covered. 
How  old  !ire  you,  friend  ? 

fFill.  Five  and  twenty,  sir. 

Touch.  A  ripe  age  :  is  thy  name  William  ? 

mil.  William,  sir.  _       [here  ? 

Touch.  A  fair  name  :  Wnst  born  i'  the  forest 

Will.  Ay,  sir,  I  thank  God. 

Touch.  Thanh  God; — a  good  answer:  art  rich? 

Will.   Faith,  sir.  so  so. 

Touch.  So,  so,  is  goud.-^very  good,  very  excelle  t 
good  : — and  yet  it  is  not ;  it  is  but  so  so.    Art  thou 

PP^i/l.  Ay,  sir,  I  have  a  pre1;ty  wit.  [wise  ? 

Touch.  Why,  tnou  say'st  well.  I  do  now  re- 
member a  saying  ;*T/te  fool  doth  think  he  is  wise, 
but  the  wise  man  knows  himself  to  be  a  fool.  The 
heathen  phiU)sopher,  when  he  had  a  desire  to  eat  a 
grape,  would  oj)en  his  lips  when  he  put  it  into  his 
mouth;  meaning  thereby,  that  grapes  were  made  to 
eat,  and  lips  to  open.    You  do  love  this  maid  ? 

Will.  I  do,  sir. 

Touch.  Give  me  your  hand :  art  thou  learned  ? 
Will.  No,  sir. 

Touch.  Then  learn  this  of  me:  to  have,  is  to 
have:  for  it  is  a  figure  in  rhetoric,  that  drink,  being 
poured  out  of  a  cup  into  a  glass,  by  filling  the  one 
doth  empty  the  other:  for  all  your  writers  do  con- 
sent, that  ipse  is  he  ,  now,  you  are  not  ipse,  for  1  am 

ft  ill.  Which  he, sir?  [he. 

Touch.  He,  sir,  that  must  marry  this  woman : 
therefore,  y(Ui  clown,  abandon, — which  is  in  the 
vulgar  leave, — the  society, — which  in  the  boorish 
Is,  company, — of  this  female, — which  in  the  com- 
[iDon  is,  woman, — which  together  is,  abandon  the 
'-"ciety  of  this  iemale  ;  or,  clown,  thou  perishest;  or, 
^  thy  bettei  undt-rstaiiding.  diest ;  to  wit,  I  kill 
make  thee  away,  translate  thy  life  into  death, 
tiiy  lib(  ity  into  bondage:  I  will  deal  in  poison  with 
thee,  rin  bastinado,  or  in  steel :  I  will  bandy  with 
the<;  faction;  1  will  o'er-run  thee  with  p  )iicy  ;  I 
will  Kji\  thee  a  hundred  and  fifty  ways;  therefore 
tremble,  and  depart. 


LIKE  IT.  18% 
Aud.  Do,  good  William. 

PrUl.  God  rest  you  merry,  sir.  I  Exit. 

Enter  Corin. 

Cor.  Our  master  and  mistress  seek  tew;  come, 
away,  away. 

Touch.  Trip,  Audrey,  trip,  Audrey : — I  attend, 
I  attend.  [Exeunt 

Scene  II. — The  same. 
Enter  Orlando  and  Oliver. 

Orl.  Is't  possible,  that  on  so  little  acquaintance 
you  should  like  her?  that,  but  seeing,  you  should 
love  her?  and,  loving,  woo?  and,  wooing,  she  should 
grant?  and  will  you  persever  to  enjoy  her? 

Oli.  Neither  call  the  giddiness  of  it  in  question, 
the  poverty  of  her,  the  small  acquaintance,  my 
sudden  wooing,  nor  her  sudden  consenting;  but 
say  with  me,  I  love  Aliena ;  say  with  her,  that  she 
loves  me:  consent  with  both,  that  we  may  enjoy 
each  other:  it  shall  be  to  your  good;  for  my 
fathers  house,  and  all  the  revenue  that  was  old  sir 
Rowland's,  will  I  estate  upon  you.  and  here  live 
and  die  a  shepherd. 

Enter  Rosalind. 

Orl.  You  have  my  consent.  Let  your  wedding 
be  to-morrow;  thither  will  I  invite  the  duke,  aod 
all  his  contented  followers :  go  you,  and  prepare 
Aliena ;  for,  look  you,  here  comes  my  Rosalind. 

Ros.  God  save  you,  brother. 

Oli.  And  you,  fair  sister. 

Ros.  O,  my  dear  Orlando,  how  it  grieves  me  to 
see  thee  wear  thy  heart  in  a  scarf. 
Orl.  It  is  my  arm. 

Ros.  I  thought,  thy  heart  had  been  wounded 
with  the  claws  of  a  lion 

Orl.  Wounded  it  is,  but  with  the  eyes  of  a  lady 
Ros.  Did  your  brother  tell  you  how  I  counter 
feited  to  swoon,  when  he  show'd  me  your  hand- 
kerchief? 

Orl.  Ay,  and  greater  wonders  than  that. 

Ros.  O,  I  know  where  you  are  ; — Nay,  'tis  true , 
there  was  never  any  thing  so  sudden,  but  the  fight 
of  two  rams,  and  Caesar's  thrasonical  brag  of—  / 
came,  saw,  and  overcame :  For  your  brother  and 
my  sister  no  sooner  met,  but  they  looked  ;  no  sooner 
looked,  but  they  loved;  no  sooner  loved,  but  they 
sighed  ;  no  sooner  sighed,  but  they  asked  one  ano- 
ther the  reason;  no  sooner  knew  the  reason,  but 
they  sought  the  remedy  :  and  in  these  degrees  have 
they  made  a  pair  of  stairs  to  marriage,  which  they 
will  climb  incontinent,  or  else  be  incontinent  before 
marriage:  they  are  in  the  very  wrath  of  love,  and 
they  will  together  ;  clubs  cannot  part  them. 

Orl.  They  shall  be  married  to-morrow;  and  I  wi'IJ 
bid  the  duke  to  the  nuptials.  But,  O,  how  bitter  a 
thinof  it  is  to  look  into  happiness  through  another 
man's  eyes  !  By  so  much  the  more  shall  1  to-mor- 
row be  at  the  height  of  heart-heaviness,  by  how 
much  I  shall  think  my  brother  happy,  in  having 
what  he  wishes  for. 

Ros.  Why  then,  to-morrow  I  cannot  serve  youi 
turn  for  Rosalind? 

Orl.  I  can  live  no  longer  by  thinking. 

Ros.  I  will  weary  you  no  longer  then  with  idle 
talking.  Know  of  me  then,  (for  now  I  speak  to 
some  purpose,)  that  I  know  you  are  a  gentleman 
of  good  conceit:  I  speak  not  this,  that  you  should 
bear  a  good  opinion  of  my  knowledge,  insomuch,  1 
say,  I  know  you  are ;  neithei  do  I  labour  for  a 
greater  esteem  than  nay  in  some  little  measure 
draw  a  belief  from  ycu  to  do  yourself  good,  and 
not  to  grace  me.  Believe  then,  if  you  please,  that 
I  can  do  strange  things :  I  have,  since  1  was  three 
years  old,  conversed  witli  a  magician,  inost  profound 
in  his  art,  and  yet  not  damnable.  If  you  do  love 
Rosalind  so  near  the  heart  as  your  gesture  cries  it 
out,  when  your  brother  marries  Aliena,  shall  yoa 
marry  her:   I  know  into  what  straits  of  fortuuti 


184 


AS  YOU 


LIKE  IT. 


Act  T. 


she  is  driven ;  and  it  is  not  impossible  to  me,  if  it 
appear  not  inconvenient  to  you,  to  set  her  before 
your  eyes  to-morrow,  human  as  slie  is,  and  vvithout 
ifay  dttnger 

O/l.  Sjieakest  thou  in  sober  meanings  ? 

Ros.  By  my  hie,  I  do ;  which  I  tender  dearly, 
thouoh  i  say  i  am  a  magician:  therefore,  put  you 
in  your  best  array,  bid  your  friends;  for  if  you  will 
be  married  to-morrow,  you  shall  ^  and  to  Rosalind, 
if  you  will. 

Enter  Silvius  and  Phebe. 
Look,  here  comes  a  lover  of  mine,  and  a  lover  of  hers. 

P/m  Youth,  you  have  do»e  nu'  much  ungentleness, 
To  show  tiif  letter  that  1  writ  to  you. 

.Ro*   !  caie  not  if  1  liave  :  it  is  my  study, 
To  Sf^  i  despiteful  and  ungentle  to  you  : 
You  a?  i  there  foUow'd  by  a  faithful  shepherd  ; 
liook  I  pon  him,  love  him  ;  he  worships  you. 

P/te.  Good  shepherd,  tell  this  youth  what  'tis  to 
love. 

Sil.  It  is  to  be  all  made  of  sighs  and  tears  ; — 

P/te.  And  I  for  Ganymede. 
Ori.  And  I  (or  Rosalind. 
Ros.  And  I  ibr  no  woman. 

Si/.  It  is  to  be  all  made  of  faith  and  service; — 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 

P/ie.  And  1  for  Ganymede. 

Orl.  And  I  ibr  Rosalind. 

Rui>.  And  I  for  no  woman. 

Sil.  k  is  to  be  all  nmde  of  fantasy, 
A  I!  niade  of  passion,  and  all  made  of  wishes; 
All  adoration,  luty  and  observance, 
All  hujibleness,  al'  uatience,  and  impatience. 
All  purity,  all  tria..  .til  observance; — 
And  so  am  1  for  PheOe, 

P/ie.  And  so  am  i  for  Ganymede. 

Orl.  And  so  am  I  for  Rosalind. 

Ros  And  so  am  I  for  no  woman. 

P/ie.  Jf  this  be  so,  why  blan.e  you  me  to  love 
you  ?  [To  Rosalind.) 

Sil.   If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love 
youV  {To  Phebe.) 

Orl.  It  this  be  so,  why  blame  yon  me  to  love  you  V 

Rus.  Who  do  you  speak  to,  why  blame  you  me 
to  love  you  ? 

Orl.  To  her  that  is  not  here,  nor  doth  not  hear.' 

Ros.  Pray  yon,  no  n)ore  of  this  I  'tis  like  the 
howling  ol  Irish  wohes  against  the  moon. — 1  will 
help  you,  [to  Silvius)  if  I  can: — I  would  love  you, 
[to  Phebe)  if  I  could. — To-morrow  meet  ine  all  to- 
gether.— I  will  marry  you,  [to  Phebe)  if  ever  I 
marry  woman,  and  111  be  married  tomorrow: — 1 
will  satisly  you,  [to  Orlando)  if  ever  I  satisfied 
man,  and  yon  shall  be  married  to-morrow: — I  will 
content  yon,  [to  Silvius)  \i' wlvAt  pleases  you  con- 
tents yon,  and  you  shall  be  married  tomorrow. — 
As  you  [to  Orlando)  love  Rosalind,  meet ; — as  you 
{to  Silvius)  love  Pliebe,  meet; — and  as  1  love  no 
woman,  1  11  meet. — So,  fare  you  well;  1  have  lett 
you  coinniands. 

Sil.  I  11  not  fail,  ifl  live. 

Phe.  Nor  I. 

Orl.  Nor  I. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  III.— The  same. 
Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey. 
Tiuch.  To-morrow  is  the  joyful  day,  Audrey ; 
to  morrow  will  we  be  married. 

Aud.  I  do  desn-e  it  with  all  my  heart :  and  I  hope 
It  is  no  dishonest  desire,  to  desire  to  be  a  woman  of 
the  world.  Here  comes  two  of  the  banished  duke's 
pagt!S. 

Enter  two  Pages. 
I  Page.  Well  met,  honest  gentleman. 
Touch.  By  my  troth,  well  met :  Come,  sit,  sit, 
and  a  mug. 


2  Page.  We  are  for  you  :  sit  i'  the  middle. 

1  Page.  Shall  we  clap  into  t  roundly,  without 
hawking,  or  spitting,  or  saying  we  are  hoarse  ;  which 
are  the  only  prologues  to  a  bad  \oice? 

2  Page.  I'faith,  i'faith;  and  both  in  a  tune,  lika 
two  gipsies  on  a  horse. 

SONG 

It  tvas  a  lover,  and  his  layn. 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nontno. 
That  o  er  the  green  ror/i  Jield  did  pass, 

In  the  spring  limey  the  only  jiretly  rank  time. 
When  birds  do  sing,  hey  ding  a  ding,  ding  ; 
Sweet  lovers  love  the  spring. 

11. 

Between  the  acres  of  /he  rye. 

With  a.  hey,  and  a  hu,  and  a  hey  nouino, 
These  pretty  country  folks  would  lie. 

In  spring  time,  ^'c. 

III. 

This  carol  they  began  that  hour, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino, 
How  that  a  lije  was  but  a  flower 

In  spring  lime,  ^'c. 

IV. 

And  therefore  lake  the  present  time, 

With  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino  ; 

For  love  is  croicned  lu/fh  the  prime 
In  spring  time,  ^'c. 

Touch.  Truly,  young  gentlemen,  though  there 
was  no  greater  matter  in  the  ditty,  yt-t  the  note  was 
very  untnneable. 

1  Page.  \'ou  are  dec^-ived,  sir;  we  kept  time, 
we  lost  not  our  time. 

Touch.  By  my  troth,  yes  ;  I  ronnt  it  but  time  lost 
to  hear  such  a  I'oolisli  song.  (Jod  bt-  with  you  ;  and 
God  mend  your  voices  '    Come,  Audrey.  [EAeunt 

Scene  IW— Another  Part  of  the  Forest, 

Enter  Duke  Senior,  Amiens,  J  xyuEs,  Orlando, 
Oi.iVEK,  and  Celia, 
Puke  S.  Dost  thou  bflit-ve,  Orlando,  that  the  boy 
can  do  all  this  that  he  liatli  promised  ? 

Orl.  I  sometimes  do  belies  e,  and  sometimes  do  not; 
As  those  that  fear  they  hope,  and  know  they  iear. 
Enter  Rosalind,  Silvius,  and  Pmkbe. 
Rus.  Patience  once  more,  whiles  onr  compact  is 
urged :  

You  say,  il'  i  bring  in  your  Rosalind  [To  the  Duke.} 
\o\\  will  bestow  her(m  Orlando  here? 

Duke  S.  That  would  J,  had  I  kingdoms  to  give 
with  her. 

Ros.  And  you  say,  you  will  have  her,  when  I 
bring  her?  [To  Orlando) 

Orl.  That  would  I,  were  I  of  all  kingdoms  king-. 
Ros.  You  say,  you'll  marry  me,  if  1  be  willing? 

[To  Ph*'be.) 
Phe.  T\\i\i  will  I,  should  1  die  the  hour  alter 
Ros.  But,  if  you  do  refuse  to  marry  me. 
You'll  give  yourself  to  this  most  iaitliiul  shepherd  ? 
Plie.  So  is  the  bargain. 

Ros.  You  say,  that  you'll  have  Phebe,  if  she 
will  ?  [To  Silvius.) 

Sil.  Though  to  have  her  and  death  were  both  one 
thing.  (even. 
Ros.  I  have  promis'd  to  make  all  this  matter 
Keep   you   your   word,   O  duke,   to  give  your 

daughter  • — 
You  yours,  Orlando,  to  receive  his  daughter :— 
Keep  your  word,  Phebe,  that  you  ll  marry  uie; 
Or  else,  refusing  me,  to  wed  this  shepherd  : — 
Keep  your  word,  Sihius,  that  you'll  marry  her 
If  she  ref  use  me  : — and  from  hence  i  go. 
To  make  these  doubts  all  even. 

[Exeunt  Rosalind  and  Ce 


Scene  4,  AS  YOU 

l>M^e  8.  I  do  remember  in  this  «fiep}ierd-boy 
Some  lively  toiiclies  of  iny  daiiglitt- r's  favour. 

Orl.  My  lord,  the  first  time  that  I  ever  saw  him, 
Methonght  he  was  a  brother  to  your  daughter : 
But,  my  good  lord,  this  boy  is  forest-born ; 
And  hath  been  tutor'd  in  the  rudiments 
Of  many  desperate  studies  by  his  uncle, 
Whom  he  reports  to  be  a  great  magician. 
Obscured  in  the  circle  of  this  forest. 

Enter  Touchstone  and  Audrey. 

Jaq.  There  is,  sure,  another  flood  toward,  and 
these  couples  are  coming  to  the  ark!  Here  comes 
a  pair  of  very  strange  beasts,  which  in  all  tongues  are 
called  tools. 

Touch.  Salutation  and  greeting  to  you  all ! 

Jaq.  Good  my  lord,  bid  him  welcome :  This  is 
tlie  motley-minded  gentleman,  that  I  have  so  often 
me  t  in  the  ("orest :  he  hath  been  a  courtier,  he  swears. 

Touch.  If  any  man  doubt  that,  let  him  put  me  to 
my  purgation.  I  have  trod  a  measure  ;  I  have  flat- 
tered a  lady  ;  I  have  been  politic  with  my  friend, 
smooth  with  mine  enemy ;  1  have  undone  three 
t  ti'lors  ;  1  have  had  four  quarrels,  and  like  to  have 
Icnght  one. 

Jaq.  And  how  was  that  ta'en  up? 

Touch.  'Faith,  we  liiet,  and  found  the  quarrel  was 
jijpon  the  seventh  cause. 

Jaq.  How  seventh  cause? — Good  my  lord,  like 

Duke  S.  I  like  him  very  well.  _         [this  fellow. 

Touch.  God'ild  you,  sir;  1  desire  you  of  the  like. 
J  press  in  here,  sir,  amorigst  the  rt  st  of  the  country 
copulatives,  to  swear,  and  to  forswear;  according 
as  uuirriage  binds,  and  blood  breaks:  —  A  poor 
viii;i»)  sir,  an  iil-l'avoured  thing,  sir,  hut  mine  own ; 
;i  poor  humour  of  mine,  sir,  to  take  that,  that  no  man 
else  will  :  rich  honesty  dwells  like  a  miser,  sir,  in 
n  po)r  house;  as  your  pearl,  in  your  foul  oyster. 

JJ  ikf.  S.  By  my  iaith,  he  is  very  swift  and  sen- 
tentious. 

Touch.  According  to  the  fool's  bolt,  sir,  and  such 
dulcet  diseases. 

Jaq.  But,  for  the  seventh  cause  ;  how  did  you  find 
the  quarrel  on  the  seventh  cause? 

Touch.  Upon  a  lie  seven  times  removed ; — Bear 
_^our  body  more  seeming,  Audrey  : — as  thus,  sir.  I 
ciid  dislike  the.  cut  of  a  certain  courtier's  beard;  he 
sent  me  word,  it  I  said  his  beard  was  not  cut  well, 
he  was  in  the  mind  it  was  :  This  is  called  the  Re- 
tort courteous.  If  I  sent  him  word  again,  it  was  not 
well  cut,  he  would  send  me  word,  he  cut  it  to  please 
himself:  This  is  called  the  Quip  modest.  If  again, 
it  was  not  well  cut,  he  disabled  my  judgment :  This 
is  call'd  the  Reply  churlish.  If  again,  it  was  not 
well  cut,  he  would  answer,  I  spake  not  true  :  This 
is  call'd  the  Reproqf  valiant.  If  again,  it  was  not 
well  cut,  he  would  say,  I  lie.  Tliis  is  call'd  the 
Cou7itercheck  quarrelsome  :  and  so  to  the  Lie  cir- 
cumstantial, and  the  Lie  direct.  [well  cut? 

Jaq.  And  how  oft  did  you  say,  his  beard  was  not 

Touch.  1  durst  go  no  further  tliao  the  Lie  circum- 
stantial,  nor  he  durst  not  give  me  the  Lie  direct; 
and  so  we  measured  swords,  and  parted. 

Jaq.  Can  you  nominate  in  order  now  the  degrees 
of  the  lie  ? 

Touch.  Q,  sir,  we  quarrel  in  print,  by  the  book ; 
as  you  have  books  for  good  manners :  I  will  name  you 
the  degrees.  The  first,  the  Retort  courteous;  the 
second,  the  Quip  modest;  the  third,  the  Reply 
churlish;  the  fourth,  the  Reproof  valiant;  the  fifth, 
the  Countercheck  quarrelsome ;  the  sixth,  the  Lie 
with  circumstance  ;  the  seventh,  the  Lie  direct.  All 
these  you  niay  avoid,  but  the  lie  direct;  and  you 
may  avoid  that  too,  with  an  If.  I  knew  when  seven 
•ustices  could  nut  take  up  a  quarrel ;  but  when  the 

tarlies  were  met  themselves,  one  of  them  thought 
ut  of  an  If,  as,  If  you  said  so,  then  I  said  so; 
And  they  s.-iook  hands,  and  swore  brothers.  Your 
^is  the  only  p«ace-maker ;  much  virtue  in  If. 


LIKE  IT.  185 

Jaq.  Is  not  this  a  rare  fellow,  my  lord?  he's  as 
good  at  any  thing,  and  yet  a  fool. 

Duke  S.  He  uses  his  folly  like  a  stalking  hor§e, 
and  under  presentation  of  that,  he  shoots  his  wit 

Enter  Hymen,  leadinrj  Rosalind  in  wvnuatf» 
clothes;  «wc/Celia. 

Still  Music. 
Hym.  Then  is  there  mirth  in  heaven. 
When  earthly  things  made  even. 

Atone  together. 
Good  duke,  receive  thy  daughter, 
Hymen  from  heaven  brought  her, 

Yea,  brought  her  hither  ; 
That  thou  might' st  join  her  hand  ivith  hiSj 
Whose  heart  ivithin  her  bosom  is. 

Ros.  To  you  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  yours. 

[To  Duke  8.) 

To  you  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  yours. 

[To  Orlando:) 

Duke  S.  If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you  are  my 
daughter.  [lind. 
Orl.  If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you  are  my  Rosa> 
Phe.  If  sight  and  shape  be  true, 
Why  then, — my  love,  adieu  ! 
Ros.  I'll  have  no  father,  if  you  be  not  he  : — 

(I'oDukeS.) 

I'll  have  no  husband,  if  yo»  be  not  he 

{To  Orlando.) 

Nor  ne'er  wed  woman,  if  you  be  not  she.  {To  Phebe*) 
Hym.  Peace,  ho!  I  bar  confusion : 
'Tis  I  must  make  conclusion 

Of  these  most  strange  events  ! 
Here's  eight  that  must  take  hands. 
To  join  in  Hymen's  bands, 
If  truth  holds  true  contents. 
You  and  you  no  cross  shall  part* 

{To  Orlando  and  Rosalind.) 
You  and  you  are  heart  in  heart : 

^  To  Oliver  and  Celia, 
You  {To  Phebe)  to  his  love  must  accord. 
Or  have  a  woman  to  your  lord  :— 
You  and  you  are  sure  together, 

{To  Touchstone  and  Audrey,) 
As  the  winter  to  foul  weather. 
Whiles  a  wedlock-hymn  we  sing. 
Feed  yourselves  with  questioning; 
That  reason  wonder  ntay  diminish, 
How  thus  we  met,  and  these  things  finish. 

SONG. 

Wedding  is  great  Juno's  crotvn; 

0  blessed  bond  of  board  and  bed  !  ('. 
*T^A'  Hymen  peoples  every  toivn; 

High  wedlock  then  be  honoured  ! 
Honour,  high  honour  and  renown^ 
To  Hymen,  god  of  every  toivn  ! 

Duke  S.  O,  my  dear  niece,  welcome  thou  art  to 
Even  daughter,  welcome  in  no  less  degree.  [me; 

Phe.  I  will  not  eat  my  word  :  now  thou  art  mine; 
Thv  faith  my  fancy  to  thee  doth  combine. 

{To  Silvius) 

Enter  Jaques  de  Bois. 
Jaq.  de  B.  Let  me  have  audience  for  a  word  oT 
1  am  the  second  son  of  old  sir  Rowland,  [twaj 
That  bring  these  tidings  to  this  fair  assembly;— 
Duke  Frederick,  hearing  how  that  every  day 
Men  of  great  worth  resorted  to  this  forest, 
Address'd  a  mighty  power;  which  were  on  foot. 
In  his  own  conduct,  purposely  to  take 
His  brother  here,  and  put  him  to  the  sword: 
And  to  the  skirts  of  this  wild  wood  he  came; 
Where,  meeting  with  an  old  religious  man. 
After  some  question  with  him,  was  conveiietl 
Both  from  his  enterprize  and  from  t)-'  worMs 


188 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  V, 


His  crown  beqgeathing  to  his  banish'd  brother, 
And  all  their  lands  restor'd  to  them  again 
That  were  with  him  exil'd  :  This  to  be  true, 
I  do  eng^age  my  life. 

Duke  S.  Welcome,  young  man  ; 

Thou  offer'st  fairly  to  thy  brothers'  wedding  : 
To  one,  his  lands  withheld  ;  and  to  the  other, 
A  land  itself  at  large,  a  potent  dukedom. 
First,  in  this  forest,  let  us  do  those  ends, 
That  here  were  well  begun,  and  ^'ell  begot : 
And  after,  every  of  this  happy  number, 
That  have  endur'd  shrewd  days  and  nights  with  us, 
Shall  share  the  good  of  our  returned  fortune. 
According  to  the  measure  of  their  states. 
Meantime,  forget  this  new-falln  dignity. 
And  fall  into  our  rustic  revelry  : — 
Play,  music  ; — and  you  brides  and  bridegroonjs  all. 
With  measure  heap'd  in  joy,  to  the  measures  fall. 

Jag.  Sir,  by  your  patience  ;  if  I  heard  you  rightly, 
The  duke  hath  put  on  a  religious  life, 
And  thrown  into  neglect  the  pompous  court? 

Jaq  de  B.  He  hath. 

Jaq.  To  him  will  I :  out  of  these  convertites 
There  is  much  matter  to  be  heard  and  leain'd. — 
Voii  to  your  former  honour  1  bequeath ; 

{To  Duke  S.) 
Vour  patience,  and  your  virtue,  well  deserves  it : — 
Yo^i  {io  Orlat  do)  to  a  love  that  your  true  faith  doth 
njerit: —  [allies: 
You  [to  Oliver)  to  your  land,  and  love,  and  great 
You  (to  Silvius]  to  a  long  and  well-deserved  bed  : — 
And  you  {to  Touchstone)  to  wrangling  ;  for  thy  loving 
voyage  [sures; 
iA  hut  foi  two  ntoiiths  viciuall'd : — So  to  vour  lea- 


I  am  for  other  than  for  dancing  measures. 

Duke  S.  Stay,  Jaques,  stay 

Jaq.  To  see  no  pastime,  I : — what  you  would  have 
I'll  stay  to  know  at  your  abandon'd  cave.  [kxit. 

Duke  S.  Proceed,  proceed  :  we  will  begin  these 
rites. 

And  we  do  trust  they'll  end  in  true  delights. 

dance.) 

EPILOGUE. 

Hos.  It  is  not  the  fashion  to  see  the  lady  the  epi. 

j  logue  :  but  it  is  no  more  unhandsome,  than  to  see  the 
lord  the  prologue.    If  it  be  true,  that  good  ivine 

^needs  no  busk,  'tis  true,  that  a  good  play  needs  no 
epilogue  :  Yet  to  good  wine  they  do  use  good 
bushes  ;  and  good  plays  prove  the  better  by  the  help 
of  good  epilogues.  VVhat  a  case  am  I  in  then,  that 
am  neither  a  good  epilogue,  nor  cannot  insiunate 
with  you  in  the  behalf  of  a  good  play  ?  I  am  net  for 
nished  like  a  beggar,  therefore  to  beg  will  not  be- 
come me  :  my  way  is,  to  conjure  you  ;  and  I'll  begin 
with  the  women.  I  chartje  you,  O  women,  for  the 
love  you  bear  to  men,  to  like  as  much  of  this  play  as 

t)lease  them  :  and  so  I  charge  you,  O  men,  lor  tlie 
ove  you  bear  to  women,  (as  I  perceive  by  your  sim- 
I  pering,  none  of  you  hate  them,)  that  between  you 
i  and  the  women,  the  play  may  please.  If  I  weie  a 
woman,  I  would  kiss  as  many  of  you  as  had  beatos 
that  pleased  me,  complexions  that  liked  me,  and 
I  breaths  that  I  defied  not :  and,  I  am  sure,  as  many 
I  as  have  good  beards,  or  good  iaces,  or  sweet  breaths, 
i  will,  for  my  kind  offer,  when  1  make  curt'sy,  bid  me 
I  farewell.  ^  Exeun^. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


This  play  has  many  delightful  scenes,  though  not  sufficiently  probable;  and  some  happy  characters,  though  not 
new,  nor  produced  by  any  deep  knowledge  of  human  nature.  Parolles  is  a  boaster  and  a  coward,  such  as  has  alwajs 
Deen  (he  sport  of  the  stage,  but  perhaps  never  raised  more  laughter  or  contempt  than  m  the  haiid^  ot  bhakspeare. 

I  cannot  reconcile  my  heart  to  Bertram;  a  man  noble  without  generosity,  and  young  without  (ruth;  who  marnea 
Helen  as  a  coward,  and  leaves  her  as  a  profligate :  wlien  she  is  dead  by  his  unkindness,  sneaks  nome  to  a  seconl 
marriage,  is  accused  by  a  woman  whom  he  has  wronged,  defends  himself  by  falsehood  and  dismissed  to  happmess. 

The  story  of  Bertram  and  Diana  had  been  told  before  of  Mariana  and  Angelo,  and,  to  confess  the  trutii,  scarcelj 
merited  to  be  heard  a  second  time.  Jonnson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


KING  OF  FRANCE. 
DUKE  OF  FLORENCE. 
BERTRAM,  Count  of  Rousillon. 
LAFtiO,  an  old  Lord, 
PAROLLES,  a  Follower  of  Bertram. 
Several  young  French  Lords,  that  serve  with 
in  the  Florentine  War. 

Stevmrd, 

Cl0W7l, 


Servants  to  the  Countess  of  Rousillon. 


A  Page.  ^ 
COUNTESS  OF  ROUSILLON,  Mother  to  Bertram. 
HELENA,  a  Gentlewoman  protected  by  the  Countess. 
An  old  Widoxv  of  Florence. 
mk^K.  Daughter  to  the  Widot-y. 

Neighbours  and  Friends  t-o  the  Widon, 


VIOLENTA 
MARIANA,  \ 
Lords,  attending 


g  on  the  Kinq  ;  Officers,  Soldiers,  etc, 
French  and  Fk  entitle. 


Scene, — Partly  in  France^  and  partly  in  Tuscany, 


ACT  1. 

Scene  \.— Rousillon.  A  Room  in  the  Countess's 
Palace. 

Enter  Bertrajm,  the  Countess  op  Rousillon, 

Helena,  and  Lafeu,  in  mourmnj. 
Count.  In  delivering  luy  son  from  me,  I  bury  a 
second  hnsband. 

Ber.  And  I,  in  goin^,  madam,  weep  o'er  my  fa- 
ther's death  anew  :  but  I  must  attend  his  majesty's 
command,  to  whom  I  am  now  in  ward,  evermore  in 
subjection. 

Laf.  You  shall  find  of  the  king  a  husband,  ma- 
dam :  you,  sir,  a  father:  he,  that  so  generally  is 
at  all  times  good,  must  of  necessity  hold  his  virtue 
to  you ;  whose  worthiness  would  stir  it  up  where 
it  wanted,  rather  than  lack,  it  where  there  is  much 
abundance.  [amendment  ? 

Count.  What  hope  is  there  of  his  majesty's 

Laf.  He  hath  abandoned  his  physicians,  madam  ; 
under  whose  practices  he  hath  persecuted  time  with 
hope  ;  and  finds  no  other  advantage  in  the  process 
but  only  the  losing  of  hope  by  time. 

Count.  This  young  gentlewoman  had  a  father, 
(O,  that  had!  how  sad  a  passage  'tis !)  whose  skill 
was  almost  as  great  as  his  honesty  ;  had  it  stretched 
so  far,  would  have  made  nature  immortal,  and  death 
should  have  play,  for  lack  of  work.  'Would,  for  the 
king's  sake,  he  were  living !  I  think,  it  would  be 
the  death  oi  the  king's  disease. 

Laf.  How  called  you  the  man  you  speak  of, 
madam  ? 

Count.  He  was  famous,  sir,  in  his  profession,  and 
it  was  his  great  right  to  be  so :  Gerard  de  Narbon. 

Laf.  He  was  excellent,  indeed,  madam ;  the 
king  very  lately  spoke  of  him,  admiringly,  and 
mourningly:  he  was  skilful  enough  to  have  lived 

II,  if  knowledge  could  be  set  up  against  mor- 

ity.  [guishes  of? 

Ber.  What  is  it,  my  good  lord,  the  king  Ian- 
La/.  A  fistula,  my  lord. 

Ber.  1  heard  not  of  it  before. 

Laf.  I  would,  it  were  not  notorious. — Was  this 
gentlewoman  the  daughte>  of  Gerard  de  Narbon  ? 

Count.  His  sole  child,  my  lord ;  and  bequeathed 
to  my  overlooking.  I  have  those  h)pes  of  her  good, 
that  lier  education  promises:  her  dispositions  she 
inherits,  which  make  fair  gifts  fairer;  for  where  an 
nocleao  mind  carries  virtuous  qualities,  there  com- 
mendations go  with  pity,  they  are  virtues  and  trai- 
tors tot) ;  in  her,  they  are  the  better  for  their  simple- 
ness;  she  derives  her  honesty,  and  achieves  her 
goodness.  [tears. 

Laf  Your  commendations,  aadam,  get  from  her 


Count.  'Tis  the  best  brine  a  maiden  can  season 
her  praise  in.  The  remembr  nee  of  her  father  never 
approaches  her  heart,  but  '  ^e  tyranny  of  her  sor- 
rows takes  all  livelihood  frorr  her  cheek.  No  more 
of  this,  Helena,  goto,  no  r.iore ;  lest  it  be  rather 
thought  you  aftect  a  sorrow,  Chan  to  have. 

Hel.  I  do  affect  a  sorrow,  indeed,  but  I  have  it  too. 

Laf.  Moderate  lamentation  is  the  right  of  the 
dead,  excessive  grief  the  enemy  to  the  living. 

Count.  If  the  living  be  enemy  to  the  grief,  th« 
excess  makes  it  soon  mortal. 

Ber.  Madam,  I  desire  your  holy  wishes. 

Laf.  How  understand  we  that? 

Count.  Be  thou  blest,  Bertram !  and  ^cceed  thy 
father 

In  manners,  as  in  shape  !  thy  blood,  and  virtue. 
Contend  for  empire  in  thee  ;  and  thy  goodness 
Share  with  thy  birth-right !   Love  all,  trust  a  few 
Do  wrong  to  none  :  be  able  for  thine  enemy 
Rather  in  power  than  use  ;  and  keep  thy  friend 
Under  thy  own  life's  key  :  be  check'd  for  silence. 
But  never  tax'd  for  speech.  What  heaven  mere  wiH, 
That  thee  may  furnish,  aud  my  prayers  pluck  down. 
Fall  OP  thy  head!  Fareweil. — lijy  lord, 
'Tis  an  unseason'd  courtier  ;  good  my  lord 
Advise  him. 

Laf.  He  cannot  want  the  best, 

That  shall  attend  his  love. 

Count.  Heaven  bless  him ! — Farewell,  Bertram, 
[Exit  Countess. 

Ber.  The  best  wishes,  that  can  be  forged  in  your 
thoughts,  {to  Helena^  be  servants  to  you !  Be 
comfortable  to  my  iuotner,  your  mistress,  and  make 
mtich  of  her. 

Laf.  Farewell,  pretty  lady :  you  must  hold  the 
credit  of  your  father.  [Exeunt  Bertram  and  J  afeu 

Hel.  O,  were  that  all  ! — 1  think  not  on  my  tather 
And  these  great  tears  grace  his  remembrance  moj^ 
Than  those  I  shed  for  him.    What  was  he  like  ? 
I  have  forgot  him  :  my  imagination 
Carries  no  favour  in  it,  but  Bertram's. 
I  am  undone ;  there  is  no  living,  none. 
If  Bertram  be  away.    It  were  all  one, 
That  I  should  love  a  bright  particular  star. 
And  think  to  wed  it,  he  is  so  above  me : 
In  his  bright  radiance  and  collateral  light 
Must  I  be  comforted,  not  in  his  sphere. 
The  ambition  in  my  love  thus  plagues  itself ; 
The  hind,  that  would  be  mated  by  the  lion. 
Must  die  for  love.    'Twas  pretty,  though  a  plague^ 
To  see  him  every  hour;  to  sit  and  dj-aw 
His  arched  brows,  his  hawking  eye,  his  curls. 
In  our  heart's  table  ;  heart,  too  capable 
Of  every  line  and  trick  of  his  sweet  favour : 


188 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  L 


But  now  he's  ffone,  and  my  idolatrous  fancy 
IMust  sanctify  his  relics.    Who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Parolles. 
One  that  goes  with  him :  I  love  him  for  his  sake  ; 
And  yet  I  know  hir^  a  notorious  Har, 
Think  him  a  great  way  fool,  solely  a  coward ; 
Yet  these  fix'd  evils  sit  so  fit  in  him. 
That  they  take  place,  when  virtue's  steely  bones 
Look  bleak  in  the  cold  wiod  :  withal,  full  oft  we  see 
Cold  wisdom  waiting  on  superfluous  folly. 

Par.  Save  you,  fair  quee*, 

Hel.  And  you,  monarch. 

Par.  No. 

Hel.  And  no 

Par.  Are  you  meditating  on  virginity  ? 

Hel.  Ay.  You  have  some  stain  of  soldier  in  yon  ; 
!et  me  ask  you  a  question:  man  is  eneu'v  to  \ir- 
ginity  ;  how  may  we  barricado  it  against  him  ? 

Par.  Keep  hitn  out. 

Hel.  But  he  assails;  and  our  virginity,  though 
valiant  in  the  defence,  yet  is  weak;  unfold  to  us 
some  warlike  resistance. 

Par.  There  is  none ;  man,  sitting  down  before 
you,  will  undermine  you,  and  blow  you  up. 

Hel.  Bless  our  poor  virginity  iVoui  underminers, 
and  blowers  up ! — Is  there  no  military  policy,  how 
virgins  might  blow  up  men? 

Par.  Virginity  being  blown  down,  man  will 
quicklier  be  blown  up:  marry,  in  blowing  him  down 
again  with  the  breach  yourseh  es  made,'  you  lose 
your  city.  It  is  not  |)olitic  in  the  commonwealth  of 
nature,  to  preserve  virginity.  Loss  of  virginity  is 
rational  increase  ;  and  there  was  never  virgin  got, 
till  virginity  was  first  lost  That,  you  were  made  of, 
is  metal  to  make  virgins.  Virginuy,  by  being  once 
lost,  may  be  ten  times  found  :  by  being  ever  kept, 
it  is  ever  lost:  'tis  too  cold  a  companion,  away 
with  it. 

Hel.  I  will  stand  for't  a  little,  though  therefore 
I  die  a  virgin. 

Par.  There's  little  can  be  said  in't;  'tis  against 
the  rule  of  nature.  To  speak  on  the  part  of  vir- 
ginity, is  to  accuse  your  mothers  ;  which  is  most 
infallible  disobedience.  He,  that  hangs  himself,  is 
a  virgin;  virginity  mtirders  itself;  and  should  be 
buried  in  highways,  out  of  all  sanctified  limit,  as  a 
desperate  offendress  against  nature.  Virginity  breeds 
mites,  much  like  a  cheese  ;  consumes  itsetl'  to  the 
very  paring,  and  so  dies  with  feediiig  his  own 
stomach.  Besides,  virginity  is  pee\  ish,  proud,  idle, 
made  of  self-love,  which  is  the  most  inhibited  sin 
in  the  canon.  Keep  it  not;  you  cannot  choose  but 
lose  by  t:  out  with't :  within  ten  years  it  will  make 
itself  ten,  which  is  a  goodly  increase ;  and  the 
principle  itself  not  much  the  worse  :  away  with't. 

Hel.  How  might  one  do,  sir,  to  lose  it  to  her 
own  liking? 

Par.  Let  me  see:  Marry,  ill,  to  like  him  that 
ne'er  it  likes.  "Tis  a  commodity  will  lose  the  gloss 
with  lying ;  the  longer  kept,  the  less  worth  :  oti" 
with't,  wiule  'tis  vend.ble:  answer  the  time  of  re- 
quest. Virginity,  like  an  old  courtier,  wears  her 
cap  out  of  fashion ;  richly  suited,  but  unsuitable  : 
just  like  the  brooch  and  tooth  pick,  which  wear  not 
now :  your  date  is  better  in  your  pie  and  your  por- 
ridge, than  in  your  cheek:  and  your  virginity,  your 
old  \irginity,  is  like  one  of  our  French  withered 
pears;  it  looks  ill,  it  eats  dryly;  marry,  "tis  a 
withered  pear;  it  was  formerly  better;  marry,  yet, 
tis  a  withered  pear:  wdl  you  any  thing  with  it? 

HeL  Not  my  virginity  yet. 
Viere  shall  your  master  have  a  thousand  loves, 
A  mother,  and  a  mistress,  and  a  friend, 
A  i  hoenix,  captain,  and  an  enemy, 
A  guide,  a  goddess,  and  a  sovereign, 
A  counsellor,  a  traitress,  and  a  de;ir; 
His  humble  ambition,  proud  humility. 
His  jarrii.g  concord,  and  his  discord  dulcet. 
His  faith,  his  sweet  disaster;  wit!  a  world 


Of  pretty,  fond,  adoptious  Christendoms, 
That  blinking  Cupid  gossips.    Now  shall  he— 
I  know  not  what  he  shall : — God  send  hiui  well  !— 
The  court's  a  learning- place  ; — and  he  is  one-- 
Par.  What  one,  i'faith  ? 
Hel.  That  I  wish  well.— 'Tis  pity- 
Par.  What's  pity  ? 

Hel.  That  wishing  well  had  not  a  body  in't, 
Which  might  be  felt:  that  we,  the  poorer  born. 
Whose  baser  stars  do  shut  us  up  in  wishes. 
Might  with  effects  of  them  follow  our  friends. 
And  show  what  we  alone  must  think  ;  which  never 
Returns  us  thanks. 

Enter  a  Page. 
Page.  Monsieur  Parolles,  n.y  lord  calls  for  vou 

{Exit  Page 

Par.  Little  Helen,  farewell :  if  I  can  remtniber 
thee,  I  will  think  of  thee  at  court. 

Hel.  Monsieur  Parolles,  you  were  bo  n  under  a 
Par.  Under  Mars,  I.  [charitable  star 

Hel.  I  especially  think,  under  Mars. 
Par.  Why  under  Mars  ? 

Hel.  The  wars  have  so  kept  you  under,  that  you 
must  needs  be  born  under  Mars. 
Par.  When  he  was  predominant. 
Hel.  When  he  was  retrograde,  1  think,  rather. 
Par.  Why  think  you  so? 

Hel.  You  go  so  much  backward,  when  you  fight. 
Par.  That's  for  advantage. 

Hel.  So  is  running  away,  when  fear  proposes  the 
safety  :  but  the  composition,  that  your  valour  and 
fear  makes  in  you,  is  a  virtue  of  a  good  wing,  and  I 
like  the  wear  well. 

Par.  1  am  so  full  nC  business,  I  cannot  answei 
thee  acutely  :  I  will  return  j)erfer,t  courtier;  in  the 
which,  my  instruction  shall  serve  to  naturalize  thee, 
so  tiiou  wilt  be  capable  of  a  courtier's  counsel,  and 
nndi.rstat)d  what  advice  shall  thrust  upon  thee  ;  else 
thou  diest  in  thine  unthanki'uloess,  and  thine  igno 
ranee  makes  thee  away  :  farewell.  When  thou  liasi 
leisure,  say  tiiy  prayers  ;  when  thou  hast  none,  re 
member  thy  friends  :  get  thee  a  good  husband,  and 
use  him  as  he  uses  thee :  so  farewell.  [Exit 

Hel.  Our  remedies  oft  in  ourselves  do  lie. 
Which  we  ascribe  to  heaven  :  the  lated  sky 
Gives  us  free  scope;  only,  doth  backward  pull 
Our  slow  designs,  when  we  ourselves  are  dull. 
What  powe.r  is  it,  which  mounts  my  love  so  high  ; 
That  makes  me  see,  and  cannot  feed  mine  eye  ? 
The  mightiest  space  in  tbrtiine  nature  brings 
To  join  like  likes,  and  kiss  like  native  things. 
Impossible  be  strange  attempts,  to  those 
Tliat  weigh  their  pains  in  sense  ;  and  do  suppose. 
What  hath  been  cannot  be.  Who  ever  strove 
'Vo  show  her  m.erit,  that  did  miss  her  love  ? 
The  king's  disease — my  project  may  deceive  me, 
But  my  intents  are  fix'd,  and  will  not  leave  me. 

[Exit 

Scene  IL — Paris.    A  Room  in  the  King's  Palace 
Flourish  of  cornets.    Enter  ike  King  op  Fkance, 
wit-h  letters  ;  Lords  and  others  attending. 

King.  The  Florentines  and  Senoys  ar  by  the  ears; 
Have  fought  with  equal  fortune,  and  continue 
A  braving  war. 

1  Lord.  So  'tis  reported,  sir. 

King.  Nay,  'tis  most  credible  ;  we  here  receive  it 
A  certainty,  vouch'd  from  our  cousin  Austria, 
With  caution,  that  the  Florentine  will  move  us 
For  speedy  aid  ;  wherein  our  dearest  f  riend 
Prejudicates  the  business,  and  would  seem 
To  have  us  make  denial. 

1  Lord.  His  love  and  wisdom, 

Approv'd  so  to  your  majesty,  may  plead 
For  amplest  credence. 

Kinfj.  He  hath  arm'd  our  aiiswM 

And  Florence  is  denied  befoie  he  comes  • 
Yet,  for  our  gentlemen,  that  mean  to  see 
The  'I'uscan  service,  freely  they  have  Irave 
To  stand  on  either  part. 


Scene  8. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


180 


2  Lm'd.  It  may  well  serve 

A  nursery  to  our  gentry,  who  are  sick 
For  b re.  thing  and  exploit. 

K^ig.  What's  he  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Bertram,  Lafeu,  and  Parolles. 

1  Lord.  It  is  the  count  Kousillon,  my  good  lord, 
Y'oung  Bertr;iin. 

Kinfj.  Youth,  thou  bear'st  thy  father's  face  ; 

Frank,  nature,  rather  curious  than  in  haste. 
Hath  well  compos'd  thee.  Thy  father's  moral  parts 
May'st  thou  inhei  it  too !  Welcome  to  Paris. 

Ber.  My  thanks  and  duty  are  your  majesty's. 

King.  1  would  I  had  that  corporal  soundness  now, 
As  when  thy  father,  and  niyself,  in  friendship, 
First  try'd  our  soldiership  !    He  did  look  far 
Into  the  service  ol'the  lime,  and  was 
Discipled  of  the  bravest:  he  lasted  long; 
But  on  us  both  did  haggish  age  steal  on, 
And  wore  us  out  of  act.    It  much  repairs  me 
To  talk  of  your  good  father  :  In  his  youth 
He  had  the  wit,  which  I  can  well  observe 
To  d;)y  in  our  young  lords  ;  but  they  may  jest, 
Till  their  own  scorn  return  to  them  unnoted, 
Ere  they  can  hide  their  levity  in  honour. 
So  like  a  courtier,  contempt  nor  bitterness 
Were  in  his  pride  or  sharpness  ;  if  they  were. 
His  equal  had  awak'd  them  ;  and  his  honour. 
Clock  to  itself,  knew  the  true  n)inute,  when 
Exception  bid  him  speak,  and,  at  this  time, 
His  tongue  obey'd  his  hand  :  who  were  below  him, 
He  us'd  as  creatures  of  another  place  ; 
And  bow'd  his  eminent  top  to  their  low  ranks. 
Making  them  proud  of  his  humility. 
In  their  poor  praise  he  humbled  :  Such  a  man 
Might  be  a  copy  to  these  younger  times  ; 
Which,  follow'd  well,  would  demonstrate  them  now 
But  goers  backward. 

Ber.  His  good  remembrance,  sir. 

Lies  richer  in  your  thoughts,  than  on  his  tomb  ; 
So  in  approof  lives  not  his  epitaph. 
As  in  your  royal  speech.  [ways  say. 

King.    'Would  I  were  with  him!  He  would  al- 
(Methinks,  I  hear  him  now  ;  his  plausive  words 
lie  sf  att.er'd  not  in  ears,  but  grafted  them, 
To  grow  there,  and  to  bear,) — Let  me  not  live, — 
Thus  his  o()od  melancholy  oft  began, 
On  the  catastrophe  and  heel  of  pastime. 
When  it  was  out, — let  me  not  live,  quoth  he. 
After  mij  jiame  lacks  oil,  to  he  the  snvff 

younger  spirits,  ivhose  apprehensive  senses 
All  but  neiv  things  disdain;  ivhose  judgments  are 
Mere  fat  hers  of  their  garments ;  whose  cotistancies 

Expire  before  their  fashions  :  This  he  wish'd  : 

I,  alter  him,  do  after  him  wish  too, 
Since  I  nor  wax,  nor  honey,  can  bring  home, 
I  quickly  were  dissolved  from  my  hive, 
'J'ogive  some  labourers  room. 

"2  Lord.  You  are  loved,  sir; 

Thev.  that  least  lend  it  yon,  shall  lack  you  first. 

King.  I  fill  a  place,  I  know't. — How  long  is't, 
count. 

Since  the  physician  at  your  father's  died? 
He  was  much  fam'd. 

Ber.  Some  six  months  since,  my  lord. 

King.  If  he  were  living,  I  would  try  him  yet; — 
Lend  me  an  arnj ; — the  rest  have  worn  me  out 
With  several  applications  : — nature  and  sickness 
Debate  it  at  their  leisure.  Welcome,  count; 
My  son's  no  dearer. 

Ber.  Thank  your  majesty. 

[Exeunt.  Flourish. 

Scene  III. — Rousilloiu  A  Room  in  the  Countesses 
Palace. 

Enter  Countess,  Steward,  and  Clown. 

Count.  I  will  now  hear:  what  say  you  of  this 
gentlewoman  ? 

Stew.  Madam,  the  care  I  have  had  to  even  your 
conteut,  i  wish  might  be  found  in  the  calendar  of  my 


past  endeavonrs  ;  for  then  we  wound  our  niodefry 
and  make  foul  tiie  clearness  of  our  deservinga, 
of  ourselves  we  publish  them. 
Cou7it. 


gone. 


mt.  What  does  this  knave  here  ?  Get  yod 
sirrah  :  The  complaints  I  have  heard  of  you,  I 
do  not  all  believe  ;  'tis  my  slowness,  that  I  do  not : 
for,  I  know,  you  lack  not  the  folly  to  commit  them, 
and  have  ability  enough  to  make  such  knaveries 
yours. 

Clo.  'Tis  not  unknown  to  you,  madam,  lama  pool 

Count.  Well,  sir.  (ttllow. 

Clo.  No,  madam,  'tis  not  so  well  that  I  am  poor, 
though  many  ol'  the  rich  are  daran'd  :  But  if  1  rmj 
have  your  ladyship's  good-will  to  go  to  the  world, 
Isbel  the  vvoman  and  I  will  do  as  we  may. 

Count.  Wilt  thou  needs  be  a  beggar  ? 

Clo.  I  do  beg  your  good- will  in  this  case. 

Count.  In  what  case? 

t'lo.  In  Isbel's  case,  and  mine  own.  Service  is 
no  heritage:  and,  I  think,  I  shall  never  have  the 
blessing  of  God,  till  I  have  issue  of  my  body;  for, 
they  say,  beams  are  blessings. 

Count.  Tell  me  thy  reason  why  thou  wilt  marry. 

Clo.  My  poor  body,  madam,  requires  it :  I  am 
driven  on  by  the  fiesh ;  and  he  must  needs  go,  that 
the  devil  drives. 

Count.  Is  this  all  your  worship's  reason? 

Clo.  Faith,  madam,  1  have  other  holy  reason."*, 
such  as  they  are. 

Count.  May  the  world  know  them  ? 

Clo.  I  have  been,  madam,  a  wicked  creature,  as 
you  and  all  flesh  and  blond  are;  and,  indeed,  I  do 
marry,  that  I  may  repent.  [ness. 

Count.  Thy  marriage,  sooner  than  thy  wicked- 

Clo.  1  am  out  of  friends,  madam ;  and  I  hope  to 
hai  e  Iriends  tor  my  wife's  sake. 

Count.  Such  friends  are  thine  enemies,  knave. 

Clo.  You  are  shallow,  madam  ;  e'en  great  friends  ; 
for  the  knaves  come  to  do  that  for  me,  which  I  ana 
a-weary  of.  He,  that  ears  my  land,  spares  my 
team,  and  gives  me  leave  to  inn  the  crop:  if  1  be 
his  cuckold,  he's  my  drudge  :  He,  that  coniforts  my 
wife,  is  the  cherisiier  of  my  fiesh  and  blood ;  he, 
that  cherishes  my  flesh  and  blood,  loves  my  flesh 
and  blood;  he,  that  loves  my  flesh  and  blood,  is  rav 
friend  :  ergo,  he  that  kisses  iny  wile,  is  my  frien<L 
If  men  could  be  contented  to  be  what  they  are, 
there  were  no  fear  in  marriage  ;  for  young  Charbon 
the  puritan,  and  old  Poysam  the  papist,  howsoe'ei 
their  hearts  are  severed  in  religion,  their  heads  are 
both  one,  they  may  joU  horns  together,  like  any 
deer  i'  the  herd 

Count.  Wilt  thou  ever  be  a  foul-mouth'd  and 
calumnio'us  knave  ? 

Clo.  A  prophet  I,  madam  ;  and  I  speak  the  truth 
the  next  way  : 

For  I  the  ballad  tvill  repeat, 

Which  men  full  true  shall  find  ; 
Your  marriage  comes  by  destiny, 
Your  cuckoo  sings  by  kind. 
.Count.  Get  you  gone,  sir;  I'll  talk  with  you  more 
anon. 

Stew.  May  it  please  you,  madam,  lhat  he  bid 
Helen  come  to  you  :  of  her  I  am  to  speak. 

Count.  Sirrah,  tell  my  gentlewoman,  I  would 
speak  with  her;  Helen  I  mean. 

Clo.  Was  this  fair  face  the  cause,  quoth  she, 

{Singing. 
Why  theGrecians sacked  Troy  ? 
Fond  done,  done  fond. 

Was  this  king  Priam's  joy. 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood , 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood. 

And  gave  this  sentence  then  : 
Among  tiine  bad  ij'  one  be  go  id. 
Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  good. 
There's  yet  one  good  in  t  m. 
Count.  VVhat,  one  good  in  ten  ?  you  corrupt  the 
song,  sirrah. 


190 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  1. 


Clo.  One  good  woman  in  ten,  madam ;  which  is 
6  purifying  o'  the  song:  'V^'^oiild  God  wonld  serve 
the  world  so  all  the  year!  A^e'd  find  no  fault  with 
Ihe  tythe- woman,  if  I  were  the  parson  :  One  in  ten, 
quoth  a' !  an  we  might  have  a  good  woman  born  but 
every  blazing  star,  or  at  an  earthquake,  'twould 
mena  the  lottery  well  :  a  man  may  draw  his  heait 
out,  ere  he  pluck,  one. 

Count.  \  ou'll  be  gone,  sir  knave,  and  do  as  I 
eonimand  you  ? 

Clo.  That  man  should  be  at  woman's  command, 
and  yet  no  hurt  done ! — Though  honesty  be  no  pu- 
ritan, yet  it  will  do  no  hurt;  it  will  wear  the  sur- 
plice of  humility  over  the  black  gown  of  a  big  heart. 
— I  am  going,  forsooth :  the  business  is  for  Helen  to 
come  hither.  [Exit  Clown. 

Count.  Well  now.  [woman  entirely. 

Stew.  I  know,  madam,  you  love  your  gentle- 

Count.  Faith,  I  do:  her  father  bequeathed  her 
to  »ne  ;  and  she  herself,  without  other  advantage, 
may  lawfully  mt)ke  title  to  as  much  love  as  she 
finds:  there  is  more  owing  her,  tlian  is  paid;  and 
more  shall  be  paid  her,  than  she'll  demand. 

Stew.  Madam,  I  was  very  late  more  near  her 
than,  I  think,  she  wished  tne  :  alone  she  was,  and 
did  communicate  to  herself,  her  own  words  to  her 
own  ears  ;  she  thought,  I  dare  vow  for  her,  they 
touched  not  any  stranger  sense.  Her  matter  was, 
she  loved  your  son  :  Fortune,  she  said,  was  no 
goddess,  that  had  put  such  difference  betwixt  their 
two  estates;  Love,  no  god,  that  wnuld  not  extend 
his  might,  only  where  qualities  were  level ;  Diana,  no 
queen  of  virgms,  that  would  suffer  her  poor  knight  to 
be  surprised,  without  rescue,  in  the  first  assault,  or 
ransom  afterward  :  This  she  delivered  in  the  most 
bitter  touch  of  sorrow,  that  e'er  I  heard  virgin  ex- 
claim in  :  \>hicli  1  held  my  duty,  speedily  to  ac 
quaint  you  withal ;  sithence,  in  the  loss  that  may 
happen,  it  concerns  you  something  to  know  it. 

Count.  You  have  discharged  this  honestly ;  keep 
it  to  yourself ;  many  likelihoods  informed  me  of  this 
before,  which  hung  so  tottering  in  the  balance,  that 
I  could  neither  believe,  nor  misdoubt  :  Pray  you, 
leave  me  :  stall  this  in  your  bosom,  and  1  thank  yon 
for  your  honest  care  :  I  will  speak  with  you  furtiier 
anon.  [Exit  Steward. 

Enter  Helena. 

Count.  Even  so  it  was  with  me,  when  I  was 
young : 

If  we  are  nature's,  these  are  ours;  this  thorn 
Doth  to  our  rose  of  youth  rightly  belong  ; 

Our  blood  to  us,  this  to  our  blood  is  born ; 
It  is  the  show  and  seal  of  nature's  truth, 
Where  love's  strong  passion  is  impress  d  in  youth  : 
By  our  remembrances  of  days  foregone.  [none. 
Such  were  our  faults; — or  then  we  thought  them 
Her  eye  is  sick  on't;  J  observe  her  now. 

Hel.  What  is  your  pleasure,  madam  ? 

Count.  You  know,  Helen, 

I  am  a  mother  to  you. 

Hel.  Mine  honourable  mistress. 

Count.  Nay,  a  mother; 

Why  not  a  mother?  When  I  said,  a  mother, 
Methought  you  saw  a  serpent :  What's  in  mother, 
That  you  start  at  it  ?  I  say,  I  am  your  mother  ; 
And  put  you  in  the  catalogue  of  tiiose, 
That  were  enwombed  mine  :  'Tis  often  seen. 
Adoption  strives  with  nature;  and  choice  breeds 
A  native  slip  to  us  from  foreign  seeds: 
You  ne'er  oppress'd  me  with  a  mother's  groan. 
Yet  1  express  to  you  a  mother's  care  : — 
God's  mercy,  maiden !  does  it  curd  thy  blood. 
To  say,  1  am  thy  mother?  What's  the  matter, 
hat  this  disfemper'd  messenger  of  wet, 
he  many-colour'd  Iris,  rounds  thine  eye? 

hv  ?  that  you  are  niy  daughter  ? 

/.  That  I  am  not. 

i.  I  say,  I  assi  your  mother. 

Pardon,  madam : 


The  count  Rousillon  cannot  be  wy  broker : 
I  am  from  humble,  he  from  honour'd  name: 
No  note  upon  my  parents,  his  all  noble  : 
My  master,  my  dear  lord  he  is ;  and  I 
His  servant  live,  and  will  his  vassal  die: 
He  must  not  be  my  brother. 

Count.  Nor  I  your  mothet  ? 

Hel.  You  are  my  mother,  madam  j  'Would  yctJ 
were 

(So  that  my  lord,  yonr  son,  were  not  my  brother.) 
Indeed  my  mother  ! — or,  were  you  both  our  motlxiB 
I  care  no  more  for,  than  I  do  for  heaven. 
So  I  were  not  his  sister:  Can't  no  other, 
But,  I  your  daughter,  he  must  be  my  brother? 
Count.  Yes,  Helen,  you  might  be  my  daughter- 
in-law; 

God  shield,  you  mean  it  not!  daughter,  and  mother 

So  strive  upon  your  pulse  :  What,  pale  again  ? 

My  fear  hath  catch  d  your  fondness  :  now  I  See 

The  mystery  of  vour  loneliness,  mid  find 

Your  salt  tears'  head.    Now  to  ail  sense  'tis  gross. 

You  love  my  son;  invention  is  asham'd, 

Against  the  proclamation  of  the  f)assion. 

To  say,  thou  dost  not:  therefore  tell  me  true; 

But  tell  me  then,  'tis  so  : — for,  look,  thy  cheeks 

Confess  it,  one  to  the  other:  and  thine  eyes 

See  it  so  grossly  shown  in  tny  behaviours, 

That  in  their  kind  they  speak  it :  oYily  sin 

And  hellish  obstinacy  tie  thy  tdiigue. 

That  truth  should  be  suspected:  Speak,  is't  so? 

If  it  be  so,  you  have  wound  a  goodly  clue ; 

If  it  be  not,  forswear't :  howe'er,  I  charge  thee, 

As  heaven  shall  work  in  me  for  thine  avail. 

To  tell  me  truly. 

Hel.  Good  madam,  pardon  me  ! 

Count.  Do  you  love  my  son  ? 

Hel.  Your  pardon,  noble  mistress ! 

Count.  Love  you  my  son  ? 

Hel.  Do  not  you  love  him,  madam  ? 

Count.  Go  not  about ;  my  love  hath  in't  a  bond, 
Wherecf  the  world  takes  note  :  come,  come,  disclose 
The  state  of  your  affection  ;  for  your  passions 
Have  to  the  full  appeach'd. 

Hel.  Then,  I  confess. 

Here  on  nfy  knee,  before  high  heaven  and  you, 
That  before  you,  and  next  unto  high  heaven, 
I  love  your  son  : — 

xMy  friends  were  poor,  but  honest ;  so's  my  love  : 

Be'  not  offended  ;  for  it  hurts  not  him. 

That  he  is  lov'd  of  me  :  I  follow  him  not 

By  any  token  of  presumptuous  suit; 

Nor  would  I  have  him,  till  I  do  deserve  him ; 

Yet  never  know  how  that  desert  should  be. 

I  know  I  love  in  vain,  strive  against  hope ; 

Yet,  in  this  captious  and  intenable  sieve, 

I  still  pour  in  the  waters  of  my  love. 

And  lack  not  to  lose  still :  thus,  Indiau-like, 

Religious  in  mine  error,  I  adore 

The  sun,  that  looks  upon  his  worshipper, 

But  knows  of  him  no  more.    My  dearest  madam. 

Let  not  your  hate  encounter  with  my  love, 

For  loving  where  you  do  :  but,  if  yourself, 

Whose  aged  honour  cites  a  virtuous  youth. 

Did  ever,  in  so  true  a  flame  of  liking. 

Wish  chastely,  and  love  dearly,  that  your  Dian 

Was  both  herself  and  love;  O  tiien,  s^ive  pity 

To  her,  whose  state  is  such,  that  cannot  choose 

But  lend  and  give,  where  she  is  sure  to  lt)se  ; 

That  seeks  not  to  find  that  her  search  implies. 

But,  riddle-like,  lives  sweetly  where  she  dies. 

Count.  Had  you  not  lately  an  intent,  speak  \<:\A) . 
To  go  to  Paris  ? 

Hel.  Madam,  I  had. 

Count.  Wherefore?  tell  true 

Hel.  I  will  tell  truth;  by  grace  itself,  I  swear. 
You  know,  my  father  left  nie  some  prescriptions 
Of  rare  and  prov'd  effects,  such  as  his  reading, 
And  manifest  experience,  had  collected 
For  general  sovereignty;  and  that  he  will'd  me 
In  beedfuUest  reservation  to  bestow  them, 


Act  it.    Scene  1. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


191 


notes,  whose  facnlties  inclusive  vrere. 
More  than  they  were  in  note  :  amongst  the  rest. 
There  is  a  remedy,  approv'd,  set  down, 
To  cure  the  desperate  languishes,  whereof 
The  king  is  render'd  lost. 

Count.  This  was  your  motive 

For  Paris,  was  it?  speak. 

llel.  My  lord  your  son  made  me  to  think  of  this ; 
Else  Paris,  and  the  medicine,  and  the  king, 
Had,  from  the  conversation  of  my  thoughts. 
Haply,  been  absent  then. 

Count.  Bnt  think  you,  Helen, 

If  you  should  tender  your  supposed  aid, 
He  would  receive  it?  He  and  his  physicians 
Are  of  a  mind ;  he,  that  they  cannot  help  him  ; 
They,  that  they  cannot  help:  How  shall  they  credit 
A  pooj  unlearned  virgin,  when  the  schools, 
Embowell'd  of  their  doctrine,  have  left  otF 
The  danger  to  itself? 

Hel.  There's  something  hints, 

More  than  ray  father's  skill,  which  was  the  greatest 
Of  his  profession,  that  his  good  receipt 
Shall,  fbrfny  legacy,  be  sanctified 
By  the  luckiest  stars  in  heaven:  and,  would  yoar 
honour 

But  give  me  leave  to  try  success,  I'd  venture 
The  well-lost  life  of  mine  on  his  grace's  cure, 
By  such  a  day  and  hour. 

Count.  Dost  thou  believ't? 

Hel.  Ay,  madam,  knowingly. 

Count.  Why,  Helen,  thou  shalt  have  my  leave 
and  love. 

Means  and  attendants,  and  my  loving  greetings 
To  those  of  mine  in  court :  I'll  stay  at  home. 
And  pray  God's  blessing  into  thy  attempt : 
Be  gone  to-morrow ;  and  be  sure  of  this. 
What  I  can  help  thee  to,  thou  shalt  not  miss. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  n. 

Scene  I. — Paris.    A  Room  in  the  King's  Palace. 

flourish.  Enter  King,  withy oung  Lords,  taking 
leave  for  the  Florentine  war ;  Bertram,  Pa- 
ROLLES,  and  Attendants. 

King.  Farewell,  young  lord,  these  warlike  prin- 
ciples [well  : — 
Do  hot  throw  from  you : — and  you,  my  lord,  fare- 
Share  the  advice  betwixt  you  ;  if  both  gain  all. 
The  gift  doth  stretch  itself  as  'tis  receiv'd. 
And  is  enough  for  both. 

1  Lord.  It  is  our  hope,  sir. 

After  vvell-enter'd  soldiers,  to  return 
And  find  your  grace  in  health. 

King.  No,  no,  it  cannot  be;  and  yet  my  heart 
Will  not  confess,  he  owes  the  malady 
That  doth  my  life  besiege.    Farewell,  youug  lords ; 
Whether  I  live  or  die,  be  you  the  sons 
Of  worthy  Frenchmen  :  let  higher  Italy, 
(I'hose  'bated,  that  inherit  but  the  fall 
Of  the  last  monarchy,)  see,  that  you  come 
Not  to  woo  honour,  but  to  wed  it ;  when 
The  bravest  questant  shrinks,  find  what  you  seek, 
That  fame  may  cry  you  loud  :  I  say,  farewell. 

'2  Lord.  Health,   at  your  bidding,  serve  your 
majesty ! 

King.  Those  girls  of  Italy,  take  heed  of  them : 
They  say,  our  French  lack  language  to  deny. 
If  they  demand:  beware  of  being  captives. 
Before  you  serve. 
Both.  Our  hearts  receive  your  warnings. 

King.  Farewell. — Come  hither  to  me. 

(The  King  retires  to  a  couch.) 
I  Lord.  O  my  sweet  lord,  that  you  will  stay  be- 
hind us ! 

Par.  'Tis  not  his  fault;  the  spark  

^Jjord.  O,  'tis  brave  wars 

f'<sr.  Most  admirRible :  I  have  seen  those  wars 
JSef.  I  am  commanded  here,  and  kept  a  coil  with 
Too  ifouny,  and  the  ne.vl  year,  and  'tis  too  early. 


Par,  An  thy  mind  atand  to  it,  boy,  sreal  awaj 
bravely. 

Ber.  I  shall  stay  here  the  forehorse  to  a  smcls. 
Creaking  my  shoes  on  the  plain  masonry. 
Till  honour  be  bought  up,  and  no  sword  worn, 
But  one  to  dance  with :  By  heaven  I'll  steal  away. 

1  Lord.  There's  honour  in  the  theft. 

Par.  Commit  it,  coanL 

2  Lord.  I  am  your  accessary;  and  so  farewell. 
Ber.  I  grow  to  you,  and  our  parting  is  a  tortured 

1  Lord.  Farewell,  captain.  [body. 
"2  Lord.  Sweet  monsieur  Parolles ! 

Par.  Noble  heroes,  my  sword  and  yours  are  kin. 
Good  sparks  and  lustrous,  a  word, good  metals: — 
You  shall  find  in  the  regiment  of  the  Spinii,  one 
captain  Spurio,  with  his  cicatrice,  an  emblem  of 
war,  here  on  his  sinister  cheek ;  it  was  this  very 
sword  entrenched  it:  say  to  him,  I  live;  and  ob- 
serve his  reports  for  me. 

2  Lord.  We  shall,  noble  captain. 

Par.  Mars  dote  on  you  for  his  novices !  [Exeunt 
Lords.] — What  will  you  do? 

Ber.  Stay;  the  king   (Seeing  him  rise. J 

Par.  Use  a  more  specious  ceremony  to  the  no- 
ble lords;  you  have  restrained  yourself  within  the 
list  of  too  cold  an  adieu :  be  more  expressive  to 
them;  for  they  wear  themselves  in  the  cap  of  the 
time,  there,  do  muster  true  gait,  eat,  speak,  and 
move  under  the  influence  of  the  most  received  star  ; 
and  though  the  devil  lead  the  measure,  such  are  to 
be  followed:  after  them,  and  take  a  more  dilated 
farewell. 

Ber.  And  I  will  do  so. 

Par.  Woitliy  fellows,  and  like  to  prove  most 
sinewy  sword-nien.  [Exeunt  Bertram  and  Parolles* 
Enter  Lafeu. 

Laf.  Pardon,  my  lord,  (  kneeling )  for  me  and 
for  my  tidings. 

King.  I'll  fee  thee  to  stand  up. 

Laf.  Then  here's  a  man 

Stands,  that  has  brought  his  pardon.    I  would  you 
Had  kneel'd,  my  lord,  to  ask  me  mercy ;  and 
That,  at  my  bidding,  you  could  so  stand  up. 

King.  I  would  I  had  ;  so  1  had  broke  thy  pate. 
And  ask'd  thee  mercy  ibr't. 

Laf.  Good  faith,  across : 

But,  my  good  lord,  'tis  thus :  Will  you  be  car'd 
Of  your  infirmity  ? 

King.  No. 

Laf.  O,  will  you  eat 

No  grapes,  my  royal  fox  ?  yes,  but  you  will. 
My  noble  grapes,  an  if  my  royal  tbx 
Could  reach  them :  I  have  seen  a  medicine. 
That's  able  to  breathe  lift  into  a  stone ; 
Quicken  a  rock,  and  make  you  dance  canary, 
With  sprightly  fire  and  motion;  whose  simple  touch 
Is  powerful  to  araise  king  Pepin,  nay. 
To  give  great  Charlemain  a  pen  in  his  hand. 
And  write  to  her  a  love-line. 

King.  What  her  is  this? 

Laf,  Why,  doctor  she :  My  lord,  there's  on€ 
arriv'd, 

If  you  will  see  her, — now,  by  my  faith  and  honOQTg 
If  seriously  I  may  convey  my  thoughts 
In  this  my  iiglit  deliverance,  I  have  spoke 
With  one,  that,  in  her  sex,  her  years,  profession, 
VV  isd(Hn,  and  constancy,  hath  amajs'd  me  more 
Than  I  dare  blame  my  weakness:  Will  you  see  Iwi 
(For  that  is  her  demand)  and  know  ber  business? 
That  done,  laugh  well  at  nie. 

King.  Now,  gaod  L^fett, 

Bring  in  the  admiration  ;  A\2,\  we  with  thee 
May  spend  our  wonder  too.  or  take  otf  thine. 
By  wondering  how  thou  took'st  it. 

Laf  Nay,  I'll  fit  yom, 

And  not  be  all  day  neither.  [Exit  Laf» 

King.  Thus  he  his  special  nothing  ever  prologues. 

Re-enter  Lafeu  with  Helena. 
Laf.  Nay,  come  your  ways ; 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  IL 


is  his  majesty,  say  yonr  mind  to  him : 

traitor  you  do  look  like  ;  but  such  traitors 
His  majesty  seldom  fears:  I  am  Cressid's  uncle. 
That  dare  leave  two  together:  fare  yon  well.  [Exii. 

King.  Now,  fair  one,  does  your  business  follow  us  ? 

Hel.  Ay,  my  good  lord.  Gerard  de  Narbon  was 
My  father ;  in  what  he  did  profess,  well  found. 

King.  I  knew  him.  [him; 

fife/.  The  rather  will  I  spare  my  praises  towards 
Kiiowing  him,  is  enough.    On  his  bed  of  death 
Many  receipts  he  gave  me  ;  chiefly  one, 
Which,  as  the  dearest  issue  of  his  practice. 
And  of  his  old  experience  the  only  darling, 
He  bade  me  store  up.  as  a  triple  eye. 
Safer  than  mine  own  two,  more  dear;  I  have  so  : 
And,  hearing  your  high  majesty  is  touch'd 
With  that  malignant  cause,  wherein  the  honour 
Of  my  dear  father's  gift  stands  ciiief  in  power, 
I  come  to  tender  it  and  my  appliance, 
With  all  bound  humbleness. 

King.  We  thank  you,  maiden ; 

But  may  not  be  so  credulous  of  cin-e, — 
When  our  most  learned  doctors  leave  us  ;  and 
The  congregated  college  have  concluded. 
That  labouring  art  can  never  ransom  nature 
From  her  unaidable  estate, — I  say,  we  must  not 
So  stain  our  judgment,  or  corrupt  our  hope, 
To  prostitute  our  past-cure  malady 
To  empirics  ;  or  to  dissever  so 
Our  great  self  and  oiu"  credit,  to  esteem 
A  senseless  help,  when  help  past  sense  we  deem. 

Hel.  iVIy  duty  then  shall  pay  me  for  my  pains: 
I  will  no  more  enf  irce  mine  office  on  you  ; 
Humbly  entreating  from  your  royal  thoughts 
A  modest  one,  to  bear  me  back  again. 

King.   1  cannot  give  thee   less,   to   be  call'd 
grateful 

Thou  thoughtst  to  help  me  ;  and  such  thanks  I  give. 
As  one  near  death  to  those  that  wish  him  live  : 
13t!t,  what  at  full  I  know,  thou  know'st  no  part; 
I  knowing  all  my  peril,  thou  no  art. 

Hel.  What  1  can  do,  can  do  no  hurt  to  ti-y. 
Since  you  set  up  your  rest  'gainst  remedy  : 
He  that  of  gn^atest  works  is  fi'iisher. 
Oft  does  them  by  the  weakest  minister: 
So  holy  writ  iti  babes  hath  judgment  sliown. 
When  judges  have  been  babes.    Great  floods  have 
flown 

From  simple  sources  ;  and  great  seas  have  dried. 
When  miracles  have  by  the  greatest  been  denied. 
Oft  expectation  fails,  and  most  oft  there 
Where  most  it  promises  ;  and  oft  it  hits, 
Where  hope  is  coldest,  and  despair  most  sits. 

Ki7ig.  I  must  not  liear  tliee ;   fare  thee  well, 
kind  maid  ; 

Thy  pains,  not  usd,  must  by  thyself  be  paid: 
Profters,  not  took,  reap  thanks  for  their  reward. 

Hel.  Inspired  merit  so  by  breath  is  barr'd : 
It  is  not  so  with  him,  that  all  things  knows. 
As  'tis  with  us  that  square  our  guess  by  shows: 
IJut  most  it  is  presumption  in  us,  when 
The  help  of  heaven  we  count  the  act  of  men. 
Dear  sir,  to  my  endeavours  give  consent ; 
Of  heaven,  not  me,  make  an  experiment. 
I  am  not  an  impostor,  that  proclaim 
Myself  against  the  level  of  mine  aim  ; 
But  know  I  think,  and  think  I  know  most  sure. 
My  art  is  nut  past  power,  nor  yon  past  cure. 

King,  Art  thou  so  confident  ?  Within  what  space 
Hop'st  (hou  my  cure  ? 

Hel.  The  greatest  grace  lending  grace. 

Ere  twice  the  horses  of  the  sun  shall  bring 
Their  fiery  torcher  his  diin-nal  ring; 
Ere  twice  in  murk  and  occidental  damp, 
Moist  Hesperus  hath  quench'd  his  sleepy  lamp  ; 
Or  four  and  twenty  times  the  pilot's  glass 
Hath  told  the  thievish  minutes  how  they  pass  ; 
What  is  infirm  from  your  sound  parts  shall  lly, 

ealth  shall  live  free,  and  sickr>ess  freely  die. 
Upon  thy  certainty  and  confidence. 


What  dar'st  thou  venture  ? 
Hel.  Tax  of  inij)udence,— 

A  strumpet's  boldness,  a  divulged  shame, — 
Traduc'd  by  odious  ballads  :  my  maiden'si  name 
Sear'd  otherwise  ;  no  worse  of  worst  extended. 
With  vilest  torture  let  my  life  be  ended.  [speak 

King.  Methinks,  in  thee  some  blessed  spirit  dotb 
His  powertul  sound,  within  an  organ  weak  : 
And  what  impossibility  would  slay 
In  common  sense,  sense  saves  another  way. 
Thy  life  is  dear;  for  all,  that  life  can  rate 
Worth  name  of  life,  in  thee  hath  estimate ; 
Youth,  beauty,  wisdom,  courage,  virtue,  all 
That  happiness  and  prime  can  happy  call : 
Thou  this  to  hazard,  needs  must  intimate 
Skill  inf,nitd,  or  monstrous  desperate. 
Sweet practiser,  thy  physic  I  will  try; 
That  ministers  thine  own  death,  if  I  die. 

Hel.  If  I  break  time,  or  flinch  in  property 
Of  what  I  spoke,  unpitied  let  me  die  ; 
And  well  deserv'd  :  Not  helping,  death's  my  fee; 
But,  if  1  help,  what  do  you  promise  me  ? 

King.  Make  thy  demand. 

Hel.  But  will  you  make  it  even  ? 

King.  Ay,   by  my  sceptre,  and  n)y      j)es  of 
heaven.  [hand, 

HeL  Then  thou  shalt  give  me,  with  thy  kingly 
What  husband  in  thy  power  I  will  command: 
Exempted  be  from  me  the  arrogance 
'i'o  choose  from  forth  the  royal  blood  of  France  ; 
My  low  and  humble  name  to  propagate 
With  any  branch  or  image  of  thy  state  : 
But  such  a  one,  thy  vassal,  whom  I  know 
Is  free  for  me  to  task,  thee  to  bestow. 

King.  Here  is  my  hand  ;  the  premises  observed* 
Thy  will  by  my  performance  shall  be  serv'd ; 
So  make  the  choice  of  thy  own  tinie  :  for  I, 
Thy  resolv'd  patient,  on  thee  still  rely. 
More  should  I  question  thee,  and  niore  I  must; 
Though,  more   to  know,  could   not  be  mj>»*e  to 
trust ;  [rest 
From  whence  thou  cani'st,  how  tended  oOj-'Btt 
(Jnquestion'd  vvelconie,  and  undoubted  blest. — 
Give  me  sonie  help  here,  ho  I — If  thou  proceed 
As  high  as  word,  my  deed  shall  match  thy  deed. 

[FlonrisL  Exeuni* 

Scene  H. — Rousillon.  A  Room  in  the  Counteas^t 
Palace. 

Enier  Countess  and  Clotvn. 

Count.  Come  on,  sir;  I  shall  now  put  you  to  the 
height  of  your  breeding, 

Clo.  I  vvill  show  myself  highly  fed,  and  lowly 
taugiit :  I  know  my  business  is  but  to  the  court. 

Count.  To  the  court!  why,  what  place  make  you 
special,  when  you  put  ofl'that  with  such  contempt? 
But  to  the  court  i 

Clo.  Truly,  madam,  if  God  have  lent  a  man  an^y 
manners,  he  may  easily  put  it  off"  at  court:  he,  that 
cannot  make  a  leg,  put  olf's  cap,  kiss  his  hand,  and 
say  nothing,  has  neither  leg,  hands,  lip,  nor  cap; 
and.  indeed,  such  a  fellow,  to  say  precisely,  wera 
not  for  the  court:  but,  for  me,  1  have  an  answer 
will  serve  ail  men. 

Count.  Marry,  that's  a  bountiful  answer,  that  fit» 
all  ques-tions. 

Clo.  It  is  like  a  barber's  chair,  that  fits  all  but- 
tocks;  the  pin-buttock,  t<ie  quatch-buttock,  the 
brawn-buttock,  or  any  buttock.  [tions? 

Count.  W\\\  your  answer  serve  fit  to  all  queSr 

^Vo.  As  fit  as  ten  groats  is  for  the  hand  of  an  at- 
torney, as  your  French  crown  for  your  talfata  punk, 
as  Tin's  rush  for  Tom's  fore-ftnger,  as  a  pancake 
for  Shrove-Tuesday,  a  morris  for  May  day,  as  the 
nail  to  his  hole,  the  cuckold  to  \\h  horn,  as  a  scold- 
ing quean  to  a  wrangling  knave,  as  the  nun's  lip  <o 
the  f  riar's  mo\ith  ;  nay,  as  the  pudding  to  his  skin. 

Count.  Have  you,  I  say,  aa  anawer  of  such  fitne 
for  all  questions  ? 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


SCBKB  8. 

Clo.  From  below  yonr  duke,  to  beneath  yonr 
ooustable,  it  will  fit  any  question. 

Count.  It  must  be  an  answer  of  most  monstrous 
size,  that  mnst  fit  all  demands. 

Clo.  But  a  trifle  neither,  in  ffond  faith,  if  the 
learned  should  speak  truth  of  it :  nere  it  is,  and  all 
that  belongs  to  t :  Ask.  me,  if  I  am  a  courtier;  it  shall 
d)  you  no  harm  to  learn. 

Count.  To  be  young  agaJn,  if  we  could  :  I  will  be 

fool  in  question,  hoping  to  be  the  wiser  by  your 
nswer.    1  pray  you,  sir,  are  you  a  courtier? 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir,  I'here's  a  simple  putting 

off; — more,  more,  a  hundred  of  them. 

Count.  Sir,  I  am  a  poor  friend  of  yours,  that 
(oves  you. 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir, — Thick,  thick,  spare  hot  me. 

Count.  I  think,  sir,  you  can  eat  none  of  this 
homely  meat.  [you. 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir, — Nay,  put  me  to't,  I  vvairant 

Count.  You  were  lately  whipped,  sir,  as  I  think. 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir, — Spare  not  me. 

Count.  Do  you  cry,  0  Lord,  sir,  at  your  whip- 
ping, and  spare  not  me  I  Indeed,  your  0  Lord,  sir, 
IS  very  sequent  to  your  whipping ;  you  would  Uii- 
swer  very  web  to  a  whipping,  if  you  were  but 
bound  to't. 

Clo.  I  ne'er  had  worse  luck  in  my  life,  in  my — 

0  Lord,  sir:  I  see,  things  may  serve  long,  but  not 
serve  ever. 

Count.  I  play  the  noble  housewife  with  the  time, 
to  entertain  it  so  merrily  with  a  fool. 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir, — Why,  there't  serves  well 
again.  _  '  [this, 

Count.  An  end,  sir,  to  your  business  :  give  Helen 
And  urge  her  to  a  present  answer  back : 
Commend  me  to  my  kinsmen,  and  my  son ; 
This  is  not  much. 

Clo.  Not  much  commendation  to  them. 

Count.  Not  much  employment  lor  you :  you  un- 
derstand me  ? 

Clo.  Most  fruitfully ;  1  am  there  before  my  legs. 

CoiMt.  Haste  you  again.        [Exeunt  severally. 

Scene  HL — Paris.   A  Room  in  the  Kimjs 
Palace. 

Enter  Bertram,  Lafeu,  and  Parolles. 

Laf.  They  say,  miracles  are  past;  and  we  have 
our  philosophical  persons,  to  make  modern  and 
familiar  tilings,  supernatural  and  causeless.  Hence 
is  it,  that  we  make  trilles  of  terrors ;  ensconcins^ 
ourselves  into  seeming  knowledge,  when  we  should 
submit  ourselves  to  an  unknown  fear. 

Par.  Why,  'tis  the  rarest  argument  of  wonder, 
thnt  hath  sliot  out  in  our  latter  times. 

Uer.  A  nd  so  'tis. 

Laf.  To  be  relinquished  of  the  artists, — 

Par.  So  I  say;  bothof  (ialen  and  Paracelsus. 

Laf.  Of  all  the  learned  and  authentic  lellows,— 

Par,  [light,  so  I  say. 

Laf.  That  gave  him  out  incurable, — 

Par.  Why,  there  'tis;  so  say  I  too. 

Laf.  Not  to  be  liel[)eil, — 

Par.  Right:  as 'twere  a  man  as>^ured  of  an — 

Laf.  Uncertain  life,  and  sure  death. 

Par.  Just,  you  say  well ;  so  would  I  have  said. 

l'.af.  1  may  truly  say,  it  is  a  novelty  to  the  world. 

Par.  It  is,  indeed:  if  you  will  have  it  in  show- 
ing, you  shall  read  it  in,  What  do  you  call 

theie/ —  _  lactor. 

Laf.  A  showing  of  a  heave»>ly  effect  in  an  earthly 

Par.  That's  it  I  would  have  s.iid  ;  the  very  same. 

Laf.  Why,  your  dolphin  is  not  lustier;  'tore  me, 

1  speak  in  respect  

Par.  Nay,  'tis  strange,  'tis  very  strange,  that  is 
the  brief  and  tiie  tediouj  of  it;  and  he  is  of  a  most 
!kcinorous  spirit,  tluit  will  not  acknowledge  it  to  be 

haf.  Very  handof  heaven.  [the — 

Par,  Ay,  wo  1  say. 

haf  In  a  most  weak — 

#*«r.  And  debile  minister,  great  power,  great 


transcendence :  which  should,  indeed,  give  us  • 
further  use  to  be  made,  than  alone  the  recoveiy 
the  king,  as  to  be — 

Laf  Generally  thankful. 

Enter  King,  Helena,  and  Attendants, 

Par.  I  would  have  said  it;  you  say  well  ;  here 
comes  the  king. 

Laf.  Lustick,  as  the  Dutchman  says :  I'll  Iik«  a 
maid  the  better,  whilst  I  have  a  tooth  in  my  neaJ , 
why,  he's  able  to  lead  her  a  coranto. 

Par.  Mort  du  Viyiaiyre!  Is  not  this  Helen? 

Laf  'Fore  God,  I  iiiink  so. 

King.  Go,  call  before  me  all  the  lords  in  court 

[Exit  an  Attendant 
Sit,  my  preserver,  by  thy  patient's  side  ; 
And  with  this  healtljful  hand,  whose  banish'd  sense 
Thou  hast  repeal'd,  a  second  time  receive 
The  confirniation  of  my  promis'd  gift. 
Which  but  attends  thy  naming. 

Enter  several  Lords. 

Fair  maid,  send  forth  thine  eye:  this  youthful  par- 
Of  noble  bachelors  stand  at  my  bestowing,  [eel 
O'er  whom  both  sovereign  power  and  father's  voice 
I  have  to  use  :  thy  frank  election  make;  [^;\ke. 
Thou  hast  power  to  choose,  and  they  none  to  for- 
Hel.  To  each  of  you  one  fair  and  virtuous  mis- 
tress 

Fall,  when  love  please! — marry,  to  each,  but  one! 

Laf.  I'd  give  bay  Curfal,  and  his  furniture. 
My  mouth  no  more  were  broken  than  these  boys' 
And  writ  as  little  beard. 

King.  Peruse  them  well  ; 

Not  one  of  those,  but  had  a  noble  father. 

Hel.  Gentlemen, 
Hea\  en  hath,  through  me,  restord  the  king  to  health. 

All.  We  understand  it,  and  thank  heaven  for  you. 

Hel.  I  am  a  simple  maid  ;  and  therein  wealthiest, 
That  I  protest,  I  .simply  am  a  maid : — 
Please  it  your  majesty,  1  have  done  already: 
The  blushes  in  my  cheeks  thus  whisper  me. 
We  blush,  that  thou  should' st  ciioose :  bni^he 
refused. 

Let  the  white  death  sit  on  thy  cheek  for  ever; 
W ell  ne'er  come  there  again. 

King.  Make  choice ;  and,  see 

Who  shuns  thy  love,  shuns  all  his  love  in  me. 

Hel.  Now,  Dian,  from  thy  altar  do  I  fly ; 
And  to  imperial  Love,  that  god  most  high. 
Do  my  sighs  stream. — Sir,  will  you  hear  my  suit  ? 

1  Lord.  And  grant  it. 

Hel.  Thanks,  sir:  all  the  rest  is  mute. 

Laf.  I  had  rather  be  in  this  choice,  than  throw 
ames-ace  for  my  liie.  [eyes, 

Hel.  The  honour,  sir,  that  flames  in  your  fair 
Before  I  speak,  too  threateningly  r'^jjlies : 
Love  make  your  fortunes  twenty  times  above 
Her  that  so  wishes,  and  her  humble  love  I 

2  Lord.  No  better,  if  you  please. 

Hel.  My  wish  receive, 

Which  great  love  grant !  and  so  I  take  my  leave. 

Laf.  Do  they  all  deny  her?  An  they  were  sons 
of  mine,  I'd  have  them  whij)ped  ;  or  I  would  send 
them  to  tlie  Turk,  to  make  eumichs  of. 

Hel.  Be  not  afraid  {to  a  Lord)  that  I  yonr  hand 
should  take ; 
I'll  never  do  you  wrong  for  your  own  sake; 
Blessing  upon  your  vows  I  and  in  your  bed 
Find  fairer  fortune,  if  you  ever  wed  I 

Laf.  These  boys  are  boys  of  ice,  they'll  none 
have  her:  sure,  they  are  bastards  to  the  Kngliafcj 
the  French  ne'er  got  them. 

Hel.  You  are  too  young,  too  happy,  and  too  good. 
To  make  yourself  a  son  out  of  luy  bl.wd. 

4  Jjord.  Fair  one,  1  think  not  so. 

Laf.  There's  one  grai)e  yet. — I  am  sure,  thy  fa- 
ther drank  wine.— -But  if  thou  be'.st  not  an  ass,  I  am 
a  youth  of  fourteen ;  I  have  known  tlwje  already. 


194 


ALL'S  v7ELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  n 


flie/.  I  dare  not  say  I  take  you ;  {to  Bertram) 
but  I  give 

Me,  and  my  service,  ever  whilst  J  live, 
Into  your  guiding  power. — This  is  the  man 

King.  Why  then,  young  Bertram,  take  ^er,  she's 
thy  wife.  [highness, 

Ber.  My  wife,  my  liege  ?  I  shall  beseech  your 
(n  such  a  business  give  me  leave  to  use 
The  help  of  mine  own  eyes. 

King.  Knovv'st  thou  not,  Bertram, 

What  she  has  done  for  me  ? 

Ber  Yes,  my  good  lord : 

But  never  hope  to  know  why  I  should  marry  her. 

King.  T[\ou  know'st,  she  has  rais'd  me  f  rom  my 
sickly  bed. 

Ber.  But  follows  it,  my  lord,  to  bring  me  down 
Must  answer  for  your  raising  ?    I  know  her  well ; 
She  had  her  breeding  at  my  father's  charge : 
A  poor  physician's  daughter  my  wife  ! — Disdain 
Rather  corrupt  me  ever  !  [which 

King.  'Tis  only  title  thou  disdain'st  in  her,  the 
I  can  build  up.    Strange  is  it,  that  our  bloods. 
Of  colour,  weight,  and  heat,  pour'd  all  together, 
Would  quite  confound  distinction,  yet  stand  oft" 
In  differences  so  mighty:  if  she  be 
All  that  is  virtuous,  (save  what  thou  dislik'st, 
A  poor  physician's  daughter,)  thou  dislik'st 
Of  virtue  for  the  naine  ;  but  do  not  so: 
From  lowest  place  when  virtuous  things  proceed. 
The  place  is  aignlfied  by  the  do*  r's  deed  : 
Where  great  additions  swell,  and  virtue  none, 
It  is  a  dropsied  honour:  good  alone 
Is  good,  without  a  name  ;  vileness  is  so  : 
The  property  by  what  it  is  should  go, 
Not  by  the  title.    She  is  young,  wise,  fair; 
In  these  to  nature  siie's  immediate  heir  ; 
And  these  breed  honour;  that  is  honour's  scorn. 
Which  challenges  itself  as  honour's  born, 
And  is  not  like  the  sire  •  honours  best  thrive. 
When  rather  from  our  acts  we  them  derive 
Than  our  fore-goers:  the  mere  word's. a  slave, 
Debauch'd  on  every  tomb;  on  e\ery  grave, 
A  lying'  trophy,  and  as  oft  is  dumb. 
Where  dust,  and  damn'd  oblivion,  is  the  tomb 
Of  honou/d  hones  indeed.     What  should  be  said  ? 
If  thou  canst  like  this  creature  as  a  maid, 
I  can  create  the  rest:  virtue,  and  she, 
Is  her  own  dower;  honour,  and  wealth,  from  me 

Ber.  I  cannot  love  her,  nor  will  strive  to  do't. 

King.  Thou  wrong'st  thyself,  if  thou  siiould'st 
strive  to  choose.  [glad  ; 

Hel.  That  you  are  well  restor'd,  my  lord,  1  am 
Let  the  rest  go.  [feat. 

King.  My  honour's  at  the  stake :  which  to  de- 
I  must  produce  my  power:  here,  take  hei  hand. 
Proud  scornful  boy,  unworthy  this  good  gift ; 
I'hat  dost  in  vile  misprision  shackle  up 
My  love,  and  her  desert;  that  canst  not  dream, 
We,  poizing  us  in  her  defective  scale. 
Shall  weigh  thee  to  the  beam:  that  wilt  not  know, 
It  is  in  us  to  plant  thine  honour,  where 
We  please  to  have  it  grow  :  Check  thy  contempt: 
Obey  our  will,  which  travails  in  thy  good : 
Believe  not  thy  disdain,  but  presently 
Do  thine  own  fortunes  that  obedient  right. 
Which  both  thy  duty  owes,  and  our  power  claims; 
Or  I  will  throw  thee  from  my  care  for  ever, 
Into  the  staggers,  and  the  careless  lapse  [hate, 
Of  youth  and  ignorance ;  both  my  revenge  and 
Loosing  upon  thee  in  th«  name  of  justice. 
Without  all  ternas  of  pity:  speak;  thine  answer. 

Ber.  Pardon,  my  gracious  lord  ;  for  I  submit 
My  fancy  to  your  eyes  :  when  I  consider, 
What  great  creation,  and  what  dole  of  honour, 
Flies  where  you  bid  it,  I  find,  that  she,  which  late 
Was  in  ray  nobler  thoughts  most  base,  is  now 
The  praised  of  the  king ;  who,  so  ennobled. 
Is,  as  'twere,  born  so. 

King.  Take  her  by  the  hand, 

(lvA  tell  ber  she  is  thine;  to  whom  1  promise 


A  counterpoise  ;  if  net  to  thy  estate, 
A  balance  more  replete. 

Ber.  I  take  her  hand. 

King.  Good  forttme,  and  the  favour  of  the  kiug. 
Smile  upon  this  contract;  whose  ceremony 
Shall  seem  expedient  on  the  new-born  brief. 
And  be  perform'd  lo-nignt:  the  solemn  feast 
Shall  more  attend  upon  the  coming  space. 
Expecting  absent  friends.    As  thou  lov'st  her, 
Thy  love's  to  me  religious  ;  else,  does  err. 

[Exeunt  king,  Bertram,  Helena,  Lords 
and  Attendants. 

Laf.  Do  you  hear,  monsieur  ?  a  word  with  you. 

Par.  Your  pleasure,  sir  ?  [recantation. 

Laf.  Your  lord  and  master  did  well  to  make  his 

Par.  Recantation? — My  lord?  my  master? 

Laf.  Ay  ;  is  it  not  a  language,  1  speak? 

Laf.  A  most  harsh  one  ;  and  not  to  be  understood 
without  bloody  succeeding.    My  master  ? 

Laf.  Are  you  companion  to  the  count  Rousillon? 

Par.  To  any  count;  to  all  counts;  to  what  is 
man.  [of  another  style. 

Laf.  To  what  is  count's  man ;  count's  master  is 

Par.  You  are  too  old,  sir  ;  let  it  satisly  you,  you 
are  too  old. 

Laf  I  must  tell  thee,  sirrah,  I  write  man;  to 
which  title  age  cannot  bring  thee. 

Par.  What  I  dare  too  well  do,  I  dare  not  do, 

Laf  I  did  think  tliee,  for  two  ordinaries,  to  be 
a  pretty  wise  fellow  ;  thou  didst  make  tolerable  vent 
of  thy  travel  ;  it  might  pass  :  yet  the  scarfs,  and  the 
bantierets,  about  thee,  did  manifoldly  dissuade  me 
from  believing  thee  a  vessel  of  too  great  a  burden. 
I  have  now  lound  thee;  when  I  lose  thee  again,  I 
care  not:  yet  art  thou  ^ood  for  nothing  but  taking 
up  ;  and  that  thou  art  scarce  worth. 

Pat.  Hddst  thou  not  the  privilege  of  antiquity 
upon  thee, — 

Laf.  Do  not  plunge  thyself  too  far  in  anger,  \ts{ 
thou  hasten  thy  trial : — which  if— Lord  have  mercy 
on  thee  lor  a  hen  !  So,  my  good  window  of  lattice, 
fare  thee  well ;  tiiy  casement  1  need  not  open,  for  I 
look  through  thee.    Give  me  ,hy  hand 

Par.  My  lord,  you  give  me  most  ?gregious  in- 
dignity, [of  it. 

Ln'f.  Ay,  with  all  my  heart ;  and  thou  art  worthy 

Par.  1  have  not,  my  lord,  deserved  it. 

Laf.  Yes,  good  taith,  every  dram  of  it;  and  1 
will  not  bate  thee  a  scruple. 

Par.  Well,  1  shall  be  wiser. 

Laf.  E'en  as  soon  as  thou  canst,  for  thou  hast  to 
pull  at  a  smack  o'the  contrary.  If  ever  thou  be'st 
bound  in  thy  scarf,  and  beaten,  thou  shalt  find  what 
it  is  to  be  proud  of  thy  bo;  dage.  I  have  a  desire 
to  hold  my  acquaintance  with  thee,  or  rather  my 
knowledge';  that  I  may  say,  in  the  default,  he  is  a 
man  I  know. 

Par.  My  lord,  you  do  me  most  insupportable 
vexation. 

Laf.  I  would  it  were  hell-pains  for  thy  sake,  and 
niy  poor  doing  eternal:  for  doing  I  ain  past:  as 
will  by  thee,  in  what  motion  age  will  give  mt 
leave.  [Exit 

Par.  Well,  thou  hast  a  son  shall  take  this  dis- 
grace off"  me;  scurvy,  old,  filthy,  scurvy  lord ! -~- 
Well,  I  must  be  patient;  there  is  no  fettering  of 
authority.  Ill  beat  him,  by  my  life,  if  1  can  meet 
him  with  any  convenience,  an  he  were  double,,  and 
double  a  lord.  I'll  have  no  more  pity  of  his  age, 
than  I  would  have  of— I'll  beat  him,  an  if  I  could 
but  meet  him  again. 

Re-enter  Lafeu. 

Laf.  Sirrah,  your  lord  and  master's  married, 
there's  news  for  you ;  you  have  a  new  mistress. 

Par.  1  most  unfeignediy  beseech  your  lordship 
to  make  some  reservation  of  your  wrong*:  he  is  mj 
good  lord ;  whom  I  serve  above,  is  my  n»fister. 

Laf  Who?  God? 

Par.  Ay,  sir. 


Scene  5. 


.L'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


193 


liaf.  The  devil  it  is,  that's  thy  master.  Why  dost 
♦hon  garter  up  thy  arms  o'  this  fashion  ?  dost  make 
hose  of  thy  sleeves  ?  do  other  servants  so  ?  Thou 
ert  best  set  thy  lower  part  where  thy  nose  stands, 
mine  honour,  if  I  were  but  two  hours  younger, 
beat  thee  :  methinks,  thou  art  a  general  olFeiice, 
d  every  man  should  beat  thee.     I  think,  thou 
ast  created  for  men  to  breathe  themselves  upon 
ee.  [lord. 
Par,  Tliis  is  hard  and  undeserved  measure,  my 
haf  Go  to,  sir;  you  were  beaten  in  Italy  for 
picking  a  kernel  out  of  a  pomegranate;  you  are  a 
vagabond,  and  no  true  traveller :  you  are  more  saucy 
with  lords,  and  honourable  personages,  than  the 
heraldry  of  your  birth  and  virtues  gives  you  com- 
mission.   You  are  not  worth  another  word,  else  I'd 
call  you  knave.    I  leave  you.  [Exit. 

Enter  Bertram. 

Par.  Good,  very  good ;  it  is  so  then. — Good,  very 
good  ;  let  it  be  concealed  a  while. 

Ber.  Undone,  and  forfeited  to  cares  for  ever! 

Par.  What  is  the  matter,  sweet  heart  ? 

Ber.  Although  before  the  solemn  priest  I  have 
I  will  not  bed  her.  [sworn, 

Par.  What?  what,  sweet  heart ? 

Ber.  O  rtiy  Parolles,  they  have  married  me ; — 
I'll  to  the  Tuscan  wars,  and  never  bed  her. 

Par.  France  is  a  dog-hole,  and  it  no  more  merits 
The  tread  of  a  man's  foot:  To  the  wars! 

Ber.  There's  letters  from  my  mother;  what  the 
I  know  not  yet.  [import  is. 

Par.  Ay,  that  would  be  known :  To  the  wars,  my 
boy,  to  the  wars  ! 
He  wears  his  honour  in  a  box  unseen, 
That  hugs  his  kicksy-wicksy  here  at  home  ; 
Spending  his  manly  marrow  in  her  arms, 
Which  should  sustain  the  bound  and  high  curvet 
Of  Mars'  fiery  steed  :  To  other  regions  ! 
France  is  a  stable  ;  we,  that  dwell  in't,  jades  ; 
I'herefore,  to  the  war! 

Ber.  It  shall  be  so ;  I'll  send  her  to  my  house. 
Acquaint  my  mother  with  my  hate  to  her, 
And  wherefore  I  am  fled  ;  write  to  the  king 
That  which  I  durst  not  speak:  his  present  gift 
Shall  furnish  me  to  those  Italian  fields. 
Where  noblp  fellows  strike:  war  is  no  strife, 
To  the  dark  house,  and  the  detested  wife. 

Par.  Will  this  caprioio  hold  in  thee,  art  sure? 

Ber.  Go  with  me  to  my  chamber,  and  advise  me. 
I'll  send  her  straight  away:  to-morrow 
I'll  to  the  wars,  she  to  her  single  sorrow. 

Par.  Why,  these  balls  bound  ;  there's  noise  in  it — 
'Tis  hard ; 

A  young  man,  married,  is  a  man  that's  marr'd : 
Therefore  away,  and  leave  her  bravely;  go: 
The  king  has  done  you  wrong;  but,  hush!  'tis  so. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — The  same.  Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Helena  and  Clown. 

Hel.  My  mother  greets  me  kindly  :  is  she  well  ? 

Clo.  She  is  not  well :  but  yet  she  has  her  health  : 
she's  very  merry ;  but  yet  she  is  not  well :  but 
thanks  be  given,  she's  very  well,  and  wants  nothing 
i'  the  world  :  but  yet  she  is  not  well. 

Hel.  If  she  be  very  well,  what  does  she  ail,  that 
she's  not  very  well  ?  [things. 

Clo.  Truly,  she's  very  well,  indeed,  but  for  two 

Hel.  What  two  things  ? 

Clo.  One,  that  she's  not  in  heaven,  whither  God 
send  her  quickly!  the  other,  that  she's  in  earth, 
from  whence  God  send  her  quickly  ! 

Enter  Parolles. 

Par.  Bless  you,  my  fortunate  lady! 

Hel.  I  hope,  sir,  I  have  your  good  will  to  have 
mine  own  good  fortunes. 

Par.  You  had  my  prayers  to  lead  them  on  ;  and 
to  keep  them  on,  have  them  still. — O,  my  knave ! 


How  does  my  old  lady  ? 

Clo.  So  that  you  had  her  wrinkles,  and  I  her 
money,  \  would  she  did  as  you  say. 

Par.  Why,  I  say  nothing. 

Clo.  Marry,  you  are  the  wiser  man ;  foi  many  a 
man's  tongue  shakes  out  his  master's  'undoing :  to 
say  nothing,  to  do  nothing,  to  know  nothing,  and  ta 
have  nothing,  is  to  be  a  great  part  of  your  \ 
which  is  within  a  very  little  of  nothing. 

Par.  Away,  thou'rt  a  knave. 

Clo.  You  should  have  said,  sir,  before  a  krra>« 
thou  art  a  knave ;  that  is,  before  me  thou  art  a 
knave  :  this  had  been  truth,  sir.  [thee. 

Par.  Go  to,  thou  art  a  witty  fool,  I  have  found 

Clo.  Did  you  find  me  in  yourself,  sir  ?  or  were  you 
taught  to  find  me  ?  The  search  ,  sir,  was  profitable; 
and  much  fool  may  you  find  in  you,  even  to  th« 
world's  pleasure,  and  the  increase  of  laughter. 

Par.  A  good  knave,  i'faith,  and  well  fed. — 
Madam,  my  lord  will  go  away  to-night; 
A  very  serious  business  calls  on  him. 
The  great  prerogative  and  rite  of  love,  [ledge 
Which,  as  your  due,  time  claims,  he  does  acknow- 
But  puts  it  off  by  a  compell'd  restraint ;  [sweets, 
Whose  want,  and  whose  delay,  is  strewed  with 
Which  they  distil  now  in  the  curbed  time, 
To  make  the  coming  hour  o'erflow  with  joy, 
And  pleasure  drown  the  brim. 

Hel.  What's  his  will  else  ? 

Par.  That  you  will  take  your  instant  leave  o'  the 
king. 

And  make  this  haste  as  your  own  good  proceeding 
Strengthen'd  with  what  apology  you  think 
May  make  it  probable  need. 

Hel.  What  more  commands  he  ? 

Par.  That,  having  this  obtain'd,  you  presently 
Attend  his  further  pleasure. 

Hel.  In  every  thing  I  wait  upon  his  will. 

Par.  I  shall  report  it  so. 

Hsl.  I  pray  yoa. — Come,  sirrah. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — Another  Rootn  in  the  same. 
Enter  Lafeu  and  Bertram. 
haf.  But,  1  hope,  your  lordship  thinks  not  him  a 
soldier. 

Ber.  Yes,  my  lord,  and  of  very  valiant  approof. 

haf.  You  have  it  from  his  own  deliverance. 

Ber.  And  by  other  warranted  testimony. 

haf.  Then  niy  dial  goes  not  true  ;  I  took  this  lark 
for  a  bunting. 

Ber.  I  do  assure  you,  my  lord,  he  is  very  great  in 
knowledge,  and  accordingly  valiant. 

haf.  I  have  then  sinned  against  his  experience, 
and  transgressed  against  his  valour;  and  my  state 
that  way  is  dangerous,  since  I  cannot  yet  find  in  my 
heart  to  repent.  Here  he  comes  ;  I  pray  you,  make 
us  friends,  I  will  pursue  the  amity. 

Enter  Parolles. 
Par.  These  things  shall  be  done,  sir.    {To  Ber, 
haf.  Pray  you,  sir,  who's  his  tailor  ? 
Par.  Sir  ? 

haf.  O,  I  know  him  well:  Ay,  sir;  he,  sir,  is  a 
good  workman,  a  very  good  tailor. 

Ber.  Is  she  gone  to  the  king  ?  {Aside  to  ParolJe$.) 
Par.  She  is. 

Ber.  Will  she  away  to-night  ? 
Par.  As  you'll  have  her. 

Ber.  I  have  writ  my  letters,  casketed  my  treasure, 
Given  orders  for  our  horses;  and  to-night. 
When  I  shoidd  take  possession  of  (he  btide, — 
And,  ere  I  do  begin,  

haf.  A  good  traveller  is  something  at  the  latter 
end  of  a  dinner;  but  one  that  lies  three- thirds,  and 
uses  a  known  truth  to  pass  a  thousand  nothings  with 
should  be  once  heard,  and  thrice  beaten. — God  save 
you,  captain. 

Ber.  Is  there  any  unkindness  between  my  lord 
and  you,  monsieur? 


196 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  III 


Par.  I  knov«r  not  how  I  have  deserved  to  run  into 
jny  lord's  displeasure. 

haf.  You  have  made  shift  to  rnn  into't,  boots  and 
spurs  and  all,  like  him  that  leaped  into  the  custard  ; 
and  out  of  it  you'll  run  again,  rather  than  suffer 
question  for  your  residence. 

Ber,  It  may  be,  you  have  mistaken  him,  my  lord. 

Mjaf.  And  shall  do  so  ever,  though  1  took  him  at 
his  prayers.  Fare  you  well,  my  lord :  and  believe 
this  of  me.  There  can  be  no  kernel  in  tnis  light  nut ; 
the  soul  of  this  man  is  his  clothes :  trust  him  not  in 
matter  of  heavy  consequence  ;  I  have  kept  of  them 
tame,  and  know  their  natures. —  Farewell,  monsieur  : 
I  have  spoken  better  of  you,  than  you  have  or  will 
deserve  at  my  hand ;  but  we  must  do  good  against 
evil.  {Exit. 

Par.  An  idle  lord,  I  swear. 

her.  I  think  so. 

Par.  Why,  do  you  not  know  him  ?  [speech 
Her.  Yes,  I  do  know  him  well;  and  common 
Gives  him  a  worthy  pass.    Here  comes  my  clog. 

Ente.r  Helena. 

Uel.  I  have,  sir,  as  I  was  commanded  from  you. 
Spoke  with  the  king,  and  have  procur'd  his  leave 
For  present  parting;  only  he  desires 
Some  private  speech  with  you. 

Ber.  I  shall  obey  his  will. 

Yon  must  not  marvel,  Helena,  at  my  course. 
Which  holds  not  colour  with  the  time,  nor  does 
The  ministration  and  required  office 
On  my  particular:  prepar'd  1  was  not 
For  such  a  business ;  therefore  am  I  found 
So  much  unsettled  :  This  drives  me  to  entreat  you^, 
That  presently  you  take  your  way  for  home  ; 
And  ratlier  muse,  than  ask,  why  I  entreat  you: 
For  ray  respects  are  better  than  they  seem ; 
And  my  appointments  have  in  them  a  need, 
Greater  tlian  shews  itself,  at  the  first  view. 
To  you,  that  know  them  not.    This  to  my  mother  : 

{Giving  a  letter^ 
'Twill  be  two  days  ere  I  shall  see  you  ;  so 
I  leave  you  to  }H)ui  wisdom- 
fife/.  Sir,  I  can  nothing  say, 
But  that  1  am  your  most  obedient  servant. 

Ber.  Come,  come,  no  more  of  that. 

Hel.  And  ever  shall, 

With  true  observance,  seek  to  eke  out  that, 
Wherein  toward  me  my  homely  stars  have  fail'd 
To  equal  my  great  fortune. 

Ber.  Let  that  go: 

My  haste  is  very  great:  Farewell;  hie  home. 

Mel.  Pray,  sir,  your  pardon. 

Eer.  Well,  what  would  you  say  ? 

Mel.  I  am  not  worthy  of  the  wealth  I  owe ; 
Nor  dare  1  say,  'tis  mine  ;  and  yet  i4,  is  ; 
But,  like  a  timorous  thief,  most  tain  would  steal 
What  law  does  vouch  mine  own. 

Ber.  What  would  you  have  ? 

Mel.  Something;  and  scarce  so  much  : — nothing, 
indeed. — 

I  would  not  tell  you  what  I  would  :   my  lord — 

'faith,  yes ; — 
Strangers,  and  toes,  do  sunder,  and  not  kiss. 
Ber.  1  pray  you,  stay  not,  but  in  haste  to  horse. 
Mel.  I  shall  not  break  your  bidding,  good  my 
lord. 

Ber.  Wliere  are  my  other  men,  monsieur?  — 
Farewell.  {Exit  Helena. 

Go  thou  toward  home  ;  where  I  will  never  come, 
^Wbilst  J  can  shake  my  sword,  or  hear  the  drum  : — 
A  way,  and  for  our  flight. 
Par.  Bravely,  coragio !  [Exeunt. 

ACT  HI. 

Scene  1. — Florence.  A  Room  in  the  Duke's  Palace. 
Fifmrtsh.  Enter  the  Duke  of  Florence,  attended; 
two  French  Lords,  and  others. 
Duke.  So  that,  from  point  to  point,  now  have  you 
heard 


The  fundamental  reasons  of  this  war; 
Whose  great  decision  hath  much  blood  let  forffa. 
And  more  thirsts  after. 

1  Lord.  Holy  seems  the  quarrel 
Upon  your  grace's  part ;  black  and  fearful 

On  the  opposer.  (Piancft 
Duke.  Therefore  we  marvel  much,  our  consis 
Would,  in  so  just  a  business,  shut  his  bosom 
Against  our  borrowing  prayers. 

2  Lord.  Good  my  lord. 
The  reasons  of  our  state  I  cannot  yield. 

But  like  a  common  and  an  outward  mat:. 
That  the  great  figure  of  a  council  frames 
By  self-unable  motion :  therefore  dare  not 
Say  what  I  think  of  it;  since  I  have  iound 
Myself  in  my  uncertain  grounds  to  fail 
As  often  as  1  guess'd. 

Dv.ke.  Be  it  his  pleasure. 

2  Lord.  But  I  am  sure,  the  younger  of  our  nature, 
That  surfeit  on  their  ease,  will,  day  by  day, 
Come  here  for  physic. 

Duke.  Welcome  shall  they  be  ; 

And  all  the  honours,  that  can  fly  I'rom  us, 
Shall  on  them  settle.    You  know  your  places  well; 
When  better  fall,  for  your  avails  they  fell : 
To-morrow  to  the  field.  [Flourish.  Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — Rousillon.    A  Room  in  the  Countess's 
Palace. 
Enter  Countess  and  Clown. 

Count.  It  hath  happened  ail  as  I  would  have  had 
it,  save,  that  he  comes  not  along  w^lth  her. 

Clo.  By  my  troth,  I  take  my  young  lord  to  be  a 
very  melancholy  man. 

Count.  By  what  observance,  I  pray  you  ? 

Clo.  Why,  he  will  look  upon  his  boot,  and  sing; 
mind  the  ruff,  and  sing;  ask  questions,  and  sing;; 
pick  his  teeth,  and  sing  :  I  know  a  man  that  had  this 
trick  of  melancholy,  sold  a  goodly  manor  for  a  song. 

Count.  Let  ine  see  what  he  writes,  and  when  he 
means  to  come.  {Opening  3  letter.) 

Clo.  I  have  no  mind  to  Isbel,  since  1  was  at 
court :  our  old  ling  and  our  Isbels  o'  the  country 
are  nothing  like  your  old  ling  and  your  Isbels  o'  the 
court:  the  brains  of  my  Cupid's  knocked  out;  and 
1  begin  to  \o\e,  as  an  old  man  loves  money,  with  no 

Count.  Whjit  have  we  here?  [stomach. 

Clo.  E'en  that  you  have  there.  [Exit. 

Count.  {  H  eads  )  /  have  sent  you  a  daughter-in- 
laiv :  she  hath  recovered  the  king,  and  undone  me. 
I  have  ivedded  her,  not  bedded  her ;  and  sworn  to 
make  the  not  eternal.  You  shall  hear,  I  am  run 
away ;  know  it,  before  the  report  come.  If  there 
be  breadth  enoiigh  in  the  world,  1  will  hold  a  long 
distance.    My  duty  to  you. 

Your  unfortunate  son,  BERTRAia. 
This  is  not  well,  rash  and  unbridled  boy. 
To  fly  the  favours  of  so  good  a  king; 
To  pluck  his  indignntion  on  thy  head, 
[  By  the  misprizing  of  a  maid  too  virtuous 
j  For  the  contempt  of  empire. 

j  Re-enter  Clown. 

!      Clo.  O  madam,  yonder  is  heavy  news  witLin, 

I  between  two  soldiers  and  my  young  lady. 

!      Count.  What  is  the  matter  ? 

i     Clo.  Nay,  there  is  some  comfort  in  the  news,  some 
I  comfort ;  your  son  will  not  be  killed  so  soon  as  I 
thought  he  would. 

Count.  Why  should  he  be  kill'd  ? 
Clo.  So  say  I,  madam,  if  he  run  away,  a?  J  hens 
he  does :  the  danger  is  in  standing  to'f  •  that  i«  tke 
loss  of  men,  though  it  be  the  getting  of  childreiu 
Here  they  come,  will  t*^ll  you  more  :  for  my  j-'urt,  I 
only  hear,  your  son  was  run  away.      [F^it  Clo^n, 

Enter  Helena  and  two  Gentlemen. 

1  Gen.  Save  you,  good  madam. 

Mel.  Madam,  my  lord  is  gone,  for  ever  gone. 

2  Gen.  Do  not  say  so. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  19T 


Scene  4. 

Count  Think  upon  patience. — Tray  yoti,  gentle- 
I  have  felt  so  many  quirks  of  joy,  and  grief,  [naen, — 
That  the  tirst  face  of  neither,  on  the  start,  [you  ? 
Can  woman  me  unto't. — Where  is  my  son,  1  pray 

2  Gent.  Madam,  he's  gone  to  serve  the  duke  of 
Florence  : 

We  met  him  tliitherward  ;  from  thence  we  came. 
And,  after  *ome  despatch  in  hand  at  court, 
Thith«^r  We  Lend  again.  [port 
Uel.  Look  on  his  letter,  madam  ;  here's  my  pass- 
[lieads.)  When  thou  canst  get  the  ring  upon  my 
finger,  which  never  shall  come  off,  and  shew  me  a 
child  heg.)tten  of  thy  body,  that  I  am  father  to, 
then  call  me  husband :  but  in  such  a  then  /  ivrite 
a  never. 

This  is  a  dreadful  sentence. 

Count.  Brought  you  this  letter,  gentlemen  ? 

1  Gent.  Ay,  madam  ; 
And,  for  the  contents'  sake,  are  sorry  for  our  pains. 

Count.  I  pr'ythee,  lady,  have  a  better  cheer; 
If  thou  engrossest  all  the  griefs  are  thine. 
Thou  robb'st  nie  of  a  moiety  :  He  was  my  son  ; 
But  I  do  wash  his  name  out  of  my  blood, 
And  thou  art  all  my  child.  —Towards  Florence  is  he? 

2  Gent.  Ay,  madam. 

Count.  And  to  be  a  soldier? 

2  Gent.  Sach  is  his  noble  purpose  :  and,  believ't, 
The  duivc  wiil  lay  upon  him  all  the  honour 
That  good  convenience  claims. 

Count.  Return  you  thither  ? 

1  Gent.  Ay,  madam,  with  the  swiftest  wing  of 
speed. 

llel.  {Reads.)  Till  I  have  no  ivife,  I  have  no- 
thing in  France. 

Count.  Find  you  that  there  ? 

Hel.  Ay,  madam. 

1  Gent.  'Tis  but  the  boldness  of  his  hand,  haply. 
Bis  heart  was  not  consenting  to.  [which 

Count.  Nothing  in  France,  until  he  have  no  wile  1 
There's  nothing  here,  that  is  too  good  for  him, 
But  only  she  ;  and  she  deserves  a  lord, 
I'hat  twenty  such  rude  bojs  might  tend  upon. 
And  call  her  hourly,  mistress.  Who  was  with  him? 

1  Gent.  A  servant  only,  and  a  gentleman 
Which  1  have  some  time  known. 

Count.  ParoUes,  was't  not? 

1  Gent.  Ay,  my  good  lady,  he.  [ness. 

Coujit.  A  very  tainted  fellow,  and  full  of  wicked- 
My  sou  corrupts  a  well-derived  nature 
With  his  inducement. 

1  Gent.  Indeed,  good  lady, 
Tlie  fellow  has  a  deal  of  that,  too  much. 
Which  holds  him  much  to  have. 

Count.  You  are  welcome,  gentlemen  ; 
I  will  entreat  you,  when  you  see  my  son. 
To  tell  him,  that  his  sword  can  never  wio 
The  honour  that  he  loses  .  more  I'll  entreat  you 
Written  to  bear  along. 

2  Gent.  We  serve  you,  madam. 
In  that  and  all  your  worthiest  aftairs. 

Count.  Not  so,  but  as  we  change  our  courtesies. 
Will  you  draw  near  ? 

[Exeunt  Count,  and  Gentlemen. 
Hel.  Till  I  have  no  wife,  I  have  nothing  in 
France. 

Nothing  in  France,  until  he  has  no  wife  ! 
Thou  shalt  liave  none,  Rousillon,  none  in  Fiance, 
Then  hast  tliou  all  again.    Poor  lord  !  is  t  I 
That  chase  thee  from  thy  country,  and  expose 
Those  tender  limbs  of  thine  to  the  event 
Of  the  none  sparing  war  ?  and  is  it  I, 
Thai  drive  thee  from  the  sportive  court,  where  thou 
Wast  shot  at  witii  lair  eyes,  to  be  the  mark 
Of  smoky  muskets?    O  you  leaden  messengers, 
That  ride  upun  the  violent  speed  oi  fire, 
Fly  witli  false  aim  ;  nune  tiie  still  piercing  air. 
That  sin^s  witii  piercing,  do  not  tt)uch  my  lord  ! 
WhcHjver  shoots  at  him,  I  set  hini  there  ; 
Whoever  charges  on  his  lorvvaid  breast, 
am  the  caitiff,  that  do  hold  hnu  to  t 


And,  though  I  kill  him  not,  I  am  the  caus« 

His  death  was  so  effected  :  better  'twere, 

I  met  the  ravin  lion  when  he  roar'd 

With  sharp  constraint  of  hunger;  better  'twere 

That  all  the  miseries,  which  nature  ow«^s,  [sillo*% 

Were  mine  at  once  :  No,  come  thou  home,  Ro<i^ 

Whence  honour  but  of  danger  wins  a  scar. 

As  oft  it  loses  all ;  f  will  b'^  gone  : 

My  being  here  it  is,  that  holds  thee  hence  . 

Shall  I  stay  here  to  do't?  no,  no,  although 

The  air  of  Paradise  did  fan  the  house. 

And  angels  otfic'd  all  :  I  will  be  gone  ; 

'I'hat  pitiful  rumour  may  report  my  flight, 

1\)  consolate  thine  ear.    Come,  night;  end,  day] 

For,  with  the  dark,  poor  thief.  Til  steal  away.  [ExiL 

Scene  III. — Florence.    Before  the  Duke' $  Palac<s, 
Flourish.    Enter  the  DuKE  op  Florence,  Ber- 
tram, Lords,  Officers,  Soldiers,  and  others. 
Duke.  The  general  of  our  horse  thou  art;  and  we. 
Great  in  our  hope,  lay  our  best  love  and  credence 
Upon  thy  promising  fortune. 

Ber.  Sir,  it  is 

A  charge  too  heavy  for  my  strength  ;  but  yet 
We'll  strive  to  bear  it  for  your  worthy  sake. 
To  the  extreme  edge  of  hazard, 

Duke.  Then  go  thou  forth  ; 

And  fortune  play  upon  thy  prosperous  l>elm. 
As  thy  auspicious  mistress  ! 

Ber.  This  very  day, 

Great  Mars,  I  put  myself  into  thy  file  : 
Make  me  but  like  my  thoughts  ;  and  I  shall  pi-ove 
A  lover  of  thy  drum,  hater  of  love.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — Rousillon.    A  Room  in  the  Countess's 
Palace. 

Enter  Countess  and  Steward. 
Count.  Alas !  and  would  you  take  the  letter  of 
her  ? 

Might  you  not  know,  she  would  do  as  she  has  done. 
By  sending  me  a  letter  ?    Read  it  again. 

Stew.  I  am  St.  Jaques'  pilgritn,  thither  gone  ; 
Ambitious  love  hath  so  in  me  offended. 
That  bare  foot  plod  I  the  cold  ground  upon. 

With  sainted  vow  my  faults  to  have  amended. 
Write,  write,  that,  from  the  bloody  course  ofwcer 

My  dearest  master,  your  dear  son,  may  hie  ; 
Bless  him  at  home  in  peace,  whilst  I  from  far, 

His  name  with  zealous  fervour  sanctify  : 
His  taken  labours  bid  him  me  forgive  ; 

I,  his  despiteful  Juno,  sent  him  fm'th 
From  courtly  friends,  with  camping  foes  to  live. 

Where  death  and  danger  dog  the  heels  of  tvortk 
He  is  too  good  and  fair  for  death  and  me  ; 
TV horn  I  myself  embrace,  to  set  him  free. 

Count.  Ah,  what  sharp  stings  are  in  her  mildest 

words !  

Rinaldo,  you  did  never  lack  advice  so  much, 
As  letting  lier  pass  so;  had  I  spoke  with  her, 
I  could  have  well  diverted  her  intents, 
Which  thus  she  hath  prevented. 

Stew.  Pardon  me,  madam : 

If  i  had  given  you  this  at  over-night. 
She  might  have  been  o'erta'en  ;  and  yet  she  writes. 
Pursuit  would  be  in  vain. 

Count.  What  angel  shall 

Bless  this  unworthy  husband  ?  he  cannot  thrive^, 
Unless  her  prayers,  whom  heaven  delights  to  hear 
And  loves  to  grant,  reprieve  him  from  the  wrafh 
Of  greatest  justice. — Write,  write,  Rinaldo, 
To  this  unworthy  husband  of  his  wife  ; 
Let  every  word  weigh  heavy  of  her  worth. 
That  he  does  weigh  too  light ;  my  greatest  grielT, 
Though  little  he  do  feel  it,  set  down  sharpiy. 
Despatch  the  most  convenient  messenger : — 
VVhen,  haply,  he  shall  hear  that  she  is  gone. 
He  will  return    and  hope  I  may,  that  she. 
Hearing  so  much,  wiil  speed  hei  foot  again. 
Led  hither  by  pme  love  :  which  of  them  both 
Js  dearest  to  me,  I  have  no  skill  in  sense 


198 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  IIL 


To  make  distinction  : — Provide  this  messenger  : — 

My  heart  is  hf-avy,  and  naine  age  is  weak  ; 

Grief  would  have  tears,  and  sorrow  bids  ine  speak. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  Y.— Without  the  Walls  of  Florence. 
A  tucket  afar  off.    Enter  an  old  f'Vidow  of  Flo- 
rence, i)jA.NA,  ViOLENTA,  Mariana,  and  other 
Citizens. 

Wid.  Nay,  come ;  for  if  they  do  approach  the 
city,  we  shall  lose  all  the  sight. 

l)ia.  They  say,  the  French  count  has  done  most 
honourable  service. 

M^'^id.  It  is  reported  that  he  has  taken  their 
greatest  commander :  and  that  with  his  own  hand 
he  slew  the  duke's  brother.  We  have  lost  our  la- 
bour :  they  are  gone  a  contrary  way :  hark !  you 
may  know  by  their  trumpets. 

Mar.  Come,  let's  return  again,  and  suffice  our- 
selves with  the  report  of  it.  Well,  Diana,  take 
heed  of  this  French  earl ;  the  honour  of  a  maid  is 
her  name  5  and  no  legacy  is  so  rich  as  honesty. 

Wid.  I  have  told  my  neighbour,  how  you  have 
been  solicited  by  a  gentleman  his  companion. 

Mar.  I  know  that  knave ;  hang  him  !  one  Pa- 
rolies :  a  tiltay  officer  he  is  in  those  suggestions  for 
the  young  earl. — Beware  of  them,  Diana;  their 
promises,  enticements,  oaths,  tokens,  and  all  these 
engines  of  lust,  are  not  the  things  they  go  under : 
many  a  maid  hath  been  seduced  by  them ;  and  the 
misery  is,  example,  that  so  terrible  shows  in  the 
wreck  of  maidenhood,  cannot  for  all  tliat  dissuade 
succession,  but  they  are  limed  with  the  twigs  that 
threaten  them.  1  hope,  I  need  not  to  advise  you 
further  :  but,  I  hope,  your  own  grace  will  keep  you 
where  jou  are,  though  there  were  no  further  danger 
known,  but  the  modesty  which  is  so  lost. 

Dia.  You  shall  not  need  to  fear  me. 

Et  ter  Helena,  in  the  dress  of  a  pilgrim. 

ff^id.  1  hope  so.  Luok,  here  comes  a  pilgrim : 

I  know  she  will  lie  at  my  house  :  thither  they  send 

one  another:  J'll  question  her. — 

God  save  you,  pilgrim  !  Whither  are  you  bound? 

Hel.  To  Saint  Jaques  le  grand. 
Where  do  the  palmers  lodge,  1  do  beseech  you  ? 

Tf'id.  At  the  Saint  Francis  here,  beside  the  port. 

Hel.  Is  this  the  way  ? 

fVid.  Ay,  marry,  is  it. — Hark  you  ! 

[^A  march  afar  off.) 
They  come  this  way : — If  you  will  tarry,  holy  pil- 
But  till  the  troops  come  by,  [grim, 
1  will  conduct  you  where  you  shall  be  lodg'd ; 
The  rather,  tor,  1  think,  I  know  your  hostess 
As  ample  as  myself. 

Uel.  Is  it  yourself  ? 

Wid.  If  you  shall  please  so,  pilgrim. 

Hel  I  thank  you,  and  will  stay  upon  your  leisure. 

fVid.  Yon  came,  I  think,  from  France  i; 

Hel.  I  did  so. 

Wid.  Here  you  shall  see  a  countryman  of  yours. 
That  has  done  worthy  service. 

Hel.  His  name,  I  pray  you. 

Dia.  The  count  Rousillon :  Know  you  such  a 
one?  [him; 

Hel.  But  by  the  ear,  that  hears  most  nobly  of 
Ilis  face  1  know  not. 

Dia.  Whatsoe'er  he  is. 

He's  bravely  taken.    He  stole  from  France, 
As  'tis  reported,  for  the  king  had  married  him 
Against  his  liking  :  Think  you  it  is  so  ? 

Uel.  Ay,  surely,  mere  the  truth  ;  1  know  his  lady. 

Dia.  There  is  a  gentleman,  that  serves  the  count, 
Reports  but  coarsely  of  her 

Hel.  What's  his  uamr>  ? 

Dia.  Monsieur  Parolles. 

HeL  O,  I  believe  with  him. 

In  argument  of  praise,  or  to  the  worth 
Uf  the  great  count  himself,  she  is  too  mean 

ohave  her  name  repeated;  all  her  deserving 


Is  a  reserved  honesty,  an(?  that 
I  have  not  heard  examin'd, 

Dia,  Alas,  poor  lady ! 

'Tis  a  hard  bondage,  to  become  the  wife 
Of  a  detesting  lord. 

If'^id.  A  right  good  creature  :  wheresoe'er  she  is. 
Her  heart  weighs  sadly  :  this  young  maid  might  d« 
A  shrewd  turn,  if  she  pleas'd.  Ihe' 

HeL  How  do  you  meaB? 

May  be,  the  amorous  count  sohcits  her 
In  the  unlawful  purpose. 

Wid.  He  does,  indeed  ; 

And  brokes  with  all  that  can  in  such  a  suit 
Corrupt  the  tender  honour  0?  a  maid  : 
But  she  is  arm'd  for  him,  and  keeps  her  guard 
In  honestest  defence. 

Enter  with  drum  and  colours,  a  party  of  the  Flo 
rentine  army,  Bertram,  and  Parolles 

Mar.  The  gods  forbid  else  ! 

fV^id.  So,  now  they  come  : 

That  is  Antonio,  the  duke's  eldest  son  ; 
That,  Escalus. 

Hel.  Which  is  the  Frenchman  ? 

Dia.  He; 
That  with  the  plume  :  'tis  a  most  gallant  fellow  ; 
I  would,  he  lov'd  his  wife  :  il  he  were  houester. 
He  were  much  goodlier  : — Is't  not  a  handsome 

Hsl.  I  like  him  well.  [gentleman  ? 

Dia.  'Tis  pity,  he  is  not  honest : — Yond's  that 
same  knave. 

That  leads  him  to  these  places ;  were  I  his  lady, 
I'd  poison  that  vile  rascal. 

Hel.  ^  Which  is  he? 

Dia.  That  jack-an-apes  with  scarfs:  Why  is  he 
melancholy  ? 

Hel.  Perchance  he's  hurt  i'the  battle. 

Par.  Lose  our  drum  !  well. 

Mar.  He's  shrewdly  vexed  at  something  :  I«ook, 
he  has  spied  us. 

Wid.  Many,  hang  you  ! 

Mar.  And  your  courtesy,  for  a  ring-carrie,r  \ 

[Exeunt  Bertram,  Parolles^  Officers^ 
and  Soldiers. 

Wid.  The  troop  is  past :  Come,  pilgrim,  I  will 
bring  you 

Where  you  shall  host:  ofenjoin'd  penitents 
There's  four  or  five,  to  great  Saint  Jaques  bound. 
Already  at  my  house. 

Hel.  I  humbly  thank  you  : 

Please  it  this  matron,  and  this  gentle  maid. 
To  eat  with  us  to-night,  the  charge,  anil  thanking. 
Shall  be  for  me  ;  and,  to  requite  you  further, 
I  will  bestow  some  precepts  on  this  virgin. 
Worthy  the  note. 

Both.        We'll  take  your  offer  kindly.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VI. — Camp  before  Florence. 
Enter  Bertram,  and  the  iivo  French  Lords. 

1  Lord.  Nay,  good  ray  lord,  put  him  to  t ;  let  hiiu 
have  his  way. 

2  Lord.  If  your  lordship  find  him  not  a  hilding. 
hold  me  no  more  in  your  respect. 

1  Lord.  On  my  life,  my  lord,  a  bubble. 

Ber.  Do  you  tliink,  I  am  so  far  deceived  in  him? 

1  Lord.  Believe  it,  my  lord,  in  mine  own  direct 
knowledge,  without  any  malice,  but  to  speak  of  him 
as  my  kinsman,  he's  a  most  nutable  coward,  an  it*, 
finite  and  endless  liar,  an  hourly  promise-breaker 
the  owner  of  no  one  good  quality  worthy  your  lord 
ship's  entertainment. 

2  Lord.  It  were  tit  you  knew  hira ;  lest,  reposing 
too  far  in  his  virtue,  which  he  hath  not,  he  might, 
at  some  great  and  trusty  business,  in  a  main  danger 
fail  you.  Uo  try  him. 

Ber.  I  would  I  knew  in  what  particular  action 
2  Lord.  None  better  than  to  let  liim  fetch  off  his 

drum,  which  you  hear  him  so  confidently  undertake 

to  do. 

1  Lord.  \,  with  a  troop  of  Fl  jrentines,  will  sud 


Scene  T. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


199 


denly  surprise  him ;  such  I  will  have,  whom,  I  am 
sure,"  he  knows  not  from  the  enemy:  we  will  bind 
and  liood  wink,  him  so,  that  he  shall  suppose  no 
^tuer  but  that  he  is  carried  into  the  leaguer  of  the 
adversaries,  when  we  bring  him  to  our  tents ;  Be 
hut  your  lordship  present  at  his  examination;  if  he 
do  not,  for  the  promise  of  his  life,  and  in  the  highest 
CDinpulsion  of  base  If-ar,  o-Ser  to  betray  you,  and 
deliver  all  the  intelligence  m  his  power  against  you, 
fuid  that  with  the  divine  forfeit  of  his  soul  upon 
oath,  never  trust  my  judgment  in  any  thing. 

^  Lord.  O,  for  the  love  of  laughter,  let  him  fetch 
his  drum;  he  says,  he  has  a  stratagem  for"t:  when 
your  lordship  sees  the  bottom  of  his  success  in't, 
and  to  what  metal  this  counterfeit  lump  of  ore  will 
be  melted,  if  you  give  him  not  John  Drum's  enter- 
tainment, your  inclining  cannot  be  removed.  Here 
he  comes. 

Enter  Parolles. 

1  Lord.  O,  for  the  love  of  laughter,  hinder  not 
the  humour  of  his  design;  let  him  fetch  olf  his 
drum  in  any  hand. 

Ber.  How  now,  monsieur?  this  drum  sticks 
sortily  in  your  disposition. 

2  Lord.  A  pox  on't,  let  it  go ;  'tis  but  a  drum. 
Par.  But  a  drum  1  Is  t  but  a  drum  ?  A  drum  so 

lost  I — There  was  an  excellent  command  !  to  charge 
in  with  our  horse  upon  our  own  wings,  and  to  rend 
our  own  soldiers. 

2  Lord.  That  was  not  to  be  blamed  in  the  com- 
mand of  the  service  ;  it  was  a  disaster  of  war  that 
Caesar  himself  could  not  have  prevei-ted,  if  he  had 
been  there  to  command. 

Ber.  Well,  we  cannot  greatly  condemn  our  suc- 
cess :  some  dishonour  we  had  in  the  loss  of  that 
irum  ;  but  it  is  not  to  be  recovered. 

Par.  It  unght  nave  been  recovered. 

Ber,  It  might,  but  it  is  not  now. 

Par.  It  is  to  be  recovered  :  but  that  the  merit  of 
Rcrvice  is  seldom  attributed  to  the  true  and  exact 
performer,  I  would  have  that  drum  or  anothei*,  or 
tiic  jacet. 

Ber.  Why,  if  you  have  a  stomach  to't,  monsieur, 
if  you  think  your  m>stery  in  stratagem  can  bring 
th  s  instrument  of  honour  again  into  his  native 
quarter,  be  magnanimous  in  tne  enterprize,  and  go 
on  ;  1  will  grace  the  attempt  for  a  worthy  exploit : 
if  you  speed  well  in  it,  the  duke  shall  both  speak 
of  it,  and  extend  to  you  what  further  becomes 
his  greatness,  even  to  the  utmost  syllable  of  your 
worthiness. 

Par.  By  the  hand  of  a  soldier,  I  will  undertake  it. 

Ber.  But  you  must  not  now  slumber  in  it. 

Par.  I'll  about  it  this  evening:  and  I  will  pre- 
sently pen  down  my  dilemmas,  encourage  myself 
in  my  certainty,  put  myself  info  my  mortal  prepara- 
tion, and.  by  midnight,  look  to  hear  further  from  me. 

Ber.  M  ly  1  be  bold  to  acquaint  his  grace,  you 
gone  about  it? 

Par,  I  know  not  what  the  success  will  be,  my 
lord  ;  but  the  attempt  I  vow. 

Ber.  1  know,  thou  art  valiant;  and,  to  the  pos- 
sibility of  thy  soldiership,  will  subscribe  for  ikee. 
Farewell. 

Par.  I  love  no*  many  words.  [Exii, 

1  Lord.  No  more  than  a  fish  loves  water. — Is 
not  this  a  strange  fellow,  my  lord?  that  so  confi- 
dently seems  to  undertake  this  business,  which  he 
knows  is  not  to  be  done ;  damns  himself  to  do,  and 

1  dares  better  be  damned  than  to  do't. 

2  Lord.  You  do  not  know  him,  my  lord,  as  we 
do :  certain  it  is,  that  he  will  steal  himself  into  a 
man's  favour,  and,  for  a  week,  escape  a  great  deal 
of  discoveries;  but  when  you  find  hun  out,  you 
have  him  ever  after. 

'Bet',  Why,  do  you  think  he  will  make  no  deed 
Bt  all  of  this,  that  so  seriously  he  does  address 
himself  unto? 

1  IdWrd.  None  in  the  world ;  but  return  with  an 


invention,  and  clap  upon  you  two  or  three  probable 
lies:  but  we  have  almost  embossed  him,  )ou  shall, 
see  his  fall  to-night;  for,  indeed,  he  is  not  for  your 
lordship's  re«i)ect. 

2  Lord.  VVe'll  make  you  some  sport  with  the 
fox,  ere  we  case  him.  He  was  first  sniokt  d  by  tha 
old  lord  Lafeu  :  when  his  disguise  and  he  is  parted, 
tell  me  what  a  sprat  you  shall  find  him ;  which  yoa 
shall  see  this  very  night.  [caught, 
1  Lord.  I  must  go  look  my  twigs ;  he  shall  b* 
Ber.    Your  brother,  he  shall  go  along  with  me. 

1  Lord.  As't  please  your  lordship  :  I'll  leave  you 

[Exit 

Ber.  Now  will  I  lead  you  to  the  house,  and  sho 
The  lass  I  spoke  of.  [yo 

2  Lord.  But,  you  say,  she's  honest, 
Ber.  That's  all  the  fault :  I  spoke  with  her  but  once. 

And  found  her  wondrous  cold;  but  1  sent  to  her. 
By  this  same  coxcomb  that  we  have  i'the  wind. 
Tokens  and  letters,  which  she  did  re-send  ; 
And  this  is  all  I  have  done.:  She's  a  fair  creature  j 
Will  you  go  see  her  ? 
2  Lord.  With  all  my  heart,  my  lord. 

[Exeuni. 

Scene  VII. — Florence.  A  Room  in  the  lFidow'9 
House. 

Enter  Helena  and  Widow. 

Hel.  If  you  misdoubt  me  that  I  am  not  she, 
I  know  not  how  I  shall  assure  you  further. 
But  I  shall  lose  the  grounds  I  work  upon. 

Wid.  Though  my  estate  be  fallen,  I  was  w^ll  borxt^ 
Nothing  acquainted  with  these  businesses ; 
And  would  not  put  my  reputation  now 
In  any  staining  act. 

Hel.  Nor  would  I  wish  yon. 

First,  give  me  trust,  the  count  he  is  my  hushand; 
And,  what  to  your  sworn  counsel  I  have  sj.oken^ 
Is  so,  from  word  to  word ;  and  then  you  cannot. 
By  the  good  aid  that  I  of  you  shall  borrow, 
Err  in  bestowing  it. 

IVid.  I  should  believe  you  ; 

For  you  have  show'd  me  that,  which  well  appiot 
You  are  great  in  fortune. 

Hel.  Take  this  purse  ofgoid. 

And  let  me  buy  your  friendly  help  thus  far. 
Which  1  will  over-pay,  and  pay  again. 
When  I  have  found  it.    The  count  he  wooe«  you* 
daughter, 

Lays  down  his  wanton  siege  before  her  beauty. 
Resolves  to  carry  her;  let  her,  in  fine,  consent. 
As  we'll  direct  her  how  'tis  best  to  bear  it. 
Now  his  important  blood  will  nought  deny, 
That  she'll  demand  :  A  ring  the  county  wears 
That  downward  hath  succeeded  in  his  house. 
From  son  to  son,  some  four  or  five  descents. 
Since  the  first  father  wore  it :  this  ring  he  holds 
In  most  rich  choice ;  yet,  in  his  idle  fire. 
To  buy  his  will,  it  would  not  seem  too  dear, 
Howe'er  repented  after. 

TVid.  Now,  I  see 

The  bottom  of  your  purpose. 

Hel.  You  see  it  lawiid  then :  It  is  no  more. 
But  that  vour  daughter,  ere  she  seems  as  WOD^ 
Desires  this  ring;  appoints  him  an  encounter; 
in  fine,  delivers  me  to  fill  the  time. 
Herself  most  chastely  absent;  after  this, 
To  marry  her,  I'll  add  three  thousand  crowns 
To  what 's  past  already. 

fVid.  I  have  yielded  : 

Instruct  my  daughter  how  she  shall  persever, 
'i'hat  time  and  place,  with  this  deceit  so  lawful 
May  prove  coherent.    Every  night  he  comes 
With  musics  of  all  sorts,  and  songs  compos'd 
To  her  anworthiness :  It  nothing  steads  us 
To  chide  him  from  our  eaves;  for  he  persists. 
As  if  his  life  lay  on't. 

Hel.  Why  then,  to-night 

Let  us  assay  our  plot;  which,  if  it  speed, 
1  Is  wicked  meaning  in  a  lawful  deed. 


200 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  IV 


And  *wful  raeaning  in  a  lawful  act; 
VV^b;re  botli  not  sin,  and  yet  a  sinful  fact : 
But  let's  about  it. 


Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — Without  the  Florentine  Camp. 
Enter  first  Lord,  with  five  or  six  Soldiers  in 
ambush. 

1  Lord.  He  can  come  no  other  way  but  by  this 
hedge'  corner:  When  you  sally  upon  him,  speak 
what  terrible  language  you  will;  thougii  you  un- 
derstand it  not  yourselves,  no  matter:  tor  we  must 
not  seem  to  understand  him  ;  unless  some  one  among 
MS,  whom  we  must  produce  for  an  interpreter. 

1  Sold.  Good  captain,  let  me  be  the  interpreter. 

1  Lord.  Art  not  acquainted  with  him?  knows 
he  not  thy  v  oice  ? 

1  Sold.  No,  sir,  I  warrant  you. 

I  Lord.  But  what  linsy-woolsy  hast  thou  to 
speak  to  us  again  ? 

1  Sold.  Even  such  as  you  speak  to  me. 

1  Lord.  He  must  think  us  some  band  of  strangers 
rthe  adversary's  entertainment.  Now  he  hatti  a 
smack  of  all  neighbouring  languages;  therefore  we 
must  every  one  be  a  man  of  his  own  fancy,  not  to 
know  what  we  speak  one  fo  another;  so  we  seem 
to  know,  is  to  know  straight  our  purpose  ;  chough's 
language,  gabble  enough,  and  good  enough.  As 
for  you,  interpreter,  you  must  seem  very  politic. 
But,  couch,  ho !  here  he  comes ;  to  beguile  two 
hours  in  a  sleep,  and  then  to  return  and  swear  the 
lies  he  forges. 

Enter  Parolles. 

Par.  Ten  o'clock  :  within  these  three  hours  'twill 
l^e  time  enough  to  go  home.  What  shall  I  say  I 
have  done  ?  It  must  be  a  very  plausive  invention 
that  carries  it :  They  begin  to  smoke  me;  and  dis- 
graces have  of  late  knocked  too  often  at  my  door. 
1  find,  my  tongue  is  too  fbol-h  irdy ;  but  my  heart 
hath  the  tear  ot  Mars  before  it,  and  of  his  creatures, 
not  daring  tfie  reports  of  my  tongue. 

1  Lord.  This  is  the  first  truth  that  e'er  thine  own 
fc^ngue  was  guilty  of.  {Aside.) 

Par.  What  the  devil  should  move  me  to  under- 
take the  recovery  of  this  drum;  being  not  ignorant 
of  the  impossibility,  and  knowing  1  had  no  such 
purpose?  I  must  give  myself  some  hurts,  and  say, 
i  got  them  in  exploit :  V  et  slight  ones  will  not 
carry  it :  'J'hey  will  say.  Came  you  off  with  so  little  ? 
and  great  ones  I  dare  not  give.  Wherefore  ?  what's 
the  instance?  Tongue,  I  must  put  you  into  a  but- 
ter-woman's mouth,  and  buy  another  of  Bajazet's 
mule,  if  you  prattle  me  into  these  perils. 

1  Lord.  Is  it  possible,  he  should  know  what  he 
is,  and  be  what  he  is  ?  {Aside.) 

Par.  I  would  the  cutting  of  ray  garments  would 
serve  the  turn;  or  the  breaking  of  my  Spanish 
«word. 

I  Lord.  We  cannot  afford  you  so.  {Aside  ) 

Par.  Or  the  baring  of  my  beard ;  and  to  say,  it 
was  in  stratagem. 

1  Lord,  "i' would  not  do.  {Aside.) 

Par.  Or  to  drown  my  clothes,  and  say,  I  was 
Btri|  ped. 

1  Lord.  Hardly  serve.  {Aside.) 
Par.  'I'hough  1  swore  I  leaped  from  tlie  window 

of  the  citadel  

1  Lord.  How  deep?  {Aside.) 
Par.  Thirty  fathom. 

1  Lord.  Three  great  oaths  would  scarce  make 
that  be  believed.  {Aside.) 

Par.  I  would,  [  had  any  drum  of  the  enemy's  ; 
I  would  swear  1  had  recovered  it 

1  Lord.  You  shall  iiear  one  anon.  {Aside.) 

Par.  X  drum  now  of  the  enemy's  I 

{Alarum  within.) 

\  Lord.  Throca  movousus,  caryo,  caruo,  coryo. 

All.  Cargo,  cargo,  viliianda,  par  coroo,  caryo. 


Par.  01  ransome,  ransome  . —  Do  not  hide  mino 
eyes.  {They  seize  him.,  and hlindj'old  him.'' 

1  Sold.  Boskos  thromuldo  boskos. 

Par.  I  know  you  are  the  Muskos'  regiment. 
And  I  shall  lose  my  life  for  want  of  language  : 
If  there  be  here  German,  or  Dane,  low  Dutch, 
Italian,  or  French,  let  him  speak  to  me, 
I  will  discover  that  which  shall  undo 
The  Florentine. 

1  Sold.  Boshos  vanvado  :  

I  understand  thee,  and  can  speak  thy  tongue  :— — 
Kerelybonto  :  Sir, 

Betake  thee  to  thy  faith,  for  seventeen  poniards 
Are  at  thy  bosom. 

Par.  Oh! 

I  Sold.  O,  pray,  pray,  pray.  ■  — 

Ma7ikarevania  dulche. 

1  Lord.  Oscorbi  dulchos  volivorca. 

1  Sold.  The  general  is  content  to  spare  thee  yetj 
And,  hood  wink'd  as  thou  art,  will  lead  thee  on 
To  gather  from  thee  :  haply,  thou  may's t  inform 
Something  to  save  thy  life. 

Par,  O,  let  me  live. 

And  all  the  secrets  of  our  camp  I'll  snow. 
Their  force,  their  purposes ;  nay,  I'll  speak  that, 
Which  you  will  wonder  at, 

1  Sold.  But  wilt  thou  faithfully? 

Par.  If  I  do  not,  damn  me. 

I  Sold.  Acer  do  lint  a.  

Come  on,  thou  art  granted  space. 

[Exit,  with  Parolles  guarded, 

1  Lord.  Go,  tell  the  count  Rousillon,  and  my 

brother,  [muffied. 
We  have  c:iught  the  woodcock,  and  will  keep  him 
Till  we  do  liear  from  them. 

2  Sold.  Captain,  I  will. 

1  Lord.  He  will  betray  us  all  uuto  ourseh  es  r— » 
Inlbnn  'em  that. 

2  Sold.  So  I  will,  sir. 

I  Lord.  Till  then,  I'll  keep  him  dark,  ^nd  safelj 
lock'd.  ^Exeunt 

Scene  U.— Florence.   A  Room  in  tli«  Widoiv's 
House. 

Enter  Bertram  and  Diana. 

Ber.  They  told  me,  tiiat  your  name  was  Fontibell 

Dia.  No,  my  good  lord,  Diana. 

Ber.  Titled  goddess ; 

And  worth  it,  with  addition!    But,  fair  soul. 
In  your  fine  frame  hath  love  no  quality  ? 
If  the  quick  tire  of  youth  liglit  uot  your  mind. 
You  are  no  maiden,  but  a  inonMiiient  : 
When  you  are  dead,  you  should  be  such  a  one 
As  you  are  now,  for  you  are  cold  and  stern ; 
And  now  you  should  be  as  your  mother  was. 
When  your  sweet  self  was  got. 

Dia.  She  tlien  was  honest. 

Ber.  So  should  you  be. 

D  ia.  No : 

My  mother  did  but  duty  ;  such,  my  lord. 
As  you  owe  to  your  wife. 

Ber.  No  more  of  that ! 

I  pr'ythee,  do  not  strive  against  my  vows  : 
1  was  compell'd  to  her;  but  I  love  thee 
By  love's  own  sweet  constraint,  and  will  for  ever 
Do  thee  all  rights  of  service. 

Dia.  Ay,  so  you  serve  us. 

Till  we  serve  you:  but  when  you  have  our  roses. 
You  barely  leave  our  thorns  to  prick  ourselves. 
And  mock  us  with  our  bareness. 

Ber.  How  have  I  sworn 

Dia.  'Tis  not  the  many  oaths,  that  make  the  tru  tit 
But  the  plain  single  vow,  that  is  vow  d  true. 
What  is  not  holy,  that  we  swear  not  by, 
But  take  the  Highest  to  witness:  Then,  pray  you, 
tell  me, 

If  I  should  swear  by  Jove's  great  attributes, 
I  lov'd  you  dearly,  would  you  believe  my  oaths. 
When  I  did  lo\e  you  ill  /  tliis  has  no  holding. 
To  swear  by  him  whom  I  protest  to  love, 


Scene  3.  ALL'S  WELL  TB 

That  I  will  work  against  him;  therefore  your  oaths 
Are  words,  and  poor  conditions;  but  unseal'd, 
At  least,  in  my  opinion. 

Ber.  Change  it,  change  it ; 

not  so  holy-cruel :  love  is  holy ; 

nd  my  integrity  ne'er  knew  the  crafts, 
Tliat  you  do  charge  men  with :  stand  no  more  off. 
But  give  thyself  uato  my  sick,  desires, 
VVho  then  recover:  say,  thou  art  mine,  and  ever 
My  love,  as  it  begins,  shall  so  persever. 

Dia.  I  see,  that  men  make  hopes,  in  such  affairs, 
That  we'll  forsake  ourselves.    Give  me  that  ring. 

Ber.  I'll  lend  it  thee,  my  dear,  but  have  no  power 
To  sive  it  from  me. 

Dia.  Will  you  not,  my  lord  ? 

Ber.  It  is  an  honour  'longing  to  our  house. 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors; 
Wliich  were  the  greatest  obloquy  in  the  world 
In  me  to  lose. 

Dia.  Mine  honour's  such  a  ring : 

My  chastity's  the  jewel  of  our  house, 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors ; 
Which  were  the  greatest  obloquy  in  the  world 
In  me  to  lose :  thus  your  own  proper  wisdom 
Brings  in  the  champion  honour  on  my  part. 
Against  your  vain  assault. 

Ber.  Here,  take  my  ring: 

My  house,  mine  honour,  yea,  ray  life  be  thine, 
And  I'll  be  bid  by  thee.  [ber  window; 

Dia.  When  midnight  comes,  knock  at  my  cham- 
I'll  order  take,  my  mother  shall  not  hear. 
Now  will  I  charge  you  in  the  band  of  truth, 
When  you  have  conquer'd  my  yet  maiden  bed, 
Remain  there  but  an  hour,  nor  speak  to  me  : 
My  reasons  are  most  strong,  and  you  shall  know 
thrm, 

When  back  a^ain  this  ring  shall  be  deliver'd : 
And  on  jour  finger,  in  the  night,  Til  put 
Another  ring;  that,  what  in  time  proceeds. 
May  token  to  the  future  our  past  deeds. 
Adieu,  till  then;  then,  fail  not:  you  have  won 
A  wife  of  me,  though  there  my  hope  be  done. 

Bar  A  heaven  on  earth  1  have  won  by  wooing 
thee.         _  [Exit. 

Dia.  For  which  live  long  to  thank  both  heaven 
and  me  I 

Yon  m  iy  so  in  the  end.  

My  mother  told  me  just  how  he  would  woo. 
As  if  she  sat  in  his  heart;  she  says,  all  men 
Have  the  like  oaths'  he  had  sworn  to  marry  me. 
When  his  wife's  dead;  therefore  I'll  lie  with  him. 
When  I  am  buried.    Since  Frenchmen  are  so  braid, 
Marry  tiiat  will,  I'll  live  and  die  a  maid : 
Only  in  this  disguise,  1  think't  no  sin  _ 
To  cozen  him,  that  would  unjustly  win.  [Exit. 

Scene  III. — The  Florentine  Camp. 
Enter  the  two  French  Lords,  and  two  or  three 
Soldiers. 

1  Lord.  You  have  not  given  him  his  mother's 

letter? 

2  Lord.  I  have  deliver'd  it  an  hour  since  :  there 
is  something  in't,  that  stings  his  nature;  for,  on  the 
reading  it,  he  changed  almost  into  another  man. 

1  Lord.  He  has  much  wortliy  blame  laid  upon  him, 
fur  shaking  off  so  good  a  wife,  and  so  sweet  a  lady. 

2  Lord.  Especially  he  hath  incurred  the  everlast- 
mg  displeasure  of  the  king,  who  had  even  tuned  his 
bounty  to  sing  happiness  to  him.  I  will  tell  you  a 
thing,  but  you  shall  let  it  dwell  darkly  with  you. 

1  Lord.  When  you  have  spoken  it,  'tis  dead,  and 
I  am  the  grave  of  it. 

2  Lord.  He  hath  perverted  a  young  gentlewoman 
here  in  Florence,  of  a  most  chaste  renown;  and  this 
night  he  fleshes  his  will  in  the  spoil  of  her  honour: 
he  hath  given  her  bis  monumental  ring,  and  thinks 
oimself  made  in  the  unchaste  composition. 

1  Lord.  Now,  God  delay  our  rebellion ;  as  we 
%re  ours  Ives,  what  things  are  we  I 

2  Lji  I.  Merely  our  own  traitors.    And  as,  in  the 


lT  ends  well 

common  course  of  all  treasons,  we  still  see  them 
reveal  themselves,  till  they  attain  to  their  aliiiorred 
ends  ;  so  he,  that  in  this  action  contrives  against  his 
own  nobility,  in  his  proper  stream  o'erfluws  himself. 

1  Lord.  Is  it  not  meant  damnable  in  us,  to  be 
trumpeters  of  our  unlawful  intents  ?  We  shall  not 
then  have  his  comoany  to-night? 

Lord.  Not  till  after  midnight ;  for  he  is  dieted 
to  his  hour. 

1  Lord.  That  approaches  apace  :  I  would  gladly 
have  him  see  his  company  anatomized ;  that  he 
might  take  a  measure  of  his  own  judgments,  \vhere- 
in  so  curiously  he  had  set  this  counterfeit. 

2  Lord.  We  will  not  meddle  with  him,  till  he 
come ;  for  his  presence  must  be  the  vvliip  of  the 
other,  [wars  ? 

1  Lord.  In  the  mean  time,  what  hear  you  of  these 

2  Lord.  I  hear,  there  is  an  overture  of  peace. 

1  Lord.  Nay,  I  assure  you,  a  peace  concluded. 

2  Lord.  What  will  count  Rousillon  do  then  ?  will 
he  travel  higher,  or  return  again  into  France  ? 

1  Lord.  I  perceive,  by  this  demand,  you  are  not 
altogetlier  of  his  council. 

2  Lord.  Let  it  be  forbid,  sir !  so  should  I  be  a 
great  deal  of  his  act. 

1  Lord.  Sir,  his  wife,  some  two  months  since, 
fled  irom  his  house  ;  her  pretence  is  a  pilgrimage  to 
Saint  Jaqiies  le  grand ;  which  holy  undertaking,  with 
most  austere  sanctimony,  she  accomplished :  and, 
there  residing,  the  tenderness  of  her'nature  became 
as  a  prey  to  her  grief;  in  tine,  made  a  groan  of  her 
last  breath,  and  now  she  siof^s  in  heaven, 

2  Lord.  How  is  this  justified  ? 

1  Lord.  The  stronger  part  of  it  by  her  own  let- 
ters;  which  makes  her  story  true,  e'  en  to  the  point 
of  her  death:  her  death  itself,  which  could  not  be 
her  office  to  say,  is  come,  was  faithfully  confirmed 
by  the  rector  of  the  place. 

2  Lord.  Hath  the  count  all  this  intelligence  ' 

1  Lord.  Ay,  and  the  particular  confirmation.s,  poiut. 
from  point,  to  tlie  full  arming  of  tlie  verity. 

2  Lord.  1  am  heartily  sorry,  that  he'll  be  glad  oi 
this. 

1  Lord.  How  mightily,  sometimes,  we  make  ua 
comforts  of  our  losses  ! 

2  Lord.  And  how  mightily,  same  other  times,  we 
drown  our  gain  in  tears  !  The  great  dignity,  that  his 
valour  hath  here  acquired  for  liim,  shall  at  home  be 
encountered  with  a  shame  as  ample. 

1  Lord.  Tlie  web  of  our  life  is  of  a  mingled  yam, 
good  and  ill  together:  our  virtues  would  be  proud, 
if  our  faults  whipped  them  not;  and  our  crimes 
would  despair,  if  they  were  not  cherish'd  by  our 
virtues. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

How  now?  where's  your  master? 

Serv.  He  met  the  duke  in  the  street,  sir,  ofwhom 
he  hath  taken  a  solemn  leave ;  his  lordship  will 
next  morning  for  France.  The  duke  hath  offered 
him  letters  of  commendations  to  the  king. 

2  Lord.  They  shall  be  no  more  than  needful  there, 
if  they  were  more  than  they  can  commend. 

Enter  Bertram. 

1  Lord.  They  cannot  be  too  sweet  for  the  king's 
tartness.  Here's  his  lordship  now. — How  now,  my 
lord,  is't  not  after  midnight? 

Ber.  I  have  to-night  despatched  sixteen  busi- 
nesses, a  month's  length  a-piece,  by  an  abstract  of 
success:  I  have  conge'd  with  the  duke,  done  my 
adieu  with  his  nearest;  buried  a  wife,  mourned  for 
her;  writ  to  my  lady  mother,  I  am  returning;  en- 
tertained my  convoy;  and,  between  these  main  par- 
cels of  despatch,  effected  many  nicer  needs;  the  last 
was  the  greatest,  but  that  I  have  not  ended  yet 

2  Lord.  If  the  business  be  of  any  difficulty,  and 
th  i  morning  your  departure  hence,  it  requires  haste 
of  your  lordship. 

Ber.  I  mean  the  business  is  not  en-led,  as  fearing 


202 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  IV 


to  hear  of  it  he^. after:  but  shall  we  have  this  dia- 
logue between  the  fool  and  the  soldier?  Come, 

britjg  forth  this  counterfeit  module  ;  he  has  deceived 
me.  like  a  double-meaning  prophesier. 

2  Lord,  iiring  him  foitli:  [Exeunt  Soldiers]  he 
has  sat  in  the  stocks  all  night,  poor  gallant  knave. 

Ber.  So  matter;  his  heels  have  deserved  it,  in 
usurping  liis  spurs  so  long.  How  does  he  carry 
himself? 

1  Lord.  I  have  told  your  lordship  already ;  the 
stocks  carry  him.  But,  to  answer  you  as  you  would 
be  understood;  he  weeps,  like  a  wench  that  had 
shed  her  milk :  he  hath  confessf-d  himself  to  Mor- 
gan, whom  he  supposes  to  be  a  friar,  from  the  time 
of  his  remembrance,  to  this  very  instant  disaster  of 
his  setting  i'the  stocks :  and  what  think  you  he  hath 
confessed  ? 

.Ber.  Nothing  of  me,  has  he? 

2  Lord.  His  confession  is  taken,  and  it  shall  be 
read  to  his  face :  if  your  lordship  be  in't,  as,  I  be- 
lieve, you  are,  you  must  have  the  patience  to  hear  it. 

Re  enter  Soldiers,  with  Parolles. 

Ber.  A  plague  upon  him !  muffled  1  he  can  say 
nothing  of  me  ;  hush  !  husk ! 

2  Lord.  Hoodman  cornes!  Porto  tartarossa. 

1  Sold.  He  calls  for  the  tortures ;  What  will  you 
say  without  'em? 

Par.  1  will  confess  what  I  know,  without  con- 
straint; if  ye  pinch  me  like  a  pasty,  I  can  say  no 

1  Sold.  jBosko  chiitmrcho.  [more. 

2  Lord.  Boblihindo  chicurmurco. 
1  Sold.  You  are  a  merciful  general : — Our  gene-  ) 

ral  bids  you  answer  to  what  I  shall  ask  you  out  of  a  ; 

note.  i 
Par.  And  truly,  as  I  hope  to  live,  I 
1  Sold.  First  demand  of  him,  how  many  horse  j 

ike  duke  is  strong.    What  say  you  to  that  ? 

Par.  Fi\eor  six  thousand;  but  very  weak  and  j 

unserviceable:  the  troops  are  all  scattered,  and  the  ; 

commanders  very  poor  rogues,  upon  my  reputation  j 

and  credit,  and  as  I  hope  to  live.  j 
1  Sold.  Shall  I  set  down  your  answer  so?  | 
Par.  Do;  I'll  take  the  sacrament  on't,  how  and 

which  way  you  will.  [is  this  !  , 

Ber.  All's  one  to  him.    What  a  past-saying  slave  ' 

1  Lord.  You  are  deceived,  ujy  loid;  this  is  mon-  \ 
sieur  Parolles,  the  gallant  militarist  (that  was  his 
own  phrase),  that  had  the  whole  th-eoric  of  war  in 
the  knot  of  his  scarf,  and  the  practice  in  the  chape 
of  his  dagger. 

2  Lord.  I  will  never  trust  a  man  again,  for  keep- 
ing his  sword  clean;  nor  believe  he  can  have  every 
thing  in  him.  bv  wearing  his  apparel  neatly. 

1  Sold.  Well,  that's  set  down. 
Par.  Five  or  six  thousand  horse,  I  said, — I  will 
ay  true, — or  thereabouts,  set  down, — for  I'll  speak 
uth. 

1  Lord.  He's  very  near  the  truth  in  this. 
Ber.  But  I  con  him  no  thanks  for't,  in  the  nature 
e  delivers  it. 

Par.  Poor  rogues,  I  pray  yon,  say. 

1  Sold.  Well,  that's  set  dovyn. 

Par.  I  humbly  thank  you,  sir:  a  truth's  a  truth, 
the  rogues  are  marvellous  poor. 

1  Sold.  Demand  of  him,  of  what  strength  they 
area-foot.    What  say  you  to  that?  I 
•arr.  By  my  truth,  sir,  if  I  were  to  live  this  pre-  j 
sent  hour,  1  will  tell  true.    Let  me  see:  Spurio  a  \ 
hundred  and  filty,  Sebastian  so  many,  Coranibus  so  ; 
many,  Jaques  so  many;  Guiltian,  Cosmo,  Lodowick,  i 
and  Gratii.  two  hundred  and  fifty  each:  mine  own 
company,  Chitopher,  Vaumond,  Bentii,  two  hundred 
and  fifty  each :  so  that  the  muster-file,  rotten  and 
sound,  upon  my  life,  amounts  not  to  fifteen  thousand 
poll;  half  of  which  dare  not  shake  the  snow  from 
off  their  cassocks,  lest  they  shake  themselves  to  ^ 
pieces.  I 

Ber.  WTjat  shall  be  done  to  him  ?  | 

J  Lordl  Nothing,  but  let  him  have  thanks.    De-  j 


mand  of  him  my  conditions,  and  what  credit  I  }ia\  « 
with  the  duke. 

1  Sold.  Well,  that's  set  down.  You  shah  de- 
mand of  him,  whether  one  captain  Dumnin  he 
the  camp,  a  Frenchman:  ichat  his  reputation  is 
ivith  the  duke,  ivhat  his  valour,  honesty,  and  ex- 
pertness  in  tears ;  or  whether  he  thinks  it  ibere 
not  possible,  with  well-weiyhi7ig  suitis  of  gold,  to 
corrupt  him  to  a  revolt.  What  say  you  to  this? 
what  do  you  know  of  it  ? 

Par.  I  beseech  you,  let  me  answer  to  the  parti, 
cular  of  the  interrogatories :  demand  them  singly. 
1  Sold.  Do  you  know  this  captain  Dumain  ? 
Par.  I  know  him :  he  was  a  botcher's  'prentice  in 
Paris,  from  whence  he  was  whipped  for  getting  the 
sheriff's  fool  with  child ;  a  dumb  innocent,  that  could 
not  say  him  nay. 

[Dumain  lifts  up  his  hand  in  anger. 
Ber.  Nay,  by  your  leave,  hold  your  hands  ;  though 
I  know,  his  brains  ar-e  forfeit  to  the  next  tile  that  falls. 

1  Sold.  Well,  is  this  captain  in  the  duke  of  Flo- 
rence's camp? 

Par.  Upon  my  knowledge  he  is,  and  lousy 
1  Lord.  Nay,  look  not  so  upon  me  ;  we  shall  hear 
of  your  lordship  anon. 

]  Sold.  What  is  his  reputation  with  the  duke? 
Par.  The  duke  knows  him  for  no  other  but  a  poo 
officer  of  mine ;  and  writ  to  me  this  other  day,  t 
turn  him  out  o'thy  band  :  I  think,  1  have  his  letter 
my  pocket. 

1  Sold.  Marry,  we'll  search. 

Par.  In  good  sadness,  I  do  not  know;  either  it  is 
there,  or  it  is  upon  a  file,  wth  the  duke's  other  let- 
ters, in  my  tent.  [to  you? 
1  Sold.  Here 'tis;  here's  apa[)er:  shall  1  r».ad  it 
Par.  I  do  not  know,  if  it  be  it,  or  no. 
Ber.  Our  interpreter  does  it  well. 
1  Lord.  Excellently. 

1  Sold.  Dian.  The  count's  a  fool,  and  full  qj 
gold. — 

Par.  That  is  not  the  duke's  letter,  sir;  that  is  sji 
adveitiseriient  to  a  proper  maid  in  Floience,  cne 
Diana,  to  take  heed  of  the  allurement  of  o.ne  count 
Roiisiilou,  a  foolish  idle  boy,  but,  for  all  th;it,  very 
ruttish  :  I  pray  you,  sir,  put  it  up  again. 

1  Sold.  Nay,  I'll  read  it  first,  by  your  favour. 
Par.  My  meaning  in't,  I  protest,  was  \eiy  ho. 
nest  in  the  behalf  of  the  maid  :  for  I  knew  the  yomig 
coutit  to  be  a  dang'='rous  and  lascivious  boy:  who 
is  a  whale  to  virginity,  and  devours  up  all  tlie  fry 
it  finds. 

Ber.  Damnable,  both  sides  rogue  I 

1  Sold.  When  he  swears  oaths,  bid  him  drop 
gold,  and  take  it ; 

A fter  he  scores  he  never  pays  the  score  : 
Half  tvon,  is  match  well  made  ;  match,  and  wet 
make  it; 

He  ne'er  pays  after  debts,  take  it  before  ; 
And  say,  a  soldier.  Dian,  told  thee  this, 
Men  are  to  mell  loith,  boys  are  not  to  kiss : 
For  count  qf' this,  the  connfs  a  fool.  I  knowity 
f9^ho  pays  before,  but  not  ivhen  he  does  owe  it. 
Thine,  as  he  vow' d  to  thee  in  t-hine  ear, 

Paroll  . 

Ber.  He  shall  be  whipped  through  the  army,  with 
this  rhyme  in  his  forehead. 

2  Lord.  This  is  your  devoted  friend,  sir,  the  mani' 
fold  linguist,  and  the  armipotent  soldier. 

Ber.  I  could  endure  any  thing  before  but  a  cal^ 
and  now  he's  a  cat  to  me. 

1  Sold.  I  perceive,  sir,  by  the  general's  looks,  w« 
shall  be  fain  to  hang  you. 

Par.  My  life,  sir,  in  any  case:  not  that  I  an 
afraid  to  die;  but  that,  my  offences  being  many,  1 
would  repent  out  the  remainder  of  nature :  let  m« 
live,  sir,  in  a  dungeon,  i'the  stocks,  or  any  wher^ 
so  I  may  live. 

1  Sold.  We'll  see  what  may  be  done,  so  you  con- 
fess freely ;  therefore,  once  more  to  this  capta'i 
Dumain :    Vou  have  answered  to  his  reputatioi 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  20S 


SCENB  5. 

with  the  duke,  and  to  his  valour:  What  is  his  ho- 
nesty? 

Par.  He  will  steal,  sir,  an  egg  out  of  a  cloister  ^ 
for  rapes  and  ravishments  he  parallels  Nessus.  He 
professes  not  keeping  of  oaths  ;  in  breaking  them,  he 
IS  stronger  than  Hercules.  He  will  lie,  sir,  with 
such  vol.jbility,  that  you  would  think  truth  were  a 
fool :  drunkenness  is  his  best  virtue  ;  for  he  will  be 
swine-dnink;  and  in  his  sleep  he  does  little  harm, 
save  to  his  bed-clothes  about  him ;  but  they  know 
his  conditions,  and  lay  liim  in  straw.  I  have  but 
little  more  to  say,  sir,  of  his  honesty:  he  has  every 
thing,  that  an  honest  man  should  not  have  ;  what  an 
honest  man  should  have,  he  has  nothing. 

1  Lord.  I  begin  to  love  him  for  this. 

Ber.  For  this  description  of  thine  honesty  ?  A  pox 
apon  him  for  me,  he  is  more  and  more  a  cat. 

1  Sold.  What  say  you  to  his  expertness  in  war? 

Par.  Faith,  sir,  he  has  led  the  drum  before  the 
English  tragedians, — to  belie  him  I  will  not, — and 
more  of  his  soldiership  I  know  not;  except,  in  that 
country,  he  had  the  honour  to  be  the  officer  at  a 
place  called  Mile-end,  to  instruct  for  the  doubling 
of  files  :  I  would  do  the  man  what  honour  I  can,  but 
of  this  I  am  not  certain. 

1  Lord.  He  hath  out-villained  villainy  so  far,  that 
the  rarity  redeems  him. 

Ber.  A  pox  on  him !  he's  a  cat  still. 

1  Sold.  His  qualities  being  at  this  poor  price,  I 
need  not  ask  you  if  gold  will  corrupt  him  to  revolt. 

Par.  Sir,  for  a  quart  d'ecu  he  will  sell  the  fee- 
simple  of  his  salvation,  the  inheritance  of  it ;  and 
cut  the  entail  from  all  remainders,  and  a  perpetual 
succession  for  it  per|>etually.  [Dumain? 

1  Sold.  What's  his  brother,  the  other  captain 

2  Lord-  Why  does  he  ask  him  of  me  ? 
1  Sofd  What's  he? 

Par.  E'en  a  crow  of  the  same  n?st ;  not  altoge- 
ther so  great  as  the  first  in  goodness,  but  greater  a 
preat  deal  in  evil.  He  excels  his  brother  for  a  cow- 
ard, yet  his  brother  is  reputed  one  of  the  best  that 
is :  in  a  retreat,  he  out-runs  any  lackey ;  marry,  in 
coming  on  he  has  the  cramp. 

1  Sold.  If  your  life  be  saved,  will  you  undertake 
to  betray  the  Florentine  ? 

Par.  Ay,  and  the  captain  of  his  horse,  count  Rou- 
sillon.  [his  pleasure. 

1  Sold.  I'll  whisper  with  the  general,  and  know 

Par.  I'll  no  more  drumming;  a  plague  of  all 
drums !  Only  to  seem  to  deserve  well,  and  to  be- 
guile the  supposition  of  that  lascivious  young  boy, 
the  count,  have  I  run  into  this  danger :  yet,  who 
would  have  suspected  an  ambush  where  I  was 
taken  ?  _  {Aside.) 

1  Sold.  There  is  no  remedy,  sir,  but  you  must  die  : 
the  general  says,  you,  that  have  so  traitorously  dis- 
covered the  secrets  of  your  army,  and  made  such 
pestiferous  reports  of  men  very  nobly  held,  can 
serve  the  world  for  no  honest  use ;  therefore  you 
must  die. — Come  ,  headsman,  off  with  his  head. 

Par.  O  Lord,  sir:  let  me  live,  or  let  me  see  my 
death!  ' 

1  Sold.  That  you  shall,  and  take  your  leave  of  all 
your  friends.  {TJnmuffiing  him.) 
So,  look  about  you ;  Know  you  any  here  ? 

Ber.  Good-morrow,  noble  captain. 

2  Lord.  God  bless  you,  captain  Parolles. 
1  Lord.  God  save  you,  noble  captain, 

"2  Lord.  Captain,  what  greeting  will  you  to  my 
bid  Lafeu  ?  I  am  for  France. 

1  Lord.  Good  captain,  will  you  give  me  a  copy 
of  t}»e  sonnet  you  writ  to  Diana  in  behalf  of  the 
count  Rousillon  i  an  I  were  not  a  very  coward,  I'd 
compel  it  of  you;  but  fare  you  well. 

[Exeunt  Bertram,  Lords,  §fc. 

I  Sold.  You  are  undone,  captain :  all  but  yonr 
scarf,  that  has  a  knot  on't  yet. 

Par.  Who  cannot  be  crushed  with  a  plot? 

1  Sold.  If  you  could  find  out  a  country  where 
but  women  were  that  had  received  so  much  shame. 


you   might  begin  an  impudent  naticm.    Fiare  yoa 
well,  sir;  I  am  for  France,  too;  we  shall  speak  of 
you  there.  [E&it 
Par.  Yet  am  I  thankful :  if  my  heart  were  great 
'T would  burst  at  this:  Captain  Til  be  no  more; 
But  1  will  eat  and  drink,  and  sleep  as  soft 
As  captain  shall  :  simply  (he  thing  I  am  [gart 
Stiall  make  me  live.    Who  knows  himself  a  \»rag 
Let  him  fear  this;  for  it  will  come  to  pass, 
That  every  braggart  shall  be  found  an  ass. 
Rust,  sword  !  cool,  blushes  !  and,  Parolles,  live 
Safest  in  shame  !  being  fool'd,  by  foolery  thrive  ! 
There's  place,  and  means,  for  every  man  alive. 
I'll  after  them.  [Exii 

Scene  IV. — Florence.    A  Room  in  the  Widow'* 
House, 

Enter  Helena,  Widow,  and  Diana.. 

Hel.  That  you  may  well  perceive  I  have  not 
wrong'd  you. 
One  of  the  greatest  in  the  Christian  world 
Simll  be  my  surety  ;  'fore  whose  throne,  'tis  needfnl; 
Ere  I  can  perfect  mine  intents,  to  kneel : 
Time  was,  I  did  him  a  desired  office, 
Dear  almost  as  his  life  ;  which  gratitude 
'I'hrough  flinty  Tartar's  bosom  would  peep  forth. 
And  answer,  thanks  :  I  <luly  am  inform'd. 
His  grace  is  at  Marseilles  ;  to  which  place 
We  have  convenient  convoy.    You  must  know, 
I  am  supposed  dead  :  the  army  breaking. 
My  husband  hies  him  home  ;  where,  heaven  aidiu 
And  by  the  leave  of  my  good  lord  the  king. 
We'll  be,  before  our  welcome. 

Wid.  Gentle  madam. 
You  never  had  a  servant,  to  whose  trust 
Your  business  was  more  welcome. 

Hel.  Nor  you,  mistress. 

Ever  a  friend,  whose  thoughts  more  truly  labour 
To  recompense  your  love  ;  doubt  not,  but  heavem 
Hath  brought  me  up  to  be  your  daughter's  dower. 
As  it  hath  fated  her  to  be  my  motive 
And  helper  to  a  husband.    But,  O  strange  men! 
That  can  such  sweet  use  make  of  what  they  ha&Sf 
When  saucy  trusting  of  the  cozen"d  thoughts 
Defiles  the  pitchy  night!  so  lust  doth  play 
With  what  it  loaths,  for  that  which  is  away  : 

But  more  of  this  hereafter:  You,  Diana, 

Under  my  poor  instructions  yet  must  suffer 
Something  in  my  behalf. 

Dia.  Let  death  and  honesty 

Go  with  your  impositions,  I  am  yours 
Upon  your  will  to  suffer. 

Hel.  Yet,  I  pray  you,  

But  with  the  word,  the  time  will  bring  on  summer. 
When  briars  shall  have  leaves  as  well  as  thorns. 
And  be  as  sweet  as  sharp.    We  must  away ; 
Our  waggon  is  prepar'd,  and  time  revives  us: 
Alls  well  that  ends  well:  still  the  fine's  the  crown; 
Whate'er  the  course,  the  end  is  the  renown. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — Rousillon.   A  Room  in  the  Countess's 
Palace. 

Enter  Countess,  Lafeu,  and  Clown, 
Laf.  No,  no,  no,  your  son  was  misled  with  a  snipe- 
taftata  fellow  there  ;  whose  villainous  saffron  would 
have  made  all  the  unbaked  and  doughy  youth  of  a 
nation  in  his  colour:  your  daughter- in-law  had  been 
alive  at  this  hour;  and  your  son  here  at  home,  more 
advanced  by  the  king,  than  by  that  red-tailed  humble- 
bee  I  speak  of. 

Count.  1  would,  I  had  not  known  him !  it  was 
the  death  of  the  most  virtuous  gentlewoman,  that 
ever  nature  had  praise  for  creating:  if  she  had  par- 
taken of  my  flesh,  and  cost  me  the  dearest  groaus 
of  a  mother,  I  could  not  have  owed  her  a  more 
rooted  love. 

Laf.  'Twas  a  good  lady,  'twas  a  good  lady ;  w« 
may  pick  a  thousand  salads,  ere  we  light  on  such 
another  herb. 


Clo.  Indeed,  sir,  sAe  was  *.he  sweet  marjoram  ot 
the  salad,  or,  rather  the  herb  of  grace. 

Laf.  They  are  not  salad-herbs,  you  knave,  they 
are  nose- herbs. 

Clo.  I  am  no  great  Nebuchadnezzar,  sir,  I  have 
fl:t  much  skill  in  grass. 

Laf.  Whether  dost  thou  profess  thyself;  a  knave, 
or  a  fool  ? 

Clo.  A  fool,  sir,  at  a  woman's  service,  and  a  knave 
at  a  man's. 

Laf.  Your  distinction?  [his  service. 

Clo.  I  would  cozen  the  man  of  his  wife,  and  do 
Laf.  So  yon  were  a  knave  at  his  service,  indeed. 
Clo.  And  I  would  give  his  wife  my  bauble,  sir, 
to  do  her  service.  [knave  and  fool. 

Laf.  I  will  subscribe  for  thee ;  thou  art  both 
Clo.  At  your  service. 
Laf.  No,  no,  no. 

Clo.  Why,  sir,  if  1  cannot  serve  you,  I  can  serve 
as  great  a  prince  as  you  are. 

Laf.  Who's  tliat  ?  a  Frenchman  ? 

Clo.  Faith,  sir,  he  has  an  English  name ;  but  his 
phisnomy  is  more  hotter  in  France,  than  there. 

Laf.  What  prince  is  that? 

Clo.  The  black  prince,  sir,  alias,  the  prince  of 
darkness:  the  devil. 

Laf.  Hold  thee,  there's  my  purse :  I  give  thee 
not  this  to  suggest  thee  from  thy  master  thou  talk'st 
of ;  serve  him  still. 

Clo.  I  an>  a  woodland  fellow,  sir,  that  alway 
loved  a  great  fire ;  and  the  master  I  speak  of,  ever 
keeps  a  good  fire.  But,  sure,  be  is  the  prince  of 
the  world,  let  his  nobility  reuiain  in  his  court.  I 
am  for  the  house  with  the  narrow  gate,  which  I  take 
to  be  too  little  for  pouip  to  enter:  some,  that  humble 
themselves,  may  ;  but  the  many  will  be  too  chill  and 
tender;  and  they'll  be  for  tiie  flowery  way,  that 
leads  to  the  broad  gate,  and  the  great  fiie. 

Laf.  Go  thy  ways,  I  begin  to  be  a-weary  of  thee ; 
and  1  tell  thee  so  before,  because  1  would  not  fall 
out  with  thee.  Go  thy  ways;  let  my  horses  be  well 
looked  to,  without  any  tricks. 

Clo.  If  I  put  any  tricks  upon  'em,  sir,  they  shall 
be  jades'  tricks;  which  are  their  own  right  by  the 
law  of  nature.  [Exit. 

Laf  A  shrewd  kna\e,  and  an  unhappy. 

Count.  So  he  is.  My  lord,  that's  gone,  made 
himself  much  sport,  out  of  hitn ;  by  his  authority 
he  remains  here,  which  he  thinks  is  a  patent  for  his 
sauciness;  and,  indeed,  he  has  no  pace,  but  runs 
where  he  will, 

Laf  I  like  him  well;  'tis  not  amiss :  and  I  was 
about  to  tell  you,  since  I  heard  of  the  good  lady's 
death,  and  that  my  lord  your  son  was  upon  his  re- 
turn home,  I  moved  the  king,  my  master,  to  speak 
ED  the  behalf  of  my  daughter ;  which,  in  the  mino- 
rity of  them  both,  his  m;ii  sty,  out  of  a  self  gracious 
remembrance,  did  first  propose:  his  highness  hath 
promised  me  to  do  it;  and,  to  stop  up  the  displea- 
sure he  hath  conceived  against  your  son,  there  is  no 
fitter  matter.    How  does  your  ladyship  like  it? 

Count.  With  very  m'.ich  content,  my  lord,  and  I 
wish  it  happily  effected. 

Laf.  His  highness  comes  post  from  Marseilles,  of 
as  able  body  as  wh<"n  he  ntmibered  thirty;  he  will 
be  here  to-morrow,  or  I  atu  deceived  by  him  that  in 
such  intelligence  hath  seidou)  failed. 

Count.  It  rejoices  me,  that  I  hope  I  shall  see  him 
ere  I  die.  I  have  letters,  that  my  son  will  be  here 
to-night:  1  shall  beseech  your  lordship,  to  remain 
with  me  till  tJiey  meet  together. 

Laf.  Mad  iin,  I  was  thinking,  with  what  manners 
I  might  safely  be  aduutted. 

Count.  You  need  but  plead  your  honourable 
privilege. 

Laf.  Lady,  of  that  T  have  made  a  bold  charter ; 
'iat,  I  thank  my  God,  it  holds  yet 

Re  enter  Cloivn. 
Clo.  O  m.idata  yondt^r's  my  lord  your  son  with 


Act  V 

a  patch  of  velvet  on's  face  :  whether  there  c^r  a  scat 
under  it,  or  no,  the  velvet  knows;  I  at  'tis  a  goodiy 
patch  of  velvet :  his  left  cheek  is  a  cheek  of  two 
pile  and  a  half,  but  his  right  cheek  is  worn  bare. 

Laf.  A  scar  nobly  got,  or  a  noble  scar,  is  a  good 
livtry  of  honour  ;  so,  belike,  is  that. 

Clo.  But  it  is  your  carbonadoed  face. 

Laf  Let  us  go  see  your  son,  I  pray  you ;  I  long 
to  talic  with  the  young  noble  soldier. 

Clo.  Faith,  there's  a  dozen  of  'em,  with  delicat« 
fine  hats,  and  most  courteous  feathers,  which  bo\» 
the  head,  and  nod  at  every  man.  [Exeunt, 

ACT  V. 
Scene  I.— Marseilles.    A  Street.. 

Enter  Helena,  Widow,  and  Diana,  u^ith  two 
Attendants. 

Hel.  But  this  exceeding  posting,  day  and  night, 
Must  wear  your  spirits  low  :  we  cannot  help  it ; 
But.  since  vou  have  made  the  days  and  nights  as 
To  wear  your  gentle  limbs  in  my  aiiairs,  [one. 
Be  bold,  you  do  so  grow  in  my  requital. 
As  nothing  can  unroot  you.    in  happy  time  ;  

Enter  a  gentle  Astringer. 

This  man  may  help  me  to  his  majesty's  ear, 
If  he  would  spend  his  power. — (iod  save  you,  sir. 
Gent.  And  you. 

Hel.  Sir,  I  have  seen  you  in  the  court  of  France. 

Gent.  I  have  been  sometimes  there. 

Hel.  I  do  presume,  sir,  that  you  are  not  fallen 
From  the  report  that  goes  upon  your  goodness  ; 
And  therefore,  goaded  with  most  sharp  occasions, 
Which  lay  nice  manners  by,  I  put  you  to 
The  use  of  your  own  virtues,  for  the  which 
I  shall  continue  thankful. 

Gent.  What's  your  will  ? 

Hel.  That  it  will  please  you 
To  give  this  poor  petition  to  the  king; 
And  aid  me  with  that  store  of  power  you  have, 
To  come  into  his  presence. 

Gent.  The  king's  not  here. 

Hel.  Not  here,  sir? 

Gent.  Not,  indeed  ; 

He  hence  remov'd  last  night,  and  with  more  haste 
Than  is  his  use. 

TVid.  Lord,  how  we  lose  our  pains  ! 

Hel.  Alls  well  that  ends  well,  yet ; 
Though  time  seem  so  adverse,  and  means  unfit. — 
I  do  beseech  you,  whither  has  he  gone? 

Gent.  Marry,  as  1  take  it,  to  Rousillou  ; 
Wliither  1  am  going. 

Hel.  I  do  beseech  you,  sir. 

Since  you  are  like  to  see  the  king  before  me. 
Commend  the  paper  to  his  gracious  hand  ; 
Which,  I  presume,  shall  render  you  no  blame. 
But  rather  make  you  thank  your  pains  for  it: 
I  will  come  alter  you,  with  what  good  speed 
Our  means  will  make  us  means. 

Gent.  'I'his  I'll  do  for  you. 

Hel.  And  you  shall  find  yourself  to  be  wel, 
thank'd, 

Whate'er  falls  more.— We  must  to  horse  again  ;— 
Go,  go,  provide.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — Rousillon.    The  inner  Court  of  the 
CGuntess's  Palace. 

Enter  Clown  and  Parolles. 
Par.  Good  monsieur  Lavatch,  give  my  lord  Lafeu 
this  letter:  I  have  ere  now,  sir,  been  better  known 
to  you,  when  I  have  neld  familiarity  with  freshei 
clothes;  but  I  am  now,  sir,  muddied  m  fortune's 
moat,  and  smell  somewhat  strong  of  her  strong 
displeasure. 

Clo.  Truly,  fortune's  displeasure  is  but  sluttish, 
if  it  smell  so  strong  as  thou  speakest  of:  I  will 
henceforth  eat  no  fish  ot  fortune's  bu'  '.ering.  Pr'y  thee, 
allow  the  wind. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Scene  S. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


205 


Par.  Nay,  you  need  not  stop  your  nose,  sir ;  I 
0pake  but  by  a  metaphor. 

Clo.  Indeed,  sir,  if  your  metaphor  stink,  I  will 
stop  my  nose ;  or  p  gainst  any  man's  metaphor. 
Vr'ythee,  get  fhee  lurther. 

Pxr .  Pray  you,  sir,  deliver  me  this  paper. 

Clo.  Foh,  pr'ythee,  stand  av/ay :  A  paper  from 
fortune's  close-stool  to  give  to  a  nobleman!  Look, 
here  he  (ounes  himself. — 

Enter  Lapeu. 

Her«,>  is  a  pur  of  fortune's,  sir,  or  of  fortune's  cat, 
fbut  not  a  musk-cat,)  that  has  fallen  into  tlie  unclean 
fishpond  of  lier  displeasiire,  and,  as  he  says,  is 
muddied  withal  :  Prsiy  you,  sir,  use  the  carp  as  you 
may;  for  he  lodks  like  a  poor,  decayed,  ingenious, 
fiDolish,  rascally  knave.  1  do  pity  his  distress  in 
n»y  smiles  of  comfort,  and  leave  him  to  yoiir  lord- 
ship. [Exit  Clown. 

Par.  My  lord,  I  am  a  man  whom  fortune  hath 
cruelly  scratched. 

LaJ'.  And  what  would  you  have  me  to  do?  'tis 
too  late  to  pare  ber  nails  now.  Wherein  have  you 
played  the  knave  with  fortune,  that  she  sliould 
scratch  you,  wlio  of  herself  is  a  good  lady,  and 
would  not  have  knaves  thrive  long  under  her? 
There's  a  quart  d'ecu  for  you  :  Let  the  justices 
make  you  and  fortime  friends ;  I  am  for  other  bu- 
siness, [single  word. 

Par.  I  beseech  your  honour,  to  hear  me  one 

haf.  You  beg  a  single  penny  more  :  come,  you 
Bhall  hu't;  sa\  e  your  word. 

Par.  My  name,  niy  good  lord,  is  Parolles. 

haf.  You  beg  more  than  one  word  then. — Cox' 
my  passion!  Give  me  your  hand;  ^low  does  your 
drum?  [found  me. 

Par.  O  my  good  lord,  you  were  the  first  that 

Laf.  Was  I,  in  sootli?  and  I  was  the  first  that 
lost  thee. 

Par.  It  lies  in  you,  my  lord,  ,to  bring  me  in  some 
grace,  for  you  did  bring  me  out, 

Laf.  Out  upon  thee,  knave!  dost  thou  put  upon 
me  at  once  both  the  office  of  God  and  the  devil  ? 
one  brings  thee  in  grace,  and  the  other  brings  thee 
out.  {^Trumpets  sound.)  The  king's  coming,  1  know 
by  his  tniuipets. — Su-rah,  inquire  further  after  me  ; 
I  had  talk  of  you  last  night :  though  you  are  a  fool 
and  a  knave,  you  shall  eat;  go  to,  follow. 

Par.  I  praise  God  for  you.  [Exeu7it. 

Scene  III. — The  same.  A  Room  in  the  Countess's 
Palace. 

Flourish.  Enter  King,  Countess,  Lafeu,  Lords, 
Qentlemen,  Guards,  §fc. 

King.  We  lost  a  jevvel  of  her;  and  our  esteem 
Was  made  much  poorer  by  it :  but  your  son, 
As  road  in  fi)lly,  lack'd  the  sense  to  know 
Her  estimation  korae. 

Count.  'Tis  past,  my  liege  : 

And  1  beseech  your  majesty  to  make  it 
Natural  rebellion,  done  i'the  blaze  of  youth; 
When  oil  and  fire,  too  strong  for  reason's  force, 
O'erbears  it,  and  burns  on. 

Kirifj.  My  honour'd  lady, 

[  have  forgiven  and  forgotten  all; 
Thoi'gh  my  revenges  were  high  bent  upon  him. 
And  watch'd  the  time  to  shoot. 

Ltif  This  I  must  say,  

r»ut  first  I  beg  my  pardon, — The  young  lord 
I)id  to  his  inaje.sty,  his  mother,  and  his  lady. 
Offence  of  mighty  note  ;  but  to  himself 
The  greatest  wrong  of  all  :  he  lost  a  wife, 
W^hose  beauty  did  astonish  the  survey 
Of  ricnest  eVes  ;  whose  words  all  ears  took  captive  ; 
Whose  dear  perfection,  hearts,  that  scorn'd  to  serve. 
Humbly  caird  mistress. 

King,  Praising  what  is  lost. 

Makes  the  remembrance  dear.  Well,  call  him 

hither;  

■  We  are  reconcii'd,  and  the  first  view  shall  kill 


All  repetition  : — Let  him  not  ask  our  pardoa ; 
The  nature  of  his  great  offence  is  deai. 
And  deeper  than  oblivion  do  we  bury 
The  incensing  relics  of  it :  let  him  approach, 
A  stranger,  no  offender  ;  and  inform  him. 
So  'tis  our  will  he  should. 

Gent,  I  shall,  ray  liege. 

[Exit  Gentkmat^ 

King,  What  says  he  to  your  daughter?  buve  yofl 
spoke  ? 

Laf.  All  that  he  is  hath  reference  to  your  highnesa 
King.  Then  shall  we  have  a  match.  I  have  letters 
That  set  him  high  in  fame.  [sent  me, 

Enter  BERTRAM. 

Laf.  He  looks  well  on't. 

King.  I  am  not  a  day  of  season, 
Fo-r  thou  may'st  see  a  sun-shine  and  a  hail 
In  me  at  once  :  But  to  the  brightest  beams 
Distracted  clouds  give  way  ;  so  stand  thou  forth. 
The  time  is  fair  again. 

Ber.  My  high-repented  blames. 

Dear  sovereign,  pardon  to  me. 

King.  All  is  whole ; 

Not  one  word  more  of  the  consumed  time. 
Let's  take  the  instant  by  the  forward  top ; 
For  we  are  old,  and  on  our  quick'st  decrees 
The  inaudible  and  noiseless  foot  of  time 
Steals,  ere  we  can  effect  them :  You  remember 
The  daiigiiter  of  this  lord  ? 

Ber.  Admiringly,  my  liege  :  at  first 
I  stuck  my  choice  upon  her,  ere  my  heart 
Durst  make  too  bold  a  herald  of  my  tongue 
Where  the  impression  of  mine  eye  infixing, 
Contempt  his  scornful  perspective  did  lend  me. 
Which  warp'd  the  line  of  every  other  favour; 
Scorn'd  a  fair  colour,  or  express'd  it  stol'n; 
Extended  or  contracted  all  proportions. 
To  a  most  hideous  object :  Thence  it  came. 
That  she,  whom  all  men  prais'd,  and  whom  myself. 
Since  I  have  lost,  have  lov'd,  was  in  mine  eye 
The  dust  that  did  off'end  it. 

King.  Well  excus'd  : 

That  thou  didst  love  her,  strikes  some  scores  away 
From  the  great  couipt :  But  love,  that  comes  too  late. 
Like  a  remorseful  pardon  slowly  carried. 
To  the  great  sender  turns  a  sour  offence. 
Crying,  That's  good,  that's  gone  :  our  rash  faults 
Make  trivi;d  price  of  serious  things  we  have. 
Not  knowing  them,  until  we  know  their  grave: 
Oit  our  displeasures,  to  ourselves  unjust, 
Destroy  our  friends,  and  after  weep  tiieir  dust : 
Our  own  love  waking  cries  to  see  what's  done, 
While  shameful  hate  sleeps  out  the  afternoon. 
Be  tliis  sweet  Helen's  knell,  and  now  ibrget  her. 
Send  forth  your  amorous  token  for  fair  Maudlin  : 
'I'he  main  consents  are  had  ;  and  here  we'll  stay 
To  see  our  widower's  second  marriage-day. 

Count.  Which  better  than  the  first,  O  dear  hea. 
ven,  bless! 

Or,  ere  they  meet,  in  me,  O  nature,  cease ! 

Laf.  Come  on,  my  son,  in  whom  my  house'* 
name 

Must  be  digested,  give  a  favour  from  you. 
To  sparkle  'a  the  spirits  of  my  daugliter. 
That  she  may  quickly  come. — By  my  old  beard, 
A  lid  every  hair  that's  out,  Helen,  that's  dead. 
Was  a  sweet  creature;  such  a  ring  as  this, 
The  last  that  e'er  I  took  her  leave  at  court, 
I  saw  upon  her  finger. 

Ber.  Hers  it  was  not. 

King.  Now,  pray  you,  let  me  see  it ;  for  mine  ej«l^ 
While  1  was  speaking,  oft  was  fasteu'd  to't. — 
This  ring  was  mine;  and,  when  1  gave  it  Helen, 
1  bade  her,  ii' her  fortunes  ever  stood 
Necessitied  to  help,  thut  by  this  token 
I  would  relieve  her  :  Had  you  that  cruft,  to  reive  ho^ 
Of  what  should  stead  her  most? 

Ber.  My  gracious  SOT  ere%n 

Howe'er  it  pleases  you  to  take  it  so. 


206 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  V. 


The  ring  was  never  hers. 

Count.  Son,  on  my  life, 

I  have  seen  her  wear  it ;  and  she  reckon'd  it 
At  her  life's  rate. 

Laf,  I  am  snre,  I  saw  her  wear  it. 

JSer.  You  are  deceiv'd,  my  lord,  she  never  saw  it : 
In  Florence  was  it  from  a  casement  thrown  me, 
Wrapp'd  in  a  paper,  which  contain'd  the  name 
Of  her  that  threw  il :  noble  she  was,  and  thought 
I  slood  engag'd  :  but  when  I  had  subscrib'd 
To  mine  own  fortune,  and  inform'd  her  fully, 
I  could  not  answer  in  that  course  of  honour. 
As  slie  ha<l  made  the  overture,  she  ceas'd, 
In  heavy  satisfaction,  and  would  never 
Receive  the  ring  again. 

King.  Plutus  himself. 

That  knov«'s  the  tinct  and  multiplying  medicine, 
Hath  not  in  nature's  mystery  more  science, 
Thatj  I  have  in  this  ring :  'twas  mine,  'twas  Helen's, 
Whoever  gave  it  you  :  Then,  if  you  know. 
That  you  are  well  acquainted  with  yourself, 
Confess  'twas  hers,  and  by  what  rough  enforcement 
You  got  it  Irom  her :  she  call'd  the  saints  to  surety. 
That  she  would  rjever  put  it  from  her  finger. 
Unless  she  ga^  e  it  to  yourself  in  bed, 
(Where  you  have  never  come,)  or  sent  it  us 
Upon  her  great  disaster. 

Ber.  She  never  saw  it. 

King.  Thou  speak'st  it  falsely,  as  I  love  mine 
honour; 

And  mak'st  cotijectural  fears  to  come  into  me. 
Which  i  would  lain  shut  out :  If  it  should  prove 
That  thou  art  so  inhuman, — 'twill  not  prove  so; — 
And  yet  i  know  not : — thou  didst  hate  her  deadly, 
And  she  is  dead  ;  which  nothing,  but  to  close 
Her  eyes  myself,  could  win  me  to  believe, 
More  than  to  see  this  ring. — Take  him  away. — 

{Guards  seize  Bertram.) 
My  fore-past  proofs,  howe'er  the  matter  fall. 
Shall  tax  my  fears  of  little  vanity. 
Having  vainly  fear'd  too  little. — Away  with  him  ; — 
We'll  sift  this  matter  further. 

Ber.  If  you  shall  prove 

This  ring  was  ever  hers,  you  shall  as  easy 
Prove,  that  I  husbanded  her  bed  in  Florence, 
Where  yet  she  never  was.  [Exit  Bertram  guarded. 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

King.  I  am  wrapp'd  in  dismal  thinkings. 

G«nt.  Gracious  sovereign, 

Whether  I  have  been  to  blame,  or  no,  I  know  not; 
Here's  a  petition  from  a  Florentine, 
Who  hath,  for  four  or  five  removes,  come  short 
To  tender  it  herself.    I  undertook  it, 
Vanqiiish'd  thereto  by  the  fair  grace  and  speech 
Of  the  poor  suppliant,  who  by  this,  I  know, 
Is  here  attending  :  her  business  looks  in  her 
With  an  importing  visage ;  and  she  told  me,  . 
In  a  sweet  verbal  brief,  it  did  concern 
Your  highness  with  herself. 

King.  ( Reads. )  Upon  his  many  protestations  to 
marry  me,  when  his  ivij'e  was  dead,  I  blush  to 
say  it,  he  won  me.  Now  is  the  count  Rousillon  a 
tvidotver ;  his  vows  are  forfeited  to  me,  and  my 
honour's  paid  to  him.  He  stole  from  Florence, 
taking  no  leave,  and  I  follow  him  to  Ins  country 
for  justice  :  Grant  it  me,  O  King  ;  in  you  it  best 
lies :  otherwise  a  seducer  flourishes,  and  a  poor 
maid  is  undone. 

Diana  Capulet. 

Jjaf.  I  will  buy  me  a  son-in-law  in  a  fair,  and  toll 
him  :  for  this,  I'll  none  of  him.  [Lafeu, 

King.  The  heavens  have  thought  well  on  thee. 
To  biing  forth  this  discovery. — Seek  these  suitors  : — 
Go  speedily,  and  brin^  again  the  count. 

[Exeunt  Gentleman,  and  some  Attendants. 
I  am  aCeard,  the  life  of  Helen,  lady, 
Was  foully  snatch'd, 

Cwnt.  Now,  justice  on  the  doers ! 


Enter  Bertram,  guarded. 

King.  1  wonder,  sir,  since  wives  are  monsters 
to  you, 

And  that  you  fly  them  as  you  swear  them  lordship. 
Yet  you  desire  to  marry. — What  woman's  that  ? 
Re-enter  Gentleman,  with  Widow,  and  Diana. 

Dia.  I  am,  my  lord,  a  wretched  Florentine, 
Derived  from  the  ancient  Capulet; 
My  suit,  as  I  do  understand,  you  know. 
And  therefore  know  how  far  I  may  be  pitied. 

TT'id.  I  am  her  mother,  sir,  whose  age  and  honour 
Both  suffer  under  this  complaint  we  bring, 
And  both  shall  cease,  without  your  remedy. 

King.  Come  hither,  count;  Do  you  know  these 
women? 

Ber.  My  lord,  I  neither  can  nor  will  deny 
But  that  I  know  them  :  do  they  charge  me  further  . 

Dia.  Why  do  you  look  so  strange  upon  your  wife  ? 

Ber.  She's  none  of  mine,  my  lord. 

Dia.  If  you  shall  marry. 

You  give  away  this  hand,  and  that  is  mine  ; 
You  give  away  heaven's  vows,  and  those  are  mine  ; 
You  give  away  myself,  which  is  known  mine; 
For  I  by  vow  am  so  embodied  yours. 
That  she,  which  marries  you,  must  marry  me. 
Either  both,  or  none. 

Laf.  Your  reputation  {to  Bertram)  comes  too 
short  for  my  daughter,  you  are  no  husband  for  her. 

Ber.  My  lord,  this  is  a  fond  and  desperate  crea- 
ture, [ues3 
Who  sometime  I  have  laugh'd  with  :  let  your  high- 
Lny  a  more  noble  thought  upon  mine  honour. 
Than  for  to  think  that  I  would  sink  it  here. 

King.  Sir,  for  my  thoughts,  you  have  them  ill  to 
friend,  [nour. 
Till  your  d^-eds  gain  them  :  Fairer  prove  your  ho' 
Than  in  my  thought  it  lies! 

Dia.     '  Good  my  lor  d. 

Ask  him  upon  his  oath,  if  he  does  think 
He  had  not  my  virginity. 

King.  W^hat  say'st  thou  to  her  ? 

Ber.  She's  impudent,  my  lord; 

And  was  a  common  gamester  to  the  camp. 

Dia.  He  does  tne  wrong,  my  lord  ;  if  I  were  so. 
He  might  have  bought  me  at  a  common  price : 
Do  not  believe  him:  O,  behold  this  ring. 
Whose  high  respect,  and  rich  validity. 
Did  kick  a  parallel;  yet,  for  all  that, 
He  gave  it  to  a  commoner  o'the  camp. 
If  I  be  one. 

Count.         He  blushes,  and 'tis  it: 
Of  six  preceding  ancestors,  that  gem 
Couferrd  by  testament  to  the  sequent  issue. 
Hath  it  been  ow'd  and  worn.    Tnis  is  his  wife; 
That  ring  s  a  tliousand  proofs. 

King.  Methought,  you  said. 

You  saw  one  here  in  court  could  witness  it. 

Dia.  I  did,  my  lord,  but  loath  am  to  produce 
So  bad  an  instrument;  his  name's  Parolles. 

Lof.  I  saw  the  man  to-day,  if  man  he  be. 

King.  Find  him,  and  bring  him  hither. 

Ber.  What  of  him? 

He's  quoted  for  a  most  perfidious  slave. 
With  all  the  spots  o'the  world  tax'H  and  debosh'd; 
Whose  nature  sickens,  but  to  speak  a  truth  : 
Am  1  or  that,  or  this,  for  what  he'll  utter. 
That  will  speak  any  thing? 

King.  She  hath  that  ring  of  yours. 

Ber.  I  think,  she  has:  certain  it  is,  I  lik'd  her. 
And  boarded  her  i'the  wanton  way  of  youth  : 
She  knew  her  distance,  and  did  angle  I'or  me. 
Madding  my  eagerness  with  her  restraint. 
As  all  impediments  in  fancy's  course 
Are  motives  of  more  fancy  ;  aad  in  fine. 
Her  insuit  coming  with  her  modern  grace. 
Subdued  me  to  her  rate :  she  got  the  ring; 
And  I  had  that  which  any  inferior  might 
At  market-price  have  bought. 

Dia.  I  mu.stbe  pnti«iit| 


Scene  3. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


207 


Yoa  that  turn'c!  off  a  first  so  noble  wife. 
May  justly  diet  me.    I  pray  yoii  yet, 
(Since  you  lack  virtue,  1  will  lose  a  husband,) 
Send  for  yoiir  ring,  I  will  return  it  home. 
And  give  me  mine  again. 

Ber.  I  have  it  not. 

King.  What  ring  was  yours,  I  pray  you  ? 

Dia.  Sir,  nuich  like 

The  same  upon  your  finger. 

King.  Know  you  this  ring?  this  ring  was  his  of 
late. 

Dia.  And  this  was  it  I  gave  hint,  being  a  bed. 
King.  The  story  then  goes  false,  you  threw  it  him 
Out  oi  a  casement. 
Dia.  I  have  spoke  the  truth. 

Enter  Parolles, 
lier.  My  lord,  I  do  confess  the  ring  was  hers. 
King.  Yoi\  boggle  shrewdly,  every  feather  starts 
you. — 

Is  this  the  man  you  speak  of? 

Dia.  Ay,  my  lord. 

King.  Tell  me,  sirrah,  but,  teil  me  true,  1  charge 
you, 

Not  fearing  the  displeasure  of  your  master, 
'Which,  on  your  just  proceeding,  I'll  keep  off,) 
By  him,  and  by  this  woman  here,  what  know  you  ? 

Par.  So  please  your  majesty,  my  master  hath 
been  an  honourable  gentleman;  tricks  he  hath  had 
in  him,  which  gentlemen  have. 

King.  Come,  come,  to  the  purpose ;  did  he  love 
this  woman  ? 

Par.  'Faith,  sir,  he  did  love  her :  but  how  ? 

King.  How,  I  pray  you? 

Par.  He  did  love  her,  sir,  as  a  gentleman  loves 

a  woman. 
King.  How  is  that? 

Par.  He  loved  her,  sir,  and  loved  her  not. 

King.  As  thou  art  a  knave  and  no  knave: — 
^\hat  an  equivocal  companion  is  this? 

Par.  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  at  your  majesty's 
cenmiaud.  [orator. 

Laf.  He's  a  good  drum,  my  lord,  but  a  naughty 

Dia.  Do  you  know,  he  promised  me  marriage  ? 

Par.  'Faith,  I  know  more  than  I'll  speak. 

King.  But  wilt  thou  not  speak  all  thou  know'st  ? 

Par.  Yes,  so  please  your  majesty ;  I  did  go  be- 
tween them,  as  I  said ;  but  more  than  that,  he 
lo\ed  her, — for,  indeed,  he  was  mad  for  her,  and 
talked  of  Satan,  and  of  limbo,  and  of  furies,  and  I 
know  not  what:  yet  I  was  in  that  credit  with  them 
at  that  time,  that  I  knew  of  their  going  to  bed  ;  and 
of  other  njotions,  as  promising  her  marriage,  and 
things  that  would  derive  me  ill-will  to  speak  df, 
therefore  I  will  not  speak  what  I  know. 

King.  Thou  hast  spoken  all  already,  unless  thou 
canst  say  they  are  married  :  but  thou  art  too  line  in 
tliy  evidence  ;  therefore  stand  aside. — 
This  ring,  you  say,  was  yours? 

^if^'  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

King.  Where  did  you  buy  it?  or  who  gave  it  you? 

Dia.  It  was  not  given  me,  nor  I  did  not  buy  it. 

King.  Who  lent  it  you  ? 

Dia.  It  was  not  lent  me  neither. 

King.  Where  did  you  find  it  then  ? 

Dia.  I  found  it  not. 

King.  If  it  were  yours  by  none  of  all  these  ways. 
How  could  you  give  it  him? 

Dia.  1  never  gave  it  him. 

Caf.  This  woman's  an  easy  glove,  my  lord  ;  she 
goes  off  and  on  at  pleasure. 

King.  This  ring  was  mine,  I  gave  it  his  first  wife. 

Dia.  It  might  be  yours,  or  hers,  for  auglit  I 
know. 

King.  Take  her  awa?  I  do  not  lit,'?  her  now  i 


To  prison  with  her :  and  away  with  him. — 
Unless  thou  tell'st  me  where  thou  hadst  this  liof. 
Thou  diest  within  this  hour. 

Dia.  I'll  never  tell  jott. 

King.  Take  her  away. 

Dia.  I'll  i-ut  in  bail,  mj  Vteg^ 

King.  I  think  thee  now  some  common  custooici. 
Dia.  By  Jove,  if  ever  I  knew  man,  'twas'you. 
King.  Wherefore  hast  thou  accus'd  him  all  i 
while? 

Dia.  Because,  he's  guilty,  and  he  is  not  guilfy; 
He  knows,  I  am  no  maid,  and  he'll  swear  to't: 
I'll  swear,  I  am  a  maid,  and  he  knows  not. 
Great  king,  I  am  no  strumpet,  by  my  life  ; 
I  am  either  maid,  or  else  this  old  man's  wife. 

{Pointing  to  Lafeu.) 

King.  She  does  abuse  our  ears  ;  to  prison  with  her. 

Dia.  Good  mother,  fetch  ray  bail. — Stay,  royal 
sir;  [Exit  Widow, 

The  jeweller,  that  owes  the  ring,  is  sent  for 
And  he  shall  surety  me.    But  for  this  lord. 
Who  hath  abus'd  me,  as  he  knows  himself!, 
Though  yet  he  never  harm'd  me,  here  I  quit  him; 
He  knows  himself,  my  bed  lie  hath  defiPd  ; 
And  at  that  time  he  got  his  wife  with  child : 
Dead  though  she  be,  she  feels  her  young  one  kick; 
So  there's  my  riddle,  One,  that's  dead,  is  quick  : 
And  now  beliold  the  meaning. 

Re-enter  ff^idow  with  Helena. 

King.  Is  there  no  exorcial 

Beguiles  the  truer  office  of  mine  eyes  ? 
Is't  real,  that  I  see  ? 

Hel.  No,  my  good  lord  ; 

'Tis  but  the  shadow  of  a  wife  you  see. 
The  name,  and  not  the  thing. 

Ber.  Both,  both;  O,  pardoal 

Hel.  O,  my  good  lord,  when  I  was  like  this  oiaidj 
I  found  you  wond'rous  kind.    There  is  your  ring. 
And,  look  you,  here's  your  letter :  this  it  says, 
When  from  my  finger  you  can  get  this  ring. 
And  are  by  me  with  child,  etc. — This  is  done  : 
Will  you  be  mine,  now  you  are  doubly  won? 

Ber.  If  she,  my  liege,  can  make  me  know  this 
I'll  love  her  dearly,  ever,  ever  dearly.  [clearly, 

Hel.  If  it  appear  not  plain,  and  prove  untrue. 
Deadly  divorce  step  between  me  and  you  ! — 
O,  niy  dear  mother,  do  I  see  you  living? 

Lof.  Mine  eyes  smell  onions,  I  shall  weep  anon  :— 
Good  Tom  Drum,  [to  Parolles)  lend  me  a  hand- 
kerchief :  so,  I  thank  thee ;  wait  on  me  home,  I'll 
make  sport  with  thee  :  let  thy  courtesies  alone,  they 
are  scurvy  ones. 

King.  Jjet  us  from  point  to  point  this  story  know. 
To  make  the  even  truth  in  pleasure  flow  :— 
If  thou  be'st  yet  a  fresh  uncropped  flower, 

(To  Diana) 
Choose  thou  thy  husband,  and  I'll  pay  thy  dower ; 
For  I  can  guess,  that,  by  thy  honest  aid. 
Thou  kept'st  a  wife  herself,  thyself  a  maid.— • 
Of  that,  and  all  the  progress,  more  and  less, 
Resolvedly  more  It-isure  shall  express: 
All  yet  seems  well ;  and  if  it  end  so  meet. 
The  bitter  past,  more  welcome  is  the  sweet 

{Advancing.) 
The  king^s  a  beggar,  now  the  play  is  dene  : 
All  is  well  ended,  if  the  suit  be  won, 
That  you  express  content :  which  we  will  pay, 
With  strife  to  please  you,  day  exceeding  day: 
Ours  be  your  patience  then,  and  yours  our  parts  \ 
Your  gentle  hands  lend  us,  and  take  our  hearts. 

[Exeunt 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW 


Of  this  play  the  two  plots  are  so  well  united,  that  they  can  hardly  be  called  two,  without  injury  1o  the  art  wilt 
irhicb  they  are  interwoven  The  attention  is  entertained  with  all  the  variety  of  a  double  plot,  yet  is  not  distracted 
by  unconnect.  d  incidents. 

The  part  between  Katharine  and  Petruchio  is  eminently  sprightly  and  diverting.  At  the  marriage  of  Bianca,  the 
RiTiTal  of  tlie  real  father,  perhaps,  produces  more  perplexity  than  pleasure.  The  whole  play  is  very  popular  and 
divertiag.  Johnson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


A  Lord.  ^ 
CHRISTOPHERSLY,  af/r?/«A:f/i  Tinker,  I   Persons  in 
Hostess,  Page,  PUtyers,  Huntsmen,  a?id  ^  the  Induction. 

other  Servants,  attendin(i  on  the  Lord,  > 
BAPTISTA,  a  rich  Gentleman  of  Padua. 
VINCENTIO,  an  old  Gentleman  of  Pisa. 
LTJCENTIO,  Son  to  Vincentio,  in  love  with  Bianca. 
PETRCCHIO,  a  Gentleman  of   Verona,  a  Suitor  to 
Katharina. 


GREMIO  — HORTENSIO,— S?<27ors  to  Bianca. 
TRANIO,— BiONDELLO,— 5<?rl;«y^^5  to  Lvcenile 
GRUMIO,— CURTIS,— 5«rw«H<.9  to  Petruchio. 
Pedant,  an  old  FelUno,  set  up  to  personate  Vincentie 
KATHARINA,  the  Shrew, 
BIANCA,  her  Sister, 
Widow. 

Tailor,  Haberdasher ,  and  Servants,  attending  yn 
Baptista  and  Petruchio. 


j    Daughters  to  Baptista. 


Scene, — Sometimes  in  Padua  ;  and  sometimes  in  Petruchio' s  House  in  the  Country. 


INDUCTION. 

Scene  I. — Before  an  Ale-house  on  a  Heath. 
Enter  Hostess  and  Sly. 

Sly.  I'll  pheese  yju,  in  faith. 

Host.  A  pair  of  stocks,  yon  rogue  ! 

Sly.  Y'are  a  baggage ;  the  Slies  are  no  rogues : 
Look  in  the  chronicles,  we  came  in  with  Richard 
Conqueror.  There  lore,  paucas  pallabris ;  let  the 
world  slide  .  Sessa  !  [burst  ? 

Host.  You  will  not  pay  for  the  glasses  you  have 

Sly.  No,  not  a  denier:  go  by,  says  Jeroniniy  ; 
Go  to  thy  cold  bed,  and  warm  thee. 

Host.  I  know  my  remedy,  1  must  go  fetch  the 
thirdboroiigh.  ^  [Exit. 

Sly.  Third,  or  fourth,  or  fifth  borough,  I'll  answer 
him  by  law  :  I'ii  not  budge  an  inch,  boy  ;  let  him 
come,  and  kindly. 

[Lies  down  on  the  ground,  and  falls  asleep.) 

Wind  horns.    Enter  a  Lord  from  hinting,  with 
Himtstnen  and  Servants. 
Lord.  Huntsman,  I  charge  thee,  tender  well  my 
hourids  : 

Brach  Meri  iinan, — the  poor  cur  is  emboss'd, 
And  couple  Clowder  with  the  deep-mouth"d  brach. 
Saw's*  tliou  not,  boy.  how  Silver  made  it  good 
At  the  hedge  corner,  in  tlie  coldest  fault  ? 
I  would  not  lose  the  dog  for  twenty  pound. 

1  Hun.  Why,  Belman  is  as  good  as  he,  my  lord; 
He  cried  ui)oti  it  at  the  merest  loss. 
And  twice  to-day  pick'd  out  the  dullest  scent: 
Trust  me,  I  take  hiui  for  the  better  dog. 

Lord.  Thou  art  a  fool ;  if  Echo  were  as  fleet, 
1  would  esteem  hiin  worth  a  dozen  such. 
But  sup  them  well,  and  look  unto  them  all ; 
To-morrow  I  intend  to  hunt  again. 

1  Hun.  I  will,  my  lord. 

Lord.  Whaf.'j  here  ;  one  dead,  or  drunk  ?  See, 
doth  he  breathe  ? 

2  Hun.  He    breathes,  my  lord:  Were  he  not 

warm'd  with  ale, 
This  were  a  bed  but  cold  to  sleep  so  soundly. 
Lord.  O  ujonstrous  beast  I  how  like  a  swine  he 

lies  !  [image  ! — 

Grim  death !    how  foul   and   loathsome  is  thine 
Sirs,  I  will  practise  on  this  drunken  man. 
What  think  you,  if  he  were  convey'd  to  bed, 
Wrapp'd  in  sweet  clothes,  rings  put  upon  his  fingers, 
A  most  delicious  banquet  by  his  bed. 
And  brave  attendants  near  him  when  he  wakes. 
Would  not  the  beggar  then  forget  himself? 

1  Hun.  Believe  me,  lord,  I  think  he  cannot  choose. 

2  Hun.  It  would  seem  strange  unto  him  when  he 

wak'd.  [fancy. 
Lord.  Even  as  a  flattering  dream,  or  worthless 
Then  take  him  up,  and  manage  well  the  jest : — 


Carry  him  gently  to  my  fairest  chamber, 
And  hang  it  round  with  all  my  wanton  pictures; 
Balm  his  foul  head  with  warm  distilled  waters. 
And  burn  sweet  wood  to  make  the  lodging  sweet* 
Procure  me  music  ready  when  he  wakes. 
To  make  a  dulcet  and  a  heavenly  sound  ; 
And  if  he  chance  to  speak,  be  ready  straight, 
And,  with  a  low  submissive  reverence, 
Say, — What  is  it  your  honour  will  command  l 
Let  one  attend  him  with  a  silver  bason, 
Full  of  rose-water,  and  bestrew'd  with  flowers; 
Another  bear  the  ewer,  the  third  a  diaper. 
And  say, — Wilt  please  your  lordship  cool  yoM 
hands  ? 

Some  one  be  ready  with  a  costly  suit. 

And  ask  him  what  apparel  he  will  wear; 

Anotlier  tell  him  of  his  hounds  and  horse, 

And  that  his  lady  mourns  at  his  disease  : 

Persuade  him,  that  he  hath  been  lunatic; 

And,  when  he  says  he  i.s — ,  say,  that  he  dreams, 

For  he  is  nothing  but  a  mighty  lord. 

'i'his  do,  and  do  it  kindly,  gentle  sirs  ; 

It  will  be  I  astime  passing  excellent, 

If  it  he  husbanded  with  modesty.  [part, 

1  Hun.  My  lord,  I  warrant  you,  vve'll  play  our 
As  he  shall  think,  by  our  true  diligence, 
He  is  no  less  than  what  we  say  he  is. 

Lord.  Take  him  up  gently,  and  to  bed  with  him , 
And  each  one  to  his  office,  when  he  wakes. — 

{So7fie  beai  out  Sly.    A  trumpet  sounds.) 
Sirrah,  go  see  what  trumpet  'tis  tliat  sounds  : 

[Exit  Servant. 
Belike  some  noble  gentleman;  that  means. 
Travelling  some  journey,  to  repose  him  here. — 

Re-enter  a  Servant. 
How  now  ?  who  is  it  ? 

Serv.  An  it  please  your  honour. 

Players,  that  offer  service  to  your  lordship. 

Lord.  Bid  them  come  near  : 

Enter  Players. 
Now,  fellows,  you  are  welcome 

1  Play.  We  thank  your  honour. 

Lord.  Do  you  intend  to  stay  with  me  to-night? 

2  Play.  So  please  your  lordship  to  accept  our  du 
Lord.  With  all  my  heart. — This  fellow  I 

member. 

Since  once  he  play'd  a  farmer's  elde.st  son  ; — 
'Twas  where  you  woo'd  the  gentlewoman  so  well 
I  have  I'orgot  your  name ;  but,  sure,  that  part 
Was  aptly  fitted,  and  naturally  perform'd.  [meana, 
1  Play.  I  think,  'twas  Soto  that  your  honour 
Lord.  Tis  very  true; — thou  didst  it  excelleat.-  - 
Well,  you  are  come  to  me  in  happy  time ; 
The  rather  for  I  have  some  sport  in  hand, 
Wherein  your  cunning  can  assist  me  umcll. 


Induction. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


209 


There  is  a  lord  will  hear  yon  pSay  tcMiigJat ; 

Bat  I  am  doubtful  of  your  modesties; 

Lest,  over-eying-  of  his  odd  beiiaviour, 

•For  yet  his  honour  never  heard  a  play,) 

You  break  into  some  merry  passion. 

And  so  offend  him  ;  for  I  tell  you,  sirs, 

If  you  should  smile,  he  grows  impatient.  [selves, 

i  Play.  Fear  not,  my  lord  ;  we  can  contain  our- 
Were  he  the  veriest  antic  in  the  world. 

Lord.  Cro,  sirrah,  take  them  to  the  buttery, 
And  give  them  friendly  welcome  every  one  : 
Let  them  want  nothing,  that  my  house  affords. — 

[Exeunt  servant  and  Players. 
Sirrah,  go  you  to  Bartholomew  my  page, 

{To  a  Servant.) 
And  see  him  dress  d  in  all  suits  like  a  lady : 
That  done,  conduct  him  to  the  drunkard's  chamber, 
And  call  him — madam  ;  do  him  obeisance. 
Tell  him  from  me,  (as  he  will  win  my  love,) 
He  bear  himself  with  honourable  action. 
Such  as  he  hath  observ'd  in  noble  ladies 
Unto  their  lords,  by  them  accomplished  : 
Such  duty  to  the  drunkard  let  him  do, 
With  soft  low  tongue,  and  lowly  courtesy; 
And  say, — What  is't  your  honour  will  command, 
Wherein  your  lady,  and  your  humble  wife. 
May  show  her  duty,  and  make  known  her  love? 
And    then — with   kind    embracements,  tempting 
kisses. 

And  with  declining  head  into  his  bosom, — 

Bid  him  shed  tears,  as  being  overjoy'd 

To  see  her  noble  lord  restor  e!  to  health. 

Who,  for  twice  seven  years,  liath  esteemed  him 

No  better  than  a  poor  and  loathsome  beggar : 

And  if  the  boy  have  not  a  woman's  gilt, 

To  rain  a  shower  of  ccmmanded  tears, 

A  n  onion  will  do  well  lor  such  a  shift ; 

Which  in  a  napkin  bein^  close  convey'd, 

Shall  in  despite  enforce  a  watery  eye. 

See  this  despatch'd  with  all  the  haste  thou  canst; 

^non  I'll  give  thee  more  instructions. — 

[Exit  Servant. 
I  know,  the  boy  will  well  usurp  the  grace, 
Voice,  gait,  and  action  of  a  gentlewoman  ; 
I  long  to  hear  him  call  the  drunkard,  husband ; 
And  how  my  men  will  stay  themselves  from  laughter. 
When  they  do  homage  to  this  simple  peasant. 
I'll  in  to  counsel  them  :  haply,  my  presence 
May  well  abate  the  over-merry  spleen, 
Which  otherwise  would  grow  into  extremes, 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — A  Bedchamber  in  the  Lord's  House. 
Sly  is  discovered  in  a  rich  nirjht-goivn,  with 

Attendants;  some  ivith  apparel,  others  with 

has      ewer,  and  other  appurtenances.  Enter 

Lord,  dressed  like  a  servant. 

Sly.  For  God's  sake,  a  pot  of  small  ale,      [sack  ? 

1  &erv.  Will't  please  your  lordship  drink  a  cup  of 

2  Serv.  Will't  please  your  honour  taste  of  these 

conserves?  day? 

3  Serv.  Wiiat  raiment  will  your  honour  vs^ear  to- 
Sly.  I  am  Christophero  Sly  ;  call  not  me — honour, 

nor  lordship:  I  never  drank  sack  in  my  life;  and  if 
you  give  me  any  conserves,  give  me  conserves  of 
beef:  Ne'er  ask  me  what  raiment  I'll  wear;  for  I 
have  no  more  doublets  than  backs,  no  more  stock- 
ings than  legs,  nor  no  more  shoes  than  feet ;  nay, 
sometimes,  more  feet  than  shoes,  or  such  shoes  as 
my  toes  look  tiirough  the  overleather.  [honour! 

Lord.  Heaven  cease  this  idle  humour  in  your 
O,  that  a  mighty  man,  of  such  descent. 
Of  such  possessions,  and  so  high  esteem. 
Should  be  infused  witi»  so  foul  a  spirit  ! 

Sly.  What,  would  you  make  me  mad  ?  Am  not 
I  Christopher  Sly,  old  Sly's  son  of  Bmton-heath  ; 
by  birth  a  pedlar,  by  education  a  card-maker,  by 
transmutation  a  bear-herd,  and  now  by  present  pro- 
fession a  tinker?  Ask  Marian  Hacket,  the  fat  ale- 
wife  of  VVmcoi,  if  she  know  n:ft  not-  if  she  say  I 


am  not  fourteen  pence  on  the  scoie  for  sheer  .^le, 
score  me  up  for  the  lyingest  knave  in  Christerdom, 
What,  I  am  not  bestranght:  Here's  

1  Serv.  O,  this  it  is,  that  makes  your  lady  mourn- 

2  Serv.  O,  this  it  is,  that  makes  your  servants 

droop.  lyour  noiise,, 

Lord.  Hence  comes  it,  that  your  kindred  shuoi 
As  beaten  hence  by  your  strange  lunacy. 
O,  noble  lord,  bethink  thee  of  thy  birth; 
Call  home  thy  ancient  thoughts  from  banishment. 
And  banish  hence  these  abject  lowly  dreams: 
Look  how  thy  servants  do  attend  on  thee. 
Each  in  his  office  ready  at  thy  beck. 
Wilt  thou  have  music  ?  hark  !  Apollo  plays, 

(Jllf«8>.) 

And  twenty  caged  nightingales  do  sing: 

Or  wilt  thou  sleep  I*  we'll  have  thee  to  a  couch. 

Softer  and  sweeter  than  the  lustlul  bed 

On  purpose  trimm'd  up  for  Semiramis. 

Say,  thou  wilt  walk;  we  will  bestrew  the  ground* 

Or  wilt  thou  ride?  thy  horses  shall  be  trapp'd. 

Their  harness  studded  all  with  gold  and  pearl. 

Dost  thou  love  hawking?  thou  hast  hawks  will  soar 

Above  the  morning  lark  :  Or  wilt  thou  hunt? 

Thy  hounds  shall  make  the  welkin  answer  them. 

And  fetch  shrill  echoes  from  the  hollow  earth. 

1  Serv.  Say,  thou  wilt  course;  thy  greyhounds  ara 

as  swift 

As  breathed  stags,  ay,  fleeter  than  the  roe. 

2  Serv.  Dost  thou  love  pictures  ?  we  vvill  fetctt 

thee  straight 
Adonis,  painted  by  a  running  brook  : 
And  Cytherea  all  in  sedges  hid  ; 
Which  seem  to  move  and  wanton  with  her  breath, 
Even  as  the  waving  sedges  play  with  wind. 

Lord,  We'll  shov?  thee  lo,  as  she  was  a  maid ; 
And  how  she  was  beguiled  and  surprLs'd, 
As  lively  painted  as  the  deed  was  done. 

3  Serv.  Or  Daphne,  roaming  through  a  thorty 

wood ; 

Scratching  her  legs  that  one  shall  swear  she  bleedsi 
And  at  that  sight  shall  sad  Apollo  weep. 
So  workinanly  the  blood  and  tears  are  drawn. 

Ijord.  Thou  art  a  lord,  and  nothing  but  a  lord  : 
Thou  hast  a  lady  far  more  beautiful 
Than  any  woman  in  this  waning  age.  fthet>^ 

1  Serv.  And,  till  the  tears,  that  she  hath  shed  ioi 
Like  envious  floods,  o'er  ran  her  lovely  face. 

She  was  the  fairest  creature  in  the  world  ; 
And  yet  she  is  inferior  to  none. 

Sly.  Am  I  a  lord  ?  and  have  I  such  a  lady? 
Or  do  I  dream  ?  or  have  I  dieavn'd  till  now  ? 
I  do  not  sleep :  I  see,  I  hear,  I  speak ; 
I  smell  sweet  savours,  and  I  leel  soft  things  :— 
Upon  my  lil'e,  1  am  a  lord,  indeed  ; 
And  not  a  tinker,  nor  Cliristophent  Sly. — ■ 
Well,  bring  our  lady  hither  to  our  sight : 
And,  once  again,  a  pot  o'  the  smallest  ale. 

2  Serv.  Will't  please  your  mightiness  to  wasfe 

your  hands  ? 

{Servants  present  an  ewer,  bason,  and  napkin.) 
O,  how  we  joy  to  see  your  wit  restor'd  ! 
O,  that  once  more  you  knew  but  what  you  are  ! 
These  filteen  years  you  have  been  in  a  dream; 
Or,  when  you  wak'd,  so  wak'd  as  if  you  slept. 

Sly.  These  fifteen  years  !  by  my  fay,  a  goodly  nap» 
B-ut  did  I  never  speak  of  all  tiiat  time  ? 

1  Serv.  O,  yes,  my  lord  ;  but  very  idle  words 
For  though  you  lay  here  in  this  goodly  chamber, 
Yet  would  you  say,  ye  were  beaten  out  of  do-jr; 
And  rail  upon  the  hostess  of  the  house  ; 
And  say,  you  would  present  her  at  the  leet, 
Because  she  brought  stone  jugs  and  no  seal'd  quarts; 
Sometimes  you  would  call  out  for  Cicely  Hacket. 

Sly.  Ay,  the  woman's  maid  of  the  house. 

Serv.  Why,  sir,  you  know  uo  house,  nor  no  sucb 
maid ; 

Nor  no  such  men,  as  you  have  reckon'd  up, — 
As  Stephen  Sly,  and  old  John  Naps  of  Greece, 
And  Peter  Turf,  and  Henry  Pimpernell ; 

I  14 


210 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  L 


Aiul  twenty  more  such  names  and  men  as  these, 
VV  Iiicli  never  were,  nor  iki  m;u>  ever  saw 

Sitf.  Now,  Lord  be  thanked  for  my  goitd  ^.r^ends  I 

A/L  A(nen. 

S/t/.  I  (hank  thee  ;  thou  shalt  not  lose  l)y  it. 

Ktilcr  the  Pa'je,  as  a  lady,  with  Allendants. 

Pa;/f.  How  lares  my  no!)le  h»rd  ! 

Sly.  .Many,  I  lare  well  ;  lor  liere  is  cheer  enonj;li. 
\\  here  is  my  wile  ? 

Pfuje.  Here,  noble  lord;  What  is  thy  will  with 
lier?  Ihiisband  ? 

•*,7y.  Are  yon  my  wife,  and  will  not  tail  me — 
My  nif^n  siiould  call  me — lord  ;  I  an)  yonr  £;ood-man. 

Pa<je.  .My  husband  and  my  lord,  ujy  lord  and 
husbaiid  ; 
t  am  your  wile  in  all  ol)edienre. 

tily.  1  know  it  well :— What  innst  I  call  lier  ? 

Lord.  Madam. 

Sly.  .Alice  madam,  or  Joan  madam? 
Lortl.  .Madam,  and  nothing  else;  so  lord.s  call 
h'uhVs.  [and  .slept 

Sly.  Madam  wife,  they  flay  that  1  have  dream'd, 
Abo\t'  some  fifteen  year  and  more. 

I'ri'je  Ay,  and  the  tone  seems  thirty  nnto  me, 
IJrini;  all  this  time  abandon"d  from  yonr  bed. 

Sly.  "I'is  much;  Servants,  leave  me  and  her 

alone.  

.Madam,  nndres.s  you,  and  come  now  to  bed. 

Pnije.  'I'hrice  noble  lord,  let  me  entreat  of  you, 
To  pardon  me  yet  for  a  ni^ht  or  two; 
Or,  if  not  so,  initil  the  sun  be  set : 
For  your  physicians  have  expressly  charg'd. 
In  p<'rd  to  incur  your  former  malady, 
That  I  shoidd  yet  absent  me  from  your  bed  : 
I  ho|)e,  this  reason  stands  for  my  excuse. 

Sly.  .Ay,  it  .stands  so,  that  1  may  hardly  tarry  so 
long.  But  I  would  be  loath  to  lall  into  my  dreams 
ai^ain  ;  I  will  therefore  tarry,  in  despite  of  the  flesh 
and  the  blood. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Serv.  Your  honour's  players,  hearing  your  amend- 
ment. 

Are  come  to  play  a  pleasant  comedy, 

For  so  your  doctors  hold  it  very  meet; 

Seeing  too  much  sadness  hath  congeal'd  your  blood, 

And  melancholy  is  the  nurse  ofirenzy, 

Tlierefore,  they  thought  it  good  you  hear  a  play. 

And  frame  your  mind  to  mirth  and  merriment, 

Which  bars  a  thousand  harms,  and  lengthens  life. 

Sly.  iMarry,  I  will;  let  them  play  it:  Is  not  a 
commonty  a  Christmas  gambol,  or  a  tumbling  trick  ? 

Paye.  No,  my  good  lord  ;  it  is  more  pleasing  stulf. 

Sly.  What,  household  stuti"? 

Paye.  It  is  a  kind  of  history. 

Sly.  Weil,  we'll  see't :  Come,  madam  wife,  sit 
by  my  side,  and  let  the  world  slip;  we  shall  ne'er 
be  younger.  [They  sit  dotvn. 

ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — Padua.    A  public  Place. 
Enter  Lucentio  and  Tranio. 
Luc.  Tranio,  since — for  the  great  desire  I  had 
To  see  fair  Padua,  nursery  of  art.s, — 
I  am  arriv'd  for  fruitful  Lombardy, 
The  pleasant  garden  of  great  Italy  ; 
And,  by  my  father's  love  and  leave,  am  arm'd 
With  his  good  will,  and  thy  good  company. 
Most  trusty  servant,  well  aijprov'd  in  all  ; 
Here  let  us  breathe,  and  happily  institute 
A  course  of  learning,  and  ingenious  studies. 
Pisa,  renowned  for  grave  citizens. 
Gave  me  my  being,  and  my  father  first, 
A  merchant  of  great  traffic  through  the  world, 
Vincentio,  come  of  the  BentivoHi. 
Vincentio  his  son,  brought  up  in  Florence, 
It  (ihall  become,  to  serve  all  hopes  conceiv'd. 
To  deck  his  fortune  with  'lis  virtuous  deeds : 
And  siiersfort,  'I'ranLo.  fee  the  time  I  study. 


Virtue,  and  (hat  part  of  philosopby 
Will  I  apply,  that  ti'-ats  of  happiness, 
By  virtue  "specially  to  be  achie  fd. 
Tell  me  (liy  mind  :  for  I  have  Pisa  left, 
-And  am  to  Padua  come  ;  as  he  that  leave« 
-A  shallow  plash,  to  pliwige  him  in  the  deep. 
And  with  satiety  seeks  to  quench  his  thirst. 

7'm.  Mi  perdonate,  gentle  master  mine, 
I  am  in  all  affected  as  younself ; 
(ilad  that  you  thus  continue  your  resolve, 
To  suck  the  sweets  of  sweet  philosophy. 
Only,  good  master,  while  we  do  admire 
This  virtue,  and  this  moral  discipline, 
Lets  be  no  stoicks,  nor  no  storks,  1  pray; 
Or  so  de\ote  to  Aristotle's  checks, 
.As  Ovid  be  an  outcast  <|uife  abjur  tl  : 
Talk  logic  with  actpiaintance  that  you  have, 
And  practise  rhetoric  in  your  common  talk; 
iM;isic  and  poesy  use  to  quicken  you  ; 
The  mathematics,  and  the  metaphysics, 
Fall  (o  them,  as  yon  find  your  stomach  serves  yv)U  : 
No  i-rofit  grows,  where  is  no  pleasure  ta'en  ;— 
In  brief,  sir,  study  what  you  most  affect 

Lkc.  Gramercies,  Tranio,  well  dost  thou  advis«. 
It",  Biondello,  thou  wertcome  ashore. 
We  could  at  once  pat  us  in  readiness  ; 
And  take  a  lodging,  tit  to  entertain 
Such  friends  as  time  in  Padua  shall  beget. 
13t:4  stay  awhile  :  What  company  is  this  ? 

Tra.  Master,  some  show,  to  welcome  us  to  town. 

Enter  Baptist.^,  Katharina,  Bianca,  Gremio, 
and  HoRTENSio.  Lucentio  and  Tranio  stand 
aside. 

Bap.  Gentlemen,  importune  me  no  further. 
For  how  I  (irmly  an)  resolv'd  you  know  ; 
I'h.at  is, — not  to  bestow  my  youngest  daughter 
Before  I  have  a  husband  for  the  eider: 
If  either  of  you  bi  th  love  Kathaiina, 
Because  1  know  you  well,  and  love  you  well. 
Leave  shall  you  have  to  court  her  at  your  pleasure. 

Gre.  To    cart  her  rather:  She's  too  rough  far 
me  ; — 

There,  there,  Hortonsio,  will  yon  any  wife  ? 

Katk.  I  pray  you,  sir,  [to  Bap.  J  is  it  your  v'A 
To  n)ake  a  stale  of  mean)ongijt  these  matt  s  ? 

Hjr.  Mates,    maidi    how  mean   you  that'''  no 
mates  for  you, 
Unless  you  wei-e  of  gentler,  milder  mould 

Kath.  I'laith,  sir,  you  shall  never  need  to  tear^ 
I  wis.  it  is  not  half  way  to  her  heart: 
But,  if  it  were,  doubt  not  her  care  should  be 
To  comb  your  noddle  with  a  three-legg'd  stool. 
And  paint  your  face,  and  use  you  like  a  fool. 

Hor.  From  all  suci)  devils,  good  Loid,  deliver  us. 

Gre.  And  nie  too,  good  Lord  ! 

Tra.  Hush,  master!  here  is  some  good  pastime 
toward ; 

That  wench  is  stark  mad,  or  wonderful  froward. 

Luc.  But  in  the  other's  silence  I  do  see 
Maid's  mild  behaviour  and  sobriety. 
Peace,  Tranio. 

Tra.  WeW  said,  master  ;  mum  !  and  gaze  your  fill, 

Bap.  Gentlemen,  that  I  may  soon  make  good 
What  I  have  said, — Bianca,  get  you  in : 
And  let  it  not  displease  thee,  good  Bianca  ; 
For  I  will  love  thee  ne'er  th&  less,  my  girl 

Kath.  A  pretty  peat!  'tis  best 
Put  finger  in  the  eye, — and  she  knew  why. 

Bian.  Sister,  content  you  in  my  discontent. — 
Sir,  to  your  [)!easure  humbly  I  subscribe: 
My  books,  and  instruments,  shall  be  my  company; 
On  them  to  look,  and  practise  by  myself. 

Luc.  Hark,  Tranic  !  thou  may'st  hear  Minerva 
speak.  tAaid*.] 

Hor.  Signi^ir  Baptista,  will  you  be  so  strange? 
Sorry  am  1,  that  our  good  will  etiecta 
Biauca's  griet. 

Gre.  Why,  will  you  mew  h®r 

Signio"-  Baptista,  fc  r  this  fieud  of  hell, 


i 


Scene  1, 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


213 


And  make  Vier  bear  the  penance  of  her  tongne  ? 

Bap.  Gentlemen,  content  ye  ;  I  am  resolv'd  : — 
Go  in*  Bianca.  [Exit  Bianca. 

And  for  I  know,  she  taketh  most  delight 
In  music,  instruments,  and  poetry. 
Schoolmasters  will  I  keep  witiiin  my  house. 
Fit  to  instruct  her  youth. — If  you,  Hortensio, 
Or,  signior  Gi  etr.io,  you, — know  any  such. 
Prefer  them  hither;  for  to  cunning  men 
I  will  be  very  kind,  and  liberal 
To  mine  own  children  in  good  brin,:^ing  np: 
And  so  farewell.    Katharina,  you  may  stay  ; 
For  I  have  more  to  commune  with  Bianca.  [Exit. 

Kath.  Why,  and  I  trust,  I  may  go  too;  may  I 
not?  [like. 
What,  shall  I  be  appointed  hours;  as  though,  be- 
I  knew  not  what  to  take,  and  what  to  leave  ?  Ha  ! 

[Exit. 

Gre.  You  may  go  to  the  devil's  dam;  your  gifts 
'  are  so  good,  here  is  none  will  hold  you.  Their 
love  is  not  so  great,  Hortensio,  but  we  may  blow 
our  nails  together,  and  fast  it  fairly  out;  our  cake's 
dough  on  both  sides.  Farewell : — Yet,  for  the  love 
I  bear  my  sweet  Bianca,  if  1  can  by  any  means 
light  on  a  fit  man,  to  teach  her  that  wherein  she  de- 
lights, I  will  wish  him  to  her  father. 

Hor.  So  will  I,  signior  Gremio :  But  a  word,  I 
pray.  Though  the  nature  of  our  qiiarrel  yet  never 
brook'd  parle,  know  now,  upon  advice,  it  toucheth 
us  both, — that  we  may  yet  again  have  access  to  our 
fair  mistress,  and  he  ha[)py  rivals  in  Bianca's  love, 
— to  labour  and  effect  one  thing  'specially. 

Gre.  What's  that,  I  pray  ? 

Hor.  Marry,  sir,  to  get  a  husband  for  her  sister. 
Gre.  A  husband  I  a  devil. 
Hor.  I  say,  a  husband. 

Gre.  I  say,  a  devil:  Think'st  thou,  Hortensio, 
though  her  father  be  very  rich,  any  man  is  so  very  a 
fool  to  be  married  to  hell  ? 

Hor.  Tush,  Gremio,  though  it  pass  your  patience, 
and  mine,  to  endure  her  loud  alarums,  why,  man, 
therf  be  good  fellows  in  the  world,  an  a  man  could 
light  on  tnem  , '  would  take  her  with  all  faults,  and 
money  enough. 

Gre.  I  cannot  tell;  I  but  had  as  lief  take  her 
dowry  with  this  condition, — to  be  whipped  at  the 
high  cross  every  morning. 

Hor.  'Faith,  as  you  say,  there's  small  choice  in 
rotten  apples.  But,  come  ;  since  this  bar  in  law 
makes  us  Iriends,  it  shall  be  so  far  forth  friendly 
maintained, —  till  by  hel^jing  Baptista's  eldest 
daughter  to  a  husband,  we  set  his  youngest  free  for 
a  husband,  and  then  have  to't  afresh. — Sweet  Bian- 
ca I — Happy  man  be  his  dole  !  He  that  runs  fast- 
est, gets  the  ring.    How  say  you,  signior  Gremio  ? 

Gre.  I  am  agreed :  and 'would  I  iiad  given  him 
the  best  horse  in  Padua  to  begin  his  wooing,  tiiat 
would  thoroughly  woo  her,  wed  her,  and  bed  her, 
and  rid  the  house  of  her.    Come  on. 

{Exeunt  Gremio  and  Hortensio. 

Tra.  (Advanciny.)  I  pray,  sir,  tell  me, — Is  it 
possible 

That  love  should  of  a  sudden  take  such  hold? 

hue.  O  Tranio,  till  I  found  it  to  be  true, 
I  never  thought  it  possible,  or  likely  ; 
But  see  !  while  idly  [  stood  looking  on, 
[  found  the  eliect  of  love  in  idleness  : 
And  now  in  plainness  do  confess  to  thi-e, — 
That  art  to  me  as  secret,  and  as  dear. 
As  Aima  to  the  queen  of  Carthage  was, — 
Tranio,  I  burn,  I  pine,  I  perish,  IVanio, 
If  I  achieve  not  this  young  modest  girl : 
Counsel  me,  Tranio,  for  I  know  thou  canst: 
Assist  me.  Tranio,  for  I  know  thou  vi  lit. 

Tra.  Master,  it  is  no  time  to  ciiide  you  now  ; 
Affection  is  not  rat»^d  from        heart : 
If  love  have  touch'd  you,  nought  remains  but  so, — 
Rediine  te  captum  quam  queas  mininio.      [tents ; 

Imc.  Graint-rcies,  lad ;  go  forward  :  this  con- 
The  rest  will  comfort,  for  thy  couns^^l's  souod. 


Tra.  Master,  you  look'd  so  longly  on  the  maid. 
Perhaps  you  mark'd  not  what's  the  pith  ot  all. 

Luc.  0  yes,  1  saw  sweet  beauty  in  hor  face. 
Such  as  the  daughter  of  Agenor  had, 
That  made  great  Jove  to  humfile  him  to  her  hand. 
When  with  his  knees  he  kiss'd  the  Cretan  strand. 

7Va.  Saw  you  no  more?  mark  you  not,  how  hei 
sister 

Began  to  scold  ;  and  raise  np  such  a  storm, 
That  mortal  ears  might  hardly  endure  the  din  ' 

Luc.  Tranio,  1  saw. her  coral  lips  to  move, 
And  with  her  breath  she  did  perfume  the  air* 
Sacred,  and  sweet,  was  all  I  saw  in  her. 

Tra.  Nay,  then,  'tis  time  to  stir  him  from  his  traaf»t 
I  pray,  awake,  sir  :  If  you  love  the  maid, 
Bend  thoughts  and  wits  to  achieve  her.    Thus  it 
stands : 

Her  elder  sistf^r  is  so  curst  and  shrewd. 
That,  till  the  father  rid  his  hands  of  her 
Master,  your  love  must  live  a  maid  at  home , 
And  therefore  has  he  clo&ely  mew'd  her  up. 
Because  she  shall  not  be  annoy'd  with  suitors. 

Luc.  Ah,  Tranio,  what  a  cruel  father's  he  ! 
But  art  thou  not  advis'd,  he  took  some  care 
To  get  her  cunning  schoolmaster  to  instruct  her? 

IVa.  Ay,  marry,  am  I  sir ;  and  now  'tis  plotted. 

Luc.  I  ha%e  it,  Tranio. 

Tra.  Master,  for  my  hand, 

Both  our  inventions  meet  and  jump  in  one. 

Luc,  Tell  me  thine  first. 

Tra.  You  will  be  schoolmaster, 

And  undertake  the  teaching  of  the  maid  : 
That's  your  device. 

Luc.  It  is  :  May  it  be  done  ? 

7Va.  Not  possible  ;  For  who  shall  bear  your  part. 
And  be  in  Pad.ja  here  Vincentio's  son? 
Keep  house,  and  ply  his  book  ;  welcome  his  friends  ; 
^isit  his  countrymen,  and  banquet  them? 

Luc.  Basta;  content  thee  ;  for  I  have  it  full. 
We  have  not  yet  been  seen  in  any  house ; 
N("-  can  we  be  distinguished  by  our  faces, 
•^or  man,  or  master:  then  it  follows  thus; — 
Thou  shalt  be  master,  Tranio,  in  my  stead, 
Keep  house,  and  port,  and  servants,  as  I  should : 
I  will  some  other  be :  some  Florentine, 
Some  Neapolitan,  or  mean  man  of  Pisa. — 
'I'is  hat(  h'd,  and  shall  be  so  : — Tranio,  at  once 
Uncase  thee  ;  take  my  colour'd  hat  and  cloak  : 
When  Biondello  comes,  he  waits  on  thee  ; 
But  T  will  charm  him  first  to  keep  his  tongue. 

Tru.  So  had  you  need.  [Thet/  exchange  habits.) 
In  brief,  then,  sir,  sith  it  your  [/ieasure  is. 
And  I  am  tied  to  be  obedient ; 
(For  so  your  father  charg'd  me  at  our  parting: 
Be  serviceable  to  my  son,  quoth  he, 
Althougii,  I  think,  'twas  in  another  sense) 
I  am  content  to  be  Lucentio, 
Because  so  well  I  love  Lucentio. 

Luc.  Tranio,  be  so,  because  Lucentio  lovea; 
And  let  me  be  a  slave,  to  achieve  that  maid, 
Whose  sudden  sight  hath  thrall'd  my  wounded  eye. 

Enter  Biondello. 

Here  comes  the  rogue. — Sirrah,  where  haye  you 
been  ?  [where  are  you  ? 

Bion.  Where  have  I  been  ?    Nay,  how  now. 
Master,  has  my  fellow  I'ranio  stol'n  your  clothes? 
Or  you  stol'n  his  ?  or  both  ?  pray,  what's  the  new  s  ? 

Luc.  Sirrah,  comf  hither,  'tis  no  time  to  jest, 
And  therefore  frame  your  manners  to  the  time, 
Your  fellow  Tranio,  here,  to  save  my  life. 
Puts  my  apparel  and  my  countenance  on, 
And  I  Ibr  my  escape  have  put  on  his ; 
For  in  a  quarrel,  since  I  came  ashore, 
I  kili'd  a  man,  and  fear  I  was  descried. 
Wait  you  on  him,  I  charge  you,  as  becomes, 
While'  I  make  way  from  hence  to  save  my  life: 
You  understand  me? 

Bion.  I,  sir?  ne'er  a  whit 

Luc.  And  not  a  jot  of  Tranio  in  your  mouth  ^ 


212 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  1 


Ttssvo  is  chang'c!  into  Lncentio. 

hton.  The  better  for  him  ;  'Would  I  were  so  too  ! 
Tra.  So  would  I,  faith,  boy,  to  have  the  next 
wish  after. —  [dau^jhter. 
That    Lucentio   nideed   had  Baptista's  youngest 
But,  sirrah, — not  foi  my  sake,  but  your  master's, — 
I  advise  (companies: 
You  use   your  manners  discreetly  in  all  kind  of 
When  I  am  alone,  why,  then  1  am  Tranio  ; 
lint  in  all  plares  else,  your  master  Lucentio. 

Ltic.  Tranio,  let's  go : — 
One  thing  more  rests,  that  thyself  execute  ; — 
To  make  one  among  these  wooers  :  If  thou  ask  me 
why, 

SftSceth,  my  reasons  are  both  good  and  weighty. 

[Exeunt. 

I  Serv.  My  lord,  you  nod;  you  do  not  mind  the 
play. 

Shj.  Yes,  by  saint  Anne,  do  I.  A  good  matter 
turely  ;  Comes  there  any  more  of  it  f 

Page.  My  lord,  'tis  but  hejjun. 

Sly.  'Tis  a  very  excellent  piece  of  work,  madam 
lady ;  '  Would' t  were  done  ! 

Scene  II.  —  The  same.    Before  Hortensio's 
House. 

Enter  Petruchio  and  Grumio. 

Pet.  Verona,  for  a  while  I  take  my  leave. 
To  see  my  friends  in  Padua;  but,  of  all. 
My  best  beloved  and  approved  Iriend, 
Hortensio;  and,  I  tiov\',  this  is  his  house: — 
Here,  sirrah  Grumio;  knock,  I  say. 

Gru.  Knock,  sir!  whom  should  I  knock?  is 
there  a'ly  man  has  rebused  your  worship? 

Pet.  Villain,  1  say,  knock  me  here  soundly. 

Gru.  Knock  you  here,  sir?  why,  sir,  what  am 
1,  sir,  that  I  should  knock  you  here,  sir? 

Pet.  Villain,  I  say,  knock  me  at.  tliis  gate, 
^^Liid  rap  uie  well,  or  I'll  knock  your  knave's  pate, 

Gru.  My  master  is  grown  quarrelsome :  1  should 
knock  you  first, 
And  then  I  knovv  after  who  comes  by  the  worst. 

Pet.  Will  it  not  be  ? 
'Faith,  sirrah,  and  you'll  not  knock,  I'll  wring  it; 
I'll  try  how  you  can  sol,  fa,  and  sing  it. 

t'  He  wrings  Grumio  by  the  ears.  J 

Gru.  Help,  masters,  help  !  my  master  is  mad. 

Pet.  Now,  knock  when  I  bid  you:  sirrah  !  vil- 
lain ! 

Enter  Hortensio. 

Hor.  How  now!  what's  the  matter? — My.  old 
friend  Grumio!  and  my  good  friend  Petruchio! — 
How  do  you  all  at  Verona  ? 

Pet.  S'ignior  Hortensio,  come  you  to  part  the 
Con  tutto  il  core  bene  trovato,  may  I  say.     [fray  ? 

Hur.  Alia  nostra  casa  bene  vennto, 
Molto  honurato  signer  mio  Petruchio. 
fiise,  Grumio,  rise;  we  will  compound  this  quarrel. 

Gru.  N;iy,  'tis  no  matter,  what  he  'leges  in  Latin. 
— If  lliis  be  not  a  lawi'ul  cause  for  me  to  leave  his 
service, — Look  you,  sir, — he  bid  me  knock  him,  and 
rap  him  soundly,  sir:  Well,  was  it  fit  for  a  servant 
to  use  his  master  so ;  being,  perliaps,  (lor  aught  I 
see),  two  and  thirty, — a  pip  out 
Whoni,  'would  to  God,  I  had  well  knock'd  at  first. 
Then  had  not  Grumio  come  by  the  worst. 

Pet.  A  senseless  villain  ! — Good  Hortensio, 
f  bade  the  ra&cal  knock  upon  your  gate. 
And  could  not  get  him  for  my  heart  to  do  it. 

Gru.  Knock  at  the  gate  ? — O  heavens  ! 
Spake  you  not  these  words  plain, — Sirrah,  knock 
me  here,  [ly  ? 

Rap  me  here,  knock  me  ivell,  and  knock  me  sound- 
And  come  you  now  with — kuoi  king  at  tlie  gate  ? 

Pet.  Sirrah,  be  gone,  or  talk  not,  1  advise  you. 

Ror.  Petruchio,  patience  ;  1  am  Grumio's  pledge  : 
Why,  this  is  a  heavy  chance  'twixt  liiui  and  you  ; 
Your  ancient,  trusty,  pleasant  servant  Grumio. 
(kiid  tell  me  now,  swoet  friend, — what  happy  gale 


Blows  you  to  Padua  here,  Trom  old  Yej  oua  ? 
Pet.  Such  wind  as  scatters  young  men  fhroagSt 
the  world. 

To  seek  their  fortunes  further  than  at  home. 
Where  small  experience  grows.    But,  in  a  few, 
Signior  Hortensio,  thus  it  stands  with  me 
Antonio,  my  father,  is  deceas'd  ; 
And  I  have  thrust  myself  into  this  maze, 
Haply  to  wive,  and  thrive,  as  best  I  may  : 
Crowns  in  my  purse  1  have,  and  goods  at  home. 
And  so  am  cojie  abroad  to  see  the  world. 

Hor.  Petruchio,  shall  I  then  come  rounvily  ti 
thee. 

And  wish  thee  to  a  shrewd  ill-favour'd  wife? 
Thoud  st  thank  me  but  a  little  for  my  counsrl : 
And  yet  I  II  promise  thee  she  shall  be  rich. 
And  very  rich  : — but  thou'rt  too  uuich  my  friend. 
And  I'll  not  wish  thee  to  her. 

Pet.  Signior  Hortensio,  'twixt  such  friends  as  we, 
Few  words  suffice  :  and,  therefore,  if  thou  know 
One  rich  enough  to  be  Petruchio's  wife, 
(As  wealth  is  burden  of  my  wooing  dance,) 
Be  she  as  Ibul  as  was  Florentius'  love, 
As  old  as  Sybil,  and  as  curst  and  shrewd 
As  Socrates'  Xantippe,  or  a  worse. 
She  moves  not,  or  not  remo\es,  at  least, 
Afiection's  edge  in  me  ;  were  she  as  rough 
As  are  the  swelling  Adriatic  seas  : 
I  come  to  wive  it  wealthily  in  Padua; 
If  wealthily,  then  happily  in  Padua. 

Gru.  Nay,  look  you,  sir,  he  tells  you  flatly  what 
his  mind  is  :  Why,  give  him  gold  enough,  and  marry 
him  to  a  puppet,  or  an  aglet-baby;  or  an  old  trot 
with  ne'er  a  tooth  in  her  head,  though  she  have  aa 
many  diseases  as  two  and  tilty  horses  :  why,  nothing 
comes  amiss,  so  money  comes  withal. 

Hor.  Petiuchio,  since  we  have  stepp'd  thus  far 
I  will  continue  that  I  broach'd'in  jest.  [in, 
I  can,  Petruciiin,  lielp  thee  to  a  wile 
With  wealth  enough,  and  young,  and  beauteous; 
Brought  up  as  best  becomes  a  gentlewoman: 
Her  only  lault  (and  that  is  faults  enough,) 
Is, — that  she  is  intolerably  curst, 
And  shrewd,  and  froward ;  so  beyond  all  measure. 
That,  were  my  state  far  worser  than  it  is, 
I  would  not  wed  her  for  a  mine  of  goid. 

Pet.  Hortensio,  peace  ;  thou  know'st  not  gold's 
e  fleet : — 

Tell  me  her  father's  name,  and  'tis  enough; 
For  I  will  board  her,  though  she  chide  as  loud 
As  thimder,  when  the  clouds  in  autumn  crack. 

Hur.  Her  father  is  Baptista  Minola, 
An  att'able  and  courteous  gentleman: 
Her  name  is  Katharina  Minola, 
Renowii'd  in  Padua  lor  her  scolding  tongue. 

Pet.  I  know  her  father,  though  I  know  not  her; 
And  he  knew  rny  deceased  father  well: 
I  will  not  sleep,  Hortensio,  till  I  see  her; 
And  therefore  let  i  o  be  thus  bold  with  you, 
To  give  you  over  at  this  first  encounter. 
Unless  you  will  accompany  me  thither, 

Gru.  I  pray  you,  sir,  let  him  go  while  the  humour 
lasts,  O"  my  word,  an  she  knew  him  as  well  as  1 
do,  she  would  think  scolding  would  do  little  good 
upon  him:  She  may,  perhaps,  call  him  half  a  score 
knaves,  or  so:  wliy,  that's  notiiing;  an  he  begio 
once,  he'll  rail  in  his  rope-tricks,  I'll  teli  you  what, 
sir, — an  she  stand  him  but  a  little,  he  will  throw  a 
figure  in  her  face,  and  so  disfigure  her  with  it,  that 
she  shall  have  no  more  eyes  to  see  withal  than  ff 
cat:  You  know  him  not,  sir. 

Hor.  Tarry,  Petfuchio,  I  must  go  with  thee  ; 
For  in  Baptista's  keep  my  treasure  is: 
He  hath  the  jewel  (»f  my  life  in  hold, 
His  youngest  daughter,  beautiful  Bianca; 
And  her  withholds  from  me,  and  other  more 
Suitors  to  her,  and  rivals  in  my  love: 
Supposing  it  a  thing  impossible, 
(For  those  defects  I  have  before  rehears'dj 
That  ever  Katharina  will  be  woo'd. 


Scene  2. 


TAMING  OF 


THE  SHREW. 


213 


TJierefore  this  order  hath  Baptista  ta'en ; — 
That  none  sitail  have  access  unto  Biatica, 
Till  Katharine  the  curst  have  got  a  husl)and. 

Gru.  Katharine  the  ciUotl 
A  title  for  a  maid,  of  all  titles  the  worst. 

11  jr.  Now  shall  niy  friend  Petiuchio  do  me  grare, 
And  offer  me,  disguis"d  in  sober  robes. 
To  old  Baptista  as  a  schuohnaster 
Well  seen  in  music,  to  instruct  Bianca: 
That  so  I  may  by  this  device,  at  least. 
Have  leave  and  leisure  to  make  love  to  her, 
And,  unsuspected,  court  her  by  herself. 

Enter  CJremio  ;  ivil/i  him  LucENTiO  disguised, 
tcith  books  vnder  his  arm. 

Gru.  Here's  uo  knavery!  See,  to  beguile  the  old 
folks,  how  the  young  folks  lay  their  heads  together  I 
Master,  master,  look  about  you:  Who  goes  there? 
ha! 

Hor.  Peace,  Grumio;  'tis  the  rival  of  my  love  : 
■ — Petrijchio,  stand  by  a  while. 

Gru.  A  proper  stripling,  and  an  amorous  ! 

[They  retire.) 

Gre.  O,  very  well ;  I  have  perus'd  the  note. 
Hark  you,  sir;  I'll  have  them  very  fairly  bound: 
Ail  books  oi"  love,  see  that  at  any  hand  ; 
And  see  you  read  no  other  lectures  to  her: 
You  understand  me  :~~Over  and  beside 
Signior  Baptista's  liberality. 

I'll  mend  it  with  a  largess- — Take  your  papers  too. 

And  let  ine  have  them  very  vvell  perfum'd ; 

Fot  -hi  is  sweeter  thaa  perfume  itself. 

To    horn  tlu^y  go.    W  at  will  you  read  to  her? 

Lw:.  VVhate'er  1  read  to  her,  I'll  plead  for  you, 
A$  for  .ny  patron,  (stand  you  so  assur'd,) 
As  (irmly  as  yourseli"  were  still  in  place- 
Ye.a,  and  (perhaps)  with  more  successful  words 
''^han  you,  unless  you  were  a  scholar,  sir. 

Gi-e.  O  this  learning!  what  a  thing  it  is  ! 

Gru   0  this  woodcock  I  what  an  ass  it  is  ! 

Pei   i'eace,  sirrah, 

Hor  Grumir>,    mum ! — God  save   you,  signior 
G'-emio!  [Trow  you, 

(h-e.  And  you're  well  met,   signior  Hortensio. 

hither  I  am  going? — To  Baptista  Minola. 
1  promis'd  to  entjuire  carefully 
About  a  schoolmaster  for  fair  Bianca  ; 
And,  by  good  i'ortune,  i  tiave  lighted  well 
Oil  tins  young  man;  for  learning  and  behaviour. 
Fit  for  her  turn;  well  read  in  poetry. 
And  other  books, — good  oni-s,  I  warrant  you. 

Hor.  Tis  well ;  and  I  have  met  a  gentleman. 
Haul  prouiis'd  lae  to  help  me  to  another, 
A  fine  iHisician  to  instruct  our  mistress; 
So  .shall  i  no  whit  be  behind  in  duty 
To  fair  Bianca,  so  belov'd  of  me.  [prove. 

Gre.  Belov'd  of  me, — and  that  my  deeds  siiall 

Gru.  And  that  his  bags  shall  prove.  [Aside.) 

Hor.  Gremio,  'tis  now  no  time  to  vent  our  love  : 
t.isten  to  me,  and  if  you  speak  me  fair, 
I'll  tell  you  news  inditl'erent  good  for  either. 
Here  is  a  gentleman,  whom  by  chance  I  met. 
Upon  agreement  i'rom  us  to  his  liking, 
Will  undertake  to  woo  curst  Katlianne  ; 
Vea.  and  to  man  y  her,  if  her  dowry  please. 

Gre.  So  said,  so  done,  is  well : — 
Hoitensio,  have  you  told  hiin  all  her  faults? 

Pet.  1  know  slie  is  an  irksome  brawling  scold  ; 
If  that  be  all,  masters,  1  hear  net  harm.  [man? 

Gre.  No,  say'st  me  so,  fiiend  ?  What  country- 

Pet.  Born  in  Verona,  old  Antonio's  son: 
l\ly  lather  dead,  my  fortune  lives  for  me ; 
And  1  do  hope  good  days,  and  long,  to  see. 

Gre.  O,  sir,  such  a  life,  vvitli  such  a  wife,  were 
strange ; 

But,  if  you  have  a  stomach,  to't,  o'God's  name; 
Vou  shall  nave  me  assisting  you  in  alL 
But  will  vou  woo  this  wild  cat  ? 
FeL  Will  I  live? 


Gm.  Will  he  woo  lier  ?  ay,  or  I'll  haag  her 

{Aside) 

Pet.  Why  came  I  hither,  but  to  that  intent? 
Think  you  a  little  din  can  daunt  mine  ears  1 
Have  1  not  in  my  time  heard  lions  roar  ? 
Have  I  not  heartl  the  sea,  puif'd  up  with  vpinils, 
Rage  like  an  angry  boar,  chafed  with  sweat? 
Have  1  not  heaid  great  ordnance  in  the  lield; 
And  heaven's  artillery  thunder  in  the  skies? 
Have  I  not  in  the  pitched  battle  heard 
Loud  'larums,  neighing  steeds,  and  trumpets' clang' 
And  do  you  tell  me  of  a  woman's  tongue,. 
'J'hat  gives  not  half  so  great  a  blow  to  the  ear^ 
As  will  a  chesnut  in  a  farmer's  lire  ? 
Tush!  tush!  fear  boys  with  bugs. 

(rru.  For  he  tears  none.  [Anide^ 

Gre.  Hortensio,  hark  1 
This  gentleman  is  happily  arriv'd. 
My  mind  presumes,  for  his  ovvn  good,  and  yours, 

Hor.  I  promis'di  we  would  be  contributors. 
And  bear  his  charge  of  wooing,  whatsoe'er. 

Gre.  And  so  we  will ;  provided,  that  he  win  her 

Gru.  I  would,  I  were  as  sure  of  a  good  dinner. 

[Aside.] 

Enter  Tranio,  bravely  appareWd,  and  Biondjsllo. 
Tra.  Cientlemcn,  God  save  you  I   If  1  may  be 

bold, 

Tell  me,  1  beseech  you,  which  is  t-he  readiest  way 
To  the  house  of  signior  Baptista  Minola  ? 

Gre.  He  that  has  the  two  fair  daughters  :— 
[Aside  to  IVanio.)  is't  he  you  mean? 

Tt-a.  E\en  he.    Biondello  I 

Gre.  Hark  you,  sii    You  mean  not  her  to  

Tra.  Perhaps,  him  and  her,  sir?  What  have  you 
to  dt»  ? 

Pet.  Not  her  that  chides,  sir,  at  any  hand,  I  pray 
7V«.  J  love  no   chiders,  sir: — Biondello,  let's 
away. 

Ltcc.  Well  begun,  Tranio.  [Aside^^ 
Hor.  Sir,  a  word  ere  you  go ; — 
Are  you  a  suitor  to  the  maid  you  talk  of,  yea,  or  no? 
Tra.  An  if  I  be,  sir,  is  it  any  otl'ence  ? 
Gre.  No ;  if,  without  more  words,  you  will  gel 
you  hence. 

Tra.  VVhy,  sir,  I  pray,  are  not  the  streets  as  free 
For  me,  as  lor  you  ? 

Gre.  But  so  is  not  she. 

Tra.  For  what  leason,  1  beseech  you  ? 

Gre.  For  this  reason,  if  you'll  know,  

That  she's  the  choice  love  of  signior  Gremio. 

Hor.  That  she's  the  chosen  of  signior  Hortensio. 

Tra.  Sofdy,  my  masters!  il'you  be  gentleniea. 
Do  niH  this  right, — hear  me  witli  patience. 
Baptista  is  a  noble  gentle n*in. 
To  whom  my  father  is  not  all  unknown  ; 
And,  were  his  daughter  fairer  than  she  is. 
She  may  more  suitors  have,  and  me  for  one. 
Fair  Leda's  daughter  had  a  thousand  wooers; 
Tiipn  well  one  more  may  fair  Bianca  have  : 
And  so  she  shall ;  Lucentio  shall  make  one. 
Though  Paris  came,  in  hope  to  speed  alone. 

Gre.  What !  this  gentleman  v/ill  out  talk  us  all. 

Luc.  Sir,  give  him  head;  I  know,  he'll  prove  4 
jade. 

Pet.  Hortensio,  to  what  end  are  all  these  words  I 

Hor.  Sir,  let  me  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  you. 
Did  you  ever  yet  see  Baptista's  daughter? 

Tra.  No,  sir:  but  hear  I  do,  that  he  hath  tvfo; 
The  one  as  famous  for  a  scolding  tongue, 
As  is  the  other  for  beauteous  modesty. 

Pet.  Sir,  sir,  the  Hrst's  for  me  ;  let  her  gc  by. 

Gre.  Yea,  leave  that  labour  to  great  Hercules; 
And  let  it  be  more  than  Alcides'  twelve. 

Pet.  Sir,  understand  you  this  ol'  me,  in  &ooihi<^. 
The  youngest  daughter,  whom  you  hearken  for, 
tier  father  keeps  liom  all  access  of  suitors^ 
And  will  not  promi.se  her  to  any  man. 
Until  tlie  elder  sister  first  be  wed  : 
The  j  uun^er  tlsrfca  is  free,  axid  not  before 


TxVMING  OF  THE  SHREW 


214 

Tra.  if  it  be  so,  sir,  that  you  are  tlie  mao 
Must  stead  us  all,  and  me  among  the  rest; 
And  if  you  break  the  ice,  and  do  this  feat, — 
Achieve  the  elder,  set  the  younger  free 
lor  our  access, — whose  hap  sliall  be  to  have  her, 
Will  not  so  graceless  be,  to  be  ingrate. 

Hor.  Sh-,  you  say  well,  and  well  you  do  conceive  ; 
And  since  you  do  profess  to  be  a  suitor, 
Vou  must,  as  we  do,  gratify  this  gentleman, 
To  whom  we  all  rest  generally  beholden. 

Tra.  Sir,  I  shall  not  be  slack :  in  sign  whereof, 
Please  ye  we  may  contrive  this  afternoon. 
And  quaff  carouses  to  our  mistress'  health; 
And  do  as  adversaries  do  in  law, — 
Strive  mighttly,  but  eat  and  drink  as  friends. 

Gru.  Bion.  O  excellent  motion  1  Fellows,  let's 
begone. 

Hor.  The  motion's  good,  indeed,  and  be  it  so  ; 
Fetruchio,  I  shall  be  your  ben  venuto.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — The  same.    A  Room  in  Baptista's 
House. 

Enter  Katharina  and  Bianca. 
Bian.  Good  sister,  wrong  me  not,  nor  wrong 
yourself, 

To  make  a  bondmaid  and  a  slave  of  me  ; 
That  I  disdain :  but  for  these  other  gawds. 
Unbind  my  hands,  I'll  pull  them  off  myself. 
Yea,  all  ray  raiment,  to  my  petticoat ; 
Or,  what  you  will  command  me,  will  I  do. 
So  well  I  know  my  duty  to  my  elders. 

Kath.  Of  all  thy  suitors,  here  I  charge  thee,  tell 
Whom  thou  lov'st  best:  see  thou  dissemble  not. 

Bian.  Believe  me,  sister,  of  all  the  men  alive, 
r  never  yet  beheld  that  special  face 
Which  1  could  fancy  more  th;\n  any  other. 

Kath.  Minion,  thou  liest :  Is't  not  Hortensio  ? 

Bian.  If  you  affect  him,  sister,  here  I  sweai% 
ri!  plead  for  you  myself,  but  you  shall  have  him. 

Kath.  O  tlien,  belike,  you  fancy  riches  more ; 
You  will  have  Gremio  to  keep  you  fair. 

Bian.  Is  it  for  him  you  do  envy  me  so  ? 
Nay,  then  you  jest;  and  now  1  weil  perceive, 
You  have  but  jested  with  me  all  this  while  : 
I  pr'ythee,  sister  Kate,  untie  my  hands. 

Kath.  If  that  be  jest,  then  all  vhe  rest  was  so. 

{Strikes  her.) 

Enter  B.u^tista. 

Bap.  Why,  how  now,  dame  I  whence  grows  this 

insolence  ?  

Bianca,  stand  aside  ; — poor  girl !  she  weeps  : — 
Go  ply  thy  needle  ;  meddle  not  with  her. — 
For  shauje,  thou  hilding  of  a  devilish  spirit, 
Why  dost  thou  wrong  her,  that  did  ne'er  wrong 

thee  ? 

When  did  she  cross  thee  with  a  bitter  word  ? 

Kath.  Her  silence  flouts  me,  and  I'll  be  re- 
venged. [Flies  after  Bianca. 
Bap.  What,  in  my  sight  ? — Bianca,  get  thee  in. 

[Exit  Bianca. 

Kath.  Will  you  not  suffer  me  ?  Nay,  now  I  see, 
She  is  your  treasure,  she  must  have  a  husband  ; 
I  must  dance  bare-foot  on  her  wedding-day, 
And,  for  your  love  to  her,  lead  apes  in  hell. 
Ttilk  not  to  me  ;  I  will  go  sit  and  weep. 
Till  1  can  find  occasion  of  revenge.       [Exit  Kath. 

Bap.  Was  ever  gentleman  thus  griev'd  as  1 '( 
But  who  comes  here  ? 

¥mter  Gremio,  ivith  LuCENTiq  in  the  habit  of  a 
mean  man ;  Fetrlchio,  ivith  Hortensio  as  a 
musician;  and' Vrxnio,  with  BiONDELLO,  bearing 
a  lute  and  books. 

Ore.  Good -morrow,  neighbour  Baptista. 
Bap.  Good-morrow,  neighbour  Gremio  :  God 
save  you,  gentlemen! 


Pet.  And  you,  good  sir!  Pray, 
Cail'd  Katharina,  lair,  and  viituuus? 
Bap.  I  have  a  daughter,  sir,  cail'd 
Qre.  You  are  too  blunt ;  go  to  it  order 
Pet.  You  wrong  me,  signior  Gremio  ^ 
leave. — 

I  am  a  gentleman  of  Verona,  sir. 

That, — hearing  of  her  beauty,  and  berwily 

Her  affability,  and  bashful  modesty. 

Her  wondrous  qualities,  and  mild  behaviouTy— 

Am  bold  to  show  myself  a  forward  guest 

Within  your  house,  to  make  mine  eye  the  witaecs 

Of  that  report,  which  I  so  oft  have  heard. 

And,  for  an  entrance  to  my  entertainment, 

I  do  present  you  with  a  man  of  mine, 

{Presenting  Hortenaia  ] 
Cunning  in  music,  and  the  mathematics. 
To  instruct  her  fully  in  those  sciences, 
VV^hereof,  I  know,  she  is  not  ignorant: 
Accept  of  him,  or  else  you  do  me  wrong ; 
His  name  is  Licio,  born  in  Mantua.  [sake: 

Bap.  You're  welcome,  sir ;  and  he,  for  your  gooH 
But  for  my  daughter  Katharina, — this  I  know. 
She  is  not  for  your  turn,  the  more  my  grief. 

Pet.  I  see  you  do  not  mean  to  part  with  her ; 
Or  else  you  like  not  of  my  company. 

Bap.  Mistake  me  not,  I  speak  but  as  I  find. 
Whence  are  you,  sir?  what  may  I  call  your  n»me  ? 

Pet.  Petruchio  is  my  name  ;  Antonio's  son, 
A  man  well  known  throughout  all  Italy. 

Bap.  I  know  him  well :  you  are  welcome  foi  bis 
sake. 

Gre.  Saving  your  tale,  Petruchio,  I  jiray, 
Let  us,  that  are  poor  petitioners,  speak  t(v  : 
Baccare  !  you  are  marvellous  forward. 

Pet.  O,  pardon  me,  signior  Gremio;  I  v;ould  faiiu 
be  doing. 

Gre.  I  doubt  it  not,  sir;  but  you  will  curse  youf 
wooing.  

Neighbour,  this  is  a  gift  very  grateful,  I  am  sure  of 
it.  'I'o  express  the  like  kindness  myself,  that  have 
been  more  kindly  beholden  to  you  than  any,  I  fieely 
give  unto  you  this  young  scholar  {presenting  Ltc- 
centio),  that  hath  been  long  studying  at  Rhtims ;  as 
cunning  in  Greek,  Latin,  and  other  languages,  as 
the  other  in  music  and  mathematics:  his  name  is 
Cainbio;  pray,  accept  his  service. 

Bap.  A  thousand  thanks,  signior  Gremio:  wel- 
come,  good  Cambio. — But,  gentle  sir,  [to  Tranio.) 
m(  thinks  you  walk  like  a  stranger ;  May  1  be  so 
bold  to  know  the  cause  of  your  coming  ? 

Tra.  Pardon  me,  sir,  the  boldness  is  mine  own ; 
That,  being  a  stranger  in  this  city  here, 
Do  make  myself  a  suitor  to  your  daughter. 
Unto  Bianca,  iair,  and  virtuous. 
Nor  is  your  firm  resolve  anknown  to  me, 
In  the  preferment  of  the  elder  sister; 
This  liberty  is  all  that  I  request, — 
That,  upon  knowledge  of  my  parentage, 
I  may  have  welcome  'mangst  the  rest  that  woo, 
And  free  access  and  favour  as  the  rest. 
And  toward  the  education  of  your  daughters, 
I  here  bestow  a  simple  instrument, 
And  this  small  packet  of  Greek  end  Latin  books: 
If  you  accept  them,  then  their  worth  is  great 

Bap.  Lucentio  is  your  name?  of  whence,  I  praj  ? 

Tra.  Of  Pisa,  sir;  son  to  Vincentio. 

Bap.  A  mighty  man  of  Pisa ;  by  report 
I  know  him  well :  you  are  very  welcome,  sir.— 
Take  you  {to  Hor.)  the  lute,  and  you  {to  hue.)  tke 

set  of  books, 
You  shall  go  see  your  pupils  presently 
Holla,  within! 

Etter  a  Servant. 
Sirrah,  lead  [both. 
These  gentlemen  (to  my  daughters;  and  tell  them 
These  are  their  tutors  ;  bid  them  use  them  well. 

[Exit  Servant,  with  Hortensio,  Lucentio 
Biondello. 


Scene  1. 


TAMING  OF 


THE  SHREW. 


21* 


We  will  go  walk  a  little  in  the  orchard, 

And  theu  to  dinner:  You  are  passing  welcome, 

And  so  I  pray  you  all  to  think  yourselves. 

Pat.  Signior  Baptista,  my  business  asketh  haste, 
Aud  every  day  !  cannot  come  to  woo. 
t  on  knf  w  my  father  well ;  and  in  him,  me. 
Left  sjlely  heir  to  all  his  lands  and  goods, 
V\  hich  I  have  better  >'  rather  than  decreas'd : 
Then  tell  me, — If  I  gtt  your  daughter's  love, 
What  dowry  shall  1  have  with  her  to  wife  ? 

Bap.  After  my  death,  the  one  half  of  my  lands  ; 
A-ttd,  in  possession,  twenty  thousand  crowns. 

Pet.  And,  for  tiiat  dowry,  l"ll  ass'ure  her  of 
[ler  widowhood, — be  it  that  she  survive  me, — 
In  all  my  lands  and  leases  whatsoever: 
Let  specialties  be  therefore  drawn  between  us, 
That  covenants  may  be  kept  on  either  liand. 

Bap.  Ay  when  the  special  thing  is  well  obtain'd. 
That  is, — her  love  ;  for  that  is  all  in  all. 

Pet.  Why,  that  is  nothing;  for  I  tell  you,  father, 
)  au«  as  peremptory  as  she  proud-uiin;led  ; 
And  where  two  raging  liies  njeet  together, 
They  do  cozisume  tne  thuig  that  feeds  their  fury: 
'i'hough  little  Hie  grows  great  with  little  wind. 
Yet  extreme  gusts  will  blow  out  fire  and  all: 
So  I  to  her,  and  so  she  yields  to  me  ; 
For  I  am  rougn,  and  woo  not  like  a  babe. 

Bap.  Well  may'st  thou  woo,  and  happy  be  thy 
speed  ! 

But  be  thou  arm'd  for  some  unhappy  words. 

Pet.  Ay,  to  the  proof;  as  mountains  are  for  winds, 
That  shake  not,  though  tliey  blow  perpetually. 

Re.  enter  Hortensio,  with  his  head  broken. 
Bap.  How  now,  my  friend  ?  why  dost  thou  look 
so  pale  ? 

Hor.  For  tear,  I  promise  you,  if  I  look  pale. 
Bap.  What,   will  my  daughter  prove  a  good 
Uiusician  ^ 

Hot.  1  thmk,  she'll  sooner  prove  a  soldier; 
Iron  ma>  hold  with  her,  but  never  lutes.  [lute? 
Bap.  Why,  then  thou  canst  not  break  her  to  the 
Hor.  Why,  no;  for  she  hath  broke  the  lute  to  me. 
I  did  but  tell  her  she  mistook  her  frets. 
And  bow'd  her  hand  to  teach  her  Hngering; 
When,  with  a  most  impatient  devilish  spir.t, 
Frets,  call  you  these  '/  quoth  she  :  ///  fume  with 
tketii : 

And;  witli  tuat  word,  she  struck  me  on  the  head. 

And  tlirougti  the  iiistrument  my  pate  made  way  ; 

And  there  I  stood  amazed  lor  a  while, 

As  on  a  pillory,  looking  ttirough  the  lute: 

While  siie  did  call  me,— rascal  fiddler, 

And — tvvangling  Jack  ;  with  twenty  such  vile  terms, 

As  she  had  studied  to  misuse  me  so. 

Pet.  Now,  by  the  world,  it  is  a  lusty  wench; 
I  love  her  ten  times  more  than  e'er  I  did: 
O,  how  I  long  to  have  some  chat  with  her  ! 

Bap.  VVell,  go  with  me,  and  be  not  so  discom- 
fited : 

Proceed  in  practice  with  my  younger  daughter ; 
She's  apt  to  learn,  and  thankful  for  good  turns. — 
Signior  Fetruchio,  will  you  go  with  us. 
Or  shall  1  send  my  daugater  Kate  to  you  ? 
Pet.  I  pray  you  do,  I  will  attend  her  here, — 

[Exeunt  Baptista,  Gremio,  Tranio,  and 
Hortensio. 

And  woo  her  with  some  spirit,  when  she  comes. 
Say,  tluit  she  rail;  Why,  then  I'll  tell  her  plain. 
She  siii^s  as  sweetly  as  a  nightingale  : 
H  iay,  that  she  frowa ;  I'll  say,  she  looks  as  clear 
"As  morning  roses  newly  wash'd  with  dew: 
Say,  she  be  mute,  and  will  not  speak  a  word  ; 
Then  I'll  commend  her  volubility. 
And  say — she  uttereth  piercing  eloquence  : 
If  she  do  bid  tne  pack,  I'll  give  her  thanks. 
As  though  she  bid  me  stay  by  her  a  week; 
If  ijie  deny  to  wed,  I'll  crave  the  day 
Wlieu  I  shall  ask  the  banns;  and  when  be  married  : — 
But  here  she  comes ;  and  now,  Petruchio,  speak. 


Enter  KAiHARim. 

Good-morrow,  Kate  ;  for  that's  your  name,  I  hear. 
Kath.  Well  have  you  heard,    ut  something  hai-ik 

of  hearing ; 

They  call  me  Katharine,  that  d^  talk  of  rae. 
Pet.  You  lie,  in  faith ;  for  you  are  call'd  plais 
Kate, 

And  bonny  Kate,  and  sometimes  Kate  the  cursft; 
But  Kate,  the  prettiest  Kate  in  Christendom, 
Kate  of  Kate-Hall,  my  super-dainty  Kate, 
For  dainties  are  all  catts:  and  therefore,  Kate, 
Take  this  of  me,  Kate  of  my  consolation; — 
Hearing  thy  mildness  piais'd  in  every  town. 
Thy  virtues  spoke  of  and  thy  beauty  sounded, 
(Yet  not  so  deeply  as  to  thee  belongs,) 
Myself  am  mov'd  to  woo  thee  for  my  wife. 

Kath.  Mov'd  !  in  good  time  :  let  him,  that  mov'd 
you  hither, 

Remove  you  hence  ;  I  knew  you  at  the  first. 
You  were  a  moveable. 

Pet.  Why,  what's  a  moveable  ? 

Kath.  A  joint-stool. 

Pet.  Thou  hast  hit  it:  come,  sit  on  rae. 

Kath.  Asses  are  made  to  bear,  and  so  are  you. 

Pet.  Women  are  made  to  bear,  and  so  are  you. 

Kath.  No  such  jade,  sir,  as  you,  if  me  you  mean. 

Pet.  Alas,  good  Kate  !  I  will  not  burden  thee  :  • 
For.  knowing  thee  to  be  but  young  and  light, — 

Kath,  Too  light  for  such  a  swain  as  you  to  catch  ; 
And  yet  as  heavy  as  my  weight  should  be. 

Pet.  Should  be  ?  should  buz. 

Kath.  Well  ta'en,  and  like  a  buzzard. 

Pet.  O,  slow-wing'd  turtle !  shall  a  buzzard  take 
thec'  i 

Kat.  Ay,  for  a  turtle  ;  as  he  takes  a  buzzard. 
Pet.  Come,  cume,  you  wasp;  i'laith,  you  are  too 
angry. 

Kath.  If  I  be  waspish,  best  beware  my  sting. 

Pet.  My  remedy  is  then,  to  pluck  it  out. 

Kath.  Ay,  if  the  Ibol  could  hiid  out  where  it  lies. 

Pet.  Who  knows  not  where  a  wasp  doth  wear  his 
In  his  tail.  [sting  ? 

Kath.       In  his  tongue. 

Pet.  Whose  tongue  ? 

Kath.  Yours,  if  you  talk  of  tails  ;  and  so  farewell. 

Pet.  What,  with  my  tongue  in  your  tail  ?  nay, 
come  again. 
Good  Kate ;  I  am  a  gentleman, 

Kath.  That  I'll  try  (Striking  him.) 

Pet.  I  swear  I'll  cuff  you,  if  you  strike  again. 

Kath.  So  may  you  lose  your  arms  : 
If  you  strike  me,  you  are  no  gentleman  ; 
And  if  no  gentleman,  why,  then  no  arms. 

Pet.  A  lierald,  Kate  ?  O,  put  me  in  thy  books. 

Kath.  What  is  your  crest  ?  a  coxcomb  ? 

Pet.  A  coinbless  cock,  so  Kate  will  be  my  hen. 

Kath.  No  cock  of  mine,  you  crow  too  like  a  craven. 

Pet.  Nay,  come,  Kate,  come  ;  you  must  not  look 
so  sour. 

Knth.  It  is  my  fashion,  when  I  see  a  crab. 
Pet.  Why  here's  no  crab ;  and  therefore  look 
Kath.  There  is,  there  is.  [not  sour. 

Pet.  Then  show  it  me. 

Kath.  Had  I  a  glass,  I  would. 

Pet.  What,  you  mean  my  face  ? 
Kat.  Well  aim'd  of  such  a  young  one. 

Pet.  Now,  by  Saint  George,  I  am  too  young  for 
Kath.  Yet  you  are  wither'd.  [y**'** 
Pet.  'Tis  with  cares. 

Kath.  I  care  not 

Pe^.  Nay,  hear  you,  Kate;  in  sooth,  you 'scupa 
not  so. 

Kath.  I  chafe  you,  if  I  tarry;  let  me  go. 

Pet.  No,  not  a  whit ;  I  find  you  passing  geotle. 
'Twas  told  me,.  *  ou  were  rough,  and  coy,  and  sulle^ 
And  now  I  fin    report  a  very  liar; 
For  thou  art  pleasant,  gamesome,  passing  courteouH  \ 
But  slow  in  speech,  yt- 1  sweet  as  spring-t»=a:'>e  9owe!%.^ 
Thou  canst  not  frown,  thou  canst  cot  lool  SSa.aiJf  ^ 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  11. 


b  ^  the  Hp,  as  angry  wenches  will ; 
No:  hast  tliju  pleasure  to  be  cross  in  talk; 

n  with  mildness  entertain'st  thy  wooers. 
With  seiitle  conference,  soft  and  affable. 
Why  a.>es  the  world  report,  that  Kate  doth  limp  ? 

0  slanderous  world  !  Kate,  like  the  hazel-twig. 
Is  straight,  and  slender  ;  and  as  brown  in  hue 
As  hazel-nuts,  and  sweeter  than  the  kernels. 
O,  let  me  see  thee  walk. :  thou  dost  not  halt. 

Kath.  Go,  fool,  and  whom  thou  keep'st  command. 

Pat.  Did  ever  Dian  so  become  a  grove. 
As  Kate  this  chamber  with  her  princely  gait? 
O,  be  thou  Dian,  and  let  her  be  Kate ; 
And  then  let  Kate  be  chaste,  and  Dian  sportful! 

Kath.  Where_  did   you  study  all  this  goodly 
speec'h  i* 

Pst.  It  is  extempore,  from  my  mother-wit. 
Kath.  A  witty  mother!  witless  else  iier  son. 
Pet.  Am  .1  not  wise  ? 

Kath.  Yes  ;  keep  you  warm. 

Pet,  Marry,  so  I  mean,  sweet  Katharine,  in  thy 
bed: 

And  therefore,  setting  all  this  chat  aside. 

Thus  in  plain  terms : — Your  father  has  consented. 

That  yoii  shall  be  my  wife  ;  your  dowry  'greed  on ; 

And.  will  you,  nill  you,  1  will  mairy  you. 

Now,  Kate,  I  am  a  husband  for  your  turn; 

For,  by  this  light,  whereby  1  see  thy  beauty, 

(Thy  beauty,  that  doth  make  me  like  thee  well,) 

Thou  must  be  married  to  no  man  but  me: 

For  I  am  he  am  born  to  tame  you,  Kate; 

And  bring  you  from  a  wild  cat  to  a  Kate 

Confounable,  as  other  household  Kates. 

Here  corm  s  your  lather;  never  make  denial, 

1  must  and  will  have  Katharine  to  my  wifa 

Re-enter  Baptista,  Gremio,  and  Tranio. 

Bap.  Now, 
Signiur  Petruchio  :  How  speed  you  with 
My  daughter  ? 

Pet.  How  but  well,  sir?  how  but  well? 

It  were  impossible,  I  should  speed  amiss. 

Bap.  Why,  how  now,  daughter  Katharine?  in 
your  dumps  ?  [you, 

Kath.  Call  you  me,  daughter?  now  I  promise 
Vou  have  shovv'd  a  tender  fatherly  regard, 
To  wish  me  wed  to  one  half  lunatic  ; 
A  mad-cap  ruffian,  and  a  swearing  Jack, 
That  tliitiks  with  oaths  to  lace  the  matter  out. 

Pet.  Father,  'tis  thus, — yourself  and  all  the  world, 
That  talk'd  of  her,  have  talk'd  amiss  of  her; 
li  slie  be  curst,  it  is  for  policy  : 
For  she's  not  froward,  but  modest  as  the  dove ; 
She  is  not  hot,  but  temperate  as  the  morn ; 
For  patience  she  will  prove  a  second  Grissel; 
And  Roman  Lucrece  for  her  chastity. 
And  to  conclude, — we  have  'greed  so  well  together. 
That  noon  SuiKhty  is  the  wedding-day. 

Kath   I'll  see  thee  hang'd  on  Sunday  first. 

Ore.  Hark,  Petiuchio  !  she  says,  she'll  see  thee 
haiig'd  first. 

Tra.  Is  this  your  speeding?  nay,  then,  good  night 

our  part  I 

Pet.  Be  patient,  gentlemen;  I  choose  her  for 

myseli ; 

/f  she  and  I  be  pleas'd,  what's  that  to  you  ? 

Tis  bargain  d  'twixt  us  twain,  being  alone, 

Tliat  she  sluill  still  be  curst  in  company. 

I  tell  you,  'tis  incredible  to  believe 

How  much  she  loves  me  :  O,  the  kindest  Kate  :— 

^he  hung  about  my  neck;  and  kiss  on  kiss 

She,  vied  so  last,  protesting  oath  on  oath, 

Th^t  in  a  tvvink  she  won  me  to  her  love. 

O,  you  are  novices  !  'tis  a  world  to  see, 

How  tame,  when  men  and  women  are  alone, 

A  meacock  wretch  can  make  the  cursest  shrew. — 

Give  me  tny  hand,  Kate  :  1  vvill  unto  Venice, 

To  buy  apparel  'gainst  the  wedding-day  :  — 

Provide  the  feast,  i'ather,  and  bid  tiie  guests; 

i  will  be  sure,  my  Katharine  shall  be  tine. 


Bap.  I  know  nt  what  to  say :  but  give  me  yosu 
hands ; 

God  send  you  joy,  Petruchio  !  'tis  a  match. 

Gre.  Tra.  Amen,  say  we  ;  we  will  be  witnesses. 

Pet.  Father,  and  wife,  and  gentlemen,  adi^u; 

I  will  to  Venice,  Sunday  comes  apace  •  

We  will  have  rings,  and  things,  and  fine  array  ; 
And  kiss  me.  Kate,  we  will  be  married  o'Suiiday 
[Exeunt  Petruchio  and  Katharina  severally, 

Gre.  Was  ever  match  clapp'd  up  so  suddenly 

Bap.  Faith,  gpntlemeu,  now  I  play  a  merchant's 
And  \  enture  maily  on  a  desperate  mart.  ipait, 

Tra.  '.Twas  a'commodity  lay  iretting  by  you: 
'Twill  bring  yon  gain,  or  perish  ov  the  seas. 

Bap.  The  gain  I  seek  is — quiet  iu  the  match. 

Gre.  No  doubt,  but  he  hath  got  a  quiet  catch. 
But  now,  Baptisfa,  to  your  younger  daughter; — 
Now  is  the  day  we  long  have  looked  fox  ; 
I  am  your  neighbour,  and  was  suitor  first. 

Tra.  And  1  am  one,  that  love  Bianca  fiiore 
Than  words   can  witness,  or  your  thoi-ghts  can 
"■uess. 

Gre.  \  oungling  !  thou  canst  not  love  so  d«ar  as  I. 
Tra.  Grey  beard  I  thy  love  doth  freeze. 
Gre.  '  But  thine  doth  fry. 

Skipper,  stand  back  ;  'tis  age,  that  nourishetii. 
IVa.  But  youtii,  in  ladies'  eyes  that  tlomish^th. 
Bap.  Content  you,  gentleuieu  ;  FU  compouni  this 
strife : 

'Tis  deeds,  must  win  the  prize ;  and  he,  of  botK 
That  can  assure  my  daughter  greatest  dower, 
Shall  have  Bianca's  love. — 
Say,  signior  Gremio,  what  can  you  assure  her? 
Gre.  First,  as  you  know,  my  house  within  «tVe 
city 

Is  richly  furnished  with  plate  ana  gold; 
Basins,  and  ewers,  to  lave  her  dainty  hands ; 
My  hangings  all  of Tyrian  tapestry: 
In  ivory  coffers  I  have  stuff 'd  my  crowns; 
In  cypress  chests  my  arras,  counterpoints. 
Costly  apparel,  tents  and  canopies, 
Fine  linen,  Turkey  cushions  boss'd  with  pearl. 
Valance  of  Venice,  gold  in  needle-woi  k, 
Pewter  and  brass,  and  all  things  that  belong' 
To  house,  or  housekeeping:  then,  at  my  farus, 
I  have  a  hundred  milch-kine  to  the  pail, 
Six  score  fat  oxen  sta-nding  in  my  stalls. 
And  all  things  answerable  to  this  portion. 
Myself  am  struck  iu  years,  I  must  confess; 
And,  if  I  die  to-morrow,  tiiis  is  hers, 
If,  whilst  1  live,  she  will  be  only  mine. 

Tra.  That,  only,  came  well  in.  Sir,  list  to  aif 

I  am  my  father's  heir,  and  only  son  : 

If  I  may  have  your  daughter  to  my  wife, 

I'll  leave  her  houses  three  or  four  as  good, 

Within  ricii  Pisa  walls,  as  any  one 

Old  signior  Gremio  has  in  Padua; 

Besides  two  thous md  ducats  by  the  year. 

Of  iruitl'ul  land,  all  which  sliali  be  her  jointure.— 

What,  have  1  piuch'd  you,  signior  Gremio? 

Gre.  Two  thousand  ducats  by  the  year,  of  land 
My  land  amounts  not  to  so  much  in  all : 
Tiiat  she  shall  have;  besides  an  argosy, 

That  now  is  lying  iu  Marseilles'  road  :  

What,  have  1  chok'd  you  with  an  argosy  ? 

Tra.  Gremio,  'tis  known,  my  father  hath  no  less 
Than  three  great  argosies;  besides  two  galliasses,. 
And  twelve  tight  gallies:  these  I  will  assure  her. 
And  twice  as  much,  whate'er  thou  offer'st  next. 

Gre.  Nay,  I  have  ofter'd  all,  1  have  no  more ; 
And  she  can  have  no  more  than  all  I  have; — 
If  you  like  me,  she  shall  have  me  and  mine. 

Tra.  Why,  then  the  maid  is  mine  fnmi  all  ti.< 
world. 

By  your  firm  promise ;  Gremio  is  out-vied. 

Bap.  1  must  confess,  your  offer  is  the  best; 
And,  let  your  father  make  her  the  assurance. 
She  is  your  own;  else,  you  must  pardon  me  : 
If  you  should  die  before  him,  where's  her  dower 

Tra.  That's  but  a  ca  il ;  be  is  old,  1  jouii^^. 


Act  nr.    Scene  1. 


TAMING  OF 


THE  SHREW. 


217 


Gre.  Anfl  may  not  young  men  die,  as  well  as  old  V 

Bap  Well,  gentlemen, 
f  am  thus  resolv'd : — On  Sunday  next,  you  know, 
My  daughter  Katharine  is  to  be  married  : 
Now,  on  the  Sunday  following,  shall  Bianca 
Be  bride  to  you,  if  you  make  this  assui  ance  ; 
If  not,  to  siguior  Gremio: 

And  sol  take  my  leave,  and  thank  vouboth.  [Exit. 
Gre.  Adieu,  good  neighbour. — Now  I  fear  thee 
not ; 

Sirrah,  young  gamester,  your  father  were  a  fool 

To  give  thee  all,  and,  in  his  waning  age, 

Set  foot  under  thy  table  :  tut !  a  toy  ! 

An  old  Italian  lox  is  not  so  kind,  my  boy.  [Exit. 

Tra.  A  vengeance  on  your  crafty  wither* d  liide  I 
Yet  I  have  faced  it  with  a  card  often. 
'Tis  in  my  head  to  do  my  njasLer  good  • — 
I  see  no  reason  but  suppos'd  Lucentio 
Must  get  a  father,  call'd — suppos'd  Vincentio  ; 
And  tliat's  a  wonder :  fathers,  commonly. 
Do  get  their  children  ;  but,  in  this  case  of  wooing, 
A  child  shall  get  a  sire,  if  I  fail  not  of  my  cunning. 

[Exit. 

ACT  IIL 

Scene  I. — A  Room  in  Baptista's  House. 
Enter  Lucentio,  Hortensio,  and  Bianca.. 

Luc.  Fiddler,  forbear;  you  grow  too  forward,  sir: 
Have  you  so  soon  forgot  the  entertainment 
Her  sister  Katharine  welcora'd  you  withal  ? 

Hor.  But,  wrangling  pedant,  this  is 
The  patroness  of  heavenly  harmony: 
Then  give  me  leave  to  have  prerogative; 
And  when  in  music  we  have  spent  an  hour, 
Your  lecture  shall  have  leisure  for  as  much. 

Luc.  Preposterous  ass  !  that  never  read  so  far 
To  know  the  cause  why  music  was  ordain'd ! 
Was  it  not,  to  refresh  the  mind  of  man. 
After  his  studies,  or  his  usual  pain  ^ 
Then  give  me  leave  to  read  philosophy, 
And,  while  I  i)ause,  serve  in  your  harmony. 

Hor.  Sirrali,  1  will  not  bear  these  braves  of  thine. 

Bian.  Why,  gentlemen,  you  do  me  double  wrong, 
To  strive  for  that,  which  resteth  in  my  choice : 
I  am  no  breeching  scholar  in  the  schools; 
I'll  not  be  tied  to  hours,  nor  'pointed  times. 
But  learn  my  lessons  as  I  please  myself. 
And,  to  cut  off  all  strife,  here  sit  we  down : — 
Take  you  your  instrument,  play  you  the  whiles  ; 
His  lecture  will  be  done,  ere  you  have  tun'd. 

Hor.  You'll  leave  his  lecture  when  I  am  in  tnne  ? 

f  To  Bianca;  Hortensio  retires.) 

Luc.  That  will  oe  never: — tune  your  instrument. 

Bian.  Where  left  we  last  ? 

Luc.  Here,  madam  : — 
Hac  ibat  Simois ;  hie  est  Sigeia  telhis  ; 

Hie  steterat  Priami  regia  celsa  senis. 

Bian.  Construe  them. 

Luc.  Hac  ibat,  as  I  told  you  before, — Simois,  I 
em  Lucentio, — hie  est,  son  unto  Vincentio  of  Pisa, 
■ — Sigeia  tellus,  disguised  thus  to  get  your  love; — 
Hie  steterat,  and  that  Lucentio  that  comes  a- wooing, 
' — Priami,  is  my  man  Tranio, — regia,  hetn  ii  g  my 
port, — celsa  senis,  that  we  might  beguile  tlie  ola 
[i,antaloon. 

Hor.  Madam,  my  instrument's  in  tune. 

{Returning.\ 

Bian.  Let's  hear; —  {Hortensio plays.) 

0  fy  !  the  treble  jars. 

Luc.  Spit  in  tlie  hole,  man,  and  tune  figain. 
Bian.  Now  let  me  see  if  I  can  construe  it:  Hac 
ibat  Siynois,  I  know  you  not;  Hie  est  Sigeia  itllus, 

1  trust  you  not ; — Hie  steterat  Priami,  take  heed  he 
hear  us  not ; — regia,  presume  not ; — celsa  senis, 
despair  not. 

Hor.  Madam,  'tis  now  in  tune. 
Lac.  All  but  t  ie  base. 

Hor.  Tlie  b^se  is  right;  'tis  the  base  kaave,  tliat 
Hjvv  hery  and  forward  onr  pedant  is!  [jars. 


Now,  for  my  life,  the  knave  doth  court  my  lo^es 
Pedascule,  1  11  watch  you  better  yet 

Bian.  In  time  I  may  helieve,  yet  I  mistraflS. 

Luc.  Mistrust  it  not   for,  sure,  iEac^ides 
Was  Ajax, — caird  so  f^om  his  grandfather. 

Bian.  I  must  believe  my  master;  else,  I  prom,«« 
I  should  be  arguing  still  upon  that  doubt;  [yea 
But  let  it  rest. — Mow,  Licio,  to  you : — 
Good  masters,  take  it  not  unkindly,  pray, 
That  I  have  been  thus  pleasant  with  you  both. 

Hor.  You  may  go  walk,  [to  Lucentio)  and  give 
me  leave  awhile  ; 
My  lessons  make  no  music  in  three  parts. 

Luc.  Are  you  so  formal,  sir  ?  well,  I  must  wait. 
And  watch  withal;  for,  but  I  be  deceiv'd, 
Our  fine  musician  groweth  amorous.  [Aside,] 

Hor.  Madam,  before  you  touch  the  instrument. 
To  learn  the  order  of  my  fingering, 
I  must  begin  with  rudiments  of  art ; 
To  teach  you  gamut  in  a  briefer  sort. 
More  pleasant,  pithy,  and  effectual, 
Than  hath  been  taught  by  any  of  my  trade  : 
And  there  it  is  in  writing,  fairly  drawn. 

Bian.  Why,  1  am  past  my  gamut  long  ago. 

Hor.  Yet  read  the  gamut  of  Hortensio, 

Bian.  (Reads.)  Gamut  /  am,  the  grotmd  of  ail 
A  re,  to  plead  Hortensio' s  passion ;  [accorii, 

B  mi,  Bianca,  take  him  for  thy  lord, 
C  faut,  that  loves  ivith  all  affection : 

D  sol  re,  one  cliff,  tivo  notes  have  I ; 

^  \a.  mi,  show  pity,  or  I  die. 
Call  you  this — gamut?  tut!  I  like  it  not: 
Old  fashions  please  me  best;  I  am  not  so  nice. 
To  change  true  rules  for  odd  inventions. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
8erv.  Mistress,  your  father  prays  you  leave  yonj 
books. 

And  help  to  dress  your  sister's  chamber  up ; 
You  know,  to-moruow  is  the  wedding-day. 

Bian.  Farewell,  sweet  masters,  both ;  I  must  be 
gone.         [Exeunt  Bianca  and  Servant, 

Luc.  'Faith,  mistress,  then  I  have  no  cause  t<s 
stay.  _         _  [Evii. 

Hor.  But  I  have  cause  to  pry  into  this  pedaut; 
Methinks,  he  looks  as  though  he  were  in  love : 
Yet  if  thy  thoughts,  Bianca,  be  so  humble. 
To  cast  thy  wand'ring  eyes  on  every  stale. 
Seize  thee,  that  list:  If  once  I  find  thee  ranging, 
Hortensio  wdl  be  quit  with  thee  by  changing.  [Exit. 

Scene  II. — The  same.    Before  Baptista's  House, 
Enter  Baptista,  (Jremio,  Tranio,  Katharina, 

Bianca,  Lucentio,  and  Altenda?its. 
Bap.  Signior  Lucentio,  {to  Tranio)  this  is  the 
'pointed  day, 
That  Katharine  and  Petruchio  should  be  married, 
And  yet  we  hear  not  of  our  son-in-law  : 
What  will  be  said?  what  mockery  will  it  be, 
To  want  the  bridegroom,  when  the  priest  attends 
To  speak  the  ceremonial  rites  of  marriage  ? 
What  says  Lucentio  to  this  shame  of  ours  ? 
Kath.  No  shame  but  mine :  I  must,  forsooth,  be 
forc'd 

To  give  my  hand,  oppos'd  against  my  Ijeart, 

Unto  a  mad-brain  rudesby,  full  of  spleen; 

Who  woo  d  in  haste,  and  means  to  wed  at  leisure. 

I  told  you,  I,  he  was  a  frantic  fool, 

Hiding  his  bitter  jests  in  blunt  behaviour: 

And,  to  be  noted  for  a  merry  man, 

He'll  woo  a  thousand,  'point  the  day  of  marria?ye,  ^ 

Make  friends,  invite,  yes,  and  proclaim  the  banne; 

Yet  never  means  to  wed,  where  he  hath  woo  d. 

Now  must  the  world  point  at  poor  Katharine, 

And  say, — Go,  there  is  mad  Petruchio  s  wife, 

If  it  would  please  him  come  and  marry  her. 

Tra.  Patience,  good  Katharine,  and  B;iptista  ttK>  { 
Upon  my  life,  Petruchio  means  but  well, 
Whatever  fortune  stays  him  from  his  word: 
Though  he  be  blunt,  I  know  him  passing  wise  § 


218 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  111 


Tltoiigii  he  be  merry,  yet  withal  he's  honest. 
Kath.  'Would  Katharine  had  never  seen  him 
though  ! 

[Exit,  iveeping,  followed  by  Bianca,  and  c  ^urs. 
Bap.  Go,  girl ;  I  cannot  blame  thee  now  io  wee[); 
For  such  an  injury  would  vex  a  saint, 
Much  more  a  shrew  of  thy  impatient  humour. 

Enter  Biondello. 
Bion.  Master,  master!  news,  old  news,  .md  such 
Sews  as  yon  never  heard  of! 

Ba2i.  is  it  new  and  old  too?  how  may  that  be  ? 
Bion.  Why  !  is  it  not  news,  to  hear  of  Petrnchio's 
Bap.  Is  he  come  ?  [coming  ? 

Bion.  Why,  no,  sir. 
Bap.  What  then  ? 
Bion.  He  is  coming. 

Bap.  When  will  he  be  here  ?  [there. 

Bion.  When  hQ  stands  where  I  am,  and  sees  you 

Tra.  But,  say,  what: — To  thine  old  news. 

Bion.  Why,  Petruchio  is  coming,  in  a  new  hat, 
end  an  old  jerkin;  a  pair  of  old  breeches,  thrice 
turned  ;  a  pair  of  boots  that  have  been  candle-cases, 
one  buckled,  anotiier  laced :  an  old  rusty  sword 
ta'en  out  of  the  town  armoury,  with  a  broken  hilt, 
and  chapeless ;  with  two  broken  points:  his  horse 
hipped  with  an  old  mothy  saddle,  the  stirrups  of  no 
kindred  :  besides,  possessed  with  the  glanders,  and 
like  to  mose  in  the  chine ;  troubled  with  the  lanipass, 
infected  with  the  fashions,  full  of  wind-galls,  sped 
with  spavins,  raied  with  ihe  yellows,  past  cure  of 
the  fives,  stark  spoiled  with  the  staggers,  begnavvii 
with  the  bots ;  swayed  in  the  back,  and  shoulder- 
©liotten ;  ne'er-legged  bet(»re,  and  with  a  hall-checked 
bit,  and  a  head-stalS  of  sheep's  leather;  which,  being 
reatrauied  to  ken^  Win\  from  stumbling,  hath  been 
<»ften  burst,  and  now  repaired  with  knots;  one  girt 
six  tiutts  pieced,  and  a  woman's  crupper  of  velure, 
which  hath  two  letters  for  her  name,  fairly  set  down 
i/i  studs,  and  here  and  there  pieced  with  pack- 
thread. 

Bap.  Who  comes  with  him  ? 

Bion.  O,  sir,  his  lackey,  for  all  the  world  capa- 
risoned like  the  horse  ;  with  a  linen  stock  on  one  leg, 
and  a  kersey  boot-hose  on  the  other,  gartered  with  a 
red  and  blue  list;  an  old  hat,  and  The  humour  of 
forty  fancies  pricked  in't  for  a  feather:  a  monster, 
a  very  monster  in  apparel ;  and  not  like  a  Christian 
footboy,  or  a  gentleman's  lackey. 

Tra.  'Tis  some  odd  humour  pricks  him  to  this 

fashion ;  

Yet  oftentimes  he  goes  but  mean  apparell'd. 

Bap.  I  am  glad  he  is  come,  howsoe'er  he  comes. 

Bion.  Why,  sir,  he  comes  not. 

Bap.  Diilst  thou  not  say,  he  comes? 

Bion.  Who?  that  Petruchio  came? 

Bap.  Ay.  that  Petruchio  came. 

Bion.  No,  sir ;  I  say,  his  horse  comes  with  him 
on  his  back. 

Bap.  Why,  that's  all  one. 

Bion.  Nay,  by  St.  Jamy,  1  hold  you  a  penny, 
A  horse  and  a  man  is  more  than  one,  and  yet  not 
many 

Enier  PETRUcmo  and  Grumio. 
Pet.  Come,  where  be  these  gallants?  who  is  at 
home  ? 

Bap.  You  are  welcome,  sir. 

Pet.  And  yet  I  come  not  well. 

Bap  And  yet  you  halt  not. 

Tra.  Not  so  well  apparell'd 

A.S  I  wjsn  you  were. 

Pet.  Were  it  better  I  should  rush  in  thus, 
where  is  Kate  ?  where  is  my  lovely  bride? — 
How  does   my  father? — Gentles,  methinks  you 
frown : 

And  wherefore  gaze  this  goodly  company; 
As  if  they  saw  some  wondrous  rnonument. 
Some  comet,  or  unusual  prodigy  ?  [day  : 

J3a/>.  Why,  sir,  you  know,  this  is  your  wedding- 


First  were  we  sad,  fearing  y*ju  would  not  come  j 
Now  sadder  that  you  come  «iO  uuprovide  !. 
Fy  !  doff  this  habit,  shame  to  your  esirue. 
An  eye-sore  to  our  solemn  festival. 

Tra.  And  tell  us  what  occasion  of  im  jo-t 
Hath  all  so  long  detain'd  you  from  your  wife 
And  sent  you  hither  so  unlike  yourself? 

Pet.  Tedious  it  were  to  tell,  and  hardb  to  hear, 
Sufficeth,  I  am  come  to  keep  my  yvord. 
Though  in  some  part  enforced  to  digress; 
Which  at  more  leisure  I  will  so  excuae 
As  you  shall  well  be  satisfied  withal. 
But  where  is  Kate?  I  stay  too  long  from  her; 
The  morning  wears,  'tis  time  we  were  at  church. 

Tra.  See  not  your  bride  in  these  unreverent  robes  | 
Go  to  my  chamber,  put  on  clothes  of  mine. 

Pet.  Not  I,  believe  me;  thus  111  visit  her. 

Bap.  But  thus,  I  trust,  you  will  not  marry  her. 

Pet-  Good  sooth,  even  thus;  therefore  have  done 
with  words: 
To  me  she's  married,  not  unto  wy  clothes  • 
Could  I  repair  what  she  will  wear  in  me, 
As  I  can  change  these  poor  accoutrements, 
'Twere  well  for  Kate,  and  better  for  myself. 
But  what  a  fool  au  I,  to  chat  with  you. 
When  I  should  bid  good-morrow  to  my  bride. 
And  seal  the  title  with  a  lovely  kiss? 

[Exeunt  Petruchio.  Grumio,  and  Biondello 

Tra.  He  hath  some  meaning  in  his  bad  attire: 
We  will  persuade  him,  be  it  possible. 
To  put  on  better,  ere  he  go  to  church. 

Bap.  I'll  after  him,  and  see  the  event  of  this. 

[Exit 

Tra.  But,  sir,  to  her  love  concerneth  us  to  add 
Her  i'atlier's  liking  :  Which  to  bring  to  pass. 
As  I  beibre  imparted  to  your  worship, 
I  am  to  get  a  man, — whate'er  he  be. 
It  skills  not  much  ;  we'll  fit  him  to  our  t  un, — 
And  he  shall  be  Vincentio  of  Pisa  ; 
And  make  assurance,  here  in  Padua,  / 
Of  greater  sums  than  I  have  promised. 
So  shall  you  quietly  enjoy  your  hope. 
And  marry  sweet  Bianca  with  consent, 

Luc.  VVere  it  not  that  my  fellow  schoolmaster 
Doth  watch  Bianca's  steps  so  narrowly, 
'Twere  good,  methinks,  to  steal  our  marriage; 
Which  once  perform'd,  let  all  the  world  say — no, 
I'll  keep  mine  own,  des{)ite  of  all  the  world. 

Tra.  That  by  degrees  we  mean  to  look  into, 
And  watch  our  vantage  in  this  business  : 
We'll  over-reach  the  greybeard,  Gremio; 
The  narrow-prying  father,  Minola  ; 
The  quaint  musician,  amorous  Licio ;  ■ 
All  for  my  master's  sake,  Lucentio. — 

Re-enter  Gremio. 
Sigoior  Gremio!  came  you  from  the  church? 

Gre.  As  willingly  as  e'er  I  canie  from  school. 

Tra.  And  is  the  bride  and  bridegroom  comin*? 
home  ?  [deed, 

Gre.  A  bridegroom,  say  you  ?  'tis  a  groom  in. 
A  grumbling  groom,  and  that  the  girl  shall  find. 

Tra.  Curster  than  she?  why,  'tis  impossible. 

Gre.  Why,  he's  a  devil,  a  devil,  a  very  fiend. 

Tra.  Why,  she's  a  devil,  a  devil,  the  devil's  daia 

Gre.  Tut !  she's  a  Iamb,  a  dove,  a  fool  to  him, 
I'll  tell  you.  Sir  Lucentio  :  When  the  priest 
Should  ask — if  Katharine  should  be  his  wife. 
Ay,  by  gog's-wouns,  quoth  he;  and  swore  so  load, 
Tliat,  all  amaz'd,  the  priest  let  fall  the  book  • 
And,  as  he  stoop'd  again  to  take  it  up. 
The  mad-brain'd  bridegroom  took  him  such  a  cufF. 
That  down  fell  priest  and  book,  and  book  and  priest, 
Now  take  ihetn  up,  quoth  he,  if  any  list. 

Tra.  What  said  the  wench,  when  he  arose  again? 

Gre.  Trembled  and  shook ;  for  why,  he  stamp'c^ 
and  swore. 
As  if  the  vicar  meant  to  cozen  him. 
But  after  many  ceren>onies  done. 
He  calls  for  wine  -.—A  health,  quoth  he ;  as  if 


Act  IV.    Scene  1.  TAMING  OF 

He  had  beet-  dboarrl,  carousing  to  his  mates 

After  a  storm  : — Qiiaff'd  ofF  tlie  ninscadel. 

And  threw  the  sops  all  in  the  sexton's  face  ; 

Havii^  no  other  reason, — 

But  that  his  beard  grew  thin  amd  hunsrerly, 

And  seem'd  to  ask  him  sops,  as  he  was  drinking. 

This  done,  he  took  tlie  bnde  about  the  neck  ; 

And  kiss'd  her  Hps  wit!i  such  a  chimorous  smack. 

That,  ni  the  parting,  all  the  church  did  echo. 

I,  seein*!^  this,  cau>e  thence  for  very  shame  ; 

And  after  me,  I  know,  the  rout  is  coming: 

Such  a  mad  marridge  never  was  before  : 

Hark,  hark  I  I  hear  the  minstrels  play.  {Music.) 

Enter  Petruchio,  Katharina,  Bianca,  Baptista, 
HoRTENSiO,  Grumio,  and  Train. 
Pet.  Gentlemen  and  friends,  I  thank  you  for  your 
pains : 

I  know,  you  think  to  dine  with  me  to-day, 
And  ha\e  prepar'd  great  store  of  wedding  cheer; 
But  so  it  is,  my  haste  doth  call  me  hence. 
And  therefore  here  I  mean  to  take  my  leave. 

Bap.  Is't  possible,  you  will  away  tu-nighl  ? 

Pet.  I  must  away  to-day,  before  night  come  : 
Make  it  no  wonder ;  if  you  knew  my  business, 
Vou  would  entreat  me  rather  go  tiian  stay. 
And,  honest  company,  I  thank,  you  all, 
That  have  beheld  me  give  away  mysf^lf 
To  this  most  patient,  sweet,  an  i  \  irtuous  wife  : 
Dine  with  iny  father,  drink  a  h^;ilth  to  me; 
For  I  must  hence,  and  farewell  to  you  all. 

Tra.  Let  us  entreat  you  stay  tili  after  dinner. 

Pet.  It  may  not  be. 

Gre.  Let  me  entreat  you. 

Pet.  It  cannot  be. 

Kath.  Let  me  entreat  you. 

Pet.  1  am  content. 

Kath.  Are  you  cmtent  to  stay? 

Pet.  I  am  content  you  shall  entre  it  me  stay  ; 
But  yet  not  stay,  entreat  Ese  h  w  you  can. 

Kath.  Now,  if  you  love  me,  stay. 

Pet.  Gnimio,  my  horses. 

Grtc.  Ay,  sir,  th'^^y  be  ready;  the  oats  have  eaten 
the  horses. 

Katk.  Nay,  tlien, 
Do  what  thou  canst,  I  will  not  go  to-day  ;  , 
No,  nor  to-morrow,  nor  till  I  please  myself. 
The  door  is  open,  sir,  there  lies  your  way, 
You  may  be  jogging,  whiles  vour  boots  are  green ; 
For  me,  I'll  not  be  gone,  till  I  please  myself : — 
'Tis  like,  you'll  prove  a  jolly  surly  groom. 
That  take  it  on  you  at  the  first  so  roundly. 

Pet.  O  Kate,  content  thee ;  pry'thee,  be  not 
angry. 

Kath.  I  will  be  angry  :  What  hast  thou  to  do  ? — 
Father  be  quiet;  he  shall  stay  my  leisure. 

Gre.  Ay,  marry,  sir  :  now  it  begins  to  work. 

jfiTflj^^.  Gentlemen,  forward  to  the  bridal  dinner: — 
I  see  a  woman  may  be  made  a  fool. 
If  she  had  not  a  spirit  to  resist. 

Pet.  They  shall  go  forward,  Kate,  at  thy  com- 
mand :  

Obey  the  bride,  you  that  attend  on  her ; 
Go  to  the  feast,  revel  and  domineer. 
Carouse  full  measure  to  her  maidenhead. 

Be  mad  and  merry,  or  go  hang  yourselves; 

But  for  my  bonny  Kate,  she  must  with  me. 
Nay,  look  not  big,  nor  stamp,  nor  stare,  nor  fret; 
I  will  be  master  of  what  is  mine  own  : 
She  is  my  goods,  my  chattels ;  she  is  my  house. 
My  household  stuff',  my  field,  my  barn, 
My  horse,  my  ox,  my  ass,  my  any  thing; 
And  here  she  stands,  touch  her  whoever  dare; 
I'll  bring  my  action  on  the  proudest  he. 

That  stops  my  way  in  Padua.  Grumio, 

Draw  forth  thy  weapon,  we're  beset  witli  thieves  ; 
Rescue  thy  mistress,  if  thou  be  a  man  : —     (Kate  ; 
Fear  not,  sweet  wench,  they  shall  not  touch  thee, 
I'll  buckler  thee  against  a  million. 

lExeuJit  Pet}  uchio,  Katharina,  and  Grumio. 


THE  SHREW.  2I» 

Bap.  Nay,  let  them  go,  a  coupfe  of  qniet  ones. 
Gre.  Went  they  not  quickly,  I  shiiuld  <lie  wi 

laughing, 

Tra.  Of  all  mad  matches,  never  was  the  like  ! 

hue.  Mistress,  what's  your  opinion  of  your  .sistei  ? 

Bian.  'I'hat  being  mad  herself,  she's  madly  matedi, 

Gre.  I  warrant  him,  Petruchio  is  Kated. 

Bap.  Neighbours  and  friends,  though  bride  aud 
bridegroom  wants, 
For  to  supply  the  jjlaces  at  the  table, 
You  know,  there  wants  no  jiuikets  at  the  feast; — • 
Lucentio,  you  shall  supply  the  bridegroom's  place; 
And  let  Bianca  take  her  sister's  room. 

Tra.  Shall  sweet  Bianca  practise  how  to  bride  it? 

Bap.  She  shall,   Lucentio. — Come,  gentlemen, 
let's  go.  [Exeunt 

ACT  \V. 

Scene  I. — A  Hall  in  Petruchio' s  Cou7%try  House 
Enter  Grjmio. 
Gru.  Fy,  fy,  on  all  tired  jades !  on  all  mad 
masters!  and  all  foul  ways!  .Was  ever  man  so 
beaten  ?  was  ever  man  so  ray'd  r  was  ever  man  so 
weary?  I  am  sent  before  to  make  a  fire,  and  they 
are  coming  after  to  warm  them.  Now,  were  not  1 
a  little  pot,  and  soon  hot,  my  very  lips  might  freeze 
to  my  teeth,  ray  tongue  to  the  roof  of  n»y  mouth, 
my  heart  in  my  belly,  ere  I  .slioidd  come  by  a  fire 
to  thaw  me  : — But,  I,  with  blowing  the  fire,  shall 
warm  myself;  for,  considering  the  weather,  a  taller 
man  than  I  will  take  cold.    Holla,  hoa !  Curtis! 

Enter  Curtis. 

Curt.  Who  is  that,  calls  so  coldly? 

Gru.  A  piece  of  ice  :  If  thou  doubt  it,  thoa 
may'st  slide  from  my  shoulder  to  my  heel,  with  uo 
great  r  a  run,  but  my  head  and  my  neck.  A  fire, 
good  Curtis. 

Curt.  Is  my  master  and  his  wife  coming,  Grumio? 

Gru.  O,  ay,  Curtis,  ay  :  and  therefore  fire,  fire; 
cast  on  no  water. 

Curt.  Is  she  so  hot  a  shrew,  as  she's  reported  ? 

G^'u.  She  was,  good  Curtis,  before  this  frost:  but 
thou  know'st,  winter  tames  man,  woman,  and  beast; 
for  it  hath  tamed  my  old  master,  and  my  new  mis- 
tress, and  myself,  fellow  Curtis. 

Curt.  Away,  you  three  inch  fool  !  I  am  no  bea.st, 

Gru.  Am  I  but  three  inches  ?  why,  thy  horn  is  a 
foot ;  and  .so  long  am  I,  at  the  least.  But  wilt  thou 
make  a  fire,  or  shall  1  complain  on  thee  to  our  mis- 
tress, whose  hand  (she  being  now  at  hand,)  thou 
shalt  soon  feel,  to  thy  cold  comfort,  for  being  s\ow 
in  thy  hot  office. 

Curt.  I  pry'thee,  good  Grumio,  tell  me,  Hovr 
goes  the  world  ? 

Gru.  A  cold  world,  Curtis,  in  every  office  but 
thine ;  and  therefore,  fire  :  Do  thy  duty,  and  have 
thy  duty  ;  for  my  master  and  mistress  are  akuost 
frozen  to  death. 

Curt.  There's  fire  ready;  and  therefore,  good 
Gnmiio,  the  news  ? 

Gru.  Why,  Jack  hoy !  ho  boy  !  and  as  much  news 
as  thou  wilt. 

Curt.  Come,  you  are  so  full  of  coney-catching  :— - 

Gru.  Why,  therefore,  fire ;  for  I  have  caught  ex- 
treme cold.  Where  s  the  cook  ?  is  sup[)er  ready, 
the  house  trimmed,  rushes  strewed,  cobwebs  swept; 
the  serving- men  in  their  new  fustian,  their  white 
stockings,  and  every  officer  his  wedding-garment  on? 
Be  the  jacks  fair  within,  the  jills  fair  without,  the 
carpets  laid,  and  every  thing  in  order? 

Curt.  Ail  ready ;  and  therefore,  I  pray  thee,  news? 

Gru.  First,  know,  my  horse  is  tired ;  my  master 
and  mistress  fallen  out. 

Curt.  How? 

Gru.  Out  of  their  saddles  into  the  diit|  Aad 

thereby  hangs  a  tale. 

Curt.  Let  s  lia't,  good  Grumio. 
Gru.  Lend  thine  ear. 

1 


220 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  IV. 


Crut.  Here. 

iiru.  'rii*>re.  [Striking  him.) 

Crut.  This  is  to  feel  a  tale,  not  to  hear  a  tale. 

Gru.  And  therefore  'tis  called  a  sensible  tale  ; 
•nd  ihis  cnfl'was  I)ut  to  knock  at  your  ear,  and  be- 
»eecli  listening.  Now  I  begii» :  Imprimis,  we  came 
down  a  foul  hill,  my  master  riding  behmd  my  mis- 
tress : — 

Curt.  Hoth  on  one  horse  ? 

(inc.  What's  that  to  thee? 

Curt.  Why,  a  horse. 

Gru.  Tell  thou  the  tale  :  But  hadst  thou  not 

crossed  me,  thou  should'st  have  heard  how  her 
horse  fell,  and  she  under  her  horse  ;  thou  should'st 
have  heard,  in  how  miry  a  place  ;  how  she  was  be- 
iiioiled;  how  he  left  her  with  the  horse  upon  her; 
liow  he  beat  me,  because  her  horse  stumbleJ  ;  how 
she  waded  through  the  dirt,  to  pluck  him  oil  me: 
how  he  swore;  how  she  prayed — that  never  pray'a 
before;  how  I  cried;  how  the  horses  ran  away; 
how  her  bridle  was  burst;  how  I  lost  my  crupper  ; — 
with  many  things  of  worthy  memory ;  whicli  now 
shall  die  in  oblivion,  and  thou  return  unexperienced 
to  thy  grave.  [she. 

Curt.  By  this  reckoning,  he  is  more  shrew  than 

Gru.  Ay;  and  that,  thou  and  the  proudest  of  you 
all  siiall  find,  when  he  comes  home.  But  what  talk 
\  of  tiiis  ? — call  forth  Nathaniel,  Joseph,  Nicholas, 
Philip,  Walter,  Sugarsop,  and  the  rest;  let  their 
heads  be  sleekly  combed,  their  blue  coats  brushed, 
and  their  garters  of  an  indifferent  knit :  let  them 
curtsy  with  their  left  legs;  and  not  presuuie  to 
touch  a  hair  of  my  master's  horse-tail,  till  they  kiss 
their  hands.    Are  they  all  ready  ? 

Curt.  They  are. 

Gru.  Call  them  forth. 

Curl.  Do  you  hear,  ho  ?  yon  must  meet  my  master 
to  countenance  my  mistress. 

Gru.  Why,  she  hath  a  face  of  her  own. 

Curt.  Wiio  knows  not  that  ? 

Gru.  Thou  it  seems;  that  callest  for  company  to 
countenance  her. 

Curt.  I  call  them  forth  to  credit  her. 

Gru.  Why,  she  comes  to  borrow  nothing  of  them. 

Enter  several  Servants. 

Nat/i.  Welcome  home,  Grumio. 
P/iil.  How  now,  Grumio? 
Jos.  What,  Grumio! 
Nich.  Fellow  Grumio! 
Nat/i.  How  now,  old  lad  ? 

Gru.  Welcome,  you, — how  now,  you; — what, 
you  ; — fellow,  you  ; — and  thus  much  for  greeting. 
Kow,  my  spruce  companions,  is  all  ready,  and  all 
things  neat :  (master? 
Natli.  All  things  is  ready  ;  Bow  near  is  our 
Gru.  E'en  at  hand,  alighted  by  this ;  and  there- 
fore be  not,  Cock's  passion,  silence,  1  hear 

my  master. 

Enter  Petruchio  and  Katkarina. 

Pet.  Where  be  these  knaves  ?  What,  no  man  at 
door, 

To  hold  my  stirrup,  nor  to  take  my  horse! 
Where  is  Nathaniel,  Gregory,  Philip?  

All  Serv.  Here,  here,  sir;  here,  sir 

Pet.  Here,  sir!  here,  sir  !  her^-,  .sir  !  here,  swl 
You  logger-headed  and  unpoush  d  grooms  ! 
VVhat,  no  attendance  ?  no  rf  gar""!  ?  no  duty  ? — 
Wher«  is  the  foolish  knave  I  sent  before  ? 

Gru   Here,  sir ;  as  loolish  ?i.s  !  was  before. 

Pet.  You  peasant  swpi'-.uI  /ou  whoreson  malt- 
horse  drudge ! 
Did  \  not  bid  thee  meet  rue  in  the  park. 
And  brmg  along  these  rascal  knaves  with  thee? 

Gru.  Nat  i^uiiel's  coat,  sir,  was  not  fully  made. 
And  Gabriel  s  pumps  were  all  unpick'd  i'lue  heel  ; 
Thf'rt-  was  no    nk  to  colour  Peter's  hat. 
And  VV  alter' s  dagger  v^a^  oot  come  from  sheathing : 


There  were  cone  fine,  but  Adam,  Ralph,  %Dd  QfBi 

gory  • 

1  he  rest  were  ragged,  old,  and  beggarly; 
Vet,  as  they  are,  here  are  they  come  to  meet  you. 
Pet.  Go,  rascals,  go,  and  fetch  my  supper  in. 

[Exeunt  some  of  the  Serianii. 
Where  is  the  life  that  lale  1  led —  {Si7igs. 

Where  are  those  sit  down,  Kate,  and  welcome 

Soud,  soud,  soud,  soud  ! 

Re-enter  Servants,  with  supper. 
Why,  whe-n,  I  say  ? — Nay,  good  sweet  Kate,  be 
merry. — 

Off  with  my  boots,  you  rogues,  you  villains;  When? 

It  was  the  friar  of  orders  y)ey,  [Sings.) 

As  he  forth  walked  on  his  way  : — 
Out,  out,  you  rogue  I  you  pluck  my  loot  awry  : 
Take  that,  and  mend  the  plucking  olf  the  other. — 

[Strikes  him.) 

Be  merry,  Kate  ; — Some  water,  here  ;  what,  ho! — 
Where's  my  spaniel  Troilus? — Sirrtih,  get  you  hence. 
And  bid  my  cousin  Ferdinand  come  hither: 

[Exit  Servant. 

One,  Kate,  that  you  must  kiss,  and  be  acquainted 
with. — 

Where  are  my  slippers  ? — Shall  I  have  some  water  ? 

[A  basin  is  presented  to  hitn.) 
Come,  Kate,  and  wash,  and  welcome  heartily  : — 

[Servant  lets  the  ewer  fall.) 
You  whoreson  villain  !  will  you  let  it  fall  ? 

[Strikes  him.) 

Kath.  Patience.  I  pray  you  ;  'twas  a  fa(dt  un- 
willuig 

Pet.  A  v/hortson,  beetle-headed,  llap-ear'd  knave  ! 
Come,  Kute,  sit  down:  1  know  you  have  a  stomach. 
Will  you  give  thanks,  sweet  Kate,  or  else  shall  1 
What  is  tliis?  mutton? 

1  Serv  Av. 

Pel.  Who  brought  it  ? 

I  Serv.  J. 

Pet.  'Tis  burnt;  and  so  is  all  the  meat : 
NVhat  dugs  are  these! — Where  is  the  rascal  cook? 
How  durst  you,  villains,  bring  it  from  the  dresser 
And  serve  it  thus  to  me,  that  love  it  not? 
There,  take  it  to  you,  trenchers,  cups,  and  all  : 

[Throws  the  meal,  etc.  about  the  stage. 
You  heedless  joltheads,  and  unmanner'd  slaves  ! 
What,  do  you  grumble  ?  I'll  be  with  you  .straight. 

Kath.  I  pray  you,  husband,  be  not  so  disquiet; 
The  meat  was  weil,  if  you  were  so  contented. 

Pet.  I  tell  thee,  Kate,  'twas  burnt  and  dried  away, 
And  I  expressly  am  forbid  to  touch  it, 
Fur  it  engenders  cuoler,  piautetl)  anger; 
And  better  'twere,  tiiut  both  of  us  did  fast, — 
Since,  of  ourselves,  ourselves  are  choleric,— 
Than  feed  it  with  such  over-roasted  desh. 
Be  patient;  to-morrow  it  shall  be  mended, 
And,  for  this  night,  we  II  fast  for  company  : — 
Coine,  1  will  bring  thee  to  thy  bridal  chamber. 

[Exeunt  Petruchio,  Katharina,  and  Curtis.) 

Nath.  [Advancing.)  Peter,  didst  ever  see  tue 
like  ? 

Peter.  He  kills  tier  in  her  own  humour.. 
Re-enter  Curtis. 

Qru.  Where  is  he  ? 

Curt.  In  her  chamber, 
Making  a  sermon  of  continency  to  her: 
And  rails,  and  swears,  and  rates  ;  that  she,  poor  soul. 
Knows  not  which  way  to  stand,  to  look,  to  speak  \ 
And  sits  as  one  new-risen  from  a  dream. 
-4k.way,  avvay  !  lor  h*"  is  coining  hither.  [Exeunt* 

Re-enter  Petruchio. 
Pet.  Thus  hare  i  politicly  begun  my  reign. 
And  'tis  my  hope  to  end  successi'ully  : 
My  fcilcon  now  is  sliarp,  and  passing  empty; 
And,  till  she  stoop,  she  must  not  be  /ull-gorg^d. 
For  then  she  never  looks  upon  her  tro. 
Another  way  1  have  to  man  my  iia  ^^ard. 


Scene  2. 


TAMING  OF 


THE  SHREW. 


221 


To  make  her  come,  an*?  know  her  keeper's  call ; 
I'hat  is, — to  watch  her  as  we  watch  these  kites. 
That  bate,  and  neat,  and  will  not  be  obedient. 
She  ate  no  meat  to  day,  nor  none  shall  eatj 
Last  night  she  slept  not,  nor  to-night  she  shall  not  • 
As  witli  the  meat,  some  undeserved  fault 
I'll  find  about  the  making  of  the  bed  ; 
And  here  I'll  fling  the  pillow,  there  the  bolster. 
This  way  the  coverlet,  another  way  the  sheets  : — 
Ay,  and  amid  this  hiirly,  I  intend, 
Tiiat  all  is  done  in  reverend  care  of  her; 
And,  in  conclusion,  she  shall  watch  all  night : 
And,  if  she  chance  to  nod,  I'll  rail,  and  brawl, 
And  with  the  clamour  keep  iier  still  awake, 
rhis  is  a  way  to  kill  a  wife  with  kindness; 
And  thus  1 11  curb  her  mad  and  headstrong  hu- 
mour : 

He,  that  knows  better  how  to  tame  a  shrew. 
Now  let  him  speak  :  tis  charity  to  show.  [Exit. 
Scene  II. — Padua.    Before  Baptista's  House. 

Enter  Tranio  a7id  Hortensio. 
Tra.  Is't  possible,  friend  Licio,  that  Bianca 
Doth  fancy  any  otiier  but  Liicentio  ? 
tell  you,  sir,  she  bears  me  fair  in  hand. 
Hor.  Sir,  to  satisfy  you  in  what  I  have  said, 
Stand  by,  and  mark  the  manner  of  liis  teaching. 

{They  stand  aside.) 
Enter  Biatnca  and  Lucentio. 
Imc.  Now,  mistress,  profit  you  in  what  you  read? 
Bian.  What  master,  read  you?  first  resolve  me 
that. 

Luc.  I  read  that  I  profess ;  the  art  to  love. 
Bian.  And  may  you  prove,  sir,  master  of  your  art ! 
Ijuc.  While  you,  sweet  dear,  prove  mistress  of 
my  heart.  {They  retire.) 

Hor.  Quick  proceeders,  marry !  Now,  tell  me, 

\  ou  that  durst  swear  that  your  mistress  Bianca 
Lov'd  none  in  the  world  so  well  as  Lucentio. 

Tra.  O  despiteful  love  I  unconstant  womankind  ! — 
I  tell  thee,  Licio,  this  is  wonderful. 

Ror.  Mistake  no  more  :  I  am  not  Licio, 
Nor  a  musician,  as  I  seem  to  be  : 
But  one  tiiat  scorn  to  live  in  this  disguise, 
Vox  such  a  one  as  leaves  a  gentleman. 
And  makes  a  god  of  such  a  cullion  : 
Know,  sir,  that  I  am  calid — Hortensio. 

Tra.  Signior  Hortensio,  I  have  often  heard 
01'  your  entire  affection  to  Bianca  ; 
And  since  imm  eyes  are  witness  of  her  lightness, 
I  will  with  you, — if  you  be  so  contented, — 
Forswear  Bianca  and  her  love  for  ever. 

Hor.  See,  how  they  kiss  and  court !  Signior 

Lucentio, 

Here  is  my  hand,  and  here  I  firmly  vow, 
Never  to  woo  her  more ;  but  do  forswear  her. 
As  one  unworthy  all  the  former  favours. 
That  I  have  fondly  flatter'd  her  withal. 

Tra.  And  here  I  take  the  like  unfeigned  oath, — 
Ne'er  to  marry  with  her,  though  she  would  entreat : 
Fy  on  her !  see,  how  beastly  she  doth  court  him. 

Hor.  'Would,  all  the  world,  but  he,  had  quite  for- 
sworn ! 

For  me, — that  I  may  surely  keep  mine  oath 
I  will  be  married  to  a  wealthy  widow. 
Ere  three  days  pass;  which  hath  as  long  lov'd  me. 
As  I  have  lov'd  this  proud  disdainful  haggard  : 
And  so  farewell,  signior  Lucentio. — • 
Kindness  in  women,  not  their  beauteous  looks, 
Shall  win  my  love  : — and  so  I  take  my  leave. 
In  resolution  as  1  swore  before. 
Exit  Hortensio.— hucentio  and  Bianca  advance. 

Tra.  Mistress  Bianca,  bless  you  with  such  grace 
As  'longeth  to  a  lover's  blessed  case  .' 
Nay,  I  have  ta'en  you  napping,  gentle  love; 
And  have  forsworn  you,  with  Hortensio. 

iSm??.  Trauio,  you  jest :  But  have  you  both  for- 
sworn me 


Tra.  MistresS;  -^e  have. 

liuc.  Then  we  are  rid  of  Jjiciflb! 

Tra.  I'faith,  he  11  have  a  lusty  widoAv  now. 
That  shall  be  woo  d  and  wedded  in  a  day. 
Bian.  God  give  him  joy! 
Tra.  Ay,  and  he'll  tame  her. 
Bian.  He  says  so,  Tranio. 

Tra.  Faith,  he  is  gone  unto  the  tamiiig-school. 
Bian.  The  taming-school !  what,  is  there  suck 
a  place  ? 

Tra.  Ay,  mistress,  and  Petruchio  is  the  master  j 
That  teacheth  tricks  eleven  and  twenty  long, — 
To  tame  a  shrew,  and  charm  her  chattering  tongnei 

Enter  Biondello,  running 
Bion.  O  master,  master,  I  have  watch'd  so  long 

That  I'm  dog-weary  ;  but  at  last  I  spied 

An  ancient  angel  coming  down  the  hill. 

Will  serve  the  turn. 

Tra.  What  is  he,  Biondello? 

Bion.  Master,  a  mercatante,  or  a  pedant, 

I  know  not  what;  but  formal  in  apparel, 

In  gait  and  countenance  surely  like  a  father. 
Luc.  And  what  of  him,  Tranio  ^ 
Tra.  If  he  be  credulous,  and  trust  my  tale, 

ril  make  him  glad  to  seem  Vnu  entio; 

And  give  assurance  to  Baptista  Minola, 

As  if  he  were  the  right  Vincentio. 

Take  in  your  love,  and  then  let  me  alone. 

[Exeunt  Lucentio  and  Bian^^ 

Enter  a  Pedant. 
Ped.  God  save  you,  sir! 

Tra.  And  you,  sir!  you  are  welcome 

Travel  you  far  on,  or  are  you  at  tiie  furthest? 

Ped.  Sir,  a't  the  furthest  for  a  week  or  two  • 
But  tlien  up  further  ;  and  as  iar  as  Rome  ; 
And  so  to  Tripoiy,  if  God  lend  me  life, 

Tra.  What  countryman,  I  pray  ? 

Ped.  Of  Mantua. 

Tra.  Of  Mantua,  sir  ? — marry,  God  i'orbid  ! 
And  come  to  Padua,  careless  of  your  life  ! 

Ped.  My  life,  sir!  how,  I  pray?  for  that  goes 
h  rd. 

Tra.  'Tis  death  for  any  one  in  Mantua 
To  cume  to  Padua:  Know  you  not  the  cause? 
Your  ships  are  staid  at  Venice  ;  and  tiie  duke 
(For  priv.ite  quarrel  'twixt  your  duke  and  him,) 
Hath  publisli'd  and  proclaini'd  it  openly: 
'Tis  marvel ;  but  that  you're  but  newiy  come. 
You  might  have  heard  it  else  proclaim'd  about. 

Ped.  Alas,  sir,  it  is  worse  for  me  than  so; 
For  1  have  bills  ibr  money  by  exchange 
From  Florence,  and  must  here  deliver  them. 

Tra.  Well,  sir,  to  do  you  courtesy, 
This  will  I  do,  and  this  will  I  advise  you  ; — 
First,  tell  me,  have  you  ever  been  at  Pisa? 

Ped.  Ay,  sir,  in  Pisa  have  I  often  been; 
Pisa,  renowned  for  grave  citizens. 

Tra.  Among  them,  know  you  one  Vincentio? 

Ped.  I  know  him  not,  but  I  have  heard  of  him; 
A  merchant  of  incomparable  wealth. 

Tra.  He  is  my  father,  sir;  and,  sooth  to  say. 
In  cotintenance  somewhat  d<ii\\  resemble  you. 

Bion.  As  much  as  an  apple  doth  an  oyster  ati 
all  one.  {Aside.) 

Tra.  To  save  your  life  in  this  extremity. 
This  favour  will  I  do  you  for  his  sake; 
And  thmk  it  not  the  worr.t  of  all  your  fortunes, 
That  you  are  like  to  sir  Vincentio. 
His  name  and  credit  shall  you  undertake, 
And  in  my  house  you  shall  be  friendly  lodg'd  :  «- 
Look,  that  you  take  upon  you  as  you  should; 
You  understand  me,  sir; — so  shall  you  stay 
Till  you  have  done  your  business  in  the  city; 
If  this  be  courtesy,  sir,  accept  of  it. 

Ped.  O,  sir,  I  do ;  and  will  repute  yon  eve? 
The  patron  of  my  life  and  liberty. 

Tra.  Then  go  with  me,  to  make  the  matter  good 
This,  by  the  way,  I  let  you  understand;— 


222 


lAMINa  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  n 


My  father  is  here  look'd  for  every  day. 
To  pass  assurance  of  a  dower  in  marriage 
Twixt  nie  and  one  Baptista's  daughter  here  : 
In  all  these  circumstances  I'll  instruct  you  : 
Go  with  me,  sir,  to  clothe  you  as  becomes  yon. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  IH. — A  room  in  Petruchios  House. 

Enter  Katharina  and  Grumio. 
Gru.  Na,  no,  forsooth;  I  dare  not,  for  my  life. 
Kath.  The  more  my  wrong,  the  more  his  spite 
appears  : 

hat,  did  he  marry  me  to  famish  me  f 

ggars,  that  come  under  my  fatlier's  door, 
pun  entreaty,  have  a  present  alms; 
fnot,  elsewhere  they  meet  with  charity  : 
But  I,  —who  never  knew  how  to  entreat, — 
N(»r  never  needed  that  1  should  entreat, — 
Am  starv'd  for  meat,  giddy  for  lack  of  sleep; 
VVitii  oaths  kept  waking,  and  with  brawling  fed  : 
And  that  wl>ich  spites  me  more  than  all  these  wants, 
He  does  it  undername  of  perfect  love; 
As  who  should  say,  if  1  should  sleep,  or  eat. 
•Twere  deadly  sickness,  or  else  present  death.— 
1  pr'ythee  go,  and  get  me  some  repast ! 
[  care  not  what,  so  it  be  wholesome  food. 

Gru.  V^'hat  say  you  to  a  neat's  foot? 

Kath.  'lis  passing  good  ;  I  pr'ythee  let  me  have  it. 

Gru.  I  fear,  it  is  too  choleric  a  meat:— 
How  say  you  to  a  fat  tripe  ,  finely  broil'd  ? 

Kath.  1  like  it  well ;  good  Grumio,  fetch  it  me. 

Gru.  1  cannot  tell ;  I  fear,  'tis  choleric. 
What  sav  you  to  a  piece  of  beet',  and  mustard  i 

Kath.'k  dish,  tiiat  I  do  love  to  feed  upon. 

Gru.  Ay,  but  the  mustard  is  too  hot  a  little. 

Kath.  Why,  then  the  beef,  and  let  the  mustard  rest. 

Gru.  Nay,"  then  I  will  not;  you  shall  have  the 
mustard, 

Or  else  you  get  no  beef  of  Grumio. 

Kath.  Then  both,  or  one,  or  any  thing  thou  wilt. 
Gru.  VViiy,  then  the  mustard  without  the  beef 
Kath.  Go,  get  thee  gone,  thou  false  deluding 
s]^ve,  {Baats  him.) 

That  feed'st  me  with  the  very  name  ot  meat: 

Sorrow  on  thee,  and  all  the  pack  of  you, 

That  triumph  thus  upon  my  misery! 

Go,  get  thee  gone,  I  say. 

Enter  Petkucuio  ivith  a  dish  of  meat ;  and 

HORTENSIO. 

Pet.  How  fares  my  Kate  ?  What,  sweeting,  all 

Hor.  Mistress,  what  cheer  ?  [amort  i 

j^aih.  'Faith,  as  cold  as  can  be. 

Pet.  Pluck  up  thy  spirits,  look  cheerfully  upon  me. 
Here,  love  ;  thou  see'st  how  diligent  I  am, 
To  dress  thy  meat  myself,  and  bring  it  thee  : 

[Sets  the  dish  on  a  table.) 
I  am  sure,  sweet  Kate,  this  kindness  merits  thanks. 
What,  not  a  word  ?    Nay,  then,  thou  lov'st  it  not ; 
And  all  my  pains  is  sorted  to  no  proof:— 
Here,  take  away  this  dish.  ,     -x    .  j 

Kath.  'Pray  you,  let  it  stand. 

Pet.  The  poorest  service  is  repaid  with  thanks. 
And  so  shall  mine,  before  you  touch  the  meat 

Kath.  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Hor.  Signior  Petrucliio,  fy !  you  are  to  blame: 
Come  mistress  Kate,  I'll  bear  you  company. 

Ptt.  Eat  it  up  all,  Hortensio,  if  thou  lov'st  me.— 

[Aside.) 

Much  good  do  it  unto  thy  gentle  heart! 

Kate,  eat  apace  ;— And  now,  my  honey  lo\  e. 

Will  we  return  unto  thy  f.ither  s  house  ; 

And  revel  it  as  bravely  as  the  best. 

With  silken  coats,  and  caps,  and  go  den  rings, 

WUh  rulfs,  and  -uiVs,  and  farthmgales,  and  thmgs  ; 

With  scarfs,  and  fans,  and  double  change  ot  bravery, 

ith  amber  bracelets,  beads,  and  all  this  knavery. 

Ut  hast  thou  dined  ?  The  tailor  stays  thy  leisure, 
*iiy  body  with  his  rutliing  ti-easure. 


Enter  Tc  Jor. 
'Come,  tailor,  let  us  see  these  ornaments  ; 

Enter  Haberdasher. 
Lay  forth  the  gown. — What  news  with  vou,  raff? 
Hab.  Here  is  the  cap  your  worship  did  beapefik. 
Pet.  Why,  this  was  moulded  on  a  porringer; 
A  velvet  dish;— fy,  f y !  'tis  lewd  and  filthy; 
Why,  'tis  a  cockle,  or  a  walnut  shell, 
A  knack,  a  toy,  a  trick,  a  baby's  cap ; 
Awav  with  it;  come,  let  me  have  a  bigger 

Kath.  I'll  have  no  bigger:  this  doth  fit  the  time, 
And  gentlewomen  wear  such  caps  as  these. 

Pet.  When  you  are  gentle,  you  shall  iiave  one  too 
And  not  till  then. 

Hor.  That  will  not  be  in  haste.  [Aside. 

Kath.  Why,  sir,  I  trust,  I  may  have  leave  t 
speak  ; 

And  speak  I  will ;  I  am  no  child,  no  babe  : 
Your  betters  have  eiidur'd  me  say  my  mind ; 
And,  if  you  cannot,  best  you  stop  your  ears. 
My  tongue  will  tell  the  anger  of  my  heart; 
Or  else  my  heart,  concealing  it,  will  break  : 
And,  rather  than  it  shall,  I  will  be  free, 
Even  to  the  uttermost,  as  1  please,  in  words. 

Pet.  Why,  thou  say'st  true  ;  it  is  a  paltry  cap, 
A  custard-coffin,  a  bauble,  a  silken  pie  : 
I  love  thee  well,  in  that  thou  hk'st  it  not. 

Kath.  Love  me,  or  love  me  not,  I  like  the  cap, 
And  it  1  will  have,  or  I  will  have  noi'.e. 

Pet.  Thy  gown?  why,  ay  ;— Come,  tailor,  let  ua 
see't.  «...  0 

0  mercy,  God  !  what  masking  stuff  is  here  i 
What's  this?  a  sleeve '^  'tis  like  a  demi-cannon  : 
What !  up  and  down,  carv'd  like  an  apple  tart  ? 
Here's  snip,  and  nip,  and  cut,  and  slish,  and  slash. 
Like  to  a  censer  in  a  barber's  shop  : — 

Why,  what  o'devil's  name,  tailor,  call'st  thou  this  : 
Hor.  I  see,  she's  like  to  have  neither  cap  cor 

gown.  [Aside.) 
Tai.  You  bid  me  make  it  orderly  and  well, 

According  to  tlie  j'ashion,  and  the  time. 

Pet.  Marry,  and  did  ;  but  if  you  be  remember  dj 

1  did  not  bid  you  mar  it  to  the  time. 
Go,  hop  me  over  every  kennel  home. 

For  vou  shall  hop  without  my  custom,  sir; 
I'll  none  of  it ;  hence,  make  your  best  of  it. 

Kath.  I  never  saw  a  better-fashion'd  gown. 
More  quaint,  more  pleasing,  nor  n.ore  commendable; 
Belike,  ynu  mean  to  make  a  puppet  of  me. 

Piit.  Why,  true  ;  he  means  to  make  a  puppet  of 
thee. 

Tai.  She  says,  your  worship  means  to  make  a 
puppet  of  her. 

Pet.   O  monstrous  arrogance!  thou  best,  thou 
Thou  thimble,  [thread, 
Thou  yard,  three  quarters,  half-yard,  quarter,  nail, 
Thou  flea,  thou  nit  thou  winter  cricket  thou  :— 
Brav'd  in  mine  own  house  with  a  skein  oi  thread  ! 
Away,  thou  rag,  thou  quantity,  thou  remnant; 
Or  I  shall  so  be-mete  thee  with  thy  yard. 
As  thou  shalt  think  on  prating  whilst  thou  liv'st ! 
I  tell  thee,  I,  that  thou  hast  mari'd  her  gown. 

Tai.  Your  worship  is  deceiv'd;  the  gown  is  mads 
Just  as  my  master  had  direction  : 
Grumio  gave  order  how  it  should  be  done, 

Gru.  I  gave  him  no  order,  I  gave  him  the  stufi. 

Tai.  But  how  did  you  desire  it  should  be  made? 

Gru.  Marry,  sir,  with  needle  and  thread. 

Tai.  But  did  you  not  request  to  have  it  cut? 
!      Gru.  Thou  hast  faced  many  things. 
'      Tai.  I  have. 

Gru.  Face  not  me  :  thou  hast  braved  many  men  ; 
brave  not  me;  I  will  neither  be  faced  nor  braved. 
I  say  unto  thee,— I  bid  thy  master  cut  out  the 
Po\vn  :  but  I  did  not  bid  him  cut  it  to  pieces  :  eroo, 
thou  liest.  [testify. 

Tai    Why,  here  is  the  note  of  the  fashion  to 

P^;/!  Read  It.  ,       ,  ..'^^'^'^^ 

Gru.  The  note  lies  in  hia  throat,  il  h«  say 


Scene  4. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHKEW. 


228 


Tai  Imprimis,  a  loose-bodied  gown  ; 

Gru.  Master,  if  ever  1  said  loose-bodied  gown, 
sew  me  in  the  skirts  of  it,  and  beat  me  to  death 
with  a  bottom  of  brown  thread:  I  said  a  gown. 

Pet.  Proceed. 

TaL  With  a  small  compassed  cape  ; 
Gru.  I  confess  the  cape. 

Tai.  With  a  trunk  sleeve  ;   ^ 

Gru   I  confess  two  sleeves. 
Tai.  The  sleeves  curiously  cut. 
Pet.  Ay,  there's  the  villainy. 

Gru.  Error  i'the  bill,  sir;  error  i'the  bill.  I  cnm- 
manrled  the  sleeves  should  be  cutout,  and  sewed  np 
again  J  aad  that  I'll  prove  upon  thee,  thougfe 
little  nneer  be  armed  in  a  thimble. 

Tai.  This  is  true,  that  I  say ;  an  I  had  thee  in 
\)lace  w  here,  thou  should'st  know  it. 

Gru.  1  am  ibr  thee  straight :  take  thou  the  bill, 
give  me  thy  mete-yard,  and  spare  not  tne. 

Hor.  God  a-mercy,  Grumio  !  then  he  shall  have 
no  odds. 

Pet.  Well,  sir,  in  brief,  the  gown  is  not  for  me. 
Gru.  You  are  i'the  right,  sir ;  'tis  for  my  mistress. 
Pet,  Go,  take  it  np  unto  thy  master's  use. 
Gru.  Villain,  not  for  thy  life :  take  up  my  mis- 
tress' gown  for  thy  master's  use  ! 

Pet.  Why,  sir,  whafs  your  conceit  in  that  ? 
Gru.  O,  s:r,  the  conceit  is  deeper  than  you  think 
for: 

Take  up  my  mistress'  gown  to  his  master's  use  ! 
O,  fy,  fy  ! 

Pet.  Hortensio,   say  Ihou  wilt  see  the  tailor 
paid : — [Aside.) 
Go  take  it  hence  :  begone,  and  say  no  more. 

Hor.  Tailor,  I'll  pay  thee  lor  thy  gown  to-morrow. 
Take  no  unkindness  of  his  hasty  words: 
Away,  I  say ;  commend  me  to  thy  master. 

[Exit  Tailor. 

Pet.  Well,  come,  my  Kate;  we  will  unto  your 
father's, 

eJven  in  these  honest  mean  habiliments  ; 

Our  purses  shall  be  proud,  our  garments  poor: 

For  'tis  the  mind  that  makes  the  body  rich  : 

And  as  the  sun  breaks  through  the  darkest  clouds, 

So  honour  peereth  in  the  meanest  habit. 

What,  is  the  jay  more  precious  than  the  lark, 

Because  his  feathers  are  more  beautiful 

Or  is  the  adder  better  than  the  eel. 

Because  his  painted  skin  contents  the  eye  ? 

O,  no,  good  Kate;  neither  art  thou  the  worse 

For  this  poor  furniture,  and  mean  array. 

If  thou  account'st  it  shnme,  lay  it  on  me  : 

And  therefore,  frolic;  wc  will  hence  forthwith, 

To  feast  and  sport  r,s  at  thy  father's  house. — 

Go,  call  my  men,  f\nd  let  us  straight  to  him  ; 

And  bring  our  horses  unto  Long-lane  end, 

There  will  we  mount,  and  thither  walk  on  foot. — 

Let's  see  ;  I  think,  'tis  now  some  seven  o'clock. 

And  well  we  may  come  there  by  dinner-tinie. 

Kath.  I  dare  assure  you,  sir,  'tis  almost  two; 
And  'twill  be  supper-time,  ere  you  come  there. 

Pet.  It  shall  be  seve^n,  ere  I  go  to  horst  • 
Look,  what  I  speak,  or  do,  or  think  to  do. 
You  are  still  crossing  it. — Sirs,  let's  alone  : 
I  vvill  not  go  to  day  ;  and  ere  I  do. 
It  shall  be  what  o'clock  I  say  it  is. 

Hor.  Why,  so!  this  gallant  will  command  the 
■  sun.  {Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — Padua.  Before  Baptlstas  House. 

Enter  Tranio,  ard  the  Pedant  dressed  like 

ViNCEN'UO. 

Tra.  Sir,  this  ig  the  house ;  Please  it  you,  that 
I  call  ? 

Ped.  Ay,  what  slsw  ?  and,  but  I  be  deceived, 
iTgnior  Baptista  nay  remember  me, 
Pfear  twenty  yep/s  ago,  in  Genoa,  where 
We  were  lodgers  at  th^-  Pegasus. 

Tra.  Tis  well : 


And  hold  your  own,  n  any  case,  with  fnch 
Austerity  as  'longeth  to  a  father. 

Enter  Biondello. 

Ped.  T  warrant  you :  but,  sir,  he « i  comes  your  boy 
'Twere  good,  he  were  school'd. 

Tra.  Fear  you  not  him. — Sirrah,  Biondello, 
Now  do  your  duty  throughly,  1  advise  you; 
Imagine  'twere  the  right  Vincentio. 

Bion.  Tut !  fear  not  me. 

Tra.  But  hast  thou  done  thv  errand  to  Baptista 
Bion.  I  told  him,  that  your  tather  was  at\enice, 

And  that  you  look'd  for  him  this  day  in  Padua. 
Tra.  Thou'rt  a  tall  fellow;  hold  thee,  that  to  drink. 

Here  comes  Baptista:  —set your  countenance,  sir. 

Enter  Baptista  and  Lucentio. 

Signior  Baptista.  you  are  happily  met: — 

Sir,  ^  [To  the  Pedant, 

This  is  the  gentleman  I  told  you  of; 

I  pray  you,  stand  good  father  to  me  now. 

Give  me  Bianca  for  my  patriniony. 

Ped.  Soft,  son  ! — 
Sir,  by  your  leave  ;  having  come  to  Padua 
To  gather  in  some  debts,  my  son  Lucentio 
Made  me  acquainted  with  a  weighty  cause 
Of  lo\e  between  your  dai»;hter  and  himself. 
And, — for  the  good  report  I  hear  of  you  ; 
And  for  the  love  he  beareth  (o  your  daughter. 
And  she  to  him, — to  stay  him  not  too  lo»ig, 
I  am  content,  in  a  good  lather's  care. 
To  have  him  match'd :  and, — if  you  pleas'd  to  like 
No  worse  than  I,  sir, — upon  some  agreement, 
Me  shall  you  find  most  ready  and  ntost  willing 
With  one  consent  to  have  her  so  bestowed  ■ 
For  curious  I  cannot  be  with  you, 
Signior  Baptista,  of  whom  I  hear  so  well. 

Bap,  Sir,  pardon  me  in  what  I  have  to  J^iy  • 
Your  plainness,  and  your  shortness,  please  me  well 
Right  true  it  is,  your  sun  Lucentio  he-re 
Doth  love  my  daughter,  and  she  lo\  eth  him. 
Or  both  dissemble  deeply  their  aft't  ctions  • 
And  therefore,  if  you  say  no  more  than  this. 
That  like  a  lather  you  vvill  deal  with  him. 
And  [)ass  my  daughter  a  sufficient  dower. 
The  match  is  fully  made,  and  all  is  done  : 
Y'oiir  son  shall  have  my  daughter  with  consent. 

Tra.  I  thank  you,  sir.  Where  then  do  you  know 
We  be  affied  ;  and  such  assurance  ta'en,  [hesi, 
As  shall  with  either  part's  agreement  stand  ? 

Bap.  Not  in  my  bouse,  Lucentio;  ior  you  know. 
Pitchers  have  ears,  and  1  have  many  servants : 
Besides,  old  Gremio  is  heark'ning  still ; 
And,  happily,  we  might  be  interrupted. 

Tra,  Then  at  my  lodgini>-,  an  it  like  you,  sir: 
There  doth  my  father  lie  ;  and  there,  this  night. 
We'll  pass  the  business  privately  and  well: 
Send  for  your  daughter  by  your  servant  here. 
My  boy  shall  fetch  the  scrivener  presently. 
The  \vorst  is  this, — that,  at  so  slender  warning, 
You're  like  to  have  a  thin  and  slender  pittance. 

Bap.  Tt  likes  me  well :— Cambio,  hie  you  home^ 
And  bid  Bianca  make  her  ready  straight; 
And,  if  you  will,  tell  what  hath  happened  r— - 
Lncentio's  father  is  arriv'd  in  Padua, 
And  how  she's  like  to  be  Lucentio's  wife 

Luc.  I  pray  the  gods  she  may,  with  all  my  heart 

Tra.  Dnlly  not  with  the  gods,  biit  get  thee  »oue 
Signior  Baptista,  shall  I  lead  the  way? 
Welcome!  one  mess  is  like  to  be  your  cheer: 
Come,  sir ;  we'll  better  it  in  Pisa. 

Bap.  I  follow  you. 

[Exeunt  Tranio,  Pedant,  and  Baptint.*.. 

Bion.  Cambio. — 

Luc.  What  say'st  thou,  Biond^'Ho? 

Bion.  You  sa\v  my  master  wink  and  laugh  upos» 
L?ic.  Biondello,  wt'.at  of  that  ?  [you 'i' 

Bion.  'Faith,  noth.ng;  but  he  has  left  me  here 

behind,  to  expound  the  meaning  or  moral  cf  hi* 

signs  and  tokens. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  V. 


I  pray  thee,  moraliae  them. 
Then  thus.    Baplista  is  safe,  talking  with 
iving  father  of  a  deceitful  son. 
c.  And  what  of  him  ? 
tan.  His  daugl)ter  is  to  be  brought  by  you  to 
.  And  then? —  [the  supper. 

BioH-  'I  he  old  priest  at  Saint  Luke's  church  is  at 
jfour  command  at  all  hours. 
Luc.  And  what  of  all  this  ? 

Bion.  I  cannot  tell;  except  they  are  busied  about 
bl  counterfeit  assurance :  take  you  assurance  of 
her,  cum  privilegio  ad  imprimendum  solum  :  to  the 
fhurch  ; — take  tlie  priest,  clerk,  and  some  sufficient 
honest  witnesses :  [say, 
If  this  be  not  that  you  look  for,  I  have  no  more  to 
But,  bid  Bianca  farewell  for  ever  and  a  day. {Gomg.) 

Luc.  Hear'st  thou,  Biondello? 

Bion.  I  cannot  tarry  :  I  knew  a  wench  married  in 
an  atternoon  as  she  went  to  the  garden  for  parsley 
to  stutt'a  rabbit;  and  so  may  you,  sir;  and  so  adieu, 
sir.  My  master  hath  appointed  me  to  go  to  Saint 
Luke's  to  bid  the  priest  be  ready  to  come,  against 
you  come  with  your  appendix.  [Exit. 

Luc.  I  may,  and  will,  if  she  be  so  contented  : 
She  will  be  pleas'd,  then  wherefore  should  I  doubt  ? 
Hap  what  hap  may,  III  roundly  go  about  her; 
It  shall  go  hard,  i(  Cambio  go  without  her.  [Exit. 

Scene  V, — A  public  Road. 
Enter  Petruchio,  Katharina,  and  Hortensio. 

Pet.  Come  on,  o'God's  name  ;  once  more  toward 
our  father  s.  [moon  ! 

Good   Lord,   how  bright  and  goodly  shines  the 

Kath.  The  mnon  !  the  suu  ;  it  is  not  moonlight  now. 

Pet.  I  say,  it  is  the  moon  that  shines  so  bright. 

Kath.  \  know,  it  is  the  sun  that  sliines  so  bright. 

Pet.  Now,  by  my  mother's  son,  and  that's  myself, 
It  shall  be. moon,  or  star,  or  wliat  I  list. 
Or  ere  i  journey  to  your  father's  house  ; — 
Go  on,  and  fetch  our  horses  back  again. — 
Evermore  cross'd,  and  cross'd,  nothing  but  cross'd! 

Hor.  Say  as  he  says,  or  we  shall  never  go. 

Kath.  Forward,  I  pray,  since  we  have  come  so 
And  be  it  moon,  or  sun,  or  what  you  please  :  [far, 
And  il"you  please  to  call  it  a  rush  candle. 
Henceforth  I  vow  it  shall  be  so  for  me. 

Pet.  1  say,  it  is  the  moon. 

Kath.  I  know  it  is. 

Pet.  Nay,  then  you  lie  ;  it  is  the  blessed  sun. 

Kath.'Wen  God  be  bless'd,  it  is  the  blessed  sun: — 
But  sun  it  is  not,  when  you  say  it  is  not ; 
And  the  moon  clianges,  even  as  your  mind. 
What  you  will  have  it  nam'd,  even  that  it  is  ; 
And  so  it  shall  be  so,  for  Katharine. 

Hor.  Petruchio,  go  thy  ways  ;  the  field  is  won. 

Pet.   Well,    forward,  forward:  thus  the  bowl 
should  run. 
And  not  unluckily  against  the  bias. — 
But  soft ;  what  company  is  coming  here  ? 

Enter  Vincentio,  iti  a  travelling  dress. 
Good morrow,  gentle  mistress  :  where  away  ? — 

[To  Vincentio.) 
Tell  me,  sweet  Kate,  and  tell  me  truly  too, 
Hast  thou  beheld  a  fresher  gentlewoman? 
S  :oh  war  of  white  and  red  within  her  cheeks  ! 
VV  iiat  stars  do  spangle  heaven  with  such  beauty. 
As  tliose  two  eyes  become  that  heavenly  face  ? — 
Fair  lovely  maid,  once  more  good-day  to  thee  : — 
8wet^t  Kate,  embrace  her  for  her  beauty's  sake. 

Ilor.  'A  wilt  make  the  man  mad,  to  make  a 
wo'iian  of  him. 

Kath.  Young  budding  virgin,  fair,  and  fresh,  and 
sweet, 

Whither  away ;  or  where  is  thy  abode  ? 
Happy  the  parents  of  so  fair  a  child  ; 
Happier  the  man,  whom  favourable  stars 
Allot  thee  for  his  lovely  bed  fellow ! 

Pet.  Why,  how  now,  Kaf  e  !  I  hope  thou  art  not 
mad : 


This  is  a  man,  old,  wnnkled,  faded,  wither'J; 
And  not  a  maiden,  as  thou  say'st  he  is. 

Kath.  Pardon,  old  father,  my  mistaking  eyes. 
That  have  been  so  bedazzled  with  the  sun, 
That  every  thing  I  look  on  seemeth  green  : 
Now  !  perceive,  thou  art  a  reverend  father 
Pardon,  1  pray  thee,  for  my  mad  mistaking. 

Pet.  Do,  good  old  grandsire ;  and  withal,  mak« 
known 

Which  way  thou  travellest:  if  along  with  us, 
W e  shall  be  joyful  of  thy  company. 

Vin.  Fair  sir, — and  you  my  merry  mistress, 
That  with  your  strange  encounter  much  amaz'd 
me, —  [Pisa: 
My  name  is  call'd — Vincentio ;   my   dwellhig — 
And  bound  I  am  to  Padua;  there  to  visit 
A  son  of  mine,  which  long  I  have  not  seen. 

Pet.  What  is  his  name  ? 

Vin.  Lucentio,  gentle  sir. 

Pet.  Happily  met;  the  happier  for  tliy  sou. 
And  now  by* taw,  as  well  as  reverend  age, 
I  may  entitle  thee — my  loving  father ; 
The  sister  to  my  w^ife,  this  gentlewoman. 
Thy  son  by  this  hath  married  :  Wonder  not. 
Nor  be  not  griev'd  ;  she  is  of  good  esteem. 
Her  dowry  wealthy,  and  of  worthy  birth; 
B-side,  so  qualified  as  may  beseem 
'i'he  spouse  of  any  noble  gentleman. 
Let  me  embrace  with  old  Vincentio: 
And  wander  we  to  see  thy  honest  son. 
Who  will  of  thy  arrival  be  full  joyous. 

Vi7i.  But  is  this  true?  or  is  it  else  your  pleasure. 
Like  pleasant  travellers,  to  break  a  jest 
Upon  the  company  you  overtake  ? 

Hor.  I  do  assure  thee,  father,  so  it  is. 

Pet.  Come,  go  along,  and  see  the  truth  hereof; 
For  our  first  merriment  hath  made  thee  jealous. 

[Exeunt  Petruchio,  Katharina,  and  Vinceniio- 

Ilor.  Well,  Petruchio,  this  hath  put  me  in  heart. 
Have  to  my  widow  ;  and  if  she  be  forward. 
Then  hasl  thou  taught  Hortensio  to  be  untoward. 

[Exii. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — Padua.    Before  Lucentio  s  House, 

Enter,  on  one  side,  Biondello,  Lucentio,  and 
Bianca  :  Gremio  walking  on  the  other  side. 

Bion.  Softly  and  swiftly,  sir;  for  the  piiest  is 
ready. 

Luc.  I  fly,  Biondello :  but  they  may  chance  to 
need  thee  at  home,  therefore  leave  us; 

Bion.  Nay,  faith,  I'll  see  the  church  o'yoiir  back; 
and  tuen  come  hack  to  my  master  as  soon  as  1  can. 
[Exeunt  Lucentio,  Bianca,  and  Biondello, 

Ore.  I  marvel,  Cambio  comes  not  all  this  while. 

Enter  Petruchio,  Katharina,  Vincentio,  and 

Attendants. 
Pet.  Sir,  here's  the  door,  this  is  Lucentio's  house, 
My  father's  bpars  more  toward  the  market  place; 
Thither  must  I,  and  here  I  leave  you,  sir. 

Vin.  You   shall  not  choose  but  drink  before 
you  go ; 

I  think,  1  shall  command  your  welcome  here. 
And,  by  all  likelihood,  some  cheer  is  toward. 

{Knocks.) 

Gre.  They're  busy  within,  you  were  best  koock 
louder. 

Enter  Pedant  above,  at  a  window, 
Ped.  What's  he,  that  knocks  as  he  would  beat 

down  the  gate  ? 

Vin.  Is  signior  Lucentio  within,  sir? 

Ped.  He's  within,  sir,  but  not  to  be  spoken 

withal. 

Vin.  What  if  a  man  bring  him  a  hundred  pound 
or  two,  to  make  merry  withal  ? 

Ped.  Keep  your  hundred  pounds  to  yourself;  he 
shall  need  /vone,  so  long  as  1  live. 


Scene  1.  TAMING  OF 

Pet.  Nay,  I  tolcl  yiv.,  your  son  was  beloved  in 
Padua.— Do  yoii  hear,  sir? — to  leave  fiivolous 
circumstances, — I  pray  you,  tell  sij-nior  Lucentio, 
tJiat  his  father  is  come  from  Pisa,  and  is  here  at  the 
door  to  speak  witli  him. 

Ped.  Thou  liest ;  Ids  father  is  come  from  Pisa, 
and  here  looking  out  at  the  window. 

Vin.  Art  thou  iiis  f.ither  ? 

Ped.  Ay,  sir ;  so  his  mother  says,  if  I  may  be- 
lieve her. 

Pet.  Why,  how  now,  gentleman!  {To  Vincen.) 
why,  tliis  is'  flat  knavery,  to  take  upon  you  another 
man's  name. 

Ped.  Lay  hands  on  the  villain;  I  believe,  'a 
means  to  cozen  somebody  in  this  city  under  my 
countenance. 

Re-enter  Biondello. 

Bion.  I  have  seen  them  in  the  church  to^etDPT: 
God  send  'em  good  shipping! — But  who  is  here? 
mine  old  master,  Vincentio  i  now  we  are  undone, 
and  broii.^ht  to  nothing. 

Vin.  Come  hitlier,  crack-hemp. 

[Seeing  Biondello.) 

Bion.  I  hope,  I  may  choose,  sir. 

Vin.  Come  liither,  you  rogue :  What,  have  you 
forgot  me  ? 

Bion.  Forgot  you  ?  no,  sir :  I  could  not  forget 
you,  for  I  never  saw  you  before  in  all  my  life. 

Viji.  Wtiat,  you  notorious  villain,  didst  thou 
never  see  thy  master's  father,  Vincentio? 

Bion.  Wliat,  my  old,  worshipful  old  master?  yes, 
marry,  sir ;  see  where  he  looks  out  of  the  window. 
Vin.  1s  t  so,  indeed  ?  {Beats  Biondello.) 

Bion.  Help,  help,  help!  here's  a  madman  will 
murder  me.  [Exit. 
Ped.  Help,  son  !  help,  signior  Baptista ! 

[Exit  from  the  tvindow.) 
t  Pet.  Pr'ythee,  Kate,  let's  stand  aside,  and  see 
;  the  end  of  this  controversy.  {They  retire.) 

Re-enter  Pedant  below ;  Bafhsta,  Tranio,  and 
Servants. 

\      Tra.  Sir,  what  are  you,  that  offer  to  beat  my 
servant  ? 

Vin.  What  am  I,  sir?  nay,  what  are  you,  sir? — 
O  immortal  gods  !  O  fine  villain  !  A  silken  doublet ! 
a  velvet  hose  !  a  scarlet  cloak  !  and  a  copatain  hat ! 
— O,  I  am  undone  !  I  am  undone  !  while  I  play  the 
good  husband  at  home,  my  son  and  my  servant 
spend  all  at  the  university. 

Tra.  How  now  !  what's  the  matter  ? 

Bap.  What,  is  the  man  lunatic  ? 

Tra.  Sir,  you  seem  a  sober  ancient  gentleman  by 
your  habit,  but  your  words  show  you  a  madman  : 
Why,  sir,  what  concerns  it  you,  if  1  wear  pearl  and 
gold  ?  I  thank  my  good  father,  I  am  able  to  main- 
tain it. 

Vin.  Thy  father  ?  O,  villain !  he  is  a  sail-maker 
in  Bergamo. 

Bap.  You  mistake,  sir;  you  mistake,  sir:  Prav, 
what  do  you  think  is  his  name  ? 

Vin,  His  name?  as  if  I  knew  not  his  narjCii*:  [ 
have  bronglit  iiitu  up  ever  since  he  was  three  years 
old.  and  his  name  is — Tranio. 

Ped.  Away,  away,  mad  ass!  his  name  is  Lucen- 
tio ;  and  he  is  mine  only  son,  and  heir  to  the  lands  of 
me,  signior  Vincentio. 

Vin.  Lucentio!  O,  he  hath  murdered  his  mas- 
ter!— Lay  hold  on  him,  I  charge  ;ou,  in  the  duke's 
name  : — O,  my  son,  my  son  ! — tell  me,  thou  villain, 
where  is  my  son  Lucentio? 

Tra.  Call  forth  an  olBcer :  {Enter  one  with  an 
Officer)  carry  this  mad  knave  to  the  gaol : — Father 
fiaptista,  I  charge  you  see,  that  he  be  forthcoming. 

Vin.  Carry  me  to  the  gaol ! 

Gre.  Stay,  officer;  he  shall  not  go  to  prison. 

Bap.  Talk  not,  signior  Gremio ;  1  say,  he  shall 
go  to  prison. 

Gre.  Take  heed,  signior  Baptista,  le.st  you  be 


THE  SHREW.  225 

coney-catched  in  this  business;  I  da  e  8wear,  this 

is  the  right  Vincentio. 

Ped.  Swear,  if  thou  darest. 
Gre.  Nay,  1  dare  not  swear  It.  [Lnceutio 
Tra.  Then  thou  wert  best  say,  tha,  I  am  uoi 
Ore.  Yes,  1  know  thee  to  be,  signior  Lucentio. 
Bap.  Away  with  the  dotard  ;  to  the  gaol  with  him. 
Vin.  Thus  strangers  may  be  haled  and  abused  :- 

O  monstrous  villain ! 

Re-enter  Biondello,  ivith  Luceniio,  and  Bianca 

Bion.  O,  we  f  /e  spoiled,  and — Yonder  he  isj 
deny  him,  forswear  him,  or  else  we  ar   all  undone. 

Luc.  Pardon,  sweet  father.  {Kneeling^. 

Vin.  Ijives  my  sweetest  son; 

{Biondello,  Tranio,  and  Pedant,  run  out.i 

Bian.  Pardon,  dear  fatlier.  {Kneeling.) 

Rap.  How  hast  thou  offended  ? 

Where  is  Lucentio? 

Luc.  Here's  Lucentio, 

Right  son  unto  the  right  Vincentio; 
That  have  by  marriage  made  thy  daughter  mine, 
While  counterfeit  supposes  blear'd  thine  eyne. 

Gre.  Here's  packing,  with  a  witness,  to  deceive 
us  all ! 

Vin.  Where  is  that  damned  villain,  Tranio, 
That  fac'd  and  brav'd  me  in  this  matter  so? 

Bap.  Why,  tell  me,  is  not  this  my  Cambio? 

Bian.  Cambio  is  chang'd  into  Lucentio. 

Luc.  Love  wrought  these  miracles.  Bianca'slore 
Made  me  exchange  niy  state  with  Tranio, 
While  he  did  bear  my  countenance  in  the  town; 
And  happily  I  have  arriv'd  at  last 
Unto  the  wished  haven  of  my  bliss  : — 
What  Tranio  did,  myself  eni'orc'd  him  to; 
Then  pardon  hiu),  sweet  father,  for  my  sake. 

Vin.  I'll  slit  the  villain's  nose,  that  would  have 
sent  me  to  the  gaol. 

Bap.  But  do  you  hear,  sir?  {To  Lucentio.)  Have 
you  married  my  daughter  without  asking  my  good- 
will ?  [go  to  . 

Vin.  Fear  not,  Baptista  ;  we  will  content  you. 
But  1  will  in  to  be  revenged  for  this  villainy.  [Exit 

Bap.  And  I,  to  sound  the  depth  of  this  knaver* 

[Exit. 

Luc,  Look  not  pale,  Bianca  ;  thy  father  will  not 
frown.  [Exeunt  Luc.  and  Bian. 

Gre.  My  cake  is  dough  :  But  I'll  in  amimg  the  rest  • 
Out  of  hope  of  all, — but  my  share  of  the  feast.  [Exit. 

Petruchio  and  Katharina  advance, 
Kath.  Husband,  let's  follow,  to  see  the  ena  O 
this  ado. 

Pet.  First  kiss  me,  Kate,  and  we  will. 
Kath.  What,  in  the  midst  of  the  street? 
Pet.  What,  art  thou  ashamed  of  me  ? 
Kath.  No,  sir;  God  forbid  : — but  ashamed  to  kiss. 
Pet.  Why,  then  let's  home  again : — Come,  sir- 
rah, let's  away. 
Kath.  Nay,  I  will  give  thee  a  kiss:  now  pray 

thee,  love,  slay. 
Pet.  Is  not  this  well  i — Come,  my  sweet  Kate ; 
Better  once  than  never,  for  never  too  late.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  H. — A  Room  in  Lucentio' s  House. 
A  Banquet  set  out.  Enter  Baptista,  Vincentio 
Gremio,  tkn  Pedant,  Lucentio,  Bianca,  F& 
TRUCHio,  Katharina  ,  Hortensio,  and  Widow. 
I^RANio,  Biondello,  GrUxMio,  and  others  at- 
tending. 

Luc.  At  last,  though  long,  our  jarring  notes  5gree  . 
And  time  it  is,  when  raging  war  is  done. 
To  smile  at  'scapes  and  perils  overblown. — 
My  fair  Bianca,  bid  my  father  welcome. 
While  I  with  self-same  kindness  welcome  tliine:— 
Brother  Petrnchio,— sister  Katharina,— 
And  thou,  Hortensio,  with  thy  loving  widow,— 
Feast  with  the  best,  and  welcome  to  my  house  , 
My  banquet  is  to  close  our  stomachs  up. 
After  our  great  good  cheer :  Pray  you,  si*  down ; 


226 


TAMING  OF 


THE  SHREW. 


Act  V 


For  now  we  sit  to  chat,  as  well  as  eat. 

{They  sit  at  table.) 

Pet  Nothing  but  sit  ani  sit,  and  eat  and  eat! 

Bap.  Padisa  allbrds  tliis  kindness,  son  Petrnchio. 

Pet.  Padua  alFords  notliing-  but  what  is  kind. 

Hor.  For  both  our  sakes,  I  would  that  word  were 
true. 

Pet.  Now,  for  my  life,  Mortensio  fears  his  widow. 

Will,  'i'iien  never  trust  nie,  if  I  be  aleard. 

Pet.  Yo'.i  are  sensible,  imd  yet  you  miss  my  sense  ; 
1  mean,  Hurtensio  is  aft  ard  of  you. 

fVid.  He,  that  is  f,nddy,  thinks  the  world  turns 

Pet.  Roundly  replied.  [round. 

Knlh.  Mistress,  how  mean  yon  that  ? 

Wid.  Thus  I  conceive  by  him.  fthat  ? 

Pet.  Conceives  by  me  I — How  likes  Hortensio 

Hot:  My  widow  says,  thus  she  Conceives  her  tale. 

Pet,  Very  well  mended:  Kiss  him  for  that,  good 
wiaow.  [round :  

Kalh.  He,  tl»at  is  giddy,  thinks  the  world  turns 
I  pray  you,  tell  me  wh ':t  yon  meant  by  that. 

Wid.  Your  luisbanc,  being  troubled  with  a  shrew, 
Measures  my  husband's  sorrow  by  his  woe: 
And  ndw  you  know  my  meaning. 

Kath.  A  very  mean  meaning. 

Wid.  Right,  I  mean  you 

Kat.  And  I  am  mean,  indeed,  respecting  you. 

Pet.  To  her,  Kate  I 

Hor.  To  her,  widow  ! 

Pel.  A  hundj-ed  marks,  my  Kate  does  put  her 
Hor.  'I'hat  s  my  oflice.  [down. 
Pet.  Spoke  like  an  oihcer: — Ha'  to  thee,  lad.  _ 

{Drinks  to  Hortensio.) 
Bap.  H-ow  likes  Gremio  these  quick-witted  folks  ? 
Gre,  Believe  me,  sir,  they  butt  together  well. 
Biaii.  Head,  and  butt  ?  an  hasty-witted  body 
Would  say,  your  head  and  butt  were  head  and  horn. 
Viii.  Ay,  mistress  bride,  li.ith  tliat  a'.vaken'd  you? 
Biati.  Ay,  but  not  frighted  me  ;   tlierefore  I'll 
sleep  again.  [begun. 
Pet.  Nay,  that  you  shall  not;   since  you  have 
Have  at  yuu  for  a  bitter  jest  or  two. 

Bian.  Am  1  your  bird  /  1  mean  to  shift  my  bush. 
And  then  pursue  me  as  you  diaw  your  bow: — 
You  are  welcome  all. 

[Exeunt  Bia?ica,  Kntharina  nnd  Widotv. 
Pet.  8i»e    hatli   prevented  me. — Here,  signior 
Tranio, 

This  bird  you  aim'd  at,  though  you  hit  her  not ; 
Therefore,  a  health  to  all,  tliat  siiot  and  miss'd. 
Tra.  O,  sir,  Luceutio  slipp  d  me  like  his  grey- 
hound. 

Which  runs  himself,  and  catches  for  his  master. 

Pet.  A  good  swift  simile,  but  something  currish. 

Tra.  'Tis  well,  sir,  tlial  you  iumted  lor  yourself; 
Tis  thought,  your  deer  dot-s  hold  you  at  a  bay. 

Bap.  O  hi),  Petrucliio,  Tranio  hits  you  now. 

Luc.  I  thank  thee  for  that  gird,  good  Tranio, 

Hor.  Confess,  confess,  hath  he  not  hit  you  here  ? 

Pet.  'A  has  a  little  gall'd  nie,  1  confess; 
And  as  the  jest  did  glance  away  Ironi  me, 
■Tis  ten  to  one  it  maim'd  you  two  outright. 

Bap.  Now,  in  good  sadness,  son  Petrucbio, 
I  think  thou  hast  the  veriest  shrew  of  all. 

Pet.  Well,  I  say — no:  and  therefore,  for  as- 
surance, 

Let's  each  one  send  unto  his  wife ; 

And  he,  whose  wife  is  most  obedient 

To  come  at  first,  when  he  doth  send  for  her. 

Shall  win  the  wager,  which  we  will  propose. 

Hor.  Content :  what  is  the  wager  i 

Luc.  Twenty  crowns. 

Pet.  Twenty  crowns ! 
Ill  venture  so  much  on  my  hawk,  or  hound. 
But  twenty  times  so  much  upon  my  wife. 

Luc.  A  hundred,  then. 

Hor,  Content. 

Pet.  A  match ;  'tis  done. 

Hor.  Who  shall  begin  ? 

Luc.  That  will  I.— Go, 


Biondello,  bid  your  mistress  come  to  tne. 

Bion.  I  go  [Exit 

Bap.  Son,  I  will  be  your  half,  Bianca  comes. 

Luc.  I'll  have  no  halves  :  Pll  bear  it  all  myself. 
Re-enter  Biondello. 
How  now  !  what  news  ? 

Bion.  Sir,  my  mistress  sends  you  word 

That  she  is  busy,  and  she  cannot  come. 

Pet.  How  !  she  is  busy,  and  she  cannot  come ! 
Is  that  an  answer  ? 

Ore.  Ay,  and  a  kind  one  too  ; 

Pray  God,  sir,  your  wife  send  you  not  a  worse. 

Pet.  I  hope,  better. 

Hor.  Sirrah,  Biondello,  go,  and  entreat  my  wife 
To  come  to  me  forlhwith.  [Exit  Biondello,. 

Pet.  O,  ho!  entreat  her! 

Nay,  then  she  must  needs  come. 

Hor.  I  am  afraid,  sir, 

Uu  vvuat  you  can,  yours  will  not  be  entreated. 

Re-enter  Biondello. 
Novv,  where's  my  wife  ?  [hand  ; 

Bion.  She  says,  you  have  some  goodly  jest  in 
She  will  not  come :  she  bids  you  come  to  her. 

Pet.  Worse  and  worse  ;  she  will  not  come  !  O 
Intolerable,  not  to  be  endiir'd  !  [vile. 
Sirrah,  Grumio,  go  to  your  mistress; 
Say,    conmiand  her  come  to  me.      [Exit  Grumio, 

Hor.  1  know  her  answer. 

Pet.  What? 

Hor.  She  will  not  corae. 

Pet.  The  fouler  fortune  mine,  and  there  an  end. 

Enter  Katharina. 

Bap.  Now,  by  my  holidan»e,  here  comes  Katha- 
rina !  [me  ? 

Kath.  What  is  your  will,  sir,  that  you  send  for 

Pet.  Where  is  your  sister,  and  Hortensio's  wife? 

Kath.  They  sit  conferring  by  the  parlour  fire. 

Pet.  Go  fetch  them  hither;  if  they  deny  to 
come. 

Swinge  me  them  soundly  forth  unto  their  h  ^sbsnds; 
Away,  I  say,  and  bring  them  hither  strait^ht. 

[Exit  Katharina, 

Luc-  Here  is  a  wonder,  if  you  talk  of  a  wonder. 

Hor.  And  so  it  is;  I  wonder  what  it  bodes. 

Pet,  Marry,  peace  it  bodes,  and  love,  aud  quiet 
An  awful  ruie,  and  right  Sfii'remacy  ;  [litie. 
And,  to  be  short,  what  not,  that's  sweet  and  happy. 

Bap.  Now  fair  belal  thee,  good  Petruchio  ' 
The  wager  thou  hast  won,  and  I  will  add 
Unto  their  losses  twenty  thousand  crowns; 
Another  dowry  to  another  daughter, 
For  she  is  rhang'd  as  she  had  ne\er  been. 

Pei.  Nay,  I  will  win  my  w;ige_r  better  yet; 
And  show  more  sign  of  her  obedience. 
Her  new-built  virtue  and  obedience. 

Re-enter  Katharina,  with  Bianca  atid  Widow 
See,  where  she  comes:  and  brings  your  froward 
wives 

As  prisoners  to  her  womanly  persuasion. — 
Katharine,  that  cap  of  yours  becomes  you  not; 
Oft  with  that  bauble,  throw  it  under  foot. 
Katharina  pulls  off  her  cap,  and  throws  it  down, 

Wid.  Lord,  let  me  never  have  a  cause  to  sigh. 
Till  I  be  brought  to  such  a  silly  pass! 

Bian.  Fy !  what  a  foolish  duty  call  you  this? 

Luc.  I  would  your  duty  were  as  foolish  too: 
The  wisdom  of  your  duty  ,  fair  Bianca, 
Hath  cost  me  an  hundred  crowns  since  supper  time 

Bian.  The  more  fool  you,  for  laying  on  my  duty. 

Pet.  Katharine,  1  charge  thee,  tell  these  head 
strong  women, 
What  duty  they  do  owe  their  lords  and  husbands. 

Wid.  Come,  come,  you're  mocking;  we  will  have 
no  telling. 

Pet.  Couie  on,  I  say ;  and  first  begin  with  her. 
IV id.  She  shall  not. 

Pet.  I  say,  she  shall ; — and  first  begin  with  heft 


Scene  2.  TAMING  OF 

Katk.  Fy,  fy!   unknit  that  threat'uing  ankiud 
brow; 

And  dart  not  scornful  glances  from  those  eyes, 

To  wound  tliy  lord,  thy  king,  thy  governor : 

It  blots  thy  beauty,  as  frosts  bite  the  ujeads ; 

Confounds  (hy  faiiie,  as  whirlwinds  shake  fair  buds  ; 

And  in  no  st^iise  is  meet,  or  amiable. 

A  woman  mov'd,  is  like  a  fountain  troubled, 

Miidily,  ill-seriMing-,  thick,  bereft  of  beauty  ; 

And,  wliile  it  is  so,  noi.<e  so  dry  or  thirsty 

W^ill  deign  to  sip,  or  touch  one  drop  of  it. 

Thy  husband  is  tiiy  lord,  thy  life,  thy  keeper, 

Tliy  head,  tliy  sovereign;  one  that  cares  for  thee 

And  for  tiiy  maintenance:  conunits  his  body 

To  painful  labour,  both  by  sea  and  land; 

To  watcii  tile  night  in  storms,  the  day  in  cold, 

While  thou  best  warm  at  home,  secure  and  safe; 

And  craves  no  other  tribute  at  thy  hands. 

But  love,  fair  looks,  and  true  obedience; — 

Too  little  payment  for  so  great  a  debt. 

Such  duty  as  the  subject  owes  the  nrince, 

Even  such,  a  woman  oweth  to  her  hu.sband : 

And  when  she's  froward,  peevish,  sullen,  sour. 

And  not  obedient  to  his  honest  will, 

U'^hat  is  she,  but  a  foul  contending  rebel. 

And  graceless  traitor  to  her  loving  lord  ? — 

(  am  asham'd  tliat  women  are  so  simple 

To  offer  war,  where  they  should  kneel  for  peace; 

Or  seek  for  rule,  su})remacy,  and  sway, 

Where  they  are  bound  to  serve,  love,  and  obey. 

Wh)  Are  our  bodies  soft,  aod  weak,  aad  smooth. 


THE  SHREW.  32T 

Unapt  to  toil  and  trouble  in  the  world ; 

Jjut  that  our  soft  conditions,  and  our  hearts, 

Should  well  .agree  with  our  externa!  parts 'i* 

Come,  come,  you  froward  and  unable  worms! 

My  mind  hath  been  as  big  as  one  of  yours, 

My  heart  as  great ;  my  reason,  haply,  more. 

To  bandy  word  for  word,  and  frown  for  iroyru: 

But  now,  I  see,  our  lances  are  but  straws  ; 

Our  strength  as  weak,  our  weakness  past  compare,—  I 

That  seeming  to  be  most,  which  we  least  are. 

Then  vail  your  stomachs,  for  it  is  no  boot; 

And  place  your  hands  below  your  husband's  foot: 

In  token  of  which  duty,  if  he  please. 

My  hand  is  ready,  may  it  do  him  ease. 

Pet.  Why,  there's  a  wench ! — Con»e  on,  and  kiss 
me,  Kate.  [ha't. 
Ltic.  Well,  go  thy  ways,  old  lad  ;  for  thou  shall 
Vin.  'Tis  a  good  hearing,  when  children  are 
toward. 

Luc.  But  a  harsh  hearing,  when  women  are  fro- 
ward. 

Pel.  Come,  Kate,  we'll  to  bed  :  

We  three  are  married,  but  you  two  are  sped. 
'Twas  I  won  the  wager,  though  you  hit  the  white ! 

1  To  Liicentio 
And,  being  a  winner,  God  give  you  good  night! 

[Exeunt  Pelruchio  and  liaih. 
Hor  Now  go  thy  ways,  thou  hast  tanfd  a  curst 
shrew. 

hue.  Tis  a  wonder,  by  your  Icai^e,  she  will  be 
tara'd  00.  [Exeunt, 


WINTER'S  TALE, 


ThJa  play,  nj  Dr.  Warburton  justly  observes,  is,  witb  all  its  absurdities,  very  entertaining.  The  clumeter  »! 
Aatolycus  is  naturally  conceived,  and  strongly  represented.  Johtuon, 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


LEONTES.  King  of  Sicilia. 
M\MILLIUS,  his  Son. 
CAMtLLO,  ) 

cleomK'  C 

DION,  ' 

Another  Sicilian  Lord. 

KOGERO,  a  Sicilian  Gentleman. 

An  Atteu'iant  on  the  young  Prince  MamiUius 

0.fflcer.<!  of  a  Court  of  Judicature. 

POLIXENES,  King  of  Bohemia. 

FLORIZEL.  his  Sun. 

ARCHlDAiViUS,  a  Bohemian  Lord. 

A  Mariner. 


An  old  Shepherd,  reputed  Father  of  Perdita, 

Clown,  his  Son. 

Servant  to  the  old  Shepherd. 

AUTOLYCUS,  a  Rogue. 

Time,  as  Chorus. 

HEKMIONE,  Queen  to  Leontes. 

PERDITA,  Daughter  to  Leontes  and  Hermione 

PAULINA,  Wife  to  Antigonus. 

^^f'^ker''La&,  ] 
MOPSA,— DORCAS,— Shepherdesses. 
Lords,  Ladies,  and  Attendants ;  Satyrs  for  a  Dance, 
Shepherds,  Shepherdesses,  Guards,  etc. 


Scene, — Ssmetimes  in  Sicilia,  sometimes  in  Bohemia. 


Scene  l.-^Sicilia. 


ACT  I. 

An  Ante-chamber  in  Leontes^ 
Palace. 


Enter  Camillo  and  Archidamus. 

Arch.  If  yoH  shall  chance,  Camillo,  to  visit  Bo- 
hernia  on  the  like  occasion,  wherein  ray  services  are 
now  on  foot,  yoii  shall  see,  as  I  have  said,  ^r.eai.«3ifc- 
ference  betwJ.xt,joujC,.Boheniia,  and  your 
'^Cdm.  I  think,  this  coming  summer,  the  king  of 
I  Sicilia  moans  to  pay  Bohemia  the  visitation  which  he 

•  justly  owes  him. 

Arch.  Wherein  our  entertainment  shall  shame  us, 
I  we  will  be  justified  in  our  loves :  for,  indeed,-p  /, 

•  Cam.  'Jj[e seech  yon,          -  (k  CvM-^*?^ 

Arch.  Veriiy,  Ispeak  it  in  the  freedom  of  my 
'knowledge:  we  cannot  with  such  niagoificence — 

in  so  rare — I  know  not  wliat  to  say  We  will 

give  you  sleepy  drinks ;  that  your  senses,  unintel- 
ligent of  our  insnfficience,  may,  though  they  cannot 
praise  us,  as  little  accuse  us.  [given  freely. 

Ca7n.  You  pay  a  great  deal  too  dear  for  what's 
Arch.  Believe  me,  I  speak  as  my  understanding 
instructs  me,  and  as  mine  honesty  puts  it  to  utter- 
ance. 

Cam.  Skilia  cannot  show^  Jhiinself^oyer  kind  to 
Bohemia.  Tlie^^jtveXfi  Jrained  together,  jn  their 
cKricfhoods ;  anj^here  rootedTietwixt  them  then 
saxjTi  anT-TaftectioiTr  which  cannot  choose  but  branch 
now.  Since  their  more  mature  dignities,  and  royal 
necessities,  made  separation  of  their  society,  their 
encounters,  though  not  personal,  have  been  royally 
attornied,  with  interchange  of  gifts,  letters,  loving 
i^.  embassies;  that  they  have  seemed  to  be  together, 
«g  though  absent;  shook  hands,  as  over  a  vast ;  and 
efli'braced,  as  it  were,  from  the  ends  of  opposed 
winds,    'i'he  heavens  continue  tlieir  loves! 

Arch.  I  think,  tliere  is  not  in  the  world  either 
•«Cinalice,  or  matter,  to  alter  it.  You  have  an  un- 
speakable comfort  of  your  young  prince  MamjiiLua.; 
it  is  a  gentleman  of  the  greatest  promisejTIiat  ever 
came  into  my  note. 

Cain.  I  very  well  agree  with  you  in  the  hopes 
of  him ;  It.is  a  gallant  child;  one  that,  indeed, 
physics  fhe  subject,  makes  old  hearts  fresh :  they, 
that  went  on  crutches  ere  he  was  born,  desire  yet 
tJieir  lil'e,  to  see  him  a  man. 

Arch.  Would  they  else  be  content  to  die  ? 

Cam.  Yes;  if  there  were  no  other  excuse,  why 
they  should  desire  to  live. 

I  Arch.  If  the  king  had  no  son,  they  would  desire 
to  live  on  crutches,  till  he  had  one. 

[Exeunt. 


Scene  II. — The  same.   A  Room  of  state  in  the 
Palace, 

Enter  Leontes,  Pouxenes,  Hermione,  Mamii*. 
Lius,  Camillo.  and  Attendants. 
^  ^  vvuv\  VW^ 
Pol.  ^Jine  changes  of  the  wat'ry  star  have  been 
The  shepherd's  notifrsince  we  have  left  our  thron* 
Without  a  burden:  time  as  Idftg  again™'""""  " 
WbTcHd  be  fill'd  tip,  my  brother,  with  our  thanks; 
And  yet  we  should,  for  perpetnity, 
Go  hence  in  debt.    And  therefore,  like  a  cipher, 
Yet  standing  in  rich  place,  I  multiply. 
With  one  we-thank-you,  many  thousands  more. 
That  go  before  it. 

heon.  Stay  your  tlianks  awhile ; 

And  pay  them,  when  you  part. 

Pol.  r'^-"'  *"  >>Sir,  that's  to-morrovp—-— 

I  am  Question'd  by  nikjGearStpf  what  may  chance 


Ot'SreeCiuppn^m^  absenee  :  That  nray  bio w^~^^ 
No^neaj^^^ndslt  hrnnc,  to  make  us  say,  ^;  j)(ir^S^-..-:3 
Thislspurfdrth  too  truly  !  Besides,  I  have  stay'd  « 
To  tire  your  royalty. 

Leon.  We  are  tougher,  brother. 

Than  you  can  put  us  to't 
Pol.  No  longer  stay.  /o\fie4. 

Leon.  One  seven-night  longer.     -      |  iA}C^^  '  tT 
Pol.  Very  sooth,  to-morrow. 

Leon.  We'll  part  the  time  between's  then  :  and 
I'll  no  gain-saying.  [in  that 

Pol.        ^       Press  me  not,  'beseech  you,  so ; 
There  is  no(tongu(^,  that  moves,  none,  none  i'the  w 

So  soon  as  yours,  could  win  me  :  so  it  should  now  J 

Were  there  necessity  in  your  request,  although 

'Twere  needful  1  denied  it.  M^LafijaitS 

Do  even  dragjpaejioineward  :  which  to  hinder 

We"re,"in~your  love,  a  whip  to  me ;  mjt-stay 

To,  you  a  charge^nd-tmuhlfe^to  save  both. 

Fare wellTour  Dither.; 
Leon.  Q^ongue^d,  our  queen  ?  speak  yon 

Her.  I  had  thoHjftCs"",  to  have  held  my  peace 
until  [sir 

You  had  drawn  oaths  from  him,  not  to  stay.  You 

Charge  him  too  coldly  :  Tejihixa,  you  are  sure, 

A4iJiU^lhemia^sjK£l  :  this  satisfaction 

Tllie  by-gone°^ayproclaim'd  ;  say  this  to  him. 

He's  beat  from  his  best  ward. 

Leon.  Well  said,  Hermione 

Her.  To  tell  he  longs  to  see  his  son,  were  strong: 

But  let  him  say  so  then,  and  let  him  go  ; 

But  let  him  swear  so,  and  he  shal,Lnpt  stay. 

We'll  4^a(iJk  him  hence  with  dJitap'. — 

Yet  of  your  royal  presence  Lto  Polixents) 

venture  . 


T'he  borrow  of  a  week.    When  at  Bohemia 
Vou  take  ray  lord,  I'll  give  him  my  commission, 
ro  let  him  there  a  monUi,  behind  the^est^'rjVujfi)eU 


AVINTER'S  TALE. 


ontes, 


No,  madam. 
I  may  not. 


I'refix'd  for's  parting:  yet,  gooik  deed, 
I  ii)ve  Ihee  not  a^a)'  o  the  clock,  behind 
VV^lvU  lady  she  her  lord. — You'll  stay 
PoL 

'dfr.  Nay,  but  vou  will  ? 

'  .       -    ,  ^ 

Hi-r.  Verily  !  _  fhOMrPCiSsly 

^fid  p'i' <'tf  with^mb^  vows  :  But  I,  ' 
Enoudi  yon  would  seek  to  unsphere  JtJje  stars  with 
$ly3v?!e  yet  say,  Sir,  no  going.    Xgrilj^^  [oaths, 

»f)teiit  its  a  lord's.    VVill  you  go  yet? 
^•"Stfl  j>?e  t>;  keep  yon  as  a  prisoner, 
ly&t  Kkt-  a  giiest ;  so  you  sliall  pay  your  fees, 
W.<7i*»4  vixn  depart,  and  save  your  thanks. 


-say  YOU 


My  prisoiirr?  or  my  guest  ?  by  your  dread^^verily'i 

~        ~'  Yourjajest.thenj.jnajiaffl  • 

£*  be  your  prisoner,  slioulcT|rnj>ai^t  offending  ;  , 
W^it-K  is       uie  less  easy  to  commit,  *^>'%^t 
'flyijf^yoii  to  punish. 

//t?r.  Not  your  gaoler  then, 

IJuiyonr  l-iind  hostess.    Conie,  I'll  question  you 

iny  lord's  tricks,  and  yours,  when  you  were 
Yoalvvere  pretty,  lordlin^^^  ifeoys  ; 

Pol.  We  were,  fair  queen, 

''i       lads,  that  thought  there  was  no  more  behind, 
H  it  siich  a  day  to-morrow  as  to-day,  .  \  yi 

At)]  to  be  boy  eternal.     \'mL\l3^yjiyir^^''^^ )  Jfl 
Har.  Was  not  my  lord  the  ^ne^  wag  o'the  two  ? 
Pol.  We  wer^  that  did  frisk 

i'tl^e  sun,       ,  ~- 
And  bleat  the  one  at  the  othOT^\V"hat  we  chang'd, 
'JQis  irrnocence  tor  innQ^ri^f^d.kjl£W  not 

lilo.at  any  (Trd  TlTaTvve^pi^^^^       that  fiTeT 

have  jinswgr'ji 


Leon.  vVhy,  that  was,  whe» 

Three  crabbed  months  had  sour'd  themselves 
death, 

Ere  I  could  make  thee  open  thy  white  hand, 
And  clap  thyself  my  love;  then  didst  thou  utter, 
I  am  yours  far.  ever. 

Her.  It  is  Grace,  indeed. — . 

Why,  lo  you  now,  I  have  spoke  to  the  puipof* 
The  one  for  ever  earn'd  a  royal  husband  ;  [twice. 
The  other,  for  some  while  a  friend. 

{Giving  her  hand  to  PoHxenes.) 

Leon.  1  oo  hot,  too  hot :  {AsideX 

TojTiingle  friendship  far,  is  mingling  bloods.    " 

I  "Have  fi^einor  c'ordigM        :— my  healTcTance^ ;  1 
But  not  for  joy^^Sot  |oy.t— This  enteffaimnent  \ 
May'=a^Tee'1ace  paToil ;  derive  a  liberty 
tVom  heartiness,  from  bounty,  fertile  bosom. 
And  well  become  the  agent :  it.may,  I  grant: 


But  to  be  p,addling^.alai9^.jai^^{M£iuJQ&.fiii^^ 
As  no\v  they  are  ;  and  qiakin/^ 
A^n-a  lookit)g-giaas ;— fuid^TrerTTo^ 


The. 
My 


A  n<lj.mT  -weH»k~  ftftuuis  ne'er 
With  stronger  blood,  vve 


■  been^hi 
ou 


.  ""^^iea\en 

Boldly,  Nuft^TTty  ;  the  imposition  clear'd, 
li-iTTPditui'y  0111  s.   "  X 

Her.  By  this  we  gather,  ^ 

Vou  have  tripp'd  since. 

Pol.  O  my  most  sacred  lady, 

Teptipiaiimi^  l^a  ye  since  then  been  barn  to  hs  ;  for 
In  those  icj^edg^days  was  my^wife  a  girl ;  ^ 
Your  precioussetfhad  not  th^n  cross'd  the  eyes 
Of  my  young  play-fellow.  »• 

nlr^  Grace  to  l^J)'^rW^*%^ 

Of  this  make  no  conclusion  ;  Jest  ypi^  gay,  rf^^^^ 
Yourq^enjm    I  arg,Uevils/  Yet,  go  on;  ^ 
|TlTeOTtences  we'Kave  matle^you  do,  we'll  answer; 
Jf  you  first  sinn'd  with  us,  and  that  with  us 
Vou  did  continue  fault,  and  that  you  slipp'd  not 
With  any  but  with  us. 

Leon.  Is  he  won  yet? 

Her.  He'll  stay,  ray  lord. 

Leon.  At  my  request,  he  would  not. 

tlennione,  my_  dea^^  never  spok'st 

7 ^Tetter  purpose. 

tier.  Never? 

Leon.  Never,  but  once. 

Her.  What  ?  have  I  twice  said  weir?"wKen"'  Was't 
before  ? 

I  pr'ythee,  tell  me  :  Craini)^jia.jsdth-4>iaise,  and 
make  us  [less, 
As  fat  as  tame  things  :  One  good  deed,  dying  tongue- 
Slaughters  a  thousand,  waiting  upon  that. 
Ojtr  praises  a rR  our  yvRgesj  You  may  ride  US^ 
Wi'tlT"oue~soft  kiss,  a  thousand  furlongs,  ere 
With  spur  we  heat  an  acre.  But  to  the  goal 
My  last  good  was,  to  entreat  his  stay  ; 
V^aLisasuiiy,  Jrst  it  has  an^lde-ft-sigter. 
Or  I  mistake  you  :  O,  would  her  name  were  Grace! 
BTtt  o»«}€  before  I  spoke  to  the  purpose  :  Wheu? 
Nay,  let  me  hav't ;  1  long. 


us,         /  Hoi 
\  Thi 
al  ;-^  "-Wi 


orfjo,flie  deer;  (^thatis  entertainment 
)sora[Ji^jgH:iB;^-^^  m^ffiwvs7==MaiiitHius, 
ou  my  boy  ? 

Ay,  my  good  lord. 

I^'feck!^? 
What,  hast  sfiiutch'd^. 

ne.    Come,  capi«.»,.  ^ 
leanly,  captain : 


A?l 
Mam. 
Leon. 

Why,  that's  my  \awcock; 

thy  nose 
They  say,  jj^sa  j[;,ppy  pjitj^fmin 
We  must  b^"^^;  notneaTTBTT 
And  yet  the  s?eer,  the  heifer,  and  the  calf. 
Are  all  call'd  neat.— Slillvirg^ina!  ling 

{Gbserving  PouxenesTtnd HermioaSr] 
LTpon  his  palm  ? — How  now,  you  wanton  calf, 

ATrrmmny-Falf? 

Mam.  Yes,  if  you  will,  mv  lord  ^ ' 

Leon.  Thou  want'st  a  rough  pasb.  and  the  shooll      n  it;  '  v 
that  I  have,  ^  PtJU^  --J^^%^^- 

To  be  full  like  me : — yet,  they  say,  ^Jtgare       ^^'^  A  '  ' 


Admost  as  like  as  eggs 


I' 


Jliijffi^rejyieyJ^se 
.wind,  as  waters;  Jalse^ 
by  one  tHaTTixes 
No  bourn  'twixt  his  and  mine  ;  yet  were  it  true 
To  say  this  boy  were  like  me. — Come,  sir  page, 
Look  on  me  with  your  welkin  eve  :  Sweet  villain!  b/ci^  * 
Most  dear'st !  niy  ^TT^— Can  thy  dam  •f—m;ij\^^^'^^.r 
Affection  !  thy  intention  stabs  the  centre  :  (be? 
Thou  dost  uvAk£.4M]iS^ljjej  thjngs  not  so  held,  (  !<^^\ 

po2i/2iiaj£ai!si Jidik^Sa!^  can  tEis  be  ?•)  ^ 

VVith  what's  iinrgsl4hou  coactive  art,  \\^  j 

And  fellow'st'^ibijig  :  Then  'tis  very  qfe^?ti|,  -  cCediU^S/ 
Thou  may'st  co-join  with  something ;  and  thou  doat ; 
(And  that  beyond  commission ;  and  I  find  it,) 
And  that  to  the  infection  of  my  brainSj^,^ 
And  hardening  of  my  brows. 

Pol  What  means  Sicilia  f 

Her.  Hg..!si^5mfihMigjsfi.^m^ 
Pol.  ^""'""''"''"""■^TTov^  my  lord  ? 

What  chf^er  ?  how  is't  with  you,  best  brother  ? 

Her.  You  look. 

As  if  you  held  a  brow  of  much  distraction : 
Arfc-ytUL  mQ„v,.',(j,  "^y  ltir,d  ? 

Leon.  ^-^JH}  earnest.— 

How  sometimes  naturewiUpetrgytrFT^ 
Its'tenderne'ss,  and  mak'e'tgenjLPast^ 
'IV^Ttsrirn-SOTT^  the  lines 

Of7nVT)'6ysTacjg7ntetli^^  | 
T?ve~nfy-tnree  years  ;  and  saw  irTyself  unj^^reg^^      ^i£x  H!\|Q» 

^     '"'^liSmdbite  its  master,  and  so  prove,  ^  f/fjv^^^^ 


Lest  it 

y^As  ornament*  oft  doy  too  dangerous, 
How  like,  methought,  I  then  was  to  this  ks^J^  "^'t2c4.  A 
i.s  qjLia^h,  this  gentleman  ^^Mine  honesUripid. 


Wliy"'yoU  tak P^rprs  fqf  ]r^nnp y? 

Mam^  jSo,  my  lord,  l  it  fight.             _  f 
Leon.  You  will  ?  why,  happy  man  be  his  dolej-  fx 
My  broth-   


Are  you  so  fond  of  your  young  prince,  as  we 
Do  seem  to  be  of  ours  ? 


hvrr-U/t 


pA.  ,\m^su  k    I  ^^^^ 


830 


4n  4  Kje , 

Pol.  1:  at  home,  sir, 

He'u  all  my  exercise,  my  mirtli,  my  matter  : 
Now  my  sworn  IVieixl,  and  then  mine  enemy;  , 
My  parasite,  my  soldier,  statesman,  all  :  <,/ 
^  July's  day  sliortfl^ December  lI^ 

JHiqii^Jits^J^aT^^ 

^Xieon.     — ^   ~~~°"°'^~'"''"'S(rs?an39  this  squire 
Ollic'd  with  me  :  We  two  will  walk,  my  lord, 
A.n(l  leave  yon  to  your  graver  stejjs. — Hermione, 
How  tliou  lov'st  us,  show  in  our  brother's  welcome  ; 
Let  what  is  dear  in  Sicily,  be  cheap  : 
N^ext  to  thyself",  and  my  young  ri)yer.  he's 
ApjDarent  to  my  heart.  c\  ^iiMX^  &tJ^^ 

Her.  ^  If  you  would  seeie  us, 

I  ,      A  We  are  yours  i'  lM""garden  :';|5hall's  attend  vou 

" — ^  "^'^^  f[jgQfi^  'Po  your  own  bents  dispose  you  :  you'll  be 
Be  yon  beneath  the  sky  : — I  am  ^plin^  now."  T^u' 
Xhg"||^h  you  perceive  nie  not  liow  1  give  line, 
Go  to,  " 


goTo 

{Aside.  Observing^ 
liow  she  holds  up  the 
And  aims  her  witli  tlie 
To  her  allowing  husband  !  Gone  already 
Inch-thick,  knee-deep ;  o'er  head  and  ears  ajork'd 
one. —  '  ■ 

_  [Exeuvi  Polixenes,  Hermiotie,  and  Attendants. 
^Go,  [)i:»y,  hoy,  ]jlaY  ; — tiiy  motlier  plays,  and  I 


.Ii*)ay  too;  but  so  disgraced  a  part,  whose  issue 


rave  ;  contempt  and  clamour 
Go,  play,  boy,  play; — There 


VViil  hiss  nie  to  my 
'"'ill  be  my  kneil.- 
have  been. 
Or  I  am  much  deceiv'd,  cuckolds  ere  now; 
And  many  a  man  there  is,  even  at  this  present, 
Now,  while  I  speak  this,  holds  his  wife  by  the  arm, 
That  little  thinks  she  has  been  sinic'd  .in's  absence. 
And  his  pond  fish'd  b^Jiis^ofij^^  neighbour,  by 
*7§iOE^lijS3li2|^^neT^j^     nay,  there's  comfort  in't, 
\'\Vhiles  other"  njen  nave  gates ;  and  those  gates 
''I  open'd. 
As  mine  against  their  will :  Should  all  despair. 
That  have  revolted  wives,  the  tenth  of  mankind 
VVould  hang  themselves.  Physic  for't  there  is  none ; 
_^tis.aJjamiy4ilaj3et,J^ 

j  Where  'tis  predominant ;  and  'tis  powerful,  think  it, 
'  FrotnleasfrWest7iS'6ilh  aftd' s^      :  Be  it  concluded. 
No  barricado  for  a  belly ;  know  it ; 
It  will  let  in  and  out  the  enemy, 
With  bag  and  baggage  :  pany  a  thousand  of 

Have  tlxg  d<SfiaSfi,j  and  i'pi^l't  not. — Htiw  noWj  hoy  ? 

Main.  I  am  like  you,  they  say. 
Leon.  Why,  that's  some  comfort. — 

What !  Camillo  there  ! 
Cam.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Leon.  Go  play,  Mamilius;  thou'rt  an  honest 
man.— ^  [Exit  Mamillius. 

Camillo,  this  great  sir  will  yet  stay  longer. 

Cam.  You  had  much  ado  to  make  his  anchor  hold: 
When  you  cast  out,  it  still  came  home. 

Leon.  Didst  note  it  ? 

Cam.  He  would  not  stay  at  your  petitions  ;  made 
His  business  more  material. 

Leon.  Didst  perceive  it  ? 

\They're  here  with  me  already;  whisperiug,  round- 
tSicilia  is  a  so  forth  :  'Tis  iar  gone,  [ing, 
When  1  shall^ust  it  last. — How  came't,  Camillo, 
,Jl.h_at  he  (lid  stayT 

Ca7n.  At  the  good  queen's  entreaty. 

Leon.  At  (he  qiieen"s,  be  t  :  good  should  be  per- 
.  Hut^so  it  IS,  it  is  n(>t.    Was  this  vaken    _  [tinentj 

an?''(nYdgrgrfam!tn^ P^ate  but,  thine?  ivkiX"'" 
For  thy  conceit  is  socikin:^,  will  draw  in 
More  than  the  common  blocks  : — Nijt  noted,  is't. 
But  of  the  finer  natures?  by  some  severals, 
t)f  head-piece  extraordinary?  lower  messes, 
Perchance,  are  to  lliis  busi.iei.'s  purbhiid  ;  say. 

Cam.  Biisines,s,  uiy  lord  ?  I  tiuuk,  most  under- 
B(»liemia  stajs  here  longer.  [stand 
Leon.  Ha? 


Stays  here  longer 


Cam. 

Leon.  Ay,  but  why  ? 

Cam.  Tftsati.^fY  Y'J!'/  hifrhnft&g^^AJiic 
Of  our  most  gracious'mistress. 

"'Ueon.  — — —  ''■■'•'•-^^^ajl&fy. 

The  entreaties  of  your  mistress?^  satisfy  ?■ 

Let  that  suffice.    1  have  trusted  thee,  Camillo, 
With  all  the  nearest  things  to  my  heart,  as  well 
My  chamber  councils :  wherein,  priest  like,  thou 
Hast  cleans'd  my  bosom  ;  I  from  thee  departed    ^  , 
Thyjgenii&atj-eform'd  :  but  we  have  ht^h^t^v^^^^ 
Decpiv'd  in.  thy  iflt?gr.U.y^3iiej^^^       —-  -p^ 
In  that  which  seems  so.  ~ 

Cam.  Be  it  forbid,  my  lord  ! 

Leon.  To  bide  upon't ; — Thou  art  not  hwnesit :  or,    ^  - 
If  thou  inclin'st  that  way,  thau,...arLa^co w arcT^^    *^  lf\} 
Which  boxes  honesty  behiad,  restraiju'ng*^^^-'i^i^ 
From  course  requir'd  :  Or  else  tiiou  muk  be  couoteo^ 
A  servant,  eaiafted  in  my  serious  trust,  |>  j'/^* 
And  thereinnegligent ;  or  else  a  fool, 
TJhat  seegt  a  game  play'd  homeTnTellch  stake  drawn, 
And  tak'st  it  all  for  jest. 

Cam.  My  gracious  lord, 


olixenes  and  Hermione.} 

;  the<^  tohim!    

oldness  of  a'\vTfe''*cf<^r«/S4^i  I  may  be  negligent,  foolish,  and  fearfid  ; 

In  every  one  of  these  no  man  is  free. 
But  that  his  negligence,  his  folly,  fear. 
Amongst  the  infinite  doings  of  the  world, 
Souietimes  puts  forth  :  In  your  aflairs,  my  lord. 
If  ever  I  were  wilful-negligent. 
It  was  my  folly;  if  industriously 
I  play'd  the  fool,  it  was  my  negligence, 
Not  weighing  well  the  end  :  if  ever  fearful 
To  do  a  thing,  where  I  the  issue  doubted. 
Whereof  the  execution  did  cry  out 
Against  the  non-performance,  'twas  a  fear 
Which  oft  afiects  the  wisest:  these,  my  lord, 
Are  such  allow'd  infirmities,  that  honesty 
Is  never  free  of.    But,  'beseech  your  grace. 

Be  plainer  with  me ;  leHn^HM*»w-Jtty_.treapas8  

By  its  own  visage  :  iLljLheii„4en;[Jt, 

Leon.  Have  not  you  seen,  Camillo, 

(But  that's  past  doubt:  you  have;  or  your  eye- 


Is  thicker  than  a  cuckold's  horn  ;)  or  heard,      .j^  ^ 
(For,  to  a  vision  so  apparent,  rumour  f^^t^^S 
Cannot  be  mute,)  or  thought,  (lor  cogitation  *y'* 
Resides  not  in  that  man,  that  does  not  think  it,) 
My  wife  isjsliuaf^-V    If  thou  wilt  confess, 
XOr  else  be  impudently  negative, 
To  have  nor  eyes,  nor  ears,  nor  thought,)  then  say. 
My  wife's  a.JjiiiiiijdmiSfLi  deserves  a  name  ^  it/iiTtlii^'^ 
As  rank  as  any  Hax-wench,  that  puts  to  plfij^ 
Before  her  troth-plight ;  say  it,  and  justify  it.  '  / 

Cam.  X.w'ould  not  be  a  stander  by,  to  hear 
My  sovereign  mistress  clouded  so,  without 
My  present  vengeance  taken :  'shre  w  my  heart. 
You  never  spoke  what  did  become  you  less 
Than  this;  which  to  reiterate,  were  sin  ^'"X 
As  deep  as  that,  though  true.  \  \  lj 

Leon.  Is  whispering^nothing"?  I 

Is  leaning  cheek  to  cheek  ?  is  meeting  noses?  / 
Kissing  with  inside  lip  ?  stopping  the  career  / 
Of  laughter  with  a  sigh  ?  (a  note  infallible  ' 
Of  breaking  honesty  :)  horsing  foot  on  foot ?  ;  ,^ 

Skulking  in  corners?  wishing  clocks  more  swift?  '^j^Jwfjj 
Hours,  minutes  ?  noon,  midnight  ?  and  all  eye^blin 
With  the  pin  and  web,  but  theirs,  theirs,,e«lyT 
That  would  unseen  be  wicked?  is^^ij^:^,thi4 
Why,  jyier^lie  jyorljd^^^^ 
The  cbvermg  sk-yis^^hini 
My  wife  is^A.^inSj^JJlOT'^^  P 
If  this  he.ii'6TKms^(^)     'vT'^)'''^  f^^^ti 

Cam.  C„.„,Ot-^  cfood  my  loTrf,  be  cur 
Of  this  diseas'd  opinion,  and  betimes; 
For  'tis  most  dangerous. 
Leon.  Say,  it  be ;  'tis  true.  V^. 

Cam.  No,  no,  my  lord.  — -|  \ 
Leon.  It  is ;  you  lie,  you  lie ; 

I  say.  thou  liest,  Camillo,  and  1  hate  thee ;  V 


Scene  2.        K^^-:^^^  ^  ^'^^ 


WINTER'S  mLE. 


231 


Pronounce  tliee  a  gross  Jon a  mindless  slave ;  / 
Qr  else  a  hovering  temporizer,  that 
Canst  with  thine  eyes  at  once  see  good  and  evil, 
Inclinini! 


^ho  does  infect  hej: 

le^JiLfiJier 
who — if  I 


runnii 

- 

Jjeon.  Why^hethMjivi 
^UOTTHH*-B«^/BoheilTna 
Had  servants  true  about  nie  ;  that  bare  eyes 
To  see  alike  mine  honour  as  their  profits. 
Their  own  particular  thrifts, — they  would  do  that. 
Which  siiould  undo  more  doing:  ay,  .Qild^thou, 
His  cu]j-bearer, — whom  I  fiwn^ecUier  loT'ii^^^^ 
lla y e  bencK*cI7"a^^  "w oTsTuj/J" 'wffo""ma y 's t 

Bjainly,  aislreaven  sees  earth,  and^^^^^ 
How  f  ain  gTHTeH^^u^^^^  a  cup, 

To  give  iriineTfreThy  a  lasting  wink  ; 
W  hich  draught  to  me  were  cordial. 

Cotr  Sir,  my  lord, 

I  could  do  this  ;  and  that  with  no  rash  potion. 


But 


ling'ring  dram,  that  should  not  work 


Malicu«n«iy  like  poison  :  but  I  cannot 
Believe  <.;.-s  crack  to  be  in  my  dread  mistress. 
So  sovereignly  being  honourable. 
I  have  lov'd  thee,  

Leon.  Make't  thy  question,  and  go  rot  J( 

Dost  think,  I  am  bo  muddy,  so  unsettled,  i/yyvK*i^t 
To  appoint  myself  inJ^s"vexation  ?  sully  ' 
The  |Jurity  and  v<yT»iteness^f'  my  sheeTs7 
WhicirTo^tre«erw,4s  iskep ;  v^hicH  being  spotted. 

Is  goads,  thorns,  nettles,  tails  of  wasps  ?  — •  •  

Gi ve'  'scan4a4-to^44ie4rlt)T)d"ollie  prince  my"son, 
Who,  I  do  think,  is  mine,  and  love  as  mine, 
Withdut  ripe  moving  to'k? — Would  1  do  this  ? 
Could  man  so,y_enchV  niVc4  j^t^^  - 

Ca7n.  1  must  believe  you,  sir  ; 

XiLo^and  will  fetch  off  Bohemia  for't : 
Pro\  i(fecr,'t!rat,  when  he'^s  remov'd,  your  highness 
Will  taki;  a^aii^^^jMHteen,  ais  yoilrs  at  first ; 
Kvejv  for*y«tt£._son^  s^e'pandrthereby,  for  sealing 
The  tiyny  of  tongues,  in  courts  and  kingdoms 
Known  and  allied  to  yours. 

Leon.  Thou  dost  advise  me, 

Even  so  as  I  mine  own  course  have  set  down  : 
I'll  give  no  blemish  to  her  honour,  none. 

Ca}n.  My  lord, 
Go  then;  and  with  a  countenance  as  clear 
As  friehushijT  wars^^t  tgasts  with  Bohemia, 

And  with  your  queen  :  I  am  Ins  cup  bearer  j'^-^v 
Ij^'O'n  me  he  have  wholesome  beverage,  -j'' 
Accouiit3Se^^rtr3'trursei^v 

Leon.  "  This  is  all: 

Do't,  aiid  t|K)u^^  the  one  half  of  my  heart ;  \ 
Do't  not,  tHo(i"sprirst  thine  own.  ^ 

Cam.  I'll  do't,  my  lord. 

Leon.  I  will  seem  friendly,  as  thou  hast  advis'd 
me.  [Exii. 

Cam.  O  miserable  lady  ! — But  for  me. 
What  case  stand  I  in  ?  I  must  be  the  poisoner 
Of  food  Polixenes :  and  ray  ground  to  do't 
Is  tne"6Bedierice  to  a  master;  one, 
Who,  in  rebellion  with  himself,  will  have 
All  that  are  his,  so  too. — Tojdp  this  deed. 
Promotion  follows  :  lilX-COuId  find  example 
Of  thousands  that  havestruck  anointed  kings. 
And  flourish'd  after,  I'd  not  do't :  but  since        ^  / 
Nor  brass,  nor  stone,  nor  parchment,  btars  not  one, 
Let  villainy  itself  forswear't.    I  must 
Forsake  tl»e  court :  to  do't,  or  no,  is  certain 
To  me  a  break- neck.    Happy  star,  reign  now! 
Here  comes  Bohemia. 

Enter  Polixenes. 

Pol.  This  is  strange  I  methinks, 

ily  favour  here  begins  t9^  warp.    J^ot  speak  ?  

rood  day,  Camillo.  ^  ,  | 

Cam.  Hail,  most  royal  sir' 

Pol.  What  is  the  news  i'the  court? 


Cam^  None  rare,  my  lord 

Pol.  The  king  hath  on  him  such  a  counteuance, 
As  he  had  lost  some  province,  and  a  region, 
Lov'd  as  he  loves  himsell  :  even  now  1  met  liim 
With  customary  compliment;  when  he, 
Wafting  his  eyes  to  the  contrary,  and  lalling 
A  lip  of  much  contempt,  speeds  Iroin  me;  and 
So  leaves  me,  to  consider  what  is  breeding, 
That  changes  thus  his  manners. 

Cam.  I  dare  not  know,  my  lord. 

Pol.  How  !  dare  not  ?  do  not.    Do  yo9  know,- 
and  dare  not 
Be  intelligent  to  me  ?  'Tis  thereabouts  : 
For  to  yourself,  wliat  you  do  know,  you  must ; 
And  cannot  say,  you  dare  not.    Good  Camillo, 
Your  chang'd  complexions  are  to  me  a  mirror. 
Which  shows  me  mine  chang'd  too:  fur  1  must  b» 
A  party  in  this  alteration,  finding 
Myselt  thus  alter'd  with  it. 

Cam.  There  is  a  sickness, 

Which  puts  some  of  us  in  distemper;  but 
I  cannot  name  the  disease  ;  and  it  is  caught 
Of  you,  that  yet  are  well. 

Pol.  How  !  caught  of  me  ? 

Make  me  not  sighted  like  the  basilisk. 
1  have  look'd  on  tliousands,  who  have  sped  the  bettei 

By  my  regard,  but  kili'd  none  so.  Camiilo,  

As  you  are  certainly  a  gentleman;  thereto 

Clerk-like,  experienc'd,  winch  no  less  adorns 

Our  gentry,  timn  our  parents'  noble  names, 

In  whose  success  we  are  gentle, — I  beseech  you, 

It  you  know  auyht  which  does  beho\e  my  knowledge 

Thereof  to  be  mform'd,  imprison  it  not 

In  ignorant  concealment. 

Cam.  I  may  not  answer. 

Pol.  A  sickness  caiigiit  of  me,  and  yet  I  well! 
I  must  be  answer'd. — Dost  thou  hear,  Camillo, 
I  conjure  thee,  by  all  the  parts  of  man, 
Which  honour  does  acknowledge, — whereof  tlj 
least 

Is  not  this  suit  of  mine, — that  thou  declare 

What  incidency  thou  dost  guess  of  harm 

Is  creeping  toward  me  ;  how  Ikr  olf,  how  near  • 

Which  way  to  be  prevented,  if  to  be  ; 

If  not,  how  best  to  bear  it. 

Cam.  Sir,  I'll  tell  you  ; 

Since  I  am  charg'd  in  honour,  and  by  him  (sel 
Tiiat  I  think  honourable :  therefore,  mark  my  couB 
VVhich  must  be  even  as  swiltly  ioliow'd,  as 
I  mean  to  utter  it;  or  both  yourself  and  me 
Cry,  lost,  and  so  good-night. 

Pol.  On,  good  Camillo. 

Cam.  I  am  appointed  Him  to  murder  you 

Pol.  By  whom,  Camillo  / 

Cain.  By  the  king. 

Pol.  For  what? 

Cam.  He  thinks,  nay,  with  all  confidence  im 
As  he  had  seen't,  or  been  an  instrument  [swear* 
To  vice  you  to't, — that  you  have  touch'd  his  queeiii 
Forbiddenly, 

Pol.  O,  then  my  best  blood  turn 

To  an  infected  jelly  ;  and  my  name 
Be  yok'd  with  liis,  that  did  betray  the  best! 
Turn  then  my  freshest  reputation  to 
A  savour,  that  nlay  strike  the  dullest  nostril 
Where  1  arrive ;  and  my  approach  be  shunn'd. 
Nay,  hated  too,  worse  than  the  greafst  inlectioB, 
That  e'er  was  heard,  or  read  ! 

Cam.  Swear  his  tht)ught  ov« 

By  each  particular  star  in  heaven,  and 
By  all  their  influences,  you  may  as  well 
Forbid  the  sea  for  to  obey  the  trtoon, 
As  or,  by  oath,  remove,  or  counsel,  shake 
The  fabric  of  his  folly  ;  whose  foundation 
Is  pil'd  upon  his  faitli,  and  will  contiuue 
The  standing  oi"  his  body. 

Pol.  How  should  this  ^ 

Cam.  I  know  not:  but,  I  am  sure,  'tis  safer  to 
A\oid  what's  grown,  than  question  how  'tis  bmt^ 
If  therefore  you  dare  trust  my  lioneslv  - 


282 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


That  lies  enclosecl  m  this  trunk,  which  you 

Shall  bear  along  impawn'd, —  aiway  to-ni'^ht. 

Your  iollowers  I  will  whisper  to  the  business  ; 

And  will,  by  twos,  and  threes,  at  several  posterns, 

(3Iear  them  of  the  city  :  For  inyselC,  I'll  put 

My  fortunes  to  your  service,  which  are  here 

By  this  discovery  lost.    Be  not  uncertain; 

For,  by  the  honour  of  my  parents,  I 

Have  utter'd  truth  :  which  if  you  seek  to  prove, 

I  dare  not  stand  by ;  nor  shall  you  be  safer 

Than  one  condemn'd  by  the  king's  own  mouth. 

His  execution  sworn.  [thereon 

Pol.  I  do  believe  thee  ; 

I  saw  his  heart  >n  his  face.    Give  me  thy  hand; 
Be  pilot  to  me,  and  thy  places  shall 
Still  neighbour  mine  :  my  sliips  are  ready,  and 
My  people  did  expect  my  hence  departure 
Two  days  ago. — This  jealousy 
Is  for  a  precious  creature :  as  she's  rare. 
Must  it  be  great;  and,  as  his  person's  niighty. 
Must  it  be  violent ;  and  as  he  does  conceive 
He  is  dishonour'd  by  a  man  which  ever 
Profess'd  to  him,  why,  his  revenges  must 
In  that  be  made  more  bitter.     Fear  o'ershades  me  ; 
Good  expedition  be  my  friend,  and  comfort 
The  gracious  queen,  part  of  his  theme,  but  nothing 
Of  his  ill-ta'en  suspicion  !  Come,  Camillo  ; 
I  will  respect  thee  as  a  father,  if 
Thou  bear'st  my  life  oft'  hence :  let  us  avoid. 

Cam.  It  is  in  mine  authority,  to  command 
The  keys  of  all  the  posterns  :  please  your  highness 
To  take  the  urgent  hour:  Come,  sir,  away. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I.— The  same. 

Enter  Hermione,  Mamillius,  and  Ladies. 

Her.  Take  the  boy  to  you  :  he  so  troubles  me, 
Tis  past  enduring. 

1  Lady.  Come,  my  gracious  lord, 

Shall  I  be  your  play-fellow  ? 

Mam.  No,  I'll  none  of  yon. 

1  hadij.  Why,  my  sweet  lord  ? 

Mam.  You'll  kiss  me  hard ;  and  speak  to  me  as  if 
I  were  a  baby  still. — 1  love  you  better. 

2  Lady.  And  why  so,  my  good  lord  ? 

Mum.  Not  for  because 

Your  brows  are  blacker;  yet  black  brows,  they  say. 
Become  some  women  best ;  so  that  there  be  not 
Too  mucii  hair  there,  but  in  a  semi  circle, 
Or  half-moon  made  with  a  pen. 

2  Lady.  Who  taught  you  this  ? 

Ma7n.  I  learn'd  it  out  of  wonien's  faces. — Pray 
What  colour  are  your  eye-brows  ?  [now 

1  Lady.  Blue,  my  lord. 
Mam.  Nay,  that's  a  mock :  [  have  seen  a  lady's 

nose 

That  has  been  blue,  but  not  her  eye-brows. 

2  Lady.  Hark  ye ; 
The  queen,  your  mother,  rounds  apace :  we  shall 
Present  our  services  to  a  fine  new  prince. 

One  of  these  days:  and  then  you'd  wanton  with  us. 
If  we  would  have  you. 

1  Lady.  She  is  spread  of  late 

fnto  a  goodly  bulk  :  Good  time  encounter  her  ! 

Her.  What  wisdom  stirs  amongst  you?  Come, 
sir,  now 

I  am  for  you  again  :  pray  you,  sit  by  us, 
^nd  tell's  a  tale. 

Mami--         Merry,  or  sad,  shall't  be  ? 

Her.  As  merry  as  you  will. 

Mam.  A  sad  tale's  best  for  winter ; 

l^Jiaj.eoiQ.e  of  sprites  and  goblins.  "  -  ■ 

Her.     ~~  Let's  have  that,  sir. 

Come  on,  sit  down  : — Come  on,  and  do  your  best 
To  fright  me  with  your  sprites :  you're  powerful  at 

Mam.  There  was  a  man,  •  [it. 

Her.  Nay,  come,  sit  down;  then  on. 

Mam.  Dwelt  by  a  church-yard : — I  will  tell  it 


CT  II 


Yon  crickets  wiaH  not  hear  it.  ,s 

Her.  Come  oo,  then, 

And  give't  me  in  mine  ear. 

Enter  Leontes,  Antigonus,  Lords,  and  oih^a. 
Leon.  Was  he  met  there  ?  his  train  ?  Camillo  with 
him?  [neve/ 
I  Lord.   Behind  the  tuft  of  pines  I  met  tbew 
Saw  I  men  scour  so  on  their  way:  1  ey'd  them 
Even  to  their  ships. 

Leon.  How  bless'd  am  I 

In  my  just  censure  ?  in  my  true  opinion 
Alack,  for  lesser  knowledge  ! — How  accurs'd,  c 


•yi 


being  so  blest! — I'heie  may  be  in  the  cup 


\  my- 


A^Xder  steep'd,  and  one  may  drink  ;  depart. 
And  yet  partake  no  venom  ;  for  his  knowledge 
Is  not  infected  :  but  if  one  present 
The  abhorr'd  ingredient  to  his  eye,  make  known 
How  he  hath  drank,  he  cracks  his  gorge,  his  side^ 
With  violent  hel'ts : — L  have  drank,  and  seeu  the 
.spider. 

Camillo  was  his  help  in  this,  his  pander  ! — 
There  is  a  plot  against  my  life,  niy  crown; 
All's  true  that  is  mistrusted: — that  false  villain. 
Whom  I  employ'd,  was  pre-employ'd  by  him : 
He  has  discover'd  my  design,  and  I 
Remain  a  pinch'^-^hing ;  yea,  a  very  trick 
For  them  to- play  at  wilk:— Hovv  came  the  postern* 
So  easily  oj^'  \)  \(LH\ 

1  Lord.  By  hisjgreat  aiUhority  ; 

Which  often  hath  no  less  prevail'd  than  so. 
On  your  command. 

Leon.  I  know't  too  well.  

Give  me  the  boy  ;  I  am  glad,  you  did  not  nurse  him  . 
Though  he  does  bear  some  sign  of  me,  yet  you 
Have  too  much  blood  in  him.  ^^.-^ 

Her.  What  is  this?  sbnrt'?  _ 

Leon.  Bear  the  boy  hence,  he  shall  udf  come 

Away  with  h"im?--and  let  her  h'eTself 
With  that  she's  big  vvith  ;  for  'tis  Polixenes  /  I  { 
Has  made  thee  swell  thus.  \  fV^^ 

Her.  But  I'd  say  he  had  not. 

And,  I'll  be  swom,  you  would  believe  my  saying, 
Howe'er  you  lean  to  the  nayward.  ■ 

Leon.  You,  my  lords. 

Look  on  her,  mark  her  well ;  be  but  about 
j  To  say,  she  is  a  goodly  lady,  and 
j  The  justice  of  your  hearts  will  thereto  add, 
I  ^  Tis  pity  she's  not  honest,  honourable  : 
i  Praise  her  but  for  this  her  without-door  form,*" 
(Which,  on  my  faith,  deserves  high  speech,)  and 
straight 

The_  shrug,  the  hum,  or  ha ;  these  petty  brands. 
That  calumny  doth  use  : — O,  I  am  out. 
That  mercy  does  ;  for  calumny  will  sear  . ; 

Virtue  itself: — these  shrugs,  these  Imms,  and  has, 
When  you  have  said,  she's  goodly,  come  between, 
Ere  you  can  say,  she's  honest:  But  be  it  known 
From  him,  that  has  most  cause  to  grieve  it  should  be 
She's  an  adultress. 

Her.  Should  a  villain  say  so. 

The  most  replenish'd  villain  in  the  world. 
He  were  as  much  more  villain  :  you,  my  lord, 
Do  but  mistake. 

Leon.  You  have  mistook,  my  lady, 

Polixenes  for  Leontes  :  O  tliou  thing, 
Which  I'll  not  call  a  creature  of  thy  place. 
Lest  barbarism,  making  me  the  precedent. 
Should  a  like  language  use  to  all  degrees. 
And  mannerly  distinguishment  leave  out 
Betwixt  the  prince  and  beggar!— I  have  said. 
She's  an  adultress  ;  I  have  said  with  whom : 
More,  she's  a  traitor;  and  Camillo  is 
A  tederary  with  her;  and  one  that  knows 
What  she  should  shame  to  know  herself, 

j  But  with  her  most  viie  principal,  that  she's 

j  A  bed  swerver,  even  as  bad  as  those 

i  That  vulgars  give  bold  titles  ay,  and  privy 

j  To  this  their  late  escape. 


Scene  2. 


TALE. 


233 


Her,  V  No,  bv  ray  life. 

Privy  to  none  of  this  :  How  will  tliis  grieve  yon. 
When  you  shall  corne  to  clearer  knowledge,  that 
Voii  thus  have  piiblish'd  me?    Gentle  my  lord, 
You  scarce  can  right  me  throughly  iLen,  to  say 
Von  did  mistake. 

Leon.  No,  no ;  if  I  mistake 

In  tliose  fonndations  which^I  build  upon, 
The  center  is  not  big  enough  to  bear 
A  school- boy's  top. — Away  with  her  to  prison  : 
Re.  who  shall  sj)eak  for  her,  is  afar  otf  guilty, 
Biit  that  he  speaks. 

Her.  There's  some  ill  planet  reigns  : 

I  must  be  patient,  till  the  heavens  look 
W^ith  an  asp:';ct  more  favourable. — Good  my  lords, 
I  ;im  not  prone  to  weeping,  as  our  sex 
Couimonly  are;  the  want  of  which  vain  dew, 
P<Mchaiice,  shall  dry  your  pities  :  but  I  have 
VU  tt  honourable  grief  lodg'd  here,  which  burns 
Worse  than  tears  drown :  'Beseech  you  all,  my 
lords, 

With  thoughts  so  qualified  as  your  charities 
Sliull  best  instruct  you,  measure  me  ;-^and  so 
'J'he  king's  will  be  perform'd  ! 

Leon.  Shall  I  be  heard  ? 

{To  the  Guards.) 
Her.  Who  is't,  that  goes  with  me  ? — 'Beseech 
your  highness, 
My  women  may  be  with  me;  for,  yoK  see, 
My  plight  requires  it.    Do  not  weep,  good  fools ; 
There  is  no  cause  ;  when  you  shall  know,  your 
mistress 

Has  deserv'd  a  prison,  then  abound  in  tears. 
As  I. come  out:  tiiis  action  I  now  go  on, 
Is  for  my  better  gTuce. — Adieu,  my  lord  : 
I  never  wish'd  to  see  you  sorry ;  now, 

i  trust,  I  shall.  My  women,  come;  you  have 

Leon.  Go,  do  your  bidding;  lience.  [leave. 

[Exeunt  Queen  and  Ladies. 
I  Lord.  'Beseech  your  highness,  call  the  queen 
again. 

iifif.  Be  ceitain  what  you  do,  sir;  lest  your  justice 
l*tove  violence  :  in  the  which  three  great  ones  suffer. 
Yourself,  your  queen,  your  son. 

1  Lord.  For  her,  my  lord, — 

I  dare  my  life  lay  down,  and  will  do't,  sir, 
Please  you  to  accept  it,  that  the  queen  is  spotless 
I'  the  eyes  of  heaven,  and  to  you ;  1  mean. 
In  this  which  you  accuse  her. 

Ant.  If  it  prove 

She's  otherwise,  I'll  keep  my  stables  where 
I  lodge  my  wife  :  I'll  go  in  couples  with  her; 
Than  when  I  feel,  and  see  her,  no  further  trust  her; 
For  every  inch  of  woman  in  the  world, 
Ay,  every  dram  of  woman's  flesh,  is  false. 
It"  she  be. 
Leon.       Hold  your  peaces. 
1  Lord.  Good  my  lord, — 

Ant.  It  is  for  you  we  speak,  not  for  ourselves  : 
You  are  abus'd,  and  by  some  putter-on,  [lain. 
That  will  be  damn'd  for't;  'would  I  knew  the  vil- 
I  would  land-damn  him :  Be  she  honour-flaw'd, — 
I  have  three  daughters  ;  the  eldest  is  eleven  ; 
The  second,  and  the  third,  nine,  and  some  five ; 
If  this  prove  true,  they'll  pay  for't:  by  mine  ho- 
'  nour, 

ril^[H  them  all;  fourteen  they  shall  not  see, 
0  dF  ng  false  generations  :  they  are  co-heirs; 
And  1  had  rathe^^S^ myself,  than  they 
Shot! Id  not  prodisce  fair  issue. 
*  Leon,  Cease  ;  no  more. 

You  smell  this  business  with  a  sense  as  cold 
As  is  a  dead  man's  nose  :  I  see't,  and  feel't. 
As  you  feel  doing  thus  ;  and  see  withal 
The  instruments  that  feel. 

Ant.  Ifitbeso, 
We  need  no  grave  to  bury  honesty; 
'J'here's  not  a  grain  of  it,  the  face  to  sweeten 
Of  the  wnole  dungy  earth. 

Leon.  — —        "WKaTriack  I  credit  ? 


1  Lord.  I  had  rather  you  did  lack,  than  I,  my 

.  ^^^^> 

Upon  this  ground  :  and  more  it  would  content  me 
To  have  her  honour  true,  than  your  suspicion; 
Be  blam'd  for't  how  you  might. 

Leon.  Why,  what  need  wa 

Commune  with  you  of  this?  but  rather  follow 
Our  forceful  instigation?    Our  prerogative 
Calls  not  your  counsels:  but  our  natural  goodu*a« 
ImparXs  this  :  which, — if  you,  (or  stupified. 
Or  seeming  so  in  skill,)  cannot,  or  will  not, 
Relish  as  truth,  like  us;  iuform  yourselves,  ^ 
We  need  no  more  of  your  advice:  the  matter. 
The  loss,  the  gain,  the  ordering  on't,  is  ail 
Properly  ours.  ••^ 

Ant.  And  T  wish,  my  liege, 

You  had  only  in  your  silent  judgment  tried  it. 
Without  more  overture. 

Leon.  How  could  that  be  ? 

Either  thou  art  most  ignorant  by  age, 
Or  thou  wert  born  a  fool.    Caniillo's  flight. 

Added  to  their  familiarity,  , 

(Which  was  as  gross  as  ever  touch'd  conjecture. 

That  lack'd  sight  only,  nought  for  approbation 

But  only  seeing,  all  other  circumstances 

Made  up  to  the  deed,)  doth  push  on  this  proceeding: 

Yet,  for  a  greater  confirmation, 

(For,  in  an  act  of  this  importance,  'twere 

Most  piteous  to  be  wild,)  I  have  despatch'd  in  post, 

To  sacred  Delphos,  to  Apollo's  temple, 

Cleomenes  and  Dion,  whom  you  know 

Of  stuff'd  sufEciency :  Now,  from  the  oracle 

They  will  bring  all;  whose  spiritual  counsel  had. 

Shall  stop,  or  spur  me.    Have  I  done  well? 

1  Lord.  Well  done,  my  lord.  ~       \      I « 

Leon.  Though  I  am  satisfied,  and  need  no  more 5.5^  | 
Than  what  I  know,  yet  shall  the  oracle  I  0}'. 

Give  rest  to  the  mindsof  others  ;  such  as  he,  ^  f-V 

Whose  ignorant  credulity  will  not  ^■"""^  C^f\SA^,HJik^  \ 

Come  up  to  the  truth  :  So  have  we  thought  it  good,  Ps..  .  .  ^  .wifr^l 
From  our  free  person  she  should  be  confin'd ; 
Lest  that  the  treachery  of  the  two,  fled  hence, 
Be  left  her  to  perform.    Come,  follow  us; 
We  are  to  speak  in  public  :  for  this  business 
Will  raise  us  all. 
Ant.  {Aside.)  To  laughter,  as  I  take  it, 


If  the  good  truth  were  known. 
Scene  II. 


[Exeunt. 


The  saine. — The  outer  Room  of  a 
Prison. 

Enter  Paulina  and  Attendants, 

Paul.  The  keeper  of  the  prison, — call  to  him ; 

[Exit  an  AttendanU 
Let  hi.ii  have  knowledge  who  I  am.— Good  lady  I 
No  court  in  Europe  is  too  good  for  thee^ 
What  dost  thou  then  in  prison  ? — Now,  good  sir. 

Re-enter  Attendant  with  the  Keeper. 
You  know  me,  do  you  not  ? 

Keep.  For  a  worthy  lady 

And  one  whom  I  much  honour. 

Paul.  Pray  you,  then. 

Conduct  me  to  the  queen. 

Keep.  I  may  not,  madam ;  to  the  contrary 
I  have  express  commandment. 

Paul.  Here's  ado^ 

To  lock  up  honesty  and  honour  from 
The  access  of  gentle  visitors  I — Is  it  lawful, 
Pray  you,  to  see  her  women  ?  any  of  thera? 
Emilia? 

Keep.  So  please  you,  madam,  to  put 
Apart  these  your  attendants,  I  shall  bring 
Emilia  forth. 

Paid.  I  pray  now,  call  her  — 

Withdraw  yourselves.  [Exeunt  Attend, 

Keep.  And,  madam, 

I  iiMist  be  present  at  your  conference. 

Paul.  Well,  be  it  so,  pr'ythee.      [Exit  Keeper 
Here's  such  ado  to  make  no  stain  a  stain. 
As  passes  colouring. 


mt.     .  . 


234: 


WINTER'S  Tx\LE. 


Act  II. 


Re-  enter  Keeper,  icith  Emilia. 
Dear  i;eiitle\vo:rifin,  how  fares  our  gracious  lady  ? 

Emil.  As  well  as  one  so  great,  and  so  forlorn. 
May  hold  togetlier  :  on  lier  frights,  and  griefs, 
(Whicii  never  fender  lady  hatii  borne  greater,) 
She  is,  sonif  thing  before  her  time,  deiiver'd. 
Paul.  A  boy^ 

Emil.  A  daughter;  and  a  goodly  babe, 

Lusty,  and  like  to  live  :  the  queen  receives 
Much  comfort  in't:  says,  My  poor  prisoner, 
I  am  innocent  as  you. 

Paul.  1  dare  be  sworn  :  

These  dangerous  unsafe  lunes  o'the  king !  beshrew 
them  ! 

'  '  .^'^^e  must  be  ti^Jd  nn't  apdJie  shall :  the  office 
\^-.   ^^ecotfie's'-a^onian  best ;  I'll  take't  upon  me  : 
V^^^„„         If  I  prove  lioney-mouth'd,  let  my  tongue  blister; 
■^'^  And  never  to  my  r^  d-look'd  anger  be 

The  trumpet  any  more: — Pray  you,  Emilia, 
Commend  my  best  obedience  to  the  queen; 
If  she  dares  trust  me  with  her  little  babe, 
I'll  siiow't  the  king,  and  undertake  to  be 
Her  advocate  to  tii'  loudest  :  We  d,P- n*?:t.^now 
How  he  may  soiVn  at  the  sighLx)Mie  child  j)/ 
The  silence  often  of  pur.e'irinocenc?^-^-!*---'''' 
Persuiides,  when  spe^ilting'^ihTr^ 

Emil.  Most  worthy  madam. 

Your  honour,  and  your  goodness,  is  so  evident, 
'J'hat  your  free  undertaking  cannot  miss 
A  thriving  issue  ;  there  is  no  lidy  living, 
ISo  meet  for  this  great  errand  :  Please  your  ladyship 
To  visit  the  next  room,  I'll  presently 
Acquaint  the  queen  of  your  most  noble  offer; 
Who,  hut  to  day,  hammer'd  of  this  design; 
li'ut  durst  not  tempt  a  minister  of  honour. 
Lest  she  should  be  denied. 

Paul.  Tell  her,  Emilia, 

I'll  use  that  tongue  I  have  :  if  wit  flow  from  it. 
As  boldness  fioiu  my  bosom,  let  it  not  be  doubted 
I  shall  do  good. 
,  Emil.  Now  be  you  blest  for  it ! 

I'll  to  the  queen :  Please   you,   come  something 
nearer.  [babe. 

Keep.  Madam,  ift  please  the  queen  to  send  the 
I  knovv  not  what  I  shall  incur,  to  pass  it. 
Having  no  v\arrant. 

Paul.  Von  need  not  fear  it,  sir: 
The  cluld  was  prisoner  to  the  womb  ;  and  is, 
I3y  law  and  jjrocess  of  great  nature,  thence 
Free  d  and  ei.li  anchis'd  :  not  a  party  to 
Tlie  anger  of  the  king;  nor  guilty  of. 
If  any  be.  the  trespass  oi  the  queen. 

Keep.  I  do  bei.eve  it. 

Paul.  Do  not  you  fear  :  upon 

Mine  honour,  I  will  stand  'twixt  you  and  dansrer. 

[Exeunt. 

i  Scene  III. —  The  same.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

'   Enter  Leontes,  Antigonus,  Lords,  and  other 
Attendants. 

Leon.  Nor  night  nor  day,  no  rest :  It  is  but 

weakness 

To  bear  the  matter  thus;  mere  weakness,  if 
The  caiise  were  not  in  being  ; — gart  o'the  cause, 
She,  the  adidtress  j— for  the  harlot  king 
Is  (inite  beyond  mine  arm,  out  of  tlie  blank 
An(i  level  of  my  brain,  plot-proof:  but  she 
i  can  hook  to,jUi£  :  Say,  that  she  were  gone. 
Given  to  (he^rel,  a  nmjety  of  my  rest  |*OTKOTv 

Might  come  to  ffie  agamT  Who's  there  ? 

1  At  ten.  "Sly  lord  ?  {Aduanciny.) 

Leon.  How  does  the  boy  ? 

1  Alien.  He  took  good  rest  to-night ; 

1'is  ho  'd,  his  sickness  is  discharg'd. 

Leon  To  see 

H  s  nobleness! 

Conceiving  the  dishonour  of  his  mother, 
He  straigiit  declin'd,  droop'd,  took  it  deeply  ; 
Fasleu'd  and  (ix  d  the  shame  on't  in  himself; 


Threw  off  his  spirit,  his  appetite,  his  sleep. 

And  downright  langiiish'd. — Leave  me  solely  :— go, 

See  how  he  fares.    [Exit  Attend.] — Fy,  fy!  ne 

thought  of  him  ; — 
The  very  thought  of  my  revenges  that  way 
Kecoil  upon  me  :  in  himself  too  mighty  ; 
And  in  his  parties,  his  alliance, — Let  him  be, 
Until  a  time  may  serve  :  for  present  vengeance. 
Take  it  on  her.    Camillo  and  Polixenes 
Laugh  at  me  ;  make  their  pastime  at  my  sorrow  '. 
They  should  not  laugh,  if  I  could  reach  them;  nof 
Shall  she,  within  my  power. 

Enter  Paulina,  tvith  a  Child. 

I  Lord.  You  must  not  enter. 

Paul.  Nay,  rather,  good  my  lords,  be  second  tga 
Fear  you  his  tyrannous  passion  more,  alas,       [me  : 
Than  the  queen's  lii'e  ?  a  gracious  innocent  soul ; 
More  free,  than  he  is  jealous. 

Ant.  That's  enough. 

1  Attend.  Madam,  he  hath   not  slept  to-night, 
commanded 
None  should  come  at  him. 

Paul.  Not  so  hot,  good  sir ; 

I  come  to  bring  him  sleep.    'Tis  such  as  you,—' 
That  creep  like  shadows  by  him,  and  do  sigh 
At  each  his  needless  heavings, — such  as  you 
Nourish  the  cause  of  his  awaking:  I 
Do  come  with  words  as  med  cinal  as  true ; 
Honest  as  either ;  to  purge  him  of  that  humour 
That  presses  him  from  sleep. 

Xeon.  What  noise  there,  ho 

Paid.  No  noise,  my  lord  ;  but  needful  conference 
About  some  gossips  tor  your  highness. 

Leon.  How?  

Away  with  that  audacious  lady:  Antigcnus, 

I  charg'd  thee,  that  she  should  not  conie  about  ine; 

I  knew,  she  would. 

Ant.  I  told  her  so,  my  lord. 

On  your  displeasure's  peril,  and  on  mine. 
She  should  not  visit  you. 

Leon.  What,  canst  not  rnle  hf  r  ? 

Paul.  From  all  dishonesty,  he  can :  in  this, 
(Unless  he  take  the  course  that  you  have  done. 
Commit  me,  for  comnutting  honour),  trust  it. 
He  shall  not  rule  me. 

Ant.  Lo  yon  now ;  you  hear ! 

When  she  will  take  the  rein,  I  let  her  run; 
But  she'll  not  stumble. 

Paul.  Good  my  liege,  I  come,— 

And,  I  beseech  you,  hear  me,  who  profess 
Myself  your  loyal  servant,  your  physician. 
Your  most  obedient  counsellor;  yet  that  dare 
Less  appear  so,  in  comforting  your  evils. 
Than  such  as  most  seem  yours: — I  say,  I  come 
From  your  g'ood  queen. 

Leon.  Good  queen ! 

Paul.  Good  queen,  my  lord,  good  queen :  I  say, 

?ood  queen ; 
d  by  combat  make  her  goou,  so  were  I 
A  man,  the  worst  about  you. 

Leon.  Force  her  hence. 

Paid.  Let  him,  that  makes  but  trifles  of  his  eyes, 
First  hand  me :  on  mine  own  accord,  I'll  off; 
But,  first,  I'll  do  mine  errand. — The  good  queen, 
For  she  is  good,  hath  brought  you  forth  a  daughter; 
Here  'tis ;  commends  it  to  your  blessing. 

{Laying  down  the  child. 
Leon.  Out ! 

A  mankind  witch !  Hence  with  her,  out  o'door: 
A  most  intelligencing  bawd  !  » 

Paul.  _  Not  so:       \  I  \ 

I  am  as  ignorant  in  that,  as  you  \.  j/  \ 

In  so  entitling  me  :  and  no  less  honest  jfl 
Than  you  are  mad  ;  which  is  enough,  I'll  warrant, 
As  this  world  goes,  to  pass  for  honest. 

Leon.  Traitors ! 

Will  you  not  push  her  out?  Give  her  the  bastard  :•- 
Thou,  dotard  {to  Aiiligonus),  thou  art  woman- tir'd^^  . 

unroosted  sJ 


SCKNE  3. 


WINTER^S  TALE. 


233 


By  thy  dame  Partlet  here, — take  np  the  bastard; 
Tak't  up,  I  say ;  give't  to  thy  crone. 

Paul.  For  ever 

Unvenerable  be  thy  hands,  if  thou 
Tak'st  up  the  princess,  by  that  forced  baseness 
Which  lie  has  put  upou'tl 

Leon.  He  dreads  his  wife. 

Paul.  So,  I  would,  you  did  ;  then  'twere  past  all 
Y'ou  d  call  your  children  yours.  [doubt, 

lj»'on.  A  nest  of  traitors ! 

Ant.  I  am  none,  by  this  good  light. 

Paul.  Nor  I ;  nor  any. 

But  one,  that's  here;  and  that's  himself:  for  he 
The  sacred  honour  of  liinjself,  his  queen's, 
His  hopeful  son's,  his  babe's,  betrays  to  slander, 
Whose  sting  is  sharper  than  the  sword's ;  and  will  not 
(For,  as  the  case  now  stands,  it  is  a  curse 
He  cannot  be  conipell'd  to't,)  once  remove 
The  root  of  his  opinion,  which  is  rotten, 
^4.s  ever  oak,  or  stone,  was  sound. 

Leon.  A  call  at, 

Of  boundless  tongue  ;  who  late  hath  beat  her  hus- 
band, 

And  now  baits  me! — This  brat  is  none  of  mine; 
■'It  is  the  issue  oi"  Polixenes  ;  / 
HeiK>  with  it;  iind,  tft^^fptiier  with  the  dara,    /  i 
CoHU|]Xt,XhernJo  t|iie  fireX^    "  ~  — ~. —  \;^^ 

Paul.  Jt  Jg  yo„,.g  . 

And,  might  we  lay  the  old  proverb  to  your  charge. 
So  like  you,  'tis  the  worse. — Behold,  my  lords, 
Altliougli  the  print  be  little,  the  whole  matter 
And  copy  of  the  father ;  eye,  nose,  lip. 
The  trick  of  his  frown,  his  forehead  :  nay,  the  valley. 
The  pretty  dimples  of  his  chin,  and  cheek ;  his 
seniles ; 

The  very  mould  and  frame  of  hand,  nail,  finger: — 
And  thou,  good  goddess  nature,  which  hast  made  it 
So  like  to  him  that  got  it,  if  thou  hast 
The  ordering  of  the  mind  too,  'mongst  all  colours 
No  yellow  in't;  lest  she  suspect,  as  he  does. 
Her  children  not  her  husband's  ! 

L>  on.  A  gross  hag  !— 

Ami,  lozel,  thou  art  worthy  to  be  hang'd. 
That  wilt  not  stay  her  tongue. 

Ant.  Hang  all  the  husbands, 

Tbat  cannot  (TIo  that  feat,  you'll  leave  yourself 
Hardly  one  subject. 
Leon.  Once  more,  tike  her  he  fee 

Paul.  A  most  unworthy  and  unjialural  lord  [/j 

Can  do  no  raore^— „.^„  ._jp^^^^^^^s>.<e*-*^ 

^    I'll  have  thee  |)urn'dA  \ 
-€fcr< 


Leon. 
Paul. 


It  is  an  heretic  that  niakes  the  fire, 
Not  she,  which  burns  int.    I'll  not  call  thee  tyrant; 
But  this  most  crufl  usage  of  your  queen 
(Not  able  ts  produce  more  accusation 
Than  your  own  vveak-hing'd  fancy,)  something  sa- 
vours 

or  tyranny,  and  will  ignoble  make  you, 
Vea,  scandalous  to  the  world. 

Leon.  On  your  allegiance, 

Out  of  the  chamber  with  her.  Were  I  a  tyrant, 
VV'iiere  were  her  life  ?  she  durst  not  call  me  so. 
If  she  did  know  me  one.    Away  with  her. 

Paul.  1  pray  you,  do  not  pusii  me;  I'll  be  gone. 
Look,  to  your  babe,  my  lord ;  'tis  yours :  Jove  send 
her 

A  better  guiding  spirit! — What  need  these  hands  ? — 
Vou,  that  are  thus  so  tender  o'er  his  follies. 
Will  never  do  him  good,  not  one  of  you. 
So,  so: — Farewell;  we  are  gone.  [Exit. 

Leon.  Thou,  traitor,  hast  set  on  thy  wife  to  this. — 
My  child  ?  away  vvith't ! — even  thuu,  that  hast 
A  heart  so  tender  o'er  it,  take  it  hepZ^x  (r<"% 
And  see  it  instantly  consum'd  witll(fire;  j  \2J 
Even  thou,  and  none  but  thou.    TaKtv-it-'up  straight : 
Witliiu  this  hour  bring  me  word  'tis  done, 
(And  tty  good  tesliniony,)  or  I'll  seize  thy  life. 
With  wliat  ttiou  else  cail'st  thine:  If  thou  refuse. 
And  wilt  encounter  witii  my  wrath,  say  so; 


The  bastard  brains  with  these  my  {};pop^liakdt 
Shall  I  dash  out.    Go,  take  it  to  th/fire  ;|/  "A 
For  thou  sett'st  on  thy  wife.  I    ^/l^  1} 

Ant.  I  did  nbtf^r  r'^'' 

These  lords,  my  noble  fellows,  if  they  please. 
Can  clear  me  in't. 

1  Lord.  We  can :  my  royal  liege. 

He  is  not  guilty  of  her  coming  hither. 

Leon.  You  are  liars  all.  [credit  ' 

1  Lord.  'Beseech  your  highness,  give  us  bettei 
We  have  always  truly  serv'd  you  ;  and  beseech 
So  to  esteem  of  us :  and  on  our  knees  we  beg, 
(As  recompense  of  our  dear  services, 
Past,  and  to  come,)  that  you  do  change  this  purpose  ; 
Which,  being  so  horrible,  so  bloody,  must 
Lead  on  to  some  foul  issue :  We  all  kneel. 

Leon.  I  am  a  feather  for  each  wind  that  blows 
Shall  1  live  on,  to  see  this  bastard  kneel 
And  call  me  father  ?    Better  burn  it  now. 
Than  curse  it  then.    But,  be  it ;  let  it  live  : 
It  shall  not  neither. — You,  sir,  come  you  hither ; 

{To  Antiyonm.) 
You,  that  have  been  so  tenderly  officious 
With  lady  Margery,  your  midwife,  there. 
To  save  this  bastard's  life  :  for  'tis  a  bastard. 
So  sure^as  this  beard's  grey,-— what  will  you  adven- 
To  save"tliis~BrarsTile"^7^  [ture 

~  Ant.   _  -{^"y  thingi^y  1^37^ 

That  my  ability  may  xi'm^^F'^^fp'^'''^  — " 

And  nobleness  impose:  at  least,  thus  mu:h; 
I'll  pawn  the  little  blood  which  I  have  left, 
To  save  the  innocent :  any  thing  possible. 

Leon.  It  shall  be  possible  :  swear  by  this  sword 
Thou  wilt  perfornr  my  bidding. 

■Ant.  I  will,  my  lord. 

Leon.  Mark,  and  perform  it ;  (see'st  thou  ?)  for 
Of  any  point  in't  shall  not  only  be  [the  fail 

Death  to  thyself,  but  to  thy  lewd  tongu'd  wife; 
Whom,  for  this  time,  we  pardon.    We  enjoin  thee. 
As  thou  art  liegeman  to  us,  that  thou  carry 
This  female  bastard  hence ;  and  that  thou  bear  it 
To  some  retnote  and  desert  place,  quite  out 
Of  our  dominions  ;  and  that  there  thou  leave  it. 
Without  more  mercy,  to  its  own  protection, 
And  favour  of  the  climate.    As  by  strange  fortune 
It  came  to  us,  I  do  in  justice  charge  thee, — 
On  thy  soul's  peril,  and  thy  body's  torture, — 
That  thou  commend  it  strangely  to  some  place, 
Where  chance  may  nurse,  or  end  it :  Take  it  up. 

Ant.  I  swear  to  do  this,  though  a  present  death 
Had  been  more  merciful. — Come  or,  poor  babe  : 
Some  powerful  spirit  instruct  the  kites  and  ravens. 
To  be  thy  nurses!    Wolves,  and  bears,  they  say. 
Casting  their  savageness  aside,  have  done 
Like  offices  of  pity. — Sir,  be  prosperous 
In  more  than  this  deed  doth  require  ! — and  blessing. 
Against  this  cruelty,  fight  on  thy  side. 
Poor  thing,  condemn'd  to  loss  I 

[Exit,  with  the  Child. 

Leon.  No,  1*'^  not  rear 

Another's  issue. 

1  Alien.  Please  your  highness,  posts, 

From  those  you  sent  to  the  oracle,  are  come 
An  hour  since  :  Cleomenes  and  Dion, 
Being  well  arriv'd  from  Delphos,  are  both  landed. 
Hasting  to  the  court. 

1  Lord.  So  please  you,  sir,  their  speed 

Hath  been  beyond  account 

Leon.  Twenty-three  days 

They  have  been  absent:  'Tis  good  speed  ;  foretels, 
The  great  Apollo  suddenly  will  have 
The  truth  of  this  appear.    Prepare  you,  lords; 
Summon  a  session,  that  we  may  arraign 
O^r-jijiast  /Jisloyal  lady :  for,  as  she  h;ith 
Been  publicTy" "^ccus^'^Lr'so  sha 
.AJl'st  and  open  trial.  Whil 
My  heart  will  b¥  a  burden  tome.    Leave  me 
And  think  upon  my  bidding.  [Exeunt, 


,  "  -  • "  •  pi 

>  she  h;ith  v 

I  she  have  ^'Q^ 

she  lives,  / 


236 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  ill. 


ACT  ITT. 

Scene  I. —  The  same.   A  Street  in  some  Town. 
Enter  Cleomenes  and  Dion. 

Cleo.  The  cliniale's  delicate  ;  the  air  most  sweet; 
Fertile  the  isle  ;  the  temple  much  surpassing 
The  common  praise  it  bears. 

Dion.  T  shall  report, 

For  most  it  caught  me,  the  celestial  habits, 
(Methinks,  T  so  should  term  then»,)  and  the  reverence 
O)'  the  grave  wearers.    O,  the  sacrifice  i 
How  ceremonious,  solemn,  and  unearthly 
It  was  i  the  oftering  ! 

Cleo.  But,  of  all,  the  burst 

Ai)d  the  ear-deafening  voice  o'the  oracle, 
Tvin  to  Jove's  thunder,  so  surpris'd  my  sense, 
'I'hat  I  was  natliing. 

Dion.  Tf  the  event  o'the  journey 

Prove  as  successful  to  the  queen, — O,  be'tsol — 
As  it  hath  been  to  us,  rare,  pleasant,  speedy. 
The  time  is  worth  the  use  on't. 

Cleo.  Great  Apollo, 

Turn  all  to  the  best!    These  proclamations, 
So  forcing  iaults  upon  Hermione, 
I  little  like. 

Dion.        The  violent  carriage  of  it 
Will  clear,  or  end,  the  business :  When  the  oracle, 
(Thus  by  Apollo's  great  divine  seal'd  up,) 
Shall  the  contents  discover,  something  rare 

Even  then  will  rush  to  knowledge.  Go, — fresh 

horses ; — 

And  gracious  be  the  issue  !  [Exeunt. 

Scene  TI. — The  same.    A  Court  of  Justice, 
Leontes,  Lords,  and  Officers,  appear  properly 
sealed. 

Leon.  This  sessions  (to  our  great  grief,  we  pro- 
nounce,) 

Even  pushes  'gainst  our  heart :  The  party  tried. 
The  dajghter  of  a  king;  our  vvife  ;  and  one 
Of  lis  too  niuch  belov'd. — Let  us  be  clear'd 
01  being  tyrannous,  since  we  so  openly 
Proceed  injustice;  which  shall  have  due  course. 

Even  to  the  guilt,  or  the  purgation.  

I^roduce  tlie  prisoners. 

Ojji.  It  is  his  highness'  pleasure,  that  the  queen 
Appear  in  person  here  in  court. — Silence  ! 

Hermione  is  brought  in,  guarded;  Paulina  and 
Ladies,  attending. 

Leon.  Read  the  indictment. 

Offi.  Hermione,  queen  to  the  worthy  Leontes, 
king  of  Sicilia,  thou  art  here  accused  and  ar- 
raigned of  high  treason,  in  committing  adultery 
with  Polixenes.  kina  of  Bohemia  ;  and  conspiring 
with  Camillo  to  take  away  the  life  of  our  sove- 
reign lord  the  king,  thy  royal  husband :  the  pre- 
tence whereof  being  by  circumstances  partly  laid 
open,  thou,  Hermione,  contrary  to  the  faith  and 
allegiance  of  a  true  subject,  didst  counsel  and 
aid  them,  for  their  better  safety,  to  fly  away  by 
night. 

Her.  Since  what  T  am  to  say,lnust  be  but  that 
Which  contradicts  my  accusation;  and 
The  testimony  on  my  part,  no  other 
But  what  comes  from  myself;  it  shall  scarce  bootrne 
To  say.  Not  guilty  :  mine  integrity 
Being  counted  falsehood,  shall,  as  I  express  it. 
Be  so  receiv'd.    But  thus, — If  powers  divine 
Behold  our  human  actions  (as  they  do), 
I  doHbt  not  then,  but  innocence  shall  make 
False  accusation  blush,  and  tyranny 
Tremble  at  patience. — You,  my  lord,  best  know, 

iWho  least  will  seem  to  do  so,)  my  past  life 
iath  been  as  continent,  as  chaste,  as  true. 
As  I  am  now  unhappy ;  which  is  more 
Than  history  can  pattern,  though  devis'd, 
And  play  d,  to  take  spectators :  For  behold  me, — 
A  fellow  of  the  royal  bed,  which  owe 
A  moiety  of  the  throne,  a  great  king's  daughter. 


The  mother  to  a  hopeful  prince,— here  standing. 

To  prate  and  talk  for  life,  and  honour  'fore 

Who  please  to  come  and  hear.    For  life^  I  prize  it 

As  I  weigh  grief,  which  I  would  spare  :  for  honour, 

'Tis  a  derivative  from  me  to  niine, 

And  only  that  I  stand  for.    I  appeal 

To  your  own  conscience,  sir,  be'i'ore  Polixenes 

Came  to  your  court,  how  1  was  in  your  grace 

How  merited  to  be  so  ;  since  he  came. 

With  what  encounter  so  uncurrent  I 

Have  strain'd  to  appear  thus:  if  one  jot  beyond 

The  bound  of  honour ;  or,  in  act,  or  will. 

That  way  inclining  ;  harden'd  be  the  hearts 

Of  all  that  hear  me,  And  my  near'st  of  kin 

Cry,  Fy  upon  my  grave  ! 

Leon.  I  ne'er  heard  yet. 

That  any  of  these  bolder  vices  wanted 
Less  impudence  to  gainsay  what  they  did. 
Than  to  perform  itfiist. 

Her  That's  true  enough ; 

Though  'tis  a  saying,  sir,  not  due  to  me. 

Leon.  You  will  not  own  it. 

Her.  More  than  mistress 

Which  comes  to  me  in  name  of  fault,  I  must  not 
At  all  acknowledge.    For  Polixenes, 
(With  whom  I  am  accus'd,)  I  do  confess, 
I  lov'd  Iiirn,  as  in  honour  he  requir'd ; 
With  such  a  kind  of  love,  as  might  become 
A  lady  like  me  ;  with  a  love,  even  such. 
So,  and  no  other,  as  yourself  commanded  : 
Which  not  to  have  done,  I  think,  had  been  in  me 
Both  disobedience  and  ingratitude  [spoke. 
To  you,  and  toward  your  friend ;  whose  love  had 
Even  since  it  could  speak,  from  an  infant,  freely 
That  it  was  yours.    Now,  for  conspiracy, 
I  know  not  how  it  tastes ;  though  it  be  dish'd 
For  me  to  try  how :  all  1  know  of  it 
Is,  that  Camillo  was  an  honest  man; 
And,  why  he  left  your  court,  the  gods  themselves. 
Wotting  no  more  than  I,  are  ignorant 

Leo7i.  You  knew  of  his  departure,  as  you  know 
What  you  have  underta'en  to  do  in's  absence. 

Her.  Sir, 

You  speak  a  language,  that  I  understand  not: 
My  life  stands  in  the  level  of  your  dreams. 
Which  I'll  lay  down. 

Leon.  Your  actions  are  my  dreams  j 

You  had  a  bastard  by  Polixenes, 
And  I  but  dream'd  it : — As  you  were  past  all  shame, 
(Those  of  your  fact  are  so,)  so  past  all  truth 
Which  to  deny,  concerns  more  than  avails: 
For  as  ^  ' 

'J'hy  brat  hath  been  cast  out,  like  to  itself. 
No  father  owning  it,  (which  is,  indeed. 
More  criminal  in  thee  than  it,)  so  thou 
Shalt  feel  our  justice  ;  in  whose  easiest  passage. 
Look  for  no  less  than  death. 

Her.  Sir,  spare  your  threats; 

The  bug,  which  you  would  fright  me  with,  I  seek. 
To  me  can  Iffe  be  no  commodity  : 
The  crown  and  comfort  of  my  life,  your  favour, 
I  do  give  lost;  for  I  do  feel  it  gone,  rj-"^ 
But  know  not  how  it  went :  My  second  joy,%  Vv 
And  first-fruits  of  my  body,  from  his  presence^ 
I  am  barr'd,  like  one  infectious  :  My  third  comfofV)^ 
Starr'd  most  unluckily,  is  from  my  breast,  ^ 
The  innocent  milk  in  its  most  ianocent  mouth, 
Haied  out  to  murder;  Myself  on  every  post 
Proclaiiu'd  a  strumpet :  with  immodest  hatred. 
The  child-bed  privilege  denied,  which  'longs 
To  women  of  all  fashion  :— Lastly,  hurried 
Here  to  this  place,  i'the  open  air,  before  ^ 
I  have  got  strength  of  limit.    Now,  my  liege. 
Tell  me  what  blessings  I  have  here  alive. 
That  I  should  fear  to  die  ?  Therefore,  proceed. 
But  yet  hear  this  ;  mistake  me  not : — ^o  !  life, 
I  prize  it  not  a  straw  : — but  for  mine  honour, 
(Which  I  would  free,)  if  i  shall  be  condtmn'd 
Upon  surmises  ;  all  proofs  sleeping  else. 
But  what  your  jealousie     wake  j  I  tell  you 


Scene  2. 


Tis  rigour,  and  nof  law. — Your  honours  all, 

I  do  refer  nie  to  the  oracle  ; 

Apollo  be  my  judge. 

1  Lord.  This  your  request 

altogether  just :  therefore,  bring  forth, 
nd  ia  Apollo's  uarue,  his  oracle. 

lExeirnt  certain  Officers. 
Her.  The  emperor  of  Russia  was  my  father: 
,  that  he  were  alive,  and  here  beholding 

His  daughter's  trial !  that  he  did  but  see 

The  flatness  of  my  misery ;  yet  with  eyes 

Of  pity,  not  revenge  ! 

He-enter  Oncers,  with  Cleomenes  andDios. 

Offi.  You  here  shall  swear  upon  this  sword  of 
justice, 

That  you,  Cleomenes  and  Dion,  have  [brought 
Been  both  at   Df^lphos  :  and   from  thence  l|iave 
This  seal'd-up  oracle,  by  the  hand  deliver'd 
Of  great  Apollo's  priest:  and  that  since  then, 
You  have  not  dar'd  to  break  the  holy  seal, 
Nor  read  the  secrets  in't. 

Cleo.  Dion.  All  this  we  swear. 

Leon.  Break  up  the  seals,  and  read. 

0_ffi.  {Reads.)  Hermione  is  chaste,  Polixenes 
blameless.  Camillo  a  true  subject.  Leontes  a  jea- 
lous tyrant,  his  innocent  babe  truly  begotten;  and 
the  king  s/uill  live  without  an  heir,  if  that,  which 
is  lost,  be  not  found. 

Lords.  Now  blessed  be  the  great  Apollo ! 

Her.  Praised ! 

Leon.  Hast  thou  read  truth  ? 

Offi,.  Ay,  my  lord;  even  so 

As  it  is  here  set  down. 

Leon.  There  is  no  truth  at  all  i'the  oracle : 
The  sessions  shall  proceed  ;  this  is  mere  falsehood. 

Enter  a  Servant  hastily. 

Serv.  My  lord  the  king,  the  king  I 

Leon.  What  is  the  business? 

Serv.  O  sir,  I  shiil  be  hated  to  report  it: 
The  prince  your  s  i  i.  with  mere  conceit  and  fear 
Of  the  queen  s  speed,  is  gone. 

Leon.  How!  gone? 

Serv.  Is  dead. 

Leon.  Apollo's  angry ;  and  the  heavens  them- 
selves [now  there? 
Do  strike  at  my  injustice.  {Hermione  faints.)  How 

Paul.  This  news  is  mortal  to  the  queen  : — Look 
down. 

And  see  what  death  li  doing. 

Leon.  Take  her  hence  ; 

Her  heart  is  but  o'ercharg'd;  she  will  recover. — 
[  have  too  much  believ'd  tnine  own  suspicion: — 
'Beseech  you,  tenderly  apply  to  her 
Some  remedies  for  life. — Apollo,  pardon 

[Exeunt  Paulina  and  Ladies,  with  Herm. 
My  great  profaneness  'gainst  thine  oracle  ! — 
I'll  reconcile  me  to  Polixenes ; 
New  woo  ray  queen  ;  recal  the  good  Camillo; 
Whom  I  proclaim  a  man  of  truth,  of  mercy  : 
For,  being  transported  by  my  jealousies 
To  bloody  thoughts  and  to  revenge,  I  chose 
Camillo  fur  the  minister,  to  poison 
My  friend  Polixenes:  which  had  been  done, 
But  that  the  good  mind  of  Camillo  tardied 
My  switt  command,  though  I  with  death,  and  with 
Reward,  did  threaten  and  encourage  him. 
Not  doing  it.  and  being  done  :  he,  most  humane. 
And  fill'd  with  honour,  to  my  kingly  guest 
Unclasp'd  my  practice;  quit  his  fortunes  here. 
Which  you  knew  great;  and  to  the  certain  hazard 
Of  all  uncertainties  himself  commended. 
No  richer  than  his  honour: — llow  he  glisters 
Thorough  my  rust !  and  how  his  piety 

oes  my  deeds  uiake  the  blacker! 


V61  . 


WINTER'S  TALE.     ...      /     ,^  /  ^  237 

I  O,  cut  my  lace  ;  lest  my  heart,  craiSskrog 
Break  too ! 

]  Lord.  What  fit  is  this,  good  lady  ? 
Paul.  What  studied  toruients,  tyrant,  hast  for  me? 
Wiiat  wheels  ?  racks  ?  fires ?  What  flaying?  boiliflg 
In  leads,  or  oils  ?  what  old,  or  newer  torture 
Must  I  receive  ;  whose  every  word  deserves 


Re  mter  Paulina. 


Paul. 


Woe  the  while ! 


To  taste  of  thy  most  worst  ?  Thy  tyranny 
Together  working  with  thy  jealousies, — 
Fancies  too  weak  for  boys,  too  green  and  idle 
For  girls  of  nine  ! — O,  think,  what  they  have  doiie^ 
And  then  run  mad,  indeed ;  stark  mad !  for  all 
Thy  by-gone  fooleries  were  but  spices  ofjt^.  ,^ 
That  thou  betray'dst  PolixeneSi^iiwas  ^thingj 
That  did  but  show  thee*, ,!Pi-a'fool,  inconstant, 
And  damnable  ungrateful :  nor  was't  much. 
Thou  would'st  have  poison'd  good  Camillo's  honour, 
To  have  him  kill  a  king ;  poor  trespasses. 
More  monstrous  standing  by  :  whereof  I  reckon 
The  casting  forth  t^  crows  thy  baby  daughter. 
To  be  or  nooe,  oV  little ;  though  a  devil 
Would  have  shed  water  out  of  fire,  ere  dou't: 
Nor  is't  directly  laid  to  thee,  the  death 
Of  the  young  prince  ,  whose  honourable  thoughts 
(Thoughts  high  for  one  so  tender,)  cleft  the  heart 
That  could  conceive,  a  gross  and  foolish  sire 
Blemish'd  his  gracious  dam  :  this  is  not,  no. 
Laid  to  thy  answer:  But  the  last, — O  lords. 
When  I  have  said,  cry,  woe  ! — the  queen,  the  queen. 
The  sweetest,  dt-arest  creature's  dead  ;  antl  ven- 
geance for't 
Not  dropp'd  down  yet. 

1  Lord.  The  higher  powers  forbid  I 

Paul.  I  say,  she's  dead  ;  I'll  swear't :  if  word, 
nor  oath. 

Prevail  not,  go  and  see  :  if  you  can  bring 
Tincture,  or  lustre,  in  her  lip,  her  eye, 
Heat  outwardly,  or  breath  within,  I'll  serve  you 
As  I  would  do  the  gods. — But,  O  thou  tyrant ! 
Do  not  repent  these  things ;  lor  they  are  heavier  ..^ 
Than  all  thy  woes  can  stir:  therefore  betake  thee 
.  1^  noJKin g^ut^espalFi^   A  thousand  knees, 
TeFTTioTTsarliS''^^  nake4,.ia^ting. 
Upon  a  barren  mountain,  and  stilfAvinteo  \ 
In  storm  perpetual,  could  not  movS^tbC'gods  | 
To  look  that  way  thou  wert. 

Leon.  Go  on,  go  on : 

Thou  canst  not  speak  too  much  ;  I  have  deserv'd 
All  tongues  to  talk  their  bitterest. 

1  Lord.  Say  no  more ; 

Howe'er  the  business  goes,  you  have  made  fault 
I'the  boldness  of  your  .speech. 

Paul.  lam  sorry  for't ; 

All  faults  I  make,  when  I  shall  come  to  know  them, 
I  do  repent :  Alas,  I  have  show'd  too  much 
The  rashness  of  a  woman  :  he  is  touch'd  [help, 
To  the  noble  heart. — What's  gone,  and  what's  past 
Should  be  past  grief :  Do  not  receive  afliictiou 
At  my  petition,  I  be.««eech  you  ;  rather 
Let  me  be  punish'd,  that  have  minded  you 
Of  what  you  should  forget.  Now,  good  my  liege. 
Sir,  royal  sir,  forgive  a  foolish  woman  : 
The  love  I  bore  your  queen, — lo,  fool  again ! — 
I'll  speak  of  her  no  more,  nor  of  your  children; 
I'll  not  remeujber  you  of  my  own  lord. 
Who  is  lost  too :  Take  your  patience  to  you. 
And  ril  say  nothing. 

Leon.  Thou  didst  speak  but  well. 

When  most  the  truth;  which  I  receive  much  betfeg?" 
Tliarj  to  be  pitied  of  thee     Pr  ythee,  bring  me 
To  the  dead  bodies  of  my  queen,  and  son  : 
One  grave  shall  be  for  both :  upon  them  shall 
The  causes  of  their  death  appear,  unto 
Our  shame  perpetual :  Once  a  day  I'll  visit 
Tlie  chapel  where  they  lie  ;  and  tears,  siied  there. 
Shall  be  my  recreation  :  So  long  as 
Nature  will  bear  up  witli  this  exercise. 
So  lorg  I  daily  vow  to  use  it.  Come, 
And  lead  me  to  these  sorrovvis.  lExevnL 


238 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


ScKNE  III. — Bohemia.  A  desert  Country  r^ear  the 
Sea. 

Bnter  A  N'ncoNUs,  tvith  the  Child;  and  a  Mariner. 

Ant.  Thou  art  perl'eet  then,  our  ship  hath  touch'd 
The  deserts  of  lioiiemia  ?  [upon 

Mur.  Ay,  my  lord  ;  and  tear 

e  have  landed  in  ill  time;  the  skies  look  grintly. 
And  threaten  presetit  bhisters.  In  my  conscience. 
The  iiea\  ens  with  (hat  we  liave  in  hand  are  anj;ry, 
And  irowii  upon  us.  [aboard  ; 

Ant.   Tl\eir   sacred   wills   be   done! — go,  get 
Look  fo  thy  hark  ;  I  II  not  be  long,  before 
I  call  n[)Oii  tliee. 

Mar.  Make  yotir  best  haste:  and  go  not 
Too  iar  i'lhe  land;  'tis  like  to  be  loud  vveatlier; 
Besi  ir'S,  tliis  place  is  famous  for  the  creatures 
01  prey,  that  keep  upun  t. 

Ant.  Go  thou  away  ; 

I'll  li.llow  instantly. 

Mar.  I  am  glad  at  heart 

To  be-  so  rid  o'the  business.  [Exit. 

Ant.  Come,  poor  babe  :  

I  have  heard,  (bat  not  believ'd,)  the  spirits  of  the 
dead 

May  walk  again  :  if  such  thing  be,  thy  mother 
Appear'd  to  me  last  night;  for  ne'er  was  dream 
So  like  a  waking.    To  me  comes  a  creature, 
iSomefinjes  h.  r  head  on  one  side,  some  another; 
I  never  saw  a  vessel  of  like  sorrow. 
So  fiird,  and  so  beconiing  :  in  pure  white  robes. 
Like  very  sanctity,  she  did  approach 
My  cabin,  where  I  lay  :  thrice  bow'd  before  me ; 
And,  gasping  to  begin  some  speech,  her  eye? 
Became  two  spouts  :  the  liiry  spent,  anon 
Did  this  break  iVom  \wr:  Good  Antiyomis, 
Since  fate,  ayainst  thy  better  disposition. 
Hath  made  thy  person  for  the  throioer-out 
Of  my  /lOur  habe,  accordiny  to  thine  oath, — 
Places  remote  enouyh  are  in  Bohemia, 
There  ivee/>,  and  leave  it  cryiny  ;  and,  for  the  babe 
Is  counted  lost  for  ever,  Perdita, 
I  pr  ythee,  call  t:  for  this  unyentle  business. 
Put  on  thee  by  my  lord,  thou  ne'er  shall  see 
Thy  wife  Paulina  more : — and  so,  wilh  shrieks, 
Siie  melted  into  air.    AtiVighted  uiuch, 
I  did  in  time  collect  myself;  and  thoiiglit 
This  was  so,  and  no  slimiber.    Dreams  are  toys  : 
Yet,  for  this  once,  yea,  saperstitiousTy, 
I  will  be  sqiiar'd  by  tliis.    I  do  believe, 
Hermione  hath  suti^'r'd  death;  and  that 
■•-X       Apollo  would,  this  being  indeed  the  issue 
^'  \     Of  King  Polixenes,  it  should  here  be  laid. 
Either  for  lifV,  or  death,  upon  the  earth 
Of  its  right  father. — Blossom,  speed  thee  well! 

" [hay iny  doxvn  the  child) 
There  lie;  and  there  thy  character  :  there  these  ; 

{Layiny  down  a  bundle. 
Which  may,  if  fortune  please,  both  breed  thee 
pretty,  [wretch, 

And  still  rest  thine.  The  storm  begins  : — Poor 

That,  for  thy  mother's  fault,  art  thus  expos'd 

To  loss,  and  what  may  follow: — Weep  I  cannot. 

But  my  heart  bleeds  :  and  most  accurs'd  am  I, 

To  be  by  oath  enjoin'd  to  this. — Farewell! 

The  day  frowns  more  and  more ;  thou  art  like  to  have 

A  lullaby  too  rough  :  1  never  saw 

The  heavens  so  dim  by  day.    A  savage  clamour? — 

Well  may  I  get  aboard  I — This  is  the  chace  ; 

I  am  gone  for  ever.         [Exit,  pursued  by  a  bear. 

Enter  an  old  Shepherd. 
Sh'ep.  I  would,  there  were  no  age  between  ten 
^     and  three-and  twenty ;  or  that  youth  would  sleep 
f      out  the  rest  :  for  there  is  ,notiiin^  in  the  between 
but  getting  wenches  with  cTiTld,  wronging  the  an- 
cientry,  ste<»ling,   fighting. — Hark  you  now  I  

Would  any  but  these  boiled  brains  of  nineteen,  and 
wo  and  twenty,  hunt  this  weather?  They  have 
carel  away  two  of  my  best  sheep;  which,  I  fear. 


find,  than  the  master:  if  i 


the  wolf  will  sooner  tinu,  man  Uie  masfer:  3l  any. 
where  I  ha\  e  them,  'tis  by  the  sea  side,  brow  zing 
on  ivy.  Good  luck,  an't  be  thy  will !  what  have 
we  here?  [Takiny  up  the  child.)  Mercy  on's,  a 
barne ;  a  very  pietty  barne !  A  boy,  or  a  child,  1 
wonder?  A  pietty  one;  a  very  pretty  one  :  Sure, 
some  scape  :  though  I  am  not  bookish,  yet  I  can 
read  waiting  j;entlewuman  in  the  scape,  'j'his  has 
been^,some  staii^ork^^^siune^t^^^^^^  some  be- 

jiind-dooT-Vfork":  they  were  warmer,  that  got  this,  . 
tlra'flriiir'7rrn5ritung  is  here.    I'll  take  it  up  lor  pity  : 
yet  I'll  tarry  till  my  son  come ;  he  hollaed  but  even 
now.    Whoa,  ho  hoa  ! 

Enter  Clown. 
Clo.  HiUoa,  loa ! 

Shep.  What,  art  so  near?  If  thoult  see  a  thing 
to  talk  on  when  thou  art  dead  and  rotten,  come 
hither.   What  ailest  thou,  nmn? 

Clo.  I  liave  seen  two  such  sights,  by  sea,  and  by 
land  ; — but  I  am  not  to  say,  it  is  a  sea,  for  it  is  now 
the  sky  ;  betwixt  the  firmament  and  it,  you  cannot 
thrust  a  bodkin's  point. 

Shep.  Why,  boy,  how  is  it? 

Clo.  I  woultl,  you  did  but  see  how  it  chafes,  hovr 
it  rages,  how  it  takes  up  the  shore  !  but  that's  not 
to  the  point :  O,  the  most  piteous  cry  of  the  poor 
souls!  sometimes  to  see 'em,  and  not  to  see 'em: 
now  the  ship  boring  the  moon  with  her  main-mast: 
and  anon  swallowed  with  yest  and  froth,  as  you'd 
thrust  a  cork  into  a  hogshead.  And  then  for  the 
land-service, — To  see  how  the  bear  tore  out  his 
shoulder-bone  ,  how  he  cried  to  me  for  help,  and 
said,  his  name  was  Antigonus,  a  nobleman  : — But 
to  make  an  end  of  the  ship: — to  see  how  the  sea 
flap  diagoned  it: — but,  first,  how  the  poor  souls 
roared,  and  the  sea  mocked  them ; — and  how  the 
poor  gentleman  roared,  and  .thg.  bear_mocked  him^ 
liQih.^aring  louder  than  the  sea,  or  w^aTlVerT'  ' 

^A^7~Name""6rimercy,'vVhT^^^^^        this,  boy? 

Clo.  Now,  now ;  I  iiave  not  winked  since  I  saw 
these  sights:  the  men  are  not  yet  cold  under  water, 
nor  the  bear  half  dined  on  the  f  entlemau  ;  he's  at  it 
now. 

Shep.  Would  I  had  been  by,  to  have  hel(i«  d  the 
old  man ! 

Clo.  I  would  you  had  been  by  the  ship  side,  to 
have  helped  her;  there  your  charity  would  have 
lacked  footing.  {Aside.) 

Shep.  Heavy  matters!  heavy  matters!  but  look 
thee  here,  b(^y.  Now  bless  thyself;  thou  met'st 
with  things  dying,  I  with  things  new  born.  Here's 
a  sight  lor  thee  ;  look  thee,  a  bearing-cloth  for  a 
squire's  child !  Look  thee  here ;  take  up,  take  up, 
boy;  open  t.  So,  let's  see;  It  was  told  me,  ( 
should  be  rich  by  the  fairies:  this  is  some  change- 
ling : — open't :  what's  within,  boy  ? 

Clo.  You're  a  made  old  man  ;  if  the  sins  of  your 
youth  are  forgiven  you,  you're  well  to  live.  Groldi 
all  gold  ! 

Shep.  This  is  fairy  gold,  boy,  and  'twill  prove  so: 
up  with  it,  keep  it  close;  home,  hon»e,  the  next 
way.  We  are  lucky,  boy,  and  to  be  so  still,  re- 
quires nothing  but  secrecy. — Let  my  sheep  go:— 
Come,  good  boy,  the  next  way  home. 

Clo.  Go  you  the  next  way  with  your  findings; 
I'll  go  see  if  the  bear  be  gone  from  the  gentleman, 
and  how  much  he  hath  eaten:  they  are  never  curst, 
but  when  they  are  hungry:  if  there  be  any  ofhira 
left,  I'll  bury  it. 

Shep.  'J'hat's  a  good  deed :  If  thou  may  'st  discern 
by  that  which  is  left  of  him,  what  he  is,  fetch  me  to 
the  sight  of  him.  [him  i'the  ground. 

Clo.  Marry,  will  I;  and  you  shall  help  to  put 

Shep.  'Tis  a  lucky  day,  boy;  and  we  ll  dy  good 
deeds  on't.  [Exeunt 

ACT  IV. 

Enter  Time,  as  Chortts. 
Time.  I, — that  please  some,  try  all ;  both  joy,  ana 
terror. 


Scene  2,  " 


Of  go  (f  and  bad  ;  that  make,  and  unfold  error, 
tSTo  w  tafce  upon  me,  in  the  name  of  Time, 
To  use  my  wings.    Impute  it  not  a  crime, 
fo  me,  or  mx^s\vi?|;^assag(i,  tliat  I  slide 
O'er  sixteen  yearsTanlTTeave  the  growth  .untried 
Of  that  wide  gji|j.;,-sii)iGeL.jlis  iti  i^iy  power) - 
J'o  o'erthrow^rinv,  and  in  one  seli'"borii  hour 
fo  planf  and  (Terwhelm  custom  :  Let  me  pass 
fhrsSme  I  am,  ere  ancient'st  ol'der  was. 
Or  what  is  now  received  :  I  witness  to 
The  times  that  hroiight  them  in;  so  shall  I  do 
To  the  freshest  things  now  reigningj.,and  makest|le 
The  glistering  of  this  present,  ^^^^^^^^Si^^'-T^^f^  I 
Now  seems  to  it.    Your  patience  This  allowing,  Lll 
I  toTft^y  glass  ;  and  give  my  scene  such  grow-ng^,/f 
Ibn  you  had  slept  between.  -4«©aMl«sa,leaving 
The  effects  of  his  fond  jealousies ;  §^rr§yin|7 
That  he  shuts  up  himself ;  imajfine  fne",""""""* 
Gentle  spectators,  that  I  now  may  be 
fn  fair  Bohemia  ,  and  remember  well, 
f  mentioned  a  son  o'tlie  king's,  which  Florlzel 
I  now  name  to  you ;  and  with  speed  so  pace 
To  speak  of  Perdita,  now  grown  in  grace 
Equal  with  wond'ring :  whttt,  pfiier  ensue.|, 
I  list  not  prophecy  ;  buij^^rime^s  news  3* 
Be  kn<giyvnj„s;^hen  'tis  brougSt  tbrthj— a  is^^^Jb^^ 

dciu^Tile?i'~^~~-^"-^"""'''"" 
And  what  to  iier  adhetes,  which.  MlQWS^a&jj;-^'*^-^'^ 
^trmlLi.X)f  tliis  allowl  T/ 


/  b\{.f5-/ WINTER'S  TALE.    LM^sti^^^J  ^^239^^ 


a  daughter  of  most  rare  note;  the  report  of  her  ts 
extended  more,  than  can  be  thought  to  begin  from 
such  a  cottage. 

,    Pol.  That's  likewise  part  of  my  intelligence.  But, 
I  fear  the  angle  that  plucks  our  son  thither.  Thou 
shalt  accompany  us  to  the  place  :  where  v^^e  will,  nol 
appearing  what  we  are,  have  some  question  with 
the  sliepherd  ;  from  whose  sim}>licity,  I  think  it  not 
uneasy  to  get  the  canse  of  my  son's  resort  thither. 
Pr'ythee,  be  my  present  partner  in  this  business,  , 
and  lay  aside  the  thoughts  of  Sicilia.  ^ 
Cam.  I  willingly  obey  your  command.  \ 
Pol.  My  best  Camillo! — We  must  disguise  our- 
(Selves.  [Exeunt. 

■-Scene  II.- 


Ts^tlie  argument 
ff  ever  you  hat' e 
If  never  yet,  thr^ 
He  wishes  earne? 


imej worse  ere  now, 
Tiin^^nself  doth  say, 

you  never  may.  [Exit 

Scene  I. — The  same.    A  Room  in  the  Palace 
of  Polixenes. 
Enter  Polixenes  arid  Camillo. 

Pol.  I  pray  thee,  good  Camillo,  be  no  more  im- 
portunate :  'tis  a  sickness,  denying  thee  any  thing  ; 
a  death,  to  grant  this. 

Cam.  It  is  fifteen  years,  since  I  saw  my  country  : 
thongii  I  have,  for  tiie  most  part,  been  aired  abroad, 
I  desire  to  lay  my  bones  there.  Besides,  the  peni- 
tent king,  my  master,  hath  sent  for  me:  to  whose 
feeling  sorrows  I  might  be  some  allay,  or  I  o'er- 
ween  tu  think  so;  which  is  another  spur  to  my 
departure. 

Pol.  As  thou  lovest  nie,  Camillo,  wipe  not  out 
the  rest  of  thy  services,  by  leaving  me  now :  the 
need  I  have  of  tliee,  thine  own  goodness  hath  made; 
better  not  to  have  had  thee,  than  thus  to  want  thee  : 
thou,  having  made  me  businesses,  which  none,  with- 
out thee,  can  sufficiently  manage,  must  either  stay 
to  execute  them  thyself,  or  take  away  with  thee 
the  very  services  thou  hast  done :  which,  if  I  have 
not  enough  considered,  (as  too  much  I  cannot,)  to  be 
more  thankful  to  thee,  siiall  be  my  study ;  and  my 
profit  therein,  the  heaping  I'riendships.  Of  that  fatal 
country  Sicilia,  pr'ythee  speak  no  more  :  whose  very 
naming  putiishes  me  with  the  remembrance  of  that 
penitent,  as  thou  call'st  him,  and  reconciled  king, 
Miy  brother  ;  whose  loss  of  liis  most  precious  queen, 
and  children,  are  even  now  to  be  afresh  lamented. 
Say  to  me,  wlien  savv'st  tliou  the  prince  Florizel, 
my  son  ^  Kings  are  no  less  unhappy,  their  issue  not 
bt  ing  gracious,  than  they  are  in  losing  them,  when 
they  have  approved  their  virtues. 

Cam.  Sir,  it  is  three  days  since  I  saw  the  prince : 
H'hat  his  happier  ali'airs  may  be,  are  to  me  un  own  : 
but  1  have,  missingly,  noted,  he  is  of  late  much  re- 
tired from  court;  and  is  less  frequent  to  his  princely 
exercises,  than  formerly  he  hatli  ajjpeared. 

Pol.  I  have  considered  so  much,  Camillo;  and 
with  some  care;  so  far,  that  I  have  eyes  under  my 
services,  which  look  u[)on  his  removedness  :  from 
vvijom  I  have  this  inteliigence ;  That  he  is  seldom 
from  the  house  of  a  most  honiely  shepherd  ;  a  man, 
Ihey  say,  that  from  very  notning,  and  beyond  the 
inragin«tion  of  his  neighbours,  is  grown  into  an  un- 
speakable estate. 

CoAK,  J  have  beard,  sir,  of  such  a  man  who  hath 


The  same.  A  Road  near  the  Shepherd* 

Cottage. 
Enter  AuTOLYCUS,  singing. 

PF'hen  daffodils  begin  to  peer,  

TVith,  heigh  !  the  doxy  over  the  dale, — 
Why,  then  comes  in  the  sweet  o'the  year; 
For  the  red  blood  reigns  in  the  winter's  pale. 

The  ivhite  sheet  bleaching  on  the  hedge,—  _ 
With,  heyl  the  sweet  birds,  0,  how  they  sing! — 
\l^Doth  set  my  piig<]ing  tooth  on  edge  ; 

For  a  quart  of  ale  is  a  dish  for  a  king. 
The  lark,  that  tirra  lirra. chants, — 

fVith,  hey\  with,  heyl  the  thrush  and  the  jay 
Are  summer  songs  for  tne  and  my  aunts, 
While  we  lie  tumbling  in  the  hay. 
I  have  served  prince  Florizel,  and,  in  my  time,  wore 
three  pile :  but  now  I  am  out  of  service  : 

But  shall  1  go  mourn  for  that,  my  dear? 

The  pale  moon  shines  by  night : 
And,  when  I  wander  here  and  there, 

I  then  do  most  go  right. 
If  tinkers  may  have  leave  to  live 
And  bear  the  sow-skin  budget ; 
Then  my  account  I  tvell  may  give, 
And  in  the  stocks  avouch  it. 
My  traffic  is  sheets;  when  the  kite  builds,  look  to 
lesser  linen     My  father  named  n)e,  Autolycus; 
who  being,  as  I  am,  littered  under  Mercury,  was 
likewise  a  suapper-up  of  unconsidered  trifies  :  With 
die,  and  diab,  I  purchased  tiiis  caparison;  and  my 
revenue  is  the  silly  cheat:  Gallows,  aod  knock,  are 
too  iwwerful  on  the  highway :  beating,  and  hanging, 
are  terrors  to  me;  for  the  life  to  come,  1  sleep  out 
the  thought  of  it. — A  prize  !  a  prize  I 

Enter  Clown. 

Clo.  Let  me  see: — Every 'leven  wethei — tods; 
every  tod  yields — pound  and  odd  shilling:  fiiteen 
hundred  shorn, — What  comes  (he  wool  to  ? 

Aut.  If  the  springe  hold,  the  cock's  mine.  (Asid^i^ 

Clo.  I  cannot  do*t  without  counters. — Let  me 
see;  what  am  I  to  buy  for  our  sheep  shearing  feast? 
Three  pound  of  sugar;  five  pound  of  currants : 
rice, — What  will  this  sister  of  mine  do  with  rice? 
But  my  father  hath  made  her  mistress  of  the  feast, 
and  she  lays  it  on.  She  hath  made  me  four-and- 
twenty  nosegays  for  the  shearers:  tliree-man  sonjj- 
men  all,  and  very  good  ones ;  but  they  are  most  of 
them  means  and  bases:  but  one  Puritan  amongat 
them,  and  he  sings  psalms  to  hornpipes.  I  must 
have  saffron,  to  colour  the  warden  pies ;  mace,— 
dates, — none ;  that's  out  of  my  note :  nutmegu^ 
seven;  a  race,  or  two,  of  ginger ;  but  tiiat  1  may 
beg;-— /owr  pound  of  prunes,  and  as  many  of 
raisins  othe  sun. 

Aut.  O,  that  ever  I  was  born  ! 

{Grovelling  on  the  ground) 

Clo.  I'the  name  of  me,  

Aut.  O,  help  me,  help  me !  pluck  but  off  these 
rags  ;  and  tJien,  death,  death  ! 

Clo.  Alack,  poor  soul !  thou  hast  need  of  more 
rags  to  lay  on  thee,  rather  than  have  tiiese  off. 

Aut.  O,  sir,  the  loathsomeness  of  them  olTenda 


24:0 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


me  more  than  the  stripes  I  have  received,  which  are 

uu<;ia)  oiic  b,  iiucl  iiiillioMS. 

tVo.  Alus,  jioi  rrnanf  a  million  of  beating  njay 
tome  to  a  ^reat  matter. 

Aut.  I  am  robbed,  sir,  and  beaten ;  my  money 
and  apparel  ta'en  from  me,  and  these  detestable 
thinu^s  [Hit  upon  me. 

Clo.  What,  by  a  horse-man,  or  a  foot-man? 

Aut.  A  foot-man.  sweet  sir,  a  foot-man. 

Clo.  Indeed,  he  should  be  a  foot  man,  by  the  gar- 
ments he  hath  leit  with  thee  :  if  this  be  a  horse- 
man's coat,  it  hath  seen  very  hot  service.  Lend  me 
Ihy  hand,  I'll  help  thee  :  come,  lend  me  thy  hand. 

(Helping  him  up.) 

Aut.  01  good  sir,  tenderly,  oh! 

Clo.  Alas,  poor  soul. 

Aut.  O !  good  sir,  softly,  goo'd  sir :  I  fear,  sir, 
my  shoulder-blade  is  out. 

Clo,  How  now?  canst  stand? 

Aut.  Softly,  dear  sir;  {picks  his  pocket.)  good 
sir,  softly  ;  yon  ha'  done  me  a  charitable  office. 

Clo.  Dost  lack  any  money  ?  I  have  a  little  money 
for  thee. 

A.ut.  No,  good  sweet  sir;  no,  I  beseech  you,  sir: 
I  have  a  kinsman  not  past  three  quarters  of  a  mile 
hence,  unto  whom  I  was  going;  I  shall  there  have 
money,  or  any  thing  I  want.  Offer  me  no  money,  I 
pr{w  you  :  that  kills  my  heart.  [you? 
Clo.  What  manner  of  fellow  was  he  that  robbed 
Aut.  A  fellow,  sir,  that  I  have  known  to  go  about 
with  trol-my-dames  :  1  knew  hinj  once  a  servant  of 
the  prince  ;  I  cannot  tell,  good  sir,  for  which  of  his 
virtues  it  was,  but  he  was  certainly  whipped  out  of 
the  court. 

Clo.  His  vices,  you  would  say  ;  there's  no  virtue 
tvhipped  out  of  court:  they  cherish  it,  to  make  it 
stay  there  ;  and  yet  it  will  no  more  but  abide. 

Aut.  Vices  I  would  say,  sir.  I  know  this  man 
well :  he  hath  been  since  an  ape-bearer ;  then  a 
process-server,  a  bailiff';  then  he  compassed  a  mo- 
tion of  the  prodigal  son,  and  married  a  tinker's  wife 
within  a  mile  where  my  land  and  living  lies,  and, 
having  flovvn  over  many  knavish  professions,  he  set- 
tled only  in  rogue:  some  call  him  Autolycus. 

Clo.  Out  upon  him!  Prig,  for  my  life,  prig:  he 
haunts  wakes,  fairs,  and  bear-baitings. 

Aut.  Very  true,  si^r ;  he,  sir,  he  ;  that's  the  rogue 
that  put  me  into  this  apparel. 

Clo.  Not  a  more  cowardly  logue  in  all  Bohemia; 
if  you  had  but  looked  big,  and  spit  at  him,  he'd  have 
run. 

Aut.  I  must  confess  to  you,  sir,  I  am  no  fighter: 
I  am  false  of  heart,  that  way;  and  that  he  knew,  I 
warrant  him. 

Clo.  How  do  you  now  ? 

Aut.  Sweet  sir,  much  better  than  I  was;  I  can 
stand,  and  walk  :  I  will  even  take  my  leave  of  you, 
and  pace  softly  towards  my  kinsman's. 

Clo.  Shall  I  bring  thee  on  the  way  ? 

Aut.  No,  good-faced  sir ;  no,  sweet  sir. 

Clo.  Tiien  fare  thee  well ;  I  must  go  buy  spices 
for  our  sheep-shearing. 

Aut.  Prosper  you,  sweet  sir! — [Exit  Clown.]— 
Your  purse  is  not  hot  enough  to  purchase  your  spice. 
I'll  be  with  you  at  your  sheep-shearing  too :  if  I 
make  not  this  cheat  bring  out  another,  and  the 
■hearers  prove  sheep,  let  me  be  unrolled,  and  my 
name  put  in  the  book  of  virtue  ! 

Jog  on,  jog  on,  the  foot-path  way. 
And  merrily  Kent  the  stile  a  • 

A  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day, 

Your  sad  tires  in  a  mile-a.  [Exit. 

Scene  III. — The  same.    A  Shepherd's  Cottage. 
Enter  Florizel  and  Perdita. 
Flo.  These  your  unusual  weeds  to  each  part  of  you 
Do  give  a  iR'e  :  no  shepherdess  ;  but  Flora 
eeriug  in  April's  front.    This  your  sheep-shearing 
i  'aa  a  meeting  of  the  petty  gods. 


And  you  the  queen  on'4. 

Per.  Sir,  my  gracious  lord. 

To  chide  at  your  extremes,  it  not  becomes  me  ; 
O,  pardon,  that  I  na:ne  them:  your  high  self, 
The  gracious  mark  o'the  land,  you  have  obscar'd, 
With  a  swain's  wearing  ;  and  me,  poor  lowly  maid 
Most  goddess-like  prank'd  up  :  but  that  our  feasts' 
In  every  mess  have  folly,  and  the  feeders 
Digest  it  with  a  custom,  I  should  blush 
To  see  you  so  attired ;  sworn,  I  think. 
To  show  myself  a  glass. 

Flo.  1  bless  the  time. 

When  my  good  falcon  made  her  fiight  across 
Thy  father's  ground. 

Per.  Now  Jove  afford  you  cause 

To  me,  the  diff'erence  forges  dread  ;  your  greatuts 
Hath  not  been  us'd  to  fear.    Even  now  I  tremble 
To  think,  your  father,  by  some  accident. 
Should  pass  this  way,  as  you  did  :  O,  the  fates !  , 
How  would  he  look,  to  see  his  work,  so  noble. 
Vilely  bound  up?  V\' hat  would  he  say?  Or  how 
Should  I,  in  these  my  borrow'd  tlauuts,  behold 
The  sternness  of  his  presence  ? 

Flo.  Apprehend 
Nothing  but  jollity.    The  gods  themselves,  ^ 
Humbling  their  deities  to  love,  have  taken  \^ 
The  shapes  of  beasts  upon  them  :  Jupiter 
Bec^m^CSyH,  and  bellow'd  ;  the  green  Neptuno 
A  ram, 'ami  bleated;  and  the  fire-rob'd  god, 
Golden  Apollo,  a  poor  humblei^vfart). 
As  I  seem  now:  Their  transformations 
Were  never  for  a  piece  of  beauty  rarer; 
Nor  in  a  way  so  chaste  :  since  my  desires 
Run  not  before  mine  honou^nor  my  lusts  . 
Burn  hotter  than  niy  faithC 

Per.  O  but,  dear  sir. 

Your  resolution  cannot  hold,  when  'tis 
Oppos'd,  as  it  must  be,  by  the  power  o'the  king : 
One  of  these  two  must  be  necessities. 
Which  then  will  speak ;  that  you  must  change  this 

purpose. 
Or  I  my  life. 

Flo.  Thou  dearest  Ferdita, 

With  these  forc'd  thoughts,  I  pr  ythee,  darken  not 
The  mirth  o'the  feast :  Or  I'll  be  tliine,  my  fair 
Or  not  my  father's;  for  I  cannot  be 
Mine  own,  nor  any  thing  to  any,  if 
I  be  not  tliine  :  to  this  I  am  most  constant, 
Though  destiny  say,  no.    Be  merry,  gentle  ; 
Strangle  such  thoughts  as  these,  with  any  thing 
l^nat  you  behold  the  while.  Your  guests  are  comiiig : 
Liit  up  your  countenance  ;  as  it  were  the  day 
Of  celebration  of  that  nuptial,  which 
We  two  have  sworn  shall  come. 

Per.  O  lady  fortune. 

Stand  you  auspicious ! 

Enter  Shepherd,  with  Polixenes  and  Camillo, 
disguised;  Clown,  Mopsa,  Dorcas,  and  others. 

Flo.  See,  your  guests  approach : 

Address  yourself  to  entertain  them  sprightly, 
And  let's  be  red  with  mirth. 

Shep.  Fy,  daughter!  when  my  old  wife  liv'd,  upon 
This  day,  she  was  both  pantler,  butler,  cook; 
Both  dame  and  servant:  welcom'd  all ;  serv'd  all : 
Would  sing  her  song,  and  dance  her  turn  :  now 
here, 

At  upper  end  o'the  table,  now,  i'the  middle; 
On  his  shoulder,  and  his;  her  face  o'fire 
With  labour ;  and  the  thing,  she  took  to  quench  it, 
She  would  to  each  one  sip :  You  are  retir'd. 
As  if  you  were  a  feasted  one,  and  not 
The  hostess  of  the  meeting:  Pray  you,  bid 
These  unknown  friends  to  us  welcome  :  for  it  is 
A  way  to  make  us  better  friends,  mure  kifown. 
Come,  quench  your  blushes;  and  present  jrourself 
That  which  you  are,  mistress  o'the  feast :  Come  on. 
And  bid  us  welcome  to  your  sheep-shearing. 
As  your  good  flock  shall  prosper. 
Per.  SIX \  {To  PoUxenes. 


Scene  3. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


241 


It  is  my  father's  will,  I  should  take  on  me 

The  hostess-ship  o'the  day: — You're  welcome,  sir! 

(To  Lkcmillo.) 

Give  me  those  flowers  t^ere,  Dorcas.-^tevereiid 
sirs, 

For  you  there's  rQia3sarX*.aildL^;  these  l^&Ofy- — 

(Trrice,  and  reinemhrance,  beTo  you  both, 
And  welcome  to  our  shearing! 

Pol,  Shepherdess, 
A  fair  one  are  you,)  well  you  fit  onr  ages 
U'  ith  flowers  of  winter. 

Per.  Sir,  the  year  growing  ancient, — 

Nor  yet  on  summer's  death,  nor  on  the  birth 
Of  ^trembling  winter,  —  the  fairest  flowers  o'the 
season 

our  carnations,  and  streak'd  gillyflowers, 
W'liich  some  call  nature's  bastards:  of  that  kind 
Our  rustic  garden's  barren;  and  1  care  not 
I'o  firet  slips  of  them. 

Pol.  Wherefore,  gentle  maiden. 

Do  you  neglect  them? 

Per,  For  T  have  heard  it  said, 

There  is  an  art,  which,  in  their  piedne^s,  shares 
With  great  creating  nature. 

Pol.  Say,  there  be  ; 

Vt^t  nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean. 
But  nature  makes  that  mean  :  so,  o'er  that  art, 
W^hich,  you  say,  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art 
That  nature  makes.  You  see,  sweet  maid,  we  marry 
A  gentler  scion  to  the  wildest  stock  ; 
And  make  conceive  a  bark  of  baser  kind 
Uy  bud  of  nobler  race  ;  This  is  an  art 
NV'iui;.b,do£.s.meD<inat(ire, — change  it  rather :  but 
'J(ne  art  itself  is  n•dtu^P^ 

rwr  -  ^  So  it  is. 

Pol.  Then  make  your  garden  rich  in  gillyflowers, 
A.i)d  do  not  call  them  bastards. 

Per.  I'll  not  put 

Fue  dibble  in  earth  to  set  one  slip  of  them  : 
\,v  more  than,  were  I  painted,  I  would  wish 
i  liis  youth  shoiitd  say,  'twere  well;  and  only  there- 
fore 

DcfiWe  to  breed  by  me. — FTere's  flowers  for  you ; 
Hoi  lavender,  mints,  savory,  marjoram; 
Tiie  mnrigoid,  tliat  goes  to  bed  with  the  sun, 
And  with  him  rises  weeping ;  these  are  flowers 
Of  middle  siimmer,  and,  I  think,  they  are  given 
'i'o  men  of  middle  age  :  You  are  very  welcome. 

Com.  1  should  leave  grazing,  were  1  of  your  flock, 
And  only  live  Dy  gazing. 

Per.  Out,  alas  ! 

You'd  be  so  lean,  that  blasts  of  January 
Would  blow  you  through  and  through. — No\v,  my 

fnresl  friend, 
I  would  I  had  some  flowers  o'the  spring,  that  might 
Become  your  time  of  day;  and  yours,  and  yours; 
That  wear  upon  your  virgin  branches  yet 
Your  mai'ienheads  growing  : — O  Proserpina, 
For  the  flowers  now,  that,  frighted,  thou  let'st  fall 
From  Dis's  waggon  '  daffodils, 
That  come  before  th^  swallow  dares,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty  ;  violets,  dim, 
B«it  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno's  eyes. 
Or  Cytherea's  breath  ;  pale  primroses. 
That  die  unmarried,  ere  they  can  behold 
Bright  Phoebus  in  liis  strength,  a  malady 
Most  incident  to  maids  ;  bold  oxlips,  and 
The  crown-imperial;  lilies  of  all  kinds. 
The  flower-de-luce  being  one!  O,  these  I  lack. 
To  make  you  garlands  of;  and,  my  sweet  friend. 
To  strew  iiiui  o'er  and  o'er. 

Flo.  What?  like  a  corse? 

Per.  No,  like  a  bank,  for  love  to  lie  and  play  on ; 
Not  like  a  corse  :  or  if, — not  to  be  buried. 
Hut  quick,  and  in  mine  arms.    Come,  take  your 
flowers  : 

Methinks  I/^Ta^as  I  have  seen  them  do 

in  Whilsun'  pastorals  :  sure,  this  robe  of  mine 

Docs  chan^'e  my  disposition. 


Flo.  What  you  do. 

Still  betters  what  is  done.    When  you  speak,  sweet, 
I'd  have  you  do  it  ever  :  when  you  sing, 
I'd  have  you  buy  and  sell  so ;  so  give  alms ; 
Pray  so  ;  and,  for  the  ordering  your  affairs, 
To  sing  them  too  :  When  you  do  dance,  I  wish  yon 
A  wave  o'the  sea,  that  you  might  ever  do 
Nothing  but  that  ;  move  still,  still  so,  and  own 
No  other  function  :  Each  your  doing, 
So  singular  in  each  particular. 
Crowns  what  you  are  doing  in  the  present  deed* 
That  all  your  acts  are  queens. 

Per.  O  Doricles, 

Your  praises  are  too  large  :  but  that  your  youth. 
And  tjie  true  blood,  which  fairly  peeps  ^liroughj^ 
Do  plainly  give-^ii  ouTan  ulisfairru  sliepher^^ 
VVitlLSiiHomT'T^^ 
You  vvoo'd  iueTl7e~ftrts'e~way. 

■p^g^  — .  J  think,  you  have 

As  little  skill  to  fear,  as  I  have  purpose 
To  put  you  to't. — But,  come;  our  dance,  I  pray: 
Your  hand,  my  Perdita  :  so  turtles  pair, 
That  never  mean  to  part. 

Per.      _  _  I'll  swear  for  'era. 

Pol.  This  is  the  prettiest  low-born  lass,  that  ever 
Ran  on  the  green-sward  :  nothing  she  does,  or  seems. 
But  smacks  ol"  something  greater  than  herself ; 
Too  noble  ibr  this  place. 

Cam.  He  tells  her  something 
That  makes  her  blood  look  out:  Good  sooth,  she  i& 
The  queen  of  curds  and  cream. 

Clo.  Come  on,  strike  up. 

Dor.  Mopsa  must  be  your  mistress  :  marry,  garlic. 
To  mend  her  kissing  with. — 

Mop.  Now,  in  good  time  ! 

Clo.  Not  a  word,  a  word;  we  stand  upon  our 
manners. — 

Come,  strike  up.  [Munc, 
Here  a  dance  of  Shepherds  and  Shepherdesst.f . 
Pol.  Pray,  good  shepherd,  what 
Fair  swain  is  this,  which  dances  with  your  daughtei  ? 
Shep.  They  call  him  Doricles ;  and  he  boasts 
himself 

To  have  a  worthy  feeding:  but  I  have  it 

Upon  his  own  report,  and  I  believe  it; 

He  looks  like  sooth  :  He  says,  he  loves  my  daughter ; 

I  think  so  too ;  for  never  gaz'd  the  moon 

Upon  the  water,  as  he'll  stand,  and  read, 

As  'twere,  my  daughter's  eyes :  and,  to  be  plain,  . 

I  think,  there  is  not  half  a  kiss  to  choose, 

W^ho  loves  another  best. 

Pol.  She  dances  featly. 

She]}.  So  she  does  any  thing;  though  1  report  it, 
That  should  be  silent :  if  young  Doricles 
Do  light  upon  her,  she  shall  bring  him  that. 
Which  he  not  dreams  of. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  O  master,  if  you  did  but  hear  the  pedlar  at 
the  door,  you  would  never  dance  again  after  a  tabor 
and  {)ipe ;  no,  the  bagpipe  could  not  mo»  e  you  :  he 
sings  sevf^ral  tunes,  faster  than  you'll  tell  money  '  h© 
utters  them  as  he  had  eaten  ballads,  and  all  men's 
ears  grew  to  his  tunes. 

Clo.  He  could  never  come  better:  he  shall  come 
in  :  I  love  a  ballad  but  even  too  well ;  if  it  be  doleful 
matter,  merrily  set  down,  or  a  very  pleasant  thing 
indeed,  and  sung  lamentably. 

Serv.  He  hath  songs,  for  man,  or  woman,  cf  all 
sizes;  no  milliner  can  so  fit  his  customers  with 
gloves  :  he  has  the  prettiest  love-songs  for  maids  ;  so 
without  bawdry,  wliich  is  strange;  with  such  deli 
cate  burdens  of  dildos  and  fadings :  jump  her 
and  thump  her;  and  where  some  stretch-mouth'd 
rascal  woidd,  as  it  were,  mean  mischief,  and  break 
a  foul  gap  into  the  matter,  he  makes  the  maid  to 
answer,  hoop,  do  me  no  harm,  good  man;  puts 
him  ofl",  slights  liim,  with  Whoop,  domenohormf 
good  man. 

Pol.  Tlii^  !s  a  brave  fellow. 


■242 


WINTER'S  TALfi. 


Acr  17. 


do.  Believe  me,  thou  talkest  of  an  adinirable- 
conceiled  {ellow.    Has  he  any  imhraided  wares  ? 

Serv.  We  imth  ribands  oi  all  the  colours  i'the 
laiubow;  points,  more  than  ail  the  lawyers  in  Ba- 
beinia  can  learnedly  handle,  though  they  come  to 
nim  by  the  gross ;  inkles,  caddisses,  cambrics, 
lawns  :  why,  he  sings  thein  over,  as  they  were  gods 
or  goddesses;  you  would  think,  a  smock  were  a 
ehe-ange! ;  he  so  chants  to  the  sleeve-hand,  and  the 
work  about  the  square  on't. 

Clo.  Pr'ythee,  bring  him  in  ;  and  let  him  approach 
singing. 

Pei\  Forewarn  him,  that  he  use  no  scurrilous 
words  in  liis  tunes. 

Clo.  Yon  have  of  these  pedlers,  that  have  more 
10  'em  than  you'd  think,  sister. 

Per.  Ay,  good  brother,  or  go  about  to  tiiink. 

Enter  Autolycus,  singing. 

Laivn,  a.f  white  as  driven  snow  ; 
Cyprus,  black  as  e'er  was  crow; 
Gloves,  as  sweet  as  damask  roses  ; 
Masks  for  faces,  and  for  noses  ; 
Bugle  bracelet,  necklace-amber. 
Perfume  for  a  lady's  chamber : 
Golden  quoifs,  and  stomachers. 
For  my  Lads  to  give  their  dears; 
Pins,  a7td  pokitig-sticks  of  steel, 
}f'  hat  maids  lack  from  head  to  heel : 
Cotne.  buy  of  me,  come  ;  come  buy,  come  buy; 
Buy  lads,  or  else  your  lasses  cry  ; 
Come,  buy,  &c. 

Clo.  If  I  were  not  in  love  with  Mopsa,  thou 
/hoidd'st  take  no  money  of  me  ;  but  being  enthrall'd 
as  I  am,  it  will  also  be  the  bondage  of  certain  ri- 
bands and  gloves. 

Mop.  I  was  promised  them  against  the  feast;  but 
fhey  come  not  too  late  now. 

V  .r.  He  hath  promised  you  more  than  that,  or 
there  be  liars. 

Mop.  He  hath  paid  you  all  he  promised  you  ;  may 
f ,  he  has  paid  you  more  ;  which  will  shame  you  to 
give  him  again. 

Clo.  Is  there  no  manners  left  among  maids?  will 
they  wear  their  plackets,  where  they  shoidd  bear 
their  i'aces  ?  Is  there  not  milking-time,  when  you  are 
going  to  bed,  or  kiln-hole,  to  whistle  oti'  these  se- 
crets;  but  you  must  be  tittle-tattling  before  all  our 
guests?  .'Tis  well  they  are  whispering:  Clamour 
yoiu-  tongues,  and  not  a  word  more. 

Mop.  I  have  done.  Come,  you  promised  me  a 
tawdry-lace,  and  a  pair  of  sweet  gloves. 

Clo.  Ha\  e  I  not  told  thee,  how  I  was  cozened  by 
(he  way,  and  lost  all  my  money  ? 

Aut.  And,  indeed,  sir,  there  are  cozeners  abroad  ; 
wherelbre  it  behoves  men  to  be  wary. 

Clo.  Fear  not  thou,  man,  thou  slialt  lose  nothing 
here. 

Aut.  I  hope  so,  sir;  for  I  have  about  me  many 
parcels  of  charge. 

Clo.  What  hast  here?  ballads? 

31op.  Pra/  now,  buy  some  :  I  love  a  ballad  in 
rint,  a'-l,fe:  fir  then  we  are  sure  they  are  true. 

Aut.  Here's  one  to  a  very  doleful  tune,  How  a 
surer's  wife  was  brorght  to  bed  of  twenty  money- 
-  ngs  at  a  burdt  n  ;  and  how  she  lonj;ed  to  eat  adder's 
beads,  and  toads  carbonadoed. 

Mop.  Is  it  true,  think  you? 

Aut.  Very  true;  and  but  a  month  old. 

Dor.  Bless  me  front  marrying  a  usurer  ! 

Aut.  Here's  the  midwife's  nanie  to't,  one  mistress 
Tale|)orter;  and  tive  or  six  honest  wives'  that  were 
present:  Why  should  1  carry  lies  abroad? 

Mop.  'Pray  you  now,  buy  it. 

Clo.  Come  on,  lay  it  by  :  And  let's  fust  see  more 
ballads;  we'll  buy  the  ottier  thinus  anon. 

Aui.  Here's  another  ballad,  Of  a  fish  that  ap- 
peared upon  the  coast,  on  Wednt-sday  the  fourscore 
of  April,  forty  thousand  fathom  above  water,  and 


sung  this  ballad  against  the  hard  hearts  of  maids  ; 
it  was  thought,  she  was  a  woman,  and  was  turned 
into  a  cold  fish,  for  she  would  not  exchange  flesh 
with  one  that  loved  her  :  The  ballad  is  very  pitiful, 
and  as  true. 

Dor.  Is  it  true  too,  think  you  ? 

Aut.  Fivp  justices'  hands  at  it;  and  witnesses 
more  than  my  pack  will  hold 

Clo.  Lay  it  by  too :  Another. 

Aut.  This  is  a  merry  ballad  ;  but  a  very  pretty  one 

Mop.  Let's  have  some  merry  ones. 

Aut.  Why,  this  is  a  passing  merry  one ;  and  goea 
to  the  tune  of.  Two  maids  ivooing  a  man :  there's 
scar*8  a  maid  westward,  but  she  sings  it; 'tis  m 
request,  I  can  tell  you. 

Mop.  We  can  both  sing  it;  if  thou'lt  bear  a  part, 
thou  shalt  hear  ;  'tis  in  three  parts. 

Dor.  We  had  the  time  on't  a  month  ago. 

Aut.  I  can  bear  my  part ;  you  must  know,  'tia 
occupation  :  have  at  it  with  you. 

SONG. 

A.  Get  you  hence,  for  I  must  go; 
Where,  it  fits  not  you  to  knoio. 
D.  Whither  ?  M.  0.  whither?  J).  Whit 
M.  It  becomes  thy  oath  full  ivell 
Thou  to  me  thy  secrets  tell : 
D.  Me  too,  let  me  go  thither 

M,  Or  thou  go'st  to  the  grange,  or  mill: 
D.  If  to  either,  thou  dost  ill. 

A.  Neither.  D.  Wkat.  neither?  A,  Neither. 
D.  Thou  hast  sworn  my  love  to  be; 
M,  Thon  hast  sivorn  it  more  to  me : 

Then,  whither  go'st?  say,  tvhither? 

Clo.  We'll  have  this  song  out  anon  by  ourselves: 
My  lather  and  the  gentlemen  are  in  sad  talk,  and 
we'll  not  trouble  them  :  Come,  bring  awaj  thy  pack 
after  me.  Wenches,  I'll  buy  for  you  both  :  Pedler, 
lets  have  the  first  choice. — Foilow  me,  girls. 

Aut.  And  you  shall  pay  well  for  'em.  (Aside.) 

Will  you  buy  any  tape, 

Or  lace  for  your  cype, 
My  dainty  duck,  my  dear-al 

Any  silk,  any  thread. 

Any  toys  for  your  head. 
Of  the  neivst,  and  fin  st,  finest  wear  al 

Come  to  the  pedler; 

Money's  a  medler. 
That  doth  utter  all  men's  ware-a. 

[Exeunt  Cloivn,  Autolycus,  Dorcas,  and Mopga 
Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  Master,  there  is  three  carters,  three  shep- 
herds, three  neat-herds,  three  swine-herds,  that  have 
njade  themselves  all  men  of  hair;  they  call  them- 
selves saltiers :  and  they  have  a  dance  which  the 
wenches  say  is  a  gallimaufry  of  gambols,  because 
they  are  not  in't;  but  they  themselves  are  o'the 
mind  (if  it  be  not  too  rough  for  some,  that  know  little 
but  bowling,)  it  will  please  plentii'ully. 

Shep.  Away!  we'll  none  on't;  here  has  been  too 
much  humble  foolery  already : — I  know,  sir,  we 
weary  you. 

Pol.  You  weary  those  that  refresh  us :  Pray,  let'a 
see  these  four  threes  of  herdsmen. 

Serv.  One  three  of  them,  by  their  own  report, 
sir,  hath  danced  before  the  king ;  and  not  the  worst 
of  the  three,  but  jumps  twelve  foot  and  a  half  by 
the  squire. 

Shep.  Leave  your  prating;  since  these  good  men 
are  pleased,  let  them  come  in;  but  quickly  now. 
Serv.  Why,  they  stay  at  door,  sir.  [Exit 

Re-enter  Servant,  with  twelve  Rustics,  habiiei 
like  Satyrs.    T/iey  dance,  and  then  exeuTit, 
Pol.  O,  father,  you'll  know  more  of  that  here- 
after.— 

Is  it  »ot  too  far  gone  ? — 'Tis  time  to  part  tltem. — 


I, 


(5CENE  3. 


WINTER'S 


in 

S  TALE. 


24:3 


He's  simple,  and  tells  much.  {Aside.)  How  now, 

lair  shejiherd  ? 
Vour  heart  is  full  of  something,  that  does  take 
Your  rijind  from  feasting.  Sooth,  when  I  was  young, 
And  handed  love,  as  you  do,  I  was  wont 
Toioad  my  she  with  knacks  :  I  would  have  ransack'd 
The  pedler's  silken  treasury,  and  have  pour'd  it 
To  her  acceptance ;  you  have  let  hini  go. 
And  nothing  marted  with  hin> :  If  your  lass 
Interpretation  should  abuse;  and  ca-ll  this. 
Your  lack  of  love,  or  bounty;  you  were  straited 
For  a  reply,  at  least,  if  you  make  a  care 
Of  happy  holding  her. 

fYo.  Old  sir,  I  know 

She  prizes  not  such  trifles  as  these  are  : 
The  gifts,  she  looks  from  me,  are  pack'd  and  lock'd 
Up  in  tny  heart;  which  I  have  given  already, 
Hut  not  deliver'd. — O,  hear  me  breathe  my  life 
fjefore  this  ancient  sir,  who,  it  should  seem, 
Hath  sometime  lov'd  :  I  take  thy  hand  ;  this  hand, 
As  soft  as  dove's  down,  and  as  whitgja|  it;  / 
Or  Ethiopian's  tooth,  or  the  fann'^novv^^  V/ 
I'hat's  bolted  by  the  nortjiern  blasts'Twice  o'er. 

PoL  What  tbiiows  this  ?^ 
How  prettily  the  young  swain  seems  to  wash 
The  hand,  was  fair  befoye  ! — I  have  put  you  out : — 
But,  to  your  protestation;  let  me  hear 
What  you  profess. 

Flo.  Do,  and  be  witness  to't. 

PoL  And  this  my  neighbour  too  f 

Pio.  And  he,  and  more 

Than  he,  and  men  ;  the  earth,  the  heavens,  and  all : 
That, — were  I  crown'd  the  most  imperial  monarch, 
T'hereof  most  worthy ;  were  I  the  fairest  youth 
Tliat  ever  made  eye  swerve  ;  had  force,  and  know- 
ledge, 

More  than  was  ever  man's, — I  would  not  prize  them, 
\V  ithout  her  love :  for  her,  employ  them  all ; 
OoMimend  them,  and  condeum  them,  to  her  service, 
Or  to  their  own  perdition. 

Poi.  Fairly  offer'd. 

Cant.  This  shows  a  sound  affection. 

Shep.  But,  my  daughter, 

Say  yi.u  the  like  to  him  ? 

Per.  I  cannot  speak 

So  \vell,(bothin^  so  well ;  no,  nor  mean  better : 
Cy  tile  pattern  of  mine  own  thoughts  I  cutout 
Tlip  purity  of  his. 

Shep.  Take  hands,  a  bargain  ; — 

And,  friends  unknown,  you  shall  bear  witness  to't: 
I  give  my  daughter  to  him,  and  will  make 
Her  portion  equal  his. 
^  Flo._  O,  that  must  be 

rthe  \ii  tue  of  your  daughter  :  one  being  dead, 
I  shall  have  more  than  you  can  dream  of  yet ; 
Enough  then  for  your  wonder :  But,  come  on. 
Contract  us  'fore  these  witnesses. 

Shep.  Come,  your  hand ; — 

And,  daughter,  yours. 

PoL  Soft,  swain,  awhile,  'beseech  you  ; 

Flave  you  a  father  ? 

Flo.  I  have  :  But  what  of  him  ? 

PoL  Knows  he  of  this  ? 

Flo.  He  neither  does,  nor  shall. 

PoL  Methinks,  a  father 
Is,  at  the  nuptial  of  his  son,  a  guest 
That  best  becomes  the  table.  Pray  you,  once  more  ; 
Is  not  your  father  grown  incapable 
Of  reasonable  alFaii  s?  is  he  not  stupid 
VVitii  age,  and  altering  rheums  ?  Can  he  speak  \'  hear? 
Know  man  from  man  ?  dispute  his  own  estate  ?  / 
Lies  he  not  bed-rid  ?  and  again  doe€'nothI%,  'kj.-  \ 
But  what  he  did  being  childish  ?    /  '  (j;] 

Flo.  No,  good  sir ; 

He  lias  his  health,  and  ampler  strength,  indeed, 
Than  most  have  of  his  age. 

^  PoL       ^  By  my  white  beard, 

You  offer  him,  if  this  be  so,  a  wrong 
Something  unfilial:  Reason,  my  son 
Sh'»ul,i  choose  himself  a  wife  >vbut  as  good  reason. 


The  father  (all  whose  joy  is  nothing  else 
But  fair  posterity,)  should  hold  some  counsd 
In  such  a  business. 

Flo.  I  yield  all  this  ; 

But,  for  some  other  reasons,  my  grave  sir, 
Which  'tis  not  fit  you  know,  I  not  acquaint 
My  father  of  this  business. 

PoL  Lttt  him  know'L 

Flo.  He  shall  not. 

PoL  Pr'ythee,  let  him. 

Flo.  No,  he  must  not 

Shep.  Let  him,  my  son  ;  he  shall  not  need  to  grie^-B 
At  knowing  of  tliy  choice. 

Flo.  Come,  come,  he  must  not  :— 

Mark  our  contract 

Pol.  Mark  your  divorce,  young  sir,  j 

[Discovering  himse1J\)  * 
Whom  son  I  dare  not  call ;  thou  art  too  base 
To  be  acknowledg'd  :  Thou  a  sceptre's  heir, 
That  thus  affect'st  a  sheep-hook  ! — Thou,  old  traitor, 
I  am  sorry,  that,  by  hanging  thee,  I  can  but 
Shorten  thy  life  one  week. — And  thou,  fresh  piece 
Of  excelle^  witchcrai|>  who,  of  force,  must  know   u  /  j 
The  royal  fool  tliotiTop'st  with ;—  ^"^Z  \|( 

Shep.  O,  my  heart ! 

PoL  I'll  have  thy  beauty  scr^itch'd  with  briars 
and  made 

More  homely'than  thy  state.— For  thee,  fond  boy,— 

If  1  may  ever  know,  thou  dost  but  sigh, 

That  thou  no  more  shalt  see  this  knack,  (as  never 

I  mean  thou  shalt,)  we'll  bar  thee  from  succession; 

Not  hold  thee  of  our  blood,  no  not  our  kin. 

Far  than  Deucalion  off : — Mark  thou  my  words  ; 

Follow  us  to  the  court. — Thou  churl,  for  this  time 

Though  full  of  our  displeasure,  yet  we  free  thee 

From  the  dread  blow  of  it.  And  you,  enchantment  — 

Worthy  enough  a  herdsman;  yea,  him  too, 

That  makes  himself,  but  for  our  honour  therein, 

Unworthy  thee, — if  ever,  henceforth,  thou 

These  rural  latches  to  his  entrance  open. 

Or  hoop  his  body  more  with  thy  embraces, 

I  will  devise  a  death  as  cruel  for  thee, 

As  thou  art  tender  to't.  {Exit. 

Per.  Even  here  undone  ! 

I  was  not  much  afeard  :  for  once,  or  twice, 
I  was  about  to  speak  ;  and  tell  him  plainly, 
The  self-same  sun,  that  shines  upon  his  court, 
Hides  not  his  visage  from  our  cottage,  but 
Looks  on  alike. — Will't  please  you,  sir,  be  ffone? 

[To  Florizel.) 

I  told  you,  what  would  come  of  this :  Beseech  you. 
Of  your  own  state  take  care  :  this  dream  of  mine, — 
Being  now  awake,  I'll  queen  it  no  inch  further. 
But  milk  my  ewes,  and  weep. 

Cam.  Why,  how  now,  father  r 

Speak,  ere  thou  diest. 

Shep.  1  cannot  speak,  nor  think, 

Nor  dare  to  know  that  which  I  know. — O.  sir, 

{To  Florizel] 
You  have  undone  a  man  of  fourscore  three, 
That  thought  to  fill  his  grave  in  quiet;  yea, 
To  die  upon  the  bed  my  father  died. 
To  lie  close  by  his  honest  bones :  but  now 
Some  hangman  must  put  on  my  shroud,  and  lay  n>e 
Where  no  priest  shovels  in  dust. — O  cursed  wretch  ! 

{To  Perdita.) 

That  knew'st  this  was  the  prince,  and  would'st  ad' 
venture 

To  mingle  faith  with  him. — Undone  !  undone! 

If  I  might  die  within  this  hour,  1  have  liv'd 

To  die  when  I  desire.  [Exit 

Flo.  Why  look  you  so  upon  me? 

I  am  but  sorry,  not  afeard  :  delay'd,  \ 
But  nothing  alte^M  :  What  Fwas,  I  am  :  '  .V/ 
More  straining  on,  for  plucking  back;  not  fallowinf 
My  leash  unwillingly. 

Cam.  Gracious  my  lord,  j| 

You  know  your  father's  temper:  at  this  time  ■ 
He  will  allow  no  speech,— which,  I  do  guess 
You  do  not  purpose  to  him 


-and  as  hardly     K  c 


244    r  ItjtA'^l  l  :  ^^'^^'^  WINTER'S  TALE. 

Will  he  endure  your  sight  as  yet,  I  fear : 
Tiien,  till  the  ftJi  y  of  his  highness  settle. 
Come  not  befove  hitn. 

Flo.  I  not  purpose  it, 

I  think,  Camillo. 

Cam.  Even  he,  my  lord. 

Per.  How  often  have  I  told  you,  'twould  be  thus  ? 


4cT  lY 


How  often  said,  my  dignity  would  last 
But  till  'twere  known  ? 

F/o.  It  cannot  fail,  but  by 

The  violation  of  my  faith :  And  then 
Let  nature  crush  the  sides  o'the  earth  together, 
And  mar  tije  seeds  witiiin  ! — Lift  up  thy  looks: — 
,From  my  succession  wipe  me,  lather!  I 


Am  heir  to  thy  affection, 


Be  adv  is'd. 

am  ;  and  by  my,  fiiicx-  jf  my  reason 


>>  Cam. 
3?    Flo.  I 

i      WjJ[lJ.Lei;eto  be  obedient,  1  liave  reason  ; 

If  notf  niy  senses,  better  pleas'd  witli  madnegSj. 
jDcTly^^^  \L^T£o ^ 

'^^TW.  "  This  is  desperate,  sir. 

Flo.  So  call  it :  but  it  does  fulfil  my  vow  ; 
I  needs  must  think  it  honesty.  Camillo, 
Nor  for  Bohemia,  nor  the  pomp  that  may 
Be  thereat  glean'd  ;  for  all  the  sun  sees,  or 
The  close  earth  wombs,  or  the  profound  seas  hide 
In  unknown  fathoms,  will  I  break  my  oath 
To  this  my  fair  belov'd  :  Therefore,  1  f)ray  you. 
As  you  have  ever  been  my  father's  honour'd  friend 
When  he  shall  miss  me  (as,  in  faith,  1  mean  not 
To  see  him  any  more,)  cast  your  good  counsels 
Upon  his  passion:  Let  myself  and  fortune 
Tug  for  the  time  to  come.    This  you  may  know. 
And  so  deliver.    I  am  put  to  sea 
With  her.  whom  here  J  cannot  hold  on  shore  ; 
And,  most  opportune  to  our  need,  I  have 
A  vessel  rides  fast  by,  but  not  prepared 
l^'or  this  design.    What  course  I  mean  to  hold. 
Shall  nothing  benefit  your  knowledge,  nor 
Concern  me  the  reporting. 

Cam.  O,  my  lord, 

f  would  your  spirit  were  easier  for  advice. 
Or  stronger  for  your  need. 

Flo.  Hark,  Perdita. —    (Takes  her  aside. 

I'll  hear  you  by  and  by.  [To  Camillo. 

Ca7n.  He's  irremovable, 

Resolv'd  for  flight:  Now  were  I  happy,  if 
His  going  I  could  frame  to  serve  my  turn ; 
Save  him  from  danger,  do  him  love  and  honour; 
Purchase  the  sight  again  of  dear  Sicilia, 
A.nd  that  unhappy  king,  my  master,  whom 
I  so  much  thirst  to  see. 

Flo.  Now,  good  Camillo, 

I  am  so  fraught  with  curious  business,  that 
I  leave  out  ceremony.  {Going.) 

Cam.  Sir,  I  think. 

You  have  heard  of  my  poor  services,  i'the  love 
That  I  have  borne  your  father  ? 

jF7o.  Very  nobly 

Have  you  deserv'd  :  it  is  my  father's  music, 
To  speak  your  deeds:  not  little  of  his  care 
To  have  them  recompens'd  as  thought  on. 

Cam.  Well,  my  lord. 

If  you  may  please  to  think  I  love  the  king ; 
And,  th.-ough  him,  what  is  nearest  to  him,  which  is 
V  our  gracious  self;  embrace  but  my  direction, 
If  your  more  ponderous  and  settled  project 

y  suft'er  alteration,)  on  mine  honour 
ril  point  you  where  you  shall  have  such  receiving 
h.i  shall  become  your  highness;  where  you  may 
kujoy  your  mistress ;  (from  the  whom,  1  see. 
There's  no  disjunction  to  be  made,  but  by. 
As  lieavens  torefend !  your  ruin:)  marry  her; 
And  (with  ray  best  en«Jeavours,  in  your  absence,) 
Vonr  discontenting  father  strive  to  qualify, 
And  bring  him  up  to  liking. 

Flo.  How,  Camillo, 

May  this,  almost  a  miracle,  be  doae? 
Tliat  I  may  call  thee  something  more  than  man. 
And,  after  that,  trust  to  thee. 


Carnal  Have  you  thoajfht  on 

A  placed  whereto  you'll  go  ?  ;  ,irv\ 

F/o.lNot^nyyet:  f  If  ^ 

But  as  the  unthought-on  accident  is  guilty       \     ^  X\ 
To  what  we  wildly  do;  soj^e  profess  y  h 

Ourselve-s  :to^he..tfag  sWes  of  chance.  ao.d^fiieB         v  i 

¥l*en  list  to  me  : 


This  follows, — if  yon  will  not  change  your  purpurea 

But  undergo  this  flight; — make  for  Sicilia  :     "  . 

Aud  there  present  yourself,  and  your  h.ir  princess, 

(For  so,  I  see,  she  must  be,)  'fore  Leontes, 

She  shall  be  habited,  as  it  becomes 

The  partner  of  your  bed.    Methinks,  I  see 

Leontes,  opening  his  free  arms^  3«;d  weeping 

His  welcomes  foith  :  asks  thee,  the  son,  fo'  givene^^ 

As  'twere  i'the  father's  person :  kisses  the  hands 

Of  your  fresh  princess  ;  o'er  and  o'er  divides 

'Twixt  his  unkindness  and  his  kindness;  the 

He  chides  to  hell,  and  bids  the  other  grow. 

Faster  than  thought,  or  time. 

Flo.  Worthy  Camillo, 

What  colour  for  my  visitation  shall  I 
Hold  up  before  him? 

Cam.  Sent  by  the  king,  your  father. 

To  greet  him.  and  to  give  him  comforts.  Sir, 
The  manner  of  your  bearing  towards  him,  with 
What  you,  as  from  your  father,  shall  deliver. 
Things  known  betwixt  us  three,  I'll  write  yon 
down ; 

The  which  shall  point  you  forth  at  every  sitting. 
What  you  must  say;  that  he  shall  not  perceive. 
But  that  you  have  your  father's  bosom  there. 
And  speak  his  very  heart. 

Flo.  1  am  bound  to  you . 

There  is  some  sap  in  this. 

r^^TJUm.  A  course  more  promlsiDg 

Than  a  wild  dedication  of  yourselves 
To  unpath'd  waters,  undream'd  shores  ;  mostcerUia 
To  miseries  enough;  no  hope  to  help  you; 
But,  as  you  shake  oft" one,  to  take  another: 
Nothing  so  certain  as  your  anchors  ;  who 
Do  their  best  office,  it  they  can  but  stay  you, 
Where  you'll  be  loath  to  be:  Besides,  you  know. 
Prosperity  is  the  very  bond  of  love ; 
Whose  fresh  complexion  and  whose  heart  togeihei 
Aflliction  alters. 

Per.  One  of  these  is  true  ; 

I  think,  affliction  may  subdue  the  cheek, 
But  not  take  in  the  mind. 

Cam.  Yea,  say  you  so?  4 

There  shall  not,  at  your  father's  house,  these  8e^ia.\ 
Be  born  another  such.  [years,  ) 

Flo.  My  good  Camillo,  —"-^y 

She  is  as  forward  of  her  breeding,  as 
I'the  rear  of  birth. 

Cam.  1  caniDt  say,  'tis  pity 

She  lacks  instructions ;  for  she  seems  a  mistress 
To  most  that  teach. 

Per.  Your  pardon,  sir,  for  this ; 

ril  blush  you  thanks. 

i^/o^^yMy^ettiest  Perdita. — 
But,''6C  thg4!fePr'(TC^-^..g^^"^  "pon ! — Camillo, — 
Pi^eserv  e  i-'  oir^Tfauie  r,  hovTufnne ; 
The  medicine  of  our  house  ! — hovy  shall  we  do? 
We  are  not  furnish'd  like  Bohemia's  son ; 
Nor  shall  ap[jear  in  Sicily  

Catn.  My  lord 

Fear  none  of  this  :  I  think,  you  know,  my  fortuj^es 
Do  all  lie  there  :  it  shall  be  so  my  care 
To  have  you  royally  appointed,  as  if 
The  scene  you  play  were  mine.    For  instance,  sir. 
That  you  may  know  you  shall  not  want, — one  word. 

[They  talk  aside.) 

Enter  Autolycus. 
Aut.  Ha,  ha !  what  a  Ibol  honesty  is !  and  trusty 
his  sworn  brother^avex^t^EpIi^gen^^m^ 
"'Sora'all  W'V  tnTmpel^y;  not  a  counferfeit  StOTie,  no< 
a  riband,    glass,  pomander,    brooch,  table-book, 


Scene  3. 


WINTEirS  TALE. 


245 


liallpd,  koife,  tape,  glove,  shoe  tye,  bracelet,  horn- 
rng,  to  keep  my  pack  from  fasti n <>• :  they  throng 
who  ihoiihl  buy  first;  as  if  mv  trinkets  liad  beet) 
hallowed,  and  brought  a  benediction  to  the  buyer; 
by  vvliich  means,  1  saw  whose  purse  was  best  in 
picture  ;  and,  wliat  I  saw,  to  my  good  use,  I  re- 
membered. iMy  clown  (who  wants  but  something 
to  be  a  reasonable  man,)  grew  so  in  love  with  the 
wenches'  song,  that  he  would  not  stir  his  pettitoes, 
•ill  he  iKid  both  tune  and  words  ;  which  so  drew 
the  rest  of  the  herd  to  me,  that  all  their  other 
senses  stuck  in  ears  :  you  might  have  pinched  a 
placket,  it  was  senseless;  'twas  nothing  to  geld  a 
cod- piece  of  a  ptn\se  ;  IvWotild  Ji3xg„,(il.ei-1^ 


that  hung  in  chains  :  no  hearing,  no  feeling,  bufc-4tiy 
feii^s  song,  and  admiring  the  nothing  of  it.  So  that, 
■  in  this  time  of  lethargy,  I  picked  and  cut  most  of 
their  festi\al  purses  :  and  had  not  the  old  man  come 
in  with  a  whoobub  against  his  daughter  and  the 
king  s  son,  and  scared  my  choughs  Irom  the  chatf, 
I  had  not  left  a  purse  alive  in  tlie  whole  army. 

{Cam.  Flo.  and  Per.  cotne  forward.) 
Cam.  Nay,  but  my  letters  by  this  means  being 
there 

So  soon  as  you  arrive,  shall  clear  that  doubt. 

Flo.  And  those,  that  you'll  procure  from  king 
Leontes, — 

Cam.  Shall  satisfy  your  father. 

Per.  Happy  be  you  ! 

AM,  that  you  speak,  shows  fair. 

Cam..  Who  have  we  here  ? 

{Sj^iiiiLa  Autolycus.) 
W^e'U  make  an  instrument  of  thiCi  \ 
^otTu^i,.  may  give  us  aid. 

Aill.  l'f"-ttiey""  hlTve  oveiTieard  me  now, — why 
kanging.  {Aside.) 

Cam.  How  now,  good  fellow  ?  why  shakest  thou 
BO  /  Fear  not,  man  ;  here's  no  harm  intended  to  thee. 

Aut.  I  airi  a  poor  fellow,  sir. 

Cam.  Why,  be  so  still ;  here's  nobody  will  steal 
that  from  thee  :  Yet,  for  the  outside  of  thy  poverty, 
we  must  make  an  exchange  :  therefore,  disease  thee 
instantly,  (thoa  must  think,  there's  necessity  in't,) 
and  change  garments  with  this  gentleman  :  Though 
the  pennyworth,  on  his  side,  be  the  worst,  yet  hold 
thee,  there's  some  boot. 

Aiit.  1  am  a  poor  fellow,  sir :  —I  know  ye  well 
enough.  {Aside.) 

Cam.  Nay,  pr  ythee,  despatch :  the  gentleman 
is  half  tiiiyed  already. 

Aut.  Are  you  in  earnest,  sir? — I  smell  the  trick 
of  it. —  {Aside.) 

Flo.  Despatch,  I  pr'ythee. 

Aut.  Indeed,  I  have  earnest;  but  I  cannot  with 
conscience  take  it. 

Cam.  Unbuckle,  unbuckle. — 

{Flo.  and  Autol.  exchange  garments.) 
Fortunate  mistress, — let  my  prophecy 
Come  home  to  you  I — you  must  retire  yourself 
Sato  some  covert:  take  your  sweetlieart's  hat. 
And  pluck  it  o'er  your  brows;  muffle  your  face; 
Dismantle  you ;  and  as  you  can,  ^disliken 
Tite^ruih  oTytHULjiivn^eeming  ;l"l'"a't  yi^ili  may 
(For  1  do  fear  eyes  overyou,)  to  shipboard 
Get  iindescried.  /-"""'''^^ 

Per.  I  see,  ^  play)so  lies. 

That  I  must  bear  a  part. 

Cant.  No  remedy. — 

Have  you  done  there  ? 

Flo.  Should  I  now  meet  my  father. 

He  would  not  call  me  so.n. 

Cam.  Nay,  you  shall  have 

No  hat: — Come,  lady,  come. — Farewell,  my  friend. 

Aut.  Ad  en,  sir. 

Flo.  O  Perdita,  what  have  we  twain  forgot? 
Pray  you,  a  word.  {They  converse  apart.) 

CatH.  What  i  do  next,  shall  be,  to  tell  the  king 
,  .  ,  {Aside.) 

Of  thifi  escape,  and  whither  Ihey  are  bound  ; 
Wherein,  my  hope  is,  I  shall  so  prevail. 


To  force  him  after  :  in  whose  company 
I  shall  revie\\^Sicilia  .  for  whose  sight 

I  h.'.ve  a  woman's  lorlgtn^.  ~  " — — 

~™:;^£f."~~"  ■~™™'~*~-fH5rtune  speed  us! — 

Thus  we  set  on,  Camillo,  to  the  sea-side. 

Cam.  The  swifter  speed,  the  better. 

[Exeuni  Florizel,  Perdita,  and  Camill@. 

Aut.  I  understand  the  business,  I  hear  it :  IVi 
have  an  open  ear,  a  quick  eye,  and  a  nimble  hind, 
is  necessary  for  a  cut-purse  ,  a  good  nose  is  requi- 
site  alsoy  to  smell  out  work  for  the  atker  s'j^sesr'"!"' 
see,  ItlnslTTlTFtiTnFTtKrt'  unj  u  s  {'  in  an  doFiribrive 
What  an  exchange  had  this  been,  without  boot  ? 
what  a  boot  is  here,  with  this  exchange  ?  Sure,  the 
gods  do  this  year  connive  at  us,  and  we  may  do  any 
thing  extempore.  The  prince  himself  is  about  a 
piece  of  iniquity ;  stealing  away  from  his  father, 
with  his  clog  at  ins  heels  :  If  I  thought  it  were  no< 
a  piece  of  honesty  to  acquaint  the  king  withal,  I 
w^ould  do't :  I  hold  it  the  more  knavery  to  conceal 
it :  and  therein  am  I  constant  to  my  profession. 

'M  Enter  Clown  and  Shepherd. 
Aside,  aside; — here  is  more  matter  for  a  hot  brain: 
every  lane's  end,  every  shop,  church,  session,  hang- 
ing, yields  a  careful  man  work. 

Clo.  See,  see ;  what  a  man  you  are  now !  tnere 
is  no  other  way,  but  to  tell  the  king  she's  a  change- 
ling, and  none  of  your  flesh  and  blood. 

Shep.  Nsiy,  but  hear  me. 

Clo,  Nay,  but  hear  me. 

Shep.  Go  to  then. 

Clo.  She  being  none  of  your  flesh  and  blood, 
your  flesh  and  blood  has  not  offended  the  king : 
and,  so,  your  flesh  and  blood  is  not  to  be  punished 
by  him.  Show  those  things  you  found  about  her; 
those  secret  things,  all  but  what  she  has  with  her : 
This  being  done,  let  the  law  go  whistle ;  I  warrant 
you. 

Shep.  I  will  tell  the  king  all,  every  word,  yea,  stid 
his  son's  pranks  too ;  who,  I  may  say,  is  no  honesf 
man  neither  to  his  lather,  nor  to  me,  to  go  about  u 
make  me  the  king's  brother  in-law. 

Clo.  Indeed,  brother-in-law  was  the  furthest  off 
you  could  have  been  to  him;  and  then  your  blood  had 
been  the  dearer,  by  I  know  how  much  an  oance. 

Atit.  Very  wisely;  puppies  !  [Aside. 

Shep.  Well;  let  us  to  the  king;  there  is  that  in 
this  fardel,  will  make  him  scratch  his  beard. 

Aut.  I  know  not  what  impediment  this  complaint 
may  be  to  the  flight  of  my  master. 

Clo.  'Pray  heartily  he  be  at  palace. 

Aut.  Though  I  ant  not  naturally  honest,  I  am  so 
sometimes  by  chaiiice'p^erine  pock'^it  tip'liTry  ped- 
ier's  excrement.  {Takes  off  his  false  heard.)  How 
now,  rustics  ?  whither  are  you  bound  ? 

Shep.  To  the  palace,  an  it  like  your  worship. 

Aut.  Your  artairs  there  ?  what  ?  with  whom  ?  the 
condition  of  that  fardel,  the  place  of  your  dwelling, 
your  names,  your  ages,  of  what  having,  breeding, 
and  any  thing  that  is  fitting  to  be  known,  discover. 

Clo.  We  are  but  plain  fellows,  sir. 

Aut.  A  lie ;  you  are  rough  and  hairy :  Let  me 
have  no  lying;  it  becomes  none  but  tradesmen,  and 
they  often  give  us  soldiers  the  lie  :  but  we  [)ay  thera 
for  it  with  stamped  coin,  not  stabbing  steel :  there- 
fore they  do  not  give  us  the  lie. 

Clo.  Your  worship  had  like  to  have  given  us  one, 
if  you  had  not  taken  yourself  with  the  mai.ner. 

Shep.  Are  you  a  courtier,  an"t  like  you,  sir? 

Aut.  Whether  it  like  me  or  no,  I  am  a  courtier. 
See'st  thou  not  the  air  of  the  court,  in  these  enfold- 
ings  ?  hath  not  my  gait  in  it,  the  meisure  of  the 
court  ?  receives  not  thy  nose  court-odour  from  me? 
reflect  I  not  on  thy  baseness  court  contempt? 
Think'st  thou,  for  that  I  insinuate,  or  toze  f  rom  thee 
thy  business,  I  am  therefore  no  com  tier  ?  I  aia 
courtier,  cap-a-pe;  and  one  tiiat  will  either  push 
on,  or  pluck  back  thy  business  there  :  whereupon  I 
comnian'i  thee  to  open  thy  a2"a«r. 


246 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  V 


Skep.  My  business,  sir,  is  to  the  king. 

Aut.  What  atlvocate  hast  thou  to  him? 

SAep.  1  know  not,  an't  like  you. 

Clo.  Advocate's  the  court- word  for  a  pheasant; 
•ay,  you  bave  none.  [hen. 

Shep.  ISone,  sir;  I  have  no  pheasant,  cock  nor 
^  Ant.  How  V>less'd  are  we,  that  are  not  simple  men ! 
Vet  nature  might  have  made  me  as  Uiese  are, 
Tlierefore  Til  ni  t  disdain. 

Clo.  This  catj.iot  be  but  a  great  courtier. 

Shep.  His  garments  are  rich,  but  he  wears  them 
feul  ha.'^kdsomely. 

Clo.  He  see 'US  to  be  the  more  noble  in  being  fan- 
taslical ;  a  great  man,  I'll  warrant;  I  know,  by  the 
picking  on's  teeth. 

Aut.  The  fardel  there?  what's  i'the  fardel? 
Wliereft).-e  that  box  ? 

Shep.  Sir,  there  lies  such  secrets  in  this  fardel, 
and  box,  which  none  must  know  but  the  king;  and 
wliich  he  shall  know  within  this  hour,  if  1  may 
come  to  the  speech  of  hitn. 

Aut.  Age,  thou  hast  lost  thy  labour. 

Shep.  VVhy,  sir? 

Aut.  The  k'u\g  is  not  at  the  palace  ;  he  is  gone 
aboard  a  new  ship  to  purge  melancholy,  and  air 
himself :  For,  if  thou  be'st  capable  of  things  se- 
rious, thou  must  know  the  king  is  fidl  of  griei". 

Shep.  So  'tis  said,  sir;  about  his  son,  that  should 
have  married  a  shepherd's  daughter. 

Aut.  If  that  shepherd  be  not  in  hand  fast,  let 
him  fly ;  the  curses  lie  shall  have,  the  tortures  he 
shall  feel,  will  break  the  back  of  man,  the  heart  of 

Clo.  Think  you  so,  sir  ?  [monster. 

Aut.  Not  he  alone  sliall  suffer  what  wit  can  make 
heavy,  and  ve  geance  bitter;  but  those,  that  are 
germane  to  him,  though  removed  filty  times,  shall 
all  come  under  the  hangman  :  which  tliough  it  be 
great  pity,  yet  it  is  necessary.  An  old  sheep- 
whistling  rogue,  a  ram-tender,  to  otfer  to  ha\e  his 
daughter  come  into  grace !  Some  say,  he  shall  be 
stoned  ;  but  that  death  is  too  soft  for  him,  say  I  : 
Draw  our  throne  into  a  sheep-cote  !  all  deaths  are  too 
few,  the  sharpest  too  easy. 

Clo.  Has  the  old  man  e'er  a  son,  sir,  do  you  hear, 
an't  like  you,  sir? 

Aut.  He  has  a  son,  who  shall  be  flayed  alive; 
then,  'nointed  over  with  honey,  set  on  the  head  of 
a  wasp's  nt  st;  then  stand,  till  he  be  three  quarters 
and  a  dram  dead;  then  recovered  again  with  aqua- 
vitae,  or  some  otiier  hot  infusion;  then,  raw  as  he 
is,  Hiid  in  the  hottest  day  prognostication  proclaims, 
shall  he  be  set  against  a  brick-wall,  the  sun-looking 
witij  a  southward  eye  upon  him ;  where  he  is  to 
behold  him  with  flies  blown  to  death.  But  what 
talk  we  of  these  traitorly  rascals,  whose  miseries 
are  to  be  smiled  at,  their  oftences  being  so  capital  ? 
Tell  nje,  (for  you  seein  to  be  honest  plain  men,) 
what  have  you  to  the  king  :  being  something  gerjtly 
considered,  I'll  bring  you  where  he  is  aboard,  ten- 
der your  persons  to  his  presence,  whisper  him  in 
your  J^ehalfs;  and,  if  it  be  in  man,  besides  the  king, 
to  ertect  your  suits,  here  is  man  shall  do  it. 

Clo.  He  seems  to  be  of  great  authority;  close 
with  liim,  give  him  gold  ;  and  though  authority  be 
a  stubborn  bear,  yet  he  is  oft  led  by  the  nose  with 
gold  :  show  the  inside  of  your  purse  to  the  outside 
'iSfifjV hand,  and  no  more  ado:  Remember  stoned, 
and  flayed  alive. 

Skep.  An't  please  you,  sir,  to  undertake  the 
business  for  us,  here  is  that  gold  1  have  :  I'll  make 
it  as  much  mcr»! ;  and  leave  this  young  man  in  pawn 
.till  I  bring  it  you. 

Aut.  Alter  I  have  done  what  I  promised? 
Shep.  Ay,  sir. 

Aui.  Well,  give  me  the  moiety: — Are  you  a 
party  in  this  business  " 

Clo.  In  some  sort,  sir:  but  though  my  case 
bp  a  pitiful  one,  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  flaved  out 
of  it. 

Ant.  O,  that's  the  case  of  the  shepherd's  son: — 


Hang  him,  he'll  be  made  an  example. 

Clo.  Comfort :  good  comfort  •  we  must  to  tho 
king,  and  show  our  strange  sights:  he  must  know 
'tis  none  of  your  daughter  nor  my  sister;  we  are 
gone  else.  Sir,  I  will  give  you  as  much  as  this  old 
man  does,  when  the  business  is  petfformed ;  and 
remain,  as  he  says,  your  pawn,  till  il  be  broughl 
you. 

Aut.  I  will  trust  yon.    Walk  before  toward  th 
sea-side ;  go  on  the  right  hand ;  I  will  but  look 
upon  the  hedge,  and  follow  you. 

Clo.  We  are  blessed  in  this  man,  as  J  may  saj 
even  blessed. 

Shep.  Let's  before,  as  he  bids  us:  he  was  pro- 
vided to  do  us  good.  [Exeunt  Shepherd  and  Clowri^, 

^uL  If  I  had  a  mind  to  be  honest,  I  see, 
tunje^ould  not  sufler  me ;  she  drops  booties  in  my 
tnotith.  I  am  courted  now  with  a  double  occasion  ; 
gold,  and  a  means  to  do  the  prince  my  master 
good  :  which,  who  knows  how  that  may  turn  back 
fo  my  advancement?  I  will  bring  these  two  moles, 
these  bhnd  ones,  aboard  him:  if  he  think  it  fit  to 
shore  them  again,  and  that  the  complaint  they  have 
to  the  king  concerns  him  nothing,  let  him  call  me, 
rogue,  for  being  so  far  otKcious ;  for  I  am  proof 
against  that  title,  and  what  shame  else  belongs  to't : 
to  him  will  I  present  them,  there  may  be  matter 
in  it.  [Exit. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  1. — Sicilia.   A  Room  in  the  Palatf  of 
Leontes. 

Enter  Leontes,  Cleomenes,  Dion,  Paulina,  and 
others. 

Cleo.  Sir,  you  have  done  enough,  and  have  per- 
form'd 

A  saint-like  sorrow:  no  fault  could  you  make, 
Which  you  have  not  redeem'd  ;  indeed,  paid  down 
More  penitence,  than  done  trespass;  at  the  last. 
Do,  as  the  heavens  have  done  ;  lt)rget  your  evil ; 
Witli  them,  forgive  yourself. 

Leott.  Whilst  I  remember 

Her  and  her  virtues,  I  cannot  forget 
My  blemishes  in  them  ;  and  so  still  think  of 
The  wrong  I  did  myself:  which  was  so  much, 
That  heirless  it  hath  made  my  kingdom;  and 
Destroy'd  the  sweet'st  companion  that  e'er  man 
Bred  iiis  hopes  out  of. 

Paul.  True,  too  true,  my  lord  . 

If,  one  by  one,  you  wedded  all  the  world. 
Or  from  the  ail,  that  are,  took  something  good, 
To  make  a  perfect  woman  ;  she,  you  kilt'd. 
Would  be  uaparallefd. 

Leon.  1  think  so.    Kill'd  ! 

She  J  kill'd  ?  I  did  so:  but  thou  strik'st  me 
Sorely,  to  say  I  did  ;  it  is  as  bitter 
Upontiiy  tongue,  as  in  my  thought:  now,  good  now 
Say  so  but  seldom.  -  '^ 

Cleo.  Not  at  all,  good  lady. 

You  might  have  spoken  a  thousand  things,  ihsi 
would 

Have  done  the  time  more  benefit,  and  grac'd 
Your  kindness  better. 

Paul.  You  are  one  of  those,  A 

Would  have  him  wed  again. 

Dion.  If  you  would  not  so. 

You  pity  not  the  state,  nor  the  remembrance 
Of  his  most  sovereign  dame  ;  consider  little. 
What  dangers,  by  his  highness'  fad  of  issue. 
May  drop  upon  his  kingdom,  and  devour 
Incertain  lookers  on.    What  were  more  holy 
Than  to  rejoice,  the  former  queen  is  well? 
What  holier,  than, — for  royalty's  repair. 
For  present  comfort  and  lor  future  good,,— 
To  bless  the  bed  of  majesty  again 
With  a  sweet  fellow  to't  ? 

Paid.  There  is  none  wort&y, 

Respecting  her,  that's  gone.    Besides,  the  gods 
Will  have  their  secret  purposes: 


Scene  1. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


247 


For  has  not  the  divine  Apollo  said, 

is't  not  tlie  tenor  of  his  oracle. 

That  king  Leontes  shall  not  have  an  heir. 

Till  his  lost  child  he  IVmnd  ?  which,  that  it  shall. 

Is  all  as  monstrous  to  our  human  reason, 

As  my  Antigouus  to  break,  his  grave. 

And  come  again  to  me;  who,  on  my  life. 

Did  perish  witli  (lie  infant.    "Tis  your  counsel, 

My  lord  should  to  the  heavens  be  contrary. 

Oppose  agamst  their  wills. — Care  not  for  issue  ; 

( To  Leontes.) 
The  crown  will  find  an  heir:  Great  Alexander 
Left  his  to  the  worthiest^  so  his  successor 
Was  like  to  be  the  best. 

Leon.  Good  Paulina, — 

VVho  hast  the  memory  of  Hermione, 
I  know,  in  honour, — O,  that  ever  I 
Had  squar'd  me  to  thy  counsel! — then,  even  now, 
1  inigiit  have  look'd  upon  my  queen's  full  eyes  ; 
I!a\'e  taken  treasure  ironi  her  lips, — 

Paul.  And  left  them 

M  )re  rich,  for  what  they  yielded. 

Leon.  Thou  speak'st  truth. 

No  more  such  wives  ;  therefore,  no  wife  :  one  worse. 
And  better  us'd,  would  make  her  sainted  spirit 
Again  possess  her  corpse  :  and,  on  this  stage, 
f  Where  we  offenders  now  appear,)  soul  vex'd, 
uegiti,  And  why  to  me? 

Paid.  Had  she  such  power, 

Bhe  liad  just  cau^e. 

Lean.  She  had  ;  and  would  incense  me 

To  murder  her  I  married. 

Paul.  I  should  so  : 

\Vf  re  I  the  ghost  that  walk\i,  I'd  bid  you  mark 
Her  eye  ;  and  tell  me,  lor  wliat  dull  part  in  t 
Voa  chose  her:  then  I'd  shriek,  that  even  your 
ears 

Should  riff  to  hear  me;  and  the  words,  that  follow'd, 
S.'ioiiid  be.  Rememberntine. 

Leon.  Stars,  very  stars, 

A  .id  all  eyes  else  dead  coals  ! — fear  thou  no  wife, 
I'll  i'.ave  no  wife,  Paulina. 

Paul.  Will  you  swear 

Never  to  marry,  but  by  my  free  leave  ? 

Laon.  Never,  Paulina;  so  be  bless'd  my  spirit  I 

Paul.  Then,  good  my  lords,  bear  witness  to  his 

Cleo.  You  tempt  him  over  much.  [oath. 

Paul.  Unless  another, 

s  like  Hermione  as  is  her  picture, 

iTront  his  eye. 

Cleo.  Good  madam, — 

Paul.  I  have  done. 

Yet,  if  my  lord  will  marry, — if  you  will,  sir,  * 
No  remedy,  but  you  will;  give  me  the  office 
To  choose  you  a  queen  :  she  shall  not  be  so  young 
As  was  your  former;  but  she  shall  be  such, 
As,  walk'd  your  first  queen's  ghost,  it  should  take 
To  see  her  in  your  arms.  [joy 

Leon.  My  true  Paulina, 

VV^^  shall  not  marry,  till  thou  liidd'st  us. 

Paul.  That 
Shall  be,  when  your  first  queen's  again  in  breath; 
Never  till  then. 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

Gent.  One,  that  gives  or.t  himself  prince  Florizel, 
Sou  of  i*olixenes,  with  his  princess,  (she 
'l',,e  lairest  1  have  yet  beheld,)  desu'es  access 
To  your  higii  presence. 

Leon.  What  with  him?  he  comes  not 

Like  to  his  father's  greatness:  his  approachj 
So  out  i/f  circumstance,  and  sudden,  tells  us, 
"Tis  not  a  visitation  i'r.un'd,  but  fore  d 
liy  need,  and  accident.    What  train  ? 

Ge7it.  But  few, 

And  those  but  mean. 

Leon.  His  princess,  say  you,  with  him? 

Ge?ii.  Ay;  the  nu»st  peerless  piece  of  earth,  I 
That  e  er  tiie  sun  shone  biight  on,  [think, 

Paul.  O  Hermione, 


As  every  present  lime  doth  boast  itself 
Above  a  better,  gone;  so  must  thy  grave 
Give  way  to  what's  seen  now.     Sir,  you  yourself 
Have  said,  and  writ  so,  (but  your  wri-ting  now 
Is  colder  than  that  theme.)  she  had  not  been , 
Nor  was  not  to  be  equall'd; — thus  your  verse 
Flow'd  with  her  beauty  once ;  'tis  shrewdly  ebb'd, 
To  say,  you  have  seen  a  better. 

Gent.  Pardon,  madam 

The  one  I  have  almost  forgot;  (your  pardon,) 
The  other,  when  she  has  obtain'd  your  eye. 
Will  have  your  tongue  too.    This  is  such  a  creatur© 
Would  she  begin  a  sect,  might  quench  the  zeal 
Of  all  professors  else  ;  make  proselytes 
Of  who  she  but  bid  follow. 

Paul.  How  ?  not  women  ? 

Gent.  Women  will  love  her,  that  she  is  a  woman 
More  worth  than  any  man ;  men,  that  she  is 
The  rarest  of  all  women. 

Leon.  Go,  Cleomenes ; 

Yourself,  assisted  with  your  honour  d  Irieuds, 
Bring  them  to  our  embracement. — Still  'tis  strange, 

[Exeunt  Cleomenes,  Lords,  and  Gentleman. 
He  thus  should  steal  upon  us. 

Paid.  Had  our  princo; 

(Jewel  of  children,)  seen  this  hour,  he  had  pair'd  s 
Well  with  this  lord;  there  vv;as  not  full  a  month  l 
Between  their  births. 

Leon.  Pr'ythee,  no  more  ;  thou  knovv'st, 

He  dies  to  me  again,  when  talk'd  of:  sure. 
When  I  shall  see  this  gentleman,  thy  sj)eeches 
Will  bring  me  to  consider  that,  which  may 
Unfurnish  me  of  reason. — They  are  come. — - 

Re-enter  Cleomenes,  with  Florizel,  PfiRDiXAj, 

and  Attendants. 
Your  mother  was  most  true  to  wedlock,  prince  ; 
For  she  did  print  your  royal  father  olf. 
Conceiving  you:  were  J  but  twenty-one. 
Your  father's  image  is  so  hit  in  you, 
His  very  air,  that  1  should  call  you  brother. 
As  I  did  him  ;  and  speak  of  something,  wildly 
By  us  perform'd  before.    Most  dearly  welcome  ! 
And  y^jur  fair  princess,  godde.ss: — O,  alas! 
I  lost  a  couple,  that  'twixt  heaven  and  earth 
Might  thus  nave  stood,  begetting  wonder,  as 
You,  gracious  couple,  do!  and  then  I  lost 
(All  mine  own  folly,)  the  society. 
Amity  too,  of  your  brave  father;  whom, 
Tliough  bearing  misery,  I  desire  my  lii'e 
Once  more  to  look  upon. 

Flo.  By  his  command 

Have  I  here  touched  Sicilia ;  and  from  him 
Give  you  all  greetings,  that  a  king,  a  friend. 
Can  send  his  brother  :  and,  but  infirmity 
(Which  waits  upon  worn  times.)  hath  somethic* 
His  wish'd  abilitv,  he  had  himself  [seized 
The  lands  and  waters  'twixt  your  throne  and  his 
Measur'd,  to  look  upon  you  ;  whom  he  loves 
(He  bade  me  say  so,)  more  than  all  the  sceptres. 
And  those  that  bear  them,  living 

Leon.  O,  my  brother, 

(Good  gentleman !)  the  wrongs  I  have  done  thee, 
stir 

Afresh  within  me  ;  and  these  thy  offices. 
So  rarely  kind,  are  as  interpreters 
Of  my  behind-hand  slackness! — Welcome  hither. 
As  is  the  spring  to  the  earth.    And  hath  he  too 
Expos'd  this  paragon  to  the  fearful  usage 
(At  least,  ungentle,)  of  the  dreadful  Neptune, 
'J'o  greet  a  man  not  worth  her  pains;  much  less 
The  adventure  of  her  person  ? 

Flo.  Good  my  lord, 

Siie  came  from  Libya. 

Leon.  Where  the  warlike  Siralua 

That  noble  honour'd  lord,  is  fear'd,  and  lov'd  ? 

Flo.   Most  royal   sir,  from  thence;  from  him 
whose  daughter 
His  tears  prociaim'd  his,  parting  with  her:  thence 
(A  prosperous  south-wind  friendly,)  we  have  nross'd 


248 

To  cseru  ?  the  charge  my  father  gave  me. 
For  \  isW!u<>  your  liiyiiness  :  my  best  train 
I  have  I'.oii.  your  Sicilian  shores  disiniss'd ; 
Who  lor  lioiiemia  bend,  to  signify 
Not  only  my  success  in  Libya,  sir. 
But  my  arrival,  and  my  wile's,  in  safety 
He'-e,  where  we  are. 

Leon.  The  blessed  gods 

Purge  all  ififection  from  our  air,  wiiilst  you 
Do  climate  here !    You  have  a  holy  fatiier, 
A  graceltii  gentleman:  against  whose  person, 
So  sacred  as  it  is,  I  have  done  sin : 
For  which  tiie  neavens,  takiug  angry  note. 
Have  left  me  issueless;  and  your  lather's  bless'd 
[As  he  from  heaven  merits  it,)  with  you. 
Worthy  his  goodness.    What  might  1  have  been, 
Might  i  a  son  and  daughter  now  have  look'd  on. 
Such  goodly  things  as  you  ? 

Enter  a  Lord. 

Lord.  Most  noble  sir, 

That,  which  I  shall  report,  will  bear  no  credit, 
Were  not  the  proof  so  nigh.    Please  you,  great  sir, 
Bohemia  greets  you  from  himself,  by  me  : 
"Desires  you  to  attach  his  son  ;  wiio  has 
iHis  dignity  and  duty  both  cast  oft",) 
Fled  from  his  father,  liom  liis  hopes,  and  with 
A  shepherd's  daughter. 

Leon.  Where's  Bohemia?  speak. 

Lord.  Here  in  the  city;  I  now  came  from  him: 
I  speak  amazedly  ;  and  it  becomes 
My  marvel,  and  my  message.    To  your  court 
Whiles  he  was  hast'ning,  (in  the  chase,  it  seems. 
Of  this  fair  couple,)  meets  he  on  the  way 
The  father  of  tliis  seeming  lady,  and 
Her  brother,  liaving  both  their  country  quitted 
With  this  young  prmce. 

Flo.  Camillo  has  befray'd  me ; 

Whose  honour,  and  whose  honesty,  till  nov\', 
Endur'd  all  weathers. 

Lord.  Lay't  so  to  his  charge  ; 

He's  with  the  king  your  lather. 

Leon.  Who  ?  Camillo  ? 

Lord.  Camillo,  sir;  I  spake  with  him;  wlio  now 
Has  these  poor  men  in  question.    Never  saw  I 
Wretches  so  quake  :  they  kneel,  they  kiss  the  earth  ; 
Forswear  themselves  as  often  as  they  speak; 
Bohemia  stops  his  ears,  and  threatens  them 
With  divers  deaths  in  death. 

Per.  O,  my  poor  father ! — 

The  heavens  set  spies  upon  us,  will  not  have 
Our  contract  celebrated. 

Leon.  You  are  married? 

Flo.  We  are  not,  sir,  nor  are  we  like  to  be ; 
The  stars,  I  see,  will  kiss  the  valleys  first : 
The  odds  for  high  and  low's  alike. 

Leon.  My  lord. 

Is  this  the  daughter  of  a  king? 

Flo.  She  is. 

When  once  she  is  my  wife.  [speed, 

Leon.  That  once,  I  see,  by  your  good  father's 
Will  come  on  very  slowly.    I  am  sorry. 
Most  sorry,  you  have  broken  from  his  liking. 
Where  you  were  tied  in  duty :  and  as  sorry, 
Your  choice  is  not  so  rich  in  worth  as  beauty. 
That  you  might  well  enjoy  her. 

Flo.  Dear,  look  up  : 

Though  fortune,  visible  an  enemy. 
Should  chase  us,  with  ray  father;  power  no  jot 
Hath  she  to  change  our  loves. — "Beseech  you,  sir. 
Remember  since  you  ow'd  no  more  to  tinie 
Than  1  do  now  :  with  thought  of  such  ati"ections. 
Step  forth  mine  advocate  ;  at  your  request. 
My  lather  will  grant  precious  things,  as  trifles. 

Leon.  Would  he  do  so,  I'd  beg  your  precious 
Which  he  counts  but  a  trifle.  [mistress, 

Paul.  Sir,  my  liege. 

Your  eye  hath  too  much  youth  in't :  not  a  month 
'Fore  your  queen  died,  she  was  more  worth  such 
I'han  what  you  look  on  now.  (gazes 


Act  V 

Leon.  I  tliought  of  her, 

Even  in  these  looks  I  made. — But  your  petition 

{To  FloritelJ^ 
Is  yet  unanswer'd  :  I  will  to  your  father; 
Your  honour  not  o'erthrown  by  ymir  desires, 
I  am  a  friend  to  them,  and  you  :  u^jon  which  eiTand 
1  now  go  toward  him ;  therefore,  follow  me. 
And  mark  what  way  1  make  :  Come,  good  my  lord 

[ExeunL 

Scene  II. — The  same.   Before  the  Palace. 

Enter  AuTOLYCUS  and  a  Gentleman. 
Aut.  'Beseech  you,  sir,  were  you  present  at  this 
relation  ? 

1  Gent.  I  was  by  at  the  opening  of  the  fardel, 
heard  the  old  shepherd  deliver  the  manner  how  he 
found  it :  whereupon,  alter  a  little  amazedness,  we 
were  all  commanded  outof  tiie  chamber;  only  this, 
methought  I  heard  the  shepherd  say,  he  found  the 
child. 

Aut.  I  would  most  gladly  know  the  issue  of  it 

1  Gent.  I  make  a  broken  deli\ery  of  the  busi- 
ness:— But  the  changes  I  percei\ed  in  the  king^ 
and  Camillo,  were  very  noles  of  admij  ation :  they 
seemed  almost,  witli  staring  on  one  another,  to  tear 
the  cases  of  their  eyes ;  tiiere  was  speech  in  their 
dumbness,  language  in  their  very  gesture:  they 
looked,  as  they  had  heard  of  a  world  ransomed,  or 
one  destroyed  :  A  notable  passion  ol  wonder  ap- 
peared in  them  ;  but  the  wisest  beiiolder,  that  knew 
no  more  but  seeing,  could  not  say,  if  the  import- 
ance were  joy,  or  sorrow :  but  in  tiie  extremity  oi 
the  one,  it  must  needs  be. 

Fatter  another  Gentleman. 
Here  comes  a  gentleman,  that,  happily,  knows 
more:  The  news,  llogeroi* 

2  Gent.  Nothing  but  bonfires  :  The  oracle  is 
fulfilled;  the  king's  daughter  is  found  ;  such  a  deal 
of  wonder  has  broken  out  within  this  hour,  that  bal- 
lad-makers cannot  be  able  to  express  it. 

Enter  a  third  Gentleman. 
Here  comes  the  lady  Paulina's  steward  ;  he  can 
deliver  you  more. — How  goes  it  now  ,  sir  i  this 
news,  which  is  called  true,  is  so  like  an  old  tale, 
that  the  verity  of  it  is  in  strong  suspicion  :  Has  the 
king  found  his  heir  ? 

3  Gent.  Most  true ;  if  ever  truth  were  pregnant 
by  circumstance  :  that,  which  you  hear,  you'll  swear 
you  see,  there  is  such  unity  in  the  proofs.  The 
mantle  of  queen  Hermione  :  her  jewel  about  the 
neck 'of  it  : — the  letters  of  Antigonus,  found  with 
it,  which  they  know  to  be  his  character  : — the  ma- 
jesty ol  the  creature,  in  resemblance  ol  the  mother; 
— the  aft"ection  of  nobleness,  which  nature  shows 
above  her  breeding,  and  many  other  evidences, 
proclaim  her,  with  all  certainty,  to  be  the  king's 
daughter.    Did  you  see  the  meeting  of  the  two 

2Gent.^o.  [kings? 

3  Gent.  Then  have  you  lost  a  sight,  which  was 
to  be  seen,  cannot  be  spoken  of.  There  might  you 
have  beheld  one  joy  crown  anothei  ;  so,  and  in  such 
manner,  that,  it  seemed,  sorrow  wept  to  take  leave 
of  them  ;  for  their  joy  waded  in  tears.  There  was 
casting  up  of  eyes,  holding  up  of  hands ;  with 
countenance  of  such  distraction,  that,  they  were  to 
be  known  by  garment,  not  by  favour.  Our  king, 
being  ready  to  leap  out  of  himseli  for  joy  of  his 
found  daughter,  as  if  that  joy  were  now  become  a 
loss,  cries,  0,  thy  mother,  thy  mother  \  then  asks 
Bohemia  forgiveness;  then  embraces  his  son-ia 
law;  then  again  worries  he  his  daughter,  with  clip- 
ping her;  now  he  thanks  the  old  shepherd,  which 
stands  by,  like  a  weather  bitten  conduit  of  many 
kings'  reigns.  I  never  heaid  of  such  another  ea- 
counter,  which  lames  report  to  follow  it,  and  uo« 
does  description  to  do  it. 

2  Gent.  What,  pray  you,  became  of  AotigODOa* 
that  carried  hence  tiie  cluld  i 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Scene  8. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


249 


3  Gent.  Like  an  old  tale  still;  which  will  have 
ni  itter  to  jehearse,  thotig-h  credit' be  asleep,  and  not 
an  ear  open:  He  was  torn  to  pieces  with  a  bear: 
this  avouches  the  shepherd's  son;  who  has  not  only 
his  innocence  (which  seems  much,)  to  justify  him, 
but  a  handkerchiel,  and  rings,  of  his,  that  Paulina 
knows.  [lowers  ? 

1  Gent.  What  became  of  his  bark,  and  his  fol- 

3  Gent.  Wrecked,  the  same  instant  of  their 
master's  death;  and  in  the  view  of  the  shepherd : 
80  that  all  the  instruments,  which  aided  to  expose 
tiie  child,  were  even  then  lost,  whbn  it  was  found. 
But,  O,  the  noble  combat,  that,  'twixt  joy  and  sor- 
row, was  fought  in  Paulina  !  She  had  one  eye  de- 
clined for  the  loss  of  her  husband  ;  another  elevated, 
that  the  oracle  was  iulfilled  :  She  lifted  the  princess 
from  the  earth;  and  so  locks  her  in  embracing,  as 
if  she  would  pin  her  to  her  heart,  that  she  might  no 
more  be  in  danger  of  losing. 

1  Gent.  Tiie  dignity  ot  this  act  was  worth  the 
audience  of  kings  and  princes;  for  by  such  was  it 
acted. 

3  Gent.  One  of  the  prettiest  touches  of  all,  and 
that  which  angled  fur  mine  eyes,  (caught  the  water, 
though  not  the  fish,)  was,  when  at  the  relation  of 
the  queen's  death,  with  the  manner  how  she  canie 
fo  it,  (bravely  confessed  and  lamented  by  the  king,) 
how  attentiveness  wounded  his  daughter  :  tdl,  from 
one  s  gn  of  dolour  to  another,  she  did,  with  an 
alas!  1  would  fain  say,  bleed  tears ;  for,  I  am  sure, 
my  heart  vvept  blood.  Who  was  most  marble 
there,  changed  colour ;  some  swooned,  all  .sorrow- 
ed :  if  all  the  world  could  have  seen  it,  the  woe  had 
been  universal. 

1  Gent.  Ave  they  returned  to  the  court? 

3  Gent.  No  :  tue  princess,  hearing  of  her  mo- 
ther's statue,  which  is  in  the  keeping  of  Paulina, — 
apiece  many  yea.-s  in  doing,  and  now  newly  per- 
formed by  that  r.ire  Italian  master,  Julio  Romano; 
who,  had'  he  liimself  eternity,  and  could  put  breath 
into  his  work,  would  beguile  nature  of  her  custom, 
BO  perfectly  he  is  iier  ape  :  he  so  near  to  Hermione 
hath  done  liermione,  that,  they  say,  one  would 
speak  to  her,  and  stand  in  hope  of  answer :  thither, 
with  all  greediness  of  affection,  are  they  gone;  and 
there  they  intend  to  sup. 

I' Gent.  I  thought,  she  had  some  great  matter 
there  in  hand  ;  for  she  hath  privately,  twice  or  thrice 
a  day,  e\er  since  the  death  of  Hermione,  visited 
that  removed  house  Shall  we  thither,  and  with 
our  company  piece  the  rejoicing? 

3  Gent.  VVho  would  be  thence,  that  has  the 
benefit  of  access  ?  every  wink  of  an  eye,  some 
new  grace  will  be  born  :  our  absence  makes  us 
unthrifty  to  our  knowledge.    Let's  along. 

[Exeunt  Gentlemen. 
i  Aut.  Now,  had  I  not  the  dash  of  my  ibrmer 
\  life  in  me.  would  preferment  drop  on  my  head.  I 
brought  the  old  man  and  his  son  aboard  the  prince ; 
told  him,  I  iieard  him  talk  of  a  fardel,  and  1 
know  not  vvliat:  but  he  at  that  time,  overfond  of 
the  shepherd's  daugliter,  (so  he  then  took  her  to  be,) 
who  began  to  be  much  sea-sick,  and  himself  little 
better,  extremity  of  weather  continuing,  this  mys- 
tery remained  undiscovered.  But  'tis  all  one  to  me  : 
for  had  i  been  the  finder-out  of  this  secret,  it 
would  not  have  relished  among  my  other  discredits. 

Enter  Shepherd  and  Clown. 
Here  come  those  I  have  done  good  to  against  my 
will,  and  already  appearing  in  the  blossoms  of  their 
fortinie. 

Shep.  Come,  boy;  I  am  past  more  children;  but 
thy  sons  and  daughters  will  be  all  gentlemen  born. 

Clo.  You  are  well  met,  sir  :  You  denied  to  fight 
with  me  this  other  day,  because  I  was  no  gentleman 
born  :  See  you  these  clothes  ?  say,  you  see  them 
not,  and  think  me  still  no  gentleman  born :  you 
were  best  say,  these  robes  are  not  gentlemen  born. 
Give  me  the  lie;  do;  and  try  whether  I  am  not 
■{  ow  a  gentle rnau  born. 


Aut.  T  know,  yon  are  now,  sir,  a  gentlomaiJ  boru. 

Clo.  Ay,  and  have  been  so  any  time  these  four 

Shep.  And  so  have  I,  boy.  [hours. 

Clo.  So  you  have  : — but  I  was  a  gentleman  boru 
before  my  father  :  for  the  king's  son  took  me  by 
the  hand,  and  called  me,  brother  ;  aiid  then  the 
two  kings  called  my  father,  brother:  and  then  the 
prince,  my  brother,  and  the  princess,  my  sister, 
called  my  father,  father;  and  so  we  wept;  aud  'i 
there  was  the  first  gentleman  like  tears  that  ever  i 
we  shed. 

Shep.  We  may  live,  son,  to  shed  many  more. 

Clo.  Ay;  or  else  'twere  hard  luck,  being  in  so 
preposterous  estate  as  we  are. 

Aut.  I  humbly  beseech  you,  sir,  to  pardon  me 
all  the  faults  I  have  committed  to  your  worship, 
and  to  give  me  your  good  report  to  the  prince  my 
master. 

Shep.  Pr'ythee,  son,  do;  for  we  must  be  gentle, 
now  we  are  gentlemen. 

Clo.  I'hou  wilt  amend  thy  life? 

Aut.  Ay,  an  it  like  your  good  worship. 

Clo.  Give  me  thy  hand  :  I  will  swear  to  the 
prince  thou  art  as  honest  a  true  fellow  as  any  is  io 
Bohemia. 

Shep.  You  may  say  it,  but  not  swear  it. 

Clo.  Not  swear  it,  now  I  am  a  gentleman  ?  Let 
boors  and  franklins  say  it,  I'll  swear  it, 

Shep.  How  if  it  be  false,  son? 

Clo.  If  it  be  ne'er  so  false,  a  true  gentleman 
may  swear  it  in  the  behalf  of  his  friend  : — And  I'll 
swear  to  the  prince  thou  art  a  tall  fellow  of  thy 
hands,  and  that  thou  wilt  not  be  drunk;  but  I 
know,  thou  art  no  tall  fellow  of  thy  hands,  and  that 
thou  wilt  be  drunk;  but  I'll  swear  it:  and  I 
would,  thou  would'sL  be  a  tall  fellow  of  thy  hands. 

Aut.  I  will  prove  so,  sir,  to  my  power. 

Clo.  Ay,  by  any  means  prove  a  tall  fellow: 
If  I  do  not  wonder,  how  thou  darest  venture  to  be 
drunk,  not  being  a  tall  I'ellow,  trust  me  not.— 
Hark!  the  kings  and  the  princes,  our  kindred,  are 
going  to  see  the  queen's  picture.  Come,  follow  ns: 
we'll  be  thy  good  masters.  [ExeunL 

Scene  III. — The  same.   A  Room  in  Paulina'* 
House. 

Enter  Leontes,  Polixenes,  Flokizel,  Perdita, 
CA3ULL0,  Paulina,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 
Leon.  O,  grave  and  good  Paulina,  the  great 
That  f  have  had  of  thee  !  [comfort 

Paul.  What,  sovereign  sir, 

I  did  not  well,  I  meant  well  :  All  my  services. 
You  have  paid  home  :  but  that  you  have  vouchsard. 
With  your  crown'd  brother,  and  these  your  con« 
tracted 

Heirs  of  your  kingdoms,  my  poor  house  to  visit. 
It  is  a  surplus  of  your  grace,  which  never 
My  life  may  last  to  answer. 

Leon.  O  Paulina, 

We  honour  you  with  trouble  :  But  we  came 
To  see  the  statue  of  our  queen  ;  your  gallery 
Have  we  pass'd  through,  not  without  much  contest 
In  many  singularities  ;  but  we  saw  not 
That  which  my  daughter  came  to  look  upon. 
The  statue  of  her  mother. 

Paul.  As  she  liv'd  peerlear. 

So  her  dead  likeness,  I  do  well  believe, 
Excels  whatever  yet  you  look'd  upon. 
Or  hand  of  man  hath  done  ;  therefore  I  keep  it 
Lonely  apart :  But  here.it  is  :  prepare 
To  see  the  life  as  lively  mock'd,  as  ever 
Still  sleep  mock'd  death  :  behold  ;  and  say,  'tis  well 

[Paulina  undratvs  a  curtain,  and  discovers  a 
I  like  your  silence,  it  the  more  shows  oft'  [statue.) 
Your  wonder  :  But  yet  speak: — first,  you,  my  liege, 
Comes  it  not  somethmg  near  ? 

Leon.  Her  natural  posture  ! 

Chide  me,  dear  stone  ;  that  I  niay  say,  indeed. 
Thou  art  Herreione  :  or  rather,  thou  art  she. 
In  thy  not  chiding ;  for  she  was  as  tender. 


15,250  I  V      WW\  WINTEK'S  TALE.      u^..^  '     i)  Act  V.  ^ 

^  ^tt^«vv^-,  t>>^«ie^' 

6^t^<A^h^t  you  can  make  her  dc* 


As  itttancy,  and  gracey-Biit  yet,  Paulina, 
Kcxa»i««e*''^i^as"iiot  so  much  wrinkled  ;  nothing 
So  aged,  as  this  seems. 

Pol.  0,  not  by  much. 

Paid.  So  much  the  more  our  carver's  excellence  ; 
Wiiich  lets  ^o  by  some  sixteen  years,  and  makes  her 
As  she  liv'd  now. 

Leon.  As  now  she  might  have  done, 

S(»  much  to  my  good  comfort,  as  it  is 
Now  piercing  to  my  soul.    0,  thus  she  stood. 
Even  with  such  lil'e  of  inajesty,  (warm  life, 
As  now  it  cohlly  stands,)  when  first  i  woo'd  her! 
1  am  ashamed  :  Does  not  the  stone  rebuke  me. 
For  being  more  stone  tlian  it?— O,  royal  piece. 
There's  tnagic  in  tliy  majesty  ;  which  has 
My  evils  conjiir  d  to  remembrance;  and 
From  tfiy  admiring  daughter  took  the  spirits, 
Standing  like  stone  with  thee! 

Per.  And  give  me  leave ; 

And  do  not  say,  'tis  superstition,  that 
I  kneel,  and  tlien  implore  her  blessing. — Lady, 
Dear  queen,  that  ended  when  I  but  began. 
Give  me  that  hand  of  yours,  to  kiss. 

Paul.  O  patience ; 

The  statue  is  but  newly  tix'd,  the  colour's 
I*  ot  dry. 

Cam.  My  lord,  your  sorrow  was  too  sore  laid  on  ; 
Which  sixteen  winters  cannot  blow  away. 


carce  any  joy 
no  sorrow, 
But  kill'd  itself  much  sooner. 

Pol.  Dear  my  brother, 

Let  him  that  was  the  cause  of  this  have  power 
To  take  oil' so  much  grief  from  you,  as  he 
Will  piece  up  in  hiujself. 

PauL  Indeed,  my  lord, 

If  {  had  thought  the  sight  ol  my  poor  image 
Would  thus  have  wrought  you,  (for  the  stone  is 
I'd  not  have  show'd  it.  [mine,) 
Leon.  Do  not  draw  t!ie  curtain. 

Paul.  No  longer  shall  you  gaze  on't;  lest  your 
.Vi ay  tiiink  anon,  it  moves.  [fancy 

Leon.  Let  be,  let  be. 

Would  I  were  dead,  but  (hat,  methinks,  already — 
What  was  lie  that  did  make  it  ? — See,  my  lord. 
Would  you  not  deem,  it  breath'd  ?  and  that  those 
Diiie^rilj^bear  blood?  ^cXV  [veins 

l^oT^  ^  ^'""X  ^Masterly  done: 
The  very  life  seems  warm  upon  her  lip. 

Leon.  The  fixure  of  her  eye  has  motion  in't. 
As  we  are  mock'd  with  art. 
^     Paul.  I'll  draw  the  curtain ; 

J|v' AjVly  lord's  almost  so  far  transported,  that 
He'll  think  anon,  it  lives. 

Leoji.  O  sweet  Paulina, 

Make  me  to  think  so  twenty  years  together; 
No  settled  senses  of  the  world  can  match 


id  ever  so  long  ITveT 


Left  alone, 
have  thus  far  stirr'd 


lleasure  o: 
PcacL  I  am 

you  :  but 
I  could  alflict  you  further. 

Leo7t.  Do,  Paulina; 

For  this  affliction  has  a  taste  as  sweet 
As  any  cordial  comibrt. — Still,  methinks, 
Tliere  is  an  air  comes  from  her:  what  fine  chisel 
Could  ever  yet  cut  breath  ?  Let  no  man  mock  me, 
Eur,  .LwiU-k-iss-  herr 

Paul.  Good,  my  lord,  forbear: 

The  ruddiness  upon  her  lip  is  wet; 
Y  ou'll  mar  it,  if  you  kiss  it ;  stain  your  own 
With  oily  painting:  shall  I  draw  the  curtain? 
Leon.  No,  not  these  twenty  years. 
/^er.  So  long  could  1 

Stand  by,  a  looker  on. 

Paul.  Either  forbear. 

Quit  presently  the  chapel;  or  resolve  you 
For  more  amazement:  if  you  can  behold  it, 
I'll  make  the  statue  move  indeed;  descend, 
And  take  you  by  the  hand  :  but  then  you'll  think, 
^(Which  I  protest  against  '  I  am  assisted 
By  wicked  powers.  — 


Leon. 

I  au)  content  to  look  on :  what  to  speak, 
I  am  content  to  hear;  for  'tis  as  easy 
To  make  her  speak,  as  move. 

Paul,  It  is  requir'd, 

You  do  awake  your  faith:  then,  all  stand  still; 
Or  those,  that  think  it  is  unlawful  business 
I  am  about,  let  them  depart. 

Leon.  Proceed ; 

No  foot  shall  stir. 

Patil.  Music  ;  awake  her ;  strike.— 

(Musie.) 

'Tis  time  ;  descend  ;  be  stone  no  more;  approach; 
Strike  all  that  look  iipon  with  marvel.    Come  ; 
I'll  fill  your  grave  up :  stir ;  nay,  come  away  ; 
Uequeath  to'llt'JiUl  ynw  numbness,  for  from  him 
Dear  lii'e^tleepi^  ypn  -^V""  perceive,  she  stirs: 

( Hei-mme  coin es  doivn  from  the  pedestal.) 
Start  not:  her  actions  shall  be  holy,  as. 
You  hear,  my  spell  is  lawful :  do  not  shun  her. 
Until  you  see  her  die  again;  for  then 
You  kill  her  double  :  Nay,  present  your  hand  : 
When  she  was  young,  you  woo'd  her;  novv,  in  age. 
Is  she  become  the  suitor. 

Leon.  O,  she's  warm  !  {Embracing  her,) 

If  this  be  magic,  let  it  be  an  art 
Lawful  as  eating. 

Pol.  She  embraces  him. 

Cam.  She  hangs  about  his  neck  ; 
If  she  pertain  to  life,  let  her  sp^ak  too. 

Pol.  Ay,  and  make't  manifest  where  she  has  liv'd, 
how  stol'n  from  the  dead  ? 

That  she  is  living, 
Were  it  but  told  you,  should  be  hooted  at 
Like  an  old  tale;  but  it  appears,  she  live?. 
Though  yet  she  speak  not.    Mark  a  little  while. — 
Please  you  to  interpose,  fair  madam  ;  kneel,  ; 
And  pray  your  mother's  blessing. — Turn,  good  lady 
Our  Perdita  is  found.  \, 
{Presenting  Perdita,  ivho  kneels  to  llermionWX 
Her.  You  gods,  look  down. 

And  from  your  sacred  vials  pour  your  graces 
Upon  my  daughter's  head! — Tell  me,  mine  own, 


O 


Paul. 


Where  hast  thou  been  preserv'd  ?  where 
how  lound 

Thy  father's  court?  for  thou  shalt  hear,  that  I, — 
Knowing  by  Paulina,  that  the  oracle 
Gave  Mbpe  thou  wast  in  being, — have  preserv'd 
Myself  to  see  the  issue. 

Paul.  There's  time  enough  for  that. 

Lest  they  desire,  upon  this  push,  to  trouble  * 
Your  joys  with  like  relation. — Go  together, 
You  precious  dinners  all;  your  exultation 
Partake  to  every  one.    I,  an  old  turtle. 
Will  wing  me  to  some  wither'd  bough  ;  and  thei* 
My  mate,  that's  never  to  be  found  again. 
Lament,  till  I  am  lost. 

Leon.  O  peace,  Pa\diria : 

Thou  should'st  a  husband  take  by  my  consent. 
As  I  by  thine,  a  wife :  this  is  a  match. 
And  made  between's  by  vows.    Tiiou  hast  louifed 
mine ; 

But  how,  is  to  be  question'd :  for  I  saw  her, 
As  I  thought,  dead ;  and  have,  in  vain,  said  manf 
A  prayer  upon  her  grave  :  I'll  not  seek  far 
(For  him,  I  paitly  Itnow  his  mind,)  to  find  thcc 
An  honourable  husband  : — Come,  Camillo,  V 
And  take  her  by  the  hand  :  whose  worth  and  ho- 
ls richly  noted  ;  and  here  justified  [newy 
By  us,  a  pair  of  kings. — Let's  f  rom  this  ])lace 
What?— Look  upon  my  brother  ;— both  your  pa*. 

dons,  ^  aI/c  ^' 

That  e'er  I  put  between  your  holy  looks    1  V^' 
My  ill  suspicion.— This  your  son-in-law,  V 
And  son  unto  thej^ng,  (whom  heavens  directing,)    ^  h 
Is  troth-plight  to<gu>  dau^l^.— Good  Paulina,  j^^f^ 
Lead  us  fr-om  hencT;  where       may  leisurely  W 
Each  one  demaud.  and  answer  to  his  part        '"^  V^.  ^ 
Perforin'd  in  this  vviile  gap  «^Trme,  since  first  V^X^^ 
We  were  dissever'd:  HastilV+etftl  away.  [iilxeuiUt  \  » 

■v 


/ 


A 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS 


w«  a  ca  Dful  revision  of  the  following  scenes,  I  do  not  hesilate  to  pronounce  them  the  coraposiHp  \  of  tsf» 
«ne«|ual  writers,   Shakspeare  had  luidoubtecHy  a  share  in  lliem  ;  but  that  the  eniire  play  was  no  work  o'  pis,  is 
oitiuKiti  which  (as  Benedict  says)  "  lire  cannot  melt  out  of  me  ;   1  will  die  in  it  at  the  stake."    Thus,      we  arfl 
Informed  by  Aulas  Gellius,  lib.  iii.  cap.  3,  some  plays  were  absolutely  ascribed  to  Flautus,  which  in  trtJth  lad  only 
been  (rtlracia/ce  eC  txpolitce)  retouched  and  polished  by  him. 

In  this  comedy  we  find  more  intricacy  of  plot  than  distinction  of  character;  and  our  attention  is  less  forciblT 
engaged,  because  we  can  guess  in  great  measure  how  the  denouement  will  be  brought  about.  Yet  AS»e  subject 
Appears  to  l  ave  been  reluctantly  dismissed,  even  in  this  last  and  unnecessary  scene;  where  the  same  rabtakes  ats 
continued,  till  the  power  of  atiordiug  entertainment  is  entirely  lost.  StMveits. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


so  LINUS,  Duke  of  Ephesus. 
V!-:G£0N,  a  Merchant  of  Syracuse. 

(  twin  Brothers,  and  Sotis 
ATSTIPIWLVS,  of  Ep/iest/s,  \  to  JEf/eon  atid  u^milia, 
ANTIPHOLUS,  0/   Syracuse,)  but    unknown  to  each 

^  other. 

DROMIO  of  Ephesus,  )  trvin  Brothers,  and  Attendants 
DROMIO  of  Syracuse,  i   on  the  two  Antipholus's. 
BAJ.THAZA11,  a  Merchant. 

Scene, — Ephesus. 


ANGELO,  a  Goldsmith. 

A  Merchant,  Friend  to  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
PINCH,  a  Schoolmaster  and  a  Conjurer. 
EMILIA,  Wile  to  JEaeon,  an  Abbess  at  EpAtsuSm 
ADHIANA,  Wife  to  Antipholus  of  Ephesus. 
LUCIANA,  her  Sister. 
LLCE,  her  Servant. 
A  Courtezan. 

Gaoler,  Officers,  and  other  Attendants. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — A  Hall  in  the  Duke's  Palace. 
Enter  Duke,  iEcEON,  Gaoler,  Officers,  and  other 
Attendants. 

jEge.  Proceed,  Solinus,  to  procure  my  fall. 
And,  by  the  doom  of  death,  end  woes  and  all. 

Duke.  Merchant  of  Syracusa,  plead  no  more; 
I  am  not  l  artial  to  infringe  our  laws  : 
The  enmity  and  discord,  which  of  late 
Sp  ung:  from  the  rancorous  outrage  of  your  duke 
'J'o  merchants,  our  well-dealing  countrymen, — 
Who,  wanting  gilders  to  redeem  their  lives, 
Have  seal'd  his  rigorous  statutes  with  their  bloods, — 
Excludes  all  pity  from  our  threat'ning  looks. 
For,  since  the  mortal  .    '  ' -testine  jars 
'Twixt  thy  seditious  countrymen  and  us. 
It  hath  in  solemn  synods  been  decreed. 
Both  by  the  Syracusans  and  ourselves. 
To  admit  no  traffic  to  our  adverse  towns : 
Nay,  more. 

If  an.y,  boi  u  at  Ephesus,  be  seen 

At  any  Syracusan  marts  and  fairs ; 

Again,  if  any  Syracusan  born 

Coine  to  tlie  bny  of  Ephesus,  he  dies. 

His  goods  confiscate  to  the  duke's  dispo.se 

Unle.ss  a  thousand  marks  be  levied,  , 

To  quit  the  penalty,  and  to  ransom  him. 

Thy  substance,  valued  at  the  highest  rate, 

Cannot  amount  unto  a  hundred  marks; 

Therefore,  by  law  thou  art  condemn'd  to  die. 

^Ef/e.  Yet  this  my  comfort;  when  your  words 
are  done, 

My  woes  end  likewise  with  the  evening  sun. 

Duke.  Well,  Syracusari,  say,  in  brief,  the  cause 
W^hy  thou  depaitedst  from  thy  native  home; 
And  tor  what  cause  thou  cam'st  to  Ephesus. 

.^fje.  A  lieavier  task  could  not  have  been  irapos'd. 
Than  I  t«  sjieak  my  griefs  unspeakable: 
Vet  that  the  world  may  witness,  that  my  end 
Was  wrought  by  nature,  not  by  \ile  offence, 
I'll  utter  what  my  sorrow  gives  me  leave. 
Ill  Syracusa  was  I  born  ;  and  wed  f 
Unti)  a  woman,  hapi  y  but  for  nje. 
And  by  me  too,  had  not  our  hap  been  bad. 
With  her  1  liv'd  in  joy;  our  wealth  increas'd, 
Bj  prosperous  voyages  I  olten  made 
To  Epidamnuuj,  till  my  factor's  death; 
And  he  (great  care  of  goods  at  random  left) 
Drew  me  trora  kind  embraceujents  of  my  spouse ; 
from  whom  my  absence  was  not  six  nmnths  old. 
Before  herself  (almost  at  fainting  under 
The  pleasing  punishment  that  women  bear.y 
Had  made  provision  for  her  following  me. 


And  soon,  and  safe,  arrived  where  I  waS. 

There  she  had  not  been  long,  but  she  became 

A  joyful  mother  of  two  goodly  sons  ; 

And  which  was  strange,  the  one  so  like  the  ot.e 

As  could  not  be  distinguished  but  by  names. 

That  very  hour,  and  in  the  self  same  inn, 

A  poor  mean  woman  was  delivered 

Of  such  a  burden,  male  twins,  both  alike  : 

Those,  for  their  parents  were  exceeding  poor, 

I  bought,  and  brought  up  to  attend  my  sons. 

My  wife,  not  meanly  proud  of  two  such  boys. 

Made  daily  motions  for  our  home  return: 

Unwilling  I  agreed;  alas,  too  soor. 

We  came  aboard : 

A  league  lVon>  Epidamnum  had  we  sail'd, 

Before  the  always  wind  obeying  deep 

Gave  any  tragic  instance  of  our  harm  : 

But  longer  did  we  not  retain  much  hoye , 

For  what  obscured  light  the  heavens  did  graat 

Did  but  convey  unto  our  fearful  minds 

A  doubtful  warrant  of  immediate  death  ; 

Which,  though  myself  would  gladly  have  embrat  A 

Yet  the  ince.ssant  weepings  of  my  wife, 

Weeping  before  for  what  she  saw  must  come. 

And  piteous  plainings  of  the  pretty  babes. 

That  mourn'd  for  fashion,  ignorant  what  to  fear, 

Forc'd  me  to  seek  delays  for  them  and  me. 

And  this  it  was, — for  other  means  was  none.— 

The  sailors  sought  for  safety  by  our  boat. 

And  left  the  ship,  then  sinking-ripe,  to  us  • 

My  wife,  more  careful  for  the  latter-born. 

Had  lasten'd  him  unto  a  small  spare  niast. 

Such  as  sea-faring  men  provide  for  storms  ; 

To  him  one  of  the  other  twins  was  bound. 

Whilst  I  had  been  like  heedful  of  the  other. 

The  children  thus  dispos'd,  my  wife  and  I, 

Fixing  our  eyes  o«  whom  our  care  was  fut'd, 

Fasten'd  ourselves  at  either  end  the  mast; 

And  floating  straight,  obedient  to  the  stream. 

Were  carried  towards  Corinth,  as  we  thought 

At  length  the  sun,  gazing  upon  the  earth, 

Dispers'd  those  vapours  that  offended  us; 

And,  by  the  benefit  of  his  wish'd  light, 

The  seas  wax'd  calm,  and  wo  discovered 

Two  ships  from  far  making  amain  to  us. 

Of  Corinth  that,  of  Epidaurus  this  : 

But  ere  they  came, — O,  let  me  say  no  more  ! 

Gather  the  sequel  by  that  went  before.  f«o: 

Duke.  Nay,  forvvard,  old  wan,  do  not  break  oil 
For  we  may  pity,  though  not  pardon  thee. 

j!Ege.  O,  had  the  gods  done  so,  I  had  not  now 
Worthily  term'd  them  me  rciless  to  us! 
For,  ere  the  ships  could  meet  by  twice  five  leaga 
We  were  encounter'd  by  a  mighty  rjck; 


252 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  I. 


Which  being  violently  borne  npon. 
Our  lielpful  ship  was  si)iitted  in  the  midst, 
So  that,  in  this  unjust  divorce  ot"  us, 
FoitsMie  had  ieil  to  both  of  us  alike 
What  to  delight  in,  what  to  sorrow  for. 
Her  part,  poor  soul !  seeming'  as  burdened 
With  lesser  weight;  but  net  with  lesser  woe. 
Was  carried  with  more  speed  before  the  wind; 
And  in  oiir  sight  they  three  were  taken  up 
lly  fishermen  of  Corinth,  as  we  thought. 
A  t  length,  another  sliip  had  seiz'd  on  us  ; 
Arjd,  knowing  whom  it  was  their  hap  to  save, 
(3ave  helpful  welcome  to  their  shii)vvreck'd  guests; 
Antt  would  have  reft  the  fishers  of  their  prey, 
Had  not  tiieir  bark  been  very  slow  of  sail. 
And  therefore  homeward   did    they  bend  their 
course. — 

Thus  have  you  heard  me  sever'd  from  my  bliss; 

That  by  niisfortunes  was  my  life  prolong'd. 

To  tell  sad  stories  of  my  own  mishaps.  [for, 

Duke,  And,  for  the  sake  of  them  thou  sorrowest 
Do  me  the  favour  to  dilate  at  full 
What  hath  befall'n  of  them,  and  thee,  till  now. 

^ge.  My  youngest  boy,  and  yet  my  eldest  care, 
At  eighteen  years  became  inquisitive 
After  his  brother  :  and  iniportun'd  me, 
That  his  attt^ndant,  (for  his  case  was  like. 
Reft  of  his  brother,  but  retained  his  name,) 
Might  bear  hin>  company  in  the  quest  of  him  . 
Whom  whilst  1  labiur'd  of  a  love  to  see, 
1  hazarded  the  los  »  of  whom  I  lov'd. 
Five  summers  have  I  spent  in  furthest  Greece, 
Roaming  clean  through  the  bounds  of  Asia, 
And,  coasting  homeward,  came  to  Ephesus  ; 
Hopeless  to  find,  yet  loatii  to  leave  unsought. 
Or  that^  or  any  place  that  harbours  men. 
But  here  must  end  tlie  story  of  my  life  ; 
And  happy  were  I  in  my  timely  death, 
Could  all  my  travels  warrant  me  they  live. 

DuKe.  Hapless   ^geon,  whom  the  fates  have 
niark'd 

To  bear  the  extremity  of  dire  mishap! 
NoW;  trust  me,  were  it  not  against  our  laws. 
Against  my  crown,  my  oath,  my  dignity. 
Which  princes,  would  they,  may  not  disannul, 
My  soul  should  sue  as  advocate  for  thee. 
But  though  thou  art  ailjudged  to  the  death. 
And  passed  sentence  may  not  be  recall'd, 
But  to  our  honour's  great  disparagement. 
Yet  will  I  favour  thee  in  what  1  can : 
Therefore,  merch;mt,  I'll  limit  thee  this  day. 
To  seek  tiiy  help  by  beneficial  help: 
Try  all  the  friends  thou  hast  in  Ephesus; 
Beg  thou,  or  borrow  to  make  up  the  sum. 
And  live  ;  if  not,  tiien  thou  art  doorn'd  to  die  : — 
Gaoler,  fake  him  to  thy  custody. 
Gaol.  I  will,  my  lord. 

yEf/e.  Hopeless,  and  helpless,  doth  iEgeon  wend. 
But  to  procrastinate  his  lifeless  end.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  H. — A  Public  Place. 

Enter  Antipholus  and  Dromio  of  Syracuse,  and 
a  Merchant. 

Mer.  Therefore,  give  out,  you  are  of  Epidamnum, 
Lest  that  your  g(>ods  too  soon  be  confiscate. 
This  very  day,  a  Syracusan  merchant 
\s  apprehended  for  arrival  here  ; 
And  not  beiu-i  able  to  buy  out  his  life. 
According  to  the  statute  of  the  town, 
X>ies  ere  tlie  weary  sun  set  in  the  west. 

Jiere  is  your  money  that  1  had  to  keep. 

Ant.  S.  Go  bear  it  to  the  Centaur,  where  we  host. 
And  stay  tb»^re,  Dromio,  till  I  come  to  thee. 
Within  this  hour  it  will  be  dinner-time: 
Till  that,  rii  view  the  manners  of  the  town, 
Peruse  the  traders,  gaze  upon  the  buildings, 
A  nd  then  ret  irn,  and  sle<  p  within  mine  inn  ; 
For  with  long  travel  I  am  stilf  and  weary. 
G;t  thee  away. 


I     Dro.  S.  Many  a  man  would  take  yoo  at  jou» 
[  word, 
And  go  indeed,  having  so  good  a  mean.  lExit< 

Ant.  S  A  trusty  villain,  sir;  that  very  oft. 
When  I  am  dull  with  care  and  melancholy. 
Lightens  my  humour  with  his  merry  jests. 
What,  will  you  walk  with  me  about  the  town, 
And  then  go  to  my  inn,  and  dine  with  me  ? 

Mer.  I  am  invited,  sir,  to  certain  merchants. 
Of  whom  1  hope  to  make  much  benefit : 
I  crave  your  pardon.    Soon,  at  five  o'clock, 
Please  you,  I'll  meet  with  you  upon  the  mart. 
And  afterwards  consort  you  till  bed-time  ; 
My  present  business  calls  me  from  you  now. 

Ant.  S.  Farewell  till  then  :  I  will  go  lose  myself, 
And  wander  up  and  down,  to  view  the  city. 
Mer.  Sir,  I  commend  you  to  your  own  content. 

[Exit, 

Ant.  S.  He,  that  commends  me  to  mine  own 
Commends  me  to  the  thing  I  cannot  get.  [content, 
I  to  the  world  am  like  a  drop  of  water. 
That  in  the  ocean  seeks  another  drop ; 
Who,  falling  there  to  find  his  fellow  forth. 
Unseen,  inquisitive,  confounds  himself: 
So  I,  to  find  a  mother,  and  a  brother, 
lu  quest  of  them,  unhappy,  lose  myself. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Here  comes  the  almanack  of  my  true  date. — 
What  now  ?  How  chance,  thou  art  return'd  so  sooa? 
Dro.  E.  Return'd  so  soon!  rather  approach'*! 
too  late : 

The  capon  burns,  the  pig  falls  from  the  spit; 
The  clock  has  strucken  twelve  upon  the  bell. 
My  mistress  made  it  one  upon  my  cheek : 
She  is  so  hot,  because  the  meat  is  cold ; 
The  meat  is  cold,  because  you  come  not  home; 
You  come  not  home,  because  you  have  no  storaach; 
You  have  no  stomach,  having  broke  your  fast; 
But  we,  that  know  what  'tis  to  fast  and  pray. 
Are  penitent  for  your  default  to-day. 

Ant.  S.  Stop  in  your  wind,  sir ;  tell  me  this,  I  praj 
Where  have  you  left  the  money  that  I  gave  you  ? 
Dro.  E.  O, — sixpence,  that  1  had  o' Wednesday 
last. 

To  pay  the  saddler  for  my  mistress'  crupper? — 
The  saddler  had  it,  sir,  I  kept  it  not. 

Ant.  S.  I  am  not  in  a  sportive  humour  now: 
Tell  me,  and  dally  not,  where  is  the  money? 
We  being  strangers  here,  how  dar'st  thou  trust 
So  great  a  charge  from  thine  own  custody  ? 

Dro.  E.  I  pray  you,  jest,  sir,  as  you  sit  at  dinner : 
I  from  my  mistress  come  to  you  in  post; 
If  I  return,  I  shall  be  post  indeed ; 
For  she  will  score  your  fault  upon  my  pate 
Methinks,  your  maw,  like  mine,  should  be  your 
clock, 

And  strike  you  home  without  a  messenger. 

Ant.  S.  Come,  Dromio,  come,  these  jests  are  out 
of  season ; 

Reserve  them  till  a  merrier  hour  than  this: 
Where  is  the  gold  1  gave  in  charge  to  thee  ? 

Dro.  E.  To  me,  sir?  why  you  gave  no  gold  to 
me.  [foolishneas. 
Ant.  S.  Come  on,  sir  knave,  have  done  your 
And  tell  me,  how  thou  hast  dispos'd  thy  charge. 
Dro.  E.  My  charge  was  but  to  fetch  you  from 
the  mart 

Home  to  your  house,  the  Phuenix,  sir,  to  dinner; 
My  mistress,  and  her  sister,  stay  lor  you. 

Ant.  S.  Now,  as  I  am  a  Christian,  answer  me. 
In  what  safe  place  you  have  bestow'd  my  moEey  i 
Or  I  shall  break  that  merry  sconce  of  yours. 
That  stands  on  tricks,  when  I  am  undispos'd: 
Where  is  the  thousand  marks  thou  hadst  of  me? 

Dro.  E.  I  have  some  marks  of  yours  upon  my  pate 
Some  of  my  mistress'  marks  upon  my  shoulders. 
But  not  a  thousand  marks  between  you  both.— 
If  I  should  pay  your  worship  those  again. 
Perchance,  you  will  not  bear  them  patiently 


Act  TI.    Scene  2. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


25S 


Ant.  'S.  Thy  mistress'  marks !  what  mistress. 

slave,  liast  thou  ?  ^  [Phoenix; 

Dro.  E.  Your  worship's  wife,  my  mistress  at  the 
She  that  doth  fast,  till  yon  come  home  to  dinner, 
And  prays,  that  you  will  hie  you  home  to  dinner. 
Ant.  S.  What,  wilt  thou  tiout  me  thus  unto  my 
face, 

Beiti^  forbid  ?  There,  take  you  that,  sir  knave. 

Dr*i.  E.  What  mean  you,  sir?  for  God's  sake, 
hold  your  hands ; 
Nay,  an  you  will  not,  sir,  I'll  take  my  heels.  [Exit. 

Ant.  S.  Upon  my  life,  by  some  device  or  other. 
The  villain  is  o'er-raught  of  all  my  money. 
They  say,  this  town  is  full  of  cozenage  ; 
As,  nimble  jugglers,  that  deceive  the  eye, 
Dark-worlving  sorcerers,  that  change  the  mind. 
Soul-killing  witches,  that  deform  the  body; 
Disguised  cheaters,  prating  mountebanks, 
And  many  such  like  liberties  of  sin: 
If  it  prove  so,  I  will  be  gone  the  sooner, 
ni  to  the  Centaur,  to  go  seek  this  slave ; 
I  greatly  fear,  my  money  is  not  safe.  [Exit. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — A  public  Place. 
Enter  Adriana  oiwc/Luciana. 

Adr.  Neither  my  husband,  nor  the  slave  return'd, 
That  in  such  haste  1  sent  to  seek  his  master  ! 
Sure,  Luciana,  it  is  two  o'clock. 

Luc.  Perhaps,  some  merchant  hath  invited  him. 
And  from  the  mart  he's  somewhere  gone  to  dinner. 
Good  sister,  let  us  dine,  and  never  fret: 
A  man  is  master  of  his  liberty: 
Time  is  their  master;  and,  when  they  see  time. 
They'll  go,  or  come:  if  so,  be  patient,  sister. 

Adr.  Why  should  their  liberty  than  ours  be  more? 

Luc.  Because  their  business  still  lies  out  o'door. 

Adr.  Look,  when  I  serve  him  so,  he  takes  it  ill. 

Luc.  O,  know,  he  is  the  bridle  of  your  will. 

Adr.  There's  none,  but  asses,  will  be  bridled  so. 

Luc.  Why,  headstrong  liberty  is  lasli'd  with  woe. 
There's  nothing,  situate  under  heaven's  eye, 
But  hath  its  bound,  in  earth,  in  sea,  in  sky  : 
'J'he  beasts,  the  fishes,  and  the  winged  fowls. 
Are  their  malt-s'  subject,  and  at  their  controls: 
Men,  more  divine,  the  masters  of  all  these. 
Lords  of  the  wide  world,  and  wild  wat'ry  seas, 
Indued  with  intellectual  sense  and  souls. 
Of  more  pre-eminence  than  fish  and  fowls. 
Are  masters  to  their  females,  and  their  lords  : 
Then  let  your  will  attend  on  their  accords. 

Adr.  'V\i\=i  servitude  makes  you  to  keep  unwed. 

Luc.  Not  this,  but  trembles  of  the  marriage-bed. 

Adr.  But,  were  you  wedded,  you  would  bear 
some  sway. 

Luc.  Ere  I  learn  love,  I'll  practise  to  obey. 

Adr.  How  if  your  husband  start  some  other  where? 

Luc.  'i'ill  he  come  home  again,  I  would  forbear. 

Adr.  Patience,  unmov'd,  no  marvel  though  she 
pause ; 

They  can  be  meek,  that  have  no  other  cause. 
A  wretched  soul,  bruis'd  with  adversity. 
We  bid  be  quiet,  when  we  hear  it  cry; 
But  were  we  burden'd  with  like  weight  of  pain. 
As  much,  or  more,  we  should  ourselves  complain  : 
So  thou,  that  hast  no  unkind  mate  to  grieve  thee. 
With  urging  helpless  patience  would'st  relieve  me: 
But,  if  thou  live  to  see  like  right  bereft. 
This  tbol-begg'd  patience  in  thee  will  be  left. 

Luc.  Well,  i  will  marry  one  day,  but  to  try ; — 
Here  comes  your  man,  now  is  your  husband  nigh. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Adr.  Say,  is  your  tardy  muster  now  at  hand? 
Dro.  E.  Nay,  he  is  at  two  hands  with  me,  and 
Jhat  my  two  ears  can  witness. 

Adr.  Say,  didst  thou  speak  with  him  ?  know'st 

thou  his  mind  ? 
./^**{».  E   Ay,  ay,  he  told  his  mind  upon  mine  ear: 


Beshrew  his  hand,  I  scarce  c(  uld  understand  it. 

Luc.  Spake  he  so  daubtluliy,  thou  couldst  not 
feel  his  meaning? 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  he  struck  sn  plainly,  I  could  too 
well  feel  his  blows;  and  withal  so  doubtfully,  that 
I  could  scarce  understand  them. 

Adr.  But  say,  1  pr'ythee,  is  he  coming  home? 
It  seems,  he  hath  great  care  to  please  his  wife. 

Dro.  E.  Why,  mistress,  sure  my  master  is  horn* 
mad ! 

Adr.  Horn-mad,  thon  villain  ?  [stark  mad : 

Dro.  E.  I  mean  not  cuckold-mad  ;  but,  sure,  he'i 
When  I  desir'd  him  to  come  home  to  dinner, 
He  ask'd  me  for  a  thousand  marks  in  gold  : 
'Tis  dinner-time,  quoth  I  ;  My  gold,  quoth  he  : 
1^ our  meat  doth  burn,  quoth  I ;  My  gold,  quoth  he: 
Will  you  come  home  !  quoth  I  ;  My  gold.,  quoth  he  : 
Where  is  the  thousand  marks  I  gave  thee,  villain? 
The  pig,  quoth  I,  is  burnd;  My  gold,  quoth  he: 
My  mistress,  sir,  q\uA\\  I ;  Rang  up  thy  mistresB  f 
1  know  not  thy  mistress  ;  out  on  thy  mistress  ! 

Luc.  Quoth  who? 

Dro.  E.  Quoth  my  master: 
/  know,  quoth  he,  no  house,  no  wife,  no  7nistres8 
So  that  my  errand,  due  unto  my  tongue, 
I  thank  him,  I  bare  home  upon  my  shoulders; 
For,  in  conclusion,  he  did  br  at  me  there. 

Adr.  Go  back  again,  thou  slave,  and  fetch  him 
home. 

Dro.  E.  Go  back  again,  and  be  new  beaten  home  ? 
For  God's  sake,  send  some  other  messenger. 

Adr.  Back,  slave,  or  I  will  break  thy  head  across, 
Dro.  E.  And  he  will  bless  that  cross  with  other 
beating  : 

Between  you  I  shall  have  a  holy  head.  [home. 
Adr.  Hence,  prating  peasant;  fetch  thy  master 
Dro.  E.  Am  I  so  round  with  you,  as  you  with  me. 

That  like  a  football  you  do  spurn  me  thus? 

You  spurn  me  hence,  and  he  will  spurn  me  hither : 

If  I  last  in  this  service,  you  must  case  me  in  leather. 

[Exit 

Luc.  Fy,  how  impatience  lowereth  in  your  face  ' 
Adr.  His  company  must  do  his  minions  grace, 
Whilst  I  at  home  starve  for  a  merry  look. 
Hath  homely  age  the  alluring  beauty  took 
From  my  poor  cheek  ?  then  he  hath  wasted  it : 
Are  my  discourses  dull?  barren  my  wit? 
If  voluble  and  sharp  discourse  be  marrd, 
Unkindness  blunts  it,  more  than  marble  hard. 
Do  tiieir  gay  vestments  his  ati'ections  bait? 
That's  not  my  fault,  he's  master  of  my  state  ;  ' 
What  ruins  are  in  me,  that  can  be  found 
By  him  not  ruin'd  ?  then  is  he  the  ground 
Ol'my  defeatures  :  My  decayed  fair 
A  sunny  look  of  his  would  soon  repair: 
But,  too  unruly  deer,  he  breaks  the  pale, 
And  feeds  from  home  ;  poor  I  am  but  his  stale. 
Luc.  Self-harming  jealousy  ! — fy,  beat  it  hencft 
Adr.  Unfeeling  fools  can  with  such  wrongs  dl^ 
pense. 

I  know  his  eye  doth  homage  otherwhere; 
Or  else,  what  lets  it  but  he  would  be  here? 
Sister,  you  know,  he  promis'd  me  a  chain  ;— 
Would  that  alone  alone  he  would  detain. 
So  he  would  keep  fair  quarter  with  his  bed  I 
I  see,  the  jewel,  best  enamelled. 
Will  lose  his  beauty  ;  and  though  ^o\d  'bides  still 
That  others  touch,  yet  often  touching  will 
Wear  gold  :  and  so  no  man,  that  hath  a  name. 
But  falsehood  and  corruption  doth  it  shame. 
Since  that  my  beauty  cannot  please  his  eye,  | 
I'll  weep  what's  left  away,  and  weeping  die.  > 
Luc.  How  many  fond  fools  serve  n)ad  jealousy  !| 

[Exeunt, 

Scene  II. — The.  same. 
Enter  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Ant.  S.  The  gold,  I  gave  to  Dnnnio,  is  laid  up 
Safe  at  the  Centaur;  and  the  heedful  slave 
Is  wander'd  I'orth,  in  care  to  seek  me  out 


254 

By  computation,  and  mine  host's  report, 

I  couifi  not  speak  wilh  Droinio,  sirire  at  first 

f  sent  him  irom  the  mart  :  See,  here  he  conies. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 
How  now,  sir?  is  your  merry  humour  alter'd? 
A.S  yoti  iove  stro-kes,  so  jest  with  me  aj^ain. 
Vo  l  know  no  Centaur?  yon  receiv'd  no  gold  ? 
Vvir  mistress  sent  to  have  me  home  to  dinner? 
My  ho'.ise  was  at  the  Phoenix?  Wast  thou  mad. 
That  tluis  so  madly  thou  didst  answer  me  ? 
Dro.  S.  What  answer,  sir?  when  spake  I  snch 
a  word?  [since. 
Ant.  S.  Even  now,  even  here,  not  half  an  iionr 
I^ro.  S.  I  did  not  see  yon  since  you  sent  me  lience, 
Home  to  the  Centaur,  with  the  gold  you  gave  me. 
Ant.  S.  Villain,  thou  didst  deny  the  gold's  re- 
ceipt; 

And  told'.st  me  of  a  mistress,  and  a  dinner; 
For  which,  I  hope,  thou  felt'st  I  was  displeas'd. 

Dro.  S.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  this  merry  vein  : 
W  liat  means  this  jest?  I  pray  you,  master,  tell  me. 

Ant.  S.  Yea,  dost  thou  jeer,  and  flout  me  in  the 
teeth  ? 

Think'st  th(»u,  I  jest?  Hold,  take  thou  that,  and 
that.  {Beating  him.) 

Dro.  S.  Hold,  sir,  for  God's  sake  :  now  your  jest 
is  earnest  : 
Upon  v.'hat  bargain  do  yon  j^ive  it  me? 

Ant.  S.  Because  tliat  I  familiarly  sometime 
Do  use  you  for  my  fool,  and  chat  with  you. 
Your  sauciness  will  jest  upon  my  love. 
And  make  a  comtnon  of  my  serious  hours. 
When  the  sun  shines,  let  foolish  gnats  make  sport, 
But  creep  in  crannies,  when  he  hides  his  beams. 
If  you  will  j(;st  with  me,  knovv  my  aspect. 
And  fashion  your  demeanour  to  my  looks, 
Or  I  will  beat  this  method  in  your  sconce. 

Dro.  S.  Sconce,  call  you  it ;  so  you  would  leave 
battering,  I  had  rather  have  it  a  head  ;  an  you  nse 
Ihesft  blows  long,  I  must  get  a  sconce  for  my  head, 
and  ensconce  it  too ;  or  else  1  shall  seek  my  wit  in 
|niy  shoulders.    But,  I  pray,  sir,  why  am  I  beaten? 

At.it.  S.  Dost  thou  not  know? 

Dro.  S.  Nothing,  sir;  but  that  1  am  beaten. 

Aiit.  S.  Shall  I  tell  you  why? 

Dro.  S.  Ay,  sir,  and  wherefore;  for,  they  say, 
every  why  hath  a  wherefore. 

A.nt.  S.  Why,  first — for  flouting  me;  and  then, 
wherefore, — 
For  urging  it  the  second  time  to  me. 

Dro.  S.  Was  there  ever  any  man  thus  beaten  out 
of  season  ? 

When,    in  the  why,  and  the  wherefore,  is  neither 

rhyme  nor  reason  ? 
Well,  sir,  1  thank  you. 

Ant.  S.  Thank  me,  sir?  for  what? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  for  this  something,  that  you 
gave  me  for  nothing. 

Ant.  S.  I'll  make  you  amends  next,  to  give  you 
nothing  for  something.  But  say,  sir,  is  it  dinner 
t/me?  [have. 

Dro.  S.  No,  sir;  1  think,  the  meat  wants  that  I 

Ant.  S.  In  good  time,  sir,  what's  that? 

Dro.  S.  Basting. 

Ant.  S.  Well,  sir,  then  'twill  be  dry. 

Dro.  S.  if  it  be,  sir,  I  pray  you  eat  none  of  it. 

Ant.  S.  Your  reason? 

Dro.  S.  Lest  it  make  you  choleric,  and  purchase 
me  another  dry  basting. 

A7it.  S.  Well,  sir,  learn  to  jest  in  good  time; 
There's  a  time  for  all  things. 

Dro.  S  I  durst  have  denied  that,  before  you  were 
■o  cho!e'--v. 

Avt.  S.  By  what  rule,  sir? 

Dro  S.  Marry,  sir,  by  a  rule  as  plain  as  the  plain 
bald  pate  of  father  Time  himself. 
Ant.  S.  Let's  hear  it. 

Dro.  S.  There's  no  time  for  a  man  to  recover  his 
hair,  mat  grows  bald  by  nature. 


Act  II. 

Ant.  S.  May  he  not  do  it  by  fine  and  recovery? 

Dro.  S,  Yes,  to  pay  a  fine  for  his  peruke,  aad 
recover  the  lost  hair  of  another  man. 

Ant.  S.  Why  is  Time  such  a  niggard  of  hair,  b©« 
ing,  as  it  is,  so  plentiful  an  excreinett? 

Dro.  S.  Because  it  is  a  blessing  that  he  hestowf 
on  beasts  :  and  what  he  hath  scanted  men  in  hair, 
he  hath  given  them  in  wit. 

Ant.  S.  Why,  but  there's  many  a  man  hath  more 
hair  than  wit.  [to  lose  his  hair. 

Dro.  S.  Not  a  man  of  those  but  he  hath  the  wit 

Ant.  S.  Why,  thou  didst  conclude  hairy  mec  t-laiu 
dealers  without  wit. 

Dro.  S.  The  plainer  dealer,  the  sooner  lost :  Yfi 
he  loseth  it  in  a  kind  of  jollity. 

Ant.  S.  For  what  reason? 

Dro.  S.  For  two ;  and  sound  ones  too. 

Ant.  S.  Nay,  not  sound,  I  pray  you. 

Dro.  S.  Sure  ones,  then. 

Ant.  S.  Nay,  not  sure,  in  a  thing  falsing, 

Dro.  S.  Certain  ones,  then. 

Ant.  S.  Name  them. 

Dro.  S.  The  one,  to  save  the  money  that  he  spends 
in  tiring :  the  other,  that  at  dinner  they  should  not 
drop  in  his  porridge. 

Ant.  S.  You  would  all  this  time  have  proved, 
there  is  no  time  for  all  things. 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  and  did,  sir;  namely,  no  time  to 
recover  hair  lost  by  nature. 

Ant.  S.  But  your  reason  was  not  substantial,  why 
there  is  no  time  to  recover. 

Dro.  S.  Thus  1  mend  it :  Time  himself  is  bald, 
and  therefore,  to  the  world's  end,  will  have  bald  fol- 
lowers. 

Ant.  S.  I  knew,  'twould  be  a  bald  conclusion : 
But  soft!  who  wafts  us  yonder? 

Enter  Adriana  and  Luciana. 

Adr.  Ay,  ay,  Antipholus,  look  strange,  and  frovm; 
Some  other  mistress  hath  thy  sweet  aspects, 
I  am  not  Adriana,  nor  thy  wife. 
The  time  was  once,  when  thou  unurg'd  wouldstTW, 
That  never  words  were  music  to  thine  ear, 
That  never  object  pleasing  in  thine  eye. 
That  never  touch  well-welcome  to  thy  hand. 
That  never  meat  sweet-savour'd  in  thy  taste, 
Unle.ss  I  spake,  look'd,  touch'd,  or  carv'd  to  thee. 
How  comes  it  now,  my  husband,  oh,  how  comes 
That  thou  art  then  estranged  from  thyself: 
Tliyself  T  call  it,  being  strange  to  ine. 
That,  undividable,  incorporate. 
Am  better  than  thy  dear  self's  better  part. 
Ah,  do  not  tear  away  thyself  from  me; 
For  know,  my  love,  as  easy  may'st  thou  fall 
A  drop  of  water  in  the  breaking  gulph. 
And  take  unmingled  thence  that  drop  again. 
Without  addition,  or  diminishing. 
As  take  from  me  thyself,  and  not  me  too. 
How  dearly  would  it  touch  thee  to  the  quick, 
Shouldst  thou  but  hear  I  were  licentious? 
And  that  this  body,  consecrate  to  thee. 
By  ruft^ian  lust  should  be  contaminate? 
Wouldst  thou  not  spit  at  me,  and  spurn  at  me. 
And  hurl  the  name  of  husband  in  my  face. 
And  tear  the  stain'd  skin  oft' my  harlot  brow. 
And  from  my  false  hand  cut  the  wedding-ring. 
And  break  it  with  a  deep-divorcing  vow  ? 
I  know  thou  canst;  and  therefore,  see,  thou  do  iL 
I  am  possess'd  with  an  adulterate  blot; 
My  blood  is  mingled  with  the  crime  of  lust  : 
For,  if  we  two  be  one,  and  tliou  play  false, 
I  do  digest  the  poison  of  thy  flesh. 
Being  strumpeted  by  thy  contagion. 
Keep  then  fair  league  and  truce  with  thy  true  bed; 
1  live  dis-stain'd,  thou  undishononred. 

Ant.  S.  Plead  you  to  me,  lair  dame  ?  I  know  yon 
In  E()hesus  I  am  but  two  hours  old,  [not ; 

As  strange  unto  your  town,  as  to  your  talk; 
Who,  every  word  by  all  my  wit  being  stann  d, 
Want  wit  in  all  one  word  to  understand. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  III.  Scene  1. 

Luc.  Fy,  brother!  how  the  world  is  chaiig'd  with 
you  I 

When  were  yon  wont  to  use  my  sister  thus? 
She  sent  for  yoi!  by  Dromio  home  to  dinner. 
Ant.  S.  By  Dromio? 

Dro.  S.  By  me?  [him,— 
Adr.  By  thee  ;  and  this  thou  didst  return  from 
That  iip  did  buffet  thee,  and,  in  his  blows. 
Denied  my  house  for  his,  me  for  his  wife. 
Ani.  S.  Did  you  converse,  sir,  with  this  gentle- 
woman ? 

What  is  the  course  and  drift  of  your  compact? 

Dro.  S.  I,  sir?  I  never  saw  her  till  this  time. 

Ant.  S.  Villain,  thou  best;  for  even  her  very  words 
Didst  tliou  deliver  to  me  on  the  mart. 

Dro.  S.  I  never  spake  with  her  in  all  my  life. 

A7it.  S.  How  can  she  thus  then  call  us  by  our 
names. 

Unless  it  be  by  inspiration? 

Adr.  How  ill  agrees  it  with  your  gravity. 
To  counterfeit  thus  grossly  with  your  slave,  I 
Abetting  him  to  thwart  me  in  my  mood  ? 
Be  it  my  wrong,  you  are  from  me  exempt. 
But  wrong  not  that  wrong  with  a  more  contempt. 
Come,  I  will  fasten  on  this  sleeve  of  thine  : 
Thou  art  an  elm,  my  husband,  I  a  vine; 
Whose  weakness,  married  to  thy  stronger  state. 
Makes  me  with  thy  strength  to  communicate  : 
If  aught  possess  thee  from  me,  it  is  dross, 
Usurping  ivy,  brier,  or  idle  moss; 
Who,  all  for  want  of  pruning,  with  intrusion 
Infect  thy  sap,  and  live  on  thy  confusion. 

Ani.  S.  To  me  she  speaks  ;  she  moves  me  for  her 
theme : 

What,  was  I  married  to  her  in  my  dream  ? 
Or  sleep  I  now,  and  think  I  hear  all  tliis  ? 
What  error  drives  our  eyes  and  ears  amiss? 
Uhtil  I  know  this  sure  uncertainty. 
Ml  entertain  the  oflVr'd  fallacy. 

Luc.  Diomio,  go  bid  the  servants  spread  for 
dinner. 

Drc.  S.  O,  for  my  beads!  I  cross  me  for  a 
sinner. 

This  is  the  fairy  land  ; — O,  spite  of  spiles ! — 
We  talk  with  goblins,  owls,  and  elvish  sprites; 
If  we  obey  them  not,  this  will  ensue. 
They'll  suck  our  breath,  or  pinch  us  black  and  blue. 

Luc.  Why  prat'st  thou  to  thyself,  and  answer'st 
not'?  [sot? 
Dromio,  thou  drone,  thou  snail,  thou  sing,  thou 

Dro.  S.  I  am  transformed,  master,  am  not  I  ? 

Ant.  S.  I  tliink,  thou  art,  in  mind,  and  so  am  I. 

Dro.  S.  Nay,  master,  both  in  mind,  and  in  my 
shape. 

Ant.  S.  Thou  hast  thine  own  form. 
Dro.  S.  No,  I  am  an  ape. 

Luc.  If  thou  art  chang'd  to  aught,  'tis  to  an  ass. 
Dro.  S.  'Tis  true ;  she  rides  me,  and  I  long  for 
grass. 

"Tis  so,  1  am  an  ass;  else  it  could  never  be, 
But  I  should  know  her,  as  well  as  she  knows  me. 

Adr.  Come,  come,  no  longer  will  I  be  a  fool. 
To  put  the  finger  in  the  eye  and  weep, 
Whilst  man  and  master  laugh  my  woes  to  scorn. — 
Come,  sir,  to  dinner;  Dromio,  keep  the  gate  : — 
Husband,  Til  dine  above  with  you  to  day. 
And  shrive  you  of  a  thousand  idle  pranks  : — 
Sirrah,  il  any  ask  you  for  your  master. 
Say,  he  dines  forth,  and  let  no  creature  enter. — 
Come,  sister: — Drouiio,  play  the  porter  well. 

Ant.  S.  Am  1  in  earth,  in  heaven,  or  in  hell? 
Sleeping  or  waking  ?  mad,  or  well-advis'd  ? 
Known  unto  these,  and  to  myself  disgui.s'd  ! 
ril  say  as  they  say,  and  pers^ver  so. 
And  in  this  mist  at  all  adventures  go. 

Dro.  S.  Master,  shall  I  be  porter  at  the  gate? 

Adr.  Ay;  and  let  none  enter,  lest  I  break  your 
pate. 

Luc.  Come,  come,  Antipholug,  we  dine  too  late. 

[Exeunt. 


255 

ACT  III. 
Scene  I. — The  smnc 
'Enter  Antipholus  ofEphesus,  DnoMio  of  Ephesm, 
Angelo,  and  Balthazar. 
Ant.  E.  Good  signior  Angelo,  you  must  xcutc 
us  all ; 

My  wife  is  shrewish  when  I  keep  not  hours  • 
Say,  that  I  linger'd  with  you  at  your  shop. 
To  see  the  making  of  her  carkanet, 
Apd  that  to-morrow  you  will  bring  it  home. 
But  here's  a  villain  that  would  face  me  down; 
He  met  me  on  the  mart:  and  that  I  beat  liim, 
And  charg'd  him  with  a  thousand  marks  in  gold{ 
And  that  I  did  deny  my  wife  and  house  : 
Thou  drunkard,  thou,  what  didst  thou  mean  by 
this?  [I  know; 

Dro.  E.  Say  what  you  will,  sir,  but  I  know  what 
That  you  beat  me  at  the  mart,  I  have  your  hand  to 
show  :  [Rave  were  ink, 

If  the  skin  were  parchment,  and  the  blows  you 
Your  own  hand-writing  would  tell  you  what  1  think. 

Ant.  E.  I  think,  thou  art  an  ass. 

Dro.  E.  Marry,  so  it  doth  appear 

By  the  wrongs  I  suffer,  and  the  blows  I  bear. 
I  should  kick,  being  kick'd  ;  and  being  at  that  pass, 
You  would  keep  from  my  heels,  and  beware  of  an 
ass. 

Ant.  E.  You  are  sad,  signior  Balthazar :  'Pray 
God,  our  cheer  [here. 
May  answer  my  good  will,  and  your  good  welcome 
Bal.  I  hold  your  dainties  cheap,  sir,  and  your 
welcome  dear.  [fish, 
A?it.  E.  O,  signior  Balthazar,  either  at  flesh  or 
A  table  full  of  welcome  makes  scarce  one  dainty  dish. 
Bal.  Good  meat,  sir,  is  common ;  that  every 

churl  affords. 
Ant.  E.  And  welcome  more  common ;  for  that's 

nothing  but  words. 
Bal.  Small  cheer,  and  great  welcome,  makes 

merry  feast.  [ing  guer'  . 

Ant.  E.  Ay,  to  a  niggardly  host,  and  more  spar- 
But  though  ray  cates  be  mean,  take  them  in  good 
part;  [heart. 
Better  cheer  may  you  have,  but  not  with  better 
But,  soft;  my  door  is  lock'd;  Go  bid  them  let  us 
in.  [Jenl 
Dro.  E.  Maud,  Bridget,  Marian,  Cicely,  Gillian , 
Dro.  S.   ( V/ilhin.)  Mome,  malt-horse,  capon, 
coxcomb,  idiot,  patch! 
Either  get  thee  from  the  door,  or  sit  down  at  the 
hatch  :  [such  store. 

Dost  thou  conjure  for  wenches,  that  thou  call'st  for 
When  one  is  one  too  many  ?    Go,  get  thee  from 
the  door. 

Dro.  E.  What  patch  is  made  our  porter?  My 

master  stays  in  the  street. 
Dro.  S.  Let  him  walk  from  whence  he  came,  lest 

he  catch  cold  on's  feet. 
Ant.  E.  Who  talks  within  there?  ho, open  the  door. 
Dta.  S.  Right,  sir,  I'll  tell  you  when,  an  you'll 

tell  me  wherefore. 
Ant.  iJ.  Wherefore?  for  my  dinner?  I  haienot 

din'd  to-day. 
Dro.  S.  Nor  to-day  here  you  must  not;  come 

again,  when  you  may. 
Ant.  E.  What  art  thou,  that  keep'st  iiie  out  from 

the  house  I  owe  ? 
Dro.  S.  The  porter  for  this  time,  sir,  and  lay 

name  is  Dromio, 
Dro.  E.   O  villain,  ihon  hast  stolen  hcth  mine 

office  and  my  name  ;  [blame. 
The  one  ne'er  got  me  credit,  the  other  niickle 
If  thou  hadst  been  Dromio  to- day  in  my  place. 
Thou  wouidst  have  chang'd  thy  tace  for  a  name,  or 

thy  name  for  an  ass. 
Luce.  {Wit/mi.)  What  a  coil  is  there  !  Dromio, 

who  are  those  at  the  gate  ? 
Dro.  E.  Let  my  master  in,  Luce. 
Luce.  Faith  no  ;  he  cornea  too  latc- 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


255 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  in. 


And  so  tell  your  master. 

Dra.  E.  O  lord,  I  must  laugh : — 

Have  at  yon  with  a  proverb. — Shall  1  set  in  my 

staff?  [can  yon  tell? 

Luce.  Have  at  yon  with  another:  that's, — When  ? 
Dro,  S.  If  thy  name  be  called  Luce,  Luce,  thou 

hast  answer  d  him  well. 
Ant.  E.  Do  you  hear,  you  minion  ?  you'll  let  us 

in,  I  hope  ? 
Luce.  I  thought  to  have  ask'd  yon. 
Dro.  S.  And  you  said  no. 

Dro.  E.  So,  come,  help  ;  weSl  struck  ;  there  was 

blow  for  blow. 
Ant.  E.  Tliou  baggage,  let  me  in. 
ljucf.  Can  you  tell  for  whose  sake? 

Dro.  E.  Master,  knock  the  (ioiir  hard. 
Luct.  Let  hirtj  knock  till  it  ache. 

A?it.  E.  You'll  cry  for  this,  minion,  if  I  beat  the 

door  down. 

Luc€.  What  needs  all  this,  and  a  pair  of  stocks 
^  in  the  town  ? 

*    Adr,  iTVith'm.)  Who  is  that  at  the  door,  that 
keeps  uli  this  noise  ?  (unruly  boys. 

Dro.  S.  By  my  troth,  your  town  is  troubled  with 
Ant.  E.  Are  you  there,  wife  ?  you  might  have 
come  before.  [door. 
Adr.  Your  vvife,  sir  knave  !  go,  get  you  from  the 
Dro.  E.  If  you  went  in  pain,  master,  this  knave 

would  go  sore. 
Ang  Here  is  neither  cheer,  sir,  nor  welcome ; 

we  would  fain  have  either. 
Bal.  In  debating  which  was  best,  we  shall  part 

with  neither, 
Dro.  E.  They  stand  at  the  door,  master;  bid 

them  welcome  hither. 
Ant.  E.  There  is  something  in  the  wind,  that  we 

cannot  get  in. 
Dro.  E.  You  would  say  so,  master,  if  your  gar- 
ments were  thin. 
Vour  Crtke  here  is  warm  within;  you  stand  here  in 
the  cold  :  [and  sold, 

ll  would  make  a  man  mad  as  a  buck,  to  be  so  bought 
Ant.  E.  Go,  fetch  me  something,  I'll  break  ope 
the  gate.  [your  knave's  pate. 

Dro.  S.  Break  any  breaking  here,  and  I'll  break 
Dro.  E.  A  man  may  break  a  word  with  yo  ,  sir ; 
and  words  are  but  wind;  [behind. 
A  y,  and  break  it  in  your  face,  so  he  break  it  not 
Dro.  S.  It  seems  thou  wantest  breaking :  Out 

upon  thee,  hind ! 
Dro.  E.  Here's  too  much,  out  upon  thee  !  I  pray 

thee,  let  me  in. 
Dro.  S.  Ay,  when  fowls  have  no  feathers,  and 
fish  have  no  tin.  [crow. 
Ant.  E.  W ell,  I'll  break  in :  Go,  borrow  me  a 
Dro.  E.  A  crow  without  a  feather;  master,  mean 
you  so  ?  [feather: 
For  a  fish  without  a  fin,  there's  a  fowl  without  a 
If  a  crow  help  us  in,  sirrah,  we'll  pluck  a  crow  to- 
gether, icrow. 
Ant.  E.  Go,  get  thee  gone,  fetch  me  an  iron 
Bal.  Have  patience,  sir;  O,  let  it  not  be  so; 
Herein  you  war  against  your  reputation, 
And  draw  within  the  compass  of  suspect 
The  unviolated  honour  of  your  wife. 
Once  this, — Your  long  experience  of  her  wisdom. 
Her  sober  virtue,  years,  and  modesty, 
Plead  on  her  part  some  cause  to  you  unknown  ; 
And  doubt  not,  sir,  but  she  will  well  excuse 
Why  at  this  time  the  doors  are  made  against  you. 
Be  rul'd  by  me;  depart  in  patience, 

nd  let  us  to  the  Tiger  all  to  dinner: 
And,  about  evening,  come  yourself  alone. 
To  know  the  reason  of  this  strange  restraint. 
If  by  strong  hard  you  ofler  to  break  in. 
Now  in  the  stirring  passage  of  the  day, 
A  vulg-ar  comment  will  be  made  ou  it; 
And  that  supposed  by  the  common  rout 
^   Against  your  yet  ungalled  estimation, 
V  That  may  with  foul  intrusion  enter  in. 


And  dwell  upon  your  grave  when  you  are  dead  : 
For  slander  lives  upon  succession  ; 
For  ever  hous'd,  where  it  once  gets  possession. 
Ant.  E.  You  have  prevail'd  ;  1  will  depart  ia 
qniet, 

And,  in  despite  of  mirth,  mean  to  be  merry. 
I  know  a  wench  of  excellent  discourse, — 
Pretty  and  witty;  wild  and  yet,  too,  gentle;— 
There  will  we  dine  :  this  woman  that  I  meau 
My  wife  (but  1  protest,  without  desert,) 
Hath  oftentimes  upbraided  me  withal ; 
To  her  will  we  to  dinner. — Get  you  home. 
And  fetch  the  chain  ;  by  this,  I  know,  'tis  mad«: 
Bring  it,  I  pray  you,  to  the  Porcupine  ; 
For  there's  the  house  ;  that  chain  will  1  bestow 
(Be  it  for  nothing  but  to  spite  my  wife,) 
Upon  mine  hostess  there  :  good  sir,  make  haste : 
Since  mine  own  doors  refuse  to  entertain  me, 
I  II  knock  elsewhere,  to  see  if  they'll  disdain  me. 
Any.  I'll  meet  you  at  that  place,  some  honr 
hence. 

Ant.  E.  Do  so ;  this  jest  shall  cost  me  some 
expense.  [Exeunt 

Scene  U.—T/ie  same. 
Enter  Luciana       Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Luc.  And  may  it  be,  that  you  have  quite  forgot 
A  husbat)d's  office  ?  shall,  Antipholus,  hate, 
Even  in  the  spring  of  love,  thy  love-springs  rot? 

SliaJl  love,  in  building,  grow  so  ruinate  ? 
If  you  did  wed  my  sister  for  her  wealtii, 

Then,  for  her  wealth's  sake,  use  her  with  mere 
kindness  : 

Or,  if  you  like  elsewhere,  do  it  by  stealth; 
Muffle  your  false  love  with  some  show  of  blind- 
ness : 

Let  not  my  sister  read  it  in  your  eye  ; 

Be  not  thy  tongue  thy  own  shame's  orator; 
Look  sweet,  speak  lair,  become  disloyalty  ; 

Apparel  vice  like  virtue's  harbinger: 
Bear  a  fair  presence,  though  your  heart  be  tainted  ; 

Teach  sin  the  carriage  of  a  holy  saint; 
Be  secret-false  :  What  need  she  be  acquainted  ? 

What  simple  thief  brags  of  his  own  attaint? 
'Tis  double  wrong,  to  truant  with  your  bed. 

And  let  her  read  it  in  thy  looks  at  board  : 
Shame  hath  a  bastard  fame,  well  managed  ; 

III  deeds  are  doubled  with  an  evil  word. 
Alas,  j;oor  women  !  make  us  but  believe. 

Being  compact  of  credit,  that  you  love  us ; 
Though  others  have  the  arm,  show  us  the  sleeve ; 

We  in  your  motion  turn,  and  you  may  move  us. 
Then,  gentle  brother,  get  you  in  a-gain ; 

Comfort  my  sister,  cheer  her,  call  her  wife ; 
'Tis  holy  sport,  to  be  a  little  vain. 

When  the  sweet  breath  of  flattery  conquers  strife. 
Ant.  S.  Sweet  mistress,  (what  your  name  is  else, 
I  know  not, 

Nor  by  what  wonder  you  do  hit  on  mine,) 
Less,  in  your  knowledge,  and  your  grace,  yo« 
show  not. 

Than  our  earth's  wonder ;  more  than  earth  divine. 
Teach  me,  dear  creature,  how  to  think  and  speak ; 

Lay  open  to  my  earthly  gross  conceit, 
Smother'd  in  errors,  feeble,  shallow,  weak. 

The  folded  meaning  of  your  words'  deceit. 
Against  my  soul's  pure  truth  why  labour  you, 

To  make  it  wander  in  an  unknown  field  ? 
Are  you  a  god  ?  would  you  create  me  new? 

Transform  me  then,  and  to  your  power  I'll  yield 
But  if  that  I  am  I,  then  well  I  knovy. 

Your  weeping  sister  is  no  wife  of  mine, 
Nor  to  her  bed  no  homage  do  I  owe  ;  ^ 

Far  more,  far  more,  to  you  do  1  decline. 
O,  train  me  not,  sweet  mermaid,  with  thy  note. 

To  drown  me  in  thy  sister's  flood  of  tears; 
Sing,  siren,  for  thyself,  and  I  vvill  dcte : 

Spread  o'er  the  silver  waves  thy  golden  haira. 
And  as  a  bed  I'W  take  t.\ee,  and  there  lift; 

And.  m  that  glorious  supposition,  think 


Act  IV.    Scene  1. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


25T 


He  gains  by  death,  that  h-th  such  means  to  die : — 
Let  love,  being  light,  be  (iiowned  il'she  sinit! 
Luc.  VVhat,  are  you  mad,  that  you  do  reason  so2 
Ant.  S.  Not  mad,  but  mated;  how,  I  do  not 
know. 

Luc.  It  is  a  fault,  that  springeth  from  your  eye. 
Ant.  S.  For  gazing  on  your  beams,  lair  sun, 

being  by.  [your  siglit. 

Luc.  Gaze  where  you  should,  and  that  will  clear 
Ant.  S.  As  good  to  wink,  sweet  love,  as  look  on 

roglit. 

Luc.  Why  call  you  me  love  ?  call  my  sister  so. 

Ant.  S.  Tijy  sister's  sister. 

Lug.  That's  my  sister. 

Ant.  S.  •  No ; 

It  IS  thyself,  mine  own  selfs  better  part; 
Mine  eye's  clear  eye,  my  dear  heart's  dearer  heart; 
My  food,  my  iortune,  and  my  sweet  hope's  aim, 
My  sole  earth's  heaven,  and  my  heaven's  claim. 

Luc.  All  this  my  sister  is,  or  else  should  be. 

Ant.  S.  Call  thyself  sister,  sweet,  for  1  aio.  thee: 
I'liee  will  I  love,  and  with  thee  lead  my  life; 
Tliou  hast  no  husband  yet,  nor  I  no  wife : 
Give  me  thy  hand. 

Luc.  O,  soft,  sir,  hold  you  still ; 

I'll  fetch  my  sister,  to  get  her  good  will.  [Ex\.\ 

Enter,  from  the  house  of  A  ntipholus  of  Ephesus, 
Dromio  of  kiyracu.se. 

Ant.  S.  Why,  how  now,  Dromio  ?  where  run'st 
thou  so  fast  ? 

Dro.  S.  Do  you  know  me,  sir?  am  I  Dromio? 
ajn  I  your  man  ?  am  I  myself? 

Ant.  S.  Thou  art  Dromio,  thou  art  my  man,  thou 
art  thyself 

Dry.  S.  I  am  an  ass,  1  am  a  woman's  man,  and 
besides  myself.  [thyself? 

Ant.  S.  What  woman's  man?  and  how  besides 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  besides  myself,  I  am  due  to 
8  woman ;  one  that  claims  me,  one  that  haunts  me, 
one  that  will  have  ine. 

Ant.  S.  VVhat  claim  lays  she  to  thee  ? 

Ore.  S.  Marry,  sir,  such  claim  as  you  would  lay 
i-T  your  horse  ;  and  she  would  have  me  as  a  beast  : 
not  that,  I  being  a  beast,  she  would  have  me ;  but 
tl'.at  she,  being  a  very  beastly  creature,  lays  claim 

A?it.  S.  What  is  she  ?  [to  me. 

Dro.  S.  A  very  reverent  body ;  ay,  such  a  one 
as  a  man  may  not  speak  of,  without  he  say,  sir- 
reverence  :  I  have  but  lean  luck  in  the  match,  and 
yet  is  she  a  wondrous  fat  marriage  ? 

Ant.  S.  How  dost  thou  mean,  a  fat  marriage? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  she's  the  kitchen-wench,  and 
all  grease;  and  I  know  not  what  use  to  put  her  to, 
but  to  make  a  lamp  of  her,  and  run  from  her  by 
her  own  light.  I  warrant,  her  rags,  and  the  tallow 
in  them,  will  burn  a  Poland  winter:  if  she  lives 
till  doomsday,  she'll  burn  a  week  longer  than  the 
whole  world. 

Ant.  S.  What  complexion  is  she  of? 

Dro.  S.  Swa'-t,  like  my  shoe,  but  her  face  nothing 
like  so  clean  kept;  For  why,  she  sweats,  a  man  may 
gi)  over  shoes  in  the  grime  of  it. 

Ant.  S.  That's  a  fault,  that  water  will  mend. 

Dro.  S.  No,  sir,  'tis  in  grain ;  Noah's  flood  could 

Ant.  S.  What's  her  name  ?  [not  do  it. 

Dro.  S.  Nell,  sir; — but  her  name  and  three 
quarters,  that  is,  an  ell  and  three  quarters,  will  not 
measure  her  from  hip  to  hip. 

Ant.  S.  Then  she  bears  some  breadth  ? 

Dro.  S.  No  longer  from  head  to  foot,  than  from 
hip  to  hip  -  she  is  spherical,  like  a  globe;  I  could 
find  out  ciuntries  in  her. 

Afit.  S.  In  what  part  of  her  body  stands  Ireland  ? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  in  her  buttocks ;  I  found  it 
out  by  the  bogs. 

Ant.  S.  Where  Scotland  ? 

Dro.  S.  I  found  it  by  the  barrenneas ;  hard,  in  the 
palm  of  the  hand. 
Ant.  S.  Where  France  ? 


Dro.  S.  In  her  forehead ;  armed  and  reverted, 

making  war  against  her  hair. 
Ant.  S.  Where  England  ? 

Dro.  S.  I  looked  for  the  cha  cliffs,  b«it  I  cortld 
find  no  whiteness  in  them;  but  1  guess,  it  stood  ia 
her  chin,  by  the  salt  rheum  that  ran  between  France 
and  it. 

Ant.  S.  Where  Spain?  [her  breath. 

Dro.  S.  Faith,  I  saw  it  not;  but  I  felt  it,  hot  ia 

Ant.  S.  Where  America,  the  India's? 

Dro.  S.  Of  sir,  upon  her  nose,  all  o'er  embel 
lished  with  rubies,  carbuncles,  sapphires,  declining; 
their  rich  aspect  to  the  hot  breath  of  Spain  ;  who  sent 
whole  armadas  of  carracks,  to  be  ballast  to  her  nose 

AnS.  S.  Where  stood  Belgia,  the  Netheilands? 

Dro.  S.  O,  sir,  I  did  not  look  so  low.  To  con- 
clude, this  drudge,  or  diviner,  laid  claim  to  me; 
called  me  Dromio;  swore,  I  was  assured  to  her; 
told  me  what  privy  marks  I  had  about  me,  as  the 
mark  on  my  shoulder,  the  mole  in  my  neck,  the 
great  wart  on  my  lei't  arm,  that  I,  amazed,  ran 
from  her  as  a  witcl*  .  and,  I  think,  if  my  breast 
had  not  been  made  of  faifh,  and  my  heart  of  steel, 
she  had  transfGrn>vd  me  to  a  curtail-dog,  and  made 
me  turn  i'the  wheel. 

Ant.  S.  Go,  hie  thee  presently,  post  to  the  road  ; 
And  if  the  wind  bl'  vv  any  way  from  shore, 
I  will  not  harbour  in  this  town  to-night. 
If  any  bark  put  forth,  come  to  the  mart. 
Where  I  will  walk  till  thou  retu'"a  to  me. 
M'  every  one  know  us-  and  we  know  none, 
'Tis  time,  I  think,  ti'  trudge,  pack,  and  be  gone. 

Dro.  S.  As  from  ct  bear  a  man  would  run  for  life, 
Sc  fly  I  from  her,  that  would  be  my  wife.  [Emi. 

Ant.  S.  There's  none  but  witches  do  inhabit  here ; 
And  therefore  'tis  high  time  that  I  were  he.:5ce. 
She,  that  doth  call  me  husband,  even  my  sou 
Doth  for  a  wife  abhor  :  but  her  fair  sister, 
Possess'd  with  sufh  a  gentle  sovereign  grace. 
Of  such  enchanting  presence  and  discourse. 
Hath  almost  made  me  traitor  to  myself: 
But,  lest  myself  b**  guilty  to  self-wrong, 
I'll  stop  mine  ears  against  the  mermaid's  song. 

E7iter  Angelo. 

Ang.  Master  Antipholus  ? 

Ant.  S.  Ay,  that's  my  name. 

Ang.  I  know  it  well,  sir ;  Lo,  here  is  the  chain  : 
I  thought  to  have  ta'en  you  at  the  Porcupine  : 
The  chain  unfinish'd  made  me  stay  thus  long. 

Ant.  S.  What  is  your  will,  that  I  shall  do  wi<h 
this  ^  [for  you. 

Ang.  What  please  yourself,  sir ;  I  have  made  it 

Ant.  S.  Made  it  for  me,  sir!  I  bespoke  it  not. 

Ang.  Not  once,  nor  twice,  but  twenty  times  you 
have  : 

Go  home  with  it,  and  please  your  wife  withal ; 
And  soon  at  supper-time  FU  visit  you. 
And  then  receive  my  money  for  the  chain. 

A7it.  S.  I  pray  you,  sir,  receive  the  money  now. 
For  fear  you  ne'er  see  chain,  nor  money,  more. 

Ang.  You  are  a  merry  man,  sir;  fare  you  well. 

[Exit. 

Ant.  S.  What  I  should  think  of  this  I  cannot 
But  this  I  think,  there's  no  man  is  so  vain,  [tell-. 
That  would  refuse  so  fair  an  oiFer'd  chain. 
I  see,  a  man  here  needs  not  live  by  shifts. 
When  in  the  streets  he  meets  such  golden  gifl^. 
I'll  to  the  mart,  and  there  for  Dromio  stay ; 
If  any  ship  put  out,  then  straight  away.  [EatU 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — The  same 
Enter  a  Merchant,  Angelo,  and  an  Officsv, 
Mer.  You  know,  since  Pentecost  the  sum  is  due, 
And  since  I  have  not  much  importun'd  you  ; 
Nor  now  I  had  not,  but  that  I  am  bound 
To  Persia,  and  want  gilders  for  my  voyage: 
Therefore  make  present  satisfaction, 
17 


758 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  IV. 


Or  I'll  attach  you  by  this  ofBcer. 

Ang.  Even  jnst  tlie  sum,  that  I  do  owe  to  yon, 

growing  to  me  by  Antipiiolus  : 
And  ill  t.'ie  instant,  that  I  met  with  you. 
He  had  of  me  a  chain  ;  at  five  o'clooii, 
I  shall  receive  the  nM)ney  for  the  same: 
Pleasetli  you  walk  with  me  down  to  his  house, 
i  will  discharge  my  bond,  and  thank  you  too. 

Enter  Antipholus  of  Ep/iesus,  and  Dromio  of 
Ephesus. 

Off.  That  labour  may  you  save ;  see  where  he 
comes.  [thou 
Ant.  E.  While  I  go  to  the  goldsmith's  house,  go 
And  buy  a  rope's  end  ;  th^tt  will  I  bestow 
Among  my  wife  and  her  confederates. 
For  locking  me  out  of  my  doors  by  day. — 
But  soft,  1  see  the  goldsmith  : — get  thee  gone  ; 
Buy  thou  a  rope,  and  bring  it  home  to  me. 
Vro.  E.  I  buy  a  thousand  pound  a  year !    I  buy 
a  rope  !  [Exit  Dromio. 

Ant.  E.  A  man  is  well  holp  up,  that  trusts  to 
you  : 

I  promised  your  presence,  and  the  chain ; 
But  neither  ciiain,  nor  goldsmith,  came  to  me: 
Belike,  you  thought  our  love  would  last  too  long, 
If  it  were  chaiu'd  together;  and  therefore  came 
not. 

Ang.  Saving  your  merry  humour,  here's  the  note, 
How^  much  yourchuin  weighs  to  the  utmost  carat; 
The  fineness  of  the  gold,  and  chargeful  fashion  ; 
VVMiich  doth  amount  to  three  odd  ducats  more 
Than  I  stand  debted  to  this  gentleman  : 
1  pray  you,  see  him  presently  diseharg"d. 
For  he  is  bound  to  sea,  and  stays  but  for  it. 

Anf.  E.  I  ain   not  furnish'd  with  the  present 
money ; 

Besides,  I  have  some  business  in  the  town  : 
(iood  signior,  take  the  stranger  to  my  house, 
And  with  you  take  the  chain,  and  bid  my  wife 
Disburse  tlie  sum  on  the  receipt  thereof; 
Perchance^  I  will  be  there  as  soon  as  you. 
Ang.  Then  you  will  bring  the  chain  to  her  your- 
self? [time  enough. 
Ant.  E.  No ;  bear  it  with  yon,  lest  I  come  not 
Ang.    Well,   sir,  I  will:   have  you  the  chain 
about  you  ? 

Ant.  E.  An  if  I  have  not,  sir,  I  hope  you  have  ; 
Dr  else  you  may  return  without  your  money. 
Ang.  JNay,  come,  1  pray  you,  sir,  give  rae  the 
chain ; 

Both  wind  and  tide  stays  for  this  gentleman. 
And  I,  to  blame,  have  held  him  here  too  long. 
Ant.  E.  (Jood  lord,  you  •\se  this  dalliance,  to 

excuse 

Your  breacli  of  promise  to  the  Porcupine  : 
1  should  have  chid  you  for  not  bringing  it, 
But.  like  a  shrew,  you  first  begin  to  brawl. 

Mer.  The  hoar  steals  on :  I  pray  yon,  sir,  de- 
spatch, [chain — 
Ang.  You   hear  how  he  importunes   me;  the 
Ant.  E.   VVhy,  give  it  to  my  wife,  and  fetch 
your  njoney.  [now ; 
Ang.  Come,  come,  you  know,  I  gave  it  yon  even 
E  ther  send  the  ch  iin,  or  send  me  by  some  token. 
Ant.  E.  Fy  !  now  you  run  this  humour  out  of 
breath :  [it. 
Come,  where's  the  chain?  I  pray  you.  let  me  see 

Met   My  business  cannot  brook  this  dalliance  : 
Good  ffir,  say,  wlie'r  you'll  answer  me,  or  no  ; 
li'  not,  1  I!  leave  him  to  the  officer. 
Ant.  E.  I  answer  you  !     What  should  I  answer 
you  ? 

Ang  The  money,  that  you  owe  me  for  the  chain. 
Ant  E.  I  owe  you  none,  till  I  receive  the  chain. 
Ang.  You  know,  I  gave  it  you  half  an  hour 
since. 

Ant.  E.  You  gave  me  none ;  you  wrong  me 

much  to  say  so. 
Ang   You  ^roug  uie  more,  isir,  in  denying  it; 


Consider,  how  it  stands  upon  my  credi*i. 

Mer.  Well,  officer,  arrest  him  at  my  suit 

Off.  I  do;  and  charge  you,  in  the  duke's  nam* 
to  obey  me. 

Ang.  This  touches  me  in  reputation : — 
Either  consent  to  pay  this  sum  for  me, 
Or  I  attach  you  by  this  oliicer. 

Ant.  E.  Consent  to  pay  thee  that  I  never  had ! 
Arrest  me,  foolish  fellow,  if  thou  dar'st. 

Ang.  Here  is  thy  fee;  arrest  him,  officer: 
I  would  not  spare  niy  brother  in  this  case. 
If  he  should  scorn  me  so  apparently. 

Off.  I  do  arrest  you,  sir;  you  hear  the  suit. 

Ant.  E.  I  do  .obey  thee,  till  I  give  tlu  e  bail :— • 
But,  sirrah,  you  shall  buy  this  sport  as  dear 
As  all  the  metal  in  your  shop  will  answer. 

Ang.  Sir,  sir,  1  shall  have  law  in  Ephesus, 
To  your  notorious  shame,  1  doubt  it  not. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Dro.  S.  Master,  there  is  a  bark  of  Epidamnum, 
That  stays  but  till  her  owner  conies  aboard. 
And  then,  sir,  bears  away  :  our  IVaiightage,  sir, 
I  have  convey'd  aboard;  and  I  have  bought 
The  oil,  the  balsamum,  and  aqua-\  itap. 
The  ship  is  in  her  trim  ;  the  merry  wind 
Blows  fair  from  land  :  they  stay  for  nought  at  aU, 
But  for  their  owner,  master,  and  yourself. 

Ant.  E.  How  now!  a  madman?    Why,  thou 
peevish  sheep. 
What  ship  of  Epidamnum  stays  for  me  ? 

Dro.  S.  A  ship  you  sent  me  to,  to  hire  waftage. 

Ant.  E.  Thou  drunken  slave,  I  sent  thee  lor  a 
rope ; 

And  told  thee  to  what  purpose,  and  what  end. 

Dro.  S.  You  sent  me,  sir,  for  a  rope  s  end  as  soon: 
You  sent  me  to  the  bay,  sir,  for  a  bai  k. 

Ant.  E.  I  will  debate  this  matter  at  more  leis'..je. 
And  teach  your  ears  to  listen  with  more  lieed. 
To  Adriana,  villain,  hie  thee  straight , 
Give  her  this  key,  and  tell  her,  in  the  desk 
That's  cover'd  o'er  with  Turkish  tapestry. 
There  is  a  f)urse  of  ducats  ;  let  her  send  it; 
Tell  her  I  am  arrested  in  the  street, 
And  that  shall  bail  me:  hie  thee,  slave;  be  gone. 
On,  officer,  to  [)rison,  till  it  come. 

[Exeunt  Merchant,  Angelo,  Officer,  and  Ant.E 

Dro.  S.  'i'o  Adriana!  that  is  wiiere  we  din'd, 
Where  Dowsabel  did  claim  me  for  her  husband ; 
She  is  too  big,  I  hope,  for  me  to  compass. 
Thither  I  must,  although  against  my  will. 
For  servants  must  their  masters'  minds  fulfil.  [Exit. 

Scene  U.—  The  same.  / 
Enter  Adriana  and  Luciana. 
Adr.  Ah,  Luciana,  did  he  tempt  thee  so? 
Might'st  thou  perceive  austerely  in  his  eye. 
That  he  did  plead  in  earnest,  yea  or  no  ? 

Look'd  he  or  red,  or  pale  ;  or  sad,  or  merrily  ? 
What  observation  mad'st  thou  in  this  case. 
Of  his  heart's  meteors  tilting  in  his  face  ? 

Luc.  First,  he  denied  you  had  in  him  no  right 
Adr.  He  m.eant,  he  did  me  none ;  the  more  my 
spite. 

Luc.  Then  swore  he,  that  he  was  a  stranger  here. 
Adr.  And  true  he  swore,  though  yet  forsworn  he 
Luc.  Then  pleaded  1  for  you.  [were. 
Adr.  And  what  said  he  ? 

Luc.  That  love,  I  begg'd  for  you,  he  begg'd  oi 
me. 

Adr.  With  what  persuasion  did  he  tempt  thy 
love  ?  [move. 

Luc.  With  words,  that  in  an  honest  ^-nit  might 
First,  he  did  praise  my  beauty ;  then,  my  speech. 

Adr.  Did'st  speak  him  fair? 

Li/c.  Have  patience,  I  beseech 

Adr.  I  cannot,  nor  I  will  not,  hold  me  still ; 
M)  tongue,  though  not  my  heart,  shall  have  hil 
He  is  deformed,  crooked,  old,  and  sere,  [will, 
lll-fac'd,  worse-bouied,  shapeless  every  wher" 


Scene  3. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


259 


Vicious,  an^entle,  foolish,  blont,  nukind ; 
Stiemaiical  in  niakinpf,  worse  in  mind. 

Luc.  VVfao  would  be  jealous  then  of  such  a  one  ? 
No  evil  lost  is  wail'd  when  it  is  gone. 
Adr.  All !  but  I  tiii-nk.  him  better  than  I  say. 
And  yet  would  herein  others'  eyes  were  worse: 
Far  from  her  nest  the  lapwing  cries  away ; 

My  heart  prays  for  him,  though  my  tongue  do 
curse. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Dro.  S.  Here,  go ;  the  desk,  the  purse ;  sweet 
now,  make  haste. 

Luc.  Flow  hast  thou  lost  thy  breath? 

Dro.  S.  By  running  fast. 

Adr.  Where  is  thy  master,  Dromio?  is  he  well? 

l)ro.  S.  No,  he's  in  Tartar  limbo,  worse  than  hell: 
A  devil  in  an  everlasting  garment  hath  him, 
One,  whose  hard  iieart  is  button'd  up  with  steel ; 
A  fiend,  a  fairy,  pitiless  and  rough  ; 
A  wolf,  nay,  worse,  a  fellow  all  in  buff; 
A  back-friend,  a  shoulder-clapper,  one  that  coun- 
termands 

The  passages  of  alleys,  creeks,  and  narrow  lands; 
A  hound,  that  runs  counter,  and  yet  draws  dry-foot 
well  ;  .  [hell. 

One  (hat,  before  the  judgment,  carries  poor  souls  to 
Aiir.  Why,  man,  what  is  the  matter? 
Dro.  S.  I  do  not  know  the  matter ;  he  is  'rested 
on  the  case.  [suit. 
Adr.  What,  is  he  arrested  ?  tell  me,  at  whose 
Dro.  S.  I  know  not  at  wliose  suit  he  is  arrested, 
well ;  [can  I  tell : 

But  he's  in  a  suit  of  bulT,  which  'rested  him,  that 
Will  you  send  him,  mistress,  redemption,  the  money 
in  the  desk  J 
Adr.  Go  fetch  it,  sister. — This  I  wonder  at. 

[Exit  Luc'tana. 
That  he,  unknown  to  me,  should  be  in  debt : — 
Tell  uie,  was  he  arrested  on  a  band? 

Dro.  S.  Not  on  a  band,  but  on  a  stronger  thing ; 
A  chain,  a  cliain;  do  you  not  hear  it  ring? 
Adr.  What,  the  chain  ?  [gone. 
Dro.  S  No,  no,  the  bell :  'tis  time,  that  I  were 
It  was  two  ere  I  left  him,  and  now  the  clock  st.  ikes 
one.  [hear. 
Adr.  The  hours  come  back !  that  did  I  never 
Dto.S.  O,  yes,  if  any  hour  meet  a  sergeant,  a 

'turns  back  for  very  fear. 
Adr.  As  if  time  were  in  debt!  how  fondly  dost 

thou  reason  ? 
Dro.  S.  Time  is  a  very  bankrupt,  and  owes  more 
than  he's  worth,  to  season. 
Nay,  he's  a  tliief  too:  have  you  not  heard  men  say, 
That  time  comes  steaHng  on  by  night  and  day  ? 
W  he  be  in  debt,  an<l  theft,  and  a  sergeant  in  the  way. 
Hath  he  not  reason  to  turn  back  an  hour  in  a  day  ? 

Enter  Luciana. 

Adr.  Go,  Dromio;  there's  the  money,  bear  it 
straight ; 

And  bring  thy  master  home  immediately.— 
Come,  sister;  1  am  press'd  down  with  conceit ; 
Conceit,  my  comfort,  and  my  injury.  {Exeunt. 

Scene  III.— The  same. 
Enter  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 
Ant.  S.  There's  not  a  man  I  meet,  but  doth 
salute  me 

As  if  I  were  their  well-acquainted  friend; 
And  every  one  doth  call  me  by  my  name. 
Soiui-  lender  money  to  me,  some  invite  me  ; 
Some  other  give  me  thanks  for  kindnesses  ; 
Some  olfer  me  couunodities  to  buy: 
Even  now  a  tailor  call'd  me  in  his  shop, 
And  show'd  n»e  silks  that  he  had  bought  for  me 
And,  therewithal,  took  measure  of  my  body. 
Sure  these  are  but  imaginary  wiles, 
And  Lapiaud  sorcerers  inhabit  here 


Enter  DroMIO  of  Syracuse. 

Dro.  S.  Master,  here's  the  gold  you  sent  me  for: 
What,  have  you  got  the  picture  of  old  Adam  new 
apparell'd?  [thou  mean? 

Ant.  S.  What  gold  is  this  ?  What  Adam  dod 

Dro.  S.  Not  that  Adam,  that  kept  the  paradiw 
but  that  Adam,  that  keeps  the  prison :  he,  that  go 
in  the  calf's-skin,  that  was  killed  for  the  prodign 
he,  that  came  beJiind  you,  sir,  like  an  evil  ang 
and  bid  you  forsake  your  liberty 

Ant.  S.  I  understand  thee  not. 

Dro.  S.  No  ?  why,  'tis  a  plain  case :  he  that  went 
like  a  base-viol,  in  a  case  of  leather ;  the  man,  sir, 
that,  when  gentlemen  are  tired,  gives  them  a  fob, 
and  'rests  them ;  he,  sir,  that  takes  pity  on  decayed 
men,  and  gives  them  suits  of  durance ;  he,  that  sets 
up  his  rest  to  do  more  exploits  with  his  mace,  than 
a  morris-pike. 

Ant.  S.  What!  thoa  mean'st  an  olBcer? 

Dro.  S.  Ay,  sir,  the  sergeant  of  the  band;  be 
that  brings  any  man  to  answer  it,  that  breaks  hia 
band  ;  one,  that  thinks  a  man  always  going  to  bed, 
and  says,  God  give  you  good  rest ! 

Ant.  S.  Well,  sir,  there  rest  in  your  foolery.  Is 
there  any  ship  puts  forth  to-night?  may  we  be 
gone  ? 

Dro.  S.  Why,  sir,  I  brought  you  word  an  hour 
since,  that  the  bark,  Expedition,  put  forth  to  night ; 
and  then  were  you  hindered  by  the  sergeant,  to  tarry 
for  the  hoy,  Delay :  Here  are  the  angels  that  yoa 
sent  for,  to  deliver  you. 

Ant.  S.  The  fellow  is  distract,  and  so  am  I; 
And  here  we  wander  in  illusions ; 
Some  blessed  power  deliver  us  from  hence! 

Enter  a  Courtezan. 

Cour.  Well  met,  well  met,  master  Antipholiis. 
I  see,  sir,  you  have  found  the  goldsmith  now : 
Is  that  the  chain  you  promis'd  me  to-day  ? 

Ant.  S.  Sntan,  avoid  !  I  charge  thee  tempt  me  not! 

Dro.  S.  Master,  is  this  mistress  Satan  ? 

Ant.  S.  It  is  the  devil. 

Dro.  S.  Nay,  she  is  worse,  she  is  the  devil's  dam; 
and  here  she  comes  in  the  habit  of  a  light  wench  ; 
and  thereof  comes  that  the  wenches  say,  Goa 
damn  me,  that's  as  much  as  to  say,  God  make 
me  a  liyhi  ivench.  It  is  written,  they  appear  to  men 
like  angels  of  light :  light  is  an  eftect  of  fire,  and  fire 
will  burn;  ergo,  light  wenches  will  burn  ;  Come  not 
near  her.  [sir. 

Cour.  Your  man  and  you  are  marvellous  meiry, 
Will  you  go  with  me  ?  We'll  mend  our  dinner  here 

Dro.  S.  Master,  if  you  do,  expect  spoon-meat,  or 
bespeak  a  long  spoon. 

Ant.  S.  Why,  Dromio? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  he  must  have  a  long  spocn,  that 
must  eat  with  the  devil. 

Ant.  S.  Avoid  then,  fiend!  what  tell'st  thou  me 
of  supping? 
Thou  art,  as  you  are  all,  a  sorceress: 
I  conjure  thee  to  leave  me,  and  be  gone. 

Cour.  Give  me  the  ring  of  mine  you  had  at  dinner* 
Or,  for  my  diamond,  the  chain  you  promis'd ; 
And  I'll  be  gone,  sir,  and  not  trouble  you. 

Dro.  S.  Some  devils  ask  but  the  paring  of  oa©*« 
nail, 

A  rush,  a  hair,  a  drop  of  blood,  a  pin, 

A  nut,  a  cherry-stone ;  but  she,  more  covetous. 

Would  have  a  chain. 

Muster,  be  wise ;  an'  if  you  give  it  he  , 

The  devTl  will  shake  her  chain,  and  fright  us  with  H» 

Cour.  I  pray  you,  sir,  my  ring,  or  else  the  chain; 
I  hope,  you  do  not  mean  to  cheat  me  so. 

Ant.  S.  Avaunt,  thou  witch !  Come,  Dromio,  le» 
us  go. 

Dro.  S.  Fly  pride,  says  the  peacock  :  Mistress, 
that  you  know. 

[Exeunt  Ani.  S.  and  Dro.  & 
Cour.  Now,  out  of  doubt,  Antipholus  is  mad. 


260 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  it 


Else  would  he  never  so  demean  himself: 
A  ring-  he  hath  oS"  mine  worth  forty  ducats, 
And  tor  the  same  he  promis'd  me  a  chain ; 

oth  one,  and  other,  he  denies  me  now. 
The  reason  tiiat  I  gather  he  is  mad, 

1 Besides  this  present  instance  of  his  rage,) 
s  a  mad  tale,  he  told  to-day  at  dinner. 
Of  ijis  own  doors  being  shut  against  his  entrance. 
IJplike,  his  wile,  acquainted  with  his  fits, 
On  purpose  shut  the  door  against  his  way. 
My  way  is  now,  to  hie  home  to  his  house, 
knd  tell  iiis  wife,  that,  being  lunatic. 
He  rush  d  into  my  house,  and  took  perforce 
My  risig  away  :  This  course  1  fittest  choose  ; 
For  forty  ducats  is  too  much  to  lose.  [Exit. 

Scene  IV. — The  same. 
Enter  ANTirnoLUS  of  Ephesus,  and  an  Officer-. 
Ant.  E.  Fear  me  not,  man,  I  will  not  break  away  ; 
II  give  thee,  ere  I  leave  thee,  so  much  money 

To  warrant  thee,  as  I  am  'rested  for. 

My  wife  is  in  a  wayward  mood  to  day ; 

And  will  not  lightly  trust  the  messenger, 

That  I  should  be  attach'd  in  Ephesiis  : 

1  tell  you,  'tvvill  sound  harshly  in  her  ears. 

Enter  Dromio  of  Ephesus,  with  a  rope's  end. 
Here  comes  my  man  ;  I  think,  he  brings  the  money. 
How  now,  sir  ?  have  you  that  I  sent  you  for  ? 

Dro.  E.  Here's  that,  I  warrant  you,  will  pay  them 
all. 

Ant.  E.  But  where's  the  money? 
Dro.  E.  Why,  sir,  I  gave  the  money  for  the  rope. 
Ant.  E.  Five  hundred  ducats,  viilam,  for  a  rope? 
Dro.  E  I'll  serve  you,  sir,  five  hundred  at  the  rate. 
Ant.  E,  Tc  what  end  did  I  bid  thee  hie  thee  home  ? 
Dro.  E.  To  a  rope's  end,  sir  ;  and  to  that  end  am 
I  return'd. 

Ant.  E.  And  to  that  end,  sir,  I  will  welcome 
you.  {Beating  him.) 

Off".  Good  sir,  be  patient.  [adversity. 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  'tis  for  ine  to  be  patient;  I  am  in 

Off.  Good  now,  hold  thy  tongue.  [hands. 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  rather  persuade  him  to  hold  his 

Ant.  E.  Thou  whoreson,  senseless  villain! 

Dro.  E.  I  would  1  were  senseless,  sir,  that  I  might 
not  feel  your  blov\s. 

Ant.  E.  Thou  art  s.enslble  in  nothing  but  blows, 
and  so  is  an  ass. 

Dro.  E.  I  am  an  ass,  indeed  ;  you  may  prove  it 
by  my  long  ears.  I  have  served  him  from  the  hour 
of  my  nativity  to  this  instant,  and  have  nothing  at 
hw  hands  for  my  service  but  blows  :  When  1  am 
cold,  he  heats  me  with  beating  :  when  I  am  warm, 
he  cools  me  with  beating.  I  am  waked  with  it,  when 
I  sleep;  raised  with  it,  when  1  sit;  driven  out  of 
doors  with  it,  when  I  go  from  home ;  welcomed 
home  with  it,  when  I  return  :  Nay,  1  bear  it  on  my 
ghoulders,  as  a  beggar  wont  her  brat;  and,  I  think, 
ivhen  he  hath  lamed  me,  I  shall  beg  with  it  from 
door  to  door. 

Eraser  Adriana,  Luciana,  and  the  Courtezan, 
with  Pinch,  and  others. 
Ant.  E.  Come,  go  along ;  my  wife  is  coming 
yonder. 

Dro.  E.  Mistress,  respice  finem,  respect  your 
pnd  ;  or  rather  the  prophecy,  like  the  parrot.  Beware 
the  rope's  end. 

Ant.  E.  Wilt  thou  still  talk?         {Beats  him.) 

Cour.  How  say  you  now?  is  not  your  husband  mad  ? 

Adr.  His  incivility  confirms  no  less. — 
Good  doctor  Pinch,  you  are  a  conjurer  ; 
Establish  him  in  his  true  sense  again. 
And  I  will  please  you  what  you  will  demand. 

Iiuc.  Alas,  how  fiery  and  how  sharp  he  looks! 

Cour  Mark,  how  he  trembles  iu  his  ecstacy! 

Pinch.  Give  me  your  hand,  and  let  me  leei  your 
pulse. 

Ant.  M.  There  is  my  hand,  and  let  it  feel  your  ear. 


Pinch.  I  charge  thee,  Satan,  hous'd  within  xhy^ 
man. 

To  yield  possession  to  my  holy  prayers. 

And  to  thy  state  of  darkness  hie  thee  straight; 

1  conjure  thee  by  all  the  saints  in  heaven. 

Ant.  E.  Peace,  doting  wizard,  peace  ;  I  am  not 
mad. 

Adr.  O,  that  thou  wert  not,  poor  distressed  oonP 
Ant.  E.  You,  minion,  you,  are  these  your  cus. 
tomers  ? 

Did  this  companion  with  the  saffron  face 
Revel  and  feast  it  at  my  house  to  day, 
Whilst  upon  me  the  guilty  doors  were  shut, 
And  1  denied  to  enter  in  my  house  ? 
Adr.  O  husband,  God  doth  know,  you  din'd  at 
home, 

Where  'would  you  had  remain'd  until  this  time. 
Free  from  these  slanders,  and  this  open  shame ! 

Ant.  E.  I  din'd  at  home !  Thou  villain,  what 
say  st  thou  ?  [home. 

Dro.  E.  Sir,  sooth  to  say,  you  did  not  dine  at 

Ant.  E.  Were  not  my  doors  lock'd  up,  and  I  shut 
out  ?  [shut  out 

Dro.  E.  Perdy,  your  doors  were  lock'd,  and  you 

Ant.  E.  And  did  not  she  herself  revile  me  there? 

Dro.  E.  Sans  fable,  she  herself  revil'd  you  there. 

Ard.  E.  Did  not  her  kitchen-maid  rail,  taunt,  and 
scorn  me  ?  [you. 

Dro.  E.  Certes,  she  did ;  the  kitchen- vestal  scorn'd 

Ant.  E.  And  did  not  I  in  rage  depart  from  thence? 

Dro.  E.  In  verity  you  did; — my  bones  bear  wit- 
ness. 

That  since  have  felt  the  vigour  of  his  rage. 

Adr.  Is't  good  to  sooth  him  in  these  contraries? 

Pinch.  It  is  no  shame  ;  the  fellow  finds  his  vein. 
And,  yielding  to  him,  humours  well  his  frenzy. 

Ant.  E.  Thou  hast  suborn'd  the  goldsmith  to 
arrest  me. 

Adr.  Alas,  I  sent  you  money  to  redeem  you. 
By  Dromio  here,  who  came  in  haste  for  it. 
Dro.  E.  Money  by  me  ?  heart  and  good-will  you 
might, 

But,  sureh',  master,  not  a  rag  of  money. 
Ant.  E.  Went'st  not  thou  to  her  for  a  purse  of 
ducats  ? 

Adr.  He  came  to  me,  and  I  deliver'd  it. 

Luc.  And  I  am  witness  with  her,  that  she  did. 

Dro.  E.  God  and  the  rope-maker,  bear  me  wit- 
That  I  was  sent  for  nothing  but  a  rope  !  [ness. 

Pinch.  Mistress,  both  man  and  master  is  possess'd ; 
I  know  it  by  their  pale  and  deadly  looks  : 
They  must  be  bound,  and  laid  in  some  dark  room. 

Ant.  E.  Say^  wherefore  didst  thou  lock  me  forth 
to-day  ; 

And  why  dost  thou  deny  the  bag  of  gold  ? 

Adr.  I  did  not,  gentle  husband,  lock  thee  forth. 

Dro.  E,  And,  gentle  master,  I  rcceiv'd  no  gold; 
But  1  confess,  sir,  that  we  were  lock'd  out. 

Adr.  Dissembling  villain,  thou  speak'st  false  in 
both. 

Ant.  E.  Dissembling  harlot,  thou  art  false  in  all; 
And  art  confederate  with  a  damned  pack, 
To  make  a  loathsome  abject  scorn  of  me  : 
But  with  these  nails  Til  pluck  out  these  false  eyes. 
That  would  behold  me  in  this  shameful  sport. 

[Pinch  and  his  Assistants  bind  Ant.  E.  and 
Dro.  E. 

Adr.  O,  bind  him,  bind  him,  let  him  not  come 
near  me.  [wi(hit»  him. 

Pinch.  More  company  ;  —  the  fiend  is  strong 

Luc.  A  h  me,  poor  man,  how  pale  and  wan  he  looks! 

Ant.  E.  What,  wilt  thou  murder  me?  Thou 
gaoler,  thou, 
I  am  thy  prisoner;  wilt  thou  sufTer  them 
To  mak^  a  rescue  ? 

Off.  Masters,  let  him  go  : 

He  is  my  prisoner,  and  you  shall  not  have  him. 

Pinch.  Go,  bind  this  man,  foi  he  is  frantic  too. 

Adr.  What  wilt  thou  do,  thou  peevish  officer? 
Hast  thou  delight  to  see  a  wretched  man 


^CT  V.    Scene  1.  COMEDY  C 

Do  outrage  and  displeasure  to  himself  ? 

Off',  tie  is  my  prisoner;  if  I  let  him  go, 
The  debt  he  owes  v\ill  be  reijuir'd  of  me. 

Adr.  1  will  discharge  thee,  ere  I  go  from  thee  ; 
Sear  mc  forthwitl)  unto  his  creditor. 
Lad,  knowing  how  the  debt  grows,  I  will  pay  it. 
(rood  master  doctor,  see  him.  safe  convey'd 
Home  to  my  house. — O  most  unhappy  day ! 

Ant.  E.  b  most  uiiluippy  strumpet! 

Dro.  E.  Master,  i  am  iiere  enter'd  in  bond  for  you. 

AnL  E.  Out  on  thee,  villain!  wherefore  dost  thou 
mail  me  V 

Dro.  E.  Will  you  be  bound  for  nothing  ?  be  mad, 
Good  mast(-r;  cry,  the  devil. — 

Luc.  God  help,  poor  souls,  how  idly  do  they  talk  ! 
Adr.  Go,  bear  him  hence. — Sister,  go  you  with 
me. — 

[Exeunt  Pinch  and  Assistants,  tcith  Ant.  E. 
and  Dro.  E. 
Sf)y  now,  whose  suit  is  he  arrested  at? 

Off^.  One  Anf  elo,  a  goldsmith :  Do  yon  know  him  ? 
Adr.  1  know  the  man  :  What  is  the  sum  he  owes  ? 
Off".  Two  hundred  ducats. 

Adr.  Say,  how  grows  it  due  ? 

OJjT.  Due  for  a  chain,  your  husband  liad  of  him. 

Adr.  He  did  bespeak  a  chain  for  me,  but  had  it  not. 

Cour.  When  as  your  husband,  all  in  rage,  to-day 
Came  to  my  house,  and  took  away  my  ring, 
fThe  ring  I  saw  upon  his  finger  now,) 
Straight  after,  did  I  meet  hini  with  a  chain, 

Adr.  It  may  be  so,  but  I  did  never  see  it : — 
Come,  gaoler,  bring  me  where  the  goldsmith  is, 
I  long  to  know  tae  truth  hereof  at  large. 

Enter  Antipholus  of  Syracuse,  with  his  rapier 
drawn,  and  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Lite.  God,  for  thy  mercy !  they  are  loose  again. 

Adr.  And  come  with  naked  swords;  let's  call 
more  help, 
To  have  them  bound  again. 

Ojf.  Away,  they'll  kill  us. 

[Exeunt  Officer,  Adr.  and  hue. 

Ant.  S.  I  see,  these  witches  are  ati  aid  of  swords. 

Dro,  S.  She,  tiiat  would  be  your  wife,  now  ran 
from  you.  [I'rom  thence  : 

Ant.  S.  Ci>n»e  to  the  Centaur;  fetch  our  stutF 
i  1  >ng,  that  we  were  sale  and  sound  aboard. 

Dro.  S.  Faith,  stay  here  this  night,  they  will 
Burely  do  us  no  harm ;  you  saw,  they  speak  us  lair, 
give  us  gold  :  metliinks,  they  are  such  a  gentle 
oation,  that  but  for  the  mountain  of  mad  tlesh  that 
claims  marriage  of  me,  I  could  find  in  my  heart  to 
Uay  here  still,  and  turn  witch. 

Ant.  S.  1  will  not  stay  to-night  for  all  the  town ; 
Therefore  away,  to  get  our  stuli"  aboard.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — The  same. 
Enter  Merchant  and  Anoelo. 

Ang.  I  am  sorry,  sir,  that  I  have  hinder'd  you; 
Gut,  I  protest,  he  had  the  chain  of  me. 
Though  rnost  dishonestly  he  doth  deny  it. 

Mer.  How  is  the  man  esteem'd  here  in  the  city? 

Ang.  Of  very  reverent  reputation,  sir. 
Of  credit  inlinite,  higlily  belov'd. 
Second  to  none  that  Ti\es  here  in  the  city; 
His  word  nught  bear  my  wealth  at  any  tune. 

Mer.  Speak  softly:  yonder,  as  I  think,  he  walks. 

Enter  A  ntipholus  and  Dromio  of  Syracuse. 

Ang.  'Tis  so;  and  that  self  chain  about  his  neck. 
Which  he  forswore,  most  monstrously,  to  have. 
Good  sir,  draw  near  to  me,  I'll  speak  to  him. — 
Signior  Antipholus,  I  wonder  much. 
That  you  wtjuld  put  me  to  this  shame  and  trouble ; 
And  not  without  some  scandal  to  yourself, 
With  circumstance,  and  oaths,  so  to  deny 
This  chain,  which  now  you  wear  so  openly  ; 
Besides  the  <:harge,  the  shauje,  iniprisooujent. 


^  ERRORS.  261 

Yon  have  done  wrong  to  this  my  honest  friendj 
Who,  but  for  staying  on  our  controversy. 
Had  hoisted  sail,  and  put  to  sea  to-day  : 
This  chain  you  had  of  me,  can  you  deny  it? 

Ant.  E.  1  think  1  had  ;  1  never  did  deny  it 

Mer.  Yes,  that  yon  did,  sir  ;  and  forswore  it  too. 

A?ii.  S.  Who  heard  me  to  deny  it,  or  forswear  it? 

Mer.  These  ears  of  mine,  thou  knowest,  did  heai 
thee ; 

Fy  on  thee,  wretch!  'tis  pity,  that  thou  liv'st 
To  walk,  where  any  honest  men  resort. 

Ant.  S.  Thou  art  a  villain,  to  impeach  me  thus : 
I'll  prove  mine  honour  and  niine  honesty 
Against  thee  presently,  if  thou  dar'st  stand. 

Mer.  I  dare,  and  do  defy  thee  for  a  villain, 

{They  draw 

Enter  Adriana,  Luciana,  Courtezan,  and oihere. 
Adr.  Hold,  hurt  him  not,  for  God's  sake  ;  he  is 
mad  ; — 

Some  get  within  him,  take  his  sword  away: 
Bind  Dromio  too,  and  bear  them  to  my  house. 
Dro.  S.  Run,  master,  run;  for  God's  sake,  take 
a  house. 

This  is  some  priory  : — In,  or  w^e  are  spoil'd. 

[Exeunt  Ant.  S.  and  Dro  S.  to  the  Pricr^. 

Enter  the  Abbess. 
Abb.  Be  quiet,  people :  Wherefore  throng  yoo 
hither? 

Adr.  To  fetch  my  poor  distracted  husband  hence: 
Let  us  come  in,  that  we  may  bind  him  fast, 
And  bear  him  home  for  his  recovery. 

Ang.  I  knew,  he  was  not  in  his  perfect  wits. 

Mer.  1  am  sorry  now,  that  I  did  draw  on  him. 

Abb.  How  long  hath  this  possession  held  the  n>an  ? 

Adr.  This  week  he  hath  been  heavy,  sour,  saci. 
And  nmch,  much  dilferent  from  the  man  he  was; 
But,  till  this  afternoon,  his  passion 
Ne'er  brake  into  extremity  of  rage. 

Abb.  Hath  be  not  lost  much  wealth  by  wreck  at 
sea  ? 

Buried  some  dear  friend?  Hath  not  else  his  tyt! 
Stray'd  his  affection  in  unlawful  love? 
A  sin,  prevailing  much  in  youthful  men, 
Who  give  their  eyes  the  liberty  of  gazing. 
Which  of  these  sorrows  is  he  subject  to? 

Adr.  To  none  of  these,  except  it  be  the  last ; 
Namely,  some  love,  that  drew  him  oft  from  home. 

Abb.  You  should  for  that  have  reprehended  hina. 

Adr.  Why,  so  I  did. 

Abb.  Ay,  but  not  rough  enough. 

Adr.  As  roughly  as  my  modesty  would  let  me. 
Abb.  Haply,  in  private, 

Adr.  And  in  assemblies  toa 

Abb.  Ay,  but  not  enough. 

Adr.  It  was  the  copy  oi'our  conference: 
In  bed,  he  slept  not  for  my  urging  it; 
At  board,  he  ted  not  for  my  urging  it  ; 
Alone,  it  was  the  subject  of  my  theme  | 
In  company,  I  often  glanced  it: 
Still  did  I  tell  him  it  was  vile  and  bad. 

Abb.  And  thereof  came  it,  that  the  man  was  maJl 
The  venom  clamours  of  a  jealous  woman 
Poison  more  deadly  than  a  mad  dog's  tooth. 
It  seems,  his  sleeps  were  hinder'd  by  thy  railing: 
And  therefore  comes  it,  that  his  head  is  light. 
Thou  say'st,  his  meat  was  sauc'd  with  thy  upbraid- 
Unquiet  meals  make  ill  digestions,  [mg»: 
Thereof  the  raging  fire  of  fever  bred  ; 
And  what's  a  fever  but  a  fit  of  madness  ? 
'I'hou  say'st  his  sports  were  hinder'd  by  thy  k)ra.wiAl 
Sweet  recreation  barr'd.  what  doth  ecsue. 
But  moody  and  dull  melancholy, 
(Kinsman  to  grim  and  comfortless  despair;) 
And,  at  her  heels,  a  huge  infeclious  troop 
Of  pale  distemi  eratures,  and  foes  to  life? 
Iniood.  in  sport,  aud  lile-preserving  rest 
To  be  disturb  d,  would  mnd  or  man  er  beast! 
The  consequence  is  then,  thy  jealous  fits 


2G2 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  7 


Have  scar'd  thy  husband  from  the  use  of  wits. 
hue.  She  nnver  reprehentJed  him  but  mildly, 
hen  he  dernean'd  hiinselt' rough,  rude  and  Wildly. — 
Why  bear  you  these  rebukes,  aod  answer  not? 

Adr.  She  did  betray  me  to  my  own  reproof. — 
Ooiid  peoole,  enter,  and  lay  hold  on  him. 
Abb  No,  nut  a  creature  enters  in  my  house. 
Adr  Then,  let  your  servants  bring  my  husband 
forth. 

Abb.  Neither  ;  he  took  tliis  place  for  sanctuary, 
And  it  shall  privilege  him  from  your  hands. 
Till  I  have  brought  liim  to  his  wits  again, 
,  Or  lose  my  labour  in  assaying  it. 

Adr.  I  will  attend  my  husband,  be  his  nurse. 
Diet  iiis  sickness,  lor  it  is  my  olfice. 
And  will  iiave  no  atton.fy  but  njyself; 
And  tliereiore  let  me  ha*  e  him  home  w  ith  me. 

Abb.  Be  patient;  for  I  will  not  let  him  stir. 
Till  1  have  used  the  approved  means  1  have, 
VVitIi  w!u)lesume  syrups,  drugs,  and  holy  prayers. 
To  make  of  hiui  a  formal  man  again: 
It  is  a  brnnch  and  parcel  of  mine  oath, 
A  charitable  duty  uf  my  order; 
Therelbre  depart,  and  leave  him  here  with  me. 

Adr.  1  will  not  hence,  and  leave  my  husband  here; 
And  ill  it  doth  bese<^m  your  holiness. 
To  separate  the  husband  and  the  wife. 

Abb.  Be  quiet,  and  depart,  thou  shalt  not  have 
him.  [^Exit  Abbess. 

Luc.  Coniplain  unto  the  duke  of  this  indignity. 

Adr.  Come,  go;  I  will  fall  prostrate  at  his  feet. 
And  never  rise  until  my  tears  and  prayers 
Have  won  liis  grace  to  come  in  person  hither, 
And  tijke  perlorce       husband  from  the  abbess. 

Mer.  By  tiiis,  1  think,  the  dial  points  at  five  : 
Anuii,  1  am  sure,  tiie  duke  himself  in  person 
Couies  tliis  way  to  the  melancholy  vale  ; 
The  place  of  death  and  sorry  execution, 
Behind  the  ditches  uf  the  abbey  here. 

Any.  Upon  what  c.iuse  ? 

Mer.  '1  o  see  a  reverend  Syracusan  merchant, 
VV^Iu)  put  unluckily  into  this  bay, 
Against  (he  laws  and  statutes  of  this  town, 
Beheaded  publicly  lor  his  offence. 

Any,  Sre,  where  they  conie  ;  we  will  behold  his 
death. 

Luc.  Kneel  to  the  duke,  before  he  pass  the  abbey. 

Enter  DuKE,  attended;  iEcEON,  bare-headed ; 
with  the  Headsman  and  other  Ojficers. 
Duke.  Yet  once  again  proclaim  it  publicly, 
[f  any  trieiid  will  pay  tiie  sum  for  him, 
He  shall  not  die,  so  much  we  tender  him. 
Adr.  Justice,  most  sacred   duke,   against  the 
abbess ! 

Duke.  She  is  a  virtuous  and  a  reverend  lady; 
It  cannot  be,  that  she  hath  done  thee  wrong. 

Adr.  May  il  please  your  grace,  Antipholus,  my 
husband, — 
Whom  I  made  lord  of  me  and  all  1  had. 
At  your  important  letters, — this  ill  day 
A  most  outrugtovis  fit  of  madness  took  him  ; 
That  de.spcrately  he  hurried  through  the  street, 
IV^'^'th  hnn  his  bondman  all  as  mad  as  he,) 
Doing  displeasure  to  the  citizens. 
By  rushing  in  their  houses,  bearing  thence 
Rings,  jewels,  any  thing  his  rage  did  like. 
Once  did  I  get  him  bound,  and  sent  him  home, 
Whilst  to  take  order  for  the  wrongs  I  went, 
f  hat  here  and  there  his  fury  had  committed. 
Ajjon,  I  vslH  not  by  what  strong  escape. 
He  broke  from  those  that  had  the  guard  of  him ; 
And,  with  his  mad  attendant  and  himself. 
Each  one  with  ireiul  passion,  with  drawn  swoids. 
Met  us  again,  and,  midly  bent  on  us, 
Chaned  us  away  ;  till,  raising  of  more  aid, 
We  came  again  to  bind  them:  then  Uiey  fled 
Into  thi»  abbey,  whither  we  pursur-d  them  ; 
And  here  the  tibbesH  shuts  the  gates  on  us, 
Aod  will  not  au^fer  us  to  fetch  hint  out, 


Nor  send  him  forth,  that  we  may  bear  him  hence. 
Therelbre,  most  gracious  duke,  with  thy  coiiunand. 
Let  him  be  brougiit  forth,  and  borne  hence  for  help 
Duke.  Long  since,  thy  husband  serv'd  me  in  my 
v\  ars  ; 

And  I  to  thee  engag'd  a  prince's  word, 
VV^hen  thou  didst  make  hina  njaster  of  thy  bed. 
To  do  him  all  the  gracf  and  good  1  could.— 
Go  some  of  you,  knock  at  the  abbey-gate. 
And  bid  the  lady  abbess  come  to  me; 
f  will  determine  th;s  belbre  1  stir. 

Etiter  a  Servant. 
Serv.  O  mistress,  mistress,  shift  aud  save  Your- 
self! 

My  master  and  his  man  are  both  broke  loose. 
Beaten  the  m  lids  a-row,  and  bound  the  doctor. 
Whose  beard  they  have  singed  olf  with  brands  of  6re; 
And  ever  as  it  blaz'd,  they  threw  on  him 
Great  pails  of  puddled  mire  to  quench  the  hair: 
My  master  preaches  patience  to  him,  while 
His  man  with  scissors  nicks  him  like  a  tool . 
And,  sure,  unless  you  send  some  [)resent  help, 
Between  them  they  will  kill  the  conjurer. 

Adr.  Peace,  fool,  thy  master  and  his  man  are  here  ; 
And  that  is  false  thou  dost  report  to  us. 

Serv.  Mistress,  upon  my  life,  I  tell  you  true: 
I  have  not  breath'd  almost,  since  I  did  see  it. 
He  cries  for  you,  and  vows,  if  he  can  take  you. 
To  scorch  yo'Jr  face,  and  to  disfigure  yo"  : 

(Cry  tvithtn.) 
Hark,  hark,  I  hear  him,  mistress  ;  fly,  be  gone. 

Duke.  Come,  stand  by  me,  fear  nothing  :  Guard 
with  halberds. 

Adr.  Ah  me,  it  is  my  husband!  Witness  you. 
That  he  is  borne  about  invisible  : 
Even  now  we  hous'd  him  in  the  abbey  here ; 
Aud  now  he's  tliere,  past  th«jught  of  Iwiman  rea.son. 

Enter  Antipholus  and  Dromio  of  Ephesus. 

Ant.  E.    Justice,  most  gracious  duke,  oh,  grant 
me  justice  ! 

E^  en  for  the  service  that  long  since  I  did  thee, 
When  I  bestrid  thee  in  the  wars,  and  took 
Deep  soars  to  save  thy  life  :  even  for  the  blood 
That  then  1  lost  for  thee,  now  grant  me  justice. 

JEge.  Unless  flie  fear  of  death  doth  make  me  dote, 
I  see  my  son  Antipholus,  and  Dromio. 

Ant.  E.  Justice,  sweet  prince,  against  that  wo- 
man there. 

She,  whom  thou  gav'st  to  me  to  be  my  wife  ; 

That  ha!h  abused  and  dish>jnoiir'd  me. 

Even  in  the  strength  and  heiglit  of  injury! 

Beyond  imagination  is  tl.<^  wrong, 

That  she  this  day  hath  shameless  thrown  on  me. 

Duke.  Discover  how,  and  thou  siialt  find  me  just. 

Ant.  E.  This  day,  great  duke,  she  shut  the  doora 
upon  me. 

While  she,  with  harlots,  feasted  in  my  house. 

Duke.  A   grievous  fault :   Say,  woman,  didst 
thou  so.  [sister, 

Adr.  No,  my  good  lord: — myself,  he,  and  my 
To-day  did  dine  together:  so  befal  my  soul. 
As  this  is  false,  he  burdens  me  Withal  I 

Luc.  Ne'er  may  I  look  on  day,  nor  sleep  on  night, 
But  she  tells  to  your  highness  simple  trstth  ! 

Any.  O  perjur'd  woman  !  they  are  both  forsworn 
In  this  the  madman  justly  chargeth  them. 

Ant.  E  My  liege,  I  am  advised  what  I  say; 
Neither  disturb'd  with  the  effect  of  wine. 
Nor  heady-rash,  provok'd  with  raging  ire. 
Albeit,  my  wrongs  might  make  one  wiser  mad. 
This  woman  lock'd  me  out  this  d;iy  from  dipner: 
That  goldsmith  there,  were  he  not  pack'd  with  hey 
Coidd  witness  it,  for  he  was  with  n»e  then  ; 
Who  parted  with  me  to  go  fetch  a  chain, 
Promising  to  britig  it  to  the  Por«:upine, 
Where  Balthazar  and  I  did  dine  together. 
Our  dinner  done,  and  he  not  coming  lhilh<»r, 
I  went  to  seek  him  :  ua  the  street  i  met  h'<B; 


Scene  1. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


263 


And  in  his  company,  that  gentleman. 
There  did  this  perjiir'd  goldsmith  swear  me  down, 
That  I  this  day  of  iiim  receiv'd  the  chain, 
VVhich,  God  he  knows,  I  saw  not :  for  the  which. 
He  did  arrest  me  with  an  officer. 
I  did  obey,  and  sent  my  peasant  home 
For  certain  ducats  :  he  with  none  return'd. 
Then  fai'^y  I  bespoke  the  officer, 
To  go  in  person  with  me  to  my  house. 
By  the  way  we  met 
My  wife,  her  sister,  and  a  rabble  more 
Of  vile  confederates;  along-  with  them 
They  brought  one  Pinch,  a  hungry  lean-fac'd  vil- 
A  raeer  anatomy,  a  mountebank,  [lain, 
A  thread-bare  juggler,  and  a  Ibrtune-teller ; 
A  needy,  hollow-ey'd,  sharp-looking  wretch, 
A  living  dead  man :  this  pernicious  slave. 
Forsooth,  took  on  him  as  a  conjurer; 
And,  gazing  in  mine  eyes,  feeling  my  pulse. 
And  with  no  face,  as  'twere,  outfacing  me. 
Cries  out,  I  was  possess'd  :  then  altogether 
They  fell  upon  me,  bound  me,  bore  me  thence  ; 
And  in  a  dark  and  dankish  vault  at  home 
There  left  me  and  my  man,  both  bound  together; 
Till  gnawing  with  my  teeth  my  bonds  in  sunder, 
I  gain'd  my  freedom,  and  immediately 
Ran  hither  to  your  grace  ;  whom  I  beseech 
To  give  nie  ample  satisfaction 
For  these  deep  shames  and  great  indignities. 
Ang.  My  lord,  in  truth,  thus  far  I  witness  with 
him. 

That  he  dined  not  at  home,  but  was  lock'd  out. 

Duke.  But  had  he  such  a  chain  of  thee,  or  no? 

Ang.  lie  had,  my  lord  :  and  when  he  ran  in  here. 
These  people  saw  the  chain  about  his  neck. 

Mer.  Bf  sides,  I  will  be  sworn,  these  ears  of  mine 
Heard  you  confess  you  had  the  chain  of  him. 
After  you  first  i'orswore  it  on  tiie  mart, 
And  thereupon  I  drew  my  sword  on  you; 
And  then  you  lied  into  this  abbey  here. 
From  whence,  1  think,  you  are  come  by  miracle. 

Ant.  E.  1  never  came  within  these  abbey  walls. 
Nor  ever  didst  thou  draw  thy  sword  on  me  : 
I  never  saw  the  chain,  so  help  me  heaven  ! 
And  this  is  false,  you  burden  me  withal. 

Duke.  What  an  intricate  impeav^h  is  this ! 
I  think,  you  all  have  diank  of  Circe's  cup. 
If  here  you  hous'd  him,  liere  he  would  have  been  ; 
If  he  were  mad,  he  would  not  plead  so  coldly; — 
Vou  say,  he  dined  at  home  ;  the  goldsmith  here 
Denies  that  saying  : — Sirraii.  what  say  you  ? 

Dro.  E.  Sir,  he  dined  with  her  there,  at  the 
Porcupine. 

Cour.  He  did,  and  from  ray  finger  snatch'd  that 

Ant.  E.  'Tis  true,  my  liege,  this  ring  I  had  of 
her. 

Duke.  Saw'st  thou  him  enter  at  the  abbey  here  ? 
Cour.  As  sure,  my  liege,  as  I  do  see  your  grace. 
Duke.  VViiy,  this  is  strange : — Go  call  the  abbess 
hither ; 

1  think,  you  are  all  mated,  or  stark  mad. 

[Exit  an  Attendant. 
jEge.  Most  mighty  duke,  vouchsafe  me  speak  a 
word  : 

Haply,  I  see  a  fiiend  will  save  my  life. 
And  pay  the  sum  tliat  may  deliver  me. 

Duke.  Speak  Ireeiy,  Syracusan,  what  thou  wilt. 

JEge.  Is  not  your  name,  sir,  call'd  Antipholus  ? 
And  is  not  that  your  bondman,  Dromio  ?  [sir, 

Dro.  E.  Within  this  liour  I  was  his  bondman, 
Hut  he,  I  thank  him,  gnaw'd  in  two  my  cords ; 
Now  am  I  Dromio,  and  his  man,  unbound. 

^ge,  I  am  sure,  you  both  of  you  remember  me. 

Dro.  E.  Ourselves  we  do  remember,  sir,  by  you  ; 
For  lately  we  were  bound,  as  you  are  now. 
V'ou  are  not  Pinch's  patient,  are  you,  sir? 

Aige.  Why  look  you  strange  on  me?  you  know 
nie  well. 

Ant.  E.  I  never  saw  you  in  ray  life  till  now. 


JEge.  Oh !  grief  hath  chang'd  me  s»nce  you  saw 

me  last ; 

And  careful  hours,  with  Time's  deformed  hand, 
Have  written  strange  defeatures  in  my  face  : 
But  tell  me  vet,  dost  thou  not  know  my  voice  7 
Ant.  E.  Neither. 

JEge.  Dromio,  nor  thou  ? 

Dro.  E.  No,  trust  me,  sir,  nor  I. 

jEge.  I  am  sure,  thou  doat 

Dro.  E.  Ay,  sir  ?  but  I  am  sure,  I  do  not ;  an<5 
whatsoever  a  man  denies,  you  are  now  bound  t<? 
believe  him. 

jEge.  Not  know  my  voice!  O,  time's  exttemity 
Hast  thou  so  crack'd  and  splitted  my  poor  tongue. 
In  seven  short  years,  that  here  my  only  son 
Knows  not  my  feeble  key  of  untun'd  cares? 
Though  now  this  grained  face  of  mine  be  hid 
In  sap  consuming  winter's  drizzled  snow. 
And  all  the  conduits  of  my  blood  froze  up  ; 
Yet  hath  my  night  of  life  some  memory, 
My  wasting  lamps  some  fading  glimmer  left. 
My  dull  deaf  ears  a  little  use  to  hear : 
All  these  old  witnesses  ( I  cannot  err,  ) 
'J'ell  me.  thou  art  my  son  Antipholus. 

Ant.  E.  I  never  saw  my  father  in  my  life. 

jEge.  But  seven  years  since,  in  Syracusa,  boy 
Thou  know'st,  we  parted  ;  but,  perhaps,  my  son. 
Thou  sham'stto  acknowledge  me  in  misery. 

Ant.  E.  The  duke,  and  all  that  know  me  in  tii6 
city. 

Can  witness  with  me  that  it  is  not  so ; 
I  ne'er  saw  Syracusa  in  my  life. 

Duke.  I  tell  thee,  Syracusan,  twenty  years 
Have  I  been  patron  to  Antipholus, 
During  which  time  he  ne'er  saw  Syracusa: 
I  see,  thy  age  and  dangers  make  thee  dote. 

Re-enter  the  Ahbess,tvith  k^n^iioiMS, Syracusan, 
and  Dromio,  Syracusan. 
Abb.  Most  mighty  duke,  behold  a  man  rnuch 
wrong'd.  f  All  gather  to  see  him.) 

Adr.  I  see  two  husbands,  or  mine  eyes  deceive 
me. 

Duke.  One  of  these  men  is  genius  to  the  other; 
And  so  of  these  :  Which  is  the  natural  man. 
And  which  the  spirit?  Who  deciphers  them? 

Dro.  S,  I,  sir,  am  Dromio;  command  hiuj  away. 

Dro.  E.  I,  sir,  am  Dromio:  pray,  let  me  slay. 

Ant.  S.  Mgeon,  art  thou  not?  or  else  hiigiiost^ 

Dro.  S.  O,  my  old  master!  who  hath  bound  hina 
here  r 

Abb.  Whoever  bound  him,  I  will  loose  hisboodf 
And  gain  a  husband  by  his  liberty: — 
Speak,  old  iEgeon,  if  thou  be'st  the  man, 
That  had'st  a  wife  once  called  Emilia, 
That  bore  thee  at  a  burden  two  fair  sons; 

0,  if  thou  be'st  the  same  ^geon,  speak, 
And  speak  unto  the  same  Emilia  ! 

jEge.  If  I  dream  not,  thou  art  iEmilia; 
If  thou  art  she,  tell  me,  wliere  is  that  son„ 
That  floated  with  thee  on  the  fatal  raft? 

Abb.  By  men  of  Epidamnum,  he,  and  I, 
And  the  twin  Dromio,  all  were  taken  up ; 
But,  by  and  by,  rude  fishermen  of  Corin'^h 
By  force  took  Dromio  and  my  son  from  tl^^tiv. 
And  me  they  left  with  those  of  Epidam  juai. 
What  then  became  of  them,  I  cannolteil; 

1,  to  this  fortune  that  you  see  me  io. 

Duke.  Why,  here  begins  this  mon>ing  story  rig^  j 
These  two  Antipholus's,  these  twa  eo  like, 
And  these  two  Dromio's,  one  in  semb'ance,— 
Besides  her  urging  of  her  wreck  at  se'-u— 
These  are  the  parents  to  these  child  r 
VVhich  accidentally  are  met  together 
Antipholus,  thou  cam'st  from  Corinth  st 

Ant.  S.  No,  sir,  not  I ;  I  came  frori  Syracuse. 

Duke.  Stay,  stand  apart;  I  know  aot  wbich  H 
which. 

Ant.  E.  I  came  from  Corinth,  ray 
Dro.  E  And  I  with  him. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  V 


Ant.  ought  to  lliis  towa  by  that  most  fa- 

mous warrior, 
Duke  Menaphon,  your  most  renowned  uncle. 
Adr.  VVhich  of  you  two  did  dine  with  me  to-day  ? 
Ani.  S.  I,  gentle  mistress. 

Adr.  And  are  not  you  my  husband  ? 

Ant.  E.  No,  I  say  nay  to  that. 

Ant.  S.  And  so  do  I,  yet  did  she  call  me  so; 
And  this  fair  gentlewoman,  her  sister  here, 
Did  call  me  brother: — What  I  told  you  then, 
1  hope,  I  shall  have  leisure  to  make  good; 
if  this  be  not  a  dream,  I  see,  and  hear. 

Ang.  That  is  the  chain,  sir,  which  you  had  of  me. 

Ant.  S.  1  thiuk  it  be,  sir ;  I  deny  it  not. 

Ant.  E.  And  you,  sir,  for  this  chain  arrested  me. 

Ang.  1  thinit  i  did,  sir;  I  deny  it  not. 

Adr.  I  sent  you  money,  sir,  to  be  your  bail. 
By  Dromio  ;  but  I  think,  he  brought  it  not. 

Dro.  E.  No,  none  by  me. 

AnS.  S.  This  purse  of  ducats  I  receiv'd  from  you. 
And  Dromio  my  man  did  bring  them  me  : 
1  see,  we  still  did  meet  each  other's  man, 
And  I  was  ta'en  for  him,  and  he  for  me, 
And  thereupon  these  Errors  are  arose.  . 

Ant.  E.  These  ducats  pawn  I  for  my  father  here. 

Duke.  It  shall  not  need,  thy  lather  hath  his  life. 

Cour.  Sir,  I  must  have  that  diamond  from  you. 

Ant.  E.  There,  take  it:  and  much  thanks  for  ray 
good  cheer. 

Abb.  Renowned  duke,  vouchsafe  to  take  the  pains 
To  go  with  tis  into  the  abbey  here. 
And  hear  at  large  discoursed  all  our  fortunes: — 
And  ail  that  are  assembled  in  this  place, 
'i'hat  by  this  s7^JJ)^tluzed  cue  day's  error 
Have  siit^c-'d  ^vont',  go,  keep  us  company, 
Aod  vre  «hHil  make  iiili  satisfactiou. — 


Twenty-five  years  have  I  but  gone  in  travail 
Of  you,  my  sons  ;  nor,  till  this  present  hour. 
My  heavy  burdens  are  delivered  : — 
lYie  duke,  my  husband,  and  my  children  both. 
And  you  the  calendars  of  their  nativity, 
Go  to  a  gossip's  feast,  and  go  with  me  ; 
Alter  so  long  grief,  such  nativity  ! 

Duke.  With  all  my  heart,  I'll  gossip  at  this  feast 
[Exeunt  Duke,  Abbess,  jEgeon,  Courtezan,  Mer- 
chant, Angela,  and  Attendants. 
Dro.  S.  Master,  shall  I  ietch  your  stuff  from 
shipboard  !  [einbark'd  ? 

Ant.  E.  Dromio,  what  stuff  of  mine   hast  thou 
Dro.  S.  Your  goods,  that  lay  at  host,  sir,  in  the 
Centaur.  [Dromio : 

Ant.  S.  He  speaks  to  me :  I  am  your  master. 
Come,  go  with  us  ;  we'll  look  to  that  anon : 
Embrace  thy  brother  there,  rejoice  with  him. 

[Exeunt  Antipholus  S.  and  E.,  Adr.,  andLuc.^ 
Dro.  S.  There  is  a  fat  friend  at  your  master's 
house, 

That  kitchen'd  me  for  you  to  day  at  dinner ; 
She  now  shall  be  my  sister,  not  my  wife. 

Dro.  E.  Methinks,  you  are  my  glass^  aud  not 
my  brother : 
I  see  by  you,  I  am  a  sweet- faced  youth. 
Will  you  walk  in  to  see  their  gossij^ing? 

Dro.  S.  Not  I,  sir,  you  are  iny  elder. 

Dro.  E.  That's  a  question  :  How  shall  we  try  it » 

Dro.  S.  We  will  draw  cuts  lor  the  senior:  till 
then,  lead  thou  first. 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  then  thus: 
We  came  into  the  world,  like  brother  and  brother  j 
And  now  let's  go  hand  in  hand,  not  one  before 
ODother.  [Exeunt 


MACBETH. 


This  plaT  is  dcservpdly  celebrated  for  the  propri-  ty  of  its  fiction,  and  so  temnity.  grandeur,  and  varietj-  of  its  action  ; 
but T has  o<  nic^  dis^^^  of  character ;  the  events  are  too  great  to  admit  the  luflueuce  of  particular  dispo - 

and  t  e  c(  I  rse       the  action  necessarily  determines  the  conduct  of  the  aputs      .    ^  ^ 

TKanLer  ?f  a.S^  described;  and  I  know  not  whether  it  may  not  be  said   in  defence  of  some  parts 

which  now  seem  illlprobAble,  that  in  Shakspeare's  time  it  was  necessary  to  warn  credulity  against  vain  and  illusive 

^  Th^pas^simis  are  directed  to  their  true  end.  Lad^  Macbeth  is  merely  detested;  and  though  the  courage  of  Mae- 
beth  ©reserves  some  esteem,  yet  every  reader  rejoices  at  his  fall.  Ju/insoH. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


of  Scotland, 
kis  Sons. 


DUNCA.N,  King 
MALCOLM,  ( 
DON  ALB  A  IN,  I 
MACBETH,  \ 
BANQUO.  ( 
H  AC  DUFF,  1 
LENOX,  / 
ROSSE,  \ 
MENTliTH,  { 
ANGUS,  \ 
CATHNESS,  ; 

FLEANCii.  Son  to  Banquo.  _         .     ,  , 

^IWAilD,  Earl  of  Northumberland,  General  of  the 
English  Forces. 


Generals  of  the  King's  Army. 


Noblemen  of  Scotlaiid. 


Young  SI  WARD,  his  Son. 

SEYtON,  an  Officer  attending  on  Macbeth 

Son  to  Macduff.  i 

An  English  Doctor.    A  Scotch  Doctor. 

A  Soldier.   A  Porter.    An  old  Man. 

LADY  MACBETH. 
LADY  MACDUFF. 

Gentlewoman  attending  on  Lady  Macbeth. 
HECATE,  and  three  Witches. 

Lords,  Gsnilemen,  Officers,  Soldiers,  Murderet^, 
Attendants,  and  Messengers, 

The  Ghost  of  Banquo,  and  several  other  Apparition*. 


Scene, — in  the  end  of  the  Fourth  Act,  lies  in  England;  through  the  rest  of  the  Play,  in  Scotland f 
and,  chiefly,  at  Macbeth's  Castle. 

\   

ACT  1. 

Scene  I. — An  open  Place.   Thunder  and 
Lightning. 

Enter  three  Witches. 

1  Witch.  VVlien  shall  we  tliree  meet  again 
In  thunder,  li-'litning,  or  in  rain? 

2  Witch.  VViien  the  hiirlybnrly's  done,  i 
When  tlie  battle's  lost  a7i3"won 

3  Witch.  That  will  be  ere  set  of  sun. 

1  Witch.  Where  the  place  ?  \ 

2  Witch.  Upon  the  heath  ; 

3  Witch.  There  to  meet  with  Macbeth. 
1  Witch.  I  come,  G    ymalkin !  , 
j^-ZL-^ldock  calls  :— Atoh. — 


Cj^aira&-fQ2i»^i»d  io"'  is  fair  : 
ver  through  the  fog  and  fil 


ETover 


filthy  air 

( Witches  vanish.) 

Scene  II. — A  Camp  near  Fores.  Alarum  within. 

Enter  King  DuNC.\N,  Malcolm,  Donalbain,  VjE,- 
VO^,with  Attendants,  meeting  a  bleeding  Soldier. 

Dun.  Wlmt-t^Wdy man  is  that?  He  can  report, 
As  .seemeth  by  his  plight,  oftherevolt 
The  newest  state.  — ■ — 

Mai.  This  is  the  sergeant, 

Who,  like  a  good  and  hanly  soldier,  fought 
'Gainst  my  captivity  : — Hail,  brave  friend  I 
Say  to  the  king  the  knowledge  of  the  broil. 
As  thou  didst  leave  it. 

Sold.  Doubtfully  it  stood  ; 

As  two  spent  swimmers,  that  do  cling  together. 
And  choke  their  art.    Tlie-wemless  Macdonvvald 
fWorlhy  to  be  a  rpbel ;  for,  to  that, 
The  multiplying  villanies  of  nature 
Do  swarm  upon  iuni,)  from  the  western  isles 
X  Of  Kernes  and  Gallowglasses  is  supplied  ; 
And  fortune,  on  his  damned  quarrel  smiling, 
Show'd  like  a  rei)ers  whore  :  But  all's  too  weak  ; 
For  brave  Mai  beth,  (well  he  deserves  that  name,) 
Disdaiuing  fortune,  with  his  brandi.shLd_steel, 
Which  sraok'd  Wi»h  bloody  execution,  ~~ 
Like  valour's  minion, 

CJar^y  out  his  pa.'^sage,  till  he  fac'd  the  slave  : 
And  ne^rslvodk  hands,  nor  bade  farewell  to  him. 
Till  he  unseam'd  him  from  the  nave  to  th'  chaps. 
And  fii'd  his  head  upon  our  battlements. 

Dun.  O,  valiant  cousm  !  worthy  gentleman  ! 

S/)ld.  As  whence  the  sun  'gins  his  reflection 


Shipwrecking  storms  and  direful  thunders  break; 
So  from  that  spring,  wlience  comfort  seem'd  to  come. 
Discomfort  swells.    Mark,  king  of  Scotland,  mark: 
No  .sooner  justice  had,  with  valour  arni'd. 
Compell'd  these  skipping  Kernes  to  trust  their  heelf} 
But  the  Norvveyau  lord,  surveying  vantage, 
With  furbish'd  arms,  and  new  supplies  of  men. 
Began  a  fresh  assault. 

Dun.  Dismay'd  not  this 

Our  captains,  Macbeth  and  Banquo  ? 

Sold.  Yes ; 

Asjsparrows,  eagles ;  or  the  hare,  the  lion. 
If  I  say  .sooth,  I  must  report  they  were 
As  cannons  overcharg'd  with  double  cracks; 
So  they 

Doubly  redoubled  strokes  upon  the  foe  : 
Except  they  meant  to  bathe  in  reeking  A^oimds, 
Or  memorize  another  Golgotha, 
I  cannot  tell: — 

But  I  am  faint,  my  gashes  cry  for  hel|: 
Dun.  So  well  thy  words  become  Jiee,  as  thy 
wounds ; 

They  smack  of  honour  both  : — Go,  get  him  surgeons. 

[Exit  Soldier,  attended. 

Enter  Roses. 

Who  comes  here  ? 
Mai.  The  worthy  thane  of  Rosse. 

Len.  What  haste  looks  through  his  eyes !  So 
should  he  look. 
That  seems  to  speak  things  strange. 
Rosse.  God  save  the  king  I 

Dun.  Whence  cam'st  thou,  worthy  thane  ? 
Rosse.  From  Fife,  great  king, 

Where  the  Norweyan  banners  flout  the  sky. 
And  fan  our  people  cold. 
Norway  himself,  with  terrible  nnmbers. 
Assisted  by  that  most  dislojal  traitor 
The  thane  of  Cawdor,  'gan  a  dismal  conflict: 
Till  that  Bellona's  bridegroom,  lapp'd  in  proo^ 
Confronted  him  with  sell-comparisons, 
Point  against  point  rebellious,  arm  'gainst  arm. 
Curbing  his  lavish  spirit :  And,  to  conclude. 

The  victory  fejl  on  us  \  

Dun.  Great  happiness. 

Rosse.  That  now 
Sweno,  the  Norways'  king,  craves  composition;^ 
Nor  would  we  deign  him  burial  of  his  men. 
Till  he  disbursed,  a+  Saint  Colmes'  inch,  ^ 


Ten  thousand  dollar.<»  to  our  genera'  use. 


266 


MACBETH. 


Act  I, 


Pun.  No  more  that  thane  of  Cawdor  shall  deceive 
Our  bosom  interest :— Go,  pronounce  his  death. 
And  with  his  former  title  greet  Alacbeth.- 

Rosse.  I'll  see  it  done. 

Dun.  What  he  hath  lost,  noble  Macbeth  hath  won. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II  I. — A  Heath. 
Thunder.    Enter  three  Witches. 

1  Witch.  Where  hast  thou  been,  sister? 

2  JVitch.  Killing  swine. 

3  Witch.  Sister,  where  thou  ' 

1  J  Fitch.  A  sailor's  wile  had  cnesnuts  in  her  lap, 
And  tnouncli'd,  ain^.  mounch'd,  and  niounch'd  : — 

Give  me,  quoth  I  : 

Aroint  thee,  witch  I  the  rump-fed  ronyon  cries. 

tier  husband's  to  Aleppo  gone,  master  o'the  Tiger: 
^  But  in  a  sieve  I'll  thither  sail,  ^ 
'  And,  like  a  rat  without  a  tail, 

S'll  do,  I'll  do,  and  I'll  do. 

2  Witch.  I'll  give  thee  a  wind. 
1  Witch.  Thou  art  kind. 

3  Witch.  And  1  another. 

1  Witch.  I  myself  have  all  the  other: 
And  the  very  ports  they  blow, 

All  the  quarters  that  they  know 
I'the  shipman's  card. 
I  will  drain  him  dry  as  hay: 
Sleep  shall,  neither  uight  nor  day. 
Hang  upon  his  pent-house  lid; 
He  shall  live  a  nian  Ibrbid: 
Weary  sev'n  nights,  nine  times  nine. 
Shall  he  dwindle,  peak,  and  pine; 
Though  his  bark  cannot  be  lost. 
Yet  it  shall  be  tempest-toss'd. 
Look  what  1  have. 

2  fVitch.  Siiow  me,  show  me. 

1  PVitch.  Here  1  have  a  pilot's  thumb, 
Wreck'd,  as  homeward  he  did  come.  [Drum  tvithin.) 

3  Witch.  A  drum,  a  drum; 
IVIacbeth  doth  come. 

All.  The  weird  sisters,  hand  in  hand. 
Posters  of  the  sea  and  land, 
Thus  do  go  about,  about ; 
Thrice  to  thine,  and  thrice  to  mine. 
And  thrice  again,  to  make  up  nine: 
Peace  ! — The  charm's  wound  up. 

EiiterJIh^BKni  and  Banquo. 
Macb.^^^^A  arid.jkij:-^-d^yXhav.e.,t)jpt  seen. 
Ban.  How  Tar  is'  t  call'd  to  Fores  V — What  are 
these. 

So  wither  d,  and  so  wild  in  their  attire; 
That  look  not  like  the  inhabitants  o"the  earth, 
And  yet  are  ou't  ?    Live  you  ?  or  are  you  aught 
That  man  may  question  ?    You  seem  to  understand 
me. 

By  each  at  once  her  choppy  finger  laying 
Upon  her  skitmy  lips  : — You  should  be  women. 
And  yet  your  beards  forbid  ine  to  interpret 
That  you  are  so. 

Macb.         Speak,  if  you  can     What  are  you  ? 

1  fVitch.  All  hail,  Macbeth !  hail  to  thee,  thane 

of  Glamis  !  [of  Cawdor ! 

2  Witch.  All  hail,  Macbeth!  hail  to  thee,  thane 

3  Witch.  All  hail,  Macbeth!  that  shalt  be  king 

hereafter.  [fear 
Ban.  Good  sir,  why  do  you  start;  and  seem  to 
Things  that  do  sound  so  fair? —  I'the  name  of  truth, 
Are  ye  fantastical,  or  that  indeed, 
Which  outwardly  ye  show?    My  noble  partner 
Ye  greet  with  present  grace,  and  great  prediction 
Of  noble  having,  and  of  royal  hope, 
That  he  seems  rapt  withal;  tg„  me  yoir  speak  not : 
If  you  can  look  into  tiie  seeds  ol  lime. 
And  say,  which  grain  will  grow,  and  which  will  not ; 
Speak  then  to  me,  who  neither  beg,  nor  fear, 
lour  favours,  nor  your  hat !. 

1  ffilch.  Hail  I 

2  Witch.  Hail! 


3  Witch.  Hail .' 

1  Witch.  Lesser  than  Macbeth,  and  greater. 

2  Witch.  Not  so  happy,  yet  much  Imppier. 

3  Witch.  Tliou  shalt  get  kings,  though  thou  be 

none : 

So,  all  hail,  Macbeth,  and  Banquo ! 

1  Witch.  Banquo,  and  Macbeth,  all  hail ! 

Macb.  Stay,  you  imperfect  speakers,  tell  tne  moie  I 
By  Sinel's  death,  1  know,  1  anr  thane  of  Glamis; 
But  how  of  Cawdor  ?  the  thane  of  Cawdor  lives, 
A  prosperous  gentleman;  and,  to  be  king. 
Stands  not  within  the  prospect  of  bt  lief, 
No  more  than  to  be  Cawdor.    Say,  from  whence 
You  owe  this  strange  intelligence    or  why 
Upon  this  blasted  heath  you  stop  our  way 
With  such  prophetic  greeting? — Speak,  I  charge 
you.  {JVitches  vanish.) 

Ban.  The  earth  hath  bubbles,  as  tlie  water  has, 
And  these  are  of  them  : — Whither  are  they  vanish'd? 

Macb.  Into  the  air;  and  what  seem'd  corporal, 
melted 

As  breath  into  the  wind. — 'Would  they  had  staid! 

Ban.Were  such  things  here,  as  we  do  speak  about? 
Or  have  we  eaten  of  the  insane  root. 
That  takes  the  reason  prisoner?  X 

Macb.  Your  children  shall  be  kings. 

Ban.  You  shall  be  king. 

Macb.  And  thane  of  Cawdor  too  ;  went  it  not  so? 

Ban.  To  the  self-same  tune,  and  words.  Who's 
here  ? 

Enter  RossE  and  Angus. 
The  king  hath  happily  receiv'd,  Macbeth, 
The  news  of  thy  success:  and  when  he  reads 
Thy  personal  venture  in  the  rebels'  fight, 
His  wonders  and  his  praises  do  contend, 
Which  should  be  thine,  or  his;  Silenc'd  with  that. 
In  viewing  o'er  the  rest  o'the  seir-same  day, 
He  finds  thee  in  the  stout  Norweyau  ranks. 
Nothing  afeard  of  what  thyself  didst  make. 
Strange  images  of  death.    As  thick  as  tale. 
Came  post  with  post;  and  every  one  did  bear 
Tliy  praises  in  his  kingdom's  great  defence. 
And  pour'd  them  down  before  him. 

An(j.  '     We  are  sent. 

To  give  thee,  from  our  royal  master,  thanks^ 
To  herald  tli^ee  into  his  sight,  not  pay  thee. 

Rosse.  And,  for  an  earnest  of  a  greater  h<TOonr, 
He  bade  me,  from  him,  call  thee  thane  tjf  Cawdor 
In  which  addition,  haii,^iJjost  worthy  thane  ! 
For  it  is  thine.      .  -C^  ^ 

Ban.  What,  can  the  deVil_speak  true  ? 

Macb.  The  tharm-et  Cawdor  livesHVhy  do  yoo" 
In  borrow'd  robes  ?  [dress  rn« 

Ang.  Who  was  the  thane,  lives. yet; 

But  under  heavy  judgment  bears  that  life. 
Which  he  deserves  to  lose.    Whether  he  was 
Combiu'd  with  Norway;  or  did  line  the  rebel 
With  hidden  help  and'vantage;  or  that  with  both 
He  labour'd  in  his  counuy  s  wreck,  I  know  not; 
But  treasons  capital,  contess'd,  and  prdv  d. 
Have  overthrown  him. 

Macb.  Glamis,  and  thane  of  Cawdor: 

The  greatest  is  behind. — Thanks  for  your  pains. — 
Do  you  not  hope  your  children  shall  be  kings. 
When  those,  that  gave  the  thane  of  Cawdor  to  me, 
Promis'd  no  less  to  them  ? 

Ban.  That,  trusted  home^ 

Might  yet  enkindle  you  unto  the  crown, 
Besides  the  thane  of  Cawdor.    But  'tis  strange  : 
And  oftentimes,  to  win  us  to  our  harm,  , 
The  instruments  of  darkness  tell  us  truths  ; 
Win  us  w  ith  honest  trifles,  to  hjitray  an 
In  deepest  consequence. — 
Coiifiiis,  a  word,  I  pray  you. 

Macb.  Two  truths  are  told. 

As  happy  prologues  to  the  swelling  act 
Of  the  imperial  theme. — I  thank  you,  gentlemen 
This  supernatural  soliciting 
Cannot  be  ill;  cannot  be  good:— If  ill, 


Scene  5. 


MACBETH. 


267 


Why  bith  it  ^ven  me  earnest  cf  success, 
Coaimencing  in  a  truth  ?  I  am  thane  of  Cawdor : 
If  i^ood,  wliy  do  I  yield  to  that  suggestion, 
WhobC  horrid  iiii,ige  doth  unfix  niy  hair 
And  make  my  seated  heart  knock,  at  ray  ribs. 
Against  the  use  of  nature  ?    Present  fears 
Are  less;  than  horrible  imaginings:" 
My  tliuught,  whose  murder  yet  is  but  fantastical, 
Siiakes  so  my  single  state  of  man,  that  function 
Is  siiiOther'd  in  surmise  ;  and  nothing  is, 
Uut  what  is  nut. 

Ba?i.  Look,  how  our  partner's  rapt,^,^ 

Macb.  If  chance  will  have  me  king,  why,  q^wnpte 
Without  my  stir,  [may  crown  me, 

Bun.  New  honours  come  upon  him 

Like  our  strange  garments  ;  cleave  not  to  their  mould. 
But  with  the  aid  of  use. 

Macb.  Come  what  come  may: 

Time  and  the  hour  runs  through  the  roughest  day. 

Ban.  Worthy  Macbeth,  we  stay  upon  your  leisure. 

Macb.  Cive  me  your  favour: — my  dull  brain  was 
wrought 

With  things  furgotten.    Kind  gentlemen,  your  pains 

Are  register'd  where  every  day  I  turn 

The  leaf  to  read  them. —  L^et  us  toward  the  king.— 

Think  upon  what  hath  chanc'd  ;  and,  at  more  time. 

The  interim  having  weigh'd  it,  let  us  speak 

Our  free  iiearts  each  to  other. 

Ban.  Very  gladly. 

Macb.  '\"\\\  then,  enough. — Come,  friends. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — Fores.   A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Flourish.  Enter  Duncan,  Malcolm,  Donalbain, 
Lenox,  and  Attendants. 

Dun  Is  execution  done  on  Cawdor?   Are  not 
Those  in  commission  yet  return'd  ? 

Mai.  My  liege. 

They  are  not  yet  come  back.    But  I  have  spoke 
Witli  one  that  saw  him  die :  who  did  report. 
That  very  frankly  he  confess'd  his  treasons; 
Implor'd  your  highness'  pardon  ;  and  set  forth 
A.  deep  repentance :  nothing  in  his  life 
Became  him  like  the  leaving  it:  he  died 
As  one  that  had  been  studied  in  his  death. 
To  throw  away  the  dearest  thing  he  ow'd. 
As  'twere  a  careless  trifle. 

Dun.  There's  no  art. 

To  find  the  mind's  construction  in  the  face  : 
He  5yas  a  gentleman,  on  whom  I  built 
An  absolute  trust. — O  worthiest  cousin! 

Enter  Macbeth,  Banquo,  Rosse,  and  Angus. 
The  sin  of  my  ingratitude  even  now  / 
V^as  heavy  on  me :  Thou  art  so  far  before. 
That  swiftest  wing  of  recompense  is  slow 
To  overtake  thee.  'Would  thou  hadst  less  deserv'd ; 
That  the  proportion  both  of  thanks  and  payment 
Might  have  been  mine !  only  I  have  left  to  say, 
More  is  thy  due  than  more  than  all  can  pay. 

"Macb.  The  service  and  the  loyalty  I  owe. 
In  doing  it,  pays  itself.    Your  highness'  part 
Is  to  receive  our  duties :  and  our  duties 
Are  to  your  throne  and  state,  children,  and  servants ; 
Which  do  but  what  they  should,  by  doing  every  thing 
Safe  toward  your  love  and  honour. 

Dun.  Welcome  hither : 

I  have  begun  to  plant  thee,  and  will  labour 
To  make  thee  full  of  growing. — Noble  Banquo, 
That  hast  no  less  deserv'd,  nor  must  be  known 
No  less  to  have  done  so,  let  me  infold  thee. 
And  hold  thee  to  my  heart. 

Ban.  There  if  I  grow. 

The  harvest  is  your  own. 

Dun.  My  plenteous  joys. 

Wanton  in  fulness,  seek  to  hide  themselves 
In  drops  of  sorrow. — Sons,  kinsmen,  thanes. 
And  you  whose  places  are  the  nearest,  know, 

e  will  establish  our  estate  upon 
Our  eldest,  Malcolm ;  whom  we  name  hereafter, 
K  The  prince  of  Cumberland :  which  honour  must 


Not,  unaccompanied,  invest  him  cnly,  ^ 
^ut  signs  of  nobleness,  like  stars,  shall  shind 
On  all  deservers. — From  hence  to  Inverness, 
And  bind  us  further  to  you. 

Macb.  The  rest  is  labour,  which  is  not  us'd  for  j  -jr 
I'll  be  myself  the  harbinger,  and  make  joyful 
The  hearing  of  my  wife  witli  your  approach; 
So,  humbly  take  my  leave. 

Dun.  My  worthy  Cawdor! 

Macb.  The  prince  of  Cumberland ! — That  is  u 
step. 

On  which  I  must  fall  down,  or  else  o'erleap, 

[Aside 

For  in  my  way  it  lies.    Stars,  hide  your  fires  !  I 

Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires : 

'I  he  eye  wink  at  the  hand  !  yet  let  that  be, 

Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see.  [Exit. 

Dun.  True,  worlliy  Banquo;  he  is  full  so  valiant; 
And  in  his  commendations  1  am  fed  : 
It  is  a  banquet  to  me.    Let  us  after  uim, 
Whose  care  is  gone  before  to  bid  us  welcome  : 
It  is  a  peerless  kinsman.  [Flourish.  Exeunt, 

Scene  V. — Inverness.  A  Room  in  MacbetUs 
Castle.  Enter  Lady  Maceeth,  readiny  a  letter. 
Lady  M.  They  met  me  in  the  day  of  success  ; 
and  I  have  learned  by  the  perfectest  report,  they 
have  more  in  them  than  7nortal  knowledye.  When 
I  burned  i?i  desire  to  question  them  further,  they 
made  themselves — air,  into  ivhich  they  vanished. 
TVhiles  I  stood  rapt  in  the  wonder  of  it,  came 
missives  from  the  king,  who  all-hailed  me.  Thane 
of  Cawdor;  by  which  title,  before,  these  weird 
sisters  saluted  me,  and  referred  me  to  the  coming 
on  of  time,  tvith.  Hail,  king  that  shalt  be!  This 
have  I  thought  good  to  deliver  thee,  my  dearest 
partner  of  greatness ;  that  thou  mightest  not  lose 
the  dues  of  rejoicing,  by  being  ignorant  of  what 
greatness  is  promised  thee.  Lay  it  to  thy  heart, 
and  farewell. 

Glamis  thou  art,  and  Cawdor;  and  shalt  be 
'What  thou  art  promis'd  : — Yet  do  I  fear  thy  nature; 
It  is  too  full  o'the  milk  of  human  kindness, 
To  catch  the  nearest  way  :  thou  would'st  be  great; 
Art  not  without  ambition  ;  but  without 
The  illness  should  attend  it.    What  thou  wouldst 
highly. 

That  wouldst  thou  holily ;  wouldst  not  play  false, 
And  yet  wouldst  wrongly  win  :  thoudst  have,  great 
Glamis, 

That  which  cries,  T/«/s  thou  must  do, if  thou  have  It; 
And  that  which  rather  thou  dost  fear  to  do. 
Than  ivishest  should  be  undone.    Hie  thee  hither. 
That  I  may  pour  my  spirits  in  thine  ear; 
And  chastise  with  the  valour  of  my  tongue 
All  that  impedes  thee  from  the  golden  round. 
Which  fate  and  meta[»hysicai  aid  doth  seem 

To  have  thee  crown'd  withal.  What  is  your 

tidings  t 

Enter  an  Attendant.  ,^ 
Atten.  The  king  comes  here  to-niglit."'*" 
Lady  M.  "^IMiou'rt  mad     say  it 

Is  not  thy  master  with  him  ?  who,  wer't  so, 
Would  have  inform'd  for  preparation. 
Atten.  So  please  you,  it  is  true ;  our  thane  i 
coming: 

One  of  my  fellows  had  the  speed  of  him  ; 
Who,  almost  dead  for  breath,  had  scarcely  more 
Than  would  make  up  his  message. 

Lady  M.  Give  him  tending, 

He  brings  great  news.  The  ..raven  himself  is  hoarse, 

That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan 
Under  my  battlements.    Come,  come,  you  spirits 
That  tend  on  mortal  thoughts,  unsex  me  here  ; 
And  fill  me,  from  the  crown  to  the  toe,  top-full 
Of  direst  cruelty!  make  thick  my  blood, 
Stop  up  the  access  and  passage  to  remorse  ; 


268 


MACBETH. 


T^a^     compunctious  visitin2;s  of  n^tnre 
Shake  my  tell  piirjHise,  nor  keep  peace  between 
The  effect  and  it!    Come  to  my  woman's  breasts. 
And  take  my  milk  for  gall,  yon  murd'ring  ministers, 
Wherever  in  yuiir  sigiitiess  siibstancea 
You  wait  on  nature's  miscliiel"!  Come,  thic^  night, 
And  pall  thee  in  thf;  diumest  smtjke  y'iielJLi>  // 
That  my  keen  knife  see  not  the  wouncnfmakes 


Nor  heaven  peep  throngh  the  blanket  of  the  dark,  ^,.»~----==«.Itw£Cfiji^ 

To  cry,  Hold,  hold!  Great  Glamis  I  wofth\<4-Jj-^:''e  done  qmi^krfe:  If 

Cawdor ! 

Enter  Macbeth. 
Grealprlhan  both,  by  the  all-hail  hereafter! 


Thy  letters  have  transported  me  beyond 
This  ignorant  present,  and  1  feel  now 
The  future  in  the  instant. 

Macb.  My  dearest  love, 

Duncan  comes  here  to-night. 

Lady  M.  And  when  goes  hence  ? 

Mach.  'i'o-morrow, — as  he  purposes. 

Lady  M.  O,  never 

Shall  sun  that  morrow  see! 
Your  face,  my  thane,  is  as  a  book,  where  men 
May  read  strange  matters : — To  beguile  the  time, 
-Look  like  the  time  ;  bear  welcome  in  your  eye. 
Your  hand,  your  tongue  :  look  like  the  innocent 
ticnjfj&Fj"^  ,^ 

But  be  theiSe rpe nt^ under  it.    He  that's  coming 
Must  be  pmmled  ifor :  and  you  shall  put 
This  night's  great  business  into  my  despatch  ; 
Which  shall  to  all  our  nights  and  days  to  come 
Give  solely  sovereign  sway  and  niasterdom. 
\  Macb.  We  will  sp^ak-imliiej. 

Lady  Jfr  Only  look  up  clear  ; 

To  alter  Cavonr  ever  is  to  fear: 
l^eave  all  the  rest  to  me.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VI.  —  T/ie  same.   Before  the  Castle. 
Hautboys.    Servants  of  Macbeth  attending. 
Enter  Duncan,  Malcolm,  Donalbain,  Banquo, 
Lenox,  Macduff,  Kosse,  Angus,  and  Attend- 
ants. 

Dun.  Thio  casile  hath  a^pleasant  seat ;  the  air 
^iimbl^ljiud  sweetly  recoinnrenHs^selt^ 
Unto  our  g'gTjtle  senses.   

Ban.  This  guest  of  summer, 

The  temple-haunting  martlet,  does  approve. 
By  his  lov'd  mansionry,  that  tlie  heaven's  breath 
Smells  vvooingly  here:  nojutly,  frieze,  buttress. 
Nor  coigne  of  vantage,  but  this  bird  hath  made 
His  pendent  bed,  and  procreant  cradle  :  where  they 
Most  breed  and  haunt,  1  have  observ'd,  the  air 
Is  delicate. 

Enter  Lady  Macbetil 

Dun.         See,  see  !  our  honour'd  hostess ! 
The  love  that  follows  us,  sometime  is  our  trouble. 
Which  still  we  thank  as  love.    Herein  I  teach  you. 
How  you  shall  bid  God  \ield  us  for  your  pains, 
And  thank  us  lor  your  trouble. 

Lady  M.  All  our  service 

In  eveiy  point  twice  done,  and  then  done  double, 
Were  poor  and  single  business,  to  contend 
Against  ttiose  honours  deep  and  broad,  wherewith 
Yonr  tnajesly  li.ads  our  house  :  for  those  of  old, 
And  tilt'  late  dignities  heap'd  up  to  them. 
We  rest  your  hermits. 

.Dun.  Where's  the  thane  of  Cawdor? 

We  conrs'^l  him  at  the  heels,  and  had  a  purpose 
To  be  his  ijiirveyor:  bi  t  he  rides  well; 
And  his  great  love,  sharp  as  iiis  spur,  hath  holp  him 
To  his  home  befoie  us  :  fair  and  noble  hostess, 
We  are  vi>iir  guest  to-night. 

Ladt/  M  Your  servants  ever 

Have  thrirs  them.i  1  ves,  and  what  is  theirs,  in  compt. 
To  make  thi  ir  audit  at  your  highness'  pleasure. 
Still  to  return  your  own. 

Dun.  Give  me  j'our  hand  : 

Conduct  me  tv  mine  bust;  we  love  him  highly. 


By  your  leave,  hostess. 
Scene  VII. — The  same. 


And  shall  continue  our  graces  towards  him. 

[Exeunt 

A  Room  in  the  Castle. 
Hautboys  and  torches.    Enter  and  pass  over  the 
stage,  a  Sewer,  and  divers  Servants  with  dishea 
and  service.    Then  enter  Macbeth. 
Mucb.  If  it  were  done,  when  'tis  done,  then 


 the  assassination 

Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch. 
With  this  surcease,  success ;  that  but  this  blow 
Might  b,e  the  be-all  and  the  end  all^r?>  ^ 
But{Ker^;  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  oTtiine, — 


We'djiimp  the  life  to  come. — But,  in  these  cases,  t  i  ^ 
We  still  have  judgmen^^^ ;  that  we  but  teach 
Bloody  instructions,  whicTiTneing  taught,  return 
To  plague  the  inventor:  This  evea-handed  justice 
Commends  the  ingredients  of  our  poison'd  chalice 
To  our  own  lips.    He's  here  in  double  trust! 
First,  as  I  am  his  kinsman  and  his  subject, 
Strong  both  against  the  deed ;  then,  as  his  host, 
Who  should  against  his  murderer  shut  tiie  door. 
Not  bear  the  knife  myself.    Besides,  this  Duncan 
Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 
So  clear  in  his  great  office,  that  his  virtues 
Will  plead  like  angels,  trumpet-tongu'd,  agains^ 
The  deep  damnation  of  his  talyjjg  otf :  -.^ 
And  pity,  like  a  nakeA^fi^^^^ori^njabe,'  3 
Striding  th^  1  a^, '6 1'  Ilea v eiVs  ctieT  iTBTn,  hors'd 
Upon  the  sightless  couriers  of  the  air, 
Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  every  eye. 
That  tears  shall  drown  the  wind. — i  have  no  spur 
To  pfick.^ie  sides  of  my  intent,  but  only 
V'^aultin/^^jgjJjitiQja,  iwhich  o'er-leaps  itself. 
And  falls  oh  tli^  other. — How  now,  what  news? 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  M.  He  has  almost  supp'd :  Why  have  yo« 
left  the  chamber? 

Macb.  Hath  he  ask'd  for  me  ? 

Lady  M.  Know  you  not,  he  has  ? 

Macb.We  will  proceed  no  further  in  this  buaness : 
He  hath  honour'd  me  of  late  ;  and  I  have  bought 
Golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  people. 
Which  wouTd'be  worn  now  in  their  newest  gloss. 
Not  cast  aside  so  soon. 

Lady  M.  Was  the  hope  drunk. 

Wherein  you  dress'd  yourself?  hath  it  slept  since? 
And  wakes  it  now,  to  look  so  green  and  pale 
At  what  it  did  so  freely  ?  From  this  time. 
Such  X  account  thy  love.  Art  thou  afeard 
To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valour. 
As  thou  art  in  desire  V  Wouldst  thou  have  that 
Which  thou  esteem'st  the  ornament  of  life, 
And  live  a  coward  in  thine  own  esteem; 
Letting  /  dare  not  wait  upon  /  would, 
Like  the  poor  cat  i'the  adage  i 

Macb.  Pr'ythee,  peace : 

t  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man ; 
Who  dares  do  more,  is  none. 

Lady  M.  What  beast  was  it  then» 

That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me  ?  / 
Wben  vou  durst  do  it^t.ht.n  you  wace^a-man^j         ,  / 
AttdTttrBTe  more  than  what  you  were,  you  would 
Be  so  much  more  the  man.  Nor  time,  nor  place. 
Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both: 
They  have  made  themselves,  and  that  their  iitoeta 
now 

Does  unmake  you.  I  have  given  suck  ;  and  know 
How  tender  'tis,  to  love  the  babe  that  milks  me : 
1  would,  while  it  was  smiling  in  my  face, 
Have  plnck'd  my  nipple  from  his  boneless  gums,  / 
And  dash'd  the  brams  out,  had  I  so  swor  j,  as  yon 
Have  done  to  this. 

Macb.  If  we  should  fail,  

LadyM.  .  WefaUl 

But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking- place. 
And  we'll  not  fail.    VV  hen  Duncan  is  asleep, 
(Whereto  ttie  father  shall  his  day  s  hard  jcurney 


ACT  II.    Scene  2. 


MACBETH.     '  '        '^O        d  269 


"  Soundly  invife  him,)  his  two  chamberlains 
Will  i  wiUi  wiiie  iind  WcISkhI  so  convince, 
That  rneiuui  y  ,  Uie  warder  of  the  brain, 
Shall  he  a  tuuie,  and  tiie  receipt  ot  reason 
^  AJjSjecky^tily  :  Wlien  in  swinish  sleep 
'ilieircfreiTclied  n^itilres  lie,  us  in  a  death, 
VVTiat  cannot  you  and  I  perlonn  upon 
The  ungnurded  biincan  ?  wiiat  not  put  upon 
iJls  Sjiongy  ollicers;  wiio  shall  bear  the  guilt 
or  our  great  quell  ? 

Macb.  Bring  forth  men-cbildren  only  ! 

For  my  undaimted  metal  should  compose 
Nothing  but  males.    Will  i^  not  be  receiv'd, 
W^heii  we  iiave  mark'd  vviti/  blood  those  sleepy  two 
Oi'his  own  cliamber,  and  us'd  their  very  daggers. 
That  they  iiave  done't  ^ 

Lady  ill.  Who  dares  receive  it  other, 

As  we  sliull  make  our  griels  and  clamour  rear 
Upon  his  death  i 

Macb.  I  am  settled,  and  bend  up 

Each  cor})oral  agent  to  this  terrible  feat. 
Away,  and  mock  tiie  time  with  lairest  show: 
False  face  must  hide  what  the  false  heart  doth 
"  know.       '  [Exeunt. 

—  ACT  II. 

Scene  L  —T/ic  same.    Court  within  the  Castle. 
Enter  Banquo  and  Fleance,  and  a  Servant  with 
a  torch  bffore  them. 

Ban.  How  goes  the  night,  boy? 

Fie.  The  moon  is  down ;  I  have  not  heard  the 
clock. 

Ban.  And  she  goes  down  at  twelve. 
Fie.  I  take't,  'tis  later,  sir. 

Ban.  Hold,  take  my  sword : — There's  husbandry 
in  heaven, 

Tiieir  candles  are  all  out. — Take  thee  that  too. 
A  heavy  summons  lies  like  lead  upon  me. 
And  yet  I  would  not  sleep  :  Merciful  powers! 
Restrain  iu  me  the  cursed  thoughts,  that  nature 
Gives  way  to  iii  repose  ! — Give  me  my  sword  ; — 

Enter  Macbeth,  atid  a  Servant  with  a  torch. 

Who's  there  ? 

Macb.  A  friend.  [a  bed  : 

BaJi.  What,  sir,  not  yet  at  rest?    The  king's 
He  hath  been  in  unusual  pleasure,  and 
Sent  forth  great  largess  to  yoirr  offices : 
This  diamond  he  greets  your  wife  withal, 
By  the  name  of  most  kind  hostess ;  and  shut  up 
In  measureless  content. 

Macb.  Being  unprepar'd. 

Our  will  became  the  servant  to  defect; 
W^hieh  else  slujuld  Iree  have  wrought 

Ban.  All's  well. 

I  dreamt  last  night  of  the  three  weird  sisters : 
To  you  they  have  shovv'd  some  truth. 

Macb.  I  think  not  of  them : 

Yet,  when  we  can  entreat  an  hour  to  serve, 
vVould  spend  it  in  some  words  upon  that  business. 
If  vou  would  grant  the  time.' 

han.  At  your  kind'st  leisure. 

Macb.  If  you  shall  cleave  to  my  consent, — when 
It  shall  make  honour  for  you.  ['tis, 

Ban.  So  I  lose  none, 

In  seeking  to  augment  it,  but  still  keep 
My  bosom  francliis'd,  and  allegiance  clear, 
\  shall  be  counsell'd. 

Macb.  Good  repose,  the  while ! 

Ban.  Thanks,  sir;  the  like  to  you! 

[Exit  Banquo. 

Macb.  Go,  bid  thy  mistress,  when  my  drink,  is 
ready. 

She  strike  upon  the  bell.    Get  thee  to  bed. — 

[Exit  Servant. 
Is  thiaA- dagger,  which  I  see  before  me. 
The  handle  toward  my  hand  ?  Corae,  let  me  clutch 

thee:  

I  have  thee  not,  and  yet  I  see  thee  stilL 
Art  thou  not,  fatal  vision,  sensible 


To  feeling,  as  to  sight?  or  art  tinu  but 
A  dagger  of  the  niiiid  ;  a  false  creation, 
.^Proceeding  from  tlieTieat-oppressed  brain  ? 
I  see  thee  yet,  in  form  as  palpable 
As  this  which  now  I  draw. 
Thou  marshall'st  me  the  way  that  I  was  goinjf ; 
And  such  an  instrument  1  was  to  use. 
Mine  eyes  are  made  the  fools  o'the  other  senses. 
Or  else  worth  all  the  rest :  I  see  thee  still ; 
And  on  thy  blade  and  dudi^gsn,  gouts  of  blood, 
Which  was  not  so  beiore. — Tiiere's  no  such  things 
It  is  the  bloody  business,  which  informs 
Thus  to  mine  eyes. — Now  o'er  the  one  half  world 
Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abuse 
"TfTB  CDi'tiiiii'^T  Sileep';"'rinvv  witchcralt  celebrates 
Pale  Hecate's  offerings ;  and  wither"d  murder, 
Alarum'd  by  his  centinel,  the  wolf. 
Whose  howl's  his  watch,  thus  with  his  stealthy 

pace,  [siga 
With  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides,  towards  his  de- 
Moves  like  a  ghost.  Thou  sure  and  firm-set 

earth. 

Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,  for  fear 
The  very  stones  prate  of  my  where-about. 


ha 


And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time. 
Which  now  suits  with  it.— Whiles  I  threat 
lives ; 

Words  to  the  heat  of  deeds  too  cold  breath  gives. 

[A  bell  rings, 
I  go,  and  it  is  done ;  the  bell  invites  me. 
Hear  it  not,  Duncan ;  for  it  is  a  knell 
That  sumc»ons  thee  to  heaven,  or  to  hell.  [Exit 

Scene  II. — The  same. 
Epier  Lady  Macbeth. 
Lady  M.  That  which  hath  made  them  drank« 
hath  made  me  bold : 
What  hath  quench'd  them,  hath  given  me  fire : 

Hark !— Peace ! 
It  was  ^e  owT^at  shriek'd  ;  the  fatal  bellman. 
Which  gtre^the  stern'st  good-night.  He  is  about  it 
The  doors  are  open  ;  and  the  suri'eited  grooms 
Do  mock  their  charge  with  snores :  1  have  drugg'd 

their  possets, 
That  death  and  nature  do  contend  about  them, 
Whether  they  live,  or  die. 
Macb.  {IJ  ithin.)  Who's  there  ?— what,  hoi 
Lady  M.  Alack  I  I  am  afraid  they  h;ive  awaked. 
And  'tis  not  done: — the  attempt,  and  not  the  deed. 
Confounds  us  : — Hark  I — I  laid  their  daggers  ready. 
He  could  not  miss  them  — Had  he  not  resembled 
My  father  as  he  slept,  I  had  done"t — My  husband  ? 

Enter  Macbeth. 
Macb.  I  have  done  the  deed: — Didst  tiiou  not 

hear  a  noise  ?  ^ 
Lady  M.   I  heard  theVQvi;l__|cream, 
;Gj^iQ^^^t^_^c ry    ''"*'"*'"""^'*"'™™'^-"*''^"''"'"'' .  ■ 
Did  not  you  speak  F 
Macb.  When? 
Lady  M.  Now.     .  C/Tr- 

Macb,  As  I  descended  C 

Lady  M.  Ay 
Macb.  Hark!— 
Who  lies  i'the  second  chamber? 
Lady  M.  Donalbain. 
Macb.  This  is  sorry  sight, 

{Looking  on  his  \ando,l 
Lady  M.  A  foolish  thought,  to  say  sorry  sight 
Macb.  There's  one  did  laugh  in  his  sleep,  and 
one  cried  murder!  [them: 
That  they  did  wake  each  other;  I  stood  ard  heard 
But  they  did  say  their  prayers,  and  afldresjj'd  theia 
Again  to  sleep. 

Lady  M.  There  are  two  lodg'd  together.  , 

Macb.  One  cried,  God  bless  us !  anc'.  Amen,  th« 
other ; 

As  they  had  seen  me  with  these  hangmar's  hands 
Listening  their  fear,  I  could  not  say,  amen. 
When  they  did  say,  God  bless  us. 


and  tha 


A 


^    iXJL.f'  MACBETH.  I     -fei^lei  j    Act  I' 


S70 

httdy  M..  Consider  it  not  so  deeply. 

Macb.  lint  wherefore  could  not  I  pronounce, 
I  had  most  need  of  blessing,  and  amen  [amen  ? 
Stuck  ill  my  throat. 

Lady  M.  These  deeds  must  not  be  thought 

After  tliese  ways   so,  it  will  make  us  mad. 

Macb.  Methoufjlit,  I  heard  a  voice  cry,  Sleep  no 
mure! 

Macbeth  does  murder  sleep,  the  innocent  sleep  ; 
*^i^^'^i^JA^  ^'WiVi-  up  the  raveirdjilsjS^p^e  qf  care^  _ 
'I'Tit'SeaTfn^'-Ta^^  sure  labour's  Bath, 

BTdm-oj'frm'trvrfmi's.  iji 'KatiTaKifFs  secofi d  course, 
CMsfrwurisher  in  life's  feast ; — 

Lady  M.  VVIiat  do  you  mean? 

Macb.  Sdll  it  cried,  Sleep  no  more!  to  all  the 
house :  [Cawdor 
Glamis  hath  murder" d  sleep;    and  therefore 
Shall  sleep  no  more,  Macbeth  shall  sleep  no  fnore! 

Lady  M.  VVlio  was  it  tliat  thus  cried?  Why, 
worthy  thane, 
You  do  unbend  your  noble  strength,  to  think 
So  brainsickly  of  things  :— Go,  get  some  water, 
And  wash  tiiis  Hltiiy  witness  liom  your  hand. — 
Why  did  yon  br:n^  thest-  daggers  from  the  place  ? 
They  must  lie  there  :  Go,  carry  them ;  and  smear 
The  sleepy  grooins  witli  blood. 

Macb.  I'll  go  no  more  : 

I  am  ai'raid  to  think  what  T  have  done; 
Look  on't  again,  I  dare  not. 

Lady  M.  Infirm  of  purpose  ! 

Give  tue  tiie  daggers:  The  sleeping,  and  the  <lead, 
Are  but  as  picliires:  tis  the  eye  ol' childhood. 
That  fears  a  painted  devil.    If  he  do  bleed, 
I'll  gild  the  l;!ces  of  the  grooms  withal, 
For  it  nnist  seem  their  guilt. 

[Exit.    KnocTcing  tvithin. 

Macb.  Whence  is  that  knocking  ? 

How  is't  with  me,  when  every  noisje. appals  me  i ^ 
What  hands  are  here  ?  Ha  !  they  pluck  out  mine 
eyes ! 

Will  all  great  Neptune's  ocean  wash  this  blood 
Clean  from  my  hand  ?  No;  this  my  hand  will  rather 
The  multitudinous  seas  incarnardine. 
Making  the  green — one  red. 

■  Re-enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  M.  My  hands  are  of  your  colour;  but  I 

shame  [ing 
To  wear  a  heart  so  white.  [Knock.)  I  hear  a  knock - 
At  the  soutli  entry  : — retire  we  to  our  chamber; 
A  little  water  clears  us  of  this  deed^ 
How  easy  is  it  then  ?  Yoim*  constancy 
Hath  lelt  you  unattended. — {Knocking.)    Hark  ! 

nuire  knocking : 
Get  on  yiiiir  nightgown,  lest  occasion  call  us, 
And  show  us  to  be  watciiers : — Be  not  lost 
So  poorly  in  your  thoughts. 

Macb.  To  know  my  deed, — 'twere  best  not  know 

myself.  (Knock.) 
W^ke  Duncan  with  thy  knocking  ]  ,Ayi„'wpirld  thou 
^  couldst!  [Exeunt. 

Scene  HI. — The  same. 
Eater  a  Porter.   [Knocking  within.) 
Port.  Here's  a  knocking,  indeed!  If  a  man  were 

Eorter  of  hell-gate,  he  should  have  old  turning  the 
ey.  [Knocking.)  Knock,  knock,  knock:  Who's 
there,  i'tue  name  of  Belzebub?  Here's  a  farmer, 
that  hanged  himself  on  the  expectation  of  plenty  : 
Come  in  time;  have  na[)kins  enough  about  you; 
here  you  ll  sweat  for't.  [Kiucking.)  Knock,  knock: 
Who's  there,  ithe  other  devil's  name?  'Faith, 
here's  an  eqnivocator,  that  could  swear  in  both  the 
scales  against  either  scale  ;  who  committed  treason 
enough  lor  God  s  sake,  yet  could  not  equivocate 
to  heaven  :  O.  come  in,  eqnivocator.  [Knocking.) 
Knock,  knock,  knock:  Who's  there?  'F;»ith,  here  s 
%\\  Euglisii  tailor  come  liither,  ibr  stealing  out  of  a 
French  Ixise  :  Come  in,  tailor;  here  you  may  roast 
your  jjvose.    Knocking.)  K'ny  U,  knock:  Keve*- at 


quiet!  What  are  you? — But  this  t')lace  is  t»m  co,^ 
for  hell.  I'll  devil-porter  it  no  f  urther :  I  h.ul 
thought  to  have  let  in  some  of  all.  professions,  that 
go  the  primrose  way  to  the  everlasting  bonfire. 
[Knocking.)  Anon,  anon;  I  pray  you,  remembei 
the  porter.  [Opens  the  gajte.) 

Enter  Macduff  and  Lenox. 

Macd.  Was  it  so  late,  friend,  ere  you  went  to  bev 
That  you  do  lie  so  late  ? 

Port.  'Faith,  sir,  we  were  carousing  till  the 
second  cock :  and  drink,  sir,  is  a  great  provoker  ol 
three  things. 

Macd.  What  three  things  does  drink  especially 
provoke  ? 

Port.  Marry,  sir,  nose-painting,  sleep,  and  urine. 
Lechery,  sir,  it  provokes,  and  unprovokes  :  it._pr0i 
vokes  the  desire,  but  it  takes  away  the  performance : 
Therefore,  much  drink  may  be  said  to  be  an  eqni- 
vocator with  lechery  :  it  makes  him,  and  it  mars 
him;  it  sets  him  on,  and  it  takes  him  oil";  it  per- 
suades him,  and  disheartens  him;  makes  \\\m  stand 
to,  and  not  stand  to  :  in  conclusion,  equivocates  him 
in  a  sleep,  and,  giving  him  the  lie,  leaves  him. 

Macd.  I  believe,  drink  gave  thee  the  lie  last 
night. 

Port.  That  it  did,  sir,  i'the  very  throat  o'me  : 
But  I  requited  him  for  his  lie  ;  and,  I  think,  being 
too  strong  for  him,  though  he  took  up  my  legs 
soflietime,  yet  I  made  a  shift  to  cast  him. 

Macd.  Is  thy  master  stirring? — 
Our  knocking  has  awak'd  him  ;  here  he  comes. 

Enter  jMacbeth. 

Lcn.  Good-morrow,  noble  sir! 

Macb.  Good-morrow,  both. 

Macd.  Is  the  king  stirring,  worthy  thane  ? 

Macb.  Not  yet 

Macd.  He  did  command  me  to  call  timely  on  uim; 
I  have  almost  shpp'd  the  hour. 

Macb.  I'll  bring  you  to  hirei, 

Macd.  I  know,  this  is  a  joyful  trouble  to  you  ; 
But  yet,  'tis  one. 

Macb,  The  labour  we  delight  in,  physics  pain. 
This  is  the  door. 

Macd.  I'll  make  so  bold  to  call, 

For  'tis  my  limited  service.  [Exit  Macduff. 

Len.  Goes  the  king 

From  hence  to-day  ? 

Macb.  He  does  : — he  did  appoint  it  so. 

Len.  The  night  has  been  unruly:  VVhere  we  Iay« 
Our  chimneys  were  blown  down  :  and,  as  they  say, 
Lamentings  heard  i'the  air;  strange  screams  of 
death; 

Aj3il4iri)4)hecying,  with  accents  terrible, 

Of  dire  combustibn,  and  confus'd  events. 

New  hatch'd  to  the  woeful  time.  The  obscure  bird 

Clamour'd  the  live  long  night,  some  say,  the  earth 

Was  feverous,  and  did  shake. 

Macb.  'Twas  a  rough  night. 

Len.  My  young  remembrance  cannot  parallel 
A  fellow  to  it. 

Re-enter  Macdlw. 

Macd.  O  horror!  horror!  horror!  Tongue,  nor 
Cannot  conceive,  nor  name  thee  !  [heart, 

Macb.  Len.  What's  the  n)atter  ? 

Macd.  Confusion  now  hath  made  his  master-piece! 
Most  sacrilegious  murder  hath  broke  ope 
The  Lord's  anointed  temple,  and  stole  thence! 
The  life  of  the  building. 

Macb.  What  is't  you  say  ?  the  life  ? 

Len.  Mean  you  his  majesty?  [sight 

Macd.  Approach  the  chamber,  end  destroy  your 
With  a  new  Gorgon  :— Do  not  bi.^  me  speak  ; 
See,  and  then  speak  yourselves. — Awake  !  Awake  J 
[Exeunt  Macbeth  and  Lencx, 
Ring  the  alamm-bell  : — Murder!  and  treason! 
Hanquo,  and  Donalbain!  Malcolm  !  A  wake  ! 
Shake  oti  this  downy  sleep,  death's  counterfeit* 


Scene  i. 


MACBETH. 


271 


And  look  on  tleath  itself! — up,  np,  and  see 
IVIhIcoIiii 


The  great  doom's  ini^ge 


Banquo! 


As  from  yoiir  graves  rise  up,  and  walk  like  sprights, 
To  counlenance  this  horror !  {Bell  I'inys.) 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  M.                         What's  the  business, 
That  siicli  a  hideous  trumpet  calls  to  [)arley 
The  sleefjers  of  the  house?  speak,  speak,  

Macd.  O,  gentle  lady, 

'Tis  not  for  you  to  hear  what  I  can  speak  : 
The  repetition,  in  a  woman's  ear, 
Would  murder  as  it  fell.   Banquo  !  Banquo  ! 

Enter  Banquo. 
Our  royal  master's  murder'd  ! 

Lady  M.  Woe,  alas  ! 

What,  in  our  house  ? 

Ban.  Too  cruel,  any  where.  

Dear  Duff,  I  pr'ythee,  contradict  thyself. 
And  say,  it  is  tiot  so. 

Re-enter  Macbeth  and  Lenox. 
Mach.  Had  I  but  died  an  hour  before  this  chance, 
I  had  liv'd  a  blessed  time;  for,  from  this  instant. 
There's  nothing  serious  in  mortality  : 
All  is  but  toys  :  renown,  and  grace,  is  dead  ; 
The  wine  of  life  is  drawn,  and  the  mere  lees 
Is  left  this  vault  to  brag  of. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  Donalbain. 
Don.  What  is  amiss? 

Macb.  Yon  are,  and  do  not  know  it : 

The  spring,  the  head,  the  fountain  of  your  blood 
[s  stopp'd  ;  the  very  source  of  it  is  stopp'd. 

Macd,  Your  royal  father's  murder'd. 

Mai.  O,  by  whom  ? 

Len.  Those  of  his  chamber,  as  it  seem'd,  had 
done't : 

Their  hands  and  faces  were  all  badg'd  with  blood. 
So  were  their  daggers,  which,  unwip'd,  we  found 
Upon  their  pillows  : 

They  star'd,  and  were  distracted;  no  man's  life 
Was  to  be  trusted  with  them. 

Macb.  O,  yet  I  do  repent  me  of  my  fury. 
That  I  did  kill  them. 

Macd.  Wherefore  did  yon  so  ? 

Macb.  WTio  can  be  wise,  amaz'd,  temperate,  and 
furious, 

'-iiOyal  and  neutral,  in  a  moment?  No  man: 

;  The  expedition  nf  my  violent  love 

, Out-ran  the  pauser  reason. — Here  lay  Dimcan, 
His  silver  skin  lac'd  with  his  golden  blood  ; 
And  his  gash'd  stabs  look'd  like  a  breach  in  nature 
For  ruin]s  wasteful  entrance  :  there,  the  murderers, 
Steep'd  in  the  colours  of  their  trade,  their  daggers 
Unmannerly  breech'd  with  gore :  Who  could  refrain. 
That  had  a  heart  to  love,  and  in  that  heart 
Courage,  to  make  his  love  known  ? 
Lady  M.  Help  me  hence,  ho ! 

Macd.  Look  to  the  lady. 

Mai.  Why  do  we  hold  our  tongues. 

That  most  may  claim  this  argument  for  ours  ? 

Don.  What  should  be  spoken  here. 
Where  our  fate,  hid  within  an  auger-hole. 
May  rush,  and  seize  us  ?  Let's  away ;  our  tears 
Are  not  yet  brew'd. 

Mai.  Nor  our  strong  sorrow  on 

The  foot  of  motion. 

Ban.  Look  to  the  lady  : — 

{Lady  Macbeth  is  carried  out.) 
And  when  we  have  our  naked  frailties  hid, 
That  suffer  in  exposure,  let  us  meet, 
Acid  question  this  most  bloody  piece  of  work. 
To  know  it  further.    F'ears  and  scruples  shake  us : 
In  the  great  hand  of  God  I  stand;  and,  thence, 
Against  the  undivulg'd  pretence  I  fight 
'Jf  treasonous  malice. 

Macb.  And  so  do  I. 

All.  So  all, 

Macb  Let's  briefly  put  on  manly  readiness. 


And  meet  i'the  hall  together. 

All.  Well  contented. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Mai.  and  Don, 

Mai.  What  will  you  do?  Let's  not  consort  witk 
To  show  an  unfelt  sorrow,  is  an  office  [them : 

Which  the  false  man  does  easy  :  I'll  to  England. 

Don.  To  Ireland  I ;  our  separate  fortune 
Shall  keep  us  both  the  safer  :  where  we  are, 
There's  daggers  in  men's  smiles  :  the  near  in  biof" 
The  nearer  bloody. 

Mai.  This  murderous  shaft  that's  shjh 

Hath  not  yet  lighted  ;  and  our  safest  way 
Is,  to  avoid  the  aim.    Therefore,  to  horse  ; 
And  let  us  not  be  dainty  of  leave-taking, 
But  shift  asvay  :  There's  warrant  in  that  theft. 
Which  steals  itself,  when  there's  no  mercy  left. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  IV.— Without  the  Castle. 
Enter  Rosse  and  an  old  Man. 
Old  M.  Threescore  and  ten  I  can  ren)ember  well : 
Within  the  volun)e  of  which  time,  I  have  seen 
Hours  dreadful,  and  things  strange;  but  this  sore 
Hath  trifled  former  knowings.  [night 

Rosse.  Ah,  g<iod  father. 

Thou  see'st,  the  heavens,  as  troubled  with  man's 
act. 

Threaten  his  bloody  stage  ;  by  the  clock  'tis  day. 
And  yet  dark  night  strangles  the  travelling  lamp: 
Is  it  night's  predominance,  or  the  day's  shame. 
That  darkness  does  the  face  of  earth  intomb. 
When  living  light  should  kiss  it? 

Old  M.  'Tis  unnatural, 

Even  like  the  deed  that's  done.    On  Tuesday  last, 
A  falcon,  tow'ring  in  her  pride  of  place. 
Was  by  a  mousing  owl  hawk  d  at,  and  kili'd. 

Rosse.  And   Duncan's   horses,  (a  thing  roost 
strange  and  certain,) 
Beauteous  and  swift,  the  minions  of  (heir  race, 
Turn'd  wild  in  nature,  broke  their  stalls,  flung' out, 
Contending 'gainst  obedience,  as  they  would  ntake 
War  with  mankind. 

Old  M.  'Tis  said,  they  eat  each  other. 

Rosse.  They  did  so;  to  the  amazement  of  min» 
eyes,  [doft\-— 
That  look'd  upon't.    Here  comes  the  good  Mac- 

Enter  Macduff. 
How  goes  the  world,  sir,  now  ? 
Macd.  Why,  see  you  not? 

Rosse.  Is't  known,  who  did  this  more  than  bloody 
deed? 

Macd.  Those  that  Macbeth  hath  slain.  ^ 

Rosse.  Alas,  the  day  I 

What  good  could  they  pretend  ? 

Macd.  They  were  suborn'd: 

Malcolm,  and  Donalbain,  the  king  s  two  sons. 
Are  stol'n  away  and  fled  ;  which  puts  upon  them 
Suspicion  of  the  deed. 

Rosse.  Gainst  nature  still : 

Thriftless  ambition,  tl>at  vvilt  raven  up 
Thine  own  life's  means ! — Then,  'tis  most  like. 
The  sovereignty  will  fall  upon  Macbeth. 

Wacd.  He  \s  already  nani'd ;  and  gone  to  Scone, 
To  be  invested. 

Rosse.  Where  is  Duncan's  body  ? 

Macd.  Carried  to  Colmes-kill ;  X 
The  sacred  storehouse  of  his  predecessors. 
And  guardian  of  their  bones. 

Rosse.  Will  you  to  Scoir' 

Macd.  No,  cousin,  I'll  to  Fife, 

Rosse.  Well,  I  will  thithe 

Macd.  Well,  may  you  see  things  well  done  tk 

— adieu  I  

Lest  our  old  robes  sit  easier  than  our  new  ! 

Rosse.  Father,  farewell. 

Old  M.  God's  benison  go  with  yoo ;  and  with 
those 

That  would  make  good  of  bad,  and  friends  of  foes  ! 

Uxeunt^ 


272 


MACBEin. 


Act  111. 


A(  T  TIT. 

SoENE  \.~Fore.s.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
'Enter  Banquo. 

Ban,  Thou  hast  it  noW;,  King,  Cawdor,  Glamis, 
As  the  weird  woineii  proinis'd ;  and,  I  fear,  [all. 
Thou  play'dst  most  foully  for"t:  yet  it  was  said. 
It  should  not  stand  in  thy  posterity ; 
But  that  myself  should  be  tlie  root,  and  father 
Of  many  kings.    If  there  come  truth  from  them, 
(As  upon  thee,  Macbeth,  their  speeches  shine,) 
why,  by  the  verities  on  thee  made  good. 
May  they  not  be  my  oracles  as  well. 
And  set  me  up  in  hope  ?    But,  hush  ;  no  more. 
8enet  sounded.    'Enter  Macbeth,  as  King  ;  Lady 

Macbeth,  as  Queen;  Lenox,  Rosse,  Lords, 

Ladies,  and  Attendants. 

Macb.  Here's  our  chief  guest. 

Lady  M.  If  he  had  been  forgotten, 

[t  had  been  as  a  gap  in  our  great  feast. 
And  all  things  unbecoming. 

Macb.  To  night  we  hold  a  solemn  supper,  sir. 
And  I'll  request  your  presence. 

Ban.  Let  your  highness 

Command  upon  me  ;  to  the  which,  my  duties 
Are  with  a  most  indissoluble  tie 
For  ever  knit. 

Macb.  Ride  you  this  afteruoon  ? 

Ban.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

^.  Macb.  We  should  have  else  desir'd  yo«r  good 
advice 

fWhich  still  hath  been  both  grave  and  prosperwis,) 
In  this  day's  council;  but  we'll  take  to-morrow. 
Is't  far  you  ride  ? 

Ban.  As  far,  my  lord,  as  will  fill  up  the  time 
Twixt  this  and  supper:  go  not  my  horse  the  better, 
I  must  become  a  borrower  of  the  night, 
For  a  dark  hour,  or  twain. 

Macb.  Fail  not  our  feast. 

Ban.  My  lord,  I  will  not. 

Macb.  We  .heBr^-.o'if  bloody  cousins  are  bestov/d 
\n  England,  and  in  Ireland  ^  not  confessing 
Their  cruel  parricide,  filling  their  hearers 
With  strange  invention  :  But  of  that  to  morrow  ; 
When,  therewithal,  we  shall  have  cause  of  state. 
Craving  us  jointly.    Hie  you  to  horse:  Adieu, 
'i'ill  you  return  at  night.    Goes  Fleance  with  you? 

Ban.  Ay,  my  good  lord  :  our  time  does  call  upon  us. 

Macb.  1  wish  your  horses  swift,  and  sure  of  foot ; 
And  so  I  do  commend  you  to  their  backs. 
Farewell. —  _         [Exit  Banquo. 

Let  every  man  be  master  of  his  time 
Till  seven  at  night;  to  make  society 
riie  sweeter  welcome,  we  will  keep  ourself  | 
Till  supper-time  alone  :  while  then,  God  be  with  you. 

[Exeunt  Lady  Macbeth,  Lords,  Ladies,  ^c. 
Sirrah,  a  word  :  Attend  those  men  our  pleasure  V 

Attend.  They  are,  my  lord,  without  the  palace 
gate. 

Macb.  Bring  them  before  us. —  [Exit  Attendant. 
To  be  thus,  is  nothing  ; 
fJut  to  be  sal'ely  thus: — Our  lears  in  Banquo 
Stick  deep  ;  and  in  his  royalty  of  nature 
Keighs  that,  which  would  be  fear'd  :  Tis  much  he 

dares;  ^ 
And,  to  that  dauntless  temper  of  his  mind, 
He  hath  a  wisdom  that  doth  guide  his  valour 
To  act  in  safety.    I'here  is  none,  but  he, 
Whose  being  I  do  fear :  and,  under  him, 
M  f  genius  is  rebuk'd  ;  as,  it  is  said, 
Mark  Antony's  was  by  Caesar.    He  chid  the  sisters. 
When  first  they  put  the  name  of  King  upon  me. 
And  bade  them  speak  to  him  ;  then,  prophet-like. 
They  hail'd  him  father  to  a  line  of  kings : 
Upon  my  head  they  plac'd  a  fruitless  crown. 
And  put  a  barren  sceptre  in  my  gripe. 
Thence  to  be  wrench'd  with  an  unlineal  hand. 
No  son  of  mine  succeeding.    If  it  be  so. 
For  Banquo'a  issue  have  1  fil'd  my  mind ; 
For  thefn  the  gracious  Dunjaji  have  I  murder'd ; 


Pnt  rancours  In  the  vessel  of  my  peace 

Only  for  them  ;  and  mine  eternal  jewel 

Given  to  the  common  enemy  of  man, 

To  make  thenj  kings,  the  seed  of  IJanquo  kiugs! 

Rather  than  so,  come,  fate,  into  the  list. 

And  champion  me  to  the  utterance  ! — W^ho's  there? 

Re-enter  Attendant,  with  two^/Uirder^^^ 
Now  to  the  door,  and  stay  there  till  we  call. 

[Exit  Attendant 
Was  it  nol^yesterday  me  sppke^iogether  ? 
1  Mur.  It  was,  so  please  your  highness. 
Macb.  Well  then,  now 

Have  you  consider'd  of  my  speeches?  Know, 
That  it  was  he,  in  the  tTrhes  past,  which  held  you 
So  under  fortune  ;  which,  you  thought,  had  been 
Our  innocent  self :  this  I  made  good  to  you 
In  our  last  conference  ;  pass'd  in  probation  with  yon, 
How  you  were  borne  in  hand  ;  how  cross'd  ;  the  in- 
struments; 

Who  wrought  with  them;  and  all  things  else,  that 
To  half  a  soul,  and  a  notion  craz'd,  [might. 
Say,  ThjisjiidJBan£UO. 

]  Mur.  You  made  it  known  to  us. 

Macb.  I  did  so;  and  went  further,  which  is  now 
Our  point  of  second  meeting.    Do  you  find 
Your  patience  so  predominant  in  your  nature, 
That  you  can  let  this  go  ?    Are  you  so  gospell'd, 
To  pray  for  this  good  man,  and  for  his  issue. 
Whose  heavy  hand  hath  bow'd  you  to  the  grave. 
And  beggar  d  yours  for  ever  ? 

1  Mur.  We  are  men,  rny  \\eg«^} 

Macb.  Ay,  ialhe.  catalogue  ye  go  lor  men  ; 
As  hounds,  aisd  greyhounds,  mongrels,  spaniels,  ours, 
Shoughs,  water-rugs,  and  deini-wolves,  are  cl<^pe() 
All  by  the  name  of  dogs:  the  valued  file 
Distinguishes  the  swift,  the  slow,  the  subtle, 
The  house-keeper,  the  hunter,  every  one 
According  to  the  gift  which  bounteous  nature 
Hath  in  him  clos'd  ;  whereby  he  does  receive 
Particular  addition,  from  the  bill 
That  writes  them  all  alike  :  and  so  of  men. 
Now,  if  you  have  a  station  in  the  file. 
And  not  in  the  worst  rank  of  manhood,  say  il; 
And  I  will  put  that  business  in  your  bosoms, 
Wiiose  execution  takes  your  enemy  ail'; 
Grapples  you  to  the  heart  and  love  of  us, 
Who  wear  our  health  but  sickly  in  his  life. 
Which  in  his  death  were  perfect. 

2  Mur.  I  am  one,  my  liege, 

Whom  the  vile  blows  and  buffets  of  the  wcM-ld 
Have  so  incens'd,  that  I  am  reckless  what 
I  do,  to  spite  the  world. 

1  Mur.  And  I  another. 

So  weary  with  disasters,  tugg'd  with  fortune. 
That  I  would  set  my  life  on  any  chance. 
To  mend  it,  or  be  rid  on't. 

Macb.  Both  of  you 

Know,  Banquo  was  your  enemy. 

2  Mur.  True,  my  lord. 
Macb.  Sa  is  he  mine  :  and  in  such  bloody  distance, 

That  every  miiiute  of  his  being  thrusts 
Against  my  near'st  of  life:  And  though  I  could 
With  bare-fac'd  power  sweep  him  from  my  sight. 
And  bid  my  will  avouch  it ;  yet  I  must  not. 
For  certain  friends  that  are  both  his  and  mine, 
Whose  loves  I  may  not  drop,  but  wail  his  fall 
Whom  I  myself  struck  down:  and  thence  it  is. 
That  I  to  your  assistance  do  make  love; 
Masking  the  business  from  the  common  eye, 
For  sundry  weighty  reasons. 

2  Mur.  We  shal'l,  my  lord 

Perform  what  you  command  us. 

I  Mur.  Though  our  lives— 

Macb.  Your  spirits  shine  through  you.  Within 
this  hour,  at  most, 
I  will  advise  you  where  to  plant  yourselves. 
Acquaint  you  with  the  perfect  spy  o'the  tinie. 
The  moment  on't;  for't  must  be  done  to-night. 
And  something  from  the  palace  ;  always  thought. 


SCENR  4. 


MACBETH. 


273 


That  I  require  a  clearness  :  And  with  him, 
(To' leave  no  rubs,  nor  botches,  in  tfTe  work,) 
Finance  his  son,  that  keeps  him  company, 
Whose  absence  is  no  less  material  to  me 
Than  is  his  father's,  must  embrace  the  fate 
l)l"tliat  dark  hour.    Resolve  yourselves  apart; 
Di  come  to  vou  anon. 

2  Mur  We  are  resolv'd,  my  lord. 

Macb.  ril  call  upon  you  straiglit ;  abide  within. 

If  is  concluded  :  Banquo,  thy  soul's  flight, 

li  i*  find  heaven,  mufit  iTnd  it  out  to-night. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  11. — The  same.   Another  Room. 
Enter  Lady  Macbeth  and  a  Servant. 

Lady  M.  Is  Banquo  gone  from  court? 

Serv.  Ay,  madam,  but  returns  again  to-night. 

Lady  M.  Say  to  the  king,  1  would  attend  his 
For  a  few  words.  [leisure 

Serv.  Madam,  I  will.  [Exit. 

Lady  M.  Nought's  had,  all's  spent, 

NVhere  our  desire  is  got  without  content : 
"I'is  safer  to  be  that  which  we  destroy, 
'f'tiau,  by  destruction,  dwell  in  doubtful  joy. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Hi)W  now,  niy  lord  ?  why  do  you  keep  alone. 
Of  sorriest  fancies  your  companions  making  ? 
Using  those  tlmughts,  wiiich  should  indeed  have  died 
With  tliem  they  think  on?  Things  without  remedy, 
Sliould  be  without  regard  :  what's  done,  is  done.  > 

Macb.  We  have  scotcli'd  tlie^snake.,.  ftQtJ^il^^^^^ 
She'll  cl  )se,  ancflje  herself;  whilst  our  poor  malice 
Rrmains  in  danger  of  her  former  tooth. 
But  let 

The  frame  of  things  disjoint,  both  the  worlds  suffer, 

Ere  we  will  eat  our  meal  in  fear,  and  sleep  * 

In  the  affliction  of  these  terrible  4reams, 

Thnt  shake  us  nightly:  beiter  be  with  the  dead, 

VVhonj  we,  to  gain  our  place,  have  sent  to  peace, 

rhi\a  on  the  torture  of  the  mind  to  lie 

I ')  restless  ecstacy.   Duncan  is  in  his  grave  ; 

A  ktr  life's  fitful  fever,  he  sleeps  well; 

Treason  has  done  his  worst :  nor  steel,  nor  poison. 

Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing. 

Can  toucli  him  further ! 

Lady  M.  Come  on  ; 
Gentle  my  lord,  sleek  o'er  your  rugged  looks  ; 
Be  bright  and  jovial  'mong  your  guests  to-night. 

Macb.  So  shall  I,  love  ;  and  so,  I  pray,  be  you  : 
Lrt  your  remembrance  apj>ly  to  Banquo  ; 
Piesent  him  eminence,  botff  with  eye  and  tongue. 
Unsafe  the  while,  that  we 

Must  lave  our  honours  in  these  flattering  streams  ; 
And  make  our  faces  vizards  t-o  our  hearts. 
Disguising  what  they  are. 

Lady  M.  ,  You  must  leave  this. 

Macb.  0,jfull  of  scorpions  is  my  mind,  dear  wife  ! 
Thou  know'k  that  Banquo,  and  his  Fleance,  live. 

Lady  M.  But  in  them  nature's  copy's  not  eterne. 

Macb.  There's  comfort  yet;  they  are  assailable  ; 
Then  be  thou  jocund  :  ere  the  bat  hath  flown 
His  cloister'd  flight;  ere,  to^black  Hecate's  sum- 
mons, - 
The  shard^Borne  beetle,  with  his  drowsy  hums. 
Hath  rung  night's  yawning  peal,  there  shall  be  done 
A  deed  of  dreadful  note. 

Lady  M.  What's  to  be  done  ? 

Macb.  Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge,  dearest 
chuck. 

Till  thou  applaud  the  deed.    Come,  seeling  night, 
Skarf  np  the  tender  eye  of  pitiful  day  ; 
And,  with  thy  bHody  and  invisible  hand, 
Cancel,  and  teai  to  pieces,  that  great  bond 
Which  keeps  m?  pale! — Light  thickens;  and  the 
Makes  wing  to  the  rooky  wood  :  [crow 
Good  things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and  drowse  ; 
VVhiles  night's  black  agents  to  their  prey  do  rouse. 
Tlio-i  marvell'st  at  my  words :  but  bold  thee  still , 


Things,  bad  begun,  make  strong  themselves  by  ill 
So,  pr  ythee,  go  with  me.  |  Exeunt, 

Scene  HI. — The  same.   A  Park  or  Lawn,  with 

a  Gate  leading  to  the  Palace. 
Enter  Three  Murderers. 

1  Mur.  But  who  did  bid  thee  join  with  us? 

3  Mur.  Macbeth. 

2  Mur.  He  needs  not  our  mistrust :  siucti  he  de- 
Our  offices,  and  what  we  have  to  do,  [livers 
To  the  direction  just. 

1  Mur.  Then  stand  with  us. 

The  west  yet  glimmers  with  some  streaks  of  day  * 
Now  spurs  the  lated  traveller  apace. 
To  gain  the  timely  inn ;  and  near  approaches 
The  subject  of  our  watch. 

3  Mur.  Hark  !  I  hear  horse«. 
Baji.  (  Within.)  Give  us  a  light  there,  ho! 

^  2  Mur.  Then  it  is  he  ;  the  rost 

That  are  within  the  note  of  expectation, 
Already  are  i'the  court. 

1  Mur.  His  horses  go  about. 

3  Mur.  Almost  a  mile :  but  he  does  usually. 
So  ail  men  do,  from  hence  to  the  palace  gate 
Make  it  their  walk. 

Enter  Banquo  and  Fleance,  a  Servant  with  • 
torch  preceding  them. 

2  Mur.  A  light,  a  light ! 

3  Mur.  Tis  he.— 
1  Mur.  Stand  to't. 

Ban.  It  will  be  rain  to-night. 

X^Mur.  Let  it  come  down. 

{Assaults  Banquo.) 
Bari.  O,  treachery !  Fly,  good  Fleance,  fly^,  fly,  fly ; 
Thou  may'st  revenge. — O  slave! 

IDies.    Fleance  and  Servant  escapt^, 
Mur.  Who  did  strike  out  the  light? 


Was't  not  the  wind  r 


Ml 

Mur.  There's  but  one  down ;  the  sou  is  fled. 
Mur.  VV^Jiaye  lost  best  half  of  our  att'air. 
Mur.  Well,  let's  away,  and  say  how  nmch  in 
done.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  IV.- 


-A  Room  of  State  in  the  Palace. 
Banquet  prepared. 


Enter  Macbeth,  Lady  Macbeth,  Rosse,  Lenox, 
Lords,  and  Attendants. 

Macb.  You  know  your  own  degrees,  sit  down  . 
And  last,  the  hearty  welcome.  [at  first 

Lords.  Thanks  to  your  majesty 

Macb.  Ourself  will  mingle  with  society. 
And  play  the  humble  host. 
Our  hostess  keeps  hep  state  ;  but,  in  best  time. 
We  will  require  her  welcome.  [friends , 

Lady  M.  Pronounce  it  for  me,  sir,  to  all  our 
For  my  heart  speaks,  they  are  welcome. 

Enter  first  Murderer,  Co  the  door. 
Macb.  See,  they  encounter  thee  with  their  hearts' 

thanks  :  

Both  sides  are  even :  Here  I'll  sit  i'the  midst : 
Be  large  in  mirth ;  anon,  we'll  drink  a  measure 
The  table  round. — There's  blood  upon  thy  face. 
Mur.  'Tis  Banquo's  then. 

Macb.  'Tis  better  thee  without,  than  he  within. 
Is  he  despatch'd  ? 

Mur.  My  lord,  his  throat  is  cut ;  that  1  did  for 
him.  [he's  good, 

Macb.  Thou  art  the  best  o'the  cut-thuoats  :  Yet 
That  did  the  like  for  Fleance  :  if  thou  didst  it. 
Thou  art  the  nonpareil. 

Mur.  Most  royal  sir, 

Fleance  is  'scap'd.  [perfect  | 

Macb.  Then  comes  my  fit  again  :  I  had  else  been 
Whole  as  the  marble,  founded  as  the  rock ; 
As  broad,  and  general,  as  the  casing  air: 
But  now  I  am  cabin'd,  cribb'd,  confin'd,  bound  ia 
To  saucy  doubts  and  fears.    But  Banquo's  safe  ? 

Mur.  Ay,  my  good  lord :  safe  in  a  ditch  he  bidei, 
18 


274 


MACBETH. 


Act  ni. 


Will)  (wenty  trencned  gashes  on  his  head; 
The  least  a  death  to  nuture. 

Macb  Thanks  for  that 

There  the  growu  serpent  lies;  the  worm,  that's  lied, 
flath  iiatir'5  that  in  time  will  venom  breed, 
No  teerh  tor  the  [yresent. — Get  thee  gone  ;  to-morrow 
We  11  hear,  ourselves  again. 

\Exii  Murderer, 
hadtf  M.  My  royal  lord, 

You  do  not  give  the  cheer :  the  feast  is  sold, 
That  is  not  often  vouch'd,  while  'tis  a  making, 
Tis  jjivcn  with  welcome  :  To  feed,  were  best  at 
home  ; 

lom  thence,  the  sauce  to  meat  is  ceremony; 
Meeting  vvere  bare  without  it. 

Mach.  Sweet  remembrancer  !  

Now,  jjood  digestion  wait  on  appetite, 
And  heaith  on  both  ! 

Jben.  May  it  please  your  highness  sit? 

{The  Ghost  of  Banquo  rises,  and  sits  in 
Macbeth  s  place.) 
Macb.  Here  had  we  now  our  country's  hononr 
rout  '<!, 

Were  the  grac'd  person  of  our  Banquo  present; 
Who  may  1  rather  challenge  for  unkindness, 
'J'han  pity  for  mischance  i 

Rosse.  His  absence,  sir, 

Lqys  blame  upon  his  promise.  Please  it  your  high- 
To  grace  us  with  your  royal  company?  [ness 

Macb.  The  table's  full. 

Len.  Here's  a  place  reserv'd,  sir. 

Macb.  Where? 

Len.  Here,  my  lord.    What  is't  that 

moves  your  highness  ? 

Macb,  Which  of  you  have  done  this? 

Lords.  What,  my  good  lord  ? 

Macb.  Thou  canst  not  say,  I  did  it :  never  shake 
.IJiv  gory  locks  at  me. 

Mosse.  Gentlemen,  rise  ;  his  highness  is  not  well. 

Lady  M.  Sit,  worthy  friends  : — my  lord  is  often 
thus,  [seat ; 

And  hath  been  from  his  youth  :  'pray  you,  keep 
The  lit  is  momentary ;  upon  a  thought 
^  will  again  be  well ;  If  much  yuu  note  him, 
Y'oii  shall  otfend  him,  and  extend  his  passion ; 
Feed,  and  regard  him  not. — Are  you  a  man? 

Macb.  Ay,  and  a  bold  one,  that  dare  look  on  that 
Which  might  appal  the  devil. 

Lady  M.  O  proper  stuff! 

This  is.  tlie  very  painting  of  your  I'ear  : 
This  is  the  air-drawn  dagger,  which,  you  said, 
Lt'd  you  to  Duncan,    O,  tliese  Haws,  and  starts, 
Jmpostors  lo  true  fear,)  woiiid  well  become 
A  woman's  story,  at  a  winter's  fire, 
Authoriz  d  by  her  grandara.    Shame  itself! 
Why  do  you  make  such  faces  ?    When  all's  done, 
You  look  but  on  a  stool. 

Macb.  Pr  ythee,  see  there  !  behold  !  look  !  lo  ! 

how  say  you  ?  

Why,  what  care  1  ?  If  thou  canst  nod,  speak  too. — 
If  charnel-houses,  and  our  graves,  must  send 
Those  tiiat  we  bury,  back,  our  monuments 
Shall  be  the  maws  of  kites.       {Ghost  disappears ^ 

Lady  M.  What!  quite  unmann'd  la  folly  r 

Macb.  If  I  stand  here,  1  saw  him. 

Lady  M.  Fy,  for  shame  ! 

Macb.  Blood  hath  been  shed  ere  now,  i'the  olden 

ktime, 
re  human  statute  purg'd  the  gentle  weal ; 
Ay,  a.id  since  too,  murders  have  been  perforra'd 
Too  tenible  for  the  ear  :  the  times  have  been. 
That  when  the  brains  were  out,  the  man  would  die, 

od  there  an  end  :  but  now,  they  rise  again. 
With  twenty  mortal  murders  on  tlieir  crowns, 
And  push  us  from  our  stools  :  'I'his  is  more  strange 
Than  such  a  murder  is. 

Lady  M.  My  wortliy  lord. 

Your  noble  friends  do  lack  you. 

Macb.  I  do  forget : — 

Do  uut  rause  at  me  my  most  worthy  friends ; 


I  have  ajstrange  iofirjroUy^,  v^^^      is  noihing 

To  those -that  know  me.    Coine,  love  and  heal(It  to 

all ;  [full :  

Then  I'll  sit  down  :  Give  me  some  wiae,  6U 

I  drink  to  the  general  |ay  of  the.  whole  table. 

Ghost  rises. 
And  to  our -dear  friend  Banquo,  whoa  we  miaa; 
Would  he  were  here !  to  ail,  and  hirt,  we  thiroi^ 
And  all  to  aU. 
Lords.  Our  duties,  and  the  pledge. 

Macb.  Avaunt !  and  quit  my  sight !  Let  the  eartk 
hide  thee ! 

Thy  bones  a>e  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold; 
Thou  hast  no  speculation  iu  those  eyes 
Which  thou  dost  glare  with  ! 

Lady  M.  Thijik.of  this, .  goad  peers. 

But  as  a  thing  of  custom  :  'tis  no  other; 
Only  it  spoils  the  pleasure  ol' the  time. 

Macb.  What  man  dare,  I  dare  : 
Approach  thou  like  the  rugged  Russian  bear. 
The  arnk'd  rhinoceros,  or  the  Hyrcan  tiger, 
l\ike  any  shape  but  that.,  and  my  firm^nerves 
Shalt cjever tremble  :  Or,  lie  alive  again, 
And  dare  me  to  the  desert  wltli  thy  sword ; 
If  trembling  I  inhibit  thee,  protest  me 
The  baby  of  a  girl.    Hence,  horrible  shadow! 

{iihost  disappear*. ' 
Unreal  mockery,  hence  ! — Why,  so  ; — being  gone, 
I  am  a  man  again. — Pray  you,,  sit  still.  ^ 

Lady  M.  'Yon  have  displac'd  the  mirth,  broke 
the  good  mpeting. 
With  most  admir'd  disorder. 

Macb.  Can  such  things  be. 

And  overcome  us  like  a  summer's  cloud. 
Without  our  special  wonder?  You  make  roe  strange 
Even  to  the  disposition  that  I  owe, 
When  now  I  think  you  can  behold  such  sights. 
And  keep  the  natural  ruby  of  your  cheeks, 
When  mine  are  blunch'd  with  fear. 

Rosse.  What  sights,  my  lord  ? 

Lady  M.  I  pray  you,  speak  not;'  he  gfOWS'WOiss  | 
and  worse ;  ^  | 

Question  enrages  him:  at  once,  good  night: —  ^ 
Stand  not  upon  the  order  of  your  going. 
But  go  at  once. 

Len.  Good  night,  and  better  health 

Attend  his  majesty! 

Lady  M,  A  kind  good  night  to  all ! 

[Exeunt  Lords  and  Attendants. 

Macb.  It  will  have  blood;  they  say,  blood  will 
have  biood  :  [speak  ; 

Stones  have  been  known  to  move,  and  trees  to 
Augurs,  and  understood  relations,  have  - 
By  magot-pies,  and  choughs,  and  rooks,  brought 

forth  ' 
The  secret'st  man  of  blood. — What  is  the  night? 

Lady  M.  Almost  at  odds  with  morning,  which 
which. 

Macb.  How  say'st  thou,  that  Macdulf  denies 
person. 
At  our  great  bidding  ? 

Lady  M.  Did  you  send  to  him,  sir 

Macb.  1  hear  it  by  the  way';  but  1  will  send; 
There's  not  a  one  of  them,  but  in  his  house 
I  keep  a  servant  fee'd.    1  will  to-morrow, 
(Betimes  I  will,)  unto  the  weird  sisters  : 
More  shall  they  speak;  for  now  1  am  bent  to  tnow. 
By  the  worst  means,  the  worst  :  for  mine  owu 
good. 

All  causes  shall  give  way;  I~am  in  blood 
$tept  in  so  for,  that,  should  I  wa^eloo  more. 
Returning  were  as  tedious  as  go  o'er: 
Strange  things  I  have  in  head,  that  will  to  hand; 
Which  must  be  acted,  ere  they  may  be  srann'd. 
Lady  M.  You  lack  the  season  of  all  natureiB, 
sleep. 

Macb.  Come,  we'll  to  sleep  :  My  strange  and 

self  abuse 

Is  the  initiate  i'ear,  that  wants  hard  use  • — 

W e  are  yet  but  young  in  deed.  LExeunt. 


Scene  G, 


MACBETH. 


2'r5 


Scene  ^  .—The  Heath.  Thunder. 
Enter  Hecave,  meeting  the  three  Witches. 
I  Witch   Why,  how  now,  Hecate?  you  look 
angerly. 

Hec.  Have  1  not  reason,  beldams,  as  you  are. 
Saucy,  and  overbold  ?  How  dul  you  dare.^^ 
To  trade  and  tri^ffic  with  Macbeth, 
fu  liddles,  and  all'ciirs  of  death; 
And  [,  the  mistress  of  your  charms. 
The  close  contriver  of  all  harms, 
Was  ne\  er  cali'd  to  bear  my  part, 
Or  show  the  gloi  y  of  our  ai  t  ? 
And,  which  is  worse,  all  yon  have  done 
Hath  been  hut  for  a  wayward  son, 
V  .Spi^^t'^'^'j  '^fi*^^  wrathful;  who,  as  others  do. 
Loves  for  his  own  ends,  not  for  you. 
JBtit  make  amends  now :  Get  you  gone, 
VAnd  at  the  pit  of  Aciieron 

Meet  me  i'the  morning  ;  thither  he 

Will  come  to  know  his  destiny. 

Vbar  vessels,  and  your  spells,  provide, 

Vour  charnis,  and  every  thing  Beside  • 

f  am  for  the  air ;  this  night  I'll  spend 

Unto  a  dismal- fatal  end. 

Great  business  must  be  wrought  ere  noon  ■ 

Upon  the  corner  of  the  moon 

Tiiere  hangs  a  vaporous  drop  profound  ; 

fill  catch  it  ere  it  come  to  ground  : 

And  that,  distill'd  by  magic  slights, 

Shall  raise  such  artificial  sprights, 

As,  by  the  strength  of  then-  illusion. 

Shall  draw  hiuj  on  to  his  confusion  : 

fle  shall  spurn  fate,  sc<srn  death,  and  bear 

His  hopes  "bove  wisdom,  grace,  and  fear : 

And  you  all  know,  security 

Is  moitals'  chiefest  enemy. 

Song  [Tfithin.)  Come  away,  come  away,§fc. 
Hark,  I  am  called  ;  my  little  spirit,  see, 
8its  in  a  foggy  cloud,  and  stays  for  me.  [Exit. 

1  Witch.  Come,  let's  make  haste  ;  she'll  soon  be 
back  again.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  Nl.— Fores.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  IiENOX  and  another  Lord. 
Len.   My  former  speeches  have  but  hit  your 
thoughts. 

Which  can  interpret  further:  only,  I  say, 
l^ngs  have  been  strangely  borne:  The  gracious 
Duncan 

Was  pitied  of  Macbeth  : — marry,  he  was  dead  : — 
And  the  rigiit-valiant  Batiquo  walk  d  too  late  ; 
Whom,  you  may  say,  it  it  please  you,  Fleance 
kiird. 

For  Fleance  fled.    Men  must  not  walk  too  late. 
Who  cannot  want  the  thought,  lu)W  monstrous 
It  wr'is  for  Malcolm,  and  for  Donalbain, 
To  kill  their  gracious  father  ?  damned  fact! 
Hovy  it  did  grie\  e  Macbeth !  did  he  not  straight. 
In  pious  rage,  the  two  delinquents  tear. 
That  were  the  slaves  of  drink,  and  thralls  of  sleep? 
Was  not  that  nobly  dune  ?    Ay,  and  wisely  too; 
For  'twould  have  anger'd  any  heart  alive. 
To  hear  the  men  deny  it.    So  that,  I  say, 
He  has  borne  all  things  well :  and  I  do  think. 
That,  had  he  Duncan's  sons  under  his  key, 
tAs,  an't  please  heaven,  he  shall  not,)  they  should 
find 

W^fat  'twere  to  kill  a  father:  so  should  Fleance. 
But,  i)eace  ! — for  from  broad  words,  and  'cause  he 
fail'd 

Hia  presence  at  the  tyrant's  feast,  I  hear, 
Macdulf  lives  in  disgrace  :   Sir,  can  you  tell 
Where  he  bestows  himself? 

Lord.  The  son  of  Duncan, 

From  whom  this  tyrant  holds  the  due  of  birth, 
Li"es  in  the  English  court;  and  is  receiv'd 
Of  the  most  pious  Edward  with  such  grace, 
Vhat  the  malevolence  of  fortune  nothing 


Takes  from  his  high  respect :  Thither  Macduff 

Is  gone  to  pray  the  holy  king,  on  his  aid 

Tp  wake  Northumberland,  and  warlike  Siward  . 

That,  by  the  help  of  these,  (with  Him  above 

To  ratily  the  work,)  we  may  again 

Give  to  our  tables  meat,  sleej;  to  our  nights  ; 

Free  from  our  feasts  and  banquets  bloody  knives  J 

Do  faithful  homage,  and  receive  Iree  honours. 

All  which  we  pine  for  now  :  And  this  report 

Hath  so  exasperate  tite  king,  that  he 

Prepares  for  some  attempt  of  war. 

Len.  Sent  he  to  Macduff  ? 

Lord.  He  did  :  and  with  an  absolute.  Sir,  not  /, 
The  cloudy  messenger  turns  me  his  back. 
And  hums;  as  who  should  say,  You'll  rue  the  time 
That  clogs  me  with  this  ansiver. 

Len.  And  that  vvell  mighl 

Advise  him  to  a  caution,  to  hold  what  distance 
His  wisdom  can  provide.    Some  holy  angel 
Fly  to  the  court  of  England,  aiid  unfold 
His  message  ere  he  come ;  that  a  swift  blessing 
May  soon  return  to  this  our  suffering  country 
Under  a  hand  accurs'd ! 

Lord.  My  prayers  with  him ! 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — A  dark  Cave.   In  the  middle,  a  Caul' 
dron  boiling.  Thunder. 

Enter  the  three  Witches.  }k. 

1  Witch.  Thrice  the  brinded  cat  hath  mew'd. 

2  Witch.  Thrice ;  and  once  the  hedge-pig  vvhin  il, 

3  Witch.  Harper  cries  : — 'Tis  time,  'tis  time. 

1  Witch.  Round  about  the  cauldron  go ; 
In  the  poison'd  entrails  throw. 

Toad,  that  under  coldest  stone, 
Days  and  nights  hast  thirty-one 
Swelter'd  venom  sleeping  got, 
Boil  thou  first  i'the  charmed  pot ! 
All.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble; 
Fire,  burn;  and,  cauldron,  bubble. 

2  itch.  Fillet  of  a  fenny  snake. 
In  the  cauldron  boil  and  bake: 
Eye  of  newt,  and  toe  of  frog. 
Wool  of  bat,  and  tongue  of  dog, 
Adder's  fork,  and  blind-worm's  sting. 
Lizard's  leg,  and  owlet's  wing, 

For  a  charm  of  powerful  trouble. 
Like  a  hell-broth  boil  and  bubble. 
All.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble; 
Fire,  burn  ;  ajid,  cauldron,  bubble. 

3  Witch.  Scale  of  dragon,  tooth  of  wolf* 
Witches'  nuimmy;  maw,  and  gulf. 

Of  the  ravio'd  salt-sea  shark; 

Root  of  hemlock,  digg'd  i'the  dark ;  / 

Liver  of  blaspheming  Jew ; 

Gall  of  goat,  and  slips  of  yew, 

Sliver'd  in  the  moon's  eclipse  ; 

Nose  of  Turk,  and  Tartar's  lips; 

Finger  of  birth-strangled  babe, 

Ditch-deliver'd  by  a  drab, 

Make  the  gruel  thick  and  slab  :  " 

Add  thereto  a  tiger's  chawdron, 

For  the  ingredients  of  our  cauldron. 
All.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble ; 

Fire,  burn;  and,  cauldron,  bubble. 
2  Witch.  Cool  it  with  a  baboon's  blood. 

Then  the  charm  is  firm  and  good.  1* 
Enter  Hecate,  and  the  other  thue  Wiifikaf, 
Hec.  O,  vvell  done  !  I  commend  your  paioa; 

And  every  one  shall  share  i"the  guins. 

And  now  about  the  cauldron  sing. 

Like  elves  and  fairies  in  a  ring. 

Enchanting  all  that  you  put  in. 

SONG. 
Black  spirits  and  white, 
Red  spirits  and  grey  ; 
Mingle,  mingle,  mingle. 
You  that  mingle  ^^^4^f. 


MACBETH. 


Act  17. 


3  Witch.  By  the  pricking  of  niy  thanibs, 

Something  wicked  this  way  comes: — 
Open,  locks,  whoever  knocks. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Mach.  How  now,  you  secret,  black,  and  mid- 
Wbat  is't  you  do?  [night  hags? 

A 11.  A  deed  without  a  name. 

Mach.  I  conjure  yon,  by  that  which  you  profess, 
(Howe'er  you  come  to  know  it,)  answer  me : 
rhougii  you  untie  the  winds,  and  let  them  tight 
Against  the  churches  ;  though  the  yesty  waves 
Confound  and  swallow  navigation  up; 
Thougli  Uladed  corn  be  lodg'd,  and  trees  blown 
down ; 

'^fhoiigh  castles  topple  on  their  warders'  heads  ; 

'riiough  palaces,  and  pyramids,  do  slope 

Their  heads  to  their  foundations  :  though  the  treasure 

Ol'  nature's  germins  tumble  all  together, 

liven  till  destruction  sicken,  answer  me 

'i'o  what  I  ask  you, 

1  mtch.  Speak. 

2  IVitch.  Demand. 

3  J  f  itch.  We'll  answer. 

1  Witch.  Say,  if  thou'dst  rather  hear  it  from  our 
Or  {l  oni  our  masters'  ?  [mouths, 
Mach.  Call  them,  let  me  see  them. 

1  Witch.  Pour  in  sow's  blood,  that  hath  eaten 
Her  nine  farrow;  grease,  that's  sweaten 
From  the  murderer  s  gibbet,  throw 
Into  the  flame. 
All.  Come,  high,  or  low ; 

Thyself,  and  office,  deftly  show. 

Thunder.    An  Apparition  of  an  armed  Head 
rises. 

Mach.  Tell  xsa,  tlvja  unknown  power,  

1  Witch.  He  knows  thy  thought ; 

Hear  his  speech,  but  say  thou  nought. 

A'pp.  Macbeth  !  Macbeth  !  Macbeth  !  beware 
Macduff; 

Beware  the  thane  of  Fife. — Dismiss  me  : — Enough. 

{Descends.) 

Mach.  VVhate'er  thon  art,  for  thy  good  caution, 
thanks  ;  [more  : — 

'I'hou  hast  harp'd  my  fear  aright: — But  one  word 

1  U  itch.  He  will  not  be  commanded :  Here's 
More  potent  than  the  tirst.  [another. 

Thunder,    An  Apparition  of  a  Moody  Child  rises. 

App.  Macbeth!  Macbeth!  Macbeth!— 

Mach.  Had  I  three  ears,  I'd  hear  thee. 
App.  Be  bloody,  bold, 

And  resolute;  laugh  to  scorn  the  power  of  man," 
For  none  of  woman  born  shall  harm  Macbeth. 

[Descends.) 

Mach.  Then  live,  Macduff :  What  need  I  fear 
of  thee  ? 

But  yet  rU  make  assurance  double  sure, 
And  take  a  bond  of  fate  :  thou  shalt  not  live  ; 
That  I  may  tell  pale-hearted  fear,  it  lies. 
And  sleep  in  spite  of  thunder. — What  is  this. 

Thunder.    An  Apparition  of  a  Child  crowned, 
with  a  tree  in  his  hand,  rises. 

^I^at  rises  like  the  issue  of  a  king  ; 
And  wears  upon  his  baby  brow  the  round 
And  top  of  sovereignty  ? 

All.  Listen,  but  speak  not. 

App.  Be  lion-mettled,  proud ;  and  take  no  care 
Who  chafes,  who  frets,  or  where  conspirers  are  : 
IVI.acbeth  shall  never  vanqnish'd  be,  until 
Great  Biroam  wood  to  high  Dunsinane  hill 
Shall  come  against  hira.  (Descends.) 

Macb.  That  will  never  be ; 

Who  can  impress  the  forest?  bid  the  tree 
Unfrx  his  earth-bound  root?  Sweet  bodements !  good ! 


Rebellious  head,  rise  never,  till  the  wood 
Of  Birnam  rise,  and  our  high-i)la'.;'d  Macbeth 
Shall  live  the  lease  of  nature,  pay  his  breath 
To  time,  and  mortal  custom. — Yot  my  heart 
Throbs  to  know  one  thing  ;  tell  me,  (if  your  art 
Can  tell  so  much,)  shall  Banquo's  issue  ever 
Reign  in  this  kingdom  ? 

All.  Seek  to  know  no  more. 

Mach.  I  will  be  satisfied  ;  deny  me  this. 
And  an  eternal  curse  fall  on  you  !  Let  uje  know  '-^ 
Why  sinks  that  cauldron  ?  and  what  noise  is  this' 


(Haulhoy».\ 

itch.  Show!  3  Witch.  Show! 


1  Witch.  Sh()w !  2  Witch 
All.  Show  his  eyes,  and  grieve  his  heart; 
Come  like  shadows,  so  depart. 

Eight  Kings  appear,  and  pass  over  the  Stage  in 
order;  the  last  with  a  glass  in  his  hand; 
Banquo  folloiving. 

Mach.  Thou  art  too  like  the  spirit  of  Banqno, 
down  I  [h-air. 
Thy  crown  does  sear  mine  eye-balls : — And  thy 
Thou  other  gold-bound  brow,  is  like  the  first : — 
A  third  is  like  the  former: — Filthy  hags! 
Why  do  you  show  me  this  ? — A  fourth  ? — Start, 
eyes!  [doom? 
What!  will  the  line  stretch  out  to  the  crack  of 
Another  yet? — A  seventh? — I'll  see  no  more  :— 
And  yet  the  eighth  appears,  who  bears  a  glass, 
Which  shows  me  many  more  ;  and  some  I  see. 
That  two-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres  carry: 
Horrible  sight! — Ay,  now,  I  see, 'tis  true; 
For'the  blood  bolter'd  Banquo  smiles  upon  me. 
And  points  at  them  for  his — What,  is  this  so  ? 

1  Witch.  Ay,  sir,  all  this  is  so  : — But  why 
Stands  Macbeth  thus  amazedly  ? — 
Come,  sisters,  cheer  we  up  his  sprights. 
And  show  the  best  of  our  delights  ; 
I'll  charm  the  air  to  give  a  sound. 
While  you  perform  your  antique  round 
That  this  great  king  may  kindly  say, 
Our  duties  did  his  welcome  pay 

{Music.    The  Witches  dance,  and  vani$h.) 

Mach.  Where  are  they  ?  Gone  ? — Let  this  per- 
nicious hour 
Stand  aye  accursed  in  the  calendar! — 
Come  in,  without  there  1 

Enter  Lenox. 

Len.  What's  your  grace's  will  ? 

Mach.  Saw  you  the  weird  sisters  ? 

Len.  No,  my  lord. 

Macb.  Came  they  not  by  you  ? 

Len.  No,  indeed,  my  lord. 

Mach.  Infected  be  the  air  whereon  they  ride  ;> 
And  damn'd  all  those  that  trust  them  ! — I  did  hear 
The  galloping  of  horse  :  Who  was't  came  by  ? 

Len.  'Tis  two  or  three,  my  lord,  that  bring  you 
Macduff  is  fled  to  England.  [word, 

Macb.  Fled  to  England  V 

Len.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Macb.  Time,  thou  anticipat'st  my  dread  exploits: 
The  flighty  purpose  never  is  o'ertook, 
Unless  the  deed  go  with  it:  From  this  moment* 
The  very  4ESjyi"SS,S^       heart  shall  be 
The  4j;^Uj^^?  my  hand.    An.d  even  now, 
To  crown  my  thoughts  with  acts,  be  it  thought  an 

done :  ^ 
The  castle  of  Macduff  I  will  surprise  ;  i  | 
Seize  upon  Fife  ;  give  to  the  edge  o'the  sword 
His  wife,  his  babes,  and  all  unfortunate  souls 
That  trace  his  line.    No  boasting  like  a  fool ; 
This  deed  I'll  do,  before  this  purpose  cool : 
But  no  more  sights ! — Where  are  these  gentlemen  ? 
Come,  bring  me  where  they  are.  [Exeunt, 

ScENK  M.—Fife.   A  Room  in  Macduff  s  Castle, 
Enter  Lady  Macduff,  her  Son,  and  RossE. 
Lady  Macd.  What  had  he  done,  to  make  him  fly 
the  land  ? 


Sf^EXE  3. 

Hosse.  You  must  have  patience,  maclam. 

L.  Macd.  He  had  none : 

His  rti^ht  was  iTKidiiess :  When  onr  actions  do  not, 
Our  JVarsjio  make  us  traitors. 

Hosse'.  Yon  know  not, 

VVhtrther  it  was  his  wisdom,  or  his  fear. 

L.  Macd.  Wisdom !  to  leave  his  wife,  to  leave 
his  Itabes, 
His  mansion,  and  his  titles,  in  a  place 
From  whence  himself  does  fly  ?  He  loves  ns  not; 
He  wants  the  natural  touch  :  for  the  poor  wren, 
The  most  diniinntive  of  birds,  will  fight, 
Her  yonn^'  ont'S  in  her  nest,  against  the  owl. 
All  is  the  fear,  and  nothing  is  the  lo\  e  ; 
As  little  is  the  wisdom,  where  tine  flight 
So  runs  against  all  reason. 

Kosse.  My  dearest  coz', 

i  pray  yon,  school  yourself :  bat,  for  your  husband, 
He  is  noble,  wise,  judicious,  and  best  knows 
'I'iie  fits  o'tlie  season.  I  dare  not  speak  much  further  : 
lint  cruel  are  the  times,  when  we  are  traitors. 
And  do  not  know  ourselves ;  when  we  hold  rumour 
From  what  we  fear,  yet  know  not  what  we  fear ; 
But  Hoal  upon  a  wild  and  violent  sea, 
Each  way,  and  move. — I  take  my  leave  of  you  : 
Shall  not  he  long  but  I'll  be  here  again  : 
'IMiings  at  the  worst  will  cease,  or  else  climb  upward 
To  what  liiey  were  before. — My  pretty  cousin, 
BleVging  upon  you  ! 

L.  Macd.  tather'd  he  is,  and  yet  he's  fatherless. 

Ross^'.  I  ajn  so  much  a  fool,  should  I  slay  longer. 
It  would  be  niy  disgrace,  and  your  discomfort : 
I  take  my  leave  at  once.  {Exit  Rosse, 

I    L.  Macd.  Sirrah,  your  father's  dead  ; 
And  what  will  you  do  now?   How  will  you  live? 

Son.  As  buds  do,  mother. 

L.  Macd.  What,  with  worms  and  flies? 

i^'on.  VVitii  what  I  get,  1  mean,"  and  so  do  they. 
L  Macd.  Poor  bird!  thou'dst  never  fear  the  net, 
Tne  pit-fall,  nor  the  gin.  [nor  lime, 

Son.  Why  shouid  I,  mother?    Poor  birds  they 
are  not  set  for. 
My  fathfir  is  not  dead,  for  all  your  saying. 

L.  Macd.  Yes,  he  is  dead  ;  how  wilt  thou  do  for 
a  rather  ? 

Snn.  Nay,  how  will  you  do  for  a  husband? 
L.  Macd.  \Vhy,  I  can  buy  me  twenty  at  any 
market. 

Son.  Then  you'll  buy  "eni  to  sell  again. 

L.  Macd.  'I'hou  speak'st  with  all  thy  wit;  and 
yet  i'faitii. 
With  wit  enough  for  thee. 
V~  Son.  Was  my  father  a  traitor,  mother? 
\   L.  Macd.  Ay,  that  lie  Was. 

Son.  What  is  a  traitor? 
!  L.  Macd.  Why,  o»>e  that  swears  and  lies.-  / 
"^on.  And  be  all  traitors,  that  do  so? 

L.  Macd.  Every  one  that  does  so,  is  a  traitor, 
and  must  be  hanged.  [and  lie  ? 

Son.  And  nmst  they  all  be  hanged,  that  swear 

L.  Macd.  Every  one. 

Son.  Who  must  hang  them  ? 
,X.  Macd'.'yVliy^iUe  honest  men. 

Son.  Then  the  liars  and  swearers  are  fools:  for 
there  are  liaw  and  swearers  enough  to  beat  the 
honest  men,  and  hang  up  them. 

L.  Macd.  Now  God  help  thee,  poor  monkey ! 
But  how  wilt  thoii  do  for  a  lather? 

Son.  If  he  were  dead,  you'd  weep  for  him  :  if  you 
woidd  not,  it  were  a  good  sign  that  I  should  quickly 
have  a  new  father. 

L.  Macd.  Poor  prattler!  bow  thou  talk'st ! 

Enter  a  Messenger, 

Mess.  Bless  you,  fair  dame  !  I  ara  not  to  you 
known, 

Though  in  your  state  of  honour  I  am  perfect. 
I  doubt,  some  danger  does  approach  you  nearly: 
If  you  wilt  take  a  homely  man's  advice, 
^  Be  oot  found  here  '  i^euce  with  ioiir  little  ones. 


277 

To  fright  yon  tlnis,  methiiks,  T  am  too  savage; 
To  do  worse  to  you,  were  fell  cruelty,  [yoU 
Which  is  too  nigh  your  person.    Heaven  preserve 
I  dare  abide  no  longer.  [Exit  Messenger. 

L.  Macd.  '         Whither  should  I  ily? 

I  have  done  no  harm.    But  I  remesnber  now 
1  am  in  this  earthly  world;  where,  to  do  harm, 
is  often  laudable  ;  to  do  good,  sometime. 
Accounted  dangerous  folly :  VV^hy  then,  aias  ! 
Do  I  put  up  that  womanly  defence. 

To  say,  I  have  done  no  harm  ?  What  are  the»« 

faces  ? 

Enter  Murderers. 
Mur.  Where  is  your  husband  ? 
L.  Macd.  I  hope,  in  no  place  so  unsanctified, 
Where  such  as  thou  raay'st  fir>d  him. 
Miir.  He's  a  traitor. 

Son.  Thou  ly'st,  thou  shag-ear'd  villain. 
Mur.  What,  you  egg?  [Stabbing  him.) 

Young  fry  of  treachery  ? 

Son.  He  has  killed  me,  mother : 

Run  away,  I  pray  you.  [Dies.] 
\_Exit  hady  Macduff,  crying  murder, 
and  pursued  by  t  he  Murderers. 

Scene  III. — England.    A  room  in  the  King  s 
Palace. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  Macduff. 

Mai.  Let  us  seek  out  some  desolate  shade,  and 
Weep  our  sad  bosoms  empty.  {ther« 

Macd.  Let  us  rather 

Hold  fast  the  mortal  sword  ;  and,  like  good  men, 
Bestride  our  down-faU'n  birthdom  :  Each  new  moro. 
New  widows  howl;  new  orphans  cry;  new  sorrows 
Strike  heaven  on  the  face,  that  it  resounds 
As  if  it  felt  with  Scotland,  and  yell'd  out 
Like  syllable  of  dolour. 

Mai.  What  I  believe,  I'll  wail 

What  know,  believe;  and,  what  I  can  redress. 
As  I  shall  find  the  time  to  friend,  I  will. 
What  you  have  spoke,  it  may  be  so,  perchance. 
This  tyrant,  whose  sole  name  blisters  our  tongues. 
Was  once  thought  honest :  you  have  lov'd  him  well ; 
He  hath  not  touch'd  you  yet.     I  am  young ;  hot 
something 

You  may  deserve  of  him  through  me  ;  and  wisdom 
To  offer  up  a  weak,  poor,  iimocent  lamb. 
To  appease  an  angry  god, 

Macd.  I  am  not  treacherous. 

Mai.  But  Macbeth  is. 

A  good  and  virtuous  nature  may  recoil, 
In  an  imperial  charge.    But  'crave  your  pardon : 
That  which  you  are,  my  thoughts  cannot  transpose: 
Angels  are  bright  still,  though  the  brightest  leli : 
Though  all  things  foul  would  wear  the  brows  ol 
Yet  grace  nmst  still  look  so.  [grace, 

Macd.  1  have  lost  my  hopes. 

Mai.  Perchance,  even  there,  where  I  did  find  my 
doubts. 

Why  in  that  rawness  left  yoa  wife,  and  child, 

(Those  precious  motives,  those  strong  knots  of  love,) 

Without  leave-taking? — I  pray  you. 

Let  not  my  jealousies  be  your  dishonours, 

But  mine  own  safeties  : — You  may  be  rightly  just. 

Whatever  I  shall  think. 

Macd.  Bleed,  bleed,  poor  country . 

Great  tyranny,  lay  thou  thy  bas^is  sure. 
For  goodness  dares  not  check  thee  !  wear  thoa  tb| 
wrongs. 

Thy  title  is  afleei-'d  !— Fare  thee  well,  lord  : 
I  would  not  be  the  villain  that  thou  think'st , 
For  the  whole  space  that's  in  the  tyrant's  grasp. 
And  the  rich  East  to  boot. 

Mai.  Be  not  ofi'ended  : 

I  speak  not  as  in  absolute  fear  of  you. 
I  think,  our  country  sinks  beneath  the  yoke 4 
It  weeps,  it  bleeds;  and  each  new  day  "  '>*'^a 
I  Is  added  to  her  wounds  :  I  think,  witlial, 
•  Tiiere  would  be  liands  u^lilted  in  mi  'K^ht' 


MACBETH. 


278  MACBETH. 


And  here,  from  _q;racious  England,  have  I  offer 
Ol  gooilly  tljousands  :  lint,  ior  all  this. 
When  I  shall  trend  upon  the  tyrant's  head, 
Or  wear  it  on  my  sword,  yet  my  poor  country 
SJiall  have  more  \ices  than  it  had  before; 
More  suffer,  and  more  sundry  ways  than  ever, 
liv        that  shall  succeed. 

Macd.  What  should  he  be? 

MaL  It  is  myself  I  mean  :  in  whom  1  know 
All  the  particulars  of  vice  so  grafted, 
^'hat,  wiien  they  shall  be  open'd,  black  Macbeth 
WiU  seetn  as  pore  as  snow  ;  and  the  poor  state 
Esteeni  him  as  a  lamb,  being  compar'd 
With  my  confineless  harms. 

Macd.  Not  in  the  legions 

Of  horrid  hell,  can  come  a  devil  more  damn'd 
In  evils,  to  top  Macbeth. 

Mai.  I  grant  him  bloody, 

Luxnrions,  avaricious,  false,  deceitful, 
Sudden,  malicious,  smacking  oi' every  sin 
That  has  a  name  :  But  there's  no  bottom,  none. 
In  my  voluptuousness  :  your  wives,  yo;n-  daughters, 
Vour  matrons,  and  your  nmids,  could  not  fill  up 
The  cistern  of  my  Inst;  and  my  desire 
All  continent  impediments  would  o  ei  bear, 
That  did  oppose  my  will :  Better  Macbeth, 
Than  such  a  one  to  reign. 

Macd.  Boundless  intemperance 

In  nature  is  a  tyranny ;  it  hath  been 
The  untimely  emptying  of  the  happy  throne, 
And  fall  of  many  kir)gs.    But  fear  not  yet 
'i  o  take  upon  you  wiiat  is  yours  :  you  may 
Convey  your  pleasures  in  a  spacious  plenty. 
And  yet  seem  cold,  the  tiuie  you  n»ay  so  hood-wink. 
We  i»a»e  wdling  dames  enough  ;  there  cannot  be 
That  vulture  in  you,  to  devour  so  many 
A3  will  to  greatness  dedicate  themselves. 
Finding  it  so  inclin'd. 

Mai.  With  this,  there  grows, 

fn  my  most  ill-compos'd  atfection,  such 
A  stau'jhless  avarice,  that,  were  I  kuig,' 
1  should  cutoif  tlie  nobles  for  their  lauds; 
Desire  liis  jewels,  and  this  other's  house: 
And  my  mort  -having  wutdd  be  a.s  u  sauce 
To  make  me  hunf;er  more;  that  1  shoidd  forge 
Quarrels  unjust  aguinst  the  good,  and  loyal. 
Destroying  lliem  tor  wealth. 

Macd.  This  avarice 

Sticks  deeper ;  grows  with  more  pei  nicious  root 
Than  suinuser-seedmg  lust:  and  it  hith  been 
The  sword  ol'our  shtin  kings  :  Yet  do  not  fear  ; 
Scotland  hath  foysons  to  till  up  your  wi]l, 
Ofyourniere  own:  All  these  are  portable. 
With  other  graces  weigii'd.  ^ 

Mai.  But  I  have  none,:  The  king-becoming  graces. 
As  justice,  verity,  temperance,  stableness. 
Bounty,  perseverance,  mercy,  lovvlmess, 
Devotion,  patience,  courage,  fortitude, 
1  have  no  relish  of  them;  but  abound 
In  the  division  of  each  several  crime. 
Acting  it  many  ways.    Nay,  had  I  power,  I  should 
Pour  the  sweet  milk  of  concord  into  hell. 
Uproar  the  imiversal  peace,  confound 
All  unity  on  earth. 

Macd.  O  Scotland!  Scotland! 

Mai.  If  such  a  one  be  fit  to  govern,  speak  : 
I  am  as  i  have  spo;s.en. 

Macd.  Fit  to  govern ! 

No,  not  to  live. — O  nation  miserable. 
With  an  urititled  tyrant  bloody-scepter'd. 
When  shall  thuu  see  thy  wholesome  days  again? 
Siace  that  the  truest  issue  of  thy  throne 
By  his  own  interdiction  stands  accurs'd. 
And  does  blaspheme  his  breed  ? — Thy  royal  father 
Was  a  most  sainted  king  ;  the  queen  tiiat  bore  thee, 
QlVner  upon  her  knees  than  on  her  feet. 
Died  every  day  she  liv'd.    Fare  thee  well ! 
These  evils,  thou  repeat'st  upon  thyself, 
Have  banish'd  me  from  Scotland. — -O,  my  brea:* 
Vhy  hope  ends  here! 


Ac'^  IV 

Mai.  Macduff,  tnis  nobte  paatiio? 

Child  of  integrity,  hatb  from  my  soul 
Wip'd  the  black  scrup.es,  reconcii'd  my  thong.' 
To  thy  good  truth  and  honour.    Devilish  Macbr*h 
By  many  of  these  trains  hath  sought  to  win  me 
Into  his  power  ;  and  modest  wisdom  plucks  UM 
From  over-credulous  haste  :  But  God  above 
Deal  between  thee  and  me  I  I'olr  even  now 
I  put  myself  to  thy  directiotj,  and 
Unspeak  mine  own  detraction ;  here  abjure 
The  taints  and  blames  I  laid  upon  myself. 
For  strangers  to  my  nature.    1  am  yet 
Unknown  to  woman;  never  was  forsworn; 
Scarcely  have  coveted  what  was  mine,  own; 
At  no  time  broke  my  faith  ;  vi  onld  not  betray 
The  devil  to  his  i'ellovv  ;  and  delight 
No  less  in  truth,  than  life  :  my  first  false  speakiuf 
Was  this  upon  myself:  What  1  am  truly. 
Is  thine,  and  my  poor  country's  to  conmiand  ; 
Whither,  indeed,  before  thy  liere-a|)proach. 
Old  Sivvard,  with  ten  thousand  warlike  men. 
All  reatly  at  a  point,  was  setting  fortli : 
Now  we'll  together;  And  tlie  chance,  of  goodness. 
Be  like  our  warranted  quarrel !  Why  are  you  silenl  * 

Macd.  Such  welcon»e  and  unwelcome  things  H 
'Tis  hard  to  reconcile.  [onco, 

Enter  a  Doctor. 

Mai.  Well ;  more  anon. — Comes  the  king  forth  , 
1  pray  you  ? 

Doct.  Ay,  sir :  there  are  a  crew  of  wretched  soull 
That  stay  his  cure  :  their  nudady  convinces 
The  great  assay  of  art;  but,  at  his  touch, 
Sucli  sanctity  hath  heaven  given  his  hand, 
I  They  presently  amend 

Mai.  I  thank  you,  doctor, 

[  Exit  Doctor 

Macd.  What's  the  disease  he  means  ? 

Mai.  'Tis  caird  the  evils 

A  most  miraculous  work  in  this  good  king  ; 
Which  ol'ten,  since  my  hei  e-remain  in  England, 
I  have  seen  him  do.     How  he  solicits  heaven. 
Himself  best  knows  :  but  stran^',ely-visited  people, 
All  swoln  and  ulcerous,  pitii'ul  to  the  eye. 
The  mere  despair  of  surgery,  he  cures; 
Hanging  a  golden  stamp  about their  trecks, 
Put  on  with  iioly  prayers  :  and  'tis  spoken. 
To  the  succeeding  royalty  he  leaves 
The  healin<^  benediction.    With  this  strange  virtue. 
He  liHtli  a  heavenly  gift  of  prophecy; 
And  sundry  blessings  hang  about  his  throne. 
That  speak  him  full  of  grace. 

Enter  RossE. 
Macd.  See,  who  comes  here  ? 

Mai.  My  countryman ;  but  yet  I  know  him  not. 
Macd.  My  ever-gentle  cousin,  welcome  hither. 
Mai.  I  know  him  now  :  Good  God,  betimes  re- 
move 

The  means  that  make  us  strangers  ! 

Rosse.  Sir,  Amen. 

Macd.  Stands  Scotland  where  it  did  ? 

Rosse.  Alas,  poor  country  ; 

Almost  afraid  to  know  itself  I  It  canndr^^^^  "  " 
Be  call'd  our  mother,  but  our  grave  :  wiiere  nothing^ 
But  who  knows  nothing,  is  once  seen  to  smile; 
Where  sighs,  and  groans,  and  shrieks,  that  rent  tht 
air, 

Are  made,  not  mark'd ;  where  \  iolonl  sorrow  seem 

A  modern  ecstacy;  the  dead  man's  knell 

Is  there  scarce  ask'd,  for  who;  and  good  men's  llve« 

Expire  before  the  flowers  in  their  cap.<J, 

Dying,  or  ere  they  sicken. 

Macd.  O,  relation. 

Too  nice,  and  yet  too  true  ! 

Mai,  What  is  the  newe.«!|t  grief? 

iioi'se.That  of  an  hour's  age  doth  hiss  the  speaker 
Each  minute  teems  a  new  one. 

Macd.  How  does  my  wrife? 

Rosse.  Why,  well. 


Act  y.  Scene  1. 

Macd.  And  all  my  children 

BoBse.  Well  too. 

Macd.  The  tyrant  has  not  batter'd  at  their  peace  ? 

No;  they  were  well  at  peace,  when  1  did 

leave  them. 

Macd.  Be  not  a  niggard  of  vonr  speech ;  How 
goes  it?  [tidings, 

Rosse.   When  I  came  hither  to  transport  the 
Which  1  nave  heavily  borne,  there  ran  a  rumour 
Of  many  worthy  fellows  that  were  out-; 
Which  was  to  my  belief  witness'd  the  rather, 
For  that  I  saw  the  tyrant's  power  a-foot: 
Now  is  the  time  of  help ;  your  eye  in  Scotland 
Would  create  soldiers,  make  our  women  fight. 
To  doff  their  dire  distresses. 

J)/«/.  Be  it  their  comfort. 

We  are  coming  thither  :  gracious  England  hath 
Lent  us  good  Siward,  and  ten  tiiousand  nien; 
An  older,  and  a  better  soldier,  none 
That  Christendom  gives  out. 

Rosse.  Would  I  could  answer 

Tliis  comfort  with  the  like  !  But  I  have  words, 
Tluit  would  be  howl'd  out  in  the  desert  air. 
Where  hearing  should  not  latch  them. 

Macd.  What  concern  they  ? 

Tiie  general  cause  ?  or  is  it  a  fee-grief, 
Due  to  some  single  breast  ? 

Rosse.  No  mind,  that's  honest, 

Rut  in  it  shares  some  woe;  though  the  main  part 
Ft-rtMins  to  you  alone. 

Macd.  If  it  be  mine, 

K»      it  not  fiOin  me,  quickly  let  me  have  it. 

Russe.  Let  not  your  ears  despise  my  tongue  for 
ever. 

Which  shall  jjossess  them  with  the  heaviest  sound, 
T\vr\l  ev^-r  yet  tliey  hearil. 

M  icd.  Humph  !  I  guess  at  it. 

Rosse.  Ydur  castle  is  surpris'd ;  your  wife,  and 

;  babes, 

S  u  avely  sjaiighter'd  t  to  relate  the  manner, 
;VV*N  e,  on  the  qiiany  oi"  these  nmrder'd  deer, 
Ti»  lulrj  the  death  of  you. 

Mai.  Merciful  heaven  ! — 

Wliat,  man  !  ne'er  pull  your  hat  upon  your  brows  : 
Give  sorrow  words  :  the  grief,  that  does  not  speak, 
Whispers  tlie  o'er -fraught  heart,  and  bids  it  break. 

.Macd.  My  ciiildreu  too  ? 

Rosse.  Wife,  children,  servants,  all 

Thnt  r.oidd  be  found, 

Macd.  And  I  must  be  from  thence  ! 

My  wife  kili'd  too  ? 

Rosse.  I  have  said. 

Mai.  Be  comforted  : 

Let's  make  us  med'cines  of  our  great  revenge. 
To  cure  this  deadly  grief. 

Macd.  He  has  no  children. — All  my  pretty  ones  ? 
Did  you  say,  all  ?— O,  hell-kite !— All  ^ 
What,  all  my  pretty  chickens,  and  their  dam. 
At  one  fell  swoop? 

Mai.  Dispute  it  like  a  man. 

Macd.  I  shall  do  so  ; 

But  I  nuist  also  feel  it  as  a  man  ; 
I  cannot  but  remember  such  things  were,  [on. 
That  were  most  precious  to  me,— Did  heaven  look 
And  would  not  take  their  part?  Sinful  Macduff, 
They  vvre  all  struck  for  thee  !  naught  that  I  am, 
Not  lor  their  own  demerits,  but  for/mine, 
i'Vll  slaughter  on  their  souls:  lifeaven  rest  them 
now !  [grief 

Mai.  Be  this  the  whetstone  of  your  sword :  let 
Convert  to  anger;  blunt  not  the  heart,  enrage  it 

Macd.  O,  I  could  play  the  woman  with  mine 
eyes,  [heaven. 
And  braggart  with   my  tongue  !  -; —  But,  gentle 
Cnt  short  all  intermission;  front  to  front. 
Bring  thou  this  fiend  of  Scotland,  and  myself ; 
Within  my  sword's  length  set  him  ;  if  he  'scape. 
Heaven  forgive  \nm  too  ! 

Mai,  This  tune  goes  manly. 

Come,  go  we  to  the  king  ;  our  power  is  ready  ; 


279 

Our  lack  is  nothing  but  our  leave  :  Macbeth 
is  ripe  for  shaking,  and  the  powers  above 
Put  on  their  instruments.    Receive  what  cheer  yon 
may ; 

The  night  is  long,  that  never  finds  the  day. 
ACT  V. 

Scene  L — Dunsincme.  A  Room  in  the  Castle. 
Enter  a  Doctor  of  Physic,  and  a  waiting  Genth* 
ivoman. 

Doct.  I  have  two  nights  watched  with  you,  hat 
can  perceive  no  truth  in  your  report.  When  was  it 
she  last  walked  ? 

Gent.  Since  his  majesty  went  into  the  field,  I 
have  seen  her  rise  from  her  bed,  throw  her  night- 
gown upon  her,  unlock  her  closet,  take  forth  paper, 
fold  it,  write  upon  it,  read  it,  afterwards  seal  it,  aud 
again  return  to  bed  :  yot  ail  this  while  in  a  most  fast 
sleep. 

Doct.  A  great  perturbation  in  nature  !  to  receive 
at  once  the  benefit  of  sleep,  and  do  the  elFects  of 
watching. — In  this  slunibry  agitation,  besides  her 
walking,  and  other  actual  .performances,  what,  at 
any  time,  have  you  heard  her  say  ? 

Gent.  That,  sir,  which  1  will  not  report  after  her. 

Doct.  You  may,  to  me ;  and  'tis  most  meet  you 
.should. 

Gent.  Neither  to  you,  nor  any  one ;  having  uo 
witness  to  confirm  my  speech. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  ivith  a  taper. 
Lo  you,  here  she  comes!    This  is  her  very  guise: 
and,  upon  njy  life,  fast  asleep.   Observe  her;  stand 

Doct.  How  came  she  by  that  light  ?  [close. 

Gent.  Why,  it  stood  by  her  :  she  has  light  by  her 
continually  ;  'tis  her  command. 

Doct.  Vou  see,  her  eyes  are  open. 

Gent.  Ay,  but  their  sen!3e  is  shut. 

Doct.  What  is  it  she  does  now  ?  Look,  how  she 
rnhsjier  hands. 

X)ent.  It  is  an  accustomed  action  with  her,  to 
seem  thus  washing  her  hands ;  I  have  known  her 
continue  in  this  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Lady  M.  Yet  here's  a  spot. 

Doct.  Hark,  she  speaks :  I  will  set  down  what 
comes  from  her,  lo  satisfy  my  remembrance  the 
more  strongly. 

Lady  M.  Out,  damned  spot!  out,  I  say  ! — One; 

Two;  Why,  then  'tis  time  to  do't:  Hell  is 

murky! — Fy,  my  lord,  fy!  a  soldier,  and  afeard? 
What  need  we  fear  who  knows  it,  when  none  can 
call  our  power  to  account? — Yet  who  would  have 
thought  the  old  man  to  have  had  so  much  blood  la 

Doct.  Do  you  mark  that  ?  [him  ? 

Lady  M.  The  thane  of  Fife  had  a  wife  ;  Where 

is  she  now?  What,  will  these  hands  ne'er  be 

clean? — No  more  o'that,  my  iord,  no  more  o'that* 
you  mar  all  with  this  starting.  [slioidd  not. 

Doct.  Go  to,  go  to ;  you  have  known  what  you 

Gent.  She  has  spoke  vi'hat  she  should  not,  1  am 
sure  of  that:  heaven  knows  what  she  has  known. 

Lady  M.  Here's  the  smell  of  the  blood  still :  all 
the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little 
hand.    Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  [charged. 

Doct.  What  a  sigh  is  there!  The  heart  is  sorely 

Gent.  I  would  not  have  such  a  heart  im  mf 
bosom,  for  the  dignity  of  the  whole  body. 

Doct.  Wj$\\,  well,  well,— 

Gent.  'Pray  God,  it  be,  sir.  1 

Z?«c^.,  This  disease  i&  beyond  my  practice:  Yel 
have  known'those  which  have  walked  in  their  sleep 
who  have  died  holily  in  their  beds. 

Lady  M.  Wash  your  hands,  out  on  your  night- 
gown ;  look  not  so  pale : — I  tell  you  yet  again, 
Banquo's  buried  ;  he  cannot  come  out  of  liis  grave 

Doct.  Even  so  ? 

Lady  M.  To  bed,  to  bed;  there's  knocking  at 
the  gate.   Come,  come,  come,  come,  give  me  jom 


MACBETH. 


280 

iaml ;  Wliat's  done,  cannot  be  rjndone :  To  bed, 
to  bed,  to  bed.  [Ex a. 

Doct.  Will  she  go  now  to  bed? 

Gent.  Directly.  [deeds 

Doct.  Foul  vvhisj/eiings  are  abroad:  Unnatural 
|>o  breed  unnatural  t/*^  jbles:  infected  minds 
To  their  deaf  pillows  ;vill  discharge  their  secrets. 
More  needs  she  the  divine,  than  the  physician. — 
Qod,  God,  forgi\e  us  all!  Look  alter  her; 
Remove  from  her  the  means  of  all  annoyance. 
And  still  keep  eyes  upon  her : — So,  good  night : 
My  mind  she  has  mated,  and  amaz'd  my  sight: 
I  think,  but  dare  not  speak. 

Gent,  Good  night,  good  doctor. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — The  Country  near  Dunsmane. 
Enter,  tvith  drum  and  colours,  Menteth,  Cath- 
NEss,  Angus,  Lenox,  and  Soldiers. 
Ment.  The  English  power  is  near,  led  on  by 
Malcolm, 

His  uncle  Siward,  and  the  good  MacdufF. 
Revenges  burn  i.Ti  them  :  for  their  dear  causes 
Would,  to  the  bleeding,  and  the  grim  alarm, 
Excite  the  mortified  man. 

Ang.  Near  Birnam  wood 

Shall  we  well  meet  them  ;  that  way  are  they  coming. 

Cath.  Who   knows,  if  Donalbain  be  with  his 
brother  ? 

Len.  For  certain,  sir,  he  is  not :  I  have  a  file 
Of  all  the  gentry  ;  there  is  Siward's  son. 
And  many  unrough  youths,  that  even  now 
Protest  their  first  of  manhood. 

Ment.  What  does  the  tyrant? 

Cath.  Great  Dunsinane  he  strongly  fortifies : 
Some  say,  he's  mad ;  others,  that  lesser  hate  him. 
Do  call  it  valiant  fury:  but,  for  certain, 
lie  cannot  buckle  his  distemper'd  cause 
Within  the  belt  of  rule. 

Any.  Now  does  he  feel 

His  secret  murders  sticking  on  his  hands; 
Now  minutely  revolts  upbraid  his  faith-breach  ; 
Those  he  commands,  move  only  in  command, 
Nothing  in  love  :  now  does  he  feel  his  title 
Hang  loose  about  him,  like  a  giant's  robe 
Upon  a  dwarfish  thief. 

Ment.  Who  then  shall  blame 

His  pester'd  B«no«a  in  necoil,  and  start. 
When  an  mat  is  within  him  does  condemn 
Itself,  for  being  there  ? 

Cath.  Well,  march  we  on. 

To  give  obedience  where  'tis  truly  ow'd  : 
Meet  we  the  medecin  of  the  sickly  weal ; 
And  with  him  pour  we,  in  our  country's  purge. 
Each  drop  of  us. 

hen.  Or  so  much  as  it  needs. 

To  dew  the  sovereign  flower,  and  drown  the  weeds. 
Make  we  our  march  towards  Birnam. 

[Exeunt,  marching. 

Scene  III. — Dunsinane.  A  Room  in  the  Castle. 
Enter  Macbeth,  Doctor,  and  Attendants. 
Macb.  Bring  me  no  more  reports ;  let  tliem  fly  all ; 
Till  Birnam  wood  remove  to  Dunsinane, 
I  cannot  taint  with  fear.  What's  the  boy  Malcolm  ? 
Was  he  not  born  of  woman  ?  The  spirits  that  know 
All  mortal  consequents,  pronounc'd  me  thus  : 
Pear  not,  Macbeth;  no  man,  that's  born  of  woman, 
Shall  e'er  have  power  on  thee. — 'i'hen  fly,  false 
And  mingle  wiih  tlie  English  ei)icures  :^  [thanes, 
The  mind  I  sway  by,  and  the  heart  I  bear, 
Shall  never  sagg  with  doubt,  nor  shake  with  fear. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
The  devil  damn  thee  black,  thou  cream-fac'd  loon  ! 
^\Tiere  got'st  thou  that  goose  look  ? 

Serv.  Thet^  is  ten  thousand  

Mach.  Geese,  villain? 

Serv.  Soldiers,  sir. 

Macb  Go,  prick  thy  face,  and  ovf*»--red  thy  fear. 


Act  V 

Thou  lily-liver'd  boy.  What  soldiers,  patch? 
Death  of  thy  soul!  those  linen  cheeks  of  thine 
Are  counsellors  to  fear.  What  soldiers,  whey-face  1 

Serv.  The  English  Ibrce,  so  please  you. 

Macb.  Take  thy  face  hence.— Sey ton  ! — i  an 
sick  at  heart, 
When  I  behold— Seyton,  I  say !— This  push 
Will  cheer  me  ever,  or  disseat  me  now, 
I  have  liv'd  long  enough:  my  way  of  life  * 
Is  fall'n  into  the  sear,  the  yellow  leaf: 
And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age, 
As  honour,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 
I  must  not  look  to  have ;  but,  in  their  stead. 
Curses,  not  loud,  but  deep,  mouth-honour,  breath, 
Which  the  poor  heart  would  fain  deny,  but  dare  not 
Seyton  I — — 

Enter  Seyton. 

Sey.  What  is  your  gracious  pleasure  ? 
Macb.  What  news  more? 

Sey.  All  is  confirm'd,  my  lord,  which  was  re- 
ported. 

Macb.  I'll  fight,  till  from  my  bones  my  flesh  b© 
Give  me  my  armour.  [hack'd. 

Sey.  'Tis  not  needed  yet. 

Macb.  I  ll  put  it  on. 
Send  out  more  horses,  skii  r  the  country  round  ; 
Hang  those  that  talk  of  fear. —  Gi»e  me  mine  ar- 
How  does  your  patient,  doctor?  [mour  — 

Doct.  Not  so  siclf,  my  lord. 

As  she  is  troubled  with  thick-coming  fancies. 
That  keep  her  from  her  rest. 

Macb.  Cure  her  of  that: 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseas'd  ; 
Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow  ; 
Haze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain ; 
And,  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote. 
Cleanse  the  stufl'd  boson)  of  that  perilous  stuff* 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart? 

Doct.  Therein  the  patient 

Must  minister  to  himself. 

Macb.  Throw  physic  to  the  dogs,  I'll  none  of  it.-* 
Cotne,  put  mine  arn»our  on;  give  n»e  uiy  stafl': — 
Seyton,  send   out. — Doctor,  the  thanes  fly  from 
me : — 

Come,  sir,  despatch: — If  thou  couldst,  doctor,  cast 
Tiie  water  of  my  land,  find  her  disease, 
And  purge  it  to  a  sound  and  pristine  iieallh, 
I  would  applaud  thee  to  the  very  echo, 
That  should  applaud  again. — Pull't  oil",  I  say. — 
What  rhubarb,  senna,  or  what  purgative  drug. 
Would  scour  these  English  hence  V — Hei-irest  thou 
of  them  ? 

Doct.  Ay,  my  good  lord  ;  your  royal  preparation 
Makes  us  hear  something.  \ 

Macb.  Bring  it  after  me.  

I  will  not  be  afraid  of  death  and  bane, 

Till  Birnam  forest  come  to  Dunsinane.  [Exit. 

Doct.  Were  I  from  Diu)sinaue  away  and  clear. 
Profit  agam  should  hardly  draw  me  here.  [Exit. 

Sce-ne  IV. — Country  near  Dunsinane  :  A  Wood 
in  vietv. 

Enter,  with  drum  and  colours,  Malcolm,  old 
SiWARD  and  his  Son,  Macduff,  Menteth, 
Cath.ness,  Angus,  Lenox,  Rosse,  and  Soldiers, 
marching. 

Mai.  Cousins,  I  hope,  the  days  are  near  at  hand. 
That  chambers  will  be  sale. 

Ment.  We  doubt  it  nothing. 

Siw.  What  wood  is  this  before  us 

Ment.  The  wood  of  Birnani. 

Mai.  Let  every  soldier  hew  him  down  a  bough. 
And  bear't  before  him;  thereby  shall  we  shadow 
The  numbers  of  our  host,  and  make  discovery 
Err  in  report  of  us. 

Sold.  It  shall  be  done. 

Siw.  Wb  learn  no  other,  but  the  confident  tyrant. 
Keeps  still  in  Dunsinane,  and  will  endure 


MACBETH. 


Scene  7. 


MACBETH. 


28J 


Our  seftiug  down  before't. 

j^al.  "Tts  his  main  hope  : 

For  where  there  is  advantage  to  be  given, 
Both  more  and  less  hath  given  him  the  re^volt  ; 
And  none-serve  with  liim,  but  constrained  tbhiga, 
Whose  hearts  are  absent  too, 

Macd.  Ltt  our  just  cetsures 

Attend  the  true  event,  and  put  we  oi 
Industrious  soldiership. 

Siw.  The  time  approa<«he8. 

That  will  with  due  decision  make  ns  knew 
What  we  shall  say  we  have,  and  wbat  Wfc  owe. 
Thoughts  speculative  their  unsure  hope-j  relate  ; 
But  certain  issue  strokes  meat  arbitrate: 
Towards  which,  advance  the  wm: 

lExeunt,  marching. 

Scene  Y.-^Dunsina'^.  Pfithin  the  Castle. 
Enter,  tcith  drums  and  colours,  Macbeth, 

Setj^S,  and  Soldiers. 
Macb.  Hang  ort  our  banners  on  the  outward  walls; 
The  cry  is  stJl,  They  come:  Our  castle's  strength 
Will  laugh  A  si-ge  to  scorn:  here  let  them  lie. 
Till  famine  aEid  the  ague,  eat  them  up  : 
VV^ere  they  not  forc'd  with  those  that  should  be  ours. 
We  mir^Sit  have  met  them  dareful,  beard  to  beard, 
And   beat  them  backward  home.   What  is  that 
noise  ?  {A  cry  within,  of  women.) 

8ey.  It  in  the  cry  of  women,  my  good  lord. 
sj  -^^Macb.  I  have  almost  forgot  the  taste  of  fears  : 
The  time  has  been,  my  senses  would  have  cool'd 
to  hear  a  night-shriek;  and  my  fell  of  hair 
tVouId  at  a  dismal  treatise  rouse,  and  stir 
(\.s  life  were  in't:  I  have  supp'd  full  with  horrors; 
Direness,  familiar  to  n»y  slaught'rous  thoughts, 
Bannot  once  start  me.— Wherefore  was  that  cry  ? 
0'     Sey.  The  queen,  my  lord,  is  dead. 
\         Much.  She  should  have  died  hereafter ; 

There  would  have  been  a  time  for  such  a  word.— 
To -morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 
Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day. 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time; 
And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 
The  way  to  dusty  death.  Out,  out,  brief  candle ' 
Life's  but  a  walking  shadow ;  a  poor  player. 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage. 
And  then  is  heard  no  more:  it  is  a  tale 
Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury. 
Signifying  nothing.  

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Thon  ccm'st  to  use  thy  tongue ;  thy  story  quickly. 

Mess.  Gracious  my  lord, 
I  shall  report  that  which  I  say  I  saw. 
But  know  not  how  to  do  it. 

Macb,  Well,  say,  sir. 

Mess.  As  I  did  stand  my  watch  upon  the  hill, 
I  look'd  toward  Birnam,  and  anon,  methought, 
Vhe  wood  began  to  move. 

Macb.  Liar,  and  slave  ! 

[Striking  him.) 

Mess.  Let  me  endure  your  wrath,  iff  be  not  so: 
Within  this  three  mile  may  you  see  it  coming ; 
I  say,  a  moving  grove. 
i-       Macb.  If  thou  speak'st  false, 

A  Upon  the  next  tree  shalt  thou  hang  alive, 
1^  Till  famine  cling  thee  :  if  thy  speech  be  sooth, 
Sp    I  care  not  if  thou  dost  for  me  as  much. — 
r      r  pull  in  resolution;  and  begin 

To  doubt  the  equivocafTon  of  the  fiend, 
That  lies  like  truth :  Fear  not,  till  Birnam  wood 
Do  come  to  Dunsinane : — and  now  a  wood 
Comes  toward  Dunsinane.— Arm,  arm,  and  out! — 
If  this,  which  he  avouches,  does  appear. 
There  is  nor  flying  hence,  nor  tarrying  here. 
I  'gin  to  be  a- weary  of  the  sun. 
And  wish  the  estate  o  the  world  were  now  undone. — 
Ring  t^e  alarum  bell :— Blow,  wind !  come,  wrack ! 
At  least  we'll  die  with  harness  on  our  back, 

I  Exeunt. 


Scene  VI.—The  same.  A  Plain  before  the  Castle. 

Enter,  with  drums  and  colours »  Malcolm,  ola 
SiWARD,  Macduff,  §fc.  and  their  Army,  with 
boughs. 

Mai.  Now  near  enough ;  your  leavy  screnu 

throw  down. 

And  show  like  those  you  are : — You,  worthy  uncle, 
Shall,  with  my  cousin,  your  right-noble  son. 
Lead  our  first  battle  :  worthy  Macdufl',  and  we. 
Shall  take  upon  us  what  else  remains  to  do. 
According  to  our  order. 

Siw.  Fare  you  well. 

Do  we  but  find  the  tyrant's  power  to-night, 
Let  us  be  beaten,  if  we  cannot  fight        [all  breath, 

Macd.  Make  all  our  trumpets  speak  ;  give  them 
Those  clamorous  harbingers  of  blood  and  death. 

[Exeunt.  Alarums  corUinued. 

Scene  VII. — The  sams.  Another  part  of  the  Plain. 
Enter  Macbeth. 
Macb.  They  have  tied  me  to  a  stake  ;  I  cannot  fly. 
But,  bear-like,  I  must  fight  the  course. — What's  he. 
That  was  not  born  of  woman  ?  Such  a  one 
Am  I  to  fear,  or  none. 

Enter  young  SiWARD. 

Yo.  Siw.  What  is  tky  name  ? 

Macb.  Thou'lt  be  afraid  to  hear  it 

Yo.  Siw.  No;  though  thou  call'st  thyself  a  hotter 
Than  any  is  in  hell.  [name 

Macb.  My  name's  Macbeth. 

Yo.  Siw.  The  devil  himself  could  not  pronounce 
More  hateful  to  mine  ear.  [a  title 

Macb.  No,  nor  more  fearful. 

Yo.  Siw.  Thou  liest,  abhorred  tyrant;  with  ray 
I'll  prove  the  lie  thou  speak'st.  [sword 
{They  fight,  and  young  Siward  is  slain.) 

Macb.  Thou  wast  born  of  woman.— 

But  swords  I  smile  at,  weapons  laugh  to  scorn, 
Brandish'd  by  man  that's  of  a  woman  born.  [Exit. 

Alarums.  Enter  Macdufp. 
Macd.  That  way  the  noise  is : — Tyrant,  show  thy 
face : 

If  thou  be'st  slain,  and  with  no  stroke  of  mine. 

My  wife  and  children's  ghosts  will  haunt  me  still. 

I  cannot  strike  at  wretched  kernes,  whose  arms 

Are  hir'd  to  bear  their  staves  ;  either  thou,  Macbeth, 

Or  else  my  sword,  with  an  unbatter'd  edge, 

I  sheathe  again  undeeded.  There  thou  shouldst  be ; 

By  this  great  clatter,  one  of  greatest  note 

Seems  bruited  :  Let  me  find  him,  fortune  ! 

And  more  I  beg  not.  [Exit.  Alarum 

Enter  Malcolm  and  old  Siward. 
Siw.  This  way,  my  lord ; — the  castle's  gently  req 
The  tyrant's  people  on  both  sides  do  fight ;     [der'd  : 
The  noble  thanes  do  bravely  in  the  war; 
The  day  almost  itself  professes  yours. 
And  little  is  to  do. 

Mai.  We  have  met  with  foes 

That  strike  beside  us. 

Siw.  Enter,  sir,  the  castle. 

[Exeunt.  Alarums. 
Re-enter  Macbeth. 
Macb.  Why  should  I  play  the  Roman  fool,  and 
die 

On  mine  own  sword  ?  whiles  I  see  lives,  the  gashei 
Do  better  upon  them. 

Re-enter  Macdufp. 

Macd.  Turn,  hell-hound,  turn. 

Macb.  Of  all  men  else  I  have  avoided  thee . 
But  get  thee  back,  ray  soul  is  too  much  charg'd 
W  th  blood  of  thine  already. 

Macd.  I  have  no  words. 

My  voice  is  in  my  sword  ;  thou  bloodier  villain 
Than  terms  can  give  thee  out !  {They  fight,) 

Macb.  Thou  losest  lalbour ; 


282 


MACBETH. 


Act  V. 


As  easy  may  st  thoa  the  intrenchant  air 

With  tliy  keen  sword  impress,  as  make  me  bleed: 

Let  fall  thy  blade  on  vulnerable  crests ; 

I  bear  a  charmed  life,  which  must  not  yield 

To  one  of  woman  born. 

Macd.  Despair  ihy  charm  ; 

And  let  the  angel,  whom  thou  still  hast  serv'd. 
Tell  thee,  Macduff  was  from  his  mother's  womb 
Untimely  ripp'd. 

MacB.  Accurpo^?  be  that  tongue  that  tells  me  so^ 
For  it  hath  cow'(?  u^y  better  part  ol  man  ! 
And  be  these  jiifjgling  fiends  no  more  believ'd. 
That  palter  with  us  in  a  double  sense  ; 
That  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  our  ear, 
And  break  it  to  our  hope. — I'll  not  fight  with  thee. 

Macd.  Then  yield  thee,  coward, 
And  lit  e  to  be  the  show  and  gaze  o'the  time. 
We'll  have  tiiee,  as  our  rarer  monsters  are. 
Painted  upon  a  pole  ;  and  underwrit. 
Here  may  you  see  the  tyrant. 

Macb.  I'll  not  yield, 

To  kiss  the  ground  before  yo'ing  Malcolm's  feet. 
And  to  be  baited  with  the  rabble's  curse. 
Though  Birnam  wood  be  come  to  Dunslnane, 
And  thou  oppos'd,  being  of  no  woman  born. 
Yet  I  will  try  the  last :  Before  my  body 
[  thiow  my  warlike  shield  :  lay  on,  Macduff; 
And  damn'd  be  him  tliat  first  cries.  Hold,  enough. 

[Exeunt,  fighting. 

Retreat.    Flourish.    Re  enter,  with  drum  and 
colours,  Malcolm,  old  Si  ward,  Rosse,  Lenox, 
Angus,  Cathness,  Menteth,  and  Soldiers. 
Mai.  I  would,  the  friends  we  miss  were  safe 
arriv'd. 

Siiv.  Some  must  go  o(f :  and  yet,  by  these  I  see, 
£5o  great  a  day  as  this  is  cheaply  bought. 

Mai  Macduff  is  nrissir.g,  and  your  noble  son. 

Rosse.  Your  son,  my  lord,  has  paid  a  soldier's 
He  only  liv'd  but  till  he  was  a  man  ;  [<lebt: 
The  which  no  sooner  had  his  prowess  confirm'd 
In  the  iinKhrinking  station  where  he  fought. 
But  like  a  tuan  he  died. 

Siw.  Then  he  is  dead  ? 


Roeae.  Ay,  and  brought  oft' the  fkcld  lonr  CAOft 

of  sorrow 

Must  not  be  measur'd  by  his  worth,  for  then 
It  Itath  uo  end. 

Siw,  Had  he  his  hurts  before  ? 

Itoss'e.  Ay,  on  the  front. 

iSitO.  Why  then,  God's  soldier  be  be 

Had  I  as  many  sons  as  1  have  hairs, 
I  would  not  wish  them  to  a  fairer  death  : 
And  so  his  knell  is  knoll'd. 

Mai.  He's  worth  more  sorrow 

And  that  I'll  spend  for  him. 

Siw.  He's  worth  no  more 

They  say,  he  parted  well,  and  paid  his  score  : 
So,  God  be  with  him  ! — Here  comes  newer  comfort. 

Re-enter  Macduff,  with  Macbeth' s  head  on  a  pole, 
Macd.  Hail,  king!  for  so  thou  art :  Behold  where 
stands 

The  usurper's  cursed  head  :  the  time  is  free : 
I  see  thee  compass'd  with  thy  kingdom's  peail. 
That  speak  my  salutation  in  their  minds  ; 
Whose  voices  I  desire  aloud  with  mine, — 
Hail,  king  of  Scotland  ! 

All.  King  of  Scotland,  hail  i 

{FlourUh. 

Mai.  We  shall  not  spend  a  large  expense  of  time, 
Before  we  reckon  with  your  several  loves,  [men. 
And  make  us  even  with  you.    My  thanes  and  kins-„. 
Henceforth  be  earls,  the  first  that  ever  Scotland  )f 
In  such  an  honour  nam'd.    What's  more  to  do. 
Which  would  be  planted  newly  with  the  time, — 
As  calling  home  our  exil'd  frieiids  abroad, 
That  fled  the  snares  of  watchful  tyranny; 
Prod'icing  forth  the  cruel  ministers  ^. 
Of  this  dead  butcher,  and  his  fiend  like  gueen  ;  ,/ 
Who,  as  'tis  thought,  by  sell'  and  violent  hands  *' 
Took  v^ff  her  life; — This,  and  what  needful  els* 
That  calls  upon  us,  by  the  grace  of  Grace, 
We  will  perform  in  measiu-e,  time,  and  flace: 
So  thanks  to  all  at  once  and  to  each  one, 
Whom  we  invite  to  se  us  crown'd  at  Scone. 

[F/ou  rtsh.  ExetaU 


KING  JOHN, 


The  trafedy  of  King  John,  though  not  written  with  the  utmost  power  of  Shakspeare,  is  varied  with  a  very  pleesiM 
lotercfvai.Ke  of  incidents  and  characters.  The  lady's  grief  is  very  affcciing  ,-  and  the  character  of  the  Bastard  coatsiii* 
lhai  miiture  ot  greatness  and  levity,  which  this  author  delighted  to  exJiibit.  Jvhnson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


AiNG  JOHN. 

PKINCE  HENRY,  hisSott;  afterwards  King  Henry  III. 

ARTHUH,  Duke  of  Bretagne,  Son  of  Geffrey,  late  Duke 
uf  Brftagne,  the  elder  Brother  of  King  John. 

WILLIAM  MAHESHALL,  Earl  of  Pembroke: 

GEFFREY  FITZ  I'ETER,  Earl  of  Essex,  Chief  Justici- 
ary of  Knnland. 

WILLIAM  LONOsWORD,  Earl  of  Salisbury. 

ROBERT  BIGOT,  Earl  of  Norfolk. 

HUBERT  DE  BUR(JH,  Chamberlain  to  the  King. 

ROBERT  FAULCONBRIDGE,  Son  of  Sir  Robert  Faul- 
conhridae. 

PHILIP  FAULCONBRIDGE,  his  Half-brother,  bastard 

Son  to  King  Richard  the  First. 
JAMES  GURNEY,  Servant  to  Lady  Faulconbridge. 
PETER  of  Pomfret,  a  Prophet. 


PHILIP,  King  of  France, 

LMVIS,  the  Dauphin. 

ARCHDUKE  OF  AUSTRIA. 

CARDINAL  PANDULPH,  the  Pope's  Legate. 

MELUN,  a  French  Lord. 

CHATILLON,  Ambassador  from  France  to  King  John. 
ELINOR,  the  Widow  of  King  Henry  II,  and  Mother 

of  King  John. 
CONSTANCE,  Mother  to  Arthur. 

BLANCH,  Daughter  to  Alphonso,  King  of  Castile,  and 

Niece  to  King  John. 
LADY  FAULCONBRIDGE,  Mother  to  the  Bastard  and 

Robert  Faulcvnhridye. 
Lords,  Ladies,  Citizens  of  Angiers,   Sheriff,  Heralds, 
Officers,  Soldiers,  Messengers,  and  other  Attendants. 


Scene, — Sometimes  in  England,  and  sometimes  in  France. 


ACT  I. 

^CENE  I. — Northampton.  A  Room  of  State  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  King  JoHN,    Queen  Elinop,  I^embroke, 
Essex,  Salisbury,  and  others,  with  Chatilloh. 
Ki7ig  John.  Now,  say,  Chatillon,  what  would 

Fi ance  with  us  V 
Chat,  Thus,  after  greeting,  speaks  the  king  of 
Fiance, 

In  my  behaviour,  to  the  majesty, 

The  hoi  row'd  majesty  of  England  here. 

E/f.  A  strange  beginning; — bonow'd  majesty  ! 

K.  John.  Silence,  good  mother;  hear  the  embassy. 

Chat.  Philip  of  Fi  ance,  in  right  and  true  behalf 
Of  thy  deceased  brother  GefTrey's  son, 
Arthur  Plantagenet,  lays  most  lawful  claim 
To  this  fair  island,  and  the  territories; 
To  Ireland,  Poictiers,  Anjou,  Touraine,  Maine: 
Desiring  thee  to  lay  aside  the  sword, 
Which  sways  usiirpingly  these  several  titles; 
And  pnt  the  same  into  young  Arthur's  hand. 
Thy  nephew,  and  right  royal  sovereign. 

K.  John.  What  follows,  if  we  disallow  of  this? 

Chat.  The  proud  control  of  fierce  and  bloody  war. 
To  enforce  these  rights,  so  forcibly  withheld. 

K.  John.  Here  have  we  war  for  war,  and  blood 
for  blood, 

Controlment  for  controlment :  so  answer  France. 

Chat.  Then  take  my  king's  defiance  from  my 
The  furthest  limit  of  my  embassy.  [mouth, 

K.  John.  Bear  mine  to  him,  and  so  depart  in 

peace : 

Be  thou  as  lightning  in  the  eyes  of  France  ; 
For  ere  thou  canst  report  I  will  be  there, 
The  thunder  of  my  cannon  shall  be  heard: 
So,  hence  !    Be  thou  the  trumpet  of  our  wrath. 
And  sullen  presage  of  your  own  decay. — 
An  honourable  conduct  let  him  have  : 
Pembroke,  look  to't:  Farewell,  Chatillon. 

[Exeunt  Chatillon  and  Pembroke. 
Eli.  What  now,  my  son  i  have  I  not  ever  said 
How  that  ambitious  Constance  would  not  cease, 
Till  she  had  kindled  France,  and  all  the  world. 
Upon  the  right  and  party  of  her  son  ? 
This  might  havia  been  prevented,  and  made  whole. 
With  very  easy  arguments  of  love  ; 
Which  now  the  manage  of  two  kingdoms  must 
W  ith  fearful  bloody  issue  arbitrate.  [for  as. 

K.  John.  Our  strong  possession,  and  our  right, 
Eli.  Your  strong  possession,  much  more  ihaa 
your  right ; 

Or  else  it  must  go  wrong  with  you,  and  me : 


Sl)  much  my  conscience  whispers  in  your  ear; 
Which  none  but  heaven,  and  you,  and  I,  shall  hea  . 
Enter  the  Sheriff  of  Northamptonshire,  w)io 
whispers  Essex. 

Essex.  My  liege,  here  is  the  strangest  controyersy. 
Come  from  the  country  to  be  jiidg'd  by  you. 
That  e'er  1  heard  :  shall  i  produce  the  men? 

K.  John.  Let  them  approach. —     [Exit  Sheriff, 
Our  abbies,  and  our  priories,  shall  pay 
Re  enter  Sheriff,  with  Robert  Faulconhridgb, 

and  Philip,  his  bastard  Broi  her. 
Tiiis  expedition's  charge. — What  men  are  you? 

Bast.  Your  faithlul  subject  1,  a  gentleman, 
Born  in  Northamptonshire^  and  eldest  son. 
As  1  suppose,  to  Robert  J' aiilconbridge ; 
A  soldier,  by  the  honour-givmg  hand 
Of  Coeur-de-lion  knigiited  in  the  field. 

K.John.  What  art  thou?  [brid^,.. 

Rob.  The  son  and  heir  to  that  same  Faulcon- 

K.  John.  Is  that  the  elder,  and  art  thou  the  heir? 
You  came  not  of  one  mother  then,  it  seems. 

Bast.  Most  certain  of  one  mother,  mighty  king. 
That  is  well  known  ;  and,  as  1  think,  one  father: 
But,  for  the  certain  knowledge  of  that  truth, 
I  put  you  o'er  to  heaven,  and  to  my  mother : 
Of  that  I  doubt,  as  all  men's  children  may. 

Eli.  Out  on  thee,  rude  man !  thou  dost  shame 
thy  mother. 
And  wound  her  honour  with  this  diffidence. 

Bast.  I,  madam  ?  no,  1  have  no  reason  for  it; 
That  is  my  brother's  plea,  and  none  of  mine ; 
The  which  if  he  can  prove,  'a  pops  me  out 
At  least  from  fair  five  hundred  pounds  a-year: 
Heaven  guard  my  mother's  honour,  and  »ny  land  I 

K.  John.  A  good  blunt  fellow :— -Why,  being 
younger  born, 
Doth  he  lay  claim  to  thine  inheritance  ? 

Bast.  I  know  not  why,  except  to  get  (he  land. 
But  once  he  slander'd  me  with  bastardy : 
But  whe'r  I  be  as  true  begot,  or  no, 
That  still  I  lay  upon  my  mother's  head; 
But  that  I  am  as  well  begot,  my  liege, 
(Fair  fall  the  bones  that  took  the  pains  for  me!) 
Compare  our  faces,  and  be  judge  yourself. 
If  old  sir  Robert  did  beget  us  both, 
And  were  our  father,  and  this  son  like  him;— 

0  old  sir  Robert,  father,  on  my  knee 

1  give  heaven  thanks,  1  was  not  like  to  thee. 

K.  John.  Why,  what  a  madcap  bath  heaven  leol 
us  here  ! 

Eli.  He  hath  a  trick  of  Coeur-de-lion's  face. 
The  accent  of  his  tongue  aUecteth  him ; 


nU  KING 

Dt»  foil  not  read  sorie  tokens  of  mj  son 
In  the  large  composition  of  tliis  man  ? 

K.  John.  Mine  eye  hath  well  examined  his  parts. 

And  finds  them  perfect  Richard.  Sirrah,  speak, 

What  doth  move  you  to  claim  your  brother's  land  ? 

Bast.  Because  he  hath  a  half-lace,  like  my  father; 
With  that  half-face  would  he  have  all  my  land : 
A  half-fac'd  groat  five  hundred  pounds  a-year! 

Rob.  My  gracious  liege,  when  that  my  father  liv'd, 
Vour  brother  did  employ  my  father  much  ; — 

Bast.  Well,  sir,  by  this  you  cannot  get  my  land ; 
Your  tale  must  be,  how  he  employed  my  mother. 

Rob.  And  once  despatched  him  in  an  embassy 
To  Germany,  there,  with  the  emperor, 
To  treat  of  high  atlairs  touching  that  time  : 
The  advantage  of  his  absence  took  the  king, 
And  in  the  ujean  time  sojourn'd  at  my  father's; 
Where  how  he  did  prevail,  I  shame  to  speak  : 
But  truth  is  truth ;  large  lengths  of  seas  and  shores 
Between  niy  lather  and  my  mother  lay, 
(As  I  have  lieard  my  father  speak  himself,) 
When  this  same  lusty  gentleman  was  got. 
Upon  his  death-bed  he  by  will  beyieath'd 
His  lands  to  me  ;  anrl  took  it,  on  his  death. 
That  this,  my  mother's  son,  was  none  of  his; 
And,  if  he  were,  he  came  into  the  world 
Full  fourteen  weeks  before  the  course  of  time. 
Then,  good  my  liege,  let  me  have  what  is  mine, 
My  father's  land,  as  was  my  father's  will. 

K.  John.  Sirrah,  your  brother  is  legitimate; 
Your  father's  wife  did  alter  wedlock  bear  him : 
And,  if  she  did  play  false,  tlie  iault  was  hers; 
Whicii  fault  lies  on  the  hazards  of  all  husbands. 
That  marry  wives.    Tell  me,  how  if  my  brother. 
Who,  as  you  say,  took  pains  to  get  this  son. 
Had  of  your  lather  claim'd  this  son  for  his '! 
\&  sooth  good  friend,  your  father  might  have  kept 
;  This  call,  bred  from  his  cow,  from  all  the  world ; 

In  sooth,  he4iiight:  then,  if  lie  were  my  brother's, 
i  My  brother  might  not  claim  him  ;  nor  your  father. 
Being  no«e  of  his,  refuse  liim  :  Tiiis  concludes, — 
•  My  mother's  son  did  get  your  father's  heir; 
\  Your  father's  heir  must  have  your  father's  land. 
'  Rob.  Shall  then  my  father's  will  be  of  no  force. 
To  dispossess  that  cliild,  which  is  not  his? 

Bast.  Of  no  more  force  to  dispossess  me,  sir, 
Than  was  his  will  to  get  me,  as  1  think.  [bridge, 

Eli.  Whether  hadst  thou  rather, — be  a  Faulcon- 
And  like  thy  brother,  to  enjoy  thy  land  ; 
Or  the  reputed  son  of  Coeur-de-lion, 
Lord  of  thy  presence,  and  no  land  beside  ? 

Bast.  Madam,  an  if  my  brother  had  my  shape. 
And  I  had  his,  sir  Robert  his,  like  him  : 
And  if  my  legs  were  two  such  riding-rods, 
My  arms  such  eel-skins  stuff  d ;  my  face  so  thin, 
That  in  mine  ear  1  durst  not  stick  a  rose,  [goes. 
Lest  men  should  say,  Look,  where  three-farthings 
And,  to  his  shape,  were  heir  to  all  this  land, 
*Would  I  might  never  stir  from  off  this  place, 
I'd  give  it  every  foflt  to  have  this  face  ; 
I  would  not  be  sir  Nob  in  any  case.  [fortune, 

Eli  I  like  thee  well;   Wilt  thou  forsake  thy 
Bequeath  thy  land  to  him,  and  follow  me  ? 
i  am  a  soldier,  and  now  bound  to  France. 

Bast.  Brother,  take  you  my  land,  I'll  take  my 
chance  : 

Your  face  hath  got  five  hundred  pounds  a-year; 
Yet  sell  your  face  for  five  pence,  and  'tis  dear. — 
Madam,  i  ll  follow  you  unto  the  death. 
I      Eli.  Nay,  I  would  have  you  go  before  me  thitlier. 
I      Bast.  Our  country  manners  give  our  betters  way. 
'      K.  John.  What  is  thy  name  ? 

Bast.  I'hilip,  my  liege ;  so  is  my  name  begun; 
Piiilip,  good  old  sir  Robert's  wife's  eldest  son. 
K..  John.  From  henceforth  bear  his  name  whose 
form  thtju  bear'st : 
Kneel  thou  down  Philip,  but  arise  more  great; 
A-rise  sir  Richard,  and  Plantagenet.  [hand ; 

Bast.  Brother,  by  the  mother's  side,  give  me  your 
y        r  gave  me  Uonour,  yours  ga^e  land :— 


JOHN.  Act  1 

Now  blessed  be  the  hour,  by  night  or  day. 
When  1  was  got,  sir  Robert  was  away. 

Eli.  The  very  spirit  of  Plantagenet! — 
I  am  thy  grandame,  Richard ;  call  me  so. 

Bast.  Madam,  by  chance,  but  not  by  truth  1 
What  though  ? 
Something  about,  a  little  from  the  right. 

In  at  the  window,  or  else  o'er  the  hatch : 
Who  dares  not  stir  by  day,  must  walk  by  night; 

And  have  is  have,  however  men  do  catch : 
Near  or  far  off,  well  won  is  still  well  shot ; 
And  I  am  I,  howe'er  I  was  begot.  [desire, 

K.  John.  Go,  Faulconbridge  ;  now  hast  thou  thy 
A  landless  knight  makes  thee  a  landed  'squire. — 
Come,  madam,  and  come,  Richard  ;  we  must  speed 
For  France,  for  France  ;  for  it  is  more  than  need. 

Bast.  Brother,  adieu  ;  Good  fortune  come  to  theo  J 
For  thou  wast  got  i'the  way  of  honesty. 

[Exeunt  all  but  the  Bastard. 
A  foot  of  honour  better  than  I  was  ; 
But  many  a  many  foot  of  land  the  worse. 

Well,  now  can  I  make  any  Joan  a  lady :  

Good  den,  sir  Richard, — God-a-inercy,  fellow;— • 
And  if  his  name  be  George,  I'll  call  him  Peter: 
For  new-made  honour  dotii  forget  men's  names  ; 
'Tis  too  respective,  and  too  sociable. 
For  your  conversion.    Now  your  traveller, — ■ 
He  and  his  tooth-pick  at  my  worship's  mess; 
And  when  my  knightly  stomach  is  sutJic'd, 
Why  then  I  suck  my  teeth,  and  catechise 

My  picked  man  of  countries:  My  dear  gir, 

(Thus,  leaning  on  mine  elbow,  I  begin,) 
/  shall  beseech  you — That  is  question  now  ; 
And,  then  comes  answer  like  an  ABC-book  ; — 
0,  sir,  says  answer,  at  your  best  cuimiiand; 

At  your  employ  merit ;  at  your  service,  sir :  

No,  sir,  says  question,  i,  siueet  sir,  at  yuurs  : 

And  so,  ere  answer  knows  what  qut  stion  \\iniid, 

(Saving  in  dialogue  of"  compliiiif  nt ; 

And  talking  of  the  Alps,  and  Aj^penines, 

Tiie  Pyrenean,  and  the  river  Po,) 

It  draws  toward  supper  in  conclusion  so. 

But  this  is  worshipful  society. 

And  fits  the  mounting  spirit,  like  myself: 

For  he  is  but  a  bastard  to  the  time, 

Tliat  doth  not  smack  of  observation  ; 

(And  so  am  I,  whether  1  smack,  or  no;  )  ^' 

And  not  alone  in  habit  and  devict 

Exterior  form,  outward  accoutrement;  * 

But  from  the  inward  motion  to  deliver 

Sweet,  sweet,  sweet  poison  f  )r  the  a^e's  tooth  : 

Which,  though  I  will  not  practise  to  deceive, 

Yet,  to  avoid  deceit,  I  mean  to  learn  ; 

For  it  shall  strew  the  footsteps  of  my  rising.— 

But  who  comes  in  such  haste,  in  riding  robes 

What  woman-post  is  this  ?  hatii  she  no  husband, 

That  will  take  pains  to  blow  a  horn  before  lier  ? 

Enter  Lady  Faulconbridge,  and  James  Gurney. 

O  me  !  it  is  my  mother: — How  now,  good  lady? 
What  brings  you  here  to  court  so  hastily  ?      [is  he  ? 

Lady  F.  Where  is  that  slave,  thy  brother  ?  w  here 
That  holds  in  chase  mine  honour  up  and  down? 

Bast.  My  brother  Robert  ?  old  sir  Robert's  son  ? 
Colbrand  the  giant,  that  same  mighty  man  ? 
Is  it  sir  Robert's  son,  that  you  seek  so  ?  .'boy. 

Lady  F.  Sir  Robert's  son !  Ay,  thou  unreveren--' 
Sir  Robert's  son  :  Why  scorn'st  thou  at  sir  Rob'-i  t 
He  is  sir  Robert's  son  ;  and  so  art  thou  ?  hvliiie 

Bast.  James  Gurney,  wilt  thou  give  ns  ief,ve  / 

Gur.  Good  leave,  good  Philip. 

Bast.  Philip  ? — sparrow  ! — Jmiu-.t 

There's  toys  abroad :  anon  I'll  tell  thee  more. 

[Exit  Gurney 
Madam,  I  was  not  old  sir  Robert's  son ; 
Sir  Robert  might  have  eat  his  part  in  me 
Upon  Good-friday.,  and  ne'er  broke  his  fast : 
Sir  Robert  could  do  well ;  Marry,  (to  confes»!) 
Could  he  get  me  ?  Sir  Robert  could  not  do  it 


Act  II.    Scene  1.  KING 

We  know  bis  handywork  : — Therefore,  good  mo- 
ther. 

To  whom  am  I  beholden  for  these  limbs? 
Sir  Robert  nf;ver  holp  to  make  this  leg. 

Lady  F.  Hast  thou  conspired  with  thy  brother  too, 
That  for  thine  own  gain  shouldst  defend  mine  ho- 
nour ? 

What  means  this  scorn,  thou  most  untoward  knave  ? 
Bast.  Knight,  knight,  good  mother  Basilisco- 
hke : 

What !  I  am  dubb'd  ;  I  have  it  on  my  shoulder. 
But,  mother,  I  am  not  sir  Robert's  son; 
I  have  disclaimed  sir  Robert,  and  my  land; 
Legitimation,  name,  and  all  is  gone  : 
Then,  good  iny  mother,  let  me  know  my  father; 
Some  proper  man,  J  hope  :  Who  was  it,  matlier? 
Lady  F.  Hast  thou  denied  thyself  a  Faulcon- 
h ridge  i 

Bast.  As  faithfully  as  I  deny  the  devil.  [ther; 

Lady  F.  King  Richard  Coeur-de-lion  was  thy  fa- 
My  long  and  veliement  suit  I  was  seduc'd 

To  make  room  for  him  in  my  husband's  bed :  

Heaven  lay  not  my  transgression  to  my  charge  ! — 

Tliou  art  the  issue  of  my  dear  offence. 

Which  was  so  strongly  urg'd,  past  my  defence. 

Bast.  Now,  by  this  light,  were  I  to  get  again. 
Madam,  I  would  not  vvisli  a  better  father. 
Some  sins  do  bear  their  privilege  on  earth, 
And  so  doth  yours  ;  your  fault  was  not  your  folly  : 
Needs  nuist  you  lay  your  heart  at  his  dispose, — 
Subjected  tribute  to  commanding  love, — 
Against  whose  fury  and  unmatched  force 
The  awless  lion  could  not  wage  the  fight. 
Nor  keep  his  princely  heart  Irom  Richard's  hand. 
He,  that  perforce  robs  lions  of  their  hearts. 
May  easily  win  a  woman's.    Ay,  my  mother. 
With  all  my  heart  1  thank  thee  tor  my  father  ! 
W^ho  lives  and  dares  but  say,  thou  didst  not  well 
When  1  was  got,  I'll  send  his  soul  to  hell. 
Come,  lady,  I  will  show  thee  to  my  kin  ; 

And  they  shall  say,  when  Richard  me  begot, 
If  thou  hadst  said  him  nay,  it  had  been  sin  : 

Who  says  it  was,  he  lies;  I  say,  'twas  not. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  TI. 

Scene  I. — France.   Before  the  Walls  of  Angiers. 

Enter,  on  one  side,  the  Archduke  op  Austria, 
and  Forces ;  on  the  other,  Philip,  King  of 
France,  and  Forces;  Lewis,  Constance,  Ar. 
THUR,  and  Attendants. 

Lew.  Before  Angiers  well  met,  brave  Austria. — 
Aitliur,  that  great  fore-runner  of  thy  blood, 
Richard,  that  robb'd  the  lion  of  his  heart. 
And  fought  the  holy  wars  in  Palestine, 
By  this  brave  duke  came  early  to  his  grave  : 
A  lid,  for  amends  to  his  posterity. 
At  our  importance,  hither  is  he  come. 
To  spread  his  colours,  boy,  in  thy  behalf; 
And  to  rebuke  the  usurpation 
Of  thy  unnatural  uncle,  English  John  : 
Kmbrace  him,  love  him,  give  him  welcome  hitner. 

Arth.  God  shall  forgive  you  Coeur-de-lion's  death. 
Tile  lather,  that  you  give  his  offspring  life. 
Shadowing  their  right  under  your  wings  of  war: 
I  give  you  welcome  with  a  powerless  hand. 
But  with  a  heart  full  of  unstained  love  : 
Welcome  before  the  gates  of  Angiers,  duke. 

Lew.  A  noble  boy  !  Who  would  not  do  thee  right? 

Aust.  Upon  thy  cheek  lay  I  this  zealous  kiss, 
As  seal  to  this  indenture  of  my  love  ; 
That  to  my  home  I  will  no  more  return, 
Till  Angiers,  and  the  right  thou  hast  in  France, 
Together  with  that  pale,  that  white-fac'd  shore, 
Whose  foot  spurns  back  the  ocean's  roaring  tides, 
And  coops  from  other  lands  her  islanders, 
Kventili  that  England,  hedg'd  in  with  the  main, 
That  water  walled  bulwark,  still  secure 
4nd  coutident  from  foreign  purposes. 


JOHN. 

Even  till  that  utmost  corner  of  tlie  went  ' ' 

Salute  thee  for  her  king:  till  tlien,  fair  boj 
Will  I  not  think  of  home,  but  follow  arms. 
Const.  O,  take  his  mother's  thanks,  a 
thanks. 

Till  your  strong  hand  shall  help  to  give  hiin  dtrength. 
To  make  a  more  reijuital  to  your  love.  [swordi 

Aust.  The  peace  of  heaven  is  theirs,  that  lift  their 
In  such  a  just  and  charitable  war.  [be  bent 

K.  Phi.  Well  then,  to  work;  our  cannoa  shall 

Against  the  brows  of  this  resisting  town.  

Call  lor  our  chiefest  men  of  discipline. 
To  cull  the  plots  of  best  advantages  : 
We'll  lay  before  this  town  our  royal  bones, 
Wade  to  the  market-place  in  Frenchmen's  blood. 
But  we  will  make  it  subject  to  this  boy. 

Const.  Stay  for  an  answer  to  your  embassy, 
Lest  unadvis'd  you  stain  your  swords  with  blood: 
My  lord  Chatillon  may  from  England  bring 
That  right  in  peace,  which  here  we  urge  in  war; 
And  then  we  shall  repent  each  drop  of  blood. 
That  hot  rash  haste  so  indirectly  shed. 

Enter  Chatillon. 

K.  Phi.  A  wonder,  lady ! — lo,  upon  thy  wish, 
Our  messenger  Chatillon  is  arriv'd. — 
What  England  says,  say  briefly,  gentle  lord. 
We  coldly  pause  for  thee  ,  Chatillon,  speak. 

Chat.  'I'hen  turn  your  forces  from  this  paltry  siege^ 
And  stir  them  up  against  a  mightier  task. 
England,  impatient  of  your  just  demands, 
Hath  put  himself  in  arms  ;  the  adverse  winds, 
Whose  leisure  I  have  staid,  have  given  him  time 
To  land  his  legions  all  as  soon  as  1 : 
His  marches  are  expedient  to  this  town. 
His  forces  strong,  his  soldiers  confident. 
With  him  is  come  along  the  mother-queen. 
An  Ate,  stirring  him  to  blood  and  strife  ; 
With  her  her  niece,  the  lady  Blanch  of  Spain; 
With  them  a  bastard  of  the  king  deceas'd  : 
And  all  the  unsettled  humours  of  the  land, — 
Rash,  inconsiderate,  fiery  voluntaries, 
With  ladies'  faces,  and  fierce  dragons'  spleens, — 
Have  sold  their  fortunes  at  their  native  homes. 
Bearing  their  birthrights  proudly  on  their  backs. 
To  make  a  hazard  of  new  ibrtunes  here. 
In  brief,  a  braver  choice  of  dauntless  spirits, 
Than  now  the  English  bottoms  have  waft  o'er. 
Did  never  float  upon  the  swelling  tide, 
To  do  offence  and  scath  in  Christendom. 
The  interruption  of  their  churlish  drums 

{Drums  beat.) 
Cuts  off  more  circumstance  :  they  ar.e  at  hand, 
To  parley,  or  to  fight;  therefore,  prepare.  (tion 

K.  Phi.  How  much  unlook'd  for  is  this  exued 

Aust.  By  how  much  unexjiected,  by  so  much 
We  must  awake  endeavour  for  defence; 
For  courage  mounteth  with  occasion  : 
Let  them  be  welcome  then,  we  are  prepar'd. 

Enter  King  John,  Elinor,  Blanch,  the  Bastardy 
Pembroke,  and  Forces. 
K.  John.  Peace  be  to  France ;  if  France  in  peace 
permit 

Our  just  and  linsal  entrance  to  our  own  ! 
If  not,  bleed  France,  and  peace  ascend  to  heaven! 
Whiles  we,  God's  wrathful  agent,  do  correct 
Their  proud  contempt  that  beat  his  peace  to  heaven. 

K.  Phi.  Peace  be  to  England ;  if  that  war  retur* 
From  France  to  England,  there  to  live  in  peace! 
England  we  love ;  and,  for  that  England's  sake. 
With  burden  of  our  armour  here  we  sweat : 
This  toil  of  ours  should  be  a  work  of  thine; 
But  thou  from  loving  England  art  so  far. 
That  thou  hast  under-  wrought  his  lawful  king. 
Cut  "»ff  the  sequence  ^^f  posterity. 
Outfaced  infant  state,  and  done  a  rape 
Upon  the  maiden  virtue  of  the  crown. 
Li-jk.  here  upon  thy  brother  Geffrey's  face  ,— 
These  eyes,  these  brows,  were  moulded  out  of  bis' 


286 


KING 


JOHN. 


Act  II. 


This  little  abstract  dotli  coiitala  that  large, 
W  liicli  <iled  in  GellVey ;  ?"d  the  hand  of  time 
Shall  draw  this  brief  into  as  Imge  a  volume. 
That  GellVey  was  tliy  eider  brother  !>orn, 
And  tliis  his  son;  England  was  Geffrey's  right, 
A.Md  this  is  GeliVey's  :  in  (he  name  of  God,  _ 
How  comes  it  then,  tliat  thou  art  called  a  king. 
When  living  blood  doth  in  these  temples  beat, 
VVliich  owe  tlie  crown  that  thou  o'ermasterest? 

K.  John.  From  w  horn  hast  thou  this  great  com- 
!Missii>n,  France, 
I  To  draw  my  answer  from  thy  articles? 

K.  Phi,  From  that  supernal  judge,  that  stirs  good 
thoughts 
In  any  breast  of  strong  authority, 
To  look  intcj  the  blots  and  stains  of  right. 
That  ju<lge  hath  made  me  guardian  to  this  boy: 
Under  wliose  warrant,  I  imjieach  thy  wrong; 
And,  by  wiiose  help,  I  mean  to  chastise  it. 

K.  John,  Alack,  thou  dost  usurp  authority. 

K.  Phi.  Excuse  :  it  is  to  beat  usurping  down. 

Eli.  VVlio  is  it,  thou  dost  call  usurper,  France? 

Const.  Let  me  make  answer; — thy  usurping  son. 

Eli.  Out,  insolent!  thy  bastard  shall  be  king; 
That  thou  inay'st  be  a  queen,  and  check  the  world  ! 

Conat.  My  bed  was  ever  to  thy  son  as  true. 
As  thine  was  to  thy  husband  :  and  this  boy 
Liker  in  feature  to  his  father  Geffrey, 
Than  thou  and  John  in  manners  ;  being  as  like. 
As  rain  to  water,  or  devil  to  his  dam. 
My  boy  a  bastard  !  By  my  soul,  I  think. 
His  lather  never  was  so  tiue  begot; 
It  cannot  be,  an'  if  thou  wert  his  mother. 

Eli.  There's  a  good  mother,  boy,  that  blots  thy 
father. 

Const.  'I'ljeie's  a  good  graodam,  boy,  that  would 

Aust.  Peace  1  [blot  thee. 

Bast.  Hear  the  crier. 

Aust.  What  the  devil  art  thou  ? 

Bast.  One,  th.at  will  play  tiie  devil,  sir,  with  you, 
A  IS  'a  may  catch  your  hide  and  you  alone. 
You  are  the  hare  of  whom  the  proverb  goes, 
Whose  valour  plucks  dead  lions  by  the  beard; 
I'll  wnoke  your  skin-coat,  an  I  catch  you  right; 
Sirrati,  look  to't;  i'faith,  I  will,  i'faith. 

Bltnch.  O,  well  did  he  become  that  lion's  robe. 
That  did  di  irobe  the  lion  of  that  robe ! 

Bast.  It  lies  as  vsi^htly  on  the  back  of  him. 
As  great  Alcid-s'  shoes  upon  an  ass: — 
But,  ass,  I'll  take  that  burden  Irom  your  back  ; 
Or  lay  on  that  shall  make  your  shoulders  crack. 

Aust.  VVliat  cracker  is  this  same,  that  deafs  our 
VVitli  tiiis  ah'Mulance  of  superfluous  breath  ?  [ears 

K.  Phi.  Lewis,  deterLiine  what  we  shall  do 
straight.  [encc. 

Levj.  Women  and  fools,  break  off  your  confer- 
King  John,  tiiis  is  the  very  sum  of  all, — 
England,  r),nd  Ireland,  Anjou,  Touraine,  Maine, 
In  right  of  Arthur  do  I  claim  of  thee  : 
Wilt  thou  resign  (hem,  and  lay  down  thy  arms? 

K.  John.  My  life  as  soon  : — I  do  defy  thee,  France. 
Arthur  ol'  Bretagne,  yield  thee  to  my  hand; 
And,  out  of  my  dear  love,  I  II  give  thee  more 
Than  e'er  the  coward  hand  of  France  can  win; 
Submit  thee,  boy. 

Eli.  Come  to  thy  grandam,  child. 

Const.  Do,  child,  go  to  it'  grandam,  child  ; 
Give  grandam  kingdom,  and  it'  grandam  will 
Give  it  a  plum,  a  cherry,  and  a  fig  : 
There's  a  good  grandam. 

Arlh.  Good  my  mother,  peace  ! 

[  would,  that  I  were  low  laid  in  my  grave; 
1  am  not  worth  this  coil  that's  made  for  me. 

Eli.  His  mother  shames  him  so,  poor  boy,  he  weeps. 

Const.  Now  shame  upon  you,  whe'rshe  does,  or  no  ! 
His  grandam  s  wrongs,  and  not  his  mother's  shames. 
Draw  thcie  heaven-mo\  ing  pearls  from  his  poor  eyes. 
Which  heaven  shall  take  in  nature  of  a  fee  ; 
iy,  with  these  crystal  beads  heav'n  shall  be  br  b'd 
*i  do  hiia  justice,  and  revenge  on  you. 


Eli.  Thou  monstroua  slaiidereE*  of  heaven  au^ 
earth !  t<^arth 

Const.  Thou  monstrous  iojnrer  of  heaven  aad 
Call  not  me  slanderer ;  thou,  and  thine,  usurp 
The  dominations,  royalties,  and  rights, 
Of  this  oppressed  boy  :  This  is  thy  e'dest  son's  80D« 
Intbrtunate  in  nothing  but  in  thee  : 
Thy  sins  are  visited  in  this  poor  cnild  ; 
The  canon  of  the  law  is  laid  on  him, 
Being  but  the  second  generation 
Removed  from  thy  siivconceiving  womb. 

K.  John.  Bedlam,  have  done. 

Const.  I  hMve  but  this  to  say,—« 

That  he's  not  only  plagued  for  her  sin, 
But  God  hath  made  her  sin  and  her  the  plague 
On  this  removed  issue,  plagu'd  for  her. 
And  with  her  plague,  her  sin;  his  injury 
Her  injury, — the  beadle  to  her  sin; 
All  punish'd  in  the  person  of  this  child. 
And  all  for  her;  A  plague  upon  her! 

Eli.  Thou  unadvised  scold,  I  can  produce 
A  will,  that  bars  the  title  of  thy  son. 

Const.  Ay,  who  doubts  that?  a  will !  a  wicked  will; 
A  wiiman'g  will ;  a  canker'd  grandam's  will ! 

K.  Phi.  Peace,  lady ;  pause,  or  be  more  temperate ; 
It  ill  beseems  this  presence,  to  cry  aim 
To  these  ill-tuned  repetitions. — 
Some  trumpet  summon  hitherto  the  vvalls 
These  men  of  Anglers  ;  let  us  hear  them  speak, 
Whose  title  they  admit,  Arthur's  or  Jo'.in's. 
Trumpets  sound.    Enter  Citizens  upon  the  walls. 

I  Cit.  Who  is  it,  that  hath  warn'd  us  to  the  walls  i 

K.  Phi.  'Tis  France,  for  England. 

K.  John.  England,  for  itself  i 

You  men  of  Angiers,  and  my  loving  subjects, — 

K.  Phi.  You  loving  men  of  Angiers,  Arthur's 
subjects. 

Our  trumpet  call'd  you  to  this  gentle  parle. 

K.  John.  For  our  advantage  : — Therefore,  hear 

us,  first.  

These  flags  of  France,  that  are  advanced  here 

Before  the  ey©  and  prospect  of  your  town, 

Hh\  e  hither  march'd  to  your  eniiainagement : 

The  cannons  have  their  bowels  full  ol' wrath; 

And  ready  mounted  are  they,  to  spit  forth 

Their  iron  indignation  "gainst  yout  walls  : 

All  preparations  for  a  bloody  ssege, 

And  merciless  proceeding  by  liiese  French, 

Confront  your  city's  eyes,  your  winking  gates  ; 

And,  but  I'orour  approach,  these  sleeping  stom-s, 

That  as  a  waist  do  girdle  you  about 

By  the  compulsion  of  tlieir  ordnance 

By  this  time  from  their  fixed  beds  of  lime 

Had  been  dishabited,  and  wide  havoc  made 

For  bloody  power  to  rush  upon  your  peace. 

But,  on  the  sight  of  us,  your  lawful  king, — 

Who  painfully,  with  much  expedient  march, 

Have  brought  a  countercheck  before  your  gates. 

To  save  unscratch'd  your  city's  thrcaten'd  cheeks,— 

Behold,  the  French,  amaz'd,  vouchsafe  a  parle  : 

And  now,  instead  of  bullets  wrapp'd  in  fire. 

To  make  a  shaking  fever  in  your  walls. 

They  shoot  but  calm  words,  folded  up  in  sraok  , 

To  make  a  faithless  error  in  your  ears  : 

Which  trust  accordingly,  kind  citizens. 

And  let  us  in,  your  king;  whose  laboiir'd  spirits, 

Forwearied  in  this  action  of  swift  speed. 

Crave  harbourage  within  your  city  walls. 

K.  Philip.  When  1  have  said,  make  answe  to 
us  both. 

Lo,  in  this  right  hand,  whose  protection 

Is  most  divinely  vow'd  upon  the  right 

Of  him  it  holds,  stands  young  Plantagenet; 

Son  to  the  elder  brother  of  this  man. 

And  king  o'er  him,  and  all  that  he  enjoys  : 

For  this  down-trodden  equity,  we  tread 

In  warlike  march  these  greens  before  yoar  town; 

Being  no  further  enemy  to  you, 

Tiian  the  constraint  of  hospitable  zeal, 

In  the  relief  of  this  oppressed  child. 


Scene  2. 


KING  JOHN. 


287 


Religiously  provokes.    Be  pleased,  then, 
To  pay  tliat  duty,  which  you  truly  owe. 
To  him  that  owes  it;  namely,  this  young  prince: 
And  'hen  our  arms,  like  to  a  muzzled  bear, 
Save  in  aspect,  have  all  offence  seal'd  upj 
Our  cannons'  malice  vainly  shall  be  spent 
'Against  the  invuliu'irable  clouds  of  heaven; 
And,  with  a  blessed  and  unvex'd  retire. 
With  unhack'd  swords,  and  helmets  all  unbruis'd. 
We  will  bear  home  that  lusty  blood  again, 
Which  here  we  came  to  spout  against  your  town. 
And  leave  your  children,  wives,  and  you,  in  peace. 
But  if  you  tondiy  pass  our  prott'er'd  offer, 
Tis  not  tlie  roundure  of  your  old-fac'd  walls 
Can  hide  you  Irom  our  messengers  of  war; 
Though  all  these  English,  and  their  discipline, 
Were  harbour'd  in  their  rude  circumference, 
'i'hen,  tell  us,  shall  your  city  call  us  lord, 
fii  tliat  behalf  which  we  have  challenged  it? 
Or  shall  we  give  the  signal  to  our  rage, 
And  stalk  in  blood  to  our  possession  ? 
1  at.  In  brief,  we  are  the  king  of  England's 
subjects  ; 

Foy  him,  and  in  his  right,  we  hold  this  town. 
K.  John.  Acknowledge  then  the  king,  and  let  me 
in.  [k-ing, 
]  Cii.  That  can  we  not  i  but  he,  that  proves  tlie 
r.i  him  will  we  prove  loyal:  till  that  time, 
il  ;  \e  we  ramui'd  up  our  gates  against  the  world. 
K.  John.  Doth  not  the  crown  of  England  prove 
the  king? 

And,  ifnotthtt,  I  bring  you  witnesses, 

T  vice  fifteen  tl^usand  hearts  of  England  s  breed,— 

Bffst.  Bastards,  ;ind  else. 

A  John.  To  verify  our  title  with  their  lives. 

A',  l^hi        many,  and  as  well-born  bloods  as 

Bfi>,  t.  S  >!ne  b  istiirds  too.  [those,  

f\  .  l-*hi.  Stand  in  his  face,  to  contradict  his  claim. 

1  C'U.  Till  you  compound  wliose  right  is  worthiest, 
\\ lor  tlie  worthiest,  hold  the  right  Irom  both. 

K.  John.  Then  God  forgive  the  sin  of  all  those 
MiHt  to  their  everlHsliug  residence,  [souls, 
li  (op.-  the  dew  of  evening  fall,  shall  fleet, 
1,1  (he;idful  trial  of  our  kingdom's  king! 

A.  Phi.  Amen,  Ameu !— Mount,  chevaliers  !  to 
aruis !  [e'er  since, 

^nat.  St.  George, — that  swing'd  the  dragon,  and 
Sits  on  his  horseback  at  mine  hostess'  door, 
IVach  us  some  i'ence  ! — Sirrah,  were  1  at  home, 
At  yt>ur  den,  sirrah,  {to  Austria)  with  your  liouess, 
I'd  set.  an  ox-head  to  your  lion's  hide, 
And  m  ike  a  monster  of  you. 

Atist.  Peace  ;  no  more. 

Bast.  O,  tremble  ;  for  you  hear  the  lion  roar. 

K.  John.  Up  higher  to  the  plain  ;  where  we'll  set 

best  appointment,  all  our  regiments.  [forth, 

Bast.  Speed  then,  to  take  advantage  of  the  field. 

K.  Phi.  It  shall  be  so ; — {to  Lewis)  and  at  the 
other  hill 

Command  the  rest  to  stand.    God,  and  our  right  I 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  IT. — The  same. 
Alarums  and  Excursions  ;  then  a  Retreat.  Enter 
a  French  Herald,  with  trumpets,  to  the  gates. 
F.  Her.  Yon  menof  Angiers,  open  wide  yourgatef , 
And  let  young  Arthur,  duke  of  Brelagne,  in; 
Who,  by  the  hand  of  France,  this  day  hath  made 
Much  work  for  tears  in  many  an  English  motherj 
Whose  sons  lie  scatter'd  on  the  bleeding  p'vouncf 
any  a  widow's  husband  groveling  lie? 
Idly  embracing  the  discolour'd  earth; 
nd  victory,  with  little  loss,  doth  play 
oon  fhe  dancing  banners  of  the  Frencli; 
ht>  are  at  hand,  triumphantly  display'dj 
enter  conquerors,  and  to  proclaim 
fthur  of  Bretagne,  England's  king,  and  y»>,.  >. 

Enter  an  English  Herald,  with  tru7npets. 
E.  Her.  Rejoice,  you  men  of  Angiers,  ring  your 
behs; 


King  John,  your  king  and  England's,  doth  approach. 
Commander  of  this  hot  malicious  day  I 
Their  armours,  that  march'd  hence  so  silver-krijfh^ 
Hither  return  all  gilt  with  Frenchmen's  blood; 
There  stuck  no  plume  in  any  English  crest. 
That  is  removed  by  a  staff' of  France ; 
Our  colours  do  return  in  those  same  hands. 
That  did  display  them  when  first  march'd  forth ; 
And,  like  a  jolly  troop  of  huntsmen,  come 
Our  lusty  English,  all  with  purpled  hands. 
Died  in  the  dying  slai  ghter  of  their  foes : 
Open  your  gates,  and  give  the  victors  way. 

Cit.  Heralds,  irom  ott'our  towers  we  might  beholdp 
From  first  to  last,  the  onset  and  retire 
Of  both  your  armies ;  whose  equality 
By  our  best  eyes  cannot  be  censured  : 
Blood  hath  bongbt  blood,  and  blows  have  answei^d 
blows  ;  [fronted  power : 

Strength  niatch'd  with  strength,  and  power  con- 
Both  are  alike ;  and  both  alike  we  like. 
One  must  prove  greatest :  while  they  weigh  so  even. 
We  hold  our  tovvn  for  neither;  yet  for  both. 

Enter,  at  one  side,  King  John,  ivith  his  power; 
Elinor,  Blanch,  and  the  Bastard;  at  the  other » 
King  Philip,  Lewis,  Austria,  and  Forces. 
K.  John.  France,  hast  thou  yet  more  blood  to 
cast  away  ? 
Say,  shall  the  current  of  our  right  run  on? 
Whose  passage,  vex'd  with  thy  impediment, 
Shall  leave  his  native  channel,  and  o'er-sweP 
With  course  dislurb'd  even  thy  confining  shores; 
Unless  thou  let  his  silver  water  keep 
A  peaceful  "progress  to  the  ocean.  [of  blood, 

K.  Phi.  i  /ngland,  thou  hast  not  sav'd  one  drop 
In  this  hot  trial,  more  than  we  of  France; 
Rather,  lost  more :  And  by  this  hand  I  swear, 
'J'hat  sways  the  earth  this  climate  overlooks, — 
Before  we  will  lay  down  our  just-borne  arms. 
We'll  put  thee  down,  'gainst  whom  these  arms  wo 
Or  add  a  royal  number  to  the  dead  ]  [bear. 
Gracing  the  scroll,  that  tells  of  this  war's  loss. 
With  slaughter  coupled  to  the  name  of  kings. 

Bast.  Ha,  majesJyl  how  high  thy  glory  towers. 
When  the  rich  Itlood  of  kings  is  set  on  fire  ! 
O,  now  doth  death  line  his  dead  chaps  with  steel, 
The  swords  of  soldiers  are  his  teeth,  his  fangs ; 
An.d  now  he  feasts,  mouthing  the  flesh  of  men 
In  undeterinin'd  differences  of  kings. — 
Why  stand  these  royal  fronts  amazed  thus? 
Cry  havoc,  kings  !  back  to  t!ie  stained  field. 
You  equal  potents,  fiery-kindled  si)irits! 
Then  let  confusion  of  one  part  confirm 
The  other's  peace ;   till  then,  blows,  blood,  and 
death!  [mit? 
K.  John.  W  hose  party  do  the  townsmen  yet  ad 
K.  Phi.  Speak,  citizens,  for  England  ;  who's  youi 
king?  [king 
1  Cit.  Tiie  king  of  England,  when  we  know  the 
K.  Phi.  Know  him  in  us,  that  here  hold  up  hia 
right. 

K.  John.  In  us,  that  are  our  own  great  deputy 
And  bear  possession  of  our  person  here  ; 
Lord  of  our  presence,  Angiers,  and  of  you. 

I  Cit.  A  greater  power  than  we,  denies  all  thi« 
And,  till  it  be  undoubted,  we  do  lock 
Our  former  scru[)le  in  our  strong  barr'd  gates: 
King'd  of  our  fears;  until  our  fears,  resolv'd. 
Be  by  some  certain  king  purg'd  and  depos'd. 

Bast.  By  heaven,  these  scroyles  of  Angie)3  fiool 
you,  kings ; 
And  stand  securely  on  their  battlements, 
As  in  a  theatre,  whence  they  gape  and  point 
At  your  industrious  scenes  and  acts  of  death. 
Your  royal  presences  be  rul'd  by  me; 
Do  like  the  mutines  of  Jctusalem, 
Be  friends  a  while,  and  both  conjointly  brmd 
Your  sharpest  deeds  of  malice  on  this  town; 
By  east  and  west  let  France  and  England  moaot 
Ttieir  battering  cannon,  charged  to  the  mouths; 


288  KING 

Ti!i  their  eoisl-fearing  clamours  have  brawl'd  down 

The  fliuU*  ribs  of  this  contemptuous  city : 

I'd  j>lay  incessantly  upon  these  jades, 

Even  till  unfep.ced  desolation 

Leave  them  as  naked  as  the  vulgar  air. 

That  done,  dissever  your  united  strengths 

And  part  your  mingled  colours  once  again  ; 

Turn  face  to  face,  and  bloody  point  to  point: 

'I'hen,  in  a  moment,  fortune  sliall  cull  forth 

Out  of  one  side  her  happy  minion  ; 

To  whom  in  favour  she  shall  give  the  day. 

And  kiss  him  with  a  glorious  victory. 

How  like  you  this  wild  counsel,  mighty  states  ? 

Sinacks  it  not  something  of  the  policy  ?     '  [heads, 

K.  John.  Now,  by  the  sky  that  hangs  above  our 
{  like  it  well ; — France,  shall  we  knit  our  powers. 
And  lay  this  Angiers  even  with  the  ground; 
'i'hen,  after,  fight  who  shall  be  king  of  it  ? 

Bast.  And,  if  thou  hast  the  mettle  of  a  king,— 
Being  wrong'il,  as  we  are,  by  this  peevish  town, — 
Turn  tliou  the  month  of  thy  artillery. 
As  we  will  ours,  against  these  saucy  walls: 
And  when  that  we  Imve  dash'd  them  to  the  ground, 
Why,  then  defy  each  other  ;  and,  pell-mell, 
M;)ke  vv(i-.k  upon  ourselves,  for  heaven,  or  hell. 

K.  Phi  Let    it   be  so: — Say,  where  will  you 
assault  ? 

K.  John.  VVe  from  the  west  will  send  destruction 
Into  this  city's  bosom. 
Aiist.  I  Irom  tlie  north. 

K.  Phi.  Our  thunder  from  the  south, 

Sh;ili  rain  their  drift  of  bullets  on  this  town. 

Bast.  0  [)rudent  discipline  1  From  north  to  south  ; 
Austria  and  France  shoot  in  each  other's  month  : 

(Aside.) 

I'll  stir  then)  to  it: — Come,  away,  away  I 

I  Cit.  Hear  us,  great  kings :  vouchsafe  a  while 
to  stay, 

Atifl  [  shall  show  you  peace,  and  fair-faced  league  ; 
VV  'u  you  this  city  without  stroke,  or  wound  ; 
Hescue  those  oreauiing  lives  to  die  in  beds, 
Slijit  here  come  sacrifices  for  the  field  : 
I'ers  ver  not,  but  liear  me,  mighty  kings. 

fi.  John.  Speak  on,  with  favour  ;  we  are  bent  to 
hear.  [Blanch, 

1  Cit.  That  daughter   there  of  Spain,  the  lady 
Is  near  to  England  ;  Look  upon  the  years 
Of  Lewis  the  Dauphin,  and  that  lovely  maid  : 
If  lusty  love  should  go  in  quest  of  beauty, 
Where  should  he  find  it  fairer  than  in  Blanch? 
If  zealous  love  should  go  in  search  of  virtue. 
Where  .should  he  find  it  purer  than  in  Blanch? 
if  love  ambitious  sought  a  match  of  birth, 
Whose  veins  bound  richer  blood  than  lady  Blanch? 
Such  as  she  is,  in  beauty,  virtue,  birth. 
Is  the  young  Dauphin  every  way  complete: 
If  not  complete,  O  say,  he  is  not  she: 
And  she  again  wants  nothing,  to  name  want. 
If  want  it  be  not,  that  she  is  not  he  : 
He  is  the  h;iif  part  of  a  blessed  man. 
Left  to  be  finished  by  such  a  she. ; 
And  she  a  fair  divided  excellence. 
Whose  fulness  of  perfection  lies  in  him. 
O,  two  such  silver  currents,  when  they  join. 
Do  glorify  the  banks  that  bound  them  in: 
And  two  such  shores  to  two  such  streams  made  one. 
Two  such  controlling  bounds  shall  you  be,  kings. 
To  these  two  princes,  if  you  marry  them. 
This  union  shall  do  more  than  battery  can. 
To  our  fast-closed  gates ;  for,  at  this  match. 
With  swifter  spleen  than  powder  can  enforce, 
I  he  mouth  of  passage  shall  we  fling  wide  ope. 
And  give  you  entrance  ;  but,  without  this  match. 
The  sea  enraged  is  not  half  so  deaf, 
Lions  more  confident,  mountains  and  rocks 
More  free  from  motion  ;  no,  not  death  himself 
In  mortal  fury  half  so  peremptory. 
As  we  to  keep  this  city. 

Bast.  Here's  a  stay. 

That  shakes  the  rotten  carcase  of  old  death 


JOHN.  Act  II. 

Out  of  his  rags  !  Here's  a  large  mouth,  indeed, 
That  spits  forth  death,  and  mountains,  rocks,  and 
Talks  a-s  familiarly  of  roaring  lions,  [seas  ; 

As  maids  of  thirteen  do  of  puppy-dogs ! 
What  cannoneer  begot  this  lusty  blood  ? 
He  speaks  plain  cannon,  fire,  and  smoke.  zdA 
bounce ; 

He  gives  the  bastinado  with  his  tongue  ; 
Our  ears  are  cudgel'd  ;  not  a  word  of  his, 
But  bulfets  better  than  a  fist  of  France : 
Zounds  !  I  was  never  so  bethunip'd  with  worda^ 
Since  I  first  call'd  my  brother's  father,  dad. 

Eli.  Son,   list   to   this  conjunction,  make  thi* 
match ; 

Give  with  our  niece  a  dowry  large  enough: 

For  by  this  knot  thou  shalt  so  surely  tie 

Thy  now  unsur'd  assurance  to  the  crown. 

That  yon  green  boy  shall  have  no  sun  to  ripe 

The  bloom,  that  promiseth  a  mighty  fruit 

I  see  a  yielding  in  the  looks  of  France  ; 

Mark,  how  they  whisper:  urge  them,  while  then 

Are  caj)able  of  this  ambition  :  '  soula 

Lest  zeal,  now  nielted,  by  the  windy  breath 

Of  soft  petitions,  pity,  ana  remorse. 

Cool  and  congeal  again  to  what  it  was. 

I  Cit.  Why  answer  not  the  double  majesties 
This  friendly  treaty  of  our  threaten'd  town? 

K.  Phi.  Speak  England  first,  that  hath  been  for- 
ward first 

To  Speak  unto  this  city :  What  say  you  ?  [son, 
K.  John.  If  that  the  Dauphin  there,  thy  princely 
Can  in  this  book  of  beauty  read,  I  love. 
Her  dowry  shaH  weigh  equal  with  a  queen  : 
For  Anjou,  and  fair  Touraine,  Maine,  Poictiera, 
And  all  that  we  upon  this  side  the  sea 
(Except  this  city  now  by  us  besieg'd,) 
Find  liable  to  our  crown  and  dignity. 
Shall  gild  her  bridal  bed  ;  and  make  her  rich 
In  titles,  honours,  and  proujotions. 
As  she  in  beauty,  education,  blood, 
Holds  hand  with  any  princess  of  the  world. 

K.  Phi.  What  say'st  thou,  boy  ?  look  in  the  lady's 
Lew.  I  do,  my  lord,  and  in  her  eye  I  find  [fac« 
A  wonder,  or  a  wondrous  miracle, 
The  shadow  of  myself  form'd  in  her  eye  ; 
Which,  being  but  the  shadow  of  your  son, 
Becomes  a  sun,  and  makes  your  son  a  shadow  : 
I  do  protest,  1  never  lov'd  myself. 
Till  now  infixed  1  beheld  myself. 
Drawn  in  the  flattering  table  of  her  eye. 

{Whispers  with  Blanch.* 

Bast.  Drawn  in  the  flattering  table  of  her  eye  !— 
Hang'd  in  the  frowning  wrinkle  of  her  brow  ! — 
And  quarter'd  in  her  heart  I — he  doth  espy 

Himself  love's  traitor:  This  is  pity  now. 
That  hang'd,  and  drawn,  and  quarter'd,  there  should 
In  such  a  love,  so  »'ile  a  lout  as  he.  Cbe, 

Blanch.  My  uncle's  will,  in  this  respect,  is  mine  i 
If  he  see  aught  in  you,  that  makes  him  like. 
That  any  thing  he  sees,  which  moves  his  likmg, 
I  can  with  ease  translate  it  to  my  will ; 
Or,  if  yon  will,  (to  speak  more  properly,) 
I  will  enforce  it  easily  to  my  love. 
Further  I  will  not  flatter  you,  my  lord. 
That  all  I  see  in  you  is  worthy  love. 
Than  this, — that  nothing  do  I  see  in  you, 
(Though  churlish  thoughts  themselves  should  be 

your  judge,) 
That  I  can  find  should  merit  any  hate. 

K.  John.  What  say  these  young  ones  ?  What 
say  you,  my  niece  ? 

Blanch.  That  she  is  bound  in  honour  still  to  do 
What  you  in  wisdom  shall  vouchsafe  to  say. 

K.John.  Speak  then,  prince  Dauphin ;  can  yoa 
love  this  lady  ? 

Lew.  Nay,  ask  me  if  I  can  refrain  from  1 
For  1  do  love  her  most  unfeignedly.  fMaioft 

K.  John.  Then  do  1  give  Yolquessen,  Tou/aiu^ 
Poictiers  and  Anjon,  these  five  provinces. 
With  her  to  thee  ;  and  this  addition  more, 


Act  III.    Scene  1. 


KING 


JOHN. 


28a 


Full  tliirly  thousand  marks  of  English  coin. — 
Philip  of  France,  if  thou  be  pleas'tl  withal, 
^oinnand  thy  soa  and  daughter  tojoii.  hands. 
K.  Phi.  it  likes  us  well: — Young  ^irioces,  close 
your  hands. 

Aust.  And  your  lips  too;  for,  I  am  well  assur'd, 
That  I  did  so,  when  I  was  first  assur'd, 

K.Phi.  Now,  citizens  of  Angiers,  ope  your  gates, 
Lt^t  in  that  amity,  which  you  have  i»iade ; 
For  at  saint  Mary's  chapel,  presently, 
Tiie  rites  of  marriage  shall  be  solemniz'd. — 
Is  not  the  lady  Constance  in  this  troop  ? 
1  know,  she  is  not;  for  this  match,  made  up. 
Her  presence  would  have  interrupted  much  : 
W^here  is  she  and  her  son?  tell  me,  who  knows. 

Leiv.  She  is  sad  and  passionate  at  your  high- 
ness' tent.  [have  made, 

K.  Phi.  And,  by  my  faiih,  this  league,  that  we 
Will  give  her  sadness  very  little  cure. — 
Brother  of  England,  how  may  we  content 
Tliis  widow  lady?  In  her  right  we  came; 
Which  we,  God  knows,  have  turn'd  another  way, 
To  onr  own  vantage. 

K.  John.  We  will  heal  up  all. 

For  we'll  create  young  Arthur  duke  of  Bretagne, 
And  earl^of  Rienmond  ;  and  this  rich  fair  town 
VV^e  make  him  lord  of. — Call  the  lady  Constance ; 
Some  speedy  messenger  bid  her  repair 
To  our  solemnity  : — I  trust  we  shall, 
If  not  fill  up  the  measure  of  her  will, 
Yet  in  some  measure  satisfy  her  so, 
Tliat  we  shall  stop  her  exclamation. 
Go  we,  as  well  as  haste  will  suffer  us. 
To  this  unlook'd  for  unprepared  pomj). 

[Exeunt  all  but  the  Bastard. — The  Citizens 
retire  from  the  walls. 

Bast.  Mad  vv^orld  !  mad  kings  !  niad  composition  ! 
Jolui,  to  stop  Arthurs  title  in  the  whole. 
Hath  willingly  departed  with  a  part:  [on  : 

And  France,  (whose  armo-r  conscience  buckletl 
Whom  zeal  and  charity  brought  to  the  field. 
As  God's  own  soldier,)  rounded  in  the  ear 
With  that  same  |jurpose- changer,  that  sly  devil; 
That  broker,  that  still  breaks  the  pate  of  faith  ; 
That  daily  break-vow:  he,  that  wins  of  all. 
Of  kings,  of  beggars,  old  men,  young  men,  maids  ;— 
Who  having  no  external  thing  to  lose 
But  the  word  maid, — cheats  the  poor  maid  of  tha^; 
That  smooth-fac'd  gentleman,  tickling  commodity, — 
Commodity,  the  bias  of  the  world; 
The  world,  who  of  itself  is  peised  well, 
Made  to  run  even,  upon  even  ground  ; 
Till  this  advantage,  this  vile  drawing  bias, 
This  sway  of  motion,  this  commodity. 
Make  it  take  head  from  all  indifferency. 
From  all  direction,  purpose,  course,  intent: 
And  this  same  bias,  this  commodity. 
This  bawd,  this  broker,  this  all-changing  word, 
Clapp'd  on  the  outward  eye  of  fickle  France, 
flath  drawn  him  from  his  own  determin'd  aid, 
From  a  resolv'd  and  honourable  war. 
To  a  most  base  and  vile-concluded  peace. — 
And  why  rail  I  on  this  commodity  ? 
But  for  because  he  hath  not  woo'd  me  yet : 
Not  that  I  have  the  power  to  clutch  my  hand. 
When  his  fair  angels  would  salute  my  palm  : 
But  for  ray  hand,  as  unattempted  yet. 
Like  a  poor  beggar,  raileth  on  the  rich. 
Well,  whiles  I  am  beggar,  I  will  rail, 
And  say,  there  is  no  sin,  but  to  be  rich ; 
And  being  rich,  my  virtue  then  shall  be. 
To  say, — there  is  no  vice,  but  beggary  : 
Since  kings  break  faith  upon  commodity. 
Gain,  be  my  lord  !  for  I  will  worship  thee  !  [Exit,] 

ACT  m. 

Scene  I.— The  same.    The  French  King's  Tent. 

Enter  Constance,  Arthur,  and  Salisbury. 

Const.  Gone  to  be  married  !  gone  to  swear  a  peace! 
False  blood  to  false  blood  joio'd  !  gone  to  be  fraends  ! 


Shall  Lewis  have  Blanch?  and  Blanch  those  iftor 

viuces  ? 

It  is  not  so  ;  thou  hast  mis-«poke,  mis  heard  , 

Be  well  advis"d,  tell  o'er  thy  tale  again  : 

It  cannot  be  ;  thou  dost  but  say,  'tis  so  : 

I  trust,  I  may  not  trust  thee  ;  for  thy  word 

Is  but  the  vain  breath  of  a  common  man: 

Believe  me,  I  do  not  believe  thee,  man; 

I  have  a  king's  oath  to  the  contrary. 

Thou  shalt  be  punish'd  for  thus  frighting  nie^. 

For  I  am  sick,  and  capable  of  fears  ; 

Oppress'd  with  wrongs,  and  therefore  full  ol  fears; 

A  widow,  husbandless,  subject  to  fears  ; 

A  woman,  naturally  born  to  fears  ; 

And  though  thou  now  confess  thou  didst  but  jest, 

With  my  vex'd  spirits  I  cannot  take  a  truce. 

But  they  will  quake  and  tremble  all  this  day. 

What  dost  thou  mean  by  shaking  of  thy  head  ? 

W^hy  dost  thou  look  so  sadly  on  my  son? 

What  means  that  hand  upon  that  breast  of  thine  ? 

Why  holds  thine  eye  that  lamentable  rheum, 

Like  a  proud  river  peering  o'er  his  bounds  ? 

Be  these  sad  signs  confirmers  of  thy  words  ? 

Then  speak  again  ;  not  all  thy  former  tale. 

But  this  one  word,  whether  thy  tile  be  true. 

Sal.  As  true,  as,  I  believe,  you  think  them  false^ 
That  give  you  cause  to  prove  my  saying  true. 

Const.  O,  if  thou  teach  me  to  believe  this  sorrow* 
Teach  thou  this  sorrow,  how  to  make  me  die  ; 
And  let  belief  and  life  encounter  so. 
As  doth  the  fury  of  two  desperate  men. 
Which,  in  the  very  meeting,  fall  and  die. — 
Lewis  marry  Blanch  !  O,  boy,  then  where  art  thoM  ? 
France  friend  with  England  !  what  becomes  of  lae?  - 
Fellow,  be  gone:  I  cannot  brook  thy  sight; 
ITiis  news  hath  made  thee  a  most  ugly  man. 

Sal.  What  other  harm  have  1,  good  lady,  d->ne 
But  spoke  the  harm,  that  is  by  others  done  ? 

Const.  Which  harm  within  itself  so  ht  luons  /s. 
As  it  makes  harmful  all  that  speak  of  it. 

Arth.  I  do  beseech  you,  madam,  be  content. 

Const.  If  thoti,that  bid'st  me  be  content,wert  griia, 
Ugly,  and  sland'rous  to  thy  mother's  womb. 
Full  of  impleasing  blots,  and  sightless  stains. 
Lame,  foolish,  crooked,  swart,  prodigious, 
Patch'd  with  foul  moles,  and  eye-otiending  marks, 
I  would  not  care  ,  I  then  would  be  content; 
For  then  I  should  not  love  thee ;  no,  nor  thou 
Become  thy  great  birth,  nor  deserve  a  crown. 
But  thou  art  fair;  and  at  thy  birth,  dear  boy. 
Nature  and  fortune  join'd  to  make  thee  great: 
Of  nature's  gifts  thou  may'st  with  lilies  boast. 
And  with  the  half-blown  rose  :  but  fortune,  O! 
She  is  corrupted,  chang'd,  and  won  from  thte; 
She  adulterates  hourly  with  thine  uncle  Joh.T: 
And  with  her  golden  hand  hath  pluck'd  on  France 
To  tread  down  lair  respect  of  sovereignty. 
And  made  his  majesty  the  bawd  to  theirs. 
France  is  a  bawd  to  fortune,  and  king  Joim; 
That  strumpet  fortune,  that  usurping  John : — 
Tell  me,  thoa  fellow,  is  not  France  forsworn? 
Envenom  him  with  words ;  or  get  thee  gone. 
And  leave  those  woes  alone,  which  I  alone 
Am  bound  to  under-bear. 

Sal.  Pardon  me,  raadanc 

I  may  not  go  without  you  to  the  kings. 

Con»t.  Thou  may'st,  thou  shalt,  I  will  not  go  wit«) 
I  will  instruct  my  sorrows  to  be  proud ;  liLi»i6: 
For  grief  is  proud,  and  makes  his  owner  stoat. 
To  me,  and  to  the  state  of  my  great  grief. 
Let  kings  assemble ;  for  my  grief's  so  great. 
That  no  supporter  but  the  huge  firm  earth 
Can  hold  it  up  :  here  I  and  sorrows  sit; 
Here  is  my  throne,  bid  kings  come  bow  to  it* 

t  She  throws  herself  on  the  grotatd.) 

Enter  King  John,  King  Philip,  Lewis,  Blanch, 
Elinor,  Bastard,  Austria,  and  Attendantr. 
K.  Phi.  'Tis  true,  fair  daughter ;  and  this  blessed* 


290 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  la 


Ever  in  France  shall  be  kept  festival  • 
To  solemnize  tliis  day,  tiie  gbnons  snn 
fSlHyS  in  his  course,  and  plays  the  alchynist; 
Tin  ning,  with  rplendor  of  Ins  precious  eye, 
The  meagre  cU)ddy  earth  to  glittering  gold  : 
The  yearly  course,  that  brii.gs  this  day  about, 
Shnjl  never  see  it  but  a  holyday. 

v'onst.  A  wicked  day,  and  not  a  holyday!  — 

(Rising.) 

What  hath  this  daydeserv'd?  what  hath  it  done; 
lliat  it  in  golden  letters  should  be  set, 
A.i.wi.g  the  high  tides,  in  the  kalendar? 
Nay,  rather,  turn  this  day  out  of  the  week  ; 
This  day  of  shame,  oppression,  perjury: 
Or,  it  \t  must  stand  still,  let  wives  with  child 
Pray,  that  their  burdens  may  not  fall  this  day, 
Lest  that  their  hopes  pro(hgiously  be  cross'd  : 
But  on  this  day,  let  seamen  tear  no  wreck  ; 
No  bargains  break,  that  are  not  this  day  made  : 
This  day,  all  things  begun  come  to  ill  end; 
Yea,  faidi  itself  to  hollow  falsehood  change  ! 

K.  Phi.  By  heaven,  lady,  you  shall  have  no  cause 
To  curse  tiie  fair  |  roceedings  of  this  day: 
Have  \  r.ot  pawn'd  to  you  iny  majesty  i 

Const.  You  have  beguil'd  me  with  a  counterfeit, 
Resembling  majesty;  which,  being  touch'd,  and 
tried, 

Proves  valueless  :  You  are  forsworn,  forsworn  : 
You  came  in  arms  to  spill  mine  enenniies'  blood. 
But  now  in  arms  you  strengthen  it  with  yours: 
Tlie  grappling  vigour  and  rough  frown  of  war 
Is  cold  in  amity  and  painted  peace,  _ 
And  our  oppression  hath  made  up  this  league  :— 
Arm,  arm,  you  heavens,  against  these  perjur'd 
kings  I 

A  widow  cries  ;  be  husband  to  me,  heavens ! 
Let  not  the  hours  of  this  ungodly  day 
Wear  out  the  dav  in  peace  ;  but,  ere  sunset, 
Ket  armed  discord  "twixt  these  perjur'd  kings  ! 
liear  me,  O,  hear  me  ! 

Aust.  Lady  Constance,  peace. 

Const.  War!  war!  uo  peace !  peace  is  to  me  a 
war. 

O  Lymoges !  O  Austria  !  thou  dost  shame 
That  bloody  spoil :  Thou  slave,  thou  wretch,  thou 
coward  ; 

Thou  little  valiant,  great  in  villainy  ! 
Thou  ever  strong  upon  the  stronger  s:de  1 
Thou  fortune's  champion,  that  dost  never  fight 
But  when  her  humorous  ladyship  is  by 
To  teach  thee  safety!  thou  art  i-erjur'd  too. 
And  sooth'st  up  greatness.    What  a  lool  art  thou, 
A  ramping  fool  ;  to  brag,  and  stamp,  and  swear, 
Upon  my  party  !  Thou  cold-blooded  slave. 
Mast  thou  n'lt  spoke  like  thunder  on  my  side  i  • 
Been  sworn  my  soldier  ?  bidding  u)e  depend 
Uin)n  thv  stars,  thy  fortune,  and  thy  strength 
And  dost  thou  now  fall  over  to  my  loes? 
Thou  wear  a  lion's  hide!  doff  it  for  shame. 
And  hang  a  calfs  skin  on  those  recreant  limbs. 
Aust.  O,  that  a  man  sluiuld  speak  these  words  to 
me ! 

Bast.  And  hang  a  calf's-skin  on  those  recreant 
Aicst.  'I'hoi-  dar'st  not  say  so.  villain,  lor  thy  hie. 
Bast.  And  nang  a  chw's-skin  on  those  recreant 
limbs.  [sell. 
fs  John.  We  Hk«  not  this  ;  thou  dost  forget  thy- 

,    EnU;r  Pandulph. 

K.  Phi.  Here  conies  the  holy  legate  of  the  pope. 

Pand.  Mail,  you  anointed  deputies  of  heaven  !  — 
1\)  thee,  kiuii  John,  my  holy  errand  is 
I  Pandulph,  of  fair  Milan  cardinal, 
And  from  i)ope  Innocent  the  legate  here, 
Do  in  his  name,  religiously  demand, 
Why  thou  against  the  church,  our  holy  mother. 
So  wilfully  dost  spurn?  and,  force  perforce. 
Keep  Stephen  Langton,  chosen  archbishop 
0(  Canterbury,  from  that  holy  see? 
This,  iu  our  'toresaid  holy  faiher's  name 


Pope  Innocect,  I  do  demand  of  Ibee. 

K.  John.  What  earthly  name  to  interrogatonc^ 

Can  task  the  free  breath  of  a  sacred  king? 

Thou  canst  not,  cardinal,  devise  a  name 

So  slight,  unworthy,  and  ridiculous. 

To  charge  me  to  an  answer,  as  the  pope. 

Tell  him  this  tale;  and  from  the  mouth  (»f  EnglattSi, 

Add  thus  much  more,-  'I'hat  no  Italian  palest 

Shall  tithe  or  toll  in  our  dominions; 

But  as  we  under  heaven  are  supreme  head. 

So,  under  him,  that  great  supremacy, 

Where  we  do  reign,  we  will  alone  uphold, 

Witliout  the  assistance  of  a  mortal  hand  : 

So  tell  the  pope  ;  all  reverence  set  apirt, 

To  him.  and  his  usurp'd  authority. 

K.  Phi.  Brother  of  England,  you  blasphemy  ISS 
(^his.  [Chiistendom, 
K.  John.  Though   you,  and  all    the  kings  oj 
Are  led  so  grossly  by  this  meddling  priest. 
Dreading  the  curse,  that  money  may  buy  out; 
And,  by  the  merit  of  vile  gold,  dross,  dust. 
Purchase  corrupted  pardon  of  a  man. 
Who,  in  that  sale,  sells  pardon  from  himself: 
Though  you,  and  all  the  rest,  so  grossly  led, 
This  juggling  witchcraft  with  revenue  cherish; 
Yet  I,  alone,  alone  do  me  oppose  ^ 
Against  the  pope,  and  count  liis  friends  my  foes. 

Pand.  Then,  by  the  lawful  power  that  1  have. 
Thou  shalt  stand  curs'd,  and  excommunicate- 
And  blessed  shall  he  be,  that  doth  revolt 
From  his  allegiance  to  an  heretic; 
And  meritorious  shall  that  hand  be  caU'd, 
Canonized,  and  worship'd  as  a  saint. 
That  takes  away,  by  any  secret  course, 
Thv  hateful  life. 

CoTist.  O,  lawful  let  it  be, 

That  I  have  room  with  Rome  to  curse  a  while  I  " 
Good  lather  cardinal,  cry  thou,  a-nen. 
To  wiy  keen  curses :  for,  without  my  wrong,  _ 
There  is  no  tongue  hath  power  to  curse  him  right 
Pand.  There's  law  and  warrant,  lady,  for 

curse.  '"gbta 
Const.  And  for  mine  too  ;  when  law  can  do  n© 
Let  it  be  lawful,  that  law  bar  no  wrong : 
Law  cannot  give  my  child  his  kingdom  here; 
For  he,  that  holds  his  kingdom,  holds  the  law : 
'J'herefore,  since  law  itself  is  perfect  wrong, 
kow  can  the  law  forbid  my  tongEe  to  curse, 

Pand.  Philip  of  France,  on  peril  of  a  curse. 
Let  oo  the  hand  of  that  arch-heretic  ; 
And  raise  the  power  of  France  upon  his  head. 
Unless  he  do  submit  himself  to  Rome. 
*Eli.  Look'st  thou  pale,  France  i  do  not  let  go 
thy  hand.  ^  fpen^> 

Const.  Look  to  that,  devil !  lest  that  France  re. 
And,  by  disjoining  hands,  hell  lose  a  soul. 
Aust.  King  Philip,  listen  to  the  cardinal. 
Bast.  And  hang  a  calf's-skin  on  his  recreanl 
limbs.  [wrongs 
Anst.   Well,  ruffian,  I  must  pocket  up  these 

Bemuse   , 

Bast.       Your  breeches  best  may  carry  them. 
K.  John.  Philip,  what  say'st  thou  to  the  carmnal? 
Const.  What  should  he  say,  but  as  the  cardinal  f 
Lew.  Bethink  you,  father;  for  the  difference 
Is,  purchase  of  a  heavy  curse  from  Rome, 
Or  the  light  loss  of  England  lor  a  Iriend  : 
Fori^go  the  easier. 

Blanch.  That's  the  curse  «f  Ronie, 

Co7ist.  O  Lewis,  stand  fast;  the  devii  tempU 
thee  here,  i  .  -j 

In  likeness  of  a  new  untrimmed  bride. 

Blanch.  'IV.e  lady  Constance  speaks  not  fi  ora  hei 
But  from  her  need.  , 
Const.  O.  if  thou  grant  my  need. 

Which  only  lives  but  by  the  death  oi  faith, 
That  need  must  needs  infer  this  principle,-— 
That  faith  would  live  again  by  deatli  ot  need  : 
O,  then,  tread  down  my  need,  and  faith  mounts  Hf 
Keep  n'ly  need  up,  and  faith  is  trodden  dowr» 


Scene  3. 


KING 


JOHN. 


S91 


K.  John,  Tl^e  king  is  mov'd,  and  answers  not  to 
this. 

Const.  O,  be  remov'd  from  hirn,  and  answer  well. 
Auoi.   Do  ;30,  king   Philip;   hang-  no  more  in 

dotibt.  [lout. 
Bast.  Hang  nothing  but  a  calfs-skin,  most  sweet 
K.  Phi.  I  am  perpleK'd,  and  know  not  what  to  say. 
Pand.  What  canst  thou  say,  but  will  perplex 

(hee  more, 
If  tbon  stnnd  excommnnicafe,  and  curs'd? 

K .  Phi  Good  reverend  father,  make  my  person 

yours, 

And  tell  ine,  how  you  would  bestow  yourself. 

riiis  royal  hand  and  mine  are  newly  knit ; 

A.nd  the  conjuncfioi)  of  our  inward  souls, 

Married  in  league,  coupled  and  link'd  together 

With  all  religious  strength  of  sacred  vows; 

The  latest  breath  that  gave  the  sound  of  words, 

Was  deep-sworn  faith,  peace,  amity,  true  love. 

Between  our  kingdoms,  and  our  royal  selves  ; 

And  even  before  this  truce,  but  new  before, — 

No  longer  than  we  well  could  wash  our  hands. 

To  clap  this  royal  bargain  up  of  peace, — 

Heaven  knovvs,they  were  besmear'd  and  overstain'd 

With  slaugliter's  pencil ;  where  revenge  did  paint 

The  fearful  dilFerence  of  incensed  kings  : 

And  shall  these  hands,  so  lately  purg'd  of  blood. 

So  newly  joln'd  in  love,  so  strong  in  both. 

Unyoke  this  seizure,  and  this  kind  regreet? 

Play  fast  and  loose  with  faith?  so  jest  with  heaven. 

Make  such  unconstant  children  of  ourselves. 

As  now  ag.iin  to  snatch  our  palm  from  palm  ; 

Unswear  laith  sworn;  and  on  the  marriage  bed 

Of  smihng  peace  to  march  a  bloody  host. 

And  make  a  riot  on  the  gentle  brow 

Of  true  sincerity  ?  O  holy  sir, 

My  reverend  fatlirir,  let  it  not  be  so: 

Out  of  yoar  grace,  devise,  ordain,  impose 

Soue  gentle  order;  and  then  we  shall  be  bless'd 

To  do  your  pleasure,  and  continue  friends. 

Pand.  All  Ibrm  is  formless,  order  orderless, 
Save  what  is  opposite  to  England's  love. 
Therefore,  to  arms:  be  champion  of  our  church! 
Or  let  the  church,  our  mother,  breathe  her  curse, 
A  mother's  curse,  on  her  revolting  son. 
France,  thou  may'st  hold  a  serpent  by  the  tongue, 
A  cased  lion  by  the  mortal  paw, 
A  fasting  tiger  safer  by  the  tooth. 
Than  keep  in  peace  that  hand,  which  thou  dost  hold. 

K.  Phi.  I  may  disjoin  my  hand,  but  not  my  faith. 

Pand.  So  mak'st  thou  faith  an  enemy  to  faith ; 
And,  like  a  civil  war,  set'st  oath  to  oath, 
Thy  tongue  against  thy  tongue.    O,  let  thy  vow. 
First  made  to  heaven,  first  be  to  heaven  perform'd ; 
That  is,  to  be  the  champion  of  our  church  ! 
What  since  thou  swor'st,  is  sworn  against  thyself, 
And  may  not  be  performed  by  thyself: 
For  that,  which  thou  hast  sworn  to  do  amiss, 
Is  not  amiss,  when  it  is  truly  done  ; 
And  being  not  done,  where  doing  tends  to  ill. 
The  truth  is  then  most  done  not  doing  it: 
The  better  act  of  purposes  mistook 
Is,  to  mistake  again  ;  tiiough  indirect. 
Vet  indirection  thereby  grows  direct, 
A'ld  falsehood  falsehood  cures  :  as  fire  cools  fire. 
Within  the  scorched  veins  of  one  new  burn'd. 
It  is  religion,  that  doth  make  vows  kept; 
Biittliou  liast  sworn  against  religion; 
liy  what   thou  swear'st,  against  the  thing  thou 
swt-ar'st ; 

\nd  mak'st  an  oath  the  surety  for  triy  truth 
AK'iinst  an  oath  :  The  truth  thou  art  unsure 
T.)  swear,  swear  only  not  to  he  forsworn  ; 
Elae,  what  a  mockery  should  it  he  to  swear? 
B;it  thou  dost  swear  only  to  be  l'oi-s\vora  ; 
Ami  most  firsworn,  to  kc-ep  what  tliou  dost  swear. 
Tlie)'"f.»rt,  thy  latter  vows,  against  thy  first. 
Is  in  ttiysclf  rebellion  to  thys<'lf : 
4,D(J  bt'ttcr  couqu.-st  never  casi'st  thou  make, 
au  arui  thy  constant  a:id  thy  nobler  oarts 


Against  those  giddy  loose  suggestions; 

Up«n  which  better  part  our  prayers  come  in. 

If  thou  vouchsafe  them  :  but,  if  not,  then  kuow^, 

The  peril  of  our  curses  light  on  the** ; 

So  heavy,  as  thou  shalt  not  shake  them  off. 

But  in  despair,  die  under  their  black  weight, 

Aust.  Rebellion,  flat  rebellion! 

Bast.  Will't.  not  be  t 

Will  not  a  calf's-skin  stop  that  mouth  of  thine  ? 

Letv.  Father,  to  arms  I 

Blanch.  Upon  thy  wedding  day  ? 

Against  the  blood  that  thou  hast  married  ? 
What,  shall  our  feast  be  kept  with  slaiighter'd  men? 
Shall  braying  trumpets,  and  loud  churlish  druos, — ^ 
Clamoui  s  of  hell, — be  measures  to  our  pomp  ? 

0  husband,  hear  me  ! — ah,  alack,  how  new 

Is  husband  in  my  mouth!— even  tor  that  name. 
Which  till  this  time  my  tongue  did  ne'er  pronounce. 
Upon  my  knee  I  beg,  go  not  to  arms 
Against  mine  uncle. 

Const.  O,  upon  my  knee. 

Made  hard  with  kneeling,  I  do  pray  to  thee, 
'i'hou  virtuous  Dauphin,  alter  not  the  doom 
Forethought  by  heaven.  [may 

Blanch.  Now  shall  I  see  thy  love  ;  What  motive 
Be  stronger  with  thee  than  the  name  of  wife  i 

Const.  That,  which  upholdeth  him,  that  thee 
upholds. 

His  honour:  O,  thine  honour,  Lewis,  thine  honour! 

Lew.  I  muse,  your  majesty  doth  seem  so  cold. 
When  such  profound  respects  do  pull  you  on. 

Pand.  I  will  denounce  a  curse  upon  his  head. 

K.  Phi.  Thou  shall  not  need  : — England,  I'll  fall 
from  thee. 

Const.  O  fair  return  of  banish'd  majesty  . 
Eli.  O  foul  revolt  of  French  inconstancy  ! 
K.  John.  France,  thou  shalt  rue  this  hour  within 

this  hour.  *[(i!KB, 
Bast.  Old  time  the  clock-setter,  that  bald  sexten 
Is  it  as  he  will?  well  then,  France  shall  rue. 
Blanch.  The  sun's  o'ercast  with  blood :  Fair  day, 

adieu  ! 

Which  is  the  side,  that  I  must  go  withal  ? 

1  am  with  both :  each  army  hath  a  hand ; 
And,  in  their  rage,  I  having  hold  of  both, 
They  whirl  asunder,  and  dismember  me. 
Husband,  I  cannot  pray  that  thou  may'st  win  j 
Uncle,  I  needs  must  pray,  that  thou  may'st  lose  ; 
Father,  I  may  not  wish  the  fortune  thine; 
Grandam,  I  will  not  wish  thy  wishes  thrive: 
Whoever  wins,  on  that  side  shall  I  lose  ; 
Assured  loss,  before  the  match  be  play'd. 

Leiv.  Lady,  with  me  ;  with  me  thy  ibrtune  lies. 
Blanch.  'I'here  where  my  fortune  lives,  there  noy 
life  dies. 

K.  John.   Cousin,  go  draw  our  puissance  toge- 
ther.—  [Exit  Bastard, 
France,  I  am  burn'd  up  with  inflaming  wrath; 
A  rage,  whose  heat  hath  this  condition. 
That  nothing  can  allay,  nothing  but  blood, 
The  blood,  and  dearest  valu'd  blood,  of  France. 
K.  Phi.  Thy  rage  shall  burn  thee  up,  aid  tho« 
shalt  turn 

To  ashes,  ere  our  blood  shall  quench  that  fire  : 
Look  to  thyself,  thou  art  in  jeopardy. 

K.  John.  No  more  than  he  that  threats. — To  arni« 
let's  hie !  [ExeunL 

Scene  II. — The  same.    Plains  near  AngierS'. 
Alarums;  Excursions.    Enter  the  Bsistard  with 
Austria's  head. 

Bast.  Now,  by  my  life,  this  day  grows  wondrorae 
Some  airy  devil  hovers  in  the  sky,  [hot  J 

And  pours  down  mi  chief.  Austria's  head  lie  lhata  : 
While  Philip  breathes. 

Enter  King  John,  Arthur,  and  Hi/BEax 
K.  John.  Hubert,  keep  this  hoy  :— Philip,  make 
up  • 

My  mother  is  assailed  in  our  tent. 


293 


KING  JOHX. 


Act  III 


knd  ta'en,  I  fear. 

Bast  My  loifl,  I  rescn'd  her; 

Her  hitfiiness  is  in  sa/ety,  Tear  you  not: 
But  on,  niy  liege ;  for  very  little  pains 
Will  bring  this  labour  to  an  happy  end.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — The  some. 
Alatu/ns;  Excursions ;  Retreat    Enter  King 
ioiiN,  EuNOK,  ARfHUB,  t/ie  Bastard,  Hubert, 
and  Lords. 

K.  John.  So  shall  it  be  ;  your  grace  shall  stay 
behind,  {To  Elinor.) 

S<»  stronglj!  guarded. — Cousin,  look  not  sad  : 

{To  Arthur.) 
Tliy  grandam  loves  thee;  and  thy  uncle  will 
As  denr  be  to  thee  as  thy  father  was. 

Arth.  (),  this  will  make  my  mother  die  with  grief. 
K.  John.  Cousin,  {to  tUe  Bastard)  away  for 
England;  haste  before  : 
And,  ere  our  coming,  see  thou  shake  the  bags 
Ol'  hoarding  abbots  ,•  angels  imprison'd 
Set  thou  at  liberty  :  the  tat  ribs  of  peace 
Must  by  the  hungry  now  be  fed  upon : 
Use  our  conmnssion  in  his  utmost  force. 
Bast.  Bell,  book,  and  candle,  shall  not  drive  me 
back, 

When  gold  and  silver  becks  me  to  come  on. 
I  leave  your  highriess : — Grandam,  I  will  pray 
'.if  ever  I  remember  to  be  holy,) 
For  your  fair  safety;  so  I  kiss  your  hand. 

Eli.  Farewell,  my  gentle  cousin. 

K.John.  Coz,  farewell.  [Exit  Bastard. 

EH.  Come  hither,  little  kinsman;  hark,  a  word. 

{She  takes  Arthur  aside.) 

K.  John.  Come  hither,  Hubert.    O  my  gentle 
H  ubert. 

We  owe  thee  much;  within  this  wall  of  flesh 
'lliere  is  a  soul,  counts  thee  her  creditor. 
And  witii  advantage  means  to  pay  thy  love  : 
And,  my  good  friend,  thy  voluiitary  oath 
Liv('s  in  tins  bosotn,  dearly  cherished, 
(live  me  (hy  hand,    I  had  a  thing  to  say, — 
|j  it  1  will  St  it  with  some  better  time, 
f^y  heaven,  Hubert,  I  am  almost  asliam'd 
To  say  what  good  respect  1  have  of  thee. 

itlz<6>.  I  am  much  bounden  to  your  majesty. 

K.  John.  Good  triend,  thou  hast  no  cause  to  say 
so  yet : 

i3;it  tliou  shalt  have  ;  and  creep  time  ne'er  so  slow 
V  et  it  shall  come,  for  me  to  do  thee  good. 
1  had  a  thing  to  say, — But  let  it  go  : 
Ti»e  sun  is  in  the  heaven,  and  the  proud  day. 
Attended  with  the  pleasures  of  the  world. 
Is  all  too  wanton,  and  too  lull  ol  gawds, 
To  gi\  e  me  audience  : — If  the  midnight  bell 
Did,  with  his  iron  tongue  and  brazen  mouth, 
So(md  one  unto  the  drowsy  race  of  night ; 
If  this  same  were  a  church-yard  where  we  stand. 
And  thou  possessed  with  a  thousand  wrongs  ; 
Or  if  that  surly  spirit,  melancholy. 
Had  bak'd  thy  blood,  and  made  it  heavy,  thick ; 
fWhich,  else,  runs  tickling  up  and  down  the  veins. 
Making  that  idiot,  laughter,  keep  men's  eyes. 
And  strain  their  cheeks  to  idle  merriment, 
A  pcission  '^.iteful  to  my  purposes;) 
Or  if  tha.  ctiou  couldst  see  me  without  eyes, 
Hear  me  without  thine  ears,  and  make  reply 
Without  a  tongue,  using  conceit  alone. 
Without  eyes,  ears,  and  harmful  sound  of  words  ; 
Then,  io  despite  of  brooded  watchful  day, 
I  would  into  thy  bosom  pour  my  thoughts  ; 
But  ah,  I  will  not : — Yet  I  love  thee  well : 
And,  by  my  troth,  I  think,  thou  lov'st  me  well. 

Hub.  So  well,  that  what  you  bid  me  undertake. 
Though  that  my  death  were  adjunct  to  my  act. 
By  heaven,  I'd  do't 

K.  John.  Do  not  I  know  thou  wouldst? 

Good  Hubert,  Hubert,  Hubert,  throw  thine  eye 
On  yon  young  boy:  I'll  tell  thee  what,  niy  friend, 
Be  is  a  very  serpent  in  my  way ; 


And,  wheresoe'er  this  foot  of  mine  dofh  tread. 
He  lies  before  me  :  Dost  thou  understand  ms  r 
Thou  art  his  keeper. 

Hub.  And  I  will  keep  him  sO, 

That  he  shall  not  offend  your  majesty, 
K.John.  Death. 
Hub.  My  lord  ? 

K.  John.  A  grave. 

Hub.  He  shall  cot  live. 

K.  John.  Enuagll 
I  could  be  merry  now  :  Hubert,  I  love  thee  ; 
Weil,  I'll  njt  say  what  I  intend  for  thee  : 

Kemember  Madam,  fare  you  well : 

I'll  .send  those  powers  o'er  to  your  majesty. 
Eli.  My  blessing  go  with  thee  ! 
K.  John.  For  England,  cousin* 

Hubert  shall  be  your  man,  attena  on  you 
With  all  true  duty. — On  toward  Calais,  ho !  [Exeunt. 

Scene  lY.—  The  same.    The  French  King's  Tent 
Enter  liiiiy  Philip,  Lewis,  Pandulpk,  and 

Attendants. 
K.  Phi.  So,  by  a  roaring  tempest  on  the  flood, 
A  whole  armado  of  convicted  sail 
Is  scatter'd  and  disjoin'd  from  fellowship. 

Pand.  Courage  and  comfort !  all  shall  yet  go 
well.  [ill? 
K.  Phi.  What  can  go  well,  when  we  have  run  so 
Are  we  not  beaten?  Is  not  Anglers  lostV 
Arthur  ta'en  prisoner?  divers  dear  friends  slain? 
And  bloody  England  into  England  gone, 
O'erbearing  interruption,  spite  of  France? 

Lew.  What  he  hath  won,  that  hath  he  fortified  : 
So  hot  a  speed  with  such  advice  dispos'd. 
Such  temperate  order  in  so  fierce  a  cause, 
Doth  want  example  :  Who  hath  read,  or  heard. 
Of  any  kindred  action  like  to  this  ?  [praise, 
K.  Phi.  Well  could  I  bear,  that  England  had  thij 
So  we  could  find  some  pattern  of  our  shame. 

Enter  Constance. 
Look,  who  comes  here  !  a  grave  unto  a  soul ; 
Holding  the  eternal  spirit,  against  her  will. 
In  the  vile  prison  of  afflicted  breath  : 
I  pr'ythee,  lady,  go  away  with  me. 

Const,  ho,  no  w !  now  see  the  issue  of  your  peace ! 
K.  Phi.  Patience,  good  lady !  comfort,  geutla 
Constance ! 

,       Const.  No,  I  defy  all  counsel,  all  redress, 
But  that,  which  ends  all  counsel,  true  redress. 
Death,  death  : — O  amiable  lovely  death  ! 
Thou  odoriferous  stench  !  sound  rottenness  ! 
Arise  forth  from  the  couch  of  lasting  night, 
'i'hou  hate  and  terror  to  prosperity. 
And  I  will  kiss  tliy  detestable  bones; 
And  put  my  eye -balls  in  thy  vaulted  brows; 
And  ring  these  fingers  with  thy  household  wonms; 
And  stop  this  gap  of  breath  with  fulsome  dust. 
And  be  a  carrion  monster  like  thyself : 
Come,  grin  on  me  ;  and  I  will  think  thou  smil'st, 
And  buss  thee  as  thy  wife  !  Misery's  love, 
O,  come  to  me  ! 
K.  Phi.  O  fair  affliction,  peace. 

Const.  No,  no,  I  will  not,  having  breath  to  cry 
O,  that  my  tongue  were  in  the  thunder's  mouth  J 
Then  with  a  passion  would  I  shake  the  world  ; 
And  rouse  from  sleep  that  fell  anatomy, 
Which  cannot  hear  a  lady's  feeble  voice. 
Which  scorns  a  modern  invocation. 
Pand.  Lady,  you  utter  madness,  and  not  soirom 
Const.  Thou  art  not  holy  to  belie  me  so ; 
I  am  not  mad  :  this  hair  I  tear,  is  mine  : 
My  name  is  Constance ;  I  was  Geffrey's  wife; 
Young  Arthur  is  my  son,  and  he  is  lost : 
I  am  not  mad ; — I  would  to  heaven,  I  werel 
For  then,  'tis  like  I  should  forget  myself : 
O,  ifl  could,  what  grief  should  I  forget!— 
Preach  some  philosophy  to  make  me  mad^ 

[And  thou  shalt  be  canoniz'd,  cardinal; 
For  being  not  mad,  but  sensible  of  grief. 


Act  IY.    Scene  1.  KING 

\ly  reasonable  nart  produces  reason 

How  [  tiiay  be  deliver'd  ot  these  woes, 

And  teaches  nie  to  kill  or  liang  myself: 

It" I  were  mad,  I  should  forget  ruy  son; 

Or  madly  think  a  Ijabe  oi'clouts  were  he ; 

I  am  not  mad  ;  too  well,  too  well  I  feel 

The  different  plague  of  each  calamity.  [note 

K.FhL  Bind  lip  those  tresses:  O,  what  love  I 
\n  flie  fair  multitude  of  those  her  hairs  I 
Where  but  by  chance  a  silver  drop  hath  fallen, 
Even  to  lhat  drop  ten  thousand  wiry  friends 
Do  glew  themselves  in  sociable  grief; 
Like  true,  inseparable,  faithful  lovSB, 
Sticking  together  in  calamity. 

Const.  To  England,  if  you  will. 

/v.  Phi.  *         Bind  up  your  hairs. 

ConstYea,  that  I  will ;  And  wherefore  will  I  do  it  ? 
(  tore  them  from  their  bonds  ;  and  cried  aloud, 

0  tJuxt  these  hands  could  so  redeem  my  son, 
As  they  have  given  these  hairs  their  liberty  ! 
But  now  I  envy  at  their  liberty. 

And  will  again  commit  them  to  their  bonds. 

Because  my  poor  child  is  a  prisoner.  

And,  father  cardinal,  I  have  heard  you  say, 

That  we  shall  see  and  know  our  friends  in  heaven  : 

If  that  be  true,  I  shall  see  my  boy  again  ; 

For,  since  the  birth  of  Cain,  the  first  male  child. 

To  him  that  did  but  yesterday  suspire. 

There  was  not  such  a  gracious  creature  born. 

But  now  will  canker  sorrow  eat  my  bud. 

And  chase  the  native  beauty  from  his  cheek. 

And  he  will  look  as  hollow  as  a  ghost ; 

As  dim  and  meagre  as  an  ague's  fit  ; 

And  so  he'll  die  ;  and,  rising  so  again. 

When  1  shall  meet  him  in  the  court  of  heaven 

!  shall  not  know  him  :  therefore  never,  never 

Must  I  behold  my  pretty  Arthur  more. 

Fund.  Vou  hold  too  heinous  a  respect  of  grief. 

Corfjst.  He  talks  to  me,  that  never  had  a  sou, 

K.  Phi.  You  are  as  fond  of  grief,  as  of  your  child. 

Cc^t  Grief  fills  the  room  up  of  my  absent  child. 
Lies  in  hi;  bed,  walks  up  and  down  with  me; 
Puts  on  hi^  pretty  looks,  repeats  his  words. 
Remembers  me  of  all  his  gracious  parts, 
Stulfs  out  his  \  acant  garments  with  his  form  ; 
Then,  have  i  reason  to  be  fond  of  grief. 
Fare  you  well :  had  you  such  a  loss  as  I, 

1  could  give  better  comfort  than  you  do. — 
I  will  not  keep  this  form  upon  niy  head, 

( Tearing  off  her  head-dress.) 
When  there  is  such  disorder  in  my  wit. 
O  lord  !  my  boy,  niy  Arthur,  my  lair  son  ! 
My  life,  my  joy,  my  food,  my  all  the  world ! 
My  widow-comfort,  and  my  sorrows'  cire.  [Exit. 
K.  Phi.  I  fear  some  outrage,  and  I'll  follow  her. 

[Exit. 

Lew.  There's  nothing  in  this  world,  can  make  me 
Life  is  as  tedious  as  a  twice-told  tale,  [joy  : 

Vexing  the  dull  ear  of  a  drowsy  man; 
And  bitter  shame  hath  spoil  d  the  sweet  world's  taste, 
That  it  yields  nought,  but  shame  and  bitterness. 

Pand.  Before  the  curing  of  a  strong  disease. 
Even  in  the  instant  of  repair  and  health. 
The  fit  is  strongest ;  evils,  that  take  leave, 
On  their  departure  most  of  all  show  evil  : 
What  have  you  lost  by  losing  of  this  day? 

hew.  All  days  of  glory,  joy,  and  happiness. 

Pand.  If  you  had  won  it,  certainly,  you  had. 
No,  no:  when  fortune  nieans  to  men  most  good. 
She  looks  upon  them  with  a  threatenitig  eye. 
"Fis  strange,  to  think  how  much  king  John  hath  lost 
In  this,  which  he  accounts  so  clearly  won  : 
Are  not  you  griev'd,  that  Arthur  is  his  prisoner? 

Lew.  As  heartily,  as  he  is  glad  he  hath  him, 

Pand.  Your  mind  is  all  as  youthf  ul  as  your  blood. 
Now  hear  me  speak,  with  a  prophetic  spirit; 
For  even  the  breath  of  what  I  mean  to  s{)eak 
Shall  blow  each  dust,  each  straw,  each  little  rub. 
Out  of  thd  path,  which  shall  directly  lead 
Thv  loot       nglaud"^  tiTune;  and,  therefore,  mark. 


JOHN.  29.^ 

John  hath  seiz'd  Arthur;  and  it  cannot  be, 

That,  whiles  warm  life  plays  ia  that  infant's  veifiH^ 

The  misplac'd  John  should  entertain  an  hour. 

One  minute,  nay,  one  quiet  breath  of  rest: 

A  sceptre,  snatch'd  with  an  unruly  hand, 

Must  be  as  boisteromsly  maintain'd  as  gain'd. 

And  he,  that  stands  upon  a  slippery  place. 

Makes  nice  of  no  vile  hold  to  stay  \\\m  up  : 

I'hat  John  may  stand,  then  Arthur  needs  must  fall ; 

So  be  it,  for  it  cannot  be  but  so.  [fall  1 

Lew.  But  what  shall  I  gain  by  young  Arthur! 

Pand.  You,  in  the  right  of  lady  Blanch  your  wife. 
May  then  make  all  the  claim  lhat  Arthur  did. 

Lew.  And  lose  it,  life  and  all,  as  Arthur  did. 

Pand.  How  green  are  you,  and  fresh  in  this  old 
world ! 

John  lays  you  plots  :  the  times  conspire  with  yon: 
For  he  that  steeps  his  safety  in  true  blood. 
Shall  find  but  bloody  safety,  and  untrue. 
This  act,  so  evilly  born,  shall  cool  the  hearts 
Of  all  his  people,  and  freeze  up  their  zeal; 
That  none  so  small  advantage  shall  step  forth. 
To  check  his  reign,  but  they  will  cherish  it. 
No  natural  exhalation  in  the  sky, 
No  scape  of  nature,  no  distemper'd  day. 
No  common  wind,  no  customed  event. 
But  they  will  pluck  away  his  natural  cause. 
And  call  them  meteors,  prodigies,  and  signs. 
Abortives,  presages,  and  tongues  of  heaven. 
Plainly  denouncing  vengeance  upon  John. 
Lew.  May  be,  he  will  not  touch  young  Arthnr*8 
life. 

But  hold  himself  safe  in  his  piisonment, 

Pand.  O,  sir,  when  he  shall  hear  of  yourapproacll. 
If  that  young  Arthur  be  not  gone  already. 
Even  at  that  news  he  dies :  and  then  the  hearts 
Of  all  his  people  shall  revolt  from  him. 
And  kiss  the  lips  of  unacquainted  change; 
And  pick  strong  matter  of  revolt,  and  wrath. 
Out  of  the  bloody  fingers'-ends  of  John. 
Methinks,  I  see  this  hurly  all  on  foot; 
And,  O,  what  better  matter  breeds  for  you. 
Than  I  have  nam'd  ! — The  bastard  Faulconbridg* 
Is  now  in  England,  ransacking  the  church. 
Offending  charity    If  but  a  dozen  French 
Were  there  in  arms,  they  would  be  as  a  call 
To  train  ten  thousand  English  to  their  side; 
Or,  as  a  little  snow,  tumbled  about, 
Anon  becomes  a  mountain.    O  noble  Daaphin, 
Oo  with  me  to  the  king  :  'Tis  wonderful, 
What  may  be  wrought  out  of  their  discontent: 
Now  that  their  souls  are  topfull  of  oftence. 
For  England  go;  I  will  whet  on  the  king. 
Lew.  Strong  reasons  make  stiong  actions:  let 
us  go : 

If  you  say,  ay,  the  king  will  not  say,  no.  [Exeunt, 
ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — Northampton.    A  Room  in  the  Castle. 
Enter  Hubert  and  Two  Attendants. 
Hub.  Heat  me  these  irons  hot ;  and  look  thosi 
stand 

Within  the  arras :  when  I  strike  my  foot 
Upon  the  bosom  of  the  ground,  rush  forth 
And  bind  the  boy,  which  you  shall  find  with  mt. 
Fast  to  the  chair:  be  heedful :  hence,  and  watch, 
1  Attend.  I  hope,  your  warrant  will  b*'ar  out  the 
deed. 

Hub.  Uncleanly  scruples !  fear  not  you  .  look 
to't. —  [Exeunt  Attendants 

Young  lad,  come  forth  ;  I  have  to  say  witli  you. 
Enter  Arthur. 
Arth.  Good  morrow,  Hubert. 
Hub.  Good  morrow,  little  priace, 

Arth.  As  little  prince  (having  so  gieat  a  title 
To  be  more  prince,)  as  may  be. — Vou  are  sad. 
Hub.  Indeed,  I  nave  been  merrier. 
Arth.  Mercj'  on  mei 

I  Methinks,  nobody  should  b*"  sad  but  i^; 


204 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  it. 


Vet.  1  re»iemher,  when  1  was  in  France, 
'Y  'WiijT  jjentlenjen  would  be  as  sad  as  niglit, 
Only  tor  vvantonness.    By  my  cliristendoni, 
>S()  I  were  out  of  prison,  and  kept  sheep, 
I  siionld  be  as  merr)  as  the  day  is  long  : 
And  so  1  woidd  be  here,  but  that  1  doubt 
My  uncle  practises  more  harm  to  me  ; 
lie  i.^  aiVaid  iA' me,  and  I  of  him  : 
i-j  it  my  f  iult,  that  I  was  Geffrey's  son  ? 
No,  iisdred,  is't  not;  and  I  would  to  heaven, 
Twf  re  your  son,  so  you  would  iuve  me,  Hubert. 

Hub.  Is  i  talk  to  him,  with  his  innocent  prate 
He  will  awctke  my  mercy,  which  lies  dead  : 
I'herelbre  I  will  be  sudden,  and  despatch.  (Aside.) 

Art/i.  Are  you  sick,  Hubert  ?  yon  look  pale  to-day  : 
In  sooth,  i  would  you  were  a  little  sick; 
That  i  might  sit  all  night,  and  watch  with  you  : 
I  warr.int,  I  love  yon  niore  than  you  do  me. 

Hub.  Hi?  words  do  take  possession  of  my  bosom. — 
iHead  here,  young  Avthnr.  {S/wiving  a  paper.)  How 
now,  ibolish  rheum  !  (Aside.) 
Turning  dispiteous  torture  out  of  door! 
I  must  be  brief;  lest  resolution  drop 

Out  at  irjne  eyes,  in  tender  womanish  tears.  

Can  you  not  read  it  ?  is  it  not  fair  writ  ? 

Arth.  'I'oo  fairly,  Hubert,  for  so  foul  effect : 
Must  you  with  hot  irons  burn  out  both  mine  eyes? 

Muh.  Young  boy,  1  must. 

Artli.  And  will  yon  ? 

Rub.  And  I  will. 

Arth.  Have  you  the  heart  ?  When  your  head  did 
but  ake, 

I  knit  my  handkerchief  about  your  brows, 

(The  best  I  had,  a  princess  wrought  it  me,) 

And  I  did  never  ask  it  you  again  : 

And  with  my  hand  at  midnight  held  your  head; 

And,  like  the  watchful  minutes  to  the  hour. 

Still  and  anon  cheer'd  up  the  heavy  time  ; 

Sayitg,  What  lack  you  ?  and,  Where  lies  your  grief? 

Or,  What  good  love  may  1  })erform  for  you? 

Many  a  poor  man's  son  woidd  have  lain  still, 

And  j;e"er  have  spoke  a  loving  word  to  you  ; 

Hut  you  at  your  sick  service  had  a  prince. 

Nay,  you  may  think,  my  love  was  crafty  love. 

And  call  it,  cunning;  Do,  an  if  you  will: 

If  heaven  be  pleas'd,  that  yon  must  use  me  ill, 

Why,  then  you  must. — Will  you  put  out  mine  eyes? 

These  eyes,  that  never  did,  nor  never  shall. 

So  nine!)  as  iVown  on  you? 

Huh.  I  ha\e  sworn  to  do  it; 

And  wiLl)  hot  irons  must  J  burn  them  out. 

Arth.  Ail,  none,  but  in  this  iron  age,  would  doit! 
The  iron  of  itself,  though  heat  red-hot, 
Approaching  near  these  eyes,  would  drink  my  tears, 
And  quench  his  fiery  indignation. 
Even  in  the  matter  of  mine  innocence  : 
Nay,  after  that,  consume  away  in  rust. 
But  for  containing  (ire  to  harm  mine  eye. 
Are  you  more  stubborn-hard  than  haminer'd  iron? 
An  if  an  angei  sho-.ild  have  come  to  me. 
And  l(^ld  me,  Hubert  should  put  out  mine  eyes, 
1  wouhl  not  have  believ'd  no  tongue,  but  Hubert's. 

Hub.  Come  ibrth.  (Stamps.) 

He-enter  Attendants,  with  cords,  irons,  &c. 
Do  as  I  bid  you  do. 
Arth.  O,  save  me,  Hubert,  save  me  !  my  eyes  are 
out, 

Even  with  the  fierce  looks  of  these  bloody  men. 

Hub.  Give  me  the  iron,  I  say,  aiul  bind  him  here. 

Arth.  Alas,  what  need  you  be  so  boisf rous-rongh? 
?  will  not  struggle,  I  will  stand  stone-still. 
For  heavens  sake,  Hubert,  let  me  not  be  bound  ! 
Nay,  hear  me,  Hubert!  drive  these  men  away. 
And  1  will  sit  as  quiet  as  a  lamb  ; 
I  will  not  stir,  nor  wince,  nor  speak  a  word, 
Nor  look  u[)on  the  iron  angerly : 
Thm'jt  but  these  men  away,  and  I'll  forgive  yon. 
Whatever  torment  you  do  put  vne  to. 

kiu6.  Go,  stand  within,  let  me  alone  with  him. 


1  Attend.  I  am  best  pleas'd  to  be  from  such 
deed.  [Eteunt  Attend  r' 

Arth.  Alas  !  I  then  have  chid  away  myfrieudj 
He  hath  a  stern  look,  but  a  gentle  heart; — 
Let  h  im  cnme  hack,  that  his  coinpaasion  may 
Give  life  to  yours. 

Hub.  Come,  boy,  prepare  yourself! 

Arth.  Is  there  no  remedy? 

Hub.  None,  but  to  lose  your  eye% 

Arth.  O  heaven  ! — tliat  there  were  but  a  mote  la 
yours, 

A  grain,  a  dust,  a  gnat,  a  wand'ring  hair. 

Any  annoyance  in  that  precious  sense  I 

Then,  feeling  wiiat  small  things  are  boist'rous  there. 

Your  vile  intent  must  needs  seem  horrible. 

Hub.  Is  this  your  promise?  go  to,  hold  your  tongue. 

Arth.  Hubert,  the  utterance  ol  a  brace  of  tongues 
Must  needs  want  pleading  for  a  pair  of  eyes  : 
Let  me  not  hold  my  tongue;  let  me  not,  Hubert! 
Or,  Hubert,  if  you  will,  cut  out  my  tongue. 
So  I  may  keep  mine  eyes  ;  O,  Spare  mine  eyes  ; 
Though  to  no  use,  but  still  to  look  on  you! 
Lo,  by  my  troth,  the  instrument  is  cold, 
And  woultl  not  harm  me. 

Hub.  1  can  heat  it,  boy. 

Arth.  ISo,  in  good  sooth  ;  the  fire  is  dead  with  gviei^ 
Being  create  for  comfort,  to  be  us'd 
In  undeservVl  extremes:  See  else  yourself; 
There  is  no  malice  in  this  burning  coal ; 
The  breath  of  heaven  hath  blown  his  spirit  out. 
And  strew'd  repentant  ashes  on  his  head. 

Hub.  But  with  my  breath  J  can  revive  it,  boy, 

Arth.  And  if  you  do,  you  will  but  make  it  blush. 
And  glow  with  shame  ol  your  proceedings,  Huberts 
Nay,  it,  perchance,  will  sparkle  in  your  eyes; 
And,  like  a  dog,  that  is  compell'd  to  Rj,ht, 
Snatch  at  his  master,  that  doth  tarre  him  on. 
All  things,  that  you  should  use  to  do  me  wrong. 
Deny  their  otiice  :  only  yon  do  lack 
That  mercy,  which  fierce  lire,  and  iron,  extends. 
Creatures  of  note,  fur  mercy-lacking  uses. 

Hub.WcW,  see  to  live  ;  I  will  n(jt  touch  thine  eyea 
For  all  the  treasure  th;it  thine  uncle  owes: 
\  et  am  1  .sworn,  and  I  did  purpose,  boy. 
With  this  same  very  iron  to  burn  them  out. 

Arth.  0,now  you  look  like  Hubert!  911  thiswhila 
Yon  were  disguised. 

Hub.  Peace  :  no  more.    Adieu  ; 

Your  uncle  must  not  know  but  you  are  dead: 
I'll  fill  these  dogged  spies  with  false  reports. 
And,  pretty  child,  sleep  doubtless,  and  secure 
That  Hubert,  for  the  wealth  of  all  the  world. 
Will  not  oiiend  thee. 

Arth.  O  heaven! — I  thank  yon,  Hubert 

Hub.  Silence  :  no  more  :  Go  closely  in  with  me : 
Much  danger  do  I  undergo  for  thee.  [Exeunt 

Scene  l\. — The  same.    A  Room  of  State  in  tk» 
Palace. 

Enter  King  JoHN  crowned;  Pkmrroke,  Salis 
BURY,  and  other  Lords.  The  King  tu'ices  ki^ 
State. 

K.  John.   Here  once  again  we  sit,  once  cgaia 
crownd, 

And  look  d  upon,  I  hope,  with  cheerful  eyes. 

Pe7n.  This  once  again,  but  that  your  highness 
pleas'd, 

Was  once  superfluous:  you  were  crown'd  beforgj, 
And  that  high  royalty  was  ne'er  pliick'd  oiY; 
The  faiths  of  men  ne'er  stained  with  revolt ; 
Fresh  exitectation  troubled  not  the  land. 
With  any  long'd-i'or  change,  or  better  state. 

Therelore,  to  be  possess'd  with  double  pum^ 
To  guard  a  title  that  was  rich  befor<>, 
To  gild  refined  gold,  to  paint  the  lily, 
To  throw  a  perfume  on  the  violet, 
To  smooth  the  ice,  or  add  another  hue 
Unto  the  rainbow,  or  with  taper  light 
To  ses^k  the  beauteous  eye  of  heaven  to  garms^ 
Is  wasteful,  and  ridiculous  excess. 


Scene  2.  KING 

Pern.  B^Jt  that  your  royal  pleasure  must  be  done, 
Tbis  act  !3  as  an  ancient  tale  new  told: 
And,  in  the  last  repeating,  troublesome, 
Bein<f  ur;.^ed  at  a  time  unseasonable. 

Sai  In  tiii.s,  the  antique  and  well-noted  face 
Of  plain  old  form  is  rnuch  disfigured; 
And,  like  a  shifted  wind  unto  a  sail, 
It  makes  the  course  of  thoughts  to  fetch  about; 
Startles  and  frights  consideration  ; 
Makes  sound  opinion  sick,  and  truth  suspected, 
For  putting  on  so  new  a  fashion'd  robe. 

Pern.  When  workmen  strive  to  do  better  than  well, 
They  do  confound  their  skill  in  covetousness : 
And,  oltentimes,  excusing  of  a  fault. 
Doth  make  the  fault  the  worse  by  the  excuse ; 
As  patches,  set  upon  a  little  breach. 
Discredit  more,  in  hiding  of  the  fault, 
I'han  did  the  fault  before  it  was  so  patch'd. 

Sal.  To  this  effect,  before  you  were  new-crown'd. 
We  breath'd  our   counsel:'   but    it  pleas'd  your 
highness 

To  overbear  it;  and  we  are  all  well  pleas'd; 
Since  all  and  every  part  of  what  we  would, 
Doth  make  a  stand  at  what  your  highness  will.  _ 

K.  John.  Some  reasons  of  this  double  coronation 
I  have  possess'd  you  with, and  think  them  strong, 
And  more,  more  strong,  (when  lesser  is  my  fear,) 
I  shall  endue  you  with:  Mean  time,  but  ask 
What  you  would  have  relbrm'd,  that  is  not  well; 
And  well  shall  you  perceive,  how  willingly 
I  will  both  hear  and  grant  you  your  requests. 

Petn.  Then  I,  (as  one  that  am  the  tongue  of  these, 
To  sound  the  purposes  of  all  their  hearts,) 
Both  i(>r  myself  and  them,  (but,  chief  of  all. 
Your  safety,  for  the  which  myself  and  them 
Bend  their  best  studies,)  heartily  request 
The  ont'ranchisement  of  Arthur;  whose  restraint 
Doth  move  the  murmuring  lips  of  discontent 
To  break  into  this  dangerous  argument, — 
If,  what  in  rest  you  have,  in  right  you  hold, 
VVhy  then  your  fears,  (which,  as  they  say,  attend 
'I'lie  steps  of  wrong,)  should  move  you  to  mew  up 
Yoiii  tender  kinsman,  and  to  choke  his  days 
With  barbarous  ignorance,  and  deny  his  youth 
The  rich  advantage  ol"good  exercise? 
Tha  the  time's  enemies  may  not  have  this 
To  grace  occasions,  let  it  be  our  suit. 
That  you  have  bid  us  ask  his  liberty; 
Which  for  our  goods  we  do  no  further  ask, 
Than  wliereupon  our  weal,  on  you  depending. 
Counts  it  your  weal,  he  have  his  liberty. 

K.  John.  Let  it  be  so  ;  I  do  commit  his  youth 

Enter  Hubert. 
To  your  direction. — 'Hubert,  what  news  with  you? 

Pern.  Th;s  is  the  man  should  do  the  bkody  deed  ; 
He  shovv'd  his  warrant  to  a  friend  of  mine  : 
Fiie  iniage  ol  a  vvickeu  heinous  lault 
Li\es  in  his  eye  :  that  close  asjiect  of  his 
Does  show  ti»e  mood  of  a  much  troubled  breast: 
And  I  do  fearfully  believe,  'tis  done. 
What  we  so  i'ear'd  he  had  a  charge  to  do. 

Sal.  The  colour  ot  the  king  dotli  come  and  go, 
Between  tils  purpose  and  his  conscience. 
Like  heralds,  'twixt  two  dreadl'ul  battles  set; 
His  passion  is  so  ripe,  it  needs  must  break. 

Pern.  And,  when  it  breaks,  1  fear,  will  issue  thence 
The  I'oul  corruption  of  a  sweet  child's  death. 

H.  John.We  cannot  hold  mortality's  strong  hand: — 
Good  Lords,  altlioiigli  uiy  will  to  give  is  living, 
The  suit  whicli  you  demand  is  gone  and  dead  : 
He  tells  us,  Arthur  is  deceas'd  to-night. 

Sal.  Indeed,  we  iear'd  his  sickness  was  past  cure. 

Pern.  Indeed,  we  heard  how  near  his  death  he  was, 
Before  the  child  hi*iseit  felt  he  was  sick: 
This  must  be  ;uiswer"d  either  here,  or  hence. 

K.  John.  Why  do  you  bend  such  solemn  brows 
on  me  ? 

Thiok  you,  i  hear  tht-  shears  of  destiny? 
Have  I  CO  imrauduieut  on  the  pulse  ol'  life  ? 


JOHN.  sug 

Sal.  It  is  apparent  foul -play ;  and  'tis  r^hame, 
That  greatness  should  so  grossly  ofler  it  : 
So  thrive  it  in  your  {fame  !  and  so  iarewell. 

Pern.  Stay  yet,  lord  Salisbury  :  I'l!  go  with  ihet^ 
And  tind  the  inheritance  ol'this  poor  child. 
His  little  kingdom  of  a  forced  grave. 
That  blood,  which  ow'd  the  breadth  of  all  this  isle. 
Three  foot  of  it  doth  hold  ;  Bad  world  the  while  ! 
This  must  not  be  thus  borne :  this  will  break 
To  all  our  sorrows,  and  ere  long,  I  doubt. 

[Exiunt  Lord* 

K.  John.  They  burn  in  indignation;  I  repent 
There  is  no  sure  foundation  set  in  blood.' 
No  certain  life  achiev'd  by  others'  death  

Enter  a  Messenger. 
A  fearful  eye  thou  hast :  Where  is  that  blood. 
That  I  have  seen  inhabit  in  those  cheeks  ? 
So  foul  a  sky  clears  not  without  a  storm  : 
Pour  down  thy  weather: — How  goes  all  in  Fran\-e? 

Mess.  From  France  to  England, — Never  such  a 
For  any  foreign  preparation,  [power 
Was  levied  in  the  body  of  a  land  ! 
The  copy  of  your  speed  is  learn'd  by  them  ; 
For,  when  you  should  be  told  they  do  prepare. 
The  tidings  come,  that  they  are  all  arriv'd. 

K.  John.  O,  where  hath  our  intelligence  been 
drunk? 

Where  hath  it  slept?  Where  is  my  mother's  care  f 
That  such  an  army  could  be  drawn  in  France,, 
And  she  not  hear  of  it? 

Mess.  My  liege,  her  ear 

Is  stopp'd  with  dust;  the  first  of  April,  died 
Y  our  noble  mother  :  And,  as  I  hear,  my  lord, 
The  lady  Constance  in  a  frenzy  died 
Three  days  before  :  but  this  Irom  rumour's  tongue 
I  idly  heard;  if  true,  or  false,  I  know  not. 

K.  John.  Withhold  thy  speed,  dreadful  cccagioal 
O,  make  a  league  with  me,  till  1  have  plea.s'd 
My  discontented  peers  ! — What!  mother  dead? 
How  wildly  then  walks  my  estate  in  France  ! — 
Under  whose  conduct  came  those  powfers  of  France^ 
That  thou  lor  truth  giv'st  out,  are  landed  here  ? 

Mess.  Under  the  Dauphin. 

E7iter  the  Bastard,  and  Peter  of  Pitmfret. 

K.  John.  Thou  hast  made  me  giddy 

With  these  ill  tidings. — Now,  what  says  the  world 
To  your  proceedings  ?  do  not  seek  to  stiilf 
My  head  with  more  ill  news,  for  it  is  full. 

Bast.  But  if  you  be  afeard  to  hear  the  worst, 
Then  let  the  worst,  unheard,  fall  on  your  head. 

K.  John.  Bear  with  me,  cousin  ;  for  I  was  amaa  I 
Under  the  tide  :  but  now  1  breathe  again 
Aloft  the  flood  ;  and  can  give  audience 
To  any  tongue,  speak  it  of  what  it  will. 

Bast.  How  I  have  sped  among  the  clergymen, 
The  sums  I  have  collected  shall  express. 
But,  as  I. travelled  hither  through  the  land, 
I  find  the  people  strangely  lantasied ; 
Possess'd  with  rumours,  full  of  idle  dreams; 
Not  knowing  what  they  fear,  but  full  oi'  fear : 
And  here's  a  prophet,  that  1  brought  with  me 
From  forth  the  streets  of  Pomfret,  whom  I  i'oimd 
With  many  hundreds  treading  on  his  heels; 
To  whom  he  sung,  in  rude  harsh-sounding  rhymes, 
That,  ere  the  next  Ascension-day,  at  noon, 
Your  highness  should  deliver  up  your  crown. 

K.  John.  Thou  idle  dreamer,  wherefore  didai 
thou  so? 

Peter.  Foreknowing  that  the  truth  will  fall  out  sa. 

K.John.  Hubert,  away  with  him;  imprison  himj 
And  on  that  day  at  noon,  whereon,  he  says, 
I  shall  yield  up  my  crown,  let  him  be  hang'd  • 
Deliver  him  to  safety,  and  return. 
For  I  must  use  thee. — O  my  gentle  cousin, 

[Exit  Hubert  with  Peter, 
Hear'stthou  the  news  abroad,  who  are  arrived? 

Bast.  The  French,  my  lord ;  men's  mouths  ar« 
full  of  it : 


206 


KING 


JOHN. 


Act  TY 


BesMeS;  J  met  lord  Bigot,  and  lord  Salisbury, 
fWitti  eyes  as  red  as  new-enkiiidled  lire,) 
And  otiiers  more,  going  to  seek  tlie  grave 
Of  ArtlMjr,  who,  they  suy,  is  kilKd  to  night 
On  jour  suggestion. 

K,  John.  Gentle  kinsman,  go. 

And  tiirnst  thyself" into  their  companies  . 
I  iiave  a  way  to  win  their  loves  again; 
Hring  thenj  before  me. 

Bast.  I  will  seek  them  out. 

K.  John.  Nay,  but  make  haste  :  the  better  foot 

before.  

O,  let  me  have  no  subject  enemies, 
When  adverse  foreigners  atfright  my  towns 
VVithdreadful  pomp  of  stout  invasion! — 
Be  Merc'iry,  set  feathers  to  tliy  heels  ; 
And  fly,  like  thought,  from  tliem  to  me  again. 

Basi.  The  spirit  of  the  time  shall  teach  me  speed. 

[Exit. 

K.  John.  Spoke  like  a  spriteful  noble  gentleman. — 
Go  after  him;  for  he,  perhaps,  shall  need 
Some  messenger  betwixt  me  and  the  pe  ers ; 
And  be  thou  he. 

Mess.  With  all  my  heart,  ray  liege.  [Exit. 

K.  John.  My  mother  dead ! 

Re-enter  Hubert. 
Hub.  My  lord,  they  say,  live  moons  were  seen 
to-night : 

Four  fixed  ;  and  the  fifth  did  whirl  about 
The  other  four,  in  wond'rou.s  motion. 
K.  John.  Five  moons  ? 

Huh.  Old  men,  and  beldams,  in  the  streets 

Do  prophecy  upon  it  dangerously  : 
V'oung  Arthur's  deatli  is  common  in  iheir  mouths  : 
And  when  they  talk  of  him,  they  shake  their  heads, 
And  whisper  one  another  in  the  ear; 
And  he,  that  speaks,  doth  gripe  the  hearer's  wrist; 
Whilst  he,  that  hears,  makes  feari'id  action, 
With  wrinkled  brows,  with  nods,  with  rolling  eyes, 
i  suvv  a  smith  stand  with  his  hammer,  thus. 
The  whilst  his  iron  did  on  the  anvil  cool. 
With  open  mouth  swallowing  a  tailor's  news; 
Who,  with  his  shears  and  measure  in  liis  hand, 
Standing  on  slippers,  (which  his  nimble  haste 
Had  falsely  thrust  upon  contrary  feet,) 
Told  of  a  many  thousand  warlike  French, 
That  were  embatteled  and  rank  d  in  Kent : 
Another  lean  unwash'd  artificer 
Cuts  off  his  tale,  and  talks  of  Arthur's  death. 

K.  John.  Why  seek'st  thou  to  possess  me  with 
these  fears  ? 
Why  urgest  thou  so  oft  young  Arthur's  death  ? 
Thy  hand  hath  murder'd  him  :  1  had  mighty  cause 
To  wish  him  dead,  but  thou  hadst  none  to  kill  him. 

Huh.  Had  none,  my  lord  !  why,  did  you  not  pro- 
voke me  ? 

K.  Jy^hn.  it  is  the  curse  of  kings,  to  be  attended 
By  slaves,  that  take  their  humours  for  a  warrant 
To  break  within  the  bloody  house  of  life  : 
And,  on  the  winking  of  authority, 
To  understand  a  law;  to  know  the  meaning 
Of  dangerous  majesty,  when,  perchance,  it  frowns 
Move  upon  humour  than  advis'd  respect. 

Huh.  Here  is  your  hand  and  seal  ior  what  I  did. 

K.  John.  O,  when  the  last  account  'twixt  heaven 
and  earth 

Is  to  be  made,  then  shall  this  hand  and  seal 

Witness  against  us  to  damnation! 

How  oft  the  sigfjt  of  means  to  do  ill  deeds. 

Makes  deeds  ill  done  !  fladst  not  thou  been  by, 

A  fellow  by  the  hand  of  nature  mark'd, 

Quoted,  and  sign'd,  to  do  a  deed  of  shame. 

This  murder  had  not  come  into  my  mind: 

But,  taking  note  of  thy  abhorr'd  aspect. 

Finding  thee  fit  for  bloody  villainy. 

Apt,  liable,  to  be  employ'd  in  danger, 

1  faintly  broke  with  tiiee  of  Arihur's  death  ; 

Ard  thou,  to  be  emieared  to  a  king, 

Madt^  it  no  conscience  to  destroy  a  prince 


Huh.  My  lord,  

K.  John.  Hadst  thou  but  shook  thj  head,  01 
made  a  pause. 
When  I  spake  darkly  what  I  purposed; 
Or  lurn'd  an  eye  of  doubt  upon  my  face 
As  bid  me  tell  my  tale  in  express  wordis ; 
Deep  shame  had  struck  me  dumb,  made  me  break 
And  those  thy  fears  n>ight  have  wrought  fears  i;i  nafcj 
But  thou  didst  understand  me  by  my  signs, 
And  didst  in  signs  again  parley  with  siti ; 
Yea,  without  stop,  didst,  let  thy  heart  consent. 
And,  consequently,  thy  rude  hand  to  act 
The  deed,  which  both  our  tongues  held  vile  to  naittC' 
Out  of  my  sight,  and  never  see  me  more  ! 
My  nobles  leave  me  ;  and  my  state  is  brav'd, 
Even  at  my  gates,  witli  ranks  of  iorei^^n  powers; 
Nay,  in  the  body  of  this  fleshly  land, 
Tnis  kingdom,  this  confine  of  blood  and  breath, 
Hostility  and  civil  tumult  reigns 
Between  my  conscience,  and  my  cousin's  deatL 

Hub.  Arm  you  against  your  other  enemies, 
I'll  make  a  peace  between  your  soul  and  you. 
Young  Arthur  is  alive  :  This  hand  of  mine 
Is  yet  a  nmiden  and  an  innocent  hand, 
Not  painted  with  the  crimson  spots  of  blood 
Within  this  bosom  never  enter'd  yet 
The  dreadful  motion  of  a  murd'rous  thought, 
And  you  have  slander'd  nature  in  my  form; 
Which,  howsoever  rude  exteriorly, 
Is  yet  the  cover  of  a  fairer  mind 
Than  to  be  butcher  of  an  innocent  child. 

K.  John.  Doth  Arthur  live  ?  O,  haste  thee  to  th« 
peers, 

Throw  this  re()orton  their  incensed  rage. 

And  make  them  tame  to  their  obedience  ! 

Forgi\e  the  comment,  that  my  passion  made 

Upon  thy  feature;  ibr  my  rage  was  blind. 

And  ibul  imaginary  eyes  of  blood 

Presented  thee  moie  hideous  than  thou  art 

O.  answer  not;  but  to  my  closet  bring 

I'iie  angry  lords,  with  all  expedient  haste: 

1  conjure  thee  but  slowly;  nm  more  fast.  [Exeunl- 

Scene  III. — The  same.    Before  the  Castle. 

Enter  Arthur  on  the  ivalls. 
Arth.  Th«  wall  is  high  ;  and  yet  will  I  leap  down: 
Good  ground,  be  pitiful,  and  hurt  me  not ; — 
There's  few,  or  none,  do  know  me;  if  they  did, 
This  ship-boy's  semblance  hath  disguis'd  me  quite. 
I  am  afraid  ;  and  yet  I'll  venture  it. 
If  I  get  down,  and  do  not  break  my  limbs, 
I'll  find  a  thousand  shifts  to  get  away  : 
As  good  to  die,  and  go,  as  die,  and  stay. 

{Leaps  down.) 
O  me  !  my  uncle's  s;  irit  is  in  these  stones: — 
Heaven  take  my  soul,  and  England  keep  my  bones! 

{Dies.) 

Enter  Pembroke,  Salisbury,  and  Bigot. 

Sal.  Lords,  I  will  meet  him  at  Saint  Edmund'»- 
Bury; 

It  is  our  safety,  and  we  must  embrace 
This  gentle  offer  of  the  perilous  time. 

Pern.  Who  b»)ught  that  letter  from  the  cardinal? 

Sal.  The  count  iVlelun,  a  noble  lord  of  France; 
Whose  private  with  me,  of  the  Dauphin's  love. 
Is  much  more  general  than  these  lines  import. 

Big.  Tomorrow  morning  let  us  meet  him  then. 

Sal.  Or,  rather  then  set  forward  :  for  'twill  be 
Two  long  clays'  journey,  lords,  or  ere  we  meet. 

Enter  the  Bastard. 
Bast.  Once  more  to-day  well  met,  distemper'^ 
lords ! 

The  king,  by  me,  requests  your  presence  straight 

Sal.  'I'he  king  hath  dispossess'd  himself  of  us; 
We  will  not  line  ins  thin  bestained  cloak 
With  our  pure  honours,  nor  attend  tlie  foot, 
That  leaves  the  print  of  blood  vvhere-e'er  it  walka: 
Return,  and  tell  him  so;  we  know  the  worst. 


Scene  3. 


KING 


JOHN. 


297 


Hast,  Whato*er  yon  thir.k,  good  words,  1  think, 

were  best. 

Sal,  Oni  griefs,  and  not  our  mannerS;  reason  now. 
liasl.  But  there  is  little  reason  in  your  grief; 
"Hieref  >re,  'twere  reason   yon  had  manners  now. 
Pern.  Sir,  sir,  impatience  hatli  iiis  privilege. 
Beat.  "Tis  true ;  to  Imrt  his  master,  no  man  else. 
•W.  This  is  the  prison:  Wliatis  he  lies  here? 

{Seeing  Arthur.) 
J'em.  O  death,  made  proud  with  pure  and  piinr  .^ly 
beauty  I 

The  earth  iiath  not  a  hole  to  hide  this  deed. 

Sal.  Murder,  as  hating  what  himself  hath  done, 
Doth  lay  it  0[;en,  to  urge  on  revenge. 

Biy.  Or,  when  he  doom  d  this  beauty  to  a  grave, 
Found  it  too  precious-princely  lor  a  grave. 

Sal.  Sn-  Richard,  what  think  yon?  Have  you 
belield, 

Or  have  you  read,  or  heard  ?  or  could  you  think? 
Or  do  you  almost  think,  although  you  see. 
That  you  do  see  ?  could  thought,  without  this  object. 
Form  such  another?  This  is  the  very  top. 
The  iieight,  the  crest,  or  crest  unto  the  crest. 
Of  murder's  arms  :  this  is  the  bloodiest  shame. 
The  wildest  savag'ry,  the  vilest  stroke. 
That  ever  wall-ey'd  wrath,  or  staring  rage. 
Presented  to  the  tears  of  soft  remorse. 

Pent.  All  nuirders  past  do  stand  excus'd  in  this  : 
And  this,  so  sole,  and  so  unmatciiable, 
Shall  give  a  holiness,  a  purity, 
To  the  yet  uubegntteu  sin  of  time  ; 
And  pro\  e  a  deadly  bloodshed  but  a  jest, 
Exampled  by  this  heinous  spectacle. 

Bast.  It  is  a  damned  and  a  bloody  work; 
The  graceless  action  of  a  heavy  hand. 
If  that  it  be  the  work  of  any  hand. 

Sal.  11  that  it  be  the  work  of  any  hand? — 
We  had  a  kind  of  light,  what  would  ensue  : 
Ft  is  the  shitmeful  work  of  Hubert's  hand  ; 
The  practice,  and  the  purpose,  of  the  king  : — 
Frona  vvliKse  obedience  I  forbid  my  soul, 
Kneeling  bf Core  this  nun  of  sweet  lil'e. 
And  breatliiug  to  his  breathless  excellence 
The  incense  of  a  vow,  a  holy  \  ow; 
Ne\  er  to  t  iste  the  pleasures  of  the  world, 
Ne\  er  to  be  infected  with  delight, 
No>  conversant  with  ease  and  idleness. 
Till  1  have  set  a  glory  to  this  hand. 
By  giving  it  the  worship  of  revenge. 

Pern.  Big.  Our  souls  religiously  confirm  thy  words. 

Enter  Hubert. 

Hub.  Lords,  I  am  hot  with  haste  iu  seeking  you. 
Arthur  dt;th  live;  the  king  hath  sent  for  you. 

Sal.  O,  he  is  bold,  and  blushes  not  at  death  : — 
Avaunt,  tnou  hateful  villain,  get  thee  gone! 

Hub.  I  am  no  villain. 

Sal.  Must  I  rob  the  law  ? 

{Drawing  his  sword.) 

Bast.  Your  sword  is  bright,  sir;  put  it  up  again. 

Sa!.  Not  till  I  sheath  it  in  a  murderer's  skin. 

Hub.  Stand  back,  lord  Salisbury,  stand  back,  I  say; 
By  heaven,  1  think,  my  sword's  as  sharp  as  yours  : 
[  would  not  have  you,  lord,  forget  yourself, 
Nor  teuip<  the  danger  of  my  true  defence  ; 
Lf'st  \,  by  marking  of  your  rage,  forget 
\  ot\r  worili,  your  greatness,  and  nobility. 

Big.  Out,  dimghill !  dars'tthou  brave  a  nobleman  ? 

Hub.  Not  lor  my  life  :  but  yet  I  dare  defend 
RIy  innocent  life  against  an  emperor. 

Sal.  Thou  art  a  murderer. 

Hub.  Do  not  prove  me  so  ; 

Yet,  I  am  none  :  Whose  tongue  soe'er  speaks  false, 
Not  truly  speaks  ;  who  speaks  not  truly,  lies. 

Pern.  Cut  him  to  pieces. 

Bofi.  Keep  the  peace,  T  say. 

Sal  Stand  by,  or  I  shall  gall  you,  Faulconbridge. 

Bast.  Thou  wert  better  gall  the  devil,  Salisbury: 
If  thou  but  irovvti  on  me,  or  stir  thy  foot, 
Or  teach  thy  hasty  spleen  to  do  me  shame. 


I'll  strike  thee  dead.    Put  up  thy  sword  betime ; 

Or  1  11  *o  maul  you  and  your  toasting-iron, 
Tiiat  you  shall  tiiink  the  devil  is  come  Irom  hell. 

Big.  What  wilt  thou  do,  renowned  Faulcoiibridg 
Second  a  villain,  and  a  murderer  ? 

Hub.  Lord  Bigot,  1  am  none. 

Big.  Who  kill'd  this  prince  T 

Hub.  'Tis  not  an  hour  since  1  lelt  him  well ; 
I  honour'd  him,  I  lov'd  him;  and  will  weep 
My  date  of  liic  out,  for  his  sweet  life's  loss. 

Sal.  Trust  not  those  cunning  waters  of  his  eyes. 
For  villainy  is  not  without  such  rheum ; 
And  he,  long  traded  in  it,  makes  it  seem 
Like  rivers  of  remorse  and  innocenev. 
Away,  with  me,  all  you  whose  souls  abhor 
'i'he  uncleanly  savours  of  a  slaughter-house  ; 
F^'or  I  am  stifled  with  this  smell  of  sin. 

Big.  Away,  toward  Bury,  to  the  Dauphin  there! 

Pern.  There,  tell  the  king,  he  may  inquire  us  out 
[Exeunt  Lords. 

Bast.  Here's  a  good  world ! — Knew  you  of  this 
fair  work  ? 
Beyond  the  infinite  and  boundless  reach 
Of  mercy,  if  thou  didst  this  deed  of  dealh, 
Art  thou  danui'd,  Hubert. 

Hub.  Do  but  hear  me,  sir. 

Bast.  Ha  !  I'll  tell  thee  what ; 
Thou  art  damn'd  as  black — nay, nothing  is  so  black; 
Thou  art  more  deep  danm'd  than  prince  Lucifer: 
Thei  e  is  tot  yet  so  ugly  a  fiend  of  hell 
As  thou  shalt  be,  if  thou  didst  kUl  this  child. 

Hub.  Upon  my  soul,  

Bast.  If  thou  didst  but  consent 

To  this  most  cruel  act,  do  but  despair, 
And,  if  thou  want'st  a  cord,  the  snuallest  thread 
That  ever  spider  twisted  from  her  womb. 
Will  serve  to  strangle  thee  ;  a  rush  will  be 
A  beam  to  hang  thee  on ;  or,  vvouldttt  thou  drowl 
Put  but  a  little  water  in  a  spoon,  [thyself. 
And  it  shall  be  as  all  the  ocean. 
Enough  to  stifle  such  a  villain  up. — 
I  do  suspect  thee  very  grievously. 

Hub.  If  I  in  act,  consent,  or  sin  of  thought. 
Be  guilty  of  the  stealing  that  sweet  breath. 
Which  was  embounded  in  this  beauteous  clay. 
Let  hell  want  pains  enough  to  torture  me ! 
I  left  him  well. 

Bast.  Go,  bear  him  in  thine  arms. 

I  am  amaz'd,  niethinks  ;  and  lose  my  way 
Among  the  thorns  and  dangers  of  this  worId.~ 
How  easy  dost  thou  take  all  England  np  I 
From  forth  this  morsel  of  dead  royalty. 
The  life,  the  right,  and  truth  of  all  this  realm 
Is  fled  to  heaven ;  and  England  now  is  left 
To  tug  and  scramble,  and  to  part  by  th'  teeth 
The  unowed  interest  of  proud-swelling  state. 
Now,  for  thf  bare-pick'd  bone  of  majesty, 
Doth  dogged  war  bristle  his  angry  crest. 
And  snarleth  in  the  gentle  eyes  of  peace ; 
Now  powers  from  home,  and  discontents  at  home, 
Meet  in  one  line  ;  and  vast  confusion  waits 
(As  doth  a  raven  on  a  sick-fallen  beast,) 
The  imminent  decay  of  wrested  j)om|). 
Now  hap{)y  he,  whose  cloak  and  cincture  can 
Hold  out  tills  tempest.    Bear  away  that  child. 
And  follow  me  with  speed  ;  I'll  to  the  king: 
A  thousand  businesses  are  brief  in  hand, 
And  heaven  itself  doth  frown  upon  the  land. 

[Exeuift 

ACT  V 

Scene  I.— The  same.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  King  Jokn.  Pandulph  with  the  cvown,  ana 
Attendants. 
K.  John.  Thus  have  I  yielded  up  into  youi  hand 
The  circle  of  my  glory. 

Pand.  Take  again 

{Giving  John  the  crotim.^ 
From  this  my  hand,  as  holding  of  the  pope. 
Your  sovereign  greatness  and  authority. 


29b 


KING 


JOHN. 


Act  Y 


K.  Jo^.  Now  keep  your  holy  word :  go  meet  ihe 

French ; 

A,iid  from  liis  holiness  use  all  your  power 
To  stop  tlieit  marciies,  'fore  we  are  inflam'd. 
Our  discontented  counties  do  revolt; 
Our  people  quarrel  with  obedience  ; 
Swearipg  allegiance,  and  the  love  of  soul. 
To  stranger  Idood,  to  i'oi  eign  royalty. 
This  inundation  of  luistemper'd  humour 
iJests  by  you  only  to  be  qualified, 
'i^heti  pause  not;  for  the  present  time's  so  sick, 
* '^I'hat  present  medicine  n)ust  be  minister'd, 
Or  overthrow  incurable  ensues. 

Panel.  It  was  my  breath  that  blew  this  temj)est 
Upon  your  stubborn  usage  of  the  pope:  [up, 
But,  since  you  are  a  gentle  convertite, 
My  tongue  shall  hush  again  this  storm  of  war, 
And  make  fair  weather  in  your  blustering  land. 
On  this  Ascension-day,  remember  well. 
Upon  your  oath  of  service  to  the  pope, 
Go  1  to  make  the  French  lay  down  their  arms. 

[Exit. 

K.  John.  Is  this  Ascension-day  ?  Did  not  the  pro- 
Say,  that,  before  Ascension-day  at  noon,  [phet 
My  crown  I  should  give  off  ?    Even  so  I  have  : 
I  did  suppose,  it  should  be  on  constraint; 
But.  heaven  be  thank'd,  it  is  but  voluntary. 

Enter  the  Bastard. 

Bast.  All  Kent  hath  yielded;  nothing  there  holds 
But  Dover  castle:  London  hath  receiv'd,  [out. 
Like  a  kind  host,  the  Dauphin  and  his  powers  : 
Y  our  nobles  will  not  hear  you,  but  are  gone 
To  ofier  service  to  your  enemy : 
And  wild  amnzernent  hurries  up  and  down 
The  little  number  of  your  doubtful  friends. 

K.  John.  Would  not  my  lords  return  to  me  again, 

fter  they  heard  young  Arthur  was  alive  ? 

Bast.  They  found  iiim  dead,  and  cast  into  the 
A  n  empty  casket,  where  the  jewel  of  life  [streets  ; 
By  some  danm'd  hand  was  robb'd  and  ta'eo  away. 

K.  John.  That  villain  Hubert  told  me,  he  did  live. 

Bast.  So,  on  nry  soul,  he  did,  for  aught  he  knew, 
But  wheretbre  do  you  droop?  why  look  you  sad  ? 
Be  great  in  act,  as  you  have  been  in  thought: 
Let  not  the  world  see  fear,  and  sad  distrust. 
Govern  the  m  otion  of  a  kingly  eye  : 
Be  stirring  as  (he  time  ;  be  tire  with  fire ; 
Threaten  tlie  threat'ner,  and  outface  the  brow 
Oi  bragging  horror:  so  shall  inferior  eyes. 
That  borrow  their  behaviours  from  the  great. 
Grow  great  by  your  example,  and  put  on 
The  dauntless  spirit  of  resolution. 
Away;  and  glister  like  the  god  of  war, 
VVlien  he  intendeth  to'become  the  field  : 
Show  boldness,  and  aspiring  confidence. 
What,  shall  they  seek  the  lion  in  his  den, 
And  fright  him  there  ?  and  make  him  tremble  there  ? 
0,  let  it  not  be  said  ! — Forage,  and  run 
To  Hieet  displeasure  further  from  the  doors: 
And  grapple  with  him,  ere  he  comes  so  nign. 

K.  John.  The  legate  of  the  pope  hath  been  with  me. 
And  [  have  made  a  happy  peace  with  him; 
And  he  hath  promis'd  to  dismiss  the  powers, 
Led  by  the  Dauphin. 

Bast.  O  inglorious  league .' 

Shall  we,  upon  the  footing  of  our  land, 
Send  fiir-play  orders,  and  make  compromise. 
Insinuation,  parley,  and  base  truce. 
To  arms  invasive?  shall  a  beardless  boy, 
A  cocker'd  silken  wanton,  brave  our  fields, 
And  fesh  his  spirit  in  a  warlike  soil, 
JNlockbg  the  air  with  colours  idly  spread. 
And  find  no  check?    Let  us,  my  liege,  to  arms: 
Perchance,  the  cardinal  cannot  make  your  peace  ; 
Or  if  he  do,  let  it  at  least  be  said. 
They  saw  we  had  a  pnqjose  of  defence.  [time. 
h.Jo'm.  Have  thou  the  ordering  of  this  present 
Bast.  Away  then,  with  good  courage;  yet,  I 
know. 


Our  party  may  well  meet  a  prouder  foe  [Exeunt 

Scene  II. — A  Plain  near  St.  Edmund' s-Bury. 
Enter  in  arms,  Lewis,  Salisbury,  Melun,  Pem 
BROKE,  Bigot,  and  Soldiers. 

Letv.  My  lord  Melun,  let  this  be  copied  out, 
And  keep  it  safe  for  our  rememurance  : 
Return  the  precedent  to  these  'ords  again: 
That,  having  our  fair  order  wriiien  down, 
Both  they,  and  we,  perusing  o'er  these  notes. 
May  know  wherefore  we  look  the  sacrament, 
And  keep  our  faiths  firm  and  inviolable. 

Sal.  Upon  our  sides  it  never  shall  be  broken. 
And,  noble  Dauphin,  albeit  we  swear 
A  voluntary  zeal,  and  unurg'd  faith. 
To  your  proceedings  ;  yet,  believe  me,  prince, 
I  am  not  glad,  that  such  a  sore  of  time 
Should  seek  a  plaster  by  contemn'd  revolt. 
And  heal  the  inv  eterate  canker  of  one  wound. 
By  making  many:  O,  it  grieves  my  soul, 
That  I  must  draw  this  metal  from  my  side 
To  be  a  widow-maker:  O,  and  there, 
Where  honourable  rescue,  and  defence. 
Cries  out  upon  the  name  of  Salisbury  : 
But  such  is  the  infection  of  the  time. 
That,  for  the  health  and  physic  of  our  right. 
We  cannot  deal  but  with  the  very  hand 
Of  stern  injustice  and  confused  wrong. — 
And  is't  not  pity,  O  my  grieved  friends  ! 
That  we,  the  sons  and  children  of  this  isle 
Were  born  to  see  so  sad  an  hour  as  this  ; 
Wherein  we  step  after  a  stranger  march 
Upon  her  gentle  bosom,  and  fill  up 
Her  enemies'  ranks,  (I  must  withdraw  and  weep 
Upon  the  spot  of  this  enforced  cause,) 
To  grace  the  gentry  of  a  land  remote, 
And  follow  unacquainted  colou.'-s  here? 
What,  here  ? — O  nation,  that  thou  couldst  vemoTBt 
That  Neptune's  arms,  who  clippeth  thee  about, 
Would  bear  thee  from  the  knowledge  of  thyself. 
And  grapple  thee  unto  a  Pagan  shore  ; 
Where  these  two  Christian  armies  might  combiae 
The  blood  of  malice  in  a  vein  of  league. 
And  not  to  spend  it  so  unneighbourly  ! 

Lew.  A  noble  temper  dost  thou  show  in  this; 
And  great  aftections,  wrestling  in  thy  bosom. 
Do  make  an  earthquake  of  nobility. 
O,  M'hat  a  noble  combat  hast  thou  fought. 
Between  compulsion  and  a  brave  respect ' 
Let  me  wipe  oti' this  honourable  dew. 
That  silveriy  doth  progress  on  thy  cheeks ; 
My  heart  hath  melted  at  a  lady's  tears. 
Being  an  ordinary  inundation; 
But  this  effusion  of  such  manly  drops, 
This  shower,  blown  up  by  tempest  of  the  soul, 
Startles  mine  eyes,  and  makes  me  more  a^naa't^ 
Than  had  1  seen  the  vanity  top  of  heaven 
Figur'd  quite  o'er  with  burning  meteors. 
Lift  up  ttiy  brow,  renowned  Salisbury, 
And  with  a  great  heart  heave  away  this  storm; 
Commend  these  waters  to  those  baby  eyes. 
That  never  saw  the  giant  world  enrag'd; 
Nor  met  with  fortune  other  than  at  feasts, 
Full  warm  of  blood,  of  mirth,  of  gcssipijjg. 
Come,  come  ;  for  thou  shalt  thrust  thy  hand  aa  deep 
Into  the  purse  of  rich  prosperity. 
As  Lewis  himself : — so,  nobles,  shall  you  all. 
That  knit  your  sinews  to  the  strength  of  mine* 

Enter  Pandulph,  attended. 
And  even  there,  methinks,  an  angel  spake  : 
Look,  where  the  holy  legate  comes  apace. 
To  give  us  warrant  from  the  iiand  of  heaven; 
And  on  our  actions  set  the  name  of  right. 
With  holy  breath. 

Pand.  Hail,  noble  prince  of  FraQC«  I 

The  next  is  this, — king  John  hath  recoacii'd 
Himself  to  Rome;  his  spirit  is  come  in, 
That  so  stood  out  against  the  holy  church. 
The  great  metropolis  and  see  of  Rome  i 


Scene  8.  KING  JOHN. 


Therefore  thy  threat'ning  colours  now  wind  up, 
Atui  taine  the  savage  spirit  of  wild  war; 
7 'iiat,  like  a  (ion  foster  d  up  at  hand, 
ft  may  lie  gently  attiie  foot  of  peace, 
And  be  no  further  liarrrdul  than  in  show. 

Lew..  Your  grace  shall  pardon  me,  1  will  not  back; 
I  a  111  t'jo  highborn  to  be  propertied, 
'J'o  be  a  secondary  at  control, 
Or  (Ireful  serving  man,  and  instrument, 
'J\j  ai/  j  sovereign  state  throiij^hout  the  world, 
'i'odr  breath  tinst  kindled  the  dead  coal  of  wars 
Between  this  chastis'd  kingdom  and  myself, 
kiKi  l)roiight  in  matter,  that  shoidd  feed  ihii  fire  ; 
And  now  'tis  far  too  huge  to  be  blown  out 
Wilii  that  same  weak  wind,  which  enkindled  it. 
Yon  bui^'Jit  me  how  to  know  the  face  of  right, 
Acqiiaiii:ed  me  with  interest  to  this  land. 
Yea,  thrust  this  enterprise  into  my  heart; 
And  come  yon  now  to  tell  me,  John  hath  made 
His  peace  with  Rome  ?  What  is  that  peace  to  me  ? 
1,  by  the  honour  of  my  marriage-bed, 
Afler  young  Arthur,  claim  this  land  for  mine  ; 
And,  now  it  is  half-conquer'd,  must  I  back, 
Because  that  John  hath  made  his  peace  with  Rome? 
Am  I  Rome's  slave  V  What  penny  hath  Rome  borne. 
What  men  provided,  what  munition  sent. 
To  underprop  this  action?  is't  not  J, 
That  undergo  this  charge  ?  who  else  but  I, 
And  such  as  to  my  claim  are  liable. 
Sweat  in  this  business,  and  maintain  this  war  ? 
Have  1  not  heard  these  islanders  shout  out, 
Vive  le  Roy  !  as  I  have  bank'd  their  towns  ? 
Have  I  not  here  the  best  cards  for  the  game. 
To  win  this  easy  match,  play'd  for  a  crown? 
And  shall  I  now  give  o'er  the  yielded  set? 
No,  on  viiy  soul,  it  never  shall  be  said. 

Pand.  You  look  but  on  the  outside  of  this  work. 

Lew.  Outside  or  inside,  I  will  not  return. 
Till  my  attempt  so  much  be  glorified 
As  to  my  ample  hope  was  promised, 
Before  I  drew  this  gallant  head  of  war. 
And  cuU'd  these  fiery  spirits  from  the  world. 
To  outlook  couquest,  and  to  win  renown 
Even  in  the  jaws  of  danger  and  of  death. — 

{Trumpet  sounds.) 
What  lusty  trumpet  thus  doth  summon  us  ? 

Enter  Bastard,  attended. 

Bast.  According  to  the  fair  play  of  the  world. 
Let  me  have  audience  ;  I  am  sent  to  speak : — 
My  holy  lord  of  Milan,  from  the  king' 
1  tfome,  to  learn  how  you  have  dealt  for  him  ; 
And,  as  you  answer,  I  do  know  the  scope 
And  warrant  limited  unto  my  tongue. 

Pan.  The  Dauphin  is  too  wilful-opposite. 
And  will  not  temporize  with  my  entreaties  ; 
He  flatly  says,  he'll  not  lay  down  his  arms. 

Bast  By  all  the  blood,  that  ever  fury  breath'd, 
The  youth  says  well : — ^Now  hear  our  English  king; 
For  thus  his  royalty  doth  speak  in  me. 
He  is  prepar'd  ;  and  reason  too,  he  should : 
This  apish  and  unmannerly  approach. 
This  harness'd  masque,  and  unadvised  revel. 
This  unhair'd  sauciness,  and  boyish  troops, 
1  he  king  doth  smile  at ;  and  is  well  prepar'd 
To  whip  this  dwarfish  war,  these  pigmy  arms. 
From  out  the  circle  of  his  tfrritories. 
That  hand,  which  had  the  strength,  even  at  your  door. 
To  cudgel  you,  and  make  you  take  the  hatch; 
To  dive  like  buckets,  in  concealed  wells; 
To  crouch  in  litter  of  your  stable  planks: 
To  lie,  like  pawns,  lock'd  up  in  chests  and  trunks  ; 
To  hufT  with  swine  ;  to  seek  sweet  safety  out 
In  vaults  and  prisons  j  and  to  thrill,  and  shake. 
Even  at  the  crying  ol  your  nation's  crow, 
Tliinking  his  voice  an  armed  Englishman  ; — 
Shall  that  victorious  hand  be  feebled  here, 
That  iu  your  chambers  gave  you  chastisement? 
No:  Know, the  gallant  monarch  is  in  arms; 
Aud  Uie  an  eagle  o'er  his  airy  towers. 


To  souse  annoyance  ,  that  comes  near  his  nesi— 

And  you  degeiieratt,  you  ingrale  reAolts, 

You  bloody  Neroes,  rippin.a:  up  the  womb 

Of  your  dear  mother  England,  blush  fcr  sham®; 

For  your  own  ladies,  and  pale-visag'''  maids. 

Like  Amazons,  come  tripping  after  drums  ; 

Their  thimbles  into  armed  gauntlets  change. 

Their  neelds  to  lances,  and  their  gentle  hearts 

To  fierce  and  bloody  inclination.  [peace, 

heiv.  There  end  thy  brave,  and  turn  thy  face  ia 
W^e  grant,  thou  canst  outscold  us :  fare  thee  well 
We  hold  our  time  too  precious  to  be  spent 
With  such  abrabbler. 

Pand.  Give  me  leave  to  speak,. 

Bast.  No,  I  will  speak. 

Lew.  We  will  attend  to  neither:-— 

Strike  up  the  drums ;  and  let  the  tougue  of  war 
Plead  for  our  interest,  and  our  being  here.  [onfc; 

Bast.  Indeed,  your  drums,  being  beaten,  will  CTj 
And  so  shall  you,  being  beaten  :  Do  but  start 
And  echo  with  the  clamour  of  thy  drum. 
And  even  at  hand  a  drum  is  ready  brac'd. 
That  shall  reverberate  all  as  loud  as  thine  ; 
Sound  but  another,  and  another  shall. 
As  loud  as  thine,  rattle  the  welkin's  ear, 
And  mock  the  deep-mouth'd  thunder  :  for  at  hand 
(Not  trusting  to  tliis  halting  legate  here, 
Whom  he  hath  us'd  rather  for  sport  than  need,) 
Ls  warlike  John  ;  and  in  his  forehead  sits 
A  bare-ribb'd  death,  whose  office  is  this  day 
To  feast  upon  whole  thousands  of  the  French. 

Leiv.  Strike  upon  our  drums,  to  find  this  danger 
out. 

Bast.  And  thou  shalt  find  it.  Dauphin,  do  not 
doubt.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  m.—The  same.    A  Field  of  Battle. 

Alarums.  Enter  King  John  and  Hueert.j 
K.  John.  How  goes  the  day  with  us  ?  O,  tell  mej 
Hubert. 

Huh.  Badly,  I  fear:  How  fares  your  majesty? 
K.  John.  This  fever,  that  hath  troubled  me  so 
Lies  heavy  on  me  ;  O,  my  heart  is  sick  I  [long. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord,  your  valiant  kinsman,  Faulcoiv- 
Desires  your  majesty  to  leave  the  field  ;  [bridge. 
And  send  him  word  by  me,  which  way  you  go. 

K.  John.  Tell   him,  toward  Swinstead,  to  iha 
abbey  there. 

Mess.  Be  of  good  comfort;  for  the  great  supply. 
That  was  expected  by  the  Dauphin  here. 
Are  wreck'd  three  nights  ago  on  Goodwin's  sands. 
This  news  was  brought  to  Richard  but  even  now: 
The  French  fight  coldly,  and  retire  themselves. 

K.  John.  Ah  me  !  this  tyrant  fever  burns  ine  np^ 

And  will  not  let  me  welcome  this  good  news.  

Set  on  toward  Swinstead  :  to  my  litter  straight ; 
Weakness  possesseth  me,  and  I  am  faint.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — The  same.  Another  part  of  the  same. 
Enter  Salisbury.  Pembroke,  Bigot,  and  others. 

Sal.  I  did  not  think  the  king  so  stor  d  with  friends. 

Pem.  Up  once  again;  put  spirit  in  the  French; 
If  they  miscarry,  we  raiscarr5r  too. 

Sal.  That  misbegotten  devil,  Faulconbridge, 
In  spite  of  spite,  alone  upholds  the  day. 

Pem.  Thev  say,  king  John,  sore  sick,  hath  left 
the  field. 

Enter  Melun  wounded,  and  led  hy  Soldiers, 
Mel.  Lead  me  to  the  revolts  of  England  herCc 
Sal.  When  we  were  happy,  we  had  other  name*, 
Pem.  It  is  the  count  Melun. 
Sal.  Wounded  to  death. 

Mel.  Fly,  noble  English,  you  are  bought  and  sold" 

Unthread  the  rude  eye  of  rebellion, 

And  welcome  home  again  discarded  faith. 

Seek  out  king  John,  aud  fall  before  his  feet; 

For,  if  the  French  be  lords  of  this  loud  day. 


soo 


KING 


JOHN. 


Act  V 


He  means  to  recompense  the  pains  you  take, 
By  ciittin?;  off  your  heads  :  Thus  hath  he  sworn, 
And  I  with  him,  and  many  more  with  me. 
Upon  the  altar  at  Saint  Edmund's-iJury  ; 
Bven  on  that  altar,  where  we  swore  to  you 
Dear  amity  and  everlasting  love. 

Sal  May  this  be  possible  ?  may  this  be  true  ? 

MeL  Have  I  not  hideous  death  within  my  view, 

^  aining  but  a  quantity  of  life  : 
Which  bleeds  away,  even  as  a  form  of  wax 
Resolveth  from  his  figure  'gainst  the  fire  ? 
^y^hat  in  the  world  should  make  me  now  deceive, 
Since  I  must  lose  the  use  of  all  deceit''' 
Why  should  I  tlien  be  false  ;  since  it  is  true, 
That  I  must  die  ht-re,  and  live  hence  by  truth? 
I  say  again,  if  Lewis  do  win  the  day, 
He  is  forsworn,  if  e'er  those  eyes  of  yours 
Oehold  another  day  break  in  the  east : 
But  even  this    night, — whose    black  contagious 
breath 

Already  smokes  about  the  burning  crest 
Of  the  old,  feeble,  and  day-wearied  sun, — 
Even  this  ill  night,  your  breathing  shall  expire  ; 
Paying  the  fine  of  rated  treachery, 
Even  with  a  treacherous  fine  of  all  your  lives. 
If  Lewis  by  your  assistance  win  the  day. 
Commend  me  to  one  Hubert,  with  your  king; 
The  love  of  him, — and  this  respect  besides. 
For  that  my  grandsire  was  an  Englishman, — 
Awakes  my  conscience  to  confess  all  this. 
In  lieu  whereof,  I  pray  you,  bear  me  hence 
From  forth  the  noise  and  rumour  of  the  field  : 
Wiiere  I  mny  think  the  remnant  of  my  thoughts 
In  peace,  and  part  this  body  and  my  soul 
With  contemplation  and  devout  desires. 

Sal.  We  do  believe  thee, — And  beshrew  my  soul 
But  1  do  love  the  favour  and  the  form 
Of  this  most  fair  occasion,  by  the  which 
We  will  untread  the  steps  of  damned  flight ; 
And,  tike  a  bated  and  retired  flood. 
Leaving  our  rankness  and  irregidar  course. 
Stoop  l(»w  within  those  bounds  we  have  o'erlook'd. 
And  calmly  run  on  in  obedience, 

Even  f:o  our  ocean,  to  our  great  king  John.  

My  arm  shall  give  thee  help  to  bear  thee  hence  ; 
For  I  flo  see  the  cruel  pangs  of  death 
Right  in  thine  eye. — Away,  my  friends  !  New  flight; 
And  happy  newness,  that  intends  old  right. 

I  Exeunt,  leading  off  Melun. 

Scene  V,—The  same.    The  French  Camp. 

Enter  Lewis  and  his  Train. 

Lew.  The  sun  of  heaven,  methought,  was  loath 
to  set ; 

But  slay'd,  and  made  the  western  welkin  blush. 
When  the  English  measurd  backward  their  own 
In  iaint  retire:  O,  bravely  came  we  oft',  [ground. 
When  with  a  volley  of  our  needless  shot, 
After  such  bloody  toil,  we  bid  good  night; 
And  wound  our  tatter'd  colours  clearly  up. 
Last  in  the  field,  and  almost  lords  of  it; 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  Where  is  my  prince,  the  Dauphin  ? 
hew.    ^  Here  :~ What  news  ? 

Mess    The  count  Melun  is  slain  ;  the  English 
lords, 

By  his  persuasion,  are  again  fall'n  off; 

And  your  supply,  which  you  have  wish'd  so  long. 

Are  cast  avviy,  and  sunk,  on  Goodwin  sands. 

hew.  Ah,  fold  shrewd  news  I — Beshrew  thy  very 
I  did  not  thivik  to  be  so  sad  to-night,  [heart! 
As  this  hath  mads  me. — Who  was  lie,  that  said. 
King  John  dii  fly,  an  h  ur  or  two  befoie 
The  stumbling  night  did  part  our  weary  powers  ? 

Mess.  Whoever  spoke  it,  it  is  true,  my  lord. 

hew.  Well;  keep  good  quarter,  and  good  care 
Tlie  day  shall  not  be  up  so  soon  as  1.  [to-night; 
lb  try  the  f  lir  adventure  of  to-morrow.  \Exeimt. 


Scene  Yl.—  Aji  open  Place  in  the  neighbourhood 

of  Swinstead' Abbey. 

Enter  the  Bastard  and  Hubert,  meeting. 
Hub.  Who's  there  ?  speak,  ho !  speak  quickly 

or  1  shoot. 
Bast.  A  friend  :— What  art  thou  ? 
Hub.         ^  Of  the  part  of  England. 

Bast.  Whither  dost  thou  go  ?  [mand 
Hub.  What's  that  to  thee  ?    Why  may  I  not  d& 
Of  thine  affairs,  as  well  as  thou  of  mine  ? 
Bast.  Hubert,  I  think. 

H?ib.  Thou  hast  a  perfect  thought; 

I  will,  upon  all  hazards,  well  believe 
Thou  art  my  friend,  that  know'st  my  tongue  so  well: 
Who  art  thou  ? 

Bast.  Who  thou  wilt :  an'     thon  please. 

Thou  niay'st  befriend  me  so  much,  as:  to  think, 
I  come  one  way  of  the  Plantagenets.  [night. 

Hub.  Unkind  remembrance!  thou,  and  eyeless 
Have  done  me  shame  : — Brave  soldier,  pardon  me, 
That  any  accent,  breaking  from  thy  tongue. 
Should  'scape  the  true  acquaintance  of  mine  ear. 

Bast.  Come,  come  ;  sans  compliment,  what  news 
abroad  ?  [night. 

Hub.  Why,  here  walk  I,  in  the  black  brow  of 
To  find  you  out. 

Bast.  Brief,  then  ;  and  what's  the  news  ? 

Hub.  O,  my  sweet  sir,  news  fitting  to  the  night. 
Black,  fearful,  comfortless,  and  horrible. 

Bast.  Show  me  the  very  wound  of  this  ill  news; 
I  am  no  woman,  I'll  not  swoon  at  it. 

Hub.  The  king,  I  fear,  is  poison'd  by  a  monk  : 
I  left  him  almost  speechless,  and  broke  out 
To  acquaint  you  with  this  evil ;  that  you  might 
The  better  arm  you  to  the  sudden  time, 
Than  if  you  had  at  leisure  known  of  this. 

Bast.  How  did  he  take  it  ?  who  did  taste  to  him  ? 

Hub.  A  monk,  I  tell  you;  a  resolved  villain. 
Whose  bowels  suddenly  burst  out :  the  king 
Yet  speaks,  and,  peradventure,  may  recover. 

Bast.  Who  didst  thou  leave  to  tend  his  majesty  ? 

Hub.  Why,  know  you  not?  the  lords  are  all 
come  back, 
And  brought  prince  Henry  in  their  company ; 
At  whose  request  the  king  hath  pardon'd  thera. 
And  they  are  all  about  his  majesty. 

Bast.  Withhold  thine  indignation,  mighty  heaven. 
And  tempt  us  not  to  bear  above  our  power !— — 
I'll  tell  thee,  Hubert,  half  my  power  this  night. 
Passing  these  flats,  are  taken  by  the  tide. 
These  Lincoln  washes  have  devoured  them ; 
Myself,  well-mounted,  hardly  have  escap'd. 
Away,  before  I  conduct  me  to  the  king ; 
I  doubt  he  will  be  dead,  or  ere  I  come.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VII. — The  Orchard  of  Swinstead  Abbey. 

Enter  Prince  Henry,  Salisbury,  and  Bigot. 

P.  Hen.  It  is  too  late  ;  the  life  of  all  his  blood 
Is  touch'd  corruptibly:  and  his  pure  brain 
(Which  some  suppose  the  soul's  frail  dwelling 
house,) 

Doth,  by  the  idle  comments  that  it  makes, 
Foretell  the  ending  of  ir«rtality. 

Enter  Pembroke. 

Pern.  His  highness  yet  doth  speak ;  and  hokis 
That,  being  brought  into  the  open  air,  [belief 
It  would  allay  the  burning  quality 
Of  that  fell  poison  which  assaileth  him.       [here. — 

P.  Hen.  Let  him  be  brought  into  the  orchard 
Doth  he  still  rage  ?  [Exit  Bigot. 

Pern.  He  is  more  patient 

Than  when  you  left  him ;  even  now  he  sung. 

P.  Hen.  O  vanity  of  sickness  !  fierce  extreme* 
In  their  continuance,  will  not  feel  themselves. 
Death,  having  preyVl  upon  the  outward  parts. 
Leaves  theiu  insensible  ;  and  his  sie^e  is  now 
Against  the  mind,  the  which  he  pricks  and  wounds 
VVith  many  legions  of  strange  fantasies  ; 


Scene  7 


KING 


JOHN. 


801 


Winch,  in  their  tbrofli  and  press  to  that  last  hold, 
Con!ouLid   thernselvea.    Tis  strange,   that  death 

should  sing-  - 
I  run  <he  cygnet  to  th-s  pale  faint  swan, 
W'lio  chants  a  doleful  hymn  to  his  own  death; 
And,  from  the  organ-pipe  of  i'railty,  sings 
His  soul  and  body  to  their  lasting  rest. 

b'al.  Ue  of  good  comfort,  prince:  for  you  are  born 
I'o  set  a  l"orii\  npon  that  indigest. 
Which  he  hath  left  so  shapeless  and  so  rude. 

Re  enter  Bigot  and  Attendants,  who  bring  in 
King  John  in  a  chair. 

K.  John.  Ay,  marry,  now  niy  soul  hath  elbow- 
l(.  would  not  oMt  at  windows,  nor  at  doors,    [room  ; 
'I'liere  is  so  hot  a  summer  in  my  bosom. 
That  all  my  bowels  crumble  up  to  dust: 
I  am  a  scribbled  form,  drawn  with  a  pen 
Upon  a  parchment;  and  against  this  fire 
Do  1  shrink  up. 

P.  Hen.       How  fares  your  majesty?  foflT: 

K.  John.  Poison'd, —  ill  fare; — dead,  forsook,  cast 
A  nd  none  ol'  you  will  bid  the  winter  come. 
To  thrust  hi^  icy  fingers  in  my  maw; 
Nor  let  my  kingdom's  rivers  take  their  course 
Through  my  burn'd  bosom ;  nor  entreat  the  north 
To  make  his  bleak  winds  kiss  my  parched  lips, 
A  nd  comfort  me  with  cold  : — I  do  not  ask  yon  much, 
f  beg  cold  comfort;  and  you  are  so  strait. 
And  so  ingrateful,  you  deny  me  that. 

P.  Hen.  O,  that  there  were  some  virtue  in  my 
That  might  relieve  you  !  [tears, 

K.  John.  The  salt  in  them  is  hot. — 

IVithin  me  is  a  hell :  and  there  the  poison 
Is,  as  a  fiend,  confin'd  to  tyrannize 
On  unreprievable  condemned  blood. 

Enter  ihe  Bastard. 

Bast.  O,  I  am  scalded  with  my  violent  motion. 
And  spleen  of  speed  to  see  your  majesty.        [eye  : 

K.  John.  O  cousin,  thou  art  come  to  set  mine 
The  tackle  of  my  heart  is  crack'd  and  burn'd  ; 
And  all  the  shrouds  wherewith  my  life  should  sail, 
Are  turned  to  one  thread,  one  little  hair: 
My  heart  hath  one  poor  string  to  stay  it  by, 
Which  holds  but  till  thy  news  be  uttered; 
And  then  all  this  thou  see'st,  is  but  a  clod, 
Aod  module  of  confounded  royalty. 

Bast.  The  Dauphin  is  preparing  hitherward ; 
Where,  heaven  he  knows,  how  we  shall  answer  him: 
For,  in  a  night,  the  best  part  of  my  power, 
As  I  upon  advantage  did  remove, 
W ere  in  the  washes,  all  unwarily, 
Deyoured  by  the  unexpected  flood.  {The  King  dies.) 

Hal  You  breathe  these  dead  news  in  as  dead  an 
ear 


My  liege  !  my  lord  ! — Ea  bow  a  king  — now  tlin«, 

P.  Hen.  Even  so  must  I  run  on,  and  even  so  atop. 
What  surety  of  tlie  world,  wlat  hope,  what  stay. 
When  this  was  now  a  king,  and  now  is  clay ! 

Bast.  Art  thou  gone  so  ?  I  do  but  stay  behind. 
To  do  the  office  for  thee  of  revenge ; 
And  then  my  soul  shall  wait  on  thee  to  heaven. 

As  it  on  earth  hath  been  thy  servant  still.  

Now,  now,   yon   stars,  that  move  in  your  right 
spheres,  [faiths: 
Where  be  your  powers?  Show  now  your  mendea 
And  instantly  return  with  me  again. 
To  push  destruction,  and  perpetual  shame, 
Out  of  the  weak  door  of  our  fainting  land 
Straight  let  us  seek,  or  straight  we  shall  be  sought; 
The  Dauphin  rages  at  our  very  heels. 

Sai.  It  seems,  you  know  not  then  so  much  as  we: 
The  cardinal  Pandulph  is  within  at  rest, 
Who  half  an  hour  since  came  from  the  Dauphin; 
And  brings  from  him  such  oflfers  of  our  peace 
As  we  with  honour  and  respect  may  take. 
With  purpose  presently  to  leave  this  war. 

Bast.  He  will  the  rather  do  it,  when  he  sees 
Ourselves  well  sinewed  to  our  defence. 

Sal  Nay,  it  is  in  a  manner  done  already; 
For  many  carriages  he  hath  despatch'd 
To  the  sea  side,  and  put  his  cause  and  quarrel 
To  tlie  disposing  of  the  cardinal: 
With  whom  yourself,  myself,  and  other  lords. 
If  you  think  meet,  this  af  ternoon  will  post 
To  consummate  this  business  happily. 

Bast.  Let  it  be  so : — And  you,  my  noble  prince^ 
With  other  princes  that  may  best  be  spar'd, 
Shall  wait  upon  your  father's  funeral. 

P.  Hen.  At  Worcester  nmst  his  btidy  be interr'd ? 
For  so  he  will'd  it. 

Bast.  Thither  shall  it  then. 

And  happily  may  your  sweet  self  pul  on 
The  lineal  state  and  glory  of  the  land  I 
To  whom,  with  all  submission,  on  my  knee, 
]  do  bequeath  my  faithful  services 
And  true  subjection  everlastingly. 

Sal.  And  the  like  tender  of  our  love  we  make. 
To  rest  without  a  spot  for  evermore.  [thanks, 

P.  Hen.  I  have  a  kind  soul,  that  would  give  yoa 
And  knows  not  how  to  do  it,  but  with  tears. 

Bast.  O,  let  us  pay  the  time  but  needful  woe. 
Since  it  hath  been  beforehand  with  our  griefs. — 
Tiiis  Enghind  never  did,  (nor  never  shall,) 
Jjie  at  the  proud  foot  of  a  conqueror, 
But  when  it  (irst  did  help  to  wound  itself. 
Now  tliese  her  princes  are  come  home  again, 
Come  the  three  corners  ol'the  world  in  arras,  [r«e. 
And  we  sliall  shock  then» :  Nought  shall  make  ua 
if  England  to  itself  do  rest  but  true.  ^Exeunt, 


KING  RICHARD  11. 


This  play  Is  one  of  those  which  Shakspeare  has  apparently  revised;  but  as  success  in  works  of  inVetition  is  not 
«4W*F'''  Iif"P*""tionate  to  labour,  it  is  not  finished  at  last  with  the  happy  force  of  some  other  of  his  tragedies,  not 
-ail  itn  said  much  to  affect  the  passions,  or  enlarge  the  understanding.  Johnson^ 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED 


KING  RICHARD  THE  SECOND. 

EDMUND  OF  hM^GhEY ,  Ditke  of  York,)  Uncles  tothe 
iOii]^  OF  GAU'NT,  Di^ke  of  Lauraster,     (  Ki,ig. 
HliNllY,  s/(rMame</  BOLINGBROKE,  Duke  of  Hereford, 

So/i  to  Jo//N      Gaunt;  ofterionrds  King  Henry  IV. 
DXjKE  of  AUMERLli,  Son  to  the  Duke  of  York. 
MOVVHRAY,  Diine  uf  Norfolk. 
DUKE  OF  SURFEY. 
EAKL  OF  SALISBURY. 
EARL  BEUKELETY. 
BUSHY,  / 

BAGOT,   >   Creatures  to  King  Richard. 
GREEN,  S 

CARL    F  NORTHUMBERLAND. 
HENRY  PEilCY,  his  Son. 


LORD  ROSS. 

LO.  D  W(LLOUGHBY. 

LORD  FITZWATEK. 

BISHOP  OF  CARLISLE. 

ABBOT  OF  WESTMINSTER. 

Lord  Marshal;  and  another  Lord, 

SIR  PIERCE  OF  EXTON. 

SIR  STEPHEN  SCROOP. 

Captain  uf  a  Band  of  Welshmen* 

QUEEN  to  Kino  Richard. 

DUCHESS  OF  GLOSTER. 

DUCHESS  OF  YORK. 

J.ady  attending  on  the  Queen. 

Lords,  Heralds,  Officers,   Soldiers,   two  GardeKers 
Keeper,  Messenger,  Groom,  and  other  Attendants. 


Scene, — Dispersedly  in  England  and  Wales. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  King  Richard,  attended ;  John  of  Gaunt, 
and  other  Nobles  with  him. 
K.  B.i  ^,h.  Old   John  of  Gaiint,  time  honour'd 
Lancaster, 

Hast  thon,  according  to  thy  oath  and  band. 
Brought  hither  Henry  Hereford  thy  bold  son; 
Here  to  niaice  good  the  boisterous  late  appeal. 
Which  tiien  our  leisure  would  not  let  us  hear. 
Against  tlie  duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  Mowbray? 
Uamii.  I  have,  niy  liege. 

K.  Rich.  Tell  ine  moreover,  hast  thou  sounded 
[f  he  ap|jea!  the  duke  on  ancient  malice  ;  [him. 
Or  WO!  thily,  as  a  good  subject  should. 
On  some  known  ground  of  treachery  in  him  ? 

Gaunt.  As  near  as  I  could  sift  him  on  that  argu- 
Oii  some  apparent  danger  seen  in  him,        [ment, — 
i.Airn'd  at  your  highness,  no  inveterate  malice. 

K.  Rich.  Then  call  them  to  our  presence  ;  face 
to  face, 

kndi  frowning  brow  to  brow,  ourselves  will  hear 
The  accuser,  and  the  accused,  freely  speak: — 

[Exeunt  some  Attendants. 
High-sfomach'd  are  they  both,  and  full  of  ire, 
fn  rage  deaf  as  the  sea,  hasty  as  fire. 

Re-enter  Attendants,  with  Bolinobroke  and 
Norfolk. 

Boliriff.  Many  years  of  happy  days  befal 
My  gracious  sovereign,  my  niost  loving  liege! 

N)r.  Eacli  day  stiil  better  otht-r's  happiness; 
Until  (lie  heavens,  envying  eaith's  good  hap, 
Add  an  immortal  title  to  your  crown! 

K.  Rich.  VVe  thank  you  both  ;  yet  one  but  flatters 
As  well  appeareth  by  the  cause  you  come  ;  [us. 
Namely,  to  appeal  each  other  of  high  treason. — 
Cousin  o'l  Hereford,  what  dost  thou  object 
Ag^iHist  (he  diike  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  Mowbray  ? 

Holing.  First,  (heaven  be  the  record  to  my 
In  the  devotion  of  a  subject's  love,  [speech  !) 

Tendi^ritig  the  precious  safety  of  my  prince, 
And  free  fi'Om  other  misbego(ten  hate, 
Coiue  I  appellant  to  this  princely  presence. — 
N'.'vv,  Tliomas  ?,l<>whray,  do  I  turn  to  thee, 
Aiid  mark  my  greeting  well;  for  what  I  speak- 
My  hoily  *>hail  make  good  upon  this  eartli. 
Or  ;ny  divine'  soul  answer  it  in  heaven. 
'I'lic,  .1  art  a  traitor,  and  a  miscreant; 
Foe  7<v»d  to  he  so.  and  too  bid  to  live; 
Sin;     ihe  more  fair  and  crystal  is  the  sky, 
The  /jiiier  seem  the  clouds  that  in  it  fly. 


Once  more,  the  more  to  aggravate  the  note. 
With  a  foul  traitor's  name  stulf  I  thy  throat ; 
And  wish,  (so  please  my  sovereign,)  ere  I  move. 
What  my  tongue  speaks,  my  right-drawn  word 
may  prove. 

Nor.  Let  not  my  cold  words  here  accuse  my  zeal : 
'Tis  not  the  trial  of  a  woman's  war. 
The  bitter  clamour  of  two  eager  tongues, 
Can  arbitrate  this  cause  betwixt  ns  twain: 
The  blood  is  hot  that  must  be  cool'd  for  this, 
Yet  can  I  not  of  such  tame  patience  boast. 
As  to  be  hush'd,  and  nought  at  all  to  say: 
First,  the  fair  reverence  of  your  highness  cubs  me 
Fron>  giving  reins  and  spurs  to  my  free  speech 
Which  else  would  post,  until  it  had  retunVd 
These  terms  of  treason  doubled  down  his  throat. 
Settit)g  aside  his  high  blood's  royalty, 
And  let  hun  be  no  kinsman  to  my  liege, 

I  do  del'y  him,  and  I  spit  at  him  ; 

Call  him — a  slanderous  coward,  and  a  villain: 
Which  to  maintain,  I  would  allow  him  odds; 
And  meet  him,  were  I  tied  to  run  a- loot 
Even  to  the  frozen  ridges  of  the  Alps, 
Or  any  other  ground  inhabitable, 
Where  ever  Englishman  dare  set  his  foot. 
Mean  time,  let  this  defend  my  loyalty, — 
By  all  my  hopes,  most  falsely  doth  he  lie. 

Baling.  Pale  trembling  coward,  there  I  throw 
my  gage. 

Disclaiming  here  the  kindred  of  a  king; 
And  lay  aside  my  high  blood's  royalty. 
Which  fear,  not  reverence,  makes  thee  to  except; 
If  guilty  dread  hath  left  thee  so  much  strength. 
As  to  take  up  mine  honour's  pawn,  then  stoop ; 
By  that,  and  all  the  rites  of  knighthood  el.se. 
Will  I  make  good  against  thee,  arm  to  arm, 
What  (  have  spoke,  or  thou  canst  worse  devise. 

AW.  I  take  it  up;  and  by  that  sword  I  swear. 
Which  gently  lay'd  my  knighthood  on  my  shouldefj 
I'll  answer  tliee  in  any  fair  degree, 
Or  chivalrous  design  of  knightly  trial : 
And,  when  I  mount,  alive  may  1  not  light, 

II  I  b>'  traitor,  or  unjustly  fight  i 

/v.  Rich.  What  doth  our  cousin  lay  to  Mowbrcy' 
It  must  t.e  great,  that  can  inherit  us  [charge? 
So  tnncli  as  of  a  thought  of  ill  in  him. 

Buling.  Look,  what  I  speak  my  life  shall  prove 
'  it  true  ;— 

That  Mowbray  hath  receiv'd  eight  thousand  nobles, 
In  name  ol  lendings  for  your  highness  soldiers; 
Tlip  wiiich  i\r  hatii  detain'd  for  lewd  ^mploymeuts, 
Like  a  false  traitor,  and  injurious  villain. 
Besides  I  say,  and  will  in  battle  prove, — 


Scene  2. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


303 


Or  Here,  or  eleewh  sre,  to  the  furthest  verge. 

That  ever  was  survey'd  by  English  eye,— 

That  all  the  treasons,  for  these  eighteen  years 

Com  plotted  and  contrived  in  this  iand. 

Fetch  frotn  false  Mowbray  their  first  head  and  spring. 

Further  I  say,— and  further  will  maintain 

Upon  his  bad  life,  to  make  all  this  good, — 

That  he  did  plot  the  duke  of  Gloster's  death  ; 

Suggest  his  soon-believing  adversaries; 

And,  consequently,  like  a  traitor  coward, 

Sluic'd  out  his  innocent  soul  through  streams  of 

Which  blood,  like  sacrificing  Abel's,  cries,  [blood: 

Even  from  the  tongueless  caverns  of  the  earth, 

To  me  for  justice,  and  rough  chastisement; 

And,  by  the  glorious  worth  of  my  descent. 

This  arm  shall  do  it,  or  this  life  be  spent. 

K.  Rich,  How  high  a  pitch  his  resolution  soars! — 
Thomas  of  Norfolk,  what  say'st  thou  to  this  ? 

Nor.  O,  let  my  sovereign  turn  away  his  face. 
And  hid  his  ears  a  little  while  be  deaf, 
Till  1  have  told  this  slander  of  his  blood. 
How  God,  and  good  men,  hate  so  foul  a  liar,  [ears: 
K.  Rich.  Mowbray,  impartial  are  our  eyes,  and 

Were  he  my  brother,  nay,  my  kingdom's  heir, 
,As  he  is  but  my  father's  brother's  son,) 
Now  by  my  sceptre's  awe  I  make  a  vow. 
Such  neighbour  nearness  to  our  sacred  blood 

Should  nothing  privilege  him,  nor  partialize 

The  unstooping  firmness  of  my  upright  soul. 

He  is  our  subject,  Mowbray,  so  art  thou  ; 

Free  speech,  and  fearless,  I  to  thee  allow. 

Nor.  Then,  Bolingbroke,  as  lovv  as  to  thy  heart. 
Through  the  false  passage  of  thy  throat,  thou  liest . 

Three  parts  of  that  receipt  I  had  for  Calais, 

Disbursed  I  duly  to  his  highness'  soldiers; 

The  other  part  reserv'd  I  by  consent ; 

For  that  my  sovereign  liege  was  in  my  debt. 

Upon  remainder  of  a  dear  account. 

Since  last  I  went  to  France  to  fetch  his  queen  : 

Now  swallow  down  that    lie.  For  Gloster's 

death,  

[  slew  him  not;  but,  to  my  own  disgrace. 

Neglected  my  sworn  duty  in  that  case. — 

For  you,  my  noble  lord  of  Lancaster, 

The  honourable  father  to  my  foe. 

Once  did  1  lay  in  ambush  for  your  life, 

A  trespas^j,  that  doth  vex  my  grieved  soul  : 

But,  ere  I  last  receiv'd  the  sacrament, 

[  did  confess  it ;  and  exactly  begg'd 

Your  grace's  pardon,  and,  I  hope,  I  had  it. 

This  is  my  fault :  As  for  the  rest  appeal'd. 

It  issues  from  the  rancour  of  a  villain, 

A  recreant  and  most  degenerate  traitor: 

Which  in  myself  I  boldly  will  defend; 

And  interchangeably  hurl  down  my  gage 

Upon  this  overweening  traitor's  foot, 

To  prove  myself  a  loyal  gentleman 

Even  in  the  best  blood  chamber  d  in  his  bosom  : 

In  haste  whereof,  most  heartily  I  pray 

Your  highness  to  assign  our  trial  day.  [me  ; 

K.Rich.  Wra-h  kindled  gentlemen,  be  rul'd  by 

Let's  purge  this  c holer  without  letting  blood  : 

This  we  prescribe,  though  no  physician; 

Deep  malice  makes  too  deep  incision  : 

Forget,  forgive  ;  conclude,  and  be  agreed  ; 

Our  doctors  say,  this  is  no  time  to  bleed. — 

Good  uncle,  let  this  end  where  it  begun  ; 

We'll  calm  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  you  your  son. 
Gaunt.  To  be  a  make-peace  shall  become  ray 
age  :— 

Tlirow  down,  my  son,  the  duke  of  Norfolk's  gage. 

K.  Rich.  And,  Norfolk,  throw  down  his. 

Gaunt.  When,  Harry  ?  when? 

Obedience  bids,  I  should  not  bid  again. 

K,  Rich.  Norfolk,  throw  down ;  we  bid  ;  there 
is  no  boot.  [foot ; 

Nor.  Myself  I  throw,  dead  sovereign,  at  thy 
My  life  thou  shalt  command,  but  not  my  shame  : 
Th^  one  ray  duty  owes;  but  my  fair  name, 
(Di^spite     death,  that  lives  upon  my  grave,) 


To  dark  dishonour's  use  thou  shalt  not  hm 
I  am  disgrac'd,  impeacn'd,  and  baffled  heff«; 
Pierc'd  to  the  soul  with  slander's  venom'd 
The  which  no  balm  can  cure,  but  his  heart* 
Which  breath'd  this  poison. 

K.  Rich.  Rage  must  be  withstood; 

Give  me  his  gage  : — Lions  n»ake  leopards  tame. 

Nor.  Yea,  but  not  change  their  spots :  take  ba 
my  shame. 

And  I  resign  my  gage.    My  dear  dear  lord, 
The  purest  treasure  mortal  times  afford. 
Is — spotless  reputation  ;  that  away, 
Men  are  but  gilded  loam,  or  painted  clay 
A  jewel  in  a  ten-times-barr'd-up  chest 
Is — a  bold  spirit  in  a  loyal  breasft. 
Mine  honour  is  my  life  ;  both  grow  in  one  ; 
Take  honour  from  me,  and  niy  life  is  dons  : 
Then,  dear  my  liege,  mine  honour  let  me  try; 
In  that  I  live,  and  for  that  will  I  die. 

K.  Rich.  Cousin,  throw  down  your  gage ;  d« 
you  begin.  [sin ; 

Boling.  O,  God  defend  my  soul  from  such  foul 
Shall  1  seem  crest-fallen  in  my  father's  sight? 
Or  with  pale  beggar-fear  impeach  my  height 
Before  this  out-dar'd  dastard  ?    Ere  my  tongue 
Shall  wound  mine  honour  with  such  feeble  wrong. 
Or  sound  so  base  a  parle,  my  teeth  shall  tear 
'fhe  slavish  niotive  of  recanting  fear ; 
And  spit  it  bleeding  in  his  high  disgrace, 
Where  shame  doth  harbour,  even  in  Mowbray's 
face.  [Exit  Gaim\\ 

K.  Rich.  We  were  not  born  to  sue,  but  to  crm- 
mand : 

Which  since  we  cannot  do  to  make  you  ftiends. 

Be  ready,  as  your  lives  shall  answer  it, 

At  Coventry,  upon  Saint  Lambert's  day  ; 

There  shall  your  swords  and  lances  arbitrace 

The  swelling  difference  of  your  settled  hate; 

Since  we  cannot  atone  yon,  we  shall  see 

Justice  design  the  victor's  chivalry. — 

Marshal,  command  our  officer  at  arms 

Be  ready  to  direct  these  home-alarms.  [Exgnfti. 

Scene  II. — The  same.   A  Room  in  the  Duke  of 
Lancaster's  Palace. 
Filter  Gaunt,  and  Duchess  of  Gloster. 

Gaunt.  Alas!  the  part  I  had  in  Gloster's  blood 
Doth  more  solicit  me,  than  your  exclaims, 
To  stir  against  the  butchers  of  his  life. 
But  since  correction  lieth  in  those  hands. 
Which  made  the  fault,  that  we  cannot  correct, 
Put  we  our  quarrel  to  the  will  of  heaven  ; 
Who,  when  he  sees  theliours  ripe  on  earth, 
Will  rain  hot  vengeance  on  offenders'  heads. 

Duch.  Finds  brotherhood  in  thee  no  sharper  sp 
Hath  love  in  thy  old  blood  no  living  fire  ? 
Edward's  seven  sons,  whereof  thyself"  art  one. 
Were  as  seven  phials  of  his  sacred  blood. 
Or  seven  fair  branches  Sjiringing  from  one  root: 
Some  of  those  seven  are  dried  by  nature's  course. 
Some  of  those  branches  by  the  destinies  cut ! 
But  Thomas,  my  dear  loid,  my  life,  my  Gloster.-* 
One  phial  full  of  Edward's  sacred  blood- 
Oae  flourishing  branch  of  his  most  royal  root, — 
Is  crack'd,  and  all  the  |)recious  liquor  sjiilt; 
Is  hack'd  down,  and  his  summer  leaves  all  faded, 
By  envy's  hand,  and  murder's  bloody  axe. 
Ah,  Gaunt !  his  blood  was  tliine  ;  that  bed,  .'iial 
womb, 

That  mettle,  that  self  mould,  that  fashion'd  thf  e, 
Made  him  a  man;  and  though  thou  liv'st,  an4 
breath'st. 

Yet  art  thou  slain  in  him  :  thou  dost  consent. 
In  some  large  measure,  to  (hy  father's  death, 
in  that  thou  seest  thy  wretched  bi other  die. 
Who  was  (he  model  of  thy  father's  life. 
Call  it  not  patience.  Gaunt,  it  is  despair* 
In  suffering  thus  thy  brother  to  be  slaughti^r'd,  ♦ 
Thou  show'st  the  naked  pathway  to  tliy  life. 
Teaching  stern  murder  how  to  butcher  thee: 


S04: 


KING  RICHARD  II 


Act  L 


That,  wlii,ch  in  tirpan  men  we  entitle — patience, 
Is  \>i\\e  coid  cowardice  in  noble  breasts. 
VVliat  siiall  I  say  ?  to  safeguard  thine  own  life, 
The  best  way  is — to  'venge  my  Gloster's  death. 

Gaunt.  Heaven's  is  the  qtiarrel ;  for  heaven's 
Hia  deputy  anointed  in  his  sight,  [substitute, 
Hath  caus'd  liis  death  :  the  which,  if  wrongfully. 
Let  heaven  levenge  ;  for  1  may  never  lift 
An  angry  arm  against  his  minister. 

Duck.  Where  then,  alas !  may  I  complain  my- 
self? [defence. 

Gaunt.  To  heaven,  the  widow's  champion  and 

Duck.  Why  then,  I  will.    Farewell,  old  Gaunt. 
Thou  go'st  to  Coventry,  there  to  behold 
Our  cousin  Hereford  and  fell  Mowbray  fight : 
O,  sit  my  husband's  wrongs  on  Hereford's  spear, 
That  it  may  enter  butcher  Mowbray's  breast ! 
Or,  if  misfortune  miss  the  first  career. 
Be  Mowbray's  sins  so  heavy  in  his  bosom. 
That  they  may  break  his  Ibaming  courser's  back. 
And  throw  the  rider  headlong  in  the  lists, 
A  caitirt"  recreant  to  my  cousin  Hereford  ! 
Farewell,  old  Gaunt;  thy  sometime  brother's  wife. 
With  her  companion  grief  must  end  her  life. 

Gaunt.  Sister,  farewell:  I  must  to  Coventry : 
As  much  good  stay  with  thee,  as  go  with  me ! 

Duch.  Yet  one  word  more ; — Grief  boundeth 
where  it  falls. 
Not  with  the  empty  hollowness,  but  weight: 
I  take  my  leave  belbre  1  have  begun ; 
For  sorrow  ends  not,  when  it  seeineth  done. 
Commend  me  to  my  brother,  Edmund  York. 
Lo,  this  is  all : — Nay,  yet  depart  not  so: 
Though  this  be  all,  do  not  so  quickly  go  ; 
I  shall  remember  more.    Bid  him — O,  what? 
With  all  good  speed  at  Flashy  visit  me. 
Alack,  and  what  shall  good  old  York  there  see. 
But  empty  lodgings  and  nnfurnish'd  walls. 
Unpeopled  offices,  untrodden  stones? 
And  what  cheer  there  for  welcome  but  my  groans  ? 
Therefore  commend  me;  let  him  not  come  there, 
ro  seek  out  sorrow,  that  dwells  every  where  : 
Desolate,  desolate,  will  I  hence,  and  die  ; 
The  last  leave  of  thee  takes  my  weeping  eye. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  HI. — Gosford  Green,  near  Coventry.  Lists 
set  out,  and  a  Throne  ;  Heralds,  §fc.  attending. 
Enter  the  Lord  Marshal,  awe?  Aumerle. 
Mar.   My   lord  Aumerle,  is   Harry  Hereford 
arm'd  ? 

Aum.  Yea,  at  all  points ;  and  longs  to  enter  in. 

Mar.  The  duke  of  Norfolk,  sprighti  ully  and  bold. 
Stays  but  the  summons  of  the  appellant's  trumpet. 

Aum.  W  hy  then,  the  champions  are  prepar'd,  and 
For  nothing  ln't  his  majesty's  approach.  [stay 

F/oi/r/sh  of  trumpets.  Enter  King  RiCHARD,  ivho 
takes  his  seat  on  his  throne;  Gaunt,  and  several 
Noblemen,  who  take  their  places.  A  trumpet  is 
sounded,  and  answered  by  another  trumpet 
within.  Then  enter  Norfolk  in  armour,  pre- 
ceded by  a  Herald. 

K.  Rich.  Marshal,  demand  of  yonder  champion 
The  cause  of  his  arrival  here  in  arms: 
Ask  him  iiis  name;  and  orderly  proceed 
To  swear  him  in  the  justice  of  his  cause. 

Mar.   in  God's  name,  and  the  king's,  say  who 
thou  art, 

And  why  thou  com'st,  thus  knightly  clad  in  arms: 
Against  vvlmt  man  thou  com'st,  and  what  thy  quar- 
rel : 

Speak  trulv,  on  thy  knighthood,  and  thv  oath; 
And  so  defend  thee  heaven,  and  thy  valour ! 

Nor.  My  name  is  Thomas  Mowbray,  duke  of 
Noriolk ; 

Who  hither  come  engaged  by  my  oath, 

fVV'hich  heaven  defend  a  knight  should  violate!) 

Both  to  defend  my  loyalty  and  ti  iitii. 

,  my  king,  and  my  succeeding  issue. 


Against  the  duke  of  Hereford,  that  appeals  me; 
And,  by  the  grace  of  God,  and  this  mine  arm. 
To  prove  him,  in  defending  of  myself, 
A  traitor  to  my  God,  my  king,  and  me : 
And,  as  I  truly  fight,  detend  me  heaven ! 

{He  takes  his  $eat^ 

Trumpet  sounds.  Enter  Bolingbroke  in  armour 
preceded  by  a  Herald. 
K.  Rich.  Marshal,  ask  yonder  knight  in  arms. 
Both  who  he  is,  and  why  he  cometh  hither 
Thus  plated  in  habiliments  of  war; 
And  formally,  according  to  our  law. 
Depose  him  in  the  justice  of  his  cause. 

Mar.  What  is  thy  name  ?  and  wherefore  com'st 
thou  hither. 

Before  king  Richard,  in  his  royal  lists  ?  [rel  ? 

Against  whom  comest  thou  ?  and  what's  thy  qnar. 
Speak  like  a  true  knight,  so  defend  thee  heaven  I 

Boling.  Harrv  of  Hereford,  Lancaster,  and  Derby 
Am  I ;  who  ready  here  do  stand  in  arms, 
To  prove,  by  heaven'?  grace,  and  my  body's  valnBsr 
In  lists,  on  Thomas  Mowbray,  duke  of  Norfolk, 
That  he's  a  traitor,  foul  and  dangerous. 
To  God  of  heaven,  king  Richard>  and  to  me; 
And,  as  1  truly  fight,  defend  me  heaven! 

Mar.  On  pain  of  death,  no  person  be  so  bold. 
Or  daring-hardy,  as  to  touch  the  lists ; 
Except  the  marshal,  and  such  officers 
Appointed  to  direct  these  fair  designs. 

Boling.  J^ord  Marshal,  let  me  kiss  my  sovereign's 
And  bow  my  knee  before  his  majesty;  [hand 
For  Mowbray,  and  myself,  are  like  two  men, 
That  vow  a  long  and  weary  pilgrimage  ; 
Then  let  us  take  a  ceremonious  leave, 
And  loving  farewell  of  our  several  friends. 

Mar.  The  appellant  in  all  duty  greets  your  ki(;h- 
ness. 

And  craves  to  kiss  your  hand,  and  take  his  leave 

K.  Rich.  We  will  descend,  and  fold  him  in  ucn 
Cousin  of  Hereford,  as  thy  cause  is  right,  [buxda. 
So  be  thy  fortune  in  this  royal  fight ! 
Farewell,  my  blood ;  which  if  it  to-day  thou  ghed. 
Lament  we  may,  but  not  revenge  thee  dead. 

Boling.  O,  let  no  noble  eye  profane  a  tear 
For  me,  if  1  be  gor  d  with  Mowbray's  spear ; 
As  confident,  as  is  the  falcon's  flight 
Against  a  bird,  do  I  with  Mowbray  fight.— 
My  loving  lord,  {to  Lord  Marshal)  I  take  my  leave 
of  yon  ; — 

Of  you,  my  noble  cousin,  lord  Aumerle  t — 
Nor  sick,  although  I  have  to  do  with  death ; 
But  lusty,  young,  and  cheerly  drawing  breath. — 
Lo,  as  at  English  feasts,  so  I  regreet 
The  daintiest  last,  to  make  the  end  most  sweet : 
O  thou,  the  earthly  author  of  my  blood, — 

(To  Gaunt., 
Whose  youthful  spirit,  in  me  regenerate, 
Doth  with  a  two-fold  vigour  lift  me  up 
To  reach  at  victory  above  ray  head, — 
Add  proof  unto  mine  armour  with  thy  prayers 
And  with  thy  blessings  steel  niy  lance's  point. 
That  it  may  enter  Mowbray's  waxen  coat, 
And  furbish  new  the  name  of  John  of  Gaunt, 
Even  in  the  lusty  'haviour  of  his  son. 

Gaunt.  Heaven  in  thy  good  cause  make  tliee 
pros|)erous ! 
Be  swift  like  lightning  in  the  execution; 
And  let  thy  blows,  doubly  redoubled. 
Fall  like  amazing  thunder  on  the  ca.sqne 
Of  thy  adverse  pernicious  enemy  : 
Rouse  up  tiiy  youthful  blood,  be  valiant,  and  live. 

Boling.  Mine  innocency,  and  Saint  Georjie  to 
thrive  !  {He  take^  his  seat. 

Nor.  {Rising.)  However  heaven,  or  foirtune,  cast 
my  lot. 

There  lives  or  dies,  true  to  king  Richard's  throne, 

A  loyal,  just,  and  upright  gentleman  : 

Never  did  captive  with  a  freer  heart 

Cast  olf  his  chains  of  bondage,  and  eatbiaoe 


Scene  8. 


KING  RICHARD  11. 


305 


His  golden  nncontroll'd  enfranchisement, 
More  than  my  daucinj?  soul  doth  celebrate 
This  feast  of  l»Mttle  with  mine  adversary. — 
jMost  mighty  liege, — and  tny  companion  peers, — 
Take  from  my  month  the  wish  of  happy  years: 
As  gentle  and  as  jocund,  as  to  jest. 
Go  I  to  fight  •  Truth  hatli  a  quiet  breast. 

K.  Rich.  Farewell,  my  lord:  securely  I  espy 
\'i  fue  with  valour  couched  in  thine  eye. — 
Order  the  trial,  marshal,  and  begin. 

(  The  King  and  the  Lords  return  to  their  seats.) 

Mar.  Harry  of  Herefoid,  Lancaster,  and  Derby, 
liereive  thy  lance;  and  God  deiend  the  rioht ! 

Boling.  [Rising.)  Strong  as  a  tower  in  hope,  I 
cry — Amen. 

Mar.  Go  bear  this  lance  [to  an  Officer)  to  Tho- 
mas, duke  of  Norfolk. 

1  Her.  Harry  of  Hereford,  Lancaster,  and  Derby, 
Stands  here  for  God,  his  sovereign,  and  himself, 

On  pain  to  be  found  false  and  recreant, 

To  prove  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  Mowbray, 

A  traitor  to  his  God,  his  kin;;,  an<]  him, 

And  dares  him  to  set  forward  to  the  fight. 

2  Her.  Here  sfandeth  Thomas  Mowbray,  duke 

of  Norfolk, 
On  pain  to  be  found  false  aiid  recreant, 
'--^th  to  defend  himself,  and  to  ai  prove 
Henry  of  Hereford,  Lancaster,  and  Derby, 
To  Goil,  his  sovereign,  and  to  hnu,  disloyal ; 
Courageously,  aii(i  with  a  free  desire, 
Attending  but  the  signal  to  begin. 

Mar.  feound,  trumpets  ;  and  set  forward,  com- 
batants. {A  charge  sounded.) 
^ay,  the  king  hath  thrown  his  warder  down. 
K.  Rich.  Let  them  lay  by  their  helmets  and  their 
spears. 

And  both  return  back  to  their  chairs  again  : — 
W^ithdraw  with  us: — and  let  the  trumpets  sound, 
"Wh'le  we  return  these  dukes  what  we  decree. — 
■f  [A  long  flourish.) 

I'raw  near,  {To  the  Combatants.) 

i  n:i  list  what  with  our  council  we  have  done, 
'^or  that  our  kingdom's  earth  should  not  be  soil'd 
With  that  dear  blood,  wliich  it  hath  fostered  ; 
And  for  our  eyes  do  hate  the  dire  aspect 
Of  civil  wounds,  ploiigh'd   up   with  neighbours' 
swords  ; 

And  for  we  tbink  the  eagle- winged  pride 
Of  sky-aspiring  and  ambitious  thoughts. 
With  rival-hating  envy,  set  you  on 
'J  o  wake  our  peace,  whi(;h  in  our  country's  cradle 
Draws  the  sweet  infant  breath  of  gentle  sleep; 
Which,  so  rous'd  up  with  boisterous  untun'd  drums. 
With  harsh  resounding  trumpets'  dreadful  bray. 
And  grating  shock  of  wrathfid  iron  arms, 
Might  from  our  quiet  confines  fright  fair  peace, 
And  make  us  wade  even  in  our  kindred's  blood  ; — 
Therefore,  we  banish  you  our  territories : 
You,  cousin  Hereford,  upon  pain  of  death. 
Till  twice  five  snmuiers  have  enrich'd  our  fields 
Shall  not  regreet  our  fair  dominions. 
But  tread  the  stranger  paths  of  banishment. 
Boling.  Your  will  be  done  :  This  must  my  com- 
fort be, — 

That  sun,  that  warms  you  here,  shall  shine  an  me; 
.And  those  his  golden  beams,  to  you  here  lent. 
Shall  point  on  n»e,  and  gild  my  banishment. 

K.  Rich.   Noifolk,  for  thee  remains  a  heavier 
doom. 

Which  I  with  some  unwillingness  pronounce: 
The  6 y  slow  hours  shall  not  determinate 
The  dateless  limit  of  thy  dear  exile;— 
The  hopeless  word  of — never  to  return 
Breathe  1  against  tnee,  upon  pain  of  life. 

Nor.  A  heavy  sentence,  my  most  sovereign  liege. 
And  all  unlook'd  for  from  your  highness'  mouth; 
A  dearer  mt- rit,  not  so  deep  a  maim^ 
As  to  be  cast  forth  in  the  common  air, 
Have  I  deserved  at  your  highness'  hand. 
The  language  I  have  learu  d  these  furty  years. 


My  native  English,  now  I  must  forego. 

And  now  my  tongue's  use  is  to  nje  no  mott. 

Than  an  imstringed  viol  or  a  harp; 

Or,  like  a  cunning  instrument  cas'd  up 

Or,  being  open,  put  into  his  hands 

'J'hat  knows  no  touch  to  tune  the  harmony. 

Within  my  mouth  you  have  engaol'd  my  tougl£*j 

Doubly  portcullis'cl,  with  my  teeth,  and  lips; 

And  dull,  unfeeling,  barren  ignorance 

Is  laade  my  gaoler,  to  attend  on  me. 

I  am  too  old  to  fawn  upon  a  nurse, 

I'oo  far  in  years  to  be  a  pupil  now  ; 

What  is  thy  sentence,  then,  but  speechless  death, 

Which  robs  my  tongue  from  breathmg  native  breatliT 

K.  Rich.  It  boots  thee  not  to  be  compassionate 
After  our  sentence,  plaining  comes  too  late. 

Nor.  Then  thus  1  turn  me  f  rom  my  country's  light 
To  dwell  in  solemn  shades  of  endless  night. 

{Retiring. 

K.  Return  again,  and  take  an  oath  with  th*-.e 

Lay  on  our  royal  sword  your  banish  d  hands  ; 
Swear  by  the  duty  that  you  owe  to  heaven, 
(Our  part  therein  we  banish  with  yourselves,) 
'I'o  keep  the  oath  tijat  we  administer: — 
You  never  shall  (so  help  you  truth  and  heaven  !) 
Embrace  each  other's  love  in  banishment  ; 
Nor  never  look  upon  each  other's  face  ; 
Nor  never  write,  regreet,  nor  reconcile 
This  lowering  tempest  of  your  home-bred  hate, 
Nor  ne\er  by  advised  purpose  meet, 
To  plot,  contrive,  or  cosnplot  any  ill, 
"Gainst  us,  our  state,  our  subjects,  or  our  land. 

Boli?ig.  I  swear. 

ISor.  And  I,  to  keep  all  this. 

Boling.  Norfolk,  so  far  as  to  mine  enemy  ;~* 
By  this  time,  had  the  king  permitted  us. 
One  of  our  souls  had  wander'd  in  the  air, 
Ranish'd  this  frail  sepulchre  of  our  flesh. 
As  now  our  flesh  is  banish'd  from  this  laud: 
Confess  thy  treasons,  ere  thou  fly  the  realm; 
Since  thou  hast  far  to  go,  bear  not  along 
The  clogging  burden  of  a  guilty  soul. 

Nor.  No,  Bolingbroke  ;  if  ever  1  were  traitoi- 
My  iiame  be  blotted  from  the  book  of  life. 
And  I  from  heaven  banisli'd,  as  f  rom  hence  I 
But  what  thoii  art,  heaven,  thou,  and  J  do  know 
And  all  too  soon,  I  fear,  the  king  shall  rue. — 
Farewell,  my  liege  : — Now  no  way  can  I  stray; 
Save  back  to  England,  all  the  world's  my  way. 

K.Rich.  Uncle,  even  in  the  glasses  of  thine  eyei 
I  see  thy  grieved  heart:  thy  sad  aspect 
Hath  from  the  number  of  his  banish'd  years 
Pluck'd  four  away  : — S;x  frozen  winters  spent, 
Return  {to  Bolinghroke)  with  welcome  home  from 
banishment. 

Boling.  flow  long  a  time  iies  in  one  little  word  I 
Four  lagging  winters,  and  four  wanton  springs. 
End  in  a  word  :  Such  is  the  breath  of  kings. 

Gaunt.  I  thank  n»y  liege,  that,  in  regard  of  me, 
He  shortens  four  years  of  my  son's  exile  : 
But  little  vantage  shall  I  reap  thereby ; 
For,  ere  the  six  years,  that  he  hath  to  spend, 
Can  change  their  moons,  and  bring  their  times  about, 
My  oil-dried  lamp,  and  time-bewasted  light. 
Shall  be  extinct  with  age,  and  endless  night; 
My  inch  of  ta(-er  will  be  burnt  and  done. 
And  blindfold  death  not  let  me  see  my  son. 

K.  Ric  h.  Why,  uncle,  thou  hast  many  years  to  live. 

Gaunt.  But  not  a  nnuute,  king,  that  thou  caust 
give : 

Shorten  my  days  thou  canst  with  sullen  sorrow. 
And  pluck  nights  f  rom  me,  but  not  lend  a  morrow » 
Thou  canst  help  tinie  to  furrow  me  with  age. 
But  stop  no  wrinkle  in  his  pilgrimage  : 
'^rhy  word  is  current  with  him  for  my  death ; 
But.  dead,  thy  kingdom  cannot  buy  my  breath. 

K.  Rich.  Thy  sou  is  banish'd  upon  good  advfce, 
Whereto  thy  tongue  a  party-verdict  gave; 
Why  at  our  justice  seem'st  thou  then  to  lower? 

20 


306 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  L 


Geutni.  Things  sweet  to  taste,  prove  iu  digestion 
soar. 

Yo{\  urg'd  me  as  a  judge ;  but  I  had  rather, 

Vou  would  have  bid  me  argue  like  a  father  : — 

O,  had  it  been  a  stranger,  not  my  child. 

To  smooth  his  fault  I  should  have  been  more  mild : 

A  partial  slander  sought  I  to  avoid, 

And  in  the  sentence  my  own  life  destroy'd. 

•Alas,  I  look'd,  when  some  of  you  should  say, 

I  was  too  strict,  to  make  mine  own  away ; 

But  you  gave  leave  to  my  unwilling  tongue. 

Against,  my  will,  to  do  myself  this  wrong.  [so; 

K.  Rich.  Cousin,  farewell  : — and,  uncle,  bid  him 
Sij  years  we  banish  him,  and  he  shall  go. 

iFlourisJu   Exeunt  K.  Richard  and  Train. 

'   Aum.  Cousin,  farewell  :  what  presence  must  not 
know, 

From  where  you  do  remain,  let  paper  show. 

Mar.  My  lord,  no  leave  take  I;  for  I  will  ride. 
As  far  as  land  will  let  me,  by  your  side.  [words. 

Gaunt.  O,  to  what  purpose  dost  thou  hoard  thy 
That  thou  return'st  no  greeti-ng  to  thy  friends? 

Baling.  I  have  too  few  to  take  my  leave  of  you. 
When  tne  tongue's  office  should  be  prodigal 
To  breathe  the  abiu)dant  dolour  of  the  heart. 

Gatmt.  Thy  grief  is  but  thy  absence  for  a  time. 

Boling.  Joy  absent,  grief  is  present  for  that  time. 

Gaunt.  What  is  six  winters  ?  they  are  quickly 
gone.  [ten, 

Boling.  To  men  in  joy ;  but  grief  makes  one  hour 

Gaunt.  Call  it  a  travel,  that  thou  tak'st  for  plea- 
sure. 

Boling.  My  heart  will  sigh,  when  I  miscall  it  so. 
Which  finds  it  an  enforced  pilgrimage. 

Gaunt.  The  sullen  passage  of  thy  weary  steps 
Esteeui  a  fod,  wherein  thou  art  to  set 
The  precious  jewel  of  thy  home-return. 

Baling.  Nay,  rather,  every  tedious  stride  I  make 
Will  but  remember  me,  what  a  deal  of  world 
)  wander  from  the  jewels  that  I  love. 
Must  I  fiot  serve  a  long  ai)prenticehood 
To  fore!j;n  passages;  and  in  the  end, 
Ha\  ing  my  freedom,  boast  of  nothing  else. 
Hilt  that  I  wa&  a  journeyman  to  grief  ? 

Gaunt.  All  places,  that  the  eye  of  heaven  visits, 
Are  to  a  wise  man  ports  and  happy  havens : 
Teach  (hy  necessity  to  reason  thus; 
There  is  no  virtue  like  necessity. 
Think  not,  the  king  did  banish  thee; 
B;it  thou  the  king:  Woe  doth  the  heavier  sit. 
Where  it  perceiies  it  is  but  faintly  borne. 
Go,  s  ly — 1  sent  thee  forth  to  purchase  honour. 
And  not — the  king  exil'd  thee  :  or  suppose. 
Devouring  pestilence  hangs  in  our  air. 
And  thou  art  flying  to  a  fresher  clime. 
Look,  what  thy  soul  holds  dear,  iniagine  it 
To  lie  that  way  thou  go'st,  not  whence  thou  com'st : 
Suppose  the  singing  birds,  musicians;       [strew'd ; 
The  grass,   whereon  thou  tread'st,  the  presence 
l^he  flowers,  fair  ladies ;  and  thy  steps,  no  more 
Than  a  delightful  measure,  or  a  dance  : 
For  gnarling  sorrow  hath  less  power  to  bite 
The  man  th  it  mocks  at  it,  and  sets  it  light. 

Baling.  O,  who  can  hold  a  fire  in  his  hand. 
By  thinking  on  the  frosty  Caucasus? 
Or  cloy  the  hungry  edge  of  appetite. 
By  bare  imagination  of  a  feast  ? 
Or  wallow  naked  in  December  snow, 
Bj  thinking  on  fantastic  summer's  heat? 
O,  no  !  the  apprehension  of  the  good. 
Gives  but  the  greater  feeling  to  the  worse  : 
Fell  sorrow's  tooth  doth  never  rankle  more. 
Than  when  it  bites,  but  lanceth  not  the  sore. 

<r<*uKf.  Come,  come,  my  son,  I'll  bring  thee  on 
.ny  way : 

H,«d  I  thy  youth,  and  cause,  I  would  not  stay. 
Boling.  Then,  England's  grour  d,  farewell;  sweet 
soil,  adieu ; 

ftfj  mother,  and  ry nurse,  tha  bears  me  yet! 


Where'er  I  wander,  boast  of  this  I  can, — 
Though  banish'd,  yet  a  true-born  Englishman. 

[Exeumt 

Scene  IV. — The  same.    A  Room  tn  the  King** 
Castle. 

Enter  King  Richard,  Bagot,  and  Green  ; 

AuMERLE  folloiving. 
K.  Rich.  We  did  observe. — Cousin  Aumerle, 
How  far  brought  you  high  Hereford  on  his  way? 

Aum.  I  brought  high  Hereford,  if  you  call  him  so 
But  to  the  next  highway,  and  there  I  lelt  him. 
K.  Rich.  And,  say,  what  store  of  parting  tean 
were  shed  ?  [wind, 
Aum.  'Faith,  none  by  me  :  except  the  north-east 
Which  then  blew  bitterly  against  our  faces, 
Awak'd  the  sleeping  rheum;  and  so,  by  chance. 
Did  grace  our  hollow  parting  with  a  tear. 
K.  Rich.  What  said  our  cousin,  when  you  parted 

with  him  ? 
Aum.  Farewell : 
And,  for  my  heart  disdained  that  my  tongue 
Should  so  profane  the  word,  (hat  taught  me  craft 
To  counterfeit  oppression  of  such  grief. 
That  words  seem'd  buried  in  my  sorrow's  grave. 
Marry,  would  the  word  farewell  have  lengthen'd 
hours. 

And  added  years  to  his  short  banishment. 
He  should  have  had  a  volume  of  farewells; 
But,  since  it  would  not,  he  had  none  of  me. 

K.  Rich.  He  is  our  cousin,  cousin  ;  but  'tis  douH. 
When  time  shall  call  him  home  from  banishment. 
Whether  our  kinsman  come  to  see  his  friends. 
Ourself,  and  Bushy,  Bagot  here,  and  Green, 
Observ'd  his  courtship  to  the  common  people  :— - 
How  he  did  seem  to  dive  into  their  hearts. 
With  humble  and  familiar  courtesy; 
What  reverence  he  did  throw  away  on  slaves  ; 
Wooing  poor  craftsmen,  with  the  craft  of  smiles. 
And  patient  underbearing  of  his  fortune, 
As  'twere,  to  banish  their  aftects  with  him. 
OtFgoes  his  bonnet  to  an  oyster-wench  ; 
A  brace  of  draymen  bid — God  speed  him  well, 
And  had  the  tribute  of  his  supple  knee,  [friends;^ 
With  —  Thanks,   my  countrymen,   my  loving 
As  were  our  England  in  reversion  his. 
And  he  our  subjects'  next  degree  in  hope. 

Green.  Well,  he  is  gone ;  and  with  him  go  thesft 
thougiits. 

Now  for  the  rebels,  which  stand  out  in  Ireland  ; — 
Expedient  manage  must  be  made,  my  liege; 
Ere  further  leisure  yield  them  further  means 
For  their  advantage,  and  your  highness'  loss. 

K.  Rich.  We  will  ourself  in  person  to  this  war 
And,  for  our  coffers — with  too  great  a  court. 
And  liberal  largess, — are  grown  somewhat  light. 
We  are  enforc'd  to  farm  our  royal  realm  ; 
The  revenue  whereof  shall  furnish  us 
For  our  affairs  in  hand  :  If  that  come  short. 
Our  substitutes  at  home  shall  have  blank  charters: 
Whereto,  when  they  shall  know  what  men  are  rich, 
They  shall  subscribe  them  for  large  sums  of  gold. 
And  send  them  after  to  supply  our  watjts  ; 
For  we  will  make  for  Ireland  presently. 

Enter  Bushy. 

Bushy,  what  news?  _  [lord; 

Bushy.  Old  John  of  Gaunt  is  grievous  sick,  my 
Suddenly  taken;  and  hath  sent  post-haste, 
To  entreat  your  ^najesty  to  visit  him. 

K.  Rich.  Where  lies  he  ? 

Bushy.  At  Ely-house.  [mine', 
K.  Rich.  Now  put  it,  heaven,  in  his  physiriao  s 
To  help  him  to  his  grave  immediately! 
The  lining  of  his  colters  shall  make  coats 
To  deck  our  soldiers  for  these  Irish  wars.-»- 
Come,  gentlemen,  let's  all  go  visit  him  : 
Pray  God,  we  may  make  haste,  and  come  too  late  I 


ArT  II.    Scene  1. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


307 


ACT  n. 

iScENE  I. — London.    A  Room  in  Ely  house. 

(Jaunt  on  a  couch ;  the  Duhe  of  York,  and  others 
standing  by  him. 

Gaunt.  Will  the  king  come  ?  that  I  may  breathe 
my  last 

Id  vyholesonie  coniisel  to  his  nnstain'd  youth. 

York.  Vex  not  vourself,  nor  strive  not  with  your 
breath; 

For  all  in  vain  comes  counsel  to  his  ear. 

Gaunt.  O,  but  tliey  say,  the  tongues  of  dying  men 
Enforce  attention  like  deep  harmony  : 
VVltieie  words  are  scarce,  they  are  seldom  spent  in 
vain ;  [pain. 
For  they  breathe  truth,  that  breathe  their  words  in 
Ke.  that  no  more  must  say,  is  listen'd  more 
Than  they,  whom  youth  and  ease  have  taught  to 
glose; 

Vlore  are  men's  ends  niark'd,  than  their  lives  before : 

The  setting  sun,  and  music  at  the  close, 
•^s  the  last  taste  of  sweets,  is  sweetest  last; 
V\'rit  MJ  rcriienibrance,  more  tha.i  things  long  past: 
Though  Richard  my  life's  counsel  would  not  hear, 
■Vl.y  de^ith's  sad  tale  may  yet  undeaf  his  ear. 

Yorh.  No ;  it  is  stopp'd  with  other  flattering 
sounds. 

As,  praises  of  his  state  :  then  there  are  found 
Lascivious  metres  ;  to  whose  venom  sound 
Tht-  0|)en  ear  of  youth  doth  always  listen : 
Report  of  fashions  in  proud  Italy  ; 
Whose  manners  still  our  tardy  apish  nation 
Limps  aOer,  in  base  imitation. 
Where  doth  the  world  thrust  forth  a  vanity, 
[So  it  be  new,  there's  nc;  respect  how  vile,) 
That  \a  not  quickly  buzz'd  into  his  ears  ? 
Then  all  too  late  comes  counsel  to  be  heard, 
VV'bere  w»Il  doth  mutiny  with  wit's  regard. 
Direct  not  him,  whose  way  himself  will  choose  ; 
'Tis  breath  thou  lack'st,  and  that  breath  wilt  thou 
lose. 

daunt.  iMethinks,  I  am  a  prophet  new  inspir'd; 
And  thu.s,  expiring,  do  foretell  of  him  : 
His  rash  fierce  blaae  of  riot  cannot  last; 
For  violent  fires  soon  burn  out  thenjselves  : 
Small  showers  last  long,  but  sudden  storms  are  short; 
He  tiros  betimes,  that  spurs  too  fast  betimes; 
With  .^age--  feeding,  food  doth  choke  the  feeder: 
L)jitu  "anity,  insatiate  cormorant, 
(^onsummg  means,  soon  preys  upon  itself. 
This,  royt.l  throne  of  kings,  this  scepter'd  isle, 
I'his  earth  of  majesty,  this  seat  of  Mars, 
This  other  Eden,  demi-paradise  ; 
This  fortress,  built  by  nature  for  herself. 
Against  infection,  and  the  hand  of  war; 
This  happy  breed  of  men,  this  little  world; 
This  precious  stone  set  in  the  silver  sea. 
Which  serves  it  in  the  office  of  a  wall, 
Or  as  a  moat  dei'ensive  to  a  house. 
Against  the  envy  of  less  happier  lands; 
This  blessed  plot,  this  earth,  this  realm,  this  England, 
This  n'lrse,  this  teeming  womb  of  royal  kings, 
Fear'd  by  their  breed,  and  famous  by  their  birth, 
Reno\A'ned  for  their  deeds  as  far  from  home, 
{For  Christian  service,  and  true  chivalry,) 
As  is  the  sepulchre  in  stubborn  Jewry, 
Of  the  world's  ransom,  blessed  Mary's  son: 
This  land  of  such  dear  souls,  this  dear  dear  land, 
Hear  lor  her  reputation  through  the  world, 
Is  I  ow  leas'd  out  (I  die  pronouncing  it) 
Lik^  to  a  tenement,  or  pelting  farm  : 
England,  bound  in  wilt)  the  triumphant  sea, 
Whose  rocky  shore  beats  back  the  envious  siege 
Of  watery  Neptune,  is  now  bound  in  with  shame. 
With  inky  blots,  and  rotten  parchment  bonds  ; 
That  England,  that  was  wont  to  conquer  others, 
Hath  made  a  shameful  conquest  of  itself: 
O,  would  the  scandal  vanish  with  my  life, 
How  happy  then  wert  my  ensuing  death! 


Enter  King  RiCHARn,  and  QuHEN;  Aumerlk 
Bushy,   Grebn,   Bagot,   Ross,    and  Wil- 

LOUGHBY. 

liork.  The  king  is  come  :  deal  mildly  with 
youth  ; 

For  young  hot  colts,  being  rag' si,  do  rage  the  more. 
Queen.  How  fares  our  noble  uncle,  Lancaster? 
K.  Rich.  What  comfort,  mat  ?  Howis't  with  aged 
Gaunt? 

Gaunt.  O,  how  that  name  befits  my  com positiorij' 
Old  Gaunt,  indeed  ;  and  gaunt  in  being  old  : 
Within  me  grief  hath  kept  a  tedious  fast ; 
And  who  abstains  from  meat,  that  is  not  gaunt? 
For  sleeping  England  long  time  have  I  watch'd; 
Watching  breeds  leanness,  leanness  is  all  gaunt  r 
The  pleasure,  that  some  fathers  feed  uporj, 
Is  my  strict  fast,  I  mean — my  children's  looks; 
And,  therein  fasting,  h;ist  thou  made  me  gaunt: 
Gaunt  am  I  for  the  grave,  gaunt  as  a  grave. 
Whose  hollow  womb  inherits  nought  but  bones, 

K.  Rich.  Can  sick  men  play  so  nicely  with  their 
names  ? 

Gaunt.  No,  misery  makes  sport  to  mock  itself; 
Since  thou  dost  seek  to  kill  my  name  in  me, 
1  mock  my  name,  great  king,  to  flatter  thee,  [live? 

K.  Rich.  Should  dying  men  flatter  with  those  that 

Gaunt.  No,  no;  men  living  flatter  those  that  die. 

K.  Rich.  Thou,  now  a  dying,  say'st — thou  flat- 
ter'st  me.  "  fbe. 

Gaunt.  Oh !  no ;  thou  diest.  though  I  the  sicker 

K.  Rich.  1  am  in  health,  1  breathe,  and  see  thee 
ill.  [thee  ill ; 

Gaunt.   Now,  He,  that  made  me,  knows  I  see 
111  in  myself  to  see,  and  in  thee  seeing  ill. 
Thy  death-bed  is  no  lesser  than  thy  land. 
Wherein  thou  liest  in  reputation  sick  : 
And  thou,  too  careless  patient  as  thou  art, 
Commit'st  thy  anointed  body  to  the  cure 
Of  those  physicians,  that  first  wounded  thee  : 
A  thousand  flatterers  sit  within  thy  crown,, 
Whose  compass  is  no  bigger  than  thy  head; 
And  yet,  incaged  in  so  small  a  verge. 
The  waste  is  no  whit  lesser  than  thy  land. 
O,  had  thy  grandsire,  with  a  prophet's  eye. 
Seen  how  his  son's  son  should  destroy  his  sons. 
From  forth  thy  reach  he  would  have  laid  thy  shawe  ; 
Deposing  thee  before  thou  wert  possess'd, 
Which  art  possess'd  now  to  depose  thyself. 
Why,  cousin,  wert  thou  regent  of  the  world 
It  were  a  shame,  to  let  this  land  by  lease  : 
But,  for  thy  world,  enjoying  but  this  land. 
Is  it  not  more  than  shame,  to  shame  it  so? 
Landlord  of  England  art  thou  now,  not  king: 
Thy  state  of  law  is  bondslave  to  the  law ; 
And  thou  

K.  Rich.  a  lunatic,  lean-witted  fooL 

Presuming  on  an  ague's  privilege, 

Dar'st  with  thy  frozen  admonition 

Make  pale  our  cheek  ;  chasing  the  royal  blood, 

With  fury,  from  his  native  residence. 

Now  by  my  seat's  right  royal  majesty, 

Wert  thou  not  brother  to  great  Edward's  son. 

This  tongue,  that  runs  so  roundly  in  thy  head. 

Should  run  thy  head  from  thy  ui»reverend  shouldera. 

Gaunt.  O,  spare  me  not,  my  brother  Edward  s  son^ 
For  that  I  was  his  father  Edward's  son  ; 
That  blood  already,  like  the  pelican, 
Hast  thou  tapp'd  out,  and  drunkenly  carous'd: 
My  brother  Gloster,  plain  well-meaning  soul, 
(Whom  fair  befall  in  heaven  'mongst  happy  souls  !) 
May  be  a  precedent  and  witness  good. 
That  thou  respect'st  not  spilling  Edward's  blood: 
Join  with  the  present  sickness  that  I  have; 
A  nd  thy  unkindness  be  like  crooked  age. 
To  crop  at  once  a  too-long  wither  d  flower. 
Live  in  thy  shame,  but  die  not  shame  with  thee!<«» 
These  words  hereafter  thy  tormentors  be.'  — 
Convey  me  to  my  bed,  then  to  my  grave: 
Love  they  to  live,  that  love  and  honour  h.'-ve. 

[Exit,  borne  out  by  his  AUendanttt 


SOS 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  I. 


K.  Rich.  And  let  them  die,  that  age  and  sullens 

have  ; 

For  both  hast  thou,  and  both  become  the  grave. 

Yark.  'Beseech  your  majesty,  impute  his  words 
To  wayward  sickliness  and  age  in  him  : 
He  !oie>i  you,  on  my  life,  and  iiolds  you  dear 
iSfl  iiarry  duke  of  Jlereford,  were  he  here. 

K,  Rich.  Kight;  you  say  true:  as  Hereford's 
lov*^,  so  his ; 
A  s  tiieirs,  so  mine  ;  and  all  be  as  it  is. 

Enter  Northumberland, 

North.  My  iieg>i,  old  Gaunt  commends  him  to 
your  majesty. 

A'.  Rich.  What  says  he  now  ? 

North.  Nay,  nothing ;  all  is  said  : 

His  tongue  is  now  a  stringless  instrument; 
W  ords,  life,  and  all,  old  Lancaster  hath  spent. 

York.  Be  Y'ovk  tlie  next  that  must  be  bankrupt  so  ! 
Tliouf^li  death  be  poor,  it  ends  a  mortal  woe.     [he  ; 

K.  Rich.  'I'he  ripest  frni*  irst  falls,  and  so  doth 
l]\s  time  is  spent,  our  pilgrimage  nmst  be  : 

So  much  lor  that.  Now  for  our  Irish  wars: 

We  must  supplant  those  rough  rug-headed  kerns; 

U'hich  live  like  venom,  where  no  venom  else. 

But  only  they,  hath  privilege  to  li\e. 

And  ibr  these  great  affairs  do  ask  sotne  charge, 

Towards  our  assistance,  we  do  seize  to  us 

The  j)!ate,  coin,  revenues,  and  moveables, 

Whereof  our  uncle  Gaunt  did  stand  possess'd. 

York.  How  long  shall  1  be  patient?  Ah,  how  long 
Shall  tender  duty  make  me  sutfer  wrong? 
Not  Gloster's  death,  nor  Herelbrd's  banishment, 
Not  Gaimt's  rebukes,  nor  Edward's  private  wrongs. 
Nor  tlie  prevention  of  poor  Bolingbroke 
About  his  marriage,  nor  my  own  disgrace, 
iiave  ever  made  lue  sour  my  patient  cheek, 
Or  bend  one  wrinkle  on  my  sovereign's  fiice. — 
I  am  (he  last  of  noble  Edward's  sons. 
Of  whom  thy  lather,  prince  of  VVales,  was  first ; 
io  war  was  never  lion  rag'd  more  fierce, 
III  peace  vvas  never  j^entle  lamb  more  mild, 
Than  was  that  young  and  princely  gentleman: 
His  face  tiiou  liast,  for  even  so  look'd  he, 
Accoinplisird  with  the  number  ol' thy  hours  ; 
Eut,  v»'hen  he  frown'd,  it  was  against  the  French, 
And  not  against  his  friends  ;  his  noble  hand 
\M  win  what  he  did  spend,  and  spent  not  that 
Which  his  triumphant  father's  hand  had  won: 
His  hands  were  guilty  of  no  kindred's  blood, 
iJut  bloody  with  the  enemies  of  his  ki  n. 
O,  Richard  1  York  is  too  far  gone  with  grief. 
Or  else  he  never  would  compare  between. 

K.  Rich.  Why,  uncle,  what's  the  matter  ? 

York.  O,  my  liege, 

Pardon  me,  if  you  please  ;  if  not,  I,  pleas'd 
Not  to  be  pardun'd,  am  content  withal. 
Seek  you  to  seize,  and  gripe  into  your  hands, 
The  royalties  and  ri^^hts  of  banish'd  Herelbrd  ? 
Is  not  Uaiint  dead  ?  and  doth  not  Hereford  live  ? 
Was  not  Gaunt  just  ?  and  is  not  Harry  true  ? 
Did  not  the  one  deserve  to  have  an  heir  ? 
Is  not  his  heir  a  well-deserving  son  ? 
Take  Hereford's  right  away,  and  take  from  time 
His  charters,  and  his  customary  rights  ; 
Let  not  to-^morrow  then  ensue  to  day 
Be  not  thyself,  for  how  art  thou  a  ktn^, 
But  by  fair  sequence  and  successi.m  " 
Now,  afore  God  (God  forbid  I  say  true  !) 
if  you  do  wrongfully  seize  Hereford's  rights. 
Call  in  the  letters  patent  that  he  hath 
lly  his  attornies-general  to  sue 
His  livery,  and  deny  his  oifer'd  homage, 
You  pluck  a  thousand  dangers  on  your  head, 
If  ou  lose  a  thousand  well-disposed  hearts, 
And  prick  my  tender  patience  to  those  thoughtSj 
Whicli  honour  and  allegiance  cannot  think. 

K.  Rich.  Tliink  what  you  will ;  we  seize  into  unT 
hands 

His  plate,  ins  goods,  his  money,  and  his  lands. 


York.  I'll  not  be  by,  the  while    My  liege,  fare- 
well : 

What  will  ensue  hereof,  there's  none  can  tell ; 
But  by  bad  courses  may  be  understood, 
That  their  events  can  never  fall  out  good.  [ExU 
K.  Rich.   Go,  Bushy,  to  tfce  earl  of  Wiltshiin 
Bid  him  repair  to  us  to  Ely-house,  [stra^^ht 
To  see  this  b'lsiness  :  To  morrow  next 
We  will  ior  '/reland  ;  and  'tis  time,  1  trow; 
And  we  create,  in  absence  of  ourself. 
Our  uncle  York  lord  governor  of  Englandj 
For  he  is  jus-t,  and  always  lov'd  us  well.— — 
Come  on,  our  queen:  to-morrow  must  we  part; 
Be  merry,  for  our  time  of  stay  is  short.  [Flourish 
[Exeunt  King,  Queen,  Bushy,  Aumerle, 
Green,  and  Bagot. 

No7'th.  Well,  lords,  the  duke  of  Lancaster  is 
dead. 

Rcfs.  And  living  too  ;  for  now  his  son  is  duke. 
Tf'illo.  Barely  in  title,  not  in  revenue. 
North.  Richly  in  both,  if  justice  had  her  right. 
Ross.  My  heart  is  great ;  but  it  must  break  with 
silence, 

Ere't  be  disbnrden  d  with  a  liberal  tongue. 

North.  Nay,  speak  thy  mind  ;  and  let  him  ne'er 
speak  more. 
That  speaks  thy  words  again,  to  do  thee  harm  ! 

Willo.  Tends  that,  thou'dst  speak,  to  the  duke 
of  Hereford  ? 
If  it  be  so,  out  with  it  boldly,  man  ; 
Quick  is  my  ear  to  hear  of  good  towards  him; 

Ross.  No  good  at  all,  that  1  can  do  for  him. 
Unless  you  call  it  good,  to  pity  hira. 
Bereft  and  gelded  of  his  patrimony. 

North.   Now,  afore  heaven,   'tis  shame  sach 
wrongs  are  borne, 
In  him  a  royal  prince,  and  many  more 
Of  noble  blood  in  this  declining  land. 
The  king  is  not  himself,  but  basely  led 
By  flatterers  ;  and  what  they  will  inform. 
Merely  in  hate,  'gainst  any  of  us  all. 
That  will  the  king  severely  prosecute 
Gainst  us,  our  lives,  our  children,  and  our  heirs. 

Ross.  The  commons  hath  he  pill'd  with  grievous 
taxes, 

And  lost  their  hearts:  the  nobles  hath  he  fin'd 
For  ancient  quarrels,  and  quite  lost  their  hearts. 

Willo.  And  daily  new  exactions  are  devis'd; 
As  blanks,  benevolences,  and  I  wot  not  what: 
But  what,  o'  (jod"s  name,  doth  become  of  this  ? 

North.  Wars  have  not  wasted  it,  for  warr'd  he 
hath  not, 

But  basely  yielded  upon  eom^iromise 
Tliat,  which  his  ancestors  achiev'd  with  blows  : 
More  hath  he  spent  in  peace,  than  they  in  wars. 
Ross.  The  earl  of  Wiltshire  hath  the  realm  in 
farm.  [man. 
Willo.  The  king's  grown  bankrupt,  like  a  broken 
North.  Reproach,  and  dissolution,  hangeth  over 
him. 

Ross.  He  hath  not  money  for  these  Irish  ways. 
His  burdeoous  taxations  notwithstanding. 
But  by  the  robbirsg  of  the  banish'd  duke. 

North.  His  noble  kinsman :  most  degenerate  king  I 
But  lords,  we  hear  this  fearful  tempest  sing. 
Yet  seek  no  shelter  to  avoid  the  storm  ; 
We  see  the  wind  sit  sore  upon  our  sails. 
And  yet  we  strike  not,  but  securely  perish. 

Ross.  We  see  the  very  wreck  that  we  must  suffer } 
And  una^oided  is  the  danger  now, 
For  sufiisring  so  the  causes  of  our  wreck. 

North.  Not  so;  even  through  the  hollow  eyes  J 
I  spy  life  peering:  but  I  dare  not  say  [aeatOj 
How  near  the  tidings  of  our  comfort  is. 

Willo.  Nay,  let  us  share  tiiy  thoughts,  as  .hoa 
dost  ours. 

Ross.  Be  confident  to  speak,  Northumberland: 
We  three  are  but  thyself;  and,  speaking  so. 
Thy  words  are  but  as  thoughts;  therefore,  be  bold* 


Scene  2. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


805 


North.  Then  thus; — I  have  from  Port  le  Binnc, 
In  Brittany,  receiv'd  intelligpnce,  [a  bay 

That  Harry  Bereford,  Regiiiold  lord  Cobhani, 
'The  sou  of  Richard  earl  of  Arundel) 
That  late  broke  from  the  duke  of  Exeter, 
His  brother,  archbishop  late  of  Canterbtny, 
Sir  Thomas  Erpingliam,  sir  Jolin  Ramston, 
Sir  Juhn  Noihery,  sir  Robert  VVaterton,  and  Francis 
Quoint, — 

All  these  well  furnish'd  by  the  duke  of  Bretagne, 
With  eight  tall  ships,  three  tiioiisand  men  of  war, 
A.re  making  hither  with  all  due  expedience, 
And  shortly  mean  to  touch  our  northern  shore: 
Perhaps  they  h;id  ere  this,  but  tiiat  they  stay 
The  first  departing  of  the  king  for  Ireland. 
If  then  we  shall  shake  off  our  slavish  yoke. 
Imp  out  our  drooping  country's  broken  wing. 
Redeem  fiom  broking  pawn  the  blemish'd  crown. 
Wipe  off  the  dust  that  hides  our  sceptre's  gilt. 
And  make  high  majesty  look  like  itself, 
Away,  with  me,  in  post  to  Ra\enspurg  : 
Biitj  if  you  faint,  as  fearing  to  do  so. 
Stay,  and  be  secret,  and  myself  will  go.  [fear. 
Ross.  To  horse,  to  horsr  !  urge  doubts  to  them  that 
//  illo.  Hold  out,  my  horse,  and  I  will  (irst  be 
there.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — The  sajne.  A  Roorn  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Queen,  Bushy,  and  Bagot. 

Busily.  Madam,  your  majesty  is  too  much  sad  : 
Yon  promis'd,  when  you  parted  with  the  king. 
To  lay  aside  life-harming  lieaviness. 
And  entertain  a  cheerful  disposition.  [self, 

Queen.  To  please  the  king,  I  did ;  to  please  my- 
I  caniiot  do  it;  yet  [  know  no  cause 
Why  I  should  welcome  such  a  guest  as  grief, 
S?s  -s  bidding  larewell  to  so  sweet  a  guest 
As  nr.y  s  veet  Richard  :  Yet,  again,  methinks, 
Some  unborn  sorrow,  ripe  in  fortune's  womb. 
Is  coming  towards  me;  and  my  inward  soul 
W^itli  noiliing  trembles  :  at  something  it  grieves. 
More  than  with  parting  from  my  lord  the  king. 

Bushy.  Each  substance  of  a  grief  hath  twenty 
shadows, 

W'hich  show  like  grief  itself,  but  are  not  so: 
For  sorrow's  eye,  glazed  with  blinding  tears. 
Divides  one  thing  entire  to  many  objects  ; 
Like  perspectives,  which,  rightly  gaz'd  upon, 
Show  nothing  but  confusion  ;  ey'd  awry, 
Distingnisii  form:  so  your  sweet  majesty, 
Looking  awry  upon  your  lord's  departure, 
Finds  shap,-s  of  griefs,  more  than  himseli',  to  wail: 
Which,  look'd  on  as  it  is,  is  nought  but  shadows 
Of  what  is  not.    Then,  thrice  gracious  queen, 
More  than  your  lord's  departure  weep  not;  more's 
uot  seen : 

Or  if  it  be,  'tis  with  false  sorrow's  eye, 
Which  for  tlungs  true,  weeps  things  imaginary. 

Queen.  It  niay  be  so  ;  but  yet  my  inward  soul 
Persuades  me,  it  is  otherwise  :  Hovve'er  it  be, 
I  cannot  but  be  sad  ;  so  heavy  sad, 
As,~tliough,  in  thinking,  on  no  thought  I  think, — 
Aiakes  me  with  heavy  nothing  faint  and  shrink 
Bushy.  'Tis  nothing  but  conceit,  my  gracious  lady. 
Queen.  'Tis  nothing  less:  conceit  is  still  deriv'd 
From  some  fore-father  grief;  mine  is  not  so; 
For  nothing  hath  begot  my  sometliiug  grief: 
Or  sometiiiug  hath  the  nothing,  that  I  grieve: 
Tis  iu  reversion,  that  I  do  possess; 
But  what  it  is,  that  is  not  yet  known :  what 
i  cannot  name :  'tis  nameless  woe,  I  wot. 

Ertter  Green. 

Crreen.  God  save  your  m;ijesty  I — and  well  met 
gentierneti  : — 
I  hope  the  king  is  not  yet  sliipp'd  for  Ireland. 

Queen.  Why  hop".st  thou  so  ^  tis  better  hope,  he  is  ; 
{''or  his  designs  crave  haste,  liis  haste  good  hoj)e  ; 
Thei  wliM-etore  dost  thou  hope,  he  is  not  shipp'd  ? 


Green.  That  he,  our  hope,  might  ha^e  retird  his 

power. 

And  driven  into  despair  an  enemy's  hope. 
Who  strongly  hath  set  footing  in  this  land  ; 
The  banish'd  Bolingbroke  repeals  himself. 
And  with  uplifted  arms  is  safe  arriv'd 
At  Ravens[>urg, 

Queen.  Now  God  iw  heaven  forbid! 

Green.   O,  madam,  'tis  too  true:   and  that  is 
worse, —  [Percy, 
The  lord  Northumberland,  his  young  son  Henry 
The  lords  of  Ross,  Beaumond,  and  Willoughby, 
With  all  their  powerful  friends,  are  tied  to  him. 

Bushy.  Why  have  you  not  proclaimed  NTorthuin- 
berland, 

And  all  the  rest  of  the  revolting  faction, 
Traitors? 

Green.  We  have  :  whereon  the  earl  of  Worcester 
Hath  broke  his  staff,  resign'd  his  stewardship, 
And  all  the  household  servants  fled  with  him 
To  Bolingbroke.  [woe, 

Queen,  So,  Green,  thou  art  the  midwife  to  ray 
And  Bolingbroke  my  sorrow's  dismal  heir: 
Now  hath  my  soul  brought  forth  her  prodigy ; 
And  I,  a  gasping  new-deliver'd  mother. 
Have  woe  to  woe,  sorrow  to  sorrow  join'd. 

Bushy.  Despair  not,  madam. 

Queen.  Who  shall  hinder  me  ? 

I  will  despair,  and  be  at  enmity 
With  cozening  hope  ;  he  is  a  flatterer, 
A  parasite,  a  keeper- back  of  death, 
Who  gently  would  dissolve  the  bands  of  life. 
Which  false  hope  lingers  in  extremity. 

Enter  York. 

Green.  Here  comes  the  duke  of  York. 

Queen.  With  signs  of  war  about  his  aged  neckf 

O,  full  of  careful  business  are  his  looks  !  

Uncle, 

For  heaven's  sake,  speak  comfortable  words. 

Yorlc.  Should  I  do  so,  I  .should  belie  my  thoughfa; 
Comibrt's  in  heaven  ;  and  we  are  on  the  earth, 
Where  nothing  lives  but  crosses,  care,  and  grie£. 
Your  husband  he  is  gone  to  save  far  off". 
Whilst  others  come  to  make  him  lose  at  hornet 
Here  am  I  left  to  underprop  his  land  ; 
Who,  weak  with  age,  cannot  support  myself:—— 
Now  conies  the  sick  hour,  that  his  surfeit  made  ; 
Now  shall  he  try  his  friends  that  flatter'd  him. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Serv.  My  lord,  your  son  was  gone  before  I  came. 
York.  He  was  r — why,  so  ! — go  all  which  way 
it  will  !— 

The  nobles  they  are  fled,  the  conmions  cold. 
And  will,  I  fear,  revolt  ou  Hereford's  side. — 
Sirrah, 

Get  thee  to  Plashy,  to  my  sister  Gloster; 
Bid  her  send  me  uresently  a  thousand  pound  ; 
Hold,  take  my  ring. 

Serv.  My  lord,  I  had  forgot  to  tell  your  lordship. 
To-day,  as  I  came  by,  I  called  there  ; — 
But  I  shall  grieve  you  to  report  the  rest 

York.  What  is  it,  knave  ? 

Serv.  An  hour  before  I  came,  the  duchess  died 
York.  God  for  his  mercy  i  what  a  tide  of  woea 
Comes  rusiiing  on  this  woeful  land  at  once  I 
1  know  not  what  to  do: — I  would  to  God, 
(So  my  imtruth  had  not  provok'd  him  to  it,) 
The  king  had  cut  off  my  head  with  my  brothers.— 
What,  are  there  posts  despatch'd  for  Ireland?— 
How  shall  we  do  for  money  for  these  wars  ? — 
Come,  sister, — cousin,  I  would  say :  pray,  pardoa 
me. —  [some  carts, 

Go,  fellow,  fto  the  Servant)  get  thee  home,  provide 
And  bring  away  the  armour  that  is  there. — 

[Exit  ServaxL 
Gentlemen,  will  you  go  muster  men  ?  if  I  know 
How.  or  which  way,  to  older  these  affairs, 
Thus  thru.st  disorderly  into  my  hands. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  fl. 


Ne  yer  believe  me.    Both  are  my  kinsmen  ;— 

The  0  le's  my  sovereign,  wiiom  both  my  oath 

And  duty  huh  defend  ;  the  odier,  again. 

Is  my  kinsmai.,  whom  the  king  hath  wrong'd  : 

Whom  conscience  and  my  kindred  bids  to  right. 

Well  somewhat  wc  must  do. —  Come,  cousin,  I'll 

Dispose  of  you  : — Go  muster  up  your  men, 

And  meet  me  presently  at  Berkley-castle. 

i  should  lo  Flashy  too; — 

But  time  will  not  permit: — All  is  uneven. 

And  every  thing  is  left  at  six  and  seven. 

[Exeunt  York  and  Queen. 
Bushy.  The  wind  sits  fair  for  news  to  go  to  Ire- 
land, 

Biit  none  returns.    For  us  to  levy  power. 
Proportionable  to  the  enemy. 
Is  all  impossible. 

Green.  Besides,  our  nearness  to  the  king  in  love, 
[s  near  the  hate  of  those  love  not  the  king. 

Bagoi.  And  that's  the  wavering  commons ;  for 
their  love 

Lies  in  their  purses;  and  whoso  empties  them. 
By  so  much  fills  their  hearts  with  deadly  hate. 
Bushy.  Wherein  the  king  stands  generally  con- 
demned. 

BagoL  if  judgment  lie  in  them,  then  so  do  we. 
Because  we  ever  have  been  near  the  king. 

Green.  Well,  I'll  for  refuge  straight  to  Bristol- 
The  earl  of  Wiltshire  is  already  there.  [castle; 

Bushy.  Thither  will  I  with  you :  for  little  office 
The  hateful  commons  will  peri'orm  us ; 
Except  like  curs  to  tear  us  all  in  pieces. — 
Will  yon  go  along  with  us  ? 

Bagoi.  No  ;  I'll  to  Ireland  to  his  majesty. 
Farewell;  if  heart's  presages  be  not  vain. 
We  three  here  part,  that  ne'er  shall  meet  again. 

Bushy.  That's  as  York  thrives  to  beat  back  Bo- 
lingbroke. 

Green.  Alas,  poor  duke  !  the  task  he  undertakes, 
is — numbering  sands,  and  drinking  oceans  dry  : 
Where  one  on  his  side  fights,  thousands  will  fly. 

Bushy.  Farewell  at  once ;  for  once,  for  all,  and 

Green.  Well,  we  may  meet  again,  [ever. 

Bagot.  1  fear  me,  never 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — The  TVilds  in  Glostershire. 

Enter  BoLiNGBiioKE  and  Northumberland, 
with  Forces. 

Baling.  How  far  is  it,  my  lord,  to  Berkley  now  ? 

North.  Believe  me,  noble  lord, 
I  am  a  stranger  here  in  Glostershire. 
Tiiese  high  wild  hills,  and  rough  uneven  ways. 
Draw  out  our  miles,  and  make  them  wearisome ; 
And  yet  your  fair  discourse  hath  been  as  sugar. 
Making  the  hard  way  sweet  and  delectable. 
But,  I  bethink  me,  what  a  weary  way 
From  Ravenspnrg  to  Cotsvvold,  will  be  found 
in  Ross  and  Willoughby,  wanting  your  company  : 
Which,  I  protest,  hath  very  nmch  beguil'd 
The  tediousness  and  process  of  my  travel: 
But  theirs  is  svveeten'd  with  the  hope  to  have 
'J'he  present  benefit,  which  I  possess  : 
And  hope  to  joy,  is  little  less  in  joy, 
'J'han  hope  enjoy'd  :  by  this  the  weary  lords 
Shaii  make  their  way  seem  short ;  as  mine  hath  done 
By  si.'vht  of  what  I  have,  your  noble  company. 

Boling.  Of  much  less  value  is  my  company, 
Tlian  your  good  words.  But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Harry  Percy. 

North.  It  is  my  son,  young  Harry  Percy, 
8»;nt  trom  my  brother  Worcester,  whencesoever. — 
Harry,  how  fares  your  uncle  ? 

Percy.  I  had  thought,  ray  lord ,  to  have  learn'd 
his  health  of  you. 

North.  Why,  is  he  not  with  the  queen  ? 

Percy.  No,  my  good  lord ;  he  hath  forsook  the 
Brnkea  his  staff  of  office,  and  dispftrs'd  [court, 
1'h«  Qouv'hold  of  the  king. 


North.  Wha.  was  his  reason  ? 

He  was  not  so  resolv'd,  when  last  we  spaks  togetlier. 

Percy.  Because  your  lordship  was  proclaim'd 
But  he,  my  lord,  is  gone  to  Ravenspurg,  [traitor. 
To  offer  service  to  the  duke  of  Hereford  : 
And  sent  me  o'er  by  Berkley,  to  discover 
What  power  the  duke  of  York  had  levied  there; 
Then  with  direction  to  repair  to  Ravenspnrg. 

North.  Have  you  forgot  the  duke  o^  Hereford, 
boy  ? 

Percy.  No,  my  good  lord  ;  for  that  is  not  forgot, 
Which  ne'er  I  did  remember  :  to  ray  knowledge, 
I  never  in  my  life  did  look  on  him.  [duke, 

No7-th.  Then  learn  to  know  him  now  ;  this  is  the 

Percy.  My  gracious  lord,  I  tender  you  my  service. 
Such  as  it  is,  being  tender,  raw,  and  young; 
Which  elder  days  shall  ripen,  and  confirm 
To  more  approved  iservice  and  desert. 

Baling.  I  thank  thee,  gentle  Percy ;  and  be  sure, 
I  count  myself  in  nothing  else  so  happy, 
As  in  a  soul  rememb'ring  my  good  friends* 
And,  as  my  fortunes  ripen  with  thy  love. 
It  shall  be  still  thy  true  love's  recompense  : 
My  heart  this  covenant  makes,  my  hand  thus  seals  it 

North.  How  far  is  it  to  Berkley?  And  what  stir 
Keeps  good  old  York  there,  with  his  men  of  war  ? 

Percy.  There  stands  the  castle,  by  yon  tuft  of 
trees, 

Mann'd  with  three  hundred  men,  as  I  have  heard  : 
And  in  it  are  the  lords  of  York,  Berkley,  and  Sey- 
None  else  of  name,  and  noble  estimate.        [raour  ; 
Enter  Ross  and  Willoughby. 
North.  Here  comes  the  lords  of  Ross  and  Wil- 
loughby, 

Bloody  with  spurring,  fiery-red  with  haste. 

Baling.  Welcome,  my  lords  :  I  wot,  your  love 
A  banish'd  traitor ;  all  my  treasury  [pursues 
Is  yet  but  nnfelt  thanks,  which,  more  er>rich  d. 
Shall  be  your  love  and  labour's  recomp<n.se. 

Ross.  Your  presence  makes  us  rich,  most  noble 
lord. 

Willa.  And  far  surmounts  our  labour  to  attain  it. 
Baling.  Evermore  thanks,  the  exchequer  of  the 
poor ; 

Which,  till  my  infant  fortune  comes  to  years, 
Stands  for  my  bounty.    But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Berkley. 

North.  It  is  my  lord  of  Berkley,  as  I  guess. 

Berk.  My  lord  of  Hereford,  my  message  is  to  you 

Baling.  My  lord,  my  answer  is — to  Lancaster; 
And  I  am  come  to  seek  that  name  in  England  : 
And  1  must  find  that  title  in  your  tongue, 
Before  I  make  reply  to  aught  you  say.  [ing. 

Berk.  Mistake  me  not,  my  lord  :  'tis  not  my  meas 
To  raze  one  title  of  your  honour  out : — 
To  you,  my  lord,  I  come,  (what  lord  you  will,) 
From  the  most  glorious  regent  of  this  land, 
The  duke  of  York  ;  to  know,  what  pricks  you  oa 
To  take  advantage  of  the  absent  time. 
And  fright  our  native  peace  with  self-born  arms. 
Enter  York,  attended. 

Baling.  T  shall  not  need  transport  my  words  by  you. 
Here  comes  his  grace  in  person. — My  noble  uncle  ! 

(Kneels.) 

York.  Show  me  thy  humble  heart,  and  not  thy 
Whose  duty  is  deceivable  and  false.  [knee 

Baling.  My  gracious  uncle  I 

York.  Tut,  tut ! 
Grace  me  no  grace,  nor  uncle  me  no  uncle  • 
I  am  no  traitor's  uncle  :  and  that  word — ^grace. 
In  an  ungracious  mouth,  is  but  profane. 
Why  have  these  banish'd  and  forbidder  legs 
Dar  d  once  to  touch  a  dust  of  England's  ground  ? 

But  then  more  why;  Why  have  they  dar'd  to 

So  many  miles  upon  her  peaceful  bosom  ;  [niarcll 

Frighting  her  pale-fac'd  villages  with  war  ; 

And  ostentation  of  despised  arms? 

Cum'st  thou,  because  the  anointed  king  is  hence  ? 


Act  III.    Scene  1. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


31J 


Why.  foolish  boy,  the  king  is  left  behind. 
And  in  my  loyal  bosom  lies  his  power. 
Were  1  but  now  the  lord  of  such  liot  youth. 
As  when  brave  Gaunt,  thy  father,  and  myself. 
Rescued  the  Black  Prince,  that  young  Mars  of  men, 
From  forth  the  ranks  of  niany  thousand  French  ; 
O,  tlien,  how  quickly  should  this  arm  of  mine, 
Now  pri'oner  to  the  palsy,  chastise  thee, 
And  minister  correction  to  thy  fault  ! 

Bolmg.  My  gracious  uncle,  let  me  know  my  fault 
On  what  condition  stands  it,  and  wherein  ? 

York.  Even  in  condition  of  the  worst  degree, — 
In  gross  rebellion,  and  detested  treason: 
Thou  art  a  banish'd  man,  and  here  art  come. 
Before  the  expiration  of  thy  time, 
In  braving  arms  against  thy  sovereign. 

Buting.  As  I  was  banish'd,!  was  banish'd  Here- 
ford ; 

But  as  1  come,  I  come  for  Lancaster. 
And,  noble  uncle,  1  beseech  your  grace, 
Look  on  my  wrongs  with  an  indifferent  eye  : 
You  are  my  father,  for,  methinks,  in  you 
I  see  old  Gaunt  alive  ;  O,  then,  my  father! 
Will  yon  permit  that  I  shall  stand  condemn'd 
A  wand'ring  vagabond  ;  my  rights  and  royalties 
Pluck'd  from  my  arms  t)ertbrce,  and  given  avyay 
To  upstart  unthrifts  ?  Wherefore  was  I  born  ? 
If  that  my  cousin  king  be  king  of  England, 
It  must  be  granted,  I  am  the  duke  ot  Lancaster. 
Yoii  have  a  son,  Aunierle,  my  noble  kinsman: 
Had  you  first  died,  and  lie  been  thus  trod  down. 
He  should  have  found  his  uncle  Gaunt  a  father. 
To  rouse  his  wrongs,  and  chase  them  to  the  bay. 
I  am  denied  to  sue  my  livery  here. 
And  yet  my  letters  patent  give  rne  leave  : 
My  father's  goods  are  all  distrain'd,  and  sold  ; 
Aiid  these,  and  all,  are  all  amiss  employ'd. 
What  wjuld  you  have  me  do  ?  I  am  a  subject. 
And  challenge  law  :  Attorneys  are  denied  me  ; 
4nd  therefore  personally  I  lay  my  claim 
To  rny  inheritance  of  free  descent. 

North.  The  noble  duke  hath  been  too  much  abus'd. 

Ross.  It  stands  your  grace  upon,  to  do  him  right. 

PVillo.  Base  men  by  his  endowments  are  made 
gr  at. 

Yor^c.  My  lords  of  England,  let  me  tell  you  this, 
I  have  had  feeling  of  my  cousin's  wrongs, 
And  labour  d  all  I  could  to  do  him  right: 
But  in  this  kind  to  come,  in  braving  arms. 
Be  his  own  carver,  and  cut  out  his  way, 
To  find  out  right  with  wrong, — it  may  not  be  ; 
And  you,  that  do  abet  him  in  this  kind. 
Cherish  rebellion,  and  are  rebels  all. 

North.  The  noble  duke  hath  sworn,  his  coming  is 
But  for  his  own  :  and,  for  the  right  of  that. 
We  all  have  strongly  sworn  to  give  him  aid  ; 
And  let  him  ne'er  see  joy,  that  breaks  that  oath. 

York.  Well,  well,  I  see  the  issue  oi' these  arms; 
I  cannot  mend  it,  I  must  needs  confess, 
Because  my  power  is  weak,  and  all  ill  left: 
But,  if  I  could,  by  Him  that  gave  me  life, 
I  would  attach  you  all,  and  make  you  stoop 
Unto  the  sovereign  mercy  of  the  king ; 
But,  since  I  cannot,  be  it  known  to  you, 
I  do  remain  as  neuter.    So,  fare  you  well  ;— 
Vnlessyou  please  to  enter  in  the  castle. 
And  there  repose  you  for  this  night. 

Boling.  An  offer,  uncle,  that  we  will  accept. 
B  it  we  must  win  your  grace,  to  go  with  us 
To  Bristol-castle  ;  which  they  say  is  held 
By  Bushy,  Bagot,  and  their  complices, 
The  caterpillars  of  the  commonwealth. 
Which  I  have  sworn  to  weed,  and  pluck  away. 

Ya  k.  It  may  be,  I  will  go  with  you : — but  yet 
I'll  pause  ; 

For  I  am  loath  to  break  oar  country's  laws. 
Nor  friends,  nor  foes,  to  me  welcome  you  are  : 
Things  past  redress,  are  now  with  me  past  rare. 

[Exeunt. 


Scene  iV.— ^  Camp  in  Waies. 
Enter  Salisbury  and  a  Captain. 

Cap  My  lord  of  Salisbury,  we  have  staid  ten  day^ 
And  hardly  kept  our  countrymen  together. 
And  yet  we  hear  no  tidings  from  the  king; 
Therefore  we  will  disperse  ourselves  :  farewell. 

Sal.  Stay  yet  another  d  ay,  thou  trusty  Welshman ; 
The  king  reposeth  all  his  confidence 
In  thee.  [stay. 

Cap.  'Tis  thought  the  king  is  dead  :  we  will  not 
The  bay-trees  in  our  country  are  wither'd, 
And  meteors  fright  the  fixed  stars  of  heaven  ; 
The  pale-fac'd  moon  looks  bloody  on  the  earth, 
And  lean  look'd  prophets  whisper  fearlul  change  ; 
Rich  men  look  sad,  and  ruffians  dance  and  leap,— 
The  one,  in  fear  to  lose  what  they  enjoy. 
The  other,  to  enjoy  by  rage  and  war; 
These  signs  forerun  the  death  or  fall  of  kings. — 
Farewell ;  our  countrymen  are  gone  and  tied. 
As  well  assur'd,  Richard  their  king  is  dead.  [Exit, 

Sal.  Ah,  Richard  !  with  the  eyes  of  heavy  mind. 
I  see  thy  glory,  like  a  shooting  star, 
Fall  to  the  base  earth  from  the  firmament ! 
Thy  sun  sets  weeping  in  the  lowly  west, 
Witnessing  storms  to  come,  woe,  and  unrest: 
Thy  friends  are  fled,  to  wait  upon  thy  foes  ; 
And  crossly  to  thy  good  all  fortune  goes.  [Exit, 

ACT  IIL 

Scene  1. — Bolinghroke's  Camp  at  Bristol. 

Enter  Bolingbroke,  York,  Northumberland, 
Percy,  Willoughby,  Ross  :  Officers  behindt 
with  Bushy  and  Green,  prisoners. 

Boling.    Bring  forth  these  men. — 
Bushy  and  Green,  I  will  not  vex  your  souls 
(Since  presently  your  souls  must  part  your  bodies,) 
With  too  much  urging  your  pernicious  lives, 
For  'twere  no  charity  :  yet,  to  wash  your  bloo* 
From  off  my  hands,  here,  in  the  view  of  men, 
I  will  unfold  some  causes  of  your  death. 
You  have  misled  a  prince,  a  royal  king, 
A  happy  gentleman  in  blood  and  lineaments. 
By  you  unhappied  and  disfigur'd  clean. 
You  have,  in  manner,  with  your  sinful  hours. 
Made  a  divorce  betwixt  his  queen  and  him; 
Broke  the  possession  of  a  royal  bed. 
And  stain'd  the  beauty  of  a  fair  queen's  cheeks 
With  tears  drawn  from  her  eyes  by  your  foul  wrongs* 
Myself — a  prince,  by  fortune  of  iny  birth ; 
Near  to  the  king  in  blood  ;  and  near  in  love. 
Till  yon  did  make  him  misinterpret  me, — 
Have  stoop'd  my  neck  under  your  injuries, 
And  sigh'd  my  English  breath  in  foreign  clouds, 
Eating  the  bitter  bread  of  banishment: 
Whilst  you  have  fed  upon  my  signories, 
Dispark'd  my  parks,  and  fell'd  my  forest  woods 
From  my  own  windows  torn  my  household  coat, 
Raz'd  out  my  im  ress,  leaving  me  no  sign, — 
Save  men's  opinions,  and  my  living  blood, — 
To  show  the  world  I  am  a  gentleman. 
This,  and  much  more,  much  more  than  twice  all  this, 
Condemns  you  to  the  death : — See  them  deliver'd 
To  execution  and  the  hand  of  death.  [over 

Bushy.  More  welcome  is  the  stroke  of  death  to  me. 
Than  Bolingbroke  to  England. — Lords,  farewell. 

Green.  My  comfort  is, — that  heaven  will  take  our 
souls, 

And  plague  injustice  with  the  pains  of  hell. 

Boling.   My  lord  Northumberland,  see  them 
despatch'd. 

[Exeunt  Northumberland  and  othtra,  with 

Prisoners. 
Uncle,  you  say,  the  queen  is  at  your  house ; 
For  heaven's  sake,  fairly  let  her  be  entreated: 
Tell  her,  I  send  to  her  my  kind  commends: 
Take  special  care  my  greetings  be  deliver'd. 

York.  A  gentleman  of  mine  I  have  despatch'd 
With  letters  of  your  love  to  her  at  large. 


•^2 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  III 


BoImg.Thanks,  gentle  uncle. — Come,  lords,  away; 
1  o  fight  -vitli  Glendower  and  his  complices  ; 
Awhile  to  work,  and,  after,  holiday.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  [I — The  Coast  of  f Vales.  A  Castle  in  View. 
Flourish  :  Drums  and  Trumpets.    Enter  King 

H1CH4UU,  Bishop  of  Carlisle,  Acmerle,  and 

Soldiers. 

K.  Rich.  I}arkloughly  castle  call  you  this  at  hand  ? 
Aum.  Yes,  my  lord  :  How  brocks  your  grace  the 
air, 

After  late  tossing  on  the  breaking  seas  ?  [joy, 
K.  Rich.  Needs  nuist  I  like  it  well ;  I  weep  lor 
To  stand  upon  my  kingdom  once  again. — 
Dear  earth,  1  do  salute  thee  with  my  hand, 
Though  rebels  wound  thee  with  their  horses'  hoofs  : 
As  a  long  parted  niother  with  her  child 
Plays  fondly  witli  her  tears,  and  smiles  in  meeting; 
So,  weeping,  smiling,  greet  I  thee,  my  earth, 
And  do  thee  favour  with  my  royal  hands. 
Feed  not  thy  sovereign  s  foe,  my  gentle  earth. 
Nor  with  thy  sweets  comfort  his  rav'nous  sense  . 
But  let  thy  spiders,  that  suck  up  thy  venom. 
And  heavy  gaited  toads,  lie  in  their  way  ; 
Doing  annoyance  to  the  treacherous  feet. 
Which  with  usurping  ste[)s  do  trample  thee, 
i'ii'ld  stinging  nettles  to  mine  enemies: 
And  when  they  from  thy  bosom  pluck  a  flower, 
Guard  it,  I  pray  thee,  with  a  lurking  adder ; 
Whose  double  tongue  may  with  a  mortal  touch 
Throw  deatii  upon  thy  sovereign's  enemies. — 
M<ick  not  my  senseless  conjuration,  lords  ; 
This  earth  shall  have  a  feeling,  and  these  stones 
Prove  armed  soldiers,  ere  her  native  king 
Shall  falter  under  foid  rebellious  arms. 

jy/'op.  Fear  not,  my  lord  ;  that  Power,  that 
made  you  king, 
llath  power  to  keep  you  king,  in  spite  of  all. 
The  m'?ans,  that  heaven  yields,  must  be  embrac'd. 
And  net  neglected ;  else,  ifheaven  woidd. 
And  we  will  not,  heaven's  offer  we  refuse^ 
Tne  proffcr'd  means  of  succour  and  redress. 

Aum.  He  means,  my  lord,  that  we  are  too  remiss  ; 
Whilst  Bolingbroke,  through  our  security, 
Grows  strong  and  great,  in  substance,  and  in  friends. 
K  Rich.  Discoinfortable  cousin !  know'st  thou 
not, 

That  when  the  searching  eye  of  heaven  is  hid 

Behind  the  globe,  and  lights  the  lower  world, 

'J'hen  thieves  and  robbers  range  abroad  unseen, 

In  min  ders,  and  in  outrage,  bloody  here  ; 

But  wiien,  (i-om  under  this  terrestrial  ball. 

He  fires  the  proud  tops  of  the  eastern  pines. 

And  darts  his  light  through  every  guilty  hole. 

Then  murdeis,  treasons,  and  detested  sins. 

The  cloak  of  night  being  pluck'd  from  off  tiieir  backs, 

Stand  bare  and  naked,  trembling  at  themseh  es  ? 

So  when  this  thief,  this  traitor,  Bolingbroke, — 

Who  all  this  while  hath  revell'd  in  the  night, 

Whilst  we  were  wand'riiig  with  the  antipodes, — 

Shall  see  us  rising  in  our  throne  the  east. 

His  treasons  will  sit  blushing  in  his  face. 

Not  able  to  endm-e  the  sight  of  day. 

But,  self  aifriglited,  tremble  at  his  sin. 

Not  all  the  water  in  the  rough  rude  sea 

Can  wash  the  balm  from  an  anointed  king  : 

The  breath  of  W(»rldly  men  cannot  depose 

'i'lie  deputy  elected  by  the  Lord  : 

For  every  man,  that  Bolingbroke  hath  press'd. 

To  lilt  shrewd  steel  against  our  golden  crown, 

God  for  his  Richard  hath  in  heavenly  pay 

A  glorious  angel ;  then,  if  angels  fight,  [right. 

Wfjakmeo  must  fall;  for  heaven  still  guards  the 

Enter  Salisbury. 
W^iicorae,  my  lord  ;  How  far  off  lies  your  power? 

Sal.  Nor  near,  nor  further  off,  my  gracious  lord, 
ThtJD  this  weak  arm  :  Discomfort  guides  my  tong», 
And  bids  me  speak  of  nothing  but  despair. 
One  day  too  late,  I  fear,  my  nobie  lord 


Hath  clouded  all  thy  happy  days  on  earth: 
O,  call  back  yesterday,  bid  time  return, 
And  thou  shalt  have  twelve  thousand  fighting  mea  i 
To-day,  to  day,  unhappy  day,  too  late, 
O'erthrows  thy  joys,  friends,  fortune,  and  thy  slate ; 
For  all  the  Welshmen,  hearing  thou  vvert  dead, 
i  Are  gone  to  Bolingbroke,  dispers'd,  and  fled. 

Aum.  Comibrt,  my  liege :  why  looks  your  grace 
_  so  {)ale  ?  [men 

K.  Rich.  But  now,  the  blood  of  twenty  thonsand 
Did  triumph  in  my  face,  and  they  are  fled  ; 

And,  till  so  much  blood  thither  come  again. 
Have  I  not  reason  to  look  pale  and  dead  ? 
All  souls,  that  will  be  safe,  fly  from  tny  side ; 
For  time  hath  set  a  blot  upon  my  pride. 

Aum.  Comfort,  my  liege  ;  remember  who  you  are. 

K.Rich.  I  had  forgot  myself :  Ami  not  king? 
I  Awake,  thou  sluggard  majesty!  thou  sleep'st. 
Is  not  the  king's  name  forty  thousand  names? 
Arm,  arm,  my  name  !  a  puny  subject  strikes 
At  thy  great  glory. — Look  not  to  the  ground, 
Ye  favourites  of  a  king;  Are  we  not  high  ? 
High  be  our  thoughts :  I  know,  my  uncle  York 
Hath  power  eaough  to  serve  our  turn.    But  who 
Comes  here? 

Ejiter  Scroop. 
Scroop.  More  health  and  happiness  betide  my 
liege. 

Than  ran  my  rare  tun'd  tongue  deliver  him. 

K.  Rich.  Mine  ear  is  open,  and  my  heart  prepar'd; 
The  worst  is  worl  lly  loss  thou  canst  unfold. 
Say.  is  my  kingdo  ri  lost  ?  why,  'twas  my  care; 
And  what  loss  is  it,  to  be  rid  of  care  ? 
Strives  Bolingbroke  to  be  as  great  as  we  ? 
Greater  he  shall  nut  be  :  il  he  serve  God, 
I  We'll  serve  him  too,  and  be  hia  fellow  so: 
Revolt  our  subjects  ?  that  we  cannot  mend  ; 
They  break  their  faith  to  God,  as  well  as  us : 
Cry  woe,  destruction,  ruin,  loss,  decay  ; 
The  worst  is — death,  and  death  will  have  his  day. 

Scroop.  Glad  am  I,  that  your  highne.'ss  is  so  ann'ii 
To  bear  the  tidings  of  calamity. 
Like  an  imseasonable  stormy  day. 
Which  makes  the  silver  rivers  drown  their  shorea. 
As  if  the  world  were  all  dissolv  d  to  tears; 
So  high  above  his  limits  swells  the  rage 
Of  Bolingbroke,  covering  your  fearful  land 
With  hard  bright  steel,  and  hearts  harder  than  steel. 
White-beards  have  arm'd  their  thin  and  hairless 
scalps 

Against  tiiy  majesty;  boys,  with  woreen's  voices. 
Strive  to  speak  big,  and  clap  their  female  joints 
In  stiff  unwieldy  arms  against  thy  crowa  : 
Thy  very  beadsmen  learn  to  bend  their  bows 
Of  double-fatal  yew  against  thy  state; 
Yea,  distatf-women  manage  rusty  bills 
Against  thy  seat:  both  young  and  old  rebel, 
And  all  goes  worse  than  I  have  power  to  tell. 
K.  Rich.  Too  well,  too  well,  thou  tell'st  a  tale 
so  ill. 

Where  is  the  earl  of  Wiltshire?  where  is  Bagot? 
What  is  become  of  Bushy  ?  where  is  Green  r 
That  they  have  let  the  dangerous  enemy 
Measure  our  confines  with  such  peaceful  steps? 
If  we  prevail,  their  heads  shall  pay  for  it. 
I  warrant,  they  have  neade  peace  with  Bolingbroke. 

Scroop.  Peace  have  they  made  with  him,  indeed, 
my  lord.  '  [demption ! 

K.  Rich.  O  villains,  vipers,  damn'd  without  re- 
Dogs,  easily  vvon  to  fawn  on  any  man  !  [Iieart! 
Snakes  in  my  heart-blood  warm'd,  that  sting  my 
Three  Jiidasses,  each  one  thrice  worse  than  Judas  I 
Would  they  make  peace  ?  terrible  hell  make  war 
Upon  their  spotted  souls  for  this  offence  ! 

Scroop.  Sweet  love,  I  see,  changing  his  property, 
Turns  to  the  sourest  and  most  deadly  hate : — 
Auain  uncurse  their  souls  ;  their  peace  is  made 
With  heads,  and  not  with  hands  :  those,  whom  yoB 
curse. 


Scene  3. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


813 


Have  felt  the  worst  of  death's  destroying  wound. 
And  lie  full  low,  grav'd  in  the  hollow  ground. 

Aunt.  Is  ^  Bushy,  Green,  and  the  earl  of  Wilt- 
shire, dead  ?  [heads. 

Scroop.  Yea,  all  of  them  at  Bristol  lost  their 

Aum.  Where  is  the  duke  my  father  with  his 
power  ?  [speak : 

K.  liich.  No  matter  where ;  of  comfort  no  man 
Let's  talk  of  graves,  of  worms,  and  epitaphs  ; 
Make  dust  our  paper,  and  with  rainy  eyes 
Write  sorrow  on  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 
Let's  choose  executors,  and  talk  of  wills  : 
A.nd  yet  not  so, — for  what  can  we  bequeath. 
Save  onr  de[;osed  bodies  to  the  ground  ^ 
Oi!<  lands,  our  lives,  and  »!!  are  Bolingbroke's, 
And  nothing  can  we  call  our  own,  but  death: 
A  nd  that  small  model  of  the  barren  earth, 
Which  serves  as  paste  and  cover  to  our  bones. 
For  heaven's  sake,  let  us  sit  upon  the  ground. 
And  tell  sad  stories  of  the  death  of  kings: — 
How  some  have  been  depos'd,  sortie  slain  in  war; 
Some  haimted  by  the  ghosts  they  iiave  depos'd  ; 
Some  poison'd  by  their  wives,  some  sleeping  kill'd  ; 
All  murder'd  : — For  within  the  hollow  crown, 
That  rounds  the  mortal  temples  of  a  king, 
Keeps  death  his  court:  and  there  the  antic  sits. 
Scoffing  his  state,  and  grinning  at  his  j>omp  ; 
Allowing  him  a  breath,  a  little  scene 
To  nionarchize,  be  fear'd,  and  kill  with  looks; 
Infusing  him  with  self  and  vain  conceit, — 
As  if  this  flesh,  which  walls  about  our  life, 
Were  brass  impregnable;  and,  humourd  thus. 
Comes  at  the  last,  and  with  a  little  pin 
Bores  through  his  castle  wall,  and — farewell,  king  I 
Cover  your  heads,  and  mock  not  flesh  and  blood 
With  soieuin  reverence;  throw  away  respect, 
Tradition,  form,  and  ceremonious  duty, 
For  you  have  but  mistook  n»e  ail  this  while; 
I  live  with  bread  like  you,  feel  want,  taste  grief, 
Need  friends: — Subjected  thus. 
How  can  you  say  to  me— i  am  a  king?  [woes. 

Car.  My  lord,  wise  men  ne'er  wail  their  preseiit 
But  presently  prevent  the  ways  to  wail. 
To  fear  the  toe,  since  fear  oppresseth  strength. 
Gives,  in  your  weakness,  strength  unto  your  foe. 
And  so  your  follies  fight  against  yourself 
Fear,  and  he  slain  ;  no  worse  can  come,  to  fight; 
And  fight  and  die,  is  death  destroying  death  ; 
Where  fearing  dying,  pays  death  servile  breath. 

Aum,  My  father  hath  a  power,  enquire  of  him; 
And  learn  to  make  a  body  of  a  limb. 

K.  Rick.  Thou  chid'st  me  well:— Proud  Boling- 
broke,  I  come 
To  change  blows  with  thee  for  our  day  of  doom. 
This  ague-fit  of  fear  is  over- blown  ; 
An  easy  task  it  is,  to  win  our  own. — 
Say,  Scroop,  where  lies  our  uncle  with  his  power? 
Speak  sweetly,  man,  although  thy  looks  be  sour. 

Scroop.  Men  jud^e  by  the  complexion  of  the  sky 
Tlie  state  and  inclination  of  the  day: 

So  may  you  by  my  dull  and  heavy  eye. 
My  tongue  hath  but  a  heavier  tale  to  say. 
I  play  the  torturer,  by  small  and  small, 
To  lengthen  out  the  worst  that  must  be  spoken  : — 
Your  uncle  York  hath  join'd  vvith  Bolingbroke; 
And  all  your  northern  castles  yielded  up. 
And  all  your  southern  gentlemen  in  arms 
Upon  his  party. 

K.  Ri  h.  Thou  hast  said  enough. — 

Beshrew  thee,  cousin,  which  didst  lead  me  forth 

{To  Aumerle.) 
Of  that  sw  ?et  way  I  was  in  to  despair ! 
What  say  you  now?  What  comfort  have  we  now? 
By  heaven,  I'll  hate  him  everlastingly. 
That  bids  me  be  of  comfort  any  more. 
Go,  to  Flint  castle;  there  I'll  pine  away: 
A  king,  woe's  slave,  shall  kingly  woe  obey. 
That  power,  I  have,  discharge  ;  and  let  them  go 
To  ear  the  land,  that  hath  some  hop'^  to  grow, 
Fur  1  have  ooae : — Le*      man  speak  again 


I  To  alter  this,  for  counse.  is  but  vain. 

I     Azan.  My  liege,  one  word. 

K.  Rich.  He  does  me  double  wrongs 

That  wounds  me  with  the  flatteries  of  his  tonjfue. 
Discharge  my  followers,  let  them  hence  ; — Away, 
From  iiichard's  night,  to  Bolingbroke's  fair  day. 

1       Scene         Wales.    Before  Flint  Castle. 
\  Enter,  with  drum  and  colours,  BoLlNGBROKK  anh 

Forces;  York,  Northumbeklamd,  awe/ o<Aer» 
I     Boling.  So  that  by  this  intelligence  we  learn, 
j  The  Welshmen  are  dispers'd  ;  and  Salisbury- 
Is  gone  to  meet  the  king,  who  lately  landed. 
With  some  few  private  friends,  upon  this  coast. 

North.  The  news  is  very  fair  and  good,  my  lord, 
Richard,  not  far  from  hence,  hath  hid  his  head. 

York.  It  would  beseem  the  lord  Northumberland, 
To  say — king  Richard  : — Alack  the  heavy  day. 
When  such  a  sacred  king  should  hide  his  head  ! 

North.  Your  grace  mistakes  me  ;  only  to  be  biief. 
Left  J  his  title  out. 

York.  The  time  hath  been. 

Would  you  have  been  so  brief  with  him,  he  would 
Have  been  so  brief  with  you,  to  shorten  you. 
For  taking  so  the  head,  your  whole  head's  length. 
Boling.   Mistake  not,   uncle,  further  than  yovi 
should.  [should, 
York.  Take  not,  good  cousin,  further  than  yo« 
Lest  you  mis-take  :  The  heavens  are  o'er  your  head 

Boling.  I  know  it,  uncle  ;  and  oppose  not 
Myself  against  their  will. — But  who  comes  her©  ? 

Enter  Percy. 

Well,  Harry  ;  what,  will  no<  this  castle  yield  ? 

Percy.  The  castle  royally  is  mann'd,  my  lord. 
Against  thy  entrance. 

Boling.  Royally  ' 
Wiiy,  it  contains  no  king? 

Percy.  Yes,  my  good  lo/d. 

It  doth  contain  a  king  :  king  Richard  lies 
Within  the  limits  of  yon  lime  and  stone  : 
And  vvith  him  are  the  lord  Aumerle,  lord  Salisbury* 
Sir  Stephen  Scroop;  besides  a  clergyman 
Of  holy  reverence  :  who,  I  cannot  learn. 

North.  Belike,  it  is  the  bishop  of  Carlisle. 

Boling.  Noble  lord,  (To  North.) 

Go  to  the  rude  ribs  of  that  ancient  castle  ; 
Through  brazen  trumpet  send  the  breath  of  parle 
Into  his  ruin'd  ears,  and  thus  deliver. 
Harry  Bolingbroke 

On  both  his  knees  doth  kiss  king  Richard's  hand; 
And  sends  allegiance,  and  true  faith  of  heart. 
To  his  most  royal  person :  hither  come 
Even  at  his  feet  to  lay  my  arms  and  power; 
Provided  that,  my  banishment  repeal'd. 
And  lands  restor'd  again,  be  freely  granted: 
If  not,  I'll  use  the  advantage  of  my  power. 
And  lay  the  summer's  dust  with  showers  of  blood, 
Rain'd  from  the  wounds  of  slaughter'd  Englishmen: 
The  which,  how  faroft'lrom  the  mind  of  Bolingbroka 
It  is,  such  crimson  tempest  should  bedrench 
The  fresh  green  lap  of  fair  king  Richard's  land. 
My  stooping  duty  tenderly  shall  show. 
Go,  signify  as  much ;  while  here  we  march 
Upon  the  grassy  carpet  of  this  plain. 

{Northumberland  advances  to  the  easily 
ivith  a  trumpet.) 
Let's  march  without  the  noise  of  threat'ning  drum. 
That  from  the  castle's  totter'd  battlements 
Our  fair  appointments  may  be  well  perus'd. 
Methinks,  king  Richard  and  myself  should  meet 
With  no  less  terror  than  the  elements 
Of  fire  and  water,  when  their  thund'ring  shock 
At  meeting  tears  the  cloudy  chet-ks  of  heaven. 
Be  he  the  fire,  I'll  be  the  yielding  water; 
The  rage  be  his,  while  on  the  earth  I  rain 
My  waters ;  on  the  earth,  and  not  on  liiin. 
March  on.  and  mark  king  Riohcird  he.    he  looks. 


51^ 


KING  RICHAED  IT. 


Act  in. 


d  park  sounded,  and  answered  hy  another  trum- 
pet within.    Flourish.    Enter  on   the  walls 
King  Richard,  the  Bishop  of  Carlisle,  Au- 
MiiKLE,  Scroop,  and  Salisbury. 
York:  See,  see,  kin^  Richard  doth  himself  appear, 
A&  doth  the  blushing  discontented  sun 
From  out  the  fiery  portal  of  the  east  ; 
When  lie  perceives  the  envious  clouds  are  bent 
To  dim  his  glory,  and  to  stair  the  track. 
Oi'  his  blight  passage  to  the  Occident. 
Vet  looks  he  like  a  king  ;  behold  his  eye. 
As  brip-ht  as  is  the  eagle's,  lightens  forth 
Controlling  majesty  ;  Alack,  alack,  for  woe. 
That  any  harm  should  stain  so  fair  a  show  ! 

K.  Rioh.  We  are  amaz'd ;  and  thus  long  have 
we  stood 

To  watch  the  fearful  bending  of  thy  knee, 

(To  Northumberland.) 
Because  we  thought  ourself  thy  lawful  king : 
And  if  we  be,  how  dare  thy  joints  forget 
To  pay  their  awful  duty  to  our  presence? 
If  we  be  not,  show  us  the  hand  of  God 
That  hath  dismiss'd  us  from  our  stewardship : 
For  well  we  know,  no  'land  of  blood  and  bone 
Can  gripe  the  sacred  handle  of  our  sceptre. 
Unless  he  do  profane,  steal,  or  usurp. 
And  though  you  think,  that  all,  as  you  have  done, 
Have  torn  their  souls,  by  turning  them  from  us, 
And  we  are  barren,  and  bereft  of  friends  ; — 
Yet  know, — my  master,  God  omnipotent. 
Is  mustering  in  his  clouds,  on  our  behalf, 
Armies  of  pestilence  ;  and  they  shall  strike 
Your  children  yet  unborn,  and  unbegot. 
That  lift  your  vassal  hands  against  niy  head. 
And  threat  the  glory  of  my  precious  crown. 
Tell  liolingbroke,  (lor  yoiid',  methinks,  he  is,) 
That  every  stride  he  makes  upon  tny  land, 
!s  dangerous  treason:  He  is  come  to  ope 
The  purple  testament  of  bleeding  war; 
But  ere  the  crown  he  looks  for  live  in  peace. 
Ten  thousarid  bloody  crowns  of  mother's  sous 
Shall  ill  become  the  flower  of  England's  face  ; 
Change  the  complexion  of  her  maid-pale  peace 
To  scarlet  indignation,  and  bedew 
Her  pastures'  grass  with  faithful  English  blood. 

North.  The  king  of  heaven  forbid,  our  lord  the 
Should  so  with  civil  and  uncivil  arms  [king 
Be  lush'd  upon !  Thy  thrice  noble  cousin, 
Harry  Bolingbroke,  doth  humbly  kiss  thy  hand; 
And  by  the  honourable  tomb  he  swears, 
That  stands  upon  thy  royal  grandsire's  bones  , 
And  by  the  royalties  of  both  your  bloods. 
Currents,  that  spring  from  one  most  gracious  head ; 
And  by  the  buried  hand  of  warlike  Gaunt ; 
And  by  the  worth  and  honour  of  himself, 
Comprising  all  that  may  be  sworn  or  said, — 
His  coming  hither  hath  no  further  scope. 
Than  for  his  lineal  royalties,  and  to  beg 
Enfranchisement  immediate  on  his  knees: 
Which  on  thy  royal  party  granted  once, 
£lis  glittering  arms  he  will  commend  to  rust. 
His  barbed  steeds  to  stables,  and  his  heart 
To  faithful  service  of  your  majesty. 
This  swears  he,  as  he  is  a  prince,  is  just; 
And,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  credit  him. 

K.  Rich.  Northumberland,  say, — thus  the  kiof 
returns ; — 
His  noble  cousin  is  right  welcome  hither ; 
Aui  all  the  number  of  his  fair  demands 
fcihall  be  accomplish'd  without  contradiction  : 
W'\i\\  all  the  gracious  utterance  thou  hast. 
Speak  to  his  gentle  hearing  kind  commends. — 
We  do  debase  ourself,  cousin,  do  we  not, 

(To  Aumerle.J 
To  look  so  poorly,  and  to  speak  so  fair  ? 
Shall  we  call  ba:;k  Northumberland,  and  send 
defiance  to  the  traitor,  and  so  die  ? 

Attm.  No,  good  my  lord ;  let's  fight  with  gentle 
words. 


Fill  time  \end  friends,  and  friends  their  helpM 
swords.  [of  mine, 

K.  Rich.  O  God  !  O  God  !  that  e'er  this  t<^agu« 
That  laid  the  sentence  of  dread  banishment 
On  yon  proud  man,  should  take  it  oft"  again 
Witli  words  of  sooth  !  O,  that  I  were  as  great 
As  is  my  grief,  or  lesser  than  my  name  ! 
Or  that  I  could  forget  what  I  ha^e  been  ! 
Or  not  remember  what  I  must  be  now  I 
Svvell'st  thou,  proud  heart  ?  I'll  give  thee  scope  to 
beat. 

Since  foes  have  scope  to  beat  both  thee  and  me. 
Aum.  Northumberland  comes  back  from  Boling- 
broke. [he  submit? 
^  K.  Rich.  What  must  the  king  do  now  ?  Mast 
The  king  shall  do  it.    Must  he  be  depos'd 
The  king  shall  be  contented.  Must  he  lose 
The  name  of  king?  o'God's  name,  let  it  go 
I'll  give  my  jewels,  for  a  set  of  beads ; 
My  gorgeous  palace,  for  a  hermitage  ; 
My  gay  apparel,  for  an  alms-man's  gown ; 
My  figur'd  goblets,  for  a  dish  of  wood  ; 
My  sceptre,  for  a  palmer's  walking-staff; 
My  subjects,  for  a  pair  of  carved  saints  ; 
And  my  large  kingdom  for  a  little  grave, 
A  little  little  grave,  an  obscure  grave  : — 
Or  I'll  be  buried  in  the  king's  highway. 
Some  way  of  common  trade,  where  subjects'  feet 
May  hourly  trample  on  their  sovereign's  head: 
For  on  my  heart  they  tread,  now  whilst  1  live  ; 
And,  buried  once,  why  not  upon  my  head  ? — 
Aumerle,  thou  weep'st;  My  tender-hearted  con- 
sin  !— 

We'll  make  foul  weather  with  despised  tears ; 
Our  sighs,  and  they,  shall  lodge  the  summer  corn. 
And  make  a  dearth  in  this  revolting  land. 
Or  shall  we  play  the  wantons  with  our  woes, 
And  make  some  pretty  match  with  shedding  teais  ? 
As  thus; — To  drop  them  still  upon  one  place, 
T\]\  they  iiave  fretted  us  a  pair  of  graves 
Within  the  earth:  and,  therein  laid, — There  lies 
Two  kinsmen,  digg'd  their  graves  with  utepinQ 
eyes  ? 

Would  not  this  ill  do  well? — Well,  well,  I  see 
I  talk  but  idly,  and  you  mock  at  me. — 
Most  mighty  prince,  my  lord  Northumberland, 
What  says  king  Bolingbroke  ?  will  his  majesty 
Give  Richard  leave  to  live,  till  Richard  die  ? 
You  make  a  leg,  and  Bolingbroke  says — ay. 

North.  My  lord,  in  the  base  court  he  doth  attend 
To  speak  with  you  ;  may't  please  you  to  come  down? 

K.  Rich.  Down,  down,  I  come :  like  glistering 
Phaeton, 

Wanting  the  manage  of  unruly  jades. 

(North,  retires  to  Boling.J 
In  the  base  court?  Base  court,  where  kings  grow 
base. 

To  come  at  traitors'  calls,  and  do  them  grace. 
In  the  base  court  ?  Come  down  ?  Down  court ! 
down  king ! 

For  night-owls  shriek,  where  mounting  larks  should 
sing.  [Exeunt,  from  above. 

Bolina.  What  says  his  majesty  ? 

North.  Sorrow  and  grief  of  heart 

Makes  him  speak  fondly,  like  a  frantic  man: 
Yet  he  is  come. 

Enter  King  Richard,  and  his  Attendants  below. 

Boling.  Stand  all  apart. 
And  show  fair  duty  to  his  majesty. — 
My  gracious  lord,—  (Kneeling.) 

K.  Rich.  Fair  cousin,  you  debase  your  princely 
knee. 

To  make  the  base  earth  proud  with  kissing  it: 
Me  rather  had,  my  heart  might  feel  your  love. 
Than  my  unpleas'd  eye  see  your  courtesy. 
Up,  cousin,  up ;  your  heart  is  up,  I  know, 
Thus  high  at  \e{ist,{touching  his  own  head,)d\ihough 
your  knee  be  low. 
Bolina.  My  gracious  lord,  I  come  but  for  mine  0¥m 


Act  IV     Scene  1. 


KING  mCIIARD  XL 


815 


/T,  Ri  h.  Your  own  is  yours,  and  I  am  years, 
and  all, 

Soling.  So  lar  be  mine,  my  most  redoubted  lord, 
As  my  true  service  shall  deserve  your  love. 
K.  Rich.  Well  you  deserve  : — They  well  deserve 
to  iia\  e. 

That  know  the  strong'st  and  surest  way  to  get.— 
Uncle,  give  me  your  hand :  nay,  dry  your  eyes. 
Tears  show  the'ir  hne,  but  want  their  remedies. — 
Cousin,  I  am  too  young  to  be  your  father. 
Though  you  ar(.  old  enough  to  be  my  heir. 
What  you  will  have,  I'll  give,  and  willing  too  ; 
For  do  we  nuist,  what  force  will  have  us  do. — 
Set  on  towards  London  : — Cousin,  is  it  so  ? 

Baling.  Yea,  my  good  lord. 

K.  Rich.  Then  I  must  not  say,  no. 

[Flourish.  Exeunt. 

Scene  I  W.—Langley.  The  Duke  of  York's  Garden. 
Enter  the  Queen,  and  two  ladies. 
Q^<ee7«.  What  sport  shall  we  devise  here  in  this 
garden, 

To  drive  away  the  heavy  thougnt  of  care? 

J  Lady.  Madam,  we'll  i)lay  at  bowls. 

Queen.  'Twill  make  me  think, 

The  world  is  full  of  rubs,  and  that  my  fortune 
Runs  'gainst  the  bias. 

1  Lady.  Madam,  we  will  dance. 

Queen.  M>  legs  can  keep  no  measure  in  delight. 
When  my  poor  heart  no  measure  keeps  in  grief: 
Therefore,  no  dancing,  girl;  some  other  sport. 

1  Lady.  Madam,  we'll  tell  tales. 

Queen.  Of  sorrow,  or  of  joy  ? 

1  Lady  Of  either,  madam. 

Queen.  Of  neither,  girl  : 

For  if  of  joy,  being  altogether  wanting. 
It  doth  remember  me  the  more  of  sorrow  ; 
Or  if  of  grief,  being  altogether  had, 
li  adds  more  sorrow  to  my  want  of  joy  : 
For  what  I  have,  1  need  not  to  repeat; 
And  what  I  want,  it  boots  not  to  complain. 

1  Lady.  Madam,  I'll  sing. 

Queen.  'Tis  well  that  thou  hast  cause  ; 

But  thou  shouldst  please  me  better,  wouldst  thou 
weep.  [good. 
1  Lady.  1  could  weep;  madam,  would  it  do  yon 
Queen.  And  I  could  weep,  would  weeping  do  me 

And  never  borrow  any  tear  of  thee.  [good. 

But  stay,  here  come  the  gardeners  : 

Let's  step  into  the  shadow  of  these  trees. — 

Enter  a  Gardener,  and  two  Servants. 
My  wretchedness  unto  a  row  of  pins, 
They'll  talk  of  state  •  for  every  one  doth  so 
Against  a  change:  Woe  is  forerun  with  vvoe. 

{Queen  and  Ladies  retire.) 

Gard.  Go,  bind  thou  up  yon'  dangling  apricocks. 
Which,  like  unruly  children,  make  their  sire 
Stoop  with  oppression  of  their  prodigal  weight: 
Give  some  supportance  to  the  bending  twigs. — 
Go  th.ou,  and,  like  an  executioner. 
Cut  off  the  beads  of  too-fast-growing  sprays. 
That  look  too  lofty  in  the  commonwealth  : 
All  uuist  be  even  in  our  government. — 
You  thus  employ'd,  I  will  go  root  away 
The  noisome  weeds,  that  without  profit  suck 
The  soil's  fertility  from  wholesome  flowers. 

1  Serv.  Why  should  we,  in  the  compass  of  a  pale, 
Keep  law,  and  form,  and  due  proportion. 
Showing,  as  in  a  model,  our  firm  estate  ? 
When  our  sea-walled  garden,  the  whole  land. 
Is  full  of  weeds ;  her  fairest  flowers  chok'd  up, 
Her  fruit-trees  all  unprun'd,  her  hedges  ruin'd, 
Her  knots  disorder'd,  and  her  wholesome  herbs 
Swarming  with  caterpillars? 

Gard.  Hold  thy  peace: — 

He,  that  hath  sutfer'd  this  disorder'd  spring. 
Hath  now  himself  met  with  the  fall  of  leaf : 
The  weeds,  that  his  broad  spreading  leaves  did 
shelter. 


That  seem'd  in  eating  him  to  hold  him  np, 
Are  pluck'd  up,  root  and  all,  by  Bolingbrokej 
1  mean,  the  earl  of  Wiltshire,  Bushy,  Green. 

1  Serv.  What,  are  they  dead  ? 

Gard.  They  are  ;  and  Boliugbiroka 

Hath  seiz'd  the  wasteful  king.~Oh  !  what  pity  is 
That  he  had  not  so  trimm'd  and  dress'd  his  laadj 
As  we  this  garden  !  We  at  time  of  year 
Do  wound  the  bark,  thif  skin  of  our  fruit-trees; 
Lest,  being  over-proud  with  sap  and  blood. 
With  too  much  riches  it  confound  itself : 
Had  he  done  so  to  great  and  growing  men. 
They  might  have  liv'd  to  bear,  and  he  to  taste 
Their  fruits  of  duty.    All  superfluous  branches 
We  lop  away,  that  bearing  boughs  may  live  : 
Had  he  done  so,  himself  had  borne  the  crown, 
Which  waste  of  idle  hours  hath  quite  thrown  down, 

1  Serv.  What,  think  you  then,  the  king  shall  b*. 
depos'd  ? 

Gard.  Depress'd  he  is  already ;  and  depos'd, 
'Tis  doubt,  he  will  be  :  Letters  came  last  night 
To  a  dear  friend  of  the  good  duke  of  York's, 
That  tell  black  tidings. 

Queen.  O,  I  am  press'd  to  death. 

Through  want  of  speaking  ! — Thou,  old  Adam's 
likeness,  {Coming  fro/n  her  concealment.) 
Set  to  dress  this  garden,  how  dares 
Thy  harsh-rude  tongue  sound  this  unpleasing  news? 
What  Eve,  what  serpent,  hath  suggested  tnee 
To  make  a  second  fall  of  cursed  man? 
Why  dost  thou  say,  king  Richard  is  depos'd? 
Dar'st  thou,  thou  little  better  thing  than  earth. 
Divine  his  downfall  ?  Say,  where,  when,  and  hovr, 
Cam'st  thou  by  these  ill-tidings  ?  speak,  thou  wretch, 

Gard.  Pardon  me,  madam  :  little  joy  have  I, 
To  breathe  this  news;  yet,  what  I  say,  is  true. 
King  Richard,  he  is  in  the  mighty  hold 
Of  Bolingbroke  ;  their  fortunes  both  are  weigh'd  ; 
In  your  lord's  scale  is  nothing  but  himself. 
And  some  few  vanities,  that  make  him  light  j 
But  in  the  balance  of  great  Bolingbroke, 
Besides  himself,  are  all  the  English  peers, 
And  with  that  odds  he  weighs  king  Richard  down^ 
Post  you  to  London,  and  you'll  find  it  so ; 
I  speak  no  more  than  every  one  doth  know. 

Queen.  Nimble  mischance,  that  art  so  light  of  foslj 
Doth  not  tliy  embassage  belong  to  me, 
And  am  I  last  that  knows  it?  O,  thou  think'st 
To  serve  me  last,  that  I  may  longest  keep 
Thy  sorroA'  in  my  breast. — Come,  ladies,  go, 
To  meet  at  London  London's  king  in  woe.— 
What,  was  I  born  to  this !  that  my  sad  look 
Should  grace  the  triumph  of  great  Bolingbroke? 
Gardener,  for  telling  me  this  news  of  woe, 
1  would,  the  plants  thou  graft'st,  may  never  grow. 

[Exeunt  Queen  and  Ladies 

Gard.  Poor  queen  !  so  that  thy  state  might  be  no 
worse, 

I  would,  my  skill  were  subject  to  thy  curse. — 
Here  did  she  drop  a  tear;  here,  in  this  place, 
I'll  set  a  bank  of  rue,  sour  herb  of  grace  : 
Rue,  even  for  ruth,  here  shortly  shall  be  seen. 
In  the  remembrance  of  a  weeping  queen.  [Exeunt, 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.  —London.  Westminster  Hall.  The  Lifrds 
spiritual  on  the  right  of  the  throne  ;  the  Lorda 
temporal  on  the  left ;  the  Commons  bdotv. 

Ikiter  Bolingbroke,  Aumerle,  Surrey,  North- 
umberland, Percy,  Fitzwater,  another  Lord, 
Bishop  of  Carlisle,  Abbot  of  Westminster^ 
and  Attendants.    Officers  behind  with  Bagot. 

Boling.  Call  forth  Bagot:— 
Now,  Bagot,  freely  speak  thy  mind  ; 
What  thou  dost  know  of  noble  Gloster's  death  ; 
Who  vvrouglit  it  with  the  king,  and  who  perform'd 
The  bloody  office  of  his  timeless  end. 

Bagot.  Then  set  before  my  face  the  lord  Autnerlfik 


316 


KING  RICHARD  IL 


Act  IV. 


EoUng.  Cousin,  jtand  forth,  and  look  upon  that 
man.  [tongue 

Bxgot  My  lord  Aumerle,  I  know  your  daring 
Scorns  to  unsay  what  once  it  hath  deliver'd. 
In  that  dead  time,  when  Gloster's  death  was  plotted, 
I  iieard  you  say, — Is  not  my  arm  of  length, 
That  reacheth  from  the  restful  English  court 
As  far  as  Calais,  to  my  uncle  s  head? 
Amongst  much  other  talk,  that  very  time, 
i  heard  you  say,  that  you  had  rather  refuse 
The  oJer  of  an  hundred  thousand  crowns, 
1'han  Bolinghroke's  return  to  England  ; 
Adding  withai,  how  blest  this  land  would  be, 
In  this  your  cousin's  death. 

Aum.  Princes,  and  noble  lords, 

What  answer  shall  I  make  to  this  base  man? 
Shall  I  so  much  dishonour  my  fair  stars, 
Gn  equal  terms  to  give  him  chastisement? 
Either  I  must,  or  have  mii>e  honour  soil'd 
With  the  attainder  of  his  sland'rous  lips. — 
There  is  my  gage,  the  manual  seal  of  death, 
Thai  marks  thee  out  for  hell  :  I  say,  thou  liest. 
And  will  maintain  what  thou  hast  said  is  false. 
In  thy  heart-blood,  though  being  all  too  base 
To  stain  the  temper  of  my  knightly  sword. 

Baling.  Bagot,  forbear,  thou  shalt  not  take  it  up. 

Aiim.  Excepting  one,  I  would  he  were  the  best 
In  all  this  presence,  that  hath  mov  d  me  so. 

Fitz.  If  that  thy  valour  stand  on  sympathies, 
There  is  my  gage,  Aiiraerlo,  in  gage  to  thine  : 
By  that  fai.'sun,  that  shows  me  where  thou  stand'st, 
I  heard  thee  say,  and  vauntingly  thou  spak  stit. 
That  thou  wert  cause  of  noble  Gloster's  death. 
If  th :)u  deuy'st  it,  twenty  times  thou  liest; 
And  I  will  turn  thy  falsehood  to  thy  heart. 
Where  it  was  forged,  with  my  rapier's  point. 

Aum.  Thou  dar'st  not,  coward,  live  to  see  that  day. 

Fitz.  Now,  by  my  soul,  I  would  it  were  this  hour. 

Aum,  Fitzvvater,  thou  art  damn'd  to  hell  for  this. 

Perci.  Aumerle,  thou  liest;  his  iionour  is  as  true. 
In  this  ajjpeal,  as  thou  art  all  unjust; 
And,  thf-.t  thou  art  so,  there  I  throw  my  gage, 
To  prove  it  on  thee,  to  the  extremest  point 
Of  mortal  breathing;  seize  it,  if  thou  dar'st. 

Aum.  And  if  I  do  not,  may  my  hands  rot  off. 
And  never  brandish  more  revengelul  steel 
Over  the  glittering  helmet  of  my  foe  !       [Aumerle  : 

Lord.  I  take  the  earth  to  the  like,  forsworn 
Aid  spur  thee  on  with  full  as  many  lies 
As  may  be  holla'd  in  thy  treacherous  ear 
Prom  sun  to  sun  :  there  is  my  honour's  pawn ; 
Engage  it  to  the  trial,  if  thou  dar'st.  [at  all  : 

Auiu.  Who  sets  me  else?  by  heaven,  I'U  throw 
I  have  a  thousand  spirits  in  one  breast, 
To  answer  twenty  thousand  such  as  you. 

Surrey.  My  lord  Fitz  water,  I  do  remember  well 
The  very  time  Aumerle  and  you  did  talk.  [then; 

Fitz.  My  lord,  'tis  true  :  you  were  in  presence 
And  you  can  witness  with  me  this  is  true.  [true. 

Surrey.  As  false,  by  heaven,  as  heaven  itself  is 

Fitz.  Surrey,  thou  best. 

Surrey.  Dishonourable  boy  I 

That  lie  shall  lie  so  heavy  on  my  sword, 
That  it  shall  render  vengeance  and  revenge, 
fill  thou  the  lie-giver,  and  that  lie,  do  lie 
In  earth  as  quiet  as  thy  father's  scull. 
In  proof  whereof,  there  is  my  honour's  pawn; 
Bngage  it  to  the  trial,  if  thou  dar'st. 

F^tz.  How  fondly  dost  thou  spur  a  forward  horse  ! 
dare  eat,  or  drink,  or  breathe,  or  live, 
1  dare  meet  Surrey  in  a  wilderness. 
And  spit  upon  him,  whilst  I  say,  he  lies, 
And  lies,  and  lies  :  there  is  my  bond  of  faith. 
To  tie  thee  to  my  strong  correction. — 
As  I  intend  to  thrive  in  this  new  world, 
Aumerle  is  guilty  of  my  true  appeal : 
Besides,  1  ht^ard  the  banish'd  Norfolk  say. 
That  thou,  Aumerle,  didst  send  two  of  thy  men 
To  execute  the  noble  duke  at  Calais. 

Aum.  Soma  honest  Curistiaa  trust  nie  with  a  gage. 


That  Norfolk  lies  :  here  do  I  throw  down  this. 

If  he  may  be  repeal'd  to  try  his  lionour.  '' 

Boling.  These  differences  shall  all  rest  undef 
Till  Norfolk  be  repeal'd  :  repeal'd  he  shall  be. 
And,  though  mine  enemy,  restor'd  again 
'To  all  his  land  and  signories-;  when  he's  retu/n'd, 
Against  Aumerle  we  will  enforce  this  trial. 

Car.  That  honourable  day  shall  ne'er  be  seea.— 
Many  a  time  hath  banish'd  Norfolk  fought 
For  Jesu  Christ;  in  glorious  Christian  field 
Streaming  the  ensign  of  the  Christian  cross 
Against  black  Pagans,  Turks,  and  Saracens: 
And,  toil'd  with  works  of  war,  retir'd  himself 
To  Italy;  and  tiiere,  at  Venic  ,  gave 
His  body  to  that  pleasant  country's  earth. 
And  his  pure  soul  unto  his  captain,  Christ, 
UndiM-  whose  colours  he  had  fought  so  long. 

Boling.  Why,  bishop,  is  Norfolk  dead  ? 

Car,  As  sure  as  I  live,  my  lord.  [bosom 

Boling.  Sweet  peace  conduct  his  sweet  soul  to  the 
Of  good  old  Abraham  ! — Lords  appellants. 
Your  diflisrences  shall  all  rest  under  gage 
Till  we  assign  you  to  your  days  of  trial. 

Enter  York,  attended. 

York.  Great  duke  of  Lancaster,  I  come  to  thee 
From  plume-plurk'd  Richard  ;  who  with  willing  soul 
Adopts  tiiee  heir,  and  his  high  sceptre  yields 
To  the  possession  of  thy  royal  hand  : 
Ascend  his  throne,  descending  now  from  him, — 
And  long  live  Henry,  of  that  name  the  fourth! 

Boling.  In  Goil's  name,  I'll  ascend  the  regal 

Car.  Marry,  God  forbid  I —  [throne. 
Worst  in  this  royal  presence  may  I  speak. 
Yet  best  beseemitig  me  to  speak  the  truth. 
Weiild  God,  that  any  in  this  noble  presence 
Were  enough  noble  to  be  upright  judge 
Of  noble  Richard ;  then  true  nobless  would 
Learn  him  forbearance  from  so  foul  a  wrong. 
What  subject  can  give  sentence  on  his  kiui?  ? 
And  who  sits  here  that  is  not  Richard's  subject? 
Thieves  are  not  judg'd,  but  they  are  by  to  hear. 
Although  apparent  guilt  be  seen  in  them. 
And  shall  the  figure  of  God's  majesty. 
His  captain,  steward,  deputy  elect. 
Anointed,  crowned,  planted  many  years. 
Be  judg'd  by  subject  and  inferior  breath. 
And  he  himself  not  present?  O,  forbid  it,  God, 
That,  in  a  Christian  climate,  souls  refin'd 
Should  show  so  heinous,  black,  obscene  a  deed! 
I  speak  to  subjects,  and  a  subject  speaks, 
Stirr'd  up  by  heaven  thus  boldly  for  his  king. 
My  lord  of  Hereford  here,  whom  you  call  king. 
Is  a  foul  traitor  to  proud  Hereford's  king  : 
And  if  you  crown  him,  let  me  prophesy, — 
The  blood  of  English  shall  manure  the  ground^ 
And  future  ages  groan  for  this  foul  act; 
Peace  shall  go  sleep  with  Turks  and  infidels. 
And,  in  this  seat  of  peace,  tumultuous  wars 
Shall  kin  with  kin,  and  kind  with  kind  confound; 
Disorder,  horror,  fear,  and  mutiny, 
Shall  here  inhabit,  and  this  land  be  call'd 
The  field  of  Golgotha,  and  dead  men's  sculls. 
O,  if  you  rear  this  house  against  this  house. 
It  will  the  woefuUest  division  prove. 
That  ever  fell  upon  this  cursed  earth  : 
Prevent,  resist  it,  let  it  not  be  so. 
Lest  child,  child's  children,  cry  against  you— woe  ! 

North.  Well  have  you  argu'd,  sir;  and,  for  youf 
pains. 

Of  capital  treason  we  arrest  you  here  : — 

My  lord  of  Westu)inster,  be  it  your  charge 

To  keep  him  safely  tdl  his  day  of  trial. — 

May  it  please  you,  lords,  to  grant  the  commons'  sait? 
Boling.'Fetch  hither  Richard,  that  in  common  view 

He  may  surrender;  so  we  shall  proceed 

Without  suspicion. 

York.  I  will  be  his  conduct.  [Exit, 

Baling.  Lords,  you  that  are  he.  •  under  our  arresl^ 

Procure  your  sureties  for  your  day    of  answer  : — 


kSCENE  1. 


KING  RICHARD  XL 


317 


Little  are  we  beholden  to  your  love,  [To  Carlisle.) 
And  little  look'd  for  at  your  helping  hands. 

fie  enter  York,  tvii/i  Kir.g  Richard,  and  OJJicers 
bearing  the  crown,  §fc. 
K.  Rich.  Ahick,  why  ani  1  sent  for  to  a  king. 
Before  I  have  shook  off  the  regal  thoughts 
Wijerew.th  1  rei^n'd  ?  I  hardly  yet  have  learn'd 
To  insinuate,  llatter,  bow,  and  bend  my  knee  : — 
Ui\e  siwrovv  leave  a  while  to  tutor  me 
To  this  submission.    Yet  I  well  remember 
The  ia'.oiirs  of  these  men  :  Were  they  not  miue? 
Did  they  not  sometime  cry,  all  hail!  tome? 
Sc  Judas  did  to  Christ  :  but  he,  in  twelve. 
Found  truth  in  all,  but  one;  I,  in  twelve  thousand, 
none. 

God  save  the  king! — Will  no  man  sayamen  ? 
Am  I  both  priest  and  clerk?  well  then,  amen. 
God  save  the  king!  although  I  be  not  he  ; 
And  yet,  amen,  if  hcai'en  do  think  him  me. — 
To  do  what  service  am  1  sent  lor  Slither? 

Yor}.  To  do  that  office,  ol'  thine  own  good  will, 
Whicli  tired  majesty  did  make  tliee  otfer, — 
The  resignation  of  thy  state  and  crown 
Tu  Henry  Bolingbroke.  [seize  the  crown  ; 

K.  Rich.   Give  n)e  the  crown  : — Here,  cousin, 
Here,  on  this  side,  my  hand  ;  on  that  side,  thine. 
New  is  this  golden  crown  like  a  deep  well, 
That  owes  two  buckets  filling  one  another; 
The  emptier  ever  dancing  in  the  air, 
'l''he  other  down,  unseen,  and  full  of  water: 
The  bucket  down,  and  fidl  of  tears,  am.  I, 
Drinking  itiy  griefs,  whilst  you  mount  up  on  high. 

Baling.  1  tliought  yon  had  been  willing  to  resign. 

K.  Rich.  My  crown  1  am;  but  still  my  griefs  are 
You  may  my  glories  and  my  state  depose,  [mine  : 
But  not  my  griefs;  still  am  I  king  of  those. 

Billing.  Part  of  your  cares  you  give  me  with  your 
crown.  [down. 

K.  Rich.  Your  cares,  set  up,  do  not  pluck  my  cares 
Rly  care  is- — loss  of  care,  by  old  care  done  ; 
Yi)iir  care  is — gain  of  care,  by  new  care  won  : 
Tbe  c^jres  I  give,  1  have,  though  given  away; 
They  tend  the  crown,  yet  still  with  me  they  stay. 

BoJiny.  Are  you  contented  to  resign  the  crown? 

K.  Rich.  Ay,  no; — no,  ay: — for  I  must  notinng 
Therefore  no  no,  for  1  resign  to  thee.  [be; 
Now  mark  me  how  1  will  undo  myself: — 
I  give  this  heavy  weight  from  off  my  liead. 
And  this  uuw.eidy  sceptre  from  my  hand, 
The  pride  oi"  kingly  sway  from  out  my  heart; 
With  mine  own  tears  I  wash  away  my  balm. 
With  mine  own  hands  1  gi\e  away  my  crown. 
With  mine  own  tongue  deny  my  sacred  state. 
With  mine  own  breath  release  all  duteous  oaths  : 
All  pomp  and  majesty  I  do  forswear; 
My  manors,  rents,  and  revenues,  I  forego; 
IMy  acts,  decrees,  and  statutes,  1  deny  : 
God  pardon  all  oaths,  that  are  broke  to  me  ! 
God  keep  all  vows  unbroke,  are  made  to  thee! 
Make  me,  that  nothing  have,  with  nothing  gricv'd ; 
And  i\\o\\  vvith  all  pleas'd,  that  hast  all  achiev'd! 
Long  may'st  thou  live  in  Richard's  seat  to  sit, 
And  soon  lie  Richard  in  an  earthly  pit! 
God  save  king  Henry,  unking'd  Kichrird  says, 
And  send  him  many  years  of  sunsliine  days! 
What  more  remains? 

North.  No  more,  but  that  you  read 

{Offering  a  paper.) 
These  accusations,  and  these  grievous  crimes. 
Committed  by  your  person,  and  your  followers. 
Against  the  state  and  profit  of  this  land  ; 
That,  by  confessing  them,  the  souls  of  men 
May  deem  that  you  are  wort-liily  depos'd. 

K.  Rich.  Must  I  do  so  ?  and  must  I  ravel  ant 
My  weav'd  up  tollies?  Gentle  Northumberland, 
If  thy  offences  were  upon  record, 
Would  it  not  shame  tliee,  in  so  fair  a  troop. 
To  read  a  lecture  of  them  ?  If  thou  wouldst, 
Tbere  shouidst  thou  find  one  heinous  article, — 


Containing  the  deposing  of  a  king, 
And  cracking  the  strong  warrant  of  an  oath,— 
Mark'd  with  a  blot,  damn'd  in  the  book  of  heaven:— 
Nay,  all  of  you,  that  stand  and  look  npon  me. 
Whilst  that  my  wretchedness  doth  bait  myseif. 
Though  some  of  you,  vvith  Pilate,  wash  your  haadSf 
Showing  an  outward  pity ;  yet  you  Pilates 
Have  here  deliver'd  me  to  my  sour  cross. 
And  water  cannot  wash  away  your  sin. 

North.  My  lord,  despatch  ;  read  o'er  these  articlea, 

K.  Rich.  Mine  eyes  are  full  of  tears,  T  cannot  •fe" 
And  yet  salt  water  blinds  them  not  so  much. 
But  they  can  see  a  sort  of  traitors  here. 
Nay,  if  I  turn  mine  eyes  upon  myself, 
I  find  myself  a  traitor  with  the  rest: 
For  I  have  given  here  my  soul's  consent. 
To  undeck  the  pompous  body  of  a  king; 
Make  glory  base;  and  sovereignty,  a  slave; 
Proud  majesty,  a  subject;  state,  a  peasant. 

North.  My  lord, —  [man, 

K.  Rich.  No  lord  of  thine,  thou  haught,  insulting 
Nor  no  man's  lord  ;  I  have  no  name,  no  title, — 
No,  not  that  name  was  given  me  at  the  font,- 
But  'tis  usurp'd  : — Alack  the  heavy  day, 
That  I  have  worn  so  many  winters  out. 
And  know  not  now  what  name  to  call  myself! 
O,  that  I  were  a  mockery  king  of  snow. 
Standing  beibre  the  sun  of  Bolingbroke, 
To  melt  myself  away  in  water-drops  ! —  ['good,) 
Good  king,  —  great  king,  —  (and  yet  not  greatlv 
An  if  my  word  be  sterling  yet  in  England, 
Let  it  cominnnd  a  mirror  hither  straight; 
That  it  may  show  me  what  a  face  1  have. 
Since  it  is  bankrupt  of  his  majesty. 

Baling.   Go  some  of  you,  and  fetch  a  looking- 
glass.  [Exit  an  Attendant. 

North.  Read  o'er  this  paper,  while  the  glass  d  ith 
come.  [to  ht-11. 

K.  Rich  Fiend !  thou  torraent'st  me  ere  I  couie 

Baling.  Urge  it  no  more,  my  lord  Northumberland. 

North.  The  commons  will  not  then  be  satisfi-  d. 

K.  Rich.  They  shall  be  satisfied  ;  I'll  read  enough, 
Wlien  I  do  see  tlie  very  book  indeed 
Where  all  my  sins  are  writ,  and  that's — myself- 

Re-enter  Attendant,  with  a  glass. 
Give  me  that  glass,  and  therein  will  I  read. — 
No  deeper  wrinkles  yet?    Hath  sorrow  struck 
So  many  blows  upon  this  face  of  mine. 
And  made  no  deeper  wounds? — O,  flattering  glass 
Like  to  my  followers  in  prosperity, 
Thou  dost  beguile  me !    Was  this  face  the  face 
Thnt  every  day  under  his  household  roof 
Did  keep  ten  thousand  men  ?   Was  this  the  face, 
That,  like  the  sun,  did  make  beholders  wink  ? 
Was  this  the  face,  that  fac'd  so  many  follies. 
And  was  at  last  out-fac'd  by  Bolingbroke? 
A  brittle  glory  shineth  in  this  face: 
As  brittle  as  the  glory  is  the  face : 

[Dashes  the  glass  against  the  ground. 
For  there  it  is,  crack'd  in  a  hundred  shivers.— 
Mark,  silent  king,  the  moral  of  this  sport, — 
How  soon  my  sorrow  hath  destroy'd  my  face. 

Baling.  Tiie  shadow  of  your  sorrow  hath  destroy' ^^ 
The  shadow  of  your  face. 

K.  Rich.  Say  that  again. 

The  shadow  of  my  sorrow  ?  Ha  !  let's  see  : — 
'Tis  very  true,  my  grief  lies  all  within  ; 
And  these  external  manners  of  lament 
Are  merely  shadows  to  the  unseen  grief, 
That  swells  with  silence  in  the  tortur'd  sotd  , 
There  lies  the  substance:  and  F thank  thee,  king, 
For  thy  great  bounty,  that  not  only  giv'st 
Me  cause  to  wail,  but  teachest  me  the  way 
How  to  lament  the  cause.    I'll  beg  one  boon. 
And  then  be  gone,  and  trouble  you  no  more. 
Shall  I  obtain  it? 

Baling.  Name  it,  fair  cousin. 

K.  Rich.  Fair  cousin?  Why,  I  am  greater  tbsE 
a  king  : 


118 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


For,  when  I  was  a  king,  my  flatterers 

\Vere  then  but  subjects;  being  now  a  subject, 

I  have  a  king  here  to  my  flatterer. 

Being  so  great,  I  have  no  need  to  beg. 

Boling.  Y  et  ask. 

K.  Rick.  And  shall  I  have  ? 

Boling.  You  shall. 

>' .  Rick.  Then  give  me  leave  to  go. 

Boling.  Whither?  ^  [s^g^^ts, 

K.  Rich.  Whither  you  will,  so  I  were  from  your 

Boling.  Go,  some  of  you,  convey  him  to  the 
Tower.  tyo"  a''> 

K.  Rick.  O,  good  !  Convey  ?— Conveyers  are 
That  rise  thus  nimbly  by  a  true  king's  lall. 
{.Exeunt  K.  Richard,  some  Lords,  andaGtiard. 

Boling.  On  Wednesday  next,  we  solemnly  set 
down 

Our  coronation  :  lords,  prepare  yourselves. 

[Exeunt  all  but  the  Abbot,  Bishop  of  Carlisle, 

and  Aumerle. 
Abbot.  A  woeful  pageant  have  we  here  beheld. 
Car.  The  woe  s  to  come ;  the  children  yet  un- 
born 

Shall  feel  this  day  as  sharp  to  them  as  thorn. 

Aum.  You  holy  clergymen,  is  there  no  plot 
To  rid  the  realm  of  this  pernicious  blot  ^ 

Abbot.  Before  I  freely  speak  my  mind  herein, 
You  shall  not  only  take  the  sacrament 
To  bury  mine  intents,  but  to  eff'ect 
Whatever  I  shall  happen  to  devise:— 
1  see  your  brows  are  full  of  discontent, 
Your  hearts  of  sorrow,  and  your  eyes  of  tears  ; 
Come  home  with  me  to  supper ;  1  will  lay 
A  plot,  shall  show  us  all  a  merry  day.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — London.  A  Street  leading  to 
Enter  Queen  and  Ladies. 
Queen.  This  way  the  king  will  come 


Good 


Act  V. 

queen,  prepare  thee  hence  for 


he  Tower. 

this  is  the 
[way 


To  Julius  C  ysar's  ill-erected  tower, 
To  whose  fluit  bosom  my  condemned  lord 
Is  doom'd  a  prisoner  by  proud  Bolingbroke  : 
Here  let  -is  rest,  if  this  rebellious  earth 
Have  any  resting  for  her  true  king's  queen. 

Enter  King  Richard,  and  Guards. 
But  soft,  but  see,  or  rather  do  not  see, 
My  fair  rose  wither:  Yet  look  up;  behold  ; 
That  you  in  pity  may  dissolve  to  dew. 
And  wash  him  iresh  again  with  true-love  tears.— 
Ah,  thou,  the  model  where  old  Troy  did  stand ; 
Thou  map  of  honour  ;  thou  king  Richard's  tomb, 
And  not  king  Richard ;  thou  most  beauteous  mn. 
Why  should  hard  favour'd  grief  be  lodg'd  in  thee, 
When  triumph  is  become  an  alehouse  guest  i 

K.  Rich.  Join  not  with  grief,  fair  woman,  do 
not  so. 

To  make  my  end  too  sudden  :  learn,  good  soul. 
To  think  our  former  state  a  happy  dream  ; 
From  which  awak'd,  the  truth  of  what  we  are 
Shows  us  but  this:  I  am  sworn  brother,  sweet, 
To  grim  necessity  ;  and  he  and  I 
Will  keep  a  league  till  death.   Hie  thee  to  France, 
And  cloister  thee  in  some  religious  house  : 
Our  holy  lives  must  win  a  new  world's  crown, 
Which  our  profane  hours  here  have  stricken  down. 
Queen.  VVhat,  is  my  Richard  both  in  shape  and 
mind 

Transform'd,  and  weaken'd  ?  Hath  Bolingbroke 
Depos'd  thine  intellect  ?  Hath  he  been  in  thy  heart? 
The  lioa,  dying,  thrusteth  forth  his  paw. 
And  wounds  the  earth,  if  nothing  else,  with  rage 
To  he  o'erpower'd  ;  and  wilt  thou,  puj  il-like. 
Take  thy  correction  mildly?  kiss  the  rod ; 
And  fawQ  on  rage  with  l)use  humility, 
Which  art  a  lion,  and  a  king  of  beasts? 

A  Rich   A  king  of  beasts,  indeed;  if  aught  but 
I  had  bctu  still  a  happy  king  of  men.  [beasts. 


sometime 
France  . 

Think,  I  am  dead;  and  that  e\  en  here  thou  tak  1^ 

As  from  my  death  bed,  my  last  /iving  leave. 

In  winter's  tedious  uights  sit  by  the  fire 

With  good  old  folks ;  and  let  them  tell  thee  tales 

Of  woeful  ages,  long  ago  betid  : 

And,  ere  thou  bid  good  night,  to  quit  their  grief, 

Tell  thou  the  lamentable  fall  of  me. 

And  send  the  hearers  weeping  to  their  beds. 

For  why,  the  senseless  brands  will  sympatiuae 

The  heavy  accent  of  thy  moving  tongue. 

And,  in  compassion,  weep  the  fire  out: 

And  some  will  mourn  in  ashes,  some  coal-blacK, 

For  the  deposing  of  a  rightful  king. 

Enter  Northumberland,  attended. 

North.   My  lord,  the  mind  of  Bolingbroke  ifl 
chang'd  ; 

You  must  to  Pomfret,  not  unto  the  Tower.-- 
And,  madam,  there  is  order  ta'en  for  you  ; 
With  all  swift  speed  you  must  away  to  France. 
K.  Rich.  Northumberland,  thou  ladder,  where- 
vvithal 

The  mounting  Bolingbroke  ascends  my  throne, 
The  time  shall  not  be  many  hours  of  age 
More  than  it  is,  ere  foul  sin,  gathering  head, 
Shall  break  into  corruption  :  thou  shalt  think. 
Though  he  divide  the  realm,  and  give  thee  half, 
It  is  too  little,  helping  him  to  all ; 
And  he  shall  think,  that  tUu,  which  knowst  the 
To  plant  unrightful  kings,  wilt  know  again,  [way 
Being  ne'er  so  little  urg'd,  another  way 
To  pluck  him  headlong  from  the  usurp'd  throne. 
The  love  of  wicked  friends  converts  to  tear; 
That  tear,  to  hate  ;  and  hate  turns  one,  or  both. 
To  worthy  danger,  ai  d  deserved  death. 

North.  Mv  guilt  be  on  my  head,  and  there  an  eud. 
Take  leave,'  and  part;  for  you  must  part  lortb. 
with  . 
K.  Rich.  Doubly  divorc'd?— Bad  men,  ye  violate 
A  twoi'old  marriage  ;  'twixt  my  crown  and  me  ; 
And  then,  betwi-xt  me  and  my  married  wife.— 
Let  me  unkiss  the  oath  'twixt  thee  and  me; 
And  vet  not  so,  for  with  a  kiss  'twas  made.— 
Part  us,  Northumberland  ;  I  towards  the  north, 
Where  shivering  cold  and  sickness  pines  the  chme  • 
My  wife  to  France  ;  from  whence,  set  forth  in  pomy, 
She  came  adorned  hither  like  sweet  May, 
Sent  back  like  Hallowmas,  or  short'st  ot  day. 

Queen.  And  must  we  be  divided?  most  we  part? 
K.  Rich.  Ay,  hand  from  hand,  my  love,  and 
heart  from  neart.  l^}^- 
Queen.  Banish  us  both,  and  send  the  king  with 
North.  That  were  some  love,  but  little  pohay. 
Queen.  Then  whither  he  goes,  thither  let  me  go. 
K.  Rich.  So  two,  together  weeping,  make  one 
woe. 

Weep  thou  for  me  in  France,  I  for  thee  here ; 
Better  far  off,  than— near,  be  ne'er  the  near'. 
Go,  count  thy  way  with  sighs  ;  I,  mine  with  groans. 
Queen.  So  longest  way  shall  have  the  longest 
moans.  [being  short, 

K.  Rich.  Twice  for  one  step  I'll  groan,  the  way 
And  piece  the  way  out  with  a  heavy  heart. 
Come,  come,  in  wooing  sorrow  let's  be  brief. 
Since,  wedding  it,  there  is  such  length  m  grief. 
One  kiss  shall  stop  our  mouths,  and  dumbly  part; 
Thus  give  I  mine,  and  thus  I  take  thy  heart.  ^ 
^  {They  mi.) 

Queen.  Give  me  mine  own  again;  'twere  no  good 

To  take  on  m'e  to  keep,  and  kill  thy  heart.  _ 

{Kiss  again.) 
So,  now  I  have  mine  own  again,  begone. 
That  I  may  strive  to  kill  it  with  a  groan  [delay, 
K  Rich.  We  make  woe  wanton  with  this  torn 
Once  more'  adieu ;  the  rest  let  sorrow  say. 

[Exeum 


Scene  3. 

Scene  1 1.—  The  same.    A  Room  in  the  Duke  of 
York's  Palace. 
Enter  York,  and  his  Duchess. 
Duch.  My  lord,  you  told  ine,  yon  would  tell  the 
rest, 

When  weeping  made  you  break  the  story  off 
Of  our  two  cousins  coming  into  London. 
York.  Where  did  [  leave  ? 
Duch.  At  that  sad  stop,  my  lord. 

Where  rude  Eiisgovern'd  hands,  from  windows' 
tops, 

Threw  dust  and  rubbish  on  king  Richard's  head. 
York.  Then,  as  I  saidj,  the  duke,  great  Boling- 
brnke, — 

Mounted  upon  a  hot  and  fiery  steed. 
Which  his  aspiring  rider  seem'd  to  know, — 
With  slow,  but  stately  pace,  kept  on  his  course, 
While  all  tongues  cried— God  save  thee,  lioling- 
broke ! 

You  would  have  thought  the  very  windows  spake, 
So  many  greedy  looks  of  young  and  old 
Through  casements  darted  their  desiring  eyes 
Upon  his  visage ;  and  that  all  the  walls, 
VVith  painted  imag'ry,  had  said  at  once, — 
Jesu  preserve  thee  \  welcome,  Bolingbroke  ! 
Whilst  he,  from  one  side  to  the  other  turning. 
Bare-headed,  lower  than  his  proud  steed's  neck  ; 
Bespake  them  thus, — 1  thank  you,  countrymen  : 
And  thus  still  doing,  thus  he  pass'd  along. 

Duch.  Alas,  poor  Richard  !  where  rides  he  the 
while  ? 

York.  As  in  a  theatre,  the  eyes  of  men, 
A^fter  a  well  grac'd  actor  leaves  the  stage, 
A.re  idly  bent  on  him  that  enters  next, 
Thinking  his  prattle  to  be  tedious : 
Even  so,  or  with  much  more  contempt,  men's  eyes 
Did  scowl  on  Richard  ;  no  man  cried,  God  save 
him ; 

No  joyful  tongue  gave  him  his  welcome  home: 
But  dust  was  thrown  upon  his  sacred  head  ; 
Which  with  such  gentle  sorrow  he  shook  olF, — 
His  face  still  combating  with  tears  and  smiles. 
The  badges  of  his  grief  and  patience, — 
That  had  not  God,  for  some  strong  purpose,  steel'd 
The  hearts  of  men,  they  must  perforce  have  melted, 
And  barbarism  itself  have  pitied  him. 
But  heaven  hath  a  hand  in  these  events  ; 
To  whose  high  will  we  bound  our  calm  contents. 
To  Bolingbroke  are  we  sworn  subjects  now, 
Whose  state  and  honour  I  for  aye  allow. 

Enter  Aumerle. 

Duch,  Here  comes  my  son  Aumerle. 

York.  Aumerle  that  was  ; 

But  that  is  lost,  for  being  Richard's  friend. 
And,  madam,  you  must  call  him  Rutland  now; 
r  am  in  parliament  pledge  for  his  truth. 
And  lasting  fealty  to  the  new-made  king. 

Duch.  Welcome,  my  son :  Who  are  the  violets 
now. 

That  strew  the  green  lap  of  the  new-come  spring? 

Aum.  Madam,  1  know  not,  nor  I  greatly  care  not : 
God  knows,  I  had  as  lief  be  none,  as  one. 

York.  Well,  bear  you  well  in  this  new  spring  of 
time, 

Lest  you  be  cropp'd  before  you  come  to  prime. 
What  news  from  Oxford?  hold  those  justs  and 
triumphs  ? 

Aum.  For  aught  I  know,  my  lord,  they  do. 
York.  You  will  be  there,  I  know. 
Aum.  If  God  prevent  it  not;  I  purpose  so. 
York.  What  seal  is  that,  that  hangs  without  thy 
bosom  ? 

Vea,  look'st  th)u  pale  ?  let  me  see  the  writing. 

Aum.  My  1  )rd,  'tis  nothing. 

York.  No  matter  then  who  sees  it: 

[  will  be  satisfied,  let  me  see  the  writing. 

Aum.  1  do  beseech  your  grace  tti  pardon  me; 
It  is  a  matter  of  small  consequence. 
Which  for  some  reasons  1  would  not  have  seen. 


York.  Which  for  some  reasons,  sir,  I  mean  to  see 
I  fear,  1  fear, — 

Duch.  What  should  you  fear? 

'Tis  nothing  but  some  bond  that  he  is  enter'd  into 
For  gay  apparel,  'gainst  the  triumph  day. 

York.  Bound  to  himself?  what  doth  be  with  % 
bond 

That  he  is  bound  to?  Wife,  thou  art  a  fool  l/).--. 
Boy,  let  me  see  the  writing.  [gi<ow  it 

Aunt.  I  do  beseech  you,  pardon  rac ;  1  may  n(»)l 
York.  I  will  be  satisfied;  let  me  see  it,  I  say 
{Snatches  it,  and  reacit,  ) 
Treason!  foid  treason! — villain!  traitor!  slave! 
Duch.  What  is  the  matter,  niy  lord  J" 
York,  ilo!  who  is  within  there?  {Enter  a  Ser* 
vant.)    Saddle  my  horse. 
God  for  his  mercy !  what  treachery  is  iiere  ! 
Duch.  Why,  what  is  it,  my  lord  ? 
York.  Give  me  my  boots,  I  say;   saddle  my 
horse : — 

For  by  mine  honour,  by  my  life,  my  troth, 

I  will  impeach  the  villain.  [Exit  Servant, 

Duch.  Wha-t's  the  matter? 

York.  Peace,  foolish  woman.  [son? 

Duch.   I  will  not  peace  : — What  is  the  matter, 

Aum.  Good  mother,  be  content;  it  is  no  more 
Than  my  poor  liie  must  answer. 

Duch.  Thy  life  answer ! 

Re-enter  Servant,  with  boots. 

York.  Bring  me  my  boots,  1  will  unto  the  king. 

Duch.  Strike  him,  Aumerle.  —  Poor  boy,  thou 
art  amaz'd : — 
Hence,  villain ;  never  more  come  in  my  sight— 

{To  the  Servami) 

Y'ork.  Give  me  my  boots,  I  say. 

Duch.  Why,  York,  what  wilt  thou  do? 
Wilt  thou  not  hide  the  trespass  of  thine  own? 
Have  we  more  sons?  or  are  we  like  to  have  ? 
Is  not  my  teeming  date  drunk  up  with  time  ? 
And  wilt  thou  pluck  my  fair  son  from  mine  ag®. 
And  rob  me  of  a  happy  mother's  name? 
Is  he  not  like  thee?  is  he  not  thine  own? 

Y'ork.  Thou  fond  mad  woman. 
Wilt  thou  conceal  this  dark  conspiracy? 
A  dozen  of  them  here  have  ta'en  the  sacfament) 
And  interchangeably  set  down  thsir  hands, 
To  kill  the  king  at  Oxford. 

Duch.  He  shall  be  none; 

We'll  keep  him  here  :  Then  what  is  that  to  him? 

York.  Away, 
Fond  woman  !  were  he  twenty  times  my  son, 
I  would  appeach  him. 

Duch.  Hadst  thou  groan'd  for  him. 

As  I  have  done,  thou'dst  be  more  pitifid. 
But  now  I  know  thy  mind :  thou  dost  suspect. 
That  I  have  been  disloyal  to  thy  bed. 
And  that  he  is  a  bastard,  not  thy  son  : 
Sweet  York,  sweet  husband,  be  not  of  that  mind 
He  is  as  like  thee  as  a  man  may  be. 
Not  like  to  me,  or  any  of  my  kin, 
And  yet  I  love  him. 

York  Make  way,  unruly  woman. 

[Extt 

Duch.  After,  Aumerle ;  mount  thee  upon  hif 
horse ; 

Spur,  post ;  and  get  before  him  to  the  king, 

And  beg  thy  pardon  ere  he  do  accuse  thee. 

I'll  not  be  long  behind ;  though  I  be  old, 

I  doubt  not  but  to  ride  as  fast  as  York  : 

And  never  will  I  rise  up  from  the  ground, 

Till  Bolingbroke  have  pardon'd  t\iee :  Avrayj 

Begone.  [  ISxeunt, 

Scene  III.— Windsor.  A  Ro(m  in  the  Castle. 
Enter  Bolingbroke  as  K  mj ;  Percy,  and  other 
Lords. 

Doling.  Can  no  man  tell  of  my  unthriftj;  son? 
'Tis  full  three  months,  since  1  did  see  him  last:^ 
M  any  plague  hang  over  us, 'tis  he 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


820 

I  would  to  Oodj  my  lords,  he  might  be  found : 
iDquire  at  London,  'mongst  the  taverns  tliere. 
For  thci^e,  they  say,  he  daily  doth  frequent. 
With  unresl  ained  loose  companions; 
Evf-n  such,  they  say,  as  stand  in  narrow  lanes, 
And  beat  our  watch,  and  rob  our  j/assengers ; 
While  he,  yoiicg,  wanton,  and  elfeaiinate  boy. 
Takes  on  the  point  of  honour,  to  support 
So  dissolute  a  crew. 

Percy.  My  lord,  some  two  days  since  I  saw  the 
prince; 

^nd  told  him  of  these  triumphs  held  at  Oxford. 
BoUng.  And  what  said  the  gallant  ? 
Percy.   His  answer  was, — he  would  unto  the 

stews ; 

Vnd  fron)  the  conimon'st  creature  pluck  a  glove. 
And  wear  it  as  a  favour;  and  with  that 
Pie  would  unhoi  se  the  lustiest  challenger. 

Baling.  As  dissolute,  as  desperate  :  yet,  through 
I  see  some  sparklt-s  of  a  better  hope,  [both. 
Which  elder  days  may  happily  bring  forth. 
But  who  conies  liere  V 

Enter  Aumerle,  hastily. 
Aum.  Where  is  the  king  ? 

Boling.  What  means 

Our  cousin,  that  he  stares  and  looks  so  wildly  ? 
Aum.  God  save  your  grace.    I  do  beseech  your 
majesty. 

To  have  some  conference  with  your  grace  alone. 
Boling.  Withdraw  yourselves,  and  leave  us  here 
alone. —  [Exeunt  Percy  and  Lords. 

What  is  the  matter  with  our  cousin  now  ? 

Aum.  For  ever  may  my  knees  grow  to  the  earth, 

{Kneels.) 

My  tongue  cleave  to  my  roof  within  my  nicuth, 
U;iless  a  pardon,  ere  I  rise,  or  speak. 

Boling.  Intended,  or  conur.itted   was  this  fault  ? 
If  but  the  first,  how  heinous  ere  it  be. 
To  win  fhy  after-love,  I  pardon  thee.  [l^ey, 

Aum.  Then  give  me  leave,  that  I  may  turn  the 
That  no  man  enter  till  my  tale  be  done. 

Boling.  Hh  ve  tliy  desire.  [Aumerle  locks  the  door.) 

York.  (  Within. )  My  liege,  beware ;  look  to  thy- 
self- 

Thou  hast  a  traitor  in  thy  presence  there. 

Boling.  Villain,  I'll  make  thee  safe.  [Drawing.) 
Aum.  Stay  thy  revengeful  hand; 
Thou  hast  no  cause  to  lear. 

York.  [  W^ithin.  )  Open  the  door,  secure,  fool- 
hardy king : 
Shall  1,  for  love,  speak  treason  to  thy  face? 
Open  the  door  or  I  will  break  it  open. 

(  Bolingbroke  opens  the  door. ) 

Enter  York. 
Boling.  What  is  the  matter,  uncle  ?  speak  ; 
Recover  breath ;  tell  us  how  near  is  danger. 
That  we  may  arm  us  to  encounter  it.  [know 
York.  Peruse  this  writing  liere,  and  thou  shalt 
The  treason  that  my  haste  forbids  me  show. 
Aum.  Remember,  as  thou  read'st,  thy  promise 
past : 

I  do  repent  me  ;  read  not  my  name  there, 
My  heart  is  not  confederate  with  my  hand. 

York.  'Twas,  villain,  ere  thy  hand  did  set  it 
down. — 

[  tore  J  from  the  traitor's  bosom,  king; 
Fear,  and  not  love,  begets  his  penitence  ; 
Forget  to  pity  him,  lest  thy  pity  prove 
A  seioent,  that  will  sting  thee  to  the  heart. 

Boling.  O  heinous,  strong,  and  bold  conspiracy  ! — 
O  loyal  lather  of  a  treacherous  son  I 
Thou  sheer,  iiiirnacuiate,  and  nilver  fountain. 
From  whence  this  stream,  throui;h  muddy  passages. 
Hath  held  his  current,  and  defifd  himself  I 
Thy  overflow  of  good  converts  to  bad  ; 
And  thy  abnr^ant  jroodness  shall  excuse 
This  deadly  blot  in  thy  digressing  son. 

York.  So  shall  my  virtue  be  his  •,  ce's  bawd; 


Act  V 

And  he  shall  spend  mine  honour  with  his  shame 
As  tliriftless  sons  their  scraping  father's  gold. 
Mine  honour  lives,  when  his  dishonour  dies. 
Or  my  sham'd  life  in  his  dishonour  lies  : 
Thou  kill'st  me  in  his  life  ;  giving  him  breath. 
The  traitor  lives,  the  true  man's  put  to  death. 

Duch.  [ff'ithin.)Wh-At  ho,  my  liege!  for  God's 
sake  let  me  in. 

Boling.  What  slirill-voic'd  suppliant  makes  thia 
eager  cry  ? 

Duch.  A  woman,  and  thine  aunt,  great  king ;  'Hi,  I 
Speak  with  me,  pity  me,  open  the  door ; 
A  beggar  begs,  that  never  begg'd  before. 

Boling.  Our  scene  is  alter'd,  —  irom  a  seiioua 
thing. 

And  now  ciiang'd  to  The  Beggar  and  the  King.--- 
My  dangerous  cousin,  let  your  mother  in  ; 
I  know,  she's  come  to  pray  for  your  foul  sin. 

York.  If  thou  do  pardon,  whosoever  pray. 
More  sins,  for  this  forgiveness,  prosper  may. 
This  fester'd  joint  cut  off,  the  rest  rests  sound  • 
This,  let  alone,  with  all  the  rest  confound. 

Enter  Duchess. 
Duch.  O  king,  believe  not  tliis  hard-hearted  man  , 
Love,  loving  not  itself,  none  other  can. 

York.  Thou  frantic  woman,  what  dost  thou  make 
here  ? 

Shall  thy  old  dugs  once  more  a  traitor  rear? 

Duch.  Sweet  York,  be  patient;  Hear  me,  gentle 
liege.  ( Kneels. ) 

Boling.  Rise  up,  good  aunt. 

Duch.  Not  yet,  I  thee  beseech: 

For  ever  will  I  kneel  upon  my  knees. 
And  never  see  day,  that  the  hiivppy  sees, 
Till  thou  give  joy  ;  until  thou  bid  me  joy, 
By  pardoning  Rutland,  my  transgressing  boy. 

Aum.  Unto  my  mother's  prayers,  I  bend  my 
knee.  ( Kneels. ) 

York.  Against  them  both,  my  true  joints  bendfd 
be.  (  Kneels^ 

111  may'st  thou  thrive,  if  thou  grant  any  giace! 

Duch.  Pleads  he  in  earnest  ?  look  upon  his  face 
His  eyes  do  drop  no  tears,  his  prayers  are  in  jest ; 
His  words  come  from  his  mouth,  ours  from  our  breast 
He  prays  hut  taintly,  and  would  be  denied; 
We  pray  with  heart  and  soui,  and  all  beside  : 
His  weary  joints  would  gladly  rise,  I  kuo.w  ; 
Our  knees  shall  kneel,  till  to  the  ground  they  grow; 
His  prayers  are  full  of  false  hypocrisy; 
Ours,  of  true  zeal,  and  deep  integrity. 
Our  prayers  do  out  pray  his ;  then  let  them  have. 
Tliat  mercj%  vvhich  true  prayers  ouglit  to  have 

Boling.  Good  aunt,  stand  up. 

Duch.  Nay,  do  not  say — stand  ap  , 

But  pardon,  first;  and  afterwards  stand  up. 
An  if  I  were  thy  nurse,  thy  tongue  to  teach, 
Pardon — should  be  the  first  word  of  thy  speech. 
1  never  long  d  to  hear  a  word  till  now  ; 
Say — pardon,  king;  let  pity  teach  thee  how; 
T'he  word  is  short,  but  not  so  short  as  sweet; 
No  word  like  pardon,  for  kings'  mouths  so  meet. 

York.  Speak  it  iu  French,  king  ;  say, /><2r(ioa*2e* 
moy. 

Duch.  Dost  thou  teach  pardon  pardon  to  destfajr* 
Ah,  my  sour  husband,  my  hard-hearted  lord. 
That  sett'st  the  word  itself  against  the  word  !— > 
Speak,  pardon,  as  'tis  cu.Tent  in  our  land  ; 
The  chopping  French  we  do  not  understand. 
Thine  eye  begins  to  speak,  set  thy  tongue  there* 
Or,  in  thy  piteous  heart  plant  thou  thine  ear: 
That,  hearing  how  our  plaints  and  prayers  do  pierce, 
Pity  may  move  thee,  pardon  to  rehearse. 

Boling.  Good  aunt,  stand  up. 

Duch.  I  do  not  sue  to  i3ta]K\ 

Parrion  is  all  the  suit  1  have  in  hand. 

Bohng.  1  pardon  him,  as  God  shall  pardon  mft. 

Ducli.  O  happy  vantage  of  a  kneeling  knee! 
Yet  am  1  sick  ior  fear  :  speak  it  ajjain  ; 
Twice  saying  pardon,  doth  not  pardon  twaioj 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Scene  5. 


KING  ETCHARD  IT. 


321 


But  makes  one  pardou  strong. 

Boling.  With  all  inv  heart 

[  pardon  him. 

Duck.  A  god  on  earth  thou  art. 

Boling.  But  for  our  trusty  brother  in-law, — and 
the  abbot, 

With  all  the  rest  ol'that  consorted  crew, — 
Destruction  straight  shall  dog  them  at  the  heels. — 
Crood  nncie.  help  to  order  several  powers 
'J'o  OxCord,  or  where'er  these  traitors  are  : 
They  sliall  not  live  witliin  this  world,  I  swear, 
But  I  will  have  them,  if  I  once  know  where. 
Uncle,  ftirewell, — and  cousin  too,  adieu  : 
Vour  mother  well  hath  pra}^'d,  and  prove  you  true. 
Durh.  Come,  my  old  sou         pray  God  make 
thee  new.  [Exeunt. 

ScExXE  iV. 

Enter  ExTON,  and  a  Servant. 

Exton.  Didst  thou  not  mark  the  king,  what  words 
he  spake  ? 

Have  J  no  friend  luill  rid  me  of  this  living  fear  ? 
Was  it  not  s-j  ? 

Serv.  Those  were  his  very  words. 

ton.  Have  I  no  friend  I  quoth  he  :  he  spake 
it  twice. 

And  urg'd  if  twice  together;  did  he  not? 

Se.rv.  He  did,  [me  ; 

Exton.  And,  speaking  it,  he  wistfully  look'd  on 
As  who  should  say, — I  would,  thou  wert  the  man, 
That  would  divorce  this  terror  from  my  heart; 
Meaning  the  king  at  Fomfret.  Come,  let's  go  : 
I  am  the  king's  friend,  and  will  rid  his  foe.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — Powfret.    The  Dungeon  of  the  castle 
Enter  King  Richard. 
K.  Rich.  I  have  been  studying  how  I  may  com 
pare 

This  prison  where  I  live,  unto  the  world : 
And,  for  because  the  world  is  populous, 
And  here  is  not  a  creature  but  myself, 
I  cannot  do  it ; — Yet  I'll  hammer  it  out. 
My  brain  I'll  prove  the  female  to  my  soul; 
My  soul,  the  father:  and  these  two  beget 
A  generation  ol' still-breeding  thoughts, 
And  these  same  thoughts  people  this  little  world; 
In  humours,  like  the  people  ol'this  v,'orld ; 
For  no  thduglit  is  contented.    The  better  sort, — 
As  tlioughts  of  things  divine, — are  ijitermix'd 
With  scruples,  and  do  set  the  word  itself 
Against  th<-  word  . 

As  thus, — Come,  little  ones  ;  and  then  again, — 
It  ts  as  hard  to  come,  as  for  a  camel 
To  thread  the  postern  of  a  needle's  eye. 
Thoughts  tending  to  ambition,  they  do  plot 
Unlikely  wonders:  how  these  vain  weak  nails 
May  teai  a  passage  through  the  flinty  ribs 
Of  this  hard  world,  my  ragged  prison  walls; 
And,  for  they  cannot,  die  in  their  own  pride. 
Thoughts  tending  to  content,  flatter  themselves, — 
That  they  are  not  the  first  of  fortune's  slaves. 
Nor  shall  n(it  be  the  last;  like  silly  beggars. 
Who,  sitting  in  the  stocks,  refuge  their  shame, — 
That  many  have,  and  others  must  sit  there  : 
And  in  this  thought  they  find  a  kind  of  ease. 
Bearing  their  own  mislortune  on  the  back 
Of  such  as  have  before  endnr  d  the  like. 
Th  is  play  I,  in  one  person,  many  people. 
And  none  contented  :  Sometimes  am  I  king; 
Then  treason  makes  me  wish  myself  a  beggar, 
And  so  T  am  :  Then  crushing  penury 
Persuades  me,  I  was  bf 'ter  when  a  king; 
Then  am  1  king'd  again  and,  by  and  by. 
Think,  that  I  am  unking'd  by  Bolingbroke, 
And  straight  am  nothing  :  But,  whate'er  1  am, 
Nor  I,  nor  any  man,  that  but  man  is. 
With  nothing  shall  be  >  leas'd,  till  he  be  ?as'd 
With  being  nothing,— Music  do  I  hear  ?    (  Music. 
Ha.  ha!  keep  time  : — How  sour  sweet  music  is, 


When  time  is  broke,  and  no  proportion  kept. 
So  is  it  in  the  nuisic  of  men's  lives. 
And  here  have  J  the  daintiness  of  ear. 
To  check  time  broke  in  a  disordered  string; 
But,  for  the  concord  of  my  state  and  time. 
Had  not  an  ear  to  hear  my  true  time  broke. 
I  wasted  time^  and  now  doth  time  waste  rae. 
For  now  hath  time  made  me  his  numb'ring  clock; 
My  thoughts  are  minutes;  and,  with  sighs,  they  jar 
Their  watches  on  to  mine  eves,  the  outward  watch, 
Whereto  my  finger,  like  a  dial's  point, 
Is  pointing  still,  in  cleansing  them  from  tears. 
Now,  sir,  the  sound,  that  tells  what  hour  it  is. 
Are  clamorous  groans,  that  strike  upon  my  lieai-t. 
Which  is  the  bell  •  So  sighs,  and  tears,  and  groans, 
Show  mmutes,  tinr.es,  and  hours!— but  my  time 
Runs  posting  on  in  Bolingbroke's  proud  joy. 
While  1  stand  fooling  here,  his  Jack  o'the  clocL 
This  music  mads  me,  let  it  sound  no  more  ; 
For,  though  it  have  holpe  madmen  to  their  wits, 
In  me,  it  seems  it  will  make  wise  men  mad. 
Yet  blessing  on  his  heart,  that  gives  it  me  ! 
For  'tis  a  sign  of  love;  and  love  to  Richard 
Is  a  strange  brooch  in  thia  all-hating  v/orld. 

Enter  Groom, 
Grootn  Hail !  royal  prince  ! 
K.  Rich.  Thanks,  noble  pesr 

The  cheapest  of  us  is  ten  groats  too  dear. 
What  art  thou  ?  and  how  comest  thou  hitlier. 
Where  no  man  ever  comes,  but  that  sad  dog' 
That  brings  me  food,  to  make  misfortune  live  ? 

G'^oowz.  I  was  a  poor  groom  of  thy  stable,  king. 
When  thou  wert  king;  who, travelling  towards  Y'ork, 
With  much  ado,  at  length  have  gotten  leave 
To  look  upon  my  sometimes  master's  face. 
O,  how  it  yearn'd  my  heart,  when  I  beheld 
In  London  streets  that  coronation  day, 
When  Bolingbroke  rode  on  roan  Barbary! 
That  horse,  that  thou  so  often  hast  bestrid  ; 
That  horse,  that  I  so  carefully  have  dress'd  I 

K.  Rich.  Rode  he  on  Barbary !  Tell  me,  genti« 
How  weK't  he  under  him  ?  [friend. 
Groom.  So  proudly,  as  if  he  disdain'd  the  gromid. 
K.  Rich.  So  proud,  that  Bolingbroke  was  on  hit 
back ! 

That  jade  hath  eat  brertd  from  my  royal  Innd  ; 
This  hand  hath  made  Lim  proud  with  clapping  him. 
Would  he  not  stumble  ?  Would  he  not  fall  down, 
(Since  pride  must  have  a  fall,)  and  break  the  neck 
Of  that  proud  man,  that  did  usurp  his  back? 
Forgiveness,  horse  I  why  do  I  rail  on  thee. 
Since  tliou,  created  to  be  aw'd  by  man. 
Wast  born  to  bear?  I  was  not  made  a  horge , 
And  yet  I  bear  a  burden  like  an  ass, 
Spur-gall'd,  and  tir'd,  by  jauncing  Bolingbroke. 

Enter  Keeper  tvith  a  dish. 
Keep.  Fellow,  give  place;  here  is  no  longer  slay. 

[To  the  Groom.) 
K.  Rich.  If  thou  love  me,  'tis  time  thou  wert 
away. 

Groom.  What  my  tongue  dares  not,  that  my  heart 
shall  say.  [  Exit. 

Keep.  My  lord,  will't  please  you  to  fall  to  ? 
K.  Rich.  Taste  of  it  first,  as  thou  art  wont  to  do. 
Keep.  My  lord,  I  dare  not;  sir  Pierce  of  Extoo, 
who 

Lately  came  from  the  king,  commands  the  contrary. 
K.  Rich.  The  devil  take  Henry  of  Lancaster,  and 
thee ! 

Patience  is  stale,  and  1  am  weaiy  of  it. 

(Beats  the  Keeper.) 

Keep.  Help,  help,  help! 

Enter  Exton  and  Servants,  armed. 
K.  Rich.  How  now  ?  what  means  death  in  this  nidi 

assault? 

)    Villain,  thy  own  hand  yields  thy  death's  instrument 
(Snatching  a  weapon,  and  killing  one.j 
i  21 


S22 


KING  RTCHARD  II. 


Act  V. 


Hath  witSe  ku.g's  blood  stain'd  the  king's  own 
MountTTnoant,  my  soul !  thy        is  np  on  h  gh 
Whilst  mv  gross  flesh  sinks  downward  here  to^me.^ 

Fxtnn  As  full  of  valour,  as  of  royal  blood  : 
BoUrlT;el  spilt;  O,  would  the  dee^  were  good : 
For  now  the  devil,  that  told  "^^-^-XlT 
Says,  that  this  ^ieed  is  chromcled  ,n  hell  _ 
This  dead  king  to  the  living  king  I »ear  , 
TakeSce  tlfe  rest,  and  give  them  bunal  here.^^^_ 

Scene  W.-Windsor.   A  room  tn  the  castle 
Flourish.    Enter  Bolingbkoke  and  York,  n,Uh 
Lords  and  Attendants. 

BoUnq.  Kind  uncle  York,  the  latest  news  we  hear 
Is—that  the  rebels  have  consum  d  with  fire 
Our  town  of  Cicester  in  Glostershire ; 
But  whether  they  be  ta'en,  or  slain,  we  hear  not. 

Enter  Northumberland. 
Welcome,  my  lord:  What  is  the  news? 

S  First,  to  thy  sacred  state  wish  I  all  hap- 

Tl.P  T.ext^uews  is,— I  have  to  London  sent 
The  Jeads  of  Salisbury,  Spencer,  Blunt,  and  Kent: 
The  manner  of  their  taking  may  appear 
At  lari^e  discoursed  in  this  paper  here. 
At  iarf,e  ui;»cu  (Presenting  a  paper.) 

Baling.  We  thank  thee,  gentle  Percy,  for  thv 

And  to  th^wor'th  will  add  right  worthy  gains. 
Enter  Fitzwater. 
My  Lord,  I  have  from  Oxford  sent  to  London 
The  heads  of  Brocas,  and      Rennet  beely, 
l\v()of  the  dangerous  consorted  traitx)r3 
n.at  sought  at  Oxford  thy  dire  overthrow 


Bohng.  Thy  pains,  Fitzwalter,  shall  ncl  be  lorgot , 

Rigiit  uoble  is  tuy  merit,  well  I  wot. 

Enter  Percy,  with  the  Bishop  Cahmsi* 
Percy.  The  grand  conspirator,  abbot  of  West- 

With  clog  oTconscience,  and  sour  melancholy. 
Hath  yielded  up  his  body  to  the_grave; 
,  But  here  is  Carlisle  living,  to  abide 
Thy  kingly  doom,  and  sentence  ot  his  pride. 

Bnlina  Carlisle,  this  is  your  doom 
Chtt^o'ut  some  secret  place  some  reverend  room 
More  than  thou  hast,  and  with    J^^^^  y  . 
So,  as  thou  liv'st  in  peace,  die  J^^J™' 
For  though  mine  enemy  thou  hast  ever  been. 
High  sparks  of  honour  in  thee  have  I  seen. 
Enter  ExTON,  with  attendants  hearing  a  coffin, 

Exton.  Great  king,.vvithin  this  coffin  I  present 
Thv  buried  fear;  herein  all  breathless  lies 
The  mightiest  of  thy  greatest  enemies 
R,chard  of  Bourdeaux  by  ™f  Either  brought 

Boling.  Exton,  I  thank  thee  not;  for  thoubaat 
wrought        ,    ,    r  i  1  I  1 
A  deed  of  slander,  with  thy  fatal  hand. 
Upon  my  head,  and  all  this  famous  land. 
^ExS.  From  your  own  mouth,  my  lord,  did  I 

Eo/iw/.^ThtTh)Ve  not  poison,  that  do  poison  ueed. 
Nor  do  1  thee  ;  though  I  did  wish  hnn  dead, 
I  hate  the  murderer,  bve  him  murdered. 
TheluUt  o7  conscience  take  thou.ior  hy  labour. 
Bat  Ser  my  good  word,  nor  prmcely  favour : 
W  frCain  go  wander  through  the  shade  of  mght, 
Ti^never'show  thy  head      day  nor  light.- 
\  ords  I  urotest,  my  soul  is  lull  ot  woe, 
K  blooTslould  Jprinkle  -e  to  make  m^^^^^^^^  : 
Come,  mourn  with  me  for  what  1  do  lament. 
And  put  on  sullen  black  inconanent ; 
I'll  make  a  voyage  to  the  Holy  Lanrt, 
To  wash  this  blood  off  from  my  gmlty  hand  ;- 
March  ,sadly  after ;  grace  n.y  n.mnrmngs  bere, 
la  weepiug  after  this  untimely  bu  r.  [Kxeunt 


KING   HENRY  IV 


PAET  I. 


I  fancy  «very  reader,  when  he  ends  this  play,  cries  out  with  Desdemona,  "  0  most  lame  and  impotent  conclusion! 
As  this  play  was  not,  to  our  knowledge,  divided  into  acts  by  the  author,  I  could  be  content  to  conclude  it  with 
the  death  of  Henry  the  Fourth : 

« In  (hat  Jerusalem  shall  Harry  die. 

These  scenes  which  now  make  the  tifth  act  of  Henry  the  Fourth,  might  then  be  the  first  of  Henry  the  Fifth:  b«t  " 
the  truth  is,  they  do  not  unite  very  commodiously  to  either  play.    When  these  plays  were  represented,  1  believe 
they  ended  as  tiiey  are  now  ended  in  the  books;  but  Shakspeare  seems  to  have  designed  that  the  whole  series  ov 
action,  from  the  beginning  of  Richard  the  Second,  to  the  end  of  Henry  the  Fifth,  sh  uld  be  considered  by  the 
reader'  as  one  work,  upon  one  plan,  only  broken  into  parts  by  the  ncces>3ity  of  exhibition. 

None  of  Shakspeare's  plays  are  more  read  ihan  the  First  and  Second  Parts  of  Henry  the  Fourth.  Perhaps  no 
author  has  ever,  in  two  plays,  alforded  so  much  delight.  The  great  events  are  interesting,  for  the  fate  of  kingdomss 
depend  upon  tlieni ;  the  slighter  occurrences  are  diverting,  and,  except  one  or  two,  sulKciently  probable;  the  incidents 
are  multiplied  with  wonderful  fertility  of  invention;  and  the  characters  diversified  with  the  utmost  nicety  of  discern- 
ment, and  the  urofoundcst  skill  in  tlie  nature  of  man.  _ 

The  prince,  wiio  is  the  hero  both  of  the  comic  and  tragic  part,  is  a  young  man  of  great  abilities,  and  violent 
passioii.s  whose  sfntinients  are  right,  though  his  actions  are  wrong;  whose  virtues  are  obscured  by  negligence, 
anil  whose  understanding  is  dis.sipated  by  levity.  In  his  idle  hours  he  is  rather  loose  than  wicked;  and  when  the 
occasion  forces  out  his  latent  qualities,  he  is  great  without  effort,  and  brave  without  tumult.  The  trifler  is  roused 
into  a  hero,  and  the  hero  again  reposes  in  (he  trifler.    The  character  is  great,  original,  and  Just. 

if*ercy  is  a  riigxed  soldier,  choleric  and  quarrelsome,   and  has  only  the  soldier's  virtues,  generosity  and  co'.ira.ge. 

But  Falstaff!  nniaiitated.  unimitable  Falstaff!  how  shall  I  descrioe  thee?  thou  comoound  of  sense  and  vice;  of 
sense  which  may  be  admired,  but  not  esteemed;  of  vice  w^iich  may  be  de.spi.sed,  but  hardly  detested.  Falstaff  is  a 
character  loadeii"  with  faults,  and  with  those  faults  which  naturallj  produce  contempt.  He  is  ?.  thief  and  a  glutton, 
a  coward  anil  a  boaster;  always  ready  to  cheat  the  weak,  and  prey  upon  the  poor;  to  terrify  the  timorous,  and 
insult  the  defenceless.  At  once  obsequious  and  malignant,  he  satirizes  in  their  absence  those  whom  he  lives  by 
flattering.  He  is  f'<?rni!iar  with  the  prince  only  as  an  agent  of  vice;  but  of  this  familiarity  he  is  so  proud,  as  not 
only  to  be  supercilious  and  haughty  with  oonnuon  men,  but  to  think  his  interest  of  importance  to  the  duke  oi 
Lancaster.  Yet  the  man  thus  corrupt,  thus  despicable,  makes  himself  necessary  to  the  prince  that  despises  him, 
by  the  most  pleasing  of  all  qualities,  perpetual  gaiety  :  by  an  unfailing  power  of  exciting  laughter,  which  is  the  more 
freely  indulged,  as  his  wit  is  not  of  the  splendid  or  ambitious  kind,  but  consists  in  easy  scapes  and  sallies  of  levity, 
whicli  make  sport,  but  raise  no  envy.  It  must  be  observed,  that  he  is  stained  with  no  enormous  or  santrwiniinr 
crimes,  so  that  his  licentiousness  is  not  so  offensive  but  tbaf  it  may  be  borne  for  his  mirth. 

The  moral  to  be  drawn  from  this  representation  is,  that  no  man  is  more  dangerous  than  he  that,  with  a  will  to 
corrupt,  hath  the  power  to  please;  and  that  neither  wit  nor  honesty  ought  to  think  themselves  safe  with  such  a 
companion,  when  they  see  Henry  seduced  bsf  Falstaflf.  Johnson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


iING  HENRY  THE  FOURTH. 

&?^vTnTv  r^H'^f  fr  \  Sons  to  the  King. 

¥]U^CK  JOHN  of  Lancaster,  \ 

EARL  OF  VVESTMOREi.AND,  \  Vripuds  to  the  Kina 
SIR  WALTER  BLUNT,  \   t fiends  to  the  King . 

THOMAS  PERCY,  Earl  of  Wtrcester. 
HEiNKY  PERCY,  Enrl  of  Northumberland. 
HKNRY  PERCY,  siirna?ned  HOTSPUR,  his  Son. 
EDMUND  MORTIMER,  Earl  of  March. 
SCROOP.  A'  ckhishop  of  York. 
ARCHIBALD,  Earl  of  Douglas. 
OWEN  GLENDOWER. 
SIR  RICHARD  VERNON. 


!  SIR  JOHN  FALSTAFF. 

I  POINS. 

!  GADSHILL. 

i  PETO. 

I  BARDOLPH. 

j  LADY  PERCY,  Wife  to  Hotspur,  and  Sistet  U  M&T 

I  timer. 

i  LADY  MORTIMER,  Daughter  to  Glendower,  and  Wi 
i  to  Mortimer. 

j  MRS  QUICKLY,  Hostess  of  a  Tavern  in  Eastcheap. 

I  Lords,  Officers,  Sheriff,  Vititner,  Chamberlain,  Dravsev% 
I  Tu!o  Carriers,  Travellers,  and  Attendants. 


ScKNE,— England. 


Scene 


ACT  1. 

■London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 


Enter  King  Henry  ,  Westmoreland,  Sir  Walter 
Blunt,  and  others. 
K.  Hen.  So  shaken  as  we  are,  so  wan  with  care, 
Find  we  a  time  for  frighted  peace  to  pant. 
And  breathe  .short  winded  accents  of  new  broils 
To  be  coiniaenc'd  in  .stronds  alar  remote. 
No  more  the  thirsty  Erinnys  of  this  soil 
Shall  daub  her  lips  witli  her  own  children's  blood  ; 
No  more  shall  trenching  war  channel  her  fields. 
Nor  bruise  her  flowrets  with  the  armed  hoofs 
Oi  hostile  paces :  those  opposed  eyes, 
Which, — like  the  meteors  of  a  troubled  heaven. 
All  of  one  nature,  of  one  substance  bred, — 
Did  lately  meet  in  the  intestine  shock 
And  furious  close  of  civil  butchery, 
Shall  now,  in  mutual,  well-beseeming  ranks, 
March  all  one  way  ;  and  be  no  more  oppos'd 
Against  acquaintance,  kindred,  and  allies  : 
The  edge  oi  war,  like  an  ill  sheathed  knife, 
No  more  shall  cut  his  master.    Therefore,  friends, 
As  far  as  to  the  sepulchre  of  Christ, 
(Whose  soldier  n(»w,  nnder  whose  blessed  cross 
VVe  are  impressed  and  engaged  to  fight,) 
Forthwith  a  power  of  E;)-;liyh  shall  we  levy; 
Wliose  arms  were  moulded  in  their  mothers'  womb. 


To  chase  these  pagans,  in  those  holy  fields. 
Over  whose  acres  walk'd  those  blessed  feet. 
Which,  fourteen  hundred  years  ago,  were  nail'd 
For  otir  advantage  on  the  bitter  cross. 
But  this  our  purpose  is  a  twelve-month  old. 
And  bootless  'tis  to  tell  you — we  will  gc ; 
Therefore  we  meet  not  now  : — Then  let  me  heaff 
Of  you,  my  gentle  cousin  Westmoreland, 
What  yesternight  our  council  did  decree. 
In  forwarding  this  dear  expedience. 

West.  My  liege,  this  haste  was  hot  in  question. 
And  many  limits  of  the  charge  set  down 
But  yesternight :  when,  all  athwart,  there  came 
A  post  from  Wales,  loaden  with  heavy  news; 
Whose  worst  was, — that  the  noble  Mortimer, 
Leading  the  men  of  Herefordshire  to  fight 
Against  the  irregular  and  wild  Glendower, 
Was  by  the  rude  hands  of  that  Welshman  taken. 
And  a  thousand  of  his  people  butchered  : 
Upon  whose  dead  corpse  there  was  such  misase. 
Such  beastly,  shameless  transformation. 
By  those  Welshwomen  done,  as  may  not  be. 
Without  much  shame,  re-told  or  spoken  of. 
K.  Hen.  It  seems,  then,  that  the  tidings  of  this 
broil 

Brake  ofl'our  business  for  the  Holy  Land. 

West.  This,  match'd  with  other,  did,  my  gracious 
lord : 


S24 


PART  FIRST  OF 


Act  T. 


«r  more  nmveu  and  nnwelcome  news 
Came  froKi  tne  north,  aad  thus  it  did  import 
On  tioly-rood  day,  the  gallant  Hotspur  there,  i 
V  ouiig  Harry  Percy,  and  brave  Archibald, 
T  hat  ever-valiant  and  approved  Scot, 
At  llohuedon  met, 

^V^'1c're  tliey  did  spend  a  sad  and  bloody  hour; 
Ah  hy  discharge  of  their  artillery. 
Anil  shupe  of"  likelihood,  the  news  was  told  ; 
!'  or  he,  that  brought  them,  in  the  very  heat 
A  !!d  pride  of  their  contention  did  take  horse. 
Uncertain  of  the  issue  any  way. 

K.  Hen.  Here 's  a  dear  and  true-industrious  friend, 
8ir  Walter  Blunt,  new  lighted  from  his  horse, 
8tainVl  with  the  variation  of  each  soil 
Betuixt  ttiat  Holmedon  and  this  seat  of  ours; 
And  he  hath  brought  us  smooth  and  welcome  news. 
Tiie  c?arl  of  Douglas  is  discomfited  ; 
'i'en  thousand  bold  Scots,  two  and-twenty  knights, 
B  ilk'd  in  their  own  blood,  did  sir  Walter  see 
Oa  iiulinedon's  plains:  01"  prisoners,  Hijtspur  took 
Mordake  tiie  earl  of  File,  and  eldest  son 
'i'o  beaten  Douglas  ;  and  the  earls  of  Athol, 
01"  Murray,  Angus,  and  Menteith. 
And  js  not  tliis  an  honourable  spoil  ^ 
A  gallant  prize  ?  ha,  cousin,  is  it  not? 

n'est.  In  laith, 
It  is  a  conquest  for  a  prince  to  boast  of. 
K,  Hen.  Yea,  there  thou  nmk'st  me  sad,  and 
tiiak'«t  rae  sin 
].t  envy,  that  my  lord  Northumberland 
Shv^uld  be  the  f  ather  of  so  blest  a  son  : 
A  son,  who  I  the  theme  of  honour's  tongue  ; 
Amongst  a  grove,  the  very  straightest  plant; 
Who  IS  sweet  fortune's  minion,  and  her  pride  : 
Whilst  J,  by  looking  on  the  praise  of  him. 
See  riot  and  dishonour  stain  the  brow 
Of  toy  young  Harry.    O,  that  it  could  be  prov'd. 
That  some  night-tripping  fairy  had  exchang'd 
In  cradle-clotiies  our  children,  where  they  lay, 
And  call  d  mine — Percy,  his— Piantagenet  I 
riien  would  I  have  his  Harry,  and  he  mine. 
Bat  let  him  I'rom  my  thoughts: — What  think  you, 
coz, 

Ofthis  young  Percy's  pride?  the  prisoners,      < ' 
Which  he  in  this  adventure  hath  surprised, 
To  his  own  use  he  keeps ;  and  sends  me  word, 
I  snail  have  none  but  Alordake  earl  of  Fife. 

Wetit.  This  is  his  uncle's  teaching,  this  is  Wor- 
cester, 

Malevolent  to  you  in  all  aspects; 
Which  makes  him  prune  lutnself,  and  bristle  up 
I'he  crest  of  youth  against  your  dignity. 

K.  Hen.  But  I  have  sent  tor  him  to  answer  this  : 
And,  lur  this  cause,  awhile  we  must  neglect 
O.u-  holy  purpose  to  Jerusalem, 
(lousin,  on  VVedufsday  next  our  council  we 
Will  hold  at  Windsor,  so  inform  the  lords  : 
But  couie  yourself  with  speed  to  us  again  ; 
For  mere  is  to  be  said,  and  to  be  done, 
Than  out  ol"  anger  can  be  uttered. 

West.  1  will,  my  liege.  [Exeunt. 

Scenic  II. — The  same.   Another  Room  in  the 
Palace. 

Enfef  11  EisiRY  Prince  of  Wales,  and  Falstaff. 

f'al.  Now,  Hal,  what  time  of  day  is  it,  lad  ? 

P.  Hen.  'fhou  art  so  fat-witted  with  drinking  of 
old  sack,  and  unbuttoning  thee  after  supper,  and 
-bleeping  upon  benches  after  noon,  that  thou  hast 
V)rg<>lten  to  demand  that  truly,  which  thou  wouldst 
truly  know.  What  a  devil  hast  thou  to  do  with  the 
time  of  the  day?  unless  hours  were  cups  of  sack, 
and  minutes  capons,  and  clocks  the  tongues  of  bawds, 
end  dials  the  signs  of  leaping  houses,  and  the  bless- 
ed sun  himseli'  a  fair  hot  wench  in  fiame-colour'd 
taffeta  ;  I  see  no  reason  why  thou  shouldst  be  so 
supei  tluous  to  demand  the  time  of  the  day. . 

Fal.  Indeed,  you  come  near  me,  now,  Hal :  for 
•  e,  that  take  purses,  go  by  the  nnoon  and  seven  stars ; 


and  not  by  Phoebus, —  ke,  that  tvandertng  knight 
so  fair.  And,  I  pray  thee,  sweet  wag,  whtn  thou 
art  king, — as,  God  save  thy  grace,  (majesty,  I  should 

say  ;  for  grace  thou  wilt  have  none,}  

P.  Hen.  What !  none  ? 

Fal.  No,  by  my  troth;  not  so  much  as  wiL  »8rv« 
to  be  prologue  to  an  egg  and  butter. 

P.  Hen.  Well,  how  then  ?  come,  roundly,  roundly. 
Fal.  Marry,  then,  sweet  w.ig,  when  thou  art  king, 
let  not  us,  that  are  squires  of  the  night's  body,  be 
called  thieves  of  the  day's  beauty  ;  let  us  be — Diana'« 
foresters,  gentlemen  of  the  shade,  minions  of  the 
,  moon  :  And  let  men  say,  we  be  men  of  good  govere- 
meiit;  being  go\ erned  as  the  sea  is,  by  our  noble  and 
chaste  mistress  the  moon,  under  whose  countenance 
we — steal. 

P.  Hen.  Thou  say'st  well ;  and  it  holds  well  too: 
for  the  fortune  of  us,  that  are  the  moon's  men,  doth 
ebb  and  flow  like  the  sea  ;  being  governed  as  the  sea 
is,  by  the  moon.  As,  for  proof,  now  :  A  purse  ol 
gold  most  resolutely  snatched  on  Monday  night,  and 
most  dissolutely  spent  on  Tuesday  morning;  got  with 
swearing — lay  by  ;  and  spent  with  crying — bring  in  : 
now,  in  as  low  an  ebb  as  the  foot  of  the  ladder;  and 
by  and  by,  in  as  high  a  flow  as  the  ridge  of  the 
gallows. 

Fal.  By  the  Lord,  thou  say'st  true,  lad.  And  ia 
not  my  hostess  of" the  tavern  a  most  sweet  wench? 

P.  Hen.  As  the  honey  of  Hybla,  my  old  lad  ol 
the  castle.  And  is  not  a  buff  jerkin  a  most  Bwee< 
robe  of  durance  ? 

Fal.  How  now,  how  now,  mad  wag?  what,  in  thy 
quips,  and  thy  quiddities?  what  a  plague  ha\e  I  to 
do  with  a  buff  jt-rkin? 

P.  Hen.  Why,  what  a  pox  have  I  to  do  vrith  my 
hostess  of  the  tavern  ? 

Fal.  Well,  thou  hast  called  her  to  a  retkoning, 
many  a  time  and  oft. 

P.  Hen.  Did  I  ever  call  for  thee  to  pay  thy  part  ? 
Fal.  No  :  I'll  give  thee  thy  due,  thou  hast  paid  all 
there. 

P.  Hen.  Yea,  and  elsewhere,  so  far  as  my  coin 
would  stretch  ;  and,  where  it  would  not,  I  have  used 
my  credit. 

Fal.  Yea,  and  so  used  it,  that  were  it  not  here  ap' 
parent  that  thou  art  heir  apparent, — But,  I  pr'ythee, 
sweet  wag,  shall  there  be  gallows  standing  in  Eng- 
land when  thou  wrt  king?  and  resolution  thus  fobbed 
as  it  is,  with  the  rusty  curb  of  old  father  antic  the 
law  ?  Do  not  thou,  when  thou  art  king,  hang  a  thief 
P.  Hen.  No  ;  thou  shalt. 

Fal.  Shall  1  ?  O  rare  !  By  the  Lord,  I'll  be  a 
brave  judge. 

P.  Hen.  Thou  judgest  false  already  ;  I  mean,  thou 
shalt  have  the  hanging  of  the  thieves,  and  so  becou>e 
a  rare  hangman. 

Fal.  Well,  Hal,  well  ;  and  in  some  sort  it  jumps 
with  my  humour,  as  well  as  waiting  m  the  court,  1 
can  tell  you. 

P.  Hen.  For  obtaining  of  suits? 
Fal.  Yea,  for  obtaining  of  suits  :  whereof  the 
hangman  hath  no  lean  wardrobe.    'Sblood,  I  am  a '■ 
melancholy  as  a  gib  cat,  or  a  lugged  bear,  it^rtc. 
P.  Hen.  Or  an  old  lion  ;  or  a  lover's  lute. 
Fal.  Yea,  or  the  drone  of  a  Lincolnshire  bagpipe. 
P.  Hen.  What  say'st  thou^to  a  hare,  or  the  me- 
lancholy of  Moor-ditch  ? 

Fal.  Thou  hast  the  most  unsavoury  sinrdles  ;  and 
art,  indeed,  the  most  comparative,  rascalliest, — 
sweet  young  prince, — But.  Hal,  I  pr'ythee,  tio  ubie 
me  no  more  with  vanity.  I  would  to  God,  tho  j  and 
I  knew  where  a  conmiodity  of  good  names  were  to 
be  borjght :  An  old  lord  of  the  council  rated  me  the 
other  day  in  the  street  about  you,  sir  ;  but  I  marked 
him  not :  and  yet  he  talked  very  wisely ;  but  I  re- 
garded him  not:  and  yet  he  talked  wisely,  and  in 
the  street  too. 

P.  Hen.  Thou  did'st  well ;  for  wisdom  cries  oat 
in  the  streets,  and  no  man  regards  it. 

Fal.  O  thou  hast  damnable  iteration;  and  art,  in- 


Scene  3. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


825 


deed,  able  to  corrupt  a  saint.  Thou  hast  done  much 
harm  iiuon  me,  Hal, — God  forgive  thee  for  it !  Be- 
fore 1  knew  thee,  Hal,  I  knew  nothing;  and  now 
am  I,  if  a  man  should  speak  truly,  little  better  than 
(ine  of  the  wicked.  I  must  give  over  this  life,  and  I 
will  give  it  over  ;  by  the  Lord,  an  I  do  not,  I  am  a 
villain;  I'll  be  damned  for  never  a  king's  son  in 
Christendom. 

P.  Hen.  Where  shall  we  take  a  purse  to-morrow. 
Jack  e 

Fal.  Where  thou  wilt,  lad.  I'll  make  one;  an  I  do 
not,  call  me  villain,  and  baffle  me. 

P.  Hen.  I  .s<  e  a  good  amendment  of  life  in  thee; 
from  praying,  to  purse-taking. 

Enter  PoiNS,  at  a  distance. 

Fal.  Why,  Hal,  '(is  my  vocation,  Hal ; 'tis  no 
sin  for  a  man  to  labour  in  his  vocation.  Poins  ! — 
Now  shall  we  know  if  Gadshill  have  set  a  match. 
O,  if  men  were  to  be  saved  by  merit,  what  hole  in 
hell  were  hot  enough  for  him  ?  This  is  the  most 
omnipotent  villain,  that  ever  cried.  Stand,  to  a  true 

P.  Hen.  (rood- morrow,  Ned.  [man. 

Poins.  Good-morrow,  sweet  Hal. — What  says 
monsieur  Remorse  ?  Wliat  says  sir  John  Sack-and- 
Sugar?  Jack,  how  agrees  the  devil  and  thee  about 
thy  soul,  that  thou  soldest  him  on  Good-Friday  last, 
for  a  cup  of  Madeira,  and  a  cold  capon's  leg  ? 

P.  Hen.  Sir  Jo'm  stands  to  his  word,  the  devil 
shall  have  his  bargain  ;  for  he  was  never  yet  a  break- 
er o*"  proverbs,  he  will  give  the  devil  his  due. 

Poins.  Then  art  thou  damned  for  keeping  thy 
Word  with  the  devil.  [the  devil. 

P.  Hen.  Else  he  had  been  damned  for  cozening 

Poins.  But,  my  lads,  my  lads,  to-morrow  morning, 
by  four  o'clock,  early  at  Gadshill :  There  are  pil- 
grims going  to  Canterbury  with  rich  offerings,  and 
traders  riding  to  London  with  fat  purses  :  I  have 
visois  for  you  all,  you  have  horses  for  yourselves ; 
Gadshill  lies  to-night  in  Rochester;  I  have  bespoke 
supper  to-morrow  night  in  Eastcheap;  we  may  doit 
as  secure  as  sleep  :  If  you  will  go,  I  will  stuff  your 
purses  full  of  crowns  ;  if  you  will  not,  tarry  at  home, 
and  be  hanged. 

Fal.  Hear  me,  Yedward,  if  I  tarry  at  home,  and 
go  not,,  I'll  hang  you  for  going. 

Poins.  You  will,  chaps ? 

Fal.  Hal,  wilt  thou  make  one? 

P.  Hen.  Wno,  I  rob  ?  I  a  thief?  not  I,  by  my 
faith. 

Fal.  Tliere's  neither  honesty,  manhood,  nor  good 
fellowship  in  thee,  nor  thou  earnest  not  of  the  blood 
roval,  if  thou  darest  not  stand  for  ten  shillings. 

P.  Hen.  Well,  then,  once  in  my  days  I'll  be  a 

Fal  Why,  that's  well  said.  [mad-cap. 

P.  He?i.  Well,  come  what  will,  I'll  tarry  at  home. 

Fal.  By  the  Lord,  I'll  be  a  traitor  then,  wlien 
thou  ait  king. 

P.  Hen.  1  care  not. 

Poins.  Sir  John,  I  pr'ythee,  leave  the  prince  and 
me  alone  ;  I  will  lay  him  down  such  reasons  for  this 
fadveuture,  that  lie  shall  go. 

Fal.  Well,  may'st  thou  have  the  spirit  of  persna- 
fiion,  and  he  the  ears  of  profiting,  that  what  thou 
speakest  may  move,  and  what  he  hears  may  be  be- 
heved,  that  the  true  prince  may  (ibr  recreation  sake,) 
prove  a  false  thief ;  lor  the  poor  abuses  of  the  time 
want  countenance.  Farewell  :  You  shali  find  me 
in  Eastcheap. 

P.  Hen.  Farewell,  thou  latter  spring  I  Farewell 
Ali-hallown  summer  1  .  ,  :  [Exit  Falstajf. 

Poins.  Now,  my  good  sweet  honey  l(;rd,  ride 
with  us  to-morrow  ;  1  liave  a  jest  to  execute,  that  I 
cannot  manage  alone.  Falstati",  Bardolph,  Peto,  and 
GJadsliill,  shall  rob  those  men  that  we  have  already 
way-i./id  ;  yourself,  ana  I,  will  not  be  there  :  and 
when  Liity  have  the  booty,  if  you  anil  I  do  not  .ob 
them,  cut  this  h-ad  from  my  sheuld-rs. 

P.  Hen.  But  liow  sliall  pan  Wita  th  m  ins:.  t- 
fciisg  furiii  ^ 


Poins.  Why,  we  will  set  fo.th  before  or  aftet 
them,  and  appoint  them  a  place  of  meeting,  wherev; 
it  is  at  our  pleasure  to  fail ;  and  then  will  they  aci 
venture  upon  the  exploit  thenisehes:  whicli  thef 
shall  have  no  sooner  achieved,  but  -we'll  set  upol 
them. 

P.  Hen.  Ay,  but,  'tis  like,  that  they  will  know  us, 
by  our  horses,  by  our  hahits,  and  by  every  othet 
appointment,  to  be  ourselves. 

Poins.  Tut !  our  horses  they  shall  not  s/!e,  I'll 
tie  them  in  the  wood;  our  visors  we  will  change  after 
we  leave  them  ;  and,  sirrah,  I  have  cases  of  buckraui 
for  the  nonce,  to  immask  our  noted  outward  gai- 
ments. 

P.  Hen.  But,  I  doubt,  they  will  be  too  hard  for  ua. 

Poins.  Well,  lor  two  of  them,  I  know  them  to  be 
as  true-bred  cowards  as  ever  turned  back ;  and  for 
the  third,  if  he  fig iit  longer  than  he  sees  reason,  I'ii 
forswear  arms.  The  virtue  of  this  jest  will  be,  tiie 
incomprehensible  lies  that  this  same  fat  rogue  will 
tell  us,  when  we  meet  at  supper:  how  thirty,  at 
least,  he  fought  with  ;  what  wards,  what  blows,  what 
extremities  he  endured;  and,  in  the  reproof  of  this, 
lies  the  jest. 

P.  Hen.  Well,  I'll  go  with  thee  ;  provide  us  all 
things  necessary,  and  meet  me  to-morrow  night  in 
Eastcheap,  there  I'll  sup.  Farewell. 

Poins.  Farewell,  my  lord.  [Exit  Poins, 

P.  Hen.  I  know  you  all,  and  will  a  while  uphold 
Tlie  unyok'd  humour  of  your  idleness; 
Yet  herein  will  I  imitate  the  sun  ; 
Who  doth  permit  the  base  contagious  clouds 
To  smother  up  his  beauty  from  the  world. 
That,  when  he  pl-^ase  again  to  be  himself, 
Being  wanted,  he  may  be  more  wouder'd  at. 
By  breaking  through  the  foul  and  ugly  mists 
Of  vapours,  that  did  seem  to  strangle  him. 
If  all  the  year  were  playing  holydays, 
To  sport  would  be  as  tedious  as  to  work  ;    I  i 
But  when  they  seldom  come,  they  wish'd-for  come 
And  nothing  pleaseth  but  rare  accidents. 
So,  when  this  loose  behaviour  I  throw  off, 
And  pay  the  debt  I  never  promised. 
By  how  much  better  than  my  word  I  am. 
By  so  much  shall  I  falsify  men's  hopes; 
And,  like  bright  metal  on  a  sullen  ground. 
My  reformation,  glittering  o'er  my  fault. 
Shall  show  more  goodly,  and  attract  more  eyes. 
Than  that,  which  hath  no  foil  to  set  it  off. 
I'll  so  offend,  to  make  offence  a  skill; 
Redeeming  time,  when  men  think  least  I  will.  [Exit  ^ 

Scene  III. — The  same.    Another  Room  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Northumberland,  Wor- 
cester, Hotspur,  Sir  Walter  Blunt,  and 
others. 

K.  Hen.  My  blood  hath  been  too  cold  and  tem- 
perate. 

Unapt  to  stir  at  these  indignities. 
And  you  have  found  me  ;  for,  accordingly, 
You  tread  upon  my  patience  ;  but,  be  sure, 
I  will  from  henceforth  rather  be  myself. 
Mighty,  and  to  be  fear'd,  than  my  condition; 
Wliich  hath  been  smooth  as  oil,  soft  as  young  down. 
And  therefore  lost  that  title  of  respect, 
Which  the  proud  soul  ne'er  pays,  but  to  the  proud. 
Wor.  Our  house,  my  sovereign  liege,  little  de^ 
serves 

The  scourge  of  greatness  to  be  used  on  it; 

And  that  same  greatness  too,  which  our  oWn  bidiids 

Have  holp  to  make  so  portly. 

North.  My  lord,—  [danger 
K.  Hen.  Worcester,   get  thee  gone,  for  I  sea 

And  disobedience  in  thine  eye  :  O  si"-- 

Y^)ur  presence  is  too  bold  and  peremptory. 

And  majesty  might  never  yet  endure 

Tiu-  uujf^  Iv  frontier  of  a  servant  brow. 

Y.ai  !i,i\e  good  leave  to  leave  us;  when  we  neo« 


825 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  I 


\o\\T  use  and  counsel,  we  shall  send  for  yon. — 

[Exit  Pf^orcester. 
Veil  wero  about  to  speak.  (To  North.) 

North.  Yea,  my  good  lord. 

Those  prisoners  in  your  highness'  name  demanded, 
Whici)  Harry  Percy  here  at  iJolmedon  took. 
VVere,  as  he  says,  not  with  such  strength  denied. 
As  is  deliver'd  to  your  majesty  : 
Either  envy,  therefore,  or  misprision 
!s  guilty  of  this  fault,  and  not  my  son. 

Hoi.  My  liege,  I  did  deny  no  prisoners. 
l>iit,  I  remember,  when  the  fight  was  done. 
When  I  was  dry  with  rage,  and  extreme  toil. 
Breathless  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 
Came  there  a  certain  lord,  neat,  trimly  dress'd. 
Fresh  as  a  bridegroom  ;  and  his  chin,  new  reap'd, 
Shovv'd  like  a  .stubble-land  at  harvest-home  : 
He  was  perfinned  like  a  milliner ; 
,  Aiid  'twixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb  he  held 
A  pouncet-box,  which  ever  and  anon 

He  gave  liis  nose,  and  took't  away  again  ;  

Who,  therewith  angry,  wlien  it  next  came  there. 
Took  it  in  snuff; — and  still  he  smil'd,  and  talk'd; 
And,  as  the  S(jldiers  bore  dead  bodies  by. 
He  call  d  them — imtaiight  knaves,  unmannerly, 
To  bring  a  slovenly  unhandsome  corse 
Betwixt  the  wind  and  his  nobility. 
With  many  holyday  and  lady  terms 
He  qiiestion'd  me  ;  among  the  rest,  demanded 
My  prisoners,  in  your  majesty's  behalf. 
I  then,  all  smarting,  with  my  wounds  being  cold. 
To  be  so  pester  d  with  a  popinjay. 
Out  of  my  grief  and  my  impatience, 
Answer'd  negligently,  1  know  not  what ; 
He  should,  or  should  not; — for  he  made  me  mad. 
To  see  him  shine  so  brisk,  and  smell  so  sweet, 
And  talk  so  like  a  waiting  gentlewoman. 
Of  guns,  and  drums,  and  wounds,  (God  save  the 
mark !) 

And  telling  me,  the  sovereign'st  thing  on  earth 
iVas  parmaceti,  for  an  inward  bruise  ; 
And  that  it  was  great  pity,  so  it  was, 
That  villainous  saltpetre  should  be  digg'd 
Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth, 
Which  many  a  good  tall  fellow  had  destroy'd 
So  cowardly  ;  and,  but  for  these  vile  guns. 
He  would  himself  have  been  a  soldier. 
This  bald  disjointed  chat  of  his,  my  lord, 
I  answer'd  indirectly,  as  I  said ; 
And,  I  beseech  you,  let  not  his  report 
Ccme  current  for  an  accusation. 
Betwixt  my  love  and  your  high  majesty. 

Blu7it.  '\  he  circumstance  consider'd,  good  ray  lord, 
Whatever  liarry  Percy  then  had  said, 
To  such  a  person,  and  in  such  a  place. 
At  such  a  time,  with  all  the  rest  re-told. 
May  reasonably  die,  and  never  rise 
To  do  him  wrong,  or  any  way  impeach 
What  then  he  said,  so  he  unsay  it  now. 

K.  Hen.  Why,  yet  he  doth  deny  his  prisoners; 
But  with  proviso,  and  exception, — 
That  we,  at  our  own  charge,  shall  ransonie  straight 
His  brother-in-law,  the  foolish  Mortimer; 
Who,  on  my  soul,  hath  wilfully  betray'd 
The  li\es  of  those,  that  he  did  lead  to  fight 
Against  the  great  magician,  damn'd  Glendower; 
Whose  daughter,  as  we  hear,  the  earl  of  March 
Hath  lately  married.    Shall  our  coffers  then 
Be  emptied,  to  redeem  a  traitor  home  ? 
Shall  we  buy  treason?  and  indent  with  fears. 
When  tliey  have  lost  and  forfeited  themselves  ? 

on  the  barr?n  mountains  let  him  starve; 
For  I  shall  never  hold  that  man  my  friend, 
Whose  tongue  shall  ask  me  for  one  i)enny  cost 
To  ransome  home  revolted  Mortimer  ! 

/io/.  Revolted  Mortimer! 
lis  never  did  fall  off,  my  sovereign  liege, 

liy  the  chance  of  war  : — To  prove  that  true, 
?i?eeds  DO  more  but  one  tongue  for  all  tho.se  wounds, 
mouthed  wotmds,  which  valiantly  he  took, 


When  on  the  gentle  Severn's  sedgy  bank. 
In  single  opposition,  hand  to  hand. 
He  did  confound  the  best  part  of  an  hour 
In  changing  hardiment  with  great  Glendower: 
Three  times  they  breath'd,  and  three  times  did  they 
drink, 

Upon  agreement,  of  swift  Severn's  flood  ; 
Who,  then,  affrighted  with  their  bloody  looks, 
Ran  fearfully  among  the  trembling  reeds, 
And  hid  his  crisp  head  in  the  hollow  bank. 
Blood-stained  with  these  valiant  combatants. 
Never  did  bare  and  rotten  pohcy 
Colour  her  working  with  such  deadly  wounds  ; 
Nor  never  could  the  noble  Mortimer 
Receive  so  many,  and  all  willingly: 
Then  let  him  not  be  slander'd  with  revolt 

K.  Hen.  Thou  dost  belie  hira,  Percy,  thou  dost 
belie  him. 

He  never  did  encounter  with  Glendower ; 
I  tell  thee. 

He  durst  as  well  have  met  the  devil  alone, 

As  Owen  Glendower  for  an  enemy. 

Art  not  asham'd  ?  But,  sirrah,  henceforth 

Let  me  not  hear  you  speak  of  Mortimer  : 

Send  me  your  prisoners  with  the  speediest  means. 

Or  you  shall  hear  in  such  a  kind  from  me 

As  will  displease  you, — My  lord  Northumberland, 

We  license  your  departure  with  your  son- — 

Send  us  your  prisoners,  or  you'll  hear  of  it, 

[Exeunt  King  Henry,  Blunt,  and  Train. 

Hot.  And  if  tlie  devil  come  and  roar  for  them, 
I  will  not  send  them  : — I  will  after  straight. 
And  tell  him  so;  for  J  will  ease  my  heart, 
Although  it  be  with  hazard  of  my  head. 

North.   What,  drunk  with  choler  ?  stay,  and 
pause  awhile ; 
Here  comes  your  uncle. 

Re-enter  Worcester, 
Hot.  Speak  of  Mortimer  .' 

Zoundsj  I  will  speak  of  him  ;  and  let  my  soul 
Want  mercy,  if  1  do  not  join  with  him: 
Yea,  on  his  part,  I'll  empty  all  these  veins. 
And  shed  my  dear  blood  drop  by  drop  i'the  dust, 
But  I  will  lift  the  down-trod  Mortimer 
As  high  i'the  air  as  this  unthankful  king., 
As  this  ingrate  and  canker'd  Bolingbroke. 

North.  Brother,  the  king  hath  made  your  ne{)hew 
mad.  [To  PVorcester.] 

Wor.  Who  struck  this  heat  up  after  I  was  gone  ? 
J     Hot.  He  will,  forsooth,  have  all  my  prisoners; 
And  when  I  urg'd  the  ransome  once  again 
Of  my  wife's  brother,  then  his  cheek  look'd  pale  ; 
And  on  my  face  he  turn'd  an  eye  of  death, 
Trembling  even  at  the  name  oi  Mortimer, 

Wor.   I  cannot  blame  him :  Was  he  not  pro- 
claim'd. 

By  Richard,  that  dead  is,  the  next  of  blood  ? 

North,  lie  was  ;  1  heard  the  proclamation  : 
And  then  it  was,  when  the  unhappy  king 
(Whose  wrongs  in  us  God  pardon!)  did  set  forth 
Upon  his  Irish  expedition; 
From  whence  he,  intercepted,  did  return 
To  be  depos'd,  and  shortly,  murder'd. 

Wor.  And  for  whose  death,  we  in  the  world"s 
wide  mouth 
Live  scandaliz'd,  and  foully  spoken  of. 

Hut.  But,  soft,  I  pray  you  ;  Did  king  Ricbaid  Ihcc 
Proclaim  my  brother  Ec^raund  Mortimer 
Heir  to  the  crown  ?  '^'^"^  ' 

North.  He  did  ;  myself  did  hear  it 

Hot.  Nay,  then  I  cannot  blame  his  cousin  king, 
That  wish'd  him  on  the  barren  mountains  starv  U. 
But  shall  it  be,  that  you,— that  set  the  crown 
Upon  the  head  ol'this  forgetful  man  : 
And  for  his  sake,  wear  the  detested  blot 
Of  murd'rous  siibornation, — shall  it  be, 
That  you  a  world  of  curses  undergo  ; 
Being  the  agents,  or  base  second  means, 
'i'he  cords,  the  ladder,  or  the  hangman  ratiier  ? 


Scene  3.  KING 

O,  pardon  me,  that  I  descend  so  low, 
To  show  the  line,  and  the  predicament, 
Wherein  you  ran^e  under  this  subtle  king:. 

hall  it,  for  shame,  be  spoken  in  these  days. 
Or  fill  U[)  chronicles  in  time  to  come, 
That  men  of  your  nobility  and  power 
Did  'gage  them  both  in  an  unjust  belialf, — 
As  both  of  you,  God  pardon  it  !  have  done, — 
*lsj  put  down  Richard,  that  sweet  lovely  rose, 
And  plant  this  thorn,  this  canker,  Bolingbroke? 
And  shall  it,  in  more  shame,  be  further  spoken, 
That  you  are  fool'd,  discarded,  and  shook  off' 
By  him,  for  whom  these  shames  ye  underwent? 
N';;  yet  time  serves,  wherein  you  may  redeem 
Your  banish'd  honours,  and  restore  yourselves 
Into  the  good  thoughts  of  the  world  again  : 
Revenge  the  jeering,  and  disdain'd  contempt 
Of  this  proud  king;  who  studies,  day  and  night, 
Yo  answer  all  the  debt  he  owes  to  you. 
Even  with  the  bloody  payment  of  your  deaths. 
Therefore,  I  say, — 

f9^or.  Peace,  cousin,  say  no  more  : 

And  now  I  will  unclasp  a  secret  book, 
And  to  your  quick-conceiving  discontents 
ni  read  you  matter  deep  and  dangerous  : 
As  full  of  peril,  and  advent'rous  spirit, 
As  to  o'er  walk  a  current,  roaring  loud. 
On  tlie  unsteadfast  footing  of  a  spear. 

Hot.  If  he  fall  in,  good  night : — or  sink  or  swim  : — 
Send  danger  from  the  east  unto  the  west. 
So  honour  cross  it  from  the  north  to  south. 
And  let  them  grapple  ; — O  !  the  blood  more  stirs, 
To  rouse  a  lion,  than  to  sfart  a  hare. 

Norfh.  Imagination  of  some  great  exploit 
Drives  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  patience. 

Hot.  By  heaven,  methinks,  it  were  an  easy  leap, 
To  pluck  bright  honour  from  the  pale-fac'd  moon : 
Or  dive  into  the  bottom  of  the  deep. 
Where  fathom-line  could  never  touch  the  gnrind. 
And  pluck  up  drowned  honour  by  the  locks  ; 
So_  he,  that  doth  redeem  her  thence,  might  wear, 
Without  corrival,  uU  her  dignities: 
But  out  upon  this  iialf-fac'd  fellowship  ! 

ff^or.  He  apprehends  a  world  of  figures  here. 
But  not  the  form  of  what  he  should  attend. — 
Good  cousin,  give  me  audience  for  a  while. 

Hot.  I  cry  you  mercy 

IV or.  Tiiose  same  noble  Scots, 

That  are  your  prisoners, — 

Hot.  I'll  keep  them  all ; 

By  heaven,  he  shall  not  have  a  Scot  of  them  : 
No.  if  a  Scot  woidd  save  his  soul,  he  shall  not  : 
I'll  keep  them,  by  this  hand. 

War.  You  start  away, 

And  lend  no  ear  unto  my  purposes. — 
Those  prisoners  you  shall  keep. 

Hot.  Nay,  I  will,  that's  flat  :— 

He  said,  he  would  net  ransome  Mortimer  ; 
Forbad  my  tongue  to  speak  of  Mortimer 
But  I  will  find  him,  when  he  lies  asleep. 
And  in  his  ear  I'll  holla — Mortimer  ! 
Nay, 

I'll  have  a  starling  shall  be  taught  to  speak  » 
Nothing  but  Mortimer,  and  give  it  him. 
To  keep  his  anger  still  in  motion. 
^     or.  Hear  you. 

Cousin  ;  a  ward. 

Hot.  All  studies  here  I  solemnly  defy. 
Save  how  to  gall  and  pinch  this  Bolingbroke  :  ^^'i 
And  that  same  sword-and-buckler  prince  of  Wales— 
But  that  I  think  his  father  loves  him  not. 
And  would  be  glad  he  met  with  some  mischance, 
I'd  have  him  poison'd  with  a  pot  of  ale. 

Wor.  Farewell,  kinsman  !  I  will  talk  to  you, 
When  you  are  better  temper'd  to  attend. 

North.  Why,  what  a  wasp  stung  and  impatient 
Art  thou,  to  break  into  this  woman's  mood  ;  [fool 
Tying  thine  ear  to  no  tongue  but  thine  own  ? 

Hot.  Why,  look  you,  I  am  whipp'd  and  scourg'd 
with  rods. 


HENRY  IV.  827 

Nettled,  and  stung  mth  pismires,  whei  I  heftr 
Of  (his  vile  politician,  Bolingbroke. 
In  Richard's  time,— What  do  you  call  the  place 
A  pi  tgue  upon 't ! — it  is  in  Gloucestershire  ; — 
'Twas  where  the  mad-cap  duke  his  uncle  kept; 
His  uncle  York  : — where  I  first  bow'd  my  knee 
Unto  this-king  of  smiles,  this  Bolingbroke, 
When  you  and  he  came  back  from  llavenspurg. 
North.  At  Berkley  castle. 
Hot.  You  say  true  : 
Why,  what  a  candy  deal  of  courtesy 
This  fawning  greyhound  then  did  proffer  lue  ' 
Look, — when  his  infant- fortune  came  to  age, 
And, — gentle  Harry  Percy, — and,  kind  cousin, 
O,  the  devil  take   such  cozeners  I — God  forgive 
me  ! — 

Good  uncle,  tell  your  tale,  for  I  have  done. 

TVor.  Nay,  if  you  have  not,  to't  ag liu  ; 
We'll  stay  your  leisure. 

Hot.  I  have  done,  i  faith. 

Wor.  Then  once   more  to  your  Scottish  pri- 
soners. 

Deliver  them  up  without  their  ransome  straight, 
And  make  the  Douglas'  son  your  only  mean 
For  powers  in  Scotland;  which, — for  divers  reasons, 
Which  I  shall  send  you  written, — be  assur'd. 
Will  easily  be  granted. — You,  my  lord, — 

(To  Northumberland.) 
Your  son  in  Scotland  being  thus  employ'd, 
Shall  secretly  into  the  bosom  creep 
Of  that  same  noble  prelate  well  belov'd, 
The  archbishop. 

Hot.  Of  York,  is't  not  ? 
ff^or.  True  ;  who  bears  hard 
His  brother's  death  at  Bristol,  the  lord  Scroop. 
I  speak  !iot  this  in  estimation. 

As  what  I  think  might  be,  but  what  I  know  ' 
I  Is  ruminated,  plotted,  and  set  down: 
And  only  stays  but  to  behold  the  face 
Of  that  occasion,  that  shall  bring  it  on. 

Hot  I  smell  it;  upon  my  life,  it  will  do  well. 
North.  Before  the  game's  a-foot,  thou  still  let'sl 
slip.  [plot  :— 

Hot.  Why,  it  cannot  choose  but  be  a  noble 
And  then  the  power  of  Scotland,  and  of  York, — 
To  join  with  Mortimer,  ha? 

TV  or.  And  so  they  shall. 

Hot.  In  faith,  it  is  exceedingly  well  aim'd. 
Wor.  And  'tis  no  little  reason  bids  us  speed, 
To  save  our  heads  by  raising  of  a  head  : 
For,  bear  ourselves  as  even  as  we  can, 
Tiie  king  will  always  think  him  in  our  debt; 
And  think  we  think  ourselves  unsatisfied. 
Till  he  hath  found  a  time  to  pay  us  home. 
And  see  already,  how  he  doth  begin 
To  make  us  strangers  to  his  looks  of  love. 
Hot.  He  does,  he  does ;  we'll  be  reveng'd  oa 
him. 

Wor.  Cousin,  farewell : — No  further  go  in  this, 
Than  I  by  letters  shall  direct  your  course. 
When  time  is  ripe  (which  will  be  suddenly)^ 
I'll  steal  to  Glendovver,  and  lord  Mortimer; 
Where  you  and  Douglas,  and  oui  powers  at  once, 
(As  I  will  fashion  it,)  shall  happily  meet, 
To  bear  our  fortunes  in  ourowD  strong  arms. 
Whic  h  now  we  hoid  at  much  uncertainty. 
North.  Farewell,  good  brother :  we  shall  thrive, 
I  trust. 

Hot.  Uncle,  adieu  : — O,  let  the  hours  be  short. 
Till  fields,  and  blows,  and  groans  applaud  our  sport 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — Rochester.    An  Inn 
Enter  a  Carrier,  with  a  lantern  in  hts  nand. 
1  Car.  Heigh  ho !  An't  be  not  four  oy  the  da 
I'll  be  hanged  :  Charles'  wain  is  oev 
ney,  and  yet  our  horse  not  packed.        hat,  o 
Ost.  (  Within.)  Anon,  anon. 


328 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  II. 


«  Cur.  I  prythee,  Tom,  beat  Cut's  sa(^dle,  put  a 
few  flocks  in  the  jpoint ;  the  poor  jade  is  wrung  in  the 
withers  out  of  all  cess.  |  ..  i 

Enter  another  Carrier. 
2  Car,  Peas  and  beans  are  as  dank  here  as  a 
tlog,  and  that  is  the  next  way  to  give  poor  jades  the 
bot»  :  tiiis  house  is  turned  upside  down,  since  Robin 
ostler  died. 

1  Cozr.  Poor  fellow  !  never  joyed,  since  the  price 
uf  oats  ruse  ;  it  was  tlie  death  of  him. 

2  Car.  I  think,  this  be  tlie  most  villainous  house 
in  ivA  Loudon  road  for  fleas :  I  am  stung  like  a 
tench. 

1  Car.  Like  a  tench  ?  by  the  mass,  there  is  ne'er 
a  king  in  Christendom  could  be  better  bit  than  1  iiave 

een  since  the  first  cock. 

2  Car.  Why,  they  will  allow  us  ne'er  a  jorden, 
and  then  we  leak  in  your  chimney  ;  and  your  cham- 
Der  lie  breeds  fleas  like  a  loach. 

1  Car.  What,  ostler  !  come  away  and  be  hanged, 
come  away. 

'2  Car.  1  have  a  gammon  of  bacon  and  two  razes 
of  ginger,  to  be  delivered  as  far  as  Charing-cross. 

1  Car.  Odsbodyl  the  turkeys  in  my  pannier  are 
quite  starved. — Vvhat,  ostler! — ^A  plague  on  thee! 
hast  tiiou  never  an  eye  in  thy  head?  canst  not  hear? 
An  'twere  not  as  good  a  deed  as  drmk,  to  break  the 
pate  of  tiiee,  I  am  a  very  villain. — Come,  and  be 
hanged  : — Hast  no  faith  in  thee  ? 

Enter  Gadshill. 
Gads.  Good  morrow,  carriers.    What's  o'clock  ? 
1  Car  I  think  it  be  two  o'clock. 
Gads.  I  prythee,  lend  me  thy  lantern,  to  see  my 
gelding  in  the  stable. 

1  Car.  Nay,  soft,  I  pray  ye  :  I  know  a  trick  worth 
two  of  that,  i'faith. 

Gads.  I  pr  ythee,  lend  me  thine. 

2  (Jar.  Ay,  when  ?  canst  tell  ? — Lend  me  thy  lan- 
tern, (itioth  a  ? — marry,  I'll  see  thee  hanged  first. 

Gads.  Sirrah,  carrier,  vvhat  time  do  you  mean  to 
come  to  London  ? 

2  Car.  Time  enough  to  go  to  bed  with  a  candle, 
I  warrant  thee. — Come,  neighbour  Mugs,  we'll  call 
up  the  gentlemen  ;  they  will  along  with  company, 
for  they  have  great  charge.         [Exeunt  Carriers. 

Gads.  What,  ho !  rliainberlain ! 

Cham.  {Within.)  At  hand,  quuth  pick-purse. 

Gads.  I'hat's  even  as  fair  as — at  liand,  quoth  the 
chamberlain;  for  tiiou  variest  no  more  from  picking 
of  {)iirses,  than  giving  direction  doth  from  labouring  ; 
thou  lay'st  the  plot  how. 

Enter  Chamberlain. 

Cham.  Good  morrow,  master  Gadshill.  It  holds 
current,  that  I  told  you  yesternight:  There's  a 
franklin  in  the  wild  of  Kent,  hath  brought  three 
hundred  marks  with  him  in  gold  :  I  heard  him  tell 
it  to  one  of  his  company,  last  night  at  supper;  a 
kind  of  auditor;  one,  that  hath  abundance  of  charge 
too,  God  knows  what.  They  are  up  already,  and 
call  for  eggs  and  butter:  they  will  away  presently. 

Gads.  iSirrah,  if  they  meet  not  with  saint  Ni- 
cholas' clerks,  Til  give  thee  this  neck, 

Cham.  No,  111  none  of  it:  I  [  r'ythee,  keep  that 
for  the  hangman;  lor,  I  know,  thou  worsliip'st  saint 
Nicholas  as  truly  as  a  man  of  falsehood  may. 

Gadd.  What  Lalkest  thou  to  me  of  the  hangman? 
if  1  hang,  rU  make  a  fat  pair  of  gallows :  for,  if 
I  hang,  old  sir  John  hangs  with  me;  and,  thou 
knowest,  he's  no  starveling.  Tut !  there  are  other 
Trojans  that  thou  dreamest  uot  of,  the  which,  for 
sport  sake,  are  content  to  do  the  profession  some 
trace,  that  would,  if  matters  should  be  looked  into, 
for  their  ovvn  credit  sake,  make  all  whole.  1  am 
joined  wiUi  no  tbot  land-rakers,  no  loug-stiifi",  six- 
penny strikers ;  none  of  these  nuid,  musLachio  pur- 
pie  hued  malt-worms:  but  with  nobility,  and  tran- 
quillity i  burgomasters,  and  great  oneyers  ;  such  as 


can  hold  in  ,  such  as  will  strike  sooner  than  speak, 
and  speak  so»ner  than  drink,  and  drink  sooner  tha 
pray  :  And  yet  1  lie  ;  for  they  pray  contirjiial'iy  t 
their  saint,  the  commonwealth  ;  or,  rather,  not  pr 
to  her,  but  prey  on  her;  for  they  ride  up  and  dowD 
on  her,  and  make  her  their  boots. 

Cham.  What,  the  commonwealth  their  boots? 
will  she  hold  out  water  in  foul  way? 

Gads.  She  will,  she  will;  justice  hath  liquored 
her.  We  steal  as  in  a  castle,  cock-sure;  we  have 
the  receipt  of  fern-seed,  we  walk  invisible. 

Cham.  Nay,  by  my  faith ;  I  think  you  are  more 
beholden  to  the  night,  than  to  fern-seed,  fcr  your 
walking  invisible. 

Gads.  Give  me  thy  hand  :  thou  shalt  have  a  share 
in  our  purchase,  as  I  am  a  true  man. 

Cham.  Nay,  rather  let  me  have  it,  as  yoo  are  a 
false  thief 

Gads.  Go  to ;  Homo  is  a  common  name  to  all 
men.  Bid  the  ostler  bring  my  gelding  out  of  the 
stable.    Farewell,  you  muddy  knave-  [Exeunt. 

Scene  \l.—The  Road  by  Gadshill.  // :?  ' ' 
Enter  Prince  Henry,  and  Poms ;  Bardolph  and 
Peto,  at  some  distance. 
Pains,  Come,  shelter,  shelter;  I  have  removed 
Fa'stati's  horse,  and  he  frets  like  a  gummed  velvet, 
P.  Hen.  Stand  close. 

Enter  Falstaft. 
Fal.  Poins  !  Poins,  and  be  hanged  !  Poins  ! 
P.  Hen.  Peace,  ye  fat-kidneyed  rascal ;  What  a 
brawling  dost  thou  keep  ? 
Fal.  Where's  Poins,  Hal  ? 

P.  Hen.  He  is  walked  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill; 
I'll  go  seek  him.     {Pretends  to  seek  Poins.) 

Pal.  I  am  accursed  to  rob  in  that  thief's  com- 
pany: the  rascal  hath  removed  my  horse,  and  tied 
him  T  know  not  where.  If  I  i,ra\  el  b;it  four  foot  by 
the  squire  further  afoot,  I  shall  break  my  wind. 
Well,  I  doubt  not  but  to  die  a  fair  death  for  all  this, 
if  I  'scape  hanging  for  killing  that  rogue.  1  have 
forsworn  his  company  hourly  any  tune  this  two- 
and  twenty  years ;  and  yet  I  am  bewitched  with  the 
rogue's  company.  If  the  rascal  have  not  gixen  me 
medicines  to  make  me  love  him,  I'll  be  hanged : 
it  could  not  be  else  ;  I  have  drunk  medicines.- 
Poins  ! — Ha!— a  plague  upon  you  hotii  ! — Bar- 
dolph!— Peto  I —I'll  starve,  ere  I'll  rob  afoot  fur- 
ther. An  'twere  not  as  good  a  deed  as  drink,  to  tur 
true  man,  and  liave  these  rogues,  I  am  the  veriest 
varlet  that  ever  chewed  w'th  a  tootii.  Eight  yards 
of  uneven  ground,  is  threescore  and  ten  miles  afoot 
with  me ;  and  the  stony-hearted  villains  know  it 
well  enough  :  A  plague  upon't,  when  thieves  can- 
not be  true  to  one  another!  {They  whistle.)  Whewl 
— A  plague  upon  you  all !  Give  me  my  horse,  you 
rogues,  give  me  my  horse,  and  be  iianged. 

P.  Hen.  Peace,  ye  fat  guts  !  iie  down;  lay  thine 
ear  close  to  the  ground,  and  list  if  thou  canst  hear 
the  tread  of  travellers. 

Pal.  Have  you  any  levers  to  lift  me  up  again,  be- 
ing*down  ?  'Sblood,  I'll  not  bear  «iine  own  flesh  so 
far  afoot  again,  for  all  the  coin  >n  thy  lather's  ex- 
chequer. What  a  plague  mean  ye  to  colt  rae 
thus  ? 

P.  Hen,  Thou  liest,  thou  art  not  colted,  thou  art 
uncolted. 

Fal.  I  pr'ythee,  good  prince  Hal,  help  me  to  mj 
horse  ;  good  king's  son. 

P.  Hen.  Out,  you  rognc.  shall  I  be  your  ostler  ! 

Fal.  Go,  hang  thyself  in  thy  own  lieir-apparent 
garters !  If  I  be  ta'en,  I'll  peach  for  this.  An  1 
have  not  ballads  made  on  you  all,  &nd  sung  to  filthy 
tunes,  let  a  cup  of  sack  be  poison:  When  a 
jest  IS  so  forward,  and  afo  ;t  too,-  »-l  hate  it. 
Enter  Gadshill. 

Gad.s.  Stand! 

Fal.  So  1  do,  against  my  will. 

Poms.  O,  'tis  our  setter  :  I  know  his  voico* 


Scene  3. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


82? 


Enter  Bardolph. 
Bard.  What  news? 

Gads.  Case  ye,  case  ye,  on  with  your  visors; 
(here's  money  of  the  king's  coming  down  the  hill ; 
'tis  going  to  the  king's  exchequer.  [tavern. 

Fal.  Vou  lie,  you  rogue  ;  tis  going  to  the  knig's 

Gads.  There's  enough  to  make  us  all. 

Fal.  To  be  hanged, 

P.  Hen.  Sirs,  you  four  shall  front  them  in  the 
narrow  lane  ;  Ned  Poins  and  I  will  walk  lower  :  if 
they  'scape  from  your  encounter,  then  they  light 
on  us. 

Peto.  How  many  be  there  of  them  ? 

Gads.  Some  eight,  or  ten. 

Fal.  Zounds!  will  they  not  rob  us? 

P.  Hen.  Wliat,  a  coward,  sir  John  Paunch? 

Fal.  Ind.  ed,  I  am  not  John  of  Gaunt,  your  grand- 
father:  but  yet  no  coward,  Hal. 

P.  Hen.  Well,  we  leave  that  to  the  proof. 

Poins.  Sirrah  Jack,  thy  horse  stands  behind  the 
hedi^e  ;  wiien  thou  need'st  him,  there  thou  shalt 
find  hitu.    Farewell,  and  stand  fast. 

Fal.  Now  cannot  I  strike  him,  if  I  should  be 
hanged. 

P.  Hen.  Ned,  where  are  our  disguises? 
Pains.  Here,  hard  by  ;  stand  close. 

[Exeunt  P.  Henry  and  Poins. 
Fal.  Now,  my  musters,  liappy  man  be  his  dole, 
say  I ;  every  man  to  his  business. 

Enter  Travellers. 

1  Trav.  Come,  neighbour;  the  boy  shall  lead  our 
horses  down  the  hih  :  we'll  walk  afoot  awhile,  and 
e«se  our  legs. 

Thieves.  Stand  ! 

Trav.  Jesu  bless  us  ! 

Fal.  Strike  ;  down  with  them  ;  cut  the  villains' 
throats:  Ah'  whoreson  caterpillars!  bacon  fed 
knaves !  they  hate  us  youth  :  down  with  them  ; 
fleece  tliem.  [for  ever. 

1  Trav.  O,  we  are  imdone,  both  we  and  ours, 
Fal.  Hang  ye,  gorbellied  knaves;  Are  ye  un- 
done ?  No,  ye  fat  chuffs ;  I  would,  your  store  were 
here!  On.  bacons,  on!  Wh^^  ye  knaves?  young 
men  must  live  :  You  are  grand-jurors,  are  ye  ?  We'll 
iure  ye,  i'faith. 

[Exeunt  Fals.  etc.  driving  the  Travellers  out. 

Re-enter  Prince  Henry  and  Poins. 

P.  Hen.  'i'he  thieves  have  bound  the  true  men  : 
Now  could  tiiou  and  1  rob  the  thieves,  and  go  mer- 
Tily  to  London,  it  would  be  argument  Ibr  a  week, 
^ughter  for  a  month,  and  a  good  jest  for  ever. 

Poins.  Stand  close,  I  hear  them  coming. 
Re-enter  Thieves. 

Fal.  Come,  my  masters,  let  us  share,  and  then 
to  horse  before  day.  An  the  prince  and  Poins  be 
not  two  arrant  cowards,  there's  no  equity  stirring: 
there's  no  more  valour  in  that  Poins,  than  in  a  wild 
duck, 

p.  Hen.  Your  money.  [Rushing  out  upon  them.) 
Poins.  Villains ! 

[As  they  are  sharing,  the  Prince  and  Poins  set 
upon  them.  Falstaff,  after  a  blow  or  two, 
and  the  rest,  run  away,  leaving  their  booty 
behind  them.) 

P.  Hen.  Got  with  much  ease.  Now  merrily  to 
horse : 

The  thieves  are  scatter'd,  and  possess'd  with  fear 
So  strongly,  that  they  dare  not  meet  each  other; 
Each  takes  his  fellow  for  an  officer. 
Away,  good  Ned.    Falstaff  sweats  to  death. 
And  lards  the  lean  earth  as  he  walks  along: 
VVer't  not  for  laughing,  I  shortld  pity  him. 

Poins.  How  t!ie  rogue  roar'd  !  [Exeunt. 

Scene  lU.—  Warkworth.    A  Room  in  the  Castle. 
Enter  Hotspur,  reading  a  letter. 
- —  But,  fur  mine  oivn  part,  my  lord,  I  could  be 


well  contented  to  be  there,  in  respe<  I  of  the  love  I 
bear  your  house. — He  cotdd  be  contented, — VVliy 
is  he  not  then?  In  respect  of  the  love  he  bears  our 
house  : — he  shows  in  this,  he  loves  his  own  bam 
better  than  he  loves  our  house.  Let  me  see  soma 
more.  The  purpose  you  undertake  is  dangerous;  - 
Why,  that's  certain ; 'tis  dangerous  to  take  a  cold, 
to  sleep,  to  drink:  but  I  tell  you,  my  lord  fool,  out 
of  this  nettle,  danger,  we  pluck  this  flower,  safety. 
The  purpose  you  undertake  is  dangerous ;  the 
friendsyou  have  named,  uncertain;  the  time  itself, 
unsurted;  and  your  whole  plot  too  light,  for  the 
counterpoise  of  so  great  an  o}>position. — Say  you 
so,  say  you  so  ?  1  say  unto  you  again,  you  are  a 
shallow,  cowardly  hind,  and  you  lie.  VVhat  a  lack- 
brain  is  this  !  By  the  Lord,  our  plot  is  a  good  plot  as 
ever  was  laid  ;  our  friends  true  and  constant:  a  good 
plot,  good  friends,  and  full  of  expectation:  an 
excellent  plot,  very  good  friends.  What  a  frosty- 
spirited  rogue  is  this  !  Why,  my  lord  of  York 
commends  the  plot,  and  the  general  course  of  the 
action.  Zounds,  an  I  were  now  by  this  rascal,  I 
could  brain  him  with  his  lady's  fan.  Is  there  not  my 
father,  my  uncle, and  myselfr  lord  Edmund  Mortimer, 
my  lord  of  York,  and  Owen  Glendower  ?  Is  there 
not,  beside,  the  Douglas  ?  Have  I  not  all  their  letters, 
to  meet  me  in  arms  by  the  ninth  of  the  next  month  ? 
and  are  they  not,  some  of  them,  set  forward  already? 
What  a  pagan  rascal  is  this  !  an  infidel !  Ha  !  you 
shall  see  now,  in  very  sincerity  of  fear  and  cold 
heart,  will  he  to  the  king,  and  lay  open  all  our  pro- 
ceedings. O,  I  could  divide  myself,  and  go  to 
buffets,  for  moving  such  a  dish  of  skimmed  milk 
with  so  lionourabie  an  action!  Hang  him  I  Let  him 
tell  the  king.  We  are  prepared :  I  will  set  forward 
to-night. 

Enter  Lady  Percy. 

How  now,  Kate  ?  I  must  leave  you  within  these  iwe 
hours. 

Lady.  O  my  good  lord,  why  are  you  thus  alone? 
For  what  offence  have  I,  this  fortnight,  been 
A  banish'd  woman  from  my  Harry's  bed  ? 
Tell  me,  sweet  lord,  what  is't,  that  takes  from  thee 
Thy  stomach,  pleasure,  and  thy  golden  sleep? 
Why  dost  thou  bend  thine  eyes  upon  the  earth; 
And  start  so  often,  when  thou  sit'st  alone  ? 
Why  hast  thou  lost  the  fresh  blood  in  thy  cheeks; 
And  given  my  treasures,  and  my  rights  of  thee. 
To  thick-ey'd  musing,  and  curs'd  melancholy? 
In  thy  faint  slumbers  I  by  thee  have  watch'd. 
And  heard  thee  murmur  tales  of  iron  wars  : 
Speak  terms  of  manage  to  thy  bounding  steed; 
Cry,  Courage  ! — to  the  field!  And  thou  hast  talk'd 
Of  sallies,  and  retires;  of  trenches,  tents. 
Of  palisadoes,  froniiers,  parapets; 
Of  basilisks,  of  cannon,  culverin ; 
Of  prisoners,  ransome,  and  of  soldiers  slain. 
And  all  the  'currents  of  a  heady  fight. 
Thy  spirit  within  thee  hath  been  so  at  war. 
And  thus  hath  so  Destirr'd  thee  in  thy  sleep. 
That  beads  of  sweat  hath  stood  upon  thy  brow. 
Like  bubbles  in  a  late  disturbed  stream  : 
And  in  thy  face  strange  motions  have  appear'd, 
Such  as  we  see,  when  men  restrain  their  breath 
On  some  great  sudden  haste.    O,  what  portents  ara 
these  ? 

Some  heavy  business  hath  my  lord  in  hand, 
And  I  must  know  it,  else  he  loves  me  not.  [gone? 
Hot.  What,  ho!  is  Gilliams  with  the  packeJ 

Enter  Servant. 
Serv.  He  is,  my  lord,  an  hour  ago. 
Hot.  Hath  Butler  brought  those  horses  from  tb* 
sheriff? 

Serv.  One  horse,  my  lord,  he  brought  even  now. 
Hot.  What  horse?  a  roan,  a  crop-ear,  is  it  not? 
Serv.  It  is,  my  lord. 

Hot.  That  roan  shall  be  ray  throne 

Well,  I  will  back  him  straight :  0  esperancal 


S30 


FIRST  PART  0^ 


Act 


Bid  Butler  lead  him  forth  into  the  park. 

[Exit  Servant. 

hady.  But  hear  you,  my  lord. 

Hot.  What  say'st,  my  lady  ? 

Isady.  What  is  it  carries  you  away  i* 

Hot.  My  horse, 

My  love,  my  horse. 

Lady.  Out,  you  mad-headed  ape  ! 

A  weasel  hath  not  such  a  deal  of  spleen, 
As  you  are  toss'd  with.    In  faith, 
I'll  know'  your  business,  Harry,  that  I  will. 
1  fear,  niy  brother  Mortimer  cloth  stir 
About  his  title  ;  and  hath  sent  for  you. 
To  line  his  enterprize  :  But  if  you  go — 

Hot.  So  far  afoot,  I  shall  be  weary,  love. 

Jjady.  Come,  come,  you  paraquito,  answer  me 
Directly  to  this  question  that  I  ask. 
In  faith,  I'll  br?ak  thy  little  finger,  Harry, 
An  if  thou  wilt  not  tell  me  all  things  true. 

Hot.  Away, 
Away,  you  triller! — Love? — I  love  thee  not, 
I  care  not  Ibr  thee,  Kate  :  this  is  no  world. 
To  play  with  mammets,  and  to  tilt  with  lips  : 
We  must  have  bloody  noses,  aivd  crack'd  crowns. 
And  pass  them  current  too. — Gods  me,  my  hoi  se  ! — 
What  say'st  thou,  Kate?  what  wouldst  thou  have 
with  me  ? 

hady.  Do  you  not  love  me  ?  do  yon  not,  indeed  ? 
Well,  do  not  then ;  for,  since  you  love  me  not, 
I  will  not  love  myself    Do  you  not  love  me? 
Nay,  tell  me,  if  you  speak  in  jest,  or  no. 

Hot.  Come,  wilt  thou  see  me  ride  ? 
And  when  I  am  a  horse  back,  I  will  swear 
\  love  tliee  infinitely.    But  hark  you,  Kate; 
1  must  not  have  you  henceforth  question  me 
Wliitlier  I  go,  nor  reason  whereabout : 
Whither  I  must,  I  must;  and  to  conclude. 
This  evenirg  must  I  leave  you,  gentle  Kate. 
I  know  you  wise;  but  yet  no  further  wise, 

iThan  Harry  Percy's  wife  :  constant  you  are  ; 
But  yet  a  woman  :  and  for  secrecy. 
No  lady  closer;  for  I  well  believe, 
Thou  wilt  not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know ; 
/  And  so  far  will  I  trust  thee,  gentle  Kate ! 
hady.  How!  so  far? 

Hot.  Not  an  inch  farther.    But  hark  you,  Kate  ! 
Whither  I  go,  thither  shall  you  go  too; 
To-day  will  I  set  furth,  to  morrow  you. — 
Will  this  content  you,  Kate  ? 

hady.  It  must,  of  force.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — Eastcheap.    A  Room  in  the  Boar's 
Head  Tavern. 
Enter  Prince  Henry  and  Poins. 

P.  Hen.  Ned,  pr'ythee,  come  out  of  that  fat  room, 
and  lend  me  thy  hand  to  laugh  a  little. 

Poins.  Where  hast  been,  Hal  ? 

P.  Hen.  With  three  or  four  loggerheads,  amongst 
three  or  four  score  hogsheads.  I  have  sounded  the 
very  base  string  of  humility.  Sirrah,  I  am  sworn 
brother  to  a  leash  of  drawers;  and  can  call  them 
a) I  by  their  christian  names,  as, — Tom,  Dick,  and 
I  <ancis.  They  take  it  already  upon  their  salvation, 
that,  thougli  I  be  but  prince  of  Wales,  yet  I  am  the 
king  of  courtesy;  and  tell  me  flatly  I  am  no  proud 
Jack,  like  FalstalF;  but  a  Corinthian,  a  lad  of  met- 
tle, a  good  boy,— by  the  Lord,  so  they  call  me  ; 
and  when  I  am  king  of  England,  I  shall  command 
all  the  good  lads  in  Eastcheap.  They  call — drink- 
t\ig  deep,  dying  scarlet :  and  when  you  breathe  in 
y  jur  watering,  they  cry — hem  !  and  bid  you  play 
it  off. — To  conclude,  1  am  so  good  a  proficient  in 
one  quarter  of  an  hour,  that  I  can  drink  with  any 
tinker  in  his  own  language  during  my  life.  I  tell 
thee,  Ned,  thou  hast  lost  much  honour,  that  thou 
wert  not  with  me  in  this  actioa.  But,  sweet  Ned, 
~t()  sweeten  which  name  of  Ned,  I  give  thee  this 
pennyworth  of  sugar,  clapped  even  now  in  my  hand 
an  under  flkinker ;  one  that  never  spake  other 

giish  in  nis  life,  than — Eight  shillings  and  six- 


pence, and — Yoii  are  welcqme ;  with  this  shrill  ad- 
dition,— Anon,  anon,  sir!  Score  a  pint  of  bastard 
in  the  Half-moon,  or  so.  But,  Ned,  to  drive  away 
the  time  till  Falstaif  cowie,  1  pr'ythee,  do  tliou  stand 
in  some  by-room,  while  I  question  my  puny  diaAver, 
to  what  end  he  gave  me  the  sug^r;  and  do  thou 
never  leave  calling — Francis,  that  his  tale  to  mo  may 
be  nothing  but — anon.  Step  aside,  and  I'll  show 
thee  a  precedent. 

Poins.  Francis  ! 

P.  Henry.  Thou  art  perfect. 

Poins.  Francis  !  [Exit  Poins. 

Enter  Francis. 
Fran.  Anon,  anon,  sir.  —  Look  down  into  the 
Pomegranate,  Ralph,    i'  *:^  ^ 
P.  Hen.  Come  hither,  Francis. 
Fran.  My  lord. 

P.  Hen.  How  long  hast  thou  to  serve,  Francis? 
Fran.  Forsooth,  five  year,  and  as  much  as  to — 
Poins.  {Withi7i.)  Francis! 
Fran.  Anon,  anon,  sir. 

P.  Hen.  Five  years !  by'rlady,  a  long  lease  for 
the  clinking  of  pewter.  But,  Francis,  darest  thou 
be  so  valiant,  as  to  play  the  coward  with  thy  inden- 
ture, and  to  show  it  a  fair  pair  of  heels,  and  run 
from  it-* 

Fran.  O  lord,  sir!  I'll  be  sworn  upon  all  the 
books  in  England,  I  could  find  in  my  heart— 

Poins.  ( Within.)  Francis  ! 

Fran.  Anon,  anon,  sir. 

P.  Hen.  How  old  art  thou,  Francis  ? 

Fran.  Let  me  see, — About  ]\Iichae!mas  next  I 
shall  be — 

Poins.  [Within.)  Francis! 

Fran.  Anon,  sir. — Pray  you,  stay  a  little,  my 
lord. 

P.  Hen.  Nay,  but  hark  you,  Francis  :  For  the 
sugar  thou  gavest  me, — 'twas  a  pennyworth,  was't 
not  ? 

Fran.  O  lord,  sir!  I  would,  it  had  been  two. 
P.  Hen.  1  will  give  thee  for  it  a  thousand  pound: 
ask  me  when  thou  wilt,  and  thou  shalt  have  it 
Poins.  ( Within.)  Francis  ! 
Fran.  Anon,  anon. 

P.  Hen.  Anon,  F'rancis  ?  No,  Francis  :  but  to- 
morrow, Francis;  or,  Francis,  on  Thursday;  or^ 
indeed,  Francis,  when  thou  wilt.    But,  Francis,— 

Fran.  My  lord  ? 

P.  Hen.  Wilt  thou  rob  this  leathern-jerkin,  crys- 
tal button,  nott-pated,  agate-ring,  puke-stocking, 
caddis-garter,  smooth- tongue,  Spanish-pouch, — 

Fran.  O  lord,  sir,  who  do  you  mean? 

P.  Hen.  Why  then,  your  brown  bastard  is  your 
only  drink :  for,  look  you,  Francis,  your  white  can 
vas  doublet  will  sully  :  in  Barbary,  sir,  it  cannot 
come  to  so  much. 

Fra.n.  What,  sir? 

Poins.  (  Within.)  Francis ! 

P.  Hen.  Away,  you  rogue  :  Dost  thou  not  hea» 
them  call  ?  [Here  they  both  call  him  ;  the  Drawer 
stands  amazed.,  not  knowing  which  way  to  go. 

Enter  Vintner. 

Vint.  What!  stand'st  thou  still,  and  hear'st  such 
a  calling?  Look  to  the  guests  within.  [Exit  Fran.] 
My  lord,  old  sir  John,  with  half  a  dozen  more,  are 
at  the  door  ;  shall  I  let  them  in  ? 

P.  Hen.  Let  them  alone  awhile,  and  then  opep 
the  door.  [Exit  Vintner.]  Poins ! 

Re-enter  Poins. 
Poins.  Anon,  anon,  sir. 

P.  Hen.  Sirrah,  Falstaff,  and  the  rest  of  th« 

thieves,  are  at  the  door;  Shall  we  be  merry? 

Poins.  As  merry  as  crickets,  ray  lad.  But  hark 
ye;  What  cunning  match  have  you  made  with  this 
jest  of  the  drawer?  come,  what's  the  issue? 

P.  Hen.  I  am  now  of  all  humours,  that  have 
showed  themselves  humours,  since  the  old  days  of 


f5CENE  4. 


KING  HENRY  IT. 


S31 


goodnaan  Adam  to  the  pupil  age  of  this  present 
e  o'clxrk.  at  midnight. 

Re-enter  Francis,  with  wine, 
What's  o'clock,  Francis  ? 
Fran.  Aiion,  anon,  sir. 

P.  Hen,  That  ever  tliis  fellow  shoidd  have  fewer 
words  than  a  pariot,  and  yet  the  son  of  a  woman  ! 
—His  industry  is — up  stairs,  and  down  stairs  ;  his 
eloquence,  the  parcel  of  a  reckoning.  I  am  not  yet 
of  Percy's  mind,  the  Hotspur  of  the  north;  he,  that 
kills  nie  some  six  or  seven  dozen  of  Scots  at  a  break- 
fast, washes  his  hands,  and  skvs  to  his  wife, — Fy 
upon  this  quiet  life  !  I  ivani  work.  0  my  sweet 
Marry,  says  she,  how  many  hast  thou  killed  to- 
day? Give  my  roan  horse  a  drench,  says  he; 
and  answers,  Some  fourteen,  an  hour  ai"ter  ;  a  trifle, 
a  trifle.  1  pr  ythee,  call  in  Falstaft" :  I'll  play  Percy, 
and  that  damned  brawn  shall  play  dame  Mortimer 
his  wife.  Rivo,  says  the  drunkard.  Call  in  ribs, 
call  in  tallow. 

Enter  Fai.staff,  Gadshill,  Bakdolph,  and 
Peto. 

P(jzW.  Welcome,  Jack.  Where  hast  ihou  been  ? 

Fal.  A  plague  of  all  cowards,  I  say,  and  a  ven- 
geance too!  marry,  and  amen! — Give  me  a  cup  of 
sack,  boy. — Ere  I  lead  this  life  long,  Pll  sew  nether- 
stocks,  and  mend  them,  and  foot  them  too.  A  plague 
of  all  cowards  ! — Give  me  a  cup  of  sack,  rogue. — Is 
tiiere  no  virtue  extant?  (He  drinks.) 

P.  Hen.  Didst  thou  never  see  Titan  kiss  a  dish 
of  buiter  ?  pitiful-hearted  Titan,  that  melted  at  the 
sweet  tale  of  the  sun  ?  if  thou  didst,  then  behold 
that  compound. 

Fal.  You  rogue,  here's  I;me  in  this  sack  too: 
There  is  nothing  but  roguery  to  be  found  in  villainous 
man  :  yet  a  coward  is  worse  than  a  cup  of  sack  with 
Lime  in  it;  a  villainous  coward. — Go  thy  ways,  old 
Jack  ;  die  when  thou  wilt;  if  manhood,  good  man- 
hood, be  n.-)t  forgot  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  then 
am  I  a  shotteii  herring.  There  live  not  three  good 
men  unhanged  in  England ;  and  one  of  them  is  fat 
aad  grows  old  :  God  help  the  while!  a  bad  world, 
I  say!  1  would  I  were  a  weaver;  I  could  sing 
psalms  or  any  thing  :  A  plague  of  all  cowards,  I  say 
still. 

P.  Hen,  How  now,  wool-sack?  what  mutter  you? 

Fal.  A  king's  son  I  If  I  do  not  beat  thee  out  of 
thy  kingdom  with  a  dagger  of  lath,  and  drive  all 
thy  subjects  afore  thee  like  a  flock  of  wild  geese, 
I'll  never  wear  hair  on  my  face  more.  You  prince 
of  Wales!  [the  matter? 

P.  Hen.  Why,  you  whoreson  round  »nan!  what's 

Fal.  Are  you  not  a  coward  ?  answer  me  to  that; 
and  Poins  there  ? 

Poins.  Zounds,  ye  fat  paunch,  an  ye  call  me 
coward,  I'll  stab  thee. 

Fal.  I  call  thee  coward!  I'll  see  thee  damned 
ere  I  call  thee  coward  :  but  I  would  give  a  thousand 
pound,  I  could  run  as  fast  as  thou  canst.  You  are 
straight  enough  in  the  shoulders,  you  care  not  who 

es  your  back  :  Call  you  that  backing  of  your 

ends  ?  A  plague  upon  such  backing !  give  me  them 
that  will  face  me. — Give  me  a  cup  of  .sack  : — I  am  a 
o    e,  if  I  drunk  to-day. 

.  Hen.  O  villain!  thy  lips  are  scarce  wiped  since 
4liou  drunk'st  last. 

Fal.  All's  one  for  that.  A  plague  of  all  cowards, 
Bllll  sav  I.    {lie  drinks.) 

P.  Hen  What's  tlie  matter? 

Fal.  What's  the  matter  ?  there  be  four  of  us  here 
have  ta'en  a  thousand  pound  this  morning. 

P.  Hen.  Where  is  it,  J;ick?  where  is  it? 

Fal.  Where  is  it?  taken  from  us  it  is  :  a  hundred 
upon  four  of  us. 

P.  Hen.  What,  a  hundred,  man  ? 
Fal,  I  am  a  rogue,  if  I  were  not  at  half-sword 
wiiii  a  dozen  of  them  two  hours  together.    1  have 
i»;ap'd  by  mif  icle.    I  am  eight  times  thrust  through 


the  doublet;  four,  through  the  hose;  my  br.cklef 
cut  through  and  through ;  my  sword  hacked  like  a 
hand-saw,  ecce  signum.  I  never  dealt  better  sinca 
I  was  a  man  :  all  would  not  do.  A  plague  of  all 
cowards! — Let  them  speak  :  if  they  speak  more  or 
less  than  truth,  they  are  villains,  and  the  sons  ot 
darkness. 

P.  Hen.  SpeaK,  sirs;  How  was  it? 

Gads.  We  four  set  upon  some  doaen,—- 

Fal.  Sixteen,  at  least,  my  lord. 

Gads.  And  bound  them. 

Peto.  No,  no,  they  were  not  bound. 

Fal.  You  rogue,  they  were  bound,  every  mane 
them;  or  I  am  a  Jew  else,  an  Ebrew  Jew. 

Gads,  As  we  were  sharing,  some  six  or  seveo 
fresh  men  set  upon  us,   [the  other, 

Fal.  And  unbound  the  rest,  and  then  come  in 

P.  Hen.  What,  fought  ye  with  them  all? 

Fal.  All?  I  know  not  what  ye  call,  all;  but  if  I 
foug!»t  not  with  fifty  of  thent,  I  am  a  bunch  of 
radish  :  if  there  were  not  two  or  three  and  fifty 
upon  poor  old  Jack,  then  am  1  no  two-leggea 
creature.  [of  them. 

Poins.  Pray  God,  you  have  not  murdered  some 

Fal,  Nay,  that's  past  praying  for  :  for  I  have 
peppered  two  of  them  :  two,  I  am  sure,  I  have  paid; 
two  rogues  in  buckram  suits.  I  tell  thee  what, 
Hal, — it'  I  tell  thee  a  lie,  spit  in  my  face,  call  me 
horse.  Thou  knowest  my  old  ward; — here  I  lay, 
and  thus  I  bore  my  point.  Four  rogues  in  buckram 
let  drive  at  me,   [now. 

P.  Hen.  VVhat,  four?  thou  said'st  but  two,  even 

Fal.  Four,  Hal ;  I  told  thee  four. 

Poijis.  Ay,  ay,  he  said  four. 

Fal.  These  iour  came  all  a-front,  and  mainlf 
thrust  at  me.  1  made  me  no  more  ado,  but  took  all 
tlieir  seven  points  in  my  target,  thus. 

P.  Hen.  Sevea?  why,  there  were  but  four,  even 

Fal.  In  buckram.  [now. 

Poins,  Ay,  four,  in  buckram  suits. 

Fal.  Seven,  by  these  hilts,  or  I  am  a  viUarn  else. 

P.  Hen.  Pr'ythee,  let  him  alone ;  we  shall  have 
more  anon. 

Fal.  Dost  thou  hear  me,  Hal? 

P.  Hen.  Ay,  and  mark  thee  too,  .Tack. 

Fal.  Do  so,  for  it  is  worth  the  listening  toi> 
These  nine  in  buckram,  that  I  told  thee  of,-— — 

P.  Hen.  So,  two  more  already. 

Fal.  Their  points  being  broken, — — 

Poins.  Down  fell  their  hose. 

Fal.  Began  to  give  me  ground  :  But  I  followed 
me  close,  came  in  foot  and  hand ;  and,  with  a 
thoii<iht,  seven  of  the  eleven  I  paid. 

P,  Hen.  O  monstrous !  eleven  buckram  men  grown 
out  of  two ! 

Fal.  But,  as  the  devil  would  have  it,  three  mis- 
begotten knaves,  in  Kendal  green,  came  at  my  back, 
and  let  drive  at  me  ; — for  it  was  so  dark,  Hal,  that 
thou  couldst  not  see  ihy  hand. 

P.  Hen.  These  lies  are  like  the  father  that  begets 
them;  gross  as  a  mountain,  open,  palpable.  Why, 
thou  clay  brained  guts ;  thou  knotty-pated  fool  | 
thou  whoreson,  obscene,  greasy  tallow-keech, — 

Fal,  What,  art  thou  mad?  art  thou  mad?  is  not 
the  truth,  the  truth! 

P.  Hen.  Why,  how  couldst  thou  know  these 
men  in  Kendal  green,  when  it  was  so  dark  thoa 
couldst  not  see  thy  hand  ?  come,  tell  us  your  rea- 
son ;  What  sayest  thou  to  this  ? 

Poins.  Come,  your  reason,  Jtck,  your  reason. 
^■^al.  What,  upon  compulsion?  Ko ;  were  I  ftt 
tlie'  strappado,  or  all  the  racks  in  the  world,  I 
would  not  tell  you  on  compulsion.  Give  you  a 
reason  on  compulsion  I  if  reasons  were  as  plenty  as 
blackberries,  1  would  give  no  man  a  reason  upoo 
compulsion,  I. 

P.  Hen.  I'll  be  no  longer  guilty  of  this  sin;  ibis 
sanguine  cov/ard,  this  bed-presser  this  horse-back 
breaker,  this  huge  hill  of  flesh  ; — 

Fal.  Away,  you  starveling,  you  elf-skin,  you 


832 

dried  nc&f s-tongue..  bull's-pizale,  you  stock-fish, 
— p,  fur  breath  to  utter  what  is  like  thee! — you 
tiilor's  yard,  you  sheath,  you  bow-case,  you  vile 
standine:  tuck  ;  

P.  Hen.  Well,  breathe  a  while,  and  then  to  it 
again  :  and  when  thou  hast  tired  thyself  in  base 
comparisons,  hear  me  speak  but  this, 

Poins.  Mark,  Jack. 

P.  Hen.  We  two  saw  you  four  set  on  four ;  yon 
bound  tiiem,  and  were  masters  of  their  wealth. — 
Mark  now,  how  plain  a  tale  shall  put  you  down. — 
l^hen  did  v/e  two  set  on  you  four :  and,  witli  a 
word,  out-faced  you  from  your  prize,  and  have  it ; 
yea,  and  can  show  it  you  here  in  tlie  house  :— and; 
Falstail",  you  carried  your  guts  away  as  nimbly, 
with  as  quick  dexterity,  and  roared  for  mercy,  and 
still  ran  and  roared,  as  ever  I  heard  bull-calf. 
What  a  slave  art  thou,  to  hack  thy  sword  as  thou 
hast  done ;  and  then  say,  it  was  in  fight !  What 
trick,  what  de\ice,  what  starting-hole,  canst  thou 
now  find  out,  to  hide  thee  from  this  open  and  ap- 
parent shame  ?  [thou  now  ? 
Poins.  Come,  let's  hear.  Jack :  What  trick  hast 
Fai.  By  the  Lord,  I  knew  ye,  as  well  as  he  that 
made  ye.  Why,  hear  ye,  my  masters  :  Was  it  for 
me  to  kill  the  heir  apparent?*  Should  I  turn  upon 
the  true  prince?  \vhy,  thou  knowest,  I  am  as 
valiant  as  Hercules:  but  beware  instinct ;  the  lion 
will  not  touch  the  true  prince.  Instinct  is  a  great 
matter  ;  I  was  a  coward  on  instinct.  I  shall  think 
the  better  of  myself  and  thee,  during  my  life ;  I, 
for  a  valiant  lion,  and  thou  for  a  true  prince.  But, 
by  the  Lord,  lads,  I  am  glad  you  have  the  money. 

 Hostess,  clap  to  the  doors  ;  watch  to-night, 

pray  to-morrow. — Gallants,  lads,  boys,  hearts  of 
eold,  all  the  titles  of  good  fellowship  come  to  you  ! 
What,  shall  v^'e  be  merry?  shall  we  have  a  play 
extempore  ? 

P.  Hen.  Content; — and  the  argument  shall  be 
thy  running  away.  [me. 
Fal.  Ah!  no  more  of  that,  Hal,  an  thou  lovest 

Enter  Hostess. 

Host.  My  lord  the  prince,  

P.  Hen.  How  now,  my  lady  the  hostess?  what 
say'st  thou  to  me  ? 

Host.  Marry,  my  lord,  there  is  a  nobleman  of  the 
court  at  door,  would  speak  with  you :  he  says  he 
comes  froui  your  father. 

P.  Hen.  Give  him  as  much  as  will  make  him  a 
roy;W  man,  and  send  him  back  again  to  my  mother. 

Fal.  What  manner  of  man  is  he  ? 

Host.  An  old  man. 

Fal.  Wiiat  doth  gravity  out  of  his  bed  at  njid- 
(aight  ? — Sh;ill  I  give  him  his  answer? 
P.  Hen.  Pr'ythee,  do.  Jack. 

Fal  'Faith,  and  I'll  send  him  packing.  [Exit. 

P.  Hen.  Now,  sirs;  by'r  lady,  you  fought  fair; 
— so  did  you,  Peto ; — so  did  you,  Bardolph :  you 
%re  lions  too,  you  ran  away  upon  instinct,  you  will 
dot  touch  the  true  prince  ;  no,    fy  ! 

Bard.  'Faith,  I  ran  when  I  saw  others  run. 

P.  Hen.  Tell  me  now  in  earnest.  How  came  Fal- 
gtafFs  sword  so  hacktd  ? 

Peto.  Why,  he  hacked  it  with  his  dagger;  and 
said,  he  would  swear  truth  out  of  England,  but  he 
would  make  you  believe  it  was  done  in  fight;  and 
persuaded  us  to  do  the  like. 

Bard.  Yea,  and  to  tickle  our  noses  with  spear- 
grass,  to  make  them  bleed ;  and  then  to  beslubber 
our  garments  with  it,  and  to  swear  it  was  the  blood 
»  true  men.  I  did  that  I  did  not  this  seven  years 
beffire,  I  blushed  to  hear  his  monstrous  devices. 

P.  Hen.  O  villain,  thou  stolest  a  cup  of  sack 
eighteen  years  ago,  and  wert  taken  with  the  manner, 
and  ever  since  thou  hast  blushed  extempore:  Thou 
Had?it  fire  and  sword  on  thy  side,  and  yet  thou 
ran' tit  away  ;  What  iiistinct  hadst  thou  for  it? 

Mard.  My  lord,  do  you  see  these  meto^rs^  do 
|?ou  behoid  these  exhalations  ? 


Act  n 
P.  Hen.  1  do. 

Bard.  What  think  you  they  portend  ? 
P.  Hen.  Hot  livers  and  cold  purses. 
Bard.  Choler,  my  lord,  if  rightly  taken. 
P.  Hen.  No,  if  rightly  taken,  halter. 

Re-enter  Fal  staff. 
Here   comes  lean  Jack,   here  ^comes  bs^is-booe 
How  now,  my  sweet  creature  of  bombast  ?  How 
long  is't  ago.  Jack,  since  thou  sawest  thine  own 
knee  ? 

Fal.  My  own  knee  ?  when  I  was  about  thy  years. 
Hal,  I  was  not  an  eagle's  talon  in  the  waist;  I 
could  have  cre})t  into  any  alderman's  thumb-ring: 
A  plague  of  sighing  and  grief!  it  blows  a  man  up 
like  a  bladder.  There's  villainous  news  abroad* 
here  was  sir  John  Bracy  from  your  father;  you 
must  to  the  court  in  the  morning.  That  same  mad 
fellow  of  the  North,  Percy;  and  he  of  Wales,  that 
gave  Amaimon  the  bastinado,  and  made  Lucifer 
cuckold,  and  swore  the  devil  Jws  true  liegeman 
upon  the  cross  of  a  Welsh  hoof  ^^Vhat,  a  plague, 
call  you  him  ?  iu  ' 

Poins.  O,  Glendower. 

Fal.  Owen,  Owen  ;  the  same ; — and  his  son-in- 
law,  Mortimer;  and  old  Northumberland;  and 
that  sprightly  Scot  of  Scots,  Douglas^  that  runs 
o'horseback  up  a  hill  perpendicular. 

P.  Hen.  He,  that  rides  at  high  speed,  and  with 
his  pistol  kills  a  sparrow  flying. 

Fal.  You  have  hit  it. 

P.  Hen.  So  did  he  never  tlie  sparrow. 

Fal.  Well,  that  rascal  hath  good  mettle  in  liim* 
he  will  not  run. 

P.  Hen.  Why,  what  a  rascal  art  thou  then,  tO 
praise  him  so  for  running  ? 

Fal.  O'horseback,  ye  cuckoo  1  but,  afoot,  he 
will  not  budge  a  foot. 

P.  Hen.  Yes,  Jack,  upon  instinct 

Fal.  I  grant  ye,  upon  instinct.  Well,  he  ia 
there  too,  and  one  Mordake,  and  a  thousand  blue- 
caps  more:  Worcester  is  stolen  away  to-night; 
thy  father's  beard  is  turned  white  with  the  news ; 
you  may  buy  land  now  as  cheap  as  stinking  mack- 
erel. 

P.  Hen.  Why  then,  'tis  like,  if  there  come  a  hot 
June,  and  this  civil  buffeting  hold,  we  shall  buy 
maidenheads  as  they  buy  hob-nails,  by  the  hun- 
dreds, 

Fal.  By  the  mass,  lad,  thou  sayest  true;  it  is 
like,  we  shall  have  good  trading  that  way.— But, 
tell  me,  Hal,  art  thou  not  horribly  afeard?  thou 
being  heir-apparent,  could  the  world  pick  thee  out 
three  such  enemies  again,  as  that  fiend  Douglas, 
that  spirit  Percy,  and  that  devil  Glendower?  Art 
thou  not  horribly  afraid  ?  doth  not  thy  blood  thrill 
at  it  ?  [instinct. 

P.  Hen.  Not  a  whit,  i'faith  ;  I  lack  some  of  thy 

Fal.  Well,  thou  wilt  be  horribly  chid  to-mor- 
row, when  thou  conxest  to  thy  father :  if  thou  love 
me,  practise  an  answer. 

P.  Hen.  Do  thou  stand  for  my  father,  and  ex- 
amine me  upon  the  particulars  of  my  life. 

Fal.  Shall  I?  content:— This  chair  shall  be  my 
state,  this  dagger  my  sceptre,  and  this  cushion  my 
crown. 

P.  Hen.  Thy  state  is  taken  for  a  joint-stool,  thy 
golden  sceptre  for  a  leaden  dagger,  and  <hy  pre- 
cious rich  crown,  for  a  pitiful  bald  crown! 

Fal.  Well,  an  the  fire  of  grace  be  not  quite  cut 
of  thee,  now  shalt  thou  be  moved. — Give  me  a  cup 
of  sack,  to  make  mine  eyes  look  red,  that  it  majr  be 
thought  I  have  wept;  for  J  must  speak  in  passion, 
and  I  will  do  it  in  king  Cambyses'  vein. 

P.  Hen.  Well,  here  is  my  leg. 

Fal.  And  here  is  my  speech  -—Stand  aside,  do> 
bility. 

Host  This  is  excellent  Kport,  i'faith. 
Fal  Weep  not,  swee  queen,  ^^r  trickling  t 
are  vain. 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Scene  4, 


KING  HENRY  IT. 


33g 


Host.  0,  the  father,  how  he  holds  his  counte- 
nauioe  !  [queeu, 

fal.  For  God's  sake,  lords,  ronvej'  my  tristful 
For  tears  do  stop  the  flood-gates  of  her  eyes. 

Host.  O  rare  I  he  doth  it  as  like  one  of  these 
harlotry  players,  as  I  ever  see. 

FaL  Peace,  good  pint-pot ;  peaco,  good  tickle- 
brain.—  Harry,  I  do  not  only  marvel  where  thou 
speiidest  thy  time,  but,  also  how  thou  art  accom- 
panied :  for  thongh  the  camonnle,  the  more  it  is 
trodden  on.  the  faster  it  grows,  yet  youth,  the  more 
it  is  wajted,  the  sooner  it  wears.  That  thou  art  my 
son,  I  have  partly  thy  mother's  word  partly  my  own 
opinion;  but  cliiefly,  a  villainous  trick  of  thine  eye, 
and  a  foolish  h^ini^ing  of  thy  nether  lip,  that  doth 
warrant  me.  If  then  thou  be  son  to  me,  here  lies 
the  point: — Why,  being  son  to  me,  art  thou  so 
pointed  at?  Shall  the  blessed  sun  of  heaven  prove 
a  micher,  and  eat  blackberries  ?  a  <iuestion  not  to  be 
asked.  Shall  the  son  of  England  prove  a  thief,  and 
take  purses?  a  question  to  be  asked.  There  is  a 
thing,  Harry,  which  thou  hast  often  heard  of,  and  it 
is  known  to  many  in  our  land  by  the  name  of  [)itch  : 
this  pitch,  as  ancient  writers  do  report,  doth  defile; 
so  doth  the  company  thou  keepest:  for,  Harry,  now 
I  do  not  speak  to  thee  in  drink,  but  in  tears;  not 
in  pleasure,  but  in  passion ;  not  in  words  only,  but 
in  woes  also: — And  yet  there  is  a  virtuous  man, 
whom  I  have  often  noted  in  thy  company,  but  I 
know  not  his  name. 

jP.  Hen.  What  manner  of  man,  an  it  like  your 
majesty  ? 

Pal.  A  good  portly  man,  i'faith,  and  a  corpulent; 
of  a  cheerful  look,  a  pleasing  eye,  and  a  most  noble 
carnage  ;  and  as  I  tliink,  his  age  some  fitty,  or,  by'r 
lady,  inclining  to  threescore  ;  and  now  I  remember 
me,  his  name  is  FalstafF:  if  that  man  sho!ild  be 
lewdly  given,  he  deceiveth  me;  for,  Harry,  I_^see 
virt-Lie  in  l-.is  looks.  If  then  the  tree  may  be  known  by 
the  i'ruit,  as  tlie  fruit  by  the  tree,  then,  peremptorily 
I  speak  it,  then  is  virtue  in  that  FalstafF:  him  keep 
with,  the  rest  banish.  And  tell  me  now,  thou 
naughty  varlet,  tell  me,  where  hast  thou  been  this 

onth  ? 

P  Hen.  Dost  thou  speak  like  a  king  ?  Do  thou 
Btund  for  me,  and  I'll  play  my  father. 

Fal.  Depose  me?  if  thou  dost  it  half  so  gravely, 
so  majestically,  both  in  word  and  matter,  hang  me 
UD  by  tlie  heels  for  a  rabbit-sucker,  or  a  poulter's 

P.  Hen.  Well,  here  I  am  set.  [hare. 

Fal.  And  here  I  stand  : — judge,  my  masters. 

P.  Hen.  Now,  Harry!  whence  come  you? 

Fal.  My  noble  lord,  from  Eastcheap. 

P.  Hen.  The  complaints  I  hear  of  thee  are  griev- 
ous. ^ 

Fal.  'Shlood,  my  lord,  they  are  false: — nay,  I'll 
tickle  ye  for  a  yotmg  prince,  i'faith. 

P.  Hen.  Svvearest  thou,  ungracious  boy?  hence- 
forth ne'er  look  on  me.  Thou  art  violently  carried 
away  from  grace:  there  is  a  devil  haunts  thee,  in 
the  likeness  of  a  fat  old  man  :  a  tun  of  man  is  thy 
companion.  Why  dost  thou  converse  with  that 
trunk  of  humours,  that  bolti^;g-hutcii  of  beastliness, 
that  swoln  parcel  of  dropsies,  that  huge  bombard  of 
/  Back,  that  stuffed  cloak-bag  of  guts,  that  roasted 
Manningtree  ox  with  the  pudding  in  his  belly,  tnat 
reverend  vice,  that  grey  iniquity,  that  father  ruffian, 
tliat  vanity  in  rears?  Wherein  is  he  good,  but  to 
taste  sack  and  drink  it?  w^ierein  neat  and  cleanly, 
l>ut  to  carve  a  capon  and  eat  it?  wiierein  cuiming, 
but  in  craft  ?  wherein  crafty,  but  in  villainy?  where- 
in villainous,  but  in  all  things?  wherein  worthy, 
but  in  nothing  ? 

Frt/.  I  would,,  your  grace  would  take  me  with 
yon  ;  \\  hotn  means  your  grace  ? 

P.  Hen.  That  villa'  inons  abominable  misleader  of 
youth,  Falstaff,  that  ojd  white-bearded  Satan. 

ral.  My  lord,  the  man  I  know. 

P  Hen  I  know,  thou  dost. 

Fal.  Hut  to  say,  I  know  more  harm  in  him  than 


in  myself,  were  to  siy  more  than  I  know.  That  be 
is  old,  (the  more  the  pity,)  his  white  hairs  do  witueas 
it:  but  that  he  is  (saving  your  reverence,)  a  whoi-e- 
master,  that  I  utterly  deny.  If  sack  and  sugar  be 
a  fault,  God  help  the  wicked  !  If  to  be  old  and 
merry  be  a  sin,  then  many  an  old  host  that  I  know, 
IS  damned  :  if  to  be  fat  be  to  be  hated,  then  Pharaoh's 
lean  kine  are  to  be  loved.  No,  my  good  lord ;  ba- 
nish Peto,  banish  Bardolph,  banish  Poins  :  but  for 
sweet  Jack  Falsfafl",  kind  Jack  Falstaflf,  true  Jack 
FalstafF,  valiant  Jack  FalstafF,  and  therefore  more 
valiant,  being,  as  he  is,  old  Jack  Falstaft",  banish  not 
him  thy  Harry's  company  ;  banish  plump  Jack,  aud 
banish  all  the  world. 

P.  Hen.  I  do,  I  will.  {A  hnoching  heard.) 

[Exeunt  Hostess,  Francis,  and  Bardolph, 
Re-enter  Bardolph,  running. 

Bard.  O,  my  lord,  my  lord ;  the  sherift',  with  a 
most  monstrous  watch,  is  at  the  door. 

Fal.  Out,  you  rogue!  play  out  the  play:  I  ha^e 
much  to  say  in  the  behalf  of  that  Falstali". 

Re-enter  Hostess,  hastily. 

Host.  O  Jesu,  my  lord,  my  lord ! — 

Fal.  Heigh,  heigh  !  the  devil  rides  upon  a  fiddle- 
stick: What's  the  matter? 

Host.  The  sherilF  and  all  the  watch  are  at  the 
door :  they  are  come  to  search  the  house  :  Shall  I  let 
them  in  ? 

Fal.  Dost  thou  hear,  Hal  ?  never  call  a  true  piece 
of  gold  a  counterfeit :  thou  art  essentially  mad,  with- 
out seeming  so.  [instinct. 

P.  Hen.   And  thou  a  natural  coward,  without 

Fal.  1  deny  your  major:  if  you  will  deny  the 
sheriff,  so  ;  if  not,  let  hiui  enter  :  if  1  become  not  a 
cart  as  well  as  another  man,  a  plague  on  my  bring- 
ing up  1  I  hope,  I  shall  as  soon  be  strangled  with  a 
halter,  as  another.  /]  ,  „ 

P.  Hen.  Go,  hide  thee  behind  the  arras ;— the  rtsi 
walk  u|>  above.  Now,  my  masters,  fbi  a  true  face, 
and  good  conscience. 

Fal.  Both  which  I  haA  e  had :  but  their  date  is  out, 
and  therefore  I'll  hide  me. 

[Exeunt  all  but  the  Prince  and  Point, 

P.  Hen.  Call  in  the  shenfi".— 

Enter  Sheriff  and  Carrier. 
Now,  master  sheriff;  what's  your  will  with  me  . 

Sher.  First,  pardon  me,  my  lord.  A  hue  and  cry 
Hath  follow'd  certain  men  unto  this  house. 

P.  What  men  ?  [lord: 

Sher.  One  of  them  is  well  known,  my  gracious 
A  gross  fat  man. 

Car.  As  fat  as  butter, 

P.  Hen.  The  man,  I  do  assure  you,  is  not  here; 
For  I  myself  at  this  time  have  employ'd  him. 
And,  sherifl',  I  will  engage  my  word  to  thee 
That  I  will,  by  to-morrow  dinner-time, 
Sent!  him  to  answer  thee,  or  any  man, 
For  any  thing  he  shall  be  charg  d  withal. 
And  so  let  me  entreat  you  leave  the  house. 

Sher.  I  will,  my  lord:  There  are  two  gentlemen 
Have  in  this  robbery  lost  three  hundred  marks. 

P.  Hen.  It  may  be  so :  if  he  have  robb'd  these 
He  shall  be  answerable  ;  and  so,  farewell.  [men, 

Sher.  Good  night,  my  noble  lord. 

P.  Hen.  I  think  it  is  good  morrow;  is  it  not? 

Sher.  Indeed,  my  lord,  I  think  it  be  two  o'clock 
[Exeunt  Sheriff  and  Carrier, 

P.  Hen.  This  oily  rascal  is  known  as  well  as 
Paul's.    Go,  call  him  forth. 

Poins.  FalstafF!  fast  asleep  behind  the  arras 
and  snorting  like  a  horse. 

P.  Hen.  Hark,  how  hard  he  fetches  breath :; 
Search  his  pockets.    {Poins  searches.)  What  hast 
thou  fomid  ? 

Poins.  Nothing  but  papers,  njy  lord. 

P.  Hen.  Let's  see  what  they  be  :  read  thera. 

Poiiis.  Item,  a  capon,  2s.  2d. 
Item,  Sauce,  4d. 


S34 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  IIL 


ftein,  Sack,  (wo  gallons,  5^.  8d. 

item,  Anchovies  and  sack  after  sapper,  2s.  6cl. 

Item,  Bread,  a  halfpenny. 

P.  Hen.  O  monstrous !  but  one  half-pennyworth 
©f  bread  to  this  intolerable  deal  of  sack  : — What 
there  is  else,  keep  close;  we'll  read  it  at  more 
advantage  :  there  let  him  sleep  till  day.  111  to  the 
court  in  the  morning:  we  must  all  to  the  A^ars,  and 
thy  place  shall  be  honourable.  I'll  procure  this 
fat  rogue  a  charge  oi  foot:  and,  I  know,  his  death 
will  be  a  march  of  twelve-score.  The  money  shall 
be  paid  back  again  with  advantage.  Be  with  me 
betimes  in  the  morning;  and  so  good  morrow, 
Poins. 

Poins.  Good  morrow,  good  my  lord.  [Exeunt. 
ACT  III. 

ScENfl  I. — Bangor.  A  Room  in  the  Archdeacon's 
House. 

Enter  H0T8PUK,  Worcester,  Mortimer,  and 
Glendower. 

Mort.  These  promises  are  fair,  the  parties  sure, 
And  our  induction,  full  of  prosperous  hope. 

Hot.  Lord  Mortimer, — and  cousin  Glendower, — 

Will  you  sit  down?  

And,  uncle  Worcester: — A  plague  upon  it! 
I  have  forgot  the  map. 

Glen.  No,  here  it  is. 

Sit,  cousin  Percy;  sit,  good  cousin  Hotspur: 
For  by  that  name  as  oft  as  Lancaster 
Doth  speak  of  you,  his  cheek  looks  pale  ;  and  with 
A  rising  sigh,  he  wisheth  you  in  heaven. 

Hot.  And  you  in  hell,  as  often  as  he  bears 
Owen  Glendower  sijoke  of. 

Ghnd.  1  cannot  blame  him:  at  my  nativity. 
The  front  of  heaven  was  full  of  fiery  shapes, 
Of  burning  crescents  ;  and,  at  my  birth, 
Tlie  frame  and  huge  foundation  of  the  earth 
Shak'd  like  a  coward. 

Hot.  Wliy,  so  it  would  have  done 

At  the  same  season,  if  your  mother's  cat  had 
But  kitten  d,  though  yourself  had  ne'er  been  born. 

Glend.  I  say,  the  earth  did  shake,  when  I  was 
born. 

Hot.  And  I  say,  the  earth  was  not  of  my  mind. 
If  you  suppose,  as  fearing  you  it  shook. 

Glend.  The  heavens  were  all  on  tire,  the  earth  did 
tremble.  [on  fire. 

Hot.  O,  then  the  earth  shook  to  see  the  heavens 
And  not  in  fear  of  your  nativity. 
Diseased  nature  oftentimes  breaks  forth 
In  strange  irruptions:  oft  the  teeming  earth 
Is  with  a  kind  of  cholic  pinch'd  and  vex'd 
By  the  imprisoning  of  unruly  wind 
Within  her  woir.b  ;  which  for  enlargement  striving, 
Shakes  the  old  beldame  earth,  and  topples  down 
Steeples,  and  moss-grown  towers.    At  your  birth. 
Our  grandam  earth,  having  this  distemperature. 
In  passion  shook. 

Glend,  Cousin,  of  many  men 

I  do  not  bear  these  crossings.    Give  me  leave 
To  tell  you  once  again, — that  at  my  birth. 
The  front  of  heaven  was  full  of  fiery  shapes  ; 
The  goats  ran  from  the  mountains,  and  the  herds 
Were  stransjely  clamorous  to  the  frighted  fields. 
These  sigfjg  have  niaik'd  me  extraordinary; 
A;«d  all  the  courses  of  my  life  do  show, 
I  cun  not  in  the  roll  of  common  men. 
Where  is  he  living, — clipp'd  in  with  the  sea 
Tbat  chides   the  banks    of  England,  Scotland, 
Wales, — 

Which  calls  me  pupil,  or  hath  read  to  me  ? 
And  bring  him  out,  that  is  but  woman's  son. 
Can  trace  me  in  the  tedious  ways  of  art. 
And  hold  me  pace  in  deep  experiments. 

Hot.  I   think,   there  is  no   man  speaks  better 

Welsh  :  

1  VJill  to  dinner.  [mad. 

Mort.  Pe»ce,  cousin  Percy ;  you  will  make  him 


Glend.  I  can  call  spA<*  fix^m  the  vasty  t^fepi  | 

Hot.  Why,  so  can  I:  <sx  so  can  any  man  :  \ 
But  v/ill  they  come,  when  v«.'ii  do  call  for  them.'' 

Glend.  Why,  I  can  teach  you,  cousin,  to  coin 
The  devil.  [mnnd 

Hot.  And  T  can  teach  thee,  coz,  to  shame  tha 
devil. 

By  telling  truth  ;  Tell  truth  and  shatne  the  devil. —  | 
If  thou  have  power  to  raise  him,  bring  him  hither, 
And  I'll  be  sworn,  I  have  power  to  shame  him 
hence. 

0,  while  you  live,  tell  truth,  and  shame  the  devil.— 

Mort.  Come,  come, 
No  more  of  this  unpr()fita})le  chat. 

Glend.  Three  times  hath  Henry  Bolingbroke 
made  head 

Against  my  power  :  thrice  from  the  banks  of  Wye, 
And  sandy-bottom'd  Severn,  have  I  sent  him. 
Bootless  home,  and  weather-beaten  back.        [tfij  ! 

Hot.  Home  without  boots,  and  in  foul  weather 
How  'scapes  he  agues,  in  the  devil's  name  ? 

Glend.  Come,  here's  the  map  ;  Shall  we  divifil© 
our  righi. 

According  to  onr  three-fold  order  ta'en  ? 

Mort.  The  archdeacon  hath  divided  it 
Into  three  limits,  very  equally  : 
England,  from  Trent  and  Severn  hitherto. 
By  south  and  east,  is  to  my  part  assign'd  : 
All  westward,  Wales  beyond  the  Severn  shore. 
And  all  the  fertile  land  within  that  bound. 
To  Owen  Glendower  :— and,  dear  coz,  to  yo?|^ 
I'he  remnant  northward,  lying  oil' from  Trent. 
And  our  indentures  tripartite  are  drawn  : 
Which  being  sealed  interchangeably, 
(A  business  that  this  night  may  execute,) 
To-morrow,  cousin  Percy,  you,  and  I, 
And  my  good  lord  of  Worcester,  will  set  forth. 
To  meet  your  father,  and  the  Scottish  power. 
As  is  appointed  us,  at  Shrewsbury. 
My  father  Glendower  is  not  ready  yet, 
Nor  shall  we  need  his  help  these  fourteen  days  :— 
Within  that  space,  (to  Glend.J  you  may  have  drawJl 
together. 

Your  tenants,  friends,  and  neighbouring  gentlemen. 

Glend.  A  shorter  time  shall  send  me  to  you,  lordS; 
And  in  my  conduct  shall  your  ladies  come  : 
From  whom  you  now  must  steal,  and  take  no  leave; 
For  there  will  be  a  world  of  vvp.ter  shed. 
Upon  the  parting  of  your  wives  and  you.  [here. 

Hot.  Methinks,  my  moiety,  north  from  Burton 
In  quantity  equals  not  one  of  yours  . 
See,  how  this  river  comes  me  cranking  in. 
And  cuts  me,  from  the  best  of  all  niy  land, 
A  huge  half  moon,  a  monstrous  cantle  out. 
I'll  have  the  current  in  this  place  damm'd  up: 
And  here  the  smug  and  silver  Trent  shall  run. 
In  a  new  channel,  fair  and  evenly. 
It  shall  not  wind  with  such  a  deep  indent. 
To  rob  me  of  so  rich  a  bottom  here. 

Glend.  Not  wind?  it  shall,  it  must;  you  seeii 

M&rt.  Yea,  [doth 
But  mark,  how  he  bears  his  course,  and  runs  me  up 
With  like  advantage  on  the  other  side  ; 
Gelding  the  opposed  continent  as  much. 
As  on  the  other  side  it  takes  from  you,  [here 

Wor.  Yea,  but  a  little  charge  will  trench  him 
And  on  this  north  side  win  this  cape  of  land  ; 
And  then  he  runs  straight  and  even. 

Hot.  I'll  have  it  so,;  a  little  charge  will  do  it. 

Glend.  I  will  not  have  it  alter'd. 

Hot.  '  Will  not  you . 

Glend.  No,  nor  you  shall  not. 

Hot.  Who  shall  say  me  nay  ? 

Glend.  Why,  that  will  1. 

Hot.  Let  me  not  understand  you  then 

Speak  it  in  Welsh. 

Glend.  I  can  speak  English,  lord,  as  well  as  yM; 
For  I  was  train'd  up  in  the  English  court : 
Where,  being  but  young,  I  framed  to  the  harp 
Many  an  English  ditty,  lovely  well. 


Scene  1. 


KING  HENRY  lY. 


33d 


And  gave  the  tongue  a  helpful  oniarneot ; 
A  virtue,  that  was  never  seen  in  you. 

Hot.  Marry  ;  and  I'm  glad  of  it  with  all  my  heart ; 
1  had  rather  be  a  kitten,  and  cry — mew. 
Than  one  of  these  sam"^  metre  ballad-mongers; 
I  had  rather  hear  a  brazen  canstick.  tnrn'd, 
Or  a  dry  wheel  grate  on  an  axle-tree  ; 
And  that  would  set  my  teeth  nothing  on  edge, 
Nothing  so  much  as  mincing  poetry; 
Tis  like  the  forj'd  gait  of  a  shufiling  nag. 

Glend.  Corje,  you  shall  have  Trent  turn'd. 

Hot.  I  dy  not  care  :  I'll  give  thrice  as  much  land 
To  any  we' (  deserving  friend  ; 
But,  in  the  way  of  bargain,  mark  ye  me, 
I'll  cavil  on  the  ninth  part  of  a  hair. 
Are  the  indentures  drawn  ?  sliall  we  be  gone  ? 

GUnd.  The  moon  shiiies  fair,  you  may  away  by 
IT.  haste  the  writer,  and,  withal,  [night : 

Break  with  your  wives  of  your  departure  hence  : 
I  am  afraid,  my  daughter  will  run  mad. 
So  much  she  doateth  on  her  Mortimer.  [Exit. 

Mori.  Fy,  cousin  Percy  !  how  you  cross  my  father ! 

Hot.  I  cannot  choose  •  sometimes  he  angers  me, 
V\  ith  telling  me  of  the  moldwarp  and  the  ant. 
Of  the  dreamer  Merlin,  and  his  prophecies; 
•And  of  .1  dragon  and  a  finless  fish, 
A  clip-wing'd  grilfin,  and  a  moulten  raven, 
A  couching  lion,  and  a  ramping  cat. 
Arid  such  a  deal  of  skimble-skamble  stuff 
As  puts  me  from  my  faith.  I  tell  you  what, — 
He  held  me  but  last  night,  at  least  nine  hours, 
In  reckoning  up  the  several  devils'  nau)es, 
riiat  were  his  lackeys  :  I  cried,  humph, — and,  v^ell, 
—go  to,— 

But  mark'd  him  not  a  word.  O,  he's  as  tedious 
As  a  tired  horse,  a  railing  wife; 
Worse  thin  a  smoky  house : — I  had  rather  live 
With  cheese  and  garlic,  in  a  windmill,  far. 
Than  i'eed  on  cates,  and  have  him  talk  to  me. 
In  Rny  summer-house  in  Christendom. 

Mart.  In  faith,  he  is  a  worthy  gentleman ; 
Exceedingly  well  read,  and  profited 
in  strange  concealments;  valiant  as  a  lion, 
And  wond'rous  afi'able  ;  and  as  bountiful 
As  mines  of  India.   Shall  I  tell  you,  cousin  ? 
He  holds  your  temper  in  a  high  respect. 
And  curbs  himselfeven  of  his  natural  scope. 
When  you  do  cross  his  humour;  'faith,  he  does: 
1  warrant  you,  that  man  is  not  alive, 
Might  so  have  tempted  him  as  you  have  done. 
Without  the  taste  of  danger  or  reproof; 
And  do  not  use  it  oft,  let  me  entreat  yon. 

Wor.  In  faith,  my  lord,  you  are  too  wilful-blame  ; 
And  since  your  coming  hither  have  done  enough 
Fo  put  hiui  quite  beside  his  patience. 
You  must  needs  learn,  lord,  to  amend  this  fault : 
Though  sometimes  it  show   greatness,  courage, 
blood, 

(And  that's  the  dearest  grace  it  renders  you,) 
Yet  ottentimes  it  doth  present  harsh  rage. 
Defect  of  manners,  want  of  government, 
Pride,  haughtiness,  opinion,  and  disdain  : 
The  least  oi' which,  haunting  a  nobleman, 
Loseth  men's  hearts;  and  leaves  behind  a  stain 
Upon  the  beauty  of  all  parts  besides. 
Beguiling  theni  of  connuendation.  [speed! 

Hot.  W'eil,  I  am  school'd  ;  gocd  nianners  be  your 
Here  come  our  wives,  and  let  us  take  our  leave. 

Re  enter  Glendower,  witA  the  Ladies. 
Mori.  This  is  the  deadly  spite  that  angers  me, — 
My  wife  can  speak  no  English,  I  no  Welsh. 

Glend.  My  daughter  weeps;  she  will  not  part 
witii  you. 

She'll  be  a  soldier  too.  she'll  to  the  wars. 

Atort.  Udod  fallu  r,  tell  her, — that  she,  and  my 
aunt  Ft  rry. 
FhaW  follow  in  your  condiirt  speedily. 

(Giendowi'r  ajM'aks  lo  liis  dnmjhter  in  Welsh, 
and  she  an.sivers  him  in  the  same.) 


Glend.   She's  desperate  here :  a  peevish  se!f- 
will'd  harlotry, 
One  no  persuasion  can  do  good  upon. 

(Lady  M.  speaks  to  Mort.  tn  W^lsk.J 

Mart.  I  understand  thy  looks  :  that  pretty  Welsh 
Which  thou  pourest  down  from  these  swcliiii  hea- 
I  am  too  perfect  in;  and,  but  for  shame,  [yen 
In  such  a  parley  would  I  answer  thee. 

(Lady  M.  speuks.j 
I  understand  thy  kisses,  and  thou  mine 
And  that's  a  feeling  disputation  . 
But  I  will  never  be  a  truant,  love. 
Till  I  have  learn'd  thy  language  ;  for  thy  tongue 
Makes  Welsh  as  sweet  as  ditties  highly  penu'd. 
Sung  by  a  fair  queen  in  a  summer's  bowf.i  . 
With  ravishing  division  to  her  lute. 

Glend.  Nay,  if  you  melt,  then  will  she  run  mad. 

(Lady  M.  speaks  again.) 

Mort.  O,  I  am  ignorance  itself  in  this 

Glend.  She  bids  you. 
Upon  the  wanton  rushes  lay  you  down. 
And  rest  your  gentle  head  upon  her  lap, 
And  she  will  sing  the  song  tliat  pleaseth  yon. 
And  on  your  eye-lids  crown  the  god  of  sleep. 
Charming  your  b!ood  with  |)leasing  heaviness  ; 
Making  such  difierence  'twixt  w^ke  and  sleep 
As  is  the  difference  betwixt  day  and  night, 
The  hour  before  the  heavenly-harness'd  team 
Begins  his  golden  progress  in  the  east.  [sing: 

Mort.  With  all  my  heart  I'il  sit,  and  heaar  her 
By  that  time  will  our  book,  I  think,  be  drawn. 

Glend.  Do  so ; 
And  those  musicians,  that  shall  play  to  yo  , 
Hang  in  the  air  a  thousand  leagues  from  lieLct ; 
Yet  straight  they  shall  be  here  :  .sit,  and  attend. 

Hot.  Come,  Kate,  thou  art  perfect  in  lying  down 
Co.ne,  quick,  quick  ;  that  I  may  lay  my  head  in 

Lady  P.  Go,  ye  giddy  goose.  [thy  lap, 

(Glendoiver  speaks  some  Welsh  words,  and  then 
the  music  plays.) 

Hot.  Now  I  perceive,   the  devil  understands 
Welsh; 

And  'tis  no  marvel,  he's  so  humourous. 
By'r  lady,  he's  a  good  musician. 

Lady  P.  Then  should  you  be  nothing  but  musi- 
cal :  for  you  are  altogether  governed  by  humours 
Lie  still,  ye  thief,  and  hear  the  lady  sing  in  Welsh. 

Hot.  1  had  rather  hear  Lady,  my  brach,  howl  in 
Irish, 

Lady  P.  Wouldst  thou  have  thy  head  brokeo: 
Hot.  No 

Lady  P.  Then  be  still. 

Hot.  Neither ;  'tis  a  woman's  fault. 

Lady  P.  Now  God  help  thee  ! 

Hot.  To  the  Welsh  lady's  bed. 

Lady  P.  What's  that? 

Hot.  Peace  !  she  sings. 

(A  Welsh  Song,  sung  hy  Lad}  M.) 

Hot.  Come,  Kate,  I'll  have  your  song  too. 

Lady  P.  Not  mine,  in  good  sooth. 

Hot.  Not  yours,  in  good  sooth  !  'Heart,  you  swear 
like  a  comfit-maker's  wife!  Not  you,  in  good  sooth 
and,  As  true  as  I  live;  and,  As  God  shall  mer  J 
me  ;  and,  As  sure  as  day  : 
And  giv'st  such  sarcenet  surety  for  thy  oaths, 
As  if  thou  never  walk'dst  further  than  Finsbury,' 
Swear  me,  Kate,  like  a  lady,  as  thou  art, 
A  good  mouth-filling  oath;  and  leave  iu  sooth. 
And  such  protest  of  pep[)er-gingerl)read, 
I'o  velvet  guards,  and  Sunday-citizens. 
Come,  sing. 

Lady  P.  I  will  not  sing. 

Hot.  'Tis  the  next  way  to  turn  tailor,  or  be  red- 
breast teacher.  An  the  indentures  l^e  drawn.  Hi 
away  within  these  two  hours;  and  so  ;ome  in  v\;hen 
you  will.    [Exit.]  [slow 

Glend.  Come,  come,  lord  Mortimer;  you  are  a4 
As  hot  lord  Percy  is  on  fire  to  go. 


336 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  in. 


By  this  our  book's  drawn ;  we'll  but  seal,  and  then 
To  horse  immediately. 

Mori.  With  all  my  heart.  [Exeunt. 

ScKNE  II. — London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  King  Henry,  Prince  of  Wales,  and  Lords. 

K.  Hen.   Lords,  give  us  leave ;  the  Prinoe  of 
Wales  and  I, 
Must  have  some  conference  :  But  be  near  at  hand. 
For  we  shall  presently  have  need  of  you. — 

[Exeunt  Lords. 
I  know  not  whether  God  will  have  it  so. 
For  some  displeasing  service  I  have  done. 
That  in  his  secret  doom,  out  of  my  blood 
Ke'il  breed  revengement  and  a  scourge  for  me  ; 
But  thou  dost,  in  thy  passages  of  life, 
Make  me  believe,— that  thou  art  only  mark'd 
For  the  hot  \  engeance  and  the  rod  of  heaven, 
To  jujnish  my  mis-treadings.    Tell  me  else, 
Coutd  such  inordinate,  and  low  desires, 
Such  poor,  such  bare,  such  lewd,  such  mean  at- 
tempts, 

Sucli  barren  pleasures,  rude  society. 
As  thou  art  match'd  withal,  and  grafted  to. 
Accompany  the  greatness  of  thy  blood. 
And  hold  their  level  with  thy  princely  heart? 

P.  Hen.  So  please  your  majesty,  I  would,  I  could 
Quit  all  offences  with  as  clear  exctise. 
As  well  as,  I  am  doubtless,  I  can  purge 
Myself  of  many  I  am  charg'd  withal : 
Yet  such  extenuation  let  me  beg. 
As,  in  leproof  of  many  tales  devis'd, — 
Which  oft  tlie  ear  of  greatness  needs  niust  hear, — 
I{y  smiling  pick-thanks  and  base  newsmongers, 
I  may,  for  some  things  true,  wherein  my  youth 
Hath  faulty  wander'd  and  irregular. 
Find  purdon  on  my  true  submission.  [Harry, 
K.  Hen.  God  pardon  thee  ! — yet  let  me  wonder. 
At  tl  y  adections,  which  do  hold  a  wing 
Quito:  Irom  the  flight  of  all  thy  ancestors. 
I'hy  i>P.ace  in  council  thou  hast  rudely  lost, 
Which  by  thy  younger  brother  is  supplied: 
And  art  almost  an  alien  to  the  hearts 
Of  all  ihe  court  and  princes  of  my  blood: 
The  hop(>  and  expectation  of  thy  time 
Is  ruin'd  ;  and  the  soul  of  every  man 
Propliei'ically  does  lore-think,  thy  fall. 
Harl  I  30  lavish  of  my  presence  been. 
So  comiuon-hackney'd  in  the  eyes  of  men 
So  stale  and  cheap  to  vulgar  company; 
Opinion,  that  did  help  me  to  the  crown, 
Had  still  kept  loyal  to  possession  ; 
And  left  me  in  reputeless  banishment, 
A  fellow  of  no  mark,  nor  likelihood. 
By  being  seldom  seen,  I  could  not  stir, 
But,  like  a  comet,  1  was  wonder'd  at : 
Thai  meij  would  tell  their  children,  This  is  he; 
Others  v\ould  say, —  TV  here?  ffhich  is  Boling- 
Aud  then  I  stole  all  courtesy  from  heaven,    [broke  / 
And  dres#'d  myself  in  such  tuuniiity, 
That  1  did  pluck  allegiance  from  men"s  hearts, 
Loud  shouts  and  salutations  IVom  their  mouths, 
EveEi  in  the  presence  of  the  crowned  king. 
Thusi  did  I  keep  my  person  fresh,  and  new; 
My  j)reseuce,  like  a  robe  pontifical, 
Ne'tr  seen,  but  wonder'd  at :  and  so  my  state, 
Bei(l)m,  but  sumptuous,  showed  like  a  feast; 
And  won,  by  rareness,  such  solemnity. 
The  skipping  king,  he  ambled  up  and  d(nvn 
With  shallow  jesters,  and  rash  bavin  wits. 
Soon  kindled,  and  soon  burn'd  :  carded  his  state  ; 
Min^  led  his  royalty  with  capering  fools  ; 
liiA  his  great  name  profaned  with  their  scorns  ; 
And  gave  his  countenance,  against  his  name. 
To  laugh  at  gibing  boys,  and  stand  the  push 
Of  every  beardless  vain  comparative  : 
Urew  a  companion  to  the  common  streets, 
Enfe  ttJF'd  himself  to  popularity  : 
hal  being  daily  shallow'd  by  men's  eyes, 


They  surfeited  with  honey ;  and  began 

To  loathe  the  taste  of  sweetness,  wliereof  a  ' 

More  than  a  little  is  by  much  too  much 

So,  wherj  he  had  occasion  to  be  seen. 

Hp  was  but  as  the  cuckoo  is  in  June, 

Heard,  not  regarded  ;  seen,  but  with  such  eyea^ 

As,  sick  and  blunted  with  community. 

Afford  no  extraordinary  gaze 

Such  as  is  bent  on  sun-like  majesty. 

When  it  shines  seldom  in  admiring  eyes  : 

But  rather  drowzVl,  and  hung  their  eye-lids  doiV]^ 

Slept  in  his  face,  and  render'd  such  aspect 

As  cloudy  men  use  to  their  adversaries  ; 

Being  with  his  presence  glutted,  gorg'd,  and  fall. 

And  in  that  very  line,  Harry,  stand'st  thou  ; 

For  thou  hast  lost  thy  princely  privilege. 

With  vile  participation  ;  not  an  eye 

But  is  a-weary  of  thy  common  sight. 

Save  mine,  which  hath  desir'd  to  see  thee  more  ; 

Which  now  doth  that  I  would  not  have  it  do. 

Make  blind  itself  with  foolish  tenderness. 

P.  Hen.  I  shall  hereafter,  my  thrice-gracioa» 
Be  more  myself.  [lord, 

K.  Hen.  For  all  the  world. 

As  thou  art  to  this  hour,  was  Richard  then 
When  1  from  France  set  foot  at  Ravenspurg; 
And  even  as  I  was  then  is  Percy  now. 
Now  by  my  sceptre,  and  my  soul  to  boot. 
He  hath  more  worthy  interest  to  the  state, 
Than  thou,  the  shadow  of  succession  : 
For,  of  no  right,  nor  colour  like  to  right, 
fie  doth  fill  fields  with  hfirness  in  the  realm ; 
Turns  head  against  the  lion's  armed  jaws  ; 
And,  being  no  more  in  debt  to  years  than  thou, 
Leads  ancient  lords  and  reverend  bishops  on. 
To  bloody  battles,  and  to  bruising  arms. 
Wliat  never-dying  honour  hath  he  got 
Against  renowned  Douglas  ;  whose  high  deeds 
Whose  hot  incursions,  and  great  name  in  arras 
Holds  from  all  soldiers  chief  majority. 
And  military  title  capital. 

Through  all  the  kingdoms  that  acknowledge  Christ? 

Thrice  hath  this  Hotspur,  Mars  in  swathing  clothee. 

This  infant  warrior,  in  his  enterprises 

Discomfited  great  Douglas;  ta'en  him  once. 

Enlarged  him,  and  made  a  friend  of  him, 

To  fill  the  mouth  of  deep  defiance  up. 

And  shake  the  peace  and  safety  of  our  throne. 

And  whut  say  you  to  this  ?  Percy,  Northumberland, 

The  archbishop's  grace  of  York,  Douglas,  Morti- 

Capitulate  against  us,  and  aie  up.  [mer. 

But  wherefore  do  I  tell  these  news  to  thee  ? 

Wliy,  Harry,  do  I  tell  thee  of  my  foes. 

Which  art  my  near'st  and  dearest  enemy  ? 

Tliou  that  art  like  euo"gh, — through  vassal  fear. 

Base  inclination,  and  the  start  of  spleen,  

To  fif^ht  against  tne  under  Percy's  pay. 

To  dog  his  heels,  and  court'sy  at  his  frowns. 

To  sliow  how  much  degenerate  thou  art, 

M.  Hen.  Do  not  think  so,  you  shall  not  find  it  so 
Ami  God  forgive  them  that  have  so  much  sway'd 
Your  majesty's  good  thoughts  away  from  me! 
I  will  redeem  all  this  on  Percy's  head. 
And,  in  the  closing  of  some  glorious  day^  • 
Be  bold  to  tell  you,  that  I  auj  your  son; 
When  I  will  wear  a  garment  ail  of  blood 
And  stain  my  favours  in  a  bloody  mask. 
Which,  wash'd  away,  shall  scour  my  shame  with  it 
And  that  shall  be  the  day,  whene'er  it  lights 
That  this  same  child  of  honour  and  renown, 
This  gallant  Hotspur,  this  all  praised  knight. 
And  your  unthoiight  of  Harry,  chance  to  meet: 
For  every  honour  sitting  on  his  helm, 
'Would  they  were  nuiltitudes  ;  and  on  my  head 
Mv  sliames  redoubled!  for  the  time  will  come, 
That  I  shall  make  this  northern  youth  exchawge 
His  j'  lorious  deeds  for  my  indignities. 
Percy  is  but  my  factor,  good  my  lord, 
'J'o  engross  up  glorious  deeds  on  my  belialf ;  ^ 
And  I  will  call  him  to  so  strict  account. 


Scene  3. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


That  lie  shall  render  every  glory  np, 
Yea,  even  the  slightest  worship  of  his  time, 
Or  I  will  tear  the  reckoning  from  his  heart. 
This.  ID  the  name  of  God,  I  promise  liere  : 
The  which  if  he  be  pleas'd  I  shall  perform, 
I  do  beseech  your  majesty,  may  salve 
The  long-grown  wounds  of  my  intemperance  : 
If  not,  the  end  of  life  cancels  ail  bands  ; 
And  I  will  die  a  hundred  thousand  deaths. 
Ere  break  the  sm^dlest  parcel  of  this  vow. 

K,  Hen.  A  hundred  thousand  rebels  die  in  this  :— 
Thou  shalt  have  charge,  and  sovereign  trust  herein. 

E?iter  1]lunt. 
How  now,  good  IJlunt?  thy  looks  are  full  of  speed. 

Blunt,  iio  hath  the  business  that  I  come  to  speak  of. 
Lord  Mortimer  of  Scotland  hath  sent  word, — 
That  Douglas,  and  the  English  rebels,  met, 
The  eleventh  of  this  mon(h,  at  Shrewsbury 
A  mighty  and  a  fearful  head  they  are, 
If  promises  be  kept  on  every  hand, 
As  ever  olfer'd  foul  play  in  a  state.  [day; 

K.  Hen.  The  earl  oi'  Westmoreland  set  forth  to- 
With  him  my  son,  lord  John  of  Lancaster; 
For  this  advertisement  is  five  days  old  : — 
On  Wednesday  next,  Harry,  you  shall  set 
Forward  ;  on  Tliursday,  we  ourselves  will  march  : 
Our  meeting  is  Bridgnorth  :  and,  Harry,  you 
Shall  march  through  Glostershire ;  by  which  ac- 
count, 

Our  business  valued,  some  twelve  days  hence 
Our  general  forces  at  Biidgnorlh  shall  meet. 
Our  hands  are  full  ol' business  ;  let's  away; 
Advantage  feeds  him  fat,  while  men  delay.  [Exeunt. 
Scene  Ul.—Eastcheap.   A  Boom  m  the  Boars 
Head  Tavern. 
Enter  Falstaff  and  Bardolph. 

Fal.  Bardolph,  am  I  not  fallen  away  vilely  since 
th[s  last  action  ?  do  I  not  bate  ?  do  I  not  dwindle  ? 
Why,  my  skin  hangs  about  me  like  an  old  lady's 
loose  gown ;  I  am  wither'd  like  an  old  apple-John. 
Well  Ml  repent,  and  that  suddenly,  while  I  am  in 
some  Jiking  ;  1  shall  be  out  of  heart  shortly,  and 
then  I  shall  have  no  strength  to  repent.  An  1  have 
not  fb_ gotten  what  the  inside  of  a  church  is  made 
of,  I  am  a  pepper-corn,  a  brewer's  horse  :  the  inside 
of  a  church!  Company,  villainous  company,  hath 
been  the  spoil  of  me.  [live  long. 

Bard.  Sir  John,  you  are  so  fretful,  you  cannot 

Fal.  Why,  there  is  it:— come,  sing  me  a  bawdy 
soot;  make  me  merry.  I  was  as  virtuously  given, 
as  a  gentleman  need  to  be  ;  virtuous  enough;  swore 
little;  diced  not  above  seven  times  a  week:  went 
to  a  bawdy  house,  not  above  once  in  a  quarter— of 
an  hour;  paid  money  that  I  borrowed,  three  or  four 
times;  lived  xjt'ell,  and  in  good  compass:  and  now 
i  live  out  of  all  order,  out  of  all  compass. 

Bard.  Why,  you  are  so  iat,  sir  John,  that  you 
must  needs  be  out  of  all  compass :  out  of  all  rea- 
sonable compass,  sir  John. 

amend  thy  face,  and  I'll  amend 
my  lite:  J  hou  art  our  admiral,  thou  bearest  the 
lantern  in  the  poop,— but  'tis  in  the  nose  of  thee  • 
thou  art  the  knight  of  the  burning  lamp. 

Bard.  W\\Y,  sir  John,  my  face  does  you  no  harm. 
^  l^al.  No,  I'll  be  sworn :  I  make  as  good  use  of 
\i  as  many  a  man  doth  of  a  death's-head,  or  a 
memento  fnon:  I  never  see  thy  face,  but  1  think 
on  hell-fire  and  Dives  that  lived  in  purple;  for 
there  he  is  in  his  robes,  burning.,  burning.'  If 
[hou  wert  any  way  given  to  virtue,  I  would  swear 
by  thy  face;  my  oath  should  be,  By  this  fire:  but 
Ihou  yrf.  altogether  given  over;  and  wert  indeed, 
but  lor  u.c  light  in  thv  f^ce,  the  sou  of  utter  dark- 
ness. When  tliou  ran'st  up  Oads-hill  in  the  night 
to  catch  my  horse,  if  I  did  not  think  thou  hadst 
been  an  lynis  fatuus,  or  a  ball  of  wildfire,  there's 
no  f>urchase  ui  money.  O,  (hou  tirt  a  perpetual 
tnuinph.  an  everlasting  b :)nfire-lighS !   Thou  hast 


saved  me  a  thousand  marks  in  links  and  torches 
walking  with  thee  in  the  night  betwixt  tavern  and 
tavern:  but  the  sack  that  thou  hast  drunk  me. 
would  have  bought  me  lights  as  good  cheap,  at  the 
dearest  chandler's  in  Europe.  I  have  maintained 
that  salamander  of  yours  with  fire,  any  time  this 
two  ami  thi^rty  years;  Heaven  reward  me  for  it! 

Bard.  'Sblood,  I  would  my  face  were  in  your 
^"^h]  ,^  ,  [heart-burned. 

I'al.  Uod-a-mercy  !  so  should  I  be  sure  to  b« 

Enter  Hostess. 
How  now,  dame  Partlet  the  hen  ?  have  you  inquirej 
yet,  who  picked  my  pocket  ? 

Host.  Why,  sir  John!  what  do  you  think,  sir 
John  i  Do  you  think  I  keep  thieves  in  my  house  ? 
1  have  searched,  I  have  inquired,  so  has' my  hus- 
band, man  by  man,  boy  by  boy,  servant  by  servant: 
the  tithe  of  a  hair  was  never  lost  in  my  house 
before. 

Fal.  You  lie,  hostess;  Bardoph  was  shaved,  and 
lost  inany  a  hair:  and  I'll  be  sworn,  my  pocket  was 
picked :  Go  to,  you  are  woman,  go. 

Host.  Who  I  ?  I  defy  thee :  I  was  never  called 
so  in  mine  own  house  before. 

Fal.  Go  to,  I  know  you  well  enough. 

Host  No,  sir  John;  you  do  not  know  me,  sir 
John:  I  know  you,  sir  John:  you  owe  me  money, 
Jo.in,  and  now  you  pick  a  quarrel  to  beguile  me 
,  i'""Sl>t  you  a  dozen  of  shirts  to  your  back. 

Pal.  Dowlas,  filthy  uowlas:  I  have  given  them 
away  to  bakers'  wives,  and  they  have  made  bolters 
of  them. 

^«sf  Now,  as  I  am  a  true  woman,  holland  o« 
eight  shillings  an  ell.  You  owe  money  here  besides, 
sir  John,  for  your  diet,  and  by-drinkings,  and  mo- 
ney lent  you,  four  and  twenty  pound. 

Fal.  He  had  his  part  of  it :  let  him  pay. 

Host.  He  ?  alas,  he  is  poor ;  he  hath  notliing. 

Pal.  How  !  poor?  look  upon  his  face  ;  What  call 
you  rich  let  them  coin  his  nose,  let  them  coin 
his  cheeks;  I'll  not  pay  a  denier.  What  will  yoc 
make  a  younker  of  me?  shall  I  not  take  min«  ease  ' 
in  mine  inn,  but  1  shall  have  my  nocket  picked  ? 
I  have  lost  a  seal-ring  of  my  grandfather's,  worth 
forty  mark. 

Host.  O  Jesu !  I  have  heard  the  prince  tell  hira, 
1  know  not  how  oft,  that  that  ring  was  copper. 

Fal  How!  the  prince  is  a  Jack,  a  sneak-cup; 
and  if  he  were  here,  I  would  cudgel  him  like  a  dog, 
if  he  would  say  so 

Enter  Prince  Henry  and  PoiNs,  marching.  Fal- 
staff meets  the  Prince^  playing  on  his  trun  - 
cheon like  a Jife. 

Fal  How  now,  lad  ?  i,s  the  wind  in  that  door 
I'faith  ?  must  we  all  march? 

Bard.  Yea,  two  and  two,  Newgate-fashion. 

Host.  My  \o\  di,  I  pray  you,  hear  me. 

P.  Hen.  What  sayest  thou,  mistress  Quickly  ? 
How  does  thy  husband  ?  I  love  him  well,  he  is  an 
honest  man. 

Host.  Good  my  lord,  hear  me. 

Fal.  Pr'ythee,  let  her  alone,  and  list  to  me. 

P.  Hen.  Whatsay'st  thou,  Jack? 

Fal.  The  other  night  I  fell  asleep  here  behind  the 
arras,  and  had  my  pocket  picked  :  tliis  house  is  turned 
bawdy-house,  they  pick  pockets, 

P.  Hen^  Whrt-t  didst  thou  lose,  Jack  ? 

Fal.  W\\t  thou  believe  me,  Hal  ?  three  cr  foui 
bonds  of  forty  pound  a-piece,  and  a  seal-ring  of  my 
grandfather's. 

P.  Hen.  A  trifle,  some  eight-penny  matter. 

Host.  So  I  told  I'im,  my  lord  ;  and  I  said,  I  heard 
yoiir  grace  say  so  :  And,  my  lord,  he  speaks  most 
vilely  of  you,  like  a  foui-mouthed  man  as  he  is;  and 
said,  he  would  cudgel  you. 

P.  Hen.  What!  he  did  not? 

Hoit.  'I'here's  neither  faith,  truth,  nor  woniaQhood 
lu  me  f'lse. 

22 


538 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  IY. 


Fal.  There's  no  more  faith  in  thee  than  in  a 
slewed  prune ;  nor  no  more  truth  in  thee,  than  m  a 
rdrawr.  fox;  and  for  womanhood,  maid  Marian  may 
be  (he  deputy's  wife  of  the  ward  to  thee.  Go,  you 
thing,  ^0. 

Host.  Say,  what  thing?  what  thing? 

Fal.  What  thing?  why,  a  thing  tr  thanV  God  on. 

Host.  1  am  no  thkig  to  thank  God  on  I  would 
thou  should'st  know  it;  I  am  an  honest  man's  wife  : 
Rnd,  setting  thy  knighthood  aside,  thou  art  a  knave 
to  call  me  so.  ,      ,      .  ,  x, 

Fal.  Setting  thy  womanhood  aside,  thou  art  a 
beast  to  say  otherwise. 

Host.  Say,  what  beast,  thou  knave  thou? 

Fal.  What  beast  ?  why  an  otter. 

P.  Hi  1.  An  otter,  sir  John?  why  an  otter? 

Fal.  ^^'hy?  she's  neither  fish,  nor  flesh;  a  man 
knows  not  where  to  have  lier. 

Host.  Thou  art  an  unjust  man  in  saying  so ;  thou 
or  any  man  knows  where  to  have  me,  thou  knave 
thou !  T  ,  1 

P.  Hen.  Thou  sayest  true,  hostess;  and  he  slan- 
ders thee  most  grossly.  .J  ,. 

Host.  So  he  doth  you,  my  lord ;  and  said  this 
otfier  (h\y,  yon  ought  him  a  thousand  pound. 

P.  Hen.  Sirrah,  do  I  owe  you  a  tiiousand  pound  ? 

Fal.  A  thousand  pound,  Hal!  a  million  :  thy  love 
is  worth  a  million;  thou  owest  me  thy  love. 

Host.  Nay,  my  lord,  he  called  you  Jack,  and 
Bairl.  he  would  cud^'^i  vou, 

Fal.  Did  I.  Bardalph? 

Bard.  Indeed,  sir  John,  you  said  so. 

Fal.  Yea  :  if  lie  said  my  ring  was  copper. 

P.  Hen.  I  say,  'tis  copper  :  Darest  thou  be  as  good 
as  thy  woi  d  now  ? 

Fal.  Why,  Hal,  thou  knowest,  as  thou  art  but 
man,  I  dare  ;  but,  as  thou  art  prince,  I  fear  thee,  as 
I  fV-ar  the  roaring  of  the  lion's  whelp. 

P.  Hen.  And  why  not,  as  the  lion  ? 

Fal.  The  king  himself  is  to  be  feared  as  the 
lion  :  Dost  thou  think,  I'll  fear  thee  as  I  fear  thy 
father?  nay,  an  I  do,  I  pray  God,  my  girdle  break! 

P.  Hen.  O,  if  it  should,  how  would  thy  guts  fall 
about  tlrjr  knees  !  But,  sirrah,  there's  no  room  Ibr 
faith,  tr-.ith,  nor  honesty,  in  this  bosom  of  thine ,; 
it  is  filled  up  with  guts,  and  midriti'.  Charge  m 
honest  woman  with  picking  thy  uocket !  Why, 
thou  whoresr.n.  impudent,  embossed  rascal,  if  there 
were  any  tiling  in  thy  pocket  but  tavern-reckonings, 
ine-moiandums  of  bawdy -houses,  and  one  poor  penny- 
wort!', of  sugar-candy  to  make  thee  long  wind' d;  if 
thy  porket  were  enriched  with  any  other  injuries 
but  these,  I  am  a  villain.  And  yet  you  will  stand 
to  it;  you  will  not  pocket  up  wrong:  Art  thou  not 
ashamed  ? 

Fal.  Dost  thou  hear,  Hal?  thou  knowest,  in  the 
state  of  innocency,  Adam  fell;  and  what  should 
poor  Jack  Falstaff  do,  in  the  days  of  villainy?  thou 
seesf..  I  have  more  flesh  than  another  man;  and 

therf^fore  more  frailty.  'You  confess  then,  you 

picked  my  pocket? 

P.  Hen.  It  appears  so  by  the  story. 

Fal.  Hostess,  I  forgive  thee  :  Go,  make  ready 
breakfast;  love  thy  husband,  look  to  thy  servants, 
cherish  thy  guests  :  thou  shalt  find  me  tractable  to 
any  honest  reason  :  thou  seest,  I  am  f)acified. — Still? 
— Nay,  pr'ythee,  be  gone.  [Exit  Hostess.]  Now, 
lial,  to  the  news  at  court  :  for  the  robbery,  lad, — 
How  is  that  answered? 

P.  Hen.  O,  my  sweet  beef,  I  must  still  be  good 
atiTel  to  thee : — The  money  is  paid  back  again. 

Fal.  O,  T  d  >  not  like  that  paying  back,  'tis  a 
d(uible  labour. 

P  Hi'.n.  I  am  good  friends  with  my  father,  and 
niav  do  any  thing. 

PuL  lloh  me  the  exchequer  the  first  thing  thou 
iocst,  and  do  it  with  uf^washed  hands  too. 

Bard.  Do,  my  lord.  [foot. 

P.  Hen.  I  lia''e  procured  thee.  Jack,  a  charge  of 

fai.  I  would,  it  had  been  of  horse.    Where  shall 


I  find  one  that  can  steal  well  ?  O  for  a  fine  thwf.  of 
the  age  of  two  ami  twenty,  or  thereabouts!  I  *in 
heinously  unprovided.  Well,  God  be  thanked  for 
these  rebels,  they  oflfend  none  but  the  virtuous  J 
laud  them,  I  praise  them. 

P.  Hen.  Bardolph— 

Bard.  My  lord  V 

P.  Hen.       i>ear  this  letter  to  lord  John  <^f  Lan 
caster,  [land.— 
My  brothe.  John;  this  to  my  lord  of  Westinor*- 
Go,  Poins,  to  horse,  to  nurse;  for  thoj,  and  I, 

Have  thirty  miles  to  ride  yet  ere  dinner  time.  

Jack, 

Meet  me  to-morrow  i'  the  Temple-hall 

At  two  o'clock  i'the  afternoon  : 

There  shalt  thou  know  thy  charge  ;  and  there  receiv* 

Money,  and  order  for  their  furniture. 

The  land  is  burning;  Percy  stands  on  high; 

And  either  they,  or  we,  must  lower  lie. 

[Exeunt  Prince,  Poins,  and  Bardolph, 

Fal.  Rare  words!  brave  world!  Hostess,  my 

breakfast;  come: —  , 
O,  I  could  wish,  this  tavern  were  my  drum.  [Exti. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.— The  rebel  Ca?np  near  Shrewsbury. 
Enter  Hotspur,  Worcester,  and  Douglas. 

Hot.  Well  said,  my  noble  Scot :  If  speaking  truth 
In  this  fine  age,  were  not  thought  flattery. 
Such  attribution  should  the  Douglas  have. 
As  not  a  soldier  of  this  season's  stamp 
Should  go  so  general  current  through  the  world. 
By  heaven,  I  cannot  flatter;  I  defy 
'i'iie  tongues  of  soothers;  but  a  braver  place 
In  my  heart's  love,  hath  no  man  than  yourself: 
Nay,  task  me  to  the  word;  approve  rne,  lord. 

Duuy.  Thou  art  the  king  of  honour : 
No  man  so  potent  breathes  upon  the  ground, 
But  I  will  beard  him. 

Hot.  Do  so,  and  'tis  wtil  :-~ 

Enter  a  Messenger,  wiih  letters. 
What  letters  hast  thou  there  ?— I  can  hut  thank  yoa. 
Mess.  Ttiese  letters  come  from  your  father, — ^ 
Hot.  Letters  from  him!  why  comes  he  not  him- 
self? 

Mess.  He  cannot  come,  niy  lord;  he's  grievoos 
sick. 

Hot.  'Zounds !  how  has  he  the  leisure  to  be  sick. 
In  such  a  justling  time?  Who  leads  his  power? 
Under  whose  government  come  they  along? 

Mess.  His  letters  bear  his  mind,  not  I,  my  lord. 

Hot.  1  pr'ythee,  tell  me,  doth  he  keep  his  bed? 

Mess.  He  did,  my  lord,  four  days  ere  I  set  forth; 
And  at  the  time  of  my  dej>arture  thence, 
He  was  much  fear'd  by  his  physicians. 

Wor.  I  would,  the  state  of  time  had  first  been 
whole, 

Ere  he  by  sickness  had  been  visited; 

His  health  was  never  better  worth  than  now. 

Hot.  Sick  now!  droop  now!  this  sickness  doth 
The  very  life-blood  of  our  enterprise;  [iufedt 
'1  is  catching  hither,  even  to  our  camp.-- 
He  writes  me  here, — that  inward  sickness — 
And  that  his  friends  by  deputation  could  not 
So  soon  be  drawn;  nor  did  he  think  it  meet. 
To  lay  so  dangerous  and  dear  a  trust 
On  any  soul  remov'd  .  but  on  his  own. 
Yet  doth  he  giv.-^  us  >old  advertisement,— 
That  with  our  suiall   cnj unction,  we  should  OD, 
To  see  how  fortune  is  dispos'd  to  us : 
For,  as  he  writes,  there  is  no  quailing  now; 
Because  the  king  is  certainly  possess'd 
Of  all  our  purposes.    What  say  you  to  it  ? 
Wor.  Your  father's  sickness  is  a  maim  to  n& 
Hot.  A  perilous  gash,  a  very  limb  lopp'd  off: 
And  yet,  in  faith,  'tis  not;  his  present  want 
Seems  more  than  we  shall  find  it : — Were  it  gOM| 


Scene  2. 


KING  HENRY  lY. 


n  set  the  exart  wealth  of  all  our  states 
All  at  one  cast?  to  set  so  rich  a  main 
On  the  nice  hazard  of  one  doublfui  hour? 
It  were  not  good  :  for  therein  should  we  read 
l^he  very  bo'.tom  and  the  soid  of  hope  ; 
The  very  list;,  the  very  utmost  bound 
Of  all  our  fortunes. 

Doug.  'Faith,  and  so  we  should ; 

Where  now  remains  a  sweet  reversion  : 
We  may  boldly  spend  upon  the  hope  of  what 
fs  to  come  in  : 

A  comfort  of  retirement  lives  in  this. 

Hot.  A  rendezvous,  a  home  to  fly  unto, 
f  that  the  devil  and  mischance  look  big 
Upon  the  maidenhead  of  our  affairs. 

Wor.  But  yet,  I  would  your  father  had  been  here, 
f  he  quality  and  hair  of  our  attempt 
Brooks  no  division  :  It  will  be  thought 
By  some,  that  know  not  why  he  is  away, 
1'hat  wisdom,  loyalty,  and  mere  dislike 
Of  our  proceedings,  kept  the  earl  from  hence; 
And  tliink,  how  such  an  apprehension 
May  turn  the  tide  of  fearful  faction, 
And  breed  a  kind  of  question  in  oiir  cause  : 
For,  well  you  kno»v,  we  of  the  offering  side 
Must  keep  aloof  froni  strict  arbitrernent ; 
And  stop  all  sight  holes,  every  loop,  from  whence 
The  eye  of  reason  may  pry  in  upon  us : 
This  absence  of  your  tather  s  draws  a  curtain. 
That  shows  the  ignorant  a  kind  of  fear 
Before  not  dreamt  of 

Hot  You  strain  too  far. 

I,  rather,  of  his  absence  make  this  use; — 
It  lends  a  lustre,  and  more  great  opinion, 
A  larger  dare  to  our  gre  it  enterprise, 
Than  if  I  he  earl  were  here  :  f  or  men  must  think, 
if  wc,  without  his  help,  can  make  a  head 
To  push  against  the  kingdom  ;  with  his  help. 
We  shall  o'erturn  it  topsy  turvy  down. — 
Vet  all  goes  well,  yet  all  onr  joints  are  whole. 

Dou(j.  As  heart  can  think :  there  is  not  such  a 
word 

Spok  e  of  in  Scotland,  as  this  term  of  fear. 

Elder  Sir  Richard  Vernon. 
Hot.  My  cousin  Vernou  !  welcome,  by  my  soul. 
Yer.  Frav  God,  n\y  news  be  worth  a  welcome, 

lord.^ 

The  earl  of  Westmoreland,  seven  thousand  strong, 
Is  inarching  hitherv\  ards ;  v/ith  him,  prince  John. 

Hot.  No  haruj  :  What  more? 

Vtr.  And  further,  I  have  learn'd, — 

The  king  himself  in  person  is  set  forth. 
Or  iiitherwards  intended  speedily, 
vVith  strong  ;uid  mighty  preparation. 

Hot.  He  shali  be  welcome  too.   Where  is  his  son 
'I'lie  niiiihle  ftoted  mad  cap  prince  of  Wales, 
And  his  comrades,  that  daff  d  the  world  aside. 
And  bid  it  pass? 

Ver.  All  furnish'd,  all  in  arms. 

All  plnm'd  like  estridges  that  wing  the  wind; 
Batf'd  like  eagles  having  lately  bath'd  ; 
Glitte  inj;  in  golden  coats,  like  images; 
As  fu"  ol'spii  it  as  tlie  month  of  May, 
And  f'orgeoii;?  as  the  sim  at  midsummer; 
VVaftton  as  youthful  goats,  wild  as  yoring  bulls. 

w  young  Mat  ry, — with  his  bea\  er  on. 
His  <  uiiies  on  his  thighs,  gJtllantly  arm'd,— 
Kise  I'rom  the  ground  like  feather'd  Mercury, 
And    aulte(»  .vith  such  ease  into  liis  seat, 
As  if  fin  angel  dropp'd  down  from  the  clouds. 
To  li  rn  and  witid  a  fiery  Pegasus, 
And  jvitch  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship. 

Ht  t.  No  more,  no  more ;  worse  than  the  sun  in 
M;Mch, 

This  praise  doth  nourish  agues.    Let  Ihein  come; 
The-;;  come  like  sacrifices  in  their  trim. 
Am'  to  the  fire-ey'd  maid  of  smoky  war, 
AMlxit,  and  bleeding,  will  we  offer  tliemr 
I  Ibe  (UHiied  Mars  shall  on  his  altar  sit, 


Up  to  the  ears  in  blood.    I  am  on  fire 

To  hear  this  rich  reprisal  is  so  nigli, 

And  yet  not  ours  : — Come,  let  me  take  my  hone^ 

Who  is  to  bear  me,  like  a  thunderbolt. 

Against  the  bosom  of  the  prince  of  Wales  ; 

Harry  to  Harry  shall,  hot  horse  to  horse. 

Meet,  and  ne'er  part,  till  one  drop  down  a  caraci 

O,  that  Glendower  were  come  ! 

Ver.  There  is  more  nowf » 

I  learn'd  in  Worcester,  as  I  rode  along, 
He  cannot  draw  his  power  this  fourteen  days. 

Doug.  Thats  the  worst  tidings  that  I  hear  of  yet 

Wor.  Ay,  by  my  faith,  that  bears  a  frosty  sounii. 

Hot.  What  may  the  king's  whole  battle  reach  unto? 

Ver.  To  thirty  thousand. 

Hot.  Forty  let  it  be ; 

My  father  and  Glendower  being  both  away. 
The  powers  of  us  may  serve  so  great  a  day. 
Come,  let  us  make  a  muster  speedily : 
Doomsday  is  near ;  die  all,  die  merrily. 

Doug.  Talk  not  of  dying :  I  am  out  of  fear 
Of  death,  or  death's  hand,  for  this  one  half  year. 

[Exeunt 

Scene  TI. — A  public  Road  near  Coventry. 
Enter  Falstafp  and  Bardolph. 

Fal.  Bardolph,  get  thee  before  to  Coventry ;  fill  me 
a  bottle  of  sack:  our  soldiers  shall  march  through 
we'll  to  Sutton  Colfield  to-night. 

Bard.  Will  you  give  me  money,  captain? 

Fal.  Lay  out,  lay  out. 

Bard.  'V\\\s  bottle  makes  an  angel. 

Fal.  An  if  it  do,  take  it  for  thy  labour;  and  if  it 
make  twenty,  take  them  all,  I II  answer  (I'l3  coin- 
age. Bid  my  lieutenant  Peto  nieet  me  at  the  town' 
end. 

Bard.  1  will,  captain  :  farewell.  ^Exit 
Fal.  If  1  be  not  ashamed  of  my  soldiers,  1  ana 
a  soused  gurnet.    I  have  misused  the  king's  press 
(laninably.  I  have  got,  in  exchange  of  a  hundred  and 
fifty  soldiers,  three  hundred  and  odd  pounds.  I 
press  me  none  but  good  householders,  ye<imerf 
sons  :  inquire  me  out  contracted  bachelors,  such 
had  been  asked  twice  on  the  bans;  sui;h  a  coriimo 
dity  of  warm  slaves,  as  had  as  lief  hear  the  devil  q 
a  drum  ;  such  as  fear  the  report  of  a  caliver,  wora 
than  a  struck  ftvvl,  or  a  hurt  wild-duck.    I  presse 
me  none  but  such  toasts  and  butter,  with  hearts  i 
their  bellies  no  bigger  than  pins'  heads,  and  the 
have  bought  out  their  services;  and  now  my  whol 
cliarge  consists  of  ancients,  corporals,  lieutenant 
l^entlemen  of  companies,  slaves  as  ragged  as  Laza 
rus  in  the  painted  cloth,  whete  tlie  glutton's  dog 
licked  his  sores    and  such  as,  indeed,  were  never 
soldiers;  but  discarded  unj:ist  ser\ ing-uien,  youngei 
sons  to  younger   brothers,  revolted   tapsters,  and 
osders  trade  fallen  ;  the  cankers  of  a  calm  world,  and 
a  long  peace  ;  ten  times  more  dishonourable  ragged 
than  an  old-fai  ed  ancient:  and  such  have  I,  to  fiil  up 
the  rooms  of  them  that  have  bought  out  their  ser- 
vices, that  you  would  think,  that  1  had  a  hund.ed 
and  fifty  tattered  prodigals,  lately  come  from  swine 
keeping,  from  eating  diaffand  husks.  A  mad  fellow 
met  me  on  the  way,  and  told  me,  I  had  unloaded 
all  the  gibbets,  and  pressed  the  dead  bodies.  No 
eve  iiath  seen  such  scare-crows.    1 11  not  march 
through  Coventry  with  them,  that's  flat :  Nay,  and 
the  vdlains  march  wide  betwixt  the  legs  as  if*  they 
had  gyves  on;  for,  indeed,  I  had  the  m./at  of  the  m 
out  of'  prison.    There's  but  a  shiit  ar?d  a  half  in  a| 
my  company ;  and  the  half  shirt  is  two  napkins, 
tacked  together,  and  thrown  over  the  shoulders,  like 
a  herald's  coat  without  sleeves ;  and  the  shirt,  to  say 
tlie  truth,  stolen  from  my  host  at  Saint  Alban's,  or 
tlie  red-nose  innkeeper  of  Daintry.    But  that's  all 
',>ne  ;  they'll  find  linen  enough  on  every  hedge. 

Enter  Prince  Henry  awe?  Westmoreland. 

P.  Hen.  How  now.  blown  Jack  ?  how  now  quilt  1 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  rV". 


Fal.  What,  Hall  ?  How  now,  mad  wag !  what  a 
de\  il  dost  thou  in  Warwickshire  ? — My  good  lord  of 
Westmoreland,  I  cry  you  mercy  ;  I  thought  your 
honour  liad  ah-eady  been  at  Shrewsbury. 

West.  'Faith,  sir  John,  'tis  more  than  time  that  I 
wt-re  there,  and  you  too;  but  my  powers  are  there 
ah  eady  :  The  \Cn\^,  I  can  tell  you,  looks  for  us  all ; 
we  must  avvay  all  night. 

Fal.  Tut,  never  fear  me  :  I  am  as  vigilant  as  a 
cnl  to  steal  cream. 

P.  Hen.  I  think,  to  steal  cream  indeed ;  for  thy 
theft  hath  already  made  thee  butter.  But  tell  me, 
Jack  ;  whose  fellows  are  these  that  come  after? 

Fal.  Mine,  Hal.  mine. 

P.  Hen.  I  did  never  see  such  pitiful  rascals. 

Fal.  'J'ut,  tut  ;  good  enough  to  toss;  food  for 
powder,  food  for  powder;  they'll  fill  a  pit,  as  well 
as  better,  tush,  man,  mortal  men,  mortal  men. 

West.  Ay,  but,  sir  John,  methinks  they  are  ex- 
ceeding poor  and  bare  ;  too  beggarly. 

Fal.  Faith,  lor  their  poverty, — I  know  not  where 
they  iiad  that :  and  fur  their  bareness, — I  am  sure, 
they  npver  learned  that  of  me. 

P.  Hen.  No,  I'll  be  sworn  :  unless  you  call  three 
fingers  on  the  ribs,  bare.  But,  sirrah,  make  haste  : 
Percy  is  already  in  tiie  field, 

Fal.  What,  is  the  king  encamped? 

TVest.  He  is,  sir  John  ;  I  fear,  we  shall  stay  too 

Fal.  Well,  (long. 
To  the  latter  end  of  a  fray,  and  the  beginning  of  a 
feast, 

Fits  a  dull  fighter,  and  a  keen  guest.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  HI. — The  Rebel  Camp  near  Shrewsbury. 

Enter  Hotspur,  Worcester,  Douglas,  aiid 

Vernon. 
Hot.  We'll  fight  with  him  to-night. 
fVor.  It  may  not  be. 

Doucj.  You  give  bin)  then  advantage. 
Ver.  Not  a  wit. 

Hot.  Why  say  you  so  ?  louks  he  not  for  supply  ? 
Ver.  So  do  we. 

Hot.  His  is  certain,  ours  is  doubtful. 

Wor.  Good  cousin,  be  advis'd:  stir  not  to-night. 
Yer.  Do  not,  my  lord. 

Dou(j.  You  do  not  counsel  well ; 

You  sueak  it  out  of  fear,  and  cold  lieart. 

Ver.  Do  me  no  slander,  Douglas:  by  my  life, 
(And  I  dare  well  maintain  it  with  ujy  life,) 
It"  weli-respected  honour  bid  me  on. 
\  hold  as  little  counsel  with  weak  fear. 
As  you,  my  lord,  or  any  Scot  that  lives  : 
Let  it  be  seen  to-morrow  in  tiie  battle, 
Wiiich  ol'  us  fears. 

Douy.  Yea,  or  to-night, 

Ver.  Content. 

Hot.  To-night,  say  I. 

Ver.  Come,  come,  it  may  not  be. 

J  wonder  much,  being  men  of  such  great  blading, 
Thtt  you  Ibrsee  not  what  impediments 
Drag  back  our  expedition  :  Cet'tain  horse 
Of  my  cousin  Vernon's  are  not  yet  come  up: 
Your  uncle  VVorcester's  horse  came  but  to  day: 
And  now  tluir  pride  and  mettle  is  asleep, 
7^heir  courage  vvitii  hard  labour  tame  and  dull, 
¥hni  not  a  liorse  is  half  the  half  himself. 

Hot.  So  are  the  horses  of  the  enemy 
In  general,  journey-bated,  and  brougtit  low; 
The  better  part  of  ours  is  full  of  rest. 

Wor.  Tiie  number  of  the  king  exceedeth  ours  : 
For  God's  sake,  cousin,  stay  till  all  come  in. 

{The  trumpet  sounds  a. parley.) 

Enter  Sir  Walter  Blunt. 

Blunt.  1  cojiie  with  gracious  offers  from  the  king, 
If  you  vouchsafe  me  hearing,  and  respect. 

iiot.  Welcome,  sir  Walter  Blunt;  And  'would  to 
You  were  of  our  fletermination  !  [God, 
Some  of  us  love  you  well;  and  even  those  some 


Envy  your  great  deserving,  and  good  Dain6  ; 
Because  you  are  not  of  our  quality. 
But  stand  against  us  like  an  enemy. 

Blunt.  And  God  defend,  but  still  I  should  etaod so 
So  long  as,  out  of  limit,  and  true  rule, 
You  stand  against  anointed  majesty! 
But  to  my  charge. — The  king  hath  sent  to  know 
The  nature  of' your  griefs  ;  and  whereupon 
You  conjure  from  the  breast  of  civil  peace 
Such  bold  hostility,  teaching  his  duteous  land 
Audacious  cruelty:  If  that  the  king 
Have  any  way  your  good  deserts  forgot, — 
Which  he  confesseth  to  be  manifold, — 
He  bids  you  name  your  griefs ;  and,  with  all  speed. 
You  shall  have  your  desires,  with  interest; 
And  pardon  absolute  for  yourself  and  these, 
Herein  misled  by  your  suggestion. 

Hot.The.  king  is  kind  ;  and,  well  we  know,  the  king 
Knows  at  what  time  to  promise,  when  to  pay. 
My  father,  and  my  uncle,  and  myself, 
Did  give  him  that  same  royalty  he  wears  : 
And, — when  he  was  not  six  and  twenty  strong. 
Sick  in  the  world's  regard,  wretched  and  low, 
A  poor  unminded  outlaw  sneaking  home, — 
My  father  gave  him  welcome  to  the  shore 
And, — when  he  heard  him  swear,  and  vow  to  Ood, 
He  came  but  to  be  duke  of  Lancaster, 
To  sue  his  livery,  and  beg  his  f)eace  ; 
With  tears  of  innocency,  and  terms  of  zeal,— 
My  fatlier,  in  kind  heart  and  pity  mov'd. 
Swore  him  assistance,  and  pertbrm'd  it  too. 
Now,  when  the  lords  and  barons  of  the  realm 
Perceiv'd  Northumberland  did  lean  to  him, 
'i'he  more  and  less  came  in  with  cap  and  knee; 
Met  him  in  boroughs,  cities,  villages  ; 
Attended  him  on  bridges,  stood  in  lanes, 
Laid  gif  ts  before  him,  prolFer'd  him  their  oaths. 
Gave  him  their  heirs  ;  as  pages  follow'd  him. 
Even  at  the  heels,  in  golden  multitudes. 
He  presently, — as  greatness  knows  itself, — 
Steps  me  a  little  higher  than  his  vow 
Made  to  my  father,  while  his  blood  was  poor. 
Upon  the  naked  shore  at  Ravenspurg  ; 
And  now,  forsooth,  takes  on  him  to  reform 
Some  certain  edicts,  and  some  strait  decrees, 
That  lie  too  heavy  on  the  commowealth  ; 
Cries  out  upon  abuses,  seems  to  weep 
Over  his  country's  wrongs  ;  and.  hy  this  face. 
This  seeming  brow  of  justice,  did  lie  win 
The  hearts  of  all  that  he  did  angle  for. 
Proceeded  further;  cut  me  off  the  heads 
or  all  the  favourites,  that  the  aljsent  king 
In  deputation  lelt  behind  him  here, 
Wiien  he  was  personal  in  the  Irish  war. 

Blunt.  Tut,  I  came  not  to  hear  tliis. 

Hot.  Then,  to  the  pointr** 

In  short  time  after,  he  depos'd  the  king ; 
Soon  after  that,  depriv'd  him  of  his  life; 
And,  in  the  neck  of  that,  task'd  the  whole  state: 
To  ma'iie  that  worse,  sufi'er'd  his  kinsman  March 
(Who  is,  if  every  owner  were  well  plac'd, 
Indeed  his  king,)  to  be  incag'd  in  Wales, 
Inhere  without  ransom  to  lie  forfeited  : 
Disgrac'd  me  in  my  happy  victories; 
Sought  to  entrap  me  by  intelligence  ; 
Rated  my  uncle  from  the  council-board  ; 
In  rage  dismiss'd  my  father  from  the  court; 
Broke  oath  on  oath,  committed  wrong  on  wroqg. 
And,  in  conclusion,  drove  us  to  seek  out 
This  head  of  safety  ;and,  withal,  to  pry 
Into  his  title,  the  which  we  find 
i'oo  int-lirect  for  long  continuance. 

Blunt.  Shall  I  return  this  answer  to  the  King? 

Hot.  Not  so,  sir  Walter ;  we  ll  withdraw  awhiiflb 
Go  to  the  king;  and  let  there  be  impawn'd 
Some  surety  for  a  safe  return  again. 
And  in  the  morning  early  shall  mine  uncle 
Bring  him  our  purposes  :  and  so  fareweli  CloVB 

Blunt.  I  would,  you  would  accept  ofgrttca  and 

Hut.  And,  may  be,  so  we  shall. 


A.CT  V.   Scene  1. 


KING  HENRY  IT. 


341 


Blunt.  Pray  heaven,  you  do ; 

[Exeunt. 

ScENB  IV.—  York.   A  Room  in  the  Archbishop's 
House. 

Mnter  the  Archbishop  of  York,  and  a  Gentleman. 
Arch.  Hie,  good  sir  Michael;  bear  this  sealed 
brief, 

With  winged  haste,  to  the  lord  mareschal ; 

This  to  my  cousin  Scroop ;  and  all  the  rest 

To  whom  tliey  are  directed:  If  you  knew 

How  much  they  do  import,  you  would  make  haste. 

Gent.  My  good  lord, 
I  guess  their  tenor. 

Arch.  Like  enough,  you  do. 

To-morrow,  good  sir  Michael,  is  a  day, 
Wherein  the  fortune  of  ten  thousand  »nen 
Must  'bide  the  touch:  For,  sir,  at  Shrewsbury, 
As  1  am  truly  given  to  understand. 
The  king,  with  mighty  and  quick  raised  power, 
Meets  with  lord  Harry:  and  I  fear,  sir  Michael, — 
(What  with  the  sickness  of  Northuniberland, 
Whose  power  was  in  the  first  proportion,) 
And  what  with  Owen  Gleiidovver's  absence,  thence, 
(Who  with  them  was  a  rated  sinew  too, 
And  comes  not  in,  o'er-ruled  by  prophecies,) — • 
I  fear  the  power  of  Percy  is  too  weak 
To  WA^e  an  instant  trial  with  the  king. 

Gent.  Why,  good  my  lord,  you  need  not  fear; 
there's  Douglas, 
And  Mortimer. 

Arch.  No,  Mortimer's  not  there. 

Gent.  But  there  is  MorUake,  Vernon,  lord  Harry 
Percy, 

And  there's  my  lord  of  Worcester,  and  a  head 
Of  gallant  warriors,  noble  gentlemen. 
Arch.  And  so  there  is:  but  yet  the  king  hath 
drawa 

The  special  head  of  all  the  land  together ; — 
The  prince  of  Wales,  lord  John  of  Lancaster, 
Tlie  noble  Westmoreland,  and  warlike  Blunt j 
Ai»d  many  more  cor-rivals,  and  dear  men 
Of  ostimation  and  command  in  arms. 
Gent.  Doubt  not.  my,  lord,  they  shall  be  well 
oppos'd. 

Arch.  I  hope  no  less,  ytt  needful  'tis  to  fear; 
And,  to  prexent  the  worst,  sir  Michael,  speed: 
For,  if  lord  Percy  thrive  not,  ere  the  king 
Dismi.ss  his  power,  he  means  to  visit  us, — 
For  he  hath  heard  of  our  confederacy, — 
And  'tis  but  wisdom  to  make  strong  against  him ; 
Therefore,  make  haste :  I  must  go  write  again 
To  other  friends}  and  so  farewell,  sir  Michael. 

'^Exeunt  severally. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I, — The  King^s  Camp  near  Shrewsbury. 
Enter  Kiny  Henky,  Prince  Henry,  Prince  John 
of  Lancaster,  Sir  Walter  Blunt,  and  Sir  John 
Falstafp. 

K.  Hen.  How  bloodily  the  sun  begins  to  peer 
Ab«ve  yon  husky  hill !  the  day  looks  pale 
At  his  distemperature. 

P.  Hen.  The  southern  wind 

Doth  play  the  trumpet  to  his  purposes ; 
And,  i»y  his  hollow  whistling  in  the  leaves, 
Foretells  a  tempest,  and  a  blustering  day. 

K.  Hen.  Then  with  the  losers  let  it  sympathize; 
1  )r  nttliing  can  seem  foul  to  those  that  win. 

'  Trumpet.'^    Enter  Worcester  and  Vernon. 
II ow  now,  my  lord  of  Worcester?  'tis  not  well, 
That  you  and  I  should  meet  upon  such  terms 
As  now  we  meet:  You  have  deceiv'd  our  trust: 
\.nd  made  us  doff  our  easy  robes  of  peace. 
To  crush  our  old  limbs  in  ungentle  steel: 
This  is  not  well,  my  lord,  this  is  not  well. 
What  Hay  you  to't?  will  you  again  unknit 
TU«  ciiuilish  knot  of  all-abhorred  war? 


And  move  in  Inat  oDedient  orb  agahi. 

Where  you  did  give  a  fair  and  natural  light ; 

And  be  no  more  an  exhal'd  meteor, 

A  prodigy  of  fear,  and  a  portent 

Of  breached  mischief  to  the  unborn  times? 

Wor.  Hear  me,  my  liege : 
For  mice  own  part,  I  could  be  well  content 
To  entertain  the  lag-end  of  my  life 
With  quiet  hours ;  for,  1  do  protest, 
I  have  not  sought  the  day  of  this  dislike. 

K,  Hen,  You  have  not  sought  for  itl  how  eonse* 
it  then? 

Fal.  Rebellion  lay  in  his  way  and  he  found  it. 

P.  Hen.  Peace,  chewet,  peace. 

Wor.  It  pleas'd  your  majesty  to  turn  yoar  locka 
Of  favour,  from  myself,  and  all  our  house; 
And  yet  I  must  remember  you,  my  lord. 
We  were  the  first  and  dearest  of  your  friends 
For  you,  my  staft' of  office  did  I  break  / 
In  Richard's  time ;  and  posted  day  and  night 
To  meet  you  on  the  way,  and  kiss  your  band, 
\yhen  yet  you  were  in  place  and  in  account 
Nothing  so  strong  and  fortunate  as  I. 
It  was  myself,  my  brother,  and  his  son,  ' 
That  brought  you  home,  and  boldly  did  outdare 
The  dangers  of  the  time  :  You  swore  to  us, — 
And  you  did  swear  that  oath  at  Doncaster, — 
That  you  did  nothing  purpose  'gainst  the  state ; 
Nor  claim  no  further  than  your  new-fall'n  right. 
The  seat  of  Gaunt,  dukedom  of  Lancaster: 
To  this  we  swore  our  aid.    But,  in  short  space. 
It  rain'd  down  fortune  showering  on  your  head; 
And  such  a  flood  of  greatness  feH  on  you, — 
What  with  our  help ;  what  with  the  absent  kkf; 
What  with  injuries  of  a  wanton  time  ; 
The  seeming  sufferances,  that  you  had  borne ; 
And  the  contrarious  winds,  that  held  the  king 
So  long  in  his  unlucky  Irish  wars. 
That  all  in  England  did  re{)ute  him  dead. 
And,  from  this  swarm  of  fair  advantages. 
You  took  occasion  to  be  quickly  woo'd 
To  gripe  the  general  sway  into  your  hand  , 
Forgot  your  oath  to  us  at  Doncaster  ;  ' 
And  being  fed  by  us,  you  us'd  us  so 
As  that  ungentle  gall,  the  cuckoo's  bird, 
Useth  the  sparrow :  did  oppress  our  ntat ; 
Grew  by  our  feeding  to  so  great  a  bulk, 
That  even  our  love  durst  not  come  near  your  sight. 
For  fear  of  swallowing  ;  but  with  nimble  win^ 
We  were  enforc'd,  for  safety  sake,  to  fly 
Out  of  your  sight,  and  raise  this  present  head  : 
Whereby  we  stand  opposed  by  such  means 
As  you  yourself  have  forg'd  against  yourself; 
By  unkind  usage,  dangerous  countenance. 
And  violation  of  all  faith  and  troth 
Swoin  to  us  in  your  younger  enterprise. 

K.  Hen.  These  things,  indeed,  you  have  arti- 
culated, 

Proclaim'd  at  market-crosses,  read  in  churches; 

To  face  the  garment  of  rebellion 

With  some  fine  colour,  that  may  please  the  eye 

Of  fickle  changelings,  and  poor  discontents, 

Which  gape  and  rub  the  elbow,  at  the  news 

Of  hurlyburly  innovation: 

And  never  yet  did  insurrection  want 

Such  water-colours,  to  impaint  his  cause; 

Nor  moody  beggars,  star\ing  for  a  time 

Of  pell-mell  havock  and  confusion. 

P.  Hen.  In  both  our  armies,  there  is  many  ».  sodk 
Shall  pay  full  dearly  for  this  encounter. 
If  once  they  join  in  trial.    Tell  your  nephew. 
The  prince  of  Wales  doth  join  with  all  the  wsrlij 
In  praise  of  Henry  Percy:  By  my  hopes, — 
This  present  enterprise  set  off  his  head,— 
I  do  not  think,  a  braver  gentleman, 
More  active- valiant,  or  more  valiant-young 
More  daring,  or  more  bold,  is  now  alive. 
To  grace  this  latter  age  with  noble  deeda. 
For  aiy  |,art,  I  may  speak  it  to  my  sh«me, 
I  have  a  truant  been  to  chivalry ; 


842 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  V. 


And  so,  I  hearj  he  doth  account  me  too  : 
Yet  this  before  my  father's  majesty, — 
1  am  content,  that  he  sLail  take  the  odds 
Of  his  great  name  and  estimation  ; 
And  will,  to  save  the  blood  on  eithe.r  side. 
Try  fortune  with  him  in  a  single  fight, 

K.  Hen.  And  prince  of  Wales,  so  dare  we  ven- 
Albeit,  considerations  infinite  [turn  thee. 

Do  make  against  it: — No,  good  Worcester,  no. 
We  love  our  people  well;  even  those  we  love, 
That  are  misled  upon  your  cousin's  part; 
And,  will  they  take  the  otfer  of  our  grace. 
Both  he,  and  they,  and  you,  yea,  every  man 
Shall  be  my  friend  again,  and  I'll  be  his. 
So  tell  your  cousin,  and  bring  me  word 
What  he  will  do: — But  if  he  will  not  yield, 
Rebuke  and  dread  correction  wait  on  ns, 
And  they  shall  do  their  office.    So,  be  gone; 
We  will  not  now  be  troubled  with  reply : 
We  offer  fair,  take  it  advisedly. 

[Exeunt  Worcester  and  Vernon. 

P.  Hen.  It  will  not  be  accepted,  on  my  life  : 
T\ie  Douglas  and  the  Hotspur  both  together 
Are  confident  against  the  world  in  arms. 

K.  Hen.  Hence,  therefore,  every  leader  to  his 
charge  ; 

For,  on  their  answer,  will  we  set  on  them : 
And  God  befriend  as,  as  our  cause  is  just! 

[Exeunt  King,  Blunt,  and  Prince  John. 

Fal.  Hal,  if  thou  see  me  down  in  the  battle,  and 
bestride  me,  so ;  'tis  a  point  of  friendship. 

p.  Hen.  Nothing  but  a  colossus  can  do  thee  that 
friendship.    Say  thy  prayers,  and  farewell. 

Fal.  1  would  it  were  bed  time,  Hal,  and  all  well. 

P.  Hen.  Why,  thou  owest  God  a  death.  [Exit. 

Fal.  'Tis  not  due  yet;  I  would  be  loath  to  pay 
bim  bef(jre  his  day.  Wliat  need  I  be  so  forward 
with  him  that  calls  not  on  me  ?  Well,  'tis  no  matter; 
Honour  pricks  me  on.  Yea,  but  how  if  honour 
prick  me  off'  when  I  come  on  i  how  then  ?  Can 
honour  set  to  a  leg  ?  No.  Or  an  arm  ?  No.  Or 
juke  away  the  grief  of  a  wound  ?  No.  Honour 
hath  no  skill  in  surgery  tiien  ?  No.  What  is  honour  ? 
A  word.  What  is  in  that  word,  honour?  What 
is  that  honour?  Air.  A  trim  reckoning! — Who 
hath  it  ?  He  that  died  o" Wednesday.  Doth  he  feel 
it?  No.  Doth  he  hear  it  ?  No,  Is  it  insensible 
then  ?  Yea,  to  the  dead.  But  will  it  not  live  with 
the  living?  No.  Why?  Detraction  will  not  suffer 
it: — therefore  I'll  none  of  it:  Honour  is  a  mere 
scutcheon,  and  so  ends  \\\y  catechism.  [Exit. 

Scene  II. — The  Rebel  Camp. 
Enter  Worcester  and  Vernon. 
Wor.   O,  no,  niv  nephew  must  not  know,  sir 
The  liberal  kind  offe-r  of  the  king.  [Richard, 
Ver.  ''l\vere  best,  he  did. 

TV ar.  Then  are  we  all  undone. 

It  is  not  possible,  it  cannot  be, 
Tlie  king  should  keep  his  word  in  loving  us; 
He  will  suspect  ns  still,  and  find  a  time 
To  punish  this  olFeuce  in  other  faults: 
Suspicion  shall  be  all  stuck  full  of  eyes : 
For  treason  is  but  trusted  like  the  fox  ; 
Who,  ne'er  so  taiue,  so  cherish'd,  and  lock'd  up. 
Will  have  a  wild  trick  of  his  ancestors. 
Look  how  we  can,  or  sad,  or  merrily, 
Ititerpretation  will  misquote  our  looks  ; 
And  we  shall  feed  like  oxen  at  a  stall, 
The  better  cherish'd,  still  the  nearer  death. 
My  nephew's  trespass  may  be  well  forgot, 
It  \vaI\\  the  excuse  of  youth,  and  heat  of  blood; 
And  an  adopted  name  of  privilege, — 
A  hare-brain'd  Hotspur,  govern'd  by  a  spleen: 
All  his  off'ences  live  upon  my  head. 
And  on  his  fatiier's  ; — we  did  train  him  on  ; 
And.  his  corruption  being  ta'en  from  us, 
We,  as,  the  spring  of  all,  shall  pay  for  all. 
Therefore,  good  cousin,  let  not  Harry  know 
In  any  case,  the  offer  of  the  king. 


Ver.  Deliver  what  yoa  will,  I'll  say,  'tis  so. 
Here  comes  your  cousin. 

Enttr  Hotspur  atrarf  Douglas  ;  and  Officers  and 
Soldiers,  behind. 
Hot.  My  uncle  is  returad  : — Deliver  up 
My  lord  of  Westmoreland. — Uncle,  wh&t  news? 
PF or.  The  king  will  bid  you  battle  presently. 
Dorug.  Defy  him  by  the  lord  of  Westmoreland. 
Hot.  Lord  Douglas,  go  you  and  tell  \\\r.\  m. 
Doug.  Marry,  and  shall,  and  very  willingly. 

[Exii 

Wor.  There  is  no  seeming  mercy  in  the  king. 

Hot.  Did  you  beg  any  ?  God  forbid  ! 

Pf^or.  I  told  him  gently  of  our  grievances, 
Of  his  oath-breaking  ;  which  he  mended  thus.— 
By  now  forswearing  that  he  is  forsworn  : 
He  calls  us  rebels,  traitors ;  and  will  scourge 
With  haughty  arms  this  hateful  name  in  us. 

Re-enter  Douglas. 
Doug.  Arm,  gentlemen ;  to  arms !  for  I  havt 
thrown 

A  brave  defiance  in  King  Henry's  teeth. 
And  Westmoreland,  that  was  engag'd,  did  bear  it; 
Which  cannot  choose  but  bring  him  quickly  on. 
Wor.  The  Prince  of  Wales  stepp'd  forth  before 
the  king. 

And,  nephew,  challeng'd  you  to  single  fight. 

Hot.  O,  'would  the  (juarrel  lay  upon  our  heads, 
And  that  no  man  might  draw  short  breath  to- 
day. 

But  I,  and  Harry  Monmouth  !  Tell  me,  tell  me. 
How  show'd  his  tasking?  seem'd  it  in  contempt? 

Ver.  No,  by  my  soul ;  I  never  in  ni>  life 
Did  hear  a  challenge  urg'd  more  modestly. 
Unless  a  brother  should  a  brother  dare 
To  gentle  exercise  and  proof  of  arms. 
He  gave  you  all  the  duties  of  a  man  ; 
Trimm'd  up  your  praises  with  a  princely  tongue; 
Spoke  your  dieservings  like  a  chronicle  ; 
Making  you  ever  better  than  his  praise, 
By  still  dispraising  praise,  valued  with  you  : 
And,  which  became  him  like  a  prince  indeed, 
He  made  a  blushing  cital  of  himself ; 
And  chid  his  truant  youth  with  such  a  grace, 
As  if  he  master'd  there  a  double  spirit. 
Of  teaching,  and  of  learning,  instantly. 
There  did  he  pause :  But  let  me  tell'the  world,— 
If  he  outlive  the  envy  of  this  day, 
England  did  never  owe  so  sweet  a  hope, 
So  much  misconstrued  in  his  wantonness. 

Hot.  Cousin,  I  think,  thou  art  enamoured 
Upon  his  follies  ;  never  did  I  hear 
Of  any  prince,  so  wild,  at  liberty  : — 
But,  be  he  as  he  will,  yet  once  ere  night 
I  will  embrace  him  with  a  soldier's  arm. 
That  he  shall  shrink  under  my  courtesy. — 
Arm,  arm,  with  speed :— And,  fellows,  soldiers, 
friends. 

Better  consider  what  you  have  to  do, 
Than  I,  that  have  not  well  the  gift  of  tongue. 
Can  lift  your  SJood  up  with  persuasion. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord,  here  are  letters  for  you. 

Hot.  I  cannot  read  them  now. — 
O  gentlemen,  the  time  of  life  is  short ;  f 
To  spend  that  shortness  basely,  were  too  loDg,  ' 
If  life  did  ride  upon  a  dial's  point, 
Still  ending  at  the  arrival  of  an  hour. 
An  if  we  Hve,  we  live  to  tread  on  kings; 
If  die,  brave  death,  when  princes  die  withns! 
Now  for  our  conscience, — the  arms  are  fair. 
When  the  intent  of  bearing  them  is  just 

Enter  another  Messenger. 
Mess.  My  lord,  prepare;  the  king  comes  (W 
apace. 

Ho/.  T  thank  him  that  he  cuts  me  from  my  tale. 


Scene  4.  , 

For  I  profess  not  talking,  only  this — 
Let  each  man  do  his  best :  and  here  draw  I 
A  sword,  whose  temper  I  intend  to  stain 
With  the  best  blood  that  I  can  meet  withal 
[n  the  adventure  of  this  perihms  day. 
Now, — Es|)erance  ! — Percy!  and  set  on. — 
Sound  all  tlie  lofty  instruments  of  war, 
Au<i  by  that  music  let  us  all  em})race : 
For,  heaven  to  earth,  some  of  us  never  shall 
A  sec<»nd  time  do  such  a  courtesy. 

[^The  trumpets  sound.     They  embrace,  and 
exeunt. 

Scene  III. — Plain  near  Shrewsbury. 
Excursions,  and  parties  fighting.  Alarum  to  the 
bailie.  Then  enter  Douglas  and  Blunt,  meeting. 
Blunt.  What  is  thy  name,  that  in  the  battle  thus 
Thou  Grossest  me  ?    What  honour  dost  thou  seek 
Upon  my  head  ? 

Doug.  Know  then,  my  name  is  Douglas ; 

And  1  do  haunt  thee  in  the  battle  thus, 
Because  some  tell  me,  that  thoii  art  a  king. 
Blunt.  They  tell  thee  true. 
Doug.  The  lord  of  Stafford  dear  to-day  hath 
bought 

Thy  likeness ;  for,  instead  of  thee,  king  Harry, 
This  sword  hath  ended  him:  so  shall  it  thee. 
Unless  thou  yield  thee  as  my  prisoner. 

Blunt.  I  was  not  born  a  yielder,  thou  proud  Scot ; 
And  thou  shaltfind  a  king,  that  will  revenge 
Lord  Stafford's  death. 

{They  fight,  and  Blunt  is  slain.) 

Enter  Hotspur. 
Hot.  O  Douglas,  hadst  thou  fought  at  Holmedon 
I  never  had  trinmph'd  upon  a  Scot.  [thus, 
Doug,  All's  Hone,  all's  won  ;  here  breathless  lies 
Hut.  Where  ?  [the  kir.g. 

Doug.  Here. 

Hot.  This,  Douglas?  no,  I  know  this  face  full  well : 
A  griflant  kiiiglit  lie  was,  his  name  was  Blunt; 
Senjblably  furnish' d  like  the  king  himself 

Doug.   A  fool  go  with  thy  soul,  whither  it  goes  ! 
A  borrow'd  title  hast  thou  bought  too  dear. 
Why  didst  thou  tell  me  that  thou  wert  a  king? 

Hot.  The  king  hath  many  marching  in  his  coats. 

Doug.  Now,  by  my  sword,  I  will  kill  all  his  coats; 
I'll  murder  all  his  wardrobe,  piece  by  pitce. 
Until  I  meet  the  king. 

Hot.  Up,  and  away  ; 

Our  soldiers  stand  full  fairly  lor  the  day.  [Exeunt. 

Other  Alarums.  Enter  Falstafp. 
Fal.  Though  I  could  'scape  shot-free  at  London, 
I  fear  the  shot  here  ;  here's  no  scoring,  but  upon  the 
pate. —  Soft!  who  art  thou?  Sir  VValter  Blunt; — 
there's  honour  for  you  :  Here's  no  vanity  ! — I  am  as 
hot  as  molten  lead,  and  as  heavy  too:  God  keep 
lead  out  of  me  !  I  need  no  more  weight  than  mine 
t>wn  bowels. — I  have  led  my  ragamuffins  where 
they  are  peppered:  there's  but  three  of  my  hundred 
and  fifty  left  alive;  and  they  are  for  the  town's  end, 
to  beg  during  life.    But  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Prince  Henry. 
P.  Hen.  What,  stand'st  thou  idle  here?  lend  me 
thy  sword  : 
Many  a  noi)h  tnnn  lies  stark  and  stiff 
Under  the  hoofs  of  vaunting  enemies, 
Wfiose  deaths  are  unreveng'd :  Pr'ythee,  lend  thy 
sword. 

Fal.  O  Hal,  I  pr'ythee,  give  me  leave  to  breathe 
awhile. — Turk  Gregory  never  did  such  deeds  in 
anus,  as  I  have  done  this  day.  I  have  paid  Percy, 
I  have  made  him  sure. 

P.  Hen.  He  is,  indeed  ,  and  living  to  kill  thee. 
Lend  me  thy  sword,  I  pr'ythee. 

Fal.  Nay,  before  God,  Hal,  if  Percy  he  alive, 
Uw)u  get'sl  not  my  sword  ;  but  take  my  pistol,  if  thou 
wilt 


343 

P.  Hen.  Give  it  me ;  What,  is  it  in  the  case? 

Fal.  Ay,  Hal;  'tis  hot, 'tis  hot ;  there's  that  will 
sack  a  city.  (The  Prince  draws  oul  a  bottle  qf 
sack.) 

P.  Hen.  What,  is't  a  time  to  jest  and  dally  now? 

[Throws  it  at  him,  and  exit 
Fal.  Well,  if  Percy  be  alive,  I'll  pierce  him. 
he  do  come  in  my  way,  so  :  if  he  do  not,  if  I  coma 
in  his,  willingly,  let  him  make  a  carbonado  cf  m«. 
I  like  not  such  grinning  honour  as  sir  Walter  hatht 
Give  me  life  :  which  if  I  can  save,  so ;  if  not, 
honour  comes  unlocked  for,  and  there's  an  end. 

[Exit, 

Scene  iY.— Another  part  of  tht  Field. 

Alarums.    Excursions.    Enter  the  King,  Prince 

Henry,  Prince  John,  and  Westmoreland. 

K.  Hen.  I  pr'ythee, 
Harry,  withdraw  thyself ;  thou  bleed'st  too  much : — ■ 
Lord  John  of  Lancaster,  go  you  with  hini. 

P.  John.  Not  I,  my  lord,  unless  I  did  bleed  too. 

P.  Hen.  1  do  beseech  your  majesty,  make  up. 
Lest  your  retirement  do  amaze  your  friends. 

K.  Hen.  I  will  do  so: — 
My  lord  of  W estmoreland,  lead  him  to  his  tent. 
[Vest.  Come,  my  lord,  1  will  lead  you  to  your 
tent.  [help : 

P.  Hen.  Lead  me,  my  lord  ?  1  do  not  need  your 
And  heaven  forbid,   a  shallow  scratch  should 
drive 

The  prince  of  Wales  from  such  a  field  as  this ; 
Where  stain'd  nobility  lies  trodden  on. 
And  rebels'  arms  triumph  in  massacres! 

P.  John.  We  breathe  too  long : — Come,  cousin 
Westmoreland, 
Our  duty  this  way  lies ;  for  God's  sake,  come. 

[Exeunt  Prince  John  and  Westmoreland- 

P.  Hen.  By  heaven,  thou  hast  deceived  m*> 
Lancaster, 
I  did  not  think  thee  lord  of  such  a  spirit : 
Before,  I  lov'd  thee  as  a  brother,  John; 
But  now,  I  do  respect  thee  as  my  soul. 

K.  Hen.  I  saw  him  hold  lord  Percy  at  the  point, 
With  lustier  maintenance  than  I  did  look  for 
Of  such  an  ungrown  warrior. 

P.  Hen.  O,  this  boy 

Lends  mettle  to  us  all  [Exit. 

Alarums.   Enter  Douglas. 
Doug.  Another  King !  they  grow  like  Hydra's 
1  am  the  Douglas,  fatal  to  all  those  [heads  : 

That  wear  those  colours  on  them. — What  art  thoa. 
That  counterfeit'st  the  person  of  a  king  ? 

K.  Hen.  The  king  himself:  who,  Douglas,  grieves 
at  heart. 

So  many  of  his  shadows  thou  hast  met. 
And  not  the  very  king.    1  have  two  boys. 
Seek  Percy  and  thyself,  about  the  field  : 
But,  seeing  thou  fall'st  on  me  so  luckily, 
1  will  assay  thee :  so  defend  thyself 

Doug.  I  fear,  thou  art  another  counterfeit; 
And  yet  ,  in  faith,  thou  bear'st  thee  like  a  king: 
But  mine,  I  am  sure,  thou  art,  whoe'er  thou  be. 
And  thus  1  win  thee. 

(They  fight ;  the  King  being  in  danger,  entet 
Prince  Henry.) 

P.  Hen.  Hold  up  thy  head,  vile  Scot,  or  thou  art 
Never  to  hold  it  up  again  !  the  spirits  [like 
Of  Shirley,  Stafford,  Blunt,  are  in  my  arms  : 
It  is  the  prince  of  Wales,  that  threatens  thee  ; 
Who  never  promiseth,  but  he  means  to  pay. — 

(They fight;  Douyias flie».) 
Cheerly,  my  lord  ;  How  fares  your  grace  ?  — 
Sir  Nicholas  Gawsay  hath  for  succour  sent. 
And  so  hath  Clifton:  1  11  to  Clifton  straight. 

K.  Hen.  Stay,  and  breathe  a  while:  — 
Thou  hast  redeem'd  thy  lost  opinion  ; 
And  show  djthou  mak'st  some  tender  of  my  li/e. 
In  tliis  fair  rescue  thou  hast  brought  to  me. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


p.  Hen.  O  heaven!  they  did  me  too  much  injury, 
That  ever  said,  I  hearken'd  for  your  death 
If  it  were  so,  I  might  have  let  alone 
The  insulting  hand  of  Douglas  over  you  ; 
Which  would  have  been  as  speedy  in  your  end, 
As  all  the  poisonous  potions  in  the  world. 
And  sav'd  the  treacherous  labour  of  your  son. 

A.  Hen.  Make  up  to  Clifton,  I'll  to  Sir  Nicholas 
Gawsey.  [Exit  King  Henri/. 

Enter  Hotspur. 
Hot.  If  I  mistake  not,  thou  art  Harry  Monmouth. 
P.  Hen.  Thou  speak'st  as  if  I  would  deny  my 
name. 

Hot.  My  name  is  Harry  Percy. 

P.  Hen.  Why,  then  I  see 

A  very  valiant  rebel  of  the  name. 
I  am  the  prince  of  Wales  ;  and  think  not,  Percy, 
To  share  with  me  in  glorj'  any  more  : 
Two  stars  keep  not  their  motion  in  one  sphere  ; 
Nor  can  one  England  brook  a  double  reign, 
Of  Harry  Percy,  and  the  prince  of  Wales. 

Hot.  Nor  shall  it,  Harry,  for  the  hour  is  come 
To  end  the  one  of  us  ;  And  would  to  God, 
Thy  name  in  arms  were  now  as  great  as  mine  ! 

P  Hen.  I'll  make  it  greater,  ere  I  part  from 
thee ; 

And  all  the  budding  honours  on  thy  crest 
I'll  crop,  to  make  a  garland  lor  my  head. 
Hot.  I  can  no  longer  brook  thy  vanities. 

{They  fight.) 

Enter  Fa.».staff. 

Fal.  Well  said,  Hal!  to  it  Hal !— Nay,  you 
^all  find  no  boy's  play  here,  I  can  tell  you. 

Enter  Douglas  ;  he  fights  tvitl.  Fch  tafif,  ivho  falls 
down  as  if  he  were  dead,  and  exit  Douglas. 
Hotspur  is  wounded,  and  falls. 
Hot.  O  Harry,  thou  hast  robb'd  me  of  my  youth  : 

I  better  brook  the  loss  of  brittle  life, 

ThaQ  those  proud  titles  thou  hast  won  of  me ; 

They  wound  mv  thoughts,  worse  than  thy  sword 
my  Hesh : — 

But  thoughts  the  slave  of  life,  and  life  time's  fool ; 
And  time  that  takes  survey  of  all  the  world. 
Must  have  a  stop.    O,  I  could  prophesy, 
But  that  the  earthy  and  cold  hand  of  death 
Lies  on  my  tongue  : — No,  Percy,  thou  art  dust. 
And  food  i'or —  {Hies.) 

P.  Hen.  For  worms,  brave  Percy :  Fare  thee  wel^; 
great  heart! — 
lll-weav'd  ambition,  how  much  art  thou  shrunk  ! 
When  that  tiiis  body  did  contain  a  spirit, 
A  kingdom  for  it  was  too  small  a  bound  ; 
But  now,  two  paces  of  the  vilest  earth 
Is  room  enough  : — This  earth,  that  bears  thee  dead, 
Bears  not  alive  so  stout  a  gentleman. 
If  thou  wert  sensible  of  courtesy, 
I  should  not  make  so  dear  a  show  of  zeal:— 
But  let  my  favours  hide  thy  mangled  face  ! 
And,  even  in  thy  behalf,  I'll  thank  myself 
For  doing  these  fair  rites  of  tenderness. 
Adieu,  and  take  thy  praise  with  thee  to  heaven! 
Thy  ignomiry  sleep  with  thee  in  the  grave, 
But  not  remember'd  in  thy  epitaph  ! — 

[He  sees  Falstaff  on  the  ground.) 
What !  old  acquamtance  !  could  not  all  this  flesh 
Keep  in  a  little  life  V  Poor  Jack,  farewell ! 
1  could  have  better  spar'd  a  better  man. 
O,  1  should  have  a  heavy  niiss  of  thee, 
If  I  weift  much  in  love  with  vanity. 
Death  hath  not  struck  so  fat  a  deer  to-day, 
Tfhough  many  dearer,  in  this  bloody  fray  : — 
Embowell'd  will  1  see  thee  by  and  by: 
Till  then,  in  blood  by  noble  Percy  lie.  [Exit. 

Fal.  (Rising  slowly.)  Embowell'd  !  if  thou  em- 
bowel me  to-day,  I'll  give  you  leave  to  powder  me, 
Ued  eat  me  too,  tomorrow.  'Sblood,  'twas  tiii»e 
to  coBBfterleit,  oi  that  hot  termagant  Scot  had  paid 


Act  V 

me  scot  anJ  lot  t"o.  Counterfeit?  1  He,  1  'am  no 
counterfeit :  To  die,  is  io  be  a  counterfe.'.t ;  for  he  is 
but  the  counterfeit  of  a  man,  who  hath  not  the  life 
of  a  man :  but  to  counterfeit  dying,  when  a  man 
thereby  liveth,  is  to  be  no  counterfeit,  but  the  true 
and  perfect  image  of  life  indeed.  The  better  part  p 
of  valour  is — discretion  :  in  the  which  better  part,  \ 
1  have  saved  my  life.  Zounds,  I  am  afraid  of  the  '  \ 
gunpowder  Percy,  though  he  be^dead  :  How,  if  lie 
should  counterfeit  too,  and  rise  V  I  am  afraid,  he 
would  prove  the  better  counterfeit.  Therefore  I'll 
make  him  sure :  yea,  and  I'll  swear  I  killed  him. 
Why  may  not  he  rise,  as  well  as  I  ?  Nothing  con- 
futes me  but  eyes,  and  nobody  sees  me.  Tiierefore, 
sirrah,  {Stabbing  him,)  with  a  new  wound  in  your 
thigh,  come  you  along  with  me. 

{Takes  Hotspur  on  his  back,) 

Re-enter  Prince  Henry  and  Prince  John. 

P.  Hen.  Come,  brother  John,  full  bravely  hail 
thou  flesh'd 
Thy  maiden  sword. 

P.  John.  But,  soft!  whom  have  we  here  ? 

Did  you  not  tell  me,  this  fat  man  was  Jead  ? 

P.  Hen.  I  did ;  I  saw  him  dead,  breathless  and 
Upon  the  ground. —  [bleeding, 
Art  thou  alive  ?  or  is  it  phantasy 
That  plays  upon  our  eyesight  ?  I  pr'ythee,  speak; 
We  will  not  trust  our  eyes,  without  our  ears  : — 
Thou  art  not  what  thou  seem'st. 

Fal.  No,  that's  certain  ;  I  am  not  a  double  man: 
but  if  I  be  not  Jack  Falstaff,  then  am  I  a  Jack. 
There  is  Percy,  {Throwing  the  body  down,)  if  youi 
father  will  do  me  any  honour,  so ;  il  not,  let  him 
kill  the  next  Percy  himselil  i  look  to  be  eithei  eaij 
or  duke,  I  can  assure  you. 

P.  Hen.  Why,  Percy  I  killed  myself,  and  saw 
tijee  dead. 

Fal.  Didst  thou? — Lord!  Lord:  how  this  world 
is  given  to  lying !— I  grant  you,  I  was  down,  aiid 
out  of  breath;  and  so  was  iie  :  but  we  rose  both  a 
an  instant,  and  fought  a  long  hour  by  Shrewsbrr| 
clock,    if  1  may  be  believed,  so;  let  them,  Uia< 
should  reward  valour,  bear  the  sin  upon  their  owi 
heads.    I'll  take  it  upon  my  death,  I  gave  him  thi* 
wound  in  the  thigh :  if  the  man  were  ali\e,  aid 
would  deny  it,  1  would  make  him  eat  a  piece  of  my 
sword.  [heard. 
P.  John.  This  is  the  strangest  tale  that  e'er  ] 
P.  Hen.  Tiiis  is  the  strangest  fellow,  brothei 
John.— 

Come,  bring  your  luggage  nobly  on  your  back: 
For  my  part,  if  a  lie  may  do  thee  grace, 
ri{  gild  It  with  the  happiest  terms  I  have. 

(.4  retreat  is  sounded. \ 
The  trumpet  sounds  retreat,  the  day  is  ours. 
Come,  brother,  let's  to  the  higliest  ol  tlie  field, 
To  see  what  friends  are  living,  who  are  dead. 

[Exeunt  Prince  Henry  and  Prince  John, 
Fal.  i  ll  fciiuw,  as  they  say,  tor  reward.  He  that 
rewards  me,  God  reward  him  !    If  i  do  grow  great 
I'll  grow  less ;  for  I  11  purge,  and  leave  sack,  ana 
live  cleanly,  as  a  nobleman  should  do. 

[Exit,  bearing  off  the  body- 

Scene  Y.— Another  Part  of  the  Field. 

The  trumpets  sound.  Enter  King  Henky,  Prwic 
Henhy,  Prince   John,  Westmoreland,  aM 
others,       Wokcester  and  Vernon  , />r^A7;7/^'ry 

K.  Hen.  Thus  ever  did  rebellion  find  refmke^  - 
III-8|jirited  Worcester  I  did  we  not  send  gnjce, 
Pardon,  and  terms  of  love  to  all  of  you  ? 
And  would'st  thou  turn  our  ofi'ers  contrarj'f 
Misuse  the  tenor  of  thy  kinsman's  trust? 
Three  knights  upon  our  party  slain  to-day, 
A  noble  earl,  and  many  a  creature  else, 
Had  been  alive  this  hour, 
if,  like  a  cliristian,  thou  hadst  truly  borne 
Betwixt  our  armies  true  intelligence. 


FIRST  PART  OP 


Scene  5. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


845 


Wor.  What  I  have  done,  my  safety  urgd  me  to; 
And  I  embrace  this  fortune  patiently, 
Since  not  to  be  avoided  it  falls  c.i  me.  [too : 

K.  Hen.  Bear  Worcester  to  the  death,  and  Vernon 
Other  otFenders  we  will  pause  upon. — 

[Exeunt  Worcester  aad  Vernon,  guarded- 

How  p:oes  th(  field  ?  I^saw 
P.  Hen.  The  noble  Scot,  lord  Douglas,  whca  he 

The  fortune  of  tlie  day  quite  turned  from  him, 

The  noble  Percy  slain,  and  all  his  men 

Upon  the  foot  of  fear, — fled  with  the  rest; 
nd,  falling  from  a  hill,  he  was  so  bruis'd, 

Thci'  the  pursuers  took  him.    At  my  tent 

The  {>oiigia>  is;  and  I  beseech  your  grace, 

1  may  dispose  of  Jiiiu. 

K.  Htn.  With  all  my  heart 

J*.  Heti.  Theri.  brother  John  of  Lancaster,  to  you 


Phis  honoararble  bounty  shall  belong: 
Go  to  the  Douglas,  and  deliver  him 
Up  to  his  pleasure,  ransomeles3,  and  free  : 
Bis  valour,  shown  upon  our  crests  to-day, 
Hath  taught  us  how  to  cherish  such  high  deeds. 
Even  in  the  bosom  of  our  adversaries,  [power.— 
K.  Hen.  Then  this  remains, — that  we  divide  our 
You,  son  John,  and  my  cousin  Westmoreland, 
Towards  York  shall  bend  you,  with  your  deareat 
speed. 

To  meet  Northumberland,  and  the  prelnte  Scroop, 

Who,  as  we  hear,  are  busily  in  arms  : 

Myself, — and  you,  son  Harry, — will  towards  Wales, 

To  fight  with  Glendower,  and  Uie  earl  of  March. 

Rebellion  in  this  land  shall  lose  his  sway, 

Meeting  the  check  of  such  anotiier  day  ; 

And  since  this  business  so  fair  is  done. 

Let  us  not  leave  till  ail  our  own  be  woo.  [JSxsmslit 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


PART  XI. 


tNO  HENHY  THE  FOURTH. 
ENKY,  I'rmce  of  Wales,  afterwards  King 
il<^,ify  v.,  \ 
TH(^MAS,  DvU  of  Clarence,  ,  '  r-  r. 

PW.IJSCE  JOHN  of  LaticaUer,  afterwards  s  his  Sons 

(2  Hniry  V.)  Duke  of  Bedford,  I 
PIUINCE  mimVHREYofGlostcr,  afterwards  \ 
(•>  Hcnrv  V )  Duke  of  Gloster,  / 
EARL  OF  WARWICK,  / 

EAU:,  OF  WESTMORELAND,  >  of  the  Kmg^s  Party. 
GOWER-HARCOURT,  ) 
LOUD  CtflEF  JUSTICE  of  the  King's  Bench. 
A  Cientleman  attendiug  on  the  Chief  Justice. 
EARL  OF  NORTHUMBERLAND,  x 
SCROOP,  A'-chhishop  of  York,         |   „  . 
LORD  MOWBRAY,  f  Einenites  to  the 

LORD  HASTINGS,  (  King. 

LORD  BAHDOLI  H,  I 
SIR  JOHN  COLEVILLE.  1 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 

TRAVERS  and  MORTON,  Domettict  ^fNorlhumher- 

land.  _ 
FAI.STAFF,  BARDOLPH,  PISTOL,  and  Page. 
POINS  and  PETO,  Attendants  on  Prince  Henry. 
SHALLOW  and  SILENCE,  Country  Justices. 
DAV\,  Servant  to  Shallow. 

MOLLDY.  SHADOW,  WART,  FEEBLE,  and  BULIf> 

CALF,  Recruits. 
FANG  arid  SNARE,  Sheriff's  Off.cer». 
Rumour. 
A  rtr't-r. 

A  Dancer,  Speaker  of  tnc  £piiogue. 
LADY  NORTHUMBERLAND. 
LADY  PERCY. 
Hostess  QUICKLY. 
DOLL  TEAR  SHEET, 

Lords  and  other  Attendants ;  Officers,  Soldiers,  Mftm' 
ger.  Drawers,  Beadles,  Grooms,  etc. 


Scene, — England. 


Warhworth. 


INDUCTION. 

Before  Northumberland's  Castle. 


Enter  Rumour,  painted  full  of  tongues. 
Bum.  Open  vour  ears;  For  whichof yoii  will  stop 
The  vent  of  hearing,  when  loud  Rumour  speaks? 
I,  from  the  orient  to  the  drooping  west, 
Making  the  wind  my  post  horse,  still  unfold 
The  acts  commenced  on  this  ball  of  earth : 
Upon  niy  tongues  continual  slanders  ride  ; 
The  wliich  in  every  language  I  pronounce, 
Stuffing  the  ears  of  men  with  false  reports. 
I  speak  of  peace,  while  covert  enmity. 
Under  the  sn>iie  of  safety,  wounds  the  world: 
And  who  bnl  Riunour,  who  but  only  I, 
Make  fearful  musters,  and  prepar'd  defence  ; 
Whilst  the  big  year,  swol'n  with  some  other  grief. 
Is  thou£?ht  with  child  by  the  stern  tyrant  war, 
And  no  such  matter ;  Rumour  is  a  pipe 
Blov/n  by  surmises,  jealousies,  conjectures; 
And  of  so  easy  and  so  plain  a  stop, 
That  the  blunt  monster  with  uncounted  heads. 
The  still-discordant  wavering  multitude, 
Can  play  upon  it.    But  what  need  I  thus 
My  well-known  body  to  anatomize 
Among  my  household  ?  Why  is  Rumour  here  ? 
I  run  before  king  Harry's  victory ; 
Who,  in  a  bloody  field  by  Shrewsbury, 
Hath  beaten  down  young  Hotspur,  and  his  troops, 
Quenching  the  flnme  of  bold  rebellion 
Even  with  the  rebels'  blood.    Bat  what  mean  1  . 
To  speak  so  true  at  first?  my  office  is 
To  noise  abroad,— that  Harry  Monmouth  fell 
Under  the  wrath  of  noble  Hotspurs  sword  ; 
And  that  the  king  before  the  Douglas'  rage 
Stoop'd  his  anointed  head  as  low  as  death. 
This  have  I  rumour'd  through  the  peasant  towns 
Between  that  royal  field  of  Shrewsbury 
And  this  worm-eaten  hold  of  ragged  stone, 
Where  Hotspur's  father,  old  Northumberland, 
Lies  crafty-sick  :  the  posts  come  tiring  on. 
And  not  a  man  of  them  brings  other  news 
Thaa  they  have  learn'd  of  me :  From  Rumour's 
tongues 

Tbej  bring  smooth  comforts  false,  worse  than  tnie 
wrings.  [Exit. 
ACT  I. 
Scene  I. — The  same. 
The  Porter  before  the  Gate.  Enter  xiord 
Bardolph. 

Bard.  Who  keeps  the  gate  here,  ho?-  Where 
is  the  earl  ? 


Port.  What  shall  1  say  you  are  ? 
Bard.  Tell  thou  the  earl. 

That  the  lord  Bardolph  doth  attend  him  here. 
Port.  His  lordship  is  walk'd  foiih  into  the  or- 
chard ; 

Please  it  your  honour,  knock  but  at  the  gate. 
And  he  himself  will  answer. 

Enter  Northumberland. 
Bard.  Here  comes  tlie  earl.  ^ 

North.  What  news,  lord  Bardolph?  every  mi- 
nute now 

Should  be  the  father  of  some  stratagem : 
The  times  are  wild  ;  contention,  like  a  horse 
Full  of  high  feeding,  madly  hath  bn)ke  loose. 
And  bears  down  all  before  him. 

Bard.  Noble  earl, 

I  bring  you  certain  news  from  Shrewsbury. 

North.  Good,  an  heaven  will ! 

Bard.  As  good  as  heart  can  wish 

The  king  is  almost  wounded  to  the  death; 
And,  in  the  fortune  of  my  lord  your  son, 
Prince  Harry  slain  outright;  and  both  the  Blunts 
Kill'd  by  the  hand  of  Douglas  :  young  prince  John., 
And  Westmoreland,  and  Stafford,  fled  the  field ; 
And  Harry  Monmouth's  brawn,  the  hulk  sir  John, 
Is  prisoner  to  your  son:  O,  such  a  day, 
So  fought,  so  follow'd,  and  so  fairly  won. 
Came  not,  till  now,  to  dignify  the  times. 
Since  Caesar's  fortunes ! 

North.  How  is  this  deriv'd  ? 

Saw  you  the  field  ?  came  you  from  Slirewsbury  ? 

Bard.  I  spake  with  one,  my  lord,  that  came  from 
thence, 

A  gentleman  well  bred,  and  of  go(Kl  name. 
That  freely  render'd  me  these  news  for  true. 

North.  Here  comes  my  servant,  Travers,  whom 
On  Tuesday  last  to  listen  after  news.  [I  sent 

Bard.  My  lord,  I  over  rode  him  on  the  way; 
And  he  is  furnish'd  with  no  certainties. 
More  than  he  haply  may  retail  from  me. 

Enter  Travers. 
North.  Now,  Travers,  what  good  tidings  comt 
with  vou  ? 

Tra.  My  lord,  sir  John  Umfrevile  turn'd  me  back 
With  joyftd  tidings ;  and,  being  better  liors'd, 
Out-rode  me.    After  him,  came,  spmrnng  hard, 
A  gentlenfan  almost  forespent  with  speed. 
That  stop>>'d  by  me  to  breathe  his  bloodied  horse 
He  ask'd  the  way  to  Chester;  and  of  him 
I  did  demand,  what  news  from  Shrewsbury. 
He  told  me,  that  rebellion  had  bad  luck. 


Scene  1. 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  TV. 


847 


And  that  young  Harry  Percy's  spur  was  cola  : 
With  that,  he  gave  his  able  horse  the  head, 
And,  bending  forward,  struck  his  armed  heels 
Against  the  panting  siaes  of  his  poor  jade 
Up  to  the  rowel-head;  and,  starting  so, 
He  seeiu'd  in  rr.nning  to  devour  the  way, 
Staving  no  longer  question. 

A>rM.  Ha !— Again. 

Said  he,  young  Harry  Percy's  spur  was  cold? 
Of  HotspiAr,  coldspur?  that  rebellion 
Had  met  ill  luck! 

Bard.  My  lord,  I'll  tell  you  what 

If  my  young  lord  your  son  have  not  the  day. 
Upon  mine  honour,  for  a  silken  point 
I'll  give  my  barony:  never  talk  of  it. 

Nori/t.  Why  should  the  gentleman,  that  rode  by 
Give  then  such  instances  of  loss  ?  [Travers, 

Bard.  Who,  he  ? 

He  was  some  hilding  fellow,  that  had  stol'n 
The  horse  lie  rode  on  :  and,  upon  my  life. 
Spoke  at  a  venture.    Look,  here  comes  more  news. 

Enter  Morton. 

NortL  Yea,  this  man's  brow,  like  to  a  title-leaf. 
Foretells  the  nature  of  a  tragic  volume  : 
So  looks  the  strond,  whereon  the  imperious  flood 
Hath  left  a  witness'd  usurpation. — 
Say,  Morton,  didst  thou  come  from  Shrewsbury? 

iU  jr  I  ran  from  Shrewsbury,  my  noble  lord? 
Where  hateful  death  put  on  his  ugliest  mask. 
To  fright  our  party. 

North.  How  doth  my  son,  and  brother? 

Thou  tremblest;  and  the  whiteness  in  thy  cheek 
Is  apter  than  thy  tongue  to  tell  thy  errand. 
Even  sush  a  man,  so  faint,  so  spiritless. 
So  dull,  fio  dead  in  look,  so  woe-begone, 
Drew  Priaia's  curtain  in  the  dead  of  night, 
A  ud  would  have  told  him,  half  his  Troy  was  burn'd  : 
D  it  Priam  found  the  fire,  ere  he  his  tongue. 
And  i  my  Percy's  death,  ere  thou  report'st  it. 
This  thou  would'st  say, — Your  son  did  thus,  and 
thus ; 

Your  brother,  thus;  so  fought  the  noble  Douglas; 
Stopping  my  greedy  ear  with  their  bold  deeds  : 
But  in  the  end,  to  stop  mine  ear  indeed. 
Thou  hast  a  sigli  to  blow  away  this  praise. 
Ending  with — brother,  son,  and  all  are  dead. 
.    Mor.  Douglas  is  living,  and  your  brother,  yet: 
But.  ibr  my  lord  your  son, — 

North.  Why,  he  is  dead. 

See,  what  a  ready  tongue  suspicion  hath  ! 
He,  that  but  fears  the  thing  he  would  not  know. 
Hath,  by  instinct,  knowledge  from  others'  eyes. 
That  what  he  fear'd  is  chanced.  Yet  speak,  Morton; 
Tell  thou  thy  earl,  his  divination  lies  ; 
And  I  will  take  it  as  a  sweet  disgrace, 
And  make  thee  rich  for  doing  me  such  wrong. 

Mor.  Vou  are  too  great  to  be  by  me  gainsaid  : 
Vour  spirit  is  too  true,  your  fears  too  certain. 

North.  Yet,  for  all  this,  say  not,  that  Percy's 
I  see  a  strange  confession  in  thine  eye  :  [dead. 
Tbou  shak'st  thy  head;  and  hold'stit  fear,  or  sin. 
To  speak  a  truth.    If  he  be  slain,  say  .so; 
The  tongue  ofifends  not,  that  reports  his  death  : 
And  he  doth  sin,  that  doth  belie  the  dead  ; 
Not  hv"^,  which  says  the  dead  is  not  alive. 
Ye4  the  fi.  st  bringer  of  unwelcouie  news 
Hath  hut  a  losing  office  ;  and  his  tongue 
Sounds  ever  after  as  a  sullen  bell, 
Reuieuiber'd  knolliug  a  departing  friend. 

Bard.  I  cannot  tfnnk,  my  lord,  your  son  is  dead. 

Mor.  I  am  sorry,  I  sliould  force  you  to  believe 
That,  M'hich  1  would  to  heaven  I  had  not  seen: 
But  these  mine  eyes  saw  him  in  bloody  state, 
Rend'  ring  f  tint  q  iittance,  wearied  and  out-breath'd. 
To  Harry  Mouuioutli ;  whose  swift  wrath  beat  down 
The  never  dauut.-d  Percy  to  the  earth. 
Prom  whence  witii  life  lie  never  mi)re  spmng  up. 
In  few,  his  death  (whose  spirit  leut  a  fire 
Bven  to  the  dullest  peasant  in  his  camp,) 


Being  bruited  once,  took  fire  and  heat  away 
From  the  best  temper'd  courage  in  his  troops: 
For  from  his  metal  was  his  party  steel'd  ; 
Which  once  in  him  abated,  all  the  rest 
Turn'd  on  themselves,  like  dull  and  heavy  ^ead. 
And  as  the  thing,  that's  heavy  in  itself. 
Upon  enforcement,  flies  with  greatest  .speed ; 
So  did  our  men,  heavy  in  Hotspur's  loss. 
Lend  to  this  w  eight  sueh  lightness  with  their  fea^, 
That  arrows  fled  not  swifter  toward  their  aim. 
Than  did  our  soldiers,  aiming  at  their  safety. 
Fly  from  the  field  :  Then  was  that  noble  WorccsteJ 
Too  soon  ta'en  prisoner:  and  that  furious  Scot, 
The  bloody  Douglas,  whose  well-labouring  sword 
Had  three  times  slain  the  appearance  of  the  king, 
'Gan  vail  his  stomach,  and  did  grace  the  shame 
Of  those  that  turn'd  their  backs;  and,  in  Lis  flight. 
Stumbling  in  fear,  was  took.    The  sum  of  all 
Is, — that  the  king  hath  won  ;  and  hath  sent  out 
A  speedy  power,  to  encounter  you,  my  lord. 
Under  the  conduct  of  young  Lancaster, 
And  Westmoreland  :  this  is  the  news  at  full. 

North.  For  this  I  shall  have  time  enough  to 
mourn. 

In  poison  there  is  physic ;  and  these  news. 
Having  been  well,  that  would  have  made  me  sick. 
Being  sick,  have  in  some  measure  made  me  well: 
And  as  the  wretch,  whose  fever-weaken'd  joints, 
Like  strengthless  hinges,  buckle  under  life. 
Impatient  of  his  fit,  breaks  like  a  fire 
Out  of  his  keeper's  arms  ;  even  so  my  limbs, 
Weaken'd  with  grief,  being  now  enrag'd  with  grief. 
Are  thrice  themselves:  hence,  therefore,  thou  oice 
crutch ; 

A  scaly  gauntlet  now,  with  joints  of  steel. 

Must  glove  this  hand:  and  henee,  thou  sickly  quoif| 

Thou  art  a  guard  too  wanton  for  the  head, 

Which  princes,  flesh'd  with  conquest,  aim  to  hit. 

Now  bind  my  brows  with  iron  ;  and  approac! 

The  ragged'st  hour  that  time  and  spite  dare  bring. 

To  frown  upon  the  enrag'd  Northumbeiland  ! 

Let  heav'n  kiss  earth  !    Now  let  not  nature's  hand 

Keep  the  wild  flood  confin'd  !  let  order  die ! 

And  let  this  world  no  longer  be  a  stage. 

To  feed  contention  in  a  lingering  act; 

But  let  one  spirit  of  the  first-born  Cain 

Reign  in  all  bosoms,  that,  each  heart  being  set 

On  bloody  courses,  the  rude  scene  may  end, 

And  darkness  be  the  burier  of  the  dead  ! 

Tra.  This  strained  passion  doth  you  wrong,  ray 
lord,  [hononr. 
Bard.  Sweet  earl,  divorce  not  wisdom  from  your 
Mar.  The  lives  of  all  your  loving  complices 
Lean  on  your  health ;  the  which,  il  you  give  o'er 
To  stormy  passion,  must  perforce  decay. 
You  cast  the  event  of  war,  my  noble  lord, 
And  snmm'd  the  account  of  chance,  before  yea 
said, — 

Let  us  make  head.    It  was  your  presurmi.se. 
That  in  the  dole  of  blows  your  son  might  drop: 
You  knew,  he  walk'd  o'er  perils,  on  an  edge, 
Moie  likely  to  fall  in,  than  to  get  o'er: 
You  were  advis'd,  his  flesh  was  capable 
Of  wounds  and  scars;  and  that  his  forward  spirit 
Would  lilt  him  where  most  trade  of  danger  rang'd  ; 
Yet  did  you  say, — Go  forth  ;  and  none  of  this, 
Though  strongly  apprehended,  could  restrain 
The  stifl-borne  action  :  What  hath  then  befdlen 
Or  what  hath  this  bold  enterprize  brought  foith. 
More  than  that  being,  which  was  like  to  be  ? 

Bard.  We  all,  that  are  engaged  to  this  losa, 
Knew,  that  we  ventur'd  on  such  dangerous  sea 
That,  if  we  wrought  out  li'fe,  'twas  ten  to  one ; 
And  yet  we  ventur'd,  for  the  gain  projxjs'd 
Chok'd  the  respect  of  likely  peril  fear'd; 
And,  since  we  are  o'erset,  venture  again. 
Come,  W3  will  all  put  forth  ;  body,  and  gootta. 

Mor.  'Tis  more  than  time  :  And,  my  most  pdki« 
lord, 

I  hear  foi  certain,  and  do  sueak  the  tr  ith,-~ 


S4:«  SECOND 

The  gentle  archbishop  of  York  is  up. 
With  well  a[»{)ointed  powers  ;  he  is  a  man. 
Who  with  a  double  surety  binds  his  followers. 
My  lord  your     i  had  only  but  the  corps, 
Dut  siiadows,  and  the  shows  of  men  to  fight; 
For  that  same  word,  rebellion,  did  dixide 
The  action  of  tlieir  bodies  from  tlieir  souls  ; 
And  they  did  fight  with  queasiness,  constrain'd, 
As  men  drink  potions;  that  their  weapons  only 
Seem'd  on  our  side,  but,  for  their  spirits  and  souls, 
This  word,  rebellion,  it  had  froze  them  up, 
As  fish  are  in  a  pond  :  But  now  the  bishop 
Turns  insurrection  to  religion  : 
Suppos'd  sincere  and  holy  in  his  thoughts, 
He's  i()llovv"d  both  with  budy  and  with  mind; 
And  doth  enlarge  his  rising  witli  the  blood 
Of  fair  king  IlicTiard,  scrap'd  from  Pomfret  stones  : 
Derives  from  heaven  his  quarrel,  and  his  cause  ; 
Tells  them,  he  dotii  bestride  a  bleeding  land, 
Gas[)ing  for  lile  under  great  Bolingbroke ; 
And  more,  and  ess,  do  flock  to  follow  him. 

North.  I  knew  of  this  before  ;  but,  to  speak  truth. 
This  present  grief  had  wip'd  it  from  my  mind. 
Go  in  witli  me  ;  and  counsel  every  man 
The  aptest  way  lor  safety,  and  revenge  : 
Get  posts,  and  letters,  and  niake  friends  M'ith  speed  ; 
Never  so  few,  and  never  yet  more  need.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — London.    A  Street. 

Enter  Sir  John  Falstaff,  ivith  his  Page,  bearing 
his  sword  and  buckler. 
Fal.  Sirrah,  you  giant,  what  says  the  doctor  to  my 
water  ? 

Page.  He  said,  sir,  the  water  itself  was  a  good 
healthy  water:  but,  for  the  party  that  owed  it,  he 
might  have  more  diseases  than  he  knew  for. 

Fal.  Men  of  all  sorts  take  a  pride  to  gird  at  me  : 
Tht!  brain  of  this  foolish -compounded  clay,  man,  is 
not  able  to  vent  any  thing,  that  tends  to  laughter, 
more  than  I  invent,  or  is  invented  on  me  :  I  am  not 
only  witty  in  mystdf,  but  the  cause  that  wit  is  in 
other  men.  1  do  here  walk  before  thee,  like  a  sow, 
that  hatli  overwhelmed  all  her  litter  but  one.  If  the 
prince  put  thee  into  my  service  for  any  other  reason 
than  to  set  me  off',  why  then  I  have  no  judgment. 
Thou  whoreson  mandrake,  thou  art  fitter  to  be  worn 
in  my  cap,  tiian  to  wait  at  my  heels.  I  was  never 
manned  with  an  agate  till  now:  but  I  will  set  you 
neither  in  gold  nor  silver,  but  in  vile  apparel,  and 
send  you  back  again  to  your  master,  for  a  jewel; 
the  juvenal,the  prince  your  master,  whose  chin  is 
not  yet  fledged.  I  will  sooner  have  a  beard  grow  in 
the  palm  of  my  hand,  than  he  shall  get  one  on  his 
cheek  ;  and  yet  he  will  not  stick  to  say,  his  face  is  a 
face-royal :  God  may  finish  it  when  he  will,  it  is  not 
a  hair  amiss  yet:  he  may  keep  it  still  as  a  face 
royal,  for  a  barber  shall  ne\er  earn  sixpence  out  of 
it;  aud  yet  he  will  be  crowing,  as  if  he  had  writ 
Hiaa  ever  since  his  father  was  a  bachelor.  He  may 
keep  his  own  grace,  but  he  is  almost  out  of  mine, 
}  can  assure  him. — What  said  master  Dumbletoa 
about  the  satin  for  my  short  cloak,  and  slops  ? 

Page.  He  said,  sir,  you  should  procure  him  better 
assurance  than  Bardolph  :  he  would  not  take  his 
bond  and  yours;  he  liked  not  the  security. 

Fal.  Let  him  be  damned  like  the  glutton !  may  his 
iongue  be  hotter! — A  whoreson  Achitophel!  a  ras- 
cally yea-lbrsooth  knave  !  to  bear  a  gentlf^nan  in 
hand,  and  then  stand  upon  security  ! — The  whoreson 
Buiooth-pates  do  now  wear  nothing  but  high  shoes, 
aud  bunches  of  keys  at  their  girdles  ;  and  if  a  man  is 
thorough  with  them  in  honest  taking  up,  then  they 
must  stand  upcn — security.  I  had  as  lief  they  would 
ut  ratsbane  in  my  mouth,  as  offer  to  stop  it  with 
•jecurity.  I  looked  he  should  have  sent  me  two  and 
twenty  yards  of  satin,  as  I  am  a  true  knight,  and  he 
sends  me  security  Well,  he  uiay  sleep  in  security, 
for  he  hath  the  horn  of  abundance,  aud  the  lightness 
of  bis  wife  shines  through  it :  and  ^ei  cannot  he 


PART  OF  Act  L 

see,  though  he  have  his  own  lantern  to  light  hiiii.~« 

Where's  Bardolph  ! 

Page.  He's  gone  into  Smiihfield,  to  buy  youf 
worship  a  horse. 

FaL  I  bought  him  in  Paul's,  and  he'll  buy  me  a 
horse  in  Smitiifield  ;  and  I  could  get  me  but  a  wile  ia 
the  stews,  I  were  manned,  horsed,  and  wived. 

Enter  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  and  an  Attendant. 

Page.  Sir,  here  comes  the  nobleman  that  com 
;  mitted  the  prince  for  striking  him  about  Bardolph. 

Fal.  Wait  close,  I  will  not  see  him. 

Ch.  Just.  What's  he  that  goes  there  ? 

Atten.  Falstaff,  an"t  j)Iease  your  lordship. 

Ch.  Just.  He  that  was  in  question  for  tlie  robbery  ? 

Atten.  He,  my  lord  :  but  he  hath  since  done  good 
service  at  Shrewsbury  ;  and,  as  I  hear,  is  now  going 
with  some  charge  to  the  lord  John  of  Lancaster. 

Ch.  Just.  What,  to  York  ?  Call  him  back  again 

Atten.  Sir  John  Falstaff* ! 

Fal.  Boy,  tell  him  I  am  deaf.  [deaf. 

Page.   You  must  speak  louder,  my  master  is 

Ch.  Just.  I  am  sure  he  is,  to  the  hearing  of  any 
thing  good. — Go,  pluck  him  by  the  elbow  ;  I  must 
S'^f^k  with  him. 

Atten.  Sir  John,— 

Fal.  What !  a  young  knave,  and  beg  !  Is  there 
not  wars?  is  there  not  employment  ?  Doth  not  the 
king  lack  subjects  ?  do  not  the  rebels  need  soldiers  ? 
Though  it  be  shame  to  be  on  any  side  but  one,  it  is 
worse  shame  to  beg  than  to  be  on  the  worst  side, 
were  it  worse  than  the  name  of  rebellion  can  tell 
how  to  make  it. 

Atten.  You  mistake  me,  sir. 

Fal.  Why,  sir,  did  1  say  you  were  an  honest 
man  ?  setting  my  knighthood  and  my  soldiership 
aside,  I  had  lied  in  my  throat,  if  I  had  said  so. 

Atten.  I  pray  you,  sir,  then  set  your  knighthood 
and  your  soldiership  aside  :  and  give  me  leave  to  teU 
you,  you  lie  in  your  throat,  if  you  say  I  am  any  other 
than  an  honest  man. 

Fal.  I  give  thee  leave  to  tell  me  so!  I  lay  aside 
that  which  grows  to  me  !  If  thou  get'st  any  leave  of 
me,  hang  me  ;  if  thou  takest  leave,  thou  wert  better 
be  hanged  :  You  hunt-counter,  hence !  avaunt! 

Atten.  Sir,  my  lord  would  speak  with  you. 

Ch.  Just.  Sir  John  Falstaff,  a  word  with  you. 

Fal.  My  good  lord! — God  give  your  lordship 
good  time  of  day.  I  am  q:lad  to  see  your  lordship 
abroad  :  I  heard  say,  your  iorJship  was  sick  :  I  hope, 
your  lordship  goes  abroad  by  advice.  Your  lord- 
ship, though  not  clean  past  your  youth,  hath  yet 
some  smack  of  age  in  you,  some  relish  of  the  saltness 
of  time;  and  I  most  humbly  beseech  your  lordship, 
to  have  a  reverend  care  of  your  health. 

Ch.  Just.  Sir  John,  I  sent  for  you  before  your 
expedition  to  Shrewsbury. 

Fal.  An't  please  your  lordship,  I  hear,  his  majesty 
is  relumed  with  some  discomfort  from  Wales. 

Ch.  Just.  1  talk  not  of  his  majesty: — You  wouW 
not  come  when  I  sent  tor  you. 

Fal.  And  I  hear,  moreover,  his  highness  is  fallea 
into  this  same  whoreson  apoplexy. 

Ch.  Just.  Well,  heaven  mend  him  !  I  pray,  let  me 
speak  with  you. 

Fal.  This  apoplexy  is,  as  I  take  it,  a  kind  ol 
lethargy,  an't  please  your  lordship  ;  a  kind  of  sleep- 
ingin  the  blood,  a  whoreson  tingling. 

Ch.  Just.  What  tell  you  me  of  it  ?  be  it  as  it  is. 

Fal.  It  hath  its  original  from  much  grief;  from 
study,  and  perturbation  of  the  brain  :  I  ha\e  read 
the  cause  of  his  effects  in  Galen  ;  it  is  a  kind  ol 
deafness. 

Ch.  Just.  I  think,  you  are  fallen  into  the  disease  ; 
for  you  hear  not  wliat  I  say  to  you. 

Fal.  Vety  well,  my  lord,  very  v^ell:  rather  an't. 
please  yoti,  it  is  the  disease  of  not  listenin;^,  the  ma 
lady  of  iiot  marking,  that  I  am  troubled  with. 

Ch.  Just.  To  puuisii  you  by  the  heels,  would 


Scene  S. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


349 


amend  the  attention  of  yonr  ears ;  and  I  care  not  if  1 
do  became  your  pliysician. 

Fal.  I  a',n  as  j>oor  as  Job,  my  lord  ;  but  not  so 
patient  :  your  lordaliip  may  minister  tlie  potion  of 
punishment  to  me,  in  respect  of  poverty  ;  but  how  I 
should  be  your  patient  to  follow  your  prescriptions., 
the  wise  may  inalce  some  dram  of  a  scruple,  or, 
iiidred.  a  scruple  itsejf. 

Ck.  Just.  I  sent  for  you,  when  there  were  mat- 
ters ag-aiiist  you  for  your  life,  to  come  speak,  with 
ine. 

Fal.  As  I  was  then  advised  by  my  learned  coun- 
sel ill  t'ne  laws  of  this  land-service,  i  did  not  come. 

CA.  Just.  Well,  the  truth  is,  sir  John,  you  live  in 
gre;tt  infamy. 

Fal.  He  that  buckles  him  in  my  belt,  cnnnotlive 
in  less.  [waste  is  great. 

Ck.Just.  Your  means  are  very  slender,  and  your 

Fal.  1  would  it  were  otherwise  ;  1  would  my  means 
weie  greater,  and  my  waist  slenderer. 

Ch.  Just.  Yon  have  misled  the  youthful  prince. 

Fal.  Ttie  young  prince  hath  misled  me:  1  am  the 
fellow  wi;h  the  great  belly,  and  he  my  dog. 

Ch.  Just.  VV  ell,  I  am  loath  to  gull  a  new-healed 
WLMind ;  your  day's  service  at  Siirewsbury  hath  a 
litt'e  gilded  over  your  night's  exploit  on  Gads-Hill  : 
you  may  thank  the  unquiet  time  for  your  quiet 
o'erposting  that  action. 

Fal.  iVly  lord  ?  [not  a  sleeping  wolf 

Ch.  Just.   But  since  all  is  well,  keep  it  so  :  wake 

Fal.  fo  wake  a  wolf,  is  as  bad  as  to  smell  a  fox. 

Ch.  Just.  What !  you  are  as  candle,  the  better 
part  burnt  out. 

Fal.  A  vvassel  candle,  my  lord  ;  all  tallow:  if 
(  did  say  of  wax,  my  growth  would  approve  the 
tiuth. 

C'/<.  Just.  There  is  not  a  white  hair  on  your  face 
b'lt  should  have  his  effect  of  gravity. 

Fal.  His  effect  of  gravy,  gravy,  gravy. 

Ch.  Just.  Y(Hi  follow  the  young  prince  up  and 
down,  like  his  ill  angel. 

Fal.  N.  t  so,  my  lord  ;  your  ill  angel  is  light;  but, 
[  hope,  he  that  looks  upon  me,  will  take  me  without 
weighing:  and  yet,  in  some  respects,  I  g'ant,  I  can-, 
not  go,  1  cannot  tell :  virtue  is  of  so  little  regard  in 
those  coster  monger  times,  that  true  valour  is  turned 
bear-herd  :  Pregnancy  is  made  a  tapster,  and  hatfi 
his  quick  wit  wasted  in  giving  reck(Mjings  :  all  the 
other  gilts,  appertinent  to  man,  as  tlie  malice  of  this 
age  shapes  tliem,  are  not  worth  a  gooseberry.  You, 
tnat  are  old,  consider  not  the  capacities  of  us  tliat 
are  young:  you  measure  the  heat  of  our  livers  with 
the  bitterness  of  your  galls  :  and  we,  that  are  in  the 
vaw-ird  of  our  youth,  1  must  confess,  are  wags  too. 

Ch.  Just.  Do  you  set  down  your  name  in  the  scroll 
of  youth,  that  are  written  down  old  with  all  the 
characters  of  age  ?  Ha^  e  you  not  a  moist  eye  ^  a  dry 
hand  ?  a  yellovv  cheek  ?  a  white  beard  ?  a  decreasing 
leg?  an  increasing  belly?  Is  not  your  voice  broken  ? 
your  wind  short  ?  your  chin  double  ?  your  wit  single  ? 
and  every  [)art  about  you  blasted  with  antiquity  ? 
and  will  you  yet  call  yourself  young?  Fy.  fy,  ly,  sir 
John  ? 

Fal.  My  lord,  1  was  born  about  three  of  the  clock 
in  the  atteruoon,  with  a  white  head,  and  something  a 
round  belly.  For  my  voice, — 1  have  lost  it  with 
hollaing,  aiifl  singing  of  anthems.  To  approve  my 
youth  further,  I  will  not:  the  truth  is,  I  am  only  old 
in  judgment  and  understanding;  and  he  that  will 
Daper  witii  me  for  a  thousand  marks,  let  him  lend  me 
the  money,  and  have  at  him.  F'o.  the  box  o  the  ear 
that  the  prince  gave  yon, —  lie  gave  it  like  a  rude 
princ(%and  you  took  it  like  a  sensible  lord.  I  h;ive 
rhecked  hiui  ioi"  it;  and  the  young  lion  repents : 
mairy,  not  in  ash-^ts.  and  sack-cbth;  but  in  new  silk, 
and  old  sack. 

Ch.  Just.  Well,  heaven  send  the  prince  a  better 
coKipanioa  ! 

Fal.  Heaven  send  the  companion  a  better  prince  ! 
[  cannot  rid  iny  hands  of  him. 


Ch.  Just.  Well,  the  lint  hath  severe:!  yon  and 
prince  Harry  :  I  hear,  you  are  going  with  lord  John 
of  Lancaster,  against  the  archbishop,  and  the  ejirl  of 
Northumberlaiid. 

FaL  Yea  ;  1  thank  your  pretty  sweet  wit  for  it 
But  look  you  pray,  all  you  that  kiss  my  lady  peace 
at  home,  that  our  armies  join  not  in  a  hot  day*!  for 
by  the  Lord,  1  take  but  two  shirts  out  with  me,  and 
I  mean  not  to  sweat  extraordinarily:  if  it  be  a  hot 
day,  an  I  brandish  any  thing  but  my  bottle,  I  would 
I  might  never  spit  white  again.  There  is  not  a 
dangerous  action  can  peep  out  his  liead,  but  I  am 
thrust  upon  it :  Well,  I  cannot  last  ever  :  But  it  was 
always  yet  the  trick  of  our  English  nation,  if  they 
have  a  good  thing,  to  make  it  too  common.  If  you 
will  needs  say,  1  am  an  old  man,  you  shoald  give 
me  rest.  I  would  to  God,  my  name  were  not  so  ter 
rible  to  the  enemy  as  it  is.  1  were  better  to  be  eaten 
to  death  with  rust,  than  to  be  scoured  to  nothing  with 
perpetual  motion. 

Ch.'Just.  Well,  be  honest,  be  honest;  And  God 
bless  your  expedition  ! 

Fal.  Will  your  lordship  lend  me  a  thousand 
pound,  to  furnish  me  forth? 

Ch.  Just.  Not  a  penny,  not  a  penny ;  you  are  too 
impatient  to  bear  crosses.  Fare  you  well :  Commend 
me  to  your  cousin  Westmoreland. 

I  Exeunt  Chief  Justice  and  Attendant. 

Hal.  If  I  do,  fillip  me  with  a  three-man  i)eetle. — ■ 
A  man  can  no  more  separate  age  and  covetousness, 
than  he  can  part  young  limbs  and  lecliery  ;  but  the 
gout  calls  the  one,  and  the  pox  pinches  the  other; 
and  so  both  the  degrees  prevent  my  curses. — Boy  ! — 

Page.  Sir  ? 

Fal.  What  money  is  in  my  pnrse 

Page.  Seven  groats  and  two-pence. 

Fal.  I  can  get  no  remedy  against  this  consump- 
tion of  the  purse:  borrowing  only  lingers  and  lingers 
it  out,  but  the  disease  is  incurable. — Go  bear  thia 
letter  to  my  lord  of  Lancaster  ;  this  to  the  prince : 
this  to  the  earl  of  Westmoreland  ;  and  this  to  cla 
mistress  Ursula,  whom  I  have  weekly  sworn  to 
marry  since  I  perceived  the  first  white  hair  on  my 
chin:  About  it ;  you  know  where  to  find  me.  [Exit 
Page.]  A  pox  of  this  gout!  or  a  gout  of  this  pox  I 
for  the  one,  or  the  other,  plays  the  rogue  with  my 
great  toe.  It  is  no  matter,  if  1  do  halt ;  1  have  the 
wars  for  my  colour,  and  my  pension  shall  seem  the 
more  reasonable  :  A  good  wit  will  make  use  of  ;iny 
thing  ;  1  will  turn  diseases  to  commodity.  [Exit. 

Scene  III. —  York.  A  Room  in  the  Archbishop't 
Palace. 

Enter  the  Archbishop  of  Y'oRK,  the  Lords 
Hastings,  Mowbray,  and  Bardolph. 

Arch.  Thus  have  you  heard  our  cause  and  know  , 
our  means : 
And,  my  most  noble  friends,  I  pray  you  all, 
Speak  plainly  your  opinions  of  our  hopes  :-— 
And  first,  lord  marshal,  what  say  you  to  it  ? 

Mowb.  I  will  cdlovv  the  occasion  of  our  arms ; 
But  gladly  would  be  better  satisfied, 
How,  in  our  means,  we  should  advance  ourselves 
To  look  with  forehead  bold  and  big  enough 
Upon  the  power  and  puissance  of  the  king. 

Hast.  Our  present  musters  grow  upon  the  file 
To  five  and  twenty  thousand  men  of  choice; 
And  our  supplies  live  largely  in  the  hope 
Of  great  Northumberland,  whose  bosom  burns 
With  an  incensed  fire  of  injuries. 

Bard.  The  question  then,  lord  Hastings,  stand«(^ 
thus  ; 

Whether  our  present  five  and  twenty  thousanil 
May  hold  up  head  without  Northuniberland. 
liast.  With  him,  we  may. 

Bard.  Ay,  marry,  there's  the  point 

But  if  without  him  we  be  thought  too  5peble, 
My  judgment  is,  we  should  not  step  too  far 
Till  we  had  his  assistance  by  the  hand  : 
For,  in  a  theme  ?n  bloody  fac  d  -is  thia, 


850 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  H 


Cortjectiire,  expectation,  and  surmise 
Of  aids  uncertain,  should  not  be  admitted. 

Arck.  'Tis  very  true,  lord  Bardolph;  for,  indeed, 
It  was  young  Hotspur's  case  at  Shrewsbury. 

Bard.  It  was,  my  lord ;  who  lim'd  himself  witl; 
Eatmg  the  air  on  prouiise  of  supply,  [hope. 
Flattering  himself  with  pr(;je(;t  of  a  power 
]VIucli  smaller  than  tlie  smallest  of  his  thoughts  : 
And  so,  with  great  imagination, 
Proper  to  madmen,  led  nis  powers  to  death, 
And,  winking,  Itap  d  into  destruction. 

Hast.  But,  by  your  leave,  it  never  yet  did  hurt. 
To  lay  down  likeliiioods,  and  forms  of  liope. 

Bard.  Yes,  in  the  present  quality  of  war  : — 
ladeed  the  insLant  action,  (a  cause  on  foot,) 
Lives  so  in  hope,  as  in  an  early  spring 
We  see  the  appearing  buds  ;  which  to  prove  fruit, 
Hope  gives  I  ot  so  much  warrant,  as  desj-air, 
Tiiat  tiost  will  bite  them.  VVhen  we  mean  to  build. 
We  first  survey  the  phjt,  then  diaw  the  model; 
And  wiien  we  see  the  figure  of  the  house. 
Then  must  we  rate  tlie  cost  of  the  erection; 
Which  if  we  fin«  outweighs  ability. 
What  do  we  then,  but  d.aw  anew  the  model 
In  lewer  offices;  or,  at  least,  desist 
To  build  at  all  ?  iViuch  more,  in  this  great  work, 
(Which  is,  almost,  to  jiluck  a  kingdom  down. 
And  set  another  up,)  slioidd  we  survey 
The  plot  of  situation,  and  the  model; 
Consent  upon  a  sure  j'oundation ; 
Question  surveyors;  know  our  own  estate. 
How  able  such  »  work  to  undergo. 
To  weigh  against  his  opposite  ;  or  else. 
We  foitify  in  paper,  and  in  figures. 
Using  the  names  of  men,  inst'-ad  of  men  : 
Like  fuie  tiiat  draws  the  model  of  a  house 
Beyond  his  power  to  build  it;  who,  half  through. 
Gives  o'er,  and  leaves  his  part  created  cost 
A  aaked  subject  to  the  weeping  CiOuds, 
And  waste  for  chuilish  winter's  tyranny.  [birth,) 
Hast.  Grant  that  our  hopes  (yet  likely  of  fair 
Should  be  still- born,  and  that  we  now  possess'd 
The  utmost  man  of  expectation  ; 
I  liiiuk,  vve  are  a  body  strong  enough. 
Even  as  we  are,  to  equal  with  the  Iving. 

Bard.  What!  is  the  king  but  five  and  twenty 
thousand?  [Bardolph. 
Hast.  To  us  no  more  ;  nay,  not  so  much,  lord 
For  his  divisions,  as  the  times  do  brawl, 
Are  in  three  heads  :  one  power  against  the  French, 
And  one  against  Glenduvver;  perforce,  a  third 
Must  take  up  us  :  So  is  the  infirm  king 
In  three  divided  :  and  his  colfers  sound 
Witii  hollow  poverty  and  emptiness.  [together. 
Arch.  That  he  should  draw  his  several  strengths 
And  come  against  us  in  lull  puissance, 
Need  not  be  dreaded. 

Hast.  If  he  should  do  so, 

He  leaves  his  back  unarm'd,  the  French  and  Welsh 
Baying  him  at  his  heels  :  never  fear  that,  [hither? 
Bard.  Who,  is  it  like,  should  lead  his  forces 
Hast.  The  duke  of  Lancaster,  and  W^estinoreland : 
Against  tlie  Welsh,  himself,  and  Harry  Monmouth: 
But  who  is  substituted  'gainst  the  French, 
I  have  no  certain  notice. 

Arch.  Let  us  on : 

A  nd  publish  the  occasion  of  our  arms. 
The  commonwealth  is  sick  of  their  own  choice. 
Their  over-greedy  love  hath  surleited  : — 
Ac  habitation  giddy  and  unsure 
Htth  he,  that  buildeth  on  the  vulgar  heart. 
O  thou  fond  many  !  with  what  loud  applause 
Didst  thou  beat  heaven  with  blessing  Bolingbroke, 
Before  lie  was  what  tiiou  wouldst  have  him  be  ? 
And  being  now  trimmed  in  thine  own  desires. 
Thou,  beastly  feeder,  art  so  full  of  him, 
That  thou  provuk'st  thyself  to  cast  him  up. 
So,  so.  thou  co!iiiiion  dog,  didst  thou  disgorge 
Tby  glutton  bosom  of  the  royal  Richard  ; 

now  thou  wouldst  eat  thy  dead  vomit  up. 


And  howl'st  to  find  it.  What  trust  is  in  these  times? 
'J'hey  that,  when  Richard  liv'd  would  have  bim  die. 
Are  now  become  enamoured  on  his  grave  : 
Thou,  that  threw'st  dust  on  his  goodly  hevid. 
When  through  proud  London  he  came  sighing  on 
After  the  admir'd  heels  of  Bolingbroke, 
Cry'st  now,  0  earth,  yield  us  that  king  again. 
And  take  thou  this!  O  thouglits  of  men  accurst! 
Past,  and  to  come,  seem  best;  things  present,  worst 
Moivb.  Shall  we  go  draw  our  numbers,  and  set  on  i 
Hast.  VVe  are  time's  subjects,  and  time  bids  be 
go'^e.  [Exeunt 

ACT  H. 
Scene  I.— London.  A  Street. 
Enter  Hostess;  Fang,  and  his  Boy,  tvith  her;  and 
Snare  following. 
Host.  Master  Fang,  have  you  entered  the  action  ? 
Fang.  It  is  entered. 

Host.  Where  is  your  yeoman  ?  Is  it  a  lusty 

yeoman?  will  a'  stand  to't? 
Fang.  Sirrah,  where's  Snare  ? 
Host.  O  Lord,  ay  :  good  master  Snare. 
Snare.  Here,  here. 

Fang.  Snare,  we  must  arrest  Sir  John  Palstalf. 
Host.  Yea,  good  master  Snare  ;  I  have  entered 
him  and  all.  [tbr  he  will  stab. 

Snare.  It  may  chance  cost  some  of  us  our  Ines, 
Host.  Alas  the  day  I  take  heed  of  him  ;  he  stab 
bed  me  in  mine  own  house,  and  that  most  beastly  : 
in  good  faith,  a'  cares  not  what  mischief  he  doth,  if 
his  weapons  be  out :  he  will  foin  like  any  devil;  he 
will  spare  neither  man,  womar  ,  nor  child. 

Fang.  If  I  can  close  with  him,  I  care  not  for  his 
thrust. 

Host.  No,  nor  1  neither:  I'll  be  at  your  elbow. 
Fang.  An  I  but  fist  him  once  :  an  a' come  but 
within  my  vice  ; — 

Host.  I  am  undone  by  his  going  ;  1  warrant  you, 
he's  an  infinite  thing  upon  my  score  :  — Good  mastej 
Fang,  hold  him  sure  ; — good  master  Snare,  let  him 
not  'scape.  He  comes  continually  to  Pie -corner, 
{saving  your  manhoods,)  to  b\:y  a  saddle  ;  and  he's 
I  indited  to  dinner  to  the  lubber's  head  in  Lombard- 
'  steet,  to  master  Smooth's,  the  silkman:  I  pray  ye, 
since  my  exion  is  entered,  and  my  case  so  openly 
known  to  the  world,  let  him  be  brought  in  to  his 
answer.  A  hundred  mark  is  a  long  loan  for  a  poor 
lone  woman  to  bear:  and  I  have  borne,  and  borne, 
and  borne  ;  and  have  been  lubbed  off,  and  fubbed 
otf,  and  fubbed  off',  from  this  day  to  that  day,  that  it 
is  a  shame  to  be  thought  on.  There  is  no  honesty  in 
such  dealing;  unless  a  woman  should  be  made  an 
ass,  and  a  beast,  to  bear  every  knave's  wrong.  

Enter  Sir  iomYxh&TXFF,  Page,  and  Bardolph. 

Yonder  he  comes ;  and  that  arrant  malmsey-nose 
knave,  Bardolph,  with  him.  Do  your  offices,  do  youi 
offices,  master  Fang,  and  master  Snare :  do  me,  do 
nie,  do  ine  your  offices. 

Fal.  How  now  ?  whose  mare's  dead  ?  what's  the 
matter?  [tress  Quickly. 

Fang.  Sir  John,  I  arrest  you  at  the  suit  of  mis- 
Fal.  Away,  varlets  ! — Draw,  Bardolph;  cut  me 
off  the  villain's  head  ;  throw  the  quean  in  the  channel. 

Host.  Throw  me  in  the  channel?  Ill  throw  thea 
in  the  channel.  Wilt  thou  ?  wilt  thou  ?  thou  bas- 
tardly rogue  ! — Murder,  murder  !  O  thou  honey 
suckle  villain!  wilt  thou  kill  God's  officers,  and  the 
king's?  O  thou  honey-seed  rogue  !  thou  art  a  bonej 
seed;  a  man  queller,  and  a  woman-queller. 
Fal.  Keep  them  oti",  Bardolph. 
Fang.  A  rescue  !  a  rescue! 
Host.  Good  people,  bring  a  rescue  or  iwo.~ 
Thou  w  o  t,  wo't  thou  ?  thou  wo't,  wo't  thou    do,  do 
thou  rogue  i  do,  thou  hemp-set- d  ! 

Fal.  Away,  you  scullion!  you  rami'dlian'  yo 
fusiilarian  !  1 11  tickle  your  catastro^ihe. 


Scene  1, 


KING  HENRY  lY. 


851 


Enter  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  attended. 

Ch.  Just.  What's  the  matter  ?  keep  the  peace 
Jtere  ho  !  [you,  stand  to  me  ! 

Host.  Good  my  lord,  be  good  ""to  me  !  I  beseech 
Ch.  Just.  How  now,  sir  John  ?  what,  are  you 
brawling  here? 
Doth  tliis  become  your  place,  your  time,  and  busi- 
ness ? 

You  should  have  been  well  on  your  way  to  York.— 
Stand  from  him,  fellow  1  Wherefore  hang'st  thou 
on  him  ? 

Host.  O,  my  most  worshipful  lord,  an't  please 
vour  grace,  I  am  a  poor  widow  of  Eastcheap,  and 
he  is  arrested  at  my  suit. 

Ck.  Just.  For  what  sum  ? 

Host.  It  is  more  than  for  some,  my  lord ;  it  is  for 
all,  all  I  have  :  he  hath  eaten  me  out  of  house  and 
home ;  he  hath  put  all  my  substance  into  that  fat 
belly  of  his  :— but  I  will  have  some  of  it  out  again, 
or  ril  ride  thee  o'nights,  like  the  mare. 

Fal.  I  think,  I  am  as  like  to  ride  the  mare,  if  I 
have  anv  vantage  of  ground  to  get  up. 

Ch.  Just.  How  comes  this,  sir  John  ?  Fy !  what 
man  of  good  temper  would  endure  this  tempest  of 
exclamation  ?  Are  yoii  not  ashamed,  to  enforce  a 
poor  widow  to  so  rough  a  course  to  come  by  her 
own  ? 

Fal.  What  is  the  gross  sura  that  I  owe  thee  ? 
Host.  Marry,  if  thou  wert  an  honest  man,  thy- 
self and  thy  money  too.  Thou  didst  swear  to  me 
iiipon  a  parcel-gilt  goblet,  sitting  in  my  Dolphin- 
chamber,  at  the  round  table,  by  a  sea-coal  tire,  upon 
Wednesday  in  Wliitsun-week,  when  the  prince 
broke  thy  head  for  liking  his  father  to  a  singing- 
man  of  Windsor  :  thou  didst  swear  to  me  then,  as 
1  was  washing  thy  wound,  to  marry  me,  and  mrike 
me  my  lady  thy  wife.  Canst  thou  deny  it  ?  Did  not 
Ifoodwiie  Speech,  the  butcher's  wife,  come  in  then, 
©nd  call  me  gossip  Quickly  !  coming  in  to  borrow  a 
mess  of  vinegar;  telling  as,  she  had  a  good  dish  of 
prawns:  whereby  thou  didst  desire  to  eat  some; 
whereby  I  told  thee,  they  were  ill  for  a  green  wound  >. 
And  didst  thou  not,  when  she  was  gone  down  stairs, 
desire  me  to  be  no  more  so  familiarity  with  such  poor 
people  ;  saying,  that  ere  long  they  should  call  me 
madam  ?  And  didst  thou  not  kiss  me,  and  bid  nie 
fetch  thee  thirty  shillings?  I  put  thee  now  to  thy 
book-oath  ;  deny  it,  if  thou  canst. 

Fal.  My  lord,  this  is  a  poor  mad  soul ;  and  she 
says,  up  aad  down  the  town,  that  her  eldest  son  is 
like  you:  she  hath  been  in  good  case,  and,  the 
truth  is,  poverty  hath  distracted  her.  But  for  these 
foolish  officers,  I  beseech  you,  I  may  have  redress 
against  them. 

Ch.  Just.  Sir  John,  sir  John,  I  am  well  acquainted 
with  your  manner  of  wrenching  the  true  cause  the 
false  way.  It  is  not  a  confident  brow,  nor  the  thiong 
of  words,  that  come  with  such  more  than  itnpudeiit 
sauciness  from  you,  can  thrust  me  from  a  level  con 
sideration  :  you  have,  as  it  appears  to  me,  practised 
upon  the  easy-yielding  spirit  of  this  woman,  and 
made  her  serve  your  uses  both  in  pur?e  and  person. 

Rost.  Yea,  in  troth,  my  lord. 

Ch.  Just.  Pr'ythee,  peace  : — Pay  her  the  debt  you 
owe  her,  and  unpay  the  villainy  you  have  done  witii 
her  ;  the  one  you  may  do  with  sterling  money,  and 
the  other  with  current  repentance. 

Fal.  My  lord,  I  will  not  undergo  this  sneap  with- 
out reply.  You  call  honourable  boldness,  impudent 
sauciness  if  a  man  will  make  CDurt'sy,  and  say 
nothing,  k  e  is  virtuous ;  No,  my  lord,  my  humbie 
duty  reme^nbered,  I  will  not  be  your  suitor;  I  say  to 
you,  I  do  desire  deliverance  I'roiu  these  officers,  be- 
lug  upon  hasty  employment  in  the  king's  affairs. 

Ch.  Jusi.  You  speak  as  having  power  to  do 
wrong  :  but  answer  in  the  etiect  of  your  reputatio  i, 
tud  satisfy  the  poor  woman. 

Fal.  Come  liither,  hostess    {Taking  her  aside. J 


Enter  Gower. 

Ch.Just.  Now,  master  Gower ;  W^hatnewB? 
Gow.  The  king,  my  lord,  and  Harry  prince  of 

Wales 

Are  near  at  hand  :  the  rest  the  paper  tells. 

Fal.  As  I  am  a  gentleman   

Host.  Nay,  you  said  so  before. 

Fal.  As  I  am  a  gentleman ;  Come,  no  more 

words  of  it. 

Host.  By  this  heavenly  ground  I  tread  on,  T  must 
be  tain  to  pawn  both  my  plate,  and  the  tapestry  ot 
my  dining-chambers. 

Fal.  Glasses,  glasses,  is  the  only  drinking  :  and 
for  thy  walls, — a  pretty  slight  drollery,  or  the  story 
of  the  prodigal,  or  the  German  hunting  in  water- 
work,  is  worth  a  thousand  of  these  bed  hangings, 
and  these  fly-bitten  tapestries.  Let  it  be  ten  pound, 
if  thou  canst.  Come,  an  it  were  not  for  thy  humours, 
there  is  not  a  better  wench  in  England.  Go, 
wash  thy  face,  and  'draw  thy  action :  Come,  thou 
must  not  be  in  this  humour  with  me ;  dost  not 
know  me  ?  Come,  come,  1  know  thou  wast  set  on 
to  this. 

Host.  Pray  thee,  sir  John,  let  it  be  but  twenty 
nobles;  I'faith  I  am  loath  to  pawn  my  plate,  in  good 
earnest,  la.  [be  a  fool  still. 

Fal.  Let  it  alone;  Dl  make  other  shift :  you'll 

Host.  Well,  you  shall  have  it,  though  I  j^awn 
my  gown.  I  hope,  you'll  come  to  supper :  Y  ou'll 
pay  me  all  together  'i 

Fal.  VV  ill  I  live  ?— Go,  with  her,  with  her ;  {to 
Bardolph)  hook  on,  book  on.  [at  supi;er  ? 

Host.  Will  you  have  Doll  Tear  sheet  meet  yoa 

Fal.  No  more  words  :  let's  have  her. 

[Exeunt  Hostess,  Bardolph,  Ojffictra 
and  Paye. 

Ch.  Just.  I  have  heard  better  news, 

Fal.  What  s  the  news,  my  good  lord  ? 

Ch.  Just.  Where  lay  the  king  last  night  i* 

Gow.  At  Basingstoke,  my  lord. 

Fal.  I  hope,  my  lord,  all's  well :  What's  the 
news,  my  lord  ? 

Ch.  Just.  Come  all  his  forces  back?  Ihorse, 

Gow.  No;  fifteen  hundred  foot,  five  bmidred 
Are  march'd  up  to  my  lord  of  Lancaster, 
Against  Northumberland  and  the  archbishop. 

Fal.  Comes  the  king  back  from  Wales,  my  nobl« 
lord  ? 

Ch.  Just.  Yon  shall  have  letters  of  me  presently: 
Come,  go  along  with  me,  good  master  Gower. 
Fal.  My  lord ! 

Ch.Just.  What's  the  matter?  [to  dinner? 

Fal.  Master  Gower,  shall  I  entreat  you  with  me 

Goiv.  I  must  wait  upon  my  good  lord  here:  I 
thank  you,  good  s^r  John. 

Ch.  Just.  Sir  John,  you  loiter  here  too  long,  he^. 
ing  you  are  to  take  soldiers  up  in  counties  as  you  go, 

Fal.  Will  you  sup  with  me,  master  Gower  ? 

Ch.  Just.  What  foolish  master  taught  you  these 
manners,  sir  John  ? 

Fal.  Master  Gower,  if  they  become  me  not,  he 
was  a  fool  that  taught  them  me. — This  is  the  right 
fencing  grace,  my  lord  :  tap  for  tap,  and  so  part  fair. 

Ch.  Jusi.  Now  the  Lord  lighten  thee  !  tliou  art  a 
great  fool.  [  Exeunt, 

ScEj«,e  II. — The  same.  Another  Street. 
Enter  Prince  Henry  and  FoiMfia 

P.  Hen.  Trust  me,  I  am  exceeding  weary* 

Poins.  Is  it  come  to  Lhat  ?  i  nad  tno  iglit,  weari- 
ness durst  not  have  attached  one  of  so  Jiigli  blood 

P.  Hen.  'Faith,  it  does  me ;  tiiough  it  discolours 
the  complexion  of  my  greatness  to  acknowledge  it 
Doth  it  not  show  vilely  in  me,  to  desire  small  beer  ? 

Poins.  Why,  a  prince  should  not  be  so  loosely 
studi.ed,  as  to  remenibf  r  so  weak  a  composition. 

P.  Hen.  Belike  then,  my  appetite  was  not  princely 
gut ;  lor,  by  my  troth,  1  do  now  remember  the  poor 
creature,  small  beer.    But,  indeed,  these  humble 


852 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  xi 


conaicle rations  Tnake  me  out  of  love  with  my  great- 
ness. VVhat  a  disgrace  is  it  to  me  to  remember  thy 
nanse?  or  to  know  thy  face  to-morrow  ?  or  to  take 
note  how  many  pair  of  silk  stockings  thou  liast;  viz. 
these,  and  tliose  that  were  the  peach-colour'd  ones? 
or  to  hear  tlie  in\'entory  of  thy  shirts  ;  as.,  one  for 
supertlaity,  and  one  other  for  use  ? — but  that,  the 
tennis-court  keeper  knows  better  than  I;  for  it  is  a 
low  ebb  of  linen  with  thee,  when  tliou  keepest  not 
racket  there ;  as  thou  hast  not  done  a  great  while, 
because  the  rest  of  thy  low-countries  have  made  a 
shii't  to  eat  up  thy  holland  :  and  God  knows,  whe- 
tiier  those  that  bawl  out  the  ruins  of  tliy  linen,  shall 
■  inherit  his  kingdom:  but  the  midwives  say,  the 
children  are  not  in  the  fault;  whereupon  the  world 
increases,  and  kindreds  are  mightily  strengthened. 

Poins.  How  ill  it  follows,  after  you  have  laboured 
so  iiard,  you  should  talk  so  idly  "/  Tell  me,  how 
many  good  young  princes  would  do  so,  their  tathers 
being  so  sick  as  yours  at  this  time  is? 

P.  Hen.  Shall  1  tell  thee  one  thing,  Poins? 

Pains.  Yes  ;  and  let  it  be  an  excellent  good  thing. 

P.  Hen.  It  shall  ser\e  among  wits  of  no  higlier 
breeding  than  thine.  [that  you  will  tell. 

Poins.  Go  to;  I  stand  the  push  of  your  one  thing 

P.  Hen.  Why,  I  tell  thee, — it  is  not  tneet,  that  I 
should  be  sad,  now  my  father  is  sick  :  albeit  I  could 
tell  to  thee,  fas  to  one  it  pleases  me,  for  fault  of  a 
better,  to  call  my  friend,)  I  could  be  sad,  and  sad 
indeed  too, 

Poins.  Very  hardly,  upon  such  a  subject. 

P.  Hen.  By  this  hand,  thou  think'st  me  as  far  in 
the  devil's  book  as  thou,  and  Falstali",  for  obduracy 
and  persistency :  let  the  end  try  the  man.  But  1 
tell  thee, — my  heart  bleeds  inwardly,  that  my  lather 
is  so  sick:  and  keeping  such  vile  company  as  thou 
rt,  hath  in  reanon  taken  from  me  all  ostentation  of 

Poins.  The  reascn  /  [sorrow. 

P.  Hen.  VVhat  wouki'st  thou  think  of  me,  if  I 
hould  weep  ?  [crite. 

Poins.  I  would  think  thee  a  most  princely  hypo- 

P  Hen.  It  would  be  every  man's  thought:  and 
thou  art  a  blessed  fellow,  to  think  as  every  man 
thinks;  never  a  man's  thought  in  the  world  keeps 
the  road-way  better  than  thine  :  every  man  would 
think  me  an  l\ypocrite  indeed.  And  what  accites 
your  most  wxrsuipiul  thought,  to  tiiink  so  ? 

Poins.  \V  liy,  because  you  have  been  so  lewd, 
and  so  much  engrafted  to  Falstatl'. 

P.  Hen.  And  to  thee. 

Poins.  By  this  light,  I  am  well  spoken  of,  I  can- 
hear  it  with  my  own  ears:  the  worst  that  they  can 
say  of  me  is.  that  1  am  a  second  brother,  and  that 
1  am  a  proi>er  fellow  of  my  hands;  and  those  two 
things,  1  coiitess,  I  cannot  help.  By  the  nmss,  here 
comes  Bar  lolph. 

P.  Hen.  And  the  I  oy  that  I  gave  Falstalf :  he  had 
him  from  i  ie  christi  vn  ;  and  look,  if  the  fat  villain 
have  not  transformed  him  ape. 

Enter  Ba  rdolph  and  Page. 

i  ard.  'Save  your  grace  ! 

P,  Hen.  And  youis,  most  noble  Bardolph  ! 

Bard.  Come,  you  virtuous  ass,  [to  the  Page) 
vou  bashful  iool,  must  you  be  blushing  ?  whereiore 
bhish  you  ninv  ?  VVhat  a  maidenly  man  at  arms  are 
you  become  ?  Is  it  such  a  matter,  to  get  a  pottle- 
pot's  maidenhead  ? 

Page.  He  called  me  even  now,  my  lord,  through 
a  red  lattice,  and  I  could  discern  no  part  of  his  face 
from  the  window :  at  last,  I  spied  liis  eyes;  and, 
n>ethought,  he  had  made  two  holes  in  the  ale-wife's 
new  pettiooafs,  and  peeped  through. 

P.  Hen.  Hath  not  tlie  boy  profited  ? 

Bard.  Away,  you  wiioreson  upright  rabbit,  away  ! 

Page.  Away,  you  rascally  Althea's  dream,  away  ! 

P.  Hen.  Instruct  us,  boy  :  What  dream,  boy  ? 

Fage.  Marry,  my  lord,  Althea  dreanjed  she  was 
delivered  of  a  hre-brand;  and  therefore  [  call  him 
her  dreara. 


P.  Hen.  A  crown's  worth  of  good  mterpretatioa 
— There  it  is,  boy.  {Gives  Mm  money.) 

Poins.  O,  that  this  good  blossom  could  be  kepi 
from  cankers! — Well,  there  is  sixpence  to  pre«er?e 
thee. 

Bard.  An  you  do  not  make  him  be  hanged  aAnong 
you,  the  gallows  shall  have  wrong. 

P.  Hen.  And  how  doth  thy  master,  Bardolph? 

Bard.  Well,  my  lord.  He  heard  of  your  grace's 
coming  to  town;  there's  a  letter  for  you. 

Poins.  Delivered  with  good  respect. — And  how 
doth  the  martlemas,  your  master? 

Bard.  In  bodily  health,  sir. 

Poins.  Marry,  the  immortal  part  needs  a  physi 
cian:  but  that  moves  not  \\\m ;  though  that  be  sick 
it  dies  not. 

P.  Hen.  I  do  allow  this  v  en  to  be  as  familiar 

with  me  as  my  dog :  and  he  holds  his  place  ;  for 
look  you,  how  he  writes. 

Poins.  {Reads.)  John  Falstaff,  knight, — Every 
man  must  know  that,  as  oft  as  he  has  occasion  to 
name  himself  Even  like  those,  that  are  kin  to  the 
king;  for  they  never  prick  their  finger,  but  they  say 
There  is  some  of  the  king's  blood  spilt :  H014, 
comes  that  /  says  he,  that  takes  upon  him  not  to 
conceive:  the  answer  is  as  ready  as  a  borrower's 
cap  ;  /  am  the  kings  poor  cousin,  sir. 

P.  Hefi.  Nay,  they  will  be  king  to  us,  or  they  will 
fetch  it  from  Japhet.    But  the  letter: — 

Poins.  Sir  John  Falstalf,  knight,  to  the  son  oj 
the  king,  nearest  his  father,  Harry  prince  of 
Wales,  greeting. — Why,  this  is  a  certilicate. 

P.  Hen.  Peace  \ 

Poins.  I  'Will  imitcte  the  honourable  Roman  in 
brevity: — he  sure  means  brevity  in  breath  ;  short- 
winded. — /  commend  me  to  thee,  I  commend  thee, 
and  I  leave  thee.  Be  not  too  familiar  ivith  Poins; 
for  he  misuses  thy  favours  so  much,  that  he 
sivears,  thou  art  to  marry  his  sister  Nell.  Repeni 
at  idle  times  as  thou  may'st,  and  so  faretvell. 

Thine,  by  yea  and  no,  [ichich  is  a» 

inucJios  to  say,  as  thou  t/sest  him,) 

Jack  Fal staff,  ivith  my  familiars  ; 

John,  ivith  my  brothers  andsisters  ; 

and  sir  John,  with  all  Europe. 
My  lord,  I  will  steep  this  letter  in  sack,  and  make 
him  eat  it. 

P.  Hen.  That's  to  make  him  eat  twenty  of  his 
words.  But  do  you  use  me  thus,  Ned?  must  1 
niarry  your  sister?  [but  I  never  said  so, 

Poins.  May  the  wench  have  no  worse  fortime  ! 

P.  Hen.  VVell,  thus  we  play  the  fools  with  the 
time;  and  the  spirits  of  the  wise  sit  in  tlie  clouds, 
and  mock  us. — Is  your  master  here  in  London? 

Bard.  Yes,  my  lord. 

P.  Hen,  Where  sups  he  ?  doth  the  old  boar  feed 
in  the  old  frank  ? 

Bard.  At  the  old  place,  my  lord  ;  in  Eastcheap. 

P.  Hen.  What  company  ? 

Page.  Ephesians,  my  lord  ;  of  the  old  churrh. 

P.  Hen.  Sup  any  women  with  him  ? 

Page.  None,  my  lord,  but  old  mistress  Quickly, 
and  mistress  Doll  Tear-sheet. 

P.  Hen.  W  hat  pagan  may  that  be  ? 

Page.  A  [jroper  gentlewoman,  .sir,  and  a  kias- 
woman  of  my  master's. 

P.  Hen.  Even  such  kin,  as  the  parish  heifers  ar« 
to  the  town  bull. — Shall  we  steal  upon  them,  Ned 
at  supper?  [you. 

Poins.  I  am  your  shadow,  my  lord;  I'll  follow 

P.  Hen.  Sirrah,  you  boy, — and  Bardolph  ; — no 
word  to  your  master,  that  I  am  yet  come  to  townt 
There's  ibr  y«)ur  silence. 

Bard.  I  have  no  tongue,  sir. 

Page.  And  for  mine,  sir, — I  vvill  govern  it. 

P.  Hen.  Fare  ye  well ;  go.  [Exeunt  Bardolpk 
and  Page.'] — This  Doll  Tear-sheet  should  be  some 
road. 

Poins.  I  warrant  yon,  as  common  as  the  waj 
betvveeu  St.  Albap'  and  L  ndon. 


Scene  4. 


KINQ  HENRY  IV. 


353 


P.  Hen.  How  might  we  see  Falstaff  bestow  him- 
self to-night  in  his  true  colours,  and  not  ourselves 
be  seen  ? 

Poins.  Put  on  two  leather  jerkins,  and  aprons, 
and  wait  upon  him  at  his  table  as  drawers, 

P.  Hen.  From  a  god  to  a  bull?  a  heavy  descen- 
sioii'  it  was  Jove's  case.  From  a  prince  to  a  pren- 
tice ?  a  low  transformation !  that  shall  be  mine  : 
f.-)r,  in  every  thing,  the  purpose  must  weigh  wi  h 
the  folly.    Follow  me,  Ned.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  ill.—Warhivurth.    Before  the  Castle. 
Enter  Nohtoumberland,  Lady  Ncrthumder- 
LAND,  and  Lady  Percy, 

North.  I  pray  thee,  loving  wife,  and  gentle  daugh- 
Give  even  way  unto  my  rough  atfairs :  [ter. 
Put  not  you  on  the  visage  ol  the  times. 
And  be,  like  them,  to  Percy  troublesome. 

Lady  N.  I  have  given  over,  I  will  speak  ho  more  : 
Do  what  you  will ;  your  wisdom  be  your  guide. 

North.  Alas,  sweet  wife,  my  honour  is  at  pawn  ; 
And,  but  my  going,  nothing  can  redeem  it. 
Lady  P.  (),  yet,  for  God's  sake  go  not  to  these 
wars ! 

The  time  was,  father,  that  you  broke  your  word. 
When  you  were  more  endear'd  to  it  than  now ; 
When  your  own  Percy,  when  my  heart's  dear  Harry, 
Threw  many  a  northward  look,  to  see  his  father 
Bring  up  his  powers;  but  he  did  long  in  vain. 
Who  then  persuaded  you  to  stay  at  home  ? 
There  were  two  honours  lost ;  yours,  and  your  son's. 
For  yours,— may  heavenly  glory  brighten  it ! 
For  his, — it  stuck  upon  him,  as  the  sun 
In  the  grey  vault  of  heaven  :  and,  by  his  light. 
Did  all  the  chivalry  of  England  move 
To  do  brave  acts  ;  he  was,  indeed,  the  glass 
Wherein  the  noble  youth  did  dress  themselves. 
He  had  no  legs,  that  practised  not  his  gait: 
Aai  rpeaking  thick,  which  nature  made  his  blemish. 
Became  the  accents  of  the  valiant ; 
For  those,  that  could  speak  low,  and  tardily. 
Would  turn  their  own  perfection  to  abuse, 

seem  like  him :  So  that,  in  speech,  in  gait, 
In  diet,  in  affections  of  delight. 
In  military  rules,  humours  of  blood. 
He  was  the  mark  and  glass,  copy  and  book, 

That  fashion'd  others.  And  him, — O  wondrous  him  ! 

O  miracle  of  men  ! — him  did  you  leave, 

^Second  to  none,  unseeonded  by  you,) 
fo  look  upon  the  hideous  god  of  war 

In  disadvantage,  to  abide  a  field, 

Where  nothing  but  the  sound  of  Hotspur's  name 

Did  seem  defensible :— so  you  left  him  : 

Never,  O  never,  do  his  ghost  the  wrong. 

To  hold  your  honour  more  precise  and  nice 

With  others,  than  with  him  ;  let  them  alone  ; 

The  marshal,  and  the  archbishop,  are  strong': 

And  my  sweet  Harry  had  but  half  their  numbers, 
lo-day  might  I.  hanging  on  Hotspur's  neck, 

have  talk'd  of  Monmouth's  grave. 
North.  Beshrew  your  heart, 

f  ^ir  daughter !  you  do  draw  my  spirits  from  me. 

With  new  lamenting  ancient  oversights. 

But  I  must  go,  and  meet  with  danger  there ; 

Or  it  will  seek  me  in  another  place, 

And  find  me  worse  provided. 

TltS^^f^-      Ki        4.1       O,  fly  to  Scotland, 
lill  that  the  nobles,  and  the  armed  commons. 
Have  of  their  puissance  made  a  little  taste. 

Lady  P.  If  they  get  ground  and  vantage  of  the 


king. 

Then  join  you  with  them,  like  a  rib  of  steel 
lo  make  strength  stronger;  but,  for  all  our 'loves 
rirst  let  them  try  themselves  :  So  did  your  son  •  ' 
He  was  so  suffer'd  ;  so  came  T  a  widow  ; 
And  never  shall  have  length  of  life  enough, 
lo  rain  upon  remembrance  with  mint 


le  eyes. 


^  hat  It  may  grow  and  sprout  as  high  as'heaven, 
^j"/«-o>'dation  to  my  noble  husband. 
Aorth.  Come,  come,  go  in  with  me 


For 


[mind, 
'tis  with  my 


As  with  the  tide  swell'd  up  unto  its  height. 
That  makes  a  still-stand,  running  neither  w'av. 
Fain  would  I  go  to  meet  the  archbisiiop, 
But  many  thousand  reasons  hold  me  back  • 
I  will  resolve  for  Scotland  :  there  am  I 
1'ill  time  and  vantage  crave  my  company.  [E.rcunt 

Scene  IV.— London.    A  Room  in  the  Boar's 
Head  Tavern,  in  Eastcheap. 
Enter  Two  Drawers. 

1  Draw.  What  the  devil  hast  thou  brought  there  ? 
apple-Johns  i*  thou  know'st,  sir  John  cannot  endure 
an  apple-John, 

2  Dratv.  Mass,  thou  sayest  true  :  The  brince  onoe 
set  a  dish  of  apple-Johns  before  him,  and  told  him, 
there  were  five  more  sir  Johns  :  and,  putting  off  his 
hat,  s-aid,  /  ivill  now  take  my  leave  of  these  six  dry, 
round,  old,  withered  knights.  It  angered  him  to  the! 
heart ;  but  he  hath  forgot  that. 

1  Draw.  Why  then,  cover,  and  set  them  down: 
And  see  if  thou  canst  rind  out  Sneak's  noise  ;  mistress 
'J'ear-sheet  would  fain  hear  some  music.  Despatch  : 
—The  room  where  they  supped,  is  too  hot :  they'll 
come  in  straight. 

2  Draw.  Sirrah,  here  will  be  the  prince,  and 
master  Poms  anon  :  and  they  will  put  on  two  of'our 
jerkms,  and  aprons  ;  and  sir  John  must  not  know 
of  it:  Bardolph  hath  brought  word. 

1  Draw.  By  the  mass,  here  will  be  old  utis  :  It 
will  be  an  excellent  stratagem, 
2.  Draw.  I'll  see  if  I  can  find  out  Sneak.  [Ejni. 

Enter  Hostess  and  BohL  Tear  sheet. 
Host.  I'faith,  sweet  heart,  methinks  now  you  are 
in  an  excellent  good  temperality :  your  pulsidge 
beats  as  extraordinarily  as  heart  would  desire  ;  and 
your  colour,  I  warrant  you,  is  as  red  as  any  rose  : 
But,  i'faith,  you  have  drunk  too  much  canaries;  and 
that's  a  marvellous  searching  wine,  and  it  perfumes 
the  blood  ere  one  can  say,— What's  this  ?  How  do 
you  now 

Doll.  Better  than  I  was.  tfem. 
Host.  Why,  that's  well  said  :  a  good  heart's  worth 
gold.    Look,  here  comes  sir  John. 

Enter  Falstaff,  singing. 
^  Fal.  When  Arthur  first  in  court— Em^ty  the 
Jordan. — And  loas  a  worthy  king :  [Exit  Drawer.] 
How  now,  mistress  Doll  ? 

Host.  Sick  of  a  calm  :  yea,  good  sooth. 
Fal.  So  is  all  her  sect ;  an  they  be  once  in  a  calm 

il  ^7?  ^l""^'       ,  g^ve  me  ? 

Doll.  You  muddy  rascal,  is  that  all  the  comfort 
Fal  You  make  fat  rascals,  mistress  Doll. 
Doll.  I  make  them  !  gluttony  and  diseases  make 
them  :  I  make  them  not. 

Fal.  If  the  cook  help  to  make  the  gluttony,  yoa 
help  to  make  the  diseases,  Doll :  we  catch  of  you, 
Doll,  we  catch  of  you ;  grant  that,  my  poor  virtue' 
grant  that. 

Doll.  Ay,  marry  ;  our  chains  and  our  jewels. 
Fal.  'Your  brooches, pearls  and  owches  ; — for  to 
serve  bravely,  is  to  come  halting  off,  vou  know  : 
To  come  off  the  breach  with  his  pike  bent  bravely, 
and  to  surgery  bravely  ;  to  venture  upon  the  charge' 
charnbers  bravely  : —  [yourself! 

hang 


Doll.  Hang  yourself,  you  muddy  conger, 
Host.  By  my  troth,  this  is  the  old  fashion ;  you 
two  never  meet,  but  you  fall  to  some  discord  ;  you 
are  both,  in  good  troth,  as  rheumatic  as  tv/.o  dry 
toasts  ,  you  cannot  one  bear  with  another's  confirm- 
ities.  Wiiat  the  good-year!  one  must  bear,  and  that 
must  be  you :  [to  Doll)  you  are  the  weaker  vesseJ, 
as  they  say,  the  emptier  vessel. 

Doll.  Can  a  weak  empty  vessel  bear  such  a  huge 
full  hogshead  ?  tliere's  a  whole  merchant's  venture 
of  Bordeaux  stuff  in  him  ;  you  have  not  seen  a  hulk 
better  stuffed  in  the  hold.— Come,  Til  be  mends 
with  thee.  Jack:  thou  art  going  to  the  wars:  and 

23 


854 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  n. 


wViether  I  shufl  ever  see  thee  again,  or  no,  there  is 
nobody  cares. 

Re-enter  Drawer. 

Draw.  Sir,  anc  ;nt  Pistol's  below,  and  would 
epeak  with  yon. 

Doll.  Hang  him  swaggering  rascal !  let  him  not 
come  hither:  it  is  the  foul  mouth'dst  rogue  in  Eng- 
land. 

Host.  If  he  .swagger,  let  him  not  come  here :  no, 
by  my  faith  ;  I  must  live  amongst  my  neighbours ; 
J '11  no  swaggerers:  1  am  in  good  name  and  fame 
with  the  very  best  — Shut  the  door;— there  comes 
uo  swaggerers  here  ;  I  have  not  lived  all  this  while, 
to  have  swaggering  now : — ^sliut  the  door,  I  pray  you. 

Fal.  l)ost  thou  hear,  hostess  ? — 

Host.  Pray  you,  pacify  yourself,  sir  John;  there 
comes  no  swaggerers  here. 

Fal.  Dost  tiiou  hear  !  it  is  mine  ancient. 

Host.  Tilly  fally,  sir  John,  never  tell  me;  your 
ancient  swaggerer  comes  not  in  my  doors.  I  was 
before  master  Tisick,  the  deputy,  the  other  day  ; 
and,  as  he  said  to  me, — it  was  no  kmger  ago.  than 
Wednesday  last, — Nei^/tbour  Quickly,  says  he  ; — 
master  Dumb,  our  minister,  was  by  then; — Neigh- 
bour Quickly,  says  he,  receive  those  that  are  civil; 
for,  saith  he,  you  are  in  an  ill  name  ; — now  he  said 
so,  I  can  tell  whereupon  ;  for,  says  he.  you  are  an 
honest  woman  and  well  thought  on;  therefore  take 
heed  what  guestsyou  receive  :  Receive,  says  he,  no 
swaggering  companions. — Theae  come  none  here; — 
you  would  bless  you  to  hear  what  he  said  : — no,  I'll 
no  swaggerers. 

Fal.  He's  no  swaggerer,  hostess  ;  a  tame  cheater, 
he ;  yoa  may  stroke  him  as  gently  as  a  puppy  grey- 
hound :  he  will  not  swagger  with  a  Barbary  hen,  if 
her  feathers  turn  back  in  any  show  of  resistance. — 
Call  him  up,  drawer. 

Host.  Cheater,  call  you  him?  I  will  bar  no  ho- 
nest man  my  house,  nor  no  cheater:  But  1  do  nut 
love  swaggering:  by  my  troth,  I  am  the  worse, 
when  one  says — swagger:  feel,  masters,  how  I 
shake  ;  look  you,  I  warrant  you. 

Doll.  So  you  do,  hostess. 

Host.  Do  I  ?  yea,  in  very  truth,  do  I,  an  'twere 
an  aspen  leaf:  I  cannot  abide  swaggerers. 

Enter  Pistol,  Barj?olph,  and  Page. 
Pist.  'Save  you,  sir  John  ! 

Fal.  Welcome,  ancient  Pistol.  Here,  Pistol,! 
charge  you  with  a  cup  of  sack  :  do  you  discharge 
upon  mine  hostess. 

Pist.  I  vvill  discharge  upon  her,  sir  John,  with 
two  bullets.  [olfend  her. 

Fal.  She  is  pistol-proof,  sir ;  you  shall  hardly 

Host.  Come,  I'll  drink  no  proofs,  nor  no  bullets: 
I'll  drink  no  more  than  will  do  me  good  for  uo 
man's  pleasure,  I.  [charge  you. 

Pist.  Then  to  you,  mistress  Dorotiiy  ;  J  will 

Doll.  Charge  me  ?  I  scorn  you,  scurvy  companion. 
What!  you  poor,  base,  rascally,  cheating,  lack- 
inen  mate  !  Away,  you  mouldy  rogue,  away!  lam 
meat  for  your  master. 

Pist.  I  know  you,  mistress  Dorothy. 

Doll.  Away,  you  cut-purse  rascal  !  you  filthy 
bung,  away  !  by  this  wine,  I'll  thrust  my  kuii'e  in 
your  mouldy  chaps,  an  you  pbiy  the  saucy  cuttle 
with  me.  Away,  you  bottle-ale  rascal  I  you  basket- 
hir.  stale  jiiggler,  you  ! — Since  when,  1  pray  you, 
sir  ? — What,  with  two  points  on  your  shoulder  ? 
oiuch ! 

Pist.  I  will  murder  your  ruff  for  this. 

Fal.  No  more.  Pistol  ;  I  would  not  have  you  go 
olFhere*.  discharge  yourself  of  our  company.  Pistol. 

H0>ft.  N."*,  good  captaiii  Pistol :  not  here,  sweet 
captain. 

Doll.  Captain  I  thou  abominable  damned  (  heater, 
art  thou  not  ashamed  to  be  called — captain  ?  If  cap- 
'aiu«  were  of  my  mind,  they  would  truncheon  you 
out,  for  taking  tueir  names  upon  you  before  you 


have  earned  them.  You  a  captain,  you  slave! 
what  ?  {  jr  tearing  a  poor  whore's  ruff  in  a  bawdy 
house  —He  a  captain  !  Hang  him,  rogue  !  He  Uvea 
upon  mouldy  stewed  prunes,  and  dried  cakes.  A 
captain  i  these  villains  will  make  the  word  captaiu 
as  odious  as  the  word  occupy  :  which  was  an  ex- 
\^ellent  good  word  before  it  was  ill  sorted :  there- 
fore captains  had  need  look  to  it. 

Bard.  Pray  thee,  go  down,  good  ancient. 

Fal.  Hark  thee  hither,  mistress  Doll. 

Pist.  Not  I :  tell  thee  what,  corporal  Bardolph  ;~- 
I  could  tear  her : — I'll  be  revenged  on  het. 

Page.  Pray  thee,  go  down. 

Pist.  I'll  see  her  damned  first; — tu  Pluto's 
damned  lake,  to  the  infernal  deep,  With  Erebus  and 
tortures  vile  also.  Hold  hook  and  line,  say  1. 
Down!  down,  dogs!  down  faitors!  Have  we  not 
Hiren  here  ? 

Host.  Good  captain  Peesel,  be  quiet ;  it  is  very 
late,i'faith:  I  beseekyou  now,  aggravate  your  choler. 

Pist.  These  be  good  humours,  indeed !  Shall 
And  hollow  paraper'd  jades  of  Asia,  [pack-horses, 
Which  cannot  go  but  thirty  miles  a  day, 
Compare  with  Caesars,  and  with  Cannibals, 
And  Trojan  Greeks  ?  nay,  rather  damn  them  with 
King  Cerberus  ;  and  let  the  welkin  roar. 
Shall  we  fall  foul  for  toys  ? 

Host.  By  my  troth,  captain,  these  are  very  bitter 
words.  [a  brawl  anon. 

Bard.  Be  gone,  good  ancient:  this  will  grow  to 
Pist.  Die  men,  like  dogs  ;  give  crowns  like  pins  , 
Have  we  not  Hiren  here  ? 

Host.  O'  my  word,  captain,  there's  none  suciv 
here.  What  the  good  year  !  do  you  tiiink,  I  would 
deny  her?  For  God's  sake,  be  quiet. 

Pist.  Then,  feed  and  be  fat,  my  fair  Calipolis: 
Come,  give's  some  sack. 

Sifortuna  me  tormenta,  s-pernto  me  contenta. — 
Fear  we  broadsides?  no,  let  the  fiend  gi\e  lire : 
Give  me  some  sack ; — and,  sweeth.eart,  lie  thou 
there.  ( haying  doion  his  sword  ) 

Come  we  to  full  points  here  ;  and  are  et  ceteras 
nothing  ? 
Fal.  Pistol,  I  would  be  quiet. 
Pist.  Sweet  knight,  I  kiss  thy  neif:  What!  we 
have  seen  the  seven  stars. 

Doll.  Thrust  him  down  stairs;  I  cannot  endure 
such  a  fustian  rascal. 

Pist.  Thrust  him  down  stairs !  know  we  not  Gal- 
loway nags  i 

Fal.  Quoit  him  down,  Bardolph,  like  a  shove- 
groat  shilling  :  nay,  if  he  do  nothing  but  speak  no- 
thing, he  shall  be  nothing  here. 

Bard.  Come,  get  you  down  stairs. 
Pist.  What!  shall  we  have  incision  ?  shall  we 
imbrue  ? —        {Snatching  up  his  sword.^ 
Then  death  rock  me  asleep,  abridge  my  doletui  day  ! 
Why  then,  let  grievous,  ghastly,  gaping  wounds 
Untwine  the  sisters  three  !  Come,  Atropos,  I  say ! 
Host.  Here's  goodly  stulf  toward  ! 
Fal.  Give  me  my  rapier,  hoy. 
Doll.  I  pray  thee.  Jack,  I  pray  thee,  do  not  draw 
Fal.  Get  you  down  stairs. 

{Draiviny  and  driving  Pirtolotlt.) 
Host.  Here's  a  goodiy  tumult!  ill  f(  rawear 
keepmg  house,  afore  I'll  be  in  these  tirnts  and 
frights.  So;  murder,  I  warrant  now. — Alas,  alas! 
put  up  your  naked  weapons,  put  up  your  naked 
weapons.  [Exeunt  Pistol  and  B  irdolph 

Doll.  I  pray  thee.  Jack,  be  qiuetithe  rascal  i« 
gone.    Ah,  you  whoreson  little  \aiiant  villain,  you. 

Host.  Are  you  not  hurt  i  the  groin?  incthought, 
he  made  a  shrewd  thrust  at  your  belly. 

Re-enter  Bardolph. 
Fal.  Have  you  turned  him  out  of  doors  ? 
Bard.  Yes,  sir.    The  rascal's  drunk  ;  yoo  baw 
hurt  him,  sir,  in  the  shoulder. 
Fal.  A  rascal !  to  brave  me  ! 
I     Doll.  Ah,  you  sweet  little  ro<?ue,  yoa  I  Alas 


KliSG  HENRY  TV. 


S55 


poor  ape,  how  thou  sweat'st !  Come,  let  me  wipe 
tliy  face; — com"  on,  you  wlioreson  chaps; — Ah, 
rogue  !  i'failh,  I  'ove  thee.  Tlioii  art  as  valorous 
as  tiector  i4  Troy,  worth  five  of  Agamemnon,  and 
ten  times  better  tlian  the  nine  worthies.  Ah,  villain ! 

FuL  A  rasca.ly  slave  !  I  will  toss  the  rogue  in  a 
blanket. 

Dol/.  Do,  if  thou  darest  for  thy  heart :  if  thou 
dost,  I'll  canms  thee  between  a  pair  of  sheets. 

Enter  Music, 
Png«.  The  music  is  come,  sir 
Pal.  Let  tliei-    i>lay; — Play,  sirs. — Sit  on  my 
knee,  Doll.    A  rascal  Ijragging  slave  !  the  rogue 
fled  from  me  likrt  quicksilver. 

Doll.  I  laith,  and  thou   followedst  him   like  a 
,  church.    Thou  whoreson  little  tidy  Bartholomew 
■  ^  boar-|jig,  when  wilt  thou  leave  fighting  o'days,  and 
foining  o'nights,  and  begin  to  patch  up  thine  old 
body  for  heaven? 

Ente»-  be/and,  Prince  Henry  and  Poins,  disguised 
like  Drawers. 
Fal.  Peace,  good  Doll !  do  not  speak  like  a  death's 
ead  :  do  not  bid  me  remember  mnie  end. 
Doll.  Sirrah,  what  humour  is  the  prince  of"? 
Fal.  A  good  shallow  young  fellow :  he  would 
have  made  a  good  pantler,  he  would  have  chipped 
bread  well. 
Doll.  They  say,  Poins  has  a  good  wit. 
Fal.  He  a  good  wit  ?  hang  him,  baboon !  his  wit 
is  as  thick  as  Tewksbury  mustard ;  there  is  no  more 
conceit  in  him,  than  is  in  a  mallet 
Doll.  Why  does  the  prince  love  him  so  then  ? 
Fal.  Because  their  legs  are  both  of  a  bigness  : 
and  hs  plays  at  quoits  well ;  and  eats  conger  and 
fennel ;  and  drinks  off  candles'  ends  for  flap-dra- 
gons ;  and  rides  the  wild  mare  with  the  boys  ;  and 
jumps  upon  joint  stools  and  swears  with  a  good 
firace  ;  and  wears  his  boot  very  smooth,  like  unto 
tiip  sign  of  the  leg ;  and  breeds  no  bate  with  telling 
of"  discreet  stories,  and  such  other  gambol  faculties 
lif  liHth,  that  show  a  weak  mind  and  an  able  body, 
for  the  which  the  prince  admits  him  :  for  the  prince 
himself  is  such  another;  the  weight  of  a  hair  will 
turn  the  scales  between  their  avoirdupois. 

P.  Hen.  Would  not  this  knave  of  a  wheel  have 
bis  ears  cut  off? 
Pains.  L-t's  beat  him  before  his  whore. 
P.  Hen.  Look,  if  the  withered  elder  hath  not  his 
poll  clawed  like  a  parrot, 

Poins.  Is  it  not  strange,  that  desire  should  so 
many  years  outlive  performance  ? 
Fal.  Kiss  me,  Doll. 

P.  Hen,  Saturn  and  Venus  this  year  in  conjunc- 
tion I  what  says  the  almanack  to  that? 

Pains.  And,  look,  whether  the  fiery  Trigon,  his 
man,  be  not  lisping  to  his  master's  old  tables ;  his 
note  book,  his  counsel-keeper. 

Fal.  Thou  dost  give  me  flattering  busses. 

Doll.  Nay,  truly ;  I  kiss  thee  with  a  most  con- 
stant heart. 

Fal.  I  am  old,  I  am  old. 

Doll.  I  love  thee  better  than  I  love  e'er  a  scurvy 
yoimg  bov  of  them  all. 

Fal.  VVhat  stuff  wilt  have  a  kirtle  of?  I  shall 
receive  money  on  Thursday  ;  thoii  shalt  have  a  cap 
to-morrow.  A  merry  song,  come  ;  it  grows  late, 
we'll  to  bnd.    'I'hou'lt  forget  me,  when  I  am  gone. 

Doll.  By  my  troth,  thou'lt  set  me  a  weeping,  an 
thou  sayest  so:  prove  that  ever  I  dress  myself 
haiidsiim--  till  thy  return. — Well,  hearken  the  end. 

Fal.  Some  sack,  Francis. 

P.  Hen.  Pains.  Anon,  anon,  sir.  {Advancing.) 

Fal  \ln  !  ii  bastard  son  of  the  king's  ? — And  art 
Dot  tliou  Poins  his  brotuv'r  ? 

P.  Hen.  Wliy,  llioii  ulobe  of  sinful  continents, 
what  a  lile  d..st"tliou  't-ad  ? 

Fai.  A  better  tuau  thou;  I  am  a  gentleman,  thou 
Aft  »  drawer 


P.  Hen.  Very  true,  sir;  and  I  come  to  draw  you 
out  by  tlie  ears. 

Host.  O,  the  lord  preserve  (hy  good  grace  !  by 
Hiy  troth,  welcome  to  London. — ^Now  the  Lord 
bless  that  sweet  face  of  thine  !  O  Jesu,  are  you 
come  from  Wales? 

Fal.  Thou  whoreson  mad  compound  of  majesty, 
— by  this  light  flesh  and  corrupt  blocd,  thou  ar^ 
welcome.  {Leaning  his  hand  upon  Doll.) 

Doll.  How  J  you  fat  fool,  I  scorn  you. 

Pains.  My  lord,  he  will  drive  you  out  of  your 
revenge,  and  turn  all  to  a  merriment,  if  you  teke 
not  the  heat. 

P.  Hen.  You  whoreson  candle-mine,  you,  how 
vilely  did  you  speak  of  me  even  now,  before  thia 
honest,  virtuous,  civil  gentlewoman  ? 

Host.  'Blessing  o'your  good  heart !  and  so  she  is, 
by  my  troth. 

Fal.  Didst  thou  hear  me  ? 

P.  Hen.  Yes  ;  and  you  knew  me,  as  you  did  when 
you  ran  away  by  Gads-hill:  you  knew,  I  was  at  your 
back  ;  and  spoke  it  on  purpose,  to  try  my  patience. 

Fal.  No,  no,  no ;  not  so ;  I  did  not  think,  thou 
wast  within  hearing. 

P.  Hen.  I  shall  drive  you  then  to  confess  the 
wilful  abuse;  and  then  I  know  how  to  handle  you. 

Fal.  No  abuse,  Hal,  on  mine  honour,  no  abuse. 

P.  Hen.  Not !  to  dispraise  me  ;  and  call  me — 
pantler,  and  bread-chipper,  and  I  know  not  what  ? 

Fal.  No  abuse,  Hal. 

Pains.  No  abuse ! 

Fal.  No  abuse,  Ned,  in  the  world  ;  honest  Ned, 
none.  I  dispraised  him  before  the  wicked,  tliat  the 
wicked  might  not  fall  in  love  with  him  : — in  which 
doing  I  have  done  the  part  of  a  careful  friend,  and 
a  true  subject,  and  thy  father  is  to  give  me  thanks 
for  it. — No  abuse,  Hal ; — none,  Ned,  none  ; — no, 
boys,  none. 

P.  Hen.  See  now,  whether  pure  fear,  and  entire 
cowardice,  doth  not  make  thee  wrong  this  virtuor.a 
gentlewoman  to  close  with  us  ?  Ls  she  of  the  wicked  ? 
Is  thine  hostess  here  of  the  wicked  ?  Or  is  the  boy 
of  the  wicked  ?  Or  honest  Bardolph,  whose  zeal 
burns  in  his  nose,  of  the  wicked  ? 

Poins.  Answer,  thou  dead  elm,  :insvver. 

Fal.  The  fiend  hath  pricked  down  Bardolph  ir- 
recoverably ;  and  his  face  is  Lucifer's  privy-kitchen, 
where  he  doth  nothing  but  roast  malt-v»'Oi  ms.  For 
the  boy, — there  is  a  good  angel  about  him  ;  but  the 
devil  outbids  him  too. 

P.  Hen.  For  the  women, — 

Fal.  For  one  of  them, — she  is  in  hell  already, 
and  burns,  poor  soul !  For  the  other, — I  owe  her 
money  ;  and  whether  she  be  damned  for  that.  I 
know  not. 

Host.  No,  I  warrant  you. 

Fal.  No,  I  think  thou  art  not;  I  think,  thou  art 
quit  for  that:  Marry,  there  is  another  indictment 
upon  thee,  for  suffering  flesh  to  be  eaten  in  thy 
house,  contrary  to  the  law ;  tor  the  which,  I  think, 
thou  wilt  hov/1. 

Host.  All  victuallers  do  so  :  What's  9  joint  of 
mutton  or  two  in  a  whole  Lent  ? 
P.  Hen.  You,  gentlewoman, — 
Doll.  What  says  your  grace  ?  [against 
Fal.  His  grace  says  that  which  his  flesh  rebels 
Host.  Who  knocks  so  loud  at  the  door  ?  look  to 
the  door  there,  Francis. 

Enter  Peto. 

P.  Hen.  Peto,  how  now?  what  news? 

Peto.  The  king  your  father  is  at  Westminster; 
And  there  are  twenty  weak  and  wearied  posts, 
Cume  from  the  north  :  and,  as  I  came  along, 
I  met,  and  overtook,  a  dozen  captains, 
Bare-headed,  sweating,  knocking  at  the  taverns. 
And  asking  every  one  for  sir  John  Falsta.T. 

P.  Hen.  I3y  heaven,  Poins,  I  leel  me  much  to 
So  idly  to  profane  the  precious  time;  [blame, 
Wne^i  tempest  of  conunotion,  l>ke  tiie  south 


356 


SECOND 


PART  OF 


Act  hi. 


Borne  wilh  black  vapour,  doth  begin  to  melt, 

And  drop  upon  our  bare  unarmed  heads. 

Oive  me  my  sword  and  clonk : — FalstafF,  good  night. 

[Exeiint  Prince  Henry,  Pains,  Peto,  and 
Bardolph. 

Wal,  Now  comes  in  tlie  sweetest  morsel  of  Die 
night,  and  we  must  hence,  and  leave  it  unpicked. 
[Knocking  heard.)  More  knocking  at  the  door  ? 

Be-enter  Bardolph. 
How  now  ?  what's  the  matter  ? 

Bard.  You  must  away  to  court,  sir,  presently  ; 
a  dozen  captains  stay  at  door  for  yoTi. 

Fal.  Pay  the  musicians,  sirrah. ('To  the  Page.) — 
Farewell,  hostess; — farewell,  Doll. —  You  see,  my 
good  wenches,  how  men  of  merit  are  sought  after: 
ihe  undeserver  may  sleep,  w^hen  the  man  of  action 
is  called  on.  Farewell,  good  wefiches  :  II' I  be  not 
sent  away  post,  I  will  see  you  again  ere  I  go. 

Doll.  I  cannot  speak  ; — If  my  heart  be  not  ready 
UJ  burst: — well,  sweet  Jack,  have  a  care  of  thyself. 

Fal.  Farewell,  Farewell. 

[Exeunt  Falstaff  and  Bardolph. 

Host.  Well,  fare  thee  well :  1  have  known  thee 
these  twenty-nine  years,  come  peascod  time ;  but 
an  honester  and  truer-hearted  man, —  Well,  fare 
thee  well. 

Bard.  {TFithin.)  Mistress  Tear-sheet, — 
Host.  What's  the  matter? 

Bard.  ( n  ithin.)  Bid  mistress  Tear-sheet  come 
to  my  master. 

Host.  O  run,  Doll,  run  ;  run,  good  Doll.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — A  Rooin  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  King  Henky  in  his  night-gown,  with  a  Page. 
K,  Hen.  Go,  call  tiie  earls  of  Surrey  and  of 
Warwick  ; 

Rut,  ere  they  come,  bid  them  o'er-read  these  letters. 
And  well  consider  of  them  :  Make  good  speed. — 

[Exit  Page. 
How  many  thousand  of  my  poorest  subjects 
Are  at  this  hour  asleep  ! — Sleep,  gentle  sleep. 
Nature's  soft  nurse,  how  have  I  li  ighted  thee, 
That  thou  no  more  wilt  weigh  my  eyelids  down. 
And  steep  my  senses  in  forgetfilness  ? 
Why  rather,  sleep,  liest  tliou  in  smoky  cribs. 
Upon  uneasy  pallets  stretching  thee. 
And  hush'd  with  buzzing  night-flies  to  thy  slumber  ; 
Than  in  the  perfum'd  ciuimbers  of  the  great. 
Under  the  canopies  of  costly  state. 
And  luli'd  with  sounds  of  sweetest  melody? 
O  thou  dull  god,  why  liest  thou  with  the  vile 
In  loathsome  beds  ;  and  leav'st  the  kingly  couch, 
A  watch-case,  or  a  common  'larum  bell  ;? 
Wilt  thou  upon  the  high  and  giddy  mast 
Seal  up  the  ship-boy's  eyes,  and  rock  his  brains 
fn  cradle  of  the  rude  imperious  surge; 
And  in  the  visitation  of  the  winds. 
Who  take  the  ruffian  billows  by  the  top, 
Curling  their  monstruous  heads,  and  hanging  them 
With  deaf'ning  clamours  in  the  slippery  clouds, 
That,  with  the  hurly,  death  itself  awakes  ? 
Can'st  thou,  O  partial  sleep  !  give  thy  repose 
To  the  wet  sea-boy  in  an  hour  so  rude  ; 
And,  in  the  calmest  and  most  stillest  night. 
With  all  appliances  and  means  to  boot. 
Deny  it  to  a  king?  Then,  happy  low,  lie  down  ! 
Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown. 

Enter  Warvs^ick  and  Surrey. 

War.  Many  good  morrows  to  your  majesty ! 

K.  Hen.  Is  it  good  morrow,  lords? 

War.  'Tis  one  o'clock,  and  past.  [lords. 

K..  Hen.  Why  then,  good  morrow  to  you  all,  my 
Have  you  read  o'er  the  letters  that  I  sent  you  ? 

War.  We  have,  my  liege.  [kingdom 

jKT.  Hen.  Then  you  perceive,  the  body  of  our 
How  foul  it  is;  what  rank  diseases  grow, 
And  with  what  danger,  near  the  heart  of  it. 

War.  It  is  but  as  a  body,  yet,  distemper'd  ; 


Which  to  his  former  strength  may  be  restor'd. 
With  good  advice,  and  little  niedecine. — 
My  lord  Northumberland  will  soon  be  cooi'd. 
K.  Hen.  O  heaven  !  that  one  might  read  ihe  booi 
of  fate: 

And  see  the  revolution  of  the  times 
Make  mountains  level,  and  the  continent 

i Weary  of  solid  firmness,)  melt  itself 
nto  the  sea  !  and,  other  times,  to  see 
The  beachy  girdle  of  the  ocean 
Too  wide  for  Neptune's  hips ;  how  chances  laockf 
And  changes  fill  the  cup  of  alteration 
With  divers  liquors!  O,  if  this  were  seen. 
The  happiest  youth, — viewing  his  progress  through, 
What  perils  past,  what  crosses  to  ensue, — 
Would  shut  the  book,  and  sit  him  down  and  dip. 
'Tis  not  ten  years  gone. 

Since  Richard,  and  Northumberland,  great  friend* 
Did  feast  together,  and,  in  two  years  alter. 
Were  they  at  wars  :  It  is  but  eight  years  since 
This  Percy  was  the  man  nearest  my  soul ; 
Who  like  a  brother  toil'd  in  my  affairs, 
And  laid  his  love  and  life  under  my  foot; 
Yea,  for  my  sake,  even  to  the  eyes  of  Richard, 
Gave  him  defiance.    But  vvhick  of  you  was  by, 
(You,  cousin  Nevil,  as  I  may  remember,) 

(To  Warwuk.) 
When  Richard, — with  his  eye  brimlull  of  tears, 
Theucheck'd  and  rated  by  Northumberland, — 
Did  speak  these  words,  now  prov'd  a  propiiecy  ? 
Northumberland,  thou  ladder,  by  the  which 
My  cousin  Bolingbroke  ascends  my  throne  ; — 
Tliough  then,  heaven  knows,  I  had  no  S'Uch  intent; 
But  that  necessity  so  bow'd  the  state, 
'i'hat  I  and  greatness  were  compelled  to  kiss  : — 
The  time  shall  cofne,  thus  did  he  follow  it. 
The  time  will  come,  that  foul  sin,  gathering  head, 
Shall  break  into  corruption  : — so  went  on. 
Foretelling  this  same  time's  condition. 
And  the  division  of  our  amity. 

War.  There  is  a  history  in  all  men's  lives. 
Figuring  the  nature  of  the  times  deceas'd : 
The  which  observ'd,  a  man  may  prophecy. 
With  a  near  aim,  ol  the  main  chance  of  things  / 
As  yet  not  come  to  life  ;  which  in  their  seeds. 
And  weak  beginnings,  lie  iritreasured. 
Such  things  become  the  hatch  and  brood  of  time  ; 
And,  by  the  necessary  form  ol'  this. 
King  Richard  might  create  a  perl'ect  guess. 
That  great  Northumberland,  then  laKse  to  him, 
Would,  of  that  seed,  grow  to  a  greater  falseness  ; 
Which  should  not  find  a  ground  to  nx>t  upon. 
Unless  on  you. 

K.  Hen.       Are  these  things  then  necessities  ? 
Then  let  us  meet  them  like  necessities  : — 
And  that  same  word  even  now  cries  out  on  us; 
They  say,  the  bishop  and  Northumberland 
Are  fifty  thousand  strong. 

War.  It  cannot  be,  my  lord  ; 

Rumour  doth  double,  like  the  voice  and  echo, 
The  numbers  of  the  fear'd  : — Please  it  your  graco 
To  go  to  bed :  upon  my  life,  my  lord. 
The  powers  tnat  you  already  have  sent  forth. 
Shall  bring  this  prize  in  very  easily. 
To  comfort  you  the  more,  I  have  receiv'd 
A  certain  instance,  that  Glendower  is  dead. 
Your  majesty  hath  been  this  fortnight  ill ; 
And  these  unseason'd  hours,  perforce,  must  add 
Unto  your  sickness. 

K.  Hen.  I  will  take  your  counsel  ^ 

And,  were  these  inward  wars  once  cut  of  hand. 
We  would,  dear  lords,  unto  the  Holy  Land. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — Court  before  Justice  Shallow's  Hous* 

in  Gloucestereki  e. 
Enter  Shallow  and  Silence,  meeting  ;  Mout>dy 

Shadow,   Wart,   Feeble,    Bull-calf,  and 

Servants,  behind. 

Shal.  Come  on,  come  on,  come  on;   give  n*a 


Scene  2. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


357 


your  hand,  sir,  give  me  your  hand,  sir:  an  early 
stirrer,  by  the  rood.  And  how  doth  niy  good  cousin 

Sil.  Good  morrow,  good  cousin  Shallow. 

8hal.  And  how  doth  my  cousin,  your  bed-fellow  ? 
and  your  fairest  daughter,  and  mine,  my  god- 
daughter Ellen  ? 

Sil.  Akts,  a  black  ouzel,  cousin  Shallow. 

Shal  By  yea  and  nay,  sir,  I  dare  say,  my  cousin 
VViiliaiu  is  become  a  good  scholar:  he  is  at  Oxford, 
Blill,  is  he  not  'I 

Sil.  Indeed,  sir ;  to  my  cost. 

ShaL  He  must  then  to  the  inns  of  court  shortly : 
I  was  once  of  Clement's  inn;  where,  I  think,  they 
will  talk  of  mad  Shallow  yet. 

Sil.  You  were  called — lusty  Shallow,  then,  eousin. 

Shal.  By  the  mass,  I  was 'called  any  thmg;  and 
I  would  have  done  any  thing,  indeed,  and  roundly 
too.  There  was  I,  and  little  John  Doit  of  Start'ord- 
shire,  and  black  George  Bare,  and  Francis  Pick- 
hone,  and  Will  Sq  iele  a  Cotswold  man, — you  had 
not  four  such  swinge-buckieis  in  all  the  inns  of 
court  again  ;  and,  I  may  say  to  you,  we  knew  where 
the  bona-robas  were  ;  and  had  the  best  of  them  all 
at  commandment.  Then  was  Jack  Falstaft",  now  sir 
John,  a  boy ;  and  page  to  Thomas  Mowbray,  duke 
of  Norfolk.  [about  soldiers  ? 

Sil.  'J^his  sir  John,  cousin,  that  couies  hither  anon 

Shal.  The  same  sir  John,  the  very  same.  I  saw 
him  break  Skogan's  head  at  the  court  gate,  when 
he  was  a  crack,  not  thus  high:  and  the  very  same 
day  did  I  fight  with  one  Sampson  Stockfish,  a  fruit- 
erer, behind  Gray's  inn.  O,  the  mad  days  that  I  have 
spent !  and  to  see  how  many  of  mine  old  acquaint- 
ances are  dead  ! 

Sil.  We  shall  all  follow,  cousin. 

Shal.  Certain, 'tis  certain;  very  sure,  very  sure: 
death,  as  the  Psai^nist  saith,  is  certain  to  all ;  all 
Sf'sall  die. — How  good  a  yoke  of  bullocks  at  Stam- 
ford fair  ? 

Sil.  Tridy,  cousin,  I  was  not  there. 

Shal.  Death  is  certain. — Is  old  Double  of  your 
town  living  yet 

Sil.  Dead,  sir. 

Shal.  Dead  I — See,  see  ! — he  drew  a  good  bow  ; 
And  dead  !—  he  shot  a  line  shoot: — John  of  Gaunt 
loved  hint  well,  and  betted  much  money  on  his  head. 
Dead  I — he  would  liuve  clapped  i'  the  clout  at  twelve 
score ;  and  carried  you  a  lorehaiid  shaft  a  fourteen 
and  fourteen  and  a  half,  that  it  would  have  done  a 
aians  heart  good  to  see. — tlovv  a  score  of  ewes  now? 

Sil.  Tiiereajteras  they  be:  a  score  of  good  ewes 
may  be  worth  ten  po'.mds. 

Shal.  And  is  old  Double  dead ! 

Enter  Bardolph,  and  one  with  him. 
Sil.  Here  coiue  two  of  sir  John  FalstalF's  men, 
as  1  think. 

Bard.  Good  morrow,  honest  gentlemen:  I  be- 
seech you,  vvliich  is  justice  Shallow  i 

Shal.  I  am  Robert  Shallow,  sir ;  a  poor  esquire 
of  this  county,  and  one  of  the  king's  justices  of  the 
peace  :  W^liat  is  your  good  pleasure  with  me? 

Bard.  iVly  captain,  sir,  conmiends  him  to  you  : 
my  captain,  sir  John  Falstatt":  a  tall  gentleman,  by 
heaven,  and  a  uiost  gallant  leader. 

ShaL  He  greets  me  well,  sir;  I  knew  him  a  good 
Iv  cksword  man  ;  How  doth  the  good  knight  ?  may 
1  ask,  how  my  lady  his  wife  doth  i 

Bard.  Sir,  pardon;  a  soldier  is  better  accommo- 
(lited,  than  with  a  wife. 

Shal.  It  is  well  said,  in  faith,  sir;  and  it  is  well 
eaid  indeed  too.  Better  acconauodated ! — it  is 
go;)d ;  yea,  indeed,  it  is:  good  phrases  are  surely, 
und  ever  were,  very  commendable.  Accommodated  I 
— it  comes  frma  accotmnodo :  very  good  ;  a  good 
phrase. 

Bard.  Pardon  raf  sir.  I  have  heard  th*^  word. 
Phrase,  ^aii  you  it?  By  this  good  day,  I  know  not 
4ije  piirase ;  but  I  '"'ui  namtai;)  th-.-  w-.^ni  with  my 


sword,  to  be  a  soldier-like  word  and  a  word  of  es« 

ceediiig  good  command  Accommodated  ;  That  13, 
when  a  man  is,  as  they  say,  accommodated:  or, 
when  a  man  is, — being, — wliereby, — he  may  l)e 
thought  to  be  accommodated ;  which  is  an  excellent 
thing. 

Enler  Falstafp. 
Shal.  It  is  very  just : — Look,  here  comes  good 
sir  John. — Give  me  your  good  hs  -d,  give  me  you 
worship's  good  hand:  By  my  troth,  you  look  w^if, 
and  bear  your  years  very  well  :  welcome,  good  s.i 
John. 

Fal.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  well,  good  matikr 
Robert  Shallow  : — Master  Sure-card,  as  I  think. 

Shal.  No,  sir  John;  it  is  my  cousin  Silence,  u 
commission  with  me. 

Fal.  Good  master  Silence,  it  well  befits  you 
shoidd  be  of  the  peace. 

Sil.  Your  good  worship  is  welcome. 

Fal.  Fy  !  this  is  hot  weather. — Gentlemen,  have 
you  provided  me  here  half  a  dozen  sufficient  men  ? 

ShaL  Marry,  have  we,  sir.    Wil]  you  sit  i* 

Fal.  Let  me  see  them,  I  beseech  you. 

ShaLWhere's  the  roll  ?  where 's  the  roll  ?  where's 
the  roll  ? — Let  me  see,  let  me  see.  So,  so,  so,  so  : 
Yea,  marry,  sir. — Ralph  Mouldy: — let  them  appear 
as  I  call ;  let  them  do  so,  let  them  do  so. — Let  me 
see  :  Where  is  Mouldy  ? 

Moul.  Here,  an't  please  you. 

Shal.  What  think  you,  sir  John  ?  a  good  limbed 
fellow  :  young,  strong,  and  of  good  friends 

Fal.  Is  thy  name  Mouldy  ? 

Moul.  Yea,  an't  please  you. 

Fal.  'Tis  the  more  time  thou  wert  used. 

Shal.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  most  excellent,  i'  faith  !  things, 
that  are  mouldy,  lack  use:  Very  singular  good  .'— 
In  faith,  well  said,  sir  John  ;  very  well  said. 

FaL  Prick  him.  \Tq  Shallow.^ 

Moul.  I  was  pricked  well  enough  before,  an  you 
could  have  let  me  alone  :  my  old  dame  will  be  un- 
done now,  for  one  to  do  her  husbandry,  and  her 
drudgery  :  you  need  not  have  pricked  me  ;  there  are 
other  men  fitter  to  go  out  than  I. 

Fal.  Go  to ;  peace.  Mouldy,  you  shall  go  Mouldy 
it  is  time  you  were  spent. 

Moul.  Spent! 

Shal.  Peace,  fellow,  peace  ;  stand  aside  ;  Kno\i 
you  where  you  are  ? — For  the  oth*^r,  sir  John  : — le 
me  see  ; — Simon  Shadow  ! 

Fal.  Ay,  marry,  let  me  have  him  to  sit  under: 
he's  like  to  be  a  cold  soldier. 

ShaL  Where's  Shadow  i 

Shad.  Here,  sir. 

FaL  Shadow,  whose  son  art  thou? 
Shad.  My  mother's  son,  sir 

Fal.  Thy  mother's  son!  like  enough;  and  thy 
father's  shadow :  so  the  son  of  the  temale  is  the 
shadow  of  the  male  :  It  is  often  so,  indeed  ;  but  not 
much  of  the  father's  substance. 

ShaL  Do  j'ou  like  him,  sir  John  ? 

Fal.  Shadow  will  serve  for  summer, — prick  him  , 
— for  we  have  a  number  of  shadows  to  fill  up  the 
muster-book. 

Shal.  Thomas  Wart ! 

FaL  Where's  he  ? 

Wart.  Here,  sir. 

Fal.  Is  thy  name  Wart? 

Wart.  Yea,  sir. 

FaL  Thou  art  a  very  ragged  warL 

Shal.  Siiall  1  prick  him.  sir  John, 

Fal.  It  were  superliuous  ;  for  his  apparel  is  buitt 
upon  his  back,  and  the  whole  frame  stands  upoa 
pins  :  prick  him  no  nmre. 

Shal.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! — you  can  do  it,  sir ;  you  can  do 
it;  i  connnend  you  well. — Francis  Feeble  I 

Fee.  Here,  sn- 

Fal.  What  tiade  art  thou.  Feeble  ? 
Fee.  A  woman's  tailor,  sir, 
Shal.  Shall  i  prick  him,  sir? 


S58 


SECOND 


PART  OF 


Act  III. 


Fal.  You  may  ;  but  if  he  hail  been  a  man's  tai- 
lor, he  wonhJ  have  pricked  you. — Wilt  thoii  make 
as  many  holes  in  an  enemy's  battle,  as  thou  hast 
done  in  a  vvomr.n's  petticoat?  (more. 

Fee.  I  vvill  da  my  good  will,  sir  ;  you  can  have  no 

FaL  Well  said,  good  woman's  tailor!  well  said, 
courageous  Feeble  !  Thou  wilt  be  as  valian't  as  the 
wrathtul  dove,  or  most  magnanimous  niouse. — Prick 
the  woman's  tailor  well,  master  Shallow;  deep, 
master  S'iraUow. 

Fee.  I  would,  Wart  might  have  gone,  sir. 

FaL  I  would,  ihou  wert  a  man's  tailor;  that  thou 
miglit'st  mend  him,  and  make  him  fit  to  go.  I  cannot 
put  iiim  to  a  pri\  ate  soldier,  that  is  the  leader  of  so 
many  thousands:   Let  that  suffice,  most  tbrcible 

Fee.  It  shalk  suffice,  sir.  [Feeble. 

Fal.  1  am  bound  to  thee,  reverend  Feeble. — 
Who  is  the  next  ? 

SAal.  Peter  Bull-calf  oi" the  green! 

FaL  Yea,  marry,  let  us  see  Bull-calf. 

Bzill.  Here,  sir. 

FaL  'Fore  God,  a  likely  fellow! — Come,  prick 
me  Bull-calf  till  he  roar  again. 

BulL  O  lord  !  good  my  lord  captain,— 

FaLWhiit,  dost  thou  roar  before  thou  art  pricked  ? 

Bic/L  O  lord,  sir  I  1  am  a  diseased  man. 

FaL  What  disease  hast  thou  ? 

Bu/L  A  whoreson  cold,  sir;  a  cough,  sir;  which 
I  caught  with  ringing  in  the  king's  aflairs,  upon  his 
coronation  day,  sir. 

FaL  Come,  thou  shalt  go  to  the  wars  in  a  gown  : 
we  will  have  away  thy  cold ;  and  I  will  take  such 
order,  that  thy  friends  shall  ring  for  thee. — Is  here 
all? 

S/taL  Here  is  two  more  called  than  your  number  ; 
you  must  have  but  four  here,  sir; — and  so,  I  pray 
you,  go  in  with  me  to  dinner, 

FaL  Come,  1  will  go  drink  with  you,  but  I  cannot 
tiirry  dinner,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  in  good  troth, 
master  Sliallow. 

S/iaL  O,  sir  John,  do  you  remember  since  we  lay 
all  night  in  the  windmill  in  Saint  George's  fields  ? 

F'al.  No  more  of  that,  good  master  Shallow,  no 
more  of  that. 

S/iaL  Ha,  it  was  a  merry  night.  And  is  Jane 
Nigjit- work  alive? 

FaL  Slie  lives,  master  Shallow. 

SAaL  She  never  could  away  with  me. 

FaL  Never,  never:  she  would  always  say,  she 
could  not  abide  master  Shallow. 

S/iaL  By  the  mass,  I  could  anger  her  to  the  heart. 
She  was  then  a  bona-roba.  Doth  she  hold  her  own 
well  ? 

F^aL  Old,  eld,  master  Shallow. 

SAaL  Nay,  she  must  be  old  ;  she  cannot  choose 
but  be  old ;  certain,  she's  old :  and  had  Kobin 
Night  work  by  old  Night-work,  before  I  came  to 
Clement's  inn. 

SiL  Tiiat's  fifty  five  years  ago. 

SAaL  Ha,  cousin  Silence,  that  thou  hadst  seen 
that,  that  tliis  knight  and  I  have  seen! — Ha,  sir 
John,  said  I  well?  [master  Shallow. 

F^al.  We  have  heard  the  chimes  at  midnight, 

SAal  That  we  have,  that  we  ha\e,  that  we  have; 
in  faith,  sir  John,  we  have  ;  our  watch-word  was, 
,Hem,  boys  ! — Come,  let's  to  dinner  ;  come,  let's  to 
dinner: — O,  the  days  that  we  have  seen!— Come, 
come.      \Exeiini  Falstaff,  SAallow,  and  Silence. 

Bull.  Good  master  cur|)orate  Bardoiph,  stand 
my  friend  ;  and  here  is  four  Harry  ten  shillings  in 
French  crowns  for  you.  In  very  truth,  sir,  J  had  as 
lief  be  hanged,  sir,  as  go:  and  yet,  for  mine  own 
part,  sir,  I  do  not  care ;  but,  ratlier,  because  I  am 
unwilling,  and,  lor  mine  own  part,  have  a  desire  to 
stay  witli  my  friends;  else,  sir,  1  did  not  care,  for 
mine  own  part,  so  much. 

Baj  d.  Go  to  ;  stand  aside. 

Moul.  And  good  master  corporal  captain,  for  my 
old  dame's  sake,st9nd  my  friend  :  she  lias  nobody  tu 
dk)  any  thing  about  her,  wheu  1  uui  g^oue  i  and  siie 


is  old,  and  cannot  help  herself:  yon  shall  have  forty, 
sir. 

Bard.  Go  to;  stand  aside. 

F\e.  By  my  trotli  I  rare  not ; — a  man  can  die  but 
once  ; — we  owe  God  a  death  , — I'll  ne'er  bear  a  basa 
mind  : — an't  be  my  destiny,  so  ;  an't  be  not,  so:  No 
man's  too  good  to  serve  his  prince  ;  and,  let  it  go 
which  way  it  vvill,  he  that  dies  tliis  year,  is  quit  for 
the  next. 

Bard.  Well  said  ;  thou'rt  a  good  fellow. 
Fee.  'Faith,  I'll  bear  no  base  mind. 

Re-enter  Falstaff,  and  Justices. 
Fal.  Come,  sir,  which  men  shall  1  have? 
SAal.  Four  of  which  you  please. 
Bard.  Sir,  a  word  with  you  : — I  have  three  pound 
to  free  Mouldy  and  Bull-calf. 
FaL  Go  to  ;  well. 

SAaL  Come,  sir  John,  which  four  will  you  have  ? 

Fal.  Do  you  choose  for  me. 

SAaL  Marry  then,— Mouldy,  BuU-calC  Feeble, 
and  Shadow. 

FaL  Mouldy,  and  Bull-calf :— For  you.  Mouldy, 
stay  at  home  still ;  you  are  past  service; — and,  for 
your  part.  Bull-calf, — grow  till  you  come  unto  it;  I 
will  none  of  you. 

SAaL  Sir  John,  sir  John,  do  not  yourself  wrong; 
they  are  your  likeliest  men,  and  I  would  have  you 
served  with  the  best. 

FaL  Will  you  tell  me,  master  Shallow,  how  to 
choose  a  man?  Care  I  lor  the  limb,  tiie  thewes,  the 
stature,  bulk,  and  big  assemblance  of  a  man!  Give 
me  the  spirit,  master  Shallow. — Here's  Wart ; — joii 
see  what  a  ragged  appearance  it  is:  he  shall  charge 
you  and  discharge  you,  with  the  motion  of  a 
pewterer's  hammer;  come  off,  and  on,  swifter  than 
he  that  gibbets  on  the  brewer's  bucket.  And  this 
same  half- faced  fellow,  Shadow, — give  me  this  man  ; 
he  presents  no  mark  to  the  enemy  ;  the  Ibemau  may 
with  as  great  aim  level  at  the  edge  of  a  jjenknife  : 
And,  for  a  retreat, — how  swiftly  will  this  Feeble, 
the  woman's  tador,  run  off  ?  O,  give  me  the  spare 
men,  and  spare  me  the  great  ones. — Put  me  a  cali- 
verinto  Wart's  hand,  Bardoiph. 

Bard.  Hold,  Wart,  traverse  ;  thus,  thus,  thus. 

FaL  Come,  manage  me  your  caliver.  So:  —very 
well : — go  to  : — very  good  : — exceeding  goad. — O, 
give  me  always  a  little  lean,  old,  chapped,  bald 
shot. — W ell  said,  i'faith.  Wart ;  thou'rt  a  good  scab  : 
hold,  there's  a  tester  for  thee. 

SAad.  He  is  not  his  craft's  master,  he  doth  not 
do  it  right.  I  remember  at  Mile-end  green,  (when 
I  lay  at  Clement's  inn, — I  was  then  Sir  Dagonet  in 
Arthurs  show,)  there  was  a  little  quiver  fellow,  and 
'a  would  manage  you  his  piece  thus,  and  'a  would 
about,  anJ  about,  and  come  you  in,  and  come  you 
in  :  raA,  taA,  tah,  would  'a  say  :  bounce,  would  'a 
say ;  and  away  againi  would  'a  go,  and  again  would 
'a  come  : — I  shall  never  see  such  a  fellow. 

FaL  These  fellows  will  do  well,  master  Shallow. 
— God  keep  you,  master  Silence ;  I  will  not  use 
many  words  with  you  : — Fare  you  well,  gentlemeu 
both  :  I  thank  you  :  I  must  a  dozen  mile  to  night.— 
Bardoiph,  give  the  soldiers  roats. 

SAaL  Sir  John,  heaven  bless  you,  and  prosper 
your  affairs,  and  send  us  peace  !  As  you  return,  visit 
my  house  ;  let  our  old  acquaintance  be  renewed  . 
peradventure,  I  will  with  you  to  tJie  court. 

Fal.  I  would  you  would,  master  Shallow. 

SAal.  Go  to;  1  have  spoke,  at  a  word.  Fare  yoj 
well.  [Exeunt  SAalloiv  and  Silence^ 

FaL  Fare  you  well,  gentle  gentlemen.  On,  Bar. 
dolph;  lead  the  men  away.  [Exeunt  Bardoiph^ 
Recruits,  8ic.]  As  I  return,  Iv\ill  letc'a  .^if  these 
justices  :  I  do  see  the  bottom  of  justice  Sliallow 
Lord,  lord,  how  subject  we  old  men  are  to  tliis  vice 
of  lying!  Tliis  same  starved  justice  hath  done 
nothing  but  prate  to  me  of  the  wildness  of  hi* 
youth,  and  the  feats  he  hath  done  ah  jul 'i'urobuii- 
streeLi  and  every  third  word  a  lie  duer  ptud  to  th«  ^ 


ACT  IV.    Scene  1, 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


359 


nearer  than  the  Turk's  tribute.  I  do  remetnber  him 
atCIenjcnt's  inn,  like  a  man  made  after  supper  of  a 
cheese-paring:  when  he  was  naked,  he  was,  for  all 
the  world,  like  a  forked  radish,  with  a  head  fantasti- 
cally carved  upon  it  with  a  knife  :  he  was  so  forlorn, 
that  his  dimensions  to  any  thick  sight  were  invisible  ; 
he  was  the  very  Genius  of  ianiine  ,•  yet  lecherous  as 
a  monkey,  and  the  whores  called  him — mandrake  : 
he  came  ever  in  the  rear- ward  of  the  fashion  ;  and 
sung  those  tunes  to  the  over  scutched  huswives  that 
he  heard  the  carmen  whistle,  and  svvare — they  were 
his  fancies,  or  his  good-nigiits.  And  now  is  this 
Vice's  dagger  become  a  squire  ;  and  talks  as  fami- 
liarly of  John  of  Gaunt,  as  if  he  had  been  sworn 
brother  to  him  :  and  I'll  be  sworn  he  never  saw  him 
but  once  in  the  Tilt-yard ;  and  then  he  burst  his 
head,  for  crowding  among  the  marshal's  men.  I 
saw  it;  and  told  John  of  Gaunt,  he  beat  his  own 
name :  for  you  might  have  truss"d  him,  and  all  his 
apparel,  into  an  eel-skin  :  the  case  of  a  treble  haut- 
boy was  a  mansion  for  him,  a  court;  and  now  has  he 
land  and  beeves.  Well  ;  I  will  be  acquainted  with 
him,  if  I  return  :  and  it  shall  go  hard,  but  I  will  make 
,y  him  a  philosopher's  two  stones  to  me.  If  the  young 
dace  be  a  bait  for  the  old  pike,  1  see  no  reason,  in 
the  law  of  nature,  but  I  may  snap  at  him.  Let  time 
shape,  and  there  an  end.  [Exit, 

ACT  IV. 
Scene  I. — A  Forest  in  Yorkshire. 
Enter  the  Archbishop  of  York,  Mowbray, 
Hastings,  and  others. 

Arck.  What  is  this  forest  call'd  ? 

Hast.  'Tis  Gualtree  forest,  an't  shall  please  your 
grace.  [forth. 

Arch.  Here  stand,  my  lords  ;  and  send  discoverers 
To  know  the  numbers  of  our  enemies. 

Hast.  We  have  sent  forth  already. 

Arch.  'Tis  well  done. 

My  friends,  and  brethren  in  these  great  allairs, 
I  must  acquaint  you,  that  I  have  receiv'd 
New-dated  letters  I'rom  Northumberland  ; 
Their  cold  intent,  tenour,  and  substance,  thus  : — 
Here  doth  he  wish  his  person,  with  such  powers 
As  might  hold  sortance  with  his  quality, 
The  which  he  could  not  levy;  whereupon 
He  is  retir'd,  to  ripe  his  growing  fortunes. 
To  Scotland  :  and  concludes  in  hearty  prayers, 
That  your  attemps  n»ay  overlive  the  hazard. 
And  tearful  m^-etiiig  of  their  opposite. 

Moivb. 'V\ms  do  the  hopes  we  have  in  him  touch 
And  dash  themselves  to  pieces.  [ground. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 

Hast.  Now,  what  news  ? 

Mess.  West  of  this  forest,  scarcely  off  a  mile. 
In  goodly  form  comes  on  the  enemy  : 
And,  by  the  ground  they  hide,  I  judge  their  number 
Upon,  or  near,  the  rate  of  thirty  thousand. 

Moivh.  The  just  proportion,  that  we  gave  them  out. 
Let  us  sway  on,  and  face  tliem  in  the  tield. 

Enter  Westmoreland. 

Arch.  What  well  appointed  leader  fronts  us  here? 

Mowb.  I  tliink,  it  is  my  lord  of  Westmoreland. 

West.  Health  and  fair  greeting  froni  our  general. 
The  prince,  lord  John  and  duke  of  Lancaster. 

Arch.  S.iy  on,  my  lord  of  Westmoreland,  in  peace ; 
What  dotli  concern  your  coming? 

West.  'rhen,  my  lord, 

IJiUo  yotvr  grace  do  Ijn  chief  address 
The  substance  of  my  speech.    If  that  rebellion 
Caa.e  like  itself,  ir^  base  and  abject  routs, 
Led  on  by  bloo  ly  }outh,  guarded  with  rage, 
Afidoountenanc'd  by  boys,  and  beggary; 
1  say,  if  damn'd  connnotiou  so  appear'd, 
la  his  true,  nati\e,and  most  proper  shape. 
You,  revereuci  father,  and  these  noble  lords. 
Had  not  bee.a  here,  to  dress  the  ugly  form 
Of  base,  and  bloody  insurrection 


With  3  our  fair  honours.    You,  lord  archbishop,-«« 

Whose  see  is  by  a  civil  peace  maintain'd; 
VVhose  beard  the  silver  hand  of  peace  hath  touch'd; 
Whose  learning  and  good  letters  peace  hath  tutor'a  - 
Whose  white  investments  figure  innocence. 
The  dove  and  very  blessed  sj>irit  of  peace. 
Wherefore  do  you  so  ill  translate  yourself, 
Out  of  the  speech  of  peace,  that  bears  such  giace. 
Into  the  harsh  and  boist'rous  tongue  of  war? 
Turning  your  books  to  graves,  your  ink  to  blood, 
Your  pens  to  lances;  and  your  tongue  divine 
To  a  loud  trumpet,  and  a  point  of  war? 
Arch.  Wherefore  do  I  this  ? — so  the  qiiestioa 
stands. 

Briefly  to  this  end  : — We  are  all  diseas'd  ; 
And,  with  our  surfeiting,  and  wanton  hours, 
Have  brought  ourselves  into  a  burning  fever. 
And  we  must  bleed  for  it ;  of  which  disease 
Our  late  king,  Richard,  being  infected,  died. 
But,  my  most  noble  lord  of  Westmoreland, 
I  take  not  on  me  here  as  a  physician ; 
Nor  do  I,  as  an  enemy  to  peace. 
Troop  in  the  throngs  of  military  men  : 
But,  rather,  show  a  while  like  fearful  war. 
To  diet  rank  minds,  sick  of  happiness  ; 
And  purge  the  obstructions,  which  begin  to  stop 
Our  very  veins  of  like.    Hear  me  more  plaiuly. 
I  have  in  equal  balance  justly  weigli'd 
What  wrongs  our  arms  may  do,  what  wrongs  we 
suffer. 

And  find  our  griefs  heavier  than  our  offe  nces. 

We  see  which  way  the  stream  of  time  doth  rup 

And  are  enforc'd  from  our  most  quiet  spiiei  e 

By  the  rough  torrent  of  occasion  : 

And  have  the  summary  of  all  our  griefs, 

When  tine  shall  serve,  to  show  in  ai tides  , 

Which,  long  ere  this,  we  oifer'd  to  the  king, 

And  might  by  no  suit  gain  our  audience  : 

When  we  are  wrong'd,  and  would  unfold  our  [;rief-; 

We  are  denied  access  unto  his  person, 

Even  by  those  men,  that  most  have  done  us  u  rwn^v 

The  dangers  of  the  days  but  newly  gone, 

(Whose  memory  is  written  on  the  earth 

With  yet  appearing  blood,)  and  the  examples 

Of  every  minute's  instance,  (present  now,) 

Have  put  us  in  these  ill-beseeming  arms  : 

Not  to  break  peace,  or  any  branch  of  it : 

But  to  establish  here  a  peace  indeed. 

Concurring  both  in  name  and  quality. 

West.  When  ever  yet  was  your  appeal  dei.iL-d  ? 
Wherein  have  you  been  galled  by  the  king  ? 
What  peer  hath  been  suborn'd  to  grate  on  you 
That  you  should  seal  this  lawless  bloody  book 
Of  forg'd  rebellion  with  a  seal  divine. 
And  consecrate  commotion's  bitter  edge  ? 

Arch.  My  brother  general,  the  commonweal  ili. 
To  brother  born  an  household  cruelty, 
I  make  my  quarrel  in  particular. 

West.  There  is  no  need  of  any  such  redress  ; 
Or,  if  there  were,  it  not  belongs  to  you. 

Mowb.  Why  not  to  him,  in  part ;  and  to  us  ;  11 
That  feel  the  bruises  of  the  days  before ; 
And  suffer  the  condition  of  these  times 
To  lay  a  heavy  and  unequal  hand 
Upon  our  honours  ? 

West.  O  my  good  lord  Mowbray, 

Construe  the  times  to  their  necessities. 
And  you  shall  say  indeed, — it  is  the  time, 
And  not  the  king,  that  doth  you  injuries. 
Yet,  for  your  part,  it  not  appears  to  me, 
Either  from  the  king,  or  in  the  present  time, 
That  you  should  have  an  inch  of  any  ground 
To  build  a  grief  on  :  Were  you  not  restor'd 
To  all  the  duke  of  Norfolk's  signiories. 
Your  noble  and  right-well-remember'd  father's  . 

Mowb.  What  thing,  in  honour,  had  my  lather  [rhA, 
That  need  to  be  reviv'd  and  breatli'd  in  me  ? 
'I'he  king,  that  lov'd  him,  as  the  state  stood  then 
Was,  force  perforce,  compell'd  to  banish  him; 
And  then,  when  Harry  Bolingbroke,  aad  be, — 


860 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Aci  TY. 


Being  mounted,  and  both  ronsed  in  their  seats, 
Their  neiglimg  coursers,  darin;;'  oftli®  spur, 
Tiieir  armed  staves  in  charge,  their  beavers  down, 
Their  eyes  ol'fire  sparkling  through  sights  of  steel. 
And  the  loud  trumpet  blowing  them  together; 
Then,  then,  when  ttiere  was  nothing  could  have  staid 
My  father  from  the  breast  of  Bolingbroke, 
O,  when  the  king  did  tiirow  his  warder  down. 
His  own  life  hang  upon  the  statFhe  threw  ; 
Then  (hrew  he  down  himself;  and  all  tlieir  lives, 
That,  by  indictment,  and  by  dint  uf  sword, 
J    Have  since  miscarried  under  Boiingbroke. 

West.  You  speak,  lord  Mowbray,  now  you  know 

not  what ; 
he  earl  of  Hereford  was  reputed  then 
In  England  the  most  valiant  gentleman; 
Who  knov/s,  on  whom  fortune  would  then  have 
smil'd  ? 

But  if  your  father  had  been  victor  there, 
He  ne'er  had  borne  it  out  of  Coventry  : 
For  all  the  country,  in  a  general  voice. 
Cried  hate  upon  him,  and  all  their  prayers,  and  love, 
Were  set  on  Herelbrd,  whom  they  doted  on, 
And  bless'd,  and  grac'd,  indeed,  more  than  the  king. 
But  this  is  mere  digression  from  my  purpose. — 
Here  come  I  from  our  princely  general, 
To  know  your  griefs;  to  tell  you  from  his  grace. 
That  he  will  ^ive  you  audience ;  and  wherein 
It  shall  appear,  that  your  demands  are  just, 
You  shall  enjoy  them  ;  every  thing  set  oiY, 
That  might  so  much  as  think  you  enemies. 

Moivb.  But  he  hath  forc'd  us  to  compel  this  oflTer  ; 
And  it  proceeds  from  policy,  not  love. 

West.  Mowbray,  you  overvveen  to  take  it  so; 
This  offer  comes  Irom  mercy,  not  Irom  fear: 
For,  lo  I  within  a  ken  our  army  lies ; 
Upon  mine  honour,  all  too  conlident 
To  give  admittan<;e  to  a  thought  of  fear. 
Our  battle  is  more  full  of  names  than  yours. 
Our  men  more  perfect  in  the  use  of  arms, 
Our  armour  all  as  strong,  our  cause  the  best ; 
Then  reason  wills,  our  hearts  should  be  as  good  : — 
Say  you  not  then,  our  offer  is  compelled. 

Motvb.  Well,  by  my  will,  we  shall  admit  no  parley. 
West.  That  argues  but  the  shame  of  your  olience  : 
A  rotten  case  abides  no  handling. 

Hast.  Hath  the  prince  a  full  commission. 
In  very  ample  virtue  of  his  father, 
To  hear,  and  absolutely  to  determine 
Of  what  conditions  we  shall  stand  upon  ? 

West.  Tiuit  is  intended  in  the  general's  name  : 
1  muse,  yon  make  so  slight  a  question. 
Arc/i.  Then  take,  my  lord  of  Westmoreland,  this 
schedule ; 

For  this  contains  our  general  grievances  : — 
Each  several  article  herein  redress'd  ; 
All  members  of  our  cause,  both  here  and  hence 
That  are  insinew'd  to  this  action, 
Acquitted  by  a  true  substantial  form ; 
And  present  execution  of  our  wills 
lo  us,  and  to  our  purposes,  consign'd ; 
We  come  within  our  awful  banks  again. 
And  knit  our  powers  to  the  arm  of  peace. 

West.  This  will  I  show  the  general.  Please  you, 
lords, 

In  sight  of  both  our  battles  we  may  meet : 
And  either  end  in  peace,  which  heaven  so  frame  ! 
Or  to  the  place  of  difference  call  the  swords 
Which  if.ast  decide  it. 
Arch.  My  lord,  we  will  do  so. 

[Exit  West. 

Mowb.  There  is  a  thing  withm  my  bosom,  tells  me. 
That  no  conditions  of  our  peace  can  stand. 

Hast.  Fear  you  not  that :  if  we  can  make  ourpe'^ce 
Upon  such  large  terms,  and  so  absolute, 
As  our  conditions  shall  consist  upon. 
Our  peace  shall  stand  as  firm  as  rocky  n:ouii':ains 

Mowb.  Ay,  but  our  valuation  shall  be  such. 
That  every  sii*ht  and  false-derived  ca-ise, 
Vea.  e'\ery  idle,  nice  and  want'ju  reason. 


Shall,  to  the  king,  taste  of  this  action 
'J'hat,  were  our  royal  ftiths  martyrs  in  love. 
We  shall  be  winnow'd  with  so  rough  a  wind, 
'J'hat  even  our  corn  shall  seem  as  lit:ht  as  chalF, 
And  good  from  bad  find  no  [)artiti(>n.  [weurj 
Arch.  No,  no,  my  lord  ;  Note  this, — the  king  k 
Of  dainty  and  sut-h  picking  grievances: 
For  he  hath  found, — to  end  one  doubt  by  death, 
Revives  two  greater  iii  the  heirs  of  life. 
And  therefore  will  he  wipe  hi?  tablts  clean; 
And  keep  no  tell-tale  to  his  memory. 
That  may  repeat  and  hibtory  his  loss 
To  new  remembrance  :  I'or  full  well  he  knows, 
.  He  cannot  so  precisely  weed  this  laud. 
As  his  misdoubts  present  occasion  : 
His  foes  are  so  enrooted  with  his  friends. 
That,  plucking  to  unfix  an  enemy, 
He  duth  unfasten  so,  and  shake  a  friend, 
S  j  that  this  land,  like  an  offensive  wile. 
That  hath  enrag'd  him  on  to  offer  strokes, 
As  he  is  striking,  holds  his  infant  up, 

And  hangs  resolv'd  correction  in  the  arm 

I'hat  was  uprear'd  to  execution. 

Hast.  Besides,  the  king  hath  wasted  all  his  rod» 

On  late  offenders,  that  he  now  doth  lack 

The  very  instruments  of  chastisement : 

So  that  his  power,  like  to  a  fangless  lion. 

May  offer,  but  not  hold. 

Arc/i.  '  Tis  \  ery  true  ; — 

And  therefore  be  assur'd,  my  good  h)rd  marshal. 

If  we  do  now  make  our  atonement  well. 

Our  peace  will,  like  a  broken  limb  united, 

Grow  stronger  for  the  breaking. 
Mowb.  Be  it  so, 

Here  is  return'd  my  lord  of  Westmoreland. 

Re-enter  WESTMORELAND. 

TJ'est.  The  prince  is  here  at  hand  :  Pleaseth  your 
lordsliip. 

To  meet  his  grace  just  distance  'tween  our  armies? 
Motvb.  Your  grace  of  York,  in  God's  name  then 
set  forward. 

Arch,  Before,  and  greet  his  grace  : — my  lord,  w3 
come.  [Exeunt. 
Scene  U.~Anot/ter  Part  of  the  Forest 
Enter,  from  one  side,  Mowerav,  the  Archbishop, 
Hastings,  and  others;  from  the  other  side 
Prince  JoHN  of  Lancaster,  Westmoreland 
Officers,  and  Attendants. 

P.  John.  You  are  well  encounter'd  here,  my 
cousin  Mowbray : — 
Good  day  do  you,  gentle  lord  archbishop: — 
And  so  to  you,  lord  Hastings, — and  to  ail. — 
My  lord  of  York,  it  better  shew'd  with  yon, 
When  that  your  flock,  assembled  by  the  bell. 
Encircled  you,  to  hear  with  reverence 
Your  exposition  on  the  holy  t^'xt ; 
Than  now  to  see  j^ou  here  an  iron  man. 
Cheering  a  rout  of  rebels  with  your  drum, 
Turning  the  word  to  sword,  and  life  to  death. 
That  man,  that  sits  within  a  monarch's  heart. 
And  ripens  in  the  sunshine  o!'  his  favour. 
Would  he  abuse  the  countenance  of  the  king. 
Alack,  what  mischiefs  might  he  set  abroach. 
In  shadow  of  such  greatness  !  Witli  you,  lord  bisho 
It  is  even  so  ; — Who  hath  not  heard  it  spoken. 
How  deep  you  were  within  the  books  of  God  ? 
To  us,  the  speaker  in  his  parliament; 
To  us,  tl»«  imagin'd  voice  ol  God  himself ; 
The  very  opener,  and  intelligencer, 
Betwceu  the  grace,  the  sanctities  of  heaven. 
And  o'jrdull  workings;  O,  who  shall  believe, 
B:jt  j^ou  misuse  tlie  reverence  of  your  place ; 
Eiuplcj  the  countenance  and  grace  of  heaven. 
As  «  ialse  favourite  doth  his  prince's  name. 
In  deeds  dishonourable  ?    You  have  taken  up, 
Under  the  counterfeited  zeal  ol  God, 
Tiie  subjects  of  his  substitute,  my  father; 
And,  both  against  the  peace  of  heaven  and  mu\g 


Scene  S. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


361 


Have  here  up-swarni'd  them. 

Arch.  Good  my  lord  of  Lancaster, 

I  am  not  here  against  your  lather's  peace  : 
But,  as  I  told  roy  lord  ot  Westmoreland, 
The  time  misoider'd  dotli,  in  common  sense, 
Crowd  us,  aud  crush  us,  to  this  monstrous  form, 
To  hold  our  safety  up     I  sent  your  grace 
The  parcels  and  particulars  of  our  grief;  [court, 
'^he  which  hath  been  with  scorn  shov'd  from  the 
Whereon  this  Hydra  son  of  war  is  born: 
Whose  dangerous  eyes  may  well  be  charni'd  asleep. 
With  grant  of  our  most  just  and  right  desires  : 
And  true  obedience,  oi'  this  madness  cur'd  ; 
Stoop  tamely  to  the  foot  of  majesty. 

Mowb.  If  not,  we  ready  are  to  try  our  fortunes 
To  the  last  man. 

Hast.         And  though  we  here  fall  down, 
We  have  supplies  to  second  our  attempt ; 
If  they  miscarry,  theirs  shall  second  them  : 
And  so  success  of  mischief  shall  be  born  ; 
And  heir  from  heir  sliall  hold  this  quarrel  up. 
Whiles  England  shall  have  generation. 

P.  John.  Yos  are  too  shallow,  Hastings,  much 
too  shallow. 

To  sound  the  bottom  of  the  after-times.  [ly, 
West.  Pleaseth  your  grace,  to  answer  them  direct- 
How  far-lbrfh  you  do  like  their  articles  ? 

P.  John   1  like  them  all,  and  do  allow  them  well : 
And  svwrtt  nere,  by  the  honour  of  my  blood. 
My  father's  purposes  have  been  mistook  j 
And  some  about  hiin  have  too  lavishly 
Wrested  his  meaning  aud  authority. — 
My  lord,  these  grieis  shall  be  with  speed  redress'd; 
Upon  my  soul  tliey  shall.    If  this  may  please  you. 
Discharge  yoiu-  powers  nito  their  several  counties, 
A.S  we  will  ours  :  and  here,  between  the  armies. 
Let's  drink  together  f  riendly,  and  embrace  ; 
That  all  their  eyes  may  bear  those  tokens  home, 
Of  our  restored  love,  and  amity.  [dresses 
Arch.  I  take  your  princely  word  for  these  re- 
P.  John.  I  give  it  you,  and  will  maintain  my  word  : 
And  thereupon  1  drink  unto  your  grace. 

Hast.  Go,  captain,  [to  an  Officer.)  and  deliver  to 
the  army 

Phis  news  of  peace  ;  let  them  have  pay,  and  part: 
I  know,  it  will  well  please  them  ;  Hie  thee,  captain. 

[Exit  Officer. 
Arch.  To  you,  my  noble  lord  of  Westmoreland. 
West.  I  pledge  your  grace:  And,  if  you  knew 
what  pains 

I  have  bestow'd,  to  breed  this  present  peace. 
You  would  drink  freely  :  but  my  love  to  you 
Shall  shew  itself  more  openly  hereafter. 

Arch.  I  do  not  doubt  you. 

West.  I  am  glad  of  it. — 

H^ealth  to  my  lord,  and  gentle  consin,  Mowbray. 

Moivb.  You  wish  me  health  in  very  happy  season; 
For  I  am,  on  the  sudden,  something  ill. 

Arch.  Against  ill  ci'iances,  men  are  ever  merry  ; 
But  heaviness  foreruns  the  good  event. 

West.  Therefore  be  merry,  coz:  since  sudden 
sorrow 

Serves  to  say  thus, — Some  good  thing  comes  to- 
morrow. 

Arch.  Believe  me,  I  am  passing  light  in  sj  irit. 
Mowb.  So  much  the  worse,  if  your  own  rule  be 
true.  {Shouts  within.) 

P.  John.  The  word  of  peace  is  render'd  :  Hark, 

how  they  shout ! 
Mowb.  This  had  been  cheerful,  after  victory. 
Arch.  A  peace  is  of  the  nature  of  a  conquest; 
For  then  both  parties  nobly  are  subdued, 
And  neither  party  loser. 

P.  John.         '  Go,  my  lord. 

And  let  our  armv  be  discharged  too. — 

[Exit  Westmoreland. 
And,  good  my  lord,  so  please  you,  let  our  trains 
March  by  (  s ;  that  we  may  peruse  the  men 
We  should  have  rop'd  withal. 

Arch.  Go,  good  lord  Hastings. 


And,  ere  they  be  dismiss'd,  let  them  march  by. 

[Exit  Hastings 

P.  John.  1  trust,  my  lords,  we  shall  lie  to-nigh 
together. — 


Now, 


Re-enter  W estmoreland. 

/he 


ow,  cousin,  wherefore  stands  our  army  still  ? 
\tJ^^'^^'  '^'^^^  headers,  having  charge  from  you  to 
Will  not  go  off  until  they  hear  you  speak.  [staad, 
P.  John.  They  know  their  duties. 

Re-enter  Hastings. 
Hast.  My  lord,  our  army  is  dispers'd  already 
Like  youthful  steers  unyok'd,  they  take  their  courses 
Last,  west,  north,  south  ;  or,  like  a  school  broke  np. 
Each  hurries  towards  his  home,  and  sporting-place! 
West.  Good  tidings,  my  lord  Hastings;  for  the 
which 

I  do  arrest  thee,  traitor,  of  high  treason  :— 

And  you,  lord  archbishop,~and  you,  lord  Mowbray 

Of  capital  treason  I  attach  you  both. 

Mowb.  Is  this  proceeding  just  and  honourable? 

West.  Is  your  assembly  so  ? 

Arch.  Will  you  thus  break  your  faith  ? 

P.  John.  I  pawn'd  thee  none. 

1  promis  d  yon  redress  of  these  same  grievances, 
W  hereof  you  did  complain  ;  which,  by  mine  honoui^ 
I  will  perform  with  a  must  christian  cbic, 
But,  for  you,  rebels,— look  to  taste  the  due 
Meet  for  rebellion,  and  such  acts  as  yours. 
Most  shallowly  did  you  these  arms  commence. 

Fondly  brought  here,  and  foolishly  sent  hence!  

Strike  up  our  drums,  pursue  the  scatter'd  stray  ; 
Heaven,  and  not  we,  hath  safely  fought  to  day.— 
Some  guard  these  traitors  to  the  block  of  death  ; 
Treason's  true  bed,  aud  yielder  up  of  breath.  ' 

[Exeunt 

Scene  III.— Another  Part  of  the  Forest. 

Alarums:  Excursions.    Enter  F alst kVF  and 
CoLEV/LE,  meeting. 

Fal.  What's  your  name,  sir?  of  what  condition 
are  you;  and  of  what  place,  I  pray? 

Cole.  I  am  a  knight,  sir;  and  my  name  is — Cole- 
vile  of  the  dale. 

Fal.  Well  then,  Colevile  is  your  name  ;  a  knighl 
is  your  degree;  and  your  place,  the  dale  :  Colevile 
shall  still  be  your  name  ;  a  traitor  your  degree  ;  ;and 
the  dungeon  your  place, — a  place  deep  enough ;  sc 
shall  you  still  be  Colevile  of  the  dale. 

Cole.  Are  not  you  sir  John  Falstaff  ? 

Fal.  As  good  a  man  as  he,  sir,  whoe'er  I  am. 
Do  ye  yield,  sir?  or  shall  I  sweat  for  you?  If  I  do 
sweat,  they  are  drops  of  thy  lovers,  and  they  weep 
for  thy  death  :  therefore  rouse  up  fear  and  trembling, 
and  do  observance  to  my  mercy. 

Cole.  I  think,  you  are  sir  John  FalstatF;  and,  io 
that  thought,  yield  me. 

Fal.  1  have  a  whole  school  of  tongues  in  this 
belly  of  mine;  and  not  a  tongue  of  them  all  speaks 
any  other  word  but  my  name.  An  I  had  but  a  belly 
of  any  indiiferency,  1  were  simply  the  most  active 
i'ellow  in  Europe  :  My  womb,  my  womb  undoes  me 
Here  comes  our  general. 

Enter  Prince  John  of  Lancaster,  Westmoreland, 
and  others. 

P.  John.  The  heat  is  past,  follow  no  furthef 
now ; 

Call  in  the  powers,  good  cousin  Westmoreland. — 

[Exit  West. 

Now,  FalstaflF,  where  have  yon  been  all  this  while  ? 
When  every  thing  is  ended,  then  you  come  : 
These  tardy  tricks  of  yours  will,  on  my  life, 
One  time  or  other  break  some  gallows'  back. 

Fal.  I  would  be  sorry,  vny  lord,  but  it  should  be 
thus;  I  never  knew  yet,  but  rebuke  and  check  was 
the  reward  of  valour.  Do  you  think  me  a  swallow, 
an  arrow,  or  a  bullet?  Have  1,  in  my  poor  and  old 
motion,  the  expedition  of  tliought?  I  irave  specdeH 


562 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  \r. 


hither  witli  the  very  extretnest  inch  of  possibility ; 
1  hav^  foundered  nine-score  and  odd  posts  :  and  here, 
travel -tainted  as  I  am,  huve,  in  my  pure  and  imnia- 
eulate  valour,  taken  sir  John  Colevile  of  the  dale,  a 
most  fnrious  knight,  and  valorous  enemy  :  But  vviiat 
of  that?  he  saw  me,  and  yielded;  tiiat  I  may  justly 

say,  with  the  hook-nosed  fellow  of  Rome,  1 

came,  saw,  and  overcame.  [deserving. 

P.  John.  It  was  more  of"  his  courtesy  than  your 

F.iL  I  know  not;  here  lie  is,  and  here  I  yield 
hitn  :  and  I  beseech  your  grace,  let  it  be  booked 
with  the  rest  of  this  day's  deeds;  or,  by  the  lord, 
I  will  have  it  in  a  particular  ballad  else,  with  mine 
own  picture  on  the  top  of  it,  Colevile  kissing  my 
foot  :  To  the  which  course  if  J  be  enforced,  if  you 
do  not  all  shew  like  gilt  two-pences  to  me  ;  and  I,  in 
the  clear  sky  oi'fame,  o'ersii'  le  you  as  much  as  the 
full  moon  doth  the  cinders  of  the  element,  which 
shevv  like  pins'  heads  to  her;  believe  not  the  word 
of  the  noble  :  Therefore  let  me  have  right,  and  let 
Jesert  mount. 

P.  John.  Thine's  too  heavy  to  mount. 

Fal.  Let  it  shine  then. 

P.  John.  Thine's  too  thick  to  shine. 

Fal.  Let  it  di»  something,  my  good  lord,  that  may 
do  me  good,  and  call  it  vvhiit  you  will. 

P.  John.  Is  thy  name  Colevile  ? 

Cole.  It  is,  my  lord. 

P.  John.  A  famous  rebel  art  thou,  Colevile. 

Fal.  And  a  famous  true  subjc-ct  took  him. 

Cole.  I  am,  my  lord,  but  as  my  betters  are. 
That  led  me  hither:  had  they  bes  n  rul'd  by  me, 
ifou  should  have  won  them  dearer  than  you  have. 

Fal.  I  know  nut  how  they  .sold  themselves:  but 
thou,  like  a  kind  fellow,  gavest  thyself  away,  and  1 
thank  thee  for  thee. 

Re  enter  Westmoreland. 

P.  John  Now,  have  you  left  pursuit? 

[Vest.  Retreat  is  made,  an  I  execution  stay'd 

P.  John.   Send  Colevile,  with  his  confederates. 
To  York,  to  present  execution  : — 
Blunt,  lead  hinj  hence;  and  see  you  guard  him  sure. 

[Exeunt  some  with  Colevile. 
Aid  i.ow  despatch  we  toward  tue  court,  my  lords; 
I  hear,  the  king  my  father  is  sore  sick: 
Ournfws  shall  go  btfure  us  to  his  njajesty, — 
Which,  cousin,  you  shall  benr, — to  coujfort  him; 
And  we  with  sober  speed  will  follow  you. 

Fal.  My  lord,  1  btseecli  you,  give  me  leave  to  go 
througii  Glostershire :  and  when  you  come  to  court, 
otand  my  good  lord,  'pray,  in  your  good  report. 

P.  John.  Fare  you  well,  Falstalf :  I,  in  my  con- 
dition, 

Shall  better  speak  of  you  than  you  deserve.  [Exit. 

Fal.  I  would,  you  h;id  but  tlie  wit;  'twere  better 
than  your  dukedom. — Good  laith,  this  same  young 
sober-blooded  boy  doth  not  love  me  ;  nor  a  man 
cannot  make  hiin  laugh; — but  th  it's  no  marvel, 
he  drinks  no  wine.  There's  never  any  of  these 
demure  boys  come  to  any  proof :  for  thin  drink 
doth  so  over- cool  their  blood,  and  making  many 
fish-meals,  that  they  fall  into  a  kind  of  male  green- 
eickness ,  and  then,  when  they  marry,  they  get 
wenches  ;  they  are  generally  fools  and  cowards  ;— 
which  some  of  us  should  be  too,  but  for  inflam- 
mation. A  good  sherris  sack  hath  a  two-fold  opera- 
tion in  it.  It  ascends  me  into  the  brain;  dries  me 
there  all  the  foolish,  and  dull,  and  crudy  vapours, 
which  environ  it  :  makes  it  apprehensive,  quick, 
forgetive,  full  of  nimble,  fiery,  and  delectable  shapes; 
which  deliver'd  o'er  to  tlie  voice,  (the  tongue,) 
which  is  the  birth,  becomes  excellent  wit.  The 
second  property  of  your  excellent  sherris  is, — the 
warming  ot  tiie  blood;  which,  before  cold  and 
settled,,  left  the  liver  white  and  pale,  which  is  the 
badge  of  pusillanimity  and  rovvardice  :  but  the 
sherris  uarm?  it,  and  makes  it  course  from  the  in- 
irerdH  to  tiie  parts  extreme.  It  illiimineth  the  face  ; 
"^hich,  as  a  beacon,  gives  warning  to  all  the  rest  of 


this  little  kingdom,  man,  to  arm  :  and  (hen  the  vital 

commoners,  and  inland  petty  spirits,  muster  me  aU 
to  their  captain,  the  heart :  who,  greut,  and  puffed 
up  with  this  retinue,  doth  any  deed  of  courage; 
and  this  valour  conies  of  sherris  :  So  tiiat  skill  in 
the  weapon  is  nothing  without  sack  ;  fur  that  .stts 
it  a-work:  and  learning,  a  mere  hoard  of  gold  kept 
by  a  devil ;  till  sack  commences  it,  and  sets  it  ia 
act  and  use.  Hereof  comes  it  that  prince  Harry 
is  valiant;  for  the  cold  blood  lie  did  naturally  ir»- 
herit  of  his  father,  he  hath,  like  lean,  steni  and  baie 
land,  manured,  husbanded,  and  tilled,  with  excellent 
endeavour  of  drinking  good,  and  good  store  of  fer- 
tile sherris;  that  he  is  become  very  hot,  and  valiant 
If  I  had  a  thousand  sons,  the  first  himian  principle 
I  would  teach  them,  should  be, — to  forswear  thin 
potations,  and  addict  themselves  to  sack 

Enter  Bardolph. 
How  now,  Bardolph  ? 

Bard.  The  army  is  discharged  all,  and  gone. 

Fal.  Let  them  go.  I'll  through  Glostershire  :  and 
there  will  I  visit  master  Robert  Shallow,  esquire  : 
I  have  him  already  tempering  between  my  finger 
and  my  thumb,  and  shortly  will  I  seal  with  him. 
Come  away.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — Westminster.  A  Room  i.?i  the  Palace. 
Enter  King  Henry,  Clarence,  Prince  Humphrey 
Warwick,  and  others. 

K.  Hen.  Now,  lords,  if  heaven  doth  give  suc- 
cessful end 
To  this  debate,  that  bleedeth  at  our  doors. 
We  will  our  youth  lead  on  to  higher  fields, 
And  draw  no  swords  but  what  are  sanctified. 
Our  navy  is  address'd,  our  fiower  collected, 
Our  sub.stltutes  in  absence  well  invested, 
And  every  thing  lies  level  to  our  wish  : 
Only,  we  want  a  little  personal  strength;, 
And  pause  us,  till  these  rebels,  not  afoot, 
Couie  underneath  the  yoke  of  government. 

War.  Both  which,  we  doubt  not  but  your  majesty 
Shall  soon  enjoy. 

K.  Hen.  Humphi-ey,  my  son  of  Glcster; 

Wiiere  is  the  prince  your  brother  ? 

P  Humph.  I  think,  he's  gone  to  hunt,  my  lorn, 
at  Windsor. 

K.  Hen.  And  how  accompanied  ? 

P.  Humph.  ]  do  not  know,  my  lord, 

K.  Hen.  Is  not  his  brother,  Tiiomas  of  Clai'ence, 
vi'itii  him  ?  [here. 

P.  Humph.  No,  my  good  lord  ;  he  is  in  pi-esence 

Cla.  VVliat  would  my  lord  and  father  !' 

K.  Hen.  Nothing  but  well  to  thee,  Thomas  of 
Clarence.  [brother? 
How  ciiance,  thou  art   not  with  the  prince  thj 
He  loves  thee,  and  thou  dost  neglect  him,  'i'homas  ; 
Thou  hast  a  better  place  in  his  affection, 
'J'han  all  your  brothers  :  cherish  it,  my  boy  ; 
And  noble  offices  thou  may'st  eii'ect 
Of  mediation,  after  I  am  dead. 
Between  his  greatness  and  thy  other  brethren  — 
Therefore,  omit  him  not ;  hlunt  not  his  love  : 
Nor  lose  the  good  advantage  of  his  grace, 
By  seeming  cold,  or  careless  of  his  will. 
For  he  is  gracious,  if  he  be  ob.serv'd  ; 
He  hath  a  tear  for  pity,  and  a  hand 
Open  as  day  for  melting  charity  : 
Vet  notwithstanding,  being  incens'd,  he's  flint , 
As  humorous  as  winter,  and  as  sudden 
As  flaws  congealed  in  the  spring  of  day. 
His  temper,  therefore,  must  be  well  observ'd  : 
Chide  him  for  faults,  and  do  it  reveiently 
When  you  perceive  his  blood  inclin  d  to  mirth , 
But  being  moody,  give  him  line  and  scope  ; 
'J'ill  that  his  passions,  like  a  whale  on  ground, 
Confound  themselves  with  working.    Leaia  this 
Thomas, 

And  thou  shalt  prove  a  shelter  to  thy  friends: 
A  hoop  of  gold,  to  bind  thy  brothers  ia: 


Scene  4. 

That  the  united  vessel  of  their  blood. 
Mingled  wiiH  venom  of  suggestion. 
As,  force  perforce,  the  age  will  pour  it  in,) 
iSWil  never  leak,  thuugh  1  do  work  as  stronff 
As  aconituni,  or  rash  gunpowder. 

Cla.  1  shall  observe  him  with  all  care  and  love. 

K.  Hen.  VVfiy  art  thou  not  at  Windsor  with  him, 
Tiiomas  ? 

Cla.  He  is  not  there  to-day ;  he  dines  m  London. 

K.  Hi^it.  And  iiow  accompanied  ?  canst  thou  tell 
tiiat?  [lowers. 

Cla.  With  Poins,  and  other  his  continual  fol- 

K.  Hen.  Most  subject  is  the  llittest  soil  to  weeds; 
And  he,  tiie  noble  image  of  my  youth, 
Is  o\  erspiead  with  them  :  Therefore  my  grief 
Stretches  itself  beyond  the  hour  of  death  ; 
Tlie  blood  weeps  from  my  heart,  when  I  do  shape. 
In  forms  imaginary,  the  unguided  days. 
And  rotten  times,  that  you  shall  look  upon 
When  I  am  sleepnig  with  my  ancestors. 
For  when  his  headstrong  riot  hath  no  curb, 
Wlien  rage  and  hot  blood  are  his  counsellors, 
When  means  and  lavish  manners  meet  together, 
O,  with  what  wings  shall  his  affections  fly 
Towards  fronting  peril  and  oppos'd  decay  ! 

War.  My  gracious  lord,  you  look  beyond  him 
The  prince  but  studies  his  companions,         [quite  ; 
Like  a  strange  tongue  :  wherein,  to  gain  the  lan- 
guage, 

'Tis  needful,  that  the  most  immodest  word 
Be  look'd  upon,  and  learn'd  :  which  once  attain'd, 
Your  highness  knows,  comes  to  no  further  use, 
But  to  be  known,  and  hated.    So,  like  gross  terms, 
The  prince  will,  in  the  perfectness  of  time. 
Cast  oft'  his  followers :  and  their  memory 
Shall  as  a  pattern  or  a  measure  live, 
By  which  his  grace  must  mete  the  lives  of  others  ; 
Turning  past  evils  to  advantages.  [her  comb 

K.  Hen.  'Tis  seldom,  when  the  bee  doih  leave 
In  the  dead  carrion. — Who's  here  ?  Westmoreland  ? 

Enter  Westmoreland. 

West.  Health  to  my  sovereign !  and  new  happiness 
Added  to  that,  that  I  am  to  deliver ! 
Prince  John,  your  son,  doth  kiss  your  grace's  hand  : 
Mowbray,  the  bishop  Scroop,  Hastings,  and  all, 
Are  brought  to  the  correction  of  your  law  ; 
There  is  not  now  a  rebel's  sword  unsheath'd. 
But  peace  puts  forth  her  olive  every  vvhere. 
The  manner  how  this  action  hath  been  borne, 
Here  at  more  leisure  may  your  highness  read ; 
With  every  course,  in  his  particular.  [bird, 

K.  Hen.  O  Westmoreland,  thou  art  a  summer 
Which  ever  in  the  haunch  of  winter  sings 
The  lifting  up  of  day.    Look !  here's  more  news. 

Enter  Harcourt 

Har.  From  enemies  heaven  keep  your  majesty ; 
And,  when  they  stand  against  you,  may  they  fall 
As  those  that  I  am  come  to  tell  you  of  I 
The  earl  Northumberland,  and  the  lord  Bardolph, 
With  a  great  power  of  English,  and  of  Scots, 
Are  by  the  sheriflf  of  Yorkshire  overthrown: 
'I'fie  manner  and  true  order  of  the  fight. 
This  packet,  please  it  you,  contains  at  large. 

K.  Hen.  And  wherefore  should  these  good  news 
make  me  sick? 
Will  fortune  never  come  with  both  hands  full, 
But  write  her  fair  words  still  in  foulest  letters  ? 
She  either  gives  a  stomach,  and  no  food, — 
Such  are  the  poor,  in  health  ;  or  else  a  feast. 
And  takes  away  the  stomach, — such  are  the  rich 
That  have  abundance,  and  enjoy  it  not. 
I  should  rejoice  now  at  this  happy  news  ; 
A.nd  now  my  sight  fails,  and  my  brain  is  giddy  :— 
O  me  !  come  near  me,  now  I  am  much  ill.  (Swoons.) 

P.  Humph.  Comfort,  your  majesty  I 

Cla.  O  my  royal  father  ! 

West.  My  sovereign  lord,  cheer  up  yoi  rself^  look 
up  I 


363 

War.  Be  patient,  princes ;  you  do  k  now,  these  fita 
Are  with  his  highness  very  ordinary. 
Stand  from  him,  give  him  air;  he'll  straight  be  we 

Cla.  No,  no;  he  cannot  long  hold  out  these  pangs 5 
The  incessant  care  and  labour  of  his  mind 
Hath  wrought  the  mure,  that  should  confine  it  in. 
So  fhin,  that  life  looks  through,  and  will  break  out 

P.  Humph.  The  people  fear  me;  for  they  do 
observe 

Unfather'd  heirs,  and  loathly  birds  of  nature : 
'J'he  seasons  change  their  manners,  as  the  year 
Had  found  some  months  asleep,  and  leap'd  them 
over. 

Cla.  The  river  hath  thrice  flow'd,  no  ebb  between? 
And  the  old  folk,  time's  doting  chronicles, 
.Say,  it  did  so,  a  little  time  before 
Tliat  our  great  grandsire,  Edward,  sick'd  and  died. 

War.  Speak  lower  princes,  for  the  king  recovers. 

P.  Humph.  This  apoplex  will,  certain,  be  his  end: 

K.  Hen.  I  pray  you,  take  me  up,  and  bear  me 
hence 

Into  some  other  chamber :  softly,  pray 

{They  convey  the  King  into  an  inner  part  of 
the  room,  and  place  him  on  a  bed.) 
Let  there  be  no  noise  made,  my  gentle  friends ; 
Unless  some  dull  and  favourable  hand 
Will  whisper  music  to  my  weary  spirit. 

War.  Call  for  music  in  the  other  room. 

K.  Hen.  Set  me  the  crown  upon  my  pillow  here. 

Cla.  His  eye  is  hollow,  and  he  changes  much. 

War.  Less  noise,  less  noise. 

Enter  Prince  Henrv. 

P.  Hen.  Who  saw  the  duke  of  Clarence  ? 

Cla.  I  am  here,  brother,  full  of  heaviness. 

P.  Hen.  How  now!  rain  within  doors,  and  none 
How  doth  the  king  ?  [abroad ! 

p.  Humph.  Exceedingly  ill. 

P.  Hen.  Heard  he  the  good  news  yet  ? 

Tell  it  him. 

P.  Humph.  He  alter'd  much  upon  the  hearing  it, 

P.  Hen.  If  he  be  sick 
With  joy,  he  will  recover  without  physic. 

War.  Not  so  much  noise,  my  lords: — sweet 
prince,  speak  low; 
The  king  your  father  is  dispos'd  to  sleep. 

Cla.  Let  us  withdraw  into  the  other  room,    [us  ? 

War.  Wiirt  please  your  grace  to  go  along  with 

P.  Hen.  No ;  I  will  sit  and  watch  here  by  the 
king.  [Exeunt  all  but  P.  Henrv 

Why  doth  the  crown  lie  there  upon  his  pillow. 
Being  so  troublesome  a  bedfellow  ? 
O  polish'd  perturbation  !  golden  care  ! 
That  keep'st  the  ports  of  slumber  open  wide 
To  many  a  watchful  night  I — sleep  with  it  now  I 
Yet  not  so  sound,  and  half  so  deeply  sweet, 
As. he,  whose  brow,  with  homely  biggin  bound. 
Snores  out  the  watch  of  night.    O  majesty  ! 
When  tiiou  dost  piuch  thy  bearer,  thou  dost  sit 
Like  a  rich  armour,  worn  in  heat  of  day. 
That  scalds  with  safety.    By  his  gates  of  breath 
There  lies  a  downy  feather,  which  stirs  not : 
Did  he  suspire,  that  light  and  weightless  down 
Perforce   must   m^se.  —  My  gracious   lord!  my 
father! 

This  sleep  is  sound  iinJeed  ;  this  is  a  sleep. 
That  from  this  golden  rigol  hath  divorc'd 
So  many  English  kings.    Thy  due,  from  me, 
Is  tears,  and  heavy  sorrows  <>f  the  blood  ; 
Which  nature,  love,  and  filial  tenderness, 
Shall,  O  dear  father,  pay  thee  plenteonsly: 
My  due,  from  thee,  is  this  imperial  crovvn  ; 
Which,  as  immediate  from  thy  place  and  blood. 
Derives  itself  to  me.    Lo,  here  it  sits, — 

f  Put  ting  it  on  his  head] 
Which  heaven  shall  guard :  And  put  the  world' 

whole  strength 
Into  one  giant  arm,  it  shall  not  force 
This  lineal  honour  from  me  •  This  fiora  thee 
Will  1  to  mine  leave,  as  'tis  left  to  me  lExi 


KING  HENRY  lY. 


S64: 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  IV. 


K.  ifon,  Wa.  A^ick !  Gloster !  Clarence !  \ 
Ee  enter  Warwick,  and  th*  rest.  | 

£7/^.  Doth  the  king  call  ?  ; 

War.  What  would  your  majesty  ?  How  fares  your 
grace  ?  ,         ,  ^^^'^^  '  i 

K.  Hen.  Why  did  you  leave  me  here  alone,  my  | 

Cla.  We  leit  the  prince  my  brother  here,  my  , 
Who  undertook  to  sit  and  watch  by  you.        [liege,  ^ 

K.  Hen.  The  prince  of  Wales  ?  Where  is  he  i 
[le  is  not  here.  [let  me  see  him  : 

War.  This  door  is  open ;  he  is  gone  this  way.  j 

P.  Humph.  He  came  not  throtigh  the  chamber 
where  we  stay'd.  ^    ,    ,    ,    -i  r 

K  Hen.  Wiiere  is  the  crown  ?  who  took  it  trom 
inv  pillow?  /here. 

War.  W'hen  we  withdrew,  my  liege,  we  lett  it 

K  Hen  The  prince  hath  ta'en  it  hence ;— go, 
seek  liim  out. 
Is  he  so  hasty,  that  he  doth  suppose 

My  sleep  my  death?   i -.i 

Find  him,  my  lord  of  Warwick;  chide  him  hither. 

{Exit  Warwick. 
This  part  of  his  conjoins  with  my  disease. 
And  helps  to  end  me.— See,  sons,  what  things  you 
How  quickly  nature  falls  into  revolt,  |  are  ! 

When  gold  becomes  her  object ! 
For  this,  the  foolish  over-careful  fathers  . 
Have  broke  their  sleep  with  thoughts,  their  brains 
Their  bones  w  .th  industry  :  [with  care. 

For  this,  they  have  engrossed  and  pil'd  up 
The  canker'd  heaps  of  strange-achieved  gold; 
For  this,  they  have  been  thoughtful  to  invest 
Their  sons  with  arts,  and  martial  exercises , 
When,  like  the  bee,  tolling  from  every  flower 
The  virtuous  sweets ; 

Our  thighs  [)ack'd  with  wax,  our  mouths  with  honey. 
We  bring  it  to  the  hive  ;  and,  like  the  bees. 
Are  murder'd  for  our  pains.    Tliis  bitter  taste 
Yield  his  engrossments  to  the  ending  father.— 

Re  enter  Warwick. 
Now,  where  is  he  that  will  not  stay  so  long 
Till  his  friend  sickness  hath  determin'd  me? 

War.  My  lord,  I  found  the  prince  in  the  next 
room, 

Washing  with  kindlylears  his  gentle  cheeks; 
With  such  a  deep  demeanour  in  great  sorrow, 
That  tyranny,  which  never  quati'd  but  blood. 
Would,  by  beholding  him,  have  wash'd  his  knife 
With  gentle  eye-dro|is.    He  is  coming  hither. 
K.  Hen.  But  wherefore  did  he  take  away  the 
crown? 

Re-enter  Prince  Henry. 
Lo,  where  he  comes,— Come  hither  tome,  Harry  :— 
Depart  the  chamber,  leave  us  here  alone. 
[Exeunt  Clarence,  Prince  Humphrey,  Lords,  §fc. 

P.  Hen.  I  never  thought  to  hear  you  speak  again. 

K.Hen.  T\\y  wish  was  fatlter,  Harry,  to  that 
I  stay  too  long  by  thee,  I  \/eary  thee.  [thought; 
Dost  thou  so  hunger  lor  my  empty  chair. 
That  thou  wilt  needs  invest  thee  with  mine  honours. 
Before  thy  hour  be  ripe  ?    O  foolish  youth  ! 
Thou  seek'st  the  greatness  that  will  overwhelm  thee. 
Stay  but  a  little;  for  my  cloud  of  dignity 
Is  held  from  falling  with  so  weak  a  wind, 
Th*t  it  will  quickly  drop  :  my  day  is  dim. 
Thou  hast  stoPn  that,  which,  aller  some  few  hours. 
Were  thiae  withov.t  offenco  ;  and  at  my  death. 
Thou  hast  seal'd  up  my  expectation  : 
Thy  life  did  manifest,  thou  lov'dst  me  not. 
And  thou  wilt  hav  e  me  die  assur  d  of  it. 
Thou  hid\'^t  a  thousand  dagi;ers  in  ♦'by  thoughts  ; 
Which  thou  hast  whetted  on  thy  stony  heart. 
To  stab  at  half  an  hoiir  of  my  life. 
What!  canst  th'>u  not  iorl)ear  me  half  an  hour? 
Then  get  thee  gone  ;  and  dig  my  grave  thyself; 
And  bid  the  mc-rry  bells  ring  to  thine  ear, 
WiA  tliou  art  crowai'd,  liot  that  I  aiu  dead. 


Let  all  the  tears,  that  should  bedew  my  hearse, 

IJe  drops  of  balm,  to  sanctify  thy  head  : 

Only  compound  me  with  forgotten  dust ; 

Give  that,  which  gave  thee  life,  unto  the  woraiS< 

Pluck  down  my  otficers,  break  my  decrees; 

For  now  a  time  is  come  to  mock  at  form, 

Harry  the  fifth  is  crown'd  : — Up,  vanity  ! 

Down,  royal  state  !  all  you  sage  counsellors,  hence \ 

And  to  the  English  court  assemble  now. 

From  every  region,  apes  of  idleness! 

Now,  neighbour  confines,  purge  you  of  your  scum: 

Have  you  a  ruffian,  that  will  swear,  drink,  dauce» 

Revel  the  night,  rob,  murder,  and  commit 

The  oldest  sins  the  newest  kind  of  ways  ? 

Be  happy,  he  will  trouble  you  no  more  : 

England  shall  double  gild  his  treble  guilt : 

England  shall  give  him  office,  honour,  might: 

For  the  fifty  Harry  from  ciirb'd  license  plucks 

The  muzzle  of  restraint,  and  the  wild  dog 

Shall  flesh  his  tooth  in  every  innocent. 

0  my  poor  kingdom,  sick  with  civil  blows ! 
When  that  my  care  could  not  withold  thy  riots. 
What  will  thou  do,  when  riot  is  thy  care  ? 

O,  thou  wilt  be  a  wilderness  again. 
Peopled  with  wolves,  thy  old  inhabitants  ! 
P.  Hen.  O,  pardon  me,  my  liege  !  but  for 

tears,  {Kneeling.) 
The  moist  impediments  unto  my  speech, 

1  had  forestall'd  this  dear  and  deep  rebuke, 
Ere  you  with  grief  had  spoke,  and  I  had  heard 
The  course  of  it  so  far.    There  is  your  crown ; 
And  He,  that  wears  the  crown  immortally. 
Long  guard  it  yours  !    If  I  atiect  it  more. 
Than  as  your  honour,  and  as  your  renown, 
Let  me  no  more  from  this  obedience  rise, 
(Which  my  most  true  and  inward  duteous  spirit 
Teacheth,)this  prostrate  and  exterior  bending  ! 
Heaven  witness  with  me,  when  I  here  came  in. 
And  found  no  course  of  breath  within  your  majesty 
How  cold  it  struck  my  heart!    If  1  do  feign, 

O,  let  me  in  my  present  wildness  die  ; 

And  never  live  to  show  the  incredulous  world 

The  noble  change  that  I  have  purposed  ! 

Coming  to  look  on  you,  thinking  you  dead, 

(And  dead  almost,  my  liege,  to  think  you  were,) 

I  spake  unto  the  crown,  as  having  sense. 

And  thus  upbraided  it :  The  care  on  thee  depending^ 

Hath  fed  upon  the  body  of  my  father ; 

Therefore,  thou,  best  of  gold,  art  worst  of  gold. 

Other,  less  fine  in  carat,  is  more  precious,   

Preserving  life  in  med'cine  potable :        ^     ^  ^  , 

But  thou,  mostfime,  most  honoured,  most  renowned, 

Hast  eat  thy  bearer  up.    Thus,  my  most  royal  liege, 

Accusing  it,  I  put  it  on  my  head  ; 

To  try  with  it, — as  with  an  enemy, 

That  had  before  my  face  murder'd  my  father,— 

The  quarrel  of  a  true  inheritor. 

But  if  it  did  infect  my  blood  with  joy. 

Or  swell  my  thoughts  to  any  strain  of  pride ; 

If  any  rebel  or  vain  spirit  of  mine 

Did,  with  the  least  affection  of  a  welcome. 

Give  entertainment  to  the.might  of  it, 

Let  God  for  ever  keep  it  from  my  head ! 

And  make  me  as  the  poorest  vassal  is. 

That  doth  with  awe  and  terror  kneel  to  it! 

K.  Hen.  O,  my  son  ! 
Heaven  put  it  in  t>y  mind,  to  take  it  hence. 
That  thou  might'st  win  the  more  thy  father's  love. 
Pleading  so  wisely  in  excuse  of  it. 
Come  hither,  Harry,  sit  thou  by  my  bed  ; 
And  hear,  I  think,  the  very  latest  counsel. 
That  ever  I  shall  breathe.    Heaven  knows,  my  son 
By  what  by-paths,  and  indirect  crook'd  ways, 
I  met  this  crown  ;  and  I  myself  know  well. 
How  troublesome  it  sat  upon  my  head: 
To  thee  it  shall  descend  with  better  quiet 
Better  opinion,  better  confirmation  ; 
For  all  the  soil  of  the  acliievement  goes 
With  me  into  the  earth.    It  seem'd  m  mo, 
But  as  an  honour  snatch'd  with  boisterous  hand ; 


Act  y.    Scene  2. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


365 


And  1  had  many  living,  lo  npSraid 
Mv  gain  of  it  by  tli':'ir  assistanoes  ; 
\Vhich  daily  ^revv  to  quarrel,  and  to  bloodshed, 
VVonndins  snpposed  pH^ce  :  all  these  bold  fears, ' 
Thou  see'st,  with  [)eril  I  lia\e  answered  : 
For  all  my  reign  hath  been  but  as  a  scene 
Acting  that  aigument;  and  now  my  death 
Changes  the  mode :  for  what  in  me  was  purchas'd, 
Falls  upon  thee  in  a  more  fairer  sort ; 
So  thou  the  garland  wear'st  successively. 
Yet,  thougli  thou  stand'st  more  sure  than  I  co'ild  do. 
Thou  art  not  firm  enough,  since  griefs  are  green  ; 
And  all  thy  friends,  which  thou  must  make  thy 
friends, 

Have  but  their  stings  and  teeth  newly  ta'en  out; 
By  whose  iell  working  I  was  first  advanc'd. 
And  by  whose  power  I  well  might  lodge  a  fear 
To  be  again  displac'd  :  which  to  avoid, 
1  cut  them  off;  and  had  a  purpose  now 
To  lead  out  many  to  the  Holy  Land  ; 
Lest  rest,  and  lying  still,  might  make  them  look 
!  Too  near  unto  my  state.    Therefore,  my  Harry, 
j   Be  it  thy  course,  to  busy  giddy  minds 
''    With  foreign  quarrels  ;  that  action,  hence  borne  out. 
May  waste  tlse  memory  of  the  former  days. 
More  vi^ould  I,  but  my  lungs  are  wasted  so, 
That  strength  of  speech  is  utterly  denied  me. 
How  I  came  by  the  crown,  O  God,  forgive  ! 
And  grand  it  ma,y  with  thee  in  true  peace  live ! 

P.  Hen.  My  gracious  liege, 
You  won  it,  wore  it,  keep  it,  gave  it  me  ; 
Then  plain,  and  right,  must  my  possession  be: 
Which  I,  with  more  than  with  a  common  pain, 
Gainst  all  the  word  will  rightfully  maintain. 
Enter  Prince  John  of  Lancaster,  Warwick, 

Lords,  and  others. 
K.  Hen.  Look,  look,  here  comes  my  John  of 
Lancaster. 

P.  John.  Health,  peace,  and  happiness,  to  my 
royal  lather  !  [son  John  ; 

K.  Hen.  Thou  bring'st  me  happiness,  and  peace. 
Hat  health,  alack,  with  youthful  wings  is  Hown 
From  this  bare  wither'd  trunk:  upon  thy  sight, 
My  worldly  business  makes  a  period. — 
Where  is  my  lord  of  Warwick  ? 

P.  Hen.  My  lord  of  Warwick  ! 

K.  He7i.  Doth  any  name  pa/tictilar  belong 
Unto  the  lodging  where  J  first  did  swoon  ? 

War.  'Tis  call'd  Jerusalem,  my  noble  lord. 

K.  Hun.  Land  be  to  God ! — even  there  my  life 
must  end. 

It  hath  beea  prophesied  to  me  many  years, 
I  should  not  die  Unt  in  Jerusalem  ; 
Which  vainly  I  suppns  d,  the  Holy  Land  : — 
,  But,  bear  me  to  that  chamber ;  there  I'll  lie  ; 
jfiUn  that  Jerusalem  shall  Harry  die.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  1. — Glostershire.    A  Hall  in  Shallow^ s 
House. 

Enter  Shallow,  Falstafp,  Bardolph  and  Page. 

Shal.  By  cock  and  pye,  sir,  you  shall  not  away 
t  )-night.— What,  Davy,  I  say  ! 

Fal.  You  must  excuse  me,  master  Robert  Shallow. 

Shal.  I  will  not  excuse  you ;  you  shall  not  be 
xcus'd ;  excuses  shall  not  be  admitted;  there  is 
)o  excuse  siiall  serve ;  you  shall  not  be  excused. — 
Why,  Davy  • 

Enter  Davy. 
Davy  Here,  sir. 

Shal.  Davy,  Davy,  Davy, — let  me  see,  Davy; 
let,  me  see: — yea,  marry,  William  cook,  bid  him 
come  hither. — Sir  John,  you  shall  not  be  excused. 

Davy.  Marry,  sir,  thus  ; —  those  precepts  cannot 
be  served ;  and,  again,  sir,  —Shall  we  sow  the 
head-land  with  wheat? 

Shal.  With  red  wheat,  Davy.  But  for  William 
cook; — Are  there  no  young  pigeons  ? 


Davy.  Yes,  sir. —  Here  is  now  the  stnilii  s  note 

for  shoeing,  and  piougli-irons. 

Shal.  Let  it  be  cast,  and  paid: — sir  John,,  yoq 
shall  not  be  excused. 

Davy.  Now,  sir,  a  new  link  to  the  bucket  must 
needs  be  had : — And,  sir.  do  you  mean  to  stop  any 
of  William's  wages,  about  the  sack  he  lost  the  othet 
day  at  Hinckley  fair? 

Shal.  He  shajl  answer  it: — Some  pigeons  Davy; 
a  couple  of  short-legged  hens;  a  j  )int  of  mutton; 
and  any  pretty  little  tiny  kickshaws,  tell  William 
cook. 

Davy.  Doth  the  man  of  war  stay  all  night,  sir? 

Shal.  Yes,  Davy.  I  will  use  him  well ;  A  frieml 
i'the  court  is  better  than  a  penny  in  purse.  Use  his 
men  well,  Davy :  for  they  are  arrant  knaves,  and 
will  backbite. 

Davy.  No  worse  than  they  are  back-bitten,  sir 
for  they  have  marvellous  foul  linen.  [Davy, 

Shal.  Well  conceited,  Davy.  About  thy  business, 

Davy.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  to  countenance  William 
Visor  of  Wincot  against  Clement  Perkes  of  the  hill. 

Shal.  There  are  many  complaints,  Davy,  against 
that  Visor;  that  Visor  is  an  arrant  knave,  on  ray 
knowledge. 

Davy.  I  grant  your  worship,  that  he  is  a  knave, 
sir:  but  yet,  God  forbid,  sir,  but  a  knave  should 
have  some  countenance  at  his  friend's  request.  An 
honest  man,  sir,  is  able  to  speak  for  hiu)sclf,  when 
a  knave  is  not.  I  have  served  your  worship  truly, 
sir,  these  eight  years  ;  and  if  I  cannot  once  or  twice 
in  a  quarter  bear  out  a  knave  agai-nst  an  honest  man, 
I  have  but  a  very  little  credit  with  your  worship. 
The  knave  is  mine  honest  friend,  sir;  therefore,  I 
beseech  your  worship,  let  him  be  countenanced. 

Shal.  Go  to;  I  say,  he  shall  have  no  wrong. 
Look  about,  Davy.  {Exit  Davy.\  Where  are  you, 
sir  John  ?  Come,  off  with  your  boots. — Gi^  e  me 
your  hand,  master  Bardulph. 

Bard.  I  am  glad  to  see  your  worship. 

Shal.  I  thank  thee  with  all  my  heart,  kind  masfeir 
Bardolph: — and  welcome,  my  tall  fellow.  (T-^  th9 
Paqe.JQnme,  sir  John.  [Exit  Shalloiv, 

Fat.  I'll  follow  you,  good  master  Robert  Shallow, 
Bardolph,  look  to  our  horses.  [Exeimt  Bardolph 
and  Page]  If  I  were  sawed  into  quantities,  \ 
should  make  four  dozen  of  such  bearded  hermit's- 
staves  as  master  Shallow.  It  is  a  wonderful  thing, 
to  see  the  semblable  coherence  of  his  men's  spirits 
and  his:  They,  by  observing  hi;n,  do  bear  them- 
selves like  foolish  justices  ;  he,  by  conversing  with 
them,  is  turned  iuto  a  justice-like  serving-man : 
their  spirits  are  so  married  in  conjunction  with  tlie 
participation  of  society,  that  they  flock  together  in 
consent,  like  so  many  wild-geese.  If  l  had  a  suit 
to  master  Shallow,  I  would  humour  his  men,  with 
the  imputation  of  being  near  their  muster:  if  to  his 
men,  I  would  curry  with  master  Shallow,  that  no 
man  could  better  command  his  servants.  It  is  cer- 
tain, that  either  wise  bearing,  or  ignorant  carriage, 
is  caught,  as  men  take  diseases,  one  of  another  : 
therefore,  let  men  take  heed  of  their  company.  \ 
will  devise  matter  enough  out  of  this  Shallow,  to 
keep  prince  Harry  in  continual  laughter,  the  wear- 
ing-out of  six  fashions,  (which  is  four  terms,  or  two 
actions,)  and  he  shall  laugh  without  intervallums, 
O,  it  is  much,  that  a  lie,  with  a  slight  oath,  and  a 
jest,  with  a  sad  brow,  will  do  with  a  fello\'v  that 
never  had  the  ache  in  his  shoulders !  O,  you  shalj 
see  him  laugh,  till  his  face  be  like  a  'vet  ck  k  iW 
laid  up. 

Shal.  {Within.)  Sir  John! 

Fal.  I  come,  master  Shallow;  I  ci^me,  nuistey 
Shallow.  [Exit  Fahtff. 

Scene        Westminster.   A  room  in  the  Palace* 
Enter  Warwick  and  the  lord  Chief  Justice 
War.  How  now,  my  lord  chief  justice?  wliitbef 
away  ? 


56G 


SECOND  PAET  OF 


Act  V. 


€7.'i.  Ju$(.  How  doth  the  king  ?  [ended. 

fi'ar.  Exceeding  well ;  his  cares  a»    how  all 

(M.  JusL  I  hope,  ndt  dea<l. 

War.  He's  vvalk'd  the  way  of  nature  ; 

And,  to  our  purposes,  he  lives  no  more.  Lhirn. 

Ch.  Just.  I  'vould,  his  majesty  had  call'd  me  with 
The  service  that  I  truly  did  his  life, 
Llath  left  rne  open  to  ail  iiijiiries.  Inot. 

War.  Indeed,  1  thiuk,  the  young»king  loves  you 

CL  \ist.  I  know,  he  duth  not;  and  do  arm  my- 
To  welcome  the  condition  of  the  time  ;  [self. 
Which  cann(.t  louk  mure  hideously  upon  me 
Than  I  have  drawn  it  iu  n\y  phantasy. 

EtiterPrince  John,  Prince  Humppirey,  Claxence, 
W^E.STMORKLAND.  and  others. 

War.  Here  come  the  heavy  issue  of  dead  Harry: 
O,  tliat  the  living  Harry  had  the  temper 
Oi  liim,  tiie  vvoistot  these  three  gentlemen  ! 
How  many  nobles  then  should  hold  their  places, 
That  must  strike  sail  to  spuits  of  vile  sort! 

Ch.  Jiisl.  Alas!  I  fear,  all  will  be  overturn'd. 

P.  John.  Good  morrow,  cousin  Warwick. 

P.  Hianp/i.  Cla.  Good  morrow,  cousin. 

P.  John.  We  meet  like  men  that  had  forgot  to 
speak. 

War.  We  do  remember;  but  our  argument 
Is  all  tiio  heavy  to  udmit  much  talk. 

P.  John.  Well,  pea<;e  be  with  him,  that  hath 

made  us  heavy ! 
Ch.  Just.  Peace  be  with  us,  lest  we  be  heavier! 
P.  Humph.  O,  good  my  lord,  you  have  lost  a 
friend,  indeed : 
And  I  dare  swear,  you  borrow  not  that  face 
Of  seeiuing  sorrow  ;  it  is,  sure,  your  own. 

P.  John.  Thoiigli  no  man  be  assur'd  what  grace 
You  stand  in  coldest  expectation  :  [to  find, 

I  am  the  sorrier;  'would,  'twere  otherwise. 

Cla.  SVeil,  you  must  now  speak  sir  John  FalstatF 
fair; 

Whic  h  swims  against  your  stream  of  quality. 

Ch.  Just.  Sweet  princes,  what  I  did,  I  did  in 
honour. 

Led  by  the  impartial  conduct  of  my  soul; 
And  never  shall  you  see,  that  I  will  beg 
i  A  nigged  and  forestali'd  remission. — 
If  truth  and  upright  innocency  fail  me, 
I'll  to  the  king  my  master,  that  is  dead, 
A  lid  tell  me  who  hath  sent  me  alter  him. 
^Far.  Here  comes  the  prince. 

Enter  King  Henry  V. 

Ch.  Just.  Good  morrow ;  and  heaven  save  your 
majesty  ! 

King.  'J'liis  new  and  gorgeous  garment,  majesty. 
Sits  not  so  easy  on  me  as  you  thitik. — 
Brotliers,  you  mix  your  sadness  with  some  fear; 
This  is  the  English,  riot  the  Turkish  court; 
Not  Aumrath  an  Amurath  succeeds, 
But  Harry  Harry  :  Yet  be  sad,  good  brothers. 
For,  to  speak  tiuth,it  very  well  becomes  you  ; 
Sorrow  so  royally  in  you  appears, 
That  I  will  deeply  put  the  fashion  on, 
And  wear  it  in  my  heart.    W^hy  then,  be  sad 
But  entertain  no  more  of  it,  good  brothers, 
Tiian  a  joint  burden  laid  upon  us  all. 
For  me,  by  heaven,  I  bid  you  be  assur'd. 
Ml  be  your  ftther  and  your  brother  too; 
Let  me  but  bear  your  love,  I'll  bear  your  cares. 
Vet  weep,  that  Harry's  dead  ;  and  so  will  1 : 
But  Harry  lives,  th;it  shall  convert  those  tears. 
By  number,  iiit(t  hours  of  happiness. 

/■*.  John,  ^■"c.  We  hoi)e  no  other  from  your  majesty. 

King.  Ytui  all  look  strangely  on  aie  ; — and  you 
most ;  ( To  the  Chief  Justice.) 

YoH  are,  !  think,  assur'd  I  love  you  not. 

Cfi  Just.  I  am  assur'd,  it  I  be  measur'd  rightly, 
Vi»'ii  majesty  hath  no  just  cause  to  hate  me 

King.  No'l 


How  might  a  prince  of  my  great  hopes  forget 
So  great  indignities  you  laid  upon  me  ? 
What !  rate,  rebuke,  and  roughly  send  to  prison 
The  immediate  heir  of  England  ;  Was  this  easy  • 
May  this  be  wash'd  in  Lethe,  and  forgotten  ? 

Ch.  Just.  I  then  did  use  the  person  of  yon* 
father; 

The  image  of  his  power  lay  then  in  me  ; 

And,  in  the  administration  of  his  law. 

Whiles  I  was  busy  for  the  commonwealth, 

Your  highness  pleased  to  Ibrget  my  place, 

The  majesty  and  pov\'er  of  law  and  justice. 

The  image  of  the  king,  whom  I  presented. 

And  struck  me  in  my  very  seat  of  judguient; 

Whereon,  as  an  offender  to  your  lather, 

I  gave  tiold  way  to  my  authority, 

And  did  commit  you.    Il  the  detd  were  ill, 

Be  you  contented,  wearing  now  the  garland, 

'i^o  have  a  son  set  your  decrees  at  nought  ; 

To  pluck  down  justice  from  your  avvlul  bench  ; 

To  trip  the  course  ol  law,  and  blunt  the  sword 

That  guards  the  peace  and  safety  of  your  person: 

Nay,  more  ;  to  spurn  at  your  most  royal  imsge. 

And  mock  your  workings  in  a  second  body. 

Question  your  royal  tiioiights,  make  the  case  yours, 

Be  now  the  lather,  and  propose  a  son  : 

Hear  your  own  dignify  so  much  profin'd, 

See  your  most  dreadful  laws  so  loosely  slighted. 

Behold  yourself  so  by  a  son  disdain  d  ; 

And  then  imagine  me  taking  your  part. 

And,  in  your  power,  solt  silencing  your  son 

Alter  this  cold  consideraiice,  sentence  tne  ; 

And,  as  you  are  a  king,  speak  in  your  state, 

What  1  have  done,  that  misbecame  my  place 

My  person,  or  my  liege's  sovereignty. 

King.  You  are  right,  justice,  and  you  weigh  this 
well ; 

Therefore  still  bear  the  balance,  and  tVie  sword  : 
And  I  do  wish  your  hdnitiirs  may  increase. 
Till  you  do  live  to  see  a  son  of  mine 
Olfeiid  you  and  obey  \ou,  as  I  did. 
So  shall  I  live  to  speak  my  father's  words  ;  - 
Happy  am  I,  that  have  a  man  so  bold, 
That  dares  do  justice  on  my  proper  son : 
And  not  less  happy,  having  such  a  son. 
That  a  ould  deliver  up  his  greatness  so 
Into  the  hands  of  justice. — You  did  commit  me  : 
For  which,  I  do  commit  into  your  hand 
The  unstain'd  sword  that  you  have  us'd  to  bear; 
With  this  remembrance, — that  you  use  the  same 
With  the  like  bold,  just,  and  impartial  spirit, 
As  you  have  done  'gainst  me.    There  is  my  hand 
You  shall  be  as  a  father  to  my  youth  : 
My  voice  shall  sound  as  you  do  prompt  mine  ear* 
And  I  will  stoop  and  humble  my  intents 
To  your  well  practis'd,  wise  directions. — 
And,  princes  all,  believe  me,  1  beseech  you  ; — 
My  father  is  gone  wild  into  liis  grave. 
For  in  his  tomb  lie  my  aifections ; 
And  with  his  spirit  sadly  I  survive. 
To  mock  the  expectation  of  the  world  , 
To  frustrate  prophecies  ;  and  to  raze  out 
Uotten  opinion,  who  hath  writ  me  down 
After  my  seeming.    The  tide  of  blood  in  me 
Hath  proudly  flow'd  in  vanity,  till  n<  vv  : 
Now  doth  it  turn,  and  ebb  back  to  the  sea  ; 
Where  it  shall  mingle  with  the  state  of  floods. 
And  flow  henceforth  in  forma!  majesty. 
Now  call  we  our  high  court  of  parliament : 
And  let  us  choose  such  limbs  of  noble  ccumselj 
That  the  great  body  of  our  state  may  go 
In  equal  ratik  with  the  best  goveru'd  nation  ; 
That  war,  or  peace,  or  both  at  once,  may  be. 
As  things  acquainted  and  familiar  to  us  ; — 
In  which  you,  father,  shall  have  foremost  hand.— 
(To  the  Lord  Chief  Jutiict 
Our  coronation  done,  we  will  accite, 
As  I  before  remember'd,  all  our  state : 
And  (God  consigning  to  my  good  intents,) 
No  prince,  nor  peer,  shall  have  just  cause  to  «ay,-« 


SCENK  3. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


867 


Heaven  siuoi  ten  Harry's  happy  life  one  day. 

(Exeimt. 

Scene  \\l.~Glosfer(ihire.    The  Garden  of 
Shallow's  Hon»e. 
Enter  Falstapp,  Shallow,  Silence,  Bakdolph, 
the  Faye,  and  Davy. 

Shal.  Nay,  you  shall  see  mine  orchard  :  where, 
in  an  arbour,' we  will  eat  a  last  year's  pippin  of  my 
own  grading,  with  a  dishcf  carraways,  and  so  forth; 
— come,  cousin  Silence  ; — and  then  to  bed. 

Fa/.  Fore  God,  you  have  here  a  goodly  dwell- 
ing, and  a  rich. 

Shal.  Barren,  barren,  barren ;  beggars  all,  beg- 
gars all,  sir  John: — marry,  good  air.— Spread, 
Davy  ;  spread,  Davy  ;  well  said,  Davy- 

Fal.  This  Davy  serves  you  for  good  uses;  he  is 
your  serving- man,  and  your  husbandman. 

Shal.  A  good  varlet,  a  good  varlet,  a  very  good 
varlet,  sir  John. — By  the  mass,  I  have  drunk  too 

much  sack  at  supper:  A  good  varlet.  Now 

sit  down,  now  sit  down  : — Come,  cousin. 

Sil.  Ah,  sirrah  I  quoth  a, — we  shall  {Singifrg,) 

Do  nothing  but  eat,  and  make  good  cheer, 

And  praise  heaven  for  the  merry  year , 

When  flesh  is  cheap,  and  females  dear. 

And  lusty  lads  roam  here  and  there, 
So  tnerrily. 

And  ever  among  so  merrily, 

Fal.  There's  a  merry  heart! — Good  master  Si- 
lence, I'll  gi\  e  you  a  health  for  that  anon. 

Shal  Give  master  Bardolph  some  wine,  Davy. 

Davy.  Sweet  .sir,  .sit:  {seating  Bardolph  and 
the  Page  at  another  table))  I'll  be  with  you  anon  :— 

most  sweet  sir,  sit.  Master  page,  good  master 

page,  sit :  proface  !  What  you  want  in  meat,  we'll 
have  in  drink.  But  you  must  bear;  The  heart's 
all.  [Exit. 

Shal.  Be  merry,  master  Bardolph; — and  my 
little  soldier  there,  be  merry. 

Sii  Be  merry,  be  merry,  my  wife's  as  all; 

(Singing.) 

Fir  tvometi  are  shrews,  both  short  and  tall: 
Tis  merry  in  hall,  when  beards  wag  all. 

And  welcome  merry  shrove-tide. 
Be  merry ^  be  merry,  &c. 

Fal.  I  did  not  think,  master  Silence  had  been  a 
man  of  this  mettle.  [ere  now. 

Sil,  Who,  1  ?  I  have  been  merry  twice  and  once. 

Re-enter  Davy. 

Davy,  There  is  a  dish  of  leather-coats  for  you. 

{Setting  them  before  Bardolph.) 

Shal.  Davy,— 

Davy.  Your  worship  ? — I'll  be  with  yon  straight, 
f  To  Bard.) — A  cup  of  wine,  sir? 

Sil.  A  cup  of  wine,  that  brisk  and  fine, 

And  drink  unto  the  leman  mine  ;  ( Singing.) 
And  a  merry  heart  lives  long- a. 

Fal.  Well  said,  master  Silence. 

Sil.  And  we  shall  be  merry ; — now  comes  in  the 
sweet  of  the  night. 

Fal.  Health  and  long  life  to  you,  master  Silence, 

Sil.  Fill  the  cup,  and  let  it  come  ; 

Til  pledge  you  a  mile  to  the  bottom, 

Shal.  lionest  Bardolph,  welcome :  If  thou 
wantest  any  thing,  and  wilt  not  call,  beshrew  thy 
heart. —  Welcome,  my  little  tmy  thief  \{to  the  Page.) 
and  welcome,  indeed,  too.— I'll  drink  to  master 
Bardolph,  and  to  all  the  cavaleroes  about  London. 

Davy.  I  hope  to  see  London  once  ere  I  die. 

Bard.  And  1  might  see  you  there,  Davy, — 

Shal,  By  the  mass,  you'll  crack  a  quart  together. 
Ha !  will  you  not,  master  Bardolph  ? 

Bard.  Yes,  sir,  in  a  pottle  pot. 

Shal.  I  tlvnk  thee  : — The  knave  will  stick  by 
thee,  I  can  assure  thee  that ;  he  will  not  out ;  he  is 
true  bred. 

-Hard.  And  I'll  stick  to  him,  sir. 

S/iai.  Why,  there  spoke  a  king.    Lack  nothing  : 


be  merry.  {Kncckivg  heard.)  Look  wIio'n  at  door, 
there:  l-Io  !  whu  knocks?  [Exit  Davy 

Fal.  Why,  now  you  have  done  me  right. 

( To  Silence,  who  drinks  a  bumper  ^ 
Sd.  Do  me  rigid.  {Singtng 
And  dub  me  knight : 
Samingo. 
Is't  rot  so  ? 
Fal,  'Tis  so. 

Sil.  Is't  so  ?  Why,  then  say,  an  old  man  can  do 
somewhat. 

Re-enter  Davy. 
Davy.  An  it  please  your  worship,  iliere's  one 
Pistol  come  from  the  court  with  news. 
Fal,  From  the  court,  let  him  come  in. — 

Enter  Pistol. 

How  now.  Pistol. 
Pist.  God  save  you,  sir  John  1 
Fal.  What  wind  blew  you  hither,  Pistol  ? 
Pist.  Not  the  ill  wind,  which  blows  no  man  to 
good. — Sweet  knight,  tlum  art  now  one  of  the 
greatest  men  in  the  realm. 

Sil.  By'r  lady,  I  think  a'  be  ^  but  good  man  Puft 
Pist.  PufF  ?  [of  Barson. 

Puffin  thy  teeth,  most  recreant  coward  base  J  — 
Sir  John,  I  am  thy  Pistol  and  thy  friend. 
And  helter-skelter  have  I  rode  to  thee ; 
And  tidings  do  I  bring,  and  lucky  joys. 
And  golden  times,  and  happy  news  of  price. 

Fal.  I  pry  thee  now,  deliver  them  like  a  man  of 
this  world. 

Pist.  A  foutra  for  the  world,  and  worldlings  base  ! 
I  speak  of  Africa,  and  golden  joys. 

Fal.  O  basp  Assyrian  knight,  what  is  thy  news  ? 
Let  king  Co|  hetua  know  the  truth  thereof. 

Sel.  And  Robin  Hood,  Scarlet,  o.nd  John. {Sings., 

Pist.  Shall  dunghill  curs  confront  the  Helicons  ? 
And  shall  good  news  be  baffled  ? 
Then,  Pistol,  lay  thy  head  in  Furies'  lap. 

Shal.  Honest  gentleman,  I  know  not  your  breccia 

Pist.  Why  then,  lament  thereof.  [ing. 

Shal,  Give  me  pardon,  sir  : — If,  sir,  you  come 
with  news  from  the  couit,  1  take  it,  there  is  but 
two  ways  ;  either  to  utter  them,  or  to  conceal  them 
I  am,  sir,  under  the  king,  in  some  authority. 

Pist.  Under  which  king,  Bezonian  ?  speak,  or  die. 

Shal.  Under  king  Harry. 

Pist.  Harry  the  fourth  ?  or  fifth  ? 

Shal.  Harry  the  fourth. 

Pist.  A  foutra  for  thine  office ! — 

Sir  John,  thy  tender  lambkin  now  is  king; 
Harry  the  fifth's  the  man.    1  speak  the  truth  : 
When  Pistol  lies,  do  this  ;  and  fig  me,  like 
The  bragging  Spaniard. 

Fal.  What !  is  the  old  king  dead  ? 

Pist.  As  nail  in  door:  the  things  I  speak  are  just 

Fal.  Away,  Bardolph  ;  saddle  my  horse. — Master 
Robert  Shallow,  choose  what  office  thou  wilt  in 
the  land,  'tis  thine.— Pistol,  I  will  double  charge 
thee  with  dignities. 

Bard.  O  joyful  day  ! — I  would  not  take  a  knight- 
hood for  my  fortune. 

Pist.  What?  I  do  bring  good  news? 

Fal.  Carry  master  Silence  to  bed.  —  Master 
Shallow,  my  lord  Shallow,  be  what  thou  wilt,  I 
am  fortune'is  steward.  Get  on  thy  boots;  we'll 
ride  all  night : — O,  sweet  Pistol  : — Away,  Bardolph 
[Exit  Bard.] — Come.  Pistol,  utter  more  to  ine  ;  and(, 
withal,  devise  soinetl.ing,  to  do  thyself  good.— - 
Boot,  boot,  niastt^r  Siiallow  :  I  know,  the  yoiin§ 
king  is  sick  for  me.  Let  us  take  any  man  s  horse 
the  laws  of  England  are  at  my  commandment 
Happy  are  they  which  have  been  my  friends :  auo 
woe  to  my  lord  chief  justice. 

Pist.  Let  viiltiin-s  vilt-  seize  on  his  Ii;ng.i  also 
Whe7-e  is  the  life  that  late  I  led,  say  they  t 
Why,  here  it  is  ;  W^lcun-.e  th'^'se  pleas.ir't  day*. 

{Eseunt* 


868 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  V. 


Scene  IV. — London.  A  Street. 

BsUcr  Beadles,  drac,rjiny  in  Hostess  QuiCKLY,  and 
Doix'a  Tear  SHEET 

Host.  No,  thou  arrant  knave ;  I  would  1  might 
iie,  that  I  might  have  thee  hanged  :  thou  hast  drawn 
uiy  shoulder  out  of  joint. 

!  Bead.  The  constahles  have  delivered  her  over 
to  me  ;  and  she  shall  have  whipping-cheer  enough, 
I  warrant  her:  There  hath  been  a  man  or  two  lately 
killed  alijut  her. 

Doll.  Nut-hook,  nut-hook,  you  lie.  Come  on; 
I'll  tell  thee  what,  thou  damned  tripe-yisaged  ras- 
cal ;  an  ^he  child  1  now  go  with,  do  miscarry,  thou 
hadst  better  thou  hadst  struck  thy  mother,  thou 
|)aper-foced-villain. 

Host,  O  the  Lorj,  that  sir  John  were  come!  he 
would  make  this  a  bloody  day  to  somebody.  But 
I  pray  God  the  fruit  of  her  womb  miscarry  ! 

1  Bead.  If  it  do,  you  shall  have  a  dozen  of 
cushions  again  ;  you  have  but  eleven  now.  _  Come, 
I  charge  you  both  go  with  me  \  for  the  man  is  dead, 
that  you  and  Pistol  heat  among  you. 

Doll.  rU  tell  thee  what,  thou  thin  man  in  a 
censer !  I  will  have  you  as  soundly  swinged  for 
this,  you  blue-bottle  rogue!  you  filthy  famished 
correctioDcr ;  if  you  be  not  swinged,  I'll  forswear 
half  kirtlea. 

1  Bead.  Come,  come,  you  she  knight-errant,  come. 
Host.  O,  that  right  should  thus  overcome  might ! 
Well ;  of  sufferance  comes  ease.  [justice. 
Doll.  Come,  you  rogue,  come ;  bring  me  to  a 
Host.  Ay  ;  come,  you  starv'd  blood-hound. 
Doll.  Goodman  death  !  goodman  bones! 
Host.  Thou  atomy  thou  ! 

Doll.  C<  me,  you  thin  thing  ;  come,  you  rascal ! 
I  Bead,  V^erywell.  [Exeunt 

Scene  V  —A  public  Place  near  Westminster 
Abbey. 

Epjter  two  Grooms,  strewing  rushes. 

1  Groom.  More  rushes,  more  rushes. 

2  Groom.  The  .rumpets  have  sounded  twice, 

1  Grocnn.  It  will  be  two  o'clock  ere  they  come 
from  the  coronation  :  Despatch,  despatch. 

[Exeunt  Grooms- 

Enter  Falstaff,  Shallow,  Pistol,  Bardolph, 
and  the  Page. 

Fal.  Stand  here  by  me,  master  Robert  Shallow  ; 
I  will  make  the  king  do  you  grace :  I  will  leer  upon 
him,  as  'a  comes  by;  and  do  but  mark  the  counte- 
Biance  that  he  will  give  me. 

Pisl.  God  bless  thy  lungs,  good  knight. 

FaL  Come  here.  Pistol;  stand  behind  me. — O, 
if  I  had  had  time  to  have  made  new  liveries,  I  would 
have  bestowed  the  thousand  pound  I  borrowed  of 
you.  (To  Shalloiv.)  But  'tis  no  i;iatter  ;  this  poor 
show  doth  better  :  this  doth  infer  the  zeal  I  had  to 
see  bim. 

Shal.  It  doth  so. 

Fid.  It  shews  my  earnestness  of  atFection. 

Shal.  It  doth  so. 

Fal.  My  devotion. 

Fal.  It  doth,  it  doth,  it  doth. 

Fal.  As  it  were,  to  ride  day  and  night ;  and  not  to 
deliberate,  not  to  remember,  not  to  have  patience 

Shal.  it  is  most  certain.  [to  shift  me. 

Fal.  But  to  stand  staln'd  with  travel,  and  sweat- 
ing with  desire  to  see  hiin  ;  thinking  of  nothing  else ; 
[mtting  all  affairs  else  in  oblivion  ;  as  if  theie  were 
nothing  else  to  be  done,  hist  to  see  him 

Pisi.  'Tis  semper  idem,  for  absque  hoc  nihil  est : 
'Tis  ail  in  every  part. 

Shal.  'Tis  so,  inileed. 

Pist.  My  knight,  I  will  inflame  thy  noble  liser, 
And  make  thee  rage. 

Tl.y  Doll,  and  Helen  of  thy  noble  thoughts, 
Is  in  base  durance,  and  coutagious  prison  ; 


JlRul'd  thither 

By  most  mechanical  and  dirty  hand  :  — 
Rguse  up  revenge  from  ebon  den  with  fell  Alecto' 
snake. 

For  Doll  is  in  ;  Pistol  speaks  nought  but  truth 
Fal.  I  will  deliver  her. 

{Shouts  within,  and  the  trumpets  somtC/Ci 
Pist.  There  roar'd  the  sea,  and  trumpet-clarigoi 


ids. 


Enter  the  King  and  his  Train,  the  Chief  Justict 
among  them. 

Fal.  God  save  thy  grace,  king  Hal !  my  royal 
Hal ! 

Pist.  The  heavens  thee  guard  and  keep,  most 
royal  imp  of  fame  ! 

Fal.  God  save  thee,  my  sweet  boy ! 

King.  My  lord  chief  justice,  speak  to  that  vain 
man.  ['tis  you  speak  ? 

Ch.  Just.  Have  you  your  wits  ?  know  you  what 

Fal.  My  king  I  my  Jove  I  I  speak  to  thee,  my 
heart!  [prayers; 

King.  I  know  thee  not,  old  man :  Fall  to  thy 
How  id  white  hairs  become  a  fool,  and  jester  I 
I  have  long  dream'd  of  such  a  kind  of  man. 
So  surfeit-swell'd,  so  old,  and  so  profane; 
But,  being  awake,  I  do  despise  my  dream. 
Make  less  thy  body,  hence,  and  more  thy  grace  ; 
Leave  gormandizing  ;  know  thy  grave  doth  gape 
For  tliee  thrice  wider  than  for  other  men : — 
Reply  not  to  me  with  a  fool-born  jest ; 
Presume  not,  that  I  am  the  thing  I  was : 
For  heaven  doth  know,  so  shall  the  worlfl  perceive 
That  I  have  turn'd  away  my  former  self; 
So  will  I  those  that  kept  me  company. 
When  thou  dost  hear  I  am  as  I  have  been. 
Approach  nie  ;  and  thou  shalt  be  as  thou  wast 
The  tutor  and  the  feeder  of  my  riots  : 
Till  then,  I  banish  thee,  on  pam  of  death, — 
As  1  have  done  the  rest  of  my  misleaders, — 
Not  to  come  near  our  person  by  ten  mjle. 
For  competence  of  life,  I  will  allow  you  ; 
That  lack  of  means  enforce  you  not  to  evil : 
And,  as  we  hear  you  do  reform  j'ourselves. 
We  will, — according  to  your  strength,  and  qnali 
ties, —  [loni, 
Give  you  advancement. — Be  it  your  charge,  my 
To  see  perform'd  the  tenor  of  our  word. — 
Set  on.  [Exeunt  King,  and  his  Tram. 

Fal.  Master  Shallow,  I  owe  you  a  thousaml 
pound. 

Shal.  Ay,  marry,  sir  John ;  which  I  bese  ech  yon 
to  let  me  have  home  with  me. 

Fal.  That  can  hardly  be,  master  Shallow.  '^^ 
not  you  grieve  at  this;  I  shall  be  sent  for  in  pri  "^^^^J 
to  him  :  look  you,  he  must  seem  thus  to  the  -Frorl^. 
Fear  not  your  advancement :  \  will  be  the  man  J^U 
that  shall  make  you  gr»^av 

Shal.  I  cannot  p«'ii<;eive -low ;  unless  you  giv9 
your  doublet,  and  ntuffmeout  with  straw.  I  be  seec« 
you,  good  sir  /  i^');  Ifii  me  have  five  hundred  ^'  ^"7 
thousand. 

Fal.  r  wjil  be  as  good  as  my  word:  this 

thatyoo  leurd,  "was  but  a  colour.  [J  oJu'. 

Shal  A  colour,  I  fear,  that  you  will  die  in,  -  i 
Fal  H^ear  no  colours  ;  go  with  me  to  dinner. 
Come,  lieutenant  Pistol ; — come,  Bardolph: — 1  .sh 
be  sent  for  soon  at  night. 

Re-enter  Prince  John,  the  Chief  Justice, 
Officers,  ^c. 
Ch.  Just.  Go,  carry  sir  John  Falstaff  to  the  FJe 
Take  all  his  company  along  with  hiin. 
Fal.  My  lord,  tnv  lord,— 

CLJus't.  1  cannot  now  speak:  1  will  hear  y. 
Take  ttiem  away.  [soon. 
Pist.  Sifortuna  me  tormenta.  spero  me  content'^, 
[Exeunt  FaL  Shal.  Pist.  Bard.  Pag  9 
and  Officers. 
P.  Jo/m.  I  like  this  fair  proceeding  of  tbfi 


SCEJJE  5. 

He  hath  iutent,  his  wonted  followers 
Shall  all  be  very  well  provided  for; 
But  aU  are  banish'd  till  their  conversations 
Appear  more  wise  and  modest  to  the  world. 

Ch.  Just.  And  so  they  are.  £lord. 
P.  John,  'i'he  king  hath  call'd  his  parliament,  my 
Ch.  Just.  He  hath.  [expire, 
P.  John.  I  will  lay  odds, — that,  ere  this  year 
VVe  bear  our  civil  swords,  and  native  fire, 
As  far  as  Prance  :  I  heard  a  bird  so  sing, 
Whose  music,  to  my  thinking,  pleas'd  the  king. 
Come,  will  you  hence?  [Exeunt. 

Epilogue. — Spoken  by  a  Dancer. 
First,  my  fear;  then,  my  court' sy  ;  last,  my 
speech.  My  fear  is,  your  displeasure  ;  my  courfsy, 
my  duty ;  and  my  speech,  to  be<j  your  pardons.  If 
vou  look  for  a  good  speech  now,  you  undo  me  :  for 
what  I  have  to  sav,  is  of  mine  own  making  ;  and 
what,  indeed.  I  should  say,  ivill,  I  doubt,  prove 
mine  own  marring.  But  to  the  purpose,  and  so 
to  the  venture. — Be  it  known  to  you,  fas  it  is  very 
well, J  I  was  lately  here  in  the  end  of  a  displeasing 
play,  to  pray  your  patience  for  it.  and  to  promise 
you  a  better.  I  did  mean,  indeed,  to  pay  you  with 
ih^s;  which,  if  like  an  ill  venture,  it  come  uninckilu 
24 


369 

home,  I  break  ,  and  you,  my  aentle  creditors,  /o*«, 

Here,  I  promised  you,  I  would  be,  and  here  Icom^ 
mit  my  body  to  your  mer  cies :  bate  me  some,  and 
I  will  pay  you  some,  and,  as  most  debtors  do^ 
promise  you  infinitely. 

If  my  tongue  cannot  entreat  you  to  acquit  me, 
unit  you  command  me  to  use  my  legs  1  and  yet 
that  were  biU  light  payment, — to  dance  out  of 
vour  debt.  But  a  pood  conscience  will  make  any 
possible  satisfaction,  and  so  will  I.  All  the  gen  - 
tlewomen here  Iiave  forgiven  me ;  if  the  gentlemen 
will  not,  then  the  gentlemen  do  not  agree  with, 
the  gentlewomen,  which  was  never  seen  before  in 
such  an  assembly. 

One  word  more,  I  beseech  you.  If  you  be  not 
too  much  cloyed  with  fat  meat,  our  humble  author 
will  continue  the  story,  with  Sir  John  in  it.,  and 
make  you  merry  with  fair  Katharine  of  France : 
where,  for  any  thing  I  knoiu,  Falstaff  shall  die 
of  a  sweat,  unless  already  he  be  killed  with  your 
hard  opinions  ;  for  Oldcastle  died  a  marlyr,  and 
this  is  not  the  man.  My  tongue  is  weary  ;  ivAea 
my  legs  are  too,  I  will  bid  you  good  night :  and 
so  kneel  down  before  you; — but,  indted,  io  pra§ 
J'or  the  queen. 


KING  HENRY  lY. 


KING  HENRY  V, 


This  plav  has  many  scenes  cf  high  dignity,  and  many  of  easy  merriment.  Tlie  character  of  lie  king  is  well  sup- 
ported, except  ill  his  courtsliip,  wliere  he  "jas  neither  the  vivacity  of  Hal,  nor  the  grandeur  of  Henry.  The  humour 
of  Pistol  is  very  happily  continued:  his  character  has  perhaps  been  tlie  model  of  all  the  bullies  that  have  yet  appeared 
on  tlie  English  stage. 

The  lines  gi\en  to  the  chorus  have  many  admirers;  but  the  truth  is,  in  them  a  little  may  be  praised,  and  much 
must  be  forgiven;  nor  can  it  be  easily  discovered,  why  the  intelligence  given  by  the  chorus  is  more  necessary  in 
this  play,  than  in  many  others  where  it  is  omitted.  The  great  defect  of  this  play  is,  the  emptiness  and  narrowness  ol 
the  last  act,  which  |  very  little  diligence  might  have  easily  avoided.  Johnson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Brothers  to  the  King. 


KIN(i  HENRY  THE  FIFTH. 
DUKE  OF  GLOSTER,  ) 
DUKE  OF  BEDFORD,  ( 
DUKE  OF  EXETER,  Uncle  to  the  King. 
DUKE  OF  YORK.  Cousin  to  the  Ki7iq. 
EARLS  OF  SALISBURY,  WESTJMORELAND,  and 

WARWICK. 
ARCHBISHOP  OF  CANTERBURY. 
BISHOP  OF  ELY. 

LORD  SCROOP''''^^^^'  i  Conspirators  against  the 
SIR  THOMAS  GRRY  S 

«IR  THOMAS  ERPINGHAM,  GOWER,  FLUELLEN, 
MACMORRIS,  JAMY,  Officers  in  King  Henry's 

Army. 

Bates,  COUI^T,  WILLIAMS,  SolcUers  in  the  same. 
N\M,  BARDOLPH,  PISTOL,  formerly  Servants  to 
Fa/staff,  now  Soldiers  in  the  same. 


King  of  France. 
ORLEANS,  and  BOURBON. 


Boy,  Serva7it  to  them, 
A  Herald 
Chorus. 

CHARLES  THE  SIXTH, 
LEWIS,  the  Dcmphin. 
DUKE  OF  BURGUNDY, 
The  Constable  of  France. 
RAMBURES  and  GRANDPREE,  French  Lord*, 
Governor  of  Harfleur. 
MONTJOY,  a  French  Herald. 
A  mbassadors  to  the  King  of  England. 
ISABEL,  Queen  of  France. 

KATHARINE,  Daughter  of  Charles  and  Isabel. 
ALICE,  a  Lady  attending  on  the  Princess  Katharine. 
QUICKLY,  Pistol's  Wife,  an  Hostess. 
Lords,  Ladies,  Officer,  French  and  English  Soldier*, 
Messengers,  and  Attendants. 


The  Scene,  at  the  beginning  of  the  Play,  lies  in  England;  but  afterwards  wholly  in  France. 


Enter  Chorus. 

O,  for  amnse  of  Sre,  that  would  ascend 
The  brij>htest  heaven  ol"  invention  ! 
k  kingdom  for  a  stage,  princes  to  act. 
A.nd  monarchs  to  behold  the  swelling  scene  ! 
ThM!  shoald  the  warlike  Harry,  like  himself, 
Assume  the  port  of  Mars  ;  and,  at  his  heels,  [fire, 
Leasli'd  in  like  hounds,  should  famine,  sword,  and 
f-rouch  for  employment.    But  pardon,  gentles  all, 
The  flat  unraised  spirit,  that  hath  dar'd, 
On  this  unworthy  scaffold,  to  bring  forth 
So  great  an  object :  Can  this  cockpit  hold 
The  vasty  fields  of  France  ?  or  may  we  cram 
Within  this  wooden  0,  the  very  casqiies. 
That  did  affright  (he  air  at  Agincourt  ? 
O,  pardon  !  since  a  crooked  figure  may 
Attest,  in  little  place,  a  million  ; 
And  let  us ,  ciphers  to  this  great  accompt. 
On  your  imaginary  forces  work : 
Suppose,  within  the  girdle  of  these  walls 
Are  now  confin'd  two  mighty  monarchies. 
Whose  high  upreared  and  abutting  fronts 
The  perilous,  narrow  ocean  parts  asunder. 
Piece  out  our  imperfections  with  your  thoughts  ; 
Into  a  thousand  parts  divide  one  man. 
And  make  imaginary  puissance: 
Think,  when  we  talk  of  horses,  that  you  see  thera 
Printing  their  proud  hoofs  i'the  receiving  earth: 
For  'tis  your  thoughts  that  now  must  deck  our  kings. 
Carry  them  here  and  there  :  jumping  o'er  times ; 
Turning  the  accomplishment  of  many  years 
Into  an  hour-glass  :  For  the  which  supply. 
Admit  me  chorus  to  this  history  ; 
Who,  prologue-like,  your  humble  patience  pray, 
Gently  to  hear,  kindly  to  judge,  our  play. 

ACT  I. 

Scene  I.-  London.   An  Ante-chamber  in  the 
King's  Palace. 

Enter  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and 
Bishop  of  Ely. 

Cant.  My  lord,  I'll  tell  you, — that  self  bill  is  urg'd, 
Whicli,  in  the  eleventh  year  o'  the  last  king's  reign 
VVas  like,  and  had  indeed  against  us  pass'd, 
t2ut  tl)at  the  scambling  and  uuquiet  time 


Did  push  it  out  of  further  question. 

Ehj.  But  how,  my  lord,  shall  we  resist  it  now? 

Cant.  It  must  be  thought  on.  If  it  pass  against  m, 
We  lose  the  better  half  of  our  possession  : 
For  all  the  temporal  lands,  which  men  devout 
By  testament  have  given  to  the  church, 
Would  they  strip  from  us;  being  valued  thus, — 
As  much  as  woidd  maintain,  to  the  king's  hocmir. 
Full  fifteen  earls,  and  fifteen  hundred  knights  • 
Six  thousand  and  two  hundred  good  esquires; 
And,  to  relief  of  lazars,  and  weak  age. 
Of  indigent  faint  souls,  past  corpora!  toil, 
A  hundred  alms-houses,  right  well  supplied; 
And  to  the  coffers  of  the  king  beside, 
A  thousand  pounds  by  the  year:  Thus  runs  the  bifii 

Ely.  This  would  drink  deep. 

Cant.  Twould  drink  the  cup  aad  all. 

Ely.  But  what  prevention  ? 

Cant.  The  king  is  full  of  grace,  and  fair  regard. 

Ely.  And  a  true  lover  of  the  holy  church. 

Cant.  The  courses  of  his  youth  prdmis'd  it  not 
The  breath  no  sooner  left  his  father's  body. 
But  that  his  wildness,  mortified  in  him, 
Seem  d  to  die  loo:  yea,  at  that  very  moment. 
Consideration  like  an  angel  came. 
And  whipp'd  the  offending  Adam  out  of  him ; 
Leaving  hi.s  body  as  a  paradise, 
To  envelop  and  contain  celestial  spirits. 
Never  was  such  a  sudden  scholar  made  . 
Never  came  reformation  in  a  flood. 
With  such  a  heady  current,  scouring  faults^ 
Nor  never  Hydra-headed  wilfulness 
So  soon  did  lose  his  seat,  and  all  at  once. 
As  in  this  king. 

Ely.  We  are  blessed  in  the  change. 

Cant.  Hear  him  but  reason  in  divinity. 
And,  all-admiring,  with  an  inward  wish 
You  would  desire,  the  king  were  made  a  prelate  : 
Hear  him  debate  of  commonwealth  affairs. 
You  would  say, — it  hath  been  all-in-all  his  stadyi 
List  his  discourse  of  war,  and  you  shall  heal 
A  fearful  battle  render'd  you  in  music  : 
'J'urn  him  to  any  cause  of  policy. 
The  Gordian  knot  of  it  he  will  unloose. 
Familiar  as  his  garter:  that,  when  he  sp^aks^ 
The  air,  a  charter'd  libertine,  is  still. 
And  the  mute  wonder  lurketh  in  men's  ea»» 


KING  HENRY  V.  >S^< 


Scene  2. 

To  steal  his  sweet  and  honeyed  sentences 
So  that  the  art  and  practic  part  of  life 
Must  he  the  mistress  to  this  theoric  : 
Wliich  is  a  wonder,  how  his  grace  should  glean  it, 
Since  iiis  addiction  was  to  courses  vain; 
His  companies  unletter'd,  rude,  and  shallow; 
His  hours  fili'd  up  with  riots,  hauquets,  sports; 
And  never  noted  in  hitn  any  study, 
Any  retirement,  any  sequestration, 
Fro.M  open  liaunts  and  popularity. 

Ely.  The  strawberry  grows  underneath  the  nettle ; 
And  wholesome  berries  tlirive  and  ripen  best, 
Neighbour'd  by  fruit  of  baser  quality  : 
And  so  the  prince  obscur'd  his  contemplation 
Under  the  veil  of  wildness  ;  which,  no  doubt. 
Grew  like  the  summer-grass,  fastest  by  night. 
Unseen,  yet  crescive  in  his  faculty. 

Cant.  It  must  be  so:  for  miracles  are  ceas'd ; 
And  therefore  we  must  needs  admit  the  means, 
How  things  are  perfected. 

Ely.  But,  my  good  lord. 

How  now  for  mitigation  of  this  bill 
Urg'd  by  the  commons?  Doth  his  majesty 
Incline  to  it,  or  no  ? 

Cant.  He  seems  indifferent ; 

Or,  rather,  swaying  more  upon  our  part. 
Than  cherishing  the  exhibiters  against  us  . 
For  I  have  made  an  oifer  to  his  majesty, — 
Upon  our  spiritual  convocation  ; 
And  in  regard  of  causes  now  in  hand, 
Which  I  have  open'd  to  his  grace  at  large, 
As  touching  France,— to  give  a  greater  sum 
Thau  ever  atone  time  the  clergy  yet 
Did  to  his  predecessors  part  witlial. 

Ely.  How  did  this  offer  seem  receiv'd,  my  lord  ? 

Cant.  With  good  acceptance  of  his  mnjesty  ; 
Save,  that  there  was  not  time  enough  to  hear 
(As,  I  perceiv'd,  his  grace  would  fain  have  done,) 
The  severals,  and  unhidden  passages. 
Of  his  true  titles  to  some  certain  dukedoms; 
\i)d,  generally,  to  the  crown  and  seat  of  France, 
'Jeriv'd  from  Edward,  his  great  grandfather. 

Ely.  W^hat  wasthe  impediment  that  broke  this  off  ? 

Cant.  The  French  ambassador,  upon  that  instant, 
Crav'd  audience  :  and  the  hour,  1  think,  is  come. 
To  give  him  heariug  :  Is  it  four  o'clock  ? 

My.  It  is. 

Cant.  Then  go  we  in,  to  know  his  embassy ; 
Which  I  could,  with  a  ready  guess,  declare. 
Before  the  Frenchman  speak  a  word  of  it. 

Ely.  I'll  wait  upon  you;  and  I  long  to  hear  it. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — The  same.   A  Room  of  State  in  the 
same. 

Enter  King  Henky,  Gloster,  Bedford,  Exeter, 
Warwick,  Westmoreland,  and  Attendants. 
K.  Hen.  Where  is  my  gracious  Lord  of  Canter- 
Exe.  Not  here  in  presence.  [bury  ? 

K.  Hen.  Send  for  him,  good  uncle. 
TVest.  Shall  we  call  in  the  ambassador,  my  liege  ? 
K.  Hen.  Not  yet,  my  cousin ;  we  would  be  re- 
solv'd, 

Before  we  hear  him,  of  some  things  of  weight, 
That  task  our  thoughts,  concerning  us  and  France. 

Enter  the  Archbishop  of  C  anterbury  and  Bishop 
of  Ely. 

Cant.  God,  and  his  angels,  guard  your  sacred 
And  make  you  long  become  it !  [throne, 

tx.  Hen  Sure,  we  thank  you. 

My  learned  lord,  we  pray  you  to  proceed; 
And  justly  and  religiously  unfold, 
VVhy  the  law  Saiique,  that  they  have  in  France, 
sfeould,  or  should  not,  bar  us  in  our  claim. 

God  forbi  l,  my  dear  and  faithful  lord, 
at  yo'i  shor'd  fashion,  wrest,  or  bow  your  reading, 
nicely  charge  yuur  understanding  soul 
With  opening  titles  niiscieate,  vviiose  right 
Suits  not  in  native  t  Dlour  witit  the  truth  ; 


For  God  doth  know,  how  many  now  in  healthy 

Shall  drop  their  blood  in  approbation 
Of  what  your  reverence  shtil  incite  us  to; 
Therefore  take  heed  how  you  impawn  our  person. 
How  you  awake  the  sleeping  sword  of  war ; 
We  charge  you  in  the  name  of  God,  take  heed 
For  never  two  such  kingdoms  did  contend, 
Without  much  fall  of  blood;  whose  guiltless  drops 
Are  e\  ery  one  a  woe,  a  sore  complaint, 
'Gainst  him,  whose  wrongs  give  edge  unto  the 
swords 

That  make  such  waste  in  brief  mortality. 
Under  this  conjuration,  speak,  my  lord  : 
And  vve  will  hear,  note,  and  believe  in  heart, 
'That  what  you  speak  is  in  your  conscience  wash'd 
As  pure  as  sin  with  baptism.  [you  peers. 

Cant.  Then  hear  me,  gracious  sovereign, — and 
That  ovve  your  lives,  your  faith,  and  services, 
To  this  imperial  throne; — There  is  no  bar 
To  make  against  your  highness'  claim  to  France, 
But  this,  which  they  produce  from  Pharamond, — 
In  terrain  Salieam  mulieres  ne  succedaret. 
No  woman  shall  succeed  in  Saiique  land : 
Which  Saiique  land  the  French  unjustly  gloze. 
To  be  the  realm  of  France,  and  Pharamond 
The  founder  of  this  law  and  female  bar. 
Yet  their  own  authors  faithfully  affirm, 
That  the  land  Saiique  lies  in  Germany, 
Between  the  floods  of  Sala  and  of  Elbe  : 
Where  Chailes  the  great,  having   subdued  tb® 
Saxons, 

There  left  behind  and  settled  certain  French, 

Who,  holding  in  disdain  the  German  women^ 

For  some  dishonest  manners  of  their  life, 

EstablishVl  there  this  law, — to  wit,  no  female 

Should  be  inheritrix  in  Saiique  land  ; 

Which  Saiique,  as  I  said,  'twixtElbe  and  Sala, 

Is  at  this  day  in  Germany  call'd — Meisen. 

Thus  doth  it  well  appear,  the  Saiique  law 

VV^as  not  devised  for  the  realm  of  France : 

Nor  did  the  French  possess  the  Saiique  laud 

Until  four  hundred  one  and  twenty  years 

After  defunction  of  king  Pharamond,  ^ 

Idly  suppos'd  the  founder  of  this  law;  ; 

Who  died  within  the  year  cf  our  redemption 

Four  hundred  twenty-six;  and  Charles  the  Grent 

Subdued  the  Saxons,  and  did  seat  the  French 

Beyond  the  river  Sala,  in  the  year 

Eight  hundred  five.   Besides,  their  writers  say. 

King  Pepin,  which  deposed  Childerick, 

Did,  as  heir  general,  being  descended 

Of  Blithild,  which  was  daughter  to  king  Clothmr^ 

Make  claim  and  title  to  the  crown  of  France. 

t:i»gh  Capet  also, — that  usurp'd  the  crown 

Of  Chades  the  Duke  of  Lorain,  sole  heir  male 

Of  the  true  line  and  stock  of  Charles  the  great,— 

To  fine  his  title  with  some  show  of  truth, 

(Though,  in  pure  truth,  it  was  corrupt  and  naught  > 

Convey'd  himself  as  heir  to  the  lady  Lingare, 

Daughter  to  Charlemain,  who  was  the  son 

To  Lewis  the  emperor,  and  Lewis  the  son 

Of  Charles  the  great.    Also  king  Lewis  the  tenths' 

Who  was  sole  heir  to  the  usurper  Capet, 

Could  not  keep  quiet  in  his  c(mscience. 

Wearing  the  crown  of  France,  till  satisfied 

That  fair  queen  Isabel,  his  grandmother. 

Was  lineal  of  the  lady  Ermengare, 

Daughter  to  Charles  the  foresaid  dnke  of  Lorain 

By  the  which  marriage,  the  line  of  Charlea  the  gread 

Was  re-united  to  the  crown  of  France. 

So  that,  as  clear  as  is  the  summer's  sun, 

King  Pepin's  title,  and  Hugh  Capet's  claim. 

King  Lewis  his  satisfaction,  all  appear 

To  liold  in  right  and  title  of  the  female: 

So  do  the  kings  of  France  unto  this  day; 

Howbeit  they  would  lipid  up  this  Saiique  law, 

'I'o  bur  your  highness  claiming  from  the  female. 

And  ratiier  choose  to  hide  them  in  a  net, 

^fnari  a!n|)Iy  to  imbare  their  crooked  titles, 

Usurp'd  !rum  you  and  your  progenitors. 


KING  HENRY  Y. 


Act  L 


K.Uen.  May  I,  with  right  and  conscience,  make 
this  claim  ? 

Cant.  The  sin  npon  my  head,  dread  sovereign  ! 
For  in  the  boob  of  Numbers  is  it  writ, — 
Wiienthe  son  dies,  let  the  inheritance 
Descend  unto  the  daughter.    Gracious  lord, 
Stand  for  your  own  ;  unwind  your  bloody  flag; 
Look  back  unto  your  mighty  ancestors  : 
Go,  my  dread  lord,  to  yonr  great  grandsire's  tomb, 
From  whom  you  claim;  invoke  his  warlike  spirit. 
And  your  great  uncle's,  Edward  the  black  prince  ; 
Who  on  the  French  ground  play'd  a  tragedy, 
Making  defeat  on  the  full  power  of  France; 
Whiles  his  most  mighty  father  on  a  hill 
Stood  smiling,  to  behold  his  lion's  whelp 
Forage  in  blood  of  French  nobility.  _ 
O  noble  English,  that  could  entertain 
With  half  their  forces  the  full  pride  of  France  ; 
And  let  another  half  stand  laughing  by. 
All  out  of  work,  and  cold  for  action  ! 

Ell/.  Awake  remembrance  of  these  valiant  dead. 
And  with  your  puissant  arm  renew  their  feats  : 
Yon  are  their  heir,  you  sit  upon  their  throne ; 
The  blood  and  courage,  that  renowned  them. 
Runs  in  your  veins;  and  my  thrice-Duissant  liege 
Is  in  the  very  May -morn  of  his  youth. 
Ripe  for  exploits  and  mighty  enterprises. 

Exe.  Your  brother  kings  and  monarchs  of  the  earth 
Do  all  expect  that  you  should  rouse  yourself, 
As  did  the  former  lions  of  your  blood. 

West.  They  know,  your  grace  hath  cause,  and 
means,  and  might; 
So  hath  your  highness;  never  king  of  England 
Had  nobles  richer,  and  more  loyal  subjects  ; 
Whose  hearts  have  left  their  bodies  here  in  England, 
And  lie  pavilion'd  in  the  fields  of  France. 

Cant.  O,  let  their  bodies  follow,  my  dear  liege, 
With  blood,  and  sword,  and  fire,  to  win  your  right: 
In  aid  whereof,  we  of  the  spiritualty 
Will  raise  your  highness  such  a  mighty  sum. 
As  never  did  the  clergy  at  one  time 
Bring  in  to  any  of  your  ancestors.  (French  ; 

K.  Hen.  VVe  must  not  only  arm  to  invade  the 
But  lay  down  our  proportions  to  defend 
Against  i^lie  Scot,  who  will  make  road  upon  us 
With  all  advantages. 

Cant.  They  of  those  marches,  gracious  sovereign. 
Shall  be  a  wall  sufficient  to  defend 
Our  inland  from  the  pilfering  borderers.  [only, 

K.  Hen.  We  do  not  mean  the  coursing  snatchers 
But  fear  the  main  intendment  of  the  Scot, 
Who  hath  been  still  a  giddy  neighbour  to  us  : 
For  you  shall  read,  that  my  great  grandfather 
Never  went  with  his  forces  into  France, 
But  that  the  Scot  on  his  unfurnish'd  kingdom 
Came  pouring,  like  the  tide  into  a  breach. 
With  ample  and  brim  fulness  of  his  force  ; 
Galling  the  gleaned  land  with  hot  essays  ; 
Girding,  with  grievous  siege,  castles  and  towns  ; 
That  England,  being  empty  of  defence. 
Hath  shook,  and  trembled  at  the  ill-neighbourhood. 

Cant.  She  hath  been  then   more   fear'd  than 
liarm'd,  my  liege  : 
For  hear  her  but  exaiupled  by  herself,— 
When  all  her  chivalry  hath  been  in  France, 
And  she  a  mourning  widow  of  her  nobles. 
She  hath  herself  not  only  well  defended. 
But  taken,  an  1  impounded  as  a  stray. 
The  king  of  S  ots;  whom  she  did  send  to  France, 
To  fill  king  E  Iward's  ftiine  with  prisoner  kings ; 
And  make  yo  sr  chronicle  as  rich  with  praise. 
As  is  the  ooz-  and  bottom  of  the  sea 
With  s  mken  wreck  and  sumless  treasuries. 

West.  But  iliere's  a  saymg,  very  old  and  true, — 
Iftktt  you  will  France  win, 
Then  with  Scotland  first  begin : 
For  once  the  .  agle  Knuland  being  in  prey. 
To  her  unguar  led  uesl  the  weasel  Scot 
Comes  siieaki  ^r,  anH  so  sucks  her  princely  eggs; 
Playing  the  ra.tuse,  lu  abse.i  e  of  the  cat, 


To  spoil  and  havock  more  than  she  can  eat. 

Exe.  It  follows  then,  the  cat  must  stay  at  bomet 

Yet  that  is  but  a  curs'd  necessity  ; 

Since  we  have  locks  to  safeguard  necessaries. 

And  pretty  traps  to  catch  the  petty  thieves. 

While  that  the  armed  hand  doth  fight  abroad. 

The  advised  head  defends  itself  at  home : 

For  government,  though  high,  and  low,  and  lower* 

Put  into  part,  doth  keep  in  one  concent ; 

Congruing  in  a  full  and  natural  close. 

Like  music. 

Cant.  True  :  therefore  doth  heaven  dividt 

The  state  of  man  in  divers  functions. 

Setting  endeavour  in  continual  (notion  ; 

To  which  is  fixed,  as  an  aim  or  buit. 

Obedience  :  for  so  work  the  honey  bees 

Creatures,  that,  by  rule  in  nature,  teach 

The  act  of  order  to  a  peopled  kingdom. 

They  have  a  king,  and  officers  of  sorts  : 

Where  some,  like  magistiates,  correct  afhome; 

Others,  like  merchants,  venture  trade  abroad  ; 

Others,  like  soldiers,  armed  in  their  stings. 

Make  boot  upon  the  summer's  velvet  buds; 

Which  pillage  they  with  merry  march  bring  home 

To  the  tent-royal  of  their  emperor: 

Who,  busied  in  his  majesty,  surveys 

The  singing  masons  building  roofs  of  gold; 

The  civil  citizens  kneading  up  the  honey; 

The  poor  mechanic  porters  crowding  in 

Their  heavy  burdens  at  his  narrow  gate ; 

The  sad-ey'd  justice,  with  his  surly  hum. 

Delivering  o'er  to  executors  pale 

The  lazy  yawning  drone.    I  this  infer, — 

That  many  things,  having  fidl  reference 

To  one  concent,  may  w(»rk  contrariously : 

As  many  arrows,  loosed  several  ways. 

Fly  to  one  mark  ; 

As  many  several  ways  meet  in  one  town; 
As  many  tVesh  streams  run  in  one  self  sea; 
As  many  lines  close  in  the  dial's  centre  ; 
So  niay  a  thousand  actions,  once  afoot, 
End  in  one  purpose,  and  be  all  well  borne 
Without  defeat.    Therelbre  to  France,  my  lii^e. 
Divide  your  happy  England  into  four; 
Whereof  take  you  one  quarter  into  France, 
And  you  vvithal  shall  make  all  Gallia  shake. 
If  we,  with  thrice  that  power  left  at  home, 
Cannot  defend  our  own  door  from  the  dog. 
Let  us  be  worried  ;  and  our  nation  lose 
The  name  of  hardiness,  and  policy.  [Dauphin. 
K.  Hen.  Call  in  the  messengers  sent  from  the 
[Exit  an  Attendant.  The  King  ascends  his 
throne. 

Now  are  we  well  resolv'd  :  and, — by  God's  help; 
And  yours,  the  noble  sinews  of  our  power, — 
France  being  ours,  we'll  bend  it  to  our  awe. 
Or  break  it  all  to  pieces :  Or  there  we'll  sit. 
Ruling,  in  large  and  ample  empery, 
O'er  France,  and  all  her  almost  kingly  dukedoms; 
Or  lay  these  bones  in  an  unworthy  urn, 
Tombless,  with  no  n  membrance  over  them: 
Eithe  r  our  history  shall,  with  full  riouth. 
Speak  freely  of  our  acts;  or  else  our  grave. 
Like  Turkish  mute,  shall  have  a  tonxueless  month. 
Not  worship'd  with  a  waxen  epitaph. — 

Enter  Ambassadors  of  France. 
Now  are  we  well  prepar'd  to  know  the  pleasure 
Of  our  fair  cousin  Dauphin  ;  for,  vv<;  hear, 
Vour  greeting  is  from  him,  not  from  the  king. 

Amb.  May  it  please  your  majesty,  to  give  us  leare 
Freely  to  render  what  we  have  in  charge  ; 
Or  shall  we  sparingly  show  you  far  off 
The  Dauphin's  meaning,  and  our  embassy 

K.  Hen.  VVe  are  no  tyrant,  but  a  Cliristan  king; 
Unto  whose  grace  our  passi(<n  is  as  subject, 
As  are  our  wretches  fetter'd  in  our  }}risons  : 
Therefore,  with  frank  and  with  uncurbed  plamnesa 
Tell  us  the  Dauphin's  mind. 

A7n ).  Thus  then,  in  few. 


Act  II.    Scene  1. 


KING  HENRY  Y. 


Your  highuess,  lately  sending  into  ranee, 
Did  claim  some  certain  dukedoms,  in  the  right  ^ 
Of  yonr  great  predecessor,  king  Edward  the  third. 
To  answer  of  which  claim,  the  prince  our  master 
5ays,  -that  you  savour  too  much  of  your  youth; 
And  l)ids  you  be  advis'd,  there's  nought  in  France 
That  can  be  with  a  nimble  galliard  won  ; 
V^ou  cannot  revel  into  dukedoms  there: 
He  therefore  sends  you,  meeter  for  your  spirit, 
This  tun  of  treasure  :  and,  in  lieu  of  this, 
Desires  you,  let  the  dukedoms,  that  you  claim, 
Hear  na  more  of  you.    This  tlie  Dauphin  speaks. 

K.  Hen.  What  treasure,  uncle  ? 

Exe.  Tennis-balls,  my  liege. 

K.  Hen.  We  are  glad  the  Dauphin  is  so  pleasant 
with  us  ; 

His  present,  and  your  pains  we  thank  you  for: 
When  we  have  match'd  our  rackets  to  these  balls. 
We  will,  in  France,  by  God  s  grace,  play  a  set, 
Shall  strike  his  father's  crown  into  the  hazard  : 
Tell  him,  he  hath  made  a  niatch  with  such  a  wrangler, 
That  all  the  courts  of  France  will  be  disturb'd 
With  chaces.    And  we  understand  him  well, 
How  he  comes  o'er  ns  with  our  wilder  days. 
Not  measuring  what  use  we  made  oi"them. 
We  never  valued  this  poor  seat  of  England  ; 
And  therefore,  living  hence,  did  give  ourself 
To  barbarous  license;  As  'tis  ever  common, 
That  men  are  merriest  when  they  are  from  home. 
But  tell  the  Dau|,hin, — I  will  keep  my  state; 
Be  like  a  king,  and  show  my  sail  of  greatness. 
When  I  do  ro-:ise  me  in  my  throne  of  France : 
For  that  I  have  laid  by  my  majesty, 
And  plodded  like  a  man  for  working-days  ; 
But  I  will  rise  there  with  so  full  a  ghiry. 
That  I  will  diizzle  all  the  eyes  of  France, 
Vea,  strike  tlie  Dauphin  blind  to  look  on  us. 
J..,  And  tell  ttie  pleasant  prince, — this  mock  of  his 
^^"IJath  turn'd  liis  balls  to  gun  stones;  and  his  soul 
Siial!  stand  sore  charged  for  the  wasteful  vengeance 
I'liat  shall  fly  with  them:  for  many  a  thousand 
widows  [bands ; 

Shall  this  his  mock  mock  out  of  their  dear  hus- 
Mock  mothers  from  their  sons,  mock  castles  d  own ; 
And  some  are  yet  ungotten,  and  unborn, 
That  shall  liave  cause  to  curse  the  Dauphin's  scorn. 
But  this  lies  sW  within  the  will  of  God, 
To  whom  I  d.>  appeal ;  And  in  whose  name. 
Tell  you  the  Dauphin,  I  am  coming  on. 
To  venge  me  as  i  may,  and  to  f)ut  forth 
My  rightf.d  hand  in  a  well-hallow'd  cause. 
So,  get  you  hence  in  peace  ;  and  tell  the  Dauphin, 
FI  is  jest  will  savour  but  of  shallow  wit, 
When  thousaiids  weep,  more  than  did  laugh  at  it. — 
Convey  tnem  witli  safe  conduct. — Fare  you  well. 

[Exeunt  Ambassadot's. 
Exe.  This  was  a  merry  message. 
K.  Hen.  We  hope  to  make  the  sender  blush  at  it. 

[Desceyids  from  his  throne.) 
Therefore,  my  lords,  otnit  no  happy  hour. 
That  may  give  furtiierance  to  our  expedition. 
For  we  have  now      thought  in  us  but  France 
Save  those  to  (rod,  that  run  before  our  business 
Therefore,  let  our  proportions  for  these  wars 
Be  soon  collected  ;  and  all  things  thought  upon. 
That  may,  with  reasonable  swittiess,  add 
More  featnrrs  to  our  wings  ;  for,  God  before, 
We'll  chide  this  Dauphin  at  his  father's  door. 
Thereibre,  let  every  man  now  task  his  thought. 
That  this  fair  action  may  on  foot  be  brought. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  11. 

Enter  Chorus. 

Chor    Now  all  the  youth  of  England  are  on  fire. 
And  silken  dalliance  iu  the  wardrobe  lies; 
Now  thrive  the  anuourers,  and  honour's  thought 
Reigns  so'ely  in  the  breast  of  every  man  : 
They  sell  the  pasti;re  now  to  buy  the  horse  ; 


Following  the  mirror  of  all  Ofiristian  kings 

With  winged  heels,  as  Engl  sh  Mercuries. 

For  now  sits  Expectation  in  the  air  ; 

And  hides  a  sword,  from  hilts  unto  the  poiut. 

With  crowns  imperial,  crowns,  and  coroDets> 

Prornis'd  to  Harry,  and  his  followers. 

The  French,  advis'd  by  good  intelligence 

Of  this  most  dreadful  preparation, 

Shake  in  their  fear;  and  with  pale  policy 

Seek  to  divert  the  English  purposes.  ' 

O  England  ! — model  to  thy  inward  greatness^ 

Like  little  body  with  a  mighty  heart, — 

W^hat  miglit'st  thou  do,  that  honour  would  thee  Qeti 

Were  all  thy  children  kind  and  natural! 

But  see  thy  fault !  France  hath  in  thee  found  out 

A  nest  of  hollow  bosoms,  which  he  fills       [raen,-  - 

With  treacherous  crowns :  and  three  corrupted 

One,  Richard  earl  of  Cambridge  ;  and  the  second, 

Henry  lord  Scroop  of  Masham  ;  and  the  third. 

Sir  Thomas  Grey  knight  of  Northumberland, — 

Have,  for  the  gilt  of  France,  (O  guilt,  indeed  !) 

Confirm'd  conspiracy  with  fearful  France  ; 

And  by  their  hands  this  grace  of  kings  must  die, 

(If  hell  and  treason  hold  their  promises,) 

Ere  he  take  ship  for  France,  and  in  Southampton. 

Linger  your  patience  on  ;  and  well  digest 

The  abuse  of  distance,  while  we  Ibrce  a  play 

The  sum  is  paid  ;  the  traitors  are  agreed  ; 

The  king  is  set  from  London  ;  and  the  scene 

Is  now  transported,  gentles,  to  Southampton: 

There  is  the  playhouse  now,  there  must  you  sit: 

And  thence  to  France  shall  we  convey  you  safe 

And  bring  you  back,  charming  the  narrow  seas 

To  give  you  gentle  pass  ;  for,  if  we  may. 

We'll  not  offend  one  stomach  with  our  play. 

But,  till  the  king  come  forth,  and  not  till  then. 

Unto  Southampton  do  we  shift  our  scene  [ExiU 

Scene  I. —  The  same.  Eastcheap. 
Enter  Nym  and  Bardolph. 

Bard.  Well  met,  corporal  Nym. 

Ny7n.  Good  morrow,  lieutenant  Bardolph.  [yet? 

Bard.  What,  are  ancient  Pistol  and  you  friends 

Nr/m.  For  my  part,  I  care  not^  say  little  ;  bu< 
when  time  shall  serve,  there  shall  be  smiles ; — but 
that  shall  be  as  it  may.  I  dare  not  fight;  but  I 
will  wink,  and  hold  out  mine  iroi) :  It  is  a  simple 
one;  but  what  though?  It  will  toast  cheese ;  and 
it  will  enrlure  cold  as  another  man's  sword  will 
and  there's  the  humour  of  it. 

Bard.  I  will  bestow  a  breakfast,  to  make  yoo 
friends;  and  we'll  be  all  three  sworn  brothers  to 
France  ;  let  it  be  so,  go  >d  coriwral  Nym. 

Nym.  'Faith,  I  will  livt-  so  long  as  i  may,  that's 
the  certain  of  it ;  and  when  I  cannot  live  any  longer 
I  will  do  as  I  may  :  that  is  my  rest,  that  is  the  ren- 
dezvous of  it. 

Bard.  It  is  certain,  corporal,  that  he  is  married 
to  Nell  Quickly  :  and,  certainly,  she  did  you  wrong  • 
for  you  were  Iroth-pliglit  to  her. 

Nym.  I  cannot  tell  ;  things  must  be  as  they  may: 
men  may  sleep,  and  they  may  have  their  throats 
about  them  at  that  time;  and,  some  say,  knives 
have  edges.  It  must  be  as  it  may  :  though  patience 
be  a  tired  mare,  yet  she  will  plod.  There  must  be 
conclusi(ms.    Well,  I  cannot  tell. 

Enter  Pistol  and  Mrs.  Quicfxy. 

Bard.  Here  comes  ancient  Pistol,  and  his  wife  :— 
good  corporal,  be  patient  here. —  How  now,  niiae 
host  Pistol? 

Pist.  Base  tike,  call'st  thou  me — host  ? 
Now,  by  this  hand  I  swear,  I  scorn  the  term ; 
Nor  shall  my  Nell  keep  lodgers. 

Quick.  No,  by  my  troth,  not  long :  for  we  can- 
not lodge  and  board  a  dozen  or  fourteen  gentle- 
woinen,  that  live  honestly  by  the  prick  of  their 
needles,  but  it  will  be  thought  we  keep  a  bawdy- 
hotise  straight.  [Nym  draivs  his  sword.)  O  well-a- 
day.  Lady,  if  he  be  not  di  awn  now  I  O  Lord  !  here* 


KING  HENRY  V. 


iorporal  Nym's — now  shall  we  have  wilful  adultery 
aud  uiurder  committed.  Good  lieutenant  Bardolph, 
—  good  corporal,  offer  nothing  here. 
Nym.  Pish  ! 

Pist.  Pish  for  thee,  Iceland  dog!  thou  prick- 
eared  cur  of  Iceland. 

Quick.  Good  corporal  Nym,  show  the  valour  of 
a  man,  and  put  up  thy  sword. 

Nym.  Will  j'ou  shog  off!  I  would  have  you  solus. 

{Sheathing  his  sword.) 

Pist.  Solus,  egregious  dog  !  O  viper  vile  ! 
The  solus  in  thy  most  marvellous  face  : 
The  solus  in  thy  teeth,  and  in  thy  throat. 
And  in  tliy  hateful  lungs,  yea,  in  thy  maw,  perdy; 
And,  which  is  worse,  within  thy  nasty  mouth  I 
I  do  retort  the  solus  in  thy  bowels : 
For  I  can  take,  and  Pistol's  cock  is  up, 
And  Hashing  fire  will  follow. 

Nym  I  au»  not  Barbason  :  you  cannot  conjure  me. 
I  have  an  humour  to  knock  you  indifferently  well: 
If  you  grow  foul  with  me,  Pistol,  I  will  scour  you 
with  my  rapier,  as  I  may,  in  fair  terms  :  if  yen  would 
walk  off,  I  would  prick  your  guts  a  little,  in  good 
terms,  as  I  may;  and  that's  the  humour  of  it. 

Pist.  O  braggard  vile,  and  damned  furious  wight! 
The  grave  dotli  gape,  and  doting  death  is  near; 
Therefore  exhale.  {Pistol  and  Nym  draw.) 

Bard.  Hear  me,  hear  me  what  I  say: — he  that 
strikes  the  first  stroke.  I  II  run  him  up  to  the  hilts, 
as  I  am  a  soldier.    {Draws.)  [abate. 

Pist.  An  oath  of  mickle  might;  and  fury  shall 
Give  me  thy  fist,  tliy  fore-foot  to  me  give  ; 
Thy  spirits  are  most  tall. 

Nym.  I  vvill  cut  thy  throat  one  time  or  other,  in 
fair  terms;  that  is  the  htunour  of  it, 

Pist.   Coupe  la  gorge,  that's  the  word? — I  thee 
del'y  again. 

0  hound  of  Crete,  think'st  thou  my  spouse  to  get  ? 
No  ;  to  the  spital  go. 

And  from  the  powdering  tub  of  infamy 
Fetch  forth  the  lazar  kite  of  Cressid's  kind, 
Doll  Tear-sheet  she  by  name,  and  her  espouse  : 

1  have,  and  I  will  hold,  tiie  quofidam  Quickly 
For  the  only  she  ;  and — Pauca,  there's  enough. 

Enter  the  Boy. 

Boy.  Mine  host  Pistol,  you  must  come  to  my 
master, — and  you,  hostess  ; — he  is  very  sick,  and 
would  to  bed. — Good  Bardolph,  put  thy  nose  be- 
tween his  sheets,  and  do  the  office  of  a  warming- 
pan:  'faith,  he's  very  ill. 

Bard.  Away,  you  rogue. 

Quick.  By  my  troth,  he'll  yield  the  crow  a  pud- 
ding one  of  these  days:  the  king  has  killed  his 
heart. — Good  husband,  come  home  presently. 

[Exeunt  Mrs.  Quickly  and  Boy. 

Bard.  Come,  shall  I  make  you  two  friends"''  We 
must  to  France  together:  Why,  the  devil,  should 
we  keep  knives  to  cut  one  another's  throats  ? 

Pist.   Let  floods  o'ersvvell,  and  fiends  for  food 
hnwl  on  !  (you  at  betting  ? 

Nym.  You'll  pay  me  the  eight  shillings  I  won  of 

Pist.  Base  is  the  slave  that  [)ays.  [of  it. 

Nym.  That  now  I  will  have ;  that's  the  humour 

Pist.  As  manhood  shall  compound  ;  push  home. 

Bard.  By  this  sword,  he  that  makes  the  first 
thrust.  Ml  kill  him;  by  this  sword,  I  will. 

Pist.  Sword  is  an  oath,  and  oaths  must  have  their 
course. 

Bard.  Corporal  Nym.  an  thou  wilt  be  friends,  be 
friends;  an  thou  wilt  not,  why  then  be  enemies  with 
me  too.    Pr'ythee,  put  up.  | you  at  betting 

Nym.  I  shall  have  my  eight  shillings,  I  won  of 
Pist.  A  noble  sliait  thou  have,  and  present  pay  ; 
And  liquor  likewise  will  I  give  to  thee, 
And  frieii'Sshii<  shall  coiiibine,  and  brotherhoid  : 
I'll  live  by  Nym,  and  Nym  shall  ii\e  by  n.t-  , — 
Is  not  this  just  ? — t(w  I  shall  sutler  be 
Iji.to  the  can>p,  and  profits  will  accue 
Give  uie  thy  hand. 


Nym.  I  shall  have  my  noble  ? 
Pist.  In  cash  most  justly  paid. 
Nym.  Well  then,  that's  the  humour  of  it 

Re-enter  Mrs.  Qdickly. 
Quick.  As  ever  you  came  of  women,  cone  in 
quickly  to  Sir  John  :  Ah,  poor  heart  !  he  is  soshaked 
of  a  burning  quotidian  tertian,  that  it  is  most  la- 
mentable to  behold.    Sweet  men,  Gome  to  him. 

Nym.  The  king  hath  run  bad  humours  on  the 
knight,  that's  the  even  of  it. 

Pist.  Nym,  thou  hast  spoke  the  right; 
His  heart  is  fracied,  and  corroborate. 

Nym.  The  king  is  a  good  king  :  but  it  must  be  as 
it  may;  he  passes  some  humours,  and  careers. 

Pist.  Let  us  condole  the  knight ;  for,  land>kin8, 
we  will  live.  [Exeunt 
Scene        Southampton.  A  Council-chamber. 
Inter  Exeter,  Bedford,  and  WesTiMGReland. 
Bed.  'Fore  God,  his  grace  is  bold,  to  trust  these 
traitors. 

Exe.  They  shall  be  apprehended  by  and  by. 

West,  flow  smooth  and  even  they  "do  bear  them 
As  if  allegiance  in  their  bosoms  sat,  [selves. 
Crowned  with  faith,  and  constant  loyalty. 

Bed.  The  king  hath  note  of  all  that  they  intend. 
By  interception,  which  they  dream  not  of 

Exe.  Nay,  but  the  man  that  was  his  bedfellow. 
Whom  he  hath  cloy'd  and  grac'd  with  princely 
favours, 

That  he  should,  for  a  foreign  purse,  so  sell 
His  sovereign's  life  to  death  and  treachery ! 

Trumpet  sounds.    Enter  King  Henry,  Scroop, 
Cambridge,  Grey,  Lords,  and  Attendants 

K.  Hen.  Now  sits  the  wind  fair,  and  we  will 
aboard.  [sham,— 
My  lord  of  Cambridge, — and  my  kind  lord  of  Ma- 
A  nd  vou,  my  gentle  knight,—  give  me  your  thoughts  : 
Think  you  not,  that  the  powers  we  bear  with  us. 
Will  cut  their  passage  through  the  force  of  France  ; 
Doing  the  execution,  and  the  act, 
For  which  we  have  in  head  assembled  them? 

Scroop.  No  doubt,  my  liege,  if  each  man  do  his 
best.  [suaded, 

K.  Hen.  I  doubt  not  that:  since  we  are  well  per- 
We  carry  not  a  heart  with  us  from  hence, 
That  grows  not  in  a  fair  consent  with  ours ; 
Nor  leave  not  one  behind,  that  doth  not  wish 
Success  and  conquest  to  attend  on  us. 

Cam.  Never  was  monarch  better  fear'd,  and  lov'd. 
Than  is  your  majesty';  there's  not,  I  think,  a  subject, 
That  sits  in  heart-grief  and  uneasiness 
Under  the  sweet  shade  of  your  government,  [mies, 

Orey.  Even  those,  that  were  your  father's  ene 
Have  steep'd  their  galls  in  honey;  and  do  serve  you 
W^ith  hearts  create  of  duty  and  of  zeai. 

K.  Hen.  We  therefore  have  great  cause  of  thank- 
And  shall  forget  the  office  of  our  hand,       [fulness ; 
Sooner  than  quittance  of  desert  and  merit. 
According  to  the  weight  and  worthiness. 

Scroop.  So  service  shall  with  steeled  sinews  toil 
And  labour  shall  refresh  itself  with  hope. 
To  do  your  grace  incessant  services. 

K.  Hen.  We  judge  no  less. — Uncle  of  Exeter, 
Enlarge  the  man  committed  yesterday, 
That  rail'd  against  our  person;  we  consider. 
It  was  excess  of  wine  that  set  him  on ; 
And,  on  his  more  advice,  we  pardon  him. 

Scroop.  That's  mercy,  but  too  much  security. 
Ijet  liim  be  punish'd,  sovereign  ;  lest  example 
Breed,  by  his  sufferance,  nKu-e  of  such  a  kmd. 

K.  Hen.  O,  let  us  yet  be  merciful. 

Cam.  So  may  your  highness,  and  yet  punish  too. 

Grey.  Sir.  you  show  great  mercy,  if  you  give 
After  the  taste  of  much  correction.  [him  life, 

K.  Hen.  Alas,  your  too  mucii  iove  and  care  of  mf 
Are  heavy  orisons  'gainst  this  poor  wretch. 
If  little  faults,  proceeding  on  distemper, 


Scene  3. 


KING  HENRY  Y. 


875 


Shall  ootbe  WTuk'd  at,  how  shall  we  stretch  our  eye. 
When  capital  crimes,  chew'd,  swallow'd,  and  di- 
gested. 

Appear  before  us  ? — We'll  yet  enlarge  that  man, 
fhoiigh  Cambridge,  Scroop,  and  Grey,— in  their 
dear  care. 

And  tender  preservation  of  oar  person. 

Would  have  hini  punish'd.  And  now  to  onr  French 

Who  are  the  late  commissioners?  [causes  ; 

Cam.  I  one,  my  lord  ; 
Your  highness  bade  me  ask  for  it  to-day. 

Scroop.  So  did  you  me,  my  liege. 

Grey.  And  me,  my  royal  sovereign. 

K.  Hen.  Then,  Richard,  earl  of  Cambridge,  there 
is  yours  ; —  [knight ; 

There  yours,  lord  Scroop  of  Masham ; — and,  sir 
UiL'v  of  Northumberland,  this  same  is  yours: — 
Read  them  ;  and  know,  I  know  your  worthiness. — 
iVly  lord  of  Westmoreland, — and  uncle  Exeter, — 
We  will  aboard  to-night. — Why,  how  now,  gentle- 
What  see  you  in  those  papers,  that  you  lose     [men  ? 
S  »  much  complexion? — look  ye,  how  they  change  1 
'V\\<r\v  cheeks  are  paper. — Why,  what  read  you  there, 
Tiiat  hath  so  cowarded  and  chas'd  your  blood 
Out  (if  appearance  ? 

Cam.  I  do  confess  my  fault ; 

A.nd  do  submit  me  to  your  highness'  mercy. 

(h-ey.  Scroop.  To  which  we  all  appeal. 

K.  Hen.  The  mercy,  that  was  quick  in  us  but  late. 
By  your  own  counsel  is  suppress'd  and  kill'd  : 
Vou  must  not  dare,  for  shame,  to  talk  of  mercy  ; 
For  your  own  reasons  turn  into  your  bosoms. 
As  dogs  upon  their  masters,  worrying  them. — 
See  you,  my  princes,  and  my  noble  peers, 
These  English  monsters !  My  lord  of  Cambridge 
here, — 

Yon  know,  how  apt  our  love  was,  to  accord 

To  furnish  him  with  all  appertineuts 

Belonging  to  his  honour :  and  this  man 

Hath,  for  a  few  light  crowns,  lightly  conspir'd. 

And  sworn  unto  the  practices  of  France, 

To  kill  us  here  in  Hampton  :  to  the  which. 

This  knight,  no  less  for  bounty  bound  to  us 

Than  Cafubridge  is, — hath  likewise  sworn. — But  O  ! 

What  shall  I  say  to  thee,  lord  Scroop;  thou  cruel, 

Ingrateful,  savage,  and  inhuman  creature  ! 

'i'liou,  thatdid'st  bear  the  key  of  all  my  counsels, 

That  knew'st  the  very  bottom  of  ray  soul, 

That  almost  might'st  have  coin'd  me  into  gold? 

Would'st  thou  have  praclis'd  on  me  for  thy  use  ? 

May  it  be  possible,  that  toreign  hire 

Could  out  of  thee  extract  one  spark  of  evil. 

That  might  annoy  my  finger  ?    'Tis  so  strange, 

That,  though  the  truth  of  it  stands  oiF  as  gross 

As  black  from  white,  my  eye  will  ^arcely  see  it. 

'JVeason,  and  murder,  ever  kept  together 

As  two  yoke-devils  sworn  to  either's  purpose. 

Working  so  grossly  in  a  natural  cause. 

That  admiration  did  not  whoop  at  them: 

But  thou,  'gainst  all  proportion,  didst  bring  in 

Wonder,  to  wait  on  treason,  and  on  murder  ; 

And  whatsoever  ctmning  fiend  it  was. 

That  wrought  upon  thee  so  preposterously, 

H'ath  got  the  voice  in  hell  lor  excellence  : 

And  other  devils,  that  suggest  by  treasons, 

l^o  botch  and  bungle  up  damnation 

With  patches,  colours,  and  with  forms  being  fetch'd 

From  gli.stering  semblances  of  piety; 

But  he,  that  temper'd  thee,  bade  thee  stand  up, 

CJave  theb  no  instance  why  thou  shouid'st  do  treason, 

Unless  to  dub  thee  with  the  name  of  traitor. 

If  that  sf  isie  demon,  that  hath  gull'd  thee  thus, 

Should  with  his  lion  gait  walk  tiie  whole  world, 

He  might  return  to  vasty  Tartar  back, 

And  tell  the  legions— 1  can  never  win 

A  soul  so  easy  as  that  Englishman's. 

O,  how  hast  thou  witii  jealousy  injected 

The  PAveetness  of  alliance  ?  Show  men  dutiful? 

^hy,  »o  didst  thou  ;  Seem  they  grave  and  learned  ? 

Wby,  so  didst  thou  :  Come  tliey  of  noble  family  ? 


Why,  so  didst  thou  :  Seem  they  leligicKis  ? 
Why,  so  didst  thou  :  Or  are  they  spare  in  die!; 
Free  from  gross  passion,  or  of  mirth,  or  anger; 
Constant  in  spirit,  not  swerving  with  the  blood { 
Garnish'd  and  deck'd  in  modest  complement; 
Not  working  with  the  eye,  without  the  ear. 
And,  but  in  purged  judgment,  trusting  neither? 
Such,  and  so  finely  bolted,  didst  thou  seem: 
And  thus  thy  fall  hath  left  a  kind  of  blot, 
To  mark  the  full-franght  man,  and  best  endued. 
With  some  suspicion.    I  will  weep  for  thee; 
For  this  revolt  of  thine,  methinks,  is  like 
Another  fall  of  man. — Their  faults  are  open, 
Arrest  them  to  the  ansv/er  of  the  law  ; — 
And  God  acquit  them  of  their  practices  ! 

Exe.  1  arrest  thee  of  high  treason,  by  the  name  ol 
Richard  earl  of  Cambridge. 

I  arrest  thee  of  high  treason,  by  the  name  of 
Henry  lord  Scroop  of  Masham. 

I  arrest  thee  of  high  treason,  by  the  name  of 
Thomas  Grey,  knight  of  Northumberland. 

Scroop.  Our  purposes  God  justly  hath  discover'd; 
And  I  repent  my  fault,  more  than  my  death ; 
W^hich  I  beseech  your  highness  to  forgive, 
Although  my  body  pay  the  price  of  it,  [duce ; 

Cam.  For  me, — the  gold  of  France  did  not  se- 
Although  I  did  admit  it  as  a  motive. 
The  sooner  to  effect  what  I  intended  : 
But  God  he  thanked  for  prevention  ; 
Which  I  in  sniferance  heartily  will  rejoice. 
Beseeching  God,  and  you,  to  pardon  me. 

Grey.  Never  did  faithful  subject  more  rejoice 
At  the  discovery  of  most  dangerous  treason. 
Than  I  do  at  this  hour  joy  o'er  myself. 
Prevented  from  a  damned  enterprize  : 
My  fault,  but  not  my  body,  pardon,  sovereign. 

K.  Hen.  God  quit  you  in  his  mercy  ?  Hear  your 
sentence. 

You  have  conspir'd  against  our  royal  person, 

Join'd  with  an  enemy  proclaim'd,  and  from  his  cof- 

Receiv'd  the  golden  earnest  of  our  deatli ;  ffea 

Wherein  you  would  have  sold  your  king  to  slaughter, 

His  princes  and  his  peers  to  servitude. 

His  subjects  to  oppression  and  contempt. 

And  his  whole  kingdom  unto  desolation. 

Touching  our  person,  seek  we  no  revenge; 

But  we  our  kingdom's  safety  must  so  tender. 

Whose  ruin  you  three  sought,  that  to  her  laws 

We  do  deliver  you.    Get  you  therefore  hence^ 

Poor  miserable  wretches,  to  your  death  : 

The  taste  whereof,  God,  of  his  mercy,  give  you 

Patience  to  endure,  and  true  repentance 

Of  all  your  dear  oti'ences  ! — Bear  them  hence. 

[Exeunt  Conspirators,  guardedi 
Novv,  lords,  for  France :  the  enterprise  whereof 
Shall  be  to  you,  as  us,  like  glorious. 
We  doubt  not  of  a  fair  and  lucky  war  ; 
Since  God  so  graciously  hath  brought  to  light 
This  dangerous  treason,  lurking  in  our  way. 
To  hinder  our  beginnings,  we  doubt  not  now. 
But  every  rub  is  smoothed  on  our  way. 
Then,  forth,  dear  countrymen  ;  let  us  deliver 
Our  puissance  into  the  hand  of  God, 
Putting  it  straight  in  expedition. 
Cheerly  to  sea  ;  the  signs  of  war  advance  ; 
No  king  of  England,  if  not  king  of  France.  [Exeuni, 

Scene  HI. — London.    Mrs.  Quickly's  Home  i% 
Eastckeap. 

Enter  Pistol,  Mrs.  Quickly,  Nym,  Bardolpr, 
a7id  Boy. 

Quick.  Pr'ythee,  honey-sweet  husband,  let  me 
bring  thee  to  Staines. 

Pist.  No  ;  for  my  manl^  heart  doth  yearn, — 
Bardoli)h,  be  blithe  ;—lSym,  rouse  thy  vaunting 
veins ; 

Boy,  bristle  thy  courage  up;  for  Falstaffheis  dead. 
And  we  must  yearn  therefore. 

Bard.  'Would,  I  vere  with  him,  wheresorae'eT 
he  's,  either  in  heaver  or  in  hell! 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  II. 


Quick.  Nay,  sure,  he's  not  in  hell ,  he's  in  Ar- 
fbar's  hosorn,  if  ever  man  went  to  Arthur's  bosom. 
'A  made  a  finer  end,  and  w^ent  away,  an  it  had  been 
'  any  christom  child ;  'a  darted  even  just  between 
ty  twelve  and  one,  e'en  at  turning  o'the  tide  :  for  after 
iilli  I  saw  him  fumble  with  the  sheets,  and  play  with 
flowers,  and  smile  upon  his  fingers'  ends,  I  knew 
there  was  but  one  way  ;  for  his  nose  was  as  sharp  as 
a  pen,  and 'a  babbled  of  green  fields.  How  now, 
sir  John  ?  quoth  I :  what,  man  !  be  of  good  cheer. 
So  'a  cried  out — God.  God,  God  !  three  or  four 
times :  now  I,  to  comfort  him,  bid  him,  'a  should 
not  think  of  God ;  I  hoped  there  was  no  need  to 
trouble  himself  with  any  such  thoughts  yet:  So,  'a 
bade  me  lay  more  clothes  on  his  feet:  I  put  my  hand 
into  the  bed,  and  felt  them,  and  they  were  as  cold  as 
any  stone  ;  then  I  felt  to  his  knees,  and  so  upward, 
and  upward,  and  all  was  as  cold  as  any  stone. 

Nym.  They  say,  he  cried  out  sack. 

Quick.  Ay,  that  'a  did. 

Bard.  And  of  women. 

Quick.  Nay,  that  'a  did  not.  [incarnate. 

Boy.  Yes,  that  'a  did  ;  and  said,  they  were  devils 

Quick.  'A  could  never  abide  caruati6n;  'twas  a 
colour  he  never  liked.  [about  women. 

Boy.  'A  said  once,  the  devil  would  have  him 

Quick.  'A  did  in  some  sort,  indeed,  handle  wo- 
men :  but  then  he  was  rheumatic  ;  and  talked  of  the 
whore  of  Babylon. 

Boy.  Do  you  not  remember,  'a  saw  a  flea  stick 
npon  Bardolph's  nose,  and  'a  said,  it  was  a  black 
soul  burning  in  hell  fire  ? 

Bard.  Well,  the  fuel  is  gone,  that  maintained 
that  fire  ;  that's  all  the  riches  I  got  in  his  service. 

Nym.  Shall  we  sliog  olF?  the  king  will  he  gone 
from  Southampton.  [lips. 

Pist.  Come,  let's  away. — My  love,  give  me  thy 
Look  to  my  chattels,  and  my  moveables  : 
Let  senses  rule  ;  the  word  is.  Pitch  and  pay  ; 
Tiust  none  ; 

For  oaths  are  straws,  men's  faiths  are  wafer-cakes. 
And  hold  fast  is  the  only  dog,  my  duck  ; 
Therefore,  caveto  be  thy  counsellor. 
Go,  clear  thy  crystals. —  Yoke-fellows  in  arms. 
Let  us  to  France  !  like  horse-leeches,  my  boys  ; 
To  suck,  to  suck,  the  very  blood  to  suck  ! 

Boy.  And  that  is  but  unwholesome  food,  they  say. 

Pist.  Touch  her  soft  uiouth,  and  march. 

Bard.  Farewell,  hostess.  {Kissing  her.) 

NiJ/in.  I  cannot  kiss,  that  is  the  humour  of  it ; 
6ut  adieu.  [command. 

Pist.  Let  housewifery  appear:  keep  close,  I  thee 

Quick.  Farewell;  adieu.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — France.  A  Room  in  the  French  King's 
Palace. 

Enter  the  French  King  attended ;  the  Dauphin, 
the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  the  Constable,  and 
others. 

Fr.  King.  Thus  come  the  English  with  full  power 
And  more  than  carefully  it  us  concerns,    [upon  us; 
To  answer  royally  in  our  defences. 
Therefore  the  dukes  of  Berry,  and  of  Bretagne, 
Of  Brabant,  and  of  Orleans,  shall  make  forth, — 
And  you,  prince  Dauphin, — with  all  swift  despatch. 
To  line,  and  new  repair,  our  towns  of  war. 
With  men  of  courage,  and  with  means  defendant: 
For  England  his  approaches  makes  as  fierce 
As  waters  to  the  sucking  of  a  gulf. 
It  fits  us  then,  to  be  as  provident 
As  fear  may  teach  us,  out  of  late  examples, 
Left  by  the  fatal  and  neglected  English 
Upon  oor  fields. 

Dau.  My  most  redoubted  father. 

It  is  most  meet  we  arm  us  'gainst  the  foe  : 
For  peace  itself  should  not  so  dull  a  kingdom, 
{Though  war,  nor  no  known  quarrel,  were  in  qne.s- 
Kut  that  del'ences,  musters,  preparations,  Ition,) 
Should  be  maintain'd,  assembled,  and  collected 
A.'  were  a  war  in  e  ctation. 


Therefore,  I  say,  'tis  meet  we  all  150  foT.ih, 
To  view  the  sic  k  and  feeble  parts  of  France  : 
And  let  us  do  it  with  no  shew  of  fear : 
No,  with  nii  more,  than  if  we  hear  that  Englaud 
W ere  busied  with  a  W  hitsnn  morris-dance 
For,  my  good  liege,  she  is  so  idly  king'd. 
Her  sceptre  so  fantastically  borne 
By  a  vain,  shallow,  humorous  youth. 
That  fear  attends  her  not. 

Con.  O  peace,  prince  Dauphil 

You  are  too  much  mistaken  in  this  king : 
Question  your  grace  the  late  ambassadors, — 
With  what  great  state  he  heard  their  embassy. 
How  well  supplied  with  noble  counsellors. 
How  modest  in  exception,  and,  withal, 
How  terrible  in  constant  resolution, — 
And  you  shall  find,  his  vanities  fore-spent 
Were  but  the  outside  of  the  Roman  Brutus, 
Covering  discretion  with  a  coat  of  folly ; 
As  gardeners  do  with  ordure  hide  those  roots, 
That  shall  first  spring,  and  be  most  delicate. 

Dau.  Well,  'tis  not  so,  my  lord  high  constable. 
But  though  we  think  it  so,  it  is  no  matter: 
In  cases  of  defence,  'tis  best  to  weigh 
The  enemy  more  mighty  than  he  seems, 
So  the  pioportions  of  defence  are  fiU'd; 
Which,  of  a  weak  and  niggardly  projection. 
Doth,  like  a  miser,  spoil  his  coat,  with  scanting 
A  little  cloth. 

Fr.  King.  Think  we  king  Harry  strong ; 
And,  princes,  look,  you  strongly  arm  to  meet  him 
The  kindred  of  him  hath  been  flesh'd  upon  us; 
And  he  is  bred  out  of  that  bloody  straisj. 
That  haunted  us  in  our  familiar  paths  : 
Witness  our  too  much  memorable  shame, 
VVhen  Cressy  battle  fatally  was  struck, 
And  all  our  princes  captiv'd,  by- the  hand 
Of  that  black  name,  Edward,  black  prince  of  Wales 
Whiles   that   his    mountain   sire,  —  on  mountaiB 
standing. 

Up  in  the  air,  crown'd  with  the  golden  sud,— 

Saw  his  heroical  seed,  and  smil'a  to  see  him 

Mangle  the  work  of  nature,  and  deface 

The  patterns,  that  by  God  and  by  French  fathers 

Had  twenty  years  been  made.    This  is  a  stem 

Of  that  victorious  stock;  and  let  us  fear 

The  native  mightiness  and  fate  of  him. 

Enter  a  Messenger, 
Mess.  Ambassadors  from  Henry  King  of  England 
Do  crave  admittance  to  your  majesty. 

Fr.  King.  We'll  give  them  present  audience. 
Go  and  bring  them. 

[Exeunt  M  iss.  and  certain  Lords. 
You  see,  this  chase  is  hotly  follow'd,  friends. 
Dau.  Turn  head,  and  slop  pursuit:  for  ccvard 
dogs  [threaten, 
Most  spend  their  mouths,  when  what  they  seem  to 
Runs  far  before  them.    Good  my  sovereign. 
Take  up  the  English  short;  and  let  them  know 
Of  what  a  monarchy  you  are  the  head  : 
Self-love,  my  liege,  is  not  so  vile  a  sin 
As  self  neglecting. 

Re-enter  Lords ^  ivith  Exeter  and  Train. 

Fr.  King.  From  our  brother  Erigland  ? 

Exe.  From  him  ;  and  thus  he  greets  your  majesty. 
He  wills  you,  in  the  name  of  God  Almighty, 
That  you  divest  yourself,  and  lay  apart 
The  borrow'd  glories,  that,  by  gift  of  heaven. 
By  laws  of  nature,  and  of  nations,  'long 
To  him,  fsnd  to  his  heirs  ;  namely,  the  crown, 
And  all  wide-R^retched  honours  that  pertain. 
By  custom  and  the  ordinance  of  times. 
Unto  the  crown  of  France.    That  you  may  know, 
*Tis  no  sinister,  nor  no  awkward  claim, 
Pick'd  from  Ihe  worm-holes  of  long-vanish'd  days, 
Nor  from  the  dust  of  old  oblivion  rak'd, 
He  seuds  vou  this  most  memorable  line, 

{Givet  a  paper 


Act  ni.    Scene  2. 


KING  HENRY  Y. 


877 


n    ery  branch  truly  demonstrative ; 
Willing  you,  overlook  this  pedigree: 
A.nd  when  you  find  him  evenly  deriv'd 
FroiD  his  most  fam'd  of  famous  ancestors, 
Edwciid  the  Third,  he  bids  you  theu  resign 
Your  crown  and  kingdom,  indirectly  held 
From  him  the  native  and  true  challenger. 

Fr.  King.  Or  else  what  follows  ? 

Exe.  Illoody  constrain;  for  if  you  hide  the  crown 
Even  in  }our  hearts,  there  will  be  rake  for  it: 
And  therefore  in  fierce  tempests  is  he  coming, 
*ii  thunder,  and  in  earthquake,  like  a  Jove; 
Thcit,  if  requiring  fail,  he  will  compel;  ) 
And  bids  yuu,  in  the  bowels  of  the  Lord, 
Deliver  up  the  crown;  and  to  take  mercy 
On  the  poor  souls,  for  wliom  this  htmgry  war 
Opens  ins  vasty  jaws  :  and  on  your  head 
'i'urns  he  the  widows'  tears,  the  orphans'  cries, 
'J'he  dead  men's  blood,  the  pining  maidens'  groans. 
For  husbands,  fathers,  and  bt-trothed  lovers. 
That  shall  be  swallowed  in  this  controversy. 
This  is  his  claim,  his  threat'ning,  and  my  message; 
Unless  the  Dauphin  be  in  presence  here. 
To  wljjm  expressly  I  bring  greeting  too. 

Fr.  tiirtfj.  For  us,  we  will  consider  of  this  further: 
To-morrow  shall  you  bear  our  full  intent 
Back  to  our  brother  England. 

Dau.  For  the  Dauphin, 

1  stand  here  for  him;  What  to  him  from  England? 

Exe.  Scorn,  and  defiance  :  slight  regard,  contempt, 
And  any  tiling,  that  may  not  misbecome 
The  mighty  sender,  doth  he  prize  you  at. 
Thus  says  my  king  :  and,  if  your  father's  highness 
Do  not,  in  grant  of  all  demands  at  large. 
Sweeten  the  bitter  mock  you  sent  his  majesty. 
He'll  call  you  to  so  hot  an  answer  for  it, 
Tliat  caves  and  womby  vaultages  of  France 
Shall  chide  your  trespass,  and  return  your  mock 
In  second  accent  of  his  ordnance, 

Dau.  Say,  if  my  father  render  fair  reply. 
It  is  against  iny  will  •  for  I  desire 
Nothing  but  odds  with  England  ;  to  that  end, 
As  matching  fo  his  youth  and  vanity, 

did  present  him  with  those  Paris  balls. 

Exe.  He'll  make  your  Paris  Louvre  shake  for  it. 
Were  it  the  mistress  court  of  miglity  Europe  : 
And,  be  assur'd,  you'll  find  a  difference, 
(As  we,  his  subjects,  have  in  wonder  found,) 
between  the  promise  of  his  greener  days, 
.And  these  he  masters  now ;  now  he  weighs  time, 
Even  to  the  utmost  grain  ;  which  you  shall  read 
In  your  own  losses,  if  lie  stay  in  France. 

Fr.  King.  To-morrow  shall  you  know  our  mind 
at  full.  [king 

Exe.  Despatch  us  with  all  speed,  lest  that  our 
Come  here  himself  to  question  our  delay; 
For  he  is  footed  in  this  land  already.      [conditions  : 

Fr.  King.  You  shall  be  soon  despatch'd,  with  fair 
A  night  is  but  small  breath,  and  little  pause 
To  answer  matters  of  tiiis  consequence.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  in. 

Enter  Chorus 

Cho.  Thus  with  imagin'd  wing  our  swift  scene  flies. 
In  motion  of  no  less  celerity 

Than  that  of  thought.    8a{)pose,  that  yon  have  seen 
The  well-appointed  king  at  Hampton  pier 
Embark  his  royalty;  and  his  brave  fleet 
With  silken  streamers  the  young  Phcebus  fanning. 
Play  with  yonr  fancies;  and  in  them  behold. 
Upon  the  hempen  tackle,  shij)-boys  climbing: 
Hear  the  shrill  whistle,  wliich  doth  order  give 
To  sounds  confus'd  :  behold  the  threaden  sails. 
Borne  with  the  invisible  and  creeping  wind, 
Dra;v  the  huge  bottoms  tlirough  the  furrow'd  sea. 
Breasting  the  lofty  surge  :  O.  do  but  think, 
Vou  stand  upon  the  rivage,  and  behold 
A  city  on  the  inconstant  billows  dancing: 
l'"o«-  so  H^pears  this  fleet  majesticai. 


Holding  due  course  to  Harfleur.    Follow,  follow. 
Grapple  your  minds  to  sternage  of  this  navy; 
And  leave  yonr  England,  as  (lead  midnight,  atill. 
Guarded  with  grandsires,  babies,  and  old  women. 
Either  past,  or  not  arrived  to,  pith  and  puissance: 
For  who  is  he,  whose  chin  is  but  enrich'd 
With  one  appearing  hair,  that  will  not  follow 
These  cull'd  and  choice-drawn  cavaliers  to  France 
Work,  work,  your  thoughts,  and  therein  see  a  siege 
Behold  the  ordnance  on  their  carriages, 
With  latal  mouths  gaping  on  girded  Harfleur. 
Suppose,  the  ambassador  from  the  French  comef 
Tells  Harrv — tliat  the  king  doth  offer  him  [back. 
Katharine  his  daughter;  and  with  her,  to  dowry, 
Some  petty  and  unprofiiabje  dukedoms. 
The  offer  likes  not:  and  the  nimble  gunner 
With  linstock  now  the  devilish  cannon  touches, 

(Alarum  ;  and chnmbers  go  ojf,\ 
And  down  goes  all  before  them.    Still  lie  kind, 
And  eke  out  our  performance  with  your  mind.  \F^xiit 

Scene  I.  The  same.    Before  Harjleur. 
Alarums.    Enter  King  Henwv ,  Exeter,  ilEDPf  UD, 
Gloster,  and  Soldiers,  with  scaling  ladder*-, 
K.  Hen.  Once  more  unto  the  breach,  dear  frier-'^s, 
once  more ; 
Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  English  dead  ! 
In  peace,  there's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man, 
As  modest  stillness,  and  humility  : 
But  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears. 
Then  imitate  the  action  of  the  tiger  ; 
Stiffen  the  sinews,  sunmion  ui>  the  blood. 
Disguise  fair  nature  with  hard  favour'd  rage  i 
Then  lend  the  eye  a  terrible  aspect; 
Let  it  pry  through  the  portage  of  the  head. 
Like  the  brass  cannon ;  let  the  brow  o'erwhelm  it, 
As  fearfully,  as  doth  a  galled  rock 
O'erhang  andjntty  his  conlounded  base, 
Swill'd  with  the  wild  and  wasteful  ocean. 
Now  set  the  teeth,  and  stretch  the  nostril  wide; 
Hold  hard  the  breath,  and  bend  up  every  spirit 
To  his  full  height ! — On,  on,  you  noblest  English, 
Whose  blood  is  fet  from  lathers  of  war-proof! 
Fathers,  that,  like  so  many  Alexanders, 
Have,  in  these  parts,  from  morn  till  even  fought, 
And  sheath'd  their  swords  for  lack  of  argument. 
Dishonour  not  your  mothers ;  now  attest. 
That  those,  whom  you  calfd  fathers,  did  beget  yoii' 
Be  copy  now  to  men  of  grosser  blood. 
And  teach  them  how  to  war  I — and    you,  goai 
yeomen. 

Whose  limbs  were  made  in  England,  show  us  hera 

The  mettle  of  your  pasture;  let  us  swear 

That  you  are  worth  your  breeding  :  which  I  doubt 

For  there  is  none  of  you  so  mean  and  base,       [not  j 

That  hath  not  noble  lustre  in  your  eyes. 

I  see  you  stand  like  greyhounds  in  the  slips. 

Straining  upon  the  start.    The  game's  afoot; 

Follow  your  spirit:  and,  uptm  this  charge, 

Cry — God  for  Harry!  England'  and  Saint  George! 

[Exeunt.  Alarum..,  and  chambers  go  off. 

Scene  W.—The  same. 
Forces  pass  over ;  then  enter  Nym,  Bardolph, 

Pistol,  and  Boy. 
Bard.  On,  on,  on,  on  !  to  the  breach,  to  tho 
breach  I 

Nym.  'Pray  thee,  corporal,  stay;  the  knocks  are 
too  hot ;  and,  for  mine  own  part,  I  have  not  a  cas6 
of  lives  :  the  humour  of  it  is  too  hot,  that  is  the  very 
plain-song  of  it.  [do  abound; 

Pist.  The  plain-song  is  most  just;  for  humours 
Knocks  go  and  come;  God  s  vassals  drop  and  die; 
And  sword  and  shield. 
In  bloody  field. 
Doth  win  immortal  fame. 
Boy.  'Would  I  were  in  an  alehouse  in  Londott!  I 
would  give  all  my  fame  for  a  pot  of  ale,  and  safety 
Pist.  And  I : 

If  wishes  would  prevail  with  mo. 


87S 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  nr. 


My  purpose  should  not  fail  with  nie. 
But  thither  would  I  hie. 
Si  If.  As  didy,  but  not  as  truly,  as  bird  doth  song 
en  b  v^^h. 

Enter  Fluellen 

Flu.  Got's  plood !— Up  to  the  preaches,  and 
rascals.'  will  you  not  up  to  the  preaches? 

{Driving  t/iem  foward.) 

Pist.  Be  merciful,  great  duke,  to  men  of  mould  ! 
Abate  thy  rage,  abate  thy  manly  rage  ! 
Abate  thy  rage,  great  duke!  _  [chuck! 

Good  bawcock,  bate  thy  rage  !  use  lenity,  sweet 

Nym.  These  be  good  humours ! — your  honour 
wins  bad  humours. 

[Exeunt  Nytn,  Pistol,  and  Bardolph, 
folloivedby  Fluellen. 

Boy.  As  young  as  1  am,  I  have  observed  these 
three  swashers.  I  am  boy  to  them  all  three  :  but 
all  they  three,  though  they  would  serve  me,  could 
not  b"  man  to  me ;  for,  indeed,  three  such  antics 
do  not  amount  to  a  man.  For  Bardolph, — he  is 
white-ii  .'er'd,  and  red-faced  ;  by  the  means  whereof, 
'a  faces  it  out,  but  fights  not.  For  Pistol, — he  hath 
a  killing  tongue,  and  a  quiet  sword;  by  the  means 
whereof,  'a  breaks  words,  and  keeps  whole  weapons. 
For  Nym, — he  hath  heard,  that  men  of  few  words 
are  the  best  men ;  and  therefore  he  scorns  to  say 
his  prayers,  lest 'a  should  be  thought  a  coward  ;  but 
his  few  bad  words  are  match'd  with  as  few  good 
deeds ;  for  'a  never  broke  any  man's  head  but  his 
own  ;  and  that  was  against  a  post,  when  he  was 
drunk.  They  will  steal  any  thing,  and  call  it, — 
purchase.  Bardolph  stole  a  lute-case ;  bore  it 
twelve  leagues,  and  sold  it  for  three  halfpence.  Nym, 
and  Bardolph,  are  sworn  brothers  in  filching:  and 
in  Calais  they  stole  a  fire-shovel  :  I  knew,  by  that 
piece  oi'  service,  the  men  would  carry  coals.  They 
would  have  me  as  familiar  with  men's  pockets, 
as  their  gloves  or  their  handkerchiefs  :  which  makes 
much  against  my  manhood,  if  I  should  take  from 
another's  pocket,  to  put  into  mine  ;  for  it  is  plain 
pocketing  up  of  wrongs.  I  must  leave  them,  and 
fteek  some  better  service:  their  villainy  gnes  ^igainst 


oy. 


tiy  weak  stomach,  and  therefore  T  must  cast  it  up, 

[ExU  B 

Re-enter  YiAiELW.^,  Gow em  follotving. 
Goiu.  Cai)tain  Fluellen,  you  must  come  presently 
the  mines;  the  duke  of  Gloster  would  speak 
ofiih  you. 


Flu.  To  the  mines!  tell  you 


the  duke,  it  is  not 


40  goot  to  come  to  the  mines :  For,  look  you,  the 
tiines  is  not  according  to  the  disciplines  of  the  war; 
the  concavities  of  it  is  not  sufficient;  for,  look  you, 
til'  athversary  (you  may  discuss  unto  the  duke,  look 
yo<i,)  is  dight  himself  lour  yards  under  the  counter- 
mines :  by  Cheshu,  I  think,  'a  will  plow  up  all,  if 
there  is  not  better  directions. 

Goto.  The  duke  of  Gloster,  to  whom  the  order 
of  the  siege  is  given,  is  altogether  directed  by  an 
Irishman  ;  a  very  valiant  gentleman,  i'faith. 
Flu.  It  is  Captain  Macmorris,  is  it  not? 
Gow.  I  think,  it  be. 

Flu.  By  Cheshu,  he  is  an  ass,  as  in  the  'orld : 
I  will  verify  as  much  in  his  peard  :  he  has  no  more 
directions  in  the  true  disciplines  of  the  wars,  look 
you,  of  the  Roman  disciplines,  than  is  a  puppy-dog. 

Enter  Macmorris  and  Jamy,  at  a  distance. 

Dow.  Here  'a  comes;  and  the  Scots  captain,  cap- 
tain Jamy,  vvith  him. 

Flu.  Captain  Jamy  is  a  marvellous  falorous  gen- 
tleman, that  is  certain  ;  and  of  great  expedition, 
and  knowledge  in  the  ancient  vvars,  upon  my  par- 
ticular knowledge  of  his  directions:  By  Cheshu,  he 
will  maintain  his  argunient  as  well  as 'any  military 
man  in  the  'orld,  in  the  disciplines  of  t!ie  pristine 
wars  o{  the  Romans. 
Ja^ny.    1  say,  gud-day,  captain  Fluellen. 


Flu.  God-den  to  your  worship,  goot  captain  Jamy 
Goiv.  .How  now,  captain  Macmorris?  have  yoa 
quit  the  mines?  have  the  pioneers  given  o'er? 

Mac.  By  Chrish  la,  tish  ill  done  :  the  work  ish 
give  over,  the  trumpet  sound  the  retreat.  By  ray 
hand,  I  swear,  and  by  my  father's  soul,  the  work 
ish  ill  done ;  it  ish  give  over  :  I  would  have  blowed 
up  the  town,  so  Chrish  save  me,  la,  in  an  hour. 
O,  tish  ill  done,  tish  ill  done  ;  by  my  hand,  tish  ill 
done  ! 

Flu.  Captain  Macmorris,  I  peseech  you  now,  will 
you  voutsafe  me,  look  you,  a  few  disputations  with 
yon,  as  partly  touching  or  concerning  the  disciplines 
of  the  war,  the  Roman  wars,  in  the  vvay  of  argument, 
look  you,  and  friendly  conmuinication ;  partly,  to 
satisfy  my  opinion,  and  partly,  for  the  satisfaction, 
look  you,  of  my  mind,  as  touching  the  direction  of 
the  military  discipline  ;  that  is  the  point. 

Jamy.  It  sail  be  very  gud,  gud  feith,  gud  captains 
bath:  and  I  sail  quit  you  with  gud  leve,  as  I  may 
pick  occasion;  that  sail  I,  marry. 

Mac.  It  is  no  time  to  discourse,  so  Chrish  save 
me,  the  day  is  hot,  and  the  weather,  and  the  wars, 
and  the  king,  and  the  dukes;  it  is  no  time  to  dis-" 
course.  The  town  is  beseeclied,  and  the  trumpet 
calls  us  to  the  breach  ;  and  we  talk,  and,  by  Chrish, 
do  nothing;  'tis  shame  for  us  all:  so  God  sa'  me, 
'tis  shame  to  stand  still;  it  is  shame,  by  my  hand: 
and  there  is  throats  to  be  cut,  and  works  to  be  done; 
and  there  ish  nothing  done,  so  Chrish  sa'  me,  la. 

Jamy.  By  the  mess,  ere  theise  eyes  of  mine  take 
themselves  to  slumber,  aile  do  gude  service,  or  aile 
ligge  i  the  grund  lor  it;  ay,  or  go  t-o  death;  and  aila 
pay  it  as  valorously  as  I  may,  that  sail  1  surely  do, 
that  is  the  brefi"  and  the  long:  Marry,  I  wad  full 
fain  heard  some  question  'tween  you  'tway. 

Flu.  Captain  Macmorris,  I  think,  look  you,  un- 
der your  correction,  there  is  noi  many  of  your  na- 
tion  

Mac.  Of  my  nation  ?  What  ish  my  nation  ?  ish 
a  villain,  and  a  bastard,  and  a  knave,  and  a  rascal? 
What  ish  my  nation?  Who  talks  of  my  nation? 

Flu.  Look  you,  if  you  take  the  matter  otherwise 
than  is  meant,  captain  Macmorris,  peradventure,  1 
shall  think  you  do  not  use  me  with  that  affability  as 
in  discretion  you  ought  to  use  me,  look  you ;  being 
as  goot  a  man  as  yourself,  both  in  the  disciplines  oi 
wars,  and  in  the  derivation  of  my  birth,  and  in  other 
particidarities. 

Mac.  I  do  not  know  you  so  good  a  man  as  myself. 
so  Chrish  save  me,  I  will  cutoff  your  head. 

Govo.  Gentlemen  both,  you  will  mistake  eacl 
other. 

Janry.  Au  !  that's  a  foul  fault.  [A  parley  sounded.) 

Gow.  The  town  sounds  a  parley. 

Flu.  Captain  Macmorris,  when  there  is  more 
Detter  opportunity  to  be  required,  look  you,  I  will 
be  so  bold  as  to  tell  you,  I  know  the  disciplines  oi 
war  ;  and  there  is  an  end.  [ExeunU 

Scene  HI. —  The  same.    Before  the  Gates  of 
Harfleur. 

The  Governor  and  some  Citizens  on  the  walls; 
and  English  Forces  below.  Enter  Ki^  Henrtt 
and  his  Train. 

K.  Hen.  How  yet  resolves  the  governor  of  the 

This  is  the  latest  parle  we  will  admit :  [town? 

Therefore  to  our  best  mercy  give  yourselves; 

Or,  like  to  men  proud  of  destruction, 
j  Defy  us  to  our  worst:  for,  as  I  am  a  soldier, 
!  (A  name,  that,  in  my  thoughts,  becomes  me  bess 
\  [f  I  begin  the  battery  once  again, 

I  will  not  leave  the  half-achieved  Harfleur, 

Till  in  her  ashes  she  lie  buried. 

The  gates  of  mercy  shall  be  all  shut  up; 

An. I  the  flesh'd  soldier,— rough  and  hard  of  heart.— 

In  liberty  of  bloody  hand,  shall  range 

With  conscience  wide  as  hell ;  moxving  like  grass 
i  Your  fresh-fair  virgins,  and  your  flowering  infants 
i  What  is  It  then  to  me,  if  impious  war, — 


Scene  5.  KING 

Airay'd  in  flames,  like  to  the  prince  of  fiends, — 

Do,  with  his  smii  ch'd  complexion,  all  fell  feats 

Eulink'd  to  waste  and  desolation? 

What  is't  to  me,  when  you  yourselves  are  cause, 

If  your  pure  maidens  fall  into  the  hand 

Oihot  and  forcing  v  iolation  ? 

What  rein  can  hold  licentious  wickedness. 

When  down  ttie  hill  he  holds  his  titrce  career? 

We  may  as  bootless  spend  our  vain  command 

Upon  the  enraged  soldiers  in  their  spoil. 

As  send  precepts  to  the  Leviathan 

To  come  ashore.    Therefore,  you  men  of  Harfleur, 

Take  pity  of  your  town,  and  of  your  people, 

Whiles  yet  my  soldiers  are  in  my  command  ; 

Whiles  yet  tije  cool  and  temperate  wind  of  grace 

O'erblows  the  filthy  and  contagious  clouds 

Of  deadly  murder,  spoil,  and  \  illainy. 

If  not,  wliy,  in  a  moment,  look  to  see 

The  blind  and  bloody  soldier  with  foul  hand 

Defile  the  locks  of  your  shrill-shrieking  daughters  ; 

Vour  fathers  taken  by  the  silver  beards. 

And  their  most  reverend  heads  dash'd  to  the  walls  ; 

Y  our  naked  infants  spitted  upon  pikes  ; 

Whiles  the  mad  mothers  with  their  howls  confus'd 

Do  break  tlie  clouds,  as  did  the  wives  of  Jewry 

At  Herod's  bloody-hunting  slaughtermen. 

What  say  you  ?  will  you  yield,  and  this  avoid? 

Or,  guilty  in  defence,  be  thus  destroy'd  ? 

Gow.  Oiir  expectation  hath  this  day  an  end: 
The  Dauphin,  whom  of  succour  we  entreated, 
Returns  us — that  his  powers  are  not  yet  ready 
To  raise  so  great  a  siege.    Therefore,  dread  king, 
We  yield  our  town,  and  lives,  to  thy  soft  mercy  : 
Enter  our  gates  ;  dispose  of  us,  and  ours; 
For  we  no  longer  are  defensible; 

7^".  Hen.  Open  y<iur  gates. — Come,  uncle  Exeter, 
Go  you  and  enter  Harfieur;  there  remain. 
And  fortify  it  stronejly  'gainst  the  French  : 
Vse  mercy  to  them  all.    For  us,  dear  uncle, — 
The  winter  coming  on,  and  sickness  growing 
Upon  our  soldiers,— we'll  retire  to  Calais. 
To-night  in  tlaifleur  will  we  be  your  guest; 
To  nion  ow  i'or  the  march  are  we  addrest. 

[Flourish,    The  King,  §fo.  enter  the  Town. 

Scene  IV. — Rouen.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Etiter  Katharine  and  Alice. 
Kath.  Alice,  tu  as  este  en  Angleterre^  et  tu 
paries  bien  le  lanyaye. 
Alice.  Un  peu,  madame. 

Kath.  Je  te  prie,  m'enseignez;  il  faut  que 
j'apprenne  a  parler.  Comment  appellez  vous  la 
tnain,  en  Anylois  ? 

Alice.  La  main  ?  elle  est  appellee,  de  hand. 

Kath.  \}e  \vA\n\.    Et  les  doigts  't 

Alice.  Les  doigts  f  mafoij,je  oublie  les  doigts  ; 
mais  je  me  souviendray.  Les  doigts?  je  pense, 
qu'ils  sont  appelles  de  hngres  ;  ouy,  de  fingres. 

Kath.  La  main,  de  hand;  lei  doigts,  de  fiiigres. 
Je  pense,  que  je  suis  le  bon  escolier.  J  ai  gagne 
deux  mots  d'Anglois  vistement.  Comment  ap- 
pellez vous  les  ongles  ? 

Alice.  Les  ongles  ?  les  appellons,  de  nails. 

Kath.  De  nails.  Escoutez ;  dites  moi,  si  je 
parle  bien;  de  hand,  de  fiugres,  de  nails. 

Alice.  C  est  bien  dit,  madame ;  il  est  fort  bon 
Anglois. 

Kath.  Dites  moy  en  Angiois,  le  bras. 
Alice.  De  arm,  madame. 
Kath.  Et  le  coude. 
Alice.  De  elbow. 

Kath.  De  elbow.  Je  m'cn  faitz  la  repetition 
de  tons  les  mots,  que  vous  in'avez  appris  des  a 
present. 

Alice.  II  est  trop  difficile,  madame,  comme  je 
ae  ise. 

Kath.  Excusez  tnoy,  Alice  ;  escoutez  :  De  hand, 
de  fingre,  de  Uriils,,  de  arm,  de  bilbow. 
Alice.  \y^.  t\hu\w,  madame. 

Kath.  0  Seigneur  Dieu!  je  m'en  oublie;  De 


HENRY  Y.  379 

elbow.    Comment  appelles  vous  le  coif 
Alice.  De  neck,  madame. 
Kath.  De  neck  ;  Et  le  menton  1 
Alice.  De  chin. 

Kath.  De  sin.  Le  col,  de  neck  :  le  menton,  d« 
sin. 

Alice.  Ouy.  Sauf  vosire  honneur :  en  veriik^ 
vous  prononcez  les  mots  aussi  drotct  que  Iv-s 
natifs  d'Angleterre. 

Kath.  Je  ne  doute  point  ctapprendre  par  la 
graee  de  Dieu  ;  et  en  peu  de  temps. 

Alie.  N'avez  vous  pas  deja  oublie  ee  que  je 
vous  ay  enseignee  ? 

Kath.  Non,  je  reciteray  d  vous  promptement. 
De  hand,  de  fingre,  de  mails, — 

Alice.  De  YtaWs,  madame. 

Kath.  De  nails,  de  arme,  de  ilbow. 

Alice  Sauf  vostre  honneur,  de  elbow. 

Kath.  Ainsi  dis  je ;  de  elbow,  de  neck,  et  de 
sin  ;  Comment  appellez  vous  le  pied  et  la  robe? 

Alice.  De  foot,  madame;  et  de  con. 

Kath.  De  foot,  et  de  con?  0  Seigneur  Dieu; 
ces  sont  mots  de  son  mauvais.  corruptible,  grosse, 
et  impudique,  et  non  pour  les  dames  d'honneur 
d'^user.  Je  ne  voudrois  prononcer  ces  mots  devant 
les  seigneurs  de  France,  pour  tout  le  monde.  11 
faut  de  loot,  et  de  con,  neant-moins.  Je  reciterai 
une  autre  fois  ma  leqon  ensemble :  De  hand,  de 
fingre,  de  nails,  de  arm.  de  elbow,  de  neck,  de  sin, 
de  foot,  de  con. 

Alice.  Excellent,  madame. 

Kath.  Cest  assez  pour  une  fois;  aliens  nous  a 
disner.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — The  same.  Another  Room  in  the  saine. 
Enter  the  French  King,  the  Dauphin,  Duhe  of 
Bourbon,  the  Constable  of  France,  and  others. 
Fr.  King.  'Tis  certain,  he  hath  pass'd  the  river 
Somme. 

Con.  And  if  he  be  not  fought  withal,  my  kid, 
Let  us  not  live  in  France  ;  let  us  quit  all. 
And  give  our  vineyards  to  a  barbarous  people. 

Dau.  0  Dieu  vivant !  shall  a  few  sprays  of  oa,— 
The  emptying  of  our  fathers'  luxury, 
Our  scions,  put  in  wild  and  savage  stock. 
Spirt  up  so  suddenly  into  the  clouds, 
And  overlook  their  grafters  ?  [bastards  i 

Bour  Normans,  but  bastard  Normans,  Norman 
Mort  de  ma  vie  :  if  they  march  along 
Unfbught  withal,  but  I  will  sell  my  dukedom, 
To  buy  a  slobbery  and  a  dirty  farm 
In  that  nook-shotten  isle  of  Albion.  [mettle  ? 

Con.  Dieu  de  battailes !  where  have  they  this 
Is  not  their  climate  foggy,  raw,  and  dull? 
On  whoui,  as  in  despite,  the  sun  looks  pale, 
Killing  their  fruit  with  frowns?  Can  sodden  water, 
A  drench  for  sur-rein'd  jades,  their  barley  broth. 
Decoct  their  cold  blood  to  such  valiant  heat  ? 
And  shall  our  quick  blood,  spirited  with  wine. 
Seem  frosty  ?  O,  for  honour  of  our  land. 
Let  r.s  not  hang  like  roping  icicles  [people 
Upon  our  houses'  thatch,   whiles  a  more  frosty 
Sweat  drops  of  gallant  youth  in  our  rich  fields  ; 
Poor — we  may  call  them,  in  their  native  lords. 

Dau.  By  laith  and  honour. 
Our  madaius  mock  at  us:  and  plainly  saj. 
Our  mettle  is  bred  out;  and  they  will  give 
Their  bodies  to  the  lust  of  English  youth. 
To  new-store  France  with  bastard  warriors. 

Bour.  They  bid  us— ta  the  English  daniiny. 
schools, 

And  teach  lavoltas  high,  ana  swift  corantos; 
Saying,  our  grace  is  only  in  our  heels. 
And  tiiat  we  are  most  lofty  runaways. 

Fr.  King.  Where  is  Montjoy,  the  herald  ?  speed 
lum  hence ; 

Let  him  greet  England  with  our  sharp  defiance. — 
Up,  princes  ;  and  with  spirit  of  honour  edg'd, 
iMore  sharper  than  your  swords,  hie  to  the  field: 
Charles  De-la-bret,  high  constable  of  France; 


880 


KING  HENRY  Y. 


Act  IIL 


You  dnkes  of  Orleans,  Bourbon,  and  of  Berry, 

A.len<;on,  Brabant,  Bar,  and  Burgundy: 
Jatjues  Chatillon,  Ranibures",  Vaudemont, 
Heaiimont,  Grandpre,  Boussi,  and  Fauconberg, 

Lestiale,  Bonciqualt,  and  Charolois; 
High  dukes,  great   princes,   barons,  lords,  and 
knigiits. 

For  your  great  seals,  now  quit  you  of  great  shames. 
Bar  Harry  England,  that  sweeps  through  our  land 
With  pennons  painted  in  tlie  blood  of"  Harfieur  : 
Rush  on  his  host,  as  doth  fhe  melted  snow 
Upon  the  valleys;  whose  low  vassal  seat 
Tiie  Alps  doth  spit  and  void  his  rheum  upon: 
Go  (luwn  upon  him, — you  have  power  enough, — 
And  in  a  capti\  e  chariot  into  Roiien 
Bring  him  our  prisoner. 

Cun.  This  becomes  the  great 

Sony  am  I,  his  numbers  are  so  few, 
His  soldiers  sick,  and  famish'd  in  their  march  ; 
For,  I  am  sure,  when  he  shall  see  our  army, 
He  li  di  oop  his  heart  into  the  sink  of  fear. 
And,  Ibr  achievement,  offer  us  his  ransome. 

Fr.  King.  Therefore,  lord  constable,  haste  on 
Montjoy  ; 

And  let  him  s;iy  to  England,  that  we  send 
To  know  what  willing  ransome  he  will  give. 
Prince  Dauphin,  you  shall  stay  with  us  in  Roiien. 
Dan.  Not  so,  1  do  beseech  your  majesty 
Fr.  King.  Be  patient,  for  you  shall  remain  with 
Now,  fortn,  lord  constable,  and  princes  all;    [us  ^ 
And  qiii(^kly  bring  us  word  of  England's  fall. 

Scene  VI. — The  English  Camp  in  Picardy. 
Enter  Gower  and  Fluellen. 

Gow.  How  now,  captain  Fluellen  come  you 
from  the  bridge  ? 

Flu.  I  assure  you,  there  is  very  excellent  service 
cotniiiitted  at  the  pridge  ? 

Gmv.  Is  the  Duke  of  Exeter  safe  ? 

Flu.  Tiie  duke  of  Exeter  is  as  magnanimous  as 
Agamemnon  :  and  a  man,  that  I  love  and  honour 
wuh  my  suul,  and  my  heart,  and  my  duty,  and  my 
fife,  and  my  livings,  and  my  uttermost  powers :  lie 
is  not  (God  be  praised,  and  plessed  !)  any  hurt  in 
the  'or!d  ;  but  keeps  the  pridge  most  valiantly,  with 
excellent  discipline.  There  is  an  ensign  there  at 
the  pridge, — I  tiiink,  in  my  very  conscience,  he  is 
as  valiant  as  Mark  Antony;  and  he  is  a  man  of  no 
estimation  in  the  'orld :  but  1  did  see  him  do  gallant 
service. 

Gow.  What  do  you  call  him  ? 
Flu.  He  is  called — ancient  Pistol 
Gow.  I  know  him  not. 

Enter  Pistol. 

Fill.  Do  you  not  know  him  ?  Here  comes  the  man. 

Pist.  Captain,  I  thee  beseech  to  do  me  favours: 
The  duke  of  Exeter  doth  love  thee  well. 

Flu.  Ay,  I  praise  Got;  and  1  have  merited  some 
love  at  his  hands. 

Pist.  Bardolph,  a  soldi'^r,  firm  and  sound  of  heart, 
Ol  bnx!*ni  vaioiir,  hath,  by  cruel  fate 
And  giddy  fortune's  fickle  wheel, 
That  goddess  blind, 

'1  hat  stands  upon  the  rolling  restless  stone, — 

Flu.  By  your  patience,  ancier)t  Pistol.  Fortune  is 
painted  plind,  with  a  muffler  before  her  eyes,  to 
3%eify  to  you,  that  fortune  is  plind.  And  she  is 
pointed  also  with  a  wheel :  to  signify  to  you,  which 
1^  the  moral  of  it,  that  she  is  turning,  and  inconstant, 
and  variations,  and  nuitabilities  :  and  her  foot,  look 
you,  is  fixed  upon  a  spherical  stone,  which  rolls, 
and  rolls,  and  rolls; — In  good  truth,  the  poet  is 
make  a  most  excellent  description  of  fortune  :  for 
tune,  look  you,  is  an  excellent  moral.  [him  ; 

Pist.  Fortune  is  Bardolph's  foe,  and  frowns  on 
For  he  hath  stol'n  a  pix,  and  hanged  must  'a  be. 
A  damned  death ! 

Let  gallows  gape  for  dog,  let  man  go  free  : 


And  let  not  hemp  his  wiDd-pip«  sufibca&e : 
But  Exeter  hath  given  the  doom  of  death. 
For  pix  of  little  price. 

Therefore,  go  speak,  the  duke  will  hear  thy  ifoice; 
And  let  not  Bardolph's  vital  thread  be  cut 
With  edge  of  penny  cord,  and  vile  reproach  :  . 
Speak,  captain,  for  his  life,  and  I  will  tbee  requite 

Flu.  Ancient  Pistol,  I  do  partly  understand  yoal 
meaning. 

Pist.  Why  then  rejoice  therefore. 

Flu.  Certainly,  ancient,  it  is  not  a  thing  to  rejoice 
at:  for  if,  look  you,  he  were  my  brother,  I  would 
desire  the  duke  to  use  his  goot  pleasure,  and  pat 
him  to  executions;  for  disciplines  ought  to  be  used. 

Pist.  Die  and  be  daran'd  ;  and  figo  for  thy  friend- 

Flu.  It  is  well.  [ship! 

Pist.  The  fig  of  Spain  !  [Exit  Pistol. 

Flu.  Very  goot 

Gow.  Why  this  is  an  arrant  counterfeit  rascal ;  I 
remember  him  now;  a  bawd;  a  cutpurse. 

Flu.  I'll  assure  you,  'a  ulter'd  as  prave  'ords  at 
the  pridge,  as  you  shall  see  in  a  siunmer's  day  :  But 
it  is  very  well ;  what  he  has  spoke  to  me,  that  is 
well,  I  warrant  you,  when  time  is  serve. 

Gow.  Why,  'tis  a  gull,  a  fool,  a  rogue;  that  novr 
and  then  goes  to  the  wars,  to  grace  himself,  at  his 
return  into  London,  under  the  forni  of  a  soldier. 
And  such  fellows  are  perfect  in  great  commanders'' 
names  :  and  they  will  learn  you  by  rote,  where  ser- 
vices were  done ; — at  such  and  such  a  sconce,  at 
such  a  breach,  at  such  a  convoy ;  who  came  off 
bravely,  who  was  shot,  who  disgraced,  what  terms 
the  enemy  stood  on ;  and  this  they  con  perfectly  ia 
the  phrase  of  war,  which  they  trick  np  with  new-  ^ 
tuned  oaths  :  And  what  a  beard  ol  the  general's  cut,"^ 
and  a  hori  id  suit  of  the  camp,  will  do  among  foam- 
ing bottles,  and  ale  washed  wits,  is  wonderful  to 
be  thought  on !  Bui  you  must  learn  to  know  such 
slanders  of  the  age,  or  else  you  may  be  marvellous 
mistook. 

Flu.  I  tell  you  what,  captain  Gower; — I  do  per- 
ceive, he  is  not  the  man  that  he  would  gladly  make 
show  to  the  'orld  he  is ;  if  I  find  a  hole  in  his  coat, 
I  will  tell  him  my  mind.  {Drum  heard.)  Hark  you, 
the  king  is  coming ;  and  I  must  speak  with  hira 
from  the  pridge. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Gloster,  and  Soldiers. 
Flu.  Got  pless  your  majesty  ! 
K.  Hen.  How  now,  Fluelleu?  earnest  thou  from 
the  bridge  ? 

Flu.  Ay,  so  please  your  majesty.    The  duke  of 
Exeter  has  very  gallantly  maintained  the  pridge: 
the  French  is  gone  off,  look  you  ;  aiid  tliere  is  gal- 
lant and  most  prave  passages  :  Marry,  th'  athversary 
was  have  possession  of  the  'pridge  ;  but  he  is  en-  , 
forced  to  retire,  and  the  duke  of  Exeter  is  master  ; 
of  the  pridge  :  I  can  tell  your  majesty  the  duke  ia  ; 
a  prave  man.  | 

K.  Hen.  What  men  have  yon  lost,  Fluellen  ?  j 

Flu.  The  perdition  of  th'  athversary  hath  been  j 
very  great,  veiy  reasonable  great :  marry,  for  my  j 
part,  I  think  the  duke  hath  lost  never  a  man,  but  ; 
one  that  is  like  to  be  executed  for  robbing  a  church,  j 
one  Bardolph,  if  your  majesty  know  the  man  :  his  \ 
face  is  all  bubuckles,  and  whelks,  and  knobs,  and  ) 
flames  of  fire  ;  and  his  lips  plows  at  his  nose,  a  'j 
is  like  a  coal  of  fire,  sometimes  plue,  and  sometimes 
red  ;  but  his  nose  is  executed,  and  his  fire's  out. 

K,  Hen.  We  would  have  all  such  offenders  so 
cutoff: — and  we  give  express  charge,  that,  in  our 
marches  through  the  country,  there  be  nothing  com- 
pelled from  the  villages,  nothing  taken  but  paid 
for;  none  of  the  French  upbraided,  or  abused  in  ; 
disdainful  language;  For  when  lenity  and  cruelty  | 
play  for  a  kingdom,  the  gentler  gamester  is  thi  j 
soonest  winner.  j 

Tucket  sounds.    Enter  MoNTJOY  j 

Mont.  You  know  me  by  my  habit.  | 

■1 


Scene  7. 


KING  HENRY  Y. 


881 


K.  Hen.  Well  then,  I  know  thee ;  What  shall  1 
Mont.  Mv  master's  mind.  [know  of  tliee  ? 

K.  Jlen.  Unlold  it. 

Mont.  Thus  says  my  king  :— Say  thou  to  Harry 
of  England,  Though  we  seemed  dead,  we  did  but 
Bleep;  Advantage  is  a  better  soldier,  than  rashness. 
Tell  him,  we  could  have  rebuked  him  at  Harfleur; 
but  that  we  thought  not  good  to  bruise  an  injury, 
till  it  were  full  ripe  : — now  we  speak  upon  our  cue, 
and  our  voice  is  imperial :  England  shall  repent 
his  folly,  see  his  weakness,  and  admire  our  suffer- 
ance. Bid  him,  therefore,  consider  of  his  raiisome ; 
which  must  proportion  the  losses  we  have  borne, 
the  subjects  we  have  lost,  the  disgrace  we  have 
digested;  which,  in  weight  tore-answer,  his  petti- 
ness would  bow  under.  For  our  losses,  his  exche- 
quer is  too  poor  j  for  the  effusion  of  our  blood,  the 
muster  of  his  kingdom  too  faint  a  number;  and  for 
our  disgrace,  his  own  person,  kneeling  at  our  feet, 
but  a  weak  and  worthless  satisfaction.  To  this 
add — defiance:  and  tell  him,  for  conclusion,  he  hath 
betrayed  his  followers,  whose  condemnation  is 
pronounced.  So  far  my  king  and  master;  so  much 
my  <i(!ice. 

K.  Hen.  What  is  thy  name  ?  I  know  thy  quality. 
Mont.  Montjoy.  _  [back, 

K.  Hen.  Thou  dost  thy  office  fairly.    Turn  thee 

And  tell  thy  king, — I  do  not  seek  him  now  ; 

But  could  be  willing  to  march  on  to  Calais 

Without  empeachinent :  for,  to  say  the  sooth, 

(Though  'tis  no  wisdom  to  confess  so  much 

Unto  an  enemy  of  crait  and  vantage,) 

My  people  are  with  sickness  much  enfeebled  ; 

My  numbers  lessen'd  ;  and  those  few  I  have. 

Almost  no  better  than  so  many  French  ; 

Who,  when  they  were  in  health,  I  tell  thee,  herald, 

I  thouglit,  upon  one  pair  of  English  legs 

Did  match  three  Frenchmen. — Yet,  fcrgive  me  God, 

That  1  do  brag  thus  ! — tliis  your  air  of  France 

Hath  blo^vn  that  vice  in  me ;  I  must  repent. 

Go,  therefore,  tell  thy  master,  here  I  am  ; 

My  ransome,  is  this  frail  and  worthless  trunk: 

My  army,  but  a  weak  and  sickly  guard ; 

Yet,  0  >d  before,  tell  him  we  will  come  on. 

Though  France  himself,  and  such  another  neighbour, 

Stauf!  in  our  ways.  There's  for  thy  labour,  Montjoy. 

Go,  bid  thy  army  well  advise  himself : 

ff  we  may  pass,  we  will;  it  We  be  hinder'd. 

We  siiall  your  tawny  ground  with  your  red  blood 

Discolour:  and  so,  Montjoy,  fare  you  well. 

The  mta  of  all  our  answer  is  but  this  ; 

VVe  would  not  seek  a  battle,  as  we  are  ; 

Nor,  as  we  are,  we  say,  we  will  not  shun  it: 

So  tell  your  master. 

Mont.  I  shall  deliver  so.    Thanks  to  your  high- 
lie  ss.  [Exit  Montjoy. 

Glo.  I  hope,  they  will  not  come  Uj  on  us  now. 

K.  Hen.  VVe  are  in  God's  hand,  brothers,  not  in 
theirs. 

March  to  the  bridge  ;  it  now  draws  towards  night : — 

Beyond  the  river  we'll  encamp  ourselves  ; 

And  on  to-morrow  bid  them  nmrch  away.  [Exeunt. 

CENE  y\\.  ~The  French  Camp,  near  Ayincourt. 
E^iter  the  Constable  of  France,  the  Lord  Ra.m- 
BURES,  the  Duke  c>/Orleans,  the  Dauphin,  and 
others. 

Con.  Tut !  I  have  the  best  armour  of  the  world. 
Would  it  were  day  ! 

Qrl.  You  have  an  excellent  armour ;  but  let  my 
borse  have  his  d/ie. 

Con.  It  is  the  best  horse  of  Europe. 

Or) .  Will  it  never  be  morning  ? 

Dmi.  My  lord  of  Orleans,  and  my  lord  high 
Constable,  you  talk  of  horse  and  armour, — 

Orl.  Yon  are  as  well  provided  of  both,  as  any 
prince  in  the  world, 

Dctu.  What  a  lung  night  is  this  I  will  not 
change  my  horse  with  anv  that  treads  but  on  four 
yiaacerus.  Ca,  ha !  He  bounds  from  the  earth  ^  if 


his  entrails  were  nairs :  le  cheimt  volant,  Uie  Pega- 
SU9,  qui  a  les  narines  de  feu'.  When  I  bestride  him, 
I  soar,  [  am  a  hawk :  he  trots  the  air ;  the  eartb 
sings,  when  he  touches  it;  the  basest  horn  of  hia 
hoof  is  more  musical  than  the  pipe  of  Hermes. 

Orl.  He's  of  the  colour  of  the  nutmeg. 

Dau.  And  of  the  heat  of  the  ^\nger.  It  is  a 
beast  for  Perseus  :  he  is  pure  air  and  fire  ;  and  the 
dull  elements  "of  earth  and  water  never  appear  ia 
him,  but  only  in  patient  stillness,  while  his  ride, 
mounts  him  :  he  is,  indeed,  a  horse ;  and  al  othe 
jades  you  may  call — beasts. 

Con.  Indeed,  my  lord,  it  is  a  most  absolute  ai{<d 
excellent  horse. 

Dau.  It  is  the  prince  of  palfrej's ;  his  neigh  is 
like  the  bidding  of  a  monarch,  and  his  countenance 
enforces  homage. 

Orl.  No  more,  cousin. 

Dau.  Nay,  the  man  hath  no  wit,  that  cannot, 
from  the  rising  of  the  lark  to  the  lodging  of  the 
lamb,  vary  deserved  praise  on  my  palfrey  :  it  is  a 
theme  as  fluent  as  the  sea;  turn  the  sands  into  elo 
quent  tongues,  and  my  horse  is  argument  for  them 
all :  'tis  a  subject  for  a  sovereign  to  reason  on,  and 
for  a  sovereign's  sovereign  to  ride  on ;  and  for  the 
world,  (familiar  to  us,  and  unknown,)  to  hiy  afvirt 
their  particular  functions,  and  wonder  at  him.  I 
once  writ  a  sonnet  in  his  praise,  and  begim  tini.s  : 
Wonder  of  nature.  [inistress. 

Orl.  I  have  heard  a  sonnet  begin  so  to  ones 

Dau.  Then  did  they  imitate  that  whic  li  I  am, 
posed  to  my  courser  ;  for  my  horse  is  my  nK.>ti  (-s,s. 

Orl.  Your  mistress  bears  well. 

Dau.  Me  well;  which  is  the  [jrescript  praise  and 
perfection  of  a  good  and  particular  misti  ess. 

Con.  Ma  foy  I  the  other  day,  tnetliun^ut,  y(,iu 
mistress  shrewdly  shook  your  back. 

Dau.  So,  perliaps,  did  yours. 

Con.  Mine  was  not  bridled. 

Dau.  01  then,  belike,  she  was  old  and  gf  ntlc , 
and  you  rode,  like  a  Kerne  of  Ireland,  your  Frem  i'i 
hose  off,  and  in  your  strait  trossers. 

Con.  You  have  good  judgment  in  horsenianship. 

Dau.  Be  warned  by  me  then  :  they  that  ride  so, 
and  ride  not  warily,  fall  into  foul  bogs;  1  had  ra- 
ther  have  my  horse  to  my  mistress. 

Con.  I  had  as  lief  have  my  mistress  a  jade. 

Dau.  1  tell  thee,  constable,  ray  mistress  wears 
her  own  hair. 

Con.  I  could  make  as  true  a  boast  as  that,  if  I 
had  a  sow  to  my  mistress. 

Dau.  Le  chien  est  retourne  d  aonpropre  vomis 
sement,  et  la  truie  lavee  au  bourhier  :  thou  make?t 
use  of  any  thing. 

Con.  Yet  I  do  not  use  my  horse  for  my  mistress  ; 
or  any  such  proverb,  so  little  kin  to  the  purpose. 

Ram.  My  lord  constable,  the  armonr  that  I  saw 
in  your  tent  to-night,  are  those  stars,  or  suns,  upon  it  ? 

Con.  Stars,  my  Lord. 

Dau.  Some  of  them  will  fall  to-morrow,  I  hope. 

Con.  And  yet  my  sky  shall  not  want. 

Dau.  That  may  be,  for  you  bear  a  many  super- 
fluously; and  'twere  more  honour,  some  were  away 

Con.  Even  as  your  horse  bears  your  praises 
who  woidd  trot  as  well,  were  some  of  your  braga 
dismounted. 

Dau.  'Would  I  were  able  to  load  him  with  hi 
desert!  Will  it  never  be  day  ?  I  will  trot  to-mor 
row  a  mile,  and  my  way  shall  be  paved  wi* 
English  faces. 

Con.  I  will  not  say  so,  for  fear  I  should  be  face 
out  of  my  way  :  But  I  would  it  were  morning,  fo 
I  would  fain  be  about  the  ears  of  the  English. 

Ram.  Who  will  go  to  hazard  with  me  for  twenty 
English  prisoners  ?  [you  have  them. 

Con.  You  must  tirst  go  yourself  to  haza»  ,  ere 

Dau.  "V'\s  midnight,  I'll  go  arm  myself.  Exit 

Orl.  Tiie  Daiiphm  lont;s  for  morning. 

Ra7n.  lie  longs  to  eat  the  Eiii^lish. 

Co7i.  1  think,  he  will  eat  all  he  kills. 


S82 


KING  HENRY  T. 


Act  IV 


Orl  By  the  white  'iand  of  my  lady,  he's  a  gallant 
|Wince.  the  oath. 

Con.  Swear  by  hel  foot,  that  she  may  tread  oat 

Orl.  He  iS;,  simply  the  most  active  gentleman  of 
Prance.  [doing 

Con.  Doing  is  activity  :  and  he  will  still  be 

Ori.  He  never  did  harm,  that  I  heard  of. 

Co?i.  Nor  will  do  none  to-morrow;  he  will  keep 
that  good  name  still. 

Orl.  I  know  him  to  be  valiant. 

Con.  I  was  told  that,  by  one  that  knows  him 

Orl.  What's  he  ?  [better  than  you. 

Con.  Marry,  he  told  me  so  himself :  and  he  said, 
he  cared  not  who  knew  it. 

Orl.  He  needs  not,  it  is  no  hidden  virtue  iu  him. 

Co?i.  By  my  faith,  sir,  but  it  is ;  never  any  body 
saw  it,  but  his  lackey :  'tis  a  hooded  valour;  and, 
when  it  appears,  it  will  bate. 

Orl.  Ill  will  never  said  well. 

Con.  I  will  cap  that  proverb  with — There  is  flat- 
tery in  friendship.  [his  due. 

Orl.  And  I  will  take  up  that  with — Give  the  devil 

Con.  Well  placed;  there  stands  your  friend  for 
the  devil :  have  at  the  very  eye  of  that  proverb, 
with — a  pox  of  the  devil. 

Orl.  Yon  are  the  better  at  proverbs,  by  how  much 

A  fool's  bolt  is  soon  shot. 

Con.  You  have  shot  over. 

Orl.  "lis  not  the  first  time  you  were  overshot. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  My  lord  high  constable,  the  English  lie 
within  fifteen  hundred  |)acesofyour  tent. 
Con.  Who  hath  measured  the  ground  ? 
Mess.  The  lord  Grandpie. 

Con.  A  valiant  and  most  expert  gentleman. — 
Would  it  were  day  ! — Alas,  poor  Harry  of  England  ! 
he  longs  not  for  the  dawning,  as  we  do. 

OA.  What  a  wretched  and  peevish  fellow  is  this 
king  of  England,  to  mope  with  his  fat-brained  fol- 
lowers so  far  out  of  his  knowledge  ! 

Con.  If  the  English  had  any  apprehension,  they 
would  run  f.way. 

Orl.  'W.i.\  they  lack  ;  for  if  their  heads  had  any 
intellectual  armour,  they  could  never  wear  such 
heavy  head  pieces. 

Ram.  That  island  of  England  breeds  very  \  aliant 
creatures;  their  mastiffs  are  of  unmatchable  cou- 
rage. 

Orl.  Foolish  curs !  that  run  winking  into  the 
mouth  of  a  Russian  bear,  and  have  their  heads 
crushed  like  rotten  apples  :  You  may  as  well  say, — 
that's  a  valiant  flea,  that  dare  eat  his  breakfast  on 
the  lip  of  a  lion. 

Con.  Just,  just;  and  the  men  do  sympathize  with 
the  mastiffs,  in  robustious  and  rough  coming  on, 
leaving  their  wits  with  their  wives  :  and  then  give 
them  great  meals  of  beef,  a.id  ivon  and  steel,  they 
will  eat  like  wolves,  and  fight  like  devils. 

Orl.  Ay,  but  these  English  are  shrewdly  out  of 
beef. 

Con.  Then  we  shall  find  to-morrow — they  have 
only  stomachs  to  eat,  and  none  to  fight.  Now  is  it 
lime  to  arm  :  Come,  shall  we  about  it?  [ten, 

Orl.  It  is  now  two  o'clock  •  but  let  me  see, — by 
We  shall  have  each  a  hundred  Englishmen.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 
Enter  Chorus, 
tho.  Now  entertain  conjecture  of  a  time. 
When  creeping  murmur,  and  the  poring  dark, 
li'ills  the  wide  vessel  of  the  universe. 
From  camp  to  camp,  through  the  foul  womb  of  night. 
The  htmi  of  either  army  stilly  sounds, 
Tiiat  the  fix'd  sentinels  almost  receive 
The  secret  vvhis{)ers  of  each  other's  watch  : 
Fire  answers  fire  ;  and  through  their  paly  flames 
ti^irh  battle  sees  the  other's  umber'd  face. 
Steed  threateiis  steed,  m  high  and  boastful  neij^hs. 


Piercing  the  night's  dull  ear  ;  and  from  the  teal 

The  armourers,  accomplishing  the  knights. 

With  busy  hanmiers  closing  rivets  up, 

Give  dreadful  note  of  preparation. 

The  country  cocks  do  crow,  the  clocks  do  toll. 

And  the  third  hour  of  drowsy  morning  name. 

Proud  of  their  numbers,  and  secure  in  soul. 

The  confident  and  over-lusty  French 

Do  the  low-rated  English  play  at  dice  ; 

And  chide  the  cripple  tardy-gaited  night, 

Who,  like  a  foul  and  ugly  witch,  doth  limp 

So  tediously  away.    The  poor  condemned  English 

Like  sacrifices,  by  their  watchful  fires 

Sit  patiently,  and  inly  ruminate 

The  morning's  danger ;  and  their  gesture  sad. 

Investing  lank-lean  cheeks,  and  war-worn  coats, 

Presenteth  them  unto  the  gazing  moon 

So  many  horrid  ghosts.    O,  now,  who  will  behold 

I'he  royal  captain  of  this  ruin'd  band. 

Walking  from  watch  to  watch,  from  tent  to  tent. 

Let  him  cry—  Praise  and  glory  on  his  head  ! 

For  forth  he  goes,  and  visits  all  his  host ; 

Bids  them  good-morrow,  with  a  modest  smile  ; 

And  calls  tnem — brothers,  friends,  and  country  me:; 

Upon  his  royal  face  there  is  no  note. 

How  dread  an  army  hath  enrounded  him ; 

Nor  doth  he  dedicate  one  jot  of  colour 

Unto  the  weary  and  all-watched  night : 

But  freshly  looks,  and  over-bears  attaint. 

With  cheerful  semblance  and  sweet  majesty; 

That  every  wretch,  pining  and  pale  before. 

Beholding  him,  plucks  comfort  from  his  looks  : 

A  largess  universal,  like  the  sun. 

His  liberal  eye  doth  give  to  every  one, 

Thawing  cold  fear.    Then,  mean  and  gentle  all. 

Behold,  as  may  unworthiness  define, 

A  little  touch  oi'  Harry  in  the  night : 

And  so  our  scene  must  to  the  battle  fly  ; 

Where,  (O  for  pity  !)  we  shall  much  disgrace— 

With  four  or  five  most  vile  and  ragged  foils. 

Right  ill  disposed,  in  brawl  ridiculous, — 

The  name  of  Agincourt:  Yet,  sit  and  see  ; 

Minding  true  things  by  what  their  mockeries  be. 

[E.xil- 

Scene  \. —The  English  Camp  at  Agincourt. 
Enter  King  Henry,  Bedford,  and  Gloster. 
K.  Hen.  Gloster,  'tis  true,  that  we  are  in  gn-af 
danger; 

The  greater  therefore  should  our  courage  be. — 
Good -morrow,  brother  Bedford. — God  Almighty  ! 
There  is  some  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil, 
Would  men  observingly  distill  it  out; 
For  our  bad  neighbour  makes  us  early  stirrers. 
Which  is  both  healthful,  and  good  husbandry  : 
Besides,  they  are  our  outward  consciences, 
And  preachers  to  us  all ;  admonishing, 
That  we  should  dress  us  fairly  for  our  end. 
Thus  may  we  gather  honey  from  the  weed, 
And  make  a  moral  of  the  devil  himself. 

Enter  Erpingham. 
Good-morrow,  old  sir  Thomas  Erpingham  : 
A  good  soft  pillow  for  that  good  white  head 
Were  better  than  a  churlish  turf  of  France. 

Erp.  Not  so,  my  liege ;  this  lodging  likes  me  !  u  f 
Since  I  may  say — now  lie  I  like  a  king.  [tt  i 

K.  Hen.  ''I'is  good  for  men  to  love  their  pr  s.  .i 
Upon  example;  so  the  spirit  is  eased  :  > 
And,  when  the  mind  is  quicken'd,  out  of  doi.lil, 
The  organs,  though  defunctand  dead  before, 
Break  up  their  drowsy  grave,  and  newly  n)o\  e 
With  casted  slough  and  fresh  legerity. 
Lend  me  thy  cloak,  sir  Thomas. —  Brothers  both, 
Commend  me  to  the  princes  in  our  camp: 
Do  my  good-morrow  to  them  :  and,  anon, 
Desire  them  all  to  my  pavilion. 

Glo.  We  shall,  my  liege.  [Exeunt  Qlc^nd  Bei/j 

Erp.  Shall  1  attend  your  grace  i* 

K.  Hen.  No.  nty  good  knijjlit, 


Scene  1. 


KING  HENRY  Y. 


S83 


Gro  with  my  brothers  to  my  lords  of  England  : 
I  and  my  bosom  must  debate  a  while, 
And  then  I  would  no  other  company. 

Erp.    The  lord  in  heaven  bless  thee,  noble  Harry  ! 

[Exit. 

K,  Hen.  God-a-mercy,  old  heart !  thou  speakest 
cheerfully. 

Enter  Pistol. 
Pist.  Quivala? 
K.  lien.  A  friend 

Pist.  Discuss  uuto  me  ;  art  thou  officer? 
Or  art  thou  base,  common  and  populai  ? 

K.  Hen.  I  am  a  gentleman  of  a  company. 

Pist.  'Frailest  thou  the  puissant  pike  ? 

K.  Hen.  Even  so  :  What  are  you  ? 

Pist.  As  good  a  gentleman  as  the  emperor. 

K.  Hen.  Then  you  are  better  than  the  king. 

Pist.  The  king  s  a  bawcock,  and  a  heart  of  gold, 
A  lad  of  life,  an  imp  of  fame  ; 
or  parents  good,  of  list  most  valiant: 
I  kiss  his  dirty  shoes,  and  from  my  heart-s<rings 
[  love  the  lovely  b  >lly.    What's  thy  name  ? 

K.  Hen.  Harry  'Roy. 

Pist.  he  Roy    \  Cornish  name :  art  thou  of 

Cornish  i  *w? 
K.  Hen.  No,  I .  n  a  Welshman. 
Pist.  Knovvest  ihou  Fluelien  ? 
K.  Hen.  Yes. 

Pist.  Tell  him,  I'll  knock  his  leek  about  his  pate. 
Upon  St.  Davy's  day. 

^L.  Hen.  Do  not  you  wear  your  dagger  in  your 
cap  that,  day,  lest  he  knock  that  about  yours. 

Pist.  Art  thou  his  friend? 

K.  Hen.  And  his  kinsman  too. 

Pist.  The  fiyo  for  thee  then  ! 

K.  Hen.  \  thank  you  :  God  be  with  you  ! 

Pist.  Mv  name  is  Pistol  called.  [Exit. 

K.  Hen.  It  sorts  well  with  your  fierceness. 
Enter  Fluellen  and  GowE*.-  severally. 

Goto.  Captain  Fluellen! 

Flu.  So  !  in  the  name  of  ChesYiti  Christ,  speak 
lower.  It  is  the  greatest  admiration  in  the  univer- 
sal old,  when  the  true  and  auncient  prerogatifes 
and  laws  of  tiie  wars  is  not  kept :  if  you  would  take 
the  {)aius  but  to  examine  the  wars  of  Pompey  the 
Great,  yo'i  shall  find,  I  warrant  you,  that  thei'e  is 
no  tiddle  taddle,  or  pibble  pabble,  in  Poinpey's 
camp;  I  warrant  you.  you  shall  find  the  ceremonies 
of  the  wars,  arid  the  cares  of  it,  and  tiie  forms  of  it, 
and  the  sobriety  of  it,  and  the  modesty  of  it,  to  be 
otherwise.  [all  night. 

Gow.  Why,  the  enemy  is  loud ;  you  heard  him 

Flu.  If  the  enemy  is  an  ass  and  a  fool,  and  a 
prating  coxcomb,  is  it  meet,  think  you,  that  we 
should  also,  look  you,  be  an  ass,  and  a  fool,  and  a 
prating  coxcomb  ;  in  your  own  conscience  now  ■* 

Goiv.  I  will  speak  lower. 

PIm.  I  pray  yoo  and  beseech  you,  that  yon  will. 

[Exeunt  Gower  and  Flueilen. 
K.  Hen.  Though  it  appear  a  little  out  of  fashion. 
There  is  much  care  and  valour  in  this  Welshman. 

Enter  Bates,  Court,  and  Williams. 
Court.  Brother  John  Bates,  is  not  that  the  morn- 
ng,  which  breaks  yonder? 
Bates.  5  think  it  be  :  but  we  have  no  great  cause 
desire  the  approach  of  day. 

Will.  We  see  yonder  the  beginning  of  the  day, 
ut,  I  think,  we  shall  never  see  the  end  of  it. — 
Who  goes  there  ? 
K.  Hen.  A  friend. 

Will.  Under  what  captain  serve  you  . 

K.  Hen.  Under  sir  Tiiomas  Erpingham. 

Will.  A  good  old  commander,  and  a  most  kind 
f^ntletnan  :  I  pray  you  wliat  thinks  he  of  our  estate  ? 

K.  Hen.  Evd'u  as  men  wrecked  upon  a  sand,  that 
look  to  be  washed  off  the  next  tide. 

Bater..  He  hatli  not  told  iiis  thought  to  the  king  ? 

K.  Hen,  No  •  nor  it  is  not  meet  he  should  For, 


though  I  speak  it  to  jou,  I  lliink,  the  king  is  bul  n 
man,  as  I  am:  the  violet  smells  to  him,  as  it  doth 
to  me;  the  element  shows  to  him,  as  it  doth  to  mei 
all  his  senses  have  but  human  conditions;  his  cere- 
monies laid  by,  in  his  nakedness  he  appears  but  a 
man  ;  and  though  his  affections  are  higher  mounted 
than  ours,  yet,  when  they  stoop,  they  stoop  with  the 
like  wing  ;  therefore,  when  he  sees  reason  of  fears., 
as  we  do,  his  fears,  out  of  doubt,  be  of  the  same 
relish  as  ours  are:  Yet,  in  reason,  no  man  should 
possess  him  with  any  appearance  of  fear,  lest  he, 
by  showing  it,  should  dishearten  his  army. 

Bates.  He  may  show  what  outward  courage  he 
will:  but,  I  believe,  as  cold  anight  as  'tis,  he  could 
wish  himself  in  the  Thames  up  to  the  neck  ;  and  so 
I  would  he  were,  and  I  by  him,  at  all  adventures, 
so  we  were  quit  here 

K.  Hen.  By  my  troth,  I  will  speak  ray  conscience 
of  the  king  ;  I  think,  he  would  not  wish  himsoW 
any  where  but  where  he  is. 

Bates.  Then,'would  he  were  here  alono ;  so  shoold 
he  be  sure  to  be  ransomed,  and  a  many  poor  men's 
lives  saved. 

K.  Hen.  I  dare  say,  you  love  him  not  so  ill,  to  wis'jj 
him  nere  alone;  howsoever  you  s  eak  this,  to  feel 
other  men's  minds:  Methinks,  I  could  n^t  die  any 
where  so  contented,  as  in  the  king's  company;  his 
cause  beingjust,  and  his  quarrel  honourable. 

Will.  That's  more  than  we  know. 

Bates.  Ay,  or  more  than  we  should  seek  after 
for  we  know  enough,  if  we  know  we  are  the  king's 
subjects  ;  if  his  cause  be  wrong,  our  obedience  to 
the  king  wipes  the  crime  of  it  ont  of  us. 

Will.  But,  if  the  cause  be  not  good,  the  king  him- 
self hath  a  heavy  reckoning  to  make  ;  when  all  those 
legs,  and  arms,  and  hands,  chopped  off  in  a  battle, 
shall  join  together  at  the  latter  day,  and  cry  all — 
We  died  at  such  place;  some,  s\\ earing;  some, 
crying  for  a  surgeon  ;  some,  upon  their  wives  left 
poor  behind  them  ;  some,  upon  the  debts  they  owe : 
some,  upon  their  children  rawly  left.  I  am  afeard 
there  are  few  die  well,  that  die  in  battle  ;  for  how 
can  they  charitably  dispose  of  any  thing,  when  blood 
is  their  argument  ?  Now,  if  these  nten  do  not  die 
well,  it  will  be  a  black  matter  for  the  king,  that  led 
them  to  it;  whom  to  disobey,  were  against  all  pro- 
portion of  subjection. 

K.  Hen.  So,  if  a  son,  that  is  by  his  father  sent 
about  merchandise,  do  sinfidly  miscarry  upon  the 
sea,  the  imputation  of  his  wickedness,  by  your  rules, 
should  be  imposed  upon  his  father,  that  sent  him  ; 
or  if  a  servant,  under  his  master's  command,  trans- 
porting a  sum  of  money,  be  assailed  by  robbers,  and 
die  in  many  irreconciled  iniquities,  you  may  call  the 
business  of  the  master  the  author  of  the  servant's 
damnation  : — But  this  is  not  so  :  the  king  is  not  bound 
to  answer  the  particular  endings  of  his  soldiers,  the 
father  of  his  son,  nor  the  master  of  his  servant;  for 
they  purpose  not  their  death,  when  thev  purpose 
their  services.  Besides,  there  is  no  king,  be  his 
cause  never  so  spotless,  if  it  come  to  the  arbitrement 
of  swords,  can  try  it  out  with  all  unspotted  soldiers. 
Some,  peradventure,  have  on  them  the  guilt  of  pre- 
medited  and  contrived  murders  ;  some,  of  beguiling 
virgins  with  the  broken  seals  of  perjury;  some,  mak- 
ing the  wars  their  bulwark,  that  have  before  gored 
the  gentle  bosom  of  peace  with  pillage  and  robbery 
Now,  if  these  men  have  defeated  the  law,  and  outrun 
native  punishment,  though  they  can  outstrip  men, 
they  have  no  wings  to  fly  from  God ;  war  is  his 
beadle,  war  is  his  vengeance  ;  so  that  here  men  are 
punished,  for  before-breach  of  the  king's  laws,  in  now 
the  king's  quarrel ;  where  they  feared  the  death,  they 
have  borne  life  away  ;  and,  where  they  would  be 
safe,  they  perish.  Then  if  they  die  unprovided,  ne 
more  is  the  king  guilty  of  their  damnation,  than  he 
was  before  guilty  of  those  impieties  for  the  which 
they  are  now  visited.  Every  subject's  duty  is  the 
king's  ;  but  every  subject's  soul  is  l:is  own.  There- 
fore should  every  soldier  in  the  wars  do  as  every  sick 


384r  KING  HENRY  V 


man  in  his  bed,  wash  every  mote  put  of  his  con- 
hcience  :  aud  dying  so,  death  is  to  him  advantage  ; 
or  not  dying,  the  time  was  blessedly  lost,  wherein 
•uch  preparation  was  gained  :  and  in  him  that  es- 
capes, it  were  not  sin  to  think,  that  making  God  so 
free  an  offer,  he  let  him  outlive  that  day  to  see  his 
greatness,  and  to  teach  others  how  they  should 
prepare. 

IFill.  "  Tis  certain,  every  man  that  dies  ill,  the 
ill  is  upon  his  own  head,  the  king  is  not  to  answer 
"->r  it. 

Bates.  I  do  not  desire  he  should  answer  for  me  ; 
and  yet  I  determine  to  fight  lustily  for  him. 

K.  Hen.  I  myself  heard  the  king  say,  he  would 
not  be  ransomed. 

Will.  Ay,  he  said  so,  to  make  us  fight  cheerfiiiiy  : 
but,  when  our  throats  are  cut,  he  may  be  ransofjied, 
and  we  ne'er  the  wiser.  [vvordaiter. 

K.  Hen.  If  I  live  to  see  it,  I  will  never  trust  his 

Will.  '  Mass,  you'll  pay  him  then  !  Tint's  a  -'erii- 
ous  shot  out  of  an  elder  gun,  a  poor  and  private 
displeasure  can  do  against  a  monarch !  you  may  as 
well  go  about  to  turn  the  sun  to  ice,  with  fanning  in 
his  face  with  a  peacock's  leather.  You'll  never 
trust  his  word  after  i  come,   tis  a  foolish  paying. 

K.  Hen.  Your  reproof  is  something  too  round ; 
1  should  be  angry  with  you,  if  the  time  were  con- 
venient. 

Will.  Let  it  be  a  quarrel  between  us,  if  you  live. 

K.  Hen.  I  embrace  it. 

Will.  How  shall  I  know  thee  again  ? 

K.  Hen.  Give  me  any  gage  of  thine,  and  I  will 
wear  it  in  my  bonnet:  then,  if  ever  thou  darest  ac- 
knowledge it,  I  will  make  it  my  quarrel. 

Will.  Here's  my  glove  ;  give  me  another  of  thine. 

/T.  Hew.  There. 

Will.  'IWa  will  I  also  wear  in  my  cap ;  if  ever 
£3iou  come  to  me  and  say,  after  to-morrow.  This  is 
my  glove,  by  this  hand,  I  will  take  the.e  a  box  on 
the  ear. 

K.  Hen.  If  ever  I  live  to  see  it,  I  will  challenge  it. 

Will.  Thou  darest  as  well  be  hanged. 

K.  Hen.  Well,  I  will  do  it,  though  J  take  thee  in 
the  king's  company. 

Will.  Keep  thy  word  :  fare  thee  well. 

Bates.  Be  friends,  you  English  fools,  be  friends  : 
we  have  French  quarrels  enough,  if  you  could  tell 
how  to  reckon. 

K.  Hen.   Indeed,  the  French  may  lay  twenty 
French  crowns  to  one,  they  will  beat  us  ;  for  they 
bear  them  on  their  shoulders  :  But  it  is  no  English 
treason,  to  cut  French  crowns  ;  and,  to-morrow,  the 
king  himself  will  be  a  clipper.     [Exeunt  Soldiers. 
Upon  the  king  !  let  us  our  lives,  our  souls, 
Our  debts,  our  careful  wives,  our  children,  and 
Our  sins,  lay  on  the  king  ; — we  must  bear  all. 
O  hard  condition  !  twin-born  with  greatness, 
Subjected  to  the  breath  of  every  fool, 
Whose  sense  no  more  can  feel  but  his  own  wringing! 
What  infinite  heart's  ease  must  kings  neglect. 
That  private  men  enjoy  ? 

And  what  have  kings,  that  privates  have  not  too, 
Save  ceremony,  save  general  ceremony  ? 
And  what  art  thou,  thou  idol  ceremony  ? 
What  kind  of  god  art  thou,  that  sufier'st  more 
Of  mortal  griefs,  than  do  thy  worshippers  ? 
What  are  thy  rents  ?  what  are  thy  comings-in  ? 
O  ceremony,  show  me  but  thy  worth  ! 
What  is  the  soul  of  adoration? 
Alt  thou  aught  else  but  place,  degree,  and  form, 
treating  awe  and  fear  in  other  men  ? 
Wlierein  thou  art  less  happy,  being  fear'd 
T\v,m  they  in  fearing. 

What  drink'st  thou  oft,  instead  of  homage  sweet. 

But  poison'd  flattery  ?  O,  be  sick,  great  greatness, 

And  bid  tliy  ceremony  give  thee  cure  ! 

Think'st  thou,  the  fisry  fever  will  go  out 

With  titles  blown  iVoin  adalation  ? 

Vv  ill  it  give  place  to  flexure  aiul  low  bending  ? 

Cttust  thou,  when  thou  command'st  the  btggur  s  kuee. 


Act  IV. 


Command  the  health  of  it?  Nc,,  fhonpruud  dr.  am 

That  piayst  so  subtly  with  a  king's  repose  ; 

I  am  a  kmg,  that  find  thee  ;  aud  I  know, 

'Tis  not  the  balm,  the  sceptre,  and  the  ball. 

The  sword,  the  mace,  the  crown  imperial, 

Tlie  enter-tissued  robe  of  gold  and  pearl. 

The  farced  title  running  'fore  the  kmg. 

The  throne  he  sits  on,  nor  the  tide  oi'  pomp 

That  beats  upon  the  high  shore  of  this  world. 

No,  not  all  these,  thrice-gorgeous  ceremoi  y. 

Not  all  these,  laid  in  bed  majestical, 

Can  sleep  so  soundly  as  the  wretched  slave; 

Who  with  a  body  fill'd,  and  vacant  mind, 

Gets  him  to  rest,  cramm'd  with  distrt-ssfui  in  eud  ; 

Never  sees  horr.d  night,  the  child  of  heli  : 

But,  like  a  lackey,  trom  the  rise  to  set, 

Sweats  in  the  eye  of  Phoebus,  and  all  night 

Sleeps  in  Elysium  ;  next  day,  after  dawn. 

Doth  rise,  and  help  Hyperion  to  his  horse , 

And  ibllows  so  the  ever-running  year 

With  profitable  labour,  to  his  grave  : 

And,  but  for  ceremony,  such  a  wretch, 

Wmding  up  days  with  toil,  and  nights  withf'eep, 

Had  the  fore-hand  and  vantage  of  a  king. 

The  slave,  a  member  of  the  country's  peace. 

Enjoys  it ;  but  in  gross  brain  little  wots, 

Wiiat  watch  the  king  keeps  to  maintain  the  peace. 

Whose  hours  the  peasant  best  advantages. 

Enter  Erpinciiam. 
Erp.  My  lord,  your  nobles,  jealous  of  your  ab 
Seek  through  your  camp  to  find  you.  [sence 

K.  Hen.  Good  old  knight 

Collect  them  all  together  at  my  tent; 
I'll  be  before  thee. 

Erp.  I  shall  do't,  my  lord.  [Exii 

K.  Hen.  O  God  of  battles !  steel  my  soldie  a' 
hearts  ! 

Possess  them  not  with  fear  ;  take  from  them  no"^ 
The  sense  of  reckoning,  if  the  opposed  numbere 
Pluck  tlieir  hearts  from  them  .'—Not  to-day,  O  \jOii\ 

0  not  to  day,  think  not  upon  the  fault 
My  father  made  in  compassing  the  crown! 

1  Ricliard's  body  have  interred  new  ; 

And  on  it  have  bestow'd  more  contrite  tears, 
Thau  from  it  issued  forced  drops  of  blood. 
Five  hundred  poor  I  have  in  yearly  pay, 
Who  twice  a  day  their  wither'd  hands  hold  up 
Toward  iieaven,  to  pardon  blood;  and  I  have  built 
Two  chantries,  where  the'  sad  and  solemn  priests 
Sing  still  for  Richard's  soul.    More  will  I  do  ; 
Though  all  that  I  can  do,  is  nothing  worth ; 
Since  that  my  penitence  comes  alter  all. 
Imploring  pardon. 

Enter  Gloster. 

Glo.  My  liege! 

K.  Hen.        My  brother  Gloster's  voice  ?■ — Ay 
I  know  thy  errand,  I  will  go  with  thee  : — 
The  day,  my  friends,  and  all  things  stay  for  me. 

[  Eveunt. 

Scene  11.— The  French  Camp. 
Enter  Dauphin,  Orleans,  Rambukes,  a)id  others. 
Orl.  The  sun   doth   gild  our  armour ;  up,  my 

lords.  [quay  !  ha  I 

Dau.  Montez  a  cheval : — My  horse  !  valet  !  lac- 
Orl.  O  brave  spirit ! 
Dau.  Via  !  les  eaux  et  la  terre — 
Orl.  Rien  puis  ?  I  air  et  le  feu — 
Dau.  del  1  cousin  Orleans. — 

Enter  Constable, 
Now,  my  lord  Constable  I 

Con.  Hark,  how  our  steeds  for  present  service 
neigh.  .  [hides; 

Dau.  Miiuiit  thein,  and  make  incision   in  theil 
That  tiieirhot  blood  may  spin  in  English  eyes. 
And  duut  them  with  sui/eriiuous  courage  ;  Hal 


Scene  3. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


385 


Ham.   What,   will  you  have  them  weep  our 
horses'  blood  ? 
How  shall  we  then  behold  their  natural  tears? 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  The  English  are  embattled,  you  French 
peers.  [horse! 
Con.  To  horse,  yoii  gallant  princes !  straight  to 
Do  but  behold  you  poor  and  starved  band. 
And  your  fair  show  shall  suck  away  their  souls, 
Leaving  them  but  the  shales  and  husks  of  men. 
There  is  not  work  enough  for  all  our  hands  ; 
Scarce  blood  enough  in  all  their  sickly  veins. 
To  give  each  naked  curtle-ax  a  stain, 
I'hat  our  French  gallants  shall  to-day  draw  out, 
And  sheath  for  lack  of  sport :  let  us  but  blow  on 
them, 

The  vapour  of  our  valour  will  o'erturn  them 

'  Tis  positive  '  gainst  all  exceptions,  lords. 

That  our  superfluous  lackeys,  and  oar  peasants, — 

Who,  in  unnecessary  action,  swarm 

About  our  squares  of  battle, — were  enough 

To  purge  this  field  of  such  a  hilding  foe  ; 

Though  we,  upon  this  mountain's  basis  by. 

Took  stand  for  idle  speculation  : 

But  that  our  honours  must  not.    What's  to  say  ? 

A  very  little  little  let  us  do, 

And  all  is  done.    Then  let  the  trumpets  sound 

The  tucket-sonnance,  and  the  note  to  mount : 

For  our  approach  shall  so  much  dare  the  field, 

That  England  shall  couch  down  in  fear,  and  yield. 

Enler  Grandphs. 
Grand.  Why  do  you  stay  so  long,  my  lords  of 
France  ? 

Von  island  carrions,  desperate  of  their  bones, 

I'll  favour'dly  become  tlie  morning  field  : 

Their  ragged  curtains  poorly  are  let  loose, 

And  our  air  shakes  them  passing  scornfully. 

Big  Mars  seems  bankrupt  in  their  beggar'd  host. 

An']  faintly  thraugli  a  rusty  beaver  peeps. 

Their  horsemen  sit  like  fixed  candlesticks. 

With  torch-staves  in  their  hand  ;  and  their  poor  jades 

Lob  down  their  heads,  dropping  the  hides  and  hips  ; 

The  gum  down-roping  from  their  pale-dead  eyes; 

And  in  their  pale  dull  mouths  the  gimmal  bit 

Lies  foul  with  chewed  grass,  still  and  motionless; 

And  their  executors,  the  knavish  crows, 

Fly  o'er  them  all,  impatient  for  their  hour. 

Dv>,scription  cannot  suit  itself  in  words. 

To  demonstrate  the  life  of  such  a  battle 

In  life  so  lifeless  as  it  shows  itself. 

Con.  They  have  said  their  prayers,  and  they  stay 
tor  death.  [suits, 

Dau.  Shall  we  go  send  them  dinners,  and  IVesli 
And  give  tlieir  fasting  horses  provender. 
And  after  fight  with  them  ? 

Con.  I  stay  but  for  my  guard ;  On,  to  the  field  : 
I  will  the  banner  from  a  trumpet  take. 
And  use  it  for  my  haste.    Come,  come  away  ! 
:  The  sun  is  high,  and  we  outwear  the  day.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IIL — The  English  Camp. 
Enter  the  Enqlish  Host;  Gloster,  Bedford, 
1    Exeter,  Salisbury,  and  Westmoreland. 
Qlo.  Where  is  the  king? 

Bsd.  The  king  himself  is  rode  to  view  their  bat- 
tle, [tliousand. 
West.  Of  fighting  men  they  have  full  threescore 
Exe.  There's  five  to  one ;  besides,  they  all  are 
fresh. 

Sal.  God's  arm  strike  with  us  !  'tis  a  fearful  odds. 
God  be  wi'  you,  princes  all ;  I'll  to  my  churge ; 
If  we  no  more  meet,  lill  we  meet  in  heaven, 
■Then,  joyfully, — my  noble  lord  of  Bedford, — 
iMy  dear  lord  (jloster, — and  niy  good  lord  Exeter, — 
!And  my  kind  kinsman, — warriors  all,  adieu  ! 

Bed.  Farewell,  good  Salisbury  ;  and  good  luck 
go  with  thee. 

1   Exe  Farewell,  kind  lord;  fight  valiantly  to  day: 


And  yet  I  do  thee  vrrong,  to  mind  thefi  of  ii. 
For  thou  art  fram'd  of  the  firm  truth  o<  valonr. 

[lUxit  Salu-Hsry 

Bed.  He  is  as  full  of  valour,  as  of  kindness : 
Princely  in  both. 

West.  O  that  we  now  had  hert 

Enter  King  Henry. 

But  one  ten  thousand  of  those  men  in  England, 
That  do  no  work  to-day ! 

K.  Hen.  What's  he  that  wishes  so  ? 

My  cousin  Westmoreland  ? — No,  my  fair  cousin: 
If  we  are  marked  to  die,  we  are  enough 
To  do  our  country  loss  ;  and  if  to  live, 
The  fewer  men,  the  greater  share  of  honour. 
God's  will!  I  pray  thee,  wish  not  one  man  mo  o  ' 
By  Jove,  1  am  not  covetous  for  gold  ; 
Nor  care  1,  who  doth  feed  upon  my  cost ; 
It  yearns  me  not,  if  men  my  garments  wear; 
Such  outward  things  dwell  not  in  my  desires: 
But,  if  it  be  a  sin  to  covet  honour, 
I  am  the  most  oiSending  soul  alive. 
No,  'faith,  my  coz,  wish  not  a  man  from  England 
God's  peace  !  I  would  not  lose  so  great  an  honour, 
As  one  man  more,  methinks.  would  share  from  me, 
For  the  best  hope  I  have     O  do  not  wish  ooe 
more : 

Rather  proclaim  it,  Westmoreland,  through  my  hofst. 
That  he,  who  hath  no  stomach  to  this  fight, 
liet  him  depart ;  his  passport  shall  be  made, 
And  crowns  for  convoy  put  into  his  purse  : 
We  would  not  die  in  that  man's  company. 
That  fears  his  fellowship  to  die  with  us. 
This  day  is  call'd — the  feast  of  Crisj)ian  :       ■  " 
He,  that  outlives  this  day,  and  comes  safe  home. 
Will  stand  a  tip-toe  when  this  day  is  nam'd. 
And  rouse  him  at  the  name  of  Crispian. 
He,  that  shall  live  this  day,  and  see  old  age. 
Will  yearly  on  the  vigil  feast  his  friends. 
And  say — to-morrow  is  Saint  Crispian  : 
Then  will  he  strip  his  sleeve,  and  show  his  scars. 
And  say,  these  wounds  I  had  on  Crispian's  day. 
Old  men  forget ;  yet  all  shall  be  forgot. 
But  he'll  remember,  with  advantages, 
What  feats  he  did  that  day:  Then  shall  our  names. 
Familiar  in  their  mouths  as  household  words, — 
Harry  the  king,  Bedford,  and  Exeter, 
Warwick  and  Talbot,  Salisbury  and  Gloster, — 
Be  in  their  flowing  cups  freshly  remember'd  : 
This  story  shall  the  good  man  teach  his  son  ; 
And  Crispin  Crispian  shall  ne'er  go  by, 
From  this  day  to  the  ending  of  the  world. 
But  we  in  it  shall  be  remember'd: 
We  few,  we  happy  few,  we  band  of  brothers  , 
For  he  to-day  that  sheds  his  blood  with  me 
Shall  be  my  brother  ;  be  he  ne'er  so  vile, 
This  day  shall  gentle  his  condition  : 
And  gentlemen  in  England,  now  a-bed. 
Shall  think  themselves  accurs'd,  they  were  ao4 
here ; 

And  hold  their  manhoods  cheap,  while  any  speak, 
That  fought  with  us  upon  Saint  Crispian's  day. 

Enter  Salisbury. 

Sal.  My  sovereign  lord,  bestow  yourself  w?tb 
speed : 

The  French  are  bravely  in  their  battles  set. 
And  will  with  all  expedience  charge  on  us. 

K.  Hen.  Al'  things  are  ready,  if  our  minds  be  so. 
West.  Perish  the  man,  whose  nu'nd  is  backward 
now !  [England,  cousin.? 

K.  Hen.  Thou  dost  not  wish  more  help  from 
TV  est.  God's  will,  my  liege,  would  you  and  ] 
alone. 

Without  more  help,  might  fight  this  battle  out  I 
K.  Hen.   Why,   now  thou  hast  unwish'd  fiv^ 
thousand  men; 
Which  likes  me  better,  than  to  wish  us  one  — 
You  know  your  places ;  God  be  with  you  aiji 
'lb 


386 

1hsck«t.    Enter  Montjot. 

McmS,  Once  more  I  come  to  know  of  thee,  king 
Harry,  ' 
If  for  thy  raiisoine  thon  wilt  now  compound. 
Before  thy  most  assured  overthrow  : 
For,  certainly,  thou  art  so  near  tlie  gulf, 
""hoii  needs  ir.ust  be  engliitted.    Besides,  in  mercy, 
e  Constable  desires  thee — thon  wilt  mind 
y  followers  of  repentance  ;  that  their  souls 
y  make  a  peaceful  and  a  sweet  letire 
o'm  olF  these  fields,  where  (wretches)  their  poor 
nst  lie  and  fester.  '  [bodies 

K.  Hen.  Who  hath  sent  thee  now  ? 

Mont.  The  Constable  of  France.  [back  ; 

K.  Hen.    I  pray  thee,  bear  my  former  answer 
d  them  achieve  me,  and  then  sell  my  bones. 
GoodGi-d!  why  should  they  mock  |)Oor  fellows 
The  man,  tiiat  once  did  sell  tlie  lion's  skm       [thus  ? 
While  the  beast  iiv'd,  waskili'd  with  hunting  liim. 
A  t)iariy  of  our  bodies  shall,  no  doubt, 
Find  native  p,raves  :  upon  the  which,  I  trust, 
Sliall  witness  live  in  brass  of  this  day's  work  : 
And  those,  that  leave  their  \aliant  bones  in  France, 
Dying  like  m^n,  though  buried  in  your  dimghills, 
'I'liey  sliall  be  fam'd  :  for  there  the  sun  sliall  greet 
them. 

And  'iraw  their  honours  reeking  up  to  heaven ; 
Leaving  their  earthly  parts  to  choke  your  clime, 
'I'he  smell  whereof  shall  breed  a  |  lague  in  France. 
Mark  then  a  bounding  valour  in  our  English  ; 
'J'hat,  b'-in;.;  dead,  like  to  th-^  bullet's  grazing, 
lirejik  .)ut  into  a  second  course  of  mischief. 
Killing  in  relapse  of  mortality. 
Let  me  s^ieak  proudly  ; — Tell  the  Constable, 
VVV  are  but  warriors  for  the  working-day  : 
Our  gayiiess,  and  our  gilt,  are  all  besmirch'^ 
With  rainy  marching  in  the  painful  field  ; 
Thert-'s  not  a  piece  of  feather  in  our  host, 
Good  argument,  I  hope,  we  shall  not  fly,) 
And  time  hath  worn  us  into  slovenry  : 
But,  by  the  mass,  our  hearts  are  in  the  trim  : 
And  my  poor  soldiers  tell  me — yet  ere  night 
They'll  be  in  iresher  robes;  or  they  will  pluck 
T!ye  5fay  nevv  coats  o'er  the  French  soldiers'  heads^ 
And  turn  then»  out  of  service.    If  they  do  this. 
As,  if  God  please,  they  shall,)  my  ransome  (hen 
iVill  soon  be  levied.  Herald,  save  thou  thy  labour; 
Come  thou  no  more  for  ransome,  gentle  herald  ; 
They  shall  have  none,  I  swear,  but  these  my  joints: 
Which  if  they  have  as  I  will  leave  'em  to  them, 
Shall  yield  them  little,  tell  the  Constable. 

Mont.  I  shall,  king  Harry.  And  so  fare  thee  well : 
Thou  never  slialt  hear  herald  any  more.  [Exit. 

K.  Hen.  I  fear,  thou'lt  once  more  come  again  for 
ransome. 

Enter  the  Duke  of  York. 
York.  My  lord,  most  humbly  on  my  knee  I  beg 
The  leading  of  the  vavvard. 
K.  Hen.  Take  it,  brave  York. — Now,  soldiers, 
march  away  : — 
And  how  thou  pleasest,  God,  dispose  the  day! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  lY.—T/ie  Field  of  Battle. 

Alarums.    Excur.<>io7is.    Enter  French  Soldier, 
Pistol,  a7id  Hoy. 

Pist.  Yield,  cur. 

Fr.  Sol.  Je  pense,  que  vous  estes  le  gentilhomme 
de  bonne  qualite. 

Pist.  Q  lality,  call  yon  me? — Construe  me,  art 
thou  a  gentleman  ?  What  is  thy  name  ?  discuss. 

Fr.  Sol.  0  seigneur  Dieu  ! 

Pvit.  O  signieur  Dew  should  be  a  gentleman  : — 
Perpend  my  wiirds,  O  signieur  Dew,  and  mark  ; — 
O  sifriieiir  Dew,  tliou  dieston  point  of  fox, 

i..c|)l  O  signieur,  thou  do  give  to  me 
Eg^'egiuus  ransome.  [moy  ! 

Fr  ^i'ji.  O,  jjrenez  misericorde  !  ayez  pitie  de 


Act  IY 

Pist.  Moy  ahall  not  serve,  1  will  have  forty  moys 
For  I  will  fetch  thy  rim  out  at  thy  throat, 
In  drops  of  crimson  blood.  [de  tonhratf 

Fr.  Sol.  Est  il  impossible  d'eschapper  la  foro9 

Pist.  Brass,  cur  ! 
Thou  damned  and  luxurious  monntain  goat, 
Olfer'st  me  brass  ? 

Fr.  Sol.  0  pardonnez  moy  - 

Pist.  Say'sl  thou  me  so?  is  that  a  ton  of  moys  ? 
Come  hither,  boy  ;  Ask  me  this  slave  in  French, 
Wiiat  is  his  name. 

Boy.  Escoutez  :  Comment  estes  vous  appelle  ? 

Fr.  Soi.  Monsieur  le  Fer. 

Boy.  He  says,  his  name  is — master  Fer. 

Pist.  iMaster  Fer  !  I'll  fer  him,  and  firk  him, 
and  ferret  him  : — discuss  the  same  in  French  unto 
him.  [and  6rk. 

Boy.  I  do  not  know  the  French  for  fer,  and  terret, 

Pist.  Bid  him  {;rei)are,  for  1  will  cut  liis  throat. 

Fr.  Sol.  Que  dit-il.  ?nonsieur  ? 

Boy.  II  me  commande  de  vous  dire  que  voua 
faifes  vous  prest ;  car  ce  soldat  icy  est  dispose 
tout  a  cette  neure  de  covper  i)ostre  gorge. 

Pist.  Ouy,  couper  gorge,  par  nia  foy,  pesant. 
Unless  thou  give  me  crowns,  brave  crowns  ; 
Or  mangled  shalt  thou  be  by  this  my  sword, 

Fr.  Sol.  0,  je  vous  supplie  pour  lamour  dt 
Dieu,  me  pardonner!  Je  suis  gentilhomme  de 
bonne  maison  ;  gardez  ma  vie,  et  je  vous  donnerai 
deux  cents  ecus. 

Pist.  What  are  his  words  ? 

Boy.  He  prays  you  to  save  his  life  :  he  is  a  gen- 
tleman oi"  a  good  house;  and,  for  his  ransom*,  he 
will  give  you  two  hundred  crowns. 

Pist.  Teli  him, — my  fury  shall  abate,  and  I 
The  crowns  will  take. 

Fr.  Sol.  Petit  monsieur,  que  dit-il? 

Boy.  Encore  qu'il  est  contre  son  jurement,  de 
pardonner  aucun  p>risonnier ;  neantmoins,  pour 
les  escus  que  vous  tccvez  promts,  il  est  content  de 
vous  donner  la  liberte,  le  franchisement. 

Fr  Sold.  Sur  mes  genoux,  je  vous  donne  mille 
remerciemens  :  et  je  m'estime  heureux  que  je  suis 
tombe  entre  les  mains  d  un  chevalier,  je  pense,  le 
plus  brave,  valiant,  et  tres  distingue  seigneur 
d'Angleterre. 

Pist.  Ex{)0Hnd  unto  me,  boy. 

Boy.  He  gives  you,  upon  his  kness,  a  thousand 
thanks;  and  he  esteems  himself  happy  that  he  hath 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  (as  he  thinks)  the  most  brave, 
valorous,  and  trice-worthy  signieur  of  England. 

Pist.  As  I  suck  blood,  I  will  some  mercy  show.— 
Follow  me,  cur  [Exit  Pistol 

Boy.  Suivez  vous  le  grand  capitaine. 

[Exit  French  S tidier. 
I  did  never  know  so  full  a  voice  issue  liom  so 
empty  a  heart :  but  the  saying  is  true, — 'j'he  empty 
vessel  makes  the  greatest  sound.  Bardolph,  and 
Nym,  had  ten  times  more  valour  than  this  roaring 
devil  i'the  old  play,  that  every  one  may  pare  hia 
nails  with  a  wooden  dagger;  and  they  are  both 
hanged  ;  and  so  would  this  be,  if  he  durst  steal  any 
thirg  adventurously.  I  must  stay  with  the  lackeys, 
wi'il  the  luggage  of  o'lr  camp:  the  French  might 
h-j\e  a  good  prey  of  us,  if  he  knew  of  it;  for  there  is 
none  to  guard  it,  but  boys.  [Exit> 
Scene  Y.— Another  Part  of  the  Field  of  Battle. 
Alarums.  Enter  Dauphin,  Orleans,  Bourbon, 
Constable,  Rambukes,  "a«Q?  others. 

Con.  Odiable!  [perdu! 

Orl.   0  seignetir ! — le  jour  est  perdu,  tout  est 

Dau.  Mort  de  ma  vief&W  is  conlounded,  all ! 
Reproach  and  everlasting  shame 
Sits  mocking  in  our  plumes.— 0  mescha^ite fortune \ 
Do  not  run  away.  {A  shurt  alarum.) 

Ccn.  Why,  all  our  ranks  are  broke. 

Dau.  O  perdurable  shame  !— let's  stab  ourselves. 
Be  tiHse  the  wretcnes  that  we  play'datdice  for? 

Oi-}  Is  this  the  king  we  sent  to  for  his  ransome  ? 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Scene  7. 


KING  HENRY  V 


88T 


Bour,  Shame   and  eternal  shame,  noth:EJg-  but 
snaiiie  . 

Let  n*<iie  instant:  Once  moie  bnck  .isain  ; 
And  he  tliat  will  not  follow  Boui  boa  now, 
Lot  hiiJi  go  lietice,  and,  with  liiscaj.)  in  hand, 
Like  a  base  t>audtr,  bold  the  chamber-door. 
Whilst  by  a  slave,  no  gentler  tlian  my  dog^. 
His  t'airest  d  uighter  is  confaiiunute. 

C\)U  Disorder,  tliat  hath  spoil  d  ns,  fiii  nd  us  now  ! 
Let  lis.  in  ht-ajjs,  go  ollVr  up  our  lives 
Unto  these  English,  or  else  die  with  lame. 

Orl.  We  are  eno  g  i,  yet  living  in  the  tifdd. 
To  smother  up  the  linglisii  in  onr  flirongs, 
li  any  order  might  be  tiu>tii;lit  iijjon.  [throng  ; 

hour.  The  devil  take  order  now  1  I'll  to  the 
Let  life  be  short;  else,  shame  will  be  too  long. 

^Exeunt. 

Scene  VI.— Another  Part  of  the  Field. 
Altrunis.    Enter  Kimj  Henky  and  Forces  ;  ExE- 
TEK,  and  others. 

K.  Hen.    Well    have  we  done,  thrice- valiant 
conntrytnen  : 
But  all's  tint  done,  yet  keep  the  French  the  field. 

Exe.  The  fluke  of  Y'ork  commends  him  to  your 
majesty.  [this  \\our, 

K.Han.    Lives  he,  good  uncle?  thrice,  within 
{  saw  him  down  ;  thrice  up  again,  and  hghting; 
From  helmet  to  the  spur,  all  blood  he  was. 

Exe.  In  which  array,  (brave  soldier,)  doth  he  lie. 
Larding  the  plain:  and  by  his  bloody  side, 
fYoke-fellovv  to  h  s  honour-owing  vyounds,) 
The  noble  earl  of  SulFolk  also  lies. 
fjuiTolk  first  died:  and  York,  all  haggled  over, 
Comes  to  him,  where  in  gore  he  lay  insteep'd. 
And  takes  him  by  the  beard ;  kisses  tiie  gashes, 
That  l)ioodily  did  yawn  upon  iiis  i;u  e  ; 
And  criea  aloud. —  Tarry,  dear  cousin  Suffolk  i 
My  soul  shall  thine  keep^  company  to  heaven  : 
Tarry,  aiveet  soul,  for  mine,  then  Jit/,  a-b  reast : 
As.  in  this  yturioas  and  well-JouyJicen  feldf 
TVe  kept  toytther  in  our  chivalry  I 
Upon  lii-se  woids  I  came,  and  cheer'd  him  up  . 
He  smii'd  me  in  tiie  face,  raught  me  his  hand, 
And,  with  a  feeble  gripe,  says — Dear  my  lord. 
Commend  my  service  to  my  sovereign  I 
So  did  he  turn,  and  over  Siitiotk's  neck 
kle  threw  his  wounded  arm  and  kiss'd  his  lips  ; 
And  so.  espous'd  to  death,  with  blood  he  seal'd 
A  testament  of  noble-ending  li)\  e. 
The  pretly  and  svvetit  manner  of  it  forc'd 
Tliose  waters  from  me,  which  I  would  have stopp'd  ; 
But  I  kid  not  so  much  of  man  in  me, 
But  all  my  motiier  came  into  my  eyes, 
And  gave  me  up  to  tears. 

/\.  Hen.  I  blame  you  not ; 

For,  hearing  this,  I  must  perforce  compound 
With  mistful  eyes,  or  they  will  issue  too. — {Alarum.) 
But,  hark  !  what  new  alarum  is  this  same  V — 
The  French  have  reinforc'd  their  scatter'd  men: — 
Then  every  soldier  kill  his  prisoners  ; 
Give  the  w<»rd  through.  [Exeunt, 
Scene  Vi  l. — Another  Part  of  the  Field, 
Alarums.    Enter  Fluellen  and  GowER. 

Flu.  Kill  the  fxiysand  the  luggage  !  "tis  expressly 
ngaiiist  the  law  of  arms :  "tis  as  arrant  a  piece  of 
kna 'cry,  mark  you  now,  as  can  be  offered  in  the 
'orld  :  In  your  conscience  now,  is  it  not? 

(tow.  'Vis  certain,  there's  not  a  boy  left  alive; 
and  the  cowardly  rascals,  that  ran  from  the  battle, 
havt*  done  this  slaughter:  besides,  they  have  burned 
and  carried  away  all  that  was  in  the  king's  tent: 
wherefore  the  king,  most  worthily,  hath  caused 
^very  soldier  to  cut  his  prisoner's  throat.  O,  'tis  a 
gallant  king  ! 

Flu.  Ay,  he  was  poru  at  Montmouth,  captain 
Govver:  What  call  you  the  town's  name,  wiiere 
Alexander  the  pig  was  porn? 

Goto,  Ale.\ander  the  great 


Fi'tc.  Why,  I  pray  you,  is  not  pig,  great?  Th« 
pig,  or  (he  great,  or  the  mighty,  or  tne  nuge,  or  thf 
magnanimous,  are  all  one  reckonings,  save  the 
phrase  is  a  littU-  variations. 

Goiv.  I  think,  Alexander  the  great  was  bom  in 
Macedon  ;  liis  lather  was  called  Phiiipof  Maccdofi, 
as  I  take  it. 

Flic.  1  ffiink,  it  is  in  Macedon.  where  AlesEnder 
is  porn,  i  tell  you,  capt:iin, — If  you  look  in  the 
maps  of  the  'orld,  I  warrant,  you  shall  find,  in  tha 
comparisons  between  Macedon  and  Monmouth,  thai 
tlie  situations,  look  you,  is  botli  alike.  There  is  a 
river  in  Macedon  ;  and  there  is  also  moreover  a  river 
at  Moniriouti)  :  it  is  called  Wye,  at  Monmouth;  but 
it  is  out  of  my  prains,  what  is  the  name  of  the  other 
river  :  but  'tis  all  one,  'tis  so  like  as  my  fingers  is  to 
my  fingers,  and  there  is  salmons  in  both.  If  yoti 
mark  Alexander  s  life  well,  Harry  <if Monmouth's  life 
is  come  alter  it  indifferent  well ;  for  there  is  figures 
in  all  things.  Alexander  (God  knows,  and  you 
know,)  in  liis  rages,  and  his  furies,  and  his  wraths^ 
and  his  cholers,  and  his  moods,  and  his  displeasures, 
and  his  indignations,  and  al.so  being  a  little  intoii^ 
cates  in  his  prains,  did,  in  his  ales  and  his  angers, 
look  you,  kill  his  pest  I'riend,  Clytus. 

Goic.  Our  king  is  not  like  him  in  that;  he  never 
killed  atiy  of  liis  friends. 

Flu.  It  is  not  well  done,  mark  yon  now,  to  take 
tales  out  of  my  mouth,  ere  it  is  made  an  end  and 
finished.  I  speak  but  in  the  figures  and  compari 
sons  of  it:  As  Alexander  is  kill  his  friend  Clytus, 
being  in  his  ales  and  his  cups  ;  so  also  Harry  Mon- 
mouth, being  in  his  right  wits  and  his  goot  judg- 
ments, is  turn  away  the  fat  knight  with  tlie  grea», 
pelly-doublet  :  he  was  full  of  jests,  and  gipes.  and 
knaveries,  and  mocks  ;  1  am  lorget  his  name. 

Gow.  Sir  John  FalstafF. 

Flu.T\mi  is  he  :  I  can  tell  you,  there  is  goot  men 
porn  at  Monmouth. 

Gow.  Here  comes  his  majesty. 

Alarum.  Enter  King  Henry  with  a.  part  cf  th» 
English  Forces;  Warwick,  Gloster^  Exeter^ 
and  others. 

K.  Hen.  I  was  not  angry  since  I  came  to  France 
Until  this  instant. — Take  a  trumpet,  herald^ 
Ride  thou  unto  the  horsemen  on  yon  hill ; 
If  they  will  fight  with  us,  bid  them  come  down, 
Or  void  the  field  ;  they  do  olfend  our  sight : 
If  they'll  do  neither,  we  will  come  to  them  ; 
And  make  them  skirraway,  as  swift  as  stones 
Enforced  from  the  old  Assyrian  slings  : 
Besides,  we'll  cut  the  throats  of  those  we  have ; 
And  not  a  man  of  them,  tliat  we  shall  take, 
Shall  taste  our  mercy : — Go,  and  tell  them  so. 

Enter  Montjoy. 
Exe.  Here  comes  the  herald  of  the  French,  my 
liege. 

Glo.  His  eyes  are  humbler  than  they  us'd  to  be. 

K.  Hen.  How  now  !  what  means  this,  herald? 
know'st  thou  not, 
ThatT  have  fin'd  these  bones  of  mine  for  ransome? 
Com'st  thou  again  for  ransome  ? 

Mont.  No,  great  king ; 

I  come  to  thee  for  charitable  license. 
That  we  may  wander  o'er  this  bloody  field. 
To  book  our  dead,  and  then  to  bury  them  ; 
To  sort  out  nobles  from  our  common  men  ; 
For  many  of  our  princes  (woe  the  while!) 
Lie  drown'd  and  soak'd  in  mercenary  blf>od  ; 
So  do  our  vulgar  drench  their  peasant  limba 
n  blood  of  princes;)  and  their  wounded  >  teeds 
Fret  fetlock  deep  in  gore,  and,  with  wild  rage, 
Yerk  out  their  armed  heels  at  their  dead  masters. 
Killing  them  twice.    O,  give  us  loave,  gieat  king 
To  view  (he  field  in  saiety,  and  dispose 
Of  their  dead  bodies. 

K.  Hen.  I  tell  thee  truly,  herald 

I  know  not  if  the  day  be  ours,  or  no  •. 


S88 


KING  HENRY  Y. 


Act  it. 


For  yet  a  many  ot  your  horsemen  peer 
And  gallop  o'er  the  field. 

Mont.  The  day  is  yours.      (for  it! — 

K.  Hen.  Praised  be  God,  and  not  our  strength, 
What  is  this  castle  caU'd,  that  stands  hard  by? 

Mont  They  call  it — Agincourt. 

K.  Hen.  Then  call  we  this — the  field  of  Agin- 
Fouiiht  on  the  day  of  Crispin  Crispianus.  [court, 

Flu.  Your  grandfather  of  famous  memory,  an't 
please  your  majesty,  and  your  great-uncle  Edward 
the  plack  prince  of  Wales,  as  I  have  read  in  the 
hionicles,    fought  a  most  prave  pattle  here  in 

K.  Hen.  They  did,  Fluellen.  [France. 

Flu.  Your  majesty  says  very  true  :  if  your  ma- 
jesties is  remembered  of  it,  the  Welshmen  did  goot 
service  in  a  garden  where  leeks  did  grow,  wearing 
/j4^iileeks  in  their  Monmouth  caps;  which,  your  majesty 
knows,  to  this  hour  is  an  honourable  padge  of  the 
service;  and,  I  do  believe,  your  majesty  takes  no 
scorn  to  wear  the  leek  upon  Saint  Tavy's  day. 

K.  Hen.  I  wear  it  for  a  memorable  honour; 
For  I  am  Welsh,  you  know,  good  countryman. 

Flu.  All  the  water  in  VYye  cannot  wash  your 
majesty's  W-^elsh  plood  out  of  your  pody,  I  can  tell 
you  that :  Got  pless  it  and  preserve  it,  as  long  as  it 
plesses  liis  grace,  and  his  majesty  too! 

K.  Hen.  Thanks,  good  my  countryman. 

Flu.  By  Chesu,  1  am  your  majesty's  countryman, 
[  care  not  who  know  it;  I  will  confess  it  to  all  the 
'orld  :  I  need  not  to  be  ashamed  of  your  majesty, 
praised  be  God,  so  long  as  your  majesty  is  an  ho- 
uest  man.  [him  ; 

K.  Hen.  God  keep  me  so ! — Our  heralds  go  with 
Bring  me  just  notice  of  the  numbers  dead 
On  both  our  pr.rts. — Gall  yonder  fellow  hither. 

[Points  to  Williams.    Exeunt  Montjoy 
and  others. 

Exe.  Soldier,  you  nuist  come  to  the  king. 

K.  Hen.  Soldier,  why  wear'st  thou  that  glove  in 
tiiy  cap  ? 

Will.  An't  please  your  majesty,  'tis  the  gage  of 
one  that  I  should  light  withal,  if  he  be  alive. 
K.  Her,.  An  Englishman  ? 

Will.  An't  please  your  majesty,  a  rascal,  that 
swaggered  with  me  last  night:  who,  if 'a  live,  and 
ever  dare  to  challenge  this  glove,  I  have  sworn  to 
take  hitn  a  box  o'lhe  ear:  or,  if  I  can  see  my  glove 
in  his  cap,  (which  he  swore,  as  he  was  a  soldier,  he 
would  wear,  if  alive),  I  will  strike  it  out  soundly. 

K.  Hen.  What  think  you,  captain  Fluellen?  is  it 
fit  this  soldier  keep  his  oath  ? 

Flu.  He  is  a  craven  and  a  villain  else,  an't  please 
your  majesty,  in  my  conscience. 

K,  He7i.  It  may  be,  his  enemy  is  a  gentleman  of 
great  sort,  quite  from  the  answer  of  his  degree. 

Fhc.  I'liough  he  be  as  goot  a  gentleman  as  the  tevil 
IS,  as  Lucifer  and  Belzebub  himself,  it  is  neces- 
sary, look  your  grace,  that  he  keep  his  vow  and  his 
oath:  if  he  be  perjured,  see  you  now,  his  reputation 
is  as  arrant  a  villain,  and  a  Jack-sauce,  as  ever  his 
plack  shoe  trod  upon  Got's  ground  and  his  earth,  in 
my  conscience,  la. 

K.  Hen.  Then  keep  thy  vow,  sirrah,  when  thou 
meet'st  the  fellow. 

W^ill.  So  I  will,  my  liege,  as  I  live. 

K.  Hen.  Who  servest  thou  under  ? 

Will.  Under  captain  Gower,  my  liege. 

Flu.  Gower  is  a  goot  captain  ;  and  is  goot  know- 
ledge and  literature  in  the  wars. 

K.  Hen.  Call  him  hither  to  me,  soldier. 

Will.  I  will,  my  liege.  [Exit. 

K.  Hen.  Here,  Fluellen ;  wear  thou  this  favour 
for  me,  and  stick  it  in  thy  cap  :  When  Alencou  and 
myself  were  down  together,  I  plucked  this  glove 
from  his  helm  :  if  any  man  challenge  this,  he  is  a 
friend  to  Alencon  and  an  enemy  to  our  person ;  if 
tlsou  encounter  any  such,  apprehend  him,  an  thou 
dost  love  me. 

Flu.  Your  grace  does  me  as  great  honours  as  can 
be  desired  in  the  hearts  of  his  subjects  :  1  would 


fain  sue  the  man,  that  has  bat  t»vo  legs,  that  sKjilJ 
find  himself  aggriefed  at  tl  )s  glove,  that  is  all ;  but 
I  would  lain  see  it  once  ;  an  please  Got  of  his  grace, 
that  I  might  see  it. 

K.  Hen.  Knowest  thou  Gower? 

Flu.  He  is  my  dear  friend,  an  please  you. 

K.  Hen.  Pray  thee,  go  seek  hiu),  and  bring  him 
to  my  tent. 

Flit.  I  will  fetch  him.  [ExU 
K.  Hen.  My  lord  of  Warwick,  and  my  brother 
Follow  Fluellen  closely  at  the  heels  :  [Gloster 
The  glove,  which  1  have  given  him  for  a  favour. 
May,  haply,  purchase  him  a  box  o'the  e,ar; 
Jt  is  the  soldier's;  I,  by  bargain,  should 
Wear  it  myself.    Follow,  good  cousin  Warwick; 
If  that  the  soldier  strike  him,  (as,  1  judge 
By  his  blunt  bearing,  he  will  keep  his  word,) 
Some  sudden  mischief  may  arise  of  it; 
For  I  do  know  Fluellen  valiant. 
And,  touch'd  with  choler,  hot  as  gunpowder. 
And  quickly  will  return  an  injury  : 
Follow,  and  see  there  be  no  harm  between  them."- 
Go  you  with  me,  uncle  of  Exeter.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  VHI. — Before  King  Henry's  Pavilion, 

Enter  Gower  and  Williams. 
Will.  I  warrant,  it  is  to  knight  you,  captain. 

Etiier  Fluellen. 
Flu.  Got's  will  and  his  pleasure,  captain,  I  pe- 
seech  you  now,  come  apace  to  the  king  ;  there  is 
more  goot  toward  you,  peradventure,  than  is  in 
your  knowledge  to  dream  of. 

Will.  Sir,  know  you  this  glove  ?  [glove. 
Fhe.  Know  the  glove  ?  I  know,  the  glove  is  a 
Will.  I  know  this;  and  thus  I  challenge  it. 

(Strikes  him.] 

Flu.  'Sblud,  an  arrant  traitor,  as  any  s  in  the  uni- 
versal 'orld,  or  m  France,  or  in  England. 

Goiv.  How  now,  sir?  you  villain  ? 

Will.  Do  you  think  I'll  be  forsworn? 

Flu.  Stand  away,  captain  Gower;  I  will  give 
treason  his  payment  into  plows,  I  warrant  you. 

Will.  I  am  no  traitor. 

Flu.  That's  a  lie  in  thy  throat. — I  charge  you  in 
his  majesty's  name,  apprehend  him  ;  he's  a  friend  of 
the  duke  Alencon's. 

Enter  Warvtick  and  Gloster. 

War.  How  now,  how  now!  what's  the  matter? 

Fhi.  My  lord  of  Warwick-,  here  is  (praised  be 
Got  for  it!)  a  most  contagious  treason  come  to  light, 
look  you,  as  you  shall  desire  in  a  summer's  day. 
Here  is  his  majesty. 

Enter  King  Henry  and  Exeter. 

K.  Hen.  How  now!  whats  the  matter? 

Flu.  My  liege,  here  is  a  villain,  and  a  traitor,  that» 
look  your  grace,  has  struck  the  glove,  which  your 
majesty  is  take  out  of  the  helmet  of  Alencon. 

Will.  My  liege,  this  was  my  glove;  here  is  the 
fellow  of  it :  and  he,  that  I  gave  it  to  in  change,  pro- 
mised to  wear  it  in  his  cap;  I  promised  to  strike  him, 
if  he  did  :  1  met  this  man  with  my  glove  in  his  cap, 
and  I  have  been  as  good  as  my  word. 

Flu.  Your  majesty  hear  now,  (saving  your  ma- 
jesty's manhood,)  what  an  arrant,  rascally,  beg- 
garly, lousy  knave  it  is  :  I  hope,  yoin-  majesty  is  pear 
me  testimony,  and  witness,  and  avouchments,  that 
ti)is  is  the  glove  of  Alencon,  that  your  majesty  ia 
give  nte,  in  your  conscience  now. 

K.  Hen.  Give  me  thy  glove,  soldier  ;  Look,  here 
is  the  lellow  of  it.  'Twas  I,  indeed,  thou  promised'st 
to  strike  ;  and  thou  hast  given  me  most  bitter  terms. 

Flu.  An  please  your  majesty,  let  iiis  neck  answei 
for  it,  if  there  is  any  martial  law  in  the  'orld. 

K.  Hen.  How  canst  thou  make  me  satisfaction? 

Will.  All  offences,  my  liege,  come  from  the  heart' 
never  came  any  from  mine,  that  might  offend  youi 
majesty. 


Act  V.    Scene  1. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


38S 


K.  Hen.  ft  was  onrself  thoa  difist  abuse 
Will.  Your  majesty  came  not  like  yourself:  yon 
aopeared  to  lae  but  as  a  common  man  :  witness  the 
night,  your  garments,  your  lowliness  ;  and  what  your 
highness  sutt"ered  under  that  shape,  I  beseech  you, 
take  it  for  your  own  fault,  and  not  mine  :  for  had  you 
Deen  as  I  took  you  for,  I  made  no  oftence  ;  therefore, 
i  beseech  your  highness,  pardon  me. 

K.  Hen.  Here,  uncle  Exeter,  fill  this  glove  with 
crowns, 

A  nd  give  it  to  this  fellow.  -Keep  it,  fellow  ; 
And  wear  it  for  an  honour  in  thy  cap, 
Fill  I  do  challenge  it. — Give  him  the  crowns  : — 
And.  captain,  you  must  needs  be  friends  with  him. 

F/u.  liy  this  day  and  this  light,  the  fellow  has 
mettle  enough  ia  his  pelly; — Hold,  there  is  twelve 
pence  for  you,  and  I  pray  you  to  serve  Got,  and  keep 
you  outofprawls,  and  prabbles,  and  quarrels,  and 
dissensions,  and,  I  warrant  you,  it  is  the  petter  for 

Will.  I  will  none  of  your  money.  [you. 

Flu.  It  is  with  a  goot  will ;  I  can  tell  you,  it  will 
serve  you  to  mend  your  shoes:  Come,  wherefore 
should  you  be  so  pashful  ?  your  shoes  is  not  so  goot : 
'tis  a  goot  sdling,  I  warrant  you,  or  I  will  change  it. 
Enter  an  English  Herald. 

K.  Hen.  Now,  herald ;  are  the  dead  number'd  ? 

Her.  Here   is  the   number  of  the  slaughter'd 
French.  {Delivers  a  paper.) 

K.  Hen.  What  prisoners  of  good  sort  are  taken, 
uncle  ? 

Exe.  Charles  duke  of  Orleans,  nephew  to  the  king  ; 
John  duke  of  Bourbon,  and  lord  Bouciqualt  : 
Of  other  lords,  and  barons,  knights,  and  squires. 
Full  fifteen  himd;  ed,  besides  common  men.  [French, 

K.  Hen.  This  note  doth  tell  me  of  ten  thousand 
That  in  the  field  lie  slain :  of  princes,  in  this  number. 
And  nobles  bearing  banners,  there  lie  dead 
One  hundred  twenty-six  :  added  to  these, 
Of  knights,  esquires  and  gallant  gentlemen, 
Eight  thousand  and  four  hundred  ;  of  the  which, 
Five  hundred  vvere  but  yesterday  dubb'd  knights: 
So  that,  in  these  ten  thousand  they  have  lost. 
There  are  but  sixteen  hundred  mercenaries; 
The   rest  are  —  princes,   barons,   lords,  knights. 
And  gentlemen  of  blood  and  quality.  ['squires, 
'i'he  names  of  those  their  nobles  that  lie  dead, — 
Charles  De-ia-bret,  hi^h  constable  of  France  ; 
Jaques  of  Cliatiilon,  admiral  of  France  ; 
The  ntaster  of  the  cross-bows,  lord  Rambures; 
Great-master  of  France,  the  brave  sir  Guischard 
Dauphin ; 

John  duke  of  Alen^on  ;  Antony  duke  of  Brabant, 
The  brother  to  the  duke  of  Burgundy; 
And  Edward  duke  of  Bar  :  of  lusty  earls, 
Grandpre,  and  lloussi,  Faucomberg,  and  Foix, 
Beaumont,  and  Marie,  Vaudemont,  and  Lestrale. 
Here  was  a  royal  fellowship  of  death  ! — 
Where  is  the  number  of  our  English  dead? 

{Herald presents  another  paper.) 
Edward  the  duke  oi  York,  the  earl  of  Sutiblk,  ^ 
Sir  Richard  Ketley,  Davy  Gam,  esquire  :  , 
None  else  of  name  ;  and  of  ail  other  men, 
But  five  and  twenty.    O  God,  thy  arm  was  here, 
Aiid  not  to  us,  but  to  thy  arm  alone, 
Ascribe  we  all. — When,  without  stratagem, 
But  in  plain  shock,  and  even  play  of  battle, 
Was  ever  known  so  great  and  little  loss, 
On  one  part  and  on  th'  other  ? — Take  it,  God, 
For  it  is  only  thine  ! 

Exe  'Tis  wonderful ! 

K.  He?t.  Come,  go  we  in  procession  to  the  village  : 
And  be  it  death  proclaimed  through  our  host, 
To  boast  of  this,  or  take  that  praise  from  God, 
Which  is  his  only. 

Flu.  Is  it  not  lawful,  an  please  your  majesty,  to 
iell  how  many  is  killed?  [ledgment, 

K.  Hen.  Yes,  captain;  but  with  this  acknow- 
rhat  God  fought  fur  us. 

J^Vm.  Yes,  my  conscience,  he  did  us  great  goot. 

K.  Hsn.  Do  Vie  all  holy  rites 


Let  there  be  sung  Non  nobis,  and  Te  V&utn 
The  dead  with  charity  enclos'd  in  clay. 
We'll  then  to  Calais  ;  and  to  England  then; 
Where  ne'er  from  France  arriv'd  more  happy  men. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  V. 

Enter  Chorus.  [story, 
Cho.  Vouchsafe  to  those,  that  have  not  read  th« 
That  I  may  prompt  them  :  and  of  such  as  have, 
I  humbly  pray  them  to  admit  the  excuse 
Of  time,  of  numbers,  and  due  course  of  things. 
Which  cannot  in  their  huge  and  proper  life 
Be  here  presented.    Now  we  bear  the  king 
Towards  Calais  :  grant  hiin  there  ;  there  seen. 
Heave  him  away  upon  your  winged  thoughts. 
Athwart  the  sea  :  Behold,  the  English  beach 
Pales  in  the  flood  with  men,  with  wives,  and  boya. 
Whose  shouts  and  claps  out-voice  the  deep-niouth'd 
Which,  like  a  mighty  whiffler  'fore  the  king,  [sea, 
Seems  to  prepare  his  way :  so  let  him  land. 
And  solemnly,  see  him  set  on  to  London. 
So  swift  a  pace  hath  thought,  that  even  now 
Y^ou  may  imagine  him  upon  Blackheath  : 
Where  that  his  lords  desire  him,  to  have  borne 
His  bruised  helmet,  and  his  bended  sword. 
Before  him,  through  the  city  :  he  forbids  it, 
Being  free  from  vainness  and  self-glorious  pride, 
Giving  full  trophy,  signal,  and  ostent. 
Quite  from  himself,  to  God.    But  now  behold. 
In  the  quick  forge  and  working-house  of  thought, 
How  London  doth  pour  out  her  citizens  ! 
The  mayor,  and  all  his  brethren,  in  best  sort, — 
Like  to  the  senators  of  the  antique  Rome, 
With  the  plebeians  swarming  at  their  heels, — 
Go  forth,  and  fetch  their  conquering  Caesar  in  i 
As,  by  a  lower  but  by  loving  likelihood, 
Were  now  the  general  of  our  gracious  empress 
(As,  in  good  time,  he  may,)  from  Ireland  coming. 
Bringing  rebellion  broached  on  his  sword, 
How  many  would  the  peaceful  city  quit. 
To  welcome  him  ?  much  more,  and  much  more  cause, 
Did  they  this  Harry.    Now  in  London  place  him  ; 
(As  yet  the  lamentation  of  the  French 
Invites  the  king  of  England's  stay  at  home  : 
The  emperor's  coming  in  behalf  of  France, 
To  order  peace  between  them ;)  aitd  omit 
All  the  occurrences,  whatever  chanc'd, 
Tdl  Harry's  back-return  again  to  France; 
There  must  we  bring  hiuj ;  and  myself  have  play'd 
The  interim,  by  remembering  you — "tis  past. 
Then  brook  abridgment;  and  your  eyes  advance 
After  your  thoughts,  straight  back  again  to  France 

[Exit 

Scene  I. — France.  An  English  Court  of  Guard. 
Enter  Fluellen  and  Govver. 

Gow.  Nay,  that's  right :  but  why  wear  you  your 
leek  to-day?    Saint  Davy's  day  is  past. 

Flu.  There  is  occasions  and  causes  why  and 
wherefore  in  all  things  :  I  will  tell  you  as  my  triend, 
captain  Gower ;  The  rascally,  scald,  beggarly,  lousy, 
pragging  knave,  Pistol, — which  you  and  yourself, 
and  all  the  'orld,  know  to  be  no  petter  than  a  fellow, 
look  you  now,  of  no  merits, — he  is  come  to  me, 
and  prings  me  pread  and  salt  yesterday,  look  yo  ., 
and  bid  me  eat  my  leek  :  it  was  in  a  place  where  I 
could  not  breed  no  contentions  with  him;  biit  1 
will  be  so  pold  as  to  wear  it  in  my  cap,  till  I  see  hiiu 
once  again,  and  then  I  will  tell  him  a  little  piece  of 
my  desires. 

Enter  Pistol. 
Gow.  Why,  here  he  comes,  swelling  like  a  tur- 
key cock. 

Flu.  'Tis  no  matter  for  his  swellings,  nor  lii«( 
turkey-cocks. —  Got  pless  you,  ancient  Pistol!  juii 
scurvy,  lousv  knave,  Got  pless  you  ! 

Pist.  Hafartthou  Behhim?  Dost  thou  thirst,  base 
To  have  me  fold  up  Parca's  fatal  web  ?  [Trojan, 
Hence  !  (  am  qualmish  at  the  smell  of  leek. 

Flu.  I  peseech  you  heartily,  scurvy,  iouKy  knavd 


350 


KING  HENRY  V. 


at  my  dc-sires,  and  my  requests,  and  my  petitions, 
to  cut,  iouk  yon,  this  leekj  because,  look  you,  you 
do  not  love  it,  nor  your  atiections,  and  your  appe- 
tites, and  your  digestions,  does  not  agree  with  it,  I 
would  desue  you  to  eat  it. 

Pist.  Not  tor  Cadvvallarler,  and  all  his  g^oats. 

Flu.  'J'liere  is  one  goat  for  you.  (  Strikes  him.) 
Will  you  be  so  goot,  scald  knave,  as  eat  it? 

Pisi.  Base  Trojan,  thou  shalt  die. 

Flu  You  say  very  true,  scald  knave,  when  Got's 
will  is  :  1  will  desire  you  to  live  in  the  mean  time, 
and  eat  yotu"  \  ictiials ;  come,  there  is  sauce  for  it. 
[Strikinij  him  again.)  Yon  called  me  yesterday, 
/.loiiiilaiii-sqiiire  ;  but  I  will  make  you  to-day  a  squire 
t)l"  luvv  dt-^iee.  1  pray  yon,  fall  to;  if  you  can  mock 
a  ii^t  k,  yon  can  eat  a  leek. 

Cotv.  Enough,  captain  ;  you  have  astonished  him. 

Flu.  i  say,  I  will  uiake  him  eat  some  part  of  my 
leek,  or  I  will  peat  his  pate  lour  days  : — Pite,  1  pray 
you  ;  It  IS  ^oot  i'oi  your  green  wound,  and  your 

Pist.  Mast  i  bite  ?  [ploody  coxcomb. 

Flu.  \  es,  certainly;  and  ont  of  doubt,  and  out 
of  qiiestions  too,  and  ambiguities. 

Pist.  By  this  leek,  I  will  most  horribly  revenge; 
I  ent,  and  eke  I  swear — 

Fin.  Eat,  I  pray  you  :  Will  you  have  some  more 
sauce  to  your  leek  ?  there  is  not  enough  leek  to 
swear  by. 

Pist.  Quiet  thy  cudgel ;  thou  dost  see,  I  eat. 

Flu.  INiuch  goot  do  you,  scald  knave,  heartily. 
Nay,  'pray  you,  throw  mme  away;  the  skin  is  goot 
for  your  proken  coxcomb.  When  you  take  occa- 
•ions  to  see  leeks  hereafter,  I  pray  you,  mock  at 

Pist.  Good.       ^  [them  ;  that  is  hll. 

Fu.  Ay,  leeks  is  goot; — Hold  you,  there  is  a 

Pist.  IVie  a  groat!  [groat  to  heal  your  pate. 

Flu  Yes,  verily,  and  in  truth,  you  shall  ^akeit;or 
I  have  another  leek  in  my  pocket,  which  you  shall  eat. 

P:sf..  I  take  thy  groat,  in  earnest  of  revenge. 

Flu.  If  I  owe  you  any  thing,  1  will  pay  you  in 
nidgels;  y<»u  shall  be  a  woodmonger,  and  buy  no 
Ihing  of  me  but  cudgels,  God  be  wi'  you,  and  keep 
yon.  and  heal  vour  pate.  [Exit. 

Pist.  All  hell  shall  stir  for  this. 

Qow.  Go,  go;  you  are  a  counterfeit  cowardly 
knave.  Will  you  mock  at  an  ancient  traditiim, — be- 
gun upon  an  honourable  respect,  and  worn  as  a  me- 
morable trophy  of  predeceased  valour,  and  date 
not  avojch  in  your  deeds  any  of  your  words  /  I 
have  seen  you  gleeking  and  galling  at  this  gentle- 
man twice  or  thrice.  You  thought,  because  he 
could  not  speak  English  in  the  native  garb,  he 
could  not  thereiore  handle  an  Englise  cudgel  :  yon 
find  it  otherwise;  and,  henceforth,  let  a  Welsh 
correction  teach  you  a  good  English  condition.  Fare 
ye  wfll.  _      ^  'Exit 

Pist.  Doth  fortune  play  the  huswife  with  me  now  ? 
News  have  1,  that  my  Nell  is  dead  i'  the  spital 
Of  malady  of  France  ; 
And  there  my  rendezvous  is  quite  cut  off. 
Old  I  do  wax  ;  and  fnmi  my  weary  limbs 
Honour  is  cudgeli'd.    Well,  bawd  will  I  turn. 
And  something  lean  to  cut])in'se  of  quick  hand. 
To  England  will  I  steal,  and  there  I'll  steal  : 
And  patches  will  1  get  unto  these  scars. 
And  swear,  1  got  them  in  the  Gallia  wars.  [Exit. 

Scene  \\.—Troyes  in  Champagne.  An  Apartment 
in  the  French  King  s  Palace. 

Enter  at  one  door,  King  Henry,  Bedford,  Glos- 
TER,  Exeter,  Warwick,  Westmoheland, 
and  other  Lords ;  at  another,  the  French  King, 
Queen  Isabel,  the  Pr/wcess Katiiarink,  Lords, 
Ladies,  ^c.  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  and  his 
Train. 

K.  Hen.  Peace  to  this  meeting,  wherefore  we  are 
met  1 

CJnto  oui  brother  France, — and  to  our  sister. 
Health  and  lair  time  of  day  :— joy  and  good  wishes 
To  our  most  l'c<iraud  princely  cousiu  Katharine  ; 


And  (as  a  branch  and  member  of  this  rofalty. 
By  whom  this  great  assembly  is  contiiv'd,) 
We  do  salute  you,  duke  of  Burgiuidy  ; — 
And,  princes  French,  and  peers,  health  to  yoa  alL 

Fr.  King.  Right  joyous  are  we  to  behold  yoar  iace, 
Most  worthy  brother  England  ;  fairly  n>et 
So  are  you,  princes  English,  every  one. 

Q.  Isa.  So  happy  be  the  issue,  brother  England 
01  this  good  day,  and  of  this  gracious  n>eeting. 
As  we  are  now  glad  to  behold  your  eyes; 
Your  eye.«»,  which  hitherto  have  borne  in  them 
Against  the  French,  that  met  theuj  in  Iheii  bent, 
The  fatal  balls  of  murdering  basilisks  : 
The  venom  of  such  looks,  we  lairly  liope. 
Have  lost  their  quality;  and  that  this  day 
Shall  change  all  griefs,  and  quarrels,  into  love. 

K.  Hen.  'Vo  cry  anjen  to  that,  thus  we  appear. 

Q  Isa.  Yon  English  princes  all,  I  do  salute  you 

Bur.  My  duty  to  you  both,  on  equal  love, 
Great  kings  of  France  and  England  !    That  I  havt 
labonr'd 

With  all  my  wits,  my  pains,  and  strong  endeavonrs, 

To  bring  your  most  imperial  majesties 

Unto  this  bar  and  royal  interview. 

Your  mightiness  on  both  parts  best  can  witness. 

Since  then  my  office  hath  so  far  preAail'd. 

That,  face  to  face,  and  royal  eye  to  eye, 

You  have  congreeted ;  let  it  not  disgrace  me. 

If  I  demand,  before  this'  royal  view, 

W^hat  rub,  or  what  impediment,  there  is. 

Why  tliat  the  naked,  poor,  and  niangled  peace. 

Dear  nurse  of  arts,  plenties,  and  joyful  births. 

Should  not,  in  this  best  garden  of  the  world, 

Our  fertile  France,  put  up  her  lovely  \isage? 

Alas !  she  hath  from  France  too  Jong  been  cbas'd 

And  all  her  husbandry  doth  lie  ua  heaps 

Ct>rrupting  in  its  own  fertility. 

Her  vine,  the  merry  cheerer  of  the  heart, 

Unpruned  dies:  her  hedges  even-pleached,— 

Like  prisoners  wildly  over-grown  with  hair. 

Put  forth  disorder'd  twigs  :  her  fallow  leas 

The  darnel,  hemlock,  and  rank  funntory. 

Doth  root  upon  ;  while  that  the  coulter  rusts. 

That  should  d'^racinate  such  savagery  : 

The  even  mead,  that  erst  brought  sweetly  forth 

The  freckled  covvslip,  burnet,  aiMl  green  clover. 

Wanting  the  scythe,  all  uncorrected,  rank. 

Conceives  by  idleness  ;  and  nothing  teems, 

But  hateful  docks,  rough  thistles,  kecksies,  burs. 

Losing  both  beauty  and  utility. 

And  as  our  vineyards,  fallows,  meads,  and  hedges. 

Defective  in  their  natures,  grow  to  wildness  ; 

Even  so  our  houses,  and  ourselves,  and  children. 

Have  lost,  or  do  not  learn,  for  want  of  tinse, 

'J'i»e  sciences  tliat  should  become  our  country; 

But  grow,  like  savages, — as  soldiers  will. 

That  nothing  do  but  meditate  on  blood, — 

To  swearing,  and  stern  looks,  diffos'd  attire. 

And  every  thing  that  seems  unnatural. 

Which  to  reduce  into  our  former  iavour. 

You  are  assembled  :  and  my  speech  entreats. 

That  I  may  know  the  let,  why  gentle  peace 

Siiould  not  expel  these  inconveniences. 

And  bless  us  with  her  former  qualities.  fpeacc, 

K.  Hen.  If,  duke  of  Burgundy,  you  Wffnld  tiid 
Wliose  want  gives  growth  to  the  imperfections 
Which  you  have  cited,  you  must  buy  that  peace 
With  lull  accord  to  all  our  just  demands; 
Whose  tenours  and  particular  efl'ects 
You  have,  euschedui'd  briefly,  in  your  hands. 

Bur.  The  king  hath  heard  them;  to  tlie  which 
There  is  no  answer  made.  [as  ye.< 

K.  Hen.  Well  then,  the  peace. 

Which  you  before  so  urg'd,  lies  in  his  answer. 

Fr.  King.  I  have  but  with  a  cinsoiary  eye 
O'er-glanc'd  the  articles;  pleaseth  your  grace 
To  appoint  s  jme  of  your  council  presently 
To  sit  with  us  once  more,  with  Vtter  heed 
To  re  survey  tiiem,  we  will,  suddenly. 
Pass  oiv  accept,  and  peremptory  answer 


Scene  2. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


301 


K.  Hen.  Brother,  we  shall— Uo,  nncle  Exeter.— 
And  brother  Clarence, — and  yon,  brother  (iloster, — 
Warwick, — and  Huntingdon      go  with  the  king, 
And  txke  with  you  free  power,  to  ratify, 
Augment,  or  alter,  as  your  wisdoms  best 
Shall  see  advantageable  for  our  dignity. 
Any  thing  in,  or  out  of,  our  demands ; 
And  we'll  consign  thereto. — Will  you,  fair  sister 
Go  with  the  princes,  or  stay  here  with  us? 

Q.  Isa.  Our  gracious  brother,  I  will  go  with  them; 
Haply,  a  woman's  voice  may  do  some  good. 
When  articles,  too  nicely  urg'd,  be  stood  on. 

K.  Hen.  Yet  leave  our  cousin  Katharine  here  with 
She  is  our  capital  demand,  compris'd  [us; 
Within  the  fore-rank  of  our  articles. 

Q.  Isa.  She  hath  good  leave. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Henri/,  Katharine, 
and  her  Gentlewoman. 

K.  Hen.  Fair  Katharine,  and  most  fair  ! 

Will  you  vouchsafe  to  teach  a  soldier  terms, 
Such  as  will  enter  at  a  lady's  ear. 
And  plead  his  love-suit  to  her  gentle  heart? 

Kath.  Your  majesty  shall  mock  at  me;  I  cannot 
speak  your  England. 

K.  Hen,  O  lair  Katharine,  if  you  will  love  me 
soundly  with  your  French  heart,  I  will  be  glad  to 
hear  you  confess  it  brokenly  with  your  English 
tongue.    Do  you  like  me,  Kate  ?  fme. 

Kath.  Pardonnez-moy,  I  cannot  tell  vat  is — like 

K.  Hen.  An  angel  is  hke  you,  Kate ;  and  you  are 
like  an  angel.  [antes'} 

KatIuQu€  dii  in  que  he  suis  semblable  a  les 

Alice.  Out/,  vrayment,  (saufvostre  grace)  ainsi 
ditil 

K.  Her,',.  I  said  so,  dear  Katharina  ;  and  I  must 
not  blush  to  affirm  it.  \pleines  de  tromperies. 

Kath.  0  bon  Dieu  \  les  langues  des  homines  sont 

K.  Hen.  What  says  she,  i'air  one?  that  the 
tongues  of  men  are  full  of  deceits? 

Alice.  Ouy ;  dat  de  tongues  of  de  mans  is  be  full 
of  deceits  :  dat  is  de  princess. 

K.  Hen  The  princess  is  the  better  English-wo- 
oian.  I'lAiith,  Kate,  niy  wooing  is  fit  for  thy  under- 
standing :  I  am  glad,  thou  canst  speak  no  better 
English  ;  for,  if  thou  couldst,  thou  wouldst  find  me 
such  a  plain  king,  that  thou  wouldst  think  1  had 
sold  my  farm  to  buy  my  crown.  I  know  no  ways 
to  mince  it  in  love,  but  directly  to  say — I  love  you  ; 
then,  if  you  urge  me  further  than  to  say — Do  you  in 
faith  I  wear  out  my  suit.  Give  me  your  answer; 
i'faith,  do  ;  and  so  clap  hands  and  a  bargain  :  How 
say  you,  lady  ? 

Kath.  Saiif  vostre  honneur,  me  understand  well. 

K.  Hen.  Marry,  if  you  would  put  me  to  verses, 
or  to  dance  for  your  sake,  Kate,  why  you  undid  me  : 
lor  tiie  one,  I  ha ve  neither  words  nor  measure;  and 
for  the  otlier,  I  have  no  strength  in  measure,  yet  a 
reasonable  measure  in  strength.  If  I  could  win  a 
lady  at  leap-frog,  or  by  vaulting  into  my  saddle 
vvitli  my  armour  on  my  back,  under  the  correction 
of  br.tggiiig  be  it  spoken,  I  should  quickly  leap  into 
a  wife.  Or,  if  I  mij^ht  bulfet  for  my  love,  or  bound 
my  horse  for  her  favours,  I  could  lay  on  like  a  but- 
clier,  and  sit  like  a  jackanapes,  never  off:  but,  be- 
fore God,  I  cannot  look  greenly,  nor  gasp  out  my 
eloquence,  nor  V  have  no  cunning  in  protestation; 
only  downright  oaths,  wiiich  1  never  use  till  urged, 
nor  never  break  for  urging.  If  thou  canst  love  a 
teiiow  of  this  temper,  Kate,  whose  face  is  not  worth 
sun  bunting,  that  never  looks  in  his  glass  for  love 
ol  any  thing  he  sees  tiiere.  let  thine  eye  be  thy  cook. 
I  speak  to  thee  plain  soldier  :  If  thou  canst  love  me 
for  this,  take  me  :  if  not  to  say  to  thee — that  I  shall 
die,  is  (rue  ;  but — for  thy  love,  by  the  lord,  no;  yet 
I  love  thee  too.  And  while  tiiou  livest,  dear  Kate, 
take  a  fellow  of  plain  and  uncoined  constancy  ;  for 
h-?  perforce  must  do  thee  right,  because  he  hath  not 
ti>e  gift  ti>  woo  in  otiier  phices  ;  for  these  fellows  of 
infinite  tonyue,  that  can  rhyme  themselves  into 
ladies'  favours,-~iiieji  do  always  reasou  themselves 


out  again.    What!  a  speaker  »s  Dot  a  j)rater;  a 

rhyme  is  but  a  bc.llad.  A  good  leg  will  fall;  9 
straight  back  will  stoop;  a  black  beard  will  tura 
white  ;  a  curled  pate  will  grow  bald  ;  a  fair  facu  will 
wither;  a  full  eye  will  wax  hollow  :  but  a  good  heart, 
Kate,  is  the  sun  and  moon;  or,  rath.er,  the  sun, 
and  not  (he  moon ;  for  it  shines  bright,  and  never 
changes,  but  keeps  his  course  truly.  If  thou  would 
have  such  a  one,  take  me:  And  take  me,  take  a 
=oldier;  take  a  .«oldier,  take  a  king:  And  what 
sayest  thou  then  to  my  love  ?  speak,  ujy  fair,  and 
fairly,  I  pray  thee.  [France? 

Kath.  Is  it  possible  dat  I  shoidd  love  de  enemy  of 

K.  Hen.  No;  it  is  not  possible,  you  should  love 
the  enemy  of  France,  Kate:  but,  in  lo\  ing  me,  you 
should  love  the  friend  ol'  France  ;  for  I  love  France 
so  well,  that  I  will  not  part  with  a  village  of  it;  I 
will  have  it  all  mine  :  and,  Kate,  when  France  is 
mine,  and  I  am  yours,  then  yours  is  France,  and 

Kath.  I  cannot  tell  vat  is  dat.       fvou  are  mine. 

K.  Hen.  No,  Kate?  1  will  tell  thee  in  French; 
which,  1  am  sure,  will  hang  upon  my  tongue  like  a 
new-married  wife  about  her  husband's  neck,  hardly 
to  be  shook  of  Quand  fay  la  possession  de 
France,  et  quand  vous  avez  la  possess  ion  de  moy, 
(let  me  see,  what  then?  Saint  Dennis  be  my  speed  !) 
— done  vostre  est  France,  et  vous  estes  mienne. 
It  is  as  easy  lor  me,  Kate,  to  conquer  the  kingdom, 
as  to  speak  so  much  more  French:  I  shall  never 
move  thee  in  French,  unless  it  be  to  laugh  at  me. 

Kath.  Sauf  vostre  honneur,  le  Franqois  que 
vous  paries,  est  meilleur  que  I'Anr/lois  leqttel  je 
parle. 

K.  Hen.  No,  'faith,  'tis  not,  Kate  :  bat  thy  speak- 
ing of  my  tongue,  and  1  thine,  most  tridy  falsely 
must  needs  be  granted  to  me  much  at  one.  Bu(^ 
Kate,  dost  thou  understand  thus  much  English: 
Canst  thou  love  me  ? 

Kath.  I  cannot  tell. 

K.  Hen.  Can  any  of  your  neighbours  tell,  Kate? 
I'll  ask  them.  Come,  I  know,  thou  lovest  me ; 
and  at  night  when  you  come  into  your  closet,  you'il 
question  this  gentlewoman  about  me ;  and  I  know, 
Kate,  you  will,  to  her,  dispraise  those  parts  in  me, 
that  you  love  with  your  heart:  but,  good  Kate,  mock 
me  mercil'ully  ;  the  rather,  gentle  princess,  because 
I  love  thee  cruelly.  If  ever  thou  be'st  mine,  Kate, 
(as  I  have  a  saving  faith  within  me,  tells  me, — thou 
shalt,)  I  get  thee  with  scambling,  and  thou  must 
therefore  needs  prove  a  good  soldier  breeder :  Shall 
not  thou  and  I,  betvveen  Saint  Dennis  and  Saint 
George,  compound  a  boy,  half  French,  half  English, 
that  shall  go  to  Constantmople,  and  take  the  'I'urk  by 
the  beard  ?  shall  we  not?  what  sayest  tliou,  my  fair 

Kath.  I  do  not  know  dat.  [flower-de-luce  •* 

K.  Hen.  No;  'tis  hereafter  to  know,  but  now  to 
promise  :  do  but  now  promise,  Kate,  you  will  en- 
deavour for  your  French  part  of  sucii  a  hoy  ;  and 
for  my  English  moiety,  take  the  word  of  a  king,  and 
a  bachelor.  How  answer  yon,  la  plus  belle  Ka- 
tharine du  monde,  mon  tres  chere  et  divine  deesse  ? 

Kath.  Yoi\f  inajeste  "ax  e  fausse  Frcncn  enough 
to  deceive  de  most  sarje  damoiselle  dat  is  en 
France. 

K.  Hen.  Now,  fy  upon  my  false  French  I  By  mine 
honour,  in  true  Englisii,  [  love  thee,  Kate  :  by  which 
honour  1  dare  not  swear,  thou  lovest  ine  ;  yet  my 
blood  begins  to  {latter  me  lhat  thou  dost,  notwith- 
standing the  poor  and  untemperiiig  ellVct  of  my 
visai;e.  Now  beshrew  my  fatlier's  amhiiion  !  he  w»a 
thinking  of  civd  wars  when  he  got  me  ;  tlierefore  was 
I  created  with  a  stubboi  n  outside,  with  an  aspect 
of  iron,  that,  when  I  come  to  woo  ladies,  I  fright 
then).  But,  in  faith,  Kate,  the  elder  I  wax,  the  bet- 
ter I  shall  a[)pear:  my  confort  is,  that  o!d  age,  thill 
ill  layer-up  of  beauty,  can  do  no  more  sj  oil  upon 
my  face  ;  tiiou  hast  me,  if  thdu  hast  me,  at  the  worst; 
and  thou  shalt  wear  nie,  if  thou  wear  me,  better  and 
better:  And  therefor^  tell  me,  most  fair  Katiiariiwe, 
will  you  have  me?    Put  off  your  maidfn  blushes, 


892 


KING  HENRY  Y. 


Act  V. 


avouch  the  thoughts  of  your  heart  with  the  looks  of 
an  empress ;  lake  nie  by  the  hand,  and  say — Harry 
of  England,  T  am  thine  :  wliich  word  thou  shalt  no 
sooner  bless  mine  ear  withal,  but  I  will  tell  thee 
aloud — Englmd  is  thine,  Ireland  is  thine,  France 
is  thine,  and  Henry  Plantagenet  is  thine;  who, 
though  I  speak  it  before  his  face,  if  he  be  not  fellow 
with  the  best  king',  thou  shalt  find  the  best  king  of 
^ood  fellows.  Come,  your  answer  in  broken  music  ; 
for  thy  voice  is  music,  and  thy  English  broken: 
therefore,  queen  of  all,  Katharine,  break  thy  mind 
to  me  in  broken  English,  Wilt  thou  have  me  ? 

Kath.  Dat  IS,  as  it  shall  please  de  roy  mon  pere. 

K.  He7i.  Nay,  it  will  please  him  well,  Kate ;  it 
<hall  please  him,  Kate. 

Kaih.  Den  it  shall  also  content  me. 

K.  He.n.  Upon  that  I  will  kiss  your  hand,  and  I 
call  you — my  queen. 

Kaik.  Laissez,  mon  seigneur,  laissez,  laissez : 
ma  foyjene  veux  point  queiwus  abbai$sez  vostre 
grandeur,  en  baisant  la  main  d  une  vostre  indigne 
serviteure ;  excusez  moy,je  vous  suppHe,montres 
puissant  seigneur. 

h.  Hen.  Then  I  will  kiss  your  lips,  Kate. 

Katli.  Les  dames,  et  demoiselles,  pour  estre 
baisees  devant  leurs  nopces,  il  nest  pas  le  coutume 
de  France. 

K.  Hen.  Madame,  my  interpreter,  what  says  she  ? 
Alice.  Dat  it  is  not  be  de  fashion  pour  les  ladies 
of  France, — I  cannot  tell  what  is,  baiser,  en  English. 
K.  Hen.  To  kiss. 

Alice.  Your  majesty  entendre  bettre  que  moy. 

K.  Hen.  It  is  not  the  fasliion  for  the  nmids  in 
France  to  kiss  before  they  are  married,  would  she 
say  ? 

Alice.  Ouy,  vray7nent. 

K.  Hzn.  Q,  Kate,  nice  customs  curt'sy  to  great 
kings.  Dear  Kate,  you  and  I  cannot  be  confined 
within  the  weak  list  of  a  country's  fashion :  we  are 
the  makers  of  manners,  Kate  ;  and  the  liberty  that 
follows  our  places,  stops  the  mouths  of  all  find- 
faults;  as  I  will  do  yours,  for  upholding  the  nice 
fashion  of  your  country,  in  denying  nje  a  kiss  ;  there- 
fore, patiently  and  yielding.  (Kissing  her.)  You 
have  witchcraft  in  your  lips,  Kate  :  there  is  more 
eloquence  in  a  sugar  touch  of  them,  than  in  the 
tongues  of  the  French  council  ;  and  they  should 
sooner  persuade  Harry  of  England,  than  a  general 
petition  of  monarchs.    Here  comes  your  father. 

Enter  the  French  King  and  Queen,  Burgundy, 
Bedford,  Gloster,  Exeter,  Westmoreland, 
and  other  Frtinc-h  and  English  Lords. 
Bur.  God  save  your  majesty  !  ray  royal  cousin, 

teach  you  our  princess  English  ? 

K.  Hen.  I  would  have  her  learn,  my  fair  cousin, 

how  perfectly  I  love  her,  and  that  is  good  English. 
Bur.  Is  she  not  apt? 

K.  Hen.  Our  tongue  is  rough,  coz  ;  and  my  con- 
dition is  not  smooth :  so  that,  having  neither  the 
voice  nor  the  heart  of  flattery  about  me,  I  cannot  so 
conjure  up  the  spirit  of  love  in  her,  that  he  will  ap- 
pear in  his  true  likeness. 

Bur.  Pardon  the  frankness  of  my  mirth,  if  t  an- 
swer you  for  that.  If  you  would  conjure  in  her,  you 
must  make  a  circle  ;  if  conjure  up  love  in  her  in  his 
true  likeness,  he  must  appear  naked,  and  blitid  :  Can 
you  blame  her  then,  being  a  m;tid  yet  rosed  over 
with  the  virgin  crimson  of  modesty,  if  she  deny  the 
appearance  of  a  naked  blind  boy  in  her  naked  seeing 
self  ?  It  were,  my  lord,  a  hard  condition  for  a  maid 
to  consign  to.  [^blind,  and  enforces. 

K.  Hen.  Yet  they  do  wink,  and  yield  ;  as  love  is 

Bur.  j'heyare  then  excused,  my  lord,  when  they 
see  not  what  they  do. 

K.  Hen.  Then,  good  my  lord,  teach  your  cousin  to 
coL'sent  to  winkii  g. 

Bur.  I  Will  wink  on  her  to  consent,  my  lord,  if 
Jrou  will  teach  her  to  know  my  meaning  :  for  maids, 
well  suuiiuered  and  warm  kept,  are  like  fl;i'sat  Bar- 
USiinl  tl>'»nj|i  t.iiev  have  t.ieir  eyes: 


and  then  they  will  endure  handkng,  which  before 
would  not  abide  looking  on. 

K.  Hen.  This  moral  ties  me  over  to  time,  and  a 
hot  summer  ;  and  so  I  will  catch  the  fly,  your  cousia, 
in  the  latter  end,  and  she  must  be  blind  too. 

Bur.  As  love  is,  my  lord,  before  it  loves, 

K.  Hen.  li  is  so:  and  you  may,  some  of  you 
thank  love  for  my  blindness  ;  who  cannot  see  many 
a  fair  French  city,  for  one  fair  French  maid,  that 
stands  in  my  way. 

Fr.  King.  Yes,  ray  lord,  you  see  them  perspec- 
tiveiy,  the  cities  turned  into  a  tnaid ;  for  they  are 
all  girdled  with  maiden  walls,  that  war  hath  never 

K.  Hen.  Shall  Kate  be  my  wile  ?  [entered. 

Fr.  King.  So  please  you. 

K.  Hen.  I  am  content;  so  the  maiden  cities  yoa 
talk  of  may  wait  on  her:  so  the  maid,  that  stood  in 
the  way  of  ray  wish,  shall  show  me  tiie  way  to  ray 
will.  [son. 
Fr.  King.  We  have  consented  to  all  terms  of  rea- 

K.  Hen.  Is't  so,  my  lords  ol' England  ? 

West,  The  king  hath  granted  every  article  : 
His  daughter,  first;  and  then,  in  sequel,  all. 
According  to  their  firm  proposed  natures. 

Exe.  Only,  he  hath  not  yet  subscribed  this : — 
Where  your  majesty  demands, — Tiiat  the  king  of 
France,  having  any  occasion  to  write  for  matter  of 
grant,  shall  name  your  highness  in  tliis  form,  and 
with  this  addition,  in  French, — Notre  tres  cherfils 
Henry  roy  d' Amjleterre.  heretier  de  France;  and 
thus  in  Latin, — P rteclarissirnus  Jilius  noster  Hen- 
ricus,  rex  Anglian,  et  haeres  Franciae. 

Fr.  King.  Nor  this  i  have  not,  brother,  so  denied. 
But  your  request  shall  make  me  letitpass 

K.  Hen.  1  pray  you  then,  in  love  and  dearalliance, 
Let  that  one  article  rank  with  the  rest: 
And,  thereupon,  give  me  your  daughter,    [raise  up 

Fr.  King.  Take  her,  fair  son  ;  and  Irom  her  blood 
Issue  to  me  :  that  the  contending  kingdoms 
Of  France  and  England,  whose  very  shores  look  pale 
With  envy  of  each  other's  happiness. 
May  cease  their  hatred  :  and  this  dear  conjonctioo 
Plant  neighbourhood  and  christian-like  accord 
In  their  sweet  bosoms,  that  never  war  advance 
His  bleeding  sword  'twixt  England  and  fair  France. 

All.  Amen  !  [ness  all, 

K.  Hen.  Now  welcome,  Kate : — and  bear  me  wit- 
That  here  I  kiss  her  as  my  sovereign  queen. 

[Flourish. 

Q.  Isa.  God,  the  best  maker  of  all  marriages. 
Combine  your  hearts  in  one,  your  realms  in  one  1 
As  man  and  wife,  being  two,  are  one  in  love. 
So  be  there  t'wixtyour  kingdoms  such  a  spousal. 
That  never  may  ill  office,  or  lell  jealousy. 
Which  troubles  oft  the  bed  of  blessed  marnage. 
Thrust  in  between  the  paction  of  these  kingdoms, 
To  make  divorce  of  their  incorporate  league; 
That  English  may  as  French,  French  Englishmen, 
Receive  each  other  ! — God  speak  this  Amen  ! 
All.  Amen.  [(^ay» 
K.  Hen.  Prepare  we  for  our  marriage  : — on  whiiiil 
My  lord  of  Burgundy,  we'll  take  your  oath, 
And  all  the  peers,  for  surety  of  our  leagues. 
Then  shall  I  swear  to  Kate,  and  you  to  me  ; 
And  may  our  oaths  well  kept  and  prosperous  be  ! 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  Chorus. 
Thus  far,  with  rough,  and  all  unable  pen. 

Our  bending  author  hath  pursu'd  the  story 
In  little  room  confining  mighty  men, 

Mangling  by  starts  the  fuU'course  of  their  glory. 
Smalltime,  but,  in  that  small,  most  g'-eatly  liv'd 

This  star  of  England:  fortune  made  his  sword  ; 
By  which  the  world's  best  garden  he  achiev'd. 

And  of  it  left  his  son  imperial  lord. 
Henry  the  sixth,  in  swaddling  bands  crovvn'd  king^ 

Of  France  and  England,  did  tiiis  king  succeed  : 
Whose  state  so  many  had  the  managmg,  [bleed 

That  they  lost  France,  and  made  his  England 
Which  oft  our  stage  has  shown  ;  and,  for  their  sake, 
In  your  fair  minds  let  tuis  acceptance  take.  [Exit, 


KING  HENRY  VL 

PART  1. 


Of  this  play  there  h  no  copy  earlier  tlian  that  af  the  folio  m  1623  though  the  t^yo  succeeding  parts  are  MtaBt 
in  two  editions  i.i  quarto.  Tliat  the  secotirt  and  third  parts  were  published  williout  the  first  may  be  admitted  as 
no  weak  proof  thai  the  copies  were  surreptitiously  ohlaiiied,  and  tha  the  priiilers  ot  hat  tune  gave  the  public 
thos^  plays  not  such  as  the  author  designed,  but  such  as  they  could  get  them.  That  this  play  was  written  before  the 
two  oUers  ir  n.h.bital.ly  collected  from  the  series  of  events;  that  it  was  written  and  p  ayed  before  Henry  the 
fifth  is  apparent ;  because,  in  the  epilogue  there  is  mention  made  of  this  play,  and  not  of  the  other  parts: 

"  Henry  the  sixth  in  swaddling  bands  crown'd  king, 

Whose  state  so  many  had  (he  managing, 

Tiiat  they  lost  Fiance,  and  made  his  England  bleed: 

Wiiich  oft  our  stage  hath  shown.  " 
France  is  lost  in  this  play  The  two  following  contain,  as  the  old  title  imports,  the  contention  of  the  houses  of  York  and 
Lancaster  The  s-  cond  and  third  of  Henry  VI. were  printed  in  ICOO.  When  Henry  V.  was  written,  we  know  not;  but 
it  was  printed  likewise  in  1600,  and  tlierefore  before  the  publication  of  the  first  and  second  parts.  The  first  part  oi 
Henry  VI  had  been  often  shown  on  the  stage,  and  would  certainly  have  appeared  in  its  place,  had  the  author  been 
the  publisher.  Johnson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


KING  HENRY  THE  SIXTH. 

DUKEOF  GLOSTKil  Uncle  to  the  King,  and  Protector. 
DUKE  OF  U  ED  FORD,  Uncle  to  the  King,  and  Regent  of 

France  , 
THOMAS  BKAUFOllT,  Duke  of  Exeter,  great  Uncle  to 

tkf  Kin(/.  ,  » 

HENRY  BEAUFORT,  g^eat  Uncle  to  the  King,  Bishop 

uf  Whirhesl^r,  and  afterwards  Cardinal. 
JOHN  BEAUFORT,  Enrl  of  Somerset,  ajterwards  Duke. 
RiCHAliJ^  PLANTAGENKT,  eldest  Son  oj  Richard /ate 

Ear/  of  Cambridge,  afterwards  Duke  of  York, 
EARL  OF  WARWICK. 
EARL  OF  SALUSBLRY. 

EARL  OF  SUFFOLK.  ^    ,    ^  t. 

LORD  TALHOr,  afterwards  Earl  of  Shrewsbury. 

JOHN  TAUIV)T,  hi^-  Son. 

EDMUND  MORTIMKR,  Earl  of  March. 

Mortimer's  Keeper,  and  a  Lawyer. 

SIR  JOHN  FASTOLFE. 

SIR  WILLI  \ SI  LUCY. 

SIR  WILLIAM  GLXNSDALE. 

SIR  THOMAS  GARGRAVE. 


Mayor  of  London. 

Scene, — Partly  in  England,  and  partly  in  France. 


WOODVILLE,  Lievtenant  of  the  Tower. 

VERNON,  vf  the  White  Rose,  or  Y'ork  Faction. 

BASSET,  of  the  Red  Rose,  or  Jjancaster  Faction. 

CHARLES,  Dauphin,  and  afterwards  King  of  France. 

REIGNIER,  Duke  of  Anjou,  and  titular  King  of  Naples 

DUKE  OF  BURGUNDY. 

DUKE  OF  .ALENCON. 

Governor  of  Paris 

Bastard  of  Orleans. 

Master  Gunner  of  Orleans,  and  nis  Son. 

General  of  the  French  Forces  in  Bourdeaux. 

A  Fretich  Sergeant. 

A  Porter. 

An  old  Shepherd,  Father  to  Joan  la  Pucelle. 
MARGARET,  Daughter  to  Reignier;  afterwards  mat' 

riod  to  Kino  Henry 
COUNTESS  OF  AUVERGNE. 

JOAN  LA  PUCELLE,  commonly  called  Joan  of  Arc. 
Fiends  appearing  to  La  Pucelle,    Lords,   Warders  qf 
the  Tower,  Heralds,    Officers,    Soldiers,  Messengers, 
and  several  Attendants  both   on   the  English  aria 
French. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  L — Westminster  Abbey. 

Dead  march.  Corpse  of  King  Henry  the  Fifth 
discovered,  lying  in  state  ;  attended  on  by  the 
Dukes  o/' Bedford,  Gloster,  and  Exeter  ;  the 
Earl  o/  vV.4K\vicK,  the  Bishop  of  Winchester, 
Heralds,  etc. 

Bed.  Hung  be  the  heavens  with  black,  yield  day 
to  night ! 

Comets,  importing  change  of  times  and  states, 
Brandish  your  crystal  tresses  in  the  sky  ; 
And  with  them  scourge  the  bad  revolting  stars. 
That  have  consented  mito  Henry's  death  ! 
Henry  the  Filth,  too  famous  to  live  long! 
England  ne'er  lost  a  king  of  so  much  worth. 

Glo.  England  ne'er  had  a  king  until  his  time. 
Virtue  he  harl,  deserving  to  command  ; 
His  brandish'd  sword  did  blind  men  with  his  beams ; 
His  arms  spread  wider  than  a  dragon's  vvings  ; 
His  sparkling  eyes,  replete  with  wrathful  fire. 
More  dazzled  and  drove  back  his  enemies, 
Than  mid  d  iy  sun,  fierce  bent  against  their  faces. 
What  should  1  say  ?  his  deeds  exceed  all  speech  ; 
He  ne'er  lilt  up  his  hand  but  conquered. 

Exe.  We  mourn  in  black;  Why  mourn  we  not  in 
Henry  is  dead,  and  never  shall  revive  :       [blood  ? 
Upon  a  wooden  collin  we  attend  ; 
And  death's  dishonourable  victory 
We  with  our  stately  presence  glorify, 
Like  captives  bound  to  a  triumphant  car. 
What?  slia!!  we  curse  the  planets  of  mishap, 
That  plotted  thus  our  glory's  over<hrow  !* 
Or  shall  we  think  the  subtle  witted  French 
Conjiirors  and  sorcerers,  that,  afraid  of  him, 


By  magic  verses  have  contrived  his  end  ? 

Win.  He  was  a  king,  blessed  of  the  King  of  klngi 
Unto  the  French  the  dreadful  judgment  day 
So  dreadful  will  not  be,  as  was  his  sight. 
The  battles  of  the  Lord  of  hosts  he  fought: 
The  church's  prayers  made  him  so  prosperous. 

Glo.  The  church  !  where  is  it  ?  Had  not  church- 
men f)ray'd, 
His  thread  of  life  had  not  so  soon  decay'd: 
None  do  you  like  but  an  effeminate  prince, 
Whom,  like  a  school-boy,  you  may  over-awe. 

Win.  Gloster,  whate'er  we  like,  thou  art  protector 
And  lookest  to  command  the  prince,  and  realm. 
Thy  wife  is  proud  ;  she  holdeth  thee  ia  awe. 
More  than  God,  or  religious  churchmen,  may. 

Glo.  Name  not  religion,  for  thou  lov'st  the  flesh 
And  ne'er  throughout  the  year  to  church  thou  go'st 
Except  it  be  to  pray  against  thy  foes.       [in  peace  I 

Bed.  Cease,  cease  these  jars,  and  rest  your  minda 
Let  s  to  the  altar :    Heralds,  wait  on  us  : — 
Instead  of  gold,  we'll  offer  up  our  arms  ; 
Since  arms  avail  not,  now  that  Henry's  dead.— 
Posterity,  await  for  wretched  years. 
When  at  their  mothers'  moist  eyes  babes  shall  suck 
Our  isle  be  made  a  nourish  of  salt  tears, 
And  none  but  women  left  to  wail  the  dead. — 
Henry  the  fifth  I  thy  ghost  I  invocate ; 
Prosper  this  realm,  keep  it  from  civil  broils! 
Combat  with  adverse  planets  in  the  heaveiis! 
A  far  more  glorious  star  thy  soul  will  make. 
Than   ulius  Cassar,  or  bright — 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  My  honourable  lords,  health  to  you  -■> 
Sad  tidings  bring  1  to  you  out  of  France, 
Of  loss,  of  slaiigiiter,  and  discomfiture*. 


894 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  I. 


Oaienne,  Champaigne,  Reims,  Orleans, 
Paris,  Guysors,  Poictiers,  are  ail  quite  lost. 

Bed.  Vv  hat  say'sttlioi  aiau,  before  dead  Henry's 

corse  ? 

Speak  softly  ;  or  the  loss  of  those  great  towns 
VVill  make  him  burst  his  lead,  and  rise  from  death. 

Glc.  Is  Paris  lost  ?  is  Rinifn  yielded  up? 
ff  Henry  were  recall  d  to  life  again, 
These  news  would  cause  him  once  more  yield  the 
ghost.  [us'd  ? 

Exe.  How  werf  they  lost?  what  treachery  was 

Mess.  No  treacb=Ty  ,  but  want  of  men  and  money. 
Anioug  the  soldiers  tliis  is  muttered, — 
'I'hat  here  you  maintain  several  factions; 
And,  whilst  a  field  should  be  des[»atcii'd  and  foil g.ht. 
You  are  disputing  of  your  generals. 
One  would  have  liug'ring  wars  with  little  cost; 
Another  would  fly  swift  but  wanteth  wings  ; 
A  third  man  thinks,  without  expense  at  all, 
Bygnilelul  fair  words  peace  may  be  obtain'd. 
Awake,  awake,  English  nobility  ! 
Let  not  sloth  din>  your  honours,  new-begot : 
Cropp'd  are  the  flower-de-luces  in  your  arms  ; 
Of  England's  coat  one  half  is  cut  away. 

Exe.  Were  our  tears  wanting  to  this  funeral. 
These  tidings  would  call  forth  lier  flowing  tides. 

Bed.  Me  they  concern  ;  regent  1  am  of  France  : — 
Give  me  my  steeled  coat,  I'll  fight  lor  France. — 
Away  with  these  disgraceful  wailing  robes! 
Wounds  I  will  lend  the  French,  instead  of  eyes. 
To  weep  their  intermissive  miseries. 

Enter  another  Messenger. 

2  Mess.  liords,  view  these  letters,  full  of  bad 

mischance, 
France  is  revolted  from  the  English  quite  ; 
Except  some  petty  towns  of  no  import: 
The  Dauphin  Charles  is  crovvned  king  in  Reims; 
The  bastard  of  Orleans  with  him  isjoin'd; 
Reignier,  duke  of  Anjou,  doth  lake  his  part; 
The  duke  of  Alen9oii  ilieth  to  his  side. 

Exe.  The  D,(Ujjliin  crowned  king  !  all  fly  to  him  I 
O,  whither  shall  we  fly  from  this  reproach  ? 

Glo.  W e  w  ill  not  fly,  but  to  our  enemies'  throats : — > 
Bedford,  if  thou  be  slack,  I'll  rt-;htit  out.       [ness  ? 

Bed.  Gloster,  why  doubt'st  thou  of  my  forward- 
A^n  army  have  1  muster  d  in  my  thoughts, 
Wherewitli  already  France  is  over  run. 

Enter  a  third  Messenger. 

3  Mess.  My  gracious  lords, — to  add  to  your  la- 

ments. 

Wherewith  you  now  bedew  king  Henry's  hearse, — 

[  must  inform  you  of  a  dismal  flght, 

Betwixt  the  stout  lord  Talbot  and  the  French. 

Win.  What !  wherein  Taibot  overcame  ?  is't  so  ? 

3  Mess.  O,  no ;  wherein  Lord  Talbut  was  o'er- 
thrown : 

The  circumstance  I'll  tell  you  more  at  large. 
The  tenth  of  August  last,  this  dreadful  lord, 
Retiririg  from  the  siege  of  Orleans, 
Having  full  scarce  six  tiiousand  in  his  troop. 
By  three  and  twenty  thousand  of  the  French 
Was  round  encompassed  and  set  upon  : 
No  leisure  had  he  to  emank  liis  men  ; 
He  wanted  pikes  to  set  beli)re  hi^  archers  ; 
Instead  whereof,  sharp  stakes,  pluck'd  out  of  Ledges, 
They  pitched  in  the  groiiod  confusedly. 
To  keep  the  horsemen  oli"  from  breaking  in. 
More  than  three  hours  the  hgnl  continued ; 
Where  valiant  Talbot,  abo\e  human  thought. 
Enacted  wonders  with  his  swo^d  and  lance. 
Hundreds  he  sent  to  hell,  and  none  durst  stand  him  ; 
Here,  ttiere,  and  every  where,  enrag'd  he  slew: 
The  French  exclaim  d,  'I'tie  devil  was  in  arms; 
A.II  the  whole  army  slood  agaz'il  on  iiim  : 
II is  soldiers,  spying  his  undiuinted  spirit, 
A  Taibot !  a  'i'aibot  I  ci  ied  out  amain, 
Afid  rush'd  into  the  bowels  of  tlie  b.ittle. 
«  had  the  conquest  fully  been  seal'd  up. 


t  If  sir  John  Fastolfe  had  not  play'd  the  cowsfd; 
I  He,  be.'ng  in  the  vaward,  (pluc'd  behind, 

With  purpose  to  relieve  and  follow  them,) 

Cowardly  fled,  not  having  struck  one  stroke. 
!  Hence  grew  the  general  wreck  and  massaBre ; 

Enclosed  were  they  with  their  enemies: 
:  A  base  Walloon,  to  win  the  Dauphin's  grace, 
i  Thrust  Talbot  with  a  spear  into  tiie  back  ; 

Whom   all   France,  with  their  chief  assembled 
strength. 

Durst  not  presume  to  look  once  in  the  face. 

Bed.  Is  I'albot  slain  ?  then  1  will  slay  myself. 
For  living  idly  here,  in  pomp  and  ease, 
I  Whilst  such  a  worthy  leader,  wanting  aid, 
,  Unto  his  dastard  fbe-raeu  is  betray  d. 
I     3  Mess.  O  no,  he  lives  ;  but  is  took  prisoner. 
And  lord  Scales  with  him,  and  loid  Hiiiigerford  : 
Most  of  the  rest  slaughter'd,  or  took,  likewise. 

Bed.  His  ransome  there  is  none  but  1  siiall  pay 
I'll  hale  the  Dauphin  headlong  from  his  throne. 
His  crown  shall  be  the  ransome  of  my  friend  ; 
Four  of  their  lords  I'll  change  lor  one  of  ours.— • 
Farewell,  my  masters ;  to  my  task  will  1 ; 
Bonfires  in  France  forthwith  I  am  to  make. 
To  keep  our  great  Saint  George's  feast  uilhal; 
1'en  thousand  soldiers  with  me  1  will  take, 
Whose  bloody  deeds  shad  make  all  Europe  quake. 

3  Mess.  S  o  you  had  need  ;  for  Orlt^ans  i.s  besiegdj 
The  English  army  is  grown  weak  and  faint: 
The  earl  of  Salisbury  craveth  supply, 
And  hardly  keeps  his  men  from  mutiny, 
Since  they,  so  few,  watch  such  a  multitude. 

Exe.  Remember,  lords,  your  oaths  to  Henry  sworn 
Either  to  quell  the  Dauphin  utterly. 
Or  bring  Inin  in  obedience  to  your  yoke. 

Bed.  I  do  remember  it;  and  here  take  leave, 
To  i^o  about  my  preparation.  [Exht 

Glo.  I'll  to  the  Tower,  with  all  the  haste  I  can. 
To  view  the  artillery  and  munition  ; 
And  then  I  will  proclaim  young  Henry  king.  {Exit 

Exe.  'Vo  Eltham  will  1,  where  the  young  king  is 
Being  ordain'd  his  special  governor  ; 
And  for  his  safety  there  I'll  best  devise.  [Exit 

Win.  Each  hath  his  place  and  function  to  attend 
I  am  left  out;  for  me  nothing  remains. 
But  long  I  will  not  be  Jack-out  of  oflice  ; 
The  king  from  Eltham  I  intend  to  send. 
And  sit  ui  chiefest  stern  ol  public  weal. 

[Exit.    Scene  closes* 

Scene  II. — France.    Before  Orleans. 

Enter  Charles,  with  his  Forces ;  Alencon, 
Reignier,  and  others. 

Char.  Mars  his  true  moving,  even  as  in  the  hea- 
So  in  the  earth,  to  this  day  is  nut  known  :  [vens. 
Late  did  he  shine  upon  the  En;j;'isii  side  ; 
Now  we  are  victors,  upon  \..  he  smiles. 
What  towns  of  any  moment,  hul  we  liave  ? 
At  pleasure  here  we  lie,  near  Oi  leans  ; 
Olherwhiles,  the  famish'd  English,  like  pale  ghosts. 
Faintly  besiege  us  one  hour  in  a  month. 

Alen.  'i'hey  want  their  porridge,  and  tiieir  fiat 
bull-beeves : 
Either  they  must  be  dieted  like  mules. 
And  have  their  provender  tied  to  their  mouths. 
Or  piteous  they  will  look,  like  diowned  mice. 

/?t!2^.  Let's  raise  the  siege  :  Wiiy  liv  e  we  idly  here? 
Talbot  is  taken,  whom  we  wont  to  fear: 
Ilemaineth  none  but  mad-brain'd  Salisbury; 
And  he  may  well  in  fretting  vspend  his  gall. 
Nor  men,  nor  money,  hath  tie  to  make  war. 

Char.  Sound,  sound  alarum  :  we  will  rush  on  them. 
Now  tor  the  honour  of  the  forlorn  French  : 
Him  I  forgive  my  death,  that  killetn  me. 
When  he  sees  me  go  back  one  loot,  or  fly.  [Exeunt 
Alarums;  Excursions;  u^terwarcU  a  Retreat. 

Re  enter  Charles,   Alencon,  Reignikr,  and 
others. 

Char.\N\iQ  ever  saw  the  like  ?  «vhat  men  have  I?  ' 


Scene  3. 


KING  HENRY  VI 


Dogs  !  cowards !  dastards ! — I  woulc?  ne'er  have  fled, 
But  that  they  lell  me  'midst  my  enemies. 

Reig.  Salisbury  is  a  desperate  homicide  ; 
He  li^^hteth  as  one  weary  of  his  life. 
The  other  lords,  like  lions  wanting  food, 
Do  rush  upon  us  as  their  hungry  prey. 

Alen.  Frossard,  a  countryman  of  ours,  records, 
England  all  Olivers  and  Rowlands  bred. 
During  the  time  Edward  the  third  did  reign. 
More  truly  now  may  this  be  verified ; 
i'  or  none  but  Samsons,  and  Goliasses, 
It  sendeth  forth  to  skirmish.    One  to  ten ! 
Lean  raw  bon'd  rascals  !  who  would  e'er  suppose 
They  had  such  courage  and  audacity? 

Char.  Let's  leave  this  town;  for  they  are  hair- 
hrain'd  slaves, 
And  hunger  will  enforce  them  to  be  more  eager: 
or  old  1  know  them;  rather  with  their  teeth 
'I'he  walls  they'll  tear  down,  than  forsake  the  siege. 

Reig.  I  think,  by  some  odd  ginimals  or  device, 
Tiieir  arms  are  set,  like  clocks,  still  to  strike  on; 
Else  ne'er  could  they  hold  out  so,  as  they  do. 
By  my  consent,  we'll  e'en  let  them  alone. 
Alen.  Be  it  so. 

Enter  the  Bastard  of  Orleains. 
Bast.  Where's  the  prince  Dauphin  ?  I  have  news 
for  him, 

Char.  Bastard  of  Orleans,  thrice  welcome  to  us. 
Bast.  Methinks  your  looks  are  sad,  your  cheer 

appaFd  ; 

Hath  the  late  overthrow  wrought  this  offence  ? 
Be  notdismay'd,  for  succour  is  at  hand: 
A  holy  maid  hither  with  me  I  bring. 
Which,  by  a  vision  sent  to  her  from  heaven. 
Ordained  is  to  raise  this  tedious  siege. 
And  drive  the  English  forth  the  bounds  of  France. 
The  s{<irit  of  deep  prophesy  she  hath. 
Exceeding  the  nine  sibyls  of  old  Rome ; 
What's  past,  and  what's  to  come,  she  can  descry. 
Speak,  shall  I  call  her  in  ?  Believe  ray  words. 
For  they  are  certain  and  unfallible. 

Char.  Go,  call  her  in :  [Exit  Bastard.]  But,  first, 
to  try  her  skill, 
Reignier,  stand  thou  as  Dauphin  in  my  place : 
Question  her  proudly,  let  thy  looks  be  stern: — 
By  this  means  shall  we  sound  what  skill  she  hath. 

{Retires.) 

Enter  La  Pucelle,  Bastard  of  Orleans,  and 
others. 

Reig.  Fair  maid,  is't  thou  wilt  do  those  wond'rous 
feats  ?  [me  ? — 

Puc.  Reignier,  is't  thou  that  thinkest  to  l3eguile 
Where  is  the  Dauphin  ? — come,  come  from  behind ; 
£  know  thee  well,  though  never  seen  before. 
Be  not  amaz'd,  there's  nothing  hid  from  nrie ; 
fn  private  will  I  talk  with  thee  apart; — 
Stand  back,  you  lords,  and  give  us  leave  awhile. 

Reig.  She  takes  upon  her  bravely  at  first  dash. 

Puc.  Dauphin,  I  am  by  birth  a  shepherd's  daugh- 
My  wit  untrain'd  in  any  kind  of  art.  [ter, 
Heaven,  and  our  Lady  gracious,  hath  it  pleas'd 
To  shine  on  nay  contemptible  estate  : 
Lo,  whilst  I  waited  on  my  tender  lambs. 
And  to  sun's  parching  heat  display'd  my  cheeks, 
God's  mother  deigned  to  appear  to  rae  ; 
And,  in  a  vision  l  ull  of  maje  sty, 
Will'd  me  to  leave  my  base  vocation. 
And  free  my  country  from  calamity : 
Her  aid  she  promis'd,  and  assiir'd  success: 
In  complete  glory  she  reveal'd  herself; 
And,  whereas  I  was  black  and  swart  before, 
With  those  clear  rays  which  she  infus'd  on  me,  , 
That  beauty  am  I  bless'd  with,  which  you  see. 
Ask  me  what  question  thou  canst  possible,  ^ 
And  I  will  answer  unpremeditated  : 
itrly  courage  try  by  combat,  if  thou  dar'st. 
And  thou  shalt  find  that  I  exceed  my  se^x. 
Resolve  on  this :  'Wq\x  shalt  be  fortunate. 


,    ff  thou  receive  me  lor  ti.y  warlike  mate. 

Char.  Thou  hast  astonish'd  nie  with  thy  high 
terms ; 

Only  this  proof  I'll  of  thy  valour  make, — 
In  single  combat  thou  shalt  buckle  with  me; 
And,  if  thou  vanquishes!,  thy  words  are  true.; 
Otherwise,  I  renounce  all  cfmfidence. 

Puc.  1  am  prepar'd  :  here  is  my  keen-edg'd  sword, 
Deck'd  with  five  fiower-de-luces  on  each  side  ; 
The  which  at  Toiiraine,  in  Saint  Katharine's  ciuirch- 
Oiit  of  a  deal  of  old  iron  !  chose  ibrtli.  ;y;i:  d, 

Char.  Then  come  o'  God's  name,  1  fear  no  woman. 
Puc.  And,  while  I  live,  I'll  ne'er  fly  from  a  man. 

{Theyfvjht) 

Char.  Stay,  stay  thy  hand  ;  thou  art  an  Amazon^ 
And  fightest  with  the  sword  of  Deborah. 

Puc.  Christ's  mother  helps  me,  else  I  were  too 
weak.  [help  me  : 

Char.  Whoe'er  helps  thee,  'tis  thou  that  must 
Impatiently  I  burn  with  thy  desire; 
My  heart  and  hands  thou  hast  at  once  subdu'd. 
Excellent  Pucelle,  il'  thy  name  be  so, 
Let  me  thy  servant,  and  not  sovereign  be  ; 
'Tis  the  French  Dauphin  sueth  to  thee  thus. 

Puc.  I  must  not  yield  to  any  rites  of  love. 
For  my  profession's  sacred  fiom  above : 
When  I  have  chased  all  thy  foes  from  hence, 
Then  will  I  think  upon  a  recompense.  [thrall. 
Char.  Mean  time,  look  gracious  on  thy  prostrate 
Reig.  My  lord,  methinks,  is  very  long  in  talk. 
Alen.  Doubtless  he  shrives  this  woman  to  her 
smock : 

Else  ne'er  could  he  so  long  protract  his  speech. 
Reig.  Shall  we  disturb  him,  since  he  keeps  no 
mean?  [know; 
Alen.  He  may  mean  more  than  we  poor  men  do 
These   women  are  shrewd  tempters  with  their 
tongues.  [on  ? 

Reig.  My  lord,  where  are  you  ?  what  devise  you 
Shall  we  give  over  Orleans,  or  no  ? 

Puc.  Why,  no,  I  say,  distrustful  recreants! 
Fight  till  the  last  gasp ;  I  will  be  your  guard. 
Char.  What  she  says,  I'll  confirm  ;  we'll  fight  it 
out. 

Puc.  Assign'd  am  I  to  be  the  English  scourge. 
This  night  the  siege  assuredly  I'll  raise: 
Expect  Saint  Martin's  summer,  halcyon  days. 
Since  I  have  enter'd  into  these  wars. 
Glory  is  like  a  circle  in  the  water. 
Which  never  ceaseth  to  enlarge  itself, 
Till,  by  broad  spreading,  it  disperse  to  nought. 
With  Henry's  death,  the  English  circle  ends; 
Dispersed  are  the  glories  it  included. 
Novy  am  I  like  that  proud  insulting  ship. 
Which  Caesar  and  his  fortune  bare  at  once. 

Char.  Was  Mahomet  inspired  with  a  dove  ? 
Thou  with  an  eagle  art  inspired  then. 
Helen,  the  mother  of  great  Constantine, 
Nor  yet  Saint  Philip's  daughters,  were  like  thee. 
Bright  star  of  Venus,  fall'n  down  on  the  earth. 
How  may  I  reverently  worship  thee  enough  ? 
Alen.  Leave  off  delays,  and  let  us  raise  the  siege 
Reig.  Woman,  d  >  what  thou  canst  to  save  our 
honours ; 

Drive  them  from  O.  I -ans,  and  be  immortalia'd. 
Char.  Presently  we'll  try  :  —  Come,  let's  away 
about  it : 

No  prophet  will  I  trust,  if  she  prove  false.  [Exeunt 

Scene  Ul.— London.    Hill  before  the  Tomsr. 
Enter,  at  the  gates,  the  Duke  of  Glostsr,  with 
his  Serving-me7i,  in  blue  coats. 
Glo.  I  am  come  to  sur\ey  the  Tower  t!iis  day; 
Since  Henry's  death,  I  fear,  there  is  conveyance.-* 
Where  be  these  warders,  that  they  wait  not  here? 
Open  the  gates  ;  Oloster  it  is  that  calls. 

{Servants  knock.) 
1  Ward.  {Within.)  Who  is  there,  tiiat  knocks  so 

imper  iously  ? 
1  Strv.  It  is  the  noble  duke  of  Gloster. 


B90  FIRST 

S  Ward.  (Within.)  Whoe'er  he  be,  we  may  not 
let  him  in. 

I  Serv,  Answer  you  so  the  lord  protector,  villains  ? 
1  Ward.  {Within.)  The  Lord  protect  him  !  so  we 
answer  hini : 

We  do  no  otherwise  than  we  are  wiU'd.       [mine  ? 

Gio.  Who  willed  yon  ;  or  whose  will  stands,  but 
There's  none  protector  of  the  realm,  but  I. — 
Break  up  the  gates,  I'll  be  your  warrantize  : 
Shall  I  be  flouted  thus  by  dunghill  grooms? 

Servants  rush  at  the  Tower  gates.    Enter  to  the 
g-xtes,  VVooDViLLE,  the  Lieutenatit. 
Wood.  (  Within. )  What  noise  is  this  ?  what 

traitors  have  we  here? 
Glo.  Lieutenant,  is  it  you,  whose  voice  I  hear! 
Open  the  gates  ;  here's  Gloster  that  would  enter. 
Wood  ijrithin.)  Have  patience,  noble  duke  ;  I 
may  not  open ; 
The  cardinal  of  Winchester  forbids  : 
Fro-:n  him  I  have  express  comnmndment, 
Tiiat  thou,  nor  none  of  thine,  shall  be  let  in.  [me? 

Glo.  Faint-hearted  Woodville,  prizest  him  'fore 
Arrogant  Winchester?  that  haughty  prelate, 
Whom  Henry,  our  late  sovereign,  ne'er  could  brook? 
Thou  art  no  friend  to  God,  or  to  the  king : 
Open  the  gates,  or  I'll  shut  thee  out  shortly. 

1  Serv.  Open  the  gates  unto  the  lord  protector. 
Or  we'll  burst  them  open,  if  that  you  come  not 
quickly. 

Enter  Winchester,  attended  by  a  Train  of  Ser- 
vants in  tawny  coats. 

Win.   Hovt^  now,   ambitious  Humphrey,  what 
means  this  ?  [shut  out  ? 

Glo.  Piel'd  priest,  dost  thou  command  me  to  be 

Win.  I  do,  thou  most  usurping  proditor. 
And  not  protector  of  the  king  or  realm. 

Glo.  Stand  back,  thou  manifest  conspirator ; 
Thou,  that  contriv'dst  to  murder  our  dead  lord; 
Thou,  that  giv"st  whores  indulgences  to  sin: 
I'll  canvas  thee  in  thy  broad  cardinal's  hat. 
If  thou  proceed  in  this  thy  insolence.  [foot; 

Win.  Nay,  stand  thou  back,  I  will  not  budge  a 
This  be  Damascus,  be  thou  cursed  Cain, 
To  slay  thy  brother  Abel,  if  thou  wilt. 

Glo.  I  will  not  slay  thee,  but  I'll  drive  thee  back  : 
Thy  scarlet  robes,  as  a  child's  bearing-cloth 
I'll  use  to  carry  thee  out  of  this  place. 

Win.  Do  what  thou  dar'st;  I  beard  thee  to  thy 
,face.  [face  ? 

Glo.  What?  am  1  dar'd,  and  bearded  to  my 
Draw,  men,  for  all  this  privileged  place;      [beard  ; 
Blue-coats  to  tawny-coats.     Priest,  beware  your 
( Gloster  and  his  men  attack  the  Bishop.) 
I  mean  to  tug  it,  and  to  culf  you  soundly  : 
Under  my  feet  I  stamp  thy  cardinal's  hat; 
In  spite  of  pope  or  dignities  of  church, 
Here  by  the  cheeks  1 11  diag  thee  up  and  down. 

Win.  Gloster,  thou'lt  answer  this  before  the  pope. 

Glo.  Winchester  goose,  1  cry — a  rope  !  a  rope  ! — 
Now  beat  them  hence,  why  do  you  let  them  stay? — 
Thee  I'll  chase  hence,  thou  wolf  in  sheep's  array. — 
Out,  tawny  coats! — out,  scarlet  hypocrite  I 

Here  a  great  tumult.    In  the  midst  of  it,  enter 
the  Mayor  of  London,  and  officers. 

May.  F'y,  lords  !  that  you,  being  supreme  ma- 
gistrates. 

Thus  contuuieliously  should  break  the  peace  ! 

Glo  Peace,  mayor,  tliou  know'st  little  of  my 
wrongs  : 

Here's  Beaufort,  that  regards  nor  God  nor  king, 
Hath  here  distrain'd  the  Tower  to  his  use. 

Win.  Here's  Gloster  too,  a  foe  to  citizens ; 
One,  that  still  motions  war,  and  never  peace, 
0'erchargii\g  your  free  purses  with  large  fines  ; 
7'hat  seeks  to  ov  erthrow  religion, 
Because  he  is  protector  of  the  realm  ; 
And  would  have  armour  here  out  of  the  Tovv'^ir, 


»ART  OF  ActI 

To  crown  himself  king,  and  suppress  the  prince. 

Glo.  I  will  not  an)Wer  thee  with  words,  but  blowa 
(Here  they  skirmish  again,} 

May.  Nought  rests  for  me,  in  this  tumultuoua 
Sut  to  make  open  proclamation  • —  [strife. 
Come,  officer  ;  as  loud  as  e'er  thou  canst. 

Offi.  All  manner  of  men,  Qsse7fibled  here  in 
arms  this  da-y,  against  God's  peace  and  the  king's, 
ive  charge  and  command  you,  in  his  highness' 
name,  to  repair  to  your  several  dwelling  places  ; 
and  not  to  wear,  handle,  or  use,  any  sword,  wea- 
pon, or  dagger,  henceforward,  upon  pain  of  death. 

Glo.  Cardinal,  1  11  be  no  breaker  of  the  law: 
But  we  shall  meet,  and  break  our  minds  at  large. 

Win.  Gloster,  we'll  meet ;  to  thy  dear  cost,  be 
sure  : 

Thy  heart  blood  I  will  have,  for  this  day's  work. 

May.  I'll  call  for  clubs,  if  you  will  not  away: 
This  cardinal  is  more  haughty  than  the  devil. 

Glo.  Mayor,  farewell :  thou  dost  but  what  thon 
may'st. 

Win.  Abominable  Gloster!  guard  thy  head; 
For  I  intend  to  have  it,  ere  long.  [Exeunt. 
May.  See  the  coast  clear'd,  and  then  we  will 
depart. — 

Good  God  that  nobles  should  such  stomachs  bear  ! 
I  myself  fight  not  once  in  forty  year.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — France.    Before  Orleans. 
Enter,  on  the  walls,  the  Master-Gunner  and  his 
Son. 

M.  Gun.  Sirrah,  thou  know'st  how  Orleans  is 

besieg'd ; 

And  how  the  English  have  the  suburbs  won. 

Son.  Father,  I  know;  and  oft  have  shot  at  them, 
Howe'er,  unfortunate,  I  miss'd  my  aim.      [by  me  ; 

M.  Gun.  But  now  thou  shalt  not.    Be  thou  rul'd 
Chief  master-gunner  am  I  of  this  town  ; 
Something  I  must  do,  to  procure  me  grace. 
The  prince's  espials  have  informed  me. 
How  the  English,  in  the  suburbs  close  intrench'd. 
Wont,  through  a  secret  grate  of  iron  bars 
In  yonder  tower,  to  overpeer  the  city ; 
And  thence  discover,  how,  with  most  advantage. 
They  may  vex  us,  with  shot,  or  with  assault 
To  intercept  this  inconvenience, 
A  piece  of  ordnance  'gainst  it  I  have  plac'd  ; 
And  fully  even  these  three  days  have  I  watch'd. 
If  I  could  see  them.    Now,  boy^  do  thou  watch. 
For  I  can  stay  no  longer. 
II"  thou  spy'st  any,  run  and  bring  me  word ; 
And  thou  shalt  find  me  at  the  governor's.  [Exit. 

Son.  Father,  I  warrant  you ;  take  you  no  care ; 
I'll  never  trouble  yon,  if  I  may  spy  them. 

Enter,  in  an  upper  Chamber  of  a  Tower,  the  Lords 
Salisbury  and  Talbot,  Sir  William  Glans* 
DALE,  Sir  Thomas  Gargrave,  and  others. 
Sal.  Talbot,  my  life,  my  joy,  again  return'd ! 

How  wert  thou  handled,  being  prisoner? 

Or  by  what  means  got'st  thou  to  be  releas'd  ? 

Discourse,  I  pr'ythee,  on  this  turret's  top. 
Tal.  The  duke  of  Bedford  had  a  prisoner, 

Called — the  brave  lord  Ponton  de  Santrailles ; 

For  him  I  was  exchang'd  and  ransomed. 

But  with  a  baser  man  of  arms  by  far. 

Once,  in  contempt,  they  would  have  barter'd  me 

Which  1,  disdaining,  scorn'd;  and  craved  death 

Rather  than  I  would  be  so  pil'd  est^em'd. 

In  fine,  redeem'd  I  was  as  I  desir'd. 

But,  O  !  the  treacherous  Fastolfe  wounds  iny  heart! 

Whom  with  my  bare  fist  I  would  execute. 

If  now  I  had  him  brought  into  my  power. 
Sal.  Yet  tell'st  thou  not,  how  thou  wert  enttr* 
tain'd.  [taunts 
Tal.  With  scoffs,  and  scorns,  and  c  «itamelioai 

In  open  market-place  produc'd  they  me 

To  be  a  public  spectacle  to  all; 

Here,  said  they,  is  the  terror  of  the  French, 

The  scare-crow,  tliat  alfrights  oxtt  children  so. 


Scene  6. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


897 


Then  nroke  I  from  tk,*,  officers  that  led  me ; 

And  with  my  nails  d        stones  out  of  the  ground, 

To  hurl  at  the  behoiders  of  my  shame. 

My  grisly  countenance  made  others  fly ; 

None  durst  come  near  for  fear  of  sudden  death. 

In  iron  walls  they  deem'd  me  not  secure; 

So  great  fear  of  my  name  'mongst  them  was  spread, 

That  they  suppos'd,  I  could  rend  bars  of  steef, 

And  spurn  in  pieces  posts  of  adamant : 

Wherefore  a  guard  of  chosen  shot  I  had, 

That  walk  d  about  me  every  minute-while; 

And  if  I  did  but  stir  out  of  uiy  bed, 

Ready  they  were  to  shoot  me  to  the  heart. 

Sal.  I  grieve  to  hear  what  torments  you  endur'd; 
But  we  will  be  revengd  sufficiently. 
Now  it  is  supper-tiui*"  in  Orleans: 
Here,  through  this  grate,  1  can  count  every  one, 
And  view  the  Frenchmen  how  they  fortify  ; 
Let  ns  look  in,  the  sight  will  much  delight  thee. — 
Sir  Thomas  Gargrave,  and  sir  William  Giansdale, 
Ijpt  me  have  your  express  opinions. 
Where  is  best  place  to  make  our  battery  next. 

Gar.  I  think,  at  the  north  gate  ;  for  there  stand 
lords. 

Glan.  And  I,  here,  at  the  bulwark  of  the  bridge. 

Tal.  For  aught  I  see,  this  city  must  be  famish'd, 
Or  with  light  skirmishes  enfeebled. 

(Shot  from  the  town.  Salisbury  and  Sir 
Thomas  Gargrave  fall.) 

Sal.  O  Lord,  have  mercy  on  us,  wretched  sinners  ! 

Gar.  O  Lord,  have  mercy  on  me,  woeful  man! 

Tal.  What  chance  is  this,  that  suddenly  hath 
cross'd  us? — 
Speak,  Salisbury  ;  at  least,  if  thou  canst  speak  ; 
How  far'st  thou,  mirror  of  ail  martial  men? 
One  of  thy  eyes,  and  thy  cheek's  side  struck  off! — 
Accursed  tower  !  accursed  fatal  hand, 
That  hath  contriv'd  this  woeful  tragedy! 
In  thirteen  battles  Salisbury  o'ercauie  ; 
Henry  the  fifth  he  first  traiiVd  to  the  wars ; 
Whilst  any  trump  did  souud,  or  drum  struck  up, 
His  sword  did  ne'er  leave  striking  in  the  field. — 
Yet  liv'st  thou,  Salisbury?  though  thy  speech  doth 
fail. 

One  eye  thou  hast,  to  look  to  heaven  for  grace  : 
The  sun  with  one  eye  vievveth  all  the  world. — 
Heaven,  be  thou  gracious  to  none  alive. 
If  Salisbury  wants  mercy  at  thy  hands! — 
Bear  hence  his  body,  I  will  help  to  bury  it. — 
Sir  Thomas  Gargrave,  hast  thou  any  life  ? 
Speak  unto  I'albot;  nay,  look  up  to  hinj. 
Salisbury,  cheer  thy  spirit  with  this  ccmfort; 
Thou  shalt  not  die,  whiles — 
He  beckons  with  his  liand,  and  smiles  on  me  ; 
As  who  should  say.  When  I  am  dead  and  gone, 
Remember  to  avenge  me  on  the  French. — 
Flaritagenet,  I  will;  and  Nero-like, 
Play  on  the  lute,  beholding  the  towns  burn  : 
Wretched  shall  France  be  only  in  my  name. 

(Thunder  heard;  afterwards  an  alarum.) 
VVhat  stir  is  this  ?  What  tumult's  in  the  heavens  "!* 
Whence  cometh  this  alarum,  and  the  noise  ? 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord,  my  lord,  the  French  have  ga- 
ther'd  head  : 
The  Dauphin,  with  one  Joan  la  Pucelle  join'd, — 
A  holy  prophetess,  new  risen  up, — 
Is  come  with  a  great  power  to  raise  the  siege. 

( Salisbury  groans.) 
Tal.  Hear,  hear,  how  dying  Salisbury  doth  groan  ! 
t  irks  his  heart,  he  cannot  be  reveng  d. — 
Frenchmen,  I'll  be  a  Salisbury  to  you  : — 
Pucelle  or  [luzzel,  dolphin  or  dogfish, 
Vour  hearts  I'll  stamp  out  with  my  horse's  heels, 
And  make  a  quagmire  of  your  mingled  brains. — 
Ck)u\ey  me  Salisbury  into  his  tent, 
Aad  then  we'll  try  what  these  dastard  Frenchmen 
dare.       {Exeu7ii,  bearing  out  the  bodies 


Scene  V. — T>te  same.   Before  one  oj  the  Gateg 

Alarum.  Skirmishings.  Talbot  pur  siitik  the  Dau* 
phin,  and  driveth  hitn  in ;  then  enter  Joan  la 
Pucelle.  driving  Englishmen  before  her.  Then 
enter  Talbot. 

Tal.  Where  is  my  strength,  my  valour,  and  my 
force  ? 

Our  English  troops  retire,  I  cannot  stay  them ; 
A  woman,  clad  in  armour,  chaseth  them. 

Enter  La  Pucelle. 
Here,  here  she  comes  : — i'll  have  a  bout  with  theef 
Devil,  or  devil's  dam,  I'll  conjure  thee  : 
Blood  will  I  draw  on  thee,  thou  art  a  witch, 
And  straightway  give  thy  soul  to  him  thou  serv'st, 

Puc.  Come,  come, 'tis  only  I  that  must  disgrace 
thee.  {They  fight.) 

Tal.  Heavens,  can  you  suffer  hell  so  to  prevail  ? 
My  breast  I'll  burst  with  straining  of  my  courage. 
And  from  my  shoulders  crack  my  arms  asunder. 
But  I  will  chastise  this  high-minded  strumpet. 

Puc.  Talbot,  farewell ;  thy  hour  is  not  yet  come 
I  must  go  victual  Orleans  forthwith 
O'ertake  me,  if  thou  canst;  I  scorn  thy  strength 
Go,  go,  cheer  up  thy  hunger-starved  men; 
Help  Salisbury  to  make  his  testament : 
This  day  is  ours,  as  many  more  shall  be. 

(Pucelle  enters  the  Toivn,  with  Soldiers.) 

Tal.  My  thoughts  are  whirled  like  a  potter's 
wheel ; 

I  know  not  where  I  am,  nor  what  I  do  : 
A  witch,  by  fear,  not  iorce,  like  Hannibal, 
Drives  back  our  troops,  and  conquers  as  she  lists: 
So  bees  with  smoke,   and  doves  with  noisom© 
stench, 

Are  from  their  hives,  and  houses,  driven  away. 
They  call'd  us,  for  our  fierceness,  English  dogs 
Now,  like  to  whelps,  we  crying  run  away. 

{A  short  alarum*  * 
Hark,  countrymen  I  either  renew  the  fight. 
Or  tear  the  lions  out  of  England's  coat ; 
Renounce  your  soil,  give  sheep  in  lions'  stead  : 
Sheep  run  not  half  so  timorous  from  the  wolt. 
Or  horse,  or  oxen,  from  the  leopard. 
As  you  fly  from  your  oft-subdued  slaves. 

(Alarum.    Another  skirmish  J 
It  will  not  be  : — Retire  into  your  trenches  : 
You  all  consented  unto  Salisbury's  death. 
For  none  would  strike  a  stroke  in  his  revenge.-— 
Pucelle  is  enter'd  into  Orleans, 
In  spite  of  us,  or  aught  that  we  could  do. 
O,  would  I  were  to  die  with  Salisbury  ! 
The  shame  hereof  will  make  me  hide  my  head 

{Alarum.  Retreat.  Exeunt  Talbot  and 
his  Forces,  etc.) 

Scene  VI. — The  same. 
Enter,  on  the  walls,  Pucelle,  Charles,  Reignisk 
Alencon,  and  Soldiers. 

Puc.  Advance  our  waving  colours  on  the  walls; 
Rescu'd  is  Orleans  from  the  English  wolves : — 
Thus  Joan  la  Pucelle  hath  perform'd  her  word. 

Char.  Divinest  creature,  bright  Astiea's  daugh. 
How  shall  I  honour  thee  for  this  success?  Iter. 
Thy  promises  are  like  Adonis'  gardens. 
That  one  day  bloom'd,  and  fruitful  were  the  next- 
France,  triumph  in  thy  glorious  prophetess  ! — 
Recover'd  is  the  town  of  Orleans: 
More  blessed  hap  did  ne'er  befall  our  state. 

Reig.  Why  ring  not  out  the  bells  throughout  the 
town  ? 

Dauphin,  command  the  citizens  make  bonfires. 
And  feast  and  banquet  in  the  open  streets. 
To  celebrate  the  joy  that  God  hath  given  us. 

Alen.  All  France  will  be  replete  with  mirth  ana 

When  they  shall  hear  how  we  nave  play'd  fhe  men 
Char,  "hs  Joan,  not  we,  by  whom  the  day  is  woo 
For  which,  1  will  divide  my  crown  with  bei : 


398  FI 

And  all  the  priests  and  fria?  i  in  my  r  'altn 
Shall,  in  procession,  sing  her  endless  praise. 
A  statelier  pyraniis  to  her  I'll  rear, 
Than  Kliodoi^e's,  or  Memphis',  ever  was  : 
In  memory  ot  her,  when  she  is  dead, 
Her  ashes,  in  an  urn,  more  precions 
Than  tlie  rich  jewei'd  coller  of  Darius, 
Transported  shall  be  at  hi^h  festivals 
Beture  the  kings  and  queens  ol'  France. 
No  longer  o::i  Saint  Denis  will  we  cry, 
But  Joan  la  Pucelle  shall  be  France's  saint. 
Come  in:  and  let  us  banq;iet  royally, 
Alter  this  golden  day  of  victory.  [Flourish.  Exeunt. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  1. — The  same. 
F.nter  to  the  dates,  a  French  Sergeant,  and  two 
Sentinels. 

Ser<j.  Sirs,  take  your  places,  and  be  vigilant: 
If  any  noise,  or  soldier,  you  perceive, 
Near  to  the  nulls,  by  some  apparent  sign. 
Let  us  have  knowledge  at  the  court  of  guard. 

1  Sent.  Sergeant,  you  shall.    [Exit  Ser.}  Thus 
are  poor  servitors 
(When  others  sleep  upon  their  quiet  beds,) 
Constraia'd  to  watch  in  darkness,  rain,  and  cold. 

Enter  Talbot,  Bedford,  Burgundy,  and  Forces, 
with  sc'fltny  ladders ;  their  drums  beating  a 
dead  inarch. 

Tal.  Lord  regent, — and  redoubted  Burgundy, — 
By  whose  approaclj,  the  regions  of  Artois, 
VValloon,  and  Picardy,  are  Iriends  to  us, — 
This  happy  nigiit  the  Frenchmen  are  secure. 
Having  all  day  carous'd  and  bunqueted  : 
Embrace  we  tiien  this  opportimity  ; 
As  fitting  best  to  quittance  their  deceit, 
Contriv'd  by  ait,  and  baleful  sorcery. 

Std.  Coward  of  France  ! — how  much  he  wrongs 
xis  lame, 

Despairing  of  his  own  arm's  fortitude, 
To  join  with  v/itches,  and  the  help  of  hell. 

Bur.  Traitors  have  never  other  company. — 
But  what's  that  Fucelle,  whom  they  term  so  pure  ? 

Tal.  A  maid,  they  say. 

Bed,  A  maid  !  and  be  so  martial ! 

Bur.  Pray  God,  she  prove  nut  n>asculine,ere  long; 
If  underneath  tlie  standard  ol' the  French, 
She  carry  armour,  as  she  hath  begun. 

Tal.  Well,  let  them  practise  and  converse  with 
spirits : 

God  is  our  fortress;  in  whose  conquering  name. 
Let  us  resolve  to  scale  tlieir  flinty  bulwarks. 

Bed.  Ascend,  brave  Talbot ;  we  will  follow  thee. 

Tal.  Not  all  together:  better  far  I  guess. 
That  we  do  make  our  entrance  several  ways; 
That,  if  it  chance  the  one  of  us  do  fail, 
The  otlier  yet  injty  rise  against  their  force. 

Bed.  Agreed  ;  I'll  to  yon  corner. 

Bur.  And  I  to  this. 

Tal.  And  here  will  Talbot  mount,  or  make  his 
grave.— 

Now,  Salisbury  !  for  thee,  and  for  the  right 
Of  Kni;lish  Henry,  shall  this  night  appear 
How  much  in  duty  1  am  bound  to  both 

{The  Efi'jlish  scale  the  loalls.  crying  St.  George  ! 

a  Talhot !  and  all  enter  Ijt/  the  Town.) 
Sent.   {Within.)  Arm!   arm!  tne  enemy  doth 
make  assault ! 

The  French  leap  over  the  walls  in  their  shirts. 
Enter,  several  ways  Bastard.  Alencon,  ReI- 
GNiEK,  halj  ready,  and  half  unready. 
Alen.  How  now,  my  lords  ?  what,  all  unready  so? 
Bast.  Unready  ?  ay,  and  glid  «e  'scap'd  so  well. 
R^fig.  'i'was  time,  1  trow,  to  wake  and  leave  our 
beds, 

Hearing  alarums  at  ourchambf^r  doors. 

Ot  ail  exploits,  since  fiist  I  ibilow'd  arms, 
Ne'»r  heard  \  of  a  warlike  enterprize 


PART  OF  Act  IL 

More  venturous,  or  more  desperate  than  this. 
Bast.  I  think,  this  Talbot  be  a  fi.md  of  hell. 
Heig.  If  not  of  hell,  the  heavens,  sure,  favour  hin^ 
Alen.  Here  cometh  Charles;  1  marvel  how  he  sped 

Enter  Charles  and  La  Pucelle. 
Bast.  'VvkV.  holy  Joan  was  his  defensive  guard. 
Char  Is  this  thy  cunning,  thou  deceitful  dame? 
Didst  thou  at  first,  to  flatter  us  withal. 
Make  us  partakers  of  a  little  gain. 
That  now  our  loss  might  be  ten  times  so  much? 
Puc.  Wherefore  is  Charles  impatient  with  hi 
friend  ? 

At  all  times  will  yon  have  my  power  alike? 
Sleeping,  or  waking,  must  I  still  prevail. 
Or  will  you  blame  and  lay  the  fault  on  me?-  - 
ImproN  ident  soldiers  I  had  your  watch  been  good, 
This  sudden  mischief  never  could  have  fall'n. 

Char.  Duke  of  Alencon,  this  was  your  default; 
That,  being  captain  of  the  watch  to-night, 
Did  look  no  better  to  that  weighty  charge. 

Alen.  Had  all  your  quarters  been  as  safely  kept, 
As  that  whereof  1  had  the  government. 
We  had  not  been  thus  shamefully  surpiis'd. 
Bast.  Mine  was  secure. 

Reig.  And  so  was  mine,  my  lord. 

Char.  And,  for  myself,  most  part  of  all  this  night, 
Within  her  quarter,  and  mine  own  precinct, 
I  was  employ'd  in  passing  to  and  fro. 
About  relieving  of  the  seKitinels  : 
Then  how,  or  which  way,  should  theyfirst  break  in? 

Puc.  Question,  my  lords,  no  further  on  the  case. 
How,  or  which  way  ;  'tis  sure,  they  fouiid  some  p!ace 
But  weakly  guarded,  where  the  breach  was  mdde. 
And  now  there  rests  no  other  shift  but  this, — 
To  gather  our  soldiers,  scatter'd  and  dispers'd, 
And  lay  new  platforms  to  endamage  them. 

Alarum.  Enter  an  English  Soldier,  crying,  a 
Talbot!  a  Talbot !  They  Jiy,  leaving  th^ir 
clothes  behind. 

Sold.  I'll  be  so  bold  to  take  what  they  have  left. 
The  cry  of  Talbot  serves  n>e  for  a  sword  ; 
For  I  have  loaden  me  with  many  spoils. 
Using  no  other  weapon  but  his  name.  [Exii, 

Scene  II.— Orleans.    Within  the  Town. 
Enter  Talbot,  Bedford,  Burgundy,  a  Captain^ 
and  others. 

Bed.  The  day  begins  to  break,  and  night  is  fled. 
Whose  pitchy  mantle  over-veil'd  the  earth. 
Here  sound  retreat,  and  cease  our  hot  pursuit. 

{Retreat  sounded) 
Tal.  Bring  forth  the  body  of  old  Salisbury; 
And  here  advance  it  in  the  market-place. 
The  middle  centre  of  this  cursed  town. — - 
Now  have  I  paid  my  vow  unto  his  soul; 
For  every  drop  of  blood  was  drawn  from  him. 
There  hath  at  least  five  Frenchmen  died  to-night. 
And,  that  hereafter  ages  may  behold 
What  ruin  happen'd  in  revenge  of  him. 
Within  their  chiefest  temple  I'll  erect 
A  tomb,  wherein  his  corpse  shall  be  interr'dt 
Upon  the  which,  that  every  one  may  read, 
Sliall  be  engrav'd  the  sack  of  Orleans  ; 
The  treacherous  manner  of  his  mournful  death. 
And  what  a  terror  he  had  been  to  France. 
But,  lords,  in  all  our  bloody  massacre, 
I  nuise,  we  ntet  not  with  the  Dauphin's  grace  ; 
His  new-come  champion,  virtuous  John  of  Aic  5 
Nor  any  of  his  false  confederates. 
Bed.  'Tis  thought,  lord  Talbot,  whei  the  figh 
began, 

Rous'd  on  the  sudden  from  their  drowsy  oeds 
Tliey  did,  atnongst  the  troops  of  armed  men. 
Leap  o'er  the  walls  Tor  refuge  in  the  field. 

Bur.  Myself  fas  far  as  I  could  well  discern. 
For  .smoke,  and  dusky  vapours  of  the  night,) 
Am  sure,  I  scar'd  the  Dauphin,  and  his  trull; 
Whvn  arm  in  arm  they  both  came  swiftly  ru 


Scene  3. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


399 


Like  to  a  pair  of  lovinjj  turtle-doves, 
That  «"onld  not  live  asunder  day  or  night 
After  that  things  are  set  in  order  here, 
Weil  follow  them  with  all  the  power  we  have. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  All  hail,  my  lords !  which  of  this  princely 
train 

Call  ye  the  warlike  Talbot,  for  his  acts 
So  miic  1  applauded  through  the  realm  of  France  ? 
Tal.  Here  is  the  Talbot :  who  would  speak  with 
him? 

3Iess.  The  virtuous  lady,  countess  of  Auvergne, 
With  modesty  admiring  thy  renown. 
By  me  entreats,  good  lord,  thou  vvouldst  vouchsafe 
To  visit  her  poor  castle  where  she  lies; 
That  she  may  boast,  she  hath  beheld  the  man 
Whose  glory  fills  the  world  wifh  loud  report. 

Bur.  is  it  even  so?  Nay,  then,  I  see,  our  wars 
Will  turn  unto  a  peaceful  comic  sport, 
When  ladies  crave  to  be  encounter'd  with. — 
Yon  may  not,  my  lord,  despise  her  gentle  suit. 

Tal.  Ne'er  trust  lue  then  ;  for,  when  a  world  of  men 
Could  not  prevail  with  all  their  oratory. 
Yet  hatha  woman's  kindness  over-rul'd  : — 
And  therefore  tell  her,  I  return  great  thanks : 
And  in  submission  will  attend  on  her. — 
Will  not  your  honours  bear  me  company? 

Bed.  No,  truly  ;  it  is  more  than  manners  will : 
And  I  have  heard  it  said, — Unbidden  guests 
Are  often  welcomest,  when  they  are  gone. 

Tal.  Well  then,  alone,  since  there's  no  remedy, 
I  mean  to  prove  this  lady's  courtesy. 
Come  hither,  captain.  {  Whispers.) — You  perceive 
my  mind. 

Cavi.  I  do,  my  lord ;  and  mean  accordingly. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  III, — Auvergne.    Court  of  the  Castle. 
Enter  the  Countess  and  her  Porter. 

Count.  Porter,  reniember  what  I  gave  in  charge  ; 
■And,  when  you  have  done  so,  bring  the  keys  to  me. 

Port.  Madam,  I  will.  {Exit. 

Count.  The  plot  is  laid  :  if  all  things  fallout  right, 
I  shall  as  famous  be  by  this  exploit, 
As  Scythian  Thomyris  by  Cyrus'  death. 
Great  is  the  rumour  of  this  dreadful  knight. 
And  his  achievements  of  no  less  account : 
Fain  would  mine  eyes  be  witness  with  mine  ears. 
To  give  their  censure  of  these  rare  reports. 

Enter  Messenger  and  Talbot 

Mess.  Madam, 
According  as  your  ladyship  desir'd, 
By  message  crav'd,  so  is  lord  Talbot  come. 

Cotmt.  And  he  is  welcome.    What !  is  this  the 

Mess.  Madam,  it  is.  [man  ? 

Count.  Is  this  the  scourge  of  France  ? 

Is  this  the  Talbot,  so  much  fear'd  abroad. 
That  with  his  name  the  mothers  still  their  babes? 
I  see,  report  is  fabulous  and  false  : 
I  thought,  I  should  have  seen  some  Hercules, 
A  second  Hector,  for  his  grim  aspect, 
And  large  proportion  of  liis  strong-knit  limbs. 
Alas !  tins  is  a  child,  a  silly  dwarf : 
It  cannot  be,  this  weak  and  writhled  shrimp 
Bhould  strike  such  terror  to  his  enemies. 

Tal.  Madam,  I  have  been  bold  to  trouble  you  : 
But,  since  your  ladyship  is  not  afc  leisure, 
I'll  sort  some  other  tinje  to  visit  you. 

Count.  Wlmt  means  he   now? — Go  ask  him, 
whither  he  goes. 

Mess.  Stay,  my  lord  Talbot ;  for  my  lady  craves 
To  know  the  cause  of  your  abrupt  departure. 

Tal.  Marry,  for  that  she's  in  a  wrong  belief, 

go  to  certify  her,  Talbot's  here. 

Re-enter  Porter,  with  keys. 
Count.  If  thon  be  he,  then  art  thou  prisoner. 
lal.  Pruouei' !  to  whom  ? 


Count.  '  To  me,  blood-thirsty  I 

And  for  that  cause  I  train'd  thee  to  my  house. 
Long  time  thy  shadow  hath  been  thrall  to  iriC, 
For  in  my  gallery  thy  picture  hangs: 
But  now  the  substance  shall  endi.re  the  like  ; 
And  I  will  chain  these  legs  and  arms  of  thine. 
That  hast  by  tyranny,  thf  se  many  years. 
Wasted  our  country,  slain  our  citizens, 
And  sent  our  sons  and  husbands  captivate. 

Tal.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Count.  Laiighest  thou ,  wretch?  thy  miith  shal, 
turn  to  moan. 

Tal.  I  laugh  to  see  your  ladyship  so  fond. 
To  think  that  yon  have  anglit  but  Talbofs  shadow. 
Whereon  to  practise  your  severity. 

Count.  Why,  art  not  thou  the  man  ? 

Tal.  I  am  indeed. 

Count.  Then  have  I  substance  too. 

Tal.  No,  no,  I  am  but  shadow  of  myself : 
You  are  deceiv'd,  my  substance  is  not  here; 
For  what  you  see,  is  but  the  smallest  part 
And  least  proitorticn  of  humanity  : 
I  tell  you,  madam,  were  the  w  hole  frame  here. 
It  is  of  such  a  spacious  lofty  pitch. 
Your  roof  were  not  sufficient  to  contain  it. 

Count.  Tliis  is  a  riddling  mercliant  lor  the  nonce  : 
He  will  be  here,  and  yet  he  is  not  here: 
How  can  these  contrarieties  agree  ? 

Tal.  That  will  I  show  you  presently. 

He  winds  a  horn.  Drums  heard;  then  a  peat 
of  ordnance.  The  Gates  being  forced,  enttt 
Soldiers. 

How  say  you,  madam?  are  you  now  persuaded 
That  Talbot  is  but  shadow  of  himself? 
These  are  his  substance,  sinew,  arms,  and  strength 
With  which  he  yoketh  your  rebellious  necks  ; 
Razeth  your  cities,  and  subverts  your  towns. 
And  in  a  moment  makes  them  desolate. 

Count.  Victorious  Talbot !  pardon  rny  abuse 
I  find,  thou  art  no  less  than  fame  hath  bruited. 
And  more  than  may  be  gatlier'd  by  the  shape 
Let  my  presumption  not  provoke  thy  wrath; 
For  1  am  sorry,  that  with  reverence 
I  did  not  entertain  thee  as  tliou  art. 

Tal.  Be  notdismay'd,  fair  lady  ;  nor  misconstra© 
The  mind  of 'i'albot,  as  you  did  nnstake 
The  outward  composition  of  his  body. 
What  you  have  done  hath  not  oflended  me : 
No  other  satisfaction  do  I  crave. 
But  only  (with  your  patience,)  that  we  may 
Taste  of  your  wine,  and  see  what  cates  you  have  ; 
For  soldiers'  stomachs  always  serve  thenj  well 

Count.  With  all  my  heart ;  and  think  me  honoure^ 
To  feast  so  great  a  warrior  in  my  house.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV.— London.    The  Temj)le  Garden. 
Enter  the  Earls  of  Somerset,  Suffolk,  and  War- 
wick; Richard  Plantagenet,  Vernon  and 
another  Lawyer. 

Plan.  Great  lords  and  gentlemen,  what  means 
this  silence  ? 
Dare  no  man  answer  in  a  case  of  truth  ? 

Suf.  Within  the  Temple  hall  we  were  too  load,' 
The  garden  here  is  more  convenient. 

Plan.  Then  say  at  once,  if  i  maintain'd  the  truth* 
Or,  else,  was  wrangling  Somerset  in  the  error? 

Suf.  'Faith,  I  have  been  a  truant  in  the  law  ; 
And  never  yet  could  frame  my  will  to  it; 
And,  therefore,  frame  the  law  unto  my  will. 

Sotn.  J'idge  you,  my  lord  of  Warwick,  then  be 
tvveen  us.  [pitch 

War.  Betvveen  two  hawks,  which  flies  the  higho 
Between  two  dogs,  which  hath  the  deeper  mouth; 
Between  two  blades,  which  bears  the  bettt-r  temper 
Between  two  horses,  which  doth  bear  him  best; 
Between  two  girls,  whi^h  hath  the  nierriest  eye  : 
I  have,  perhaps,  some  shallow  spirit  of  jiidgmeat. 
But  in  (iiese  ni.-^e  sharp  quillets  of  the  lavsr. 
Good  faith,  I  am  no  wiser  than  a  dav/. 


400 


FIRST  PART  OP 


ACT  It 


Plan.  Tat,  tut,  here  is  a  mannerly  forbearance : 
The  truth  appears  so  naked  on  my  side, 

Som.  And  on  my  side  it  is  so  well  apparell'd. 
That  any  purblind  eye  may  find  it  out. 
So  clear,  so  shining,  and   :>  evident, 
That  it  will  glimmer  throi.gh  a  blind  man's  eye. 

Plan  Since  you  are  congue  ty'd,  and  so  loath 
to  sjjeak, 

In  dumb  significants  pr»;laim  your  thoughts: 

Let  him,  tliat  is  a  true-born  gentleman, 

And  stands  upon  the  honour  of  his  birth. 

If  he  suppose  that  I  have  pleaded  truth, 

Prom  otf  tiiis  brier  pluck  a  white  rose  with  rae. 

Som.  Let  him,  that  is  no  coward,  nor  no  flatterer, 
But  dare  maintain  the  party  of  the  truth. 
Pluck  a  red  rose  from  otf  this  thorn  with  me. 

War.  I  Io\e  no  colours;  and,  without  all  colour 
Of  base  insinuating  flattery, 
I  pluck  this  white  rose,  with  Plantagenet. 

Suf.  I  pluck  this  red  rose,  with  young  Somerset ; 
And  say  withal,  I  think  he  held  the  right 

Ver.  Stay,  lords  and  gentlemen ;  and  pluck  no 
more, 

Till  you  conclude — that  he,  upon  whose  side 
The  fewest  roses  are  cropp'd  from  the  tree, 
Shall  yield  the  other  in  the  right  opinion. 

Som,  Good  master  Vernon,  it  is  well  objected  ; 
If  I  have  fewest,  I  subscribe  in  silence. 

Plan.  And  I. 

Yer.  Then,  for  the  truth  and  plainness  of  the  case, 
I  pluck  this  pale,  and  maiden  blossom  here, 
Giving  my  verdict  on  the  white  rose  side. 

So7}i.  Prick  not  your  finger  as  you  pluck  it  off; 
Lest,  bleeding,  you  do  paint  the  white  rose  red, 
And  fall  on  my  side  so  against  your  will. 

Ver.  If  I,  my  lord,  for  my  opinion  bleed. 
Opinion  shall  be  surgeon  to  my  hurt. 
And  keep  me  on  the  side  where  still  I  am. 

Som.  Well,  well,  come  on  :  Who  else  ? 

Laiv.  Unless  my  study  and  my  books  be  false, 
The  argnmetit  you  held,  was  wrong  in  you  ; 

[To  Somerset.) 
In  sign  whereof,  I  pluck  a  white  rose  too. 

Plan.  Now,  Somerset,  where  is  your  argument? 

So7ii.  Here,  in  my  scabbard  ;  meditating  that, 
Shall  die  your  white  rose  in  a  bloody  red. 

Plan.  Mean  time,  your  cheeks  do  counterfeit  our 
roses ; 

For  pale  they  look  with  fear,  as  witnessing 
The  truth  on  our  side. 

Soi7i.  No,  Plantagenet, 

'Tis  not  for  fear;  but  anger, — tliat  thy  cheeks 
Blush  for  pure  shame,  to  counterfeit  our  roses; 
And  yet  thy  tongue  will  not  confess  thy  error. 

Plan.  Hath  not  thy  rose  a  canker,  Somerset  ? 

Som.  Hath  not  thy  rose  a  thorn,  Plantagenet  ? 

Plan.  Ay,  sharp  and  piercing,  to  maintain  his  truth  ; 
Whiles  thy  consuming  canker  eats  his  falsehood. 

Som.  Well,  I'll  find  friends  to  wear  my  bleeding- 
roses, 

Tiiat  shall  maintain  what  I  have  said  is  true. 
Where  false  Plantngenet  dare  not  be  seen. 

Plan.  Now.  by  this  maiden  blossom  in  my  hand> 
I  scorn  thee  and  thy  fashion,  peevish  boy. 

Suf.  Turn  not  thy  scorns  this  wiiy,  Plantagenet. 

Plan.  Proud  Poole,  I  will  ;  and  scorn  both  him 
and  thee. 

Suf.  I'll  turn  niy  part  thereof  into  thy  throat. 
Som.  Away,  away,  good  William  De-la-Poole! 

grace  tlie  yeoman,  by  conversing  with  him. 
War.  Now  by  God's  will,  thou  wrong'st  him, 
Somerset ; 

His  grandfather  was  Lionel,  duke  of  Clarence, 
Third  son  to  the  third  Edward  king  of  England; 
j;ring  crestless  yeo?nen  from  so  deep  a  lOot? 

Plan.  He  hilars  him  on  the  place's  privilege, 
Or  darsi  no?,  for  iiis  craven  heart,  say  thus. 

Som.  By  Him  that  made  me,  I'll  maintain  iny  words 
On  a  -ty  plot  of  ground  in  Christendom  : 
Was  not  thy  faliier,  Richard,  earl  of  Cambridge, 


For  treason  executed  in  our  late  king's  days  ? 
And,  by  his  treason,  stand'st  not  thou  attained. 
Corrupted,  and  exempt  from  ancient  gentry? 
His  trespass  yet  lives  guilty  in  thy  blood  ; 
And,  till  thou  be  restor'd,  thou  art  a  yeoman. 

Plan.  My  father  was  attached,  not  attainted; 
Condemn'd  to  die  for  treason,  but  no  traitor  ; 
.And  that  I'll  prove  on  better  men  than  Somerset, 
Were  growing  time  once  ripen'd  to  my  will. 
For  your  partaker  Poole,  and  you  yourself, 
I'll  note  you  in  my  book  of  memory, 
To  scourge  you  for  this  apprehension : 
Look  to  it  well ;  and  say  you  are  well  warn'd. 

Som.  Ay,  thou  shalt  find  us  ready  for  thee  still : 
And  know  us,  by  these  colours,  for  thy  foes  ; 
For  these  rny  friends,  in  spite  of  thee,  shall  wear. 

Plan.  And,  by  my  soul,  this  pale  and  angry  rose 
As  cognizance  of  my  blood-drinking  hate, 
Will  I  for  ever,  and  my  faction,  wear; 
Until  it  wither  with  me  to  my  grave. 
Or  flourish  to  the  height  of  my  degree. 

Suf.  Go  forward,  and  be  chok'd  with  thy  ambition  r 
And  so  farewell,  until  I  meet  thee  next.  [Exit* 

Sotn.  Have  with  thee,  Poole. — Farewell,  ambi- 
tious Richard.  [Exit, 

Plan.  How  I  am  brav'd,  and  must  perforce  en- 
dure it !  [house, 

PVar.  This  blot,  that  they  object  against  youi 
Shall  be  wip'd  out  in  the  next  parliament. 
And,  if  thou  be  not  then  created  York, 
I  will  not  live  to  be  accounted  Warwick. 
Mean  time,  in  signal  of  my  love  to  thee, 
Against  proud  Somerset,  and  William  Poole, 
Will  I  upon  thy  party  wear  this  rose  : 
And  here  I  prophesy, — This  brawl  to-day, 
Grown  to  this  faction,  in  the  Temple  garden, 
Shall  send,  between  the  red  rose  and  the  white 
A  thousand  souls  to  death  and  deadly  night. 

Plan.  Good  master  Vernon,  I  am  bound  to  you 
'That  you  on  my  behalf  would  pluck  a  flower. 

Ver.  In  your  behalf  still  will  I  wear  the  samft. 

Laio.  And  so  will  I. 

Plan.  Thanks,  gentle  sir. 
Come,  let  us  four  to  dinner  :  I  dare  say. 
This  quarrel  will  drink  blood  another  day.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  V. — The  same.   A  Room  in  the  Tower. 
Enter  Mortimer,  brought  in  a  chair  by  two 
Keepers. 

Mor.  Kind  keepers  of  my  weak  decaying  age. 
Let  dy  ing  Mortimer  here  rest  himself. — 
Even  like  a  man  new  haled  from  the  rack. 
So  fare  my  limbs  with  long  imprisonment: 
And  these  grey  locks,  the  pursuivants  of  death, 
Nestor-like  aged,  in  an  age  of  care. 
Argue  the  end  of  Edmund  Mortimer. 
These  eyes, — like  lamps   whose  wasting  oil  is 
spent, — 

Wax  dim,  as  drawing  to  their  exigent : 

Weak  shoulders,  overborne  with  burd'ning  grief ; 

And  pithless  arms,  like  to  a  wither'd  vine 

That  droops  his  sapless  branches  to  the  ground : — 

Yet  ftre  these  feet,  whose  strengthless  stay  is  n'jnib 

Unable  to  support  this  lump  of  clay, — 

Swift- winged  with  desire  to  get  a  grave. 

As  witting  I  no  other  comfort  have. — 

But  tell  me,  keeper,  will  my  nephew  come  ? 

1  Keep.  Richard  Plantagenet,  my  lord,  will  com© 
We  sent  unto  the  Temple,  to  his  chamber ; 
And  answer  was  return'd,  that  he  will  come. 

Mor.  Enough  ;  my  soul  shall  then  be  satisfied.-— 
Poor  gentleman  !  his  wrong  doth  equal  mine. 
Since  Henry  Monmouth  first  began  to  reign, 
(  Before  whose  glory  I  was  great  in  arms, ) 
This  loathsome  sequestration  have  1  had  ; 
And  even  since  then  hath  Richard  been  obscw'aL 
J)epriv'd  of  honour  and  inheritance: 
But  now,  the  arbitrator  of  despairs. 
Just  death,  kind  umpire  of  men's  miseridt, 
y/ith  sweet  enlargement  doth  dismias 


Act  III.    Scene  1. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


401 


I  would,  his  troubles  likewise  were  espir'd. 
That  so  he  might  recover  what  was  lost. 

Enter  Richakd  Plantagenkt. 
i  Keep.  My  lord,  your  loving  nephew  now  is  come. 
Mor.  Richard  Flautageuet,  my  friend?  Is  he 

come  ? 

Plan.  Ay,  noble  nncle,  thtis  ignobly  us'd, 
Your  nephew,  late-despised  Richard,  comes 

Mor.  Direct  mine  arms,  I  may  embrace  his  neck. 
And  in  his  bosom  spend  my  latter  gasp: 
O,  tell  me,  when  my  lips  do  touch  his  cheeks, 
That  I  may  kindly  give  one  fainting  kiss. — 
And  now  declare,  sweet  stem  from  York's  great 
stock. 

Why  didst  thou  say — of  late  thou  wert  despis'd  ? 

P/fl!».First,  lean  thine  aged  back  against  mine  arm  ; 
And,  in  that  ease,  I'll  tell  thee  my  disease. 
This  day,  in  argument,  upon  a  case. 
Some  words  there  grew  'twixt  Somerset  and  me  : 
Among  which  terms  he  used  his  lavish  tongue. 
And  did  upbraid  me  with  my  father's  death; 
Which  obloquy  set  bars  belore  my  tongue. 
Else  with  the  like  I  had  requited  hirn  : 
Therefore,  good  uncle, — for  my  father's  sake. 
In  honour  of  a  true  Plantagenet, 
And  for  alliance'  sake, — declare  the  cause 
My  father,  earl  of  Cambridge,  lost  his  head. 

31o".  That  cause,  fair  nephew,  that  imprison'd  me. 
And  hath  detain'd  me,  all  my  flow'ring  youth. 
Within  a  loatlisome  dungeon,  there  to  pine. 
Was  cursed  instrument  of  his  dec  ease. 

Plan.  Discover  more  at  large  what  cause  that  was  ; 
For  I  am  ignorant,  and  cannot  guess. 

Mor.  I  will ;  if  that  my  fading  breath  permit. 
And  death  approach  not  ere  my  tale  be  done. 
Henry  the  fourth,  grandfather  to  this  king, 
Depos'd  his  ne[)hew  Riciiard  ;  Edward's  son. 
The  first- begotten,  and  the  lawful  heir 
Of  Edward  king,  the  third  of  that  descent: 
During  whose  reign,  the  Percies  of  the  north. 
Finding  his  usurpation  most  unjust, 
Endeavour'd  my  advancement  to  the  throne: 
The  reason  rnov'd  these  warlike  lords  to  this. 
Was — for  that  (young  king  Richard  thus  reraov'd, 
Leaving  no  heir  begotten  of  his  body, ) 
I  was  the  next  by  birth  and  parentage; 
For  by  my  mother  I  derived  am 
From  Lionel  duke  of  Clarence,  the  third  son 
To  king  Edward  the  third,  whereas  he 
From  John  of  Gaunt  doth  bring  his  pedigree. 
Being  but  fourth  of  that  heroic  line. 
But  mark  ;  as,  in  this  haughty  great  attempt. 
They  laboured  to  plant  the  rightful  heir, 
I  lost  my  liberty,  and  they  tiieir  lives. 
Long  after  this,  when  Henry  the  fifth, — 
Succeeding  his  father  Bolingbroke, — did  reign. 
Thy  father,  earl  of  Cambridge, — then  deriv'd 
From  famous  Edmund  Langley,  duke  of  York, — 
Marrying  my  sister,  that  thy  mother  was, 
Again,  in  pity  of  my  hard  distress. 
Levied  an  army :  weening  to  redeem. 
And  have  install'd  me  in  the  diadem  : 
But,  as  the  rest,  so  fell  that  noble  earl, 
And  was  beheaded.    Thus  the  Mortimers, 
In  whom  the  title  rested,  were  suppress'd. 

Plan.  Of  which,  my  lord,  your  honour  is  the  last. 

3Ior.  True  ,•  and  thou  seest  that  I  no  issue  have  ; 
And  that  my  fainting  words  do  warrant  death  : 
Thou  art  my  heir;  the  rest,  I  wish  thee  gather: 
Bat  yet  be  wary  in  thy  studious  care. 

Plan.  Thy  grave  admonishments  prevail  with  me : 
R/ityet,  methinks,  my  father's  execution 
Was  nothing  less  than  bloody  tyranny. 

Mor.  With  silence,  nephew,  be  thon  politic  ; 
Strong-fixed  is  the  house  of  Lancaster, 
And,  like  a  mountain,  not  to  be  remov'd. 
But  now  thy  uncle  is  removing  hence ; 
As  princes  do  their  courts,  when  they  are  cloy'd 
With  long  continuance  in  a  settled  place. 


Plan.  O,  uncle,  'would  some  part  of  my  young 
years 

Might  but  redeem  the  passage  of  your  age! 
Mor.  Thou  dostthen  wrong  me,  as  the  slaught'rer 
doth. 

Which  giveth  many  wounds,  when  one  will  kill. 
Mourn  not,  except  thou  sorrow  for  my  good ; 
Only,  give  order  for  my  fimeral ; 
And  so  farewell ;  and  fair  be  all  thy  hopes  ! 
And  prosperous  be  thy  life,  in  peace,  and  war ! 

{.DS99.) 

Plan.  And  peace,  no  war,  befall  thy  parting  soul  1 
In  prison  hast  Ihou  spent  a  pilgrimage. 
And  like  a  hermit  overpass'd  thy  days. — 
Well,  I  will  lock  his  counsel  in  my  breast; 
And  what  I  do  imagine,  let  that  rest. — 
Keepers,  convey  him  hence  ;  and  I  myself 
Will  see  his  burial  better  than  his  life. — 

[Exeunt  Keepers,  bearing  out  Moriimer, 
Here  dies  the  dusky  torch  ol'  Mortimer, 
Choked  with  ambition  of  the  meaner  sort: — 
And,  for  those  wrongs,  those  bitter  injuries, 
Which  Somerset  hatli  ofi'er'd  to  my  house, — 
I  doubt  not,  but  with  honour  to  redress  : 
And  therefore  haste  I  to  the  parliament ; 
Either  to  be  restored  to  my  blood. 
Or  make  ray  ill  the  advantage  of  my  good.  [Exit. 

ACT  in. 

Scene  I. — The  same.    The  Parliajnent  House, 
Flourish.  Enter  King  Henry,  Exeter,  Glostes, 
Warwick,  Somerset,  ant/ Suffolk  ;  the  Bishop 
of  Winchester,  Richard  Plantagenet,  and 
others.    Gloster  offers  to  put  up  a  bill ;  Win- 
chester snatches  it  and  tears  it. 
Win.  Com'st  thou  with  deep  premeditated  lines. 
With  written  pamphlets  studiously  devis'd, 
Humphrey  of  Gloster  ?  if  thou  can'st  accuse, 
Or  aught  intend'stto  lay  unto  my  charge, 
Do  it  without  invention  suddenly  ; 
As  I  with  sudden  andextemporal  speech 
Purpose  to  answer  what  thou  canst  object. 

Glo.  Presumptuous  priest !  this  place  commauils 
my  patience. 
Or  thou  should'st  find  thou  hast  dishonour'd  me. 
Think  not,  although  in  writing  I  preferr'd 
The  manner  of  thy  vile  outrageous  crimes, 
That  therefore  I  have  forg'd,  or  am  not  able 
Verbatim  to  rehearse  the  method  of  my  pen: 
No,  prelate  ;  such  is  thy  audacious  wickedness. 
Thy  lewd,  pestiferous,  and  dissentious  pranks. 
As  very  infants  prattle  of  thy  pride. 
Thou  art  a  most  pernicious  usurer : 
Froward  by  nature,  enemy  to  peace; 
Lascivious,  wanton,  more  than  well  beseems 
A  man  of  f  hy  profession,  and  degree  ; 
And  for  thy  treachery.  What's  more  manifest? 
In  that  thou  laid'st  a  trap  to  take  my  life. 
As  well  at  London  bridge,  as  at  the  Tower  ? 
Beside,  I  fear  me,  if  thy  thoughts  were  sifted. 
The  king,  thy  sovereign,  is  not  quite  exempt 
From  envious  malice  of  thy  swelling  heart. 

Win.  Gloster,  T  do  defy  thee. — Lords,  voucbkal^ 
To  give  me  hearing  what  i  shall  reply. 
If  I  were  covetous,  ambitious,  or  perverse. 
As  he  will  have  me.  How  am  I  so  poor  ? 
Or  how  haps  it,  I  seek  not  to  advance 
Or  raise  myself,  but  keep  my  wonted  calling? 
And  for  dissention.  Who  preferreth  peace 
More  than  I  do, — except  I  be  provoli" '  ? 
No,  my  good  lords,  it  is  not  that  offei.  ; 
It  is  not  that,  that  hath  incensd  the  duke  : 
It  is,  because  no  one  should  sway  but  he; 
No  one,  but  he,  should  be  about  the  king ; 
And  that  engenders  thunder  in  his  breast, 
And  makes  him  roar  these  accusations  forth. 

But  he  shall  know,  1  am  as  good  

Glo.  A*  good  ? 

Thou  bastard  of  my  grandfather! — 


103 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  IIL 


fVin.  Ay,  lordly  sir;  For  what  are  you,  I  pray. 
But  Mac  imperious  in  another's  throne  : 

Gh.  Am  1  n(»t  the  protector,  saucy  priest? 

Win.  And  am  I  not  a  prelate  of  the  cl  .vch  ? 

Glo.  Yes,  as  an  outlaw  in  a  castle  keeps. 
And  useth  it  to  patronage  his  tiieft. 

Win.  Unrevereut  (iloster! 

Glo.  Thou  art  reverent 

roucliing  thy  spiritual  function,  not  thy  life. 

Win.  This  ilome  shall  remedy. 

War.  Roam  thither  then. 

Som.  My  lord,  it  were  your  duty  to  forbear. 

War.  Ay,  see  the  bislioj>  be  not  overborne. 

Som.  Melhinks.  n>y  lord  shoidd  be  religious, 
And  know  the  (*ftice  that  belongs  to  such. 

War.  Metliiiiks,  his  lordship  should  be  humbler; 
It  litteth  not  a  prelate  so  to  plead. 

Som.  Yes,  wlien  his  holy  state  is  touch'd  so  near. 

War.  State  holy,  or  unliallow'd,  what  of  that  ? 
Is  not  ids  grace  protector  to  the  king? 

Plan.  Plant;ig*>net,  1  see,  must  hold  his  tongue  ; 
Lest  it  be  said,  Speak,  sirrah,  when  you  should; 
Musi  your  bold  vtrdict  enter  talk  with  lords? 
Else  would  I  have  a  (ling  at  VVinchester.  {Aside.) 

K.  Hen.  Uncles  ot  Gloster,  and  of  VVinchester, 
The  special  watchmen  of  our  English  weal; 
I  would  prevail,  if  prayers  might  prevail. 
To  join  your  hearts  in  love  and  atuity. 
O,  what  a  scafidal  is  it  to  our  crown, 
That  two  such  noble  peers  as  ye,  should  jar  I 
Believe  me,  lords,  my  tender  years  can  tell. 
Civil  dissenti()n  is  a  viperous  worm, 
'J'hat  gnaws  the  bowels  of  the  commonwealth. — 

{A  noise  within ;  Doivn  luith  the  tawny  coats  }) 
What  tumulfs  this? 

War.  An  uproar,  I  dare  warrant, 

Begun  through  malice  of  the  bishop's  men. 

{A  noise  again  ;  Stones  !  Stones .') 

Enter  the  Mayor  of  London,  attended. 
May.  O,  my  good  lords, — and  virtuous  Henry, — 
Pity  the  city  of  London,  pity  us  ! 
The  bislsop  and  the  duke  o(  Gioster's  men, 
Porbidden  late  to  carry  any  weapon, 
Have  fili'd  their  pockets  full  of"  pebble-stones ; 
And,  banding  themsehes  in  contrary  parts, 
Do  peit  so  fist  at  one  another's  pate, 
That  many  have  their  giddy  brains  knock'd  out : 
Our  windows  are  broke  down  in  every  street. 
And  we,  for  fear,  compell'd  to  shut  our  shops. 

Enter,  skirmishiny,  the  retainers  of  Gloster  and 
Winchester,  with  bloody  pates. 
K.  Hen.  VV'e  charge  you,  on  allegiance  to  ourself, 
To  hold  your  slaiight'ring  hands,  and  keep  the  peace. 
Pray,  uncle  CJIoster,  mitigate  this  strife. 

1  Serv.  Nay,  if  we  be 

Forbidden  stones,  we'll  fall  to  it  with  our  teeth. 

2  Serv.  Do  what  ye  dare,  we  are  as  resolute. 

{Skirmish  again.) 
Glo.  You  of  my  household,  leave  this  peevish  b.-'oii. 
And  set  his  uiiacfustom'd  fight  aside. 

1  Serv.  My  lord,  we  know  your  grace  to  be  a  man 
Just  and  upright;  and,  f<»r  your  royal  birth, 
Inferior  to  none,  but  to  his  majesty  : 

And,  ere  fiiat  we  wilt  suffer  such  a  prince, 

So  kind  a  fallier  of  tiie  commonweal, 

To  be  disgract-d  by  an  ink  horn  mate, 

We,  and  our  wives,  and  chiUlren,  all  will  fight, 

4Qd  have  our  bodies  slaugtiter'd  by  thy  foes. 

2  Serv.  Ay,  ami  the  very  parings  of  our  nails 
Shall  pitch  a  tkid,  when  we  are  dead. 

{Skirmish  again.) 

Gio.  Stay,  stay,  I  say. 

And;  if  you  love  me,  as  you  say  you  do, 
Let  me  persuade  you  to  forbear  a  while. 

K.  Si.  O.  how  this  discord  duth  afflict  my  soul ! — 
Can  joM,  ii.y  lord  »)f  Winchester,  betiold  , 
My  sighs  and  tears,  aiul  will  not  once  relent? 
Who  should  be  pitiful,  if  yov  be  not  ? 


Or  who  should  study  to  prefer  a  peace, 
If  holy  churchmen  take  delight  in  broils? 

War.  My  lord  protector,  yield  ; — yield,  Wis*. 
Chester; — 

Except  you  mean,  with  obstinate  reptdse. 
To  slay  your  sovereign,  and  destroy  (he  realm. 
You  see  what  mischief,  and  what  murder  too. 
Hath  been  enacted  through  your  ennnty  • 
'I'hen  be  at  peace,  except  ye  thirst  f<»r  blood. 

Win.  He  shall  submit,  or  I  will  never  ;field. 

Glo.  Compassion  on  the  king  commands  ine  stoop; 
Or,  I  would  see  his  heart  out,  ere  the  prie&t 
Should  ever  get  that  privilege  of  me. 

War.  Behold,  my  lord  of  Winchester,  the  duke 
Hath  banisii'd  moody  discontented  fury, 
As  by  his  smoothed  brows  it  doth  appear : 
Why  look  you  still  so  stern,  and  tragical  ? 

Glo.  Here,  Winchester,  I  ofter  thee  my  hand. 

K.  Hen.  Fy,  uncle  Beaufort  !  I  have  heard  yoa 
preach, 

That  malice  was  a  great  and  grievous  sin  : 
And  will  not  you  maintain  the  thing  you  teach. 
But  prove  a  chief  offeiider  in  the  same  ? 

War.  Sweet  king  I — the  bishop  hath  a  kindly 
gird.— 

For  shame,  my  lord  of  Winchester  !  relent ; 
What,  shall  a  child  instruct  you  what  to  do? 

Win.  Well,  duke  of  Gloster,  I  will  yield  to  thee; 
Love  for  thy  love,  and  hand  for  hand  I  give. 

Glo.  Ay  ;  but,  I  fear  me,  with  a  hollow  heart. — 
See  here,  my  friends  and  loving  countrymen; 
This  token  serveth  for  a  flag  of  truce. 
Betwixt  ourselves,  and  all  our  Ibllovvers: 
So  help  me  God,  as  I  dissemble  not ! 

Win.  So  help  me  God,  as  1  intend  it  not! 

{Aside.) 

K.  Hen.  O  loving  uncle,  kind  duke  of  Gloster, 
How  joyful  am  I  made  by  this  contract! — 
Away,  my  masters !  trouble  us  u^/  more  ; 
But  join  in  friendship,  as  your  lords  have  done. 

1  Serv.  Content ;  I'll  to  the  surgeon's. 

2  Serv.  And  so  will  i 

3  Serv.  And  I  will  see  what  physic  the  tavern 

affords.     [Exeunt  Servants,  Mayor,  §^c. 

War.  Accept  this  scroll,  most  gracious  sovereign; 
Which  in  the  right  of  ilicliard  Plantageuet 
We  do  exhibit  to  your  majesty. 

Glo.  Well  nrg'd,  my  lord  of  Warwick; — for, 
sweet  prince, 
An  if  your  grace  mark  every  circumstance. 
You  have  great  reason  to  do  Richard  riglit: 
Especially,  for  those  occasions 
At  Eltham- place  I  told  your  majesty. 

K.  Hen.  And  those  occa^sions,  imcle,  were  of  force: 
Therefore,  my  loving  lords,  our  pleasure  is. 
That  Richard  be  restored  to  his  blood. 

War.  Let  Richard  be  restored  to  his  blood  ; 
So  shall  his  father's  wrongs  be  recompens'<l. 

Win.  As  will  the  rest,  so  willeth  Winchester. 

K.  Hen.  If  Richard  will  be  true,  not  tiiat  aloue. 
But  all  the  whole  inheritance  I  give, 
That  doth  belong  unto  the  house  of  York, 
From  whence  you  spring  by  lineal  descent. 

Plan.  Thy  humble  servant  vows  obedience. 
And  humble  service,  till  the  point  of  death. 

K.  Hen.  Stoop  then,  and  set  your  knee  againli 
my  foot ; 

And,  in  reguerdon  of  that  duty  done, 
I  girt  ti*ee  with  the  valiant  sword  of  York  : 
Rise,  Richard,  like  a  true  Plautagenet ; 
And  rise  created  princely  duke  of  York. 

Plan.  And  so  thrive  Richard,  as  thy  foes  may  fall! 
And  as  my  duty  springs,  so  perish  they 
That  grudge  one  thought  against  your  majesty  ! 
*  All.  Welcome,  higii  prince,  the  mighty  auke  o( 
York ! 

Som.  Perish,  base  prince,  ignoble  duke  of  York ! 

{Asidt] 

Glo.  Now  will  it  best  avail  your  majesty, 
To  cross  the  seas,  and  to  be  crown'd  in  Ftance  : 


Scene  2.* 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


403 


The  presotjce  c's  king  engenders  love 
Amongst  his  subjects,  and  his  loyal  friends  • 
As  it  disatiiinates  Ins  enemies. 
K.  Hen.  When  Gloster  says  the  word,  king 
Henry  goes ; 
For  friendly  counsel  cuts  off  many  foes. 
Olo.  Your  ships  already  are  in  readiness. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Exeter. 
Exe.  Ay,   we  may  march  in  England,  or  in 
France, 

Not  seeing  what  is  likely  to  ensue  : 

This  late  dissenlion,  grown  hetwirtthe  peers. 

Burns  under  feigned  ashes  of  forg'd  love. 

And  will  at  last  break  out  into  a  flame  : 

4is  fester'd  members  rot  but  by  degrees. 

Till  bones,  and  flesh,  and  sinews,  fall  away, 

So  will  this  base  atid  envious  discord  breed. 

And  now  I  fear  that  fatal  prophecy. 

Which,  in  tiie  time  of  Henry,  nam'd  the  fifth. 

Was  in  the  mouth  of  every  sucking  babe, — 

Tiiat  Henry,  born  at  Montmouth,  should  win  all ; 

And  Henry,  born  at  Windsor,  should  lose  all : 

Which  is  so  plain,  that  Exeter  doth  wish 

His  days  may  finish  ere  that  ha|)less  time.  [Exit. 

Scene  H. — France.    Before  Rouen. 
Enter  LA  PucELLE  disguised,  and  Soldiers  dressed 

like  countrytnen,  with  sacks  upon  their  backs. 

Puc.  These  are  the  city  gates,  the  gates  of  Roiieu, 
Through  which  our  policy  nmst  make  a  breach  : 
Take  heed,  be  wary  how  you  place  your  words; 
Talk  like  ti)e  vulgar  sort  of  market-men, 
That  come  to  gather  money  lor  their  corn. 
Tf  we  have  entrance  (as,  i  hope,  we  sliall), 
And  that  we  find  the  slothful  watch  but  weak, 
I'll  by  a  sign  give  notice  to  our  friends, 
That  Charles  the  Dauphin  may  encounter  tliera. 

1  Sold.  Our  sacks  shall  be  a  mean  to  sack  the  city, 
And  we  be  lords  and  rulers  over  Roiien; 
Therefore  Wf'll  knock.  {Knocks.) 

Guard.  [Within.)    Qui  est  la? 

Puc.  Paisans,  pauvres  yens  de  France : 
I'oor  market  folks,  tiiat  come  to  sell  their  corn. 

Gnard.  Enter,  go  in;  the  market  bell  is  rung. 

{Opens  the  gates.) 

Puc.  No\v,  Roiien,  I"ll  shake  tny  bulwarks  to  the 
ground.        {Pucelle,  §fc.  enter  the  city.) 

Enter  Charles,  Bastard  of  Orleans,  Alencon, 
and  Forces. 

Char.  Saint  Dennis  bless  this  happy  stratagem  ! 
And  once  again  we'll  sleep  secure  in  Roiien. 

Bast.  Here  enter'd  Pucelle,  and  her  practisants ; 
Now  she  is  there,  how  will  she  specify. 
Where  is  the  best  and  safest  passajje  in? 

Alen.  By  thrusting  out  a  torch  from  yonder  tower ; 
Which,  once  discern'd,  shews,  that  her  meaning  is, — 
No  way  to  that,  for  weakness,  which  she  enterd. 

Enter  La  Pucelle  on  a  battlement :  holding  out  a 
torch  burning. 

Puc.  Behold,  this  is  the  happy  wedding  torch, 
Thatjoineth  Roiieu  luito  her  coiuitrynien ; 
But  burning  fital  to  the  Talbotites. 

Bast.  See,  nuble  Charles!  the  beacon  of  our  friend, 
Tlie  buniinn  torch  in  yonder  tiuTet  stands. 

Char.  Now  siiine  it  like  a  comet  of  revenge, 
A  prophet  to  the  fall  of  all  our  foes! 

Alen.  Defer  no  time,  delays  have  dangerous  ends; 
Enter,  and  cry — The  Da.uphini — presently. 
And  iiien  do  eitecution  on  the  watch.    {They  enter.) 

Alarxims.  Enter  Talbot,  and  certain  English. 

Tal.  France,  thou  shalt  rue  this  treason  with 
thy  tears, 
If  Talbot  but  survive  thy  treachery. — 
Pucelle,  that  witch,  that  d.umied  sorceress. 
Hath  wrought  this  hellish  mischief  nn;»wares, 
That  hardly  we  escap'd  the  pride  ot  France. 

[Exeu7it  to  the  Town. 


Alarum:  Excursions.  Enter,  from  th»  Town. 
Bedford,  brought  in  sick,  m  a  chair,  tvith 
Talbot,  Burgundy,  atid  the  English  Forces, 
Then,  enter  on  the  walls,  La  Pu'cellb.  Char- 
les, Ballard,  Alencon,  and  others. 

Puc.  Good  morrow,  gallants!  want  ye  corn  for 
bread  ? 

I  think,  the  duke  of  Burgundy  will  fast. 
Before  he'll  buy  again  at  such  a  rate  : 
'Twas  full  of  darnel;  do  you  like  the  taste  ? 

Bur.  Scoff  on,  vile  fiend,  and  shameless  courteaaa! 
I  trust,  ere  long,  to  choke  thee  with  thine  own, 
And  make  thee  curse  the  harvest  of  that  corn. 

Cha.  Your  grace  may  starve,  perhaps,  before  that 
time. 

Bed.  O,  let  no  words,  but  deeds,  revenge  thia 
treason ! 

Puc.  What  will  you  do,  good  grey-beard?  break 
a  lance. 

And  run  a  tilt  at  death  within  a  chair? 

Tal.  Foul  fiend  of  France,  and  hag  of  all  despite, 
Encompass'd  with  thy  lustfid  paramours! 
Becomes  it  thee  to  taunt  his  valiant  age. 
And  twit  with  cowardice  a  man  half  dead? 
Damsel,  I'll  have  a  bout  with  you  again, 
Or  else  let  Talbot  perish  with  this  shame. 

Puc.  Are  you  so  hot,  sir  ? — Yet,  Pucelle,  hoW 
thy  peace ; 

If  Talbot  do  but  thunder,  rain  will  follow. — 

( Talbot,  and  the  rest,  c  msult  together. \ 
God  speed  the  parliament !  who  sliall  be  the  speaker: 

Tal.  Dare  ye  come  forth,  and  nieet  us  in  the  field  ? 

Puc.  Belike,  your  lordship  takes  us  then  for 
To  try  if  that  our  own  be  ours,  or  no.  '{fools. 

Tal.  I  speak  not  to  that  railing  Hecate, 
But  unto  thee,  Alencon,  and  the  rest; 
Will  ye,  like  soldiers,  come  and  fight  it  out? 

Alen.  Signior,  no. 

Tal.  Signior,  hang! — base  muleteers  of  France 
Like  neasant  foot-boys  do  they  keep  the  walls. 
And  dare  not  take  up  arms  like  gentlemen. 

Puc.  Captains,  away,  let's  get  us  from  the  walls 
For  Talbot  means  no  goodness,  by  his  looks. — 
God  be  wi'  you,  my  lord !  we  came,  sir,  but  to  telj 
That  we  are  here.  (you 
[Exeunt  La  Pucelle,  ^c.from  the  wall*. 

Tal.  And  there  will  we  be  too,  ere  it  be  long, 
Or  else  reproach  be  Talbot's  greatest  fame  ! — 
Vow,  Burgundy,  by  honour  of  thy  house, 

iPrick'd  on  by  public  wrongs,  sustain'd  iu  France,^ 
Either  to  get  the  town  again,  or  die : 
And  I, — as  sure  as  English  Henry  lives. 
And  as  his  father  here  was  conqueror; 
As  sure  as  in  this  late-betrayed  (own 
Great  Coeur-de-lion's  heart  was  buried  ; 
So  sure  I  swear,  to  get  the  town,  or  die. 

Bur,  My  vows  are  equal  partners  with  thy  vows 
Tal.  But,  ere  we  go,  regard  this  dying  prince, 
The  valiant  duke  ofBelford  : — Con>e,  my  lord. 
We  will  bestow  you  in  some  better  place. 
Fitter  for  sickness,  and  for  crazy  age. 

Bed.  Lord  Talbot,  do  not  so  dishonour  me  • 
Here  will  I  sit  before  the  walls  of  Roiien, 
And  will  be  partner  of  yo<ir  weal,  or  woe. 
Bur.  Courageous  Bedford,  let  us  now  persnad* 
you.  [read 
Bed.  Not  to  be  gone  from  hence ;  for  once  2 
That  stout  Pendragon,  in  his  litter,  sick, 
Came  to  the  field,  and  vanquished  his  foes  : 
JVlethinks,  I  should  revive  the  soldiers'  lieirts, 
Becau^  I  ever  fvund  them  as  inyseif 

Tal.  Undaunted  spirit  in  a  dying  breas<  !-•• 
Then  be  it  so: — Heavens  keep  old  Bedford  safe  1 
And  now  no  more  ado,  brave  Burgutfdy, 
But  gather  we  our  lorces  out  of  hand. 
And  set  upon  our  boasting  enemy. 

[Exeunt  Burgundy,  Talbot,  and  Fsuroeg 
leaving  Bedford,  and  others. 


^04 

Alarum.  Excursions.  Enter  Sir  John  Fastolfe, 
auU  a  Captain. 

Cap.  Whither  away,  Sir  John  Fastolfe,  in  such 

haste  ? 

Fa^i.  Whither  away?  to  save  myself  by  flight; 
We  are  like  to  have  the  overthrow  agaiti. 

Cap.  What !  will  you  fly,  and  leave  lord  Talbot  ? 
Fast.  Ay, 
II  the  Talbots  in  the  world,  to  save  my  life.  ( Exit. 
Cap.  Cowardly  knight !  ill  fortune  follow  thee  ! 

[Exit. 

Retreat.  Excursions.  Enter  from  the  Toivn,  La 
PucELLE,  Alen^on,  Charles,  §fc.  and  exeunt 
fiying. 

Bed.  Now,  quiet  soul,  depart  when  heaven  please; 
For  I  have  seen  o-ur  enemies'  overthrow. 
What  is  the  trustor  strength  of  foolish  man? 
They,  that  of  late  were  daring  with  their  scoiFs, 
Are  glad  and  fain  by  flight  to  save  themselves. 

[Dies,  and  is  carried  off  in  his  chair. 

Aiarnm.    Enter  Talbot,  Burgundy,  and  others. 

Tal.  Lost,  and  recover'd  in  a  day  again ! 
This  is  a  double  honour,  Burgundy  : 
Yet,  heavens  have  glory  for  this  victory! 

Bur.  VVarlike  and  martial  Talbot,  Burgundy 
Enshrines  thee  in  his  heart ;  and  there  erects 
Thy  noble  deeds,  as  valour's  monument. 

Tal.  Thanks,  gentle  duke.  But  where  is  Pucelle 
[  think  her  old  familiar  is  asleep  :  [now  ? 

Now  where's  the  Bastard's  braves,  and  Charles  his 
gleeks? 

What,  all  a  nmrt?  Roiien  hangs  her  head  for  grief, 

That  sach  a  valiant  con)pany  are  fled. 

Now  will  we  take  some  order  in  the  town. 

Placing  therein  some  expert  ofticers  ; 

And  then  depart  to  Paris,  to  the  king; 

For  there  young  Harry,  with  his  nobles,  lies. 

jBwr.  What  wills  lord  Talbot,  pleaseth  Burgundy. 

Tal.  But  yet,  before  we  go,  let's  not  forget 
I'he  noble  duke  of  Bedford,  late  deceas'd. 
But  see  his  exequies  fulfill'd  in  Roiien  ; 
A  braver  soldier  never  couched  lance, 
A  gentler  heart  did  itever  sway  in  court : 
liut  kings,  and  mightiest  potentates,  must  die  ; 
For  that's  the  end  of  human  misery.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — The  same.  The  Plains  near  the  City. 

Enter  Charles,  the  Bastard,  Alencon,  La 
Pucelle,  and  Forces. 

Puc.  Dismay  not,  princes,  at  this  accident, 
Nor  grieve,  that  Roiien  is  so  recovered : 
Care  is  no  cure,  but  rather  corrosive, 
For  things,  that  are  not  to  be  remedied. 
Let  frantic  Talbot  triumph  for  a  while, 
And  like  a  peacock  sweep  along  his  tail ; 
We'll  pull  his  plumes,  and  take  away  his  train, 
If  Dauphin,  and  the  rest,  will  be  but  rul'd. 

Char.  We  have  been  guided  by  thee  hitherto. 
And  of  thy  cunning  had  no  diflidencc  ; 
One  sudden  foil  shall  never  breed  distrust. 

Bast.  Search  out  thy  wit  for  secret  policies, 
And  we  will  make  thee  famous  through  the  world. 

Alen.  We'll  set  thy  statue  in  some  holy  place. 
And  have  thee  reverenc'd  like  a  blessed  saint; 
Emploj  thee  then,  sweet  virgin,  for  our  good. 

Puc.  Then  thus  it  must  be  ;  this  doth  Joan  de- 
vise : 

By  fair  persuasions,  mix'd  with  sugar'd  words. 
We  will  entice  the  duke  of  Burgundy 
To  leave  tliL<  Talbot,  and  to  follow  us. 

Char.  Aj,  marry,  sweeting,  if  we  could  do  that, 
France  were  no  place  for  Henry's  warriors; 
Nor  should  that  nation  boast  it  so  with  us. 
But  be  extirped  from  our  provinces.  [France, 

Alen.  For  ever  should  they  be  ezpuls'd  from 
And  not  have  title  to  an  earldom  here.  [work, 

Puo.  Voar  honours  shall  perceive  how  I  will 


'  Act  III. 

To  bring  this  matter  lo  the  wished  end. 

{Drums  heard. 
Hark!  by  the  sound  of  drum,  you  m;\y  j)erfeivc 
Their  powers  are  marching  unto  Paris  ward. 

An  English  March.   Enter,  and  pass  over  ai  a 

distance,  Talbot  and  his  Forces. 
There  goes  the  Talbot,  with  his  colturs  spread. 
And  all  the  troops  of  English  after  him. 

A  French  March.  Enter  the  Dube  o/BL'RGUNl>y 

and  Forces. 
Now,  in  the  rearward,  conies  the  duke,  and  his; 
Fortune,  in  favour,  makes  him  lag  behind. 
Summon  a  parley,  we  will  talk  with  him. 

{A  parley  sounded.) 
Char.  A  parley  with  the  duke  of  Burgundy? 
Bur.  Who  craves  a  parley  with  the  Burgundy? 
Puc.  The  princely  Charles  of  France,  thy  couu- 
tryman. 

Bur.  Wliat  say'st  thou,  Charles  ?  for  I  am  march- 
ing hence. 

Char.  Speak,  Pucelle  ;  and  enchant  him  with  thy 
words. 

Puc.  Brave  Burgundy,  undoubted  hope  of  France, 
Stay,  let  thy  humble  handmaid  speak  to  thee, 

Bur.  Speak  on;  but  be  not  over-tedious. 

Puc.  Look  on  thy  country,  look  on  fertile  France, 
And  see  the  cities  and  the  towns  defac'd 
By  wasting  ruin  of  the  cruel  foe  ! 
As  looks  the  mother  on  her  lowly  babe. 
When  death  doth  close  his  tender  dying  eyes, 
See,  see  the  pining  malady  of  France  ; 
Behold  the  wounds,  the  most  unnatural  wounds. 
Which  thou  thyself  hast  given  her  woful  breast! 
O,  turn  thy  edged  sword  another  way ; 
Strike  those  that  hurt,  and  hurt  not  those  that  help  . 
One  drop  of  blood,  drawn  from  thy  country's  bo- 
som, [gore ; 
Should  grieve  thee  more  than  streams  of  foreign 
Return  thee,  therefore,  with  a  flood  oi"  tears. 
And  wash  away  thy  country's  stained  spots  I 

Bur.  Either  she  hath  bewitch'd  me  with  her 
Or  nature  makes  me  suddenly  relent.  [words. 

Puc.  Besides,  all  French  and  France  exclaims 
on  thee. 

Doubting  thy  birth,  and  lawful  progeny 
Who  join'st  thou  with,  but  with  a  lordly  nation. 
That  will  not  trust  thee,  but  for  profit's  sake  ? 
When  Talbot  Iiath  set  footing  once  in  France, 
And  fashion'd  thee  that  instrument  of  ill, 
Who  then,  but  English  Henry,  will  be  lord. 
And  thou  be  tiirust  out,  like  a  fugitive  ? 
Call  we  to  mind,— and  mark  but  this,  for  proof 
Was  not  the  duke  of  Orleans  thy  foe  ? 
And  was  he  not  in  England  prisoner? 
But,  when  they  heard  he  was  thine  enemy. 
They  set  him  free,  without  his  ransom  paid. 
In  spite  of  Burgundy,  and  all  his  friends. 
See  then  !  thou  fight'st  against  thy  countrymen, 
And  join'st  with  them  will  be  thy  slaughter-tnen. 
Come,  come,  return;  return,  thou  wand'ring  lord 
Charles,  and  the  rest,  will  take  thee  in  their  ar 
Bur.  I  am  vanquished ;  these  haughty  wor 
her's 

Have  battered  me  like  roaring  cannon-shot. 
And  made  me  almost  yield  upon  my  knees. — 
Forgive  me,  country,  and  sweet  countrymen ! 
And,  lords,  accept  this  hearty  kind  embrace: 
My  forces  and  tuy  power  of  men  are  yours ; — 
So,  farewell,  Talbot;  I'll  no  longer  trust  thee. 

Puc.  Done  like  a  Frenchman;  turn,  and  turn 
again !  [us  fresh. 

Char.  Welcome,  brave  duke!  thy  fiiendship  makes 

Bast.  And  doth   beget  new  courage  iu  our 
breasts.  [this 

Alen.  Pucelle  hath  bravely  play'd  her  part  in 
And  doth  deserve  a  coronet  of  gold. 

Char.  Now  let  us  on,  ray  lords,  and  join  our 
powers ; 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  IV.    Scene  1.  KING  H 

And  seek  how  we  may  prejudice  the  foe.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  lY.— Fans.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  King  Henry,  Gloster,  and  other  Lords, 

Vernon,  Basset,  ^c.    To  them  Talbot,  and 

some  of  his  Ojficers. 

Tal.  *My   p.iacions  i)nnce,  —  aud  honourable 
peers, — 

Hcarinjy  of  your  arrival  in  tliis  realm, 

I  have  awhile  given  truce  unto  my  wars. 

To  do  my  duty  to  my  sovereign  : 

In  sign  whereol',  this  arm, — that  hath  reclaimed 

To  youi  obedience  fil"ty  fortresses, 

Twelve  cities,  and  seven  walled  towns  of  strength. 

Beside  five  hiin  Ired  prisoners  of  esteem, — 

Lets  fall  his  sword  before  your  highnt^ss'  feet; 

A^rid,  with  submissive  loyalty  of  heart, 

A, scribes  the  glory  of  his  conquest  got, 

First  to  my  God,  and  next  unto  your  grace, 

K.  Hen.  Is  this  the  lord  Talbot,  uncle  Gloster, 
Thitf  hath  so  long  been  resident  in  France  ! 

Glo.  Yes,  if  it  please  your  majesty,  my  liege. 

K.  Hen.  VVelcome,  brave  captain,  and  victorious 
lord  ! 

VV^hen  I  was  young  (as  yet  I  am  not  old,) 

I  do  remember  how  my  father  said, 

A  stouter  champion  never  handled  sword. 

i<ong  since  we  were  resolved  of  your  truth, 

Your  faithful  service,  and  your  toil  in  war; 

Yet  never  have  you  tasted  our  reward, 

Or  been  reguerdou'd  with  so  much  as  thanks. 

Because  tilt  now  we  never  saw  your  face  : 

Therefore,  stand  up  ;  atid,  for  these  good  deserts. 

We  here  create  you  earl  of  Shrewsbury ; 

And  in  our  coronation  take  your  place. 

[Exeunt  Kimj  Henry,  Gloster,  Talbot, 
and  Nobles. 

Ver  Now,  sir,  to  you,  that  vvere  so  hot  at  sea, 
Disgracing  uf  tuese  cokturs  that  I  wear 
In  honour  oi  my  noble  lord  of  York  , — 
Dar'sttiii^u  maintain  the  former  words  thou  spak'st? 

Bos.  Yes.  sir;  as  well  as  you  dare  patronage 
The  envious  barking  of  your  saucy  tongue 
Ag'Unst  Tuy  lord,  the  duke  of  Sornerset. 

Ver.  Sirrah,  tiiy  lord  V  honour  as  he  is. 

Bas.  VV'liy,  what  is  he  ?  as  good  a  man  as  York. 

Ver.  Hark  ye;  not  so:  in  witness,  takp  ye  that. 

{Strikes  him.) 

Bas.  Villain,  thou  know'st  the  law  of  arms  is 
stecti. 

That,  whoso  draws  a  sword,  'tis  present  death; 
Or  else  this  blow  should  broach  thy  dearest  blood. 
But  I'll  unto  his  majesty,  and  crave 
1  may  have  liberty  to  venge  this  wrong; 
When  thou  shalt  see,  I'll  meet  thee  to  thy  cost 
Ver.  Well,  miscreant,  I'll  be  there  as  soon  as 
you ; 

And,  after,  meet  you  sooner  than  you  would. 

\Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — The  same.    A  Room  of  State. 
Enter  King  Henry,  Gloster,  Exeter,  York, 
Suffolk,  Somerset,  Winchester,  Warwick, 
Talbot,  the  Governor  of  Paris,  and  others. 
Glo.  Lord  bishop,  set  the  crown  upo.i  his  head. 
Win.  God  save  king  Henry,  of  that  name  the 
sixth ! 

Glo.  Now,  governor  of  Paris,  take  your  oath, — 
{Governor  kneels.) 
That  yoa  elect  no  other  king  but  him  : 
Esteem  none  friends,  but  such  as  are  his  friends ; 
And  none  your  foes,  but  such  as  shall  pretend 
Malicious  practices  agiiinst  his  state  : 
"Shis  shall  ye  do,  so  he  If)  you  righteous  God  ! 

[Exeunt  Gov.  and  his  Train. 

Enter  Sir  John  Fastolfe. 

^asf.   My  gracious  sovereign,  as  I  rode  from 
Calais, 


NRY  VI.  40J 

To  haste  imto  your  coronation, 

A  letter  was  delivered  to  my  hands, 

Writ  to  your  grace  from  the  duke  of  Burguij(l|r, 

Tal.  Shame  to  the  duke  of  Burgundy,  and  iam  1 
I  vow'd,  base  knight,  when  I  did  meet  thee  next. 
To  tear  the  garter  from  thy  craxen's  leg. 

{Pinching  it 
(Which  I  have  done)  because  unworthily 
Thou  wast  installed  in  that  high  degree. — 
Pardon  me,  princely  Henry,  and  the  rest : 
This  dastard,  at  the  battle  of  Patay, 
When  but  in  all  I  was  six  th(*usand  strong. 
And  that  the  French  were  almost  ten  to  one,— 
Before  we  met.  or  that  a  stroke  was  given, 
Like  to  a  trusty  oquire,  I'd  vai  away: 
In  w^hich  assault  we  lost  lAelve  hundred  jnen; 
Myself,  and  divers  gentlemen  beside. 
Were  there  surpris'd,  and  taken  prisoners. 
Then  judge,  great  lords,  if  I  have  done  amiss; 
Or  wlietlK^r  that  such  cowards  oup,ht  to  wear 
Tliis  ornament  of  knighthood,  yea,  or  no. 

Glo.  To  say  the  truth,  this  fact  was  infamous, 
And  ill  beseeming  any  common  man; 
Much  more  a  knight,  a  captain,  and  a  leader. 

Tal.  When  first  this  order  was  ordain'd,  my  lord* 
Knights  of  the  garter  were  of  noble  birth  ; 
Valiant,  and  virtuous,  full  of  haughty  courage. 
Such  as  were  grown  to  credit  by  the  wars  ; 
Not  fearing  death,  nor  shrinking  for  distress, 
But  always  resolute  in  most  extremes. 
He  then,  that  is  not  furnish'd  in  this  sort, 
Doth  but  usurp  the  sacred  name  of  knight, 
Profaning  this  most  honourable  order; 
And  shoidd  (if  I  were  worthy  to  be  judge,) 
Be  quite  degraded,  like  a  hedge-born  swain 
That  doth  presmne  to  boast  of  gentle  blood. 

K.  Hen.  Stain  to  thy  countrymen !  thou  hear'st 
thy  doom : 

Be  packing  therefore,  thou  that  wast  a  knight; 
Henceforth  we  banish  thee,  on  pain  of  death. — 

[Exit  Fastolfe 
And  now,  my  lord  protector,  view  the  letter. 
Sent  froni  our  cmcle,  duke  of  Burgundy. 

Glo.  What  means  his  grace,  that  he  hath  chaiig'd 
his  style  ?    (Viewitig  the  superscription,  ] 
No  more  but,  plain  and  blimtly,— To  iheking^l 
Hath  he  forgot,  he  is  his  sovei  eign  ? 
Or  doth  this  churlish  superscription 
Pretend  some  alteration  in  good  will? 
What's  here  ? — I  have,  upon  especial  cause, — 

(Reads.) 

Mov*  d  with  compassion  of  my  country^  wreck. 
Together  with  the  pitiful  complaints 
Of  such  as  your  oppression  feeds  upon, — 
Forsaken  your  pernicious  faction. 
And  joined  with  Charles,  the  rightful  king  qf 
France. 

0  monstrous  treachery  !  Can  this  be  so; 
That  in  alliance,  amity,  and  oaths. 

There  should  be  found  such  false  dissembling  guik  ? 
K  Hen.  What!  doth  my  uncle  Burgundy  revoll? 
Glo.  He  doth,  my  lord,  and  is  become  your  foe. 
K.  Hen.  Is  tiiat  the  worst,  this  letter  doth  contain? 
Glo.  It  is  the  worst,  and  all,  my  lorfl,  he  writes^ 
K.  Hen.  Why  then,  lord  Talbot  there  shall  talk 
with  him, 

And  give  him  chastisement  for  this  abuse- — 
My  lord,  how  say  youV  are  you  not  content? 

Tal.  Content,  my  liege?    Yes,  but  thai  I  mii 
prevented, 

1  should  have  begg'd  I  might  have  been  etnploy'd. 
K.  Hen.  Then  gather  strength,  and  march  \ni^ 

him  straight  : 
Let  him  perceive,  how  ill  we  brook  his  treason; 
And  what  offence  it  is,  to  Hunt  his  friends. 

Tal.  I  go,  my  lord;  in  lirart  desiring  still. 
You  may  behold  confusion  of  your  foes.  [Exit 

Enter  Vernon  and  Basset. 
Ver  Grant  me  the  combat,  gracioucj  «ovcr?i|nie 


*08 


FIKST  PART  OF 


Bag.  And  me,  my  lord,  grant  me  the  combat  too  . 
Yorit-  Tim  is  ray  servant;  Hear  him,  noble 
prince ! 

^otn.  And  this  is  mine;  Sweet  Henry,  favour 
him  ! 

K.  fl«w.  Be  patient,  lords ;  and  give  them  leave 
to  speak. — 

Say,  gontlt'uien,  What  makes  you  thns  exclaim? 
A\v\  wherefore  cra\e  you  combat;  or  with  whom? 
Ver.  With  him,  my  lord  ;  for  he  hath  done  me 
wrong. 

Bas.  And  I  with  him;  for  he  hath  done  me 
wrong.  [complain? 

K.  Hen.  VVliat  is  (hat  wrong,  whereof  you  both 
First  let  me  know,  and  then  I'll  answer  yon. 

lias.  Crossing  tiie  aea  fro    England  into  France, 
This  fellow  here,  with  envvA  is  carui»'g  tongue. 
Upbraided  i-.te  about  Ih*'  '^^"e  1  wear; 
Saying — the  sanguine  colour  of  the  leaves 
Did  represent  toy  master's  blushing  cheeks. 
When  stiiliborniy  he  did  repugn  the  truth. 
About  1  re  tain  question  in  the  law, 
Argu  d  betwixt  the  duke  of  York  and  him ; 
With  ntlirr  vile  and  ignominious  terms: 
In  confutation  of  wiiich  rude  reproach. 
And  in  df  fence  of  my  lord's  worthiness, 
I  crave  the  benefit  of  law  of  arms. 

Ver.  And  tliat  is  my  petition,  noble  lord  : 
For  thont>h  he  seem,  with  forged  quaint  conceit. 
To  s<'ta  gh>ss  upon  his  bold  intent, 
Yet  know,  my  hud,  I  was  provok'd  by  him; 
And  he  first  look  exceptions  at  this  badge, 
IVonouncing — that  the  paleness  of  this  flower 
Bewray'd  tlie  taintness  of  my  master's  heart. 

York.  Will  not  this  malice,  Somerset,  be  left? 

Som.  Your  private  grudge,  my  lord  of  York,  will 
Though  ne'er  so  cumingly  you  smother  it.  [out, 

A'  Hen.  Good   Lord  !   what  madness  rules  in 
brain  sick  men ; 
WIku,  for  so  slight  and  frivolous  a  cause. 
Such  factions  emidations  shall  arise  ! 
Good  cousins  both,  of  York  and  Somerset, 
Qniet  yourselves,  I  pray,  and  be  at  per«ce. 

York.  Let  this  dissension  first  be  tried  by  fight, 
A 'id  tiien  your  highness  shall  command  a  |)eace. 

Som.  The  quarrel  toucheth  none  but  us  alone  ; 
Uetvvixt  onrst  Ives  let  us  decide  it  then. 

York.  There  is  my  pledge  ;  accept  it,  Somerset. 

Ver.  Nay,  let  it  rest  where  it  began  at  first. 

Bas.  C(/nfirm  it  so,  mine  honourable  lord. 

Glo.  Confirm  it  so?  Confounded  be  your  strife! 
And  perish  ye,  with  your  audacious  prate  I 
Presuniptuous  vassals  I  are  you  not  asham'd, 
With  tins  iunu'idest  clamorous  outrage 
To  trouldeand  disturb  the  king  and  us? 
And  yon,  my  lords, — methinks  you  do  not  well, 
To  bear  witn  their  perverse  objections; 
Much  less,  to  take  occasion  from  their  mouths 
To  raise  a  mutiny  bet'  ^xt  yourselves  ; 
Let  tne  persuade  you,  take  abetter  course. 

Exe.  It  grieves  his  highness: — Good  my  lords, 
be  frienils. 

K.  Hen.  Come  hither,  you,  that  would  be  con>- 
batants: 

Henceforth,  J  charge  you,  as  you  love  our  favour. 
Quite  to  Icirget  this  quarrel,  and  the  cause. — 
.And  you,  my  lords, — remember  where  we  are; 
In  France,  amongst  a  fickle  wavering  nation : 
If  tiiey  perceive  dissentions  in  our  looks, 
And  tliat  within  ourselves  we  disagree, 
How  will  their  grudging  stomachs  be  provok'd 
To  wilfid  disobedience  and  rebel? 
Beside,  Wiiat  infamy  will  there  arise. 
When  foreign  princes  shall  be  certified, 
That,  ibr  a  toy,  a  thing  of  no  regard, 
Kii.g  Henry's  peers,  and  chief  nobility, 
lier»troy'd  tliemseh  es,  and  lost  the  realm  of  France  ? 
,  think  in»m  the  conquest  of  my  father, 
y  tender  years,  and  let  ns  not  forego 
Bftt  fur  A  Uiiie,  that  was  bought  with  blood! 


Let  me  be  umpire  in  thisdouirful  strife. 

I  see  no  reason,  if  I  wear  this  rose, 

{Putting  on  a  red  rvtl^ 

That  any  one  should  therefore  be  suspicious 

I  more  incline  to  Somerset,  than  York  : 

Both  are  my  kinsmen,  and  I  love  them  both: 

As  well  they  may  upbraid  me  with  my  crown 

Because,  fors<)«)th,  the  king  of  Scots  is  crown  i. 

But  your  discretions  better  can  persuade, 

Than  I  am  able  to  instruct  or  teach  : 

And  therefore,  as  we  hither  came  in  peace. 

So  let  us  still  continue  peace  and  love.— 

Cousin  of  Y^ork,  we  institute  your  grace 

To  be  our  regent  in  these  parts  ol"  France: 

And,  good  tny  lord  of  Somerset,  unite 

Your  Iroojjs  of  horsemen  with  liis  bands  of  foot  ;-^ 

And,  like  true  subjects,  .sons  of  your  progenitors. 

Go  cheerfully  together,  and  dij,'est 

Your  angry  choleron  your  enemies. 

Ourself,  my  lord  protector,  and  the  rest. 

After  some  respite,  will  return  to  Calais; 

From  thence  to  England  ;  where  I  hope  e'er  long 

To  be  presented,  by  your  victories, 

With  Charles,  Alengon,  and  that  traitorous  rout. 

[Flourish.    Exeunt  King  Henry,  Glo.  Som. 
Win.  Suf.  and  Basset. 

War.  My  lord  of  York,  I  prouuse  you,  the  king 
Prettily,  methonght,  did  play  the  »>ralor. 

Yorlc.  And  so  he  did  ;  but  yet  1  like  it  not. 
In  that  he  wears  the  badge  of  Somerset.  [not ; 

War.  Tush,  that  was  but  his  fuicy,  blame  hiio 
I  dare  presume,  sweet  prince,  he  Ihouglit  no  harm. 

York.  And  if  1  wist  he  did, —  But  let  it  rest; 
Other  aff'airs  must  now  be  managf'd. 

Exeunt  York,  Warwick,  and  Vernon. 

Exe.  Well  didst  thou,  Richard,  to  sui)press  thy 
voice : 

For,  had  the  passions  of  thy  heart  burst  out, 
1  fear,  we  should  have  seen  decipher'd  there 
More  rancorous  spite,  more  furious  raging  broils, 
1'han  yet  can  be  imagin'd  or  suppos'd. 
But  hovvsoe'er,  no  simple  man  that  sees 
This  jarring  discord  of  nobility, 
Thisshould'ring  of  each  other  in  the  cou'-t, 
Tliis  factious  bandying  of  their  favoiirittrf, 
But  that  it  doth  presage  some  ill  event. 
'Tis  much,  when  sceptres  are  in  children's  hands; 
But  more,  when  envy  breeds  unkind  division; 
There  comes  the  ruin,  there  begins  confusion. 

[Exit 

Scene  II. — Before  Bourdeaux. 
Enter  Talhot,  tvith  his  Forces. 

Tal.  Go  to  the  gates  of  Bourdeaux,  trumpeter. 
Summon  their  general  unto  the  wall. 
Trumpet  sounds  a  parley.  Enter,  on  the  wallsy 
General  of  the  French  Forces,  and  others. 
English  John  Talbot,  captains,  calls  you  forth. 
Servant  in  arms  to  Harry  King  of  England; 
And  thus  he  would, — Open  your  city  gates. 
Be  hnntble  to  us  ;  call  my  sovereign  yours. 
And  do  him  homage  as  obedient  subjects. 
And  I'll  withdraw  me  and  my  bloody  power: 
But,  if  yon  frown  npoi;  this  profler'd  peace. 
You  tempt  tiie  fury  of  my  three  attendants, 
l4ea)i  famine,  quartering  steel,  and  climbing  fire  ; 
W^ho,  in  a  moment,  even  with  the  eaith 
Shall  lay  your  stately  and  air-braving  towers. 
If  you  forsake  the  offer  ol"  their  love. 

Gen.  Thou  ominous  and  fearful  (Avl  of  death. 
Our  nation's  terror  and  their  bloorly  scourge  I 
The  period  ol  thy  tyranny  approacheth. 
On  ns  thou  can'st  not  enter,  but  by  death: 
h'or,  I  protest,  we  are  well  fortified, 
Anrl  strong  enou>;h  to  issue  out  and  fight: 
If  thou  retire,  the  Dauphin,  well  appointed. 
Stands  with  the  snares  of  war  to  tangle  tliee : 
On  either  hand  thee  there  are  squadrons  pitch'd* 
To  wall  thee  fron)  the  liberty  of  tlight ; 
Aad  QO  wa^  caust  thou  turu  thee  for  reike^. 


Scene  4. 


KING  HLNRY  VI. 


40'] 


But  dealh  Joth  front  thee  with  apparent  spoil, 

Aud  pale  Aestruction  meets  tliee  in  the  face. 

1'en  thousand  French  have  ta'en  the  sacrament. 

To  rive  their  dangerous  artillery 

Upon  no  Christian  soul  but  English  Talbot. 

Lo!  there  thou  stand  st,  a  breathing  valiant  man. 

Of  an  invincible  unconqiier'd  spirit: 

This  is  the  latest  glory  of  thy  praise. 

That  I,  thy  enemy,  due  thee  withal ; 

For  ere  the  glass',  tliat  now  begins  to  run, 

Finish  the  process  of  his  sandy  hour, 

rhese  eyes,  that  see  thee  now  well-coloured, 

ShaJl  see  thee  wither'd,  bloody,  pale,  and  dead, 

[Drums  afar  off. 

Hark!  hark!  the  Dauphin's  drum,  a  warning  bell. 
Sings  heavy  music  to  thy  liuiorous  soul ; 
Aud  mine  shall  ring  thy  dire  departure  out. 

[Exemit  General,  §"0.  from  the  walh. 
Tal.  He  fables  not,  J  hear  the  eneniy  ; — 
Out,  some  light  horsemen,  and  peruse  their  wings. — 
O,  negligent  and  heedless  discipline  ! 
How  are  we  park'd,  and  bounded  in  a  pale ; 
A  little  herd  of  England's  timorous  deer, 
Maz'd  with  a  yelping  kennel  of  French  curs! 
If  we  be  English  deer,  be  then  in  blood: 
Not  rascal-like,  to  fall  down  with  a  pinch ; 
But  rather  moody-mad,  and  desperate  stags. 
Turn  on  the  bloody  hounds  with  heads  of  steel. 
And  make  the  cowards  stand  aloof  at  bay: 
Sell  every  man  his  life  as  dear  as  mine. 
And  they  shall  find  dear  deer  of  us,  my  friends. — 
God,  and  Saint  George!    Talbot,  and  England's 
right ! 

Prosper  our  colours  in  this  dangerous  fight ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  HI. — Plains  in  Gascony. 
Enter  York,  with  Forces ;  to  him  a  Messenger. 

York.  Are  not  the  speedy  scouts  return'd  again. 
That  dogged  the  niighty  army  of  the  Dauphin? 
Mess.  They  are  returned,  my  lord;  and  give  it 
out 

That  he  is  luarch'd  to  Bourdeaux  with  his  power. 
To  fight  with  Talbot:  As  he  inarch'd  along, 
By  your  espinls  were  discovered 
Two  mightier  troops  tlian  ti»at  the  Dauphin  led  ; 
Which  jdiri'd  with  him,  aud  made  their  march  for 
\  Bourdeaux. 
York.  A  plague  upon  that  villain  Somerset, 
That  thus  delays  my  promised  supply 
Of  horsemen,  th  it  were  levied  for  this  siege! 
Renowned  Talbot  doth  expect  my  aid; 
And  I  am  lowted  by  a  traitor  villain, 
Aud  cannot  help  the  noble  chevalier  : 
God  condort  iiim  in  this  necessity  I 
If  he  miscarry,  farewell  wars  in  France. 

Enter  Sir  William  Lucy. 
Lucy.  Thou  princely  leader  of   our  English 
strength. 

Never  so  needful  on  the  earth  of  France, 
S;)ur  to  tlie  rescue  of  the  noble  Talbot; 
VVho  now  is  girdled  witli  a  waist  of  iron. 
And  heniiu'd  about  with  grim  destruction: 
T  )  Baui  dt-auA,  warlike  duke  I  to  Bourdeaux,  York  ! 
Else,  farewell  Talbot,  France,  and  England's  ho- 
nour. ^  [heart 

York.  O  God  !  that  Somerset — who  in  proud 
D<.th  stop  my  cornets — were  in  Talbot's  place! 
So  should  we  save  a  valiant  gentleman. 
By  forfeiting  a  traitor  and  a  coward. 
Ma'l  ire,  and  wrathful  fury,  makes  me  weep, 
Ttiat  tlius  we  die,  white  reuiiss  traitors  sleep. 

Lucy.  O.  send  sonje  succour  to  the  distress'd 
I'irrl  ! 

York  He  dies,  we  lose  ;  I  break  my  warlike  word  ; 
We  mourn,  France  smiles;  we  lose,  they  daily  get; 
Ail  'long  (if  tills  vile  traitor  Si>u»erset 

Lucy.  Tuen,  God  take  mercy  on  brave  Talbot's 

40Ul' 


And  on  his  son,  young  John  ;  whom  twohouifci 
Irnet  in  travel  toward  his  warlike  father! 
This  seven  years  did  not  Talbot  see  his  son  ; 
An»l  now  they  meet  where  both  theirliv.es  are  diKio. 

York.  Alas  !  what  joy  shall  noble  Talbot  have. 
To  bid  his  young  son  welcome  to  Id's  grave  ? 
Away,  vexation  almost  stops  my  brf  ath, 
That  sunder'd  friends  greet  in  the  h  )ur  of  death.— - 
Lucy,  farewell :  no  more  my  fortune  can, 
lint  curse  the  cause  t  cajitiot  aid  the  man. — 
Maine,  Blois,  Poictiers,  and  Tours,  are  won  away, 
'Long  all  of  Sonierset,  and  his  delay.  [Exit. 

Lucy.  Thus,  while  the  vulture  of  sedition 
Feeds  in  the  bosom  of  such  great  conunanders. 
Sleeping  neglection  doth  betray  to  loss 
The  conquest  of  our  scarce-cold  conqueror, 
That  ever-living  ruiin  of  memory, 
Henry  the  tilth :— Whiles  they  each  other  cross, 
Lives,  honours,  lands,  and  all,  hurry  to  loss.  [Exit. 

Scene  IV. — Other  Plains  of  Gascony. 

Enter  Somerset  with  his  Forces ;  an  Officer  <)f 

Talbot's  ivith  him. 

Som.  It  is  too  late;  I  cannot  send  them  now 
l^his  expedition  was  by  York,  and  Talbot, 
Too  rasldy  plotted;  all  our  general  force 
Might  with  a  sally  of  the  very  town 
Be  buckled  with  :  the  over-daring  Talbot 
Hath  sullied  all  his  gloss  of  former  honour. 
By  this  unheedful,  desperate,  wild  adventure  : 
York  set  him  on  to  fight,  and  die  in  slmme. 
That  Talbot  dead,  great  Yo  k  might  bear  thcnanut 

Off.  Here  is  sir  William  Lucy,  who  with  me 
Set  from  our  o'cr  match'd  forces  forth  for  aid. 

Enter  Sir  William  Lucy. 

Som.  How  now,  sir  William  ?  whither  were  yoa 
sent  ? 

Lucy.  Whither,  my  lord  ?  from  bought  and  %o\C 
lord  Talbot; 
Who  ring'd  about  with  bold  adversify. 
Cries  out  for  jioble  York  and  Sonjerset, 
To  beat  assailing  death  from  his  weak  legions. 
And  whiles  the  honourable  ca|)tain  there 
Drops  bloody  sweat  from  his  war-wearied  limbs. 
And,  in  advantage  ling'ring,  looks  for  rescue, 
You,  his  false  hopes,  the  trust  of  England's  honour 
Keep  off  aloof  with  worthless  emulation. 
Let  not  your  private  discord  keep  away 
The  levied  succours  that  should  lend  him  aid, 
While  he,  renowned  noble  gentleman, 
Yields  up  his  life  unto  a  world  of  odds  : 
Orleans  the  Bastard,  Charles,  and  Burgundy, 
Alencon,  Reignier,  cofnpass  him  about. 
And  Talbot  perisheth  by  your  defaidt. 

Som.  York  set  him  on,  York  should  have  sent  him 
aid.  [claims ; 

Lucy.  And  York  as  fast  upon  your  grace  ei- 
Swearing,  that  you  v/iihhold  his  levied  host. 
Collected  for  this  expedition.  [horse  : 

Som.  \ork  lies;  he  might  have  sent  and  had  the 
I  owe  him  little  duty,  and  less  love ; 
And  take  foul  scorn,  to  fawn  on  him  by  sending. 

Lucy.  The  fraud  of  England,  not  the  force  of 
France, 

Hath  now  enfrapp'd  the  noble-minded  Talbot: 
Never  to  England  shall  he  bear  his  life ; 
But  dies,  betray'd  to  fortune  by  your  strife. 

So7n.  Come,  go;  I  will  despatch  the  horsemen 
straight  : 

Within  six  hours  they  will  be  at  his  aid. 

Lucy.  Too  late  comes  rescue  ;  he  is  ta'en,  or  slain: 
For  fiy  he  could  not,  if  he  would  have  tied  ; 
And  fly  would  Taibot  never,  though  hemi.ijht. 

Som.  If  he  be  dead,  brave  Talbot  then  adieu! 

Lucy.  His  fame  lives  in  the  world,  his  shame  in 
J  '\)u.  [Exguni 


105 


FIRST  PART  OP 


Act  IY 


ScsKS  V. — Tks  English  Camp  near  Bourdeauss. 
Enter'  Talbot  and  John  his  Son. 

Tal.  O  young  John  Talbot!  I  did  send  for  thee. 
To  tutor  thee  in  stratagems  of  war; 
I'hat  Talbot's  name  niigiit  be  in  thee  reviv'd, 
When  sapless  age,  aiid  weak,  unable  limbs, 
Shoidd  bring  thy  father  to  his  drooping  chair. 
Hut, — O  malignant  and  ill-boding  stars  !- 
Now  thou  art  como  unto  a  feast  of  death, 
A  terrible  and  unavoided  danger  : 
Therefore,  dear  boy,  mount  on  my  swiftest  horse  ; 
And  I'll  direct  thee  how  thou  shall  escape 
By  sudden  flight:  come,  dally  not,  begone. 

John.  Is  my  name  Talbot  ?  and  am  I  your  son? 
And  shall  I  fly  ?  O,  if  you  love  my  mother. 
Dishonour  not  her  honourable  name. 
To  make  a  bastard,  and  a  slave  of  me : 
The  world  will  say — He  is  Talbot's  blood, 
That  basely  fled,  when  noble  Talbot  stood. 

Tal.  Fly,  to  revenge  my  death,  if  I  be  slain. 

John.  He,  that  flies  so,  will  ne'er  return  again. 

Tal.  If  we  both  stay,  we  both  are  sure  to  die. 

John.  Then  let  me  stay;  and,  father,  do  you  fly: 
Your  loss  is  great,  so  your  regard  should  be; 
My  worth  unknown,  no  loss  is  known  in  me. 
Upon  my  death  the  French  can  little  boast; 
In  yours  they  will,  in  you  all  hopes  are  lost. 
Flight  cannot  stain  the  honour  you  have  won; 
But  mine  it  will,  that  no  exploit  have  done  : 
You  fled  for  vantage  every  one  will  swear; 
But,  if  I  bow,  they'll  say — it  was  for  fear. 
There  is  no  hope,  that  ever  I  will  stay, 
If,  the  first  hour,  I  shrink,  and  run  away. 
Here,  on  my  knee,  I  beg  mortality. 
Rather  than  life  preserv'd  with  infamy. 

Tal.  Shall  all  thy  njother's  hopes  lie  in  one  tomb  ? 

John.  Ay,  ratiier  than  I'll  s-hame  my  mother's 
womb. 

Tal.  Upon  my  blessing  I  command  thee  go. 
John.  To  fight  I  will,  but  not  to  fly  the  foe. 
Tal.  Part  of  thy  father  may  be  saved  in  thee. 
John.  No  part  of  him,  but  will  be  shame  in  me. 
Tal.  Thou  never  had'st  renown,  nor  canst  not 

lose  it.  [abuse  it  ? 

John.  Yes,  your  renowned  name  ;  Shall  flight 
Tal,  Thy  lather's  charge  shall  clear  thee  from 

that  stain. 

John.  Yon  cannot  witness  for  me,  being  slain. 
If  death  be  so  apparent,  then  both  fly.  [die  ? 

Tal.  And  leave  my  followers  here,  to  fight,  and 
My  age  was  never  tainted  with  such  sliame. 

John.  And  shall  my  youth  be  guilty  of  such  blame  : 
No  more  can  1  be  sever'd  from  your  side, 
Than  can  yourself  yourself  in  twain  divide  : 
Stay,  go,  do  what  you  will,  the  like  do  I ; 
For  live  I  will  not,  if  my  father  die. 

Tal.  Then  here  I  take  my  leave  of  thee,  fair  son. 
Born  to  eclipse  thy  life  this  afternoon. 
Come,  side  by  side  together  live  and  die  ; 
And  soul  with  soul  from  France  to  heaven  fly. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  VI.— ^  Field  of  Battle. 
Alarum:  Excursions,  wherein  Talbot's  son  is 
hemmed  about,  and  Talbot  rescues  him. 
Tal.  Saint  George  and  victory!  fight,  soldiers, 
fight; 

The  re^'ent  halh  with  Talbot  broke  his  word, 
And  lelt  ua  to  the  rage  of  France  his  sword. 
V^  here  is  John  Talbot  ? — pause  and  take  tiiy  '  reath  ; 
I  gave  thee  life,  and  lescu'd  thee  from  dealh. 

John.  O  twice  my  lather !  twice  am  I  thy  son  : 
The  life,  thou  gav'st  me  first,  was  lost  and  done, 
l*ill  with  thy  warlike  sword,  des[)ite  of  fate, 
To  my  determin'd  time  thou  gav'st  new  date. 

Tal.  When  from  the  Dauphin's  crest  thy  sword 
struck  fire, 

It  warm'd  thy  father's  heart  with  proud  desire 
Of  bold-fac'd  victory.  I'ken  leaden  age. 


Quicken'd  with  youthful  Si)lecn,  and  \a  arlike  rage. 
Beat  down  Alencon,  Orleans,  Burgimoy, 
And  from  the  pride  of  Gallia  rescu'd  tl  ee. 
The  ireful  bastard  Orleans — that  drew  blood 
From  thee,  my  boy;  and  had  the  maidenhood 
Of  thy  fifst  fight — 1  soon  encountered  ; 
And,  interchanging  blows,  I  quickly  shed 
Some  of  his  bastard  blood  ;  and,  in  disgrace. 
Bespoke  him  thus  :  Contaminated,  base, 
And  misbegotten  blood  I  spill  of  thine, 
Mean  and  right  poor  ;  for  that  ptire  blood  of  mine 
Which  thou  didst  force  from  Talbot,  my  hravi 
boy : — 

Here,  purposing  the  Bastard  to  destroy, 

Came  in  strong  rescue.  Speak,  thy  father's  care  ; 

Art  thou  not  weary,  John  ?  How  dost  thou  far«  ^ 

Wilt  thou  yet  leave  the  battle,  boy,  and  fly, 

Now  thou  art  seal'd  the  son  of  chivalry  ? 

Fly,  to  revenge  my  death,  when  I  am  dead ; 

The  help  of  one  stands  me  in  little  stead. 

O,  too  nmch  folly  is  it,  well  I  wot. 

To  hasard  all  our  lives  in  one  suiall  boat. 

If  1  to-day  die  not  with  Frenclimeri's  rage, 

To-n)orrow  I  shall  die  with  mickle  age : 

By  me  they  nothing  gain,  an  if  I  stay, 

'Tis  but  the  short'ning  of  my  life  one  day  : 

In  thee  thy  mother  dies,  our  household's  name. 

My  death's  revenge,  thy  youth,  and  England's  fame; 

All  these,  and  more,  we  haza.d  by  thy  stay  ; 

All  these  are  sav'd,  if  thou  wilt  flyaway. 

John.  The  sword  of  Orleans  hath  not  made  mc 
smart. 

These  words  of  yours  draw  life-blood  from  my  heart: 

On  that  advantage,  bought  with  such  a  shame, 

(To  save  a  paltry  life,  and  slay  bright  fame,) 

Before  yotmg  Talbot  I'rom  old  Talbot  fly, 

The  coward  horse,  that  bears  me,  lall  and  die! 

And  like  me  to  the  peasant  boys  of  France; 

To  be  shame's  scorn,  and  subject  of  mischance ! 

Surely,  by  all  the  glory  you  have  won, 

And  if  I  fly,  I  am  not  I'albot's  son : 

Then  talk  no  more  of  flight,  it  is  no  boot; 

If  son  to  Talbot,  die  at  Talbot's  foot. 

Tal.  Then  follow  thou  thy  desperate  sire  of  Crete, 
Thou  Icarus  ;  thy  life  to  me  is  sweet : 
If  thou  wilt  light,  fight  by  thy  father's  side; 
And,  commendable  prov'd,  let's  die  in  pride. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  VII. — Another  part  of  the  same. 

Alarum :  Excursions.    Enter  Talbot  zvounded, 
supported  by  a  Servant. 
Tal.  Where  is  my  other  life  ? — mine  owu  is 

gone 

O,  where's  young  Talbot?  where  is  valiant  John?— 
Triumphant  death,  smear'd  with  captivity! 
Young  Talbot's  valour  makes  me  smile  at  thee:— 
When  he  perceiv'd  me  shrink,  atid  on  my  knee. 
His  bloody  sword  he  brandish'd  over  me, 
And,  like  a  hungry  lion,  did  commence 
Rough  deeds  of  rage,  and  stern  impatience; 
But  when  my  angry  guardant  stood  alone, 
Tend'ring  my  ruin,  and  assail'd  of  none, 
Dizzy-ey'd  finy,  and  great  ragv?  of  heart. 
Suddenly  made  him  from  my  side  to  start 
Into  the  clustering  battle  of  the  French  : 
And  in  that  sea  of  blood  my  boy  did  drench 
His  overmounting  spirit;  and  there  died 
My  Icarus,  n)y  blossom,  in  his  pride. 

Enter  Soldiers,  bearing  the  body  ofJoHS  Talbot. 
Serv.  O  my  dear  lord  !  lo,  where  your  son  is  borne ! 
Tal.  Thou  antic  death,  which  laugh'st  us  here  to 
scorn, 

Anon,  fiotn  thy  insulting  tyranny. 

Coupled  in  bonds  of  perpetuity, 

Two  Talbots,  winged  through  the  lither  sky. 

In  thy  despite,  shall  'scape  mortality  — 

O  thou,  whose  wounds  become  hard  favoured  deatl^ 

Speak  to  thy  father,  ere  tisou  yield  thy  breath* 


AC?T  V.    Scene  1.  KING  H 

Brave  death  by  speaking,  whether  he  will,  or  no ; 

imagine  liim  a  Frenchman,  and  thy  foe. — 

Poor  boy!  he  smiles,  niethiuks ;  as  who  should 

Had  deatii  been  French,  then  death  had  died  to-day. 
Come,  come,  and  lay  liim  in  his  father's  arms ; 
My  spirit  can  no  longer  bear  tliese  harms. 
Soldiers,  adieu  !  I  tiave  what  I  would  have, 
Now  my  old  arms  are  round  John  Talbot's  grave. 

[Dies. 

A.larums.  E.xpunt  Soldiers  and  Servants,  leaving 
the  two  bodies.  Entti-r  Charles,  Alencon,  Bur- 
gundy, Bastard.^  La  Pucelle,  and  Forces. 
Char.  Had  Yoik  and  Somerset  brought  rescue  in, 

We  should  have  found  a  bloody  day  of  this. 
Bast.  How  the  young  whelp  of  Talbot's,  raging- 
wood, 

Did  flesh  his  pimy  sword  in  Frenchmen's  blood  ! 

Puc.  Oiice  I  enroiinterd  him,  and  thus  I  said, 
Thou  maiden  ijoiiih,  he  vanquiah'd  by  a  maid. 
But — witii  a  pioiid,  majestical  liii^h  scorn, — 
He  answered  thus  :   Young  Talbot  was  not  born 
To  be  the  pillage  of  a  giglot  wench: 
So,  rushing  in  the  bowels  of  the  French, 
He  left  me  pioudly,  as  unworthy  fight. 

Bur.  Doubtless,  he  would  have  made  a  noble 
knij;lit : 

See,  where  iie  lies  inhersed  in  the  arms 
Of  the  mast  bloody  nurserof  his  harins. 
Bast.  Hew  them  to  pieces,  hack  their  bones 
astiiidi  r  ; 

Whose  life  was  England's  glory,  Gallia's  wonder. 
Char.  O,  no  ;  lorbear  :  lor  that,  which  we  have 
fled 

During  the  life,  let  us  not  wrong  it  dead. 

Enter  Sir  William  Lucy,  atte?ided;  a  French 

Herald  preceding. 
Lucy,  Herahl, 
Conduct  me  to  the  Dauphin's  tent;  to  know 
Who  have  obtani'd  the  glory  of  the  day. 
Char.  O  t  what  submissive  message  art  thou  sent? 
Lucy.  S!il)missioii,  Dauphin  ;'  'tis  a  mere  French 
word  ; 

We  English  warriors  wot  not  what  it  means. 
I  come  to  know  what  prisoners  thou  hast  ta'en. 
And  to  survey  the  Ixidies  of  the  dead.  [is. 

Char.  Fur  piisuners  ask'st  thou  ?  hell  our  prison 
But  tell  nic  whtun  thou  seek'st. 

Imcy.  Where  is  the  great  Alcides  of  the  field. 
Valiant  lord  Talbot,  eaii  of  Slirewsbury  ? 
Created,  for  his  rare  success  in  arms, 
Great  eaii  of  Waslilord,  Waterford,  and  Valence; 
Lord  Talbot  ol  Goodrig  and  Urchinfield, 
Lord  Strange  of  Blackmere,  lord  Verdun  of  Alton, 
Lord  Cn.uiwell   of  Wingheld,  lord  Furni\al  of 
SlielHeM, 

The  thrice  \ictorious  lord  of  Falconbridge  ; 
Knight  of  the  n  ible  order  ol' Saint-George, 
Worthy  Saint  Michael,  and  the  golden  tteece  ; 
Great  marshal!  to  Henry  tlie  sixth. 
Of  all  his  wars  within  liie  realm  of  France  ? 

Puc.  Here  is  a  silly  stately  style  indeed  ! 
The  Turk,  that  two  and  fifty  kingdoms  hath. 
Writes  not  so  tedious  a  style  as  this. — 
Him,  that  thou  magnifiest  with  all  these  titles, 
Stinking,  and  fiy  blown,  lies  here  at  our  feet. 

Lucy.  Is  Tilbot  slain;  the  Frenchmen's  only 
scourge. 

Your  kingdom's  terror,  and  black  Nemesis? 
O,  were  mine  eye-balls  into  bullets  turu'd, 

hat  I,  in  rage,  miglit  shoot  them  at  your  faces! 
O,  that  I  could  but  call  these  dead  to  life? 
It  were  enough  to  fright  the  realm  of  France  : 
Were  but  his  picture  left  among  you  here. 
It  would  auj  ize  tlie  [iroudest  of  you  all. 
Give  me  iheir  bodies;  that  1  may  bear  thetn  hence. 
And  give  them  burial  as  beseems  their  worth. 
Pua  1  think,  tliis  upstart  is  old  Talbot's  ghost. 


mm  VI.  409 

He  sjieaks  with  such  a  proud  commanding  spirit 
For  God's  sake,  let  him  have  'em;  to  keep  theoft 
here. 

They  would  but  stink,  and  putrefy  the  air. 

Char.  Go,  take  tlieir  bodies  hence. 

Lucy.  I'll  bear  them  hence ; 

But  from  their  afihes  shall  be  rear'd 
A  f)lienix,  that  siiall  make  all  France  afeard. 

Char.  So  we  be  rid  of  them,  do  with  'em  what 
thou  wilt. 

And  now  to  Paris,  in  this  conquering  vein ; 

All  will  be  ours,  now  bloody  Talbot's  slain.  \Exeunt 

ACT  V. 

Scene  L — London.  A  Room  in  the  Palace 
Enter  King  Henry,  Gloster,  and  Exeter. 

K.  Hen.  Have   you  perus'd  the   letter-s  from 
the  pope, 

The  emperor,  and  the  earl  of  Armagnac  ? 

Glo.  1  have,  my  lord,  and  their  intent  is  this,— 
They  humbly  sue  unto  your  excellence. 
To  have  a  godly  peace  concluded  of. 
Between  the  reaius  of  England  and  of  France. 

K.  Hen.  How  doth  your  grace  aliect  their  mct> 
tion  ? 

Glo.  Well,  my  good  lord  ;  and  as  the  only  meanf 
To  stop  eifusion  of  our  Christian  blood. 
And  'stablish  quietness  on  every  side. 

K.  Hen.  Ay,  marry,  uncle  ;  for  I  always  Ihougki 
It  was  both  inipious  and  unnatural. 
That  such  immanity  and  bloody  strife 
Shotdd  reign  among  [i.!ofessi)rs  of  (uie  faith. 

Glo.  Beside,  my  lord, — the  sooner  to  effect. 
And  surer  bind,  tiiis  knot  of  aniity, — 
The  earl  of  Armaj^nac — near  knit  to  Charles, 
A  man  of  great  authority  in  France, — 
Proifers  his  only  daughter  to  your  grace 
In  marriage,  with  a  laige  and  sumiituous  dowry. 

K.  Hen.  Marriage,  uncle !  alas !  u»y  years  ar# 
young ; 

And  fitter  is  my  study  and  my  books. 
Than  wanton  dalliance  with  a  [jaramour. 
Yet,  call  the  aml)Hs;saiiors ;  and,  as  you  please. 
So  let  them  have  tiieir  answers  everyone: 
I  shall  be  well  content  witli  any  choice. 
Tends  to  God's  glory,  and  my  country's  weal. 

Enter  a  Legate,  and  two  Ambassadors,  with 
Winchester,  in  a  cardinal's  habit. 

Exe.  What !  is  my  lord  of  Winchester  instali'd 
And  call'd  unto  a  cardinal's  degree? 
l^hen,  I  perceive,  that  will  be  verified, 
Henry  the  fifth  did  sometime  prophesy, — 
If  once  he  come  to  be  a  cardinal, 
He'll  make  his  cop  co-equal  ivith  the  crown. 

K.  Hen.My  lords  ambassadors,  your  several  aoiti 
Have  been  consider'd  and  debated  on. 
Your  purpose  is  both  good  and  reasonable : 
And,  therefore,  are  we  certainly  resolv'd 
To  draw  conditions  of  a  friendly  peace; 
Whi«'h,  by  my  lord  of  Winchester,  we  mean 
Shall  be  transported  presently  to  France. 

Glo.  And  for  the  proffer  of  my  lord  your  master,--' 
I  have  inform 'd  his  highness  so  at  large. 
As — liking  of  the  lady's  virtuous  gilts. 
Her  beauty,  and  the  value  (jf  her  dower, — 
He  doth  intend  she  shall  be  England's  queen. 

K.  Hen.  In  argument  and  proof  of  which  cOtt- 
tract. 

Bear  her  this  jewel,  {to  the  Atnb.)  pledge  of  my 
affection. 

And  so,  my  lord  protector,  see  them  guarded. 
And  safely  brought  to  Dover;  where,  inshipp'd 
Comufit  them  to  the  fortune  of  the  sea. 

[Exeunt  King  Henry  ard  Train;  Gloster,  Sms- 
ter,  and  Ambassadors. 

Win.  Stay,  n»y  lord  legate;  you  sliall  first reoeiT© 
The  sum  of  money,  which  I  promised 
Should  be  deliver^!  to  his  holiness 


410  FIRST  ] 

Fur  clothino;  me  m  these  grave  ornaments. 

Leg.  1  will  attend  upon  your  lor(!shii)'s  leisure. 

ff  in.  Now,  Winchester  will  not  submit,  I  trow, 
Or  be  inferior  to  tlie  proudest  peer, 
tiinnpliiey  ol  Glostei,  tlicu  simit  well  perceive, 
Th.'it.  neither  in  birth,  or  for  aiithoiity, 
The  bishop  will  be  overborne  by  thee  : 
I'll  either  make  thee  stf)op,  and  bend  thy  knee, 
Or  sack  this  country  with  a  nmtiuy.  [Exeunt. 

ScENU  II — France.    Plains  in  Anjou. 
Enter  CfURLES,  Burgundy,  Alencon,  La  Pu- 
CELLE,  and  Fortes,  marching. 
Char.  Tiiese  news,  niy  lords,  may  cheer  our 
drooping  spirits  : 
"Tis  said,  the  stout  Parisians  do  revolt, 
And  turn  again  unto  the  warlike  French. 
Alen.  'I'lien  march  to  Paris,  royal  Charles  of 
France, 

And  keep  not  back  your  powers  in  dalliance. 

Puc.  Peace  be  amongst  tliem,  ildiey  turn  to  us; 
Else,  ruin  combat  with  their  palaces  ! 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  Success  unto  our  valiant  general, 
And  happiness  to  his  accomplices; 

Char.  What  tidings  send  our  scouts?  I  pry'thee, 
speak. 

Mess.  The  English  army,  that  divided  was 
Into  two  parts,  is  now  conjoin'd  in  one ; 
And  means  to  gi\e  you  biittle  presently. 

Char.  Souie  what  too  sudden,  sirs,  the  warning  is ; 
But  we  will  presently  provide  for  them. 

Bur.  I  trust  the  ghost  of  TulbtA  is  not  there ; 
Now  he  is  gone,  my  lord,  you  need  not  lear, 

Puc.  Of  all  base  passions,  fear  is  most  accurs'd  : — 
Command  the  conquest,  Charles,  it  shall  be  thine  ; 
Let  Henry  fret,  and  all  the  world  repine. 

Char,  'i'lien  on,  my  lords;  and  France  be  foir- 
tunate !  [Exeunt. 

Scene  HI. — The  same.    Before  Angiers. 
Alarums  :  Excursions.    Enter  La  PucEiiLE. 
Puc,  'Ihe  regent  conquers,  and  the  Frenchmen 
tly.— 

Now  hell),      chariiiing  spells,  and  periapts; 

And  y^'  ciio:c-e  spirits,  that  admonish  me. 

And  give  me  signs  of  future  accidents!  {Thunder.) 

You  speedy  helpers,  that  are  substitutes 

Under  the  hirdly  monarch  of  the  not  th. 

Appear,  and  aid  me  in  this  enterprise ' 

E?iter  Fiends, 
This  speedy  quick  appearance  argues  proof 
Of  your  accu.>5tom"d  diligence  to  me. 
Now,  ye  fiiuiliar  spirits,  that  are  cull'd 
Out  of  the  powerful  regions  under  earth. 
Help  me  this  once,  tiial  France  may  get  the  field. 

( They  walk  about,  and  speak  not.) 
O,  hold  me  not  with  silence  over-long! 
Where  1  was  wont  to  i'eed  you  with  my  blood, 
I'll  lop  a  meinoer  olf,  and  give  it  you. 
In  earnest  of  a  furlher  benefit; 
So  you  do  condescend  to  help  me  now. — 

i^They  hang  their  heads.) 
No  hope  to  have  redress  ? — My  body  shall 
Pay  recompense,  if  you  w  ill  grant  my  suit. 

( They  shake  their  heads.) 
Cannot  my  body,  nor  blood-sacrifice, 
Entreat  you  to  your  wonted  furtherance? 
Then  take  my  soul ;  my  body,  soul,  and  all, 
Before  that  England  give  the  French  the  foil. 

[They  depart.) 
See  !  they  forsake  me.    Now  the  time  is  come. 
That  France  must  vail  her  lofty-plumed  crest. 
And  let  her  he-id  fall  into  England's  lap. 
My  ancient  incantations  are  too  weak, 
And  heii  too  strong  ibr  me  to  buckle  with : 
Now,  France,  thy  glory  droopeth  to  the  dust. 

[Exit. 


ART  OP  Ac'i  ?. 

Alarums.    Enter  French  and  Englvsk, 
La  Pucelle  and  York  Jig  hi  hand  to  hand,  1^ 
Pucelle  is  taken.    The  French  jly. 

York.  Damsel  of  France,  I  think,  I  have  you  fast 
Unchain  your  spirits  now  with  spelling  charms. 
And  try  if  they  can  gain  your  liberty.— 
A  goodly  prize,  tit  for  the  devil's  grace  ! 
See,  how  the  ugly  witch  doth  bend  her  brows. 
As  if,  with  Circe,  she  would  change  my  siiape. 

Puc.  Chang'd  to  a  worser  shape  thou  canst  not  be 

Yo7-k.  O,  Charles  the  Dauphin  is  a  [)roperman; 
No  siiajte  but  his  can  please  your  dainty  eye. 

Puc.  A  plaguing  niischiel  light  on  Charles,  am 
thee  I 

And  may  ye  both  be  suddenly  surpris'd 
liy  bloody  hands,  in  sleeping  on  your  beds  ! 

York.  Fell,  banning  hag !  enchantress,  hold  thy 
tongue. 

Puc.  I  pr'ythee,  give  me  leave  to  curse  a  while. 
York.  Curse,  miscreant,  when  thou  comest  to 
the  stake.  [Exeunt, 

Alarums.   Enter  Suffolk,  leading  in  Lady 
Margaret. 

Suf.  Be  what  thou  wilt,  thou  art  my  prisoner. 

{Gases  on  her.) 

0  fairest  beauty,  do  not  fear,  nor  fly; 

For  I  will  touch  thee  but  with  reverent  hands. 
And  lay  them  gently  on  thy  tender  .side. 

1  kiss  these  fingers  {kissing  her  hand)  for  eternal 

peace  : 

Who  art  thou?  say,  that  I  m;iy  honour  thee. 

Mar.  Margaret  my  name  ;  and  daugluter  to  a  king, 
The  king  of  Naples,  whosoe'er  thou  art. 

Suf.  An  earl  1  am,  and  Sullblk  am  I  calPd. 
Be  not  oli'ended,  nature's  miracle, 
Thou  art  allotted  to  be  ta'en  by  me  : 
So  doth  (he  swan  her  downy  cygnets  save. 
Keeping  them  prisoners  underneath  her  wings. 
Yet,  if  this  servile  usage  once  (  fl'end, 
Go,  and  be  free  again  as  Suffolk's  friend. 

{She  turns  aivay  as  going. ) 
O,  stay  ! — I  have  no  power  to  let  her  pa.ss  ; 
My  hand  would  free  her,  but  my  heart  says — no. 
As  plays  the  sun  upon  the  glassy  streams. 
Twinkling  another  counterfeited  beam. 
So  seems  this  gorgeous  beauty  to  mine  eyes. 
Faia  would  I  woo  her,  yet  1  dare  not  speak  : 
I'll  call  for  pen  and  ink,  and  write  my  mind  : 
Fy,  De  la  Poole!  disable  not  thyself; 
Hast  not  a  tongue?  is  she  not  here  thy  prisoner? 
Wilt  thou  be  daunted  at  a  woman's  sigiit  ? 
Ay;  beauty's  princely  majesty  is  such, 
Confounds  the  tongue,  and  makes  the  senses  rough. 

Mar.  Say,  earl  of  Suffolk, — if  thy  name  be  so, — 
What  ransome  must  I  pay  before  I  pass? 
For,  I  perceive,  I  am  thy  prisoner. 

Suf.  How  canst  thou  tell,  she  will  deny  thy  suit, 
Before  thou  make  a  trial  of  her  love  ?  {Aside.) 

Mar.  Why  .speak'st  thou  not?  what  ransome 
must  1  pay  V 

Suf.  She's  beautiful;  and  therefore  to  be  woo'd  ; 
She  is  a  woman ;  therefore  to  be  won.  {Aside.) 

Mar.  Wilt  thou  acce[>t  of  ransome,  yea,  or  no" 

Suf.  Fond  man  !  remember,  thf  t  thou  hast  a  vi^ife; 
Then  how  can  Margaret  be  thy  paramour?  {Aside.) 

Mar.  I  were  best  leave  him,  for  he  will  not  hear, 

Suf.  There  all  is  marr'd  ;  there  lies  a  cooling  card. 

Mar.  He  talks  at  random  ;  sure,  the  man  ia  mad. 

Suf.  And  yet  a  dispensation  may  be  had. 

Mar.  And  yet  I  would  that  you  would  answer  me^ 

Suf.  ril  win  this  lady  Margaret.  For  whom? 
Why,  for  my  king  :  Tush  !  that's  a  wooden  thing. 

Mar.  He  talks  of  wood  :  it  is  some  carpenter. 

Suf.  Yet  so  my  fancy  may  be  satisfied. 
And  peace  established  between  these  realms. 
But  there  remains  a  scruple  in  that  too  : 
For  though  her  lather  be  the  king  of  Naples,  , 
Duke  of  Anjou  and  Maine,  yet  is  be  poor. 


Scene  4.] 

And  oar  nobility  will  scorn  the  match.  {Aside.) 

Alar.  Ilear  ye,  captain  ?  Are  yon  not  at  leisvire  ? 

Suf.  It  shall  be  so,  disdain  thoy  ne'er  so  much  : 
Henry  is  youthful,  and  will  quickly  yield: 
Madanv,  1  have  a  secret  to  reveal.  [knight. 

Mar.  What  though  I  be  enthrall'd  ?  he  seems  a 
And  will  not  any  way  dishonour  me.  {Aside.) 

Suf.  Lndy,  vouchsafe  to  listen  what  I  say. 
^  Mar.  Perhaps,  I  shall  be  rescu'd  by  the  French ; 

nd  then  I  need  not  crave  his  courtesy.  {Aside.) 

Suf.  Sweet  madam,  give  me  hearing  in  a  cause — 

Mar.  Tush  !  women  have  been  captivate  ere  now. 

{Aside.) 

Suf.  Lady,  wherefore  talk  you  so  ? 

Mar.  I  cry  you  mercy,  'tis  but  quid  for  quo. 

Suf  Say,  gentle  princess,  would  you  not  suppose 
Vour  bondage  hap|)y,  to  be  made  a  queen  ? 

3Iar.  To  be  a  queen  in  bondage,  is  more  vile. 
Than  is  a  slave  in  base  servility  ; 
For  princes  should  be  free. 

Suf  And  30  shall  you, 

If  happy  England's  royal  king  be  free. 

Mar.  Why,  what  concerns  his  freedom  unto  me  ? 

Suf.  I'll  undertake  to  make  thee  Henry's  queen  ; 
To  put  a  golden  sceptre  in  thy  hand, 
And  set  a  precious  crown  upon  thy  head, 
If  thou  wilt  condescend  to  be  my — 

Mar.  What? 

Suf.  His  love. 

Mar.  I  am  unworthy  to  be  Henry's  wife. 

Sif.  No,  gentle  madam;  I  unworthy  am 
To  woo  so  fair  a  dame  to  be  his  wife, 
And  have  no  portion  in  the  choice  myself. 
How  say  you,  madam  ;  are  you  so  content? 

Mar.  An  if  my  father  please,  I  am  content. 

Suf  Then  call  our  captains,  and  our  colours,  forth : 
And,  madam,  at  your  lather's  castle  walls 
W^e'll  crave  a  parley  to  confer  with  him. 

{Troops  come  forward.) 

Parley  sounded,  Enter  Reicnier,  on  the  walls. 

Suf,  See,  Reignier,  see,  thy  daughter  prisoner. 

Reig.  To  whom  i 

Suf  To  me. 

Reig,  Suffolk,  what  remedy  ? 

I  am  a  soldier ;  and  unapt  to  weep. 
Or  to  exclaim  on  fortune's  fickleness. 

Suf.  Yes,  there  is  remedy  enoagh,  my  lord: 
Consent  (and,  for  thy  honour,  give  consent,) 
Thy  daughter  shall  be  wedded  to  njy  king ; 
Whom  I  with  pain  have  woo'd  and  won  thereto ; 
And  this  her  easy-held  imprisonment 
Hath  gain'd  thy  daughter  princely  liberty. 

Reig.  Speaks  Suftblk  as  he  thinks? 

Suf.  Fair  Margaret  knows 

That  Suffolk  doth  not  flatter,  face,  or  feign. 

Reig.  Upon  thy  princely  warrant,  I  descend. 
To  give  thee  answer  of  thy  just  demand. 

[Exit  from  the  walls. 

Suf.  And  here  I  will  expect  thy  coming. 

Trumpets  sounded.   Enter  Reignier,  below. 

/2e»jf. Welcome,  brave  earl,  into  our  territories ; 
Command  in  Anjou  what  your  honour  pleases. 

Suf.  Thanks,  Reignier,  happy  for  so  sweeta  child, 
Fit  to  be  made  companion  with  a  king : 
What  answer  makes  your  grace  unto  my  suit? 

Reig.  Since  thou  dost  deign  to  woo  her  little 
To  be  the  princely  bride  of  such  a  lord  ;  [worth, 
Upon  condition  I  may  quietly 
Enjoy  mine  own,  the  county  Maine,  and  Anjou, 
Free  from  oppression,  or  the  stroke  of  war. 
My  daughter  shall  be  Henry's,  if  he  please. 

Suf.  That  is  her  ransome,  I  deliver  her; 
And  those  two  counties,  I  will  undertake, 
Vour  grace  shall  well  and  quietly  enjoy. 

Reig.  And  I  again, — in  Henry's  royal  name, 
As  deputy  unto  that  gracious  king. 
Give  thee  her  hand,  for  sign  of  plighted  faith. 

Suf  Reignier  of  France,  I  give  thee  kingly 
thanks. 


41i 

Because  this  is  in  traffic  of  a  king.: 

And  yet,  mclhinks,  I  could  be  well  content 

To  be  mine  own  attorney  in  this  case.  {Asidg,) 

I'll  over  then  to  England  with  this  news. 

And  make  this  marriage  to  be  soieniuiz'd  : 

So,  farewell,  Reignier!  Set  this  diamond  safe 

In  golden  palaces,  as  it  becomes. 

Reig.  I  do  embrace  thee,  as  I  would  embrace 
The  Christian  prince,  king  Henry,  were  he  here. 

Mar.  Farewell,  my  lord!  Good  wisher,  [^raise, 
and  prayers, 

Shall  Siittblk  ever  have  of  MargJiret  {Going  j 

Suf.  Farewell,  sweet  madam !  But  hark  yo 
Margaret ; 
No  i>rincely  commendations  to  my  king? 

Mar.  Such  commendations  as  become  a  maid, 
A  virgin,  and  his  servant,  say  to  him.  [ed 

Suf.  Words  sweetly  plac'd,  and  modestly  duect 
But,  madam,  I  must  trouble  you  again, — 
No  loving  token  to  his  majesty  ? 

Mar.  Yes,  my  good  lord  ;  a  pure  unspotted  heart 
Never  yet  taint  with  love,  I  send  the  king. 

Suf.  And  this  withal.  {Kisses  her,] 

Mar.  That  for  thyself ;  I  will  not  so  presume. 
To  send  such  peevish  tokens  to  a  king. 

[Exeunt  Reignier  and  Margaret^ 

Suf.  O,  wert  thou  for  mysell ! — But,  Sutiblk,  stay : 
Thou  may'st  not  wander  in  that  labyrinth  ; 
There  Minotaurs,  and  ugly  treasons,  lurk. 
Solicit  Henry  with  her  wond'rous  praise  : 
Bethink  thee  on  her  virtues  that  surmount; 
Mad,  natural  graces  that  extinguish  art ; 
Repeat  their  semblance  often  on  the  seas. 
That,  when  thou  com'st  to  kneel  at  Henry's  feet. 
Thou  may'st  bereave  him  of  his  wits  with  wonder 

[Exii 

Scene  IV. — Camp  of  the  Duke  of  Yorh,  in  Anjou 
Enter  York,  Warwick,  and  others. 
York.  Bring  forth  that  sorceress,  condenm'd  U 
burn. 

Enter  La  Pucelle,  guarded,  and  a  Shepherd. 

Shep.  Ah,  Joan !  this  kills  thy  father's  heart  out 
right ! 

Have  I  sought  every  country  far  and  ne:ir. 
And,  now  it  is  my  chance  to  find  thee  out. 
Must  I  behold  thy  timeless  cruel  death  ? 
Ah,  Joan,  sweet  daughter  Joan,  I'll  die  with  thee  I 

Puc.  Decrepit  miser !  1  ase  ignobie  wretch  ! 
I  am  descended  of  a  gentler  blood  ; 
Thou  art  no  father,  nor  no  friend,  of  mine. 

Shep.  Out,  out! — My  lords,  an  please  you, 
not  so ; 

I  did  beget  her,  all  the  parish  knows : 

Her  mother  liveth  yet,  can  testify. 

She  was  the  first  fruit  of  my  bachelorship. 

W ar.  Graceless  1  wilt  thou  deny  thy  parentagu  ? 

York.  This  argues  what  her  kind  of  lite  hath  becm; 
Wicked  and  vile;  and  so  her  death  concludes. 

Shep.  Fy,  Joan !  that  thou  wilt  be  so  obstacle ! 
God  knows,  thou  art  a  collop  of  my  flesh ; 
And  for  thy  sake  ha\t-  I  shed  many  a  tear: 
Deny  me  not,  I  pr  yiiiee,  gentle  Joan. 

Puc.  Peasant,  avaimt! — Vou  have  suborn'd  th^ 
Of  purpose  to  obscure  my  noble  birth.  [wao, 

Shep.  'Tis  true^  I  gave  a  noble  to  the  priest. 
The  morn  that  I  was  wedded  to  her  mother. — 
Kneel  down  and  take  my  blessing,  good  iny  girl. 
Wilt  thou  not  stoop?  Now  cursed  be  the  timft 
Of  thy  nativity  !   I  would,  the  milk 
Thy  mother  g^ave  thee,  when  thou  suck'dst  bei 
breast, 

Had  been  a  little  ratsbane  for  thy  sake ! 

Or  else,  when  thou  didst  keep  \\\y  lambs  n-fieJd 

I  wish  some  ravenous  wolf  had  eaten  thee  ! 

Dost  thou  deny  thy  father,  cursed  drab  ? 

O,  burn  her,  burn  her;  hanging  is  too  g(X)d.  [Exit. 

York.  Take  her  away  ;  lor  she  hath  l;\  d  too  long, 
To  fill  the  world  with  vicious  qualities. 


KING  HENRY  YI. 


412 


FIEST  PART  OF 


Act  V 


Pue  t^^rst,  let  ine  tell  yoa  whom  yoa  have  con- 
denm'd  : 

Not  me  begotten  of  a  sliepherd  swain. 
But  issu'd  tVom  tlie  progeny  of  kings ; 
Virtuous,  and  holy ;  chosen  from  above. 
By  inspiration  of  celestial  grace, 
To  work  exceeding  tniracles  on  earth. 
I  never  had  to  do  with  wicked  spirits : 
But  youj — that  are  polluted  with  your  lusts, 
Stain'd  with  the  guiltless  blood  of  innocents. 
Corrupt  and  tainted  with  a  thousand  vices, — 
Because  you  want  the  grace  that  others  have. 
You  judge  it  straight  a  thing  impossible 
To  compass  wonders,  but  by  help  of  devils. 
No,  misconceived  !  Joan  of  Arc  hath  been 
A  virgin  from  her  tender  infancy, 
Chaste  and  immaculate  in  very  thou'ght; 
Whose  nsaiden  blood,  thus  rigorously  effus'd. 
Will  cry  for  vengeance  at  the  gates  of  heaven. 

York.  Ay,  ay  ;—  away  with  her  to  execution. 

fFar.  And  hark  ye,  sirs  ;  because  she  is  a  maid. 
Spare  for  no  fagots,  let  there  be  enough  : 
Place  barrels  of  pitch  upon  the  fatal  stake. 
That  so  her  torture  may  be  shortened. 

Puc.  Will  nothing  turn  your  unrelenting  hearts 
Then,  Joan,  discover  thine  infirmi.ty  ; 
That  warranteth  by  law  to  be  thy  privilege. — 
I  am  with  cliild,  ye  bloody  hoiniciacs  : 
Murder  not  then  the  fruit  within  my  womb. 
Although  ye  hale  me  to  a  violent  death. 

York.  Now  heaven  forefend !  the  holy  maid  with 
child  ? 

W^ar.  The  greatest  miracle  that  ere  ye  wrought: 
Is  all  your  strict  preciseness  come  to  this  ? 

York.  She  and  the  Dauphin  have  been  juggling: 
I  did  imagine  what  would  be  her  refuge. 

War.  VVell,  go  to  ;  we  will  have  no  bastards  Hve  ; 
Especially,  since  Charles  must  father  it. 

Puc.  You  are  deceiv'd  ;  my  child  is  none  of  his  : 
It  was  Alen^on  that  enjoy'd  my  love. 

York.  Alen9on!  that  notorious  Machiavel! 
It  dies,  an  if  it  had  a  thousand  lives. 

Puc.  O,  give  me  leave,  I  have  deluded  you  ; 
Twas  neitlier  Charles,  nor  yet  the  duke  I  naai'd. 
But  Roignier,  king  of  Naples,  tliat  prevail'd. 

War.  A  married  man!  that's  most  intolerable. 

York.  Why,  here's  a  girl !  I  think,  she  knows  not 
well. 

There  were  so  many,  whom  she  may  accuse. 

War.  It's  sign  she  hatli  been  liberal  and  free. 

Yo7'k.  And,  yet,  forsooth,  she  is  a  virgin  pure. — 
Strumpet,  tiiy  words  condenui  thy  brat,  and  thee  : 
Use  no  entreaty,  for  it  is  in  vain. 

Puc.  Then  lead  me  hence ; — with  whom  I  leave 
my  curse : 

Alay  never  glorious  sun  reflex  his  beams 

Upon  the  country  where  you  make  abode ! 

But  darkness  and  the  gloomy  shade  of  death 

Environ  you  ;  till  mischief,  and  despair. 

Drive  you  to  break  your  necks,  or  hang  yourselves! 

[Exit,  guarded. 

York.  Break  thoa  in  pieces,  and  consume  to  ashes. 
Thou  foul  accursed  minister  of  hell ! 

Enter  Cardinal  Beaufort,  attended. 

Car.  Lord  regent,  I  dr»  greet  your  excellence 
With  letters  of  commission  I'rom  the  king. 
For  know,  my  lords,  the  states  of  Christendom, 
Mov'd  with  remorse  of  these  outrageous  broils. 
Have  earnestly  implor'd  a  general  peace 
Betwixt  our  nation  and  the  aspiring  French; 
And  here  at  hand,  the  Daujjhui,  and  his  train, 
Approacheth,  to  confer  about  some  matter. 

York.  Is  all  our  travail  turn'd  to  this  elfect? 
Alter  the  slaughter  of  so  many  peers. 
So  many  captains,  gentlemen,  and  soldiers. 
That  in  this  (piarrel  huve  been  overthrown, 
And  sold  their  bodies  for  their  country's  benefit, 
Hhail  we  at  last  conclude  etfeminate  peace  V 
Have  we  not  lost  inof.t  part  of  all  tl»e  towns. 


By  treason,  falsehood,  and  by  treachery. 
Our  great  progenitors  had  conquered  ? — 
O,  Warwick,  Warwick,  I  foresee  with  grief 
The  utter  loss  of  all  the  realm  of  France. 

War.  Be  patient,  York:  if  we  conclude  a  peace 
It  shall  be  with  sucli  strict  and  severe  covenants. 
As  little  shall  the  Frenchmen  gain  thereby. 

Enter  Charles,  attended;  Alencon,  Bastard, 
Reignier,  and  others. 
Char.  Since,  lords  of  England,  it  is  thus  agreed. 
That  peaceful  truce  shall  be  proclaim'd  in  France, 
We  come  to  be  informed  by  yourselves 
What  the  conditions  of  that  league  must  be. 

York.  Speak,  Winchester ;  for  boiling  cholei 
chokes 

The  hollow  passage  of  my  poison'd  voice. 
By  sight  of  these  our  baleiul  enemies. 

Win.  Charles,  and  the  rest,  it  is  enacted  thuf 
That — in  regard  king  Henry  gives  consent. 
Of  mere  compassion,  and  of  lenity, 
To  ease  your  country  of  distressful  war. 
And  suffer  you  to  breathe  in  fruitful  peace, — 
You  shall  become  true  liegemen  to  iiis  crown: 
And,  Charles,  upon  condition  thou  wilt  swear 
To  pay  him  tribute,  and  submit  thyself. 
Thou  shalt  be  plac'd  as  viceroy  under  him, 
And  still  enjoy  thy  regal  dignity. 

Alen.  Must  he  be  then  a  shadow  of  himself? 
Adorn  his  temples  with  a  coronet ; 
And  yet,  in  substance  and  authority. 
Retain  but  privilege  of  a  private  man  ? 
This  proffer  is  absurd  and  reasonless. 

Char.  'Tis  known,  already  that  I  am  possess'd 
With  more  than  half  the  Gallian  territories. 
And  therein  reverenc'd  for  their  lawful  king : 
Shall  I,  for  lucre  of  the  rest  unvanquish'd, 
Detiact  so  n«uch  from  that  prerogative. 
As  to  be  call'd  but  viceroy  of  the  whole? 
No,  lord  ambassador ;  I'll  rather  keep 
That  which  I  have,  than,  coveting  for  more. 
Be  cast  from  possibility  of  all.  [means 

York.  Insulting  Charles!  hast  thou  by  secret 
Used  intercession  to  obtain  a  league : 
And,  now  the  matter  grows  to  compromise, 
Stand'st  thou  aloof  upon  comparison  ? 
Either  accept  the  title  thou  usurp'st. 
Of  benefit  proceeding  from  our  king. 
And  not  of  any  challenge  of  desert. 
Or  we  will  plague  thee  with  incessant  wars. 

Reig.  My  lord,  you  do  not  well  in  obstinacy 
To  cavil  in  the  course  of  this  contract : 
If  once  it  be  neglected,  ten  to  one. 
We  shall  not  find  like  opportunity. 

Alen.  To  say  the  truth,  it  is  your  policy. 
To  save  your  subjects  from  such  massacre. 
And  ruthless  slaughters,  as  are  daily  seen 
By  our  proceeding  in  hostihty  : 
And  therefore  take  this  compact  of  a  truce. 
Although  you  break  it  when  your  pleasure  ser?cs. 

{Aiide  to  Charles^ 

TVar.  How  say'st  thou,  Charles  ?  shall  our  con- 

Char.  It  shall:  [dition stand ? 

Only  reserv'd,  you  claim  no  interest 
In  any  of  our  towns  of  garrison. 

York.  Then  swear  allegiance  to  his  majesty , 
As  thou  art  knight,  never  to  disobey. 
Nor  be  rebellious  to  the  crown  of  England, 
Thou,  nor  thy  nobles,  to  the  crf)wn  of  England. 

[Charles,  and  the  rest,  give  tokens  of  fealijf.) 
So,  now  dismiss  your  army  when  ye  please  ; 
Hang  up  your  ensigns,  let  your  drums  be  slill. 
For  here  we  entertain  a  solemn  peace.  [Exeum 

Scene  V.-  -London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  King  Henry,  in  conference  with  Suffolk  ; 

Gloster  and  Exeter  following. 
K.  Hen.  Your  wond  rous  rare  description,  nobla 

earl, 

C  beauteous  JIargaret  hath  astotosh'd  m©  : 


KING  HENRY  YL 


413 


Her  virtues,  graced  wifk'  extf /tial  gifis, 
Do  breed  love's  setUei,^  f  issions  in  my  heart: 
Aud  like  as  rigour  iu  tenipestiioiis  gusts 
Provokes  the  mightiesi  hulk  against  the  tide; 
So  am  1  driven,  by  breath  of  her  renown. 
Either  to  suffer  shipwrec  k,  or  arrive 
Where  [  may  have  /ruiiion  of  her  love. 

Suf.  Tusli !  my  good  lord  !  this  superficial  tale 
fs  but  a  preface  of  her  wortliy  praise  : 
The  chief  perfections  of  that  lovely  dam&, 
Had  I  sufficient  skill  to  utter  them,) 
VYould  make  a  volume  of  enticing  lines, 
A.ble  to  ravish  any  dull  conceit. 
And,  which  is  more,  she  is  not  srt divine. 
So  full  replete  with  choice  of  all  delights. 
But,  with  as  humble  lowliness  of  mind. 
She  is  content  to  be  at  your  command  ; 
Command,  1  mean,  of  virtuous  chaste  intents, 
To  love  and  honour  Henry  as  her  lord.  ^ 

K,  Hen.  And  otherwise  will  Henry  ne'er  pre- 
sume. 

Therefore,  my  lord  protector,  give  consent. 
That  Margaret  may  be  England's  royal  queen. 

Glo.  So  should  I  give  consent  to  flatter  sin. 
You  know,  my  loi-d,  your  highness  is  betroth'd 
(Into  another  lady  of  esteem  ; 
How  shall  we  then  dispense  with  that  contract. 
And  not  deface  your  honour  with  reproach  i 

Suf.  As  doth. a  ruler  with  unlawful  oaths  ; 
Or  one,  that,  at  a  triumph  having  vow'd 
To  try  his  strength,  forsaketh  yet  the  lists 
By  reason  of  his  adversary's  odds  : 
A  poor  earl's  daughter  is  unequal  odds. 
And  therefore  may  be  broke  without  offence. 

Glo.  Why,  what,  I  pray,  is  Margaret  more  than 
Her  father  is  no  better  than  an  earl,  [that  ? 

Although  in  glorious  titles  he  excel. 

Suf.  Yes,  niy  good  lord,  her  father  is  a  king, 
The  king  of  Naples,  and  Jerusalem  ; 
And  of  such  great  authority  in  France, 
As  his  alliance  will  contirm  our  peace, 
And  keep  the  Frenchmen  in  allegiance. 

Glo.  And  so  the  earl  of  Armagnac  may  do. 
Because  he  is  near  kinsman  unto  Charles. 

Exe.  Beside,  his  wealth  doth  wiwrant  liberal 
dower; 

While  Reignier  sooner  will  receive,  than  give. 

Suf.  A  dower,  my  lords  !  disgrace  not  so  your  king, 
That  he  should  be  so  abject,  base,  and  poor. 
To  choose  for  wealth,  and  not  for  perfect  love. 
Heni-y  is  able  to  enrich  his  queen. 
And  not  to  seek  a  queen  to  make  him  rich  : 
So  worthless  peasants  bargain  for  their  wives, 
As  market-men  for  oxen,  sheep,  or  horse. 
Marriage  is  a  matter  oi  usore  %yorth. 


Than  to  be  dealt  in  by  attorneyship; 
Not  whom  we  will,  but  whom  his  grace  aiTccti^ 
Must  be  companion  of  his  nuptird  bed  : 
And  therefore,  lords,  since  he  affects  her  most. 
It  most  of  all  these  reasons  bindeth  us, 
In  our  opinions  she  should  be  preferr'd. 
For  what  is  wedlock  forced,  but  a  hell. 
An  age  of  discord  and  continual  strife  ? 
Whereas  the  contrary  bringeth  forth  bliss, 
And  is  a  pattern  of  celestial  peace. 
Whom  should  we  match,  with  Henry,  being  a  king 
But  Margaret,  that  is  daughter  to  a  king  ? 
Her  peerless  feature,  joined  with  her  birth. 
Approves  her  tit  for  none,  but  for  a  king  : 
Her  valiant  courage,  and  undaunted  spirit, 
(More  than  in  women  commonly  is  seen,) 
Will  answer  our  hope  in  issue  of  a  king; 
For  Henry,  son  unto  a  conqueror. 
Is  likely  to  beget  more  conquerors. 
If  with  a  lady  of  so  high  resolve. 
As  is  fair  Margaret,  he  be  link'd  in  love. 
Then  yield,  my  lords  ;  and  here  conclude  with  me. 
That  Margaret  shall  be  queen,  and  none  but  she. 
K.  Hen.  Whether  it  be  through  force  of  yoofl 
report, 

My  noble  lord  of  Suffolk ;  or  for  that 

My  tender  youth  was  never  yet  attaint 

W  ith  any  passion  of  inflaming  love, 

I  cannot  tell ;  but  this  I  am  assur'd, 

I  feel  such  sharp  dissension  in  my  breast. 

Such  fierce  alarums  both  of  hope  and  fear. 

As  I  am  sick  with  working  of  my  thoughts. 

Take,  therefore,  shipping;  post  my  lord,  to  Fn»C«J] 

Agree  to  any  covenants  :  and  procure 

That  lady  Margaret  do  vouchsafe  to  come 

To  cross  the  seas  to  England,  and  be  crown'd 

King  Henry's  faithful  and  anointed  queen: 

For  your  expenses  and  suiiicieut  charge, 

Among  the  people  gather  up  a  tenth. 

Begone,  I  say  ;  for  till  you  do  return, 

I  rest  perplexed  with  a  thousand  cares. — 

And  you,  good  uncle,  banish  all  oflence  : 

If  you  do  censure  me  by  what  you  were. 

Not  what  you  are,  I  know  it  will  excuse 

This  sudden  execution  of  my  will. 

And  so  conduct  me,  where  from  company, 

I  may  revolve  and  ruminate  my  grief.  [JSar<# 

Glo.  Ay,  grief,  I  fear  me,  both  at  first  and  la*t. 

[Exeunt  Gloster  and  Exetfr, 

Suf.  Thus  Suffolk  hath  prevail'd :  and  thus  he  g  ^a. 
As  did  the  youthful  Paris  once  to  Greece; 
With  hope  to  find  the  like  event  in  love. 
But  prosper  better  than  the  Trojan  did. 
Margaret  shall  now  be  queen,  and  rule  the  kfa^J 
Bat  I  will  rule  both  her,  the  king,  and  realas.  lfi!xit. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 

PART  II. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED, 


KINO  HENRY  THE  SIXTH. 
HUMPHREY,  Dnke  of  Glosler,  his  Uncle. 
CARDINAi.  BEAUFORT,  Bishop  of  Winchester,  great 

Uncle  to  the  King. 
RfCHARD  i^LANTAGENET,  Duke  of  York. 
EDWARD  and  RICHARD,  his  Sons. 
DUKE  OF  SOMERSET,  v 
DCKE  OF  SUFFOLK,  I 

D  U  K  E  O  F  B  U  C  K I N  G  H A  M,    >  of  the  King's  Party. 
LORD  CLIFFORD,  ft 
Yonnq  CLIFFORD,  his  Son,  J 
EARL  OF  SALISBURY, 
EARL  OF  WARWICK, 


of  the  York  Faction. 


LORD  SCALES,  Governor  of  the  Tower. 
LORD  SAV. 

SIR  HUlMl'HREY  STAFFORD,  and  his  Brother. 
SIR  JOHN  STANLEY. 

A  sea  Caiifai/i,  Mdster,  and  Master's  Mate,  and 

WALTER  WHITMORE. 
Tk'u  Geiillemen,  Prisoners  with  Suffolk 
A  Rtrald. 


VAUX. 

HUME  and  SOUTHWELL,  tvoo  Priestt . 

BOLINGBROKE.  a  Conjurer. 

A  Spirit  raised  bp  him. 

THOMAS  HORNER,  an  Armourer. 

PETER,  his  Man. 

Clerk  of  Chatham. 

Mayor  (f  Saint  Alban's. 

SIMPCOX,  an  Impostor —Two  Murderers. 

JACK  CADE,  a  Rebel. 

GEORGE,  JOHN,  DICK.   SMITH,  the  Weaver i  Ml 

CHAEL,  etc.  /,is  Followers. 
ALEXANDER  IDEN,  a  Kentish  Gentleman. 

MARcArET,  Queen  to  King  Henry. 
ELEANOR,  Duchess  of  Gloster. 
MARGERY  JOURDAIN,  a  Witch. 
Wife  to  SIMFCOX. 

Lvrdr,,  Ladies,  and  Attendants;  Petitionen,  Aldermei^ 
a  Beadle,  Sheriff,  and  Ojficers ;  Citizens,  Prentice$, 
Falconers,  Guards,  Soldiers,  Messengers,  etc. 


ScENE^ — Dispcrsedhj  in  various  parts  of  England. 


ACT  1. 

Scene  I. — London.  A  Room  of  State  in  the  Palace. 

FlourisJi  of  trumpets  :  then  hautboys.  Enter  on 
one  side,  Kimj  Henry,  Duke  o/Glost£R,  Sa- 
lisbury, Warwick,  and  Cardinal  Be. WiFOKT; 
on  the  other,  Queen  Margaret,  led  in  by  Sup- 
folk;  VoRK,  Somerset,  IJuckingham,  and 
others  following. 

Suf.  As  by  yonr  high  imperial  majesty 
f  had  in  charge  at  my  depart  for  France, 
As  procurator  to  your  excellence. 
To  marry  princess  Margaret  lor  your  grace; 
So  in  tlie  lainous  ancient  city  Tours, — 
In  presence  of  tlie  kings  of  France  and  Sicil, 
The  dukes  of  Orleans,  Calaber,  Bretaigne,  and 
Alen^on, — 

Seven  earls,  twelve  barons,  twenty  reverend  bi- 
shops,— 

I  have  perlorni'd  my  task,  and  was  espous'd  : 
And  humbly  now  upon  my  bended  knee. 
In  sight  of  Eng  and  and  her  lordly  peers. 
Deliver  up  niy  title  in  the  queen 
To  your  most  gracious  Innds,  that  are  the  substance 
Ot  that  great  shadow  I  did  represent; 
The  kiappiest  gill,  that  ever  marquess  gave. 
The  fairest  q-ieen  that  ever  king  recciv'd. 

K.  Hen.  Suliolk,  arise. — Welcome,  queen  Mar- 
g^iret : 

I  can  express  no  kinder  sign  of  love, 

Than  this  kind  kiss. — O  Lord,  that  lends  me  life, 

Lend  nie  a  heart  replete  with  thankfulness! 

For  thou  h;ist  given  me  in  this  beauteous  face, 

A  woild  of  eartlily  blessings  to  «ny  soul. 

If  syir»[)H}hy  (»f  love  unite  our  tliouishts. 

Q.  Mur.  Grt^at  king  of  England,  and  my  gracious 
lord ; 

The  mutual  conference  that  my  nitnd  hath  had — 
By  day,  by  night;  waking,  and  in  my  dreams ; 
In  courtly  company,  or  at  ujy  beads, — 
W^itii  you  mine  ahler-liel'est  sovereign, 
Makes  me  the  bolder  to  salute  my  king 
With  ruder  terms;  such  as  my  wit  affords. 
And  over-joy  of  lieart  doth  minister. 

K.  Hen,  Her  sig'nt  did  ravish  :  but  her  grace  in 
speech. 

Her  words  y  cl.jd  with  wisdom's  majesty, 
Makfs  me,  from  wondering,  fall  to  wee,  ing  joys; 
Such  IS  the  fulness  of  my  heart  s  content — 
Lords.  wiM)  one  ciieerlul  voice  wt'lcouie  my  love. 


All.  Long  live  queen  Margaret,  England's  happi- 
ness ! 

Q.  Mar.  We  thank  you  all.  [Flourish.) 

Suf  My  lord  protector,  so  it  please  yonr  grace, 
Here  are  the  articles  of  contracted  peace, 
Between  our  sovereign  and  the  French  king  Charles, 
For  eighteen  months  concluded  by  consent. 

Glo.  [Reads.]  Iinj)rimis,  //  is  agreed  bettveen 
the  French  king,  Charles,  and  Wiliiam  de  la 
Poole,  marquess  of  Suffolk,  amhabsador  for 
Henry  king  of  England, — that  the  said  Henrij 
shall  espouse  the  lady  Margaret,  daughter  nnio 
Reignier  king  of  Naples,  Sicilia,  and  Jerusnlcni ; 
and  crown  her  queen  of  England,  ere  the  thirtieth 

of  May  next  ensuing.  Item, —  That  the  duchy 

of  Anjou  and  the  county  of  Maine  shall  Le  re- 
leased and  delivered  to  the  king  her  father  

K.  Hen.  Uncle,  how  now  ? 

Glo.  Pardon  me,  gracious  lord  ; 

Some  sudden  qualm  hath  struck  me  at  the  hf;u  t, 
And  dimm'd  mine  eyes,  that  I  can  read  no  iin  liier 

K.  Hen.  Uncle  of  Winchester,  I  pray,  read  (  n. 

Win.  Item, — It  is  further  agreed  between  them, 
— that  the  duchies  of  Anjou  and  Maine  shall  be 
released  and  delivered  over  to  the  king  her  father; 
and  she  sent  over  of  the  king  of  England s  own 
proper  cost  and  charges,  without  having  dowry. 

K.  Hen  They  please  us  well. — Lord  maiq-iesa, 
kneel  down; 
We  here  create  thee  the  first  duke  of  Suffolk, 
And  girt  thee  with  the  sword. — 
Cousin  of  York,  we  here  discharge  yonr  grace 
From  being  regent  in  the  parts  of  France, 
Till  term  of  eighteen  months  be  full  e:ipir'd — 
Thanks,  uncle  Winchester,  Gloster,  York, 

Buckingham, 
Somerset,  Salisbury,  and  Warwick; 
We  thank  you  all  for  this  great  favour  done, 
In  entertainment  to  my  princely  queen. 
Come,  let  us  in ;  and  with  all  speed  provide 
To  see  her  coronation  be  perform'd. 

[Exeunt  King,  Queen,  and  Suffolk 

Glo.  Brave  |»eers  of  England,  pillars  of  the  state, 
To  you  duke  Hnm}>hrey  must  unK»ad  his  grief. 
Your  grief,  the  common  grief  of  all  the  land. 
What!  did  my  brother  Henry  spend  his  youth^ 
His  valour,  coin,  and  people,  in  the  wars? 
Did  he  so  often  l(»dge  in  open  field, 
In  winter's  cold,  and  summer's  parching  heat. 
To  conquer  France,  his  trae  inheritance  ? 
And  did  my  brother  Bedford  toil  bis  wits 
j  To  keep  by  policy  what  Henry  got? 


and 


Scene  1. 


SECOND  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  VI. 


415 


Have  yon  yonrffelveg,  Son^trset,  Backingham, 
Brave  Ytirk,  Salisbury,  and  victorious  Warwick, 
Rpceiv'd  deep  scars  in  I  raase  and  Normandy  ? 
Or  liath  my  uncle  Beaufort,  and  myself, 
Vv^ith  all  the  learned  council  of  the  realm, 
Studied  vso  long,  s^t  in  the  council-house. 
Early  and  late,  debating  to  and  fro 

w  France  and  Frenchmen  might  be  kept  in  awe? 

hath  his  highness  in  his  infancy 
11  crown'd  in  Paris,  in  despite  of  foes? 
shall  these  labours,  and  these  honours,  die? 
Henry's  conquest,  Bedford's  vigilance, 
deeds  of  war,  and  all  our  counsel,  die  ? 
ers  of  England,  shameful  is  this  league! 
this  marriage,  cancelling  your  fame  ; 
tting  your  names  from  books  of  memory ; 
rig  the  characters  of  your  renown  ; 
ciitg  monuments  of  conquer'd  France ; 
oing  all,  as  all  had  never  been  ! 
ar.  Nephew,  what  means  this  passionate  dis- 
course ? 

peroration  with  such  circumstance  ? 
PVance,  'tis  ours ;  and  we  will  keep  it  still. 
lo.  Ay,  uncle,  we  will  keep  it,  if  we  can; 
now  it  is  impossible  we  should  : 
ffolk,  the  new-made  duke,  that  rules  the  roast, 
ath  given  the  duchies  of  Anjoii  and  Maine 
rito  the  poor  king  Reignier,  whose  large  style 
Agrees  not  with  the  leanness  of  his  purse. 

Sal.  Now,  by  the  death  of  him  that  died  for  all. 
These  counties  were  the  keys  of  Normandy  : — 
But  wherefore  weeps  Warwick,  my  valiant  son? 

War.  For  grief,  for  they  are  past  recovery : 
For,  were  there  hope  to  conquer  them  again, 
My  sword  should  shed  hot  blood,  mine  eyes  no  tears. 
Anjou  and  Maine!  myself  did  win  them  both; 
Tliose  provinces  these  arms  of  mine  did  conquer: 
And  are  the  cities,  that  I  got  with  wounds, 
Deliver'd  up  again  with  peaceful  words  ? 
Mort  Dieu ! 

York.  For  Suffolk's  duke — may  he  be  suffocate, 
That  dims  the  honour  of  this  warlike  isle  ! 
France  should  have  torn  and  rent  my  very  heart. 
Before  I  would  have  yielded  to  this  league. 
I  never  read  but  England's  kings  have  had 
Large  sums  of  gold,  and  dowries,  with  their  wives  : 
And  our  king  Henry  gives  away  his  own. 
To  match  with  her  that  brings  no  vantages. 

Glo.  A  proper  jest,  and  never  heard  before. 
That  Suffolk  should  demand  a  whole  fifteenth. 
For  costs  and  charges  in  transporting  her: 
She  should  have  staid  in  France,  and  starv'd  in 

France, 
Before  

Car,  My  lord  of  Gloster,  now  you  grow  too  hot ; 
It  was  the  pleasure  of  my  lord  the  king. 

Qlo.  My  lord  of  Winchester,  I  know  your  mind  : 
"Fis  not  my  speeches,  that  you  do  mislike; 
But  'tis  my  presence,  that  aoth  trouble  you. 
Rancour  will  out :  Proud  prelate,  in  thy  face 
I  see  thy  fury  :  if  I  longer  stay, 
We  shall  begin  our  ancient  bickerings. — 
Lordings,  farewell;  and  say,  when  1  am  gone, 
[  prophesied — France  will  oe  lost  ere  long.  {Exit. 

Car.  So,  there  goes  our  protector  io  a  rage. 
'Tis  known  to  you,  he  is  mine  enemy : 
Nay,  more,  an  enemy  unto  you  all ; 
And  no  great  friend,  I  fear  me,  to  the  king. 
Consider,  lords,  he  is  the  next  of  blood. 
And  heir  apparent  to  the  English  crown ; 
Had  Henry  got  an  empire  by  his  marriage. 
And  all  the  wealthy  kingdoms  of  the  west. 
There's  reason  he  should  be  displeas'd  at  it. 
Look  to  it,  lords  ;  let  not  his  smoothing  words 
Bewitch  your  hearts  ;  be  wise,  and  circumspect. 
What  though  the  common  people  favour  him, 
Calling  him — Humphrey ,  the  good  duke  of  Gloster; 
Clapping  their  hands,  and  crying  with  loud  voice — 
Jesu  maintain  your  royal  excellence  !  ' 
VVith — Ond  preserve  the  good  duke  Humphrey  ' 


I  fear  me,  lords,  for  all  this  flattering  gloss. 
He  w\\l  be  found  a  dangerous  protector. 

Buck.  Why  should  he  then  protect  our  soverei^ 
He  being  of  age  to  govern  of  hiniself  ? — 
Cousin  of  Somerset,  join  you  with  me. 
And  all  together — with  the  duke  of  Suffolk, — 
We'll  quickly  hoise  duke  Humphrey  from  his  sea* 

Car.  This  weighty  business  will  not  brook  delay 
I'll  to  tl  e  duke  of  Suffolk  presently.  [Exit 

Som.  Cousin  of  Buckinghum,  though  Humphrey 
pride, 

And  greatness  of  his  place  te  grief  to  us. 
Yet  let  us  watch  the  liaughty  cardinal ; 
His  insolence  is  more  intolerable 
'i'han  all  the  princes  in  the  land  beside  ; 
If  Gloster  be  displac'd,  he'll  be  protector. 

Buck.  Or  tliou,  or  1,  Somerset,  will  be  protector 
Despite  duke  Humphrey,  or  the  cardinal, 

[Exeunt  Buckingham  andSomertii, 

Sal.  Pride  went  befoie,  ambition  follows  him. 
While  these  do  labour  for  their  own  pieferment, 
Behoves  it  us  to  labour  lor  the  realm. 
I  never  saw  but  Humphrey  duke  of  Gloster 
Did  bear  him  like  a  noble  gentleman. 
Oft  have  I  seen  the  haughty  cardinal — 
More  like  a  soldier,  than  a  man  o'the  church. 
As  stout,  and  proud,  as  he  were  lord  of  all,— 
Swear  like  a  rulfian,  and  demean  himself 
Unlike  the  ruler  of  a  common-weal. — 
Warwick,  my  son,  the  couifort  of  my  age  ! 
Thy  deeds,  thy  plainness,  and  thy  house-keeping. 
Hath  won  the  greatest  favour  of  the  commons. 
Excepting  none  but  good  duke  Humphrey.— 
And,  brother  York,  thy  acts  in  Ireland, 
In  bringing  them  to  civil  discipline  ; 
Thy  late  exploits,  done  in  the  heart  of  France, 
Wtien  thou  wert  regent  for  our  sovereign, 
Have  made  thee  fear'd,  and  honour'd,   of  loe 

people  : — 
Join  we  together,  for  the  public  good  ; 
In  what  we  can  to  bridle  and  suppress 
The  pride  of  Suffolk,  and  the  cardinal, 
With  Somerset's  and  Buclingham's  ambition  ; 
And,  as  we  may,  cherish  duke  Humphrey's  deeds, 
While  they  do  tend  the  profit  ol  the  land. 

War.  So  God  help  Warwick,  as  he  loves  the  land, 
And  common  profit  ol"  his  country  ! 

York.  And  so  says  York,  for  he  hath  greatest 
cause. 

Sal.  Then  let' s  make  haste  away,  and  look  unto 
the  main. 

War.  Unto  the  main  !  O  father,  Maine  is  lost ; 
That  Maine,  which  by  niain  force  Warwick  did  win. 
And  would  have  kept,  so  long  as  breath  did  last: 
Main  chance,  father,  you  meant;  but  I  meant  Maine, 
Which  I  will  win  from  France,  or  else  be  slain. 

[Exeunt  Warwick  and  Salisbury, 

York.  Anjou  and  Maine  are  given  to  the  French,* 
Paris  is  lost ;  the  state  of  Normandy 
Stands  on  a  tickle  point,  now  they  are  gone  : 
Suffolk  concluded  on  the  articles ; 
The  peers  agreed  ;  and  Henry  was  well  pleas'd. 
To  change  two  dukedoms  for  a  duko's  lair  daugh 
I  cannot  blame  tiieni  all ;  What  is  t  t(t  thom  ? 
'Tis  thine  they  give  away,  and  not  their  own. 
Pirates  may  make  cheap  penny wojths  ot 
pillage, 

And  purchase  friends,  and  give  to  courlcaacs. 
Still  revelling,  like  lords,  till  all  be  gone : 
While  as  tlie  silly  owner  of  the  goods 
Weeps  over  them,  and  wrings  his  hapless  liandf, 
And  shakes  his  head,  and  trembling  slands  aloof. 
While  all  is  shar'd,  and  all  is  borne  away; 
Ready  to  starx  o,  and  dare  not  touch  his  own. 
So  York  must  sit,  and  fret,  and  bite  his  tongue, 
While  his  own  lauds  are  bargain'd  for,  and  sold. 
Melhinks,  the  realms  of  England,  France,  %o4 
Ireland, 

Beartliat  proporlion  to  iny  flesh  and  blood. 
As  did  the  jiiial  nrand  Allhea  burn'd. 


416  SECOND 

Un<o  the  orince's  heaii  of  Calydon. 
Anjou  aiia  Maine,  both  given  unto  the  French  ! 
Coid  Di«"^s  for  me ;  for  I  had  iiope  of  France, 
Even  a£  I  liave  of  fertile  Enghxnd's  soil. 
A  day  >5ill  come,  when  York  shall  claim  his  own; 
And  therefore  I  will  take  the  Nevils'  parts. 
And  make  a  shew  of  love  to  prondduke  Humphrey, 
And,  when  I  spy  advantage,  claim  the  crown, 
For  that's  the  golden  mark  I  seek  to  hit : 
Nor  shall  proud  Lancaster  usurp  my  right. 
Nor  hold  his  sceptre  in  his  childish  fist. 
Nor  wear  the  diadem  upon  his  head, 
Whose  church-like  humours  fit  not  for  a  crown. 
Then,  York,  be  still  awhile,  till  time  do  serve  : 
Watch  thou,  and  wake,  when  others  be  asleep, 
To  pry  into  the  secrets  of  the  state  ; 
Till  Henry,  surfeiting  in  joys  of  love. 
With  his  new  bride,  and  England's  dear-bought 
queen. 

And  Humi)hrey  with  the  peers  be  fall'n  at  jars: 
Then  will  I  raise  aloft  the  milk-white  rose. 
With  whose  sweet  smell  the  air  shall  be  perfum'd ; 
And  in  my  standard  bear  the  arms  of  York, 
'To  grapple  with  the  house  of  Lancaster; 
And,  force  perforce,  I'll  make  him  yield  the  crown. 
Whose  bookish  rule  hath  puU  d  fair  England  down. 

[Exit 

SuENB  IL — The  same.   A  Room  in  the  Duke  of 
Gloster's  House. 

Enter  Gloster  and  the  Duchess. 
Duch.  Why  droops  my  lord,  like  over-ripen'd 
corn. 

Hanging  the  head  at  Ceres'  ])lenteous  load  ? 
Why  doth  the  great  duke  Humprey  knit  his  brows. 
As  Irowning  at  the  favours  of  the  world  ? 
Why  are  thine  eyes  fix'd  to  the  sullen  earth, 
Gazing  on  that  which  seems  to  dim  thy  sight? 
VVi)at  see'st  thou  there?  King  Henry's  diadem, 
Enchas'd  with  all  the  honours  of  the  world? 
If  so,  gaze  on,  and  grovel  on  thy  face, 
LTutil  thy  head  be  circled  with  the  same. 
Put  forth  thy  hand,  reach  at  the  glorious  gold  : 
What,  is't  too  short  ?  I'll  lengthen  it  with  mine : 
Aiid,  having  both  together  heav'd  it  up, 
We'll  both  together  lift  our  heads  to  heaven ; 
And  never  more  abase  our  sight  so  low. 
As  to  vouchsafe  ooe  glance  unto  the  ground. 
Glo.  O  Nell's  sweet  Nell,  if  thou  dost  love  thy 
lord, 

iJanish  the  canker  of  ambitious  thoughts  ; 
And  may  that  thought,  when  I  imagine  ill 
Against  my  king  and  nephew,  virtuous  Henry, 
Be  my  last  breathing  in  this  mortal  world  ! 
My  troublous  dream  this  night  doth  make  me  sad. 
Duch.  What  dreara'd  my  lord?  tell  me,  and  I'll 
requite  it 

With  sweet  rehearsal  of  my  morning's  dream. 
Glo.  Methought,  this  stafl',  mine  office-badge  in 
court. 

Was  broke  in  twain ;  by  whom,  I  have  forgot. 

But,  as  I  think,  it  was  by  the  cardinal ; 

And  on  the  pieces  of  the  broken  wand 

Were  plac'd  the  heads  of  Edmund  duke  of  Somerset, 

And  William  de  la  Foole  first  duke  of  Suffolk. 

This  was  my  dream  ;  what  it  doth  bode,  God  knows. 

Duch.  Tut,  this  was  nothing  but  an  argument. 
That  he,  that  breaks  a  stick  of  Gloster's  grove. 
Shall  lose  his  head  for  his  presumption. 
But  list  to  me,  niy  Humphrey,  my  sweet  duke  : 
Methought,  I  sat  in  seat  of  majesty. 
In  the  c<\th>edral  church  of  Westminster, 
And  io  that  chair  where  kings  and  queens  are 
crown'd  ; 

Where  Henry,  and  dame  Margaret,  kneel'd  to  me. 
And  on  my  head  did  set  the  diadem. 

Glo.  Nay,  Eleanor,  then  must  I  chide  outright: 
Presunaptuous  dame,  ill-nurtur'd  Eleanor! 
Art  thou  not  second  woman  in  the  realm; 
And  the  protector's  wife,  belov'd  of  him  ? 


PART  OF  Act  L 

Hast  thou  not  worldly  pleasure  at  command 
Above  the  reach  or  compass  of  thy  thought? 
And  wilt  thou  still  be  hamniering  treachery. 
To  tumble  down  thy  husband,  and  thyself. 
From  top  of  honour  to  disgrace's  feet  ? 
Away  from  me,  and  let  me  hear  no  nu)re! 

Duch.  What,  what,  niy  lord,  are  you  so  cholerio 
With  Eleanor,  for  telling  but  her  dream? 
Next  time,  I'll  keep  my  dreams  unto  myself. 
And  not  be  check'd. 

Glo.  Nay,  be  not  angry,  I  am  pleas'd  agaiu. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mes.My  lord  protector,'  tis  his  highness'  pleasure. 
You  do  prepare  to  ride  unto  Saint  Alban's, 
Whereas  the  king  and  queen  do  mean  to  hnwk. 

Glo.  I  go. — Come,  Nell,  thou  wilt  ride  with  us  ? 

Duch.  Yes,  good  my  lord,  I'll  follow  presently 
[Exeunt  Gloster  and  Messenger. 
Follaw  I  must,  1  cannot  go  before. 
While  Gloster  bears  this  base  and  humble  mimL 
Were  I  a  man,  a  duke,  and  next  of  blood, 
I  would  remove  these  tedious  stumbling-blocks. 
And  smooth  my  way  upon  their  headless  necks  • 
And,  being  a  woman,  I  will  not  be  slack 
To  play  my  part  in  fortune's  pageant. 
Where  are  you  there  ?  Sir  John !  nay,  fear  not,  man. 
We  are  alone ;  here's  none  but  thee,  ami  I. 

Enter  Hume. 
Hume.  Jesn  preserve  your  royal  majeshr ! 
Duch.  What  say'st  thou,  majesty !  I  am  bat 
grace. 

Hume.  But,  by  the  grace  of  God,  and  Hume'a 
advice, 

four  grace's  title  shall  be  multiplied. 
Duch.  What  say'st  thou,  man  ?  hast  thou  as  yet 
conferr'd 

With  Margery  Jourdain,  the  cunning  witch ; 
And  Roger  Bolingbroke,  the  conjurer? 
And  will  they  undertake  to  do  me  good  ? 
Hume.  This  they  have  promised, — to  shew  yom 
highness 

A  spirit,  rais'd  from  depth  of  under  ground. 
That  shall  make  answer  to  such  questions. 
As  by  your  grace  shall  be  propounded  him. 

Duch.  It  is  enough  :  I'll  think  upon  the  questions  ♦ 
When  from  Saint  Alban's  we  do  make  return. 
We'll  see  these  things  effected  to  the  full. 
Here,  Hume,  take  this  reward  ;  make  merry,  man. 
With  thy  confederates  in  this  weighty  cause. 

[Exit  Duchess. 

Hume.  Hume  must  make  meriy  with  the  duchess* 
gold; 

Marry,  and  shall.    But  how  now,  sir  John  Hume? 

Seal  up  your  lips,  and  give  no  words  but — mum! 

The  business  asketh  silent  secrecy. 

Dame  Eleanor  gives  gold,  to  bring  the  witch : 

Gold  cannot  come  amiss,  were  she  a  devil. 

Ifet  have  I  gold,  flies  from  another  coast : 

I  dare  not  say,  from  the  rich  cardinal. 

And  from  the  great  and  new-made  duke  of  Suflblk, 

Yet  I  do  find  it  so  :  for,  to  be  plain, 

They,  knowing  dame  Eleanor's  aspiring  humour, 

Have  hired  me  to  undermine  the  duchess. 

And  buz  these  conjurations  in  her  brain. 

They  say,  a  crafty  knave  does  need  no  broker; 

Yet  am  I  Suffolk,  and  the  cardinal's  broker. 

Hume,  if  you  take  not  heed,  you  shall  go  near 

To  call  them  both — a  pair  of  crafty  knaves. 

Well,  so  it  stands  :  And  thus,  I  fear,  at  last, 

Hume's  knavery  will  be  the  duchess'  wreck ; 

And  her  attainture  will  be  Humphrey's  fall : 

Sort  how  it  will,  I  shall  have  gold  for  all.  [Exit 

Scene  III. — The  same.   A  Room  in  the  Palace, 
Enter  Peter,  and  others,  with  petit  ens. 
1  Pet.  My  masters,  let's  stand  close;  my  lord 
protector  will  come  this  way  by  and  by,  and  thea 
we  may  deliver  our  supplications  in  the  <juiU. 


Scene  3. 


KING  HENRI  VI. 


'i  Pet.  Many,  tli  lord  protect  liim,  for  he  is  a 
food  njtin!  Jeiin  bL-ss  him! 

Enter  SuFf  OLK  and  Queen  Margaret. 

1  Pet.  Here  'a  comes,  niethinks,  and  the  queen 
v/ith  him:  I'll  be  the  tirst,  sure. 

2  Pet.  Come  back,  fool;  this  is  the  duke  of  Suf- 
folk, and  not  my  lord  protector.  [nae'/ 

Suf.  How  now,  fellow  ?  would'st  any  thing  with 
1  Pet,  1  pray,  my  lord,  pardon  me !  1  took  ye  for 
my  lord  protector. 

Q.  Mar.  {Reading  the  superscription.)  To  my 
lord  pi  otector!  are  your  supplications  to  his  lord- 
ship?  Let  me  see  them  :  What  is  thine  ? 

1  Pet.  Mine  is,  an  t  please  your  grace,  against 
Johu  (joodman,  nw  lord  cardinal's  man,  for  keeping 
my  house,  and  lands,  and  wife,  and  all,  from  me. 

Suf.  Thy  wife  too?  that  is  some  wrong,  indeed. — 
What's  your's  ? — What's  here  !  [Reads.)  Against 
the  duke  of  Suffolk,  for  enclosing  the  commons  of 
Melford, —  How  now,  sir  knave  ? 

2  Pet,  Alas,  sir,  I  am  but  a  poor  petitioner  of  our 
whole  township. 

Peter.  [Presenting  his  petition.)  Against  my 
master,  Thomas  Horner,  for  saying  that  the  duke  of 
York  was  rightful  heir  to  the  crown. 

Q.  Mar.  Whatsay'st  thou  ?  Did  the  duke  of  York 
say,  he  was  rightful  heir  to  the  crown? 

Peter.  That  my  master  was  ?  No,  forsooth  :  my 
master  said,  'i'hat  he  was ;  and  that  the  king  was 
an  usurper. 

Suf.  Who  is  there  ?  [Enter  Servants.)— T?^\e 
this  fellow  in,  and  send  for  his  master  with  a  pur- 
8ui\aut  presently: — we'll  hear  more  of  your  matter 
before  the  king.     [Exeunt  Servants,  with  Peter. 

Q.  Mar.  And  as  for  you,  that  love  to  be  protected 
Under  the  vvings  of  our  [)rotector's  grace, 
Begin  your  suits  anew,  and  sue  to  him. 

[Tears  the  Petition.) 
Away,  base  cullions! — Suffolk,  let  them  go._ 

All.  Come,  lei's  he  gone.    [Exeunt  Petitioners. 

Q.  Mar,  My  lord  ol  Suifolk,  say,  is  this  the  guise, 
h  this  the  fasliion  in  the  court  of  England  ? 
5 3  this  the  government  of  Britain's  isle. 
And  this  the  'cyalty  of  Albion's  king  ? 
What,  shall  king  Henry  be  a  pupil  still. 
Under  the  surly  Gloster's  governance  ? 
Am  !  a  queen  in  title  and  in  style. 
And  must  be  made  a  subject  to  a  duke  ? 
I  tell  thee,  Poole,  when  in  the  city  Tours 
Thou  ran'st  a  tilt  in  honour  of  my  love, 
And  stol'st  away  the  ladies'  hearts  of  France, 
1  tliotight  king  Henry  had  resembled  thee, 
In  courage,  courtship,  and  proportion: 
But  all  his  mind  is  bent  to  holiness, 
To  number  A  ve- Maries  on  his  beads  : 
His  champions  are — prophets  and  apostles  ; 
His  weapons,  holy  saws  of  sacred  writ; 
His  study  is  tilt-yard,  and  his  loves 
Are  brazen  images  of  canoniz'd  saints. 
I  would  the  college  of  cardinals 
Would  choose  him  pope,  and  carry  him  to  Rome, 
And  set  the  triple  crown  upon  his  head; 
Tiiat  were  a  state  tit  for  his  holiness. 

Suf.  Madam,  be  patient:  as  I  was  cause 
Your  hif)hness  came  to  England,  so  will  I 
In  England  work  your  grace's  full  content. 

Q.  Mar.  Beside  the  haught  protector,  have  we 
Beaulbrt, 

The  imperious  churcliman  ;  Somerset,  Buckingham, 
And  grumbling  York  .  and  not  tiie  least  of  these. 
But  can  do  more  in  England  than  the  king. 

Suf.  And  he  of  these,  that  can  do  most  of  all. 
Cannot  do  more  in  England  than  the  Neyils  : 
Salisbury  and  Warwick  are  no  simple  peers. 

Q.  Mar.  Not  all  these  lords  do  vex  me  iialf  so 
much. 

As  that  proud  dame,  the  lord  protector's  wife. 
Bhe  sweeps  it  through  the  court  with  troops  of  la- 
dies. 


More  like  an  empress  than  (hike  fTu.iSphrey's  wife 
Strangers  in  court  do  take  her  for  the  qiieen: 
She  bears  a  duke's  rovenut-.s  on  her  back, 
And  in  her  heart  she  scorns  our  poverty  : 
Shall  I  not  live  to  be  aveng'd  on  her? 
Contemptuous  base-born  callat  as  she  is. 
She  vaunted  'mongst  her  minions  t'other  day. 
The  very  train  of  her  worst  wearing-gown 
Was  better  worth  than  all  my  fathers  lands. 
Till  Suffolk  gave  two  dukedoms  for  his  daughter 

Suf.  Madam,  myself  have  lim'd  a  bush  for  her;. 
And  plac'd  a  quire  of  such  enticing  birds. 
That  she  will  light  to  listen  to  their  lays. 
And  never  mount  to  trouble  you  again. 
So,  let  her  rest:  And,  madam,  list  to  me: 
For  [  am  bold  to  counsel  you  in  this. 
Although  we  fancy  not  the  cardinal. 
Yet  must  we  join  with  him,  and  with  the  lords, 
Till  we  have  brought  duke  Humphrey  in  disgrace. 
As  for  the  duke  of  York, — this  late  complaint 
Will  make  but  little  for  his  benefit: 
So,  one  by  one,  we'll  weed  them  all  at  last. 
And  you  yourself  shall  steer  the  happy  helm, 

Eitter  King  Henry,  York,  and  Somerset,  cow- 
versing  with  him;  Duhe  and  Duchess  of  Ghos- 
TER,  Cardinal  Beaufort,  Buckingiiam,  Salis- 
bury, and  Warwick. 

K.  Hen.  For  my  part,  noble  lords,  I  care  not 
which ; 

Or  Somerset,  or  York,  all's  one  to  me. 

York.  IfY^ork  have  ill  demean'd  himself  in  FiJ.iice* 
Then  let  him  be  deny  d  the  regentship. 

Som.  If  Somerset  be  unworthy  of  the  place, 
Let  York  be  regent  -  I  will  yield  to  him. 

War.  Whether  your  grace  be  worthy,  yea,  Ca  tSs 
Dispute  not  that:  York  is  the  worthier. 

Car.  Ambitious  Warwick,  let  thy  betters  speak. 

War.  The  cardinL-.'s  not  niy  better  in  the  field. 

Buck.  All  in  this  presence  are  thy  betters.  War- 
wick., 

l^Var.  W arwick  may  live  to  be  the  best  of  a!!. 
Sal.   Peace,   son ; — —and  show  some   rt  ason, 

Buckingham, 
Why  Somerset  should  be  preferr'd  in  this, 

Q.  Mar.  Because  the  king,  forsooth,  will  hart 

it  so. 

Glo.  Madam,  the  king  is  old  enough  himself 
To  give  his  censure :  these  are  no  women's  matters, 
Q.  Mar.  If  he  be  old  enough,  what  needs  your 

grace 

To  be  protector  of  his  excellence  ? 

Glo.  Madam,  T  am  protector  of  the  realm  ; 
Alii,  at  his  pleasure,  will  resign  my  place. 

Suf.  Resign  it  then,  and  leave  thine  insolence. 
Since  thou  wert  kirg,  (as  who  is  king,  but  thou  ?) 
The  commonwealth  hath  daily  run  to  wreck: 
The  Dauphin  hath  prevail'd  beyord  the  seas; 
And  all  the  peers  and  nobles  of  the  realm 
Have  been  as  bondmen  to  thy  sovereignty. 

Car.  The  commons  hast  thou  I  ack'd  ;  the  cle  -rj's 
Are  lank  and  lean  with  thy  extoitions.  :bags 

Som.  Thy  sumptuous  buildings,  aiid  thy  wife's 
Have  cost  a  mass  of  public  treasury.  [attire 

Buck.  Thy  cruelty  in  execution 
Upon  offenders,  haWi  exceeded  law, 
And  left  thee  to  the  mercy  of  the  law. 

Q,  Mar.  Thy  sale  of  offices,  and  towns  in  France,— 
If  they  were  known,  as  the  suspect  is  gn  at, — 
Would  make  thee  quickly  hop  without  thy  heKtl. 

[Exit  Gloster.    The  Queen  drojts  h^r  /oj^ 
Give  me  my  fan:  What,  minion  1  can  you  not  ? 

[Gives  the  Duchess  a  box  on  the  ear., 
1  cry  you  mercy,  madam  ;  Was  it  you  ? 

Duch.  Was't  I?  yea,  I  it  was,  proud  French 
woman : 

Could  I  come  near  your  beauty  with  my  nalU, 
I'd  set  my  ten  commandments  in  your  f;M;c'. 
K.  Hen.  Sweet  aunt,  be  quiet ;'  'twas  ...-jii 
will  2?  ^ 


418  SECOND 

Duch.  Asrainst  ber  will !  Good  king,  !o(»k  to't  in 
time ; 

Shell  Imnii'Cr  thee,  and  dandle  thee  like  a  haby  : 
Though  ifi  liiis  piace  most  master  wear  no  breeches. 
She  shall  not  stiike  dame  Eleanor  nnreveng'd. 

I  Exit  Duchess, 

Buck.  Lord  cardinrd,  I  will  follow  Eleanor, 
And  listen  after  Humphrey,  how  he  proceeds : 
She's  tickled  now  ;  iier  I'mne  can  need  no  spnrs, 
She'll  gallop  fast  enough  to  her  destruction. 

[Exit  Buckingham. 
Re-enter  Gloster. 

Glo.  Now,  lords,  my  choler  being-  overblown. 
With  walking  once  abo.it  tiie  quadrangle, 
I  come  to  talk  ot  commonwealtn  allairs. 
As  foryonr  spitefid  i'alse  objections, 
Prove  them,  and  I  lie  open  to  the  law  : 
But  God  in  mercy  so  deal  with  my  soul. 
As  I  in  duty  love  my  king  and  country  ! 
But  to  the  matter  that  we  have  in  hand  : — 
I  say,  my  sovereign,  York  is  meetest  man 
To  be  your  regent  in  the  realm  ot"  France. 

Suf.  Belbre  we  make  election,  give  me  leave 
To  shew  s  )n)e  reason  of  no  little  force, 
That  York  is  must  unmeet  of  any  man. 

York.  I'll  tell  thee.  Sutfolk.  why  1  am  untneet. 
First,  for  I  cannot  flatter  thee  in  pride  : 
Next,  if  1  be  ajipuinted  lor  the  place. 
My  lord  of  Somerset  will  ktep  me  here, 
VVithdiit  discharge,  money,  or  furniture. 
Till  France  be  won  into  tiie  Dauphin's  hands. 
Last  time,  I  dani;'d  attendaiice  on  his  will, 
Till  Paris  was  besieg'd,  famish'd,  and  lost. 

War  That  1  can  witness  ;  and  a  fouler  fact 
Did  never  traitor  in  the  land  commit. 

Suf.  Peace,  headstrong  VVarM'ick ! 

War.  Image  of  pride,  why  should  I  hold  my 
peace  ? 

Enter  Servants  of  SuFFOhK,  bringing  in  HoRNER 
and  Peter. 

Siif  Because  here  is  a  man  accus'd  of  treason  : 
Piay  (Jod,  tiie  duke  of  York  excuse  himself! 

Yor/r.  Doth  any  one  accuse  York  lor  a  traitor? 

K.Hen.  What  mean'st  thou,  Sulfolk?  tell  me: 
What  are  these  ? 

Snf.  Please  it  your  majesty,  this  is  the  man 
iliat  doth  accuse  his  master  of  high  treason: 
His  words  were  these  ; — that  Richard,  duke  of  York, 
Was  ri^^iitfiil  heir  unto  the  English  crown: 
And  that  your  majesty  was  an  usurper. 

K.  Hen.  S;iy,  man,  were  these  thy  words? 

Hor.  An  t  sliall  please  your  majt^sty,  I  never  said 
nor  thought  any  such  matter  :  God  is  my  witness,  I 
am  falsely  accused  by  the  villain. 

Pet.  By  these  ten  bones,  my  lords,  {holding  up 
his  hands)  he  did  speak  them  to  me  in  the  s>arret 
one  niglit,  as  we  were  scouring  my  lord  of  York's 
armour. 

York.  Base  dunghill  villain,  and  mechanical, 
I'll  have  thy  head  ibr  this  thy  traitor's  speech  : — 
\  do  beseech  your  royal  majesty. 
Let  him  have  all  the  rigour  ol'tiie  law. 

Hor.  Alas,  my  lord,  hang  me,  if  ever  I  spake  the 
woids.  My  accuser  is  my  pien  ice;  and  when  I 
did  correct  him  for  his  fault  the  other  day,  he  did 
vew  upon  his  knees  he  would  be  even  with  me  :  1 
have  good  witness  of  this;  therefore,  1  beseech 
your  majesty,  do  not  cast  away  an  honest  man  for  a 
\  illain's  accus;ition. 

K  Hen.  Uncle,  what  shall  we  say  to  fhis  in  law? 

Gio.  Tiiis  doom,  my  lord,  if  I  may  judge. 
L^t  Souif  rset  be  regent  o'er  the  French, 
Because  in  York  this  breeds  suspicion  : 
And  let  tiiest-  have  a  day  appointed  tliem 
For  singh?  comb  it  in  convenient  place  ; 
for  he  hjth  witness  o!  his  servant's  malice  : 
This  is  llie  hnv,  and  this  duke  Humphrey's  doonu 

lien.  'V\\€\\  be  it  so.    iMy  lord  of  Somerset, 
We  up.ke  your  gr.ice  lord  regent  o'er  the  French. 


PART  01^ 

Som.  I  humbly  tliank  your  royaS  ma^cgty. 

Hor.  And  I  accept  the  rombat  wilimgj'v. 

Pet.  Alas,  niy  lord,  I  cannot  tight;  for  G««f'a 
sake,  pity  my  case  !  the  spite  of  man  prevaileth 
against  me.  O  lord  have  mercy  upon  me  1  1  shall 
never  be  able  to  fight  a  blow  :  O  lord,  my  heart ! 

Glo.  Sirrah,  or  you  must  fight,  or  else  be  hang  d. 

K.  Hen.  Away  with  them  to  prison:  and  the  day 
Of  combat  shall  be  the  last  of  the  next  month. — 
Come,  Somerset,  we'll  see  thee  se.it  away.  {Ejceuni 

Scene  W.—The  same.    The  Duke  of  Ghstsr'a 
Garden. 

Enter  Margery  JouRD.Misr,  Hume,  Southwell 

and  BOMNCBROKE. 

Hume.  Cocie,  my  masters ;  the  duche.ss,  I  t^dl 
you,  expects  performance  of  your  promises. 

Boling.  Master  Hume,  we  are  therelbre  pro- 
vided :  Will  her  ladyship  behold  and  hear  our  ex- 
ortusms  ? 

Hume.  Ay  ;  What  else?  fear  you  not  her  courage. 

Boling.  I  have  heard  her  reported  to  be  a  woman 
of  an  invincible  spirit:  But  it  shall  be  convenient, 
master  Hume,  that  you  be  by  her  aloft,  while  we 
be  busy  below;  and  so,  I  pray  you,  no  in  God's 
name,  and  leave  us.  [Exit  Hume. I  Mother  Jour- 
dain,  be  you  prostrate,  and  grovel  on  the  earth  : — 
John  Southwell,  read  yon  ;  and  let  us  to  our  work. 

Enter  Duchess,  above. 

Duck.  W^ell  said,  my  masters;  and  welcome  all. 
To  this  gear;  the  sooner  the  better. 

Boling.  Patience,  good  lady  ;  wizards  know  their 
times : 

Deep  night,  dark  night,  the  silent  of  the  night, 
The  time  of  night  when  Troy  was  set  on  fn  e  ; 
The  time  when  screech-owls  cry,  and  ban-dogs  howl. 
And  spirits  walk,  and  giiosts  lireak  u|)  their  i',ra\es. 
That  time  best  fits  the  work  we  hive  in  hand. 
Madam,  sit  you.  and  fear  not ;  whom  we  raise, 
We  will  make  fast  within  a  hallow'd  verge. 

{Here  they  perform  the  ceremonies  appertain- 
ing, and  make  the  circle]  Boinigbruke,  or 
Southwell,  reads.,  Conjuro  te,  &6C.  ll  thunders 
and  lightens  terribly  :  then  the  Spirit  riseth.] 
Spir.  Adsum. 
M.Jourd.  Asmath, 
By  the  eternal  God,  whose  name  and  power 
'i'lK)u  tremblest  at,  answer  that  I  shall  ask  ; 
For,  till  thou  speak,  thou  shalt  not  pass  irom  hence. 
Spir.  Ask  what  thou  wilt: — Tiiat  I  had  said  and 
done ! 

Boling.  First,  of  the  king. —  TV  hat  shall  of  him 
become  /  {Reading  out  of  a  paper.) 

Spir.  The  duke  yet  lives,  that  lienry  shall  depose; 
But  him  outlive,  and  die  a  violent  death. 
{As  the  Spirit  speaks,  Southwell  tvrites  the  an- 
swer.) 

Boling.  What  fate  awaits  the  duke  of  Suffolk  ? 

Spir.  By  water  shall  he  die,  and  take  Ins  end. 

Boling.  What  shall  bejall  the  duke  ofSomersei  ? 

Spir.  Let  him  shun  castles  ; 
Safer  shall  he  be  upcn  the  sandy  plains 
Than  where  castles  uKumted  stand. 
Have  done,  for  more  I  hardly  can  ;ndin-e. 

Boling.  Descend  to  darkness,  and  the  burning  lake: 
False  liend,  avoid ! 

[Thunder  and  lighininj.    Spirit  descends. 

Enter  York  and  Buckingham  hastily,  with  their 
Guards,  and  others. 

York.  Lay  hands  upon  these  traitors,  and  their 
trash. 

Beldame,  I  think,  we  watch'd  you  at  an  incli. — 
What,  madam,  are  you  there  ?  the  king  and  com- 
monweal 

Are  deeply  indebted  for  th-s  piece  of  pains; 

My  lord  protector  will,  1  doubt  it  n  it, 

Se-e  you  well  guerdon'd  for  the.se  good  desert?, 


II     ^'ENE  1. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


419 


Duck.  Nf>t  lialf  so  bad  as  thine  to  England's  king,  I 
Injurious  d'»ke  ;  lliat  threat'st  whore  is  no  cause. 
Buck.  True,  tnudutii,  none  at  all.    What  call  yoii 
(iiis  i  {Shetvintj  her  the  papers.) 

Away  wiih  them  ;  let  thciu  be  clapp'd  up  close, 
And  kept  asunder: — Vou,  raadaui,  shall  with  us: — 
ijcallbrd,  take  her  to  thee.— — 

[Exit  Duchess  from  above. 
We'll  see  your  trinkets  here  all  Ibrthconiing ; 
All— Away! 

[Exeunt  Guards,  with  Soulh.^  Holing.,  §fc. 
York.  Lord  iiuckingham,  niethinks,  you  vvatcli'd 
her  well : 

A  pretty  plot,  well  chosen  to  build  upon! 
Now,  |)ray,  my  lord,  let's  see  the  devil's  writ. 
What  have  we  here  ?  [Reads. 
The  duke  yet  lives  that  Henry  shall  depose  ; 
But  him  outlive,  and  die  a  violent  death. 
Why,  this  is  jnsf, 

Aio  tc,  JEacida  Romanos  vincere  posse. 
Well,  to  tlie  rest  : 

Tell  me,  tvhai  fate  aivaits  the  duke  of  Suffolk  1 

By  water  shall  he  die,  and  take  his  end. — 

What  shall  betide  the  duke  of  Somerset  t 

Let  him  shun  castles  ; 

Safer  shall  he  be  upon  the  sandy  plains, 

Thati  where  castles  mounted  stand. 

Couie,  come,  my  lords; 

Tfifse  orachs  are  hardily  attain'd, 

And  hardly  understood. 

Tne  king  is  now  in  progress  toward  Saint  Albau's, 
With  him  the  husband  oftiiis  lovely  lady  : 
Tlut/.c  r  go  these  news,  as  fast  as  horse  can  carry 
them  ; 

A  sorry  break  l  ast  for  my  lord  protector. 

Buck.  Your  grace  shall  give  me  leave,  my  lord 
of  York, 

To  ht  the  post,  is  hope  of  liis  reward. 

York.  At  yjir  pleasure,  lay  good  lord. — Who's 
\s  ittun  there,  ho  ? 

Enter  a  Servant. 
hn  ite  my  lords  of  Scdisbury  and  Warwick, 
To  sup  with  me  tomorrow  Jiight — Away  \[Exeunt 

ACT  II. 

Scene  \.--Saint  Albans. 
Enter  Kimj  Henky,  Queen  Margaret,  Gloster, 
(Jardinal.  and  Suffolk.,  with  Falconers  hoilainrj. 

Q.  iT/«r.  Lfelieve  me,  lords,  for  flying  at  tlie  brook, 
[  saw  not  bttter  sport  these  seven  years'  day: 
Vet,  by  your  leave,  the  wind  was  very  high  ; 
Atid.  tt^n  to  one,  old  Joan  had  not  gone  out. 
K.  Hen.  But  what  a  point,  my  lord,  your  falcon 
made, 

And  what  a  pitch  she  flew  sbove  the  rest  !-- 
To  see  how  God  in  all  his  creatures  works! 
Ytii,  man  and  birds  are  fain  of  climbing  high. 

Suf  No  marvel,  an  it  like  your  in.ijesty. 
My  lord  protector's  hawks  do  tower  so  well; 
Tliey  know  their  master  loves  to  be  aloft, 
An  l  bears  liis  tlvouglits  above  liis  i^ilcon's  pitch. 

do.  My  lord,  'tis  but  a  base  ignoble  mind. 
That  moiMith  no  higher  than  a  bird  can  soar. 

Car.  I  tliought  as  much ;  he'd    be  above  the 
cluiuls.  [that? 

Glc.  Ay,  my  lord  cardinal ;  How  think  you  by 
Wt^re  it  not  goud,  your  grace  could  tly  to  heaven? 

K.  Hen.  Tiie  treasury  of  everlasting  joy  ! 

Car.  Tiiy  heaven  is  on  earth ;  thine  eyes  and 
tliougiits 

Beat  on  a  crown,  the  troAfl""-"  of  thy  heart; 

l-*eruici*»us  prott'ctor,  dangerous  peer, 

That  suiooth'st  it  so  with  king  and  commonweal ! 

Clo.  What,  cardinal,  is  your  priesthood  grown 
Tuntoine  animis  caeLestibus  ine  f  (peremptory  ? 
ChiMClimen  so  hut  :*  }i.ood  uncle,  hide  such  malice; 
With  such  holiness  can  you  do  it? 

Suf.  No  malice,  sir;  no  more  than  well  becomes 
S(»  goad  a  <{iiarrel,  anJ  so  Ijail  a  perr. 


Gh.  As  who,  my  Wd  ? 

Suf.  Why,  as  you,  my  k>r4) 

An  t  like  your  lordly  lord-protectorsliip. 

Glo.  Why,  Suffolk,  England  knows  thine  iasii- 

Q.  Mar.  And  thy  ambition,  Gloster.  [leac©. 

K.  Hen.  I  pr'ylhee,  peace, 

Good  queen  ;  and  whet  not  on  these  furious  peers, 
For  blessed  are  the  peace-makers  on  earth. 

Car.  Let  me  be  blessed  lor  the  peace  1  make. 
Against  this  proud  protector,  with  my  sw(Md  I 

Glo.  'Faith,  holy  uncle,  'would  'twere  cotne  to 
that !  (Aside  to  the  Cardinal.) 

Car.  Marry,  when  thou  dar'st.  {Aside.} 

Glo.  Make  up  no  factious  numbers  for  the  matter, 
In  thine  own  person  answer  thy  abuse.  {Aside.) 

Car.  Ay,  where  thou  dar'st  uot  peep  :  an  if  thou 
dar'st, 

This  evening  on  the  cast  side  of  the  grove.  {Aside.) 

K.  Hen.  How  now,  my  lords  ? 

Car.  Believe  me,  cousin  Gloster, 

Had  not  your  man  put  up  the  fowl  so  suddenly, 
We  had  had  more  sport. — Come  with  thy  Ivvo-hand 
sword.  {Aside  to  Glo.) 

Glo.  True,  uncle. 

Car.  Are  you  advis'd? — the  east  side  of  the  grove? 
Glo.  Cardinal,  I  am  with  you.  {Aside) 
K.  Hen.  Why,  how  now,  uncle  Gloster  ? 

Glo.  Talking  of  havvking;  notiiing  else,  my  lord. — 
Now,  by  God's  mother,  priest,  I'll  shave  your  crown 
for  this. 

Or  all  my  fence  shall  fail.  (Aside.} 

Car.  Mediae  teipsum  ; 
Protector,  see  to  t  well,  protect  yourself.     ( Aside,.) 

K.  Hen.  The  winds  grow  high ;  so  do  your  sto- 
machs, lords. 
How  irksome  is  this  music  to  my  heart! 
When  such  strings  jar,  what  hope  of  harmony  ? 
I  pray,  my  lords,  let  me  compound  this  strife. 

Enter  an  Inhabitant  of  Saint  Albans,  crying^ 
A  Miracle! 

Glo.  What  means  this  noise  ? 
Fellow,  what  miracle  dost  thou  proclaim? 
Inhab.  A  miracle  !  a  m.iracle  ! 
Suf.  Come  to  the  king,  and  tell  him  what  miracle 
Inhab.  Forsooth,  a  blind  man  at  Saint  Albao'a 
shrine, 

Within  this  half  hour,  hath  received  his  sight 
A  man.  that  ne'er  saw  in  his  life  before. 

K.  Hen.  Now,  God  be  prais'd !  that  to  believing 
souls 

Gives  light  in  darkness,  comfort  in  despair! 

Enter  the  Mayor  of  Saint  Albans,  and  hie 
Brethren;  and  SiatPCOX,  borne  betweeti  two 
persons  in  a  chair;  his  Wife  and  a  great  Mul- 
titude following. 

Car.  Here  come  the  townsmen  in  procession.. 
To  present  your  highness  with  the  man. 

K.  Hen.  Great  is  his  comfort  in  this  earthly  vale. 
Although  by  his  sight  his  sin  be  multi.  lied. 

Glo.  Stand  by,  my  masters,  bring  him  near  th« 
king, 

His  highness'  pleasure  is  to  talk  with  him. 

K.  Hen.  Good  fellow,  tell  us  here  the  circum- 
stance. 

That  we  for  thee  may  glorify  the  Lord. 

What,  hast  thou  been  long  bhnd,  and  now  restor'd  \ 

Simp.  Born  blind,  an't  please  your  grace. 

Wife.  Ay,  indeed,  was  he. 

Suf.  VVhat  woman  is  this  ? 

Wife.  His  wife,  an't  like  your  worship. 

Glo.  Had'st  thou  been  his  mother,  thou  could'at 
have  better  told. 

K.  Hun.  Where  wert  thou  born  ? 

Simp.  At  Berwick,  in  the  north,  an't  like  your 
grace.  [great  to  ihee  : 

K.  Hen.  Poor  soul !  God's  goodness  hath  baea 
Let  never  day  nor  night  unhallow'd  pass, 
But  still  remember  wliat  the  Lord  hath  done. 


m  SECOND 

^.  Mar,  Te!I  na*,  good  fellow,  caiii'st  tbou  here 
by  chance. 
Or  of  devotion,  to  this  holy  shrine  ? 

Simp.  God  knows,  of  pure  devotion  ;  being  call'd 
A  hundred  times,  and  oft'ner,  in  my  sleep 
liy  good  Saint  Alhan  ;  who  said, —  Shnpcox  come; 
Come,  offer  at  my  shrine,  and  I  tcill  help  thee. 

TVifc.  Most  true,  forsooth ;  and  many  time  and 
IJyselt'have  heard  a  voice  to  call  him  so,  [oft 

Car.  VVliat,  art  thou  lame  ? 

Simp.  Ay,  God  Almighty  help  me  ! 

Suf.  How  cam'st  thou  so  ? 

Simp.  A  fall  off  a  tree. 

Wife.  A  plum-tree,  master. 

Glo.  How  long  hast  thou  been  blind  ? 

Simp.  O,  born  so,  master. 

Clo.  What,  and  wonld'st  climb  a  tree? 

Simp.  But  that  in  ail  my  life,  when  I  was  a  youth. 
Wife.  Too  true;  and  bought  his  climbing  very 
dear. 

Glo.  'Mass,  thou  lov'dst  plums  well,  that  would'st 
venture  so. 

Simp.  Alas !  good  master,  my  wife  desir'd  bome 
damsons, 

.4nd  made  me  climb,  with  danger  of  my  life. 

Glo.  A  subtle  knave  I  but  yet  it  shall  not  serve. — 
Let  me   see  thine  eyes  ; — wink  now ;  now  open 
them  : — 

f  u  my  opinion  yet  thou  see'st  not  well. 
Sim]}.  Yes,  master,  clear  as  day ;  I  thank  God 

and  Saint  Alban. 
Glo.  Say'st  thou  me  so':*  What  colour  is  this  cloak 
of? 

Simp.  Red,  master;  red  as  blood. 
Glo.  Wliy  that's  well  said :  What  colour  is  my 
gown  of? 

Simjy.  iilack,  forsooth  ;  coal-black,  as  jet. 
K.  Hen.  Why,  then,  thou  know'st  what  colour 
jet  is  of? 

Stif.  And  yet,  I  think,  jet  did  he  never  see. 
Glo.  But  cloaks,  and  gowns,  betbre  this  day,  a 
many. 

Wife.  Never,  before  this  day,  in  all  his  life. 
Glo.  Tell  me,  sirrah,  what's  my  name  ? 
Simp.  Alas,  master,  I  know  not. 
Glo.  Wliat's  his  name? 
Simp.  I  kiiow  not. 
Glo.  Nor  his? 
Simp.  No,  indeed,  master. 
Glo.  What's  thine  own  name? 
Simp.  Saunder  Simpcox,  an  if  it  please  you, 
master. 

Glo.  Tiien,  Saunder,  sit  thou  there,  the  lyingest 
knave 

In  Christendom.    If  thou  hadst  been  born  blind. 
Thou  might'st  as  well  have  known  our  names,  as  thus 
To  name  tl)e  se\  eral  colours  we  do  wear. 
Sight  may  distinguish  of  colours  ;  but  suddenly 
To  nominate  them  all,  's  impossible. — 
My  lords,  Saint  Albati  here  hath  done  a  miracle  ; 
And  would  ye  not  think  that  cunning  to  be  great. 
That  coidd  restore  this  cripple  to  his  legs? 

Simp.  O,  master,  that  you  could  ! 

Glo,  My  masters  of  Saint  Alban's,  have  you  not 
beadles  in  your  town,  and  things  called  whips? 

May.  Yes,  my  lord,  if  it  please  your  grace. 

Glo.  Then  send  for  one  presently. 

Mat/.  Sirrah  go  fetch  the  beadfe  hither  straight. 

[Exit  an  Attendant. 

Glo.  Now  fetch  rae  a  stool  hither  by  and  by.  f  A 
tlool  brought  out.)  Now,  sirrah,  if  you  mean  to 
•ave  yourself  from  whipping,  leap  me  over  this 
*tool,  and  run  away. 

Simp.  Alas,  master,!  am  not  able  to  stand  alone: 
You  go  about  to  torture  me  in  vain. 

Re-enter  Attendant,  with  the  Beadle. 
Glo.  Well,  sir,  we  must  have  you  find  your  legs. 
-Sirrah  beadle,  whip  him  tilt  he  leap  over  that 
Mune  stooL 


PART  OF  Act  It 

Bead.  I  will,  cay  lord.— Come  oa,  sirrah;  oi 
wirh  your  doublet  quickly. 

Simp.  Alas,  master,  what  shall  I  do?  I  am  not 
able  to  stand. 

[After  the  Beadle  hath  hit  him  once  he 
leaps  over  the  stool,  and  rtms  aivay  ;  and 
the  people  follow,  and  cry  :  A  tniracle  . 
K.  Hen.  O  God,  see'st  thou  thi.s,  and  bear'st  so 
long  ? 

Q.  Mar.  It  made  me  laugh,  to  see  the  villain  run. 

Glo.  Follow  the  knave;  and  take  this  drab  away. 

Wife.  Alas,  sir,  we  did  it  for  pure  need. 

Glo.  Let  them  be  whipped  through  e\ery  market 
town,  till  tliey  come  to  Berwick,  whence  they  came. 

[Exeunt  Mayor,  Beadle,  Wife,  §'c. 

Car.  Duke  Humphrey  has  done  a  miracle  to  day. 

S/if.  'J'rue  ;  made  the  lame  to  leap,  and  fly  away. 

Glo.  But  you  have  done  more  miracles  than  1 ; 
You  made,  in  a  day,  my  lord,  whole  towns  to  fly. 

Enter  Buckingham. 

K.  Hen.  VVhat  tidings  with  our  cousin  Bucking* 

ham  ? 

Buck.  Such  as  my  heart  doth  tremble  to  uafold 
A  sni  t  of  naughty  persons,  lewdly  bent, — 
Under  the  countenance  and  confederacy 
Of  lady  Eleanor,  the  protector's  wife, 
The  ringleader  and  head  of  all  this  rout, — 
Have  practis'd  dangerously  against  your  state. 
Dealing  with  witches,  and  with  conjurers  : 
Whom  we  have  apprehended  in  the  fact; 
Raising  up  wicked  spirits  from  under  ground. 
Demanding  of  king  Henry's  life  and  death. 
And  other  of  your  highness'  privy  council, 
As  more  at  large  your  grace  shall  understand. 

Car.  And  so,  my  lord  protector,  by  this  mean.<i 
Your  lady  is  foithcoming  yet  at  London. 
This  news,  I  think,  hath  tiiru'd  your  weapon's  edge  \ 
'Tis  like,  my  lord,  you  will  not  keep  your  hour. 

{Aside  to  Gloster.) 

Glo.  Ambitious  churchman,  leave  to  afflict  my 
heart ! 

Sorrow  and  giiefhave  vanqnish'd  all  my  powers: 
And,  vanquished  as  I  am,  I  yield  to  thee. 
Or  to  the  meanest  groom. 

K.  Hen.  O  God,  what  mischiefs  work  the  wicked 

ones : 

Heaping  confusion  on  their  own  heads  thereby  ! 

Q.  Mar.  Gloster,  see  here  the  taintiire  of  thy  nest* 
And.  look,  thyself  bo  faultless,  thou  wer't  best. 

Glo.  Madam,  for  myself,  to  heaven  I  do  appeal. 
How  I  have  lov'd  my  king,  and  commonweal : 
And,  for  my  wife,  I  know  not  how  it  stands; 
Sorry  I  am  to  hear  what  I  have  heard: 
Noble  she  is  ;  but  if  she  lia\  e  forgot 
Honoui-  and  virtue,  and  convers'd  with  such 
As,  like  to  pitch,  defile  nobility, 
I  banish  her  my  bed,  and  company; 
And  gi\  e  her,  as  a  prey,  to  law,  and  shame. 
That  hath  dishonour'd  tJloster's  honest  name. 

K.  Hen.  Well,  for  this  night,  we  will  repose  lU 
here  : 

To-morrow,  toward  London,  back  again, 
To  look  into  this  business  thoroughly. 
And  call  these  foul  offenders  to  their  answers; 
And  poise  the  cause  in  justice'  equal  scales, 
W^hose   beam  stands  sure,  whose  rjchtfid  cause 
prevails.  [Flourish.  Exeunt 

Scene  IL — London*  The  Duke  of  York's  Garden. 
Enter  YoRK,  SALISBURY,  and  Warwick. 
York.   Now,  my  good  lords  of  Salisbury  and 
Warwick, 
Our  simple  supper  ended,  give  me  leave, 
In  this  close  walk,  to  satisfy  myself, 
In  craving  your  opinion  of  my  title, 
Which  is  infallible,  to  England's  crown. 
Sal.  My  lord,  1  long  to  bear  it  at  full. 
VTar.  Sweet  York,  begin :  and  if  thy  claim  be 
good. 


.Scene  3 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


421 


The  Nevils  Are  (hy  subjects  to  command. 

f^ork.  Tfieii  llius:  — 
Edward  the  third,  my  lords,  had  seven  sons: 
The  first,  Edward   the  Black  Prince,  prince  of 
Wales  ; 

The  second   William  of  Hatfield  ;  and  the  third, 
Lionel,  diikf  of  Clarence;  next  to  vviioiii, 
Was  John  of  Gaunt,  tlie  duke  of  Lancaster  : 
The  fd'th,  was  Edinoiid  Langley,  dnke  of  York: 
The  sixtii,  was  'i'honuis  of  Woodstock,  duke  of 
Gloster; 

Willj'un  of  Windsor  was  the  seventh  and  last. 
Edward,  the  Black  Priif  :e,  died  before  isis  father; 
t^nd  left  behind  hint  Richard,  his  only  son,  [king; 
tVho,  after  Edwaal  the  Third's  death,  reign'd  as 
Till  Henry  I>olingi>roke,  duke  of  L  tncaster, 
The  eldest  son  and  heir  of  .John  of  Gaunt, 
Crown'd  by  the  name  of  Henry  the  Fourth, 
Seiz'd  on  the  realm  ;  depos'd  the  rightful  king; 
Sent  his  jxjor  queen  to  France,  Irom  whence  she 
came, 

And  him  to  Pomfret;  where,  as  all  you  know, 
{Jarndess  llictiard  was  murder'd  traitorously 

War.  Fatlier,  the  duke  hath  told  the  truth ; 
Thus  got  the  house  of  Lancaster  the  crown. 

Yorh.  Wliich  now  they  hold  by  force,  and  not  by 
right ; 

For  Richard,  the  first  son's  heir  being  dead, 
'I'iie  issue  oi'the  next  son  shoidd  have  reign'd. 
Sal.  But  William  of  Hatfield  died  without  an 
heir. 

York.  Tiie  third  son,  duke  of  Clarence,  (from 
whose  line,  * 
I  claim  the  crown,)  had  issue — Philippe,  a  daughter, 
VV^ho  married  Edmi.r.d  I\lortiiner,  earl  of  March: 
Edmund  had  issue — Roger,  earl  oi'  i\iarch  ; 
Roaer  iiad  issue — Edmimd,  Anne,  and  Eleanor. 

Sal.  'VhU  Eduiimd,  in  the  reign  of  Bolingbroke, 
As  I  have  read,  laid  claim  unto  the  crown; 
Aiid,  but  for  Owen  Glendower,  had  been  king. 
Who  kept  hiui  in  captivity,  till  he  died. 
But  to  the  rest. 

York.  Flis  eldest  sister,  Anne, 

My  mother,  being  heir  inito  the  crown. 
Married  Richard,  earl  of  Cambridge;  who  was  son 
To  Eduiund  Langley,  Edward  the  Third's  filth  son. 
By  her  1  claim  tlie  kingdom  :  she  was  the  son 
Of  Edmund  Mortimer;  who  married  Philippe, 
Sole  d-augliter  unto  Lionel,  duke  of  Clarence  : 
So,  if  the  issue  of  the  elder  son 
Succeed  before  the  younger,  I  am  king. 

War.   VV'liat  jdain  proceedings  are  more  plain 
than  this  ? 

Henry  doth  claim  the  crown  from  John  of  Gaunt, 
'I'he  fourth  son;  York  claims  it  from  the  third. 
Tdl  Lioiiefs  issue  ftils,  his  should  not  reign: 
ft  fails  not  yet;  but  flourishes  in  thee. 
And  in  thy  sons,  fair  slips  of  such  a  stock. — 
'I'lieu,  fatlier  8alisl)ury,  kneel  we  both  together; 
And  in  tifis  private  plot,  be  we  the  first. 
That  shall  salute  our  rightful  sovereign 
With  honour  oi"  his  birthright  to  the  crown. 

Both.  Long  live  our  sovereign  Richard,  Eng- 
land's king !  [king 

York.  We  thank  you,  lords.     But  I  am  not  your 
Till  I  be  crown'd  ;  and  that  my  sword  be  staiu'd 
With  heart-bluod  of  the  house  of  Lancaster- 
And  that's  not  suddenly  to  be  perform'd; 
But  with  advice,  and  silent  secrecy. 
Do  you,  as  I  do,  in  these  dangerous  days, 
Wink  at  the  duke  of Sulfolks  insolence. 
At  Beaufort's  pride,  at  Souierset's  ausbition. 
At  Buckingham,  and  all  the  ci  ew  of  them. 
Till  they  have  suar'd  the  shepherd  ol  the  liock, 
That  virtuous  prince,  the  good  duke  Humphrey: 
Tis  that  they  seek  ;  and  tiiey,  in  seeking  that, 
Khali  fuid  their  deatiis,  if  York  can  propiiesy. 

Sal.  My  lord,  break  we  olF;  we  know  your  mind 
at  full.  [Warwick 

U  vr.  My  heart  ussures  me.  that  the  earl  of 


Shall  one  day  make  the  duke  of  York  a  kinjf. 

York.  And,  Nevil,  this  1  do  assure  myself, — 
Richard  shall  live  to  make  the  earl  of  VVarwick 
'I'he  greatest  man  in  England,  but  the  king.  [ExevKS. 

Scene  UI.—The  same.   A  Hall  of  Justice. 

Trumpets  sounded.  Enter  King  Henry,  Queen 
Margaret,  Gloster,  York,  Suffolk,  and 
Salisbury;  the  Duchess  of  Gloster,  Margekv 
JouRDAiN,  Southwell,  Hume,  arid  Bolino 
RKOKE,  under  guard. 

K.  Hen.  Stand  forth,  dame  Eleanor  Cobhara, 

Gloster's  wife : 
In  sight  of  God,  and  us,  your  guilt  is  great; 
Receive  the  sentence  of  the  law,  for  sins 
Such  as  by  God's  book  are  adjudg'd  to  death. — 
You  four,  from  hence  to  prison  back  auain; 

{To  Jourd.,  gr.) 
From  thence,  unto  the  place  of  execution  : 
The  witch  in  Smithfield  shall  be  burn  d  to  ashes, 
And  you  three  shall  be  strangled  on  the  gallows.— 
You,  madam,  for  you  are  more  nobly  born, 
Des{)oiled  of  your  honour  in  your  lite, 
Shall,  after  three  days' open  penance  done. 
Live  in  your  country  here,  in  banishment, 
With  sir  John  Stanley,  in  the  isle  of  Man. 

Duck.  Welcome  is  banishment,  welcome  wei« 

my  death. 

Glo.  Eleanor,  the  law,  thou  seest,  hath  judged  thet; 
I  cannot  justify  whom  the  law  condemns. — 

[Exeunt  the  Duchess  and  the  other  Prisonert, 
guarded. 

Mine  eyes  are  full  of  tears,  my  heart  of  grief. 
Ah,  Humphrey,  this  dishonour  in  thine  age 
Will  bring  thy  head  with  sorrow  to  the  ground,*— 
I  beseech  your  majesty,  give  me  leave  to  go; 
Sorrow  would  solace,  and  mine  age  would  eascr 
K.  Hen.  Stay,  Humphrey  duke  of  Gloster  ;  em 
thou  go, 

Give  up  thy  statf";  Henry  will  to  himself 
Protector  be :  and  God  shall  be  my  hope, 
My  stay,  my  guide,  and  lantern  to  my  feet ; 
And  go  in  peace,  Humphrey;  no  less  belov'd. 
Than  when  thou  wert  protector  to  thy  king. 

Q.  Mar.  I  see  no  reason,  why  a  king  of  years 
Should  be  to  be  protected  like  a  child. — 
God  and  king  Henry  govern  England's  helm. 
Give  up  your  staff,  sir,  and  the  king  his  realm. 

Glo.  My  stafli'? — here,  noble  Henry,  is  my  staflF 
As  willingly  do  I  the  same  resign. 
As  ere  thy  father  Henry  made  it  mine  ; 
And  even  as  willingly  at  thy  feet  I  leave  it. 
As  others  woidd  ambitiously  receive  it. 
Farewell,  good  king:  When  I  am  dead  and  gont?. 
May  honourable  peace  attend  thy  throne !  [EgtS. 

Q.  Mar.  Why,  now  is  Henry  king,  and  Margaret 
queen ; 

And  Humphrey,  duke  of  Gloster,  scarce  himself. 
That  bears  so  shrewd  a  maim;  two  pulls  at  once, — 
His  lady  banish'd,  and  a  limb  lopp'd  off; 
'V\i\s  stair  of  honour  raught : — There  let  it  stand, 
Where  it  best  fits  to  be,  in  Henry's  hand. 

Suf.  Thus  droops  this  lofty  pine,  and  hangs  hifl 
sprays ; 

Thus  Eleanor's  pride  dies  in  her  youngest  days. 

York.  Lords,  let  him  go. — Please  it  your  majesty 
This  is  the  day  appointed  for  the  combat; 
And  ready  are  the  appellant  and  defendant, 
'I'he  armourer  and  his  man,  to  enter  tlie  lists. 
So  please  your  highness  to  behold  the  fight. 

Q.  Mar.  Ay,  good  my  lord  ;  for  jiurposely  (hops- 
fore 

Left  I  the  court,  to  see  this  quarrel  tried. 

K.  Hen.  O'God's  name,   see  the  lists  and  &3 
things  fit ; 

Here  let  them  end  it,  and  God  defend  the  right! 

York.  I  never  saw  a  lei  low  worse  bested. 
Or  more  afraid  to  fight,  (ban  is  the  aj)pellant. 
The  servant  of  this  armoni  er,  iny  lords. 


122 


SECOND 


PART  OF 


Act  fl. 


f^ter,  on  one  side,  Horner,  and  his  Neig/ibaurs, 
drinking  to  him  so  much  that  he  is  drunk;  and 
he  enters  hearing  his  staff  iviih  a  sand-bag 
fastened  to  it  ;  a  drum  before  him :  at  the  other 
side,  Pktkr,  ivith  a  drum  and  a  si?nilar  staff ; 
C.cc^ni})anied  by  Prentices  drinking  to  him. 

1  Neigh.  Here,  neighbour  Horner,  I  drink  to  yon 
in  a  cup  oi'sack  ;  And  lear  not,  neighbour,  yoii  shall 
do  well  orxmgh. 

2  Neigh.  And  here,  neighbour,  here's  a  cup  of 

c\v,\  rnero. 

3  Neigh.  And  here's  a  pot  of  good  double  beer, 
neighbour  :  diink,  and  fear  not  your  man. 

Hor.  Let  it  oon)e,  i'  faith,  and  I'il  pledge  yon  all ; 
And  r.  ri^'  for  Peter! 

]  Prert.  Here,  Peter,  I  drink,  to  thee ;  and  be 
not  afrrud. 

'2  Pren.  Be  merry,  Peter,  and  fear  not  thy  mas- 
ter; fiiilit  lor  creilit  of  the  prentices. 

Peter.  I  thank  you  all  :  <kink,  and  pray  for  me, 
J  pray  you;  for,  1  think,  I  have  taken  niy  last 
draught  in  this  world. — Here,  Uolsin,  an  if  1  die, 
I  give  thee  my  apron;  and,  Will,  thon  shalt  have 
my  hannuer: — and  here,  Tom,  take  all  (he  money 
that  I  have. — O  Lord,  bless  me,  1  pray  God  '  for  1 
am  never  al>le  to  deal  with  my  master,  he  hath  learnt 
so  mu<'h  lence  already. 

Sal.  Come,  leave  your  drinking,  and  fall  to  blows. 

Sirrah,  what's  thy  natne  ? 

Pet'ir.  Peter,  iorsooth. 

Sal.  "^eter!  what  more? 

Petf..    'I'hump.  [well. 

Sal.  Thump!  then  see  thou  thump  thy  master 

Hor.  Masters,  I  am  come  hither,  as  it  were,  upon 
my  man's  instigation,  to  prove  him  a  knave,  and 
myself  an  honest  man  :  and  touching  the  duke  of 
York, — will  take  my  death,  I  never  meant  him  any 
ill,  nor  tise  king,  nor  the  queen  :  And  therefore, 
I>*(  <er,  have  at  t  lee  with  a  downright  blow,  as  Bevis 
ol  Southampton  fell  upon  Ascapart. 

York.  Despatch  :  —  this  knave's  tongue  begins  to 
double. 

S  »urd  trinnpets.  alarum  to  the  combatants. 

{Alarum.    They  fight  y  attd  Peter  strikes  dotvn 
his  master. 

Hor.  Hold,  Peter,  hold !  I  confess,  I  confess 
treason.  {Dies.) 

York.  Take  away  his  weapon : — Fellow,  thank 
God.  and  the  good  wine  in  thy  master's  way. 

Peter.  O  God!  have  J  overcome  mine  enemies 
in  this  presence  ?  O  Peter,  thou  hast  prevailed  in 
^igh^•  _  [sight; 

h    Hen.  Go,  take  hence  that  traitor  from  our 
For,  hy  his  death,  we  do  perceive  his  guilt : 
And  God,  injustice,  hath  reveal'd  to  us 
The  truth  and  innocence  of  this  poor  fellow. 
Which  he  had  thought  to  have  murder'd  wrong- 
ful ly.~ 

Come,  fellow,  follow  ns  for  thy  reward.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — The  same.   A  Street 
Enter  Gloster  and  Servants,  in  mourning  cloaks. 

Glo.  Thus,  sometimes,  hath  the  brightest  day  a 
And,  ailer  suuimer,  evernjore  succeeds  [cloud; 
Barren  winter,  with  his  wrathful  nipping  cold  : 
So  cares  and  joys  abound,  as  seasons  fleet. 
Sirs,  what's  o'clock  ? 

Serv.  Ten,  my  lord. 

Glo.  Ten  is  the  hour  that  was  ap|)ointed  me. 
To  watch  the  coming  of  my  punish'd  duchess: 
Uneatli  may  she  endure  the  flinty  streets, 
To  tread  them  with  her  tender-feeling  feet. 
Sweet  Nell,  ill  can  thy  noble  mind  abrpok 
The  abject  people,  gazing  on  thy  lace,' 
With  envious  looks  still  laughing  ;st  thy  shame; 
That  erst  did  follow  thy  proud  chariot  wheels. 
When  thou  didst  ride  in  triumph  through  the  streets. 
But,  soft!  I  think,  she  comes;  and  I  II  prepare 
tlf  tear-staia'd  eyes  to  see  her  miseries. 


Enter  the  Duchess  of  Olostbr,  in  a  white  sheet, 
with  papers  pinn  d  upon  her  back,  her  feet  barCf 
and  tt  taper  burning  in  her  hand;  Sir  JoHJf 
Stanley,  a  Sheriff,  and  Oncers. 

Serv.  So  please  your  grace,  we'll  take  her  from 
the  sherifl'. 

Glo.  No,  stir  not,  for  your  lives ;  let  her  pass  by. 
Duch.   Come  you,   my  lord,   to  see  my  open 
shame  ? 

Now  thou  dost  penance  too.  Look,  how  they  gaze  J 

See,  how  the  giddy  multitude  do  point. 

And  nod  their  heads,  and  throw  tin  ir  eves  on  thee'. 

Ah,  Gloster,  hide  thee  from  their  hatelul  looks; 

And,  in  thy  closet  pent  up,  rue  my  shame, 

And  ban  thine  enemies,  both  mine  and  thine. 

Glo.  Be  patient,  gentle  Nell ;  furget  this  gr^  f. 

Duch.  Ah,  Gloster,  teach  nje  to  forget  n»y»-l£ 
For,  whilst  I  think  I  am  thy  married  wife. 
And  thou  a  prince,  protector  of  this  land, 
Methinks,  1  should  not  thus  be  led  along, 
Mail'd  up  in  shame,  with  papers  on  my  back  ; 
And  follow'd  with  a  rabble,  that  rejoice 
To  see  my  tears,  and  hear  my  deep-fet  groans. 
The  ruthless  flint  doth  cut  my  tender  feet; 
And,  wiien  1  start,  the  envious  people  langh, 
And  bid  me  be  advised  how  1  tread. 
Ah,  Humphrey,  can  I  bear  this  shameful  yoke 
Trow'st  thou,  that  e'er  I'll  look  upon  the  world; 
Or  count  them  happy,  that  enjoy  the  sim  ? 
No;  dark  shall  be  my  light,  and  night  my  day; 
To  think  U|)on  my  pomp,  shall  be  n»y  hell. 
Sometime  I'll  say,  I  am  duke  Hmnphrey's  wife; 
And  he  a  prince,  and  ruler  of  the  land: 
Yet  so  he  rul'd,  and  such  a  prince  he  was, 
As  he  stood  by,  whilst  I,  his  forlorn  duchess. 
Was  made  a  wonder,  and  a  pointing-stock, 
To  every  idle  rascal  follower. 
But  be  thou  mild,  and  blush  not  at  my  shame; 
Noi:  stir  at  nothing,  till  the  axe  of  death 
Hang  over  thee,  as,  sure,  it  shortly  will. 
For  Siilfolk, — he,  that  can  do  all  in  all. 
With  her  that  hateth  thee,  and  hates  us  all, — 
And  York,  and  impious  Be.iufort,  that  false  pries^ 
Have  all  lim'd  biisiies  to  betray  thy  wings. 
And,  fly  tiiou  how  thou  canst,  they'll  tangle  thee: 
But  I'ear  not  thou,  until  thy  foot  be  siiar'd. 
Nor  never  seek  prevention  of  thy  foes. 

Glo.  Ah,  Nell,  fori)ear;  thou  aiujest  all  awry; 
I  nuist  oflV  nd,  before  i  be  attainted  : 
And  had  I  twenty  times  so  nsany  ioes. 
And  each  of  tiiem  had  twenty  linses  their  power. 
All  these  could  not  procure  nie  any  scathe. 
So  long  as  I  am  loyal,  true,  and  crimeless. 
Wouldst  have  ine  rescue  thee  fronj  this  reproach? 
Why,  yet  thy  scandal  were  not  wip'd  away. 
But  1  ill  danger  for  the  breach  of  law. 
Thy  greatest  help  is  quiet,  gentle  Nell: 
I  pray  thee,  sort  thy  heart  to  patience  ; 
These  lew  days'  wonder  will  be  quickly  worn. 

Enter  a  Herald. 

Her.  I  summon  your  grace  to  his  majesty's  pariia* 
ment,  holden  at  Bury  the  first  of  this  next  nionth 

Glo.  And  my  consent  ne'er  ask'd  herein  before  I 
This  is  close  dealing. — Well,  I  will  be  there. 

[Exit  Herald. 
My  Nell,  I  take  my  leave  : — and,  master  sheriff. 
Let  not  her  penance  exceed  the  king's  commission. 
Sher.  An't  please  your  grace,  here  my  comoii* 
sion  stays  : 
And  sir  John  Stanley  is  appointed  now 
To  take  her  with  hinj  to  the  isle  of  Man. 

Glo.  Must  you,  sir  John,  protect  my  lady  here? 
Stan.  So  am  1  given  in  charge,  inafi  i)!eatfe  yoai 
grace. 

Glo.  Entreat  her  not  the  worse,  in  that  1  pr»y 
You  use  her  well  :  the  worhl  may  laugh  agaji; 
And  I  may  live  to  do  you  kindness,  it 
You  do  it  her.   Aud  so,  sir  Joltu,  Surew«\L 


Act  III.    Scene  1. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


423 


Duch.  What,  gone,  my  lord;  and  bid  me  not 
farewell  ? 

Gio.  Witness  my  tears,  I  cannot  stay  to  speak. 

[Exeunt  Gloster  and  Servants. 
Duch.  Art  (hou  gone  too?    All  comfort  go  with 
thee  ! 

For  none  abides  with  me;  my  joy  is — death; 
Death,  at  whose  name  1  oft  have  been  afeard. 
Because  I  wish'd  this  worM's  eternity. — 
Stanley,  I  pr'ythee  go,  and  talce  me  hence  ; 
I  care  not  whither,  for  1  beg  no  favour, 
Only  convey  me  wliere  thou  art  commanded. 

Stan.  Why,  madam,  that  is  to  the  isle  uf  Man ; 
There  to  be  used  according  to  your  state. 

Duck.  That's  bad  enough,  for  I  anj  but  reproach  : 
And  shall  I  then  be  us'd  reproachfully  ^. 

Stan.  Like  to  a  duchess,  and  duke  Humphrey's 
lady. 

According  to  that  state  you  shall  be  used. 

Duch  Sheriff,  farewell,  and  better  than  I  fare  ; 
Although  thou  liast  been  conduct  of  my  shame  ! 

Sher.  It  is  my  office  ;  and,  madam,  pardon  me. 

Duch.  Ay,  ay,  farewell ;  thy  office  is  discharg'd. — 
Come,  Stanley,  shall  we  go  ? 

Stan.  Madam,  your  penance  done,  throw  oflf  this 
sheet, 

And  go  we  to  attire  you  for  our  journey. 

Duch.  My  shame  will  not  be  shilted  with  my 
sheet : 

No,  it  will  hang  upon  my  richest  robes. 

And  shew  itself,  attire  me  how  I  can. 

Go,  lead  the  way ;  I  long  to  see  my  prison.  [Exeunt, 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — The  Abbey  at  Bury. 
Enter  to  the  Parliament  King  Henry,  Queen 

AIaHCARET,      Cardinal    liEAUFOIiT,  SUFFOLK, 

YoKK,  Buckingham,  and  others. 

K,  lien.  I  muse,  my  lord  of  Gloster  is  not  come  : 
Tis  not  liis  wont  to  be  the  hindmost  man, 
WhatHi'er  occasion  keeps  him  from  us  now. 

Q.  Mar.  Can  you  not  see  ?  or  will  you  not  observe 
The  strangeness  oi'  his  alter'd  countenance? 
With  what  a  majesty  lie  bears  himself; 
How  insolent  of  late  he  is  become, 
How  proud,  pereiiiptary,  and  unlike  himself? 
We  know  the  tiuje,  since  he  was  mild  and  affable ; 
And,  if  we  did  but  glance  a  far-off  look. 
Immediately  he  was  upon  his  knee, 
That  all  the  court  admir'd  him  for  submission  : 
liut  meet  him  now,  and,  be  it  in  the  morn. 
When  every  one  will  give  the  time  of  day, 
He  knits  his  brow,  and  shews  an  angry  eye. 
And  passeth  by  witli  stiff  unbowed  knee. 
Disdaining  duty  that  to  us  belongs. 
Small  curs  are  nut  regarded  wiien  they  grin ; 
But  great  men  tremble  when  the  lion  roars; 
And  Humphrey  is  no  little  man  in  England. 
First,  note,  that  he  is  near  you  in  descent; 
And  shiMild  yuu  fall,  he  is  ttis  next  will  mount. 
Me  seemeth  then,  it  is  no  policy, — 
Respecting  what  a  rancorous  mind  he  bears. 
And  his  advantage  following  your  decease, — 
That  he  should  cotue  about  your  royal  person. 
Or  be  admitted  to  your  highness' council. 
By  flattery  halh  he  won  the  commons'  hearts ; 
And,  when  he  please  to  make  connnotion, 
'Tis  to  be  /"ear  d,  tiiey  alt  will  follow  him. 
Now  'tis  the  spring,  and  weeds  are  shallow-rooted ; 
Suffer  them  now,  and  they'll  o'ergrow  the  garden. 
And  choke  the  herbs  for  want  of  husbandry. 
Tiie  reverent  care,  I  bear  unto  my  lord, 
^lade  me  collect  these  dangers  in  the  duke. 
If  it  hs  fond,  call  it  a  wonian's  fear; 
^V^hick  fear  if  better  reasons  can  supplant, 
I  will  subscribe  and  say — I  wrong'd  the  duke. 
My  lord  of  Suffolk, — Buckingham, — and  Y  ork, — 
Reprove  my  allegati(m,  if  you  can; 
Or  else  C4>nclude  my  words  effectual. 


Suf.  Well  hath  your  highneas  teen  into  tiiia  duke 
And,  had  I  first  been  jjutto  speak  my  mind, 
I  think,  I  should  have  told  your  grace's  tale. 
The  duchess,  by  his  subornation. 
Upon  my  life  began  her  devilish  practices; 
Or  if  he  were  not  privy  to  those  faults. 
Yet,  by  reputing  of  his  high  descent, 
(As  next  the  king,  he  was  successive  heir,) 
And  such  high  vaunts  of  his  nobility, 
L>'id  instigate  the  bedlam  brain-sick  duchess. 
By  wicked  means  to  frame  our  sovereign'o  fall. 
Smooth  runs  the  water  where  the  brook  is  deep; 
And  in  his  simple  shew  he  hai hours  treason. 
The  I'ox  barks  not,  when  he  would  steal  the  lamk 
No,  no,  nly  sovereiun ;  Gloster  is  a  man 
Unsounded  yet,  and  fidl  of  deep  dei;eit. 

Car.  Did  he  not,  contrary  lo  Ibrm  of  law. 
Devise  strange  deaths,  for  small  offences  done? 

York.  And  did  he  not,  in  his  protectorship. 
Levy  greatsumsof  money  througn  the  realm. 
For  soldiers'  pay  in  France,  and  never  sent  it? 
By  means  whereof,  the  towns  each  day  revolted. 

Buck,  'i'uti  these  are  petty  iaults  to  faults  UE- 
known. 

Which  time  will  bring  to  light  in  smooth  duke 
Humphrey. 

K.  Hen.  My  lords,  at  once  :  The  care  you  have 
of  us. 

To  mow  down  thorns  that  would  annoy  our  foot, 
is  worthy  praise  :  But  shall  I  speak  my  conscience  ? 
Our  kinsman  Gloster  is  as  innocent 
From  meaning  treason  to  our  royal  person. 
As  is  the  suckling  lamb,  or  harmless  dove  : 
The  Duke  is  virtuous,  mild  ;  and  too  well  given, 
To  dream  on  evil,  or  to  work  my  downfall. 

Q.  Mar.  Ah,  what's  more  dangerous  than  tbia 
fond  affiance  ! 
Seems  he  a  dove  ?  his  feathers  are  but  borrow'd. 
For  he's  disposed  as  the  hateful  raven. 
Is  he  a  lamb  ?  his  skin  is  surely  lent  him. 
For  he's  inclin'd,  as  arc  the  ravenous  wolves. 
Who  cannot  steal  a  shape,  that  means  deceit? 
Take  heed,  my  lord  ;  the  welfare  of  us  all 
Hangs  on  the  cutting  short  that  fraudful  man. 

Enter  Somerset. 
Som.  All  health  unto  my  gracious  sovereign  ! 
K.  Hen.  Welcome,  lord  Somerset.  Whatnewa 

from  France  ? 
Sum.  That  ail  your  interest  in  those  territories 
Is  utterly  bereft  you  ;  all  is  lost. 

K.  Hen.  Cold  news,  lord  Somerset:  but  Gcd'B 

will  be  done. 
York.  Cold  news  for  me ;  for  I  had  hope  of  France, 
As  firmly  as  I  hope  for  fertile  England. 
Thus  are  my  blossoms  blasted  in  the  bud. 
And  caterpillars  eat  my  leaves  away 
But  I  will  remedy  this  gear  ere  long, 
Or  sell  niy  title  for  a  glorious  grave.  (Aside.) 

Enter  Gloster. 
Glo.  All  happiness  unto  my  lord  the  king! 
Pardon,  my  liege,  tiiat  I  have  staid  so  long. 

Suf.  Nay,  Gloster,  know,  that  thou  art  cjme  too 
soon. 

Unless  tliou  wert  more  loyal  than  thou  art: 
I  do  arrest  thee  of  high  treason  here. 

Glo.  Well,  Suffolk,  yet  thou  shalt  not  see  bm 
blush. 

Nor  change  my  countenance  for  (his  arrest; 
A  heart  unspotted  is  not  easily  daunted. 
The  purest  spring  is  not  so  free  fro:n  mud. 
As  I  am  clear  from  treason  to  my  sovereign: 
Who  can  accuse  me  ?  wherein  am  1  guilty  ? 

York  'Tis  thought,  my  lord,  that  you  took  briber 
of  France, 

And,  being  protector,  stay'd  the  soldiers'  pay; 
By  means  whereof,  his  highness  hath  lost  France. 
Glo.  is  it  but  thought  so  ?    What  are  they  tha/ 
think  it? 


SECOND 

f  never  roblj'<1  fite  soldiers  of  fheir  pay, 

Nor  ever  had  on?  penny  bribe  from  France. 

So  help  me  God,  as  I  liave  watch'd  the  night. — 

Ay,  night,  by  night,  in  studying  good  for  England! 

That  d(;it,  tiiate'er  I  wrested  from  the  king, 

Or  any  groat  I  hoarded  to  my  use, 

He  brought  against  me  at  my  trial  day! 

No!  many  a  pound  ol'mine  own  projjer  store. 

Because  1  would  not  tax  the  needy  commons, 

Have  1  dispersed  to  the  garrisons, 

And  never  ask'd  for  restitutioti. 

Car.  It  serves  you  well,  my  h^rd,  to  say  so  much. 

G/o.  I  say  no  more  tlian  truth,  so  help  me  God  ! 

York.  In  your  protectorship,  you  did  de\ise 
Strange  tortures  for  offenders,  never  heard  of. 
That  England  was  defam'd  by  tyranny. 

Glo.  Why,  'tis  well  known,  that  whiles  I  was 
protector. 
Pity  was  all  the  fault  tl.at  was  in  me  ; 
For  I  should  melt  at  an  otfenders  tears, 
And  lowly  words  were  ransom  lor  their  fault. 
Unless  it  were  a  bloody  murderer, 
Or  foul  felonious  thiel",  that  fleec'd  poor  passengers, 
[  never  gave  them  condign  punishment: 
Murder,  indeed,  that  bloody  sin,  I  tortur'd 
Above  the  felon,  or  what  trespass  else. 

Suf.  My  lord,  tiiese  faults  are  easy,  quickly  an- 
swer'd  : 

Dut  mightier  crimes  are  laid  unto  your  charge. 
Whereof  you  caniiot  easily  i)urge  yourself. 
I  do  arrest  you  in  his  highness'  name  ; 
And  liere  commit  you  to  my  lord  cardinal 
'r<ikeep,  until  your  further  time  of  trial. 

K.  Hen.  My  lord  of  Gloster,  'tis  my  special  hope, 
That  yon  will  clear  yourself  from  all  suspects; 
My  conscience  tells  me,  you  are  innocent. 

iilo.  Ah,  gracious  lord,  these  days  are  dangerous! 
Virtue  is  ch.ok'd  with  foul  ambition, 
And  charity  chas'd  hence  by  rancour's  hand; 
Foul  SMb(;i  uation  is  predominant, 
And  equity  exil'd  your  highness'  land. 
I  know,  their  complot  is  to  have  my  life ; 
And,  if  my  death  might  make  this  island  happy. 
And  prove  the  period  of  their  tyramiy, 
I  would  ex|)end  it  with  all  vvillmgness  : 
But  mine  is  made  the  prologue  to  their  play; 
For  thousands  more,  that  yet  suspect  no  peril. 
Will  not  conclude  their  plotted  tragedy. 
Beaufort's  red  sparkling  eyes  blab  his  heart's  malice. 
And  Sullblk's  cloudy  brow  his  stormy  hate; 
Sharp  Buckingham  unburf^ens  with  his  tongue, 
The  en\ious  load  that  lays  upon  his  heart; 
And  dogged  York,  that  reaches  at  the  moon. 
Whose  overweening  arm  I  have  pluck'd  back. 
By  false  accuse  doth  level  at  n>y  life: — 
.And  you,  my  sovereign  lady  with  liie  rest. 
Causeless  have  laid  disgraces  on  my  head  ; 
And,  with  your  best  endeavour,  ha\e  stirr'd  up 
My  liefest  liege  to  be  mine  enemy  : — 
Ay,  all  of  you  have  laid  your  heads  together, 
Myseli'had  notice  of  your  conventicles, 
.\nd  all  to  make  away  my  guiltless  life  : 
I  shall  not  want  false  witness  to  condemn  me, 
Nor  store  of  treasons  to  augment  my  guilt; 
The  ancient  proverb  w  ill  be  well  effected, — 
A  stalf  is  quickly  found  to  beat  a  do'^. 

Car.  My  liege,  his  railing  is  intolerable  : 
If  those,  that  care  to  keep  your  royal  person 
From  treason's  secret  kniie,  and  traitors'  rage. 
Be  thus  upbraided,  chid,  and  rated  at. 
Awl  the  olfender  granted  scope  of  speech, 
1  will  make  them  cool  in  zeal  unto  your  grace. 

Suf.  Hath  he  not  twit  our  sovereign  lady  here 
'With  ignominious  wtwds,  though  clerkly  couch'd, 
As  if  she  had  suborned  some  to  swear 
False  allegations,  to  o'erthrow  his  slate  ? 

Q.  Mat  .  But  1  can  give  the  loser  leave  to  chide. 

Glo.  Fartruerspoke  than  meant:  I  lose,  indeed  ; — 
Beslirew  the  winners,  for  they  played  me  false  ! 
Aud  well  ?uvh  losers  may  ha\e  leave  to  speak. 


PART  OF  ^  Act  in. 

Buc.  He'll  wrest  the  ser^e,  and  liold  us  here  ali 
day:- 

Lord  cardinal,  he  is  your  i)risoner.  [sure. 
Car.  Sirs,  take  away  the  duke,  and  guard  him 
Glo.  Ah,  thus  king  Henry  throws  away  his  crutch, 
Before  his  legs  be  firm  to  bear  his  body  : 
'I'hus  is  the  shepherd  beaten  from  thy  side. 
And  wolves  are  gnarling  who  shall  gnaw  thee  firSL 
Ah,  that  my  fear  were  false  !  ah,  that  it  were  ! 
For,  good  king  Henry,  thy  decay  I  fear. 

[Exeunt  Attendants,  ivith  Gh.ster. 
K.  Hen.  My  lords  wiiat  to  your  w  isdom  seemeth 
best. 

Do,  or  undo,  as  ifonrself  were  here. 

Q.  Mar.  What,  will  your  highness  leave  th« 
parliament  ? 

K.  Hen.  Ay,  Margaret;  my  heart  is  drown'd 
with  grief, 

Whose  flood  begins  to  flow  within  mine  eyes; 

My  body  round  engirt  with  miseiy  ; 

For  what's  more  miserable  than  discontent? 

Ah,  uncle  Humphrey  !  in  thy  face  I  see 

I'he  map  of  honour,  truth,  and  loyalty  ; 

And  yet,  good  Humphrey,  is  the  hour  to  come. 

That  e'er  I  prov'd  thee  false,  or  fear'd  thy  faith. 

What  low'ring  star  now  envies  thy  estate, 

That  these  great  lords,  and  Margaret  our  queen. 

Do  seek  sub^■ersion  ot  thy  harnjless  life  ? 

Thou  never  didst  tiiem  wrong,  nor  no  man  wrong: 

And  as  the  butcher  takes  away  the  calf. 

And  binds  the  w  retch,  and  beats  it  when  it  strays, 

Bearing  it  to  the  bloody  slaughter-house  ; 

Even  so,  remorseless,  have  they  borne  him  hence. 

And  as  the  datn  runs  lowing  up  and  dow  n, 

Jjooking  the  way  her  harmless  young  one  went, 

And  can  do  nought  but  wail  her  darling's  loss; 

Even  so  myself  bewails  good  Gloster's  case 

With  sad  uuheliiful  tears  ;  and  with  din,n»'d  eyes 

Look  after  him,  and  cannot  do  hiuj  good  ; 

So  mighty  are  his  vowed  enemies. 

His  fortunes  1  will  weep;  and,  'twixt  each  groan, 

Say —  Who's  a  traitor  ?  Gloster  he  is  none.  [Exii. 

Q.  Mar.  Free  lords,  cold  snow  melts  with  the 
sun's  hot  beams. 
Henry,  my  lord,  is  cold  in  great  affairs, 
Too  lull  of  foolish  pity  :  and  Gloster's  shew 
Beguiles  him,  as  the  moui  nful  crocodile 
With  sorrow  snares  relenting  passengers  ; 
Or  as  tiie  snake,  roll  d  in  a  flowering  bank. 
With  sliiniiig  chequer'd  slough,  doth  sting  a  child, 
'I'hat,  for  the  beauty,  thinks  it  excellent. 
Believe  me,  lords,  were  none  more  wise  than  I, 
(  And  yet,  herein,  I  judge  mine  own  wit  good,) 
'fhis  Gloster  should  be  quickly  rid  the  world. 
To  rid  us  from  the  fear  we  have  ol'him. 

Car.  That  he  should  die  is  worthy  policy  : 
But  yet  we  want  a  colour  ior  his  death  : 
'Tis  nieet  he  be  condenm'd  by  course  of  law. 

Siif.  But,  in  my  mind,  that  were  no  policy: 
The  king  will  labour  still  to  save  his  liie, 
'J'he  commons  ha[)ly  rise  to  save  his  life  ; 
And  yet  we  have  but  trivial  argument, 
More  than  mistrust,  that  shews  liim  worthy  death. 

York.  So  that  by  this,  you  would  not  have  him  die. 

Suf.  Ah,  York,  no  man  alive  so  fain  as  I. 

York.  'Tis  York,  that  hath  more  reason  for  his 
death.— 

But,  my  lord  cardinal,  and  you,  my  lord  of  Suffolk,— 
Say  as  you  think,  and  speak  it  from  your  souls, — 
Wer't  not  all  one,  an  empty  eagle  were  set 
To  guard  the  chicken  from  a  hungry  kite, 
As  place  duke  Hun),  hrey  for  the  king's  protector? 
Q.  Mar.  So  the  poor  chicken  shoidd  be  sure  of 
death.  Ithen, 
Suf.  Madam, 'tis  true:  And  wer't  not  raaducs% 
To  make  the  fox  surveyor  of  the  fold  ? 
SVho  being  accus'd  a  crafty  murderer. 
His  guilt  should  be  but  idiy  posted  over, 
Because  his  purpose  is  not  executed, 
No  ;  let  him  die,  in  that  he  is  a  fox, 


ScE^^^  2, 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


By  nature  p^ov'd  rd  enemy  to  the  flock, 
Bei'ore  his  chaps  be  stun'd  with  crimson  blood  j 
As  nuiupiey,  prov'd  liy  reasons,  to  my  liege. 
And  do  not  stand  on  quillets,  how  to  slay  him  : 
Be  it  by  gins,  by  snares,  by  subtilty, 
Sleeping,  or  waking,  tis  no  matter  how. 
So  he  be  dead  ;  for  tliat  is  good  deceit 
Which  mates  him  first,  that  first  intends  deceit. 

Q.  Mar.  Tin  ice  noble  Sntlblkj'tis  resolutely  spoke. 

Suf.  Not  resoUite,  except  so  much  were  done ; 
For  tilings  are  often  spoke,  and  seldom  meant: 
i*ui.  that  my  heart  accordeth  with  my  tongue, — 
S(  eing  the  deed  is  meritorious, 
A  . id  to  preserve  my  sovereign  from  his  foe, — 
Say  but  the  word,  and  I  will  be  his  priest, 

('ar.  But  I  would  have  him  dead,  my  lord  of 
Sufiblk, 

i'j  e  you  can  take  due  orders  for  a  priest : 
S  ty,  you  consent,  and  censure  well  tiie  deed. 
Ami  l"ll  provide  his  executioner, 
I  tender  so  the  safety  of  my  liege. 

Suf.  Here  is  my  hand,  the  deed  is  worthy  doing, 

Q.  Mar.  And  so  say  I. 

York.  And  1 :  and  now  we  three  have  spoke  it, 
It  skills  not  greatly  who  impugns  our  doom 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Great  lords,  from  Ireland  am  I  come  amain. 
To  signify — that  rebels  there  are  np, 
And  put  the  Englishmen  unto  the  sword  : 
Send  succours,  lords,  and  stop  the  rage  betime. 
Before  tiie  wound  do  grow  incurable  ; 
For  being  green,  there  is  great  hope  of  help. 

Car.  A  breach,  tliat  craves  a  quick  expedient  stop! 
What  coimsel  give  you  in  this  weighty  cause  ? 

York.  Tliat  vSomerset  be  sent  as  regent  thither: 
"V\s  meet,  that  lucky  ruler  be  employ'd  ; 
Witness  the  fortune  he  hath  had  in  France. 

Som.  if  York,  with  all  his  far-fet  policy. 
Had  been  the  regent  there  instead  of  me, 
He  never  would  liave  staid  in  France  so  long. 

York.  No,  not  to  lose  it  all,  as  thou  hast  done  : 
I  rather  would  have  lost  my  life  betimes, 
Than  bring  a  liurden  of  dishonour  home, 
By  staying  there  so  long,  till  all  were  lost. 
Siiew  me  one  scar  ciiaracter'd  on  thy  skin  : 
Men  s  flesh  preserv'd  so  whole,  do  seldom  win. 

Q.  Mar.  Nay  then,  this  spark  will  prove  a  raging 
fire, 

U  wind  and  fuel  be  brought  to  feed  it  with  :— 
No  more,  good  York  ; — sweet  Somerset,  be  still 
Thy  ibrtuno.  Vork,  hadst  thou  been  regent  there, 
Might  happily  have  prov'd  far  worse  than  his. 

York.  Wliat,  worse  than  naught?  nay,  then  a 

shame  take  all ! 
So7n,  And,  in  tlie  uunaber,  thee,  that  wishest 
sliame  I 

Car.  My  lord  of  York,  try  what  your  fortune  is. 
The  uncivil  Kernes  of  Ireland  are  in  arms. 
And  temper  clay  witii  blood  of  Englishmen: 
To  Ireland  will  you  lead  a  band  of  men, 
Collected  ciioicely,  from  each  county  some, 
And  try  your  hap  against  the  Irishmen? 

York.  1  will,  my  lord,  so  please  his  majesty. 
Suf.  Why.  our  authority  is  his  consent; 
And,  what  we  do  establish,  he  confirms: 
i'hen,  noble  York,  take  thou  this  task  in  hand. 

York.  I  am  content:  Provide  me  soldiers,  lords. 
Whiles  I  take  order  tor  mine  own  affairs. 

Suf.  A  charge,  lord  York,  that  I  will  see  perform'd. 
But  now  return  we  to  the  false  dukt  Humphrey. 

Car.  No  njore  of  him  ;  fori  will  deal  with  him. 
That,  henceforth,  he  shall  trouble  us  no  more. 
And  so  break  off;  the  day  is  almost  spent: 
Lord  Siilfolk,  you  and  I  must  talk  of  that  event. 

York.  My  loid  of  Suffolk,  within  fourteen  days. 
At  Bristol  1  expect  my  sc  Idiers  ; 
For  there  I'll  ship  them  a.i  for  Ireland. 
S^f  I'U  wee  it  truly  done,  my  lord  of  York. 

^Exeunt  all  but  York. 


York.  Now,  Y  ork,  or  never,  steel  thy  fearfii 

thought, 

And  change  misdoubt  to  resolution  : 

Be  that  thou  hop'st  to  be ;  or  what  thou  art 

Resign  to  death,  it  is  not  worth  the  enjoying: 

Let  pale-fac'd  fear  keep  with  the  mean-born  man, 

And  find  no  harbour  in  a  royal  heart. 

Faster  than  spring  time  showers,  comes  thoughl 

on  thought ; 
And  not  a  thought,  but  thinks  on  dignity. 
My  brain,  more  busy  than  the  labouring  spider, 
Vv  eaves  tedious  snares  to  trap  mine  enemies. 
Well,  nobles,  well ,  'tis  politicly  done, 
To  send  me  packing  with  an  host  of  men  : 
I  fear  me,  you  but  warm  the  starved  snake. 
Who,  cherish'd  in  your  breasts,  will  sting  yomr 
hearts. 

'Twas  men  I  lack'd,  and  you  will  give  them  me  : 

I  take  it  kindly ;  yet,  be  well  assur'd 

You  put  sharp  weapons  in  a  madman's  hands 

VVHiiles  I  in  Irel  and  nourish  a  mighty  band, 

J  will  stir  up  in  England  some  black  storuj, 

Shall  blow  ten  thousand  souls  to  heaven,  or  hel!: 

And  this  fell  temjiest  shall  not  cease  to  rage 

Until  the  golden  circuit  on  my  head. 

Like  to  the  glorious  sun's  transparent  beams. 

Do  calm  the  fury  of  this  mad-bred  tlaw. 

And,  for  a  minister  of  my  intent, 

1  have  seduc'da  headstrong  Keutishman, 

John  Cade  of  Ashford, 

To  make  commotion,  as  full  well  he  can, 

Under  the  title  of  John  Moi  timer. 

In  Ireland  have  I  seen  this  stubborn  Cade 

Oppose  himself  against  a  ti-oop  ol' Kernes; 

And  fouglitso  hnig,  till  that  his  thighs  with  darts 

Were  almost  like  a  sharp-quiU'd  porcupine: 

And,  in  the  end  being  rescu'd,  I  have  seen  him 

Caper  upright  like  a  wild  Morisco, 

Shaking  the  bloody  darts,  as  he  his  bells. 

Full  often,  like  a  shag  hair  d  crafty  Kerne, 

Hath  he  conversed  with  the  enemy; 

And  undiscover'd  come  to  me  again, 

And  given  me  notice  of  their  villanies. 

This  devil  here  shall  be  my  substitute; 

For  that  John  Mortimer,  which  now  is  dead. 

In  face,  in  gait,  in  speech,  he  doth  resemble  • 

By  this  I  shall  perceive  tiie  commons'  mind, 

How  they  affect  the  house  and  claim  of  York. 

Say,  he  be  taken,  rack'd,  and  tortured  ; 

I  know  no  pain  they  can  inflict  upon  him, 

Will  make  him  say — i  inov'd  him  to  those  arras. 

Say,  that  he  thrive  (as  'tis  great  like  he  will,) 

Why,  then  from  Ireland  come  I  with  my  strength. 

And  reap  the  harvest  which  that  rascal  sow'd : 

For,  Humphrey  being  dead,  as  he  shall  be. 

And  Henry  put  apart,  the  next  for  me.  [Exit 

Scene  II. — Bunj.    A  Room  in  the  Palace 
Enter  certain  Murderers,  hastily, 

\  Mur.  Run  to  my  lord  of  Suffolk  ;  let  him  know 
We  have  despatcli  d  tiie  duke,  as  he  commanded. 
2  Mur.  O,  that  it  were  to  do  ! — What  have  we 
done  'i 

Didst  ever  hear  a  man  so  penitent  ? 

Enter  Suffolk. 

1  Mur.  Here  comes  my  lord 
Suf.  Now,  sirs,  have  yoB 

Despatch'd  this  thing  ? 

1  Mur.  Ah,  my  good  lord,  he's  dead. 

Suf  Why,  that's  well  said.    Go,  get  you  to  my 
house ; 

I  will  reward  you  for  this  venturous  deed. 
The  king  and  all  the  peers  are  here  at  hand. — 
Have  you  laid  fair  the  bed  ?  are  all  things  well. 
According  as  I  gave  direction  ? 

1  Mur.  'Tis,  my  good  lorcL 

Suf.  Away,  be  gone  !         [Exeunt  Murderersk 


426 


SECOND 


PART  OP 


Act  in. 


Sitter  King  ^^ENRY,  Queen  Margaket,  Cardinal 
Beaufort,  SojmerseTj  Lords,  and  others. 

K.  Hen.  Go,  call  our  uncle  to  our  presence 
straiglit : 

Fay,  we  iu  end  to  try  his  <(race  to-day. 
If  he  he  g  iilty,  as  'tis  pubUslied. 

Suf.  I'll  call  him  presently,  my  noble  lord.  [Exit. 

K.  H^n.  Lords,  take  your  places     And  I  pray 
you  all. 

Proceed  no  straiter  'gainst  our  uncle  Gloster, 
Than  from  true  evidence,  of  good  esteem, 
He  be  apjirov'd  in  jiractice  culpable. 

Q.  Mar.  God  Ibibid  any  malice  should  prevail. 
That  faultless  may  condemn  a  noblt-man  ! 
Pray  God,  he  nray  acquit  iiim  of  suspicion ! 

K.  Hen.  I  thank  thee,  Margaret;  these  words 
content  me  much. — 

Re-enter  Suffolk. 

How  now?  why  look'st  thou  pale  ?  why  treniblest 
thou  ? 

Where  is  our  uncle  ?  what  is  the  matter,  Suffolk  ? 
Siif.  Dead  in  his  bed,  uiy  lord  ;  Gloster  is  dead. 
Q.  Mar.  Marry,  God  t'orefend  ! 
Car.  God's  secret  judgment  — 1  did  dream  to- 
night, 

The  duke  was  dumb,  and  could  not  speak  a  word. 

{TJie  Kiv<j  swoons.) 
Q.  Mar.  How  fares  my  lord  r — Help,  lords!  tlie 

king  is  dead. 
So?n.  Rear  up  his  body ;  wrin^  him  by  the  nose. 
Q.  Mar.  Run,  go,  help,  help !— O,  Henry,  ope 
thine  eyes ! 

SuJ'.  He  dolh' revive  asjain; — Madam,  be  patient. 
K.  Hen.  O  hea\  enly  (i<>d ! 
Q.  Mar.  How  fares  uiy  gracious  lord  ? 
Suf.  Comfort,  my  sovereign !   gracious  Henry, 
comf)rt! 

iST  Hen.  What,  doth  niy  lord  of  SnlTolk  comfort  me? 
Came  he  riglit  now  to  sing  a  raven's  note. 
Whose  dismal  tutie  bereft  my  \ital  powers; 
And  thinks  he,  that  the  chii  |-ing  of  a  wren, 
IJy  crying  cortif)rt  from  a  hollow  breast. 
Can  chase  away  the  fii st-cimceived  sound? 
Hide  nut  tliy  poison  witii  such  sugar  d  words. 
Lay  not  hands  on  me  ;  forbear,  I  say  ; 
Their  touch  aifii»hts  me,  as  a  serpent's  sting. 
Thou  baleful  messenger,  out  of  my  sight! 
U  on  thy  eye-balls  murd'rnus  tyranny 
Sits  in  grim  majesty,  to  fright  tlie  world. 
Look  not  upon  mc,  lorth.ine  eyes  are  wounding: — 
Vet  do  not  go  away  ;—  Come,  basilisk. 
And  kill  the  innocent  gazer  witii  thy  sight: 
For  in  the  shade  of  death  I  shall  find  joy  ; 
[n  life,  but  double  death,  now  Gluster's  dead. 

Q.  Mar.  Why  do  you  rate  my  lord  c.f  Suftbik  thus? 
Although  the  duke  was  enemy  to  him, 
Yet  he,  most  christiaii-like,  laments  his  death  : 
And  for  myself, — foe  as  he  was  to  me, 
Might  liquid  tears,  or  heart  oifending  j^roans, 
Or  blood  consuming  sighs  recall  his  life, 
I  would  be  blind  with  weeping,  sick  yvith  groans, 
liook  pale  as  primrose,  vvitli  biood-drinking  sighs, 
And  all  to  have  the  noble  duke  alive. 
What  know  I  how  the  world  may  deem  of  me? 
For  it  is  known,  we  were  but  hollow  friends; 
ft  may  be judg'd,  I  made  the  duke  away: 
So  shall  my  name  vvith  slanders  tongue  be  wounded, 
And  princes'  courts  be  tiH'd  with  my  reproach. 
This  get  I  by  his  death  :  Ah  me,  unhappy  ! 
To  be  a  queen,  and  crown'd  with  infamy  ! 

K.  Hen.  Ah,  woe  is  me  ibr  Gloster.wretched  man  ! 

0  Mar.  Be  woe  for  me,  more  wretched  than  he  is. 
What,  dost  thou  turn  away,  and  hide  thy  face? 
I  am  no  loathsome  leper,  look  on  me. 
What,  art  thou,  like  the  adder,  waxen  deaf? 
Be  poisonous  too,  and  kill  thy  forlorn  <|ueen. 
ii  all  thy  couilort  shut  iu  Gluster's  tomb  ? 


Why,  then  dame  M«rga -et  ^as  ne'e*- £y joy; 
Erect  his  statue  then,  and  worsiiip  it, 
And  make  my  image  but  an  alehouse  sign. 
Was  1,  fortius,  nigh  wreck'd  upon  the  sea, 
And  twice  by  awkward  wind  from  England's  baiifc 
Drove  back  again  unto  my  native  clime  ? 
What  boded  this,  but  well  forewarning  wind 
Did  seem  to  say, — Seek  not  a  scf)rpi(>n's  nest. 
Nor  set  no  looting  on  this  unkind  shore  ? 
What  did  I  then,  but  uurs'd  the  gent!';  gusts, 
And  he  that  loos'd  them  from  their  braaen  caves  ; 
And   bid   them  blow  towards  England's  blessed 
shores. 

Or  tm-n  our  stern  upon  a  dreadful  rock  ? 
Yet  i^iolus  would  not  be  a  niurderer, 
But  lelt  that  hatefd  ciTice  unto  thee  : 
'J'he  pretty  vaulting  sea  refus'd  to  drown  me  ; 
Knowing,  that  thou  would'st  have  me  drown'd  ou 
shore, 

With  tears  as  salt  as  sea,  through  thy  unkindness  ; 

'I'he  splitting  rocks  cow'rd  in  the  sinking  satuls, 

Atid  would  not  dash  me  with  their  ragged  s;des; 

Because  thy  flinty  heart,  more  hard  tiian  they. 

Might  in  thy  palace  perish  Margaret- 

As  fa r  y  1  could  ken  thy  chalky  clilfs. 

Win  n  Irotn  the  shore  the  tempest  beat  us  back, 

1  stood  u|)on  the  hatches  in  the  storm: 

And  when  the  dusky  sky  began  to  rob 

My  earnest  gaping  sight  of  thy  land's  view, 

I  look  a  costly  jewel  Irom  my  neck, — 

A  lieart  it  was,  boimd  in  with  diamonds, — 

And  threw  it  towards  thy  land  ; — the  sea  receiv'd  it) 

And  so,  I  wisli'd.  thy  body  might  my  heart: 

And  even  with  this,  I  lost  fair  England's  \  iew. 

And  bid  mine  eyes  be  packing  with  my  heart: 

And  caird  them  blind  and  dusky  spectacles. 

For  losing  ken  of  Albion's  wished  coast. 

How  often  have  I  tempted  Snilolk's  tongue 

riMie  agent  of  thy  foul  inconstam  y.] 

To  sit  and  witcli  me,  as  Ascanius  did. 

When  he  t(i  madding  Dido  vvouid  unfold 

His  father's  acts,  conmienc'd  in  binning  Troy  ? 

Am  I  notwitch'd  like  her?or(hou  not  false  likebim? 

Ah  me,  I  can  no  more  I  Die,  Margaret! 

For  Henry  weeps  that  thou  dost  live  so  long. 

Noise  within.    Enter  Warwick  and  Salisbury 
The  Commons  press  to  the  door. 

War.  It  is  reported,  mighty  sovereign. 
That  good  duke  Humphrey  traitorously  is  murder'd 
By  Suifolk  and  the  cardmal  Beaufort's  means 
'i'he  commons,  like  an  angry  hive  of  bees, 
That  want  their  leader,  scatter  up  and  down, 
And  care  not  who  they  sting  in  his  revenge. 
Myself  have  calm'd  their  spleenful  nuitiny. 
Until  they  hear  the  order  of  his  death. 

K.  Hen.  That  he  is  dead,  good  Warwick,  *ti 
too  true  ; 

But  how  he  died,  God  knows,  not  Henry: 
Enter  his  chamber,  view  his  b'eathless  corpse. 
And  coumient  then  uj)on  his  sudden  death. 

War.  That  I  shall  do,  my  liege  : — Stay,  Salisbury 
With  the  rude  multitude,  till  I  return. 

[Wartvick  goes  into  an  inner  room,  and  Sali» 
bury  retires. 
K.  Hen.  O  thou,  thatjudgest  all  things,  "jtay  inj 
thoughts; 

My  thoughts,  that  labour  to  persuade  my  so  d. 

Some  violent  hands  were  laid  on  Huinpl  rev  i  life  \ 

If  my  sus|)ect  be  false,  forgive  me,  God; 

For  judgment  only  doth  belong  to  thee! 

Fain  would  I  go  to  chafe  his  paly  lips 

With  twenty  thousand  kisses,  and  to  draia 

Upon  his  face  an  ocean  of  .suit  tears: 

To  tell  my  lo\  e  unto  his  dmi)b  deaf  trunk, 

And  with  my  fingers  feel  his  hand  ur.fecliu^: 

But  all  in  vain  are  these  mean  obseijuies; 

And  to  survey  his  dead  and  errthly  image. 

What  were  it  but  to  make  my  sorrow  greater? 


bCEjNE  2. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


427 


Thef.-Jdin(]  doors  of  an  inner  chamher  are  throtvn 
open,  Glostek  is  discovered  dead  in  his 
bed:  W  arwick  and  others  standing  by  ii. 

Wat    Come  hither,  gracious  sovereign,  view  this 
body. 

K.  Hen.  That  is  to  see  liow  deep  my  grave  is  made  : 
For,  vvitii  his  soul,  fled  all  my  worldly  solace; 
For  seeing  him,  I  see  my  life  in  death. 

War.  As  surely  as  my  soul  intends  to  live 
With  that  dread  King,  that  took  our  state  upon  hira, 
'Jo  free  us  from  his  Fathers  wrathful  curse, 
I  do  believe,  tliat  violent  hands  were  laid 
l/pon  the  life  of  this  thrice-famed  duke. 

Siif.  A  dreadful  oath,  sworn  vvitha  solenni  tongue  ! 
W^hat  instance  gives  lord  Warwick  for  his  vow  ? 

War.  S^e,  how  the  blood  is  settled  in  his  face  ! — 
Oft  have  I  seen  a  timely-parted  ghost. 
Of  ashy  senkblaoce,  meagre,  pale,  and  bloodless. 
Being  all  descended  to  the  labouring  heart ; 
Who,  in  the  conflict  that  it  holds  with  death. 
Attracts  the  same  for  aidance  'gainst  the  enemy  ; 
Whicli  with  the  heart  there  cools,  and  ne'er  re- 
turneth 

To  blush  and  beautify  the  cheek  again. 
But,  see,  his  face  is  black,  and  full  of  blood; 
His  eye-ljalls  farther  out  than  when  he  liv'd. 
Staring  full  ghastly  like  a  strangled  man  : 
His  hair  uprear'd,  his  nostrils  stretch'd  with  strug- 
gling ; 

His  hands  abroad  display'd,  as  one  that  grasp'd 
Aud  tugg'd  for  life,  and  was  by  strength  subtia'd. 
Look  on  the  sheets,  his  hair,  you  see,  is  sticking; 
His   well-proportioned   beard   made   rough  and 
rugged. 

Like  to  the  summer's  corn  by  tempest  lodg'd. 
It  cannot  be,  but  he  was  murder'd  here  ; 
The  least  of  all  these  signs  were  probable. 

Suf.  Why,  Warwick,  who  should  do  the  duke 
to  death  ? 

Myself,  and  Beaufort,  had  him  in  protection; 
And  we,  I  hope,  sir,  are  no  murderers. 

TVar,  But  both  of  you  were  vow'd  duke  Hum- 
phrey's foes ; 
\nd  you,  forsooth,  had  the  good  duke  to  keep: 
Tis  like,  you  would  not  feast  him  like  a  friend  ; 
Arid  'tis  well  seen  he  found  an  enemy. 

Q.  Mar.  Then  you,  belike,  suspect  these  noblemen 
As  guilty  of  duke  Humphrey's  timeless  death. 

War.  Who  finds  the  heifer  dead,  and  bleeding 
fresh, 

And  sees  fast  by  a  butcher  with  an  axe. 
But  wiii  sus[)ect,  'twas  he  that  made  the  slaughter  ? 
Who  finds  the  partridge  in  the  puttock's  nest. 
But  may  imagine  how  the  bird  was  dead. 
Although  the  kite  soar  with  unbloodied  beak  ? 
Even  so  suspicious  is  this  tragedy. 
Q.  Mar.  Are  you  the  butcher,  Suffolk?  where 's 
your  knife  ? 

Is  Beaufort  term'd  a  kite  ?  where  are  his  talons  ? 

Suf.  I  wear  no  knife,  to  slaughter  sleeping  men ; 
But  here's  «  vengeful  sword,  rusted  with  ease. 
That  shall  be  scoured  in  his  rancorous  heart. 
That  slanders  me  with  murder's  crimson  badge: — 
Say,  if  thou  dar'st,  proud  lord  of  Warwickshire, 
That  I  am  faulty  in  duke  Humphrey's  death. 

[Exeunt  Cardinal,  Som.,  and  others. 
War.  What  dares  not  Warwick,  if  false  SutFolk 
dare  him? 

Q.  Mar.  He  dares  not  calm  his  contumelious  spirit, 
'Nor  cease  to  be  an  arrogant  controller, 
jThongh  Suffolk  dare  hitn  twenty  thousand  times. 
1    fJ^'ar.  Madam,  be  still ;  with  reverence  may  I  say; 
!  For  every  word  you  speak  in  his  behalf. 

Is  slander  to  your  royal  dignity, 
i    ^«/.  Blunt- witted  lord,  ignoble  in  demeanour ! 
!  If  ever  lady  wrorig'd  her  lord  so  much. 

Thy  mother  took  into  her  blameful  bed 

iSome  stern  untutor'd  churl,  and  noble  stock 

I  Was  graft  with  crab-tree  slii) ;  whose  fruit  thou  art. 


And  never  of  the  Nevils'  nobl<«  race» 

War.  But  that  the  guilt  of  murder  Oiickiers  th©» 
And  I  should  rob  the  deathsman  of  his  fee. 
Quitting  thee  thereby  of  ten  thousand  sliaaies. 
And  that  my  sovereign's  presence  makes  me  mild, 
I  would,  false  murderous  coward,  on  thy  knee 
Make  thee  beg  pardon  for  thy  passed  speech. 
And  say — it  was  tliy  mother,  that  tlion  niean'st. 
That  thou  thyself  was  born  in  bastardy ; 
And  after  all  this  fearful  liomage  dune, 
Give  thee  thy  hire,  and  send  thy  soul  to  hell. 
Pernicious  bloodsucker  of  sleeping  men  ! 

Si(f.  Thou  shalt  be  waking,  while  I  shed  thy  blood 
If  iiom  this  presence  thou  dar'st  go  with  me. 

War.  Away  even  now,  or  I  will  drag  thee  hence  J 
Unworthy  though  thou  art,  I'll  cope  with  thee. 
And  do  some  service  to  duke  Humphrey's  ghost. 

[Exeunt  Suffolk  and  Warivick. 

K.  Hen.  What  stronger  breast- plate  than  a  hearl 
untainted  ? 

Thrice  is  he  arm'd,  that  hath  his  quarrel  just; 
And  he  but  naked,  though  lock'd  up  in  steel, 
Whose  conscience  with  injustice  is  corrupted. 

{A  noise  within^ 

Q.  Mar.  What  noise  is  this  ? 

Re-enter  Suffolk  and  Waravick,  with  their 

weapons  drawn. 
K.  Hen.  Why,  how  now,  lords  ?  your  wrath&il 
weapons  drawn 
Here  in  our  presence  ?  dare  you  be  so  bold? — 
Why,  what  tumultuous  clamour  have  we  here? 

Suf.  The  traitorous  Warwick,  with  the  men  of 
Set  all  upon  me,  mighty  sovereign.  T^ury, 

Noise  of  crowd  ivithin.  Re-enter  Salisbury. 

Sal.  Sirs,  stand  apart;  the  king  shall  know  your 
mind. —  (Speakiny  to  those  ivithin. 

Dread  lord,  the  commons  send  you  word  by  me. 
Unless  false  Suffolk  straight  be  done  to  death, 
Or  banished  fair  England's  territories. 
They  will  by  violence  tear  him  from  your  palace 
And  tortine  him  with  grievous  ling'ring  death. 
They  say,  by  him  the  good  duke  Humphrey  died; 
They  say,  in  him  they  fear  your  highness*  death : 
And  mere  instinct  of  love,  and  loyalty. 
Free  from  a  stubborn  opposite  intent. 
As  being  thought  to  contradict  your  liking, — 
Makes  them  thus  forward  in  his  banishment 
They  say,  in  care  of  your  most  royal  person. 
That,  il'  your  highness  should  intend  to  sleep. 
And  charge — that  no  man  should  disturb  your  re^ 
In  pain  of  your  dislike,  or  pain  of  death; 
Yet  notwithstanding  such  a  strait  edict. 
Were  there  a  serpent  seen,  with  forked  tongue. 
That  slily  glided  towards  your  majesty. 
It  were  but  necessary,  you  were  wak'd  ; 
Lest,  being  sufter'd  in  that  harmful  slumber. 
The  mortal  worm  might  make  the  slet^p  eternal: 
And  therefore  do  they  cry,  though  you  forbid, 
That  tliey  will  guard  you  whe'r  you  will,  or  no. 
From  such  fell  serjn  iits  as  false  Suffolk  is: 
With  whose  envem  -.  ed  and  fatal  sting, 
Your  loving  uncle,  twenty  tiuies  his  worth, 
They  say,  is  shnmef  nly  beiej"t  of  life. 

Commons.  {Within^  An  answer  from  ttie  king, 
my  loid  of  Salisbury. 

Suf.  'Tis  like,  the  conunons,  rude  unpolisk'd 
hinds. 

Could  send  such  messager  to  their  sovereign  : 
But  you,  my  lord,  were  glad  to  be  employ'd. 
To  shew  how  quaint  an  orator  you  are. 
But  all  the  honour  Salisbury  hath  won, 
Is — that  he  was  the  lord  ambassador. 
Sent  from  a  sort  of  tinkers  to  the  king. 

Commons.  {Within.)  An  answer  ficm  the  di^, 
or  we'll  all  break  in. 

K.  Hen.  Go,  Salisbury,  and  tell  them  all  fromme^ 
I  thank  them  for  their  tender  lov  ing  care  ; 
And  had  I  not  been  'cited  so  by  them, 


428 


SECOND 


PART  OF 


Act  111. 


VettJici  I  purpose  as  they  so  entreat; 
For  «ure,  niy  thoughts  do  hourly  prophesy 
MiBchance  iitito  my  state  by  SutTolk's  means. 
And  therefore — by  His  majesty  I  swear, 
Whose  far  unworthy  deputy  I  am, — 
He  shall  not  breatlie  itilection  in  this  air 
But  three  days  longer,  on  the  pain  of  death. 

[Exit  Salisbury. 

Q.  Mar.  O  Henry,  let  me  plead  for  gentle  Sulfolk  ! 

K.  lien.  Ungentle   queen,  to   call   him  gentle 
Sulfoik.^ 

f^o  more,  I  say  ;  if  thou  dost  plead  for  him. 

Thou  wilt  but  add  increase  unto  my  wrath. 

Had  I  but  said,  I  would  have  kept  my  word  ; 

But,  wiien  I  swear,  it  is  irre\ocahle: 

ff,  after  tinee  days  s[)ace,  thou  here  be'st  found 

On  any  ground  that  i  am  ruler  of, 

The  world  shall  not  be  ransome  ior  thy  life. — 

Come,  VV arwick.  come,  ^ood  Warwick,  gt)  with  me  ; 

I  have  great  nuttters  to  impart  to  thee. 

[Exeunl  K.  Hem  y,  IT  arivick.  Lords,  ^c. 

Q.  Mar.  Mischance,  and  sorrow,  go  along  with 
Heart's  discontent,  and  sour  affliction,  [you  ! 

Be  playfellows  to  keep  you  company  ! 
There's  two  of  you  ;  tiie  devil  make  a  third  ! 
And  threefold  vengeance  tend  upon  your  steps  ! 

Suf.  Cease,  gentle  queen,  these  execrations. 
And  let  thy  Suffolk  take  his  heavy  leave. 

Q.  Mar.  Fye,  coward  woman,  and  soft-hearted 
wretch ! 

Hast  thou  not  spirit  to  curse  thine  enemies  ? 
Suf.  A  plague  unon  them !  wherefore  should  I 
curse  them  ? 

Would  curses  kill,  as  doth  the  mandrake's  groan, 
I  would  in\ent  as  bilter-searching  terms. 
As  curst,  as  harsh,  and  horrible  to  hear, 
Dehver'd  strongly  through  my  fixed  teeth. 
With  full  as  many  signs  of  deadly  hate, 
„\s  lean  fac'd  Envy  in  her  loathsome  cave: 
My  tongue  should  stumble  in  mine  earnest  words; 
Mine  eyes  should  sparkle  like  the  beaten  flint; 
My  hair  be  lix'd  on  end,  as  one  distract ; 
Ay,  every  joint  slioidd  seem  to  curse  and  ban  : 
And  even  now  my  biirden'd  heart  would  break, 
Should  1  riot  curse  them.    Poison  be  their  drink  ! 
Gall,  worse  than  gall,  the  daintiest  that  they  taste  ! 
'J'heir  sweetest  sliade,  a  gro\e  of  cypress  trees! 
Their  chiefest  prospects,  murdering  basilisks! 
Their  softest  touch,  as  smart  as  lizards'  stings  I 
Their  music,  fiightlul  as  the  serpent's  hiss; 
And  boding  screech-owls  make  the  concert  full! 
All  the  foul  terrors  in  dark-»eated  hell. — 

Q.  Mar.  Enough,  sweet  Suftblk  ;  thou  torment'st 
thyself: 

4.nd  these  dread  curses — like  the  sun  'gainst  glass. 
Or  like  an  overcharged  gun, — recoil. 
And  turn  the  i'orce  of  them  upon  thyself. 

Suf.  You  bade  me  ban, and  will  you  bid  me  leave? 
Now,  by  the  ground  that  1  am  banish'd  from. 
Well  could  1  curse  away  a  winter's  night, 
Though  standing  naked  on  a  mountain  top. 
Where  biting  cold  would  never  let  grass  grow. 
And  think  it  hut  a  minute  spent  in  sport. 

Q.  Mar.  O.  let  me  entreat  thee,  cease  I  Give  me 
thy  hand, 

That  I  may  dew  it  with  my  mournful  tears; 
Nor  let  the  rain  of  heaven  wet  this  place. 
To  wash  away  my  woeful  monuments. 
O,  could  this  kiss  be  printed  in  thy  hand  : 

{Kisses  his  hand.) 
That  thou  might'st  think  upon  these  by  the  seal, 
1  hrough  whom  a  thousand  sighs  are  breath'd  for 
thee  I 

So,  get  thee  gone,  that  I  may  know  my  grief: 
'Tis  but  surniis'd  whilst  thou  art  standing  by. 
As  one  t'lat  surfeits  thmking  on  a  want. 
1  will  re^^al  thee,  or,  be  well  assured. 
Adventure  to  be  banished  myself : 
And  banished  I  am,  if  but  from  thee. 
Go,  speak,  not  to  me  ,  even  now  be  gone. — 


O,  go  not  yet ! — Even  thus  two  friends,  coDiiemn'd, 
Embrace,  and  kiss.,  and  take  ten  thousand  ieaves, 
Loather  a  hundred  times  to  part  than  die. 
Yet  now  farewell :  and  farewell  life  with  thee  I 
Suf.  Thus  is  poor  Suffolk  ten  times  banished. 
Once  by  the  king,  and  three  times  thrice  by  thee, 
Tis  not  the  land  I  care  for,  wert  thou  hence; 
A  wilderness  is  populous  enough. 
So  SuffoJk  had  thy  heavenly  conipany. 
For,  where  thou  art,  there  is  the  world  itself, 
With  every  several  pleasure  in  the  world  ; 
And  where  thou  art  not,  desolation. 
I  can  no  more  : — Live  thou  to  joy  thy  life  , 
Myself  no  joy  in  nought,  but  that  thou  liv'st. 

Enter  Vaux. 

Q.  Mar.  Whither  goes  Vaux  so  fast?  what  news, 
I  pr'ythee  ? 

Vaux.  To  signify  unto  his  majesty. 
That  Cardinal  Beaufort  is  at  point  of  death 
For  suddenly  a  grievous  sickness  took  him. 
That  makes  him  gasp,  and  stare,  and  catch  the  air, 
Blaspheming  God,  and  cursing  men  on  earth. 
Sometime,  he  talks  as  if  duke  Humpiirey's  ghost 
Were  by  his  side  ;  sometime,  he  calls  the  king. 
And  whispers  to  his  pillow,  as  to  him. 
The  secrets  of  his  overcharged  soul: 
And  I  am  sent  to  tell  his  majesty, 
That  even  now  he  cries  aloud  lor  him. 

Q.  Mar.  Go,  tell  this  heavy  message  to  the  king. 

[Exit  Vaux. 

Ah  me  !  what  is  this  world  ?  what  news  aie  these  ? 
But  wherefore  grieve  I  at  an  hour's  poor  loss. 
Omitting  Suffolk's  exile,  my  soul's  treasure? 
Why  only,  Sufllolk,  mourn  I  not  for  thee, 
And  with  the  southern  clourls  contend  in  tears ; 
Tlieirs  for  the  earth's  increase, mine  for  my  sorrows? 
Now,  get  thee  hence:  The  king,  thou  know's* 

is  coming  ! 
If  thou  be  found  by  me,  thou  art  but  dead. 

Stif.  If  I  depart  from  thee,  I  cannot  live  : 
And  in  thy  sight  to  die,  what  were  it  else 
But  like  a  pleasant  slumber  in  thy  lap 
Here  could  I  breathe  my  soul  into  the  air, 
As  mild  and  gentle  as  the  cradle  babe. 
Dying  with  mother's  dugs  between  his  lips  : 
Where,  from  thy  sight,  I  should  be  raging  mad, 
And  cry  out  for  thee  to  close  up  mine  eyes. 
To  have  thee  with  thy  lips  to  stop  my  mouth ; 
So  should'st  thou  either  turn  my  flying  soul. 
Or  I  should  breathe  it  so  into  thy  body. 
And  then  it  liv'd  in  sweet  Elysium. 
'I'o  die  by  thee,  were  but  to  die  in  jest : 
From  thee  to  die,  were  torture  more  than  death  : 
O,  let  me  stay,  befall  what  may  befall. 

Q.  Mar.  Away !  though  parting  be  a  fretful  cor- 
rosive. 

It  is  applied  to  a  deathful  wound. 
To  France,  sweet  Suffolk :  Let  me  hear  from  thee  ; 
For  whereso'er  thou  art  in  this  world's  globe, 
I'll  have  an  Iris  that  shall  find  thee  out. 
Suf  I  go. 

Q.  Mar.     And  take  my  heart  with  thee. 

Suf.  A  jewel,  lock'd  into  the  woeful'st  cask 
That  ever  did  contain  a  thing  of  worth. 
Even  as  a  splitted  bark,  so  sunder  we; 
This  way  fall  I  to  death. 

Q.  Mar.    This  way  for  me.  [Exeunt,  severally. 

Scene  III. — London.    Cardinal  Beauforfs  bed- 
chamber. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Salisbury,  Warwick,  and 
others.  The  Cardinal  in  bed;  Attendants  with 
him. 

K.  Hen.  How  fares  my  lord?  speak,  Beaufort,! 
to  thy  sovereign.  [treasure,! 

Car.  If  thou  be'st  death,  I'll  give  thee  England's' 
Enough  to  purchase  such  another  island, 
So  tiiou  wilt  let  nje  live,  and  feel  uo  pain. 

K.  Hen.  Ah.  what  a  sign  it  is  of  evil  life, 


Act  IV.    Scene  1. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


4:29 


When  death's  approach  is  seen  so  terrible  I 
1     PFar.  Bcautort,  it  is  tliy  sovereign  speaks  tolhee. 
I    Car.  Briug  me  unto  my  trial  when  you  will. 

D  -d  he  nut  ui  liis  bed  :  wilt  re  siiuiild  he  die? 

Can  1  make  men  live,  whe'r  they  will  or  nu  ^ — 
jOl  torture  me  no  more,  I  will  coni'ess. — 
jj  Alive  again    then  shew  me  where  he  is; 
I  I'll  give  a  thousand  poiu)il  to  look  upon  him. — 
liBti  hath  no  eyes,  the  dust  hath  hlinded  them. — 

(Joinb  (lownlii.s  hair;  look  !  look  !  it_ stands  upright, 
[Like  lime-twigs  set  to  catch  my  winged  soul ! — 
iGive  me  some  drink  ;  aiul  hid  tlie  apothecary 

Bring  the  strong  poistm  thai  I  bi.Might  of  him. 
K.  Hen.  O  thou  eternal  iMover  of  the  heavens. 

Look  witli  a  gentle  eye  upo!)  this  wretch  1 
j  O,  beat  away  the  busy  meddling  fiend, 
'  That  lays  strong  siege  unto  this  wretch's  soul,  ^ 

And  Truin  his  bosom  purge  this  black  despair  ! 
War.  See,  how  the  pangs  of  death  do  make  him 
grin. 

Sal.  Disturb  him  not,  let  him  pass  peaceably, 
j     K.  Hen.  Peace  to  his  s(wil,  if  God's  good  plea- 
sure be. 

;  Lord  cardinal,  if  thou  think'st  on  heaven's  bliss, 
j  Hold  up  thy  hand,  make  signal  of  thy  hope. — 
!  He  dies,  and  n>akes  no  sign  ;  O  God,  forgi\  e  him  I 
i     rVar.  So  bad  a  death  argues  a  monstrous  life. 
!     K.  Hen.  Forbear  to  judge,  for  we  are  sinners  all. — 
!  Close  up  his  eyes,  and  draw  the  curtain  close  ; 
And  let  us  all  to  meditation.  [Exeunt, 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — Kent.    The  Sea  shore  near  Dover. 
I  Firing  heard  at  sea.    Then  enter  from  a  boat,  a 
j    Captain,  a  Master,  a  Master  s-Mate,  Walter 
'    VVhitmore,  and  others  ;  tvith  them  Suffolk, 

and  other  Gentlemen,  prisoners. 
I    Cap.  The  gaudy,  blabbing,  and  remorseful  day 
jj  [&  crept  into  the  bosom  of  ihe  sea  ; 
I  And  now  loud-howling  wolves  arouse  the  jades. 
That  drag  the  tragic  melancholy  night; 
Wl\o  with  their  drowsy,  slow,  and  flagging  wings. 
Clip  dead  men's  graves,  and  from  their  misty  jaws 
Breathe  foul  contagious  darkness  in  the  air. 
Therefore,  bring  forth  the  soldiers  of  our  prize  ; 
For,  whilst  our  pinnace  anchors  in  t!ie  Downs, 
Here  shall  they  make  their  ransom  on  the  sand. 
Or  with  their  blood  stain  this  discolour'd  shore. — 
i  Master,  this  prisoner  freely  give  I  thee  ; 
And  thou  tiiat  art  his  mate,  make  boot  of  this; — 
Tlie  other,  {poi?iiin(j  to  SuJ/olk)  Walter  Whitmore, 
is  thy  share. 
1  Gent.  What  is  my  ransome,  master  ?  let  me 
know. 

I    Mast.  A  thousand  crowns,  or  else  lay  down  your 
head. 

Mate.  And  so  much  shall  you  give,  or  off  goes 
yours. 

t-ap.  What,  think  you  much  to  pay  two  thousand 
crowns, 

And  bear  the  name  and  port  of  gentlemen? 
Cut  both  the  villains'  throats  ; — for  die  you  shall ; 
'file  lives  of  those,  which  we  have  lost  in  fight, 
Cc::not  be  counterpois'd  with  such  a  petty  sum. 

1  Gent    I'll  give  it,  sir;  and  therefore  spare  my 

life.  [straight. 

2  Ge7it.  And  so  will  I,  and  write  home  for  it 
'     Whit.  I  lost  mine  eye  in  laying  the  prize  aboard. 

And  therefore,  to  revenge  it,  shalt  thou  die  ; 

(To  Suffolk.) 
i  And  so  should  these,  if  I  might  have  my  will. 
I     Cap.  Be  not  so  rash;  take  ransome,  let  him  live. 
S^f',  Look  on  n)y  George,  I  am  a  gentleman; 
Rate  me  at  what  thou  wilt,  thou  shalt  be  paid. 
Whit.  And  so  am  I ;  my  name  is — Walter  Whit- 
:  more.  [affright  ? 

I  How  now?  why  start'st  tbon?  what,  doth  death 
St{f.  Thy  name  allrights  me,   in  whose  sound  is 
\  CQDoing  man  did  calculate  n>y  birth,  [death, 


And  told  me — that  by  Walter  I  should  dse  *. 
Vet  let  not  tliis  make  thee  be  bloody  u*inded  , 
Tliv  name  is — Ganlticr,  b«ing  rigiitly  sounded. 

Whit.  Gaultier.  .>v  Walter,  which  I't  is.  1  careaot 
Ne'er  yet  did  base  dishonour  blur  our  name, 
Jiut  with  onr  swo  il  we  wip'd  away  the  blot; 
Therefore,  when  ineichant-l  ke  I  sell  revenge. 
Broke  be  my  swo  d,  my  arms  torn  and  defac'd. 
And  1  proclaim'd  a  coward  tinough  the  world  I 

( Lays  hold  on  Suffolk, 

Stif.  Stav,  Wliitmore  ;for  tiiy  prisoner  is  a  prince 
The  duke  of  Suffolk,  William  de  la  Poole. 

PFhil.  The  duke  of  Sullblk,  muffled  up  in  rags! 

S?/J'.  Ay,  but  these  rags  aie  no  part  of  the  dul  e  ; 
Jove  sometime  went  disguis'd.  and  why  not  I  ? 

Cap.  But  Jove  was  never  slain,  as  tiiou  shalt  be. 

Suf.  Obscure  and  lowly    swain.  King  Henry's 
The  iionour-jble  blood  of  Lancaster,  [blood. 
Must  not  be  shed  by  such  a  jaded  groom. 
Hast  thou  not  kiss'd'  thy  hand,  and  lield  my  stirrup? 
Bare-headed  plodded  by  niy  loot  cloth  mule, 
And  thought  thee  happy  when  1  shook  my  head  ? 
How  often  hast  thou  waited  at  my  cup. 
Fed  from  my  trencher,  kneel'd  down  at  the  board. 
When  1  have  feasted  with  queen  Margaret? 
Remember  it,  and  let  it  make  thes  crest  fall'n  f 
Ay,  and  allay  this  thy  abortive  pride: 
Hovv  in  our  voiding  lobby  hast  thou  stood, 
And  duly  waited  for  my  coming  forth  ^ 
This  liand  of  mine  hath  writ  in  thy  behalf. 
And  tlierelbre  shall  it  charm  thy  riotous  tongue. 

Whit.  Speak,  captain,  shall  I  stab  t  ie  forlorn 
swain  ? 

Cap.  First  let  my  words  stab  him,  as  he  hath  me, 
Suf.  Base  slave  I  thy  words  are  blurit,  and  s:  art 
thou. 

Cap.  Convey  him  hence,  and  on  our  long-l»at'» 

side 

Strike  oft"  his  head. 

Suf.  Thou  dar'st  not  for  thy  own. 

Cap.  Yes,  Poole 

Suf  Poole  ? 

Cap.  Poole  ?  Sir  Poole  ?  lord  1 

Ay,  kennel,  puddle,  sink:  whose  fiith  and  dirt 
Troubles  the  silver  spring  wnere  England  drinks 
Now  will  I  dam  up  this  thy  yawning  mouth. 
For  swallowing  the  treasure  of  tlie  realm  : 
'J'hy  li[)s,  that  kiss'd  the  queen,  shall  sweep  the 
f;round ; 

And  thou,  that  smil'dst  at  good  duke  Hnmpref** 
death, 

Against  tlie  senseless  winds  shalt  grin  in  vain. 

Who,  in  contempt,  shall  hiss  at  thee  again  : 

And  wedded  be  thou  to  the  hags  of  hell, 

For  daring  to  affy  a  mighty  lord 

Unto  the  daughter  of  a  worthless  king. 

Having  neither  subject,  wealth,  nor  diadem. 

By  devilish  policy  art  thou  grovvn  great, 

And,  like  ambitious  Sylla,  overgorg'd 

With  gobbets  of  thy  mother's  bleeding  heart. 

By  thee.  Anjou  and  Maine  were  sold  to  France 

The  false  revolting  Normans,  thorough  thee. 

Disdain  to  call  us  lord ;  and  Picardy 

Hath  slain  their  governors,  surpris'd  our  forta. 

And  sent  the  ragged  soldiers  wounded  home. 

The  princely  Warwick,  and  the  Nevils  all, — 

Whose  dreadful  swords  were  never  drawn  in  vain.-.* 

As  hating  thee,  are  rising  up  in  arms : 

And  now  the  house  of  York — thrust  from  the  crowny 

By  shameful  murder  of  a  guiltless  king 

And  lofty  proud  encroaching  tyranny, — 

Burns  with  revenging  fire ;  whose  hopeful  colourm 

Advance  ouv  half-fac'd  sun,  striving  to  shine. 

Under  the  which  is  writ — invitis  nubibus. 

The  commons  here  in  Kent  are  up  in  arms 

And,  to  conclude,  reproach,  and  beggary, 

Is  crept  into  the  palace  of  our  king, 

And  all  by  thee  : — Av/ay !  convey  him  hence. 

Suf  O  that  I  were  a  god,  to  shoot  forth  tiuiDder 
Upon  these  paltry,  servile  abject  drudges  I 


430 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Small  t!i!np,"s  make  bnse  men  proud  :  this  villain  here, 

BeiDg  captain  uf  a  pioiiace.  (hreatens  more 

Than  Baignliis,  tlie  strong  lilyiian  pirate. 

Dror)es  suck  not  eagles'  blixifl,  but  rob  bee-hivea. 

ft  is  impossible,  that  I  should  die 

By  sucii  a  lowly  \assal  as  thyself. 

Thy  words  move  rage,  and  not  remorse,  in  me  : 

F  go  ol"  mt-ssage  (Vom  the  quren  to  France  ; 

I  charge  Ihee,  waft  me  safely  cross  the  channel. 

Cap.  Walter,   [death. 

Wkit.  Ci>me,  8u!iolk,  I  must  waft  thee  to  thy 
Suf.  Gelidus  timor  occupat  artus : — 'tis  thee  1 
ft^ar. 

W/iiL  Tiiou  shalt  have  cause  to  fear,  before  I 
leave  thee. 

What,  are  ye  daunted  now?  now  will  ye  stoop? 
1  Gent.  My  gracious  lord,  entreat  him,  speak 
him  fair. 

S?if.  Siiirolk's  imperial  tongue  is  stern  and  rough, 
Us  d  to  command,  imlaught  to  plead  for  favour. 
Far  be  it,  we  should  honour  such  as  these 
Witli  husntde  suit:  no,  rather  let  my  head 
S^oop  to  the  blo<  k,  than  these  knees  bow  to  any. 
Save  to  (he  God  of  iieaven,  and  to  my  king; 
And  sootier  dance  upon  a  bloody  pole, 
Thau  stnnd  uncover'd  to  the  vulgar  groom. 
True  nubility  is  exempt  from  fear: — 
JMore  can  I  bear,  than  you  dare  execute. 

CVfp.  Hale  him  away,  and  let  him  talk  no  more. 

Siff.  Come,  soldiers,  shew  what  cruelty  ye  can, 
Tliat  this  my  death  may  never  be  forgot  1 
Great  men  oft  die  by  vile  bezonians : 
A  Rttmati  sworder  and  banditto  slave, 
Mnrder'd  sweet  Tully  ;  Brutus*  bastard  hand 
Stabb'd  Jidius  Caesar;  savage  islanders, 
Poiiipey  the  great :  ai/d  Siilfolk  dies  by  pirates. 

[Exit  Suf.  with  Whit,  and  others. 

Cap.  And  as  for  tliese  whose  ransom  we  have  set, 
^,  is  our  pleasure,  one  of  theui  depart: — 
therefore  come  you  with  us,  and  let  him  go. 

[Exeunt  all  Out  the  first  Gentleman. 

Rp-enter  W hitmore,  loith  Suffolk's  body. 

Wkit.  There  let  his  head  and  lifeless  body  lie, 
Until  the  »pieen,  his  mistress,  bury  it.  [Exit. 

1  Gffut  O  barbarous  and  bloody  spectacle  ! 
His  liody  will  I  bear  unto  the  king: 
If  he  revenge  it  not,  yet  will  his  friends: 
So  wii'  the  queen,  that  living  held  him  dear. 

[Exit  ivith  the  body. 

Scene  fl. — Blackheath. 
Enter  George  Bevis  and  .)oks  Holland. 

Geo.  Come,  and  get  thee  a  sword,  though  made 
of  a  lath  ;  they  have  been  up  these  two  days. 

John.  Tluy  have  the  more  need  to  sleep  now  then. 

Geo.  I  tell  thee.  Jack  Cade,  the  clothier,  means 
to  dn\ss  the  commonwealtii,  and  turn  it,  and  set  a 
«ew  tiap  upon  it 

John.  So  he  had  need,  for  'tis  threadbare.  Well, 
f  say,  it  was  never  merry  world  in  England,  since 
gentietiieti  cauie  up. 

Geo  C>  miserable  age !  Virtue  is  not  regarded  in 
hand  :craits- men. 

John,  riie  nobility  think  scorn  to  go  in  leather 
aproiis. 

Geo.  Nay  more,  the  king's  council  are  no  good 
woi  kuu'n. 

John.  True:  And  yet  it  is  said, — Labour  in  thy 
Voratioti  :  which  is  as  much  to  say,  as, — let  the  ma- 
cisir  itrs  be  labouring  men;  aiid  thereiore  should  we 
be  re5a6i>ist  rates. 

Gfu.  riioti  hast  hit  it:  for  (here's  no  better  sign 
of  a  bt  ave  mind  than  a  hard  hand. 

John.  \  seethcui!  i  see  them!  There's  Best's 
son.  the  taiuier  <;f  Wingiiam  ; — 

Geo.  lit'  .>-hall  have  the  skins  of  our  enemies,  to 
make  (log's  i/alherof. 

John.  And  Dick  the  butcher, — 

GVo  'V^tix  .3  is.ii  struck  down  like  an  ox,  and  ini 


Act  IY. 

em.  JH 

S^tuTH  On 
ber.  T| 

r  supposed  1 


quity's  throat  cut  like  a  crfft 
John.  And  Smith  the  weaver. 
Geo.  Aryo,  their  thread  of  life  \t  spna. 
John.  Come,  come,  let's  iall  in  w;tii  lliem. 

Drum.  Enter  Caoe,  Dick  the  butcher.  SamH 
weaver,  and  others  in  yreat  number 

Cade.  We  John  Cade,  so  termed  of  our  supptised 

father,— 

Diok.  Or  rather,  of  stealing  a  cade  of  herrin,i;9, 

Cade.  — for  our  enemies  shall  fall  beiijie  ns 
inspired  with  the  spirit  of  putting  dovv?i  kings  an 
princes. — Command  silence. 

Dick.  Silence ! 

Cade.  My  father  was  a  Mortimer. — 
Dick.  He  was  an  honest  man,  and  a  good  brick- 
layer.  {Aside.) 
Cade.  My  mother  a  Planlagenet, — 
Dick.  I  knew  her  well,  she  was  a  midwife. 

{Aside.) 

Cade.  My  wife  descended  of  the  Lacies. — 
Dick.  Slie  was,  indeed,  a  pedlar's  dauglster,  and 

sold  many  laces.  {Aside.) 
Smith.  But,  now  of  late,  notable  to  travel  with 

her  Ihrred  pack,  she  washes  bucks  here  at  lumie. 

{Aside.) 

Cade.  Therefore  am  I  of  an  honourable  house. 

Dick.  Ay,  by  my  faith,  the  field  is  iionourable; 
and  there  was  he  born,  under  a  hedge;  for  his  father 
had  never  a  house,  but  tlie  cage.  {Aside.) 

Cade.  Valiant  I  am. 

Smith.  'A  must  needs;  for  beggary  is  valiant.  j 

{Aside.)  \ 

Cade.  I  am  able  to  endnre  much.  j 

Dick.  No  question  of  that;  lor  I  have  seen  him  i 
whipped  three  market  days  together.         {Aside.)  i 

Cade.  I  fear  neither  sword  nor  fiie. 

Smith.  He  need  not  fear  the  sword,  for  his  coat  ' 
is  of  proof.  _  {Aside.) 

Dick.  But,  methinks,  he  should  stand  in  tear  ol 
fire,  being  burnt  i'the  hand  for  stealing  ol  sheep. 

{A.^ide.) 

Cade.  Be  brave  then;  for  your  captain  is  brave, 
and  vows  reformation.  There  shall  be,  in  England, 
seven  half-penny  loaves  sold  for  a  penny  ;  the  three- 
hooped  pot  shall  have  ten  hoops  ;  and  I  will  make  it 
felony  to  drink  small  beer:  all  the  realm  siiail  be  in 
common,  and  in  Cheapside  shall  my  paltry  go  to 
grass.  And  when  I  am  king,  (as  king  I  will  be) — 

All.  God  save  your  majesty  ! 

Cade.  I  thank  you,  good  people : — there  shall  be 
no  money ;  all  shall  eat  and  drink  on  my  score ;  and 
I  will  apparel  them  all  in  one  livery,  that  they  may 
agree  like  brothers,  and  worship  me  their  lord. 

Dick.  The  first  thing  we  do,  let's  kill  all  the 
lawyers. 

Cade.  Nay,  that  I  mean  to  do.  Is  not  this  a 
lamentable  thing,  that  of  the  skin  of  an  innocent 
lamb  should  be  made  parchment?  that  parcimient, 
being  scribbled  o'er,  should  undo  a  man  ?  Some 
say,  the  bee  stings:  But  I  say,  'tis  the  bee's  wax, 
for  I  did  but  seal  once  to  a  thing,  and  1  was  sievel 
mine  own  man  since.    How  now  ?  who's  there  i  , 

Enter  some,  bringing  in  tlie  Clerk  of  Chatham.  ; 

Smith.  The  clerk  of  Chatham :  he  can  write  anA  ; 
read,  and  cast  accompt.  ; 
Cade.  O  monstrous! 

Smith.  We  took  him  setting  of  boy's  copies. 

Cade.  Here's  a  villain  I  [in  t  I 

Smith.  H'as  a  book  in  bi.s  pocket,  with  red  letters  , 

Cade.  Nay,  then  he  is  a  conjurer. 

Dick.  Nay,  he  can  make  obligations,  and  write 
court-hand.  i 

Cade.  I  am  sorry  for't :  the  man  is  a  proper  man, 
on  mine  honour,  unless  1  find  hivi  guilty,  he  shall 
not  die. — Come  hither,  Nirrah,  1  must  exsiiunf 
thee  :  What  is  thy  naiae  ? 

Clerk.  Emmanuel. 


Scene  i. 


KING  HENR^  VI. 


481 


/>icff.  Tisey  nse  to  write  tt  on  the  top  of  letters ; 
-I'will  go  hard  with  you. 

Cade.  Let  me  alone: — Dost  thon  use  to  write 
thy  ririine  ?  or  hast  ti)ou  a  mark  to  tliyself^  like  an 
honest  plain-deahiij?  man? 

Clerk.  Sir,  I  thank  God,  I  have  been  so  well 
bron<(ht  up,  that  I  can  write  my  name. 

AFL  He  hath  confessed :  away  with  him ;  he's  a 
villain,  and  a  traitor. 

Cade.  Away  with  him,  I  say:  hang  him  with  his 
pen  and  iukhorn  about  his  neck. 

[Exeimt  some  with  the  Clerk. 

Enter  Michael. 

Mlc^.  Where's  our  general  ? 

Cade.  Here  I  am,  thou  particular  fellow. 

Mich.  Fly,  fly,  lly!  sir  Humphrey  Stafford  and 
his  brotlier  are  hard  by,  with  the  king's  forces. 

Cade.  Stand,  villain,  stand,  or  I'll  fell  thee  down  : 
He  shall  be  encountered  with  a  man  as  good  as 
himself:  He  is  but  a  knight,  is  'a? 

Mick.  No. 

Cade.  To  equal  him,  T  will  make  myself  a  knight 
presently ;  Rise  up,  sir  John  Mortimer.  Now  have 
at  him. 

Enter  Sir  Humphrey  Stafford,  and  William 
his  brother,  with  drum  and  Forces^ 

Staf.  Rebellious  hinds,  the  filth  and  scum  of  Kent, 
Mark'd  for  the  gallows, — lay  your  weapons  down, 
Hon»e  to  your  cottages,  forsake  this  groom  ; — 
The  king  is  merciful,  if  you  revolt.  [blood, 

TV.  Staf.  But  angry,  wrathful,  and  inclined  to 
If  you  go  forward  :  therefore  yield,  or  die.  [not; 

Cade.  As  for  these  silken  coated  slaves,  I  pass 
It  is  to  you,  good  people,  that  I  speak, 
O'er  whom,  in  time  to  come,  I  hope  to  reign ; 
For  I  am  rightful  heir  unto  the  crown. 

Staf.  Villain,  thy  father  was  a  plasterer; 
And  thou  thyself  a  shearman,  art  thou  not? 

Cade.  And  Adam  was  a  gardener. 

W.Staf  And  what  of  that  ? 

Cade.  Marry,  this : — Edmund  Mortimer,  earl  of 
March, 

Married  the  duke  of  Clarence'  daughter ;  Did  he 
not? 
W.  Staf.  Ay,  sir. 

Cade.  By  her,  he  had  two  children  at  a  birth. 

W.  Staf  That's  false.  [true  : 

Cade.  Ay,  there's  the  question;  but,  I  say,  'tis 
The  elder  of  them,  being  put  to  nurse. 
Was  by  a  beggar-woman  stol'n  away ; 
And,  ignorant  of  his  birth  and  parentage, 
Became  a  bricklayer,  when  he  came  to  age  : 
His  son  am  I ;  deny  it,  if  you  can. 

Dick.  Nay,  'tis  too  true;  therefore  he  shall  b3 
king. 

Smith.  Sir,  he  made  a  chimney  in  tny  father's 
10 use,  and  the  bricks  are  alive  at  this  day  to  testify 
t ;  therefore,  deny  it  not. 

Staf.  And  will  you  credit  this  base  drudge's  words, 
That  speaks  he  knows  not  what? 

All.  Ay,  marry,  will  we ;  therefore  get  ye  gone. 

W.  Staf  Jack  Cade,  the  duke  of  York  hath 
taught  you  this. 

Cade.  He  lies,  for  I  invented  it  myself.  {Aside.) 
—Go  to,  sirrah.  Tell  the  king  from  me,  that — for 
tis  father's  sake,  Henry  the  Fifth,  in  whose  time 
f>oys  went  to  span-counter  for  French  crowns, — I 
-in  content  he  shall  reign,  but  I'll  be  protector  over 
him. 

Dick.  And,  furthermore,  we'll  have  the  lord  Say's 
head,  for  selling  the  dukedom  of  Maine. 

Cade.  And  good  reason ;  for  thereby  is  England 
manned,  and  fain  to  go  with  a  staff,  but  that  my 
puissance  holds  it  up.  Fellow  kings,  I  tell  you, 
that  that  lord  Say  hath  gelded  the  commonwealth, 
and  made  it  an  eunach  :  and  more  lhan  that,  he  can 
jpeak  French,  and  therefore  he  is  a  traitor. 

Staf.  O  gross  and  miserable  ignorance  ! 


Cade.  Nay,  answer,  if  yon  can  :  The  Frenchmen 
are  our  enemies  :  go  to  then,  1  ask  but  this :  Caa 
he,  that  speaks  with  the  tongue  of  an  enemy,  he  « 
good  counsellor,  or  no  ? 

All.  No,  no;  and  therefore  we'll  have  his  head. 

W.  Staf.  Well,  seeing  gentle  words  will  not  pn> 
vail, 

Assail  them  with  an  army  of  the  king. 

Staf  Herald,  away:  and  throughout  every  town^ 
Proclaim  them  traitors  that  are  up  with  Cade ; 
That  those,  which  fly  before  the  battle  ends, 
May,  even  in  their  wives'  and  children's  sight, 
Be  hang'd  up  for  example  at  their  doors  : — 
And  you,  that  be  the  king's  friends,  follow  me. 

[Exeunt  the  two  Staffords,  and  Forcet 

Cade.  And  you,  that  love  tlie  comnions,  follow 
me. — 

Now  shew  yourselves  men,  'tis  for  liberty. 
We  will  not  leave  one  lord,  one  gentleman: 
Spare  none,  but  such  as  go  in  clouted  shoon  ; 
For  they  are  thrifty  honest  men,  and  such 
As  would  (but  that  they  dare  not)  take  our  parts. 

Dick.  They  are  all  in  order,  and  march  toward  us. 

Cade.  Biit  then  are  we  in  order,  when  we  are 
most  out  of  order.  Come,  march  forward.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — Another  part  of  Blackheath. 
Alarums.    The  two  parties  enter  and  fiyht,  and 
both  the  Staffords  are  slain. 

Cade.  Where's  Dick,  the  butcher  of  Ashford? 
Dick.  Here,  sir. 

Cade.  They  fell  before  thee  like  sheep  and  oxen, 
and  thou  behavedst  thyself  as  if  thou  hadst  been  in 
thine  own  shnighter  house  :  therefore  thus  will  I 
reward  thee, — The  LeJit  shall  be  as  long  again  a.s 
it  is;  and  thou  shall  have  a  license  to  kill  for  a 
hundred  lacking  one. 

Dick.  I  desire  no  more. 

Cade.  And,  to  speak  truth,  thou  deservest  no  less. 
This  monuinent  of  the  victory  v/ill  I  bear;  and  the 
bodies  shall  be  dragged  at  my  horse'  heels^  till  1  do 
come  to  London,  where  we  will  have  the  misyor's 
sword  borne  before  us. 

Dick.  If  we  mean  to  thrive  and  do  good,  break 
open  the  gaols,  and  let  out  the  prisoners. 

Cade.  Fear  not  that,  I  warrant  thee.  Come,  let's 
march  towards  London.  [Exeunt. 
Scene  IV.  —  London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  King  Uej^ry,  reading  a  supplication  ;  the 

Duke  of  BucKlNGtlAM  and  Lord  .^say  with  him  ; 

at  a  distance.  Queen  Margaret,  mourni7ig  over 

Suffolk's  head. 

Q.  Mar.  Oft  have  I  heard — that  grief  softens  th« 
And  makes  it  fearful  and  degenerate  :  [mind, 
l^hink  therefore  on  revenge,  and  cease  to  weep. 
But  who  can  cease  to  weep,  and  look  on  this  ? 
Here  may  his  head  lie  on  my  throbbing  breast: 
But  where's  the  body  that  I  should  embrace  ? 

Buck.  What  answer  makes  your  grace  to  the 
rebels'  supplication? 

K.  Hen.  I'll  send  some  holy  bishop  to  entreat: 
For  God  forbid,  so  many  sinjple  souls 
Should  perish  by  the  sword !  And  I  myself. 
Rather  than  bloody  war  should  cut  them  short. 
Will  parley  with  Jack  Cade,  their  general.-— 
But  stay,  I'll  read  it  over  once  again,  fface 

Q.  Mar.  Ah,  barbarous  villains!  hath  this  lovely 
Rul  d,  like  a  wandering  planet,  over  me  ; 
And  could  it  not  enforce  them  to  relent. 
That  were  unworthy  to  behold  the  same? 

K.  Hen.  Lord  Say,  Jack  Cade  hath  sworn  to 
have  thy  head. 

Say.  Ay,  but  I  hope,  your  highness  shall  have  his. 

K.  Hen.  How  now,  madam  ?  Still 
Lamenting,  and  mourning  f  r  Suffolk's  death  ? 
I  fear,  njy  love,  if  that  I  had  been  dead, 
Thou  wocldst  not  have  mourn'd  so  much  for  me. 

Q.  Mar.  No,  toy  love,  I  should  not  moura,  bat 
die  fot  thee. 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Enter  a  Messenger 

Kt  Hen.  How  now!  what  news?  why  com  St 
thou  in  such  hnste  ?  [lord  ! 

Mess.  The  rebels  are  in  Soiithwark;  Fly,  my 
Jack.  Cade  proclaims  inuiselflord  Mortimer, 
Descended  from  the  duke  of  Clarence'  house  ; 
And  calls  your  grace  usurper,  openly, 
And  vows  to  crown  himself  in  Westminster. 
His  army  is  a  ragged  multitude 
Of  hinds  and  peasants,  rude  and  merciless  : 
Sir  Humphrey  Statibrd  and  his  brother's  death 
Hath  given  them  heart  and  courage  to  proceed  : 
All  scholars,  lawyers,  courtiers,  gentlemen. 
They  call — false  caterpillars,  and  intend  their  death. 

K.  Hen.  O  graceless  men  !  they  know  not  what 
they  do. 

Buck.  My  gracious  lord,  retire  to  Kenelworth,  j 
Until  a  power  be  rais'd  \o  put  them  down.  j 
'   Q.  Mar.  Ah  !  were  the  duke  of  Sutlblk  now  alive, 
These  Kentish  rebels  would  be  soon  appeas'd. 

K.  Hen.  Lord  Say,  the  traitors  hate  thee, 
Therefore  away  with  us  to  Kenelworth. 

Say.  So  might  your  grace's  person  be  in  danger; 
The  sight  of  me  is  odious  in  their  eyes  : 
And  therefore  in  this  city  will  I  stay, 
And  live  alone  as  secrt-t  as  I  may 

Enter  another  Messenger. 
2  Mess.  Jack  Cade  hath  gotten  London-bridge ; 
the  citizens 
Fly  and  forsake  their  houses  :  ^ 
The  rascal  [leople,  thirsting  after  prey, 
iohi  with  the  traitor  ;  and  they  jointly  swear, 
To  spoil  the  city,  and  your  royal  court. 

Buck.  Then  linger  not,   my  lord;  away,  fake 
horse.  [succour  us. 

K.  Hen.  Come,  Margaret;  God,  our  hope,  will 
Q.  Mar.  My  hope  is  gone,  now  Suffolk  is  de- 
oeas'd. 

K.  Men.  Farewell,  my  lord;    (To  Lord  Say.) 

trust  not  the  Kentish  rebels. 
Buck.  Trust  no  l)ody,  for  fear  yon  be  betray'd. 
Sity.  Tiie  trust  I  have  is  in  mine  innocence. 
And  therefore  am  I  bold  and  resolute.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — The  same.    The  Tuiver. 

Enter  Lord  Scales,  and  others,  on  the  ivalls. 
Then  enter  certain  Citizens,  below. 

Scales.  How  now?  is  Jack  Cade  slain  ? 

1  Cit.  No,  my  lord,  nor  likely  to  be  slain ;  for 
they  have  won  the  bridge,  killmg  all  those  that 
withstand  them  :  The  lord  mayor  craves  aid  of  your 
honour  from  the  Tower,  to  defend  the  city  from  the 
rebels. 

Scales.  Such  aid  as  1  can  spare,  you  shall  com- 
mand ; 

But  1  am  troubled  here  with  them  myself, 
Tiie  rebels  have  assay'd  to  win  the  Tower. 
But  get  you  to  Smithlield,  and  gather  head. 
And  thitlitr  1  will  send  you  Matthew  Gough  : 
Fight  for  your  king,  your  country,  and  your  lives; 
And  so  I'arewell,  ibr  1  nuist  hence  again.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VI. —  The  same.  Cannon-street. 
Enter  Jack  Cade,  and  his  foUoivers.  He  strikes 
his  staff  on  Londun-stone. 
Cade.  Now  is  Mortimer  lord  of  this  city.  And 
here,  sitting  upon  London  stone,  1  charge  and  cotn- 
maiicl,  that,  of  the  city's  cost,  the  pissing- conduit 
rim  nothing  but  claret  wine  this  first  year  of  our 
reign.  And  now,  henceibrward,  it  shall  be  treason 
far  any  that  calls  me  other  than — lord  Mortimer. 

Enter  a  Soldier,  running. 
Sold.  Ja^ck  Cade  !  Jack  Cadel 
^^ade.  Knock  him  down  there.    {They  kill  him.) 
SiLiih.  If  this  fellow  be  wise,  he'll  never  call 
m  Jack  Cade  mc^  e;  I  think  he  hath  a  very  fair 


Dick.  My  lord,  there's  an  army  ga 

in  Siniihfield. 
Cade.  Come  then,  let's  go  fight  with  them  :  f,?ut, 
first,  go  and  set  London  bridge  on  fire  ;  and,  if  y<;n 
can,  burn  down  the  Tower  too.    Come,  lef's  away 

[ExeunU 

Scene  VI  I.— The  same.  Smithjield. 
Alarum.  Enter,  on  one  side.  Cade  and  his  com- 
pany; on  the  other,  Citizens,  and'  the  King's 
Forces,  headed  by  Matthew  Gcl'ch.  They 
Jight;  the  Citizens  are  routed,  and  Matthew 
Gough  is  slain. 

Cade.  So,  sirs  : — Now,  go  some  and  pull  down 
the  Savoy  ;  others  to  the  inns  of  court ;  down  with 
them  all. 

Dick.  I  have  a  suit  unto  your  lordship. 
Cade.  Be  it  a  lordship,  thou  shalt  have  it  for  that 
word. 

Dick.  Only,  that  the  laws  of  England  may  come 
out  of  your  mouth. 

John.  Mass,  'twill  be  sore  law  then ;  for  he  wag 
thrust  in  the  mouth  with  a  spear,  and  'tis  not  whole 
yet.  _  (Aside) 

Smith.  Nay,  John,  it  will  be  stinking  law;  foi 
his  breath  stinks  with  eating  toaste-d  cheese. 

{Aside. 

Cade.  I  have  thought  upon  it,  it  shall  be  so. 
Away,  burn  all  the  records  of  the  realm ;  niy  mouth 
shall  be  the  parliament  of  England. 

John.  Then  we  are  like  to  have  bitinj^  statutes, 
unless  his  teeth  be  pulled  out.         ^  {Aside.^^ 

Cade.  And  henceforward  all  thinjj.s  shall  be  in 
common. 

Enter  a  Messenger, 
Mess.  My  lord,  a  prize,  a  prize !  here's  the  lord 
Say,  which  sold  the  towns  in  France ;  he  that  made 
us  pay  one-and-twenty  fifteens,  and  one  shilling  to 
the  pound,  the  last  subsidy. 

Enter  George  Bevis,  with  the  Lord  Say. 

Cade.  Well,  he  shall  be  beheaded  for  it  ten  times. 
— Ah,  thou  say,  thou  serge,  nay,  thou  buckram 
lord  '  now  art  thou  within  point-blank  of  our  juris- 
diction regal.  What  canst  thou  answer  to  my  ma- 
jesty, for  giving  up  of  Normandy  unto  monsieur 
Basimecu,  the  Dauphin  of  France  ?  Be  it  known 
unto  thee  by  these  presence,  even  the  presence  of 
lord  Mortimer,  that  I  am  the  be'som  that  must  sweep 
the  court  clean  of  such  filth  as  thou  art.  Thou  hast 
most  traitorously  corrupted  the  youth  of  the  realm, 
in  erecting  a  grammar-school  •  and  whereas,  before, 
our  forefathers  had  no  other  books  but  the  score 
and  the  tally,  thou  hast  caused  printing  to  be  used ; 
and,  contrary  to  the  king,  his  crown,  and  dignity, 
thou  hast  built  a  paper-mill.  It  will  be  proved  to 
thy  face,  that  thou  hast  men  about  thee,  that  usually 
talk  of  a  noun,  and  a  verb ;  and  such  aDommaDie 
words,  as  no  Christian  ear  can  endure  to  hear. 
Thou  hast  appointed  justices  of  peace,  to  call  poor 
men  befbre  them  about  matters  they  were  not  able 
to  answer.  Moreover,  thou  hast  put  them  in  prison ; 
and  because  they  could  not  read,  thou  hast  lianged 
them ;  wiieo.  iodeed,  only  for  that  cause  they  have 
been  most  worthy  to  live  Thou  dost  ride  on  a  fo  it 
cloth,  dust  thou  not? 

Say.  What  of  that? 

Cade.  Marry,  thou  otsghtest  not  to  let  thy  horse 
wear  a  cloak,  when  honester  men  than  thou  go  in 
their  hose  and  doublets. 

Dick.  And  work  in  their  shirt  too  as  myself,  fot 
example,  that  am  a  butcher. 

Say.  You  men  of  Kent, — 

Dick.  What  say  you  of  Kent  ? 

Say.  Nothing  but  this  :  'Tis  bona  terra,  mala  gens 

Cade.  Away  with  him,  away  with  him  !  he  S|)eak3 
Latin.  [will 

Say.  Hear  me  but  speak,  and  iear  rae  where  yoa 
Kent,  in  the  commentariesJ  CsBBat  writ. 


yCENE  8. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


433 


Is  term'd  the  civiPst  place  of  all  this  isle  : 
Sweet  ia  the  country,  becairse  full  of  riches  ; 
The  people  liberal,  valiant,  active,  wealthy  ; 
Which  makes  me  hope  you  are  not  \o\d  of  pity. 
I  sold  not  Maine,  I  lost  not  Normandy  ; 
Yet,  to  recover  them,  would  lose  my  life. 
Justice  with  favour  have  I  always  done  ; 
Prayers  and  tears  have  mov'd  me,  gifts  could  never. 
When  have  I  cuight  exacted  at  your  hands, 
Kent  to  maintain,  the  king,  the  realm,  and  you  ? 
Large  gifts  have  I  bestow'd  on  learned  clerks. 
Because  my  book  preferr'd  me  to  the  king ; 
And  seeing  ignorance  is  the  curse  of  God, 
Knowledge  the  wing  wherewith  we  fly  to  heaven, — 
Unless  you  be  possess'd  with  devilish  spirits, 
You  cannot  but  forbear  to  murder  me. 
T'hia  tongue  hath  parley'd  unto  foreign  kings 
For  your  behoof, — 

Cade.  Tut  I  when  strnck'st  thou  one  blow  in  the 
field?  [struck 

•Say.  Great  men  have  reaching  hands  :  oft  have  I 
Those  that  I  never  saw,  and  struck  them  dead. 

Geo.  O  monstrous  coward  !  what,  to  come  be- 
hind folks?  [good. 

Say.  These  cheeks  are  pale  for  watching  for  your 

Cade.  Give  him  a  box  o'the  ear,  and  that  will 
nwke  'em  red  again. 

Say.  Long  sitting  to  determine  poor  men's  causes 
Hat  h  niade  me  full  of  sickness  and  diseases. 

Cade.  Ye  shall  have  a  heu)pen  caudle  then,  and 
the  pap  of  a  hatchet. 

Dick.  Why  dost  thou  quiver,  man? 

Say.  The  palsy,  and  not  fear,  provoketh  me. 

Cade.  Nay,  he  nods  at  us ;  as  who  should  say. 
Ml  be  even  with  you.  I'll  see  if  his  head  will 
stand  steadier  on  a  pole,  or  no ;  Take  him  away, 
and  behead  him. 

Say.  Tell  me,  wherein  I  have  offended  most? 
Have  I  afl:ected  wealth,  or  honour  :  speak  ? 
Are  my  chests  fill'd  up  with  extorted  gold  ? 
Is  my  apparel  sumptuous  to  behold? 
Whom  liave  I  injur'd,  that  ye  seek  my  death  ? 
These  hands  are  free  from  guiltless  blood  shedding. 
This  breast  from  harbouring  foul  deceitful  thoughts. 
O,  let  me  live  ! 

Cade.  I  feel  remorse  in  myself  with  his  words: 
b  it  I  II  bridle  it ;  he  shall  die,  an  it  be  but  for  plead- 
ing so  well  for  his  life.  Away  with  him  !  he  has  a 
familiar  under  his  tongue ;  he  speaks  not  o*Qod's 
name.  Go,  take  him  away,  5  say,  and  strike  off  his 
head  presently  ;  and  then  break  into  his  son-in-law's 
house,  sir  James  Cromer,  and  strike  off  his  head, 
and  bring-  them  both  upon  two  poles  hither. 

All.  It  shall  be  done. 

Say.  Ah,  countrymen  !  if  when  you  make  your 
prayers, 

God  should  be  so  obdurate  as  yourselves. 
How  would  it  fare  with  your  departed  souls? 
And  therefore  yet  relent,  and  save  my  life. 

Cade.  Away  with  him,  and  do  as  1  command  ye. 

[Exeunt  some  tvith  Lord  Say. 
The  proudest  peer  in  the  realm  shall  not  wear  a 
head  on  his  shoulders,  unless  he  pay  me  tribute; 
there  shall  not  a  maid  be  married,  but  she  shall  pay 
tome  her  maidenhead  ere  they  have  it:  Men  shall 
hold  of  me  in  capite  ;  and  we  charge  and  command, 
that  their  wives  be  as  free  as  heart  can  wish,  or 
tongue  can  tell. 

Dick.  My  lord,  when  shall  we  go  to  Cheapside, 
and  take  up  commodities  upon  our  bills? 

Cade.  Marry,  presently. 

All.  O  brave  f 

Re-entsr  Rebels,  with  the  heads  o/LoRD  Say  and 
his  Son-in-law. 
Cade.  But  is  not  this  braver? — Let  them  kiss  one 
I   another,  for  they  loved  well^  when  they  were  alive. 
Now  par  them  again,  lest  they  consult  about  the 
fivins['  up  of  some  more  towns  i  i  France  Soldiers, 
defer  the  Si>oil  of  the  city  until  night :  for  with  these 


borne  before  us,  instead  of  maces,  will  we  ride 
through  the  streets;  and  a1  every  corner,  have 
them  kiss. — Away  !  [Exeuni, 

Scene  VII  f. — Southtvark. 
Alarum.    Enter  Cade,  ana  all  his  Rcbhlement. 

Cade.  Up  Fish-street !  down  St,  Magnus'  corner  t 
kill  and  knock  down !  throw  them  into  Thames  l--^ 
[A  parley  sounded,  then  a  retreat.)  What  noise  is 
this  J  hear?  dare  any  be  so  bold  to  sound  letieat  or 
parley,  when  I  command  them  kill  ? 

Enter  Bucj?lingham,   and  Old  Clifford,  unth 
Forces. 

Buck.  Ay,  here  they  be,  that  dare  and  will  dis 
turb  thee : 

Know,  Cade,  we  come  ambassadors  from  the  king 
Unto  the  commons,  whom  thou  hast  misled : 
And  here  pronounce  free  pardon  to  them  all, 
That  will  forsake  thee,  and  go  home  in  peace. 

Clif.  What  say  ye,  countrymen?  will  ye  relent. 
And  yield  to  mercy,  whilst  'tis  olTer'd  you ; 
Or  let  a  rabble  lead  you  to  your  deaths? 
Who  loves  the  king,  and  will  embrace  his  pardon. 
Fling  up  his  cap,  and  say — God  save  his  majesty! 
Who  hateth  him,  and  honours  not  his  father, 
Henry  the  fifth,  that  made  all  France  to  quake. 
Shake  he  his  weapon  at  us,  and  pass  by. 

All.  God  save  the  king !  God  save  the  king ! 

Cade.  What,  Buckingham,  and  Cliftbrd,  are  ye 
so  brave  ? — And  you,  base  peasants,  do  ye  believe 
him  ?  will  you  needs  be  hanged  with  your  pardons 
about  your  necks  ?  Hath  my  sword  therefore  broke 
through  London  Gates,  that  ye  should  leave  me 
at  the  White  Hart  in  Southwark  ?  I  thought,  ye 
would  never  have  given  out  these  arms,  lill  jon 
had  recovered  your  ancient  freedom  :  but  you  are 
all  recreants,  and  dastards;  and  delight  to  live  in 
slavery  to  the  nobility.  Let  them  break  your  backs 
with  burdens,  take  your  houses  over  your  heads, 
ravish  your  wives  and  daughters  before  your  faces  : 
For  me, — I  will  make  shift  for  one  :  and  so — God's 
curse  light  upon  you  all ! 

All.  We'll  follow  Cade,  we'll  follow  Cade. 

Clif.  Ys  Cade  the  son  of  Henry  the  fifth, 
That  thus  you  do  exclaitn — you'll  go  with  him? 
Will  he  conduct  you  through  the  heart  of  France^ 
And  make  the  meanest  of  you  earls  and  dukes? 
Alas,  he  hath  no  home,  no  place  to  fly  to; 
Nor  knows  he  how  to  live,  out  by  the  spoil, 
Unles.s  by  robbing  of  your  friends,  and  us. 
Wer't  not  a  shame,  that  whilst  you  live  at  jar. 
The  fearful  French,  whom  you  late  vanquished. 
Should  make  a  start  o'er  seas,  and  vanquish  you  ? 
Methinks,  already,  in  this  civil  broil, 
I  see  them  lording  it  in  London  streets. 
Crying — Villageois  !  unto  all  they  meet. 
Better,  ten  thon^^and  base-born  Cades  miscarry. 
Than  you  should  stoop  unto  a  Frenchman's  mercy. 
To  France,  to  France,  and  get  what  you  have  lost; 
Spare  England,  for  it  is  your  native  coast: 
Henry  hath  money,  you  are  strong  and  manly : 
God  on  our  side,  doubt  not  of  victory. 

All.  A  Cliflbrd!  a  Cliflbrd  !  we'll  follow  the  king, 
and  Clifford. 

Cade.  Was  ever  feather  so  lightly  blown  to  and 
fro  as  this  multitude?  the  name  of  Henry  the  filth 
hales  them  to  an  hundred  mischiefs,  and  makes  them 
leave  me  desolate.  I  see  them  lay  their  heads  to- 
gether, to  surprize  me  :  my  sword  make  way  for  me, 
for  here  is  no  staying. — In  despight  of  the  devils 
and  hell,  have  through  the  very  midst  of  you !  and 
heavens  and  honour  be  witness,  that  no  want  of  re- 
solution in  me,  but;  only  my  followers'  base  and  ig- 
nominious treasons,  makes  me  betake  me  to  my 
heels.  [Exit. 

Brick.  What,  is  he  fled  ?  go  some,  and  follow  him  ; 
And  he,  that  brings  his  head  unto  the  king. 
Shall  have  a  thousand  crowns  for  his  reward. — 

[Exeunt  some  of  ihsm, 
28 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  TV. 


Follow  me,  soldiers  ;  we'll  de\  ise  mean 

To  reconcile  you  all  unto  the  king.  [Kxeuni. 

Scene  \X.~Kenelworth  Castle, 
Enter  Khuj  Henrv,  Queen  Margaret,  and 

Somerset,  on  the  terrace  uj  the  Castle. 
K.  He?i.  Was  ever  king,  that  joy'd  an  earthly 
throne. 

And  could  cv)n)niand  no  more  content  than  I  ? 
No  sooner  was  I  crept  ontofnjy  cradle, 
But  I  was  made  a  king,  at  nine  montlis  old  : 
Was  never  snlyject  h)ng'd  to  be  a -king, 
As  I  do  long  and  wish  to  be  a  subject. 

Enter  Buckingham  ajid  Clifford. 
Bud:  Health  and  glad  tidings  to  your  majesty! 
K.  Hen.  Why,  Biickiny.hani,  is  tlie  traitor,  Cade, 
surpi  is  d  ^ 

Or  is  he  but  retir'd  to  make  hira  strong? 

Enter,  belocv.  a  yreat  niimhe.r  o/'Cade's  Followers, 
ivith  halters  about  their  necks. 
Clif.  Hp's  (led,  my  lord,  and  all  his  powers  do 
yiekl  ; 

And  humbly  (hus,  with  halters  on  their  necks, 
Expect  your  liiglmess'  doom,  of  life,  or  death, 
K.  Hen.  Then,  heaven,  set  ope  thy  everlasting 
gates, 

I  o  entertain  n)y  vows  of  thanks  and  praise! 
Soldiers,  th.s  day  liave  you  redeem'd  your  lives. 
And  shew'd  how  well  you  love  your  prince  and 
country  : 

Continue  still  in  this  so  good  a  mind, 
And  Henry,  ihoiigh  he  be  unfortunate, 
Assure  yourselves,  will  never  be  imkiud: 
And  so,  vvitii  thanks,  and  pardon  to  you  all, 
J  do  dismiss  you  to  your  several  countries. 
All.  Uod  save  the  king  !  God  save  the  king  ! 

t  Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Please  it  your  grace  to  be  advertised, 
The  duke  of  York  is  newly  come  from  Ireland  : 
And  with  a  puissant  and  a  mighty  power, 
Of  Gallowglasses,  and  stout  Kernes, 
lo  marching  liiiherward  in  proud  arrav  ; 
And  still  proclaiineth,  as  he  comes  along, 
Hjs  arm?  are  only  to  remove  from  thee 
The  duke  of  Somerset,  vviioni  he  terms  a  traitor. 

K.  Hen.  'I'hus  stands  my  state,  'twixt  Cade  and 
York  distress'd  ; 
Like  to  a  sliip,  that,  having  'scap'd  a  tempest, 
\»  straightway  calm'd  and  boarded  with  a  pirate: 
But  now  is  Cade  driven  back,  liis  men  dispers'd  ; 
And  now  is  York  in  arms  to  second  him. — 
I  pray  thee,  Buckingham,  go  forth  and  meet  him; 
And  ask  him,  what's  the  reason  of  these  arms. 
Tell  him,  I  li  send  duke  Edmund  to  the  Tovver; — 
And,  Somerset,  we  will  commit  thee  thither. 
Until  iiis  iwmy  be  dismissed  from  him. 

Sam.  My  lord, 
I.'ll  yield  myself  to  prison  willingly. 
Or  unto  death,  to  do  my  country  good. 

K.  Hen.  iu  any  case,  be  not  too  roui^h  in  terms; 
For  tie  IS  fierce,  and  cannot  brook  hard  language. 

Buck.  I  will,  ujy  lord  ;  and  doubt  not  so  to  deal 
As  all  tilings  shall  redound  unto  your  good. 

K.  Hen.  Cume,  wife,  let  s  in,  and  learn  to  govern 
better ; 

For  yet  may  England  curse  my  wretched  rei'jn. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  X. — Kent.  Iden's  Garden, 
Enter  Cade. 
Cede.  Fye  on  ambition  !  fye  on  myself ;  that  have 
a  sword,  and  yet  am  ready  to  fmiish  !  These  five 
daya  have  1  hid  me  in  these  woods;  and  durst  not 
peep  out,  for  all  the  country  is  lay'd  for  me  ;  but 
B4)W  am  i  so  hungry,  that  if  I  might  have  a  lease  of 
my  life  for  a  thousand  years,  [  could  stay  no  longer. 
Wherefore,  on  a  brick-wall  have  1  clinibed  into  this  I 


garden;  to  see  if  I  can  cat  grass,  or  pick  a  saliel 
another  while,  which  is  not  amiss  to  coo!  a  man's 
stomach  this  hot  weather.  And,  I  think,  this  word 
sallet  was  born  to  do  me  good;  for,  many  a  lime, 
but  for  a  sallet,  my  brain-pan  had  been  cleft  with  a 
browii  bill ;  atid,  many  a  time,  when  I  have  been 
dry  and  bravely  marching,  it  hath  served  me  instead 
of  a  quart-pot  to  drink  in  ;  and  now  the  word  sallet 
must  serve  me  to  feed  on. 

Enter  Iden,  with  Servants. 

Iden.  Lord,  who  would  live  turmoiled  in  the  court 
And  may  enjoy  such  quiet  walks  as  these  'i 
I'his  small  inheritance,  my  father  left  me, 
Contenteth  me,  and  is  worth  a  monarchy. 
I  seek  not  to  wax  great  by  others'  waning  ; 
Or  gather  wealth,  1  care  not  with  what  envy: 
Sufficeth,  that  I  have  maintains  my  state, 
Anil  sends  the  poor  well  pleased  from  my  gate 

Cade.  Here's  the  lord  of  the  soil  come  to  seize  me 
for  a  stray,  for  entering  his  fee-simple  without  leave. 
— Ah,  villain,  thou  wilt  betray  me,  and  get  a  thousand 
crowns  of  t'lie  king  for  carrying  my  head  to  \\\\\\  ;  but 
I'll  make  thee  eat  iron  like  an  ostrich,  and  swallow 
my  sword  like  a  great  pin,  ere  thou  and  \  part. 

Iden.  Why,  rude  companion,  whatsoe'er  thou  be 
I  know  thee  not;  Why  then  should  I  betray  thee  ? 
fs't  not  enough,  to  break  into  my  garden. 
And,  like  a  tliief,  to  come  to  rob  my  grounds. 
Climbing  ujy  walls  in  spite  of  me  the  owner, 
But  thou  wilt  brave  rne  with  these  saucy  terms  ? 

Cade  Brave  thee  ?  ay,  by  the  best  blood  that  e\«r 
was  broached,  and  beard  thee  too.  Look  on  me 
well :  I  have  eat  no  meat  these  five  days  ;  yet,  conse 
thou  and  thy  five  men,  and  if  I  do  not  leave  you  al! 
as  dead  as  a  door  nail,  \  pray  God,  I  may  never  eat 
grass  more.  [stands, 

Iden.  Nay,  it  shall  ne'er  be  said,  while  England 
That  Alexander  Iden,  an  esquire  oi  Kent, 
Took  odds  to  combat  a  poor  lamish'd  man. 
Oppose  thy  stedfast  gazing  eyes  to  mine. 
See  if  thou  canst  outface  me  with  thy  looks. 
Set  limb  to  limb,  and  th(»u  art  far  the  lesser; 
Thy  hand  is  but  a  finger  to  my  fist ; 
Thy  leg  a  stick,  compared  with  this  truncheon  ; 
IMy  f)ot  shall  fight  with  all  the  strength  thou  hast; 
And  if  my  arm  be  heaved  in  the  air, 
Tliy  grave  is  digg'd  already  in  the  earth. 
As  for  more  words,  whose  greatness  answers  words, 
Let  this  my  sword  report  what  speech  forbears. 

Cade.  By  my  valom-,  the  most  complete  champion 
that  ever  I  heard. — Steel,  if  thon  tarn  the  edge,  or 
cut  not  out  the  burley-boned  clown  in  chines  ol 
beef  ere  thou  sleep  in  thy  sheath,  I  beseech  God,  on 
my  knees,  thou  niayest  be  turned  to  hobnails.  ( They 
fight.  Cade  Jails.)  O,  I  am  slain  !  famine,  and  no 
other,  hath  slain  me:  let  ten  thousand  devils  come 
against  me,  and  give  me  but  the  ten  raeals  I  have 
lost,  and  I'd  defy  them  all.  Wither,  garden ;  and 
be  henceforth  a  burying-place  to  all  that  do  dwell 
in  this  house,  because  the  unconquered  soul  of  Cade 
is  fled. 

Iden.  Is't  Cade  that  I  have  slain,  that  monstrous 
traitor  ? 

Sword,  I  will  hallow  thee  for  this  thy  deed, 
And  hang  thee  o'er  my  tomb,  when  i  am  dead  : 
Ne'er  shall  this  blood  be  wiped  from  thy  point ; 
But  thou  shalt  wear  it  as  a  herald's  coat. 
To  emblaze  the  honour  that  thy  master  got. 

Cade.  Iden,  farewell;  and  be  proud  of  thy  vic- 
tory :  Tell  Kent  from  me,  she  hath  lost  her  best 
man,  and  exhort  all  the  world  to  be  cowards  ;  for  I, 
that  never  feared  any,  am  vanquished  by  famine,  not 
by  valour.  {Dies.) 

Iden.  How  much  thou  wrong'st  me,  heaven  be 
myjudge. 

Die,  damned  wretch,  the  curse  of  her  that  bare  thee 
And  as  I  thrust  thy  body  in  with  my  sword, 
So  wish  I,  I  might  tlirust  thy  soul  to  hell. 
Hence  will  I  drag  thee  headlong  by  tiie  heel* 


Act  Y.   Scene  1. 


KING  HENRY  YI. 


m 


Unto  a  dunghill,  which  shall  be  thy  grave, 
And  there  cut  off  thy  most  ungracious  head; 
Which  I  will  bear  in  triumph  to  the  king. 
Leaving  thy  trunk,  for  crows  to  feed  upon. 

[Exit,  dragging  out  the  body. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — The  same.    Fields  between  Dartford 

and  Blackhealh. 
The  King's  Camp  on  one  side.  On  the  other,  enter 

York  attended,  with  drum  and  colours:  his 

Forces  at  some  distance. 

York.  From  Ireland  thus  comes  York,  to  claim 
his  right. 

And  pluck  the  crown  from  feeble  Henry's  head  : 

king  bells,  aloud  ;  burn,  bonfires,  clear  and  bright, 

To  entertain  great  England's  lawful  king. 

P^\\,sancta  majesias!  who  would  not  buy  thee  dear? 

Let  them  obey,  that  know  not  how  to  rule ; 

This  hand  was  made  to  liandle  nought  but  gold: 

1  cannot  give  due  action  to  my  words, 

Except  a  sword,  or  sceptre,  balance  it 

A  sceptre  shall  it  have,  have  I  a  soul ; 

Oil  which  I'll  toss  the  flower-de-luce  of  France. 

Enter  Buckingham. 

Whom  have  me  here?  Buckingham,  to  disturb  me  ? 
The  king  h?>lh  sent  him,  sure  :  1  must  dissemble. 
Buck.  York,  if  thou  meanest  well,  I  greet  thee 
well. 

York.  Humphrey  of  Buckingham,  I  accept  thy 
greeting. 

Art  thou  a  messenger,  or  come  of  pleasure  ? 

Buck.  A  messenger  from  Henry,  our  dread  liege, 
To  know  the  reason  of  these  arms  in  peace  ; 
Or  why,  thou — being  a  subject  as  I  am, — 
Against  thy  oath  and  true  allegiance  sworn, 
SiiDiiklst  raise  so  great  a  power  without  his  leave, 
Oi  flfire  to  bring  tliy  force  so  near  the  court. 
York.  Scarce  can  I  speak,  my  choler  is 

so  great,  [flint, 
O,  I  could  hew  up  rocks,  and  fight  with 
[  am  so  angry  at  these  abject  terms; 
And  now,  like  Ajax  Telamonius, 
On  sheep  or  oxen  could  I  spend  iny  fury  ! 
1  mil  far  better  born  than  is  the  king; 
More   like   a   king,  more  kingly  in  my 

thoughts : 

But  I  must  make  fair  weather  yet  a  while. 
Till    Henry  be  more  weak,  and  I  more 
strong. — 

O  Buckingham,  I  pr'ythee,  pardon  me, 
'i'hat  I  have  given  no  answer  all  this  while  ; 
My  mind  was  troubled  with  deep  melanclioly. 
The  cause  why  1  have  brought  this  army  hither. 
Is — to  remove  proud  Somerset  from  the  king. 
Seditious  to  his  grace,  and  to  the  state. 

Buck.  That  is  too  much  prbsemptiou  on  thy  part; 
But  if  thy  arms  be  t(i  no  other  end, 
The  king  hath  yielded  unto  thy  demand; 
The  duke  of  Somerset  isintlie  Tower. 

York.  Upon  thine  honour,  is  he  prisoner? 

Buck.  Upon  mine  honour,  he  is  prisoner. 

York.  Then,  Buckingham,  f    do   dismiss  my 
powers, — 

Soldiers,  I  thank  you  all ;  disperse  yourselves  ; 
Meet  me  to-morrow  in  Saint  George's  field, 
You  shall  have  pay,  and  every  thing  you  wish. 
And  let  my  sovereign,  virtuous  Henry, 
Conmiand  my  eldest  son, — nay,  all  my  sons. 
As  pledges  of  my  fealty  and  love, 
I'll  send  them  all  as  willing  as  I  live  ; 
Lands,  goods,  horse,  armour,  any  thing  I  have 
Is  his  to  use,  so  Somerset  may  die. 

Buck.  York,  I  cornineiid  this  kind  submission  : 
We  twain  will  go  into  his  highness'  tent. 

Enter  King  Henry,  attended. 

K.  Hen.  Btickingha  n,  doth  York  intend  no  hgirm 
tooa 


>  Aside. 


That  thus  he  marcheth  M'ith  thee  arm  in  ana  , 
York.  In  all  submission  and  humility, 

York  doth  present  himself  unto  your  highueas. 
K.  Hen.  Then  what  intend  these  forceH  thou  d>84 
bring  ? 

York.  To  heave  the  traitor  Somerset  from  henc$  i 
And  fight  against  that  monstrous  rebel,  C-ade, 
Who  since  I  heard  to  be  discomfited. 

Enter  Iden,  with  Cade's  head. 

Iden.  If  one  so  rude,  and  of  so  mean  condition, 
IVtay  pass  into  the  presence  of  a  king, 
Lo,  I  present  your  grace  a  traitor's  head. 
The  head  of  Cade,  whom  I  in  combat  slew. 

K.  Hen.  The  head  of  Cade  ? — Great  God,  now 
just  art  thou  ! — 
O,  let  me  view  his  visage  being  dead, 
That  living  wrought  me  such  exceeding  trouble. 
Tell  me,  my  friend,  art  thou  (he  man  that  slew  him  ? 

Iden.  I  was,  an't  like  your  majesty.        [degree  ? 

K.  Hen.  How  art  thou  call'd  ?  and  what  is  thy 

Iden.  Alexander  Iden,  that's  my  name  : 
A  poor  esquire  of  Kent,  that  loves  his  king. 

Buck.  So  please  it  you,  my  lord,  'twere  not  amisi 
He  were  created  knight  for  his  good  service. 

K.  Hen.   Iden,  kneel  down;  {he  kneels.)  Rise 
up  a  knight. 
We  give  thee  for  reward  a  thousand  marks  ; 
And  will,  that  thou  henceforth  attend  on  us. 

Iden.  May  Iden  live  to  merit  such  a  bounty. 
And  never  live  but  true  unto  his  ii^ge  ! 

K.  Hen.  S«e,  Buckingham !  Somerset  comes  witb 
the  queen , 
Go  bid  her  hide  him  quickly  from  the  duke. 

Enter  Queen  Margaret  Somerset. 

Q.  Mar.  For  thousand  Yorks  he  shall  not  hide 
his  head. 

But  boldly  stand,  and  front  him  to  his  face. 

York.  How  now  I  Is  Somerset  at  liberty  ? 
Then,  York,  unloose  thy  long-imprison'd  thoughts. 
And  let  thy  tongue  be  equal  with  tliy  heart. 
Shall  I  endure  the  sight  of  Somerset? — 
False  king  !  why  hast  thou  broken  faith  with  me. 
Knowing  how  hardly  I  can  brook  abuse? 
King  did  I  call  thee  ?  no,  thou  art  not  king : 
Not  fit  to  govern  and  rule  multitudes. 
Which  dar'st  not,  no,  nor  canst  not  rule  a  traitor. 
That  head  of  thine  doth  not  become  a  crown ; 
Thy  hand  is  made  to  grasp  a  palmer's  staff. 
And  not  to  grace  an  awful  princely  seeptre. 
That  gold  must  lound  engirt  these  brows  of  mine  , 
Whose  smile  and  frown,  like  to  Achilles'  spear, 
Is  able  with  tlie  change  to  kill  and  cure. 
Here  is  a  hand  to  hold  a  seeptre  up. 
And  with  the  san»e  to  act  controlling  laws. 
Give  place  ;  by  heaven,  thou  shalt  rule  no  more 
O'er  him,  whom  heaven  created  for  thy  ruler. 

Som.  O  monstrous  traitor  ! — I  arrest  thee,  York, 
Of  capital  treason  'gainst  the  king  and  crown  : 
Obey,  audacious  traitor;  kneel  for  graee. 

York.  Wouldst  have  me  kneel?  first  let  me  as 
of  these, 

If  they  can  brook  I  bow  a  knee  to  man. 
Sirrah,  call  in  my  sons  to  be  my  bail ; 

[Exit  an  Attendant, 
I  know,  ere  they  will  have  me  go  to  ward, 
They'll  pawn  their  swords  for  my  enfranchisement, 
Q.Mar.  Call  hither  Clifford;  bid  him  come 
amain. 

To  say,  if  that  the  bastard  boys  of  York 
Shall  be  the  surety  for  their  traitor  father. 

York.  O  blood-bespotted  Neapolitanj 
Outcast  of  Naples,  England's  bloody  scoorge  1 
The  sons  of  York,  thy  betters  in  theii  birth, 
Shall  be  their  father's  bail ;  and  banc  to  tikO»9 
That  for  my  surety  will  refuse  the  boy*. 


i36  SECOND 

Enter  Edward  and  Richard  Plantagenet,  with 
Forces,  at  one  side  ;  at  the  other,  with  Forces 
also.  Old  Clifford  and  his  Son. 

Bee,  whej  8  they  come  ;  I'll  warrant  they'll  make  it 
good. 

Q.  Mar.  And  here  comes  Clifford,  to  deny  their 
bail. 

JJlif.  Health  and  happiness  to  my  lord  the  kin^! 

{Kneels.) 

York.  I  thank  thee,  Clifford:  Say,  what  news 
wifh  thee  ? 
Nay,  do  not  fright  ns  with  an  angry  look  : 
We  are  thy  sovereign,  Clifford,  kneel  again  ; 
For  thy  mistaking  so,  we  pardon  thee. 
__Clif.  This  is  m'y  king,  York,  I  do  not  mistake  ; 
But  thou  mistak'st  me  much,  to  think  I  do  :— 
To  Bedlam  with  him'  is  the  man  grown  mad? 
K.  Hen.  Ay,  Clifford ;  a  bedlam  and  ambitious 
humour 

Makes  him  oppose  himself  against  his  king. 

Clif.  He  is  a  traitor  ;  let  him  to  the  Tower, 
And  chop  away  that  factions  pate  of  his. 

Q.  Mar.  He  is  arrested,  but  will  not  obey ; 
His  sons,  he  says,  shall  give  their  words  for  him. 

York.  Will  you  not,  sons  ? 

Ediv.  Ay,  noble  father,  if  our  words  will  serve. 
Rich.  And  if  words  will  not,  then  our  weapons 
shall. 

Clif.  Why,  what  a  brood  of  traitors  have  we  here  ! 

York.  Look  in  a  glass,  and  call  thy  image  so; 
I  am  thy  king,  and  thou  a  false-heart  (raitor. — 
Call  hither  to  the  stake  my  two  brave  bears, 
That,  with  the  very  shaking  of  their  chains, 
They  may  astonish  these  fell  lurking  curs; 
Bid  Salisbury,  and  Warwick,  come  tome. 

Drums.    Enter  Warwick  and  Sausbury,  tvith 
Forces. 

Clif.  Are  these  thy  bears  ?  we'll  bait  thy  bears  to 
death, 

Arid  manacle  the  bear- ward  in  their  chains, 
If  thou  dais't  bring  them  to  the  baiting-place. 

Rich.  Oft  have  1  seen  a  hot  o'erweening  cur 
Run  back  and  bite,  because  he  was  withheld  ; 
Who,  being  sulVer'd  witli  the  bear's  fell  paw. 
Hath  clapp'd  his  tail  between  his  legs,  and  cry'd: 
And  such  a  piece  of  service  will  you  do. 
If  you  oppose  yourself  to  match  lord  Warwick. 

Clif  Hence,  heap  of  wrath,  foul  indigested  lump, 
As  crooked  in  thy  manners  as  thy  shape  ! 

York.  Nay,  we  .shall  heat  you  thoroughly  anon. 

Clif.  Take  heed,  lest  by  your  heat  you  burn  your- 
selves. 

K.  Hen.  Why,  Warwick,  hath  thy  knee  forgot 
to  bow  ? — 
Old  Salisbury, — shame  to  thy  silver  hair. 
Thou  mad  misleader  of  thy  brain-sick  son  ! — 
What,  wilt  thou  on  thy  death-bed  play  the  ruffian, 
And  seek  for  sorrow  with  thy  spectacles? 
O,  where  is  faith?  O,  where  is  loyalty? 
If  it  be  banish'd  from  the  frosty  head, 
Where  shall  it  find  a  harbour  in  the  earth  ? — 
Wilt  thou  go  dig  a  grave  to  find  out  war. 
And  shame  thine  honourable  age  with  blood  ? 
Why  art  thou  old,  and  want'st  experience  ? 
Or  wherefore  dost  abuse  it,  if  thou  hast  it? 
For  shame !  in  duty  bend  thy  knee  to  me, 
That  bows  unto  the  grave  with  mickle  age. 

Sal.  My  lord,  I  have  consider'd  with  myself 
The  title  of  this  most  renowned  duke  ; 
And  in  my  conscience  do  repute  his  grace 
The  riffhtfnl  heir  of  England's  royal  seat.        [me  ? 

K.  Hen.  Hast  thou  not  sworn  allegiance  unto 

Sal.  I  have. 

K.  Hen.  Canst  thou  dispense  with  heaven  for 
such  an  oath  ? 

Sal  It  is  great  sin,  to  swear  unto  a  sin  ; 
But  greater  sin,  to  keep  a  sinful  oath. 
Who  can  be  bound  by  any  solemn  vow 


PART  OF  Act  Y 

To  do  a  murderous  deed,  to  rob  a  man, 

To  force  a  spotless  virgin's  chastity. 

To  reave  the  orphan  ot  his  patrimony, 

To  wring  the  widow  from  her  custom'd  right; 

And  have  no  other  reason  for  this  wrung 

But  that  he  was  bound  by  a  solenni  oath. 

Q.  Mar.  A  subtle  traitor  needs  no  sophister. 

K.  Hen.  Call  Buckingham,  and  bid  him  arm  him- 
self  [hastj 

York.  Call  Buckingham,  and  all  the  friends  the 
I  am  resolv'd  lor  death,  or  dignity. 

Clif.  The  first,  I  warrant  thee,  il  dreams  prove  true 

War  You  were  best  to  go  to  bed,  and  dream  again. 
To  keep  thee  from  the  tempest  of  the  field. 

Clif.  I  am  resolv'd  to  bear  a  greater  storm, 
Than  any  thou  canst  conjure  up  to-day  ; 
And  that  I'll  write  upon  tiiy  burgonet. 
Might  I  but  know  thee  by  thy  household  badge. 

War.   Now,  by  my  father's  badge,  old  Nevil's 
crest. 

The  rampant  bear  chain'd  to  the  ragged  staff. 
This  day  I'll  wear  aloft  my  burgonet, 
(As  on  a  mountain  top  the  cedar  shows. 
That  keeps  his  leaves  in  spite  of  any  storm,) 
Even  to  affright  thee  with  the  view  thereof. 

Clif.  And  from  thy  burgonet  I'll  rend  thy  bear, 
And  tread  it  under  foot  with  all  contempt. 
Despight  the  bear-ward  that  protects  the  bear. 

Y.  Clif  And  so  to  arms,  victorious  father. 
To  quell  the  rebels,  and  their  'complices. 

Rich.  Fye  !  charity,  for  shame  !  speak  not  in  spite, 
For  you  shall  sup  with  Jesu  Christ  io-mg\\{. 

Y.  Clif.  Foul  stigmatick,  that's  more  than  thou 
canst  tell. 

Rich.  If  not  in  heaven,  you'll  surely  sup  in  hell. 

[Exeunt  severally. 

Scene  II. — St.  Albans. 
Alarums  :  Excursions.    Enter  Warwick. 
War.  Clifford  of  Cimiberland,  'tis  Warwick  calls  ■ 
And  if  thou  dost  not  hide  thee  froui  the  bear, 
Now, — when  the  angry  trumpet  sounds  alarm. 
And  dead  men's  cries  do  fill  the  empty  air, — 
Clifford,  I  say,  come  forth  and  fight  with  me  ! 
Proud  northern  lord,  Clifford  of  Cunjberland, 
Warwick  is  hoarse  with  calling  thee  to  arms. 

Enter  York. 
How  now,  my  noble  lord  ?  what,  all  a  foot? 

York.  I'he  deadly-handed  Clifford  slew  my  steed  ; 
But  match  to  match  I  have  enconnter'd  him, 
And  made  a  |.rey  for  carrion  kites  and  crows 
Even  of  the  bonny  beast  he  lov'd  so  well. 

Enter  Clifford. 
War.  Of  one  or  both  of  us  the  time  is  come. 
York.  Hold,  Warwick,  seek  thee  out  some  other 

chase. 

For  I  myself  must  hunt  this  deer  to  death. 

War.  Then,  nobly,  York;  'tis  for  a  crown  thoo 
fight'st.— 

As  I  intend,  Clifford,  to  thrive  to-day. 
It  grieves  my  soul  to  leave  thee  unassail'd. 

[Exit  Warwick. 
Clif.  What  seest  thou  in  me,  York  ?  why  dost 
thou  pause? 

York.  With  thy  brave  beanng  should  I  be  in  lore. 
But  that  thou  art  so  fast  mine  enemy. 

Clif.  Nor  should  thy  pro  vess  want  praise  and 
esteem. 

But  that  'tis  shewn  ignobly,  and  in  treason. 

York.  So  let  it  help  me  now  against  thy  sword. 
As  I  in  justice  and  true  right  express  it ! 

Clif.  My  soul  and  body  on  the  action  both  ! — 
York.  A  dreadful  lay  ! — address  thee  instantly 

{They  fight,  and  Clifford  falls.) 
Clif.  La  Jin  couronne  les  osuvres.  {Dies.) 
York.  Thus  war  hath  given  thee  peace,  for  tboa 
art  .still.— 

Peace  with  his  soul,  heaven,  if  it  be  thy  will !  [Exit, 


Scene  3. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


487 


Enter  Yom^  Cjjfford. 

Y.  Clif.  Shanie  and  fijnfnHicn  !  all  is  on  the  rout ; 
Fear  frames  disorder,  Ac?"  uis;>rder  wounds 
Where  it  should  guard     O  war,  thou  son  of  hell, 
Whom  angry  heavens  do  make  their  minister, 
Throw  in  the  frozen  bosoms  of  our  part 
Hot  coals  of  vengeance!  — Let  no  soldier  fly  : 
He,  that  is  truly  dedicate  to  war, 
Hath  no  self-love  ;  nor  he,  that  loves  himself. 
Hath  not  essentially,  but  by  circumstance, 
The  name  of  valour. — O,  let  the  vile  world  end, 

{Seeinfjkis  dead  father.) 
And  the  premised  flames  of  the  last  day 
Knit  earth  and  heaven  together! 
Now  let  the  general  trumpet  blow  his  blast. 
Particularities  and  petty  soimds 
To  cease  ! — Wast  thou  ordain'd,  dear  father, 
To  lose  thy  youth  in  peace,  and  to  achieve 
The  silver  livery  of  advised  age  ; 
And,  in  thy  reverence,  and  thy  chair-days,  thus 
To  die  in  ruffian  battle  — Even  at  this  sight. 
My  heart  is  turn'd  to  stone:  and,  while  'tis  mine. 
It  shall  be  stony.    York  not  our  old  men  spares  ; 
No  more  will  I  their  babes;  tears  virginal 
Shall  be  to  me  even  as  the  dew  to  fire  ; 
And  bsauty,  that  the  tyrant  oft  reclaims, 
Shall  to  my  flaming  wrath  be  oil  and  flax. 
Henceforth,  I  will  not  have  to  do  with  pity  • 
Meet  I  an  infant  of  the  house  of  York, 
Into  as  many  gobbets  will  I  cut  it. 
As  wild  Medea  young  Absyrtus  did: 
In  cruelty  will  1  seek  out  my  fame. 
Come,  thou  new  ruiu  of  old  Cliftbrd's  house  ; 

[Taking  up  the  body.) 
As  did  ilineas  old  Anchises  bear, 
So  bear  I  thee  upon  usy  manly  shoulders; 
But  then  iEneas  bare  a  living  load. 
Nothing  so  heavy  as  these  woes  of  mine.  [Exit, 

Enter  Richard  Plantagenet  and  Somerset 
fighting,  and  Somerset  is  killed. 

Rick.  So,  lie  thou  there  ; — 
For,  underneath  an  alehouse'  paltry  sign. 
The  Castle  in  St.  Albans,  Somerset 
Hath  made  the  wizard  famous  in  his  death. — 
Svvord,  hold  thy  temper;  heart,  be  wrathful  still: 
Priests  pray  for  enemies,  but  princes  kill.  [Exit. 

Alarums  I  Excursions.    Enter  King  Henry, 
Queen  Margaret,  and  others,  retreating. 

Q.  Mar.  Away,  my,  lord!  you  are  slow;  for 

shame,  away  ! 
K.  Hen.  Can  we  outrun  the  heavens  ?  good  Mar- 
garet, stay.  [cor  fly : 
Q.  Mar.  What  are  you  made  of?  you'll  not  fight. 
Now  is  it  manhood,  wisdom,  and  defence, 
I  tf  ifive  the  eneuay  Wi»y ;  and  to  secure  us 


By  what  we  cao,  wh'ch  «  la  ao  more  but  Ej. 

\Alarum  afar  \ 
If  you  be  ta'en,  we  then  «lBOuld  see  the  bottom 
Of  all  our  fortunes  :  but.  it'  we  haply  scape, 
(As  well  we  may,  if  not  tlirough  your  neglect.) 
We  shall  to  London  get ;  where  you  are  lov'd  ; 
And  where  this  breach^  now  in  our  fortunes  ma  (Je. 
May  readily  be  stopp'd. 

Enter  Young  Clifford. 

Y.  Clif  But  that  my  heart's  on  future  mischief  s 
I  would  speak  blasphemy,  ere  bid  you  fly  \ 
But  fly  you  must ;  uncurable  discomfit 
Reigns  in  the  hearts  of  all  our  present  parts. 
Away,  for  your  relief  I  and  we  will  live 
To  see  their  day,  and  them  our  fortune  give  : 
Away,  my  lord,  away  !  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — Fields  near  Saint  Albuns. 
Alarum :  Retreat.    Flourish  ;  then  enter  York, 

Richard  Plantagenet,  Warwick,  and  Sol 

diers,  with  drum  and  colours. 

York.  Of  Salisbury,  who  can  report  of  hiin  ; 
That  winter  lion,  who,  in  rage,  forgets 
Aged  contusions,  and  all  brush  of  time  ; 
And  like  a  gallant  in  the  brow  of  youth, 
Repairs  him  with  occasion?  this  happy  day 
Is  not  itself,  nor  have  we  won  one  foot. 
If  Salisbury  be  lost 

Rich.  My  noble  father.. 

Three  times  to-day  I  holp  him  to  his  horse. 
Three  times  bestrid  him,  thrice  I  led  him  off. 
Persuaded  him  from  any  further  act: 
But  sfill,  where  danger  was,  still  ihere  I  met  Mim  ; 
And  like  rich  hangings  in  a  homely  house. 
So  was  his  will  in  his  old  feeble  body. 
But,  noble  as  he  is,  look  where  he  comes. 

Enter  Salisbury. 
Sal.  Now,  by  my  sword,  well  hast  thou  foiui 
to-day ; 

By  the  mass,  so  did  we  all. — I  thank  you,  Richa  , 
God  knows,  how  long  it  is  I  have  to  live ; 
And  it  hath  pleas'd  him,  that  three  times  to-day 
You  have  defended  me  from  imminent  death. — 
Well,  lords,  we  have  not  got  that  which  we  have  : 
'Tis  not  enough  cur  foes  are  this  time  fied, 
Being  opposites  of  such  repairing  nature. 

York.  I  know,  our  safety  is  to  follow  thera  ; 
For,  as  I  hear,  the  king  is  fled  to  London 
To  call  a  present  court  of  parliament. 
Let  us  pursue  him,  ere  the  writs  go  forth  : — 
What  says  lord  Warwick  ?  shall  we  after  them  ?-« 

War,  After  them!  nay,  before  them,  if  we  can 
Now  by  my  faith,  lords,  'twas  a  glorious  day  : 
.Saint  Albans'  battle,  won  by  famous  York, 
Shall  be  eterniz'd  in  all  age  to  come. — 
Sound,  dru  ris  and  trumpets  ; — and  to  London  allj 
Alid  more  such  days  as  these  to  us  sief»ll  i  \Ereu 


« 


KING  HENRY  VI. 

PART  III. 

The  tliree  parts  of  King  Henry  VI.  are  suspected,  by  Mr.  Theobald,  of  being  luppositioas,  atd  are  doclu'ed,  !» 
Dr.  Warburton,  to  be  certainly  not  Sliakspeare's.  Mr.  Theobald's  suspicion  arises  from  some  t>bso^ete  words;  bai 
the  phraseology  is  like  the  rest  of  our  author's  style,  and  single  words,  of  which  however  1  do  ntt  observe  more  tbaq 
two,  can  conclude  little. 

Dr  Wai  barton  gives  no  reason,  but  I  suppose  him  to  iudgc  upon  deeper  principles  and  more  comprehensive  views, 
ajid  to  draw  his  opinion  from  the  general  efiett  and  spirit  of  the  composition,  which  he  thinks  intt-rior  to  the  other  hisio- 
lical  plays.  ... 

From  mere  inferiority  nothing  can  be  inferred;  in  the  productioiis  of  wit  there  will  be  inequality.  Sometimes  judgroent 
will  err,  and  sometimes  the  mutter  itself  wi!!  def  eat  the  artist.  Of  every  author's  works  one  will  be  the  besi,  and  one 
will  he  the  worst  The  colours  are  not  equally  pleasing,  uor  the  attitudes  equally  graceful,  in  all  the  pictures  of  litian 
er  Reyr:c-,l,ls. 

^)issimilitude  of  style  and  heterogeneousness  of  sentiment,  may  sufficiently  show  that  a  work  does  not  really  belong  to 
the  reputed  author.  But  in  these  p]a)  s  no  such  marks  of  spuriousncss  are  I'ound.  The  diction,  the  versification,  and  tlie 
figures  are  Shakspeare's.  These  plays,  considered  without  regard  to  characters  and  incidents,  merely  as  narratives  in 
verse,  are  more  happily  conceived,  and  more  accurately  finished,  than  those  of  King  John.  Richard  II.  or  the  tragic  scene* 
of  King  Henry  IV  and  V.  If  we  take  these  plays  from  Shakspeare,  to  whom  shall  they  be  given  ?  What  autlicr  of  that 
age  had  the  same  easiness  of  exnression  and  fluency  of  numbers?  Of  these  three  plays  I  think  the  second  Ihe  best,  ine 
truth  is,  that  they  have  not  sullicient  variety  of  action,  for  the  incidents  are  too  often  of  the  same  kind;  yet  many  oi  th« 
( hai  actcrs  are  well  discrimiuaied.  King  Henry,  and  kis  queen,  king  Edward,  the  duke  of  Gloster,  and  the  earl  ol  W  ar- 
v\  ick,  are  very  strongly  and  distinctly  painted.  JoA'tson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


KING  HENRY  THE  SIXTH. 
EDWARD,  Frhice  of  Wales,  his  Son. 
LEWIS  XI,  King  of  France. 
DUKE  OF  SOMERSET,      '  1 
DUKE  OF  EXETElt, 
E.\RL  OF  OXFORD,  \ 
EARL  OF  NORTH U31BERLAND,  ( 
EARL  OP  WESTMORELAND, 
LORD  CLIFFORD, 

RICHARD  PLANTAGENET,  Ditke  of  York. 
EDWARD,  Earl  of  March,  afterwards  King 

Edward  IV  . 
EDMUND,  Earl  of  Rutlaml, 
GEOllGE,  ajterwards  Duke  of  Clarence, 
RICHARD,  afterwards  Duke  of  Glocester. 
DUKE  OF  NORFOLK,  , 
MARQUIS  OF  MONTAGUE.  I 
EARL  OF  WARWICK,  of  the  Duke  of  York's 

EARL  OF  PEMBROKE,         (  Party. 
LORD  HASTINGS, 
LORD  STAFFORD, 


Lords  on  King 
Henry's  side. 


his  Sons, 


SIR  JOHN  MORTIMER    )        .    .  >  r»» 

SIR  HUGH  MORTIMER,  \  i^"cles  to  tnt  uutf  ^  i»» 

HE^RY,  Earl  (j/ Richmond,  a  Yontk. 

LORD  RIVERS.  Brother  to  Lady  Gre}. 

SIR  WILLIAM  STANLEY. 

SIR  JOHN  MONTGOMERY. 

SIR  JOHN  SOMERVILLE. 

Tutor  to  Rutland. 

Mayor  of  York. 

Lieutenant  of  the  Tower. 

A  Nobleman. 

Two  Keepers. 

A  Huntsman. 

A  Son  that  has  killed  kis  Father. 
A  Father  that  has  killed  his  Son. 

QUEEN  MARGARET. 

LADY  GREY,  aj'tertvards  Queen  to  Edward  IV. 
BONA,  Sister  to  the  French  Queen. 

Soldiers,  and  other  Attendants  on  King  Henry  and  Kiuj 
Edward,  Messengers,  Watchmen,  etc. 


Scene, — During  jmrt  of  the  third  Act,  in  France  ;  during  all  ihe  rest  of  the  Play,  in  Enqland. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — London.    The  Parliament-House. 
Drums.  Some  Soldiers  of  York's  Party  break  in. 

Then,  enter  the  Duke  of  York,  Ed'.vard, 

RicH\nD,  Norfolk,  Montague,  Warwick,  aiid 

others  ivith  white  roses  in  their  hats. 

War.  I  wonder  how  the  king-  escap'd  our  hands. 

York.  While  we  pnrsu'd  the  horsemen  of  the 
He  slily  stole  away,  and  left  his  men :  [north, 
Whereat  the  great  lord  of  Northumberland, 
Whose  warlike  ears  could  ne\  er  brouk  retreat, 
Oheer'd  np  the  drooping  army;  and  himself, 
Lord  Cliflbrd,  and  lord  Stafford,  all  a-breast, 
Charg'd  our  main  battle's  front,  and,  breaking  in. 
Were  by  the  swords  of  common  soldiers  slain. 

Ediv.  [»nrd  Stafford's  father,  duke  of  Buckingham, 
fs  either  slain,  or  wounded  dangerous  : 
1  cleft  his  beaver  with  a  downright  blow; 
That  tins  lo  true,  father,  behold  his  blood. 

{Shewing  his  bloody  Sword.) 

Mont.  And,  brother,  here's  the  eai  1  of  Wiltshire's 
biood,  {To  York,  shewing  his.) 

Whom  I  enconnter'd  as  the  battles  join'd. 

Rich.  Speak  thou  for  me,  and  tell  them  what  I  did. 

{Throwing  down  the  Duke  of  Somersets  head.) 

York.  Richard  hath  best  deserv'd  of  all  my  sons. — 
What,  is  your  g^  ace  dead,  my  lord  of  Somerset  ? 

Norf.  Such  hope  have  all  the  line  of  John  of 
G'Uint! 

Rich.  Thus  do  I  hope  to  shake  king  Henry's  head. 

War.  And  so  do  I. — Victorious  prince  of  York, 
Befora  I  see  fhee  seated  in  that  throne 
Which  now  the  house  of  Lancaster  usurps. 


I  vow  by  heaven,  these  eyes  shall  never  close. 
This  is  the  palace  of  the  learfnl  king. 
And  this  the  regal  seat:  possess  it,  York; 
For  this  is  thine,  and  not  king  Henry's  heirs. 
York.  As.sist  me  then,  sweet  Warwick,  and 
will; 

For  hither  we  have  broken  in  by  force. 
Norf.  We'll  all  assist  you  ;  he  that  Hies  shall  di 
York.  'I'hanks,  gentle  Norfolk. — Stay  by  me, 
lords ; — 

A.nd,  soldiers,  stay,  and  lodge  by  me  this  night. 
War.  And,  wlien  the  king  comes,  offer  him 
violence, 

Unless  he  seek  to  thrust  yon  out  by  force. 

{They  ret 

York.  The  qneeu,  this  day,  here  holds  herpar- 
liament, 

But  little  thinks  we  s'  all  be  of  her  conncil : 
By  words,  or  blows,  Iwre  let  us  win  our  right. 

Rich.  Arm'd  as  we  are,  let's  slay  within  this 
honse. 

War.  The  bloody  parliament  shall  this  be  call'd. 
Unless  Plantagenet,  duke  of  York,  be  king  ; 
And  bashful  Henry  depos'd,  whose  cowardice 
Hath  made  us  by-words  to  our  enemies. 

York.  Then  leave  me  not,  my  lords;  be  resolute; 
I  mean  to  take  possession  of  my  right. 

War.  Neither  the  king,  nor  he  that  loves  him  best, 
The  proudest  he  that  holds  up  Lancaster, 
Dares  stir  a  wing,  if  Warwick  shake  his  bells. 
I'll  plant  .Plantagenet,  root  him  up  who  dares  : — 
Resolve  thee,  Richard  ;  claim  the  English  crown. 

'Warwick  leads  York  to  tM  throns,  whs 
seats  himsel^.i 


Scene  1. 


THIRD  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  VI. 


435 


Viemrish  Enter  King  Henry,  Clifford,  North- 
umberland, Westmouelavu,  Exeter,  and 
others,  ivith  red  ruses  in  their  hats. 

K.  Hen,  My  lords,  look  where  tl,e  sturdy  rebel  sits, 
Even  in  the  chair  of  state  !  belike,  he  means, 
(B&ck'd  by  the  power  of  Warwick,  that  false  peer,) 
To  aspire  unto  the  crown,  a  )d  reign  as  king. — 
Earl  of  Northumberland,  lie  slew  thy  father  ;— 
(Vnd  thine,  lord  Clifford;  and  you  both  have  vow'd 
revenge 

On  him,  his  sons,  his  favourites,  and  his  friends. 
^orth.  If  I  be  not,  heavens,  be  reveng'd  on  ine  ! 
Vlif.  The  hope  thereof  makes  Clifford  mourn  in 
steel. 

West.  What,  shall  we  suffer  this?  let's  pluck 
him  down : 
My  heart  for  anger  burns,  I  cannot  brook  it. 

K.  Hen.  Be  patient,  gentle  earl  of  Westmoreland. 

Clif.  Patience  is  for  pollrons,  and  such  as  he  ; 
He  durst  not  sit  there,  had  your  father  liv'd. 
My  gracious  lord,  here  in  the  parliament 
Let  us  assail  the  family  of  York. 

North.  Well  hast  tiiou  spoken,  cousin ;  be  it  so. 

K.  Hen.  Ah,  know  you  not,  the  city  uivours  them, 
And  they  have  troops  of  soldiers  at  their  beck? 

Exe.  But,  when  the  duke  is  slain,  they'll  quickly 
fly. 

K.  Hen.  Far  be  the  thought  of  this  from  Henrj's 
heart. 

To  make  a  shambles  of  the  parliament-house  ! 
Cousin  of  Exeter,  Irowns,  words,  and  threats. 
Shall  be  (he  war  that  Henry  means  to  use.— 

{They  advance  to  the  Duke.) 
Thou  factious  duke  of  York,  descend  my  throne, 
And  kneel  for  grace  and  mercy  at  my  teet; 
I  am  thy  sovereign. 

York.  Thou  art  deceiv'd,  I  am  thine. 

Exe.  For  shame,  come  down;  he  made  thee 
duke  of  York. 

York.  'Twas  my  inheritance,  as  the  earldom  was. 

Exe.  Thy  father  was  a  traitor  to  the  crown. 

War.  Exeter,  thou  art  a  traitor  to  the  crown, 
In  following  this  usurping  Henry. 

Clif.  Whom  should  he  follow,  but  his  natural 
king  ? 

War.  True,  Clifford ;  and  that's  Richard  duke 
of  York. 

K.  Hen.  And  shall  I  stand,  and  thou  sit  in  my 
throne  ? 

York.  It  must  and  shall  be  so.  Content  thyself. 
War.  Be  duke  of  Lancaster,  let  him  be  king. 
West.  He  is  both  king  and  duke  of  Lancaster; 
An  i  that  the  lord  of  Westmoreland  shall  maintain. 
War.  And  Warwick  shall  disprove  it.  You 
forget. 

That  we  are  those  which  cha.s'd  you  from  the  field, 
/^nd  slew  your  lathers,  and  with  colours  spread 
March'fl  through  the  city  to  the  palace  gates. 

North.  Yes,  Warwick,  I  reineuiber  it  to  niy  grief; 
And,  !iy  ills  soul,  thou  and  thy  house  shall  rue  it. 

West.  Plaiitagenet,  of  thee,  and  these  thy  sons, 
Thy  kinsmen,  and  thy  friends,  I'll  have  more  lives, 
Than  drcps  of  blood  were  in  my  father's  veins. 

C/if,  Urge  it  no  more  ;  lest  that,  instead  of  word.s, 
1  send  thee,  Warwick,  such  a  messenger. 
As  shall  revenge  his  death,  before  I  stir. 

War.  Poor  Clifford !  how  I  scorn  his  worthless 
threats  ! 

York.  VVill  you,  we  shew  our  title  to  the  crown  ? 
If  not,  our  swords  shall  plead  it  in  the  field. 

K.  Hen.  What  title  hast  thou,  traitor,  to  the  crown? 
Thy  father  was,  as  ihou  art,  duke  of  York  ; 
'I  hy  giandfather,  Roger  Mortimer,  earl  of  March: 
I  am  the  son  of  Henry  the  Filth, 
Who  made  the  Dauphin  and  the  French  to  stoop, 
And  seiz'd  uuon  tljeir  towns  and  provinces. 

War.  Talk  not  of  France,  sitli  thou  hast  lost  it  all. 

K.  Hen.  'liw  lord  protector  lost  it,  and  not  I ; 
When  i  was  crowu'd,  1  was  but  nine  months  oltl. 


Rich.  You  are  old  enough  now,  and  yet,  taetkbifc», 

you  lose : — 

Father,  tear  the  crown  from  the  usurper's  head. 
Edw.  Sweet  father,  do  so;  set  it  on  your  head. 
Mont.  Good  brother,  {to  York)  as  thou  lov  s 
and  honour'st  arms, 
Let's  fight  it  out,  and  not  stand  cavilling  thus. 
Rich.  Sound  drums  and  trumpets,  and  the  king 

will  fly. 
York.  Sons,  peace  ! 

K.  Hen.  Peace  thou!  and  give  king  Henry  leave 
to  speak. 

War.  Plantagenet  shall  speak  first: — hoar  him, 
And  be  you  silent  and  attentive  too,  [lords, 
For  he  that  interrupts  him  shall  not  live. 

K.  Hen.  Thi-nk  st  thou   that  I  will  leave  my 
kingly  throne. 
Wherein  my  grandsire,  and  my  father,  sat? 
No  :  first  shall  war  unpeople  this  my  realm  ; 
Ay,  and  their  colours — often  borne  in  France  : 
And  now  in  England,  to  our  heart's  great  sorrow. 
Shall  be  my  winding-sheet.—  Why  faint  you,  lords? 
My  title's  good,  and  better  far  than  his. 

War.  But  prove  it,  Henry,  and  thou  shalt  be 
king. 

K.  Hen.  Henry  the  Fourth,  by  conquest  got  the 
crown. 

York.  'Twas  by  rebellion  against  his  king. 
K.  Hen.   I   know  not  what  to  say;  my  title's 
Tell  me,  may  not  a  king  adopt  an  heir?  [weak. 
York.  What  then? 

K.  Hen.  An  if  he  may,  then  am  I  a  lawful  king 
For  Richard,  in  the  view  of  many  lords, 
Resign'd  the  crown  to  Henry  the  Fourth; 
Whose  heir  my  father  was,  and  1  am  his. 

York.  He  rose  against  him,  being  his  so\  ereign. 
And  made  him  to  resign  his  crown  perforce. 

War.  Suppose,  my  lords,  he  did  it  unconstrain'd. 
Think  you,  'twere  prejudicial  to  his  crown? 

Exe.  No;  for  he  could  not  so  resign  his  crown, 
But  that  the  next  heir  should  succeed  and  reign. 

K.  Hen.  Art  thou  against  us,  duke  of  Exeter  ? 

Exe.  His  is  the  right,  and  therefore  pardon  me. 

York.  Whv  whisper  you,  my  lords,  and  answer 
not"? 

Exe.  My  conscience  tells  me  he  is  lawful  king. 
K.  Hen.  All  will  revolt  from  me,  and  turn  to 
him. 

North.  Plantagenet,  for  all  the  claim  thou  lay'st. 
Think  not,  that  Henry  shall  be  so  depos'd. 
War.  Depos'd  he  shall  be,  in  despite  of  all. 
North.  'I'hou  art  deceiv'd  :  'tis  not  thy  southern 
power. 

Of  Essex,  Norfolk,  Suffolk,  nor  of  Kent, — 
Which  makes  thee  thus  presumptuous  anil  proud,- — 
Can  set  the  duke  up,  in  despite  of  me. 

C/ff.  King  Henry,  be  thy  titte  right  or  wrong, 
Lord  Clifford  vows  to  fight  in  thy  defence  : 
May  that  ground  gape,  and  swallow  me  alive, 
Where  I  shall  kneel  to  him  that  slew  my  father 

K.  Hen.  O  Clifford,  how  thy  words  revive  mj 
heart  ! 

York.  Henry  of  Lancaster,  resig-n  thy  crown  : — 
What  mutter  you,  or  what  conspire  you,  lords? 

War.  Do  right  unto  this  princely  duke  of  York;  . 
Or  I  will  fill  the  house  with  armed  men, 
And  o'er  the  chair  of  state,  where  now  he  sits. 
Write  up  his  title  with  usurping  blood. 
{He  stamps,  and  the  Soldiers  shew  lhe?nselves.) 
K.  Hen.  My  lord  of  Warwick,  hear  me  but  one 
word ; — 

Let  me,  for  this  my  life-time,  reign  as  king. 

York.  Confirm  the  crown  to  me,  and  to  mine  heirs, 
And  thou  ihalt  reign  in  quiet,  while  thou  liv'st. 

K.  Hen.  I  am  content:  Richard  Plantagenet, 
Enjoy  the  kingdom  after  my  decease.        _      [son  t 

Clif.  What  wrong  is  this  unto  the  prince  your 

Wa-r.  What  good  is  tliis  to  Eijgland,  and  himself? 

West.  Base,  fearful,  and  despairing  Henry  .' 

Ctif.  How  hast  thou  injur'd  both  thyself  and  at? 


^0 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  i 


West.  I  CAnnot  stay  to  hear  these  articles. 
hiori/i.       r  I.  [news. 
Clif.  Come,  Gonsin,  let  us  tell  the  queen  these 
Wesi.  Farewell,  faint-hearted  and  degenerate 
king, 

in  whose  cold  blood  no  spark  of  honour  bides. 

North.  Be  thou  a  prey  unto  the  house  of  York,  ' 
And  die  in  bands  for  this  unmanly  deed  ! 

Clif.  In  dreadful  war  may'st  thou  be  overcome  ! 
Or  live  in  j)eace,  abandon'd,  and  despis'd  ! 

[Exeunt  Nortfuunberland,  Clifford,  and 
Westmoreland. 
War.  Turn  this  way,  Henry,  and  regard  them 
not  [yield. 
Exe.  They  seek  revenge,  and  therefore  will  not 
K.  Hen.  Ah,  Exeter! 

War.  Why  sliould  you  sigh,  my  lord  ? 

K.  Hen.  Not  for  myself,  lord  Warwick,  but  my 
Whom  I  unnaturally  shall  disinherit.  [son. 
But,  be  it  as  it  may : — I  here  entail 
The  crown  to  thee,  and  to  tliine  heirs  for  ever; 
Conditionally,  that  here  thou  take  an  oath 
To  cease  tliis  civil  war,  and,  whilst  I  live. 
To  honour  me  as  thy  king  and  sovereign; 
And  neither  by  treason,  nor  hostility, 
■ro  seek  to  put  me  down,  and  reign  thyself. 

York.   This  oath  I  willingly  take,  and  will  per- 
form. {Coming  from  the  throne.) 
War.  Long   live   king    Henry!  —  Piantagenet, 
embrace  him.  [ward  sons  J 
K.  Hen.  And  long  live  thou,  and  these  thy  for- 
York.  Now  York  and  Lancaster  are  reconcil'd. 
-  Exe.  Accurs'd  be  he,  that  seeks  to  make  them  foes  ! 

{Senet.    The  hords  come  forward) 
York.  Farewell,  my   gracious  lord;  I'll  to  my 
castle. 

War.  And  I'll  keep  London,  with  my  soldiers. 
Norf.  And  I  to  Norfolk,  with  my  followers. 
Mont.  And  I  unto  the  sea,  from  whence  I  came. 
[Exeunt  York,  and  his  Sons,  Warwick,  Nor- 
folk, Mojitague,  Soldiers,  and  Attendants. 
K.  Hen.  And  I,  witlj  grief  and  sorrow,  to  the 
court. 


Enier  Queen  Margaret the  Prince  o/Wales. 

Exe.  Here  comes  the  queen,  whose  looks  bewray 
her  anger  : 
I'll  steal  away. 

K.  Hen.  Exeter,  so  will  I.  {Going.) 

Q.  Mar.  Nay,  go  not  from   me,  1  will  follow 
thee.  [stay. 

K.  Hen.  Be  patient,  gentle  queen,  and  1  will 

Q.  Mar.  Who  can  be  patient  in  such  extremes  ? 
Ah,  wretched  man  !  'would  I  had  died  a  maid, 
And  never  seen  thee,  never  borne  thee  son, 
Seeii^gthou  hast  prov'd  so  unnatural  a  father! 
Hath  he  deserv'd  to  lose  his  birthright  thus? 
Had  st  thou  but  lov'd  him  half  so  vvell  as  1  ; 
Or  felt  that  |)ain,  which  I  did  for  him  once  ; 
Or  nourish'd  him,  as  I  did  with  my  blood; 
Thou  wouldst  have  left  thy  dearest  heart- blood  there. 
Rather  than  made  that  savage  duke  thine  heir. 
And  disinherited  thine  only  son, 

Prince.  Father,  you  cannot  disinherit  me  : 
If  you  be  king,  why  should  not  I  succeed  ? 

A.  flew.  Pardon    me,   Margaret ;— pardon  me, 
sweet  son ; — 
Hie  earl  of  Warwick,  and  the  duke,  enforc'd  me. 

Q,  Mar.  Enforc'd  theei  art  thou  kine,  and  wilt 
be  forc'd  ? 

I  shame  to  hear  tliee  speak.    Ah,  timorous  wretch  ! 
Thma  hast  undone  thyself,  thy  sou,  and  me; 
knd  given  unto  the  house  of  York  such  hea'd. 
As  thou  shalt  reign  but  by  their  sufferance. 
To  entail  hiiu  and  his  heirs  unto  the  crown. 
What  is  it  but  to  make  thy  sepulchre. 
And  creep  into  it  far  before  thy  time  ? 
Warwick  is  chancellor,  and  the  lord  of  Calais; 
*ltern  Faulconbridge  commands  the  narrow  seas  • 
The  ?uke  is  made  protector  of  the  realm  ,  ' 


And  yet  shalt  thou  be  safe  ?  sacb  safety  find'* 

The  trembling  lamb,  environed  with  wolves. 

Had  I  been  there,  which  am  a  silly  woman, 

The  soldiers  should  have  toss'd  me  on  th^ir  pikea 

Before  I  would  have  granted  to  that  act. 

But  thou  preferr'st  thy  life  before  tiiine  honour* 

And  seemg  thou  dost,  I  here  divorce  Uiyself 

Both  from  thy  table,  Henry,  and  thy  bed,  ' 

Until  that  act  of  parliament  be  repeal  d, 

Whereby  my  son  is  disinhei  ited. 

The  northern  lords,  that  have  forsworn  thy  colours 

Will  follow  mine,  if  once  they  see  lUcn,  spread  • 

And  spread  they  shall  be  ;  to  thy  foul  disgrace,  ' 

And  utter  ruin  of  the  house  of  York. 

Tims  do  I  leave  thee  :— Come,  son,  let's  away 

Our  army's  ready;  come,  we'll  after  thtm. 

A.  Hen.  Stay,  gentle  Margaret,  and  hear  me 
speak. 

Q.  Mar.  Thou  hast  spoke  too  much  already  •  get 
thee  gone.  ' 

K.  Hen.  Gentle  son  Edward,  thou  wilt  stay  with 
me  ^ 

Q.  Mar.  Ay,  to  be  munler'd  by  his  enemies. 
Prince.  When  I  return  with  victory  from  the  field 
I'll  see  your  grace  :  till  then,  I'll  follow  her. 

Q.  Mar.  Come,  son,  away  ;  we  mav  not  linger 
[Exeunt  Q.  Marg.  ond'thf  Prince 
K.  Hen.  Poor  queen!  how  love  to  m*'  and 
her  son, 

Hath  made  her  break  out  into  terms  of  rage  ! 
Reveng'd  may  she  be  on  that  hateful  duke  ; 
Whose  haughty  spirit,  winged  with  desire,' 
Will  cost  my  crown,  and,  like  an  empty  eagle, 
Tire  on  the  flesh  of  me,  and  of  my  son  ! 
The  lossoftho.^e  three  lords  torments  my  heart; 

I'll  write  unto  them,  and  entreat  them  fair;  

Come,  cousin,  you  shall  be  the  messenger. 
Exe.  And  I,  J  hope,  shall  reconcile  them  all. 

[Exeunt, 

Scene  11.  A  Rootn  in  Sandal  Cattle,  near 

Wakejield,  in  Yorkshire. 
Enter  Edward,  Richard,  and  Montague. 
Rich.  Brother,  though  I  be  youngest,  give  me 
Edw.  No,  1  can  better  play  the  orator.  [leave, 
Mont.  But  I  have  reasons  strong  and  forcible.  * 


tQ 


Enter  York. 
how  now,  sons  and  brother,  at 


York.  Why, 
strife 

What  is  your  quarrel  ?  how  began  it  first? 
Edw.  No  quarrel,  but  a  slight  contenlion, 
York.  About  what  ?  [and  us 

Kich.  About  that,  which  concerns  your  grace 

The  cnjwn  of  England,  fiithers,  which  is  yours. 
York.  Mine,  boy  ?  not  till  king  Henry  be  dead. 
Rich.  Your  right  depends  not  on  his  lif  e,  or  deatli, 
Ediv.  Now  you  are  heir,  therefore  enjoy  it  now  : 

By  giving  the  house  of  Lancaster  leave  to  breathe. 

It  will  outrun  you,  father,  in  the  end. 

York.  I  took  an  oath,  that  he  should  quietly  reigOp 
Edw.  But,  for  a  kingdom,  any  oath  may  be 
broken  : 

I  d  break  a  thousand  oaths,  to  reign  one  year. 
Rich.  No;  God  forbid,  your  grace  should  be 
forsworn. 

York.  I  shall  be,  if  I  claim  by  open  war. 
Rich.  I'll  prove  the  contrary,  if  you  11  hear  me 
speak. 

York.  Thou  canst  not,  son ;  it  is  impossible. 

Rich.  An  oath  is  of  no  moment,  b 
Before  a  true  and  lawful  magi.strate. 
That  hath  authority  over  him  that  swears: 
Henry  had  none,  but  did  usurp  the  place; 
Then,  seeing  'twas  he  that  made  you  to  depoee. 
Your  oath,  my  lord,  is  vain  and  frivolous. 
Therefore,  to  arms.    And,  father,  do  but  think. 
How  sweet  a  thing  it  is  to  wear  a  crown; 
VV^ithin  whose  circuit  is  Elysium, 
And  all  that  poets  feign  oi  bliss  and  joy. 


-Scene  4. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


441 


Why  do  wc  linger  U. js  ?    I  cannot  rest, 
Untill  the  white  rose,  that  I  wear,  bf  dyed 
Even  in  the  lukewarm  blood  of  Henry's  heart.  _ 

York,  Richard,  enough;  I  will  be  king,  or  die.— 
Brother,  tlioti  slialt  to  London  presently. 
And  whet  on  Warwick  to  his  enterprise. — 
Thou,  Richard,  shalt  unto  the  duke  of  Norfolk, 
And  tell  him  privily  of  our  intent. — 
Voii,  Edward,  shall  unto  my  lord  Cobham, 
With  whom  the  Kentishmen  will  willingly  rise  : 
In  them  I  trust ;  for  tliey  are  soldiers, 
Witty  and  courteous,  liberal,  full  of  spirit.— 
While  you  are  thus  employ'd,  what  resteth  more, 
Rut  that  I  seek  occasion  how  to  rise  ; 
And  yet  the  king  not  privy  to  my  drift, 
Nor  any  of  the  house  of  Lancaster? 

Enter  a  Messemjer. 
But,  stay;  What  news?  Why  com'st  thou  in  such 
post  ? 

Mess.  The  queen,  with  all  the  northern  earls 
and  lords. 

Intend  here  to  besiege  you  in  your  castle  : 
She  is  hard  by  witii  twenty  thousand  men ; 
And  therefore  fortiiy  your  hold,  my  lord. 

York.  Ay,  with  my  sword.  What !  think'st  thou 
ill  at  vve  fear  them? 
Edward  and  Richard,  you  shall  stay  with  me 
My  brother  Montague  shall  post  to  London  : 
Let  noble  Warwick,  Cobham,  and  the  rest, 
Whom  we  have  left  protectors  of  the  king, 
With  powerful  policy  strengthen  thein^elves, 
And  trust  not  simple  Henry,  nor  his  oaths. 

Mont.  Brother,  1  go ;  Til  win  them,  lear  it  not: 
And  thus  most  humbly  1  do  take  my  leave.  [Exit, 
Enter  Sir  ioiE^  and  Sir  Hugh  Mortimer. 

York.  S  r  John,  and  Sir  Hugh  Mortimer,  mine 
You  are  come  to  Sandal  in  a  happy  hour  ;  [uncles  ! 
'J'he  army  of  (he  queec  mean  to  besiege  us. 

Sir  John.  She  shall  not  need,  we'll  meet  her  in 
the  field. 

York.  Wlic^t,  with  five  thousand  men  ? 
Rich.  Ay,  with  five  hundred,  father,  for  a  need. 
A  woman's  general;  What  should  we  fear? 

{A  march  afar  off.) 
Edw.  T  hear  their  drums  ;  let's  set  our  men  in 
order; 

And  issue  forth,  and  bid  them  battle  straight. 

York.  Five  men  to  twenty  ! — though  the  odds 
I  doubt  not,  uncle,  of  our  victory.  [be  great, 

Many  a  battle  have  I  won  in  France, 
When  as  the  enemy  hath  been  ten  to  one  ; 
Why  should  1  not  now  have  the  like  success  ? 

[Alarum.  Exeunt. 
Scene  III. — Plaim  near  Sandal  Castle. 
Alarums,   Excursions.   Enter  Rutland  and  his 
Tutor, 

Rut.  Ah,  whither  shall  1  fly  to  'scape  their  hands? 
Ah,  tutor  !  look,  wliere  bloody  Clilibrd  conies  ! 
Enter  Clifford  and  Soldiers. 

Clif.  Chaplain,  away  I  thy  priesthood  saves  thy 
As  for  the  brat  of  this  acrursed  duke,  [life. 
Whose  father  slew  my  father, — he  shall  die. 

Tut,  And  I,  my  lord,  will  bear  him  company. 

Clif.  Soldiers,  away  with  him. 

Tut  Ah,  Clifford  !  murder  not  this  innocent  child, 
Lest  thou  be  hated  both  of  God  and  man, 

[Exit.,  forced  off  by  Soldiers. 

Clif.  How  now  !  is  he  dead  already  ?  Or,  is  it  fear 
That  makes  him  close  his  eyes  ? — I'll  open  them. 

Rut.  So  looks  the  pent-up  lion  o'er  the  wretch 
That  trembles  under  his  devouring  paws  : 
And  so  he  walks,  insulting  o'er  his  prey  ; 
And  so  he  comes  to  rend  his  limbs  asunder. — 
Ah,  gentle  Cliftord,  kill  me  with  thy  sword. 
And  not  with  such  a  crut?l  threafning  look. 
Sweet  CljtTord.  hear  mo  speak  before  I  die 
I  am  too  mean  a  subject  for  thy  wrath, 
Be  thou  reveng'd  on  men,  and  let  me  Uv«»  | 


Clif,  In  vain  thou  speak'st,  poor  boy ;  iny  fa. 
ther's  blood  [enter. 
Hath  stopp'd  the  passage  where  thy  words  should 

Rut.  Then  let  my  father's  blood  open  it  again  ; 
He  is  a  man,  and,  Clifford,  cope  with  hiin. 

Clif.  Had  I  thy  brethren  here,  their  lives,  and 
Were  not  revenge  sufficient  for  me  !  [thine, 
No,  if  I  digg'd  up  thy  forefathers'  graves. 
And  hung  their  rotten  coffins  up  in  chains, 
It  could  not  slake  mine  ire,  nor  ease  my  heart. 
The  sight  of  any  of  tlie  house  of  York 
Is  as  a  fury  to  torment  my  soul ; 
And  till  I  root  out  their  accursed  line. 
And  leave  not  one  alive,  I  live  in  hell. 
Therefore —  {Lifting  his  hand,) 

Rut.  O,  let  me  pray  before  I  take  my  death : 
To  thee  I  pray  ;  Sweet  Clififord,  pity  me ! 

Clif.  Such  pity  as  my  rapier's  point  affords. 

Rut.  I  never  did  thee  harm ;  Why  wilt  thou 

Clif  Thy  father  hath.  [slay  me  ? 

Rut,  But  'twas  ere  I  was  born. 

Thou  hast  orre  son,  for  his  sake  pity  me  ; 
Lest  in  revenge  thereof, — sith  God  is  just,~ 
He  be  as  miserably  slain  as  I. 
Ah,  let  me  live  in  prison  all  my  days  ; 
And  when  I  give  occasion  of  offence. 
Then  let  me  die,  for  now  thou  hast  no  cause. 

Clif,  No  cause  ? 
Thy  father  slew  my  father;  therefore  die. 

{Clifford stabs  him,) 

Rut,  Diifaciant,  laudis  summa  sit  ista  tu<B  ! 

{Die».\ 

Clif.  Plantagenet !  I  come,  Plantagenet! 
And  this  thy  son's  blood  cleaving  to  my  blade. 
Shall  rust  upon  my  weapon,  till  thy  blood, 
Congeal'd  with  this,  do  make  me  wipe  off  both.  [Exii, 

Scene  IV. — The  same. 
Alarum.   Enter  York. 
York.  The  army  of  the  queen  hath  got  the  field  t 
My  uncles  both  are  slain  in  rescuing  me  ; 
And  all  my  followers  to  the  eager  foe 
Turn  back,  and  fly,  like  ships  before  the  wind. 
Or  lambs  pursu'd  by  hunger-starved  wolves. 
My  sons — God  knows  what  hath  bechanced  them 
But  this  I  know, — they  have  demean'd  themselves 
Like  men  born  to  renown,  by  life  or  death. 
Three  times  did  Richard  make  a  lane  to  me ; 
And  thrice  cried, — Courarje,  father  '.fight  it  out 
And  full  as  oft  came  Edward  to  my  side. 
With  purple  faulchion,  painted  to  the  hilt 
In  blood  of  those  that  had  encounter'd  him; 
And  when  the  hardiest  warriors  did  retire, 
Richard  cried, — Charge!  mid  give  no  foot  of grounCU 
And  cried, — A  croivn,  or  else  a  glorious  tomb! 
A  sceptre  or  an  earthly  sepulchre ! 
With  this,  we  charg'd  again  :  but,  out,  alas! 
We  bodg'd  again ;  as  I  have  seen  a  swan 
With  bootless  labour  swim  against  the  tide, 
And  spend  her  strength  with  over-matching  waves. 

(^1  short  alarum  within.) 
Ah,  hark  !  the  fatal  followers  do  pursue  ; 
And  1  am  faint,  and  cannot  fly  their  fury : 
And,  were  I  strong,  I  would  not  shun  their  fury 
The  sands  are  number'd,  that  make  up  my  lite 
Here  must  I  stay,  and  here  my  life  must  end. 

Enter  Queen  Margaret,  Clifford,  Noatmuu- 

BERLAND,  and  Soldiers. 
Corae,  bloody  Clifford, — rough  Northumberland,— 
I  dare  your  qnenchless  fury  to  more  rage; 
I  am  your  butt  and  I  abide  your  shot. 

North.  Yield  to  our  mercy,  proud  Plantagenet. 

Clif,,  Ay,  to  such  mercy,  as  his  ruthless  arm. 
With  downright  payment,  shew'd  unto  my  father 
Now  Phaeton  hath  tumbled  from  his  car. 
And  made  an  evening  at  the  noontide  prick. 

Yjrk.  My  ashes,  as  the  phoenix,  may  bring  forth 
A  bird,  that  will  revenge  upon  you  all : 
And,  m  that  hope,  I  throw  mine  eyes  to  heave* 


442 


THIRD 


PART  OF 


A  Of  1 


Scorning  whate'er  you  can  afflict  me  with. 
Why  come  you  not  ?  what !  imiltitndes,  and  fear? 
Clif.  So  cowards  fight,  when  tliey  can  fly  no  fur- 
ther ; 

So  doves  do  peck  fhe  falcon's  piercing  talons; 
So  desperate  thieves,  all  hopeless  of  their  lives, 
Breatlie  out  invectives  'gainst  the  officers. 

York.  O  ClilFord,  l>ut  bethink  thee  once  again. 
And  in  thy  thought  o'errtui  my  former  time: 
And,  if  thou  caf.st  for  blushing,  view  this  face; 
And  bite  thy  tongue,  that  slanders  him  with  cowar- 
dice, 

Whose  frown  hath  made  thee  faint  and  fly  ere  this. 

Clif.  I  will  not  bandy  with  thee  word  for  word; 
But  buckle  with  thee  blows,  twice  two  for  one. 

{Draws.) 

Q.  Mar.  Hold,  valiant  ClilFord !  for  a  thousand 

causes, 

I  would  prolong  awhile  the  traitor's  life  ; — 
Wrath  makes  Lim  deaf:  speak  thou,  Northumber- 
land, [much, 
North.  Hold,  Clifford  ;  do  not  honour  him  so 
To  prick  thy  finger,  though  to  woimd  his  heart* 
What  valour  were  it,  when  a  cur  doth  grin, 
l-'or  one  to  thrust  liis  hand  between  his  teeth. 
When  he  might  sprun  him  with  his  foot  away? 
It  is  war's  prize  to  take  all  'vantages ; 
And  ten  to  one  is  no  impeach  of  valour. 

{Tkeij  lay  hands  on  York,  ivho  struggles.) 
Clif.  Ay,  ay,  so  strives  the  woo.lcuck  with  the  gin. 
North.  So  doth  the  coney  struggle  in  the  net. 

(  York  is  taken  prisoner.) 
York.  So  triumph  thieves  upon  their  conquer'd 
booty : 

So  true  men  yield,  with  robbers  so  o'er  match'd. 

North.  What  would  your  grace  have  done  unto 
him  now  ?  [berland, 

Q.  Mar.  lirave  warriors,  Clifford  and  Northum- 
Come,  make  him  stand  U|;on  this  molehill  here; 
That  raught  at  mountains  with  oustretched  arms, 
Vet  parted  but  tiie  siiadow  witli  his  hand. — 
What,  was  it  you,  that  woul  l  be  England's  king? 
Was"t  you,  that  revell'd  in  our  parliament. 
And  made  a  preachment  of  your  high  descent? 
Where  are  your  mess  ol"  sons  to  back  you  now? 
The  wanton  Edward,  and  the  lusty  George? 
And  wliere's  that  valiant  crook-back  prodigy, 
Dicky,  your  boy,  that,  with  his  grumbling  voice. 
Was  wont  to  cheer  his  dad  in  mutinies  ? 
Or,  with  tlie  rest,  whtre  is  your  darling  Rutland  ? 
Look,  York  ;  1  stain'd  this  napkin  witii  the  blood 

at  valiant  Clitford  with  his  rapier's  point 
Made  issue  from  the  bosom  of  the  buy: 
And,  if  tliine  eyes  can  water  for  his  death, 
I  give  thee  this  to  dry  thy  cheeks  withal. 
Alas,  poor  York !  but  that  I  hate  tiiee  deadly 
I  should  lament  thy  miserable  state. 
I  pr'ytliee,  grieve  to  make  me  merry,  York; 
Stamp,  rave,  and  fret,  that  1  may  sing  and  dance._ 
What,  hath  thy  fiery  heart  so  parch'd  thine  entrails. 
That  not  a  tear  can  tall  fir  Rutland's  d^ath? 
Why  art  thou  patient,  man?  thou  should'st  be  mad; 
And  I,  to  make  thee  m^d,  do  nmck  thee  thus. 
Thou  would'st  be  fee'd,  I  see,  to  make  me  sport; 
York  cannot  speak,  unless  he  wear  a  ciown. — 
A  crown  for  York  : — and,  lords,  bow  low  to  him. — 
Hold  you  his  hands,  whilst  I  do  set  it  on. — 

[Putting  a  paper  croivn  on  his  head.) 
Ay,  marry,  sir,  now  looks      like  a  king! 
Ay,  this  is  he  that  took  king  Henry's  chair; 
And  this  is  he  was  his  adopted  heir. — 
But  how  is  it,  tiiat  great  Plantagenet 
Is  crovvn'd  so  soon,  and  broke  his  solemn  oath  ? 
As  I  bethink  me,  you  should  not  be  king, 
Till  our  king  Henry  had  shook  hands  with  death. 
And  will  you  pale  your  head  in  Henry's  glory. 
And  Kob  his  temples  of  the  diadem. 
Now  in  his  life,  against  your  holy  oath? 
O,  'tis  a  fault  t-oo,  too  unpardonable  ! — 
Oil  with  the  crown :  aud,  with  the  crown,  his  head  ; 


And,  whilst  vve  breathe,  take  time  to  do  him  dead. 
Clif.  That  is  my  office,  for  my  father's  sake. 
Q  Mar.  Nay,  stay;  let's  iiear  the  orison;*  he 
makes. 

York.  She- wolf  of  France,  but  worse  than  wolves 
of  France, 

Whose  tongue  more  poisons  than  the  adder's  .ooti»! 
How  ill-beseeming  is  it  in  thy  sex, 
To  triumph  like  an  Amazonian  trull, 
Upon  their  woes  whom  fortune  captivates 
But  that  thy  face  is,  visor-like,  unchanging, 
Made  impudent  with  use  of  evil  deeds, 
I  would  assay,  proud  queen,  to  make  thee  blush : 
To  tell  thee  whence  thou  cam'st,  of  whom  deriv'd, 
Were  shame  enough  to  shame  thee,  wert  thou  not 
shameless. 

Thy  father  bears  the  type  of  king  of  Naples, 
Of  both  the  Sicils,  and  Jerusalem  ; 
Yet  not  so  wealthy  as  an  English  yeoman. 
Hath  that  poor  monarch  taught  thee  to  insult  ? 
It  needs  not,  nor  it  boots  thee  not,  proud  queen ; 
Unless  the  adage  must  be  verified, 
That  beggars,  mounted,  run  their  horse  to  death. 
'Tis  beauty,  that  doth  olt  make  women  proud  ; 
But  God,  he  knows,  thy  share  thereof  is  small: 
'Tis  virtue,  that  doth  make  them  most  admir'd; 
The  contrary  doth  make  thee  wonder'd  at : 
'Tis  government,  that  makes  them  seem  divine  ; 
The  want  thereof  makes  thee  abominable  : 
Thou  art  as  opposite  to  every  good, 
As  the  Antipodes  are  unto  us. 
Or  as  the  south  to  the  septentrion. 
O,  tiger's  heart,  vvrapp'd  in  a  woman's  hide  ! 
How  couldst  thou  drain  the  life-blood  of  the  child. 
To  bid  the  lather  wipe  his  eyes  withal, 
And  yet  be  seen  to  bear  a  woman's  face  ? 
Women  are  solt,  mild,  pitil'ul  and  flexible  ; 
Thou  stern,  obdurate,  flinty,  rough,  remorseless. 
Bid'st  thou  me  rage?  why,  now  thou  hast  thy  wish  : 
Would'st  have  me  weep?  why,  now  thou  hast  iUj 
will : 

For  raging  wind  blows  up  incessant  showers, 
And  when  the  rage  allays,  the  rain  begins. 
These  tears  are  my  sv^^eet  Rutland's  obsequies  ; 
And  every  drop  cries  vengeance  for  his  death, 
'Gainst  thee,  fell  Cliftbrd, — and  thee,  false  French 
woman. 

North.  Beshrew  me,  but  his  passions  move  me  so, 
That  hardly  can  I  check  my  eyes  from  tears. 

York.  That  face  of  his  the  hungry  cannibals 
Would  not  have  touch'd,  would  not  have  stain'd 
with  blood : 

But  you  are  more  inhuman,  more  inexorable, — 
O,  ten  times  more, — than  tigers  of  Hyrcania. 
See,  ruthless  queen,  a  ha[>less  father's  tears  : 
This  cloth  thou  dipp'dst  in  blood  of  my  sweet  boy, 
And  I  with  tears  do  wash  the  blood  away. 
Keep  thou  the  napkin,  and  go  boast  of  this: 

{He  gives  back  the  handkerchief.] 
And,  if  thou  tell'st  the  heavy  story  right, 
Upon  my  soul,  the  hearers  will  shed  tears: 
Yea,  even  my  foes  will  shed  fast  falling  tears. 
And  say, — Alas,  it  was  a  piteous  deed ! — 
There,  take  the  crown,  and  with  the  crown,  my  c 
And,  in  thy  need,  such  comfort  coine  to  thee. 
As  now  I  reap  at  thy  too  cruel  hand  I — 
Hard-hearted  Cliftbrd,  take  me  from  the  world 
My  soul  to  heaven,  my  blood  upon  your  heads 

North.  Had  he  been  slaughter-man  to  all  my 
I  should  not  for  my  life  but  weep  with  him. 
To  see  how  inly  sorrow  gripes  his  soul. 

Q.  Mar.  What,  weeping- ripe,  my  lord  North 
berland ! 

Think  but  upon  the  wrong  he  did  us  all. 
And  that  will  quickly  dry  thy  melting  tears. 
Clif.  Here's  for  my  oath,  here's  for  my 

death.  {Stabbing 
Q.  Mar.  And  here's  to  right  our  gentle-h 
king.  {Stabbing 
York.  Open  thy  gate  of  mercy,  gracious  GT 


Act  11.    Scene  1. 


KING  HENRY  YI. 


443 


My  soui  flies  through  fheae  wounds  to  seek  out  thee. 

{Dies.) 

Q.  Mar.  OIF  with  his  head,  and  set  it  on  York  gates; 
So  York  may  overlook  the  town  of  York.  [Exeunt, 

ACT  II. 

ScENii  I. — A  Plain  near  Mortimer's  Cross  in 
Herefordshhe. 
Drum.   Enter  Edward,  and  Richard,  with  their 
Forces,  marching. 
Edw.  I  wonder,  how  our  princely  father  'scap'd  ; 
Or  whether  he  he  'scap'd  away,  or  no, 
From  Ciilford's  and  Northiiinberland's  pursuit: 
Had  he  been  ta'en,  we  shnulu  have  heard  the  news  ; 
Had  he  been  slain,  we  should  have  heard  the  news; 
Or,  had  he  'scap'd,  inethinks,  we  should  have  heard 
The  happy  tidings  of  his  good  escape. — 
How  fares  my  brotlier  ?  why  is  he  so  sad  ? 

Rich.  1  cannot  joy,  until  I  be  resolv'd 
Where  our  right  valiant  father  is  become. 
I  saw  him  in  the  battle  range  about ; 
And  watch'd  him,  how  he  singled  Clifford  forth. 
Metiiought,  he  bore  him  in  the  thickest  troop. 
As  doth  a  lion  in  a  herd  of  neat : 
Or  as  a  bear,  encompass'd  round  with  dogs; 
Who  having  pinch'd  a  few,  and  made  them  cry 
e  rest  stand  all  aloof,  and  bark  at  him. 
far'd  our  father  with  iiis  enemies; 
fled  his  en:emies  niy  warlike  father: 
thinks,  'tis  prize  enough  to  be  his  son. 
ee  how  the  morning  opes  her  golden  gates, 
And  takes  her  tare  well  ol"  the  glorious  sun  ! 
How  well  resembles  it  the  prime  of  youth, 
Trimiii'd  like  a  younker,  prancing  to  his  love! 
Edw.  Daazle  mine  eyes,  or  do  I  see  three  suns? 
^  Tiich.  Three  glorious  suns,  each  one  a  perfect  sun  ; 
Nol  separated  with  the  racking  clouds, 
But  sever  d  in  a  pale  clear-shining  sky. 
See,  see  !  they  join,  embrace,  and  seem  to  kiss, 
As  il  they  vow'd  some  league  inviolable: 
Now  are  they  but  one  lamp,  one  light,  one  sun. 
1-1  this  the  heaven  figures  some  event.        [heard  of. 

Edw.  'Tis  wondrous  strange,  the  like  yet  never 
I  tliink,  it  cites  us,  brother,  to  the  field  ; 
That  we,  the  sons  of  brave  Plantagenet, 
Each  one  already  blazing  by  ourrneeds, 
Should,  notwithstanding,  join  our  lights  together, 
And  overshine  the  earth,  as  this  the  world. 
Whate'er  it  bodes,  henceforward  will  I  bear 
Upon  my  target  throe  fair  shining  suns. 
Rich.  Nay,  bear  three  daughters  ; — by  your  leave 
I  speak  it, 

You  love  the  breeder  better  than  the  male. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
But  what  art  thou,  whose  heavy  looks  foretel 
borne  dreadful  story  hanging  on  thy  tongue  ? 

Mess.  Ah,  one  that  was  a  woeiul  looker  on. 
When  as  the  noble  duke  of  York  was  slain, 
Vour  princely  father,  and  my  loving  lord.  [much. 

Edw.  O,  speak  no  more !  for  I  have  heard  too 

Rich.  Say  how  he  died,  for  I  will  hear  it  all. 

Mess.  Environed  he  was  with  many  foes ; 
And  stood  against  them  as  the  hope  of  Troy 
Against  the  Greeks,  that  would  have  enter'd  Troy. 
But  Hercules  himself  must  yield  to  odds  ; 
And  many  strokes,  though  with  a  little  axe, 
Hew  down  and  fell  the  hardest-timber'd  oak. 
By  many  hands  your  father  was  subdu'd  ; 
But  only  slaughter'd  by  the  ireful  arm 
Of  unrelenting  Clifford,  and  the  queen  : 
Who  crowo'd  the  gracious  duke  in  high  despite  ; 
Laugh'd  in  his  face;  and,  when  with  grief  he  wept. 
The  ruthless  queen  gave  him,  to  dry  his  cheeks, 
A  napkin  steeped  in  the  harmless  blood 
Of  sweet  young  Rutland,  by  rough  Clifford  slain  : 
And,  after  many  scorns,  many  foul  taunts, 
They  took  his  head,  and  on  the  gates  of  York 
Tiiey  set  the  same ;  and  there  it  doth  remain, 


The  saddest  spectacle  that  f'er  1  view'd. 

Ediv.  Sweet  duke  of  York,  our  prop  to  lean  nuoa, 
Mow  ti  ou  art  gone,  we  have  no  stall",  no  stay  !— 
()  Clifford,  boist'rous  Clilford,  thou  hast  slain 
The  liovver  of  Europe  for  his  chivalry; 
And  treacherously  hast  thou  vaviquislt'd  him, 
For,  hand  to  hand,  he  would  have  vanqiiish'd  thee 
Now  my  sotil's  palace  is  become  a  prison  : 
Ah,  would  she  break  Iron,  hence  !  tliat  this  my  b 
Might  in  the  ground  be  closed  up  in  rest  : 
Fur  never  henceforth  shall  I  joy  again, 
Never,  O  Never,  shall  I  see  more  joy. 

Rich.  1  cannot  weep;  for  all  my  body's  moisture' 
Scarce  serves  to  quench  my  furnace-burning  heart: 
Nor  can  my  tongue  unload  my  heart's  great  burden; 
For  self-same  wind  that  I  should  speak  withal. 
Is  kindling  coals,  that  fire  all  my  breast, 
And  burn  me  up  with  flames,  that  tears  would  quench, 
l  o  weep,  IS  to  make  less  the  dep(h  of  grief: 
Tears,  then,  for  babes;  blows,  and  revenge,  forme  I— 
Richard,  I  bear  thy  name,  I'^'  venge  thy  death, 
Or  die  renowned  by  attempting  it.  [thee  ; 

Edw.  His  name  that  valiant  duke  hath  left  with 
His  dukedom  and  his  chair  with  me  is  left. 

Rich.  Nay,  if  thou  be  that  princely  eagle's  bird, 
Shew  thy  descent  by  gazing  'gainst  the  sun  : 
For  chair  and  dukedom,  throne  and  kingdom  say  ; 
Either  that  is  thine,  or  else  thou  wert  not  his. 

March.  Enter  Warwick  and  Montague,  with 
Forces. 

War.  How  now,  Aiir  lords?  What  fare?  what 
news  abroad  ? 

Rich.  Great  lord  of  Warwick,  if  we  should  recount 
Our  baleful  news,  and,  at  each  word's  deliverance. 
Stab  poniards  in  our  flesh,  till  ail  were  told. 
The  words  would  add  more  anguish  than  tlie  wounds. 

0  valiant  lord,  the  duke  of  York  is  slain. 

^  Warwick!  Warwick!  that  Plantagenet, 
Which  held  thee  dearly,  as  his  soul's  redemption. 
Is  by  the  stern  lord  Cliflord  done  to  death. 

War.  Ten  days  ago  I  drown'd  these  news  m  tears  . 
And  now,  to  add  more  measure  to  your  woes, 

1  come  to  tell  you  things  since  then  befall'n. 
After  the  bloody  fray  at  Wakefield  fought, 
Wiiere  your  brave  father  breath'd  his  latest  gasp. 
Tidings,  as  swiftly  as  the  posts  could  run, 
Were  brought  me  of  your  loss,  and  his  depart, 

I  then  in  London,  keeper  of  the  king, 
Mustcr'd  my  soldiers,  gather'd  flocks  of  friends. 
And  very  well  appointed,  as  I  thought,  [|ueeii 
March'd  towards  Saint  Alban's  to  intercept  the 
Bearing  the  king  in  my  behalf  along. 
For  by  my  scouts  I  was  advertised. 
That  she  was  coming  with  a  full  intent 
To  dash  our  late  decree  in  parliament, 
Touching  king  Henry's  oath,  and  your  succession. 
Short  tale  to  make,— we  at  Saint  Albans  met, 
Our  battles  join'd,  and  both  sides  fiercely  fought : 
But,  whether  'twas  the  coldness  of  the  king. 
Who  look'd  full  gently  on  his  warlike  queen. 
That  robb'd  my  soldiers  of  their  hated  spleen; 
Or  whether 'twas  rejiort  of  her  success; 
Or  more  than  common  fear  of  Clifford's  rigour. 
Who  thunders  to  his  captives— blood  and  death. 
I  cannot  judge  :  but,  to  conclude  wit-h  truth, 
I  heir  weapons  like  to  lightning  came  and  went; 
Our  soldiers— like  the  night-owrs  lazy  flight. 
Or  like  a  lazy  thrasher  with  flail,— 
Fell  gently  down,  as  if  they  struck  their  frienda, 
I  cheer'd  them  up  with  justice  of  our  cause. 
With  promise  of  high  pay,  and  great  rewards: 
But  all  in  vain  ;  they  had  no  heart  to  fight. 
And  we,  in  them,  no  hope  to  win  the  dny. 
So  that  we  fled;  the  king,  unto  the  queen ; 
Lord  George  your  brother,  Norfolk,  and  myself 
In  haste,  post-haste,  are  come  to  join  with  yon. 
For  in  the  marches  here,  we  heard  you  were. 
Making  another  head  to  fight  ag  un.  (Warwick 
Edw.  Where  is  the  duke  &f  Norfolk,  geatto 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  IL 


And  when  came  George  from  Burgundy  to  England  ? 
War.  Some  six  miles  olF  the  duke  is  with  the 
soldiers ; 

And  for  your  brother,— he  was  lately  sent 

From  your  kind  aunt,  duchess  of  Burgundy, 

With  aid  of  soldiers  to  this  needful  war.        [fled  : 

Rich.  'Tvvasodds,  belike,  when  valiant  Warwick 
Oft  have  I  heard  his  praises  in  pursuit. 
Bat  ne'er,  till  now,  his  scandal  of  retire.  [hear: 

War.  Nor  now  my  scandal,  Richard,  dost  thou 
For  thou  shalt  know,  this  strong  right  hand  of  mine 
Can  pluck  the  diadem  from  faint  Henry's  head. 
And  wring  tlie  awful  sceptre  from  his  hst; 
Were  he  as  iamous  and  as  bold  in  war, 
is  he  is  fam'd  for  mildness,  peace,  and  prayer. 

Ric/i.  I  know  it  well,  lord  Warwick :  blame  me  not; 
Tis  lo\e,  I  bear  thy  gb.ries,  makes  me  soeak. 
But.  in  this  troublous  time,  what's  to  be  done  i 
Shall  we  go  tin  ow  away  our  coats  of  steel, 
And  wrap  our  bodies  in  black  mourning  gowns, 
Numbering  our  Ave  Maries  with  our  beads  i 
Or  shall  we  on  the  helmets  of  our  foes 
Tell  our  devotion  with  revengeful  arms? 
If  for  the  last,  sav— Ay,  and  to  it,  lords.  [out; 

War  Why,  tlierefoi  e  Warwick  came  to  seek  you 
And  therefore  comes  my  brother  Montague. 
Attend  me,  lords.    'I"he  proud  insulting  queen, 
With  Clilford  and  the  haught  Northumberland, 
And  of  their  feather  many  more  proud  birds. 
Have  wrought  the  easy-melting  king  like  wax, 
He  swore  consent  to  your  succession. 
His  calh  enrolled  in  the  parliament; 
And  now  to  London  all  the  crew  are  gone 
To  frustrate  botii  his  oath  ,  and  what  beside 
May  make  against  the  house  of  Lancaster. 
Their  power,  1  think,  is  thirty  thousand  strong  : 
Now,  if  the  help  of  Norfolk,  and  myself, 
With  all  the  friends  that  tliou,  brave  earl  of  March, 
Amongst  the  loving  Welshmen  canst  procure, 
W"ill  but  amount  to  five  and  twenty  thousand, 
W^hy,  Via  !  to  London  we  will  march  amain ; 
And  once  again  bestride  our  foaming  steeds  ; 
And  once  again  cry— Charge  rtpon  our  foes  ! 
But  never  once  again  tiiin  back,  and  fly.  [speak; 

Ric/i.  Ay,  now,  methinks,  I  hear  great  Warwick 
Ne'er  may  he  live  to  see  a  sunshine  day, 
That  cries— Retire,  if  Warwick  bid  him  stay. 

Edw.  Lord  Warwick,  on  thy  shoulder  will  I  lean : 
And  when  thou  fall'st,  (as  God  forbid  the  hour  !) 
Must  Edward  fall,  which  peril  heaven  forefend! 

War.  No  longer  earl  of  March,  but  duke  of  York; 
The  next  degree  is,  England's  royal  throne  : 
For  king  of  England  shalt  thou  be  proclaim'd 
In  every  borough  as  we  pass  along; 
And  he,  that  throws  not  up  his  cap  for  jov, 
Shall  for  the  fault  make  forfeit  of  his  head. 
King  Edward,— valiant  Richard,— Montague,— 
Stay  we  no  longer  dreaming  of  renown, 
But  sound  the  trumpets,  and  about  our  task. 

Rich.  Then,  Clilford,  were  thy  heart  as  hard  as 
steel, 

[As  thou  hast  shewn  it  flinty  by  thy  deeds,) 
I  come  to  pierce  it,— or  to  give  thee  mine.  ^ 
Edw.  Then  strike  up,  drums :— God,  and  Samt 
George,  for  us ! 

Enter  a  Messeuger. 
War.  How  now  ?  what  news  ? 
Mess.  The  duke  of  Norfolk  sends  you  word  by  me. 
The  queen  is  coming  with  a  puissajit  host; 
And  craves  your  company  for  speedy  counsel. 
War.  Why  then  it  sorts ,  brave  warriors  :  Let's 
away.  [Exeunt. 
Scene  n. — Before  York. 
Enter  King  Henry,  Queen  Margaret,  the  Prince 
of  VVales,  Cufford,  and  Nortoumberland, 
with  Forces. 

Q.  Mar.  Welcome,  my  lord,  to  this  brave  town 
of  York. 


Vender's  the  head  of  that  arch-enemy. 

That  sought  to  be  encompass'd  with  your  crown : 

Doth  not  the  object  cheer  your  heart,  my  lord  V 

K.  Hen.  Ay,  as  the  rocks  cheer  them,  thai  fear 
their  wreck ; — 
To  see  this  sight,  it  irks  my  very  soul,— 
Withhold  revenge,  dear  God  !  'tis  not  my  fault, 
Not  wittingly  have  I  infring'd  my  vow. 

Clif.  My  gracious  liege,  this  too  much  lenitf 
And  harmful  pity,  must  be  laid  aside. 
To  whom  do  lions  cast  their  gentle  looks  ? 
Not  to  the  beast  that  would  usurp  their  den. 
Whose  hand  is  that  the  forest  bear  doth  lick? 
Not  his,  that  spoils  her  young  before  her  lace. 
Who  'scapes  the  Irrking  serpent's  mortal  sting? 
Not  he,  that  sets  his  foot  upon  her  back. 
The  smallest  worm  will  turn,  being  trodden  on; 
And  doves  will  peck,  in  safeguard  of  their  brood. 
Ambitious  York  did  level  at  thy  crown, 
Thou  smiling,  while  he  knit  his  angry  brows: 
He,  but  a  duke,  would  have  his  son  a  king. 
And  raise  his  issue,  like  a  loving  sire ; 
Thou,  being  a  king,  bless'd  with  i\  goodly  son, 
Didst  yield  consent  to  disinherit  him. 
Which  argued  thee  a  most  unloving  father 
Unreasonable  creatures  feed  their  young : 
And  though  man's  face  be  fearful  to  their  eyes. 
Yet,  in  protection  of  their  tender  ones, 
Who  hath  not  seen  them  (even  with  those  wings 
Which  sometime  they  have  us'd  with  learful  flight,} 
Make  war  with  him  that  climb'd  unto  their  nest, 
Olfering  their  own  lives  in  their  young's  defence? 
For  shame  ,  my  liege  ,  make  them  your  precedent 
Were  it  not  pity  ,  that  this  goodly  boy 
Should  lose  his  birthright  by  his  father's  fault; 
And  long  hereafter  say  uoto  his  child, — 
What  my  great-grandfather  and  grandsire  got 
My  careless  father  fondly  gave  avay  f 
Ah,  what  a  shame  were  this!  Look  on  the  boy; 
And  let  his  manly  face,  which  promiseth 
Successful  fortune,  steel  thy  melting  heart. 
To  hold  thine  own,  and  leave  thine  own  with  him. 

K.  Hen.  Full  well  hath  Clifford  play'd  Uie  orator 
Inferring  arguments  of  mighty  force. 
But,  Clitford,  tell  me,  didst  thou  never  hear,— 
That  things  ill  got  had  ever  bad  success? 
And  happy  always  was  it  for  that  son. 
Whose  father  for  his  hoarding  went  to  hell  ? 
I'll  leave  my  son  my  virtuous  deeds  behind  ; 
And  'would  my  father  had  left  me  no  more  1 
For  all  the  rest  is  held  at  such  a  rate, 
As  brings  a  thousand-fold  more  care  to  keep. 
Than  in  possession  any  jot  of  pleasure. 
Ah,  cousin  York !  'would  thy  best  friends  did  know 
How  it  doth  grieve  me  that  thy  head  is  here ! 

Q.  Mar.  My  lord,  cheer  up  your  spirits ;  our  foe« 
are  nigh. 

And  this  soft  courage  makes  your  tollowers  laint. 
You  promis'd  knighthood  to  our  forward  son  ; 
Unsheath  your  sword,  and  dub  him  presently.— 
Edward,  kneel  down.  .       i   .  i . 

K.  Hen.  Edward  Plantagenet,  anse  a  knight : 
And  learn  this  lesson,— Draw  thy  sword  in  ri^ht 

Prince.  My  gracious  father,  by  your  kingly  leav^ 
I'll  draw  it  as  apparent  to  the  crown. 
And  in  that  quarrel  use  it  to  the  death.  ^ 

Clif.  Why,  that  is  spoken  like  a  toward  pnnce. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  Royal  commanders,  be  in  readiness  ; 
For,  with  a  band  of  thirty  thousand  men. 
Comes  Warwick,  backing  of  the  duke  of  York; 
And,  in  the  towns  as  they  do  march  along. 
Proclaims  him  king,  and  many  fly  to  him  : 
Darraign  your  battle,  for  they  are  at  hand. 

Clif.  I  would,  your  highness  would  depart  the 
field;  ,  .  . 

The  queen  hath  best  success,  when  you  are  absent, 
Q.  Mar.  Ay,  good  my  lord,  and  leaye  us  to  oui 
fortune. 


bCENE  8. 


KING  HENRY  YI. 


415 


K.  f¥en.  Why,  that's  my  fortune  too;  therefore 
I'll  stay. 

North.  Be  it  with  resolation  then  to  fight. 

Prince.  My  royal  father,  cheer  these  noble  lords, 
And  hearten  those  that  fight  in  your  defence  : 
Unsheath    your   sword,   good  father;  cry  Saint 
George . 

M (jrch.  Enter  Edwxrd,  George,  Richard,  War- 
wick, Norfolk,  Montague,  and  Soldiers. 

Edw.  Now,  perjur'd  Henry,  wilt  thou  kneel  for 
And  set  thy  diadem  upon  niy  head  :  [grace, 
Or  bide  the  mortal  fortune  of  the  field  ?  [boy  ! 

Q.  Mar.  Go,  rate  thy  minions,  proud  insulting 
Becomes  it  thee  to  be  thus  bold  in  terms. 
Before  thy  sovereign,  and  thy  lawful  king? 

Ediu.  I  am  his  king,  and  he  should  bow  his  knee  ; 
I  was  adopted  heir  by  his  consent : 
Since  when,  his  oath  is  broke :  for,  as  I  hear, 
V'ou — that  are  king,  though  he  do  wear  the  crown, — 
Have  caus'd  him,  by  new  act  of  parliament, 
To  blot  out  me,  and  put  his  own  son  in. 

Clif.  And  reason  too; 
VVho  should  succeed  the  father,  but  the  son? 

Rich.  Are  you  there,  butcher  ? — O,  I  cannot 
speak !  [thee, 

Clif.  Ay,  crook-back;  here  I  stand,  to  answer 
Or  any  he  tlie  proudest  of  thy  sort,  [it  not  ? 

Rich.  'Twas  you  that  kill'd  young  Rutland,  was 

Clif.  Ay,  and  old  York,  and  yet  not  satisfied. 

Rich.  For  God's  sake,  lords,  give  signal  to  the 
fi.oht. 

War.  What  say'st  thou,  Henry,  wilt  thou  yield 
the  crown  ? 

Q.  Mar.  Why,  how  now,  long-tongn'd  Warwick? 
dare  you  speak  ? 
^Vhen  you  and  I  met  at  Saint  Albans  last, 
^our  legs  did  better  service  tiian  your  hands. 

War.  Then  "twas  my  turn  to  fly,  and  now  'tis  thine. 

CW\  You  said  so  much  before,  and  yet  you  fled. 

War.  'Twas  not  your  valour,  Clifford,  drove  nie 
thence.  [you  stay. 

North.  No,  nor  your  manhood,  that  durst  make 

Rich.  Northumberland,  I  hold  thee  reverently; — 
Break  off  tiie  parle;  for  scarce  I  can  refrain 
The  execution  of  my  big-swolen  heart 
Upon  that  Clifford,  that  cruel  child-killer. 

Clif.  1  slew  thy  father  :  Call'st  thou  him  a  child? 

Rich.  Ay,  like  a  dastard,    and  a  treacherous 
coward, 

As  thou  didst  kill  our  teiwS^^'r  brother  Rutland  ; 
But,  ere  sun-set,  I'll  make  thee  curse  the  deed. 

K.  Hen.  Have  done  with  words,  niy  lords,  and 
hear  me  speak.  [lips. 

Q.Mar.  Defy  them  then,  or  else  hold  close  thy 

K.  Hen.  I  pr'ythee,  give  no  limits  to  my  tongue  ; 
I  am  a  king,  and  privileg'd  to  speak.  [here, 

Clif.  My  liege,  the  wound,  that  bred  this  meeting 
Cannot  he  ciir'd  by  words;  therefore  be  still. 

Rich.  Then,  executioner,  unsheath  thy  sword  : 
By  Him  that  made  us  all,  I  am  resolv'd. 
That  Cliftbrd's  manhood  lies  upon  his  tongue. 

Edw.  Say,  fJenry,  shall  I  have  my  right,  or  no? 
A  thousand  men  have  broke  their  fasts  to-day, 
That  ne'er  shall  dine,  unless  thou  yield  the  crown. 

War.  If  thou  deny,  their  bbod  upon  thy  head  ; 
For  York  injustice  puts  his  armour  on.  [right. 

Prince.  If  that  be  right,  which  Warwick  says  is 
There  is  no  wrong,  but  every  thing  is  right. 

Rich.  Whoever  got  thee,  there  thy  mother  stands ; 
For,  well  I  wot,  thou  hast  thy  mother's  tongue. 

Q.  Mar.  But  thou  art  neither  like  thy  sire  nor  dam  ; 
But  like  a  foul  mis-shapen  stigmatic, 
Mark'd  by  the  destinies  to  be  avoided, 
As  venom  toads,  or  lizards'  dreadful  stings. 

Mich.  Iron  of  Naples,  hid  with  English  gilt, 
Whose  father  bears  the  title  of  a  king, 
(As  if  a  channel  should  be  call'd  the  sea,) 
ShaiQ  st  thou  not,  knowing  whenoe  thou  art  ex- 
traught. 


To  let  thy  tongue  detect  thy  base-born  heart? 
Edw.  A  wisp  of  straw  were  worth  a  thousand 
crowns, 

To  make  this  shameless  callet  know  herself,~ 

Helen  of  Greece  was  fairer  far  than  tliou, 

Although  tliy  husband  may  be  Menelaus; 

And  ne'er  was  Agamemnon's  brother  wrong'd 

By  that  fal-se  woman,  as  this  king  by  thee. 

His  father  revell'd  in  the  heart  of^  France, 

And  tam'd  the  king,  and  made  the  Dauphin  stoop 

And,  had  he  match'd  according  to  his  state, 

He  might  have  kept  that  glory  to  this  day :  j 

But,  when  he  took  a  beggar  to  his  bed. 

And  grac'd  thy  poor  sire  with  his  bridal  day  5  * 

Even  then  that  sunshine  brew'd  a  shower  for  him, 

That  wash'd  his  father's  fortunes  forth  of  France, 

And  heap'd  sedition  on  his  crown  at  home. 

For  what  hath  broach'd  this  tumult,  but  thy  pride? 

Hadst  thou  been  meek,  our  title  still  had  slept; 

And  we,  in  pity  of  the  gentle  king. 

Had  slipp'd  our  claim  until  another  age.  [spring, 

Geo,  But,  when  we  saw  our  sunshine  made  thy 
And  that  thy  summer  bred  us  no  increase. 
We  set  the  axe  to  thy  usurping  root : 
And  though  the  edge  hath  something  hit  ourselves  | 
Yet  now  thou,  since  we  have  begun  to  strike. 
We'll  never  leave,  till  we  have  hewn  thee  down, 
Or  bath'd  thy  growing  with  our  heated  bloods. 

Edw.  And,  in  this  resolution,  I  defy  thee ; 
Not  willing  any  longer  conference, 
Since  thou  deny'st  the  gentle  king  to  speak. — 
Sound  trumpets  .'—let  our  bloody  colours  wave  — 
And  either  victory,  or  else  a  grave. 

Q.  Mar.  Stay,  Edward.  [stay  : 

Edw.  No,  wrangling  woman ;  we'll  no  longer 
These  words  will  cost  ten  thousand  lives  to  day. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  111.—^  Field  of  Ba/Me  between  Towton  and 
Saxton,  in  Yorkshire. 
Alarums  :  Excursions.    Enter  Warwick.  I 
War.  Forspent  with  toil,  as  runners  with  a  race, 
I  lay  me  down  a  little  while  to  breathe  : 
For  strokes  receiv'd,  and  many  blows  repaid,  " 
Have  robb'd  my  strong- knit  sinews  of  their  strength. 
And,  spite  of  spite,  needs  must  I  rest  awhile. 
Enter  Edward,  running, 

Edw.  Smile,  gentle  heaven!  or  strike,  ungentle 
death  ! 

For  this  world  frowns,  and  Edward's  sun  is  clouded. 
War.  How  now,  my  lord  r  what  hap  ?  what  hope 
of  good  ? 

Enter  George. 
Geo.  Our  hap  is  lost,  our  hope  but  sad  despair  : 
Our  ranks  are  broke,  and  ruin  follows  as  : 
What  counsel  give  you,  whither  shall  we  fly  ? 

Edw,  Bootless  is  flight,  they  follow  us  with  wings  j 
And  weak  v/e  are,  and  cannot  shun  pursuit. 
Enter  Richard. 

Rich.  Ah,  Warwick,  why  hast  thou  withdrawn 
thyself? 

Thy  brother's  blood  the  thirsty  earth  hath  drunk, 
Broach'd  with  the  steely  point  of  Clifibrd's  lance. 
And,  in  the  very  pangs  of  death,  he  cry'd, — 
Like  to  a  dismal  clangour  heard  from  far, — 
Warwiclc,  revenge  I  brother,  revenge  niy  death  / 
So  underneath  the  belly  of  their  steeds, 
That  stain'd  their  fetlocks  in  his  smoking  blood. 
The  noble  gentleman  gave  up  the  ghost.       [blood  : 
War.  Then  let  the  earth  be  drunken  with  cm 
I'll  kill  my  horse,  because  I  will  not  fly. 
Why  stand  we  like  soft-hearted  women  here,  | 
Wailing  our  losses,  whiles  the  foe  doth  rage ;  | 
And  look  upon,  as  if  the  tragedy 
Were  play'd  in  jest  by  counterfeiting  actors? 
Here  on  my  knee  1  vow  to  God  above, 
I'll  never  pause  again,  never  stand  still, 
Till  either  death  hath  clos'd  these  eyes  of  mine, 


m 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  n 


Orfortiine  given  me  measure  of  revenge. 

Edtv.      VVarwick,  I  do  bend  my  knee  with  thine; 
And,  in  this  vow,  do  chain  my  soul  to  tliine. — 
And,  ere  my  knee  rise  from  ttie  earth's  cold  face, 
I  throw  my  hands,  mine  eyes,  my  heart  to  thee. 
Thou  setter  up  and  phicker  down  of  kings  ! 
Oeseeching  tliee, — if  with  thy  will  it  stands, 
That  to  my  foes  this  body  must  he  prey, — 
V^et  that  thy  brazen  gates  of  heaven  may  ope, 
And  give  sweet  passage  to  my  sinful  soul  ! — 
Now,  lords,  take  leave,  until  we  meet  again, 
Wliere-'i'er  it  he,  in  heaven,  or  on  earth. 

Ric/i.  Brother,  give  n»e  thy  hand ;— and,  gentle 
Warwick, 

Let  me  embrace  thee  in  my  weary  arms  : — 
I,  that  did  never  weep,  novv  melt  with  woe, 
That  winter  should  cut  otf  onr  spring-time  so. 

War.  Away,  away!    Once  more,  sweet  lords, 
farewell. 

Geo.  Vet  let  iis  all  together  to  our  troops, 
And  give  them  Kave  to  fly,  that  will  not  stay; 
And  call  them  pillars,  that  will  stand  to  us  ; 
And,  il  we  thrive,  promise  them  such  rewards 
As  vietors  wear  at  the  Olyn  }>ian  games: 
This  may  plant  courage  in  their  quailing  breasts; 
For  yet  is  hope  ol  life,  and  victory. — 
Fore-slow  no  longer,  make  we  hence  mTta\n.[Exeuni. 

Scene  IV. — The  same.  Another  part  of  the  Field. 

Excursions.  Enter  Richard  and  Clifford. 

Rich.  Now,  ClilFord,  I  have  sin<jled  thee  alone  : 
Suppose,  this  arm  is  for  the  duke  of  York, 
And  this  for  Rtitland  ;  both  botmd  to  revenge, 
Wert  tiiou  environ'd  with  a  brazen  wall. 

Clif.  Now,  Richard,  I  am  wit'h  thee  here  alone  : 
This  is  the  hand,  that  stabb  d  thy  father  York  ; 
And  this  the  hand,  that  slew  thy  brother  Rutland  ; 
And  here's  the  heart,  that  triumphs  in  their  death, 
And  cheet  J  these  hands,  that  slew  thy  sire  and  bro- 
ther. 

To  execute  the  like  upon  thyself; 

And  so,  have  at  thee. 

iJVhtyJiyht.  WARWICK  enters;  CuFVOVM Jlies. ^ 
liich.  Nny,  Warwick,  single  out  sonif  other  chase; 

For  I  myself  will  hunt  this  wolf  to  death.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — Another  Part  of  the  Field. 
Alarum.    Enter  King  Henry. 
K.  Hen.'lWn  battle  (ares  like  to  the  morning's  war. 
When  (lying  clouds  contend  with  growing  light; 
What  time  the  shepherd,  blowing  of  his  nails. 
Can  neither  call  it  perfect  day,  nor  night. 
Now  sways  it  this  way,  like  a  mighty  sea, 
Forc'«l  by  the  tide  to  combat  with  the  wind; 
Now  sways  it  that  way,  like  the  self-same  sea; 
Forc'd  to  retire  by  fury  of  the  wind: 
Sometime,  the  flood  prevails;  and  then,  the  wind  ; 
Now,  one  the  better  ;  then,  ar)other  best; 
Both  tugi^ing  to  be  victors,  breast  to  breast. 
Yet  neither  cnnqueror,  nor  conquered  : 
So  is  the  eqnal  poise  of  this  fell  war. 
Here  on  this  molehill  will  I  sit  me  down. 
To  whom  God  will,  there  be  the  victory! 
For  Margaret  rny  queen,  and  ClifTord  too. 
Have  chid  me  from  t  he  battle  ;  swearing  both. 
They  pro.sper  best  (jf  all  when  I  am  thence. 
'Would  I  were  dea<l  !  if  Goers  good  will  were  so: 
For  what  is  in  this  vv-orld,  but  grief  and  woe  ? 
O  Ciod  !  methinks,  it  were  a  happy  life. 
To  br  no  better  than  a  honieiy  swai/  -; 
To  sit  upon  a  hill,  as  I  do  mnv, 
To  carve  out  dials  quaintly,  point  by  point. 
Thereby  to  see  the  minutes,  how  they  run* 
How  many  make  the  hour  full  complete, 
How  many  hours  brint;  about  the  day, 
How  many  days  wJl  tinish  up  the  year, 
How  many  years  a  mortal  man  may  live. 
When  tins  is  known,  tiien  to  divide  the  times: 
So  manv  hours  must  I  tend  my  flock; 
So  uiuui  b'jiirs  must  I  tal.«  my  rest 


So  many  hours  must  I  contemplate, 

So  many  hours  ir.ust  I  sport  myself; 

So  many  days  my  ewes  have  been  with  young; 

So  many  weeks  ere  the  poor  fools  will  yean  ; 

So  many  years  ere  I  shall  ahear  the  fleece ; 

So  minutes,  hours,  days,  weeks,  months,  and  years, 

Pass'd  over  to  the  end  they  were  created^ 

Would  bring  white  hairs  tmto  a  quiet  grave. 

Ah,  what  a  life  were  this  !  how  sweet !  how  lovely! 

Gives  not  the  hawthorn  bush  a  sweeter  shade 

To  shepherds,  looking  on  their  silly  sheep, 

Than  doth  a  rich  embroidered  canopy 

To  kings,  that  fear  their  subjects'  treachery? 

O,  yes,  it  doth;  a  thousand  fold  it  doth. 

And  to  conclude, — the  shepherd's  homely  cords, 

His  cold  thin  drink  out  ot  his  leather  bottle, 

His  wonted  sleep  under  a  fresh  tree's  shad,-^. 

All  which  secure  and  sweetly  he  enjoys. 

Is  far  beyond  a  prince's  delicates. 

His  viands  sparkling  in  a  golden  cup. 

His  body  couched  in  a  curious  bed, 

When  care,  mistrust,  and  treason  wait  on  him. 

Alarum.  Enter  a  Son  that  has  hilled  his  Father 
dragging  in  the  dead  body. 

Son.  Ill  blows  the  wind,  that  profits  nobody. — 
This  man,  whom  hand  to  hand  1  slew  in  fij^ht, 
May  be  possessed  with  some  store  of  crowns:  jj 
And  I,  tiiat  haply  take  them  from  him  now,  i 
May  yet,  ere  night,  yield  both  my  lile  and  them  1 
To  some  man  else,  as  this  dead  man  doth  me. —  1 
Who's  this  ? — O  God  I  it  is  my  father's  face,  1 
Whom  in  this  conflict  I  unwares  have  kill'd.  1 
O  heavy  times,  begetting  such  events  ! 
From  London  by  the  king  was  I  press'd  forth  ; 
My  father,  being  the  earl  of  Warwick's  man. 
Came  on  the  part  of  York,  press'd  by  his  master; 
And  I,  who  at  his  hands  receiv'd  my  life, 
Have  by  my  hatids  of  life  bereaved  him. —  'm 
Pardon  me,  God,  I  knew  not  what  I  did  ! —  1 
And  pardon,  lather,  for  I  knew  not  tiiee  ! —  I 
My  tears  shall  wipe  away  these  bloody  marks;  \ 
And  no  more  words,  till  they  have  fiow'd  their  fill. 

K.  Hen.  O  piteous  spectacle  !  O  bloody  times 
Whilst  lions  war,  and  battle  for  their  dens, 
Poor  harmless  lambs  abide  their  enmity. — 
Weep,  wretched  man,  I'll  aid  thee  tear  for  teat  • 
And  let  our  hearts,  and  eyes,  like  civil  war. 
Be  blind  with  tears,  and  break  o'ercharg'd  with  grief. 

Enter  a  Father,  who  has  killed  his  Son,  with 
the  body  in  his  arms. 

Fath.  Thou,  that  so  stoutly  hast  resisted  me. 
Give  me  thy  gold,  if  thou  hast  any  gold  :  J 
For  i  have  bought  it  with  an  hundred  blows. —  a 
But  let  me  see  : — is  this  our  faeman's  face  ?  M 
Ah,  no,  no,  it  is  mine  only  son  ! —  -  i| 

Ah,  boy,  if  any  life  be  left  in  thee, 
Throw  up  thine  eye  ;  see,  see,  what  showers  arise. 
Blown  with  the  windy  tempest  of  my  heart, 
Upon  thy  wounds,  that  kill  mine  eye  and  heart! — 
O,  pity,  God,  this  miserable  age  ! — 
VVhat  stratagems,  how  fell,  how  butcherly, 
Erroneous,  mutinous,  and  unnatm-al. 
This  deadly  quarrel  daily  doth  beget ! — 
O  boy,  thy  father  gave  thee  life  too  fluon, 
And  hath  bereft  thee  of  thy  life  too  late  ! 

K.  Hen.  Woe  above  woe  !  grief  more  than  cona- 
mon  grief! 

O,  that  my  death  would  stay  these  ruthful  deeds!— 

O  pity,  pity,  gentle  heaven,  pity  ! — 

Th-e  red  rose  and  the  white  are  on  his  tace. 

The  fatal  colours  of  our  striving  houses: 

The  one,  his  purple  blood  right  well  resemoles  • 

The  other,  his  pale  cheeks,  methinks,  present: 

Wither  one  rose,  and  let  the  other  flourish  ! 

If  you  contend,  a  thousand  lives  must  wither. 

Son.  How  will  my  mother,  for  a  father's  death. 
Take  on  with  me,  and  ne'er  be  satisfied  i* 

Fath.  How  will  my  wife,  for  sla-iphterof  my  eoa 


^scENE  6.  KING  H] 

Blied  seas  of  Seara,  and  ne'er  be  satisfied  ?  ! 
K.  Hen.  Hoiv  will  the  country,  for  these  woeful 
chances. 

Mis- think  the  king-,  and  not  be  satisfied? 

Son.  Was  ever  son,  so  ru'd  a  father's  death  ? 
Fath.  Was  ever  father,  so  ben>oan'd  a  son? 
K.  Hen.  Was  ever  king,  so  griev'J  for  subjects'  , 
woe        ■  _  I 

Much  is  your  sorrow  ;  mine,  ten  times  so  much.  | 
Son.  I'll  bear  thee  hence,  where  I  may  weep  my  ! 

fill.  ^    [Exit,  ivit'h  the  body.  \ 

Fath.  These  arms  of  mine  shall  be  thy  winding-  \ 
sheet; 

My  heart,  sweet  boy,  shall  be  thy  sepulchre  ; 
For  from  my  heart  thine  image  ne'er  shall  go. 
My  sighing  breast  shall  be  thy  funeral  bell : 
And  so  obsequious  will  thy  father  be. 
Sad  for  the  loss  of  thee,  having  no  more. 
As  Priam  was  for  all  his  valiant  sons. 
I'll  bear  thee  hence  :  and  let  them  fight  that  will, 
For  I  have  murder'd  where  I  should  not  kill. 

[Exit,  with  the  body. 
K.  Hen.  Sad-hearted  men,  much  overgone  with 
care, 

Here  sits  a  king  more  woeful  than  you  are. 

Alarums:  Excursions.  Enter  Qtieen  MkB.GXRET, 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  Exeter. 

Prince.  Fly,  father,  fly !  for  all  your  friends  are 
And  Warwick  rages  like  a  chafed  bull  :  [fled, 
Away  !  for  death  doth  hold  us  in  pursuit. 

Q.  Mar.  Mount  you,  my  lord,  towards  Berwick 
post  awain : 

Ed  ward  and  Richard,  like  a  brace  of  greyhounds. 
Having  the  fearful  flying  hare  in  sight. 
With  fiery  eyes,  sparkling  for  very  wrath, 
And  bloody  steel  grasp'd  in  their  ireful  hands. 
Are  at  our  backs;  and  therefore  hence  amain. 

Exe.  Away!  forven^eaace  comes  along  with  thera: 
Nay,  stay  not  to  expostulate,  make  speed ; 
Or  else  come  after,  I'll  away  before.  [Exeter; 

K.  Hen.  Nay,  take  me  with  tliee,  good  sweet 
Not  that  I  fear  to  stay,  but  love  to  go 
Whither  the  queen  intends.    Forward  ;  away  I 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  W.—The  same. 

A  loud  Alarum.   Enter  Clifford,  tvaunded. 

Clif.  Here  burns  my  candle  out,  ay,  here  it  dies, 
Which,  while  it  lasted,  gave  king  Henry  light. 
O  Lancaster !  I  fear  thy  overthrow. 
More  than  my  body's  parting  with  my  soul. 
My  love,  and  fear,  glew'd  many  friends  to  thee ; 
And  now  I  fdl,  thy  tough  commixtures  melt. 
Impairing  Henry,  strength'ning  mis-proud  Yoik. 
The  common  people  swarm  like  summer  flies  ; 
And  whither  fly  the  gnats,  but  to  the  sun  ? 
And  who  shines  now  but  Henry's  enemies? 

0  Phoebus!  hadst  thou  never  given  consent 
That  Phaeton  should  check  thy  fiery  steeds, 
Thy  burning  car  never  had  scorch'd  the  earth: 
And  Henry,  had'st  thou  sway'd  as  kings  should  do. 
Or  as  thy  father,  and  his  father,  did. 

Giving  no  ground  unto  the  house  of  York, 
They  never  then  had  sprung  like  summer  flies ; 
I,  and  ten  thousand  in  this  luckless  realm. 
Had  eft  no  mourning  widows  for  our  death. 
And  thou  this  day  hadst  kept  thy  chair  in  peace. 
For  what  doth  cherish  weeds,  but  gentle  air  ? 
And  what  makes  robbers  bold,  but  too  much  lenity? 
Bootless  are  plaints,  and  curf^'.c^s  are  my  wounds; 
No  way  to  fly,  nor  strength  t  -  UiAd  out  flight  • 
The  foe  is  merciless,  and  will  not  pity ; 
For,  at  their  hands,  I  have  deserv'd  no  pity. 
The  ail  hath  got  into  my  deadly  wounds. 
And  much  effiise  of  blood  doth  make  me  faint: — 
Come,  York,  and  Richard,  Warwick,  and  the  rest ; 

1  stabb'd  your  fstliers'  bosoms  split  my  breait. 

(i/e  faints. 


INRY  VI.  447 

Alarum  and  retreat.    Enter  Edwahd,  George, 
Richard,  Montague,  Warwick,  and  Sold  *rs. 

Edw.  Now  breathe  we,  lotds  ;  good  fortune  bids 
ns  pause. 

And  smooth  the  frowns  of  war  with  peaceful  looks.'-. 
Some  troops  pursue  the  bloody-minded  queen 
That  led  calm  Henry,  though  he  were  a  king, 
As  doth  a  sail,  fili'd  with  a  fretting  gust. 
Command  an  argosy  to  stem  the  waves. 
But  think  you,  lords,  that  Clifford  fled  with  them? 

WaT.  No,  'tis  impossible  he  should  csca{)e  : 
For,  though  before  his  face  I  speak  the  vvoids, 
Your  brother  Richard  n\ark'd  hini  f)r  the  grave: 
And,  wheresoe'er  he  is,  he's  surely  dead. 

{Clifford  yroans.  and  dies."^ 

Edw.  Whose  soul  is  that  which  takes  her  heavy 
leave  ? 

Rich.  A  deadly  groan,  like  life  and  death's  de- 
parting. 

Edw.  See  who  it  is,  and,  now  the  battle's  er,dpd, 
If  friend,  or  foe,  let  him  be  gently  us  d.  [ford  ; 

Rich.  Revoke  that  doom  of  mercy,  for  'tis  Clif- 
Who,  not  contented  that  he  lopp'd  the  branch 
In  hewing  Rutland  when  his  leaves  put  forth. 
But  set  his  murdering  knife  unto  the  root 
From  whence  that  tender  spray  did  sweetly  spring 
I  mean  our  princely  father,  duke  of  York.  [head. 

War.  From  off  the  gales  of"  York  fetcli  down  the 
Your  lather's  head,  which  ClilTord  placed  there: 
Instead  whereof,  let  this  supply  the  room  ; 
Measure  for  measure  fnust  be  answered.  [house, 

Ediu.  Bring  forth  that  fatal  screecli  owl  to  our 
That  nothing  sung  but  death  to  us  and  ours: 
Now  death  shall  stop  his  dismal  threatening  sound, 
And  his  ill-boding  tongue  no  n)ore  shall  speak. 

{Attendants  brine/  the  body  forward.) 

War.  I  think  his  understanding  is  bereft : — 
Speak,  Cliff"ord,  dost  thou  know  who  speaks  to 
thee  ?— 

Dark  cloudy  death  o'ershades  his  beams  of  life. 
And  he  nor  sees,  nor  hears  us  what  we  say 

Rich.  O,  'would  he  did  i  and  so,  perhaps,  e  doth, 
'Tis  but  his  policy  to  counterfeit. 
Because  he  would  avoid  such  bitter  taunts, 
Which  in  the  time  of  death  he  gave  our  father. 

Geo.  If  so  thou  think'st,  vex  him  with  eager  word3 

Rich.  Cliff"ord,  ask  mercy,  and  obtain  no  grace. 

Edw.  Clifford,  repent  in  bootless  penitence. 

War.  Clifford,  devise  excuses  for  thy  i'aults. 

Geo.  While  we  devise  fell  tortures  for  thy  faults. 

Rich.  Thou  didst  love  York,  and  1  am  son  to  York. 

Edw.  Thou  pitied'st  Rutland,  I  will  pity  thee. 

Geo.  Where's  captain  Margviret,  to  fence  you  now  ? 

fVar.  Tliey  mock  thee,  Clifford  !  swear  as  thou 
wast  wont. 

Rich.  What,  nut  an  oath?  nay,  then  the  world 
goes  hard, 

When  Clifford  cannot  spare  his  friends  an  oath  :— 
I  know  by  that,  he's  dead  ;  And,  by  my  soul. 
If  this  right  hand  would  buy  two  hours'  life, 
That  I  in  all  despite  might  rail  at  him,  [blood 
This  hand  should  cho^)  it  off;  and  with  the  issuing 
Stiffs  the  villain,  whose  unstaiUiched  thirst 
York  and  young  Rutland  could  not  satisfy. 

War.  Ay,  but  he's  dead  :  Off  with  the  traitor'* 
head. 

And  rear  it  in  the  place  your  father's  stands.— 

And  now  to  London  with  triumphant  inarch. 

There  to  be  crowned  England  s  royal  king. 

From  whence  shall  Warwick  cut  the  sea  to  Fraoci, 

And  ask  the  lady  Bona  for  thy  queen  ; 

So  shalt  thou  sinew  both  tiiese  lands  together; 

And,  having  France  thy  friend,  thou  shalt  not  dread 

The  scatter'd  (be,  that  hopes  to  rise  again  ; 

For  though  they  cannot  greatly  sting  to  hurt, 

Yet  look  to  have  them  buz,  to  offend  thine  eftra. 

First,  will  I  see  the  coronation; 

And  then  to  Britany  I'll  cross  the  sea. 

To  effect  this  marriage,  so  it  please  my  IwdL 


m 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Sdw.  Even  as  ihou  wilt,  sweet  Warwick,  let  it  be: 
For  on  thy  shoulder  do  I  build  my  seat ; 
And  never  will  1  undertake  the  thing, 
Wherein  thy  counsel  and  consent  is  wanting. — 
Richard,  I  will  create  thee  duke  of  Gloster ; — 
And  George  of  Clarence  : — VV arwick,  as  ourself, 
Shall  do,  and  undo,  as  him  pleaseth  best. 

Rich.  Let  rae  be  duke  of  Clarence ;  George,  of 
Glo-ter ; 

For  Gloster's  dukedom  is  too  ominous. 

War.  Tut,  that's  a  foolish  observation  ; 
Richard,  be  duke  of  Gloster  :  Now  to  London, 
To  see  these  honours  in  oossession.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — A  Chase  in  the  North  of  England. 
Enter  Two  Keepers,  with  cross-bows  in  their 
hands. 

1  Keep.   Under  this  thick  grown  brake  we'll 

shroud  ourselves ; 
For  through  this  laund  anon  the  deer  will  come : 
And  in  this  covert  will  we  make  our  stand. 
Culling  the  principal  of  all  the  deer. 

2  Keep.  I'll  stay  above  the  hill,  so  both  may 

shoot.  [bow 

1  Keep.  That  cannot  be ;  the  noise  of  thy  cross- 
Will  scare  the  herd,  and  so  my  shoot  is  lost. 
Here  stand  we  both,  and  aim  we  at  the  best; 
And,  for  the  time  shall  not  seem  tedious, 

I'll  tell  thee  what  befell  me  on  a  day, 

[n  this  self-place,  where  now  we  mean  to  stand. 

2  Keep.  Here  comes  a  man,  let's  stay  till  he  be 

past. 

Enter  King  Henry,  disguised.ioith  a  prayer-booh. 
K.  Hen.  From  Scotland  am  1  stol'i),  even  of 
pure  love. 

To  greet  mine  own  land  with  my  wishful  sight. 

No,  Harry,  Harry,  'tis  no  land  of  thine  ; 

Thy  place  is  fill'd,  thy  sceptre  wrung  from  thee, 

1  hy  balm  wash'd  off,  wherewith  thou  wast  anointed : 

No  bending  knee  will  call  thee  Cassar  now. 

No  humble  suitors  press  to  speak  for  right, 

No,  not  a  man  comes  for  redress  of  thee  ; 

For  how  can  I  help  them,  and  not  myself? 

1  Keep.  Ay,  here's  a  deer  whose  skin's  a  keeper's 

fee : 

This  is  the  quondam  king ;  let's  seize  upon  him. 

K.  Hen.  Let  me  embrace  these  sour  adversities ; 
For  wise  men  say,  it  is  the  wisest  course. 

2  Keep.  Why  linger  we  !  let  us  lay  hands  upon 

him.  [more. 
1  Kepp.   Forbear  a  while;  we'll  hear  a  little 
K.  Hen.  My  queen,  and  son,  are  gone  to  France 
for  aid ; 

And,  as  1  hear,  the  great  commanding  Warwick 

fs  thither  gone,  to  crave  the  French  king's  sister 

To  wife  for  Edward.  If  this  news  be  true. 

Poor  queen,  and  son, your  labour  is  but  lost; 

For  VVarwick  is  a  subtle  orator. 

And  Lewis  a  prince  soon  won  with  moving  words. 

By  this  account,  tlien,  Margaret  may  win  him; 

For  she's  a  woman  to  be  pitied  mucti : 

Her  sighs  will  make  a  battery  in  his  breast; 

Her  tears  will  pierce  into  a  marble  heart; 

The  tiger  will  be  mild,  while  she  doth  mourn  ; 

And  Nero  will  be  tainted  with  remorse. 

To  hear,  and  see,  her  plaints,  her  brinish  tears. 

Ay,  but  she's  come  to  beg  ;  VVarwick,  to  give  : 

She,  on  his  left  side,  craving  aid  for  Henry  ; 

He,  on  his  right,  asking  a  wife  for  Edward. 

She  weeps,  and  says — her  Henry  is  depos'd  ; 

He  smiles,  and  says— his  Edward  is  install'd ; 

That  she,  poor  wretch,  for  grief  can  speak  no  more  : 

Whiles  Warwick  tells  his  title,  smooths  the  wrong, 

Inferreth  arguments  of  mighty  strengtli ; 

And,  in  conclusion,  wins  the  king  Irom  her, 

With  promise  of  his  sister,  and  what  else. 

To  strengthen  and  support  king  Edward's  place. 

O  Margaret,  thus  'twill  bo ;  and  thou,  poor  soul, 


Art  then  lorsaken,  as  thou  went'st  forlorn. 

2  Keep.  Say,  what  art  thou,  that  talk'st  of  kingj 
and  queens  [born  to  • 

K.  Hen.  More  than  I  seem,  and  less  than  I  was 
A  man  at  least,  for  less  I  should  not  be; 
And  men  may  talk  of  kings,  and  whj  not  I  ? 

2  Keep.  Ay,  but  thou  talk'st  as  if  thou  wert  a 
king.  [enough. 

K.  Hen.  Why,  so  I  am,  in  mind;    and  that's 

2  Keep.  But,  if  thou  be  a  king,  where  is  thy  crown  ? 

K.  Hen.  My  crown  is  in  my  heart,  not  on  my  head; 
Not  deck'd  with  diamonds,  and  Indian  stones. 
Nor  to  be  seen  ;  my  crown  is  call'd,  content ; 
A  crown  it  is,  that  seldom  kings  enjoy. 

2  Keep.  Well,  if  you  be  a  king,  crown'd  with 
content, 

Your  crown  content,  and  you,  must  be  contented 
To  go  along  with  us:  for  as  we  think, 
You  are  tiie  king,  king  Edward  hath  depos'd; 
And  we  his  subjects,  sworn  in  alf  allegiance, 
Will  apprehend  you  as  his  enemy.  [oath 
K.  Hen.  But  did  you  never  swear,  and  break  an 
2  Keep.  No,  never  such  an  oath,  nor  will  not 
now. 

K.  Hen.  Where  did  you  dwell,  when  I  was  king 
of  England  ? 

2  Keep.  Here  in  this  country,  where  we  now 
remain. 

K.  Hen.  I  was  anointed  king  at  nine  months  old 
My  father  and  my  grandfather  were  kings  ; 
And  you  were  sworn  true  subjects  unto  me ; 
And  tell  me  then,  have  you  not  broke  your  oaths  ? 

I  Keep.  No ; 
For  we  were  subjects,  but  while  you  were  king. 

K.  Hen.  Why,  am  I  dead  ?  do  I  not  breathe  a  man? 
Ah,  simple  men,  you  know  not  what  you  swear. 
Look,  as  I  blow  this  feather  from  my  face. 
And  as  the  air  blows  it  to  me  again, 
Obeying  with  my  wind  when  I  do  blow, 
And  yielding  to  another  when  it  blows, 
Commanded  always  by  the  greater  gust ; 
Such  is  the  lightness  of  you  common  men. 
But  do  not  break  your  oaths  ;  for,  of  that  sin 
My  mild  entreaty  shall  not  make  you  guilty. 
Go  where  you  will,  the  king  shall  be  commanded , 
And  be  you  kings;  command,  and  I  II  obey. 

1  Keep.  We  are  true  subjects  to  the  king,  king 
Edward. 

K.  Hen.  So  would  you  be  again  to  Henry, 
If  he  were  seated  as  king  Edward  is. 

I  Keep.  We  charge  you,  in  God's  name,  and  in 
the  king's, 
To  go  with  US  unto  the  officers. 
K.  Hen.  In  God's  name,  lead  ;  your  king's  name 
be  obey'd: 

And  what  God  will,  then  let  your  king  perform 
Aad  what  he  will,  I  humbly  yield  unto.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — London.   A  Room  m  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Edward,  Gloster,  Clarence,  and 
Lady  Grey. 

K.  Edw.  Brother  of  Gloster,  at  Saint  Albans'  field 
This  lady's  husband,  sir  John  Grey,  was  slain. 
His  lands  then  seiz'd  on  by  the  conqueror: 
Her  suit  is  now,  to  repossess  those  lands  • 
Which  we  injustice  cannot  well  deny. 
Because  in  quarrel  of  the  house  of  York 
The  worthy  gentleman  did  lose  his  life. 

Glo.  Your  highness  shall  do  well  to  grant  hei 
It  were  dishonour,  to  deny  it  her.  [suit; 

K.Edw.  It  were  no  less;  but  ye*  I'll  make  a  pause 

Gio.  Ye«  !  is  it  so?  {Aside  to  Clarence.} 

I  see  the  lady  hath  a  thing  to  grant. 
Before  the  king  wil'l  grant  iier  humble  suit. 

Clar.  He  knows  tlie  game ;  How  true  he  keepi 
the  wind?  i Aside  \ 

Glo.  Silence!  (AstOa.] 

K.  Edw.  Widow,  we  will  consider  of  your  suii; 
And  come  some  other  time,  to  know  our  mind. 


Scene  2. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


449 


L.  Gtijf.   Right  gracious  lord,  1  cannot  brook 
dc-lay : 

May  it  please  your  highness  to  resolve  me  now; 
And  wLat  your  pleasure  is,  shall  satisfy  me. 
Glo.  {Aside.)  Ay,  widow  ?  then  1  11  warrant  you 
all  your  lands. 
An  if  what  pleases  him,  shall  pleasure  you. 
Fij-lit  closer,  or,  good  faith,  you'll  catch  a  blow. 
Clar.  I  fear  her  not,  unless  she  chance  to  fall. 

{Aside.) 

Glo.  God  forbid  that!  for  he'll  take  vantages. 

K.  Edw.  How  many  children  hast  thou,  widow  ? 
tell  me. 

Clar.  I  think,  he  means  to  beg  a  child  of  her. 

,  •  (Aside,) 
Glo.  May,  whip  me  then ;  he'll  rather  give  her 

T  ^"'^rn,  .  {A.side.) 

Jj.  Grey.  Ihree,  my  most  gracious  lord. 
Glo.  You  shall  have  four,  if  you'll  be  rul'd  by 
^  ^  {Aside.) 
K.  Edw.  '  Twere  pity,  they  should  lose  their  fa- 
ther's land. 

L.  Grey.  Be  pitiful,  dread  lord,  and  grant  it 
then.  [wit. 
K.  Edw.  Lords,  give  us  leave ;  I'll  try  this  widow's 
Glo.  Ay,  good  leave  have  you ;  for  you  will  have 
leave. 

Till  youth  take  leave,  and  leave  you  to  the  crutch. 
[Gloster  and  Clarence  retire  to  the  other  side.) 
K.  Ken.  Now  tell  me,  madam,  do  you  love  your 
children  ? 

L.  Grey.  Ay,  full  as  dearly  as  I  love  myself. 
X.  Edw.  And  would  you  not  do  much,  to  do  them 


good 


[harm. 


ii.  Grey.  To  do  them  good,  \  would  sustain  some 
K  Edw.  Then  get  your  husband's  lands,  to  do 
them  good. 

L.  Grey.  Therefore  I  came  unto  your  majesty. 
K.  Edw.  ril  tell  you  how  these  lands  are  to  be 

got.  _  [service. 

L.  Grey.  So  shall  you  bind  me  to  your  highness' 
K.  Edw.  What  service  wilt  tijou  do  me,  if  I  give 

^i^ein  ;  [to  do. 

L,  Grey.  What  you  command,  that  rests  in  me 
A.  Edw.  But  you  will  take  exceptions  to  my  boon. 
L.  Grey.  No,  gracious  lord,  except  I  cannot  doit. 
K,  Edw.  Ay,  but  thou  canst  do  what  I  mean 

to  fisk.  [commands. 
L.  Grey.  Why,  then  I  will  do  what  your  grace 
Glo.  He  plies  her  hard;  and  much  rain  wears  the 
^,  marble.  {Aside.) 
Clar.  As  red  as  fire !  nay,  then  her  wax  must 
,  ^  "'fit  {Aside.) 
U.  Grey.  Why  stops  my  lord  ?  shall  I  not  hear 

my  task? 

A.  Edw.  An  easy  task  ;  'tis  but  to  love  a  king. 
L.  Grey.  That's  soon  perform'd,  because  I  am 
a  subject 

K.  Edtv.  Why  then,  thy  husband's  lands  1  freely 
give  thee. 

L.  Grey.  I  take  my  leave  with  many  thousand 
^,  „^hanks.  [curt'sy. 
Glo.  1  he  match  is  made ;  she  seals  it  with  a 
K.  Edw.  But  stay  thee,  'tis  the  fruits  of  love  I 
mean.  [liege. 
L.  Grey.  The  fruits  of  love  I  mean,  my  loving 
K.  Edw.  Ay,  but,  I  fear  me,  in  another  sense. 

What  love,  think'st  thou,  I  sue  so  much  to  get? 
L.  Grey.  My  love  till  death,  my  humble  thanks, 
my  prayers ; 

That  love,  which  virtue  begs,  and  virtue  grants. 
K.  Edw.  No,  by  my  troth,  I  did  not  mean  such 

T  r  '^'wu  [you  did. 

u.  i^ej/.  Why,  then  you  mean  not  as  I  thought 
K.  Edw.  But  now  you  partly  may  perceive  my 
mind.  fceive 
L.  Grey.  My  mind  will  never  grant  what  I  per- 
Your  highness  aims  at,  if  I  aim  aright. 
K,  Edw  To  tell  thee  plain,  I  aim  to  lie  with  thee. 


L  Grey.  To  tell  tfc^e  plain,  I  had  raih^r  \ie  m 
TT      7^'"'^^*J'^'  [band's  lands. 

A.  Edw.  Why,  then  thou  shalt  not  have  th  bus- 
L.  Grey.  Why,  then  mine  houesty  sliall  be 
dower  ; 

For  by  that  loss  I  will  not  purchase  them. 

K.  Edw.  Therein  thou  wrong'st  thy  children 
mightily.  _  [and  me. 

Jj.  Crrey.  Herein  your  highness  wrongs  both  (hem 
But,  mighty  lord,  this  merry  inclination 
Accords  not  with  the  sadness  of  my  suit; 
Please  you  dismiss  me,  either  with  ay,  or  no. 

K.  Edw.  Ay  ;  if  thou  wilt  say  ay,  to  my  request : 
No;  if  thou  dost  say  no,  to  my  demand.  [end 

L.  Greff.  Then,  no,  my  lord.    JVIy  suit  is  at  asi 

Glo.  The  widow  likes  him  not,  she  knits  her 
brows.  {Aside.) 

Clar.  He  is  the  bluntest  wooer  in  Christendom. 

K.  Edw.  {Aside.)  Her  looks  do  argue  her  replete 
with  modesty; 
Her  words  do  shew  her  wit  incomparable  ; 
All  her  perfections  challenge  sovereignty  : 
One  way,  or  other,  she  is  for  a  king ; 
And  she  shall  be  my  love,  or  else  my  queen. — 
Say,  that  king  Edward  take  thee  for  his  queen  ? 

L.  Grey.  'Tis  better  said  than  done,  my  gracious 
I  am  a  subject  fit  to  jest  withal,  [lord : 

But  far  unfit  to  be  a  sovereign.  [thee 

K.  Edtv.  Sweet  widow,  by  my  state  I  swear  to 
I  speak  no  more  than  what  my  soul  intends; 
And  that  is,  to  enjoy  thee  for  my  love. 

L.  Grey.  And  that  is  more  than  I  will  yield  imto  : 
I  know  1  am  too  mean  to  be  your  queen, 
And  yet  too  good  to  be  your  concubine. 

K.Edw.  You  cavil,  widow;  I  did  mean,  my 
qu?en. 

L.  Grey.  'Twill  grieve  your  grace,  ray  sons  should 
call  you — father. 

K.  Edw.  No  more,  than  when  my  daughters  call 
thee  mother. 
Thou  art  a  widow,  and  thou  hast  some  children  ; 
And,  by  God's  mother,  I,  being  but  a  bachelor/ 
Have  other  some :  why,  'tis  a  happy  tiling 
To  be  the  father  unto  many  sons. 
Answer  no  more,  for  thou  shalt  be  my  queen. 

Glo.  The  ghostly  father  now  hath  done  his  shrift. 

ni  iii7L  {Aside.) 
Liar.  When  he  was  made  a  shriver,  'twas  ior 

shift.  {Aside.) 
K.  Edw.  Brothers,  you  muse  what  chat  we  two 

have  had. 

Glo.  The  widow  likes  it  not,  for  she  looks  sad. 
K.  Edw.   You'd  think  it  strange,  if  I  should 

marry  her. 
Clar.  To  whom,  my  lord  ? 

K.  Edtv.  Why,  Clarence,  to  myself. 

Glo.  1  hat  would  be  ten  days'  wonder  at  the  least. 
Clar.  That's  a  day  longer  than  a  wonder  lasts. 
Glo.  By  so  much  is  the  wonder  in  extremes. 
K.  Edw.  Well,  jest  on.  brothers  :  I  can  tell  yoo 
both. 

Her  suit  is  granted  for  her  husband's  lands. 
Enter  a  Nobleman. 
Nob.  My  gracious  lord,  Henry  your  foe  is  taken, 
And  brought  your  prisoner  to  your  palace  gate. 
K.  Edw.  See,  that  he  be  convey'd  unto  the 
Tower: — 

And  go  we,  brothers,  to  the  man  that  took  him. 
To  question  of  his  apprehension. — 
Widow,  go  you  along  ;— Lords,  use  her  honourable 
[Exeunt  King  Eldward,  Lady  Grtyt 
Clarence,  and  Lord. 
Glo.  Ay,  Edward  will  use  women  honourably. 
Would  he  were  wasted,  marrow,  bones,  and  all. 
That  from  his  loins  no  hopeful  branch  may  spring, 
To  cross  me  from  the  golden  time  I  look  for! 
And  yet,  between  my  soul's  desire,  and  me, 
(The  lustful  Edward's  title  buried,) 

29 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  tit. 


Is  Clarence,  Henry,  and  his  son  young  Edward, 
And  all  the  unlouk'd  for  issue  of  tlieir  bodies, 
To  trike  their  rooms,  ere  I  can  place  myself: 
A  cold  uremeditation  for  my  purpose  ! 
Why,  tiien  1  do  but  dream  on  sovereignty : 
Like  one  that  stands  upon  a  promontory, 
And  spies  a  far-offshore,  where  he  would  tread, 
VVishinsij  his  {bot  were  equal  with  his  eye  ; 
And  cliides  the  sea  timt  sunders  him  from  thence, 
Duying— heMl  lade  it  dry  to  have  his  way  : 
So  do  I  wish  the  crown,  being  so  far  ort : 
And  so  I  ciiide  the  means,  that  keep^  me  from  it; 
And  so  I  say— 1  11  cut  the  causes  otf. 
Flattering  me  with  impossibilities. — 
My  eye's  too  quick,  my  heart  o'erweenstoo  much. 
Unless  my  hand  aud  strength  could  equal  them. 
Well,  say  there  is  no  kingdoni  then  for  Richard; 
What  other  pleasure  can  the  world  aftord  f 
ni  make  my  heaven  in  a  lady's  lap, 
And  deck  my  body  in  gay  ornaments. 
And  witch  sweet  ladies  with  my  words  and  looks. 
O  miserable  thought',  aud  more  unlikely, 
'J'han  to  accomplish  twenty  golden  crowns  I 
Why,  love  forswore  me  in  my  mothers  womb  ; 
And,  for  I  should  not  deal  in  her  soft  laws, 
She  did  corrupt  frail  nature  with  some  bribe 
To  shrink  mine  arm  up  like  a  wither'd  shrub; 
To  make  an  envious  mountain  on  my  back. 
Where  sits  deformity  to  mock  my  body  ; 
To  shape  my  legs  of  an  unequal  size  ; 
To  disproportion  me  in  every  oart, 
Like  to  a  chaos,  or  an  unlick'd  bear-whelp. 
That  carries  no  impression  like  the  dam. 
And  am  I  then  a  man  to  be  belov'd  ? 
O  monstrous  lault,  to  harbour  such  a  thought  I 
Then,  since  this  earth  affords  no  joy  to  me, 
But  to  command,  to  check,  to  o'erbear  such 
As  are  of  better  person  than  mysell, 
I'll  make  my  heaven— to  dream  upon  the  crown ; 
And,  while?*  I  live,  to  account  this  world  but  hell. 
Until  my  n/is-shau'd  trunk  that  bears  this  head. 
Be  round  impaled  with  a  glorious  crown: 
And  yet  I  know  not  how  to  get  the  crown. 
For  manv  lives  stand  between  me  and  home  : 
And  I,— like  one  lost  in  a  thorny  wood, 
That  rents  the  thorns,  and  is  rent  with  the  thorns  ; 
Seeking  a  way,  and  straying  from  the  way; 
Not  kno-A-ing  how  to  find  the  open  air, 
But  toiling  despeiatelv  to  find  it  out,— 
Torment  myself  to  catch  the  English  crown: 
And  from  that  torment  1  will  fi'ee  myself. 
Or  hew  mv  way  out  with  a  bloody  axe. 
Why,  I  can  smde,  and  murder  wliile  I  smile; 
And  crv,  content,  to  that  which  grieves  my  heart ; 
And  wet  my  clieeks  with  artificial  tears, 
And  frame  uiy  face  to  all  occasions. 
I'll  drown  more  sailors  than  the  mermaid  ahail ; 
I'll  slay  more  gazers  than  the  basilisk  ; 
I'll  play  the  orator  as  well  as  Nestor, 
Deceive  more  slily  than  Ulysses  could, 
And,  like  a  Siuou,  take  another  Troy  : 
I  can  add  colours  to  the  cameleon  ; 
Change  shapes,  with  Protheus,  for  advantages, 
And  set  the  murd'rous  Machiavel  to  school. 
Can  I  do  this,  and  cannot  get  a  crown  ? 
Tut:  were  it  further  olf.  1  11  pluck  it  down.  [±jXit. 

Scene  Ml  — France.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Flourish.    Enter  Leavis  the  French  King,  and 
Lady  Bona,  attended;  the  Kinij  takes  his  state. 
Then  enter  Queen  Margaket,  Prince  Edvvacid 
her  son,  and  the  Earl,  o/  Oxford. 
K   Leiv    Fair  oueen  of  England,  worthy  Mar- 
garet, {Rising.) 
Sit  down  with  us  ;  it  ill  befits  thy  state  . 
And  birt',.,  that  thou  sliould'st  stand,  whiU  Lewis 
doth  Sit.  ^   ^  [Margaret 

g.  Mar.   No.   mighty   king    of  France;  now 
Must  strike  her  sail,  and  lean,  a  while  to  sers'e, 
Wlicre  kings  cominaud.    I  was,  I  must  coniess, 


Great  Albion's  queen  in  former  gol<3en  dRfS*; 
But  now  mischance  hath  trod  my  title  down, 
And  with  dishonour  laid  me  on  the  ground  ; 
Where  1  must  take  like  seat  unto  my  fortune. 
And  to  my  humble  seat  conform  my.self. 
K.  Lew.  Why,  say,  fair  queen,  whence  spnngf 

this  deep  despair? 
Q.  Mar.  From  such  a  cause  as  fills  name  eyei 
witii  tears,  [cares. 
And  stops  my  tongue,  while  heart  is  drown  d  m 

K.  Le/y.  What'er  it  be,  be  thou  still  like  thyselt. 
And  sit  thee  by  our  side :  yield  not  thy  neck  ^ 

[Seats  her  by  him.} 
To  fortune's  yoke,  but  let  thy  dauntless  mind 
Still  ride  in  triumph  over  all  michance. 
Be  plain,  queen  Margaret,  and  tell  thy  grief ; 
It  shall  be  eas'd,  if  France  can  yield  rehet. 

Q.  Mar.  Those  gracious  words  revive  niy  droop- 
ing  thoughts, 
And  give  my  tongue-tied  sorrows  leave  to  speaR. 
Now,  therefore,  be  it  known  to  noble  Lewis, — 
That  Henry,  sole  possessor  of  my  love, 
Is,  of  a  king,  become  a  banished  rnan. 
And  forc'd  to  live  in  Scotland  a  forlorn  ; 
While  proud  ambitious  Edward,  duke  of  York, 
Usurps  the  regal  title,  and  the  seat 
Of  England's  true-anointed  lawful  king. 
This  is  the  cause,  that  I,  poor  Margaret,—  _ 
With  this  my  son,  prince  Edward,  Henry's  heir,— 
Am  come  to  crave  thy  just  and  lawful  aid  ; 
And.  if  thou  foil  us,  all  our  hope  is  done: 
Scotland  hath  will  to  help,  but  cannot  help; 
Our  people  and  our  peers  are  both  misled, 
Our  treasure  seiz'd,  our  soldiers  put  to  night. 
And,  as  thoK  see'st,  ourselves  in  heavy  plight. 

Leiv.  Renowned  queen,  with  patience  calm 
the  storm,  . 
While  we  bethink  a  means  to  break  it  oft. 

O  Mar.  The  more  we  stay,  the  stronger  grows 
our  foe.  tthee. 
K.  Leiv.  The  more  I  stay,  the  more  111  succour 
Q.  Mar.  O,   out  impatience  waiteth  on  true 
sorrow : 

And  see,  where  comes  the  breeder  of  my  sorrow. 
Enter  Warwick,  attended. 
K.  Lew.  W^hat's  he,  approacheth  boldly  1x>  our 
presence?  ,  ^,  [fr'^'id. 

O  Mar.  Our  earl  of  Warwick,  Edward  s  greatest 
K.  Lew.  Welcome,  braveWarwick  !  What  bnngs 
thee  to  France  ?  ^  ^ 

[Descending  from  his  state.  Queen  Margaret 

Q.  Mar.  Ay,  now  begins  a  second  sterm  to  rise ; 
For  tius  is  he,  that  moves  both  wind  and  tide. 

War.  From  worthy  Edward,  king  oi  Albion, 
My  lord  and  sovereign,  and  thy  vowed  friend, 
I  come,— in  kindness,  and  unfeigned  love, 
First,  to  do  greetings  to  thy  royal  person ; 
And,  then,  to  crave  a  league  ot  amity; 
And,  lastly,  to  confirm  that  amity 
With  nuptial  knot,  if  thou  vouchsafe  to  grant 
That  virtuous  lady  Bona,  thy  fair  si.ster, 
To  England's  king  in  lawful  marriage.  ^ 
g  Mar.  If  that  go  forward,  Henry's  hope  IS  done. 
War,  And,  gracious  madam,  [to  Bona.)  m  our 
king's  behalf, 
I  am  commanded,  with  your  leave  and  lavour, 
Humbly  to  kiss  your  hand,  and  with  my  tongue 
To  tell  the  passion  of  my  sovereign's  heart; 
Where  fame,  late  entering  at  his  heedlul  ears, 
Hath  plac'd  thy  beauty's  image,  and  thy  virtue. 
Q.  Mar.  King  Lewis,— and  lady  Bona,  hear  m« 

Before  yoT answer  Warwick.    His  demand 
Springs  not  from  Edward's  well-meant  honest  love. 
But  from  deceit,  bred  by  necessity: 
For  how  can  tvrants  safely  govern  home. 
Unless  abroad  thev  purchase  great  alliance  T 
To  prove  him  tyrant,  this  reason  may  sufec*  — 
That  Henry  liveth  still :  but  were  he  dead. 


Scene  5. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


\Vt  here  prince  E«Jwarf?  stands,  king:  Henry's  son. 
LuoK,  tfiereiore.  Lewis,  that  by  this  league  and 


451 


marriage 

Thou  di  aw  not  on  thy  danger  and  dishonour  : 
for  thoagh  usnrjw-rs  sway  the  rule  a  while, 
l^et  heavens  are  just,  and  time  suppresseth  wrongs. 

lyar.  Injurious  Margaret! 

Pr"ice.  And  why  not  queen  ? 

War.  Because  thy  father  Henry  did  usurp  ; 
And  thou  no  more  a.  t  prince,  than  she  is  queen. 

Oxf.  Then    Warwick  disannuls  great  John  of 
Gaunt, 

Which  did  subdue  the  greatest  part  of  Spain: 
And,  after  John  of  Gaunt,  Henry  the  Fourth, 
Whose  wisdom  was  a  mirror  to  the  wisest: 
And,  after  that  wise  prince,  Henry  the  Fifth, 
Who  by  his  prowess  conqpiered  all  France  : 
From  these  our  Henry  lineally  descends. 

War.  Oxford,  how  haps  it,  in  this  smooth  dis 
course, 

Yon  told  not,  how  Henry  the  Sixth  hath  lost 
All  that  which  Henry  the  Fifth  had  gotten  ? 
xMethinks,  these  peers  of  France  should  smile  at 
But  for  the  rest,— You  tell  a  pedigree  [that 
Ut  threescore  and  two  years  ;  a  siily  time 
To  make  prescription  for  a  kingdom's  worth. 
Oxf.  Why,  Warwick,  canst  thou  speak  against 
thy  liege. 

Whom  thou  obey'dst  thirtv  and  six  years, 
And  not  bewray  thy  treason  with  a  blush  ? 

War.  Can  Oxford,  that  did  ever  fence  the  right. 
Now  buckler  falsehood  with  a  pedigree  ?  ^ 
For  shame,  leave  Henry,  and  call  Edward  king. 

Oxf.  Call  him  my  king,  by  whose  injurious  doom 
My  elder  brother,  the  lord  Aubrey  Vere, 
Was  done  to  death  ?  and  more  than  so,  my  father, 
Civen  in  the  downfall  of  his  meliow'd  years, 
When  nature  brought  him  to  the  door  of  death  ? 
No,  Warwick,  no;  while  life  upholds  this  arm, 
I  his  arm  upholds  the  house  of  Lancaster. 
fp'ar.  And  I  the  house  of  York. 
K.  Lew.  Queen  Margaret,  prince  Edward,  and 
Oxford, 

Vouchsafe,  at  our  request,  to  stand  aside, 
While  I  use  further  conference  with  Warwick. 
Q.  Mar.  Heaven  grant,  that  Warwick's  words 
bewitch  him  not! 

{Retiring  with  the  Prince  and  Oxford.) 

K.  Lew.  Now,  Warwick,  tell  me,  even  upon 
thy  conscience. 
Is  Edward  your  true  king?  for  I  were  loth 
To  link  with  him  that  were  not  lawful  chosen. 

TTair.  Thereon  I  pawn  my  credit  and  mine  honour. 

K.  Lew.  But  is  he  gracious  in  the  people's  eye  i 
War.  The  more,  that  Henry  was  unfortunate, 

K.  Lew.  Then  further,  all  dissembling  set  aside, 
Tell  me  for  truth  the  measure  of  his  love 
Unto  our  sister  Bona. 

War.  Such  it  seems, 

As  may  beseem  a  monarch  like  himself. 
Myself  have  often  heard  him  say,  and  swear, — 
That  this  his  love  was  an  eternal  plant ; 
Whereof  the  root  was  fix'd  in  virtue's  ground. 
The  leaves  and  fruit  maintain'd  with  beauty's  sun; 
Exempt  from  envy,  but  not  from  disdain. 
Unless  the  lady  Bona  quit  his  pain. 

K.  Lew.  Ndw,  SiSter,  let  us  hear  your  firm  resolve. 

Bona.  Your  grant,  or  yourdenial,  shall  be  mine  :— 
I  et  I  confess,  {to  War.)  that  often  ere  this  day, 
Wlien  I  have  heard  your  king's  desert  recounted, 
Miue  ear  hath  tempted  judgment  to  desire. 

K  Lew.  'I'hen,  Warwick,  thus, — Our  sister  shall 
be  Ed  ward  "s  ; 
4nd  now  forthwith  shall  articles  be  drawn 
r.Michiiig  tiie  j.)iiiture  that  your  king  must  make, 
\yiiicli  witli  her  dowry  shall  be  couiiterpois'd  : — 
Draw  near,  queen  Margaret;  and  be  a  witness, 
*l>at  Bona  s[iall  be  wife  to  the  English  king. 

Prince.'Vo  BIwird,  but  not  to  the  Ens^hsh  king. 

V?.  Mar.  Deceitful  Warwick  !  it  was  thy  device 


By  this  alliance  to  make  void  my  suit; 
Before_thy  coming,  Lewis  was  Henry's  friend 

K.  Lew.  And  still  is  friend  to  him  and  Margaret, 
But  if  your  title  to  the  crown  be  weak,— 
As  may  appear  by  Edward's  good  success,— 
1  hen  tis  but  reason,  that  I  be  releas'd 
From  giving  aid,  which  late  I  promised. 
Yet  shall  you  have  all  kindness  at  my  hand, 
that  your  estate  requires,  and  mine  can  yield 
ifTL       /^^"'■y  "f^w  lives  in  Scotland,  at  his  ea«» 
Where,  having  nothing,  nothing  he  can  lose. 
And  as  for  you  yourself,  our  quondam  queen,— 
Vou  have  a  father  able  to  nfi^intain  you  ; 
^"ij  better  'twere,  you  troubled  him  than  France. 
Q.  Mar.  Peace,  impudent  and  shameless  Waj. 
wick,  peace ; 
Proud  setter-up  and  puller-down  of  kings ! 
I  will  not  hence,  till  with  my  talk  and  tears. 
Both  full  of  truth,  I  make  king  Lewis  behold 
I  hy  sly  conveyance,  and  thy  lord's  false  love: 
i'or  both  of  you  are  birds  of  self-same  feather. 
rr  r  .  ,    , .  sounded  wiihim, 

A.  Jjew.  Warwick,  this  is  some  post  to  us,  or  thea 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord  ambassador,  these  letters  are  for 
you; 

Sent  from  your  brother,  marquis  Montague.— 
1  hese  from  our  king  unto  your  majesty.— 
And,  "ladam,  these  fbr  you  ;  from  vvhom  I  know  no„ 
[To  Margaret.  They  all  readth<iir  kites.) 
UxJ.  1  like  It  well,  that  our  fair  queen  and  mis^ 
tress 

miles  at  her  news,  while  Warwick  frowns  at  his. 
Frince.  Nay,  mark,  how  Lewis  stamps  as  he  were 
I  hope  all's  for  the  best.  [netlled : 

K.Jjetv.  Warwick,  what  are  thv  news?  and 

yours,  fair  queen  ? 
Q.  Mar.  Mine,  such  as  fill  my  heart  with  mi- 
hop'd  joys. 

W^«r.  Mine,  full  or  sorrow  and  heart's  discontent. 
A.  Lew.  What!  has  your  king  mairied  the  lady 
Grey  ? 

And  now,  to  sooth  your  forgery  and  his. 
Sends  me  a  paper  to  persuade  me  patience? 
Is  this  the  alliance  that  he  seeks  with  France? 
Dare  he  presume  to  scorn  us  in  this  manner? 

Q-  Mar.  I  told  your  majesty  as  much  before  : 
Tnis   pioveth    Edward's   love,    and  Warwick's 
honesty.       •  [heaven, 
War.  King  Lewis,  I  here  protest,— in  sight  of 
And  by  the  hope  I  have  of  heavenly  bliss, — 
That  I  am  clear  from  this  misdeed  of  Edward's: 
No  more  my  king,  for  he  dishonours  me  ; 
But  most  himself,  if  he  could  see  his  shame.— 
Did  I  forget,  that  by  the  house  of  York 
My  father  came  untimely  to  his  death  ? 
Did  I  let  pass  the  abuse  done  to  my  niece  ? 
Did  I  impale  him  with  the  regal  crown  ? 
Did  I  put  Henry  from  his  native  right; 
And  am  I  guerdon'd  at  the  last  with  shame  ? 
Shame  on  himself!  for  my  desert  is  honour. 
And,  to  repair  my  honour  lost  for  him, 
I  here  renounce  him,  and  return  to  Henry. 
My  noble  queen,  let  former  grudges  pass. 
And  henceforth  I  am  thy  true  servitor; 
I  will  revenge  his  wrong  to  lady  Bona, 
And  replant  Henry  in  his  former  state. 
Q.  Mar.  VVarwick,  these  words  have  turn'd  tag 
hate  to  love : 
And  I  forgive  and  quite  forget  old  faults, 
And  joy,  that  thou  becom'st  king  Henry's  friend. 

War.  So  much  his  friend,ay,  his  unfeigned  friend, 
That,  if  king  Lewis  vouchsafe  to  furnish  us 
With  some  few  bands  of  chosen  soldiers, 
I'll  undertake  to  land  them  on  our  coast. 
And  force  the  tyrant  from  his  seat  by  war. 
'Tis  not  this  new-made  bride  siiall  succour  himf 
And  as  for  Clarence, — as  my  letters  Leli  m$ 
He's  very  likely  now  to  fall  from  him; 


152 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act 


Fw  matcli'iDg  more  for  wanton  lusl  than  honour. 
Or  than  for  strength  and  safety  of  our  country. 

Bona.  Dear  brother,  how  shall  Bona  be  reveng'd. 
But  by  thy  help  to  this  distressed  queen  ? 

Q.  Mar.   Renowned   prince,   how   shall  poor 
Henry  live, 
Onless  thou  rescue  him  from  foul  despair? 
Bona.  My  quarrel,  and  this  English  queen's 
are  one. 

War.  And  mine,  fair  lady  Bona,  joins  with  yours. 
K.  Lew.  And  mine,  with  hers,  and  thine,  and 
Margaret's, 
j'herefore,  at  last,  1  firmly  am  resolv'd. 
Yon  sliall  have  aid.  [once. 
Q.  Mar.  Let  me  give  humble  thanks  for  all  at 
K.  Lew.  Then,  England's  messenger,  return  in 
post ; 

And  tell  false  Edward,  thy  supposed  king, — 
That  Lewis  of  France  is  sending  over  maskers. 
To  revel  it  with  him  and  his  new  bride : 
Thou  seest  what's  past,  go  fear  thy  king  withal. 
Bonn.  Tell  him,  In  hope  he'll  prove  a  widower 
shortly, 

I'll  wear  the  willow  garland  for  his  sake.  [aside, 
Q.  Mar.  Tell  him,  My  mourning  weeds  are  laid 

And  1  am  ready  to  put  armour  on. 

War.  Tell  him  from  me.  That  he  hath  done  me 
wrong ; 

And  'herefore  I'll  uncrown  him,  ere't  be  long. 
There's  thy  reward;  be  gone.  [Exit  Mess. 

K.  Lew.  But,  Warwick,  thou. 

And  Oxford,  witk  five  thousand  men, 
Shall  cross  the  seas,  and  bid  false  Edward  battle  : 
And,  as  occasion  serves,  this  noble  queen 
And  prince  shall  follow  with  a  fresh  sui)ply. 
Yet,  ere  thou  go,  but  answer  rne  one  doubt; — 
What  pledge  have  we  of  thy  firm  loyalty  ? 

War.  Tins  shall  assure  my  constant  loyalty  ; — 
That  if  our  queen  and  this  young  prince  agree, 
I'll  join  mine  eldest  daughter,  and  my  joy, 
To  him  forthwith  in  holy  wedlock  bands. 

Q.  Mar.  Yes,  I  agree,  and  thank  you  for  your  mo- 
Son  £«]\vai  d,  she  is  fair  and  virtuous,  [lion  :- 
Tjieiefore  delay  not,  give  thy  hand  to  Warwick; 
And,  with  thy  hand,  thy  faith  irrevocable, 
That  only  Warwick's  daughter  shall  be  thine. 

Prince.  Yes,  I  accept  her,  for  she  well  de- 
serves it ; 

And  here,  to  pledge  my  vow,  I  give  my  hand. 

{He  gives  his  hand  to  Warwick.) 
K.  Lew.  Why  stay  we  novv  ?  These  soldiers  shall 
be  levied. 

And  thou,  lord  Bourbon,  our  high  admiral, 
Shall  waft  them  over  with  our  royal  fleet.— 
I  long,  till  Edward  fall  by  war's  mischance. 
For  mocking  marriage  witli  a  dame  of  France. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Warwick. 
War.  I  came  from  Edward  as  ambassador. 
But  I  return  his  sworn  and  mortal  foe  : 
Matter  of  marriage  was  the  charge  he  gave  me. 
But  dreadful  war  shall  answer  his  demand. 
Had  he  none  else  to  make  a  stale,  but  me  ? 
Then  none  but  I  shall  turn  his  jest  to  sorrow 
1  was  the  chief,  that  rais'd  him  to  the  crown. 
And  I'll  be  chief  to  bring  him  down  again  : 
Not  that  I  pity  Henry's  misery, 
But  seek  revenge  on  Edward's  mockery.  [Exit. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.' — London.   A  lloom  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Gloster,  Clarence,  Somerset,  Monta- 
gue, and  others. 
Glo.  Now  tell  rae,  brother  Clarence,  what  think  you 
Of  this  new  marriage  with  the  lady  Grey  ? 
Hath  not  our  brother  made  a  worthy  choice  ? 
Clar.  Alas,  you  know,  'tis  far  from  hence  to 
France ; 

Bow  could  he  stay  till  Warwick  made  return  i 
8om.  My  lords,  forbear  this  talk:  here  comes 
the  king. 


Flourish.  Enter  King  EdwasR',  izitended:  Ladtf 
Grey,  as  Queen;  Pembroke,  Stafford,  Hast- 
ings, and  others. 
Glo.  And  liis  well-chosen  bride. 
Clar.  I  mind  to  tell  him  plainly  what  1  think. 
K.  Edw.  Now,  brother  of  Clarence,  Wow  likfl 
you  onr  choice. 

That  you  stand  pensive,  as  half  malcontent? 

Clar.  As  well  as  Lewis  of  France,  or  the  earl  o2 
Warwick  ; 

Which  are  so  weak  of  courage,  and  in  judgment, 
That  they'll  take  no  otience  at  our  abuse. 

/\.  Edw.  Suppose,  they  take  (ifl"ence  without  a 
cause. 

They  axe  but  Lewis  and  Warwick;  I  am  Edward, 
Your  king  and  Warwick's,  and  must  have  my  will. 
Glo.  And  you  shall  have  your  will,  because  oar 
king : 

Yet  hasty  marriage  seldom  proveth  well. 

K.  Edtv.  Yea,  brother  Richard,  are  you  offended 
Glo.  Not  I:  [too? 
No;  God  forbid,  that  I  should.wish  them  sever'd. 
Whom  God  hath  join'd  together :  ay,  and  'twere  pity 
To  sunder  them  that  yoke  so  well  together. 

K.  Edtv.  Setting  your  scorns,  and  your  mislike, 
aside, 

Tell  me  some  reason,  why  the  lady  Grey 
Should  not  become  my  wife,  and  England's  queen : — 
And  you,  too,  Somerset,  and  Montague, 
Speak  freely  what  you  think. 

Clar.  Then  this  is  my  opinion, — That  king  Lewis 
Becomes  your  enemy,  tor  mocking  him 
About  the'  marriage  of  the  lady  Bona. 

G/o.  And  Warwick,  doing  what  you  gave  in  charge, 
Is  now  dishonoured  by  this  new  marriage. 

K.  Edw.  What,  if  both  Lewis  and  Warwick  be 
appeas'd, 
By  such  invention  as  I  can  devise? 

Mont.  Yet  to  have  join'd  with  France  in  such 
alliance. 

Would  more  have  strengthen'd  this  our  comraon- 

weallh 

'Gainst  foreign  storms,  than  any  home-bred  marriage. 

Hast.  Why,  knows  not  Montague,  that  of  itself, 
England  is  safe,  if  true  within  itself  ? 

Mo7it.  Yes;    but  the  safer,  when  'tis  back'(| 
with  France.  [France: 

Hast.  'Tis  better  using  France,  than  trusting 
Let  us  be  back'd  with  God,  and  with  the  seas, 
Which  he  hath  given  for  fence  impregnable, 
And  with  their  helps  only  defend  ourselves  ; 
In  them,  and  in  ourselves,  our  safety  lies. 

Clar.  For  this  one  speech,  lord  Hastings  weJI 
deserves 

To  have  ti'ie  heir  of  the  lord  Hungerford. 

K.  Edw.  Ay,  what  of  that?  it  was  ray  will  anJ 

grant ; 

And,  for  this  once,  my  will  shall  stand  for  law. 
Glo.  And  yet,  methinks,  your  grace  hath  nol 
done  well, 

To  give  the  heir  and  daughter  of  lord  Scales 
Unto  the  brother  of  your  loving  bride  ; 
She  better  would  have  fitted  me,  or  Clarence  . 
But  in  your  bride  you  bury  brotherhood. 

Clar.  Or  else  you  would  not  have  bestow'd  the  heii 
Of  the  lord  Bonville  on  your  new  wife's  son, 
And  It-ave  your  brothers  to  go  speed  elsewhere. 

K.  Edw.  Alas,  poor  Clarence  !  is  it  for  a  wile. 
That  thou  art  malcontent?  I  will  provide  thee 

Clar.  In  choosing  for  yourself,  you  shew'd  fom 
judgment ; 

Which  being  shallow,  you  shall  give  me  leave 
To  play  the  broker  in  mine  own  behalf; 
And,  to  that  end,  I  shortly  mind  to  leave  you. 

K.Edw  Leave  me,  or  tarry,  Edward  will  be  king 
And  not  be  tied  u«to  his  brother's  will. 

Q.  Eliz.  My  lords,  before  it  pleas'd  his  majestj 
To  raise  my  state  to  title  of  a  queen, 
Do  me  but  right,  and  you  must  all  confew 
That  I  was  not  ignoble  of  descent. 


^CENE  3. 


KING  HENRY  VT. 


m 


And  me'aner  than  myself  have  had  like  fortune. 
But  as  this  title  honours  me  and  mine, 
So  your  djshk.es,  to  whom  I  would  be  pleasing, 
Do  cloud  my  joys  with  danger  an.l  with  sorrow. 
K.  Edvj.  My  love,  forbear  to  fawn  upon  their 
frowns ; 

What  danger,  or  what  sorrow,  can  befall  thee, 
So  long  as  Edward  is  thy  constant  friend, 
And  their  true  sovereign,  \y\\on\  tliey  must  obey? 
Nay,  wiiom  they  shall  obey,  and  love  thee  too. 
Unless  they  seek  for  hatred  at  my  hands: 
VVliich,  il  they  do,  yet  will  I  keep  thee  safe, 
And  <hey  shall  feel  the  vengeance  of  my  wrath. 
Glo-  1  hear,  yet  say  not  much,  but  think  the 
more.  {Aside.) 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
K.  Ediv.  Now,  messenger,  what  letters,  or  what 
Froni  l<Vance?        _  [news. 
Mess.  My  sovereign  liege,  no  letters ;  and  few 
words. 

But  such  as  I,  without  your  special  pardon, 

D.I  re  tint  relate.  [brief, 

K.  Ediu.  Go  to,  we  pardon  thee :  therefore,  in 
Tell  me  their  words  as  near  as  thou  canst  guess  them. 

h-it  ;ins\ver  makes  king  Lewis  unto  our  letters? 

Mess.  At  my  depart,  these  were  his  very  words  ; 
To  tell  false  Edward,  tJiy  supposed  king, — 
Ti-at  Lewis  of  France  is  sending  over  mashers, 
To  revel  it  with  him  and  his  new  bride. 

K.  Edw.  Is  Lewis  so  brave  ?  belike,  he  thinks 
nie  Henry. 
B  it  wliHt  s.iid  lady  Bona  to  my  marriage? 

Mess.  Tiitise  were  her  words,  utter'd  with  mild 
disdain; 

Te/l  him.  in  hope  he'll  prove  a  ividower  shortly, 
111  wear  the  willoio  garland  fur  his  sake. 

K.  Edw.  1  bltuue  not  her,  she  could  .say  iittle  less; 
Slie  had  tlie  wrong.  But  what  said  Henry's  queen? 
For  I  liave  he;u-d,  that  sl)e  \vas  there  in  jtlace. 

(l/e«s  s-.  Tell  him,  quoth  she,  iny  mourning  weeds 
are  done, 
A  »d  I  am  ready  to  put  armour  on. 

K.  Edw.  Belike,  she  minds  to  play  the  Amazon, 
But  what  .said  Waivvick  to  th^— ■  injuries? 

Mess,  lie,  more  incens'd  aga.nst  your  majesty 
I'han  all  the  rest,  dl.sciiarg'd  me  with  these  words; 
7V//  him  from  me.  that  he  hath  done  me  wrong, 
And  therefore  I'll  uncrown  lain,  ere't  be  long. 

K.  Edw.   Ha!  (liirst  the  traitor  breathe  out  so 
proud  words 
Well,  1  will  arm  ine,  being  thus  forevvarn'd : 
Tiiey  shall  have  wars,  and  pay  for  their  presumption. 
But  say,  is  Warwick  iViends  with  IN^argaret? 

Mess.  Ay,  gracious  sovereign;  they  are  so  link'd 
in  friendship,  [daugl-iter. 
Tint  young  prince  Edward  marries  Warwick's 

Clar.  Belike,  the  elder;  Clarence  will  have  the 
younger. 

Now,  brother  king,  farewell,  and  si*  you  fast. 
Nor  I  will  hence  to  Warwick's  otiier  daughter; 
Tftat,  though  1  want  a  kingdom,  yet  in  marriage 
I  may  not  prove  inferior  to  yourself. — 
Vuu,  that  love  me  and  Warwick,  follow  me. 

[Exit  Clarence,  and  Somerset  follows. 

Glo.  Not  \  : 
My  tiioughts  aitn  at  a  further  matter;  I 
Stay  not  (or  love  of  Edward,  but  the  crown.  {Aside.) 

K.  Ediv.  Clarence  and  Somerset  both  gone  to 
Warwick! 

Vet  am  I  arm'd  against  the  worst  can  happen; 
And  ha.ste  is  needful  in  this  desperate  rase. — 
l*einbroke,  and  Stafford,  you  in  »ujr  behalf 
tin  levy  men,  and  make  prepare  for  war; 
They  are  already,  or  qui(-kly  will  be,  landed' 
Myself  in  person  will  straigiit  follow  you, 

[Exeunt  Pembroke  and  Stafford. 
But,  ere  I  go,  Hastings, — and  Moutague, — 
Resolve  n>y  doubt,     'i'ou  twain,  of  all  the  rest, 
Are  txeir  to  Warwick,  by  blood,  and  by  alliance  : 


Tell  nie,  if  you  love  Warwick  more  tliau  m«T 

If  it  be  so,  then  both  depart  to  him ; 
I  rather  wish  you  foes,  than  hollow  friends- 
But  if  you  mind  to  hold  your  true  obedience. 
Give  me  assurance  with  some  friendly  votjv. 
That  I  may  never  have  you  in  suspect. 

Mont.  So  God  help  Montague,  as  he  proves  (ru«l 
Hast  And  Hastings,  as  he  favours  Edward's 
cause  !  [by  us  ? 

K.  Edw.  Now,  brother  Richard,  will  you  stand 
Gio.  Ay,  in  despite  of  all  that  shall  withstand  you 
K.  Edw.  Why  so  ;  then  am  [  sure  of  victory. 
Now  therefore  let  us  hence ,  and  lose  no  hour. 
Till  me  weet  Warwick  with  his  foreign  power. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — A  plain  tn  Warwickshire. 
Enter  WARwqcK  and  Oxford,  with  French  and 
other  Forces. 
War.  Trust  me,  my  lord,  all  hitherto  goes  well; 
The  common  people  by  numbers  swarm  to  us. 

Enter  Clarence  and  Somerset. 
But,  see,  where  Somerset  and  Clarence  come; — 
Speak  suddenly,  my  lords,  are  we  all  friends  ? 

Clar.  Fear  not  that,  my  lord.  [wick  ; 

War.  Tiien,  gentle  Clarence,  welcome  unto  War- 
And  welcome,  Somerset:— I  hold  it  cowardice 
To  re.?t  mistrustful,  where  a  noble  heart 
Hath  pawn'd  an  open  hand  in  sign  of  love ; 
Else  might  I  think,  that  Clarence,  Edward's  brother, 
Were  but  a  I'eigned  friend  to  our  proceedings  : 
But  welcome,  Clarence  :  my  daughter  shall  be  thine 
And  now  what  rests,  but,  in  night's  coverture 
'Yhy  brother  being  carelessly  encamp'd, 
His  soldiers  lurking  in  the  towns  about. 
And  but  attended  by  a  simple  guard, 
We  may  surpris'e  and  take  him  at  our  pleasure? 
Our  scouts  have  found  the  adventure  very  easy: 
That  as  Ulysses,  and  stout  Diomede, 
With  slight  and  manhood  stole  to  Rhesus'  tents. 
And  brought  from  thence  the  Thracian  fatal  steeds* 
So  we,  well  cover'd  with  the  night's  black  mantle, 
At  unawares  may  beat  down  Edward's  guard 
And  seize  himself;  I  say  not — slaughter  him, 
For  I  intend  but  only  to  surprise  him, — 
You,  that  will  follow  me  to  this  attenipt, 
Applaud  the  name  of  Henry,  with  your  leader. 

{Thetj  all  cry,  Henry  ,) 
Why,  then,  let's  on  our  way  in  silent  sort : 
For  Warwick  and  his  friends,   God  and  Sainl 
George !  [Exeunt 

Scene  III. — Edtoard's  Camp,  near  Warwick. 
Enter  certain  Watchmen,  to  guard  the  King''» 
tent. 

1  Watch.  Come  on,  my  masters,  each  man  takt) 

his  stand  ; 

The  king,  by  this,  is  set  him  down  to  sleep. 

2  Watch.  What,  will  he  not  to  bed  ? 

1  If'a^c/i.Why,  no:  for  he  hath  made  a  solemn  vow. 
Never  to  lie  and  take  his  natural  rest, 

Till  Warwick,,  or  himself,  be  q  lite  suppress'd. 

2  W atch.  To  morrow  then,  belike,  shall  be  the  day 
If  Warwick  be  so  near  as  men  report. 

^  3  Watch.  But  say,  I  pray,  what  nobleman  is  (hat, 
That  with  the  king  here  resteth  in  his  tent? 

1  Watrh.   'Tis  the  lord   Hastings,   the  king's 

chiefest  friend.  [king, 

3  Watch.  O,  is  it  so?  But  why  conmiands  th^ 
That  his  chief  followers  lodge  in  towns  about  him. 
While  he  himself  keepeth  in  the  cold  field? 

2  Watch.  'Tis  the  more  honour,  because  mof 

dangerous. 

3  W atch.  Ay  ;  but  give  me  worship  and  quietness, 
I  like  it  better  than  a  dangerous  honour. 

If  Warwick  knew  in  what  estate  he  stands, 
'Tis  to  be  doubted,  he  would  waken  him, 

1  Watch.  Unless  our  halberds  did  shut  op  fail 
passage. 


454 


THIRD  PART  OF 


2  WiSt^h  Ay ;  wherefore  else  guard  we  his  royal 
But  to  defend  his  person  from  night-foes.  [teat, 

Enter  Warwick,  Clarence,  Oxford,  Somerset, 
and  Forces. 

War.  This  is  his  tent;  and  see,  where  stand  his 
guard. 

Courasje/uiy  masters  :  honour  no\v,  or  never! 
Out  tollow  nie,  and  Edward  sliall  be  ours. 
1  Watch.  Who  goes  tliere  ? 
I  Watch.  Stay,  or  thou  diest. 

Warwick,  and  the  rest,  cry  all— Warwick! 
U  arivick!  and  set  upon  the  Guard  .,  who 
fiy,  f  t'yi^'J — Arm  !  arm  !  IFarwich,  and 
the  }  est,  J'ollo wine/  them. 

The  drmn  beating,  and  trumpets  sounding,  re- 
enter Warwick,  and  the  rest,  bringing  the  King 
out  in  a  gown,  sitting  in  a  chair :  Gloster  and 
Hastings  Jly. 

Sam.  What  are  tliey  that  fly  there  ? 

Wq*'.  Richard  and  Hastings  :  let  tliem  go,  iiere's 
the  duke, 

K.  Edw.  The  duke  I  why,  Warwick,  when  we 
{Kjrted  last, 
Thou  cairdst  me  king? 

War.  Ay,  but  the  case  is  alter'd: 

Wlieu  you  disgrac'd  me  in  iny  embassade. 
Then  1  degraded  you  froui  being  king, 
And  come  now  to  create  you  duke  of  Vorlc 
Alas!  how  should  you  govern  any  kin-gdoui, 
That  know  not  how  to  use  ambassadors ; 
Nor  how  to  be  contented  with  one  wiie ; 
Nor  how  to  use  your  brothers  brotherly; 
Nor  how  to  study  fir  the  people's  welfare; 
Nor  how  to  slwovvd  yoursell"  from  enemies? 

K  Ediv.  Yea,  brother  oi" Clarence,  art  thou  here 
too':* 

Kay,  then  1  see,  that  Edward  needs  must  down. — 
Yet,  W  arwick,  in  despite  of  all  mrsciiauce. 
Of  thee,  thyself,  and  all  thy  complices, 
Edward  wiii  always  bear  himsell  as  king  : 
Th(  ugli  tbrtuue's  lu.dice  overthrow  my  st;ite, 
My  niu»d  cxcet  ds  the  compass  ol  her  wheel. 
IV ar.  'I'hfu,  lor  uis  mind,  be  Edward  England's 

king  :  [Takes  off  his  crown.) 

But  Henry  now  sh;>l!  wear  the  Eaglisu  crown. 
And  be  tr.ie  king  indeed;  thou  but  the  sliadow. — 
My  lord  of  So  iit-rset,  at  my  request, 
See  that  t'orthwitii  duke  Edward  be  convey'd 
Unto  my  brutuer,  archbisiiop  of  York. 
When  1  liave  fought  with  Pembroke  and  his  fellows, 
I'll  f  »llow  yoii.  and  tell  vvliat  answer 
Lewis,  and  the  laciy  Buna,  send  to  him  : 
N[)w,  for  a  while,  farewell,  good  duke  of  York. 
K.  Edw.  Wliat  fates  impose,  that  men  must  needs 

aliide ; 

It  boots  not  to  resist  both  wind  and  tide. 

\Jtuxit  King  Edward,  led  out  ;  Somerset  luith  him. 

Oxf.  What  u  iw  remains,  my  lords,  lor  us  to  do  ; 
But  march  to  Loudon  with  our  soldiers  ?  [do  : 

War.  Ay,  that's  the  first  thing  that  we  have  to 
To  i'ree  king  Henry  from  imprisonment. 
And  see  him  seated  in  the  regal  throne.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — London     A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Rivers. 
Riv.  Madam,  what  makes  you  in  this  sudden 
change  ?  [learn, 
Q.  Eliz.  Why,  brother  Rivers,  are  you  yet  to 
W»at  late  nu-nfortune  is  befall'n  king  Edward  ? 
Riv.  What,  loss  of  some  pitch'd  battle  against 
Warwick'? 

Q.  KHz.  No,  but  the  loss  of  his  own  royal  person. 

ttiv.  fhen  i-s  my  sovereign  slain? 

Q.  Ehz.  Ay,  almost  slain,  for  he  is  taken  prisoner  ; 
Either  betray'd  by  falsehood  of  his  guard. 
Or  by  nis  loe  surpris'd  at  unawares : 
Aitd,  as  I  further  have  to  understand, 

new  coiDtnitted  to  the  bishop  of  York, 


Fell  Warwick's  brother,  and  by  that  our  foe. 

Riv.  These  news,  I  must  confess,  are  full  of  gmf 
Yet,  gracious  madanj,  bear  it  as  you  may  ; 
Warwick  may  lose,  that  now  hati'i  won  the  day. 

Q.  Eliz.TiW  then,  lair  hope  must  hinder  life's  aecay 
And  i  the  rather  wean  me  from  despair, 
For  love  of  Edward's  offspring  in  my  womb  j 
'I'his  is  it  that  makes  me  bridle  passion. 
And  bear  with  mildness  my  misfortune's  cross; 
Ay,  ay,  for  tiiis  I  draw  in  many  a  tear. 
And  stop  tlie  rising  of  blood-sucking  sighs, 
Lest  with  my  sighs  or  tears  1  blast  or  drown 
Kino  Edward's  fruit,  true  heir  to  the  English  crown. 

Riv.  But,  madam,  where  is  Warwick  then  be- 
come ?  [London, 

Q.  Eliz.  I  am  informed,  that  he  conies  towa:da 
To  set  the  crown  om-e  more  on  Heniy's  head  : 
Guess  thou  the  rest;  king  Edward's  friends  must 
down. 

But,  to  prevent  the  tyrant's  violence, 

(For  trust  not  him,  that  hath  once  broken  faith,) 

I'll  hence  f)rthwith  unto  the  sanctuary, 

']'o  save  at  least  the  heir  of  Eil  ward's  right ; 

There  shall  1  rtst  secure  from  Ibrce,  and  iraud. 

Come  therelore,  let  us  tly,  \\  hile  we  may  fly  ; 

II'  Warwick  take  us,  we  are  S!ire  to  die.  [Exeunt 

Scene  V. — A  Park  near  Middle  ham  Castle,  in 

Yorkshire. 

Enter  Gloster,  tlASTiNGs.  Sir  William  Stan- 
ley, and  others. 
Glo.  Now,   my  lord  Hastings,  and  sir  Wiilianj 
Staulf-y, 

Leas  e  off  to  wonder  why  I  drew  you  hither, 
Into  this  chieiest  thicket  of  the  pnrk. 
Thus  stands  the  case  :  Vou  know,  our  king,  my 
brother. 

Is  prisoner  to  the  bisho})  here,  at  whose  hands 

He  hath  good  us;ige  and  great  lil)erty  ; 

And,  often  but  i<ttended  with  weak  gu:trd, 

Comes  iiunting  tiiis  way  to  disport  Idmself. 

1  have  adv 'rtis'd  him  by  secret  uieans, 

Tnat  ii' about  this  horn-  he  m;ike  this  vv;  y, 

Under  tue  colour  oi' his  usual  game, 

He  shall  here  hnd  his  friends,  willi  horse  and  nsen, 

To  set  him  i'ree  trom  his  captiv  ity. 

Enter  King  EdvvaRD,  and  a  Hnntsinan. 
Hunt,  'i'his  way,  my  lord;  for  this  way  lies  the 
game. 

K.  Edw.  Nay.  this  way,  man;  see,  where  tiie 
iiunlsioeri  s!;!nd. — 
Now,  brother  of  Gloster,  lord  Hastings,  and  the  rest, 
I  Stand  yoa  tiius  close  to  steal  tiie  bi.Miop's  <leer  ? 

Glo.  Brotiier,  the  time  auil  case  reqnireth  haste  : 
Your  horse  stands  ready  at  the  park  corner, 
Ii.  Edw.  Uut  whither  shall  we  tlien  ? 
Hast.  I'o  l>ynn,  ujy  lord;  and  ship  from  thence 
to  Flanders.  (meaning. 
Glo   Well  >>uess'd,  believe  me;  for  thai  was  my 
K  Edw.  Stanley,  I  will  requite  thy  lorwarduess, 
Glo.  lint  wherelore  stay  we'?  'tis  no  time  to  talk, 
K.  Edw.  Huntsman,  what  say'st  thou?  wilt  tiiot> 
go  along  ? 

Hunt.  Better  do  so,  than  tarry  and  be  hang'd. 
Glo  Come  then,  away ;  let's  have  no  more  ado. 
K.  Edw.  Bishop,  farewell  :  shield   thee  hoiia 
Warwick's  frown  ; 
And  pray  that  I  may  repossess  the  crown.  [Exeunt 

Scene  VI. — A  Room  in  the  Tower. 
Enter  King  Henry,  Clarence,  Warwick,  Su 
merset,  young  RicHiMond,  Oxford,  lVloNTAGUB^ 
Lieutenant  of  the  Tower  and  A  ttendants. 
K.  Hen.  Master  lieutenant ,  now  that  God  and 
iriends 

Have  shaken  Edward  from  the  regal  seat; 
And  turn'd  my  captive  state  to  liberty. 
My  fear  to  ho()e,  my  sorrows  unto  joys ; 
At  our  ^nlar^jemeut  what  are  thy  due  feea  ? 


Scene  7. 


KING  HENRY  YL 


456 


Lieu.  Subjects  may  challenge  aothing  of  their 
•Bovereigns; 
But,  if  an  hutnble  prayer  may  prevail, 
1  then  crave  pardon  of  your  majesty. 

K  Hen.  For  what,  lienteiiatjt  ?  for  well  using  me  ? 
Nay,  be  thou  sure,  I'll  vvell  requite  thy  kindness, 
for  that  it  made  my  imj)risonriient  a  pleasure  : 
Ay,  such  a  pleasure  as  incaged  birds 
Conceive,  when,  after  many  ri.oody  thoughts, 
At  last,  by  notes  of  household  harmony, 
'I'hey  quite  forget  their  loss  of  liberty. — 
But.  VVarvvick,  after  God,  thoti  set'st  me  free, 
And  chiefly  therefore  1  thank  God,  and  thee  ; 
He  was  the  author,  thou  the  instrument. 
Therefore,  that  1  may  conquer  fortune's  spite, 
By  living  low,  where  fortune  cannot  hurt  me ; 
And  that  the  people  of  this  blessed  land 
May  not  be  piuiish'd  with  my  thwarting  stars; 
Warwick,  although  my  head  still  wear  the  crown, 
I  here  resign  my  government  to  thee, 
for  thou  art  fortunate  in  all  thy  deeds.  [ous ; 

War.  V'our  grace  hath  still  been  fam'd  for  virtu- 
And  now  may  seem  as  wise  as  virtuous, 
By  spying,  and  avoiding,  fortune's  malice. 
For  few  men  rightly  temper  with  the  stars  : 
Vet  in  this  otie  thing  let  me  blame  your  grace, 
For  choosing  me,  when  Clarence  is  in  place. 

C/a.  No,  Warwick,  thou  art  vvortliy  of  the  sway, 
To  whom  the  heavens,  in  thy  nativity, 
Adjug'd  an  olive  branch,  and  laurel  crown. 
As  likely  to  be  blest  in  peace,  and  war; 
And  therefore  I  yield  tiiee  my  free  consent. 

ffar.  And  I  choose  Clarence  only  for  protector. 

K.  Hen.  Warwick,  and  Clarence,  give  me  both 
your  hands;  [hearts. 
Now  join  your  hands,  and,  with  your  hands,  your 
'J'hat  no  dissension  hinder  government : 
I  make  you  both  protectors  of  this  land; 
While  I  mysell'will  lead  a  private  life. 
And  in  de\ otion  S|)end  my  latter  days, 
Ti)  sill's  rebuke,  and  my  Creator's  praise.  [will? 

]y^ar.  What  answer  Clarence  to  his  sovereign's 

C/rtr.  That  he  consents,  if  Warwick  yield  consent ; 
Fur  o;i  thy  fortune  I  repose  myself. 

IFfl-r.  VV'hy  then,  though  loath,  yet  must  I  be 
content: 

We'll  yoke  together,  like  a  double  shadow 
"So  Henry's  i)ody,  and  sup()iy  his  place: 
•  mean,  in  beariuij  weight  of  government. 
While  he  enjoys  the  honour,  and  his  ease. 
And,  Cl.irence,  now  then  it  is  more  than  needful, 
Forthwith  tiiat  l^dward  be  proiiounc'd  a  traitor. 
And  all  Ins  lands  and  goods  be  confiscate. 

C/ar.  Wiiatelse  V  and  that  succession  be  deter- 
min'd.  [part. 
War.  Ay.  therein  Clirence  shall  not  want  his 
K.  Hen.  But,  with  the  lii  st  oi' all  your  chief  attUirs, 
Ijet  me  entreat,  (ior  I  coiniaand  no  more,) 
'J'liat  iMarg:iret  your  queen.  ;ind  my  son  Edv/ard, 
Be  sent  tor,  to  return  from  France  with  speed  : 
I'^jr,  till  I  see  them  here,  by  doubtful  fear 
My  joy  of  liberty  is  half  eclips'd.  [speed. 
C/ar.  It  shall  be  done,  my  sovereign,  with  all 
K.  Hen.  My  lord  of  Sonjerset,  what  youth  is  that. 
Of  whoiii  you  seem  to  have  so  tender  care? 

Sum.  My  liege,  it  is  young  Henry,  earl  of  Rich- 
mond. 

II'.  Couje  hither,  England's  hope  ;  If  secret 

jjowers        [Laij.^  his  hand  on  his  head.) 
Suggest  but  truth  to  my  divining  tiioughts, 
This  pretty  lad  will  {)ro\  e  our  country's  bliss. 
His  lo(>ks  are  full  of  pea:;el"ul  majesty  ; 
His  h^'ul  by  nature  frain'd  to  wear  a  crown. 
His  hand  to  wield  a  sceptre  :  and  lumself 
Ukely,  ill  time,  to  bless  a  regal  throne. 
Alak^  niiicii  of  him,  my  lords;  for  this  is  he. 
Must  help  you  more  ttiao  you  are  hurt  by  me. 

Enter  a  Me.isenyer. 
War,  What  news,  my  friends  ? 


Mess.  That  Edward  is  escaped  from  your  brother, 
And  lied,  as  he  hears  since,  to  Burgundy. 

W ar.  Unsavoury  news  :  But  how  made  he  escape . 
Mess.  He  was  convey'd  by  Richard  duke  o( 
Gloster, 

And  the  lord  Hastings,  vvho  attended  hiiu 
in  secret  ambush  on  the  forest  side, 
And  Irorri  the  bishop's  huntsmen  rescued  him; 
For  hunting  was  his  daily  exercise. 

War.  My  brother  was  too  careless  of  his  charge.— • 
But  let  us  hence,  my  sovereign,  to  provide 
A  salve  for  any  sore  that  may  betide. 

[Exeunt  King  Henrij,  War.  Clar.  Lieut 
and  Attendants. 

Som.  My  lord.  1  like  not  of  this  flight  of  Edward's  j 
For,  doubtless,  Bnrgundy  will  yield  him  help; 
And  we  shall  have  more  wars,  before't  be  long 
As  Henry's  late  |  resaging  prophecy  [mond ; 

Did  glad  my  heart,  with  hope  of  this  young  Rich- 
So  doth  my  heart  misgive  me,  in  these  conflicts 
What  may  befall  him,  to  his  harm  and  ours: 
Therefore,  lord  Oxford,  to  prevent  the  worst, 
Forthwith  we'll  send  him  hence  to  Britany, 
Till  stornjs  be  past  of  civil  enmity. 

Oxf.  Ay;  for,  if  Edward  repossess  the  cr^^wn, 
'Tis  like,  tliat  Richmond  with  the  rest  shall  down. 

Som.  It  shall  be  so  ;  he  shall  to  Britany. 
C  iihe,  therefore,  let's  about  it  speedily.  [Exeunt- 

Scene  YU.— Before  York. 
Enter  King  Edward,  Gloster,  Hasiings,  and 

Forces. 

K.  Edw.  Now,  brother  Richard,  lord  Eastings, 
and  the  rest; 
Yet  thus  far  fortune  maketh  us  amends, 
And  says — that  once  more  I  shall  interchange 
My  waned  state  for  Henry's  regal  crown. 
Well  have  we  pass'd,  and  now  repass'd  the  seas,  f 
And  brought  desired  help  from  Burgundy:  ; 
What  then  remains,  we  being  thus  arriv'd  ! 
From  Ravenspurg  haven  before  the  gates  of  York, 
But  that  we  enter,  as  into  our  dukedom? 

Glo.  The  gates   made   fast ! — Brother,    I  like 
not  this  ; 

For  many  men,  that  stumble  at  the  threshold 
Are  well  foretold— that  danger  lurks  within. 

K.  Edw.  Tush,  man!  abodements  must  not  now 
affright  us : 
By  fair  or  i'o\A  means  we  must  enter  in, 
For  hither  will  our  friends  repair  to  us. 

Hast.  My  liege,  I'tl  knock  once  more,  to  Sam- 
mon  them. 

Enter  on  the  walls,  the  Mayor  of  York.,  and  hit 
Brethren. 

May.  My  lords,  we  were  forewarned  of  your 
coining, 

And  shut  the  gates  for  safety  of  ourselves  ; 
For  no\v  we  o\ve  allegiance  unto  Flenry. 

K.  Edw.  But,  master  mayor,  if  Henry  be  your  king, 
Yet  Edward,  at  the  least,  is  duke  of 'Ifork. 

May.  True,  my  good  lord ;  I  know  you  for  no 
less. 

K.  Edw.  Why,  and  I  challenge  nothir.g  but  my 
dukedom, 
As  being  well  content  with  that  alone. 

Glo.  But,  when  the  fox  hath  once  got  in  his  nose. 
He'll  soon  find  means  to  make  the  body  follow. 

[Asidt.) 

Hast.  Why,  master  mayor,  why  stand  you  in  a 
doubt  ? 

Open  the  gates,  we  are  king  Henry's  friends. 

May.  Ay,  say  you  so?  the  gates  shall  then  ba 
open'd.  [Exeunt from  above, 

Glo.  A  wise  stout  captain,  and  persuaded  soon  • 
Hast.  The  good  old  man  v^'oiild  fain  that  all 
were  well, 

So  'twere  not  'lowg  of  him  :  but,  being  enter'd, 
I  doubt  not,  I,  but  we  shall  soon  persuade 
Both  him.  and  all  his  brothers,  unto  reasoa 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  Y 


l?e  enfer  the  Mayor,  and  tivo  Alderinen,  below. 

K.  Edw.  So,  master  mayor:  these  gates  must 
no(  be  shut, 
*BKt  in  the  nii^ht,  or  in  the  time  of  war. 
What!  fear  not,  man,  but  y.eld  me  np  the  keys  ; 

{Takes  his  keys.) 
For  Ell  ward  will  defend  the  town,  and  thee. 
And  all  those  friends  that  deign  to  follow  me. 
Vrum.Enie rMotiTGOMERY,  and  Forces,  marching. 

Glo.  Broth-er,  this  is  sir  John  Montgomery, 
Our  trusty  friend,  unless  I  be  deceiv'd. 

K.  Edw.  Welcome,  sir  John  !    But  why  come 

you  in  arms  ? 
Mont.  To  help  king  Edward  in  his  time  of  storm, 
As  every  loyal  subject  ought  to  do. 

K.  Edw.  Thanks,  good  Montgomery.   But  we 
now  forget 
Our  title  to  the  crown  ;  and  only  claim 
Our  dukedom,  till  God  |)lease  to  send  the  rest. 

Mont.  Then  fare  you  well,  (or  1  will  hence  again ; 
I  came  to  serve  a  king,  and  not  a  duke. — 
Drummer,  strike  up,  and  let  us  march  away. 

{A  March  begun.) 
K.  Edw.  Nay,  stay,  sir  John,  awhile  ;  and  we'll 
debate. 

By  what  safe  means  the  crown  may  be  recover'd. 

Mont.  Wliat  talk  you  of  debating in  few  words, 
Cf  you'll  not  here  proclaim  yourself  our  king, 
I'll  leave  you  to  your  fortune;  and  be  gone 
To  keep  them  hack,  that  come  to  succour  you  : 
Why  should  we  fight,  if  you  pretend  no  title  ? 

Glo.  Wiiy,  biotner,  vvherelbre  stand  you  on  nice 
points  ? 

K.  Edw.  When  we  grow  stronger,  then  we'll 
make  our  claim  : 
lisl  then,  'tis  wisdom  to  conceal  our  meaning;. 

Hast.  Away  with  scrupulous  wit!  now  arms  must 
rule.  [crowns. 

G(o.  And  fearless   minds  climb    soone'<t  nnto 
Brother,  we  will  proclaim  you  out  of  hand  ; 
The  bruit  thereof  will  bring  you  many  Irien-li. 

K.  Edw.  Then  be  it  as  you  will ;  for  'tis  My  right, 
And  tlenry  but  usurps  the  diadem.  [self; 

Mont.  Ay,  now  my  sovereign  speaketh  like  him- 
And  now  will  I  be  Edward's  champion. 

llast.  Sound,  trumpet;  Edward  s\\A\  be  here 
proclaim'd : — 
Come,  fellow-soldier,  make  thou  proxlama'ion. 

{Gives  him  a  paper.  Flourish.) 

Sold.  (Reads.)  Edward  the  Fourth,  by  the  grace 
of  God,  king  of  England  and  France,  and  lord  of 
Ireland,  §fc. 

Mont.  And  whosoe'er  gainsays  king  Edward's 
By  this  I  challenge  him  to  single  fi^ht.  (right, 
[Throtvs  down  his  gauntlet.) 

All.  Long  live  Edward  the  Fourth  I 

I\.  Edw.  Thanks,  brave   Montgomery  ;  —  and 
thanks  unto  you  all. 
ff  fortune  serve  nje,  I'll  requite  this  kindness. 
Now,  for  this  night,  let's  harbour  here  in  York : 
And,  when  the  morning  sun  shall  raise  his  car 
Above  the  border  of  this  horizon, 
We'll  forward  towards  Warwick,  and  his  mates  ; 
Eor,  well  I  wot,  that  Henry  is  no  soldier. — 
Ah,  froward  Clarence! — how  evil  it  beseems  thee, 
To  flatter  Henry,  and  forsake  thy  brother  ! 
Vet,  as  we  may,  we'll  meet  both  thee  Pvnd  War- 
wick,— 

Come  on,  brave  soldiers  ;  doubt  not  of  the  day  ; 
And,  that  once  gotten,  doubt  not  of  large  pay. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  VHI. — London.  A  Room  ia  the  Palace. 

'Enter  King  Henry,  Warwick,  Clarence,  Mon- 
tague, Exeter,  and  Oxford. 
War.  What  counsel,  lords?  EJward  from  Belgia, 
With  hasty  Germans,  and  blunt  Hollanders, 
Hath  p.iss'd  in  -^af-ty  through  tiie  narrow  seas, 
(Lai  with  h  s  trou"  Jctn  :narch  amain       » .ondou 


And  many  giddy  people  flov.!  to  him. 

Oxf  Let's  levy  men,  and  beat  him  back  aj^ain* 
Clar.  A  little  tire  is  guickly  trodden  out ; 

Which,  being  sutier'd,  rivers  cannot  quench. 

War.    In    Warwickshire  I  have  true-hearte 
friends, 

Not  mutinous  in  peace,  yet  bold  in  war; 

Those  will  I  rauster  up  : — and  thou,  son  Clarence, 

Shalt  stir,  in  Suffolk,  Norfolk,  and  in  Kent, 

The  knights  and  gentlemen  to  come  with  the 

Thou,  brolhcr  Montague,  in  Buckingham, 

Noi  thampton,  and  in  Leicestershire,  shalt  find 

Men  well  inclin'd  to  hear  wiiat  thou  comwiand'st • 

And  thou,  brave  Oxford,  wondrous  well  belov'u. 

In  Oxfordshire  shalt  muster  up  thy  friends. — 

My  sovereign,  with  the  loving  citizens, — 

Like  to  his  island,  girt  in  with  the  ocean, 

Or  modest  Dian,  circled  vvith  her  nymphs,— 

Shall  rest  in  London,  till  we  come  to  him. 

Fair  lords,  take  leave,  and  stand  not  to  reply. — 

Farewell,  njy  sovereign.  [true  hope. 

K.  Hen.  Farewell,  my  Hector,  and  my  Troy's 

Clar.  In  sign  oi"  truth,  I  kiss  your  highness'  hand. 

K.  Hen.  Well -minded  Clarence,  be  thou  fortu- 
nate !  [leave. 

Mont.  Comfort,  my  lord! — and  <*o  I  take  my 

Oxf.  And  thus  {Kissing  Henry's  hand.)  1  seal 
my  truth,  and  bid  adieu. 

K.  Hen.  Sweet  Oxford,  and  my  loving  ^Montague, 
And  all  at  once,  once  more  a  happy  farewell. 

War.  Farewell,  sweet  lords;  let's  m  t-t  at  Co- 
\ entry.  [Exeunt  War.  Clar.  Oxf.  and  Mont. 

K.  Heyi.  Here  at  the  palace  will  I  rest  a  while. 
Cousin  of  Exeter,  what  thinks  your  lordship 
Methinks,  the  power  that  Edward  hath  in  field. 
Should  not  be  able  to  encounter  mine. 

Exe.  The  doubt  i-s,  that  he  will  seduce  the  rest. 

K.  Hen.  That's  not  my  fear,  my  meed  I  ath  got 
me  fame. 

r  have  not  stopp'd  mine  ears  to  their  demands. 
Nor  posted  off  their  suits  with  slow  delays; 
My  pity  hath  been  balm  to  heal  their  wounds, 
My  nnldness  hath  allay'd  their  swelling  giiefs, 
My  mercy  dry'd  their  water-flowing  tears  : 
I  have  not  been  desirous  of  their  wealth, 
Nor  much  oppress'd  them  with  great  sut)sidies, 
Nor  forward  of  revenge,  though  they  nmch  err'd  ; 
'I'hen  why  sliould  tiiey  love  Edward  more  than  me? 
No,  Exeter,  these  graces  challenge  grace  ; 
And,  when  the  lion  fawns  upon  the  lamb, 
The  lamb  will  never  cease  to  follow  him. 

[Shout  within.  A  Lancaster !  A  Lancaster  ! 
Exe.  Hark,  hark,  my  lord  !  wiiat  shouts  are  these  ? 

Enter  King  Edward,  Gloster,  and  Soldiers. 
Edw.  Seize  on  the  shame-fac'd  Henry,  bear  him 
hence, 

And  once  again  proclaim  us  king  of  England. — 
You  are  the  fount,  that  makes  small  brooks  to  flow  ; 
Now  stops  thy  spring;  my  sea  shall  suck  them  dry, 
An(4  swell  so  much  the  higher  by  their  ebb. — 
Hence  vvith  him  to  the  Tower;  let  him  not  spealc. 

[Exeunt  some  with  King  Henrg. 
And,  lords,  towards  Coventry  bend  we  our  course, 
Where  peremptory  Warwick  now  remains: 
The  sun  shines  hot,  and,  if  we  use  delay. 
Cold  biting  winter  mars  our  hop'd-for  hay, 

Glo.  Away  betimes,  before  his  forces  join, 
And  take  the  great  grown  traitor  unawares  : 
Brave  warriors,  march  amain  towards  Coventry. 

[Exeunt 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — Coventry. 
Enter.,  upon  the  walls,  Warwick,  the  Mayor  of 
Coventry,  itvo  Messengers,  and  others. 
War.  Wherp  is  the  post  that  came  from  valiuo^ 
Oxfbrd? 

How  far  hence  is  thy  lord,  mine  honest  fellow? 
<  Mess.  Bv  this  al  Dunsmore.  marrhini;  hitlierwarcL 


fc^CENE  2. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


457 


War.  flow  hi  o(f  is  our  brother  Montague  ? — 
Where  is  tlie  post  that  came  from  Montague  ? 
2  Mess.  By  this  at  Daintry,  with  a  puissant  troop. 

E7der  Sir  John  Somerville, 
fVar.  Say,  Somerville,  what  says  uiy  loving  son? 
And,  by  tiif  guess,  how  nigh  is  Clarence  now  ? 

Som.  At  Si)iitliatn,  Iclid  leave  him  with  his  forces, 
And  do  expect  him  here  sonie  two  iionrs  iience. 

{Drian  heard.) 

War.  Then  Clarence  is  at  hand,  I  liear  liis  drum. 
Som.  It  is  not  iiis,  my  lord;  here  Sjiitham  lies; 
The  drum,  vour  honour  liears,  marcheth  tioin  War- 
uick.  [friends. 
War.  W\\o  should  that  be?  belike,  unlook'd-tor 
Som.  They  are  at  hand,  and  you  shall  quickly 
know. 

Drums.    Enter  King  Edward,  Gloster,  and 
Forces,  marching. 
K.  Edw.  (Ja,  trumpet,  to  the  walls,  and  sound  a 
paile. 

Glo.  See  liow  the  surly  Warwick  mans  the  wall. 
War.  O,  unbid  spite!  is  sportful  Edward  come 
■Where  slept  our  scouts,  or  how  are  titey  seduc'd, 
^'hat  we  could  hear  no  news  of  his  repair  ? 

K.  Edw.  i\ow,  Warwick,  wilt  tliou  ope  the  city 

gaT.tr  s,  ^ 
Speak  geiitlv  words,  and  humbly  bend  thy  knee 
Call  Ed'vvaid— king,  and  at  his  hands  beg  mercy, 
And  he  shall  pardon  thee  these  outrages.  [hence, 
War.  Nay,  rather,  wilt  thou  draw  thy  torces 
Confess  whu'set  thee  up  and  pluck'd  thee  down  ?— 
Call  W  arwick— patron,  and  be  penitent. 
And  thou  slnlt  sUll  remain  the  duke  of  York. 
G'/o.  1  thought,  at  least,  he  would  have  said— 

the  king  ; 

Or  did  he  malv.  the  jest  against  his  will? 
War.  Is  nut  H  dukedom,  sir,  a  goodly  gift 
Glo.  Ay,  by  my  fiith,  lor  a  poor  eaii  to  give 

I'll  do  thfe  .service  for  so  good  a  gift. 

War.  "l\vas  i  that  gave  the  kingdom  to  thy 
broUier.  [wick's  gilt. 

K.  Ediv.  Wiiy,  then  'tis  mine,  if  but  by  War- 
War.  I  Ik.u  art  no  Atlas  for  so  great  a  weight : 

And,  weakhng,  Warwick  takes  his  gift  again  ; 

And  Henry  is  my  king,  Warwick  his  subject. 
K.  EUiv.  But  Warwick's  king  is  Edward's  pri- 
soner : 

And,  galliint  Warwick,  do  but  answer  this, — 
What  is  the  body,  when  the  head  is  otf  ? 

Glo.  Aias,  tiiat  Warwick  had  no  more  forecast. 
But,  whiles  he  thought  to  steal  the  single  ten, 
The  kino  was  siily  finger'd  from  the  deck ! 
You  left  poor  Menry  at  the  bishop's  palace, 
And,tei;  to  one,  you'll  meet  him  in  the  lower. 

K.  Eiw.  "l  is  even  so  ;  yet  you  are  Warwick  still. 

Glo.  Come,  Warwick,  take  the  time,  kneel  down, 
kneel  down : 
Nay,  ?  strike  now,  or  else  the  iron  cools. 

Wur.  i  had  rather  chop  this  hand  off  at  a  blow, 
And  witli  the  uther  fling  it  at  thy  face, 
Than  bear  se  lew  a  sail,  to  strike  to  thee. 

K.  Ediv.  ^ai*  iiovv  thou  canst,  have  wind  and  tide 
thy  t  rieod ; 

This  hand,  last  wound  about  thy  coal-black  hair, 
Shall,  whiles  tiie  head  is  warm,  and  new  cut  off. 
Write  in  the  dust  this  sentence  with  thy  blood, — 
Wind-changiny  Warwick  now  can  change  no  more. 

Enter  Oxford,  with  drum  and  colours. 

War.  O  chi?erful  colours!  see,  where  Oxford 

comes  ! 

Oxf,  Oxlord,  Oxford,  for  Lancaster  ! 

[Oxford  and  his  Forces  enter  the  City.) 
Glo.  The  gaies  are  open,  let  us  enter  too. 
K.  Ediv.  So  other  foes  may  set  upon  our  backs 
itand  we  in  good  airey ;  for  they,  no  doubt, 
i^wsue  out  a;5ain,     0  bid  u.s  battle  ; 
ol,  *.he  city  being  of  n  mall  defence, 
'11  q,  sii!i»y  rou"*^.  tua  Vaitors  in  the  same. 


War.  O,  welcome,  Oxford  !  for  we  want  thy  help 

Enter  Montague,  with  drum  and  colours 

Mont.  Montague,  Montague,  for  Lancaster! 

{He  and  his  Forces  enter  the  City.) 
Glo.  Thou  and  thy  brother  both  shall  buy  thi. 
treason, 

Even  with  the  dearest  blood  your  bodies  bear. 

K.  Edw.  The  harder  match'd,  the  greater  victory 
My  nund  presageth  happy  gain,  and  conquest. 

Enter  Somerset,  iviih  driun  and  colours. 
So7n.  Somerset,  Somerset,  for  Lancaster 

[He  and  his  Forces  enter  the  City.^ 
Glo.  Two  of  thy  name,  both  dukes  ot  Somerset' 
Have  sold  their  lives  unto  the  house  of  York  ; 
And  thou  shalt  be  the  third,  if  this  sword  hold. 

Enter  Clarence,  with  drum  and  colours. 
War.  And  lo,  where  George  of  Clarence  sweeps 
along, 

Of  force  enough  to  bid  his  brother  battle  , 
With  whom  an  upright  zeal  to  right  prevails, 
More  than  the  nature  of  a  brother's  love  ; — 
Come,  Clarence,  come  ;  thou  wilt,  if  Warwick  calls. 

Clar.  Father  of  Warwick,  know  you  vvliat  this 
means  ?  ( Taking  the  red  ruse  out  of  his  cap,  > 
Look  here,  I  throw  my  infamy  at  thee  : 
I  will  not  ruinate  my  father's  liouse. 
Who  gave  his  blood  to  lime  the  stones  together, 
And  set  up  Lancaster.  Why,  trow'st  tiion,  W arwick. 
That  Clarence  is  so  harsh,  so  blunt,  unnatural, 
To  bend  the  fatal  instruments  of  war 
Against  his  brother,  and  his  lawful  king? 
Perhaps,  thou  wilt  object  my  holy  oath  : 
To  keep  that  oath,  were  more  impiety 
Than  Jephtha's,  when  he  sacrihc'd  his  daughter, 
I  am  so  sorry  for  my  trespass  made. 
That,  to  deserve  well  at  my  brotiier's  hands, 
I  here  proclaim  myself  thy  mortal  foe ; 
With  resolution,  wheresoe'er  I  meet  thee, 
(As  I  will  meet  thee,  ii' tht)u  stir  abroad), 
'J^o  plague  thee  for  thy  foul  misleading  me.  ^ 
And  so,  proud  hearted  Warwick,  I  defy  thee. 
And  to  my  brother  turn  my  blushing  cheeks. — 
Pardon  me,  Edward,  I  will  make  amends; 
And,  Richard,  do  not  frown  upon  my  faults, 
For  1  will  henceforth  be  no  more  unconstant. 

K.  Edw.  Now  welcome  more,  and  ten  timet 
more  belov'd. 
Than  if  thou  never  hadst  deserv'd  our  hate.  [like, 

Glo.  Welcome,  good  Clarence;  this  is  brother- 

War   O  passing  traitor,  perjur'd,  and  unjust! 

K.  Edw.  What,  Warwick,  wilt  thou  leave  the 
town,  and  figiit? 
Or  shall  we  beat  the  stones  about  thine  ears  ? 

War.  Alas,  I  am  not  coop'd  here  for  defence, 
I  will  away  towards  Barnet  presently. 
And  bid  thee  battle,  Edward,  if  thou  dar'st, 

K.  Edw.  Yes,  Warwick,  Edward  dares,  and  leads 
the  way : — 

Lords,  to  the  field  ;  Saint  George,  and  victory  i 

[March.  Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — A  Field  of  Battle,  near  Barnet. 
Alarums,  and  Excursions.  Enter  King  Edward^ 
bringing  in  Warwick,  wounded. 
K.  Edw.  So,  lie  thou  there  :  die  thou,  and  di» 
our  fear; 

For  Wa.rwick  was  a  bug,  that  fear'd  us  all,— 
Now,  Montague,  sit  fast;  I  seek  for  thee, 
That  Warwick's  bones  may  keep  thine  company. 

lExiL 

War.  Ah,  who  is  nigh  ?  come  to  me,  friend,  or  foe 
And  tell  me,  who  is  victor,  Yo<  k,  or  Warwick  ? 
Why  ask  I  that?  my  mangled  body  shews, 
My  blood,  my  want  of  strength,  my  sick  heart 
shews. 

That  I  must  yield  my  body  to  the  earth. 
And,  by  my  fall,  trie  conquest  to  my  foe 


458 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  V, 


Thas  yields  the  cedar  to  the  axe's  edge, 
Wlioae  arms  gave  shelter  to  t!ie  princely  eat;le, 
Under  whose  shade  the  ramping  lion  slept;  [tree. 
Whose  top -branch  overneer'3  Jove's  spreading 
And  kept  low  siirubs  from  winter's  powerful  wind. 
These  eyes,  that  now  are  dimm  d  with  death's  black 
veil. 

Have  been  as  piercing  as  the  mid  day  sun. 

To  search  the  secret  treasons  of  the  world: 

"J'he  wrisikles  in  my  brows,  now  fUl'd  with  blood. 

Were  liken'd  oft  to  kingly  sepiiichres ; 

For  who  liv'd  king,  but  I  could  dig  his  grave? 

And  who  durst  smile,  when  VV^arvvick  bent  his  brow? 

Lo,  now  my  glory  sinear'd  in  dust  and  blood  ! 

My  parks,  my  walks,  my  manors  that  I  had. 

Even  now  forsake  me;  and,  of  all  my  lands. 

Is  nothing  lelt  me,  but  my  body's  length! 

Why,  whaf  is  pomp,  rule,  reign,  but  earth  and  dust? 

And,  live  we  how  we  can,  yet  die  we  must. 

Enter  Oxford  and  Somerset. 

Som.  Ah,  Warwick,  Warwick!  wert  thou  as  we 
We  might  recover  all  our  loss  again!  [are, 
rhe  queen  from  France  hath  brought  a  puissant 
power ;  [fly ! 

Even  now  we  heard  the  news  :  Ah,  could  st  thou 
JVar.  Why,  then  i  would  not  fly.— Ah,  Mon- 
tague, 

It*  thou  be  there,  svveet  brother,  take  my  hand. 
And  witli  thy  li[)S  keep  in  my  soul  awhile! 
Thou  lov'st  me  no!;  for,  brother,  if  thou  didst. 
Thy  tears  vvouid  wash  this  cold  congealed  blood, 
That  glews  my  lips,  and  will  not  let  me  speak. 
Comeqiiicklv.  Woiitague,  or  I  am  dead.  (last; 

Sotn.  Ah,  vVarwick,  Montague  hath  breath'd  his 
And  to  the  latest  gasp,  cried  out  lor  Warwick, 
And  said — Cuunnt^nd  me  to  my  valiant  brother. 
And  more  he  would  have  said  ;  and  more  he  spoke. 
Which  sounded  like  a  cannon  in  a  vaidt. 
That  miglit  not  be  distingiiish'd ;  out,  at  last, 
I  well  nnglit  hear  deliver'd  with  a  groan, — 
O,  farewell,  Warwick! 

War.  Sweet  rest  to  his  soul ! — 

Fly,  lords,  and  save  yourselves;  for  Warwick  bids 
You  all  farewell,  to  meet  a.;aiii  iu  heaven.  {Dies.) 

Oxf.  Away,  away,  to  meet  tlie  queen's  great 
power  i 

lE.\-eimi,  bearing  off  IVartvick's  body. 
Scene  III.— Another  pari  of  the  Field. 

Flourish.  Enter  King  Edward,  in  triumph;  with 
Clarence,  Glos  ier,  and  the  rest. 
K.  Edw.  Thi'.s  far  our  fortune  keeps  an  upward 
course, 

And  we  are  grac'd  with  wreaths  of  victory. 
But,  in  the  midst  of  this  bright  shining  day, 
I  spy  a  hhick,  suspicious,  threat'ning  cloud, 
1'iiat  will  encounter  with  our  glorious  sun, 
Ere  he  attain  his  easeful  western  bed  : 
I  mean,  my  lords, — those  powers,  that  the  queen 
Hath  rais  d  in  Gallia,  have  arriv'd  our  coast. 
And,  as  we  hear,  march  on  to  ti^ht  with  us. 

Clar.  A  little  gale  will  soon  disperse  that  cloud. 
And  blow  it  to  the  source  from  whence  it  came  : 
Thy  very  beams  will  dry  those  vapours  up; 
For  every  do  id  engenders  not  a  storm. 

Glo.  The  queen  is  valu  d  thiity  thousand  strong. 
And  Somerset,  with  Qvford,  fled  to  her; 
If  she  have  time  to  breathe,  be  well  assur'd. 
Her  faction  will  be  full  as  strong  as  ours. 

K.  Edw.  We  are  advertls'd  by  our  lo\ing  friends, 
That  th»  y  do  hold  their  course  toward  Tevvksbury  ] 
We,  having  now       best  at  Bari.et  tield, 
'Will  ihither  straight,  for  willingness  rids  way: 
iiid,  as  we  march,  our  strength  will  be  augmented 
.  ^  every  county  as  we  go  alo  g. — 
^  like  up  the  drum;  cry — Courage  !  and  away. 

[Exeunt 


Scene  TV. — Plains  near  Teioksbury. 

March.  Enter  Queen  MaroaI^et.  Prince  EOWABB 
Somerset,  Oxfohd,  and  Soldiers. 

Q.  Mar.  Great  lords,  wise  men  ne'er  sit  and  wai 
their  loss. 

But  cheerly  seek  how  to  redress  their  harms. 
What  though  the  mast  be  now  blown  over-board» 
The  cable  broke,  the  holding  anchor  lost. 
And  half  our  sailors  swallow'd  in  the  flood? 
Yet  lives  our  pilot  still :  Is't  meet,  that  he 
Should  leave  the  helm,  and,  like  a  fearful  lad, 
With  tearful  eyes  add  water  to  the  sea, 
And  give  more  strength  to  that  which  hath  too  niuchj 
Whiles,  in  his  tnoan,  the  ship  splits  on  the  rock^ 
Which  industry  and  courage  might  have  sav'd? 
Ah,  what  a  shame  !  ah  !  what  a  fault  were  this! 
Say,  Warwick  was  our  anchor;  What  of  tliat? 
And  Montague  our  top-mast;  What  of  him  ? 
Our  slaughter'd  friends  the  tackles;  What  of  these? 
Why.  is  not  Oxford  here  another  anchor? 
And  Somerset  another  goodly  mast? 
The  friends  of  France  our  shrouds  and  tacklings? 
And  though  unskilful,  why  not  Ned  and  I 
For  once  allow'd  the  skilful  pilot's  charge? 
We  will  not  from  the  helm,  to  sit  and  weep;  [no, 
But  keep  our  course,  though  the  rough  winds  say— 
From  shelves  and  rocks  that  threaten  ns  with  wreck 
As  good  to  chide  the  waves,  as  speak  theni  fair 
And  what  \a  Edward,  but  a  ruthless  sea? 
What  V'larence,  but  a  quicksand  of  deceit? 
And  Richard,  but  a  ragged  fatal  rock  ? 
All  these  the  enemies  to  our  poor  hnrk. 
Say,  you  can  swim;  alas,  'tis  but  a  while  : 
I'read  on  the  sand;  why,  there  you  quickly  sink  : 
Bestride  the  rock;  the  tide  will  uasli  yon  of!" 
Or  else  you  famish,  that's  a  threefold  death 
This  speak  1,  lords,  to  let  you  understand, 
In  case  some  one  of  you  would  lly  iVom  us. 
That  there's  no  hop'd  for  mercy  with  the  I  rothers. 
More  than  with  ruthless  waves,  with  sauua,  and 
rocks. 

Why,  coinage,  then  !  what  cannot  he  avoided, 
'Twere  childtsh  weakness  to  laiuerit,  or  iear. 

Prince.  Methinks,  a  woman  ol  this  v;iliaiit  spin 
Should,  if  a  coward  heard  her  speak  tliese  vv  ©rdn, 
Infuse  his  breast  with  magnanii'iity , 
And  make  him,  naked,  toil  a  ui.ui  at  aims. 
I  speak  not  this,  as  doubting  any  here  . 
For,  did  1  but  suspect  a  fearful  man, 
He  should  have  leave  to  go  away  betimes  ; 
Lest,  in  our  need,  he  might  hifect  another^ 
And  make  him  of  like  S()irit  to  iiimself. 
If  any  such  be  here,  as  God  forbid  ! 
Let  him  depart,  before  we  need  iiis  help. 

Oxf.  Women  and  children  of  so  high  a  courage  I 
And  warriors  faint !  why,  'twere  perpetual  sham«.— 
O,  brave  young  prince  !  thy  famous  grandiather 
Doth  live  again  in  thee;  Long  may'st  tliou  live, 
To  bear  his  image,  and  renew  his  glories! 

Som.  And  he,  that  will  not  fight  for  such  a  hope 
Go  home  to  bed,  and,  like  the  ovv  I  by  day. 
If  he  arise,  be  mock'd  and  wonder'd  at. 

Q.  Mar.  Thanks,  gentle  Somerset; — sweet  Ox 
ford,  thanks.  [thing  else 

Prince.  And  take  his  thanks,  that  yet  hath  no 
Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Prepare  you,  lords,  for  Edward  is  at  hand 
Ready  to  fight;  therefore  be  resolute. 

Oxf.  I  thought  no  less:  it  is  his  policj'. 
To  haste  thus  fast,  to  find  us  unprovided. 

So?n.  But  he's  deceiv'd,  we  are  in  readiness. 

Q.  Mar.  This  cheers  my  heart,  to  see  your  for- 
wardness, [budffe. 

Oxf.  Here  pitch  our  battle,  hence  we  will  not 
March.    Enter,  at  a  distance,  liing  FiDWilia, 
Clarence,  Gloster,  and  Forces, 

K.  Ediv.   Brave  followers,  yonder  stands  di« 
tlwrny  wood. 


Scene  6. 

VV  ich,  by  the  heavens'  assistance, and  your  strength, 

Must  by  the  roots  be  hewn  up  yet  ere  night. 

I  need  noi  add  more  fuel  to  your  fire, 

iH'or,  well  I  wot,  ye  blaze  to  burn  them  out : 

Give  sig:iial  to  the  light,  and  to  it,  lords. 

i^.  Mar.  Lords,  knights,  and  gentlemen,  what  I 
should  say, 
My  tears  srainsay  ;  ibr  every  word  I  speak, 
Ye  see,  I  drink  the  water  of  mine  eyes.  [reign, 
Therefore,  no  more  but  this  : — Henry,  your  sove- 
/i  prisoner  to  the  foe  ;  his  state  usurp'd, 
His  realm  a  slaughterhouse,  his  subjects  slain, 
His  statutes  caiiceli'd,  and  his  treasure  spent; 
And  yonder  is  the  wolf,  that  makes  this  spoil. 
Vou  fight  in  justice  :  then,  in  God's  name,  lords, 
Be  valiant,  and  give  signal  to  the  fight. 

[Exeunt  both  armies. 
Scene  V. — Another  part  of  the  same, 
ilarums  :  Excursions  :  and  afterwards  a  retreat. 

Then,  enter  King  Kdward,  Clarence,  Gloster, 

and  Forces  :  with  Queen  Margaret,  Oxford, 

and  Somerset,  prisoners. 

K.  Ediu.  Now,  here  a  period  of  tumultuous  broils. 
Away  with  Oxford  to  Hammes'  castle  straight: 
For  Somerset,  off"  with  his  guilty  head. 
KiO,  bear  them  hence;  I  will  not  hear  them  speak, 
Oxf.   For  my  part,  I'll  not  trouble  thee  with 
words.  [tune. 
Sotn.  Nor  I,  but  stoop  with  patience  to  my  for- 
[Exeunt  Oxford  and  Somerset,  guarded. 
Q.  Mar.  So  part  we  sadly  in  his  troublous  world, 
T  ■  'iret  vvith  joy  in  sweet  Jerusalem. 

K.  Edio.  Is  proclamation  made, — that,  who  finds 
Edward, 

Sl<all  have  a  high  reward,  and  he  his  life? 

Glo.  It  is :  and  lo,  where  youthful  Edward  comes. 

Enter  Soldiers,  with  Prince  EDWARD. 
K.  Ediv.  Bring  forth  the  gallant,  let  us  hear  hira 
speak. 

What  I  can  so  young  a  thorn  begin  to  prick? 
.  .(  J  ward,  what  satisfaction  canst  thou  make, 
I  'or  bearing  arms,  for  stirring  up  my  subjects. 
And  all  the  trouble  thou  hast  turn'd  me  to? 

Prince.  Speak  like  a  subject,  proud  ambitious 
York! 

S  ip  pose,  that  I  ana  now  my  father's  mouth  ; 
Kesign  thy  chair,  and  where  I  stand,  kneel  thou, 
W^hilst  I  propose  the  self-same  words  to  thee, 
Which,  traitor,  thou  wouldst  have  me  answer  to. 

Q.  Mar.  Ah,  that  thy  father  had  been  so  re- 
sol  v'd!  [coat, 

Glo.  That  you  might  still  have  worn  the  petti- 
And  ne'er  have  stol'n  the  breech  from  Lancaster. 

Prince.  Let  iKsop  fable  in  a  winter's  night ; 
His  currish  riddles  sort  not  with  this  place. 

Glo.  By  heaven,  brat,  I'll  plague  you  for  that 
word.  [men. 

Q-  Mar.  Ay,  thou  wast  born  to  be  a  plague  to 

Glo.  For  God's  sake,  take  away  this  captive  scold. 

Prince.  Nay^  take  away  this  scolding  crook-back 
rather.  _  [tongue. 

K.  EdiV.  Peace,  wilful  boy,  or  I  will  charm  your 

>Clar.  Untutor'd  lad,  thou  art  too  malapert. 

Prince.  I  know  my  duty,  yoa  are  all  undutiful  : 
Lascivious  Edward, — and  thou  perjur'd  George, — 
And  thou  mis-shapen  Dick, — I  tell  ye  all, 
f  am  your  better,  traitors  as  ye  are  ; — 
ft.nj3  trtttu  usnrp'st  ray  father's  right  and  mine. 

K.  Edw.  Take  that,  the  likeness  of  this  raiier  here. 

{Stabs  him) 

Glo.  Sprawl'st  thou?  take  that,  to  end  thy  agony. 

{Glo.  stabs  him.) 
C.lar.  And  there's  for  twitting  me  with  perjury. 

{Clar.  stabs  htm.) 
Q.jifar.  O,  kill  me  too!  * 
Glo.  Marry,  and  shall.  {Offers  to  kill  her.) 

K,  Edw.  llold,  Richard,  hola,  for  we  have  done 
too  much.  [words  ? 

Oh.  Why  should  she  live,  to  fill  the  world  with 


459 

K.  Edw.  What!  doth  she  swoon?  use  meaBS  fof 
her  recovery. 

Glo.  Clarence,  excuse  me  to  the  king,  niy  brother 
I'll  hence  to  London,  on  a  seri(»us  matter  ■• 
Ere  ve  come  there,  be  ."jure  to  hear  some  news. 

Clar.  What?  what? 

Glo.  The  Tower,  the  Tower  !  [Esni. 
Q.  Mar.  O,  Ned,  sweet  Ned  !  speak  to  thy  ma 
ther,  boy  ! 

Canst  thou  not  speak? — O  traitors  !  nsard'^rers 
They,  that  stabb'd  Ciesar,  shed  no  blood  at  all. 
Did  not  offend,  nor  were  not  worthy  blame, 
If  this  foul  deed  were  by,  to  equal  it. 
He  was  a  man;  this,  in  respect,  a  child; 
And  men  ne'er  spend  their  fury  on  a  child. 
What's  worse  than  murderer,  that  I  may  name  it? 
No,  no;  my  heart  will  burst,  an  if  I  speak  : — 
And  I  will  speak,  that  so  my  heart  may  burst.— 
Butchers  and  villains,  bloody  cannibals! 
How  sweet  a  plant  have  yon  untimely  cropp'd! 
You  have  no  children,  butchers!  if  you  had, 
The  thought  of  them  would  have  stirr'd  up  remorse 
But,  if  you  ever  chance  to  have  a  child, 
Look  in  his  youth  to  have  him  so  cut  otV,  [prince! 
As,  d«athsmen !  you  have  rid  this  sweet  young 

K.  Edw.  Away  with  her;  go,  bear  her  hence 
perforce.  [here ; 

Q.  Mar.  Nay,  never  bear  me  hence,  despatch  me 
Here  sheath  thy  sword,  I'll  pardon  thee  my  death  : 
What:  wilt  thou  not? — then,  Clarence,  do  it  tiiou. 

Clar.  By  heaven,  I  will  not  do  thee  so  much  ease, 

Q.  Mar.  Good  Clarence,  do ;  sweet  Clarence,  do 
thou  do  it.  [doit? 

Clar.  Didst  thou  not  hear  me  swear,  I  would  not 

Q.  Mar.  Ay,  but  thou  usest  to  forswear  thyself; 
'Twas  sin  before,  but  now  'tis  charity. 
What!  wilt  thou  not?  where  is  that  devil's  butcher, 
Hard-favour'd  Richard?  Richard,  where  art  thoa? 
Thou  art  not  here  :  Murder  is  thy  alms  deed  ; 
Petitioners  for  blood  thon  ne'er  put'st  back. 

K.  Ediv.  Away,  I  say  ;  I  charge  ye,  bear  her  hence. 

Q.  Mar.  So  come  to  you,  and  yours,  as  to  this 
prince!  [Exit,  led  out  forcillyk 

K.  Edw.  W^here's  Richard  gone? 

Clar.  To  London,  all  in  |  ost ;  and,  as  I  guess, 
To  make  a  bloody  supper  in  the  Tower. 

K.  Edw.  He's  sudden,  ifa  thing  conies  in  his  head. 
Now  march  we  hence  :  discharge  the  common  sort 
With  pay  and  thanks,  and  let's  away  to  London, 
And  see  our  gentle  queen  how  well  she  lares; 
By  this,  I  hope,  she  hath  a  son  for  me.  [Ex^euni, 

Scene  VI. — London.    A  Room  in  the  Tower. 
King  Henry  is  discovered  sitting  loith  a  booh  in. 
his  hand,  the  Lieutena^it  attending.  Enter 

GLOSTtER. 

Glo.  Good  day,  my  lord !    What,  at  your  book 
so  hard?  [say  rather; 

K.  Hen.  Ay,  my  good  lord  :  My  lord,  I  sliould 
'Tis  sin  to  flatter,  good  was  little  better  : 
Good  Gloster,  and  u'>od  devil,  were  alike. 
And  both  preposterous;  therefore,  not  good  lord. 
Glo.  Sirrah,  leave  us  to  ourselves:  we  must  com 
fer.  [Exit  Lietitenant, 

K.  Hen,  So  flies  the  reckless  shepherd  from  the 
wolf: 

So  tirst  the  harmless  sheep  doth  yield  his  fleece, 
And  next  his  throat  unto  the  butcher's  knife.— 
What  scene  of  death  hath  Ro.scius  now  to  Dct? 

Glo.  Suspic'on  always  haunts  the  guilCy  wind 
The  thief  doth  fear  each  bush  an  officer. 

K.  Hen.  The  bird,  that  hath  been  limed  m  a  bust-. 
With  trembling  wings  misdoubteth  every  bush : 
And  I,  the  hapless  male  lo  one  sweet  bird. 
Have  now  the  fatal  object  in  my  eye,  [klll'd 
Where  my  poor  young  was  lim'd,  was  caught,  and 

Glo.  Why,  what  a  peevish  fool  was  that  of  Crete 
That  taught  his  son  the  office  of  a  fowl? 
And  yet,  for  all  his  wings,  the  fool  was  drown'd, 

K,  Hen.  I,  Daedalus;  my  poor  boy,  icams; 


KING  HENRY  VL 


460 


THIRD  PART  OF 


KING  HENRY  VL 


Act  V 


Thy  father,  Minos,  that  den  ed  onr  course  ; 
The  snn,  tiiat  sear'd  the  wings  of  my  sweet  boy, 
Tliy  brother  Edward ;  and  thyself,  the  sea, 
Whose  envious  gulf  did  swallow  up  his  life. 
All,  kill  me  with  thy  weapon,  not  with  words. 
My  breast  can  better  brook  thy  dagger's  point, 
Than  can  ti'y  ears  that  tragic  history.— 
Buf  wherefore  dost  thou  come  i  is't  for  my  I'.te  . 

Glo.  Think'st  thou,  I  am  an  executioner.'' 

K.  Hen.  A  persecutor,  I  am  sure,  thou  art ; 
If  murdering  innocents  be  executing, 
\Vhy,  tiien  thou  art  an  executioner. 

Glo,  Thy  son  I  kill'd  for  his  presumption. 

K.  Ben.  Hadst  thou  been  killed,  when  first  thou 
didst  presume. 
Thou  hadst  not  liv  d  to  kill  a  son  of  mine. 
And  thus  I  prophecy,— that  many  a  thousand, 
\Vhich  now  mistrust  no  parcel  of  my  fear  ; 
A  d  many  an  old  man's  sigh,  and  many  a  widow's, 
And  many  an  orphan's  water-standing  eye,— 
Men  for  tlieir  sons,  wives  for  tiieir  husbands  fate, 
And  or{)hans  for  their  parents'  timeless  death,— 
Shall  rue  the  hour  that  ever  thou  wast  born. 
The  owl  shriek'd  at  thy  birth,  an  evil  sign; 
The  night-crow  cried,  aboding  luckless  time; 
Dogs  howl'd,  and  hideous  tempests  shook  down 
trees ; 

The  raven  rook'd  her  on  the  chimney's  top, 
And  ciiattering  pies  in  dismal  discords  sung. 
Thy  mother  lelt  more  than  a  mother's  pain, 
And  yet  brought  forth  less  than  a  mother's  hope ; 
To  wit,— an  indigest  deformed  lump. 
Not  like  the  fruit  of  such  a  goodly  tree. 
Teeth  hadst  thou  in  thy  head,  when  thou  wast  born, 
To  signify,— thou  cam'st  to  bite  the  world  : 
And,  if  the  rest  be  true  which  I  have  heard, 

(  Thou  cam'st —  ,  ^   .  n. 

\     Glo.  I  ll  hear  no  more ;— Die,  prophet   in  thy 

\  speech;  (Stabs  him.) 

For  this,  amongst  the  rest,  was  I  ordain'd.  [tins. 

•     K.  Hen.  Ay,  and  for  much  more  slaughter  alter 

0  God  !  forgive  my  sins,  and  pardon  thee  !  (Dies.) 
Glo.  What,  will  the  aspiring  blood  of  Lancaster 

Sink  in  the   ground?   I  thought  it  would  have 

mounted.  ^ 
See,  how  my  sword  weeps  for  the  poor  king  s  death  ! 

0,  may  such  purple  tears  be  always  shed 

From  those  that  wish  the  downfal  ol  our  house ! 
If  any  spark  of  life  be  yet  remaining, 
Down,  down  to  hell ;  and  say— I  sent  thee  thither, 
(Stabs  him  again.) 

1,  that  have  neither  pity,  love,  nor  fear.— 
Indeed,  'tis  true,  that  Henry  told  me  of; 
For  I  hav^  often  heard  my  mother  say, 

1  came  into  the  world  with  my  legs  forward: 
Had  I  not  reason,  think  ye,  to  make  haste, 
And  seek  their  ruin  that  usurp'd  our  right  i 
The  midwife  wonder'd;  and  the  vvomen  cried, 
0,  Jesus  bless  ui,  he  is  born  with  teeth? 
And  so  I  was ;  which  plainly  signified — 
That  I  should  snarl,  and  bite,  and  play  the  dog. 
Then,  since  the  heavens  have  shap'd  my  body  so. 
Let  hell  make  crook'd  .uy  mind  to  answer  it. 

I  have  no  brother,  I  am  like  no  brother :  ^ 

And  this  word — love,  which  greybeards  call  divine, 

Be  resident  m  men  like  one  another, 

An  .1  not  in  me  ;  I  am  myself  alone.— 

Clarence,  beware;  thou  keep'st  \ue  from  the  light; 

But  I  will  sort  a  pitchy  day  for  thee : 


For  I  will  buz  abroad  such  prophecies, 

That  Edward  shall  be  fearful  of  his  life ; 

And  then,  to  purge  his  fear,  I'll  be  thy  death. 

King  Henry,  and  the  prince  his  sen,  are  gone : 

Clarence,  thy  turn  is  next,  and  then  the  rest; 

Counting  myself  but  bad,  till  I  be  best. — 

I'll  throw  thy  body  in  another  room. 

And  triumph,  Henry,  in  thy  day  of  doom.  [Exit. 

Scene  VII. — The  same.  A  Room  in  the  Palace, 
King  Edward  is  discovered  sitting  on  his  throne  ; 
Queen   Elizaiseth  ,  ivith  the  infant  Prince. 
Clarence,  Gloster,  Hastings,  and  others 
near  him. 

K.  Edw.  Once  more  we  sit  in  England's  royal 
throne, 

Re  purchas'd  with  the  blood  of  enemies. 
What  valiant  foe-men,  like  to  autumn's  corn, 
Have  we  mow'd  down,  in  tops  of  all  their  pride  i 
Three  dukes  of  Somerset,  threefold  renown'd 
For  hardy  and  undoubted  champions  : 
Two  Clifibrds,  as  the  father  and  the  son: 
And  two  Northuiiiberlands;  two  braver  men 
Ne'er  spurr'd  their  coursers  at  the  trumpet's  sound: 
With  them,  the  two  brave  bears,  Warwick  and 
Montague, 

That  in  their  chains  fetter'd  the  kingly  lion. 
And  made  the  forest  tremble  when  they  roar'd. 
Thus  have  we  swept  suspicion  from  our  seat. 
And  made  our  footstool  of  security. — 
Come  hither,  Bess,  and  let  me  kiss  my  boy : 
Young  Ned,  for  thee,  thine  uncles  and  myself 
Have  in  our  armours  watch'd  the  winter's  night; 
Went  all  a  foot  in  summer's  scalding  heat. 
That  thou  niight'st  repossess  the  crown  in  peace  ; 
And  of  our  labours  thou  shalt  reap  the  gain. 

Glo.  I'll  blast  his  harvest,  if  your  head  were  laid; 
For  yet  I  am  not  look'd  on  in  the  world. 
This  shoulder  was  ordain'd  so  thick,  to  heave : 
And  heave  it  shall  some  weight,  or  break  my 
back : — 

Work  thou  the  way,— and    on  shalt  execute. 

K.  Edw.  Clarence,  and  Gloster,  love  my  lovely 

queen ; 

And  kiss  your  princely  nephew,  brothers  both. 

Clar.  The  duty,  that  I  owe  unto  your  majesty, 
I  seal  upon  the  lips  of  this  sweet  babe. 

K.  Edw.  Thanks,  noble  Clarence :  worthy  bro- 
ther, thanks.  [sprang'st, 

Glo.  And  that  I  love  the  tree  from  whence  thoo 
Witness  the  loving  kiss  I  give  the  fruit : — 
To  say  the  truth,  so  Judas  kiss'd  his  master ;  \ 
And  cried— all  hail  I  when  as  he  meant-  >  Aside, 
all  harm. 

K.  Edw.  Now  am  I  seated  as  my  soul  delights. 
Having  my  country's  peace,  and  brothers'  loves. 
Clar.  What  will  your  grace  have  done  with  Mar- 
garet ? 

Reignier,  her  father,  to  the  king  of  France 
Hath  pawn'd  the  Sicils  and  Jerusalem, 
And  hither  have  they  sent  it  for  her  ransome. 
K.  Edw.  Away  with  her,  aad  waft  her  hence  ta 
France. 

And  now  what  rests,  but  that  we  spend  the  time 
With  stately  triumphs,  mirthful  conao  shows, 
Such  as  befit  the  pleasures  of  the  court? — 
Sound,  drums  and  trumpets  ! — farewell,  soar  annoy! 
For  here,  I  hope,  begins  oar  lasting  joy.  [Exeunt< 


KING  RICHARD  HI, 


TSsif  i«  0115  of  the  most  celebrated  of  our  author's  performances  ;  yet  I  know  not  whether  it  has  not  happened  to  hiw 
gi3  to  otheru.  to  be  praised  most,  when  praise  is  not  most  deserved.  That  tiiis  play  has  scenes  nuble  in  themselves,  and 
very  well  coctrived  to  strike  iu  the  exhibition,  cannot  be  denied.  But  some  parts  are  trilling,  others  shocking,  and  sons 
Hnprfcbsbie.  Johnsen. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


KING  EDWARD  THE  FOURTH. 

iuUWA.iiD,  Prince  of  Wales,  after-} 

jv<tr!is  King  Edward  V.,  \  Sons  to  the  King. 

lUCHARD,  Duke  of  York,  ) 
a  i<:OliGE,  Di-ke  oj  Clarence,  i    nrnthert  tn  thp 

MCHARD,  Duke  of  G lost er,  after- \  ^'^"'/^f^^'' '^^ 

wards  King  Richard  III  ,  \ 
A  yoHitg  Son  oj  Clarence. 

Iifc:NRV,  Karl  of  Richmond,  afterwards  King 
Henry  VIl. 

CARDINAL  BOURCHIER,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 
THOMAS  ROTHERAM,  Archbishop  of  York. 
JOHN  MORTON,  liishop  of  Ely. 
DUKE  OF  iJUCKINGHAM. 
ULKE  OF  NORFOLK. 
KARL  OF  SURREY,  his  Son. 

i'.ARL  lUVEIvS,  Brother  to  Kind  Edward's  Queen. 
ftlARQUlS  OF  DORSET  and  LORD  GREY,  her  Sons. 
EARL  OF  OXFORD. 
L0R13  HASTINGS. 
LOilD  STANLEY. 
LORD  LOVEL. 


SIR  THOMAS  VAUGHAN. 
SIR  RICHARD  RATCLIFF. 
SIR  WILLIAM  CATESBY. 
SIR  JAMES  TYRREL. 
SIR  JAMES  BLOUNT. 
SIR  WALTER  HKWJ^^'^T. 

SIR  ROBEH  URY,  Lieutenant  qftX*  fomr. 

CHRLSTOi  K,  a  Friest. 

Another  PrifSi. 

Lord  Mayor  of  Lo7i.don. 

Sheriff  of  Wiltshire. 

ELIZABETH,  Queen  of  King  Edward  IV. 
MARGARET,  Widow  of  King  Henry  VI. 
DUCHESS  OF  YORK,  Mother  to  King  Edward  IT.., 

Clarence,  and  doster. 
LADY  ANNE,  Widow  of  Edward  Prince  of  Wjiler. 

Sun  to  King  Henry  VI.;  afterwards  married 

to  the  Duke  of  Gloster. 
A  yottng  Daughter  of  Clarence. 

Lords,  and  other  Attendants ;  two  Gentlemen,  a  Pur- 
suivant ,  Scrirener,  Citizens,  Murderers,  Mes- 
sengers, Ghosts,  Soldiers,  etc. 


Scene, — England. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — London.    A  Street. 
Enter  Gloster. 
Glo.  Now  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent 
Made  glorious  sunimer  by  this  sun  of  York; 
Aud  all  the  clouds,  that  lowr'd  up^  ii  our  liouse. 
In  the  deep  bosom  of  the  ocean  Isnry'd. 
Now  are  otir  brows  bound  with  victorions  wreathsj 
Our  bruised  arms  hung  up  for  monuu)ents; 
Our  stern  alarums  chang'd  to  merry  njeetings, 
Our  dreadful  marches  to  delightful  measures. 
Griia-visag'd  war  hath  smooth'd  his  wrinkled  front; 
And  now, — instead  of  mounting  barbed  steeds. 
To  Iright  the  souls  of  fearlul  adversaries, — 
He  capers  nimbly  in  a  lady's  chamber, 
To  t()e  lascivious  pleasing  of  a  lute. 
But  I,— that  am  not  shap'd  for  sportive  tricks. 
Nor  made  to  court  an  amorous  looking-glass  ; 
I,  that  ana  rudely  stamp'd,  and  want  love  s  aiajesty, 
'J'o  strut  before  a  wanton  ambling  nymph  ; 
I,  that  am  ciirtail'd  of  this  fair  proportion, 
Cheated  of  feature  by  dissemblmg  nature, 
Delbrm'd,  untinish'd,  sent  before  my  time 
Into  this  breathing  world,  scarce  half  made  up, 
And  that  so  lamely  and  unfashionable, 
That  dogs  bark  at  me,  as  I  halt  by  them  ; — 
Why  I,  in  this  weak  piping  time  ol' peace, 
Have  no  delight  to  pass  away  the  time  ; 
Unless  to  spy  my  shadow  in  the  sun. 
And  descant  on  mine  own  deformity; 
And  therefore, — since  I  cannot  prove  a  lover, 
To  entertain  these  fair  well-spoken  days, — 
I  am  determined  to  prove  a  villain. 
And  hate  the  idle  pleasures  of  these  days. 
Plots  have  I  laid,  inductions  dangerous, 
LJy  drunken  prophecies,  libels,  and  dreams. 
To  set  my  brother  Clarence,  and  the  king. 
Id  deadly  hate  the  one  against  the  other: 
And,  if  king  Edward  be  as  true  and  just. 
As  I  am  subtle,  false,  and  treacherous, 
i'his  day  should  Clarence  closely  be  mew'd  up; 
About  a  prophecy,  which  says — that  G 
Of  Edwaid  s  heirs  the  murderer  shall  be.  [comes. 
IHve,  thoughts,  down  to  my  soul !  here  Clarence 

Enter  Clarence,  guarded^  and  Brakenbury. 
Brother,  good  day  :  What  means  this  armed  guard. 


That  waits  upon  your  grace  ? 

Clar.  His  majesty. 

Tendering  my  person's  safety,  hath  appointed 
This  conduct  to  convey  me  to  the  Tower. 

Glo.  Upon  what  cause  ? 

Clar.  Because  my  name  is — George 

Glo.  Alack,  my  lord,  that  fault  is  none  of  yours  ; 
He  should,  for  that,  commit  your  godfathers  : — 
O,  belike,  his  majesty  hath  some  intent, 
'I'hat  you  shall  be  new  christen'd  in  the  Tower. 
But  what's  the  matter,  Clarence?  may  1  know? 

Clar.  Yea,  Richard,  when  1  know;  for,  I  prote*^^ 
As  yet  J  do  not:  But,  as  I  can  learn. 
He  hearkens  after  prophecies,  and  dreams; 
And  from  the  cross-row  plucks  the  letter  G, 
And  says — a  wizard  told  him,  that  by  G 
His  issue  disinherited  should  be; 
And,  for  my  name  of  George  begins  with  G. 
It  follows  in  his  thought,  that  I  am  he  : 
Tliese,  as  I  Itarn,  and  such  like  toys  as  these, 
Have  mov'd  his  highness  to  commit  me  now. 

Glo.  Why,  this  it  is,  when  men  are  rul'd  by  vf* 
men ; — ' 

'Tis  not  the  king,  that  sends  you  to  the  Tower; 

My  lady  Grey,  his  wife,  Clarence,  'tis  she. 

That  tempers  him  to  this  extremity. 

Was  it  not  she,  and  that  good  man  of  worship, 

Antony  Woodeville,  her  brother  there. 

That  made  him  send  lord  Hastings  to  the  Tower; 

From  whence  this  present  day  he  is  deliver'd  ? 

We  are  not  safe,  Clarence,  we  are  not  safe. 

Clar.  By  heaven,  1  think,  there  is  no  man  secure, 
But  the  queen's  kindred,  and  night-walking  heralds 
That  trudge  betwixt  the  king  and  Mistress  Shore, 
Heard  you  not,  what  an  humble  suppliant 
Lord  Hastings  was  to  her  for  his  delivery? 

Glo.  Humbly  complaining  to  her  deity 
Got  my  lord  chamberlain  his  liberty, 
I'll  tell  you  what, — I  think,  it  is  our  way, 
If  we  will  keep  in  favour  with  the  king. 
To  be  her  men,  and  wear  her  livery  : 
The  jealous  o'er-worn  widow,  and  herself, 
Since  that  our  brother  dubb'd  them  gentlewomea, 
Are  mighty  gossips  in  this  monarchy. 

Bralc.  I  beseech  your  graces  both  to  pardon  Btej 
His  majesty  hath  straitly  given  in  charge, 
'J  h,it  no  man  shall  have  private  conference, 
0/vvhat  degree  soever,  with  his  brotbei. 


462 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Ar'c  I. 


Gh^  Even  so  ?  an  plea«e  your  worship,  Braken- 
\ou  may  part'ike  of  iiny  tiling  we  say  :  [bury, 
N^'e  speak  no  reason,  man  ; — We  say,  the  king 
Is  wise,  aiid  virtuous;  and  his  noble  queen 
Well  struck  in  years;  (air  and  not  jealous: — 
VV'e  say,  that  Sliore's  wife  hath  a  pretty  foot, 
A  cherry  lip, 

A  l)<)nny  eye,  a  passing?  pleasing  tongue ; 
And  tlie  queen's  kindred  are  made  gentlefolks: 
How  say  you,  sir  ?  can  you  deny  all  this  ? 
Brak,  \Vith  this  my  lord,  myself  have  naught 
to  do. 

Glo.  Nauglit  to  do  with  mistress  Shore?  I  tell 
liiee,  fellow. 
He  (hat  dotli  naught  wit|  '"epting  one, 

Were  best  to  do  it  s&c'Woi\\d'st  i 

Brak.  W^hat  one,  my  'o^ 

Glo.  Her  husband,  kntJ..  .  ihou  be- 

tray me  ?  [withal, 

Brak.  I  beseech  your  grace  to  pardon  me;  and, 
Forbear  your  conference  witli  the  noble  duke. 

C/ar.  We  know  thy  charge,  Brakenbury  ^  and  will 
obey. 

Olo.  We  are  the  queen's  abjects,  and  must  obey. 
Brotlie.r,  fareweli :  I  will  unto  the  king; 
And  wiiatsoe'er  you  will  employ  me  in, — 
Were  it,  to  call  king  t!^dward's  widow — sister, — 
I  will  perform  it  to  enfranchise  you. 
Meantime,  this  deep  disgrace  in  brotherhood, 
louclies  uie  deeper  than  you  can  imagine. 

Cl<rr.  I  know  it  pleaseth  neither  of  us  well. 

G/o.  Well,  your  imprisonment  shall  not  be  long  ; 
I  will  dn-liver  you,  or  else  lie  for  you: 
Mean  time,  have  patience. 

Clar.  I  must  perforce ;  farewell. 

[Exeunt  Clarence,  Brakenbury,  and  guard. 

Glo.  Go,  tread  the  path  that  thou  shalt  ne'er  re- 
turn. 

Simple,  plain  Clarence  I — 1  do  love  thee  so, 
That  I  will  shortly  send  thy  soul  to  heaven. 
If  heaven  will  take  the  present  at  our  hanas. 
But  who  comes  here?  the  new  deliver'd  Hastings? 

Enter  Hastings. 
Hast.  Good  time  of  day  unto  my  gracious  lord  ! 
Glo.  As  much  unta  my  good  lord  chamberlain ! 
Well  are  you  welcome  to  this  open  air. 
How  hath  your  lordship  brook'd  imprisonment? 
Hast.   With  patience,  noble  lord,  as  prisoners 
must : 

But  I  shall  live,  my  lord,  to  give  them  thanks, 
That  were  the  cause  of  my  imprisonment.  [too; 

Glo.  No  doubt,  no  doubt;  and  so  shall  Clarence 
For  they,  that  were  your  enemies,  are  his. 
And  liave  prevailed  as  much  on  him,  as  you. 

Hast.  More  pity,  that  (he  eagle  should  be  mew'd, 
While  kites  and  buzzards  prey  at  liberty. 

Glo.  What  news  abroad  ? 

Hast.  No  news  so  bad  abroad,  as  this  at  home ; — 
The  king  is  sickly,  weak,  and  melancholy, 
And  Ills  piiysiciaiis  fear  him  mightily. 

Glo.  Now,  by  Saint  Paul,  this  news  is  bad  indeed. 
O,  he  that  kept  an  evil  diet  long. 
And  over-much  ccmsum'd  his  royal  person; 
^Tis  \  e.-y  grievous  to  be  thought  upon. 
Wnat,  is  he  in  his  bed  ? 

Hast.  He  is. 

Glo.  Go  you  before,  and  I  will  follow  you. 

[Exit  Hastings. 
lie  cannot  live,  I  hope  ;  and  must  not  die. 
Till  George  be  pack'd  with  posthorse  up  to  heaven. 
I'll  ill,  to  ur<;e  his  hatred  more  to  CI  irence 
V\'i(li  lies  well  steel'd  with  weighty  arguments; 
And,  if  I  fail  not  in  my  deep  intent, 
Clarence  hath  not  another  day  t  i  live  : 
Wiiith  done,  (iod  take  king  Kdward  to  his  mercy, 
Ard  leave  f.iie  world  lor  me  to  l)iistle  in! 
For  theo  I  i!  mairy  Warwick's  youngest  daughter: 
Wiiat  though  I  ki'li'd  her  husband,  and  her  father? 
'R'be  readiest  way  to  make  the  vveut-h  amends, 


Is — to  become  her  husband,  and  her  fatJisr 
The  which  will  I:  not  all  so  n"ich  for  iove. 
As  for  another  secret  cl  jh*?  irl.  nt, 
By  marrying  her,  which  i         reach  unto* 
But  yet  1  run  before  my  horse  to  market : 
Clarence  still  breathes;  Edward  still  liveSv  asi 
reigns ; 

When  they  are  gone,  then  must  1  count  my  gains. 

[Exik 

Scene  II. — The  same.    Another  Street. 

Enter  the  corpse  of  IviNC  Henrv  the  Sixth,  borni 
in  an  open  coffin,  Gentlemen  hearing  halberds^ 
to  guard  it;  and  Lady  Anne  as  mourner. 
Anne.  Set  down,  set  down  your  honourabie  load,— 

If  honour  may  be  shrouded  in  a  hearse. 

Whilst  I  a  while.obsequioosiy  lament 

The  untimely  fall  of  virtuous  Lancaster. — 

Poor  key-cold  figure  of  a  holy  king! 

Pale  ashes  of  the  house  of  Lancaster! 

Thou  bloodless  renmant  of  that  royal  blood! 

Be  it  lawful  that  I  invocate  thy  ghost, 

To  hear  the  lamentations  of  poor  Anne. 

Wife  to  thy  Edward,  to  thy  slaughter  a  son. 

Stabb'd  by  the  self-same  hand  that  maae  tlie&8 
wounds ! 

Lo,  in  these  windows,  that  let  forth  Ihy  life, 
I  pour  the  helpless  balm  of  my  poor  eyes: — 
O,  cursed  be  the  hand  that  mad'e  these  holes! 
Cursed  the  heart,  that  bad  the  heart  to  do  it ! 
Cursed  the  blood,  that  let  this  blood  from  hence  ! 
More  direful  hap  betide  that  hated  wretch. 
That  makes  us  wretched  by  the  death  of  thee. 
Than  I  can  wish  to  adders,  spiders,  toads. 
Or  any  creeping  venom'd  thing  that  lives! 
If  ever  he  have  child,  abortive  be  it, 
Prodigious,  and  untimely  brought  to  light, 
Whose  ugly  and  unnatural  aspect 
May  fright  the  hopeful  mother  at  the  view; 
And  that  be  heir  to  his  unhappiness  ! 
If  ever  he  have  wife,  let  her  be  made 
More  miserable  by  the  death  of  him, 
Than  I  am  made  by  my  young  lord,  and  thee 
Come,  now,  toward  Chertsey  with  your  holy  load, 
Taken  from  Paul's  to  be  interred  there ; 
And,  still  as  you  are  weary  of  the  weight. 
Rest  you,  whiles  I  lament  king  Henry's  corse. 

[The  bearers  take  up  the  corpse,  and  advance. 
Enter  Gloster. 

Glo.  Stay  you,  that  bear  the  corse,  and  set  it 
down.  [fiend, 

Anne.  What  black  n:agician  conjures  up  this 
To  stop  devoted  charitable  deeds? 

Glo.  Villains,  set  down  the  corse ;  or,  by  St.  Paul, 
I'll  make  a  corse  of  him  that  disobeys. 

1  Gtnt.  My  lord,  stand  back,  and  let  the  coffin 
pass.  [mand : 

Glo.  Unmanner'd  dog!  stand  thou  when  I  corn- 
Advance  thy  halberd  higher  than  my  breast, 
Or,  by  Saint  Paul,  I'll  strike  thee  to  my  foot, 
And  spurn  upon  thee,  beggar,  i'or  thy  boldness. 

[The  bearers  set  down  the  coffin.^ 

Anne.  What,  do  you  tremble?  are  you  all  afraid? 
Alas,  I  blame  you  not,  for  you  are  mortal, 
And  mortal  eyes  cannot  endure  the  devil. — 
Avaunt,  thou  dreadful  minister  of  hell ! 
Thou  had'st  but  power  over  his  mortal  body. 
His  soul  thou  canst  not  have ;  therefore,  be  gone^ 

Glo.  Sweet  saint,  for  charity,  be  not  so  curst. 

Anne.  Foul  devil,  for  God's  sake,  hence,  an^ 
trouble  us  not; 
For  thou  hast  made  the  happy  earth  thy  hell, 
Fill'd  it  with  cursing  cries,  and  deep  exclaims. 
If  thou  delight  to  view  thy  heinous  deeds, 
Behold  this  pattern  of  thy  butcheries: — 
O,  gentlemen,  see,  see  !  dead  Henry's  wo-./ndls 
Open  their  congeal'd  mouths,  and  bleed  afresh  !— 
Blu?h,  blush,  thou  lump  of  foul  deformity: 
For  'tis  thy  presence  tliat  exhales  this  h(o*i<i 
From  cold  and  empty  veins,  wliere  no  oioo'i  dweJIi; 


Scene  2. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Thy  dtf.d  tEihuman  and  nQnatarftl, 

ProvOxes  this  deluge  most  unnatural. — 
O  God,  which  this  blood  mad'st,  revenge  his  death ! 
O  earth,  Vt-hich  tliis  blood  drink'st,  revenge  his 
death!  [dead, 
Either,  heaven,  with  lif^htning  strike  the  murderer 
Or,  earth,  gape  open  wide,  and  eat  him  quick  ; 

thou  (lost  swallow  up  this  good  king's  blood, 
Which  his  hell  govern'd  arm  hath  butchered! 

Glo.  Lad-y,  you  know  no  rules  of  charity, 
VVhich  renders  good  for  bad,  blessings  for  curses. 

Jnwe. Villain,  thou  know'st  no  law  of  God  nor  man  ; 
No  beast  so  fierce,  but  knows  some  touch  of  pity. 

Glo.  But  I  know  none,  and  therefore  am  no  beast. 

Anne.  O  wonderful,  when  devils  tell  the  truth! 

Glo.  More  wonderful,  when  angels  are  so  angry. — 
Vouc  hsafe,  divine  perfection  of  a  woman. 
Of  these  supposed  evils,  to  give  me  leave, 
By  circumstance,  but  to  acquit  myself, 
j    Anne.  Vouchsafe,  di(fused  infection  of  a  man. 
For  these  known  evils,  but  to  give  me  leave, 
^By  circumstance,  to  curse  thy  cursed  self.  (have 

Glo.  Fairer  than  tongue  can  name  thee,  let  me 
Some  patient  leisure  to  excuse  myself.  [make 

Anne.  Fouler  than  heart  can  think  thee,  thou  canst 
No  excuse  current,  but  to  hang  thyself. 

Glo.  By  such  despair,  I  should  accuse  myself. 

Anne.  And,  by  despairing,  shalt  thou  stand  ex- 
For  doing  worthy  vengeance  on  thyself,  [cus'd  ; 
That  didst  unworthy  slaughter  upon  others. 

Glo.  Say,  that  I  slew  them  not  ? 

Anne.  Why  then,  they  are  not  dead  : 

But  dead  Ihey  are,  and,  devilish  slave,  by  thee. 

Glo.  I  did  not  kill  your  husband. 

Anne.  Why,  then  he  is  alive. 

Glo.  Nay,  he  is  dead ;  and  slain  by  Edward's  hand. 

Anne.  In  thy  soul's  throat  thou  liest ;  queen  Mar- 
garet saw 

Thy  murderous  faulchion  smoking  in  his  blood  ; 
The  which  thou  once  didst  bend  against  her  breast, 
B'lt  that  thy  brothers  beat  aside  the  point. 

Glo.  I  was  provoked  by  her  slanderous  tongue, 
That  laid  their  guilt  upon  my  guiltless  shoulders. 

Anne.  Thou  wast  provoked  by  thy  bloody  mind, 
That  Jiever  dreamt  on  aught  but  butcheries  : 
Didst  thou  not  kill  this  king  ? 

Glo.  I  grant  ye. 

Anne.  Dost  grant  me,  "hedge-hog  ?  then,  God 
grant  me  too, 
Thou  may'st  be  damned  for  that  wicked  deed  ! 
O,  he  was  gentle,  mild,  and  virtuous.  [him. 

Glo.  The  fitter  for  the  King  of  heaven  that  hath 

Anne.  He  is  in  heaven,  where  thou  shalt  never 
come. 

Glo.  Let  him  thank  me,  that  help  to  send  him 
thither; 

For  he  was  fitter  for  that  place,  than  earth. 
Anne.  And  tliou  unfit  for  any  place  but  liell. 
Glo.  Yes,  one  place  else,  if  you  will  hear  mo 

name  it. 
Anne.  Some  dungeon. 
Glo.  Your  bed-chamber. 

Anne.  Ill  rest  betide  the  chamber  where  thou  iiest  * 
Glo.  So  will  it,  madam,  till  I  lie  with  you. 
Antte.  I  hope  so. 

Glo.  I  know  so. — But,  gentle  lady  Anne, — 
To  leave  this  keen  encounter  of  our  wits. 
And  fall  somewhat  into  a  slower  method  ; — 
Is  not  the  causer  of  the  timeless  deaths 
Of  tiu'se  Plantagenets,  Henry,  and  Edward, 
A«  blameful  as  the  executioner  ?  [effect. 

Anne.  Thou  wast  the  cause,  and  most  accurs'd 

Glo.  Your  beauty  was  the  cause  of  that  effect; 
Your  beauty,  which  did  haunt  me  in  my  sleep, 
To  undertake  the  death  of  all  the  world. 
So  I  mii^ht  livt  one  hour  in  your  sweet  bosom. 

Anne.  If  S  thought  that,  1  tell  thee,  homicide, 
Th'jge  naiis  should  rend  that  beauty  from  my  cheeks. 

tf/o.  These  eyes  could  not  endure  that  beauty  s 
m-eck. 


YoH  should  not  blemish  it,  iff  stood  by: 
As  all  the  world  is  cheered  by  the  sun, 
So  f  by  that;  it  is  my  day,  my  life. 

Anne.  Black  night  o'crshade  thy  day,  and  (]i*Atb 
thy  life ! 

Glo.  Curse  not  thyself,  fair  creature  ;  thou  ar4 
both. 

Ann6.  I  would  I  were,  to  be  reveng'd  on  tliee. 

Glo.  It  is  a  quarrel  most  uiiiiatural, 
To  be  reveng'd  on  him  that  !o\eth  thee. 

Anne.  It  is  a  quarrel  just  and  reason;ihle, 
To  be  peveng'd  on  him  that  kill  d  my  husband. 

Glo.  He  that  bereft  thee,  lady,  «,f  thy  husl):ind, 
Did  it  to  help  thee  to  a  better  husband.  [earth 

Anne.   His   better  doth   not   breatlie  upon  tho 

Glo.  He  lives,  that  loves  you  better  than  lie  could. 

Anne.  Name  him. 

Glo.  Plantagenet. 

Anne.  Why,  that  was  he 

Glo.  The  self-same  name,  but  one  of  better  nature. 

Anne.  Where  is  he  ? 

Glo.  Here  -.  {She  spits  at  him.)  Why 

dost  thou  spit  at  me  ? 
Anne.  'VVould  it  were  mortal  poison,  for  thy  sake ! 
Glo.  Never  came  poison  from  so  sweet  ri  place. 
Anne.  Never  hung  poison  on  a  fouler  toad. 
Out  of  my  sight !  thou  dost  infect  mine  eyes. 

Glo.  Thine  eyes,  sweet  lady,  have  iniected  mine. 
Anne.  Would  they  were  basilisks,  to  strike  tiiee 

dead ! 

Glo.  I  would  they  were,  that  I  might  die  at  once ; 
For  now  they  kill  me  with  a  living  death. 
Those  eyes  of  thine  from  mine  have  drawn  salt  tears, 
Sham'd  their  aspects  with  store  of  childish  drops; 
These  eyes,  which  never  shed  remorseful  tear, — 
Not,  when  my  father  York  and  lidward  wept. 
To  hear  the  piteous  moan  that  Rutland  made, 
When  black-fac'd  ClitFord  shook  bis  sword  at  him  : 
Nor  when  thy  warlike  father,  like  a  child. 
Told  the  sad  story  of  my  father's  death ; 
And  twenty  times  made  pause,  to  iob,  and  weep, 
That  all  the  standers-by  had  wet  the.r  .  iief  ka. 
Like  trees  bedash'd  witli  rain:  in  that  sai!  lime. 
My  manly  eyes  did  scorn  an  humble  tear  . 
And  what  these  sorrows  conld  not  thetice  e>:liale, 
Thy  beauty  hath,  and  made  them  blind  wi*h  weepinf, 
I  never  su'd  to  friend,  nor  enemy  ; 
My  tongue  could  never  learn  svveet  soothing  word  ; 
But  now  thy  beaut-y  is  propos'd  my  fee. 
My  proud  heart  sues,  and  prompts  my  tongue  to 
speak.         {She  looks  scornfully  at  him.) 
Teach  not  thy  lip  such  scorn ;  for  it  was  made 
For  kissing,  lady,  not  for  such  contempt. 
If  thy  revengeful  heart  cannot  forgive, 
Lo!  Iiere  I  lend  tliee  this  sharp-pointe  d  sword  ; 
Which  if  thou  please  to  hide  in  this  true  breast. 
And  let  the  soul  forth  that  adoreth  thee, 
\  lay  it  naked  to  the  deadly  stroke. 
And  humbly  beg  the  death  upon  my  knee. 

{He  lays  his  breast  open  ;  she  offers  ai  itf 
with  his  sword.) 
Nay,  do  not  pause ;  for  1  did  kill  king  Henry; — 
But  'twas  thy  beauty  that  prov  okt^d  me. 
Nay,  now  despatch  ;  'twas  I  that  stabb'd  young  Ed- 
ward : —  {She  nijain  offers  at  his  breaaS.) 
But  'twas  thy  heavenly  face  that  set  ine  on. 

{She  lets  fall  the  sivord.) 
Take  up  the  sword  again,  or  take  up  me. 

Anne.  Arise,  dissembler :  tliough  I  wish  thy  (leatfe 
I  will  not  be  thy  executioner. 

Glo.  Then  bid  me  kill  myself,  and  I  will  do  it. 

Anne.  I  have  already. 

Glo.  That  was  in  thy  rage  : 

Speak  it  again,  and,  even  with  the  word, 
This  hand,  which,  for  thy  love,  did  kill  thy  love 
Sliall,  for  thy  love,  kill  a  far  truer  love  ; 
To  both  their  deaths  shalt  thou  be  acre«sarf. 

Anne.  I  wouid.  I  knew  thy  heart. 

Glo.  '  Tis  figur'd  in  my  tongue. 

Anne.  I  fear  me,  botli  are  false. 


464 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  I 


^io.  Then  man 

iVa>  tjever  true. 

Anne.  Well,  well,  put  up  your  sword. 

Qlo.  Say  then,  u^y  peace  is  made. 

Anne.  That  shall  you  know 

Hereafter. 

G/o.       But  shall  T  live  in  hope  ? 

Anne.  All  men, 

I  hope,  live  so. 

Glo.  Vouchsafe  to  wear  this  ring. 

Anne.  To  take,  is  not  to  give. 

{She  puts  on  the  ring.) 

Glo.  Look,  how  this  ring  encompasseth  thy  finger. 
Even  so  thy  breast  encloseth  my  poor  heart; 
Wear  both  of  them,  i'or  both  of  them  are  thine. 
And  if  thy  poor  devoted  servant  mav 
But  beg  one  favour  at  thy  gracious  hand, 
Tiioii  dost  confirm  his  liappiness  for  ever. 

Anne.  What  is  it  ? 

Glo.  That  it  may  please  you  leave  these  sad 
designs 

To  him  that  hath  more  cause  to  be  a  mourner. 

And  presently  repair  to  Crosby-place  ; 

Where — after  I  have  solemnly  interr'd. 

At  Chertsey  monast'ry,  this  noble  king, 

And  wet  his  grave  with  my  repentant  tears,— 

I  vriil  with  all  expedient  duty  see  you: 

For  divers  unknown  reasons,  1  beseech  you. 

Grant  me  this  boon. 

Anne.  With  all  my  heart ;  and  much  it  joys  mo  too, 
To  see  you  are  become  so  penitent. — 
Tressel,  and  Berkley,  go  along  with  me. 

Glo.  Bid  me  farewell. 

Anne,  'Tis  more  than  you  deserve  • 

But,  since  you  teach  me  how  to  flatter  you. 
Imagine  1  have  said  farewell  already. 

[Exeunt  Lady  Anne,  Tressel,  and  Berkley. 

Glo.  'J'ake  up  the  corse,  sirs. 

Gent.  Towards  Chertsey,  noble  lord  ? 

Glo.  No,  to   White-Friars ;  there   attend  my 
coming.  [Exeunt  the  rest,  with  the  corse. 
Was  ever  woman  in  this  humour  woo'd  ? 
Was  ever  woman  in  this  humour  won  ? 
I'll  iiave  her, — but  I  will  not  keep  her  long. 
What!  I,  that  kill'd  her  husband,  and  his  father, 
To  take  her  in  her  heart's  extremest  hate  ; 
With  curses  in  her  mouth,  tears  in  her  eyes, 
The  bleeding  witness  of  her  hatred  by  ; 
VV  ith  God,  her  conscience,  and  these  bars  against 
me. 

And  I  no  friends  to  back  my  suit  withal^ 
But  the  plain  devil,  and  dissembling  looks. 
And  yet  to  win  her, — all  the  world  to  nothing-! 

Hath  she  forgot  already  that  brav;  prince, 

Edward,  her  lord,  whom  I  some  three  months  since, 

Stabb'd  in  my  angry  mood  at  Tewksbury  ? 

A  sweeter  and  a  lovelier  gentleman, — 

Fram'd  in  the  prodigality  of  nature. 

Young,  valiant,  wise,  and,  no  doubt,  right  royal, — 

The  spaciosis  world  cannot  again  afford  : 

And  will  she  yet  abase  her  eyes  on  me, 

]  hat  cropp'd  the  golden  prime  of  this  sweet  prince. 

And  niade  her  widow  to  a  wofnl  bed  ;* 

On  me,  whose  ail  not  equals  Edward's  moiety  ? 

On  me,  that  halt,  and  anj  mis-shapen  thus? 

5fy  dukedom  to  a  beggarly  denier, 

I  do  mistake  my  person  all  this  while : 

I  pon  my  life,  she  finds,  although  I  cannot, 

JViyself  to  be  a  marvellous  proper  man. 

I'll  be  at  charges  for  a  looking-glass; 

And  entertain  a  score  or  two  of  tailors, 

To  study  fashions  to  adorn  my  body  : 

kjince  I  am  crept  in  favour  with  myself, 

1  wilt  maintain  it  with  some  little  cost. 

But,  first,  I'll  turn  yon  fellow  in  his  grave  ; 

And  then  return  lamenting  to  my  love. — 

Shire  out,  fair  sun,  till  1  have  bought  a  glass, 

VhitX  I  may  see  my  shadow  as  I  pass.  [Exit 


Scene  \Vl.—The  same.  A  Room  inihe  Palace. 
Enter  Queen  Elizabeth,  Lord  Rivers,  and  Lord 
Grey. 

Riv.  Have  patience,  madam;  theres  no  doubt, 
his  majesty 
Will  soon  recover  his  accustom'd  health. 

Grey.  In  that  you  brook  it  ill,  it  makes  him  worse  : 
Therefore,  for  God's  sake,  entertain  good  comfort, 
And  cheer  his  grace  with  quick  and  merry  word 

g.  Eliz.  If  lie  were  dead,  what  would  betide  of  me/ 
rey.  No  other  harm,  but  loss  of  such  a  lord. 
Q.  Eliz.'rUe  loss  of  such  a  lord  includes  all  harms 
Grey.  The  heavens  have  bless'd  you  with  a  goodij 
son. 

To  be  your  comforter,  when  he  is  gone. 

Q.  Eliz.  Ah,  he  is  young  ;  and  his  minority  ^ 

Is  put  unto  the  trust  of  Richard  Gloster,  ( 

A  man  that  loves  not  me,  nor  none  of  you.  / 
Riv.  Is  it  concluded,  he  shall  be  protector?  \ 
Q.  Eliz.  It  is  determin'd,  not  concluded  yet :  / 

But  so  it  must  be,  if  the  king  miscarry.  / 

Enter  Buckingham  and  Stanley. 
Grey.  Here  come  the  lords  of  Buckingham  am! 
Stanley. 

Buck.  Good  time  of  day  unto  your  royal  grace  I 
Stan.  God  make  your  majesty  joyful  as  you  have 
been  I 

Q.  Eliz.  The  countess  Richmond,  good  my  lord 
of  Stanley, 

To  j'our  good  prayer  will  scarcely  say — amen. 
Yet,  Stanley,  notwithstanding  she's  your  wife. 
And  loves  not  me,  be  you,  good  lord,  assur'd, 
I  hate  not  you  for  her  proud  arrogance. 

Stati.  I  do  beseech  you,  either  not  believe 
The  envious  slanders  of  her  false  accusers ; 
Or,  if  she  be  accus'd  on  true  report, 
Bear  with  her  weakness,  which,  I  think,  proceeds 
From  wayward  sickness,  and  no  grounded  malice. 

Q.  Eliz.  Saw  you  the  king  to-day,  my  lord  i>f 
Stanley  : 

Stan.  But  now,  the  duke  of  Buckingham,  and  1, 

Are  come  from  visiting  his  majesty. 

Q.  Eliz.What  likelihood  of  his  amendment,  lords  1 
Buck.  Madam,  good   hope;   his  grace  s,eakg 
cheerfully.  [with  him  . 

Q.  Eliz.  God  grant  hrni  health  !  Did  you  conit  r 
Buck.  Ay,  madam :  he  desired  to  make  atone  meiiS 

Between  the  duke  of  Gloster  and  your  brothers. 

And  between  them  and  my  lord  chamberlain ; 

And  sent  to  warn  them  to  his  royal  presence. 
Q.Eliz.  'Would  all  were  well!— But  that  will 
never  be ; 

I  fear,  our  happiness  ia  at  the  height. 

Enter  Gloster,  Hastings,  and  Dorset. 

Glo.  They  do  me  wrong,  and  I  will  not  endure  it 
U  uo  are  tiiey,  that  complain  unto  the  king. 
That  1,  forsooth,  am  stern,  and  love  them  not? 
By  holy  Paul,  they  love  his  grace  but  lightly 
That  fill  his  ears  with  such  dissentious  rumours. 
Because  ji  cjinnot  flatter,  and  speak  fair. 
Smile  in  men's  faces,  smooth,  deceive,  and  cog, 
Duck  with  French  nods  and  apiih  courtesy, 
I  must  be  held  a  rancorous  enemy. 
Cannot  a  plain  man  live,  and  think  mo  harm. 
But  thus  his  simple  truth  must  be  abus'd 
By  silken,  sly,  insinuating  Jacks?  [grare  ? 

Grey.  To  whom  in  all  this  presence  speaks  )o\ii 

Glo.  To  thee,  that  hast  nor  honesty,  nor  gr&oe. 
When  have  I  injur'd  thee  ?  when  done  thee  wrong.'*— 
Or  thee  ? — or  thee  ? — or  any  of  your  faction  ? 
A  plague  upon  you  all !  His  royal  grace, — 
Whom  God  preserve  better  than  you  would  wish  I — 
Cannot  be  quiet  scarce  a  breathing-while. 
But  you  must  trouble  him  with  lewd  complaints. 

Q.  Eliz.  Brother  of  Gloster,  you  mistake  thi 
matter: 

The  king,  of  his  own  rcyal  disposition. 


I 


Scene  3. 


KING  RICHxiRD  III. 


465 


Anel  not  provok'd  by  any  suitor  else  ; 
Aiming,  helike,  at  your  interior  hatrefl. 
That  in  your  outward  action  shews  itself, 
Ag:F;(nst  ray  children,  brothers,  and  myself, 
Makes  him  to  send  ;  that  thereby  he  may  gather 
The  ground  of  your  ill-will,  and  so  remove  it 

Glo.  I  cannot  Vil; — The  world  is  grown  so  bad. 
That  wrens  may  prey  where  eagles  dare  not  perch  : 
Since  every  Jack  became  a  gentleman, 
There's  many  a  gentle  person  made  a  Jack. 

Q.  Elss.  Conie,  come,  we  know  your  meaning, 
brother  Oloster  ; 
Von  envy  my  advancement,  and  my  friends  ; 
CJnfl  grant,  we  never  may  have  need  of  you  !    [you  : 

Glo.  Meantime,  Ciod  grants  that  we  have  need  of 

iir  brother  is  imprison  d  by  your  means, 

yself  disgraced,  and  the  nobility 
id  in  contempt;  while  great  promotions 

e  daily  given,  to  ennoble  those  [ble. 

hat  scarce,  some  two  days  since,  were  worth  a  no- 

Q.  Eliz.  By  Him,  that  rais'd  me  to  this  careful 
height 

From  that  contented  hap  which  I  enjoy'd, 
I  never  did  incense  his  majesty 
Against  the  duke  of  Clarence,  but  have  been 
An  earnest  advocate  to  plead  for  him. 
My  lord,  you  do  me  shameful  injury, 
Falsely  to  draw  me  in  these  vile  suspects. 

(ilo.  Vou  may  deny  that  you  were  not  the  cause 
Ofii\y  lord  Hastings' late  imprisonment. 

Riv.  She  may,  my  lord  ;  for —  [not  so  ? 

Glo.  She  may,  lord  Rivers? — why,  who  knows 
She  may  do  more,  sir,  than  denying  that: 
She  may  helj)  you  to  niany  fair  preferments; 
And  then  deny  her  aiding  hand  therein, 
And  lay  those  honours  on  your  high  desert. 
What  may  she  not?  She  may,  -ay,  marry,  may  she,— 

Riv.  \Vhat,  marry,  may  she  ? 

Gio.  Wlmt  marry,  may  she  ?  marry  with  a  king, 
A  hatcheh  r^  a  handsome  stripling  too: 
'  wis,  youi  grandam  had  a  vvorser  match. 

Q.  Eliz.  iMy  lord  of  Gloster,  I  have  too  long  borne 
^'oiir  blunt  u|)braidings,  and  your  bitter  scoffs  : 
liy  heaven,  ]  will  acquaint  his  majesty. 
Of  those  f;ross  taunts  I  often  have  endur'd. 
\  liad  rather  be  a  country  servant-maid. 
Than  a  great  queen,  with  this  condition — 
To  be  so  baited,  scorn'd,  and  storm'd  at : 
Small  joy  have  I  in  being  England's  queen. 

Enter  Queen  Margaret,  behind. 
Q.  Mar.  And  lessen'd  be  that  small,  God,  I  be- 
seech thee  ! 

Thy  honom-,  state,  and  seat,  is  due  to  me.      [king  ? 

Glo.  What  ?  threat  you  me  with  telling  of  the 
Tell  him,  and  spare  not:  look,  what  I  have  said 
1  will  avouch,  in  presence  of  the  king  . 
I  dare  adventure  to  be  sent  to  the  Tower. 
'Tis  time  to  speak,  my  pains  are  quite  forgot. 

Q.  Mar.  Out,  devil !  1  remember  them  too  well : 
Thou  kill'dst  my  husband  Henry  in  the  Tower, 
Aud  Edward,  my  poor  son,  at  Tewksbury. 

Glo.  Ere  yon  were  queen,  ay,  or  your  husband  king, 
I  was  a  pack-horse  in  his  great  alVairs; 
A  weeder-out  of  his  proud  adversaries, 
k  liberal  rewarder  of  his  friends; 
Vo  royalise  his  blood,  1  spilt  mine  own.  [thine. 

Q.  Mar.  Ay,  and  much  better  blood  than  his,  or 

(wlo.  In  al'  which  time,  you,  aud  your  husband 
Grey, 

A'ere  factious  for  the  house  of  Lancaster; — 
And,  Rivers,  so  were  you  : — W'as  not  your  husband 
In  IMargaret's  battle  at  Saint  Albans  slain? 
Let  aie  put  in  your  minds,  if  you  Icrget, 
VVhat  you  Imve  been  ere  now,  and  what  you  are ; 
Withal,  what  I  have  been,  and  wt.at  I  am. 

Q  Mar,  A  murd'rous  villain,  and  so  still  thou  art. 

Qlo.  Poor  Clarence  did  forsake  his  father  War- 
wick, 

Ay,  mid  forswore  himself, —  Which  Jesu  pardon  I  - 


Q.  Mar.  Which  God  revenge  ! 

Glo.  To  fight  on  Edward  s  party,  for  the  crown ; 
And,  for  his  meed,  poor  lord,  he  is  mew  d  up : 
I  would  to  God,  my  heart  were  flint  like  Edward  9, 
Or  Edward's  soft  and  pitiful,  like  mine  ; 
I  am  too  childish-foolish  for  this  world.  [vvrrld, 

Q.  Mar.  Hie  thee  to  hell  for  shame,  and  leave  tlii 
Tliou  cacodcemon  !  there  thy  kingdom  is. 

Riv.  My  lord  of  Gloster,  in  those  busy  days. 
Which  here  you  urge,  to  prove  us  enemies, 
W e  follow'd  then  our  lord,  our  lawful  king ; 
So  should  we  you,  if  you  should  be  our  king. 

Glo.  If  I  should  be  ? — I  had  rather  be  a  pedlar: 
Far  be  it  from  my  heart,  the  thought  thereof! 

Q.  Eliz   As  little  joy,  my  lord,  as  you  sr.ppose 
You  should  enjoy,  were  you  this  country's  king  ; 
As  little  joy  you  may  suppose  in  me. 
That  I  enjoy,  being  the  queen  thereof. 

Q.  Mar.  A  little  joy  enjoys  the  queen  thereof; 
For  I  am  she,  and  altogether  joyless. 
I  can  no  longer  hold  me  patient. —      (Advancing  ^ 
Hear  me,  you  wrangling  pirates,  that  fall  out 
Jn  sharing  that  which  you  have  pill'd  from  me: 
Which  of  you  trembles  not,  that  looks  on  me  ? 
If  not,  that,  I  being  queen,  you  bow  like  subjects; 
Yet  that,  by  you  depos'd,  you  quake  like  rebeU  ? — 
Ah,  gentle  villain,  do  not  turn  away  !       [my  sight? 

Glo.  Foul  wrinkled  witch,  what  mak'st  thou  in 

Q.  Mar.  But  repetition  of  what  thou  hast  marr'd ; 
Th;it  will  I  make,  before  I  let  thee  go. 

Glo.  Wert  thou  not  banished  on  pain  of  death? 

Q.  Mar.  I  was ;  but  I  do  find  more  pain  in  ba- 
nishment, 

Than  death  can  yield  me  here  by  my  abode. 
A  husband,  and  a  son,  thou  ow'st  to  me, — 
And  thou,  a  kingdom  ; — all  of  you,  allegiance: 
l^his  sorrow  that  I  have,  by  right  is  yours; 
And  all  the  pleasures  you  usurp,  are  mine. 

Glo.  The  curse  my  noble  father  laid  on  thee, — 
When  fhou  didst  crown  his  warlike  brows  wit^ 
paper, 

And  with  thy  scorns  drevv'st  rivers  from  his  eye#. 
And  then,  to  dry  them,  gav'st  the  duke  a  clout, 
Steep'd  in  the  faultless  blood  of  pretty  Rutland 
His  curses,  then  from  bitterness  of  soul 
Denounc'd  against  thee,  are  all  fallen  upon  thee ; 
And  God,  not  we,  hath  plagu'd  thy  bloody  deed. 

Q.  Eliz.  So  just  is  God,  to  right  the  innocent. 

Hast.  O,  'twas  the  foulest  deed  to  slay  that  babe. 
And  the  most  merciless,  that  e'er  was  heard  of. 

Riv.  'I'yrants  themselves  wept  when  it  was  re- 
ported. 

Dors.  No  man  but  prophesied  revenge  tor  it. 

Buck.  Northumberland,  then  present,  wept  to  .see 
it.  (came, 

Q.  Mar.  What!  were  you  snarling  all,  before  I 
Ready  to  catch  each  other  by  the  throat. 
And  turn  you  all  your  hatred  now  on  me  ? 
Did  York's  dread  curse  prevail  so  much  mth  heaven, 
That  Henry's  death,  my  lovely  Edward's  death. 
Their  kingdom's  loss,  my  vvoful  banishment. 
Could  all  but  answer  for  that  peevish  brat ! 
Can  curses  pierce  the  clouds,  and  enter  heaven 
Why,  then  give  way,  dull  clouds,  to  n?y  qoidi 
curses ! 

Though  not  by  war,  by  surfeit  die  your  king. 
As  ours  by  murder,  to  make  him  a  king  ! 
Edward,  thy  son,  that  now^  is  prince  of  Wales, 
For  Edward,  my  son,  that  was  prince  of  Wales, 
Die  in  his  youth,  by  like  untimely  violence ! 
"^I'hyself  a  queen,  for  me  that  was  a  queen, 
Outlive  thy  glory,  like  my  wretched  self! 
Lonii  may'sl  thou  live,  to  wail  thy  children's  Iom; 
And  see  another,  as  I  see  thee  novv, 
Deck'd  in  thy  rights,  as  thou  art  stall'd  in  mine! 
Long  die  thy  happy  days  before  thy  death ; 
And,  after  many  length'en'd  hours  of  grief. 
Die  neither  moUier,  wife,  nor  England's  queen! — 
Rivers,— and  Dorset,— you  were  standers  by, —  • 
And  XQ  wast  thou,  lord  Hastings, — when  my  son 
30 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  1. 


Was  siahb'd  with  bloody  daggers  ^  God,  T  pray  him, 
T'hat  mne  of  you  may  live  your  natural  age, 
But  hy  some  unlook'd  accident  cut  dfi"!  [ha^. 

Gl).  Have  done  thy  charm,  thou  hateful  wither'd 

Q.  Mar.  And  leave  out  thee?  stay,  dog,  for  thou 
slialt  hear  me. 
If  heaven  have  any  grievous  plague  in  store, 
Exceeding  those  tfiat  I  can  wish  upon  thee, 
O,  let  them  keeo  it,  till  thy  sins  be  ripe. 
And  then  hurl  dowu  their  indignation 
On  thee,  the  troubier  of  the  poor  world's  peace  ! 
The  worm  of  conscience  still  he-gnaw  thy  soul! 
'J'hy  friends  suspect  for  traitors  while  thou  liv'st, 
And  take  deep  traitors  for  thy  dearest  friends! 
No  sleep  close  up  that  deadly  eye  of  thine. 
Unless  it  be  while  some  tormenting  dream 
Aftrights  thee  with  a  hell  of  ugly  devils  1 
riiou  elvish  mark'd,  aboitive,  rootmg  hog! 
Tlmu  that  wast  seal'd  in  thy  nativity 
The  slave  of  nature,  and  (he  son  of  hell  ! 
Thou  slander  of  thy  mother's  hea\y  womb! 
Thou  loathed  issue  of  thy  father's  loins! 
'I'iiou  rag  of  honour!  thou  detested — 

G/o.  Margaret. 

O.  Mar.  Richard  ! 

Glo.  Ha? 

Q.  Mar.  I  call  thee  not, 

Glo.  I  cry  thee  mercy  then  ;  tor  I  did  think, 
That  thou  had'st  cali'd  me  all  these  bitter  names. 

Q.  Mar.  Why,  so  I  dirl ;  but  look'd  for  no  reply. 
O,  let  me  ujake  the  period  to  my  curse. 

Glo.  'Tis  done  by  me  ;  and  ends  in— Margaret. 

Q.  Eliz.  Thus   have  you   breath'd  your  curse 
aj^ainst  yourself. 

Q.  ]\lar.  Poor  painted  queen,  vain  flourish  of  my 
foi  tune  ! 

V^^'hy  strew'st  thou  sugar  on  that  bottled  spider, 
XVhose  deadly  web  ensnareth  thee  about? 
Fool,  fool  !  thou  whet'st  a  knife  to  kill  thyself. 
The  day  will  come,  that  thou  shalt  wish  for  me 
To  help  thee  curse  this  pois'nous  hunch-back'd  toad. 

Hast.  False-boding  woman,  end  tiiy  frantic  curse  ; 
Lest,  to  thy  harm,  thou  move  our  patience. 

Q.  Mar.    Foul  shame  upon  you !  you  have  all 
mov  d  mine- 

Ri7j.  Were  yon  well  serv'd,  you  would  be  taught 
your  duty. 

Q.  Mar.  To  serve  me  well,  you  all  should  do  me 
duty, 

Teach  me  to' be  your  queen,  and  you  my  subjects  : 
O,  serve  me  well,  and  teach  yourselves  that  duty. 

Dor.  Dis|,u(e  not  with  her,  she  is  lunatic. 

Q,  Mar.  Peace,  master  njarquis,  you  are  nialapert: 
Yom-  hre-new  stamp  (jf  honour  is  scarce  current: 
O.  that  your  young  nobility  couJd  judge, 
What  'twere  to  lose  it,  and  be  miserable  !     [them  ; 
Tney  that  stand  hiuh,  have  many  blasts  to  shake 
And,  if  tliey  fall,  they  dash  themselves  to  pieces.  _ 
•  Glo.   Good   counsel,   marry ;  learn  it,  learn  it, 
maiquis. 

Dor.  It  touciies  you,  my  lord,  as  much  as  me. 

Glo.  Ay,  and  much  more  :  But  1  was  born  so 
Our  aiery  buildeth  m  the  cedar's  top,  [high, 
And  d  tllies  with  the  wind,  and  scorns  the  sun. 

Q  M"t-y-  -'^»<i  '^"""''^s  the  sun  to  sh-ide  ; — alas  !  alasi — 
VV^itiiess  my  sou,  now  in  thf  shade  of  death  ; 
VV"h()se  b:  iglit  out  sliining  beams  thy  cloudy  wrath 
Hath  in  eternal  darkness  folHed  up. 
Your  aiery  buildetii  in  our  aiery's  nest: — 
O  (iod.  that  see'st  it,  do  not  sutFer  it; 
As  it  was  won  with  blood,  lost  be  it  so? 

Buck.  l*e;ice,  peace,  forsh  iuje,  if  not  for  charity. 

Q.  Mar.  Urge  neither  charity  nor  shame  to  me} 
Uncharitably  with  me  have  you  dealt, 
And  shameiully  by  you  my  iiojjes  are  butcher'd. 
My  charity  is  oiitraj,'.e,  life  my  sliame, — 
And  in  my  sliame  still  live  my  sorrow's  rage  ! 

Buck.  Ha\ e  diMie,  have  don". 

^.  j>/«r.  O  [)riucely  Buckingham,  I  kiss  thy  hand, 
^  '  siyu  of  league  and  amity  witii  tijee:  i 


Now  fair  befal  thee,  and  thy  noble  hoasd  : 
Thy  gariueats  are  not  spotted  with  our  biood, 
Nor  thoo  within  the  compass  of  my  curse. 

Buck.  Nor  no  one  here  ;  for  curses  never  past 
The  lips  of  those  that  breathe  them  in  the  a>r. 

Q.  Mar.  I'll  not  believe  but  they  ascend  the  sky. 
And  there  awake  God's  gentle-sleeping  peace 

0  Buckingham,  beware  of  yonder  dog  ; 
Look,  when  he  fawns,  he  bites  ;  and,  when  he  bites 
His  venom  tooth  will  rankle  to  the  death  : 
Have  not  to  do  with  him,  beware  of  him  ; 
Sin,  death,  and  hell,  have  set  their  marks  on  himi 
And  all  their  ministers  attend  on  him. 

Glo.  What  doth  she  say,  my  lord  of  Buckingham  ? 
Buck.  Nothing  that  I  respect,  my  gracious  lord. 
Q.  Mar.  What,  doth  thou  scorn  me  for  ray  gentl 
counsel  ? 

And  sooth  the  devil  that  I  warn  thee  from? 
O,  but  remember  this  another  day. 
When  he  shall  split  thy  very  heart  with  sorrow 
And  say,  poor  Margaret  was  a  prophetess, — 
Live  each  of  you  the  subjects  to  his  hate, 
And  he  to  yours,  and  all  of  you  to  God's!  [Exit, 
Hast.  My  hair  doth  stand  on  end  to  bear  her 
cu  rses. 

Riv.  And  so  doth  mine ;  I  muse,  why  she's  at 
liberty. 

Glo.  I  cannot  blame  her,  by  God's  holy  mother; 
She  hath  had  too  much  wrong,  and  I  repent 
My  part  thereof,  that  I  have  done  to  her. 

Q.  Eliz.  I  never  did  her  any,  to  my  knowledge, 
Glo.  Vet  you  have  all  the  vantage  of  her  wrong, 

1  was  too  hot  to  do  some  body  good, 
That  is  too  cold  in  thinking  of  it  now. 
Marry,  as  for  Clarence,  he  is  well  repaid  ; 
He  is  frank'd  up  to  I'atting  for  his  pains  ; — 
God  pardon  them  that  are  the  cause  thereof  I 

Rlv.  A  virtuous  and  a  christian  like  conclusion, 
To  pray  for  tbem  that  have  done  scath  to  us. 

Glo.  So  do  I  ever,  being  well  advis'd  ;— 
For  had  1  curs'd  novv,  I  had  curs'd  myself.  {Aside.) 

Enter  Catesby. 
Cates.  Madam,  his  majesty  doth  call  for  you, — 
And  for  your  grace, — and  you,  my  noble  lords. 
Q.  Eliz.  Catesby,  t  come: — Lords,  will  you  go 
with  me  ? 

Riv.  Madam,  we  will  attend  upon  your  grace. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Gloster. 
Glo.  I  do  the  wrong,  ancl  first  begin  to  brawl. 
The  secret  njischiefs  that  1  set  abroach, 
I  lay  unto  the  griev  ous  charge  of  others. 
Clarence, — whom  l,iiideed,  have  laid  in  darkness,- 
1  do  bevveep  to' many  simple  gulls; 
Namely,  to  Stanley,  Hastings,  Buckingham; 
And  tell  them — 'tis  the  queen  and  her  allies, 
That  stir  the  king  against  the  duke  my  brother. 
Now  they  believe  it;  and  withal  whet  me 
'^1^0  be  reveng'd  on  Hivers,  Vaughan,  Grey: 
But  then  I  sigh,  and,  with  a  piece  of  scripture, 
Tell  them — that  God  birls  us  do  good  for  evil : 
And  thus  I  clothe  my  naked  villany 
With  old  odd  ends,  stol'n  forth  of  holy  writ: 
And  seem  a  saint,  when  most  I  play  the  devil. 

Enter  tivo  Murderers, 
But  soft,  here  come  my  executioners. — 
How  now,  my  hardy,  stout  resolved  mates? 
Are  vou  now  going  to  despatch  this  thing  ^ 

1  Murd.  We  are,  my  lord;  and  come  to  have  the 
That  we  mr\y  be  admitted  where  he  is.  [warrai.t, 
Glo.  Well  thought  upon,  1  ha\e  it  here  about  me' 
[Gives  the  Warrant.) 
When  you  have  done,  repair  to  Crosby-place, 
But,  sirs,  be  sudden  in  the  execution, 
Witiial  obdurate,  do  not  hear  him  plead  , 
For  Clarence  is  svell  spoken,  and,  perhaps. 
May  move  your  hearts  to  pity,  if  you  ntark  biun. 
1  Murd.   Tut,  tui,,  my  lord,  we  w»U  nut  stand  t« 
1  Talkers  are  no  good  doers ;  be  assur'd,  Lprate, 


SCSNE  4. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


467 


We  go  to  us®  cur  hands,  and  not  our  tongues. 
Geo,  Your  eyes  drop  mill  stones,  when  fools'  eyes 
di  up  tears ; 

I  like  you,  lads  : — about  your  business  straight. 
Go,  go,  despatch. 
1  Murd.  V^'e  will,  my  noble  lord.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — The  same.  A  Room  in  the  Tower. 
Enter  Clarence  ajid  Brakenbury. 

Brak.  Why  looks  your  grace  so  heavily  to-day  ? 

Clar.  O,  I  have  pass  d  a  miserable  night, 
So  full  of  fearful  dreams,  of  ugly  sights, 
1'hat,  as  [  am  a  christian  faitlil'ul  man, 
\  would. not  spend  another  such  a  night, 
Though  'twere  to  buy  a  world  of  happy  days ; 
feJo  f  ill  of  dismal  terror  was  the  time. 

Brak.  What  was  your  dream,  my  lord  ?  1  pray 
you,  tell  me.  [Tower, 

Clar.  Methought,  that  I  had  broken  from  the 
And  wasembark'd  to  cross  to  Burgundy  ; 
And,  in  my  company,  my  brother  Gloster: 
Who  from  my  cabin  tempted  me  to  walk 
Upon  the  hatches ;  thence  we  look'd  toward  England, 
A«d  cited  up  a  thousand  heavy  times. 
During  the  wars  of  York  and  Lancaster, 
That  had  befall'n  us.  As  we  pac'd  along 
Upon  the  giddy  footing  of  the  hatches, 
Methought,  that  Gljoster  stuutbled  ;  and,  b  falling, 
Struck  me,  that  tiiought  to  stay  him,  over-board. 
Into  the  tumbling  billows  of  the  main. 

0  Lord  :  methought,  wliat  pain  it  was  to  drown  ' 
W  hat  dreadful  noise  of  water  in  mine  ears  ! 
What  sights  of  ugly  death  within  mine  eyes  ! 
Methought,  i  saw  a  tiiousand  fearful  wrecks; 

A  thousand  men,  that  fishes  gnaw  d  upon  ; 

Wedges  of  gol'l,  great  anchors,  heaps  of  pearl, 

Inestimable  stones,  unvalued  jewels, 

All  scatterd  in  the  botto'u  of  the  sea. 

Seme  lay  in  dead  men's  skulls ;  and,  in  those  holes 

Where  eyes  did  once  inhabit,  there  were  crept 

lAs  'twere  in  scorn  of  eyes,)  reflecting  gems, 

Vliat  woo'd  the  slimy  bottom  of  the  deep, 

And  mock'd  the  dead  bones  that  lay  scatter'd  by. 

Brak.  Had  you  such  leisure  in  the  time  of  death, 
To  gaze  upon  these  secrets  of  the  deep  ? 

Clar.  Methought,  I  had  ;  and  often  did  I  strive 
To  yield  the  ghost:  but  still  the  envious  lloud 
Kept  in  my  soul,  and  would  not  let  it  forth 
To  seek  the  empty,  vast,  and  wand'ring  air ; 
But  srnother'd  it  within  my  panting  bulk. 
Which  almost  burst  to  belch  it  in  the  sea. 

Brak.  Awak'd  you  not  with  this  sore  agony? 

Clar.  O  no,  my  dream  was  lenothen'd  alter  life  ; 
O,  then  began  the  tempest  to  my  soul! 

1  pass'd,  methought,  the  melancholy  flood, 
With  that  grim  ferryman  which  poets  write  of. 
Unto  the  kingdom  of  [jerpetual  night. 

T!ie  first  that  tliere  did  greet  my  stranger  soul, 
W^is  my  great  father  in-law,  renowned  Warwick  ; 
Who  cry'd  aioud, —  What  scourge  for  perjury 
Can  this  dark  monarchy  afford  false  Clarence  ? 
And  so  he  xaiiish'd:  Then  ca.ne  wand'ring  by 
A  shadow  like  an  aiisjel,  with  brigtit  hair 
Dabhlc-d  in  blood  ;  and  he  shric k'd  out  aloud, — 
Clarence  is  come, — false.,  fleeting,  perjur'd  Cla- 
rence, 

That  stahh'd  me  in  the  field  hy  Tewkshnry ; — 
Seize  on  him.  furies,  take  hiiu  to  your  torments] — 
W  itli  tliat,  luf thoutiiit,  a  legion  ot  foul  fiends 
Ruv  iiou'd  lite,  and  howled  in  mine  ears 
Such  hiileous  cries,  tint,  with  the  very  noise 
I  trenibliiig  ^vnk'd,  au(].  for  a  Sf^asoii  alter, 
Could  nut  believe  but  that  I  was  in  hell; 
Such  terrible  iuipressioii  made  my  dream. 

Brak.  No  marvel,  lord,  thoujli  if  all' ighted  you  ; 
I  ftni  afraid,  luetliinks.  tu  hear  you  tell  it. 

Cfa'T  O  lirakenbury,  I  have  done  tliese  things, — 
Tiiiit  now  ^ive  eviflem:e  ayaiust  my  soul, — 
For  Edwanl's  SHke  ;  aud.  see,  h()vv  he  requites  me 
O  (»od !  if  luy  dtcp  prayerj  cannot  appease  thec; 


[  But  thou  wilt  be  aveng'd  on  my  misdeed. 

Yet  execute  thy  wrath  on  me  alone  : 

O,  spare  my  guiltless  wife,  and  my  poor  children  !—- 

I  pray  t-hee,  gentle  keeper,  stay  by  me  ; 

My  soul  is  heavy,  and  1  fain  would  sleep. 

Brak.  I  will,  my  lord  ;  (Jod  give  your  grace  g«»<| 
rest ; — 

{Clarence  reposes  himself  m  a  chair..) 
Sorrow  breaks  seasons,  and  reposing  hours, 
Makes  the  night  morning,  and  the  noon  tide  night. 
Princes  have  but  their  titles  for  their  glories, 
An  outward  honour  for  an  inward  toil ; 
And,  for  unfelt  imaginations. 
They  often  feel  a  world  of  restless  cares. 
So  that,  between  their  titles,  and  low  name, 
'inheres  nothing  differs  but  the  outward  fame. 

Enter  the  two  Murderers. 
1  Mtird.  Ho  !  who's  here  ? 

Brak.  What  would'st  thou,  fellow,  and  how 
cam'st  thou  hither  ? 

1  Murd.  I  would  speak  with  Clarence,  and  I  camo 

hither  on  iny  legs. 
Brak.  What,  so  brief?  [dious  : — 

2  Murd.  O,  sir;^  'tis  better  to  be  brief  than  te- 
Let  him  see  our  commission  ;  talk  no  more. 

{A  paper  is  delivered  to  Brakenbury,  ich* 
reads  it.) 

Brak.  I  am,  in  this,  commanded  to  deliver 
The  noble  duke  of  Clarence  to  your  hands  : 
I  will  not  reason  what  is  meant  hereby. 
Because  I  will  be  guiltless  of  the  meaning. 
Here  are  the  keys  — there  sits  the  duke  asleep: 
I'll  to  the  king;  and  signify  to  him, 
J'hat  thus  I  have  resign'd  to  you  my  charge. 

1  Murd.  Y  ou  may,  sir ;  'tis  a  point  of  wnsdom  : 
Fare  you  well.  [E.tit  Blakcnburf*. 

2  Murd.  What,  shall  we  stab  him  as  be  sleeps  ? 

1  Murd.  No;  he'll  say,  'twas  done  cowardly, 
wlien  he  wakes. 

2  Mfird.  When  he  wakes  !  wh}',  fool,  he  shall  « 
never  wake  until  the  great  judgment  day.  | 

1  Murd.  Why,  then  he'il  say,  we  stabb'd  hica 
sleeping. 

2  Murd.  The  urgibg  of  that  word,  judgment,  hath 
bred  a  kind  of  remorse  in  me. 

1  Murd  What?  art  thou  afraid? 

2  Murd.  Not  to  kill  him,  having  a  warrant  for  it: 
but  to  be  damn'd  for  killing  him,  from  the  which 
no  warrant  can  defend  me. 

1  Murd.  I  thougnt,  thou  had'st  been  resolute. 

2  Murd.  So  I  am,  to  let  him  live.  [him  so. 

1  Murd.  I  ll  back  to  the  duke  of  Gloster,  and  tell 

2  Murd.  Nay,  I  pr'ythee,  slay  a  little  :  I  hope, 
this  holy  humour  of  mine  will  change  ;  it  was  wont 
to  liold  me  but  while  one  would  tell  twenty. 

1  Murd.  How  dost  thou  feel  thyself  now? 

2  Murd.  'Faith,  some  certain  dregs  of  conscience 
are  yet  within  me.  [done. 

1  Murd.  Remember  our  reward,  when  the  deed's 

2  Murd.  Come,  he  dies:  I  had  forgot  the  reward. 

1  Murd.  Where's  thy  conscience  now  ? 

2  Murd.  In  the  duke  of  Gloster's  purse. 

1  Murd.  So,  when  he  opens  his  purse  to  give  u« 
our  reward,  thy  conscience  flies  out. 

2  Murd.  'Tis  no  matter;  let  it  go;  there's  few, 
or  none,  will  entertain  it. 

1  Murd.  What,  if  it  come  to  thee  r\gain  ? 

2  Murd.  I II  not  meddle  with  it,  it  is  a  dangeroiw 
thing,  it  makes  a  man  a  coward;  a  man  cannot 
steal,  but  it  accuseth  hiin  ;  a  man  cannot  swear, 
but  it  checks  him  :  a  man  cannot  lie  with  his  neigh- 
bour's wife,  but  it  detects  him  :  'Tis  a  blushing 
shame  faced  spirit,  that  mutinies  in  a  man's  bosom; 
it  fills  one  full  of  obstacles  :  it  made  ine  once  restore 
a  purse  of  gold,  that  by  chance  I  found  ;  it  beggars 
any  man  that  keeps  it :  it  is  turned  out  of  all  towns 
and  cities  for  a  dangerous  thing  ;  and  every  man, 
that  means  to  live  well,  endeavours  to  trust  to  him- 
self, and  live  without  it. 


468 


KING  RICHARD  JII. 


1  Murd.  'Zoands,  it  is  even  now  at  my  elbow, 
persuading  ine  not  to  kill  the  duke. 

2  Murd.  Take  Uie  de^il  in  thy  mind,  and  believe 
fiirn  not :  he  would  insinuate  with  thee,  but  to  make 
thee  siy;h.  [with  me. 

1  Murd.  1  am  strong-fram'd,  he  cannot  prevail 
\  2  Murd.  Spoke  like  a  tall  fellow,  that  respects  his  i 
reputation.    Come,  shall  we  fall  to  work  ?  j 

1  Murd.  Take  him  over  the  costard  with  the  hilts 
of  thy  sword,  and  then  throw  him  into  the  malmsey-  j 
butt,  in  the  next  room.  [him.  ' 

2  Murd.  O  excellent  device  !  and  make  a  sop  of 

1  Murd.  Soft !  he  wakes.  j 

2  Murd.  Strike. 

I  Murd.  No,  we'll  reason  with  him.  ' 
Clar.  Wliere  art  thou,  keeper?  give  me  a  cup  of 
wine.  _  [anon,  i 

1  Murd.  You  shall  have  wine  enough,  my  lord,  I 
Clar.  In  God's  name,  what  art  thou  ? 
1  Murd.  A  man,  as  you  are. 
Clar.  But  not,  as  I  am,  royal. 
1  Murd.  Nor  you,  as  we  are,  loyal. 
Cla7\  Tiiy  voice  is  thunder,  but  thy  looks  are 
iiumble. 

1  Murd.  My  voice  is  now  the  king's,  my  looks 
my  own. 

Clar.  How  darkly,  and  how  deadly  dost  thou 

speak ! 

Your  eyes  do  menace  me  :  Why  look  you  pale  ?- 
Who  sent  you  hither?  Wherefore  do  you  come  ? 

Both  Murd.  To,  to,  to,— 

Clar.       murder  me  i 

f^oth  Murd.  Ay,  ay. 

Clar.  You  scarcely  have  the  hearts  to  tell  me  so, 
And  therefore  cannot  have  the  hearts  to  do  it. 
Wherein,  my  friends,  have  1  offended  you  ? 

1  Murd,  Olfended  us  you  have  not,  but  the  king. 
Clar.  I  shall  be  reconcii'd  to  him  again. 

2  Murd.  Never,  my  lord  ;  therefore  prepare  to  die. 
Clar.  Are  you  call'd  forth  from  out  a  world  of 

men, 

'ID  slay  the  innocent?  What  is  my  offence? 
Wiiere  is  the  evidence  that  doth  accuse  me  ? 
\V  iiat  lavvliii  quest  have  given  their  verdict  up 
U:\to  the  frowning  judge  ?  or  who  pronounc'd 
'i'iie  b;tt-  r  sentence  of  poor  Clarence'  death  ? 
lie  fore  I  be  convict  by  course  of  law, 
'i'o  threaten  me  with  death  is  most  unlawful. 
I  rl.  arge  you,  as  you  hope  for  any  goodness. 
By  Christ  s  dear  blood  shed  for  our  grievous  sins, 
That  you  depart,  and  lay  no  hands  on  me ; 
Ihe  deed  you  undertake  is  damnable. 

1  Murd.  What  we  will  do,  we  do  upoi>  command. 

2  Murd.  And  he,  that  hath  commanded,  sour  king. 
Clar.  Erroneous  vassal!  the  great  K\x\^  of  kings 

Hath  in  the  table  of  his  lavv  commanded, 
That  thou  shalt  do  no  murder  :  Wilt  thou  then 
Spurn  at  his  edict,  and  fulfil  a  man's  ? 
Take  heed  ;  for  he  holds  vengeance  in  his  hand, 
To  hurl  upon  their  heads  that  break  his  law. 

2  Murd.  And  that  same  vengeance  doth  he  hurl 
on  thee. 

For  false  forswearing,  and  for  murder  too  : 
Thou  didst  receive  the  sacrament,  to  fight 
In  quarrel  of  the  house  of  Lancaster. 

1  Murd.  And,  like  a  traitor  to  the  name  of  God, 
Didst  break  that  vow;  and,  with  thy  treacherous 

blade, 

Unrip'dst  the  bowels  of  thy  sovereign's  son. 

2  Murd.  Whom  thou  wast  sworn  to  cherish  and 

defend. 

1  Mutd.  How  canst  thou  urge  God's  dreadful 
law  to  us. 

When  thou  hast  broke  it  in  such  dear  degree  ? 

Clar.  Alas !  for  whose  sake  did  I  that  ill  deed  ? 
For  Edward,  for  my  brother,  for  his  sake  : 
He  sends  you  not  to  murder  me  for  this; 
Foi  in  that  sin  he  is  as  deep  as  /. 
If  God  will  be  avenged  for  the  deed, 
O  kaow  you«  that  he  doth  it  publicly: 


Take  not  the  quarrel  frc  n  bis  powerful  i4m; 
He  needs  no  indirect  nor  lawless  course. 
To  cut  off  those  that  have  otiended  him. 

\  Murd.  Who  made  thee  then  a  bloody  minister 
When  gallant-springing,  brave  Plantagenet, 
That  princely  novice,  was  struck  dead  by  thee  ? 

Clar.  My  l/rother's  love,  the  devil,  and  my  rage. 

1  Murd.  Thy  brother's  love,  our  duty,  and  th]f 
Provoke  us  hither  now  to  slaughter-  thee,  [fault, 

Clar.  If  you  do  love  my  brother,  hate  not  me; 
I  am  his  brother,  and  I  love  him  uell. 
If  you  are  hir'd  for  meed,  go  back  again. 
And  1  will  send  you  to  my  brother  Gloster  ; 
Who  shall  reward  you  better  for  my  life. 
Than  FiOward  will  for  tidings  of  my  death. 

2  Murd.  You  are  deceived,  your  brother  Gloster 

hates  you. 

Clar.  O,  no  ;  he  loves  me,  and  he  holds  me  dear : 
Go  you  to  him  from  me. 

Both  Murd.  Ay,  so  we  will.  [York' 

Clar.  Tell  him,  when  that  our  princely  father 
Bless  d  his  three  sons  with  his  victorious  arm, 
And  charg'd  us  from  his  soul  to  love  each  other. 
He  little  thouf^ht  of  this  divided  friendship  : 
Bid  Gloster  think  on  tliis,  and  he  will  weep. 

1  Murd.     y,  mill-stones ;  as  he  lesson'd  us  to 
weep. 

Clar.  O,  do  not  slander  him,  for  ho  is  kind. 

1  Murd.  Right,  as  snow  in  harvest. — Come,  you 
deceive  yourself; 
'Tis  he  that  sends  us  to  destroy  you  here. 

Clar.  It  cannot  be;  lor  he  bewept  my  fortune, 
And  hugg'd  me  in  his  arms,  and  swore,  with  sobs. 
That  he  would  labour  my  delivery. 

1  Murd.  Why,  so  he  doth,  when  he  delivers  you 
From  this  earth's  thraldom  to  the  joys  of  heaven. 

2  Murd  Make  peace  with  God,  for  you  must 

die,  my  lord. 

Clar.  Hast  thou  that  holy  feeling  in  thy  soul. 
To  counsel  me  to  make  my  peace  with  God, 
And  art  thou  yet  to  thy  own  soul  so  blind 
That  thou  wilt  war  with  God.  by  murdering  me? — 
Ah,  sirs,  consider,  he,  that  set^ou  on 
To  do  this  deed,  will  l  ate  you  for  the  deed. 

2  Murd.  What  shall  we  "do  ? 

Clar.  Relent,  and  save  your  souls. 

1  Miird.  Relent !  'tis  cowardly,  and  womanish, 
Clar.  Not  to  relent,  is  beastly,  savage,  devilish, — 

Which  of  you,  if  you  were  a  prince's  son, 

Being  pent  from  liberty,  as  I  am  now, — 

If  two  such  murderers  as  yourselves  came  to  yon,— 

Would  not  entreat  for  life  ? — 

My  friend,  I  spy  some  pity  in  thy  looks ; 

O,  if  thine  eye  be  not  a  flatterer. 

Come  thou  on  my  side,  and  entreat  for  me. 

As  you  would  beg,  were  you  in  my  distress. 

A  begi^iug  prince  vvhat  beggar  pities  not? 

2  Murd.  Look  behind  you,  my  lord. 

1  Murd.  Take  that,  and  that:  if  all  this  will  not 

do,  {Stabs  him.) 

ril  drown  you  in  the  malmsey-butt  within. 

[Exit  with  the  body. 

2  Murd.  A  bloody  deed,  and  desperately  de 

spatch'd  ! 

How  fain,  like  Pilate,  would  T  wash  my  hands 
Of  this  most  grievous  guilty  murder  done  ! 

Re-enter  first  Murderer. 

1  Murd.  How  now  ?  what  mean'st  thou,  that  thug 

help'st  me  not? 
By  heaven,  the  duke  shall  know  how  slack  you  have 
been.  [brother ! 

2  Murd.  I  would  he  knew,  that  I  had  sav'd  bit 
Take  thou  the  fee,  and  tell  him  what  I  say  ; 

For  1  repent  me  that  the  duke  is  slain.  [EsiL 
1  Murd.  So  do  not  I ;  go,  coward,  as  thou  art^ 
Well,  I'll  go  hide  the  body  in  some  hole. 
Till  that  the  duke  give  order  for  his  burial : 
And  when  I  have  my  meed,  I  will  away  ; 
For  this  wil  out,  and  then  I  must  not  stay.  [J2 


A.CT  n.    Scene  4. 


KING  EICHARD  TTT. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  l.—The  same.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Kmj  Edward,  {led  in  sick,)  Queen  Cliza- 
BBTH,  Dorset,  IIive-rs,  Hastings,  Bucking- 
ham, Grey,  and  others. 

K.  Edw.  Why,  so  : — now  have  I  done  a  good 
ddy's  work; — 
V'ou  peers,  continue  this  united  league  : 

every  day  expect  an  en>bassage 
From  my  Redeemer  to  redeem  me  hence; 
Vnd  niore  in  peace  my  son!  shall  part  to  heaven. 
Since  I  have  made  my  friends  at  peace  on  earth. 
Rivers,  and  H'lstings,  take  eacli  other's  hand  ; 
Dissemble  not  your  hatred,  swear  your  love. 

Riv.  By  heaven,  my  soul  is  purg  d  irom  grudging 
hato ; 

And  with  my  hand  I  seal  my  true  heart's  love. 
Hast.  So  thrive  I,  as  I  truly  swear  the  like ! 
K.  Edtv.  Take  heed,  you  dally  not  bei'ore  your 
king; 

Lest  he,  that  is  the  supreme  King  of  kings, 
Conibund  your  hidden  falsehood,  and  award 
liither  of  you  to  l>e  the  other's  end. 
Hast.  So  prosper  I,  as  1  swear  perfect  love  ! 
Riv.  And  I,  as  I  love  Hastings  with  my  heart  I 
K   Edw.  Madam,  yourself  are  not  exempt  in 
this,— 

Nor  your  son  Dorset,— Buckingham,  nor  you  ; — 
V^ou  have  been  factious  one  against  tiie  other. 
Wife,  love  lord  Hastings,  let  him  kiss  your  hand  : 
And  wliat  you  do,  doit  unfeignedly.  [remember 

Q.  Eliz.  'I'li«re,  Hastings; — I  will  never  more 
Oiir  former  hatred,  So  thrive  1,  and  mine  ! 

K.  Edw.  Dorset,  embrace  him, — Hastings,  love 
lord  marquis. 

Dor.  Tliis  interchange  of  love,  I  here  (irotest, 
Upon  my  part  siiall  be  inviolable. 

Hast.  And  so  swear  L         [Embraces  Dorset.) 

K.  Ediv.  Now,  princely  Buckingliam,  seal  thou 
this  league 

With  thy  euiliracements  to  my  wife's  allies, 
Asid  niah.e  ;!ie  happy  m  your  unity. 

Buck.  Whenever  Buckingham  duth  turn  his  hate 
Upon  your  grace,  (To  the  Queen)  but  with  ail  du- 
teous love 

Doth  cherisl!  your  and  yours,  God  punish  me 
With  hate  in  tiiose  where  1  expect  most  love! 
When  i  have  moist  need  to  employ  a  friend. 
And  most  assured  tliat  he  is  a  friend, 
Deep,  iiollow,  treaci»erous,  and  full  of  guile. 
Be  he  unto  me  I  this  do  I  beg  of  heaven, 
When  I  am  cold  in  love,  to  you,  or  yours. 

{Embracing  Rivers,  §fc.) 

K.  Edw.  A  pleasing  cordial,  princely  Bucking- 
Is  this  tiiy  \o\s  unto  my  sickly  heart.  [ham. 
There  wanteth  now  our  brother  Gloster  here, 
To  make  the  blessed  period  of  this  peace.  [duke,, 

Buck,  And,  tu  good  time,  here  comes  the  noble 
Enter  Gloster. 

Glo.  Good-morrow  to  my  sovereign  king,  and 
queen ; 

And,  princely  peers,  a  happy  time  of  day  ! 

K.  Edw.  Happy,  indeed,  as  we  have  spent  the 
day  :— 

Brother,  we  have  do«e  deeds  of  charity  ; 
Made  peace  of  enmity,  fair  love  of  hate. 
Between  these  swelli.ig  wrong- incensed  peers. 

do.  A  blessed  labour,  my  most  sovereign  liege. — 
Among  this  princi'i.y  heap,  if  any  here^ 
By  false  intelligence,  or  wrong  surmise. 
Hold  me  a  foe  : 

If  I  unvvittingiy,  or  in  my  rage, 
Have  augljt  comuiitted  that  is  hardly  borne 
by  any  in  this  presence,  I  desire 
To  reconcile  me  to  iiis  friendly  peace  : 
Tis  deatii  to  me,  to  be  at  e-mnity  ; 
I  hate  it,  and  desire  all  good  men  s  love. — 
Fir.st,  ra^.daai,  i  eutreat  true  peace  of  you. 
-  Which  1  wiil  purchase  with  my  duteous  service ; — 


Of  you,  my  noble  cousin  Buckinghaiu, 
If  ever  any  grudge  were  lo.lg'd  between  iib:—. 
Ol'you,  lord  Rivers, — and  lord  Grey,  of  yoo,— 
That  all  without  desert  have  frown'd  on  me  ; 
Dukes,  earls,  lords,  gentlemen;  indeed,  of  fuU 
I  do  not  know  tiiat  Englishman  alive, 
With  whom  my  soul  is  any  jot  at  odds. 
More  than  the  infant  that  is  born  to-uight ; 
I  thank  my  God  for  my  humility. 

Q.  Eliz.  A  holy-day  sinll  this  be  kept  hereafter 
I  would  tu  God,  all  strifes  uere  well  compounded^ 
My  sovereign  lord,  I  do  iK&rfch  your  highness 
To  take  our  brother  Clan  nce  to  your  grace, 

Glo.  Why,  madam,  have  I  oUer'd  love  for  this. 
To  be  so  flouted  in  this  royal  pr«^.sence  ? 
Who  knows  not,  that  the  gentle  duke  is  dead  ? 

{They  all  start. 
You  do  him  injury,  to  scorn  his  corse. 

K.  Edw.  Who  knows  not  lie  is  dead  !  who  knows 
he  is  ? 

Q.  Eliz.  All-seeing  heaven,  what  a  world  is  this  ! 
Buck.  Look  I  so  pale,  lord  Dorset,  as  the  rest  ? 
Dor.  Ay,   my  good  lord  •  and  no  man  in  th« 
presence. 

But  his  red  colour  hath  r.»rsook  his  cheeks. 

K.Edw.  Is  Clarence  dead  /  the  order  was  revers'd. 

Glo.  JJut  he,  poor  n-.^!!,  by  your  tirst  order  died 
And  that  a  winged  Mercury  did  bear  ; 
Some  tardy  cripple  bore  the  countermand. 
That  came  too  lag  to  see  him  buried  : — 
God  grant,  that  some,  less  noble,  and  less  loyal, 
Nearer  in  bloody  thoughts,  and  not  in  blood. 
Deserve  not  worse  tiian  wretched  Clarence  did. 
And  yet  go  current  from  suspicion  1 

Enter  Stanley. 
Stan.  A  boon,  my  sovereign,  foi  my  service  done. 
K.  Edw.  I  pr'ythee,  peace ;  my  soul  is  full  ol 
sorrow. 

Stan.  I  will  not  rise,  unless  your  highness  hear  me. 
K.  Edw.  Then  say  at  once,  what  is  it  thou  le- 
quest'st, 

Stan,  'i'he  Ibrfeit,  sovereign,  of  my  servant's  life ; 
Who  slew  to  day  a  riotous  gentleman, 
Irately  attendant  on  the  duke  of  Norfolk.  [death, 

K.  Edw.  Have  I  a  tongue  to  doom  my  brother's 
And  shall  that  tongue  give  pardon  to  a  slave  ? 
My  brother  kill'd  no  »nan,  his  fault  was  thought; 
And  yet  his  punishment  was  bitter  death. 
Who  sued  to  nje  for  him?  who,  in  my  wrath, 
Kneel'd  at  my  feet,  and  bade  me  be  advis'd  ? 
Who  spoke  of  brotherhood  t  who  spoke  of  love  » 
Who  told  me,  how  the  poor  soul  did  forsake 
The  mighty  Warwick,  and  did  tight  for  me? 
Who  told  me,  in  the  field  at  Tewksbury, 
When  Oxford  had  me  down,  he  rescu'd  me. 
And  said.  Dear  brother.,  live.,  and  be  a  king? 
Who  told  me,  when  we  both  lay  in  the  field, 
Frozen  almost  to  death,  how  he  did  lap  me 
Even  iu  his  garments;  and  did  give  himself. 
All  thin  and  naked,  to  the  numb  cold  night? 
All  this  from  my  remembrance  brutish  vvratli 
Sinfully  pluck'd,  and  not  a  man  of  you 
Had  so  much  grace  to  put  it  in  rny  mind. 
But,  when  your  carters,  or  your  waiting  vassalfl. 
Have  done  a  drunken  slaughter,  and  del'ac'd 
'I'he  precious  image  of  our  dear  Redeemer, 
You  straight  are  on  your  kuees  for  pardon,  pardon  | 
And  I,  unjustly  too,  must  grant  it  you  : — 
But  (or  my  brotlier,  not  a  man  would  speak,— 
Nor  I  (ungracious)  speak  unto  myself 
For  him,  poor  soul. — The  proudest  of  you  all 
Have  been  beholden  to  him  iu  his  lil'e  ; 
Yet  none  of  you  would  once  plead  for  his  life.— » 
O  God!  I  fear,  thy  justice  will  take  hold 
On  me,  and  you,  and  mine,  and  yours,  forthia.r— 
Come,  Hastings,  help  me  to  my  c  loset.  O, 
Poor  Clarence ! 

[Exeunt  King,  Queen,  Hastings,  Rioers, 
Durset,  and  Grey, 


m 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  II 


Gio.  Tliis  IS  the  frnit  of  rashness !—  Mark'd  you 
How  <hat  the  guilty  kindred  of  the  queen  [not, 
Look'd         wlien  they  did  hear  of  Clarence'  death? 
O,  tht»y  ilid  urge  it  still  unto  the  king: 
God  will  revenge  it.    Come,  lords;  will  you  go, 
To  coiidort  Edward  with  our  company? 

Buck.  We  wait  upon  your  grace.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II.— T/ie  same. 

Enter  the  Duchess  of  York,  with  a  Son  and 
Daughter  c)/' Clarence. 

Son.  Good  grandam,  tell  us,  is  our  fatlier  dead  ? 
Duck  No,  boy. 

Dauyh.  Why  do  you  weep  so  oft?  and  beat  your 
breast ; 

And  ciy — O  Clarence.,  my  iinhappy  son!  'head, 
Son,  Wtiy  do  you  look  on  us,  and  shake  your 
And  call  us — orphans,  wretches^  cast  aways, 
jftiiat  our  noble  lather  be  alive 

Duch.  I\1y  pretty  cousins,  you  mistake  me  both; 
I  ill  lament  (he  sickness  of  the  king, 
^•i.  ioii  h  to  lose  him,  not  your  father's  death: 
It  were  lost  sorrow,  to  wail  one  that's  lost. 

SoJi.  Tl)en,grandam,  you  conclude  that  he  is  dead. 
'i"h'-  king  niy  luvcle  is  to  blame  for  this  : 
'Jod  s^ill  irveiigr  it;  whom  I  will  importune 
A  ith  earnest  pra\ers  all  to  thatetfect. 

DdH^iJu  And  .so  will  I.  [you  well; 

Dia  fu  rea<:e,  children,  peace  !  the  king  doth  love 
Incapable  and  slialiow  innoceiits, 
Vnti  canaot  guess  who  caus'd  your  father's  death. 
Son.  (iran  iam,  we  can  :  for  my  good  uncle 
Gloster 

Told  M>e,  the  king,  provok'd  to't  by  the  queen, 
Devi-s'd  in>peachinents  to  imprison  him  : 
Aim]  when  niy  uncle  told  me  so,  he  wept, 
And  pi  <-ii  mt-,  and  kindly  kiss'd  my  cheek; 
bade  me  rely  on  him,  as  on  my  falh^'r. 
And  he  would  love  me  dearly  as  his  child. 

Duch.  Ah.  that  deceit  should  steal  such  gentle 
shapes,' 

An  i  with  a  virtuous  visor  hide  deep  vice! 
He  is  my  sou,  ay,  and  therein  my  shame, 
Yet  from  my  dugs  he  drew  not  this  deceit. 

Son.  'I'hiuk  you,  my  uncle  did  dissemble,  grandam? 

Duch.  Ay,  boy. 

Son.  1  cannot  think  it.    Hark  I  what  noise  is  this  ? 

Enter  Queen  ELIZABETH,  distrncfedly;  Rivers, 
and  DoRta^l.  J'olioiviny  her. 
Q.  Eliz.  Ah!  who  shall  hinder  me  to  wail  and 
weep? 

To  chide  my  Ibrtime.  and  torment  myself? 
I'll  join  wiili  black  aespair  against  my  soul, 
And  to  myselt"  become  an  enemy. 

Duch.  Wliat  means  this  scene  of  rude  impatience  ? 

Q.  Eiiz.  To  make  an  act  of  tragic  violence  ; — 
Edwaid,  my  lord,  thy  son,  our  king,  is  dead. — 
Why  grow  tlie  branches,  when  the  root  is  gone? 
Why  wither  not  the  leaves,  that  want  tneir  sap? — 
If  you  will  live,  lament;  if  die,  be  brief; 
That  our  swift-vvin<;ed  souls  may  catch  the  king's; 
Or,  like  obedient  subjects,  Ibllow  him 
To  his  new  kingd mi  of  perpetual  rest. 

Duch.  Ah,  so  much  interest  have  I  in  thy  SOTOW, 
As  1  had  title  in  thy  noble  husband  ! 
I  ha\fc  bewept  a  worthy  husband's  death. 
And  liv'd  by  looking  on  his  images: 
But  now,  two  mirrors  of  his  princely  semblance 
Are  crack'd  in  pieces  by  malignant  death; 
And  I  for  comfort  have  but  one  false  glass. 
That  grieves  me  when  1  see  my  shamt  in  him. 
Tliou  art  a  wiuow;  yet  thou  art  a  mother, 
And  hast  the  eonjfort  of  thy  children  left  thee  : 
liut  death  hath  suatch'd  my  husband  from  my  arms. 
And  pluck'd  two  crutches  from  my  feebi^e  hands, 
Clarence,  and  Edward.    O,  what  cause  have  I, 
(Thine  being  but  a  moiety  of  my  grief,) 
T-D  over-jjo  thy  plaints,  and  dnnvn  tliy  cries? 


Son.  Ah,  aunt !  yoa  wept  nut  for  oar  father's  death 
How  can  we  aid  you  vvitl)  our  kindred  tears  ? 

Dauyh.  Our  fatherless  distress  UaS  ief*  uiiisioaa'd 
Your  widow-dolour  likewise  be  unwept! 

Q.  Eliz.  Give  me  no  help  in  lameulation, 
I  am  not  barren  to  bring  forth  laments : 
All  springs  reduce  their  currents  to  mine  eyes. 
That  I,  being  govern  d  by  the  watery  fnoon, 
May  send  forth  p!enteoi:s  tear's  to  drown  the  world. 
Ah.  for  my  husband,  fur  my  dear  lord  Edward! 

ChiL  Ah.  for  our  father,  for  our  dear  lord  Clarence. 

Duch.  Alas,  for  both,  both  mine,  Edward  and 
Clarence !  [gone, 

Q.  Eliz.  What  stay  had  I,  but  Edward  ?  and  he's 

Chil.  What  stay  had  we,  but  Clarence  ?  and  he's 
gone.  [gone. 

Duch.  What  stays  had  I,  bot  they  ?  and  they  ara 

Q.  Eiiz.  Was  never  widow,  had  so  dear  a  loss. 

Duch.  Was  never  mother,  had  so  dear  a  loss. 
Alas  !  I  am  the  niother  of  these  griefs ; 
Their  woes  are  parcell'd,  mine  are  geJieraL 
She  for  an  Edward  weeps,  and  so  do  1 ; 
I  for  a  Clarence  weep,  so  doth  not  she  : 
These  babes  for  Clarence  weep,  and  so  do  I : 
I  for  an  Edward  weep,  so  do  not  they  : — 
Alas!  you  three,  on  me,  threefold  dislress'd. 
Pour  all  your  tears,  I  am  your  sorrow's  nurse, 
And  I  will  pamper  it  with  lamentations. 

Dor.  Comfort,  dear  mother;  God  is  much  dis- 
pleas'd. 

That  you  take  with  unthankfulness  his  doing; 
In  common  wordly  things,  'tis  call'd — ungrateful. 
With  dull  unwillii'gness  to  repay  a  debt. 
Which  with  a  bounteous  hand  was  kindly  lent; 
Much  more  to  be  thus  opposite  with  heaven, 
For  it  requires  the  royal  debt  it  lent  you. 

Riv.  Madam,  bethink  you,  like  a  careful  mother, 
Of  the  young  prince  your  son  :  send  straight  for  him, 
Let  him  be  crown'd ;  in  him  your  comfort  lives: 
Drown  desperate  sorrow  in  dead  Edward's  grave. 
And  plant  your  joys  in  living  Edward's  throne. 

Enter  Gloster,  Buckingham,  Stanley,  Hast- 
ings, Ratcliff,  and  others. 

Glo.  Sister,  have  comfort :  ail  of  us  have  cause 
To  wail  the  dimming  oi' our  shining  star; 
Rut  none  can  cure  their  harms  by  wailing  them. — 
Madam,  niy  uiother,  I  do  cry  you  mercy, 
I  did  not  see  your  grace  : — Humbly  on  my  knee 
I  crave  your  blessing.  [breast, 

Duch,  God  bless  thee ;  and  put  meekness  m  thy 
Eove,  charity,  obedience,  and  true  duty  ! 

Glo.  Au>en  ;  and  make  me  die  a  good  old  man  ! — 
That  is  the  butt  end  of  a  mother's  blessing; 
I  marvel,  that  her  grace  did  leave  it  out.  (Aside.) 

Buck,  You  cloudy  princes,  and  heart  sorrowing 
peers. 

That  bear  this  mutual  heavy  load  of  moan. 
Now  cheer  each  other  in  each  other's  love 
Though  we  have  spent  our  harvest  of  this  king. 
We  are  to  reap  the  harvest  of  his  son. 
The  broken  rancour  of  your  high-swoln  hearts, 
But  lately  splinted,  knit,  and  join'd  together. 
Must  gently  be  preserv'd,  cherish'd,  and  kept: 
Me  seemetii  good,  that,  with  sonie  little  train, 
Forthwith  from  Ludlow  the  young  prince  be  fetch'd 
Hither  to  London,  to  be  crown'd  our  king. 
Riv.  Why  with  some  little  train,   my  lord  of 

Buckingham  ? 
Buck,  Marry,  ray  lord,  lest^  by  a  multitude. 
The  new  heafd  wound  of  malice  should  break  oai| 
Which  would  be  so  much  the  more  dangerous. 
By  how  much  the  estate  is  green,  and  yet  on 

govern'd : 

Where  every  horse  bears  his  commanding  reio. 
And  may  direct  his  course  as  please  himself. 
As  weli  the  ff^ar  of  harm,  as  harm  apparent. 
In  my  opinion,  ought  to  be  prevented. 

Glo,  I  hope,  the  kii.g  made  peace  with  ail  of  Q3y 
And  tne  compact 's  firm,  ani  firue  m  me. 


Scene  4. 


KING  RICHARL  III. 


471 


Ntv.  And  so  IB  me  ;  and  so,  I  think,  in  all : 
Yer,  since  it  is  but  green,  it  should  be  put 
To  no  apparent  likelihood  of"  breacli, 
Which,  haply,  by  much  compai)y  might  be  urg'd : 
Therefore  f  say,  with  noble  Buckingham, 
That  it  is  meet  so  few  should  letch  the  prince. 

Hast.  And  so  say  I. 

Olo.  Then  be  it  so ;  and  go  we  to  determine 
Who  they  shall  be  that  straight  shall  post  to  Ludlow. 
Jladam,-  and  you  ray  mother, — will  you  go 
To  give  your  censures  in  this  weighty  business  ? 

[Exeunt  all  but  Buckingham  and  Gloster. 

Buck.  My  lord,  whoever  journeys  to  the  prince, 
For  God's  sake,  let  not  u.«  two  stay  at  home  : 
FoVj  by  the  way,  I'll  sort  occasion, 
As  index  to  the  story  we  late  talk'd  of. 
To  part  the  queen's  proud  kindred  from  the  prince. 

Glo.  My  other  sell,  my  counsel's  consistory. 
My  oracle,  my  prophet! — My  dear  cousin, 
I,  as  a  child,  will  go  by  thy  direction. 
Towards  Ludlow  then,  for  we'll  not  stay  behind, 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  \\U—The  same.   A  Street. 
Enter  two  Ciiizens,  meeting. 

1  Ctt.  Oood  morrow,  neighbour  :  Whither  away 

so  fast  ? 

2  Cit.  I  promise  you,  I  scarcely  knov/  myself: 
Hear  you  the  news  abroad  ::* 

1  Cit.  Yes ;  the  king's  dead. 

2  Cit.  Ill  news,  by'r  lady ;  seldom  comes  the  bet- 
I  fear,  I  fear,  'twill  prove  a  giddy  world.        [ter : 

Enter  another  Citizen. 

3  Cit.  'Neighbours,  God  speed  ! 

1  Cit  Give  you  good  morrow,  sir. 
3  Cit.  Doth  the  news  hold  of  good  king  Ed- 
ward's death  V 

2  Cit.  Ay,  sir,  it  is  too  true  ;  God  help,  the  while  ! 

3  Cit.  Tiien,  masters,  look  to  see  a  troublous 

world.  [reign. 

1  Cit.  N((,  no;  by  God's  good  prace,  his  son  shall 

3  Cit.  Woe  to  that  land,  tiiat's  govern'd  by  a  child  ! 

'2  Cit.  lu  hiui  there  is  a  hope  of  government; 
That,  in  his  nonage,  council  under  him. 
And,  in  his  lull  and  ripen'd  years,  himself. 
No  doubt,  shall  then,  and  till  then,  govern  well. 

1  Cit.  So  stood  the  state,  when  Henry  th^  Sixth 
Was  crowa'd  in  Paris  but  at  nine  months  old. 

3  Cit.  Stood  the  state  so  ?  no,  no,  good  friends, 
God  vvot; 

For  then  tliis  land  was  famously  enrich'd 
With  politic  grave  counsel ;  then  the  king 
Had  virtuoti?  uncles  to  protect  his  grace. 

Cit.  Why,  so  hath  this,  both  by  his  father  and 
mother. 

3  Cit.  Better  it  were,  they  all  came  by  his  father ; 
Or,  by  his  father,  there  were  none  at  all : 
For  emulation  now,  who  shall  be  nearest, 
Will  touch  ua  all  too  near,  if  God  prevent  not. 

full  of  danger  is  the  duke  of  Gloster; 
And  the  >|iieeii's  sons,  and  brothers,  haught  and 
proud : 

And  were  tiiey  to  be  rul'd,  and  not  to  rule, 
This  sickly  land  might  solace  as  before 

1  Cit,  Come,  come,  we  fear  the  worst ;  all  will  be 

well. 

3  Cit.  W  lien  clouds  are  seen,  wise  men  put  on 
their  cloaks ; 
When  great  leaves  fall,  then  winter  is  at  hand ; 
Wlien  the  sun  sets,  who  doth  not  look  for  night? 
Untiuiely  storiris  make  men  expect  a  dearth: 
All  n>ay  be  well  ;  but,  if  God  sort  it  so, 
*j"is  more  than  we  deserve,  or  I  expect. 

2  Cit.  Truly,  the  hearts  of  men  are  full  of  fear: 
Vou  cannot  reason  almost  witn  a  man 

That  looks  not  heav\ly,  and  full  of  dread. 

3  Cit.  Bi-fine  the  days  of  change,  still' is  it  so: 
By  a  divine  instinct,  men's  tninds  mistrust 
Euffluiiii;  danger ;  as,  by  proof,  we  see 


The  water  swell  before  a  boist'rous  storm, 
But  leave  it  all  to  God.    Whither  away  ? 

2  Cit.  Marry,  we  were  sent  for  to  the  j:istice»- 

3  Cit.  And  so  was  I ;  I'll  bear  you  company. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — The  same.   A  Room  in  tht  Palace. 
Enter  the  Archbishop  0/ York,  the  young  Duhc  0/ 
York,  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  the  Duchess  oj 
York. 

Arch.  Last  night,  I  beard,  they  lay  at  Stony- 
Stratford  ; 

And  at  Northampton  they  do  rest  to  night : 
To-morrow,  or  next  day,  they  will  be  here. 

Duch.  I  long  with  all  my  heart  to  see  the  prime; 
I  h<>pe.  he  is  much  grown  since  last  I  saw  him. 

Q.  Eliz.  But  I  hear,  no;  they  say,  my  son  of  York 
Hath  almost  overta'en  him  in  his  growth. 

Yurie.  Ay,  mother,  but  I  would  not  have  it  so, 
Duch.  Why,  my  young  cousin  ?  it  is  good  to  grow 
York.  Grandam,  one  night,  as  we  did  sit  at  supper. 
My  imcle  Rivers  talk'd  how  I  did  grow 
More  than  my  brother;  Jy,  quoth  my  uncle  Gloster, 
Small  herbs  have  grace,  great  weeds  do  grow 
apace : 

And  since,  methinks,  I  would  not  grow  so  fast, 
Because  sweet  flowers  are  slow,  and  weeds  make 
haste. 

Duch.  'Good  faith,  'good  faith,  the  saying  did  not 
hold 

In  him  that  did  object  the  same  to  thee  : 
He  was  the  wretched'st  thing,  when  he  was  young. 
So  long  a  growing,  and  so  leisurely, 
That,  if  his  rule  were  true,  he  should  be  gracious. 
Arch.  And  so,    no  doubt,  he  is,  my  gracious 
madam 

Duch.  J  hope,  he  is;  but  yet  let  mothers  doubt. 
York-  Now,  by  my  troth,  if  I  had  been  remem- 
bered, 

I  could  have  given  my  uncle's  grace  a  flotit. 

To  touch  his  growth,  nearer  than  he  touoh'd  mine. 

Duch.  How,  my  young  York  ?  1  pr'ythee,  let  me 
hear  it.  ' 

York.  Marry,  they  say,  my  uncle  grevy  so  fast, 
That  he  could  g-naw  a  crust  at  two  hours  old; 
'Twas  full  two  years  ere  I  could  get  a  tooth. 
Grandam,  this  would  have  been  a  biting  jest. 

Duch.  I  pr'ythee,  pretty  York,  who  told  thee  this  ? 

York.  Grandam,  his  nurse. 

Duch.  His  nurse !  why,  she  was  dead  ere  tho8 
wast  born. 

York.  If 'twere  not  she,  I  cannot  tell  who  told  me. 
Q.  Eliz.  A  parlous  boy  :  Go  to,  you  are  too  shrewd. 
Arch.  Good  madam,  be  not  angry  with  the  child. 
Q.  Eliz.  Pitchers  have  ears. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Arch.  Here  comes  a  messenger. 

What  news  ? 

Mess.    »    Such  npws,  my  lord. 
As  grieves  n»e  to  unfold. 

Q.  Eliz.  How  doth  the  prince  ? 

Mess.  Well,  madam,  and  in  health. 

Duch.  What  is  thy  news? 

Mess.  Lord  Rivers,  and  lord  Grey,  are  sent  tm 
Pomfret, 

With  them  sir  Thomas  Vaughan,  prisoners. 

Duch.  Who  hath  committed  them  ? 

Mess.  The  mighty  dake 

Gloster  and  Buckingham. 

Q.  Eliz.  For  what  offence  ? 

Mess.  The  sum  of  all  I  can,  I  have  disclos'd; 
Why,  or  for  what,  the  nobles  were  committed. 
Is  all  unknown  to  me,  my  graciinis  lady. 

Q.  Eliz.  Ah  me,  I  see  the  ruin  of  my  house  I 
The  tiger  now  hath  seiz'd  the  gentle  hind; 
Insulting  tyianny  begins  to  jut 
Upon  the  innocent  and  avvless  throne: — 
Welcome,  destruction,  blood,  and  massacre! 
[  see,  as  in  a  map,  tlie  end  of  all. 


472 


KING  PJGHARE  III. 


Act  in. 


Duck,  Accxirsed  and  nnqaiet  wrangling  days! 
How  many  of  you  have  mine  eyes  beheld  ? 
My  husband  lost  his  life  to  get  the  crown  ; 
And  often  up  and  down  niy  sons  were  tost, 
For  tne  to  joy,  and  weep,  their  gain,  and  loss 
And  being  seated,  and  domestic  broils 
Clean  over-blown,  tiieniselves,  the  conquerors, 
Make  war  upon  themselves  ;  brother  to  brother. 
Blood  to  blood,  self 'gainst  self: — O,  preposterous 
And  frantic  courage,  end  thy  damned  spleen; 
Or  let  nie  die,  to  look,  on  death  no  more  ! 

Q.  Eliz.  Come,  come,  my  bt>y,  we  will  to  sanc- 
Madauj,  farewell.  [tuary. — 

Duch.  Stay,  I  will  go  with  you. 

Q.  Eliz.  You  have  no  cause. 

Arch.  My  gracious  lady,  go, 

[To  the  Queen.) 
And  thither  bear  your  treasure  and  your  goods. 
For  my  part,  Fll  resign  ur.toyour  grace 
The  .seal  I  keep;  And  so  betide  to  me. 
As  well  I  tender  you,  and  all  of  yours  ! 
Come,  I'll  conduct  you  to  the  sanctuary.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  III. 
Scene  l.—T/ie  .same.    A  Street. 
The  trumpets  sound.   Enter  the  Prince  o/ Wales, 
Gloster,  Buckingham,  Cardinal  Bourchier, 
and  others. 

Buck.  Welcome,  sweet  prince,  to  London,  to 
yuur  chamber.  [reig"n  : 

Glo.  Welcome,  dear  cousin,  my  thoughts'  sove- 
The  weary  way  hath  made  you  uielancholy. 

Prince.  No  uncle  ;  but  our  crosses  on  the  way 
Have  made  it  tedious,  wearisome,  and  heavy  ; 
I  want  more  uncles  here  to  welcome  me. 

Glo.  Sweet  prince,  the  untainted  virtue  of  your 
years 

Hath  not  yet  div'd  into  the  world's  deceit : 

No  more  can  you  distinguish  of  a  man, 

Than  of  his  outward  shew;  which,  God  he  knows, 

Seldom,  or  never,  jumpeth  with  tiie  heart. 

Those  uncles,  which  you  want,  were  dangerous: 

Your  grace  attended  to  the  sugar'd  words, 

lJut  look'd  not  on  the  poison  of  their  hearts  : 

rod  keep  you  from  them,  and  from  such  false  friends! 

Prince.  God  keep  tne  from  false  friends  I  but 
they  were  none. 

Glo.  My  lord,  the  mayor  of  London  comes  to 
greet  you. 

Enter  the  Lord  Mayor,  and  his  Train. 
May.  God  bless  your  grace  with  health  and 

happy  days ! 
Prince.  1  thank  you,  good  my  lord ; — and  thank 
you  all. —  [Exeunt  Mayor,  §Cc. 

I  thought  my  mother,  and  my  brother  York, 
Would  long  ere  this  have  met  us  on  the  way  : 
Fy,  what  a  slug  is  Hastings  !  that  he  comes  nut 
To  tell  us,  whether  they  will  come,  or  no. 

Enter  Hastings. 
Buck.  And  in  good  time,  here  comes  the  sweat- 
ing lord. 

Prince.  Welcome,  my  lord  :  What,  will  our  mo- 
ther come  ? 

Hast.  On  what  occasion,  God  he  knows,  not  I, 
The  queen  your  motlier,  and  your  brother  York, 
Have  taken  sanctuary  :  The  tender  prince 
Would  lain  have  come  with  me  to  mt^et  your  grace. 
But  by  his  mother  was  perfcuce  withheld. 

Bud  Fy  !  what  an  indirect  and  peevish  course 
fs  this  of  hers? — Lord  cardinal,  will  your  grace 
Persuade  the  queeii  to  send  the  duke  of  York 
Unto  his  princely  brother  presently  ? 
If  she  deny — lord  Hastings,  go  with  him. 
And  from  her  jealous  arn)s  pluck  him  perforce. 

Card.  My  lord  oi"B  tckingtiam,if  my  weak  orafo.  y 
C»s  from  his  nu)ther  win  the  duke  of  York, 
Anon  expect  him  here  :  But  if  she  be  obdurate 


To  mild  entreaties,  God  in  heaven  forb>i<i 
We  should  infringe  tiie  iioiy  privilege 
Of  blessed  sanctuary  !  not  for  all  this  laod, 
Would  I  be  guilty  of  so  deep  a  sin. 

Buck.  You  are  too  sejiseless-obstinate,  mj  lord. 
Too  ceremonious,  and  traditional  : 
Weigh  it  but  with  the  grossness  of  this  age. 
You  break  not  sanctuary  in  seizing  him. 
The  benefit  thereof  is  always  granted 
To  those  vvhose  dealings  have  deserv'd  the  place^ 
And  those  who  have  the  wit  to  claiui  the  place  : 
I'his  prince  hath  neither  claim  rl  it,,  nor  df  serv'd  it ; 
And  therefore,  in  mine  opinion,  cannot  have  it: 
Then,  taking  hinj  i'rom  thence,  that  is  not  there, 
You  break  no  privilege  nor  charter  there. 
Oft  have  I  heard  of  sanctuary  men  ; 
But  sanctuary  children  ne'er  till  now. 

Card.  My  lord,  you  shall  o  er-rule  my  mind  foi 
once. — 

Come  on,  lord  Hastings,  will  you  go  with  me  ? 
Hast.  I  go,  my  lord. 

Prince.  Good  loi  (Is,  make  all  the  speedy  haste  you 
may.       [Exeunt  Cardinal  and  Hastings. 
Say,  uncle  Gloster,  if  our  brother  come, 
Wiiere  shall  we  sojourn  till  our  coronation? 

Glo.  Where  it  seems  best  imto  your  royal  self. 
If  I  may  counsel  you.  some  day,  or  two, 
Your  highness  shall  repose  you  at  the  Tower  ; 
Then  where  you  please,  and  shall  be  tiioiight  most  fit 
For  your  best  healtu  aud  recreation. 

Prince.  I  do  not  I  ike  tiie  'l  ower,  of  any  place  : — 
Did  Julius  Csesar  buiid  that  place,  my  lord  ? 

Glo.  He  did,  my  gracious  lord,  begin  <liat  place 
Which,  since,  succeeding  ages  have  re  fc,'ilied. 

Prince.  Is  it  upon  record  ?  or  else  reporw'd 
Successively  from  age  to  age  he  built  it? 

Buck.  Upon  record,  my  gracious  lord. 

Prince.  Biitsay,  my  lord,. it  were  not  registf^r'd  ; 
Methiiiks,  the  trutu  slioidd  live  from  age  to  age, 
As  "twere  retail'd  to  all  posterity, 
Even  to  the  general  ad-ending  day. 

Glo.  So  wise,  so  young,  they  say,  do  ne'er  live 
long.  (Aside.) 

Prince.  What  say  you,  uncle  ? 

Glo.  I  say,  without  characters,  fame  lives  long. 
Thus,  like  the  tonual  vice,  iniquity,  »   (Aiide  \ 

I  moralize  two  uieauings  in  o.ie  word.      9  ^  '' 

Prince.  Tiiat  Julius  Caesar  was  a  faiaOvS  man; 
Witii  what  his  valour  did  enrich  his  wit. 
His  wit  set  down  to  make  his  valour  li\e: 
Death  makes  no  conquest  of  this  conqueror  ^ 
For  now  he  lives  in  iame,  though  not  in  life. — 
1  11  tell  you  what,  my  cousin  Buckingham. 

Buck.  What,  my  gracious  lord  ? 

Prince.  An  if  I  live  until  I  be  a  man, 
I'll  win  our  ancient  ri;;lit  in  France  again. 
Or  die  a  soldier,  as  i  liv'd  a  king. 

Glo.  Short  summers  lightly  have  a  forward  spring. 

[Aside.] 

Enter  York,  Hastings,  and  the  Cardinal, 
Buck.  Now,  in  good  time,  here  comes  the  duke 

of  York.  [brotuei  .' 

Prince.  Richard  of  York !  how  fares  our  loving 
York.  Well,  my  dread  lord  \  so  must  1  call  you 

now. 

Prince.  Av,  brother ;  to  onr  grief,  as  it  is  yours  : 
Too  late  he  died,  that  might  have  kept  that  title, 
Which  by  liis  death  hath  tost  nnich  mai<-sty. 

Glo.  How  fares  our  cousir,,  noble  lord  oi  York  ? 

Jork.  I  thank  you,  gentle  uncle.    O,  my  lord, 
You  said,  that  idle  weeds  are  fast  in  growth  : 
The  prince  my  brother  hath  outgrown  me  far. 

Glu.  He  hath,  ojy  lord. 

York.  And  therefore  iu  ho  idle? 

Glo.  O,  my  fair  cousin,  I  nuist  not  say  so. 
York.  Then  is  he  nu)re  beholden  to  you,  th.ja  I. 
Glo.  He  may  command  me,  as  my  sovereign; 
But  you  have  power  iu  me,  as  \n  a  kmsiuan, 

York.  I  pray  you,  uocie.  then,  give  me  liiis  dagger. 


Scene  2. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


473 


&I0,  3Ty  fla^^er,  little  cousin  ?  with  all  my  heart. 

Prince.  A  beggar,  brother  ? 

Yvrk.  Ofriiy  kind  uncle,  that  I  know  will  give ; 
And,  being  but  a  toy,  which  is  no  grief  to  give. 

Geo.  A  greater  gilt  than  that  Til  give  my  cousin. 

York.  A  greater  gift !  O,  that's  tlie  sword  to  it  ? 

Glo.  Ay,  gentle  cousin,  were  it  light  enough. 

York.  O  then,  f  see,  you'il  part  but  with  light  gifts  ; 
In  weightier  things  you'il  say  a  beggar,  nay. 

Glo.  It  is  too  weighty  ibr  your  grace  to  wear. 

York.  I  weigh  it  lightly,  were  it  heavier. 

Glo.  What,  would  you  have  my  weapon,  little 
lord  ?  [call  me. 

York.  1  w  >uld,  that  I  might  thank  you  as  you 

Glo.  How? 

York.  Little.  [talk  ;— 

Prince.  My  lord  of  York  will  still  be  cross  in 
Uncle,  your  grace  knows  how  to  bear  with  him. 
York.  You  mean,  to  bear  me,  not  to  bear  with 
me  • — 

Uncle,  my  brotlier  mocks  both  you  and  me; 
Because  tliat  I  ain  little,  like  an  ape,  [ders. 
He  thinks  that  you  shoidd  bear  me  on  your  shoul- 

Iiuck.W\th  what  a  sharp- provided  wit  he  reasons  ! 
To  mitijjate  the  scorn  he  gives  his  uncle. 
He  prettily  and  aptly  taunts  himself: 
So  cunnir.^,  and  so  young,  is  wonderful. 

Glo.  My  gracious  lord,  will't  please  you  pass 
along  ? 

Myself,  ami  luy  good  cousin  Buckingham, 

Will  to  your  mother:  to  entreat  of  I  f  r. 

To  meet  you  at  the  Tower,  and  welcome  you. 

York.  VViiat.  will  you  go  unto  the  Tower,  my  lord  ? 

Prince.  My  lord  protector  needs  will  have  it  so. 

York.  I  siiall  not  sleep  in  quiet  at  the  Tower. 

Glo.  VV'liy,  sir,  what  should  you  fear? 

York.  Marry,  my  uncle  Clareace'  atigry  ghost; 
My  grandaiu  told  me,  he  was  murder'd  there. 

Prince.  I  iVar  un  uncles  dead. 

Glo.  Nor  nnnr  that  live,  I  hope. 

Prince.  An  if  tiit-y  live,  I  hope,  I  need  not  fear. 
But  come,  niy  lord,  and,  with  a  heavy  heart. 
Thinking  fin  tiiem,  go  I  unto  the  Tower. 

[Exeuni  Prince,  York,  Hastinys,  Cardinal, 
and  A  ttendants. 

ffwc^.  Think  you,  tuy  lord,  this  little  prating  York 
W^as  not  inct  n-it^d  by  his  subtle  mother. 
To  taunt  and  scorn  you  thus  opprobriously  ? 

Glo.  No  doubt.  i:o  doubt:  O, 'tis  a  parlous  boy; 
Bold,  q  lick,  iugv nioiis,  forward,  capable  ; 
He's  all  the  mother's,  from  the  top  to  toe. 

Buck.  Well,  let  tlieiu  rest. — 
Come  hitlier,  RPTitl^-  Catesby;  thou  art  sworn 
As  deeply  to  elf  ct  what  we  intend, 
As  closely  to  OKicea!  what  we  impart : 
Thou  know'st  our  reasons  urg'd  upon  the  way ; — 
What  think'st  t!i  to  ?  is  it  not  an  easy  matter 
To  make  W^iilia  n  I  iid  Hastings  of  our  mind, 
Fer  tile  instalment  of  this  noble  duke 
In  the  seat  royal  of  this  famous  isle  ? 

Gate.  He  ior  his  fallier's  sake  so  loves  the  prince, 
That  he  wiil  not  be  won  to  aught  against  him. 

Buck.  What  think'st  thou  then  of  Stanley?  will 
not  he  ? 

Gate,  l  ie  will  do  all  in  all  as  Hastings  doth. 
Buck.W^iW  then,  no  more  but  this :  Go,  gentle 

Catesby, 

And,  as  it  were  far  off,  sound  thou  lord  Hastings, 
How  he  doth  stand  ailected  to  our  purpose; 
And  summon  hiiu  to-morrow  to  the  Tower, 
To  sit  about  the  coronati(m. 
If  thou  dost  lind  him  tractable  to  us, 
Encoura^ie  him,  and  tell  him  all  our  reasons; 
If  he  be  leaden,  icy,  cold,  unwilling. 
Be  thou  so  too  ;  and  so  break  oft' the  talk. 
And  give  us  notice  of  his  inclination: 
For  we  to  morrow  hold  divided  councils, 
Wherein  thysplf  shall  highly  be  employed. 
Gio  Commend  me  to  lord  William:  tell  him, 
C-utes'iy, 


His  ancient  knot  of  dangerous  adversar'es 
To-morrow  are  let  blood  at  Poiufret-castle  ; 
And  by  my  friend,  for  joy  of  this  good  news. 
Give  mistress  Shore  one  gentle  kiss  the  more. 
Buck.  Good  Catesby,  go,  etfect  this  busineos 
soundly. 

Gate.  My  good  lords  both,  with  all  the  heed  I  can. 
Glo.  Shall  we  hear  from  you,  Catesby,  ere  w« 
Gate,  You  shall,  my  lord.  [sleep 
Glo,   At  Crosby-place,  there  shall  you  find  la 

both.  [Exit  Vatesl^^ 

Buck.  Now,  my  lord,  what  shall  we  do,  if  v\e 

perceive 

Lord  Hastings  will  not  yield  to  our  complots? 
Glo.  Chop  off  his   head,  man; — soinewhat  we 
will  do  r — 

And,  look,  when  I  am  king,  claim  thou  of  me 
'xif  ^''^'"'^""^      Hereford,  and  all  the  moveables 
Whereoi  the  king  my  brotlier  was  possess'd. 

Buck.  I'll  claim  that  promise  at  your  grace's  hand. 

Glo.  And  look  to  have  it  yielded  witii  all  kindness. 
Come,  let  us  su,.  betimes;  that  alterwards 
We  may  digest  our  complots  in  some  form. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  11.— Before  Lord  Hastings  House. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  My  lord,  njy  lord,—  {Knocking. 
Hasi.  (PFit/iin.)  Who  knocks? 

rr       /^rr-  . .  ^'Ord  Stanley 

Hast.  (Wit/iin.)  What  is't  o'clock  ' 
Mess.  Upon  the  stroke  of  four. 

Enter  Hastings. 
Hast.  Cannot  thy  master  sleep  the  tedious  nights 
Mess.  So  it  should  seem  by  that  I  have  to  say* 
First,  he  commends  him  to  your  noble  lordship. 
Hast.  And  then,— 

3less.  And  then  he  sends  you  word,  he  ireamt 
To-night  the  boar  had  rased  otf  his  helm 
Besides,  he  says,  there  are  two  councils  held  f 
And  that  may  be  determin'd  at  the  one. 
Which  may  make  you  and  him  to  rue  at  the  othei 
Therelbre  he  sends  to  know  yoia-  lordship's  plea 
sure, — 

If  presently,  you  will  take  horse  with  him, 

And  with  all  speed  post  witli  him  toward  the  north, 

To  shun  the  danger  that  his  soul  divines. 

Hast.  Go,  fellow,  go,  return  unto  thy  lord; 
Bid  him  not  fear  tlie  separated  councils  : 
His  honour,  and  myself,  are  at  the  one  ; 
And,  at  the  other,  is  my  good  friend  Catesby ; 
Where  nothing  can  proceed,  that  toucheth  us. 
Whereof  I  shall  not  have  inteihgence. 
Tell  him,  his  fears  are  shallow,  wanting  mstance : 
And  for  his  dreams — I  wonder,  he's  so  fond 
To  trust  the  mockery  of  unquiet  slumbtfs; 
1  o  fly  the  boar,  before  the  boar  pursues, 
Were  to  incense  the  boar  to  follow  us. 
And  make  pursuit,  where  he  did  mean  no  chase. 
Go,  bid  thy  master  rise  and  come  to  me ; 
And  we  will  both  together  to  the  Tower, 
Where,  he  shall  see,  the  boar  will  use  us  kindly. 

Mess,  ril  go,  my  lord,  and  tell  him  what  you  say. 

Enter  Catesby. 
Gate.  Many  good  morrows  to  my  noble  lord  ! 
Hast.  Good  morrow,  Catesby  ;  you  are  etal'j 
stirring : 

What  news,  what  news,  in  this  our  tottering  state? 

Gate.  It  is  a  reeling  world,  indeed,  my  lord  ; 
And,  1  believe,  will  never  stand  upright. 
Till  Richard  wear  the  garland  of  the  realm. 

Hast.  How  !  wear  the  garlatd  ?  dost  thou  mean 
the  crown  ? 

Gate.  Ay,  my  good  lord.  fshouldeia, 
Hast,  ril  have  this  crown  ^if  mine  cut  froiij  tzf 
Before  I'll  see  the  crown  so  tcjl  misplac'ii. 
I  But  canst  thou  guess  that  he  doth  aim  at  ft? 


m 


KING  RIOIIAIID 


Act  iri. 


Caie,  Ay,  on  tny  life  ;  and  hopes  to  find  jou 
forward 

Upon  liis  party,  for  the  ^ain  thereof; 

And,  thereupon,  he  sends  yoii  this  good  news, — 

That,  this  same  very  day,  yonr  enemies, 

The  kindred  of  the  queen,  must  die  at  Pomfret. 

Hast.  Indeed,  I  am  no  mourner  for  that  news, 
Because  they  liave  been  still  my  adversaries  : 
But,  that  I'll  gi^e  my  voice  on  Richard's  side, 
I'o  bar  liiy  master's  heirs  in  true  descent, 
U>d  knows,  1  will  not  do  it,  to  the  death. 

Caie.  GoH  keep  your  lordship  iu  that  gracious 
miiid  !  [hence, — 

Hast.  But  I  shall  laugh  at  this  a  twelve-month 
riiat  tliey,  who  brought  me  in  my  master's  hate, 
I  live  til  look  upon  their  trngedy. 
Well,  Catesby,  ere  a  tortnight  make  me  older, 
Hi  send  some  packing,  that  yet  think  not  on't. 

Cate.  'Tis  a  vile  thing  to  die,  my  gracious  lord, 
When  men  are  uriprepar  d,  and  look  not  for  it. 

Hast.  O  monstrous,  monstrous  !  and  so  falls  it  out 
With  Uivers,  Vaughan,  Grey:  and  so  'twill  do 
W^ith  some  men  else,  who  think  themselves  as  safe 
As  thou,  and  I ;  who,  as  thou  know'st,  are  dear 
To  i)rincely  Richard,  and  to  Buckingham. 

Cate  TUe  princes  both  njake  high  accoimtofyou, — 
For  they  accoimt  his  bead  upon  tlie  bi  idge.s(^szV/e.) 

Hast.  I  know, they  do; and  I  have  well  deserv'd it. 

Enter  Stanley. 
Come  on,  come  on,  where  is  your  boar-spear,  man? 
Fear  you  the  boar,  and  go  so  unprovided 

Stan.  My  lord,  good  morrow;  and  good  morrow, 
Catesby  : 

You  may  jest  on,  but,  by  the  holy  rood, 

do  not  like  these  several  councils,  I. 

Hast.  My  lord,  I  hold  my  life  as  dear  as  yours; 
And  never,  in  my  life,  1  do  protest, 
Was  it  more  precious  to  me  than  'tis  now: 
Think  yon,  but  that  I  know  our  state  secure, 
I  would  be  so  tiiutnphant  as  I  am  ? 

Stan.  'Vhe   lords  at  Pomfret,  when  they  rode 
froni  London, 
Were  jdciuid.  and  suppos'd  their  s-tates  were  sure, 
And  tl'.ey,  indeed,  had  no  cause  to  mistrust; 
But  yet,  you  see,  how  soon  the  day  o'er-cast. 
This  sudden  stab  of  rancour  i  misdoubt; 
Pray  God.  I  say,  I  prove  a  needless  coward  ! 
What,  shall  we  toward  the  Tower  ?  the  day  is  spent. 

Hast.  Come,  come,  have  with  you.  —  Wot  you 
what,  my  lord  ? 
To-day,  (he  lords  yon  talk  of  are  beheaded. 

Stan.  They,  for  their  truth,  might  better  wear 
their  heads, 

Than  some,  that  have  accus'd  them,  wear  their  hats. 
But  come,  my  lord,  let's  away. 

Enter  a  Pursuivant. 

Hast.  Go  on  before,  I'll  talk  with   tliis  good 
fellow.  [Exeunt  Stan,  and  Catesby. 

How  now,  sirrah?  how  goes  the  world  with  thee  ? 

Purs.  The  better,  that  your  lordship  please  to  ask. 

Hast.  1  tell  thee,  m  u),  'tis  better  with  me  now, 
Than  when  thou  met'st  me  last  where  now  we  meet; 
Then  was  {  going  prisoner  to  the  Tower, 
By  the  suggestion  of  the  queen's  allies  ; 
But  now,  I  tell  thee,  (keep  it  to  thyself,) 
This  day  those  enemies  are  put  to  death, 
And  I  in  better  state  than  ere  I  was. 

Purs.  God  hold  it,  to  your  honour's  good  content ! 

Hast.  Gramercy,  fellow  :  There,  drink  that  lor 
me.  {Throwhuj  him  his  purse.) 

Purs,  1  thank  your  honour.    [Exit  Pursuivant. 

Enter  a  Priest. 
Pr.  Well  met,  my  lord ;  I  am  glad  to  see  your 
honour.  [heart. 
Hast.  I  thank  thee,  good  sir  John,  with  all  my 
E  am  in  your  debt  for  your  last  exercise; 
Come  the  next  Sabbalh,  and  1  will  content  you. 


Enter  Buckinghasi. 

Buck,  What,  talking  with  a  prisst,  lord  chank 
berlain? 

Your  friends  at  Pomfret,  they  do  need  the  priest 
Your  honour  hath  no  stiriving  work  in  hand. 

Hast.  'Good  faith,  and  when  I  met  this  holy  maHj 
The  men  you  talk  of  came  into  my  mind. 
What,  go  you  toward  the  Tower  ?  [there: 

BucL  I  do,  my  lord  :  but  long  I  cannot  staj 
I  shall  return  before  your  lordship  ther.ce. 

Hast.  Nay,  like  enough,  for  I  stay  dinner  there. 

Buck.  And  supper  too,  although  thou  know'st  it 
not.  [Aside.) 
Come,  will  you  go  ? 

Hast.  I'll  wait  upon  your  lordship. 

[  Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — Pomfret.   Before  the  Castle. 

Enter  R atcliff,  ivith  a  gtiat  d,  conducting  RiVEKS , 
Grey,  and  Vaughan,  to  execution. 

Rat.  Come,  bring  forth  the  piisoners. 

Biv.  Sir  Richard  Ratclilf,  let  me  tell  thee  this, — 
To  day,  shalt  thou  behold  a  subject  die, 
Far  truth,  for  duty,  and  for  loyalty, 

Grey.Good  keep  the  prince  from  all  the  pack  of  you! 
A  knot  you  are  of  damned  blood  suckers. 

Yaugh.  You  live,  that  shall  cry  woe  for  this 
hereafter. 

Bat.  Despatch  ;  the  limit  of  your  lives  is  out. 

Biv.  O  Poudret,  Pomlret!  O  thou  bloody  piison, 
Fatal  and  ominous  to  noble  peers! 
Witliin  the  guilty  closure  of  thy  walls, 
Richard  the  Second  here  was  hack'd  to  death 
And,  for  more  slander  to  thy  dismal  seat, 
We  give  thee  up  our  guiltless  blood  to  drink. 

Grey.  Now  Margaret's  curse  is  fallen  ujion  our 
heads. 

When  she  exclaini'd  on  Hastings,  you,  and  1, 
For  standing  by  when  Richard  stabb'd  her  son. 

Biv.  Then  curs'd  she  Hastings,  then  curs'd  sLe 
Buckingham, 
Then  curs'd  she  Richard  : — O,  remember,  God, 
To  hear  her  prayers  for  them,  as  now  for  us  I 
And  for  my  sister,  and  her  princely  sons, — 
Be  satisfied,  dear  God,  with  our  true  bloods. 
Which,  as  thou  know'st,  unjustly  must  be  spilt! 

Rat.  Make  haste,  the  hour  of  death  is  expiate. 

Biv.  Come,  Grey, — come,  Vaughan, — let  us  hero 
embrace : 

Farewell,  until  we  meet  again  in  heaven.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  IV. — London.   A  Boom  in  the  Tower. 

Buckingham,  Stanley,  Hastings,  the  Bishop  o 
Ely,  Catesby,  Lovel,  and  others,  silting  ai  a 
table:  officers  of  the  council  attending. 
Hast.  Now,  noble  peers,  the  cause  why  we  are  met 
Is — to  determine  of  the  coronation  : 
In  God's  name,  speak,  v^dien  is  the  royal  day  ? 
Buck.  Are  all  things  ready  for  that  royal  time  ? 
Stan.  They  are  ;  and  wants  but  nomination, 
Ely.  To-morrow  then  I  judge  a  happy  day. 
Buck.  Wiio  knows  the  lord  protector's  mind 
herein  ? 

Who  is  most  inward  with  the  noble  did^e  ? 

Ely.  Your  grace,  we  think,  should  soonest  know 
his  mind.  [hearts,— 

Buck.  We  know  each  other's  faces  :  for  oui 
He  knows  no  more  of  mine,  than  1  of  yours  ; 
Nor  I  of  his,  my  lord,  than  you  of  mine  ;- 
Lord  Hastings,  you  and  he  are  near  in  love. 

Hast.  1  thank  his  grace,  I  know  he  loves  me  weU« 
But,  for  his  purpose  in  the  coronation, 
1  have  not  sounded  him,  nor  he  deliver'd 
His  gracious  pleasure  any  wa»y  therein: 
But  you,  my  noble  lord,  may  name  the  time ; 
And  in  the  duke's  behalf  Ml  give  my  voict* 
Which,  I  presume,  he'll  take  in  gentle  paft; 


»SC£NE  5. 


KlNGi  KICILVRD  111. 


475 


l^er  Glostkr 
Klv.  In  liapj)y  time,  here  comes  the  duke  himself. 
Gfo.  My  noble   lords  and  cousins,  all,  good 
njorrow : 

I  have  jeen  long  a  sleeper;  btit,  I  trust, 

rtly  ab.*'n)ce  dotli  neglect  no  great  design, 

W  liicli  .)y  my  presence  might  have  been  concluded. 

Buck.  H;id  yon  not  come  upon  your  cue,  my  lord, 
v\  illi;;iD  lord  Hastini^s  had  i)ronounc'd  your  part, — 

mean,  yoin-  voice, — for  downing  of  the  king. 

Glo.  Than  my  lord  Hastings,  no  man  might  be 
bolder; 

His  lordship  knows  me  well,  and  loves  me  well. — 
My  lord  of  LCly,  when  I  was  last  in  Holborn, 
I  saw  good  strawberries  in  yonr  garden  there ; 
1  do  beseech  yon,  send  for  some  of  them. 
Ely.  iVlarry,  and  will,  my  lord,  with  all  my  heart. 

[Exit  Ely. 

Glo.  Cousin  of  Buckingham,  a  word  with  yon. 

[Takes  him  aside.) 
Catesby  hath  sounded  Hastings  in  our  business  ; 
And  finds  the  testy  gentleman  so  hot, 
That  he  vvill  lose  his  head,  ere  give  consent, 
His  master's  child,  as  worshipfully  he  terms  it. 
Shall  lose  the  royalty  of  England's  throne. 

Buck.  Withilraw  yourself  awhile,  I'll  go  with  you. 

[Exeunt  Gloster  and  Buckingham. 
Stan,  We  have  not  yet  set  down  this  day  of 
triumph. 

To-morrow,  in  my  judgment,  is  too  sudden, 

For  I  myself  am  not  so  well  provided, 

As  else  I  would  be,  were  the  day  prolong'd. 

Re-enter  Bishop  of  Ely. 

Ely.  Where  is  my  lord  protector  ?  I  have  sent 
Far  these  strawberries,  [morning; 

Hast.  His  grace  looks  cheerfully  and  smooth  this 
There's  some  conceit  or  other  likes  him  well, 
U'hen  he  doth  bid  good  morrow  with  such  spirit 
'  think,  there's  ne'er  a  man  in  Christendom, 
'  an  lesser  hide  his  love,  or  hate,  than  he ; 
i'or  by  his  face  straight  shall  you  know  his  heart. 

Stan,  What  of  his  heart  perceive  you  in  his  face, 
Uy  any  likelihood  he  shew'd  to  day  ? 

Hast,  Marry,  that  with  no  man  here  he  is 
oftended ; 

For,  were  he,  he  had  shown  it  in  his  looks. 
Re-enter  Gloster  and  Buckingham. 

(rlo.  I  pray  you  all,  tell  me  what  they  deserve, 
Tii;it  do  conspire  my  death  with  devilish  plots 
or  damned  witchcraft ;  and  that  have  prevail'd 
I  |viM  niy  body  with  their  hellish  charms? 

Hnst.  The  tender  love  I  bear  your  grace,  my  lord, 
^iakes  me  most  forward  in  this  noble  presence 
I'»  fl  »orn  the  offenders:  Whosoe'er  they  be, 
i  s  i  \ ,  my  lord,  they  have  deserved  death. 

(•lo.  Then  be  your  eyes  the  witness  of  their  evil, 
I.  c.k  Ikuv  I  am  bewitch'd;  behold  mine  arm 
Is  itke  a  blastf^l  sa|;ling,  vvither'dup: 
A  i'I  til    is  l:^>l>var(ls  wife,  that  monstrous  witch, 
('(tiisortt^d  \vitli  that  harlot,  strumpet  Shore, 
I'hat  by  their  witchcraft  thus  have  marked  me. 

Hast.  If  they  have  done  this  deed,  my  noble 
lord,  

Glo.  If !  thou  prote<:tor  of  this  damned  strumpet, 
alk'st  thou  to  me  of  ifs  ? — Thou  art  a  traitor : — 
■with  his  head  ; — now,  by  saint  Paul  I  swear, 
11  not  dine  nntil  I  see  the  same. — 
vel,  and  Catesby,  look,  that  it  be  done ; 
e  rest,  that  love  me,  rise,  and  follow  me. 

[Exeunt  Council,  with  Gloster  and 
Buckingham. 
Hast.  Woe,  woe,  for  England !  not  a  whit  for  me ; 
For  I,  too  fond,  might  have  prevented  this  : 
•Stanley  did  dream,  the  boar  did  rase  his  helm ; 
But  I  disdaiu'd  it,  and  did  scorn  to  fly. 
Three  t;n?es  to-day  my  foot-cloth  horse  did  stumble. 
And  startled,  when  he  look'd  upon  the  Tower, 
As  ioath  to  bear  me  to  the  slaughter-house. 


O,  now  I  v^'ant  the  priest  that  spake  to  ££0; 
I  now  repent  I  told  tlie  pursuivant. 
As  too  triumphing,  how  mine  enemies 
I'o-day  at  Pomfret  bloodily  were  b-ifcher'd, 
And  1  myself  secure  in  grace  and  fir/our. 
O,  Margaret,  Margaret,  now  thy  heavy  cur^e 
Is  liohted  on  poor  Hastings'  wretched'head. 

Gate.  Despatch,  my  lord,  the  duke  wcakl  b«  9 
dinner; 

Make  a  short  shrift,  he  longs  to  see  your  head.  . 

Hast.  O  momentary  grace  of  mortal  men. 
Which  we  more  hunt  for  than  tlie  gi  ace  of  God  I 
Who  builds  his  hope  in  air  of  your  fair  looks. 
Lives  like  a  drunken  sailor  on  a  mast; 
Ready,  with  every  nod.  to  tumble  down 
Into  the  fatal  bowels  of  the  deep. 

Lov.  Come,  come,  despatch ;  'tis  bootless  t« 
exclaim. 

Hast.  O,  bloody  Richard  ! — n)iserable  England  f 
I  prophesy  the  fearful'st  time  to  thee, 
'J'hat  ever  wretched  age  hath  look'd  upon. 
Come,  lead  nve  to  the  block,  bear  him  my  head ; 
They  smile  at  me,  who  shortly  sliall  be  dead. 

[Exeunt 

Scene  N .—The  same.    The  Tower  Walls. 
Enter  Gloster  and  Buckingham, m  rusty  ar7nour, 
tnarvp.llous  ill-favoured. 
Glo.  Come,  cousin,  canst  thou  quake,  and  change 
thy  colour  ? 
Murder  thy  breath  in  middle  of  a  word, — 
And  then  again  begin,  and  stop  again, 
As  if  thou  wert  distraught,  and  mad  with  terror  . 

Buck.  Tut,  I  can  counterfeit  the  deep  tragedian 
Speak,  and  look  back,  and  pry  on  every  si'le. 
Tremble  and  start  at  wagging  of  a  stravf^. 
Intending  deep  suspicion:  ghastly  looks 
Are  at  my  service,  like  enforced  smiles: 
And  both  are  ready  in  their  oUices, 
At  any  time^  to  grace  my  stratagems. 
But  what,  is  Catesby  gone  ? 
Glo.  He  is  ;  and  see,  he  brings  the  mayor 

Enter  the  Lord  Mayor  and  Catesby. 
Buck.  Let  me  alone  to  entertain  him.  —  Iiord 
mayor, 

Glo.  Look  to  the  draw-bridge  there. 
Buck.  Hark,  hark  !  a  drum. 

Glo.  Catesby,  o'erlook  the  walls.  [you,— 
Buck.  Lord  mayor,  the  reason  we  have  sent  for 
Glo.  Look  back,  defend  thee,  here  are  enemies. 
Buck.  God  and  our  innocence  defend  and  guard 
us  I 

Enter  LoVEL  awo?  Ratclifp,  ivithHastings's  head. 
Glo.  Be  1  atient,  they  are  friends ;  RatclilF,  aad 
Lovel. 

Lov.  Here  is  the  head  of  that  ignoble  traitor, 
The  dangerous  and  unsuspected  Hastings. 

Glo.  So  dear  I  lov'd  the  man,  that  I  must  weep. 
I  took  him  for  the  plainest  harrnle.s.s't  creature. 
That  breath'd  upon  llie  earth  a  christian; 
Made  him  my  book,  wherein  my  soul  recorded 
'I'he  history  of  all  her  secret  thoughts  : 
So  smooth  he  daub'd  his  vice  with  shew  of  virtue. 
That,  his  apparent  open  guilt  omitted, — 
1  mean,  his  conversation  with  Shore's  wife, — 
He  liv'd  I'rom  all  attainder  of  suspect.  [Itaitof 

Buck.  Well,  well,  he  was  the  covert'st  shelter'd 
That  ever  liv'd. — Look  you,  my  lord  mayor. 
Would  you  imagine,  or  almost  believe, 
(Were't  not,  that  by  great  preservation 
We  live  to  tell  it  you,)  the  subtle  traitor 
This  day  had  plotted,  in  the  council-house. 
To  murder  me,  and  my  good  lord  of  Gloster? 

May.  What !  had  he  so  ? 

Glo.  What!  think  you  we  are  Turks,  or  infidels' 
Or  that  we  would,  againsl  the  fornj  of  law. 
Proceed  thus  rashly  in  the  villain's  death; 
But  that  the  extreme  peril  of  the  case. 
The  Deace  of  England,  and  our  persons"  safety. 


iTG  KING  E 

« 

Enforced  m  to  this  execution  ? 

Mat/.  New,  fair  befal  you  !  he  deserv'd  his  death ; 
And  your  good  graces  both  have  well  proceeded. 
To  warn  false  traitors  from  the  like  attempts. 
I  never  look'd  for  better  at  his  hands, 
After  he  once  fell  in  with  mistress  Shore. 

Buck.  Yet  had  we  not  deterniin'd  he  should  die, 
Until  your  lordship  came  to  see  his  end  ; 
Which  now  the  loving  haste  of  these  our  friends, 
iSomewhat  against  our  meaning,  hath  prevented  : 
Because,  my  lord,  we  would  have  had  you  heard 
Tiie  traitor  speak,  and  timorously  confess 
The  manner  and  the  purpose  of  iiis  treasons  ; 
That  you  might  well  iiave  signified  the  same 
Unto  the  citizens,  who,  haply,  may 
Misconstrue  us  in  him,  and  wail  his  death. 

Maj/.  But,  my  good  lord,  your  grace's  word  shall 
serve, 

As  well  as  I  had  seen,  and  heard  him  speak: 
And  do  not  doubt,  right  noble  princes  both, 
But  I'll  acquaint  our  duteous  citizens 
With  all  your  just  proceedings  in  this  case. 

Glo.  And  to  that  end  we  vvish'd  your  lordship  here, 
To  avoid  the  censures  of  the  carping  world. 

Buck,  But  since  you  came  too  late  of  our  intent, 
Yet  witness  what  you  hear  we  did  intend  : 
And  so,  my  s/jod  lord  mayor,  we  bid  farewell. 

lExit  Lord  Mat/or, 

do.  Go,  after,  after,  cousin  Buckingham. 
The  mayor  towards  Guildhall  hies  hin>  in  all  post: — 
There,  at  your  meetest  vantage  of  the  time. 
Infer  the  bastardy  of  Edward's  children  : 
Tell  them,  how  Edward  put  to  death  a  citizen, 
Only  for  saying — lie  would  make  his  son 
Heir  to  the  crown;  meaning,  indeed,  his  house, 
Which,  by  tlie  sign  thereof,  was  termed  so. 
Moreover,  urge  liis  hateful  luxin-y, 
And  bestial  appetite  in  change  of  lust;  [wives. 
Which  stretchVl  unto  their  servants,  daughters. 
Even  where  his  raging  eye,  or  savage  heart. 
Without  controul,  listed  to  make  his  prey 
Nay,  for  a  need,  thus  far  come  near  my  person  : — 
Tell  them,  when  that  my  mother  went  with  child 
Of  that  insatiate  Edward,  noble  York, 
My  princely  father,  then  had  wars  in  France; 
And,  by  just  computation  of  the  time. 
Found,  that  the  issue  was  not  his  begot ; 
Which  well  appeared  in  his  lineaments, 
Being  nothing  like  the  noble  duke  my  lather: 
Yet  touch  tins  sparingly,  as  'twere  far  off; 
Because,  my  lord,  you  know,  my  mother  lives. 

Buck.  Doubt  not.  my  lord  :  I'll  play  the  orator. 
As  if  the  golden  fee,  for  which  I  plead. 
Were  for  myself:  and  so,  my  lord,  adieu, 

Glo.  If  you  thrive  well,  bring  them  to  Baynard's 
castle ; 

Where  you  shall  find  me  well  accompanied, 
With  reverend  fathers,  and  well-learned  bishops. 

Buck.  1  go:  and,  towards  three  or  four  o'clock, 
Look  tin-  the  news  that  the  Guildhall  aiiords. 

[Exit  Buckingham. 
GIg.  Go,  Love!,  with  all  speed  to  Doctor  Shaw, — 
Go  thou  {to  Cat.)  to  friar  Penker ;— bid  them  both 
Meet  me,  within  this  hour,  at  Baynard's  castle. 

[Exezmt  Love!  and  Catesby. 
Now  will  I  in,  to  take  some  [jrivy  order 
To  draw  the  brats  of  Clarence  out  of  sight ; 
And  to  give  notice,  that  no  manner  of  person 
£lave,  any  time,  recourse  unto  the  princes.  [Exit. 
Scene  VI.— .1  Street. 
Enter  a  Scrivener. 
Scriv.  Here  is  the  indictment  of  the  good  lord 
Hastings  ; 
Which  in  a  set  hand  fairly  is  engross'd, 
That  it  may  be  to-day  read  o'er  in  Paul's 
And  mark  how  well  the  sequel  hangs  together: — 
Eleven  iiours  i  liave  spent  to  write  it  over. 
For  yesternight  by  Catesby  was  it  .sent  me; 
Tiie  precedent  was  full  as  long  a  doing : 


CHARD  III.  Acr  III, 

And  yet  within  these  five  hours  Hastings  liv'd. 

Untainted,  unexamin'd,  fri  e,  at  liberty. 

Here's  a  good  world  the  while  !— Who  is  sogroea, 

Tliat  cannot  see  this  palpable  device  ? 

Yet  who  so  bold,  but  says — he  sees  it  not  ? 

Bad  is  the  world  ;  and  all  will  come  to  nought. 

When  such  bad  dealing  must  be  seen  in  thought. 

[Exit 

Scene  VII.— TAe  same.    Court  of  Baynard' 
Castle. 

Enter  Gloster  and  Buckingham,  meeting. 
Glo.  How  now,  how  now  ?  what  say  the  citizens  , 
Buck.  Now  by  the  holy  mother  of  our  Lord, 
The  citizens  are  mum  ;  say  not  a  word. 
Glo.  Touch'dyou  the  bastardy  of  Edward's  child- 
ren ? 

Buck.  I  did  ;  with  his  contract  with  Lady  Lucy, 
And  his  contract  by  deputy  in  France  : 
The  insatiate  greedines  of  his  desires. 
And  his  enforcement  of  the  city  wives; 
His  tyranny  for  trifles  ;  his  own  bastardy, — 
As  being  got,  your  father  then  in  France  ; 
And  his  resemblance,  being  not  like  the  duke. 
Withal,  I  did  infer  your  lineaments. 
Being  the  right  idea  of  your  father. 
Both  in  your  form  and  nobleness  of  mind  • 
Laid  open  all  your  victoiies  in  Scotland, 
Your  discipline  in  war,  wisdom  in  peace, 
V  our  bounty,  virtue,  fair  humility  : 
Indeed,  left  nothing,  fitting  for  your  purpose, 
Untouch'd,  or  slightly  handled,  in  discourse. 
And,  when  ray  oratory  grew  to  an  end, 
I  bade  them,  that  did  love  their  country's  good. 
Cry — God  save  Richard,  England's  royal  king  ! 

Glo.  And  did  they  so  ?  [word  ; 

Buck.  >lo,  so  God  help  me,  they  spake  not  a 
But,  like  dumb  statuas,  or  breathless  stones, 
Star'd  on  each  other,  and  look'd  deadly  pale. 
Which  when  I  saw,  I  reprt«ieuded  them  ; 
And  ask'd  the  mayor,  what  meant  this  vyilful  silence 
His  answer  was — the  people  were  not  us'd 
To  be  spoke  to,  but  by  the  recorder. 
Then  he  was  urg'd  to  tell  my  tale  again  ; — 
Thus  saith  the  duke,  thus  hath  the  duke  inferr'cL 
But  nothing  spoke  in  warrant  from  himself. 
When  he  had  done,  some  followers  of  mine  own. 
At  lower  end  o'the  hall,  hurl'd  up  their  caps. 
And  some  ten  voices  cried,  God  save  king  ttichardl 
And  thus  I  took  the  vantage  of  those  few, — 
Thanks,  gentle  citizens,  and  friends,  quoth  I ; 
This  general  applause,  and  cheerful  shout, 
Argues  your  tvisdom  and  your  love  to  Richard: 
And  even  here  brake  off,  and  came  away. 

Glo.  What  tongueless  blocks  were  they;  Would 
they  not  speak  ? 
Will  not  the  mayor  then,  and  his  brethen,  come  ? 

Buck.  The  mayor  is  here  at  hand;  intend  some  fear; 
Be  not  you  spoke  with,  but  by  mighty  suit: 
And  look  you  get  a  prayer-book  in  your  hand. 
And  stand  between  two  churchmen,  good  my  lord  : 
For  on  that  ground  I'll  make  a  holy  descant : 
And  he  ruat  easily  won  to  our  requests  ; 
Play  the  maid's  part,  still  answer  nay,  and  take  it. 

Glo.  I  go ;  And  if  you  plead  as  well  for  them. 
As  I  can  say  nay  to  thee  for  myself. 
No  doubt  we'll  bring  it  to  a  happy  issue. 

Buck.  Go,  go,  up  to  the  leads ;  the  lord  mayol 
knocks.  [Exit  Gloster. 

Enter  the  Lord  Mayor,  Aldermen,  and  Cittzent 

Welcome,  my  lord  :  I  dance  attendance  here  • 

I  think,  the  duke  will  not  be  spoke  withal. —  ^ 

Enter,  from  the  Castle,  Catesby. 

Novv,  Catesby  I  what  says  your  lord  to  my  request  > 
Cate.  He  doth  entreat  your  grace,  my  noble  lord, 
To  visit  him  to  morrow,  or  next  day: 
He  is  within,  with  two  right  reverend  fathern. 
Divinely  bent  to  medituiion ; 


KING  RICHARD  III.  m 


ScKis-E  6. 

And  in  no  worldly  suit  would  he  be  mov'd. 
To  draw  him  from  his  holy  exercise. 

Buck.  Return,  good  Catesby,  to  the  gracious  duke  ; 
Tell,  him,  myself,  the  mayor  and  aldermen, 
In  deep  designs,  in  matter  of  great  moment, 
No  less  importing  than  our  general  good, 
are  come  to  have  some  conference  with  his  grace. 

Cate.  Til  signify  so  much  unto  him  straight. 

[Exit. 

Buck.  Ah,  ha,  my  lord,  this  prince  is  not  an  Ed- 
Ile  is  ndt  lolling  on  a  lewd  day-bed,  [ward! 
But  on  his  knees  at  meditation 
Not  dallying  witli  a  brace  of  courtesans, 
But  meditntiiig  with  two  deep  divines  ; 
Nut  sleeping,  to  engross  his  idle  body, 
Biit  praying,  to  enrich  his  w;itchful  soul: 
Happy  were  l^nglaiHl,  would  this  virtuous  prince 
'i'ake  on  liimselt  tiie  so\ ereij^nty  thereof: 
But,  sure,  1  fear,  we  .sh  lil  ne  Vr  win  him  to  it. 

Mat/.  Marty,  Go  l  def-riid,  his  grace  should  say 
ris  nay  !  [again  ; — 

Buck.  1   fear,   he  will :   Here    Catesby  conies 

Re-enter  Catesby. 
Now,  Catesby,  wh^st  says  his  grace  ? 

Cate.  He  w  onders  to  what  end  you  have  assembled 
S  ic.h  troops  of  citizens  to  ootne  +o  him. 
His  grace  not  being  warn'd  (hereof  before, 
Hf  fears,  my  lord,  you  mean  no  goo  1  to  him. 

Buck.  Surry  I  am,  my  noble  cousin  should 
Suspect  me,  tuat  I  mean  n3j;0Gd  to  him: 
By  heaven,  we  come  to  him  in  perfect  love; 
And  so  once  more  return  and  tell  his  grace. 

[Exit  Catesby. 
When  holy  and  devout  religious  men 
Are  at  their  beads,  'tis  hard  to  draw  them  thence  ; 
So  sweet  is  zealous  contemplation. 

Ejiter  Gloster,  in  a  rjaUery  above,  between  two 
Bishops.    Catesby  returns. 
May.  See  where  his  grace  stands  'tween  two 
clergymen  I 

Buck.  Two  props  of  V  irtue  for  a  christian  prince, 
To  stay  him  from  the  fall  of  vanity: 
And,  see,  a  book  of  prayer  in  his  hand; 
True  ornaments  to  know  a  holy  man. — 
F'iunoiis  Plantagenet,  most  gracious  prince. 
Lend  favourable  ear  to  our  requests  ; 
And  pardon  us  the  interruption 
Of  thy  devotion,  and  right-christian  zeal. 

Crlo.  My  lord,  there  needs  no  such  apology  ; 
i  rather  do  beseech  you  pardon  me, 
Who,  earnest  in  the  service  of  my  God, 
Neglect  the  visitation  of  my  it  iendf^. 
But,  leaving  this,  what  is  y(uir  grace's  pleasure  ? 

Buck.  E\en  that,  i  hope,  which  pleaseth  God 
above. 

And  all  good  men  of  this  ungovern'd  isle. 

Qlo.  I  do  suspect,  I  have  done  some  oftence. 
That  seems  disgracious  in  the  city's  eye  ; 
And  that  you  come  to  reprehend  my  ignorance. 

Buck.  You  have,  my    lord;  VVould    it  might 
please  your  grace, 
On  our  entreaties  to  amend  yosir  fault! 

Glo.  Else  wherefore  breathe  I  in  a  Christian 
land?  [sign 

Buck.  Know,  then,  it  is  your  fault,  that  you  re- 
The  supreme  seat,  the  throne  niajestical. 
The  scepter'd  office  of  your  ancestors, 
Vour  state  of  fortune,  and  your  due  of  birth. 
The  lineal  glory  of  your  royal  house. 
To  the  roi  ruption  of  a  blemish'd  stock: 
Whilst,  in  the  mildness  of  your  sleepy  thoughts, 
(Which  here  we  waken  to  our  country's  good,) 
The  noble  isle  doth  want  her  proper  limbs ; 
Her  face  defac'd  with  scars  ot  infamy, 
Her  royal  stock  graft  with  ignoble  plants, 
And  almost  shoidder'd  in  the  swallowing  gulf 
Of  dark  forgetfidness  and  deep  obliviou. 
Which  to  recure,  we  heartily  solicit 


Your  gracious  self  to  take  on  you  tne  charge 

And  kingly  government  of  this  your  land  : 

Not  as  protector,  steward,  siibstitute. 

Or  lowly  factor  for  another's  gain: 

But  as  successively,  from  blood  to  blood. 

Your  right  of  birth,  your  empery,  your  own 

For  this,  consorted  with  the  citizens, 

Your  very  worshipful  and  loving  friends. 

And  by  their  vehement  instigation, 

In  this  just  suit  come  I  to  move  your  grace, 

Glo.  I  cannot  tell,  if  to  depart  in  silence. 
Or  bitterly  to  speak  in  your  reproof. 
Best  fitteth  my  degree,  or  your  condition: 
If,  not  to  answer, — you  might  haply  think, 
'J'ongue-tied  anibition,  not  replying,  yielded 
To  bear  the  golden  yoke  of  sovereignty, 
VVhich  fondly  you  would  here  impose  on  me 
If  to  reprove  you  for  this  suit  of  yours. 
So  season'd  with  your  faithful  love  to  me, 
Then,  on  the  other  side,  I  check'd  my  friendii. 
Therefore, — to  speak,  and  to  avoid  the  first; 
And  the-n,  in  sp.eaking,  not  to  incur  the  last, — 
Definitively  thus  I  answer  you. 
Your  love  deserves  my  thanks ;  but  my  desert 
Unmeritable,  shuns  your  high  request. 
First,  if  all  obstacles  were  cut  away. 
And  that  my  path  were  even  to  the  crown, 
As  the  ripe  revenue  and  due  of  birth  ; 
Yet  so  much  to  my  poverty  of  spirit, 
So  mighty,  and  so  many,  my  defects. 
That  I  would  rather  hide  me  from  my  greatness,— 
Being  a  bark  to  brook  no  mighty  sea, — 
Than  in  my  greatness  covet  to  be  hid, 
And  in  the  vapour  of  my  glory  smother'd. 
But,  God  be  tliank'd,  there  is  no  need  of  me; 
^And  much  I  need  to  help  you,  if  need  were;) 
The  royal  tree  hath  left  us  royal  fruit, 
Which,  mellow'd  by  the  stealing  hours  of  time, 
Will  well  become  the  seat  of  majesty,  , 
And  make,  no  doubt,  us  happy  by  his  reign. 
On  him  I  lay  what  you  would  lay  on  me, 
The  right  and  fortune  of  his  happy  stars. — 
Which.  God  defend,  that  I  should  wrin^  from  him. 

Buck.  My  lord,  this  argues  conscience  in  yoal 
grace ; 

But  the  respects  thereof  are  nice  and  trivial, 

All  circumstances  well  considered. 

You  say,  that  Edward  is  your  brother's  son ; 

So  say  we  too,  but  not  by  Edward's  wife: 

For  first  he  was  conti-act  to  lady  Lucy, 

Your  mother  lives  a  witness  to  his  vow  ; 

And  afterwards  by  substitute  betroth'd 

To  Bona,  sister  to  the  king  of  France. 

These  both  put  by,  a  poor  petitioner, 

A  care-craz'd  mother  to  a  many  s.ons, 

A  beauty-waning  and  distressed  widow. 

Even  in  the  afternoon  of  her  best  days, 

Made  prize  and  purchase  of  his  wanton  eye, 

Seduc'd  the  pitch  and  height  of  all  his  thoughts 

To  base  declension  and  loath'd  bigamy  : 

By  her,  in  his  unlawful  bed,  he  got 

This  Edward,  whom  our  manners  call — the  princ 

More  bitterly  could  I  expostulate. 

Save  that,  for  reverence  to  some  alive, 

I  give  a  sparing  limit  to  my  tongue. 

Then,  good  my  lord,  take  to  your  royal  self 

This  profFer'd  benefit  of  dignity  : 

If  not  to  bless  us  and  the  land  withal. 

Yet  to  draw  forth  your  noble  ancestry 

From  the  corruption  of  abusing  time. 

Unto  a  lineal  true-derived  course.     ^  [yon. 
May.  Do,  good  my  lord  ;  your  citizens  entreat 
Buck.  Refuse  not,  mighty  lord,  this  profter'd  love. 
Cate.  O,  make  them  joyful,  grant  their  lawful 
suit. 

Glo.  Alas,  why  wotdd  you  heap  those  cares  on  me? 
I  am  unfit  for  state  and  majesty  :  — 
I  do  beseech  you,  take  it  not  amiss  : 
I  cannot,  nor  I  will  not  yield  to  you. 

Buck.  If  you  refuse  it,— as  in  love  and  seal, 


478 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  IV. 


Loath  to  <!epose  f  he  chW^,  vonr  brother's  son ; 
As  Wfll  ue  know  your  tetulerness  of  heart, 
And  gentle,  kitid,  ellViiiinate  reiriorse, 
Whicli  we  have  noted  in  you  to  your  kindred, 
And  equally,  indeed,  to  hI!  estates, — 
Yet  know,  whe'r  you  accei)t  our  suit  or  no, 
Your  bnither's  son  shall  never  reign  our  king; 
But  we  will  plant  some  other  in  your  throne. 
To  the  disgrace  and  downtall  of  your  house. 
And,  in  this  resuliition,  here  we  leave  you; — 
Ccjne,  citizens,  we  will  entreat  no  more. 

[Exeunt  Burhinykam  and  Citizens. 
Cafe.  Call  them  again,  sweet  prince,  accept  their 
suit : 

f  yon  deny  them,  all  the  land  will  rne  it. 

G/o.  Will  yon  enforce  me  to  a  world  of  cares  ? 
Well,  call  them  a^aiti;  I  am  not  made  of  stone. 
But  penetrable  to  your  kind  entreaties, 

[Exit  Cateshy. 
Albeit  against  my  conscience  and  my  soul. 

Re  enter  Buckingham,  and  the  rest. 
Cousin  of  Buckinyhan). — and  sage,  grave  men, — 
Since  yon  will  buckle  fortune  on  my  back, 
To  bear  her  burden,  wh'er  I  will,  or  no, 
I  nnist  iia\e  patience  toendnre  tlie  load: 
But  if  black  scandal,  ur  foul  fac'd  reproach. 
Attend  the  se<piel  ui  your  imposition, 
\  oiir  mere  eriiorcement  shall  acquittance  me 
From  all  the  iini)ure  blots  and  stains  thereof; 
For  (3od  he  knows,  and  you  may  partly  see, 
How  far  I  am  from  the  desire  of  this.  [say  it. 

]^ay.  God  bless  your  giace  !  we  see  it,  and  will 

Glo.  In  saying  so,  yon  siiall  but  say  the  truth. 

Buck.  'I'hen  I  salute  you  with  this  royal  title, — 
Long  live  king  Richard,  England's  worthy  king  ! 

All.  Amen. 

K//c/-/r(i-niorro\v  may  it  please  you  to  be  crown'd  ? 
Glo.  Ev^n  when  you  please,  since  you  will  have 
it  so.  [grace ; 

Buch.  To-morrow  then    we  will  attend  your 
And  so,  most  joyfully,  we  take  our  leave. 
Glo.  Come,  let  us  to  our  lioly  work  again  : — 

{To  the  Bishops.) 
Farewell,  good  cousin  ; — farewell,  gentle  friends. 

[Exeunt* 

ACT  IV. 

SnENE  I. — Before  the  Tower. 

Enter,  on  one  side.  Queen  Ei.rzABETH,  Duchess  of 
York,  and  Mtirqnis  of  Dorset;  on  the  other, 
Anne.  Duchess  of  (iLOSTEit,  leading  Lady 
Makcaket  Plantac.enet,  Clarence's  young 
dautjiiter. 

Duch.  Who  meets  us  here? — my  niece  Planta- 
genet 

Led  in  the  hand  by  her  kind  aunt  of  Gloster? 
hiow,  for  my  lile.  she's  wand  ring  to  the  Tower, 
On  pin-e  heart's  love,  to  greet  the  tender  prince. — 
Daughter,  well  met. 

Anne.  (iod  give  your  craces  both 

A  iiappy  andajoylnl  time  of  day! 

Q.  Eliz.  As  innch  to  you,  good  sister!  Whither 
away?  [guess, 

Anne.  No  further  timn  the  Tower;  and,  as  I 
Upon  tlie  like  devotion  as  yourselves, 

gratnlate  tiie  gentle  princes  there.  [gether : 

Q.  Eliz.  Kind  sister,  thanks  ;  we'll  enter  all  to- 
Efiter  Brakenbury. 
A'-d,  in  good  time,  here  the  lientenant  comes. — 
,l\|;ister  lieutenant,  pray  yon,  by  your  leave, 
1^  j\\  *loth  the  prince,  and  my  young  son  of  York  ? 

Brak.  lliiiht  well,  dear  niaiiam ;  By  your  pa- 
\  may  not  snii'er  yon  to  visit  them  ;  [tience, 
Tl)e  kir-ti  hath  strictly  charg"d  tfie  contrary. 

Q.  Eliz.  The  king!  wlio's  that? 

iimi .  I  mean,  the  lord  protector. 

Q.  Eliz.  The  Lord  orotect  him  iVorn  that  kingly 
title  * 


Hath  he  set  bounds  between  their  love,  M)d  me  ? 

[  am  their  mother,  who  shall  bar  me  from  them? 
Duch.  I  am  their  father's  mother,  I  will  see  them, 
Anne.  Their  aunt  I  am  in  law,  in  love  theii 
mother : 

Then  bring  me  to  their  sights;  I'll  bear  thy  blame, 
And  take  thy  office  from  thee,  on  thy  peril. 

Brak.  No,  madam,  in),  I  may  not  leave  it  so; 
!  am  bound  by  oath,  and  therefore  pardon  me. 

[Exit  Bruienburf 

Enter  Stanley. 

Stan.  Let  me  but  meet  yon,  ladies,  one  hour  hence 
And  I'll  salute  your  grace  of  York  as  niolhcr, 
And  reverend  looker-on  of  two  fair  queens. — 
Come,  madam,  you  must  straight  to  vVestniinster. 

( To  the  Duchess  of  Glotter. 
There  to  be  crowned  Richard's  royal  queen. 

Q.  Eliz.  Ah,  cut  my  lace  asunder ! 
That  my  [)ent  heart  may  have  some  scope  to  beat. 
Or  else  I  swoon  with  this  dead  killing  news. 

Anne.  Despitefid  tidings!  O  nnpleasing  news! 

Dor.   Be  of  good  cheer: — JVlother,  how  fares 
your  grace  ?  [gone, 

Q.  Eliz.  O  Dorset,  speak  not  to  jne,  get  the« 
Death  and  destruction  dog  thee  at  the  heels ; 
Thy  mother's  name  is  ominous  to  children  : 
If  thou  wilt  outstri|)  death,  go  cross  the  seas, 
And  live  with  Richmond,  from  the  reach  of  hell 
Go,  hie  thee,  hie  thee,  from  this  slanghter-huuse. 
Lest  thou  increase  tlie  number  of  the  dead  ; 
And  make  me  die  the  thrall  of  Margaret's  curse,— 
Nor  mother,  wife,  nor  England's  counted  queen. 

Stan.  Full  of  wise  care  is  this  your  counsel, 
madam : — 

Take  all  the  swift  advantage  of  the  hour".' 
You  shall  have  letters  from  me  to  my  son 
In  \  our  behalf,  to  meet  you  on  the  way  : 
Be  not  ta'en  tardy  by  unwise  delay. 

Duch.  O  ill-dispersing  wind  of  misery  ! 
O  my  accursed  womb,  the  bed  of  death  ; 
A  cockatrice  hast  thou  hatch'd  to  the  world, 
Whose  unavoided  eye  is  murderous! 

Stan.  Come,  madam,  come  ;  I  in  all  haste  was  sent 

Anne.  And  I  with  all  unwillingness  will  go.-  • 
O,  would  to  God,  that  the  inclusi\  e  verge 
Of  golden  metal,  that  must  round  my  brow. 
Were  red-hot  steel,  to  sear  me  to  the  brain  ! 
Anointed  let  me  be  with  deadly  venom  ; 
And  die,  ere  men  can  say — God  save  the  queen! 

Q.  Eliz.  Go,  go,  poor  sou),  I  envy  not  thy  glory  ; 
To  feed  my  hnmour,  wish  thyself  no  harm. 

Anne.  No  I  why  ? — When  lie,  that  is  my  hus- 
band now, 

Came  to  me,  as  I  follow'd  Henry's  corse;  [hands, 

W  hen  scarce  the  blood  was  well  wash'd  from  hif 

Which  issu'd  from  my  other  angel  husband, 

And  that  dead  saint  which  then  I  weeping  tollow'd  ; 

O,  when,  I  say,  I  look'd  on  Richard's  face, 

This  was  my  wish,—  Be  thou,  quoth  I,  accursed, 

For  making  rne,  so  young,  so  old  a  widow  ! 

And,  when  thou  tved  st.  let  sorrow  haunt  thy  bed 

And  be  thy  wife  {if  any  he  so  mad) 

More  miserable  by  the  life  of  thee. 

Than  thou  hast  made  me  by  my  dear  lord's  dsaih 

Lo,  ere  1  can  repeat  this  curse  again, 

Even  in  so  short  a  space,  my  woman's  heart 

Grossly  grew  captive  to  his  lioney  words. 

And  prov'd  the  subject  of  mine  own  soul's  curse; 

Which  ever  since  hath  held  mine  eyes  from  rest  j 

For  never  yet  one  hour  in  his  bed 

Did  I  enjoy  the  golden  dew  of  sleep. 

But  with  hi?  timorous  dreanu  was  still  awak'd. 

Besides,  he  hates  me  for  my  father  Warwick, 

And  will,  no  doubt,  shortly  be  rid  of  me. 

Q.  Eliz.  Poor  heart,  adieu  ;  I  pity  thy  complainint^ 
Anne.  No  more  than  with  my  soul  1  mo  .rn  foi 
yours. 

Dor.  Fare\^ell,  thou  wofnl  welcomer  of  K:'  )ry  '. 
Anne.  Adien,  poo**  «oul,  that  tak'st  thy       e  ol'iJ 


Duck.  Go  thou  to  Richmond,  and  ^ood  fortune 
guide  thee  .  (To  Dorset.) 

Go  thou  to  hichard,  and  good  angels  tend  thee  !— 

(To  Anne. J 

Go  thou  to  sanctuary,  and  good  thoughts  povssess 
tiiee!  {To  Q  Elizabeth.] 

1  to  my  grave,  where  peace  and  rest  he  wiih  me ! 

Eighty  o(hl  years  of  sorrow  have  I  seen. 

And  eHch  hour's  joy  wreck'd  with  a  week  of  teen. 
Q.Eltz.  Stay  yet;  look  back,  with  me,  unto  the 
Tower  — 

Pity,  you  ancient  stones,  those  tender  babes, 
\Vhon»  envy  hath  immur'd  within  yourwallsl  ' 
Roiigii  cradle  for  such  little  pretty  ones! 
Rude  ragged  nurse!  old  sullen  pl-iy  fellow 
P'lr  tender  princes,  use  my  babies  well ! 
So  foolish  sorrow  bids  your  stones  farewell. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — A  Room  of  State  in  the  Palace, 
flourish  of  troumpets.    Richard,  as  King  upon 
his  throne;  Buckingham,  Catksby,  a  Page, 
and  others. 

K.  Rich.  Stand  all  apart. — Cousin  of  Bucking- 
Buck.  My  gracious  sovereign.  [fiani, — 

K.  Rich.  Give  me  thy  hand.    Thus  high,  by  thy 
advice, 

A-ud  thy  assistance,  is  king  Richard  seated  : — 
But  shall  we  wear  these  glories  for  a  day  ? 
Or  shall  they  last,  and  we  rejoice  in  them? 

B?ick.  Still  live  they,  and  for  ever  let  thena  last ! 

K.  Rich.  Ah,  Buckingham,  now  do  I  play  the 
touch. 

To  try  if  thou  be  current  gold,  indeed  : — 
Yoiuig  Edward  lives; — Think  now  what  I  would 
speak. 

Buck.  Say  on,  my  loving  lord.  (king. 

K.  Rich.  Why,  Buckingham,  I  say,  I  would  be 

Buck.  Wliy,  so  you  are,  my  thrice-renowned  liege. 

K.  Rich.  Ha  I  am  I  king  ?  'Tis  so :  but  Edward 

Buck.  True,  noble  prince.  [lives. 

iC.  Rich.  O  bitter  consquence, 

That  Edward  still  should  live, — true,  noble  prince! — 
Cousiit,  thou  wast  not  wont  to  be  so  dull : — 
Shall  1  be  plain?  I  wish  the  bastards  dead; 
And  1  would  have  it  suddenly  perform'd. 
What  say'st  thou  now  ?  speak  suddenly,  be  brief. 

Buck.  Your  grace  may  do  your  pleasure. 

K.  Rich.  'J'ut,  tut,  thou  art  all  ice,  thy  kindness 
freezes : 

Say,  have  I  thy  consent  that  they  shall  die  ? 

Bwi.  Give  me  some  breath,  some  little  pause. 
Before  1  positively  speak  in  this:  [dear  lord, 

i  will  resolve  your  grace  immediately.  [Exit. 

Cate.  The  kiag  is  angry ;  see,  be  gnaws  his  lip. 

{Aside.) 

K.  Rich.  I  will  converse  with  iron-witted  tools, 
{Descends  from  his  throne.) 
And  unrespective  boys;  cone  are  for  me. 
That  look  into  me  with  considerate  eyes  ; — 
High-reaching  Buckingham  grows  circumspect. — 
lioy, — 

Jraoe.  My  lord,  [ing  gold 

K.  Rich.  Know'st  thou  not  any,  whom  corrupt- 

ould  tempt  unto  a  close  exploit  of  death  ? 

Page.  I  know  a  discontented  gentleman, 

hose  humble  means  match  not  his  haughty  mind : 

old  wer*^  as  good  as  twenty  orators. 
And  will,  no  doubt,  tempt  him  to  any  thing. 

K.  Rich.  What  is  his  name  ? 

Paae.  His  name,  my  lord,  is — Tyrrel. 

K.  Rich,  I  partly  know  the  man;  Go,  call  him 
hither,  boy.—  _  [Exit  Page. 

ine  deep  revolving  witty  Buckingham 
No  more  shall  be  the  neighbour  to  my  counsels: 
Hath  he  so  long  held  out  with  me  untir'd. 
And  stops  he  now  tor  breath  ? — well,  be  it  so. — 

En4er  Stanley. 
How  now,  lord  Stanley  ?  what's  the  news  V 

^ta».  Know,  my  loving  lord. 


m 

The  marquis  Dorset,  an  I  hear,  is  fled 

To  Richmond,  in  the  pnrts  where  he  abides. 

K,  Rich.  Come  hitlier,  Cateshy  ,  rumour  is  abroad* 
That  Anne,  my  wife,  is  very  grievous  sick; 
I  will  take  order  for  her  keeping  close. 
Inquire  me  out  some  mean-born  gentleman, 
Wtjom  iwill  marry  straight  to  Clarence' daughter;— 
The  boy  is  foolish,  and  I  i'ear  not  him. — 
Look,  how  thou  dream'st ! — 1  say  again,  give  out. 
That  Anne  my  queen  is  sick,  and  like  to  die  :  • 
About  it;  for  it  stands  me  nuich  upon, 
To  stop  all  hopes,  whose  growth  may  dama^^e  me. — 

[Exit  (Jat9ihy 
I  must  be  manned  to  my  brother's  daughter, 
Or  else  my  kingdom  stands  on  brittle  glass. 
Murder  her  brothers,  and  then  marry  her  ! 
Uncertain  way  of  gain  !    But  1  am  in 
So  far  in  blood,  that  sin  will  pluck  on  sin. 
Tear-falling  pity  dwells  not  in  this  eye.— 

Re  enter  Page,  with  Tyrrel. 
Is  thy  name  Tyrrel  ?  [jert, 
Tyr.  James  Tyrrel,  and  your  most  obedient  aub- 
K.  Rich.  Art  tliou,  indeed  ? 

Tyr.  Prove  me,  my  gracious  lord. 

K.  Rich.  Dar'st  thou  resolve  to  kill  a  friend  of 

mine  ?  [nries. 
Tyr.  Please  you ;  but  I  had  rather  kill  two  ene- 
K.  Rich.  Why,  then  thou  hast  it;  two  deep 

enemies. 

Foes  to  my  rest,  and  my  sweet  sleep's  disturbers. 
Are  they  tliat  I  would  have  thee  deal  upon  ; 
Tyrrel,  1  mean  those  bastards  in  the  Tower. 

Tyr.  Let  me  have  open  means  to  come  to  them. 
And  soon  I'll  rid  you  from  the  learof  them. 

K.Rich.  'I'hou  sing'st  sweet  music.   Haik,  come 
hither,  Tyrrel ; 
Go,  by  this  token: — Rise,  and  lend  thine  ear: 

(Whispers^ 
There  is  no  more  but  so : — Say,  it  is  done. 
And  I  will  love  thee,  and  preter  thee  for  it. 

Tyr.  I  will  despatch  it  straight.  [Exii 

Re-enter  Buckingham. 

Buck,  My  lord,  I  have  consider'd  in  my  mind 
The  late  demand  that  you  did  sound  me  ui. 

K.  Rich.  Well,  let  tiiat  i-est.    Dorset  is  fled  to 
Richmond. 

Buck.  I  hear  the  news,  my  lord. 

K.  Rich.  Stanley,  he  is  your  wife's  son: — Well, 
look  to  it.  [rnise 

Buck.  My  lord,  I  claim  the  gift,  my  due  by  pro- 
For  which  your  honour  and  your  faith  is  pawrVd; 
The  earldou)  of  Hereford,  and  the  moveabk\s. 
Which  you  have  promised  1  shall  possess. 

K.  Rich.  Stanley,  look  to  your  vvite ;  if  siie  convey 
Letters  to  Richmond,  you  shall  answer  it.     (.quest  f 

Buck.  What  says  yoar  higtmess  to  ury  ju.st  re- 

K.  Rich.  I  do  remeuiber  me, — Henry  tiie  Siitb 
Did  prophesy,  that  Richmond  should  be  king. 
When  Ricimioud  was  a  little  peevish  boy. 
A  king! — perhaps — 

Buck.  My  lord,—  [that  time, 

K.  Rich.  How  chance,  the  prophet  could  not  at 
Have  told  me,  1  being  by,  tliat  1  should  kill  liim 

Buck.  My  lord,  your  prouuse  for  the  ear!  lo  ii,— 

K.Rich.  Richmond! — Wlieu  last  I  was  at  Exeter, 
The  maj'or  in  courtesy  shevv'd  me  the  castle. 
And  call'd  it — Rouge  mont:  at    which  name,  I 
started ; 

Because  a  bard  of  Ireland  told  me  once, 
I  should  not  live  long  after  1  saw  Richuroad, 
Buck.  My  lord,— 

K.  Rich.  Ay,  what's  o'clock  ? 

Buck.  I  am  thus  bold 

To  put  your  grace  in  nrind  of  what  you  proiujo  d  iie. 

K.  Rich.  Well,  but  what  is  t  o'clock  ? 

Buck.  Upoa  the  stroke 

Of  ten. 

K.  Rich.  Well,  let  it  strike. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Acr  rV; 


Buck,  Whr,  let  it  strike  ? 

K.  Rick.  Becanse  that,  like  a  Jack,  thon  keep'st 
the  stroke 

Betwixt  tiiy  begging  and  my  meditation. 

I  am  not  in  the  giving  vein  to-day.  [no. 
Buck.  Why,  then  resolve  ine  whe'r  you  will,  or 
K.  Rich.  Thou  troublest  me  ;  lam  notinthe  vein. 

[Exeunt  King  Richard  and  Train. 
Buck.  And  is  it  thus  ?  repays  he  my  deep  service 

With  such  contempt?  made  I  him  king  for  this? 

O,  let  me  think  on  Hastings;  and  be  gone 

"T'o  Brecknock,  while  my  learlul  head  is  on.  [Exit, 

Scene  III. — The  same. 
Enter  Tyrrel. 
Tyr.  The  tyrannous  and  bloodly  act  is  done  ; 
The  most  arch  deed  of  piteous  massacre, 
That  ever  yet  this  land  was  guilty  of. 
Dighton,  and  Forrest,  whom  1  did  suborn 
To  do  this  piece  of  ruthless  butchery, 
Albeit  they  were  flesh'd  villains,  bloody  dogs, 
Melting  with  tenderness  and  mild  compassion. 
Wept  like  two  children,  in  tlieir  death's  sad  story. 
0  thus,  quoth  Dighton,  lay  the  (jentle  babes, — 
Thus,  thus,  quoth  Forrest,  girdling  one  another 
Within  their  alabaster  innocent  arms: 
Their  lips  were  four  red  roses  on  a  stalk. 
Which,  i?i  their  summer  beautij,  hiss  d  each  other. 
A  book  of  prayers  on  their  piiloiv  lay  ;  [mind; 
Which  once,  quoth  Forrest,  almost  chang'd  my 
But,  0,  the  devil — there  the  villain  stoi)p'd  ; 
VV^lien  Dighton  thus  told  on, — ive  smothered 
The  most  replenished  sweet  work  of  nature, 
That,  from  the  prime  creation,  e'er  she  fram'd. — 
Hence  both  are  gone  with  conscience  and  remorse. 
They  could  not  speak  ;  and  so  I  left  them  both. 
To  bear  this  tidings  to  the  bloody  king. 

Ent-er  King  Richard. 
And  here  he  comes : — All  health,  my  sovereign  lord  ! 

K.  Rich.  Kind  Tyrrel !  am  I  happy  in  thy  news  ? 

Tyr.  If  to  have  done  the  thing  yon  gave  in  charge 
Beget  your  happiness,  be  happy  then. 
For  it  is  done. 

K.  Rich.       But  didst  thou  see  them  dead  ? 

Tyr.  I  did,  ray  lord. 

K.Rich.  And  buried,  gentle  Tyrrel? 

Tyr.  The  chaplain  of  the  Tower  hath  buried  them; 
But  where,  to  say  the  truth,  I  do  not  know. 

K.Rich.Come  to  me,  Tyrrel,  soon,  at  after  supper, 
When  thou  shalt  tell  the  process  of  their  death. 
Mean  time,  but  think  how  I  may  do  thee  good. 
And  be  inheritor  of  thy  desire. 
Farewell,  till  then. 

Tyr.  1  humbly  take  my  leave.  [Exit. 

K.  Rich.  The  son  of  Clarence  have  1  penn  d  up 
close ; 

His  daughter  meanly  have  I  match'd  in  marriage ; 
Ti>e  sons  of  Edward  sleep  in  Abraham's  bosom, 
And  Anne  my  wife  hath  bid  the  world  good  night. 
Now,  for  1  know  the  Bretagne  Richmond  aims 
At  young  Ef  Zibeth,  my  brother's  daughter, 
And,  by  that  knot,  looks  proudly  on  the  crown, 
To  her  go  I,  a  jolly  thriving  wooer. 

Enter  Catesby. 
Cafe.  My  lord,— 

K.  Rich.  Good  news  or  bad,  that  thou  com'st  in 
so  bluntly  ?  [mond  ; 

Cate.  Bad  news,  n)y  lord  :  Morton  is  fled  to  Rich- 
Ai)d  Buckingham,  back'd  with  the  hardy  Welshmen, 
Is  in  the  field,  and  still  his  power  increaseth. 
K.  Rich.  Ely  with  Richmond  troubles  me  more 
near, 

Than  Buckingham  and  his  rash-levied  strength. 

Come, — I  have  learn  d,  that  fearful  commenting 

Is  leaden  servitor  to  dull  delay  ; 

Delay  leads  impotent  and  snail-pac'd  beggary; 

Then  fiery  expedition  be  my  v/ing, 

ioye's  Mercury,  and  herald  tor  a  king ! 


Go,  muster  men  :  My  counsel  vs  my  shieW  ; 
We  must  be  brief,  when  traitors  brave  the  field. 

[Exeunt 

Scene  IV. — The  same.    Before  the  Palace. 

Enter  Queen  Margaret. 
Q.  Mar.  So,  now  prosperity  begins  to  mellow, 
And  drop  into  the  rotten  mouth  of  death. 
Here  in  these  confines  slily  have  1  lurk'd. 
To  watch  the  waning  of  mine  enemies. 
A  dire  induction  am  1  witness  to. 
And  will  to  France  ;  hoping,  the  consequence 
Will  prove  as  bitter,  black,  and  tragical. 
Withdraw  thee,  wretched  Margaret!  who  comes 
here  ? 

Enter  Queen  Elizabeth  andthe  Duchess  of  Ygzih, 

Q.  Eliz.  Ah,  my  poor  princes !  ah,  my  tender  bab ea' 
My  unblown  flowers,  new-appearing  sweets! 
if  yet  your  gentle  souls  fly  in  the  air,  j| 
And  be  not  fix'd  in  doom  perpetual,  ^ 
Hover  about  me  with  your  airy  wings. 
And  hear  your  mother's  lamentation! 

Q.  Mar.  Hover  about  her ;  say,  that  right  for  right 
Hath  dimm'd  your  infant  morn  to  aged  night. 

Duch.  So  many  miseries  have  craz'd  my  voice. 
That  my  woe-wearied  tongue  is  still  and  mute, — 
Edward  Plantagenet,  why  art  thou  dead? 

Q.  Mar.  Plantagenet  doth  quit  Plantagenet, 
Edward  for  Edward  pays  a  dying  debt.  [lambs, 

Q.  Eliz.  Wilt  thou,  O  God,  fly  from  such  gentle 
And  throw  them  in  the  entrails  of  the  wolf? 
When  didst  thou  sleep,  when  such  a  deed  was  done? 

Q.  Mar.When  holy  Harry  died,  and  my  sweet  son. 

Duch.  Dead  life,  blind  sight,  poor  mortal-living 
ghost,  [usurp'd, 
Woe's  scene,  world's  shame,  grave's  due  by  life 
Brief  abstract  and  record  of  tedious  days. 
Rest  thy  unrest  on  England's  lawful  earth, 

CSittiug  down.) 
Unlawfully  made  drunk  with  innocent  blood  ! 

Q.  Eliz.  Ah,  that  thou  would'st  as  soon  afford  a 
As  thou  canst  yield  a  melancholy  seat ;  [grave. 
Then  would  I  hide  my  bones,  not  rest  theni  here ! 
Ah,  who  hath  any  cause  to  mourn,  but  we  ? 

{Sitting  down  by  fier.) 

Q.  Mar.  If  ancient  sorrow  be  most  reverent, 
Give  mine  the  benefit  of  seniory. 
And  let  my  griefs  frown  on  the  upper  hand. 
If  sorrow  can  admit  society, 

{Sitting  dotvn  with  them. 
Tell  o'er  your  woes  again  b„y  viewing  mine  : — 
I  had  an  Edward,  till  a  Richard  kill'd  him  ; 
I  had  a  husband,  till  a  Richard  kill'd  him. 
Thou  hadst  an  Edward,  till  a  Richard  kill'd  him 
Thou  hadst  a  Richard,  till  a  Richard  kill'd  him.. 

Duch.  I  had  a  Richard  too,  and  thou  didst  kill 
him ; 

I  had  a  Rutland  too,  thou  holp'st  to  kill  him. 

Q.  Mar.  Tiiou  hadst  a  Clarence  too,  and  Richard 
kill'd  him. 

From  forth  the  kennel  of  thy  womb  hath  crept 
A  hell-hound,  that  doth  hunt  us  all  to  death  : 
That  dog,  that  had  his  teeth  before  his  eyes, 
To  worry  lambs,  and  lap  their  gentle  blood ; 
That  foul  defacer  of  God's  handy-work; 
Tiiat  excellent  grand  tyrant  of  the  earth. 
That  reigns  in  galled  eyes  of  weeping  souls. 
Thy  womb  let  loose,  to  chase  us  to  our  graves. 
O  upright,  just,  and  true-disposing  God, 
How  do  1  thank  thee,  that  this  carnal  cur 
Preys  on  the  issue  of  his  mother's  body. 
And  makes  her  pew  fellow  with  others'  moan  ! 

Duch.  O,  Harry's  wife,  triumph  not  in  my  woesj 
God  witness  v/ith  me,  I  have  wept  for  thine. 

Q.  Mar.  Bear  with  me  ;  I  am  hungry  for  reveng«i 
And  now  I  cloy  me  with  beholdi'  g  it. 
Thy  Edward  he  is  dead,  that  kilt  A  my  Edward 
Thy  other  Edward  dead,  to  quit  my  Edward; 
Young  York  he  is  but  bout,  because  both  tbef 


bOENE  4. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Match  not  the  high  perfection  of  my  loss. 

Thy  Clarence  he  is  dead,  that  stabb'd  my  Edward  ; 

And  the  beholders  of  this  tragic  play. 

riie  adulterate  Hastings,  Rivers,  Vanghan,  Grey, 

Untimely  smother'd  in  their  dusky  graves. 

Richard  yet  lives,  hell's  black  intelligencer; 

Only  reserv'd  their  factor,  to  buy  souls, 

And  send  them  thither;  But  at  hand,  at  hand, 

Ensues  his  piteous  and  nnpitied  end. 

Eavih  gapes,  hell  burns,  fiends  roar,  saints  pray, 

To  have  him  suddenly  convey'd  fronj  hence  : — 

Cancel  his  bond  of  life,  dear  God,  I  pray. 

That  I  may  live  to  say.  The  dog  is  dead  !  [come, 

Q.  FAiz.  O,  thou  didst  prophesy,  the  time  would 
That  1  should  wish  for  thee  to  help  me  curse 
'J'liat  bottled  spider,  that  foul  bunch-back'd  toad. 

Q  Mar.  I  call'd  thee  then,  vain  flourish  of  my 
fortune ; 

I  oall'd  thee  then,  poor  shadow,  painted  queen; 
The  presentation  of  but  vvhat  I  was, 
The  flattering  index  of  a  direful  pageant. 
One  heav'd  a  high,  to  be  hurl'd  down  below : 
A  mother  only  mock'd  with  two  fair  babes  ; 
A  dream  of  what  thou  wast;  a  garish  flag, 
To  be  the  aim  of  every  dangerous  shot; 
A  sign  of  dignity,  a  breath,  a  bubble  ; 
A  queen  in  jest,  only  to  fill  the  scene. 
Where  is  thy  husband  now  ?  where  be  thy  brothers  ? 
Where  be  thy  two  sons  ?  wherein  dost  thou  joy  ? 
Who  sues,  and  kneels,  and  says — God  save  the 
queen  ? 

Where  be  the  bending  peers  that  flatter'd  thee  ? 
Where  be  the  thronging  troops  that  follow'd  thee  ? 
Decline  all  this,  and  see  what  now  thou  art. 
For  happy  wife,  a  most  distressed  widow ; 
For  joyiul  mother,  one  that  wails  the  name; 
For  one  being  sued  to,  one  that  humbly  sues; 
For  queen,  a  very  caitiff  crown'd  with  care  . 
For  one  that  scorn'd  at  me,  now  scorn'd  of  me ; 
For  one  being  fear'd  of  all,  now  fearing  one  ; 
For  one  coinmanding  all,  obey'd  of  none. 
Thus  hatii  the  course  of  justice  wheel'd  about. 
And  left  thee  but  a  very  prey  to  time; 
Having  no  more  but  thought  of  what  thou  wert, 
To  torture  thee  the  more,  being  what  thou  art. 
Thou  didst  usurp  my  place.   And  dost  thou  not 
Usurp  the  just  proportion  of  my  sorrow  ? 
Now  thy  proud  neck  bears  half  my  burden'd  yokei 
From  which  even  here  I  slip  my  wearied  head. 
And  leave  the  burden  of  it  all  on  thee. 
Farewell,  York's  wife, — and  queen  of  sad  mis- 
chance,— 

These  English  woes  shall  make  me  smile  in  France. 

Q.  Eliz.  O  thou  well  skill'd  in  curses,  stay  a  while. 
And  teach  me  how  to  curse  mine  enenues. 

Q.Mar.  Forbear  to  sleep  the  night,  and  fast  the 

Compaie  dead  happiness  with  living  woe; 
'Think  that  thy  babes  were  fairer  than  they  were. 
And  he,  that  slew  them,  fouler  than  he  is : 
Bettering  thy  loss  makes  the  bad-causer  worse  ; 
Uevolving  this  will  teach  thee  how  to  curse. 
Q.  Eliz.  My  words  are  dull,  O,  quicken  them 
with  thine  I 

Q.  Mar.  Thy  woes  will  make  them  sharp,  and 
pierce  like  mine.  [Exit. 

Duck.  Why  should  calamity  be  full  of  words? 

Q.  Eliz.  Windy  attorneys  to  their  client  woes. 
Airy  succeeders  of  intestate  joys. 
Poor  breathing  orators  of  miseries  ! 
Let  them  have  scope  ;  though  what  they  do  impart 
Hel])  notiiing  else,  yet  do  they  ease  tlie  heart. 

Duch.  If  so,  then  be  not  tongue-ty'd  :  go  with  me, 
4.nd  in  the  breath  of  bitter  words  let's  smother 
»ly  damned  son,  that  thy  two  sweet  sons  smother'd. 

{Drum  within.) 

hear  his  drum, — be  copious  in  exclaims. 

Enter  King  Richard,  and  his  Train,  marching. 
K  Rich.  Who  intercepts  me  in  my  expedition  V 


Duch.  O,  she,  that  might  have  intercepted  t 
By  strangling  thee  in  her  accursed  womb, 
From  al!  the  slaughters,  wretch,  that  thou  hast  done, 

Q.  Eliz.  llid'st  thou  that  forehead  with  a  golden 
crown. 

Where  should  be  branded,  if  that  right  were  right, 
The  slaughter  of  the  prince  that  ow'd  that  crown 
And  the  dire  death  of  my  poor  sons  and  brothers  ?  ' 
Tell  me,  thou  villain  slave,  where  are  my  children  ? 
Duch.  Thou  toad,  thou  toad,  where  is  thy  brother 
Clarence  ? 

And  little  Ned  Plantagenet,  his  son?  [Grey 

Q.Eliz.  Where  is  the  gentle  Rivers,  Vaughan. 

Duch.  Where  is  kind  Hastings  V  [drums! 

K.Rich,  A  flourish,  trumpets  ! — strike  alarunis, 
Let  not  the  heavens  hear  these  tell-tale  women 
Rail  on  the  lord's  anointed  :  Strike,  I  say. — 

{Flourish.  Alarums.) 
Either  be  patient,  and  entreat  me  fair, 
Or  with  the  clamorous  report  of  war 
Thus  will  I  drown  your  exclamations. 

Duch.  Art  thou  my  son  ?  [self. 

K.  Rich.  Ay;  I  thank  God,  my  father,  and  your- 

Duch.  Then  patiently  hear  my  impatience. 

K.  Rich.  Madam,  I  have  a  touch  of  your  condition, 
That  cannot  brook  the  accent  of  reproof 

Duch.  O,  let  me  speak. 

K.  Rich.  Do,  then  ;  but  I'll  not  hear 

Duch.  I  will  be  mild  and  gentle  in  my  words. 
K.  Rich.  And  brief,  good  mother;  for  J  am  in 
haste. 

Duch.  Art  thou  so  hasty  ?  I  have  staid  for  thee, 
God  knows,  in  torment  and  in  agony. 

K.  Rich.  And  came  I  not  at  last  to  comfort  you? 

Duch.  No,  by  the  holy  rood,  thou  know'st  it  well. 
Thou  cam'st  on  earth  to  make  the  earth  my  hell. 
A  grievous  burden  was  thy  birth  to  me  ; 
Tetchy  and  wayward  was  thy  infancy  ;  [rious 
Thy  school-days,  frightf(d,  desperate,  wild,  and  fu- 
Thy  prime  of  manhood,  daring,  bold,  and  venturous; 
Thy  age  confirm'd,  proud,  subtle,  sly,  and  bloody. 
More  mild,  but  yet  more  harmful,  kind  in  hatred  : 
What  comfortable  hour  can'st  thou  name. 
That  ever  grac'd  me  in  thy  company. 

K.  Rich.  'Faith,  none,  but  Humphrey  Hour,  that 
call'd  your  grace 
To  breakfast  once,  forth  of  my  company. 
It  I  be  so  disgracious  in  your  sight. 
Let  me  march  on,  and  not  offend  you,  madam.- 
Strike  up  the  drum. 

Duch.  I  pr'ythee,  hear  me  speak 

K,  Itich.  You  speak  too  bitterlj. 

Duch.  Hear  me  a  word  ; 

For  I  shall  never  speak  to  thee  again. 

K.  Rich.  So.  [dinance 

Duch.  Either  thou  wilt  die,  by  God's  just  or 
Ere  from  this  war  thou  turn  a  conqueror: 
Or  I  with  grief  and  extreme  age  shall  perish, 
And  never  look  upon  thy  face  again. 
Therefore,  take  with  thee  my  most  heavy  curse; 
Which,  in  the  day  of  battle,  tire  thee  more. 
Than  all  the  complete  armour  that  thou  wear'sti 
My  prayers  on  the  adverse  party  fight; 
And  there  the  little  souls  of  Edward's  children 
Whisper  the  spirits  of  thine  enemies. 
And  promise  them  success  and  victory. 
Bloody  thou  art,  bloody  will  be  thy  end  ; 
Shame  serves  thy  life,  and  doth  thy  death  attend. 

[EsiL 

Q.  Eliz.  Though  far  more  cause,  yet  much  lesa 
spirit  to  curse 
Abides  in  me ;  I  say  amen  to  her.  {Going»'\ 
K.  Rich.  Stay,  madam,  I  must  speak  a  word  with 
you. 

Q.  Eliz.  I  have  no  more  sons  of  the  royal  blood. 
For  thee  to  murder  :  for  my  daughters,  Richardy  — 
They  shall  be  praying  nuns,  not  weeping  queens 
And  therefore  level  not  to  hit  their  lives. 

K.  Rich.  You  have  a  daughter  call'd — Elizabetlif 
Virtuous  and  fair,  royal  and  gracious. 


182 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  IV 


Q.  Eliz.  And  must  she  die  for  this?  0,let  her  live. 
And  I'll  corrtijit  her  inanneis,  stain  her  beauty; 
Siumief  niysdi,  as  false  to  Edward's  bed; 
Tl  row  over  hei  the  veil  of  infamy : 
So  she  may  live  unscarr'd  of  bleeding  slaughter, 
I  will  confess  she  was  not  Edward's  daughter. 

K.Rich.  Wrong  not  her  biith,  she  is  of  royal 
blood. 

Q.  Eliz.  To  save  her  life,  I'll  say — she  is  not  so. 

K.  Rich.  Her  life  is  safest  only  in  her  birth. 

Q.  Eliz.  And  only  in  that  safety  died  her  brothers. 

K.  Riclu  Lo,  at  their  births  good  stars  were 
ojjposite.  [trary. 

Q.  Eliz.  No,  to  their  lives  bad  friends  were  con- 

K.  Rich.  All  unavoided  is  the  doom  of  destiny. 

Q.  Eliz.  True,  when  avoided  grace  makes  destiny. 
My  babes  were  destin'd  to  a  fairer  death, 
If  grace  had  bless'd  thee  with  a  fairer  life. 

K.  Rich.  You  speak,  as  if  that  I  had  slain  my 
cousins.  [cozen'd 

Q.  Eliz.  Cousins,  indeed  ;   and  by  their  uncle 
Of  comfort,  kingdom,  kindred,  freedom,  life. 
Whose  hands  soever  lanc'd  their  tender  hearts, 
Thy  head,  all  indirectly,  gave  direction: 
No  doubt  the  murderous  knife  was  dull  and  blunt, 
Till  it  was  whetted  on  thy  stone  hard  heart. 
To  revel  in  the  entrails  of  my  lambs. 
But  that  still  use  of  grief  makes  wild  grief  tame, 
My  tongue  should  to  thy  ears  not  name  ray  boys. 
Till  that  my  nails  were  anchor'd  in  thine  eyes; 
And  I,  in  such  a  desperate  bay  of  death, 
Like  a  poor  bark,  of  sails  and  tackling  reft, 
Rush  all  to  pieces  on  thy  rocky  bosom. 

K.  Rich.  Madam,  so  thrive  I  in  ray  enterprise. 
And  dangerous  success  of  bloody  wars, 
As  I  intend  more  good  to  you  and  yours. 
Than  ever  you  or  yours  by  me  were  harm'd  ! 

Q.  Eliz.  What  good  is  cover'd  with  the  face  of 
heaven, 

To  he  disjover'd  that  can  do  me  good? 
K.  Ric/u  The  advancement  of  your  children, 
gentle  lady. 

Q.  Eliz.  Up  to  some  scaifold,  there  to  lose  their 

heads  ? 

K.  Rich.  No,  to  the  dignity  and  height  of  fortune, 
Fhe  hii>li  imperial  type  of  this  earth's  glory. 

Q.  Eliz.  Flatter  my  sorrows  with  report  of  it; 
Tell  me,  what  state,  what  dignity,  what  honour. 
Canst  thou  demise  to  any  child  of  mine  ? 

K.  Rich.  Even  all  I  have  ;  ay,  and  myself  and  all. 
Will  1  withal  endow  a  child  oi' thine; 
So  in  the  Letlie  of  thy  angry  soul 
'J'hou  drown  the  sad  remembrance  of  those  wrongs, 
Which,  thou  supposest.  I  have  done  to  thee. 

Q.  Eliz.  Be  brief,  lest  that  the  process  of  thy 
kindness 

Last  longer  ti  lling  than  thy  kindness'  date. 

K.  Rich.  Then  know,  that  from  my  soul,  I  love 

thy  daughter.  [soul. 
Q.  Eliz.  My  daughter's  mother  thinks  it  with  her 
K.  Ric.'i.  Wivit  do  you  think? 
Q.  Eliz.  Tiiat  thou  dost  love  my  daughtei  from 

thy  soul : 

So,  from  thy  soul's  love,  didst  thou  love  her  brothers ; 
And.  from  u)y  heart's  love,  I  do  thank  thee  for  it. 

K.  Rich.  Be  not  so  hasty  to  confound  my  uieaning: 
\  mean,  tiuit  with  my  soul  1  love  thy  daughter, 
And  do  intend  to  make  her  queen  of  England. 

Q.  Eliz.  Weil  then,  who  dost  thou  mean  shall  be 
her  king  ? 

K.  Rich.  Even  he,  that  makes  her  queen;  Who 

else  should  be? 
Q.  Eliz.  What,  thou  ? 

K.  Rich.  _    Even  so :  What  think  you 

of  it,  madam  ? 
Q.  Eliz.  How  canst  thou  woo  her? 
K.  Rich.  That  would  I  learn  of  yon, 

4s  one  b;-ing  best  acquainted  with  her  humour. 
Q.  Eliz.  And  wilt  thou  learn  of  me  ? 
K.  Rick.  Madam,  with  all  my  heart 


Q.  Eliz.  Send  to  her,  by  the  man  that  slew  fcej 
brotliers, 

A  pair  of  bleeding  hearts  ;  thereon  engrave, 
Edward,  and  York;  then,  haply,  will  s\w  weep: 
'J'herefore  present  to  her, — as  sometime  Margaret 
Did  to  thy  father,  steep'a  in  llutland's  blood, — 
A  handkerchief;  which,  nay  to  her,  did  drain 
The  purple^sap  from  her  sweet  brother's  body, 
And  bid  her  wipe  her  weeping  eyes  withal. 
If  this  inducement  move  hei  not  to  lo\e, 
iSend  her  a  letter  of  thy  noble  deeds; 
Tell  her,  thou  mad'st  away  her  imcle  Clarence, 
Her  imcle  Rivers ;  ay,  and,  for  her  sake, 
Mad'st  quick  conveyance  with  her  good  aunt  Ana*. 
K.  Rich.  You  mock  me,  madam ;  this  is  not 
way 

To  win  your  daughter. 

K  Eliz.  There  is  no  other  way  ; 

Unless  thou  could'st  put  on  some  other  shape, 
And  not  be  Ricbard  that  hath  done  all  this. 

K.  Rich.  Say,  that  I  did  all  this  for  love  of  her  ? 

Q.  Eliz.  Nay,  then  indeed,  she  cannot  choose  but 
have  thee. 

Having  bought  love  with  such  a  bloody  spoil. 

K.  Rich.  Look,  what  is  done  cannot  be  now 
amended : 
Men  shall  deal  unadvisedly  sometimet 
Which  after-hours  give  leisure  to  repent. 
If  I  did  take  the  kingdom  from  your  sons. 
To  make  amends,  I'll  give  it  to  your  daughter 
If  1  have  kill'd  the  issue  of  y(»ur  womb. 
To  quicken  your  increase,  I  will  beget 
Mine  issue  of  your  blood  upon  your  daughter. 
A  grandam's  name  is  little  less  in  love, 
Than  is  the  doting  title  of  a  mother: 
7'hey  are  as  children,  but  one  step  below, 
Evernof  your  niettle,  of  your  very  blood  ; 
Of  all  one  pain, — save  for  a  night  ol"  groans 
Endur'd  of  her,  for  whom  you  hid  like  sorrovy. 
Your  children  were  vexation  to  your  youth, 
But  mine  shall  be  a  comfort  to  your  age. 
'i'he  loss,  you  have,  is  but — a  sun  being  king, 
And,  by  tiiat  loss,  your  daughter  is  made  queen. 
I  cannot  make  you  what  amends  I  would, 
Therefore  accept  such  kindness  as  I  can. 
Dorset,  your  son,  that,  with  a  fearful  soul. 
Leads  discontented  steps  in  foreign  soil, 
This  fair  alliance  quickly  shall  call  home 
To  high  promotions  and  great  dignity  : 
The  king,  that  calls  your  beauteous  daughter, — wifej, 
Familiarly  shall  call  thy  Dorset—brother; 
Again  shcdl  you  be  mother  to  a  king. 
And  all  the  ruins  of  distressful  times 
Repair'd  with  double  riches  of  content 
What  I  we  have  many  goodly  days  to  see  : 
The  liquid  drops  of  tears  that  you  have  shed, 
Shall  come  again,  transform'd  to  orient  pearl; 
Advantaging  their  loan,  with  interest 
Often-times-double  gain  of  happiness. 
Go  then,  my  mother,  to  thy  daughter  go; 
Make  bold  her  bashful  years  with  your  expencBSa  J 
Prepare  her  ears  to  hear  a  wooer's  tale  ; 
Put  in  her  tender  heart  the  aspiring  flame 
Of  golden  sov'reignty  ;  acquaint  the  princess 
With  the  sweet  silent  hotirs  of  marriage  joys : 
And  when  this  arm  of  mine  hath  chastised 
The  petty  rebel,  dull-brain'd  Buckii»gham, 
Bound  with  triumphant  garlands  will  1  come, 
And  lead  thy  daughter  to  a  conqueror's  bed; 
To  whom  I  will  retail  my  conquest  won. 
And  she  shall  be  sole  victress,  Caesar's  Caesar. 

Q.  Eliz.  What  were  1  best  to  aay?  hei  fa(b«r 
brother 

Would  be  her  lord  ?  Or  shall  I  say,  her  uncle? 
Or,  he  that  slew  her  brothers,  and  her  uncles? 
Under  what  title  shall  1  woo  for  thee, 
Tliat  God,  the  law,  my  honour,  and  her  love, 
Can  make  seem  pleasing  to  her  tender  years? 

K.  Rich.    Infer  fair  England's  peace  by  this 
alliance. 


KING  ETCHARD  IIL 


Q,  Eliz  Wliich  she  shall  purchase  with  still  last- 
ing war, 

K.  Rich.  Tell  her,  the  king,  that  may  command, 
entreats.  [Kin^  forbids. 

Q.  Eliz.  'i'hat  at  her  hands,  whicli  the  king's 
K,  Rich.  Say,  she  shall  be  a  high  and  mighty 
queen. 

Q.  Eliz.  To  wail  the  title,  as  her  mother  doth. 
K.  Ricfu  Say,  I  will  love  her  everlastingly. 
Q.  Eliz.  Jiiit  how  long  shall  that  title,  ever,  last? 
K.  Rich,  Sweetly  in  force  unto  her  fair  life's  end. 
Q,  Eliz.  But  how  long  fairly  shall  her  sweet  life 
last  ?  (ens  it. 

K.  Rich.  As  long  as  heaven,  and  nature,  length- 
Q.  Eliz.  And  long  as  hell,  and  Riclmrd,  likes  of  it. 
K.  Rich.  Say,  I,  her  sovereign,  ai  j  her  subject 


fsov'reigiity. 
oaths  such 


Q.  Eliz.  But  she,  your  subject, 
K-  Rich.  Be  eloquent  in  my  behalf  to  her. 
Q.  Eliz.  An  honest  tale  speeds  best,  being  plainly 

told.  [tale. 
K.  Rich.  Then  in  plain  terms  tell  her  my  loving 
Q.  Eliz.  Plain,  and  not  honest,  is  too  harsh  a  style. 
K  Rich.  Your  reasons  are  too  shallow,  and  too 

quick. 

Q.  Eliz.  O,  no,  my  reasons  are  too  deep  and 
dead ; — 

Too  deep  and  dead,  poor  infants,  in  their  graves. 
K.  Rich.  Harp  not  on  that  string,  madam ;  that 

is  past.  [break. 
Q.  Eliz.  Harp  on  it  still  shall  I,  till  heart-strings 
K.  Rich.  Now,  by  my  George,  my  garter,  and 

my  crown, —  [usurp'd. 
Q.  Eliz.  Profan'd,  dishonour'd,  and  the  third 
K.  Rich.  1  swear. 

Q.  Eliz.  By  nothing ;  for  this  is  no  oath. 

Thy  George,  profan'd,  hath  lost  his  holy  honour; 
Thy  garter,  bletnish'd,  pawn'd  his  knigutly  virtue  ; 
Thy  crown,  usurp 'd,  disgrac'd  his  kingly  glory: 
If  something  thou  would'st  swear  to  be  believ'd. 
Swear  then  by  something  that  thou  hast  not  wrong'd. 

K.  Rick.  Now  by  the  world, — 

Q.  KHz.  'Tis  full  of  thy  foul  wrongs. 

K.  Rich.  My  father's  death,— 

Q.  Eliz.  Thy  life  hath  that  dishonour'd. 

K.  Rich.  Then,  by  myself,— 

Q  Eliz.  Thyself  is  self-misus'd. 

K.  Rich.  Why  then,  by  God,— 

Q.  Eliz.  God's  wrong  is  most  of  all. 
If  tliou  had'st  fear'd  to  break  an  oatfi  by  him, 
1'he  imity.  the  king  thy  brother  made. 
Had  not  been  broken,  nor  my  brottier  slain. 
If  thou  had'st  fear'd  to  break  an  oath  by  him, 
The  imperial  metal,  circling  now  thy  head. 
Had  grac'd  the  tender  temples  of  aiy  child  ; 
And  both  the  princes  had  been  breathing  here, 
Which  now,  two  tender  bed-fellows  for  dust. 
Thy  broken  faith  hath  made  a  prey  for  worms. 
What  canst  thou  swear  by  now  ? 

K.  Rich.  By  the  time  to  come. 

Q.  Eliz.  That  thou  hast  wronged  in  the  time  o'er- 
For  I  myself  have  many  tears  to  wash  (past; 
Hereafter  time,  for  time  past,  wrong'd  by  thee. 
The  children  live,  whose  parents  thou  hast  slaugh- 
ter'd, 

Ungovern'd  youth  .to  wail  it  in  their  age  : 
The  parents  live,  whose  children  thou  hast  butcher'd. 
Old  barren  plants,  to  wail  it  with  their  age. 
Swear  not  by  time  to  come  ;  for  that  thou  hast 
Mi^ius'd  ere  used,  by  times  ill-us'd  o'er  past 

K.  Rich.  As  I  intend  to  prosper,  and  repent ! 
So  thrive  I  in  my  dangerous  attempt 
Of  hostile  arms    myself  myself  confound  ! 
Heaven,  and  fortune,  bar  me  happy  Ijours ! 
Daj ,  yield  me  not  thy  light;  nor,  night  thy  rest! 
Be  oppositf'  all  planets  of"  good  luck 
To  my  proceeding,  if,  with  pure  heart's  love, 
Immaculate  devotion,  holy  tfioughts, 
I  tende.-  not  ti>y  beauteous  princely  daughter! 
Ib  her  consists  my  happiness,  and  thine; 


Without  her,  follows  to  myself,  and  tnee, 
Herself,  the  land,  and  many  a  chrisl  au  soul, 
Death,  desolation.  rMiii,  and  decay: 
It  cannot  he  avoided,  lint  by  tliis  ; 
It  wiil  not  be  avoided,  but  by  this. 
Therefore,  dear  mother,  (I  must  call  yrn  so,) 
Be  the  attorney  of  my  love  to  her. 
Plead  what  I  will  be,  not  what  I  have  been; 
Not  my  deserts,  but  what  I  will  deserve  : 
Urge  the  necessity  and  state  of  funes, 
And  be  not  peevish  found  in  great  designs. 

Q.  Eliz.  Shall  I  be  tempted  by  the  devil  thus? 

K.  Rich.  Ay,  if  the  devil  tempt  thee  to  do  good, 

Q.  Eliz.  Shall  I  forget  myself,  to  be  myself? 

K.  Rick.  Ay,  if  your  self  s  remembrance  wro:^ 
yourself. 

Q.  Eliz.  But  thou  didst  kill  my  children. 
JSC.  Rich.  But  in  your  daughter's  woinb  I  bury 
them : 

Where,  in  that  nest  of  spicery,  they  shall  breed 
Selv  es  of  themselves,  to  your  recomforture. 

Q.  Eliz.  Sfiall  I  go  win  my  daughter  to  thy  will? 

K.  Rich.  And  be  a  happy  mother  by  the  deed 

Q.  Eliz.  I  go. — Write  to  me  very  shortly, 
And  you  shall  understand  from  nie  her  mind. 

K.  Rich.  Bear  her  my  true  love's  kiss,  and  so 
f  are  well. 

{Kissing  her.)  [Exit  Queen  Elizabeik, 
Relenting  fool,  and  shallow,  changing — woman! 
How  now  ?  what  news? 

Enter  Ratclifp  ;  Catesby  following. 

Rat.  Most  niighty  sovereign,  on  the  western  coast 
Rideth  a  piKssant  navy  ;  to  the  shore 
Throng  many  doubtful  hollow-hearted  friends, 
Unarm'd.  and  unresolv'd  to  beat  fhem  back  : 
Tis  thought,  that  Richmond  is  their  admiral ; 
And  there  they  hull,  expecting  but  the  aid 
Of  Fiiu  kingham,  to  welcome  them  ashore. 

K.  Rich.  Some  light-foot  friend  post  to  the  dvke 
_  of  Norfolk:— 
Ratclifi',  thyself,— or  Catesby;  where  is  he  ? 

Cate.  Here,  my  good  lord. 

K.  Rich.  Catesby,  fly  to  the  duke. 

Cate.  I  will,  my  lord,  with  all  convenient  hasfe, 
K.  Rich.  Ratolirt',  come  hither  :  Post  to  Salisbury; 
Wlien  thou  com'st  thither, — Dull  unmindful  villain, 

{To  C'ateubyS 

Why  stay'st  thou  here,  and  go'st  not  to  the  duke  r 
Cate.  First,  mighty  liege,  tell  me  your  highness' 
pleasure. 

What  from  your  grace  I  shall  deliver  to  him. 

K.  Rich.  O,  true,  good  Catesby ; — Bid  him  levy 
straight 

The  greatest  strength  and  power  he  can  make. 
And  meet  me  suddenly  at  Salisbury. 

Cate.  I  go.  [Exit. 

Rat.  What,  may  it  place  you,  shall  I  do  at  Sa- 
lisbury ? 

K.  Rich.  Why,  what  would'st  thou  do  there,  be» 
fore  I  go  ? 

Rat.  Your  highness  told  me,  I  should  post  before 

Enter  Stanley. 
K.  Rich.  My  mind  is  chang'd. — Stanley,  wha 

news  with  you  ? 
Stan.  None  good,  my  liege,  to  please  you  witii 
the  hearing: 
Nor  none  so  bad,  but  well  may  be  reported. 

/\.  Rich.  Heyday,  a  riddle  I  neither  good  nor  bad ! 
What  need  st  thou  run  so  many  miles  about. 
When  thou  may'st  tell  thy  tale  the  neaiest  Wfy  ? 
Once  more,  what  nevvs? 

Stan.  Richmond  is  on  the  sens. 

K.  Rich.  Th-ere  let  him  sink,  and  be  the  s?as  ou 
him! 

White  liver'd  runagate,  what  doth  he  «here  ? 

Stan.  I  ksiovv  not,  mi<;lity  sovereign,  but  by  ^uesa. 
K.  Rich.  Well,  as  you  guess'-* 
Stan.  Stirr'd  up  by  Dorset,  Buckingham,  nwA 
Morton, 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  V. 


lie  li.aRcs  fur  England,  here  to  claim  the  crown. 
K.  Rich.  Is  the  cliair  empty  ?  is  the  sword  un- 
sway'd 

Is  the  king  dead?  the  empire  unpossess'd? 
VV^hat  heir  of  York  is  there  alive,  but  we  ? 
And  who  is  England's  king,  but  great  York's  heir? 
Then,  tell  me,  what  makes  he  upon  the  seas? 

Stan.  Unless  for  that,  niy  liege,  I  cannot  guess. 

K.  lllch.  Unless  for  that  he  comes  to  be  your  liege. 
Yon  cannot  guess  wherefore  the  W elshman  comes. 
Thou  wilt  revolt,  and  fly  to  him,  I  fear. 

Stan.  No,  mighty  liege,  therefore  mistrust  me 
not.  [back  ? 

K.  Rich.  Where  is  thy  power  then,  to  beat  him 
iVliere  be  thy  tenants,  and  thy  followers? 
A.re  they  not  new  upon  the  western  shore. 
Safe-conducting  the  rebels  fron«  their  sliips? 

Stan.  No,  my  good  lord,  my  friends  are  in  tht 
north.  [the  north, 

K.  Rich.  Cold  friends  to  me  :  What  do  they  in 
When  they  should  serve  their  sovereign  in  the  west? 

Stan,  'i  hey  have  not  been  commanded,  mighty 
king : 

Pleascth  your  niajesty  to  give  me  leave, 

rii  muster  np  my  friends;  and  meet  your  grace. 

Where,  and  what  time,  your  majesty  shall  please. 

K.  Rich.  Ay,  ay,  thou  wouidst  be  gone  to  join 
with  Richmond  : 
I  will  not  trust  you,  sir. 

Stan.  Most  miglity  sovereign. 

You  have  no  cause  to  hold  my  friendship  doubtful; 
1  never  was,  nor  never  will  be  false. 

K.  Rich.  Well,  go,  muster  men.    But,  hear  you, 
leave  behind 

Your  son,  George  Stanley  ;  look  your  heart  be  firm. 
Or  else  liis  head's  assurance  is  but  frail. 

Stan.  So  deal  with  him,  as  i  prove  true  to  you. 

[Exit  Statiley. 

Enter  a  Messewjer. 

Mess.  IMy  gracious  sovereign,  now  in  Devonshire, 
As  1  by  friends  am  well  advertised, 
Sir  Edward  Courtney,  and  ttie  haughty  prelate. 
Bishop  of  Exeter,  his  eider  brother, 
VViih  many  more  confederates,  are  in  arms. 

Enter  another  Messenger. 

2  Mess.  In  Kent,  my  liege,  the  Guildfords  are 

in  arms; 
Ai^d  every  hour  more  competitors 
Flock  to  the  rebels,  and  their  power  grows  strong. 

Enter  another  Messenger. 

3  Mess.  My  lord,  the  army  of  great  Bucking- 

ham— 

K.Rich.  Out  on  ye,  owls!  nothing  but  songs  of 
death  ?  {He  strikes  him.) 

There,  take  thou  that,  till  thou  bring  better  news. 

8  Mess.  The  news  I  have  to  tell  your  majesty, 
Is, — that,  by  sudden  Hoods  and  lall  of  waters, 
Buckingham's  army  is  dispers'd  and  scatter'd; 
A«d  he  himself  wander'd  away  alone, 
No  man  knows  whither. 

K.  Rich.  O,  I  cry  you  mercy : 

There  is  my  purse,  to  cure  that  blow  of  thine. 
Hath  any  well-advised  iriend  proclaim'd 


Reward  to  him  that  brings  the  traitor 


[liege. 


3  Mess.  Such  proclamation  hath  been  made,  ray 

Enter  another  Messenger. 

4  Mess.  Sir  Thomas  Lovel,  and  lord  mafquis 

Dorset, 

'T.''i3  said,  my  liege,  in  Yorkshire  are  in  arras. 
But  this  good  comfort  bring  I  to  vour  highness, — ; 
Thr  Erttagne  navy  is  dispers'd  by  tempest: 
Richmond,  in  Dorsetshire,  sent  out  a  boat 
iJnto  the  shore,  to  ask  those  on  the  banks. 
If  they  were  his  assistants,  yea,  or  no ; 
Who  answer'd  him,  they  came  from  Buckingham 
Vpoc  his  party:  he,  mistrusting  them. 


Hois'd  sail,  and  ma3e  his  course  again  for  Bretagne. 
K.  Rich.  March  on,  mai  ch  on,  since  we  are  n^  iv 
arms ; 

If  not  to  fight  with  foreign  enemies. 

Yet  to  beat  down  tiiese  rebels  here  at  home. 

Enter  Catesby. 
Gate.  My  liege,  the  duke  of  Buckingham  is  takrii| 
That  is  the  best  news;  That  the  earl  of  Richmond 
Is  with  a  mighty  power  landed  at  Milford, 
Is  coider  news,  but  yet  they  must  be  told. 

K.  Rich.  Away  towards  Salisbury;  while  we 
reason  here, 
A  royal  battle  might  be  won  and  lost  : — 
Some  one  take  order,  Buckingham  be  brought 
To  Salisbury ; — the  rest  march  on  with  me.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  Y. — A  Room  in  Lord  Stanley's  House. 
Enter  Stanley  and  Sir  Christopher  Urswick. 
Stan.  Sir  Christopher,  tell  Richmond  this  from 
me  : — 

That,  in  the  sty  of  this  most  bloody  boar, 
My  son  George  Stanley  is  frank'd  up  in  hold; 
If  I  revolt,  oif  goes  young  George's  head  ; 
The  fear  of  that  withholds  my  present  aid. 
But,  tell  me,  where  is  princely  Richmond  now? 
Chris.  At  Pembroke,  or  at  Ha'rford-west,  in 
Wales. 

Stan.  What  men  of  name  resort  to  him  ? 

Chris  Sir  Walter  Herbert,  a  renowned  soldier; 
Sir  Gilbert  Talbot,  sir  William  Stanley; 
Oxford,  redoubted  Pembroke,  sir  James  Blunta 
And  Rice  ap  Thomas,  w'tb  a  valiant  crew  ; 
And  many  other  of  great  fame  and  v/oith: 
And  towards  London  do  they  bend  their  course. 
If  by  the  way  they  be  not  fought  withal. 

Stan.  Well,  hie  thee  to  thy  lord;  commend  me 
to  him ; 

Tell  him,  the  queen  hath  heartily  consented 
He  shall  espouse  Elizabeth  her  daughter. 
These  t'^tlers  will  resolve  him  of  .my  mind. 
Farewei^^         {Gives  papers  to  Sir  Christopher  ) 

[Exeunt 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — Salisbury.    An  open  Place. 
Enter  the  Sheriff,  and  Guard.,  with  Buckingham, 
led  to  execution. 

Buck.  Will  not  king  Richard  let  me  speak  with 

him  1 

Sher.  No,  my  good  lord  ;  therefore  be  patient. 
Buck.  Hastings,  and  Edward's  children.  Rivers, 
Grey, 

Holy  king  Henry,  and  thy  fair  son  Edward, 

Vaughan,  and  all  that  have  miscarried 

By  underhand  corrupted  foul  injustice; 

If  that  your  moody  discontented  souls 

Do  through  the  clouds  behold  this  present  hour, 

Even  for  revenge  mock  my  destruction! — 

This  is  All-Souls'  day,  fellows,  is  it  not 

Sher.  It  is,  my  lord.  [doomsday. 

Buck.  Wfiy,  then  All-Soul's  day  is  my  body's 
This  is  the  day,  which,  in  king  Edward's  time, 
T  wish'd  might  fall  on  me,  when  I  was  found 
False  to  his  children,  or  his  vvife's  allies  : 
This  is  the  day,  wherein  I  vvish'd  to  fall 
By  the  false  faith  of  him  whom  most  I  trusted; 
This,  this,  All-Souls'  day  to  my  fearful  soul, 
Is  the  determin'd  respite  of  my  wrongs. 
That  high  All-seer  which  I  dallied  with, 
Hath  turned  my  feigned  prayer  on  my  head. 
And  given  in  earnest  what  I  beg^d  in  jest 
Thus  doth  he  force  the  swords  of  wicked  men 
To  turn  their  own  points  on  their  masters'  bosoms  : 
Thjis  Margaret's  curse  falls  heavy  on  my  neck, — 
When  he.,  quoth  she,  shall  split  thy  heart  wifi 
sorrow, 

Remember  Margaret  was  a  prophetess. — 
Come,  sirs,  convey  me  to  the  block  of  shame; 


5CENE  3. 


KING  RICHARD  TIT. 


485 


Wrong  hath  but  and  blame  the  due  of  j 

hiaine.  [Exeunt  Buckingham,  ^c,  \ 

ScENK  11. — Plain  near  Tamwortk.  { 
Enter,  tvith  drum  and  colours,  [IicHiMOND,  Ox- 
ford, 5i>  James  Blunt,  Sir  Walter  Herbert, 
and  others,  with  Forces  marching. 
Richm.  Ffllovvs  in  arms,  and  my  most  loving  ; 
friends, 

Bniis'd  underneath  the  yoke  of  tyranny. 
Thus  far  into  the  bowels  of  the  land 
Uavi  we  nuuch'd  on  withont  impediment; 
And  here  receive  we  from  our  father  Stanley 
Lines  of  fair  comfort  and  encouragement. 
Tlie  wretched,  bloody,  and  usurping  boar, 
Tliat  sfioifd  your  summer  fields,  and  fruitful  vin*  s, 
Swills  your  warm  blood  like  wash,  and  makes  his 
trough 

In  your  enibovvell'd  bosoms,  this  foul  swine 
Lies  now  even  in  the  centre  of  this  isle, 
Near  to  the  town  of  Leicester,  as  we  learn  : 
From  Tamworth  thither,  is  but  one  day's  march. 
\n  God's  name,  cheerly  on,  courageous  friends. 
To  reap  the  harvest  of  perpetual  peace 
By  this  one  bloody  trial  of  sharp  war. 

Oxf.  Every  man's  conscience  is  a  thousand 
To  fight  against  that  bloody  homicide.  [swords. 

Herb.  1  doubt  not,  but  his  friends  will  turn  to  us. 

Blunt.  He  hath  no  friends,  but  who  are  friends 
for  fear ; 

Which,  in  his  dearest  need,  will  fly  from  him. 
Richm.  All  for  our  vantage.    Then,  in  God's 
name,  march  : 
True  hope  is  swift,  and  flies  with  swallow's  vings, 
Kings  it  makes  gods,  and  meaner  creatures  kings. 

[Eseunt. 

Scene  lll.—Bosworth  Field. 
Enter  King  Richard,  and  Forces :  the  Duke  of 
NoKFOLK,  Sftr/ c// Surrey,  and  others. 
K.  Rich.  Here  pitch  o  i.  tents,  even  here  in  Bos- 
worth  field. — 
My  lord  of  Surrey,  why  look  you  so  sad  ? 
Sur.  My  heart  is  ten  times  lighter  than  my  looks. 
li.  Rich.  My  lord  of  Norfolk,— 
Nor.  Here,  most  gracious  liege. 

K.  Rick.  r^orColk,  we  must  have  knacks ;  Ha! 

must  we  not  ? 
Nor.  We  must  both  give  and  take,  my  loving  lord. 
K.  Rich.  Up  with  my  tent :  Here  will  I  lie  to- 
night; 

{Soldiers  begin  to  set  up  the  King's  tent.) 
But  where,  to-morrow  ? — Well,  all's  one  for  that. — 
Who  hath  descried  the  number  of  the  traitors  ? 

Nor.  Six  or  seven  thousand  is  their  utmost  power. 

K.  Rick.  VVhy,  our  battalia  trebles  that  account: 
Besides,  the  king's  name  is  a  tower  of  strength, 
Which  they  upon  the  adverse  faction  want. 
Up  with  the  tent. — Conae,  mhle  gentlemen. 
Let  us  survey  the  vantage  of  the  ground  ; — 
Call  for  some  men  of  sound  direction  : — 
Let's  want  no  discipline,  make  no  delay; 
For,  lords,  to-morrow  is  a  busy  day.  [Exeunt. 

Enter,  on  ike  otker  side  of  the  field,  Richmond, 
Sir  William  Brandon,  Oxford,  and  otker 
Lords.  Some  of  tke  Soldiers  pitch  Richmond's 
tent. 

Richm.  The  weary  sun  hath  made  a  golden  set. 
And,  by  the  bright  track  of  his  fiery  car. 
Gives  token  of  a  goodly  day  to-morrow. — 
Sir  William  Brnndon,  you  shall  bear  my  standard. — 
Give  me  some  ink  and  paper  in  my  tent ; — 
I II  draw  the  form  and  model  of  our  battle. 
Limit  each  leader  to  his  several  chnrge. 
And  part  in  just  proportion  our  small  power. 
My  lord  of  Oxford, — you,  sir  William  lirandon, — 
And  you,  sir  Walter  Herbert,  stay  with  me: 
The  earl  oi'  Peujbroke  keeps  his  regiment;-  ■ 
•3ood  captiiu  Blunt,  bear  mv  good  night  to  him. 


And  by  the  sec  ind  hour  in  the  trror:«ng 

Desire  the  earl  to  see  me  in  my  tent; — 

Yet  one  tiling  more,  good  captain,  do  for  n»e; 

Wiiere  is  lord  Stanley  quarter'd,  do  you  ktKSw? 

Blunt.  Unless  I  have  mista'en  his  colours  much^ 
Which,  well  I  am  assiir'd,  I  have  not  done,) 
His  regiment  lies  hall  a  mile  at  least 
South  from  the  mighty  power  of  the  king. 

Richm.  If  without  peril  it  be  possible,  [hinij 
Sweet  Blunt,  make  some  good  means  to  speak  witk 
\nd  give  him  from  me  tins  most  needful  mtte. 

Blunt.  Upon  my  life,  iii>  lord,  I'll  undertake  it; 
And  so,  God  give  you  quu  i  rrst  to-night! 

Richm.  Good  night,  good  i  <»ptain  Blunt.  Coma 
gentlemen, 
Let  us  consult  upon  to-morrow's  business  : 
In  to  my  tent,  the  air  is  raw  and  cold. 

{They  withdraw  into  thb  cem 

Enter,  to  his  Tent,  King  Richard,  Norp(^ 
Ratclipf,  and  Catesby. 

K.  Rick.  vV^hat  is't  o'clock  ? 

Cate.  It's  supper  time,  my  lord  j 

It's  nme  o'clock. 

K.  Rich.  I  will  not  sup  to-night. — 

Give  me  some  ink  and  paper. — 
What,  is  my  beaver  easier  than  it  was  ?— 
And  all  my  armour  laid  into  my  tent?  [diness. 

Gate.  It  is,  my  liege;  and  all  things  are  in  rea- 

K.  Rick.  Good  Norfolk,  hie  thee  to  thy  charge; 
Use  careful  watch,  choose  trusty  sentinels. 

Nor.  I  go,  my  lord.  [Norfolk 

K.  Rick.  Stir  with  the  lark  to-morrow,  gentle 

Nor.  I  warrant  you,  my  lord.  [Exit 

K.  Rick.  RatcHtF,— 

Rat.  My  lord  ? 

K.  Rick.  Send  out  a  pursuivant  at  airma 

To  Stanley's  regiir^ent ;  bid  him  bring  his  powei 
Before  sun-rising,  lest  his  son  George  fall 
Into  the  blind  cave  of  eternal  nigl  t. — 
Fill  me  a  bowl  of  wine. — Give  me  a  watch  : —  * 

{To  Catesby.. 
Saddle  white  Surrey  for  the  field  to-morrow. — 
Look  that  my  staves  be  sound,  and  not  too  heavy. 
Ratcliff,— 

Rat.  My  lord  ?  [thumberland  ? 

K.  Rich.  Saw'st  thou  the  melancholy  lord  Nor- 

Rat.  Thomas,  the  earl  of  Surrey,  and  himself. 
Much  about  cock-shut  time,  from  troop  to  troop. 
Went  through  the  army,  cheering  up  the  soldiers. 

K.  Rick.  I  am  satisfied.  Give  me  a  bowl  of  wine. 
I  have  not  that  alacrity  of  spirit. 
Nor  cheer  of  mind,  that  I  was  wont  to  have. — 
So,  set  it  down. — Is  ink  and  paper  ready? 

Rat.  It  is,  my  lord. 

K.  Rick.  Bid  my  guard  watch  ;  leave  me. 

About  the  mid  of  night,  come  to  my  tent 
And  help  to  arm  me. — Leave  me,  I  say. 

[King  Rickard  retires  into  his  tent.  Exeunt 
Raicliff  and  Catesby. 

Richmond's  Tent  opens,  and  discovers  him  and 
his  Officers,  ^c. 
Enter  Stanley. 

Stan.  Fortunes  and  victory  sit  on  thy  helm '. 

Richm.  All  conifort  that  the  dark  night  can  alforJ, 
Be  to  thy  person,  noble  falher-in-iaw  i 
Tell  me,  how  fares  our  loving  mother? 

Stan.  I,  by  attorney,  bless  thee  from  thy  niothef) 
Who  prays  continually  for  Richmond's  good : 
So  much  for  that. — The  silent  hours  steal  od. 
And  flaky  dfakness  breaks  within  the  east. 
In  brief,  for  so  the  season  bid  us  be, 
Prepare  thy  battle  early  in  the  morning; 
And  put  thj  fortune  to  the  arbitrement 
Of  bloody  strokes,  and  mortal-staring  war, 
I,  as  I  may,  (that  which  I  would,  I  cantjot,) 
With  best  advantage  will  deceive  the  tim«. 
And  aid  thee  in  this  doubtfa!  shock  of  aru&as. 
But  on  thy  side  I  may  not  be  too  forward. 


ISG 

Lfst,  being^  seenrtJiy  brotJjer,  tender  George, 
Be  executed  in  his  father's  sigl>t. 
Farewell :  The  leisure  and  the  I'earful  tim  s 
Cuts  olf  the  ceremonious  vows  of  love, 
And  ample  interchange  of  sweet  disco'irse. 
Which  so  long  sunder'd  friends  should  dwell  upon: 
God  give  us  leisure  for  these  rites  of  love  ! 
Onre  more,  adieu  : — Be  valiant,  and  speed  well! 

Richm.  Good  lords,  conduct  him  to  his  regiment: 
1  11  strive,  with  troubled  thoughts,  to  take  a  nap; 
Lest  leaden  slumber  peise  me  down  to  nioi  row, 
When  I  should  mount  with  wings  of  victory: 
Once  more,  good  night,  kind  lords  and  gentlemen. 

[ExfAint  London,  ^c.  with  Stanley. 
O  Thou!  whose  captain  1  account  mysflf. 
Look  on  my  forces  with  a  gracious  eye  ; 
Put  ill  their  hands  thy  bruising  irons  of  wrath. 
That  they  may  crush  down  with  a  heavy  fall 
The  usurping  helmets  of  our  adversaries^! 
Make  us  thy  ministers  of  chastisement, 
That  we  may  praise  thee  in  thy  victory ! 
To  thee  I  do  comment  my  watchful  soid, 
Ere  1  let  fall  the  windows  of  mine  eyes  : 
Sleeping,  and  waking,  O,  defend  me  still  I  [Sleeps.) 

The  Ghost  of  Prince  Edward,  son  to  Henry  the 
Sixthy  rises  between  the  two  tents. 
Ghost.  Let  me  sit  heavy  on  thy  soul  to-morrow  ! 

{To  King  Richard.) 
Think,   how  thou  stab'dst  me  in  my  prime  of 
youth 

At  Tewksburv  ;  Despair  therefore,  and  die  : — 
Be  cheerfid,  Richmond  ;  for  the  wronged  souls 
Of  butcher'd  princes  fight  in  thy  behalf: 
King  Henry's  issue,  Richmond,  coniforts  thee. 

Ths  Ghost  of  King  Henry  the  Sixth  rises. 
Ghost.  When  I  was  mortal,  my  auointi  d  body 

{To  King  Richard.) 
By  tbee  was  punched  full  of  deadly  holes : 
Think  on  the  Tower  and  niP  ;  Desjjair,  and  die ; 
Harry  the  Sixth  bids  thee  despair  and  die. — 
Vii  tuous  and  holy,  be  thou  conqueror  1 

To  Richmond.) 
Harry,  that  prophesy  d  thou  should'st  be  king, 
Dotli  couifort  thee  iu  thy  sleep;  Live,  and  llourish  I 

The  Ghost  of  Clarence  rises. 
Ghost.  Let  me  sit  heavy  on  tlvy  soul  to-morrow  I 
( To  King  Richard.) 
I,  that  was  wash'd  to  death  with  fiilsou»e  wine. 
Poor  Clarence,  by  thy  guile  betray'd  to  death! 
To-morrow  in  the  battle  think  on  me. 
And  fall  thy  edgeless  sword  ;  Despair,  and  die  ! — 
Thou  olTspring  of  the  house  of  Lancaster, 

{To  Richmond.) 
The  wronged  heirs  of  York  do  pray  for  thee ; 
Good  angels  guard  thy  battle  !  Live,  and  flourish  ! 

The  Ghosts  o/ Rivers,  Grey,  and  Vaugh  vn,  rise. 
Riv.  Let  me  sit  heavy  on  thy  soul  to-morrow, 

{To  King  Richard.) 
Rivers,  that  died  at  Pomfret!  Despair,  and  die  ! 
Grey.  Think  upon  Grey,  and  let  thy  soul  des- 
pair! {To  King  Richard.) 
Vaiigh.  Think  upon  Vaughan;  and,  with  guilty 
Let  fall  thy  lance!  Despair,  and  die! —  [fear, 
{To  King  Richard.) 
All.  Awake !  and  think,  our  wrongs  in  Richard's 
bosom  {To  Richmond.) 
Will  conqper  him; — awake,  and  win  the  day! 

The  Ghost  of  Hastings  rises. 
Qhost.  Bloody  and  guilty,  guiltily  awfike ; 

{To' King  Richard.) 
A  ifd  in  a  bloody  battle  end  thy  days  ! 
Think  on  lord  Hastings;  and  despair,  and  die! — 
Quiet  untroubled  soul,  awake,  awake ! 

{To  Richmond.) 
Arra^  fight,  and  croqucr,  for  fair  England's  sake  ! 


Act  V, 

The  Ghosts  of  the  two  yount  Princes  rise. 

Ghosts.  Dream  on  thy  cousins  smother'd  in  the 
Tower; 

Let  us  be  lead  within  thy  bosom,  Richard, 
And  weigh  thee  down  to  ruin,  sliame,  and  death! 
'J'by  nephews'  soids  bid  thee  despair,  and  die. — 
Sleep,  Richmond,  sleep  in  peace,  and  wake  ii 

joy; 

Good  angels  guard  thee  from  the  boar's  annoy! 
Live,  and  beget  a  happy  race  of  kings  ! 
Edward's  unhappy  sons  do  bid  thee  flourish. 

The  Ghost  of  Queen  Anne  rises. 

Ghost.  Richard,  thy  wile,  that  wretched  Annt 
thy  wife. 

That  never  slept  a  quiet  hour  with  thee, 
Now  fills  thy  sleep  with  perturbations: 
To-morrow  in  the  battle  think  on  me. 
And  fall  thy  edgeless  swor»l ;  Despair,  and  die  !— 
Thou,  quiet  soul,  sleep  thou  a  quiet  sl<  ep; 

{To  Richmond.; 
Dream  of  success  and  happy  victory; 
Thy  adversary's  wife  doth  pray  for  thee. 

The  Ghost  of  Buckingham  rises. 

Ghost.  The  first  was  I,  that  help'd  thee  to  the 
crown:  {To  King  Richard.) 

The  last  was  I  that  felt  thy  tyranny: 
O,  in  the  battle  think  on  Buckingham, 
And  die  in  terror  of  thy  guiltiness! 
Dream  on,  dream  on,  of  bloody  dreds  and  death  ; 
Fainting,  despair ;  despairing,  yield  thy  breath! — 
I  died  for  hope,  ere  I  could  lend  <Iipp  aid : 

(7';  Rirhmond^i 
But  cheer  thy  heart,  and  be  thou  not  dismay'd  : 
God,  and  good  angels  fight  on  Richmond's  side; 
And  Richard  falls  in  height  of  all  his  pride. 

{The  Ghosts  vanish.    King  Richard  starH 
out  of  his  dream.) 
K.Rich.  Give  me  another  horse, — bind  s;*  my 
wounds, — 

Have  mercy,  Jesu  !— Soft; — I  did  but  dream. — 

0  coward  conscience,  how  dost  thou  afflict  me!— 
The  lights  burn  blue. —  It  is  now  <lead  miduight. 
Cold  fearful  drops  stand  on  my  trembWng  flfsh. 
What  do  I  fear?  myself?  there's  none  else  by: 
Richard  loves  Richard ;  that  is,  I  am  I. 

Is  there  a  murderer  here?  No; — Yes;  I  arn  . 
Then  fly, — What,  from  myself?    Great  reaaaa: 
Why? 

Lest  I  revenge.    What?  Myself  on  myself? 

1  love  mysflf    Wherefore?  for  any  good. 
That  I  myself  have  done  unto  myself? 

O,  no*  alas,  !  rather  hate  myself. 

For  hateful  deeds  committed  by  myself. 

I  am  a  villain :  Yet  1  lie,  I  am  not. 

Fool,  of  thyself  speak  well : — Fool,  do  not  flatter. 

My  conscienice  hath  a  thousand  several  tongues, 

very  tongue  brings  in  a  several  tale. 
And  every  tale  cond-emns  n>e  for  a  villain. 
Perjury,  perjury,  in  the  high'st  degree. 
Murder,  stern  murder,  in  the  dir'st  degree; 
All  several  sins,  ail  us'd  in  each  degree. 
Throng  to  the  bar,  crying  all, — Guilty  !  guilty! 
I  shall  despair. — There  is  no  creature  loves  mc; 
And,  if  I  die,  no  soul  will  pity  me  : 
Nay,  wherefore  .should  they  ?  since  that  I  myself 
Find  in  myself  no  pity  to  myself. 
Methought,  the  souls  of  all  that  I  had  murder'd 
Came  to  my  tent:  and  every  one  did  threat 
To-morrow's  vengeance  oa  the  head  of  Richard. 

Enter  Ratclifp. 
Rat.  My  lord,- 
K.  Rich.  Who's  there? 

Rat.  Ratclili;  my  lord ;  'tis  L   The  early  vill«i» 
cock 

Hath  twice  done  sahitation  to  the  morn  ; 

Your  frierids  are  i>p  and  buckle  on  their  armoor 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


SCENH  3. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


487 


K.  Rich.  O,  RatcIifF,  I  have  art'am'd  a  fearful 
dream  ! — 

What  thinkest  thou?  will  our  friends  prove  all  true  ? 
Rat.  No  doubt,  niy  lord. 

K.  Rich,  Ratcliff,  I  fear,  I  fear,— 

Rat.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  be  not  aliaid  of  sha- 
dows. 

K.  Rich.  By  the  apostle  Paul,  shadows  to-night 
Have  struck  more  terror  to  the  soul  of  Richard, 
Than  can  the  substance  of  ten  thousand  soldiers, 
Armed  in  proof,  and  led  bv  shallow  Richmond, 
it  is  not  yet  near  day.    Cofe'e,  go  with  me  ; 
Under  our  tents  111  play  the  eaves  dropper, 
To  hear,  if  any  mean  to  shrink  irom  me. 

{Exeunt  Kiny  Richard  and  Ratcliff. 

Utchmond  wakes.   Enter  Oxford  and  others. 

Lords.  Good  morrow,  Richmond. 
Rich,  Cry  niercy,  lords,  and  watchful  gentle- 
men, 

That  you  have  ta'en  a  tardy  sluggard  here. 
Lords,  How  have  you  slept,  my  lord  ? 
Rich.   The  sweetest  sleep,  and  fairest  boding 
dreams. 

That  ever  enter'd  in  a  drowsy  head, 
Have  I  since  your  departure  had,  my  lords. 
Methought,   their  souls,  whose  bodies  Richard 
murder'd, 

Came  to  my  tent,  and  cried— On !  victory ! 
(  promise  you,  my  heart  is  very  jocund 
In  the  remembrance  of  so  fair  a  dream. 
How  far  into  the  morning  is  it,  lords? 

Lords.  Upon  the  stroke  of  four. 

Rich,  Why,  then  'tis  time  to  arm,  and  give 
direction.— (He  advances  to  the  Troops.) 
More  than  I  have  said,  loving  countrymen, 
The  leisure  and  enforceaent  of  the  time 
Forbids  to  dwell  on  :  Yet  remember  this, — 
God,  and  our  good  cause,  fight  upon  onr  side  : 
The  prayers  of  holy  saints,  and  wronged  souls. 
Like  tiiah-rear'd  bulwarks,  stand  before  our  faces  ; 
Richard  except,  those,  whom  we  light  against. 
Had  ratlier  have  us  win,  tirrui  him  they  follow. 
For  what  is  he  they  follow?  truly,  gentlemen, 
A  bloodv  tvrant,  and  a  homicide; 
One  rais'd  in  blood,  ond  one  in  blood  establish'd ; 
One  tiiat  made  means  to  come  by  what  he  hath, 
And  slaiighter'd  those  that  were  the  means  to  help 
liiuj; 

A  base  foul  ston>3,  made  precious  by  the  foil 

Of  England's  chair,  where  he  is  falsely  set 

O.-ie  tiiat  hath  ever  been  God's  enemy: 

Then,  if  you  figlit  against  God's  enemy, 

Gild  will,  in  justice,  ward  you  as  his  soldiers; 

It  you  do  sweat  to  put  a  tyrant  down. 

You  sleep  in  peace,  the  tyrant  being  slain; 

If  you  do  fi^ht  apiinst  your  country's  foes, 

Vour  country's  (at  shall  pay  your  pains  the  hire; 

If  you  do  fight  in  safeguard  of  your  wives, 

Voiu-  wives  shall  welcome  home  the  conquerors  ; 

If  you  do  free  your  children  froin  tiie  sword, 

Your  children's  children  quit  it  in  your  age. 

Then,  in  the  name  of  God,  and  all  these  rights, 

Advance  your  standards,  draw  your  willing  swords  : 

Fwr  rtie,  the  ransom  of  my  bold  attempt 

Shall  be  this  cold  corpse  on  the  earth's  cold  face  ; 

Hut  if  I  tiirive,  the  gain  of  my  attempt 

The  least  of  you  shall  share  his  part  thereof. 

Sound,  dr  sand  trumpets,  boldly  and  cheerfully; 

Gud,  and  Saint  George .'  Richmond,  and  victory ! 

[Exeunt. 

He  enter  King  Richard,  Ratcliff,  Attendants, 

and  Forces. 

K.  Rick.  Wh..t  said  Northumberland,  as  touch- 
ing Richmond  ? 

Rat.  Tnat  he  was  never  trained  up  in  arms. 

K.  Rich.  He  said  tlie  truth  •  And  what  said  Surrey 
tJUeu  ? 


Rat.  He  sniil'd  and  said,  tl.  e  better  for  our  purpose 
K.  Rich.  He  was  i'  the  right;  and  so,  iudted,  it  i 
{Clock  strikes 
Tell  the  clock  there. — Give  me  a  calendar. — 
Who  saw  the  sun  to-day  ? 

Rat.  Not  I,  my  lord. 

K.  Rich.  Then  he  disdains  to  sliine ;  for,  by  th 
book. 

He  should  have  brav'd  the  east  an  hour  ago: 
A  black  day  will  it  be  to  somebody.^ 
Ratclitf,— 

Rat.  My  lord  ? 

K.  Rich.  The  sun  will  not  be  seen  to-day; 

The  sky  doth  frown  and  lour  upon  our  army. 
I  would,  these  dewy  tears  were  from  the  ground. 
Not  shine  to-day  I  Why,  vvhat  is  that  to  me. 
More  than  to  Richmond  ?  for  the  selfsame  heaven 
That  frowns  on  me,  looks  sadly  upon  him. 

Enter  Norfolk. 
Nor,  Arm,  arm,  niy  lord ;  the  foe  vaunts  in  the 
field.  [horse;— 
K.  Rich.  Come,  bnstle,  bustle ; — Caparison  my 
Call  up  lord  Stanley,  bid  him  bring  his  power:— 
I  will  lead  forth  my  soldiers  to  the  plain, 
And  thus  my  battle  shall  be  ordered. 
My  foreward  shall  be  drawn  out  all  in  length, 
Consisting  equally  of  horse  and  foot; 
Our  archers  shall  be  placed  in  the  midst: 
John  duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  earl  of  Surrey, 
Shall  have  the  leading  of  this  fox)t  and  horse. 
They  thus  directed,  we  ourself  will  follow 
In  the  main  battle ;  whose  puissance  on  either  side 
Shall  be  well  winged  with  our  chiefest  horse. 
This,  and  Saint  George  to  boot! — What  think 'st 
thou,  Norfolk? 
Nor.  A  good  direction,  warlike  sovereign. — 
This  found  I  on  my  tent  this  morning. 

{Giving  a  scroll,) 
K.  Rich,  {Reads.)  Jocky  of  Norfolk,  be  not  too 
bnldy 

For  Dickon  thy  master  is  bought  and  sold. 
A  thing  devised  by  the  enemy. — 
Go,  gentlemen,  every  man  unto  his  charge  : 
Let  not  our  babbling  dreams  aliVight  our  souls; 
Conscience  is  but  a  word  that  cowards  use, 
Devis'd  at  first  to  keep  the  strong  in  awe  ; 
Our  strong  arms  be  our  conscience,  swords  onr  law, 
March,  on,  join  bravely,  let  ns  to't  pell-mell ; 
If  not  to  heaven,  then  nand  in  hand  to  hell. — 
Wiiat  shall  I  say  more  than  I  have  infer'd  ? 
Remejuber  whom  you  are  to  cope  withal ; — 
A  sort  of  vagabonas,  rascals,  and  run-aw3;«, 
A  scum  of  Rretagnes,  and  base  lackey  peasants 
Whom  their  o'er-cloy'd  country  voi.iits  forth 
To  desperate  ventm-es  and  assur'd  destruction. 
You  sleeping  safe,  they  bring  you  to  unrest ; 
You  having  lands,  and  bless'd  with  beauteous  wi»'«9, 
They  v\'ouId  restrain  the  one,  distain  the  other. 
And  who  doth  lead  them,  but  a  paltry  fellow- 
Long  kept  in  Bretagne  at  our  mother's  cost? 
A  milk-sop,  one  that  never  in  his  life 
Felt  so  much  cold  as  over  shoes  in  snow? 
Let's  whip  these  stragglers  o'er  the  seas  agaio,* 
Lash  hence  these  over-weening  rags  of  France, 
These  famish'd  beggars,  weary  of  their  lives; 
Who,  but  for  dreaming  on  this  fond  exjdoit. 
For  want  of  means,  poor  rats,  had  hang'd  th^«m- 
se! ves  : 

If  we  be  conqiier'd,  let  men  conquer  us. 
And  not  these  bastard  Bretagnes?  whom  our  fal!»erf 
Have  in  their  own  laud  beaten,  bobb'd,  and  thump'd. 
And,  on  kecord,  left  them  the  heirs  of  shame. 
Shall  these  enjoy  our  lands?  lie  with  our  vvives? 
Ravish  our  daughters  ?--Hark,  I  hear  their  druro. 

{Drum  afar  off^ 
Fight,  gentlemen  of  England  !  fight,  bold  yeomen  i 
Draw,  archers,  draw  your  arrows  to  the  head  I 
Spur  your  proud  horses  hard,  ana  ride  in  blood; 
Anjay.H  the  welkin  vvi'Ji  youi  h:cker.  stave* i 


*88 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


Act  ? 


Enter  a  Messenger. 

What  snys  lord  Stanley?  will  he  brifig  his  power? 

Me9s.  My  lord,  he  doth  deny  to  come. 

K.  Rich.  Off  instantly  with  his  son  George's  head. 

Nor.  My  lord,  the  enemy  is  passd  the  marsh; 
A-fter  the  battle  let  George  Stanley  die. 

K.  Bich.  A  thousand  hearts  are  great  within  my 
bosom  : 

Advance  our  standards,  set  upon  our  foes; 
Our  ancieet  word  of  courage,  fair  Saint  George, 
Inspire  us  Avi*th  the  spleen  of  fiery  dragons! 
Upon  then  !  Victory  sits  on  our  helms.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  \Y.— Another  Part  of  the  Field. 

Alarum:  Excursions.  Enter  Norfolk,  and 
Forces ;  to  him  Catesby. 

Gate.  Rescue,  my  lord  of  Norfolk,  rescue,  rescue  ! 
The  king  enacts  more  wonders  than  a  man> 
Daring  an  opposite  to  every  danger; 
His  horse  is  slain,  and  all  on  foot  he  fights. 
Seeking  for  Richmond  in  the  throat  of  death : 
Rescue,  fair  lord,  or  else  the  day  is  lost  I 

Alarum.   Enter  King  Richard. 
K,  Rich.  A  horse !  a  horse !  my  kingdom  for  a 
horse  ! 

Gate.  Withdraw,  my  lord,  I'll  help  you  to  a  horse. 

K.  Rich.  Slave,  1  have  set  my  life  upon  a  cast, 
And  I  will  stand  the  hazard  of  the  die ; 
f  think,  there  be  six  Richmonds  in  the  field  ; 
Five  have  I  slain  to-day,  instead  of  him  : — 
A  horse  !  a  horse !  niy  kingdom  for  a  horse ! 

[Exeunt 

Alarums.  Enter  King  Richard  and  Richmond  , 
and  exeunt,  fighting.  Retreat,  and  flourish. 
Then  enter  Richmond,  Stanley  hearing  the 
crotvn,  tirith  divers  other  Lords.,  and  Forces. 
Richm.  God,  and  your  arras,  be  praia'd,  vict;>- 
rion?!  friends ; 

The  day  w  oars,  the  bloody       is  ^t-A, 


Stan.  Courageous  Richmond,  well  ha&t  thoQ  ac- 
quit thee  ! 
Lo,  here,  this  long-usurped  royalty. 
From  the  dead  temples  of  this  bloody  Jvretch 
Have  I  pluck'd  o(t,  to  grace  thy  biows  withal; 
Wear  it,  enjoy  it,  and  make  much  of  it. 

Richm.  Great  God  of  heaven,  say,  amen,  to  ail  .'— 
But,  tell  me  first,  is  young  George  Stanley  ii\ing  ? 

Stan.  He  is,  my  lord,  and  safe  in  Leicester  town ; 
Whither,  if  it  please  you,  we  may  now  withdraw 
us.  [side? 

Richm.  What  men  of  name  are  slain  d  either 

Stan.  John  duke  of  Norfolk,  Walter  lord  Ferrers 
Sir  Robert  Brakenbury,  and  sir  William  Brandon. 

Richm.  Inter  their  bodies  as  becomes  tlieir  births. 
Proclaim  a  pardon  to  the  soldiers  fled, 
That  in  submission  will  return  to  us; 
And  then,  as  we  have  ta'en  the  sacramf  nt. 
We  will  unite  the  white  rose  with  the  red  : — 
Sntiie  heaven  upon  this  fair  conjimction. 
That  long  hath  irowu'd  upon  their  eianity  ! — 
What  traitor  hears  me,  and  says  not, — ;unen? 
England  hath  long  been  mad,  and  scarr'd  herself 
The  brother  blindly  shed  the  brother's  blood, 
The  father  rashly  slaughterd  his  own  son. 
The  son,  compeli'd,  been  butcher  to  the  sire; 
All  this  divided  York  and  Lancaster, 
Divided,  in  their  dire  division. — 
O,  now,  let  Richmond  and  Elizabeth, 
The  true  succeeders  of  each  royal  house, 
By  God's  fair  ordinance  conjoin  together! 
Aud  let  their  heirs,  (God,  if  thy  will  be  so,) 
Enrich  the  time  to  come  with  smooth-fac'd  peace 
With  smiling  plenty,  and  fair  p  osperous  days! 
Abrite  the  edge  of  traitors,  gracious  Lord, 
'J''hat  would  reduce  these  bloody  d  lys  again, 
And  make  poor  Englaud  weep  in  streams  of  blood! ! 
Let  them  not  live  to  taste  this  land's  nicrease, 
'J'hat  would  with  treason  wound  this  fiir  land's  peace 
Now  civil  wouuds  are  stopp'd,  peace  lives  again; 
i'hsX  stje  may  long  live  here,  God  say—Auien! 


» 


KING  HENRY  VIII 


•file  play  of  Henry  tlie  Eighth  is  one  of  'hose  which  still  keeps  possession  of  the  staj^e  hy  the  splendour  of 
its  pageantry.  The  coronation,  about  forty  years  ago,  drew  the  people  together  in  multitudes  lor  a  great  par 
of  the  winter.  Yet  pomp  i-i  not  the  only  merit  of  this  play.  The  meek  sorrows,  and  virtuous  distress,  of  Katha* 
fine,  have  furnished  some  scenes,  which  may  be. justly  numbered  among  the  greatest  ettorts  of  tragedy.  But  the 
genius  of  Shakspeare  comes  iu  and  goes  out  with  Kaihariue.  Every  other  part  may  be  easily  conceived  and  easily 
written. 

The  second  scene  of  the  fourth  act  is  above  any  other  of  Shakspeare's  tragedies,  and  perhaps  above  any  scene  of 
aay  other  poet:  tender  and  pathetic,  without  gods,  or  furies,  or  poisons,  or  precipices;  without  the  help  ©/ 
romantic  circumstances,  without  improbable  sallies  of  poetical  lamentation,  and  without  any  throes  of  tuumltuou* 
miser}'.  Johnson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


KING  HENRY  THE  EIGHTH. 
CARDINAL  WO  SEY. 

CARDINAL  CAMFiilUS.  ,  t 

C\PUCIIJS.  Ambassador  from  the  Emperor  Charles  T 
CRANMl^Ul,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 
DUKE  OF  NORf-'OLK. 
DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM. 
DUKE  OP  SUFFOLK. 
EARL  OF  SURltEY. 
Lord  Chtiiibr'rtaiu. 

Lord  Chancel/or   

GARDINER,  Bishop  of  Winchester, 
BISHOP  OK  LINCOLN. 
LORD  ABERGAVENNY. 
LORD  SANDS 
SIR  HENKV  GUBLDFORD. 
SIR  THOMAS  LOVELL. 
SIR  ANTtiONY  DENNY. 
SIR  NICHOLAS  VAUX. 
Secretaries  to  Wolsey, 
CllOMWELL,  Servant  to  Wolsey. 


GRIFFITH,  Gentlemxn- Usher  to  Queen  Katharine. 

Three  ofhsr  Gentlemen. 

DOCTOR  BUTTS,  Physician  to  the  King. 

Garter,  King  at  Arms. 

Surveyor  to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

BRAN  DON,  and  a  Sergeant  at  Arms. 

Duor  keeper  of  the  Council- Chamber. 

Porter,  and  his  Man. 

Page  to  Gardiner. 

A  Crier. 

QUEEN  KATHARINE,  Wife  to  King  Henry,  afterwardi 

divorced. 

ANNE  BULLEN,  her  Maid  of  Honour,  afterwartU 
Queen. 

An  old  Lady,  Friend  to  Anne  Bullen. 

PATIENCE,  Woman  to  Queen  Katharine. 

Several  Lords  and  Ladies  in  the  Dumb  Shows  ;  Women 
attending  upon  the  Queen ;  Spirits  which  appear  to 
her.-  Scribes,  Officers  Guards,  and  other  Attetui- 
ants. 


Scene, — Chiejly  in  London  and  Westminster ;  once  at  Kimbolton, 


PROLOGUE 

I  come  no  nmre  to  make  yon  laugh  ;  things  now. 
Thai  bear  a  weighty  and  a  serious  brow. 
Sad,  high,  and  working;,  full  of  state  and  woe. 
Such  n()!>le  scenes  as  draw  the  eye  to  flow, 
Wc  now  present.    Those  that  can  pity,  here 
May,  ifthey  think  it  well,  let  fall  a  tear; 
The  subject  will  de,serve  it.    Such,  as  give 
Their  money  out  of  hope  they  may  believe, 
May  here  Hnd  truth  too.    Those,  that  come  to  see 
Only  a  shew  or  two,  and  so  agree. 
The  plav  may  pass;  ifthey  be  still,  and  willing, 
I'll  undi  /take,  may  see  away  their  shilling 
Richly  in  two  short  hours.    Only  they, 
That  come  to  hear  a  merry,  bawdy  play, 
A  noise  of  targets ;  or  to  see  a  fellow 
In  a  long  motley  coat,  guarded  with  yellow, 
Will  be  rieceiv'd:  for,  gentle  hearers,  know, 
To  rank  our  cliosen  truth  with  such  a  shew 
As  fool  and  tight  is,  beside  forfeiting 
Our  own  brains,  and  the  opinion  that  we  bring, 
('I'o  make  that  only  true  we  now  intend,) 
Will  leave  iis  never  an  understanding  friend. 
Therefore,  for  goodness'  sake,  and  as  you  are  known 
The  first  and  happiest  hearers  of  the  town, 
Be  sad,  as  we  would  make  ye  :  think,  ye  see 
The  very  persons  of  our  noble  story. 
As  they  were  living;  think  you  see  them  great, 
And  follow'd  with  the  gene'&l  'chn;-2g,  aad  sweatj 
Of  thousand  friends;  then,  in  a  moment.  s«e 
How  loon  this  mightiness  m'=?et3  misery! 
And,  if  you  can  be  merry  then,  I'll  soiy, 
A  man  may  weep  upon  his  w>'ddingr  da^^ 

ACT  I. 

Scene  1.  —  London.    An  Ance-cfiamher  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  the  Duhe  o/ Norfolk,  at  one  door;  at  the 
other,  the.  o/ BUCKINGHAM,  and  the  Lord 

Abergavenny. 

Buck.  Good  morrow,  and  weii  met.    How  have 
you  done. 


Since  last  we  saw  in  France  ? 

Nor.  I  tbark  foar  grace  t 

Healthful ;  and  ever  since  a  fresh  adcaijer 
Of  what  I  saw  there. 

Buck.  An  untimely  ague 

Stay'd  me  a  prisoner  in  my  chamber,  when 
Those  suns  of  glory,  those  two  lights  of  men, 
Met  in  the  vale  of  Arde. 

Nor.  'Twixt  Guynes  and  Ard«  ; 

I  was  then  present,  saw  them  salute  on  horseback ; 
Beheld  them,  when  they  lighted,  how  they  clung 
In  their  enibracement,  as  they  grew  together; 
Which  had  they,  what  four  thron'd  ones  could  ha?a 

weighd 
Such  a  compounded  one  ? 

Buck.  All  the  whole  time 

I  was  my  chamber's  prisoner 

Nor.  Then  you  lost  > 

The  view  of  earthly  glory :  Men  might  say. 
Till  this  time  pomp  was  single;  but  now  married 
To  one  above  itself.    Each  following  day 
Became  the  next  day's  master,  till  the  last 
Made  former  wonders  its :  To-day,  the  French, 
All  clinquant,  all  in  go.J,  like  heathen  god.<i, 
Shone  down  the  English  ;  and,  to-morrow,  they 
Made  Britain,  India  :  every  man,  that  stood, 
Shew'd  like  a  mine.    Their  dwarfish  pages  were 
As  chernbims,  all  gilt :  the  madams  too, 
Not  us'd  to  toil,  did  almost  sweat  to  bear 
The  pride  upon  them,  that  their  very  labour 
Was  to  them  as  a  painting  :  now  this  mask 
Was  cry'd  incomparable  ;  and  the  ensuing  nigh) 
Made  it  a  fool,  and  beggar.    The  two  kingSj 
Equal  in  lustre,  were  now  best,  now  worst. 
As  presence  did  present  them  ;  him  in  eye, 
Still  him  in  praise  :  and,  being  present  both, 
'Twas  said  they  saw  but  one  ;  and  no  discerner 
Durst  wag  his  tongue  in  censure.    When  these  sunt 
(For so  they  j)hra.se  them,)  by  iheir  heralds  chal 
leng'd 

The  noble  spirits  to  arms,  they  did  perform 
Beyond  thought's  compass  :  that  former  fabalouf 
story. 

Being  now  seen  possible  enough,  got  cred. 


490 


KING  HENRY  Vlll. 


Act  T. 


That  Eeus  was  believ'd. 

Buck.  O,  you  go  far. 

Nor.  As  I  belong  to  worship,  and  atfect 
111  hoiioiir  honesty,  the  tract  oi  every  tiling 
Would  hy  a  good  disconrser  lose  some  lil'e, 
V\  hich  action's  self  was  tongue  to.    All  was  royal; 
'J'o  the  disposing  of  it  nought  rebell'd, 
Order  gave  each  thing  view  ;  the  ultice  did 
Distinctly  his  full  function. 

Buck.  Who  did  guide, 

I  inran,  v\  ho  set  the  body  and  the  limbs 
or  this  gieat  sport  togetlier,  as  you  gu'jss  ? 

Nor.  One,  certes,  that  promises  no  element 
In  such  a  business. 
Back.  I  pray  yon,  who,  my  lord  ? 

Nor.  All  this  was  order'd  by  the  good  discretion 
Ol  tiie  rigiit  reverend  cardinal  of  York. 

Buck.  The  devil  speed  him  !  no  man's  pie  is  free'd 
Frcui  Iris  aml>itious  finger.    What  had  he 
'1  \>  do  in  these  fierce  vanities  ?    1  wonder, 
Tiiat  such  a  keech  can  with  his  very  bulk 
Take  up  the  ray  o'  the  beneficial  suri, 
And  keep  it  from  the  earth. 

Nu?:  Surely,  sir, 

Tiiere's  in  him  stuif,  that  puts  hin»  to  these  ends  : 
For  being  not  propp'd  by  ancestry,  (whose  grace 
Chaik.i  successors  their  way,)  nor  cail'd  upon 
For  i!i}>h  teats  done  to  the  crown ;  neither  allie-d 
'  To  emuient  assistants,  but.  spider-like, 
Out  v»l"his  self  drawing  web,  he  gives  us  note, 
Tlie  lorce  of  his  own  merit  makes  his  way; 
A  gilt  that  Heaven  gives  for  him,  which  buys 
A  pl^ice  next  to  the  king. 

Aber.  I  cannot  tell 

Wiial  l)eaven  hath  given  him,  let  sonje  graver  eye 
Pierce  into  that ;  but  1  can  see  his  pride 
l^eep  through  each  part  of  him :  Wlience  has  he  that? 
If  not  IVoin  hell  ti.e  devil  is  a  niggard; 
Or  liiis  gi\  en  all  before,  and  he  begms 
A  new  hell  in  himself. 

B/icL  Why  the  devil. 

Upon  this  French  going-out,  took  he  upon  hira, 
W'itf  out  the  privity  o'  the  i^ing,  to  appoint 
Wiio  siiould  attend  on  him  ^    He  makes  up  the  file 
or  all  the  gentry  ;  for  the  most  part  such 
Too.  whom  as  great  a  charge  as  little  honour 
Ho  liieant  to  lay  upon:  and  his  own  letter, 
'I'lio  honourable  boara  of  council  out, 
Mu'-'t  fetcfai  hira  in  the  papers. 

AOer.  1  do  know 

Kinsmen  of  mine,  three  at  the  least,  that  have 
By  this  so  sicken'd  their  estates,  that  never 
Th!  y  sh;ill  abound  as  formerly. 

Buck.  O,  many 

Have  broke  their  backs  with  laying  manors  on  them 
For  this  (;reat  journey.    What  did  this  vanity, 
B;it  uiuuster  couiuiunication  of 
A  most  poor  issue  ? 

Nor.  Grievingly  I  think, 

The  peace  between  the  French  and  us  not  values 
Tlip  cost  that  dill  conclude  it. 

Buck.  Every  man. 

Alter  the  hideous  storm  that  follow'd,  was 
A  thing  inspir'd:  and,  not  consulting,  broke 
Into  a  general  prophecy, — 'I'hat  this  tempest, 
D.ishinj,  tiie  garment  of  this  peace,  aboded 
The  sudded  breach  on't. 

Nor,  Which  is  budded  out; 

For  France  hath  flaw'd  the  league,  and  hath  attach'd 
Our  Tnerchants'  goods  at  Bourdeaux. 

Aber.  Is  it  therefore 

The  ambassador  is  silenc'd  ? 

Nor.  Marry,  is't. 

Aber.  A  proper  title  of  a  peace  ;  and  |.urchas'd 
At  a  superfluous  rate  I 

Buck.  Why,  all  this  business 

Our  re\erend  cardinal  carried. 

Nor.  'Like  it  j^our  grace, 

The  state  takes  notice  of  the  pri\ate  ditference 
lietvvixt  you  and  the  cardinal.    I  advise  you. 


(And  take  it  from  a  heart,  that  w  ishes  (owurds  jot 
Honour  and  plenteous  safety,)  that  you  read 
Tlie  cardinal's  malice  and  his  potency 
Together  :  to  consider  further,  that 
Wtiat  his  high  hatred  wotdd  ellect,  wants  not 
A  minister  in  his  power :  You  know  his  nature, 
Tlial  he's  revengeful ;  and  I  know,  his  sword 
Hath  a  sharp  edge  :  it's  long,  and,  it  may  be  said. 
It  reaches  far;  and  where  'twill  not  extend, 
Thither  he  darts  it.    Bosom  up  my  counsel, 
You'll  find  it  wholesome.    Lo,  where  comes  thai 
'i'hat  I  advise  your  shunning.  [rock^ 

Enter  Cardinal  Wolsey,  ft/ie  purse  borne  befora 
him  J  certaiti  of  the  Guard,  and  two  Secretaries 
with  papers.  The  Cardinal  in  hi-t  passaijn  Jixeth 
his  eye  on  Buckingham,  and  Buckimjham  on 
Aim,  both  full  of  disdain. 

Wol.  The  duke  of  Buckingham's  surveyor?  ha? 
Where's  his  examination  ? 

1  Seer.  Here,  so  please  you. 

Wol.  Is  he  in  person  ready  ? 

1  Seer.  Ay,  please  your  grace 

Wol.  Well,  we  shall  then  know  more ;  and  Buck- 
ingham 
Shall  lessen  this  big  look. 

[Exeunt  Wolsey,  and  Train, 

Bmc^.  This  butcher  s  cur  is  venom-niouiird,  and  I 
Have  not  the  power  to  nsuzzle  him  ;  thereiore,  best 
Not  wake  him  in  his  slumber.    A  beggars  book 
Out-worths  a  noble's  blood. 

Nor.  What,  are  you  chaf'd  ? 

Ask  God  for  temperance  ;  that's  the  appliance  oiilj 
W  hich  your  disease  requires. 

Buck.  I  read  in  his  looks 

Matter  against  me  ;  and  his  eye  revil  d 
Me,  as  his  abject  object :  at  I'jis  instant 
He  bores  me  with  some  trick :  He's  gone  to  the  king 
I'll  follow,  and  out-stare  him. 

Nor.  Stay,  my  lord, 

And  let  your  reason  with  your  choler  question 
What  'tis  you  go  about :  To  climb  sleep  hills. 
Requires  slow  pace  at  first :  Anger  is  like 
A  lull  hot  horse  ;  vvho  being  allovv'd  his  way. 
Self-mettle  tires  him.    Not  a  man  in  England 
Can  advise  ine  like  you  :  be  to  yourself 
As  y(»u  would  to  your  friend. 

Buck.  I'll  to  the  king  ; 

And  from  a  mouth  of  honour  quite  cry  down 
This  lijswich  fellow's  insolence;  or  proclaim. 
There's  ditierence  in  no  persons. 

Nor.  Be  advis'd ; 

He<.t  not  a  furnace  for  your  foe  so  hot, 
That  it  do  singe  yourself:  We  may  outrun. 
By  violent  swiftness,  that  which  we  run  at, 
And  lose  by  over-running.    Know  you  not, 
'I'he  fire,  tnat  mounts  the  liquor  till  it  run  o'er. 
In  seeuiing  to  aiiguient  it,  wastes  it?  Be  advis'd  : 
I  say  again,  there  is  no  English  soul 
More  stronger  to  direct  you  than  yourself, 
If  with  the  sap  of  reason  you  would  quenchi, 
Or  but  allay,  the  fire  of  passion. 

Buck.  Sir, 
I  am  thankful  to  you  ;  and  I'll  gc  along 
By  your  prescription  : — but  this  t.  p  proud  fellow 
(Whom  from  the  {low  ot  gall  I  name  not,  but 
From  sincere  motions,)  by  intelligence. 
And  proofs  as  clear  as  founts  in  Jtdy,  when 
We  see  eacii  grain  of  gravel,  I  do  know 
To  lie  corrupt  and  treasonous. 

Nur.  Say  not,  treasonous* 

Buck.  To  the  king  I'll  say't;  and  make  my  vuuci 
as  strong 

As  shore  oi' rock.    Attend.    This  holy  toi. 
Or  wolf,  or  both,  (for  he  is  equal  ravenous. 
As  he  is  subtle  ;  and  as  prone  to  mischief, 
As  able  to  perform  it  :  his  mind  and  place 
Infecting  one  another,  \ea,  reciprocally,) 
Only  to  shew  his  pomp  as  well  in  France 
As  nere  at  hoiue,<isuggests  the  king  our  uiacter 


Scene  2. 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


493 


Tn  this  last  costly  treaty,  the  interview, 
'•'hat  .swa/lovv'd  so  much  treasure,  and  like  a  glass 
break  i'  the  rinsing. 
AV^r.  'Faith,  and  so  it  did. 

Buih,  Pray,  give  me  favour,  sir.    This  cunning 
cardiniil 

Th(  articles  o'  the  combination  drew. 
As  himself  pleas'd  ;  and  they  were  ratified, 
As  he  cried,  Thus  let  be  :  to  as  mucii  end. 
As  give  a  crutch  to  the  dead  :  But  our  count-car- 
dinal 

Has  done  this,  and  'tis  well ;  for  worthy  Wolsey, 
Who  cannot  err,  he  did  it.    Now  this  follows, 
(VVliich,  as  1  take  it,  is  a  kind  of  puppy 
To  the  old  dam,  treason,) — Charles  the  emperor, 
Under  pretence  to  see  the  queen  his  aunt, 
(For  'twas,  indeed,  his  colour ;  but  he  came 
To  whisper  Wolsey,)  here  makes  visitation  : 
His  fears  were,  that  the  interview  betwixt 
England  and  France  might,  through  their  amity, 
Breed  hini  some  p.>-ejudice  ;  for  from  this  league 
Peep'd  harms,  that  menac'd  him  :  He  privily 
Deals  with  our  cardinal ;  and,  as  1  trow, — 
Which  I  do  well ;  for,  I  am  sure,  the  empe-or 
Paid  ere  he  promis'd  ;  whereby  his  suit  was  granted. 
Ere  it  was  ask'd  ; — but  when  the  way  was  made, 
And  pav'd  with  gold,  the  emperor  thus  desir'd ; — 
That  he  would  please  to  alter  the  king's  course. 
And  break  the  foresaid  peace.    Let  the  king  know, 
(As  soon  he  shall  by  me,)  that  thus  the  cardinal 
Does  buy  and  sell  his  homiur  as  he  pleases. 
And  for  his  own  advantage. 

Nor.  I  am  sorry 

To  bear  this  of  him ;  and  could  wish,  he  were 
Something  mistaken  in't. 

Buck.  No,  not  a  syllable  ; 

I  do  pronounce  him  in  that  very  shape. 
He  shall  appear  in  proof. 

Ekittr  Brandon  ;  a  Sergeant  at  Arms  before  him, 
and  two  or  three  of  the  Guard. 

Bran.  Your  office,  sergeant;  execute  it. 

Serg  Sir, 
My  lord  the  duke  of  Buckingham,  and  earl 
Of  Hereford,  Stafford,  and  Northampton,  I 
Arrest  thee  of  high  treason,  in  the  name 
Of  our  most  sovereign  king. 

Buclc.  Lo  you,  my  lord. 

The  net  has  fallen  upon  me  ;  I  shall  perish 
Under  device  and  practice. 

Bran.  I  am  sorry 

To  see  you  ta'en  from  liberty,  to  look  on 
The  business  present;  'Tis  his  highness*  pleasure, 
Vou  shall  to  the  Tower. 

Buck.  It  will  help  me  nothing. 

To  plead  mine  innocence  ;  for  that  die  is  on  me, 
Which  makes  my  whitest  part  black.    The  will  of 
heaven 

Be  done  in  this  ard  all  things ! — I  obey. — 

my  lord  Aberga'ny,  fare  you  well. 

Bran.  Nay,  he  must  bear  you  company: — The 
king  {To  Abergavenny.) 

Is  pleas'd  you  shall  to  the  Tower,  till  you  know 
How  he  determines  further. 

Aber.  As  the  duke  said. 

The  wiU  of  heaven  be  done,  and  the  king's  pleasure 
By  me  obey'd. 

Brand.         Here  is  a  warrant  from 
The  king,  to  attach  lord  Montacute  ;  and  the  bodies 
Of  the  duke's  confessor,  John  de  la  Court, 
One  Gilbert  Peck,  his  chancellor, — 

Buck.  So,  so ; 

These  are  the  limbs  of  the  plot :  No  more,  I  hope. 

Bran.  A  monk  o'  the  Chartreux. 

Buck.  O,  Nicolas  Hopkins  ? 

Bran.  He. 

Buck.  My  surveyor  is  false ;  the  o'er-great  car- 
dinal 

Hath  shew'd  him  gold  :  my  life  is  spann'd  already : 
I  am  the  sliadow  of  poor  Buckingham; 


Whose  figure  even  this  instant  clond  puts  ca, 
By  dark'ning  my  clear  sun. — My  lord,  farewell. 

[Exeunt 

ScENK  H. — The  Council-Chamber. 
Cornets.  Enter  King  Henry.  Cardinal  Wcf^sEY 
the  Lords  of  the  Con7icil,  Sir  Thomas  Lev  ell, 
OJicers,  and  Attendants.    The  King  enters^ 
leaning  on  the  Cardinal  s  shoulder. 
K.  Hen.  My  life  itself,  and  <rhe  best  heart  of  it, 
Tlianks  you  for  this  great  care  :  I  stood  i'  the  level 
Of  a  full-charg'd  confederacy,  and  give  thanks 
To  you,  that  chok'd  it. — Let  be  call'd  before  us 
That  gentleman  of  Buckingham's  :  in  persr)n 
I'll  hear  him  his  confessions  justify  ; 
And  point  by  point  the  treasons  of  his  master 
He  shall  again  relate. 

The  King  takes  his  State.  The  Lords  of  the 
Coimcil  take  their  several  places.  The  Cardinal 
places  himself  under  tlie  King's  feet,  on  his 
right  side. 

A  noise  ivithin,  crying.  Room  for  the  Queen, 
Enter  the  Queen,  ushered  by  the   Dukes  of 
Norfolk  and  Suffolk  :  she  kneels.    The  King 
risethfrom  his  State,  takes  her  ujy,  kisses,  and 
placeth  her  by  him. 

Q.  Kath.  Nay,  we  must  longer  kneel :  I  am  a 
suitor. 

K.  Hen.    Arise,  and  take  place  by  us : — Half 
your  suit 

Never  name  to  us ;  you  have  half  our  power  : 
'J'he  other  moiety,  ere  you  ask,  is  given; 
Repeat  your  will,  and  take  it. 

Q.  Kath.  Thank  your  majesty. 

That  you  would  love  yourself;  and,  in  that  love. 
Not  unconsider'd  leave  your  honour,  nor 
The  dignity  of  your  office,  is  the  point 
Of  my  petition. 

K.  Hen.         Lady  mine,  proceed. 

Q.  Kath.  I  am  solicited,  not  by  a  few, 
And  those  of  true  condition,  that  your  subjects 
Are  in  great  grievance  :  there  have  been  commis  - 
sions 

Sent  down  among  them,  which  hath  flaw'd  the  heart 
Of  all  their  loyalties  : — wherein,  although, 
My  good  lord  cardinal,  they  vent  reproaches 
Most  bitterly  on  you,  as  putter-on 
Of  these  exactions,  yet  the  king  our  master, 
(Whose  honour  heaven  shield  from  soil ! )  evea  he 
escapes  not 

Language  unmannerly,  yea,  such  which  breaks 
The  sides  of  loyalty,  and  almost  appears 
In  loud  rebellion. 

Nor.  Not  almost  appears. 

It  doth  appear  :  for,  upon  these  taxations, 
The  clothiers  all,  not  able  to  maintain 
The  many  to  them  'longing,  have  put  off 
The  spinsters,  carders,  fullers,  weavers,  who, 
Unfit  for  other  life,  compell'd  by  hunger. 
And  lack  of  other  means,  in  desperate  manner 
Darino^  the  event  to  the  teeth,  are  all  in  uproar. 
And  danger  serves  among  them. 


K.  Hen. 


Taxatic 


Wherein  ?  and  what  taxations  ? — My  lord  cardinal 
You,  that  are  blam'd  for  it  alike  with  us, 
K  now  you  of  this  taxation  ? 

Wol.  Please  you,  sir, 

I  know  but  of  a  single  part,  in  aught 
Pertains  to  the  state ;  and  front  but  in  that  file. 
Where  others  tell  steps  with  me. 

Q.  Kath.  No,  my  lord. 

You  know  no  more  than  others  :  but  you  frame 
Things,  that  are  known  alike  ;  which  are  not  whole 
some 

To  those  which  would  not  know  them,  and  yetmual 
Perforce  be  their  accjuaintance.    'I'hese  exactions, 
Whereof  my  sovereign  would  have  note,  they  are 
Most  pestilejjt  to  the  hearing  ;  and,  to  bear  them. 
The  back  is  sacrifice  to  tlie  load.    They  say. 
They  are  devis'd  by  you  ;  or  else  you  .suffer 


4  2 

T  K>  hrird  an  exclamation. 

K.  Hen,  Still  exaction  ! 

The  nature  of  it?  In  what  kiud,  let's  know. 
Is  til  is  ex  fiction? 

Q,  Kath.         I  am  much  too  venturous 
[n  teiifpting  of  your  patience  ;  but  am  bolden'd 
Under  your  proniis'd  pardon.    Tlie  subject's  grief 
Comes  through  commissions,  which  compel  from 
each 

The  sixth  part  of  his  substance,  to  be  levied 
Without  delay  ;  and  the  pretence  for  this 
Is  nam'd,  your  wars  in  France  : — This  makes  bold 
mouths : 

l^ong-ues  spit  their  duties  out,  and  cold  hearts  freeze 

Allegiance  in  them  :  their  curses  now 

Live,  where  their  prayers  did  :  and  it's  come  to  pass. 

That  tractable  obedience  is  a  slave 

To  each  incensed  will.    I  would,  your  highness 

Would  give  it  quick  consideration,  for 

There  is  no  primer  business. 

K.  Hen.  By  my  life, 

This  is  against  our  pleasure. 

Wol.  And  for  me, 

I  have  no  further  gone  in  this,  than  by 
A  single  voice;  and  that  not  pass'd  me,  but 
By  learned  approbation  of  the  judges. 
If  I  am  traduc'd  by  tongues,  which  neither  know 
My  faculties,  nor  pepson^  yet  will  be 
The  chronicles  of  my  domg, — let  me  say, 
'Tis  but  the  fate  of  place,  and  the  rough  brake, 
That  virtue  must  go  through.    We  must  not  stint 
Our  necessary  actions,  in  the  fear 
To  riipe  malicious  censurers;  which  ever, 
As  lavenous  fishes,  do  a  vessel  follow. 
That  is  new  trimm'd;  but  benefit  no  further 
Than  vainly  longing.    What  we  oft  do  best, 
Hy  sick  interpreters,  once  weak  ones,  is 
Nut  ours,  or  not  allowed  ;  what  worst,  as  oft, 
I  Hitting  a  grosser  quality,  is  cried  up 

For  our  btst  act.    If  we  shall  stand  still, 
;  In  fear  our  motion  will  be  mock'd  or  carp'd  at, 
I  W  e  should  take  root  here  where  we  sit,  or  sit 
'  State  statues  only. 

K.  Hen.  Things  done  well, 

And  with  a  care,  exempt  themselves  from  fear: 
rhings,  done  without  example,  in  their  issue 
Are  to  be  fear'd.    Have  you  a  precedent 
Of  this  commission  ?    I  believe,  not  any. 
We  must  not  rend  our  subjects  from  our  laws. 
And  stick  them  in  our  will.    Sixth  part  of  each? 
A  trembling  contribution  !    Why,  we  take. 
From  every  tree,  lop,  bark,  and  parto'  the  timber; 
And,  though  we  leave  it  with  a  root,  thus  hack'd, 
The  air  will  drink  the  sap.    To  every  county, 
Where  (his  is  question'd,  send  our  letters,  with 
Free  pardon  to  each  man  that  has  denied 
The  force  of  this  commission  :  Pray,  look  to't ; 
I  put  it  to  your  care. 

Wol.  A  word  with  you. 

(To  the  Secretary.) 
Let  there  be  letters  writ  to  every  shire, 
Of  the  king's  grace  and  pardon.   The  griev'd  com- 
mons 

Hardly  conceive  of  me  ;  let  it  be  nois'd. 
That,  through  our  intercession,  this  revokement 
And  pardon  comes:  I  shall  anon  adsise  you 
Further  in  the  proceeding.  [Exit  Secretary. 

Enter  Surveyor. 

Q.  Kath.  I  am  sorry,  that  the  duke  of  Buckingham 
Is  run  in  your  displeasure. 

K.  Hen  It  grieves  many: 

The  gentleman  is  leam'd,  and  a  most  raie  speaker. 
To  n-.iture  none  more  hound  :  his  tiaining  such,  j 
That  he  n»ay  furnish  and  instruct  great  teachers, 
And  never  seek  for  aid  out  of  himself.  ! 
\etsee 

When  tliese  so  noble  benefit*  shall  prove 

Not  well  dispos'd,  the  mind  growing  once  corrupt, 

*^hey  turn  to  vicious  forms,  ten  time=;  more  ugly 


Act  I 

Than  e\erthey  were  fair.    This  man  so  complete,  ' 

W^lio  was  enrol  I'd  'inongst  wonders,  and  when  we. 

Almost  with  ravish'd  list'ning,  could  not  fiud  ' 

His  hour  of  speech  a  minute  ;  he,  my  lady. 

Hath  into  monstrous  habits  put  the  graces. 

That  once  were  his,  and  is  become  as  black 

As  if  besmear'd  in  hell.    Sit  by  us  ;  you  shall  hea 

n^his  was  his  gentleman  in  trust,]  ol  him 

Things  to  strike  honour  sad. — Bid  him  recount 

The  fore-recited  practices ;  whereof 

We  cannot  feel  too  little,  hear  too  much. 

Wol.  Stand  forth  :  and  with  bold  spirit  relate  whal 
you, 

Most  like  a  careful  subject,  have  collected 
Out  of  the  duke  of  Buckingham. 

K.  Hen.  Speak  freely. 

Surv.  First,  it  was  usual  with  liiui,  every  day 
I  t  would  infect  his  speech,  That  if  the  king 
Should  without  issue  die,  he'd  carry  it  so 
To  make  the  sceptre  his :  These  very  words 
I  have  heard  him  utter  to  his'son-in  law, 
Lord  Aberga'ny  :  to  whom  by  oath  he  menac'd 
Revenge  upon  the  cardinal. 

^ ol.  Please  your  highness,  note 

This  dangerous  conception  in  this  point. 
Not  friended  by  his  wish,  to  your  high  person 
His  will  is  most  malignant;  and  it  stretches 
Beyond  you,  to  your  friends. 

Q.  Kath.  My  learn'd  lord  cardinal, 

Deliver  all  with  charity. 

K.  Hen.  Speak  on  : 

How  grounded  h«  his  title  to  the  crown, 
Upon  our  fail  ?  to  (his  point  hast  thou  heard  him 
At  any  time  speak  aught  ? 

Sutv.  He  was  brought  to  this 

By  a  vain  prophecy  of  Nicholas  Hopkins. 

K.  Hen.  What  was  that  Hopkins  ? 

Surv.  Sir,  a  Chartreux  friar. 

His  confessor;  who  fed  him  every  minute 
With  words  of  sovereignty. 

K.  Hen.  How  know'st  thou  this  T 

Surv.  Not  long  before  your  highness  sped  to 
France, 

The  duke,  being  at  the  Rose,  within  the  parish 
Saint  Lawrence  Poultney,  did  of  me  demand 
What  was  the  speech  amongst  the  Londoners 
Concerning  the  French  journey  :  I  replied. 
Men  fear'd,  the  French  would  prove  perfidious. 
To  the  king's  danger.    Presently  the  duke 
Said,  'Twas  the  fear,  indeed  ;  and  that  he  double 
'Twould  prove  the  verity  of  certain  words 
Spoke  by  a  holy  monk;  that  oft,  says  he. 
Hath  sent  to  me,  wishing  me  to  permit 
John  de  la  Court,  my  chaplain,  a  choice  hour 
To  hear  from  him  a  matter  of  some  moment  i 
Whom  after  under  the  confession's  seal 
He  solemnly  had  sworn,  that,  what  he  spoke. 
My  chaplain  to  no  creature  living,  but 
To  me,  should  utter,  with  demure  confidence. 
This  pausingly  ensu'd — Neither  the  king,  nor  his  \ 
heirs, 

(Tell  you  the  duke)  shall  prosper :  bid  him  strive  \ 
To  gain  the  love  of  commonalty  ;  the  duke 
Shall  govern  England. 

Q.  Kath.  If  I  know  you  well. 

You  were  the  duke's  surveyor,  and  lost  your  oflfce 
On  the  complaint  o'  the  tenants ;  Take  go  jd  heed, 
You  charge  not  in  your  spleen  a  noble  person, 
And  spoil  your  nobler  soul !  I  say,  take  heed  ; 
Yes,  heartily  beseech  you. 

K.  Hen.  Let  him  on  : 

Go  forward. 

Surv.  On  my  soul,  I'll  speak  but  truth. 
1  told  my  lord  the  duke,  By  the  devil's  illusions 
The  monk  might  be  deceived  ;  and  that  'twas  dang  « 

rous  lor  him  i 
To  ruminate  on  this  so  far,  until 
It  forg'd  him  some  design,  which,  beiitg  believ'd. 
It  was  Miiicli  like  to  do:  He  aiiswer'd.  Tush'. 
It  can  do  me  no  damage   addiug  further 


KING  HENRY  YIIL 


Scene  4. 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


I'hat,  had  the  king  in  his  last  sickness  fail'd, 
The  cardaiars  and  sir  Tltoraas  Lo\ ell's  heads 
Should  have  gone  off. 

K.  Hen.  Ha !  what,  so  rank?  Ah,  ah  . 

There's  mischief  in  this  man :  Canst  thou  say 

further  ? 

Surv.  1  can,  my  liege. 

K.  Hen.  Proceed. 

ii'urv.  Being  at  Greenwich, 

A  Iter  your  highness  had  reprov'd  the  duke 
About  sir  William  Blomer, — 

K.  Hen.  I  remember. 

Of  such  a  time  : — Being  my  servant  sworn, 

The  duke  retain'd  him  his.  But  on;  What 

hence  ? 

Surv.  If,  quoth  he,  I  for  this  had  been  com- 
mitted, 

As  to  the  Tower,  I  thought, — I  woidd  have play'd 
The  part  my  father  meant  to  act  upon 
The  usurper  Richard:  who,  being  at  Salisbury, 
Made  suit  to  come  in  his  presence ;  which,  if 
granted. 

As  he  made  semblance  of  his  duty,  would 
Have  put  his  knife  into  him. 
K.  Hen.  A  giant  traitor ! 

WgI.   Now,  madam,  may  his  highness  live  in 
freedom, 
And  this  man  out  of  prison  ? 
Q.Kath,  God  mend  all! 

K.  Hen.  There's  something  more  would  out  of 

tiiee  ;  what  say'st  ?  _  • 

Surv.  After— ^Ae  duke  his  father, — with  the 
knife, — 

He  stretch'd  him,  and,  with  one  hand  on  his  dagger, 
Another  spread  on  his  breast,  mounting  his  eyes, 
He  did  discharge  a  horrible  oath  ;  whose  tenour 
Was, — Were  he  evil  us'd,  he  would  out-go 
His  father,  by  as  much  as  performance 
Does  an  irresolute  purpose. 

K.  Hen.  There's  his  period. 

To  sheath  his  knife  in  us.    He  is  attach'd; 
Call  him  t(»  present  trial :  if  he  n;ay 
Find  mercy  in  the  law,  'tia  his  ;  if  none, 
Let  him  not  seek't  of  us  :  by  day  and  night. 
He's  traitor  to  the  height.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  HI. — A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  the  Lord  Chamberlain  and  Lord  Sands. 
Cham.  Is  it  possible,  tlie  spells  of  France  should 

Men  into  such  strange  mysteries  ? 
Sands.  New  customs, 

Though  they  be  iaever  so  ridiculous. 

Nay,  let  them  be  unmanly,  yet  are  follow'd. 
Cham.  As  far  as  I  see,  all  the  good  our  English 

Have  got  by  the  late  voyage,  is  hut  merely 

A  fit  or  two  o'  the  face ;  but  they  are  shrewd  ones ; 

For,  when  they  hold  them,  you  would  swear  directly. 

Their  very  noses  had  been  counsellors 

To  Pepin,  or  Clotharius,  they  keep  state  so, 
Sands.  They  have  all  uew  legs,  and  lame  ones; 
one  would  take  it, 

That  never  saw  them  pace  before,  the  spavin, 

A  springhalt  reign'd  among  tha^n, 
Cham.  Death !  my  lord, 

heir  clothes  are  after  such  a  pagan  cut  too, 
hat  sure,  they  have  worn  out  Christendom.  How 
now  ? 

What  news,  sir  Thomas  Lovell  ? 

Enter  Sir  Thomas  Lovell. 

Jjov.  'Faith,  my  lord, 

I  hear  of  none,  but  the  new  proclamation 
That's  clapp'd  upon  the  court-gate. 

Cham.  What  is't  for? 

Lov  The  reformation  of  our  travell'd  gallants. 
That  fill  the  court  with  quarrels,  talk,  and  tailors. 

Cham.  I  am  glad,  'tis  there ;  now  1  would  pray 
our  monsieurs 
To  think  an  English  courtier  may  be  wise. 


And  never  see  the  LiOuvre. 
Lov.  They  must  eitb« 

(For  so  run  the  conditions,)  leave  these  renin 

()f  fool,  and  leather,  that  they  got  in  Fiance, 

With  all  their  honourable  points  of  ignorance, 

Pertaining  thereunto,   as  fights,  and  fireworks 

Abusing  better  men  than  they  can  be, 

Out  of  a  foreign  wisdom,)  renouncing  clean 

The  faith  they  have  in  tennis,  and  tall  stockings, 

Short  blisterd  breeches,  and  those  types  of  travel, 

And  understand  again  like  honest  men; 

Or  pack  totlieir  old  playfellows  :  there,  1  take  it, 

They  may,  cum  privilegio,  wear  away 

The  lag  end  ol  their  lewdness,  and  be  langh'd  at. 

Sands.  'Tis  time   to  give  them  ihysic,  theil 
diseases 
Are  grown  so  catching. 

Cham.  What  a  loss  our  ladies 

Will  have  of  these  trim  vanities  ! 

Lov.  Ay,  marry. 

There  will  be  woe  indeed,  lords;  the  sly  whoreson* 
Have  got  a  speeding  trick  to  lay  down  ladies  ; 
A  French  s-ong,  and  a  fiddle,  has  no  fellow. 

Sands.  The  devil  fiddle  them,  I  am  glad  they're 
going ; 

(For,  sure,  there's  no  converting  of  them  ;)  now 
An  honest  country  lord,  as  I  am,  beaten 
A  long  time  out  of  play,  may  bring  his  plain-song. 
And  have  an  hour  of  hearing ;  and,  by'r-lady, 
Held  current  music  too. 

Cham.  Well  said,  lord  Sands : 

Your  colt's  tooth  is  not  cast  yet. 

Sands.  No,  my  lord ; 

Nor  shall  not,  while  I  have  a  stump. 

Cham.  Sir  Thomas, 

Whither  were  you  a-going  ? 

Lov.  To  the  cardinal'a 

Your  lordship  is  a  guest  too. 

Cham.  O,  'tis  true  : 

This  night  he  makes  a  supper,  and  a  great  one. 
To  many  lords  and  ladies ;  there  will  be 
The  beauty  of  tliis  kingdom,  I'll  assure  you. 

Lov.  That  churchman  bears  a  bounteous  min^ 
indeed, 

A  hand  as  fruitful  as  the  land  that  feeds  us  ; 
His  dews  iall  every  where. 

Cham.  No  doubt,  he's  noble; 

He  had  a  black  mouth,  that  said  other  of  him. 

Sands.  He  may,  my  lord,  he  has  wherevntJia^ 
in  him. 

Sparing  would  shew  "  worse  sin  than  ill  doctrine: 
Men  of  his  way  should  be  most  liberal, 
They  are  set  here  for  examples. 

Cham.  True,  they  are  so 

But  few  now  give  so  great  ones.    My  barge  stays; 
Your  lordship  shall  along  : — Come,  good  sir  Thomas . 
We  shall  be  late  else :  which  I  would  not  be. 
For  1  was  spoke  to  with  sir  Henry  Guildford, 
This  night  to  be  comptrollers. 

Sands.  I  am  your  lordship's.  [Exeunt 

CENE  IV, — The  Presence-Chamber  in  York- 
Place. 

Hautboys.    A  small  table  under  a  state  for  iha 
Cardinal,  a  longer  table  for  the  gtiests.  Enter 
at  one  door  Anne  Bullen,  and  divers  LordSf 
Ladies,  and  Gentlewomen,  as  guests  ;  at  an- 
other door,  enter  Sir  Henrv  Guildford. 
Guild.  Ladies,  a  general  welcome  from  his  graoa 
Salutes  ye  all :  This  night  he  dedicates 
To  fair  content,  and  you  :  none  here,  he  hopes 
In  all  this  noble  bevy,  has  brought  with  her 
One  care  abroad ;  he  would  have  all  as  merry 
As  first- good  company,  good  wine,  good  welcoiTM, 
Can  make   good  people. — O  my  lord,  you  wn 
tardy ; 

Enter  Lord  Chamberlain.,  Lord  Sands,  and 

Thomas  Lovell. 
The  very  thoughts  of  this  fair  companj 


494 


KING  HENRY  Yin. 


Act 


Ciapp'd  wings  to  me. 

i^/imn..        Von  are  young,  sir  Harry  Guildford. 

liiinds  Sir  Thomas  Lovell,  had  the  cardinal 
R(it  iial!  iiiy  lay-thoughts  in  him,  some  of" these 
ShtHild  find  a  riinriing  banquet  ere  they  rested, 
I  think,  would  better  pit- ase  them  :  By  my  life, 
They  are  a  sweet  society  of  fair  ones. 

Lov.  O,  that  your  lordship  were  but  now  confessor 
To  OFie  or  two  of  these  ! 

Hands.  I  would,  I  were  ; 

'I  hey  should  find  easy  penance. 

Lov.  'Faith,  how  easy? 

Sands.  As  easy  as  a  down  bed  would  afford  it. 

Cham.  Sweet  ladies,  will  it  please  you  sit  ?  Sir 
ilarry, 

Place  yo!i  that  side,  I'll  take  the  charge  of  this: 
His  grace  is  ent'ring. — Nay,  you  must  not  freeze  ; 
Two  women  plac'd  together  ma  kos  cold  weather: — 
My  lord  Sands,  yon  are  one  will  keep  them  waking; 
Fray,  sit  lietween  these  iadies. 

Sands.  By  my  faith. 

And  thank  your  lordship. — By  your  leave,  sweet 
ladies : 

[Seats  himself  Lehveen  Anne  Bullen  and 
another  lady.) 
ff  f  chance  to  talk  a  little  wild,  forgive  me  ; 
I  had  it  from  my  father. 


Anne. 


Was  he  mad. 


S((nds.  O,  very  mad,  exceeding  mad,  in  love  too  : 
But  he  would  bite  none;  just  as  I  do  now, 
He  Wiinld  kiss  you  twenty  with  a  breath  (^^isses  her.) 

Chrrm.  Well  said,  my  lord. — 

So  now  you  are  fairly  seated : — Gentlemen, 
Tlie  penance  lies  on  you,  if  these  fair  ladies 
Pass  away  frowning. 

Sands.  For  my  little  cure, 

1  let  me  alone. 

Uauthoys.    Enter  Cardinal  WoLSEY,  attended; 
and  takes  his  state. 

Wol.  You  are  welcome,  my  fair  guests;  that 
noble  lady, 
Or  gentleman,  that  is  not  freely  merry, 
Is  not  n>y  friend :  This,  to  conhrm  my  welcome  ; 
And  to  you  all  good  health.  {Drinks.) 

Sands.  Your  grace  is  noble  : — 

Let  rue  have  such  a  bowl  may  hold  my  thanks, 
And  save  me  so  much  talking. 

Wol.  My  lord  Sands, 

[  am  beholden  to  you  :  cheer  your  neighbours. — 
Ladies,  you  are  not  meiry  \ — Gentlemen, 
Wh..se  fault  is  this? 

Sands.  The  red  wine  first  must  rise 

fn  their  t'air  cheeks,  my  lord  j  then  we  shall  have  them 
Talk  us  to  silence. 

Anne.  You  are  a  merry  gamester, 

My  l(»r(l  Sands. 

Sands.         Yes,  if  I  make  my  play. 
Here's  to  your  ladyship:  and  pledge  it,  madam, 
Por  'tis  to  such  a  thing, — 

Anne.  You  cannot  shew  m**. 

Sands.  I  told  your  grace,  they  would  talk  anon. 

[  Drums  and  trumpets  within  :  Chambers 
discharged.) 

TT'ol.  What's  that  ? 

Cham.  Look  out  there,  some  of  you. 

[Exit  a  Servant. 

Wol.  ^  What  warlike  \oice! 

And  to  what  end  is  this? — Nay,  ladies,  fear  not; 
By  ail  the  laws  ot  war  you  are  privileg'd. 

Re-enter  Servant. 

Cham.  How  now  ?  what  is't  P 
Sew  A  noble  troop  of  strangers; 

For  so  tiiev  seem  :  they  have  left  their  barge,  and 
landed  ; 

And  i-ift"  I  make,  as  great  ambassadors 
Fi-oiM  (".reign  princes. 

Wol.  Good  lord  chamberlain. 


Go,  give  them  welcome,  you  can  speak  the  Freoch 
tongue ; 

And,  pray,  receive  them  nobly,  and  conduct  thpra 
Into  our  presence,  where  this  h«?aven  of  beauty 
Shall  shnie  at  full  upon  them  : — Some  attend  him. 

{Exit  Chamberlain,  attended.    All  artttx 
and  tables  removed.) 
You  have  now  a  broken  banquet;  but  we'll  mend  it 
A  good  digestion  to  you  all :  and,  once  more, 
1  siiower  a  welcome  on  you ; — Welconie  all. 

Hautboys.  Enter  the  King,  and  twelve  ethers,  M 
maskers,  habited  like  shepherds,  with  sixteen 
torch  bearers  ;  ushered  by  the  Lord  Chamber, 
lain.  They  pass  directly  before  the  Cardinal, 
and  (jracejully  .salute  htm. 

A  noble'couipany  !  what  ifre  their  pleasures  ? 

Cham.  Because  tiiey  speak  no  English,  thus  they 
pray'd 

To  tell  your  grace; — That,  having  heard  by  fame 

Of  this  so  nt»ble  and  so  fair  assembly 

This  night  to  meet  here,  they  could  do  no  less, 

0\>i  of  tile  great  respect  they  bear  to  beauty. 

But  leav*^  their  flocks  :  and,  under  your  fair  conduct, 

Crave  leave  to  \iew  these  ladies,  and  entreat 

An  hour  of  revels  with  them. 

Wol.  Say,  lord  chamberlain. 

They  have  done  my  poor  house  grace;  for  which  I 
pay  them  [sures. 
A  thousand  thanks,  and  pray  them  take  their  plea- 
*      [Ladies  chosen  for  the  dance.    The  King 
chooses  Anne  Bullen.) 
K.  Hen.  The  fiiirest  hand  I  ever  toucli'd  !  O, 
beauty, 

Till  now  I  ne\er  knew  thee         (Music.  Dance.) 

Wol.  My  lord  

Cham.  Your  grace? 

Wol.  Fray,  tell  them  thus  nmch  from  mc  ■ 
There  should  be  one  amongst  them,  by  his  j>er«'>«3 
More  worthy  this  place  than  myself ;  to  whom. 
If  I  but  knew  him,  with  my  love  and  duty 
1  would  surrender  it. 

Cham.  I  will,  my  lord. 

[Ckamb.  goes  to  the  company,  and  returns.) 

Wol.  What  say  they  ? 

Cham.  Such  a  one,  they  all  confoss. 

There  is  indeed;  which  they  would  have  your  grace 
Find  out,  and  he  will  take  it. 

Wol.  Let  me  see  then.— - 

(Comes  from  his  state.) 
By  all  your  good  leaves,  gentlemen; — Here  I'll  make 
My  royal  choice. 

K.  Hen.  Yon  have  found  him,  cardinal : 

[Unmasking.) 
You  hold  a  fair  assembly;  you  do  well,  lord  : 
You  are  a  churclmian,  or,  I'll  tell  you,  cardinal, 
I  should  judge  now  unhappily. 

W ol.  I  am  glad. 

Your  grace  is  grown  so  pleasant. 

K.  Hen.  My  lord  chamberlain, 

Pr'ythee,  come  hither:  What  fair  lady's  that  ? 

Cham.  An't  please  your  grace,  sir  Thomas  Bul- 
len's  daughter,  [wonien. 
Tiie  viscount   Rochford,   one   of  her  highness ; 

K.  Hen.  By  heaven,  she  is  a  dainty  one. — Sweet 
heart, 

I  were  nnmanne'ly,  to  take  you  out, 

.And  not  to  kiss  you. — A  health,  gentlemen,  , 

Let  it  go  round. 

Wol.  Sir  Tnomas  Lovell,  is  the  banquet  rearf'- 
V  tlie  privy  cliauiber? 

Lov.  Yes,  my  lord. 

JTol.  Your  grace, 

I  fV;ir.  with  dancing  is  a  little  heated. 

K.  Hen   I  fear,  too  nnich. 

Wol.  TtK;re's  fresher  air,  nsy  lorCi, 

In  til*-  r)ext  chamber. 

K  Hen.  Lead  in  your  ladies,  every  one. — Sweel 
part  iif  r, 

I  must  not  yet  ilursake  |on  • — Let's  be  merry:— 


KING  HENRY  VIIL  495 


At^T  II.    Scene  1. 

fJood  my  loid  cardinal,  I  have  half  a  dozen  healths 
To  drint  to  these  fair  ladies,  and  a  measure 
To  lead  therii  once  again  ;  and  then  let's  dream 
Who's  beat  in  favour. — Let  the  music  knock  it. 

[Exeunt,  with  trumpets. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — A  Street. 
Enter  two  Gentlemen,  meeting. 

1  Gsnt.  Whither  away  so  fast 

2  Gent.  O, — God  save  you  ! 
'Even  to  the  hall,  to  hear  what  shall  become 

Ol  the  great  duke  of  Buckingham. 

1  Gent.  I'll  save  you 
Tliat  labour,  sir.  All's  now  done,  but  the  cereuioay 
01  bringing  back  the  prisoner. 

2  Gent.  Were  you  there? 

1  Gent.  Yes,  indeed,  was  I. 

2  Gent.  Pray,  speak,  what  has  happened  ? 

1  Gent.  You  may  guess  quickly  what. 

2  Gent.  Is  he  I'ound  guilty? 

1  Ge7it.  Yes,  truly  is  he,  and  condejun'd  upon  it. 

2  Gent.  I  am  sorry  for't. 

1  Gent,  So  are  a  number  more. 

2  Gent.  But  pray,  how  pass'd  it  ? 

1  Gent.  I'll  tell  you  in  a  little.  The  great  duke 
Came  to  the  bar  ;  where,  to  his  accusations, 

He  pleaded  still,  not  guilty,  and  alleg'd 

Many  sharp  reasons  to  delieat  the  law. 

The  king's  attorney,  on  the  contrary, 

Urg'd  on  the  examinations,  proofs,  confessions 

Of  divers  witnesses  ;  which  the  duke  desir'd 

To  him  brought,  viva  voce,  to  his  face 

At  which  ap[)ear'd  against  him,  his  surveyor: 

Sir  (jjibert  Peck  his  chancellor;  and  John  Court, 

Conlessor  to  him  ;  with  that  devil-monk, 

Hopkins,  that  made  this  mischief. 

2  Gent.  That  was  he, 
1  hat  fed  him  with  his  prophecies  ? 

1  Gent.  The  same. 
All  these  accus'd  him  strongly;  which  he  fain 
Would  have  flung  from  him,  but,  indeed,  be  could 

not  : 

And  so  his  peers,  upon  this  evidence, 
Have  found  him  guilty  of  high  treason.  Much 
He  spoke,  and  learnedly,  for  life  ;  but  all 
Was  either  pitied  in  him,  or  forgotten. 

2  Gent.  After  all  this,  how  did  he  bear  himself? 

1  Gent.  When  he  was  brought  again  to  tiie  bar, 

— to  hear 

His  knell  rung  out,  his  judgment, — he  was  stirr'd 
With  such  an  agony,  he  sweat  extremely. 
And  something  spoke  in  choler,  ill,  and  hasty ; 
But  lie  fell  to  himself  again,  and  sweetly. 
In  aU  the  rest,  shew'd  a  most  noble  patience. 

2  Gent.  I  do  not  think,  he  fears  death. 

1  Gent.  Sure,  he  doth  not. 
He  never  was  so  womanish  ;  the  cause 

He  may  a  little  grieve  at. 

2  Gent.  Certainly, 
The  cardinal  is  the  end  of  this. 

1  Ge7it.  'Tis  likely. 
By  all  conjectures:  First,  Kildare's  attainder. 
Then  deputy  of  Ireland  ;  who  reniov'd, 

Earl  Surrey  was  sent  thither,  and  in  haste  too. 
Lest  he  sliould  help  his  father. 

2  Gent.  That  trick  of  state 
Was  a  deep  envious  one. 

1  Gent.  At  his  return. 

No  doubt,  he  will  requite.    This  is  noted. 
And  generally  ;  whoever  the  king  favours. 
The  cardinal  instantly  will  find  employment. 
And  far  enough  from  court  too. 

2  Gent.  All  the  commons 
Hcite  him  perniciously,  and,  o'  my  conscience, 
VViish  him  ten  fathom  deep:  this  duke  as  nuich 
They  love  and  dote  on  ;  call  him,  bounteous  Buck- 
ingham, 

1'he  mirror  jf  all  courtesy ; — 


1  Gent.  Stay  there,  sir^ 
And  see  the  noble  ruin  d  man  you  speak  ol. 

Enter  Buckingham  from  his  arraignment ;  Tip 
staves  before  Aim;  the  axe  with  the  edgi 
towards  him ;  halberds  on  each  side  :  with  him, 
Sir  ThoiMas  Lovell,  Sir  Nicholas  Vaux,  Sir 
W iLLiAM  Sands,  and  common  people. 

2  Gent.  Let's  stand  close,  and  behold  him. 
Buck.  All  good  people. 

You,  that  thus  far  have  come  to  pity  me, 
Hear  what  I  say,  and  then  go  home  and  lose  me. 
I  have  this  day  receiv'd  a  traitor's  judgment. 
And  by  that  name  must  die  ;  Yet,  heaven  bear  wit 
ness, 

And,  if  I  have  a  conscience,  let  it  sink  me, 
Even  as  the  axe  falls,  if  I  be  not  faitlifid  I 
The  law  I  bear  no  malice  for  my  death  ; 
It  has  done,  upon  the  premises,  but  justice; 
But  tliose,  that  sought  it,  I  could  wish  more  ...hiia- 
tians  : 

Be  what  they  will,  I  heartily  forgive  them  • 
Yet  let  tliem  look  they  glory  not  in  mischief. 
Nor  build  their  evils  on  the  graves  of  great  luon  ; 
For  then  my  guiltless  blood  must  cry  against  them. 
For  lurther  life  in  this  world  I  ne'er  hope. 
Nor  will  I  sue,  although  the  king  have  rnerci<^s 
More  than  I  dare  make  faults.    You  few,  that  lov'd 
me, 

And  dare  be  bold  to  weep  for  Buckingham, 
His  noble  friends,  and  fellows,  whom  to  leave 
Is  only  bitter  to  him,  only  dying, 
Go  wiih  me,  like  good  angels,  to  my  end  ; 
And,  as  the  long  divorce  of  steel  falls  on  me. 
Make  of  your  prayers  one  sweet  sacrifice. 
And  lift  my  soul  to  heaven. — Lead  on,  o'  God'i 
name. 

Lov.  I  do  beseech  your  grace,  for  charity, 
If  ever  any  malice  in  your  heart 
Were  hid  against  me,  now  to  forgive  me  frarkh- 

Buck.  Sir  Thomas  Lovell  1  Rs  iiee  forgive  yoi 
As  I  would  be  forgiven:  I  forgive  all : 
There  cannot  be  those  numberlrss  offences 
'Gainst  me,  1  can't  take  peace  witii :  no  bhick  envy 
Siiul!  make  my  grave. — Commend  me  to  his  gra(  e  ; 
And,  if  he  speak  of  Buckingham,  pray,  tell  iiim, 
Vou  met  him  half  in  heaven  :  my  vows  and  prayers 
Ve(  are  the  king's;  and,  till  my  soul  forsake  me, 
Shall  cry  for  blessings  on  him:  May  he  live 
Longer  than  I  have  time  to  tell  his  year«  ' 
Ever  belov'd,  and  loving,  may  his  rule  be ! 
And,  when  old  time  shall  lend  him  to  his  end. 
Goodness  and  he  fill  up  one  monument  I 

Lov.To  the  water  side  I  must  conduct  your  grace ; 
Tiien  give  my  charge  up  to  sir  Nicholas  Vaux, 
Wlio  undertakes  you  to  your  end. 

Vaux.  Prepare  there, 

The  duke  is  coming:  see,  the  barge  be  ready  ; 
And  fit  it  with  such  furniture,  as  suits 
'I'lie  greatness  of  his  person. 

Buck.  Nay,  sir  Nicholas, 

Let  it  alone;  my  state  now  will  but  mock  me. 
When  I  came  hither,  1  was  lord  high  constable. 
And  duke  of  Buckingham ;   now,   poor  Edward 
Bohun  : 

Yet  I  am  richer  than  my  base  accusers, 
That  never  knew  what  truth  meant;  I  now  seal  it  ; 
And  with  that  blood  will  make  them  one  day  gHMy 
iVlv  noble  father,  Henry  of  Buckingiiam  [f ' 

Who  first  rais'd  head  a-ainst  usurping  Richard, 
Flying  for  succour  to  his  servant  Banister, 
Being  distress'd,  was  oy  th;^t  wretch  betr.iy'd, 
And  without  trial  fell ;  God  ■  peace  be  v\it;i  !jiia  \ 
Henry  the  seventh  succeeding,  Ir  ily  pitying 
My  father's  loss,  like  a  most  royal  prince. 
Restor'd  me  to  my  honours,  and,  out  of  ruins. 
Made  my  name  once  more  noble.    Now  i.is  soi* 
Henry  the  eighth,  life,  honour,  na  ue,  an.'l  a'l 
That  made  me  happy,  at  one  strike  has  taken 
For  ever  from  tlie  world.    1  had  my  triai. 


19  G 

h  iid,  must  needs  say,  a  noble  one  ;  which  makes  me 
A  liH.le  ha[)jjier  than  my  wretched  father: 
Yel  tfius  far  we  are  one  in  fortunes, — Both 
Feii  by  our  servants,  by  those  men  we  lov'd  most; 
A  most  unnatural  and  faithless  service  ! 
Heaven  has  an  end  in  all.    Yet  you  that  hear  me, 
Tills  from  a  dying  man  receive  as  certain : 
Where  you  are  liberal  of  your  loves,  and  counsels, 
Be  siifcj  y^u  be  not  loose;  for  those  you  make 
friends. 

And  give  your  hearts  to,  when  they  once  perceive 

i'he  least  rub  in  youi  fortunes,  fall  away 

Like  water  from  ye,  never  found  again 

Biit  where  they  mean  to  sink  ye.    All  good  people, 

Pray  for  me  !  1  must  now  forsake  ye  ;  the  last  hour 

Of  my  long  weary  life  is  come  upon  me. 

Farewell . 

And  when  you  would  say  something  that  is  sad. 
Speak  how  I  fell. — I  have  done  ;  and  God  forgive 
me  !       [Exeunt  Buckingham  and  Train. 

1  Gent.  O,  this  is  full  of  pity  !— Sir,  it  calls, 
r  fear,  too  many  curses  on  their  heads. 

That  were  the  authors. 

2  Gent.  If  the  duke  be  guiltless, 
'Tis  full  of  woe  :  yet  I  can  give  you  inkling 

Of  an  ensaiing  evil,  if  it  fall, 
Greater  than  this. 

1  Gent.  Good  angels  keep  it  from  us ! 
Where  mf>,y  it  be  ?  You  do  not  doubt  my  faith,  sir  ? 

2  Gent.  This  secret  is  so  weighty,  'twill  require 
A  strong  faith  to  conceal  it. 

1  Gent.  Let  me  have  it ; 
f  do  not  talk  much. 

2  Gent.  I  am  confident ; 

You  shall,  sir  :  Did  you  not  of  late  days  hear 
A  buzzing,  of  a  separation 
Detweeii  the  king  and  Katharine  ? 

1  Gent.  Yes,  but  it  held  not : 
For  when  the  king  once  heard  it,  out  of  anger 

He  sent  command  to  the  lord  mayor,  straignt 
To  stop  the  rumour,  and  allay  those  tongues 
That  durst  disperse  it. 

2  Gent.  But  that  slander,  sir, 
Is  found  a  truth  now:  for  it  grows  again 
Fresher  than  e'er  it  was;  and  held  for  certain, 
The  king  will  v  enture  at  it.    Either  the  cardinal. 
Or  some  about  him  near,  have,  out  of  malice 

To  the  good  queen,  possess'd  him  with  a  scruple 
That  will  undo  her  :  To  confirm  this  too, 
Cardinal  Campeius  is  arriv'd,  and  lately  ; 
As  all  think,  lor  this  business. 

1  Gent.  'Tis  the  cardinal  ; 
And  merely  to  revenge  him  on  the  emperor. 
For  not  bestowing  on  him,  at  his  asking, 

The  archbishopric  of  Toledo,  this  is  purpos'd. 

2  Gent.  I  think,  you  have  hit  the  mark:  But  is't 

not  cruel, 

That  she  siiould  ieel  the  smart  of  this?  The  cardinal 
VVill  have  his  will,  and  she  must  fall. 

I  Gejit.  'Tis  woful. 

We  are  too  open  here  to  argue  this ; 
Let's  think  in  private  more.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  11. — An  Anle-Chamber  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  the  Lord  Chnmherlain,  reading  a  letter. 

Cham.  My  lord, — The  horses  your  lordship 
sent  for,  tvith  all  the  care  I  had,  I  saio  icell 
chosen  f  ridden,  and  furnished.  They  were  young , 
and  handsome ;  and  of  the  best  breed  in  the  north. 
When  they  were  ready  to  set  out  for  London,  a 
man  of  my  lord  cardinal's,  by  commission,  and 
main  power,  took  'em  from  me  ;  with  this  reason, 
— His  master  would  be  served  before  a  subject,  if 
not  before  the  king :  which  stopped  our  mouths, 
sir. 

I  fear  he  will,  indeed  :  Well,  let  him  have  them : 
He  will  have  all,  I  think. 

Enter  the  Dukes  of  NoRFOiiK  and  Suffolk. 
Not:  Well  met,  my  goo 


Act  IL 

Lord  chamberlain. 

Cham.  Good  day  to  both  your  {jraces. 

Suf.  How  is  the  king  employ'd  ? 

Cha?n.  I  left  him  private, 

FuU  of  sad  thoughts  and  troubles. 

Aor.  What's  the  cause  ? 

Cham.  It  seems,  the  marriage  with  his  brother* 
Has  crept  too  near  his  conscience.  [wif« 

S'lf.  iVo.  his  conscience 

Has  crept  too  near  another  lady. 

Nor.  _  'Tis  so; 

This  is  the  cardinal's  doing,  the  king-cardinal : 
That  blind  priest,  like  the  eldest  son  of  fortune. 
Turns  what  he  lists.    The  king  will  know  him  one 
day.  [elst 

Suf.  Pray  God,  he  do  !  he'll  never  know  himselt 

Nor.  How  holily  he  works  in  all  his  business  ! 
And  with  what  zeal  1  For,  now  he  has  crack'd  the 
league 

Between  us  and  the  emperor,  the  queen's  great  ne» 
phew, 

He  dives  into  the  king's  soul ;  and  there  scatter! 
Dangers,  doubts,  wringing  of  the  conscience. 
Fears,  and  despairs,  and  all  these  for  his  marriage  : 
And,  out  of  all  these  to  restore  the  king. 
He  counsels  a  divorce  :  a  loss  of  her, 
That,  like  a  jewel  has  hung  twenty  years 
About  his  neck,  yet  never  lost  her  lustre  : 
Of  her,  that  loves  him  with  that  excellence, 
That  angels  love  good  men  with ;  even  of  her 
That,  when  the  greatest  stroke  of  fortune  falls. 
Will  bless  the  king :  And  is  not  this  course  pioiLs  ? 
Cham.  Heaven  keep  me  from  such  counsel ;  Tis 
most  true. 

These  news  are  every  where  ;  every  tongue  speaks 
them, 

And  every  true  heart  weeps  for't :  All,  that  dare 
Look  into  these  affairs,  see  this  mail?  end, — 
The  French  king's  sister.  Heaven  will  one  day  opei 
The  king's  eyes,  that  so  long  have  slept  upon 
This  bold  bad  man. 

S/(f.  And  free  us  from  his  slavery. 

Nor.  We  had  need  pray. 
And  heartily,  for  our  deliverance  ; 
Or  this  imperious  man  will  work  us  all 
From  princes  into  pages  :  all  men's  honours 
Lie  in  one  lump  before  him,  to  be  fashion'd 
Into  what  pitch  he  please. 

Suf.  For  me,  my  lords, 

I  love  him  not,  nor  fear  him,  there's  my  creed  : 
As  I  am  made  without  him,  so  I'll  stand. 
If  the  king  please :  his  curses  and  his  blessings 
Touch  nie  alike,  they  are  breath  I  not  believe  in. 
1  knew  him,  and  I  know  him  ;  so  I  leave  him 
To  him,  that  made  him  proud,  the  pope. 

Nor.  Let's  in ; 

And,  with  some  other  business,  put  the  king 
J'rom  these  sad  thoughts,  that  work  too  much  upon 
My  lord,  you'll  bear  us  company  ?  [him  :— 

Cham.  Excuse  me; 

The  king  hath  sent  me  other-where  :  besides. 
You'll  find  a  most  unfit  time  to  disturb  him . 
Health  to  your  lordships. 

Nor.  Thanks,  my  good  lord  chamberlain. 

[Exit  Lord  Chamberlam 

Norfolk  opens  a  folding-door.    The  King  it 
discovered  sitting,  ana  reading  pensively. 
Suf.  How  sad  he  looks !  sure  he  is  much  afflicted. 
K.  Hen.  Who  is  there  ?  ha  ? 
Nor.  'Pray  God,  he  be  not  angry  ; 

K.  Hen.  Who's  there,  I  say?  How  dare  yoc 
thrust  yourselves 
Into  my  private  njeditations  ? 
Who  am  I?  ha  ? 

Nor.  A  gracious  king,  that  pardons  all  offences. 
Malice  ne'er  meant:  our  breach  of  duty  this  way. 
Is  business  of  estate  ;  in  which  we  come 
To  know  your  royal  pleasure. 

K.  Hen.  You  are  too  bold ; 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Scene  3. 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Cik»  to  ;  ni  mase  ye  kno«  your  times  of  business  : 
Is  this  an  hour  for  temporal  affairs?  Iia  ? — 

Enter  Wolsey  and  Caivipeius. 
Who's  there  ?  my  good  lord  cardinal  ? — O  my  Wol- 
The  quiet  of  my  wounded  conscience,  [sey, 
Thou  art  a  cure  fit  for  a  king  — You're  welcome, 

{To  Campeius.) 
Most  learned  reverend  sir,  into  our  kingdom ; 
Use  us,  and  it : — My  good  lord,  have  great  care 
I  be  not  found  a  talker.  {To  Wolsey.) 

Wol.  Sir,  you  cannot. 

I  would,  your  grace  would  give  us  but  an  hour 
Of  private  conference. 

K.  Hen,  We  are  busy ;  go. 

{To  Norfolk  and  Suffolk.) 

Nor.  This  priest  has  no  pride  in  him  ? 

Suf.  Not  to  speak  of ; 

I  would  not  be  so  sick  though,  for  his  place 
But  this  cannot  continue.  \  Aside. 

Nor.  If  it  do, 

I'll  v  enture  one  heave  at  him. 

Suf.  I  another. 

[Exeunt  Norfolk  and  Suffolk. 

Wol.  Your  grace  has  given  a  precedent  of  wisdom 
Above  all  princes,  in  committing  freely 
Your  scruple  to  the  voice  of  Christendom  : 
Who  can  be  angry  now  ?  what  envy  reach  you  ? 
Tke  Spaniard,  tied  by  blood  and  favour  to  her, 
Must  now  confess,  if  they  have  any  goodness. 
The  trial  just  and  noble.    All  the  clerks, 
I  mean,  the  learned  ones,  in  christian  kingdoms, 
Have  their  free  voices ;  Rome,  the  nurse  of  judg- 
Invited  by  our  noble  self,  hath  sent  fment. 
One  generil  tongue  unto  us,  this  good  man, 
This  just  and  learned  priest,  cardinal  Campeius, 
Whom,  once  more,  I  present  unto  your  highness. 

li.  Hen.  And,  once  more,  in  mine  arms  I  bid  him 
welcome. 

And  thank  the  holy  conclave  for  their  loves  ;  for. 
I'hey  \\i  'e  sent  me  such  a  man  I  would  have  wish'd 

Cam.  Your  grace  must  needs  deserve  all  strangers' 
\m  are  so  noble  :  To  your  highness'  hand  [loves, 
I  tender  my  cojnmission  ;  by  whose  virtue, 
(The  court  of  Rome  commanding,) — you,  my  lord 
Cardinal  of  York,  arejoin'd  with  me  their  servant. 
In  the  unpartial  judging  of  this  business. 

A.  He7i.  Two  equal  men.    The  queen  shall  be 
acquainted 

Fortliwith,  for  what  you  come  : — Where's  Gardiner? 

F^'j/.  I  know,  your  majesty  has  always  lov'd  her 
So  dear  in  heart,  not  to  deny  her  that 
A  woman  of  less  place  might  ask  by  law. 
Scholars,  allow'd  freely  to  argue  for  her. 
K.  Hen.  Ay,  and  the  best,  she  shall  have  ;  and 
my  favour 

To  him  that  does  best ;  God  forbid  else.  Cardinal, 
Pr'ythee,  call  Gardiner  to  me,  my  new  secretary  ; 
find  him  a  fit  fellow.  [Exit  Wolsey, 

Re-enter  WoLSEY,  with  Gardiner. 
Wol.  Give  me  your  hand :  much  joy  and  favour 
1  Von  are  the  king's  now.  [to  you : 

Gar.  But  to  be  commanded 

For  ever  by  your  grace,  whose  hand  has  rais'd  me. 
I  {Aside.) 
j     K.  Hen.  Come  hither,  Gardiner. 
I  {They  converse  apart.) 

I     Cam.  My  lord  of  York,  was  not  one  doctor  Pace 
i  in  this  man's  place  before  him  ? 
I     Wol.  Yes,  he  was. 

j    Cam.  Was  he  not  held  a  lewiaed  man  ? 
I    Wol.  Yes,  surely. 

Cam.  Believe  me,  there's  an  ill  opinion  spread 
Even  of  yourself,  lord  cardinal.  [then 
I    Wol.  How!  of  me? 

Cam,  They  will  not  stick  to  say,  you  envied  him ; 
^nd,  fearing  he  would  rise,  he  was  so  virtuous, 
I'Kept  him  a  foreign  nwin  still  ;  wh  ch  so  griev'd  him, 
I  That  he  ran  man  and  died 


Wol.  Hea\  en's  peact  be  with  him 

That's  christian  care  enough:  for  livirig  iiiurmurers, 
There's  places  of  rebuke.    He  was  a  ibol 
For  he  would  needs  be  virtuous  :  That  gc>.od  fellov» 
If  I  command  him,  follows  my  appointiuent ; 
I  will  have  none  so  near  else.    Learn  this,  brother, 
We  live  not  to  be  grip'd  by  meaner  persons. 

K.  Hen.  Deliver  this  with  modesty  to  the  queen. 

[Exit  Gardiner 
The  most  convenient  place  that  I  can  think  of. 
For  such  receipt  of  learning,  is  Black-Fiiars  ; 
There  ye  shall  meet  about  this  weighty  business  : — 
My  Wolsey,  see  it  furnish'd, — O  my  lord. 
Would  it  not  grieve  au  able  man,  to  leave 
So  sweet  a  bedfellow?  But,  conscience,  conscience,-— 
O,  'tis  a  tender  place,  and  I  must  leave  her.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — An  Ante-Chamber  in  the  Queen's 
Apartments. 
Enter  Anne  Bullen,  and  an  old  Lady. 
Anne.  Not  for  that  neither ; — Here's  the  pang 
that  pinches  : 
His  highness  having  liv'd  so  long  with  her;  and  .«!  j 
So  good  a  lady,  that  no  tongue  could  ever 
Pronounce  dishonour  of  her, — by  my  life 
She  never  knew  harm-doing; — O  now,  after 
So  many  courses  of  the  sun  enthron'd. 
Still  growing  in  a  majesty  and  pomp, — the  which 
To  leave  is  a  thousand-fold  more  bitter,  than 
'Tis  sweet  at  first  to  acquire, — after  this  process 
To  give  her  the  avaunt  I  it  is  a  pity 
Would  move  a  monster. 


Old  L.  Hearts  of  most  hard  teniptii 

Melt  and  lament  for  her. 

Anne,  O,  God's  will !  much  belter 

[  She  ne'er  had  known  pomp :  though  it  be  temporal, 
j  Yet,  if  that  quarrel,  fortune,  do  divorce 
I  It  from  the  bearer,  'tis  a  sufferance,  pangiog 
j  As  soul  and  body's  severing. 
I     Ord.  L.  Alas,  poor  lady . 

She's  a  stranger  now  again. 

Anne.  So  much  the  more 

Must  pity  drop  upon  her.  Verily, 
I  swear,  'tis  better  to  be  lowly  born. 
And  range  with  humble  livers  in  content. 
Than  to  be  perk'd  up  in  a  glistering  grief, 
And  wear  a  golden  sorrow. 

Old  L.  Our  content 

Is  our  best  having. 

Anne.  By  my  troth,  and  maidenhe  ad 

I  would  not  be  a  queen. 

Old  L.  Beshrew  me,  1  v/onld. 

And  venture  maidenhead  fort :  and  so  would  you, 
For  all  this  spice  of  your  hypocrisy  : 
You,  that  have  so  fair  parts  of  woman  on  you. 
Have  too  a  woman's  heart ;  which  ever  yet 
AtFected  eminence,  wealth,  sovereignty  ; 
Which,  to  say  sooth,  are  blessings  :  and  which  gifts 
(Saving  your  mincing)  the  capacity 
Of  your  soft  cheveril  conscience  would  receive, 
If  you  might  please  to  stretch  it. 

Anne.  Nay,  good  troth,— 

Old  L.  Yes,  troth,  and  troth, — You  would  not 
be  a  queen? 

Anne.  No,  not  for  all  the  riches  under  heaven. 

Old  L.  'Tis  strange ;  a  three-pence  bowed  would 
hire  me. 

Old  as  I  am,  to  queen  it :  But,  I  pray  y<w. 
What  think  you  of  a  duchess  ?  have  you  limbs 
To  bear  that  load  of  title  ^ 

Anne.  No,  in  truth. 

Old  L.  Then  you  are  weakly  made :  Pluck  oft'  a 
little; 

I  would  not  be  a  young  count  in  your  way. 
For  more  than  blushing  comes  to:  if  your  back 
Cannot  vouchsafe  this  burden,  'tis  too  weak 
Ever  to  get  a  boy. 

Anne.  How  do  you  talk  I 

I  swear  again,  I  would  not  be  a  queen 
For  all  the  world. 


198 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  TL 


OUL.  In  faith,  for  little  England 

t  oii'd  venture  an  fmballiiig:  I  myself 
Would  for  Carnarvonshire,  although  there  long'd 
So  moiT  to  the  crown  but  thfit.  Lo,  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  the  Lord  Chamberlain. 

Cham.  Good  moi  row,  ladies.  What  wer'f  worth 
The  seciet  of  your  conference?  [to  know 

Anne.  My  good  lord, 

Not  your  demand  ;  it  values  not  your  asking  : 
Ou»  mistress'  sorrows  we  were  pitying. 

Cham.  It  was  a  gentle  business,  and  becoming 
The  action  of  good  women:  there  is  hope. 
All  will  be  well. 

Anne.  Now  I  pray  God,  amen! 

Cham.  You  bear  a  gentle  mind,  and  heavenly 
blessings 

Follow  such  creatures.    That  you  may,  fair  lady, 
Perceive  I  speak  sincerely,  and  high  note's 
Ta'ea  of  your  many  virtues,  the  king's  majesty 
Commends  his  good  opinion  to  you,  and 
Does  purpose  honour  to  you  no  less  flowing 
Than  marchioness  of  Penibroke  ;  to  which  title 
A  thousand  pound  a  year,  annual  support, 
Out  of  his  gi  ace  he  adds. 

Anne.  I  do  not  know, 

What  kind  of  my  obedience  I  should  tender; 
More  tlian  my  all  is  nothing:  nor  my  prayers 
Are  not  words  duly  hallow'd,  nor  my  wishes 
More  worth  than  empty  vanities;  yet  prayers,  and 
wishes, 

Are  all  I  can  return.    'Beseech  your  lordship. 
Vouchsafe  to  speak  my  thanks,  and  my  obedience, 
As  frou>  a  blusiiing  handmaid,  to  his  liighness; 
Whose  health,  and  royalty,  I  pray  for. 
Cham.  Lady, 
sliail  not  fail  to  approve  the  fair  conceit 
The  king  hath  of  you. — I  have  perus'd  her  well ; 

{Aside.) 

^Jcauty  and  honour  in  her  are  so  mingled, 
That  they  have  caught  the  king:  and  who  knows  yet. 
But  from  this  lady  mav  proceed  a  gem. 
To  ligliten  all  this  isle'?— I'll  to  the  king. 
And  say,  I  spoke  with  you, 


My  honour'd  lord. 
[Exit  Lord  Chamberlain. 
Old  L.  Why,  tnis  it  is  ;  see,  see  ! 
f  have  been  begging  sixteen  years  in  court, 
(Am  yet  a  courtier  beggarly,)  nor  could 
C(une  pat  betwixt  too  early  a»d  too  late, 
For  any  suit  of  pounds  :  and  you,  (O  fate  !) 
A  very  fresh-fish  iiere,  (fy,  fy  upon 

compell  d  fortune  1)  have  your  mouth  fill'd  up, 
Bpfor*^  you  open  it. 
Anne.  This  is  strange  to  me. 

Old  L.  How  tastes  it  ?  is  it  bitter  ?  Ibrty  pence,  no. 
Tliere  was  a  lady  once,  ('tis  an  old  story,) 
'iMmt  would  not  be  a  queen,  that  would  she  not, 
For  all  the  mud  in  Egypt: — Have  you  heard  it? 
Anne.  Conrje,  you  are  pleasant 
Old  L.  With  your  theme.  1  could 

0  eriuDunt  the  lark.  The  marchioness  of  Pembroke  ! 
A  thousiind  pounds  a  year!  for  pure  respect; 

No  otiiei  obligation  :  By  my  life, 

'I'hat  prf:i>ises  more  (hmisands  :  Honour's  train 

Is  longer  than  his  foreskirt.    By  this  time, 

1  know,  your  back  will  bear  a  duchess  ; — Say, 
Are  y(ju  not  stronger  than  you  were  ? 

Anne.  Good  lady, 

M'ike  yourself  mirth  with  your  particular  fancy. 
And  lea\e  me  out  on't.    'Would  I  liad  no  being, 
If  this  salute  nny  blood  a  jot  ;  it  faints  me. 
To  tliink  what  tollows. 
The  queen  is  cornfortless,  and  we  forgetful 
In  our  long  absence  :  Pray,  do  not  deliver 
VVhat  here  you  have  iieard.  to  her. 

Old  L.  What  do  you  tiiink  !ne  ?  \Exeunt. 

Scene  W.—A  Hal  I  in  iilack-Friars. 
Trumpets,  senet,  and  (  ortiets.   Enter  two  Verr/ers. 


tvith  short  silver  wands;  next  them,  tivo  Scribes, 
in  the  habits  of  doctors  ;  after  tJwn,  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  alone  ;  after  him,  the  Bi- 
shops of  Lincoln,  Ely,  Rochester,  and  Saint 
Asaph;  next  them,  tvith  some  small  distance, 
folloius  a  Gentleman  hearing  the  purse,  with  the 
great  seal,  and  a  cardinals  hat ;  then  two 
Priests,  bearing  each  a  silver  cross :  then  a 
Gentleman  -  Usher  bareheaded,  accompanied 
ivith  a  Sergent  at  Arms,  bearing  a  silver  • 
then  two  Gentlemen,  hearing  two  great  silver 
pillars  ;  after  them,  side  by  side,  the  two  Car- 
dinals,  Wolsey  and  Campeius ;  two  Noblemen 
with  the  sword  and  mace.  Then  enter  the  King 
and  Queen,  and  their  Trains.  The  King  talcea 
place  under  the  cloth  of  state  ;  the  two  Cardi 
nals  sit  under  him  as  judges.  The  Queen  takes 
place  at  some  distance  from  the  King.  The 
Bishops  place  themselves  on  each  side  the  court, 
in  manner  of  a  consistory  ;  between  them  the 
Scribes.  The  Lords  sit  next  the  Bishop.  The 
Crier  and  the  rest  of  the  Attendants  stand  in 
convenient  order  about  the  stage. 

}VqI.  Whilst  our  commission  from  Rome  is  read 
Let  silence  be  commanded. 

K.  Hen.  What's  the  need  ? 

It  hath  already  publicly  been  read, 
And  on  all  sides  the  authority  atlow'd  ; 
Y^ou  may  then  spare  that  time. 

Wol.  Be't  so  : — Proceed. 

Scribe  Say,  Henry  king  of  England,  come  into 
the  court 

Crier.  Henry  king  of  England,  &c. 

K,  Hen.  Here.  [into  court. 

Scribe.  Say,  Katharine  queen  of  England,  come 

Crier.  Katharine  queen  of  England,  &c. 
{The  Qiceen  makes  no  answer,  rises  out  cf  her 

chair,  goes  about  the  court,  conies  to  the  King, 

and  kneels  at  his  feet  ;  then  speaks., 

Q.  Kath.  Sir,  I  desire  you,  do  me  right  anJ 
justice; 

And  to  bestow  your  pity  on  me  :  for 
I  am  a  most  poor  woman,  and  a  stranger. 
Born  out  of  your  dominions  ;  having  here 
No  judge  indilferent,  nor  no  more  assurance 
Of  equal  friendship  and  proceeding.    Alas,  sir. 
In  what  have  I  oifended  you  ?  what  cause 
Hath  my  behaviour  ^iven  to  your  displeasure, 
That  thus  you  should  proceed  to  \      me  ofl", 
And  take  your  good  grace  from  me  ?  Heaven  wit- 
ness, 

I  have  been  to  you  a  true  and  humble  wife, 

At  all  times  to  your  will  conformable  : 

Ever  in  fear  to  kindle  your  dislike, 

Yea,  subject  to  your  countenance  ;  glad,  or  sorry. 

As  I  saw  it  inciin'd.    When  was  tlie  hour, 

1  ever  coBtradlcted  your  desire. 

Or  made  it  not  mine  too?  Or  which  of  your  ff!en5« 

Have  I  nc*t  strove  to  love,  although  !  knew 

He  were  mine  enemy  ?  what  friend  of  mine. 

That  had  to  him  deriv'd  your  anger,  did  I 

Continue  in  my  liking  ?  nay,  gave  notice 

He  was  from  thence  discharg'd  ?  Sir,  call  to  miud^ 

That  I  have  been  your  wife,  in  this  obedience. 

Upward  of  twenty  years,  and  have  been  blest 

VVith  many  children  by  you  :  If,  in  the  course 

And  process  of  this  time,  you  can  repoi  t, 

And  prove  it  too,  against  miuf^  honour  aught, 

My  bond  to  "vedlock,  or  my  love  and  duty. 

Against  your  sacred  person,  in  God's  name, 

Turn  me  away  ;  and  let  the  foul'st  contempt 

Shut  door  upon  me,  and  so  give  me  up 

To  the  sharpest  kind  of  justice.    Please  you,  sir. 

The  king,  your  father,  was  reputed  for 

A  prince  most  prudent,  of  an  excellent  ^ 

And  unmatcird  wit  and  judgment :  Ferdinand, 

i\1v  father,  king  of  Sp;tin,  was  reckon'd  ot>e 

The  wisest  prince,  that  there  had  reign'd  by  maity 

A  year  l)pfore  :  It  is  t'ot  to  be  questiou'd. 


SCEISIE  4. 

That  they  Imd  gatlier'd  a  wi»3  council  to  them 
Of  every  realm,  that  did  debate  this  business, 
Who  deemd  our  marriage  lawful:    Wherefore  1 
hmiibly 

Beseech  yon,  sir,  to  spare  me,  till  I  may 

Be  by  r,\y  friends  in  Spain  advis'd;  whose  counsel 

I  will  implore  :  if  not,  i'the  name  of  Ciod, 

Yowr  pleasure  be  fulfiH'd  ! 

Wol.  You  have  here,  lady, 

(And  of  your  choice,)  these  reverend  fathers;  men 
\.lif  singular  int'-grity  and  learning, 
Y  ;a,  tlie  elect  of  the  land,  who  are  assembled 
To  plead  your  cause  :  It  shall  be  therefore  bootless 
Thai  longer  yon  desire  the  court ;  as  well 
For  your  own  quiet,  as  to  rectify 
VVhat  is  unsettled  in  the  king. 

Cam.  His  grace 

Halli  spoken  well,  and  justly;    Therefore,  madam, 
ft's  fit  this  royal  session  do  proceed  ; 
A  od  that,  without  delay,  their  arguments 
Be  now  produc'd,  and  heard.  ^ 


Q.  Kath.  liord  Cardinal, — 

To  you  I  speak. 

Wal.  Your  pleasure,  madam  ? 
Q.  Kath.  Sir, 


[  am  about  to  weep  ;  but,  thinking  that 
We  are  a  queen,  (or  long  have  drean»'d  so,)  certain, 
The  daughter  of  a  king,  my  drops  of  tears 
i'll  turn  to  sparks  of  fire, 

Wol.  Be  patient  yet, 

Q.  Kath.  I  will,  when  you  are  humble  :  nay,  be- 
Or  God  will  punish  me.    I  do  believe,  [lore, 
Induc'd  by  potent  circumstances,  that 
You  are  mine  enemy;  and  make  my  challenge, 
Ynu  shall  not  be  my  judge  ;  for  it  is  you 
Ha\e  blown  this  coal  betwixt  my  lord  and  me, — 
Which  God's  dew  quench  I — Therefore,  I  say  again, 
[  utterly  abhor,  yea,  from  my  soul, 
Refuse  you  for  my  judge,  whom,  yet  once  more, 
[  h'dd  my  most  malicious  foe,  and  think  not 
At  all  a  friend  to  truth. 

WoL  I  do  profess. 

You  speak  not  like  yourself ;  who  ever  yet 
Ha*  f»  stood  to  charity  ;  and  display'd  the  effects 
Of  disposition  gentle,  and  of  wisdom  [wrong: 
0>i  topping  woman's  power.    Madam,  you  do  me 
I  have  no  spleei  against  you  ;  nor  injustice 
For  you,  or  any  how  far  I  have  proceeded. 
Or  how  far  further  shall,  is  warranted 
By  a  ccunmission  from  the  consistory,  [me, 
Yea,  the  whole  consistory  of  Rome.    You  charge 
That  I  have  blown  this  coal :  I  do  deny  it : 
The  king  is  present:  if  it  be  known  to  him, 
Tiiat  1  gainsay  my  deed,  how  may  he  wotmd. 
And  worthily,  my  falsehood  ?  yea,  as  much 
As  you  hav  e  done  my  truth.    But  if  he  know 
That  I  am  free  of  your  report,  he  known, 
I  am  not  of  your  wrong.    Therefore  in  hira 
\i  lies,  to  cure  me :  and  the  cure  is,  to 
Remove  these  llioughts  from  you  :  The  which  before 
His  highness  shall  speak  in,  I  do  beseech 
^ou.  gracious  madam,  to  nnthink  your  speaking. 
And  to  s:»y  so  no  more. 

Q.  Kath.  My  lord,  my  lord, 

\.  am  a  si  nple  woman,  much  too  weak 
To  oppose  your  ctinning.    You  are  meek,  and  hum- 
ble-mor.th'd  ; 
V  ou  sign  )'<\\\v  place  and  calling,  in  full  seeming, 
W  ith  meekness  and  humility  :  but  your  heart 
Is  cramm  d  with  arrogancy,  spleen,  and  pride. 
You  have,  b^*  fortune,  and  ins  highness'  favours, 
G<'mf  slightlj  »er  low  steps  ;  and  now  are  mounted, 
Wliere  power*  -^re  your  retainers  :  and  your  words, 
Domestics  to  you,  serve  your  will,  as't  please 
YiMirself  pronounce  their  office.    I  must  teJl  you, 
Yu!i  tender  more  your  person's  honour,  than 
Yonr  lii^h  profession  spiritual :  That  again 
•  do  reluse  yon  for  my  judge  ;  and  here, 
Retire  you  all,  appeal  unto  the  pope, 
Vo  bring  m '  whole  cause  'fore  his  holiness. 


499 

And  to  be  juHg'd  by  hiin. 
{She  curt  sies  to  the  King.,  and  offers  to  depart 

Cam.  The  queen  i»  obstinate 

Stubborn  to  justice,  apt  to  accuse  it,  and 
Disdainful  to  be  try'd  by  it;  'tis  not  well. 
She's  going  away. 

K.  Hen.  Call  her  again.  [the  court 

Crier.  Katharine  queen  of  England,  come  into 

Grif.  Madam,  you  are  called  back.     [your  way  ; 

Q.  Kath.  Wliat  need  you  note  it    pray  yon,  keep 
When  you  are  call'd,  return. — Now  the  Lord  he  lp. 
They  vex  me  past  my  patience  I — pray  joxx,  p'ass 
1  will  not  tarry :  no,  nor  ever  more, 
Upon  this  business,  my  appearance  make 
In  any  of  their  courts. 

[Exeunt  Queen,  Griffith,  and  her  otktt 
Attendants. 

K.  Hen.  Go  thy  ways,  Kate: 

That  man  i'  the  world,  who  shall  report  he  has 
A  better  wife,  let  in  nought  be  trusted, 
For  speaking  false  in  that :  Thou  art,  alone, 
(If  thy  rare  qualities,  sweet  gentleness. 
Thy  meekness  saint-like,  wife- like  government, — 
Obeying  in  commanding, — and  thy  parts 
Sovereign  and  pious  else,  could  speak  then  out,) 
The  queen  of  earthy  queens  : — She  is  noble  bora ; 
And,  like  her  true  nobility,  she  has 
Carried  herself  towards  me. 

Wol.  Most  gracious  sir, 

In  humblest  manner  I  require  your  highness. 
That  it  shall  please  you  to  declare,  in  iiearing 
Of  all  these  ears,  (for  where  I  am  robb'd  and  bo«md| 
There  must  I  be  unloos'd ;  although  not  there 
At  once  and  fully  satisfied,)  whether  ever  I 
Did  broach  this  business  to  your  highness ;  or 
Laid  any  scruple  in  your  v^ay,  which  might 
Induce  you  to  the  question  on't?  or  ever 
Have  to  you, — but  with  thanks  to  God  for  such 
A  royal  lady, — spake  one  the  least  woid,  might 
Be  to  the  prejudice  of  her  present  state,  ^ 
Or  touch  of  her  good  person  ? 

K.  Hen.  My  lord  f  ardiual 

I  do  excuse  you ;  yea,  upon  miue  honour, 
I  free  you  from't.    You  are  not  to  be  taught 
That  you  have  many  enemies,  that  know  not 
Why  they  are  so,  but,  like  to  village  curs. 
Bark  when  their  fellows  do:  by  some  of  these 
The  queen  is  put  in  anger.    You  are  excusj'd: 
But  will  you  be  more  justified  ?  you  ever 
Have  wi  ih'd  the  sleeping  of  this  business  :  never 
Desir'd  it  to  be  stirr'd;  but  oft  have  hinder'd  :  ofl 
The  passages  made  toward  it: — on  my  honour, 
I  speak  my  good  lord  cardinal  to  thin  point, 
And  thus  far  clear  him.  Now,  what  mov'd  me  to't,— 
I  will  be  bold  with  time,  and  your  attention  : — 
Then  mark  the  inducement.    Thus  it  came ; —give 

heed  to't: — 
My  conscience  first  receiv'd  a  tenderness. 
Scruple,  and  piick,  ou  certain  speeches  utter'd 
By  the  bishop  ofBayonne,  then  French  ambassador* 
Who  had  been  hither  sent  on  the  debating 
A  marriage,  'twixt  the  duke  of  Orleans  and 
Our  daughter  Mary :  I'  the  progress  of  this  businesa^ 
Ere  a  detenninate  resolution,  he 
(I  mean,  the  bishop)  did  require  a  respite ; 
Wherein  he  might  the  king  his  lord  advertise 
Whether  our  daughter  were  legitimate, 
Respecting  this  our  marriage  with  the  dowager, 
Sometimes  our  brother's  wife.    This  respite  shook 
The  boson  of  my  conscience,  enter'd  me, 
Yea,  with  a  splitting  power,  and  made  to  tremble 
The  region  of  my  breast;  which  forc'd  such  way. 
That  many  n»az'd  considerings  did  throng. 
And  press  d  in  with  this  saution.    First,  methought , 
I  stood  not  in  the  smile  of  heaven ;  who  had 
Commanded  nature,  that  my  lady's  womb. 
If  it  conceiv'd  a  male  child  by  me.  should 
Do  no  more  offices  of  life  to't,  than 
The  grave  does  to  (he  dead  :  for  her  male  issue 
Or  died  where  they  were  made,  or  shortly  afip. 


KING  HENRY  TTH. 


^00  KING  HENRY  Till. 


'I'his  world  had  air'd  them  :  Hence  I  took  a  thought, 

This  was  a  judgment  on  me  ;  that  my  kingdom, 

Well  worthy  the  best  heir  o'the  world,  should  not 

Be  gladded  in't  by  me  :  Then  follows,  that 

i  weigli'd  the  danger,  which  my  realm  stood  in 

By  this  my  issue's  fail ;  and  thcit  gave  to  me 

M.^ny  a  groaning  throe.    Thus  hulling  in 

The  wild  sea  of  my  conscience,  1  did  steer 

Toward  this  remedy,  whereupon  we  are 

Now  present  here  together;  that's  to  say, 

{  meant  to  rectify  my  conscience, — which 

I  then  did  feel  full  sick,  and  yet  not  well, — 

By  all  the  reverend  fathers  of  the  land. 

And  doctors  learn'd. — First,  I  began  in  private 

With  you,  my  lord  of  Lincoln  ;  you  remember 

How  under  my  oppression  I  did  reek. 

When  I  first  raov'd  you. 

Li?i,  Very  well,  my  liege. 

K.  He7i.  I  have  spoke  long ;  be  pleas'd  yourself 
How  far  you  satisfied  me.  [to  say 

Lin.  So  please  your  highness, 

7he  question  did  at  first  so  stagger  \ne, — 
Beafing  a  state  of  mighty  moment  in't. 
And  consequence  of  dread,— that  I  committed 
The  daring'st  counsel,  which  1  had,  to  doubt; 
And  did  entreat  your  highness  to  this  course. 
Which  you  are  runnning  here. 

K.  Hen,  I  then  mov'd  you, 

Kly  lord  of  Canterbury;  and  got  your  leave 
To  make  this  present  summons  : — Unsolicited 
I  left  no  reverend  person  in  this  court; 
But  by  particular  consent  proceeded, 
Under  your  hands  and  seals.    Therefore,  go  on  : 
For  nc  dislike  i'  the  world  against  the  person 
or  the  good  queen,  but  the  sharp  thorny  points 
Of  my  alleged  reasons,  drive  this  forward  : 
Prove  but  our  marriago  lawful,  by  my  life. 
And  kingly  dignity,  we  are  contented 
To  wear  our  mortal  state  to  come,  with  her, 
Katharine  our  queen,  before  the  primest  creature, 
That's  paragon'd  o'the  world. 

Cam.  So  please  your  highness, 

Ti'.e  queen  being  absent,  'tis  a  needful  fitness 
That  we  adjourn  this  court  till  further  day: 
Meanwhile  must  be  an  earnest  motion 
Made  to  the  queen,  to  call  back  her  appeal 
She  intends  unto  his  holiness,  {They  rise  to  depart.) 

K.  Hen.  I  may  perceive,  {Aside.) 

These  cardinals  trifle  with  me ;  f  abhor 
This  dilatory  sloth,  and  tricks  of  Rome. 
My  learn'd  and  well-beloved  servant,  Cranmer, 
Pr'ythee  return !  with  thy  approach,  I  know, 
My  comfort  comes  along.    Break  up  the  court: 
I  say,  set  on.  [Exeunt,  in  manner  as  they  entered. 

ACT  III. 

Scene  L — 'Palace  at  Bridewell.   A  Room  in  the 
Queen's  Apartment. 
The  Queen,  and  some  of  her  Women,  at  work. 

Q.  Kath.  Take  thy  lute,  wench :  my  soul  grows 
sad  with  troubles ;  [ing. 
Sing,  and  disperse  them,  if  thou  canst:  leave  work- 

SONG. 

Orpheus  with  his  lute  made  trees. 
And  the  mountain-tops,  that  freeze. 

Bow  themselves,  when  he  did  sing 
To  his  music,  plants  and  flowers 
Ever  sprung ;  as  sun,  ana  showers. 

There  had  been  a  lasting  spring. 
Every  thing  that  heard  him  play, 
J^ven  the  billows  of  the  sea. 

Hung  their  heads,  and  then  lay  by, 
In  sweet  music  is  suck  art; 
Killina  care,  and  grief  of  heart, 

Fall  asleep,  or,  hearing,  di*s. 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 
Q.  Kat^.  How  now  ? 


Act  U 

Gent.  An  t  please  your  grace,  the  two  great  car- 
Wait  in  the  presence.  (dinals 

Q.  Kath.  Would  they  speak  with  me  ? 

Gent.  They  will'd  me  say  so,  madam. 

Q.  Kath.  Pray  their  gracesi 

To  come  near.  [Exit  Gent.]  What  can  be  theif 
business 

With  me,  a  poor  weak  woman,  fallen  from  favoui 
I  do  not  like  their  coming,  now  I  think  on't 
They  should  be  good  laen ;  their  aft'airs  as  righteo 
But  all  hoods  mbie  eot  monks. 

Enter  Wolsey  and  Campeius. 
Wol.  Peace  to  your  highQei^s! 

Q.  Kath.   Your  graces  find  me  here  pah*  of  a 

housewife ; 

I  would  be  aU,  against  the  worst  may  happcrj. 
What  are  your  pleasures  with  me,  reverenfJ  lord? 
Wol.  May  it  please  you,  noble  mad?     to  witb- 
dra-v 

Into  your  private  chamber,  we  shall  giv«i  you 
The  full  cause  of  our  coming. 

Q.Kath.  Spffkithere; 
There's  nothing  I  have  done  yet,  o'  ny  conscience, 
Deserves  a  corner  :  'Would,  al)!  ofJier  women 
Could  speak  this  with  as  free  a  tcusl  as  1  do? 
My  lords,  I  care  not,  (so  much  1  am  happy 
Above  a  number,)  if  my  actions 
Were  tried  by  every  tongue,  every  eye  saw  them* 
Envy  and  base  opinion  set  against  them, 
I  know  my  life  so  even :  If  your  business 
Seek  me  out,  and  that  way  \  am  wife  in, 
Out  with  it  boldly;  Truth  loves  open  dealing. 

'Wol.  Tanta  est  ergo,  te  mentis  integritas,  regina 
seren  iss  irna, — 

Q.  Kath.  O,  good  my  lord,  no  Latin; 
I  am  not  such  a  truant  since  my  coming, 
As  not  to  know  the  language  I  have  liv'd  m. 
A  strange  tongue  makes  my  cause  more  strange, 
suspicious:  [yoO» 
Pray,  speak  in  English  :  here  are  some  will  thank 
If  you  speak  truth,  for  their  poor  mistress'  sake; 
Believe  me,  she  has  had  much  wrong.  Lord  cardinal 
The  willing'&t  sin  I  ever  yet  committed. 
May  be  absolv'd  in  English. 

Wol.  Nobh;  lady, 

I  am  sorry,  my  integrity  should  breed 
(And  service  to  his  majesty  and  you,) 
So  deep  suspicion,  where  all  faith  was  meant. 
We  come  not,  by  the  way  of  accusation. 
To  taint  that  honour,  every  good  tongue  blesses; 
Nor  to  betray  you  any  way  to  sorrow  ; 
Yon  have  too  much,  good  lady:  but  to  know 
How  you  stand  minded  in  the  weighty  difference 
Between  the  king  and  you ;  and  to  deliver. 
Like  free  and  honest  men,  our  just  opinions. 
And  comforts  to  your  cause. 

Cam.  Most  honour'd  madam, 

My  lord  of  York,— out  of  his  noble  nature. 
Zeal  and  obedience  he  still  bore  your  grace  ; 
Forgetting,  like  a  good  man,  your  late  censure 
Both  of  his  truth  and  him,  (which  was  too  far,) — 
Offers,  as  I  do,  in  a  sign  of  peace. 
His  service  and  his  counsel. 

Q.Kath.  To  betray  me.  {Aside.) 

My  lords,  1  thank  you  both  for  your  good  wills. 
Ye  speak  like  honest  men,  (pray  God,  ye  prove  so !) 
But  how  to  make  you  suddenly  an  answer. 
In  such  a  point  of  weight,  so  near  mine  honour, 
(More  near  my  life,  I  fear,)  with  my  weak  wit. 
And  to  such  men  of  gravity  and  learning. 
In  truth,  I  know  not.    I  was  set  at  work 
Among  my  maids ;  full  little,  God  knows,  looking 
Either  for  such  men,  or  such  business. 
For  her  sake  that  I  have  been,  (for  I  feel 
The  last  fit  of  my  greatness,)  good  your  graces. 
Let  me  have  time,  and  council,  for  my  cause; 
Alas  !  I  am  a  woman,  friendless,  hopeless. 

Wol.  Madam,  you  wrong  the  king's  love  wifll 
these  fears  ; 


bCENB  2. 


KING  HENRY  YIIT. 


501 


Vonr  hopes  and  friends  are  infinite.  ' 

Q.  Kath.  In  England, 

But  little  for  my  prolit:  can  you  think,  lords, 
That  any  Englisliinan  date  give  me  counsel? 
Or  be  a  known  friend,  'gainst  his  highness'  pleasure, 
{Tlioiigh  he  be  grown  so  desperate  to  be  honest,) 
And  live  a  subject?  Nay,  forsooth,  my  friends. 
They,  that  nuist  weigh  out  my  afflictions, 
They,  that  niy  trus't  may  grow  to,  live  not  here ; 
'I'iiey  are,  as  all  my  other  comforts,  far  hence. 
Id  my  own  country,  lords. 

Cam.  I  would,  your  grace 

Would  leave  your  griefs,  and  take  my  counsel. 

Q.  Kath.  How,  sir? 

Cam.  Put  your  main  cause  into  the  king's  pro- 
tection ; 

He's  loving,  and  most  gracious ;  'twill  be  much 
Both  for  your  honour  better,  and  your  cause  ; 
For,  if  the  trial  of  the  law  o'ertake  you. 
You'll  part  away  disgrac'd. 

WoL  He  tells  you  rightly. 

Q.  Kath.  Ye  tell  me  what  ye  wish  for  both,  my 
ruin  : 

Is  this  your  christian  counsel  ?  out  upon  ye  ! 
Heaven  is  above  all  yet;  there  sits  a  Judge, 
That  no  king  can  corruji 

Cam.  Y'our  rage  mistakes  us. 

Q.  Kath.  The  more  shame  for  ye ;  holy  men  I 
thought  ye, 

Upon  my  soul,  two  reverend  cardinal  virtues ; 
But  cardinal  sins,  and  hollow  hearts,  I  fear  ye : 
Mend  them  for  shame,  my  lords.    Is  this  your 

com  t  ort  ? 

The  cordial  tliat  ye  bring  a  wretched  lady  ? 

A  womaii  lost  among  ye,  laugh'd  at,  scom'd? 

1  will  not  wish  ye  luilf  my  miseries, 

I  have  more  cliarity  :  But  say,  I  warn'd  ye  ; 

T:-ik.p  heed;  for  iieaven's  sake,  take  heed,  lest  at  once 

'ihe  burden  of  my  sorrows  fall  upon  ye. 

WoL  Madam,  this  is  a  mere  distraction; 
Yo\i  turn  the  ucod  we  offer  into  envy. 

Q.  KaiJu  Ye  turn  me  into  nothing  :  Woe  upon  ye, 
And  all  such  false  professors!  Would  ye  have  me 
(If  you  have  any  justice,  any  pity; 
If  ye  be  any  thing  but  churchmen's  habits,) 
Put  my  sick,  cause  into  his  hands,  that  hates  me? 
Alasl  he  has  banish'd  me  his  bed  already; 
His  love,  t(jo  long  agp  :  I  am  old,  my  lords. 
And  all  the  fellowship,  I  hold  now  with  him. 
Is  only  my  obedience.    What  can  happen 
To  me  above  tlii^  wretchedness?  all  your  studies 
Make  me  a  curse  like  this 

Cam.  Your  fears  are  worse. 

Q.  Kath,  Have  I  liv'd  thus  long — (let  me  speak 
myself, 

Since  virtue  finds  no  friends,) — a  wife,  a  ti  ofi  one  ? 
A  woman,  (I  dare  say,  witliout  vain-glory,) 
Never  yet  hrauded  with  suspicion? 
Have  I  with  all  my  full  affections  [him  ? 

Still  met  the  king?  lov'd  him  next  heaven?  obey'd 
Been,  out  of  fondness,  superstitions  to  him? 
Almost  l(u-got  my  prayers  to  content  him  ? 
And  am  I  thus  rewarded?  'tis  not  well,  lords, 
Brin»  me  a  constant  woman  to  her  husband  ; 
One,  that  ne'er  dream'd  a  joy  beyond  his  pleasure; 
And  to  tliat  woman,  when  she  has  done  most. 
Yet  will  1  add  an  honour, — a  great  patience. 

Wol.  Madam,  you  wander  from  the  good  we  aim 
at  [guilty, 

Q.  Kath.   My  lord,  I  dare  not  make  myself  so 
I'o  give  up  willingly  that  noble  title, 
Your  maiiter  wed  me  to  :  nothing  but  death 
SJiall  e'er  divorce  my  dignities. 

W ol.  'Pray,  hear  me. 

Q.  Kmt/i.  'Woidd  I  had  never  trod  this  English 
^'arth, 

Or  felt  the  flatteries  that  grow  upon  it! 
Ye  have  angels'  laces,  hut  heaven  knows  your  hearts. 
What  will  become  of  iiie  now,  wrete.hed  h<iy? 
&im  tkii  moHl.  uuliappy  vvoman  living.— 


Alas  !  poor  wenches,  where  are  now  your  fortunes  ? 

{To  her  WottUfU 
Shipwreck'd  upon  a  kingdom,  where  no  pi!^y, 
No  friends,  no  hope ;  no  kindred  weep  for  me, 
Almost,  no  grave  allow'd  me  : — Like  the  lily, 
That  once  was  mistress  of  the  field,  and  flourijh'd, 
I'll  hang  my  head,  and  perish. 

Wol.  If  your  grace 

Could  but  be  brought  to  know,  our  ends  are  honest 
You'd  feel  more  comfort :  why  should  we,  good  ladj^ 
Upon  what  cause,  wrong  you  ?  alas  !  our  places. 
The  way  of  our  profession  is  against  it: 
We  ■  r  to  cure  such  sorrows,  tiot  to  sow  them. 
For  goodness'  sake,  consider  what  you  do: 
How  you  may  hurt  yourself,  ay,  utterly 
Grow  from  the  king's  acquaintance,  by  this  carriage. 
The  hearts  of  princes  kiss  obedience. 
So  much  they  love  it;  but,  to  stubborn  spirits. 
They  swell,  and  grow  as  terrible  as  storms. 
I  know,  you  have  a  gentle,  noble  temper, 
A  soul  as  even  as  a  calm ;  Pray,  think  us 
Those  we  profess,  peace-makers,  friends,  and  ser- 
vants, [virtue* 

Cam.  Madam,  you'll  find  it  so.    You  wrong  year 
With  this  weak  women's  fears.    A  noble  spirit, 
As  yours  was  put  into  you,  ever  casts  lyou; 
Such  doubts,  as  false  coin,  from  it.    The  king  love* 
13eware,  you  lose  it  not :  For  us,  if  you  please 
To  trust  us  in  your  business,  we  are  ready 
To  use  our  utmost  studies  in  your  service. 

Q.  Kath.  Do  what  ye  will,  my  lords;  And,  pray., 
forgive  me, 
If  I  have  us'd  myself  unmannerly; 
You  know,  I  am  a  woman,  lacking  wit 
To  make  a  seemly  answer  to  such  persons. 
Pray,  do  my  service  to  his  majesty : 
He  has  my  heart  yet;  and  sliall  have  my  prayers. 
While  I  ahall  have  my  life.  Come,  reverend  tather 
Bestow  your  counsels  on  me  :  she  now  begs, 
That  little  thought,  when  she  set  footing  here. 
She  should  have  bought  her  dignities  so  dear. 

Scene  II. — Ani^- chamber  to  the  King's 
Apartment. 

Enter  the  Duke  o/ Norfolk,  the  Duke  of  Suffolk, 
the  Earl  o/Surrey,  and  the  Lord  Cha^ibcrlain 

Nor.  If  you  will  now  unite  in  your  complaints. 
And  force  them  with  a  constancy,  the  cardinal 
Cannot  stand  under  them  :  If  you  omit 
The  offer  of  this  time,  I  cannot  promise. 
But  that  you  shall  sustain  more  new  disgraces, 
With  these  you  bear  already. 

Sur.  _         I  am  joyftd 

To  meet  the  least  occasion,  that  may  give  n)e 
Remembrance  of  my  father-in-law,  the  duke. 
To  be  reveng'd  on  him. 

Suf.  Which  of  the  peers 

Have  uncontemn'd  gone  by  hini,  or  at  least 
Strangely  neglected  ?  when  did  he  regard 
The  stamp  of  nobleness  in  any  person. 
Out  of  himself? 

Cham.         My  lords,  you  speak  you;-  pleasures; 
What  he  dese»  ve  of  you  and  me,  I  know ; 
What  we  can  do  to  him,  (though  now  the  time 
Gives  way  to  us,)  3  much  fear.    If  you  cannot 
Bar  his  access  to  the;  king,  never  attt  mpt 
Any  thing  on  him;  ftr  he  hath  a  witchcraft 
Over  the  king  in  his  tongue. 

Nor.  O,  fear  him  not; 

His  spell  in  that  is  out :  the  king  hatli  found 
Matter  against  him,  that  for  ever  mars 
The  honey  of  his  language.    No,  he's  settled. 
Not  to  come  off,  in  his  displeasure. 

Sur.  Sir, 
I  should  be  glad  to  hear  such  news  as  this 
Once  every  hour. 

Nor.  Believe  it,  this  is  true. 

In  tlie  divorce,  his  contrary  proceeding's 
Are  all  unfolded;  wherein  he  appearne 


502 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  ][L 


As  T  conld  wish  mine  enemy. 

Sur.  How  came 

His  practices  to  Ifght? 

Suf.  Most  strange  fy. 

Sur.  O,  how,  how  ? 

Sitf.  The  cardinal's  letter  to  the  pope  miscarried, 
And  came  to  the  eye  o'the  king:  wherein  was  read, 
How  that  the  cardinal  did  entreat  his  holiness 
To  sfa}  the  judgment  o'the  divorce :  For  if 
t  did  take  phice,  !  do,  quoth  he, perceive. 
My  Jcincj  is  iamjhd  in  affection  to 
A  creature  of  the  queen's,  lady  Anne  Bullen. 

Sur.  Has  the  king  this  ? 

Suf.  Believe  it. 

Sur.  Will  this  work  ? 

Cham.  The  king  in  this  perceives  him,  how  he 
coasts, 

All  his  tricks  foimder,  and  he  brings  his  physic 
And  hedges,  his  own  way.    But  in  this  point 
After  his  patient's  death  :  the  king  already 
Hath  married  the  fair  lady. 

Sur.  'Would  he  had  ! 

Suf.  May  you  be  happy  in  your  wish,  niy  lord ! 
For,  1  profess,  you  have  it. 

Sur.  Now  all  my  joy 

Trace  the  conjunction ! 

Suf  My  amen  to't ! 

Nur  .     All  men's. 

Suf.  There's  order  given  for  her  coronation  : 
Marry,  this  is  yet  but  young,  and  may  be  left 
To  some  ears  unrecounted. — But,  my  lords, 
She  is  a  gallant  creature,  and  complete 
In  mind  and  feature  :  I  persuade  me,  from  her 
Will  fall  sonie"  blessing  to  this  land,  which  shall 
In  it  be  memoriz'd 

Sur.  But,  will  the  king 

Digest  this  letter  of  the  cardinal'**  ? 
The  Icrd  forbid ! 

Nor,  Marry,  amen ! 

Suf.  No,  no ; 

Theie  be  more  wasps,  that  buz  about  his  nose, 
Will  make  this  sting  the  sooner.  Cardinal  Campeius 
Is  stolen  away  to  Rome  ;  hath  ta'en  no  leave; 
Has  left  the  cause  o'the  king  unhandled  ;  and 
Is  posted,  as  the  a^ent  of  our  cardinal. 
To  second  all  his  plot.    I  do  assure  you, 
The  king  cry'd,  ha !  at  this. 

Cham.  Now,  God  incense  him. 

And  let  him  cry  ha,  louder ! 

Nor.  But,  ray  lord. 

When  returns  Cranmer? 

Suf.  He  is  return'd,  in  his  opinions;  which 
Have  satisfied  the  king  for  his  divorce. 
Together  with  all  fauious  colleges 
Almost  in  Christeridom :  shortly,  I  believe, 
His  second  marriage  shall  be  publish'd,  and 
Her  coronation.    Katharine  no  more 
Shall  be  call  d  queen;  but  princess  dowager. 
And  widow  to  prince  Arthur. 

Nor.  *  This  same  Cranmer's 

A  worthy  fellow,  and  hath  ta'en  much  pain 
In  the  king's  business. 

Suf.  He  has ;  and  we  shall  see  him 

For  it  an  archbishop. 
Nor.  So  I  hear. 

Stif.  'Tis  s&. 

The  cardinal — 

Enter  Wolsey  and  Cromwell. 

Ncr.  Observe,  observe,  he's  moody. 

Wol.  The  packet, Cromwell,  gave  you  the  king? 

Crom.  To  his  own  hand,  in  his  bedchamber. 

Wol.  Lonk'd  he  o'the  inside  of  the  paper? 

Crom,  Presently 
He  did  imseal  them :  and  the  first  he  view'dy 
He  did  it  with  a  serious  mind;  a  heed 
Was  in  his  countenance  :  You,  he  bade 
Attend  him  here  this  morning. 

Wol.  Is  he  leady 

To  come  abroad  ? 


*^'T°^-  I  fhmk,  by  this  he  is. 

T.   L  M  ^  while.—         \Exit.  Cromtvell 

It  shall  be  to  the  duchess  of  Alengon, 
The  French  kings  sister  ;  he  shall  f,mVtv  her  — 
Anne  Bullen  1  No;  Ml  no  Anne  liuliens'fo,-  him 
There  is  more  in  it  than  fair  vis  jgf-. —  Hnilf  n  ! 
No,  we'll  no  Bullens  — Speedily  I  wi.-h  [hroke! 
'loj'pa'*  I'rom  Rome.— Tlie  marcliioiit-ss  ol  l\,m- 

Nor.  He's  discontented. 

r^^"f-        .  May  be,  he  hears  the  king 

Does  whet  his  anger  to  him. 

Sharp  enough, 
Lord,  for  thy  justice  !  [daughter, 
Wol.  The  late  queen's  gentlewoman;  a  knight's 

To  be  her  mistress'  mistress  !  the  queen's  queen  !  

This  candle  burns  not  clear:  'tis  1  must  snuifit; 
Then,  out  it  goes.— What  though  I  know  her  vir- 
tuous. 

And  well-deserving?  yet  I  know  her  for 
A  spleeny  Lutheran ;  and  not  wholesome  to 
Our  cause,  that  she  should  lie  i'the  bosom  of 
Our  hard-rul'd  king.    Again,  there  is  sprung  ap 
An  heretic,  an  arch  one,  Cranmer ;  one 
Hath  crawl'd  into  the  favour  of  the  king. 
And  is  his  oracle. 

Nor.  He  is  vex'd  at  something. 

Suf.  I  would,  'twere  something  that  would  fr®t 
The  master-cord  of  his  heart !  [the  striog. 

Enter  the  King,  reaaing  a  schedule ;  and  LovBLIr. 
Suf.  The  king,  the  king. 

K.  Hen.  What  piles  of  wealth  hath  he  accumu- 
lated 

To  his  own  portion  I  and  what  expense  bv  the  hour 
Seems  to  flow  from  him  ?  How,  i'the  uaufe  ol  thrift, 
Does  he  rake  this  together? — Now,  my  lords; 
Saw  you  the  cardinal  ? 
^  Nor.  My  lord,  we  have 

Stood  here  observing  him:  Some  strange  or  mmotioB 
Is  in  his  brain:  he  bites  his  lip,  and  starts; 
Stops  on  a  sudden,  looks  upon  the  ground. 
Then  lays  his  finger  on  his  ten)|)Ie ;  straight. 
Springs  out  into  last  gait;  then,  stops  again. 
Strikes  his  breast  hard  ;  and  anon,  he  casts 
His  eye  against  the  moon  :  in  most  strange  postures 
We  have  seen  him  set  himself. 

K.  Hen.  It  may  well  be ; 

There  is  a  mutiny  in  his  mind.    This  morning 
Pa|)ers  of  state  he  sent  me  to  peruse. 
As  I  requir'd  ;  And,  wot  you,  what  I  found 
There  ;  on  my  conscien  'e,  pnt  unwittingly  ? 
Forsooth,  an  inventory,  thus  importing, — 
The  several  parcels  of  his  plate,  his  treasure. 
Rich  stutJs,  and  ornaments  of  household  ;  which 
I  find  at  such  prond  rate,  that  it  out-speaks 
Possession  ol'  a  subject. 

Nor.  It's  heaven's  will ; 

Some  spirit  pnt  this  paper  in  the  packet. 
To  bless  your  eye  withal. 

K.Hen.  Ifwe  did  think 

His  contemplation  were  above  the  earth. 
And  fix'd  on  spiritual  object,  he  should  still 
Dwell  in  his  musings  :  but,  I  am  alraid. 
His  thinkings  are  below  the  moon,  not  worth 
His  serious  considering. 

{He  takes  his  seat,  and  whispers  Lcvell,  whn 
goes  to  Wolsey.) 
Wol.  Heaven  forgive  me  ! 

Ever  God  bless  your  highness ! 

K.  Hen.  Good  my  lord, 

You  are  tull  of  heavenly  stuff',  and  bear  the  inveuioiy 
Of  your  best  graces  in  your  mind  ;  the  which 
You  were  now  ruiming  o'er  ;  you  have  scaice  time 
To  steal  from  spiritual  leisure  a  brief  span. 
To  keep  your  earthly  audit:  Sure  in  that 
I  deem  you  an  ill  husband  ;  and  am  glad 
To  have  you  therein  my  companion, 

Wol.  Sir, 
For  holy  offices  I  have  a  time ;  a  time 
To  think  Ui.ou  the  part  of  business,  whicb 


Scene  2. 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


503 


ear  i'tne  slat  ;  and  nature  does  re(^uire 
Her  times  of  preservation,  which,  perlorce, 
I,  her  frail  son,  amongst  ray  brethren  mortal, 
Must  eive  my  tendance  to. 

K.  Hen.  You  have  said  well. 

Wol.  And  ever  may  your  highness  yoke  together, 
As  I  will  lend  you  cause,  my  doing  well 
With  my  well-saying ! 

K.  Hen.  'Tis  well  said  agaiu  \ 

And  'tis  a  kind  of  good  deed,  to  say  well: 
And  y*it  words  are  no  deeds.    My  father  lov'd  you : 
He  said,  he  did ;  and  with  his  deed  did  crown 
His  word  upon  you.    Since  I  had  my  office, 
I  have  kept  you  next  my  heart;  have  not  alone 
Eraploy'd  you  where  high  profits  might  come  home, 
But  par'd  my  present  havings,  to  bestow 
My  bounties  upon  you. 

Wol.  What  should  this  mean  ? 

Sur.  The  Lord  increase  this  business !  {Aside.) 

K.  Hen.  Have  I  not  made  you 

The  prime  man  of  the  slate  ?  I  pray  you,  tell  me. 
If  what  1  now  pronounce,  you  have  found  true  : 
And  if  you  may  confess  it,  say  withal. 
If  you  are  bound  to  us,  or  no.    What  say  you  ? 

Pf^ol.  My  sovereign,  I  confess,  your  royal  graces, 
Shower'd  on  me  daily,  have  been  more  than  could 
My  studied  purposes  requite  ;  which  went 
Beyond  all  men's  endeavours  ; — my  endeavours 
Have  ever  come  too  short  of  my  desires, 
Yet  fil'd  with  my  abilities  :  Mine  own  ends 
Have  been  mine  so,  that  evermore  they  pointed 
To  the  good  of  your  most  sacred  person,  and 
The  profit  of  the  state.   For  your  great  graces 
Heap'd  upoc  me,  poor  undeserver,  I 
Can  nothing  render  but  allegiant  thanks; 
My  prayers  to  heaven  for  you;  my  loyalty. 
Which  ever  has,  and  ever  shall  be  growing, 
Till  deati»,  that  winter,  till  it. 

K.  Hen.  Fairly  answer'd ; 

A  loyal  and  obedient  subject  is 
Therein  illustrated:  The  honour  of  it 
Does  pay  the  act  of  it;  as,  i'the  contrary. 
The  ibulness  is  the  punishment.    I  presume. 
That,  as  my  hand  has  open'd  bounty  to  you, 
My  heart  dropp'd  love,  my  power  rain'd  honour, 
more 

On  you,  than  any;  so  your  hand,  and  heart. 
Your  brain,  and  every  functio.i  of  your  power. 
Should,  notwithstandmg  that  your  bond  of  duty. 
As  'twere  in  love's  particular,  be  more 
To  me,  your  friend,  than  any. 

Wol.  I  do  profess. 

That  for  your  highness'  good  I  ever  labour'd 
More  than  mine  own  ;  that  am,  have,  and  will  be, 
Though  all  the  world  should  ctack  their  duty  to  you. 
And  tiirow  it  from  theii  soul  :  though  perils  did 
Abound,  as  thick  as  thought  could  make  thenj,  and 
Appear  in  forms  more  horrid ;  yet  my  duty. 
As  doih  a  rock  against  the  chiding  flood. 
Should  the  approach  of  this  wild  river  break. 
And  stand  unshaken  yours. 

K.  Hen.  'Tis  nobly  spoken : 

Take  notice,  lords,  he  has  a  loyal  breast. 
For  you  have  seen  him  open't. — Read  o'er  this ; 

{Giving  him  papers^ 
And,  after,  this  :  and  then  to  breakfast,  with 
What  appetite  you  have. 

\E.xit  King, frowning  upon  Cardinal  Wolsey: 
the  Nobles  throng  after  him,  smiling,  and 
whispering. 

Wol.  What  should  this  mean  ? 

What  rfiidden  anger's  this?  how  have  1  reap'd  it? 
He  ported  frowning  from  me,  as  if  ruin 
Leap'd  from  his  eyes:  So  looks  the  chafed  lion 
Upon  the  daring  Imntsman,  that  has  gali'd  him  ; 
Tnen  makes  hini  notliing.    I  must  read  this  paper; 
I  fear,  tlie  story  of  liis  anger. — 'Tis  so: 
This  paper  has  undone  me  : — 'Tis  the  account 
Of  all  that  v/orld  of  wealth  1  have  drawn  together 
For  uiiue  own  ends;  indeed,  *o  ^ain  the  popedom. 


4nd  fee  n)y  friends  in  Rome.    O  negl  gence. 

Fit  lor  a  fool  to  fall  by  !    W^bat  cross  devil 

Made  me  put  this  main  secret  in  the  packet 

I  sent  the  king  ?  Is  there  no  way  to  cure  this  * 

No  new  device  to  beat  this  from  his  brains? 

I  know,  'twill  stir  him  strongly  ;  Yet  I  knowr 

A  way,  if  it  take  right,  in  spite  of  fortune 

Will  bring  me  otf  again.  What's  this — To  ihv  Popi  » 

The  letter,  as  I  live,  with  all  the  business 

I  writ  to  his  holiness.    Nay  then,  farewell  I 

I  have  toucrlSi  the  highest  point  of  all  my  greaty^ la, 

And,  from  that  full  meridian  of  my  glory, 

I  haste  now  to  my  setting :  I  shall  fall 

Like  a  bright  exhalation  in  the  evening. 

And  no  man  see  me  more. 

Re-enter  the  Dukes  o/Norfolk  and  Suffolk  ,M# 

Earl  o/SuRREY,  and  the  Lord  Chamberlain. 

Nor,  Hear  the  king's  pleasure,  cardinal ;  wlia 
commands  you 
To  render  up  the  great  seal  presently 
Into  our  hands  ;  and  to  confine  yourself 
To  Asher-house,  my  lord  of  Winchester's, 
Till  you  hsar  further  from  his  highness. 

Wol.  ^   ^  Stay, 

Where's  your  commission,  lords  ?  words  cannot 
Authority  so  weighty.  [carry 

Suf.  Who  dare  cross  them  ? 

Bearing  the  king's  will  from  his  modth  expressly  ? 

Wol.  Till  I  nnd  more  than  will,  or  words, to  do  it, 
(I  mean,  your  malice,)  know,  offici-ous  lords. 
I  dare,  and  must  deny  it.    Now  I  feel 
Of  what  coarse  metal  ye  are  moulded. — envy. 
How  eagerly  ye  follow  my  disgraces. 
As  if  it  fed  ye  !  and  how  sleek  and  wanton 
Ye  appear  in  every  thing  may  bring  my  nun  ! 
Follow  your  envious  courses,  men  of  malice; 
You  have  christian  warrant  for  tliem,  and,  no  doubt» 
In  time  will  find  their  fit  rewards.    That  seal. 
You  ask  with  such  a  violence,  the  king, 
(Mine,  and  your  master,)  with  his  own  hand  gave  me. 
Bade  me  enjoy  it,  with  the  place  and  hononrs. 
During  my  life  ;  and,  to  confirm  his  goodness. 
Tied  it  by  lette:rs  patents  :  Now,  who'll  take  it  ? 

Sur.  'I'he  king,  that  gave  it. 

Wol.  It  must  be  himself  then 

Sur.  Thou  art  a  proud  traitor,  priest. 

Wol.  Proud  lord,  tliou  liest; 

Within  these  forty  hours  Surrey  durst  better 
Have  burnt  that  tongue,  than  said  so. 

Sur.  Thy  arabitioi^ 

Thou  scar*'*  sin,  robb'd  this  bewailing  land 
Of  noble  'iuckingham,  my  fjther-in-law  : 
The  head*  of  all  thy  brother  cardinals, 
(With  thee,  and  all  thy  best  parts  bound  together,) 
Weigh'd  not  a  hair  of  his.    Plague  of  your  policy. 
You  sent  me  deputy  for  Ireland  ; 
Far  from  his  succour,  from  the  king,  from  all, 
That  might  have  mercy  on  the  fault  thou  gav'st  him  * 
Whilst  your  great  goodness,  out  of  holy  pity, 
Absolv'd  him  with  an  axe. 

Wol.  This,  and  all  else 

This  talking  lord  can  lay  upon  mv  credit, 
I  answer,  is  most  false.    The  duke  by  law 
Found  his  deserts  :  how  innocent  I  was 
From  any  private  malice  in  his  end. 
His  noble  jury  and  foul  cause  can  witness. 
If  I  lov'd  many  words,  lord,  I  should  tell  you, 
You  have  as  little  honesty  as  honour  ; 
That  I,  in  the  way  of  loyalty  and  truth 
Toward  the  king,  my  ever  royal  masti>r, 
Dare  mate  a  sounder  man  than  Surrey  car  oe, 
And  all  that  love  his  follies. 

Sur.  By  my  soul. 

Your  long  coat,  priest,  protects  you  ;  thou  shonld'4 
feel 

My  sword  i'the  life-blood  of  thee  else. — My  lords. 
Can  ye  endure  to  hear  this  arrogance? 
And  from  this  fellow?  If  vve  live  thus  tamely. 
To  be  thus  jaded  by  a  piece  of  scarlet. 


504 


KING 


HENRY  VIII. 


Act  III. 


Farewell  nobility  ;  let  his  grace  go  forward, 
Ami  dare  us  with  his  cap,  like  larks. 

Wol,  All  goodness 

I  s  iwison  to  thy  stomach. 

S?ir.  Yes,  that  goodness 

Of  gleaning  all  the  land's  wealth  into  one. 
Into  your  own  hands,  cardinal,  by  extortion  : 
The  goodness  of  your  intercepted  packets, 

ou  writ  to  the  pope,  against  the  king :  your  good- 
ness, 

Since  you  provoke  me,  shall  be  most  notorious. — 

My  lord  of  Norfolk, — as  you  are  truly  noble. 

As  you  respect  the  common  good,  the  state 

Of  our  despis'd  nobility,  our  issues, 

Who,  if  he  live,  will  scarce  be  gentlemen, — 

Produce  the  grand  sum  of  his  sins,  the  articles 

Collected  from  his  life  :  I'll  startle  you 

Worse  than  the  sacring  bell,  when  the  brown  wench 

hny  kissing  in  your  arms,  lord  cardinal. 

/f^oL  How  much,  methinks,  I  could  despise  this 
man. 

But  that  I  am  bound  in  charity  against  it ! 

iVor.Those  articles,  my  lord,  are  in  the  king's  hand : 
Hut,  thus  much,  they  are  foul  ones. 

Wol.  So  much  fairer, 

A.nd  spotless,  shall  mine  innocence  arise, 
When  the  king  knows  my  truth. 

Sur.  This  cannot  save  you  : 

F  thank  my  memory,  I  yet  remember 
Some  of  these  articles;  and  out  they  shall. 
Now,  if  you  can  blush,  and  cry  guilty,  cardinal. 
You'll  shew  a  little  honesty. 

Wol.  Speak  on,  sir; 

I  dare  your  worst  objections  :  if  I  blush, 
It  is,  to  see  a  nobleman  want  manners. 

Sur.  I'd   rather   want  those,   than  my  head. 
Have  at  you. 
First,  that,  without  the  king's  assent,  or  knowledge, 
Y  ou  wrought  to  be  a  legate  ;  by  which  power 
You  maim'd  the  jurisdiction  of  all  bishops. 

Nor  Then,  that,  i&  all  you  write  to  Rouie,  or  else 
To  foreign  princes,  Eyo  et  Rex  mens 
Was  still  inscrib'd;  in  which  you  brought  the  king 
To  be  your  servant. 

Suf.  Then,  that,  without  the  knowledge 

Either  of  king  or  council,  when  you  went 
Ambassador  to  the  emperor,  you  made  bold 
To  carry  into  Flanders  the  great  seal. 

Sur.  Item,  you  sent  a  large  commission 
To  Gregory  de  Cassalis,  to  conclude 
Without  the  king's  will,  or  the  state's  allowance, 
A  leafiue  between  his  highness  and  Ferrara. 

Suf.  That,  out  of  mere  ambition,  you  have  caus'd 
^  our  holy  hat  to  be  stamp'd  on  the  king's  coin. 

Sur.  Then,  that  you  have  sent  innumerable  sub- 
stance, [ence,) 
(By  what  means  got,  I  leave  to  your  own  consci- 
To  furnish  Rome,  and  to  prepare  the  ways 
You  have  for  dignities  ;  to  the  mere  undoing 
Of  all  the  kingdom.    Many  more  there  are ; 
Which,  since  they  are  of  you,  and  odious, 
I  will  not  taint  my  mouth  with. 

Cham.  O  my  lord, 

Press  not  a  falling  man  too  far ;  'tis  virtue  : 
His  faults  lie  open  to  the  laws  ;  let  them. 
Not  you,  correct  thera.  My  heart  weeps  to  see  him 
So  little  of  his  great  self. 

Sur.  I  forgive  him. 

Suf.  Lord  cardinal,  the  king's  further  pleasure  is, — 
Because  all  those  things,  you  have  done  of  late 
By  vour  power  legatine  within  this  kingdom, 
FaJi  into  the  compass  of  a  proemunire.,— 
That  therefore  such  a  writ  be  sued  against  you  ; 
To  forfeit  a^  your  goods,  lands,  tenements. 
Chattels,  and  whatsoever,  and  to  be 
Out  of  the  king's  protection  : — This  is  my  charge. 

Nor.  And  so  we'll  leave  yon  to  your  meditations 
How  to  live  better.    For  your  stuboorn  answer, 
About  the  giving  back  the  great  seal  to  us,  [you. 
The  king  sluJl  know  it,  ami  no  doubt,  shall  thank 


So  fare  you  well,  my  little  good  lord  cardinal. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Wolsiy, 
Wol.  So  farewell  to  the  little  good  you  bear  mii 
Farewell,  a  long  farewell,  to  all  my  greatness  ! 
This  is  the  state  of  man;  to-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hope,  to  morrow  blossoms. 
And  bears  his  blushing  honours  thick  upon  him  : 
The  third  day,  comes  a  frost,  a  killing  irost ; 
And, — when  he  thinks,  good  easy  man,  full  surelj 
His  greatness  is  a  ripening, — nips  his  root, 
And  then  he  falls,  as  I  do.    I  have  ventur'd. 
Like  little  wanton  boys  that  swim  on  bladders. 
This  many  summers  in  a  sea  of  glory  ; 
But  far  beyond  niy  depth  :  my  high-blown  [)ride 
At  length  broke  undei  me;  and  now  has  left  me. 
Weary,  and  old  with  service,  to  the  mercy 
Of  a  rude  stream  that  must  for  ever  hide  me. 
Vain  pomp,  and  glory  of  tliis  world,  I  hate  ye; 
I  feel  my  heart  new  opened  :  O,  how  wretched 
Is  that  poor  man,  that  hangs  on  prim  es'  favours  ! 
There  is,  betwixt  that  smile  we  would  aspire  to, 
'I'hat  sweet  aspect  of  princes,  and  their  ruin. 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  wars  or  women  have ; 
And  when  he  falls,  he  falls  like  Lucifer, 
Never  to  h.ope  again. — 

Enter  Cromwell,  amazedly. 

Why,  bcw  now,  Cromwell  ? 

Cram.  I  have  no  power  to  vspeak,  sir, 

Wol.  What,  amaz'd 

At  my  misfortunes  ?  can  thy  spirit  wonder, 
A  great  man  should  decline  ?  Nay,  an  you  weep, 
I  am  fallen  indeed. 

Crom.  How  does  your  grace  ? 

Wol.  Why,  well; 

Never  so  truly  happy,  my  good  Cromwell. 
I  know  myseli'now;  and  I  feel  within  nae 
A  peace  above  all  earthly  dignities, 
A  still  and  quiet  conscience.  The  king  haj  cur'd  lae, 
I  humbly  thank  his  grace  ;  and  from  these  shoulders, 
Tiiese  ruin'd  pillars,  out  of  pity,  taken 
A  load  would  sink  a  navy,  too  much  honour  : 
O,  'tis  a  burden,  Cromwell,  'tis  a  burden, 
Too  heavy  for  a  man  that  hopes  for  heaven. 

Crom.  I  am  glad,  your  grace  has  made  that  right 
use  ol  it. 

rf'ol.  I  hope,  I  have  :  I  am  able  now,  methinks, 
^Out  of  a  fortitude  of  soul  I  feel.) 
To  endure  more  miseries,  and  greater  far. 
Than  u)y  weak-hearted  enemies  dare  olfei 
V\"hat  news  abroad? 

Crom.  The  heaviest,  and  the  worst, 

Is  your  displeasure  with  the  king. 

tVol.  ^  _  God  bless  him! 

Crom.  The  next  is,  that  sir  Thomas  More  is  chosen 
Lord  chancellor  in  your  place. 

W ol.  Tliat's  some  what  sudden : 

But  he's  a  learned  man.    May  he  continue 
Long  in  his  highness'  favour,  and  do  justice 
For  truth's  sake,  and  his  conscience  ;  that  his  bone* 
When  he  has  run  his  course,  and  sleeps  in  blessings, 
May  have  a  tomb  of  orphans'  tears  wept  on  'em! 
VVhat  more  ? 

Crom.  That  Crantner  is  return'd  with  welcome, 
Install'd  lord  archbishop  of  Canterbury. 

Wol.  That's  news  indeed. 

Crom.  Last,  that  the  lady  Anne, 

Whom  the  king  hath  in  secrecy  lon^-  married, 
This  day  was  vievv'd  in  open,  as  his  queeu. 
Going  to  chapel ;  and  the  voice  is  now 
Only  about  her  coronation. 

Wol.  There  was  the  weight  that  puU'd  me  dowB, 
O  Cromwell,  ' 
Tte  king  has  gone  beyond  me,  all  niy  giorie» 
In  that  one  woman  I  ha\  e  lost  for  ever ; 
No  sun  shall  ever  usher  forth  mine  honours, 
Or  gild  again  the  noble  troops,  that  waited 
Upon  my  smiles.    Go,  get  thee  from  me,  Cromwsllg 
I  am  a  poor  fa!!ei?  man,  unworthy  now 
To  be  tliy  lorJ  an  J  fnaJ^^i^ek  the  king; 


A.CT  TV.    Scene  1. 


KING  HENRY  VIII 


505 


riiat  sun,  I  pray,  may  never  set!  I  have  told  him 

What,  and  liow  true  thou  art :  he  will  advance  thee  ; 

Some  little  memory  of  me  will  stir  hun; 

(1  know  his  noble  nature,)  not  to  let 

Thy  hopeful  service  perish  too  :  Glood  Cromwell, 

Neglect  him  not;  make  use  now,  and  provide 

For  thine  own  future  safety. 

Crom.  O  my  lord. 

Must  I  then  leave  you  ?  must  I  needs  forego 
So  good,  so  noble,  and  so  true  a  master  ? 
Bear  witness,  all  that  have  not  hearts  of  iron, 
With  what  a  sorrow  Cromwell  leaves  his  lord. — 
The  kin^  shall  have  my  service  ;  but  my  prayers, 
For  ever,  and  for  ever,  shall  be  yours. 

Wol.  Cromwell,  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a  tear 
In  all  my  miseries;  but  thou  hast  forc'd  me. 
Out  of  *hy  honest  truth,  to  play  the  woman. 
Let's  dry  our  eyes  :  and  thus  far  hear  me,  Cromwell ; 
And, — when  I  am  forgotten,  as  1  shall  be ; 
And  sleep  in  dull  cold  marble,  where  no  mention 
Of  me  more  must  be  heard  of, — say,  I  taught  thee, 
Say,  Wolsey, — that  once  trod  the  ways  of  glory. 
And  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals  of  honour, — 
Found  thee  a  way,  out  ol'  his  wreck,  to  rise  in  ; 
A  sure  and  safe  one,  though  thy  master  miss'd  it. 
Mark  but  my  fall,  and  that  that  ruin'd  me. 
Croniwell_,  I  charge  tiiee,  fling  away  ambition ; 
By  that  sin  fell  tiie  angels,  how  can  man  then, 
Ttie  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by't  ? 
Love  tliyselfiast :  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate  thee; 
Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty. 
Stiil  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace. 
To  silence  envious  tongues.    Be  just;  and  fear  not : 
Let  all  the  ends,  thou  aim'st  at,  be  thy  country's. 
Thy  God's,  and  trutii's  ;  then  if  thou  fall'st,  OCrom- 
Thou  fall'st  a  blessed  tnartyr.  Serve  the  king;  [well, 
And, — Pr  ythee,  lead  nie  in  : 
There  take  an  inventory  of  all  I  have, 
i  o  the  last  (,enny  ;  'tis  the  king's  :  my  robe 
A^nd  my  integrity  to  hea\en,  is  all 
I  dare  now  call  mine  own.  O  Cromwell,  Cromwell, 
Had  I  but  serv'd  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 
I  serv'd  my  king,  he  would  not  in  mine  age 
Have  left  me  na^ed  to  mine  enemies. 

Crom.  Good  sir,  have  patience. 

Wol.  So  I  have.  Farewell 

The  hopes  of  court!  my  hopes  in  heaven  do  dwell. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 
Scene  I. — A  Street  in  Westminster. 
Enter  tivo  Gentlemen,  meeting. 

1  Gent.  You  are  well  met  once  again. 

2  Gent.  And  so  are  you. 

1  Gent.  Yon  come  to  take  your  stand  here,  and 

behold 

The  lady  Anne  pasa  from  her  coronation? 

2  Gent.  'Tis  all  my  business.    At  our  last  en- 

counter, 

The  duke  of  Buckingham  came  from  his  trial. 

1  Gent.  'Tis  very  true  :  but  that  time  oft'er'd 
'I'his.  general  joy.  [sorrow; 

2  Gent.  'Tis  well :  The  citizens, 

1  am  sure,  have  shewn  at  full  their  royal  minds ; 
As,  let  them  have  their  rights,  they  are  ever  forward 
In  celebration  of  this  day,  with  shews, 
Pageants,  and  sights  of  honour. 

1  Gent.  Never  greater. 
Nor,  ril  assure  you,  better  taken,  sir. 

2  Gent.  May  I  be  bold  to  ask  what  that  contains, 
That  paper  in  your  hand  ? 

1  Gent  Yes ;  'tis  the  list 
Of  those,  that  claim  their  otfices  this  day. 
By  custom  of  the  coronation. 

The  duke  of  Sullblk  is  the  first,  and  claims 

To  be  high  steward ;  next,  the  duke  of  Norfolk, 

He  to  be  earl  marshal :  yow  may  read  the  rest. 

2  Go.nt.  1  thank  you,  sir    had  1  not  kncwn  those 

customs. 


I  should  have  been  beholden  to  your  paper. 
But,  I  beseech  you,  what's  beci  me  of  K.atharine, 
The  princess  dowager?  how  goes  her  business? 

1  Gent.  That  I  can  tell  you  too.    The  archbishop 
Of  Canterbury,  accouipanied  with  other 
Learned  and  reverend  fathers  (tf  his  order. 

Held  a  late  court  at  Dunstable,  sis  miles  off 
From  Ampthill,  where  the  princess  lay  ;  to  which 
She  oft  was  cited  by  them,  but  appear'd  not  • 
And,  to  be  short,  for  not  appearance,  and 
The  king's  late  scruple,  by  the  inain  assent 
Of  all  these  learned  men  she  was  divorc'd. 
And  the  late  marriage  made  of  none  etlect . 
Since  which,  she  was  removed  to  Kimholton, 
Where  she  remains  now  sick. 

2  Gent.  Alas,  good  lady  l-^^.  TruTnpett.) 
The  trumpets  sound  :  stand  close,  tiie  queen  is 

coming. 

THE  ORDER  OF  THE  PROCESSION. 

A  lively  flourish  of  trumpets ;  then,  enter., — 
\.  Tivo  Judges.  [before  hinn. 

2.  Lord  Chancellor,  wick  the  purse  and  tnace 

3.  Choristers  singi7tg.  [Music.) 

4.  Mayor  of  London  hearing  the  mace.  Then 

Garter,  in  his  coat  of  arms,  and  on  his 
head,  a  gilt  copper  croivn. 
5  Marquis  Dorset,  hearing  a  sceptre  of  gold,  on 
his  head  a  demi- coronal  of  gold.  With 
him,  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  hearing  the  roa 
of  silver  with  the  dove,  crowned  with  an 
earls  coronet.    Collars  of  SS. 

6.  Duke  of  Suffolk,  in  hisrohe  of  estate,  his  coronet 

on  his  head,  hearing  a  long  white  tvand^ 
as  high-steward.  With  him,  the  Duke 
of  Norfolk,  with  the  rod  of  marshalship, 
a  coronet  on  his  head.    Collars  ofSS. 

7.  A  canopy  borne  by  four  of  the  Chuiue-ports  ; 

under  it,  the  Queen  in  her  robe;  in  her 
hair  richly  adorned  with  pearl,  crotvned. 
On  each  side  of  her,  the  Bishops  of  Lon- 
don and  Winchester. 

8.  The  old  Duchess  of  Norfolk,  in  a  coronal  of 

gold,  wrought  with  Jiowers,  bearing  i  he 
Queen's  train. 

9.  Certain  Ladies  or  Countesses,  with  plain  cir- 

clets of  gold  without  flowers. 
2  Gent.  A  royal  train,  believe  me.  —  These  1 
know ; — 

Who's  that,  that  bears  the  sceptre  ? 

1  Gent.  Marqms  Dorset : 
And  that  the  earl  of  Surrey,  with  the  rod. 

2  Gent.  A  bold  brave  gentleman  :  And  that 

should  be 
The  duke  of  Suffolk. 

1  Gent.  'Tis  the  same  ;  high-steward. 

2  Gent.  And  that  my  lord  of  Norfolk? 

1  Gent.  Yes. 

2  Gent.  Heaven  bless  thee! 

[Looking  on  the  Queen,) 
Thou  hast  the  sweetest  face  I  ever  look'd  on. — 
Sir,  as  I  have  a  soul,  she  is  an  angel ; 
Our  king  has  all  the  Indies  in  his  arms, 
And  more,  and  richer,  when  he  strains  that  lady  : 
I  cannot  blame  his  conscience. 

1  Gent.  They,  that  Dear 
The  cloth  of  honour  over  her,  are  four  barons 

O-t  the  Cinque-ports. 

2  Gent.  Those  men  ar*}  happy;  and  so  are  all,  ar» 

near  her. 

I  take  it,  she  that  carries  up  the  train. 

Is  that  old  noble  lady,  duchess  of  Norfolk. 

1  Gent.  It  is ;  and  all  the  rest  are  countesses. 

2  Gent.  Their  coronets  say  so.    These  are  stars, 

indeed ; 
And,  sometimes,  falling  ones. 

1  Gent.  No  more  of  that 

[Exit  Procession,  with  a  great  flot risk  oj 
trumpets. 


506 


KING  HENRY  VTII. 


Act  it. 


Enier  a  third  Gentleman. 


God  Aavfi  you,  sir?  Where 


ing 


\\Q  you  been  broil- 
[a  finger 


3  G^nt.  Amons  the  ornwd  i'the  abbey;  where 
Could  not  be  wedg'd  in  more ;  and  I  am  stifled 
\V^ith  the  mere   ankness  of  their  joy. 

2  Cent.  You  saw 
1  he  cerejnocy 

3  Gi  nt.  That  1  dia 

1  Gtnt.  How  was  it? 
'i  Cent.  Well  worth  the  seeing. 

2  Gent.  Good  sir,  speak  it  to  us. 

3  Gent.  As  well  as  I  am  able.  The  rich  stream 
Of  lords,  and  Indies,  having  brought  the  queen 

'J'o  a  prepar'd  place  in  tl;e  clioir,  fell  off 

A  distance  from  her,  while  her  grace  sat  down 

'J'o  rest  a  while,  some  half  an  hour,  or  so, 

In  a  rich  chair  of  state,  o|)posing  freely 

The  beauty  of  her  person  to  the  people. 

Believe  me,  sir,  she  is  the  goodliest  woman. 

That  ever  lay  by  man  :  which  when  the  people 

Had  the  full  view  of,  such  a  noise  arose 

As  the  shrouds  make  at  sea  in  a  stiff  tempest, 

\s  loud,  and  to  as  many  tunes  :  hats,  cloaks, 

.Doublets,  I  think,)  flew  up;  and  had  their  faces 

Been  loose,  this  aay  they  had  been  lost.    Such  joy 

I  never  saw  before.    Great-bellied  women. 

That  had  not  hall"  a  week  to  go,  like  rams 

In  the  old  time  of  war,  would  shake  the  press, 

And  iiiake  tliem  reel  before  them.    No  man  living 

Could  say,  This  is  my  wife,  there;  all  were  woven 

So  strangely  in  one  piece. 

2  Gent.  But, 'pray,  what  follow'd  '* 

3  Gent.  At  length  her  grace  rose,  and  with  mo- 

dest paces 

Came  to  the  altar  ;  where  she  kneel'd,  and,  saint-like, 
Cast  her  fair  eyes  to  heaven,  and  pray'd  devoutly, 
Then  rose  igaiii,  and  bow'd  her  to  the  people  : 
When  by  the  archbishop  of  Canterbury 
She  had  all  the  royal  makings  of  a  queen; 
As  holy  oil,  Edward  Confessor's  crown, 
The  rod,  and  bird  of  {leace,  and  all  such  emblems 
Laid  nobly  on  her  :  which  perform'd,  the  choir. 
With  all  the  choicest  music  of  the  kingdom, 
Together  sung  Te  Dium.    So  she  parted, 
And  with  the  same  full  state  pac'd  back  again 
To  York-place,  where  the  feast  is  held. 

1  Gent.  _  Sir,  you 
Must  no  more  call  it  York -place,  that  is  past : 
For,  since  the  cardinal  fell,  lhat  title's  lost; 

Tis  now  the  king's,  and  call'd — Whitehall. 

3  Gent.  I  know  it ; 

But  'tis  so  lately  alter'd,  that  the  old  name 
fs  fresh  about  me. 

2  Gent.  What  two  reverend  bishops 
Were  those,  that  went  on  each  side  of  the  queen  ? 

3  Gent.   Stokesly  and  Gardiner;  the  one,  of 

Winchester, 
fNewIy  preferr'd  from  the  king's  secretary,) 
The  othejf,  Loudon. 

2  Gent.  He  of  Winchester 

[s  held  no  great  good  lover  of  the  archbishop's. 
The  virtuous  Cranmer. 

3  Gent.  All  the  land  knows  that : 
However,  yet  there's  no  great  breach ;  when  it 

comes, 

Cranmer  will  find  a  friend  will  not  shrink  from  him. 

2  Gent.  Who  may  that  be,  1  pray  you? 

^  Gent.  Thomas  Cromwell ; 

A  man  in  much  esteem  with  the  king,  and  truly 
A  worthy  friend. — The  king 
Has  made  him  rnaster  o'the  jewel-house. 
And  one,  already,  of  the  privy-council. 

2  Gent.  He  will  deserve  more. 

3  Gent.  Yes,  without  all  doubt 
Come,  gentlemen,  ye  shall  go  my  way,  which 

Is  to  the  court,  and  there  ye  shall  be  njy  guests; 
Something  1  can  command.   As  1  walk  thither, 
I'll  tell  ye  more. 


Both.  You  may  c'-mmand  us,  sir.  EAeuitt 

Scene  II.— Kimbolton. 
Enier  Katharine,  dotvager,  sick;  led  between 
Griffith  and  Patience. 

Grif.  How  does  your  grace  ? 

Kath.  O,  Griffith,  sick  to  death 

My  legs,  like  loaden  branches,  bow  to  the  earth, 
Willing  to  leave  their  burden  :  Keach  a  chair; — 
So, — now,  methinks,  I  feel  a  little  ease. 
Didst  thou  not  tell  me,  Griffith,  as  thou  led'st  me. 
That  the  great  child  of  honour,  cardinal  Wolsey, 
Was  dead? 

Grif.         Yes,  madam  ;  but,  i  think,  your  gract, 
Out  of  the  pain  you  snffer'd,  gave  no  ear  to't. 
Kath.  Pr'ythee,  good  Griffith,  tell  me  how  hs 
died  : 

If  well,  he  stepp'd  before  me,  happily, 
For  my  example. 

GriJ'.  Well,  the  voice  goes,  madams 

For  after  the  stout  earl  Northumberland 
Ariested  him  at  York,  and  brought  him  forward 
(As  a  njan  sorely  tainted,)  to  his  answer, 
He  fell  sick  suddenly,  and  grew  so  ill, 
He  could  not  sit  his  mule. 

Kath.  Alas,  poor  man! 

Grif.  At  last,  with  easy  roads,  he  came  to  Lei 
cester, 

Lodg'd  in  the  abbey ;  where  the  reverend  abbot. 
With  ail  his  convent,  honourably  recei»  'd  iiitn  ; 
To  whom  he  gave  these  words, — 0  father  abbot, 
An  old  man,  broken  with  the  storms  of  state. 
Is  come  to  lay  his  iveary  benes  among  ye  ; 
Give  him  a  little  earth  for  charity  ! 
So  went  to  bed  :  where  eagerly  his  sickness 
Pursu'd  him  still ;  and,  three  nights  after  this, 
About  the  hour  of  eight,  (which  he  himself 
Foretold,  should  be  his  last,)  full  of  repentance, 
Continual  meditations,  tears,  and  sorrows. 
He  gave  his  honours  to  the  world  again. 
His  blessed  part  to  heaven,  and  slept  in  peace. 

Kath.  So  may  he  rest ;  his  faidts  lie  gently  on  hia 
Yet  thus  far,  Griffith,  give  me  leave  to  speak  him. 
And  yet  with  charity, — He  was  a  man 
Of  an  unbounded  stomach,  ever  ranking 
Himself  with  princes ;  one,  that  by  suggestion, 
Ty'd  all  the  kingdom  :  simony  was  fair  play  ; 
His  own  opinion  was  his  law:  I'the  presence 
He  would  say  untruths  ;  and  be  ever  double. 
Both  in  his  words  and  meaning :  He  was  never. 
But  where  he  meant  to  ruin,  pitiful ; 
His  promises  vAere,  as  he  then  was,  mighty; 
But  his  performance,  as  he  is  now,  nothing. 
Of  his  own  body  he  was  ill,  and  gave 
The  clergy  ill  example. 

Grif.  Noble  madam, 

Men's  evil  manners  live  in  brass ;  their  virtues 
We  write  in  water.    May  it  please  your  highness 
To  hear  me  speak  his  good  now  ? 

Kath.  Yes,  good  Griffiti^ 

I  were  malicious  else. 

Grif.  This  cardinal. 

Though  from  an  humble  stock,  undoubtedly 
Was  fashion'd  to  much  honour.    From  his  cradle, 
He  was  a  scholar,  and  a  ripe  and  good  one  ;  ■ 
Exceeding  wise,  fair  spoken,  and  persuading: 
Lofty,  and  sour,  to  them  that  lov'd  him  not ;  : 
But  to  those  men  that  sought  him,  sweet  as  summer  ! 
And  though  he  were  unsatisfied  in  getting,  | 
fWhich  w*as  a  sin,)  yet  in  bestowing,  madam,  j 
He  was  most  princely  :  Ever  witness  for  him  i 
Those  twins  of  learhing,  that  he  rais'd  in  you,  j 
Ipswich,  and  Oxford  !  one  of  which  fell  with  hin^ 
Unwilling  to  outlive  the  good  that  did  it;  ( 
The  other,  though  unflnish'd,  yet  so  far;)ou«,  ^ 
So  excellent  in  art,  and  .still  so  rising,  ; 
That  Christendom  shall  ever  speak  his  virtue. 
His  overthrow  heap'd  happiness  upon  him; 
For  then,  and  not  till  then,  he  felt  himself  v 
And  found  the  blessedness  of  being  little:        • ;  '  ■ 


feCENE  I. 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


507 


And,  to  add  greater  honours  to  his  a^e 

Than  man  could  give  him,  he  died,  fearing  God. 

Kath.  After  my  death  I  wish  no  other  herald, 
No  other  speaker  of  my  living  actions, 
To  keep  mine  honour  from  corruption, 
But  such  an  honest  chronicler  as  Griffith. 
Whom  I  most  hated  living,  thou  hast  made  me, 
With  thy  religious  truth,  and  modesty, 
Now  in  his  ashes  honour  :  Peace  be  with  him  ! — 
Patience,  be  near  me  still ;  and  set  me  lower  : 
1  liave  not  long  to  trouble  thee. — Good  Gritlith, 
5ause  t!ie  nuisicians  play  nie  that  sad  note 
I  nanj'd  my  knell,  whilst  1  sit  meditating 
On  that  celestial  harmony  I  go  to. 

Sad  and  solemn  music,  [quiet, 

Grif.  She  is  asleep  :  Good  wench,  let's  sit  down 
For  lear  we  wake  her ;— Softly,  gentle  Patience. 

The  Vision.  Enter,  solemnly  tripping  onf.  after 
another,  six  Personages,  clad  in  whitt  robes, 
wearing  on  their  heads  garlands  of  hay  a.  and 
golden  vizards  on  their  faces ;  branches  of 
hays,  or  palm,  in  their  hands.  They  first  congee 
unto  her,  then  dance  ;  and,  at  certain  changes, 
the  first  two  hold  a  spare  garland  over  her 
head;  at  which,  the  other  four  make  reverend 
curt'stes;  then  the  two,  that  held  the  garland, 
deliver  the  same  io  the  other  next  two,  who  ob- 
serve (he  same  order  in  their  changes,  and 
holding  the  garland  over  her  head;  ivhich 
done,  they  deliver  the  same  garland  to  the  last 
two  IV ho  likewise  observe  the  same  order  :  at 
which,  (  as  it  were  by  inspiration,)  she  makes 
in  her  sleep  signs  of  rejoicing,  and  holdeth  up 
her  hands  to  heaven  :  and  so  in  their  dancing 
they  va?iish,  carrying  the  garland  with  them. 
The  music  continues. 

Kath.  Spirits  of  peace,  where  are  ye  ?   Are  ye 

all  gone  ? 

And  leave  me  here  in  wretchedness  behind  ye? 

Grif.  Madam,  we  are  here. 

Kath.  It  is  not  you  I  call  for : 

Saw  ye  none  enter,  since  I  slept? 

Grif  None,  madam. 

Kath.  No  ?  Saw  you  not,  even  now,  a  blessed  troop 
Invite  me  to  a  banquet ;  whose  bright  faces 
Cast  thousand  beams  upon  me,  like  the  sun? 
They  promised  me  eternal  happiness; 
And  brought  me  garlands,  Griffith,  which  I  feel 
I  am  not  worthy  yet  to  wear:  I  shall. 
Assuredly. 

Grif.  I  am  most  joyful,  madam,  such  good  dreams 
Possess  your  fancy. 

Kath.  Bid  the  music  leave, 

I  They  are  harsh  and  heavy  to  me.  [Music  ceases.) 
\      Pat.  Do  you  note, 

\  How  much  her  grace  is  alter d  on  the  sudden  ? 
!  How  long  her  face  is  dravvn  ?  How  pale  she  looks, 
And  of  an  earthly  cold  ?  Mark  you  her  eyes  ? 

Grif.  She  is  going,  wench;  pray,  pray. 

Pat.  Heaven  comfort  her ! 

Enter  a  Messenger 
Mess.  An't  like  your  grace, — 
Kath.  You  are  a  saucy  fellow  : 

Deserve  we  no  more  reverence  ? 
j     Grif.  You  are  to  blame, 

1  Knowing,  she  will  not  lose  her  wonted  greatness, 
!  To  nse  so  rude  behaviour  :  go  to,  kneel. 
\     Mess,  I  hunibly  do  entreat  your  highness'  pardon ; 
i  My  haste  made  me  unmannerly :  There  is  staying 
!  A  gentleman,  sent  from  the  king,  to  see  you. 
!     Kath.  Admit  him  entrance,  Griffith :  But  this  fellow 
!  Let  one  ne'er  see  again. 

[Exeunt  Griffith  and  Messenger. 

Re  enter  Griffith,  with  Capucius. 

If  my  sight  fail  not. 
You  should  be  lord  ambassador  from  the  emperor, 
j  My  royal  nephew,  and  your  name  Capucius. 


Cap.  Madam,  the  same,  your  sei'v  ar  t. 

Kath.  i)  my  lord, 

Tiie  times,  and  titles,  now  are  alter'd  Ktraj.gely 
With  me,  since  first  you  knew  me.  But,  I  piay  you 
What  is  your  pleasure  with  me  ? 

Cap.  ^  _  Noble  lady, 

First,  mine  own  service  to  your  grace  ;  the  next, 
The  king's  request,  that  I  would  visit  you  ; 
Who  grieves  much  for  your  weakness,  and  by  uie 
Sends  you  his  princely  commendations. 
And  heartily  entreats  you  take  good  comfort. 

Kath.  O  my  good  lord,  that  comfort  conges  to 
late; 

'Tis  like  a  pardon  after  execution  : 
That  gentle  physic,  given  in  time,  had  cur'd  me; 
But  now  I  am  ijast  all  comforts  here,  but  prayers. 
How  does  his  highness  ? 

Cap.  Madam,  in  good  health. 

Kath,  So  may  he  ever  do !  and  ever  flourish. 
When  I  shall  dwell  with  worms,  and  my  poor  name 
Banish'd  the  kingdom  ! — Patience,  is  that  letter, 
I  caus'd  you  write,  yet  sent  away  ? 

Pat.  ^  No,  madam. 

{Giving  it  to  Katharint ) 

Kath.  Sir,  I  most  humbly  pray  you  to  deliver 
This  to  my  lord  the  king. 

Cap.  Most  willing,  madam. 

Kath.  In  which  I  have  commended  to  his  good, 
ness 

The  model  of  our  chaste  loves,  his  young  daughter 

The  dews  of  heaven  fall  thick  in  blessings  on  he'-i  — 

Beseeching  him,  to  give  her  virtuous  breedinsfj 

(She  is  young,  and  of  a  nuble  modest  nature  : 

I  hope,  she  will  deserve  well) ;  and  a  little 

To  love  her  for  her  mother's  sake,  that  lov'd  him. 

Heaven  knows  how  dearly.    My  next  poor  petition 

Is,  that  his  noble  grace  would  have  some  pity 

Upon  my  wretched  women,  that  so  long 

Have  follow'd  both  my  fortunes  fuithfullyi 

Of  which  there  is  not  one,  I  dare  avow, 

(And  now  I  should  not  lie,)  but  will  deserve, 

For  virtue,  and  true  beauty  of  the  soul. 

For  honesty,  and  decent  carriage, 

A  right  good  husband,  let  him  be  noble  ; 

And,  sure,  those  men  are  happy,  tiiat  shall  have  them 

The  last  is,  for  my  men  ; — they  are  the  poorest. 

But  poverty  could  never  draw  them  from  me  ;•— 

That  they  may  have  their  wages  duly  paid  them. 

And  something  over  to  remember  nie  by : 

If  heaven  had  pleas'd  to  have  given  n>e  longer  hfe. 

And  able  means,  we  had  not  parted  thus. 

These  are  the  whole  contents : — And,  good  my  lord, 

By  that  you  love  the  dearest  in  this  world, 

As  you  wish  christian  peace  the  souls  departed. 

Stand  these  poor  people's  friend,  and  urge  the  king 

To  do  me  this  last  right. 

Cap.  By  heaven,  I  will ; 

Or  let  me  lose  the  f^ishion  of  a  man ! 

Kath.  I  thank  yon,  honest  lord.  Remember  ane 
In  all  humility  unto  his  highness: 
Say,  his  long  trouble  now  is  passing 
Out  of  this  world  :  tell  him,  in  death  I  bless'd  hint. 
For  so  I  will. — Mine  eyes  grow  dim. — Farewell, 
My  lord. — Griffith,  farewell. — Nay,  Patience, 
You  must  not  leave  me  yet,    I  must  to  bed  ; 
Call  in  more  women. — When  I  am  dead,  good  wenon 
Let  me  be  us'd  with  honour :  strew  me  over 
With  maiden  flowers,  that  all  the  worlJ  may  know 
I  was  a  chaste  wife  to  my  grave  :  embalm  i'«e. 
Then  lay  me  forth :  although  unqueen'd,  yet  like 
A  queen,  and  daughter  to  a  king,  inter  me. 
I  can  no  more.   [Exeunt,  leading  KaihoR^ne 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — A  Gallery  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Gardiner,  Bishop  of  Winchester,  a  Paga 
with  a  torch  before  him,  met  by  Sir  TuoMAt 

LOVELL. 

Gar.  Its  one  o'clock,  bo  ,  is't  not? 


5C  J 

i  \y.  It  hath  struck. 

ii  %r.  I'hese  should  be  hours  for  necessities. 
Nut  'or  (1  ;lights ;  times  to  repair  our  nature 
VN'it  >  coiiifortiug  repose,  and  not  for  us 

I'o    saste  these  times. — Good  hour  of  night,  sir 

Thomas  ! 
Whit  jer  so  late  ? 

Lo%.  Came  you  from  the  king,  my  lord  ? 

Gat  I  did,  sir  Thomas ;  and  left  him  at  primero  ^ 
With  t  ie  duke  of  Suffolk. 

hov.  I  must  to  him  too, 

Uefore  l>e  go  to  bed.   I'll  take  my  leave. 

Gar.  Not  yet,  sir  Thomas  Lovell.    What's  the 
matter? 

ft  seems,  you  are  in  haste  ;  an  if  there  be 
No  great  olfence  belongs  to"t,  give  your  friend 
Some  toucii  of  your  late  business  ;  Atiairs,  that  walk 
As,  they  say,  spirits  do)  at  midnight,  have 
u  them  a  wilder  nature,  than  the  business 
Ti)at  seeks  despatch  by  day. 

hov.  My  lord,  I  love  you ; 

And  durst  commend  a  secret  to  your  ear 
Much  weightier  than  this  work.    The  queen's  in 
labowr, 

They  say,  in  great  extremity  ;  and  fear'd, 
She'll  With  the  labour  end. 

Gar.  The  fruit,  she  goes  with, 

I  |)i  ay  for  heartily  ;  that  it  may  find 
Good  time,  and  live  :  but  lor  the  stock,  sir  Thomas, 
i  wish  it  grubb'd  up  now. 

hov.  Methinks,  I  could 

Cry  thee  amen  ;  and  yet  my  conscience  says 
She's  a  good  creature,  and,  sweet  lady,  does 
Deserve  our  better  wishes. 

Gar.  But,  sir,  sir, — 

Bear  me,  sir  Thomas :  You  are  a  gentleman 
Of  my  own  way  ;  1  know  you  wise,  religious  ; 
And,  let  me  tell  you,  it  will  ne'er  be  well, — 
'Twill  not,  sir  Thoiaas  Lovell,  take't  of  me, — 
Till  Cranmer,  Cromwell,  her  two  hands,  and  she, 
Sleep  in  their  graves. 

hov.  Now,  sir,  ye  speak  of  two 

Tiie  most  remark'd  i'the  kingdom.    As  for  Crom- 
well,— 

Beside  that  of  the  jewel-house,  he's  made  master 
O'the  rolls,  and  the  king's  secretary;  further,  sir. 
Stands  in  the  gap  and  trade  of  more  preferments, 
VVith  which  the  time  will  load  him  :    The  arch- 
bishop 

Is  the  king's  hand,  and  tongue;  And  who  dare  speak 
One  syllable  against  him  'i 

Car.  Yes,  yes,  sir  Thomas, 

There  are,  that  dare  ;  and  I  myself  have  yeDtur'd 
To  speak  my  mind  of  him :  and,  indeed,  this  day. 
Sir,  (I  may  tell  it  you,)  I  think,  I  have 
Incens'd  the  lords  o'the  council,  that  he  is 
(For  so  I  know  he  is,  they  know  he  is) 
A  most  arch  heretic,  a  pestilence, 
That  does  infect  the  land :  with  which  they  moved, 
Have  broken  with  the  king  ;  vyho  hath  so  lar 
Given  ear  to  our  complaint,  (of  his  great  grace  _ 
And  princely  care  ;  foreseeing  those  fell  mischiefs 
Oar  reasons'laid  before  him,)  he  hath  commanded, 
Yo-morrow  morning  to  the  council-board 
He  be  conveuted.    He's  a  rank  weed.  Sir  Thomas, 
And  we  must  root  him  out.    From  your  affairs 
hinder  you  too  long:  good  night,  sir  Thomas. 

hov.  Many  good  nights,  my  lord;  I  rest  your 
servant.      [Exeunt  Gardiner  and  Page. 

hovell  is  going  out,  enter  the  King  and  the 
Duke  of  Suffolk. 

K.  Hen.  .^/harles,  I  will  play  no  more  to-night; 
My  mind's  not  on't,  you  are  too  hard  for  me, 

Si/f.  Sir,  I  did  never  win  of  yoir before. 

K.  Hen.  But  little,  Charles ; 
INor  shall  not,  when  my  fancy's  on  my  play. — 
N(nv,  ljo\  eil,  from  the  queen  what  is  the  news? 

Lav.  I  could  not  personally  deliver  to  her 
What  y'iu  commanded  me,  but  by  her  woman 


Act  V 

I  sent  your  'nessage ;  who  return'd  her  thanks 

In  the  greatest  humbleness,  and  desir'd  your  hij;l». 

Most  heartily  to  pray  for  her.  [nes 

K.  Hen.  _      What  say'st  thou  ?  ha 

To  pray  for  her?  what,  is  she  crying  out'-' 

hov.  So  said  her  woman;  and  that  her  sufferaucfl 
Almost  each  pang  a  death.  [made 

K.  Hen.  _  Alas,  good  lady  ! 

Suf,  God  safely  quit  her  of  her  burden,  and 
With  gentle  travail,  to  the  gladding  of 
Your  highness  with  an  heir ! 

K.  Hen.  'Tis  midnight,  Charley 

Pr'ythee,  to  bed ;  and  in  thy  prayers  remember 
The  estate  of  my  poor  queen.    Leave  ine  alone 
For  I  must  think  of  that,  which  company 
Will  not  be  friendly  to. 

Suf.  I  wish  your  highness 

A  quiet  night,  and  my  good  mistress  will 
RemcKiber  in  my  pi'ayers. 

K.  Hen.  Charles,  good  night—- 

[Exit  Stijjrolk 

Enter  Sir  Anthony  Denny. 
Well,  sir,  what  follows? 

Den.  Sir,  I  have  brought  my  lord  the  archbishop, 
As  yon  commanded  me. 

K.  Hen.  Ha !  Canterburj 

Den.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

K.  Hen.  "Vis  true  :  Where  is  he,  I>enny  ? 

Den.  He  attends  your  highness'  pleasure. 
K.  Hen.  Bring  liim  to  us.  [Exit  Denny, 

hov.  This  is  about  that  which  the  bishop  spake  ; 
I  am  happily  come  hither.  {Aside.) 

Re  enter  Denny,  with  Cranmer. 

K.  Hen.  Avoid  the  gallery. 

{  Lovell  seems  to  stay.) 
Ha  ! — I  have  said. — Begone. 
What !  [Exeunt  hovell  and  Denny, 

Cran.  I  am  fearful : — Wherefore  frowns  he  thus  ? 
'Tis  his  aspect  of  terror.    All's  not  well. 

K.  Hen.  How  now,  my  lord  ?  You  do  desire  to 
Wherefore  I  sent  for  you  ?  [know 

Cran.  It  is  my  duty 

To  attend  your  highness'  pleasure. 

K.  Hen.  'Pray  you,  arifle. 

My  good  and  gracious  lord  of  Canterbury. 
Come,  you  and  I  must  walk  a  turn  together; 
I  have  news  to  tell  you  :  Come,  come,  give  me  year 
hand. 

Ah,  my  good  lord,  I  grieve  at  what  I  speak. 
And  am  right  sorry  to  repeat  what  follows : 
I  have,  and  must  unwillingly,  of  late 
Heard  many  grievous,  I  do  say,  my  lord, 
Grievous  complaints  of  you;  which,  being  con- 
sider'd. 

Have  mov'd  us  and  our  council,  that  you  shall 
This  morning  come  before  us ;  where,  I  know. 
You  cannot  with  such  freedom  purge  yourself 
But  that,  till  further  trial,  in  those  charges, 
Which  will  require  your  answer,  you  must  take 
Your  patience  to  you,  and  be  well  contented 
To  make  your  house  our  Tower :  You  a  brother  of  OS, 
It  fits  we  thus  proceed,  or  else  no  witness 
Would  come  against  you. 

Cran.  I  humbly  thank  your  highness; 

And  am  right  glad  to  catch  this  good  occasion 
Most  thoroughly  to  be  winnow'd,  where  my  chaff 
And  corn  shall  fly  asunder;  for,  I  know. 
There's  none  stands  under  more  calumnious  tongueS;  ; 
Than  I  myself,  poor  man. 

K.  Hen.  Stand  up,  good  C:^nterbury; 

Thy  truth,  and  thy  integrity,  is  rooted 
In  us,  thy  friend  -.'Give  me  thy  hand,  stand  up; 
Pr'ythee,  let's  walk.    Now,  by  my  holy  dame, 
What  manner  of  man  are  you  ?  My  lord,  1  look'd 
You  would  have  given  me  your  petition,  that 
I  should  have  ta  en  some  pains  to  bring  together 
Yourself  and  your  accusers  ;  and  to  iiave  heard  yon 
Without  endurance,  iin  tiie-rc, 


KING  HENRY  VIIL 


Scene  2. 


KING  HENRY  VIIL 


Cran.  Most  dread  liege, 

The  good  I  stand  ((n  is  my  truth,  and  houesty. 
If  they  shall  fail,  T,  with  mine  enemies, 
Will  triumph  o'er  my  person  ;  which  I  weigh  not. 
Being  of  those  virtues  vacant.    I  fear  nothing 
VVhat  can  be  said  against  me. 

K.  Hen.  Know  you  not  how 

\"our  state  stands  i'  the  world,  with  the  whole  world? 
Your  enemies 

Are  many,  and  not  small ;  their  practices 
Must  bear  the  same  proportion  :  and  not  ever 
The  justice  and  the  truth  o'the  question  carries 
The  dae  o'the  ^erdlct  with  it :  At  what  ease 
Migfit  corrupt  minds  procure  knaves  as  corrupt 
To  swear  a»ainst  you?  Such  things  have  been  done. 
You  are  potently  oppos'd  ;  and  with  a  malice 
Of  a  great  size.    Ween  you  of  better  luck, 
I  mean,  in  perjur'd  witness,  than  your  master, 
Whose  minister  you  are,  whiles  here  he  liv'd 
Upon  this  naughty  earth?  Go  to,  go  to; 
You  take  a  precipice  for  no  leap  of  danger. 
And  woo  your  own  destruction. 

Cran.  God,  and  your  majesty. 

Protect  mine  innocence,  or  I  fall  into 
The  trap  is  laid  tor  me  ! 

K.  Hen.  Be  of  good  cheer  ; 

Tliey  shall  no  more  prevail,  than  we  give  way  to. 
Keep  comfort  to  you;  and  tliis  morning  see 
You  do  appear  before  them:  if  they  shall  chance, 
In  charging  j^on  with  matters,  to  commit  you, 
'J'he  best  [)ersuasions  to  the  contrary 
Fail  not  to  use,  and  with  what  vehemency 
The  occasion  shall  instruct  jou;  if  entreaties 
VV  ill  render  you  on  remedy,  this  ring 
Deliver  theni  and  your  appeal  to  us 
There  make  before  them. — Look,  the  good  man 
weeps ! 

He's  honest,  on  mine  honour.  God's  blest  mother! 

[  swear  lie  is  true-hearted  ;  and  a  soul 

None  better  in  my  kingdom. — Get  you  gone. 

And  do  as  I  have  hid  you. —  [Exit  Cranmer. 

He  has  strangled 

His  language  in  his  tears. 

Enter  an  old  Lady. 
Gent.  {Within.)  Come  back  ;  what  mean  you  ? 
Lady.  £'ll  not  come  hack  ;  the  tidings,  that  I  bring, 
Wili  make  my  boldness  manners.  —  Now  good 
angels 

Fly  o'er  thy  royal  head,  and  shade  ihy  person 
Under  their  blessed  wings  ! 

K.  Hen.  Now,  by  thy  looks 

f  guess  thy  message.    Is  the  queen  deliver'd  ? 
Say,  ay  ;  and  of  a  boy. 

Lady.  Ay,  ay,  my  liege  ; 

And  o<  a  lovely  boy :  The  God  of  heaven 
Both  now  and  ever  bless  her! — 'tis  a  girl. 
Promises  boys  hereafter.    Sir,  your  queen 
Desires  your  visitation,  and  to  be 
Acquainted  with  this  stranger;  'tis  as  like  you, 
As  cherry  is  to  cherry. 

K  Hen,  Lovell,— 

Enter  Lovell, 
Lov.  Sir. 
K.  Hen.  Give  her  an  hundred  marks.    I  ll  to  the 
'"'^«^en.  [Exit  King. 

Lady.  An  iumdred  marks!    By  this  light,  I'll 
b«ive  more. 
An  ordinary  groom  is  for  such  payment 
I  v\'ill  have  more,  or  scold  it  out  of  him. 
Said  I  for  this,  the  girl  is  like  to  him  ? 
I  will  have  more,  or  else  unsay't ;  and  now 
While  it  is  hot,  Pll  put  it  to  the  issue.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — Lobby  before  the  Council  Chamber. 
Enter  Cranmer  ;  Servants,  Door-keeper,  §Cc.  at- 
tending, 

Cran.  1  hope,  I  am  not  too  late ;  and  vet  the 
gentleman. 


That  was  sent  to  n.^'  from  the  council,  pray'd  me 
To  make  great  haste.  All  ihst  ?  what  means  (his? — 
Who  waits  there  ? — Sure,  you  know  me  ?  fHoat 

D.  Keep.  Yes,  ray  lord  ; 

But  yet  1  cannot  help  you. 

Cran.  Why  ? 

D.  Keep.   Your  grace  must  wait  till  you  b* 
call'd  for. 

Enter  Doctor  Butts. 

Cran.  So. 

Butts.  This  is  a  piece  of  malice.    I  am  glad 
I  came  this  way  so  happily  :  The  king 
Shall  understand  it  presently.  [Exit  Butts 

Cran.  'Tis  Butts,  {Aside.) 

The  king's  physician  :  As  he  past  along, 
How  earnestly  he  cast  his  eyes  upon  me  ! 
Pray  heaven,  he  sound  not  my  disgrace  :  For  certain, 
This  is  of  purpose  laid,  by  some  that  hate  me, 
(God  turn  their  hearts  I  I  never  sought  their  malice,) 
To  quench  mine  honour :   they  would  shame  to 
make  me 

Wait  else  at  door  ;  a  fellow  counsellor, 
Among   boys,   grooms,   and  lackeys     But  their 
pleasure.^ 

Must  be  fulfiU'd,  and  I  attend  with  patience. 
Enter,  at  a  window  above,  the  King  and  Butts. 
Butts.  I'll  shew  your  grace  the  strangest  sight,—. 
K.  Hen.  What's  that,  Butts? 

Butts.  I  think,  your  highness  saw  this  many  a 
day. 

K.  Hen.  Body  o'rae,  where  is  it? 

Butts.  There,  my  lord  j 

The  high  promotion  of  his  grace  of  Canterbury  ; 
Who  holds  his  state  at  door,  'mongst  pursuivants. 
Pages  and  footboys. 

K.Ren.  Ha!  'Tis  he,  indeed  : 

Is  this  the  honour  they  do  one  another  ? 
'Tis   well,  there's  one  above  them   yet.    I  h;^^ 
thought 

They  hod  parted  so  much  honesty  among  them,  \ 
(At  least,  good  manners,)  as  not  thus  to  suffer  \ 
A  man  of  his  place,  and  so  near  our  favour,  ! 
To  dance  attendance  on  their  lordships'  pleasures,  ' 
And  at  the  door,  too,  like  a  post  with  packets. 
By  holy  M.iry,  Butts,  there's  knavery: 
Let  them  alone,  and  draw  the  curtain  close  ; 
VVe  shall  hear  more  anon. — ■  [Exeunt 

The  Council-Chamber. 
Enter  the  Lord  Chancellor,  the  Duke  of  Suffolk, 
£(7r/q/"  Surrey,  LordChaml erlain,  Gardiner, 
and  Cromwell.  The  Chan  cellar  2  laces  him- 
self at  the  tipper  end  of  th<i  table  on  the  left 
hand;  a  seat  being  left  void  above  him,  as  Jar 
the  Archbishop  0/ Canterbury.  The  rest  seat 
themselves  in  order  on  each  side.  Cromwell  at 
the  loiver  end,  as  secretary. 

Chan.  Speak  the  business,  master  secretary  : 
Why  are  we  met  in  council  t 

Crom.  Please  your  honours, 

The  chief  cause  concerns  his  grace  of  Canterbury, 

Gar.  Has  he  had  knowledge  of  it  ? 

Crom.  Yes. 

Nor.  Who  waits  there  ? 

D.  Keep.  Without,  my  noble  lords  ? 

Gar.  Yes. 

D.  Keep.  My  lord  archbishop  , 

And  has  done  half  an  hour,  to  know  youj  pleasures. 

Chan.  Let  him  come  in. 

D.  Keep.  Your  grace  may  enter  now 

{Cranmer  approaches  the  council-table,] 

Chan.  My  good  lord  archbishop,  1  am  very  sorr? 
To  sit  here  at  this  present,  and  behold 
That  chair  stand  empty :  But  we  all  "re  men, 
In  our  own  nature  frail;  and  capable 
Of  our  flesli,  few  are  angels:  out  of  which  frailty. 
And  want  of  wisdom,  you,  that  best  should  teach  u«, 
Have  misdemean'd  yourself,  and  not  a  little 


BIO 


KING  HENRY  VIH 


Act  V. 


Tovsrard  the  king  first,  then  his  laws,  in  filline 
The  whule  realm,  by   your   teaching,  ana  your 
chaplains, 

(For  so  we  are  ini'orra'd,)  with  new  opinions, 
Divers,  and  dangerous;  which  are  heresies. 
And,  not  reforiii'd,  may  prove  pernicious. 

Gar.  Which  reformation  must  be  sudden  too, 
My  nf)ble  lords  :  for  those,  that  tame  wild  horses, 
Pa  ;e  tlipm  not  in  their  hands  to  make  them  t5;entle  : 
But  stop  their  mouths  vvilh  stubborn  bits,  aua  spur 
them, 

Till  they  obey  the  manage.    If  we  suffer 
{Gut  of  our  easiness,  ana  childish  pity 
To  one  man's  honour)  this  contagious  sickness, 
Farewell,  all  physic  :  And  what  follows  then  i 
Commotions,  uproars,  with  a  general  taint 
Of  the  whole  state  :  as,  of  late  days^  our  neighbours, 
The  upper  Germ-iny,  can  dearly  witness, 
Yet  freshly  pitied  in  our  memories.  [gress 
Cran.  My  good  lords,  hitlierto,  in  all  the  pro- 
Both  of  my  life  and  office,  I  have  htbotir'd, 
And  with  no  little  study,  that  my  teaching, 
And  tlie  strong  course  of  my  authority. 
Might  go  one  way,  and  safely  ;  and  the  end 
Was  ever  to  do  well  :  nor  is  there  livinff 
{I  speak  it  with  a  single  heart,  my  lords,) 
A  nian  that  more  detests,  more  stirs  against, 
Ijioth  in  his  private  conscience,  and  his  place, 
Defacers  of  a  public  peace,  tiian  I  do. 
IVay  heaven,  the  king  may  ne\er  find  a  heart 
V\'ith  less  allegiance  in  it!  Mrn,  that  make 
Euvy,  and  crouk'd  malice,  nourishmeiit, 
Dare  bite  the  best.    I  do  beseech  y(jur  lordships. 
That,  in  this  case  of  justice,  niy  accusers, 
lie  what  rhey  will,  may  stand  tbrth  face  to  face. 
And  freely  urge  against  me. 

Huf.  Nay,  my  lord, 

Tbu'  cannot  be  ;  you  are  a  counsellor, 
A.ifl,  by  that  virtue,  no  man  dare  accuse  j^ou. 
f'«/'.  My  lord,   because  we  have   business  of 

mo-re  moment, 
We  will  be  short  with  you.    'Tis  his  highness' 

jjlcasure, 

Anf^  our  C'liisent,  for  blotter  trial  of  you. 

From  hence  you  be  committed  to  the  Tower: 

\Vheie,  bring  but  a  private  man  again, 

^'on  sliali  know  many  dare  accuse  you  boldly, 

More  than,  I  fear,  you  are  provided  for.  [you, 

Cran.  Ah,  my  good  lord  of  Winchester,  1  thank 
Yo'i  ;ire  always  my  good  friend;  if  your  will  pass, 
I  shall  bolii  hiid  your  lordship  judge  and  juror, 
Vou  are  .so  merciful:  I  see  your  end, 
'Ti.s  my  undo:ng  :  Love,  and  meekness,  lord. 
Become  ;t  '•-luircliman  better  than  ambition; 
Will  ,s!rayi)ig  souls  with  modesty  again. 
Cast  noni-  away.    'I'iiat  I  shall  clear  myself, 
Lay  all  the  \v(-i;;ht  ye  can  upon  my  patience, 
I  make  <;s  little  doubt,  as  you  do  conscience. 
In  (ioitig  daily  wrongs.    I  could  say  more, 
Bt'.t  reverence  to  your  calling  makes  me  modest. 

Gar.  My  lord,  my  lord,  you  are  a  sectary, 
Tiiat's  ttie  plain  truth ;  your  painted  gloss  dis 
covers, 

To  men  tliat  un  lerstand  you,  words  and  weakness. 

Cram.  My  lorti  of  Winchester,  you  are  a  little^ 
By  yoi!rf;ood  I'autur,  too  sharp;  men  so  noble. 
However  faulty,  yet  slioiild  find  respect 
l\)r  wiiat  (hry  have  been;  'tis  a  cruelty, 
S  o  load  a  falling  man. 

Gnr.  Good  n>aster  secretary, 

{  n  y  your  honour  mercy  :  you  may,  worst 
Df  'ill  liiis  tai)le,  say  so. 

ilrom.  Why,  my  lord? 

liar.  Do  not  1  know  you  (or  a  fivourer 
Of  III. s  new  sect  ?  ye  are  not  sound. 

Cro>n„  Not  sound  ? 

Car.  Not  souu'l,  I  say. 

(.'ronu  'Woiilii  you  were  half  so  honest! 

Sfleii's  (.rayers  tiini  would  se^-k  yoa,  not  their  fears. 
Gar.  I  sliaii  reniemoei  tins  bold  lanmiage. 


'     Crom.  Do. 
Remember  youi  bold  life  too. 

Chan.  This  is  too  niiich  ; 

Forbear,  for  shame,  my  lords. 

Gar.  I  have  done. 

Crom.  .A  ndl. 

Chan.  Then  thus  for  you,  my  lord, — It  standi 
I  take  it,  by  all  voices,  that  forthwith  [agreed, 
Vou  be  conveyed  to  the  Tower  a  prisoner  ; 
There  to  remain,  till  the  king's  further  pleasure 
Be  known  unto  us:  Are  you  all  agreed,  lords  ? 

Ail.  We  are. 

Cran.  Is  there  no  other  way  of  mercy 

But  I  must  needs  to  the  Tower,  my  lords  ':' 

Gar,  What  otho» 

Would  you  expect?  You  are  strangely  trouble- 
Let  some  o'the  guard  be  ready  there.  'some  : 

Enter  Guard. 

Cran.  For  me  ? 

Must  I  go  like  a  traitor  thither? 

Gar.  Receive  him, 

And  see  him  safe  i'the  Tower. 

Cran.  Stay,  good  my  lords, 

I  have  a  little  yet  to  say.    Look  there,  my  lords; 
By  virtue  of  that  ring,  I  take  my  cause 
Out  of  the  grines  of  cruel  men,  and  give  it 
To  a  most  noble  judge,  the  king  my  master. 

Cham.  This  is  the  king's  ring. 

Sur.  'Tis  no  counterfeit 

Suf.  'Tis  the  right  ring,  by  heaven  :  I  told  ye  all, 
When  we  first  put  this  dangerous  stone  a  rolling, 
' Twould  fall  upon  ourselves. 

Nor.  Do  you  think,  my  lords. 

The  king  will  suffer  but  the  little  linger 
Of  this  man  to  be  vex'd  ? 

Cham.  'Tis  now  too  certain  : 

How  much  more  is  his  life  in  value  with  him  ? 
Would  I  were  fairly  out  on't. 

Crom.  My  mind  gave  tb9 

In  seeking  tales  and  informations. 
Against  this  man,  (whose  honesty  the  devil 
And  his  disciples  only  envy  at,) 
Ve  blew  the  fire  that  burns  ye :  Now  have  at  ye.  * 

Enter  King ,  frowning  on  them;  takes  his  scat. 
Gar.  Dread  sovereign,  how  much  are  we  bound 
to  heaven 

In  daily  thanks,  that  gave  us  such  a  prince  ; 
Not  only  good  and  wise,  but  most  religious  : 
One  that,  ia  all  obedience,  makes  the  cliux  h 
The  chief  aim  of  his  honour;  and,  to  strengthen 
That  holy  duty,  out  of  dear  respect. 
His  royal  self  in  judgment  comes  to  hear. 
The  cause  betwixt  her  and  this  great  oifender. 
K.  Hen.  You  were  ever  good  at  sudden  coBJ- 
mendatioDS, 

Bishop  of  Winchester.    But  know,  I  come  not 
To  hear  such  flattery  now,  and  in  my  presence, 
They  are  too  thin  and  base  to  hide  oifences. 
To  me  you  cannot  reach,  you  play  the  spaniel, 
And  think  with  wagging  of  your  tongue  to  win  nie ; 
But,  whatsoe'er  thou  tak'st  me  for,  \  am  sure 
Thou  hast  a  cruel  nature,  and  a  bloody. — 
Good  man,  [to  Cranmer)  sit  down.    Now  let  me 

see  the  proudest 
He,  that  dares  most,  bat  wag  his  finger  at  thee: 
By  all  that's  h  'ly,  he  had  better  starve, 
Than  but  once  think  his  place  becouies  thi'e  not. 

Sur.  May  it  please  your  grace, — 

K.  Hen.  N  o,  sir,  it  does  not  please  \ae. 

I  had  thought,  I  had  had  men  of  some  umler- 
standing 

And  wisdom,  of  my  council;  but  find  none. 

Was  it  discretion,  lords,  to  let  this  man. 

This  good  man,  (few  of  you  deserve  that  title,) 

This  honest  man,  wait  lik^^  a  lousy  lootboy 

At  chamber-door?  and  one  as  great  as  vou  are"* 

Why,  what  a  shame  was  this?  Did  my  counmssicn 

liid  ye  so  far  forget  yom-selves?  I  gave  \f 


ScKNE  4.  KING  HENRY  VTII. 


511 


Power  as  he  was  a  counsellor  to  try  him, 
Not  as  a  groom  ;  There's  some  of  ye,  I  see. 
More  out  of  iHKlice  than  integrrity, 
VV^>iild  try  I  in  to  the  utmost,  had  ye  mean ; 
VVhicli  ye  stall  never  have,  while  I  live. 

Chan.  Thus  far, 

My  most  dread  sovereign,  may  it  like  your  grace 
r<)  let  my  tongue  excuse  all.    What  was  purpos'd 
Concerinug  his  imprisonment,  was  rather 
(If  there  be  faith  in  men,)  meant  for  his  trial. 
And  fair  purg&tiou  to  the  world,  than  malice  ; 
I  am  sure,  in  me. 

K.  Hen.  Well,  well,  my  lords,  respect  him  ; 

Take  him,  and  use  him  well,  he's  worthy  of  it. 
F  will  say  thus  much  f  )r  him,  If  a  prince 
May  be  beholden  to  a  subject,  I 
Am,  for  his  love  and  service,  so  to  him. 
Make  mifno  more  ado,  but  all  embrace  him ; 
Be  friends,  for  shame,  my  lords. — My  lord  of  Can- 
terbury, 

I  have  a  suit,  which  you  must  not  deny  me  ; 
That  is,  a  fair  young  maid,  that  yet  wants  baptism. 
You  must  be  godfather,  and  aiisvver  for  her. 
Craru  The  greatest   monarch  now  alive  rpay 
glory 

In  such  an  honour;  How  may  I  deserve  it, 
Th^t  am  a  poor  and  humble  subject  to  you  ? 
K.  Hen.  Come,  come,  my    lord,   you'd  spare 
your  s[)Oons;  you  shall  have 
Two  noble  partners  with  you  ;  the  old  Duchess  of 
Norfolk, 

And  lady  marqiiis  Dorset ;  Will  these  please  you  ? 
Once  more,  my  lord  of  Winchester,  I  charge  you, 
Embrace,  and  love  this  man. 

Gar.  With  a  true  heart. 

And  brother-love,  1  do  it 

0-an.  And  let  heaven 

Witness,  how  dear  I  hold  this  confirmation. 

K.  Hen.  Good  man,  those  joyful  tears  shew  thy 
true  heart. 
The  common  voice,  I  see,  is  verified 
Of  thee, which  says  thus.  Do  my  lord  of  Canterbury 
A  shrewd  turn,  and  he  is  your  friend  forever. — 
Coiiit',  lords,  we  Iritle  time  away ;  I  long 
To  have  tliis  young  one  made  a  christian. 
A»  I  have  made  ye  one,  lords,  one  remain; 
So  1  grow  stronger,  you  more  honour  gain. 

[Exeufit. 

Scene  \\\.—The  Palace  Yard. 
Noise  and  titmidt  within.    Enter  Porter  and  his 
Man. 

Port.  You'll  leave  your  noise  anon,  ye  rascals : 
Do  yon  take  the  court  for  Paris-garden  ?  ye  rude 
slaves,  leave  ymw  gaping. 

(Within.J  Good  master  porter,  I  belong  to  the 
larder. 

Port.  Belong  to  the  gallows,  and  be  hanged,  you 
rogue:  Is  this  a  place  to  roar  in? — Fetch  me  a 
dozen  crab  tree  staves,  as.d  strong  ones  ;  these  are 
but  switches  to  them. — I'll  scratch  your  heads 
You  must  be  seeing  christenings  ?  Do  you  look  for 
«U  and  cakes  here,  you  rude  rascals. 

Man.  I'riy,  sir,  be  patient;  'tis  as  much  ira- 
I-  possible 
aUnless  we  sweep  them  from  the  doorwith  cannons,) 
To  s(  atter  tiietn,  as  'tis  to  make  them  sleep 
On  May-day  morning;  which  will  never  be  : 
We  rnxy  as  well  push  against  Paul's,  as  stir  them. 

Po^  t.  How  got  lliey  in,  and  be  hang'd  i 

Man.  Mas,  I  know  not;  How  gets  the  tide  in? 
As  much  as  one  sound  cudgel  of  four  foot 

iYiiu  see  tiie  poor  remainder)  could  distribute, 
made  uo  spare,  sir. 

Pari.  You  did  nothing,  sir. 

Man.  I  am  not  Samson,  nor  sir  Guy,  nor  Col- 
brat.d,  to  mow  them  down  before  me':  but,  if  I 
ipared  any,  tliat  had  a  head  to  hit,  either  young  or 
id,  he  or  she,  cuckold  or  cuckold  maker,  let  \nv 
Eev€r  hope  to  see  a  chine  again;  and  that  I  would 


not  for  a  cow,  God  save  her. 

[Within.)  Do  you  hear,  master  portef  ? 

Port.  I  shall  be  with  you  presently,  good  master 
puf)py. — Keep  the  door  close,  sirrah. 

Man.  What  would  you  have  me  do? 

Port.  What  should  you  do,  but  knock  theni 
down  by  the  dozens?  Is  this  Moorfields  to  muster 
in  ?  or  have  we  some  strange  Indian  with  the  great 
tool  come  to  court,  the  women  so  besiege  i./s? 
Bless  me,  what  a  fry  of  fornication  is  at  d(K-r  !  On 
my  christian  conscience,  tiiis  one  christening  will 
beget  a  thousand ;  here  will  be  father,  godfather 
and  all  together. 

Man.  The  spoons  will  be  the  bigger,  sir.  There 
is  a  leliow  somewhat  near  the  door,  he  should  be  a 
brazier  by  his  face,  for,  o'my  conscience,  twenty 
of  the  dog-days  now  reign  in's  nose  ;  all  that  stand 
about  him  are  under  the  line,  they  need  no  other 
penance:  That  fire -drake  did  I  hit  three  times  on 
the  head,  and  three  times  was  his  nose  discharged 
against  me  ;  he  stands  there,  like  a  mortar-piece,  to 
blow  us.  There  was  a  haberdasher's  wife  of 
small  wit  near  him,  that  railed  upon  me  till  her 
pink'd  porringer  fell  oil'  her  head,  for  kindling  such 
a  combustion  in  the  state.  I  miss'd  the  meteor 
once,  and  hit  that  woman,  who  cried  out,  clubs  ! 
when  I  might  see  from  far  some  forty  trnncheoneers 
draw  to  her  succour,  which  were  the  hape  of  the 
Strand,  where  she  was  quartered.  They  fell  onj 
I  made  good  my  place  ;  at  iengtii  they  came  to  the 
broomstalF  with  nte,  I  defied  them  stiil ;  when  sud- 
denly a  Hie  of  boys  behinrl  them,  loose  shot,  deli- 
vered such  a  shower  of  pebbles,  that  I  was  lam  to 
draw  mine  honour  in,  and  let  them  win  the  work: 
The  devil  was  among  them,  I  think,  suiely. 

Port.  These  are  the  youths  that  th'.inder  at  a 
play-house,  and  fight  for  bitten  apples  ;  that  '30 
audience  but  the  Tribulation  of  Tower-hill,  or  the 
liujbs  of  Limehouse,  their  dear  iirothers,  are  able 
to  endure.  I  have  some  of  them  in  Limbo  Patrun^ 
and  there  they  are  like  to  dance  these  three  days} 
besides  the  running  banquet  of  two  beadles,  that  is 
to  come. 

Enter  the  Lord  Chamberlain, 
Cham.  Mercy  o'me,  what  a  multitude  are  here  ! 
They  grow  still  too,  from  all  parts  they  are  coming. 
As  if  we  ke[)t  a  fair  here  !  Wliere  are  tiie  porters, 
'J'hese  lazy  knaves  ?— Ye  have  made  a  fiiie  hand, 
fellows. 

There's  a  trim  rabble  let  in :  Are  all  these 
Your  faithful  friends  o'the  suburbs?  We  sh;il!  have 
Great  store  of  room,  no  doubt,  left  for  the  ladies. 
When  they  pass  back  from  the  christening. 

Port.  An't  please  your  honout. 

We  are  but  men;  and  what  so  many  may  do. 
Not  being  torn  a  pieces,  we  have  done  : 
Kn  army  cannot  rule  them. 

Cham.  As  I  live. 

If  the  king  blame  me  for't,  I'll  lay  ve  all 
By  the  heels,  and  suddeidy  ;  and  on  your  heads 
Clap  round  fines,  for  neglect:  V  on  are  lazy  knaved J 
And  here  ye  lie  bai'  ng  of  bumbards,  when 
Ye  should  do  service.    Hark,  the  trumpr  ts  sound  ; 
They  are  come  already  from  the  christening  : 
Go,  break  among  the  press,  and  find  a  way  out 
To  let  the  troop  pass  fairly ;  or  I'll  find 
A   Marshalsea,  shall  hold   you   play  these  two 
months. 

Port.  Make  way  there  for  the  princess. 

Man.  You  great  fellow,  stand  close  up,  or  Til 
make  your  head  ache. 

Port.  You  i'the  camblet,  get  up  o'the  rail ;  I'll 
pick  you  o'er  the  pales  else.  {Exeunt. 

Scene  \^ —The  Palace. 
Enter  trumpets,  soundimj ;  then  tiro  Afder?nen, 
Lord  Mai/or,  Garter,  Cuanmeh.  Duke  o/ NoB- 
FOLK,  with  his  marshnPs  .stffjf,  Du  '<e  a/ Suffolk 
two    Noblemen  bearitif/  yreai  atanUiny  boivU 


512 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


ACJT  ? 


for  the  nkristeniny  gifts ;  then  four  Noblemen 
bearing  a  canopy,  under  tvhich  the  Duchess  of 
Norfolk,  godmother^  hearing  the  Child,  richly 
habited  in  a  mantle,  §fc.    Train  borne  by  a 
Lady  :  then  follows  the  Marchioness  of  Dorset, 
the  other  godmother,  and  Ladies.    The  troop 
pass  once  about  the  stage,  and  Gar  ter  speaks. 
Cart.  Heaven,  from  thy  endkss  goodness,  send 
pmsperoiis  life,  long,  and  ever  happv,  to  the  high 
"^nd  mighty  princess  of  England,  Elizaljeth. 
Flourish    Enter  King  and  Train. 
Cran.  {Kneeling.)  And  to  your  royal  grace,  and 
the  good  queen, 
Vlv  nohle  partners,  and  myself,  thus  pray: — 
Ail  comfort,  joy,  in  this  most  gracious  lady, 
l!<>aven  ever  \?ia  up  to  make  parents  happy 
Mav  hourly  fall  upon  ye ! 

t^.  Hen.        Thank  you,  good  lord  archbishop  : 
W  Iwt  is  her  name  ? 
Cran.  Elizabeth. 
A..  Hen.  Stand  up,  lord. — 

{The  King  kisses  the  Child.) 
With  this  kiss  take  my  blessing:  God  protect 
Into  whose  hands  I  give  thy  -life.  [thee  ! 

Cran.  Amen. 
K.  Hen.  My  noble  gossips,  ye  have  been  too 
prodigal : 

I  thank  ye  heartily  ;  so  shall  this  lady, 
V^'hen  slie  has  so  much  English. 

Cran.  -L-et  me  speak,  sir. 

For  heaven  now  bids  me ;  and  the  words  1  utter 
Let  none  think  flattery,  for  they'll  find  them  truth. 
This  loyal  infant,  (heaven  still  move  about  her!) 
Tliough  in  her  cradle,  yet  now  promises 
Upon  this  land  a  thousand  thousand  blessings^ 
Which  time  shall  bring  to  ripeness  :  She  shall  be 
(5?ut  few  now  living  can  behold  that  goodness,) 
A  pattern  to  all  princes,  living  with  her, 
And  all,  that  shall  succeed  :  Sheba  was  never 
More  covetous  of  wisdom,  and  fair  virtue. 
Than  this  pure  soul  shall  be  :  all  princely  graces, 
That  mould  up  such  a  mighty  piece  as  this  is. 
With  all  the  virtues  that  attend  the  good, 
Shall  still  be  doubled  on  her:  truth  shall  nurse  her, 
Holy  and  heavenly  thoughts  still  counsel  her: 
She  shall  be  lov'd,  and  fear'd:  Her  own  shall  bless 
her: 

Her  foes  shake  like  a  field  of  beaten  corn, 
Aud  hang  their  heads  with  sorrow  :  Good  grows 
with  her: 

Id  her  days,  every  man  shall  eat  in  safety 
Under  his  own  vine,  what  he  plants  ;  and  sing' 
'"I  he  merry  songs  of  peace  to  all  his  neighbours: 
Ood  shall  be  tnvly  known  ;  and  those  about  her 
From  her  shall  read  the  perfect  ways  of  iionour. 
And  by  those  claim  their  greatness,  not  by  biood. 
Mor  shall        peace  sleep  witJi  her;  But  as  when 


The  bird  of  wonder  dIeS;  (he  maiden  phcituia. 
Her  ashes  new  create  another  heir, 
As  great  in  admiration  as  herself: 
So  shall  she  leave  her  blessedness  to  one, 
(When  heaven  shall  call  her  from  Ihia  cloiicl  of 
darkness,) 

Who,  from  the  sacred  ashes  of  her  honour. 
Shall  star-like  rise,  as  great  in  fame  as  she  v/as, 
And  so  stand  fii'd :  Peace,  plenty,  love,  truth, 
terror. 

That  were  the  servants  to  this  chosen  infant. 
Shall  then  be  his,  and  like  a  vine  grow  to  him  ; 
Wherever  the  bright  sun  of  hea\en  shall  shine, 
His  honour  and  the  greatness  of  his  name 
Shall  be,  and  make  new  nations:  He  shall  flourish. 
And,  like  a  mountain  cedar,  reach  his  braoches 

To  all  the  plains  about  him:  Our  childien' 

children 

Shall  see  this,  and  bless  heaven. 

K.  Hen.  Thou  speakest  wondera. 

Cran.  She  shall  be,  to  the  happiness  of  EnglaxM^ 
An  aged  princess;  many  days  shall  see  her, 
And  yet  no  day  without  a  deed  to  crown  it. 
Woidd  I  had  known  no  more  !  hut  she  must  die, 
She  must,  (he  saints  must  have  her  ;  yet  a  virgin, 
A  most  unspotted  lily  shall  she  pass 
To  the  ground,  and  all  the  v.-orld  shall  mourn  her. 

K.  Hen.  O  lord  archbishop, 
Thou  hast  made  me  now  a  man ;  never,  before 
This  happy  child,  did  I  get  any  thing: 
This  oracle  of  comfort  has  so  pleas'd  me, 
That,  when  I  am  in  heaven,  I  shall  desire 
To  see  what  this  child  does,  and  praise  my  Maker.— 
I  thank  ye  all, — To  you,  my  good  lord  mayor, 
And  your  good  brethren,  I  am  much  beholden; 
I  have  receiv'd  much  honour  by  your  presence. 
And  ye  shall  find  me  thankful.    Lead  the  way 
lords ; — 

Ye  must  all  see  the  queen,  aud  she  must  thank  ye. 
She  will  be  sick  else.    This  day,  no  man  think 
He  has  business  at  his  house ;  for  all  shall  st?y, 
I'his  little  one  shall  make  it  holiday.  [MlxeuM 

EPILOGUE. 
'Tis  ten  to  one,  this  play  can  never  please 
All  that  are  here :  Some  come  to  take  their  easje. 
And  sleep  an  act  or  two  :  but  those,  we  fear, 
We  have  frighted  with  our  trumpets ;  so,  'tis  ckaT; 
They'll  say,  'tis  naught :  others,  to  hear  the  city 
Abus'd  extremely,  and  to  cry, — thafs  wihy! 
Which  we  have  not  done  neither  :  that,  I  fear, 
All  the  expected  good  we  are  like  toiiear 
For  this  play  at  this  time,  is  only  in 
The  merciful  construction  of  good  women; 
For  such  a  one  we  shew'd  them  :  If  they  suito 
And  say,  'twill  do,  I  know,  within  a  whiU 
All  the  best  men  are  ours;  for^'tis  ill  hap. 
If  tlie/  hold,  when  their  ladi«r  ;  i  them  clapk 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


IMiblished  his  version  of  Hom';r. 


makes  no  mention,  is  proof  tiiatTWsplaywasVri 


of 

] 


Sons. 


PRIAM,  King  of  Trov 
HECTOR,         -  ^ 
TROILUS, 
PAHtS, 
DEIPHOBUS 
H'  LENUS, 

a:nkas,-ant£nor 

CALCidLAS,    a  Trojan 
Greeks. 

PANDARUS,  Uticle  to  Cressida 
AGAS^SS>^/\f  *a..«.rr|^'«/  Priam. 
MPvl?r  Ani^'  ''^  Grecian  General. 

AJAX,  i  Grecian  Commanders. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


- Tr ojan  Coynmanders. 
Priest,    taking  part  with  thti 


Grecian  Commanders. 


Scene,— Troy,  and  the  Grecian  Camp  before  it 


ULYSSES, 
NESTOR. 
DiOMEDES. 
FATROCLUS,  J 

Tf'l^v^lT.ir,^!."  (^''formed  and  scnrriious  Grecian, 
ALEXANDER,  Sert-aut  to  Creasida. 
servant  to  Truilus. 
Servant  to  Paris. 
Servant  to  Diomedes. 
HELEN    Wife  to  Menelavs. 
^^/i*^9^^^<^HE,  ^^'^re  to  Hector. 
C^vt^x^^^f.  D^>:'J^^ter  to  Priam,  a  PropheUu. 
L/KESSIDA,  Dang  titer  to  Calchas. 

Trojan  and  Greek  Sciditrs,  and  Actendants. 


PROLOGUE. 

ta  Troy,  there  lies  the  scene.    From  isles  o 
Greece 

The  princes  orguiotis,  their  hioj,  blood  chaf'd 

Have  to  fhe  port  of  Athens  sent  their  ships, 

Fraught  witli  the  ministers  and  instruments 

Ul  cruel  war:  Sixty  and  nine,  that  wore 

Their  crovvnets  regal,  from  the  Athenian  bay 

Int  iorward  toward  Fiirygia :  and  tlieir  vow  is  uia<2e, 

J  o  innsack  Iroy  ;  within  those  strong  immures 

i/ie  ravish  d  Helen,  Menehms'  queen, 

\S  It)  wantor.  Paris  sleeps  ;  and  tliat's'the  quarrel. 

10  I'enedos  they  come: 

And  the  deep-drawing  barks  do  there  disgorge 

i  tie.r  warlike  franghtage  :  Now  on  Dardan  plains 

i  he  Iresh  and  yet  nnhrnised  Greeks  do  pitch 

Iheir  brave  pavihons;  Priam's  six-gated  city. 

Dardan,  and  Tymbria,  liias,  Chetas,  Trojan 

And  Antenondes,  with  massy  staples. 

And  corresponsive  and  fnlhlling  bolts! 

Sperr  up  the  sons  of  Troy. 

Now  expectation,  tickling  skittish  spirits, 

Un  one  and  other  side,  Trojan  and  Greek 

Sets  all  on  hazard  :— And  hither  am  I  come 

A  prologue  arm'd,— but  not  in  confidence 

Ul  author's  pen,  or  actor's  voice  ;  but  suited 

in  like  conditions  as  our  argument,  

To  tell  yon,  i'air  beholders,  that  our  play 
Leaps  o'er  the  vaunt  and  firstling  of  those  broils 
Uinning  in  the  middle  ;  starting  thence  away 
1 0  what  may  be  digested  in  a  play. 
Like,  or  find  fault ;  do  as  your  pleasures  are  ; 
Now  good,  or  bad,  'tis  but  the  chance  of  war. 

ACT  1. 

gcENE  I.— Troy.    Before  Priam's  Palace. 
E?iter  Tkoilus  armed,  and  Pandarus. 

nr'?'''^  ^"^^1  l^^*"^  "^J"  ^^""^^^  J'll  ""■'^••'n  again  : 
VVhy  should  I  war  without  the  walls  of  Troy 

hat  find  such  cruel  battle  here  within  ? 
Bach  'IVojan,  that  is  master  of  his  heart 
1-et  hir.)  to  field ;  Troilus,  alas!  hath  none. 
Pan.  Will  this  geer  ne'er  be  mended 
Iro.  The  Greeks  are  strong,  and  skilful  to  their 
;  strength, 

t  ierce  to  their  skill,  and  to  their  fierceness  valiant  • 
unt  1  am  weaker  than  a  woman's  tear,  ' 
I  amer  tuan  sleep,  fonder  than  ignorance ; 

I 


Less  valiant  than  the  virgin  in  the  night, 
And  skill-less  as  unpractis'd  infrncy. 

Pan.  Well,  1  have  told  you  enough  of  this  :  foi 
my  part  1  II  not  meddle  nor  m  ike  no  further.  He 
..lat  vvill  have  a  cake  out  of  the  wheat,  must  tarry 
cue  grinding.  ' 

Tro.  Have  I  not  tarried  ? 
boUi^""         ^'^^  giinding;  but  you  must  tarry  the 

Tro.  Have  I  not  tarried  ? 
Pan.  Ay,  the  bolting;  but  you 
Tro.  Still  have  1  tarru^d. 
Pan.  Ay,  to  the  leavening:  hut 


[iea/pnirii 
must  tiiiry  the 


word— hereafter,  the  kneading,  the 
cake,  the  heating  of  the  oven,  and  tl 


ere  s  yeJ  in  tha 
makiiig  of  thg 
e  baking;  nay, 
you  may  chance 


you  must  stay  the  cooling  too,  o 
to  burn  your  lips. 

Tro.  Patience  herself,  wliat  goddess  e'er  she  be. 
iJoth  lesser  biench  at  sufferance  than  I  do. 
At  Fna.n's  royal  table  do  I  sit: 
And  when  fair  Cressid  comes  info  my  thoughts  — 

^0,  traitor  I    when  she  comes !  u  iien   is  sl.« 

thence  1 

Pan.  Well,  she  looked  yesterniglit  Hiirer  thai 
ever  1  saw  her  look,  or  any  woman  else. 

Iro.  l  was  about  to  tell  thee,— \Vh,  n  my  heart. 
As  wedged  with  a  sigh,  would  rive  in  twain  ; 
Lest  Hector  or  my  father  should  perceive  me. 
1  hav^  (as  when  tiie  sun  doth  light  a  storm,) 
^nry  d  this  sigh  in  wrinkle  of  a  smile: 
Hut  sarrow,  that  is  couch'd  in  seeming  gladness, 
Is  like  that  mirth  fate  turns  to  sudden  tadness. 

i-  an.  An  her  hair  were  not  somewhat  darker  than 
Helens,  (well,  go  to,)  there  w.re  no  more  com. 
parison  between  the  women,— But,  for  my  i)art. 
she  is  my  kinswoman;  I  would  not,  as  tliey  term 
It,  praise  her,— But  I  would  somebody  had  heanj 
ner  talk  yesterday,  as  I  did.    I  will  not  disp 
your  sister  Cassandra's  wit ;— but 
^Ar.   "V^,'  Piindarus!  I  tell  thee,  Pandarus,— 
When  1  do  tell  thee.  There  my  hopes  lie  drowird, 
Keply  not  in  how  many  fathoms  deep 
i  he^  he  indrench'd.    1  tell  thee,  J  am  mad 
In  Oressid's  love  :  Thou  answe.'st.  She  is  fair: 
Pom-  st  m  the  open  ulcer  of  my  lieart 
Her  eyes,  her  hair,  her  cheeks. 


w    A\    i-     ,        ■■  ■  —         Jier  gait,  h»r  voice: 
Handiest  in  thy  discourse,  O,  that  her  hand, 
In  whose  comparison  all  whites  are  ink, 
Writing  their  own  reproach  ;  To  whose  soft  seizure 


33 


5U 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  I. 


The  cygnet's  down  is  harsh,  and  spirit  of  sense 
I3aid  as  the  i)alta  of"  ploiigiunau  1  Tliis  thou  teirat 
nie, 

As  true  thou  tell'st  me,  wlien  I  say — I  love  her  j 
Bat  saying,  thus,  instead  of  oil  and  bahn, 
Thou  \ayyt  in  every  gash  that  love  hatli  given  me, 
1'he  knife  that  ma(ie  it. 

Pan.  I  speak  no  more  than  truth. 

7Vo.  Thou  dost  not  speak  so  much. 

Pan.  'Faitli,  I'll  not  meddle  in't.  Let  her  be  as 
she  is:  if  she  he  fair,  'tis  the  better  for  lier;  an  she 
be  not,  she  l»as  the  mends  in  her  own  hands. 

Tro.  (Jood  Pandarus  !  How  now,  Pandnrus  ? 

Pa)i,  I  have  iiad  my  labour  for  niy  travel  :  ill- 
thought  on  of  her,  and  ill  thought  on  of  you  :  gone 
between  and  between,  but  small  thanks  for  my 
labour. 

Tro.  What,  art  thou  angry,  Pandarus  ?  what, 
with  me  ? 

Pan.  Because  she  is  kin  to  me,  therefore  she's 
not  so  fiiir  as  Helen  :  an  she  were  not  kin  to  me, 
«he  would  be  as  fair  on  Friday,  as  Helen  is  on 
Sunday.  But  what  care  I  ?  I  care  not,  an  she  were 
a  black  a  moor  ;  'tis  all  one  to  me. 

Tro.  Sjiy  !,  she  is  not  iair  ? 

Pan.  I  do  not  care  whether  you  do  or  no.  She's 
a  fool  t\j  stay  beiiind  her  father  ;  let  her  to  the 
Greeks  :  and  so  1  11  tell  her  the  next  time  I  see  her  : 
for  my  part,  I'li  meddle  nor  make  no  more  in  the 
Miatter. 

Tro.  Pandarus, — 

Pan.  Not  I. 

Tro.  Sweet  Pandarus, — 

Pan.  Pray  you,  speak  no  more  to  me ;  I  will 
eave  all  as  i  ibund  it,  and  there  an  end. 

[Exii  Pandarus.    An  alarum. 

Tro.   Pe?re,  you  ungracious  clamours,'  peace, 
rude  sounds  I 
Fools  on  both  sides  I  Helen  must  needs  be  fair. 
When  with  your  blood  you  daily  j,aint  her  thus. 
I  cannot  light  u{)on  this  argununt; 
It  is  too  starv'd  a  subject  for  my  sword.  . 
But  Pandarus  ! — O  gods,  how  do  yo'.t  plague  me  I 
I  cannot  come  to  Cressid,  but  by  Pandar; 
And  he's  as  tetchy  to  be  woo'd  to  woo, 
As  she  is  stubborn-chaste  against  hI,I  suit. 
Tell  me,  A  polio,  for  thy  Daphnes  love, 
What  Cressid  is,  what  Pandar,  and  what  we  ? 
Her  bed  is  India;  there  she  lies,  a  pearl : 
Between  our  Ilium,  and  where  she  re.>-ides, 
I/etit  be  call'd  the  wild  and  wandering  flood  ; 
Ourself,  the  merchant;  and  this  sailing  Pandar, 
Our  doubtful  hope,  our  convoy,  and  our  bark. 
Alarum.    Enter  JE^SExs. 

.^ne.  How  now,  prince  Troilus  ?  wherefore  not 
atield  ?  [sorts, 

Tro.  Be(;ause  not  there;  This  wornan.'s  answer 
For  womanish  t  is  to  be  I'rom  thence. 
What  news.  ^Eneas,  trom  the  field  to-day? 

jEne.  'I'hat  Paris  is  return'd  home,  and  hurt. 

Tro.  By  whom,  iEneas  ? 

.^ne.  Troilus,  by  Menelaus. 

Tro.  Let  Paris  bleed  :  'tis  but  a  scar  to  scorn; 
Paris  is  gor'd  with  Menelans*  horn.  (A/artwi.) 

i¥jne.  Hai  k  !  what  good  sport  is  out  of  town  to- 
day! \rnmj. — 

Tro.  Better  at  home,  if  would  I  miglit,  were 
But,  to  the  sport  abroad  ; — Are  you  bound  thither? 

j^.ne.  In  ail  swift  haste. 

Tro  Come,  go  we  then  together.  {Exeunt. 

Sc'ENB  11. — The  same.  A  Street. 
Enter  Cressida  and  Alexander. 

Cres  Who  were  those  went  by  ? 

Alex  Queen  Hecuba,  and  Helen. 

Creti.  And  whither  go  they  ? 

Alex.  Up  to  the  eastern  tower, 

Whose  height  commands  fi  subject  all  the  va'e. 
To  see  the  battle.    Hecto*-  ^-  hose  patience 


!  Is,  as  a  virtue,  fix'd,  to-day  was  movM  • 
He  chid  Andromache,  and  .struck,  his  armoatfr; 
And,  like  as  there  were  husbandry  in  war. 
Before  the  sun  rose,  he  was  harness'd  light. 
And  to  the  field  goes  he  ;  where  every  flower 
Did,  as  a  prophet,  weep  what  it  foresaw 
In  Hector's  wrath. 

Cres.  What  was  his  cause  of  anger? 

Alex.  The  noise  goes,  this :  There  is  among  f he 
Greek.s 

A  lord  of  Trojan  blood,  nephew  to  Hector: 
Thy  call  him  Ajax. 

Cres.  Good  ;  And  what  of  him  ? 

Alex.  They  say  he  is  a  very  manner  se, 
And  stamls  alone. 

Cres.  So  do  all  men  ;  unless  they  are  drunk,  sick, 
or  have  no  legs. 

Alex.  This  man,  lady,  hath  robbed  many  beasts 
of  their  particular  additions  ;  he  is  as  valiant  as  the 
lion,  churlish  as  the  bear,  slow  as  the  elephant;  a 
man,  into  whom  natine  hath  ^o  crowded  humours, 
that  his  valour  is  crushed  into  folly,  his  tolly  .sauced 
with  discretion  :  there  is  no  man  hath  a  virtue,  that 
he  hath  not  a  glimpse  of ;  nor  any  man  an  attaint, 
but  he  carries  some  stain  of  it :  He  is  melancholy 
without  cause,  and  merry  against  the  hair :  He  hath 
the  joints  of  every  thing;  but  every  thing  so  out  of 
joint,  tiiat  he  is  a  gouty  Briareus,  many  hands  and, 
no  use  ;  or  purblind  Argus,  all  eyes  and  no  sight. 

Cres.  But  how  should  this  man,  that  makes  m6 
smile,  make  Hector  angry  ? 

Alex.  They  say,  he  yesterday  coped  Hector  in 
the  battle,  and  struck  him  down  ;  the  disdain  and 
shame  whereof  hath  ever  since  kept  Hector  fasting 
and  waking. 

Enter  PandarUS. 

Cres.  Who  comes  here  ? 

A  lex.  Madam,  your  uncle  Pandarus. 

Cres.  Hector's  a  gallant  man. 

Alex.  As  may  be  in  the  world,  lady 

Pan.  What's  that?  wliat's  that  ? 

Cres.  Good  morrow,  uncle  Pandarus. 

Pan.  Good  morrow,  consin  Cressid  :  What  do 
you  talk  of  ? — Good  morrow,  Alexander. — How  do 
you,  cousin  ?    When  were  you  at  Ilium  ^ 

Cres.  This  morning,  uncle. 

Pan.  What  were  you  talking  of,  when  1  came  ? 
Was  Hector  a.-'.Tied,  and  gone,  ere  ye  came  to  Ilium? 
Helen  vvas  not  up,  was  slie  ? 

Cres.  Hector  was  gone :  but  Helen  was  not  up. 

Pan.  E'en  so  ;  Hector  was  stirring  early. 

Cres.  That  were  we  talking  of,  and  of  his  anger 

Pan.  Was  he  ana^ry  ? 

Cres.  So  he  says  nere. 

Pan.  True,  he  was  so;  I  know  the  cause  too; 
he'll  layabout  him  to-day,  I  can  tell  them  that: 
and  there  is  Troilus  will  not  come  far  behind  him; 
let  them  take  heed  of  Troilus  ;  I  can  tell  them  that 

Cres.  What,  is  he  angry  too  ?  [too. 

Pan.  Who,  Troilus  ?  Troilus  is  the  better  man 
of  the  two. 

Cres.  O,  Jupiter  !  there's  no  comparison. 

Pan.  What,  not  between  Troilus  and  Hector 
Do  you  know  a  man,  if  you  see  him? 

Cres.  Ay  ;  if  ever  1  saw  him  before,  and  knew  him. 

Pfni.  VVell,  I  say,  Troilus  is  Troilus. 

Cres.  Then  you  say  as  I  say ;  far,  I  am  sura,  h» 
is  n<:t  Hector. 

Pan.  No,  nor  Hector  is  not  Troilus,  in  some 
degrees. 

Cres.  'Tis  just  to  each  of  them,  he  is  himself. 
Pan.  Himself?  Alas,  poor  Troilus!  I  would,  h« 
were.— 

Cres.  So  he  is.  [India. 

Pan.   'Condition,  I   had"  gone  bare-loot  to 

Cres.  He  is  not  Hector. 

Pan.  Himself  ?  no,  he's  not  himself —'Would  a  , 
were  himself!  Well,  tlie  gods  are  abovt;  Time  i 
uiubt  friend,  or  end;  Well,  Troilus,  well,— I  woald,/ 


Scene  2. 


TROTLUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


515 


Biy  neart  were  in  her  body  . — No,  Hector  is  not  a 
better  tiian  than  Troiliis. 

K^res.  Excuse  me. 

Pan   He  is  eider. 

Cres   Pardon  tue,  pardon  me. 

Pati.  'I'he  otiier's  not  come  to't;  you  shall  tell 
me  another  tale,  wlien  the  otiier's  come  to't.  Hector 
hall  not  have  his  wit  this  year. 

Cres,  He  shall  not  need  it,  if  he  have  his  own. 

Pan.  Nor  liis  qualities  ; — 

Cres.  No  matter. 

Pan.  Nor  his  beauty. 

Cres.  'Tvvould  not  become  him,  his  own's  better. 

Pan.  You  have  no  judgment,  niece :  Helen  her- 
leli"  swore  the  other  day,  that  Troilus,  for  a  brown 
favour,  (lor  so  'tis,  1  must  confess,) — Not  brown 
neither. 

Cres.  No,  but  brown. 

Pan.  'Faith,  to  say  truth,  brown  and  not  brown. 
Cres.  'I'o  say  the  truth,  true  and  not  true. 
Pan.  Slie  [)rais'd  his  complexion  above  Paris. 
Cres.  Why,  Paris  iiath  colour  enough. 
Pan   So  he  has. 

Cres.  i'hen,  Troilus  should  have  too  much:  if 
•ilie  [iraised  liinj  above,  his  complexion  is  higher 

an  his  ^  ne  having  colour  enough,  and  the  other 
nigher,  is  too  tlaniuig  a  praise  lor  a  good  complexion. 
1  had  as  lief,  Ht^ien's  golden  tongue  had  commended 
Ttoilus  for  a  copper  nose. 

Pan.  I  swear  to  you,  I  think,  Helen  loves  him 
better  than  l*aris. 

Cres.  Then  she's  a  merry  Greek,  indeed. 

Pan.  Nay,  I  am  sure  she  does.  She  came  to  him 
the  other  day  into  a  compass'd  window, — and,  you 
know,  he  has  not  past  three  or  four  hairs  on  his  chin. 

Cres.  Indeed,  a  tapster's  arittimetic  may  soon 
bring  liis  particulars  therein  to  a  total. 

Pan.  Wliy,  lie  is  very  yoiuig :  and  yet  will  he, 
within  three  pound,  lilt  as  much  as  his  brother 
.lector. 

Cres.  Is  he  so  young  a  man,  and  so  old  a  lifter? 

Pun.  But,  to  prove  to  you,  that  Helen  loves  him  ; 
•~sue  came,  and  puts  me  her  white  hand  to  his 
cloven  ciim^ — 

Cres.  Juno  have  mercy! — How  came  it  cloven? 

Pan.  Why,  you  know,  'tis  dimpled  :  I  think,  his 
easiling  becomes  hint  better  than  any  man  in  all 
Piirygia. 

Cres.  O.  he  smiles  valiantly. 

Pan.  Does  he  not  ? 

Cres.  O  yes,  an  'twere  a  cloud  in  autumn. 

Pan.  Why,  go  to  then : — But  to  prove  to  you, 
that  Helen  loves  Troilus, — 

Cres.  Troilus  will  stand  to  the  proof,  if  you'll 
pro\  e  it  so. 

Pan.  Troilus  ?  why,  he  esteems  her  no  more  than 
I  esteem  an  addle  egg. 

Cres.  If  you  love  an  addle  egg  as  well  as  you  love 
en  idle  head,  you  w(»uld  eat  chickens  i'the  shell. 

Pan.  I  cannot  clioose  but  laugh,  to  think  how  she 
tickled  his  chin; — Indeed,  she  has  a  marvellous 
white  h;tnd,  I  must  needs  confess. 

Cres.  Without  the  rack. 

Pan.  And  she  takes  upon  her  to  spy  a  white  hair 
onhiscliin. 

Cres.  Alas,  poor  chin  !  many  a  wart  is  richer. 

Pan.  Mut,  there  was  such  laughing ;— Queen 
Hecuba  hiughed,  that  her  eyes  ran  o'er. 

Cres,  VVith  mill  stones. 

Pan.  And  Cassandra  laughed. 

Cres.  But  there  was  a  more  temperate  fire  under 
lie  pot  of  her  eyes  ; — Did  lier  eyes  run  o'er  too  V 

Pan.  And  Hector  laughed. 

Cres,  At  what  was  all  tliis  laughing? 

Pan.  Marry,  at  the  white  hair  that  Helen  spied 
»n  Troilus's  chin. 

Cres.  An't  had  been  a  green  hair,  I  should  have 
laughed  too. 

Pan.  They  laughed  not  so  much  at  the  hair,  as 
It  Ills  pretty  answer. 


Cres.  What  was  his  answer? 
Pan.  Qiioth  she,  Here's  but  one  and  fifty  hatn 
on  your  chin.,  and  one  of  them  is  white. 
Cres.  This  is  her  question. 

Pan.  That's  true ;  make  no  question  of  that. 
One  and  fifty  hairs,  quoth  he,  and  one  white: 
That  ivhite  hair  is  my  father,  and  all  the  rest  aro 
his  sons.  Jupiter  .'  quoth  she,  ivhich  of  these  hails 
is  Paris  my  husband  f  The  forked  one,  quoth  he  • 
pluck  it  out.,  and  give  it  him.  But,  there  was  sue 
laughing !  and  Helen  so  blushed,  and  Paris 
chafed,  and  all  the  rest  so  laugh'd,  that  it  pass'd. 

Cres.  So  let  it  now;  for  it  has  been  a  great  svhild 
goijjg  by. 

Pan.  Well,  cousin,  I  told  you  a  thing  yesterday  ; 
think  on't, 

Cres.  So  I  do. 

Pan.  IHI  be  sworn,  'tis  true;  he  will  weep  ym, 
an  'twere  a  man  born  in  April. 

Cres.  And  I'll  spring  up  in  his  tears,  an  'twera  a 
nettle  against  May  {A  retreat  sounded.; 

Pan.  Hark,  they  are  coming  from  the  field:  Shall 
we  stand  up  here,  and  see  them,  as  they  jiass  towards 
Ilium  ?  good  niece,  do;  sweet  niece  Cressida. 

Cres.  At  your  pleasure. 

Pan.  Here,  here,  here's  an  excellent  place;  here 
we  may  see  most  bravely  :  I'll  tell  you  then  all  by 
their  names,  as  they  pass  by ;  but  mark  TroiUia 
above  the  rest. 

^Eneas  passes  over  the  Stage. 
Cres.  Speak  not  so  loud. 

Pan.  I'hat's  iEneas ;  is  not  that  a  brave  man? 
he's  one  of  the  flowers  of  Troy,  I  can  tell  you  But 
mark  Troilus  ;  you  shall  see  anon. 

Cres.  Who's  that  ? 

Ante  NOR  passes  over 

Pan.  That's  Antenor ;  he  has  a  shrewd  vvit,  1  caig 
tell  you ;  and  he's  a  man  good  enc  ugh  ,  ne's  ,>U8 
o'the  soundest  judgments  in  Troy,  whosoever,  and 
a  proper  man  of  person; — When  comes  Troilus  .^ 
— I'll  shew  you  Troilus  anon ;  if  he  see  me,  yoj 
shall  see  him  nod  at  me. 

Cres.  Will  he  give  you  the  nod? 

Pan.  You  shall  see. 

Cres.  If  he  do,  the  rich  shall  have  more. 
Hector  passes  over. 

Pan.  That's  Hector,  that,  that,  look  yoi^,  that : 
There's  a  fellow  !— Go  thy  way.  Hector ;— There's 
a  brave  man,  niece. — O  brave  Hector! — Look,  how 
he  looks !  there's  a  countenance  :  Is't  not  a  brave 
man ! 

Cres.  O,  a  brave  man ! 

Pan.  Is  'a  not?  It  does  a  man's  heart  good — 
Look  you  what  hacks  are  on  his  helmet!  look  you 
yonder,  do  you  see?  look  you  there!  There's  !io 
jesting:  ther^^'s  laying  on;  take't  oil'  who  will,  as 
they  say  :  there  be  hacks ! 

Cres.  Be  those  with  swords? 

Paris  passes  over. 

Pan.  Swords?  any  thing,  he  cares  not  :  an  the 
devil  come  to  him,  it's  all  one  :  By  god  s  lid,  it  does 
one's  heart  good: — Yonder  comes  Paris,  yonder 
comes  Paris  :  look  ye  yonder,  niece  ;  Is  t  not  a 
gallant  man  too,  is't  not?— Why,  this  is  brave  now. 
— Who  said,  he  came  hurt  home  to-day  he's  noJ: 
hurt  :  why,  this  will  do  Helen's  heart  good  now. 
Ha  !  'would  I  could  see  Troilus  now  !— you  shall  f-es 
Troilus  anoi). 

Cres.  Who's  that? 

Helenus  passes  over. 

Pan.  That's  Helenus,  —  I  marvel,  where  Troikis 
is  That's  Helenus  1  think  he  went  not  forth  to- 
day : — That's  Helenus. 

Cres.  Can  Helenus  fight,  uncle? 

Pan.  Helenus?  no;  — yes,  he'll  fight  indiflerei 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  I. 


well:  —  I  marvel,  where  Troilns  is!  —  Hark;  do 
you  not  hear  the  people  cry,  Troilns? — Heleniis  is  a 
priest. 

Crf.s.  VV^hat  sneaking  fellow  comes  yonder? 
Troilus  passes  over. 

Pan  Where  ?  yonder  ?  that's  Deiphobns  :  'Tis 
Troilns!  there's  a  man.  niece!  —  Hem!  —  Brave 
Troilns  '  the  prince  of  cliivalry. 

Cres.  Peiue,  for  shame,  peace  ! 

Pan.  Mark  him:  note  him;  — O  brave  Troilns! 
■  --look  well  npon  him,  niece ;  look  yon,  how  his 
sword  is  bloodied,  and  iiis  helm  more  hack'd  than 
Hector's;   And  how  he  looks,  and  how  he  yoes!— 

0  admirable  youth  !  he  ne'er  saw  three-and  twenty. 
Gu  thy  way,  Troilus,  thy  way  ;  had  I  a  sister 
were  a  grnce,  or  a  daughter  a  goddess,  he  should 
t'ike  Ins  choice.  O  adnnrable  man!  Paiis.'' — Paris 
is  dirt  to  him;  and,  I  warrant,  Helen,  to  change, 
would  give  an  eye  to  boot. 

Forces  pass  over  the  Stage. 
Cres.  Here  come  more. 

Pan.  y?sses,  fools,  dolts!  chaflT and  bran,  chaff" 
and  bran!  porridge  after  meat!  I  could  live  and 
die  i'the  eyes  of  IVoilus.  Ne'er  look,  ne'er  look  ; 
(he  eagles  are  gone;  crows  and  daws,  crows  and 
daws !  I  had  rather  be  such  a  man  as  Troilus,  than 
Agamemnon  and  all  Greece. 

Cres.  'I'here  is  among  the  Greeks,  Achilles;  a 
ootter  man  than  'I'roilus. 

Pan.  Achilles  ?  a  drayman,  a  porter,  a  very 
■c.imel. 

Cres  Well,  well. 

Pan.  Well,  well  ? — Why,  have  yon  any  discre- 
tion ?  have  you  any  eyes?  Do  you  know  what  a 
man  is?  Is  not  birth,  beauty,  good  shape,  dis- 
course, manhood,  learning,  gentleness,  virtue,  youth, 
liberality,  and  such  like,  the  spice  and  salt  that 
easoii  a  man  ? 

Cres.  Ay,  a  minced  man;  and  then  to  be  baked 
V  ith  no  date  in  the  pie, — for  then  the  man's  date  is 
out. 

Pan  You  are  such  a  woman !  one  knows  not  at 
what  wird  you  lie. 

Cres  Upfui  my  back,  to  defend  my  belly  ;  upon 
my  wit.  to  defend  my  wiles;  and  upon  my  secrecy, 
la  defend  mine  honesty;  my  mask,  to  detend  my 
beauty  ;  and  you,  to  defend  all  these  :  and  at  all 
these  wards  1  lie,  at  a  thousand  watches. 

Pan.  Say  one  of  your  watches. 

Cres.  Nay,  Ml  watch  you  for  that;  and  that's 
ene  of  the  chiefest  of  them  too :  if  I  cannot  ward 
what  I  v\^)Old  not  have  hit,  I  can  vvatch  you  for  tell- 
ing how  I  took  the  blow ;  unless  it  swell  past  hid- 
ing, and  then  it  is  past  watching. 

Pan.  You  are  .such  another! 

"Enter  Troilus'  Boy. 

Boy.  Sir,  my  lord  would  instantly  speak  with  you. 
Pan.  Where? 

Boy.  At  your  own  house;  there  he  unarms  him. 
Pan.  Good  boy,  teU  him  I  come:       [Exit  Boy. 

1  doubt   he  be  hurt. —  Fare  ye  well,  good  niece. 
Cres.  Adieu,  uncle. 

Pr<n.  [W  be  with  you.  niece,  by  and  by. 

Cre.'i.  To  bring,  uncle, — ^ 

p.:in,  A}\  a  toKen  from  Troilus. 

Cres.  By  the  same  token — you  are  a  bawd. 

[Exit  Pandarus. 
Words,  vows,  griefs,  tears,  and  love's  full  sacrifice, 
He  otlVrs  in  another's  enterprise: 
|5ut  more  in  Troilus  thousand  fold  I  see 
Than  in  the  glass  of  Pandar's  praise  may  be; 
f  et  hold  I  off.    Wamen  are  angels,  wooing : 
Things  won  are  done,  joy's  soul  lies  in  the  doing: 
That  she,  belov'd,  knows  noutrht,  that  knows  not 
.  <his.—  _ 

Heu  prize  the  ihii ;  ungaio'd  more  than  it  is  : 


That  she  was  never  yet,  that  ever  knew 
Love  got  so  sweet,  as  when  desire  ditl  sue : 
Therefore  this  maxim  oiitof  lo\e  I  tench, — 
Achievement  is  command  ;  Uiigaia' 1,  besee : 
Then  though  my  heart's  content  firm  hue  doth  hear 
Nothing  of  that  shall  from  mine  eyes  appear.  [Eail 

Scene  HI. — The  Grecian  Camp.    Before  A^Om 

metnnon's  Tent. 
Trtanpets.  Enter  Agamemnon,  Nestor,  Ulyssb* 
Menelaus,  and  others. 
Agam.  Princes, 
What  grief  hath  set  the  jaundice  on  your  cheeks? 
The  ample  proposition,  that  hope  makes 
In  all  designs  begiin  on  earth  below. 
Fails  its  the  promis'd  largeness  :  checks  and  disasterg' 
Grow  in  the  veins  of  actions  highest  rear'd  ; 
As  knots,  by  the  conflux  of  meeting  sap, 
Infect  the  sound  pine,  and  divert  his  grain 
Tortive  and  errant  from  his  course  of  growth. 
!  Nor,  princes,  is  it  matter  new  to  U5, 
!  That  we  come  short  of  our  suppose  so  far, 
'  That,  after  seven  years'  siege,  yet  Troy  walls  stand 
Sith  every  action,  that  hath  gone  belore. 
Whereof  we  have  record,  trial  did  draw 
Bias  and  thwart,  not  answering  the  aim, 
•  And  that  unbodied  figure  of  the  thought, 
;  That  gave't  surmised  shape.  Why  then,  yon  princeii^ 
Do  you  with  cheeks  abash'd  behold  our  works  ; 
And  think  them  shames,  which  are,  indeed,  nought 
else 

But  the  protractive  trials  of  great  Jove 

To  find  persistive  constancy  in  men? 

The  fineness  of  which  metal  is  not  found 

In  fortune's  love  :  for  then,  the  bold  and  coward. 

The  wise  and  fool,  the  artist  and  unread. 

The  hard  and  soft,  seem  ail  atfiii'd  and  kin: 

But,  in  the  wind  and  tempest  of  her  frown. 

Dist  notion,  with  a  broad  and  poweifd  fan. 

Puffing  at  all.  winnows  the  light  away  ; 

And  what  hath  mass,  or  matter,  by  itself 

Lies,  rich  in  \irtue,  and  unmiiigled. 

Nest.  With  due  observance  of  thy  godlike  seat. 
Great  Agamemnon,  Nestor  shall  apply 
Thy  latest  words.    In  the  repntof  of  chance 
Lies  the  true  proof  of  men;  'I'he  sea  being  smooth, 
How  many  shallow  bauble  boats  d  ire  sail 
Upon  her  patient  breast,  making  their  way 
VVith  those  of  m  bier  bulk? 
But  let  the  ruffian  Boreas  once  enrage 
The  gentle  Tiietis,  and,  anon,  behold 
The  strong-ribb'd  bark  through  liquid  mountains  cut. 
Bounding  between  the  two  moist  ele.nents, 
Like  Perseus'  horse  :  Where's  then  the  saucy  boat 
Whose  weak  untimber'd  sides  b'lt  even  now 
Co-rival'd  greatness  ?  either  to  harbour  fled, 
Or  made  a  toast  for  Nepturje,    Even  so 
Doth  valour's  shew,  and  vah  ur's  worth,  divide. 
In  storms  of  fortune  :  For,  in  her  ray  and  brightness. 
The  herd  hath  more  annoyance  by  the  brizf^. 
Than  by  the  tiger:  but  when  the  spPtting  wind 
Makes  flexible  the  knees  of  knotted  oaks. 
And  flies  fled  under  shade,  Why,  then,  the  thing  s>f 
courage, 

As  rous'd  with  rage,  with  rage  doth  sympathize, 
A  nd  with  an  accent  tun'd  in  self  same  key, 
Returns  to  chiding  fortune. 

Ulyss.  Agamemnon, — 

Thou  great  commander,  nerve  and  bone  of  Qrecee; 
Heart  of  our  numbers,  soul  and  ordy  spirit, 
In  whom  the  tenipers  and  the  minds  of  all 
Should  be  shut  up, — hear  what  Ulysses  speaks. 
Besides  the  applause  and  approbation 
The  which,— most  mighty  for  thy  jdace  and  sway,— 
{To  Ayaif9mnon>) 
And  th«j  most  reverend  for  thy  stretch'd  cjt  Tfe, — 

'To  Nestor.) 
I  give  to  both  your  speeches. — which  were  such. 
As  Agamemnon  and  the  hand  of  Greece 
Should  hold  up  high  in  brass;  atd  sucb  Again, 


SCKNE  3. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


51t 


As  venerable  Nestor,  hnfch'd  in  silver. 
Should  witii  a  bond  of  ;iir  (strung  as  the  axle-tree 
On  which  hear  tti  rides,)  knit  all  ihe  Greekish  ears 
To  liis  experitiiic'd  ton<>  ne, — yet  let  it  please  both, — 
'i  ho'i  great, — and  wise, — to  liear  Ulysses  speak. 
Agatn.  i^l'^-dk,  prince  of  Ithaca  ;  atid  be't  ot"  less 
expect 

That  matter  needless,  of  importless  burden, 
Divide  thy  lii's;  than  we  are  confident, 
When  rank  'I'liersites  opes  his  inastitl' jaws, 
S^'e  nhall  hear  music^  wit,  and  oracle. 

ITiyss.  Troy,  yet  upon  his  basis,  had  been  down. 
And  tiie  great  Hector's  sword  had  lack'd  a  master. 
But  for  these  instances. 
The  siiecialty  of  rule  hath  been  neglected  : 
/Vnd,  look,  how  many  Grecian  tents  do  stand 
Hollow  upon  tliis  plain,  so  many  hollow  lactions. 
When  that  the  general  is  nut  like  tije  hi\  e. 
To  whom  tlie  foragers  shall  all  repair, 
What  honey  is  ex[)ected  ?  Degree  being  vizarded. 
The  nnworthiest  shews  as  fiirly  in  the  mask. 
The  hea-.enstiiemselves,  tiie  planets, and  this  centre. 
Observe  degiee,  priority,  and  place, 
Insisture,  course,  pro|K)rtion,  season,  form. 
Office,  and  custoiii,  it.  all  line  oi'ordt-r: 
And  tlierefoie  is  the  glorious  planet,  Sol„ 
In  nol)le  eminence  entlirou'd  and  splier'd 
Amidst  the  other;  whose  med  cinable  eye 
Corrects  the  ill  aspects  of  planets  evil. 
And  posts,  like  tlie  commandment  of  a  king. 
Sans  check,  to  good  ami  bad  :  lint,  when  the  planets, 
In  evil  mixture,  to  disorder  wander, 
What  plagues,  and  wiiat  portents    what  mutiny  ? 
What  raging  of  the  sea  ^  shaking  of  earth  ? 
Commotion  in  the  winds  ?  f  igtits,  ciianges,  horrors. 
Divert  and  crack,  rend  and  deracinate 
The  unity  and  nia  ried  calm  ot  states 
Quite  from  their  fixture  ?  O,  wiien  degree  is  shak'd, 
Which  is  tiie  Udi^."  of  all  high  designs, 
Tiie  enteri>5ise  la  sicK  !  How  could  communities, 
De^r?es  in  schools,  and  brotlierhoods  in  cities. 
Peaceful  cQunncrce  I'rom  dividahle  shores, 
Tl(e  piimogenitive  and  due  ot  birth, 
Piei  o£fati\e  of  age,  crowns,  sceptres,  laurels, 
Hut  by  degree,  stand  in  authentic  place  ? 
Take  but  degree  aw;»y,  untune  tiiat  string, 
And,  hark,  what  discoid  f  iliovvs!  each  tiling  meets 
In  mere  op|)ugnancy  :  Tlie  bounded  waters 
Should  lift  tiieir  bosuuis  higher  than  the  shores. 
And  make  a  sop  of  all  tliis  soiid  globe  : 
Strength  should  be  lord  of  imbecility, 
And  the  rude  son  should  strike  his  lather  dead  : 
Force  should  be  right ;  or,  rather,  right  and  wrong 
(Between  whose  endless  jar  justice  resides,) 
ahot.ld  lose  their  names,  and  so  siiould  justice  too. 
Then  e\  ery  thing  includes  itself  in  power. 
Power  into  will,  will  into  appetite; 
And  appetite,  an  uniiers.d  uolf, 
So  doubly  seconded  with  will  and  power. 
Must  make  perforce  an  universal  prey. 
And,  last,  eat  up  himsell.    Great  i\gameninon, 
This  chaos,  v\hen  degree  is  sulfocate. 
Follows  the  choking. 
And  this  neglectioii  of  degree  it  is, 
That  by  a  pace  goes  backward,  with  a  purpose 
It  lia<h  to  clini).    The  general's  disdain'd 
By  him  one  slep  below  ;  he,  by  the  next; 
Tiiat  next,  by  liim  beneaih  ;  so  e\ery  step, 
Kxamphd  Ity  the  first  }>ace,  that  is  sick 
Ol'his  superior,  grows  to  an  envious  fever 
Ot"  palf  and  bloo ;lless  emiilaf ion  ; 
And  'tis  thift  fe\  er  (hat  keeps  'i'roy  on  foot, 
Not  her  oun  sinews.     I'o  end  a  tale  of  length, 
Tiny  in  our  weakness  stands,  not  in  her  strength. 

ife'ii.  Must  wisely  haih  Ulysses  here  duscover'd 
The  lever  whereol  ail  our  power  is  sick. 

Agarn.  The  nature  of  liie  sickness  found,  Ulysses, 
at  i"!  the  remedy  ? 

yna.  'I'he  great  Achilles. — whom  opinion  crowns 
itievv  and  tae  f-^iehauil  ot  our  liust. — 


Having  his  ear  full  of  his  airy  fan  e 

Grows  dainty  of  his  worth,  and  in  his  w.it 

Lies  mocking  our  designs:  Witii  him,  Patroc'us, 

Upon  a  lazy  bed,  the  live-long  day 

Breaks  scurril  jests ; 

And  with  ridiculous  and  awkward  action 

(Wliich,  slanderer,  he  imitation  calls,) 

He  pageants  us.    Sometime,  great  Agameirmon, 

Thy  topless  deputation  he  puts  on; 

And,  like  a  strutting  player, — whose  conceit 

Lies  in  his  hamstring,  and  doth  think  it  nch 

To  hear  the  wooden  d.alogue  and  soir.id 

'Twixt  his  stretch'd  footing  and  the  scaiVoldage, — 

Such  to-be-pitied  and  o'er-wiested  seeniing 

He  acts  thy  greatness  in  :  and  when  he  speaks, 

'Tis  like  a  chime  a-mending;  with  terms  unsquar'd, 

VVhich,  from  the  tongue  of  roaring  Typhon  dropped, 

Would  seem  hyperboles.    At  this  fusty  stulf, 

The  large  Achilles,  on  liis  press'd  bed  lolling. 

From  his  deep  chest  laughs  out  a  loud  applause  ; 

Cries — Excellent ! — 'tis  Agamemnon  just. — 

Now  play  me  Nestor ; — hein,  and  stroke  thy  beeerd. 

As  he,  beiny  'drest  to  some  oration. 

"^I'hat's  done  ; — as  near  as  the  extremest  ends 

Of  parallels;  as  like  as  Vulcan  and  his  wile: 

Yet  good  Achilles  still  cries.  Excellent. 

'  Tis  N tstor  ri(/ht !    Noiv  play  him  tue,  PatrocluSj 

Arminfj  to  answer  irt  a  niyht  alarm. 

And  then,  forsooth,  the  faint  delects  of  age 

JVlust  be  the  scene  of  mii  th  ;  to  cough,  and  spit, 

And  with  a  palsy-fumbling  on  his  gorget, 

Shake  in  and  out  the  rivet  : — And  at  this  sport. 

Sir  Valour  dies  ;  cries,  0!  enough,  Patrodus; — 

Or  give  me  rijbs  of  steel !  I  shall  split  all 

In  pleasure  of  my  spleen.    And  in  this  fashioo 

All  our  abilities,  gilts,  natures,  shapes, 

Severals  and  generals  of  grace  exact. 

Achievements,  plots,  orders,  prevenlions, 

Excitements  to  the  field,  or  speech  for  truce, 

Success,  or  loss,  what  is,  or  is  not,  serves 

As  stulf  for  these  two  to  make  paradoxes. 

Nest.  And  ia  the  imitation  of  these  twain 
(Whom,  as  Ulysses  says,  opinion  crowns 
VVith  an  imperial  voice,)  many  are  infect. 
Ajax  is  grown  self-willed  ;  and  bears  hio  hca^ 
In  .such  a  rein,  in  full  as  proud  a  jjlace 
As  broad  Achilles:  keeps  his  tent  like  him; 
iVlakes  factious  feasts:  rails  on  our  state  of  war, 
Bold  as  an  oracle  :  and  sets  Thersites 
(A  slave  whose  gall  coins  slanders  like  a  mint,) 
'J'o  match  us  in  comparisons  with  dirt; 
To  weaken  and  discredit  our  exposure. 
How  rank  soever  rounded  in  with  danger. 

Vlyss.  They  tax  our  policy,  and  call  it  cowardice 
Count  wisdom  as  no  member  of  the  war; 
Forestall  prescience,  and  esteem  no  act 
But  that  of  hand  :  the  still  and  mental  parts, — 
That  do  contrive  how  many  hands  shall  strike. 
When  fitness  calls  them  on ;  and  know,  by  measiu'6 
01  their  observant  toil,  the  enemies'  weight, — 
Why,  this  hath  not  a  finger's  dignity : 
They  call  this---bed-work,  niappery,  closet- war . 
So  that  the  ram,  that  batters  down  the  wail. 
For  the  great  swing  and  rudeness  of  his  poize. 
They  place  beibre  his  hand,  that  made  the  engiae 
Or  tliose,  that  with  the  fineness  of  their  smils 
By  reason  guide  his  executicm. 

Nest.  Let  this  be  granted,  and  Achilles'  horse 
Makes  many  'J'hetis'  sons.  [Trumpet  soundJt,j 

Ayam.  \Vhat  trumpet  ?  look,  Menelaus. 

Enter  JEt^Ei^. 
Men.  Frcuii  Trov. 

Ayam.  What  would  yju  Tore  our  tent, 

A'-liie.  la  tia 

Great  Agamemnon's  tent,  I  pray  ? 

Ayam.  E\cn  th'iH. 

JEne.  iVIay  one,  that  is  a  herald,  and  \\  \  \xm.ii. 
Do  a  lair  message  to  his  kingly  ears 

Ayam.  With  surety  stronger  than  Achillea' a;m 


518' 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  1 


'Fore  al)  the  Greekish  heads,  which  with  one  voice 
Ca.l  Agamemnon  head  and  general. 

^U/.'ie.  Fair  leave,  and  large  security.    How  may 
A  stranger  to  those  most  imperial  looks 
Know  them  from  eyes  of  other  mortals  ? 

Aqam.  How? 

Mne.  Ay; 
I  ask,  that  1  niiglit  waken  reverence, 
And  bid  the  cheek  be  ready  with  a  bhish, 
Modest  as  mornin"  when  she  coldly  eyes 
The  youtlihil  Pb.Tebiis: 
Which  is  tliatgod  in  office,  guiding  men? 
VVhicl)  is  the  high  and  mighty  Agamemnon? 

A<jam.  This  'IVojan  scorns  us  ;  or  tlie  men  of  Troy 
Aie  ceremonious  courtiers. 

j^ne.  CouHiers  as  free,  as  debonair,  unarm'd. 
As  bending  angels;  that's  their  fame  in  peace  : 
But  when  they  would  seem  soldiers,  they  have  galls, 
Good  arms,  strong  joints,  true  swords  ;  and  Jove's 
accord, 

Notiiing  so  full  of  heart.    Bn(  peace,  JEneas, 
Peace,  Trojan  ;  lay  tliy  finger  on  thy  lips  ! 
The  wortliiness  of  praise  distains  his  worth, 
If  that  the  prais'd  himself  bring  the  praise  forth: 
But  what  tlie  repining  enemy  commends, 
That  breath  fame  follows;  that  praise,  sole  pure, 
transcends. 

Agam.    Sir,   you  of  Troy,  call  you  yourself 
iEneas  ? 

JEne.  Ay,  Greek,  that  is  my  name. 
Af/am.  What's  your  alfair,  I  pray  you  ? 

JEne.  Sir^  pardon  ;  'tis  for  Agamemnon's  ears. 
Ayam.  He  hears  nought  privately,  that  comes 
from  Troy. 

j^ne.  Nor  I  I  rom  Troy  come  not  to  whisper  hinj : 
I  bring  a  trumpet  to  awake  his  ear; 
'i'o  set  tiis  sense  on  the  attentive  bent, 
And  then  to  speak. 

Aoam.  Speak  frankly  as  the  wind  ; 

It  is  not  Agamemnon's  sleeping  hour : 
Mint  thou  shalt  know,  Trojan,  he  is  awake, 
Ne  telis  thee  so  himself 

Mne.  Trumpet,  blow  loud, 

.Send  thy  brass  voice  through  all  these  lazy  tents; — 
And  every  Greek  of  mettle,  let  him  know, 
Wiveti  Troy  means  fairly,  shall  l>e  spnke  aloud. 

{Trumpet  sounds.) 
We  have,  great  Aganjemnon.  here  in  Troy 
A  prince  cail'd  Hector,  (Priam  is  his  fatiier,) 
Who  in  this  didl  and  long-continued  truce 
Is  rusty  grown  ;  he  bade  me  take  a  trumpet. 
And  to  this  purpose  speak.    Kings,  princes,  lords ! 
If  there  be  one,  among  the  fair'st  of  Greece, 
That  hohls  his  honour  higher  than  his  ease  ; 
That  seeks  his  praise  more  than  he  iears  his  peril; 
That  knows  his  valour,  and  knows  not  his  fear  ; 
That  loves  his  mistress  more  than  in  confession, 
(With  truant  vows  to  her  own  lips  he  loves,) 
And  dare  avow  her  beauty  and  her  worth, 
In  other  arms  than  hers, — to  him  this  challenge. 
Hector,  in  view  of  Trojans  and  of  Greeks, 
Shall  make  it  good,  or  do  his  best  to  do  it ; 
He  hath  a  lady,  wiser  fairer,  truer. 
Than  ev»-'r  Greek  did  compass  in  his  arms ; 
And  uill  to-morrow  with  his  trampet  call. 
Mid-way  between  your  tents  and  walls  of  Troy, 
To  rouje  a  Grecian  that  is  true  in  love: 
If  any  come,  Htctor  shall  honour  him; 
If  none,  he'll  s  >y  in  Troy,  when  he  retires. 
The  Grecian  dames  are  sun-burn'd,  and  not  worth 
The  splinter  of  a  lance.    Even  so  much. 

Ayam.  This  shall  be  told  our  lovers,  lordiSneas; 
If  none  of  them  hate  soul  in  such  a  kind. 
We  left  them  all  at  home:  But  we  are  soldiers; 
And  may  that  soldier  a  mere  recreant  prove, 
'i  hat  means  not,  hath  not,  or  is  not  in  love ! 
If  then  one  is,  or  hath,  or  means  to  be, 
That  one  meets  Hector;  if  none  else,  I  am  he. 

Nest.  Tell  him  of  Nestor,  one  that  was  a  man 
W  Aeu  Hector's  grandsire  suck'd   he  is  old  now; 


But,  if  there  be  not  in  our  Grecian  host 
One  noble  man.  that  hath  one  spark  of  fire 
To  answer  for  his  love.  Tell  hinj  iiom  me,<— 
I'll  hide  my  silver  beard  in  a  gold  beaver. 
And  in  my  vantbrace  put  this  wither'd  brawn; 
And,  meeting  him,  will  tell  him,  that  my  lady 
Was  fairer  than  his  grandame,  and  as  chaste 
As  may  be  in  the  world :  His  youth  in  flood, 
I  II  prove  this  truth  with  my  three  di  ops  of  blood. 

JEne.  Now  heavens  forbid  such  scarcity  of  youth ! 

Ulyss.  Amen. 

Ayam.  Fair  lord  i^neas,  let  me  touch  your  hand  j 
To  our  pavilion  shall  I  lead  you,  sir. 
Achilles  shall  have  word  of  this  intent; 
So  shall  each  lord  of  Greece,  from  tent  to  tent; 
Yourself  shall  feast  with  us  before  you  go. 
And  find  the  welcome  of  a  noble  foe. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Ulysses  and  Nestor 

Ulyss.  Nestor, — 

Nest.  What  says  Ulysses  ? 

Ulyss.  1  have  a  young  conce|)tion  in  my  brain, 
Be  you  my  time  to  bring  it  to  some  shape. 

Nest.  What  is't ; 

Ulyss.  This  'tis : 
Blunt  wedges  rive  hard  knots:  The  seeded  pride. 
That  hath  to  this  maturity  blown  up 
In  rank  Achilles,  must  or  now  be  cropp'd, 
Or,  shedding,  breed  a  nursery  of  like  evil, 
'i'o  overbulk  us  all. 

Nest.  Well,  and  how  ? 

Ulyss.  This  challenge,  that  the  galla^it  Hectoi 
sends, 

However  it  is  spread  in  general  name. 
Relates  in  purpose  only  to  Achilles.  [stance 
Nest.  The  purpose  is  perspicuous  even  as  sub" 
Whose  grossness  little  chaiacters  sum  up: 
And,  in  the  puhlicsttion,  make  no  strain. 
But  tint  Achilles,  wer*^  his  brain  aa  barren 
As  banks  of  Lybia, —though,  Apollo  knows, 
'Tis  dry  enough, — will,  with  great  speed  of  judg- 
ment. 

Ay,  with  celerity,  find  Hector's  purpose 
Pointing  on  him. 

Ulyss.  And  wake  him  to  the  answer,  think  jou? 

Nest.  Yes, 
It  is  most  meet ;  whom  may  you  else  (  ppose, 
Tliat  can  from  Hector  bring  tliose  honours  olf, 
If  not  Achilles?  Tnoiigli't  be  a  sporll'ul  combat 
Yet  in  tlie  trial  much  opinion  dwells; 
For  here  the  Troj  ins  taste  our  dear'st  rep  ite 
With  their  hn'st  palate:  And  trust  to  ins,  Ulysses, 
Our  imputation  shall  he  oddly  pois'd 
In  tliis  wild  action:  for  the  success. 
Although  particular,  shall  give  a  scantling 
Of  good  or  bad  unto  the  general ; 
Ar>d  in  such  indexes,  although  small  pricks 
To  their  subs  quent  volumes,  there  is  seen 
The  baby  figure  of  the  giant  mass 
Of  things  to  come  at  large.    It  is  suppos'd. 
He,  that  meets  Hector,  issues  f  rom  our  choice. 
And  choice,  being  mutual  act  of  all  our  souls, 
]\lakes  merit  her  election  ;  an»l  doth  boil, 
As  'twere  from  forth  us  all,  a  ^lan  distill'd 
Out  of  our  virtues  ;  Who  miscarrying. 
What  heart  receives  from  hence  a  conquering  paiii 
To  steel  a  strong  0|)inion  to  theujselves  ? 
Which  entertain'd,  limbs  are  his  instruments. 
In  no  less  working,  than  are  swards  and  bows 
Directive  by  the  limbs. 

Ulyss.  Give  pardon  to  my  speech  : — 
Therefore,  'tis  meet.  Achilles  meet  not  Hector. 
Let  us,  like  merchant*,  shew  our  foulest  wvee, 
And  think,  perchance,  they'll  sell;  if  not, 
The  lustre  of  the  bettt^r  shall  exceed. 
By  shewing  the  worse  first.    Do  not  '■onsent, 
Tliat  ever  Hector  and  Achilles  m.;ei; 
For  both  our  htmour  and  our  sham^,  in  this, 
Are  dogg'd  with  two  strange  lollovvuis.  Tthey? 

Nest.  1  see  them  not  with  my  old  eyes;  wb.'it  hx% 

Ulyss.W  i\ai  glory  our  Achilles  shares  from  Hector, 


4cT  IT.    Scene  1. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


£19 


VVeie  he  not  prond,  we  all  should  share  with  him : 

But  he  already  is  too  insolent ; 

And  we  were  better  parch  in  Afric  sun, 

Than  in  the  pride  and  salt  scorn  of  his  eyes, 

Should  he  'scape  Hector  fair  :  It  b'^  were  foil'd. 

Why,  then  we  did  our  main  opinion  crush 

In  taint  of  our  best  man.    No,  make  a  lottery  ; 

And,  bv  device,  let  blockish  Ajax  draw 

The  sort  to  fight  with  Hector:  Among-  ourselves. 

fiive  him  allowance  for  the  better  man, 

For  that  will  physic  the  great  JMyrmidon, 

Who  broils  in  loud  applause;  and  make  him  fall 

I  lis  crest,  that  prouder  than  blue  Iris  bv-nds. 

if  the  dull  brainless  Ajax  come  safe  off. 

We'll  dress  him  up  in  voices:  If  he  fail, 

Vet  go  we  under  our  opinion  still 

That  we  have  better  men.    But,  hit  or  miss, 

Our  project's  life  this  shape  ol^sense  assumes,— 

Ajax,  employ'd,  plucks  down  Achilles'  plumes. 

Nest.  Ulysses, 
Now  [  begin  to  relish  thy  advice ; 
And  I  will  give  a  taste  of  it  forthwith 
To  Agamemnon:  go  we  to  him  straight. 
Two  curs  shall  tame  each  other:  Pride  alone 
Must  tarre  the  mastitis  on,  as  'twere  their  bone. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — Another  part  of  the  Grecian  Camp. 

Enter  Ajax  and  Thkrsites. 
Ajax.  Thersites, — 

Ther.  Agaujemnon — how  if  he  had  boils  ?  full,  all 
ever,  generally  ? 
Ajax.  Thersites, — 

Ther.  And  those  boils  did  run  ? — Say  so, — did  not 
(he  general  run  then  ?  were  not  that  a  botchy  core? 
Ajax  Dog, — 

Thei  Then  would  come  some  matter  from  him ; 
J  see  none  now. 

Ajus.  Thou  bitch-wolfs  son,  canst  thou  not 
Iji  ar  ?  Feel  then.  {Strikes  him.) 

Ther.  The  plague  of  Greece  upon  .thee,  thou 
mongrel  beef-witted  lord  1 

Ajax.  Speak  tiien,  thou  unsalted  leaven,  speak  : 
i  ll  beat  tlue  into  handsomenesa. 

Ther.  1  shall  sooner  rail  thee  into  wit  and  holi- 
ness: but,  I  think,  thy  horse  will  sooner  con  bn 
oration,  than  thou  learn  a  prayer  without  book, 
'i'liou  canst  strike,  canst  thou  ?  a  red  juurrain  o'tliy 
jrtde's  tricks  ! 

Ajax.  Toads-stool,  learn  me  the  proclamation. 

Ther.  Dost  tiiou  think,  I  have  no  sense,  thou 
itrik'jjt  me  thus  ? 

Ajax.  The  proclamation, — 

Ther.  Tliou  art  |-ioclaimed  a  fool,  I  think, 

Ajax.  Do  not,  porcupine,  do  not;  my  fingers  itch. 

Ther.  1  woiild  tiioii  didst  itcli  Ironi  head  to  lout, 
and  1  liad  the  scratniing  ul  tiiee ;  1  would  make  thee 
the  loatlisoniest  scjib  \i\  Grrece.  VVhen  tliooart  ibrth 
in  the  incursions,  thou  slrikc.st  as  slow  as  another. 

Ajax.  I  sity,  the  |,ruclaniation, — 

Ther.  Ttiou  grumblest  and  rudest  every  hour  on 
Achilles;  and  tliuu  art  as  full  of  envy  at  hs  great- 
ness, as  C*jrbcnis  is  at  Proserpina's  beauty,  ay,  that 
thou  barkest  at  him. 

Ajtix.  Mistress  I'hersitt si 

Ther.  Tlioii  siiould'st  strike  him. 

Ajax   Col)  lout  I 

Ther  IJg  would  pun  thee  into  shivers  with  his 
fist,  as  a  sailor  breaks  a  biscuit. 

Ajax.  Y  ou  whoreson  cur  1  {Beating  him.) 

Ther.  I)..,  do.  , 
Ajax.  'I'hun  stool  lor  a  witcii  1  i 
Ther.  Ay,  do,  do;  thou  sodden-uitted  lord  !  thou  j 
hast  no  more  brain  than  1  ha.e  m  mine  elbows  ;  an 
assinego  may  tut')r  tiiee  :  Thou  st;ur\y  valiant  ass!  , 
thou  art  liere  put  to  thrash  Trojan.->;  and  thou  art  j 
bought  and  .sold  among  those  ol  any  wit.  like  a  | 
Barhaiian  slave.    It  thou  use  to  beat  nie,  1  witl 


begin  at  thy  heel,  and  tell  what  thou  art  by  iuchei^ 
thou  thing  of  no  bowels,  thou  ! 

Ajax.  You  dog  I 

Ther.  You  scurvy  lord  ! 

Ajax.  You  cur!  {Beating  him.) 

Ther-.  Mars  his  idiot.'  do,  rudeness  do,  cainel« 
do,  do. 

Enter  Achilles  and  Patroci.us. 
Achil.  Whv,  how  now,  Ajax  ?  wherefore  do  jon 
thus? 

How  no\r.  Thermites  ?  what's  the  matter,  mfin  ? 
Ther.  You  see  him  there,  do  you'' 
Achil.  Ay  ;  what's  the  matter? 
Ther.  Nay,  look  upon  him. 
Achil.  So  I  do;  What's  the  matter? 
Ther.  Nay,  but  regard  him  well. 
Achil.  Well,  why  I  do  so. 

Ther.  But  yet  you  look  not  well  upon  him  :  fo' 
whosoever  you  take  him  to  be,  he  is  Ajax. 
Achil.  I  know  that,  fool. 
Th&r.  Ay,  but  that  fool  knows  not  himself. 
Ajax.  'J  herefore,  I  beat  thee. 
Ther.  Lo,  lo,  lo,  lo,  what  modicums  of  wit  he 
utters!  his  evasions  have  ears  thus  long.    I  havo 
bobbed  his  brain,  more  than  he  has  beat  my  bones; 
I  will  buy  nine  sparrows  for  a  penny,  and  his  pia 
mater  is  not  worth  the  ninth  j)art  t)f  a  sparrow, 
'i'his  lord,  Achilles,  Ajax, —  who  wears  his  wit  in 
his  belly,  and  his  guts  in  his  head, — I'll  tell  you 
what  I  say  of  him. 
Achil.  What? 

Ther.  I  say,  this  Ajax  

Achil.  Nay,  good  Ajax. 
Ajax  ojD'ers  lo  strike  him,  Achilles  interpose^,) 
Vier.  Has  not  so  much  wit- — 
Achil.  Nay,  I  must  hold  you. 
Ther.  As  will  stop  the  eye  of  Helen's  needle 
for  whom  he  comes  to  fight. 
Achil.  Peace,  fool! 

Ther.  I  would  have  peace  and  quietness,  but  the 
fool  will  not:  he  there;  that  he;  look  you  there. 
Ajax.  O  thou  damned  cur!  I  shall — 
Achil.  W  ill  you  set  your  wit  to  a  fool's  ? 
T//«r.  No,  1  warrant  you;  for  a  fool's  will  shame  it. 
Patr.  Good  words, 'I'hersites. 
Achil.  What's  the  quarrel? 

Ajax.  I  bade  the  vile  owl,  go  learn  me  the  tenuur 
of  the  proclamation,  and  he  rails  upon  me. 

Ther.  I  serve  thee  not. 

Ajax.  Well,  go  to,  go  to. 

Iker.  I  serve  here  voluntary. 

Achil.  Your  last  service  was  sufferance,  'twas  not 
voluntary;  no  man  is  beaten  voluntary  :  Ajax  was 
here  the  voluntary,  and  you  as  under  an  impresa. 

Ther.  Even  so? — a  great  deal  of  your  wit  too 
lies  in  your  sinews,  or  else  there  be  liars.  Hector 
shall  have  a  great  catch,  if  he  knock  out  cither  of 
your  brains  ;  'a  were  as  good  crack  a  fusty  nut  with 
no  kernel. 

Achil.  What,  with  me  too,  Thersites? 

Ther.  There's  Ulysses  and  old  Nestor,—  whose 
wit  was  mouldy,  ere  your  grandsires  had  n  lils  on 
their  toes, — yoke  you  like  draught  oxen,  and  make 
you  plough  up  the  wars. 
,    Achil.  What,  what? 

Ther.Yes.  good  sooth  ;  To,  Achilles  I  to,  Ajax  !  to! 

Ajax.  1  sliai)  cut  out  your  tongue. 

Ther. 'Tin  no  matter;  1  shall  speak  as  much  <it 
thou,  afterwards. 

Patr.  No  more  words,  Thersites  ;  peace. 

Ther.  1  will  hold  my  peace,  when  Achilles'  bracb 
bids  me,  shall  I  ? 

Achil.  'I'here's  for  you,  Patroclus 

Ther.  1  will  see  you  hanged,  like  clotpoles,  ere  I 
come  any  more  to  your  tents  ;  1  will  keep  wherethere 
is  wit  stirring,  and  leave  the  faction  of  fools.  [Exit, 

Patr.  A  good  riddance. 

Achil.  iViarry,  this,  sir,  is  proclaimed  througk  all 
our  host 


520 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


'Act  II. 


Thav  Beclor,  by  the  first  hour  of  the  sun, 
VV^i!!,  with  a  trninjiet,  'twixt  our  tents  and  Troy, 
To-morrow  iiioi-ning  call  some  knij^ht  to  arms, 
That  h;^th  a  stomach  ;  and  such  a  one,  that  dare 
Maintain — !  know  not  what;  'tis  trash  :  Farewell. 

^jax.  Farewell.    Who  shall  answer  him  ? 

Acliil.  I  know  not,  it  is  put  to  lottery  ;  otherwise. 
He  knew  his  man. 

Ajax.  O,  meaning  yon: — I'll  go  learn  more  of 
it.  [Exeunt. 

ScENK  II. — Troy.    A  Room  in  Priam's  Palace. 
Enter  Priam,  Hector,  Troilus,  Paris,  a7id 
Helenus. 

Pri.  After  sa  many  hours,  lives,  speeches  spent, 
Thus  once  aeain  says  Nestor  from  (he  Greeks; 
lieliver  Helen,  and  all.  damaije  else — 
As  honour^  loss  of  time,  travel,  expenae, 
TVounds,  friends,  and  ichat  else  dear  that  is 
consum'd 

In  hot  dhjestion  of  this  cormorant  ivar, — 
Shall  be  struck  off: — Hector,  what  say  yon  to't? 
Hect.  Though  no  man  lesser  fears  the  Greeks 
than  T 

As  far  as  toiicheth  my  particular,  yet, 
Oread  Priam, 

There  is  no  lady  of  more  softer  bowels. 

More  spongy  to  suck  in  the  sense  of  fear, 

More  ready  to  cry  out — Who  htiows  what  follotvs  1 

Than  Hector  is  :  The  wound  of  peace  is  surety, 

Surety  secure;  but  modest  doubt  is  calTd 

The  beacon  of  the  wise,  the  tent  that  searches 

To  the  bottom  of  the  worst.    Let  Helen  go  : 

Since  the  first  sword  was  drawn  about  this  question. 

Every  tithe  soul,  'inongst  many  thousand  dismes, 

Hath  been  as  dear  as  Helen  ;  1  mean,  of  ours  : 

If  we  have  lost  so  many  tents  of  ours. 

To  guard  a  thing  not  ours ;  not  worth  to  us. 

Had  it  our  name,  the  value  of  one  ten  ; 

\That  merit's  in  that  reason,  which  denies 

The  yielding  of  her  up  ? 

Trc.  Fy,  fy,  my  brother  I 

Weigh  yon  the  worth  and  honour  of  a  king. 
So  great  as  our  dread  father,  in  a  scale 
Of  common  ounces?  will  you  with  counters  sum 
The  past-proportion  of  his  infinite? 
And  buckle-in  a  waist  most  fathondess, 
With  spans  and  inches  so  diminutive 
As  fears  and  reasons  ?  fy,  for  godly  shame! 

H.el.  No  marvel,  though  you  bite  so  sharp  at 
reasons, 

Von  are  so  empty  of  them.    Should  not  our  father 
Bear  the  great  sway  of  his  affairs  with  reasons, 
Because  your  speech  hath  none,  that  tells  him  so? 
Tro.  You  are  for  dreams  and  slumbers,  brother 
priest, 

You  fur  your  gloves  with  reason.    Here  are  your 
reasons  : 

You  know,  an  enemy  intends  you  harm ; 
You  know,  a  sword,  employ'd,  is  perilous. 
And  reason  flies  the  object  of  all  harui  : 
Who  marvels  then,  when  Helenus  beholds 
A  Grecian  and  his  sword,  if  he  do  set 
The  verv  wings  of  reason  to  his  heels ; 
Aiid  fly  like  chidden  Mercury  from  Jove, 
Or  like  a  star  dis-orb'd  ? — Nay,  if  we  talk  of  reason. 
Let's  shut  our  gates,  and  sleep:  Manhood  and  honour 
Should  have  hare  hearts,  would  they  but  fat  their 
thoughts 

(\'ith  this  crainm'd  reason  :  reason  and  respect 
Make  livers  f)ale,  and  lustihood  deject. 

Hect.  Brother,  she  is  not  worth  what  she  doth  cost 
The  holding. 

Tro.  What  is  aught,  but  as  'tis  valued  ? 

Hect.  But  value  dwells  not  in  particular  will; 
It  holds  its  estiuiate  and  dignity 
As  well  wherein  'tis  precious  of  itself 
As  in  the  piizer  :  'tis  mad  idolatry, 
To  (uake  the  bervi';e  greater  thatj  the  god; 
Add  the  will  doted,  that  is  attributive 


To  what  infectiously  itself  affects, 
Without  some  ima^e  of  the  affected  merit. 

Tro.  I  take  to-day  a  wife,  and  my  eleciioa 
Is  led  on  in  the  conduct  of  my  will; 
My  will  enkindled  by  mine  eyes  and  ears, 
'^I'wo  traded  pilots  'twixt  the  dangerous  shores 
Of  will  and  judgment :  How  may  I  avoid, 

'  Although  my  will  distate  what  it  elected, 
The  wife  I  chose?  there  can  be  no  evasion 
To  blench  from  this,  and  to  stand  firm  by  honor  i; 
We  turn  not  back  the  silks  upon  the  merchants, 
When  we  have  soil'd  them ;  nor  the  remainder  viands 

:  We  do  not  throw  in  unrespective  sieve. 
Because  we  now  are  lull.    It  was  thought  meet, 
Paris  shoidd  do  some  vengeance  on  the  Greeks  : 

j  Your  breath  with  full  consent  bellied  his  sails  ; 

[  The  seas  and  winds  (oid  wranglers)  took  a  truce, 

}  At)d  did  him  service  :  he  touclt'd  the  ports  desir'd ; 
And,  for  an  old  aunt,  whom  the  Greeks  held  captive, 

I  He  brought  a  Grecian  queen,  whose  youth  and 
freshness 

Wrinkles  Apollo's  and  makes  [)ale  tlie  morning. 
Why  keep  we  her?  the  Grecians  keep  our  aunt: 
Is  she  worth  keeping  ?  why,  she  is  a  peari, 
Whose  price  hath  launch'd  above  a  thousand  ships, 
And  turn'd  crown'd  kings  to  merchants. 
If  you'll  avouch,  'twas  wisdom  Paris  went, 
(As  you  must  needs,  for  you  all  cry'd — Qoy  go^ 
If  you'll  confess,  he  brought  hcmie  noble  prize, 
(As  you  nuist  needs,  for  you  all  clapp'd  your  hands 
And  cry'd — Inestimable  !)  why  do  you  now 
The  issue  of  your  proper  wisdom  rate; 
And  do  a  deed  that  fortune  never  did. 
Beggar  the  estimation  which  you  priz'd 
Richer  than  sea  and  land  ?  O  the  It  nu)st  base  ; 
'I'hat  we  have  stolen  what  we  do  fear  to  keep! 
But,  thieves,  unworthy  ol"  a  thing  so  stolen, 
'i'hat  in  their  country  did  theni  that  disgrace, 
We  fear  to  warrant  in  our  native  place  1 

Cas.  [Within.)  Cry,  Trojans,  cry  ! 

Pri.  What  noi-^e  ?  what  shritli  s  this  ? 

Tro.  'Tis  our  mad  sister,  I  do  know  her  \OM:e. 

Cas.  [Within.)  Cry,  Trojans  ! 

Hect.  It  is  Cassandra. 

Enter  Cassandra,  raving 
Cas.  Cry,  Trojans,  cry,  lend  me  ten  thousand  eyos, 
And  I  will  till  them  with  prophetic  tears. 
Hect.  Peace,  sister,  peace. 

Cas.  Virgins  and  boys,  mid- age  and  wrinkled 
elders. 

Soft  infancy,  that  nothing  canst  but  cry, 

Add  to  my  clamours !  let  us  pay  betimes 

A  moiety  of  that  mass  of  moan  to  come. 

Cry,  Trtvjans,  cry  !  practise  your  eyes  with  tears;' 

Troy  must  nwt  be,  nor  goodly  Ilion  stand  ; 

Our  fire-brand  brother,  Paris,  burns  us  all. 

Cry,  Trojans,  cry!  a  Helen,  and  a  woe: 

Cry,  cry !  Troy  burns,  or  else  let  Helen  go.  [Exit 

Hect.  Now,  youthf'd  Troilus,  do  not  these  high 
Of  divination  in  our  sister  work  [strains 
Some  touches  of  remorse  ?  oris  your  blood 
So  madly  hot,  that  no  discourse  of  reason. 
Nor  fear  of  bad  success  in  a  bad  cause, 
Can  qualify  the  same  ? 

Tro.  Why,  brother  Hector, 

We  may  not  think  the  justness  of  each  act 
Such  and  no  other  than  event  doth  form  it ; 
Nor  once  deject  the  courage  of  our  minds, 
Because  Cassandra's  mad  :  her  brain-sick  raptures 
Cannot  distaste  the  goodness  of  a  quarrel. 
Which  hath  our  several  honours  all  engag'd 
To  make  it  gracious.    For  my  private  part, 
I  am  no  more  touch'd  than  all  Priam's  sons: 
And  Jove  forbid,  there  should  be  d(»ne  amongst  ns 
Such  things,  as  mii^ht  oft'end  the  weakest  spleen 
I'o  fight  for  and  maintain  ! 

Par.  Else  might  the  world  convince  of  llvity 
As  well  my  undertakings,  as  your  counsels: 
But  I  attest  the  gods  your  full  consent 


Scene  3. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


521 


G«re  wines  to  my  propenoion,  and  cut  off 

All  fears  attendins^  on  so  dire  a  project 
F(  r  v<rii!it,  alas,  can  these  niy  sir)»le  arms? 
What  projiuo nation  is  in  one  man's  valour, 
To  stand  the  [jii.sh  and  emnitv  of  those 
This  quarrel  would  excite  ?  V'et,  I  protest, 
Were  I  alone  to  pass  the  difficulties, 
And  had  as  ample  power  as  I  have  will, 
l*  ;r.8  sliould  ne'er  retract  what  he  hath  done, 
Nov  faint  in  the  pursuit. 

Pri.  Paris,  you  speak 

Like  one  besotted  on  your  sweet  delights : 
You  have  the  honey  still,  but  tiiese  the  gall; 
So  to  be  valiant  is  no  praise  at  ail. 

Par,  Sir,  I  propose  not  inereiy  to  myself 
The  pleasures  such  a  beauty  brings  with  it; 
But  I  woidd  have  the  soil  of  her  fair  rape 
Wip'd  off,  in  honourable  keeping  her. 
W  hat  treason  were  it  to  the  ransack'd  queen, 
Disgrace  to  your  great  wortlis,  and  shame  to  me, 
Now  to  deliver  her  possession  up 
On  terms  of  base  c/mpnlsion  ?  Can  it  be, 
That  so  degenerate  a  strain  as  this 
Should  once  set  footing  in  your  generous  bosoms? 
I^here's  not  the  meanest  spirit  on  our  party. 
Without  a  lieart  to  dare,  or  sword  to  draw,' 
When  Helen  is  defended  ;  nor  none  so  noble. 
Whose  lite  were  ill  bestow'd.  or  death  unfam'd,  > 
Where  Helen  is  the  subject  :  then,  1  say, 
Well  lujty  we  tight  for  her,  whom,  we  know  well. 
The  world's  huge  spaces  carmot  parallel. 

Hect.  Paris,  and  IVoilus,  you  have  both  said  well ; 
And  uu  the  cause  and  question  now  in  hand 
Have  gloz'd, — but  superficially  ;  not  unich 
Unlik:?  yomig  men,  whom  Aristotle  thought 
Unlit  to  hear  moral  pliilosophy  : 
The  reaso.is,  you  allege,  do  more  conduce 
To  the  hot  passions  of  distemper'd  blood. 
Than  to  make  up  a  free  deterunnation 
*l\vist  riglit  and  wrong;  for  pleasure  and  revenge 
Ha"e  ears  m<  .re  deaf  than  adders  to  the  voice 
Of  any  true  decision,    Natine  crave.s 
All  dues  lie  render'd  to  tlieir  owners;  Now, 
What  nearer  debt  in  all  humanity. 
Than  wife  is  to  the  husband  ?  if  this  law 
Of  nature  be  corrupted  through  atlection; 
And  that  great  minds,  of  partial  indulgence 
To  their  benutiibed  wills,  resist  the  san)e  ; 
Therv  is  a  iaw  ia  each  well  order'd  nation, 
To  curb  those  raging  appetites  that  are 
Most  disobedient  and  refractory. 
If  Helen  then  be  wife  to  Sparta's  king, — 
As  it  is  known  she  is, — these  moral  laws 
Of  nature,  and  of  nations,  speak  aloud 
To  have  her  back  return'd  :  Thus  to  persist 
In  doing  wrong,  extenuates  not  wrong, 
But  makes  it  much  more  heavy.    Hector's  Oj;inion 
Is  this,  in  way  of  truth  :  yet,  ne'ei  theless, 
My  spritely  bretiiren,  I  propend  to  you 
In  resolution  to  keep  Helen  still. 
For 'tis  a  cause  that  hath  no  mean  dependance 
Upon  our  joint  and  several  dignities. 

Tro.  Why,  there  you  touch'd  the  life  of  our  design  • 
Were  it  not  glory  that  we  more  affected 
1'han  tiie  perfornjance  oi  our  heaving  spleens, 
I  would  not  wish  a  drop  of  Trojan  blood 
Spent  more  in  her  defence.    But,  worthy  Hector, 
She  is  a  theme  of  honour  and  renown  ; 
A  sptir  to  valiant  and  magnanimous  deeds 
W^hose  present  courage  may  heat  down  our  foes, 
And  fame,  in  time  to  come,  canonize  us  : 
For,  I  presume,  brave  Hector  would  not  lose 
So  rich  advantage  of  a  prouiis'd  glory. 
As  smiles  upon  the  forehead  of  this  action, 
For  the  wide  world's  revenue. 

Hect.  I  am  yours, 

You  valiant  offspring  of  great  Priamus. — 
I  have  a  roisting  challenge  sent  amongst 
The  didl  and  'actious  nobles  of  the  (Jreeks, 
Wili  strike  amazeraent  to  their  drowsy  spirits  : 


I  was  advertis'd,  tneir  great  general  sl^-pt 

Whilst  emulation  in  the  army  cre^  t ; 

This,  I  presume,  will  wake  him.  [£!xeuni 

Scene  III. — The  Grecian  Cntnp.  Before  Achilles 
Tent. 
Enter  Thersites. 
Ther.  How  now,  Thersites  ?  what,  lost  in  tht 
labyrinth  of  thy  fury  ?  Shall  the  elephant  Ajax  carry 
it  thus?  he  beats  me,  and  I  rail  at  him:  O  worthy 
.satisfaction  ! 'would  it  were  otherwise;  that  I  cculd 
beat  him,  whilst  he  relaid  at  me  ;  "Sfoot,  I  II  learn 
to  conjure  and  raise  devils,  but  Til  see  some  issue 
of  my  spiteful  execrations.  Then  there's  Achilles, 
— a  rare  ejigineer.  If  Troy  be  not  t;tken  till  these  two 
undermine  it,  the  wal^s  will  stand  till  they  full 
of  themselves  O  thou  great  thuniier -  darter  of 
Olyutpus,  foi  ;»^et  that  thou  art  Jove,  the  king  of 
gods;  and,  Mercury,  lose  all  the  serpentme  craft  of 
thy  Coduceus ;  if  ye  take  not  that  little  little  less- 
than-little  wit  from  them  that  they  have  !  whioh 
short  armed  ignorance  itself  knows  is  so  abundant 
scarce,  it  will  not  in  circiuiivention  deliver  a  fly  from 
a  spider,  without  drawing  their  massy  irons,  and 
cutting  tlie  web.  After  tiiis,  the  vengeance  on  the 
whole  camp!  or,  rather,  the  bone  ache !  for  that, 
methinks,  is  the  curse  dependant  on  those  that  war 
for  a  placket.  I  have  said  my  prayers  ;  and  devil, 
envy,  say  amen.    What,  ho !  iny  lord  Achilles ! 

Enter  Patuoclus. 

Patr.  Who's  there  ?  Thersites  ?  Good  Thersitts, 
come  in  and  rail. 

Ther.  If  I  could  ha' e  ren>einbered  a  gilt  counter- 
feit, thou  wouldest  no.  have  slipped  out  of  my  coa- 
templation  :  but  it  is  n>>  matter;  Thyself  upon  thy- 
self! The  common  curse  of  matikind,  folly  ami 
ignorance,  be  thine  in  great  rev  enue !  heaven  bless 
thee  from  a  tutor,  and  disciple  come  not  near  thee.* 
Let  thy  blood  be  thy  direction  till  tiiy  death  I  thca 
if  she,  that  buys  thee  out,  says — thou  art  a  fair  (orf>e, 
I'll  be  svvcun  and  sworn  upon  t,  she  never  shroudetl 
any  but  lazars.    Amen.    Wh' re  s  Achilles  ? 

Patr.  What,  art  thou  devout!    Wast  thou  in 

Tfier.  Ay;  the  heavens  hear  me!  [prayer? 
Enter  Achilles. 

Achil.  Who's  there  ? 

Patr.  '^I'hersites,  my  lord. 

Achil.  Where,  where? — Art  thou  come?  Why, 
my  cheese,  my  digestion,  why  hast  thou  not  served 
thyself  in  to  my  table  so  many  meals?  Come  ;  what's 
Agamenmon  ? 

Ther.  Thy  commander,  Achilles ;— then  tell  me, 
Patroclus,  wiiat's  Achilles? 

Patr.  Thy  lord,  Thersites  ;  Then  tell  me,  I  pray 
thee,  what's  thyself. 

Ther.  Thy  knower,  Patroclus;  Then  tell  me, 
Patroclus.  what  art  thou  ? 

Patr.  Thou  mayest  tell,  that  knowest. 

Achil.  O  tell,  tell. 

Ther.  I'll  decline  the  whole  question^  Agamem- 
non conmiands  Achilles  ;  Achilles  is  my  lord  ;  I  am 
Patroclus'  knower;  and  Patroclus  is  a  tool. 

Patr.  You  rascal ! 

Ther.  Peace,  fool ;  1  have  not  done.  [sites. 
Achil.  He  is  a  privileged  man. — Proceed,  Ther- 
'/%er.  Agamemnon  is  a  tool;  Achilles  is  a  f  ool;  Ther- 
sites is  a  fool  j  and,  as  aforesaid,  Patroclus  is  a  fooL 
Achil.  Derive  this;  come. 

Thar.  Agamemnon  is  a  fool  to  oiTer  to  coinmn'id 
Achilles;  Achilles  is  a  fool  to  be  conmianded  o 
Agamemnon;  Thersites  is  at  fool  to  serve  such  % 
fool;  and  Patroclus  is  a  foci  positive. 

Patr.  Why  am  I  a  fool  ? 

Ther.  Make  that  demand  of  the  proven — ft  suf- 
fices me,  thou  art.    Look  you,  who  comes  here. 
£«<er  AoiMEMNON,  Ulysses,  Nestor,  Diomedes 
and  Ajax. 

Achil.  Patroclus,  1  11  speak  with  Uv^body : — CovaA 


522 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  II. 


La  with  me,  1  nersites.  [Exit. 

Ther.  Here  is  such  patcliery,  such  juggling,  and 
such  knavery  I  all  the  aigiimerit  is,  a  cuckold,  and 
B  whore  ;  a  good  quarrel,  to  draw  ernidous  factions, 
and  *o  bleed  to  death  upon.  Now  the  dry  serpigo  on 
the  .ubject!  and  war,  and  lechery,  couloiind  all  ! 

{Exit. 

Afjam.  Where  is  Achilles? 

Pair.  Within  his  tent;  but  ill  dispos'd,  niylord. 

A  gam.  Let  it  be  known  to  hini,  that  we  are  here. 
Be  slient  our  messengers  ;  and  we  lay  by 
Our  af^pertainnients,  visiting  of  him  : 
Let  liiiji  be  told  so;  lest,  perchance,  he  think 
We  dare  not  move  the  question  of  our  place. 
Or  know  not  what  we  are. 

Pair.  I  shall  say  so  to  him. 

[Exit. 

Ulyss.  We  saw  him  at  the  opening  of  his  teut; 
He  is  not  sick. 

Ajax.  Yes,  lion-sick,  sick  of  proud  heart:  you 
may  call  it  melancholy,  if  you  will  favour  the  man; 
but,  by  my  head,  'tis  pride  :  But  why,  why  i  let 
liim  shew  us  a  cause. — A  word,  my  lordi. 

(Takes  Agamemnon  aside.) 

Nest.  What  moves  Ajax  thus  to  bay  at  iiim 

Ulyss.  Achilles  hath  inveigled  his  fool  frouj  him. 

Nest.  Who  ?  'J'hersites  'i 

Ulyss,  He.  « 

Nest.  Then  will  Ajax  lack  matter,  if  he  have  lost 
his  aigiunent. 

Ulyss.  No ;  you  see,  he  is  bis  argument,  that  has 
his  argument;  Achilles. 

Nest.  All  the  uetter ;  their  fraction  is  more  our 
wish  than  their  faction:  liut  it  was  a  strong  com- 
posure, a  i'o  il  could  disunite. 

Ulyss.  The  amity,  that  wisdom  knits  not,  folly 
laaji  easily  untie.    Here  conies  Patroclug. 

Re-enter  Patkoclus. 

A'c?.?/.  No  Achilles  with  him. 

Ulyss.  Tiie  elephant  hath  joints^  but  none  for 
(onrtesy;  his  legs  are  legs  for  necessity,  not  for 
Uexnre. 

Patr.  Achilles  bids  me  say — he  is  much  sorry, 
11  any  thing  more  than  your  sport  and  pleasure 
Did  move  your  greatness,  and  this  noble  state, 
To  call  U[)on  him  ;  he  hopes,  it  is  no  other. 
But,  for  your  iiealth  and  your  digestion  sake, 
An  afttr-dumers  breath. 

Aya.m,  Hear  you,  Patroclus: — 

We  are  too  well  acquainted  witli  tiiese  answers: 
But  his  evasioi),  wing'd  thus  swift  with  scorn, 
Cannot  outlly  our  apprehensions. 
Mu(h  attribute  lie  hath;  and  much  the  reason 
Wiiy  we  ascribe  it  to  him  :  yet  all  his  viitues, — 
Nfit  virtuously  on  his  own  part  beheld, — 
Do,  in  your  eyes,  begin  to  lose  their  gloss  ; 
Yea,  like  lair  fruit  in  an  unwholesome  dish. 
Are  like  to  rot  unstated.    Go  and  tell  hinj, 
We  (  oute  to  speak  with  him  :  And  you  shall  not  sin. 
If  you  do  say — we  think  him  over-proud, 
And  under  honest;  in  self-assuuiption  greater. 
Than  in  the  note  of  judgujent ;  and  worthier  than 
hiuiself 

Here  tend  the  savage  strangeness  he  puts  on; 
ITisgu/se  the  holy  strength  of  their  command. 
And  underwrite  in  an  observing  kind 
ti.s  himiours  predonunance ;  yea,  watch 
His  pettish  lunes,  his  ebbs,  his  tlows,  as  if 
The  passage  and  whole  carriage  of  this  action 
Rode  on  his  tide.   Go  and  tell  him  this;  and  add, 
That,  if  he  overbold  his  price  so  much, 
We'll  tione  of  him ;  but  let  hiuj,  like  an  engine 
Not  portable,  lie  under  this  report — 
Bring  action  hither,  this  cannot  go  to  war: 
A  stirring  dwarf  we  do  allowance  give 
Belore  a  sleeping  giant  — Tell  him  so. 

Patr.  1  shall;  and  bring  his  answer  presently. 

[Exit. 

Ayam  \u  second  voice  we'll  not  be  satisfieii 


We  come  to  speak  with  hira. — Ulysses  etiter. 

[Exit  Ulyss 

Ajax.  What  is  he  more  than  another  ;* 

Agam.  No  more  than  what  he  thinks  he  is. 

Ajax.  Is  he  so  much?  Do  you  not  think,  he 
thiiiks  himsell  a  better  man  than  I  am  ? 

Agam.  No  question.  [he  is? 

Ajax.  Will  you  subscribe  his  thought,  and  say — 

Agam.  No,  noble  Ajax  ;  you  are  as  strong,  as 
valiant,  as  wise,  no  less  noble,  much  more  gentle 
and  altogether  more  tractable. 

Ajax.  Why  should  a  man  be  proud  ?  How  dotl 
pride  grow?  1  know  not  what  pride  is. 

Agam.  Your  mind's  the  clearer,  Ajax,  and  your 
virtues  the  fairer.  He,  that  is  proud,  eats  up  huu- 
self :  pride  is  his  own  glass,  his  own  trumpet,  his 
own  chronicle;  and  whatever  praises  itself  but  in 
the  deed,  devours  the  deed  in  the  praise. 

Ajax.  I  do  hate  a  proud  man,  as  1  hate  the  engen- 
dering of  toads. 

Nest.  And  yet  he  loves  himself:  Is  it  not  strange  ? 

{Aside.) 

Re-enter  Ulysses. 

Ulyss.  Achilles  will  not  to  the  field  to-morrow. 

Ayam.  What's  his  excuse  ? 

Ulyss.  He  doth  rely  on  none; 

But  carries  on  the  stream  of  his  dispose. 
Without  observance  or  respect  of  any, 
In  will  peculiar  and  in  self-admission. 

Agam.  W  hy  will  he  not,  upon  our  fair  request, 
Untent  his  person,  and  share  the  air  witii  us  ? 

Ulyss.  Things  small  as  nothing,  for  request's  sake 
only,  [ness; 
He  makes  important:  Possess'd  he  is  with  great- 
And  sjteaks  not  to  himsell',  but  with  a  pride 
'i'hat  quarrels  at  self  breath  :  imagin'd  worth 
Holds  in  his  blood  such  swoln  and  hot  discourse. 
That,  'twixt  his  mental  and  his  active  parts, 
Kingdom'd  Achilles  in  commotion  rages. 
And  batters  down  himself:  What  should  I  say? 
He  is  so  plaguy  proud,  that  the  death  tok<- us  oi  'i 
Cry — No  recovery' 

Agam.  Let  Ajax  go  to  him. — 

Dear  lord,  go  you  and  greet  him  in  his  tent  -. 
''I'is  said,  he  holds  you  well;  and  will  beled, 
At  your  request,  a  little  from  himself. 

Ulyss.  O  Agamemnon,  let  it  not  be  so! 
We'll  consecrate  the  steps  that  Ajax  makes 
When  they  go  from  Achilles:  Shall  the  proud  lord. 
That  bastes  his  arrogance  with  his  own  seam, 
And  never  sutlers  matter  of  the  world 
Enter  his  thoughts, — save  such  as  do  revolve 
And  ruminate  himself, — shall  he  be  worshipp'd 
Of  that  we  hold  an  idol  more  than  he  ? 
No,  this  thrice-woithy  and  right-valiant  lord 
Must  not  so  stain  his  palm,  nobly  acquir'd; 
Nor,  by  my  will,  assubjugale  his  merit. 
As  amply  titled  as  Aclulies  is, 
By  going  to  Achilles: 
That  were  to  eulard  his  fat-already  pride  ; 
And  add  more  coals  to  Cancer,  when  he  burns 
With  entertaining  great  Hyperion. 
'J'his  lord  go  to  him!  Jupiter  forbid  ; 
And  say  in  thunder — Achilles,  go  to  him. 

Nest.  O,  this  is  well;  he  rubs  tiie  vein  of  hini. 

{Aside.\ 

Dio.  And  how  his  silence  drinks  up  this  applau.se  : 

{Aside^ 

Ajax.  If  I  go  to  him,  with  my  arm'd  fist  I'll  pash 
Over  the  face.  Jiim 

Agam.  O,  no,  yon  shall  not  go. 

Ajax  An  he  be  proud  with  me,  i  ll  pheeze  hif 
Let  me  go  to  him.  {pride: 

Ulyss.  Not  for  the  worth  that  hangs  ujjon  oui 
quarrel. 

Ajax.  A  paltry,  insol(;nt  fellow! — 
Nest.  How  he  describe! 

Himself!  {Asidt*) 
Ajax,  Can  he  not  be  sociable  ? 


Act  III.  Scene  1. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


*  523 


XJlyss.  The  raven 

Chides  blackness.  {Aside^ 
Ajax.  T  will  let  his  humours  blood. 

Agam  Hc*ll  be  phjsician,  that  should  be  the  pa- 
tieat.  {Aside.) 
Ajax.  An  all  men 
kVere  o'my  mind, — 
Ulyss.  '  VVit  would  be  out  of  fashion. 

(Aside.) 

Ajax.  He  should  not  bear  it  so, 
should  eat  swords  first:  iShall  pride  carjy  it? 

Nest.  An  'twould,  you'd  carry  half.  (Aside.) 

Ulyis.  He'd  have  ten  shares.  [Aside.) 

Ajax.  I'll  knead  hini,  I'll  make  him  supple  : — 

Nest.   He's  not  yet  thorough  warm :  force  him 
with  praises: 
i*our  in,  pour  in  ;  his  ambition  is  dry.  [Aside.) 

Ulyss.My  lord,  you  feed  too  much  on  this  dis- 
like. [To  Agamemnon.) 

Nest.  O  noble  general,  do  not  do  so, 

Dio.  You  must  prepare  to  fight  without  Achilles. 

Ulyss,  Why,  'tis  this  naming  of  him  does  hiu) 
harm. 

Here  is  a  man — But  'tis  before  his  face ; 
I  will  be  silent. 

Nest.  Wherefore  should  you  so? 

He  is  not  emulous,  as  Achilles  is. 

Ulyss. K-tiOW  the  whole  world,  he  is  as  valiant. 

Ajax.   A  ^vhoreson  dog,  that  shall  palter  thus 
with  us! 
I  would,  he  were  a  Trpjan ! 

Nest.  What  a  vice 

Were  it  in  Ajax  now — 

Ulyss*  If  he  were  proud  ? 

Dio.  Or  covetous  of  praise  ? 

Uljfss.  Ay,  or  surly  borne? 

Dto.  Or  strange,  or  self-affected  ? 

l7/ys*. Thank  the  heavens,  lord,  thou  art  of  sweet 
composure ; 

Praise  him  that  got  thee,  she  that  gave  thee  suck  : 

i  Fam'd  be  thy  tutor,  and  thy  parts  of  nature 
Tl\rice-fam'd,  beyond  all  erudition: 

j  But  he  that  disciplin'd  thy  arms  to  fight. 
Let  Mars  divide  eternity  in  twain, 

\  And  give  him  half:  and,  for  thy  vigour. 
Bull-bearing  Milo  his  addition  yield 
To  sinewy  Ajax.    I'll  not  praise  thy  wisdom, 
Which,  like  a  bourn,  a  pale,  a  shore,  confines 
Thy  spacious  and  dilated  parts:  Here's  Nestor, — 

;  Instructed  by  the  antiquary  times, 
He  must,  he  is,  he  cannot  but  be  wise ; — 

I  But  pardon,  father  Nestor,  were  your  days 

1  As  green  as  Ajax',  and  your  brain  so  temper'd, 
You  should  not  have  the  eminence  of  him, 

i  But  be  as  Ajax. 

j    Ajax.  Shall  I  call  you  father  ? 

I    Nest.  Ay,  my  good  son. 

Tfio.  Be  rul'd  by  him,  lord  Ajax. 

Ulyss,  There  is  no  tarrying  here ;  the  hart 
I  Achilles 

Keeps  thicket    Please  it  our  ^reat  general 
'J'o  call  together  all  his  state  of  war; 
Fresh  kings  are  come  to  Troy  ;  To-morrow 
We  must  with  all  our  main  of  power  stand  fast: 
And  here's  a  lord, — come  kniglits  from  east  to  west, 
|And  cull  their  flower,  Ajax  shall  cope  the  best, 
j    Agam.  Go  we  to  council.    Let  Acliiiles  sleep : 
Light  boats  sail  swift,  though  greater  hulks  draw 
deep.  [Exeunt. 
ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — Troy,   A  Room  in  Priam's  Palace. 

Enter  Pandarus  and  a  Servant. 
Pan.  Friend  !  you  I  pray  you,  a  word  :  Do  not 
you  follow  the  young  lord  Paris  ? 
i   Serv.  Ay,  sir,  when  he  goes  before  me. 
I   Pan.  You  do  depend  upon  him,  I  mean  ? 
1   Serv,  Sir,  I  do  depend  upon  the  lord. 

Pan.  You  do  depend  upon  a  noble  gentleman;  1 
must  needs  praise  him. 


Serv.  The  lord  be  praised 
Pan.  You  know  me,  do  you  not  ? 
Serv.  'Faith,  sir,  superficially. 
Pan.  Friend,  know  me  better;  1  Jm  the  lord 
Pandarus. 

Serv.  I  hope  I  shall  know  your  honour  better. 

Pan.  I  do  desire  it. 

Serv.  You  are  in  a  stiite  of  grace. 

[Musii  wiihin.)  , 

Pan.  Grace  !  not  so,  friend  ;  honour  an  I  loi  tlship 
are  my  titles  : — What  music  is  this  ? 

Serv.  I  do  but  partly  know,  sir;  it  is  music  in 
parts. 

Pan.  Know  yon  the  musicians  ? 

Serv.  Wholly,  sir. 

Pan.  Who  play  they  to  ? 

Serv.  To  the  hearers,  sir. 

Pan.  At  whose  pleasure,  friend? 

Serv.  At  mine,  sir,  and  theirs  that  love  music* 

Pan.  Command,  I  mean,  friend. 

Serv.  Who  shall  I  comnmnd,  sir? 

Pan.  Friend,  we  understand  not  one  another;  I 
am  too  courtly,  and  thou  art  too  cunning  :  At  wltose 
request  do  these  men  play  ? 

Serv.  That's  to't,  indeed,  sir  :  Marry,  sir,  at  the 
reqi'.est  of  Paris  my  lord,  who  is  there  in  person; 
with  him,  the  mortal  Venus,  the  heart-blood  of 
beauty,  love's  invisible  soul, — 

Pan.  Who,  my  cousin  Cressida  ? 

Serv.  No,  sir,  Helen  ;  Could  you  not  find  out 
that  by  her  attributes  ? 

Pan.  It  should  seem,  fellow,  that  thou  hast  not 
seen  tiie  lady  Cressida.  I  come  to  speak  with  Paris 
from  the  prince  Troilus  :  I  will  make  a  complimen- 
tal  assault  upon  him,  for  '.My  business  seeths. 

Serv.  Sodden  business!  there's  a  stewed  phrase, 
indeed.' 

Enler  Paris  and  Helen,  attended.  ^ 

Pan.  Fair  be  to  you,  niy  lord,  and  to  all  this  faif 
company  !  fair  desires,  in  all  fair  measure^,  fairly 
guide  them !  especially  to  you,  fair  queen  ?  faif 
thoughts  be  your  fair  pillow  ! 

Helen,  Dear  lord,  you  are  full  of  fair  words. 

Pan.Yow  speak  your  fair  pleasure,  sweet  queeur— 
Fair  prince,  here  is  good  broken  music. 

Par.  Yo  \  have  broke  it,  cousin:  and,  by  my  life, 
you  shall  make  it  whole  agaiu  ;  you  stiall  piece  k 
out  with  a  piece  of  your  performance  : — Nell,  he  is 
full  of  harmony. 

Pan.  Truly,  ladj%  no. 

Helen.  O,  sir, — 

Pan.  Rude,  in  sooth;  in  good  sooth,  very  rade 

Par.  Well  said,  my  lord  !  well,  you  say  so  in  fits. 

Pan.  I  have  business  to  my  lord,  dear  queen  : — ■ 
My  lord,  will  you  vouchsafe  me  a  word  V 

Helen.  Nay,  this  shall  not  hedge  us  out :  we'll 
hear  vou  sing,  certainly. 

Pan.  Well,  sweet  queen,  you  are  pleasant  with 
me. — But  (marry)  thus,  n»y  lord, — My  dear  lord, 
and  most  esteemed  friend,  your  brother  Troilus — 

Hele7t.  My  lord  Pandarus  ;  honey-sweet  lord, — 

Pan,  Go  to,  sweet  queen,  go  to: — commends 
himself  most  afi'ectionately  to  you. 

Helen.  You  siiall  not  bob  us  out  of  our  melody ; 
If  vou  do,  our  melancholy  ii[>on  your  head  ! 

Pan.  Sweet  queen,  eweet  queen  ;  tiiat'a  a  sweet 
queen,  i'faith. 

Helen.  And  to  make  a  sweet  lady  sad,  is  a 
sour  offence. 

Pan.  Nay,  that  shall  not  serve  your  turn  ;  th«t 
shall  it  not,  in  truth,  la.  Nay,  1  care  »:ot  for  such 
words;  no,  no. — And,  my  lord,  he  dfsires  you, 
that,  if  the  kini.^  call  for  him  at  supper,  you  will 
make  his  excuse. 

Helen.  My  lord  Pandarus,— - 

Pan.  What  says  my  swert  queen? — h»y  very 
very  sweet  queen 

Par.  What  exploit's  in  hand?  where  sups  he  tO» 
nitiht  i 


S2t 


TROILITS  AND  CRESSTDA. 


Act  III 


Helen.  Kay,  but  my  lord, — 

I^on.  V  hrtt  says  my  sweet  queen? — My  cousin 
<vi!l  lull  out  vvitli  you.  You  must  not  know  where 
he  sups. 

Par.  I  ll  lay  my  life,  with  my  disposer  Cressirla. 

Pan.  No,  no,  no  such  matter,  you  are  wide ; 
Cv  nie,  your  disposer  is  sick. 

Par.  Weil,  I'll  make  excuse. 

Pan.  Ay,  good  my  lord.  Why  should  you  say — 
C/es«ida  ?  no,  your  poor  disposer's  sick. 

Par.  1  spy. 

Pan.  \  ou  spy  !  what  do  you  spy  ? — Come,  give 
nie  an  instnimeut. — Now,  sweet  quten. 

HeUn.  Wliy,  this  is  kindly  done. 

Pan.  My  niece  is  iiorribly  in  love  w'ith  a  thing 
you  htiv<.',  sweet  queen. 

Helen.  She  shall  have  it,  my  lord,  if  it  be  not 
ray  lurd  P.uis.  [twain. 

Pan.  He  !  no,  siie  II  none  of  him  ;  the  two  are 

Helen.  Falling  in,  after  falling  out,  many  hiake 
theiri  three. 

Pan.  Come,  come,  I'll  hear  no  more  of  this;  I'll 
sIq;^  you  a  song  now. 

Helen.  Ay,  ay.  pr  ythee  now.  By  my  troth,  sweet 
lord,  tiioii  hast  a  tine  forehead. 
P(m.  Ay,  you  may,  you  may. 
Helen.  Let  thy  song  be  love  :  this  love  will  undo 
us  all.    O.  Cupid,  Cupid,  Cupid  ! 
Pan.  Love  !  av,  that  it  shall,  i'faith. 
Par.  Ay.  good  now,  love,  love,  nothing  but  love. 
Pati.  In  gO(jd  trotli,  it  begins  so: 

Love.  love,  nothimj  hut  love,  still  more! 
For,  oh.  love's  bow 
Shoots  Imclc  and  doe  : 
The  shaft  confounds 
Not  that  it  ivounds. 
But  tickles  still  the  sore. 
These  lovers  cr// — Oh  !  oh  !  they  die  ! 

Yet  that,  which  seems  the  wound  to  kill, 
Doth  turn  oh  !  oh  !  to  ha  !  ha !  he  ! 

So  dyinij  love  lives  still : 
Oh  !  oh  !  a  while.,  hut  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
Oh !  oh  !  groans  out  for  ha  !  ha !  ha  ! 
lr!ey  ho  ! 

Helen.  In  love,  i'faith,  to  the  very  tip  of  the  nose. 

Par.  He  eats  nothing  but  doves,  love;  and  that 
breeds  hot  blood,  and  hot  blood  begets  hot  thoughts, 
and  hot  thoughts  beget  hot  deeds,  and  hot  deeds  is 
Io\e. 

Pan.  Is  this  the  generation  of  love?  hot  blood, 
liot  thoughts,  and  hot  deeds? — Why,  they  are  vi- 
pers: Is  io\p  a  generation  of  vipers?  Sweet  lord, 
who's  a-field  to  day  ? 

Par.  Hector,  Deiphobus,  Helenus,  Antenor,  and 
a!l  the  gallantry  of  Troy  :  I  would  fain  have  armed 
to  day,  but  my  Nell  would  not  have  it  so.  How 
chance  niy  brother  Troilus  went  not  ? 

Helen.  He  hangs  the  Up  at  something; — you 
know  all,  lord  Pandarus. 

Pan.  Not  I,  honey-sweet  queen. — I  long  to 
aear  how  they  sped  to  day. — You'll  remember 
your  brother's  excuse? 

Par.  To  a  hair. 

Pan.  Farewell,  sweet  queen. 

Helen.  Commend  me  to  your  niece. 

Pan.  1  will,  sweet  queen.  [Exit. 

{A  retreat  sounded.) 

Par.  They  are  come  from  field  :  let  us  to  Priam's 
hall,  [you, 
i  o  greet  the  warriors.  Sweet  Helen.  I  must  woo 
10  >  elp  unarm  our  Hector:  His  stubborn  buckles. 
With  these  your  white  enchanting  fingers  touch'd, 
'jl..dl  more  obey  than  to  the  edge  of  steel, 
3r  ;o:(!e  of  (Jreekish  sinews  ;  you  shall  do  more 
Than  all  the  island  kings,  disarm  great  Hector. 

Helen.  'Twill  make  us  proud  to  be  his  servant, 
Paris: 

Vea,  what  he  shall  receive  of  us  in  dutv, 
Ciiives  us  atore  palm  in  beauty  than  we  have  ; 


Yea,  overshines  oin  st-lf. 

Par.  Sweet,  above  thouglit  I  love  thee  [ExeuM. 
Scene  II. — The  same.    Pandarus^  Orchard. 

Enter  Pandarus  and  a  Servant,  meeting. 
Pun.  How  now  ?  where's  thy  master  ?  at  m| 
cousin  Cressida  s  ? 

Serv.  No,  sir;  he  stavs  for  you  to  conduct  him 
thither. 

Enter  Troilus. 

Pan.  0,here  becomes. — How  now,  how  now  ? 

Tro.  Sirrah,  walk  olf.  [Exit  Servant 

Pan.  Have  you  aeen  my  cousin  ? 

Tro.  No,  Pandarus  :  I  stalk  about  her  door. 
Like  a  strange  soul  upon  the  Stygian  banks. 
Staying  for  waftaiie.    O,  be  thou  itjy  Charon, 
And  give  nie  swift  transportatice  to  those  fields, 
VVhere  I  may  Mallow  in  the  lily  beds 
Propos'd  for  the  deserver!  O  gentle  Pandarus, 
From  Cupid's  shoulder  pluck  his  painted  wings, 
And  fly  with  me  to  Cressid  ! 

Pan.  Walk  here  i'the  orchard,  I'll  bring  hei 
straight.  [Exit, 

Tro.  I  am  giddy :  expectation  whirls  me  round. 
The  imaginary  relish  is  so  sweet, 
That  it  enchants  my  sense ;  What  will  it  be, 
W^hen  that  the  watery  palate  tastes  indeed 
Love's  thrice-reputed  nectar  ?  death,  I  fear  rae  ; 
Swooning  destruction  ;  or  some  joy  too  fine, 
1  oo  subtle-potent,  tun'd  too  sharp  in  sweetness. 
For  the  capacity  of  my  ruder  powers: 
I  fear  it  much  ;  and  I  do  fear  besides, 
That  I  shall  lose  distinction  in  my  joys; 
As  doth  a  battle,  when  they  charge  on  heaps 
The  enemy  flying. 

Re-enter  Pandarus. 

Pan.  She's  making  her  ready,  she'll  come  straight  ; 
j;ou  must  be  witty  now.  She  does  so  blush,  and 
fetches  her  wind  so  short,  as  if  she  were  frayed 
with  a  sprite  :  I'll  fetch  her.  It  is  the  prettiest 
villain: — she  fetches  her  breath  as  short  as  a  now- 
ta'en  sparrow.  [FjcH, 

Tro.  Even  such  a  passion  doth  embrace  my  no- 
sorn  : 

My  heart  beats  thicker  than  a  feverous  pulse  ; 
And  all  my  powers  dp  their  bestowing  lose, 
Like  vassalage  £t  cnawares  encouut  ring 
The  eye  of  majesty. 

Enter  Pandarus  and  Cressida 
Pan.  Come,  come,  what  need  yon  blush  ?  shame's 
a  baby. — Here  she  is  now :  swear  the  oaths  now  to 
her,  that  you  have  sworn  to  me. — What,  are  you 
gone  again  ?  you  must  be  watched  ere  you  be  made 
tame,  must  you  ?  Come  your  ways,  come  your 
ways ;  an  you  draw  backward,  we'll  j)ut  you  i  the 
fills. — Why  do  you  not  speak  to  her  ? — Come,  draw 
this  curtain,  and  let's  see  your  picture.  Alas  the 
day,  how  loath  you  are  to  oftend  day-light!  an 
'twere  dark,  you'd  close  sooner.  So,  so  ;  rub  on; 
and  kiss  the  mistress.  How  now,  a  kiss  in  fee- 
farm!  build  there,  carpenter;  the  air  is  sweet. 
Nay,  you  shall  fight  your  hearts  out.  eie  I  •  part 
you  The  falcon  as  the  tercel,  for  all  the  ducks 
i'the  river :  go  to,  go  to. 

Tro.  You  have  bereft  tne  of  all  words,  lady. 
Pan.  Words  pay  no  debts,  give  her  deeds,  btit 
she'll  bereave  you  of  the  deed  too,  if  slie  call  your 
activity  in  question.    What,  billing  again  ?  Heres 
— In  witness  tvkereof  the  parties  interchange- 
ably— 

Come  in,  come  in;  I'll  go  get  a  fir->.  [Exii 

Cres.  Will  you  walk,  in,  my  lord  ? 

Tro.  O  Cressida,  how  olteri  have  I  wished  me 
thus  !  [my  lord  ! 

Cres.  Wished,  my  lord  ? — The  gods  gruit  !-r-0 

Tro.  What  sliould  they  graist?  what  makes  i^iis 
pretty  abruption?  What  too  » iirious  dreg  esAie' 
my  sweet  lady  it;  the  fountain  of  our  love  ?  \ 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSTDA. 


525 


J    Cres.  More  dregs  than  water,  if  my  fears  ^ave 
I    ,  ,  ,  [truly, 
j  ^'Tro.  Frp.rs  make  Hevils  i-herubim  ;  they  never  s^e 
Cres   Blind  fear,  that  seeing  rea.sun  leads,  finds 
sfer  looting  than  blind  reason  stuinbling  without 
flr  •  I'o  ft'-tr  tiie  worst,  oil  cares  t\\e  worst. 
Tro.  O,  let  my  lady  apprehend  no  tear;  in  all 
t'l  pid's  pagt-ant  tnere  is  presented  no  nionster. 
!    Crei  ISor  nothing  uionstrons  neither  r 

7Vo  Noihing.  but  our  undertakings;  when  we 
ow  to  weep  seas,  live  in  fire,  eat  rocks,  tame  ti- 
:  (IS-  thinking  It  harder  for  our  mistress  to  devise 
fmno's-tion  enough,  than  for  us  to  undergo  any 
tiiaitulty  imposed.  This  is  the  monstruosity  in 
Hove  lady.  -thHt  the  will  is  infinite,  and  tne  execu- 
iiuonconfiued  ;  that  the  desire  is  boundless,  and  the 
act  a  sla\e  to  limit. 

Cres  Thev  sav,  all  lovers  swear  more  perform- 
ance than  th'ey  aVe  able,  and  yet  reserve  an  ability 
that  triey  ne\er  pertorm  ;  vowing  more  tlian  t be 
perfection  of  ten,  and  discharging  less  tlian  the 
tenth  part  of  one.  They  that  have  the  \oice  of  lions, 
and  the  act  of  hares,  are  they  not  monsters  { 
1  Tro.  Are  there  such  ?  such  are  not  we:  1  raise 
jus  as  we  are  tasted,  allow  us  as  we  prove  ;  our 
jliead  shall  go  baie,  till  merit  crown  it :  no  perfec- 
tion in  lexersion  sliall  have  a  praise  in  present:  we 
will  nolname  desert,  before  liis  birth;  and,  being 
born,  his  addition  shall  be  humble.  Fevv  words  to 
,fajr  faith  ;  Troiius  siiall  be  such  to  Cressid,  as  what 
lenvy  can  say  worst,  shall  be  a  mock  lor  his  truth; 
!«n(l  what  truth  can  speak  truest,  not  truer  than 
iTrciUis.  . 

Cres.  Will  you  walk  in,  my  lord  i 

Re-enier  Pandarus. 

Pan,  What,  blushing  still?  have  you  not  done 
IMiking  yet?  „       ,  i  i  v 

]j    Cres,  We'd,  uftcle,  what  folly  I  commit,  1  dedi- 
cate to  you.  1    ,     .  1 
Pan  I  thank  vou  for  that ;  if  my  lord  get  a  bov 
of  you,  you'll  give  iiim  me:  Be  true  to  my  lord  :  it 
be  llinrh,  chide  me  for  it.  ^ 
I  ro.  Yon  know  now  your  hostages  ;  your  uncle  s 
word,  and  my  firm  faiili.             ,  ^  , 
i    Pan.  Nay,  I'll  give  my  word  for  her  too;  our 
kindred,  thoilgh  they  be  long  er*^  they  are  wooed, 
U'ev  are  constant,  being  won:  they  are  burs,  J  can 
teii'von;  they'll  stick  where  they  are  thrown. 

Cres,  Boldness  comes  to  me  now,  and  brings  me 
heart: — 

P  \  ce  Troiius,  I  have  lov'd  you  night  and  day 
Fni  nian\  w  eary  months.  ,     ,  ^  -9 

7  ro.  Why  was  my  Cressid  then  «-)  hard  to  win  { 
Cres.  Hard  to  seem  won;  but  I  was  won,  my 

With  the  first  glance  that  ever— Pardon  me  ;— 

If  1  confess  much,  you  will  play  the  tyrant. 

I  love  vou  now;  but  not,  till  now,  so  much 

Bat  i  liiight  master  it :— in  faith,  I  lie  ; 

My  thoughts  we  e  like  unbridled  children,  grown 

Too  headstrong  for  their  mother  :  See,  we  fools. 

Why  have  1  blabb'd  ?  who  shall  be  true  to  us. 

When  we  are  so  unsecret  to  oursehes  : 

But,  though  1  lov'd  you  well.  I  woo'd  you  not; 

!  And  yet,  good  faith,  1  wish'd  myself  h  man  ; 

;  Or  that  women  had  men's  privilege 

I  or  speaking  first.    Sweet,  bid  me  hold  my  tongue  ; 

1  For,  in  tliis  rapture,  I  shall  surely  speak. 

I  The  thing  I  shall  repent!  See,  see,  your  silence, 

I  Cunning  in  dumbness,  from  my  weakness  draws 

I  Mv  veiv  sou!  of  counsel :  Stop  my  mouth. 

Tro.  'And  shall,  albeit  sweet  music  issues  thence. 
Pan,  Pretty,  i'taith. 

Cres.  My  lord,  I  do  beseech  you,  pardon  me  ; 
'  Twas  not  my  purpo  e,  thus  to  beg  a  kiss  : 
Tarn  asham'd      O  heavens!  what  have  I  done  { 
Foithis  time  will  I  lake  my  leave,  my  lord. 
lo.  Yd  ir  leave,  sweet  Cressid  ? 


Pan.  Leave  I  an  you  take  leav*  till  to  morrow 

morning, — 

Cres.  Pray  you,  content  yon. 

7Vo.  W  hat  offends  you,  lady  * 

Cres.  Sir,  mine  own  company. 

7Vo.  ^     «annot  shua 

Yourself. 

Cres.  Let  me  go  and  try  : 
\  have  a  kuid  of  self  resides  with  you  ; 
But  an  unkind  self,  that  itself  will  leave. 
To  be  another's  fool.    1  would  be  gone  :— 
Where  is  niy  wit?  I  know  not  what  i  speik. 

Tro.  Well  know  tliey  what  they   speaks  Aiaf 
spf  ak  so  wisely. 

Cres.  Perchance,  my  lord,  I  shew  mora  Craft 
than  love  ; 

And  fell  so  roundly  to  a  large  confession, 
To  angle  (or  your  thoughts  :  But  you  ore  wise  ; 
Or  else  you  love  not;  For  to  be  wise,  and  love, 
Fxreeds'  man  s  might;  that  dwells  with  trods  above. 

Tro.  O,  that  I  thought  it  could  be  i«i  a  woman, 
(As,  if  it  can,  (  will  presume  in  you,) 
To  fee<l  for  aye  her  lamp  and  flames  of  love  ; 
To  keep  her  constancy  in  plight  and  youth, 
Outli\  ing  beauty's  outward,  with  a  mind 
That  dot.h  renew  swifter  than  blood  decays  I 
Or,  that  persuasion  could  but  thus  convince  me,— 
Tiiat  my  integrity  and  truth  to  you 
MiKht  be  aiironted  with  the  match  and  weight 
Of  such  a  winnow'd  purity  in  love; 
How  were  1  then  uplifted  !  but,  alas, 
I  am  {i8  true  as  truth's  simplicity, 
And  simpler  than  the  infancy  oi  truth. 

Ci-es.  In  that  Pll  war  with  you. 

Tro.  O  virtuous  fight, 

When  right  with  right  wars,  who  shall  lie  most 
right ! 

True  swains  in  love  shall,  in  tho  world  to  come,  / 
Approve    their    truths    by    Troiius:   when  iht  t 
rlivmes,  , 
Full  of  juotest,  of  oath,  and  big  compare, 
Want  similes,  truth  tir'd  with  iteration, — 
As  true  as  steel,  as  plantage  to  the  moon, 
As  sun  to  day,  as  turtle  to  her  mate. 
As  iron  to  adamant,  as  earth  to  the  centre  — 
Yet,  alter  all  comparisons  of  truth, 
As  truth's  authentic  author  to  be  cited. 
As  true  as  'i'roilus  shall  crown  up  the  verse, 
And  sanctify  the  numbers. 

Cres.  Prophet  may  you  be  I 

If  I  be  false,  or  swerve  a  hair  from  triitli, 
When  time  is  old  and  hath  forgot  itself, 
When  water-drops  have  worn  the  stones  of  Troy, 
And  blind  oblivion  swallow'd  cities  up, 
And  mighty  states  characterless  are  grated 
To  dusty  nothing  ;  yet  let  memory. 
From  false  to  false  among  ialse  maids  in  love. 
Upbraid  my  falsehood  1    when  they  have  said— a» 
false 

As  air,  as  water,  wind,  or  sandy  earth. 

As  fox  to  iamb,  as  wolf  to  heifer's  calf. 

Paid  to  the  hind,  or  stepdanie  to  her  son ; 

Yea,  let  them  say,  to  stick  the  heart  of  falsehood. 

As  false  as  Cressid. 

Pari.  Go  to,  a  bargain  made  :  seal  it.  seal  it ;  I'l! 
be  the  witness. — Here  I  hold  your  hand  :  here,  my 
cousin's.  Ji  e\er  you  pro\e  false  one  to  another 
since  I  have  taken  such  pains  to  bring  vou  together, 
let  all  pitiful  goers-between  be  called  to  the  world's 
end  after  my  name,  call  them  all— Paiidars  ;  let  ail 
oonstantmen  be  Troilusses,  all  false  women  Cressirls*  | 
and  ail  brokers  between  Pt.ndurs !  say,  amen.  i 

Tro.  Amen. 

Cres.  Amen. 

Pan.   Amen.    Whereupon  1  will  shew  you 
chamber  and  a  bed,  which  bed,  l)eca.ise  i!  shall  no 
sj.eak  (.f  your  pretty  encounters,  press  it  to  death? 
avvav. 

And'Ciipid  gran!  all  tongue-tied  ma  dens  here. 
Bed-chamber  Pa.dar  o  i'loviele  this  geer  ' 

[Exeuni 


526 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSTDA. 


Act  Til 


ScsNE  III.— The  Grecian  Camp. 

Enter  Agamemnon,  Ulysses,  Diomedes,  Nestor, 
Ajax,  Menelals,  and  Calchas. 
Cal.  Now,  pnnces,  lor  the  service  I  have  done 
you, 

V'e  advantage  of  the  time  prompts  me  aloud 
I  u  cail  for  recompense.    Appear  it  to  your  mind, 
I  I. at,  turoii^h  the  sight  I  bear  in  things,  to  Jove 
I  F:i(ve  abandon'd  Troy,  left  my  possessiotis, 
Inciirr'd  a  traitor's  name;  expos'd  myself, 
V\  am  certain  and  possess'd  conveniences, 
!■>  doubtful  fortunes;  sequest'ritig  from  me  all, 
That  time,  acquaintance,  custom,  and  condition, 
T'lade  tame  and  most  familiar  to  my  nature  ; 
And  here,  to  do  you  service,  am  become 
As  new  into  the  world,  strange,  unacquainted: 
1  do  beseech  you,  as  in  way  of  taste, 
To  give  me  now  a  little  benefit, 
Out  of  tliose  many  register'd  in  promise, 
Which,  you  say,  live  to  come  in  my  behalf. 
A  gam.  What  would'st  thou  of  us,  Trojan?  make 
demand. 

CaL  You  have  a  Trojan  prisoner,  call'd  Antenor, 
Yesterday  took;  Troy  holds  him  very  dear. 
Oft  liave  you,  (often  have  you  thanks  therefore,) 
Desii  'd  my  Cressid  in  right  great  exchange. 
Whom  Troy  hath  still  denied  :  But  this  Antenor, 
I  know,  is  such  a  UTest  in  their  aft'airs, 
Ttjat  their  negotiations  all  must  slack, 
V\'aiiting  his  nianage;  and  they  will  almost 
Give  us  a  prince  ol'  blood,  a  son  of  Priam, 
In  change  of  him  :  let  him  be  sent,  great  princes. 
And  he  shall  buy  my  daughter;  and  her  presence 
Shall  quite  strike  off  all  service  I  have  done, 
In  most  accepted  pain. 

Agam.  Let  Diomedes  bear  him. 

And  bring  us  Cressid  hither:  Calchas  shall  have 
IV  h  it  he  requests  of  us.    Good  Dioraed, 
Furnish  you  fairly  for  this  interchange  : 
Witiial,  bring  word  if  Hector  will  to-morrow 
Be  answer'd  in  his  challenge :  Ajax  is  ready. 

Dio.  This  shall  I  undertake ;  and  'tis  a  burden 
Which  I  am  proud  to  bear. 

[Exeunt  Diomedes  and  Calchas. 

Enter  Achilles  «wc?Patroclus,  before  their  Tent. 
Ulyss.    Achilles  stands  i'the  entrance  of  his 
tent: — 

Please  it  our  general  to  pass  strangely  by  him. 
As  if  he  were  forgot;  and,  princes  all. 
Lay  negligent  and  loose  regard  upon  him : — 
I  will  come  last :  "Tis  like,  he'll  question  me, 
Why  such  unplausive  eyes  are  bent,  why  tiini'd  on 
him  ? 

If  so,  I  have  derision  med'cinable. 
To  use  between  your  strangeness  and  his  pride. 
Which  his  own  will  shall  have  desire  to  drink  ; 
It  may  do  good  :  pride  has  no  other  glass 
To  shew  itself  but  pride;  for  supple  knees 
Feed  arrogance,  and  are  the  proud  man's  fees. 

Agam,  We'll  execute  your  purpose,  and  put  on 
A  form  of  stranjgeuess  as  we  pas's  along  ; — 
So  do  each  lord  ;  and  either  greet  him  not, 
Or  else  disdainfully,  which  snail  shake  him  more 
Than  if  not  look'd  on.    I  will  lead  tlie  way. 

Achil.  What,  comes  the  general  to  speak  with  me? 
You  know  my  mind,  I'll  fight  no  more  'gainst  Troy. 

Agam.  What  says  Achilles?    would  he  aught 
with  us? 

Nest  Would  you,  my  lord,  augnt  with  the  ge- 
neral ? 

AcktL  No. 

Nest.  Nothing,  my  lord. 
Agam,  The  better. 

[Exeunt  Agamemnon  and  Nestor. 
Achil.  Good  day,  good  day. 

Men.  How  do  you  ?  how  do  you  ?  [Exit, 
Achil  VVVa^c,  does  the  cuckold  scorn  me  ? 

Aja.X'      •*  now,  Patroclus  ? 


Achil.  Good  morrow,  Ajai. 

Ajax.  ild  1 

Achil,  Good  morrow. 

Ajax,  Ay,  and  good  next  day  too.  [EAtt 

Achil,  What  mean  these  fellows?    K.no\f  thej 

not  Achille:*  ? 
Pair,  They  pass  by  strangely  :  they  wpre  oa 

to  bend, 

To  send  their  smiles  before  them  to  Achiiles 
To  come  as  humbly,  as  they  ui'i  to  creep 
To  holy  altars. 

AchiL  What,  am  I  poor  of  late? 

'Tis  certain,  greatness,  once  fallen  out  with  foi. 
tune, 

Must  fall  out  with  men  too:   What  the  drclin'd  is, 

He  shall  as  soon  read  in  the  eyes  of  otherSj 

As  feel  in  his  own  fall :  for  men,  like  buttsL.'flies, 

Shew  not  their  mealy  wings,  but  to  the  summer 

And  not  a  man,  for  being  simply  man, 

Hath  any  honour;  but  honour  Ibr  those  honours 

That  are  without  him,  as  place,  riches,  favour, 

Prizes  of  accident  as  oft  as  merit : 

Which  when  they  fall,  as  being  slippery  standeri^ 

The  love  that  lean'd  on  them  as  slippery  too, 

Do  one  pluck  down  another,  and  together 

Die  in  the  fall.    But  'tis  not  so  with  me : 

Fortune  and  I  are  friends;  1  do  enjoy 

At  ample  point  all  that  1  did  possess, 

Save  these  men's  looks  •  who  do,  methinks,  fiYi  1  out 

Something  not  wortli  in  me  such  rich  beholding 

As  they  have  often  given.    Here  is  Ulysses  ; 

I II  interrupt  his  reading. — 

How  now,  Ulysses  ? 

Ulyss.  Now,  great  Thetis'  son  ? 

Achil.  What  are  you  reading? 

Ulyss.  A  strange  fellow  h«rB 

Writes  me,  That  man — how  dearly  ever  parted. 
How  much  in  having,  or  without,  or  in.. — 
Cannot  make  boast  to  have  that  which  he  hath. 
Nor  feels  not  what  he  owes,  but  by  re^lectioa; 
As  when  his  virtues,  shining  u|)on  other.",. 
Heat  them,  and  they  retort  that  heat  again 
To  thp  firs.t  giver 

Achil.  This  is  not  strange,  Ulyssea. 

The  beauty  that  is  borne  here  in  the  face. 
The  bearer  knows  not,  but  commends  itself, 
To  others'  eyes:  nor  doth  the  eye  itself 
(That  most  pure  spirit  of  sense,)  behold  itselfl 
Not  going  from  itself  ;  but  eye  to  eye  oppos'd, 
Salutes  each  other  with  each  other's  form 
For  speculation  turns  not  to  itself^ 
Till  it  hatii  traveird,  and  is  married  there. 
Where  it  may  see  itsell':  this  is  not  strange  at  all, 

Ulyss.  T  do  not  strain  at  the  position. 
It  is  lauiiliar;  but  at  the  authors  drift: 
Who,  in  his  circumstance,  expressly  proves — 
That  no  man  is  the  lord  of  any  tiling, 
(Though  in  and  of  him  there  be  much  consisting,) 
Tili  he  commimicate  his  parts  to  others : 
Nt»r  doth  he  of  himself  know  them  for  aught. 
Till  he  behold  them  form'd  in  the  applaase. 
Where  they  are  extended ;  which,  lii;e  an  arch, 

reverberates 
The  voice  again;  or,  like  agate  of  steel, 
Fronting  the  sun,  receives  and  renders  back 
His  figure  and  his  heat    I  was  much  rapt  in  this  J 
And  apprehended  here  immediately 
The  unknown  Ajax. 

Heavens,  what  a  man  is  there  !  a  very  horse ; 
That  has  he  knows  not  what.  Nature,  what  things 
(here  are. 

Most  jibject  in  regard,  and  dear  in  uee  ! 

What  things  again  most  dear  in  the  esif  em, 

And  poor  in  woi  th  !  Now  shall  we  see  to-morrow, 

An  act  that  veiy  ol  ance  d..th  throw  upon  iiii, 

Ajax  renown'd.  O  heavens,  what  some  iicn  do. 

While  some  nun  lea\e  to  do  ! 

How  some  men  creep  in  skittish  fortune  s  Itall^ 

WLii«8  others  play  the  idio's  in  her  eyes  ! 

How  one  man  eats  into  another's  pride, 


Scene  S. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


While  pr'u\e  is  fasting  in  his  wantonness  ! 
Tc  see  lliese  Grecinii  lords  I — why,  even  aheady 
Tliey  claji  the  lubber  Ajax  on  the  shoelcler  ; 
As  if  his  foot  were  on  brave  Hector's  breast. 
And  grt-at  Troy  shrinking. 

Afhil.  I  do  believe  it :  for  Ihey  pass'd  by  nie. 
As  misers  do  by  bet;gars  ;  neither  gave  to  me 
Gord  wold,  nor  look;  What,  are  n\y  deeds  forgot? 

Uhjss.  Time  hath,  my  lord,  a  wallet  at  his  back, 
Wherein  he  puts  alms  for  oblivion, 
A  grent-siz'd  monster  of  ingratitudes  : 
Those  scraps  are  good  deeds  past ;  which  are  de- 
vour'd 

As  fast  H8  they  are  made,  forgot  as  soon 
As  done  :  Perseverance,  dear  my  lord. 
Keeps  honour  bright :  To  have  done,  is  to  hang 
Quite  out  (if  fashion,  like  a  nisty  mail 
III  monumental  mocKery.    Take  the  instant  way ; 
For  bono  ir  travels  in  a  strait  so  narrow, 
Wh(  re  one  but  goes  abreast:  keep  then  the  path  ; 
For  (mutation  hath  a  tlioiisand  sons, 
That  one  by  one  pursue  :  If  you  give  way, 
Or  hedf-'e  aside  from  the  direct  forthright, 
Lik^-  to  an  enter'd  tide,  they  all  rush  by, 
And  leave  you  hindmost; — 
Or,  1  ke  a  gallant  horse  fallen  in  first  rank, 
Lie  tnere  for  pavement  to  the  abject  rear, 
O'cr-run  aiiti  trampled  on:  'J'hen  what  they  do  iu 
present, 

Though  less  than  yours  in  past,  must  o'ertop  yours. 
For  time  is  like  a  fashionaI)le  host, 
Tiiat  slightly  shakes  his  parting  guest  by  the  hand  ; 
And  vviin  his  arms  out  stretch'd,  as  he  would  fly, 
Gratps  ill  the  comer:  Welcome  ever  smiles, 
And  f;.re\vell  goes  out  sighing.    O,  let  not  virtue 
Remui  eration  for  the  thing  it  was  !  [seek 
For  bcHi  ty,  wit, 

Higi)  birth,  vigour  of  bone,  desert  in  service. 

Love,  iVieiidsiiip,  charity,  are  subjects  all 

To  envions  and  calumniating  time. 

Oi  e  touciv  jf  nature  makes  , the  whole  world  kin, — 

That  all,  with  one  consent,  praise  new-born  gawds, 

Ihcugh  t'ley  are  made  nd  moulded  of  things  past; 

And  give  to  dust,  that  is  a  little  gilt. 

More  iaud  than  gilt  (»'er-dusted. 

The  present  eye  praises  the  present  object : 

'J'hen  marvel  not,  thon  great  and  complete  man, 

That  all  the  Greeks  begin  to  worship  Ajai  5 

Since  things  in  motion  sooner  catch  the  eye. 

Than  what  not  stirs.    The  cry  went  once  on  thee, 

And  still  it  might;  and  yet  it  may  again. 

If  thou  would'st  not  entomb  thyself  alive, 

And  case  thy  reputation  in  thy  tent; 

W^hose  glorious  deeds,  but  in  these  fields  of  late, 

Made  emulous  missions  'mongst  the  gods  them- 

And  drave  great  Mars  to  faction.  [ae.hf  s, 

Achil.  Of  th i 8  my  p r i v ac y 

I  have  strong  reasons. 

Ulyss.  But  'gainst  your  privacy 

The  )  easons  are  more  potent  and  heroical : 
'Tis  known,  Achilles,  that  you  are  in  love 
With  one  of  Priam's  daughters. 

Achil.  Ha !  known  ? 

Ulyss.  Is  that  a  wonder  ? 
The  providence  that's  in  a  watchful  state. 
Knows  almost  every  grain  of  Plutus'  gold  , 
Finds  bottom  in  the  uncomprehensive  deeps  : 
Keeps  place  with  thought,  and  almost,  like  the  gods, 
Docs  thoughts  unveil  in  their  dumb  cradles. 
There  is  a  mystery  (with  whom  relation 
Durst  never  meddle)  in  the  soul  of  state; 
Which  hath  an  operation  more  divine. 
Than  breath,  or  pen,  can  give  expiessure  to 
All  tile  comraerce  that  you  have  had  with  Troy, 
As  perfectly  is  ours,  as  yours,  my  lord  ; 
And  belter  would  it  fit  Achilles  iiuich, 
'i  o  throw  down  Hector,  than  Polyxena  : 
But  rL  iiiuet  grieve  young  Pyrriiu.s,  now  at  home, 
VVhen  lame  shall  in  our  islands  sound  her  tnniip, 
And  ail  the  Groekish  girls  shall  tripping  sing, — 


Great  Hector's  s-isier  dtd  Achilles  win  ; 
But  our  yreot  Ajax  bravely  beat  doicn  hhn. 
Farewell,  my  lord  :  J  as  your  lover  speak  ; 
The  fool  slides  o'er  the  ice  that  you  sliould  break. 

[Exil 

Patr.  To  this  effect,  Achilles,  have  I  mov'd  you 
A  woman  impudent  and  mannish  grown 
Is  not  more  loath'd  than  an  effeminate  man 
III  time  of  action.    I  stand  condemii'd  ibr  this, 
They  think,  my  little  stomach  to  the  war, 
And  your  great  love  to  me,  restrains  you  thus  , 
Sweet,  rouse  yourself;  and  the  weak  vvantoii  l'ir[«j 
.Shall  from  your  neck  unloose  his  amoronn  fold. 
And,  like  a  dew-drop  from  the  lion's  mane, 
Be  shook  to  air. 

AcMl.  Shall  Ajax  fight  with  Hector  ? 

Patr.  Ay;  and,  perhaps,  receive  much  iionotif 
by  him. 

Achil.  1  see,  my  reputation  is  at  stake  ; 
Vjy  ("ame  is  shrewdly  gor'd. 

Pair.  O,  then  bsjware  ; 

Thuse  wounds  heal  ill,  that  men  do  give  themselves  ; 
Omission  to  do  what  is  necessary 
Seals  n  comuiisaion  to  a  blank  of  danger; 
And  (!ani;er,  like  an  ague,  subtly  taints 
Even  then  when  we  sit  idly  in  the  sun. 

Achil.  Go  call  Thersites  hither,  sweet  Patroclua 
I'll  send  the  fool  to  Ajax,  and  desire  him 
To  invite  llie  Trojan  lords  after  the  combat, 
'i'o  see  us  here  unarm'd  :  I  have  a  woman's  longing, 
An  appetite  that  I  am  sick  withal, 
To  see  great  Hector  iu  his  weeds  of  peace; 
To  talk  with  him,  and  to  behold  his  visage, 
Even  to  my  full  of  view.    A  labour  sav'd  1 

Enter  Thersites. 
Ther.  A  wonder! 
.  Achil.  Wliat?  [forhimsrlf. 
Ther,  Ajax  goes  up  and  down  the  fitid,  Asking 
Achil.  How  so  ? 

Ther.  He  must  fight  singly  to-morrow  witi  He»: 
tor ;  nnd  is  so  prophetically  proud  of  an  h-  roinul 
cudgelling,  that  he  raves  in  saying  nothing. 

Achil.  How  can  that  be  ? 

Ther.  Why,  he  stalks  up  and  down  like  a  pea 
cock,  a  stride,  and  a  stand  :  ruminates  like  an  hoa- 
tess,  that  hath  no  arithmetic  but  her  brain  to  set 
down  her  reckoning :  bites  his  lip  with  a  politic  re- 
gard, as  who  should  say — there  were  wit  in  this 
liead,  an  'twould  out ;  and  so  there  is  ;  but  it  lies  as 
coldly  in  him  as  fire  in  a  flint,  which  will  not  s's^sw 
without  knocking.  The  man's  undone  for  ever;  for 
if  Hector  break  not  his  neck  i  tlie  combat,  he'li 
break  it  himself  in  vain-glory.  He  knows  not  me  : 
ii  said,  Good-morroiv,  A jax  ;  and  he  replies,T^«n/lr«, 
Aqamemnon.  What  think  yon  of  this  man,  that 
Likes  me  for  the  general  ?  He  is  grown  a  very  land- 
(..sh,  languagelesp,  a  monster.  A  plague  of  opinion! 
a  man  may  wear  it  on  both  sides,  like  a  leather 
jrtrkin.  [Thersites. 

Achil.  Thou  must  be  my  ambassadjr  to  hitn, 

Ther.  Who,  I?  why,  he'll  answer  nobody;  he 
professes  not  answering ;  speaking  is  for  beggars ; 
he  wears  his  tongue  in  his  arms.  I  will  put  on  his 
presence ;  let  Patroclus  make  demiuds  to  me,  you 
shall  see  the  pageant  of  Ajax. 

Achil.  To  him,  Patroclus  :  Tell  him,— I  humbly 
desire  the  valiant  Ajax,  to  invite  the  most  valorous 
Hector  to  come  unartaed  to  myjent ;  and  to  i)rocure 
safe  conduct  for  his  person,  of  the  magnanimous, 
and  most  illustrious,  six-or-seTen-times-houourcd 
captain-general  of  the  Grecian  army,  Agamenmon, 
Do  this. 

Patr.  Jove  bless  great  Ajax. 

Ther.  Humph! 

Patr.  I  come  from  the  worthy  Achilles,- 
Ther.  Ha! 

Patr.  Wlio  most  humbly  desires  you  t-i  invito 

Hector  to  his  tent ; — 
'^^^I'er.  Humph 


523 


TROILFS  AND  CRESSIDx\. 


Act  TV 


Pair.  And  to  procure  .safe  condl'^c>  froin  Aga- 
Ther.  A^aiiieinnon  ?  fmeiniion 
Pair,  Ay,  my  lord. 
Ther.  Ha! 

Pair.  Wiiat  say  you  to't  ? 

Ther.  (iotl  be  wi'  you,  with  all  my  heart. 

Pair.  \  >ur  answer,  sir. 

T/ier.  ir  to  inurrow  be  a  fair  day,  by  eleven 
»'cli)ck  it  v.ill  go  one  way  or  other;  hovvsoe»'er,  he 
jiiall  pay  for  nie  ere  he  has  ine. 

Pair.  Vour  answer,  -sir. 

Ther.  Fare  you  well ,  with  all  my  heari. 

AchiU  VViiy,  but  he  is  not  in  tliis  iwr.d^  \s  h?t  ? 

Ther.  Nt),  but  be's  out  o'tune  tliur^.  What  mu- 
will  be  in  hiru  when  Hector  Vac  knocked  out 
his  brains,  1  knovv  not  :  but,  I  pn>  Ji're,  none,  un- 
less the  tiddler  Apollo  get  his  tfic^ews  to  make  cat- 
lings on. 

AchiL  Come,  thou  shalt  be«ir  a  letter  to  him 
straight. 

Ther.  Let  me  bear  another  to  his  horse  ;  for  that's 
the  more  capable  creat.ire. 

Achil.  My  mind  is  tronblfj  ]ike  a  fountain  stirr  d; 
And  I  myself  see  vA  'J»e  bc'c<"Tn  of  it. 

\FxearA  S  ^hilles  and  Patrochtf- 

'Ther.  'Woi'*d  tbj  ib'.otaia  of  your  mind  wer« 
clf.*ar  again,  thai  1  n»'gt2  -ivater  an  ass  at  it!  I  had 
raiher  be  a  ti».L  ir^  a  .iheep,  than  such  a  valiant  ig- 
norance. [Exit. 

ACT  IV. 
^OSTMS  I.— Troy.    A  Street. 

l/l^^ley  r^.e  vie,  iE^EAS,  and  Ser^rant  with  a 
torrn ,  at  the  other,  Paris,  Dkiphi>3US,  Ante- 
NOR,  ?k»>MEDES,  and  others,  wUh  torches. 

P'oj^.  See,  ho!  who's  that  there 'f 

'Tis  the  lord  iEaeas. 

A^Me,  Is  the  prince  there  in  persia?— 
iad  I  so  good  occasion  to  lie  long, 
ks  j'ou,  prince  Paris,  nothing  but  heavenly  business 
Should  rob  my  bed-mate  of  my  conEpany.  [^iilneas. 

Dio.  Tljat's  my  mind  too. — Good  morrow,  lord 

Par.  A  valiant  Greek,  ^Eneas;  lake  his  hand; 
Witness  the  process  of  your  speecbj  wherein 
You  told — how  Diomed,  a  whole  week  by  days, 
Did  haunt  you  in  the  field. 

JEtfie.  Health  ?o  you,  valiant  sir. 

During  all  question  of  the  gentle  ^ruce  : 
But  when  \  meet  you  arm'd,  as  Hnck  defiance, 
A.s  heart  can  think,  or  courage  e^«cute. 

Dlo.  The  one  and  other  Diomed  embraces. 
Our  bloods  are  now  in  calm  ;  and,  so  long,  health  : 
But  when  coulentiun  and  occasion  meet. 
By  Jove,  1  11  .<ia/  tue  l.unter  for  th/  life, 
VVilh  all  my  for      pursuit,  and  policy. 

Mne.  And  thou  shfilt.hnnt  a  lion,  ihat  will  fly 
VVith  his  fac-  b-ckward. — in  humane  ^'flntleness. 
Welcome  o  Froy  !  now,  by  i^.nchises'  Ule, 
Welcome,  indeed  !  By  Venus'  hand  1  sv  car 
No  man  alive  can  lo\e  in  such  a  sort, 
The  thing  he  means  to  kill,  more  exct- Ufmtly. 

Dio.  VVe  sympathize: — Jove,  letiEaeas  live, 
If  to  my  sword  his  iate  be  not  the  glory, 
A  thoiisand  complete  courses  of  the  sun! 
But,  in  mine  einuUms  honour,  let  him  die. 
With  every  Joint  a  wound  ;  and  that  to-morrow  I 

^ne.  We  know  each  other  well. 

Dio.  \Ve  do:  and  long  to  know  each  oMier  worse. 

Par.  Tills  is  the  most  despiteful  gent  e  greeting, 
The  noblest  hateful  love,  that  e'er  I  heard  of — 
What  business,  lord,  so  early  I 

JFjne^  1  was  sent  lor  to  the  king;  but  why,  I  know 
not. 

Par.  His  purpose  meets  you  ;  'twas  to  bring  thia 

Greek 

To  Calchas'  house  ;  and  there  to  render  him, 
For  the  oulVeed  Antenor,  the  fair  Cressid. 
Let  s  have  your  co  fjpauy  ;  or,  ii  you  pi'-as* 


Hasie  there  before  os  :  I  constantly  do  tl  ink, 
(Or,  rather,  call  my  tliought  a  certain  knowledge,) 
My  brother  'i'roilus  lodges  there  to  night  : 
Rouse  him,  and  give  him  note  of  our  approach. 
With  the  whole  q-iality  wherefore    \  fear 
VVe  shall  be  much  unwelcome. 

J^ne.  That  I  assure  you  ; 

Troiliis  had  rather  Troy  were  borne  to  Greece, 
Than  Cressid  borne  from  Troy. 

Par,  There  i."  00  help*, 

The  bitter  disposition  of  the  time 
Will  have  it  so.    On,  lord  :  we'll  follow  yoii 

JEne.  Good  morrow,  all.  {.RsiS. 

Par.  And  tell  me,  noble  Diomed;  'faith,  tell  tae 
true, 

Even  in  the  soul  of  sound  good-fellowship,— 
Wlio,  in  your  thoughts,  merits  fair  Helen  best. 
Myself,  or  Menelaus? 

'Dio.  Both  alike : 

He  merits  well  to  have  her,  that  doth  seek  her 
(Not  making  any  scruple  of  her  soilure,) 
VVith  such  a  hell  of  pain,  and  world  of  charge ; 
And  you  as  well  to  keep  her,  that  defend  her 
I.Vot  palating  the  taste  of  her  dishonour,) 
V\  ith  such  a  costly  loss  of  wealth  and  friends  : 
lie,  like  a  puling  cuckold,  would  drink  up 
The  lees  and  dregs  of  a  Hat  tamed  piece ; 
Vou,  like  a  lecher,  out  of  whorish  loins 
Are  pleas'd^o  breed  out  your  inheritors: 
Both  uierits  pois'd,  each  weighs  nor  less  nor  mcTGy 
But  he  as  he,  the  heavier  for  a  whore. 

Par.  You  are  too  bitter  to  your  countrywoman, 

Dio.  She's  bitter  to  her  country :  Hear  me,  Paris  - 
For  every  false  drop  in  her  bawdy  veins 
A  Grecian's  life  hath  sunk  ;  for  every  scruple 
Of  her  contaminated  carrion  weight, 
A  Trojan  hatli  been  slain:  since  she  could  speak, 
She  hath  not  given  so  many  good  words  bcealh, 
As  lor  her  Greeks  and  Trojans  sufier'd  death, 

Par.  Fair  Diomed,  you  do  as  chapmen  sfo, 
Dispraise  the  thing  that  you  desire  to  buy : 
But  we  in  silence  hold  this  virtue  well, — 
We'll  not  commend  what  we  intend  to  sell. 
Here  lies  our  way.  [JJjccmw 

Scene  IL — The  same.    Court  before  ths  House 
of  Pandarus. 

TrOILUS  «nfl?CRBSSIDA. 

Tro.  Dear,  trouble  not  yourself ;  the  morn  5s  cold. 

Cres.  Then,  sweet  my  lord,  I'll  call  mine  uncle 
down ; 
He  shall  unbolt  the  gates. 

Tro.  Trouble  him  not ; 

To  bed,  to  bed  :  Sleep  kill  those  pretty  eyes, 
And  give  as  soft  attachmeut  to  thy  senses, 
As  infants'  empty  of  all  thought ! 

Cres.  Good  morrow,  the* 

Tro.  Pr'ythee  now,  to  bed. 

iires.  Are  yon  aweary  of  me  ? 

'Tro.  O  Cressida  1  but  that  the  busy  day, 
W  ik'd  by  the  lark,  hath  rous'd  the  ribald  crows, 
And  dreaming  night  will  hide  our  joys  no  longer, 
J  would  not  from  thee. 

Cres.  Night  hath  been  too  brief. 

Tro.  Beshrew  the  witch  !  with  venomous  W/^ut 
she  stays, 

As  tediously  as  liell ;  but  flies  the  grasps  of  lov« 
With  wings  more  moaientary-svvift  than  thougisst* 
Von  will  catch  cold,  and  curse  me. 
Cres.  Pr'ythee,  tarry ; 

Vou  men  will  never  tarry.  

O  foolish  Cressid  !— I  m  ght  have  still  hel  I  off, 
And  then  you  would  have  tarried.    Hark !  the^^'X 
one  up. 

Pan  ( What,  are  all  the  doors  open  here? 
Tro.  It  is  your  uncle. 


i 


I 


{ 


Enter  Pandarus. 


Crts. 


A  pestilence  on 
mock  g ; 


him!  now  will  h«  bo 


Scene  4. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSTD^. 


shall  have  such  a  hTe, — 

Pan.  How  now,  how  now  ?  how  go  maidenheads  ? 
— Here,  you  maid !  where's  my  cousin  Cressid  ^. 
Cres.  Go  hang  yourself,  you  naughty  mocking 
uncle  ! 

Vou  bring  me  to  do,  and  then  you  flout  me  too. 

Pan.  To  do  what  ?  to  do  what?— let  her  say 
what :  what  have  1  brought  you  to  do  ? 

Cits.  Come,  come;beshrew  your  heart!  you'll 
ne'er  be  good, 

Of  suffer  others. 

Pan.  Ha,  ha  I  Alas,  poor  wretch!  a  poor  capoc- 
cLia  ! — ha&t  not  slept  to-night  ?  would  he  not,  a 
naughtj  man,  let  it  sleep  ?  a  bugbear  take  him  ! 

{Knocking.) 

Cres.    Did    1  not  tell  you  ? — 'would  he  were 
knock'd  o'the  head  ' — 
Who's  that  at  door  V  good  uncle,  go  and  see. — 
My  lord,  come  you  again  into  my  chamber  : 
Von  smile,  and  mock  me,  as  if  I  meant  naughtily. 

Tro.  Ha !  ha  ! 

Cres.  Come,  you  are  deceiv'd,  I  think  of  no  such 
thing.—  [Knocking.) 
How  earnestly  they  knock  ! — pray  you,  come  in  ; 
1  would  not  lor  half  Ti  oy  have  you  seen  here. 

[Exeunt  Troilus  and  Cressida. 

Pan.  (Going  to  the  door.)  Who's  there  '{  what's 
ihe  matter will  you  beat  down  the  door?  How 
DOW  ?  what's  the  matter  ? 

Enter  jEneas. 

Mne.  Good  morrow,  lord,  goofl  morrow. 

Pan.  Who's  there  ?  my  lord  ^A\^a%  I  By  my  troth, 
I  knew  you  not:  what  news  with  you  so  early  i 

Mne.  Is  not  prince  'i'roilus  here  ? 

Pan.  Here  !  what  should  he  do  here  ?        [him  ; 

Mne.  Come,  h^  is  here,  my  lord,  do  not  deny 

doth  import  him  much,  to  speak  with  me. 

P  m.  la  AC  here,  say  you  ?  tis  more  than  I  know, 
J  U  Iiesvvoi  n: — For  my  own  part,  1  came  in  late  : 
VV'iat  should  he  do  here  ? 

Ainc,  Who  I— nay,  then  :— 
C  m  e,  come,  you'll  do  him  wrong  ere  you  are  'ware  : 
Yju'U  be  so  true  to  him,  to  he  ikise  to  him  : 
Do  not  you  know  of  him,  yet  go  fetch  him  hither; 
(io. 

As  Pandarus  is  going  out,  enter  Troilus. 

Tro.  How  now  ?  what's  the  matter  ? 

Mie.  My  lord,  I  scarce  have  leisure  to  salute  you, 
My  Hiatter  is  so  rash  :  There  is  at  hand 
Paris  your  brotiier,  and  Deiphobus, 
The  Grecian  Diomed,  and  our  Antenor 
Deliver'd  to  u?  ;  and  for  him  forth vvith. 
Ere  the  first  sacrifice,  within  this  hour. 
We  must  give  up  to  Diomedes'  hand 
The  lady  Cressida. 

Tro.  Is  it  so  concluded  ? 

Mne.  By  Priam,  and  the  general  state  of  Troy: 
They  are  at  hand,  and  ready  to  eftect  it. 

Tro.  How  my  achieveinents  mock  me ! 
[  will  go  rneet  them  :  and,  my  lord  iEaeas, 
We  met  by  chance  ;  you  did  not  tind  me  here. 

Mne.  Good,  good,  my  lord  ;  the  secrets  of  nature 
Have  not  more  gift  in  taciturnity. 

[Exeunt  Troilus  and  Mneas. 

Pan.  Is't  possible  ?  no  sooner  got,  but  lost  ?  The 
devil  take  Antenor!  the  young  prince  will  go  mad. 
A  pbgue  upon  Antenor  !  I  would,  they  had  broke's 
Beet ! 

Enter  Cressida. 
Cres.  How  now  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  Who  was 
here  ? 

Pan.  Ah.  ah  !  [lord  pone  ? 

Cres.  Wny  sigh  you  so  profoundly  ?  where's  my 
Tell  me,  sweet  uncle,  what's  the  matter  ? 

Pan.  'Would  I  were  as  deep  under  the  earth  as 
I  am  above  ! 

Cres.  O  the  gods! — what's  the  njatter  ? 

Pan   Pr'ythee,  get  thee  in  ;  'Would  thou  had'st 


ne'e!  been  bom  !  I  knew,  thou  uo  i!d".st  be  his  death; 
poor  gentleinan  ! — A  plague  upon  Antenor  ' 

Cres.  Good  uncle,  I  beseech  you  on  my  knees, 
I  beseech  you,  what's  the  matter  ? 

Pan.  Thou  must  be  gone,  wench,  thou  must  be 
gone  ;  thou  art  changed  for  Antenor;  thou  must  to 
thy  father,  and  be  gone  from  Troilus;  'twill  be  hiii 
death  ;  'twill  be  his  bane  ;  he  cannot  bear  it. 

Cres.  O  you  immortal  gods ! — I  will  not  go. 

Pan.  Thou  must. 

Cres.  I  will  not,  uncle:  I  have  forgot  my  latlifr, 
I  know  no  touch  of  consan^iiiity  ; 
No  kin,  no  love,  no  blood,  no  soul  so  near  ii  e. 
As  the  sweet  Troilus.— O  you  gods  divine  ! 
INlake  Cressid's  name  the  very  crown  of  fal.«el»!-»ofl, 
If  ever  she  leave  Troilus  !  Time,  force,  and  death, 
Do  to  this  body  what  extremes  you  can  ; 
But  the  strong  base  and  building  of  my  love 
Is  as  the  very  centre  of  the  earth. 
Drawing  all  t'hings  to  it. — I'll  go  in,  and  weep  ; — 

Paw.  Do,  do.  [cheeks. 

Cre«.  Tear  my  bright  hair,  and  scratch  my  praised 
Cr.ick  my  clear  voice  with  sobs,  and  break  my  heart 
With  sounding  Troilus.    I  wdl  not  go  from  Troy. 

[Exeunt 

Scene  III. — T/ie  same.  Before  Pandarus'  House. 

Enter  Paris,  Troilus,  tEneas,  Deiphobus, 
Antenor,  and  DioxMedes. 

Par.  It  is  great  morning;  and  the  hour  pre.ix'd 
Of  her  delivery  to  this  valiant  Greek 
Comes  fnst  upon: — Good  my  brother  Troilus, 
'J  ell  you  the  lady  what  she  is  to  do, 
And  haste  her  to  the  purpose. 

Tro.  Walk  in  to  her  house  ; 

I  II  bring  her  to  the  Grecian  prest-otly: 
And  to  his  hand  when  T  deliv  er  her. 
Think  it  an  altar;  and  thy  brotiier 'iVoiins 
A  priest,  there  ofteri  g  to  it  his  own  heart.  [Exit, 

Par.  I  know  what  'tis  to  lo\e  ; 
And  'would,  as  I  shall  pity,  I  could  help  ! — 
Please  you,  walk  in,  my  lords.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  IV. — The  same.   A  Boom  in  Pandarus* 
House. 

Enter  Pandarus  and  Cressida. 

Pan.  Be  moderate,  be  moderate. 

Cres.  Why  tell  you  me  of  moderation  ? 
Tiie  grief  is  fine,  fidl,  perfect,  that  I  taste. 
And  violenteth  in  a  sense  as  strong 
As  that  which  causeth  it:  How  can  I  moderate  it? 
If  I  could  temporize  with  my  Rflection, 
Or  brew  it  to  a  weak  and  colder  j  alate, 
The  like  allayment  could  I  give  my  grief 
My  love  admits  no  qualifying  dross : 
No  more  my  grief,  in  such  a  precious  loss. 

Enter  TaoiLOS. 
Pan.  Here,  here,  here  he  comes. — Ah,  sweet 
ducks ! 

Cres.  O  Troilus !  Troilus !       [Embracing  him.) 
Pan.  What  a  pair  of  spectacles  is  here  !  Let  me 
embrace  too:  0  heart, — as  the  goodly  saying  is, — 

 0  heart,  0  heavy  heart. 

Why  sigKsl  thou  without  breaking  1 
Where  he  answers  again, 

Because  thou  canst  not  ease  thy  smariy 
By  friendship,  nor  by  speaking. 
There  never  was  a  truer  rhyme.    Let  us  cast  awa| 
nothing,  for  we  may  live  to  have  need  of  such  c 
verse  ;  we  see  it,  we  see  it. — How  now,  lambs? 

Tro.  Cressid,  I  love  thee  ins  >  stiain'd  a  purity, 
That  the  blest  gods— as  angry  wi  h  my  fancy, 
More  bright  in  zeal  than  tlie  devoti(m  which 
Cold  lips  blow  to  their  deities, —  t:)ke  thee  from  rae. 
Cres.  Have  the  gods  en\  y  ? 
Pa}i.  Av,  ay,  av,  ay ;  'tis  too  plain  a  case. 
Cres.  And  is  it'triie,  that  I  must  go  from  Troy? 
Tro.  A  liateful  trutlu 

(Jres.  What,  and  from  Troilus  too  ? 


530  TROTLUS  AN 

Vrom  Troy  anc  Troilns. 
re  .  Is  it  possible  ? 

Tro.  And  suddenly  ;  where  injury  of  chance 
I* tits  back  leave-taking,  justles  roughly  by 
time  ol" pause,  rudely  beguiles  our  lips 
Of  all  rejoindure,  forcibly  pre  t  ents 
()«r  lock'd  embrasures,  stiaoides  our  dear  vows 
Even  in  the  birth  of  our  own  labouring  breath: 
We  two,  that  with  so  many  I'lousand  sighs 
Did  ouy  each  other,  must  poorly  sell  ourselves 
With  the  rude  brevity  and  d'scharge  of  one. 
Injurious  time  now,  with  a  robber's  haste. 
Crams  his  rich  thievery  up,  he  knows  not  how: 
As  many  farewells  as  be  stars  in  heaven, 
With  distinct  breath  and  consign'd  kisses  to  theHj 
He  fumbles  up  into  a  loose  adieu ; 
And  scants  us  with  a  single  fainish'd  kiss, 
Di.5tnrfted  with  the  salt  of  broken  tears. 

^E?7.e.  (  ff  'ithin.)  My  lord  !  is  the  lady  ready  ? 

Tro.  Hai  k  !  you  are  call'd  :  Some  say,  the  Genius  so 
Cries,  Come!  to  him  that  instantly  must  die. — 
Bid 'them  have  patience;  she  shall  come  anon. 

Pan.  Where  are  my  tears?  rain,  to  lay  tiiis  wind, 
or  my  heart  will  be  blown  up  by  the  root !  [Exit. 

Cres.  I  must  then  to  the  Greeks  ? 

Tro.  No  remedy. 

Cres.    A    woeful   Cressid   'mongst  the  merry 
Greeks ! — 

When  shall  we  see  again  ?  [heart, — 

Tro.  Hear  me,  my  love;  Be  thou  but  true  of 
Cres.  I  true  !  how  now  ?  what  wicked  deem  is  this? 
.  Tro.  Nay,  we  must  use  expostulation  kindly, 

For  it  is  parting  from  us  : 

I  speak  not,  be  thou  true.,  as  fearing  thee  ; 

For  1  will  throw  my  glove  to  death  himself. 

That  there's  no  marulation  in  thy  heart: 

But,  be  tJiou  tfue,  say  I,  to  fashion  in 

My  sequent  protestation;  be  thou  true, 

And  I  will  see  thee. 

Cres.  O,  you  shall  be  expos'd,  my  lord,  to  dangers 

t\s  infinite  as  imminent!  but,  I'll  be  true. 

Tro.  And  I'll  grow  friend  with  danger.  Wear 
this  sleeve. 

Cres  And  you  this  glove.  When  shall  I  see  you  ? 

Tro.  I  will  corrupt  the  Grecian  sentinels, 
To  give  thee  nightly  visitation. 
But  yet,  be  true. 

Cres.  O  heavens ! — be  true,  again  ? 

Tro.  Hear  why  I  speak  it,  love ; 
The  Grecian  youths  are  full  of  quality;  [flowing. 
They're  loving,  well  compos'd,  with  gifts  of  nature 
And'swelliug  o'er  with  arts  and  exercise ; 
How  novelty  may  move,  and  parts  with  person, 
Alas,  a  kind  of  godly  jealousy 
(VVhkli,  I  beseech  you,  call  a  virtuous  sin,) 
makes  me  ai'eard. 

Cres.  O  heavens!  you  love  me  not. 

Tro.  Die  I  a  villain  then! 
In  this  I  do  not  call  your  faith  in  question, 
So  mainly  as  my  merit :  I  cannot  sing, 
.Nor  heel  the  high  lavolt,  nor  sweeten  talk, 
iNor  play  at  subtle  games  ;  fair  virtues  all,       [nant : 
To  which  the  Grecians  aie  most  prompt  and  preg- 
iJut  I  can  tell,  that  in  each  grace  of  these 
There  lurks  a  still  and  dumb  discoursive  devil, 
That  tempts  most  cunninglv  :  but  be  not  tempted. 

Cres.  Do  you  think  1  w  ill  ? 

Tro.  No. 

But  something  may  be  done,  that  we  will  not ; 
And  sometimes  we  are  devils  to  ourselves, 
When  we  will  tempt  the  frailty  of  our  powers, 
I\*sumitigon  their  changeful  potency. 

yEpt.',  {Within.)  Nay,  good  my  lord, — 

Tro.  Come,  kiss  ;  and  let  us  part. 

Par.  {Within.)  Brother  Troilus  ! 

Tro.  Good  brother,  come  you  hither  : 

And  bring  JF-neaa,  and  the  Grecian,  with  you. 

Cres.  iMy  lord,  will  you  be  true? 

Tro.  Who,  I  ?  alaa,  it  is  mv  vice,  my  fault: 
While  olhcid  fish  with  craft  l0|-  great  opinion, 


)  CRESSIDA.  Act  TV. 

I  with  great  truth  catch  mere  simplicity ; 

Whilst  some  with  cunning  gild  their  copper  crowoa 

With  truth  and  plainness  I  do  wear  mine  bare. 

Fear  not  my  truth  :  the  moral  of  my  wit 

Is — plain,  and  true, — there's  all  the  reach  of  it. 

Enter  ^Eneas,  Paris,  Antenor,  Deiphobus* 
and  DiOMEDES. 
Welcome,  sir  Dioraed !  here  is  the  lady. 
Which  for  Antenor  we  deliver  you  : 
At  the  port,  lord,  I'll  give  her  to  thy  hand ; 
And,  by  the  way,  possess  thee  what  she  is. 
Entreat  her  fair,  and,  by  my  soul,  fair  Greek, 
H'e'er  thou  stand  at  mercy  of  my  swoi  d. 
Name  Cressid,  and  thy  lite  shall  be  as  safe, 
As  Priam  is  in  llion. 

Dio.  Fair  lady  Cressid, 

So  please  you,  save  the  thanks  this  prince  expects: 
The  lustre  in  your  eye,  heaven  in  your  cheek, 
Pleads  your  fair  usage  ;  and  to  Diomed 
You  shall  be  mistress,  and  command  him  wholly, 

Tro.  Grecian,  thou  dost  not  use  me  courteously 
To  shame  the  zeal  of  my  petition  to  thee, 
In  praising  her:  I  tell  thee,  lord  of  Greece, 
She  is  as  far  high-soaring  o'er  thy  praises, 
As  thou  unworthy  to  be  call'd  her  servant, 
I  charge  thee,  use  her  well,  even  for  my  charge  i 
For,  by  the  dreadful  Pluto,  if  thou  dost  not. 
Though  the  great  bulk  Achilles  be  thy  guard, 
I'll  cut  thy  throat. 

Dio.  O,  be  not  mov'd,  prince  Troilus: 

Let  me  be  privileg'd  by  my  place,  and  message, 
To  be  a  speaker  free  ;  when  I  am  hence, 
I'll  answer  to  my  lust:  And  know  you,  lord, 
I'll  nothing  do  on  charge  :  To  her  own  worth 
She  shall  be  priz'd,  but  that  you  say — be't  so, 
I'll  speak  it  in  my  spirit  and  honour, — no. 

Tro.  Come,  to  the  poi  t. — I'll  tell  thee,  Diomed, 
This  brave  shall  oft  make  thee  to  hide  thy  head.- 
Lady,  give  me  your  hand  ;  and,  as  we  walk. 
To  our  own  selves  bend  we  our  needf  ul  talk. 

[Exeunt  Troilus,  Cressida,  and  Diomeck 
{Trutnpel  heardr^ 

Par.  Hark !  Hector's  trumpet. 

^ne.  How  have  we  spent  this  morning! 

The  prince  must  think  me  tardy  and  remiss. 
That  swore  to  ride  before  him  to  the  field. 

Par.  'Tis  Troilus'  fault:  Come,  come,  to  field 
with  him. 

Dei.  Let  us  make  ready  straight. 

jEne.  Yea,  with  a  bridegroom  s  fresh  alacrity. 
Let  us  address  to  tend  on  Hector's  heels : 
The  glory  of  our  Troy  doth  this  day  lie 
On  his  fair  worth,  and  single  chivalry.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. —  The  Grecian  Camp.    Lists  set  out. 
Enter  Ajax,  armed;  AgamExMNOn,  Achilles, 
Patroclus,  Menelaus,  Ulysses,  Nestor  ana 
others. 

Ayam.  Here  art  thou  in  appointment  fresh  and  fair 
Anticipating  tmie  with  starting  courage. 
Give  witti  thy  trumpet  a  loud  note  to  Troy, 
Thou  dreadful  Ajax;"that  the  appalled  air 
May  pierce  the  head  of  the  great  combatant, 
And  hale  him  hither. 

Ajax.  Thou,  trumpet,  there's  my  purse 

Now  crack  thy  lungs,  and  split  thy  braze-)  pipe  : 
Blow,  vili'ain,  till  thy  sphered  bias  cheek 
Out-swell  the  colick  of  pufF'd  Aquilon  : 
Come,  stretch  thy  chest,  and  let  thy  eyes  spout  bhwd 
Thou  blow'st  for  Hector.  {Trumpet  soutld$' 

Ulyss.  No  trumpet  answers. 

Achil.  'Tis  but  early  days. 

Agam,  I«  not  yon  Diomed,with  Calcbas'  danghte 

lilyss.  "I'is  he,  I  ken  the  manner  of  his  gait; 
He  rises  on  the  toe  :  that  spirit  of  his 
In  aspiration  lifts  him  from  the  earth. 

Enter  Diomed  with  Csessida. 
Agam.  Is  this  the  lady  Crtssid  ? 


Scene  5. 

IVlq.  Even  ishe.  [(ady. 

A(j(im.  IViost  (-It'arly  uelcometo  the  Greeks,  sweet 

"^est.  Our  oencral  doth  salute  yon  with  a  kiss. 

Ulyss.  Yet  is  the  kindness  but  particidar; 
Twere  better,  she  were  kiss'd  in  general. 

Nest.  Ami  very  courtly  counsel :  1  11  begin  :— 
So  much  tor  Nestor. 

Acliil.  I'll  take  (hat  winter  from  your  lips, fair  lady: 
Acliiiles  bids  you  welr  ome. 

Itlen.  i  had  g(uid  argument  for  kissiiig  on'^e. 

Pntr.  But  that's  no  argument  for  kissing  now  * 
For  thus  popp  d  Paris  in  his  hardinient ; 
And  parted  thus  you  and  your  argument. 

Vly8s%  O  deadly  gall,  and  theme  of  all  our  scorns  ! 
For  which  we  lose  our  heads,  to  gild  his  horns. 

Potr.  The  first  wis  Menelaus'  kiss, — this,  mine  : 
I'dfroclus  kisses  you. 

Men.  O,  this  is  trim  ! 

Patr  Paris,  and  1,  kiss  evermore  for  him. 

Men,  I'll  have  my  kiss,  sir: — Lady,  by  your  leave, 

Cres.  In  kissing,  do  vou  render  or  receive  ? 

Patr.  Both  tal^e  and  give. 

Ct'es.  I'll  make  my  match  to  live, 

The  kiss  you  take  is  better  than  you  give  ; 
Therefore  no  kiss 

Men.  I'll  give  you  boot,  I'll  give  you  three  for  one. 

Ores.  You're  an  odd  man  :  give  even,  or  give  none. 

Men.  An  odd  man,  lady  r  every  man  is  odd. 

Cres.  No,  Paris  is  tjot ;  for,  you  know,  'tis  true, 
That  yi  u  are  odd,  and  he  is  even  with  you. 

Men  You  fillip  me  o'  the  head. 

Cres  No,  I'll  be  sworn.  [horn. — 

Ulysi.  It  were  no  match,  your  nail  against  his 
May  I,  sweet  lady,  beg  a  kiss  of  you  ? 

Ores.  You  njay. 

U/yss.  I  d'o  desire  it. 

Cres.  Why,  beg  then. 

t7y.vA.  Why  then,  for  Venus'  sake,  give  me  a  kiss, 
When  Helen  is  a  maid  again,  and  his. 

Cres.  I  am  your  debtor,  claim  it  when  'tis  due. 

Ulyss.  Ne\er's  my  day,  and  then  a  kiss  of  you. 

Dio.  Lady,  a  word  ;  —  1  II  brin^  you  to  your  lather. 

[Diomed  leads  out  Cressida. 

Nest,  A  woman  of  quick  .sense. 

Ulyss.  Fy,  fy  upon  her! 

There's  language  in  her  eye,  her  cheek,  her  lip. 
Nay,  her  foot  speaks  ;  her  wanton  spirits  look  out 
At  every  joint  and  motive  of  her  body. 
Q,  these  eucounterers,  so  glib  of  tongue, 
That  give  a  coasting  welcome  ere  it  comes, 
An'd  wide  unclasp  the  tables  of  their  thoughts 
To  ©very  tick'ish  reader!  set  tliein  down 
1   r  sluttish  Sj  oils  of  opportunity, 
Aiid  daughters  of  tiie  game.       (Trumpet  within.) 

4.11.  The  Trojan's  trum]iet. 

A'ja7n.  Yonder  comes  the  troop. 

Enter  Hector,  armed;  ^Eneas,  Troilus,  and 

other  Trojans,  with  Attendants. 
jEne,  Hail,  all  the  state  of  Greece  !  what  shall 
be  done 

To  liim  that  victory  commands?  Or  do  you  purpose 

A  victor  shall  be  known  ?  will  you,  the  knights 

Shall  to  the  edge  of  all  extremity 

Puisne  eai  h  otiier;  or  shall  they  be  divided 

By  any  voice  or  order  of  the  field  ? 

Hector  bade  ask. 

A;/a.>//.        Which  way  would  Hector  have  it? 

j^tlne.  He  cares  not,  he  ll  obey  conditions. 

Achil.  'Tis  done  like  Hector;  but  securely  done, 
K  little  proudly,  and  great  deal  misprizing 
The  knight  oppos'd. 

Alne.  If  not  Achilles,  sir. 

What  is  your  name  ? 

Achil.  If  not  Achilles,  nothing. 

Mne.  Therefore  Achilles :  But,  whate'er,  know 
this 

In  the  ertremity  of  great  and  little, 

Valour  and  pride  excel  themselves  in  Hector; 

TuR  on»«  almost  as  inticiite  as  all 


531 

The  other  blank  as  nothing.  Weigh  him  well, 
And  that,  which  looks  like  pride,  is  courtesy. 
This  Ajax  is  half  made  of  Hector's  blood  : 
In  love  whereof,  half  Hector  stays  at  home  ; 
Half  heart,  half  hand,  half  Hector  comes  to  seek 
This  blended  knight,  half  Trojan,  and  half  Gretk. 
Achil.  A  maiden  battle  then  ? — O,  I  perceive  yol , 

Re-enter  Diomed. 

Agam.  Here  is  sir  Diomed : — Go,  gentle  k.Dt^l'\ 
Stand  by  our  Aiax  :  as  you  and  lord  iEneaa 
Consent  upon  the  order  of  their  fight, 
So  be  it :  either  to  the  uttermost. 
Or  else  a  breath  :  the  combatants  being  kin. 
Half  stints  their  strife  before  their  strokes  begin. 

{Ajax  and  Hector  enter  the  listt 

Ulyss.  They  are  oppos'd  already,  [hea\y  , 

Anam.  What  Trojan  is  that  sanie  that  looks  8« 

Ulyss.  The  youngest  son  of  Priam,  a  true  knight^ 
Not  yet  mature,  yet  matchless  ;  firm  of  word  ; 
Speaking  in  deeds,  and  deedless  in  his  tongue ; 
Not  soon  provok'd,  nor,  being  provok'd,  soon  calm'd 
His  heart  and  hand  both  open,  and  both  free  ; 
For  what  he  has,  he  gives,  what  thinks,  he  shews; 
Ye4  gi  ves  he  not  till  judgment  guide  his  bounty* 
Nor  dignifies  an  impair  thought  with  breath  : 
Manly  as  Hector,  but  more  dangerous  ; 
For  Hector,  in  his  blaze  of  wrath,  subscribes 
To  tender  objects  ;  but  he,'  in  heat  of  action, 
Is  more  vindicative  than  jealous  love: 
They  call  him  Troilus:  and  on  him  erect 
A  second  hope,  as  fairly  built  as  Hector. 
Thus  says  iEneas  :  one,  that  knows  the  youth 
Even  to  his  iti-ches.  and,  with  private  soul, 
Did  in  great  Ilion  thus  translate  him  to  me. 

{Alarum.    Heefor  and  Ajax  fight  J 

Agam.  They  ^e  in  action. 

Nest.  Now,  Ajax,  hold  thine  own  i 

Tro.  Hector,  thou  sleep'st 

Awake  thee! 

Agam.  His  blows  are  well  disposed:  —  theri' 
Ajax! 

JJto.  You  must  no  more.        {T^rumpets  ceas9 
JSjne.  Princes,  enough,  so  please  ycwfc 

Ajax.  I  am  not  warm  yet,  let  us  fight  again. 
Dio.  As  Hector  pleases. 

Hect.  Why  then,  will  I  no  more:-^. 

Thou  art,  great  lord,  my  father's  sister's  son, 
A  cousin-german  to  great  Priam's  seed  ; 
The  obligation  of  our  blood  forbids 
A  gory  emulation  'twixt  us  twain  : 
Were  thy  commixtion  Greek  and  Trojan  so, 
That  thou  could'.st  say— This  hand  is  Grecian  ail. 
And  this  is  Trojan;  the  sineivs  .  f  this  leg 
All  Greek,  and  this  all  Troy  ;  my  mother  s  blood 
Runs  on  the  dexter  cheek.,  and  this  sinister 
Bounds  in  my  father's ;  by  Jove  multipotent, 
Thou  should  st  not  bear  from  me  a  Greekish  member 
Wherein  my  sword  had  not  impressure  made 
Of  our  rank  feud  :  But  the  just  gods  gainsay. 
That  any  drop  thou  borrow'st  from  thy  mother, 
My  sacred  auat,  should  by  my  mortal  sword 
Be  drain'd  !  Let  me  embrace  thee,  Ajax  : 
By  him  that  thunders,  thou  hast  lusty  arms  ; 
Hector  would  have  them  fall  upon  him  thus. 
Cousin,  all  honour  to  thee  I 

Ajax.  I  thank  thee,  Hector i 

Thou  art  too  gentle,  and  too  free  a  man  • 
I  came  to  kill  thee,  cousin,  and  bear  kence 
A  great  addition  earned  in  thy  death. 

Hect.  Not  Neoptolemus  so  mirable 
(On  whose  bright  crest  Fame  with  her  loud'sl  Of 
Cries.  This  is  he.)  could  promise  to  himself 
A  thought  of  added  honour  torn  from  Hector. 

jEne.  There  is  expectance  here  from  both  the 
sides, 

What  further  you  will  do. 

Meet.  We'll  answer  it ; 

The  issue  is  embracement : — Ajax,  farewell. 

Ajax.  If  I  might  ir^  entreaties  find  succesft. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


532 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  IV. 


(Aa  seid  I  liave  the  cliiince,)  I  would  desire 
My  iamoiis  cousin  to  our  U/ecian  tents. 

Dio.  '  Tis  Agauieinnoji's  -vv-ish  :  and  great  Achilles 
D(;th  long  lo  see  unarni'd  the  valifint  Hector. 

Heci.  /E:iea8,  call  my  brother  Troilus  to  ine  : 
And  signity  this  lo\ing  interview 
To  the  exjiecteis  of  our  Trojan  part; 
Desire  them  liome. — Give  nie  thy  hand,  my  cousin  ; 
I  will  go  eat  with  thee,  and  see  your  knights. 

A^'ax.  Great  Agamemnon  comes  to  meet  us  here. 

Meet.  The  worthiest  of  thenj  tell  me  name  by 
name  ; 

But  for  AohiUes,  my  own  searcliing  eyes 
Siiaii  find  him  by  his  large  and  portly  size. 

A^r/m.  Worthy  of  anus  !  as  welcome  as  to  one 
That  would  be  rid  of  such  an  enemy; 
But  tliat's  no  welcome  :  Understand  more  clear, 
W'hai's  past,  and  what's  to  come,  is  strew'd  wkh 
husks 

And  formless  ruin  of  oblivion  : 

Hut  in  tliis  exUiiit  moment,  faith  and  troth, 

Strain'd  purely  from  all  hollow  hias  drawing, 

Hills  tiiee,  with  most  divine  integrity, 

From  t;eart  of  very  heart,  great  Hector,  welcome. 

Hect.  1  tuauk  ttiee,  most  iinperions  Againe<nMon. 

A'/am.  Mv  well  lam'd  lord  of  Troy,  no  less  to  you. 

{To  TroLlus.) 

Men.    Let  me   confirm   my   princely  brother's 
greeting  : — 

Yon  brace  of  warlike  brothers,  welcome  hither. 
Hect.  Whom  must  we  answer  ? 
Men,  The  noble  Menelaus. 

Hect,  O  you,  my  lord  ?  by  Mars  his  gauntlet, 
thanks ! 

Mock  not,  that    r^ffect  the  untreaded  oath ; 
Vour  quondam  wife  swears  still  by  Venus'  glove  : 
She's  well,  but  bade  me  not  commend  her  to  yoiu 
Men.  Name  her  not  now,  sir;  she's  a  deadly 
theme. 

Hect.  O,  pardon;  I  ofTend. 

Nest.  J  have,  thoo  gallant  Trojan,  seen  thee  oft, 
iiabouring  for  destiny.  mak«  cruel  way 
Througl)  ranks  of  Greekish  youth   anci  I  have  seen 
thee, 

As  hot  as  Persens,  spur  thy  Phrygian  steed, 
Despising  many  forfeits  and  subduements. 
When  thou  hast  hung  thy  advanced  sword  i'the  air. 
Not  letting  it  decline  on  the  declin'd  ; 
That  I  have  said  to  some  my  standers-by, 
Loy  Jupiter  is  yonder ,  dealinrj  life! 
And  1  liave  seen  thee  |)ause,  and  take  thy  bre-ath. 
When  tiiat  a  ring  of  Greeks  have  hemm'd  thee  in, 
Like  an  Olympian  wrestling:  Tliis  have  I  seen; 
But  this  thy  countenance,  still  lock'd  in  steel, 
I  never  saw  till  now.    1  knew  thy  grandsire. 
And  once  fought  witli  him  :  he  was  a  soldier'good ; 
But,  bv  great  Mars,  the  captain  of  us  all, 
Never  like  thee  :  Let  an  old  man  embrace  thee ; 
And,  worthy  warrior,  welcome  to  our  tents. 
^ne.  "I'is  the  old  Nestor. 

Hect.  Let  me  embrace  thee,  good  old  chronicle, 
hat  hast  so  long  walk'd  hand  in  hand  with  time  ; — 
Most  reverend  Nestor,  I  am  glad  to  clasp  thee. 
Nest.  I  would,  my  arras  could  match  thee  in  con- 
tention. 

As  they  contend  with  thee  in  courtesy. 
Hect,  i  would  they  could. 
Neat,  Ha! 

By  this  white  beard,  I'd  fight  with  thee  to-morrow. 
Well,  welcome,  welcome!  I  have  seen  the  time — 

Ulyss.  I  wonder  now  how  yonder  city  stands, 
Wlieii  we  have  here  her  base  and  pillar  by  us. 

Hect.  I  know  your  fivour,  lord  Ulysses,  well. 
Ah,  sir.  there's  many  a  (iiet-k  and  Trojan  dead, 
Since  rirst  i  saw  yo  irsell' and  Uiomed 
In  lii  in    on  your  G'eekisli  embassy.  [ensue: 

Vyas.   Sir,   i  foretold   you  then  what  would 
My  p.optu-cy  is  but  half  his  journey  yet, 
For  y>inder  walls,  that  pertly  front  your  town, 
iTon  Ijwers.  whose  wantoa  to|^s  do  buss  the  cloads* 


Must  kiss  their  own  feet. 

Hect.  1  rnusf  not  believe  jrcK! 

There  they  stand  yel, ;  and  rodde.-.lly  1  think. 
The  fall  of  every  Phrygiaii  stoi.e  wiii  cost 
A  drop  of  Grecian  blood  :  I'iie  euil  crowns  all; 
And  thiit  old  cnmuion  ail)itralor.  Time, 
Will  one  day  end  it. 

Ulyss,  So  to  him  we  leave  it 

Most  gentle,  and  most  valiasit  Hector,  welcome: 
After  the  geiieral,  f  beseech  yoti  next 
To  feast  With  me,  and  see  me  at  my  tent. 

Achil.  I  shall  forestall  thee,  lord  Ulysses,  thca!-  - 
Now.  Hector,  I  have  fed  mine  eyes  on  thee: 
\  have  with  exact  view  perus'd  thee.  Hector, 
And  quoted  joint  by  joint. 

Hect,  Is  this  Achilles? 

Achil.  lam  Achilles. 

Hect.  Stand  fair,  I  pray  thee  :  let  me  look  on  thee. 
Achil.  Beliold  thy  fiU. 

Hect.  Nay,  I  have  done  already. 

Achil.  Thou  art  too  brief ;  I  will  the  second  time. 
As  I  would  buy  thee,  view  thee  limb  by  limb. 

Hect,  O,  like  a  book  of  sport  tliou'lt  read  me  o'er; 
But  there's  more  in  me  than  thou  understand'st. 
Why  dost  thou  so  oppress  me  with  thine  eye? 

Achil.  Tell  me,  you  heavens,  in  which  part  of 
his  body 

Shall  I  destroy  him  ?  whether  there,  there,  or  there  ? 
That  1  may  give  the  local  wound  a  name ; 
And  make  distinct  the  very  breach,  whereout 
Hector's  great  spirit  flew  :  Answer  me,  heavens! 
Hect.  It  would  discredit  the  bless'd  gods,  proud 
man. 

To  answer  such  a  questiim  :  Stand  again  : 
'I'hink'st  thou  to  catch  my  life  so  pleasantly. 
As  to  prenominate  in  nice  conjecture. 
Where  thou  wilt  hit  me  dead  ? 

Achil.  I  tell  thee,  yea. 

Hect.  Wert  thou  an  oracle  to  tell  me  so, 
I'd  not  believe  thee.    Henceforth  guard  thee  well, 
For  1  11  not  kdl  thee  there,  nor  tliere,  nor  there; 
But,  by  the  forge  that  stithied  Mars  his  helm, 
I'll  kill  thee  every  where,  yea,  o'er  and  o'er. — 
You  wisest  Grecians,  pardon  me  this  brag. 
His  insolence  draws  folly  from  my  lips ; 
But  I'll  endeavour  deeds  to  match  these  vvords^ 
Or  may  I  never — 

Ajax.  Do  not  chafe  thee,  cousin - 

And  you,  Achilles,  let  these  threats  alone. 
Till  accident,  or  purpose,  bring  you  to't: 
You  may  have  every  day  enough  of  Hector, 
If  you  have  stomach  ;  the  general  state,  I  fear. 
Can  scarce  entreat  you  to  be  odd  with  him. 

Hect.  I  pray  you,  let  us  see  you  in  the  field; 
W^e  have  had  pelting  wars,  since  you  refus'd 
The  Grecians'  cause. 

Achil.  Dost  thou  entreat  me.  Hector* 

To-morrow,  do  I  meet  thee,  fell  as  death; 
To  night,  all  friends. 

Hect.  Thy  hand  upon  that  match. 

Ay  am.  First,  all  vou  peers  of  Greece,  go  to  my 
tent ; 

There  in  the  full  convive  we  :  afterwards. 
As  Hector's  leisure  and  your  bounties  shall 
Concur  togetiier,  severally  entreat  him. — 
Beat  loud  the  tabouiines,  let  the  trumpets  biow 
That  tliis  great  soldier  may  his  welcome  know 

[Exeunt  all  but  Troilus  and  Ulyssii 

Tro.  My  lord  Ulysses,  tell  me,  I  beseech  you. 
In  what  place  of  the  field  doth  Calchas  keep? 

Ulyss.  At  Menelaus' tent,  most  princely  froilus  t 
There  Diomed  doth  feast  with  him  to-night; 
Who  neither  looks  upon  the  heaven,  nor  earth. 
But  gives  all  gaze  and  bent  of  amorous  view 
On  the  fair  Cressid.  [much, 

Tro.  Shall  I,  sweet  lord,  be  bound  to  you 
After  we  part  from  Agamemnon's  tent. 
To  bring  me  thither  ? 

Ulyss.  You  shall  command  me,  sir 

As  gentle  tell  me,  of  what  honour  wa« 


Act  V.    Scene  2. 


TROTLUS  an: 


D  CRESSTDA. 


533 


Tliis  Crrssida  in  Troy  ?  had  she  no  lover  there, 
TIrat  wniis  her  ahsetice  ? 

Tro.  O,  sir,  to  such  as  boasting  shew  their  scars, 
A  mock,  is  due,    \\  ill  you  walk  on,  my  lord  ^ 
She  was  helov'd,  she  lov  'd  ;  she  is,  and  doth  : 
But,  still,  sweet  love  is  food  lor  fortune's  tooth. 

[Exeunt 

ACT  V. 

ScsfE  I. — The  Grecian  Camp.    Before  Achilles! 
Tent. 

Enter  Achilles  a}id  Patroclus. 

Achil.  I'll  lieat  his  blood  with  Grtekish  wine  to- 
night, 

Which  witli  my  scimitar  I'll  cool  to-morrow. — 
Patroclus,  let  us  feast  him  to  the  height. 
Pair.  Here  comes  Thersites. 

EnUr  Thersites. 

Achil.  How  BOW,  thou  core  of  envy  ? 

Thou  crusty  batch  of  nature,  what's  the  news  ? 

Ther.  VVhy,  thuii  p  icture  of  wiiat  thou  seemest, 
and  idol  of  idiot  \\orshippers,  here's  a  letter  lor  thee. 

Achil.  From  wi  ence,  fragment? 

Ther.  Why,  thou  lull  dish  of  fool,  from  Troy. 

Pair.  Who  keeps  the  tent  now  ? 

Ther.  The  surgeons  box,  or  the  patient's  wound. 

Patr.  Well  said,  Adv  ersity !  and  what  need 
these  tricks  ? 

Ther.  Pr'ythee  be  silent,  boy ;  I  profit  not  by 
thy  talk  :  thou  art  thought  to  be  Achiiles'  male 
variet. 

Patr.  JVlale  variet,  you  rogue!  Whiit's  that? 

Ther.  Wny,  his  masculine  whore.  Now  the 
rotten  diseases  of  the  south,  the  guts-griping,  rup- 
tures, catarrhs,  loads  o'  gravel  i'  the  back,  lethargies, 
cold  palsies,  raw  eyes,  dirf-rotten  livers,  wheezing 
lungs,  bladders  full  of  imposthume,  sci  tticas,  liine- 
tilus  I'the  palm,  incurable  boiie-ache,  and  tlie  rivelled 
fee-simple  of  the  tetter,  take  and  take  agaiii  such 
preposterous  discoveries! 

Patr.  VVhy,  tiiou  damnable  box  of  envy,  thou, 
«'.iat  meanest  thoiJ  to  curse  thus? 

Ther.  Do  I  curse  thee  ? 

Patr,  Why,  no,  you  ruinous  butt;  you  whoreson 
iudistinguisnable  cur,  no. 

Ther.  No?  why  art  thou  then  exasperate,  thou 
idle  immaterial  skein  of  sleive  silk,  thou  green 
sarcenet  flap  for  a  sore  eye,  thou  tassel  of  a  prodi 
gals  purse,  thou?  Ah,  how  the  poor  world  is 
pestered  with  such  water -flics;  diminutives  of 
nature  ! 

Patr.  Out,  gall  I 

Ther.  Finch  e^g ! 

Achil.  My  sweet  Patroclus,  I  am  thwarted  quite 
From  my  great  purpose  in  to-morrow's  battle. 
Here  is  a  letter  from  queen  Heciiba; 
A  token  from  her  daughter,  my  lair  love ; 
Both  taxitig  me,  and  gaging  me  to  keep 
An  oath  that  1  have  sworn.    1  will  not  break  it : 
Pali,  Greeks;  fail,  fame;  honour,  or  go,  or  stay ; 
"ily  major  vow  lies  here,  this  I'll  obey. — 
Come,  come,  Taersites,  hel{>  to  trim  my  tent; 
I'his  night  in  banqueting  must  all  be  spent. — 
Away,  Patroclus. 

[Exeunt  Achilles  and  Patroclus. 

Ther.  With  too  much  blood,  and  too  little  brain, 
these  two  may  run  niad ;  but  if  with  too  nnich 
brain,  and  too  little  blood,  they  do,  I'll  be  a  curer 
of  madtsien.  Here's  Agamemnon, — an  honest  fel- 
low enough,  and  oiie  that  loves  quails ;  but  he  has 
not  so  nmch  brain  as  ear-wax  :  And  tiie  goodly 
transformation  of  Jupiter  there,  his  brother,  the 
rjuil, — the  primitive  statue,  and  oblique  ujemorial 
ol  cuckolds;  a  thrifty  shoeing  -  horn  in  a  chain, 
hanging  af  his  brother's  leg, — to  what  form,  but  that 
he  IS,  should  wit  lurded  witii  malice,  and  nialice 
forced  witii  wif,  turn  him  to?  'i'o  an  ass,  were 
nothing;  he  is  Ix  ti)  ass  and  ox  ;  to  an  ox,  were 
aodiiag;  he  is  bolii  o£  und  ass.    To  be  a  dog,  a 


I  mule,  a  cat,  a  fitchew,  a  toad,  a  lizard,  an  ow!,  a 
j  puttock,  or  a  heritng  without  a  roe,  I  would  not 
i  care  ;  but  to  be  Meneiaus, — I  would  conspire  agaiii  jt 
destiny.  Ask  rne  not  wliat  I  woidd  be,  if  I  wt.e 
not  Thersites ;  for  I  care  not  to  be  the  louse  of  a 
lazar.  so  I  were  not  Meneiaus.  Hey-day!  spirits 
and  fires  ! 

Enter  Hector,  Troilus,  Ajax,  Agamemnon 
Ulysses,  Nestor,  Menelaus,  and  Diomeb* 
with  lights. 

Agam.  We  go  wrong,  we  go  wrong. 
Ajax.  No,  yonder  ti«; 

There,  where  we  see  the  lights. 

Hect.  I  trouble  yon. 

Ajax.  No,  not  a  whit. 

Uiyss.  Here  comes  himself  to  guide  you. 

Enter  Achilles. 
Achil.  Welcome,  brave  Hector  ;  welcome,  prince« 
all. 

Agam.  So,  now,  fair  prince  of  Troy,  I  bid  good 
night. 

Ajax  commands  the  guard  to  tend  on  you. 

Hect.  Thanks,  and  good  night,  to  the  Greeks' 
general. 

Men.  Good  night,  my  lord. 

Hect.  Good  night,  sweet  Meneiaus. 

Ther.  Sweet  draught:  Sweet,  quoth  'a!  swee". 
sink,  svveet  sewer. 

Achil.  Good  night. 
And  welcome,  both  to  those  that  go,  or  tarry, 

Agam.  Good  night. 

\Exeunt  Agamemnon  and  Meneiaus, 

Achil.  Old  Nestx>r  tarries ;  and  you  too,  Diomed, 
Keep  Hector  company  an  hour  or  two. 

Dio.  I  cannot,  lord  ;  I  have  important  business. 
The  tide  whereof  is  now. — Good  night,  great  Hector, 

Hect.  Give  me  your  hand. 

Ulyss.  Follow  his  torch,  he  gofi 

To  Calchas*  tent;  I'll  keep  you  company. 

[Aside  to  Troilus 

Tro.  Sweet  sir,  you  honour  me. 

Hect.  And  so  good  night. 

[Exit  Diomed;  Ulyss.  and  Tro.  following. 

Achil.  Come,  come,  enter  my  tent. 

[Exeunt  Achil.  Hector,  Ajax,  and  Nest. 

Ther.  That  same  Diomed's  a  false  lit  arted  rogue, 
a  n»ost  unjust  knave  ;  I  will  no  more  trust  him  when 
he  leers,  than  I  will  a  serpent  when  he  hisses:  he 
will  spend  his  mouth,  and  promise,  like  Brabler  the 
hound;  but  when  he  performs,  astronomers  foretel 
it;  it  is  prodigious,  there  will  come  some  change; 
the  sim  borrows  of  the  moon,  when  Diomed  keef)9 
his  word.  I  will  rather  leave  to  see  Hector,  than 
not  to  dog  him  .  fhey  say,  he  keeps  a  Trojan  drab, 
and  uses  the  traitor  Calchas'  tent:  I'll  after. — No- 
thing but  lechery  !  all  incontinent  varlets  !  [Exit. 

Scene  II. — The  same.    Before  Calchas'  lent. 

Enter  Diomedes, 
Dio.  What,  are  you  up  here,  ho  ?  speak. 
Cat.  [Within.]  Who  calls? 
Dio.  Diomed. — Calchas,  I  think. — Where's  your 
daughter? 

Cat.  [Within.]  She  comes  to  you. 

Enter  Troilus  and  Ulysses,  at  a  distance;  after 
them  Thersites. 
Ulyss.  Stand  where  the  torch  may  not  discover  ua 

Enter  Cressida. 
Tro.  Cressid,  come  forth  to  him  ! 
Dio.  How  now,  my  cliarge  ? 

Cres.  Now,  my  sweet  ^uar-Jian  ! — l  laiL  !  a  word 

with  you.  (Whispers.) 
Tro.  Yea,  so  familiar  I 

JJlyss.  She  will  sing  any  man  at  first  sight, 
Ther.  And  any  man  may  sing  her,  iHie  can  tak* 
her  ciitl";  she's  noled. 


534 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  Y 


**  Dio.  Will  you  remember? 

Cres,  Kemeniber?. — yes 
Dio.  ^  Nay,  but  do  then ; 

And  let  yonr  mind  be  coupled  with  your  words. 
Tro.  What  should  she  remember  ? 
f^/;/!>s.  List! 

Cres.  Sweet  honey  G  ?ek,  tempt  me  no  more  to 
folly. 

T/,er.  Roguery! 

J)io.  Nay,  then, — 

Cres.  I'll  tell  yon  what: 

Dio.  Pho!  pho  I  come,  tell  a  pin:  Yon  are  for- 
sworn,— 

Cres.  Ill  faith,  I  cannot :  What  wonld  you  have 

me  do  ? 

T/ier.  A  juggling  trick,  to  be — secretly  open. 
Pio.  Whnt  did  yon  swear  yon  would  bestow  on 

me  ? 

Cres.  I  pr'ythee,  do  not  hold  me  to  mine  oath ; 
Bid  me  do  any  thing  but  that,  sweet  Greek. 
Dio.  Good  night. 
Tro.  Hold,  patience  ! 

Ulyss.'  How  now,  Trqjan  ? 

Cres.  Diomed,  

Dio.  No,  no,  good  niglit :  I'll  be  your  fool  no 
more. 

Tro.  Thv  better  must. 

Cres.  Hark !  one  word  in  your  ear. 

Tro.  O  plague  and  madness  ! 
Ulyss.  Von  are  niov'd,  prince  ;  let  us  depart,  I 
pray  you, 

Lest  your  dis,  leasure  should  enlarge  itself 
To  wrathful  terms*  this  place  is  d  tngerous; 
The  time  right  deadly;  I  beseech  you,  go. 
Tro.  Bthold,  I  pray  you  ! 

Uly  *i.  Now,  good  my  lord,  go  off : 

You  flow     peat  destruction;  conie,  niy  lord. 
Tro.  {  pr'ythee,  stay. 

Ulyss.  You  have  not  patience  ;  come. 

Tro.  I  pray  you,  stay;  by  hell,  and  all  hell's 
will  i\?>i  speak  a  word.  (torments, 
Dio.  And  so,  good  night. 

Cres.  Nay,  but  you  part  in  a11^er. 
Tro.  Doth  that  grieve  thee? 

0  wither'd  truth ! 

Ulyss.  Why,  how  now,  lord  ? 

Tro.  By  Jove, 

1  will  be  patient. 

Cres.  Guardian! — why,  Greek! 

Dio.  Pho.  pho!  adieu;  you  palter. 

Cres.  In  faith,  I  do  not;  come  hither  once  again. 

Ulyss.  You  shake,  my  lord,  at  something:  will 
You  will  break  out.  (yon  go? 

Tro.  She  strokes  his  cheek  ! 

Ulyss.  Come,  come. 

Tro.  Nay,  stay;  by  Jove,  I  will  not  speak  a  word  : 
There  is  betwee:)  my  will  and  all  olfences 
A  snard  of  patience  ; — stay  a  little  while. 

Ther.  How  the  devil  luxury,  with  iiis  fat  rump, 
and  potatoe  finger,  tickles  these  together!  Fry, 
lecherv,  f  ry  ! 

Dio'.  r.ut  will  yon  then  ? 

Cres.  In  laith,  I  will,  la;  never  trust  me  els'e. 

Dio.  'Jiv»  me  some  token  for  the  surety  of  it. 

Cres.  I'L  fetch  you  one.  [Exit. 

Ulyss.  \  on  have  sworn  patience. 

Tro.  Fear  me  liot,  my  lord  : 

I '  ihi  not  be  myself,  nor  have  cognition 
O'  what  I  feel ;  1  am  all  patience. 

Re-enter  Ckessida. 
Ther.  Now  the  pledge  ;  now,  now,  now! 
Cres.     Hre,  D'omed,  keep  this  sleeve. 
Tro.  O  beauty!  where's  thy  faith? 
Ulyss.  .  My  lord,— 

T-r>.  I  will  be  patient;  outwardly,  ]  will. 
Cres.  \on  I      upon  that  sleeve;  Behold  it  well. — 
He  lov'd  me — O  fdse  wench! — Giv't  nie  again. 
Dio.  Who  was't? 

CrtK.  No  matter,  now  I  have't  again. 


I  I  will  not  meet  with  you  to-morrow  night , 
I  I  pr'ythee,  Diomed,  visit  me  no  more. 

Ther.  Now  .she  sharpens ; — VVelJ  said,  whetstoBfi 
Dio.  I  shall  have  it 
Cres.  What,  this  ? 

Dio.  Ay,  that 

Cres.  O,  all  you  gods ! — O  pretty,  pretty  piedgfl 
Thy  master  now  lies  thinking  m  his  bei 
Of  thee,  and  me  ;  and  sighs,  and  takes  my  glove, 
.^nd  gives  memorial  dainty  kisses  to  it, 
As  1  kiss  thee. — Nay,  do  not  snatch  it  from  me; 
He  that  takes  that,  must  take  my  heart  withal. 
Dio.  I  had  your  heart  before,  this  follows  it. 
Tro.  I  did  swear  patience. 

Cres.  You  shall  not  have  it,  Diomed  :  'faith,  yrt 
shall  not; 
I'll  give  vou  sometliing  else. 

Dio.  i  will  have  this  ;  Whose  was  it? 

Cres.  'Tis  no  matter. 

Dio.  Come,  tell  me  whose  it  was.  [will, 

Cres.  'Twas  one's  that  loved  me  better  than  yoa 
But,  now  you  have  it,  take  it. 

Dio.  Whose  was  it  ? 

Cres.  By  all  Diana's  waiting-women  yonder. 
And  by  herself,  I  will  not  tell  you  who.se. 

Dio.  'J\)-morrow  will  I  wear  it  on  my  helm; 
And  giie\  e  his  spirit  that  d;ires  not  challenge  it. 

Tru.  Wert  thou  the  devil,  and  wor'st  it  on  thy 
It  shtiuld  be  challeng'd.  [horn, 

Cres.  Well,  well,  tis  done,  'tis  pa.st;— -And  yet 
it  is  not ; 
I  will  not  keep  my  word. 

Dio.  Wh>  then,  farewell ; 
Thou  nevei  shall  mock  Diomed  again. 

Cres.  You  .shall  not  go: — one  cannot  speak  a 
But  it  straight  starts  you.  (word, 

Dio.  I  do  not  like  this  foiling, 

Ther.  Nor  1,  by  Pluto :  but  that,  that  likes  not 
ynu,  phases  me  best. 

Dio  What,  shall  1  come?  the  hour? 

Cres.  Ay,  come  : — O  Jove  !— 

Do  come  : — 1  shall  be  plagu'd. 

Dio.  Farewell  till  ther. 

Cres.  G3od  night.    1  pr'ythee,  come. — 

[Extt  Diom€ti«^ 
Troilus,  farewell !  one  eye  yet  looks  on  thee; 
But  w  ith  my  heart  the  other  eye  doth  .see. 
Ah  !  p'Kir  our  sex  !  this  fatdt  in  us  I  find, 
The  (  rior  of  our  eye  directs  our  mind  : 
Whht  error  leads,  nnist  err;  O  then  ronchide, 
iMiiids,  svvay'd  by  eyes,  are  full  of  turpitude.  [Exit. 

Thfr.  .\  proof  of  strength  she  could  not  publish 
more. 

Unless  she  said,  !\ly  n»ind  is  now  tnru'd  whore 

Uh/ss.  All's  done,  my  lord. 

Tro.  It  is. 

Ulyss.  Why  stay  we  then? 

Tro.  To  ma.'  e  a  recordation  to  my  soul 
Oi'  every  s}  ll:»i)!e  that  here  was  spoke, 
liut,  if  I  tell  l>()w  these  two  did  co-act. 
Shall  I  not  lie  in  publishing  a  truth  ? 
Sith  yf  t  there  is  a  credent-e  in  niy  heart. 
An  esper.ince  so  ob.stinately  strong, 
'I'hat  doti)  ii.verf  the  attest  of  eyes  and  ean; 
As  if  thuse  organs  had  deceptions  functifmt. 
Created  only  to  calumniate. 
Was  Cressid  here  ? 

Uly.t.'i.  I  cannot  conjure,  Trojao. 

Tro.  She  was  not,  sure, 

Ulyss.  Most  sure  she  was. 

Tro.  Why,  my  negation  hath  no  ia.sje  of  madres.s. 

Ulyss.  Nor  n)ine,  my  lord,  Cressid  was  here  but 
now. 

Tro.  Let  it  not  be  belie v'd  for  wt»manhood  ! 
Think,  we  had  ujothers;  do  not  give  advantage 
To  stubborn  critics — apt,  without  a  theme. 
For  depravation,—  to  square  the  general  sex 
By  Cressid's  rule:  rather  think  this  not  Cressid, 

Ulyss.  What  hath  she  done,  prince,  tnal  can  soil 
our  motile  rs  ^ 


i 


Scene  3. 


IROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


535 


Tro.  Nothing  at  al!,  unless  that  this  were  ahe. 

T/i&r.  Will  he  swMi^per  him  self  out  en's  own  eyes  ? 

Tro.  This  she  ?  no,  this  is  Dionied's  Cressida ; 
ff  beauty  have  a  soul,  this  is  not  she  ; 
If  souls  guide  vows,  if  vows  be  sanctimony, 
ff  sanctimony  be  the  gods'  dt-light, 
(f  there  be  rule  in  unity  itself; 
J'his  was  not  she.    O  madness  of  discourse. 
That  cause  sets  up  with  and  a^ainsf  itself  I 
Bi  fold  authority !  where  reason  ran  revolt 
|\  ithout  perdition,  and  loss  assunie  all  reason 
Without  revolt ;  this  is,  and  is  not,  Cressid  ! 
Wilhin  my  soul  there  dotli  commence  a  tight 
Of  this  strange  nature,  that  a  thing  inseparate 
Divides  more  wider  than  the  sky  and  earth  ; 
And  yet  the  spacious  breadth  of  this  division 
Admits  no  orifice  for  a  point,  as  subtle 
As  is  Arachne's  broken  woof,  to  enter. 
InstsncCj  O  instance !  strong  as  Pluto's  gates ; 
Cressid  is  mine,  tied  with  the  bonds  of  heaven  : 
instance,  O  instance !  strong  as  heaven  itself; 
The  bonds  of  heaven  are  slipp'd,  dissolv'd,  and 
loos'd ; 

And  with  another  knot,  five-finger  tied. 

The  fractions  of  her  faith,  orts  of  her  love, 

Tije  fragments,  scraps,  the  bits,  and  greasy  reliques 

Of  her  o'er-eaten  faitli,  are  bound  to  Diomed. 

Ulyss.  May  wortl  y  Troilus  be  half  atlach'd 
With  that  which  here  his  passion  doth  express  ? 

Tro.  Ay,  Greek;  and  that  shall  be  divulged  well 
In  characters  as  red  as  Mars  his  heart 
Inflam'd  with  Venus  :  never  did  youvig  man  fancy 
With  so  eternal  and  so  fix'd  a  soul. 
Hark,  Greek  ; — As  much  as  I  do  Cressid  love. 
So  nuich  by  weight  hate  I  her  Diomed. 
Tliat  sleeve  is  mine,  that  he'll  bear  on  his  helm* 
Were  it  a  casque  compos'd  by  Vulcan's  skill, 
Mv  sword  should  bite  it:  not  the  dreadlul  spout, 
VVliich  sl\ii)men  do  the  hurricane  call, 
Coristring'd  in  mass  by  the  almighty  sun, 
Shiil!  diZzy  with  more  clamour  Neptune's  ear 
iii  liis  descent,  than  shall  my  prompted  sword 
i;i!'iu-i  on  Diomed. 

T/ier.  He'll  tickle  it  for  his  concupy. 

Tru.  O  Cressid!  O  false  Cressid!  false,  false 
false  ! 

Let  al!  imtrnths  stand  by  thy  stained  name, 
And  they'll  seein  glorious. 

Ulyss.  O,  contain  yourself; 

Vour  passion  draws  ears  hither. 

Enter  MtiB.KS. 
yE//.fi.  I  have  been  seeking  you  this  hour,  my  lord  : 
Hector,  by  this,  is  arming  him  in  Troy  ; 
Ajax,  your  guard,  stays  to  conduct  you  home. 

Tro.   Have  with   you,  prince : — My  courteous 
lord,  adieu  ; — 
l^irewell,  revolted  fair! — and,  Diomed, 
Stand  fast,  and  wear  a  castle  on  thy  head  ! 

Ulyss.  I  U  bring  you  to  the  gates. 

Tro.  Accept  distracted  thanks. 

[Exeunt  Troilus,  ^Eneas,  and  Ulysses. 

Tlier.  'W^oidd,  1  could  meet  tiiat  rogue  Diomed  ! 
V  would  croak  like  a  raven;  I  would  bode.  I  would 
bode.  Patrocliis  will  give  me  any  thing  for  the  in- 
telligence of  this  whore  :  the  parrot  will  not  do 
more  for  an  almond,  than  he  for  a  commodious 
drab.  Lechery,  lechery;  still  wars  and  lechery; 
notliing  else  holds  fashion :  A  burning  devil  take 
ihem !  [Exit. 

Scene  HI. — Troy.    Before  Priam" s  Palace. 
Enler  HECTOR  Andromache. 

And.  When  was  ni.y  lord  so  niur.h  ungently  tem- 
To  stop  his  eat  s  against  adinonishnient  ?  [per'd, 
'Jnarm,  unarm,  and  do  not  figiit  to  day. 

Hect.  Y'ou  train  me  to  ollend  you  ;  get  you  in  ; 
By  all  the  everlasting  gods,  I'll  go. 

And.   My  dreams  will,  sure   prove  ominous  to 
tl»e  day. 

Hect.  No  more,  1  say. 


Enter  C.isSANDR^. 

Cas.  Where  is  my  brothei  Hector? 

And.  Here,  sister:  ann'd,  and  bloody  Il'i  intent* 
Consort  with  me  in  loud  and  dear  petition, 
Pursue  we  him  on  knees  ;  for  I  have  dream'd 
Ol'bloodv  turbulence,  and  this  whole  night 
Hath  nothing  been  but  shapes  and  forms  of  slaughter. 

Cas.  O,  it  is  true. 

Hect.  Ho !  bid  my  truLipet  sound  ! 

Cas.  No  notes  of  sally,  for  the  heavens,  sweet 
brother. 

Hect.  Begone,  I  say ;  the  gods  have  heard  uie 
swear. 

Cas.  The  gods  are  deaf  to  hot  and  peevish  vows; 
l^hey  are  polluted  ollerings,  more  abhorrd 
Than  spotted  livers  in  the  sacrifice. 

And.  O  !  be  persuaded  :  Do  not  count  it  holy 
To  hurt  by  being  just :  it  is  as  lawful, 
For  we  would  give  much,  to  use  violent  thefts, 
And  rob  in  the  behalf  of  charity. 

Cas.  It  is  the  purpose,  that  makes  strong  the 
vow ; 

But  vows,  to  every  purpose,  must  not  hold  : 
Unarm,  sweet  Hector. 

Hect.  Hold  you  still,  I  say; 

Mine  honour  keeps  the  weather  of  niy  fate  : 
Life  every  man  holds  dear  ;  but  the  dear  man 
Holds  honour  far  more  precious-dear  than  life. 

Enter  Troilus. 
How  now,  young  man  ?  mean'st  thou  to  fight  la.  day  ? 
And.  Cassandra,  call  niy  father  to  persuade. 

[Exit  CassandrcL 
Hect.  No,  'faith,  young  Troilus;  dolf  thy  haraess, 
•  youth, 

I  am  to-day  i'the  vein  of  chivalry  : 
Let  grow  thy  sinews  till  their  knots  be  strong, 
And  tempt  nut  yet  the  brushes  of  the  war. 
Unarm  thee,  go;  and  doubt  thou  not,  brave  boy, 
I'll  stand,  to-day,  for  thee,  and  n^e,  and  Troy. 

Tro.  Brother,  you  have  a  vice  of  mercy  in  y(>a» 
Which  better  fits  a  lion,  than  a  man. 

Hect.  What  vice  is  that,  good  Troi.'us  ?  chid* 
me  lor  it. 

Tro.  When  many  times  the  captive  Gr<?cians  fall. 
Even  in  the  fan  and  wind  of  your  fair  sword, 
Yoti  bid  them  rise,  and  live. 

Hect.  O,  'tis  lair  play. 

7V*o.  Fool's  play,  by  heaven.  Hector, 

Hect.  How  now  ?  how  now  ? 

Tro.  For  the  love  of  all  the  gods, 

Let's  leave  the  hermit  pity  with  our  mother; 
And  when  vve  have  our  armours  buckled  on, 
The  venoni'd  vengeance  ride  upon  our  swords  ; 
Spur  them  to  rutliful  work,  rein  them  from  ruth. 

Hect.  Fy,  savage,  ly  ! 

Tro.  Hector,  then  'tis  wars. 

Hect.  Troilus,  I  would  not  have  you  (c;ht  to-day, 

Tro.  Who  should  withhold  me  ? 
Not  late,  obedience,  nor  tiie  hand  of  Mars 
Beckoning  with  fifry  tnmcheon  my  retire: 
Not  Priamus  and  Hecuba  on  knees, 
Their  eyes  o'ergalled  with  recoi;  se  of  tears  ; 
Nor  you,  my  brother,  with  your  true  sword  dra^m, 
Oppos'd  to  hinder  me,  should  stop  my  way. 
But  by  my  ruin. 

Re-enter  Cassandra,  with  Priam. 

Cass.  Lay  hold  upon  him,  Priam,  hold  him  fast; 
He  is  thy  crutch  ;  now  if  thou  lose  thy  stay. 
Thou  on  him  leaning,  and  all  Troy  on  tiiee. 
Fall  all  together. 

Pri.  Come,  Hector,  ccmie,  go  back : 

Thy  wife  hath  dream'd  ;  thy  mother  hath  had  visitMW/ 
Cassandra  doth  foresee  ;  and  I  myself 
Am  like  a  prophet  suddenly  enrapt, 
To  tell  thee — that  tl  is  d;ty  is  ominous  : 
Therefore,  come  back. 

Hect.  .Eneas  is  a-fjefd; 


^36 

And  I  do  «(ain^  ert^agV!  to  many  Greeks, 
Even  ill  the  (aitJi  (.!'  valour,  to  apptidr 
Tiiis  niornitig  t(*  them. 

Pri.  But  thou  shalt  not  go. 

Hect.  I  must  not  break  my  i'aitli; 
You  koow  me  diitiiul  ;  tlierefore,  dear  sir, 
Let  me  not  shame  respert;  but  give  me  leave 
To  take  that  coiir>iP  by  your  consent  ajid  voice, 
VV  hicli  you  do  here  forbid  me,  royal  Priam. 

Cas.  O  Priam,  yield  not  to  him. 

And.    '  Do  not,  dear  father. 

Hert.  Andromache,  I  ani  offended  with  you  : 
Upon  the  love  you  bear  me,  get  you  in. 

[Exit  Andromache. 

Tro,  This  foolish,  dreaming,  superstitious  girl 
Make*  all  these  bo;!ements. 

Cas.  O  farewell,  dear  Hector, 

Look,  how  tliou  diest  I  look,  how  tiiy  eye  turns  pale  ! 
Look,  how  thy  wounds  do  bleed  <it  many  vents  ! 
Hark,  how  I'rny  roars  I  how  Hecuba  cries  out ! 
How  poor  Andromache  siirills  lier  dolors  forth  I 
Behold,  destruction,  frenzy,  and  amazement. 
Like  witless  antics,  one  another  meet. 
And  all  cry — Hector  !  Hectors  dead  !  O,  Hector  1 

Tro.  Away  ! — Away  ! — 

Cas.  Farewell ! — Yet,  soft  Hector,  I  take  my 
leave  : 

Thou  dost  thyself  and  all  our  Troy  deceive.  [Exit. 

Hect.  You  are  amazd,  my  liege,  at  her  exclaim: 
Go  in,  and  cheer  tlie  town  :  we  il  forth,  and  fight; 
Do  deeds  worlh  praise,  and  tell  you  them  at  night. 

Pri.  Farewell :  the  gods  with  safety  stand  about 
thee! 

[Exeunt  severally  Priam  and  Hector. 
Alarums. 

Tro.  They  are  at  it ;  hark !  Proud  Diomed,  be- 
lieve, 

I  come  to  lose  my  arm,  or  win  my  sleeve. 

A  $  Troilus  is  going  out,  enter,  from  the  other  side. 
Panda  Rus. 
Pan.  Do  you  hear,  my  lord  ?  do  you  hear  ? 
Tro.  Wliat  now  ? 

Pan.  Here's  a  letter  from  yon'  poor  girl. 
Tro,  Let  me  read. 

Pan,  A  whoreson  ptisick,  a  whoreson  rascally 
ptisick  so  troubles  me,  and  the  foolish  fortune  of 
this  girl;  and  what  one  thing,  what  another,  that  1 
shall  leave  you  one  o'these  <lays  :  And  I  have  a 
rheum  in  mine  eyes  too;  and  such  an  ache  in  my 
bones,  that,  unless  a  man  were  cursed,  I  cannot  tell 
what  to  think  on't. — What  says  she  there  ? 

Tro.  Words,  words,  mere  words,  no  matter  from 
the  heart;  {Tearing  the  letter.) 

l^he  effect  doth  operate  another  way. — 
Go,  wind,  to  wind,  there  turn  and  change  together. — 
My  love  with  words  and  errors  still  she  feeds; 
But  edifies  another  with  her  deeds. 

[Exeunt  severally. 

Scene  IV. — Betioeen  Troy  and  the  Grecian  Camp. 
Alarums  :  Ex-  ursions.  Enter  THiiKSiTES. 
Ther.  Now  they  ue  clapper-clawing  one  another  : 
I'll  go  look  on.  Tf.at  disseuibling  abominable  var- 
let,  Diomed,  has  got  that  same  scurvy  doting  fool- 
ish young  knave's  sleeve  of  Troy  there,  in  his  hebn  : 
I  would  fain  see  them  meet;  that  tliat  same  'I'ro 
jan  ass,  th^it  loves  the  whore  there,  niight  send  tliat 
Greekish  whoremasterly  villain,  with  the  sleeve, 
back  to  the  dis.seud>ling  luxurious  drab,  on  a  sleeve- 
less errand.  O' the  other  side,  the  policy  of  those 
crafty  swearing  rascals, — timt  stale  (.Id  mouse- 
eaten  dry  cheese,  Nestor  ;  and  that  same  dog-fo», 
Ulysses, — i?  not  proved  worth  a  blackberry  : — They 
tet  me  U{«,  in  policy,  thut  mongrel  cur,  Ajax,  against 
that  dog<tf  as  bad  a  kind,  Acliilies  :  and  now  is  the 
cur  Ajax  prouder  than  the  cur  Achilles,  and  will  not 
arm  to  d:iy;  whereupor.  the  Grecians  begin  to  pro- 
claim barbarism,  and  policy  grows  into  an  ill  opi- 
uioo.    8olt!  here  come  sleeve,  nnd  t'other. 


Act  y. 

Enter  DiOMEDES,  T ROUGHS  following. 

Tro.  Fly  not;  for,  should'st  thou  take  the  rirtr 
I  wotdd  swim  after.  jStyc 

Dio.  Thou  dost  miscall  retire  : 

I  do  not  fly  ;  but  advartageoiis  care 
Withdrew  me  from  the  odds  of  multitude  : 
Have  at  thee ! 

Ther.  Hold  thy  whore,  Grecian  ! — now  f(^r  thy 
whore,  Trojan  ! — now  the  sleeve,  now  the  ."^leeve  ! 

[Exeunt  Troilus  and  DiomeUe.s,  fghting. 

Enter  HscroR. 

Hect.  What  art  thou,  Greek,  art  (hou  for  Hec- 
tor's match  J 
Art  thou  of  blood,  and  honour? 

Ther.  No,  no:  I  am  a  rascal  ;  a  scurvy  railing 
knave ;  a  very  filthy  rogue. 

Hect.  I  do  believ  e  tiiee  ; — live.  [Exit. 

Ther,  God-a-mercy,  that  tliou  wilt  beliexe  me; 
But  a  plague  break  thy  neck,  for  fris^hting  me! 
What's  become  of  the  wenchi  g  rogues  ?  I  think, 
they  have  swallowed  one  anotlier  :  I  would  laugh  ai 
that  nuracle.  Yet,  in  a  sort,  lechery  eats  itself, 
I'll  seek  them.  [Exit. 

Scene  V. — The  same. 

Enter  Diomedes  and  a  Servant, 
Dio.  Go,  go,  my  servant,  take  thou  Troilus'  horse; 

Present  the  f;iir  steed  to  my  lady  Cressid  : 

Fellow,  commend  my  service  to  Iser  beauty; 

Tell  her,  I  have  chastis'd  the  amorous  Trojan 

And  am  her  knight  by  proof. 

Serv,  I  go,  my  lord.  [Exitt 

Enter  Agamemnon. 

Agam.  Renew,  renew  .'    The  tierce  PolydamVi 
Hath  beat  down  Menon :  bastard  Margarelon 
Hath  Doreus  prisoner; 

And  stands  colossus- wise,  waving  his  beaa>, 
Upon  the  pashed  corses  of  the  kings 
lipistrophus  and  Cedius  :  Polixenes  is  slain; 
Anjpiiiinachus,  and  Tlioas.  deadly  hurt; 
Patroclus  ta'en,  or  slain;  and  Pala  nedes 
Sore  hurt  and  l)ruis"d  :  the  dreadf  d  Sagittary 
Appals  our  numbers;  haste  we,  Diomed, 
'I'o  reinlbrcement,  or  we  perish  ail. 

Enter  Nestgu. 

Nes.  Go,  bear  Patroclus'  bo  \\  to  Ac'iilles; 
And  bid  ti»e  snail  pac'd  Ajax  ar  i  for  shame. 
There  is  a  thousand  Hectors  in  die  lield  : 
Now  here  he  hgi.t'^  on  Galaihe  '     uo  se. 
And  tliere  lai;'hS  work;  anon,  he's  there  afoot. 
And  there  they  fly,  or  die.  I  ke  sc;ded  sc  ills 
Before  thr-  beh  hiug  whale;  tiien  is  lie  yonder. 
And  there  the  strawy  Gn^eks,  ri|;e  lor  nis  edge. 
Fall  down  be:ore  him,  like  the  mowt-r's  s  vath  : 
Here,  there,  and  every  where,  he  leaves, and  takef ' 
Drxtenty  so  obeying  appetite, 
That  what  he  vvili,  he  does;  and  does  so  much| 
That  proof  is  call'd  impossibility. 

Enter  Ulysbks. 

Ulyss.  O,   courage,   courage,   princes !  grea 
Achil  es 

Is  arming,  weeping,  cursing,  vowing  vengeance  : 
Patroclus'  woiinds  have  roiis'd  his  drowsy  blood. 
Together  with  his  ma  igied  Myrmidons, 
That  noseless,  handLss,  hack'd  ai*  I  chipp'd,  corn 
to  him. 

Crying  on  Hec  tor.    Ajax  hath  lost  a  friend. 
And  loams  at  month,  and  he  is  arm'd,  and  at  it, 
Boaring  for  'i'roiliis;  who  hath  done  to  day 
Mad  and  fantastic  execution  ; 
litigating  and  redeeming  of  himself. 
With  sucli  a  careless  f  irce,  and  forceless  care. 
As  if  that  luck,  in  very  spite  of  cunning. 
Bade  hiiu  wiu  alh 


TROILUS  AND  ORESSTDA. 


Scene  11. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSTDA. 


587 


Enter  Ajax. 

Ajax.  Troilus!  thou  coward  Troil  us !  [Exil. 
Pio,  Ay,  there,  there. 

Nest.  So,  80,  we  draw  together. 

Enter  Achilles. 

Achil.  Where  is  this  Hector? 

Come,  come,  thou  boj^-quelh^r,  siie\v  thy  face; 
Know  what  it  is  to  meet  Achiiles  angry. 
Hector!  where's  Hector?  1  will  none  but  Hector. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  W.— Another  part  of  the  Field. 
Enter  AjaX. 
Ajax.  Tioiliis,  thou  coward  Troilus,  shew  thy 
head ! 

Enter  DioMEDES. 

Dio,  Troilus,  I  say!  wheres  Troilus? 

Ajax.  Wiiat  would'st  thou? 

Diu.  I  would  correct  him. 

Ajax.  ^Vere  I  the  general,  thou  should'st  have 
iny  (.ifice. 

Ere  that  correction  : — Troilus,  I  say  !  what,  Troilus 
Enter  Troilus. 

Tro.  C   traitor  Dioined ! — turn  thy  false  face, 
thou  traitor, 
And  |);)y  thy  lile  tliou  ow'st  me  for  my  horse  ' 
Dio.  Ha!  Hit  tliuu  there? 

Ajax.  I'll  tinht  with  him  alone  :  stand,  Diomed. 
Dio.  He  is  my  prize,  j  will  not  look  upon. 
Tro.  CoMie  both,  you  cogging  Greeks;  have  at 
you  both.  [Exeunt Jiyhtiny. 

Enter  Hector. 

Hect.  Yea.  Troilus  ?  O  well  fought,  my  youngest 
brollier ! 

Enter  AcHiLLSB. 

Achil  Now  do  I  see  thee  : — Ha  I — Have  at  thee, 

Hect.  Pause,  if  thou  wilt.  [Hector. 

Achil.  J  do  disdain  thy  courtesy,  pro"d  Trojan. 
Be  happy,  that  my  arms  are  out  of  use  : 
My  rest  and  negli^ience  belnend  thee  now, 
But  thou  anon  slialt  hear  of  nie  again: 
Till  when,  go  seek  thy  fortune.  [E.xit. 

Hect  Fare  thee  well  :-— 

I  would  have  been  much  more  a  fresher  m;in. 
Had  1  expected  thee. — How  now,  my  brother? 

Re-enter  Troilus. 
Tro.  Ajax  hath  ta'en  iEneas;  Shall  it  be? 
No,  by  the  Hume  ol' yonder  glorious  heaven, 
He  shall  not  carry  hiin  ;  I'll  be  taken  too. 
Or  bi-ing  him  olf  : — Fate,  hear  me  what  1  say! 
I  reck  not  though  I  end  my  iife  to-day.  [Exit. 

Enter  one  in  sumptuous  armour. 

Hect.  Stand,  stand,  thou  Greek;   thon  art  a 
goodly  mark  : — 
No?  wilt  thou  not?— I  like  thy  armour  well, 
ni  frush  it,  and  unlock  the  rivets  all. 
Bat  Ml  be  innster  of  it :— Wilt  thou  not,  beast, 
abide  ? 

Why  then,  fly  on,  I'll  himt  thee  for  thy  hide. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  VU.-The  same. 
Enter  Achilles,  tvith  Myrmidons. 
Achil.  Come  here  about  me,  vou  my  iMyrmidons: 
Mark  wliat  I  say.— Attend  me  where  I  wheel: 
Ktnke  not  a  stroke,  but  keep  yourselves  in  breath 
And  whon  I  have  the  bloody  Hector  found, 
Empale  him  with  your  weapons  round  about; 
In  feliest  manner  execute  your  arms, 
follow  me,  sirs,  and  my  proceedings  eye  : — 
«  ia  decided— llei  tor  tiie  great  umst  die. 

[Exeunt. 


Scene  VHI.— T/te  same. 
Enter  Menelaus  and  Paris,  Jijhting  :  thm 
Thkrsites. 

Ther.  The  cuckold,  and  tiie  cuckold-maker  ar« 
at  it:  Now,  bull!  now,  dog!  'Loo,  Paris,  'loo! 
now  my  double-henned  sparrow !  'loo,  Paris, 'loo  I 
The  bull  has  the  game  : — 'ware  horns,  ho  i 

[Exeunt  Paris  and  Menelaus 
Enter  Margarelon. 

Mar.  Turn,  slave,  and  figfit 

Ther.  What  art  thou'-' 

Mar.  A  bastard  son  of  Priam's. 

Ther.  I  am  a  bastard  too  ;  I  love  bastards  :  I 
am  u  bastard  begot,  bastard  instructed,  bastard  in 
mind,  bastard  in  valour,  in  every  tiling  illegitimate. 
One  bear  will  not  bite  another,  and  vvherelbre  should 
one  bastard  ?  Take  heed,  the  quarrel's  most  omi- 
nous to  U8  ;  if  the  son  of  a  whore  fight  ibr  a  whore, 
he  tempts  judgment  :  Farewell,  bastard. 

Mar.  Tiie  devil  take  thee,  coward!  [Exeunt 

Scene  IX. —  Another  part  of  the  Field. 
Enter  Hector. 
Hect.  Most  putiilied  core,  so  fair  without. 
Thy  goodly  armour  tkus  hath  cost  thy  lile. 
Now  is  my  day's  work  done  :  I'll  take  good  breath  : 
Rest,  swtird  ;  thou  hast  tiiy  fill  ot  blood  and  death  ! 
(Puts  ojf'his  helmet,  and  hanys  his  shield 
behind  him.) 

Enter  Achilles  and  Myrmidom. 

Achil.  Look,  Hector,  how  the  sun  begins  to  set; 
How  ugly  night  comes  breathing  at  his  heels  : 
Even  with  the  vail  and  dark'ning  of  tlie  sun. 
To  close  the  day  up.  Hector's  life  is  done. 

Hect.  I  am  unarnt'd:  forego  this 'vantage,  Greek. 

Achil.  Strike,  fellows,  strike  ;  this  is  the  man  1 
seek.  {Hector  falls) 

So,  Ilion,  lall  thou  next!  Now,  Troy,  siok  down; 
Here  lies  thy  heart,  thy  sinews,  and  tlij  bone. — 
On,  Myrmidons:  and  cry  you  all  amain, 
Achilles  hath  the  mighty  Hector  slain. 

[A  retreat  sounde'L, 
Hark !  a  retreat  npon  our  Grecian  part. 

Myr.  Th«  Trojan  trumpets  sound  the  like,  iny  lord 

Achil.  The  dragon  wing  of  night  o'erspreads  the 
earth. 

And,  stickler-like,  the  arnaies  separates. 

My  half-supp'd  sword,  that  frankly  would  have  fed, 

Pleas'd  with  this  dainty  bit,  thus  goes  to  bed. — 

(Sheathes  his  sword.) 
Come,  tie  his  body  to  my  horse's  tail ; 
Along  the  field  I  will  the  Trojan  trail.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  X. — The  same. 

Enter  Agamemnon,  Ajax,  Menelaus,  Nestor, 
DioMEDES,  and  others  marching.  Shouts  ivithin. 

Again.  Hark  !  hark  !  what  shout  is  that? 

Nest.  Peace,  drums. 

(Within..  Achilles ! 

Achilles!  Hector's  slain!  Achilles! 

Dio.  The  bruit  is — Hector's  slain,  and  by  Achillea. 

Ajax.  If  it  be  so,  yet  bragless  let  it  be ! 
Great  Hector  was  as  good  a  man  as  he. 

Again.  March  patiently  along  : — Let  one  beaeni 
To  pray  Achilles  see  us  at  our  tent, — 
If  in  his  death  the  gods  have  us  befriended. 
Great  Troy  is  ours,  and  our  sharp  wars  are  ecded 
[Exeunt  marching 

Scene         Another  part  of  the  FiehL 
Enter  jEneas  and  Trojans 
JEne.  Stand,  ho  !  yet  are  we  masters  of  the  field 
Never  go  home ;  here  starve  we  out  the  uight 

Enter  Troilus. 
Tro.  Hector  is  slain. 

All.  Hector  ?— The  gods  forUdl 


538 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSID/ 


Act  V 


Tro.  He's  do  ad;  and  at  the  murderer's  horse's 
tail, 

In  beastly  sort,  dragg'd  through  the  shameful  field. — 
Frown  on,  you  heavens,  eliect  your  rage  with  speed  ! 
Sit,  gods,  upon  your  thrones,  and  smile  at  Troy  I 
I  say,  at  once  let  your  brief  plagues  be  mercy. 
And  linger  not  our  sure  destruction  on! 

My  lord,  you  do  discomfort  all  the  host. 
Tro.  You  understand  me  not,  that  tell  me  so : 
do  not  speak,  of  fliight,  of  fear,  of  death  ; 
But  dare  all  imminence,  that  gods  and  men 
Address  their  dangers  in.    Hector  is  gone  ! 
\Vh8  shall  tell  Priam  so,  or  Hecuba? 
(jet  him,  that  will  a  screech-owl  aye  be  call'd, 
Go  into  Troy,  and  say  there— Hector's  dead  : 
There  is  a  word  will  Priam  turn  to  stone  ; 
Make  vTclls  and  Niobes  of  the  maids  and  wives. 
Cold  statues  of  the  youth ;  and,  in  a  word. 
Scare  Troy  out  of  itself.    But,  march,  away: 
Hector  is  'dead ;  there  is  no  more  to  say. 
Stay  yet; — You  vile  abominable  tents. 
Thus  proudly  pight  upon  our  Phrygian  plains, 
Let  Titan  rise  as  early  as  he  dare, 
I'll  through  and  through  you  I— And  thou,  great- 

siz'd  coward ! 
No  space  of  earth  sliall  sunder  our  two  hates ; 
I'll  haunt  thee  like  a  wicked  conscience  still, 
That  mouldeth  goblins  swift  as  frenzy  thoughts.— 
Strike  a  free  march  to  Troy  !— with  comfort  go : 
Hope  of  revenge  shall  hide  our  inward  woe. 

[Exeunt  j^ieas  and  Trqgans. 


As  Troilus  i*  ^*tng  out,  enters,  from  ths  other  side, 
Pandarus. 

Pan.  But  hear  you,  hear  you ! 
Tro,  Hence,  broker  lackey  !  ignomy  and  shame 
Pursue  thy  life,  and  live  aye  with  thy  name. 

[Exit  Troilus, 

Pan.  A  goodly  nied'cine  for  my  aching  bones  !— • 
O  world!  world!  world  I  thus  is  the  poor  agcn 
despis'd !  O  traitors  and  bawds,  hjw  earnestly  ar« 
you  set  a  work,  and  how  ill  requited  I  Why  should 
our  endeavour  be  so  loved,  and  tiie  perfornmnce  so 
loathed?  what  verse  for  it?  what  instance  for  it?— 
Let  me  see  : — 

Full  merrily  the  humble-bee  doth  sin^, 
Till  he  hath  lost  his  honey,  and  his  stuig: 
And  being  once  subdued  in  armed  tail, 
Sweet  honey  and  sweet  notes  together  fail.— 
Good  traders  in  the  flesh,  set  tliis  in  your  painted 
cloths. 

As  many  as  be  here  of  pander's  hall, 
Your  eyes,  half  out,  weep  out  at  Pandars  fall  ; 
Or,  if  you  cannot  weep,  ytt  give  some  groans. 
Though  not  for  me,  yet  for  your  aching  bones. 
Brethren,  and  sisters,  of  the  hold-door  trade, 
Some  two  nionths  hence  my  will  shall  here  be  made 
It  should  be  now,  but  that  my  fear  is  this, — 
Some  galled  goose  of  Winchester  would  hiss: 
Till  then  I'll  sweat,  and  .seek  about  for  eases  ; 
And,  at  th-tt  time,  bequeath  you  ray  diseases. 

[Eait 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


The  plajr  of  Timon  is  a  domestic  tragedy,  and  therefore  strongly  fastens  on  the  attention  of  the  reader.  In  tht 
plan  there  is  not  much  art,  but  the  iniidents  are  natural,  and  tlie  cliaracters  various  and  exact.  The  catastrophi 
Bifords  a  very  powerful  warning  a^rainst  that  ostentatious  liberality,  which  si;atiers  bounty,  but  confers  no  beiif.hl*. 
buys  flattery,  but  not  friendsliip. 
In  this  tragedy,  arc  many  nassages  perplexed,  and  probably  corrupt,  which  I  have  endeavoured  to  rectify,  oi 
explain  with  due  diligence;  but  having  only  one  copy,  canmit  promise  myself  that  my  endravours  shall  be  niuci 
jppiauded.  Johnson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED, 


TIMOI^,  a  noble  Athenian 

LUCUWIUS,  i  Lords,  and  Flatterers  of  Timon. 
SEMFKONIUS,  )  ^ 

VENTIDIUS,  one  of  Timon' s  false  Friends. 
APEMANTUS,  a  churlish  Philosopher. 
ALCIBIADES,  an  Athenian  General. 
FLAVIUS.  Steward  to  Timon. 
FLAMINILS,  , 

LUCILIUS,       >  Timon's  Servants. 
SERVILIUS, 
CAFHIS. 
rHlLOTUS, 
TITUS, 
LUCIUS. 
HOKTENSIUS. 


) 


Servants  to  Timon's  Creditors. 


Ttvo  Si-rvinitx  of  Vnrro. 

TUe  Sirva/it  of  IsUiore. 

Two  (if'  'I'miou's  Cttdilors. 

Cupid  ami  Maski'rs. 

Thret  Strangers. 

Poet. 

Painter. 

Jeweller. 

Merchafit. 

An  old  Athenian 

A  Page.— a  Fool. 


TIAlSdra    }  Mistresses  to  Alcibiades. 

rs.  Soldiers.  Thievea 


Other  Lords,  Senators, 
Attetulant.^. 


ScENEf — Athens;  and  the  Woods  adjoining. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  \.— Athens.    A  Hall  in  Timon  s  House. 
Enter  Poet.,  Painter,  Jeweller,  Merchant,  and 
others,  at  several  doors. 
Poet.  Good  day,  sir. 

Pain.  I  am  glad  you  are  well. 

Poet.  I  have  not  seen  you  long;  How  goes  the 
world  ? 

Paitu  It  wears,  sir,  as  it  grows. 

Poet.  Ay,  that's  well  known : 

But  what  particular  rarity  ?  what  strange, 
Which  manifold  record  not  matches?  See, 
Magic  of  bounty !  all  these  spirits  thv  power 
Hath  conjur'd  to  attend.    I  know  the  merchant 

Pain.  I  know  them  both ;  t'other's  a  jeweller. 

Mer.  O,  'tis  a  worthy  lord ! 

Jew.  Nay,  that's  most  fix'd. 

Mer.  A  most  incomparable  man ;  breath'd,  as  it 
were, 

To  an  untirable  and  continuate  goodness : 
He  passes. 

Jew,  I  have  a  jewel  here.  [sir? 
Mer.  O.  pray,  let's  see't:  For  the  lord  Timon, 
Jew.  If  l»e  will  touch  the  estimate  :  But,  for  that — 
Poet.  When  we  for  recompense  have  prais'd 
the  vile, 

If  stains  the  glory  in  that  happy  verse 
Which  aptly  sings  the  good. 

Mer.  'Tis  a  ^ood  form. 

{Looking  at  the  jewel.) 

Jew.  And  rich ;  here  is  a  water,  look  you. 

Pain.  You  are  rapt,  sir,  in  some  work,  some 
dedication 
To  the  great  lord. 

Poet,  A  thing  slipp'd  idly  from  me. 

Our  poesy  is  as  a  gum,  which  oozi^s 
From  whence  'tis  nourished :  The  fire  i'the  flint 
Shews  not,  till  it  be  struck  ;  our  gentle  Hame 
Provokes  itself,  and,  like  the  current,  flies 
Each  bound  it  chafes.    What  have  you  there? 

Pain.  A  picture,  sir- — And  when  comes  your 
booK  forth  ? 

Poet.  Upon  the  heels  of  my  presentment,  sir. 
Let's  see  your  piece. 

Pain.  'Tis  a  good  piece. 

Poet.  So  'tis :  this  comes  ofl'  well  and  excel- 
lent. 

Pain.  Indifferent 

Poet.  Admirable :  How  this  grace 


Speaks  his  own  standing  I  m  hat  a  mental  powej 
Tills  eye  shoots  lorth  1  lu.w  big  itnagination 
IVloves  in  this  lip  !  to  the  dumbness  ul  the  gestui 
Oj)e  might  interpret. 

Pain.  It  is  a  pretty  mocking  of  the  life. 
Here  is  a  touch  :  Is't  good  ? 

Poet  rii  say  of  it. 

It  tutors  nature  :  artificial  strife 
Lives  in  these  touches,  livelier  than  lile. 

Enter  certain  Senators,  and  pass  over. 

Pain.  How  this  lord's  follow'd  I 

Poet  The  senators  of  Athens  ; — Happy  men ! 

Pain.  Look,  more  !  [\  isiior 

Poet.  You  see  this  confluence,  this  great  Hood  » 
I  have,  in  this  rough  work,  shap'd  out  a  man. 
Whom  this  beneath  world  doth  en>brace  and  hug 
With  amplest  entertainment:  My  free  drill 
Halts  not  particularly,  but  moves  itself 
In  a  wide  sea  of  wax :  no  levell'd  malice 
Infects  one  comma  in  the  course  I  hold  ; 
But  flies  an  eagle  flight,  bold,  and  forth  on. 
Leaving  no  track  behind. 

Pain.  How  shall  I  understand  you? 

Poet.  1 11  unbolt  to  yotb 

You  see  how  all  conditions,  how  all  minds 
(As  well  of  glib  and  slippery  creatures,  as 
Of  grave  and  austere  quality)  tender  down 
Their  services  to  lord  Timon  :  his  large  fortune. 
Upon  his  good  and  gracious  nature  hanging, 
Subdues  and  properties  to  his  love  and  tendance 
All  sorts  of  hearts ;  yea,  from  the  glass-fac'd  flatterer 
To  Apemantus,  that  few  things  loves  better 
Than  to  abhor  him.self :  even  he  drops  down 
The  knee  before  him,  and  returns  in  peace 
Most  rich  in  Timon's  nod. 

Pain.  1  saw  them  speak  together. 

Poet.  Sir,  I  have  upon  a  high  and  |)leasant  hill 
Feign'd  Fortune  to  be  thron'd :  The  base  o'  the  niou» 
Is  rank'd  with  all  deserts,  all  kind  of  natures. 
That  labour  on  the  bosom  of  this  sphere 
To  propagate  their  states:  amongst  them  all. 
Whose  eyes  are  on  this  sovereign  lady  fix'd. 
One  do  I  personate  of  lord  Timon's  franie, 
Whom  Fortune  with  her  ivory  hand  wafts  to  her 
Whose  present  grace  to  present  slaves  and  servants 
Translates  his  rivals. 

Pain.  'Tis  conceiv'd  to  scope, 

This  throne,  this  Fortune,  and  this  hill,  meC 
With  one  man  beckou'd  from  the  rest  below 


TTMON  OF 

Bowinp  liis  head  asjainst  the  steepy  motmt 

To  climb  his  li;ippiness,  would  be  well  express'd 

In  our  condition. 

Poet.  Nay,  sir,  but  hear  me  on  : 

All  tiiose,  which  were  his  fellows  but  of  late, 
[Some  better  than  his  value),  on  the  moment 
Follow  his  strides,  his  lobbies  fill  with  tendance, 
Rain  sacrificial  whisperings  in  his  ear, 
Make  sacred  even  his  stirrup,  and  through  him 
Drink  the  free  air. 

Pain.  Ay,  marry,  what  of  these  ? 

Poei.  When  Fortune,  in  her  shift  and  change  of 
mood, 

Spurns  down  her  late  belov'd,  all  his  dependants. 
Which  labour'd  after  him  to  the  mountain's  top, 
E^  enon  their  knees  and  hands,  let  him  slip  down, 
Not  one  accompanying  his  declining  foot. 

Pain.  'T'ls  common  : 
A  thousand  moral  paintings  I  can  shew, 
Thf»t  shall  deiiionstiate  tiiese  quick  blows  of  fortune 
More  pregnantly  than  words.    Yet  you  do  well. 
To  shew  lord  I'iinon,  that  mean  eyes  have  seen 
Tiie  foot  above  the  head. 

Trumpet  sounds.    Enter  Tmoji,  attended;  the 

Servant  of  Ventidius  talking  ivith  him. 
TifH,  In)pris(m'd  is  he,  say  you  ? 

Ven.  Serv.  Ay,  my  good  lord  :  five  talents  is  his 
debt ; 

His  means  most  short,  his  creditors  most  strait : 
Your  honourable  letter  he  desires 
To  those  have  shut  him  up  ;  which  failing  to  him. 
Periods  his  comfort. 

Tim.  Noble  Ventidius !  Well ; 

I  am  not  of  that  feather,  to  shake  otf 
My  friend  when  he  most  need  me.   I  do  know  him 
A  gentleman,  that  well  deserves  a  help, 
Which  he  sliail  have:  I'll  pay  the  debt,  and  free  him. 

Ven.  Serv.  Your  lordship  ever  binds  liim. 

Tim.  Commend    me  to  him :  I  will  send  his 
ransom  ; 

And,  being  enfranchis'd,  bid  him  come  to  me  : — 

"l  is  not  (Miongh  to  help  the  feeble  up. 

But  to  sii(i|»ort  him  alter. — Fare  you  well. 

i     Ven.  Serv.  Ail  happiness  to  your  honour  !  [Exit. 

Enter  an  old  Athenian, 
Old  Ath.  Lord  Timon,  hear  me  speak. 
Tim.  Freely,  good  father. 

Old  Ath.  Tliou  hast  a  servant  nam  d  Lucilius. 
l\in.  I  have  so:  What  of  him?  [thee. 
Old  Ath.  Most  noble  Timon,  call  the  man  before 
Titn.  Attends  lie  here,  or  no  ? — Lucilius  ! 

Enter  Lucilius. 
Luc.  Here,  at  your  lordship's  service. 
Old  Ath.    Tnis  fellow  here,  lord  Timon,  this  thy 

creature, 

ii\  niglit  frequents  my  house.    I  am  a  man 
Tiic.t  from  uiy  first  ha\e  been  inclin'd  to  thrift; 
And  my  estate  deserves  an  heir  more  rais'd, 
I'hari  one  which  holds  a  trencher. 

Tim.  Well;  what  further? 

Old  Ath.  One  only  daughter  have  I,  no  kin  else, 
On  whom  I  tn;iy  confer  what  i  have  got: 
The  maid  is  fair,  o'the  youngest  for  a  bride, 
Ami  I  have  bred  her  at  m^  dearest  cost. 
In  qualities  of  the  best    'I  his  man  of  thine 
Attempts  her  love;  1  pr'y thee,  noble  lord, 
Join  with  me  to  forbid  him  her  resort; 
Myself  have  jpoke  in  vain. 

Tim.  The  man  is  honest 

Old  Ath.  Therefore  he  will  be,  Timon  : 
His  honesty  rewards  him  in  itself, 
(t  must  not  bear  my  daughter. 

Tun.  Does  she  love  him  ? 

Old  Ath  She  is  young,  and  apt : 
Our  own  (jrecederjt  passions  do  instruct  us 
What  levity's  in  votith. 

2Vm.  {To  Luciliwi.)  Love  you  the  maidi? 


ATHENS. 

L?/n.  Ay,  my  good  lord,  and  she  accepts  of  it. 

Old  Ath.  If  in  her  marriage  my  consent  be  missinjf, 
I  call  the  gods  to  witness,  I  will  choose 
Mine  heir  from  forth  the  beggars  of  the  world, 
And  dispossess  her  all. 

Titn.  How  shall  she  he  endow'd, 

If  she  be  mated  with  an  equal  husband  ?  [all 

Old  Ath.  Three  talents,  on  the  present;  in  future, 

Tim.  This  gentleman  of  mine  hatli  serv'd  me  long  ; 
To  build  his  fortune,  I  will  strain  a  little, 
For^tis  a  bond  in  men.  ^  Give  him  thy  daughter. 
What  you  bestow,  in  him  I'll  counterpoise, 
And  make  him  weigh  with  her. 

Old  Ath,  Most  noble  lord. 

Pawn  me  to  this  your  honour,  she  is  his. 

Tim.  My  hand  to  thee  ;mine  honour  on  my  promise. 

Luc.  Humbly  I  thank  your  lordship  :  Never  may 
That  state  or  fortime  fall  into  my  keepin^^. 
Which  is  not  ow'd  to  you  ! 

[Exeunt  Lucilius  and  old  Athenian, 

Poet.  Vouchsafe  my  labour,  and  long  live  your 
lordship ! 

Tim.  I  thank  you;  you  shall  hear  from  me  anon* 
Go  not  away. — What  have  you  there,  my  friend  ?  * 

Pain.  A  piece  of  painting,  which  I  do  beseech 
Your  lordship  to  accept. 

Tim.  Painting  is'welcome. 

The  painting  is  almost  the  natural  man  ; 
For  since  dishonour  traffics  with  man's  nature. 
He  is  but  outside  :  These  pencil'd  figures  are 
Even  such  as  they  give  out.    I  like  your  workj 
And  you  shall  find,  I  like  it:  wait  attendance 
Till  you  hear  further  from  me. 

Pain.  The  gods  preserve  you  ! 

Tim.  Well  fare  you,  gentlemen :  Give  me  your 
hand  ; 

We  must  needs  dine  together — Sir,  your  jewel 
Hath  suffer'd  under  piraiie. 

Jew.  What,  my  lord  ?  dispraise  ? 

Tim.  A  mere  satiety  of  commendations. 
If  I  should  pay  you  for't  as  'tis  extoil'd, 
It  would  uncle w  me  quite. 

Jew.  My  lord,  'tis  rated 

As  those,  which  sell,  would  give:  But  you  well 
know, 

Things  of  like  valu3,  dilTering  in  the  owners, 
Are  prized  by  their  masters  :  believ't,  dear  lord, 
You  mend  the  jewel  by  wearing  it. 

Tim.  Well  mock'cl. 

Mer.  No,  my  good  lord ;  he  speaks  the  commoD 
tongue. 

Which  all  men  speak  with  him, 
Tim.  Look,  who  comes  here.  Will  you  be  chid? 

Enter  Apema  ntus. 
Jew.  We  will  bear  with  your  lordship. 
Mer.  He'll  spare  none. 

Tim.  Good  morrow  to  thee,  gentle  Apemantus  ! 
Apem.T'iW  I  be  gentle,  stay  for  thy  good  morrow; 
When  thou  art  Timon's  dog,  and  these  knaves  honest 
Tim.  Why  dost  thou  call  them  knaves?  tho« 

know'st  them  not. 
Apem.  Are  they  not  Athenians ? 
Tim.  Yes. 

Apem.  Then  I  repent  not. 
Jew.  You  know  me,  Apen>antns. 
Apem.  Thou  knovvest,  I  do;  I  call  thee  byth| 
name. 

Tim.  Thou  art  proud,  Apemantus. 
Apem.  Of  nothing  so  much,  as  that  .  am  acl  5ke 
Timon. 

Tim.  Whither  art  going  ? 

Apem.  To  knock  out  an  honest  Athenian's  brains. 
Tim.  That's  a  deed  thou'it  die  for 
Apem.  kight,  if  doing  nothing  be  death  by  the  lavr 
Tim.  How  iikest  thou  this  p  cture,  Apemantus? 
Ajtem.  The  best,  for  the  innocence. 
Ttm.  Wrought  he  not  well,  that  painted  it? 
Apem,  Me  wrought  better,  tiiat  made  the  paintei 
and  yet  he's  but  a  filthy  piece  of  work. 


Scene  2. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


541 


Pain.  You  are  a  dog.  ^ 
Ape.m.  Tliy  mother's  of  my  generation  ;  What  s 
he,  it  I  be  a  \\o% ! 
Tim.  Wilt  (lioe  v\'th  me,  Apemantiis? 
Apem.  No;  I  eat  not  lords. 
Tim.  An  thou  shonld'st,  thoa'dst  anger  ladif*. 
Apetn.  O,  they  eat  lords  ;  so  they  come  by  great 
beilies. 

Tim.  Thnl's  a  lascivious  apprehension. 
Apem.  iSu  thou  apprehend'st  it :  Take  it  for  thv 
(ihour. 

Tim.  How  dost  thou  like  this  jewel,  Apemantus? 
Apem.  Not  so  well  as  plain-dealiiig,  which  will 
not  cost  a  man  a  doit. 

Tim.  What  dost  thon  think  'tis  worth? 

Apem.  Nut  worth  my  thinking.— How  now,  poet  ? 

Poet.  How  now,  philosopher? 

Apem.  Thou  liest. 

Poet.  A  rt  not  one  ? 

Apem.  Yes. 

Poet.  Then  I  lie  not. 

Apem.  Art  not  a  poet? 

Poet.  Yes. 

Apem.  Then  thou  liest :  look  in  thy  last  work, 
where  thou  hast  feign'd  him  a  worthy  fellow. 

Poet.  7^hat's  not  feign'd,  he  is  so. 

Apem.  Yes,  he  is  worthy  of  thee,  and  to  pay  thee 
for  thy  labour:  He,  that  loves  to  be  flattered,  is 
worthy  u'the  flatterer.  Heavens,  that  I  were  a  lord  ! 

Tim.  What  would'st  do  then,  Apemantus? 

Apem.  Even  as  Apemantus  does  now,  hate  a  lord 
with  my  heart. 

Tim.  What,  thyself? 

Apem.  Ay. 

Tim.  Wherefore? 

Apem.  That  I  had  no  angry  wit  to  be  a  lord. — 
Art  not  then  a  merchant ! 
Mer.  Ay,  Apemantus. 

Apem.  Tratiic  confound  thee,  if  the  gods  will  not ! 
^fer.  If  tratiio  do  it,  tlie  gods  do  it. 
Apem.  Traffic's  thy  god,  and  thy  god  confound 
thee  ! 

Trumpets  sound.    Enter  a  Servant. 

Tim.  What  trumpet's  that  ? 

Serv.  'Tis  Alcibiades,  and 

Some  twenty  horse,  all  of  companionship. 

Tim.  Fray  entertain  them  ;  give  them  guide  to  us. 

[Exeunt  some  Attendants. 
You  must  needs  dine  with  me: — (Jo  not  you  hence, 
'I'il!  1  have  thank'd  you;  and,  when  f'.inner's  done, 
Sliew  me  this  piece. — I  am  joyful  o^  your  sights. 

Enter  Alcibiades,  with  his  company. 

Most  welcome,  sir!  {They  salute.) 

Apem,  So,  so  ;  there  ! — 

Aclies  contract  and  starve  your  supple  joints  ! — 
That  there  should  be  small  love  'mongst  these  sweet 
kna' cs. 

And  all  this  court'sy  !  The  strain  of  man's  bred  out 
Into  baboon  and  monkey. 

Ale.  Sir,  you  have  sav'd  ray  longing,  and  I  feed 
Most  htingriiy  on  your  sight. 

Tim.  Right  welcorae,  sir : 

Ere  we  depart,  we'll  share  a  bounteous  time 
Id  dift'ereut  pleasures.    Pray  you.  let  us  in. 

[Exeunt  all  hut  Apemantus. 

Enter  two  Lords, 

1  Lord.  What  time  of  day  is't,  Apemantus? 
Apem.  Tune  to  be  honest. 

1  Lord.  That  time  serves  still. 

Apem.  f  he  most  accursed  thou,  that  still  omit'st  it. 

2  Lord.  Thou  art  going  to  lord  Timon's  feast. 
Apem.  Ay  ;  to  see  meat  fill  knaves,  and  wine  heat 

foftis. 

2  Lord,  Fare  thee  well  fare  thee  well. 

Apem,  Thou  art  a  Ibol,  to  bid  me  farewell  twice. 

2  Lord.  Why,  Apemai^us 


Apem.  Should"st  have  kept  one  to  thyself,  >or  1 

mean  to  give  thee  none. 

1  Lord.  Haiig  thyself. 

Apem.  No.  {  will  do  nothing  at  thy  idding  :  inake 
tliy  requests  to  thy  friend. 

2  Lord.  Away,  unpeaceable  dog,  or  I'll  spurn 

thee  hence. 

Apem.  I  will  Hy,  like  a  dog,  the  heels  of  the  ass. 

[Exit. 

1  Lord,  fle's  opposite  to  humanity.    Come,  shalf 

we  in, 

And  taste  lord  Timon's  bounty?  he  outgoes 
The  very  heart  ot  ki redness. 

2  Lord.  He  pours  it  out;  Plutus,  the  god  of  gord, 
Ts  but  liis  steward  :  no  meed,  but  he  repays 
Sevenfold  above  itself;  no  gift  to  him, 

But  breeds  the  giver  a  return  exceeding 
All  use  of  quittance. 

1  Lord.  The  noLlest  mind  he  carries. 
That  ever  govern'd  nian. 

2  Lord.  Long  may  he  live  in  fortunes  I  Shall  we 

in? 

1  Lord.  1 11  keep  you  company.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  H. — The  same.    A  Room  of  State  in 
Timons  House. 
Hautboys  playing  loud  music.    A  great  banquet 
served  in  ;  Flavius  and  others  attendiyig  ;  then 
enter  TiMON,  Alcibiadks,  Lucius,  Lucullus, 
Sempronius,  and  other  Athenian  Senators,  luith 
Ventjdius  and  Attendants.    Then  comes,  dro2>- 
ping  after  all,  Apemantus,  discontentedly. 
Ven.  Most  honour'd  Tinmn,  't  liath  pleas'd  tl>« 
gods  remendjer 
My  father's  age,  and  call  him  to  long  peace. 
He  is  gone  happy,  and  has  lelt  n>e  rich  : 
Then,  as  in  grateful  virtue  I  am  hound 
To  your  free  heart,  I  do  return  those  talents, 
Doubled,  with  thanks,  and  service,  from  whose  beJp 
I  deriv'd  liberty. 

Ti?n.  O,  by  no  means,  > 

Honest  Ventidius  :  you  mistake  my  love; 
I  gave  it  iVeely  ever;  and  there's  none 
Can  truly  say,  he  gives,  if  he  receives  : 
If  our  betters  play  at  that  game,  we  must  not  dare 
To  imitate  them  ;  Faults,  that  aie  rich,  are  fair. 
Ven.  A  noble  spirit. 

[They  all  stand  ceremoniously  looking 
-«  on  Tim  on.) 

Tim.  Nay,  my  Irtrds,  ceremon.v 

Was  but  devis'd  at  first,  to  set  a  gloss 
On  faint  deeds,  hollow  welcomes. 
Recanting  goodness,  sorry  ere  'tis  shewn; 
But  where  there  is  true  friendship,  there  needs  none. 
Pray,  sit ;  more  welcome  are  ye  to  my  fortunes, 
'J'han  my  fortunes  to  me.  {They  ^i£') 

1  Lord.  My  lord,  we  always  have  coniess'u  it. 
Apem.  Ho.  ho,  confess'd  it!  hung'd  it,  have  yoo 
not  r 

Tim.  O,  Apemantus  ? — you  are  welcome. 

Apem.  No, 
You  shall  not  make  me  welcome : 
I  come  to  have  thee  thrust  me  out  of  doors. 

Tim.  Fy,  thou  art  a  churl ;  you  have  got  a  humom 
there 

Does  not  become  a  man ;  'tis  much  to  blame 

They  say,  my  lords,  that  ira  furor  brevis  est, 

But  yond'  man's  ever  angry. 

Go,  let  him  have  a  table  by  himself; 

For  he  does  neither  affect  company, 

Nor  is  he  fit  for  it,  indeed. 

Apem.  Let  me  stay  at  thine  own  peril,  Tiraooi 
I  come  to  observe  :  I  give  thee  warniiig  on't. 

Tim.  I  take  no  need  of  thee;  thou  art  an  Ath 
nian  ;  theref  ore  welcome  :  I  myself  would 
power:  pr'ytliee,  let  my  meat  make  thee  sil-nt. 
j     Apem.  I  scorn  thy  meat;  'twould  choke  me,  fo 
I  should 

Ne'er  flatter  tliee.— O  you  go:ls '  -s  !iat  a  niinilM-r 
1  Of  men  eat  Timon  and  he  sees  tlie  n  .lot ! 


542  TlIvION  OF 

neves  me,  lo  see  so  many  dip  their  meat 
n  one  man's  blood  ;  and  all  the  madness  is. 
He  cheers  them  up  too. 

f  wonder,  men  dare  trust  themselves  with  men  : 
Methinks,  they  should  invite  them  without  knives ; 
Good  for  their  meat,  and  safer  for  their  lives. 
There's  much  example  for't;  the  fellow,  that 
Sits  next  him  now,  parts  hread  with  him,  and  pledges 
The  breath  of  him  in  a  divided  draught. 
Is  the  readiest  man  to  kill  him  :  it  has  been  prov'd. 
If  I 

Were  a  huge  man,  I  should  fear  to  drink  at  meals  ; 
Lest  they  should  spy  my  windpipe's  dangerous 
notes : 

Great  men  should  drink  with  harness  on  their 
throats. 

Tim.  My  lord,  in  heart;  and  let  the  health  go 
round. 

2  Lord.  Let  it  flow  this  way,  my  good  lord. 

Apem.  Flow  this  way ! 

A  brave  fellow! — he  keeps  his  tides  well.  Timon, 
Those  healths  will  make  thee,  and  thy  state,  look  ill. 
Here's  that,  which  is  too  weak  to  be  a  sinner, 
Honest  water,  which  ae'er  left  man  i'the  mire  : 
This,  and  my  food, are  equals;  there's  no  odds, 
Feasts  are  too  proud  to  give  thanks  to  the  gods. 

Apemantus's  Grace. 

Immortal  gods,  I  crave  no  pelf; 
I  pray  for  no  man,  but  myselj': 
Grant  I  may  never  prove  so  fond ^ 
To  trust  man  on  his  oath  or  bond; 
Or  a  harlot,  for  her  tveeping  ; 
Or  a  dog,  that  seems  a  sleeping  ; 
Or  a  keeper  with  my  freedom  ; 
Or  my  friends,  if  I  should  need  'em. 
A  men.    So  fall  to't ; 
Rich  men  sin^  and  I  eat  root. 

{Eats  and  drinks,) 

Mnch  good  dich  thv  good  heart,  Apemantus  ! 

Tim,  Captain  Alcibiades,  your  heart's  in  the  field 
now. 

Alcib.  My  heart  is  ever  at  your  service,  my  lord. 

Tim.  You  had  rather  be  at  a  breakfast  of  enemies, 
than  a  dinner  of  friends. 

Alcib.  So  they  were  bleeding-new,  my  lord, 
there's  no  meat  like  them ;  I  could  wish  my  best 
friend  at  such  a  feast.  * 

■Apem.  'Would  all  those  flatterers  were  thine 
enemies  then  ;  that  then  thou  might'st  kill  'em,  and 
bid  me  to  'enu 

1  Lord.  Might  we  but  have  that  happiness,  my 
lord,  that  you  would  once  use  our  lieatts,  where  by 
we  might  express  some  part  of  our  zeals,  we  should 
think  ourselves  for  ever  perfect. 

Tim.  O,  no  doubt,  my  good  friends,  but  llie  gods 
themselves  have  provided  that  I  sliall  have  much 
help  from  you :  How  had  you  been  niy  friends  else  ? 
why  have  you  that  charitable  title  frnm  thousands, 
did  you  not  chiefly  belong  to  my  heart  f  f  have  told 
more  of  yon  to  myself,  than  you  can  wifh  modesty 
speak  in  you.  own  behalf;  and  thus  far  1  confirm 
you.  O,  you  t;ods,  think  I,  what  need  we  have 
any  friends,  if  we  sliould  never  have  need  of  them  ? 
they  were  ti.e  tnost  needless  cieatures  living,  should 
we  ne'er  have  use  for  them  ;  and  would  most  resem- 
ble sweet  instruments  hung  up  in  cases,  that  keep 
their  sounds  to  themselves.  Why,  I  have  often 
wished  niyself  poorer,  tliat  I  might  come  nearer  to 
you.  We  are  born  to  do  benefits  :  and  what  better 
pr  projjerer  can  we  call  our  own,  than  the  riches 
if  our  f  riends  ?  O,  what  a  precious  comfort  'tis,  to 
ha\e  so  niaiiy,  like  brothers,  commanding  one 
another's  fortunes!  O  joy,  e'en  made  away  ere  it  can 
be  born  !  Mine  eyes  cannot  hold  out  water,  me- 
tliinks:  to  forget  their  faults,  I  drink  to  you. 

Apem.  Thou  weep'st  to  make  them  drink,  Timon. 

2  Lord.  Joy  had  tlie  like  conreption  in  our  eyes, 
Ai^d.  ut  the  instant,  like  a  babe  sp«-'nig  up. 


ATHENS. 

Apem.  Ho,  ho!   I  laugh  to  think  that  bn 
bastard. 

3  Lord.  I  promise  you,  my  lord,  you  niov  J  m« 
nmch. 

Jjpem.  Much!  [Tucket  sounded) 

lim.  What  means  that  trump? — How  now  / 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Ser.  Please  you,  my  lord,  there  are  certain  Indieg 
most  desirous  of  aduuttance. 

Tim.  Ladies?  What  are  their  wills? 

Serv.  There  comes  with  them  a  f'orenmner,  ray 
lord,  which  bears  that  office,  to  signify  their  plea- 
sures. 

Tim.  I  pray,  let  them  be  admitted. 

Eftter  Cupid. 

Cup.  Hail  to  thee,  worthy  Timon ; — and  to  all 
That  of  his  bounties  taste  ! — The  five  best  senses 
Acknowledge  thee  their  patron ;  and  come  freely 
To  gratulate  thy  plenteous  bosom:  The  ear. 
Taste,  touch,  smell,  all  pleas'd  from  tliy  table  rise  ; 
They  only  now  come  but  to  feast  thine  eyes. 

Tim.  They  are  welcome  all;  let  them  have  kind 
admittance: 

Music,  make  their  welcome.  [Exit  Cupid. 

1  Lord.  You  see,  my  lord,  how  ample  you  are 
belov'd. 

Music.  Re-enter  CupiD,  tvith  a  masque  of  Ladies 
as  Amazons,  tvith  lutes  in  their  hands,  dancing 
and  playing. 

Apem.  Hey-day,  what  a  sweep  of  vanity  comei 
this  way  I 
They  dance !  they  are  mad  women. 
Like  madness  is  the  glory  of  this  life. 
As  this  pomp  shews  to  a  little  oil,  and  root. 
We  make  ourselves  fools,  to  disport  ourselves, 
And  spend  our  flatteries,  to  drink  those  men, 
Upon  whose  age  we  void  it  up  again,  not 
With  poisonous  spite  and  envy.    Who  lives,  that's 
Depraved,  or  depraves    who  dies,  tliat  bears 
Not  one  spurn  to  their  giaves  of  their  friends'  gift  ? 
1  should  fear,  those,  tliat  dance  before  me  now. 
Would  one  day  stamp  upon  me  :  It  has  been  done ; 
Men  shut  their  doors  against  a  setting  aun. 

The  Lords  rise  from  fable,  with  much  adoring  of 
Timon;  and,  to  shew  their  loves,  each  sintjles  out 
an  Amazon,  and  all  dance,  men  with  ivomen,  a 
lofty  strain  or  tivo  to  the  hautboys,  and  cease. 
Tim.  You  have  done  our  pleasures  much  grace, 
fair  ladies, 

Set  a  fair  fashion  on  our  entertainment, 

Which  was  not  half  so  beautiful  and  kind; 

You  have  added  worth  unto't,  and  lively  lustre, 

And  entertain'd  me  with  niine  own  device; 

1  am  to  thank  you  for  it. 

1  Lady.       lord,  you  take  us  even  at  the  best. 
Apem.  'Faith,  f  r  the  v^orst  is  filthy;  and  would 

not  hold  taking,  I  doubt  me. 

TiiH.  Ladies,  there  is  an  id!e  banquet 

Attf^nds  you  :  Please  you  to  dispose  yourselves. 
All  Lad.  Most  thankfully,  my  lord. 

[Exetc7it  Cupid  and  Ladies. 

Tim.  Flavins, — 
Flav.  My  lord. 

TiiH.  The  little  casket  bring  me  hithei^ 

Flav.  Yes,  my  lord. — More  jewels  yet! 

There  is  no  crossing  him  in  his  htmiour ;  (Aside.) 

Else  I  should  tell  him— Well,— i'faith,  I  should, 

When  all's  spent,  he'd  be  cruss'd  then,  an  he  coul(^ 

'Tis  pity,  bounty  had  not  eyes  behind  ; 

That  man  might  ne'er  be  vvi  etched  for  his  mind. 

[Exit,  and  returns  tvith  the  casket* 

1  Lord.  Where  be  <nir  men  'I 
Serv.  Here,  my  lord,  in  readiness. 

2  Lord.  Our  horses. 

Tim.  O  my  friends,  I  have  one  word 

To  say  to  you; — Look  you,  my  good  lord,  I  must 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


ACT  IT.     rfCENE  2. 

Entrea'  /on,  lioiour  rae  so  much,  as  fo 

Advai'  .e  this  j-  wel ; 

Accc't,  and  wear  it,  kind  my  lord. 

1  Ijord.  i  am  so  far  already  in  your  gifts, — 
J  ,1.  So  are  we  all. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
\    3erv.  My  lord,  there  are  certain  nobles  of  the 
*  senate 

'(ewly  alighted,  and  come  to  visit  you. 
j     Tim.  They  are  I'airly  welcome. 

Flav»  I  beseech  your  honoar, 

S^onchsafe  me  a  word;  it  does  concern  you  near. 

Tim,  Near  ?  why  then  another  time  Til  hear  thee : 
I  pr'ythee,  let  us  be  provided 
To  shew  them  entertainment. 

FLav.  1  scarce  know  how.  {Aside.) 

Enter  another  Servant. 

2  Serv.  May  it  please  your  honour,  the  lord  Lucius, 
Out  of  his  free  love,  hath  presented  to  you 

Four  milk-white  horses,  trapp'd  in  silver. 
Tim.  I  shall  accept  them  fairly  :  let  the  presents 

Enter  a  third  Servant. 
Be  worthily  eutertain'd.—  How  now,  what  news  ? 

3  Serv.  Please  you.  my  lord,  that  honourable 
gentleman,  lord  Lucullus,  entreats  your  company 
to-morrow  to  hunt  with  him ;  and  has  sent  your 
honour  two  brace  of  greyhounds. 

Tim.  I'll  hunt  with  him  ;  and  let  them  be  receiv'd, 
Not  without  fair  reward. 

Flav.  (Aside.)  What  will  this  come  to  ? 

He  commands  us  to  provide,  and  give  great  gifts. 
And  ail  out  of  an  empty  coli'er. — 
Nor  will  he  know  his  purse  ;  or  yield  m«  this, 
To  shew  him  what  a  beggar  his  heart  is. 
Being  of  no  power  to  make  his  wishes  good ; 
His  promises  fly  so  beyond  his  state. 
That  what  he  speaks  is  all  in  debt,  he  owes. 
For  every  word  ;  he  is  so  kind,  that  he  now 
Pays  interest  for't ;  his  land's  put  to  their  books. 
WeU,  'would  I  were  gently  put  out  of  office, 
Before  I  were  forc'd  out ! 

I  [iappier  is  he  that  has  no  friend  to  feed, 

I  Than  such  as  do  even  enemies  exceed. 
I  bleed  inwardly  for  my  lord.  [Esit. 

TtTn.  '  You  do  yourselves 

Much  wrong,  you  bate  too  much  of  your  own  me- 
rits : — 

Here,  my  lord^  a  trifle  of  our  love. 

2  Lord.  With  more  than  common  thanks  I  will 

receive  it. 

3  Lord.  O,  he  is  the  very  soul  of  bounty  ! 

Tim.  And  now  I  remember  me,  my  lord,  you  gave 
^lood  words  the  other  day  of  a  bay  courser 
I  [  rode  on  :  it  is  yours,  because  you  lik'd  it! 
I    2  Lord.  I  beseech  you,  pardon  me,  my  lord,  in 
that. 

I     Tim.  You  may  take  my  word,  my  lord  ;  I  know, 

I  no  man 

I  Can  justly  praise,  but  what  he  does  affect: 

I I  weigh  my  friend's  affection  with  mine  own ; 
I'll  tell  you  true.    I'll  call  on  you. 

All  Lords.  None  so  welcome 

I  Tim.  I  take  all  and  your  several  visitations 

II  So  kind  to  heart,  'tis  not  enough  to  give  ; 

i  Methinks,  I  could  deal  kingdoms  to  my  friends, 
And  ne'er  be  weary. — Alcibiades, 
ri>6u  art  a  soldier,  therefore  seldom  rich, 
(  ((  comes  in  chanty  to  thee :  for  all  thy  living 
!  h  'iiaongst  the  dead  ;  and  all  the  lands  thou  hast 
Lie  in  a  pitch'd  field. 
Aicib.  Ay,  defiled  land,  my  lord, 

1  L  ord.  We  arc  so  virtuously  bound, — 

'\    Tim.  And  so 

A  ni  I  to  you . 

2  Lord       So  itiflnitely  endear'd. — 
Ti?n.  AS}  tv.  'v  "^J.  -Liglits,  more  li>',hts ! 

1  Lord.  The  best  of  happiness, 

,  Boaour,  a  id  fo.luV»>-s,  keep  \v\\'l\  you,  lord  Timonl 


Tim.  Ready  for  his  friends. 

[E.veunt  Alcibiades,  Lordsy 

Apetn.  What  a  coil's  here! 

Serving  of  becks,  and  jutting  out  of  bums  ! 
I  doubt  whether  tlieir  legs  be  worth  the  suras 
That  are  given  for  'em.    Friendship's  full  of  dregs 
Methinks,  false  hearts  should  never  have  sound  Icgjfc 
Thus  honest  fools  lay  out  their  wealth  on  court  sses. 

Tim  Now.  Apemantus,  if  thou  wert  not  sullen,  , 
I'd  be  good  to  thee. 

Apem.  No,  I'll  nothing  :  for, 

If  1  should  be  brib'd  too,  tiiere  would  be  none  left 
To  rail  upon  thee;  and  then  thou  would'st  siu  the 
faster. 

Thou  giv'st  so  long,  Timon,  I  fear  me,  thou 

Wilt  give  away  thyself  in  paper  shortly  : 

Wh;it  need  these  feasts,  pomps,  and  vain  glories? 

Tim.  Nay, 
An  you  begin  to  rail  on  society  once, 
I  am  sworn,  not  to  give  regard  to  you. 
Farewell :  and  come  with  better  music.  [Exit. 

Apem.  So; — 

Thou  lt  not  hear  me  now, — thou  shalt  not  then, — 
I'll  lock 

Thy  heaven  from  thee,  O,  that  men's  ears  should  be 
To  counsel  deaf,  but  not  to  flattery !  [Exit. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — The  same.   A  Room  in  a  Senators 
House. 

Enter  a  Senator,  with  papers  in  his  hand. 
Sen.  And  late,  five  thousand  to  Varro;  and  to 
Isidore 

He  owes  nine  thousand  ;  besides  my  former  sura. 
Which  makes  it  five  and  twenty, — Still  in  motioa 
Of  raging  waste  ?  It  cannot  hold  ;  it  will  not. 
If  I  want  gold,  steal  but  a  beggar's  dog, 
And  give  it  Timon,  why,  the  dog  coins  gold  : 
If  I  would  sell  my  horse,  and  buy  twenty  more 
Better  than  he,  why,  give  my  horse  to  Timon, 
Ask  nothing,  give  it  him,  it  foals  me,  straight. 
And  able  horses  :  No  porter  at  his  gate ; 
But  rather  one  that  smiles,  and  still  invites 
All  that  pass  by.  It  cannot  hold ;  no  reason 
Can  Ibund  his  state  in  safety.   Caphis,  ho  ! 
Caphis,  I  say ! 

Enter  Capiiis. 
CapL  Here,  sir ;  What  is  your  pleasure  ? 

Sen.  Get  on  your  cloak,  and  haste  you  to  lord 
Timon ; 

Importime  him  for  my  moneys;  be  not  ceas'd 
With  slight  denial;  nor  then  silenc'd,  when — 
Commend  me  to  your  master — and  the  cap 
Plays  in  the  right  hand  thus: — but  tell  him,  sirrah, 
My  uses  cry  to  me,  I  must  serve  my  turn 
Out  of  mine  own ;  his  days  and  times  are  past. 
And  my  reliances  on  his  fracted  dates 
Have  smit  my  credit:  I  love,  and  honour  him; 
But  must  not  break  my  back,  t'»  heal  his  finger: 
Immediate  are  my  needs;  and  my  relief 
Must  not  be  toss'd  and  turn'd  to  me  in  words. 
But  find  supply  immediate.    Get  you  gone: 
Put  on  a  most  importunate  aspect, 
A  visage  of  demand;  for,  I  do  fear, 
When  every  feather  sticks  in  his  own  wing, 
Lord  Timon  will  be  left  a  naked  gull. 
Which  flashes  now  a  phoenix.   Get  you  gone. 
Caph.  I  go,  sir. 

Sen.  I  go,  sir? — take  the  bonds  along  ill  y«n, 
And  have  tlie  dates  in  cornpt. 

Caph.  I  will,  sir. 

Sen.  Go.  [Exetmi 

Scene  II, — The  same.  A  Hall  in  Timon' s  house 
Enter  Flavius,  with  many  bills  in  his  h 
Flav.  No  care,  no  stop !  so  senseless  of  exp^'Bse, 
That  lie  will  neither  know  how  to  maintain  it, 
Nor  cease  liis  How  r-^riot:  Takes  no  account 
How  things  go  from  him:  nor  resumes  no  care 


544 

F7av.  O,  my  pood  lord  ! 

At  many  times  I  brought  in  my  accounts, 
Of  whfit  is  to  continue:  Never  mind 
VVys  to  be  so  unwise,  to  be  so  kir)d. 
W'liat  shall  be  done  ?  He  will  not  hear,  till  feel  . 
I  must  be  round  with  him,  now  he  comes  from  hunt- 
i-'y,  fy,  fyjy!  [ing. 

Enter  Caphis,  and  the  Servants  of  Isidore  and 
Varro. 

Caph.  Good  even,  Varro  :  What, 

^  on  come  for  money  ? 

Var.  Serv.  Is't  not  your  business  too? 

Caji/i.  It  is  ; — and  yours  too.  Isidore  ? 

Is  id.  Serv.  It  is  so. 

Coph.  'Would  we  were  all  discharg'd  ! 

Var.  Serv.  I  fear  it 

Caph.  Here  comes  the  lord. 
Enter  TiMON,  Alcibiades,  and  Lords,  §fc. 

Tim.  So  soon  as  dinner's  done,  we'll  forth  again 
My  Alcibiades. — With  me  ?  Wh;it"s  your  will 

Caph.  My  lord,  here  is  a  note  of  certain  dues. 

Tim.  Dues  V  Whence  are  you  ? 

Caph.  Of  Athens  here,  my  lord. 

Tr/n.  Go  to  my  steward. 

Caph.  Please  it  your  lordship,  he  hath  put  me  otF 
To  tlie  succession  of  new  days  this  month  : 
My  master  is  awak'd  by  great  occasion, 
To  call  upon  his  own;  and  humbly  prays  you, 
That  with  your  other  noble  parts  you'll  suit. 
In  giving  him  his  right. 

Tifn.  Mine  honest  friend, 

I  pr'ytliee,  but  repair  to  me  next  morning. 

Caph.  Nay,  good  my  loi;d,— 

TirA.  Contain  thyself,  good  friend. 

Var.  Serv  One  Varro's  servant,  my  good  lord. — 

Isid.  Serv.  From  Isidore  ; 

He  humbly  prays  your  speedy  payment, — 

Caph,  If  you  did  know,  my  lord,  my  master's 
wants, —  [weeks, 

Var.  Serv.  'Twas  due  on  forfeiture,  my  lord,  six 
And  past, — 

hid.  Serv.  Your  steward  puts  me  off,  my  lord  ; 
And  I  am  sent  expressly  to  your  lordship. 

Tifn.  Give  me  breath  : — 
I  do  beseech  you,  good  my  lords,  keep  on; 

[E.veunt  Alcibiades  and  Lords. 
I'll  wait  upon  you  instantly. — Come  hither,  pray 
you  ;  {To  Fiavius.) 

How  goes  the  world,  that  I  am  thus  encounter'd 
Witli  clatnorons  demands  of  date-broke  bonds. 
And  the  detention  of  long-since-due  debts. 
Against  my  honour  ? 

Flav.  Please  you,  gentlemen, 

I  he  time  is  nnngreeable  to  this  business  : 
Yvnr  impoitunacy  cease,  till  after  dinner; 
'!  h.it  I  may  make' his  lordship  understand 
Wherefore  you  are  not  paid. 

Tim.  Do  so,  my  friends  : 

See  tliem  well  entertain'd.  [Exit. 

Fla.  I  pray,  draw  near.  [Exit. 

Enter  Apemantus  and  a  Fool. 
Caph.  Stay,  slay,  here  comes  the  fool  with  Ape- 
mantus; let's  liave  some  sport  with  'em. 
Var.  Serv.  Hang  iiim,  he'll  abuse  us. 
Isid.  Serv.  A  plague  upon  him,  dog  ! 
Var.  Serv.  How  dost,  I'ool  ? 
Apetn.  Dost  dialogue  with  thy  shadow? 
Var.  Serv.  \  speak,  not  to  thee. 
Apem.  No;  'tis  to  thyself. — Come  away. 

[To  the  Fool.) 

Isid.  Serv.  [To  Var.  Serv.)  There's  the  Ibol 
/langs  on  your  back  already. 

Apem.  No,  thou  stand'st  single,  thou  art  not  on 
him  yet. 

Caph.  Where's  the  fool  now? 

Apem.  He  last  asked  the  question. — Poor  rogues, 
and  usurers'  men  !  bawds  between  gold  and  want! 

All  Serv.  Wliat  are  we,  Apeniantua  ? 


Act  II. 

Apem,  Asses, 
All  Serv.  Why  ? 

Apem.  That  you  a-ik  me  what  you  are,  and  da 
not  know  y(Husel\es. — Speak  to  'em,  fool. 
Fool.  How  do  you,  gentlemen? 
All  »S'ery.  Gramercies,  good  fool :  How  does  your 
mistress  ? 

Fool.  She's  e'en  setting  on  water  to  scald  such 
chickfns  as  you  are.    'Would,  we  could  see  you 
Corinth. 

Apem.  Good !  gramercy. 

Enter  Page. 

Fool.  Look  you,  here  comes  my  mistress'  page. 

Patje.  {To  the  Fool.)  Why,  how  now,  captain? 
what  do  you  in  this  wise  company? — How  dost 
thou,  Apemantus  ? 

Ape?n.  'Would  I  had  a  rod  in  my  mouth,  that  1 
laight  answer  thee  profitably. 

Page.  Pr  ythee,  A[)emantus,  read  me  the  super- 
scription of  these  letters  :  I  know  not  which  is  which. 

Apem.  Canst  not  read  ? 

Page.  No. 

Ape7n.  There  will  little  learning  die  then,  that 
day  thou  art  hanged.  This  is  to  lord  Timon;  this 
to  Alcibiades.  Go;  thou  wast  born  a  bastard  and 
thou'lt  die  a  bawd. 

Page.  Thou  wast  whelped  a  dog ;  and  thou  shall 
famish,  a  dog's  death.    Answer  not,  I  am  gone. 

[Exit  Page. 

Apem.  Even  so  thou  out-run'st  grace.  Fool,  1 
will  go  with  you  to  lord  Timon's. 

Fool.  Will  yon  leave  me  there? 

Apem.  If  Timon  stay  at  home. — You  three  serve 
three  usurers. 

All  Serv.  Ay  ;  would  they  serv'd  us  ! 

Apem.  So  would  i. — As  good  a  trick  as  evffr 
hangman  served  thief. 

Fool.  Are  you  three  usurers'  men? 

All  Serv.  Ay,  fool. 

Fool.  I  think,  no  usurer  but  has  a  fool  to  h'«  sisr- 
vant :  My  mistress  is  one,  and  I  am  hei  foot 
When  men  come  to  borrow  of  your  masters,  they 
approach  sadly,  and  go  away  merry;  but  they  enter 
my  nrlstress'  house  merrily,  and  go  away  sadly  • 
The  reason  of  this  ? 

Var.  Serv.  I  could  render  one. 

Apem.  Do  it  then,  that  we  may  account  thee  a 
whorcmaster,  and  a  knave;  which  notwithstanding, 
thou  shalt  be  no  less  esteemed. 

Var.  Serv.  What  is  a  whoremaster,  fool  ? 

Fool.  A  fool  in  good  clothes,  and  something  like 
thee.  'Tis  a  spirit :  sometime,  it  appears  like  a 
lord ;  sometime,  like  a  lawyer ;  sometime,  like  a 
philosopher,  with  two  stones  more  than  his  artifi- 
cial one  :  He  is  very  often  like  a  knight;  and,  ge- 
nerally in  all  shapes,  that  man  goes  up  and  down  in, 
from  fourscore  to  thirteen,  this  spirit  walks  in. 

Var.  Serv.  Thou  art  not  altogether  a  fool. 

Fool.  Nor  thou  altogether  a  wise  man  :  as  much 
foolery  as  I  have,  so  much  wit  thou  lackest. 

Apem.  That  answer  might  have  become  Ape- 
mantus. 

All  Serv.  Aside,  aside:  here  comes  lord  Timon, 
Pe  enter  Timon  and  Flavius. 

Apem.  Come  with  me,  fool,  come. 

Fool.  I  do  not  always  follow  lover,  elder  bro- 
ther, and  woman;  sometime,  the  philosopher. 

[Exeunt  Apemantus  and  FocU 

Flav.  'Pray  you,  walk  near,  I'll  speak  with  yon 
anon.  [Exeunt  Svrv. 

Tim.  You  make  me  marvel  :  Wherefore,  ere  thii 
time, 

Had  you  not  lully  laid  my  state  before  me; 
'i'hat  I  might  so  liav^e  rated  my  expense 
As  1  iirtd  leave  of  means  ? 

Flav.  You  would  not  heai  mc,  i 

At  many  leisures  I  propos'd. 

Thn.  ^  Go  to: 

Perchance,  some  ein^Ie  vantages  yoa  ttK>k» 


TLMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  in.    Scene  1. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


545 


Wlien  my  indisposition  pyit  yon  back  ; 
And  tliat  unaptness  made  your  minister, 
riias  to  excuse  yourself. 

f^lav.  O,  my  good  lord  ! 

At  many  times  I  brought  in  my  accounts, 
Laid  them  before  yon  ;  you  would  throw  them  off, 
And  sa;',  you  found  them  in  mine  honesty. 
When,  for  some  trifling  present,  yon  have  bid  me 
lleturn   so  much,   I  have  shook,  my  head,  and 
wept  ; 

'\  ea,  'gainst  the  authority  of  manners,  pray'd  you 
I  )  hold  your  hand  more  close  :  I  did  endure 
N.t  seldom,  nor  so  slight  checks;  when  1  have 
Prouipted  you,  in  the  ebb  of  your  estate. 
And  your  great  flow  of  debt.    My  dear-Iov'd  lord, 
'l]!iough  you  hear  now  (too  late \)  yet  now's  a  time, 
The  greatest  of  your  having  lacks  a  half 
Topay  your  present  debts. 

\>^-      .  Let  all  my  land  be  sold. 

Fiav.  'Tis  all  engag'd,  some  forfeited  and  gone  ; 
And  what  remains  will  hardly  stop  the  mouth 
Of  present  dues  :  the  future  comes  apace  ; 
What  shall  defend  the  interim  ?  and  at  length 
Ho\v  goes  our  reckoning? 

Tim.  To  Lacedaemon  did  my  land  extend. 

Flat.  O  my  good  lord,  the  world  is  but  a  word  : 
Were  it  all  yours  to  give  it  in  a  breath. 
How  quickly  were  it  gone  ! 

'Ti^'       '  You  tell  me  true. 

Flav.  If  vou  suspect  my  husbandry,  or  falsehood. 
Call  me  before  the  exactest  auditors, 
And  set  me  on  the  proof.    So  the  gods  bless  me. 
When  all  our  offices  have  been  oppress'd 
With  riotous  feeders ;  when  our  vaults  have  wept 
Wirn  drunken  spilth  of  wine;  when  every  room 
[lath  blaz'd  with  lights,  and  bray'd  with  minstrelsy; 
I  have  retir'd  me  to  a  wasteful  cock. 
And  set  mine  eyes  at  flow. 

r!f"'  TT  Pr'ythee,  no  more. 

Flav,  leavens,  have  I  said,  the  bounty  of  this  lord ! 
How  many  prodigal  bits  have  slaves,  and  peasants, 
I  lus  mght  englutted  !  Who  is  not  Timon's  ? 
VV  »iat  heart,  head,  sword,  force,  means,  but  is  lord 
Timon's  ? 

Great  Timon,  noble,  worthy,  royal  Timon  ? 
Ah  !  when  the  means  are  gone,  that  buy  this  praise, 
1  he  breath  is  ffone  whereof  tliis  praise  is  made  : 
f-^ast-won,  fast-lost ;  one  cloud  of  winter  showers, 
Ihese  flies  are  couch'd. 

,  Come,  sermon  me  no  further; 

N 0  villanous  bounty  yet  hath  pass'd  my  heart  • 
Unwisely,  not  ignobly,  have  I  given.  [lack. 
Why  dost  thou  weep  V  Canst  thou  the  conscience 
lo  thmk  I  shall  lack  friends  ?  Secure  thy  heart: 
if  I  would  broach  the  vessels  of  my  love, 
A  nd  try  the  argument  of  hearts  by  borrowing, 
Men,  and  men's  fortunes,  could  I  frankly  use' 
As  I  can  bid  thee  speak. 

F(ay.  Assurance  bless  your  thoughts! 

litn.  And,  m  some  sort,  these  wants  of  mine  are 
crown'd, 

That  I  account  them  blessings  ;  for  by  these 
Nmll  I  try  friends :  You  shall  perceive,  how  yon 
Mistake  my  fortunes ;  I  am  wealthy  in  my  friends. 
Vi  itiuu  there,  ho  !— Flaminius  !  Servilius! 

Enter  Flaminius,  Servilius,  and  other  Servant; 
Serv.  My  lord  my  lord,— 

Tim.  I  will  despatch  you  severally.— Vou,  to 
lord  Lucius, — 
To  lord  Lucullus  you  ;  I  hnnted  with  his 
Uenour  to-day;— You  to  Sempronius  ; 
tommend  me  to  their  loves  ;  and,  1  am  proud,  say 
1  hat  my  occasions  have  found  time  to  use  them 
lovvard  a  supply  of  money  :  let  the  request 
Be  fifty  talents.  ^ 

F/am.         As  you  have  said,  my  lord. 

tlav.  Lord  Lucius,  and  lord  Lucullus?  humph  I 

m-     r\  •  I A  side.) 

I  jm.  boyou,  8ir,C/o  another Strv. )  tn  th,  senators. 


(Of  whom,  even  to  the  stale's  best  health,  I  havo 
Deserv'd  this  hearing,!  bid  'em  send  o'the  instani 
A  thousand  talents  to  me. 

.J^^""^'  T  .  '         ^een  bold, 

(tor  that  I  know  it  the  most  general  way,) 
To  them  to  use  your  signet,  and  your  name  ; 
But  thiey  do  shake  their  heads,  and  I  am  here 
No  richer  in  return. 

Tim,  Is't  true  ?  can  it  be  ? 

f^lt^v.  They  answer,  in  a  joint  and  corporate  v«rfft^ 
That  now  they  are  at  fall,  want  treasuie,  cannot 
Do  what  they  would ;  are  sorry— you  are  honour- 
able,—  [hut 
«ut  yet  they  could  have  wish'd— they  know  not— 
Something  hath  been  amiss — a  noble  nature 
May  catch  a  wrench — would  all  were  well— 'tis 

And  so.  Intending  other  serious  matters. 
After  distasteful  looks,  and  these  hard  fractions, 
With  certain  half  caps,  and  cold-moving  nods, 
They  froze  me  into  silence. 

Tim,  You  gods,  reward  them  ! — 

I  pr'ythee,  man,  look  cheerly :  These  old  fellows 
Have  their  ingratitude  in  them  hereditary: 
rheir  blood  is  cak'd,  'tis  cold,  it  seldom  liows ; 
Tis  lack  jf  kindly  warmth,  they  are  not  kind  ; 
And  nature,  as  it  grows  again  towards  earth. 
Is  fashion'd  for  the  journey,  dull,  and  heavy  - 
Go  to  Ventidius.— (       a  Serv.)  'Pr'ythee,  [To 

Flavins)  be  not  sad. 
Thou  art  true  and  honest;  ingeniously  I  speak, 
No  blame  belongs  to  thee  -.—[to  Serv.)  Venlidins 

lately 

Buried  his  father;  by  whose  death,  he's  stepp'd 

Into  a  great  estate  :  when  he  was  poor, 

Imprison'd,  and  in  scarcity  of  friends, 

I  clear'd  him  with  five  talents  :  Greet  him  from  me  i 

Bid  him  suppose,  some  good  necessity 

Touches  his  friend,  which  craves  to  be  rememhei-'d 

With  those  five  talents  :— that  had,— (^o  give 

it  these  fellows 
To  whom  'tis  instant  due.   Ne'er  speak,  or  think, 
lhat  Timon's  fortune  'mong  his  friends  can  sink. 
Flav.  I  would,  I  could  not  think  it ;  That  thought 

IS  bounty's  foe ; 
Being  free  itself,  it  thinks  all  others  so.  [Exeuvt, 

ACT  IIL 

SCENB  I.— The  satne.  A  Room  in  Lucullus'  House, 
Flaminius  waiting.  Enter  a  Servant  to  him, 

Serv.  I  have  told  my  lord  of  you,  he  is  comiiia 
down  to  you. 

Flam.  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Enter  Lucullus. 
Serv.  Here's  my  lord. 

Lucul.  (Aside.)  One  of  Lord  Timon  s  men  ? 
gift,  I  warrant.  Why,  this  hits  rigiit;  J  dreamt  of 
a  silver  basin  and  ewer  to-night.— Flaminius,  ho. 
nest  Flaminius;  you  are  verv  respectively  welcome, 
sir,— Fill  me  some  mm.— [Exit  Servant.)  And  how 
does  that  honourable,  complete,  free-hearted  gen- 
tleman of  Athens,  thy  very  bountiful  good  lord  and 
master  r 

Fla7n.  His  health  is  well,  sir. 

Lucul.  I  am  right  glad  that  his  health  is  well, 
sir:  And  what  hast  thou  there  under  thy  cloak, 
pretty  Flaminius  ? 

Flam.  'Faith,  nothing  but  an  empty  box,  sir: 
which,  in  my  lord's  behalf,  I  come  to  entreat  vour 
honour  to  supply;  who,  having  great  and  ins'fani 
occasion  to  use  fifty  talents,  hath  sent  to  your  lord- 
ship to  furnish  him;  nothing  doubting  your  present 
assistance  therein. 

Lucul.  La,  la,  la,  la,— nothing  doubting,  says 
he  f  alas,  good  lord  I  a  noble  gentleman 'tis,  if  he 
would  not  keep  so  good  a  house.  Many  a  time  and 
often  I  have  dined  with  him,  and  told  him  on't;  and 
come  again  to  supper  to  him,  of  purpose  to  have 
nim  spend  less  :  and  yet  he  would  embrace  m 

^5 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  III. 


counsel,  take  no  warning  by  my  coming.  Every 
iiinn  iias  liia  fault,  and  honesty  is  liis  ;  1  have  told 
him  on  t,  but  1  could  never  get  hitn  from  it. 

Re-enter  Servnni  wii.'i  icine. 

Serv.  Please  your  lordship,  iiere  is  the  wine. 

LucTil.  Fiaminiiis,  I  have  noted  thee  always  wise. 
Here's  to  thee. 

(Uam.  V  our  lordship  speaks  yonr  pleasure. 

Lucul.  I  have  observed  thee  always  lor  a  towardly 
prompt  spirit, — give  thee  thy  due, — and  one  that 
knows  what  belongs  to  reason  ;  and  canst  use  the 
time  well,  if  the  time  use  thee  well;  good  parts  in 
thee. — Get  you  gone,  sirrah. — (7'o  the  Servant,  tvho 
goes  out.) — Dravv  nearer,  honest  Flammius.  Thy 
lord  s  a  bonntifid  gentleman  :  but  thou  art  wise  ;  and 
thou  knowest  well  etjough,  altliough  thou  couiest  to 
ine,  that  this  is  no  time  to  lend  money  ;  esjjecially 
upon  bare  friendship,  without  security,  liere'a  three 
BOiidares  liir  thee  ;  good  boy,  wink  at  me,  and  say, 
thou  saw'st  me  not.    Fare  thee  well. 

Flam.  Is't  possible,  the  world  should  so  much 
ddier; 

And  we  alive,  that  liv'd  ?  Fly,  damned  baseness, 
To  him  tliat  worships  thee. 

{Throwing  the  money  atvay.) 

Lucid.  Ha  I  now  I  see,  thou  art  a  loot,  and  fit  tor 
thy  master.  [Exit  LucuUus. 

Flam.  Mav  these  add  to  the  number  that  may 
scald  thee  ! 
Let  molten  coin  be  thy  damnation. 
Thou  disease  of  a  friend,  and  not  himself! 
Has  friendship  such  a  faint  and  milky  heart, 
It  turns  in  less  than  two  nights  !  O  you  gods, 
I  feel  my  master's  passion!  Tliis  slave 
Unto  his  honour,  has  my  lord's  meat  in  him  : 
W^hy  should  it  thrive,  and  turn  no  nutriraeut, 
When  he  is  turn'd  to  poison  ? 

(),  may  diseases  only  work  upon't  !  [nature. 
And,  when  he  is  sick  to  death,  let  not  that  part  of 
Which  my  lord  paid  for,  be  of  any  power 
To  expel  sickness,  but  prolong  his  hour  I  [Exit. 

S:ene  U.—The  sa7ne.    A  Public  Place. 
Enter  Lucius,  ivith  three  Strancjers. 
Ltic,  Who,  the  lord  Timon  ?  he  is  n»y  very  good 
friend,  and  an  honourable  gentleman. 

1  Stran.  We  know  him  tor  no  less,  though  we 
are  but  strangers  to  him.  But  I  can  tell  you  one 
thing,  my  lord,  and  which  1  hear  from  common  ru- 
mours; now  Lord  Tiuu^n's  happy  hours  are  done 
anrl  past,  and  his  estate  shrinks  Irom  him. 

Luc.  Fy,  no,  do  not  believe  it;  he  cannot  want 
for  money. 

2  Slran.  But  believe  yon  this,  my  lord,  that,  not 
lonif  ago,  one  of  his  men  was  with  the  lord  Lu- 
cuUus, to  borrow  so  many  talents;  nay,  urged  ex* 
tieinely  Ibr't,  and  shewed  what  necessity  belonged 
to  L  and  yet  was  denied, 

Ijuc.  How  ? 

•2  Stran.  I  tell  yon,  denied,  my  lord. 

Luc.  What  a  strange  case  was  that?  now,  before 
tlie  gods,  1  am  ashamed  on't.  Denied  that  ho- 
nourable !nin  ?  there  was  very  little  honour  shewed 
iu't.  For  my  own  part,  I  must  needs  confess,  I 
have  received  some  small  kindnesses  from  him,  as 
money,  plate,  jewels,  and  such  like  trifles,  nothing, 
comparing  to  his;  yet,  had  he  mistook  him,  and 
sent  to  me.  I  should  ne'er  have  denied  his  occasion 
80  many  talents. 

^ter  Sbrvilius. 

S9r.  See,  by  good  hap,  yonder's  my  lord  ;  I  have 
•weat  to  see  his  honour. — My  honoured  lord, — 

{To  Lucius.) 

Luc.  Servilius !  you  are  kindly  met,  sir.  Fare 
thee  well. — Comtnend  me  to  thy  honourable-vir- 
aoos  lord,  my  very  exquisite  friend. 

8erv.  May  it  pleasure  your  honour,  my  lord  hath 
8^nt — 

hue.  Ha!  what  has  he  sent?  J  am  sc  much  en- 


deared to  that  lord  ;  he's  ever  sendinr; :  Hcv\  sliall 
1  thank  him,  think'st  thou  V  And  what  has  iro  sen! 
now  ? 

Serv.  He  has  only  sent  his  present  occasion  now, 
my  lord  ;  requesting  your  lordship  to  supply  hia 
instant  use  with  so  many  talents. 

hue.  1  know,  his  lordship  is  but  merry  with  me; 
He  cannot  want  fifty-five  himdred  talents. 

Serv.  But  in  the  mean  time  wants  less,  my  Icrd. 
If  his  occasion  were  not  virtuous, 
I  should  not  urge  it  half  so  faithfidly. 

Luc.  Dost  thou  speak  seriously,  Servilius? 

Ser.  Upon  my  soul,  'tis  true,  sir. 

Luc.  What  a  wicked  beast  was  I.  to  disfurnish 
juyseif  against  such  a  good  time,  when  I  might 
have  shewn  myself  honourable  !  how  unluckily  it 
happened,  that  1  should  purchase  the  d;iy  belore 
lor  a  Httle  part,  and  undo  a  great  deal  of  honour  ! — 
Servilius,  now  before  the  gods,  1  am  not  able  to 
do't ;  the  more  beast,  1  say  : — I  was  sending  to  use 
lord  Timon  myself,  these  gentlemen  can  witness ; 
but  I  would  not,  lor  the  wealth  of  Athens,  I  had 
done  it  now.  Commend  me  bomitifuUy  to  his  good 
lordship;  and  I  hoj  e,  his  honour  will  conceive  the 
fairest  of  me,  because  1  have  no  power  to  be  kind: 
— And  tell  him  this  from  me,  1  count  it  one  of  my 
greatest  alllictions,  say,  that  I  cannot  pleasure  .such 
an  honourable  gevitleinan.  Good  Servilius,  will 
you  befriend  me  so  far,  as  to  use  mine  own  words 
to  him  ? 

Ser.  Yes,  sir,  I  shall. 

Luc.  I  will  look  you  out  a  good  turn,  Servilius.  , 
[  Exit  Serviliiu, 
True,  R-3  yon  said,  Timon  is  shrunk,  mdeed  ; 
And  he,  that's  once  denied,  will  hardly  speed. 

[Exit  Litcus*, 

1  Stran.  Do  you  observe  this,  Hostilius  ? 

2  Stran.  Ay,  too  well. 
1  Stran.  \\  iiy  this 

Is  the  world's  soul ;  and  just  of  the  same  piece 
Is  every  flatterer's  spirit.    Who  can  call  him 
His  friend,  that  dips  in  the  same  dish  ?  for,  in 
My  knowing,  'Timon  has  been  this  lord's  father, 
-And  kept  his  credit  with  his  purse; 
Supported  his  estate  ;  nay,  Timon's  money 
Has  paid  his  men  their  wages:  He  ne'er  drinks. 
But  Timon's  silver  treads  upon  his  lip: 
And  yet,  (O,  see  the  monstrousness  of  man. 
When  he  looks  out  in  an  ungrateful  shape! 
He  does  deny  hin»,  in  respect  of  his. 
What  charitable  men  aQ'ord  to  beggars. 

3  S trail.  Religion  groans  at  it, 

1  Stran.  For  mine  own  parti 

I  never  tasted  Timon  in  my  life, 
Nor  came  any  of  his  bounties  over  me, 
To  mark  me  for  his  friend  ;  yet,  I  protest. 
For  his  right  noble  mind,  illustrious  virtue. 
And  honourable  carriage. 
Had  his  necessity  made  use  of  me, 
1  would  have  put  my  wealth  into  donation. 
And  the  best  half  should  have  return'd  to  him, 
So  much  I  love  his  heart:  But,  I  perceive, 
Men  must  learn  now  with  pity  to  dispense ; 
For  policy  sits  above  conscience.  [Exeunt 

Scene  III. — 7%e  same.  A  Room  in  Sempronius'i 
House. 

Enter  Sempronius,  and  a  Servant  of  Timon's. 

Sem.  Must  he  needs  trouble  me  iu't  ?  Humpll! 
'Bove  all  others  ? 
He  might  have  tried  lord  Lucius,  or  LuculIusJ 
And  now  Ventidius  is  wealthy  too, 
Whom  he  redeem'd  from  prison;  All  these  th 
Owe  their  estates  unto  him. 

Serv.  O  my  lord,  [for 

They  have  all  been  touch'd,  and  found  base  metal; 
They  have  all  denied  hiu^. 

Sem.  How  !  they  have  denied  htia? 

Has  Ventidius  and  Lucullus  denied  him? 
And  does  he  send  to  me    Three'''  humi)b! — 


Scene  4. 


TTMON  OF  ATHENS. 


U7 


It  shews  but  little  lo\  e  or  jud^rrient  iu  him. 
Musi  I  be  his  last  refuge  ?  ilis  friends,  like  phy^ 
sicians.  l'"^  • 

rbrive,  give  him  over;  Must  I  take  the  care  upon 
He  lias  much  disg-rnc'd  rne  in't ;  I  hid  angry  at  him, 
fhat  might  have  known  my  place  :  I  see  no  jw^nse 
for't, 

But  his  occasions  might  have  woo'd  me  first 
For,  in  my  conscience,  I  was  the  first  mau 
That  e'er  received  gift  from  him  : 
And  does  he  think  so  bar.kvvardly  of  me  nowj 
That  ril  requite  it  last  ?  No:  So  it  may  prove 
An  argument  of  laughter  to  the  rest, 
And  {  amongst  the  lords  be  thought  a  fool. 
I  had  rather  than  the  worth  of  thrice  the  sura, 
He  had  sent  to  ine  first,  but  formy  mind's  sake ; 
I  had  such  a  courage  to  do  him  good.    But  now 
return, 

And  with  tlitir  faint  reply  this  answer  join  ; 

Who  bates  mine  honour,  shall  not  know  my  coin. 

\Exii. 

Serv.  Excellent!  Your  lordship's  a  goodly  vil- 
lain. Tne  devil  knew  not  what  he  did,  .when  he 
made  mau  politic;  he  crossed  himself  by't:  and  I 
cannot  thiuii,  but,  in  the  end,  the  villanies  of  man 
will  set  him  clear.  How  fairly  this  lord  strives  to 
appear  foul  !  takes  virtuous  copies  to  be  wicked  ; 
like  those,  that,  under  hot  ardent  zeal,  would  set 
whole  realms  on  fire.  Of  such  a  nature  is  his  poli- 
tic love. 

'I'his  Will  my  lord's  best  hope  •  now  all  are  fled, 

Save  the  gods  only  :  Now  his  friends  are  dead, 

Doors,  that  were  ne'er  acquainted  with  their  wards 

M.iny  a  bounteous  year,  must  be  employ'd 

N'.w  to  guard  sure  their  master. 

Arid  this  is  all  a  liberal  co  urse  allows  ; 

VV  uu  cannot  keep  his  wealth,  must  keep  his  house. 

[Exit. 

SfiENR  IV. —  The  same.  A  Hall  in  TimorCs  House, 
F.nfer  two  Servants  of  Varro,  and  the  Servant  of 
Liiciua,  meetin(j  'i\TVls,  HoRTENSlUS,  and  other 
Servnjils  to  Timon's   Creditors,  waiting  his 
comniu  out. 

Var.  Serv.  Well  met;  good-morrow,  Titus  and 
Hortensius. 

I'it.  Tl»e  like  to  you,  kind  Varro. 

Hor.  Lucius  I 

What,  do  we  mee*  together? 

L?ic.  Serv.  Ay,  and,  1  think, 

One  business  does  ;ommand  us  all ;  for  mine 
Is  money. 

Tit.  So  is  theirs  and  ours. 

Enter  Philotus 

Luc.  Serv.  And,  sir, 

Philotus  loo  I 

Phi.  Good-day  at  once 

Lnc.  Serv.  vVelcome,  good  brother. 

\W\Hi  do  you  think  the  hour? 

Phi.  Labouring  for  nine. 

Luc.  Serv.  So  much  ? 

P/ii.  Is  not  my  lord  seen  yet  ? 

Luc.  Serv.  Not  yet. 

Phi.  I  vvf.nder  on't ;  he  was  wont  to  shine  at 
seven.  [with  him ; 

Liic.  Serv.  A.f,  but  the  days  are  waxed  shortei 
^  (HI  must  consider,  that  a  prodigal  course 
1>  like  tiie  sun's;  but  not,  like  his,  recoverable, 
i  tear, 

"Tis  deepest  winter  in  lord  Timon's  purse  : 
I  luit  is,  one  may  reach  deep  enough,  and  yet 
find  hule. 

P/u.  I  am  of  your  fear  for  that. 

T it.  I'll  shew  you  how  to  observe  a  strange*  event, 
Vonr  lord  sends  now  for  money, 

Hur.  Most  true,  he  does. 

Tit.  And  he  wears  jewels  now  of  Timou  s  gift, 
Far  wiiicli  I  wait  for  motiey. 

Hor.  It  is  again.st  my  heart. 


Luc.  Serv.  ^  Mark;  how  atrange  U  chews 

Timon  in  this  should  pay  u»ore  than  he  owes  : 
And  e'en  as  if  your  lord  should  wear  rich  jewels. 
And  send  for  money  for  'em. 

Hor.  I  am  weary  of  this  charge,  the  gods  caa 
witness : 

I  know,  my  lord  liath  spent  of  Tiinon's  wealth. 
And  now  ingratitude  makes  it  worse  than  stealth. 
1  Var.  Serv.  Yes,  mine's  three  thousand  crovius 

What's  yours  ? 
Luc.  Serv.  Fi\e  thousand  mine. 
1   I  Vn  Serv.  'Tis  much  deep :  and   it  should 
seeni  by  tlie  sum, 
Yoar  master's  co.ifidence  was  above  mine  ; 
Else,  burely,  his  had  equall'd. 

Etiler  FLA.MINIUS. 

Tit.  One  of  lord  Timon's  men. 

Luc.  Serv.  Flamiiiiusl  sir,  a  word;  'Pray,  is  my 
lord  ready  to  come  forth  ? 

Flam.  No,  iirdeed,  he  is  not.  [mucb. 

Tit.   We  attend  his  lordship ;  'pray,  signify  so 

Flam.  I  need  nut  tell  him  that ;  he  kuows^  yoH 
are  too  diligent.  [Exit  F/aminius. 

Enter  Flavius,  m  a  cloak,  muffled. 

Luc.  Serv.  Ha  !  is  not  that  his  steward  muftled  so? 
He  goes  away  in  a  cloud. :  call  him,  call  him. 

Tit.  Do  you  hear,  sir  ? 

1  Var.  Serv.  liy  your  leave,  sir, — 

Flav.  What  do  you  ask  of  me,  my  friend? 

Tit.  We  wait  for  certain  money  here,  sir. 

Flav.  '  Ay^ 

If  money  were  as  certain  as  your  waiting, 
'Twere  sure  enough.    Why  then  preferr'd  you  not 
Your  sums  and  bills,  vvhen  your  false  niasters  e«t 
Of  my  lord's  meat?  Then  they  could  smile,  and  fawo 
Upon  his  debts,  and  take  down  th'  interest 
Into  their  gluttonous  maws.  You  do  yourselve*  ha\ 
wrong, 

To  stir  me  up;  let  me  pass  quietly: 
Belicve't,  my  lord  and  I  have  made  an  end  : 
I  have  no  more  to  reckon,  he  to  spend. 

Luc.  Serv.  Ay,  but  this  answer  will  not  serve, 
Flav.  If 't will  not, 

'Tis  not  so  base  as  you  ;  for  you  serve  knaves.  [Exit. 

1  Var.  Serv.  How !  what  does  his  cashier  d 
worship  mutter? 

2  Var.  Serv.  No  matter  what;  he's  powr,  and 
that's  revenge  enough.  Who  can  speak  broader 
than  he  that  has  no  house  to  put  liis  head  iu  ?  such 
may  rail  against  great  buildings. 

Enter  Servilius. 

Tit.  O,  here's  Ser\  ilius ;  now  we  shall  know 
Some  answer. 

Ser.  If  I  might  beseech  you,  gentletis  ii, 

To  repair  some  other  hour,  I  should  much 
Derive  from  it:  for,  take  it  on  my  soul, 
My  lord  leans  wond'rously  to  discontent. 
His  comfortable  temper  has  forsook  him  ; 
He  is  much  out  of  heaith,  and  keeps  his  cliam'oer. 

Luc.  Serv.  Many  do  keep  their  chambers,  ara 
not  sick : 

And,  if  it  be  so  far  beyond  his  health,  ' 
Methinks,  he  should  the  sooner  pay  his  debts. 
And  make  a  clear  way  to  tlie  gods. 

St^r.  '  Good  gods! 

Tit.  We  cannot  take  this  for  an  answer,  sir. 

Flam.  {TVithin.)  Servilius,  help  I— iiiv  lord  !  rajf 
lord  !— 

Enter  Timon,  in  a  rai/e:  Flaminius  following. 
Tim.  What,  are  my  doors  oppos  d  ag.iiust  mj 
passage  ? 

Have  I  been  ever  free,  and  must  my  house 
Be  niy  retentive  enemy,  my  gaol  ? 
The  place,  which  I  liave  feasted,  does  it  now 
Like  all  mankind,  shew  me  an  iron  hear^^ 
Luc.  Serv.  Vni  in  now,  Titus, 


548 


riMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  ITL 


Tii  My  lord,  here  is  my  bill. 
f/uc.  Serr>,  Here's  mine. 
Hor.  Serv.  And  mine,  my  lord. 
liuth  Vor.  Serv.  AuA  ours,  my  lord. 
Phi  All  our  bills.  [the  girdle. 

Tin  .  Knock  me  down  with 'em ;  cleave  me  ta 
Li:c.  Serv.  Alas!  my  lord, — 
Tim   lyiit  my. heart  in  3um.s 
Tit.  Miiie,  fifty  talents. 
77;-!:.  Tell  out  my  bloocS. 
Lite.  Serv.  Five  thousand  drops  pay  hat. 
Ttm.  Five  thousand  drops  pays  that. — 
Vh.'it  \  ours  ? — and  yours? 

1  Var.  Serv.  My  lord, — 

2  Var.  Serv.  My  lord,— 

Tim.  Tear  me,  take  me,  asd  the  gods  fall  on 
you !  [Exit. 
Hor.  'Faith,  I  perceive  our  masters  may  tlnow 
iheir  caps  at  their  money  ;  these  debts  may  well  be 
called  desperate  ones;  ibr  a  madman  owes  'em. 

[Exeunt. 

He-enter  TiMON  and  Flavius. 
Tim.  They  have  e'en  put  my  breath  from  n)e,  the 
slai  es : 
Creditors  ! — devils. 
Flav.  My  dear  lord, — 
Ti7n.  What  if  it  should  be  so  ? 
Flav.  My  lord,— 

Tim.  I'll  have  it  so: — My  steward  ! 
Flav.  Here,  my  lord. 

Tim.  So  fitly  ?  Go,  bid  all  my  friends  again, 
Lucius,  Lucullus,  and  Sempronius  ;  all : 
f '11  once  more  feast  the  rascals. 

Flav.  O  my  lord, 

Vou  only  speak  from  your  distracted  soul ; 
There  is  not  so  much  left,  to  furnish  out 
A  moderate  table. 

Tim.  Be't  not  in  thy  care  ;  go, 

I  charge  thee;  invite  them  all :  let  in  the  tide 
Of  knaves  once  more;  my  cook  and  I'll  provide. 

[Exeitnt. 

JScENE  V. — The  same.    The  Senate-House. 
The  Senate  sitting.  Enter  Alcibiades,  attended. 

1  Sen.  i\ly  lord,  yon  have  my  voice  to't;  the  fault's 
Sloody  ;  'tis  necessary  he  should  die  : 

Nothing  emboldens  sin  so  much  as  mercy. 

2  Sen.  Most  true ;  the  law  shall  bruise  him. 
Alcib.  Honour,   health,  and  compassion  to  the 

senate ! 
I  Sen.  Now,  captain  ? 

Alcib.  I  am  an  humble  suitor  to  your  virtues; 
For  pity  is  the  virtue  of  the  law, 
And  none  but  tyrants  use  it  cruelly. 
It  pleases  time,  and  ibrtune,  to  lie  heavy 
Upon  a  friend  ol"  mine,  who,  in  hut  blood, 
Hath  stepp'd  intu  the  law,  which  is  past  dej)th 
To  those  that,  without  heed,  dn  plunge  into  it. 
He  is  a  man,  setting  his  fate  aside. 
Of  comely  virtues : 

Nor  did  he  soil  the  fart  with  cowardice  ; 
(An  honour  in  him,  wfiich  buys  out  his  fault), 
But,  with  a  noble  fury,  and  fair  spirit, 
Seeing  his  reputation  touch'd  to  death. 
He  did  oppose  his  foe  : 
An'l  with  s:ich  sober  and  unnoted  passion 
He  did  t)eha\  e  his  anger,  ere  'twas  sj^ent, 
As  if  he  had  but  prov'd  an  argurnent. 

3  Sen.  Vou  undergo  too  strict  a  paradox, 
Striving  to  ».nake  an  ugly  deed  h»ok  lair: 

Vour  words  have  took  such  pains,  as  if  they  laboor'd 
To  bring  manslaughter  into  form,  set  tjuarreiiing 
lJp(m  tlie  head  ol' valour;  which,  indeed. 
Is  \al(Mir  nnsbeiiot,  and  came  into  the  w  orld 
When  sects  and  factions  were  newly  born  : 
He's  tndy  valiHBt,  that  can  wisely  suffer 
The  worst  that  man  can  breatlie  ;  and  make  his 
wrongs 


His  otitsides  ;  wear  them  like  his  raiment,  c*r»- 

lessly  ; 

And  ne'er  prefer  his  injuries  to  his  I  eart. 
To  bring  it  into  danger. 
If  w  rongs  be  evils,  and  enforce  us  kill, 
What  folly  'tis,  to  hasard  life  for  ill  ? 
Alcib.  My  lord,— 

1  Sen.  You  cannot  make  gross  sins  look  clevir ; 
To  revenge  is  no  valour,  but  to  be«r. 

Alcib.  My  lords,  then,  under  t'avour,  j>ar<kin  xu^ 
If  1  speak  like  a  captain. — 
Why  do  fond  n»en  expose  themselves  to  battle. 
And  not  endure  all  threat'nings  ?  sle.  p  upon  it, 
And  let  the  foes  quietly  cut  tneir  throats 
Witiiout  re(,ngnancy  ^  but  if  there  be 
Such  valour  in  the  bearing,  what  make  we 
Abroad  ?  why  then,  women  are  more  valiant, 
Tliat  stay  at  h<jme,  if  bearing  carry  it ; 
And  the  ass,  more  captain  tlian  the  lion;  the  fo^QQ; 
Loaden  with  irons,  w  iser  than  the  judge, 
II Wisdonj  be  in  sulfering.    O  my  lo.as. 
As  you  are  great,  be  pitifidly  good  : 
Who  cannot  condemn  rashness  in  cold  blood? 
To  kill.  I  grant,  is  sin's  extremest  gust ; 
But,  in  defence,  by  mercy,  'tis  most  just. 
To  be  in  anger,  is  impiety  ; 
But  who  is  man,  that  is  not  angry  ? 
Weigh  but  the  crime  with  this. 

2  Sen.  You  breathe  in  vain. 

Alcib,  In  vain?  hia service  doM 

At  Lacedaemon,  and  Byzantium, 
Were  a  sulHcieut  briber  for  bis  life. 

1  Sen.  What's  that'i'  [vic« 
Alcib.  Why,  I  say,  my  lords,  h'as  ^ose  fair  aer 

And  slain  in  ti^ht  many  of" your  enemies: 

How  lull  of  valour  did  he  bear  himself 

In  the  last  conflict,  and  made  plenteous  wou?:(li? 

2  Sen.  He  has  made  too  mucli  pl<  nty  with  em,  he 
Is  a  sworn  rioter:  h'as  a  sin  that  often 

Drowns  him,  ai  d  fakes  his  valour  piisoner: 
If  there  were  no  foes,  that  were  enough  alone 
'1  o  overcome  hin» :  in  that  beastly  lury 
He  has  been  known  to  conunit  oiit rages, 
And  cherish  fictions:  'Tis  inferr'd  to  us, 
His  days  are  foul,  and  his  drink  dangerous. 
1  Sen.  He  dies. 

Alcib.  Hard  fate!  he  might  have  died  in  war 
My  lords,  if  liot  for  any  parts  in  him, 
(Though  his  right  arm  might  purchase  his  own  time 
And  be  in  debt  to  none),  yet,  more  to  move  you, 
Take  my  deserts  to  his,  and  join  them  both: 
And,  for  I  know,  your  reverend  a«es  love 
S(  ciirity,  i'll  pawn  my  victories,  all 
My  honour  to  you,  up^n  his  got  a  returns. 
It  by  this  crime  he  owes  the  law  his  life, 
VVhy,  If  t  the  war  receiv't  in  valiant  gore  ; 
For  1.1  vv  is  strict,  and  war  is  nothing  more. 

1  Sen.  We  are  for  law,  he  dies ;  uige  it  no  more, 
On  height  of  our  displeasure  :  Friend,  (u- brother, 
He  forfeits  his  own  blood,  tliat  spills  another. 

'  Alcib.  Must  it  be  .so  ?  it  must  not  be.  My  Iwlt, 
I  do  beseech  you,  know  me. 

2  Sen.  How? 

Alcib.  Call  me  to  your  remembrances. 

3  Sen.  What? 
Alcib,  I  cannot  think,  but  your  age  has  furj^m*; 

It  could  not  else  be,  I  should  prcve  so  base, 
To  sue,  and  be  denied  such  common  grace  : 
M  y  \-.ounds  ache  at  yon. 

1  Sen.  Do  you  dare  our  anger  ? 
T'is  in  few  words,  but  spacious  in  effect 
We  banish  thee  forever. 

Alcib.  Banish  me  ? 

Banish  your  dotage;  banish  usury. 
That  makes  the  senate  ugly. 

1  Sen.  If,  alter  two  days' shine,  Athens  ccnttun 
thee. 

Attend  our  weightier  judgment.    And.  not  to  swell 
our  spirit, 

I  He  shall  be  executed  presently.  [Exeunt  Senator*^ 


Scene  6.  TIMON  0] 

Alcib.  Now  the  ffods  keep  you  old  enough;  that 
you  may  live 
Only  in  bone,  that  none  may  look  on  you  ! 
I  am  worse  than  mad :  f  have  kept  back  their  foes, 
While  they  have  told  their  money,  and  let  out 
Their  coin  upon  large  interest;  I  myself 
Rich  only  in  lartje  hurts; — All  those,  for  this  ? 
Is  this  (h?  bals;im,  that  the  usnring  senate 
Pours  into  captains'  wounds  ?  ha  !  banishment? 
It  corner  not  dl ;  I  hate  not  to  be  banish'd  ; 
It  is  a  cause  worthy  my  spleen  and  fury. 
That  1  n>ay  strike  at  Athens.    I'll  cheer  up 
My  discontented  troops,  and  lay  for  hearts. 
Tis  honour,  with  most  lands  to  be  at  odds, 
Soldiers  sliould  brook  as  little  wrongs  as  gods. 

[Exit. 

Scene  VI. — A  maynificent  Room  in  Timon's 
House. 

Music.     Tables  set   out :   Servants  attending. 
Enter  divers  Lords,  at  several  doors. 
Lord.  Tlie  good  time  of  day  to  you,  sir. 
2  Lord.   I  also  wish  it  to  you.     I  think,  this 
honourable  lord  did  but  try  us  this  other  day. 

1  Lord.  Upon  th-^t  were  my  thoughts  tiring,  when 
we  encountered  :  1  hope,  it  is  not  so  low  with  him, 
as  he  made  it  seem  in  the  trial  of  his  several  friends, 

2  Lord.  It  shoidd  not  be,  by  the  persuasion  of 
his  new  feasting. 

1  Lord.  I  should  think  so :  He  hath  sent  me  an 
earnest  inviting,  which  many  my  near  occasions  did 
urge  me  to  put  olf;  but  he  hath  conjured  me  beyond 
them,  and  I  must  needs  appear. 

2  Lord,  (fi  like  manner  was  I  in  debt  to  my  im- 
portunate business,  but  he  would  not  hear  my  ex- 
cuse. I  am  sorry,  when  he  sent  to  borrow  of  nie, 
that  my  piovision  was  out. 

1  Lord.  I  aui  sick  of  that  grief  too,  as  I  under- 
»*an(l  how  all  things  go. 

2  Lord.  Every  man  here's  so.  What  would  he 
have  hornnved  of  you  ? 

1  Lord.  A  thousand  pieces. 

2  Lord.  A  thousand  pieces! 

1  Lord.  What  of  you? 

2  Lord,  lie  sent  to  me,  sir, — Here  he  coraes. 

Enter  Timon,  and  Attendants. 
Tim.  With  all  my  heart,  gentleioen  both : — And 
'low  fare  you  ? 

1  Lord.  Ever  at  the  best,  hearing  well  of  your 
lordship. 

2  Lord.  The  swallow  follows  not  summer  more 
willing,  liian  we  your  lordship. 

Titn.  (Aside.)  Nor  more  willingly  leaves  winter; 
such  Kurtiutei -birds  are  men. — Gentlemen,  our  din- 
ner will  not  recompense  this  long  stay  :  feast  your 
ears  witii  the  music  awhile;  if  they  will  fare  so 
harshly  on  the  trumpet's  sound  :  we  shall  to't  pre- 
sently. 

1  Lord.  I  hope,  it  remains  not  unkindly  with 
your  lordship,  that  I  returned  you  an  empty  mes- 
sensrer. 

TJm.  O,  sir,  let  it  not  trouble  you. 

2  Lofd,  My  nolile  lord, — 

Tim.  Ah,  my  good  friend  !  what  cheer  •* 

( T/ie  b-anquet  brought  in.) 

2  Lord.  My  most  honourable  lord,  I  am  e'en  sick 
of  shame,  that,  when  your  lordship  this  other  day 
Bent  to  n»e.  I  was  so  unfortunate  a  beggar. 

Tim.  Think  not  «)n't,  sir. 

2  Lord.  H"  you  had  sent  but  two  hours  before, — 
Tim.  Let  it  not  cuniher  your  better  remembrance. 
— Cotne.  brnig  in  ail  together. 

2  Lord.  All  rovered  dishes! 

i  Lord-  Royal  cheer,  i  warrant  you. 

3  Lord.  Doiibt  tiot  tliat,  if  money  and  the  season 
laii  yield  it. 

1  Lord.  How  do  you  ?  What's  the  news? 

3  Lord.  A  Icihiades  is  banished  :  Hear  you  of  it  ? 

]  &L  2  Lord.  Alcibiades  banished ! 

3  LotV.  'Tis  so  be  sure  of  it. 


ATHENS.  m 

1  Lord.  How  ?  how  ? 

2  Lord.  I  pray  you,  upon  what? 

Tim.  My  worthy  friends,  will  you  draw  near  .' 

3  Lord.  I'll  tell  you  more  anon.  Hert  s  a  uob.g 
feast  toward. 

2  Lord.  This  is  the  old  man  still. 

3  Lord.  WiU't  hold  ?  will't  hold  ? 

2  Lord,  ft  does:  but  time  will — and  so-- 

3  Lord.  I  do  conceive. 

Tim.  Each  man  to  his  stooJ,  with  that  spur  as  \;.'. 
would  to  the  lip  of  his  mistress  :  your  diet  shall  1^' 
in  all  places  alike.  Make  not  a  city  feast  of  it  (  • 
let  the  meat  cool  ere  we  can  agree  upon  the  lii  st. 
place  :  Sit,  sit.    The  gods  require  our  tlianks. 

You  great  benefactors,  spr  inkle  our  society  ivith 
thankfulness.  For  your  oivn  gifts,  make  yours-ylves 
praised:  but  reserve  still  to  give,  lest  your  deities 
be  despised.  Lend  to  each  man  enough,  that  one 
need  not  lend  to  another :  for.  were  your  godheads 
to  borroiv  of  men,  men  would  forsake  the  gods. 
Make  the  meat  be  beloved,  more  than  the  man  that 
gives  it.  Let  no  assembly  of  ttventy  be  ivithout  a 
score  of  villains :  If  there  sit  twelve  tvomen  at 
the  table.)  let  a  dozen  of  them  be — as  they  are. — 
The  rest  of  your  fees.,  O  gods, — the  senators  of 
Athens,  together  with  the  common  lag  of  people, — 
what  is  amiss  in  them,  you  gods,  make  suitable 
for  destruction.  For  these  my  present  friends, — 
as  they  are  to  me  nothing,  so  in  nothing  bless  them, 
and  to  nothing  they  are  welcome. 
Uncover,  dogs,  and  lap. 

{The  dishes  uncovered,  are  full  of  warm  water,) 
Sotne  speak.  What  does  his  lordship  mean? 
Some  other.  I  know  not. 
Tim.  May  you  a  better  feast  never  behold, 
You  kuot  of  mouth-friends  !  smoke,  and  iuke-warm 
water 

Is  your  perfection.    This  is  Timon's  last ; 
Who  stuck  and  spangled  you  with  flatteries, 
Washes  it  otf,  and  sprinkles  in  your  faces 

( Throwing  water  in  their  fac«9>. ) 
Your  reeking  villany.    Live  loath 'd,  and  long, 
Most  smiling,  smooth,  detested  parasites, 
Courteous  destroyers,  affable  wolves,  meek  bears. 
You  fools  of  fortune,  trencher-friends,  time's  Hies, 
Cap  and-knee  slaves,  vapours,  and  minute -jacks ! 
Of  nmn,  and  beast,  the  infinite  malady 
Crust  yon  quite  o'er! — What,  dost  thou  go? 
Soft,  take  thy  physic  first, — thou  too, — and  thou 
[Throtvs  the  dishes  at  them,  and  drives  them  out.. 
Stay,  I  will  lend  thee  money,  borrow  none.— 
What,  all  in  motion  ?    Henceforth  be  no  feast. 
Whereat  a  villain's  not  a  welcome  guest. 
Burn,  house;  sink,  Athens!  henceforth  hated  be 
Ot  Timon,  man,  and  all  humanity.  [Exit, 

Re-enter  the  Lords,  with  other  Lords  and 
Senators. 

1  Lord.  How  now,  my  lords?  [fury? 

2  Lord.  Know  you  the  quality  of  lord  Timon's 

3  Lord.  Pish  !  did  you  see  my  cap  ? 

4  Lord.  1  have  lost  my  gown. 

3  Lord.  He's  but  a  mad  lord,  and  nought  but 
humour  sways  him.  He  gave  ine  a  jewel  the  other 
day,  and  now  he  has  beat  it  out  of  my  hat ; — Did 
you  see  my  jewel  ? 

4  Lord.  Did  you  see  my  cap  ? 
2  Lord.  Here  'tis. 

4  Lord.  Here  lies  my  gown. 

1  Lord.  Let's  make  no  stay. 

2  Lord.  Lord  Timon's  mad. 

3  Lord.  I  feel't  upon  my  bones. 

4  Lord.  One  day  he  gives  us  diamonds,  next  df»y 

stones.  [Exeunh 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  {.—Without  the  Walk  of  AtJiens. 
Enter  TiMON. 
Tim.  Let  me  look  back  upon  the«.  O  thou  wall. 


550 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  11 


Thai  g^irdiest  in  those  wolves !    Dive  in  the  earth, 
And  fence  not  Athens  I  Matrons,  turn  incontinent! 
Obedience  fail  in  children!  slaves,  and  fools, 
Phick  the  grave  wrinkled  senate  from  the  bench. 
And  minister  in  their  steads  !  to  general  filths 
Convert  o'the  instant,  green  virgniity  ! 
Do't  in  your  parents'  eyes  !  bankrupts  hold  fast; 
Ratiier  than  render  back,  out  with  your  knives. 
And  cut  your  trusters'  throats!  bound  servants, 
sieal ! 

Large-lianiled  robbers  your  grave  masters  are, 
And  pill  by  law  !  maid,  to  thy  master's  bed  ; 
'j'liy  mistress  is  o'the  brothel!  son  of  sixteen, 
Pliick  the  liu'd  crutch  from  the  old  limping  sire, 
W  ith  it  beat  out  his  brains !  piety,  and  I'ear, 
Religion  to  the  gods,  peace,  justice,  truth, 
Domestic  awe,  night-rest,  and  neighbourhood, 
Instruction,  manners,  mysteries,  and  trades, 
Degrees,  observances,  customs,  and  laws,' 
Decline  to  your  confoanding  contraries. 
And  yet  confusion  live  ! — Plagues,  incident  to  men, 
Your  potent  and  infectious  fevers  heap 
On  Athens,  ripe  for  stroke  !  thou  cold  sciatica, 
Cripple  our  senators,  that  their  limbs  may  halt 
As  lamely  as  their  manners  !  lust  and  liberty 
Creep  in  the  minds  and  marrows  of  our  youth  ; 
That  'gainst  the  stream  of  \irtue  they  may  strive. 
And  drown  themselves  in  riot!  itches,  blains. 
Sow  all  the  Athenian  bosoms:  and  tiieir  crop 
Be  general  leprosy  !  breath  infect  breath; 
That  their  society,  as  their  friendship,  may 
Be  merely  poison!  Nothing  I'll  bear  ironi  thee, 
But  nakedness,  thou  detestable  town  ! 
Take  thou  that  too,  with  multiplying  banns! 
Timon  will  to  the  v;oods  ;  where  he  shall  find 
The  unkindest  beast  more  kinder  thun  mankind. 
The  gods  cunfoiuul  (hear  me,  ye  good  gods  all,) 
The  Atheninns  both  within  and  out  that  wall! 
And  grant,  as  Timon  grows,  his  hate  may  grow 
To  the  whole  race  of  mankind,  high,  and  low  ! 
Amen  [Exit, 

Scene  II. — Athens.    A  Room  in  Timuri's  House. 
Et/ier  Flavius,  ivii/i  two  or  three  Servants. 
1  Serv.  Hear  you,  uiasttr  steward,  vvhere's  our 
master  ? 

Are  we  undone  ?  cast  otV?  nothing  remaining? 
Flav.  .4lack,  my  fellows,  what  should  I  say  to 
you  i 

Let  me  be  recorded  by  the  righteous  gods, 
I  ani  as  poor  as  you. 

1  ^erv.  Such  a  house  broke  ! 
So  noble  a  master  fallen !    All  gone  !  and  not 
One  I'riend,  to  take  his  fortune  by  the  £»nn. 
And  go  ah)ng  with  him  ! 

2  Serv.  As  we  do  turn  our  backs 
From  our  companion,  thrown  into  his  grave  ; 

So  his  fauuliars  to  his  buried  fortunes 

Slink  all  away  ;  leave  their  false  vows  with  him. 

Like  empty  purses  pick'd  :  and  his  poor  self, 

A  dedicated  beggar  to  the  air. 

With  his  disease  of  all-shunn'd  poverty, 

Walks,  like  contempt,  alone. — iVlore  oi  our  fellows. 

Enter  other  Servants. 
Flav.  All  broken  implements  of  a  ruin'd  house. 

3  Serv.  Vet  do  our  hearts  wear  Timon's  livery, 
That  see  I  by  our  faces ;  we  are  fellows  still, 
Serving  alike  in  sorrow  :  Leak'd  is  our  bark ; 
And  we,  poor  mates,  stand  on  the  dying  deck. 
Hearing  the  surges  threat:  we  must  all  part 
Into  this  sea  oi  air. 

Flav.  Good  fellows  all. 

The  latest  of  my  wealth  1  11  share  amongst  you. 
Wherever  we  shall  meet,  for  Timon's  sake. 
Let's  yet  be  fellows;  let's  shake  our  iieads,  and  say. 
As  'twere  a  knell  unto  our  master's  fortunes. 
We  hav9  sOtn  better  days.    Let  each  take  some  ; 

{Giving  them  money.) 
Nay,  put  oat  all  your  bands.   Not  one  word  more 


Thus  part  we  rich  in  som  iv,  parting  poor. 

[Exeunt  Servant^ 
O,  the  fierce  wretchedness  that  glory  brings  us ! 
Who  would  not  wish  to  be  from  wealth  exempt. 
Since  riches  point  to  misery  and  contempt? 
Who'd  be  so  mock'd  with  glory  ?  or  to  live 
But  in  a  dream  of  friendship  ? 
To  have  his  pomp,  and  all  what  state  compouad<). 
But  only  painted,  like  his  varnish'd  friends  ? 
Poor  honest  lord,  brought  low  by  his  own  hearty 
Undone  by  goodness  !  Strange,  unusual  blood. 
When  man's  worst  sin  is,  he  does  too  much  gooti! 
Who  then  dares  to  be  half  so  kind  again  ? 
For  bounty,  that  makes  gods,  does  still  mar  naea. 
Aly  dearest  lord, — bless'd,  to  be  most  accars'd. 
Rich,  only  to  be  wretched  ; — thy  great  fortunes 
Are  made  thy  chief  afflictions.    Alas,  kind  lord! 
He's  fiung  in  rage  from  this  ungrateful  seat 
Of  monstrous  friends;  nor  has  he  with  him  to 
Supply  his  life,  or  that  which  can  command  it. 
I'll  follow,  and  inquire  him  out: 
I  II  serve  his  mind  with  my  best  will; 
Whilst  I  have  gold.  1  11  be  his  steward  still.  [EgU 

Scene  III.— The  Woods. 
Enter  Timon. 
Tim.  O  blessed  breeding  sun,  draw  from  tb« 
earth 

Rotten  humidity  ;  below  thy  sister's  orb 

Infect  the  air!  JVinn'd  brothers  of  one  womb, — 

Whose  procreation,  residence,  and  birth,    [tunes ; 

Scarce  is  dividant, —  touch  them  with  several  for 

The  greater  scorns  the  lesser:  Not  nature. 

To  wiiouj  all  sores  lay  siege,  can  bear  great  fortuijc, 

Hut  by  contempt  of  nature. 

Raise  me  this  beggar,  and  denude  that  lord; 

The  senator  shall  bear  contempt  hereditary, 

The  beggar  native  honour. 

Jt  is  tiie  pasture  lards  the  brother's  side?,  ^"lire» 

The  want  that  makes  him  lean.    Who  dar«>9, 

In  purity  of  manhood  stand  upr-ght. 

And  say.  This  man's  a  jiatterer?  if  one  be* 

So  are  they  all  ;  ior  every  grize  offoitune 

Is  sinooth'd  by  that  below  :  tlie  learned  patt 

Oiicks  to  the  golden  fool  :  All  is  chliqiie  ; 

There's  nothmg  level  in  our  cursed  nalnres, 

Hut  direct  villany.    Therefore,  be  abliorr'd 

All  feasts,  societies,  and  throngs  of  men  ! 

His  semblable,  yea,  himself,  Timon  disdains: 

Destruction  fang  mankind! — Earth,  yield  me  roots! 

(Digging,) 

Who  seeks  for  better  of  thee,  sauce  his  palate 
With  tl»y  most  operant  poison  !  What  is  here  ?, 
Gold  ?  yellow,  glitteruig,  precious  gold  i  No,  gods, 
I  an*  no  idle  vot;irist.    Roots,  you  clear  heavens ! 
Thus  much  of  this,  will  make  black,  white;  foul, 

fair ;  [valiant. 
Wrong,  right;  base,  noble;  old,  young;  coward, 
Ha,  you  gods  I  why  this  ?  What  this,  you  gods? 

Why  this 

Will  lug  your  priests  and  servants  from  your  sides; 
Pluck  stout  men's  pillows  from  below  their  heads: 
This  yellow  slave 

Will  knit  and  break  religions;  bless  the  accuro'd; 
Make  the  hoar  leprosy  ador'd  ;  place  thieves, 
And  give  them  title,  knee,  and  approbation, 
VVith  senators  on  the  bench  :  this  is  it, 
Tliat  makes  the  wappeu'd  widow  wed  again ; 
She,  whom  the  spital  house,  and  ulcerous  sores 
Would  cast  the  gorge  at,  tins  embalms  and  spicca 
To  the  April  day  again.    Come,  diimned  earth. 
Thou  common  whore  of  mankind,  that  put  st  odds 
Among  the  rout  of  nations,  I  will  make  thee 
Do  thy  right  nature.~(il/rtrt7/  njar  o/lj-Ha!  % 

drum  ? — Thou'rt  quick. 
But  yet  I'll  bury  thee  :  Thou'it  jio,  strong  thief. 
When  gouty  keepers  of  thee  cannot  ftand  :— 
Nay,  stay  thoa  out  for  earnest 

{Ktt^ing  some  go^d,) 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS.  .  oul 


Scene  3. 

fJnter  AhClBiADES,  with  drum  andffe,  in  warlike 
manner :  Phrynia  and  Timandra. 

Alcib.  What  art  thou  (here  ? 

fc>p<'ak.  'heart, 

Tim.  A  beast,  as  thou  art.  The  canker  guaw  thy 
For  shewing  me  again  the  eyes  of  nmn  I 

Alcib.  What  is  thy  name  ?  Is  man  so  hateful  to 
That  art  thyself  a  man  ?  [thee, 

Tim.  I  am  misanthropos,  and  hate  mankind. 
For  tliy  part,  I  do  wish  thou  wert  a  dog, 
Thaf  1  might  love  thee  something. 

Alcib.  I  know  thee  well ; 

But  in  thy  fortunes  am  unlearn'd  and  strange. 

Tim.  1  know  thee  too;  and  more,  than  that  I 
know  thee, 
[  not  desire  to  know.    Follow  thy  drum  ; 
Wti\i  man's  blood  j)aint  the  ground,  gules,  gules  : 
Religious  canons,  civil  latws  are  cruel  ; 
Then  what  should  war  be?  This  fell  whore  of  thine 
Hath  in  her  more  destruction  tlian  thy  sword. 
For  all  her  cherubiu  look. 

PItry.  Thy  lips  rot  olf! 

Tim.  I  will  not  kiss  thee ;  then  the  rot  returns 
To  thine  own  lips  again. 

Alcib.  How  came  the  noble  'I'imonto  this  change? 

Tim.  As  the  moon  does,  by  wanting  liuht  to  give  : 
But  then  renew  I  could  not,  like  the  moon  ; 
lliere  were  no  suns  to  borrow  of. 

Alcib.  Noble  Tiuion, 

What  friendship  may  I  do  thee  ? 

Tim.  None,  but  to 

Maintain  my  opinion. 

Alcib.  What  is  it,  Timon? 

Tiin.  Promise  me  friendship,  but  perform  none  :  If 
Thou  wilt  not  promise,  the  gods  plaj^ue  thet-,  for 
Thou  art  a  man  !  if  thou  dost  perform,  confound  thee, 
For  tliou'rt  a  man  ! 

Alcib.  I  have  heard  in  some  sort  of  thy  niiseries. 

Tim,  Thou  savv'st  tiiem,  when  I  had  prosperity. 

Alcit.  I  see  them  now  ;  then  was  a  blessed  time. 

Titii.  As  thine  is  now,  held  with  a  brace  of  harlots. 

Tim.   Is  this  the  Atlienian  miniou,  whom  the 
world 
f  oic'd  so  regardfully  ? 

Tim.  Art  thou  Timandra  ? 

Timan.  Yes. 

Tim.  lie  whore  still  !  they  love  thee  not,  that 
use  thee  ; 

Give  them  diseases,  leaving  with  thee  their  lust. 
Make  use  of  thy  salt  iiours:  season  the  slaves 
For  f  libs,  and  baths ;  bring  down  rose-cheeked  youth 
To  the  tub-fast,  anil  the  diet. 

Tiinan.  Hang  thee,  njonster  ! 

Alcib.  Pardon  him,  sweet  Timandra  ;  for  his  wits 
Are  drown'd  and  lost  in  his  calamities.— 
I  ha\e  t)ut  little  );old  of  late,  brave  Timon, 
The  vv.'int  vvheretjf  dotli  daily  tnake  revolt 
In  my  penuiu)ns  band:  I  iiave  heard,  and  griev'd, 
IJyvv  '-ufsed  Athens,  iiiindless  of  thji  worth, 
For^'etliii;^  ihy  great  d-erds,  when  neighbour  states. 
But  (or  tliy  xvvord  and  fortune,  trod  upon  them, — 

Tim.  1  pr'ythee,  beat  thy  drum,  and  get  thee  gone. 

Alcib.  I  am  thy  friend,  and  pity  tiiee,  dear  Ti- 
mon. [trouble  ? 

Ti?n.  How  dost  thou  pity  him,  whom  thou  dost 
I  had  ratiier  be  alone. 

Alcib.  Why,  fare  thee  well : 

Hert-  s  .some  gold  for  thee. 

Tun.  Keep't,  I  cannot  eat  it. 

Alcib.  When  I  have  laid  proud  Athens  on  a 
heaj),— 

Tim.  Warr'st  thou  'gainst  Athens  ■* 
Alcib.  Ay,  Tiu»on,  and  have  cause. 

TiT/i.  The  gods  conift  ^nd  them  all  i'tliy  conquest ; 
and 

Thee  after,  when  thou  hav.t  conquer'd  ! 

Alcib.  VVh'v  me,  Timon  ? 

Tim,  That, 
By  kiihng  viliainH,  thou  wast  born  to  conquer 


My  country. 

Put  up  thy  gold  ;  Go  on, —  here's  gold, — go  on  ; 
Be  as  a  planetary  plague,  when  Jove 
Will  o'er  some  high  vic'd  city  hang  his  poisoo 
In  the  sick  air  :  Let  not  thy  sword  skip  one  : 
Pity  not  honour'd  age  for  his  white  beard  ; 
He's  an  usurer:  Strike  me  the  counterfeit  matrou 
It  is  her  habit  only  ^at  is  honest, 
HerselPs  a  bawd  :  Let  not  the  virgin's  cheek 
Make  soft  thy  trenchant  sword  ;  for  those  milk-papi^ 
That  through  the  window-bars  bore  at  men's  eyes^ 
Are  not  within  the  leaf  of  pity  writ,  [babe 
Set  them  down  horrible  traitors :  Spare  not  th* 
Whose  dimpled  smiles  from  fools  exhaust  their 
mercy ; 

Think  it  a  bastard,  whom  the  oracle 
Hath  doubtfully  pronounc'd  thy  throat  shall  cut. 
And  mince  it  sans  remorse:  Swear  against  objects; 
Put  armour  on  thine  ears,  and  on  thine  eyes; 
Whose  proofs,  nor  yells  of  mothers,  ntaids,  uof 
babes, 

Nor  sight  of  j)riests  in  holy  vestments  bleeding, 
Shall  pierce  a  jot.  There's  gold  to  i)ay  thy  soldiers: 
Make  large  confusion;  and,  thy  fury  spent, 
Conioiinded  lit-  thyself  I  Speak  not,  be  gone. 

Alcib.  Hast  thou  gold  yet  ?  I'll  take  the  gold  tho* 
giv'.st  me, 

Not  all  thy  counsel.  [upon  thee! 

Tim.  Dost  tliou.  or  dost  thou  not,  heaven's  curse 
Phr.  ^  Timan.  Give  us  some  gold,  good  Timon: 

Hast  thou  juore  ? 
Tim.  linoiigh  to  make  a  whore  forswear  her  trade, 
And  to  make  whores,  a  bawd.    Hold  up,  you  sluts, 
Your  aprons  mountant:  You  are  not  oathable,-- 
Although,  I  know,  you'll  swear,  terribly  swear. 
Into  strong  shudders,  and  to  heavenly  agues. 
The  imuK^rtal  gods  that  hear  you, — spare  your  oaths, 
I'll  trust  to  your  conditions  ;  lie  whores  still  ; 
And  he  whose  pious  breath  seeks  to  convert  you. 
He  strong  in  whore,  allure  him,  burn  him  up; 
Let  your  close  fire  predominate  his  smoke. 
And  be  no  turncoats:    Yet  may  your  pains,  sis 
months, 

Be  quite  contrary  :  And  thatch  your  |)oor  thin  roofi 
Witii  burdens  of  the  dead  ; — some  that  were  hang'd, 
No  nmtter  : — wear  them,  betray  with  them  :  whor« 
still  ; 

Paint,  till  a  horse  may  mire  upon  your  face: 
A  [)0x  of  wrinkles  ! 

P/ir.§-  Timan.  Well,  more  gold;— What  then?— 
Believ  t,  that  we'll  do  any  thing  for  gold. 

Ti/n.  Consumption  sow 
In  hollow  bones  of  man;  strike  their  sharp  shins. 
And  mar  men's  spurring.  Crack  the  lawyer's  voice. 
That  lie  may  never  more  false  title  j)lead. 
Nor  sound  his  quillets  shrilly  :  hoar  the  flamen. 
That  scolds  against  the  quality  of  flesh. 
And  not  believes  himseli :  down  with  the  nose, 
Down  with  it  fbit;  take  the  bridge  quite  away 
Of  him,  that  his  particular  to  foresee. 
Smells  from   the  general  weal:  make  curl'd-pat« 

rufiians  bald  ; 
And  let  the  unscarr'd  braggarts  of  the  war 
Derive  some  pain  from  you:  Plague  all; 
That  your  activity  may  del'eat  and  quell 
The  source  of  all  erection. — There's  more  gold  :— 
Do  you  damn  others,  and  let  this  damn  you. 
And  ditches  grave  you  all! 

P/ir.  £f  Timan.  More  counsel  with  more  money, 
bounteous  Timon. 

Tim.  More  whore,  more  mischief  first ;  I  havi 
given  you  earnest. 

Alcib.  Strike  up  the  drum  towards  Athens.  Fare* 
well,  Timon ; 
If  1  thrive  well,  I'll  visit  thee  again. 

Tim.  If  I  hope  well,  I  'll  never  see  thee  more. 

Alcib.  I  never  did  thee  harm. 

Tim.  Yes,  thou  spok  st  well  of  me. 

Alcib.  Call'st  thou  that  harm! 

Tim.  Men  daily  find  it  such.    Get  thee  away; 


^52  TIMON  OF 

Anrl  tale  thy  beagles  with  tliee.  I 
Alcib.  We  but  offend  him. —  ' 

Strike. 

[Drum  beats.    Exeunt  Alcibiades,  Phrynia, 

and  Tunandra. 
Tim.  That  nature,  bein^  siclv  of  man's  unkind- 
ness, 

?!ionld  yet  be  hungry ! — Common  mother,  thou, 

[Dif/rjing.) 

Whose  womb  immeasurable,  and  infinite  breast, 
Teems,  and  feeds  all ;  whose  self-same  mettle, 
Whereof  thy  piotid  child,  arrogant  man,  is  piiff'd, 
Engenders  the  black  toad,  and  adder  blue, 
The  gilded  newt,  and  eyeless  venonrd  worm, 
With  all  the  abhorred  births  below  crisj)  heaven, 
Wliereon  Hyperion's  quickening  fire  duth  shine; 
Yield  him,  who  all  t!iy  human  sons  doth  hate. 
From  forth  thy  plenteous  bosom  one  poor  root! 
Ensear  thy  fertile  and  conceptions  womb, 
Let  it  no  more  bring  out  ingrateful  man  ! 
Go  great  with  tigers,  dragons,  wolves,  and  bears; 
Teem  with  new  monsters,  whom  thy  upward  face 
Hath  to  the  marbled  mansion  all  above 
Never  presented  ! — O,  a  root, — Dear  thanks! 
Dry  up  thy  marrows,  vines,  and  plough-torn  leas: 
Whereof  ingrateful  man,  with  liquorish  draughts. 
And  morsels  imctuous,  greases  his  pure  mind, 
That  from  it  all  consideration  slips! 

Enter  Apemantus. 
More  man  ?  Plague  !  plague  ! 

Apem.  1  was  directed  hither:  men  report, 
Thou  dosrt  alfect  my  manners,  and  dost  use  them. 

Tim.  "Fis  then,  because  thou  dost  not  keep  a 

VVhom  I  would  imitate:  Consumption  catch  thee! 

Apem.  'I'his  is  in  thee  a  nature  hut  affected; 
h  poor  unmanly  melancholy,  sprung 
Fiom  change  of  fortune.     Why  this  spade  V  this 
place? 

This  s!a\elike  habit?  and  these  looks  of  care? 
Thy  flatterers  yet  wear  silk,  drink  wine,  lie  soft; 
Hug  their  diseas'd  perfumes,  and  have  forgot 
That  ever  Timon  was.    Shame  not  these  woods, 
By  putting  on  the  cunning  of  a  carper. 
Be  thou  a  flatterer  now,  and  seek  to  thrive 
By  that  which  has  undone  thee  :  hinge  thy  knee, 
And  let  his  very  breath  whom  thou'lt  observe. 
Blow  off  thy  cap  ;  praise  his  most  vicious  strain. 
And  call  it  excellent:  Thou  wast  told  thus; 
Thou  gav'st  thine  ears,  like  tapsters,  that  bid  wel- 
come, 

To  knaves,  and  all  approachers.  'Tis  mf)stjust. 
That  thou  turn  rascal :  had'st  thou  wealth  again, 
Rascals  should  ha\  e't.    Do  not  assume  my  likeness. 

Tim.  Were  I  like  thee,  I'd  throw  away  myself. 

Apem.  Thou  hast  cast  away  thyself,  being  like 
thyself; 

A  madman  so  long,  now  a  fool:  What,  think'st 
That  the  bleak  air,  thy  boisterous  chamberlain. 
Will  put  thy  shirt  on  warm  ?  Will  these  moss'd 
trees. 

That  have  ont-liv'd  the  eagle,  page  thy  lieels, 
And  skip,  when  thou  point'st  out?  W'ill  the  cold 
brook. 

Candied  with  ice,  caudle  thy  morning  taste, 

To  cure  thy  o'er-night's  surfeit?  call  the  creatures, — 

Whose  naked  natures  live  in  all  the  Sjiite 

Of  wreakful  heaven  ;  whose  bare  unhoused  trunks. 

To  the  conflicting  elements  expos'd. 

Answer  mere  nature, — bid  thenj  flatter  thee  ; 

O!  thou  shah  find— 

TitK..  A  fool  of  thee  :  Depart. 

Apem.  I  lo*e  thee  better  novv  than  e'er  I  did. 

Tim.  1  hate  thee  worse. 

Apem.  VVTiy  ? 

Tim.  Thou  flatter'st  misery. 

Anem.  I  flatter  not;  but  say,  tliou  art  a  caiiifl". 

Tim.  Wl.y  d  >st  tliou  seek  n»e  out  ? 

Apeir .  To  vex  thee. 


ATHENS.  Act  IY. 

Tim.  Always  a  villain's  oiBce,  or  a  fool's. 

Dost  please  thyself  in't? 

Ajrem.  Ay. 

Tim.  What !  a  knave  too' 

Apem.  If  thou  didst  put  this  sour-cold  habit  on 
To  castigate  thy  pride,  'twere  well:  but  thou 
Dost  it  enforcedly  ;  thoud'st  cwurtier  be  again, 
Wert  thou  not  beggar.    Willing  misery 
Outlives  incertain  pomp,  is  crownM  before  : 
The  one  is  filling  still,  never  comjjlete; 
The  other,  at  high  wish  :    Best  state,  contentk-ss. 
Hath  a  distracted  and  most  wretched  being, 
Worse  than  the  worst,  content. 
Thou  should'st  desire  to  die,  being  miserable. 

Tim.  Not  by  U's  breath,  that  is  more  miserable 
Thou  art  a  slave   whom  Fortune's  tender  arm 
With  favour  ne  ^r  clasp'd  ;  but  bred  a  d(>g 
Hadst  thon,  lik    us.  from  our  first  swath,  proceeded 
The  sweet  dt-jrees  that  fliis  brief  world  afl'ords 
To  such  as  may  the  passive  drugs  of  it 
Freely  command,  thou  would'st  Ijavc  })lung'd  thyself 
In  general  riot  ;  melted  down  thy  youth 
In  diflerent  beds  of  lust;  and  never  learn'd 
The  icy  precepts  of  respect,  but  foUow'd 
The  sugar'd  game  before  thee.    Hut  myself, 
Who  had  the  world  as  my  confectionary; 
The  n»ouths,  the  tongues,  the  eyes,  and  hearts  of  men 
At  duty,  nuire  than  1  could  frame  employment; 
That  numberless  upon  me  stuck,  as  leaves 
Do  on  the  oak,  have  with  one  winter's  brush 
Fell  froni  their  boughs,  and  left  me  open,  I  are 
For  every  storm  lliat  blows; — I,  to  bear  this, 
That  never  knew  but  better,  is  some  burden: 
Thy  natin-e  did  commence  in  sufl'erance,  time 
Hath  made  thee  hard  ia't.  Why  should'st  thou  nat« 
men  ? 

They  never  flatter'd  thee  :  What  hast  thou  given  . 
If  thou  wilt  curse, — thy  father,  that  poor  lag, 
Must  be  thy  subject;  who,  in  spite,  put  slulf 
To  some  she  beggar,  and  compounded  thcfi 
Poor  rogue  hereditary,    lie  nee  !  be  gone' 
If  thou  hadst  nut  been  born  the  worst  of  men. 
Thou  hadst  been  a  knave  and  flatterer. 

Apem.  Art  thou  proud  yet? 

Tim.  Ay,  that  I  am  not  thee. 

Apem.  I,  that  1  was 
No  prodigal. 

Tim.  I,  that  I  am  one  now; 

Were  all  the  wealth  I  have  shut  up  in  thee, 
I'd  give  thee  leave  to  hang  it.    Get  thee  gone. — 
That  the  whole  life  of  Athens  were  in  this! 
Thus  would  1  eat  it  [Eatimj  a  root.) 

Ape?n.  Here:  I  will  mend  thy  feast. 

{Off'eriny  him  some  thing.) 

Tim.  First  mend  my  company,  take  away  thyself. 

Apem.  So  I  shall  mend  mine  own,  by  the  lack  ol 
thine. 

Tim.  'Tis  not  well  mended  so,  it  is  but  botch'd ; 
If  not,  1  would  it  were. 

Apem.  What  would'st  thon  have  to  Athens? 

Tim.  Thee  thither  in  a  vvliirlwind.  If  thou  wilt, 
Tell  them  there  I  have  gold ;  look,  so  I  have. 

Apem.  Here  is  no  use  for  gold. 

Tim.  The  best,  and  truest: 

For  liere  it  sleeps,  and  does  no  hired  harm. 

Apem.  Where  ly'st  o'nights,  Timon? 

7m.  Under  that's  above  me* 

Where  feed'st  thou  o'days,  A  emanfus? 

Apem.  Where  my  stomach  finds  meat;  or,  rather 
where  I  eat  it. 

Tim.  'Would  poison  were  obedient,  and  knew  m 
mind  ! 

Apetn.  Wliere  would'st  thou  send  it? 
Tim.  To  sauce  thy  dishes. 

Apem.  The  (uiddle  of  tmuianity  thou  never  kui^vT 
est,  but  the  extremity  of  both  ends;  When  thou 
wast  in  thy  gilt,  and  thy  perfume,  lliey  miM-ked  the* 
for  too  much  curiosity  ;  in  thy  rags  Ui».>u  knowest 
none,  but  art  despised  fur  the  contrarv.  There's  a 
n>edlar  for  thee,  eat  it 


Scene  3. 


TTMON  OF  ATHENS. 


553 


Tim  On  what  I  hsste,  I  fercl  nut. 

Ajn'tn.  Dost  hate  a  luedlHr  ? 

Tiiti.  Av,  thougli  it  look  'like  thee. 

Apem.  An  ti»ou  hadst  hated  nietldlers  sooner,  thou 
shoU'id'st  ha\  e  loved  thyself  better  now.  What  man 
didst  thou  ever  know  unthrift,  that  was  beloved 
alter  his  jneans  ? 

Tim.  Who,  without  those  means  thou  talkest  of, 
did^t  thou  ever  know  beloved  ? 

Apem,  Myself. 

Tim.  I  understand  thee ;  thou  hadst  some  naeans 
to  keep  a  dog. 

Apem.  What  things  in  the  world  canst  thou  nearest 
lornpaie  to  thy  flatterers? 

Tim.  Women  nearest ;  but  me»i,  rnen  are  the  things 
themselves.  What  would'st  thou  do  with  the  world, 
Ai>etnantu.s,  if  it  lay  in  thy  power  ? 

Apem.  Give  it  the  beasts,  to  be  rid  of  the  men. 

Tim.  Would'st  thou  have  thyself  fall  in  the  con- 
fnsioi  of  men,  and  remain  a  beast  with  the  beast? 

Apem.  Ay,  Timon. 

Tim.  A  beastly  ambition,  which  the  gods  grant 
thee  to  attain  to!  If  thou  vvert  the  lion,  the  \'ox 
would  beguile  thee:  if  thou  wert  the  lamb,  tiie  fox 
would  eat  ttiee  :  if  thou  wei  t  the  fox,  the  lion  would 
snsppct  thee,  wh-en,  perad venture,  thou  wert  ac- 
^rusfd  by  the  ass:  if  thou  wert  the  ass.  thy  dulness 
would  torment  thee  ;  and  still  thou  lived'st  but  as  a 
breakfast  to  the  wolf:  if  thrtu  wert  the  wolf,  thy 
ereediness  would  afliict  thee,  and  oft  thou  should'st 
ijazard  thy  life  for  tliy  dinner:  wert  thou  the  uni- 
corn, pride  and  wrath  would  confound  thee,  and  make 
thine  own  self  the  conquest  of  thy  fury  :  wert  thou  a 
bear,  thoj  would'st  be  killed  by  the  horse;  wert 
thou  a  horse,  thou  would'st  be  seized  by  the  leopard; 
wert  thou  a  leopard,  thou  wert  gerinan  to  the  lion, 
and  the  spots  of  thy  kindred  were  jurors  on  thy  life: 
all  thy  sal'ety  were  remotion ;  and  thy  defence,  ab- 
eencf.  W^hat  beast  could'st  thou  be,  that  were  not 
nubject  to  a  beast  ?  and  what  a  beast  art  thou  al- 
red.ly,  that  seest  not  thy  loss  in  transformation? 

Apem.  If  thou  could'st  please  nie  with  speaking  to 
-me,  thou  niight'st  have  hit  upon  it  here:  '^I'he  com- 
monwealth of  Athens  is  become  a  forest  of  beasts. 

Tim.  How  has  the  ass  broke  the  wall,  that  thou 
art  out  of  tlie  city  ? 

Apem.  Yonder  comes  a  poet,  and  a  painter:  the 
plaj>iie  of  company  light  upon  thee!  I  will  fear  to 
catch  it,  and  give  way  :  wlieu  I  know  not  wiiat  else 
to  fl(«.  1  11  see  thee  again. 

Tim.  When  there  is  nothing  living  but  thee,  thou 
siialt  l»e  welcome.  I  liad  rather  be  a  beggar's  dog 
than  Apemantus. 

Apem.  Thou  art  the  cap  of  all  the  fools  alive. 

Tun.  'Would  thou  wt- rt  clean  enough  to  spit  upon. 

Ajjtm.  A  plague  on  thee,  thou  art  too  bad  to  curse. 

Tim.  Ail  villains,  that  do  stand  by  thee,  are  pure. 

Apei/i.  Tht're  is  no  leprosy  bat  what  thou  speak'st. 

Tim.  11  I  name  thee. — 
Mi  1>,  at  tiiee — but  1  should  infect  my  hands. 

Apem.  I  would,  my  tongue  could  rot  them  off! 

Ti/Ji.  Away,  thou  issue  ol' a  mangy  dog! 
Glif  h-r  does  kdl  me,  that  thou  art  alive; 
i  siVtxKi  to  see  thee. 

Apem.  'Would  thou  would'st  burst! 

Tim.  Away, 
ruoti  tedious  rogue !  I  am  sorry,  I  shall  lose 
A.  stone  by  thee.  {Throws  a  stone  at  him.) 

Apem.         iJeast ! 

Tim.  Slave ! 

Apem.  Toad ! 

Tim.  Rogue,  rogue,  rogue  ! 

[Apemantus  retreats  backward,  as  yoiny. 
i  am  sick  of  this  false  world  ;  and  will  love  nought 
But  even  the  mere  necessities  upon  it. 
Fnen,  Timon,  presently  prepare  tliy  grave; 
Lie  where  the  light  foam  of  the  sea  may  beat 
Thy  grave-stone  daily  •  make  tiiine  epitaph. 
That  death  in  me  at  others'  lives  may  laugh. 


O  thou  sweet  king-killer,  and  dear  divorce 

{Lookimj  on  the  gold,^ 
'Twixt  natural  son  and  sire  I  tiiou  bi  igtit  d^filer 
Of  Hymen's  purest  bed  i  thou  vaiiant  Mars! 
Thou  ever  young,  fresh,  lov'd,  and  delicate  w  .i  er. 
Whose  blush  doth  lliaw  the  consecratt-d  snow 
That  lies  on  Dian's  lap!  thou  visible  god, 
That  solder'st  close  impossibilities, 
And  mak'st  them  kiss!  that  speak'st  with  ev(ij 
tongue. 

To  every  purpose  !  O  thon  touch  of  hearts  ! 
'I'hink,  thy  slave  man  rebels;  and  by  thy  virtue 
Set  them  into  confounding  odds,  that  beasts 
May  have  the  world  in  empire! 

Apem.  'Would  'twere  so 

But  not  till  I  am  dead  I — I'll  say,  thou  hast  gold  : 
Thi'u  wilt  be  throug'd  to  shortly. 

Tim.  Throng'dto? 

Apem.  Ay. 

Tim.  Tay  back,  I  pr'ythee. 

Apem.  Live,  and  love  thy  misery  ! 

T.im.  Long  live  so,  and  so  die  ! — I  am  quit. — 

[Exit  Apemantm 
More  things  like  men? — Eat,  Timon,  and  abhoi 
them. 

Enter  Thieves. 

1  Thief.  Where  should  he  have  this  gold  ?  It  is 
some  poor  fragment,  some  slender  ort  of  his  re- 
mainder: The  mere  want  of  gold,  and  the  falling- 
fromof  his  friends,  drove  him  into  this  melancholy. 

2  Thief.  It  is  noised,  he  hath  a  mass  ol  treasure. 

3  Thief.  Let  us  make  the  assay  upon  him  ;  if  he 
care  not  for't,  he  will  supply  us  easily  ;  If  he  covet- 
ously reserve  it,  how  shall's  get  it? 

2  Thief.  True  ;  for  he  bears  it  not  about  him,  tar 
hid. 

1  Thief  Is  not  this  he  ? 
Thieves.  Wliere? 

2  Thief.  'Tis  his  description. 
Z  Thief  He;  1  know  him. 
Thieves.  Save  thee,  Timon. 
Tim.  Now,  thieves. 
Thieves.  Soldiers,  not  thieves. 
Tim,  Both  too ;  and  women's  sons. 

Thieves.  We  are  not  thieves,  but  men  that  mucli 
do  want.  ^meat. 

Tim.  Your  greatest  want  is,  you  want  uwich  of 
W^hy  should  you  want?  Behold  the  earth  hath  roots 
Within  this  mile  break  forth  a  hundred  springs  : 
The  oaks  bear  mast,  the  briers  scarlet  hips  ; 
The  bounteous  house  A'ife,  nature,  on  each  bush 
Lays  her  full  mess  before  you.    W^ant?  why  want  ? 

1  Thief.  We  cannot  live  on  grass,  ou  berrie-s 
water. 

As  beasts,  and  birds,  and  fishes. 

Tim.  Nor  on  the  beasts  themselves,  the  birds, 
and  fishes ; 

You  must  eat  men.    Yet  thanks  I  must  you  con. 
That  you  are  thieves  profess'd  ;  that  you  work  not 
In  holier  shapes  :  for  there  is  boundless  theft 
In  limited  professions.    Rascal  thieves. 
Here's  gold  :  Go,  suck  the  subtle  blood  of  the  grape 
Till  the  hij>h  fever  seeth  your  blood  to  froth. 
And  so  'scape  hanging:  trust  not  the  physician  : 
His  antidotes  are  poison,  and  he  slays 
More  than  you  rob  :  take  wealth  and  lives  together  t 
Do  villany,  do,  since  you  profess  to  d(»'t, 
Like  workmen.    I  ll  example  you  with  thievery  : 
The  sun's  a  thief,  and  with  his  great  attraction 
Robs  the  vast  sea  :  the  moon's  an  arrant  thief. 
And  her  pale  fire  she  snatches  from  the  sun: 
'J'he  sea's  a  thief,  whose  liquid  surge  resolves 
The  moon  into  salt  tears  :  ttie  earth's  a  thief, 
That  feeds  and  breeds  by  a  composture  .stolen 
From  general  excrement :  each  thing's  a  thief; 
The  laws,  your  curb  and  whip,  in  their  rough  power 
Have  uncheck'd  theft.    Love  not  yourselves ;  away 
Rob  one  another.    There's  mere  gold  :  Cut  throat*; 
All  that  yoQ  meet  are  thieves:  To  Athens,  go^ 


554 


TTMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  V. 


Bi»-aK  open  shops;  nothing  cau  you  steal, 
Hut  t!)ieves  do  lose  it :  Steal  not  less,  for  this 
I  give  yoii  ;  and  gold  corilomid  yon  howsoever  ! 
Amen.  \Timun  retires  to  his  Cave.) 

Thief.  He  has  almost  ciianued  me  I'rom  niy 
|-ri.}fes«ion,  by  p'^-siiadin^  me  to  it. 

j  Thief.  'Tis  in  the  maiice  oi'  mankind,  that  he  thus 
advises  lis  :  not  to  iiavie  us  thrive  in  our  mystery. 

2  Thief  I'll  beiieve  him  as  an  enemy,  and  give 
over  my  trade. 

J  Thief.  Let  us  first  see  peace  in  Athens  :  There 
is  no  time  so  miserable,  but  a  man  may  be  true. 

[Exeunt  Thieves. 

Enter  Flavius. 
Flav.  O  you  gods  ! 
fa  yon  despis"d  and  niinous  man  my  lord  ? 
Full  of  decay  and  failing?  O  monument 
And  wonder  of  good  deeds  evilly  bestow'd ! 
What  an  alteration  of  honour  has 
Desperate  want  made  ! 

What  viler  thing  upon  the  earth,  than  friends, 
VV'ho  can  bring  noblest  minds  to  basest  ends  I 
How  rarely  does  it  meet  with  this  time's  guise, 
When  man  was  wish'd  to  love  his  enemies  . 
Grant,  1  may  ever  love,  and  rather  woo 
Those  that  would  mischief  me,  th;in  those  that  dc  ! 
He  has  caught  me  in  his  eye  :  I  will  present 
My  honest  grief  unto  him  ;  and  as  my  lord, 
Still  serve  him  with  my  lite. — My  dearest  master! 
'i'lMON  comes  forward  from  his  Cave. 

Tim,  Away!  what  art  thou? 

Flav.  Have  you  forgot  me,  sir? 

Tiiit.  Why  dost  ask  that  ?  I  have  forgot  all  nien  ; 
Then,  if  thou  giviut'st  thoji'rt  man,  J  have  forgot  thee. 

Finv.  An  honest  poor  servant  of  yours. 

Ti7ri.  Then 
I  know  thee  not:  I  ne'er  had  honfst  man 
About  me,  1  ;  all  that  I  kept  were  knaves, 
Fo  serve  in  meat  to  villains. 

Fiav.  'I'he  gods  are  witness, 

"^e'er  did  poor  steward  wear  a  truer  grief 
For  his  undone  lord,  than  mine  eyes  for  yon, 

Tim.  What,  dost  thou  weep? — Come  nearer; — 
tlitn  I  love  thee. 
Because  thou  art  a  woman,  and  di.-^claim'st 
Flinty  mankind  ;  whose  eyes  do  never  give, 
But  thoroa;^h  lust,  and  laughter.    Pity"s  sleeping; 
Strange  times,  i\\<A  weep  with  laughing,  not  with 
weeping  ! 

Fiav.  I  beg  ol  jou  to  know  me,  good  tny  lord. 
To  acc  ept  my  griel.  and.  whilst  this  poor  wealth  lasts. 
To  entert;iin  me  as  your  steward  still. 

Ti?n.  Had  I  a  steward  so  trut ,  so  just,  and  now 
So  comlortable?    It  almost  turns 
My  dangerous  nature  wild.    Let  me  behoid 
Thy  fac<*. — Surely,  this  man  was  born  of  \voinan.— • 
Forgive  my  general  and  exceptless  rashness, 
Perpetual  sober  gods  •  1  do  proclaim 
One  honest  man, — mistake  me  not, — but  one  ; 
No  nu)re,  I  pray, — and  he  is  a  steward. 
How  (ain  would  I  have  hated  all  mankind. 
And  thou  redeem'st  thyself:  But  all,  save  thee, 
I  fell  with  curses. 

Methinks  thou  art  more  honest  now  than  wise  ; 

For,  by  oppressing  and  betraying  me, 

Thou  might'st  have  sooner  got  another  service: 

For  many  so  arrive  at  second  masters, 

Upon  their  first  lord's  neck.    But  tell  ine  true, 

(Imif  \  must  ever  doubt,  though  ne'er  so  sure,) 

Is  not  thy  kindness  subtle,  covetous, 

If  tiot  a  usuring  kindness  ;  f^nd  as  rich  men  deal  gifts, 

Kxpecting  in  return  twenty  for  one  ? 

Flav.  No,  my  most  worthy  master,  in  whose  breast 
Doubt  and  suspect,  alas,  are  pUc'd  too  late  : 
1  ou  should  iiave  fear'd  false  times,  when  you  did 
least: 

SoRpect  still  comes,  where  Ln  estate  is  least. 
Tkit  which  I  shew,  heaven  iinows,  is  merely  love, 
Dnijr  aud  zeal  to  your  "omatrhed  mind^ 


Care  of  your  food  and  living:  and,  beiievo 

My  most  honoiir'd  lord, 

For  any  benefit  that  points  to  me. 

Either  in  hope,  or  present,  I'd  exchange 

For  this  one  wish,  i'hat  you  had  power  and  wea'fch 

To  rs-qiiite  me,  by  makmg  rich  yourse'^T. 

Tim.  Look  thee,  'tis  so  ! — Thou  singly  honest  man, 
Here,  take  : — the  gods  out  of  my  nsisery 
Have  sent  thee  trea.sure.  Go,  live  rich;  and  happy 
But  thus  condition'd  ;  'I'hou  shait  build  trom  men; 
Hate  all,  curse  all ;  shew  charity  to  none  ; 
Bi.t  let  the  famish'd  lltsh  slide  iVoni  tiie  bone, 
Ere  tliou  relieve  the  beggar:  give  to  dogs 
Wiiat  thou  deny'st  to  men ;  let  prisons  swallow  them, 
Debts  wither  them  :  Be  men  like  blasted  woods. 
And  may  diseases  lick  up  their  false  bloods  I 
And  so,  farewell,  and  thrive. 

Flav.  O,  li^t  me  stay. 

And  comfort  you,  my  master. 

Tim.  If  thou  hat'st 

Curses,  stay  not;  fly,  while  thou'rt  bless'd  and  free : 
Ne'er  see  tliou  man,  and  let  me  ne'er  see  tiiee. 

[Exeunt  sevei  ally, 

ACT.  V. 

Scene  L — The  same.    Before  Timons  Cave, 
Enter  Poet  and  Painter;  Timok  behind,  unseen. 

Pain,  .As  1  took  note  of  the  place,  it  cannot  be 
far  where  he  abides. 

Poet.  WluU's  to  be  thought  of  him?  Does  the 
rumour  hold  for  true,  that  he  is  so  lull  of  gold  ? 

Pain,  Certain:  Alcibiades  reports  it:  Ptuynia 
and  Timandra  had  gold  of  him  :  he  likevvise  en- 
riched i-oor  straggling  soldiers  with  great  quantity  , 
'Tis  said,  he  gave  unto  his  steward  a  mighty  sum. 

Poet.  'I'hen  this  breaking  of  his  has  been  but  a 
try  for  his  friends. 

Pain.  Notiiing  else  :  you  shall  see  him  a  pajm  iu 
Athens  again,  and  flourish  with  the  higheiit.  'i'here- 
j  fore,  'tis  not  amiss,  we  tender  our  loves  to  him,  in 
this  supposed  distress  of  his  :  it  will  shew  honest? 
in  us ;  and  is  very  likely  to  load  our  purposes  witn 
what  they  travel  for,  if  it  be  a  just  and  true  report 
that  goes  of  his  having. 

Poet.  What  have  you  now  to  present  unto  him  ? 

Pain.  Nothing  at  this  time  but  my  visitation : 
only  I  will  promise  him  an  excellent  piece. 

Poet.  1  must  serve  him  so  too;  tell  him  of  an 
intent  that's  coming  toward  him. 

Pain  Good  as  tiie  best.  Promising  is  the  very 
air  o'the  time  :  it  opens  the  eyes  of  ex})ectation  : 
performance  is  ever  the  duller  lor  ins  act  1  and,  but 
in  the  [)iainer  and  simpler  kind  of  people,  the  deed 
of  saying  is  quite  out  of  use.  To  promise  is  most 
conitly  and  fashionable  :  performance  is  a  kind  of 
will,  or  testament,  which  argues  a  great  sickness  in 
his  jiidgment  tiiat  makes  it. 

Tim.  Excellent  workman!  Thou  canst  cot  paint 
a  man  so  bad  as  is  thyself. 

Poet,  I  am  thinking  what  I  shall  say  I  have  pro- 
vided for  him  :  It  must  be  a  personating  of  himself: 
a  satire  against  the  softness  of  prosperity ;  with  a 
discovery  of  the  infinite  flatteries  that  follow  youth 
and  opuiency. 

Tim.  Must  thou  needs  stand  for  a  villain  iii  thine 
own  work  ?  Wilt  thou  w  iiip  thine  own  faults  iu  other 
men  ?  Do  so,  1  have  gold  for  thee. 

Poet.  Nay,  let's  seek  him  : 
Then  do  we  sin  against  our  own  estate,  i 
When  we  may  profit  meet,  and  come  too  late.  i 

Pain.  Ti  ne ; 
When  the  day  serves,  before  black-cornor'd  night, 
Find  what  thou  want'st  by  free  and  offer'd  light. 
Come. 

Ti?n  I'll  meet  you  at  the  turn.  What  a  god's  gold. 
That  he  is  worshipp'd  in  a  baser  temple 
Thau  where  swine  feed  1 

'Tis  thou  that  rigg'st  the  I  ark,  and  plougb'st  tht  i 
foam 


Scene  2. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


55S 


tiettlest  admired  reverence  in  a  slave : 

I'o  thee  be  vf«»r8hip  !  and  thy  saints  for  aye 

Be  crown'd  with  plagues,  that  thee  alone  obey  ! 

'Fit  I  do  meet  them.  {Advancing.) 
Poet.  Hail,  worthy  Timon  ! 
Pair..  Our  late  noble  master- 

I      Tim.  [lave  I  once  ^iv'd  to  see  two  honest  men  ? 
I      Poet  Sir, 

Having  often  of  yonr  open  bounty  tasted, 
1  Hfariug  yon  were  reiir'd,  yonr  friends  fall'n  olf, 
j  Whose  tliankless  natnies — O  abhorred  spirits  I 

Not  all  'he  whips  of  heaven  are  large  enough — 

What  I  to  you  ! 

Whose  atar-iiko  nobleness  gave  life  and  influence 
To  their  whole  being!  I'm  rapt,  and  cannot  cover 
The  monstrous  bulk  of  this  ingratitude 
I  With  any  size  of  words. 

Tim.  Let  it  go  naked,  nien  may  see't  the  better : 
Vou,  that  ar»  honest,  by  being  what  you  are, 
Make  them  best  seen,  and  known. 

Pain.  He,  and  myself. 

Have  travell'd  in  the  great  shower  of  your  gifts. 
And  sweetly  felt  it. 

Tim.  Ay,  you  are  honest  men. 

P«iM.VVeare  hither  come  to  olfer  yon  our  service. 

Tim.  Most  honest  men  !  Why,  how  shall  J  requite 
you  .'' 

Can  you  eat  roots,  and  drink  cold  water?  no. 
Both.  What  we  can  do,  we'll  do,  to  do  you  service. 
Tim.  Yon  are  honest  men ;  Y'ou  have  heard  that 
I  have  gold ; 

I  am  sure,  you  have  :  speak  truth :  you  are  honest 
men. 

Pain.  So  it  is  said,  my  noble  lord :  but  therefore 
Came  not  my  friend,  nor  I. 

Tim.  Good  honest  men : — Thou  draw'st  a  coun- 
terfeit 

Best  in  all  Athens  :  thon  art,  indeed,  the  best ; 
Thon  counterfeit'st  most  lively. 

Pa^n.  So,  so,  my  lord. 

Vim,  Even  so,  sir,  as  I  say : — And,  for  thy  fiction, 

{To  the  Poet.) 

Wliy,  thy  verses  swell  with  stuff  so  fine  and  smooth. 
That  thou  art  even  natural  in  thine  art. — 
But  for  all  this,  my  honest-natur'd  friends, 
I  must  needs  say,  you  have  a  little  fault ; 
Marry,  'tis  not  monstrous  in  you  ;  neither  wish  i, 
You  take  much  pains  to  mend. 

Both.  Beseech  yonr  honour, 

To  make  it  known  to  us. 

Tim.  You'll  take  it  ill. 

Both.  Most  thankfully,  my  lord. 

Tim.  Will  you,  indeed  ? 

Both.  Doubt  it  not,  worthy  lord. 

Tim.  There's  ne'er  a  one  of  you  but  trusts  a  knave, 
That  mightily  deceives  you. 

Both.  Do  we,  my  lord  ? 

Tim.  Ay,  and  you  hear  him  cog,  see  him  dis- 
semble. 

Know  his  gross  patchery,  love  him,  feed  hira, 
Keep  in  your  bosom :  yet  remain  assur'd, 
That  he's  a  made-up  villain. 

Pain.  I  know  none  such,  my  lord. 

Poet.  Nor  I. 

Tim.  Look  you,  I  love  you  well ;  I'll  give  you 
gold, 

Rid  rae  those  villains  from  yonr  companies  : 
Hang  them,  or  stab  them,  drown  them  in  a  draui;ht. 
Confound  them  by  some  course,  and  come  to  me, 
I'll  give  you  gold  enough. 

'    Both.  Name  them,  my  lord,  let's  know  them. 
Tim,  You  that  way,  and  you  this,  but  two  in  com- 
pany :— 

Each  man  apart,  all  single  and  alone, 
Yet  an  arch-villain  keeps  him  coni()any. 
If  where  thou  art,  two  villains  shall  not  be, 

(To  the  Painter.) 
Cume  not  near  hira. — If  thou  would'st  not  reside 

{To  the  Poet.) 
But  where  one  villain  is,  then  him  abaudou. — 


Hence!  pack    there's  gold,  ye  carae  for  gold,  y« 
slaves  : 

Yoa  have  done  work  for  me,  there's  payment; 
Hence ! 

You  are  an  alchymist,  make  gold  of  that  :— 
Out,  rascal  dogs ! 

[Exit,  beating  and  driving  tk^m  out 

Scene  II. — The  same. 
Enter  Flavius  and  two  Senatc/s. 
Flav.  It  is  in  vaiu  that  you  would  speak  wilk 
Timon  \ 

For  he  is  set  so  only  to  himself, 

That  nothing  but  himself,  which  looks  like  man. 

Is  friendly  with  him. 

1  Sen.  Bring  us  to  his  cave  : 
It  is  our  part,  and  promise  to  the  Athenians, 
To  speak  with  Timon. 

2  Sen.  At  all  times  alike 

Men  are  not  still  the  same  :  'Twas  time  and  griefs. 
That  fram'd  him  thus  :  time,  with  his  fairer  hand, 
Olfering  the  fortunes  of  his  former  days. 
The  former  man  may  make  him  :  Bring  us  to  hira. 
And  chance  it  as  it  may. 

Flav.  Here  is  his  cave. — 

Peace  and  content  be  here  I  Lord  Timon  !  I'imon ! 
Look  out,  and  speak  to  friends  :  The  Athenians, 
By  two  of  their  most  reverend  senate,  greet  thee  : 
Speak  to  them,  noble  Timon. 

Enter  Timon. 
Tim.  Thou  sun.  that  comfort'st,  burn  I — Speak, 
and  be  hang'd : 
For  each  true  word,  a  blister!  and  each  false 
Be  as  a  caut'rizing  to  the  root  o'the  tongue. 
Consuming  it  with  speaking! 

1  Sen.  Worthy  Timon— 
Tim.  Of  none  but  such  as  you,  and  you  of  Tirnon. 

2  Sen.  The  senators  of  Athens  greet  thee,  Timoa. 
Tim.  I  thank  them  ;  and  would  send  them  bacR  the 

plague, 

Could  I  but  catch  it  for  them. 

1  Sen.  O,  forget 
What  we  are  sorry  for  ourselves  in  thee. 
The  senators,  with  one  consent  of  love, 
Entreat  thee  back  to  Athens;  who  liave  thougbt 
On  special  dignities,  which  vacant  lie 

For  tny  best  use  and  wearing. 

2  Sen.  They  confess,  ' 
Toward  thee,  forgetfulness  too  general,  gross  : 
Which  now  the  public  body, — which  doth  seidott) 
Play  the  recanter,— feeling  in  itself 

A  lack  of  Timon's  aid,  hath  sense  withal 

Of  its  own  fall,  restraining  aid  to  Timon ; 

And  send  forth  us,  to  make  their  sorrowed  render. 

Together  with  a  recompense  more  fruitfiil 

Than  their  offence  can  weigh  down  by  the  dram  ; 

Ay,  even  such  heaps  and  sums  of  love  and  wealth. 

As  shall  to  thee  blot  out  what  wrongs  were  theirs. 

And  write  in  thee  the  figures  of  their  love, 

Ever  to  read  them  tliiue. 

Tim.  You  witch  me  in  it ; 

Sin  prise  me  to  the  very  brink  of  tears : 
Lend  me  a  fool's  heart,  and  a  woman's  eyes. 
And  I'll  beweep  these  comforts,  worthy  senators. 

1  Sen.  Therefore,  so  please  thee  to  return  with  u». 
And  of  our  Athens  (thine,  and  ours,)  to  take 

The  captainship,  thou  shalt  be  met  with  thanks, 
Allow'd  with  absolute  power,  and  thy  good  name 
Live  witif  authority  :— so  soon  we  shall  drive  back 
Of  Alcibiades  the  approaches  wild  ; 
VVho,  like  a  boar  too  savage,  doth  root  up 
His  country's  peace. 

2  Sen.  And  shakes  his  threat'ning  swur£ 
Against  the  walls  of  Athens. 

1  Ssn.  Therefore,  Timon,-^ 

Tim.  Well,  sir,  I  will ;  therefore,  I  will,  air* 
Thus, —  ^ 

If  Alcibiades  kill  my  countrymen. 

Let  Alcibiades  know  this  of  Timon, 


556 


TmON  OF  ATIIE^TS. 


Act  V 


Tliat—TiiTion  cares  not.    BiitlThe  sack  fair  Athenf^ 
And  takf  onr  gooflly  aged  men  by  the  beards. 
Giving  our  lioiy  virgins  to  the  stain 
Of  coiitutn'^iioas,  beastly,  mad-brain'd  war; 
Then,  let  hint  know, — and  tell  him,  Timon  speaks  it, 
In  pity  of  our  aged,  and  our  youth, 
I  cannot  choose  but  tell  him,  that — I  care  not. 
And  let  him  tak't  at  worst ;  for  their  knives  care  not, 
VVhile  you  have  throats  to  answer ;  for  myself. 
There's  not  a  whittle  in  the  unruly  camp. 
But  I  do  prize  it  at  my  love,  before 
The  reverend'st  throat  in  Athens.    So  I  leave  yoa 
To  the  protection  of  the  prosperous  gods. 
As  thieves  to  keepers. 
Flav.  Stay  not,  all's  in  vain. 

Tim.  Why,  I  was  writing  of  my  epitaph, 
ft  will  be  seen  to-niorrow;  My  long  sickness 
or  health,  and  living,  now  begins  to  mend, 
And  nothii.g  brings  me  ail  things.    Go,  live  still; 
Be  Alcibiades  your  plague,  you  his. 
And  last  so  lung  euougii! 
1  Sen.  We  speak  in  vain. 

Tim.  But  yet  I  love  my  country;  and  am  not 
One  that  rejoices  in  the  common  wreck, 
As  common  bruit  doth  put  it. 

1  Sen.  That's  well  spoke. 

Tim.  Commend  me  to  my  loving  countrymen, — 

1  Sen.  These  words  become  your  lips  as  they  pass 

through  them. 

2  Sen.  And  enter  in  our  ears  like  great  triumphers 
Ih  their  applauding  gates. 

Tim.  Commend  me  to  them; 

And  tell  them,  that,  to  ease  them  of  their  griefs, 
It  eii  fears  of  hostile  strokes,  tiieir  aches,  losses, 
Tlieir  pangs  of  love,  with  other  incident  throes 
Tliat  nature  s  fragile  vessel  doth  sustain 
In  life's  uncertain  voyage,  I  will  some  kindness  do 
tliem  : 

I'll  teach  tliem  to  prevent  wild  Alcibiades*  wrath. 
I    2  Sfn.  I  like  this  well,  he  will  return  again, 

Tim.  I  l;ave  a  tree,  which  grows  here  in  my  close, 
TliHt  mine  own  use  invites  me  to  cut  down. 
And  shortly  must  1  fell  it;  Tell  my  friends, 
Tell  Athens,  in  the  sequence  of  degree, 
From  high  to  low  throughout,  that  whoso  please 
'J'ostcp  atni':tion,  let  him  take  his  haste. 
Come  hither,  ere  my  tree  hath  felt  the  axe. 
And  hang  himself: — I  pray  you,  do  my  greeting. 
Flav.  Trouble  him  no  further,  thus  you  still  shall 
find  him. 

Tim.  Conte  not  to  me  again  :  but  say  to  Athens, 
Timon  hath  made  his  everlasting  mansion 
Up<»n  the  beached  verge  of  the  salt  flood  ; 
W  hich  oijce  a  day  with  his  embossed  froth 
The  turbulent  fiuge  shall  cover;  thither  come, 
And  let  my  grave-stone  be  your  oracle. — 
Lips,  let  sour  words  go  by,  and  language  end  : 
VVhat  is  amiss,  plague  and  infection  mend  ! 
Graves  only  be  men's  works  ;  and  death,  their  gain! 
Sun,  hide  thy  beams !  Timon  hath  done  his  reign. 

[Exit  Timon. 

1  Sen.  His  discontents  are  unremoveably 
Coupled  to  nature. 

2  Sen.  Our  hope  in  him  is  dead  .  let  us  return. 
And  strain  what  other  means  is  left  unto  us 

In  our  dear  peril. 
1  Sen.  It  requires  swift  foot  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III.— TAe  Walls  of  Athens. 
Enter  two  Senators  and  a  Messenger. 

1  Sm.  Thou  hast  painfully  discovered ;  are  his  files 
As  full  as  thy  report? 

Mess.  I  have  spoke  the  least : 

Besides,  his  expedition  promises 
Present  approach. 

2  Sen.  We  stand  much  haaard,  if  they  bring  not 

Tinjon. 

Mess.  I  met  a  courier,  one  mine  ancient  friend ; — 
Whom,  though  in  general  part  we  were  oppos'd, 
Ifet  our  old  lov«  made  a  particular  force. 


And  made  us  speak  like  friends :- this  man  VTM 

riding 

From  Alcibiades  to  Tiraou's  cave, 
With  letters  of  entreaty,  which  imported 
His  fellowship  i'the  cause  against  your  city. 
In  part  for  his  sake  mov'd. 

Enter  Senators  from  Timon. 
I  S^fi'  Here  come  our  brothers 

'  3  Sen.  No  talk  of  Timon,  nothing  of  him  expect.— 
The  enemies'  drum  is  heard,  and  fearful  scouring 
Doth  choke  the  air  with  dust :  In,  and  prepare ; 
Ours  is  the  fall,  I  fear,  our  foes  the  snare.  [Exeunt 

Scene  lY.—TAe  Woods.    Timon's  Cave,  and  a 
Tombstone  seen. 

Enter  a  Soldier,  seeking  Timon. 
Sold.  By  all  description  this  shoidd  be  the  place, 
Who's  here"  speak,  ho! — No  answer? — VVhat  is 
this 

Timon  is  dead,  who  hath  outstrelch'd  his  span  : 

Some  beast  rear'd  this ;  there  does  not  live  a  maa 

Bead,  sure  ;  and  this  his  grave. — 

What's  on  this  tomb  I  cannot  read  ;  the  character 

I'll  take  with  wax  : 

Our  captain  hath  in  every  figure  skill ; 

An  ag'd  interpreter,  though  young  in  days  • 

Before  proud  Athens  he's  set  down  by  tiiis, 

Whose  fall  Ihe  mark  of  his  ambition  is.  [Exit. 

Scet^eY.— Before  the  Walls  of  Athens. 
Trumpets  sound.    Enter  Alcidiades  and  For  ess, 
Alcib.  Sound  to  this  coward  and  last  .•^-«»'-ik  towe 
Our  terrible  approach.  {A  parity  svundtd.) 

Enter  Senators  on  the  waii^ 

Till  now  you  have  gone  on,  and  fill'd  the  time 
With  all  licentious  measure,  making  yo.ir  wilJa 
Tl'.e  scope  of  justice  ;  till  now,  myself,  and  sack 
As  slept  within  the  shadow  of  your  power. 
Have  wander'd  with  our  travers'd  arms.and  broath'd 
Our  sufierance  vainly  :  Now  the  time  is  flush, 
When  crouching  marrow,  in  the  bearer  strong;,, 
Cries,  of  itseif,  No  more :  now  breathless  wrong 
Shall  sit  and  pant  in  your  great  chairs  of  ease  ; 
And  pursy  indolence  shall  break  his  wind 
With  iear,  and  horrid  flight. 

1  Sen.  Noble,  and  young, 
When  thy  first  griefs  were  but  a  mere  conceit, 
Ere  thou  hadst  power,  or  we  had  cause  of  fear, 
We  sent  to  thee  ;  to  give  thy  rages  balm, 

To  wipe  out  our  ingratitude  with  loves 
Abo\e  their  quantity. 

2  Sen.  So  did  we  woo 
Transformed  Timon  to  our  city's  love, 

By  humble  m'^ssage,  and  by  promis'd  means :  | 
We  were  not  all  imkind,  nor  all  deserve  I 
The  common  stroke  of  war. 

1  Sen.  These  walls  of  ours 
Were  not  erected  by  their  hands,  from  whom 

You  have  receiv'd  y<nir  griefs  :  nor  are  ihey  such,  i 
That  these  great  towers,  trophies,  and  schooli  i 
should  fall  I 
For  private  faults  in  them. 

2  Sen.  Nor  are  they  living, 
Who  were  the  motives  that  you  first  went  out; 
Shame,  that  they  wanted  cunning,  in  exress 
Hath  broke  their  hearts.    March,  noble  lord. 

Into  our  city  with  thy  banners  spread  ;  ) 

By  decimation,  and  a  tithed  death,  [ 

(If  thy  revenges  hunger  for  that  food, 

Which  nature  loaths,)  take  thou  the  destin'd  ieiitfe- 

And  by  the  hazard  of  the  spotted  die. 

Let  die  the  spotted. 

1  Sen.  All  have  not  offended  ; 

For  those  that  were,  it  is  not  square  to  l^ke,  j 
On  those  that  are,  revenges:  crimes,  tike  lands 
Are  not  inherited.    Then,  dear  countryman,  i 
Bring  in  thy  ranks,  but  leave  witliout  thy  rage 


Sdwa  8.  TIMON  OF 

pare  thy  Athenian  cradle,  and  thosftkin, 
■  Which,  in  the  bhister  of  thy  wrath,  imust  fall 
With  those  thnt  have  otfeoded  :  like  a  shepherd. 
Approach  the  fold,  and  cull  the  infectfd  forth, 
But  kill  not  all  together. 

2  Sen-  What  thcu  wilt, 

Th"U  rather  shalt  enforce  it  with  thy  smile, 
Thnn  hew  to  t  with  thy  sword, 

)  St'H.  Set  but  thy  foot 

A^Tfiiust  our  raitipir'd  gates,  and  they  shall  ope* 

tho;i  wilt  send  thy  gentle  heart  before. 
To  s:tv,  thou'lt  enter  friendly. 

2  ^itK.  'llirow  thy  glove, 

Or  anv  tol;pn  of  thine  honour  else, 
Thiit  Aiuu  wilt  use  the  wars  as  thy  redress. 
And  iiot  n.s  our  confusion,  all  thy  powers 
Shall  make  their  liarbour  in  our  town,  till  we 
\in\e  seal'd  thy  full  desire. 

Alcib.  Tiien  there  s  my  glove  ; 

l)e8c  e nd,  and  open  your  uncharged  ports  : 
Those  eiieiiwes  of  Timon's,  and  mine  own, 
Wjiora  you  yoursehes  shall  set  out  for  reproof, 
Fall,  and  no  more  :  and, — to  atone  your  fears 
With  my  more  noble  meaning, — not  a  man 
Sliall  pas^  liis  (quarter,  or  olFend  the  stream 
Of  reg.ihsr  justice  in  your  city's  boinids, 
Bui  shall  bt^  rer.  edied,  to  your  public  laws, 
At  heaviest  answer. 

Btiih.  'Tis  most  uobly  spoken. 

Alcib.  Descend,  and  keep  your  words. 
The  Senators  descend,  and  open  the  gates. 


ATHENS.  mi 

Enter  a  Soldier. 

Sol.  My  noble  general.  Timon  is  dead  ; 
Entomb'd  upon  the  very  nem  o'the  sea  : 
And,  on  his  gravestone,  this  insculpture;  which 
With  wax  I  brought  away,  whose  soft  impression 
Interprets  for  my  poor  ignorance. 

Alcib.  (Reads.)  Here  lies  a  wretched  c!}r»s,  Oj 
wretched  soul  bereft : 
Seek  not  my  name :  A  plague  consume  you  wicked 
caitijf's  left ! 

Here  lie  I  Tunon  ;  who  alive,  all  living  tni  y  dia 
hate ; 

Pass  by,  and  curse  thy  Jill;  oun,  pt^,  ind  sl^f 

not  here  thy  gait. 
These  vvell  express  in  thee  thy  letter  spirits  : 
Though  thou  abhorr'dst  in  us  our  liuman  ^liefs.. 
Scorn'dst  our  brain's  flow,  and  those  our  droplets 

which 

From  niggard  nature  fall,  yet  rich  conceit 
Taught  ihee  to  make  vast  Neptune  weep  for  ayj) 
On  thy  low  grave,  on  faults  forgiven.  Dead 
Is  noble  Timon ;  of  whose  memory 
Hereafter  more. — Bring  me  into  your  city 
And  I  will  use  the  olive  with  my  s'vvoid : 
Make  war  breed  peace  ;  inake  peace  slint  vviir| 
make  each 

Prescribe  to  other,  as  each  other's  le«ch.— 

Let  our  drams  strike.  [Mxeunt, 


^ 


CORIOLANUS 


trw^edy  of  Coriolanus  ig  one  of  the  most  amusing  of  our  author's  performances.  The  old  man's  merrimwU 
f«  sioueuius ;  tile  lofty  lafly's  dignity  in  Volumnia;  the  bridal  mooesty  in  Virgilia  ;  the  patrician  and  military  haogla- 
hiiees  in  CorioliijQus ;  tlie  plebeian  in  lirutus  and  Siciuius,  make  a  very  pleasuig  variety  ;  and  the  various  rerulutiou 
uf  the  hero's  fortune,  fill  the  mind  with  anxious  curio/sily.  Tliere  is,  pechaps,  too  much  bustle  in  the  first  act,  uul 
ti.o  little  in  the  last.  Johnson, 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED 

CAIUS  MARCIUS  CORIOLANUS,  a  noble  Roman. 
CtVihsnjs!^'^^^'  }  Genera/s  against  the  Volscians. 
WKN  PINIL  S  AGRIPFA,  Frit  id  to  Curiolamts. 

Tribunes  of  the  People. 


alClNILS  Vi:;LLTUS, 
'LNIUS  liRLTUS, 
Yoiiii'j  WAItCIUS,  Son  to  Coriolanus. 

A  Roman  UertiLd. 

1  LLLUS  AUFtOlUS,  General  (if  the  Volscians. 
Lieutenant  to  Anjidius. 


Conspirators  with  Anfldlus. 
A  Citizen  of  Autiuni. 
Tioo  Volscian  Guards. 
VOLUMNIA.  Mother  to  Coriolanns, 
VIKIULL\,  Wije  to  CorioUtnns. 
VALEKIA,  Friend  to  Virj^ilia. 
Gentlewoman,  altentling  \  iryilla. 

Roman  and  Volscian  Senators,  Patricians,  yfdiles.  Lit' 
tors.  Soldiers,  Citizens,  Messengers,  Servants  to  Au 
fidius,  and  other  Atleudanls. 


Scene,— Partly  in  Rome;  and  partly  in  the  Territories  of  the  Volscians  and  Antiatts, 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I.— Rome.    A  Street 

Enter  a  company  of  mutinous  Citizens,  with 
staves^  ciuds,  and  other  iceapons. 

1  Cit.  Before  we  proceed  any  farther,  hear  me 
spenk. 

Cit,  S()eak.,  speak.    [Several  sjieakinij  at  once.) 
1  Cit.  Vuii  are  all  resolved  rather  to  die,  tliau  to 
famish  :* 

Cit.  Ilesolved,  resolved, 

1  Cit.  First  you  knovT',  Caius  INIarcius"  is  chief 
tueiiiy  to  the  people. 

Cit.  We  kiiovv't,  we  know't. 

I  Cit.  Lft  IIS  kill  iiiiii,  and  we'll  have  corn  at  our 
Bwu  price.    Is't  a  verdict? 

Ctt.  No  nii.ve  talking  ou  t;  let  it  be  done:  away, 
away. 

'2  Cit.  One  word,  good  citizens. 

1  Cit.  VVe  are  accounted  poor  citizens ;  the  pa- 
friri  ins,  good:  What  authority  surfeits  on,  would 
relieve  ns;  If  tliey  would  yield  us  but  the  super- 
fluity, while  it  were  whoiesoine,  we  might  guess, 
they  relieved  us  humanely;  but  they  think,  we  are 
too  dear:  tiie  leanness  that  atHic.ts  us,  tlie  object  of 
utir  misery,  is  as  an  inventory  to  particularize  tlieir 
abundance;  our  sutferance  is  a  gain  to  tliem. — Let 
us  revenge  this  with  our  pikes,  ere  we  become  rakes  : 
for  the  gods  know,  I  speak  tiiis  in  hunger  for  bread, 
not  in  thirst  lor  revenge, 

2  Cit.  Would  you  proceed  especially  against 
Cams  MarciuB  ? 

Cit.  Against  him  first;  he's  a  very  dog  to  the 
commonalty. 

2  Cit.  Consider  you  what  services  he  has  done 
for  his  country  ? 

1  Cit.  Very  well;  and  could  be  content  to  give 
hini  good  report  for't,  but  that  he  pays  himself  with 
Ivitng  proud. 

"i  Cit.  Nay,  but  speak  not  maliciously. 

1  Cit.  i  say  unto  you,  what  he  hath  done  fa- 
BDOusly,  he  did  it  to  that  end:  tliougii  soft  con- 
»»«'ienc*d  men  can  be  content  to  say,  it  was  for  his 

(ntry,  he  did  it  to  please  his  moUier,  and  to  be 

tly  proud ;  which  he  is,  even  to  the  altitude  of 
virtue. 

■Cit.  Wliat  he  cannot  help  in  his  nature,  you  ac- 
t  a  \ice  in  him:  You  must  in  no  way  say,  he 
\ptmi3. 

Cit.  If  I  must  not,  I  need  not  be  barren  of  ac- 
tions; he  hath  faults,  with  sur{Hu3,  to  tire  in 
tition.  [Shotits  within.)  What  shouts  are  tiiese? 
other  side  o'the  city  is  risen:  W  hy  stay  we 
watinf!  here  ?  to  the  Capitol. 
€U.  Come,  come, 
i  Vit  S-./lt;  \vb«-  f  onie  here  ? 


Enter  Menenius  Agrippa.  | 

2  Cit.  Worthy  Menenius  Agrippa;  one  that  hatk 
always  loved  tlie  people. 

I  Cit.  He's  one  honest  enough  ;  'Would,  all  tht 
rest  were  so  i 

Men.  What  work's,  my  countrymen,  in  hand? 
Where  go  you  ^  [you. 
W^ith  bats  and  clubs  ?  The  matter  ?  Speak,  I  pray 

1  Cit.  Our  business  is  not  unknown  to  the  senate; 
they  have  had  inkling,  this  fortnight,  what  w<!  in- 
tend to  do,  which  now  we  ll  sliew  'em  it  deeda. 
They  say,  poor  suitors  have  strong  breatlio ;  thoy 
shall  know,  we  have  strong  arms  too. 

Men.  Why,  masteis.  my  good  friends,  mine  bo- 
nest  neighbours, 
Will  you  undo  yourselves? 

1  Cit.  We  cannot,  sir,  we  are  undone  already. 

Men.  I  tell  you,  friends,  most  charitable  care 
Have  the  patricians  of  you.    For  your  wants, 
Your  suffering  in  tliis  clearth,  you  may  as  well 
Strike  at  the  heaven  with  your  staves,  as  lift  them 
Against  the  lioman  state  ;  w  hose  course  wiil  oo 
The  \\  ay  it  takes,  cracking  ten  thousand  curbs 
Of  more  strong  link  aMUider,  than  can  ever 
Ajjfjear  in  your  inn;ediment :  For  the  dearth, 
'I'he  gods,  not  the  patricians,  make  it;  and 
Vour  knees  to  them,  not  arms,  must  help.  Alack, 
You  are  transported  by  calanuly 
Thither  where  more  attends  you;  and  you  slandei 
The  heluis  o'the  state,  who  care  tor  you  like  fathers, 
When  you  curse  them  as  enemies. 

1  Cit.  Care  lor  us  ! — True,  indeed! — They  ne'er 
cared  for  us  yet.  Sulfer  us  to  famish,  and  their 
store-houses  crammed  with  grain;  make  edicts  fox 
usury,  to  suj)port  usurers;  repeal  daily  any  vvhoie- 
soiije  act  established  against  ttie  rich,  and  provide 
more  piercing  statutes  (iaily,  to  chain  up  and  restrain 
the  pcxir.  If  the  wars  eat  us  not  up,  they  vvill ;  and 
there's  all  the  love  they  bear  us. 

Men.  Either  you  must 
Confess  yourselves  wondrous  malicious, 
Or  be  accas'd  of  folly.    I  shall  tell  you 
A  pretty  tale  ;  it  may  be,  you  have  heard  it; 
But,  since  it  serves  my  purposes,  I  will  venture 
'^l"o  scale't  a  little  more. 

1  Cit.  Well,  I'll  hear  it,  sir:  yet  you  must  not 
think  to  fob  oil"  our  disgrace  with  a  tale  :  but,  au't 
please  you,  deliver.  rmeinbers 

Men.  There  was  a  time,  when  all  the  body'« 
Rebeird  against  the  bt-lly  ;  thus  accusd  it: — 
That  only  like  a  gulf  it  did  remain 
I'the  midst  o  the  body,  iwle  and  inactive, 
Still  cuiiboardiiig  the  viand,  never  bearing 
Like  labour  with  the  rest;  where  the  other  mitru/nent« 
Did  see,  and  hf^ar,  devise,  instruct,  walk,  feeJ^ 
And,  mutually  participate,  did  minister 


Scene  1. 


CORIOLANUS. 


559 


Unto  the  appetite  and  affection  common 
Of  the  whole  body.    The  belly  answer'd, — 

1  as*  Well,  sir,  what  answer  made  the  belly  ? 

Men.  I  shall  tell  you. — Witii  a  kind  of  smile, 
Which  ne'er  came  from  the  lungs,  but  even  thus, 
(For,  look  you,  I  may  make  the  belly  smile, 
As  well  as  speak,)  it  tauntingly  replied 
To  the  discontented  members,  the  mutinous  parts 
That  envied  his  receipt;  even  so  most  fitly 
As  you  malign  our  senators,  for  that 
They  arc  not  such  as  you. 

1  Cit.  Your  belly's  answer:  What  I 

The  kingly-crowned  head,  the  vigilant  eye, 
The  counsellor  heart,  the  arm  our  soldier. 
Our  steed  the  le^,  the  tongue  our  trumpeter, 
With  other  muniments  and  petty  helps 
In  this  our  fabric,  if  that  they — 

Men.  What  then?— 

Tore  me,  this  fellow  speaks ! — what  then  ?  what 
then? 

1  Cit,  Should  by  the  cormorant  belly  be  restrain'd, 
Who  in  the  sink  o'the  body, — 

Men.  Well,  what  then? 

1  Cit.  The  former  agents,  if  they  did  coujplain, 
V\'liat  could  the  belly  answer? 

Men.  I  will  tell  you  ; 

If  you'll  bestow  a  small  (of  what  you  have  little) 
Piitieiice,  a  while,  you'll  hear  the  belly's  answer. 

]  Cit.  You  are  long  about  it. 

Men.  Note  me  this,  good  friend ; 

Your  most  grave  belly  was  deliberate, 
Nnt  r""!!  like  Ilia  accusers,  and  thus  answer'd  : 
Tna  .s  it.,  my  incorporate  friends,  quoth  he, 
Thai  I  receive  the  <jeneral  food  at  first, 
Which  yon  do  live  upon:  and  fit  it  is; 
'H  'Cause  I  am  the  store-house,  and  the  shop 
'  t  hi--  7u hole  body  ;  But  if  you  do  retnember, 
I  s^nd  it  through  the  rivers  of  your  blood., 
i.i  en       the  court,  the  heart, — to  the  seat  o'the 
brain ; 

\  >)d.  through  (he  cranks  and  offices  of  man^ 
i'/ie.  strongest  nerves,  and  small  inferior  veins, 
I  ' mm  nw  receive  that  natural  competency 

hn  ebij  they  live:  And  though  that  all  at  once, 
Ynti.  my  good  friends  (this  says  the  belly,)  mark 

i  Cil.  Ay,  sir ;  well,  well.  [me,— 

Men.  Though  all  at  07ice  cannot 

See  what  I  do  deliver  out  to  each  ; 
Yet  I  can  make  my  -audit  up.,  that  all 
From  me  do  back  receive  thefioiver  of  all, 
A>id  leave  me  but  the  bran.      VVhat  say  you  to't? 

1  Cit.  It  was  an  answer:  How  apply  you  this? 

Men.  The  senators  of  Home  are  this  good  belly, 
And  yon  the  mutinous  members:  For  examine 
Their  counsels,  and  their  cares  ;  digest  things  rightly, 
Touching  the  weal  o'the  common;  you  shall  find, 
No  public  benefit  which  you  receive, 
lint  it  proceeds,  or  comes,  from  them  to  you, 
Aii'l  no  way  from  yourselves. — What  do  you  think  ? 
Von,  the  great  toe  of  this  assembly  ? — 

1  Cit.  I  the  great  toe  ?  Why  the  great  toe  ? 

Men.  For  that  being  one  o'the  lowest,  basest, 
poorest. 

Of  this  most  wise  rebellion,  thou  go'st  foremost: 

Thou  rascal,  that  art  worst  in  blood,  to  run 

Lead'st  first  to  win  some  vantage. — 

Hut  make  you  ready  your  stiff  bats  and  clubs  ; 

Kome  and  her  rats  are  at  the  point  of  battle, 

TiiB  oue  8ide  must  have  bale. —  Hail,  noble  Marcius! 

Enter  Caius  Marcius. 
Mar,  Thanks. — What's  the  matter,  you  dissen- 
tious  rogues. 
That  rubbing  the  poor  itch  of  your  opinion. 
Make  yourselves  scabs  ? 
1  Ctt.  We  have  ever  your  good  word. 

Mar.  He  that  will  give  good  words  to  thee,  will 
flatter  ^  [curs, 

Beneath  abhorring. —  What  would  you  have,  you 
That  like  nor  peace,  nor  war?  the, one  affrights  you. 


The  other  makes  yon  proud.    He  that  trusts  you, 
VV  here  he  should  find  vou  lions,  finds  you  hares; 
Where  foxea,  geese  :  \  ou  are  no  surer,  no, 
Than  is  the  coal  of  fire  upon  tlie  ice. 
Or  liailstone  in  the  sun.    Yoar  virtue  is. 
To  make  him  worthy,  whose  offence  subdues  him, 
And  curse  that  justice  did  it    Who  deserves  great* 
ness. 

Deserves  your  hate  :  and  your  affections  are 

A  sick,  man's  appetite,  who  desires  most  that 

Wliich  would  increase  his  evil.    He,  that  depends 

Upon  your  favours,  swims  with  fins  of  lead, 

And  liews  down  oaks  with  rushes.    Hang  ye  I  Trmi 

VV^ith  every  minute  you  do  change  a  mind ;       [ye  ? 

And  call  iiiin  noble,  that  was  now  youv  hate, 

lliiM  vile,  that  was  your  garland.  U'hat's  the  matter 

That  ill  these  several  places  of  the  city 

\  on  cry  ai',ainst  the  noble  senate,  who, 

Unvler  tiie  gods,  keep  you  in  aw^,  vvhicli  else 

VV^ould  feed  on  one  another? — What's  their  seeking? 

Men.  For  corn  at  their  own  rates  ;  whereof,  they 
Tlie  city  is  well  stor'd.  [say, 

Mar.  Hang  'em  !  they  say? 

They'll  sit  by  the  fire,  and  presume  to  know 
What's  done  i'the  Capitol:  who's  like  to  rise, 
VV^ho  thrives,  and  who  declines:  side  factions,  and 
give  out 

Conjectin  al  marriages  :  making  parties  strong, 
And  feebling  such  as  stand  not  in  their  lik'og. 
Below  their  cobbled  shoes.  They  say,  there's  grain 
enough  ? 

Would  the  nobility  lay  aside  their  ruth, 
And  let  me  use  my  sword,  Td  make  a  quarry 
With  thousands  of  these  quarter'd  slaves,  as  higk 
As  1  could  ()ick  my  lance. 

Men.  Nay,  these  are  almost  thoroughly  persuaded ; 
For  though  abundantly  they  lack  discretion, 
Yet  are  they  passing  cowardly.     But,  1  besepcL- 
What  says  the  other  troop  ?  lyoUj 

Mar.  They  are  dissolved  :  Hang 'em  ! 

They  said,  they  were  an-hungry;  sigh'd  forth  pra 
verbs ; — 

That,  hunger  broke  stone  walls;  that,  dogs  must  eat; 
That,  meat  was  made  for  mouths ;  tnat,  the  gods 
sent  not 

Corn  for  the  rich  men  only  : — With  these  shreds 
They  vented  their  complainings;  which  being  an- 
swer'd, 

And  a  {)etition  granted  them,  a  strange  one, 
(To  break  the  heart  of  generosi  [capa 
And  make  bold  power  look  pa^.,,)  they  threw  their 
As  they  would  hang  them  ou  the  horns  o'the  moon, 
Shouting  their  emulation. 

Men.  What  is  granted  them?  [doms, 

Mar,  Five  tribunes,  to  defend  their  vulgar  wis- 
Of  their  own  choice  :  One's  Junius  Brutus, 
Siciniiis  Velutus,  and  I  know  not — 'Sdeath ! 
The  rabble  should  have  first  unroof'd  the  city, 
Ere  so  prevail'd  with  me  :  it  vvill  in  time 
Win  upon  power,  and  throw  forth  greater  themes 
For  insurrection's  arguing. 

Me7i.  This  is  strange. 

Mar.  Go,  get  you  home,  you  fragments! 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  Where's  Caius  Marcius? 
Mar.  Here:  W^hat's  the  matter? 
Mess.  The  news  is,  sir,  the  Voices  are  in  arms. 
Mar.  I  am  glad  on't;  then  we  shall  have  meana 
to  vent 

Our  musty  superfluity: — See,  our  best  elders 

Enter  CoMiNius,  Titus  Lari  ius,  and  other  Sena- 
tars;  Junius  Brutus,  and  Sicinius  Velutus. 
1  Sen.  Marcius,  'tis  true,  that  you  have  lately 

The  Voices  are  in  arms.  [told  ua; 

Mar.  They  have  a  leader, 

Tulh's  Aufidius,  that  will  put  you  to't 

1  sin  in  en\ying  his  nobility: 

And  were  1  any  thing  but  what  I  am. 


i?60 

i  would  wish  me  only  be. 

Com  Yoti  have  fought  togetl>er. 

Mar.  Were  half  to  half  the  world  by  the  ears, 
kJpoii  my  party,  I'd  revolt,  tO  make  [and  he 

nlv  tiiy  wars  with  him  :  he  is  a  lion 
hat  I  am  proud  to  hunt. 
1  Sen.  Then,  worthy  Marcius, 

Attend  upon  Comini  is  to  these  wars. 
Com.  It  is  your  former  promise. 
Mar.  Sir,  it  is; 

And  i  am  constant. — Titiis  Lartins,  thou 
Shalt  see  me  once  more  strike  at  Tullus'  face: 
What,  art  thou  stilf  ?  stand'st  out  ? 

Tit.  No,  Caius  Marcius ; 

I'ii  lean  upon  one  crutch,  and  fight  with  the  other, 
lire  stay  behind  this  business. 
Men.  O,  true  bred  ! 

1  Sen.  Your  company  to  the  capitol;  where,  I 
Our  greatest  friends  attend  us.  [know. 

Tit.  Lead  you  on ; 

Follow,  Cominius;  we  must  follow  you; 
Right  worthy  your  priority. 
Com.  Noble  Lartius ! 

1  Sen.  Hence  !  To  your  homes,  be  gone. 

[To  the  Citizens.) 
Mar.  Nay,  let  them  follow  : 

The  Voices  have  much  corn  ;  take  these  rats  thither, 
To  gnaw  their  garners  : — Worshipful  mutineers. 
Your  valour  puts  well  forth:  pray,  follow. 

[Exeunt  Senators,  Corn.  Mar.  Tit.  and 
Menen.    Citizens  steal  atony. 
Sic.  Was  ever  man  so  proud  as  is  thi-'  Marcius  ? 
Bru.  He  has  no  equal.  [pie, — 

Sic.  When  we  were  chosen  tribunes  for  the  peo- 
Bru.  Mark'd  you  his  lip,  and  eyes  ? 
Stc.  Nay,  but  his  taunts. 

Bru.  Being  mov'd,  he  will  not  spare  to  gird  the 
Sic.  Be-mock  the  modest  moon.  [gods. 
Uru.  The  present  wars  devour  him :  he  is  grown 
T  oo  proud  to  be  so  vahant 
J  Sic.  Such  a  nature. 

Tickled  with  good  success,  disdains  the  shadow 
Which  he  treads  on  at  noon :  But  I  do  wonder, 
His  insolence  can  brook  to  be  commanded 
L'nder  Cominius. 

Bru.  Fame,  at  the  which  he  aims, — 

In  whom  already  he  is  well  grac'd, — cannot 
JJetter  be  held,  nor  moi-e  attain'd,  than  by 
A  place  below  the  first :  for  what  miscarries 
Shall  be  the  general's  fault,  though  he  perform 
To  the  utmost  of  a  man ;  and  giddy  censure 
VVill  then  cry  out  of  Marcius,  0,  if  he 
Had  borne  the  business  ! 

Sic.  Besides,  if  things  go  well. 

Opinion,  that  so  sticks  on  Marcius,  shall 
Of  his  demerits  rob  Cominius. 

Uru.  Come : 

Half  all  Cominius'  honours  are  to  Marcius, 
Though  Marcius  earn'd  them  not;  and  all  his  faults 
To  Marcius  shall  be  honours,  though,  indeed, 
In  aught  he  merit  not. 

Sic.  Let's  hence,  and  hear 

How  the  despatch  is  made ;  and  in  what  fasfiion, 
More  than  in  singularity,  he  goes 
Upon  his  present  action. 

Bru.  Let'.«  along.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  U.—Corioli.    The  Senate- House. 
Enter  TuLLUS  Aufidius,  and  certain  Senators^ 
I  Sen.  So,  your  opinion  is,  Aufidius, 
That  they  of  Rome  are  enter'd  in  our  counsels. 
And  know  how  we  proceed. 

Auf.  Is  it  not  yours  ? 

Whatever  hath  been  thought  on  in  this  state. 
That  could  he  brought  to  bodily  act  ere  Rome 
Had  circunjvention  ?  Tis  not  four  days  gone, 
S'lice  I  heard  thence;  these  are  the  words;  I  think, 
I  have  the  letter  here  ;  yes,  here  it  is  :        {Reads  ) 
They  hdvt  pressed  a  power,  but  it  is  not  known 
Whether  for  east  or  west :  The  dearth  is  great ; 


Act  L 

The  people  mutinous   ttn<t  it  is  rumour'dp  \ 

Coiuinius,  Marcius  yi  ur  old  enemy, 
(  Who  is  of  Rome  ivorse  hated  than  of  you.) 
And  Titus  Lartius,  n  most  valiant  Roman, 
These  three  lead  on  iJii.s  preparation 
Whither  'tis  bent :  most  likely,  'tis  for  you  i 
Consider  of  it. 

1  Sen.  Our  army's  in  the  field  : 

We  never  yet  made  doubt  but  Rome  was  readf 
To  answer  us. 

At^.  Nor  did  you  think  it  folly, 

To  keep  your  great  j)retences  veil'd,  till  when 
They  needs  must  shew  themselves;  wiiich  in  th© 
hatching, 

It  seem'd,  appear'd  to  Rome.    By  the  discovery 
We  shall  be  sliorten'd  in  our  aim  ;  wliich 
To  take  in  many  towns,  ere,  almost,  Roaie 
Should  know  we  were  afoot. 

2  Sen.  Noble  Aufidius, 
Take  your  commission:  hie  you  to  your  bauds: 
Let  us  alone  to  guard  Corioli: 

Kf  they  set  down  before  us,  for  the  remove 
Bring  up  your  army;  but,  I  think,  you'll  find 
Tiiey  irave  not  prepar'd  for  us. 

Auf.  O,  doubt  not  that; 

I  speak  fionj  certainties.    Nay,  more, 
Si)Mie  parcels  of  their  powers  are  forth  already, 
And  only  liitherward.    I  leave  your  honnurs. 
n  we  and  Caius  Marcius  chance  to  meet, 
' !  is  sworn  between  us,  we  shall  never  .strike, 
Till  one  can  do  no  more. 

All.  The  gods  assist  you  ! 

Ai(f.  And  keep  your  honours  safe  ! 

1  Farewell 

2  Sen.  Farewell. 
All.  Farewell.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — Rome.    An  Apartment  in  Marciwi 
tiouae. 

Enter  Volumnia  /Twr/ Virgilia  :  They  sit  down  on 
two  low  stools,  and  sew. 

Vol.  I  pray  you,  daughter,  sing  ;  or  express  your 
self  in  a  more  comfortable  sort:  If  my  son  were  my 
husband,  I  should  freelier  rejoice  in  that  absen;*> 
wherein  he  won  honour,  than  in  the  ein'oracements 
of  his  bed,  where  he  would  shew  most  lov  e.  When 
yet  he  was  but  tender-bodied,  and  the  only  son  oi 
my  womb ;  when  youth  with  comeliness  plucked 
all  gaze  his  way ;  wlien,  for  a  day  of  king's  enti  eaties, 
a  mother  skould  not  sell  him  an  hour  from  her 
beholding;  I,— considering  how  honour  would  be- 
come such  a  person;  that  it  was  no  better  than 
picture  like  to  hang  by  the  wall,  if  renown  made  i( 
not  stir, — was  pleased  to  let  him  seek  dat)ger  where 
he  was  like  to  6nd  fame.  To  a  cruel  war  I  sent 
him ;  from  whence  he  returned,  his  brows  bound 
with  oak.  I  tell  thee,  daughter, — I  sprang  not  more 
in  joy  at  first  hearing  he  was  a  man-child,  than  now 
in  first  seeing  he  had  proved  himself  a  man. 

Vir.  But  had  he  died  in  the  business,  madam, 
how  then  ? 

Vol.  Then  bis  good  report  should  have  been  my 
sou;  1  therein  would  have  found  issue.  Hear  nie 
profeMs  sincerely : — Had  I  a  dozen  sons, — each  io 
my  love  alike,  and  none  less  dear  than  thine  and  my 
good  Marcius, — I  had  rather  had  eleven  die  nobly 
for  their  country,  than  one  vohu)tuousl*  surfeit  o«i 
of  action. 

Enter  a  Gentlewoman^ 
Gent.  Madam,  the  lady  Valeria  is  come  to  visit 

you.  ^  _  [9il:4f, 

Vir.  'Beseech  you,  give  me  leave  to  retire  nry- 

Vol.  Indeed,  you  shall  not. 
Methinks  I  hear  hither  your  husband's  drum  ; 
See  him  pluck  Aufidius  down  by  the  hair; 
As  children  from  a  bear,  the  Voices  shunning  himt 
Methinks,  I  see  him  stamp  thus,  and  call  tlms,— 
Come  on.  you  cowards,  if  on  were  got  in  fear, 
Though  you  were  bom  in  Rome  :  His  bloody  Imtoh 


CORIOLANUS. 


Scene  4. 


CORIOLANUS. 


56J 


With  his  mai'l'd  hand  then  wiping,  forth  he  ^es , 
Like  to  a  harvest  man,  that's  task'd  to  mow 
Or  all,  or  lose  his  hire. 

Vir  His  bloody  brow  !  O,  Jupiter,  no  blood  ! 

Vol.  A>^ay,  yon  fool !  't  more  becomes  a  man, 
Than  gilt  his  trophy:  the  breasts  of  Hecuba, 
When  she  did  suckle  Hector,  lonk'd  not  lovelier 


Than  Hector's  forehead,  when  it  spit  forth  Wood 
At  Grecian  swords' contending. — Tell  Valeiia, 
We  are  fit  to  bid  her  welcome.  [Exit  Gent 


Vir.  Heavens  oless  my  lord  from  fell  Aufidius  ! 
Vol.  He'll  beat  Aufidius'  head  below  hi.j  knee, 
^nd  tread  upon  his  neck. 

Re-enter  Gentlevjoman,  with  Valeria  and  her 
Usher. 

Vnl.  My  ladies  both,  good  day  to  you. 

Vol.  Sweet  madam, — 

Vir.  I  am  glad  to  see  your  ladyship. 

Val.  How  do  you  both  ?  you  are  manifest  house- 
keepers. VV  hat,  are  you  sewing  here  ?  A  fine  spot, 
in  good  faith.— How  does  your  little  sou? 

Vir.  I  thank  your  ladyship  ;  well,  oood  madam. 

Vol.  He  had  rather  see  the  swords,  and  hear  a 
drum,  than  look  upon  his  schoolmaster. 

Vol.  O'  my  word,  tlie  father's  son :  I'll  swear 
'tis  a  very  pretty  boy.  O'my  troth,  I  looked  upon 
him  o'VVediiesday  half  an  hour  together:  he  has 
such  a  confirmed  countenance.  I  saw  him  run  after 
a  gilded  butterfly;  and  when  he  caught  it,  he  let  it 
go  again;  and  after  it  again  ;  and  over  and  over  he 
comes,  and  up  again;  catched  it  again:  or  whether 
bis  fall  enraged  him,  or  how  'twas,  he  did  so  set  his 
teeth,  and  tear  it;  O,  I  warrant,  how  he  mam- 
mocked it! 

Vol.  One  of  his  father's  moods. 

Val.  Indeed,  la,  'tis  a  noble  child. 

Vir.  A  crack,  madam. 

Val.  Come,  lay  aside  your  stitchery;  I  must  have 
you  play  the  idle  huswife  with  me  this  afternoon. 
Vir.  No,  good  madam  ;  1  will  not  out  of  doors. 
Val.  ISot  out  of  doors? 
Vol.  She  shall,  she  shall. 

Vir.  Indeed,  no,  by  your  patience:  I  will  not 
over  the  threshold,  till  my  lord  return  from  the 
wars. 

Val.  Vy,  you  confine  yourself  most  nnreason- 
ably ;  Come,  you  must  go  visit  the  good  lady  that 
hes  m. 

Vir.l  will  wish  her  speedy  strength,  and  visit 
Qer  with  my  prayers  ;  but  I  cannot  go  tiiither. 
Vol.  Why,  I  pray  you  ? 

Vir.  'Tis  not  to  save  labour,  nor  that  I  want  love. 

Val.  lou  would  be  another  Penelope:  yet,  they 
u^^'z?,!' yarn  she  spun,  in  Ulysses'  absence,  did 
but  fill  Ithaca  full  of  moths.  Come  ;  I  would  your 
oambnc  were  sensible  as  your  finger,  that  you  might 
leave  pricking  it  for  pity.  Come,  you  shall  go  with 
us. 

Vir.  No,  good  madam,  pardon  me ;  indeed,  J  will 
not  forth. 

Val.  In  truth,  la,  go  with  me;  and  111  tell  you 
excellent  news  of  your  husband. 

Vir.  O,  good  madam,  there  can  be  none  yet. 

Val.  Verily,  I  do  not  jest  with  you  ;  there  came 
news  from  him  last  night. 

Vir.  Indeed,  madam  t 

Val.  In  earnest,  it's  true;  I  heard  a  senator  speak 
It  liius  it  is:— Tiie  Voices  have  an  army  forth; 
against  whom  Cominius  the  general  is  gone,  with 
«ie  part  of  our  Roman  power:  your  lord,  and  Titus 
Lartms,  are  set  down  before  their  city  Corioii ;  they 
nothmg  doubt  prevailing,  and  to  make  it  brief  wars. 
Ihis  is  true,  on  mine  lionour ;  and  so,  I  pray  eo 
with  us.  '     r    jj  6 

Vir.  Give  me  excuse,  good  madam ;  I  will  obey 
fou  in  every  thing  hereafter. 

Vol.  Let  her  alone,  lady ;  as  she  is  now,  she  will 
Out  disease  our  better  mirth. 

»«i    1"  troth,  I  think,  she  would -—Fare  you 


well  then.— Come,  good  sweet  lady.— Pr'ythei  Vir- 
with'  us""        soJemnuess  out  o  door,  and  go  along 

Vir  No :  at  a  word,  madam  ;  indeed,  I  must  not 
I  wish  you  much  mirth. 

Val.  Well,  then  farewell.  lExeunt 
Scene  \Y.— Before  Corioii. 
Enter,  with  drum  and  colours,  Marcus  Trrea 

Lartius,  Officers,  and  Soldiers.    To  them  a 

Messenger. 

Mar.  Yonder  comes  news  :— A  wager,  they  have 
Liart.  My  horse  to  yours,  no.  [j^^x 
^^r.  'Tis  done. 

^>art.  Agned, 
Mar.  Say,  has  our  general  met  the  enemy  V 
Mess  They  lie  in  view;  but  have  not  spoke  as 
Liart.  f>o,  the  good  horse  is  mine.  [yet 

f''';    M     TM,  n      I'"  buy  him  of  you. 

Liart.  No,  111  nor  sell,  nor  give  him:  lend  yo>^ 
him,  I  will, 

For  half  a  hundred  years.— Summon  the  town. 
Mar.  How  far  ofi'  lie  these  armies 

rt.,        ,  ^'thin  this  mile  and  half. 

Mar.  Then  shall  we  hear  their  'larun.,  and  they 
ours.  ^ 
Now,  Mars,  I  pr'ythee,  make  us  quick  in  work  • 
lhat  we  with  smoking  swords  may  maroh  from 
hence, 

To  help  our  fielded  friends  !— Come,  blow  thy  blast. 
They  sound  a  parley.    Enter,  on  the  walls,  some 

Senators,  and  others. 
Tullus  Aufidius,  is  he  within  your  walls? 

1  Sen.  No,  nor  a  man  t\r,x\  fears  you  less  than  he, 
1  hat  s  lesser  than  a  little.    Hark,  our  drums 
A     t  •    .     r  {Alarums  afar  off.) 

Are  bringing  forth  our  youth  :  W  e'll  break  our  walls' 
Kather  than  they  shall  pound  us  up  :  our  gates. 
Which  yet  seem  shut,   we  have  but  pinn'd  with 
rushes ; 

They'll  open  of  themselves.    Hark  you,  far  off: 

PL      •   A  ^  ••      ..  [Other  Alarums.. 

I  here  is  Aufidius  ;  list,  what  work  he  makes 
Amongst  your  cloven  army. 

rru  '      •     ,      ^>  they  are  at  it!  fho! 
L,art.  I  heir  noise  be  our  instruction.— Ladders, 

The  Voices  enter,  and  pass  over  the  stage. 
Mar.  They  fear  us  not,  but  issue  forth  their  city 
Now  put  your  shields  before  your  hearts,  and  fight 

With  hearts  more  proof  than  shields  Advance, 

brave  Titus  : 
Su^  ,^0  disdain  us  much  beyond  our  thoughts, 
Which  makes  me  sweat  with  wrath.— Come  on, 

iny  fellows ; 
He  that  retires,  I'll  take  him  for  a  Voice, 
And  he  shall  feel  mine  edge. 

Alarum  and  exeunt  Romans  and  Volces.fighlmg. 
J  he  Romans  are  beaten  back  to  their  trenches. 
Ke  enter  Marcius. 

Mar.  All  the  contagion  of  the  south  light  on  you, 
You  shames  of  Rome!  you  herd  of— Boils  and  plagues 
Plaster  you  o'er  ;  that  you  may  be  abhorr'd 
further  than  seen,  and  one  infect  another 
Against  the  wind  a  mile  !  *  You  souls  of  geese 
lhat  bear  the  shapes  of  men,  how  have  you  run 
^rom  s  aves  that  apes  would  beat?  Pluto  and  hell » 
All  hurt  behind  ;  backs  red,  and  faces  pale 
With  flight  and  agued  fear ;  Mend,  and  charge  home. 
Or,  by  the  fires  of  heaven,  I'll  leave  the  foe, 
And  make  my  wars  on  you  :  look  to't :  Come  on ; 
11  you'll  stand  fast,  we'll  beat  them  to  their  xvives. 
As  they  us  to  our  trenches  followed. 
Another  alarum.   The  Voices  and  Romans  re, 
enter,  and  the  fight  is  renewed.    The  Voice* 
retire  into  Corioii,  and  Marcius  follows  th^m 
to  the  gates. 

So,  now  the  gates  are  ope  :  Now  prove  good*>ecouas 
•JO 


562 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  L 


"fin  for  the  followers  fortune  widpns  them, 
Not  for  the  flyers  :  mark  m«  and  do  the  like.  ^ 
{He  enters  the  gates,  and  is  shU' 

1  Sol.  Fool-hardiness ;  not  I. 

5  Sol.  Nor  I. 

ZSol.  See,  they 

Have  shut  him  in.  {Alarum  contmues.) 

All.  To  the  pot,  I  warrant  him. 

Enter  Titus  Lartius. 

Lart.  What  is  become  of  Marcins  ? 

^11,  Slain,  sir,  doubtless. 

1  Sol  Following  the  tiiers  at  the  very  heels, 
With  them  he  enters:  who,  upon  the  ?adden, 
Clapp'd  to  their  gates  ;  he  is  himself  alone. 
To  anriwer  all  the  city. 

Sjart.  O  noble  fellow  ! 

Who,  sensible,  outdares  his  senseless  sword. 
And,  when  it  bows,  stands  up !  Thou  art  left,  Mar- 
A  carbuncle  entire,  as  big  as  thoii  art,       ,  ,f<^*"^  * 
Were  not  so  rich  a  jewel.    Thou  wast  a  soldier 
Even  to  Cato's  wish,  not  fierce  and  terrible 
Only  in  strokes;  but,  with  thy  grim  looks,  and 
The  thunder-like  percussion  of  thy  sounds. 
Thou  mad\st  thine  enemies  shake,  as  if  the  world 
Were  feverous,  and  did  tremble. 

Re-enter  Marcius,  bleeding,   assaulted  by  the 
enemy. 

1  Sol.  ^^,?y'^tj-  • 

Lart.  *     Marcius  : 

Let's  fetch  him  off,  or  make  remain  alike.  _ 

{They  fight,  and  all  enter  the  city.) 

Scene  V.— Within  the  Town.    A  Street. 
Enter  certain  Romans,  tvith  spoils 
1  Rom.  This  will  I  carry  to  Rome. 
^Rom.  And  I  this. 

3  Rom.  A  munain  on't !    I  took  this  for  silver. 

(Alarum  still  contmues  aj'ar  off.) 

Enter  Marcius  and  Titus  Lartius,  with  a 
trumpet. 

Uar.  See  here  these  movers,  that  do  prize  their 
hours 

it  n  crack'd  drachm  !  Cushi«ns,  leaden  spoons, 
irons  of  a  doit,  doublets  that  hangmen  would 
Kury  with  those  that  wore  them,  these  base  slaves. 
Ere  yet  the  fight  be  done,  pack  up  -.—Down  with 

them.—  ,       ,     ,  i'V,? 

And  hark,  what  noise  the  general  makes!— I  o 
There  is  (he  man  of  my  soul's  hate,  Anfidius, 
Piercing  our  Romans  :  Then,  valiant  Titus,  take 
Cr.nveiiieiit  numbers  to  make  good  the  city; 
Whilst  I,  with  those  that  have  the  spirit,  will  haste 
To  help  Comiuius. 

Lart.  Worthy  sir,  thou  bleed  st; 

Thy  exercise  hath  been  too  violent  for 
A  second  course  of  fight. 

Mar.  Sir,  praise  me  not : 

My  work  hath  not  yet  warm'd  me  :  Fare  you  well. 
The  blood  \  drop  is'  rather  physical 
Than  dangerous  to  me  :  To  Aufidius  thus 
I  will  appear,  and  tight. 

Lart.  Now  the  fair  goddess,  bortune. 

Fall  deep  in  love  with  thee;  and  her  great  chaMns 
Misguide  thy  opposer's  swords!  Bold  gentleman, 
Prosperity  be  thy  page       ,    ^  .  ^ 

ij^ar.  Thy  triend  no  less 

Than  those  she  placeth  highest!  So,  farewell. 

hart.  Thou  worthiest  Marcius  \—^Exit  Marcius. 
Go,  sound  thv  trumpet  in  the  market-place  ; 
Call  thither  all  the  officers  of  the  town. 
Where  tliey  shall  know  our  mind  :  Away,  [Exewt. 
Scene  VI. — Near  the  Camp  of  Cominius. 
Enter  COMINIUS  and  Forces^  retreating. 

Com.  Breathe  you,  my  friends;  well  fc^ht  :  we 

are  come  ofi' 
e  flomang,  neither  foo^^sh  in  our  fUnds, 


^or  cowardly  :a  retire  ;  Beliave  laa,  sirs, 
We  shall  be  charg'd  again.  Whiles  we  have  fltrti<Rk| 
By  interims,  and  conveying  gusts,  we  have  heard 
The  charges  of  our  fiiends  : — The  Roman  gods 
Lead  their  successes  as  we  wish  our  own ; 
That  both  our  powers,  with  smiling  fronts  enoonn. 
teriug, 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
May  give  you  thankful  sacrifice! — Thy  new*? 

lUless.  The  citizens  of  Corioli  have  issued, 
And  given  to  Lartius  and  to  Marcius  battle : 
I  saw  oHi  party  to  their  trenches  drii'en, 
And  then  I  came  away. 

Com.  Though  thou  speak'st  Inilh, 

Methinks,  thou  speak'st  not  well.    How  long  is't 

Mess.  Above  an  hour,  my  lord  [iince? 

Com.  'Tis  not  a  mile ;  briefly  we  hoard  their  drums: 
H(AV  could'st  thou  in  a  mile  confound  an  hour, 
And  bring  thy  news  so  late? 

Mi:ss.  Spies  of  the  Voices 

Held  me  in  chase,  that  I  was  foic'd  to  wheel 
Three  or  four  miles  about;  else  had  I,  sir. 
Half  an  hour  since  brought  my  report. 

Evdet  Marcius. 
Com.  Who's  yonder. 

That  does  appear  as  "he  were  flay'd  ?  O  fiods ! 
He  has  the  stamp  of  Marcius;  ?nd  I  have 
Before-time  seen  him  thus. 

Mar.  Come  I  too  late  ? 

Com.  The  shepherd  knows  not  thunder  from  a 
tabor. 

More  than  I  know  the  sound  of  Marcius's  tongue 
From  every  meaner  man's. 
Mar.  Couie  I  too  late  ? 

Com.  Ay,  if  you  come  not  in  the  blood  of  others, 
But  mantled  in  your  own. 

Mar.  O  !  let  me  clip  yon 

In  arms  as  sound,  as  when  I  wooVj ;  in  neart 
As  merry,  as  when  our  nuptial  day  was  done, 
And  tapers  burn'd  to  bedward. 

Com.  Flowc  of"  wan  iors, 

How  is't  with  Titus  Lartius? 

Mar.  As  with  a  man  busied  about  decrees  . 
Condenming  some  to  death,  and  some  to  exile  ; 
Ransoming  him,  or  pitying,  tlireai'ning  tlie  oUicr;  , 
Holding  Corioli  in  the  name  of  Pome, 
Even  like  a  f^nvning  greyhound  in  th^^  leash, 
To  let  him  slip  at  will. 

Com.  Where  is  that  sla  , 

Which  told  me  they  had  beat  you  to  your  tr.-.,i  (j  s 
Where  is  he  ?  Call  him  hither. 

Mar  Let  him  alone, 

Fie  did  inform  the  truth  :  Biit ,  for  our  gem  li-men. 
The  common  file,  (A  plague  !  Tribunes  f^r  tiiem  !  ) 
The  mouse  ne'er  shunn'd  the  cat,  as  they  di  1  b>idf,e 
From  rascals  worse  than  they. 

Com.  But  how  prevail'd  yon  ■. 

Mar.  Will  the  time  serve  to  tell  ?  1  do  not  lijink-- ■ 
Where  is  the  enemy  ?  Are  you  lords  o'the  field? 
If  not,  why  cease  you  till  you  are  so  ? 

Com.  Marcius, 
We  have  at  disadvantage  fought,  and  did 
Retire,  to  win  our  purpose.  [s'de 

Mar.  How  lies  their  battle?  Know  you  on  wli  '-h 
They  have  pluc'd  their  men  of  trust  ? 

Com.  Vs  I  guess,  Marc';.i!», 

Their  bands  iu  the  vaward  are  the  Antiatcs, 
Of  their  best  trust  :  o'er  them  ik.ufidius, 
I'heir  very  heait  of  hope. 

Mar.  I  do  beseech  you, 

By  all  the  battles  wherein  we  have  fought, 
By  the  blood  we  have  shed  together,  by  the  yovn 
VV?  have  made  to  endure  friends,  that  you  dirr«<S| 
Set  me  against  Anfidius,  and  his  Antiates: 
And  that  you  not  delay  th^e  present;  but, 
Filling  the  air  with  swords  advanc'd,  and  darts. 
We  prove  this  very  hour. 

Cc7M.  Though  1  could  wish 


Scene  9. 


CORIOLANUS. 


063 


You  were  conducted  to  a  gentle  bafh. 
AniJ  balmn  apjjlied  Ui  yju,  yet  dare  1  never 
Deny  yuui  asking;  take  yoiu-  clioice  of  those 
That  best  can  aid  your  action. 

Mar.  Tliose  are  they 

Tiiat  most  are  willing: — If  any  such  be  here, 
fAs  it  were  sin  to  doubt,)  that  love  this  painting 
Wherein  you  see  me  sn^ear'd  ;  if  any  fear 
Lesser  his  person  than  an  ill  report; 
If  any  think,  brave  death  outweighs  bad  life, 
And  that  his  country's  dearer  than  himself, 
Let  hitn,  alone,  or  so  many,  so  minded, 
Wave  thus,  [waviny  his  hand)  to  express  his  dis- 
And  follow  Marciiis.  [position, 
{They  all  shout,  and  wave  their  sivords ;  take 
him  up  in  their  arms, and  cast  up  their  caps.) 
0  me,  alone  1  Make  you  a  sword  of  me  ? 
In  these  shews  btr-  not  outward,  which  of  you 
But  is  four  Voices  ?  None  of  you  but  is 
Able  to  bear  against  the  great  Aiifidius 
A  shield  as  hard  as  his.    A  certain  number, 
Though  thanks  to  all,  must  I  select:  the  rest 
Shall  bear  the  business  in  some  other  fight, 
As  cause  will  be  obey'd.    Please  you  to  march; 
And  four  shall  quickly  draw  oui  my  command. 
Which  nitin  are  best  inclin'd. 

Com.  jMarch  on,  my  fellows  : 

Make  good  this  ostentation,  and  you  shall 
Divide  in  all  with  ns.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V II.— The  Gates  of  Corioli. 
Titus  Lartius,  having  set  a  guard  upon  Corioli^ 
going  with  a  (drum  and  trumpet  toivardQ,i)TAm\\}% 
and  Caius  Marcius,  enters  with  a  Lieutenant, 
a  party  of  Soldiers,  and  a  Scout, 
hart.  So,  let  tlie  ports  be  guarded  :  keep  your 
duties, 

As  I  have  set  them  down.    If  I  do  send,  despatch 
Those  centuries  to  our  aid  ;  the  rest  will  serve 
For  a  short  holding  :  If  we  lose  the  field, 
We  cannot  keep  the  town. 

hiaa-  Fear  not  our  care,  sir. 

hart.  Hence,  and  shut  your  gates  upon  us. — 
Oar  guider,  come  ;  to  the  Roman  camp  conduct  us. 

{Exeunt. 

SceneVI  II. — A  Field  of  Battle  betiveen  the  Roman 
and  the  Volscian  Camps. 
Alarum.    Enter  Marcius  and  Aufidius. 
Mar.  I'll  fight  with  none  but  thee  ;  for  1  do  hate 
Worse  than  a  promise-breaker.  [tliee 

Auf.  We  hate  alike ; 

Not  Afric  owns  a  serpent,  I  abhor 
More  ttian  thy  fame  and  envy  :  fix  thy  foot. 

Mar.  Let  the  first  budger  die  the  other's  slave, 
And  the  gods  doom  him  alter ! 

Auf.  If  I  fly,  Marcius, 

Halloo  nie  like  a  hare. 

Mar.  Within  these  three  hours,  Tulhis, 

Alone  I  fought  in  your  Corioli  walls, 
And  made  what  work  I  pleas'd  :  'Tis  not  my  blood. 
Wherein  thou  see'st  me  mask'd  ;  for  thy  revenge. 
Wrench  up  thy  power  to  the  highest. 


Auf 


Wert  thou  the  Hector, 


That  was  the  whip  of  your  hragg'd  progeny. 
Thou  shoiild'st  not  'scape  me  here. — 

{They Ji(/ht,  and  certain  Voices  come  to 
the  aid  of  Aufidius.) 
Officious,  and  not  valiant — you  have  sham'd  me 
In  yoifr  condemned  seconds. 

[Exeunt  fighting,  driven  in  by  Marcius. 

Scene  IX.— The  Roman  Camp. 
Alarum.  A  retreat  is  sounded.    Flourish.  Enter 
at  one  side,  CoMlNlus  and  Romans  ;  at  the  other 
side,  Marcius,  with  his  arm  in  a  scarf  and 
other  Ro?nans. 

Com.  If  1  shou\d  tell  thee  o'er  this  thy  day's  work, 
Thou'lt  not  be  lie  VP  thy  deeds  :  but  I'll  report  it. 
Where  senators  shall  mingle  tears  with  smiles; 


Where  gieat  patricians  shall  attend  a-if?  :'hrug, 
Tthe  end,  admire;  v\liere  ladies  shall  be  tnghtt  d. 
And,  gladly  quak'd,   hear  more;  wlieix  the  rtnt! 
I'nbiines, 

That,  with  the  fusty  plebeians,  hp.te  thine  honours, 
Shall  say  against  their  hearts, —  We  thank  the  qods^ 
Our  Rome  hath  such  a  soldier ! — 
Yet  cam'st  thou  to  a  morsel  of  this  feast. 
Having  fully  dined  before. 

^n^er  Titus  Lartius,  with  his  power,  from  the 
pursuit. 

Lart.  O  general. 

Here  is  the  steed,  we  the  caparison  : 
Hadst  thou  beheld — 

Mar.  Pray  now,  no  more  :  my  mother. 

Who  has  a  charter  to  extol  her  blood. 
When  she  does  praise  me,  grieves  me.  I  have  done. 
As  you  have  done  ;  that's  what  I  can;  induc'd 
As  you  have  been  ;  that's  for  my  country  : 
He,  that  has  but  effected  his  good  will. 
Hath  overta'en  mine  act. 

Com.  Yon  shall  not  be 

The  grave  of  your  deserving;  Rome  must  kno«f 
The  v  alue  of  her  own  :  'twere  a  concealment 
Worse  than  a  theft,  no  less  than  a  trad  net- ment. 
To  hide  your  doings ;  and  to  silence  that, 
W^hich,  to  the  spire  and  top  of  praises  vouch'd, 
Would  seem  but  modest :  Therefore,  I  beseech  you, 
(In  sign  of  what  you  are,  not  to  reward 
What  you  have  done,)  before  our  army  hear  me. 

Mar.  I  have  some  wounds  upon  n>e,  and  they 
To  hear  themselves  remember'd.  [smart 

Com.  Should  they  not, 

Wei!  might  they  fester  'gainst  ingratitude, 
And  tent  themselves  with  death.  Of  all  the  horses. 
(Whereof  we  have  ta'en  good,  and  good  store.)  of  ail 
The  treasure,  in  tliis  field  achiev'd,  and  city 
We  render  you  the  tenth ;  to  be  ta'en  forth 
Before  the  conjmon  distribution,  at 
Your  only  choice. 

Mar.  I  thank  you,  general ; 

But  cannot  make  my  heart  consent  to  take 
A  bribe  to  pay  my  sword  :  I  do  refuse  it ; 
And  stand  upon  my  common  part  with  those 
That  have  beheld  the  doing. 

{A  long  jiourish.  They  all  cry,  Marcius  ! 
Marcius!  cast  up  their  cajis  andlancee: 
Cominius  and  Lartius  stand  bare.) 

Mar.  May  these  same  instruments,  which  you 
profane. 

Never  eound  more  !  When  drums  and  trumpets  shall 

r  the  field  prove  flatterers,  let  courts  and  cities  be 

Made  all  of  false-fac'd  soothing!  Wlien  steel  grovra 

Soft  as  the  parasite's  silk,  let  him  be  made 

An  overture  for  tlie  wars!  No  more,  I  say ; 

For  that  I  have  not  wash'd  my  nose  that  bled, 

Or  foil'd  some  debile  wretch, — which,  without  note. 

Here's  many  else  have  done, — yen  shout  me  forth 

In  acclamations  hyperbolical ; 

As  if  I  loved  my  little  should  be  dieted 

In  |. raises  sauc'd  with  lies. 

Com.  Too  modest  are  you; 

More  cruel  to  your  good  report,  than  grateful 
To  us  that  give  you  truly  :  by  your  patience. 
If 'gainst  yourself  you  be  incens'd,  w^e'il  put  you 
(Like  one  that  means  his  proper  harm,)  in  amnacleSj 
Then  reason  safely  with  you. — Therefore,  be  it 
known, 

As  to  ns,  to  all  the  world,  that  Caius  Maseius 
Wears  this  war's  garland  :  in  token  of  the  vphich 
My  noble  steed,  known  to  the  camp,  I  give  him, 
Vvith  all  his  trim  belonging;  and,  trom  this  time, 
For  what  he  did  before  Corioli,  call  him, 
With  all  the  applause  and  clamour  of  the  host, 
Caius  Marcius  Coriolanus. — 
Bear  the  addition  nobly  ever! 

(Flourish.    Trumpets  sound,  and  drums 

AIL  Caius  Marcius  Coriolanus  ! 

Cor.  I  will  go  wash ; 


564 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  TL 


And  when  my  face  is  fair,  you  shall  perceive 
WlvetliPi- 1  blnsli,  or  no  :  Howbeit,  f  l-hauk  you  : — ■ 
I  loean  to  stride  your  steed  ;  and,  at  all  times, 
To  undercrest  your  good  addition, 
To  the  fairness  of  my  power. 

Com.  So,  to  our  tent : 

Where,  ere  we  do  repose  us,  we  will  write 
To  tlome  of  our  success. — You,  Titus  Lartius, 
Miist  to  Corioli  back  :  send  us  to  Rome 
'The  best,  with  whom  we  may  articulate, 
For  their  own  good,  and  ours. 

Lnrt.  I  shall,  my  lord 

Cor  The  g-ods  begin  to  mock  me.    I,  that  now 
Refiis'd  most  princely  gifts,  am  bound  to  beg 
Of  niy  lord  general. 

Coin.  Take  it:  'tis  yours.— What  is't  ? 

Cor.  I  sometime  lay,  here  in  Corioli, 
At  a  poor  man's  house  ;  he  us'd  me  kipdly 
He  cried  to  me  ;  1  saw  him  prisoner; 
But  tlien  Aufidiiis  was  within  my  view, 
A -yd  \vra(h  o'e.-  whelm'd  my  pity  :  1  request  you 
To  sive  my  poor  host  freedom. 

Cofn.  O,  well  begg'd ! 

Were  he  the  butcher  of  my  son,  he  should 
Be  free,  as  is  the  wind.    Deliver  him,  I'itus. 

Lart.  Marcius,  his  name  ? 

Cor.  By  Jupiter,  forgot: — 

I  am  weary;  yea,  my  memory  is  tir'd — 
Have  we  no  wine  here"? 

Com.  Go  we  to  our  tent; 

The  h\no(\  upon  your  visage  dries;  'tis  time 
I(  i^ihoiild  be  look'd  to:  come.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  X. — T/ie  Camp  of  the  Voices. 
A  flourish.    Cornets.    Enter  TuLLUS  AUFIDIUS, 
bloody,  ivith  tivo  or  three  Soldiers. 

At-^f-  The  town  is  ta'en  ! 

1  Sol.  'Twill  be  deliver'd  back  on  good  condition. 

Aiif.  Condition? — 
I  would,  I  were  a  Roman;  for  I  cannot, 
Being  a  Voice,  be  that  I  am. — Conditionl 
What  good  condition  can  a  treaty  find 
I'the  part  that  \h  at  mercy  ?    Five  times,  Marciu?, 
I  have  fought  with  thee  ;  so  often  hast  thou  beat  me  ; 
And  wouldst  do  so,  I  think,  should  we  encounter 
As  often  as  we  eat. — By  the  elements, 
If  e'er  again  I  meet  him  beard  to  beard. 
He  is  mine,  or  I  am  hi?j :  Mine  emulation 
Hath  not  that  honour  in't,  it  had  ;  for  where 
I  thought  to  crush  him  in  an  equal  force, 
(True  sword  to  sword.)  I'll  potch  at  him  some  way  ; 
Or  wrath,  or  craft,  may  get  him. 

I  Sol  He's  the  devil. 

Auf.  Bolder,  though  not  .so  subtle :  My  valour's 
poison'd, 

With  only  suffering  stain  by  him  ;  for  him 

Shall  fly  out  of  itself:  nor  sleep,  nor  sanctuary, 

Being  naked,  sick  ;  nor  fane,  nor  Capitol, 

The  prayers  of  [)riests,  nor  times  of  sacrifice, 

Em.barquements  all  of  fury,  shall  lift  up 

Their  rotten  privilege  and  custom  'gainst 

My  hate  to  Marcius  :  where  I  find  him,  were  it 

At  home,  upon  my  brother's  guard,  even  there 

Against  the  hospitable  canon,  would  I 

Wash  my  fierce  hand  in  his  heart.  Go  you  to  the  city  ; 

Learn,  how  'tis  held  ;  and  what  they  are,  that  must 

Be  hostages  for  Rome. 

1  Sol.  Will  not  you  go? 

Auf.  I  am  attended  at  tlie  cypress  gio^e  : 
I  pray  you, 

'Tisj  south  the  city  mills,)  bring  me  word  thith  >r 
How  the  world  goes  ;  that  to  the  pace  of  it 
I  may  spur  on  my  journey. 
I  Sol.  I  shall,  sir.  \Exeunt. 

ACT  II. 

Sgewe  I. — Rome.    A  public  Place 
Enter  Mv.^Kmvs.  SiciNius,  Brutus. 
Men.  The  fivugurei  tells  me,  we  shall  have  news 
to- eight 


Brv,.  Good,  or  bad  ? 

Men.  Not  according  to  tl  e  prnyej  cf  the  people, 
for  tiiey  love  not  Marcius. 

Sic.  Nature  teaches  beasts  to  know  their  frienda* 
Mm.  Pray  you,  who  does  the  wolf  love  ? 
Sic.  The  binb. 

Men.  Ay,  to  devour  him ;  as  the  hungry  plebeians 

would  the  noble  Marcius. 

Bru.  He's  a  lamb,  indeed,  that  baes  like  a  bear. 

Men.  He's  a  bear,  indeed,  that  lives  like  a  lamb. 
You  two  are  old  men ;  tell  me  one  thinjr  that  I  shall 
ask  you. 

Both  Trib.  Well,  sir. 

Meyi.  In  what  enormity  is  Marcius  poor,  that  yos 
two  have  not  in  abundance? 

Bru.  He's  poor  in  no  one  fault,  but  stored  with  all. 

Sic.  Especially,  in  pride. 

Bru.  And  topping  all  others  in  boasting. 

Men.  This  is  strange  now  :  Do  you  two  know  how 
you  are  censured  here  in  the  city,  1  mean  of  us  o'the 
right  hand  file  ?    Do  you  ? 

Both  Trib.  Why,  how  are  we  censured  ? 

Men.  Because  you  talk  ol  pride  now, — will  you  not 
be  angry  ? 

Both  Trib.  Weil,  well,  sir,  well. 

Men.  Why,  'tis  no  great  matter;  for  a  very  little 
thief  of  occasion  will  rob  you  of  a  great  deal  of  pa- 
tience :  give  your  disposition  the  reins,  and  be  angry 
at  your  pleasures ;  at  the  lea.st,  if  you  take  it  as  a 
pleasure  to  you,  in  being  so.  You  blame  Marcius  for 
being  proud  ? 

Bru.  We  do  it  not  alone,  sir. 

Men.  I  know,  you  can  do  very  little  alone;  for 
your  helps  are  many  ;  or  else  your  actions  would  grow 
wondrous  single  :  your  abilities  are  too  infmt-like, 
for  doing  much  alone.  You  talk  of  pride;  O,  that 
you  could  tuni  your  eyes  towards  the  napes  of  your 
necks,  and  make  but  an  interior  survey  of  your  good 
selves  I  O,  that  you  could  ! 

Bru.  What  then,  sir? 

Men.  Why,  then  you  should  discover  a  brace  dl 
unmeriting.  proud,  violent,  testy  majfistrates,  (alias, 
fools,)  as  any  in  Home. 

Sic.  Menenius,  you  are  known  well  enough  too. 

Men.  I  am  known  to  be  a  humorous  patrician,  and 
one  that  loves  a  cup  of  hot  wine  with  not  a  drop  of 
allaying  Tyber  in't;  said  to  be  something  imperfect, 
in  favouring  the  first  complaint:  hasty,  and  tinder- 
like, upon  too  trivial  motion  :  one  that  converses 
more  with  the  buttock  of  the  night,  than  with  the 
forehead  of  the  morning.  What  I  think,  I  utter;  and 
spend  my  n)alice  in  my  breath:  Meeting  two  such 
weals-men  as  you  are,  (1  cannot  call  you  Lycurfiuscs) 
if  the  drink  you  give  me  touch  my  palate  iidvers«-ly, 
I  make  a  crooked  face  at  it.  1  cannot  say,  ynnx 
worships  have  delivered  tl>e  matter  well,  wIh-.-;  !  fii;(] 
the  ass  in  compound  with  the  major  part  oi  ycur 
syllables  :  and  though  I  must  be  content  to  bear  w  ith 
those  that  say  you  are  reverend  grave  men  ;  yet  they 
lie  deadly,  that  tell,  you  have  good  faces,  if  you 
see  this  in  the  map  of  my  microcosm,  follow  it.  thai 
I  am  known  well  enougfh  too?  What  harnf  can  your 
bisson  conspectuities  glean  out  of  thi.s  character,  if  I 
be  known  well  enough  too? 

Bru.  Come,  sir,  come,  we  know  yon  well  enough. 

Men.  You  know  neither  me,  yourselves,  nor  any 
thing.  You  are  ambitious  for  poor  knaves'  capsar?a 
legs;  you  wear  out  a  good  wholesome  lbrenoc>n,  ia 
hearing  a  cause  between  an  orange- wife  and  a  I  /Ssct- 
seiler ;  and  then  rejourn  the  controversj  of  threa- 
pence  to  a  second  day  of  audience. — Wlien  you  ars 
hearing  a  matter  between  party  and  party,  if  yot 
chance  to  be  pinched  with  the  cholic,  you  make 
faces  like  mummers;  setup  the  bloody  flag  against 
all  patience;  and,  :'n  roaring  for  a  chambt-r-pot,  dis- 
miss the  controveisy  bleeaing,  the  more  entangled 
b)  your  hearing:  all  the  peace  you  make  in  their 
cause,  is  oallnig  both  the  parties  knaves  :  You  are 
?  |»air  of  strange  ones. 

Bru  ('♦^me,  coBoe,  you  are  well  anderstood  to  bf  t 


Scene  1. 


CORIOLANUS. 


565 


A  perfecter  giber  for  the  table,  thaa  a  necessary 
bencher  in  the  Capitol. 

Men.  Our  very  priests  must  become  mockers,  if 
they  shall  encounter  such  ridiculous  subjects  as  you 
are.    When  you  speak  best  unto  the  purpose,  it  is 
not  worth  the  wagging  of  your  beards;   and  your 
-beards  deserve  not  so  honourable  a  grave,  as  to  stuff 
B  botcherV  cushion,  or  to  be  entombed  in  an  ass's 
pack-saddle     Yet  yau  must  he  saying,  Marcius  is 
proud  :  who.  In  a  cheap  esti  nation,  is  worth  all  your 
predecessors,  since  Deucalion  ;  tliough,  peradven-  j 
ture,  some  of  the  best  of  them  were  hereditary  hang-  I 
men.    Good  e'en  to  your  worships  :  more  of  your  ' 
conversation  would  infect  my  brain,  being  the  he'i  ds-  ; 
men  of  the  beastly  plebeians  :  I  will  be  bold  to  take  j 
my  leave  of  you. 

[Brutus  and  Sisinius  retire  to  the  hacTc  of  the 
scene.) 

Enter  Volumnia,  Virgilia,  Valeria,  ^c. 
How  now,  my  as  fair  as  noble  ladies,  (and  the  moon, 
were  she  earthly,  no  nobler,)  whither  do  you  follow 
your  eyes  so  fast? 

Vol.  Honourable  Menenius,  my  boy  Marcius  ao- 
proaches  ;  for  the  love  of  Juno,  let's  go. 

Men.  Ha  !  Marcius  coming  home  ? 

Vol.  Ay,  worthy  Menenius;  and  with  most  pros- 
pen^ts  approbation. 

Men.  Take  my  cap,  Jupiter,  and  I  thank  thee  : — 
Hon  !  Marcius  coming  home  ! 

Two  Ladies.  Nay,  'fis  true. 

Vol.  Look,  here's  a  letter  from  him:  the  state 
hath  another,  his  wife  another;  and,  I  think,  there's 
one  at  home  for  you. 

Men.  I  will  make  my  very  house  reel  to-night: — 
A  letter  for  me  ? 

Vir.  Yes,  certain,  there's  a  letter  for  you  :  I  saw  it. 

Men.  A  letter  for  me  ?  It  gives  me  an  estate  of 
seven  years'  health;  in  which  time  I  will  make  a  lip 
at  the  physician:  the  most  sovereign  prescription  in 
Galen  is  b:it  empiricutic,  and,  to  this  preservative, 
of  no  better  report  tlian  a  horse-drench.  Is  he  not 
wounded  ?  he  was  wont  to  come  home  wounded. 

Vir,  O,  no,  no,  no. 

Vul.  O,  he  is  wounded,  I  thank  the  gods  for't. 

Men.  So  do  I  too,  if  it  be  not  too  much  : — Brings 
'a  \  ictory  in  his  pocket  ? — The  wounds  become  him. 

Vol.  Oil's  brows,  Menenius:  he  comes  the  third 
ti;np  home  with  the  oaken  garland. 

Men.  Has  lie  disciplined  Aufidius  soundly? 

Vol.  Titus  Lartius  writes, — they  fought  together, 
but  A.ifidius  got  off. 

Men.  And  'twas  time  for  him  too,  I'll  warrant  him 
tiiat:  an  he  had  staid  by  him,  I  would  not  have  been 
so  fidiiised  for  all  the  chests  in  Corioli,  and  the  gold 
flint's  in  them.   Is  the  senate  possessed  of  this  ? 

Vol.  Good  ladies,  let's  go : — Yes,  yes,  yes  :  the 
senate  has  letters  from  the  general,  wherein  he  gives 
my  son  (lie  whole  name  of  the  war*  he  hath  in  this 
action  outdone  his  former  deeds  doubly. 

Val.  Ill  troth,  there's  wondrous  things  spoke  of 
him. 

Men.  Wondrous  ?  Ay,  I  warrant  you,  and  not 

witiioiit  his  true  purchasing. 

Vir.  The  gods  grant  them  true! 
Vol.  True  ?  pow,  wow. 

Men.  True  Ml  be  sworn  they  are  true  : — Where 
is  he  wounded  ?— God  save  your  good  worships! 
[To  the  TrihuneSy  ivho  come  forward.)  Marcius  is 
coming  home  :  he  has  more  cause  to  be  proud. — 
Where  is  he  wounded? 

Vol.  Ttht  slioulder,  and  i'the  left  arm:  There 
will  be  large  cl  -atrices  to  shew  the  people,  when  lie 
shall  stand  for  his  place.  He  received  in  the  repulse 
of  Tarquiii.  seven  fi'irts  i'tlie  body. 

Men.  Oat-  in  ihe  tieck,  and  two  in  the  thigh, — 
there's  iiiiic  Chat  I  know. 

Vol.  Ff,'  liad,  ht-fore  (his  last  expedition,  tvventy- 
Sve  wuMinIs  iipoi)  him. 

Men   "'^'^'Vk'  its  tweuty-se  ven :  every  gash  was  an 


enemy's  grave  :  [a  shout  and  flourish.)  Hark  I  th« 
trumpets. 

Vol.  These  are  the  ushers  of  Marcius  :  before  him 
He  carries  noise,  and  behind  him  he  leaves  tears ; 
Death,  that  dark  spirit,  in's  nervy  arm  duthlie  ; 
Which  being  advanc'd,  declines  ;  and  then  men  die, 

A  sennet.  Trumpets  sound.  Enter  Cominius  and 
TiTUS  Lartius  ;  between  them,  Coriolanus, 
crmvnedwith  an  oaken  garland;  ivith  Captains^ 
Soldiers,  and  a  Herald. 

Her.  Know,  Rome,  that  all  alone  Marcius  did  fight 
Within  Corioli's  gates:  where  he  hath  won. 
With  fame,  a  name  to  Caius  Marcius;  these 
In  honour  follows,  Coriolanus  : — 
Welcome  to  Rome,  renowned  Coriolanus ! 

[Flourish)^ 

AIL  Welcome  to  Rome,  renowned  Coriolanus! 

Cor.  No  more  of  this,  it  does  ofiend  my  heart ; 
Pray  now,  no  more. 

Com.  Look,  sir,  your  .another, — 

Cor.  01 
You  have,  I  know,  petition'd  all  the  gods 
For  my  prosperity.  [Kneels  ) 

Vol.  Nay,  my  good  soldier,  up; 

My  gentle  Marcius,  worthy  Caius,  and 
By  deed  achieving  honour  newly  nam'd, 
VVhat  is  it?  Coriolanus,  must  I  call  thee  ? 
But  0,  thy  wife— 

Cor.  My  gracious  silence,  hail ! 

Would'st  thou  have  laugh'd,  had  I  come  coffin'd 
home. 

That  weep'st  to  see  my  triumph  ?  Ah,  my  dear. 
Such  eyes  the  widows  in  Corioli  wear, 
And  mothers  that  lack  sons. 
Men.  Now  the  gods  crown  thee  I 

Cor.  And  live  you  yet? — O  my  sweet  lady,  par- 
don. [To  Valeria.) 
Vol.  I  know  not  where  to  turn . — O  welcome 
home  ; 

And  welcome,  general , — And  you  are  welcome  all. 
Men.  A  hundred  thousand  welcomes :  I  could 
weep. 

And  I  could  laugh;  I  am  light,  and  neavy  :  Wel- 
come : 

A  curse  begin  at  very  root  of  his  heart. 
That  is  not  glad  to  see  thee  !— You  are  three, 
That  Rome  should  dote  on  :  ytt,  by  the  faith  of  men. 
We  have  some  old  crab-trees  here  at  home,  that 
will  not 

Be  grafted  to  your  relish.  Yet  welcome,  warriors : 
We  call  a  nettle,  but  a  nettle  ;  and 
The  faults  of  fools,  but  folly. 

Com.  Ever  right. 

Cor.  Menenius,  ever,  ever. 

Her.  Give  way  there,  and  go  on. 

Cor.  Your  hand,  and  yours: 

[To  his  wife  and  mothar) 
Ere  in  our  own  house  I  do  shade  my  head. 
The  good  patricians  must  be  visited  ; 
From  whom  I  have  receiv'd  not  only  greetings. 
But  with  them  change  of  honours. 

Vol.  I  have  liv'd 

To  see  inherited  my  very  wishes. 
And  the  buildings  of  my  fancy  :  only  there 
Is  one  thing  wanting,  which  I  doubt  not,  but 
Our  Rome  will  cast  upon  thee. 

Cor.  Know,  good  xm^Satit 

I  had  rather  be  their  servant  in  my  way, 
Tliati  sway  with  them  in  theirs. 

Com.  On,  to  the  CapitoL 

[Flourish.  Cornets.  Exeunt  in  state,  as  before. 
The  Tribunes  remain. 

By'u.  All  tongues  speak  of  him,  and  the  bleared 
sights 

Are  spectacled  to  see  him  :  Your  prattling  nurse 
Info  a  rai'tiire  lets  her  baby  cry, 
VVhi'le  she  chats  him  :  the  kitchen  malkin  pios 
Her  richest  lockraiu  'bout  her  reechy  neck. 


CORTOLANUS. 


Act  IL 


ClaMioeiing  the  walls  to  eye  him:  Stalls,  bulks, 
windows, 

Are  sniothei'd  up,  leads  fiU'd,  and  ridges  hois'd 
VViil)  variable  complexions;  all  agreeing 
in  earnestness  to  see  him:  seld-shown  tlamens 
Do  press  among  the  popular  throngs,  and  putf 
To  vvir.  a  vulgar  station  :  our  veil  d  dames 
Commit  the  wai;  of  white  and  damask  in 
Then-  niceiy-gawded  cheeks,  to  the  wanton  spoil 
or  Phoebus'  burning  kisses  :  such  a  pother. 
As  if  that  whatsoever  god,  who  leads  him, 
Were  sliiy  crept  into  his  human  powers. 
And  gave  him  graceful  posture. 

On  the  sudden, 

I  warrant  him  consul. 

Then  our  oince  may. 
During  his  power,  go  sleep. 

Sic.  He  cannot  temperately  transport  his  honours 
From  where  he  should  begin,  and  end  ;  but  will 
Lose  those  that  he  hath  won.  . 

In  that  there's  comtort. 
^^ic' Doubt  not,  the  commoners,  for  whom  we 
stand, 

But  they,  upon  their  ancient  malice,  will 
Forget,  with  the  least  cause,  these  his  new  honours  ; 
Which  that  he'll  give  them,  make  as  little  question 
As  lie  is  proud  to  do  t. 

1  heard  him  swear. 
Were  he  to  stand  for  consul,  never  would  he 
Appear  i"t.he  market-place,  nor  ou  him  put 
The  napless  vesture  of  humility;  _ 
Nor  shewing  (as  the  manner  is)  his  wounds 
'i  o  the  people,  beg  their  stinking  breaths.  _ 
Sic.  '■'g'"- 
Bru.  It  was  his  word  :  0,  he  would  miss  it,  rather 
Thau  carry  it,  but  by  the  suito'the  gentry  to  him. 
And  the  desire  of  the  nobles. 

I  wish  no  better. 
Than  have  him  hold  that  purpose,  and  to  put  it 
In  execution. 

Bru.  'Tis  most  like,  he  will. 

Sic.  It  shall  be  to  him  then,  as  our  good  wills  ; 
A  sure  destruction. 

lifu.  So  it  must  fall  out 

To  him,  or  our  authorities.    For  an  end. 
We  must  suggest  the  people,  in  what  hatred 
He  still  hath  held  them:  that  to  his  power,  he 
wouid 

Have  made  them  mules,  silenc'd  their  pleaders,  and 

Dispropeiiied  their  freedoms:  holding  them. 

In  human  action  and  capacity, 

Of  no  more  soul,  nor  fitness  ior  the  world, 

Than  camels  in  their  war;  who  have  their  provand 

Only  for  bearing  burdens,  and  sore  blows 

For  sinking  under  them. 

Sic.  This,  as  you  say,  suggested 

At  some  time  when  his  soaring  insolence 
Shall  teach  the  people,  (which  time  shall  not  want. 
If  he  be  put  upon't:  and  that's  as  easy, 
As  to  set  dogs  on  sheep,)  will  be  his  fire 
To  kindle  their  dry  stubble ;  and  their  blaze 
Shall  darken  him  for  ever. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

jj^.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Mess.  You  are  sent  for  to  the  Capitol.  'Tis 
thought, 

That  !\larcius  shall  be  consul  .  I  have  seen 
The  dumb  men  throng  to  see  him,  and  the  blind 
To  hear  him  speak  .  The  matrons  flung  their  gloves. 
Ladies  and  maids  their  scarfs  and  handkerchiela, 
Upon  him  as  he  passed  :  the  nobles  bended 
As  to  Jo\e's  statue  :  and  the  commons  made 
A  shower,  and  thunder,  with  their  caps,  and  shouts; 
I  never  saw  the  like.  ,    ^  , 

jjru.  Let's  to  the  Lapitol, 

And  carry  with  us  ears  and  eyes  for  the  time, 
But  hearts  W  the  event. 

g^f.^  Have  vvith  you.  [txeunt. 


Scene  II.— The  same.    Tfie  Capitil 
Enter  two  Oncers.,  to  lay  cuskionsu 

1  Off.  Come,  come,  they  are  almost  here :  How 
many  stand  for  consulships 

2  Off.  Three,  they  say  :  but  'tis  thought  of  evcrjf 
one,  Coriolanus  will  carry  it. 

1  Off.  That's  a  brave  leilow  ;  but  he's  vengeance 
proud,  and  loves  not  the  common  people. 

2  Off.  'Faith,  tliere  have  been  many  great  mea 
that  have  flattered  the  people,  who  ne'er  loved 
them ;  and  there  be  manv  that  they  have  loved,  they 
know  not  wherefore:  so  that,  if  they  love  they  know 
not  why,  they  hate  upon  no  better  ground  :  1  here- 
fore,  for  Coriolanus  neither  to  care  whether  they 
love  or  hate  him,  manifests  the  true  knowledge  he 
has  in  their  dis.position  ;  and,  out  of  his  nobie  care- 
lessness, let's  them  plainly  see't.  ,    ,  „  • 

1  Off.  If  he  did  not  care  whether  he  had  their 
love,  or  no,  he  waved  indifferently  'twixt  doing  them 
neither  good  nor  harm;  but  he  seeks  their  hale  with 
greater  devotion  than  they  can  render  it  him;  and 
leaves  nothing  undone,  that  may  fully  discover  hun 
their  opposite.  Now,  to  seem  to  aftect  the  malice 
and  displeasure  of  the  people,  is  as  bad  as  that  which 
he  dislikes,  to  flatter  them  for  their  love. 

2  0/!  He  hath  deserved  worthily  ol  his  country: 
And  Ins  ascent  is  not  by  such  easy  degrees  as  those, 
who,  having  been  suj.ple  and  courteous  to  the  people, 
bonnetted,  without  any  further  deed  to  heave  theai 
at  all  into  their  estimation  and  report;  but  lie  hath 
so  planted  his  honours  in  their  eyes,  and  his  actions 
111  their  hearts,  that  for  their  tongues  to  be  silent 
and  not  confess  so  much,  were  a  kind  of  ingratHul 
injury;  to  report  otherwise,  were  a  malice,  tiiat, 
giving  itself  the  lie,  would  pluck  reproot  and  re- 
biike  from  every  ear  that  lieard  it. 

\Off.  No  more  of  hin> ;  he  is  a  worthy  man 
Make  way,  they  are  coming. 

A  Sennet.  Enter,  loitk  lictors  before  them,  CoMI- 
Nius  the  Consul,  Menenius,  Coriolanus,  mam 
other  Senators,   SiCiNiUS  and  Uhctus.      I  he- 
Senators  take  their  places;  the  Iribunes  take 
theirs  also  by  themselves. 
Men.  Having  determin'd  of  the  \'olces,  and 
To  send  tor  Titus  Lai  tins,  it  remains,  _ 
As  the  main  po-iut  of  this  our  aiter-meeting, 
To  gratify  his  noble  service,  that  fyou, 
Hath  thus  stood  for  his  country:  Therefore,  pleasa 
Most  reverend  and  grave  elders,  to  desire 
The  present  consul,  and  last  general 
In  our  well-found  successes,  to  report 
A  little  of  that  worthy  work  perform'd 
By  Caius  Marcius  Coriolanus  ;  whom 
We  meet  here,  both  toihank,  and  to  remember 
With  honours  like  himself.  ,  «     .  . 

]  Sen.  Speak,  good  Cominms* 

Leave  nothing  out  for  length,  and  make  us  think. 
Rather  our  state's  defective  for  requital, 
Than  we  to  stretch  it  out    Masters  o'the  people, 
We  do  request  your  kindest  ears ;  and,  after, 
your  loving  motion  toward  the  common  body, 
To  yield  what  passes  here. 


Sit 


We  are  convenied 


Upon  a  pleasing  treaty  ;  nnd  have  hearts 
Inclinable  to  honour  and  advance 
The  theme  of  our  assembly. 

Which  the  rathei 
We  shall  be  bless'd  to  do,  if  he  remember 
A  kinder  value  of  the  people,  than 
He  hath  hereto  priz'd  them  at.  ^  ^y. 

That's  off,  that's  oiT; 
I  would  you  rather  had  been  silent:  Please  you 
To  hear  Cominius  speak  ? 

j5^^  Most  willingly ; 

Bu!  yet  my  caution  was  more  pertinent. 
Than  the  rebuke  you  give  it. 

He  loves  your  peoplei 
But  tie'him  not  to  be  their  btdfellow.— 


^'CEK^^  3.  CORIOLANUS. 


fVorlhy  CoMinins,  speal? — Nay,  keep  your  place. 

{Coriolanus  rises,  and  offers  to  go  away.) 

4  Sen.  Sit,  Coriolanus;  never  shaiue  to  hear 
What  you  liave  nobly  done. 

Cor.  Your  honours' pardon; 

I  bad  rathei  have  my  wounds  to  heal  again, 
T'han  hear  say  bow  I  got  them. 

Bru.  Sir,  1  hope, 

Sly  words  dis  bench'd  you  not. 

Cor.  No,  sir  :  yet  oft, 

When  blows  have  made  me  stay,  1  fled  from  words. 
You   sooth'd   not,  therefore  hurt  not:  But  your 

people, 
I  lo\  e  theui  as  they  weigh. 

Men.  Pray  now,  sit  down. 

Cor.  I  had  rather  have  one  scratch  my  head  i'the 
VVhen  the  alarum  was  struck,  tiian  idly  sit  [sun, 
To  hear  my  nothings  monster'd.  [Exit. 

Men.  Masters  o'the  people, 

Your  multiplying  spawn  how  can  he  flatter, 
(That's  thousand  to  one  good  one,)  when  you  now  see 
He  had  rather  venture  all  his  limbs  for  honour. 
Than  one  of  his  ears  to  hear  it  ? — Proceed,  Cominiu5. 

Com.  I  shall  lack  voice:  the  deeds  of  Coriolanus 
Should  not  be  utter'd  feebly. — It  is  held, 
That  valour  is  the  chiefest  virtue,  and 
Most  digniflcs  the  haver:  if  it  be, 
The  man  1  speak  of  cannot  in  the  world 
Be  singly  counterpois'd.    At  sixteen  years, 
When  Tarqiiin  made  a  head  for  Rome,  he  fought 
Beyond  the  mark  of  others  :  our  then  dictator. 
Whom  with  all  praise  I  point  at,  saw  him  fight. 
When  with  his  Amazonian  chin  he  drove 
The  bristled  lips  before  him :  he  bestrid 
An  o'er-press'd  Roman,  and  i'the  consul's  view 
Slevv  three  opposers;  Tarquin's  self  he  met. 
And  struck  him  on  his  knee  :  in  that  day's  feats, 
When  he  might  act  tlie  woman  in  the  scene. 
He  prov'd  best  man  i'the  field,  and  for  his  ineed 
W-ris  l)row-bound  with  the  oak.    His  pupil  age 
iMan-eiiter'd  t!ius,  he  waxed  like  a  sea  ; 
AatJ,  its  the  brent  of  seventeen  battles  since, 
il-"  larsh'd  all  swurds  o'the  garland.     For  this  iast, 
lU-i'ore  and  in  Corioli,  let  me  say, 
i  f-atiiiot  speak  hini  home;  He  stopp'd  the  fliers; 
Ai!(l,  by  l«s  rare  example,  made  the  coward 
Tiiiri  terror  into  sport:  as  waves  before 
A  vessel  under  sail,  so  men  obey'd, 
And  fell  below  his  stem:  his  sword  (death's  stan^p) 
VVhei  e  It  did  mark,  it  took ;  from  face  to  foot 
He  was  a  thing  of  blood,  whose  every  motion 
Was  timed  with  dying  cries:  alone  he  enter'd 
The  mortal  gate  o'the  city,  which  he  painted 
With  shurdf^ss  d'^stiny,  aidless  came  ofl", 
And  with  a  sudden  reinforcement  struck 
Corioli,  like  a  planet :  Now  all's  his  : 
When  by  and  by  the  d>n  of  war  'gan  pierce 
His  ready  sense ;  then  straight  his  doubled  spirit 
Re-quicken'd  what  in  flesh  was  fatigate. 
Aind  to  the  battle  came  he  ;  where  he  did 
Run  reeking  o'er  the  lives  of  men,  as  if 
Twere  a  perpetual  spoil:  and,  till  we  call'd 
Both  fiela  and  city  ours,  he  never  stood 
To  ease  his  breast  with  panting. 

Men,  Worthy  man ! 

1  Sen.  He  cannot  but  with  measure  fit  the  ho- 
Which  we  de\ise  him.  [nours 

Com.  Our  spoils  he  kick'd  at ; 

And  look'd  upon  things  precious,  as  tliey  were 
The  coinmon  muck  o'the  world,  he  covets  less 
Than  niis^ery  itseli  would  give;  re'vards 
His  deeds  with  <\i  "xig  them;  and  is  content 
To  spend  the  time,  to  end  it. 

Men.  He's  right  noble  ; 

Let  him  be  calFd  for. 

1  tSen.  Call  for  Coriolanus. 

(iff'.  He  doth  appear. 

Re-enter  Coriolanus. 
Meit.  The  senate,  CorioianuH,  are  well  pleas'd 


56'? 

To  make  thee  consul. 

Cor.  I  do  owe  them  still 

My  life,  and  services. 

Men.  It  then  remains, 

That  you  do  speak  to  the  people. 

Cor.  I  do  besee  ;li  yoa, 

Let  me  o'erleap  that  custom :  for  I  cannot 
Put  on  the  gown,  stand  naked,  and  entreat  them, 
For  n^y  wounds'  sake,  to  give  their  suftVage  :  pleas* 
That  1  may  pass  this  doing.  [yoa. 

Sic.  Sir,  the  people 

Must  h^ve  their  voices ;  neither  will  they  bate 
One  jot  of  ceremony. 

Men.  Put  them  not  to't : — 

Pray  you,  go  fit  you  to  the  custom:  and 
Take  to  you,  as  your  predecessors  have. 
Your  honour  with  your  form. 

Cor.  It  is  a  part 

That  I  shall  blush  in  acting,  and  might  well 
Be  taken  Irouj  the  people. 

Bru.  Mark  you  that  ? 

Cor.  To  brag  unto  them, — Thus  I  did,  and 
thus  : — 

Shew  them  the  unaking  scars,  which  I  slnnild  hide, 
As  if  I  had  receiv'd  them  for  the  hire 
Of  their  breath  only  ; — 

Men.  Do  not  stand  upotr't. — 

VVe  recommend  to  you,  tribunes  of  the  people. 
Our  purpose  to  them  ; — and  to  our  noble  consul 
Wish  we  all  joy  and  honour. 

Sen.  Tc  Coriolanus  come  all  joy  and  honour! 

[Flourish.    Then  exeunt  Senatorg. 

Bru.  You  see  how  he  iuteisds  to  use  the  peopl'% 

Sic.  May  they  perceive  his  intent  I  He,  tliat  wj'J. 
require  them, 
As  if  he  did  contemn  VJ'hat  he  requested 
Should  be  in  them  to  give. 

Bru.  CcTiic.  we'U  inform  them 

Of  our  proceedings  here:  on  the  market-place, 
!  kiiow,  they  do  attend  us.  [Exeunt 

Scene  HI. — The  same.    T/l^  Forum. 
,  Enter  several  Citizens, 

1  Cit.  Once,  if  he  do  require  our  vcioes,  wt 
ought  not  to  deny  him. 

2  Cit.  W'e  niay,  sir,  if  we  will. 

3  Cit.  We  have  power  in  ourselves  to  do  it,  bif 
it  is  a  po\\er  that  we  have  no  power  to  do  :  for  .f  h^ 
shew  us  his  wounds,  and  tell  us  his  deeds,  we  art 
to  put  our  tongues  into  those  wounds,  and  speak  {ly, 
them;  so,  if  lie  tell  ns  his  noble  deeds,  we  must  alsa 
tell  him  our  noble  acceptance  of  them  Ingratitude 
is  monstrous:  and  for  the  multitude  to  be  ingrate- 
ful,  were  to  make  a  monster  of  the  multitude  ;  of  the 
which,  we  being  membtrs,  should  brinp  ourselves 
to  be  monstrous  members. 

1  Cit.  And  to  make  us  no  octtei  thought  of,  a 
little  help  will  serve  :  for  once,  whe^  we  stood  up 
about  the  corn,  he  himself  stuck  not  to  call  m  the 
many-headed  multitude. 

3  Cit.  We  have  been  rtlled  so  of  n  any;  not  that 
our  heads  are  some  brown,  some  black.  Home  auburn, 
some  bald,  but  that  "ur  wits  are  so  diversely  co- 
loured :  and  truly  I  thiijk,if  all  our  wits  w«re  to  jssue 
out  of  one  skull,  they  would'  fly  east,  vest,  north, 
south;  and  their  onsent  of  one  diiect  way  should 
be  at  (mce  to  al'  ne  points  o'the  compass. 

2  Cit.  Thinl  you  so  ?  Which  way,  do  yo  i  judge, 
my  wit  woulr^  dy  ? 

3  Cit  Nay,  your  wit  will  not  so  soon  'mi  as 
another  man's  will,  'tis  strongly  wedged  isp  in  a 
block  head  :  bat  if  it  were  at  liberty, 'twould,  sure, 
southward. 

2  Cit.  Wliy  that  way  ? 

3  Cit.  To  lose  itself  in  a  fog;  where  being  thiee 
parts  melted  away  with  rotten  d»  ws,  the  fourth 
would  return  for  conscience'  sake,  to  aelp  to  gel 
thee  a  wile. 

3  Cit.  You  are  never  without  your  tricks: — Yon 
may ,  you  may. 


5Gb 

S  Oii.  Are  you  all  resolved  to  give  your  voices? 
But  that's  no  matter,  the  greater  part  carries  it.  J 
say,  if  he  would  incline  to  the  people,  there  was 
waver  a  worthier  man. 

Enter  Cortolanus  ^no?  Menenius. 
Here  be  comes,  and  in  the  gown  of  humility  •  mark 
his  behaviour.  We  are  not  to  stay  altogethei.  but  to 
come  by  him  where  he  stands,  by  ones,  by  twos, 
and  by  threes.  He's  to  make  his  requests  by  parti- 
culars :  wherein  every  one  of  us  has  a  single  honour, 
in  giving  him  our  own  voices  with  our  own  tongues  ; 
therefore  follow  me,  and  I'll  direct  you  how  you 
shnll  gi)  by  him. 

All.  Content,  content.  [Exeunt. 

Me.n.  O  sir,  you  are  not  right:  have  you  not 
The  worthiest  men  have  done't  ?  [known 

C07;  What  must  I  say  ? — 

I  |)iay,  sir, — Plague  i.pon'tl  I  cannot  bring 
My  tongue  to  such    a  pace:  —  Look,  sir; — my 

wounds ; — 
I  got  them  in  my  country's  service,  when 
»S()(iie  certain  of  your  brethren  roar'd,  and  ran 
From  the  noise  of  our  own  drums. 

Men.  O  me,  the  gods  .' 

Yoi!  tiiust  not  speak  of  that;  you  must  desire  them 
To  tliink  upon  you. 

Cor.  Think  upon  me  ?    Hang  'em  ! 

I  vvonld  they  would  forget  me,  like  the  virtues 
Wliicli  our  divines  lose  by  them. 

Men.  You'll  mar  all ; 

I'll  iea\e  you:  Pray  you,  speak  to  them,  I  pray  you. 
In  wholesome  manner.  [Exit. 

Enter  two  Citizens. 
Cor.  Bid  them  wash  their  faces, 

A  jid  keep  their  teeth  clenn. — So,  here  comes  a  brace. 
V()!i  know  the  cause,  sir,  of  my  standing  here. 

1  Cit.  We  do,  sir;  tell  us  what  hath  brought  you 
Cor.  i\line  own  desert.  [to't. 

2  Cit.  Your  own  desert  ? 
Cor.  Ay,  not 

Mine  own  desire. 

1  Cit.  How  !  not  your  own  desire  ? 

Cor.  No,  sir : 
'Tw  as  never  my  desire  yet, 
1~o  trouble  the  poor  with  begging. 

I  Cit.  You  must  think,  if  we  give  you  anything, 
We  hope  to  gain  by  you.  [ship? 

Cor.  Well  then,  1  pray,  your  price  o'the  consul- 

1  Cit.  'V\\t  price  is,  sir,  to  ask  it  kindly. 

Cor.  Kindly  ? 

Sir,  1  pray,  let  me  ha't:  I  have  wounds  to  shew  you, 
VVhicii  shall  be  yours  in  private. — Your  good  voice, 
What  say  you  :*  [sir; 

2  Cit.  You  ^hall  have  it,  worthy  sir. 
Cor.  A  match,  sir 

There  is  in  all  two  woithy  voices  begg'd: — 
1  have  your  alms  ;  adieu 

1  Cit  But  this  is  something  odd. 

2  Cit.  An  'twere  to  g"  e  again. — But  'tis  no 

matter.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  two  other  Citizens. 
Cor.  Pniy  you  now,  if  it  may  4,and  with  the  tune 
of  your  v(-i<;es.  that  1  may  be  co;  '^ul,  1  have  here 
the  cust-nnaiy  gown. 

3  Cit.  You  have  deserved  nobiy  your  country, 
5?k!  yon  lia^e  iH>t  de.ser\  ed  nobly. 

Cor.  \ owv  enigma  ? 

3  Cit.  Voti  lia\e  been  a  scourge  to  her  enesnies, 
|fou  have  been  a  rod  to  her  friends;  you  have  not, 
iirdeed,  loved  the  common  jteople. 

Cur.  You  should  account  me  the  more  virtuous, 
ifirtt  I  have  Bot  heen  coiiunon  in  my  love.  I  will, 
sir,  {fatter  my  sworn  brother  the  people,  to  earn  a 
dearer  estimati(»n  of  them  ;  'tis  a  condition  they  ac- 
count gentle  :  and  since  the  \vi.s(l(/m  of  their  choice 
is  rather  to  have  my  hat  than  my  heart,  I  vvill  prac- 
tise thif>  insinuating  nod,  and  be  off  to  them  most 


Act  IL 

counterfeitiy ;  fnat  is,  sir,  !  will  counteifeit  the  be- 
witchment of  some  popular  man,  and  give  it  boun- 
tifully to  the  desires.  Therefore,  beseech  you,  1 
may  be  consul. 

4,  Cit.  We  hope  to  find  you  oui  friend;  ati 
therefore  give  you  our  voices  heartily. 

3  Cit.  You  have  received  many  M'ounds  for  yonr 
country. 

Cor.  I  will  not  seal  your  knowledge  with  shewing 
then!.  I  will  make  much  of  your  voices,  and  su 
trouble  you  no  further. 

Both  Cit.  The  gods  give  you  joy,  sir,  heartily  I 

[Eseuni, 

Cor.  Most  sweet  voices  ! — 
Better  it  is  to  die,  better  to  starve, 
'^riian  crave  the  hire  which  first  we  do  deserve. 
Why  in  this  wolfish  gown  should  I  stand  iiere. 
To  Iteg  of  Hub  and  Dirk,  that  do  appear. 
Their  needless  vouches  1  Custom  calls  inc"  to't: — 
Wiiat  cu.st(-u»  wills,  in  all  tilings  shoidd  we  do't. 
The  dust  on  antique  time  would  lie  unswept, 
And  moimtainons  error  be  too  highly  heap'd 
For  ti  iith  to  ov  er-peer. —  Rather  than  fool  it  so. 
Let  the  high  oflice  and  the  honour  go 
'J'o  one  fliat  would  do  thus. — I  am  half  through  ; 
I'he  one  \i<wi  suffer'd,  the  other  will  1  do. 

Enter  three  other  Citizens. 

Here  come  uK^re  voices. — 

Your  voices  :  for  your  voices  I  have  fought ; 

W'ali.lrd  for  your  voices:  for  your  voices,  bear 

or  wounds  two  dozen  odd;  battles  thrice  sis 

1  have  seen,  and  heard  of ;  for  your  voices,  have 

Done   many  things,  some  less,  some  more :  your 

Indeed.  I  would  be  consul.  [voices: 

5  Cit.  Fie  has  done  nobly,  and  cannot  go  without 
any  honest  man's  voice. 

Cit.  Therefore  let  him  be  consul:  The  gods  give 
him  joy,  and  make  him  good  friend  to  the  ptople ! 

All.   Amen,  amen. — 
God  save  thee  noble  consid  !      [Exeunt  Ciiizem, 

Cor.  Worthy  voices  ! 

Re  enter  Menenius,  ivith  Brutvs  and  Sicmius. 
Men.  You  have  stood  your  li    taticm  ,  and  the 
tribunes 

Endue  you  with  the  people's  voice  :  Reraains, 
That,  in  the  (.IFicial  marks  invested,  you 
Anon  do  meet  the  senate. 

Cor.  Is  th's  done  'i' 

Sic.  The  custom  of  requests  y(;U  have  discharg'd  ; 
The  people  do  admit  yuu  ;  and  are  .summon'd 
To  meet  anon,  upon  your  appniliatioii. 

Cur.  Where  ?  at  the  senate-house  ? 

Sic.  There,  Coriolanus. 

Cor.  May  I  then  change  these  garments  ? 

Sic.  You  may,  sir. 

Cor.  That  I'll  straight  do  ;  and,  knowing  u)yself 
Repair  to  the  senate-house.  [again. 

Men.  I  ll  keep  you  company. — Will  you  along? 

Bru.  We  stay  here  for  the  people. 

Sic.  Fare  y'ou  vvell. 

[Exeunt  Coriol.  and  Menen. 
He  has  it  now ;  and  by  his  looks,  methinks, 
'Tis  warm  at  his  heart. 

Bru.  With  a  proud  heart  he  wore 

His  humble  weeds  :  Will  you  dismiss  the  people  ? 

Re  enter  Citizens. 
Sic.  How  now,  my  masters?  have  you  chose  this 

1  Cit.  He  has  our  voices,  sir.  [man? 
Bru.  We  pray  the  gods,  he  may  deserve  your 

loves. 

2  Cit.  Amen,  sir:  To  my  poor  unworthy  notice. 
He  mock'd  us,  wlien  he  begg'd  our  voices. 

Cit.  Certainly, 
He  flouted  us  downright. 

1  Cit.  Nr.,  'tis  his  kind  of  speech,  he  did  no( 

niock  us. 

2  ClI.  Notoue  amongst  us,  save  yourself,  ht:l  $aya(j 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  III.   Scene  1. 


CORIOLANUS. 


66S 


He  us'd  US  scornfully:  he  should  hav«^  shew'd  ns 
His  marks  of  merit,  wounds  receiv'd  ft./ his  country. 
Sic.  Why,  so  he  did,  I  am  sure. 
Cit.  No  ;  no  man  saw  'em. 

{Se>ocral  speak.) 
3  Cit,  He  said,  he  had  wounds,  which  he  couia 
shew  in  private  ; 
And  with  his  liat,  tlius  waving  it  in  scorn, 
I  would  be  consul,  says  he  :  aged  custotn, 
But  by  your  voices,  will  not  so  perinit  me  ; 
Your  voices  therefore .  When  we  granted  that. 
Here  was, — /  thank  you  for  your  voices, — thrnh 
you, —  {voic^es, 
Your  most  sweet  voices  : — now  you  hnvr  left  your 
I  have  no  further  withyou: — VVas  :jot  this  n/ock- 
ery  ? 

Sic.  Why,  either,  you  were  jg'-.orcint  to  see't ; 
Or,  seeing  it,  of  such  childish  friendliness 
To  yield  your  voices? 

Bru.  Could  you  not  have  told  him. 

As  you  were  lesson'd, —  When  he  had  no  power, 
But  was  a  petty  servant  to  tiie  state. 
He  was  your  enemy  ;  ever  spake  against 
Your  liberties,  and  ';he  charters  that  you  bear 
['the  body  of  the  weal  :  and  now,  arriving 
A  place  of  potency,  and  sway  o'the  state, 
5f  he  should  still  malignantly  remain 
fast  foe  to  the  plebeii,  your  voices  might 
£e  ciir.-*es  to  yourselves  ?  You  should  liave  said, 
That,  as  his  worthy  deeds  did  claim  no  less 
Thiiii  what  he  stood  for:  so  his  gracious  nature 
VV'uiild  think  upon  you  for  your  voices,  and 
iVaiisl.ite  his  malice  to\vards  you  into  love, 
titaiiding  your  friendly  lord. 

Sic.  Thus  to  have  said, 

As  von  were  fore-advis"d,  had  tonch'd  his  spirit, 
Xw\  tryVl  his  inclination;  frcm  him  p!iick"d 
Either  his  gracious  promise,  which  you  might, 
(^s  caiis(-  liad  caird  you  \\\),  have  li^^ld  iiiiii  to; 
Or  else  it  would  have  gall'd  his  surly  nature, 
VVhich  easily  endiires  not  article 
Tyin^  him  to  aught;  so  outting  him  to  rage. 
You  should  have  ta'en  the  advantage  of  his  choler, 
And  pass  d  him  uiielected. 

Bru.  Did  you  perceive, 

He  did  solicit  you  in  free  contempt. 
When  he  did  need  your  loves;  and  do  you  think, 
Ifluit  his  contempt  shall  not  be  bruising  to  you. 
When  he  hath  power  to  crush  ?  Why,  had  your  bodies 
No  heart  among  you  ?  Or  had  you  tougut-s.,  to  cry 
Against  the  rectorship  of  judgment  ? 

Sic.  Have  you, 

Ere  now,  deny'd  the  asker?  and,  now  again, 
On  him,  tliat  did  not  ask,  but  mock,  bestow 
Your  au'd  for  tongues  ? 

.3  Cit.  He's  not  confinn'd,  we  may  deny  him  yet. 

2  Cit.  And  will  deny  him: 
I'll  have  five  hundred  voices  of  that  sound. 

1  Cit.  1  twice  five  hundred,  and  their  friends  to 
niece  'em.  [friends,— 

BrUm  Get  you  hence  instantly ;  and  tell  those 
They  have  chose  a  consul,  that  will  from  them  take 
Their  jiherties  ;  make  them  of  no  more  voice 
'Wnn  doirs.  timt  are  as  often  beat  for  barking, 
As  therefore  kept  to  do  so. 

Sic.  Let  them  assemble  j 

And,  on  a  safer  judgment,  all  revoke 
Vour  ignorant  election:  Enforce  his  pride, 
And  luH  old  hate  unto  you  :  besides,  fors>et  not 
With  vvlmt  contempt  he  wore  the  humble  weed; 
How  in  his  suit  he  scom'd  you  :  but  your  loves, 
Thinkimj  upon  his  services,  took  from  you 
'I'he  apprehension  of  his  present  poi  tance, 
VVhich  ^!)ingly,  ungravelv  he  did  fashion 
AfttT  the  inveterate  hate  he  bears  you. 

B',^.  Lay 
A  fault  on  ns,  your  tribunes  ;  that  we  labour'd 
(!^o  inipedimeut  between)  but  that  you  must 
Oist  yonr  election  on  Mm. 
Stc.  Say,  you  chose  him 


More  after  our  c^rjTnandment,  than  an  gul<1ed 
By  your  own  tnie  nffections ;  and  that,  your  minds 
Pre  occapy'd  with  what  you  rather  must  do 
Thau  what  you  should,  made  you  against  the  grsim 
To  voice  him  consul :  Lay  the  fault  on  ug. 

Bru.  Ay,  spare  us  not.  Say,  we  lead  lecturet  tf 
you, 

Wow  youngly  he  began  to  serve  his  country, 
flow  long  continued  :  and  what  stock  he  springs  of. 
The  noble  house  o'the  JMarciaus  ;  from  whence  cairts 
That  Ancus  Marcius,  Numa's  daughter's  son, 
Wlio,  after  great  Hostilius,  here  was  king : 
Of  the  sauK"  house  Publius  and  Quintus  were. 
That  our  best  water  brought  by  conduits  hither; 
And  Censorlnus,  darling  of  the  people. 
And  nobly  nanrd  so,  being  censor  twice. 
Was  his  great  ancestor. 

Sic.  ^_  One  thus  descended. 

That  hath  beside  well  in  his  person  wrought 
To  be  set  high  in  place,  we  did  commend 
To  your  remembrances:  but  you  have  found, 
Scaling  his  present  bearing  with  his  past, 
That  h^'s  your  fixed  enemy,  and  revoke 
Your  sudaen  approbation. 

Bru.  Say,  you  ne'er  had  done't, 

(Harp  on  that  still,)  but  by  our  putting  on: 
And  presently,  when  you  have  drawn  your  number 
Repair  to  the  Capitol. 

Cit.  We  will  so  :  almost  all  (Several  speak.) 
Repent  in  their  election.  [Exeunt  Citizens 

Bru.  Let  them  go  on  ; 

This  mutiny  were  better  put  in  hazard, 
Than  stay,  past  doubt,  for  greater: 
If,  as  his  nature  is,  he  fall  in  rage 
With  their  refusal,  both  observe  and  answer 
The  vantage  of  his  anger. 

Sic.  To  the  Capitol : 

Come  ;  we'll  be  there  before  the  stream  o'the  people* 
And  this  shall  seem,  as  partly  'tis,  their  own. 
Which  we  have  goaded  onwitrd.  [Exeunt, 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — The  sayne.  A  Street. 
Comets.    Enter  Coriolanus,   Menenius,  Co. 
MIMUS,  TiTUS  Lartius,  Senators,  and  Patri- 
cians. 

Cor.  Tullus  Aufidius  then  had  made  new  head? 

hart.  He  had,  my  lord;  and  that  it  was,  which 
Our  swifter  composition.  fcaus'd 

Cor.  So  then  the  Voices  stand  but  as  at  first; 
Ready,  when  time  shall  prompt  them,  to  make  road 
Upon  us  again. 

Com.  They  are  wt  rn,  lord  consul,  so. 

That  we  shall  hardly  in  our  ages  see 
Their  banners  wave  again. 

Cor.  Saw  you  Aufidius? 

Lar.  On  safeguard  he  cai  ve  to  me  ;  and  did  curw 
Against  the  Voices,  for  they  had  so  vilely 
Yielded  the  town  :  he  is  retir'd  to  Antiura. 

Cor.  Spoke  he  of  me  ? 

Lart.  He  did ,  my  lord. 

Cor.  How?  what? 

Latt.  How  often  he  had  met  you,  sword  io 
sword. 

That,  of  all  things  upon  the  earth,  he  hated 
Your  person  most :  that  he  would  pawn  bis  fortnnes 
To  hopeless  restitution,  so  he  might 
Be  call'd  your  vanquisher. 

Cor,  At  Antium  lives  he  ? 

Lart.  At  Antium. 

Cor.  I  wish,  I  had  a  cause  to  seek  him  there. 
To  oppose  his  hatred  full. — Welcome  home. 

(loLartiu»\ 

Enter  SiciNius  Brutus. 

Behold !  these  are  the  tribunes  of  the  people. 
The  tongues  o'the  common  mouth.     I  do  despisa 
For  they  do  prank  them  in  authority,  [them 
Against  all  noble  sufferance. 


570 


CORIOLANUS, 


Act  III 


Sic.  Pass  no  further. 

f7or.  fla!  What  is  that? 

Bru.  It  will  be  daugerous  to 

f  Jo  on  :  no  further. 

Cor.  What  makes  this  change  ? 

Me7u  The  matter? 

Com.  Hath  he  not  pass'd  the  nobles,  and  the  com- 
Bru.  Cominius,  no.  [mo!)S  ? 

Cor.  Have  I  had  children's  voices? 

s^ft'tt.  Tribunes,  give  way;  he  shall  to  the  mar- 
ket-place. 

Bru.  The  people  are  ijaccEss'd  against  him. 

Sic.  Stop, 
Or  all  will  fall  in  broil. 

Cor.  Are  these  yonr  herd  ? — 

Must  these  have  voices,  that  can  yield  them  now. 
And  straiglit  disclaim  their  tongues? — What  are 
your  offices?  [teeth  ? 

Yon  being  their  rnoiiths,  why  rule  yon  nSt  their 
Have  you  not  set  them  on  ? 

Men.  Be  calm,  be  calm. 

Cor.  It  is  a  piirpos'd  thing,  and  grows  by  plot. 
To  curb  the  will  of  the  nobility  : 
Sufl'er  it,  and  live  with  such  as  cannot  rule, 
Nor  ever  will  be  rul'd. 

Bru.  Call't  not  a  plot : 

The  people  cry,  you  mock'd  them  ;  and,  of  late, 
Wlieii  corn  was  given  them  gratis,  you  repin'd  ; 
Scandal'd  the  suppliants  for  the  people  ;  ca^l'd  them 
Time-pleasers,  flatterers,  foes  to  nobleness. 

Cor.  Why,  this  was  known  before. 

Bru.  Not  to  them  all. 

Cor.  Have  you  inforra'd  them  since  ? 

Brtc.  How!  I  inform  tliem! 

Cor.  You  are  like  to  do  such  business. 

Bru.  Not  unlike, 

Eitch  way,  to  better  yours,  [ciouds, 

Cor.  Why  tiien  should  I  be  c<tnsul  ?    By  yon 
Let  roe  deserve  so  ill  as  you,  and  make  me 
Your  fellow  tribinie. 

Sic.  ■        You  shew  ti!0  muc'i  of  (hat, 

For  vvhi<',li  the  [ieople  stir:  If  you  will  pass 
To  where  you  are  bound,  you  must  inquire  your 
way. 

Which  you  are  out  of,  with  a  gentler  spirit; 
Or  iie\rr  be  so  noble  as  a  consul, 
Nor  yoke  with  hiu)  for  tribune. 

Men.  Let's  be  cahn. 

Com.  The  people   are   abus'd  : — Set  on. — This 
palt'ring 

BecoMies  not  Rome;  nor  has  Cori'ilanus 
Deserv'd  this  so  dishonoured  ru!),  hiid  falsely 
I'the  plain  way  of  his  merit. 

Cor.  Trll  me  of  corn! 

This  was  my  speech,  and  1  will  speak't  again  ; — 

Men.  Not  now,  not  now. 

1  Sen.  Not  in  this  heat,  sir,  now. 

Cor.  Now,  as  I  live,  I  will. — My  nobler  friends, 
1  crave  their  pardons  : — 

For  the  mutable,  rank  scented  many,  let  them 
Regard  me  as  I  do  not  flatter,  and 
Therein  behold  thenjselves  :  I  say  again, 
[n  soothing  them,  we  nourish  'gainst  our  senate 
The  cockle  of  rebellion,  insolence,  sedition. 
Which  we  ourselves  fiave  plough'd  for,  sow'd  and 
scatter'd, 

By  mingling  them  with  us,  the  honour'd  number; 
VVho  lack  not  virtue,  no,  nor  power,  but  that 
Which  they  have  given  to  beggars. 

Men.  Well,  no  more. 

I  Sen.  No  more  words,  we  beseech  you. 

Cur  How  !  no  more  ? 

As  for  my  country  I  have  shed  my  blood, 
Not  fearing  outward  force,  so  shall  my  lungs 
Com  words  till  their  decay,  against  those  meazels, 
Which  we  disdain  should  tetter  us,  yet  sought 
The  very  way  to  catch  them. 

Bru.  You  speak  o'the  people. 

As  if  yo\;  were  a  god  to  punish,  not 
A  man  of  tht  ir  iufirmity. 


Sic.  Twere  well. 

We  let  the  people  kaw't. 

Men.  What,  what?  his  chsileil 

Cor.  Choler! 
Were  1  as  a  patient  as  the  m,dnight  sleep. 
By  Jove,  'twould  be  my  mind. 

l^ic.  It  is  a  csind. 

That  sliall  remain  a  poison  where  it  is. 
Not  poison  any  further. 

Cor.  Shall  remain  !  — 

Hear  you  this  Triton  of  the  minnows?  mark  yoa. 
His  absolute  shall? 

Com.  'Twas  from  the  canon. 

Cor.  Shaiil 

0  good,  but  most  unwise  patricians,  why. 

You  grave,  but  reckless  senators,  have  you  thus 

Given  Hydra  here  to  choose  au  olScer, 

That  with  his  peremptory  shall,  being  but 

The  horn  and  noise  o'the  monsters,  wants  Ect  spirit 

To  say,  he'll  turn  your  current  in  a  ditch. 

And  make  your  channel  his?  If  he  have  power. 

Then  vail  your  ignorance  ;  if  none,  awake 

Your  dangerous  lenity.    If  you  are  learned. 

Be  not  as  common  fools;  if  you  are  not, 

Let  them  have  cushions  by  you.  You  are  plebeians, 

If  they  be  senators  :  and  they  are  no  less, 

VVhen  both  your  voices  blended,  the  greatest  taste 

Most  palates  theirs.  They  choose  their  magistrate : 

And  such  a  one  as  he,  who  puts  his  shally 

His  popular  shall,  against  a  graver  bench 

Than  ever  frown'd  in  Greece!  By  Jove  himself, 

It  makes  the  consuls  base  :  and  my  soul  aches, 

To  know,  when  two  authorities  are  up, 

Neither  supreme,  how  .soon  confusion 

May  enter  'twixt  the  gap  of  both,  and  take 

The  one  by  the  other. 

Com.  Well — on  to  the  market-place 

Cor.  Whoever  gave  that  counsel,  to  yive  forth 
The  corn  u'the  store-house  gratis,  as  twas  us'd 
S  jHieliait  in  Greece, — 

Men.  Wei!,  well,  no  more  of  that 

Cor.  (Though  there  the  people  had  more  abso 
lute  power,) 

1  say,  tiiey  nourish'd  disobedience,  fed 
The  ruin  of  the  state. 

Bru.  Why,  shall  the  people  give 

One,  that  speaks  thus,  their  voice  ? 

Cor.  I'll  ^ive  my  reasons, 

More  worthier  than  their  ^  jices.    They  kt^ow,  the 
corn 

Was  not  our  recompence  ;  resting  well  assur'd 
Tiiey  ne'er  did  service  for't :  Being  press'd  to  the 
war, 

Even  when  the  navel  of  the  state  was  touch'd 
Tiiey  would  not  thread  the  gates :  this  kind  ol 
serv  ice 

Did  not  deserve  corn  gratis  ;  being  i'the  war, 
Tlieir  mutinies  and  revolts,  wherem  they  shew'd 
Must  valom-,  spoke  not  for  them  :  The  accusation 
VYliich  they  have  often  made  against  the  senate. 
All  cause  unborn,  could  ntver  be  the  Urttive 
Of  our  so  frank  donation.    Well,  what  then  ? 
How  shall  this  bosom  multiiilied  digest 
The  senate's  f.ourtesy  ?    Lf"t  deeds  express 
VVhat's  like  to  be  their  words  : — ]Ve  did  request  itj 
W e  are  the  greater  poll,  and  in  true  fear 
They  gave  us  our  demands  : — Thus  we  debase 
'I'he  nature  of  our  seaty,  and  make  the  rabble 
Call  our  cares,  fears  :  whiv  h  will  in  time  break  op« 
The  locks  o  the  senate,  and  bring  in  tlie  crow 
To  peck  the  eagles.-  - 

Men.  Come,  enough. 

Bru.  Enough,  with  over-measure. 

Cor.  No,  take  morC'v 

What  may  be  sworn  by,  both  divisae  and  human, 
Seal  what  I  end  withal  ! — This  double  worship, — 
Where  one  part  does  disdain  wiih  cause,  tlie  otbei 
Insult  without  all  reason  ;  where  gentry  title,  wis- 
Caimot  conclude,  but  by  the  yea  auJ  no  [^om 
Of  general  ignorance — it  must  omit 


Scene  1. 


CORTOLANUS. 


571 


Real  necessitjpg,  and  ^ive  way  tl  ,e  while 
To  unstable  slightness  :  purpose  s  )  barr'd,  it  follows, 
Nothing  is  done  to  purpose  :  Therefore,  beseech 
you,— 

Yo\i  that  will  be  less  fearful  than  discreet; 

That  love  the  fundamental  part  of  state, 

More  tiian  you  doubt  the  change  oft;  that  prefer 

A  noble  life  before  a  long,  and  wish 

To  jump  a  body  with  a  dangerous  physic, 

That's  siire  of  death  without  it, — at  once  pluck  out 

The  na«ltitadinous  tongue,  let  theui  not  lick 

The  sweet  which  is  their  poison  :  your  dishonour 

Mangiea  true  judgment,  and  bereaves  the  sta,te 

Of  that  integrity  which  should  become  it; 

Not  hav  ing  the  power  to  do  the  good  it  would, 

For  the  ill  which  doth  control  it. 

Bru.  He  has  said  enough. 

Sic.  He  has  spoken  like  a  traitor,  and  shall  an- 
As  traitors  do.  [swer 

Cor.  Thou  wretch!  despite  o'er  whelm  thee  ! — 
What  should  the  people  do  with  these  bald  tribunes  ? 
On  whom  depending,  their  obedience  fails 
To  the  greater  bench  :  In  a  rebellion, 
When  what's  not  meet,  but  what  must  be,  was  law. 
Then  were  they  chosen ;  in  a  better  hour. 
Let  what  i'S  meet,  be  said  it  must  be  meet, 
And  throw  their  power  i'  the  dust. 

Bru.  Manifest  treason. 

Sic.  This  a  consul  ?  no. 

Bru.  Thei^ldiles,  ho  ! — Let  him  be  apprehended. 

Sic.  Go,  call  the  people  ;  [Exit  Brutus.]  in  whose 
name,  myself 
Attach  thee,  as  a  traitorous  innovator, 
A  foe  to  the  public  weal :  Obey,  1  charge  thee, 
And  follow  to  thine  answer. 

Cor.  Hence,  old  goat ! 

Sen.  §f  Pat.  We'll  surety  him. 

Co?n,  Aged  sir,  hands  off. 

Cor.  Hence,  rotten  thing,  or  I  shall  shake  thy 
Out  of  thy  garments.  [bones 

Sic.  Help,  ye  citizens. 

Re  eriterBRVTUSyWiik  the  ^diles,  and  a  rabble 
of  Citizens. 

Men.  On  both  sides  more  respect. 

Sic.  Here's  he,  that  wcfuld 

Take  from  you  all  your  power. 

Bru.  Seize  him,  i^Idiles. 

Cit.  Down  with  him  !  down  with  him  ! 

[Several  sjieak.) 

2  Sen.  Weapons,  weapons,  weapons  ! 

[They  all  bustle  about  Coriolanus.) 
rHbiines,  patricians,  citizens! — what,  ho! — 
Siciiius,  Brutus,  Coriolanus,  citizens! 

Cit.  Peace,  jjeace,  peace ;  stay,  hold,  peace ! 

Men.  What  is  about  to  be  ? — I  am  out  of  breath  ; 
Confusion's  near:  I  cannot  speak: — You,  tribunes 
To  the  peo,iIe, — Coriolanus,  patieuce  : — 
Speak,  good  Sicinius. 

Sic,  Hear  me,  people , — Peace. 

Cit.  Let's  hear  our  tribune:  —  Peace.  Speak, 
speak,  speak. 

Sic.  You  are  at  point  to  lose  your  liberties  : 
Marc  jus  would  have  all  from  you  ;  Marcius, 
Whom  late  you  have  nam'd  for  consul. 

Men.  _  Fy,  fy,  fy  1 

This  is  the  way  to  kindle,  not  to  quench. 

1  Sen.  To  unbuild  the  city,  and  to  lay  all  flat. 

Sic.  What  is  the  city,  but  the  people  ? 

CiL  True, 
1  he  people  are  the  city. 

Bi^.  By  the  consent  of  all,  we  were  establish'd 
The  priople'3  magistrates. 

Cit.  You  so  remain. 

Men...  And  4<o  are  like  to  do. 

Cor.  That  is  the  way  to  lay  the  city  flat; 
Vo  bring  the  ro.)l'totlie  fo  indention; 
i\ifd  bury  all,  v\  hich  yet  distin  tiy  ranges, 
\n  Leaps  and  pi!es  of  ruin. 

Situ  This  deserves  death. 


Bru.  Or  let  ns  stand  to  our  au  Jiorit/, 
Or  let  us  lose  it  : — We  do  here  prx)uouD<^e, 
Upon  the  fart  o'the  people,  in  whose  power, 
We  were  elected  their's,  Marcius  is  worlhy 
Of  present  death. 

Sic.  Therefore,  lay  hold  of  liim; 

Bear  him  to  the  rock  Tarpeiau,  and  from  ilieac* 
Into  destruction  cast  him. 

Brit.  iEdiles,  seize  hiia ; 

Cit.  Yield,  Marcius,  yield. 

Men.  ^  Hear  me  one  word. 

Beseech  you,  tribunes,  hear  me  but  a  word. 

JEd.  Peace,  peace.  [fnend, 

Men.  Be  that  you  seem,   truly  your  countiy'a 
And  temperately  proceed  to  what  you  would 
Thus  violently  redress. 

Bru.  Sir,  those  cold  ways. 

That  seem  like  prudent  helps,  are  very  poisonous 
W^here  the  disease  is  violent  : — Lay  hands  upoo 
And  bear  hini  to  the  rock.  [him, 

Cor.  No;  I'll  die  here. 

[Draiviny  his  sword.) 
There's  some  among  you  have  beheld  me  fighting  J 
Come,  try  upon  yourselves  what  you  have  seen  me. 

Men.  Down  with  that  sword ; — Tribunes,  witit- 
draw  a  while. 

Bru.  Lay  hands  upon  him. 

3Ien.  Help,  help,  Marcius!  help^ 

You  that  be  noble  ;  help  him,  young,  and  old! 

Cit.  Down  with  him,  down  with  him! 

[In  this  mutiny y  the  Tribmies.,  the  Mdiles 
and  the  people.,  are  all  beat  in,) 

Men.  Go,  get  you  to  your  house  ;  be  gone,  away. 
All  will  be  naught  else. 

2  Sen.  Get  you  gone. 

Cor.  _       Stand  fast ; 

We  have  as  many  fiiends  as  enemies. 

Men.  Shall  it  be  put  to  that? 

I  Sen.  The  gods  forbid  1 

I  pr'ythee,  noble  friend,  home  to  thy  house  ; 
L;ra\e  us  to  cure  this  cause. 

Men.  For  ti3  a  sore  upon  us. 

You  cannot  tent  yourself:  Begone,  'beseech  yoii. 

Com.  Come,  sir,  along  with  us. 

Cor.  I  would  they  were  barbarians,  (as  they  are 
Though  in  Rome  litter  d,)  not  Romans,  (as  thef 
are  not, 

Though  calv'd  i'  tl).e  porch  of  the  Capitol,) — 

Men.  Begone: 

Put  not  your  worthy  rage  into  your  tongue  ; 

One  time  will  owe  another. 

Cor.  On  fair  ground, 

I  could  beat  forty  of  them. 
Men.  I  could  myself 

Take  up  a  brace  of  the  best  of  them  ;  yea,  the  tw© 
tribunes. 

Com.  But  now  'tis  odds  beyond  arithmetic; 
And  manhood  is  call'd  foolery,  when  it  stands 
Against  a  falling  fabric. — Wdl  you  hence. 
Before  the  tag  return  ?  whose  rage  doth  rend 
Like  interrupted  waters,  and  o'erbear 
What  they  are  used  to  bear. 

Men.  Pray  you,  be  gone : 

I'll  try  whether  my  old  wit  be  in  request 
With  those  that  have  but  little ;  this  nuist  be  patcb'd 
With  cloth  of  any  colour. 

Com.  Nay,  come  away. 

[Exeunt  Coriolanus.,  Cominius,  and  others* 

1  Pat.  'J'liis  man  has  niarr'd  his  I'ortune. 
Men.  His  nature  is  too  noble  for  the  vyorld : 

He  would  not  flatter  Neptune  for  his  trident, 
Or  Jove  for  liis  power  to  thunder.     His  heart's  his 
mouth  : 

What  his  breast  forges,  that  his  tongue  must  vent; 
And  being  angry,  does  forget  that  ever 
He  heard  the  name  of  death.        [A  nc  ise  tvithin.) 
Here's  goodly  work! 

2  Pat-  I  would  they  were  a  bed! 
Men.  I  would  they  were  in  Tyber !— What  the 

vengeance. 


672 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  hi. 


Could  be  not  speak  them  fair? 
Ue-enter  Brutus  and  Sicinius,  with  the  rabble. 

S^c.  Where  is  this  viper. 

That  would  depopulate  the  city,  and 
Be  every  man  himself? 

Men.  You  worthy  tribunes, — 

Sic.  He  shall  be  thrown  dewn  the  Tarpeian  rock 
With  rigorous  hands ;  he  hath  resisted  law, 
And  therefore  law  shall  scorn  him  further  trial 
Than  the  severity  of  the  public  power. 
Which  he  so  sets  at  nought 

1  Cit.  fie  shall  well  know. 

The  noble  tribunes  are  the  people's  mouths. 
And  we  their  hands. 

C'll.  He  shall,  sure  on't. 

{Several  speak  together.) 

Men.  Sir. — 

Sic.  Peace. 

Men.  Do  not  cry,  havock,  where  you  should  but 
With  modest  warrant.  _  [hunt 

Sic.  Sir,  how  comes  it,  that  you 

Have  holp  to  make  this  rescue  ? 

Men.  Hear  me  speak  : — 

As  I  do  know  the  consul's  worthiness 
So  can  I  name  his  faults  : — 

Sic.  Consul ! — what  consul  ? 

Men.  The  consul  Corlolanas. 

Bru.  He  a  consul ! 

Cit.  No,  no,  no,  no,  no. 

Men.  If,  by  the  tribunes'  leave,  and  yours,  good 

people, 

I  may  be  heard,  I'd  crave  a  word  or  two; 
The  which  shall  turn  you  to  no  further  harm, 
Than  so  much  loss  of  time. 

Sic.  Speak  briefly  then; 

For  we  are  peremptory,  to  despatch 
This  vi[)erous  traitor:  to  eject  him  hence, 
Were  but  one  danger;  and,  to  keep  him  here. 
Our  certain  death;  therefore  it  is  decreed, 
He  dies  to-tight. 

Men.  Now  the  good  gods  forbid, 

Tliat  otir  renowned  Rome  ,  whose  gratitude 
Towards  her  deserved  children  is  enroH'd 
In  Jove's  own  book,  like  an  unnatural  dam, 
Slioiild  now  eat  up  her  own  ! 

Sic.  He's  a  disease  that  must  be  cut  away. 

Men.  O,  he's  a  limb,  that  has  but  a  disease  ; 
Mortal,  to  cut  it  of!';  to  cure  it,  easy. 
Wliat  has  he  done  to  Rome,  that's  worthy  death? 
Xilling  our  enemies?  The  blood  he  hath  lost, 

i ''Which,  I  dare  vouch,  is  more  than  that  he  hath, 
iy  tuaiiy  an  ounce,)  he  dropp'd  it  for  his  country: 
Aiul,  what  is  left,  to  lose  it  by  his  country. 
Were  to  us  all,  that  do't,  and  suffer  it, 
A  brand  to  the  end  o'the  world. 
Sic.  This  is  clean  kam. 

Bru.  Merely  awry :  When  he  did  love  his  coun- 
It  honour'd  him.  [try. 

Men.  The  service  of  the  foot 

Being  once  gangren'd.  is  not  then  respected 
For  vvltat  before  it  was  ? 

Bru.  We'll  hear  no  more  : — 

Pursue  him  to  his  house,  and  pluck  him  thence  ; 
Ijest  his  infection,  being  of  catching  nature, 
Spf>ad  further. 

Men.  One  word  more,  one  word. 

This  tiger-footed  rage,  when  it  shall  find 
The  harm  of  nnscann'd  swiftness,  will,  too  late, 
Ti-f  leaden  pounds  to  his  heels.    Proceed  by  pro- 
Lj.  st  parties  (as  he  is  belov'd)  break  out,        [cess  ; 
A^d  sack  great  Rome  with  Romans. 

^ru.  Ifitwereso, — 

i^ic.  What  do  ye  talk  ? 
Fave  wf  not  had  a  taste  of  his  obedience? 
Ou'  iEdiles  sru'ite  ?  ourselves  resisted  ? — Cotne  : — 
M.Kn.  Cotisider  this; — He  has  been  bred  i'the 
wars 

Since  he  could  draw  a  sword,  anc  is  ill  schfrol'd 
la  fch.  fited  language;  meal  and  br«u  tot;ellierj 


He  throws  without  distinction.    Give  me  leaTO 
I'll  go  to  him,  and  undertake  to  bring  him 
Where  he  shall  answer,  by  a  lawful  form, 
(In  peace)  to  his  utmost  peril. 

I  Sen.  Noble  tribnoes^ 

It  is  the  humane  way  :  the  other  course 
Will  prove  too  bloody  ;  and  the  end  of  it 
Unknown  to  the  beginning. 

Sic.  Noble  Menenioa, 

Be  you  then  as  the  people's  officer : — 
Masters,  lay  down  your  weapons. 

Bru.  Go  not  home. 

Sic.  Meet  on  the  market-place: — We'll  attend 
you  there : 

Where,  if  you  bring  not  Marcius,  we'll  proceed 
In  our  first  way. 

Men.  I'll  bring  him  to  you  : — 

Let  nie  desire  your  company.     {To  the  Senators^ 

He  must  come. 
Or  what  is  worst  will  follow. 
]  Sen  Pray  you,  let's  to  him, 

[Exeunt 

Scene  II.— ^  Room  in  Coriolanus's  House. 

Enter  Coriolanus  and  Patricians. 
Cor.  Let  them  pull  all  about  mine  ears ;  presei4 
me 

Death  on  the  wheel,  or  at  wild  horses'  heels, 
Or  pile  ten  hills  on  the  Tarpeian  rock. 
That  the  precipitation  might  down  stretch 
Below  the  beam  of  sight,  yet  will  I  still 
Be  thus  to  them. 

Enter  Volumnia. 

1  Pat.  Yon  do  the  nobler. 

Cor.  I  mu.se,  my  mother 
Does  not  approve  me  further,  who  was  wont 
To  call  them  woollen  vassals,  things  created 
To  buy  and  sell  with  groats  ;  to  shew  bare  head« 
In  congregations,  to  yawn,  be  still,  and  wonder, 
When  one  but  of  my  ordinance  stood  up 
To  speak  of  peace,  or  war.    1  talk  of  you  ; 

{'To  Vokivtma,) 

Why  did  you  wish  me  milder?  Would  you  have  me 
False  to  my  nature  ?  Rather  say,  I  play 
The  man  I  am. 

Vol.  O,  sir,  sir,  sir, 

I  would  have  had  you  put  your  power  well  on,. 
Before  you  had  worn  it  oat 

Cor.  Let  go. 

Vol.  You  might  have  been  enough  the  man  you 
are. 

With  striving  less  to  be  so :  Lesser  had  been 
The  thwartings  of  your  dispositions,  if 
You  had  not  shew'd  them  how  you  were  dispos'd. 
Ere  they  lacked  power  to  cross  you. 

Cor.  Let  them  haug^ 

Vol.  Ay,  and  burn  too. 

Enter  Menenius  and  Senators. 

Men.  Come,  come,  you  have  been  too  rough, 
something  too  rough ; 
You  must  return,  and  mend  it. 

1  Sen.  There's  no  remedy ; 

Unless,  by  not  so  doing,  our  good  city 
Cleave  in  the  midst,  and  perish. 

Vol.  Pray  be  counsel'd : 

I  have  a  heart  as  little  apt  as  yours, 
But  yet  a  brain,  that  leads  my  use  of  anger. 
To  better  vantage. 

Men.  Well  said,  noble  woman; 

Before  he  should  thus  stoop  to  tlie  herd,  but  that 
The  violent  fit  o'the  time  craves  it  as  physic 
For  the  wlioh'  state.  I  would  put  mine  armoor  OQ^ 
Which  I  can  scarcely  bear. 

Cor.  What  must  1  do'? 

Men.  Return  to  the  tribunes. 

Cor.  Well, 
Wh»t  then?  what  then? 

Men.  Hepent  what  yon  have  spoJu*4 

Co/:  For  theni?-  -I  cansiot  do  it  to  the  godjj. 


SCENB  8* 

Mnst  I  then  do't  to  them  ? 

Vol.  Vou  are  too  absolute ; 

Though  therein  you  can  never  be  too  noble. 
But  when  extrenjities  speak.  I  have  heard  yon  say. 
Honour  and  policy,  like  unsjver'd  friends, 
I'the  war  do  grow  together :  Grant  that,  and  tell 
me, 

In  peace,  what  each  of  them  by  th'other  lose, 
That  they  combine  not  there. 

dor.  Tush,  tush ! 

Men.  A  good  demand. 

VoL  If  it  be  honour,  in  your  wars,  to  seem 
The  same  you  are  not,  (which,  for  your  best  ends. 
You  adopt  your  policy,)  how  is  it  less,  or  worse, 
That  it  shall  hold  companionship  in  peace 
With  honour,  as  in  war;  since  that  to  both 
It  stands  in  like  request  ? 

Cor.  Why  force  you  this  ? 

Vol.  Because  that  now  it  lies  you  on  to  speak 
To  the  people  ;  not  by  your  own  instruction, 
Nor  by  the  matter  which  your  heart  prompts  you  to, 
But  with  such  words  that  are  but  roted  in 
Your  tongue,  though  but  bastards,  and  syllables 
Of  no  allowance,  to  your  bosom's  truth. 
Now,  this  no  more  dishonours  you  at  all, 
Than  to  take  in  a  town  with  gentle  words. 
Which  else  would  put  you  to  your  fortune,  and 
The  hazard  of  much  blood. — 
\  would  dissemble  with  my  nature,  where 
My  fortunes,  and  my  friends,  at  stake,  requir'd 
I  should  do  so  in  honour:  I  am  in  this, 
Your  wife,  your  son,  these  senators,  the  nobles; 
And  yon  will  rather  shew  our  general  louts 
How  you  can  frown,  than  spend  a  fawn  upon  them, 
For  the  inheritance  of  their  loves,  and  safeguard 
Of  what  that  want  might  ruin. 

Men.  _         Nohle  lady  !— 

Come,  go  with  us ;  speak  fair:  you  may  salve  so. 
Not  what  ir  dangerous  present,  but  the  loss 
Of  what  is  past. 

Vol.  I  pr'ythee  now,  my  son. 

Go  to  them,  with  this  bonnet  in  thy  hand  ; 
And  thus  far  having  stretchd  it,  (here  be  with 
them,) 

Thy  knee  bussing  the  stones,  (for  in  such  business 
Action  is  eloquence,  and  the  eyes  oi  the  ignorant, 
More  learned  than  their  ears,)  wa\  ing  tiiy  head, 
VVhich  often,  thus,  correcting  thy  stout  heart, 
That  humble,  as  the  ripest  mulberry, 
Now  will  not  hold  the  handling;  Or,  say  tc  Ihem, 
Thou  art  tlieir  soldier,  and  being  bred  in  broils, 
Hast  not  the  soft  way,  which,  thou  dust  conl'ess. 
Were  fit  for  thee  to  use,  as  they  to  claim, 
In  asking  their  good  loves  ;  but  tliou  wilt  fiame 
Thyself,  forsooth,  hereafter  theirs,  so  far 
As  thou  hast  power,  and  person. 

Men.  This  but  done. 

Even  as  she  speaks,  why,  all  their  hearts  were 
yours ; 

For  they  have  pardons,  being  ask'd,  as  free 
As. words  to  little  purpose. 

Vol.  Pr'ythee,  now. 

Go,  and  be  rul'd :  although,  I  know,  thou  had'st 
rather 

Follow  thine  enemy  in  a  fiery  gulf, 

Than  flatter  him  in  a  bower.    Here  is  Comiuius. 

Enter  CoMiNius. 
Com  T  Tiave  been  i'the  market-place:  and,  sir, 
'tis  fit 

Vou  make  strong  party,  or  defend  yourself 
By  calmness,  or  by  absence ;  all's  in  anger. 
Men.  Only  fair  speech. 

Com.  I  think,  'twill  serve,  if  he 

Can  thereto  frame  his  spirit. 

Vol.  He  must,  and  will : — 

Pr'vthee,  now,  say,  you  will,  and  go  about  it. 

Cor.  Must  1  go  shew  them  my  unbarb'd  sconce  ? 
Must  I 

With  my  base  tongue  give  to  my  noble  heart 


57a 

A  lie,  that  it  must  bear  ?  Well,  I  will  do't: 
Yet  were  there  but  this  single  plot  to  lose. 
This  mould  of  Marcius,  they  to  dust  shoidd  grixsd  H 
And  throw  it  against  the  wind. — To  the  market 

place : — 

You  have  put  me  now  to  such  a  part,  which  nerer 
T  shall  discharj.e  to  the  life. 

Com.  Come,  come,  we'll  prompt  you 

Vol.  I  pr'ythee  now,  sweet  son  ;  as  thou  hast  saic^ 
My  praises  made  thee  first  a  soldier,  so. 
To  have  my  praise  for  this,  perform  a  part 
Thou  hast  not  done  before. 

Cor.  Well,  I  must  do't: 

Away,  my  disposition,  and  possess  me 
Some  harlot's  spirit !  My  throat  of  war  be  turn'd, 
Which  quired  with  my  drum,  into  a  pipe 
Small  as  an  eunuch,  or  the  virgin  voice 
That  babies  lulls  asleep  !  The  smiles  of  knaves 
Tent  in  my  cheeks ;  and  school-boys'  tears  take  rrp 
The  glasses  of  my  sight!  A  beggar's  tongue 
Make  motion  through  my  lips;  and  my  arm'd  kiMC««, 
Who  bow'd  but  in  my  stirrup,  bend  like  his 
That  hath  receiv'd  an  alms  ! — 1  will  not  do't. 
Lest  I  surcease  to  honour  mine  own  truth. 
And,  by  my  body's  action,  teach  my  mind 
A  most  inherent  baseness. 

VoL  At  thy  choice  then; 

To  beg  of  thee,  it  is  my  more  disht«nour. 
Than  thou  of  them.    Come  all  to  ruin  ;  let 
Thy  mother  rather  feel  thy  pride,  than  fear 
Thy  dangerous  stoutness:  for  1  mock  at  death 
With  as  big  heart  as  thou.    Do  as  ihou  list. 
Thy  valiantness  was  mine,  thou  suck'dst  it  from  m©f 
But  owe  tliy  pride  thyself 

Cor.  Pray,  be  content; 

Mother,  I  am  going  to  the  market-place  ; 
Chide  me  no  more.    I'll  mountebank  their  loves. 
Cog  their  hearts  from  them,  and  come  nome  belo>'d 
Of  all  the  trades  in  Rome.   Look,  I  am  going: 
Commend  me  to  my  wife.    Til  return  consul; 
Or  never  trust  to  what  my  tongue  can  do 
I'the  way  of  flattery,  further. 

Vol.  Do  your  w  ill.  [Exit, 

Com.  Away,  the  tribunes  do  attend  you:  arm 
yourself 

To  answer  mildly  ;  for  they  are  prepar'd 
With  accusations,  as  I  hear,  more  strong 
Than  are  upon  you  yet. 

Cor.  The  word  is,  mildly: — Pray  you,  let  ns  go; 
Let  them  accuse  me  by  invention,  J 
Will  answer  in  mine  honour. 

3Ien.  Ay,  but  mildly. 

Cor.  Well,  mildly  be  it  then  ;  mildly.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III.— The  same.    The  Forum. 
Enter  SiciNius  and  Brutus. 
Bru.  In  this  point  charge  him  hon»e,  that  he  at 
fects 

Tyrannical  power:  If  he  evade  us  there. 
Enforce  him  with  his  envy  to  the  people; 
And  that  the  spoil,  got  on  the  Antiates, 
W  as  ne'er  distributed. 

Enter  an  JEdile. 
What,  will  he  come  ? 

.Md.  He's  coming, 

Bru.  How  accompauied! 

Aid.  With  old  Menenius,  and  those  seuators 
That  always  favour'd  him. 

Sic.  Have  you  a  catalogue 

Of  all  the  voices  that  we  have  procur'd, 
Set  down  by  the  poll  ? 

Aid.  I  have  ;  'tii  ready,  here. 

Sic.  Have  you  collected  them  by  tribes  ? 

Md.  I  hav^ 

Sic.  Assemble  presently  the  people  hither: 
And  when  they  hear  me  say,  It  shall  be  so 
r  the  right  and  strength  o'  the  commons^  be  it 
either 

For  death,  for  fine,  or  banishment,  then  let  them. 


CORIOLANUS. 


671 


CORTOLANUa 


Act  III. 


If  I  say  Me,  c\y,  fine;  if  death,  cry  death; 
lusisting  on  the  old  prerogative 
AnJ  power  i'the  trutn  o'the  cause. 

^Ef/.  1  shall  inform  them. 

Bru.  And  when  such  time  they  hav  e  begun  to  cry. 
Let  them  not  tease,  but  with  a  din  confus'd 
Enforce  the  present  execution 
Of  what  we  chance  to  sentence. 

j^]d.  Very  well. 

Sic.  Make  them  be  strong,  and  ready  for  this  hint, 
iVhen  we  shall  hap  to  give't  them. 

Bru.  about  it — 

[Exit  Mdile. 
Put  him  to  choler  straight:  He  hath  been  us'd 
Ever  to  cottquer,  and  to  have  his  worth 
01" contradiction  :  Being  once  cliafd,  he  cannot 
Be  rcin'd  again  to  temperance  ;  then  lie  speaks 
VVliat's  in  his  heart;  and  that  is  there,  which  looks 
With  us  to  break  his  neck. 

Enter  Cokiolanus,  Menenius,  Cominii?s, 
Senators^  and  Patricmns. 
Sic.  Well,  here  he  comes. 

Men.  Calmly,  1  do  beseech  you. 

Cor.  Ay,  as  an  ostler,  that  for  tne  poorest  piece 
Will  bear  the  knave  by  the  volume. — The  honour'd 

^^^^  r  .  . 

Keep  Rome  in  safety,  and  the  chairs  of  justice 
Supplied  with  woi  tliy  men  '.  plant  love  among  us  ! 
Throng  our  huge  teii)i)lps  with  the  shews  of  peace. 
And  riftt  our  streets  with  war! 

1  Sen.  Amen,  amen. 

Men.  A  noble  wish. 

Re-enter  /Edile.,  with  Citizens. 
Sic.  Draw  near,  ye  people.  [say. 
JEd.  List  to  yolir  tribunes;  audience:  Peace,  I 
Cor.  First,  hear  me  speak. 

Both  Tri.  Well,  say.— Peace,  ho. 

Cor.  Shali  I  be  charg'd  no  further  than  this  pre- 
Mnst  all  determine  liere  ?  [sent? 

.Sic.  I  do  demand. 

If  you  submit  vou  t  '*  the  people's  voices, 
Allow  their  ollicers,  atnl  ^re  content 
To  suifer  lau'tul  censure  fw  such  faults 
As  shall  be  [)rov'd  upon  you  ? 

Cor.  I  am  content. 

Men.  Lo,  citizens,  he  says,  lie  is  content. 
The  warlike  service  h<'  has  done,  consider; 
Think  on  tiie  wounds  his  body  hears,  which  shew 
Like  graves  i'the  holy  churchyard. 

Cor.  Scratches  with  briars, 

JSciirs  to  move  laughter  only. 

Men.  Consider  further, 

Thnt  when  lie  speaks  not  like  a  citizen, 
You  find  him  like  a  soldier  ;  Do  not  take 
His  longlier  aerents  for  malicious  soundfi, 
B;il,  as  I  say,  ijiich  as  become  a  soldier, 
Rather  tlian  envy  you. 

Com.  Weil,  well,  no  more. 

Cor.  What  is  the  matter, 
That  being  pass'd  for  consid  with  full  voice, 
I  am  so  dishonour'ij,  that  the  very  hour 
Vou  take  it  off  again  :* 

Sic.  Answer  to  us. 

Cor.  Say  then :  'tis  true,  1  ought  so. 

Sic.\Wti  charge  you,  that  you  have  contriv'd  to  take 
From  Rome  ail  se.ison'd  office,  and  to  wind 
Yourself  into  a  power  tyrannical; 
For  which,  you  are  a  traitor  to  the  people. 

Cor.  Hctvv  !  Traitor! 

Men.  Nay  ;  temperately  :  Your  pronaise. 

Cor.  The  fires  i'the  lowest  hell  fold  in  the  people! 
Call  me  their  traitor  I — Thou  injurious  tribune! 
Within  thine  eyes  sat  twenty  tlionsand  deaths. 
In  thy  hands  clutch'd  as  many  millions,  in 
Thy  lying  tongue  both  numbers,  I  vvould  say, 
Thou  liest,  unto  tiiee,  w'th  a  voice  as  free 
As  I  do  pray  the  god-*. 

Sic.  Murk  you  this,  people  ? 


Cit.  To  the  rock  vvith  him ;  to  the  rock  with  him 

Sic.  Peace. 
We  need  not  put  new  matter  to  his  chaise  : 
What  you  have  .seen  him  do,  and  heard  him  speak. 
Beating  your  officers,  cursing  yourselves. 
Opposing  laws  with  strokes,  and  here  defying 
Those  whose  great  power  must  try  him ;  even  thi*, 
So  criminal,  and  in  such  capital  kind. 
Deserves  the  extremest  death. 

Bru.  But  since  he  hath 

Serv'd  well  for  Rome, — 

Cor.  What,  do  you  prate  of  servics  ? 

Bru.  I  talk  of  that,  that  know  it. 

Cor.  You? 

Men.  Is  this 

The  promise  that  you  made  your  mother? 

Com.  '  KnoWy 

I  pray  you, — 

Cor.  I'll  know  no  further  ; 

Let  them  pronounce  the  steep  Tarpeian  death. 
Vagabond  exile,  flaying;  Pent  to  linger 
But  with  a  grain  a  day,  I  would  not  buy 
Their  mercy  at  the  price  of  one  fair  word ; 
Nor  check  my  courage  for  what  they  can  give. 
To  hav't  with  saying,  Good  morrow. 

Sic.  For  that  he  has 

(As  much  as  in  him  lies)  from  time  to  time 
Envied  against  the  people,  seeking  means 
To  pluck  away  their  power :  as  now  at  last 
Given  hostile  strokes,  and  that  not  in  the  presence 
Of  dreaded  justice,  but  on  the  ministers 
That  do  distribute  it ;  in  the  name  o'the  people, 
And  in  the  power  of  us  the  tribunes,  we. 
Even  from  this  instant,  banish  him  our  city ; 
In  peril  o(  precipitjitie  n 
From  olfthe  rock  Tarpeian,  never  more 
To  enter  our  Rome  gates:  I'  the  people's  name, 
I  say,  it  shall  be  so. 

Ctt.  It  shall  be  so, 

It  shall  be  so;  hi  liim  away  :  he's  hanish'd 
And  so  it  shall  be.  [friends  ■ 

Com.   Hear  me,  my  masters,  and   my  coninii.n 

Sic.  He's  seiiteu'j'd  :  no  more  hearing. 

Com.  Let  me  speak  \ 

I  have  been  const. 1,  and  can  shew  from  Rome 
Her  enemies"  inaiks  upon  me     I  do  love 
My  country's  good,  with  a  respect  more  tender, 
More  holy  and  protound,  than  mine  own  life. 
My  dear  wile's  estimate,  her  womb's  increase. 
And  treas  ire  of  my  loins  -  then  if  I  would 
Speak  that — 

Sic.  We  know  your  drift;  Speak  what? 

Bru.  There's  no  more  to  be  said,   but  he  M 
banish'd. 

As  enemy  to  the  people,  and  his  country : 
It  shall  be  so. 

Cit.  It  shall  be  so,  it  shall  be  so. 

Cor.  You  common  cry  of  curs !  whose  breath  I  ha* ; 
As  reek  o'the  rotten  fens,  whose  loves  I  priae 
As  the  dead  carcases  of  unburied  men 
That  do  corrupt  my  air,  I  banish  you  ; 
And  here  remain  with  your  uncertainty! 
Let  every  feeble  rumour  shake  your  hearts! 
Your  enemies,  with  nodding  of  their  plumegy 
Fan  yon  into  despair !  Have  the  power  still 
To  banish  your  defenders ;  till,  at  length. 
Your  ignorance,  (which  finds  not,  till  it  feels,) 
Making  not  reservation  of  yourselves, 
(Stdl  your  own  foes.)  dehver  you,  as  most 
Abated  captives,  to  some  nation 
That  won  you  without  blows!  Despising, 
For  you,  the  city,  thus  I  turn  my  back  : 
There  is  a  vvoild  elsewhere. 

{Exeunt  Coriolanus,  Cominius,  Menenitts, 
Senators.,  and  Patricia7is. 

jFjd.  The  people  s  enemy  is  gone,  is  gone  ! 

Cit.  Our  enemy's  banish  d  !  he  is  gone  !  Heo  I  hoo! 
[The  people  shout,  and  throw  up  their  ( 

Sic.  Go.  see  him  out  ai  gates,  and  follow?  him. 
As  he  hath  foliow'd  you,  W5th  all  despite ; 


Act  rV.   Sjene  2. 


CORTOLANUS. 


Give  him  deserv'd  vexation.    Let  a  guard 
Attend  ns  through  the  city.  [come; — 

Ci(.  Come,  come,  let  us  see  him  ont  at  gates ; 
The  gods  preser\e  our  noble  tribunes! — Come. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — The  same.  Before  a  Gate  of  the  CAty. 

"Enter  Coriolanus,  Volumnia,  Virgilia,  Mene- 
NlUS,  COMINIUS,  and  several  young  Patricians. 

Cor.  Come,  leave  your  tears  ;  a  brief  farewell : — 
the  beast 

With  many  heads  butts  me  away.— Nay,  mother, 
VViiere  is  your  ancient  courage  ?  you  were  us'd 
To  say,  extremity  was  the  trier  of  spirits  ; 
That  common  cliances  common  men  could  bear ; 
That,  when  the  sea  was  calm,  all  boats  alike 
Shewed  mastership  in  floating:  fortune's  blows, 
When  most  struck  home,  being  gentle  wounded, 
craves 

A  noble  cunning:  you  were  us'd  to  load  me 
With  precepts,  that  would  make  invincible 
The  heart  that  conn'd  them. 

Vir.  O  heavens  !  O  heavens  ! 

Cor.  Nay,  I  pr'ythee,  woman, — 

Yol-  Now  the  red  pestilence  strike  all  trades  in 
And  occupations  perish  !  [Rome, 

Cor.  What,  what,  what ! 

I  shall  be  lov'd,  when  I  am  lack'd.    Nay,  mother. 
Resume  that  spirit,  when  you  were  wont  to  say, 
If  you  had  been  the  wife  of  Hercules, 
Six  of  his  labours  you'd  have  done,  and  sav'd 
Your  husband  so  much  sweat. —  Cominius, 
Droop  nnt ;  adieu: — Farewell,  my  wife!  my  mother! 
I'll  do  well  yet. — 'I^hou  old  and  true  Menenius, 
Thy  tt-ars  are  Salter  than  a  younger  man's, 
And  venomous  to  thine  eyes. — My  sometime  general, 
I  have  seen  thee  stern,  and  thou  hast  oft  beheld 
Heart-hard"ning  spectacles;  tell  these  sad  women, 
'Tis  fond  to  wail  inevitable  strokes. 
As  'tis  to  laugh  at  them. — My  mother,  you  wot  well, 
My  hazards  still  have  been  your  solace  :  and 
Believ"t  not  lightly,  (though  I  go  alone 
Like  to  a  lonely  dragon,  that  his  fen 
Makes  fear'd,  and  talk'd  of  more  than  seen,)  your  son 
Will,  or  exceed  the  common,  or  be  caught 
With  cautelous  baits  and  practice. 

Yol.  My  first  son, 

Whither  wilt  thou  go  ?  Take  good  Cominius 
With  thee  a-while  :  Determine  on  some  course, 
More  than  a  wild  exposure  to  each  chance 
That  starts  i'the  way  before  thee. 

Cor.  O  the  gods  ! 

Com.  I'll  follow  thee  a  month,  devise  with  thee 
Where  thou  slialt  rest,  that  tliou  may'st  hear  of  us. 
And  we  of  tliee:  so,  if  the  time  thrust  forth 
A  cause  for  thy  repeal,  we  shall  not  send 
O'er  the  vast  world,  to  seek  a  single  man  : 
And  l(»se  advantage,  which  doth  ever  cool 
I'the  absence  of  the  needer. 

Cor.  Fare  ye  well: — 

Thou  hast  years  upon  thee ;  and  thou  art  too  full 
Of  tlie  wars'  surfeits,  to  go  rove  with  one 
That's  yet  unbruis'd  :  bring  me  but  out  at  gate. — 
Come,  iny  sweet  wile,  my  dearest  mother,  and 
My  friends  of  noble  touch,  when  I  am  lorth. 
Bid  me  furevvell,  and  smile.    I  pray  you,  come. 
While  I  remain  above  the  ground,  you  shall 
Hear  I'rom  me  still ;  and  never  of  me  aught 
But  what  is  like  me  formerly. 

Men.  That's  worthily 

As  any  car  can  hear. — Come,  let's  not  weep. — 
If  1  could  shake  off  but  one  seven  years 
From  titese  old  arms  and  legs,  by  the  good  gods, 
k'd  wi'h  thee  everj  foot. 

C'of.  Give  me  thy  hand  : — 

Gome.  {Exeunt. 


Scene  \\,—The  same,    A.  Street  near  the  Gui^t 
Enter  SiciNius,  Brutus,  and  an  j^dile. 
Sic.  Bid  them  all  home;  he's  gone,  and  we'll  M 
further. — 

The  nobility  are  vex'd,  who,  we  see,  have  sidad 
In  his  behalf. 

Bru.        Now  we  have  shewn  our  power, 
Let  us  seem  humbler  after  it  is  done, 
'J'han  when  it  was  a  doing. 

Sic.  Bid  them  home:' 

Say,  their  great  enemy  is  gone,  and  they 
Stand  in  their  ancient  strength. 

Bru.  Dismiss  them  home. 

[Exit  Mdih 

Enter  Volumnia,  Virgilia,  Menenius. 
Here  comes  his  mother. 

Sic.  Let's  not  meet  her. 

Bru.  Why? 

Sic.  They  say,  she's  mad. 

Bru.  They  have  ta'en  note  of  us : 

Keep  on  your  way.  [o'the  goda 

Vol.  O,  you're  well  met:  The  hoarded  plague 
Requite  your  love. 

Men.  Peace,  peace  ;  be  not  so  loud. 

Vol.  If  that  I  could  for  weeping,you  should  hear,— 
Nay,  and  shall  hear  some. — Will  you  be  gone  ? 

(To  Brutus.) 

Vir.  You  shall  stay  too:  (To  Sicin.)  I  would,  I 

had  the  power 
To  say  so  to  my  husband. 

Sic.  Are  you  mankind  ? 

Vol.  Ay,  fool;  Is  that  a  shame? — Note  but  this 

fool.— 

Was  not  a  man  my  father?  Hadst  thou  foxship 
To  banish  him  that  struck  more  blows  ior  Rome, 
Than  thou  hast  spoken  words  ? 


Sic 


O  blessed  ht 


Vol.  More  noble  blows,  than  ever  thou  wts« 
words;  [go:— 
And  for  Ron)e's  good. — I'll  tell  thee  what ; — Yf>i 
Nay,  but  thou  slialt  stay  too: — 1  would  my  son 
Were  in  Arabia,  and  thy  tribe  before  him. 
His  good  sword  in  his  hand. 

Sic.  What  then  ? 

Vir.  What  then? 

He  d  make  an  end  of  thy  posterity. 

Vol.  Bastards,  and  all. — 
Good  man,  the  wounds  that  he  does  bear  for  Rome  I 

Men.  Come,  come,  peace. 

Sic.  I  would  he  had  continu'd  to  his  country. 
As  he  began;  and  not  unknit  himself 
The  noble  knot  he  made. 

Bru.  I  would  he  had. 

Vol.  I  would  he  had  V  'Twas  you  incens'd  the 
rabble  : 

Cats,  that  can  judge  as  fitly  of  his  worth, 
As  i  can  of  those  mysteries  which  heaven 
Will  not  have  earth  to  know. 

Bru.  Pray,  let  us  go 

Vol.  Now,  pray,  sir,  get  you  gone  :  [this : 

You  have  done  a  brave  deed.  Ere  you  go,  hear 
As  far  as  doth  the  Capitol  exceed 
The  meanest  house  in  Rome,  s©  far,  my  son^ 
(This  lady's  husband  here,  tiiis,  do  you  see,) 
Whom  you  have  banish'd,  does  exceed  you  all. 

Bru.  Well,  well,  we'll  leave  you. 

Sic.  Why  stay  we  to  be  baifed 

With  one  that  wants  her  wits  ? 

Vol.  Take  my  prayers  with  yoa.— 

I  would  the  gods  had  nothing  else  to  do, 

[Exeunt  Tr4bunet, 
But  to  confirm  my  curses!  Could  I  meet  them 
But  once  a  day,  it  would  unclog  my  heart 
Of  what  lies  heavy  to't. 

Men.  You  have  told  them  home, 

And,  by  my  troth,  you  have  cause.    You'll  sup 
with  me  ? 

Vol.  Anger's  my  meat;  I  sup  upon  myself. 


576 


CORTOLANUS. 


Act  IT. 


\nA  9.0  sh-dW  shirve  will  feeding. — Come,  let's  go: 
Leave  this  faint  puling,  hnw  lament  as  I  clo. 
In  anger,  J  mo  like.    Come,  conve,  come. 

Men.  Fy,  fy,  fy-  [Exeunt. 

Scene  HI. — A  Highivay  between  Rome  and  An- 

tiunt.    Enter  a  Roman  and  a  Voice,  meeting. 

Ront.  I  know  yon  well,  sir,  and  you  know  me: 
your  nanie,  I  think,  is  Adrian. 

Vol.  It  IS  so,  sir:  truly,  I  have  forgot  you. 

Rom.  [  am  a  Roman  ;  and  my  services  are,  as 
you  are,  against  them :  Know  you  me  yet? 

Vol.  Niranor?  No. 

Rom.  The  same,  sir. 

Vol.  Yon  had  more  beard,  when  T  last  saw  yoii ; 
but  your  f>ivonr  is  well  a|)ppared  by  your  tongue. 
What's  the  news  in  Rome?  I  have  a  note  from  the 
Volcian  state,  to  find  you  out  there :  You  have 
well  saved  me  a  day's  journey. 

Rom.  There  liath  been  in  Rome  strange  insur- 
rection :  the  people  as^ainst  the  senators,  patricians, 
and  nobles. 

Vol.  Hath  been!  Is  it  ended  then?*  Our  state 
thinks  not  so;  they  are  in  a  most  warlike  prepara- 
tion, and  hope  to  come  upon  them  in  the  heat  of 
their  division. 

Rom.  The  main  blaze  of  it  is  past,  but  a  small 
thing  would  make  it  flame  again.  For  the  nobles 
receive  so  to  heart  the  banishment  of  that  worthy 
Coriolanns.  that  they  are  in  a  ripe  aptness,  to  take 
II  power  from  the  people,  and  to  pluck  from  them 
their  tribunes  for  ever.  This  lies  glowing,  I  can  tell 
you,  and  is  almost  mature  for  the  violent  breaking 
«tit. 

Vol.  Coriolanns  banished? 
Rom.  Banished,  sir. 

Vol.  You  will  be  welcome  with  this  inteiligence, 

NIcanor. 

Rom.  The  day  serves  well  for  them  now.  I  have 
heard  it  said,  the  firtest  time  to  corrupt  a  man's  wife, 
is  wh'  n  she's  fallen  out  with  her  husband.  Your 
noble  Tnlius  Anfidins  will  appear  well  in  these  wars, 
his  great  opposer.  Coriolanns,  being  now  in  no  re- 
quest of  his  country. 

Vol.  He  cannot  choose.  I  am  most  fortunate, 
thus  accidentally  to  encounter  you  :  You  have  ended 
my  business,  and  1  will  merrily  accompany  you 
Rome. 

Rom.  T  shall,  between  this  and  supper,  tell  you 
most  str^tige  tilings  from  Home;  all  tending  to  the 
good  of  their  adversaries.  Have  you  an  army  ready, 
sa?  vou? 

Vol.  A  most  ro\Q\  one :  the  centurions,  and  their 
charges,  distinctly  billetted,  already  in  the  enter- 
tainment, and  to  be  on  foot  at  an  hours  warning. 

Rem.  I  an!  joyful  to  hear  of  their  readiness,  and 
am  the  man,  I  think,  that  shall  set  them  in  present 
action.  So,  sir,  heartily  well  met,  and  most  glarl 
of  your  company. 

Vol.  You  take  my  part  from  me,  sir;  I  have  the 
most  causp  to  be  glad  of  yours. 

Rom.  W^ell,  let  us  go  together.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — Antium.   Before  Aitf.dhis^s  House. 
Enter  CoRlOLANUS,  in   mean  apparel,  disguised 
and  muffled. 
Cor.  A  goodly  city  is  this  Antium:  City, 
Tis  I  that  made  thy  widows ;  many  an  heir 
Of  these  fair  edifices  'fore  my  wars 
Have  I  heard  groan,  and  drop:  then  know  me  not; 
Lest  that  thy  wives  witb  spits,  and  boys  with  stones, 

Enter  a  Citizen, 
in  puny  bnttle  slay  me. — Save  you,  sir. 
Cit.  And  you. 

Co*-.  Direct  me,  if  it  be  your  will. 

Where  ereat  Anfidins  lies:  Is  he  in  Antium''' 

Cit.  He  is.  and  feasts  the  nobles  of  the  state, 
At  Kifi  house  this  niirht. 

l7or  Which  is  his  house,  beseech  you  ? 


Cit.  This,  here,  before  y>tt 

Cor.  Then>-  yo'j,  sir  ;  farewelL 

[Exit  Citiatn, 

O,  world,  thy  slippery  turn?;    F^'-iends  now  /ast 
sworn, 

Whose  double  bosoms  »^em  to  wear  ow  heart, 

Whose  hours,  whose  bedl^  whose  meal,  aiH  exercise. 

Are  still  together,  who  'tvin,  as  'twere,  in  love 

Unseparable,  shall  within  this  hour. 

On  a  dissention  of  a  doit,  break  out 

To  bitterest  enmity  :  So,  fcUesl  foe.s,  fsleep. 

Whose  passions  and  whose  plot-i  have  broke  theif 

To  take  the  one  the  other,  by  some  chance. 

Some  trick  not  worth  an  egg,  shall  grow  dear  friends, 

And  interjoin  their  issues.    So  with  me: — 

My  birth-place  hate  I,  and  my  love's  upon 

Tliis  enemy  town. — I'll  enter  :  if  he  slay  me. 

He  does  fair  justice;  if  he  give  me  way, 

I'll  do  his  country  service.  [Exit. 

Scene  V.— The  same.    A  Hall  in  Aujidius's 
House.    Music  ivithin.    Enter  a  Servant. 

1  Ser.  Wine,  wine,  wine!  What  service  is  here! 
I  think  our  fellows  are  asleep.  [Exit, 

Enter  another  Servant 

2  Ser.  Where's  Cotus  ?  my  master  calls  for  him. — 
Cotus !  [Exit. 

Enter  Coriolanus. 

Cor.  A  "goodly  house  :  The  feast  smells  wel! ;  hvA  \ 
Appear  not  like  a  guest. 

Re-enter  the  first  Servant. 

1  Ser.  What  would  you  have,  friend  ?  When*.r. 
are  you  ?  Here's  no  place  for  you  :  Pray,  go  to  tllA 
door. 

Cor.  I  have  deserv'd  no  better  entertainment. 
In  being  Coriolanus. 

Re-enter  second  Servant. 

2  Serv.  Whence  are  you,  sir?  Has  the  portei 
his  eyes  in  liis  head,  that  he  gives  entrance  to  sueb 
companions  ?  Pray,  get  you  o^it. 

Cor.  Away! 

2  Serv.  Away?  Get  you  away. 
Cor.  Now  thou  art  troublesonie. 

2  Serv.  Are  you  so  brave?  I'll  have  you  talked 
with  anon. 

Enter  a  third  Ser-vant.    The  first  meets  him. 

3  Serv.  What  fellow's  this? 

1  Serv.  A  strange  one  as  ever  I  looked  on :  I 
cannot  get  him  out  o'the  house  :  Pr'ythee,  call  my 
master  to  him. 

3  Serv.  What  have  you  to  do  here,  fellow  ?  Pray 
you,  avoid  the  house.  [hearth. 
Cor.  Let  me  but  stand;  I  will  not  hurt  your 
3  Serv.  What  are  you  ? 
Cor.  A  gentleman. 
3  Serv.  A  marvellous  poor  one. 
Cor.  True,  so  I  am. 

3  Serv.  Pray  you,  poor  gentleman,  take  up  some 
other  station ;  here's  no  place  for  you ;  pray  you, 
avoid  :  come. 

Cor.  Follow  your  function,  go  ! 
And  batten  on  cold  bits,  {Pushes  him  away.) 

3  Serv.  What,  will  you  not?  Pr'ythee,  tell  my 
master  what  a  strange  guest  he  has  here. 

2  Serv.  And  I  .shall.  [EmU 

3  Serv.  Where  dwellest  thou? 
Cor.  Under  the  canopy. 

3  Serv.  Under  the  canopy  ? 
Cor.  Ay. 

3  Serfj.  Where's  that  ? 
Cor.  V  the  city  of  kites  and  crows. 
3  Serv.  r  the  city  of  kites  and  crows? — What 
an  ass  it  is  I— Then  thou  dwellest  with  daws  tooV 
Cor.  No,  I  serve  not  thy  master.  [roaster? 
3^'  r»'    How.  sir!     Do  you  meddle  with  my 


^CENE  5. 


CORIOLANUS. 


577 


Cor.  Ay,  'tis  an  honester  service  than  to  meddle 
with  thy  mistress: 
Th  >n  prat'st,  and  prat'st ;  serve  with  thy  trencher, 
hence  !  {Beats  him  away.) 

Ett^er  AvFWivs  and  the  second  Servant. 
Auf.  Where  is  this  fellow? 
2  Sert\  Here,  sir;  I'd  have  beaten  him  like  a 
dog,  hot  for  disturbing  the  lords  within. 
Auf.  Whence  comest  thou  ?  What  woiildest  thou? 
Thy  name  ? 

Why  apeak'st  not  ?  Speak,  man  :  What's  thy  name  ? 

Cor.  If,  Tnllns,  [Unmuffling.) 

Not  yet  thon  know'st  me,  and  seeing  me,  dost  not 
Think  me  for  the  man  I  am,  necessity 
Commands  me  name  myself 

Auf.  What  is  thy  name  f 

{Servants  retire.) 

Cor.  A  name  iinmiisical  to  the  Voicians'  ears, 
And  harsh  in  sound  to  thine. 

Auf.  Say,  what's  thy  name  ? 

Thou  hast  a  grim  appearance,  and  thy  face 
Bears  a  comniand  in't ;  though  tliy  tackle's  torn, 
Thon  sliew'st  a  noble  ves.3el ;  What's  thy  name  ? 

Cor.  Prepare  thy  brow  to  frown:  Know'st  thou 
me  yet  ? 

Auf  I  know  thee  not: — Thy  name? 

Cor.  My  name  is  Cains  Marcius,  who  hath  done 
To  thee  particularly,  and  to  all  the  Voices, 
Great  hurt  and  mischief;  thereto  witness  may 
My  surname,  Corioianus  :  The  painful  service, 
The  extreme  dans^ers,  and  the  droi.s  of  blood 
Shed  for  my  thankless  country,  are  requited 
But  witli  that  surname  :  a  good  memory, 
And  witness  of  the  malice  and  displeasure 
Which  thou  should'st  bear  me :  only  that  name 
The  cruelty  and  envy  of  the  people,         [remains  ; 
Permitted  by  our  dastard  nobles,  who 
Rave  all  forvook  me,  hath  devour'd  the  rest; 
And  suller'd  .ne  by  the  voice  of  slave  to  be 
VVhoopi'd  out  of  Rome.    Now,  this  extremity 
Hath  brought  me  to  thy  hearth:  Not  out  of  hope. 
Mistake  iiie  not,  to  save  my  life ;  for  if 
I  had  fear'd  death,  of  all  the  men  i'  the  world 
I  would  have  'voided  thee:  but  in  mere  spite, 
'J^o  be  full  quit  of  those  my  banishers, 
Stand  \  before  thee  here.    Then  if  thou  hast 
A  heart  of  wreak  in  thee,  that  will  revenge 
Thine  own  particular  wrongs,  and  stop  those  mains 
Of  shame  seen  through  thy  country,  speed  thee 
straight, 

And  make  my  misery  serve  thy  turn ;  so  use  it, 

That  my  revengeful  services  may  prove 

As  benefits  to  thee  ;  for  I  will  fight 

Against  my  canker'd  country  with  the  spleen 

Of  all  the  nnder  fiends.    But  if  so  be 

Thou  dar'st  not  this,  and  that  to  prove  more  forttmes 

Thou  art  tir'd,  then,  in  a  word,  I  also  am 

Ijonger  to  live  most  weary,  and  present 

My  thro:it  to  thee,  and  to  thy  ancient  ma'Jce  : 

Which  not  to  cut,  would  shew  tliee  but  a  fool; 

Since  I  have  ever  follow'd  thee  witii  hate, 

Drawn  tuns  of  blood  out  of  thy  country's  breast, 

And  cannot  live  but  to  thy  shame,  unless 

It  be  to  do  thee  ser\ice. 

Auf.  O  Marcius,  Marcius, 

Each  word  thou  hast  spoke  hath  weeded  from  my 
A  root  of  ancient  envy.    If  Jupiter  [heart 
Should  from  yon  cloud  speak  divine  things,  and  say, 
*Tis  true :  I'd  not  believe  them  more  than  thee, 
All  noble  Marcius. — O,  let  me  twine 
Mine  arms  about  that  body,  where  against 
My  grained  ash  an  hundred  times  hath  broke, 
And  scar'd  the  moon  with  sulinters !   Here  I  clip 
The  anvil  of  my  sword  ;  ana  do  contest 
As  hotly  and  as  nobly  with  thy  love, 
As  ever  in  ambitious  strength  I  did 
^^nnlend  against  thy  valour.    Know  thou  first, 
'  'oved  the  maid  I  married;  never  man 
Bighed  truer  breath  ;  but  that  I  see  thee  here. 


Thou  noble  thing!  more  dances  my  rapt  heart. 
Than  when  I  first  my  wedded  mistress  saw 
Bestride  my  threshold.    Why,  thou  Mars !  I  tell 
thee. 

We  have  a  power  on  foot ;  and  I  had  purpose 
Once  more  to  hew  thy  target  I'rora  thy  omwn, 
Or  lose  mine  arm  for't.    Thou  hast  beat  me  on» 
Twelve  several  times,  and  I  have  mgbtly  since 
Dreamt  of  encounters  'twixt  tliysq)|f  and  ine  ; 
We  have  been  down  together  in  my  sleep, 
Unbuckling  helms,  fisting  each  other's  throat. 
And  wak'd  half  dead  with  nothing.    VVortliy  Ma 
cius. 

Had  we  no  quarrel  else  to  Rome,  but  that 
Thou  art  thence  banish'd,  we  would  muster  all 
From  twelve  to  seventy;  and,  pouring  war 
Into  the  bowels  of  ungrateful  Rome, 
Like  a  bold  flood  o'er-beat.    O,  come,  go  in. 
And  take  our  friendly  senators  by  the  hands; 
Who  now  are  here,  taking  their  leaves  of  mo 
Who  am  prepar'd  against  your  territories. 
Though  not  for  Ronie  itself. 

Cor.  Yon  bless  me,  gods  ! 

Auf  Therefore,  most  absolute  sir,  if  tliou  wilt 
have 

The  leading  of  thine  own  revenges,  take 
The  one  half  of  my  comutission  ;  and  set  down.— 
As  best  thou  art  experienc'd,  since  thou  know'st 
Thy  country's  strength  and  weakness, — thine  own 
ways : 

Whether  to  knock  against  the  gates  of  Ronie, 
Or  rudely  visit  them  in  parts  remote, 
To  fright  them,  ere  destroy.    But  come  in: 
Let  me  commend  thee  first  to  those,  that  shall 
Say,  yea,  to  thy  desires.    A  thousand  welcomes  ! 
And  more  a  friend  than  e'er  an  enemy  ; 
Yet  Marcius,  that  was  much.    Your  hand !  Most 
welcome ! 

[Exeunt  Corioianus  and  Aujidius. 

1  Serv.  {Advancing.)  Here's  a  strange  alteration  '. 

2  Serv.  By  my  hand,  I  had  thought  to  liave 
strucken  him  with  a  cudgel  ;  and  yet  my  mind  gave 
me,  his  clothes  made  a  false  report  of  him. 

1  Serv.  What  an  arm  he  has  1  He  turned  me 
about  with  his  finger  and  his  thumb,  as  one  would 
set  up  a  ton. 

2  Serv.  Nay,  1  knew  by  his  face  that  there  was 
something  in.  him  :  he  had,  sir,  a  kind  of  face, 
methought, — I  cannot  tell  how  to  term  it. 

1  Serv.  He  had  so  :  looking  as  it  were, — 'Woidd 
I  were  hanged,  but  I  thought  there  was  more  in 
him  than  I  could  think. 

2  Serv.  So  did  I,  I'll  be  sworn:  he  is  simply  the 
rarest  man  i'the  world. 

1  Serv.  I  tliink,  he  is;  but  a  greater  soldier thaa 
he.  you  wot  one. 

2  Serv.  Who  ?  my  master  ? 

1  Serv.  Nay,  it's  no  matter  for  that. 

2  Serv.  Worth  six  of  him, 

I  Serv..  Nay,  not  so,  neither ;  but  I  take  him  to  be 
the  greater  soldier. 

.2  Serv.  'Faith,  look  you,  one  cannot  tell  how  to 
say  that:  for  the  defence  of  a  town,  our  general  ia 

1  Serv.  Ay,  and  for  an  assault  too.  [excellent 

Re-enter  third  Servant. 
3>Serv.  O,  slaves,  I  ran  tell  you  news;  news, 
you  rascals. 

1.  2;  Serv.  W^hat,  what,  what?  let's  partake. 

3  Serv.  I  would  not  be  a  Roman,  oi  all  nations; 
I  had  as  lieve  be  a  condemned  man. 

I.  2.  Serv.  Wherefore?  wherefore? 
3  Serv.  Why,  here's  he  that  was  wont  to  thwack 
our  generalj. — Caius  Marcius. 

1  Serv.  Why  do  you  say,  thwack  our  general  ? 
3  Serv.  I  do  not  say,  thwack  our  general ;  ba 

he  was  always  good  enough  for  hin». 

2  S^rv.  Come,  we  are  fellows,  and  friends:  h« 
was  ever  too  hard  for  hini ;  I  have  heard  him,  sa| 
so  himself. 

37 


578 


CORTOLANUS. 


Act  1Y. 


1  ^erv.  He  was  too  hard  for  hitn  directly,  to  say 
the  truth  on't:  before  Corioli  he  scotclied  him  and 
notched  him  like  a  carbonado. 

2  Serv.  An  he  had  been  caunibally  given,  he 
might  have  broiled  and  eaten  him  too. 

1  Serv.  But,  more  of  tiiy  news  : 

3  Serv.  Why,  he  is  so  made  on  here  within,  as 
if  he  were  son  and  heit  to  Mars :  set  at  upper  end 
of  the  table:  no  question  asked  him  by  any  of  the 
senators,  but  they  stand  bald  before  him:  Our  ge 
neral  himself  makes  a  mistress  of  him;  sanctifies 
himself  willi's  hand,  and  turns  up  the  white  o'the 
^ye  to  his  discourse.  But  the  bottom  of  the  news 
is,  our  ;jeneral  is  cut  i'the  middle,  and  but  one 
half  of  what  he  was  yesterday;  for  the  other  has 
half,  by  the  entreaty  and  grant  of  the  whole  table. 
He'll  go,  he  says,  and  sowie  the  porter  of  Rome 
pates  oy  the  ears :  He  will  mow  down  all  before 
niiH,  and  leave  his  passage  polled. 

2  Serv.  And  he's  as  like  to  do't,  as  any  man  I  can 
imagine. 

3  Serv.  Do't?  he  will  do't:  For,  look  you,  sir, 
he  has  as  many  friends  as  enemies :  which  friends 
sir,  (as  it  were,)  durst  not  (look  you,  sir.J  shew 
themselves  (as  we  term  it,)  his  friends,  whilst  he's 
in  directitude, 

1  Serv.  Directitude!  what's  that? 

3  Serv.  But  when  they  shall  see,  sir,  his  crest  up 
again,  and  the  man  in  blood,  they  will  out  of  their 
burrows,  like  conies  after  rain,  and  revel  all  with 
him. 

I  Serv.  But  when  goes  this  forward  ? 

3  Serv.  To  morrow  ;  to-day  :  presently.  You 
shall  have  the  drum  struck  up  this  afternoon  : 'tis 
88  it  were,  a  parcel  of  the  feast,  and  to  be  executed 
ere  they  wipe  their  lips. 

3  Serv.  Why,  then  we  shall  have  a  stirring-  world 
again.  This  peace  is  nothing,  but  to  rust  iron,  in- 
crease tailors,  and  breed  ballad-makers. 

1  Serv.  Let  me  have  war,  say  I  ;  it  exceeds 
peace,  as  far  as  day  does  night ;  it's  sprightly,  waking, 
audible,  and  full  of  vent.  Peace  is  a  very  apo- 
plexy, lethargy ;  mulled,  deaf,  sleepy,  insensible  ; 
e  getter  of  mote  bastard  children,  than  war's  a 
destrojei  of  men. 

2  Serv.  '  ris  so :  and  as  war,  in  some  sort,  may 
be  said  to  be  a  ravisher;  so  it  cannot  be  denied, 
but  peace  is  a  great  maker  of  cuckolds. 

1  Serv.  Ay,  and  it  makes  men  hate  one  another. 

3  Serv.  Reason ;  because  they  then  less  need 
one  another.  The  wars  for  my  money.  I  hope  to 
Bee  Romans  as  cheap  as  Volcians.  They  are  rising, 
they  are  rising. 

All.  In,  in,  in,  in.  \Exeunt. 

Scene  VI. — Rome.    A  Public  place. 
Enter  SiciNius  and  Brutus. 
<S«c.  We  hear  not  of  him,  neither  need  we  fear  him; 
His  remedies  are  tame  i'the  present  peace 
And  quietness  o  the  people,  which  before 
Were  in  wild  hurry.    Here  do  we  make  his  friends 
Blush,  that  the  world  goes  well ;  who  rather  had, 
Though  they  themselves  did  suffer  by't,  behold 
Dissentious  numbers  pestering  streets,  than  see 
Our  tradesmen  singing  in  their  shops,  and  going 
About  their  functions  friendly. 

Enter  Menenius. 
Bru.  We  stood  to't  in  good  time.   Is  this  Me- 
nenius ? 

Sic.  'Tis  he,  'tis  he :  O,  he  is  grown  most  kind 
Of  late.— Hail,  sir! 

Men.  Hail  to  you  both ! 

Sic.  Your  Coriolanus,  sir,  is  not  much  miss'd, 
But  with  his  frien^.s :  the  common-wealth  doth  stand; 
jind  so  woidd  do,  were  he  more  angry  at  it. 

Men,  Al.Vs  well ;  and  might  have  been  much 
better,  if 
He  could  have  t-  mporiz'd. 

Sic,  Where  is  he,  hear  you  ? 


Men.  Nay,  I  hear  nothing;  his  mother  and  bis  wifil 

Hear  nothing  from  him. 

Enter  three  or  four  Citiseiu. 
Cit.  The  gods  preserve  you  both ! 
Sic.  Good  e'en,  our  neighboara. 

Bru.  Good-e'en  to  you  all,  good-e'en  to  you  all. 
1  Cit.  Ourselves,  our  vvives,  and  children  onov 
knees. 

Are  bound  to  pray  for  you  both. 

Sic.  Live,  and  thrive  I 

Bru.  Farewell,  kind  neighbours:  We  wish'd 
Coriolanus 
Had  lov'd  you  as  we  did. 

Cit.  Now  the  gods  keep  yon  ! 

Bot/i  Tri.  Farewell,  farewell.  [Exeunt  Citizens. 

Sic.  This  is  a  happier  and  more  comely  time. 
Than  when  these  fellows  ran  about  fhe  streets. 
Crying,  Confusion. 

Bru.  Caius  Marcius  was 

A  worthy  officer  i'the  war ;  but  insolent, 
O'erconie  with  pride,  ambitious  past  all  thinking. 
Self- loving, — 

Sic.  And  affecting  one  sole  throne, 

Without  assistance. 

Men.  I  think  not  so. 

Sic.  We  should  by  this,  to  all  our  lamentation. 
If  he  had  gone  forth  consul,  found  it  so. 

Bru.  The  gods  have  well  prevented  it,  and  Rome 
Sits  safe  and  still  without  him. 

Enter  ^dile. 

-^d.  Worthy  tribunes, 

There  is  a  slave,  whom  we  have  put  in  prison, 
Reports, — the  Voices  with  two  se\  eral  powers 
Are  enter'd  in  the  Roman  territories  ; 
And  with  the  deepest  malice  of  the  war 
Destroy  what  lies  before  them. 

Men.     ^  'Tis  Aufidius, 

Who,  hearing  of  our  Marcius'  banishment, 
Thrusts  forth  his  horns  again  into  the  world ; 
Whicn  were  inshell'd,  when  Marcius  stood  for 
Rome, 

And  durst  not  once  peep  out. 

Sic.  Come,  what  talk  yon 

Of  Marcius?  '  (be, 

Brtt.  Go  see  this  rumourer  whipp'd.— It  caiinol 
The  V^olces  dare  break  with  us. 

Men.  Cannot  be ! 

W e  have  record,  that  very  w<=ll  it  can ; 
And  three  examples  of  the  like  have  been 
Within  my  age.    But  reason  with  the  fellow. 
Before  you  punish  him,  where  he  heard  this ; 
Lest  you  should  chance  to  whip  vour  information, 
.And  beat  the  messenger,  who  bids  beware 
Of  \yhat  is  to  be  dreaded. 

Sic.  Tell  not  me : 

I  know,  this  cannot  be. 

Bru.  Not  possible. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  The  nobles,  in  great  earnestness,  are  going 
All  to  the  senate-house :  some  news  is  come. 
That  turns  their  countenances. 

Sic.  'Tis  this  slave ; — 

Go  whip  him  'fore  the  people's  eyes  ; — his  raising  ! 
Nothing  but  his  report! 

Mess.  Yes,  worthy  sir. 

The  slave's  report  is  seconded;  and  more. 
More  fearful,  is  deliver'd. 

Sic.  What  more  fearful  ? 

Mess.  It  is  spoke  freely  out  of  many  moutlu 
(How  probable,  I  do  not  know,)  that  Marcius, 
Join'd  with  Aufidius,  leads  a  power  'gainst  Raina| 
And  vows  revenge  as  spacious,  as  between 
The  young'st  and  oldest  thing. 

Sic.  This  is  most  likely! 

Bru.  Rais'd  only,  that  the  weaker  sort  may  wist 
Good  Marcius  home  again. 

Sic.  The  very  trick  on't. 


I 


B^ENE  7. 

Men  This  is  unlikely  : 
He  and  Anfidins  can  no  more  atone. 
Than  violentest  contrariety. 

Enter  another  Messenger. 
Mess.  Yon  are  sent  for  (o  the  senate 
A  fearful  army,  led  bv  Cains  Marcius, 
Associated  witli  Anfidins,  rages 
Upon  our  territories;  and  have  already 
0  crborne  their  way,  consiini'd  with  fire,  and  took 
What  lay  before  (hem. 

Enter  CoMlNlUS. 
Com.  O,  you  have  made  good  work ! 
Men.  What  news  ?  what  news  ? 

^nm.  Von  have  holp  to  ravish  your  own  daugh- 
ters, and 

To  melt  tlie  city  leads  upon  your  pates; 

To  see  your  wives  dislionotn'd  to  your  noses: — 

Men.  What's  tlie  news  ?  what's  the  news? 

Com.  Your  temples  burned  in  their  cement;  and 
Your  franchises,  \\  hereon  you  stood,  confin'd 
Into  an  angre's  bore. 

Men.  Pray  now,  your  news? — 

You  have  made  fair  work,  i  fear  me  : — Pray,  your 
news  ^ 

If  Marcius  sliould  be  join'd  with  Volcians, — 

Com.  '  If! 

He  is  their  god ;  he  leads  them  like  a  thing 
Made  by  some  other  deity  than  nature, 
That  shapes  man  better:  and  they  follow  him, 
AgainU  us  brats,  with  no  less  confidence, 
Than  boys  pursuing  sun»n»er  butterflies, 
Or  butchers  killing  flies. 

Men.  You  have  made  good  work, 

You,  and  your  apron-nien  ;  you,  that  stood  so  much 
Upon  the  voice  of  occupation^  and 
The  breath  of  garlick-eaters  ! 

Com.  He  will  shake 

Your  Kome  about  yours  ears. 

Men.  As  Hercules 

Did  shake  down  mellow  fruit :  You  have  made  fair 

Bru.  But  is  this  true,  sir ?  [work! 

Com.  Ay ;  and  you'll  look  pale 

&fefore  you  find  it  other.    All  the  regions 
Po  smilingly  revolt;  and,  who  resist. 
Are  only  niock'd  for  valiant  ignorance. 
And  perish  constant  fools.  Who  is't  can  blame  him? 
Your  enemies,  and  his,  find  something  iu  him. 

Men.  We  are  all  undone,  unless 
The  noble  man  have  mercy. 

Com.  Who  shall  ask  it? 

The  tribunes  cannot  do't  for  shame ;  the  people 
Deserve  such  pity  of  him,  as  the  wolf 
Does  of  the  shepherds  :  for  his  best  friends,  if  they 
Should  say,  Be  good  to  Rome,  they  charg'd  him  even 
As  those  should  do  that  had  deserv'd  his  hate, 
And  therein  shew'd  like  enemies. 

Men.  'Tis  true : 

If  he  were  putting  to  my  house  the  brand 
That  should  consume  it,  I  have  not  the  face 
To  say,  Beseech  you,  cease. — You  have  made  fair 
hands. 

You,  and  your  crafts  !  you  have  crafted  fair ! 

Com.  You  have  brought 

A  trembling  upon  Rome,  such  as  was  never 
Bo  incapable  of  help. 

IVi.  Say  not,  we  brought  it. 

Men.  How !  Was  it  we  ?  We  lov'd  him ;  but, 
like  beasts. 

And  cowardly  nobles,  gave  way  to  your  clusteri\ 
Who  did  hootliim  out  o'the  city. 

Com.  But,  I  fear, 

They'll  roar  him  in  again.   Tullus  Aufidius, 
The  second  name  of  men,  obeys  his  points. 
As  if  he  were  his  officer : — Desperation 
U  all  the  policy,  strength,  and  defence, 
Fhit  Rome  can  make  against  them. 

Ruiet  a  Troop  of  CUizen$ 

Msm,  Here  come  — 


m 

And  is  Aufidius  wifh  him  ?— You  are  they 
That  made  the  air  unwholesome,  when  you  <  Mt 
Your  stinking,  greasy  caps,  in  hooting  at 
Coriolanus'  exile.    IVowhe's  coming; 
And  not  a  hair  upon  a  soldier's  head. 
Which  will  not  prove  a  whip  ;  as  many  coxcomhi\ 
As  you  threw  caps  up,  will  he  tumble  down. 
And  pay  you  for  your  voices.    'Tis  no  matter; 
If  he  could  burn  us  all  into  one  coal. 
We  have  deserv'd  it.  ^ 
Cit.  'Faith,  we  hear  fearful  news. 

1  Cit.  For  mine  ovrn  partj 
When  I  said,  banish  him,  I  said,  'twas  pity. 

2  C?t.  And  so  did  I. 

3  Cit.  And  so  did  I;  and  to  say  the  truth,  so  did 
very  many  of  us :  That  we  did,  we  did  (w  the  best: 
and  though  we  willingly  consented  to  his  banish 
ment,  yet  it  was  against  our  will. 

Com.  You  are  goodly  things,  you  voices  ! 

MeUf  You  lune  made 

Good  work,  you  and  your  cry! — Shall  us  to  tlie 

Com.  O,  ay;  what  else?  fC:!pit(»l 
[Exeunt  Com.  and  Men. 

Sic.  Go,  masters,  get  you  home,  he  nut  (i.Mn  ly  it ; 
These  are  a  side,  that  would  he  glad  to  dax 
I'his  true,  which  they  so  seem  to  tear.    (Jo  home, 
And  shew  no  sign  of  fear. 

1  Cit.  The  gods  be  good  to  us  I  Come,  masteiH., 
let's  home,  i  ever  saiil,  we  were  i'tiie  wrong,  wlii-n 
we  banish'd  him. 

2  Cit.  So  did  we  all.    But  come.  let's  hom«. 

[Exeunt  Citizens. 

Bru.  I  do  not  like  this  news. 
Sic.  Nor  I.  [wealth 
Bru.   Let's  to  the  Capitol: — 'Would,  half  my 
Would  buy  this  for  a  lie  I 

Sic.  Pray,  let  us  go.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VII. — A  Camp;  at  a  small  distance  from 
Rome. 

Enter  AuFlDius,  and  his  Lieutenant. 

Auf  Do  they  still  fly  to  the  Roman  ? 

Lieu.  I  do  not  know  what  witchcraft's  in  him ;  but 
Y(yur  soldiers  use  him  as  the  grace  'fore  meat, 
Their  talk  at  table,  and  their  thanks  at  end  ; 
And  you  are  darken'd  in  this  action,  sir, 
Even  by  your  own, 

Auf.  I  cannot  help  it  now ; 

Unless,  by  using  means,  I  lame  the  foot 
Of  our  design.    He  bears  himself  more  proudlier 
Even  to  my  j>erson,  than  I  thought  he  w(mld. 
When  first  I  did  embrace  him  :  Yet  his  nature 
In  that's  no  changeling:  and  I  must  excuse 
What  cannot  be  amended. 

Lieu.  Yet  I  wish,  sir, 

il  mean  for  your  particular,)  you  had  not 
oin'd  in  commissiim  with  him  :  but  either 
Had  borne  the  action  of  yourself,  or  else 
To  him  had  left  it  solely. 

Auf.  I  understand  thee  well ;  and  be  thou  sure, 
When  he  shall  come  to  his  account,  he  knows  not 
What  I  can  urge  against  him.    Although  it  seems, 
And  so  he  thinks,  and  is  no  less  apparent 
To  the  vulgar  eye,  that  he  bears  all  things  fairly^ 
And  shews  good  husbandry  for  the  Volcian  state, 
Fights  di agon-like,  and  does  achieve  as  soon 
As  draw  his  sword :  yet  he  hath  left  undone 
That,  which  shall  break  his  neck,  or  hazard  min 
Whene'er  we  come  to  our  account.  [Rome 
Lieu.  Sir,  I  beseech  yon,  think  you  he'll  carry 
Auf.  All  places  yield  to  him,  ere  he  sits  down 
And  the  nobility  of  Rome  are  his : 
The  senators,  and  patricians,  love  him  too  : 
The  tribunes  are  no  soldiers  ;  and  their  people 
Will  be  as  rash  in  the  repeal,  as  hasty 
To  expel  him  thence.    I  think,  he'll  be  to  Rome. 
As  is  the  osprey  ti»  th**  fish,  who  takes  it 
B   sovereignty  of  nature.    First  he  was 
A  noble  servant  to  them  :  but  he  could  not 
Carry  his  honours  even  ivheLher  'twas  pride. 


CORIOLANUS. 


680 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  V 


Which  3ut  of  daily  fortnne  ever  taints 
The  ha^py  man ;  whether  defect  of  judgment 
To  fail  in  the  disposing  of  those  chances 
Which  he  was  lorJ  of;  or  whether  nature, 
Not  to  be  other  than  one  thing,  not  moving 
From  the  casque  to  the  cushion,  but  commanding 
peace 

Even  with  the  same  austerity  and  garb 

As  he  controU'd  the  war  :  but,  one  of  these, 

fAs  he  hath  spices  of  them  all,  not  all. 

For  I  dare  so  far  free  him,)  made  him  fear'd,  _ 

So  hated,  and  so  banish'd :  But  he  has  a  merit 

To  choke  it  in  the  utterance.    So  our  virtues 

Lie  in  the  interpretation  of  the  time; 

And  power,  unto  itself  most  commendable. 

Hath  not  a  tomb  so  evident  as  a  chair 

To  extol  what  it  hath  done. 

One  lire  drives  out  one  fire  :  one  nail,  one  nail ; 

Rights  by  rights  fouler,  strength  by  strengths,  do  fail. 

Come,  let's  away.    When,  Caius,  Rome  is  thine. 

Thou  art  poor  st  of  all ;  then  shortly  art  thou  mine. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT.  V. 

Scene  I.— Rome.    A  Public  Place. 
Enter  Menemus,  Cominius,  Sicinius,  Brutus, 
and  others. 

Men.  No,  I'll  not  go :  you  hear  what  he  hath  said. 
Which  was  sometime  his  general ;  who  lov'd  him 
In  a  most  dear  particular.    He  call'd  me,  father: 
But  what  o'  that  ?  Go,  you  that  banish'd  him, 
A  mile  before  his  tent  fall  down,  and  kneel 
The  way  into  his  mercy  :  Nay,  if  he  coy'd 
To  hear  Cominius  speak,  I'M  keep  at  home. 

Com.  He  would  not  seem  to  know  me. 

Me7t.  Do  you  hear  ? 

Com.  Yet  one  time  he  did  call  me  by  my  name  : 
I  urg'd  our  old  acquaintance,  and  the  drops 
I'hat  we  have  bled  together.  Coriolanus 
He  would  not  answer  to  :  forbad  all  names; 
He  was  a  kind  of  nothing,  titleless. 
Till  he  had  forg'd  himself  a  name  i'  the  fire 
Of  burning  Rome. 

Men.        Why,  so ;  you  have  made  good  work  : 
A  pair  of  tribunes  that  have  rack'd  for  Rome, 
To  make  coals  cheap  :  A  noble  memory  ! 

Com.  I  minded  him,  how  roya-1  'twas  to  pardon, 
When  it  was  less  expected  :  He  replied. 
It  was  a  bare  petition  of  a  state 
To  one  whom  they  had  punish'd. 

Men.  Very  well : 

Could  he  say  less  ? 

Com.  I  oti'er'd  to  awaken  his  regard 
For  his  private  friends  :  His  answer  to  me  was, 
He  could  not  stay  to  pick  them  in  a  pile 
Of  noisome,  n)usty  chaff :  He  said,  'twas  folly. 
For  one  poor  grain  or  two,  to  leave  unburnt, 
And  still  to  nose  the  otience. 

Men.  For  one  poor  grain 

Or  two  ?  I  am  one  of  those  ;  his  mother,  wife. 
His  child,  and  this  brave  fellow  too,  we  are  the 
grains : 

You  are  the  musty  chaff ;  and  you  are  smelt 
Above  the  moon  :  We  must  be  burnt  for  yon. 

Sic.  Nay,  pray,  be  patient :  If  yon  refuse  your  aid 
In  this  so  never-heeded  help,  yet  do  not 
Upbraid  us  with  our  distress.    But,  sure,  if  you 
VVould  be  your  country's  pleader,  your  good  tongue 
More  than  the  instant  ai  my  we  can  make, 
Might  stop  our  countryman. 

Men.  No :  I'll  not  meddle. 

^    Sic.  I  pray  you,  go  to  him. 

Men.  What  should  I  do? 

Bru.  Only  make  trial  what  your  love  can  do 
For  Rome,  towards  Marcius. 

Men.  Well,  and  say  that  Marcius 

Return  me,  as  Cominius  is  return'd. 
Unheard  ;  wliat  then  ? — 
But  as  a  discontented  friend,  grief  shot 
With  his  unkindneas  ?  Say't  !>>?  so  ? 


Sic.  Yet  your  good  will 

Must  have  that  thanks  from  Rome,  after  the  measure, 
As  you  intended  well. 

Men.  ril  undertake  it : 

I  think,  he'll  hear  me.    Yet  to  bite  his  lip. 
And  hum  at  good  Cominius,  much  unhearts  me. 
He  was  not  taken  well ;  he  had  not  din'd  : 
The  veins  unfill'd,  our  blood  is  celd,  and  then 
We  pout  upon  the  morning,  are  unapt 
To  give  or  to  forgive ;  but,  when  we  have  stuiTd 
These  pipes  and  these  conveyancers  of  our  blood 
With  wine  and  feeding,  we  have  suppler  souls 
Than  in  our  priest-like  fasts :  therefore  I'll  watch 
Till  he  be  dieted  to  my  request,  [hiia 
And  then  I'll  set  upon  him. 

Bru.  You  know  the  very  road  into  his  kindness. 
And  cannot  lose  your  way. 

Men.  Good  faith,  I'll  prove  him. 

Speed  how  it  will.  I  shall  ers  long  have  knowledge 
Of  my  success.  [Exit. 

Com.  He'll  never  hear  him. 

Sic.  Not 

Com.  I  tell  you,  he  does  sit  in  gold,  his  eye 
Red  as  'twould  burn  Rome ;  and  his  injury 
The  gaoler  to  his  pity.    I  kneel'd  before  him  : 
'Twas  very  faintly  he  said.  Rise  ;  dismiss'd  me 
Thus,  with  his  speechless  hand  :  What  he  would  do, 
He  sent  in  writing  after  me  ;  what  he  would  not. 
Bound  with  an  oath,  to  yield  to  his  conditions  : 
So,  that  all  hope  is  vain, 
Unless  his  noble  mother,  and  his  wife ; 
Who,  as  I  hear,  mean  to  solicit  him 
For  mercy  to  his  country.    Therefore,  let's  hence, 
And  with  our  fair  entreaties  haste  them  on.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  II.  —  An  advanced  Post  of  the  Volcian 
Camp  before  Rome.  The  ^uard  at  their  stations. 
Enter  to  them  Menenius. 

1  G.  Stay  :  Whence  are  you  ? 

2  G.  Stand,  and  go  back. 
Men.  You  guard  like  men ;  'tis  well :  But,  hj 

your  leave, 
I  am  an  officer  of  state,  and  come 
To  speak  with  Coriolanus. 

1  G.  From  whence  ? 

Men.  From  Rome.* 

1  G.  You  may  not  pass,  you  must  return  :  our 

general 

Will  ne  n»ore  hear  from  thence. 

2  G.  You'll  see  your  Rome  embrac'd  with  fire. 
You'll  speak  with  Coriolanus,  [before 

Men.  Good  my  friends. 

If  you  have  heard  your  general  talk  of  Rome, 
And  of  his  friends  there,  it  is  lots  to  blanks, 
My  name  hath  touch'd  your  ears:  it  is  Menenius. 

J  G.  Be  it  so ;  go  back  :  tJie  virtue  of  your  name 
Is  not  here  passable. 

Men.  I  tell  thee,  fellow. 
Thy  general  is  my  lover :  I  have  been 
The  book  of  his  good  acts,  whence  men  ha^e  read 
His  fame  unparallel'd,  haply,  amplified; 
For  I  have  ever  verified  my  friends, 
(Of  whom  he's  chief,)  with  all  the  siae  that  verity 
VVould  without  la,psing  suffer :  nay,  sometimes 
iiike  to  a  bowl  upon  a  subtle  ground, 
I  have  tumbled  past  the  thi'ow;  and  in  his  praise 
Have,  almost,  stamp'd  the  leasing  :  therefore,  fellow, 
I  must  have  leave  to  pass. 

1  G.  'Faith,  sir,  if  you  had  told  as  many  lies  in 
his  behalf  as  you  have  uttered  words  in  your  owu, 
you  should  not  pass  here  :  no,  though  it  were  as 
virtuous  to  lie,  as  to  live  chastely.  Therefore,  go  back. 

Men.  Pr'ythee,  fellow,  remember  my  name  if 
Menenius,  always  factionary  on  the  party  of  yo»ir 
general. 

2  G.  Howsoever  yon  have  been  his  liar,  (as  you 
say  you  have,)  I  am  one  that,  telling  true  under  him,  > 
must  say,  you  cannot  pass.    Therefore,  ^o  back. 

Men.  Has  he  dined,  canst  thou  tell?  for  I  would 
not  speak  with  him  till  after  dinner. 


SCKNB  3. 


CORIOLANUS. 


G.  Yoa  are  a  Roman,  are  you? 

Men.  1  am  as  thy  general  is. 

t  G.  Then  you  should  hate  Rome,  as  he  does. 
Can  you,  when  yoa  have  piish'd  out  your  gates  the 
very  defender  oS  them,  and,  in  a  violent  popular 
ignorance,  given  your  enemy  your  sliield,  think  to 
iront  his  revenges  with  the  easy  groans  of  old 
women,  the  virginal  palms  of  your  daughters,  or 
with  the  palsied  intercession  of  such  a  decayed  do- 
ivant  as  you  seem  to  be  ?  Can  you  think  to  blow  out 
the  intended  fire  your  city  is  ready  to  flame  in,  with 
Buch  weak  breath  as  this?  No,  you  are  deceived; 
therefore,  back  to  Rome,  and  prepare  for  your  ex- 
ecution :  you  are  condemned,  our  general  has  sworn 
you  out  of  reprieve  and  pardon. 

Men.  Sirrah,  if  thy  captain  knew  I  were  here, 
lie  would  use  me  \vith  estimation. 

2  G.  Come,  my  captain  knows  you  not. 

Men.  I  mean,  thy  general. 

1  G.  My  general  cares  not  for  yon.  Back,  I  say, 
go,  lest  I  let  forth  your  half  pint  of  blood; — back, 
—that's  the  utmost  of  your  having  :  back. 

Men.  Nay,  but  fellow,  fellow, — 

Enter  Coriolanus  and  Aufidius. 
Cor.  What's  the  matter? 

Men,  Now,  you  companion,  I'll  say  an  errand 
for  you  ;  you  shall  know  now,  that  I  am  in  estima- 
tion ;  you  shall  perceive,  that  a  Jack  guardant  cannot 
office  me  from  my  son  Coriolanus  :  guess,  but  by 
my  entertainment  with  him,  if  thou  atand'st  not  i' 
the  state  of  hanging,  or  of  some  death  more  long  in 
spectatorship,  and  crueller  in  suffering;  behold  now 
presently,  and  swoon  for  what's  to  come  upon  thee. 
— The  glorious  gods  sit  in  hourly  synod  aboiit  thy 
particular  properity,  and  love  thee  no  worse  than 
thy  old  father  Menenius  does  I  O,  my  son!  my  son  ! 
thou  art  preparing  fire  for  us  ;  look  thee,  here's 
U'ater  to  quench  it.  I  was  hardly  moved  to  come 
to  thee  ;  but  being  assured,  none  but  Kjyself  could 
move  thee,  I  have  been  blown  out  of  Vour  gates 
with  sighs;  and  conjure  thee  to  pardon  ft.ome,  and 
thy  petitionary  countrymen.  The  good  gods  as- 
suage thy  wrath,  and  turn  the  dregis  of  it  upon  this 
varlet  here  ;  this,  who,  like  a  block,  hath  denied  my 
access  to  thee. 

Ccr,  Away! 

Mtfi.  How !  away ! 

Cor.  Wife,  mother,  child,  I  know  not.  My  aff'airs 
Are  servanted  to  others:  'I'hough  I  owe 
My  revenge  properly,  my  remission  lies 
In  Volcian  breasts.    That  we  have  been  familiar, 
Ingiate  forgetfulness  shall  poison,  rather 
Than  pity  note  how  much. — Therefore,  be  gone. 
Mine  ears  against  your  suits  are  stronger,  than 
Your  gates  against  my  force.   Yet,  for  I  lov'd  thee. 
Take  thig  along;  I  writ  it  for  thy  sake, 

(Gives  a  letter^ 

And  would  have  sent  it.    Another  word,  Menenius, 
I  will  not  hear  thee  speak. — This  man,  Aufidius, 
Was  my  belov'd  in  Rome  :  yet  thou  behold'st — 
Auf.  You  keep  a  constant  temper. 

[Exeunt  Coriolanus  and  Aufidius, 

1  G.  Now,  sir,  is  your  name  Menenius  ? 

2  G.  "^Tis  a  spell,  you  see,  of  much  power  :  You 
know  the  way  home  again. 

1  G.  Do  you  hear  how  we  are  shent  for  keeping 
your  greatness  back  ? 

2  G.  What  cause,  do  you  think,  I  have  to  swoon? 

Men.  I  neither  care  for  the  world,  nor  your  ge- 
neral :  for  such  things  as  you,  I  can  scarce  think 
there's  any,  you  are  so  slight.  He  that  hath  a  will 
to  die  by  himself,  fears  it  not  from  another.  Let 
your  general  do  his  worst.  For  you,  be  that  you 
are,  long;  and  your  misery  increase  with  your  age  ! 
I  say  to  you,  as  I  was  said  to,  AwMy  !  [Exit. 

1  G.  A  noble  fellow.  I  warrant  him. 

2  G.  The  worthy  i'ellow  is  our  general  :  He  is  the 
rock,  the  oak  not  to  be  wind  shaken.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  lU.—The  Tent  of  Coriolnnua, 
Enter  Coriolanus,  Aufidius,  and  others. 

Cor.  We  will  before  the  walls  of  Rome  to-niorro» 
Set  down  our  host. — My  partner  in  this  action, 
You  must  report  to  the  Volcian  lords,  how  plainly 
I  have  borne  this  business. 

Auf.  Only  their  ends 

You  have  respected  ;  stopp'd  your  ears  against 
The  general  suit  of  Rome  ;  never  admitted 
A  private  whisper,  no,  not  with  such  friend* 
That  thought  them  sure  of  you. 

Cor.  This  last  old  man, 

Wliom  with  a  crack'd  heart  I  have  sent  to  Rome, 
Lov'd  nie  above  the  measure  of  a  father; 
Nay,  godded  me,  indeed.    Their  latest  refuge 
Was  to  send  him ;  for  whose  old  love,  I  have 
(Though  I  shew'd  sourly  to  him,)  once  more  ofler'd 
The  first  conditions,  which  they  did  refuse. 
And  cannot  now  accept,  to  grace  him  only. 
That  thought  he  could  do  more  ;  a  very  little 
I  have  yielded  too  :  Fresh  embassies,  and  suits. 
Nor  from  the  state,  nor  private  friends,  hereafter 
Will  I  lend  eai  to. — Ha  I  what  shout  is  this  ? 

(Shout  withimm 
Shall  I  be  tempted  to  infringe  my  vow 
In  the  same  time  'tis  made?  1  will  not. — 

Enter,  in  mourning  habits,  ViRGiLiA,  VoLUMBOA, 
leading  young  Marcius,  Valeria,  and  Atten- 
dants. 

My  wife  comes  foremost;  then  the  honour'd  mould 
Wherein  this  trunk  was  fram'd,  and  in  her  hand 
The  grand  child  to  her  blood.    But,  out,  afl'ection ! 
All  bond  and  privilege  of  nature,  break! 
Let  it  be  virtuous,  to  be  obstinate. — 
What  is  that  curfsy  worth  ?  or  those  dove's  eyes. 
Which  can  make  gods  forsworn? — I  m'='lt,  and  am  not 
Of  stronger  earth  than  others. — f't\  mother  bows' 
j  As  if  Olympus  to  a  molehill  should 
1  In  supplication  nod  :  and  my  young  boy 
■  Hath  an  aspect  of  intercession,  which 

Great  nature  cries.  Deny  not. — Let  the  Voices 
j  Plough  Rome,  and  harrow  Italy;  \'\\  never 
j  Be  such  a  gosling  to  obey  instinct;  but  stand. 
As  if  a  man  were  author  of  himself. 
And  knew  no  other  kin. 

Vir.  My  lord  and  husband  ! 

Cor.  These  eyes  are  not  the  same  I  wore  in  Rome. 
Vir.  The  sorrow,  that  delivers  us  thus  chaug'd. 
Makes  you  think  so. 

Cor.  Like  a  dull  actor  now, 

I  have  forgot  my  part,  and  I  am  out. 
Even  to  a  full  disgrace.    Best  of  my  flesh, 
Forgive  my  tyranny;  but  do  not  say, 
For  that.  Forgive  our  Romans. — O,  a  kiss 
Long  as  my  exile,  sweet  as  my  revenge  ! 
Now  by  the  jealous  queen  of  heaven,  that  kiss 
I  carried  from  thee,  dear ;  and  my  true  lip 
Hath  virgin'd  it  e'er  since. — You  gods!  I  prate, 
And  the  most  noble  mother  of  the  world 
Leave  unsaluted  :  Sink,  my  knee,  i'  the  earth  ; 

(Kneelt.) 

Of  thy  deep  duty  more  impression  shew 
j  Than  that  of  commons  sons. 

I      Vol.  O,  stand  up  bless'd! 

I  Whilst,  with  no  softer  cushion  than  the  flint, 

I  I  kneel  before  thee ;  and  unproperly 
Shew  duty,  as  mistaken  all  the  while 

j  Between  the  child  and  parent.  (Kneels^ 

!     Cor.  What  is  this? 

'  Your  knees  to  nie  ?  to  your  corrected  son  ? 
Then  let  the  pebbles  on  the  hungry  beach 
Fillip  the  stars  ;  then  let  the  mutinous  wind 
Strike  the  proud  cedars  "gainst  the  fiery  sue ; 
Murd'ring  impossibility,  to  make 

i  What  cannot  be,  slight  work. 

Vol.  Thou  art  my  warrior; 

T  ho'p  to  frame  thee.    Do  you  know  tl  as  lady  ? 

j     Cor.  The  noble  sister  of  Fublicola, 


582 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  V 


Tlie  moon  <^  Rcine  ;  ch;iste  as  the  icicle. 
That'a  curded  by  the  frost  from  purest  snow^ 
And  h-Asias  on  Dian's  temple  :  Dear  Valeria  ! 

Vol.  This  a  poor  epitome  of  yours, 
Wliich  by  the  interpretation  of  full  time 
May  shew  like  all  yourself. 

Cor.  The  god  of  soldiers, 

VVith  the  cor.sent  of  supreme  Jove,  inform 
Thy  tliotights  with  nobleness  ;  that  thou  may'st  prove 
To  sliauie  unvulncrable,  and  stick  i'  the  wars 
Like  a  great  sea-mark,  standing  every  flaw, 
And  saving  those  that  eye  thee  I 

Vol,  Your  knee,  sirrah. 

Cor.  That's  my  brave  boy. 

Vol.  Even  he,  your  wife,  this  lady,  and  myself, 

re  suitors  to  you. 

Cor.  I  beseech  you,  peace : 

Or,  if  you'd  ask,  remember  this  before; 
The  things,  I  have  forsworn  to  grant,  may  never 
Be  held  by  you  denials.    Do  not  bid  me 
Dismiss  n)y  soldiers,  or  capitulate 
Again  with  Rome's  mechanics: — Tell  me  not 
VVherein  I  seem  unnatural :  Desire  not 
To  allay  my  rages  and  revenges,  with 
Your  colder  reasons. 

Vol.  O,  no  more,  no  more.' 

You  have  said,  you  will  not  vjrant  us  any  thing ; 
For  we  have  nothing  else  to  ask,  but  that 
Which  you  deny  already  :  Yet  we  will  ask: 
That,  if  you  fail  in  our  request,  the  blame 
May  hang  upon  your  hardness :  therefore  hear  us. 

Cor.  Aufidius,  and  you  Voices,  mark;  for  we'll 
Hear  nought  from  Rome  in  private. — Your  request?- 

Vol.  Should  we  be  silent  and  not  speak,  our  rai 
raent, 

And  state  of  bodies  would  bewray  what  life 
We  have  led  since  thy  exile.    Think  with  thyaelf, 
How  more  unfortunate  than  all  living  women 
Are  we  come  hither:  since  that  thy  sight,  which 
should 

Hake  our  eyes  flow  with  joy,  hearts  dance  with 
comforts, 

GonstraiLis  them  weep,  and   shake  with  fear  and 
sorrow  ; 

Making  the  mother,  wife,  and  child,  to  see 

The  son,  the  husband,  and  the  father,  tearing 

His  country'^  bowels  out.    Aud  to  poor  we. 

Thine  enmity's  most  capital :  thou  barr'st  us 

Our  prayers  to  the  gods,  which  is  a  comtbrt 

That  all  but  we  enjoy  :  For  how  can  we, 

Alas!  how  can  we  for  our  country  pray, 

Whereto  we  are  bound;  together  witlithy  victory, 

Whereto  we  are  bound  ?  Alack  I  or  we  must  lose 

The  country,  our  dear  nurse ;  or  else  thy  person. 

Our  comfort  in  the  country.    We  must  find 

An  evident  calamity,  though  we  had 

Our  wish,  which  side  should  win  :  for  either  thou 

Must,  as  a  foreign  recreant,  be  led 

With  manacles  thorough  our  streets,  or  else 

Triumphantly  tread  on  thy  country's  ruin  : 

And  bear  the  palm,  for  having  bravely  shed 

Thy  vrife  and  cliildren's  blood.    For  myself,  son, 

I  purpose  not  to  wait  on  fortune,  till 

These  wars  determine:  if  I  cannot  persuade  thee 

Rather  to  shew  a  noble  grace  to  both  parts. 

Than  seek  the  end  of  one,  thou  slialt  no  sooner 

Maich  to  assault  thy  country,  than  to  tread 

Trust  to't,  thou  shaft  not,)  on  thy  mother's  womb. 

That  brought  thee  to  this  world. 

Vir.  Ay,  and  on  mine. 

That  brought  you  forth  this  boy,  to  keep  your  name 
Living  to  time. 

Boif  He  shall  not  tread  on  me  ; 

!'H  ruL  away  till  I  am  bigger,  but  then  I'll  fight 

Cor,  Not  of  a  woman's  tenderness  to  be, 
Requires  nor  child  nor  woman's  face  to  see. 
I  have  sat  too  long.  (Rising.) 

Vol.  Nay,  go  not  from  us  thus. 

If  it  we/e  so,  that  our  request  did  tend 
To  «mve  ihtf.  llomans.  thereby  to  ilestroy 


The  Voices  whom  yon  serve,  yon  might  .:ondemDOf 
As  poisonous  of  youi  >ionour  :  No;  our  suit 
Is.  that  you  reconcile  them  ;  while  the  Voices 
May  say.  This  mercy  ibe  have  shew'd;  the  Romans, 
This  we  received;  and  <each  in  either  side 
Oive  the  all-hail  to  thee,  and  cry.  Be  blesg'd 
For  mahing  up  this  peace  .  Thou  know'st,  greai  loa 
The  end  of  war's  uncertain ;  but  this  certain, 
That,  if  thou  coi>quer  Rome,  the  benefit 
Which  thou  slialt  thereby  reap,  is  such  a  nara«. 
Whose  repetition  will  be  dogg'd  witli  curses; 
Whose  chronicle  thus  writ, — The  manwas  7iobU, 
But  luith  his  last  attempt  he  wip'd  it  out  ; 
'Destroyed  his  country ;  and  his  name  remain* 
To  the  ensuing  aye,  abhorred.   Speak  to  me,  »on  :  ■ 
Thou  hast  affected  the  fine  strains  of  honour, 
To  imitate  the  graces  of  the  gods; 
To  tear  with  thunder  the  wide  cheeks  o'the  air. 
And  yet  to  charge  thy  sulphur  with  a  bolt 
That  should  but  rive  an  oak.  Why  dost  not  speak? 
Think'st  thou  it  honourable  for  a  noble  man 
Still  to  remember  wrongs  ?— Daugliter,  speak  you  ; 
He  cares  not  for  your  weeping.   Speak  thou,  boy; 
Perhaps  thy  childishness  will  move  him  more 
Than  can  our  reasons. — There  is  no  man  in  tho 
world 

More  bound  to  his  mother;  yet  here  he  lets  me  prate, 
Like  one  i'the  stocks.    Thou  hast  never  in  thy  life 
Shew'd  thy  dear  mother  any  courtesy; 
When  she,  (poor  hen !)  fond  of  no  second  brood, 
Has  cluck'd  thee  to  the  wars,  and  safely  home, 
Loaden  with  honour.    Say,  my  request's  unjust, 
And  spurn  me  back:  But,  if  it  be  not  so. 
Thou  art  not  honest;  and  the  gods  will  plague  thee, 
That  thou  restrain'st  from  me  the  duty,  which 
To  a  mothers  part  belongs.— He  turns  away: 
Down,  ladies ;  let  us  shame  him  with  our  knees, 
j'o  his  surname  Coriolanus  'longs  more  pride. 
Than  pity  to  our  prayers.    Down  ;  an  end  ; 
This  is  the  last; — So  we  will  home  to  Rome, 
And  die  among  our  neighbours.— Nay,  behold  ua 
This  boy,  that  cannot  tell  what  he  would  have, 
Hut  kneels,  and  iiolds  up  hands,  for  fellowship 
Does  reason  our  petition  with  more  strength 
Tiian  thou  hast  to  deny"t. — Come^  lei  us  go; 
This  fellow  had  a  Volcian  to  his  mother ; 
His  wife  is  in  Corioli,  and  his  child 
Like  him  by  ciiance  : — Yet  give  us  our  despatrw  .'J 
I  am  hush'd  until  our  city  be  afire, 
And  then  I'll  speak  a  little. 

Cor.  O  mother,  mother  ! 

[Holding  Volumnia  by  the  hands,  ittleni.) 
What  have  you  done  ?   Behold,  the  heaveub  Jo  ope, 
The  gods  look  down,  and  this  unnatural  scene 
They  laugh  at.    O  my  mother,  mother  ]  0 1 
You  have  won  a  happy  victory  to  Rome  : 
But,  ibr  your  sou, — believe  it,  O  believe  it, 
Most  dangerously,  you  have  with  hisa  prevail'd, 
If  not  most  mortal  to  him.    But,  let  it  come  : — 
Aufidius,  though  I  cannot  make  true  wars, 
1  11  frame  convenient  ueace.    Now,  good  Aufidius, 
Were  you  in  my  stead,  say,  would  you  have  heard 
A  mother  less  ?  or  granted  "ieas,  Aufidius  ? 

Auf  I  was  mov'a  withal. 

Cor  I  dare  be  sworn,  you  wcro 

And,  sir,  it  is  no  little  thiag,  to  make 
Mine  eyes  to  sweat  compassion.    But,  good  sir. 
What  peace  you'll  ciake,  advise  me  :  For  my  part, 
I'll  not  to  Rome,  I'il  back  with  you  ;  and  pray  you. 
Stand  to  me  in  this  cause. — O  mother  !  wife  I 

Auf.  I  am  glad,  thou  hast  set  thy  mercy  ani  th 
honour 

At  diftrrence  in  thee  :  out  of  that  I'll  work 
Myself  \  former  fortune.  {Asidt.^ 
( The  Ladies  make  signs  to  Coriolanus^l 
Cor*  Ay,  by  and  by  ; 

(To  Volumnia,  Virgilta,  j^c. 
But  we  will  drink  together ;  and  you  shall  bear 
A  better  witness  back  than  words,  which  we, 
Oa  like  conditions,  will  have  counter-seai  d. 


Scene  5. 


CORIOLANUS. 


583 


Come,  enter  with  ns.    La(lies,  you  deserve 
To  have  a  temple  built  vou  :  all  the  swords 
[n  ilaly,  and  lier  confcfferate  arms, 
Ck>uld  not  have  made  this  peace.  [Exeunt. 
ScssE  l\—Rome.    A  public  Place, 
Enter  Menenius  and  SiciNiU3. 
Men.  See  yoo  jond'  coign  o  the  Capitol ;  yond' 
ccratr-stone  ? 

Sic.  Wh.y,  what  of  that? 

Men.  It" it  be  pc^ssible  for  you  t(>  displace  it  with 
|our  littler  fi»srr,  there  is  some  hope  the  ladies  of 
Rome,  especially  his  mother,  may  prevail  with  him. 
iiut  I  say,  there  is  no  hope  in't ;  our  throats  are 
sentenced,  and  stay  upon  execution. 

Sic.  Is't  possil)le,  that  so  short  a  time  can  alter 
the  condition  of  a  man  ? 

Men.  There  is  diti'orency  between  a  grub,  and 
a  butterfly ;  yet  your  butterfly  w.if  a  grub.  This 
Marcius  is  firown  i'rom  man  to  dragon :  he  has 
wings  ;  tic's  more  than  a  creeping  thing. 

Sic,  He  loved  his  mother  dearly. 

Men.  So  did  he  me  :  and  he  no  more  remembers 
his  mother  now,  tlian  an  eight  year  old  horse.  The 
tartness  oi'  his  face  sours  ripe  grapes.  When  he 
walks,  he  moves  like  an  engine,  and  the  ground 
shrinks  before  his  treading.  He  is  able  to  pierce  a 
corslet  with  his  eye  ;  talks  like  a  knell,  and  his  hum 
is  a  battery.  He  sits  in  his  state,  as  a  thing  made 
for  Alexander.  W  hat  he  bids  be  done,  is  hnished 
with  his  bidding.  He  wants  nothing  of  a  god  but 
eternity,  and  a  heaven  to  throne  in. 

Sir,.  Yes,  mercy,  if  you  report  him  truly. 

Men.  I  paint  hiin  in  the  cliaiacter.  Mark  what 
nier^y  his  mother  shall  bring  from  him  :  There  is 
uc  more  mercy  in  him,  than  there  is  milk  in  a  male 
tiger ;  that  shall  our  poor  city  find  :  and  all  this  is 
long  of  yon. 

Sic.  The  gods  be  good  unto  us ! 

Men.  No,  in  such  a  case  the  gods  will  not  be 
good  unto  us.  When  we  banish'd  him,  we  respect- 
ed not  them:  and  he,  retaining  to  break  our  necks, 
they  respect  not  us. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Sir,  if  you'd  save  your  life,  fly  to  your  house  ; 
The  plebeians  have  got  your  fellow-tribune. 
And  hale  hitn  up  and  down ;  all  swearing,  if 
The  Roman  ladies  bring  not  comfort  home, 
They'll  give  him  death  by  inches. 

Enter  another  Messenger. 

Sic.  What's  the  news  ? 

Mess.  Good  news,  good  news; — the  ladits  have 
prevaii'd. 

The  Voices  are  dislog'd,  and  Marcius  gone  : 
A  merrier  day  did  never  yet  greet  Rome, 
No,  not  the  expulsion  of  the  Tarquins. 

Sic.  _  ^  Friend, 

Art  thou  certain  this  is  true  ?  is  it  most  certain  ' 

Mess.  As  certain,  as  I  know  the  sun  is  fire  : 
Wher«3  have  you  lurk'd,  that  you  make  doubt  of  it  ? 
Ne'er  through  an  arch  so  hurried  the  blown  tide. 
As  the  recomforted  through  the  gates.    Why,  hark 
you ; 

[Trumpets  and  hautbois  sounded.,  and  drum 
beaten,  all  together.   Shouting  also  within. 
The  trumpets,  sackbuts,  psalteries,  and  fifes, 
Tambors,  and  cymbals,  and  the  shouting  Romans, 
Make  the  sun  dance.   Hark  you  !  {Shouting  again.) 

Men.  This  is  good  news  : 

I  will  go  meet  the  ladies.    This  Volumnia 
|<a  «./^rib  nt  consuls,  Senators,  patricians, 
A  cily  lull  ;  of  tribunes,  such  as  you, 
A.  sea  and  land  full:  Vou  have  pray'd  well  to-day  ; 
This  morning,  for  ten  tiiousand  of  yo'ir  throats 
I'd  not  have  given  a  doit.    Hark,  how  tliey  Joy  ! 

{Shouting  ayid  music.) 

Sic.  First,  the  gods  bless  you  lor  your  tidings  : 
Accept  my  thankfulness.  (next, 

Mess.  Sir.  we  have  ;dl 


Great  cause  to  give  great  thanks. 

Sic.  They  are  near  tli«  city  ^ 

Mess.  Almost  at  point  to  enter. 

Sic.  We  will  meet  them^ 

And  help  the  joy.  {Going.) 
Enter   the  Ladies,  accompanied  by  Senates, 

Patricians,  and  People.    They  pass  over  tha 

Stage. 

1  Sen.  Behold  our  patroness,  the  life  of  Rome : 
Call  all  your  tribes  together,  praise  the  gods. 
And  make  triumphant  fires;  strew  flowers  be fo»«« 
them : 

Unshout  the  noise  that  banish'd  Marcius  : 
Repeal  him  with  the  welcome  of  his  mother; 
Cry, —  Welcome,  ladies,  welcome  ! — 

All.  Welcome,  ladies  I 

Welcome  !  {A  flourish  with  drums  and  trumpets.) 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — Antium.    A  public  place. 
Enter  Tuixus  AuFiDius,  with  Attendants . 
Auf,  Go  tell  the  lords  of  the  city,  I  am  here 
Deliver  them  this  paper:  having  read  it^ 
Bid  them  repair  to  the  market-place,  where  I, 
Even  in  theirs  and  in  the  commons'  cars. 
Will  vouch  the  truth  of  it.    Him_  I  accuse, 
The  city  ports  by  this  hath  enter'd,  and 
Intends  to  appear  before  the  people,  hoping 
To  purge  himself  with  words  :  Despatch. 

[Exeunt  Attendants 

Enter  three  or  four  Conspirators  oj  Aufidius 
factions. 

Most  welcome  ! 

1  Con.  How  is  it  with  our  general? 

Auf.  Even  so, 

As  with  a  man  by  his  own  alms  empoison'd, 
And  with  his  charity  slain. 

2  Con.  Most  noble  sir, 
If  y(ni  do  hold  the  same  intent,  wherein 
You  wish'd  us  parties,  we'll  deliver  yor 
Of  your  great  danger. 

Auf.  Sir,  I  cannot  tell  : 

We  must  proceed,  as  we  do  find  the  people. 

3  Con.  The  people  will  remain  uncertain,  whilst 
'Tvvixt  you  there's  dift'erence  ;  but  the  fall  of  either 
Makes  the  survivor  heir  of  all. 

Auf  I  know  it; 

And  my  pretext  to  strike  at  him  admits 
A  good  construction.    I  rais'd  him,  and  I  pawii'd 
Mine  honour  for  his  truth  :  Who  being  so  heighten'd, 
He  water'd  his  new  plants  with  dews  of  flatlej  v 
Seducing  so  my  Irieiids :  and,  to  this  end. 
Ho  bow'd  his  nature,  never  known  before 
But  to  be  rough,  unswayable,  and  free. 

3  Con.  Sir,  his  stoutness, 
When  he  did  stand  for  consul,  which  be  lost, 
By  lack  of  stooping. 

Auf.  That  I  Would  have  spoke  of: 

Being  banish'd  for't,  he  came  unto  my  hearth  ; 
Presented  to  my  knife  his  throat .  I  took  him  ; 
Made  him  joint-servant  with  me  ;  gave  him  way 
In  all  his  own  desires  ;  nay,  let  him  choose 
Out  of  my  files,  his  projects  to  accomplish. 
My  best  and  freshest  men ;  serv'd  his  designmen<4 
In  mine  own  person  ;  holp  to  reap  the  fame, 
Which  he  did  end  all  his ;  and  took  some  pride 
To  do  myself  this  wrong :  till,  at  the  last, 
I  seem'd  his  follower,  not  partner ;  and 
He  wag'd  me  with  his  countenance,  as  if 
I  had  been  mercenary. 

1  Con.  So  he  did,  my  lord: 

The  army  marvell'd  at  it.    And,  in  the  last, 
When  he  had  carried  Rome;  and  that  we  look^j 
F'or  no  less  spoil,  than  glory, — 

Auf.  There  was  it ^ 

For  which  my  sinews  shall  be  stretch'd  npon  hia 
At  a  few  drops  of  women's  rheum,  which  are 
As  cheap  as  lies,  he  sold  the  blood  and  labour 
Of  our  great  action  :  Therefore  shall  he  die. 


184 

A«d  ril  renew  me  in  his  fall.    But,  hark ! 

{Drums  and  trumpets  sound,  tvith  great 
shouts  of  the  people. 

1  CoH.  Your  native  town  yon  enter'd  like  a  post, 
And  had  no  welcomes  home  ;  but  he  returns. 
Splitting  the  air  with  noise. 

3  Con.  And  patient  fools, 

Whose  children  he  hath  slain,  their  base  throats  tear, 
With  giving  him  glory. 

3  Con,  Therefore,  at  your  vantage, 

Ere  he  express  himself,  or  niove  the  people 
With  what  he  would  say,  let  liim  feel  your  sword, 
Which  we  will  second.    When  he  lies  al(»ng, 
After  your  way  his  tale  prouounc'd  shall  bury 
His  reasons  with  his  body. 

Auf.  Say  no  more  ; 

Here  come  the  lords. 

Enter  the  Lords  of  the  City. 

Lords.  Vou  are  most  welconte. 

Auf.  1  have  not  deserv'd  it ; 

but,  worthy  lords,  have  you  with  heed  perus'd 
What  I  have  written  to  you  ? 

Lords.  We  have. 

1  Lord.  And  grieve  to  hear  it. 

Whui  faults  he  made  before  the  last,  I  think, 
Might  have  found  easy  fines:  but  there  to  end. 
Where  he  was  to  begm:  and  give  away 
Tlie  benefit  of  our  levies,  answering  us 
With  our  own  charge;  making  a  treaty,  where 
There  was  a  yielding;  This  admits  no  excuse. 

Auf  He  approaches,  you  shall  hear  him. 

Enter  CoRiOJLANUS,  with  drums  and  colours;  a 
cmwd  of  Citizens  with  him. 
Cor.  Hail,  lords!  I  am  return'd  your  soldier; 
No  more  infected  with  my  country's  love, 
Than  when  I  parted  hence,  but  still  subsisting 
Under  your  great  command.    You  are  to  know. 
That  nrosperously  1  have  attempted,  and 
With  bloody  passage  led  your  wars,  even  to 
The  gates  of  Rome.    Our  spoils  we  have  brought 
home, 

Do  more  than  counterpoise,  a  full  third  part. 

The  charges  of  the  action.  We  have  made  peace, 

With  no  less  honour  to  the  Antiates, 

Than  shame  to  the  Romans :  And  we  here  deliver, 

Subscribed  by  the  consuls  and  patricians, 

Together  with  the  seal  o'  the  senate  what 

We  have  compounded  on. 

Auf,  Reao  it  not,  noo.e  lords ; 

But  tell  the  traitor,  in  the  highest  degree 
He  hath  abus'd  your  powers. 

Cor.  Traitor ! — How  now  ? — 

Auf.  Ay,  traitor,  Marcius. 

Cor.  Marcius ! 

Auf.  Ay,  Marcius,  Caius  Marcius  ;  Dost  thou  think 
ni  grace  thee  with  that  robbery,  thy  stol'n  name 
Coriolanus  in  Corioli  ? — 

You  lords  and  heads  of  the  state,  perfidiously 
He  has  betray'd  your  business,  and  given  up. 
For  certain  drops  of  salt,  your  city  Rome 
(I  say,  your  city,)  to  his  wife  and  mother: 
Breaking  his  oath  and  resolution,  like 
A  twist  of  rotten  silk ;  never  admitting 
Counsel  o'the  war ;  but  at  his  nurse's  tears 
He  win'd  and  roar'd  away  your  victory ; 
That  pages  blush'd  at  him,  and  men  of  heart 
Look'd  wondering  each  at  other. 
Cor,  Hear'st  thou.  Mars? 

Auf  Name  not  the  god,  tliou  boy  ot  tears. — 
Cor.  Ha! 


Act  V 
Auf  No  more. 

Cor.  Measureless  liar,  thou  hast  made  my  heail 
Too  great  for  what  contains  it.    Boy !  O  slave  ! — 
Pardon  me,  lords,  'tis  the  first  time  that  ever 
I  was  forc'd  to  scold.    Your  judgments,  my  grave 
lords, 

Must  give  this  cur  the  lie  :  and  his  own  notion 
(Who  wears  my  stripes  iaipress'd  on  him;  that  must 

bear 

My  beating  to  his  grave;)  shall  join  to  thrust 
The  lie  unto  him. 

1  Lord.  Peace,  both,  and  hear  me  .speak, 
Cur.  Cut  n)e  to  pit-ceSj  Voices:  men  and  lads. 

Stain  all  your  edges  on  me. — Bpy  !  False  hound! 
If  you  liave  writ  your  annals  true,  'tis  there 
That,  like  an  eagle  in  a  dove-cute,  I 
Flutter'd  your  voices  in  Corioli : 
Alone  I  did  it. — Boy  ! 

Auf.  Why,  noble  lords, 

W'll  yoi'  be  put  in  mind  of  his  blind  fortune. 
Which  was  your  shame,  by  this  unholy  braggart, 
'Fore  your  own  eyes  and  ears  ? 

Con.  Let  him  die  for't.  {Several  speak  at  once.) 

Cit.  {Speaking  promiscuously.)  Tear  him  to 
pieces,  do  it  presently.  He  killed  my  son;— my 
daujihter ; — He  killed  my  cousin  Marcus; — he  killed 
my  father. — 

2  Lord.  Peace,  ho ; — no  outrage  ,-  .peace 
The  man  is  noble,  and  his  fame  folds  in 
This  orb  o'  the  earth.    Hi.^  last  offence  to  us 
Shall  have  judicious  hei^riug. — Stand,  Autidius, 
And  trouble  not  the  peace. 

Cor.  O,  that  I  had  him. 

With  six  Aiitidiiises,  or  more,  his  tribe. 
To  use  my  lawful  sword! 

Auf.  Insolent  villain  I 

Con.  Kill,  kill,  kill,  kill,  kill  him. 

{Aufidius  and  the  Conspirators  draun-. 
and  kill  Coriolanus,  tvho  falls,  ana 
Aujidius  stands  on  him.) 
Lords.  Hold,  hold,  hold,  hold 

Auf.  My  noble  masters,  hear  me  speak, 

1  Lord.  ^  O  Tullus.-. 

2  Lord.  Thou  hast  done  a  deed  whereat  valour 

will  weep. 

3  Lord.  Tread  not  uptn  him. — Masters  all,  be 

quiet ; 

Put  up  your  swords.  [rage, 
Auf  My  lords,  when  you  shall  know  (as  in  this 
Provok'd  by  him,  you  cannot,)  the  great  danger 
Which  this  man's  life  did  owe  you,  you'll  rejoice 
That  he  is  thus  cut  off.    Please  it  your  honours 
To  call  me  to  your  senate,  I'll  deliver 
Myself  your  loyal  servant,  or  endure 
Your  heaviest  censure. 

1  Lord.  Bear  from  hence  his  body. 
And  mourn  you  for  him:  let  him  be  regarded 

As  the  most  noble  corse,  that  ever  herald 
Did  follow  to  his  urn. 

2  Lord.  His  own  impatience 
Takes  from  Aufidius  a  great  part  of  Llame. 
Let's  make  the  best  of  il. 

Auf.  My  rage  is  gone. 

And  I  am  struck  with  sorrow. — Take  him  np : — 
Help,  three  o'  the  chiefest  soldiers;  I'll  be  one- 
Beat  thou  the  drum,  that  it  speak  mournfully: 
Trail  your  steel  pikes. — Though  in  this  city  he 
Hath  widow  d  and  utichilded  many  a  one, 
Which  to  this  hour  bewail  the  injury, 
Yet  he  shall  have  a  noble  memory. — 
Assist.    [Exeunt,  bearinu  the  body  of  CoTnntmm 
A  dead  march  sounded. 


CORIOLANUS- 


JULIUS  C^SAR 


Of  this  tragedy  many  particular  passages  deserve  regard,  and  the  contention  and  reconcilement  of  Brntuf  mn4 
CassiuB  is  universally  celebrated;  but  I  Lave  never  been  strongly  agitated  in  perusing  it,  and  think  it  aomewluit 
cold  nv4  unatfecting,  compared  with  some  other  of  Shakspenre's- plays :  his  adherence  to  the  real  storv,  and  to  tks 
Rom&u  nwnners,  seems  to  have  impeded  the  natural  vigour  of  his  genius.  Joktuom, 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


JULIUS  CiESAR. 

m^rcus^anto'nSjs.  \ 

ftl.  ^MIL.  LEPfDUS.    i  Casar. 
CICERO,  PU.BLIUS,  POPILIUS  LENA,  Stiiators. 
MARCUS  BRUTUS, 
CASalUS. 
CASCA, 
TREBONJUS, 
LIGAR'L/S, 
DECIUS  BRUTUS. 
WETE  LUSCIMBEU, 
CINNA, 


Conspirators  against  Julius 
Casar. 


FLAVIUS  and  MARULLUS,  Tribunes, 
ARTEMIDORUS.  a  Svphist  of  Cnidos. 
A  Soothsayer. 
CINNA,  a  Poet. 
Another  Poet. 

LUCILIUS,  TITINIUS.  MESSALA,  poung  CATO,  and 
VOLUMNIUS.  Friends  to  Brutus  and  Castivt. 

VARRO,  CLITUS.  CLAUDIUS,  STRATO,  LUCIUS. 
DARDANIUS,  Servants  to  Brutus. 

PINDARUS,  Servatit  to  Cassius. 

CALPHURNIA,  WiJ>.  to  Cetsar. 

PORTIA,  Wife  to  Brutus 

Senators,  Citizens,  Guards,  Attendants,  tie. 


ScEUE,— During  a  great  part  of  the.  Play,  at  Rome;  afiertvards  at  Sardis;  and  near  Philippu 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I— Rome.   A  Street. 

Enter  Flavius,  Marullus,  and  a  Rabble  of 
Citizens. 

Flav  Hence  ;  home,  you  idle  creatures,  get  you 
home ; 

la  this  a  holiday?    What!  know  you  not, 

Being  mechanical,  you  ought  not  walk, 

Upon  a  labouring  day,  witiiout  the  sign 

Of  your  prof  ession  ? — Speak,  what  trade  art  thou  ? 

1  Cit.  Why,  sir,  a  carpenter. 

Mar.  Where  is  thy  leather  apron,  and  tljy  rule? 
What  dost  thou  with  thy  best  apparel  on? — 
Vou,  sir;  what  trade  are  you? 

2  Cit.  Truly,  sir,  in  respect  of  a  fine  workman,  I 
am  but,  as  you  would  say,  a  cobbler. 

Mar.  But  what  trade  art  thou?    Answer  me 
directly. 

2  Cit.  A  trade,  sir,  that,  I  hope,  I  may  use  with 
B  safe  conscience ;  which  is,  indeed,  sir,  a  mender 
of  b;id  3oals. 

Mar.  What  trade,  thou  knave  ?  thou  naughty 
knave,  what  trade  ? 

2  Cit.  Nay,  I  beseech  you,  sir,  be  not  out  with 
me:  yet,  if  yuu  be  out,  sir,  I  can  mend  you. 

Mar.  Wh  it  nieftnest  thou  by  that?  Mend  me, 
thou  saucy  fellow  ? 

2  Cit.  VVMiy,  sir,  cobble  you. 

Flav.  Thou  art  a  cobbler,  art  thou  ? 

2  Cit.  Tiuty,  sir,  all  that  I  live  by  is,  with  the  awl : 
I  meddle  with  no  tradesman's  matters,  nor  women's 
matters,  but  with  awl.  1  am,  indeed,  sir,  a  surgeon 
to  old  shoes  ;  when  they  are  in  great  danger,  f  re- 
cover them.  As  proper  men  as  ever  trod  upon  neats- 
leather,  liave  gone  upon  my  handy-work. 

Flav.  But  wherefore  art  not  in  thy  shop  to-day  ? 
VVhy  dost  thou  lead  these  men  about  the  streets? 

2  Cii.  Truly,  sir,  to  wear  out  their  shoes,  to  get 
myself  into  more  work.  But,  indeed,  sir,  we  make 
holiday,  to  see  Caesar,  and  to  rejoice  in  his  triumpli. 

Mar.  Wherefore  rejoice  ?  What  conquest  brings 
he  home  ? 
What  tributaries  fodow  him  to  Rome, 
To  grace  in  captive  bonds  his  chariot- wheels  ? 
Yoj  blocks,  you  stones,  you  worse  than  senselesr 
things ! 

O,  you  hard  hearts,  you  cruel  men  of  Rome, 
Knew  you  not  Pompey?    Many  a  time  and  oft 
Have  you  climb'd  up  to  walls  and  battlenients, 
To  towers  and  windows,  yea,  to  chimney-tops, 
Your  infants  in  your  arms,  and  there  have  sat 
The  live-long-day,  with  patient  expectation, 
To  see  great  Pompey  pass  the  streets  of  Rome* 


And,  when  you  saw  his  chariot  but  appear, 
Have  you  not  made  an  universal  shout. 
That  Tyber  trembled  underneath  her  bauks. 
To  hear  the  replication  of  your  sounds. 
Made  in  her  concave  shores  ? 
And  do  you  now  put  on  your  best  attire  ? 
And  do  you  now  cull  out  a  holiday  ? 
And  do  you  now  strew  flowers  in  his  way, 
That  comes  in  triuniph  over  Pompey's  biood? 
Be  gone  ; 

Run  to  your  houses,  fall  upon  your  knees. 
Pray  to  the  gods  to  intermit  the  plague 
That  needs  nuist  light  on  tliis  ingratitude. 

Flav.  Go,  go,  good  countrymes),  and,  for  this  fault 
Assemble  all  tiie  poor  men  of  your  sort; 
Draw  them  to  Tyber  banks,  and  weep  your  tears 
Into  the  channel,  till  the  lowest  stream 
Do  kiss  the  most  exalted  shores  of  all. 

[Exeunt  tttig$nM» 
See,  whe'r  their  basest  metal  be  not  mov'd; 
They  vanish,  tongue-tied  in  their  guiltiness. 
Go  you  down  that  way  towards  the  Capitol ; 
This  way  will  I :  Disrobe  the  images, 
If  you  do  fijid  them  deck'd  with  ceremonies. 

Mar.  May  we  do  so  ? 
You  know,  it  is  the  feast  of  Lupercal. 

Flav.  It  is  no  matter ;  let  no  images 
Be  hung  with  Caesar's  trophies.    I'll  about. 
And  drive  away  the  vulgar  from  the  streets. 
So  do  you  too,  where  you  perceive  them  thick. 
These  growing  feathers,  pfuck'd  from  Caesar's  whig 
Will  make  him  fly  an  ordinary  pitch  ; 
Who  else  would  soar  above  the  view  of  men. 
And  keep  us  all  in  servile  fearfulness.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  II. — T^he  same.    A  public  Place. 
Enter,  in  procession,  with  music,  C^SAR ;  Antony, 
for  the  course;  Calphurnia,  Portia,  Decius, 
Cicero,  Brutus,  Cassius,  and  Casca,  a  great 
Crowd  following ;  among  them  a  Soothsayer. 
Cces.  Calphurnia, — 

Casca.  Peace,  ho!  Caesar  speaks.  {Music  ceatea,] 
Cons.  Calphurnia, — 
Cal.  Here,  my  lord. 

CiBs.  Stand  you  directly  in  Antonius'  way. 
When  he  doth  run  his  course. — Autonias* 

Ant.  Caesar,  ray  lord. 

Cas.  Forget  not,  in  your  speed,  Antonina, 
To  touch  Calphurnia:  tor  our  elders  say, 
The  barren,  touched  in  this  holy  chase. 
Shake  otF  their  steril  curse. 

Ant.  I  shall  rememher: 

When  Caesar  says,  Do  this,  it  is  {)erform'd. 

Cats.  Set  on,  and  leave  no  ceremony  out.  {Mueie), 


586 


JULIUS  C^SAK^ 


Act 


Sooth.  Cesar. 
Ciss.  Ha!  Who  calls? 

Casca.  Bid  every  noise  be  still : — Peace  yet  again. 

[Music  ceases.) 
C«f  <f.  Wlio  is  it  in  the  press,  that  calls  on  me  ? 
I  hear  n  tongue,  shriller  than  all  the  music, 
Cry,  Csesar  .  Speak. ;  Csesar  is  tiirn'd  to  hear. 
Sooih.  Beware  the  ides  of  March. 
Cas.  What  man  is  that? 

Bru.  A  soothsayer  bids  you  beware  t^e  ides  of 
March. 

Ctes.  Set  him  before  me,  let  me  see  his  face. 
Cas.  Fellow,  come  from  the  throng:  Look  upon 
Csesar. 

C^s.  What  say'st  thou  to  me  now?   Speak  once 
again. 

Sooth.  Beware  the  ides  of  March. 
Cats.  He  is  a  dreamer ;  let  iis  leave  him: — pass. 

\Senet.    Exeunt  all  but  Bru.  and  Cas, 
Cas.  Will  you  go  see  the  order  of  the  course  ? 
Bru.  Not  I. 
Cas.  I  pray  yon,  do. 

Bru.  1  am  tint  gamesome  :  I  do  lack  some  part 
Of  that  qiiicti  spirit  that  is  in  Antony. 
Let  me  t>ot  hinder,  Cassias,  your  desires ; 
I'll  leave  you. 

Cas.  Brutus,  I  do  observe  you  now  of  late: 
f  have  not  from  your  eyes  that  gentleness. 
And  shew  of  love,  as  I  was  wont  to  have  : 
You  bear  too  stubborn  and  too  strange  a  hand 
Over  your  friend  that  loves  you. 

Bru.  Cassius, 
Be  not  deceiv'd  :  If  I  have  veil'd  my  look, 
\  turn  the  trouble  of  my  countenance 
Merely  upon  myself.    Vexed  i  am, 
Of  lute,  with  pussions  of  some  ditference. 
Conceptions  only  proper  to  myself, 
Wtiicli  give  some  soil,  perhaps,  to  my  behaviours: 
But  let  not  llierelore  my  good  friends  be  griev'd  ; 
(Among  whicii  nuuiber,  Cassiiis,  be  you  one;) 
Nor  construe  any  further  my  neglect, 
Tlian  that  pooi  Brutus,  with  hituself  at  war. 
Forget  tlie  shews  ot  love  to  other  men. 

Cas.  Then,  Brutus,  I  have  much  mistook  your 
passion ; 

By  means  whereof,  this  breast  of  mine  hath  buried 
Ttioughts  of  great  value,  worthy  cogitations. 
Tell  me,  good  Brutus,  can  you  see  you-r  face  ? 

Bru.  I^o,  Cassius:  for  the  eye  sees  not  itself, 
But  by  reflection,  by  some  other  things. 

Cas.  'Tis  just : 

it  is  very  much  lamented,  Brutus. 
l""hat  you  have  no  such  nurrors,  as  will  turn 
Vour  liidden  worthiness  into  your  eye, 
That  you  might  see  your  shadow.    I  have  heard, 
Where  many  of  the  best  respect  in  Rome, 
(Except  immortal  Cassar,)  speaking  of  Brutus, 
And  groaning  underneath  this  age's  yoke. 
Have  vvish'd,  that  noble  Brutus  had  his  eyes, 

Bru.  Into  what  dangers  would  yon  lead  me, 
Cassius, 

That  you  would  have  me  seek  into  myself 
For  that  which  is  not  in  nve? 

Cas.  Therefore,  good  Brutus,  be  prepar'd  to  hear : 
And,  since  you  know  you  cannot  see  yourself 
So  well  as  by  reflection,  I,  your  glass, 
Will  modestly  discover  to  yourself 
'lliat  of  yourself  which  you  yet  know  not  of. 
And  be  not  jealous  of  me,  gentle  Brutus;, 
Were  I  a  common  laugher,  or  did  use 
To  stale's  with  ordinary  oaths  my  love 
To  every  new  protester;  if  you  know, 
That  1  do  fawn  on  men,  ana  hug  them  hard, 
A^d  after  scandal  them;  or  if  you  know. 
That  I  profess  myself  in  banqueting 
To  all  the  rout,  tiien  hold  me  dangerous. 

[Flourish,  and  shout.) 

Bru.  What  means  this  shouting  ?    1  do  fear,  the 
people 

Cihoose  Caesar  (or  tlieir  king. 


I     Ca's.  Ay,  do  you  fear  HI 

I  Then  must  I  think  you  would  not  have  it  so. 

Bru.  I  would  not,  Cassius ;  yet  I  love  him  well:^ 
But  whereibre  do  you  hold  me  here  so  long? 
What  is  it  that  you  would  impart  to  me  ? 
If  it  be  aught  toward  the  general  good, 
Set  honour  in  one  eye,  and  death  i  lhe  other. 
And  I  will  look  on  both  inditfereutly  : 
For,  let  the  gods  so  speed  me,  as  I  love 
The  name  of  honour  more  than  I  fear  death. 

Cas.  I  know  that  virtue  to  be  in  you,  BrutoS^ 
As  well  as  I  do  know  your  outward  favour. 
Well,  honour  is  the  subject  of  my  story. — • 
I  cannot  tell,  what  you  and  other  men 
Think  of  this  life  ;  but,  for  my  single  self, 
I  had  as  lief  not  be,  as  live  to  be 
In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  I  myself. 
I  was  born  free  as  Caesar ;  so  were  you  . 
We  both  have  fed  as  well ;  and  we  can  both 
Endure  the  winter's  cold,  as  well  as  he. 
For  once,  upon  a  raw  and  gusty  day. 
The  troubled  Tyber  chafing  with  her  shores, 
Caesar  said  to  me,  Darst  thou.,  Cassius,  now 
Leap  in  with  me  into  this  angry  Jiood, 
And  swim  to  yonder  point  f — Upon  the  word* 
Accouter  d  as  I  was,  1  plunged  in. 
And  bade  him  follow:  so,  indeed,  he  did. 
The  torrent  roar'd  ;  and  we  did  buffet  it 
With  lusty  sinews  ;  throwing  it  aside. 
And  stemming  it  with  hearts  of  controversy. 
But  ere  we  could  arrive  the  point  propos'd, 
Caesar  cry'd.  Help  me,  Cassius,  or  I  sink. 
I,  as  iiineaSj  our  great  ancestor. 
Did  fi  ouj  the  flames  of  Troy  upon  his  shoulder 
The  old  Anchises  bear,  so,  from  the  waves  of  Tybel 
Did  I  the  tired  Caesar:  Ai:^d  this  mar."! 
Is  now  become  a  god ;  and  Cassius  is. 
A  %vretched  creature,  and  must  bend  his  body. 
If  Caesar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him. 
He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 
And,  when  the  Ht  was  on  him,  I  did  mark 
How  he  did  shake  :  'tis  true,  tins  god  did  shake  : 
His  coward  lips  did  from  their  colour  fly  ; 
And  that  same  eye,  wiiose  bend  doth  awe  th-e  world. 
Did  lose  his  lustre  :  I  did  hear  l)im  groan  : 
Ay,  and  that  tongue  of  liis,  that  bade  the  Romans 
Mark  him,  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books, 
Alas !  it  cried,  Give  me  some  drink,  Titinius, 
As  a  sick  girl.    Ye  gods,  it  doth  amaze  me, 
A  man  of  such  a  feeble  temper  should 
So  get  the  start  of  the  majestic  world, 
And  bear  the  palm  alone.         [Shout.  Flourish.) 

Bru.  Another  general  .shout! 
I  do  believe,  that  these  applauses  are 
For  some  new  honours  that  are  heap'd  on  Csesar, 
Cas.  Why,  man,  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow 
world. 

Like  a  Colossus  ;  and  we  petty  men 
Walk  under  his  huge  legs,  and  peep  about 
To  find  ourselves  dishonourable  graves. 
Men  at  some  time  are  masters  of  their  fates. 
The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars. 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 
Brutus,  and  Caesar :  What  should  be  in  that  Caesar? 
Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours  t 
Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name  ; 
Sound  them,  Jt  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well; 
Weigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy;  conjure  with  them 
Brutus  will  start  a  suirit  as  soon  as  Caesar.  [Shoui) 
Now  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once. 
Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Ciesar  feed. 
That  he  is  grown  so  gteat  ?   Af  e,  thou  art  sham'di 
Rome,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  b'oods ! 
When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  the  great  flood. 
But  It  was  fam'd  with  more  than  with  one  man  ? 
When  could  they  say,  till  now,  that  talk'd  of  JlooM 
That  her  wide  walks  encompass'd  but  one  man'' 
Now  is  it  Rome  indeed,  and  room  enough, 

I  When  there  is  in  it  but  one  only  man. 

i  O  I  you  and  I  have  heard  our  fathers  say, 


Scene  3. 


JULIUS  CJaSAR. 


587 


Fhere  was  a  Brutus  once,  that  would  have  brook'd 
The  eternal  devil  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome, 
As  easily  as  a  kins. 

Bru.  That  you  do  love  me,  I  am  nothing  jealous ; 
What  you  would  work  me  to,  1  ha»  e  soma  aiui: 
How  I  have  tliought  of  this,  and  of  these  tijiies, 
r  shall  recount  hereafter;  for  tiiis  present, 
I  would  not,  so  with  love  I  might  entreat  you, 
He  any  further  mov'd.    What  you  have  said, 
1  will  consider;  what  you  have  to  say, 
I  will  with  patience  hear:  and  find  a  time 
Coth  meet  to  hear.,  and  answer,  such  high  things. 
Till  then,  my  noble  friend,  chew  upon  this  j 
Brutus  had  rather  be  a  villager, 
Tlian  to  repute  himself  a  son  of  Rome 
Under  these  hard  conditions  as  this  time 
Is  like  to  lay  upon  us. 

Cas.  I  am  glad,  that  my  weak  words 
Have  struck  but  thus  much  shew  of  fire  from  Brutus, 

Re-enter  C^sar,  and  his  Train. 

Bru.  TI»e  games  are  done,  and  Caesar  is  returning. 

Cas.  As  they  pass  by,  pluck  Casca  by  the  sleeve  ; 
And  he  will,  alter  his  sour  fashion,  tell  you 
What  hath  proceeded,  worthy  note,  to-day. 

Bru.  I  will  do  so: — But,  look  you.  Cassias, 
The  angry  spot  doth  glow  on  Caesar's  brow, 
And  allthe  rest  look  like  a  chidden  train; 
Calphurnia's  cheek  is  pale  ;  and  Cicero 
Looks  with  such  ferret  and  such  fiery  eyes, 
As  V, e  have  seen  him  in  the  Capitol, 
BeiTig  cross'd  in  conference  by  some  senators. 

Cas.  Casca  will  tell  us  what  th«  matter  is. 

CiZS.  Antonius. 

Ani.  Caesar. 

Ci£s.  Let  me  have  men  about  me  that  are  fat; 
Sleek-headed  men,  and  such  as  sleep  o'nig^its; 
Yond'  Cassius  has  a  lean  and  hungry  look; 
He  thinks  too  much  :  such  men  are  dangerons. 

Ant.  Fear  him  not,  Caesar,  he's  not  dangerous; 
He  is  a  noble  Roman,  and  well  gi\en. 

Go's.  'Would  he  were  fatter: — But  I  fear  hira  not 
Vet,  if  my  name  were  liable  to  fear, 
I  do  not  know  the  man  1  should  avoid 
So  scon  as  tliat  spare  Cassius.    He  reads  much; 
He  is  a  great  observer,  and  lie  looks 
Quite  thr(/ugh  the  deeds  of  men :  he  loves  no  plays, 
As  thou  dost,  Antoriy;  he  hears  no  music: 
Seldom  he  smiles;  and  smiles  in  such  a  sort. 
As  if  he  mock'd  himself,  and  scorn'd  his  spirit 
That  could  be  mov'd  to  smile  at  any  thing. 
Such  men  as  he  be  ne\er  at  heart's  ease, 
Whiles  they  behold  a  greater  than  themselves; 
And  therefoie  are  they  very  dangerous. 
I  rather  tell  thee  what  is  to  be  fear'd. 
Than  what  I  fear;  for  always  I  am  Caesar. 
Rome  on  my  right  hand,  for  this  ear  is  deaf. 
And  tell  me  truly  what  thou  think'st  of  him. 

[Exeunt  Caisar  and  his  Train.    Caica  stays 
behind. 

Casca.  You  puU'd  me  by  the  cloak  ;  Would  you 
•peak  with  me  r  , 

Bru.  Ay,  Casca ;  tell  us  what  hath  chanc'd  to  day. 
That  Caesar  looks  no  sad  ? 

Casca.  Why,  you  were  with  him,  were  you  not? 

Bru.  I  should  not  then  ask  Casca  what  hath 
cbamc'd. 

Casca.  W  hy,  there  was  a  crown  offered  him  :  and 
being  otlVred  iiim,  he  put  it  by  with  the  back  of  his 
band,  thus;  and  then  the  people  fell  a  shouting. 

Bru.  What  was  the  second  noise  for? 

Casca.  Why,  lor  that  too.  [for? 

Cas.  They  shont<  d  thrice  ;  What  was  the  last  cry 

Casca.  Why,  for  that  too. 

Bru,  Was  the  crown  otierd  him  thrice  ? 

Casca.  Ay,  marry,  vviis't,  and  he  put  it  by  thrice, 
pvery  time  gentler  than  the  otner;  and  at  every  put- 
ting by,  Lune  horifst  neighbours  sliouted. 

Cos.  Who  otlered  him  the  crown  ? 

Casca.  Why,  Antony. 


Bru.  Tell  us  the  manner  of  it,  gentle  Casca. 

Casca.  1  can  as  well  be  kinged,  as  tell  the  mancef 
of  it:  it  was  mere  I'oolery,  I  did  not  mark  it.  1  sa^ 
Mark  Antony  offer  him  a  crown; — yet  'twas  not  . 
crown  neither,  'twas  one  of  these  coronets  ; — and,  a,' 
I  told  you,  he  put  it  by  once :  but,  for  all  that,  to  uij? 
thinking,  he  would  fain  have  had  it.  Then  he  offered 
it  to  him  again  ;  then  he  put  it  by  again :  but,  to  nay 
thinking,  he  was  very  loath  to  lay  his  fingers  off  it. 
And  then  he  offered  it  the  third  time ;  he  put  it  tha 
third  time  by :  and  still  as  he  refused  it,  the  rabble- 
ment  hooted,  and  clapped  their  chopped  hands,  and 
threw  up  their  sweaty  night-caps,  and  uttered  such 
a  deal  of  stinking  breath  oecause  C;i)sar  refused  the 
crown,  that  it  had  almost  choked  Caesar;  for  he 
swooned,  and  fell  down  at  it :  And  for  mine  own  part. 
I  durst  not  laugh,  for  fear  of  opening  my  lips,  ana 
receiving  the  bad  air. 

Cas.  But,  soft,  I  pray  you:  What?  Did  Caesar 
swoon  ? 

Casca.  He  fell  down  in  the  market-place,  and 
foamed  at  mouth,  and  was  speechless. 

Bru.  '  Tis  very  like ;  he  hath  the  falling-sickness. 

Cas.  No,  Cajsar  hath  it  not ;  but  you,  and  1, 
And  honest  Casca,  we  have  the  falling-sickness. 

Casca.  I  know  not  what  you  mean  by  that ;  but, 
I  am  sure,  Caesar  fell  down.  If  the  tag-rag  people 
did  not  clap  him  and  hiss  him,  according  as  he 
pleased  and  displeased  them,  as  they  use  to  do  the 
players  in  the  theatre,  I  am  no  true  man. 

Bru.  What  said  he,  when  he  came  unto  himself? 

Casca.  Marry.,  before  he  fell  down,  when  he  per- 
cei\ed  the  common  herd  was  glad  he  refused  the 
crown,  he  plucked  me  ope  his  doublet,  and  offered 
them  his  throat  to  cut. — An  I  had  been  a  man  of  any 
occupat'ion,  if  I  would  not  tiave  taken  him  at  a  word, 
I  would  I  might  go  to  hell  among  the  rogues; — ana 
so  he  fell.  Wiien  he  came  to  himself  again,  he  said. 
If  he  had  done  or  said  any  thing  amiss,  he  desired 
their  worships  to  think  it  was  his  infirmity.  Three  or 
four  wenches,  where  I  stood,  cried,  Alas,  (jood soul! 
— and  forgave  him  with  all  tlieir  hearts  :  But  there's 
no  heed  to  be  taken  of  them  ;  if  Csesar  had  stabbed 
their  mothers,  they  would  have  done  no  less. 

Bru.  And  after  that,  he  came,  thus  .sad,  away  | 

Casca.  Ay. 

Cas.  Did  Cicero  say  any  thing  ? 
Casca.  Ay,  he  spoke  (3 reek. 
Cas.  To  what  effect? 

Casca.  Nay,  an  I  tell  you  that,  I'll  ne'er  look  yoa 
i'the  face  again  :  But  those,  t-iiat  understood  him, 
smiled  at  one  another,  and  shook  their  heads;  but, 
for  my  own  part,  it  was  Greek  to  me.  I  could  tell 
you  more  news  too:  Marullus  and  Flavins,  lor  pull- 
ing scarfs  otf  Caesar's  images,  are  put  to  silence. 
Fare  you  well.  There  was  more  foolery  yet,  if  I 
could  remember  it.  _ 

Cas,  Will  you  sup  with  me  to-night,  Ca.sca  ? 

Casca.  No,  1  am  promised  forth. 

Cas.  Will  you  dine  with  me  to-morrow? 

Casca.  Ay,  if  1  be  alive,  and  your  mind  hold,  and 
your  dinner  worth  the  eating. 

Cas.  Good  ;  1  will  expect  you. 

Casca.  Do  so  :  Farewell,  both.  [Exil^ 

Bru.  What  a  blunt  fellow  is  this  grown  to  be? 
He  was  quick  mettle,  when  he  went  to  scbooL 

Cas.  So  is  he  now ,  in  execution 
Of  any  bold  or  noble  enterprise 
However  he  puts  on  this  tardy  form. 
This  rudeness  is  a  sauce  to  his  good  wit. 
Which  gives  men  stomach  to  digest  his  words 
With  better  appetite. 

Bru.  And  so  it  is.  For  this  time  I  will  leave  ye«^ 
To-morroA',  if  yon  please  to  speak  with  me, 
I  will  come  home  to  you  ;  or,  if  you  will, 
Come  home  with  me,  and  I  will  wait  for  you. 

Cas.  I  will  do  so : — till  then,  think  of  tlie  world. 

[Exit  BrutHB 
Wt'U,  Brutus,  thou  art  noble ;  yet,  I  see, 
Tiiy  honouiabie  metal  may  be  wrought 


588  JULIUS 

Prom  that  it  is  dispos'd  •  Therefore  'tis  meet 

That  noble  minds  keep  ever  with  their  likes: 

For  who  so  firm,  that  cannot  be  seduc'd? 

Caesar  doth  bear  me  hard  ;  but  he  loves  Brutus : 

If  I  were  Brutus  now,  and  he  were  Cassius, 

He  should  not  humour  me.    I  will  this  night. 

In  several  hands,  in  at  his  windows  throw, 

As  if  they  came  from  several  citizens, 

Writings,  all  tending  to  the  great  opinion 

That  Rome  holds  of  his  name;  wherein  obscurely 

Caesar's  ambition  shall  be  glanced  at: 

And,  after  this,  let  Caesar  seat  him  sure  ; 

For  we  shall  shake  him,  or  worse  days  endure.  [Exit. 

Scene  III. — The  same.   A  Street. 

Thunder  and  liyhtniny.  Enter,  from  opposite  sides, 
Casca,  with  his  sword  drawn,  and  Cicero. 
Cic.  Good  even,  Casca  :  Brought  you  Caesar 
home  ? 

Why  are  you  breathless  r  and  why  stare  you  so? 
Casca.  Are  not  you  mov'd,  when  nil  the  sway  of 
earth 

Shakes,  like  a  thing  unfirm  ?  O  Cicero, 
I  have  seen  tempests,  when  the  scolding  winds 
Have  riv'd  the  knotty  oaks;  and  1  have  seen 
The  ambitious  ocean  swell,  and  rage,  and  foam. 
To  be  exalted  with  the  threat'ning  clouds  : 
But  never  till  to-night,  never  till  now, 
Did  I  go  through  a  tempest  dropping  fire. 
Either  there  is  a  civil  strife  in  heaven; 
Or  else  the  world,  too  saucy  with  the  gods, 
Incenses  them  to  send  destruction. 

Cic.  Why,  saw  you  any  thing  more  w(mderful  ? 

Casca.  A  common  slave  (you  know  him  well  by 
sight,) 

Held  up  his  left  hand,  which  did  flame,  and  burn 
Like  twenty  torches  join'd  ;  and  yet  his  hand. 
Not  sensible  o^"  tire,  remain'd  unscorch'd. 
Besides,  (I  have  not  since  put  up  my  sword,) 
Against  the  Capitol  I  met  a  lion. 
Who  glar'd  upon  me,  and  went  surly  by. 
Without  annoying  me  :  And  there  were  drawn 
Upon  a  heap  a  hundred  ghastly  women, 
Transformed  with  their  fear  ;  who  swore,  they  saw 
Men,  all  in  tire,  walk  up  and  down  the  streets. 
And,  yesterday,  the  bird  of  night  did  sit, 
Even  at  noon  day,  upon  the  market-place. 
Hooting,  and  shrieking.    When  these  prodigies 
Do  so  conjointly  meet,  let  not  men  say. 
These  are  their  reasons, — They  are  natural; 
For,  I  believe,  they  are  portentous  things 
Unto  the  climate  that  they  point  upon. 

Cic.  Indeed,  it  is  a  strange-disposed  time  : 
But  men  nmy  construe  things  after  their  fashion. 
Clean  from  the  purpose  of  the  things  themselves. 
Comes  CaiJjar  to  the  Capitol  to-morrow? 

Casca.  He  doth  ;  for  he  did  bid  Antonius 
Send  word  to  you,  he  would  be  there  to-morrow. 

Cic.  Good  night  then,  Casca  :  this  disturbed  sky 
Is  not  to  walk  in. 

Casca.  Farewell,  Cicero.  [Exit  Cicero. 

Enter  Cassius. 

Ca$.  Who's  there? 
Casca.  A  Roman. 

Cos.  Casca,  by  your  voice, 

Casca.  Your  ear  is  good.    Cassius,  what  night 
is  this  ? 

Cas.  A  very  pleasant  night  to  honest  men. 
Casa',.  Who  ever  knew  the  heavens  menace  so? 
Cas.  Those,  that  have  known  the  earth  so  full  of 
faults. 

For  my  part,  I  have  walk'd  about  the  streets. 

Submitting  me  unto  the  perilous  night; 

And,  thus  unbraced,  Casca,  as  you  see. 

Have  bar'd  my  bosom  to  the  thunder-stone  : 

And,  when  the  cross  blue  lightning  seem'd  to  open 

The  breast  of  heaven,  I  did  present  myself 

Even  in  the  aim  and  very  flash  of  it. 


CiESAR.  Act  I 

Casca.  But  wherefore  did  you  ao  tnach  tempt  thf 

heavens  ? 

It  is  the  part  of  men  to  fear  and  tremble. 
When  the  most  mighty  gods,  by  tokens,  send 
Such  dreadful  heralds  to  astonish  us. 

Cas.  Vou  are  dull,  Casca ;  and  those  sparks  <■ 
life 

That  should  be  in  a  Roman,  you  do  want, 
Or  else  you  use  not :  You  look  pale,  and  gase. 
And  put  on  fear,  and  cast  yourself  in  wonder. 
To  see  the  strange  impatience  of  the  heavens  : 
But  if  you  would  consider  the  true  cause. 
Why  all  these  fires,  why  all  these  gliding  ghosts, 
Why  birds,  and  beasts,  from  quality  and  kind ; 
Why  old  men,  fools,  and  children  calculate ; 
Why  all  these  things  change,  from  their  ordinance. 
Their  natures,  and  pre-formed  faculties, 
To  monstrous  quality ;  why,  you  shall  find, 
'J'hat  heaven  hath  infus'd  them  with  these  spirits 
To  make  them  instruments  of  fear  and  warning. 
Unto  some  monstrous  state.    Now  could  I,  Casca, 
Name  to  thee  a  man  most  like  this  dreadful  night; 
That  thunders,  lightens,  opens  graves,  and  roars 
As  doth  the  lion  in  the  Capitol : 
A  man  no  mightier  than  thyself,  or  me, 
In  personal  action ;  yet  prodigious  ^rown, 
And  fearful,  as  these  strange  eruptions  are. 

Casca.  *Tis  Caesar  that  you  mean :  Is  it  not,  Cas- 
sius ? 

Cas.  Let  it  be  who  it  is :  for  Romans  now 
Have  thewes  and  limbs  like  to  their  ancestors , 
But,  woe  the  while  !  our  father's  minds  are  dead, 
And  we  are  govern'd  with  our  mothers'  spirits  ; 
Our  yoke  and  sutterance  shew  us  womanish. 

Casca.  Indeed,  they  say,  the  senators  to- morrow 
Mean  to  establish  Caesar  as  a  king : 
And  he  shall  wear  his  crown  by  sea,  and  land. 
In  every  place,  save  here  in  Italy. 

Cas.  I  know  where  I  will  wear  this  dagger  then; 
Cassius  from  bondage  will  deliver  Cassius  ; 
Therein,  ye  gods,  you  make  the  weak  most  stronjt; 
Therein,  ye  gods,  you  tyrants  do  defeat: 
Nor  stony  tower,  nor  walls  of  beaten  brass. 
Nor  airless  dungeon,  nor  strong  links  of  iron. 
Can  be  retentive  to  the  strength  of  spirit; 
But  life,  being  weary  of  these  wordly  bars. 
Never  lacks  power  to  dismiss  itself. 
If  I  know  this,  know  all  the  world  besides, 
That  part  of  tyranny  that  I  do  bear, 
I  can  shake  off  at  pleasure. 

Casca.  So  can  I ; 

So  every  bondman  in  his  own  hand  bears 
The  power  to  cancel  his  captivity. 

Cas.  And  why  should  Caesar  be  a  tyrant  theo? 
Poor  man !  I  know,  he  would  not  be  a  wolf, 
But  that  he  sees  the  Romans  are  but  sheep : 
He  were  no  lion,  were  not  Romans  hinds. 
Those  that  with  haste  will  make  a  mighty  fire, 
Begin  it  with  weak  straws  :  What  trash  is  Romef 
W^hat  rubbish,  and  what  offal,  when  it  serves 
For  the  base  matter  to  illuminate 
So  vile  a  thing  as  Caesar?    But,  O  grief! 
Where  hast  thou  led  me  ?  I,  perhaps,  speak  this 
Before  a  willing  bondman  :  then  I  know 
My  answer  must  be  made  :  But  I  am  arm'd. 
And  dangers  are  to  we  indifferent. 

Casca.  You  speak  to  Casca ;  and  to  such  ft  BMib 
That  is  no  fleering  tell-tale.    Hold  my  hand: 
Be  factious  for  redress  of  all  these  griefs ; 
And  1  will  set  this  foot  of  mine  as  far. 
As  who  goes  farthest. 

Cas.  There's  a  bargain  made. 

Now  know  you,  Casca,  I  have  mov'd  already 
Some  certain  of  the  noblest- minded  Uomanif 
To  undeigo  with  me  an  enterprise 
Of  honourable-dangerous  consequence; 
And  I  do  know,  by  this,  they  stay  for  me 
In  Pompey's  porch  :  For  now,  this  fearful  nigh^ 
There  is  no  stir,  or  walking  in  the  streets; 
And  the  complexion  of  the  element 


Act  n.   Scene  1.  JULIUS 

is  favour*d,  like  the  work  we  have  in  hand. 
Most  bloody,  fiery,  and  most  terrible. 

Enter  Cinna. 
Casca.  Stand  close  awhile,  for  here  comes  one  in 
haste. 

Ca$.  'Tis  Cinna,  I  do  know  him  by  his  gait ; 
He  is  a  friend. — Cinna,  where  haste  you  so? 
Cin.  To  fiVid  out  you  :  Who's  that  ?  Metellus 
Cimber? 

Cos.  No,  it  is  Casca ;  one  incorporate 
To  our  attempts.    Am  I  not  staid  for,  Cinna  ? 

Cin.  I  am  glad  on't.  What  a  fearful  night  is  this  ? 
There's  two  or  three  of  us  have  seen  strange  sights. 

Cas.  Am  I  not  staid  for,  Cinna  ?  Tell  me. 

Cin.  ,  Yes, 

You  are.    O,  Cassius,  if  you  could  but  win 
The  noble  Brutus  to  our  party — 

Cas.  Be  you  content :  (.Tood  Cinna,  take  this  paper, 
And  look  you  lay  it  in  the  praetor's  chair. 
Where  Brutus  may  but  find  it;  and  throw  this 
in  at  his  window  :  set  this  up  with  wax 
Upon  old  Brutus'  statue  :  all  this  done, 
Repair  to  Pompey's  porch,  where  you  shall  find  us. 
Is  Uecius  Brutus,  and  Trebonius,  there  ^ 

Cin.  All  but  Metellus  Cimber;  and  he's  gone 
To  set- k  you  at  your  house.    Well,  I  will  hie, 
And  so  bestow  these  papers  as  you  bade  me. 

Cas.  Tliat  done,  repair  to  Pompey's  theatre. 

[Exit  Cinna. 
Come,  Casca,  you  and  I  will  yet,  ere  day, 
See  Bi  utus  at  his  house  :  three  parts  of  him 
Is  ours  already  ;  and  the  man  entire, 
Upon  the  next  encounter,  yields  him  ours. 

Casca.  O,  he  sits  high  in  all  the  people's  hearts; 
And  that  \vhich  would  appear  olfence  in  us. 
His  countenance,  like  richest  alchymy, 
Will  change  to  virtue,  and  to  worthiness. 

Cm.  Him,  and  his  worth,  and  our  great  need  of 
him. 

You  have  right  well  conceited.    Let  us  go, 

For  it  is  after  midnight;  and,  ere  day. 

We  will  awake  him,  and  be  sure  of  him.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  1. — The  same.    Brutus' s  Orchard. 
Enier  Brutus. 
Bru.  What,  Lucius!  ho! — 
I  cannot,  by  the  progress  of  the  stars, 
Give  guess  how  near  to  day. —  Lucius,  I  say! — 
I  would  it  were  my  fault  to  sleep  so  soundly. — 
When,  Lucius,  when  ?  Awake,  I  say :  What  Lu- 
cius? 

Enter  Lucius^ 

Ltic.  Call'd  you,  my  lord  ? 

Bru.  Get  me  a  taper  in  my  study,  Lucius: 
When  it  is  lighted,  come  and  call  me  here. 

Luc.  1  will,  my  lord.  [Exit. 

Bru.  It  must  be  by  his  death  :  and,  for  my  part, 
I  know  no  personal  cause  to  spurn  at  him, 
But  for  the  general.    He  would  be  crown'd  : — 
How  that  might  change  his  nature,   there's  the 
question. 

It  is  the  bright  day,  that  brings  forth  the  adder: 
And  that  craves  wary  walking.    Crown  him  ? — 
That  ;— 

And  then,  I  grant,  we  put  a  sting  in  him. 
That  at  his  will  he  may  do  danger  with. 
The  abuse  of  greatness  is,  when  it  disjoins 
Remorse  from  power:  And,  to  speak  truth  of  Caesar, 
I  have  not  known  when  his  affections  sway'd 
More  than  his  reason.    But  'tis  a  common  proof. 
That  lowliness  is  young  ambition's  ladder. 
Whereto  the  climber- upward  turns  his  face  ; 
But  when  he  once  attains  the  upmost  round. 
He  ihen  unto  the  ladder  turns  his  back, 
Looks  in  the  clouds,  scorning  the  base  degrees 
By  which  he  did  ascend  •  So  Caesar  may ; 


Then,  lest  be  may,  prevent.   <lnd,  since  the  qaarrel 
Will  bear  no  colour  for  the  thing  he  is, 
Fashion  it  thus :  that  what  he  is,  augmented. 
Would  run  to  tliese,  and  these  extremities: 
And  therefore  think  him  as  a  serpent's  egg. 
Which,  hatch'd,  would,  as  his  kind,  grow  mMfhwt 
vous. 

And  kill  him  in  the  shell. 

Re-enter  Lucius. 

Luc.  The  taper  burneth  in  your  closet,  ar* 
Searching  the  window  for  a  flint,  I  found 
This  paper,  thus  seal'd  up ;  and,  I  am  sure. 
It  did  not  lie  there,  when  I  went  to  bed. 

Bru.  Get  you  to  bed  again,  it  is  now  day. 
Is  not  to-morrow,  boy  ,  the  ides  of  March  ? 

Luc.  I  know  not,  sir. 

Bru.  Look  in  the  calendar,  and  bring  me  word. 
Luc.  I  will,  sir.  ^  [Exit, 

Bru.  The  exhalations,  whizzing  in  the  air. 

Give  so  much  light  (hat  I  may  read  by  them. 

{Opens  the  letter ^  and  read*.) 

Brutus,  thou  sleep' st;  awake,  and  see  thyself. 

Shall  Rome,  ^c.    Speak,  strike,  redress  ! 

Brutus,  thou  sleep" st ;  awake, — 

Such  instigations  have  been  often  dropp'd 

Where  I  have  took  them  up. 

Shall  Rome,  §Cc.  Thus  must  I  piece  it  out; 

Shall  Rome  stand  under  one  man's  awe?  What? 
Rome  ? 

My  ancestors  did  from  the  streets  of  Rome 
The  Tarquin  drive,  when  he  was  call'd  a  king. 
Speak,  strike,  redress  !— Am  I  entreated  then 
'i'o  speak,  and  strike?    O  Rumel  I  make  thee 
promise. 

If  the  redress  will  follow,  thou  receivest 
Thy  full  petition  at  the  hand  of  Brutus ! 

Re-enter  Lucius. 
Luc.  Sir,  March  is  wasted  fourteen  days. 

{Knock  tvithiiL) 

Bru.  Tis  good.   Go  to  the  gate ;  somebody  knocks 

[Exit  Luciua. 

Since  Cassius  first  did  whet  me  against  Caesar, 
I  have  not  slept. 

Between  the  acting  of  a  dreadful  thing 

And  the  first  motion,  all  the  interim  is 

Like  a  phantasma,  or  a  hideous  dream  : 

The  genius,  and  the  mortal  instruments. 

Are  then  in  council;  and  the  state  of  man. 

Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then  \ 

The  nature  of  an  insurrection. 

Re-enter  Lucius. 
Luc.  Sir,  tis  your  brother  Cassius  at  the  oor. 
Who  doth  desire  to  see  you. 
Bru.  Is  he  alone  ? 

Luc.  No,  sir;  there  are  more  with  him. 
Bru.  Do  you  know  them  ? 

Luc.  No,  sir ;  their  hats  are  pluck'd  about  theia 
ears. 

And  half  their  faces  buried  in  their  cloaks, 
That  by  no  means  I  may  discover  them 
By  any  mark  of  favour. 

Bru.  Let  them  enter. 

[Exit  LuciuM. 

They  are  the  faction.    O  conspiracy ! 

Sham'st  thou  to  shew  thy  dangerous  brow  by  nighl^ 

When  evils  are  most  free  ?  O,  then,  by  day. 

Where  wilt  thou  find  a  cavern  dark  enough 

To  mask  thy  monstrous  visage  ?    Seek  none,  wm- 

spiracy ; 
Hide  it  in  smiles,  and  affability  : 
For  if  thou  path  thy  native  semblance  on. 
Not  Erebus  itself  were  dim  enough 
To  hide  thee  from  prevention. 

Enter  Cassius,  Casca,  Decius,  Cinna,  Mgrmh 
Lus  Cimber,  and  'fREBONius. 
Cas.  I  think  we  are  too  bold  upon  your  rest: 


590 


JULIUS  C^SAR. 


Act  n. 


Good  morrow.  Brutus  ;  Do  we  trouble  you? 

Hrti.  I  have  been  up  this  hour;  awake,  all  nigb 
K-uovv  I  thesf  men,  that  come  along  with  you  ? 

Cas.  ^es,  every  man  of  them  ;  and  no  man  her 
But  ho<  ours  ycu :  and  every  one  doth  wish, 
YoH  had  but  that  opinion  of  yourself, 
Wliich  every  noble  Roman  bears  of  you. 
This  is  'IVebonius. 

Bru.  He  is  welcome  hither. 

Cas.  This  Decius  Brutus. 

Bru.  He  is  welcome  too. 

Cas.  This.  Casca  ;  this,  Cinna  ; 
And  ihfs,  Metellus  Cimber. 

Bru.  They  are  all  welcome. 

What  watchful  cares  do  interpose  themselves 
Betwixt  your  eyes  and  night  ? 

Cas.  Shall  I  entreat  a  word  ?     {They  whisper.) 

Dec.  Here  lies  the  east:  Doth  not  the  day  break 

Casca.  No.  [here?  j 

Cm.  O,  jiardon,  sir,  it  doth ;  and  yon  grey  lines,  ' 
rii;it  fret  the  clouds,  are  messengers  of  day. 

Casca.   You  shall  confess,  that  you  are  both 
deceiv'd. 

Here,  as  I  point  my  sword,  the  sun  arises ; 
Wliich  is  a  great  way  growing  on  the  south. 
Weighing  the  youthful  season  of  the  year. 
Some  two  months  hence,  up  higher  to  A'ard  the  north, 
He  first  presents  his  fire:  and  the  high  east 
Stands,  as  tiie  Capitol,  directly  here. 

Bru.  Give  me  your  hands  all  over,  one  by  one. 
(Jas.  Ar.d  let  us  swear  our  resolution. 
Bru.  No,  not  an  oath  :  If  not  the  face  of  men, 
The  sutlVraiice  of  our  souls,  the  time's  abuse, — 
If  these  be  motives  weak,  break  off  betimes. 
And  every  man  hence  to  his  idle  bed  ; 
So  lot  high  sighted  tyranny  range  on, 
Till  ea(  h  man  drop  by  lottery.    But  if  these. 
As  I  am  sure  they  do,  bear  fire  enoiigii 
To  kiudle  cowards,  and  to  steel  with  valour 
The  melting  spirits  of  women  ;  then,  countrymen, 
V\lat  need  we  any  spur,  but  our  own  cause, 
To  prick  us  to  redress?  what  other  bond, 
Than  seciet  Romans,  that  have  spoke  the  word. 
And  will  not  palter?  and  what  other  oalh. 
Than  honesty  to  honesty  engag'd. 
That  this  shall  be,  or  we  will  fall  for  it? 
Swear  priests,  and  cowards,  and  men  cautelous, 
Old  feeble  carrions,  and  such  sutr'ering  souls 
That  welcome  wrongs  ;  unto  had  causes  swear 
Such  creatures  as  men  doubt:  but  do  not  stain 
The  even  \irtue  of  our  enterprise. 
Nor  the  insuppressive  mettle  of  our  spirits, 
'I'o  think,  that,  or  our  cause,  or  our  performance, 
Did  need  an  oath;  when  every  drop  of  blood, 
'J'hat  every  Roman  bears,  and  nobly  bears, 
Is  guilty  of  a  several  bastardy, 
If  he  do  break  the  smallest  particle 
Of  any  promise  that  hath  pass'd  from  him. 

Cas.  But  what  of  Cicero?  Shall  we  sound  him? 
I  think  he  will  stand  very  strong  with  us. 
Casca.  Let  us  not  leave  him  out. 
Cm.  No,  by  no  means. 

Met.  O  let  us  have  him  ;  for  his  silver  hairs 
Will  purchase  us  a  good  opinion, 
And  buy  men's  voices  to  commend  our  deeds: 
It  shall  be  said,  his  judgment  rul'd  our  hands; 
Our  youtlis,  and  wildm-ss,  shall  no  whit  appear. 
But  all  be  buried  in  his  gravity.  [him; 

Bru  O.  name  him  not;  let  us  not  break  with 
For  he  *vill  never  follow  any  thing 
That  other  men  begin. 
i'.as.  Then  leave  him  out 

tJasca.  Indeed,  he  ia  not  fit. 
Dec,  Shall  no   man  else   be  touch'd,  but  only 
Caesar  ? 

t>ajt.  Deciiis,  well  urg'd : — I  think  it  is  not  meet, 
Mark  AtitodV,  so  well  belov'd  of  Ca^sur, 
Shouta  outlive  Cccsar:  We  shall  find  of  him 
A  "'arf'vv.^  contrwer;  and,  you  know,  his  means, 
If  t«  iruiH-ove  tlieui,  may  we'"  stretch  so  tar. 


As  to  annoy  us  all :  which  fo  prevent, 
t.    Let  Antony,  and  Caesar,  fall  together. 

Bru.  Our  course  will  seem  too  bloody,  Ca'uis 

Cassius, 

I  To  cut  the  head  off,  and  then  hack  the  limbs; 
Like  wrath  in  death,  and  envy  afterwards  : 
For  Antony  is  but  a  limb  of  Caesar. 
Let  us  be  sacrificers,  but  no  butchers,  Cains 
We  all  stand  up  against  the  spirit  of  Caesar; 
And  in  the  spirit  of  men  there  is  no  blood  : 
O,  that  we  then  could  come  by  Caesar's  spirit, 
And  not  dismember  Caesar!  But,  alas, 
Caesar  must  bleed  for  it!    And,  gentle  friends. 
Let's  kill  him  boldly,  but  not  wrathfully  ; 
Let's  carve  him  as  a  dish  fit  for  the  gods. 
Not  hew  him  as  a  carcase  fit  for  hounds : 
And  let  our  hearts,  as  subtle  masters  do. 
Stir  up  their  servants  to  an  act  of  ra^e. 
And  after  seem  to  chide  them.    This  shall  make 
Our  purpose  necessary,  and  not  envious  : 
Which  so  appearing  to  the  common  eyes. 
We  shall  be  call'd  purgers,  not  murdereri. 
And  for  Mark  Antony,  think  not  of  him  ; 
For  he  can  do  no  more  than  Caesar's  arm, 
VVMieii  Caesar's  l>ead  is  off. 

Cas.  Yet  I  do  fear  hmi : 

For  in  the  ingrafted  love  he  bears  to  Caesar, — 
Bru.  Al  is.  good  Cassius,  do  not  think  of  him 
If  he  love  Caesar,  all  that  he  can  do 
Is  to  himself;  take  thought,  aiuj  die  for  Caesar ; 
And  that  were  much  he  should;  for  he  is  given 
To  sports,  to  wildiaess,  and  much  company. 

Treb.  There  is  no  fear  in  him;  let  him  not  die  ; 
For  he  will  live,  and  laugh  at  this  hereafter. 

{Clock  strikes^i 

Bru.  Peace,  count  the  clock. 
Cas.  The  clock  hath  stricken  three. 

Treb.  'Tis  time  to  part. 

Cas.  But  it  is  doubtf'il  ye^ 

Whe'r  Caesar  will  come  forth  to-day,  or  no: 
For  he  is  superstitious  grown  of  late  ; 
Quite  from  the  main  opinion  he  held  once 
Of  fantasy,  ofdreanis,  and  ceremonies* 
It  mi\y  be,  these  apparent  prodigies. 
The  uuaccustom'd  terror  of  this  night, 
And  the  persuasion  of  hi^  augurers, 
May  hold  him  froni  the  Capitol  to-day. 

Dec.  Never  lear  that;  If  he  be  so  resolv'd, 
I  can  o'ersway  him  :  for  he  loves  to  hear, 
That  unicorns  may  be  betray  d  with  trees, 
And  bears  with  glasses,  elephants  with  holet, 
Lions  with  toils,  and  men  with  flattert^rs: 
But,  when  1  tell  him,  he  hates  llatterers, 
He  says,  he  does ;  being  then  most  flattered 
Let  me  work : 

For  I  can  give  his  humour  the  true  bent; 
And  I  will  bring  hi:n  to  the  Capitol. 

Cas.  Nay,  we  will  all  of  us  be  there  to  fetch  him 
Bru.  By  the  eighth  hour:  Is  that  the  uttermost? 
Cin  Be  that  the  uttermost,  and  fail  not  then. 
3Iet.  Cains  Ligarius  doth  bear  Caesar  hard, 
Who  rated  liim  lor  speaking  well  of  Pompey; 
I  wonder,  none  of  you  have  thought  of  him. 

Bru.  Now,  good  Metellus,  go  along  by  him: 
He  loves  me  well,  and  I  have  given  him  reasons; 
Send  him  but  hither,  and  I'll  fashion  him, 

Cas.  The  morning  comes  upon  us:  W^e'll  lea? 
you,  Brutus; — 
And,  friends, disperse  yourselves:  but  all  remember 
What  you  have  said,  and  shew  yourselves  true  Ro. 
mans. 

Bru.  Good  gentlemen,  look  fresh  and  merrily  ; 
Let  not  our  looks  put  on  our  purposes; 
But  bear  it  as  our  Roman  actors  do, 
With  untir'd  spirits,  and  formal  constancy . 
And  so,  good-morrow  to  you  every  one. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Brutu 
Boy  I  Lucius! — Fast  asleep?  It  is  no  matter; 
Enjoy  the  honey-heavy  dew  of  slumber: 
Ttiou  hast  no  f)j;ures,  uur  uo  fuutasies, 


bCENE  J.  JULIUS 

Which  bufn-  care  draws  in  the  brains  of  men ; 
Therefore  thou  8i:;ep'st  so  sound. 

Enter  Portia. 
Por.  Brutus,  my  lord ! 

Bru.  Portia,  what  mean  you?  Wherefore  rise 
you  now  ? 
It  is  not  for  your  health,  thus  toconrait 
Your  weak  condition  to  (he  raw-r  old  morning. 
Por.  Nor  for  yours  neither.    You  have  ungently, 
Brutus, 

Stole  from  my  bed :  And  yesternight,  at  supper. 

Von  suddenly  arose,  and  walk'd  about, 

Musing,  and  sighing,  with  your  arms  across: 

And,  when  I  ask'd  you  what  the  matter  was. 

You  star'd  upon  me  with  ungentle  looks: 

I  urg'd  you  further;  then  you  scratch'd  j^our  head. 

And  too  impatiently  stainp'd  with  your  foot: 

Yet  I  insisted,  yet  you  answer'd  not; 

But,  with  an  angry  wafture  of  your  hand. 

Gave  sign  for  me  to  leave  you  •  So  I  did ; 

Fearing  to  strengthen  that  impatience. 

Which  seem'd  too  much  enkindled  ;  and,  withal. 

Hoping  it  was  but  an  etfect  of  humour, 

Which  sometime  hath  his  hour  with  every  man. 

It  will  not  let  you  eat,  nor  talk,  nor  sleep  ; 

And  eould  it  work  so  mucli  upon  your  shape, 

As  it  hath  much  prevail'd  on  your  condition, 

I  should  not  know  you,  Brutus.    Dear  my  lord. 

Make  me  acquainted  witli  your  cause  of  grief 

Bru.  I  am  not  well  in  ijealth,  arid  that  is  all. 

Por.  Brutus  is  wise,  and,  were  he  not  in  health. 
He  would  embrace  the  means  to  come  by  it. 

Bru.  Why,  so  1  do :— Good  Portia,  go  to  bed. 

Por.  Is  Brutus  sick  ?  and  is  it  physical 
To  walk  unbraced,  and  suck  up  the  humours 
Of  the  dank  morning  ?  What,  is  Brutus  sick  ; 
And  will  he  steal  out  of  his  wholesome  bed. 
To  dare  the  vile  contagion  of  the  night? 
And  tempt  the  rheumy  and  impurged  air 
To  add  unto  his  sickness?  Noj  my  Brutus^ 
You  have  some  sick  offence  within  your  mmd, 
Which,  by  the  right  and  virtue  of  my  place, 
I  ought  to  know  of:  And  upon  my  knees 
I  charm  you,  by  my  once  commended  beauty. 
By  all  your  vows  of  love,  and  that  great  vow 
VVhich  did  incorporate  and  make  us  one, 
Tliat  you  (mfold  to  me,  yourself,  your  half, 
Why  you  are  heavy  ;  and  what  men  to  night 
Have  had  resort  to  you  :  for  here  have  been 
Some  six  or  seven,  who  did  hide  their  laces 
Eve^i  from  darkness. 

Bru.  Kneel  not,  gentle  Portia. 

Por.  I  should  not  need,  if  yon  were  gentle  Brutus. 
W^ithin  the  bond  of  marriage,  tell  me,  Brutus, 
Is  it  excepted,  I  should  know  no  secrets 
1  nat  appertain  to  you  ?  Am  1  yourself, 
But,  as  it  were,  in  sort,  or  limitation; 

keep  with  you  at  meals,  comfort  your  bed, 
And  talk  to  you  sometimes?  Dwell  I  but  in  the 
suburbs 

Of  your  good  pleasure?  If  it  be  no  more, 
I'ortia  is  Brutus'  iiarlot,  not  his  wife. 

Bru.  You  are  my  true  and  honourable  wife  ; 
As  dvear  to  me,  as  are  the  ruddy  drops 
That  visit  my  sad  heart. 

Por,  If  tnis  were  true,  then  should  I  know  this 
Hecret 

I  grant,  I  am  a  woman ;  but,  withal, 
A  woman  that  lord  Brutus  took  to  wife  : 
I  grant,  I  am  a  woman ;  but,  withal, 
A  woman  well-reputed  ;  Cato's  daughter. 
Think  you,  I  am  uo  stronger  than  my  sex. 
Being  so  father'd,  ^nd  so  husbanded  ^ 
Tell  nie  your  coimsels.  1  will  not  disclose  them: 
1  have  made  strong  proof  ot  my  constancy. 
Giving  myself  a  vuluniary  vvoiuid 
Here,  in  the  thigh;  Can  I  bear  that  with  patience. 
And  not  my  husband's  secrets  ^ 
Bru.  O  ye  gods. 


C^SAR.  591 

Render  me  worthy  of  this  noble  wife ! 

{Knocking  withm ) 
Hark,  hark!  one  knocks:  Portia,  go  in  a  while; 
And  by  iand  by  t.hy  bosom  ahall  partake 
The  secrets  of  my  heart. 
All  ray  engagements  1  will  construe  to  thee. 
All  the  charactery  of  my  sad  brows  : — 
Leave  me  with  haste.  [Exit  Portuu 

Enter  LuciDS  and  Ligarius. 

Lucius,  who  is  that  knocks? 
Luc.  Here  is  a  sick'  man,  that  A'oidd  spea*.  with 
you. 

Bru.  Cains  Ligarius,  that  Metellus  spake  of. — 
Boy,  stand  aside. — Cains  Ligarius  !  how  ? 

Lig,    Vouchsafe  good-morrow,  from  a  feeble 
tongue.  [Caicia, 

Bru.  O,  what  a  time  have  you  chose  onit,  brave 
To  wear  a  kerchief?  'Would  you  were  not  sick  I 

Lig.  I  am  not  sick,  if  Brutus  have  in  hand 
Any  exploit  worthy  the  name  of  honour. 

Bru.  Such  an  exploit  have  1  in  hand,  Ligarius, 
Had  you  a  healthful  ear  to  hear  of  it. 

Lig.  By  all  the  gods,  that  Romans  bow  before, 
I  here  discard  my  sickness.    Soul  of  Rome  ! 
Brave  son,  deriv  d  from  honourable  loins  ! 
Thou,  like  an  exorcist,  hast  conjur'd  up 
My  mortified  spirit.    Now  bid  me  run. 
And  I  will  strive  with  things  impossible  ; 
Yea,  get  the  better  of  them.    What's  to  do  ? 

Bru,  A  piece  of  work,  that  will  make  sick  mea 
whole.  [sick  ? 

Lig.  But  are  not  some  whole,  that  vve  must  make 

Bru.  That  must  we  also.    What  it  is,  my  Caius, 
I  shall  unfold  to  thee,  as  we  are  going 
To  whom  it  must  be  done. 

Lig.  Set  on  your  foot : 

And,  with  a  heart  new-tir'd,  I  follow  you. 
To  do  I  know  not  what :  but  it  sufficeth, 
That  Brutus  leads  me  on 

Bru.  Follow  me  then.  [ExeunL 

Scene  H. — The  same.    A  Boom  in  Casar's 
Palace. 

Thunder  and  lightning.    Enter  C^SAR,  in  his' 
night-gown. 

Cas.  Nor  heaven,  nor  earth,  have  been  at  peaee 
to  night : 

Thrice  hath  Calphurnia  in  her  sleep  cried  out, 
Help,  ho!  They  murder  Cdssar!  Who's  vvitiiin? 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Serv.  My  lord  ? 

Ccas.  Go  bid  the  priests  do  present  sacrifice. 
And  bring  me  their  opinions  of  success. 

Serv.  I  will,  my  lord.  [Exit, 

Enter  Calphurnia. 
Cal.  What  mean  you,  Csesar  ?  Think  you  to  walk 
forth  ? 

You  shall  not  stir  out  of  your  house  to-day 
Cas.  Caesar  shall  forth:  The  things,  that  threa- 
ts n'd  me, 

Ne'er  look'd  but  ofi  my  back  ;  when  they  shall  see 
The  face  of  Ciestir  they  are  vanished. 

Cal.  Cassar,  1  oever  stood  on  ceremonies. 
Yet  now  they  (right  me.    There  is  one  within. 
Besides  the  think; s  that  we  have  heard  and  sseo. 
Recounts  most  horrid  sights  seen  by  the  watch. 
A  lioness  hath  whelped  in  the  streets; 
And  graves  ha>  t-  yawn'd  and  yielded  up  their  dead. 
Fierce  fiery  warriors  fight  upon  the  clouds, 
In  ranks,  and  squadrons,  and  right  form  of  war, 
Which  dnzzle-i  blood  upon  the  Capitol: 
The  noise  of  battle  hurtled  in  the  air, 
Horses  did  neigh,  and  dying  men  did  groan ; 
And  ghosts  d«d  shriek,  and  squeal  about  the  rtrcdi 
O  Ca;sar'  thrse  things  ere  beyond  all  use, 
And  I  do  fear  them. 

Cces.  What  can  be  avoided. 


592  JULIUS 

Whose  end  is  purpos'd  by  the  mighty  gods  ? 
Yet  Casar  shall  go  forth  ;  for  these  predictions 
Are  to  the  world  in  general,  as  to  Caesar. 

Cal.  When  beggars  die   there  are  no  comets 
seen  ]  [princes. 
The  heavens  themsel.rs  blaze  forth  the  death  of 

Ctes.  Cowarda  die  many  times  before  their  deaths; 
The  valiant  never  taste  of  death  but  once. 
Of  all  the  wonders,  that  I  yet  have  heard. 
It  seems  to  me  most  strange,  that  men  should  fear 
Seeing  that  death,  a  necessary  end, 
Will  come,  when  it  will  corrte. 

Re-enter  Servant. 

What  say  the  augurers  ? 

Airry.Tljey  would  not  have  yon  to  stir  forth  to-day. 
Plucking  the  entrails  of  an  offering  forth, 
They  could  not  find  a  heart  within  the  beast. 

Cies.  The  gods  do  this  in  shame  of  cowardice  ; 
Csesar  should  be  a  beast  without  a  heart. 
If  he  sliould  stay  at  home  to-day  for  fear. 
No,  Caesar  shall  not:  Danger  knows  full  well, 
Tbat  Caesar  is  more  dangerous  than  he. 
We  were  two  lions  litter'd  in  one  day, 
And  I  the  elder  and  more  terrible  : 
And  Caesar  shall  go  forth. 

Cal.  Alas,  my  lord. 

Your  wisdom  is  consum'd  in  conhdence. 
Do  not  go  forth  to-day:  Call  it  niy  fear. 
That  keeps  you  jn  tlie  house,  and  not  your  own. 
W  e'll  send  Mark  Antony  to  the  senate-house  : 
And  he  shall  say,  you  are  not  well  to-day  : 
Let  me,  upon  niy  knee,  prevail  in  this. 

Cdes.  Mark  Antony  shall  say,  I  am  not  well ; 
And,  ibr  thy  humour,  I  will  stay  at  home. 

Enter  Decius, 
Here's  Decius  Brutus,  he  shall  tell  them  so. 

Dec.  Caesar,  all  hail  I  Good   morrow,  worthy 

Caesar : 

ome  to  letch  you  to  tho  senate-house, 
Ctes.  And  you  are  come  in  very  happy  time. 
To  bear  my  greeting  to  the  senators, 
And  tell  them,  tiiat  I  will  not  come  to-day; 
Cannot,  is  false;  and  that  I  dare  not,  falser: 
1  will  not  come  to  day;  Tell  them  so,  Decius. 
Cal.  Say,  he  is  sick. 

C<es.  Shall  Ca?sar  send  a  lie  ? 

Have  I  in  conquest  stretch"d  mine  arm  so  far. 
To  be  afeard  to  tell  grey-beards  the  truth  ? 
Decius,  go  tell  tlieni,  Caesar  will  not  come. 

Dec.  Most  mighty  Caisar,  let  me  know  some  cause, 
Lest  I  be  laugh'd  at,  when  I  tell  them  so. 

Cas.  'We  cause  is  in  my  will,  I  will  not  come  ; 
That  is  enough  to  satisfy  the  senate. 
But,  for  your  private  satisfaction. 
Because  I  love  you,  1  will  let  ycu  know. 
Calpliurnia  here,  my  wife,  stays  me  at  home: 
She  dreamt  to-night  she  saw  iny  statu  , 
Which  like  a  fountain,  with  a  hundred  spouts. 
Did  run  pure  blood  ;  and  many  lus-ty  Romans 
Came  smiling,  and  did  batlie  their  hands  in  it. 
And  these  doth  she  apply  for  warnings,  portents, 
And  evil  imminent;  and  on  her  knee 
Hath  begg'd,  that  1  will  stay  at  home  to-day. 

Dec.  This  drean»  is  all  amiss  interpreted; 
It  was  a  vision,  fair  and  fortunate  : 
Your  statue  spouting  blood  in  many  pipes, 
ft  which  so  raauy  smiling  Romans  bath'd. 
Signifies,  that  from  you  great  Rome  shall  suck 
Reviving  blood;  and  that  great  men  shrill  press 
For  tinctures,  stains,  relics,  and  cognizance. 
This  by  Calphurnia's  dream  is  signified. 

Cas.  And  this  way  have  you  well  expounded  it. 

Dec.  \  have,  when  you  have  heard  what  I  can  say  : 
And  know  it  now:  The  senate  have  concluded 
To  give,  this  day,  a  crown  to  mighty  Caesar, 
ll'you  shall  send  them  word,  you  will  not  come, 
Their  minds  may  change.    Besides,  it  were  a  mock 
Aiit  to  be  render'd,  for  some  one  to  say. 


C^SAR.  Act  H 

Break  up  the  senate  till  another  time, 

W hen  C<Bsar's  wife  shall  meet  with  better  drtam  « 

If  Caesar  hide  himself,  shall  they  not  whisper, 

XfO,  CiBsar  is  afraid? 

Pardon  me,  Caesar ;  for  my  dear,  dear  love 

To  your  proceeding  bids  me  tell  you  this; 

And  reason  to  my  love  is  liable. 

CcBS.   How  foolish    do  your  fears  seem  now 
Calphurnia  ? 
I  am  ashamed  I  did  yield  to  them. — 
Give  me  my  robe,  for  I  will  go: — 

Enter  Publius,  Brutus,  Ligarius,  Metellds, 
Casca,  Trebonius,  and  Cinna. 

And  look  where  Publius  is  come  to  fetch  me. 

Pub.  Good-morrow,  Caesar.  , 

Cas.  Welcome,  Publiut.-— 

What,  Brutus,  are  you  stirr'd  so  early  too  ? — 
Good-morrow,  Casca. — Caius  Ligarius, 
Caesar  was  ne'er  s«)  nuich  your  enemy. 
As  that  same  ague  which  hath  made  you  lean. 
What  is't  o'clock  ? 

Bru,  Caesar,  'tis  strucken  eight. 

CiBS.  I  thank  you  for  your  pains  and  courtesy. 

Enter  Antony. 

See  !  Antony,  that  revels  long  o'nights. 
Is  notwithstanding  up: — 
Good-morrow,  Antony. 

Ant.  So  to  most  noble  Cnsar. 

Ctes,  Bid  them  prepare  within  : — 
1  am  to  blame  to  be  thus  waited  for. — 
Now,  Cinna  :— Now,  Metellus  : — What.Trebonia*  . 
I  have  an  hour's  talk  in  store  for  you ; 
Remember,  that  you  call  on  me  to  day  : 
Be  near  me,  that  I  may  remember  you. 

Treb.  Caesar,  I  will : — and  so  near  will  I  be, 

{Asid:\ 

That  your  best  friends  shall  wish  1  had  been  further. 
Ctes.  Good  friends,  go  in,  and  taste  some  win* 
with  me ; 

And  we  like  friends,  will  jitraightway  go  together. 

Bru.  That  every  like  is  not  the  same,  O  Caesar, 
The  heart  ol  Brutus  yearns  to  think  upon  !  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — The  same.    A  Street  near  the 
Capitol. 

Enter  Artemidorus,  reading  a  paper. 
Art.    Ccesar,  beware  of  Brutus;  take  heed  oj 
Cassias  ;  come  not  near  Casca  ;  have  an  eye  to 
Cinna  ;  trust  not  Tre.boniiis  ;  mark  ivell  Metellus 
Cimher ;  Decius  Brutus  loves  thee  not ;  thou  hast 
tvronged  Cuius  Liyarius.    There  is  but  one  mind 
in  all  these  men,  and  it  is  bent  against  Caesar. 
If  thou  best  not    i7nmortal,    look  about  you: 
Security  yives  way  to  conspiracy.    The  mighty 
gods  defend  thee  !  Thy  lover,  AUTEMIDORUS. 
Here  will  I  stand,  till  Caesar  pass  along. 
And  as  a  suitor  will  I  give  him  thi.s. 
My  heart  laments,  that  virttie  cannot  live 
Out  of  the  teeth  of  emulation. 
If  thou  read  this,  O  Caesar,  thou  may'st  live; 
If  not,  the  fates  with  traitors  do  contrive.  [Exit 

Scene  IV. — The  same.  Another  part  of  the  eanU 
Street,  before  the  House  of  Brutus, 

Enter  PoRTiA  and  Lucius. 
Par.  I  pr'ythee,  boy,  run  to  the  senate  ho'ise  ; 
Stay  not  to  answer  me,  but  get  thee  gone  :  Jj 
Why  dost  thou  stay  ?  ^| 
Luc.  To  know  my  errand,  mad^m 

Por.  I  would  have  had  thee  there,  and  here  again. 
Ere  I  can  tell  thee  what  thou  should'st  dother*  — 

0  constancy,  be  strong  upon  my  side  ! 

Set  a  huge  mountain  'tween  my  heart  and  tonfTMi 

1  have  a  man's  mind,  but  a  woman's  mighty 
How  hard  it  is  for  women  to  keep  couose! 
Art  thou  here  yet  ? 

Luc.  Madam,  what  should  1  <f 


loT  IIL   Scene  1.  JULIUS 

Run  to  the  Capitol,  and  nothing  else  ? 
And  so  return  to  you,  and  nothing  else  ? 

Por.  Yes,  bring  me  word,  boy,  if  thy  lord  look  well. 
For  he  went  sickly  forth  :  And  take  good  note, 
What  Caess"'  doth,  what  suitors  press  to  him. 
Hark,  boy  !  what  noise  is  that? 

Jjii-",  I  hear  none,  madam. 

I'or.  Pi  'ythee,  listen  well : 

I  heard  a  bi]s.tling  rumour,  like  a  fray. 
And  the  wind  brings  it  from  thtt  (!)apiti'' 

Luc.  Sooth,  madam,  I  hear  nothing. 

Enter  Soothsayer. 
Por.  Come  hither,  fellow : 

Which  way  hast  thou  been  ? 
Sooth.  At  mine  own  house,  good  lady. 

Por.  What  is't  o'clock  ? 

Sooth.  About  the  ninth  hour,  lady. 

Por.  Is  Cffisnr  yet  gone  to  the  Capitol  ? 

Sooth.  Madam,  not  yet ;  I  go  to  take  my  stand, 
To  see  him  pass  on  to  the  Capitol. 

Por.  Thou  hast  some  suit  to  Caesar,  hast  thou  not? 

Sooth.  That  I  have,  lady :  if  it  will  please  Caesar 
To  be  so  good  to  Caesar,  as  to  hear  me, 
I  shall  beseech  him  to  befriend  himself. 

Por.  Why,  know'st  thou  any  harm's  intended 
towards  him  ? 

Sooth.  None,  that  I  know  will  be ;  much,  that 
I  fear  may  chance. 
Good-morrow  to  you.   Here  the  street  is  narrow: 
The  tiirong,  that  follows  Caesar  at  the  heels. 
Of  senators,  of  praetors,  common  suitors, 
Will  crowd  a  feeble  man  almost  to  death: 
I'll  get  me  to  a  place  more  void,  and  there 
Speak  to  great  Caesar  as  he  conies  along.  [Exit. 

Por.  I  must  go  in. — Ah  me !  how  weak  a  thing 
The  heart  of  woman  is  !  O  Brutus  ! 
The  heavens  speed  thee  in  thine  enterprise  ! 
Sure,  the  boy  heprd  me  : — Brutus  hath  a  suit, 
That  Caesar  will  not  granU — O,  I  grow  faint : — 
Run,  Lucius,  and  commend  me  to  my  lord  ; 
Say  I  am  merry  :  come  to  me  again. 
And  bring  me  word  what  he  doth  say  to  thee. 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I. —  The  same.    The  Capitol;  the  benate 
sitting. 

A  crotvd  of  people  in  the  street  leading  to  the 
Capitol ;  among  them  Artemidorus,  and  the 
Soothsayer.  Flourish.  Enter  C^SAR,  Brutus, 
CAssitJS,  Casca,  Decius,  Metellus,Trebonius,  ! 
CiNNA,  Antony,  Lepidus,  Popilius,  Publius,  i 
md  others. 

Cas.  The  ides  of  March  are  come. 

Sooth.  Ay,  Caesar;  but  not  gone. 

Art.  Hail,  Caesar ;  Read  this  schedule. 

Dec.  Trebonius  doth  desire  you  to  o'er-read. 
At  your  best  leisure,  this  his  humble  suit. 

Art.  O  Caesar,  read  mine  first;  for  mine's  a  suit 
Tiat  touches  Caesar  nearer:  Read  it,  great  Caesar. 
*  Cats.  What  touches  us  ourself,  shall  be  last  serv'd. 

Art.  Delay  not,  Ci^sar  :  read  it  instantly. 

Cas.  What,  is  the  fellow  mad  ? 

Pub.  Sirrah,  give  place. 

Cas.  What,  urge  you  your  petitions  in  the  street? 
Come  to  the  Capitol. 

<!/iESAR  enters  the  Capitol,  the  rest  following.  All 
the  Senators  rise. 

Pop.  T  wish,  your  enterprise  to-day  may  thrive. 

Cas.  What  enterprise,  Popilius  ? 

Pop.  Fare  you  well. 

{Advances  to  Ctesar ) 

Bru.  What  said  Popilius  Len  i  ? 

Cas.  He  wish'd,  to-d.iy  our  enterprise  might  thrive. 
I  fear,  our  purpose  is  discover'd. 

Bru.  Look,  now  he  makes  to  Caesar:  IVark  him. 

Cas.  Casca,  be  sudden,  for  W(  fear  pre'  entio'j. — 


CiESAR. 

Brutus,  what  shall  be  done  ':  If  this  be 
Caasius  or  Caesar  never  shall  turn  back. 
For  I  will  slay  myself. 

Bru.  Cassius,  be  constant 

Popilius  Lena  speaks  not  of  our  purposes  ; 
For,  look,  he  smiles,  and  Caesar  doth  not  change. 

Cas.  Trebonius  knows  his  time;  for,  look  /o»% 
Brutus, 

He  draws  Mark  Antony  out  of  the  way. 

[Exeunt  Antony  and  Tmbonius.  Ccisa* 
and  the  Sena  tors  take  their  seals, 

Dkc.  Where  is  Metellus  Cimber?  Let  him  go, 
And  presently  prefer  his  suit  to  Cassar. 

Bru.  He  is  address'd  :  press  near,  and  seconc)  him 

Cin.  Casca,  you  are  the  first  that  rears  your  hand* 

Ca:s.  Are  we  all  ready?  what  is  now  amiss, 
That  Caesar,  and  his  senate,  must  redress  'i 

Met.  Most  high,  most  mighty,  and  must  puis- 
sant Caesar, 
Metellus  Cimber  throws  before  thy  seat 
An  humble  heart: —  {Kneeling^) 

Cas.  I  must  prevent  thee,  Cimber.  » 

These  couchings,  and  th<»se  lowly  courtesies, 
Might  fire  the  blood  of  o  dinary  men ; 
And  turn  pre-ordinance,  and  first  decree, 
Into  the  law  of  children.    Be  not  fond. 
To  think  that  C»sar  bears  such  rebel  blood, 
That  will  be  thaw'd  from  the  true  quality 
With  that  which  mclteth  fools  ;  I  mean,  sweet  wordi, 
Low-crooked  curt'sies,  and  base  spaniel  fawning 
Thy  brother  by  decree  is  banished  ; 
If  thou  dost  bend,  and  pray,  and  fawn  for  him, 
I  spurn  thee  like  a  cur  out  of  my  way. 
Know,  Caesar  doth  not  wrong;  nor  without  cause 
Will  he  be  satisfied. 

Met.  Is  there  no  voice  more  worthy  than  my  owo. 
To  sound  more  sweetly  in  great  Caesar's  ear. 
For  the  repealing  of  my  banish  d  brother  ? 

Bru.  I  kiss  thy  hand,  but  u<>%  in  flattery,  Ciesar  ; 
Desiring  thee,  that  Publius  Cimber  may 
Have  an  immediate  freedom  ol  repeal. 

C<es.  What,  Brutus  I 

Cas.  Pardon,  Caesar ;  Cajsar,  parrfon 

As  low  as  to  thy  foot  doth  Cassius  fall. 
To  beg  enfranchisement  for  Publius  Cimber. 

C<es.  I  could  be  well  mov'd,  if  I  were  as  yoq* 
If  I  could  pray  to  move,  prayers  would  move  me 
But  I  am  constant  as  the  northern  star, 
Of  whose  true  fix'd,  and  resting  quality. 
There  is  no  fellow  in  the  firmament. 
The  skies  are  painted  with  unnumber'd  sparks 
They  are  all  fire,  and  every  one  doth  shine ; 
But  there's  but  one  in  all  doth  hold  his  place  : 
So,  in  the  world ;  'Tis  furnish'd  well  with  men  ; 
And  men  are  flesh  and  blood,  and  apprehensive 
Yet,  in  the  number,  I  do  know  but  one 
That  imassailable  holds  on  his  rank, 
Unshak'd  of  motion  :  and,  that  I  arn  he. 
Let  me  a  little  shew  it,  even  in  this ; 
That  I  was  constant,  Cimber  shou'ld  be  banish'd. 
And  constant  do  remain  to  keep  him  so. 

Cin.  O  Caesar, — 

C<Bs.  Hence  I  Wilt  thori  lift  up  Olympus  ? 

Dec.  Great  Caesar, — 

C(es.  Doth  not  Brutns  bootless  kneel  ? 

Casca.  Speak,  hands,  for  me. 

{Casca  stabs  Ceesar  in  the  neck.  Casar 
catches  hold  of  hit  arm.    He  is  then 
stabbed  by  several  other  Conspirator*, 
and  at  last  by  Marcus  Brutus.) 
Cas.  Et  tu.  Brute  ?-  Then  fall,  C«sar.  (l>iV». 
The  senators  and  people  retire  in  confu- 
sion.) 

Cin.  Liberty!  Freedom!  Tyranny  is  dead ! — 
Run  hence,  proclaim,  cry  it  about  the  streets. 

Cas.  Some  to  the  common  pulpit,  and  cry  out, 
Liberty,  ft  eedotn,  and  enfranchisement ! 

Bru.  People,  and  senators  !  be  not  affrighted  , 
Fly  not;  s'and  .'till  : — ambition's  debt  is  paid. 

Casca.  Go  U  the  pulpit,  Brutus. 

38 


594 


JULIUS 


C^SAR. 


Act  IIL 


Dac,  Aod  CascHua  too. 

^Vm.  Where's  Publius? 

O  n.  Here,  (juite  confounded  with  this  mutiny. 

Met.  Stand  fast  together,  lest  some  friend  of 
Bhoiild  chance —  [Caesar 

Bru.  Talk  not  of  standing;  Publius,  good  cheer  ; 
There  is  no  harm  intended  to  your  person. 
Nor  to  no  Roman  else  :  so  tell  them,  Publius. 

Cas.  And  leave  us,  Publius;  lest  that  the  people, 
Riisliiiig  on  us,  should  do  your  age  some  mischief. 

Bru.  Do  so ; — and  let  no  man  abide  this  deed, 
Hut  we  the  doers. 

Re-enter  Trebonius. 
Cas.  Where's  Antony  ? 

Ti  e.  Fled  to  his  house  amaz'd  : 

Men,  wives,  and  children,  stare,  cry  out,  and  run, 
As  it  were  doomsday. 

But.  Fates  !  we  will  know  your  pleasures  : — 
Th;it  we  shall  die,  we  know,  'tis  but  the  time. 
And  drawing  days  out,  that  men  stand  upon, 
»    Cas.  Why,  he  that  cuts  off  twenty  years  of  life. 
Cuts  oil' so  many  years  of  fearing  death. 

Bru.  Grant  thit,  and  then  is  death  a  benefit : 
So  are  we  Csesai's  friends,  that  have  abridg'd 
His  time  of  fearing  death. — Stoop,  Romans,  stoop, 
And  let  us  bathe  our  hands  in  Caesar's  blood 
Up  to  the  elbows,  and  besmear  our  swords  : 
Tlien  walk  we  forth,  even  to  the  market-place; 
And,  waving  our  red  weapons  o'er  our  heads, 
Lit's  all  cry,  Peace  !  Freedom  !  and  Liberty! 

Cas.  Stoop  then,  and  wash, — How  many  ages 
hence. 

Shall  this  our  lofty  scene  be  acted  over 

In  states  unborn,  and  accents  yet  unknown? 

Biu.  How  many  times  shall  Caesar  bleed  in 
That  now  on  Pompey's  basis  lies  along,  [sport. 
No  worthier  than  the  dust  ? 

Cas.  So  oft  as  that  shall  be. 

So  often  shall  the  knot  of  us  be  call'd 
The  m^n  that  gave  our  country  libert;'. 

Dec.  What,  shall  we  forth  ?  > 

Cas.  Ay,  every  man  away  : 

Brutus  shall  lead;  and  we  will  grace  his  heels 
With  the  ujost  boldest  and  best  liearts  of  Rome. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Bru.  Soft,  who  comes  here  ?  A  friend  of  Antony's. 

Serv.  'J'hus,  Brutus,  did  my  master  bid  me  kneel ; 
Thus  did  Mark  Antony  bid  me  fall  down  : 
And,  being  prostrate,  thus  he  bade  me  say. 
Brutus  is  noble,  wise,  valiant,  and  honest; 
Caesar  was  mighty,  bold,  royal,  and  loving; 
Say,  I  love  Brutus,  and  honour  him  ; 
Say,  I  fear'd  Caesar,  honoar'd  him,  and  lov'd  him. 
If  Brutus  will  vouchsafe,  that  Antony 
May  sarely  come  to  him,  and  be  resolv'd 
How  Cajsar  hath  deserv'd  to  lie  in  death, 
Mark  Antony  shall  not  love  Caesar  dead. 
So  well  as  Brutus  living;  but  will  follow 
The  fortunes  and  atiairs  of  noble  Brutus, 
Thorough  the  hazards  of  this  untrod  state. 
With  all  true  faith.    So  says  my  master  Antony. 

Bru.  Thy  master  is  a  wise  and  valiant  Roman ; 
I  never  thought  him  worse. 
'J  ell  him,  so  please  him  come  unto  this  place. 
He  shall  be  satisfied  :  and,  by  my  honour. 
Depart  untouch'd. 

Serv.  I'll  fetch  him  presently. 

[Exit  Servant. 

Bru.  I  know,  «r)at  we  shall  have  him  well  to 
friend. 

Cos.  I  wish,  we  may  :  but  jet  have  I  a  mind, 
That  fears  hint  much;  and  njy  misgiving  still 
P«ils  shrewdly  to  the  purpose. 

Re-enter  Antony. 
Bru.  But  here  comes  Antony. — Welcome,  Mark 
Antony, 

Ant.  O  mighty  Caesar !  Dost  thou  lie  so  low  ? 


Are  all  thy  conc|aests,  glories,  triumphs,  8p<41% 

Shrunk  to'thls  little  measure  ? — Fare  thee  welI.<-> 

1  know  not,  gentlemen,  what  you  intend. 

Who  else  must  be  let  blood,  who  else  is  rank : 

If  I  myself,  there  is  no  hour  so  fit, 

As  Caesar's  death's  hour ;  nor  no  instrument 

Of  half  that  worth,  as  those  your  swords,  made  riek 

With  the  most  noble  blood  of  all  this  world. 

I  do  beseech  ye,  if  ye  bear  me  hard,  * 

Now,  whilst  your  purpled  hands  do  reek  and  aismke^ 

Fulfil  your  pleasure.    Live  a  thousand  years, 

I  shall  not  find  myself  so  apt  to  die  : 

No  place  will  please  me  so,  no  n?ean  of  deal^ 

As  here  by  Caesar,  and  by  you  cni  off. 

The  choice  and  master  spirits  of  this  age. 

Bru.  O  Antony  I  beg  not  your  death  of  us. 
Though  now  we  must  appear  bloody  and  cruel. 
As,  by  our  hands,  and  this  our  present  act. 
You  see  we  do ;  yet  see  you  but  our  hands, 
And  this  the  bleeding  business  they  have  done  : 
Our  hearts  you  see  not,  they  are  pitiful; 
And  pity  to  the  general  wrong  of  Rome 
f  As  fire  drives  out  fire,  so  pity,  pity,) 
Hath  done  this  deed  on  Caesar,    tor  your  part. 
To  you  our  swords  have  leaden  points,  Mark 
Antony  : 

Our  arms,  in  strength  of  malice,  and  our  hearts. 

Of  brothers'  temper,  do  receive  you  in 

With  all  kind  love,  good  thoughts,  and  reverence. 

Cas.  Your  voice  shall  be  as  strong  as  any  man's. 
In  the  disposing  of  new  dignities, 

Bru.  Only  be  patient,  till  we  have  appeas'd 
The  mukitude,  beside  themselves  with  fear. 
And  then  we  will  deliver  you  the  cause, 
Why  1.  that  did  love  Caesar  when  I  struck  him. 
Have  tnus  proceeded. 

Ant.  I  doubt  not  of  your  wisdom, 

Let  each  man  render  me  his  bloody  hand  : 
First,  Marcus  Brutus,  will  I  shake  with  you:— 
Next,  Caius  Cassius,  do  I  take  your  hand  ; — 
Now,  Decius  Brutus,  yours; — now  yours, 
tellus ; 

Yours,  Cinna; — and,  my  valiant  Casca,  yours; 
Though  last,  not  least  in  love,  yours,  good  Tre- 
bonius. 

Gentlemen  all, — alas  !  what  shall  I  say  ? 
My  credit  now  stands  on  such  slippery  ground, 
That  one  of  two  bad  ways  you  must  conceit  me 
Either  a  coward  or  a  flatterer. — 
That  I  did  love  thee,  Caesar,  O,  'tis  true  : 
If  then  thy  spirit  look  upon  us  now. 
Shall  it  not  grieve  thee,  dearer  than  thy  death. 
To  see  thy  Antony  making  his  peace. 
Shaking  the  bloody  fingers  of  thy  foes. 
Most  noble  !  in  the  presence  of  thy  corse? 
Had  I  as  many  eyes  as  thou  hast  wounds. 
Weeping  as  fast  as  they  stream  forth  thy  blood, 
It  would  become  me  better,  than  to  close 
In  terms  at  friendship  with  thine  enemies.       [hart ; 
Pardon  me,  Julius! — Here  wast  thou  bay'd,  brave 
Here  didst  thou  fall ;  and  here  thy  hunters  stand, 
Sign'd  in  thy  spoil,  and  crimson'd  in  thy  lethe.  # 
O  world  !  thou  wast  the  forest  to  this  hart; 
And  this,  indeed,  O  world,  the  heart  of  thee.— 
How  like  a  deer,  stricken  by  many  princes. 
Dost  thou  here  lie  ! 
Cas.  Mark  Antony, — 

Ant.  Pardon  me,  Caius  Caaoioit 

The  enemies  of  Caesar  shall  say  this; 
Then,  in  a  friend,  it  is  cold  modesty. 

Cas.  I  blame  you  not  for  praising  Caesar  so; 
But  what  compact  mean  you  to  have  with  us? 
Will  you  be  prick'd  in  number  of  our  friends  : 
Or  shall  we  on,  and  not  depend  on  you  ?  [d»r4 

Ant.  Therefore  I  took  your  hands;  but  was, 
Sway  d  from  the  point,  by  looking  down  on  CnMff 
Friends  atn  >  with  you  all,  and  love  you  all  ; 
Upon  tliis  hope,  that  you  shall  give  me  reasons, 
Why,  and  wherein,  Cajsar  was  dangerous. 

Bru.  Or  else  were  this  a  savage  spectacle* 


Scene  2.  JULIUS 

Our  reasons  are  so  full  of  good  regard,  ] 
That  were  you,  Antony,  the  son  of  Caesar, 
You  should  be  satisfied. 

Ani.  That's  all  I  seek : 

And  am  moreover  suitor,  that  I  may 
Produce  his  body  to  the  market-place ; 
And  in  the  pulpit,  as  becomes  a  friend, 
Speak  in  the  order  of  his  funeral. 

Bru,  You  shall,  Mark  Antony. 

Cos.  Brutus,  a  word  with  you. — 

You  know  not  '<rhat  you  do  5  Do  not  (y:;nsent, 

{Aside.) 

That  Antony  speak  in  his  funeral : 
Kirow  you  how  much  the  people  may  be  mov'd 
By  that  which  he  will  utter  ? 

Bru.  By  your  pardon  ;— 

i  will  myself  into  the  pulpit  first, 
And  shew  the  reason  of  our  Cajsar's  death  : 
What  Antony  shall  speak,  I  v/ill  protest 
He  speaks  by  leave  and  by  permission ; 
And  that  we  are  contented,  Csesar  shall 
Have  all  true  rites,  and  lawful  ceremonies. 
It  shall  advantage  more,  than  do  us  wron^. 
Cas.  I  know  not  what  may  fall ;  1  like  it  not. 
Bru.  Mark  Antony,  here,  take  you  Ca-sar's  body. 
You  shall  not  in  your  funeral  speech  blame  us, 
But  speak  all  good  j'ou  can  deviise  of  Cassar ; 
And  say  you  do 't  by  permission  ; 
Else  shall  you  not  have  any  hand  at  all 
About  his  funeral  :  And  you  shall  speak 
In  the  same  pulpit  whereto  I  am  going. 
After  my  speech  is  ended. 

Ant.  Be  it  so  ; 

I  do  desire  no  more. 
Bru.  Prepare  the  body  then,  and  follow  us. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Ardorty. 
Ant.  O  pardon  me,  thou  piece  of  bleeding  earth, 
1  hat  I  am  meek  and  gentle  with  these  butchers  ! 
Thou  art  the  ruins  of  the  noblest  man. 
That  ever  lived  in  the  tide  of  times. 
Woe  to  the  hand  that  shed  this  costly  blood ! 
Over  thy  woimds  now  do  I  prophesy, — 
Which,  like  dumb  mouths,  Jo  ope  their  ruby  lips, 
To  beg  the  voice  and  utterance  of  my  tongue ; — 

cwtm  shall  light  upon  the  limbs  of  men; 
Doftiestic  fury,  and  fierce  civil  strife. 
Shall  cumber  all  the  parts  of  Italy  : 
Blood  and  destruction  shall  be  so  in  use. 
And  dreadful  objects  so  familiar. 
That  mothers  shall  but  smile,  when  they  behold 
Their  infants  quarter'd  with  the  hands  of  war* 
All  pity  choak'd  with  custom  of  fell  deed : 
j  And  Caesar's  spirit,  ranging  lor  revenge, 
!  With  Ate  by  his  side,  come  hot  from  hell, 
[  Shall  in  these  confines,  with  a  monarch's  voice, 
Cry  Havoc,  and  let  slip  the  dogs  of  war ; 
j  That  this  foul  deed  shall  smell  above  the  earth 
j  With  carrion  men,  groaning  for  burial. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
You  serve  Octavius  Cassar,  do  you  not? 
Serv,  1  do,  Mark  Antony. 
Ant.  Caesar  did  write  for  him  to  come  to  Rome. 
Serv,  He  did  receive  his  letters,  and  is  coming  : 
j  And  bid  me  say  to  you  by  word  of  mouth, — 
l!  0  Caesar  I —  {Seeing  the  body.) 

Ant.  Thy  heart  is  big,  get  thee  apart  and  weep, 
Passion,  I  see,  is  catching;  for  mine  eyes. 
Seeing  those  beads  of  sorrow  stand  in  thine. 
Began  to  water.  Is  thy  master  coming?  [Rome. 
'  Serv.  He  lies  to-night  within  seven  leagues  of 
I  Ant.  Post  back  with  speed,  and  tell  him  what 
i  hath  chanc'd  : 

|H-'re  is  a  mourning  Rome,  a  dangerous  Rome, 
No  Rome  of  safety  for  Octavius  yet; 
Hie  hence,  and  tell  him  vso.    Yet,  stay  a  while; 
Thou  shall  not  back,  till  I  have  borne  this  corse 
into  the  market  place  :  there  shall  I  try. 
In  my  oration,  how  the  people  take 
lie  cruel  issue  of  tiiese  bloody  men; 


CiESAR.  "  5  or 

]  According  to  the  which,  thou  slialt  discourse 
To  young  Octavius  of  the  state  of  things. 
Lend  me  your  hand.  [Exeunt.,  with  Ctesar's  bodjf. 

Scene  II.— The  same.    The  Forum. 

Enter  Brutus  and  Cassius,  and  a  throng  of 
Citizens. 

Cit.  We  will  be  satisfied  ;  let  us  be  satisfied. 
Bru.  Then  follow  me,  and  give  me  audienc«| 
friends. — 
Cassius,  go  you  into  the  other  street, 
And  part  the  numbers. — 

Those  that  will  hear  me  speak,  let  them  stay  bere; 
Those  that  will  follow  Cassius,  go  with  him ; 
And  public  reasons  shall  be  rendered 
Of  Caesar's  death. 

1  Cit.  I  will  hear  Brutus  speak. 

2  Cit.  I  w^ll  hear  Cpjfsius ;  and  compare  their 
reasons. 

When  severally  we  hear  them  rendered. 

[Exit  Cassius,  with  some  of  the  Citizeni. 
Brutus  goes  into  the  Rostrum. 

3  Cit.  The  noble  Brutus  is  ascended  :  Silence  ! 
Bru.  Be  patit-nt  till  the  last. 

Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers!  hear  me  for  my 
cause  ;  and  be  silent,  that  you  may  hear  believe 
me  for  mine  honour;  and  have  respect  to  mine 
honour,  that  you  may  believe  :  censure  me  in  your 
wisdom  ;  and  awake  your  senses,  that  you  may  the 
better  judge.  If  there  be  any  in  this  assembly, 
any  dear  friend  of  Caesar's,  to  him  I  say,  that 
Brutus'  love  to  Caesar  was  no  less  than  his.  If  then 
that  friend  demand  why  Brutus  rose  against  C«sar, 
this  is  my  answer, — Not  that  I  loved  Caesai  less, 
but  that  I  loved  Rome  more.  Had  you  rather 
Caesar  were  living,  and  die  all  slaves  ;  than  that 
Caesar  were  dead,  to  live  all  free  men  ?  As  Caesar 
loved  me,  I  weep  for  him ;  as  he  was  fortunate,  I 
rejoice  at  it  :  as  he  was  valiant,  I  honour  him  : 
but,  as  he  was  ambitious,  I  slew  him  :  There  is 
tears,  for  his  love:  joy,  for  his  fortune;  honour  for 
his  valour;  and  aeath,  for  his  ambition.  Who  is 
here  so  base,  that  would  be  a  bondman  ?  If  any, 
speak  ;  for  him  have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so 
rude,  that  would  not  be  a  Roman  ?  If  any,  speak ; 
for  him  have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so  vile,  that 
will  not  love  his  countiT?  If  any,  speak;  lor  him 
have  I  offended.  I  pause  for  a  reply. 
Cit.  None,  Brutus,  none. 

{Several  speaking  at  once.) 
Bru.  Then  none  have  I  offended.  I  have  done  no 
more  to  Caesar,  than  you  should  do  to  Brutus.  The 
question  of  his  death  is  enrolled  in  the  Capitol:  his 
glory  not  extenuated,  wherein  he  was  worthy ;  nor 
his  offences  enforced,  for  which  he  suffered  death. 

Enter  Antony  and  others^  with  Casar's  body. 
Here  comes  his  body,  mourned  by  Mark  Antony, 
who,  though  he  had  no  hand  in  his  death,  shall  receive 
the  benefit  of  his  dying,  a  place  in  the  common- 
wealth;  As  which  of  you  shall  not  ?  With  this  1 
depart ;  That,  as  I  slew  my  best  lover  for  the  good 
of  Rome,  I  have  the  same  dagger  for  myself,  whea 
it  shall  please  my  country  to  need  my  death. 

Cit.  Live,  Brutus,  live  !  live  !  Hiouse. 

1  Cit.  Bring  him  with  triumph  home  unto-  hi» 

2  Cit.  Give  him  a  statue  with  his  ancestors. 

3  Cit.  Let  him  be  Caesar. 

4  Cit.  Cesar's  better  parts 
Shall  now  be  crown'd  in  Brutus. 

1  Cit.  We'll  bring  him  to  his  house  with  shouts 
and  clamours. 

Bru.  My  countrymen, — 

2  Cit.  Peace  ;  silence!  Brutus  speaks. 
1  Cit.  Peace,  ho ! 

Bru.  Good  countrymen,  let  me  depart  al(»ne, 
And,  for  my  sake,  stay  here  with  Antony: 
Do  grace  to  Cajsar's  corp.se,  and  grace  his  speech 
Tending  to  Caesar's  glories ;  which  Mark  Antoay 
By  our  permission,  is  allow'd  to  make. 


596 


JULIUS 


CiESAR. 


Act  ni 


I  do  entreat  you,  not  a  man  depart. 
Save  I  alone,  till  Antony  have  spoke.  [Exit. 
1  Cit.  Stay,  ho  !  and  let  us  hear  Mark  Antony. 

3  Cit.  Let  him  go  up  into  the  public  chair; 
We  ll  hear  him  : — Noble  Antony,  go  up. 

A  nt.  For  Brntns'  sake,  £  am  beholden  to  you. 

4  Cit.  What  doea  he  say  of  Brutus? 

3  Cit.  He  says,  for  Brutus'  sake, 
fie  finds  himself  beholden  to  us  all. 

4  Cit.  *Twere  best  he  speak  no  harm  of  Brutus  here. 

1  Cit.  This  Caesar  was  a  tyrant. 

3  Cit.  Nay,  that's  certain : 

We  are  bless'd,  that  Rome  is  rid  of  him. 

2  Cit.  Peace ;  let  ns  hear  what  Antony  can  say. 
Ant.  You  gentle  Romans, — 

Cit.  Peace,  ho  !  let  us  hear  him. 

Ant.  Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me  your 
ears; 

I  come  to  bnry  Caesar,  not  to  praise  him. 

'I'he  evil,  that  men  do,  lives  after  them; 

The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones  ; 

So  let  it  be  with  Cajsar.    The  noble  Brutus 

Hath  told  you,  Caesar  was  ambitious  : 

If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault; 

And  grievously  hath  Caesar  answer'd  it. 

Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus,  and  the  rest, 

(For  Brutus  is  an  honourable  nmn  ; 

c»o  are  they  all ;  all  honourable  men  ;) 

Come  I  to  speak  in  Caesar's  funeral. 

He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me  : 

But  Brufus  says,  he  was  ambitious  ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honourable  man. 

He  Iiath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 

Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  cofters  fill: 

Did  this  in  Caesar  seem  ambitious  ? 

When  that  thii"  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept; 

Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stulF: 

^  et  Brutus  s  lys,  he  was  ambitious  ; 

Am]  Brntns  is  an  honourable  man. 

Vou  all  did  see,  that  0.5  the  Lupercal, 

I  tlirice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 

\Vhi(;h  he  did  thrice  refuse.  Was  this  ambition? 

\  et  Brutus  say,>,  he  was  ambitious ; 

And,  sure,  he  is  an  honourable  man. 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke, 

But  ht-re  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know 

You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause; 

What  cause  withholds  you  then  to  mourn  for  him  ? 

0  jiidgnient,  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts. 
And  men  have  lost  their  reason  I — Bear  with  me  ; 
My  lieart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Caesar, 

An  1  1  must  pause,  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

1  Cit.  iMethinks,  there  is  much  reason  in  his 

sayings. 

2  Cit.  If  thou  consider  rightly  of  the  matter, 
Caesar  has  had  great  wrong. 

3  Cit.  Has  he,  masters  ? 

1  fear,  there  will  a  worse  come  in  his  place. 

4  Cit.  Mark'd  ye  his  words  ?  He  would  not  take 

the  crown ; 

T  herefore,  'tis  certain,  he  was  not  ambitious. 

1  Cit.  If  it  be  found  so,  some  will  dear  abide  it. 

2  Cit.  Poor  soul  I  his  eyes  are  red  as  fire  with 

weeping.  [Antony. 

3  Cit.  There's  not  a  nobler  man  in  Rome,  than 

4  Cit.  Now  mark  him,  he  begins  again  to  speak. 
Ani.  But  yesterday,  the  word  of  Caesar  might 

Have  stood  against  the  world  :  now  lies  he  there. 
And  none  s  /  poor  to  do  him  reverence. 

0  masters  !  if  I  were  dispos'd  to  stir 
Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Cassias  wrong. 
Who,  you  all  know,  are  honourable  men; 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong;  I  rather  choose 
To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself,  and  you. 
Than  I  will  wrong  such  honourable  men. 
But  here's  a  parchment,  with  the  seal  of  Casar, 
I  found  it  in  his  oloset,  'tis  his  will : 
Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament. 
Which,  pardon  me^  1  do  not  mean  to  read,) 


And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wound^ 
And  dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood: 
Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory. 
And.  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills. 
Bequeathing  it,  as  a  rich  legacy, 
Unto  their  issue. 
4  Cit.  We  ll  hear  the  will :  Read  it,  Mark  Antoay. 
Cit.  The  will,  the  will;  we  will  hear  Caesar's  will. 
Ant.  Have  patience,  gentle  friends,  I  must  nod 
read  it ; 

It  is  not  meet  you  know  how  Caesar  lov'd  yon. 
You  are  not  wood,  you  are  not  stones,  but  men; 
And,  being  men,  hearing  the  will  of  Csesar, 
It  will  inflame  you,  it  will  make  you  mad : 
'Tis  good  you  know  not  that  you  are  his  heirs ; 
For  if  you  should,  O,  what  would  come  of  it! 

4  Cit.  Read  the  mW  ;  we  will  hear  it,  Antony: 
You  shall  read  us  the  will ;  Caesar's  will. 

Ant.  Will  you  be  patient?  Will  you  stay  a  while? 
I  have  o'ershot  myself,  to  tell  you  of  it. 
I  fear,  I  wrong  the  honourable  men, 
Whose  daggers  have  stabb'd  Caesar:  I  do  fear  it. 

4  Cit.  They  were  traitors :  Honourable  men  I 

Cit.  The  will !  the  testament! 

2  Cit.  They  were  villains,  murderers:  The  will! 
read  the  will! 

Ant.  You  will  compel  me  then  to  read  the  will? 
Then  make  a  ring  about  the  corpse  of  Caesar, 
And  let  me  shew  you  him  that  made  the  will. 
Shall  I  descend?  And  will  you  give  me  leave? 

Cit.  Come  down. 

2  Cit  Descend.  {He  comes  down  from  thepulpit,^ 

3  Cit.  You  shall  have  leave. 

4  Cit.  A  ring;  stand  round. 

1  Cit.  Stand  from  the  hearse,  stand  from  the  hotly 

2  Cit.  Room  for  Antony  ; — most  noble  Antony. 
Ant.  Nay,  press  not  so  upon  me ;  stand  far  oS. 
Cit.  Stand  back  !  room !  bear  back  ! 

Ant.  If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle :  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  in  on ; 
*Twas  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent; 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii : — 
Look  I  in  this  place  ran  Cassias'  dagger  through: 
See,  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made : 
Through  this,  the  v/ell  beloved  Brutus  stabb'd; 
And.  as  he  pluck'd  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  follow'd  it ; 
As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolv'd 
If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knock'd,  or  no; 
For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Caesar's  angel: 
Judge,  O  you  gods,  how  dearly  Caesar  lov'd  him! 
This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all : 
For  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 
Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 
Quite  vanquish'd  him  :  then  burst  his  mighty  heart; 
And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face. 
Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue, 
Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Caesar  felL 
O  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen  I 
Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down, 
Whilst  bloody  treason  flourish'd  over  us. 
O.  now  you  weep;  and,  1  perceive,  you  feel 
The  dint  of  pity :  these  are  gracious  drops. 
Kmd  souls,  what,  weep  you,  when  yon  out  behold 
Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded  ?  Look  you  here. 
Here  is  himself,  marr'd,  as  you  see,  with  traitoiVt 

1  Cit.  O  piteous  spectacle ! 

2  Cit.  O  noble  Caesar ! 

3  Cit.  O  woful  day! 

4  Cit.  O  traitors,  villains! 

1  Cit.  O  most  bloody  sight ! 

2  Cit.  We  will  be  revenged:  revenge;  abonty— 
seek, — burn, — fire, — kill, — slay  ! — let  not  a  traitor 

Ant.  Stay,  countrymen.  [livOt 

1  Cit.  Peace  there  : — Hear  the  noble  Antony. 

2  Cit.  We'll  hear  him,  we'll  follow  him,  we'll  dio 
with  him. 

Ant.  Good  friends,  sweet  friends  let  me  not  bH 
you  up 


A.CT  IV.     SCEl^  1. 

Tt»  eiich  a  sodden  flood  of  mutiny. 
They,  that  have  done  this  deed,  are  honourable; 
What  private  griefs  they  have,  alas,  I  know  not, 
That  made  tliem  do  it ;  they  are  wise  and  honourable. 
And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reasons  answer  you. 
I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts ; 
I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is : 
But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain  blunt  man. 
That  love  my  friend ;  and  that  they  kno\v  full  well 
That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him. 
For  I  have  neither  wit,  nor  words,  nor  worth, 
Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech. 
To  stir  men's  blood  :  I  only  speak  right  on ; 
I  tell  you  that,  which  you  yourselves  do  know; 
Shew  you  sweet  Caesar's  wounds,  poor,  poor  dumb 
mouths. 

And  bid  them  speak  for  me:  But  were  T  Brutus, 
And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 
Would  ruffle  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue 
In  every  wound  of  Csesar,  that  should  move 
1'he  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny. 
Cit.  We'll  mutiny. 

1  Cit.  We'll  burn  the  house  of  Brutus. 

3  Cit.  Away  then,  come,  seek  the  conspirators. 
Ant.  Yet  hear  me,  countrymen ;  yet  hear  me  speak. 
Cit.  Peace,  ho  !  Hear  Antony,  most  noble  Antony. 
Ant.  Why,  friends,  you  go  to  do  you  know  not 
what : 

Wherein  hath  Caesar  thus  deserv'd  your  loves? 
Alas !  you  know  not: — I  must  tell  you  then: 
You  ha\e  forgot  the  will  I  told  you  of. 
Cit.  Most  true the  will ;—" let's  stay,  and  hear 
the  will. 

Ant.  Here  is  the  will,  and  under  Caesar's  seal. 
To  every  Roman  citizen  he  gives, 
To  every  several  man,  seventy-five  drachmas. 

2  Cit.  Most  noble  Caesar !— we'll  revenge  his 

death. 

3  C^t  O  royal  Caesar! 

Ant  Ht^ar  me  with  patience. 
Cit.  Peace,  ho  I 

Ani   Moreover,  he  hath  left  you  all  his  walks. 
His  private  arbours,  and  new-planted  orchards, 
On  this  side  Tyber;  he  hath  left  them  you, 
And  to  your  heirs  for  ever;  common  pleasures. 
To  walk  abroad,  and  recreate  yourselves. 
Here  was  a  Caesar:  When  comes  such  another? 

1  Cit.  Never,  never:— Come,  away,  away: 
We  ll  burn  his  Ijody  in  the  holy  place. 

And  with  the  brands  fire  the  traitors'  houses. 
Take  up  the  body. 

2  Cit.  Go,  fet(  h  fire. 

3  Cit.  Pluck  down  benches. 

4  Cit.  Pluck  down  forms,  windows,  any  thing. 

[Exeunt  Citizens  with  the  body. 
Ant.  Now  let  it  wo;k:  Mischief,  thou  art  afoot, 
Take  thou  what  course  thou  wilt! — How  now, 
fellow  ? 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Serv.  Sir,  Octavius  is  already  come  to  Rome. 
Ant.  Wliere  is  he'' 

Serv.  He  and  Lepidus  are  at  Caesar's  house. 

Ant.  And  thither  will  I  straight  to  visit  him  : 
He  comes  upon  a  wish.   Fortune  is  merry. 
And  in  this  mood  will  give  us  any  thing. 

Serv.  I  heard  hifn  say,  Brutus  and  Cassius 
Are  rid  like  madmen  through  the  gates  of  Rome. 

Ant,  Belike,  they  had  some  notice  of  the  people, 
How  1  bad  mov'd  them.    Bring  me  to  Octavius. 

[Exeunt, 

Scene  IW.—The  Same.   A  Street. 
Enter  CiNNA,  the  Poet. 
Cin.  I  dreamt  to  night,  that  I  did  feast  with  Caesar, 
/Vnd  things  unluckily  charge  my  fantasy: 
I  have  no  will  to  wander  forth  of  doors, 
Xti  something  leads  nie  forth. 

Enter  Citizens. 
1  Cii.  What  is  your  name  ? 


2  Cit.  Whither  are  vou  going  ? 

3  Cit.  Where  do  you  dwell  ? 

4  Cit.  Are  you  a  married  man,  or  a  bachelcff  f 

2  Qiit.  Answer  every  man  directly. 

1  Cit.  Ay,  and  briefly. 
4  Cit.  Ay,  and  wisely. 

3  Cit.  Ay,  and  truly,  you  were  best. 

Cin.  What  is  my  name  ?  Whither  am  I  going  ? 
Where  do  I  dwell  ?  Am  I  a  married  man,  or  a  ba- 
chelor? Then  to  answer  every  man  directly,  aud 
briefly,  wisely,  and  truly.  Wisely  1  say,  I  am  a  ba- 
chelor. 

2  Cit.  That's  as  much  as  to  say,  they  are  fools  tha* 
marry: — You'll  bear  me  a  bang  for  that,  I  fear 
Proceed :  directly. 

Cin.  Directly,  I  am  going  to  Caesar's  funeral. 

1  Cit.  As  a  friend,  or  an  enemy? 
Cin.  As  a  friend. 

2  Cit.  That  matter  is  answered  directly. 

4  Cit.  For  your  dwelling, — briefly. 
Cin.  Briefly  I  dwell  by  the  Capitol. 

3  Cit.  Your  name,  sir,  truly. 
Cin.  Truly,  my  name  is  Cinna. 

1  Cit.  Tear  him  to  pieces,  he's  a  conspirator. 
Cin.  I  am  Cinna  the  poet,  I  am  Cinna  the  poet. 

4  Cit.  Tear  him  for  his  bad  verses,  tear  him  for  his 
bad  verses. 

Cin.  I  am  not  Cinna  the  conspirator. 

2  Cit.  It  is  no  matter,  his  name's  Cinna ;  pluck 
but  his  name  out  of  his  heart,  and  turn  him  going. 

3  Cit.  Tear  him,  tear  him.  Come,  brands,  ho! 
fire-brands.  To  Brutus',  to  Cassius';  burn  all. 
Some  to  Decius'  house,  and  some  to  Casca's:  some 
to  Ligarius' :  away ;  go.  [Exeunt:, 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — The  same.  A  Room  in  Antony'b  Horn** 
Antony,  Octavius,  and  Lepidus,  seated  at 
a  table. 

Ant.  These  many  then  shall  die  ;  their  names  an» 
prick'd.  [Lepidus? 
Oct.  Your  brother  too  must  die;  Consent  you, 
Lep.  I  do  consent. 

Oct.  Prick  him  down,  Antony. 

Lep.  Upon  condition  Publius  shall  not  live. 
Who  is  your  sister's  son,  Mark  Antony.  thim. 

Ant.  He  shall  not  live  ;  look,  with  a  spot  1  dama 
But,  Lepidus,  go  you  to  Caesar's  house  ; 
Fetch  the  wiU  hither,  and  we  determine. 
How  to  cut  ofl  some  charge  in  legacies. 

Lep.  What,  shall  I  find  you  here  V 

Oct.  '  Or  hpre,  or  at 

The  Capitol.  [Exit  Lepiduto 

Ant.  Thi.s  a  slight  unmeritable  man. 
Meet  to  be  sent  on  errands :  Is  it  fit. 
The  three-fold  world  divided,  he  should  stand 
One  of  the  three  to  share  it  ? 

Oct.  So  you  thought  him ; 

And  took  his  voice  who  should  oe  prick'd  to  die, 
In  our  black  sentence  and  proscription. 

Ant.  Octavius,  I  have  seen  more  days  than  yoa: 
And  though  we  lay  these  honours  on  this  man. 
To  ease  ourselves  ol'  divers  slanderous  loads. 
He  shall  but  bear  them  as  the  ass  bears  gold. 
To  groan  and  sweat  under  the  business. 
Either  le  1  or  driven,  as  we  point  the  way; 
And  having  brought  our  treasure  where  we  will. 
Then  take  we  down  his  load,  and  turn  him  off. 
Like  to  the  empty  ass,  to  shake  his  ears, 
And  graze  in  common. 

Oct.  You  may  do  your  will , 

But  he's  a  tried  and  valiant  soldier. 

Ant.  So  is  my  horse,  Octavius ;  and,  for  that, 
I  do  appoint  him  store  of  provender.  ^ 
It  is  a  creature  that  I  teach  to  fight, 
'i  o  wind,  to  stop,  to  run  directly  on  ; 
His  corporal  motion  govern'd  by  my  spirit. 
And,  ill  some  taste,  is  Lepidus  biit  so ; 
He  must  be  taught,  and  traiu'd,  and  bid  go  forth  I 


JULIUS  CiESAR. 


m  JULIUS 

A  bai iTii-spIrited  fellow;  one  that  feeds 
Ou  objects,  arts,  and  imitations; 
VVhicli,  out  of  use,  and  stal'd  by  other  men, 
Begin  his  fashion  :  Do  not  talk  of  him, 
Biit,  as  a  property.    And  now,  Octavius, 
Listen  great  things. — Brutus  and  Cassius, 
Are  levying  powers:  we  must  straight  make  head  : 
Tlierefore,  let  our  alliance  be  combin'd. 
Our  best  friends  made,  and  our  best  means  stretch'd 
And  let  us  presently  go  sit  in  council,  [out ; 

How  covert  matters  may  be  best  disclos'd, 
And  open  perils  surest  answered. 

Oct.  Let  us  do  so :  for  we  are  at  the  stake, 
And  bay'd  about  with  many  enemies , 
And  some,  that  smile,  have  in  their  hearts,  I  fear. 
Millions  of  mischief.  [Exeunt. 
Scene  If. — Before  Brutus'  Tent,  in  the  Camp 

near  Sardis. 
Drum    Enter  Brutus,  Lucilius,  Lucius,  and 

Soldiers,    TiTiNiUS  and   PiNDARUS,  meeting 

them. 

Bru.  Stand  here. 

Luc.  Give  the  word,  ho!  and  stand. 

Bru.  What  now,  Lucilius?  is  Cassius  near? 

Luc.  He  is  at  hand  ;  and  Pindfirus  is  come 
To  do  you  salutation  from  his  master. 

{Pindarus  gives  a  letter  to  Brutus.) 

Bru.  He  greets  me  well. — Your  master,  Pindarus, 
In  his  own  change,  or  by  ill  officers, 
Hatii  given  me  some  worthy  cause  to  wish 
Tilings  d.one,  undone  :  but,  if  he  be  at  hand, 
I  shall  be  satisfied. 

Pin.  I  do  not  doubt. 

But  that  my  noble  master  will  appear, 
Such  as  he  is,  full  of  regard,  and  honour. 

Bru.  He  is  not  doubted. — A  word.  Lucilius: 
Hi»\v  Ue  receiv'd  you,  let  me  be  resolv'd. 

Luc.  With  courtesy,  and  with  respect  enough; 
But  B(*t  with  such  familiar  instances, 
Nor  witli  such  free  and  triendly  conference. 
As  he  hath  us'd  of  old. 

Bru.  Thou  hast  describ'd 

A  hot  friend  cooling:  Ever  note,  Lucilius, 
When  love  begins  to  sicken  and  decay. 
It  useth  an  enforced  ceremony. 
'J'tiere  are  no  tricks  in  plain  and  simple  faith; 
Biit  hollow  men,  like  horses  hot  at  hand, 
Make  gallant  shew  and  promise  of  their  niettle  : 
But,  wlien  they  should  endure  the  bloody  spnr. 
They  fall  their  crests^  and,  like  deceitful  jades. 
Sink  in  the  trial.    Comes  his  army  on?  [ter'd; 

Luc.  They  mean  this  night  in  Sardis  to  be  quar- 
The  greater  part,  the  horse  in  general, 
A  re  come  with  Cassius.  ( March  within.) 

Bru.  Hark,  he  is  arriv'd  :-^ 

March  gently  on  to  meet  him. 

Enter  Cassius  and  Soldiers, 

Cos.  Stand,  ho! 

Bru.  Stand,  ho  I  Speak  the  word  along. 
Within.  Stand, 
Within.  Stand 
Within.  Stand. 

Cas.  Most  Dobie  brother,  yea  have  done  roe 
wrong.  [enemies  ? 

Bru.  Judge   me,  yoa  gods!    Wrong  I  mine 
And,  if  xjot  so,  how  should  I  wrong  a  brother? 

Cas.  Brutus,  this  sober  form  of  yours  hides 
And  when  you  do  them —  [wrongs; 

i?m.  Cassius,  be  content, 

Speak  your  griefs  softly, — I  do  know  you  well  : — 
Before  the  eyes  of  both  our  armies  here, 
\\  hich  should  perceive  nothing  but  love  from  us, 
fjet  us  not  wrangle  :  Bid  them  move  away : 
The.'j  in  my  tent,  Cassius,  enlarge  your  griefs, 
An'l  I  will  give  you  audience. 

Cas.  Pindarus, 
Bid  cur  commanders  lead  their  charges  otf 
A  little  Irom  this  ground. 

Bru.  Lucilius,  do  tlie  like  •  and  let  no  man 

k 


C^SATL  Act  IY 

Come  to  our  tent,  fill  we  have  doi*  our  conference! 
Let  Lucius  and  Titinius  guard  oar  door,  [Exeui^ 

Scene  \U.— Within  the  Tent  of  Brutus, 

Lucius  and  Titinius  at  some  distance  from  it. 

Enter  B^iST\]s  and  Cassius. 

Cas.  That  you  have  wrong 'd  me,  doth  appear  in 
this : 

You  have  condemn'd  and  noted  Lucius  Pella, 
For  taking  bribes  here  of  the  Sardians  ; 
Wherein,  my  letters,  praying  on  his  side. 
Because  I  knew  the  man,  were  slighted  off. 

Bru.  You  wrong'd  yourself,  to  write  in  such  1 
case. 

Cas.  In  such  a  time  as  this,  it  is  not  meet 
That  every  nice  offence  should  bear  his  comment 

Bru.  Let  me  tell  you,  Cassius,  you  yourself 
Are  much  condemn'd  to  have  an  itching  palm ; 
To  sell  and  niart  your  offices  for  gold. 
To  undeservens. 

Cas.  1  an  itching  palm  ? 

You  know,  that  you  are  Brutus  that  speak  this, 
Or,  by  the  gods,  this  speech  were  else  your  last. 

Bru.  The  name  of  Cassius  honours  this  corruptioSf 
And  chastisement  doth  therefore  hide  his  head. 

C«s.  Chastisement !  [member! 

Bru.  Remember  March,  the  ides  of  March  re- 
Did  not  great  Julius  bleed  for  justice'  sake  ? 
What  villain  touch'd  his  body,  that  did  stab. 
And  not  for  justice?  What,  shall  one  of  us, 
That  struck  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world, 
.  But  for  supporting  robbers  ;  shall  we  now 
Contaminate  our  fingers  with  base  bribes? 
And  sell  the  mighty  space  of  our  large  honoursi. 
For  so  much  trash,  as  may  be  grasped  thus?— 
I  had  rather  be  a  dog,  and  bay  the  moon. 
Than  such  a  Roman. 

Cas.  Brutus,  bay  not  me, 

I'll  not  endure  it:  you  forget  yourself, 
To  hedge  me  in  :  1  am  a  soldier,  I, 
Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions. 

Bru.  Go  to ;  you're  not.  Cassias* 

Cas.  I  am. 

Bru.  I  say,  you  are  not. 

Cas.  Urge  me  no  more ;  I  shall  forget  myself; 
Have  mind  upon  your  health,  tempt  me  no  further. 
Bru.  \way,  slight  man! 
Cas.  Is't  possible  ? 

Bru.  Hear  me,  for  I  will  speak. 

Must  I  give  way  and  room  to  your  rash  choler  ? 
Shall  1  be  frighted,  when  a  madman  stares? 

Cas.  O  ye  gods !  ye  gods!  Must  I  endure  ail  this? 

Bru.  All  this?  ay,  more:  Fret,  till  your  proud 
heart  break; 
Go,  shew  your  slaves  how  choleric  you  are, 
And  make  your  bondmen  tremble.    Must  I  budge? 
Must  I  observe  you  ?  Must  I  stand  and  crouch 
Under  your  testy  humour?  By  the  gods, 
You  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen. 
Though  it  do  split  yoa  ;  for,  from  this  day  forth, 
I'll  use  you  for  my  mirth,  yea,  for  my  laughter. 
When  you  are  waspish. 

Cas.  Is  it  come  to  this  ? 

Bru.  You  say,  you  are  a  better  soldier: 
Let  it  appear  so ;  make  your  vaunting  true. 
And  it  shall  please  me  well:  For  mine  own  part, 
1  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men. 

Cas.  You  wrong  me  every  way,  you  wrong  ni0f 
1  said,  an  elder  soldier,  not  a  better:  [Brutus{ 
Did  I  say  better  ? 

Bru.  If  you  did,  I  care  not 

Cas.  When  Csesar  liv'd,  he  durst  not  thus  have 
mov'd  me.  [him. 

Bru.  Peace,  peace ;  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted 

Cas.  I  durst  not? 

Bru.  No. 

Cas.  What?  durst  not  tempt  him  ? 

Bru.  For  your  life  you  durat  no^ 


ScEIsTJ  3. 


JULIUS  C^SAR. 


)9S 


Cas.  Do  not  presame  too  roncli  upon  my  love ; 
I  may  do  (hat  I  shall  be  sorry  for.  [foe 

Br*..  Yoa  have  done  thit,  you  shonld  be  sorry 
here  is  no  terror,  Cassias,  m  yonr  threats  ; 
t  or  I  am  arui'd  so  strotig  in  honesty, 
Thnt  they  pass  by  me  as  the  idle  wind, 
\^  iiich  I  respect  not.    1  did  send  to  you 
F  1  certain  sums  of  gold,  which  you  deny'd  ;ne  ; — 
Fi  1  I  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means  : 
B)  heaven,  I  had  rather  coin  my  heart, 
Ai  «l  drop  my  biood  for  drachmas,  than  to  wring 
I'l  l  m  the  hard  hands  of  peasants  their  vile  trash, 
B\  any  indirection.    I  did  send 
Til  you  for  gold  to  pay  my  legions, 
Wl  ichvou  denied  me:  Was  that  done  likeCassius? 
bhi  aid  \  have  ansvver'd  Caius  Cassius  so  ? 
Wi  en  Marcus  Brutus  grows  so  covetous. 
To  lock  such  rascal  counters  from  his  friends, 
Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts, 
Da  h  him  to  pieces  ! 

Cas.  I  denied  you  not. 

Bru.  You  did. 

Cas.  I  did  not : — he  was  but  a  fool, 

That  brought  my  answer  back. — Brutus  hath  riv'd 

my  heart : 

A  friend  should  bear  his  friend's  infirmities, 
But  Brutus  makes  mine  greater  than  ihey  are. 

Bru.  I  do  tjot,  till  yoi;  practise  them  on  me. 

Cas.  You  love  me  not. 

Brtu         _  I  do  not  like  your  faults. 

Gas.  A  friendly  eye  co'ild  never  see  such  faults. 

Bru.  A  flatterer's  would  not,  though  they  do  ap- 
As  huge  as  high  Olympus.  [pear 

Cas.  Come,  Antony,  and  young  Octavius,  come, 
Revenge  yourselves  alone  on  Cassius, 
For  Cassius  is  a-weary  of  the  world  : 
Hated  by  one  lie  loves  ;  biav'd  by  his  brother; 
Check'd  like  a  bondman  ;  all  his  faults  observ'd. 
Set  in  a  note-book,  learn'd  and  conn'd  by  rote. 
To  cast  into  my  teeth.    O,  I  could  weep 
My  spirit  froui  (nine  eyes  I — There  is  my  dagger, 
And  here  my  naked  breast;  within,  a  heart 
Dearer  than  Piutus'  mine,  richer  than  gold  : 
If  t.hat  thou  be'st  a  Roman,  take  it  forth  ; 
[  that  denied  thee  gold,  will  give  my  heart : 
Strike,  as  tiiou  didst  at  Caesar ;  ibr,  J  know, 
When  tlion  didst  hate  him  worst,  thou  lov'dst  him 
Than  ever  thou  lov'dst  Cassius.  [better 

Bru.  Sheath  your  dagger  : 

Be  angi-y  when  you  will,  it  shall  have  scope  ; 
Do  what  you  will,  dishonour  shall  be  humour. 
O  Cassius,  you  are  yoked  with  a  lamb, 
That  carries  anger,  as  the  flint  bears  Are  ; 
Who,  much  enforced,  shews  a  hasty  spark. 
And  straight  is  cold  again. 

Cas.  Hath  Cassius  liv'd 

To  be  but  mirth  and  laughter  to  his  Brutus, 
When  grief,  and  blood  ill-temper'd,  vexeth  him? 

Bru.  When  I  spoke  that,  1  was  ill-temper'd  too. 

Ca»,  Do  you  conless  so  much?   Give  me  your 

Bru,  And  my  heart  too.  [hand. 

Cas.  O  Brutus!— 

Bru.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Cas.  Have  you  not  love  enough  to  bear  with  me. 
When  that  rash  humour,  which  my  mother  gave  me, 
Makes  me  forgetful  ? 

Bru.  Yes,  Cassius ;  and,  henceforth. 

When  you  are  over  earnest  with  your  Brutus, 
He'll  think  your  mother  chides,  and  leave  you  so. 

{Noise  ivithin,) 

Poet.  [fVithin.)  Let  me  go  in  to  see  the  general ; 
There  is  some  grudge  between  them,  'tis  not  meet 
They  be  alone. 

Luc.  [Wii/iin.)  You  shall  not  come  to  them. 

Poei  {Within.)  Nothing  but  death  shall  stay  me. 

Enter  Poet, 
Cas.  How  now?  What's  the  matter  ?  [mean? 
Voet.  For  shame,  you  generals ;  what  do  yi  u 
\e  and  be  friends,  as  two  such  men  should  be  ; 


For  I  have  seen  more  years,  I  ain  sure  than  ye. 
Cas.  Ha,  ha;  how  vilely  doth  this  cvnic  rhyme 
Bru.  Get  you  hence,  sirrah  ;  saucy  fe'llow,  henc 
Cas.  Bear  with  him,  Br-itus  ;  'tis  his  fashion. 
Bru.  I'll  know  his  humour,  when  he  knows 
time  : 

What  should  the  wars  do  with  these  jigging  foola 
Companion,  hence. 

(^^as.  Away,  away,  be  gone. 

[Exit  Po^ 
Enter  LuciLius  and  Titinius. 
Bru.  Lucilius  and  Titinius,  bid  the  commandeis 
Prepare  to  lodge  their  companies  to-night. 

Cas.  And  come  yourselves,  and  bring  Messai* 
with  you 

Immediately  to  us.  [Exeunt  Lucilius  and  Titinius. 

Bru.  Lucius,  a  bowl  of  wine. 

Cas.  I  did  not  think,  you  could  have  been  so  angry. 

Bru.  O  Gaasiu?,  I  am  sick  of  many  griefs. 

Cas.  Of  your  philosophy  you  make  no  use. 
If  you  give  place  to  accidental  evils. 

Bru.  No  man  bears  sorrow  better: — Portia  is 

Cas.  Ha!  Portia?  [dead. 

Bru.  She  is  dead. 

Cas.  How  'cap'd  I  killing,  when  I  cross'd  you  so  I— 

0  insupportable  and  touching  loss  ! — 
Upon  what  sickness? 

Bru.  Impatient  of  my  absence ; 

And  grief,  that  young  Octavius  with  Mark  Antony 
Have  made  themselves  so  strong; — for  with  he» 
death 

That  tidings  came  ; — W^ith  this  she  fell  distract. 
And,  her  attendants  absent,  swallow'd  fire. 

Cas.  And  died  so  ? 

Bru.  Even  so. 

Cas.  O  ye  immortal  gods ! 

Enter  Lucius,  with  wine  and  tapers. 
Bru.  Speak  no  more  of  her. — -Give  me  a  bawl  o{ 
wine : — 

In  this  I  bury  all  unkindness,  Cassius.  [Drinks^ 

Cas.  My  heart  is  thirsty  for  that  noble  pledge 
Fill,  Lucius,  till  the  wine  o'erswell  the  cup; 

1  cannot  drink  too  much  of  Brutus'  love.  {Drinks, 

Re-enter  Titinius  with  Messala 
Bru.  Come  in,  Titinius  : — Welcome,  good  Me* 
sala. — 

Now  sit  we  close  about  this  taper  here. 
And  call  in  question  our  necessities. 

Cas.  Portia,  art  thou  gone? 

Bru.  No  more,  I  pray  you.— 

Messala,  I  have  here  received  letters, 
That  young  Octavius,  and  Mark  Antony, 
Come  down  upon  as  with  a  mighty  power. 
Bending  their  expedition  toward  Philippi. 

Mes,  Myself  have  letters  of  the  self-same  tenouj; 

Bru,  With  what  addition? 

Mes.  That  by  proscription,  and  bills  of  outlainy 
Octavius,  Antony,  and  Lepidus, 
Have  put  to  death  an  hundred  senators. 

Bru.  Therein  our  letters  do  not  well  agree 
Mine  speak  of  seventy  senators,  that  died 
By  their  proscriptions,  Cicero  being  one. 

Cas.  Cicero  one  ? 

Mes,  Ay,  Cicero  is  dead. 

And  by  that  order  of  proscription.— 
Had  you  your  letters  from  your  wife,  my  lord  i 

Bru.  ^o,  Messala. 

Mes.  Nor  nothing  in  your  letters  writ  of  her? 
Bru.  Nothing,  Messala. 

Mes,  That,  methioks,  is  strange 

Bru.  Why  ask  you?  Hear  you  aught  of  hei  h 
Mes.  No,  my  lord.  [yoois^ 
Bru,  Now,  as  you  are  a  Roman,  tell  me  true. 
Mes.  Then  like  a  Roman  bear  the  truth  I  teli: 
For  certain  she  is  dead,  and  by  strange  manner 
Bru.  Why,   farewell,   Portia. — We  must  die 
Messala  •. 


600 


JULIUS  C^SAR. 


Act  rV. 


With  meditating  that  site  must  die  once, 
I  have  th'=^  patience  to  endure  it  now.  [dure. 
Mes.  Even  so  great  men  great  losses  should  eo- 
Cas.  I  have  as  much  of  this  in  art  as  you. 
But  yet  iny  nature  could  not  bear  it  so. 

Bru.  VVell,  to  our  work  alive.    What  do  you 
think 

Of  inarclilng  to  Philippi  presently? 

Cas.  I  do  not  think  it  good. 

Bru.  Your  reason? 

Cas.  This  it  is : 

Tis  better,  that  the  enemy  seek  us  : 
So  sliall  he  waste  his  means,  weary  his  soldiers, 
Doing  himself  olfence  ;  whilst  we,  lying  still. 
Are  full  of  rest,  defence,  and  nimbleness. 

Bru.  (Jood  reasons  must,  of  force,  give  place  to 
better. 

The  people,  'twixt  Philippi  and  this  ground, 
Do  stand  but  in  a  forc'd  affection  ; 
For  they  have  grudg'd  us  contribution: 
The  enemy,  marching  along  by  them. 
By  them  shall  make  a  fuller  number  up, 
Come  on  refresh'd,  new-added,  and  encourag'd; 
From  which  advantage  shall  we  cut  him  off. 
If  at  i*hilippi  we  do  face  him  there. 
These  people  at  our  back. 

Cas.  Hear  me,  good  brother. 

Bru.  Under  your  pardon. — Yon  must  note  beside. 
That  we  have  trv'd  the  utmost  of  our  friends, 
Otir  legions  are  brim  full,  our  cause  is  ripe : 
The  enemy  increaseth  every  day; 
We,  at  the  height,  are  ready  to  decline. 
There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
;  Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune; 
Omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  their  life 
Is  bound  it)  shallows,  and  in  miseries. 
On  such  a  full  sea  are  we  now  afloat: 
And  we  must  take  the  currept  when  it  serves. 
Or  lose  our  ventures. 

Cas.  Then,  with  your  will,  go  on ; 

We'll  along  ourselves,  and  meet  them  at  Philiopi. 

Bru.  The  deep  of  night  is  crept  upon  our  tallc, 
And  nature  must  obey  necessity  ; 
Whicli  we  will  niggard  with  a  little  rest. 
Tiipre  is  no  more  to  say  ? 

Cas.  No  more.    Good  night ; 

Early  tj-tiiorrow  will  we  rise,  and  hence. 

Bru.  Lucius,  mv  gown.    [Exit  Lucius.]  Fare- 
well, good  Messala ; — 
Good  oiglit,  Titinius  : — Noble,  noble  Cassius  : 
'  J.Kul  night,  and  good  repose. 

6V/.S.  O  my  dear  brother ! 

riiis  was  ail  ill  beginning  of  the  night: 
Never  cduie  such  division  'tween  our  souls! 
Let  it  not,  Brutus. 

Bni.  Every  thing  is  well. 

C<<s.  Good  night,  my  lord. 

Bru.  Good  night,  good  brother. 

Til  §'  Mess.  Good  night,  lord  Brutus. 
Bru.  Farewell,  every  one. 

[Exeunt  Cas.  Tit.  and  Mes, 

Re-enter  Lucius,  with  the  gown. 
Give  ine  the  ^uwn.    Where  is  thy  instrument? 
Ltitc.  Here  in  the  tent. 

B)  u  Weat,  thou  speak'st  drowsily? 

Poor  knave,  I  blame  thee  not;  thou  art  o'er-watch'd. 
Ci.ll  Ciaudiiis,  and  some  other  of  my  men; 
I  11  have  them  sleep  on  cushions  in  my  tent. 

hue.  Varro  and  Claudius  ? 

Enter  Varbo  and  Claudius. 
Luc.  Cslls  niy  lord  ? 

Bru.  \  prav  you,  sirs,  lie  in  my  tent,  and  sleep; 
It  may  be,  I  sliall  raise  j^ou  by  and  by 
On  business  to  my  brother  Cassius. 

Var.  So  please  you,  we  will  stand,  and  watch 
your  pleasure. 

Bru.  I  will  not  have  it  so:  lie  down,  good  sirs; 
it  may  be,  I  shall  otherwise  bethink  uie. 


Look,  Lucius,  here's  the  book  I  sought  for  so; 
I  put  it  in  the  pocket  of  my  gown.  {Servantt  lit 

down.) 

Luc.  I  was  sure,  your  lordship  did  not  give  it  we. 
Bru.  Bear  with  me,  good  boy,  I  am  much  fo^ 
getful. 

Canst  thou  hold  up  the  heavy  eyes  awhile. 
And  touch  thy  instrument  a  strain  or  two? 
Luc.  Ay,  my  lord,  an  it  please  you. 
Bru.  It  does,  mjr  Ley; 

J  trouble  thee  too  macli,  but  thou  art  willing. 
Luc.  It  is  my  duty,  sir. 

Bru.  I  should  not  urge  thy  duty  past  thy  mighk 
I  know,  young  blood  look  for  a  time  of  rest. 
Luc.  I  have  slept,  my  lord,  already. 
Bru.  It  is  well  done ;  and  thou  sha'it  sleep  agait 
I  will  not  hold  thee  long :  if!  do  live, 
I  will  be  good  to  thee.       {Music,  and  a  Sony.) 
This  is  a  sleepy  tune  : — O  murd'rous  slumber  ! 
Lay'st  thou  thy  leaden  mace  upon  my  boy. 
That  plays  thee  music  ? — Gentle  knave,  good  nigh' 
I  will  not  do  thee  so  much  wrong  to  wake  thee. 
If  thou  dost  nod,  thou  break'st  thy  instrument; 
I'll  take  it  from  thee  ;  and,  good  boy,  good  night. 
Let  me  see.  let  me  see  : — Is  not  the  leaf  turn'd  dowi^ 
Where  I  left  reading?  Here  it  is,  I  think. 

{He  sits  doHT^ 

Enter  the  Ghost  of  C^sar. 
How  ill  this  taper  burns ! —  Ha  I  who  comes  here 
I  think  it  is  the  weakness  of  miue  eyes, 
That  shapes  this  monstrous  apparition. 
It  comes  upon  me  : — Art  thou  any  thing? 
Art  thou  some  god,  some  angel,  or  some  devil, 
That  mak'st  my  blood  cold,  and  ray  hair  to  starf  ? 
Speak  to  me,  what  thou  art. 
Ghost.  Thy  evil  spirit,  Brutus, 
Bru.  Why  com'st  thoa  . 

Ghost.  To  tell  thee,  thou  shalt  see  me  at  ^b'linra, 
Bru.  Well;  " 
Then  I  shall  see  thee  again? 

Ghost.  Ay,  at  Philippi.  (Ghost  vattnthet 

Bru.  Why,  1  will  see  thee  at  Philippi  then  — 
Now  I  have  taken  heart,  thou  vanishest: 
III  spirit,  I  would  hold  more  talk  with  l^ee. — 
Boy  I  Lucius! — Varro!  Claudius!  Sirs,  awake  I— 
Claudius ! 

Luc.  The  strings,  my  lord,  are  false. 
Bni.  He  thinks,  he  still  is  at  his  instrument.—- 
Lucius,  awake  ! 
Luc.  My  lord  ? 

Bru.  Didst  thou  dream,  Lucius,  that  thoa  so 

cry'dst  out  ? 
Luc.  My  lord,  I  do  not  know  that  1  did  cry. 
Bru.  Yes,  that  thou  didst :  Didst  thou  see  any 

thing  ? 
Luc.  Nothing,  my  lord. 
Bru.  Sleep  again,  Lucius. — Sirrah,  Claudius! 
Fellow  thou  !  awake! 
Var.  My  lord. 
Clau.  My  lord. 

Bru.  Why  did  you  so  cry  out,  sirs,  in  your  sleepP 
Var  §C  clau.  Did  we,  my  lord  ? 
Bru.  Ay  ;  saw  you  any  thing? 

Var.  No,  my  lord,  1  saw  nothing. 
Clau.  Nor  I,  my  lord. 

Bru.  Go,  and  commend  me  to  my  brother  Cassiotf; 
Bid  him  set  on  his  powers  betimes  before, 
And  we  vvill  follow. 

Var  §f  Clau.  It  shall  be  done,  my  lord.  [Exeunt 

ACT  V. 

Scene  T. — The  Plains  of  Philippi. 
Enter  Octavius,  Antony,  and  their  Army. 
Oct.  Now,  Antony,  our  hopes  are  ar.swered: 

You  said,  the  enemy  would  not  come  down. 
But  keep  the  hills  and  upper  regions  ; 
It  proves  not  so:  their  battles  are  at  hand; 
They  mean  to  warn  us  at  Philippi  here 


Scene  2. 


JL'LIUS  C^SAR. 


601 


Answering  befiwe  we  do  demand  of  them. 

Ani.  Tilt,  I  am  in  their  bosoms,  and  I  know 
Wherefore  they  do  it:  they  could  be  content 
To  visit  other  places ;  and  come  down 
With  fearful  bravery,  thinking,  by  this  face. 
To  fasten  in  our  thoughts  that  they  have  courage , 
But  'tis  not  so. 

Enter  a  Messenger, 
Me^,  Prepare  you,  generals: 

The  enemy  comes  on  in  gallant  shew; 

Their  bloody  sign  of  battle  is  hung  out, 

And  something  to  be  done  immediately. 
A*'f.  Octavius,  lead  your  battle  softly  o- 

Up<«i  the  left  hand  of  the  even  field. 
Oct.  Upon  the  right  hand  I,  keep  thou  the  left 
Ant.  Why  do  you  cross  me  in  this  exigent? 
Oct.  I  do  not  cross  you ;  but  I  will  do  so.  {March.) 

Drum.  Enter  Brutus,  Cassius,  and  their  Army; 
LuciNius,  TiTiNius,  Messala,  and  others. 

Bru.  They  stand,  and  would  have  parley. 

Cos.  Stand  fast,  Titinius  :  We  must  out  and  talk. 

Oct.  Mark  Antony,  shall  we  give  sign  of  battle  ? 

Ant.  No,  Caesar,  we  will  answer  on  their  charge. 
Make  forth,  the  generals  would  have  some  words. 

Oct.  Stir  not  until  tke  signal.  [men? 

Bru.  Words  before  blows :  Is  it  so,  country- 

Oct.  Not  that  we  love  words  better,  as  you  do. 

Bru.  Good  words  are  better  than  bad  strokes, 
Octavius.  [words : 

Ant.  In  your  bad  strokes,  Brutus,  you  give  good 
Witness  the  hole  you  made  in  Caesar's  heart. 
Crying,  Long  live!  hail.,  Ccesar! 

Cas.  Antony, 
The  posture  of  your  blows  are  vet  unknown ; 
But  for  your  words,  they  rob  the  Hybla  bees. 
And  leave  them  honeyless. 

A  nt.  Not  stingless  too. 

Bru.  O,  yes,  and  soundless  too ; 
For  you  have  stol'n  their  buzzing,  Antony, 
And,  very  wisely,  threat  before  you  sting. 

Ant.  Villains,  you  did  not  so,  when  your  vile 
daggers 

Hack'd  one  another  in  the  sides  of  Caesar : 

You  shew'd  your  teeth  like  apes,  and  fawn'd  like 

hounds, 

And  bow'd  like  loondmen,  kissing  Caesar's  feet ; 
Whilst  damned  Casca,  like  a  cur,  behind. 
Struck  Cae.sar  on  the  neck.    O  flatterers  ! 

Cas.  Flatterers  ! — Now,  Brutus,  thank  yourself : 
This  tongue  had  not  offended  so  to-day. 
If  Cassius  might  have  rul'd. 

Oct.  Come,  come,  the  cause :  If  arguing  make 
us  sweat, 

The  proof  of  it  will  turn  to  redder  drops. 
Look; 

I  draw  a  sword  against  conspirators  ; 

When  think  you  that  the  sword  goes  up  again  ? — 

Never,  till  Caesar's  three  and  twenty  wounds 

Be  well  aveng'd  ;  or  till  another  Caesar 

Hare  added  slaughter  to  the  sword  of  traitors. 

Bru.  Caesar,  thou  can'st  not  die  by  traitors, 
Unless  thou  bring'st  them  with  thee. 

Oct.  So  I  hope ; 

I  was  not  born  to  die  on  Brutus'  sword. 

Bru.  O,  if  thou  wert  the  noblest  of  thy  strain. 
Young  man,  thou  could'st  not  die  more  honourable. 

Cas.  A  peevish  schoolboy,  wortliless  of  such  ho- 
nour, 

Join'd  with  a  masker  and  a  reveller. 
Ant.  Old  Cassius  still ! 

Oct.  Come,  Antony ;  away. — 

Defiance,  traitors,  hurl  we  in  your  teeth  : 
If  you  dare  fight  to-day,  come  to  the  field  : 
If  not,  when  yon  have  stomachs. 

[Exeunt  Octavius,  Antony,  and  their  Army 
Cas.  Why  now,  blow,  wind  ;  swell,  billow;  and 
swim,  bark ! 
1  he  Rtorm  is  up,  and  all  is  on  the  hazard. 


Bru.  Hoi 
Lucilius ;  hark,  a  word  with  yea. 
Luc.  '     My  lord. 

{Brutus  and  Lucilius  converse  apart 
Cas.  Messala, — 

Mes.  What  says  my  general  ? 

Cas.  ^  Messala, 

This  is  my  birth-day ;  as  this  very  day 
Was  Cassius  born.    Give  me  thy  hand,  Messala: 
Be  thou  my  witness,  that,  against  my  will. 
As  Pompey  was,  am  I  compell'd  to  set 
Upon  one  battle  all  our  liberties. 
You  know,  that  I  held  Epicurus  strong. 
And  his  opinion  :  now  I  change  my  mind. 
And  partly  credit  things  that  do  presage. 
Coming  from  Sardis,  on  our  former  ensign 
Two  mighty  eagles  fell ;  and  there  they  perch'd. 
Gorging  and  feeding  from  our  soldiers  nands; 
Who  to  Philippi  here  consorted  us : 
This  morning  are  they  fled  away,  and  gone  ; 
And  in  their  steads,  do  ravens,  crows,  and  kites. 
Fly  o'er  our  heads,  and  downward  look  on  ns, 
As  we  were  sickly  prey;  their  shadows  seem 
A  canopy  most  fatal,  under  which 
Our  army  lies,  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost, 

Mes.  Believe  not  so. 

Cas,  I  but  believe  it  partly ; 

For  I  am  fresh  of  spirit,  and  r-?solv'd 
To  meet  all  perils  very  constantly. 

Bru.  Even  so,  Lucilius. 

Cas.  Now,  most  noble  Brutus^ 

The  gods  to-day  stand  friendly  ;  that  we  may. 
Lovers  in  peace,  lead  on  our  days  to  age  ! 
But,  since  the  affairs  of  men  rest  still  uncertain. 
Let's  reason  with  the  worst  that  may  befall. 
If  we  do  lose  this  battle,  then  is  this 
The  very  last  time  we  snail  sjieak  together* 
What  are  you  then  determined  to  do  ? 

Bru.  Even  by  the  rule  of  that  philosophy, 
By  which  I  did  blame  Cato  for  the  death 
Which  he  did  give  himself: — I  know  not  how, 
But  I  do  find  it  cowardly  and  vile. 
For  fear  of  what  might  fall,  so  to  prevent 
The  time  of  life: — arming  myself  with  patience. 
To  stray  the  providence  of  some  high  powers. 
That  govern  us  below. 

Cas,  Then,  if  we  lose  this  batUe^ 

You  are  contented  to  be  led  in  triumpa 
Tttorough  the  streets  of  Rome  ?  [Roman, 
Bru.  No,  Cassius,  no:   think  not,  thou  nobl« 
That  ever  Brutus  will  go  bound  Jo  Rome  : 
He  bears  too  great  a  mind.    But  this  same  day 
Must  end  that  work,  the  ides  of  March  began ; 
And  whether  we  shall  meet  again,  I  know  not. 
Therefore  our  everlasting  farewell  take  : — 
For  ever,  and  for  ever,  farewell,  Cassius! 
If  we  do  meet  again,  why  we  shall  smile ; 
If  not,  why  then  this  parting  was  well  made, 

Cas.  For  ever,  and  for  ever,  farewell,  Brutus! 
If  we  do  meet  again,  we'll  smile  indeed  ; 


If  not,  'tis  true,  this  parting  was  well  made. 
Bru.  Why  then,  lead  on. — O,  that 


know 


a  man  might 


The  end  of  this  day's  business,  ere  it  come! 

But  it  sufficeth,  that  the  day  will  end. 

And  then  the  end  is  known. — Come,  ho !  away. 

[Exeunt 

Scene  II.— The  same.    The  Field  of  Battle. 

Alarum,    Enter  Brutus  and  Messala. 

Bru.  Ride,  ride,  Messala,  ride,  and givf  these billi 
Unto  the  legions  <»n  the  other  side  : 

{Lojid  alarum.) 
Let  them  set  on  at  once ;  for  I  perceive 
But  cold  demeanour  in  Octavius'  wing, 
And  sudden  push  gives  them  the  overthrow. 
Ride,  ride,  Messala:  let  them  all  come  down. 

[Exeunti 


602 


JUL.US  CMSAU. 


Act  T. 


S  CENE  III.  —The  same.  Another  Pari  of  the  Field. 
Alarum.    Enter  Cassius  and  Titinius. 

€as.  O,  look,  Titinius,  look,  the  villains  fly! 
M\ self  hav  e  to  mine  own  turn'd  enerry: 
This  ensign  here  of  mine  was  turning  back; 
I  slew  the  coward,  and  did  take  it  frC  m  him. 

Tit,  O  Cassius,  Brutus  gave  the  word  too  early; 
Who,  iiaving  some  advantage  on  Octavius, 
Took  it  too  eagerly  ^  his  soldiers  fell  to  spoil. 
Whilst  we  by  Antony  are  all  enclos'd. 

Enter  Pindarus. 

Pitt.  Fly  further  off,  ray  lord,  fly  further  off" ; 
Mark  Antony  is  in  your  teuts,  my  lord! 
Fly  therefore,  noble  Cassius,  fly  far  off". 

Cas.  This  hill  is  far  enough. — Look,  look,  Titinius ; 
Are  those  my  tents,  where  I  perceive  the  fire  ? 

Tit.  They  are,  my  lord. 

Cas.  Titinius,  if  thou  lov'st  me, 

Mount  thou  my  horse,  and  hide  tiiy  spurs  in  him, 
Till  he  have  brought  thee  up  to  yonder  troops. 
And  here  again;  that  I  may  rest  assur'd, 
Whether  yond'  troops  are  friend  or  enemy. 

Tit.  I  will  be  here  again,  even  with  a  thought. 

[Exit. 

Cas.  Go,  Pindarus,  get  higher  on  that  hill ; 
My  sight  was  ever  thick ;  regard  Titinius, 
And  tell  me  wiiat  tliou  nut'st  about  the  field. — 

[Exit  Pindarus. 
This  day  I  breathed  first:  time  is  come  round, 
And  where  I  did  begin,  there  I  shall  end; 
My  life  is  run  his  compass. — Sirrah,  what  news? 

Pm.  {Above.)  O  my  lord  I 

Cas.  What  news  ? 

Pin.  Titinius  is  ^ 
Enclosed  round  about  with  horsemen,  that 
Make  to  him  on  tite  spur; — Yet  he  spurs  on. — 
Now  they  are  alaK>st  on  him;  now,  'J'itmius! — 
Now  some  'ligiit : — O,  he  'lights  too: — lies  ta'en : — 
and,  hark  !  [Shout.) 
They  shout  for  joy. 

Cos.  Come  down,  behold  no  more. — 

O,  cowaid  that  I  am,  to  live  so  long, 
To  see  my  best  friend  ta'en  before  my  face ! 

Enter  Pindarus. 
Come  hither,  sirrah  : 
In  Partfii   did  I  take  thee  prisoner; 
And  then  I  swore  thee,  saving  of  thy  life, 
That  whatsoever  I  did  bid  thee  do,  [oath  ! 

Thou  should'st  attempt  it.    Come  now,  keep  thine 
Now  be  a  fretman;  and,  with  this  good  sword, 
That  ran  through  Caesar's  bowels,  search  this  bosom. 
Stand  not  to  answer:  Here,  take  thou  the  hilts; 
And,  when  my  face  is  cover'd,  as  'tis  now, 
Guid»*  thou  the  sword. — Caesar,  thou  art  reveng'd. 
Even  with  the  sword  that  kiil'd  thee.  {Dies.) 

Pin.  So,  I  am  free ;  yet  would  not  so  have  beeo. 
Durst  I  have  done  my  will.    O  Cassius! 
Far  from  this  country  Pindarus  shall  run, 
Wher«  never  Roman  shall  take  note  of  him.  [Exit. 

Re-enter  TiTiNiUS,  with  Messala. 

Meg.  It  is  but  change,  Titinius;  for  Octavius 
Is  overthrown  by  noble  Brutus'  power. 
As  Cassius'  legions  are  by  Antony. 

Tit.  These  tidings  will  well  comfort  Cassius. 

Mes.  Where  did  you  leave  him  ? 

JV'  •  .       .  •  .     ,  disconsolate, 
With  Pindarus  his  bondman,  on  this  hill. 
Mes.  Is  not  that  he,  that  lies  upon  the  ground  ? 
Tit.  He  lies  not  like  the  living.    O  my  heart ' 
Mes.  is  not  that  he  ? 

'?'»^«    .     .  No,  this  was  he,  Messala, 

But  Cassius  is  no  more. — O  setting  sun! 
As  in  thy  red  rays  thou  dost  sink  to-night, 
Ko  in  his  red  blood  Cassius'  day  is  set; 
he  sun  ol  Rome  is  set!  Our  day  is  gone; 


Clouds,  dews,  and  dangers  come;  oar  deeds  are 
done ! 

Mistrust  of  my  success  hath  done  this  deed. 

Mes.  Mistrust  of  good  success  hath  done  this  d«ed 

0  hateful  error,  melancholy's  child  ! 

Why  dost  thou  shew  to  the  apt  thoughts  of  men 
The  things  that  are  not  ?  O  error,  soon  cofficeiv'd. 
Thou  never  com"st  unto  a  happy  birth, 
But  kill'st  the  mother  that  engender'd  thee. 

Tit.  What,  Pindarus  '  Where  art  thou.  Pindivoi 
Mes.  Seek  him,  Titinius  :  whilst  I  go  to  meet 
The  noble  Brutus,  thrusting  this  report 
Into  his  ears  :  I  may  say,  thrusting  it ; 
For  piercing  steel,  and  darts  envenomed. 
Shall  be  as  welcome  to  the  ears  of  BriUus, 
As  tidings  of  this  sight. 

Tit.  Hie  you,  Messala, 

And  I  will  seek  for  Pindarus  the  while. 

[Exit  Mesaa*^ 
VVhy  didst  thou  send  me  forth,  brave  Cassius? 
Did  I  not  meet  thy  friends  ?  and  did  not  they 
Put  on  my  brows  this  wreath  of  victory. 
And  bid  me  give't  thee?  Didst  thou  not  hear  their 
shouts  ? 

Alas,  thou  hast  misconstrued  every  thing. 
But  hold  thee,  take  this  garland  on  thy  br®w; 
Thy  Brutus  bid  me  give  it  thee,  and  1 
Will  do  his  bidding. — Brutus,  come  apace. 
And  see  how  I  regarded  Caius  Cassius. — 
By  your  leave,  gods : — This  is  a  Roman's  part: 
Rome,  Cassius'  sword,  and  find  Titinius'  heart 

[Dies 

Alaru7n.  Re-enter  Messala,  with  Brutus,  youn 
Cato,  Strato,  VoLUMNius,  and  Luciuus. 

Bru.  Where,  where,  Messala,  doth  his  body  lie; 

Mes.  Lo,  yonder ;  and  Titinius  mourning  '\i 

Bru.  Titinius'  face  is  upward. 

Cato.  He  is  slain 

Bru.  O  Julius  Caesar,  thou  art  mighty  yet 
Thy  spirit  walks  abroad,  and  turns  our  swords 
In  our  own  proper  entrails.  (Low  nlarumt.) 

Cato.  Brave  Titinius ! 

Look  whe'r  he  have  not  crown'd  dead  Cassius! 

Bry.  Are  yet  two  Romans  living  such  as  these?— 
The  last  of  all  the  Romans,  fare  thee  well' 
It  is  impossible,  that  ever  Rome 
Should  breed  thy  fellow. —  Friends,  I  owe  more  tears 
To  this  dead  man.  than  you  shall  see  rae  pay. — 

1  shall  find  time,  Ca.«!sius,  I  shall  find  time, — 
Come,  therefore,  and  to  Thassos  send  his  body; 
His  funeral  shall  not  be  in  our  camp. 

Lest  it  discomfort  ns. — Liicilius,  come  ; — 
And  come,  young  Cato  ;  let  us  to  the  field.— 
Lnbeo.  and  Flavius,  set  our  battles  on : — 
'Tis  three  o'clock  ;  and,  Romans,  yet  ere  night 
We  shall  try  fortune  in  a  second  fight  [Exeuni 

Scene  lY.— Another  Part  of  the  Field. 
Alarum.  Enter,  Jighti?ig,  Soldiers  of  both  Armie$i 
then  Brutus,  Cato,  Luciuus,  and  others. 
Bru.  Yet,  countrymen,  O,  yet  hold  up  your  heads! 
Cato.  What  bastard  doth  not  ?  Who  will  go  with 
me? 

I  will  proclaim  iny  name  about  the  field 
1  am  the  son  of  Marcus  Cato,  ho ! 
A  i'oe  to  tyrants,  and  my  country's  friend; 
I  am  the  son  of  Marcus  Cato,  ho! 

{Charges  the  enemy.) 
Bru.  And  I  an>  Brutus,  Marcus  lirutus,  1 ; 
Brutus,  my  country's  friend:  know  me  for  Brutus. 

[Exit,  charging  the  enemy.  Cato  it  ovt^. 
powered,  and  falls. 
Luc.  O  young  and  noble  Cato,  art  thou  down? 
Why,  now  thou  diest  as  bravely  as  Titinios; 
And  may'st  be  honoured,  being  Cato's  son. 
1  Sold,  Yield,  or  thou  diest. 
Luc.  Only  I  yield  to  diei 

There  is  so  much  that  thou  wilt  kill  me  straight. 

Offering  money.) 


Scene  5. 


JULIUS  C^SAR. 


60S 


Kill  Brnfn?,  anc!  he  lionour'd  in  his  death. 

1  Sold.  We  must  not. — A  noble  prisoner  ! 

2  Sold.  Room,  ho!  Tell  Antony,  Brutus  is  ta'en. 
1  Sold.  I'll  tt-ll  the  news. — Here  comes  the  ge- 
neral : — 

Enter  Antony. 
Brntns  is  ta'en,  Brutus  is  ta'en,  my  lord. 
Ant.  Where  is  he? 

Luc.  Safe,  Antony;  Brutus  is  safe  enough: 
I  dare  assure  thee,  that  no  enemy 
Shall  ever  take  alive  the  noble  Brutus: 
The  gods  defend  him  from  so  great  a  shame ! 
When  you  do  tind  him,  or  alive,  or  dead. 
He  will  be  found  like  13rutus,  like  himself. 

Ant.  This  is  not  Brutus,  frieiwl ;  but,  I  assure  you, 
A  prize  no  less  in  worth ;  keep  this  man  safe, 
Give  him  all  kindness  :  I  had  rather  have 
Such  men  my  friends,  than  enemies.    Go  on. 
And  see  whe'r  Brntus  be  alive,  or  dead: 
And  bring  us  word,  unto  Octavius'  tent. 
How  every  thing  is  chanc'd.  [Exeunt. 

ScENK  V. — Another  Pari  of  the  Field. 
Enter  Brutus,  Dardanius,  Clitus,  Strato,  and 

VOLUMNIUS. 

Bru.  Come,  poor  remains  of  friends,  rest  on  this 
rock. 

Cli.  Statilins  shew'd  the  torch  light;  but,  ray  lord, 
He  came  not  back  ;  he  is  or  ta'en,  or  slain. 

Bru.  Sit  thee  down,  Clitus  :  Slaying  is  the  word  ; 
It  is  a  deed  in  fashion.    Hark  thee,  Clitus. — 

{Whispering.) 

Cli.  What,  I,  my  lord  ?  No,  not  for  all  the  world. 

Bru.  Peace,  then,  no  words. 

Cli.  I'd  rather  kill  myself. 

Bru.  Hark  thee,  Dardanius;  {Whispering  him.) 

T>ar.  I  do  such  a  deedr 

Cli.  O,  Dardanius ! 

Dar.  O,  Clitus ! 

Cli  What  ill  request  did  Brutus  make  to  thee? 
Dar.  To  kill  him,  Clitus:  Look,  he  meditates. 
Ch.  Now  is  tliat  noble  vessel  full  of  grief. 
That  it  runs  over  even  at  his  eyes. 

Bru  Come  hither,  good  Volumnius;  list  a  word. 
Vol.  What  says  my  lord? 

Bru.  Why  this,  Volumnius  : 

The  ghost  of  Caesar  hath  appear'd  to  me 
Two  several  times  by  night :  at  Sardis,  once; 
.And,  this  last  night,  here  in  Phihppi'  fields. 
1  know,  my  hour  is  come. 

Vol.  Not  so,  my  lord. 

Bru.  Nay,  I  am  sure  it  is,  Volumnius. 
Thou  see'st  the  world,  Volumnius,  how  it  goes; 
Our  enemies  have  beat  us  to  the  pit; 
It  is  iiore  worthy  to  leap  iu  ourselves. 
Than  tarry  till  they  push  us.    Good  Volumnius, 
Thou  know'st,  that  we  two  went«to  school  together ; 
Even  for  that  our  love  of  old,  i  pray  thee, 
Hold  Uion  my  sword-hilts,  whilst  I  run  on  it. 

yW>  ThaVs  not  an  office  for  a  friend,  my  lord. 

{.Alarum  slili.) 


Cli.  Fly,  fly,  my  lord;  there  is  n  iorryisig  here. 
Brti.  Farewell  to  you  ; — and  you  =— and  you,  Vo- 
lumnius.— 

Strato,  thou  hast  been  all  this  while  asleep; 

Farewell  to  thee  too.  Strato. — Countrymen, 

My  heart  doth  joy,  tnat  yet,  in  all  my  life,_ 

I  found  no  man,  but  he  was  true  to  me. 

I  shall  have  glory  by  this  losing  day. 

More  than  Octavius,  and  Mark  Antony, 

By  this  vile  conquest  shall  attain  unto. 

So,  fare  you  well  at  once  ;  for  Brutus'  tongue 

Hath  almost  ended  his  life's  history  : 

Night  hangs  upon  mine  eyes ;  my  bones  would  rest 

That  have  but  labour'd  to  attain  this  hour. 

{Alarum.    Cry  within  ;  Fly,  fly,  fly,' 
Cli.  Fly,  my  lord,  fly. 

Bru.  Hence  ;  I  will  follow  thee 

[Exeunt  Clitus,  Dardanius,  and  Volumnius 
I  pr'ythee,  Strato,  stay  thou  by  thy  lord : 
Thou  art  a  fellow  of  a  good  respect ; 
Thy  life  hath  had  some  smatch  of  honour  in  it 
Hold  then  my  sword,  and  turn  away  thy  face. 
While  I  do  run  upon  it.    Wilt  thou,  Strato  ? 
Stra.  Give  me  your  hand  first :  Fare  you  well,  my 
lord. 

Bru.  Farewell,  good  Strato. — Caesar,  now  be  etill" 
I  kill'd  not  thee  with  half  so  good  a  will. 

{He  runs  on  his  sword,  and  diea.} 

Alarum.   Retreat.    Enter  Octavius,  ANfONY, 

Messala,  Lucilius,  and  their  army, 
Oct.  What  man  is  that  ?  [master  f 

Mes.  My  master's  man, — Strato,  where  is  thy 
Stra.  Free  from  the  bondage  you  are  in,  Messala ; 
The  conquerors  can  but  make  a  fire  of  him; 
For  Brutus  only  overcame  himself, 
And  no  man  else  hath  honour  by  his  death. 

liuc.  So  Brutus  should  be  found. — I  thank  thee» 
Brutus, 

That  thou  hast  prov'd  Lucilius'  saying  true, 

Oct.  All  that  serv'd  Brutus,  I  will  entertain  them 

Fellow,  wilt  thou  bestow  thy  time  with  me  ? 
Stra.  Ay,  if  Messala  will  prefer  me  to  you. 
Oct.  Do  so,  Messala. 

Mes.  How  died  my  master,  Stral©  I 

Stra.  I  held  the  sword,  and  he  did  run  on  it 
Mes.  Octavius,  then  take  him  to  follow  thee. 
That  did  the  latest  service  to  my  master. 

Ant.  This  was  the  noblest  Roman  of  them  alU 
All  the  conspirators,  save  only  he. 
Did  that  they  did  in  envy  of  great  Caesar ; 
He,  only,  in  a  general  honest  thought, 
And  comnjon  good  to  all,  made  one  of  them* 
His  life  was  gentle  ;  and  the  elements 
So  mix'd  in  him,  that  Nature  might  stand  up. 
And  say  to  all  the  world.  This  was  a  moMl 

Oct.  According  to  his  virtue  let  us  use  nim. 
With  all  respect,  and  rites  of  burial. 
Within  my  tent  his  bones  to-night  shall  lie. 
Most  like  a  soldier,  order'd  honourably. — 
So,  call  the  field  to  rest:  and  let's  away. 
To  part  the  glories  of  this  happy  day.  [M»9mii 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


This  play  keeps  curiosity  always  busy,  and  the  passions  always  interested.  The  continual  hur^y  of  the  action,  the 
▼•rietf  of  incidents,  and  the  quick  sua  session  of  one  personage  to  another,  call  the  mind  forward  without  Inter- 
mission, from  the  first  act  to  the  last.  But  the  power  of  delighting  is  derived  principally  from  the  frequent  changeg 
of  the  scene  c  for,  except  the  feminine  arts,  some  of  which  are  too  low,  which  distinguish  Cleopatra,  no  character  is 
▼err  strongly  discriminated  Upton,  who  did  not  easily  miss  what  he  desired  to  tind,  has  discovered  that  the  languagt 
of  Antony  is,  with  great  skill  and  learning,  made  pompous  and  superb,  according  to  his  real  practice.  But  I  think 
his  diction  not  distinguishable  from  that  of  others :  the  most  tumid  speech  in  the  play  is  that  which  CsBsar  make* 
to  Oetavia. 

The  events,  of  which  the  principal  are  described  according  to  history,  are  produced  wltboat  any  art  of  eonne^ 
tion  or  care  of  disposilion.  Johnton. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


M.  ANTO^JY, 
OCTAVIUS  CiESAR, 
M.  EMIL.  LEPIDUS, 
SEXTUS  POMFEIUS. 
DOMITIUS  ENOBAllBUS, 
VENTIDIUS, 
EROS 
SCAR  US, 
DERCETAS, 
DIMETRIUS, 
PIIILO, 
MECENAS, 
AGRIPPA, 
DOIiVBELLA, 
PROCULEIUS, 
THYREUS, 
GALLUS, 


Triumvirs. 


Friends  of  Antony. 


Friends  of  Casar. 


MENAS,  . 

MEN  EC  RATES,    \   Friends  of  Pompey. 
VARHIUS,  ' 

TAURUS,  Lieutenant  general  of  Catsar, 
CANIDIUS,  Lieutena?it  general  to  Antony. 
SILIUS,  an  Officer  in  Ventidius's  Army. 
EUPHRONIUS,  an  Ambassador  from  Antony  to  C/rsar^ 
ALEXAS,  MARDIAN,  SELEUCUS,  and  DIOMEDES, 

Atiemlants  on  Cleopatra. 
A  Soothsayer. 
A  Clown. 

CLEOPATRA,  Queen  of  Egypt. 

OCT  AVI  A,  Sister  to  Casar,  and  W{fe  to  Antony. 

CHARJVIIAN  and  IRAS,  Attendants  on  Cleopatra. 


Officers,  Soldiers,  Messengers,  and  other  Attendant*. 
Scene, — Dispersed;  in  several  parts  of  the  Roman  Empire, 


Scene  I.~ 


ACT  I. 

Alexandria.   A  Room  in  Cleopatra  s 

Palace. 
Enter  Demetrius  and  Philo. 
Phi.  Nay,  but  this  dotage  of  our  general's 
O'erflows  the  nneasure  :  those  liis  goodly  eyes. 
That  o'er  the  files  and  musters  of  the  war 
Have  glow'd  like  plated  Mais,  now  bend,  now  turn, 
The  office  and  devotion  of  their  view 
UlX)n  a  tawny  front  :  his  captain's  heart. 
Which  in  the  scuffles  of  great  fights  hath  burst 
The  b'.:ck!es  on  his  breast,  reneges  all  teuiper; 
And  is  become  the  bellows,  and  the  fan, 
To  cool  a  gipsy's  lust.    Look,  where  they  come! 

Flourish.    Enter  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  with 

their  Trains :  Euauchs  fanning  her. 
Take  but  good  note,  and  you  shall  see  in  him 
1  he  triple  pillar  of  the  world  transforni'd 
Ijto  a  strumpet's  fool  :  behold  and  see. 

Cleo:  If  it  be  love,  indeed,  tell  me  how  much. 
Ant  There's  beggary  in  the  love  that  can  be 
reekon'd. 

Cleo.  ['IJ  set  a  bourn  how  far  to  be  belov'd. 
Ant.  Then  must  thou  needs  find  out  new  heaven, 
new  earth. 

Enter  an  Attendant. 

AH.  News,  my  good  lord,  from  Rome. 

Ant.  Grates  me  : — The  sum. 

01h<i»,  Nay,  hear  them,  Antony  : 
P  .5!via,  perchance,  is  angry  ;  Or,  who  knows 
l\  the  scaece-bearded  Caesar  have  not  sent 
His  powerful  mandate  to  you.  Do  this.,  or  this  : 
Take  in  that  kingdom,  and  franchise  that ; 
Perfovm't^  or  else  we  damn  thee. 

Ant.  How,  my  love ! 

Cleo.  Perchance, — nay,  and  most  like. 
You  n\\\\  \  not  stay  here  longer,  your  distnission 
Is  come  \rom  Caesar;  therefore  hear  it,  Antony. — 
Where's  F iilvia's  process  ?  Caesar's,  I  would  say  — 
Both  ?— 

Call  in  the  messengers. — As  1  am  Egypt's  queen, 
Thou  blusliest,  Anti)ny ;  and  that  blood 
Is  Caesar's  hornaarer  :  else  so  thy  cheek  pays  shame. 
When  shrill-toogu'd  Fulvia  scolds.  —  Ihe  mes- 
sengers. 


Ant.  Let  Rome  in  Tyber  melt !  and  the  wide  arch 
Of  the  rang'd  empire  fall !  Here  is  my  space , 
Kingdoms  are  clayn  our  dungy  eaith  alike 
Feeds  beast  as  man  :  the  nobleness  of  life 
Is,  to  do  thus ;  when  such  a  mutual  pair, 

[Embracing.) 
And  such  a  twain  can  do't,  in  which,  1  bind. 
On  pain  of  punishnient,  the  world  to  weet, 
We  stand  up  peerless. 

Cleo.  Excellent  falsehood ! 

Why  did  he  marry  Fulvia,  and  not  love  her? — 
I'll  seem  the  fool  I  am  not^  Antony 
WLIl  be  himself. 

Ant.  But  stirf'd  by  Cleopatra. — 

Now,  for  the  love  of  Love,  and  her  soft  hours, 
Let's  not  confound  the  time  with  conference  harsh 
I'here's  not  a  minute  of  our  lives  should  stretch 
Wifhont  some  pleasure  now  :  Wliat  sport  to-night? 

Cleo.  Hear  tne  ambassadors. 

Ant.  Fy,  wrangling  queen ! 

Whom  every  thing  becomes,  to  chide,  to  laugh. 
To  weep;  whose  every  passion  fully  strives 
To  make  itself,  in  thee,  fair  and  admir'd ! 
No  messenger;  but  thine  and  all  alone. 
To-night,  we'll  wander  through  the  streets, 
The  qualities  of  people.    Come,  my  queen  ; 
Last  night  you  did  desire  it :  Speak  not  to  us. 

[Exeunt  Ant.  and  Cleop.  with  their  Train, 

Dem.  Is  Caesar  with  Antonins  priz'd  so  slight 

Phi.  Sir,  sometimes,  when  he  is  not  Antony, 
He  comes  too  short  of  that  great  property, 
Which  still  should  go  with  Antony. 

Dem.  I'm  full  sorry, 

That  he  approves  the  common  liar,  who 
Thus  speaks  of  him  at  Rome  :  But  I  will  hope 
Of  better  deeds  to-morrow.  Rest  you  happy  : 

[Exeunt, 

Scene  II. — The  same.   Another  Room, 
Enter  Charmian,  Iras,  Alexas,  and  a  Soothsayer 

Char.  Lord  Alexas,  sweet  Alexas,  most  any 
thing  Alexas,  almost  most  absolute  A.lexas,  where'a 
the  soothsayer  that  you  praised  so  to  the  queen  ? 
O,  that  I  knew  this  husband,  which,  you  say,  rausl 
change  his  harns  with  garlands! 

Alex.  Soothsayer. 

Sooth.  Your  will?  [things'' 
Char.  Is  this  the  man  ? — la't  yoa«  sir   U^at  knoM 


[note 
and 


Scene  2. 


ANTONl  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


605 


Sooth.  In  nature's  infinite  book  of  secrecy, 
A  liitle  I  can  read. 

Alex.  Shew  him  your  hand. 

Enter  Enobarbus. 

jKno.  Bring  in  the  banquet  quickly ;  wine  enough, 
CJeopatra's  liealth  to  drink. 

Char.  Good  sir,  give  me  good  fortune. 

Sooth.  I  make  not,  but  foresee. 

Char.  Pray  then,  foresee  me  one. 

Sooth.  Yoa  shall  be  yet  far  fairer  than  you  are. 

Char.  He  means,  in  flesh. 

Iras.  No^  you  shall  paint  when  you  are  old. 

Char.  \S  rinkles  forbid  ! 

Alex.  Vex  not  his  prescience,  be  attentive. 

Char.  Hush ! 

Sooth.  You  shall  be  more  bcloving,  than  beloved. 
Char.  I  had  rather  heat  my  liver  with  drinking. 
Alex.  Nay,  hear  him. 

Char.  Good  now,  some  excellent  fortune !  Let 
nie  be  married  to  three  kings  in  a  forenoon,  and 
widow  tliem  all :  let  me  have  a  child  at  fifty,  to 
wlioni  Herod  of  Jewry  may  do  homage  :  find  me 
to  marry  me  with  Octavius  Caesar:  and  companion 
me  with  my  mistress. 

Sooth.  Vou  shall  outlive  the  lady  whom  you 
serve.  [figs. 

Char.  O  excellent !  I  love  long  life  better  than 

Sooth.  Vou  have  seen  and  proved  a  fairer  former 
fortime 

Than  that  wliich  is  to  approach. 

Char.  1  hen,  belike,  my  children  shall  have  no 
names;  Pr'ythee,  how  many  boys  and  wenches  must 
1  have  ? 

Sooth.  If  every  of  your  wishes  had  a  womb, 
And  fertile  every  wish,  a  million. 

Char.  Out,  fool  !  I  forgive  thee  for  a  witch. 

Alex.  You  think,  none  but  your  sheets  are  privy 
to  your  wishes. 

Char.  Nay,  come,  tell  Iras  hers.. 

Alex.  Weil  know  all  our  fortunes. 

Eno.  Mine,  and  most  of  our  fortunes,  to-night, 
•hall  be — drtmk  to  bed.  ^     ^  [else. 

Iras,  '['here's  a  palm  presages  chastity,  if  nothing 

Char.  Even  as  the  o'erflowing  Nilus  presageth 
famine.  [say. 

Iras  Go,  you  wild  bedfellow,  you  cannot  sooth- 

Char.  Nay,  if  an  oily  palm  be  not  a  fruitful  prog- 
nostication, I  cannot  scratch  mine  ear. — Pr'ythee, 
tell  her  but  a  worky-day  fortune. 

Sooth.  Your  fortunes  are  alike. 

/m.9.  But  how,  but  how?  give  me  particulars. 

Sooth.  1  have  said.  [she  ? 

Iras.  Am  1  not  an  inch  of  fortune  better  than 

Char.  \VelI,  if  you  were  but  an  inch  ol'  fortune 
better  than  I,  where  would  you  choose  it? 

Iras.  Not  in  my  husband's  nose. 

Char.  Our  worser  thoughts  heavens  mend  ! 
Alexas! — come,  his  fortune,  his  fortune. — O,  let 
him  marry  a  woman  that  cannot  go,  sweet  Isis,  I 
beseech  thee  !  And  let  her  die  too,  and  give  him  a 
worse  I  and  let  worse  follow  worse,  till  the  worst 
of  all  follow  him  laughing  to  his  grave,  fifty-fold  a 
cuckold!  Good  Isis,  hear  me  this  prayer,  though 
thou  deny  me  a  matter  of  more  weight;  good  Isis, 
1  beseech  thee  ! 

Iras.  Amen.  Dear  goddess,  hear  thaf  prayer  of 
the  people !  for,  as  it  is  a  heart-breaking  f;o  see  a 
hiindsome  man  loose-wived,  so  it  is  a  deadly  sorrow 
to  behold  a  foul  knave  uncuckolded  ;  Therefore, 
dear  Isis,  keep  deciorum,  and  fortune  him  accord- 
ingly'. 

Char.  Amen. 

Alex.  Lo,  now !  If  it  lay  in  their  hands  to  make 
me  a  cuckold,  they  would  make  themselves  whores, 
but  they'd  do  t. 

Eho.  Hush  !  here  comes  Antony. 

Cliar.  Not  he,  the  queen. 

Emter  Cleopatra. 

Cleo  Saw  you  my  lord  ? 


Eno.  No,  lady. 

Cleo.  Was  he  not  here  ? 

Char,  No,  Madam.  [suddeu. 
Cleo.  He  was  dispos'd  to  mirth;  but  on  the 
A  Roman  thought  hath  struck  him. — Enobarbus,— 
Eno.  Madam.  [Alexas? 
Cleo.  Seek  him,  and  bring  him  hither.  Where's 
Alex.  Here,  madam,  at  your  service. — My  lord 
approaches. 

Enter  Antony,  with  a  Messenge  and  Attt  ndantt, 
Cleo.  We  will  not  look  upon  him  :  Go  with  us. 
[Exeunt  Cleopatra,  Enobarbus,  Alexa». 
Iras,  Charmian,  SoothsayeVy  ana 
Attendants. 
Mess.  Fulvia  thy  wife  first  came  into  the  field. 
Ant.  Against  my  brother  Lucius? 
Mess.  Ay  : 

But  soon  that  war  had  end,  and  the  time's  state 
Made  friends  of  them,  jointing  their  force  'gainst 

Cajsar ; 

Whose  better  issue  in  the  war,  from  Italy, 
Upon  the  first  encounter,  drave  them. 

Ant.  Well, 
What  worst? 

Mess.  The  nature  of  bad  news  infects  the  teller. 

Ant.  When  it  concerns  the  fool,  or  coward.-* 
On :  ^  [thus : 

Things,  that  are  past,  are  done,  with  me. — "Ti» 
Who  tells  me  true,  though  in  his  tale  lie  death, 
I  hear  him,  as  he  flatter'd. 

Mess.  Labienus 
(I'his  is  stiff  news)  hath,  with  his  Parthian  (jrce 
Extended  Asia  from  Euphrates; 
His  conquering  banner  shook,  from  Syria 
To  Lydia,  and  to  Ionia: 
Whilst— 

Ant.       Antony,  thou  would'st  say,- 

Mess.  O,  my  lord! 

Ant.  Speak  to  me  home,  mince  not  the  general 
tongue ; 

Name  Cleopatra  as  she's  cali'd  in  Rome  : 
Rail  thou  in  Fulvia's  phrase :  and  taunt  my  faults 
With  such  full  license,  as  both  truth  and  malice 
Have  power  to  utter.  O,  then  we  bring  Ibrth  weeds 
When  our  quick  winds  lie  still ;  and  our  ills  told  us 
Is  as  our  earing.    Fare  thee  well  a  while. 

Mess.  At  your  noble  pleasure.  [^Exii, 
Ant.  From  Sicyon  how  the  news?  Speak  there. 

1  Att.  The  man  from  Sicyon. — is  there  such  an 

one  ? 

2  Ait.  He  stays  upon  your  will. 

Ant.  Let  him  appear:— 

These  strong  Egyptian  fetters  I  must  break, 

Enter  another  Messenger. 
Or  lose  myself  in  dotage, — What  are  you  f 

2  Mess.  Fulvia,  thy  wife,  is  dead. 

Ant.  Where  died  she  ? 

2  Mess.  In  Sicyon  : 
Her  length  of  sickness,  with  what  else  riiore  serioas 
Irnporteth  thee  to  know,  this  bears.  {Gives  a  letter. 

Ant.  Forbear  me, — 

[Exit  Me.s8engef 
There's  a  great  spirit  gone!  Thus  did  1  desire  it  ; 
What  our  contenipts  do  often  hurl  from  us, 
We  wish  it  ours  again;  the  present  pleasure. 
By  revolution  lowering,  does  become 
The  opposite  of  itself:  she's  good,  being  gone: 
The  hand  could  pluck  her  back,  that  shov'd  hei  OB. 
I  must  from  this  enchanting  queen  break  off; 
Ten  thousand  harms,  more  than  the  ills  I  know, 
My  idleness  doth  hatch.— How  now  !  Enobarbns 

Enter  Enobarbus 

Etu-  What's  your  pleasure,  sir  ? 

Ant.  I  must  with  haste  from  hence. 

Eno.  Why,  then,  we  kill  all  our  women  .  We  see 
how  uiortal  an  unkinduess  is  to  them  ;  if  they  suffer 
our  departure,  death's  the  word. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  r. 


Ant.  I  must  be  gone. 

Eno.  Under  a  compelling  occasion,  let  women  die  : 
ft  were  pity  to  cast  them  away  for  nothing-;  thoiigli, 
between  them  and  a  great  c^use,  they  should  be 
esteemed  nothing.  Cleopatra,  catching  but  the  least 
noiiie  of  this,  dies  instantly ;  I  have  seen  her  die 
twenfy  times  upoa  far  poorer  moment :  I  do  think, 
there  is  mettle  in  death,  which  commits  some  loving 
ftct  upon  her,  she  hath  such  celerity  in  dying. 

Ant.  She  is  cunning  past  man's  thought. 

Eno.  Alack,  sir,  no ;  her  passions  are  made  of 
nothing  but  the  finest  part  of  pure  love  :  We  cannot 
call  her  winds  and  waters,  sighs  and  tears  :  they  are 
greater  stornjs  and  tempests  than  almanacks  can 
report:  This  cannot  be  cnnnin^  in  her,  if  it  be,  she 
makes  a  shower  of  rain  as  well  as  Jove. 

Ani.  'Would  I  had  never  seen  her! 

Eno.  O,  sir,  you  had  then  left  unseen  a  wonderful 
piece  of  work  ;  which  not  to  have  been  blessed  wifhal, 
would  have  discredited  your  travel. 

Ant  Fulvia  is  dead. 

Eno.  Sir? 

Ant.  Fulvia  is  dead. 
Eno  Fulvia? 
Ant.  Dead. 

Eno.  Why,  sir,  give  the  gods  a  thankful  sacrifice. 
When  it  pleaseth  tiieir  deities  to  take  the  wife  of  a 
man  from  him,  it  shews  to  man  the  tailors  of  the 
earth ;  comibrting  therein,  that  wlien  old  robes  are 
worn  out,  there  are  numbers  to  make  new.  If  there 
were  no  more  women  I>ut  Fulvia,  then  had  you 
indeed  a  cut,  and  tiie  case  to  be  lamented  :  this  grief 
is  crowned  with  consolation;  your  old  smock  brings 
forth  a  new  petticoat: — and,  indeed,  the  tears  live 
in  an  onion,  that  should  water  this  sorrow. 

Ani.  Tlie  business  she  hath  broached  in  the  state, 
Cannot  endure  my  absence. 

Eno.  And  the  business  you  have  broached  here 
cannot  be  without  vou  ;  especially  that  of  Cleopa- 
tra's, which  vvliolly  aeijends  on  your  atKxle. 

Ant.  No  n>ore  light  answers.    Let  our  officers 
Rave  notice  what  we  purpose.    I  shall  break 
The  cause  of  our  expedience  to  the  queen, 
And  get  her  love  to  part.    For  not  alone 
The  (ieatli  of  FuK  ia,  with  more  urgent  touches, 
Dc  strongly  speak  to  us;  but  the  letters  too 
Of  nmny  of  our  contriving  friends  in  Rome 
Petition  us  at  home  :  Sextus  Pompeius 
Hath  given  the  dare  to  Caesar,  and  commands 
The  empire  of  the  sea  :  our  slippery  people 
'  Wliose  love  is  never  litik'd  to  the  deserver, 
Till  his  deserts  are  past,)  begin  to  throw 
Pompey  the  great,  and  all  his  dignities. 
Upon  his  son ;  who.  high  in  namv  and  power, 
Higher  tlian  both  in  blood  and  life,  stands  up 
For  the  main  soldier;  whose  quality,  gointr  on, 
Tl\e  sideso'the  world  may  danger  :  iVincli  is  breeding, 
Which,  like  the  courser's  hair,  hath  vtt  but  life, 
And  not  a  serpent  poison.    Say  our  pleasure, 
To  such  whose  place  is  under  us,  requires 
Our  quick  remove  from  hence. 

Eno.  I  shall  do't.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  Iras, 
and  AiJSXAS. 
Cleo.  Where  is  he  ? 

Char.  I  did  not  see  him  since. 

Cleo.  See  where  he  is,  who's  with  him,  what  he 
does  : — 

I  did  not  send  yoii : — If  yon  find  him  sad, 
Say,  f  ara  dancing;  if  in  mirth,  re|x>rt 
That  \  din  guddensick:  Quick,  and  return. 

[Exit  Alexas. 

Char.  Madam,  methinks,  if  you  did  love  him 
Vou  do  not  iKvld  the  method  to  enforce  [dearly. 
The  like  from  hinu 

Cleo.  What  should  I  do,  I  do  not  ? 

Char.  In  each  thing  ijive  him  way,  cross  him  in 
nothing.  [him. 

Cleo.  Thoii  teachest  liko  a  fool;  the  way  to  lose 


Char.  Tempt  him  not  so  too  far:  I  wish,  forbcttri 
In  time  we  hate  that  which  we  often  fear. 

Enter  Antony 
But  here  comes  Antony. 

Cie@.  I  am  sick,  and  sulieo. 

Ant.  I  am  sorry  to  give  breathing  to  my  purpose,-^ 

Cleo.  Help  uie  away,.dear  Charmian,  I  shall  fall ; 
It  cannot  be  thus  long,  the  sides  of  nature 
Will  not  sustain  it. 

Ajtt.  Now,  my  dearest  queen, — 

Cleo.  Pray  you,  stand  further  from  rae. 

Ant.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Cleo.  I  know,  by  that  same  eye,  there's  some  good 
news. 

What  says  the  married  woman  ? — You  may  go  ; 
'Would  she  had  never  given  you  leave  to  come! 
Let  her  not  say,  'tis  I  that  keep  you  here, 
I  have  no  power  upon  you  ;  her's  you  are. 

Ant.  The  gods  best  know, — 

Cleo.  O,  never  was  there  queen 

So  mightly  hetray'd  !  Yet,  at  the  first, 
I  sav/  the  treasons  planted. 

Ant.  ^        Cleopatra, —  [true, 

Cleo.  Why  should  I  think,  you  can  be  mine,  and 
Tlioiif^h  you  in  swearing  shake  the  throned  gods, 
W^ho  have  been  false  to  Fulvia!    Riotous  madness, 
To  be  entangled  with  those  moutii-made  vows, 
Which  break  themselves  in  sv.earing  ! 

Ant.  Most  sweet  queen, — 

Cleo.  Nay,  pray  you,  seek  no  colour  for  your  going, 
B'lt  by  farewell,  and  go:  when  you  sued  staying, 
Then  was  the  time  for  words  :  No  going  then; — 
Eten-iity  was  in  our  lips,  and  eyes  ; 
Bliss  in  our  brow's  bent ;  none  our  parts  so  poor, 
But  was  a  race  of  heaven  :  They  are  so  still, 
Or  thou,  the  greatest  soldier  of  the  world. 
Art  turn'd  the  greatest  liar. 

Ant.  How  now,  lady  ! 

Cleo.  I  would,  I  had  thy  inches  ;  thou  should'st 
There  were  a  heart  in  Egypt.  [kaowr, 

Ant.  Hear  me,  queen: 

The  strong  necessity  of  time  commands 
Our  services  a  while  ;  but  my  lull  heart 
Remains  in  use  with  you.    Our  ltdy 
Shines  o'er  with  civil  swords:  Sextus  Pompeius 
Makes  his  approaches  to  the  port  of  Rome; 
Equality  of  two  domestic  powers  [strength, 
Breedji  scrupulous  faction:  The  hated,  grown  to 
Are  newly  grown  to  lo\e  :  The  condemn'd  Pompey, 
Rich  in  his  father's  horjour,  creeps  apace 
Into  the  hearts  of  such  as  have  not  thriv'd 
Upon  the  present  state,  whose  numbers  tiireaten ; 
And  quietness,  grown  sick  of  rest,  would  purge 
By  any  desperate  cJiange  :  My  more  particular. 
And  that  which  most  with  you  should  safe  my  going, 
Is  Fulvia's  death. 

Cleo.  Thi)ugh  age  from  folly  could  not  give  me 
freedom, 

It  does  from  childisiiness.    Can  Fulvia  die? 

Ant.  She's  dead,  my  queen  : 
Look  here,  and,  at  thy  sovereig^n  leisure,  read 
The  garboils  she  awak'd  :  at  the  last,  best: 
See,  when,  and  where  she  dit^d. 

Cleo.  O  most  false  ]ov<: 

Where  be  the  sacred  vials  thou  should'st  fill 
Will  sorrowful  water?  Now  I  see,  1  see. 
In  Fulvia's  deatii,  how  mine  receiv'd  shall  be:. 

Ant.  Quarrel  no  more,  but  be  prepar'd  to  knoif 
The  purposes  I  bear:  which  are,  or  cease, 
As  you  shall  give  the  advice :  Now,  by  the  fire 
That  quickens  Nilus'  slime,  I  go  from  hence 
Thy  soldier,  servant;  making  peace,  or  war. 
As  thou  atFect'st. 

Cleo.  Cut  my  lace,  Charmian,  coBUf^ 

But  let  it  be. — I  am  quickly  ill,  and  well : 
So  Antony  loves. 

Ant.  My  precious  queen,  forbear; 

And  i^ive  true  evidence  to  his  love,  which  standi 
An  honourable  triah 


SCENB  4. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


607 


Cko. 


SoFalviatold 


I  pr'ytbee  turn  aside,  and  weep  for  her ; 
Then  bid  adieu  to  me,  and  say,  the  tears 
Belong  to  Egypt :  Good  now,  play  one  scene 
Of  excellent  dissembling ;  antf  let  it  look 
Like  perfect  Wuour. 

Ant.  You'll  heat  my  blood  ;  no  more. 

Cleo.  You  can  do  better  yet;  but  this  is  meetly. 

Ant.  Now,  by  my  sword, — 

(Jleo.  And  target,-!-Still  he  mends ; 

But  this  is  not  the  best:  Look,  pr'ythee,  Charoiian, 
How  this  Herculean  Roman  does  become 
The  carriage  of  his  chafe. 

Ant.  I'll  leave  you,  lady. 

Cleo.  Courteous  lord,  one  word. 
Sir,  you  and  I  must  part, — but  that's  not  it ; 
Sir,  you  and  I  have  lov'd, — but  there's  not  it ; 
That  you  know  well :  Something  it  is  I  would, — 
O,  my  oblivion  is  a  very  Antony, 
A.nd  I  aoi  all  forgotten. 

Ant.  But  that  your  royalty 

Holds  idleness  your  subjprt,  I  should  take  you 
For  idleness  itself. 

Cleo.  'Tis  weating  labour. 

To  bear  such  idleness  so  near  the  heart 
As  Cleopatra  this.    But,  sir,  forgive  me ; 
Since  my  becomings  kill  me,  when  they  do  not 
Eye  well  to  you:  Your  honour  calls  you  hence; 
'I'herefore  be  deaf  to  my  uopitied  folly, 
And  all  the  gods  go  with  you  !  upon  your  sword 
Sit  laurel'd  victory  !  and  smooth  success 
Be  strew'd  before  your  feet! 

Ant.  Let  us  go.   Come ; 

Our  separation  so  abides,  and  flies. 
That  thou,  residing  here,  go'st  yet  witli  me, 
And  I,  hence  fleeting,  here  remnui  with  thee. 
Away.  [Exeunt. 

ScENK  IV. — Rome.   An  Apartment  in  Casar's 
House. 

Enter  Octavius  Caesar,  Lepidus,  and 
Attendants. 

Cas.Yon  may  see,  Lepidus,  and  henceforth  know, 
It  is  not  Cajsar's  natural  vice  to  hate 
One  great  competitor :  from  Alexandria 
This  is  the  news ;  he  fishes,  drinks,  aud  wastes 
The  lamps  of  night  in  revel :  is  not  more  manlike 
Than  Cleopatra ;  nor  the  queen  of  Ptolemy 
More  womanly  than  he  :  hardly  gave  audience,  or 
Vouchsaf 'd  to  think  he  had  partners  :  You  shall  find 
A  man,  who  is  the  abstract  of  all  faults  [there 
That  all  men  follow. 

Lep.  I  must  not  think,  there  are 

Evils  enough  to  darken  all  his  goodness  : 
His  faults,  in  him,  seem  as  the  spots  of  heaven. 
More  fiery  by  night's  blackness  ;  hereditary. 
Rather  than  purchas'd ;  w  hat  he  cannot  change. 
Than  what  he  chooses. 

Cas,  You  are  too  indulgent :  Let  us  grant,  it  is  not 
imiss  to  tumble  on  the  bed  of  Ptolemy ; 

1  give  a  kingdom  for  a  mirth ;  to  sit 
And  keep  the  turn  of  tippling  with  a  slave ; 
To  reel  the  streets  at  noon,  and  stand  tlie  buffet 
With  knaves,  that  smell  of  sweat :  say,  this  beconies 
(As  his  composure  must  be  rare  indeed,  [him, 
VVhom  these  things  cannot  blemish),  yet  uiust  Antony 
Nfo  way  excuse  his  soils,  when  we  do  bear 
Sr  great  weight  in  his  lightness.    If  he  fili'd 
His  vacancy  with  his  voluptuousness. 
Full  snrlehs,  and  the  dryness  of  his  bones. 
Call  on  him  for't:  but  to  confound  such  time, 
That  drums  him  from  his  sport,  and  speak  as  loud 
As  his  own  state,  and  ours, — 'tis  to  be  chid 
ks  we  rate  boys  ;  who,  being  mature  in  knowledge, 
Pavrn  their  experience  to  their  present  pleasure, 
And  so  rebel  to  judgment 

Enter  a  Messenger, 
hep.  Here's  more  news. 

A/e**.Thy  biddings  have  been  done;and  every  hour, 


Most  noble  Caesar,  shalt  thou  have  report 
How  'tis  abroad.    Pompey  is  strong  at  sea^ 
And  it  appears,  he  is  belov'd  of  those 
That  only  have  fear'd  Caesar  :  to  the  ports 
The  discontents  repair,  and  men's  r<»iJorts 
Give  him  much  wrong'd. 

C<Ks.  I  should  have  known  no  less 

It  hath  been  taught  us  from  the  primal  state. 
That  he,  which  is,  was  wish'd,  until  he  were; 
And  the  ebb'd  man,  ne'er  lov'd,  till  ne'er  worth  love 
Comes  dear'd,  by  being  lack 'd.  This  common  bodj^ 
Like  to  a  vagabond  flag  upon  the  stream. 
Goes  to,  and  back,  lackeying  the  varying  tide, 
To  rot  itself  with  motion. 

Mess.  Caesar,  I  bring  thee  word, 

Menecrates  and  Menas,  famous  pirates, 
Make  the  sea  serve  them :  which  they  ear  and  w(>und 
With  keels  of  every  kind;  Many  hot  inroads 
They  make  in  Italy  ;  the  borders  maritime 
Lack  blood  to  think  on't,  and  flush  youth  revolt 
No  vessel  can  peep  forth,  but  'tis  as  soon 
Taken  as  seen ,  for  Pompey's  name  strikes  more 
Than  could  his  war  resisted. 

Ctes.  Antony, 
Leave  thy  lascivious  wassels.    When  thou  once 
Wast  beaten  from  Modena,  where  thou  slew'st 
Hirtius  and  Pansa,  consuls,  and  thy  heel 
Did  famine  follow ;  whom  thou  fought'st  against. 
Though  daintily  brought  up,  with  patience  more 
l^ian  savages  could  sulfer  :  Thou  didst  drink 
The  stale  of  horses,  and  the  gilded  puddle  [deign 
Which  beasts  would  cough  at :  thy  palate  then  did 
The  roughest  berry  on  the  rudest  hedge  , 
Yea,  like  the  stag,  when  snow  the  pasture  sheets. 
The  barks  of  trees  thou  browsed'st ;  on  the  Alps, 
It  is  reported,  thou  didst  eat  strange  flesh, 
Which  some  did  die  to  look  on  :  And  all  this 
(It  wounds  thine"honour,  that  I  speak  it  now,) 
Was  borne  so  hke  a  soldier,  that  thy  che*k 
So  much  as  lank'd  not. 

hep.  It  is  pity  of  him. 

Cois.  Let  his  shames  quickly 
Drive  him  to  Rome  :  'Tis  time  we  twain 
Did  shew  ourselves  i'  the  field  ;  and,  to  that  eoidy 
Assemble  we  immediate  council :  Pompey 
Thrives  in  our  idleness. 

hep.  To-morrow,  Caesar, 

I  shall  be  furnis'h  to  inform  you  rightly 
Both  what  by  sea  and  land  1  can  be  able. 
To  'front  this  present  time. 

Cces,  Till  which  encounter, 

It  is  my  business  too.    Farewell.  [meantime 

hep.  Farewell,  my  lord:  What  you  shall  know 
Of  stirs  abroad,  I  shall  beseech  you,  sir. 
To  let  me  be  partaker. 

Cces.  Doubt  not,  sir ; 

I  knew  it  for  my  bond.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  V. — Alexandria,  A  Room  in  the  Palace, 

Enter  Cleopatra,  Ch.'^rmian,  Iras,  and 
Mardlan. 

Cleo.  CharmJan, — 

Char.  Madam. 

Cleo.  Ha,  ha!— 
Give  me  to  drink  mandragora. 

C/iar.  Why,  madam? 

Cleo.  That  I  might  sleep  out  this  great  gap  of  time 
My  Antony  is  away. 

Char.  You  think  of  him 

Too  much. 

Cleo.       O,  treason ! 

Char.  Madam,  I  trust,  net  so 

Cleo.  Thou,  eunuch!  Mardian! 

Mor.  What's  your  highness'  pi*  isure? 

Cleo.  Not  now  to  hear  thee  sing  ;  I  take  no  pica- 
In  aught  an  eunuch  has  .  'Tis  well  for  thee,  [sure 
That,  being  unseminar'd,  thy  freer  thoughts 
May  not  fly  forth  of  Egypt.    Hast  thou  alfectiona?, 

Mar.  Yes,  gracious  madam. 

Cleo.  Indeed? 


608 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  it. 


Mar.  Not  in  deed,  madam:  for  I  can  do  nothing 
But  what  in  deed  is  nonest  to  be  done : 
Yet  have  I  fierce  affections,  and  think. 
What  Venus  did  with  Mars. 

Cleo.  O  Charmian, 

Where  think'st  thou  he  is  now  ?  Stands  he,  or  sits  he? 
Or  does  he  walk  ^  or  is  he  on  his  horse  ? 
O  happy  horse,  to  bear  the  weight  of  Antony  ! 
Do  bravely,  horse !  for  wot  st  thou  whom  thou 
mov'st  ? 

The  demi-Atlas  of  this  earth,  the  arm 
And  burgonet  of  men. — He's  speaking  now, 
Or  miirmnring,  Where's  my  serpent  of  old  Nils  I 
For  so  he  calls  me  ;  Now  1  feed  myself 
With  most  delicious  poison  : — Think  on  me, 
That  am  with  Phoebus'  amorous  pinches  black. 
And  wrinkled  deep  in  time  ?  Broad-fronted  Caesar, 
When  thou  wast  here  above  the  ground,  I  was 
A  morsel  for  a  monarch  :  and  great  Pompey 
Would  stand,  and  make  his  eyes  grow  in  my  brow ; 
There  would  he  anchor  his  aspect,  and  die 
With  looking  on  his  life. 

Enter  Alexas. 

Alex.  Sovereign  of  Egypt,  hail ! 

Cleo.  How  much  unlike  art  thou  Mark  Antony  ! 
Yet,  coming  from  him.  that  great  medicine  hath 
With  his  tinct  gilded  thee. — 
How  goes  it  witti  rny  brave  Mark  Antony? 

Alex.  Last  thing  he  did,  dear  queen, 
He  kiss'd, — the  last  of  many  doubled  kisses, — 
This  orient  pearl : — His  s}>eech  sticks  in  my  heart 

Cleo.  Mine  ear  must  pluck  it  thence. 

Alex.  Good  friend,  quoth  he, 

Say,  the ^rm  Roman  to  great  Egypt  sends 
This  treasure  of  an  oyster;  at  whose  foot. 
To  mend  the  petty  present,  I  will  piece 
Her  opulent  throne  with  kingdoms  ;  All  the  east. 
Say  thou,  shall  call  her  mistress.    So  he  nodded. 
And  soberly  did  mount  a  termagant  steed, 
Who  neigh'd  so  high,  that  what  I  would  have  spoke 
Wv^s  beastly  dumb  d  by  him. 

Cleo.  What,  was  he  sad,  or  merry  ? 

Alex.  Like  to  the  time  o'the  year  between  the 
extremes 

Of  hot  and  cold  ;  lie  was  nor  sad  nor  merry. 

Cleo.  O  well  divided  disposition  ! — Note  him. 
Note  him,  good  Charmian,  'tis  the  man ;  but  note 
him : 

He  was  not  sad  ;  for  he  would  shine  on  those 
'Hiat  make  their  looks  by  his :  he  was  not  merry ; 
Which  seem'd  to  tell  them  his  remembrance  lay 
In  Egypt  with  his  joy  :  but  between  both  : 

0  heavenly  mingle! — Be'st  thou  sad,  or  merry, 
The  violence  of  either  thee  becomes; 

So  does  it  no  man  else. — Met'st  thou  ray  posts  ? 

Alex.  Ay,  madam,  twenty  several  messengers  : 
Why  do  you  send  so  thick  ? 

Cleo.  Who's  born  that  day 

When  I  forget  to  send  to  Antony, 
Shall  die  a  beggar. — Ink  and  paper,  Charmian. — 
Welcome,  my  good  Alexas. — Did  I,  Charmian, 
Ever  love  Caesar  so? 

Char.  O  that  brave  Cassar! 

Cleo.  Be  chok'd  with  such  another  emphasis ! 
Say,  the  brave  Antony. 

Char.  The  valiant  Cafsar ! 

Cleo.  By  I  sis,  I  will  give  thee  bloody  teeth, 
If  thou  with  Caesar  paragon  again 
My  man  of  men. 

Char.  By  your  most  gracious  pardon, 

1  sing  but  after  you. 

Cleo.  My  sallad  days  ; 

When  I  was  green  in  judgujent — Cold  in  blood. 
To  say,  as  I  suid  then  I — But,  come,  away ; 
Get  me  ink  and  paper:  he  shall  have  everyday 
A  (Peveral  greeting,  or  I'll  unpeople  Egypt 

[Ex9unt. 


ACT  H. 

Scene  I. — Messina.  A  Room  in  Pompey's  Houat, 
Enter  Pompey,  Menecrates,  and  Menas. 

Pomp.  If  the  great  gods  be  just,  they  shall  assist 
The  deeds  of  justest  men. 

Mene.  Know,  worthy  Pompey, 

That  what  they  do  delay,  they  not  deny. 

Pom.  Whiles  we  are  suitors  to  their  throne,  decay* 
The  thing  we  sue  for. 

Mene.  We,  ignorant  of  ourselves^ 

Beg  often  our  own  harms,  which  the  wise  powers 
Deny  us  for  our  good ;  so  find  we  profit. 
By  losing  of  our  prayers. 

Pom.  I  shall  do  well : 

The  people  love  me,  and  the  sea  is  mine : 
My  power's  a  crescent,  and  my  auguring  hope 
Says,  it  will  come  to  the  full.    Mark  Antony 
In  Egypt  sits  at  dinner,  and  will  make 
No  wars  without  doors  :  Caesar  gets  money,  whert 
He  loses  hearts:  Lepidus  flatters  bt)th. 
Of  both  is  flatter'd  ;  but  he  neither  loves, 
Nor  either  cares  for  him. 

Men.  C«sar  and  Lepidas 

Are  in  the  field  ;  a  mighty  strength  they  carry. 

Pom.  Where  have  you  this  ?  'tis  false. 

Men,  From  Silvius,  sir 

Pom.  He  dreams ;  I  know,  they  are  iu  Rome 
together, 

Looking  for  Antonv  :  But  all  charms  of  love. 

Salt  Cleopatra,  soften  thy  wan'd  lip! 

Let  witchcraft  join'd  with  beauty,  lust  with  both! 

'i'ie  up  the  libertine  in  a  field  of  feasts. 

Keep  his  brain  fuming  ;  Epicurean  cooks. 

Sharpen  with  cloyless  sauce  his  appetite  ; 

That  sleep  and  feeding  may  prorogue  his  honoar. 

Even  till  a  Lethe'd  dulness. — How  now,  Varrius? 

Enter  VarRius. 

Var.  This  is  most  certain  that  I  shall  deliver: 
Mark  Antony  is  every  hour  in  Rome 
Expected ;  since  he  went  from  Egypt,  'tis 
A  space  for  further  travel. 

Pom.  I  roidd  have  given  less  matter 

A  better  ear. — Menas,  I  did  not  think, 
This  amorous  surfeiter  would  have  don'd  his  helm 
For  such  a  petty  war:  his  soldieroliip 
Is  twice  the  other  twain:  But  let  us  rear 
The  higher  our  opinion,  that  our  stirring 
Can  from  tlie  lap  of  Egypt's  widow  pluck 
The  ne'er  lust-wearied  Antony. 

Men.  I  cannot  hope 

Caesar  and  Antony  shall  well  greet  together : 
His  wife,  that's  dead,  did  trespasses  to  Cscsar; 
His  brother  warr'd  upon  him;  although,  I  think. 
Not  mov'd  by  Antony. 

Pom.  I  know  not,  Menas, 

How  lesser  enmities  may  give  way  to  greater. 
Were't  not  that  we  stand  up  against  them  all, 
'Twere  pregnant  they  should  square  between  thei» 
selves; 

For  they  have  entertained  cause  enough 

To  dravv  their  swords  :  but  how  the  fear  o!  us 

May  cement  their  divisions,  and  bind  up 

The  petty  difference,  we  yet  not  know. 

Be  it  as  our  gods  will  have  it !  It  only  stands 

Our  lives  upon,  to  use  our  strongest  hands. 

Come,  Menas.  [fSxemii, 

Scene  II. — Rome.   A  Room  in  the  Hons*  qf 

Lepidus. 
Enter  Enobarbus  and  Lepidus. 

Lep.  Good  Enobarbus,  'tis  a  worthy  deed 
And  shall  become  you  well,  to  entreat  your  « 
To  soft  and  gentle  speech. 

Eno.  I  shall  entreat  him 

To  answer  like  himself :  If  Cas-sar  move  him, 
Let  Antony  look  over  Caesar's  head. 
And  speak  as  loud  as  Mars.    By  Jupitei, 
Were  I  the  wearer  of  Antonius'  beard* 


Scene  2. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


009 


I  wonld  not  shave  to-day. 

Jjep.  'Tis  not  a  time 

For  private  stomaching. 

Kno.  ^very  time 

Serves  for  the  matter  that  is  then  born  in  it. 

Lep.  But  small  to  greater  matters  must  give  way. 

Eiio.  Not  if  the  small  come  first, 

Lep.  Your  speech  is  passion : 

But,  pray  yon,  stir  no  embers  up.    Here  comes 
The  noble  Autouy. 

Enter  Antony  and  Ventidius. 

Eno.  And  yonder,  Caesar. 

Enter  C^SAR,  Mec^nas,  and  Agkippa. 

Ant.  If  we  compose  well  here,  to  Parthia: 
Hark  yoi5,  Ventidius. 

Cces.  1  do  not  know, 

Mecieuas  ;  ask  Agrippa. 

Lep.  Nob'?  friends, 

That  which  combined  us  was  most  great,  and  let  not 
A  leaner  action  rend  us.    What's  amiss, 
May  it  be  gently  heard  :  When  we  debate 
O'lr  trivial  difference  loud,  we  do  cjnmiit 
Murder  in  healing  wounds:  Then,  noble  partners, 
(The  rather,  for  1  earnestly  beseech,) 
Touch  you  the  sourest  points  with  sweetest  terms, 
Nor  curstness  grow  to  the  matter. 

Ant.  'Tis  spoken  well : 

Were  \ve  before  our  armies,  and  to  fight, 
I  should  do  this. 

Ctes.  Welcome  to  Rome. 

Ant.  Thank  you. 

Cies.  Sit. 


Nay, 


Ant.  Sit, 
Ctes. 
Tlien— 

Ant.  I  learn,  you  take  things  ill,  which  are  not  so; 
Or.  being,  concern  you  not. 

C<ts,  I  must  be  laugh'd  at. 

If,  or  for  nothing,  or  a  little,  I 
Slioul  1  say  myself  offended  ;  and  with  you 
Chiefly  i'the  world  :  more  laugh'd  at,  that  I  should 
Once  name  you  derogately,  when  to  sound  your 
It  not  coi'cern'd  me.  [name 

Ant.  My  being  in  Egypt,  Caesar, 

What  was't  to  you  ? 

Ctss.  No  more  than  my  residing  here  at  Rome 
Might  be  to  you  in  Egypt;  Yet,  if  you  tiiere 
Did  practise  on  my  state,  your  being  in  Egypt 
Might  be  my  question. 

Ani.  How  intend  you,  practis'd  ? 

Ctes.  You  may  be  pleas'd  to  catch  at  mine  intent. 
By  what  did  here  befal  me.  Your  wife,  and  brother, 
M;)de  wars  upon  me;  and  their  contestation 
Was  theme  for  you,  you  were  the  word  of  war. 

Ant.  You  do  mistake  yonr  business ;  my  brother 
never 

Did  urge  me  in  his  act :  I  did  enquire  it; 
And  have  my  learning  from  some  true  reports. 
That  drew  their  swords  with  you.  Did  he  not  rather 
Discredit  my  authority  with  yours; 
And  make  the  wars  alike  against  my  stomach, 
Having  alike  your  cause  ?    Of  this,  my  letters 
Before  did  satisfy  yon     If  you'll  patch  a  quarrel, 
As  matter  whole  you  have  not  to  make  it  with. 
It  must  not  be  wit'a  this. 
Cees  You  praise  yourself 

i    By  laying  defects  of  judgment  to  me  ;  but 
{    You  patch'd  up  your  escuses. 
1      Ant.  Not  so,  not  so ; 

I    I  know  you  could  not  lack,  I  am  certain  on't, 
j   Very  necessity  of  this  thought,  that  I, 
I   Your  partner  in  the  cause  'gainst  which  he  fought, 
;   Could  not  with  gracefid  eyes  attend  those  wars, 
I   Which  'fronted  mine  own  peace.    As  for  my  wife, 
!   I  would  you  had  her  spirit  in  such  another : 
i   The  third  o'the  world  is  yours ;  which  with  a  snaffle 
Yon  may  pace  eaay,  but  not  si>eh  a  wife. 


Eno.  'Would  we  had  all  such  vvi  les,  tb^t  the  men 
might  go  to  wars  with  the  women  ! 

Ant.  So  much  uncurable,  her  garbolls,  C»fKXTf. 
Made  out  of  her  impatience,  Cwhich  not  wante4 
Shrewdness  of  policy  too,.)  I  orieving  grant. 
Did  you  too  much  disquiet:  for  that,  you  must 
But  say,  I  could  c  5t  help  it. 

Cees.  I  wrote  to  yoa. 

When  rioting  in  Alexandria;  you 
Did  pocket  up  my  letters,  and  with  taunts 
Did  gibe  my  missive  out  of  audience. 

Ant.  Sir, 
He  fell  upon  me,  ere  admitted  ;  then 
Three  kings  I  had  newly  feasted,  and  did  want 
Of  what  J  was  i'the  morning;  but,  next  day, 
I  told  him  of  myself;  which  was  as  much 
As  to  have  ask'd  him  pardon  :  Let  this  fellow 
Be  nothing  of  our  strife  ;  if  we  contend, 
Out  of  our  question  wipe  him. 

Cas.  You  have  broken 

The  article  of  your  oath  ;  which  you  shall  never 
Have  tongue  to  charge  me  with. 

Lep.  Soft,  Caesar 

Ant.  No,  Lepidus,  let  him  speak  ; 
The  honour's  sacred  which  he  talks  on  now, 
Supposing  that  I  lack'd  it:  But  oq,  CaiiSar; 
The  article  of  my  oath, —  [them: 

Ciss.  To  lend  me  arms,  and  aid,  when  1  rrquir'o 
The  which  you  both  denied. 

Anf.  Neglected,  rather; 

And  then,  when  poison'd  hours  had  bound  me  up 
From  mine  own  knowledge.    As  nearly  as  I  may, 
I'll  play  the  penitent  to  you  ;  but  mine  honesty 
Shall  not  make  poor  my  greatness,  nor  my  power 
Work  without  it :  Truth  iji,  that  Fulvia, 
To  have  me  out  of  Egypt,  made  wars  here  ; 
For  which  myself,  the  ignorant  motive,  do 
So  far  ask  pardon,  as  befits  mine  honour 
To  stoop  in  sucli  a 

Lep.  'Tia  sxsHly  spoken* 

Mec.  If  it  might  please  you,  to  enforce  no  fartb^ 
The  griefs  between  ye  :  to  forget  them  quite, 
Were  to  remember,  that  the  present  need 
Speaks  to  atone  you. 

Lep.  Worthily  spoke,  Mecaenas 

Eno.  Or,  if  you  borrow  one  another's  love  for  the 
instant,  you  may,  when  yon  hear  no  more  words  of 
Pompey,  return  it  again:  you  shall  have  time  to 
wrangle  in,  when  you  have  nothing  else  to  do. 

Ant.  Thou  art  a  soldier  only  ;  speak  no  more. 

Eno.  That  truth  should  be  silent,  I  had  almost 
forgot.  [more. 

Ant.  You  wrong  this  presence,  therefore  speak  no 

Eno.  Go  to  then  ;  your  considerate  stone. 

CiBs.  I  do  not  much  dislike  the  matter,  but 
The  manner  of  his  speech  :  for  it  cannot  be. 
We  sliall  remain  in  friendship,  our  ccndilions 
So  differing  in  their  acts.    Yet,  if  I  knew 
What  hoop  should  hold  us  stanncn,  froni  edge  to  edge 
O'  the  world  I  would  pursue  it. 

Agr.  Give  me  leave,  CeBsar,--^ 

Cees  Speak,  Agrippa. 

Agr.  Tn(ju  hast  a  sister  by  the  mother's  side, 
Admir'd  Octavia  :  great  Mark  Antony 
Is  now  a  widower. 

Cas.  Say  not  so,  Agrippa  ; 

If  Cleopatra  heard  voii,  your  reproof 
Were  well  deserv'd  of  rashness. 

Ant.  I  am  not  married,  Caesar:  lei  me  hear 
Agrippa  further  speak. 

Agr.  To  hold  you  in  perpetual  amity. 
To  make  you  brothers,  and  to  knit  your  hearts 
With  an  unslipping  knot,  take  Antony 
Octavia  to  his  wife ;  whose  beauty  claims 
No  worse  a  husband  than  the  best  of  mff^n  ; 
Whose  virtue,  and  whose  general  graces,  speak 
That  which  none  else  ean  utter.    By  this  marriafe 
All  little  jealousies,  which  now  seemtgreat. 
And  all  great  fears,  which  now  import  their  dangers 
Would  then  be  nothing-  truth  would  be  but  tales 

59 


610 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  n 


Where  now  half  tales  be  truths  :  her  love  to  both, 
Would,  each  to  other,  and  all  loves  to  both, 
Draw  after  her.    Pardon  what  I  have  spoke  ; 
For  'tis  a  studied,  not  a  present  thought. 
By  duty  ruminated. 

Ant.  Will  Caesar  speak ? 

Cas.  Not  till  he  heirs  how  Antony  is  touch'd 
Willi  v'hat  is  spoke  already. 

Am.  What  power  is  in  Agrippa, 

If  I  would  say,  Aqr^.ppa,  be  it  so. 
To  niake  this  good  V 

CiBs.  The  power  of  Caesar,  and 

His  power  unto  Octavia. 

Ant.  May  I  never 

To  this  good  purpose,  that  so  fairly  shews. 
Dream  of  impediment! — Let  me  have  thy  hand  : 
Further  this  act  ot  grace  ;  and,  from  this  hour, 
The  heart  of  brothers  govern  in  our  loves, 
And  sway  our  great  designs ! 

Cczs.  There  is  my  hand. 

A  sister  I  bequeath  you,  whom  no  brother 
Did  ever  love  so  dearly:  Let  her  live 
T»»  join  our  kingdoms,  and  our  hearts ;  and  never 
Fly  off  our  loves  again  ! 

Lep.  Happily,  amen !  [Pompcy; 

Ant.  I  did  not  think  to  draw  my  swurd  'gainst 
For  he  hath  laid  strange  courtesies,  and  great, 
01"  late  upon  me  :  I  must  thank  him  only. 
Lest  my  remembrance  suffer  ill  report; 
At  heel  of  that,  defy  him. 

Lep.  Time  calls  upon  us: 

Of  us  must  Pompey  presently  be  sought. 
Or  else  he  seeks  out  us. 

Ant.  And  where  lies  he? 

Ca;s.  About  the  Moaul  Misenum. 

Ant.  What's  his  strength 

By  land  ? 

des.       Great,  and  increasing :  but  by  sea 
He  is  an  absolute  master. 

Ant.  So  is  the  fame. 

Would  we  had  spoke  together!  Haste  we  for  it: 
V  et,  ere  we  put  ourselves  in  arms,  despatch  we 
The  business  we  have  talk'd  of. 

Cas.  With  nio.st  gladness  ; 

A.nd  do  invite  you  to  my  sister's  view, 
Whither  straight  I  will  lead  you. 

Ant.  Let  us,  Lepidus, 

^^ot  lack  your  company. 

Lep.  Noble  Antony, 

Not  sickness  should  detain  me. 

[Flourisfu   [Exeunt  Casar,  Ant.  and  Lepidus. 

Mec.  V\'elcorae  from  Eeypt,  sir. 

Eno.  Half  the  heart  of  Cajsar,  worthy  Mecaenas  ! 
—my  honourable  friend,  Agrippa! — 

Agr.  Good  Enobarbus ! 

Mec.  We  have  cause  to  be  glad,  that  matters  are 
80  well  digested.    You  stay'd  well  by  it  in  Egypt. 

Eno.  Ay,  sir;  we  did  sleep  day  out  of  countenance, 
and  iiiade  the  night  light  with  drinking. 

Mec.  Eight  wild  boars  roasted  wliole  at  a  break- 
fevst,  and  but  twelve  persons  there   Is  this  true? 

Eno.  This  was  but  as  a  fly  by  aii  cugie  •  we  had 
much  more  inoustruous  matter  of  feast,  which  wor- 
thily deserved  noting, 

Mec.  She's  a  most  triumphant  lady,  if  report  be 
6<juare  to  her. 

Eno.  When  she  first  met  Mark  Antony,  she  pursed 
Bp  his  heart,  u[)on  the  river  of  C\dnus. 

Agr.  There  she  appeared  indeed;  or  my  reporter 
devised  we  l  for  her, 

Eno.  I  will  tell  you : 
The  barge  she  sat  io,  like  a  burnish'd  throne, 
Burii'd  on  the  water:  the  poop  was  beaten  gold; 
Purple  the  sails,  and  so  t>*:rtumed,  that  [silver; 
Tije  winds  were  love-sick  with  them  :  the  oars  were 
Which  to  ihe  tune  of  flutes  kept  stroke,  and  made 
'I'hc  water,  which  they  beat,  to  follow  faster, 
Ks  amorous  of  their  strokes.    For  her  own  person, 
It  beggar'd  all  deMcription :  she  did  lie 
lii  her  jpavili  la,  'cJoth  *f fold,  of  tissue,) 


O'erpictiiriug  that  Venus,  where  we  see 
The  f  ancy  out- work  nature  :  on  each  side  her. 
Stood  pretty  dimpled  boys,  like  smiling  Cupids, 
With  diverse-coloured  fans,  whose  wind  did  seem 
To  glow  the  delicate  cheeks  which  they  did  cool, 
And  what  they  undid,  did. 

Agr .  O,  rare  for  Antony  ] 

Eno.  Her  gentlewomen,  like  the  Nereides, 
So  many  mermaids,  tended  her  i'  the  eyes. 
And  made  their  bends  adornings  :  at  the  helm 
A  seeming  mermaid  steers  ;  the  silken  tackle 
Swell  with  the  touches  of  those  flower-soft  hands, 
That  yarely  frame  the  office.    From  the  barge 
A  strange  invisible  perlimie  hits  the  sens? 
Of  the  adjacent  wharfs.    The  city  cast 
Her  people  out  upon  her  ;  and  Antony, 
Enthron'd  in  the  market-place,  did  sit  alone. 
Whistling  to  the  air;  which,  but  for  vacancy. 
Had  gone  to  gaze  on  Cleopatra  too. 
And  made  a  gap  in  nature. 

Agr.  Rare  Egyptian ! 

Eno.  Upon  her  landing,  Antony  sent  to  her. 
Invited  her  to  supper:  she  replied, 
It  should  be  better,  he  became  her  guest; 
Which  she  entreated:  Our  courteous  Antony, 
Whom  ne'er  the  word  of  No  wonmn  heard  speak, 
Being  barber'd  ten  times  o'er,  goes  to  the  feast; 
And,  for  his  ordinary,  pays  his  heart. 
For  what  his  eyes  eat  onJy. 

Agr.  Royal  wench! 

She  made  great  Caesar  lay  his  sword  to  bed ; 
He  plough'd  her,  and  she  cropp'd. 

Eno,  I  saw  her  once 

Hop  forty  paces  through  the  public  street : 
And  having  lost  her  breath,  she  spoke,  and  pantei^ 
That  she  did  make  defect,  perfection. 
And,  breathless,  power  breathe  forth. 

Mec.  Now  Antony  must  leave  her  utterly, 

Eno.  Never;  he  will  not; 
Age  cannot  wither  her,  nor  custom  stale 
Her  infinite  varie  ty  :  Other  women 
Cloy  th'  appetites  they  feed  ;  but  she  makes  hungrjj 
Where  most  she  satisfies.    For  vilest  things 
Become  themselves  in  her;  that  the  holy  priests 
Bless  her,  when  she  is  riggish. 

Mec.  If  beauty,  wisdom,  njodesty,  can  settle 
Tlie  heart  of  Antony,  Octavia  is 
A  blessed  lottery  to  him. 

Agr.  Let  us  go. — 

Good  Enobarbus,  make  yourself  my  guest. 
Whilst  you  abide  here. 

Eno.  Humbly,  sir,  I  thank  you.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  III. — T/ie  same.  A  Room  in  Casar's  House, 
Enter  C^sar,  Antony,  Octavia  betiveen  tliem; 
Attendants,  and  a  Soothsayer. 

Ant.  The  world,  and  my  great  office,  will  some- 
Di\ide  me  from  your  bosom.  [times 

Octa.  All  which  time. 

Before  the  gods  my  knee  shall  bow  niy  prayers 
To  them  for  you. 

Ant.  :  Good  night,  sir. — My  Octavia, 

Read  not  my  blemishes  in  the  world's  report: 
1  nave  not  kept  my  square  ;  but  that  to  come 
Shall  all  be  done  by  the  rule.    Good  night,  dear 

Octa.  Good  night,  sir.  [lady. — 

Cits.  Good  night.        [Exeunt  Cces.  and  Octa. 

Ant.  Now,  sirrah  !  you  do  wish  yoursel!  in  Kgypt  ? 

Sooth.  'Would  1  had  never  come  from  thence,  nof 
ThitKer!  [yoo 

Ant.       If  you  can,  your  reason  ? 

Sooth.  I  see't  in 

My  motion,  have  it  not  in  my  tongue :  But  yet 
Hie  ywi  again  to  Egypt. 

Ant.  Say  to  r>e. 

Whose  fortunes  shall  rise  hi|[her,  Caesar's  ot  aisattl 

Sooth.  Caesar's. 
Therefore,  O  Antony,  stay  not  by  his  side : 
Tliy  daemon,  that  s  thy  spirit  which  keeps  thM,  il 
Noble,  courageous,  high,  unmatchable. 


Scene  5. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Where  Cesar's  ii  not ;  but,  near  him,  tliy  angel 
Becomes  a  Fear,  as  being  o'erpowered  ;  therefore 
Make  space  enough  between  you. 

Ant.  Speak  this  no  more. 

Sooth.  To  noae  but  thee ;  no  more,  but  when  to 
ff  thou  dost  play  with  him  at  any  game,  [thee. 
Thou  art  sure  tj  lose ;  and,  of  that  natural  luck. 
He  beats  thee  'gainst  the  odds ;  thy  bistre  thickens, 
When  he  shines  by ;  I  say  again,  thy  spirit 
Is  all  afraid  to  govern  thee  near  him  ; 
But,  he  away,  'tis  noble. 

Ant.  Oet  thee  gone : 

Say  to  Ventidius,  1  would  speak  with  him : — 

[Exit  Soothsayer. 
He  shall  to  Parthia — Be  it  art,  or  hap. 
He  hath  spoken  true :  The  very  dice  obey  him; 
And  ,  in  our  sports,  my  better  cunning  faints 
Under  his  chance  :  if  we  draw  lots,  he  speeds: 
His  cocks  do  win  the  battle  still  of  mine. 
When  it  is  all  to  nought ;  and  his  quails  ever 
Beat  mine,  inhoou'd,  at  odds.    I  will  to  Egypt: 
And  though  I  malie  this  marriage  for  my  peace. 

Enter  Ventidius. 
I'  the  east  my  pleasure  lies: — O,  come,  Ventidius, 
Von  n>ust  to  Parthia;  your  commission's  ready: 
1  ollow  me,  and  receive  it.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — The  same.   A  Street. 
Enter  Lepidus,  Mec^enas,  and  Agrippa. 

Lep.  Trouble  yourselves  no  further:  pray  you, 
V^oin-  generals  after.  [nasten 

Jgr.  Sir,  Mark  A  y 

Will  e'en  but  kiss  Octavia,  and  we'll  follow. 

Lep.  Till  I  shall  see  you  in  your  soldier's  dress, 
Which  will  become  you  both,  farewell. 

Mec.  We  shall, 

As  I  conceive  the  journey,  be  at  mount 
Bfcfore  you,  Lepidus. 

Lep.  Your  way  is  shorter, 

M7  purpos?8  do  draw  me  much  about; 
Yju'U  win  two  days  upon  me. 

Mec.  fir  Agr.  Sir,  good  success ! 

Lep.  Farewell.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — Alexandria.  A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
E/7^<?r  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  Iras,  and  Alexas. 

Vleo.  Give  me  some  music;  music,  moody  food 
Of  us  that  trade  in  love. 

Attend.  The  music,  ho ! 

Enter  Mardian. 

Cleo.  Let  it  alone  ;  let  us  to  billiards : 
ConiP,  Charmian. 

Char.  My  arm  is  sore,  best  play  with  Mardian. 

Cleo.  As  well  a  woman  with  an  eunuch  play'd, 
As  with  a  woman; — Come,  you'll  play  with  me,  sir? 

Mar.  As  well  as  I  can,  madam. 

Cleo.  And  when  good  will  is  shew'd,  though  it 
come  too  short. 
The  actor  may  plead  pardon     I'll  none  now: — 
(i  ve  me  mine  angle. — We'll  to  the  river:  there. 
My  mnsir  plaving  far  off,  I  will  betray 
rawny-finud  fishes;  my  Ijeiided  hook  shall  pierce 
Tlieir  slimv  jaws;  and.  as  I  draw  them  up, 
I'll  think  them  every  one  an  Antony, 
And  say.  Ah,  ha  1  you're  caught. 

Char.  'Twas  merry,  when 

You  wagor'd  on  your  angling;  when  your  diver 
Did  hang  a  salt-fish  on  his  hook,  which  he 
With  fervency  drew  up. 

Cleo.  That  time  ! — O  times  ! — 

I  laugh'd  him  out  of  patience  ;  and  that  night  • 
1  laugh'd  him  into  patience:  and  next  niorn, 
Ere  the  ninth  hour,  I  drunk  hint  to  his  bed  ; 
Tlien  put  my  tires  and  mantles  on  him,  whilst 
(  wore  his  sword  Pliilippan.    O !  from  Italy  ; — 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Ram  tliau  thy  fruitful  tidings  in  mine  ears, 


That  long  time  have  been  barren. 

Mess.  Madam »  madam, 

Cleo.  Antony's  dead  ?-  - 
If  ihou  say  so,  villain,  thou  kill'st  thy  mistress 
But  well  and  free, 

If  thou  so  yield  him,  there  is  gold,  and  here 
My  bluest  veins  to  kiss;  a  hand,  that  king* 
Have  lipp'd,  and  trembled  kissing. 
Mess.  First,  madani.  he's  w«H 

Cleo.  Why,  there's  more  gold.  But,  sirrah,  mark 
We  u.se 

To  say,  the  dead  are  well :  bring  it  to  that, 
The  gold  I  give  thee,  will  I  melt,  and  pour 
Down  thy  ill-uttering  throat. 

Mess.  Good  madam,  hear  me. 

Cleo.  Well,  go  to,  1  will 

But  there's  no  goodness  in  thy  face  ;  If  Antony 
Be  free,  and  healthful, — why  so  tart  a  favour 
To  trumpet  such  good  tidings  ?  If  not  well. 
Thou  should'st  come  like  a  fury  crown'd  with  snakes 
Not  like  a  formal  man. 

Mess.  Wiirt  please  you  hear  me 

Cleo.  I  have  a  mind  to  strike  thee,  ere  flini 
Yet,  if  thou  say,  Antony  lives,  is  well,  [speak'st 
Or  friends  with  Ca*sar,  or  not  captive  to  him, 
I'll  set  thee  in  a  shower  of  gold,  and  hail 
Rich  pearls  upon  thee. 

Mess.  Madam,  he's  well. 

Cleo.  Well  said 

Mess.  And  friends  with  Caesar. 

Cleo.  Thou'rt  an  honest  man 

Mess.  Caesar  and  he  are  greater  friends  than  ever 

Cleo.  Make  thee  a  fortime  from  me. 

Mess.  But  yet,  madam^  - 

Cleo.  I  do  not  like  but  yet,  it  does  allay 
The  good  precedence  ;  I'y  upon  but  yet: 
hut  yet  is  as  a  gaoler  to  bring  forth 
Some  monstrous  malefactor,    Pr'ythee,  fiiend, 
Pour  out  the  pack  of  matter  to  mine  ear, 
The  good  and  bad  together :  He's  friends  with  Csesar 
In  state  of  health,  thou  say'st:  and,  thou  say'st,  free^ 

Mess.  Free,  madam !  no ;  I  made  no  such  report 
He's  bound  unto  Octavia. 

Cleo.  For  what  good  turn  ? 

Mess.  For  the  best  turn  i'  the  bed. 

Cleo.  I  am  pale,  Charmian 

Mess.  Madam,  he's  married  to  Octavia. 

Cleo.  The  most  infectious  pestilence  upon  thee  ! 

{Strikes  him  down .) 

Mess.  Good  madam,  patience. 

Cleo.  W  hat  say  you  ? — Hence, 

(Strikes  him  again.', 
Horrible  villain !  or  I'll  spurn  thine  eyes 
Like  balls  before  me  ;  I'll  unhair  thy  head  ; 

[She  hales  him  up  and  duwn.) 
Thou  shalt  be  whipp'd  with  wire,  and  stew'd  in 
Smarting  in  ling'ring  pickle.  [brine, 

Mess.  Gracious  madam, 

I,  that  do  bring  the  news,  made  not  the  match. 

Cleo.  Say,  'tis  not  so,  a  province  I  will  give  thee, 
And  make  thy  fortunes  proud  :  the  blow  thou  hadst 
Shall  make  thy  peace,  for  moving  me  to  rage; 
And  I  will  boot  thee  with  what  gift  beside 
Thy  modesty  can  beg. 

Mess.  He's  married,  madam. 

Cleo.  Rogue,  thou  hast  liv'd  too  long. 

{Draws  a  dagger ) 

Mess.  Nay,  then  I'll  ran  : — 
What  mean  you,  madam  ?  I  have  made  no  fault. 

[Extt 

Char.  Good  madam,  keep  yourself  within  yosir- 
self, 

The  man  is  innocent.  [bolt.-» 
Cleo.  Some   innocents  'scape  not  the  thunder 

Melt  Egypt  into  Nile  !  and  kindly  creatures 

Turn  all  to  serpents '.—Call  tiie  slave  again  ; 

Though  1  am  mad,  I  will  not  bit*  him :— Call. 
Char.  He  is  ateard  to  come.  ' 
Cleo.  I  will  not  hurt  bim 

These  hands  do  lack  nobility,  tliat  they  strike 


612 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPx\TRA. 


Act  II 


A  meaner  than  myself ;  since  I  myself 

Have  given  myse  If  the  cause. — Come  hither,  sir. 

Re-enter  Messev^ger. 
Thongh  it  be  honest,  it  is  never  good 
To  bring  bad  news :  Give  to  a  gracious  messager 
An  host  of  tongues;  but  let  ill  tidings  tell 
Tfiemselvesi,  when  they  be  felt. 

Mes.  I  have  done  my  duty. 

Cleo.  Is  he  married  ? 
I  cannot  hate  thee  worser  than  I  do, 
If  thou  again  say,  Ves. 

M'^ss.  He  is  married,  madam. 

C/eo.  The  gods  confound  thee !  dost  thou  hold 
there  still? 

Mess.  Should  1  lie.  madam  ? 

Cleo.  O,  I  would  thou  didst; 

So  half  niy  Egypt  were  submerg'd,  and  made 
A  cistern  for  scal'd  snakes !  Go,  get  thee  hence; 
Hadst  thou  Narcissus  in  thy  face,  to  me 
Ttioi;  would*st  appear  most  ugly.    He  is  married  ? 

Mess.  F  crave  your  highness'  pardon. 

Cleo.  He  is  married  ? 

Mess.  Take  no  offence,  that  I  would  not  offend 
To  punish  me  for  what  you  make  me  do,  [you: 
Seems  much  unequal :  He  is  married  to  Octavia. 

Cleo.  (),  that  his  fault  should  make  a  knave  of 
thee,  [hence : 

That  art  not !— What?  thou'rt  sure  oft?— Get  thee 
The  mercliaiidise,  which  thou  hast  brought  from 
Rome, 

Are  all  too  dear  for  me :  Lie  they  upon  thy  hand, 
And  be  undone  by  'em  !  [Exit  Mess. 

Char  Good  your  highness,  patience. 

Cleo.  In  praising  Antony,  I  have  disprais'd  Caesar. 

Char.  Many  times,  madam. 

Cleo.  I  am  paid  for't  now. 

Lead  me  from  hence, 

r  faint;  O  Iras,  Charmian, — 'Tis  no  matter: 
Go  to  the  lellow,  good  Alexas:  bid  him 
Report  the  feature  of  ()ctavia,  her  years. 
Her  inclination,  let  him  not  leave  out 
The  colour  of  her  hair: — bring  me  word  (juickly.-^ 

[Exit  Alexas. 
Let  him  for  ever  go  : — Let  him  not — Charmian, 
'I'hough  he  be  painted  one  way  like  a  Gorgon, 
Pother  way  he's  a  Mars: — Bid  you  Alexas 

(To  Mardian.) 

Bring  me  word,  how  tall  she  is. — Pity  me,  Charmian, 
But  do  not  speak  to  me. — Lead  me  to  my  chamber. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  VI, — Near  Misenum. 
En.'er  Pompey  and  Menas,  at  one  side,  with  drum 
and  trumpet;  at  another,  CvESAR,  Lepidus, 
Antony,  Enobarbus,  Mec^nas,  with  Soldiers 
marching. 

Pom.  Your  hostages  I  have,  so  have  you  mine ; 
And  we  shall  talk  before  we  fight. 

Cas.  Most  meet, 

'I'hat  first  we  come  to  words  ;  and  therefore  have  we 
Our  written  purposes  before  us  sent: 
Which,  if  thou  hast  considerd,  let  us  know 
If 'twill  tie  up  thy  discontented  sword; 
And  carry  back  to  Sicily  much  tall  youth, 
That  else  must  perish  here. 

Pom.  To  you  all  three. 

The  senators  alone  ot  this  great  world. 
Chief  factors  for  the  gods, — 1  do  not  know. 
Wherefore  my  father  should  revengers  want. 
Having  a  son,  and  friends;  since  Julius  Cdesar, 
Who  at  Philippi  the  good  Brutus  ghosted, 
There  saw  you  labouring  for  him.    What  was  it. 
That  mov'd  pale  Cassius  to  conspire  ?  And  what 
Made  the  all-honour  d  honest  Roman,  Brutus, 
With  the  arm'd  rest,  courtiers  of  beauteous  freedom. 
To  drench  the  Capitol ;  but  that  they  would 
Have  one  man  but  a  man?  And  that  is  it, 
Hath  made  me  rg  my  na\  y  ;  at  whose  burden 
The  anger'd  oce».n  foams;  with  which  I  meant 


To  scourge  the  ingratitude  that  despitefu.  Rome 
Cast  on  my  noble  father. 

CcBs.  Take  your  time.  fsails, 

Ant.  Thon  canst  not  fear  us,  Pompey,  with  thj 
We'll  speak  with  thee  at  sea:  at  land,  thou  know'at 
How  much  we  do  o'er-count  thee. 

Pom.  At  land,  indeed. 

Thou  dost  o'er-count  me  of  my  father's  house : 
But,  since  the  cuckoo  builds  not  for  himself, 
Remain  iu't  as  thou  may'st. 

Lep.  Be  pleas'd  to  tell  as, 

(For  thi«  is  from  the  jjresent,)  how  you  take 
The  offers  we  have  sent  you. 

Cits.  There's  fhe  poiut. 

Ant.  Which  do  not  be  entreated  to,  but  weigh 
What  it  is  worth  embrac'd, 

Cas.  And  what  may  follow, 

To  try  a  larger  fortune. 

Pom.  You  have  made  me  ofter 

Of  Sicily,  Sardinia;  arc!  I  must 
Rid  all  the  sea  of  pirates  ;  then,  to  send 
Measures  of  wheat  to  Rome  :  This  'greed  upon. 
To  part  with  unhack'd  edges,  and  bear  back 
Our  targe  undmted. 

Cas.  Ant.  §f  Lep.  That's  our  offer. 

Pom.  Know  then 

I  came  before  you  here,  a  man  prepar'd 
To  take  this  ofier :  But  Mark  Antony 
Put  me  to  some  impatience : — 'I'hough  I  lose 
The  praise  of  it  by  telling.  You  must  know, 
When  Cajsar  and  your  brothers  were  at  blows. 
Your  mother  came  to  Sicily,  and  did  find 
Her  welcome  friendly. 

Ant.  I  have  heard  it,  Pompey . 

And  am  well  studied  for  a  liberal  thanks. 
Which  i  do  owe  you. 

Pom.  Let  me  have  your  hand : 

I  did  not  think,  sir,  to  have  met  you.  fyco. 

Ant.  The  beds  i'the  east  are  solt ;  and  thanks  t* 
That  call'd  me,  timelier  than  my  purpose,  hither; 
For  1  have  gain'd  by  it. 

Cois.  Since  I  saw  you  last, 

There  is  a  change  upon  you. 

Pom.  Well,  I  know  not, 

What  counts  harsh  fortune  casts  upon  my  face; 
But  in  my  bosom  shall  she  never  come, 
To  make  my  heart  her  wassal. 

Lep.  Well  met  here. 

Pom.  I  hope  so,  Lepidus. — Thus  we  are  agreed 
I  crave,  our  composition  may  be  written. 
And  seal  d  between  us. 

Ctts.  That's  the  next  to  do. 

Pom.  We'll  feast  each  other,  ere  we  part;  and 
Draw  lots  who  shall  begin.  [letma 

Ant.  That  will  I,  Pompey. 

Pom.  No,  Antony,  take  the  lot:  but,  first. 
Or  last,  your  fine  Egyptian  cookery 
Shall  have  the  fame.  I  have  heard,  that  Julius  Cs«sar 
Grew  fat  with  feastmg  there. 

Ant,  You  have  heard  i^juch. 

Pom.  I  have  fair  meanings,  sir. 

Ant.  And  fair  words  to  «9n. 

Pom.  Then  so  much  have  I  heard  : — 
And  I  have  heard,  Apollodirus  carried — 

Eno.  No  more  of  that: — He  did  so. 

Pom.  What,  I  pray  yoaT 

Eno.  A  certain  qaeen  to  Caesar  in  a  mattress. 

Pern.  I  know  thee  now ;  How  far'st  thou,  so  T 

Eno.  I 
And  well  am  like  to  do ;  for,  I  perceive, 
Four  feasts  are  toward. 

Pom.  Let  me  shake  thy  band ; 

I  never  hated  thee  :  I  have  seen  thee  fight, 
When  I  have  envied  thy  behaviour. 

Eno.  Sir, 
I  never  lov'd  you  much ;  but  I  have  prais'd  you, 
When  you  have  well  deserv'd  ten  times  as  much 
As  I  have  said  you  did. 

Pom.  Enjoy  thy  plainness. 

It  nothing  ill  becomes  thee  — 


Scene  7. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


613 


Aboard  tny  g;a!ley  I  invite  you  all:  ' 
W^iil  you  lectfl.  lords? 

Cets.  Ant.  ^*  Lep.    Shew  us  the  way,  sir. 

Poftt.  Come. 
[Exeunt  Pompey,  Ctesar,  Antony.,  Lepidus, 
Soldiers,  and  Attendants. 

Men.  Thy  father,  Poinpey,  would  ne'er  have  made 

s  treaty. — {Aside.) — You  and  I  have  known,  ^ir. 

Eno.  At  sea,  I  tliink. 

Men.  VV"  have,  sir. 

Eno.  You  have  done  we!!  by  water,  ■ 
Men.  And  you  by  land. 

Eno.  I  will  praise  any  man,  tiiat  w  il!  praise  me  : 
thdu^h  it  cnunot  be  denied  what  I  have  ('one  by  land. 

Men.  Nor  wliat  I  have  done  by  water. 

Eno.  ¥^es,  somethinsj  you  can  deny  for  your  own 
salety  :  you  liave  been  a  j:;reat  thief  by  sea. 

Men.  And  yon  by  land.  _  j 

Eno.  'I'h."re  1  deny  iny  land  service.  But  g-'V*  nie 
your  hand,  Menas :  If  our  eyes  liad  autliority,  here 
they  might  take  two  thieves  kissing. 

Men.  All  men'.s  faces  are  true,  whatsoe'er  their 
bands  are.  [face. 

Eno.  But  there  is  never  a  fair  woman  has  a  true 

Men.  No  glauder;  they  steal  hearts. 

Eno.  We  came  hither  to  fight  with  you. 

Men.  For  my  part,  I  am  sorry  it  is  turned  to  a 
drinking.  Pompey  doth  this  day  laugh  away  his 
fortune.  _  I 

Eno.  If  he  do,  sure  he  cannot  weep  it  back  again.  ' 

Men.  You  have  said,  sir.  We  looked  not  for  Mark  [ 
Antony  here  ;  Pray  you,  is  he  married  to  Cleopatra  ?  ; 

Eno.  Caesar's  sister  is  call'd  Octavia.  [cellus. 

Men.  True,  sir,  she  was  the  wife  of  Caius  Mar- 

Env.  But  she  is  now  the  wife  of  Marcus  Antonius. 

Men.  Pray  you,  sir  ? 

Eno.  'Tis  true. 

Men,  Then  is  Cffisar  and  he  for  ever  knit  together. 

Eno.  If  I  were  bound  to  divine  of  this  unity,  I 
wot! Id  not  prophesy  so. 

Men.  I  think,  the  policy  of  that  purpose  made 
B*  vre  in  the  marriage,  than  the  love  of  the  parties. 

Eno.  1  think  so  too.  But  you  shall  find,  the  band 
that  seems  to  tie  tlieir  friendship  together,  will  be 
the  vei7  siraijgler  of  their  amity:  Octavia  is  of  a 
holy,  cold,  aud  still  conversation. 

Men.  VVho  would  not  have  his  wife  so? 

Eno.  Nut  he,  Uiat  himself  is  not  so  ;  which  is  Mark 
Antony.  He  will  to  his  Egyptian  dish  again  :  then 
shall  tiie  sii^hs  of  Octa\ ia  blow  the  fire  up  in  Caesar: 
and,  as  I  said  before,  that  which  is  tae  strength  of 
their  amity,  shall  prove  the  unuiediate  author  of 
their  vMriance.  Antony  will  use  his  alfection  where 
it  is :  he  married  but  his  occasion  here. 

Men.  And  tiius  it  may  be.  Come,  sir,  will  you 
aboard  ?  I  have  a  health  for  you. 

Eno.  1  shall  take  it,  sir:  We  have  used  our 
throats  in  Egypt. 

Men.  Come;  let's  away.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VII. — On  board  Pompey  s  Galley,  lying 
near  Misenum. 

Music.    Enter  twe  or  three  Servants,  with  a 
banquet. 

1  Serv.  Here  tliey'll  be,  man:  Some  o'their  plants 
fcre  ill-rooted  already,  the  least  wind  i'the  world  will 
blow  them  down. 

2  Serv.  Lepidus  is  high-coloured. 

1  Serv.  Tlif'v  have  made  him  drink  alms-drink. 

2  Serv.  As  they  pinch  one  another  by  the  dispo- 
sition, he  cries  out,  no  more ;  reconciles  them  to  his 
entreaty,  and  himself  to  the  drink. 

\  Serv.  Bni  it  raises  the  greater  war  between 
hiin  arid  his  discretion. 

'2  Serv.  Why,  this  it  is  to  have  a  name  in  great 
laen's  lt'llowshi[) :  I  had  as  liei  liavea  reed  that  will 
dome  no  st^rvice,  as  a  partizan  I  could  not  heave. 

1  Serv.  To  be  called  into  a  huge  sphere,  and  not 
to  be  seen  to  n)0ve  in't,  are  the  holes  where  eyes 
rijrtuJd  be,  whic'A  pitifuilj  disaster  the  checks. 


A  senet  sounded.  Enter  C/Esar,  Antony,  Pom 
PEY,  Lepidus,  Agf-»p\^  Mecenas,  Enobar*u«^ 
Men.^s,  with  other  'Japtains. 

Ant.  Thus  do  they,  sir:  (Tc  C<esar.)  Thej  taki 
the  flow  o'the  Nile 
By  certain  scales  i'the  pyramid  ;  they  know. 
By  the  height,  the  lowness,  or  (he  mean,  if  desurth, 
Or  (bizon,  follow:  The  higher  Nilus  swells, 
The  more  it  })romises:  as  it  ebbs,  the  seedsman 
Upon  ttie  slime  and  ooze  scatters  his  graia. 
And  shortly  comes  to  har\  est 

Lep.  You  have  strange  serpents  there. 

Ant.  Ay,  Lepidus. 

Lep.  Yoiu- serpent  of  Egypt  is  bred  nowof  yoot 
mud  by  the  operation  of  your  sun;  so  is  your  cro 
codile. 

Ant.  They  are  so.  fdus. 
Pom.  Sit, — aud  some  wine. — A  health  to  Lepi- 
Lep.  I  am  not  so  well  as  I  should  be,  but  I'll 
ne'er  out. 

Eno.  Not  till  you  have  slept ;  I  fear  me  you'll  be 
in,  till  then. 

Lep.  Nay,  certainly,  I  have  heard,  the  Ptolemi 
pyramises  are  very  goodly  things;  without  am- 
tradiction,  I  have  heard  that. 

Men.  Pompey,  a  word.  {Aside.) 

Pom.  Say  in  mine  car  :  What  is't? 

Men.  Forsake  thy  seat,  I  do  beseech  thee,  cap- 
tain, [Aside  ) 
And  liear  me  speak  a  word. 

Pom,  Forbear  me  till  anon. — 

This  wine  for  Lepidus. 

Lep.  What  manner  o'thing  is  your  crocodile  ? 

Ant.  It  is  shaped,  sir,  like  itself;  and  it  is  as 
broad  as  it  hath  breadth  :  it  is  just  so  high  as  it  is, 
and  moves  with  its  own  organs:  it  lives  by  that 
which  nourisheth  it ;  and  the  elements  once  out  of 
it,  it  transmigrates. 

Lep.  What  colour  is  it  of? 

Ant.  Of  its  own  colour  too. 

Lep.  'Tis  a  strange  serpent. 

Ayit.  'Tis  so.    And  the  tears  of  it  are  wet 

Ca:s.  Will  this  description  satisfy  him  ? 

Ant.  \V\i\i  the  health  that  Pompey  gives  hina, 
else  he  is  a  very  epicure. 

Pom.  <To  Mejias  aside.)  Go,  hang,  sir,  hang! 
Tell  me  of  that?  away! 
Do  as  I  bid  you. — Where's  this  cup  I  call'd  for? 

Men.  If  for  the  sake  of  merit  thou  wilt  hear  me, 
Rise  iroin  thy  stool.  {Aside,\ 

Pom.  1  think,  thou'rt  mad.  The  matter. 

{Rises,  and  walks  aside.] 

Men.  I  have  ever  held  my  cap  off  to  thy  fortunes. 

Pom.  Thou  hast  serv"d  me  with  much  faith* 
What's  else  to  s;iy  ? 
Be  jolly,  lords.  ^ 

Ant.  These  quick  sands,  Lepidus, 

Keep  off  thenj,  or  you  .sin.k. 

Men.  Wilt  thou  be  lord  of  all  the  world? 

Pomp.  What  say'st  thou? 

Men.  Wilt  thou  be  lord  of  the  wiiole  world  ? 
I'hat's  twice  ? 

Pom.  How  should  that  be? 
Men.  But  entertain  it,  and, 

Al  h'digh  thou  think  me  poor,  I  am  the  man 
Will  give  thee  all  the  world. 

Pom.  Hast  thou  drunk  well! 

]\[en.  No,  Pompey,  I  have  kei)t  me  unui  iht  cap 
Thou  art,  if  thou  dar'st  be,  the  earthly  Jove  ; 
Whate'er  the  ocean  pales,  or  sky  inclips. 
Is  thine,  if  thou  wilt  have  t. 

Pom.  Sliew  me  which  way 

Men.  These  three  world-shaiers,  these  coojpa 
titors. 

Are  in  thy  vessel :  Let  me  cut  the  cable ; 
And,  wlien  we  are  put  off  fall  to  their  throats 
All  there  is  thine. 

Pu/,?.  Ah,  this  thou  shouIsTst  have  dosH 

And  uut  ha\e  spoke  on't!  In  uitj  'tis  vilianyi 


6U 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Aci 


In  thee,  it  had  beeu  good  service.    Thou  must 
know, 

Tis  not  ray  profit  that  does  lead  mine  honour; 
Mine  honour,  it.    Repent,  that  e'er  thy  tonj^ue 
Hath  SCI  betray'vi  tiiiuc  act :  Being  done  unknown, 
I  should  have  found  it  afterwards  well  done; 
But.  must  condemn  it  now.    Desist,  and  drink. 

Men.  For  this,  (Aside.) 
I  i!  never  follow  thy  pall'd  fortunes  more. — 
Who  seeks,   and  will  not  take,  when  once  'tis 

.flfer'd. 
Shall  never  find  it  more. 

Pom.  This  health  to  Lepidus, 

Ant.  Bear  him  ashore. — I'll  pledge  it  for  him, 
Ponipey. 

Eno.  Here's  to  thee,  Menas. 

Men.  Enobarbus,  welcome. 

Pom.  Fill,  till  the  cup  be  hid. 

Eno.  There's  a  strong  fellow,  Menas. 

[Pointinrj  to  the  Attendant  who  carries 
off  Lepidus.) 

Men.  Why  ? 

Eno.  He  bears 

The  third  part  of  the  world,  man  ;  See'st  not? 

Men.  The  third  part  then  is  drunk :  'Would  it 
were  all. 
That  it  might  go  on  wheels  ! 

Eno.  Drink  thou  ;  increase  the  reels. 

Men.  Come. 

Pom.  This  is  not  yet  an  Alexandrian  feast. 

Ant.  \i  ripens  towards  it. — Strike  the  vessels,  ho ! 
Here  is  to  Caesar. 

CiBs.  I  could  well  tovbear  it. 

It's  monstrous  labour,  when  I  wash  my  brain, 
x\nd  it  grows  fouler. 

Ant.  Be  a  child  o'the  time. 

C<es.  Possess  it,  I'll  make  answer:  but  I  had 
rather  fast 

From  rtll,  four  days,  than  drink  so  much  in  one. 

Eno.  Ha,  my  brave  emperor!         {To  Antony.) 
Shall  we  dance  now  the  Egyptian  Bacchanals, 
And  celebrate  our  drink  ? 

Pom.  Let's  ha't,  good  soldier. 

Ant.  Com,  let  us  all  take  hands;  (sense 
•Till  that  the  conquering  wine  hath  steep'd  our 
In  soft  and  delicate  Lethe. 

Eno.  All  take  hands. — 

Make  battery  to  our  ears  with  the  loud  music  : — 
The  while,  1 11  place  you :   Then  the  boy  shall 
singr* 

The  holding  every  man  shall  bear,  as  loud 
As  his  strong  sides  can  volley. 

[Music  plays.    Enobarbus  places  them  hand 
in  hand.) 

SONG. 

Come.,  thou  monarch  of  the  vine, 
Plumpy  Bacchus.,  with  pink  eyne : 
In  thy  vats  our  cares  be  drown' d ; 
Wi(h  thy  grapes  our  hairs  be  crown' d; 
Cup  us,  till  the  world  go  round; 
Cup  uSy  till  the  world  go  round! 

Ctes.  VVhat  would  you  more? — Pompey,  good 
night.    Good  brother, 
liet  me  request  you  off:  our  graver  business 
Frowns  at  this  levity. — Gentle  lords ,  let's  part ; 
Vou  see,  we  have  burnt  our  cheeks :  strong  Eno- 
barbe 

tti  weaker  than  the  wine;  and  mine  own  tongue 
Splits  what  it  speaks :   the  wild   disguise  hath 
almost  (night. — 

Antick'd  us  all.    What  needs  more  words  ?  Good 
G«K)d  Antony,  your  hand. 

Pom.  I'll  try  you  o'the  shore. 

Ant.  And  shall,  sir:  give's  your  hand. 

Pom.  O,  Antony, 

You  have  my  father's  housg,-.-BHt  what ?  we  are 

friends : 
Uoaa,  down  into  the  boat. 


^^i<^'         ^  Take  heed  you  fall  r„ot.— 

[Exeunt  Pompey,  Casar,  Antony,  emd 
Attendants. 
Me-nas,  I'll  not  on  shore. 

Men.  No,  to  my  cabin.— 

These  drums.'— these  trumpets,  flutes!  what!— 
Let  Neptune  hear  we  bid  a  loud  farewell 
To  these   great  fellows:  Sound,  and  be  haug'd, 
sound  out. 

{A  flourish  of  trumpets,  tvith  drums) 
Eno.  Ho,  says  'a  ! — There's  my  cap. 
Men.  Ho ! — noble  captain ! 

Come.  [Exeunt 

ACT  in. 

Scene  I.-t-^  Plain  in  Syria. 
Enter  Ventidius,  as  after  conquest,  tvith  SiLiUS, 
and  other  Romans,  Officers,  and  Soldiers;  the 
dead  body  of  Pacorus  borne  before  him. 
Ven.  Now,  darting  Parthia,  art  thou  struck; 
and  now 

Pleas'd  fortune  does  of  Marcus  Crassus'  death 
Make  me  revenger. — Bear  the  king's  son's  body 
Before  our  army  : — Thy  Pacorus,  Orodes, 
Pavs  this  for  Marcus  Crassus. 

Sil.  Noble  Ventidius, 

Whilst  yet  with  Parthian  blood  thy  sword  is  warna. 
The  fugitive  Parthians  follow  ;  spur  through  Media, 
Mesopotamia,  and  the  shelters  whither 
The  routed  fly  :  so  thy  grand  captain  Antony 
Shall  set  thee  on  triumphant  chariots,  and 
Put  garlands  on  thy  I'ead. 

Ven.  O  Silius,  Silius, 

I  have  done  enough :  A  lower  place,  note  well, 
May  make  too  great  an  act:  For  learn  this,  Silins; 
Better  leave  undone,  than  by  our  deed  acquire 
'J^oo  high  a  fame,  when  him  we  serve's  away. 
Cfesar,  and  Antony,  have  ever  won 
More  in  their  officer,  than  person:  Sossius, 
One  of  my  place  in  Syria,  his  lieutenant. 
For  quick  accumulation  of  renown, 
Which  he  acliiev'd  by  the  minute,  lost  his  favour 
Who  does  i'the  wars  more  than  his  captain  can, 
Becomes  his  captain's  captain  :  and  ambition. 
The  soldier's  virtue,  rather  makes  choice  of  loss. 
Than  gain,  which  darkens  him. 
I  could  do  more  to  do  Antonius  good. 
But  'twould  offend  him ;  and  in  his  offence' 
Should  my  performance  perish. 

Sil.  Thou  hast,  Ventidius, 

That  without  which  a  soldier,  and  his  sword. 
Grants  scarce  distinction.    Thou  wilt  wnte  to  An- 
tony  ? 

Ven.  ril  humbly  signify  what  in  his  name. 
That  magical  word  of  war.  we  have  affected  ; 
How,  with  his  banners,  and  his  well-paid  ranks^ 
The  ne'er-yet  beaten  horse  of  Parthia 
We  have  jaded  out  o'the  field. 

Sil.  Where  is  he  nqw  ? 

Ven.   He  purposeth  to  Athens:  whither,  with 
what  haste 

The  weight  we  must  convey  with  ua  will  permit. 
We  shall  appear  before  him. — On,  there ;  pass 
along.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  II. — Rome.  An  Ante-Chamber  in  Casar't 
House. 

Enter  Agrippa,  and  Enobarbus,  meeting. 
Agr.  What,  are  the  brothers  parted  ? 
Eno.  They  have  despatch'd  with  Pompey,  he  is 
gone ; 

The  other  three  are  seaUn{%    Octavia  weeps 
To  part  from  Rome  :  Caesar  is  sad  ;  and  Lepidus,, 
Since  Pompey's  feast,  as  Menas  says,  is  troubled 
With  the  green  sickness. 
A^r. 

Eno.  A  very  fine  one ; 

Agr.  Nay,  but  how  dearly  he  adores  Mark  A»« 
tony  I 


'Tis  a  noble  Lepidus. 
:  O,  how  he  loves  Canwrl 


Scene  3 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


G15 


Eno.  Ca?sar  ?  Why,  he's  the  Jupiter  of  men. 

Agr.  What's  Antony?  The  gf)d  of  Jupiter. 

Eno.  Spake  you  of  Csesar  ?  How  ?  the  nonpareil ! 

Agr.  O  Antony  !  O  thou  Arabian  bird  ! 

Eno.  Would  jou  praise  Csesar,  say, — Caesar; — 
go  no  further.  [praises. 

Ayr.  Indeed,  he  ply'd  them  both  with  excellent 

Em.  But  he  loves  Cajsar  best; — Yet  he  loves 
Antony :  [cannot 
11?!  hearts,  tongues,  figures,  scribes,  bards,  poets, 
Think,  speak,  cast,  write,  sing,  number,  ho,  his 
love 

To  Antony.    But  as  for  Caesar, 

Kneel  down,  kneel  down,  and  wonder. 

Ayr.  Both  he  loves. 

Eiio.  They  are  his  ahards,  and  he  their  beetle. 
So, —  {Trumpets,) 
This  is  to  liorse. — Adieu,  noble  Agrippa. 

Ayr.  (iood  fortune,  worthy  soldier;  and  farewell. 

Enter  C^sAR,  Antony,  Lepidus,  and  Octavia. 
A)it.  No  further,  sir. 

CV.v.  ^  on  t;\ke  froui  me  a  great  part  of  myself; 
t'sc  nie  well  in  it. — Sister,  prove  such  a  wife 
.A.s  niy  thoughts  make  thee,  and  as  my  furthest 
band 

Shall  pass  on  thy  approof. — Most  noble  Antony, 

Let  not  the  piece  of  virtue,  whicli  is  set 

Betwixt  us,  as  the  cement  of  our  love. 

To  keep  it  biiilded,  he  the  ram,  to  batter 

The  fortress  of  it :  for  better  might  we 

Have  !o\ed  without  this  mean,  if  on  both  parts 

This  be  «iot  cherish  d. 

Ant.  Make  me  not  offended 

111  your  distrust. 

t'trs.  I  have  said. 

Ant.  You  shall  not  find, 

Thoiijih  you  be  therein  curious,  the  least  causae 
FcT  what  you  seem  to  fear:  So,  tlie  gods  keep  you. 
And  usake       hearts  of  Romans  serve  your  ends! 
V\  e  will  here  part. 

Cit  s   Farewell,  my  dearest  sister,  fare  thee  well ; 
The  ehinenls  be  kind  to  thee,  and  make 
Thy  spirits  all  of  comfort!  fare  thee  well. 

Octa.  A?y  noble  brother  I — 

Aul.  Tile  April's  in  her  eyes  :  It  is  love's  spring. 
And  tlie.se  tlie  showers  to  bring  it  on. — Be  cheerful. 

Octa.  Sir,  look  well  to  my  husband's  houjre ; 
and— 

CVat.  What, 
Octavia? 

Oct.       I'll  tell  you  in  your  ear. 

Ant.  Her  tongue  will  not  obey  her  heart,  nor  can 
Her  heart  inform  her  tongue  :  the  swan's  down 
feather, 

That  stands  upon  tlie  swell  at  full  of  tide, 
.And  neither  way  inclines^ 

Eno.  Will  Ca'sar  weep  ?     {Aside  to  Agrippa.) 

Agr.  He  has  a  cloud  in's  lace, 

Eno.  He  were  the  worse  for  that,  were  he  a 
horse ; 
So  is  lie,  being  a  man. 

Agr.  Why,  Enobarbus? 

When  Antony  found  Julius  Ca;sar  dead, 
He  cried  almost  to  roaring:  and  he  wept, 
\\  hen  at  Philippi  he  found  Brutus  slain. 

Eno.  That  year,  indeed,  he  was  troubled  with 
a  rheum  ; 

What  willingly  be  did  confoupd,  he  wail'd  : 
Htlieve  it,  till  i  weep  too. 
■|  C<rs.  No,  sweet  Octavia, 

*  ou  shall  hear  from  me  still;  the  time  shall  not 

t-go  my  tliinking  on  you. 

Ant.  Come,  sir,  come  ; 

I'll  wrestle  with  you  in  my  strength  of  love : 
Look,  here  \  ha\  e  you ;  thus  I  let  you  go, 
And  C've  you  to  the  gods. 

Ctes.  Adieu  ;  be  hafijjy  ! 

Lep.  Let  all  the  number  of  tlw  stars  give  light 
To  thy  fair  way  ! 


CiBs.  Farewell,  farewell !  {Kisses  Octcs»ia^ 
Ant.  Farewell! 

[Trunip!  Is  sound.  Exetsfit, 
Scene  III. — Alexandria.  A  Room  in  the  Palac9, 
Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  Iras,  and 

Ai.EXAS. 

Cleo.  Where  is  the  f  How? 

Alex.  Half  afeard  to  comSb 

Cleo.  Go  to,  go  to  : — Co  re  hither,  sir. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Alex.  Good  majesty, 

Herod  of  Jewry  dare  not  look  upon  you. 
But  when  you  are  well  pleas'd. 

Cleo.  That  Herod's  head 

ni  have  :  But  how  ?  when  Antony  is  gone, 
Through  whom  I  might  command  it. — Come  thoa 
near. 

Mes.  Most  gracious  majesty, — 

Cleo.  Didst  thou  behold 

Octavia  ? 

Mess.      Ay,  dread  queen. 

Cleo.  Where  ? 

Mess.  Madam,  in  Romo 

I  look'd  her  in  the  face ;  and  saw  her  led 
Between  her  brother  and  Mark  Antony. 

Cleo.  Is  she  as  tall  as  me? 

Mess.  She  is  not,  madam. 

Cleo.  Didst  hear  her  speak  ?  Is  she  shrill-tongo'd, 
or  low  ?  [voic'd. 

Mess.  Madam,  I  heard  her  speak ;  she  is  loiv- 

Cleo.  That's  not  so  good : — ne  cannot  like  her 
loi'g. 

Char.  Like  her?  O  Isis !  'tis  impossible. 

Cleo.  1  think  so,  Charmian:  Dull  of  tongue,  aiad 
dwarfish ! — 
What  majesty  is  in  her  gait?  Remember, 
If  e'er  thou  look'dst  on  majesty. 

Mess.  She  creeps ; 

Her  motion  and  her  station  are  as  one  : 
She  shews  a  body  rather  than  a  life  ; 
A  statue,  than  a  breather. 

Cleo.  Is  this  certain  ? 

Mess.  Or  I  have  no  observance. 

Char.  Three  in  Egypt 

Cannot  make  better  note. 

Cleo.  He's  very  knowing, 

1  do  perceiv't : — There's  nothing  in  her  yet : — 
The  fellow  has  good  judgment. 

Char.  Excellent. 

Cleo.  Guess  at  her  years,  I  pr'ythee. 

Mess.  Madam^ 
She  was  a  widow. 

Cleo.  Widow? — Charmian,  hark. 

Mess.  And  I  do  think,  she's  thirty. 

Cleo.  Bear'st  thou  her  face  in  mind  ?  is  it  long  or 
round  ? 

Mess.  Round  even  to  faultiness. 

Cleo.  For  the  most  part  too. 

They  are  foolish  that  are  so. — Her  hair,  what  co- 
lour ?  [low 

Mess.  Brown,  madam  :  And  her  forehead  is  a* 
As  sl»e  would  wish  it. 

Cleo.  There  is  gold  for  thee. 

Thou  must  not  take  my  former  sharpness  ill : — 
I  will  employ  thee  back  again ;  I  fmd  thee 
Most  fit  for  business  :  Go,  make  thee  ready; 
Our  letters  are  prepar'd.  [Exit  messengar. 

Char.  A  proper  man. 

Cleo.  Indeed,  he  is  so  :  I  repent  me  much, 
That  so  I  harry'd  him.    Why,  methinks,  by  him, 
This  creature's  no  such  thiag. 

Char.  O,  nothing,  madam. 

Cleo.  The  man   hath  seen  some  majesty,  aod 
should  know. 

Char.  Hath  he  seen  majesty  ?  Isis  else  defeat 
And  serving  you  so  long  ! 

Cleo.  I  have  one  thing  more  to  a.sk  h!ni  yet,  goo4 
Charmian  : 


610 


ANTONY  AND 


CLEOPATRA. 


Act  TTI 


But  tis  no  matter;  thou  shalt  bring  him  to  me. 
Where  1  will  write  :  All  may  be  well  enough. 
Char.  I  warrant  you,  madam.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV, — Athens.   A  Room  in  Antony's  house. 
jBw^er  Antony  and  Octavia. 
AkI.  Nay,  nay,  Octavia,  not  only  that, — 
'1  hat  were  excusable,  that,  and  thousands  more 
or  seinbhible  import. — but  he  hath  wag  d 
New  wars  'gainst  Pompey;  made  his  will,  and 

read  it 
To  public  far ; 

Spoke  scautly  of  me  :  when  perforce  he  coulj  not 
But  pay  niP,  Kavms  of  honour,  cold  and  sickly 
He  vented  them  ;  most  narrow  nieasure  lent  me  : 
When  the  best  hint  was  given  him,  he  not  took't. 
Or  did  it  from  his  teeth. 

Ocia.  O  ray  good  lord. 

Believe  not  all ;  or,  if  you  must  believe, 
Stomach  not  all.    A  more  unhappy  lady, 
if  this  division  chance,  ne'er  stood  between, 
Praying  for  both  parts  : 
And  the  good  gocfs  will  mock  me  presently, 
When  I  shall  [>ray ,  O,  bless  mi/  lord  and  husband! 
Undo  that  prayer,  by  crying  out  as  loud, 
0,  bless  my  brother!  Husband  win,  win  brother. 
Frays,  and  destroys  the  prayer;  no  midway 
'Tvv'ixt  these  extremes  at  all. 

Ant,  Gentle  Octavia, 

Let  your  best  love  draw  to  that  point,  which  seeks 
Best  to  preserve  it :  If  I  lose  mine  honour, 
I  lose  myself:  better  I  were  not  yours, 
Than  yours  so  branchless.    But.  as  you  requested, 
Yourself  shall  go  between  us  :  Ihe  mean  time,  lady, 
I'll  raise  the  preparation  of  a  war 
Shall  stain  your  brother;  Make  your  soonest  haste; 
So  your  desires  are  yours. 

Octa.  Thanks  to  my  lord. 

The  Jove  of  power  make  me  most  weak,  most  weak. 
Ycur  re( cuciler  1  VVars  'tvvixt  you  twain  would  be 
As  ii  ihe  world  should  cleave,  and  that  slain  men 
Should  solder  up  the  rift. 

Ant.  Wlien  it  appears  to  you  where  this  begins. 
Turn  your  displeasure  that  way  ;  for  our  faults 
Can  never  be  so  eqiud,  that  your  love 
Can  equally  move  wilh  them.  Provide  your  going  ; 
Choose  your  own  company,  and  command  what  cost 
\o\w  heart  lias  mind  to.  [Exeunt. 

.ScKNE  V. —  The  same.  Another  Roofn  in  the  same. 
Enttr  Bnobarbus  and  Eros,  meeting. 
Eno.  Wow  now,  friend  Eros? 
E7-US.  l  liere's  strange  news  come,  sir. 
Eno.  What,  man  ? 

Eros.  Caesar  and  Lepidus  have  made  wars  upon 
Pompey. 

Eno.  Tins  is  old  ;  what  is  the  success  ? 

Eros.  C;Ksar,  having  made  use  of  him  in  the 
wars  'giiinst  Pompey,  preeeotly  denied  him  rivality ; 
would  not  let  him  partake  in  the  glory  of  the  action  : 
and  not  restii>g  here,  accuses  him  of  letters  he  had 
formerly  wrote  to  Pompey;  upon  his  own  appeal, 
seizes  iuiu  :  So  the  poor  third  is  up,  till  death  en- 
large his  confine. 

Eno.  Then,  world,  thou  hast  a  pair  of  chaps,  no 
more  ; 

4nd  throw  between  them  all  the  food  thou  hast, 
They'll  giiiid  the  one  the  other.  Where's  Antony? 
Eros,  lie's  walking  in  the  garden — thus  ;  and 
spurns 

The  rush  that  lies  before  him  ;  cries,  Fool,  Lepidus  ! 
And  threats  the  throat  of  that  his  officer, 
'J  hat  tniirder  d  Pompey. 

Eno.  Oax  great  navy's  rigged. 

Eros.  For  Italy,  and  Caesar.    More,  Domitius  ; 
My  lord,  desires  you  presently  :  my  news 
I  wight  have  told  heieafter. 

jii»o,  'Twill  be  naught : 

Cut  let  it  be. — Bring  me  to  Antony. 

Ero»,  Corae,  sir.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  VT. —  Rome.    A  Room  in  Casar's  kout€ 
Enter  C^SAR,  Agrippa,  and  Mec^nas. 

Cces.  Contemning  Rome,  he  has  done  all  this 
And  more  : 
In  Alexandria, — here's  the  manner  of  it, — 
r  the  market-place,  on  a  tribunal  silver'd, 
Cleopatra  and  himself  in  chairs  of  gold 
Wfre  publicly  euthron'd  :  at  the  feet,  sat 
Casarion,  whom  they  call  my  father's  son; 
And  all  tlie  unlawful  issue,  that  their  hist 
Since  then  hath  made  between  them.    Unto  her 
He  gave  the  'stablishment  of  Egypt;  made  her 
Of  lower  Syria,  Cyprus,  Lydia. 
Absolute  queen. 

Mec.  This  in  the  public  eye  ? 

C<es.  I'  the   common  shew  place,  where  thej 
exercice. 

His  sons  he  there  proclaim'd.  The  kings  of  kings: 

Great  Media,  Parthia,  and  Armenia, 

He  gave  to  Alexander;  to  Ptolemy  he  assign'd 

Syria,  Cicilia,  and  Phsenicia  :  She 

In  the  habiliments  of  the  goddess  Isis 

That  day  appear'd  :  and  oft  before  gave  audience, 

As  'tis  reported,  so. 

Mec.  Let  Rome  be  thus 

fnform'd. 

Agsr.       Who,  queasy  with  his  insolence. 
Already,  will  their  good  thoughts  call  from  him. 

Ca.  The  people  know  it ;  and  have  oovy  receiv'd 
His  accusations. 

Agr.  Whom  does  he  accuse? 

Cas.  Caesar  :  and  that,  having  in  Sicily 
Sextus  Poinpeius  spoil'd,  we  had  not  rated  him 
His  part  o'  the  isle  :  then  does  he  say,  he  lent  me 
Some  shipping  unrestor'd  :  lastly,  he  frets. 
That  Lepidus- of  the  triumvirate 
Shor.ld  be  depos'd  ;  and,  being,  that  we  detain 
All  his  revenue. 

Agr.  Sir,  this  should  be  answer" d. 

Cas.  'Tis  done  already,  and  the  messenger  gone. 
I  have  told  him,  Lepidus  was  grown  too  cruel; 
That  he  his  high  authority  abus'd. 
And  did  deserve  his  change  ;  for  what  I've  conquerd, 
I  grant  him  part ;  but  then,  in  his  Armenia, 
And  other  of  his  conquer'd  kingdoms,  I 
Demand  the  like. 

Mec.  He'll  never  yield  to  that 

Cas.  Nor  must  not  then  be  yielded  to  in  this. 

Enter  Octavia. 

Octa.  Hail,  Csesar,  and  my  lord!  hail,  most  dea 
CsBsar ! 

Cces.  That  ever  I  should  call  thee,  cast-away  ! 

Octa.  You  have  not  cail'd  me  so,  nor  have  yo 
c;mse.  [ccme  no 

Ci£S.  Why  have  yon  stol'n  upon  us  thus  ?  Vo 
Like, Caesar's  sister:  The  wife  of  Antony 
Should  have  an  army  for  an  usher,  and 
The  neighs  of  horse  to  tell  of  her  approach, 
Long  ere  she  did  appear;  tiie  trees  by  the  way 
Should  have  borne  men;  and  expectation  fainted 
Longing  for  what  it  had  not  ;  nay,  the  du^t 
Shoidd  have  ascended  to  the  roof  of  heaven, 
Rais'd  by  your  popuktus  troops  ;  But  you  are  cona 
A  market-maid  to  Rome;  and  have  prevented 
The  ostent  of  our  love,  which,  left  unshewn, 
Is  often  left  unlov'd  :  we  should  have  n)et  you 
By  sea,  and  land  ;  supplying  every  stage 
VVith  an  augmented  greeting. 

Octa.  Good  my  lord. 

To  come  thus  was  I  not  constrain'd,  but  did  it 
On  my  free  will.    My  lord,  Mark  Antony, 
flearing  that  you  prepar'd  for  war,  acquainted 
My  grieved  ear  withal :  whereon,  I  begg'd 
His  pardon  for  return. 

Cues.  Which  soon  he  granted 

Being  ar.  obstruct  'tween  his  lust  and  him. 
Octa.  Do  not  say  so,  my  lord, 
Cans.  I  have  eyes  uiioaboi 


5CENE  7. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


617 


A.n(^  his  affairs  come  to  me  on  the  wind. 
Where  is  he  now  ? 

Octa.  My  lord,  in  Athens. 

Cas.  No,  my  most  wronged  sister ;  Cleopatra^ 
Halh  nodded  him  to  her.    He  hath  given  his  empire 
Up  to  a  whore  ;  who  now  are  levying 
The  kings  o'the  earth  for  war  :  He  hath  assembled 
Bocchus,  the  king  of  Lybia  ;  Archelaus, 
Of  Cappadocia  ;  Philadelphos,  king 
Of  Paphlagoiiia  ;  the  Thracian  I  inn:,  Adallas  : 
King  Malciius  of  Arabia;  king  of  Pont; 
Herold  of  Jewry;  Mithridates,  king 
Of  Comagene  ;  Polemon  and  Amintas, 
The  kings  of  Mede,  and  Lycaonia,  with  a 
More  larger  list  of  sceptres. 

Octa.  Ah  me,  most  wretched, 

That  have  my  heart  parted  betwixt  two  friends. 
That  do  atflict  each  otlier  ! 

CiBs.  Welconae  hither : 

Your  letters  did  withhold  onr  breaking  forth  ; 
Till  we  perceiv'd,  both  how  you  were  wrong  led, 
And  we  in  negligent  danger.    Cheer  your  heart : 
Be  you  not  troubled  with  the  time,  which  drives 
O'er  your  content  these  strong  necessities 
But  let  determin'd  things  to  destiny 
Hold  unbewail'd  their  way.    Welcome  to  Ronae  : 
Nothing  more  dear  to  me.    You  are  abus'd 
Beyond  the  mark  of  thought  :  and  the  high  gods. 
To  do  you  justice,  make  them  ministers 
Of  us,  and  those  th^it  love  you.    Best  of  comfort ; 
And  ever  welcome  to  us. 

Agr.  Welcome,  lady. 

Alec.  Welconje,  dear  madam. 
Each  heart  in  Rome  does  love  and  pity  you  ; 
Only  the  adulterous  Ajitony,  most  large 
In  his  abouiinations,  turns  you  olf ; 
And  gives  his  potent  regiment  to  a  trull, 
That  noises  it  against  us. 

Octa,  Is  it  so,  sir? 

Ctes.  Most  certain.  Sister,  welcome  :  Pray  yon, 
Be  ever  known  to  patience  :  My  dearest  sister  ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  VIL — Antony's  Camp,  near  the  Promontory 
of  Actium. 

Enter  Cleopatra  and  Enobarbus. 

Cleo.  I  will  be  even  with  thee,  doubt  it  not. 
Eno.  But,  why,  why,  why  ? 

Cieo.  Tlioii  hast  f  jrspoke  my  being  in  these  wars  ; 
And  say'st,  it  is  not  fit. 

Eno  Well,  is  it,  is  it? 

Cleo.  [s'tnot?    Denounce  against  us,  why  should 
not  we 
Be  there  in  person? 

Eno  [Aside.)  Well.  I  could  reply  : — 
If  we  should  .starve  with  horse  and  mares  together, 
The  horse  were  merely  lost;  the  mares  would  bear 
A  soldier,  and  his  horse. 

Cho.  What  is't  you  say  : 

Eno.  Your  presence  needs  must  puzzle  Antony  ; 
Take  from  his  heart,  take  from  his  brain,  from  his 
time. 

What  should  not  then  be  spar'd.    He  is  already 
Traduc'd  ibr  levity ;  and  'tis  said  in  Rome, 
That  Photitius  an  eunuch,  and  your  maids, 
Manage  this  war. 

Cleo.  Sink  Rome  ;  and  their  tongues  rot. 

That  speak  against  us !  A  charge  we  bear  i'  the  war, 
And,  as  the  president  of  my  kingdom,  will 
Appear  the rf  for  a  man.    Speak  not  against  it ; 
I  will  not  stay  behirjd. 

Eno.  Nay,  i  have  done  : 

Here  comes  the  emperor. 

Enter  Antony  and  Canidius. 

Ant,  Is't  not  strange,  Canidius, 

That  Irouj  Tarentum,  and  Brundusium, 
He  could  so  quickly  cut  the  Ionian  sea, 
kn^  take  ia  Tory  ue  ?--You  have  heard  on't,  sweet  ? 


Cleo.  Celerity  is  never  more  adoiir'd, 
Than  by  the  negligent. 

Ant.  A  good  rebuke, 

Wliich  might  have  well  becom'd  the  best  of  mio. 
To  taunt  at  slackness. — Cauidius,  we 
Will  fight  with  him  by  sea. 

Cleo.  By  sea !  V\  bat  elM 

Can.  Why  will  my  loid  do  so  ? 

Ant.  For  he  dares  as  itti 

Eno.  So  hath  my  lord  dar'd  him  to  single  fighi. 

Can.  Ay,  and  to  wage  this  battle  at  Pliarsalia, 
Where  Caesar  fought  with  Pompey  :    But  thc^s 
offers, 

Which  serve  not  for  his  vantage,  he  )*hakes  off; 
And  so  should  you. 

Eno.  Your  ships  are  not  well  manu'ds 

Your  mariners  are  muleteers,  reapers,  people 
Ingross'd  by  swift  impress  :  in  Caesar's  Heet 
Are  those  that  often  have  'gainst  Pompey  fought 
Their  ships  are  yare  ;  yours,  heavy.    No  disgrace 
Shall  fall  you  for  refusing  him  at  sea, 
Being  prepar'd  for  land. 

Ant.  By  sea,  by  sea. 

Eno.  Most  worthy  sir,  you  therein  throw  awaj 
The  absolute  soldiership  vou  have  by  land  ; 
Distract  your  army,  which  doth  most  consist 
Of  war-mark'd  footmen;  leave  unexecuted 
Your  own  renowned  knowledge  ;  quite  forego 
The  way  which  promises  assurance  ;  and 
Give  up  yourself  merely  to  chance  and  hazard, 
From  firm  security. 
Ant.  I'll  fight  at  sea. 

Cleo.  I  have  sixty  sails,  Caesar  none  better. 
Ant.  Our  overplus  of  shipping  will  we  burn ; 
And,  with  the  rest  full-maun'd,  from  the  head  ^ 
Actium 

Beat  the  approaching  Caesar.    But  if  we  fail. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
We  then  can  do't  at  land. — Thy  business  ? 

Mess.  The  news  is  true,  my  lord  ;  he  is  descried  . 
Caesar  has  taken  Toryne. 

Ant.  Can  he  be  there  in  person?  'tis  impossible; 
Strange,  that  his  power  should  be. — Canidiua, 
Our  nineteen  legions  thou  shalt  hold  by  land, 
And  our  twelve  thousand  horse  : — We'll  to  our 
ship ; 

Enter  a  Soldier, 
Away,  my  Thetis  ! — How  now,  worthy  soldier  ? 

Sold.  O  noble  emperor,  do  not  fight  by  sea  ; 
Trust  not  to  rotten  planks.    Do  you  misdoubt 
This  sword,  and  these  my  wounds?  Let  the  Egyp- 
tians, 

And  the  Phoenicians,  go  a  clucking  ;  we 
I  lave  used  to  conquer,  standing  on  the  earth, 
And  fighting  foot  to  foot. 

Ant.  Well,  well,  away. 

Exeunt  Antony,  Cleopatra,  ana 
Enobarbus. 
Sold.  By  Hercules,  I  think,  1  am  i'the  right. 
Can.  Soldier,  thou  art  :  but  his  whole  action 
grows 

Not  in  the  power  on't :  So  our  leader's  led. 
And  we  are  women's  men. 

Sold.  You  keep  by  land 

The  legions  and  the  horse  whole,  do  you  not? 

Can.  Marcus  Octavius,  Marcus  Justeius, 
Publicola,  and  Cailius,  are  for  sea: 
But  we  keep  whole  by  land.  This  speed  of  CBeiar*s 
Carries  beyond  behet. 

Sold.  While  he  was  yet  in  Roma 

His  power  went  out  in  such  distractions,  as 
Beguil'd  all  spies. 

Can.  Who's  his  lieutenant,  hear  yoa? 

Sold.  They  say,  out  Taurus. 

Can.  Well  I  know  the  maa 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  The  emperor  calls  for  Canidiua. 


618 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Aci  HI 


Can.  With  news  the  time's  with  labour;  and 
throes  forth, 

Sach  minute,  some.  [Exeu7it. 
Scene  VIII. — A  Plain  near  Actium. 
Enter  C^sar,  Taurus,  Ojfi.cers,  and  others. 
Ctes.  Taurus, — 
Taur.  My  lord. 

C(£s,  Strike  not  by  land  ;  keep  whole  : 

Piovr>ke  not  battle,  till  we  have  done  at  sea. 
Da  not  exceed  the  prescript  of  this  scroll : 
Our  fortune  lies  upon  this  jump.  [Exeunt. 

EfUer  Anthony  and  Enobarbus. 
Ant.  Set  we  our  squadrons  on  yon  side  o'the  hill, 
[ii  eye  of  Csesar's  battle  ;  from  which  place 
We  may  the  number  of  the  ships  behold. 
And  so  proceed  accordingly.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Canidius,  marching  with  his  land  Army  one 
way  over  the  stage;  ^^?^a  J'aurus,  the  Lieutenant 
ofCoisar^  the  other  way .  After  their  going  in, 
is  heard  the  noise  of  a  sea-fight. 

Alarum.    /Je-ewYer  Enobarbus. 
Eno,  Naught,  naught,  all  naught !  I  can  hshold 
no  longer : 

The  Antoniad,  the  Egyptian  admiral. 

With  all  their  sixty,  fly,  and  turn  the  rudder; 

To  see't,  mine  eyes  are  blasted. 

Enter  Scarus. 

Scar.  Gods,  and  goddesses. 

All  the  whole  synod  of  them! 

Eno.  What's  thy  passion  ? 

Scar.  The  greater  cantle  of  the  world  is  lost 
With  very  ignorance ;  we  have  kiss'd  away 
Kirgdoms  and  provinces. 

Eno.  How  appears  the  fight  ? 

Scar.  On  onr  side  like  the  token'd  pestilence, 
Where  death  is  sure.     Yon'  ribald-rid  nag  of 
Egypt, 

W  horn  le|)rosy  o'ertake  !  i'  the  midst  o'the  fight, — 
When  vantage  like  a  pair  of  twins  appear  d, 
Both  as  tile  same,  or  rather  ours  the  elder, — 
The  brize  upon  her,  like  a  cow  in  June, 
Hoists  sails  and  flies. 

Eno.  That  I  beheld  :  mine  eyes 

Did  sicken  at  the  sight  on't,  and  could  not 
Endure  a  furthe*  view. 

Scar.  She  once  being  looPd 

The  noble  ruin  <  f  her  magic,  Antony, 
Claps  on  his  sea  wing,  and,  like  a  doting  mallard. 
Leaving  the  fight  in  height,  flies  alter  her : 
[  never  .<<aw  an  action  ut  such  shame ; 
Experience,  manhood,  honour,  ne'er  before 
Did  violate  so  itself. 

Eno.  Alack,  alack! 

Enter  Canidius. 

Can.  Onr  fortune  on  the  sea  is  out  of  breathy 
And  sinks  most  lamentably.    Had  our  general 
Been  what  he  knew  himself,  it  had  gone  well : 
O,  he  has  given  example  for  our  flight, 
Most  grossly,  by  his  own.  (night, 

Eno,  Ay,  are  you  thereabouts?  Why,  then,  good 
Indeed.  {Aside,) 

Can.  Towards  Peloponnesus  are  they  fled. 

Scar.  'Tis  eajy  to't ;  and  there  I  will  attend 
What  further  comes. 

Can.  To  Caesar  will  I  render 

My  legicus  and  my  horse;  six  kings  already 

hew  me  tV^e  way  of  yielding. 
•  Eno.  I'll  yet  follow 

he  wounded  chance  of  Antony,  though  my  reason 

its  ID  the  wind  against  me.  [Exeunt. 

CBNB  IX. — Alexandria.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Antony  and  Attendants. 
Ant.  Hark,  the  laud  bids  me  tread  no  more 
upon't, 


It  is  asham'd  to  bear  me  .-'-Friends,  come  hith«r» 
I  am  so  lated  in  the  world,  that  I 
Have  lost  my  way  for  ever:  — I  have  a  ship 
Laden  with  gold;  take  that,  divide  it;  fly. 
And  make  your  peace  with  Cajsar. 

Ait.  Fly  !  not  we. 

Ant.  I  have  fled  myself  ;  and  have  instructed 
cowards  ^     [gone ; 

To  run,  and  shew  their  shoulders. — Friends, 
I  have  myself  resolv'd  upon  a  course, 
Which  has  no  need  of  you;  be  gone. 
My  treasure's  in  the  harbour,  take  it. — O, 
I  follow'd  that  I  blush  to  look  upon : 
My  very  hairs  do  mutiny;  for  the  white 
Reprove  the  brown  for  rashness,  and  they  them 
For  fear  and  doting. — Friends,  he  gone  ;  you  shall 
Have  letters  from  rae  to  some  friends,  that  will 
Sweep  your  way  for  you.   Pray  you,  look  not  sad, 
Nor  make  replies  of  loathuesp    take  the  hint 
Which  my  despair  proclaims  ;  let  that  be  lelt 
Which  leaves  itself :  to  the  sea  side  straightway  : 
I  will  possess  you  of  that  ship  and  treasure. 
Leave  uie,  I  pray,  a  little  :  'pray  you  now  : — 
Nay,  do  so ;  for  indeed,  I  have  lost  command, 
Therefore  I  pray  you  :— I'll  see  you  by  and  by. 

(.Sits  dotvn.) 

Enter  Eros  and  Cleopatra,  led  by  Charmian 
and  Iras. 

Eros,  Nay,  gentle  madam,  to  him  :  — Comfort 

Iras.  Do,  most  dear  queen.  [him. 

Char.  Do!  Why,  wliatelse? 

Cleo.  Let  me  sit  down.    O  Ju&o! 

Ant.    No,  no,  no,  no,  no.  . 

Eros.  See  you  here,  sir? 

Ant.  O  ly,  fy,  iy. 

Char.  Madam,— 

Iras.  Madam  ;  O  good  empress ! 

Eros.  Sir,  sir, —  ^ 

Ant.  Yes,  my  lord,  yes :— He,  aft  Philippi,  kept 
His  sword  even  like  a  dancer,  while  I  struck 
The  lean  and  wrinkled  Cassius ;  and  'twas  I, 
That  the  mad  Brutus  ended  :  he  alone 
Dealt  on  lieutenantry,  and  no  practice  had 
In  the  brave  squares  of  war  :  Yet  now — No  matter. 

Cleo.  Ah,  stand  by. 

Eros.  The  queen,  my  lord,  the  queen. 

Iras.  Go  to  him,  maaam,  .speak  to  him; 
He  is  unqualitied  with  very  sliame. 

Cleo.  Well  then, — Sustain  me  :— O! 

Eros.  Most  noble  sir,  arise ;  the   queen  ap- 
proaches ; 

Her  head's  declin'd,  and  death  will  seize  her;  bul 
Your  comfort  makes  the  rescue. 

Ant.  I  haveofl'ended  reputation; 
A  most  unnoble  swerving. 

Eros.  Sir,  the  queen. 

Ant.  O,  whither  hast  thou  led  me,  Egypt?  See 
How  I  convey  my  shame  out  of  thine  eyes 
By  looking  back  on  what  I  have  left  behind, 
'Stroy'd  in  dishonour. 

Cleo.  O  my  lord,  my  lord  1 

Forgive  my  fearful  sails !  I  little  thought, 
You  would  have  follow'd. 

Ant.  Egypt,  thou  knew'st  too  well. 

My  heart  was  to  thy  rudder  tied  by  the  strings, 
And  thou  should'st  tow  me  after:  O'er  my  spirit 
Thy  full  supremacy  thou  knew'st;  and  that 
Thy  beck  might  from  the  bidding  of  the  gods 
Command  me. 

Cleo.  O,  my  pardon. 

Ant.  Now  I  must 

To  tlie  young  man  send  humble  treaties,  dodge 
And  palter  in  the  shifts  of  lowness;  who 
With  half  the  bulk  o'the  world  play'd  as  I  pleat'd, 
Making  and  marring  fortunes.    You  did  know, 
How  much  you  were  my  conqueror;  and  that 
My  sword,  made  weak  by  my  aflection,  would 
Obey  it  on  all  cause. 

Cleo.  O  pardon,  )mrdoB. 


Scene  11. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


619 


Ani.  Pall  mi  a  tear,  I  say ;  one  of  them  rates 
All  that  is  won  and  lost :  Give  me  a  kiss ; 
Even  this  repays  rae. — We  sent  onr  schoolmaster, 
Is  he  come  back  ? — Love,  I  am  lul!  of  lead  : — 
Home  wine,  within  there,  and  our  viands  .—Fortune 
knows. 

We  scorn  her  most,  when  most  she  offers  blows. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  X. — Caesar's  Catnp,  in  Egypt. 
Enter  CjEsar,  Dolabella,  Tm^REUS,  and  others. 

C<es.  Let  hin»  appear  that's  come  from  Antony. — 
Know  you  him? 

Dol.  Caesar,  'tis  his  schoolmaster : 

A.n  argument  that  he  ispluck'd,  when  hither 
He  sends  so  poor  a  pinion  of  his  wing, 
Which  had  superfluous  kings  for  messengers, 
Not  many  moons  gone  by. 

Enter  Euphroniu-s. 

Ctes.  Approach,  and  speak. 

Eup.  Such  as  I  am,  I  come  from  Antony : 
I  was  of  late  as  petty  to  his  ends. 
As  is  the  morn-dew  on  the  myrtle  leaf 
To  his  grand  sea. 

C^es.  Be  it  so ;  Declare  thine  office. 

Eup.  Lord  of  his  fortunes  he  salutes  thee,  and 
Requires  to  live  in  Eg}'pt :  which  not  granted, 
He  lessens  his  requests;  and  to  thee  sues 
Vo  let  him  breathe  between  the  heavens  and  earth, 
\  private  man  in  Athens  :  This  for  him. 
Nest,  Cleopatra  does  confess  thy  greatness ; 
Submits  her  to  thy  might ;  and  of  thee  craves 
The  circle  of  the  Ptolemies  for  her  heirs, 
Now  hazarded  to  thy  grace, 

Ctrs.  For  Antony, 

[  have  no  ears  to  his  request.    The  queen 
Of  audience,  nor  desire,  shall  Aiil ;  so  she 
From  Egypt  drive  her  all-disgraced  friend, 
Or  take  his  lil'e  there  :  This  if  she  perform, 
She  shall  not  sue  unheard.    So  to  them  both. 

Eup.  Fortune  pursue  thee  ! 

Cas.  Bring  him  throus^h  the  bands. 

[Exit  Euphronius. 
To  try  thy  eloquence,  now  'tis  time  :  Despatch; 
From  Antony  win  Cleopatra  :  promise,  (TuThyreus.) 
And  in  our  name,  what  she  requires;  add  niore. 
From  thine  invention,  offers  :  wosiien  are  not, 
In  their  best  fortunes,  strong ;  but  want  will  per- 
jure 

The  ne'er- touch'd  vestal :  Try  thy  cunning,  Thyreus, 
Make  thine  own  edict  for  thy  pains,  which  we 
Will  answer  as  a  law. 

Thyr.  Cajsar,  I  go. 

C<ss.  Observe  how  Antony  beconies  his  flaw  ; 
And  what  thou  tliink'st  his  very  action  speaks 
In  every  power  that  moves. 

Thyr.  Caesar,  I  shall.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  XL — Alexandria.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Cleopatka,  Enobarbus,  Charmian,  and 
Iras. 

Cleo.  What  shall  we  do,  Enobarbus  ? 

Eno.  Think,  and  die. 

Cleo.  Is  Antony,  or  we,  in  fault  for  this  ? 

Eno.  Antony  only,  that  would  make  his  will 
Lird  of  his  reason.    What  although  you  fled 
From  that  great  face  of  war,  whose  se\eral  ranges 
Frighted  each  other?  why  should  he  follow? 
The  itch  of  his  ali'ection  should  not  then 
Htive  nick'd  his  captainship;  at  such  a  point. 
When  half  to  half  the  world  oppos'd,  he  being 
The  mered  question  :  'Twas  a  shame  no  less 
Thau  wa?  his  loss,  to  course  your  flying  flags, 
A  Dfl  leave  his  navy  gazing. 

Cleo.  Pr'ythee,  peace. 

Enter  Antony,  with  Euphronius. 
Ani.  \h  this  his  acswer  ? 
Eup.  Ay,  my  lord. 


Ani,  The  ^aee 

Shall  then  have  courtesy,  so  she  will  yield 
Us  up. 

Eijp.  He  says  so. 

Ant.  Let  her  A.now  it.— 

To  the  boy  Caesar  send  this  grizzled  head. 
And  he  will  fill  thy  wishes  to  the  brim 
With  principalities. 

Cleo.  That  head,  my  lord  ? 

Ant.  To  him  again  ;  Tell  hiii!,  he  wears  (he  ros« 
Of  youth  upon  him;  from  which  the  world  shooUl 
note 

Something  particular  :  hia  coin,  ships,  legions, 

May  be  a  coward's;  whose  ministers  would  prrksil 

Unaer  the  service  of  a  child,  as  soon 

As  i'  the  command  of  Caesar  r  I  dare  hira  therefor© 

To  lay  his  gay  comparisons  apart, 

And  answer  me  declin'd,  sword  against  sword, 

Ourselves  alone  :  I'll  write  it;  follow  me. 

[Exeunt  Antony  and  Euphronina 
Eno.  Yes,  like  enough,  high-battled  Ca;sar  will 
Unstate  his  happiness,  and  be  stag'd  to  the  shew 
Against  a  sworder. —  I  see  men's  judgments  are 
A  parcel  of  their  fortunes ;  and  things  outward 
Do  draw  the  inward  quality  after  them. 
To  suffer  all  alike.    1  hat  he  should  dream, 
Knovviiig  all  measures,  the  full  Cajsar  wiM 
Answer  his  emptiness! — Caesar,  thou  hast  subdu'd 
His  judgment  too. 

Enter  an  Attendant. 
Att.  A  messenger  from  Caesar. 

Cleo.   What,  no  more  ceremony?  —  See,  my 
women  ! — 

Against  the  blown  rose  may  they  stop  their  nose. 
That  kneel'd  unto  the  buds.— Admit  nim,  sir. 
Eno.  Mine  honesty,  and  I,  begin  to  square. 

{Asid$, 

The  loyalty,  well  held  to  fools,  does  make 
Our  faith  mere  folly  :  Yet,  he,  that  can  endure 
To  follow  with  allegiance  a  fallen  lurd, 
Does  conquer  him  that  did  his  master  conquer, 
And  earns  a  place  i'  the  story. 

Enter  Thyreus. 

Cleo.  Cassar's  will  ? 

Thyr,  Hear  it  apart. 

Cleo.  None  but  friends;  say  boldly, 

Thyr.  So,  haply,  are  they  friends  to  Antony. 

Eno.  He  neeas  as  many,  sir,  as  C«tsar  has ; 
Or  needs  not  us.  If  Caesar  please,  our  master 
Will  leap  to  be  his  friend  :  For  us,  you  know. 
Whose  he  is,  we  are ;  and  that's,  Caesar's. 

Thyr.  So.— 
Thus  then,  thou  most  renow'd  :  Caosar  entreats. 
Not  to  consider  in  what  case  thou  stand'st. 
Further  than  he  is  Caesar. 

Cleo.  Go  on ;  Right  royal. 

Thyr.  He  knows,  that  you  embrace  not  Antony 
As  vou  did  love,  but  as  you  fear'd  him. 

Cleo.  O! 

Thyr.  The  scars  upon  your  honour,  therefore,  h6 
Does  pity  as  constrained  blemishes. 
Not  as  deserv'd. 

Cleo.  He  is  a  god,  and  knows 

What  is  n»ost  right :  Mine  honour  was  not  yielded 
But  conquer'd  aier^'Iy. 

Eno.  To  be  sure  of  that,  [AsicU, 

I  will  ask  Antony. — Sir,  sir,  thou'rt  so  leaky. 
That  we  must  leave  thee  to  thy  sinking,  for 
Thv  dearest  quit  thee.  [Exit  Enobarbu9 

Thyr.  Shall  I  say  to  Caesar 

What  you  require  of  him?  for  he  partly  begs 
To  be  desir'd  to  give.    It  much  would  please  his^ 
That  of  his  fortunes  you  should  make  a  staff 
To  lean  upon :  but  it  would  warm  his  spirits, 
To  hear  from  me  you  had  left  Antony, 
And  put  yourself  under  his  shroud, 
Tlie  universal  landlord. 

Cleo  What's  y«  or  OBM? 


620 


ANTONY  AND 


CLEOPATRA. 


Act  in 


Thyr  My  name  a.  Thyre  js. 

Oleo,  Most  kind  messenger, 

Say  to  great  Coesar  this ;  In  disputation 
I  kiss  his  conqu'ring  hand:  tell  liim,  I  am  prompt 
To  lay  my  crown  at  his  feet,  and  there  to  kneel : 
Tell  him,  from  his  all-obeyiv.g  breath  I  hear 
The  doom  of  Egypt. 

Thyr.  'Tis  your  noblest  course. 

Wisdom  and  fortune  combating  together, 
If  that  the  former  dare  but  what  it  can. 
No  chance  may  shake  it.    Give  me  grace  to  lay 
My  duty  on  your  hand. 

Cleo.  Your  Ceesar's  father 

Oft,  when  he  hath  rous'd  of  taking  kingdoms  in, 
Bestow'd  his  lips  on  that  unworthy  place. 
As  it  rain'd  kisses. 

Re-enter  Antony  and  Enobarbus. 

Ant.  Favours,  bv  Jove  that  thunders  ! — 

What  art  thou,  fellow  ? 

Thyr.  One,  that  but  performs. 

The  bidding  of  the  fullest  man,  and  worthiest 
To  have  command  obey'd. 

Eno.  You  will  be  whipp'd. 

Ant.  Approach,  there: — Ay,  you  kite! — Now 
gods  and  devils ! 
Authority  melts  from  me :  Of  late,  when  I  cry'd,  ho  ! 
Like  boys  unto  a  muss,  kings  would  start  forth. 
And  cry,  Your  will?  Have  you  no  ears  ?  I  am 

Enter  Attendants. 
Antony  yet.    Take  hence  this  Jack,  and  whip  him. 

Eno.  'Tis  better  playing  with  a  lion's  whelp. 
Than  with  an  old  oiie  dying. 

Ant.  Moon  and  stars! 

Whip  him :—  Were't  twenty  of  the  greatest  tribu- 
taries 

That  do  acknowledge  Caesar,  should  I  find  them 
So  saacy  with  the  baud  of  she  here,  (What's  her 
name, 

Since  she  was  Cleopatra?) — Whip  him,  fellows, 
Till,  like  a  boy,  you  see  him  cringe  his  face. 
And  whine  aloud  for  mercy:  Take  him  hence. 
Th?/r,  Ma)  k  Antony,— 

Ant.  Tug  hiu»  away  :  being  whipp'd. 

Bring  him  again : — This  Jack  of  Caesar's  sliall 
Bear  us  an  errand  to  him. — 

[Exeunt  Attend,  with  Thyr. 
You  were  half  blasted  ere  I  knew  you: — Ha! 
Have  I  my  pillow  left  unpress'd  in  Rome, 
Forborne  the  getting  of  a  lawful  race, 
And  by  a  gem  of  women,  to  be  abus'd 
By  one  that  looks  on  feeders? 

Cleo.  Good  my  lord, — 

Ant.  You  have  been  a  boggier  ever: — 
But  wlien  we  in  our  viciousness  grow  hard, 
(O  misery  on't!)  the  wise  gods  seel  our  eyes  ; 
in  out-  own  filth  drop  our  clear  judgments  ;  make  us 
Adore  our  errors ;  laugh  at  us,  while  we  strut 
To,  our  confusion. 

Cleo.  O,  is  it  corae  to  tliis  ? 

Ant.  I  found  you  as  a  morsel,  cold  upon 
Dead  Cassar's  trt-ncher:  nay,  you  were  a  fragment 
Of  Cneius  Poinpey's  ;  besides  wnat  hotter  hours, 
Unregister'd  in  vulgar  fame,  you  have 
Luxuriously  pick'd  out : — For,  [  am  sure. 
Though  you  can  guess  what  temperance  should  be. 
Yoii  know  not  what  it  is. 

Cleo.  Wherefore  is  this  ? 

Ant.  To  let  a  fellow  that  will  take  rewards. 
And  say,  God  quit  you!  be  familiar  with 
My  playfellow,  your  hand  ;  this  kingly  seal. 
And  plighter  of  high  hearts  ! — O,  that  I  were 
Upon  the  hill  of  Basan,  to  outroar 

he  tjo-ned  herd  !  for  I  have  savage  cause; 

nd  to  prociaiin  it  civilly,  were  like 

hall  jr'a  neck,  which  does  the  hangman  thank 

or  being  yare  about  him. — Is  he  whipp'd  ? 

Ri-enter  Attendants  uith  Thyreus. 
I  Att.  SoiindlVi  my  lord 


Ant.  Cry'd  iieV  and  begg'd  he  pardcm? 

1  Att.  He  did  ask  favour. 

Ant.  If  that  thy  father  live,  let  him  repent 
Thou  wast  not  made  his  daughter;  and  be  thou  sorry 
To  follow  Caesar  in  his  triuniph,  since 
Thou  hast  been  whipp'd  for  following  h'm;  hence* 
The  white  hand  of  a  lady  fever  thee,  [forth, 
Shake  thou  to  look  on't. — Get  thee  back  to  Caesar, 
Tell  him  thy  entertainment:  Look,  thou  say, 
He  makes  me  angry  with  him :  for  he  seems 
Proud  and  disdainful ;  harping  on  what  I  am ; 
Not  what  he  knew  I  was:  He  makes  me  angry; 
And  at  this  time  most  easy  'tis  to  do't ; 
When  my  good  stars,  that  were  my  former  guide% 
Have  empty  lel't  their  orbs,  and  shot  their  fires 
Into  the  abysm  of  hell.    If  he  mislike 
My  speech,  and  what  is  done  ;  tell  him,  he  has 
Hipparchus,  my  enfranchis'd  bondman,  whom 
He  may  at  pleasure  whip,  or  hang,  or  torture. 
As  he  shall  like,  to  quit  me  :  Urge  it  thou: 
Hence,  with  thy  stripes,  begone.      [Exit  Thyrem* 

Cleo.  Have  you  done  yet  ? 

Ant.  Alack,  our  terrene  moon 

Is  now  edips'd  ;  and  it  portends  alone 
The  fall  of  Antony  ! 

Cleo.  I  must  stry  his  time. 

Ant.  To  flatter  Caesar,  would  you  mingle  eyes 
With  one  that  ties  his  points  ? 

Cleo.  Not  know  me  yet? 

Ani.  Cold-hearted  toward  me? 

Cleo.  Ah,  dear,  if  I  be  ao; 

From  my  cold  heart  let  heaven  engender  hail. 
And  poison  it  in  the  source  ;  and  the  first  stone 
Drop  in  my  neck  :  as  it  determines,  so 
Dissolve  my  life  !    The  next  Cajsarion  smite  ! 
Till,  by  degrees,  the  memory  of  my  womb. 
Together  with  my  brave  Egyptians  all. 
By  the  discandymg  of  this  pelleted  storm. 
Lie  graveless;  till  the  flies  and  gnats  of  Nile 
Have  buried  tliem  tor  prey  ! 

Ant.  I  am  satisfied 

Caesar  sits  down  in  Alexandria:  where 
I  will  opf  ose  his  fate.    Our  force  by  land 
Hath  nobly  held  ;  our  sever'd  navy  too 
Have  knit  again,  and  fleet,  threat'ning  most  sea-like 
Where  hast  thou  been,  my  heart? — Dost  thou  hear 
lady  ? 

If  from  the  field  I  shall  return  once  more 
To  kiss  these  lips,  I  will  appear  in  blood; 
I  and  my  sword  will  earn  our  chronicle  ; 
There  is  hope  in  it  yet 

Cleo.  That's  my  brave  lord  I 

Ant.  I  will  be  treble-sinew'd,  hearted,  breath'd, 
And  tight  maliciously:  for  when  mine  hours 
Were  nice  and  lucky,  men  did  ransom  lives 
Of  me  lor  jests;  but  now,  I'll  set  my  teeth, 
And  send  to  darkness  all  that  stop  me. — Coniie, 
Let's  have  one  other  gaudy  night:  call  to  me 
All  my  sad  captains,  fill  our  bowls ;  once  more 
Let's  mock  the  midnight  bell. 

Cleo.  It  is  my  birth  day  : 

I  had  thought  to  have  held  it  poor ;  but,  since  my  lord 
Is  Antony  again,  I  will  be  Cleopatra. 

Ant.  We'll  yet  do  well. 

Cleo.  Call  all  his  noble  captains  to  my  lord. 

Ant.  Do  so,  we'll  speak  to  tiiem ;  and  to-nigtit 
I'll  force  [queen; 
The  wine  peep  through  their  scars. — Come  on,  my 
'I'here's  sap  in't  yet.    The  next  time  I  do  light, 
I  II  make  death  love  me;  for  I  will  contend 
Even  with  his  pestilent  scythe. 

[Exeunt  Antony,  Cleopatra,  and  Attendantt* 

Eno.  Now  he'll  out-stare  the  lightning.    To  b« 
furious, 

Is,  to  be  frighted  out  of  fear:  and,  in  that  mcod, 
The  dove  will  peck  the  estridge  ;  and  I  see  still, 
A  diminution  in  our  cajjtain's  brain 
Restores  his  heart:  Wlien  valour  preys  on  reaiKW, 
It  eats  the  sword  it  fights  with,    i  will  seek 
tj?aie  way  to  leave  him.  [Exik 


Act  R'.    Scene  4. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


62* 


ACT.  IV. 

Scene  h— Caesars  Camp  at  Alexandria. 
Enter  Cjesar,  reading  a  letter;  Agrippa, 

Mec^nas,  and  others. 
Cces.  He  calls  me  boy;  and  chides,  as  he  had 
power 

Vo  beat  me  out  of  Egypt;  my  messenger 
He  hath  whipp'd  with  rods;  dares  me  to  personal 
combat, 

Csesar  to  Antony :  Let  the  old  rnffian  know 
I  have  many  other  ways  to  die ;  mean  time, 
I^angh  at  his  clialienge. 

Mec.  Csesar  must  think, 

When  one  so  great  begins  to  rage,  he's  hunted 
Even  to  falling-.    Give  him  no  breath,  but  now 
Make  boot  of  nis  distraction:  Never  anger 
Made  good  guard  for  itself. 

Ctes,  Let  our  best  heads 

Ki  ow,  that  to-morrow  the  last  of  many  battles 
We  mean  to  fight: — Within  our  files  there  are 
Of  those,  that  serv'd  Mark  Antony  but  late, 
Erioiii^h  to  fetch  him  in.    See  it  be  d(me  ; 
And  feast  the  army  :  we  have  store  to  do't. 
And  they  have  earn'd  the  waste.    Poor  Antony! 

[Exeunt, 

Scene  II. — A  lexandria.  A  Room  in  the  palace. 
Enter  Antony,  Cleopatra,  Enobarbus,  Char- 
MiAN,  Iras,  Alexas,  and  others. 

Ant.  He  will  not  fight  with  me,  Domitius. 

Eno.  No. 

Ant.  Why  should  he  not?  [fortune, 

Eno.  He  thinks,  being  twenty  times  of  better 
He  is  twenty  men  to  one. 

Ant.  To-morrow,  soldier, 

By  sea  and  land  I'll  tight;  or  I  will  live. 
Or  bathe  ray  dying  honour  in  the  blood 
Shall  make  it  live  again.    Woo't  thou  fight  well? 

Eno.  V\\  strike  ;  and  cry.  Take  all. 

Ant.  Well  said :  come  on. — 

Call  forth  ray  household  servants ;  let's  to-night 

Enter  Servants. 
Be  bounteous  at  our  meal. — Give  me  thy  hand. 
Thou  hast  been  rightly  honest ; — so  hast  thou  ; 
And  thou, — and  thou, — and  thou : — You  have  serv'd 
me  well, 

And  kings  have  been  your  fellows. 

Cleo.  What  means  this  ? 

Eno.  'Tis  one  of  those  odd  tricks,  which  sorrow 
shoots  {Aside.) 
Out  of  the  mind. 

Ant.  And  thou  art  honest  too. 

I  wish,  I  could  be  made  so  many  men  ; 
And  all  of  you  clapp'd  up  together  in 
An  Antony;  that  I  might  do  you  service. 
So  good  as  you  have  dene. 

Serv.  The  gods  forbid  ! 

Ant.  Well,  my  good  fellows,  wait  on  me  to-night; 
Scant  not  my  cups;  and  make  as  much  of  me, 
As  when  mine  empire  was  your  fellow  too. 
And  sutfer'd  my  command. 

Cleo.  What  does  he  mean  ? 

Eno.  To  make  his  followers  weep. 

Ant.  Tend  me  to-night ; 

May  be,  it  is  the  period  of  your  duty  : 
Ha(>Iy,  you  shall  not  see  me  more  ;  or  if, 
A  mangled  shadow:  perchance,  to-morrow 
You'll  serve  another  master.    I  look  on  yon. 
As  one  that  takes  his  leave.    Mine  honest  friends, 
1  turn  you  not  away  ;  but,  like  a  master 
Married  to  your  good  service,  stay  till  death: 
Tend  me  to  night  two  hours,  I  ask  no  more. 
And  the  gods  yield  you  fort! 

Eno.  What  mean  you,  sir, 

To  give  them  this  discomfort  ?    Look,  they  weep ; 
Ana  I,  an  ass.  am  onion-ey'd  ;  for  shame, 
Trausforni  ns  not  to  women ! 

Am*  Ho.  ho  ho ! 


Now  the  witcn  take  me,  if  I  meant  it  thns! 
Grace  grow  where  those  drops  fall!  My  hearti 

friends, 

You  take  me  in  too  dolorous  a  sense 

I  spake  to  you  for  your  comfort ;  did  desire  you 

To  burn  this  night  with  torches:  Know,  ray  hearts^ 

I  hope  well  of  to-morrow ;  and  will  lead  you, 

Where  rather  I'll  expect  victorious  life, 

Than  death  and  honour.    Let's  to  supper ;  come 

And  drown  consideration.  [Exeunt 

Scene  III. — The  same.   Before  the  Palace. 

Enter  two  Soldiers,  to  their  Guard. 
1  Sold.  Brother,  good  night:  to  mon-ow  is  the  day 
'2  Sold.  It  will  deternune  one  way:  fare  you  well. 
Heard  you  of  nothing  strange  about  the  streets  ? 

1  Sold.  Nothing  :  What  ne  ws  ? 

2  Sold.  Belike,  'tis  but  a  rumour; 
Good  night  to  you. 

1  Sold.  Well,  sir,  good  night. 

Enter  two  other  Soldiers. 

2  Sold.  Soldiers, 
Have  careful  watch. 

3  Sold.  And  yon :  Good  night,  good  night. 
{The  first  two  place  themselves  at  their  posts.) 

4  Sold.  Here  we  :  {They  take  their  posts.)  and  it 

to-morrow 

Our  navy  thrive.  I  have  an  absolute  hope 
Our  landmen  will  stand  up. 

3  Sold.  'Tis  a  brave  army. 
And  full  of  purpose. 

{Music  of  hautboys  under  the  stag$  ] 

4  Sold.  Peace,  what  noise  ? 

1  Sold  List,  UstI 

2  Sold  Hark! 

1  Sold.  Music  i'the  air 

3  Sold.  Under  the  earth. 

4  Sold.  It  signs  well, 
Does't  not  ? 

3  Sold.      No.  [mean  ? 

1  Sold.  Peace,  I  say.    What  should  this 

1  Sold.  'Tis  the  god  Hercules,  whom  Antony  lov'd, 
Now  leaves  him. 

1  Sold.  Walk  ;  let's  see  if  other  watchmen 
Do  hear  what  we  do.  {They  advance  to  another 

post.) 

2  Sold.  How  now,  masters  ? 

Sold.  How  now? 

How  now  ?  do  you  hear  this? 

{Several  speaking  together.) 
1  Sold.  Ay  ;  Is't  not  stranger 

3  Sold.  Do  you  hear,  masters?  do  you  hear? 

1  Sold.  Follow  the  noise  so  far  as  we  have  quarter; 
Let's  see  how't  will  give  of!'. 

Sold.  {Several  speaking.)  Content :  'Tis  strange, 

[Exeuni, 

Scene  IV. — The  same.  A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  AtiTotiY  and  Cleopatra;  Charml-vn,  and 
others,  attending. 
Ant.  Eros  !  mine  armour,  Eros  I 
Cleo.  Sleep  a  little. 

Ant.  No,  my  chuck. — Eros,  come  ;  mine  armour, 
Eros ! 

Enter  Eros,  with  armour 
Come,  my  good  fellow,  put  thine  iron  on : — 
If  fortune  be  not  ours  to-day,  it  is 
Because  we  brave  her. — Come. 

Cleo.  Nay,  I'll  help  took 

What s  this  for? 

Ant.  Ah,  let  be,  let  be  I  thon  ni 

The  armourer  of  my  heart . —  False,  false  ;  this,  this. 

Cleo.  Sooth,  la,  I'll  help:  Thus  t  mnst  be 

Ant.  Well,wer; 
We  shall  thrive  now. — Seest  thou,  my  good  fellow? 
Go,  put  on  thy  defences. 

Eros.  Briefly,  sir. 

Cieo.  Is  not  this  buckled  well  ? 


622 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  rv 


Ant.  Rarely,  rarely : 

He  thnt  unbuckles  this,  till  vVe  do  please 
To  do5"'t  for  our  repose,  shall  hea**  a  stortn. — 
Thou  fumblest,  Eros  ;  and  my  queen's  a  squire 
More  tight  at  this,  than  thou  :  Despatch.— O  love, 
That  thou  could'st  see  ray  wars  to  day,  and  knew'sf 
The  royal  occupation  !  thou  should'st  see 

Enter  an  Officer,  armed. 

A  workman  in't. — ^^ood-morrow  to  thee  ;  welcome  : 
Thou  look'st  like  him  that  knows  a  warlike  charge  ; 
To  business  that  we  love,  we  rise  betime. 
Aiid  go  to  it  with  delight 

1  Off.  A  thousand,  sir, 
Early  though  it  be,  have  on  their  riveted  trim, 
And  at  the  port  expect  you. 

{Shout.    Trumpets.  Flourish.) 

Enter  other  Officers,  and  Soldiers. 

2  Off.  The  morn  is  fair. — Good  morrow,  general. 
Alt  Good-morrow,  general. 

Ant,  'Tis  well  blown,  lads. 

This  morning,  like  the  spirit  of  a  youth 
That  means  to  be  of  note,  begins  betimes. — 
So,  so;  come,  give  me  that:  this  way  ;  well  said. 
Fare  thee  well,  dame,  whate'er  becon)es  of  me  : 
This  is  a  soldier's  kiss,  rebukable,      {Kisses  her.) 
And  vvortiiy  shameful  check  it  were,  to  stand 
On  more  mechanic  compliment;  I'll  leave  thee 
Now,  like  a  man  of  steel. — Vou,  that  will  fight, 
Follow  me  close;  Ml  bring  y<u«  to't. — Adieu. 

[Exeunt  Antony,  Eros,  Officers,  and  Soldiers. 

Char.  Please  you,  retire  to  your  chamber? 

Cleo.  Lead  me. 

He  goes  forth  gallantly.   That  he  and  Caesar  might 
Determine  this  great  War  in  single  light! 
Then,  Antony — But  now, — Well,  on.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — Antony's  Camp  near  Alexandria. 

Trumpets  sound.    Enter  Antony  and  Eros;  a 
Soldier  meeting  them. 

Sold.  The  gods  make  this  a  happy  day  to  An 
tony !  [prevail'd 

Ant.  'Would,  thou  and  those  thy  scars  had  once 
To  make  me  fight  at  land  ! 

Sold.  Had'st  thou  done  so, 

The  kings  that  have  revolted,  and  the  soldier 
That  has  this  morning  left  thee,  would  have  still 
Follow'd  thy  heels. 

Ant.  Who's  gone  this  morning? 

Sold.  Who  ? 

One  ever  near  thee  :  Call  for  Enobarbus, 
He  shall  not  hear  thee  ;  or  from  Csesar's  camp 
Say,  I  am  none  of  thine. 

Ant.  What  say'st  thou  ? 

Sold  Sir, 
He  is  with  Caesar. 

Eros.  Sir,  his  chests  and  treasure 

He  has  not  with  him. 

Ant.  Is  he  gone? 

Sold.  Most  certain. 

Ant.  Go,  Eros,  send  his  treasure  after ;  doit; 
Detain  no  jot,  I  charge  thee  :  write  to  him 
(I  will  subscribe)  gentle  adieus,  and  greetings: 
Say,  that  I  wish  he  never  find  more  cause 
To  change  a  master. — O,  niy  fortunes  have 
Corrupted  honest  men: — Eros,  despatch.  [Exeunt. 
Scene  Vl.—Ccesar's  Camp  before  Alexandria. 
Flourish.     Enter  C^sar,  with  Agrifpa, 
Enobarbus,  and  others. 

Cats.  Go  forth,  Agrippa,  and  begin  the  fight: 
Our  will  is,  Antony  be  took  alive ; 
Make  it  so  known. 

Agr.  Caesar,  I  shall.       [Exit  Agrippa. 

C<es.  The  time  of  universal  peace  is  near: 
Prove  this  a  prosperous  day,  the  three-nook'd  world 
Shall  bear  the  alive  freely. 


Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Anton) 
Is  come  into  the  field. 

Ca!s.  Go,  charge  Agrippa  • 

Plant  those  that  have  revolted  in  the  van, 
That  Antony  may  seem  to  spend  his  fury 
Upon  himself.      (Exeunt  Cassar  and  fiia  Train.] 

Eno.  Alexas  dia  revolt;  and  went  to  Jewry 
On  affairs  of  Antony.:  there  did  persuade 
Great  Herod  to  incline  himself  to  Caesar, 
And  leave  his  master  Antony :  for  this  pains, 
Caesar  hath  hang'd  him.    Canidius,  and  the  rest. 
That  fell  away,  have  entertainment,  but 
No  honourable  trust.    I  have  done  ill ; 
Of  which  I  do  accuse  myself  so  sorely. 
That  I  will  joy  no  more. 

Enter  a  Soldier  of  Ceesar's. 

Sold.  Enobarbus,  Antony 

Hath  after  thee  sent  all  thy  treasure,  with 
His  bounty  overplus;  The  messenger 
Came  on  my  guard  ;  and  at  thy  tent  is  now, 
Unloading  of  his  mules. 

Eno.  I  give  it  you. 

Sold.  Mock  me  not,  Enobarbus. 

I  tell  you  true :  Best  that  you  sa'f'd  the  bringer 
Out  of  the  host ;  I  must  attend  mine  office, 
Or  would  have  don't  myself.    Your  emperor 
Continues  still  a  Jove.  [Exit  Soldier. 

Eno.  1  am  alone  the  villain  of  the  earth, 
And  feel  I  am  so  most.    O  Antony, 
Thou  mine  of  bounty,  how  wonldest  thou  .lave  j)a!d 
My  better  service,  when  my  turpitude 
Thou  dost  so  crown  with  gold  !  This  blows  my  heart: 
If  swift  thought  break  it  not,  a  swifter  mean 
Shall  outstrik.e  thought :  but  thought  will  do't,  I  feel. 
I  fight  against  thee  ! — No:  I  will  go  seek 
Some  ditch,  wherein  to  die;  th-e  foul'st  best  fits 
My  latter  part  of  life.  [Exit. 

ScEN".  VII. — Field  of  Battle  between  the  Camps, 
Alarum.  Drums  and  Trumpets.  Enter  Agrippa, 
and  others. 

Agr.   Retire,  we  have  engag'd  ourselves  too  far; 
Caesar  himself  has  work,  and  our  oppression 
Exceeds  what  we  expected.  [Exeuntt 

Alarum.    Enter  Antony  and  Scarus,  wounded. 

Scar.  O  my  brave  emperor,  this  is  fought,  indeed  ! 
Had  we  done  so  at  first,  we  had  driven  them  home 
With  clouts  about  their  heads. 

Atet.  Thou  bleed'st  apace. 

Scar.  I  had  a  wound  here  that  was  like  a  T. 
But  now  'tis  made  an  H. 

Ant.  They  do  retire. 

Scar.  We'll  beat  'em  into  bench-holes ;  I  have  yet 
Room  for  six  scotches  more. 

Enter  Eros. 

Eros.  They  are  beaten,  sir ;  and  our  advantage 
For  a  fair  victory.  (serves 

Scar.  Let  us  score  their  backs. 

And  snatch  'em  up,  as  we  take  hares,  behind ; 
'Tis  sport  to  maul  a  runner. 

Ant.  I  will  reward  thee 

Once  for  thy  spritely  comfort,  and  ten-fold 
For  thy  good  valour.    Come  thee  on. 

Scar.  I  ll  halt  alter.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  VI  H. —  Under  the  Walls  of  Alexandria. 
Alarum.  Enter  Antony,  marching;  Scarus,  awd 
Forces. 

Ant.  We  have  beat  him  to  his  camp ;  Run  one 
before. 

And  let  the  queen  know  of  our  (  ftests. — To-morrow, 
Before  the  surj  shall  see  us,  we'll  spill  the  blood 
That  has  to-day  escap'd.  I  thark  yon  all : 
For  doughty-handed  are  you;  and  have  fought 
Not  as  you  serv'd  the  cause,  but  as  it  had  been 
Each  man's  like  mine ;  you  have  shewn  all  Hectom 


Scene  10. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRi^ 


023 


Enter  the  city,  clip  your  wives,  your  friends, 
Tell  them  your  feats  ;  •  vhilst  they  with  joyful  tears 
\Vas»h  the  concealment  from  your  wounds,  and  kiss 
The  honour'd  gashes  whole. — Give  me  thy  hand ; 

{To  Scarus.) 

Enter  Cleopatra,  attended. 
To  this  great  fairy  I'll  commend  thy  acts. 
Make  her  thanks  bless  thee. — O  thou  day  o'the 
world, 

Chain  my  arm'd  neck ;  leap  thou,  attire  and  all, 
n^hrough  proof  of  harness  to  my  heart,  and  there 
Kide  on  the  pants  triumphing. 

Cleo.  Lord  of  lords  ! 

O  infinite  virtue !  com'st  thou  smiling  from 
The  world's  great  snare  uncaught  ? 

Ant.  My  nightingale, 

We  have  beat  them  to  their  beds.    What,  girl, 
though  grey 

Do  something  mingle  with  onr  brown  ;  yet  have  we 
A  brain  that  nourishes  our  nerves,  and  can 
(ret  goal  for  goal  of  youth.    Behold  this  man; 
Commend  unto  his  lips  thy  favouring  hand ; — 
Kiss  it,  my  warrior: — He  hatn  fought  to-day. 
As  if  a  god,  in  hate  of  mankind,  had 
"^esfroy'd  in  such  a  shape. 

Cleo.  I'll  give  thee,  friend, 

armour  all  of  gold;  it  was  a  king's. 

Ant.  He  has  deserv'd  it,  were  it  carbuncled 
Like  holy  Phcebus'  car. — Give  me  thy  hand; 
Through  Alexandria  make  a  jolly  march; 
Hear  our  hack'd  targets  like  the  men  that  owe  them : 
Had  our  great  palace  the  capacity 
To  camp  this  host,  we  all  would  su[)  together; 
And  drink  carouses  to  the  next  day's  fate, 
Which  promises  royal  peril. — Trumpeters, 
With  brazen  din  blast  you  the  city's  ear; 
Make  mingle  with  our  rattfing  tabourines ; 
That  heaven  and  earth  may  strike  their  sounds  to- 
gether. 

Applauding  our  approach.  [Exeunt. 
Scene  IX.—  Casar's  Camp. 
Sentinels  on  their  posts.    Enter  Enobarbus. 

1  Sold.  If  we  be  not  reliev'd  within  this  hour. 
We  must  return  to  the  court  of  guard  :  T'he  night 
Is  shiny  ;  and,  they  say,  we  shall  embattle 

13y  the  second  hour  i'the  morn. 

2  Suld.  This  last  day  was 
A  shrewd  one  to  us. 

Enu.  O,  bear  me  witness,  night, — 

8  Sold.  What  man  is  this  ? 

2  Sold.  Stand  close,  and  list  to  him. 
Eno.  lie  witness  to  me,  O  thou  blessed  moon, 

\Vhen  men  revolted  shall  upon  record 
Bear  hateful  memory,  poor  Enobarbus  did 
Before  thy  face  repent ! — 

1  Sold.  Enobarbus ! 

3  Sold.  Peace ; 
Hark  further. 

Efio.  O  sovereign  mistress  of  true  melancholy, 
The  poisonous  damp  of  night  disponge  upon  me  ; 
That  life,  a  very  rebel  to  my  will, 
May  hang  no  longer  on  me  :  Throw  my  heart 
Agair<st  the  flint  and  hardness  of  m.y  fault; 
Which,  being  dried  with  grief,  will  break  to  powder. 
And  finish  all  foul  thoughts.    O  Antony, 
Nobler  than  my  revolt  is  infamous, 
Forgive  me  in  thine  own  particular; 
But  let  the  world  rank  nie  in  register 
A  master-leaver,  and  a  fugitive : 
O  Antony!  O  Antony!  {Dies.) 

2  Sold.  Let's  speak 
To  him. 

1  Sold.  Let's  hear  hi  ii,  for  the  things  he  speaks 
May  concern  Caesar. 

1  Sold.  Let's  do  so.    But  he  sleeps. 

1  Sold.  Swoons  rather ;  for  so  bad  a  prayer  as  his 
Was  never  yet  for  sleeping. 

9  8<,,d.  Go  we  to  him. 


3  Sold.  Awake,  awake,  st;  speak,  to  us. 
2  Sold.  Hear  you,  sir! 

1  Sold.  The  hand  of  death  hath  raught  hiau 

Hark,  the  drums         [Drums  afar  uff,) 
Demurely  wake  the  sleepers.    Let  us  bear  him 
To  the  court  of  guard  :  he  is  of  note  :  our  hour 
Is  fully  out. 

2  Sold.  Come  on  then  : 

He  may  recover  yet  [Exeunt  with  the  boffy. 

Scene  X. — Between  the  two  Camps. 

Enter  Antony  and  Scarus,  tvith  Forces 
marching. 

Ant.  Their  preparation  is  to-day  by  sea  ; 
We  please  them  not  by  land. 

Scar.  For  both,  my  lord. 

Ant.  I  would,  they'd  fight  i'the  fire,  or  in  the  aii ; 
We'd  fight  there  too.    But  this  it  is ;  Our  foot 
Upon  the  hills  adjoining  to  the  city, 
Shall  stay  with  us :  order  for  sea  is  given ; 
'i'hey  have  put  forth  the  haven:  Further  on. 
Where  their  appointment  we  may  best  discover. 
And  look  on  their  endeavour.  [Exeunt 

Enter  CiESAR,  and  his  Forces,  marchsHg. 
Cees.  But  being  charg'd,  we  will  be  still  by  land 
Which,  as  I  take't,  we  shall ;  for  his  best  force 
Is  forth  to  man  his  gallies.    To  the  vales. 
And  hold  our  best  advantage.  [Exeunt. 

Re-enter  Antony  and  Scarus 
Ant.  Yet  they're  notjoin'd:  Where  yonder  pia© 
doth  stand, 
I  shall  discover  all :  I'll  bring  thee  word 
Straight,  how  'tis  like  to  go.  [Exit, 
Scar.  Swallows  have  buJIJ 

In  Cleopatra's  sails  their  nest:  the  augurers 
Say,  they  know  not, — they  cannot  tell ; — look  grini'j 
And  dare  not  speak  their  knowledge.  Antocy 
Is  valiant,  and  dejected  ;  and,  by  starts, 
His  fretted  fortunes  give  him  hope,  and  fear, 
Of  what  he  has,  and  has  not. 

Alarum  afar  off,  as  at  a  seafighU 
Re-enter  Antony. 

Ant.  All  is  lost; 

This  foul  Egyptian  hath  betrayed  me  ; 
My  fleet  hath  yielded  to  the  foe ;  and  yonder 
They  cast  their  caps  up,  and  carouse  together 
Like  friends  long  lost. — Triple-turn'd  whore !  'l3f 
thou 

Hast  sold  me  to  this  novice ;  and  my  heart 
Makes  only  wars  on  thee. — Bid  them  all  fly ; 
For  when  I  am  reveng'd  upon  my  charm, 
I  have  done  all : — Bid  them  all  fly,  be  gone. 

[Exit  Scarm, 
O  sun,  thy  uprise  shall  I  see  no  »«)re : 
Fortune  and  Antony  part  here;  even  here 
Do  we  shake  hands. — All  come  to  this? — The  hearts, 
That  spaniel  d  me  at  heels,  to  whom  1  gave 
"^I'heir  wislies,  do  discandy,  melt  their  sweets 
On  blossoming  Cajsar;  and  this  pine  is  bark'd, 
Tliat  o\erU)pp'd  them  all.    Betray'd  I  am: 
O  tliis  false  soul  of  Egypt!  this  grave  charm, — 
W  hose  eye  beck'd  forth  my  wars,  and  cal I'd  tii«« 
home  ; 

W^hose  bosom  was  my  crovrnet,  my  chief  end. 
Like  a  ri^ht  gipsy,  hath,  at  fast  and  loose, 
BpHuil'd  me  to  the  very  heart  of  loss. — 
What,  Eros,  Eros ! 

Enter  Cleopatra. 

Ah,  thou  spell !  Avaunt 
Cleo.  Why  is  my  lord  enrag'd  against  his  lov©  7 
Ant.  Vanish  ;  or  I  shall  give  thee  thy  deserving, 
And  blemisli  Caesar's  triumph.     Let  him  takethae, 
And  hoist  thee  up  to  the  shouting  plebeians: 
Follow  his  chariot,  like  the  greatest  spot 
Of  all  thy  sex;  most  monster-like,  be  she«r» 
For  poor'st  diminutives,  to  dolts ;  and  iet 


624 


ANTONY  AND 


CLEOPATRA. 


Act  rV 


Patient  Octavia  plongh  thy  visasfe  ap 

With  her  prepared  nails.     lExtt  Cleo.]    'Tis  well 

thon'rt  gone. 
If  it  be  well  to  live :  But  better  'twere 
Thou  fell'st  into  my  fury,  for  one  death 
Might  have  prevented  many. — Eros,  ho ! 
The  shirt  of  Nessas  is  npon  me  :  Teach  me, 
Alcides,  thou  mine  ancestor,  thy  rage  : 
Let  me  lodge  Liclias  on  the  horns  o'the  moon; 
And  with  those  hands,  that  grasp'd  the  heaviest  club, 
Subdue  my  worthiest  self.   The  vk^itch  shall  die; 
To  the  Roman  boy  she  hath  sold  me,  and  I  fall 
Under  this  plot :  s'he  dies  for't. — Eros,  ho  !  [Exit. 

Scene  XL — Alexandria.  A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  Iras,  and 
Mardian. 

Cleo.  Help  me,  my  women  I  O,  he  is  more  mad 
Than  Telamon  tor  his  shield  ;  the  boar  of  Thessaly 
Was  never  so  emboss'd. 

Char.  To  the  monnment: 

There  lock  yonrseIf,and  send  him  word  yon  are  dead. 
The  soul  and  body  rive  not  more  in  parting, 
Than  greatness  going  off. 

Cleo.  To  the  monument: — 

Mardian,  go  tell  him  I  have  slain  myself ; 
Say,  that  the  last  1  spoke  was,  Antony, 
And  word  it,  pr'ythee,  piteously :  Hence, 
Mardian ;  and  bring  me  how  he  takes  my  death. — 
To  the  monument.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  XIT. —  The  same.   A  not  her  Room. 
Enter  Antony  and  Eros. 
Ant.  Eros,  thou  yet  behold'st  me  ? 
Eros.  Ay,  noble  lord. 

Ant.  Sometime,  we  see  a  cloud  that's  dragonish; 
A  vapour,  sometime,  like  a  bear,  or  lion, 
A  tower'd  citadel,  a  pendant  rock, 
A  forked  mountain,  or  blue  promontory 
With  trees  upon't,  that  nod  unto  the  world. 
And  mock  our  eyes  with  air:  Thou  hast  seen  these 
signs ; 

They  are  black  vesper's  pageants. 

Eros.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ant.  That  which  is  now  a  horse,  even  with  a 

tllOUglit, 

The  rack  dislinuis  ;  and  makes  it  indistinct. 
As  water  is  in  water. 

Eros.  It  does,  my  lord. 

Ant.  My  good  knave,  Erbs,  now  thy  captain  is 
Even  such  a  body  :  here  I  am  Antony  ; 
Yet  cannot  liold  tliis  visible  shape,  my  knave. 
[  made  these  wars  lor  Egypt;  and  the  queen, — 
Whose  heart,  I  thought,  1  had,  for  she  had  mine; 
Which,  wiiil.st  it  was  mine,  had  annex'd  unto't 
A  million  more,  now  lost, — she,  Eros,  has 
Pack'd  cards  witii  Cajsar,  and  false  play'd  my  glory 
Unto  an  enemy's  triumph, — 
Nay,  weep  not,  gentle  Eros  ;  there  is  left  us 
Ourselves  to  end  ourselves. — O,  thy  vile  lady  ! 

Enter  Mardian. 
She  hath  robb'd  me  of  my  sword. 

Mar.  No,  Antony; 

My  mistress  lov'd  thee,  and  her  fortunes  mingled 
With  thine  entirely. 

Ant.  Hence,  saucy  eunuch  ;  peace  ; 

She  hath  betray'd  me,  and  shall  die  the  death. 

Mar   Death  of  one  person  can  be  paid  but  once  ; 
And  that  slie  has  discharg'd  :  What  thou  would'st  do, 
Is  done  unto  thy  hand  ;  the  last  she  spake 
Was,  Antony  !  most  noble  Antony  ! 
Then  in  the  midst  a  tearing  groan  did  break 
The  name  of  Antony  ;  it  was  divided 
Between  her  heart  and  Hps  :  She  render'd  life, 
Thy  name  so  buried  in  her. 

Ant.  Dead  then? 

Mar.  Dead. 

Ant  Eros,  unarm  ;  the  long  day's  task  is  done. 
And  we  must  sleep. — That  thou  depart'st  hence  safe. 


Does  pay  thy  labour  richly;  Go. — Off,  pluck  off.— 

[Exit  Mardian, 
The  seven- fold  shield  of  Ajiix  cannot  keep 
The  battery  from  my  heart.    O,  clea^•e,  my  sides 
Heart,  once  be  stronger  than  th^  continent ; 
Crack  thy  frail  case  ! — Apace,  Eros,  apace. — 
No  more  a  soldier :— Bruised  pieces,  go  ; 
You  have  been  nobly  borne. — From  me  a  while.— 

[Exit  Eros. 

I  will  o'ertake  thee,  Cleopatra,  and 

Weep  for  my  pardon.    So  it  must  be,  for  now 

All  length  is  torture  : — Since  the  torch  is  out, 

Lie  down,  and  stray  no  further:  Now  all  labour 

Mars  what  it  does;  yea,  very  force  entangles 

Itself  with  strength:  Seal  then,  and  all  is  done.— 

Eros  ! — 1  come,  my  queen  : — Eros  ! — Stay  for  nte  : 

Where  souls  do  couch  on  flowers,  we'll  hand  in  hand 

And  with  our  sf)rightly  port  make  the  ghosts  gaze  : 

Dido  and  her  ^neas  shall  want  troops, 

And  all  the  haimt  be  ours. — Come,  Eros,  Eros! 

Re-enter  Eros. 

Eros.  What  would  my  lord  ? 

Ant.     -  Since  Cieopatra  died 

I  have  liv'd  in  such  dishonour,  that  the  gods 
Detest  mv  baseness.    I,  that  with  my  sword 
Quarter'di  the  world,  and  o'er  green  Neptune's  bacJ> 
VVith  ships  made  cities,  condemn  mysell",  to  lack 
The  courage  of  a  woman;  less  noble  mind 
Than  she,  which,  by  her  death,  our  Csesar  tells, 
/  am  conqueror  of  myself.    Thou  art  sworn,  Eros, 
That,  when  the  exigent  should  come,  (which  now 
Is  come,  indeed)  when  I  should  see  behind  me 
The  inevitable  prosecution  of 
Disgrace  and  horror,  that,  on  my  command. 
Thou  then  would'st  ki'll  me  :  do't ;  the  time  is  come  j 
Thou  strik'st  not  me,  'tis  Caesar  thou  defeat'st. 
Put  colour  in  thy  cheek. 

Eros.  The  gods  withhold  m<!  1 

Shall  I  do  that,  which  all  the  Parthian  darts. 
Though  enemy,  lost  aim,  and  could  not  ? 

Ant.  Eros, 
Would'st  thou  be  window'd  in  great  Rome,  and  see 
Thy  master  thus  with  pleach'd  arms,  bending  dow0 
His  corrigible  neck,  his  face  subdued 
To  penetrative  shame  ;  whilst  the  wheel'd  seat 
Of  fortunate  Caesar,  drawn  before  him,  branded 
His  baseness  that  ensued  ? 

Eros.  I  would  not  see't. 

Ant.  Come  then  ;  for  with  a  wound  1  must  be  cur'd 
Draw  that  tliy  honest  sword,  whicii  thou  hast  worn 
Most  useful  for  thy  country. 

Eros.  O,  sir,  pardon  me. 

Ant.  When  I  did  make  thee  free,  swor'st  thoa 
not  then 

To  do  this  when  1  bade  thee?  Do  it  at  once  ; 

Or  thy  precedent  services  are  all 

But  accidents  unpurpos'd.    Draw,  and  come. 

Eros.  Turn  from  me  then  that  noble  countenance 
Wherein  the  worship  ol'  the  whole  world  lies. 

Ant.  Lo  thee.  {Turning  from  him. 

Eros.  My  sword  is  drawn. 

Ant.  Then  let  it  do  at  once 

The  thing  why  thou  hast  drawn  it. 

Eros.  My  dear  master 

My  captain,  and  my  emperor!  let  me  say, 
Before  I  strike  this  bloody  -stroke,  farewell 

Ant.  'Tis  said,  man; — and  farewell. 

Eros.  Farewell,  great  chief.   Shall  I  strike  now.^ 

Ant.  Now,  Mrys 

Eros.  Why,  there  then  : — {Falls  on  his  sword.) 

Thus  do  I  escape  the  sorrow 
Of  Antony's  death.  [Dies.) 

Ant.  Thrice  nobler  than  myself! 

Thou  teachest  me,  O  valiant  Eros,  what 
I  should,  and  thou  could'st  not.  My  queen  and  Eros 
Have,  by  their  brave  instruction,  got  upon  me 
A  nobleness  in  record :  But  I  will  be 
A  bridegroom  in  my  deatli,  and  run  into't 
As  to  a  lover's  bed.    Come  then ;  and,  £rrvi, 


Scene  18. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


625 


Thy  mafjter  dies  thy  scholar  ;  to  do  thus 

[Failing  on  his  sword.) 
I  learn'd  of  ihee.  How  !  not  yt  t  uead  ?  not  dead 
The  guard  I — ho  ! — O,  despatch  rue. 

Enter  Dercetas  and  Guard. 

1  Guard.  What's  the  noise  ? 
Ani.  I  have  done  my  work  ill.  friends;  O,  make 

an  end 
Of  what  I  ha\e  begun. 

2  Guard.  The  star  is  fallen. 
J  Guard.  And  time  is  at  his  period. 

A/L  Alas,  and  woe  ! 

AnL  Let  him,  that  loves  me,  strike  me  dead. 

1  Guard.  Not  L 

2  Guard.  Nor  L 

3  Guard.  Nor  any  one.  [Exeunt  Guard. 
Der.  Thy  death  and  lbrtnr.es  bid  thy  followers  fly. 

This  sword  but  shewn  to  Ciesar,  with  this  tidings, 
Shall  eater  me  witli  him. 

Enter  DiOMEDES. 

Dio.  Where's  Antony  ? 

Der.  There,  Diomed,  there. 

Dio.  Lives  he  ? 

Wilt  thon  not  answer,  man  ?         {Exit  Dercetas. 

Ant.  Art  thou  there,  Diomed  ?  Draw  thy  sword, 
and  give  me 
Sufficing  strokes  for  death. 

Dio.  Most  absolute  lord. 

My  mistress  Cleopatra  sent  me  to  thee. 

Ant.  When  did  she  send  tiiee  ? 

Dio.  Now,  my  lord. 

Ant.   .  Where  is  she? 

Did.  Lock'd  in  her  monument.    She  had  a  pro- 
phesying fear 
Of  what  hath  come  to  pass :  for  when  she  saw 
(Which  never  shall  be  found,)  you  did  suspect 
She  had  dispos'd  with  Csesar,  and  that  your  rage 
Would  not  be  purg  d,  she  sent  you  word  she  was 
dead  ; 

But,  fearing  since  how  it  might  work,  hath  sent 
Me  to  proclaim  the  truth  ;  and  I  am  come, 
f  dread,  iw  late. 
An  t.  Too  late,  good  Diomed  -.—Call  my  guard, 
I  pr'ythee. 

Dio.   What,  ho!  the  emperor's  guard!  The 
guard,  vvhat,  ho ! 
Come,  your  lord  calls. 

Enter  some  of  the  Guard. 
Ant.  Bear  me,  good  friends,  where  Cleopatra 
bides ; 

Tis  the  last  service  that  I  shall  command  you. 

1  Guard.  Woe  are  we,  sir,  you  may  not  live  to 
All  your  true  followers  out.  [wear 

^//.  Most  heavy  day. 

Ant.  Nay,  good  my  fellows,  do  not  please  sharp 
fate 

To  grace  it  with  your  sorrows :  bid  that  welcome 
Which  comes  to  punish  us,  and  we  punish  it 
Seeming  to  bear  it  lightly.    Take  me  up: 
I  have  led  you  oft :  can  y  me  now,  good  friends, 
And  have  my  thanks  lor  all, 

,  [Exeunt,  bearing  Antony. 

Scene  X\W.—  The  same.    A  Monument. 
Enter  above,  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  ««c/1ras. 
Cleo.  O  Charmian,  I  will  never  go  from  hence. 
Char.  Be  comforted,  dear  madam. 
Cleo.  No,  I  will  not : 

All  strange  and  terrible  events  are  welcome,  • 
But  comforts  vve  despise  ;  our  size  of  sorrow, 
Pivpoition'd  to  our  cause,  must  be  as  great 

Enter  Diomedes. 
As  that  which  makes  it, — How  now  ?  is  he  dead  ? 

Dio.  His  death's  ui)on  him.  but  not  dead. 
Look  out  o'the  other  side  yt)ur  monument, 
tils  guard  have  brought  him  thithet 


j  Filter  Antony,  bor?ie  by  the  Gnafil. 

Cleo.      ,  O  thou  sun, 

I  Burn  me  great  sphere  thou  mov'st  in! — darkling! 
i  stand 

!  The  varying  shore  o'the  world  ! — O  Antony  ! 
Antony,  Antony! — Charmian,  help;  help,  Iras; 
Help,  friends  below  ;  let's  draw  him  hitiier 
Ant.  A'eac«S 

I  Not  Ciesar's  valour  hath  o'erthrown  Antony, 

I  But  Antony's  hath  triumphed  on  itself. 

i      Cleo.  So  it  should  be,  that  none  but  Antooy 
Should  conquer  Antony;  but  woe  'tis  so! 

I      Ant.  I  am  dying,  Ei^ypt,  dying;  only 

'  I  here  impoiiune  death  a  while,  until 

j  Of  many  thousand  kisses  the  poor  last 
1  lay  Upon  thy  lips, — 

Cleo.  I  dare  not,  dear, 

(Dear  my  lord,  pardon)  I  dare  not. 
Lest  I  be  taken  :  not  the  imperious  shevir 
Of  the  full-fortun'd  C^sar  ever  shall 
Be  brood;  d  with  tne  ;  if  knife,  drugs,  serpents,  hsTe 
Edge,  sting,  or  operation,  I  am  safe  : 
Your  wile  Octavia,  with  her  modest  eyes. 
And  still  conclusion,  shuU  acquire  no  honour 
Demuring  upon  me. — But  come,  come,  Antony, — 
Help  me,  my  women, — we  must  draw  tliee  up;— 
Assist,  good  friends. 

Ant.  O,  quick,  or  I  am  gone, 

Cleo.  Here's  sport,  indeed ! — How  heavy  weigk, 
my  lord! 

Our  strength  is  all  gone  into  heaviness. 
That  makes  the  weight!    Had  I  great  Juno's  power 
The  strong-vving'd  iVJercurv'  should  letch  thee  up. 
And  set  thee  by  Jove's  side.     V^et  come  a  little,— 
Wishers  were  ever  fools  ; — O,  come,  come,  corae ; 

{They  drato  Antony  up. 
And  welcome,  welcome  I  die,  where  thou  hast  liy'd 
Quicken  with  kissing;  had  my  lips  that  power, 
Thus  would  I  wear  them  out. 

All,  A  heavy  sight! 

Ant.  I  am  dying,  Egypt,  dying  : 
Give  me  some  wine,  and  let  me  speak  a  little. 

Cleo.  No,  let  me  speak  ;  and  let  me  rail  so  high. 
That  the  frdse  housewife  Fortune  break  her  wheel 
Provok'd  by  my  offence. 

Ant.  One  word,  sweet  queen 

Of  Caesar  seek  your  honour  with  your  safety. — O 

Cleo.  They  do  not  go  together 

Ant.  Gentle,  hear  we 

None  about  Caesar  trust,  but  Proculeius. 

Cleo.  My  resolution,  and  my  hands,  I'll  trust; 
None  about  Caisar. 

Ant.  'We  miserable  change  now  at  my  end. 
Lament  nor  sorrow  at :  but  please  your  thoughts. 
In  feeding  them  with  these  my  former  fortunes 
Wherein  I  liv'd,  the  greatest  prince  o'the  world. 
The  noblest:  and  do  now  not  basely  die 
Nor  cowardly  ;  put  olf  my  helmet  to 
My  couijiryman,  a  Roman,  by  a  Roman 
Valiantly  vanquish'd.    Now,  ray  spirit  is  going; 
I  can  no  more.  (Di/m 

Cleo.  Noblest  of  men,  woo't  die '? 

Hast  thou  no  care  of  me?  shall  I  abide 
In  this  dull  world,  which  in  thy  absence  is 
No  better  than  a  stye  ? — O,  see,  my  women, 
The  crown  o'the  earth  doth  melt: — My  lord  ! — 
O,  wither'd  is  the  garland  of  the  war, 
The  soldier's  pole  is  fallen ;  young  boys,  and  girls. 
Are  level  now  with  men;  the  odds  is  gone. 
And  there  is  nothing  left  remarkable 
Beneath  the  visiting  moon.  {She  fainiM^) 

Char.  O,  quietness,  lady  ! 

Iras.  She  is  dead  too,  our  sovereign. 

Char.  Lady,— 

Iras.  Madam^ 

Char.  O  madam,  madam,  madam! 

Iras.  Royal  Egypt! 

Empress ! 

Char.  Peace,  peace,  Ira*» 

40 


626  ANTONY  AND 

Clett,  Nrt  more,  but  e'en  a  woman ;  and  com- 
roanded 

By  i»'ich  poor  passion  as  the  maid  that  milks, 
And  Joes  the  meanest  chares. — It  were  for  rae 
To  throw  my  sceptn^  at  the  injurious  gods; 
To  tell  them,  that  this  world  did  equal  tlieirs. 
Till  they  had  stolen  our  jewel.   All's  but  naught; 
Patl<>nce  is  sottish;  aud  impatience  does 
Bec  vnie  a  dog  that's  mad  :  Tlien  is  it  sin, 
To  rush  into  tlie  secret  house  of  death, 
Ere  death  dare  come  to  -.is  ? — How  do  you,  women? 
What,  what  ?  good  ciieer !  Wiiy,  how  now,  Char- 
luian  ? 

My  noble  girls! — Ah.  women,  women  !  look, 

Our   hunp  is  spent,  it's  out : — Good    sirs,  take 

lieart ; —  ( To  the  Guard  below.) 

We'll  bury  him  :  and  then,  what's  brave,  what's 

noble, 

UeVs  do  it  after  the  high  Roman  fashion. 

And  make  death  proud  to  take  us.    Come,  away  : 

This  case  of  that  huge  spirit  now  is  cold. 

Ah,  women,  women  1  come  ;  we  have  no  friend 

But  resolution,  and  the  briefest  end. 

[Exeunt ;  those  above  bearing  off  Antony's  body. 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — Ccesar's  Camp  before  Alexandria. 
Enter  C^sar,  Agrippa,  Dolabella,  Mec^nas, 
Oallus,  Proculeius,  and  others. 

Cces.  Go  to  him,  Dolabella,  bid  him  yield  ; 
Being  so  frustrate,  t<ell  him,  he  mocks  us  by 
The  pauses  that  he  makes. 

Dol.  Caesar,  I  shall.    [Exit  Dolabella. 

Enter  Dercetas,  with  the  sword  of  Antony. 

C<£S.  Wherefore  is  that?  and  what  art  thou,  that 
Appear  thus  to  us?  [dar'st 

J)er.  I  am  call'd  Dercetas  ; 

Mark  Antony  I  serv'd,  who  best  was  worthy 
Best  to  be  serv'd  :  whilst  he  stood  up,  and  spoke, 
Hi?  was  my  master;  and  I  wore  my  life, 
To  spend  upon  his  haters  :  If  thou  please 
r©  take  me  to  thee,  as  I  was  to  him 
I'll  be  to  C»jsar  ;  if  thou  pleasest  not, 
I  yield  thee  up  my  life. 

6W.  What  is't  thou  say'st  ? 

JJer.  I  say,  O  Caesar,  Antony  is  dead, 

Cas.  The  breaking  of  so  great  a  thing  should  make 
A  gi^ater  crack  :  The  round  world  should  have  shook 
Lions  into  civil  streets. 

And  citizens  to  tiieirdens:  The  death  of  Antony 
Is  not  a  single  doom;  in  the  name  lay 
A  moiety  of  the  world. 

Der.  He  is  dead,  Caesar; 

Not  Ity  a  public  minister  of  justice. 
Nor  by  a  hired  knife  ;  but  that  self  hand 
Wluch  writ  his  honour  in  the  acts  it  did, 
Hath,  witli  ti»e  courage  which  the  heart  did  lend  it, 
Splitted  the  heart. — 'Fhis  is  his  sword, 
I  rohb'd  his  wound  of  it ;  behold  it  stain'd 
Witii  his  most  noble  blood. 

Cess.  Look  yon  sad,  friends? 

The  gods  rebuke  me,  but  it  is  a  tidings 
To  wash  the  eyes  of  kings. 

Ayr.  And  strange  it  is, 

Tliat  nature  must  compel  us  to  lament 
Our  most  persisted  deeds. 

Mec.  ^       His  taints  and  honours 

Waited  *>qual  with  him. 

Ayr.  A  rarer  spirit  never 

Did  steer  humanity  :  but  you,  gods,  will  give  ns 
Some  faults  to  make  ns  men.    C*sar  is  touch'd. 

Mec,  When  such  a  spacious  mirror's  set  before 
He  netds  must  see  himself.  [him, 

Cas.  O  Antony .' 

I  have  followed  thee  to  this: — But  we  do  lance 
Diseases  in  our  bodies:  I  must  perforce 
Have  siiewn  to  thee  such  a  declining  day, 
Or  look  on  thine  ;  we  could  not  stall  together 
Id  the  whole  world :  But  yet  hi  lut  lameoi. 


CLEOPATRA.  Act  V. 

With  tears  as  sovereign  as  the  blond  of  hearU^ 

That  thou,  my  brother,  my  competitor 

In  top  of  all  design,  my  mate  in  empire. 

Friend  and  companion  in  the  front  of  war, 

The  arm  of  mine  own  body,  and  tlie  heart 

Where  mine  his  thoughts  did  kindle, — thatooratan^ 

IJnreconcileable,  should  divide 

Our  equalness  to  this. — Hear  me,  good  friends,— 

But  I  will  tell  you  at  some  meeter  season; 

Enter  a  Messenger.  i 
The  business  of  this  man  looks  out  of  him. 
We'll  hear  him  what  he  says. — Wlience  are  you  ? 

Mess.  A  poor  Egyptian  yet.  The  queen  my  mis- 
Confin'd  in  ail  she  has,  her  monument,  [tress 
Of  thy  intents  desires  instruction  ; 
Tliat  she  preparedly  may  frame  herself 
To  the  way  she's  forced  to. 

Cifs.  Bid  her  have  good  heart; 

She  soon  shall  know  of  us,  by  some  of  ours, 
How  honourable  and  how  kindly  we 
Determine  lor  her:  for  Caesar  cannot  live 
To  be  ungentle. 

Mess.  So  the  gods  preserve  thee.  \Exit 

Ctts.  Come  hither,  Proculeius  ;  Go,  and  say. 
We  purpose  her  no  shame  :  give  her  what  comforts 
The  quality  of  her  passion  sliall  require  ; 
Lest,  in  her  greatness,  by  s>)me  mortal  stroke 
She  do  defeat  us  :  for  her  life  in  Rome 
W ould  be  eternal  in  our  triumph  :  Go, 
And.  with  your  speediest,  bring  us  what  she  says. 
And  how  you  find  of  her. 

Pro.  Caesar,  I  shall.    [Exit  Proculeius, 

Cas.  Gallus,  go  you  along.: — Where's  Dolabella, 
To  second  Proculeius?  [Exit  Gallus. 

Ayr.  §C  Mec.  Dolabella  ! 

Ctes.  Let  him  alone,  for  I  remember  now 
How  he's  employed  ;  he  shall  in  time  be  ready. 
Go  with  me  to  my  tent ;  where  you  shall  see 
How  hardly  I  was  drawn  into  tnis  war; 
How  calm  and  gentle  I  proceeded  still 
In  all  my  writings  :  Go  with  me,  and  see 
What  1  can  shew  in  this.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  II. — Alexandria.    A  Room  in  the 
Monument. 
Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  and  Iras. 
Cleo.  My  desolation  does  begin  to  make 
A  better  life  :  'Tis  paltry  to  be  Caesar  ; 
Not  being  fortune,  he's  but  fortune's  knave, 
A  minister  of  her  will ;  And  it  is  great 
To  do  that  thing  that  ends  all  other  deeds; 
Which  shackles  accidents,  and  bolts  up  changi^i  ; 
Which  sleeps,  and  never  palates  more  the  dutjg, 
The  beggar's  nurse  and  Caesar's. 

Enter,  to  the  gates  of  the  Monument,  PROCULEirs, 
Gallus,  and  Soldiers. 

Pro.  Caesar  sends  greeting  to  the  queen  of  Egypt; 
And  bids  thee  study  on  what  fair  demands 
Thou  mean'st  to  have  him  grant  thee. 

Cleo.  (Within.)  What's  thy  name? 

Pro.  Mv  name  is  Proculeius. 

Cleo.  [Within.)  Antony 
Did  tell  me  of  you,  bade  me  trust  you 
I  do  not  greatly  care  to  be  deceiv'd, 
That  have  no  use  for  trusting,    if  your  master 
Would  have  a  queen  his  beggar,  you  must  tell  Uns 
That  majesty,  to  keep  decorum,  must 
No  less  beg  than  a  kingdom  :  if  he  please 
To  give  me  conquer'd  l^gypt  for  my  son, 
He  ^ives  me  so  much  of  mine  own,  as  I 
Will  kneel  to  him  with  thanks. 

Pro.  Be  of  good  cheer. 

You  are  fallen  into  a  princely  hand,  fear  nothing 
Make  your  full  reverence  freely  to  my  lord. 
Who  is  so  full  of  grace,  that  it  flows  over 
On  all  that  need  :  Let  me  report  to  hira 
Your  sweet  dependency;  and  you  s(.'t<ll  find 
A  conqueror,  that  will  pray  iu  aid  for  kindness. 


Scene  2. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


627 


Wliere  he  for  gjace  is  kneel'd  to. 

Cleo.  {Within.)  Pray  you,  tell  him 

f  am  his  fbrtiine's  vassal,  and  I  send  him 
The  greatness  he  has  got.    I  hourly  learn 
A  doctrine  of  obedience  ;  and  would  gladly 
Look  him  i'  the  face. 

Pro.  This  I'll  report,  dear  lady. 

Have  comfort;  for  I  know  your  plight  is  pitied 
Of  him  that  caus'd  it. 

Gal.  You  see  how  easily  she  may  Ke  sinpris'd; 
{Here  Proculeius,  and  two  of  the  Guard, 
ascend  the  Monument  by  a  ladder 
placed  against  a  windotv,  and  having 
descended,  come  behind  Cleopatra.  Some 
of  the  Guard  unbar  and  open  the  gates.) 
Cruapd  her  till  Caisar  come. 

( To  Proculeius  and  the  Guard.)  [Exit  Gallus. 
Iras.  Royal  queen ! 

Char.  O  Cleopatra!  thou  art  taken,  queen! 

Cho.  Quick,  quick,  good  hands. 

{Drawing  a  dagger.) 

Pro.  Hold,  worthy  Tady,  hold  : 

{Seizes  and  disarms  her.) 
Do  not  yourself  such  wrong,  who  are  in  this 
Reliev'd,  but  not  betray'd. 

Cleo.  What,  of  death  too, 

That  rids  our  dogs  of  languish  ? 

Pro.  Cleopatra, 
Do  not  abuse  my  master's  bounty  by 
The  undoing  of  yourself :  let  the  world  see 
His  nobleness  well  acted,  which  your  death 
Will  never  let  come  forth. 

Cleo.  Where  art  thou,  death  ? 

Oome  hither,  come  !  come,  come,  and  take  a  queen 
Worth  many  babes  and  beggars  ! 

Pro.  O,  temperance,  lady  I 

Cleo.  Sir,  I  will  eat  no  meat,  I'll  not  drink,  sir ; 
If  idle  talk  will  once  be  necessary, 
I'll  not  Bleep  neither:  This  mortal  house  I'll  ruin. 
Do  Caasar  what  he  can.    Know,  sir,  that  I 
Will  not  wait  pinion'd  at  your  master's  court; 
Nor  once  be  chastis'd  with  tlie  sober  eye 
Of  dull  Octavia.    Shall  they  hoist  me  up. 
And  shew  me  to  the  shouting  varletry 
Of  censuring  Rome  ?  Rather  a  ditch  in  ]Elo[ypt 
Be  gentle  grave  to  me !  rather  on  Nilus'  mud 
'Lay  me  stark  naked,  and  let  the  water-flies 
Blow  me  intu  abhorring  I  rather  make 
My  country's  high  pyramides  my  gibbet, 
And  hang  me  up  in  chains  ! 

Pro.  You  do  extend 

These  thoughts  of  horror  further  than  you  shall 
Find  cause  in  Cfesar. 

Enter  Dolabella. 
Dol.  Proculeius,  , 

What  thou  hast  done,  thy  master  Caasar  knows, 
And  iie  hath  sent  for  thee  :  as  for  the  queen, 
I'll  take  her  to  my  guard. 

Pro.  So,  Dolabella, 

It  sliall  content  me  best :  be  gentle  to  her. 
To  Caesar  I  will  speak  what  you  shall  please, 

( To  Cleopatra.) 

If  you'll  employ  me  to  him. 

C/eo.  Say,  I  would  die. 

[Exeunt  Proculeius  and  Soldiers. 
Dol.  Most  noble  empress,  you  have  heard  of  me  ? 
Cleo.  I  cannot  tell. 

Dol.  Assuredly,  you  know  me. 

Cleo.  No  matter,  sir,  what  I  have  heard  or  known. 
Vou  laugh,  when  boys,  or  women,  tell  their  dreams; 
ia't  not  yuur  trick  'i 

Dili  I  imderstand  not,  madam. 

Cleo.  I  dream'd,  tiiere  was  an  emperor  Antony  ;-— 
0,  suci'i  unother  sleep,  that  I  might  see 
Butsui'.h  another  man  ! 

Dol.  If  it  might  please  you, — 

Clea.  His  face  was  as  tlie  heavens  j  and  therein 
stuck  _  [lighted 

A  cun  and  muon:  which  kept  their  course,  and 


The  little  O,  the  earth. 

Dol.  Most  sovereign  creature,— 

Cleo.  His  legs  bestrid  the  ocean  :  his  rear'd  Him 
Crested  the  world  :  his  voice  was  propertied 
As  all  the  tuned  spheres,  and  that  to  friends  ; 
But  when  he  meant  to  quail  anc  shake  the  orb. 
He  was  a  rattling  thunder.    For  his  bounty. 
There  was  no  winter  in't;  an  autunm  'twas, 
That  grew  the  more  by  reaping;  His  delights 
Were  dolphin-like:  they  shew'd  his  back  abovt 
The  elenjent  they  liv'd  in  ;  In  his  livery 
Walk'd  crowns,  and  crovvnets  ;  realms  and  islanda 
As  plates  dropp'd  from  his  pocket.  [were 

Dol.  Cleopatra, — 

Cleo.  Tliink  you,  there  was,  or  might  be,  such  9 
As  this  I  dream'd  of  ?  [man 

Dol.  Gentle  madam,  no. 

Cleo.  You  lie,  up  to  the  hearing  of  the  gods. 
But,  if  there  be,  or  ever  were  one  such^ 
It's  past  the  size  of  dreaming:  Nature  wants  stuff 
To  vie  strange  forms  with  fancy ;  yet,  to  imagine 
An  Antony,  were  nature's  piece  'gainst  fancy. 
Condemning  shadows  quite. 

Dol.  Hear  me,  good  madams 

Your  loss  is  as  yourself,  great ;  and  you  bear  it 
As  answering  to  the  weight :  'Would  I  might  nevei 
O'ertake  pursu'd  success,  but  I  do  feel. 
By  the  rebound  of  yours,  a  grief  that  shoots 
My  very  heart  at  root. 

Cleo.  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Know  you,  what  Caesar  means  to  do  with  me  ? 

Dol.  I  am  loath  to  tell  you  what  1  would  youkneWi 

Cleo.  Nay,  pray  you,  sir, — 

Dol.  Though  he  be  honourable,— 

Cleo.  He'll  lead  me  then  in  triumph  ? 
Dol.  Madam,  he  will ; 

1  know  it. 

Within.  Make  way  there, — Ciesar. 

Enter  C^sar,  Gallus,  Proculeius,  MecjenaSi, 
Seleucus,  and  Attendants. 
Cas.  Which  is  the  queea 

Of  Egypt? 

Dol.       'Tis  the  emperor,  madam. 

{Cleopatra  kneels-) 

Ciies.  Arise, 
You  shall  not  kneel : — 
1  pray  you  rise  ;  rise,  Egypt. 

Cleo.  Sir,  the  gods 

Will  have  it  thus ;  my  master  and  my  lord 
I  must  obey. 

Cces.        Take  to  yqu  no  hard  thoughts  ; 
The  record  of  what  injijries  you  did  us. 
Though  written  in  our  flesh,  we  shall  remember 
As  things  but  done  by  chance. 

Cle.0.  Sole  sir  o'the  world, 

I  cannot  project  mine  own  cause  so  well 
To  make  it  clear;  but  do  confess,  I  have 
Been  I  tden  with  like  frailties,  which  before 
Have  often  shani'd  our  sex. 

Ctes.  Cleopatra,  kno^. 

We  will  extenuate  rather  than  enforce: 
If  you  apply  yourself  to  our  intents, 
(Which  towards  you  are  most  gentle,)  you  shall  fiadi 
A  benefit  in  this  change  ;  but  if  you  seek 
To  lay  on  me  a  cruelty,  by  taking 
Antony's  course,  you  shall  bereave  yourself 
Of  my  good  purposes,  and  put  your  children 
To  that  destruction  which  I'll  guard  them  from. 
If  thereon  you  rely.    I'll  take  my  leave. 

Cleo.  And  may,  through  all  the  world  :  'tis  yoare  { 
and  we, 

Your  'scutcheons,  and  your  signs  of  conquest,  shall 
Hang  in  what  place  you  please.  Here,  my  good  lord. 

C<es.  You  shall  advise  me  in  all  for  Cleopatra. 

Cleo.  This  is  the  brief  of  nioney,  plate,  and  jewels, 
I  am  possess'd  of :  tis  exactly  valued  ; 
Not  petty  things  admitted. — Where's  Seleucus? 

Sel.  Here,  madam. 

Cleo.  This  is  my  treasurer ;  lot  him  speak,  my  lor^ 


628 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  y 


L  j)'>n  his  periJ,  that  I  have  reserv'd 

Vo  myself  notliing-.    Speak  the  truth,  Seleucus. 

Sel.  Madam, 
I  ^lad  rather  seel  my  lips,  than,  to  my  peril, 
8j.e;\k  that  which  is  not, 

Cleo.  What  have  I  kept  back  ? 

Sel.  Enough  to  purchase  vyhat  you  have  made 
known. 

Cess.  Nay,  blush  not,  Cleopatra ;  I  approve 
Your  wisdom  in  the  deed. 

Cleo.  See,  C«sar !  O,  behold, 

flow  pomp  is  follow'd  !  mine  will  now  be  yonr's ; 
And,  should  we  shift  estates,  your's  would  be  mine. 
The  ingratitude  of  this  Seleucus  does 
Even  make  me  wild  :— O  slave,  of  no  more  trust 
Than  love  that's  hir'dl^What,  goest  thou  back? 
thoa.shalt 

Go  back,  I  warrant  thee  ;  but  I'll  catch,  thine  eyes, 
Though  they  had  wings :  Slave,  soul-less  villain,  dog  I 

0  rarely  base ! 

Cas.  Good  queen,  let  ns  entreat  you. 

Cleo.  O  Caesar,  what  a  wounding  shame  is  this ; 
That  thou,  vouchsafing  here  to  visit  me. 
Doing  the  honour  of  thy  lordliness 
To  one  so  meek,  that  mine  own  servant  should 
Parcel  the  sum  of  my  disgraces  by 
Addition  of  his  envy  I    Say,  good  Caesar, 
That  I  some  lady's  trifles  have  reserv'd, 
Imnioment  toys,  things  of  such  dignity 
As  we  greet  modern  friends  withal ;  and  say. 
Some  nobler  token  I  have  kept  apart 
For  Livia  and  Octavia,  to  induce 
Their  mediation;  must  I  be  unfolded 
With  one  that  I  have  bred  ?  The  gods !  it  smites  me 
Beneath  the  fall  1  have.    Pr'ythee,  go  hence  ; 

( To  Seleucus.) 
Or  I  shall  shew  the  cinders  of  my  spirits 
Through  the  ashes  of  my  chance ; — Wert  thou  a  man. 
Thou  would'st  have  mercy  on  me. 

C^BS.  Forbear,  Seleucus. 

[Exit  Seleucus. 

Cleo.  Be  it  known,  that  we,  the  greatest,  are  mis- 
thought 

For  things  that  others  do;  and  when  we  fall. 
We  answer  others'  merits  in  our  name. 
Are  tlK'relore  to  be  pitied. 

Cois.  Cleopatra, 
Not  wl>!it  5^ou  have  reserv'd,  nor  whatacknowledg'd. 
Put  we  i'tlie  roll  of  conquest:  still  be  it  yours, 
Bestow  it  at  your  pleasure  ;  and  believe, 
Caesar's  no  merchant,  to  make  prize  with  you 
Of  things  that  merchants  sold.  Therefore  be  cheer'd  ; 
Make  not  your  thoughts  your  prisons :  no,  dear 
queen ; 

For  we  intend  so  to  dispose  you,  as 
Yourself  sliall  give  us  counsel.    Feed,  and  sleep  : 
Our  care  and  pity  is  so  much  upon  you, 
'I'hat  we  remain  your  friend:  And  so  adieu. 
Cleo.  My  master,  and  my  lord  ! 
des.  Not  so  :  Adieu. 

[Exeunt  Casar  and  his  train. 
Cleo.  He  words  me,  girls,  he  words  me,  that  I 
should  not 

Be  noble  to  myself:  but  hark  thee,  Charmian. 

( Whispers  Charmian.) 

Iras.  Finish,  good  lady  ;  the  bright  day  is  done. 
And  we  are  ibr  the  dark. 

Cleo.  Hie  thee  again: 

1  have  spoke  already,  and  it  is  provided; 
Go,  put  it  to  the  haste. 

Char.  Madam,  I  will. 

Re-enter  Dolabella. 
Dol.  Where  is  the  queen  ? 

Char.  Behold,  sir.    [Exit  Char. 

Cleo.  Dolabella? 

Vol.  Madam,  as  thereto  sworn  by  your  command. 
Which  my  love  makes  religion  to  obey, 
I  teli  ycu  this:  Caesar  through  Syria 
intend)  his  journey ;  and,  within  three  days. 


You  with  your  chil(5ren  will  he  send  btfore: 
Make  your  best  use  of  this:  I  have  perform'd 
Your  pleasure,  and  my  promise. 

Cleo.  Dolabella. 
I  shall  remain  your  debtor. 

Dol.  I  your  servant. 

Adieu,  good  queen ;  I  must  attend  on  Caesar. 

Cleo.  Farewell,  and  thanks.   [Exit  Dol]  Now 
Iras,  what  think'st  thou  ? 
Thou,  an  Egyptian  puppet,  shalt  be  shewn 
In  Rome,  as  well  as  1  :  mechanic  slaves. 
With  greasy  aprons,  rules,  and  hammers,  shall 
Uplift  us  to  the  view ;  in  their  thick  breaths. 
Rank  of  gross  diet,  shall  we  be  enclouded. 
And  forc'd  to  drink  their  vapour. 

Iras.  The  gods  forbid! 

Cleo.  Nay,  'tis  most  certain,  Iras :  Saucy  lictors 
Will  catch  at  us,  like  strumpets;  and  scald  rhymer* 
Ballad  us  out  o'tune  :  the  quick  comedians 
Extemporally  will  stage  us,  and  present 
Our  Alexandrian  revels;  Antony 
Shall  be  brought  drunken  forth,  and  I  shall  see 
Some  squeaking  Cleopatra  boy  my  greatness 
I'the  posture  of  a  whore. 

Iras.  O  the  good  gods ! 

Cleo.  Nay,  that  is  certain. 

Iras.  I'll  iiever  see  it ;  for,  I  am  sure,  my  nails 
Are  stronger  than  mine  eyes. 

Cleo.  Why,  that's  the  way 

To  fool  their  preparation,  and  to  conquer 
Their  most  absurd  intents. — Now,  Charmian  ? — 

Enter  Chahmian. 
Shew  me,  my  women,  like  a  queen : — Go  fetch 
My  best  attires  ; — I  am  again  for  Cydnus, 
To  meet  Mark  Antony  : — Sirrah,  Iras,  go. — 
Now,  noble  Charmian,  we'll  despatch  indeed: 
And,  when  thou  hast  done  this  chare,  I'll  give  the« 
leave 

To  play  till  dooms-day. — Bring  our  crown  and  all. 
Wherefore's  this  noise  ?  [Exit  Iras.  A  noise  withiiu 

Enter  one  of  the  Guard. 

Guard.  Here  is  a  rural  fellow, 

That  will  not  be  denied  your  highness'  presence; 
He  brings  you  figs. 

Cleo.  Let  him  come  in.   How  poor  an  instrument 

[Exit  Guard. 
May  do  a  noble  deed  !  he  brings  me  liberty. 
My  resolution's  plac'd,  and  I  have  nothing 
Of  woman  in  me :  Now  from  head  to  foot 
I  am  marble-constant:  now  the  fleeting  moon 
No  planet  is  of  mine. 

Re-enter  Guard,  with  a  Clown  bringing  a  basket. 

Guard.  This  is  the  man. 

Cleo,  Avoid,  and  leave  him.—       [Exit  Guard. 
Hast  thou  the  pretty  wonn  of  Nilus  there, 
That  kills  and  pains  not  ? 

Cloivn.  Truly  I  have  him  :  but  I  would  not  be  the 
party  that  should  desire  you  to  touch  him,  for  his 
biting  is  immortal ;  those,  that  do  die  of  it,  do  seldom 
or  never  recover. 

Cleo.  Remember'st  thou  any  that  have  died  on't? 

Clown.  Very  many,  men  and  women  too.  I  heard 
of  one  of  them  no  longer  than  yesterday:  a  very 
honest  woman,  but  something  given  to  lie  ;  as  a  wo- 
man should  not  do,  but  in  the  way  of  honesty :  ho\t 
she  died  of  the  biting  of  it,  what  pain  she  felt.— 
Truly,  she  makes  a  very  good  report  o'  the  worm: 
But  he  that  will  believe  all  that  they  say,  shall  never 
be  saved  by  half  that  they  do  :  But  this  is  most  fal< 
lible,  the  worm's  an  odd  worm. 

Cleo.  Get  thee  hence ;  farewell. 

Clown.  I  wish  you  all  joy  o'  the  worm. 

Cleo.  Farewell.    {Clown  sets  down  the  basket.) 

Clown.  You  must  think  this,  look  you,  that  the 
v^orm  will  do  his  kind. 

Cleo.  Ay,  ay;  farewell. 

Clown.  Look  you,  the  worm  is  not  to  be  trustei^ 


Scene  3. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


G29 


bit  in  the  keeping  of  wise  people  ;  for,  indeed,  there 
is  no  g-oodness  in  the  worm. 

Cleo.  Take  thou  no  care ;  it  shj;ll  be  heeded. 

Clown.  Very  good  :  eive  it  nothing,  1  pray  you,  for 
t  is  not  worth  the  feeding. 

Cleo.  Will  it  eat  me  ? 

Cloicn.  You  must  not  tliink  I  am  so  simple,  but  I 
know  the  devil  iiinisf  11' will  not  eat  a  W(>man : — I 
kn;)w,  that  a  woman  is  a  dish  for  tlie  gods,  if  tlie  devil 
dress  her  not.  But,  truly,  these  same  whoreson  devils 
do  the  i>"ds  sieat  harm  in  their  women  ;  for  in  every 
ten  that  they  nmke,  the  devils  mar  five. 

Cleo.  Well,  get  thee  goiire  ;  f \rewell. 

Clown.  Yes,  forsooth  ;  I  wish  you  joy  of  the  worm. 

{Exit. 

Re-enter  Iras,  with  a  robe,  crown,  §fc. 

Cleo.  Give  me  my  robe,  put  on  my  crown ;  I  have 
Immortal  longings  in  me  :  Now  no  more 
The  juice  of  Egypt's  grape  shall  moist  this  lip: — 
Yare,  yare,  good  Iras ;  quick. — Methinks,  I  hear 
Autouv  call  ;  I  see  iiim  rouse  hiuiself 
To  praise  my  noble  act;  I  hear  him  mock 
Hie  luck  of  CcEsar,  which  the  gods  give  men 
To  excuse  their  after  wrath  :  Husband,  I  come: 
Now  to  that  name  my  courage  prove  my  title ! 
I  am  fire,  and  air;  my  other  elements 
I  give  to  baser  life. — So, — have  you  done? 
Come  then,  and  take  the  last  warmth  of  my  lips. 
Farewell,  kind  Charnnan; — Iras,  long  farewell. 

{Kisses  them.    Iras  falls  and  dies.) 
Ha\e  I  the  aspick  in  my  lips?  Dost  fall? 
It  thou  and  nature  can  so  gently  part, 
The  stroke  of  death  is  as  a  lover's  pirtch, 
Which  hurts,  and  is  desir'd..    Dost  thou  lie  still  ? 
If  thus  thou  vanishest,  thou  tell'st  the  world 
It  is  not  worth  leave-taking.  [say, 

Char.  Dissolve,  thick  cloud,  and  rain  ;  that  I  may 
File  guds  themselves  do  weep! 

Cleo.  This  proves  me  base  : 

It  siie  first  meet  the  curled  Antony, 
lle"li  make  flemaad  of  her:  and  spend  that  kiss, 
Wliicl:  is  my  heaven  to  have.  Come,  mortal  wretch, 
[  To  the  asp,  which  she  applies  to  her  breast.) 
W\i\\  thy  sharp  teeth  this  knot  lutrinsicate 
Of  life  at  once  untie  :  poor  venomous  fool. 
Be  angry,  and  despafch.    O,  could'st  thou  speak  ! 
That  1  might  hear  thee  call  great  Caesar,  ass 
Unpolicied  ! 

Char.         O  eastern  star  I 

Cleo.  Peace,  peace  ! 

Dost  tliou  not  see  my  baby  at  my  breast, 
i  hat  sucks  the  nurse  asleep  ? 

CLcr.  O,  break!  O,  break! 

Cleo.  As  sweet  as  balm,  as  soft  as  air,  as  gentle, — 
O  Antony  ! — Nay,  I  will  take  thee  too: — 

{Applying  another  asp  to  her  arm.) 
What  .should  I  stay —    {Falls  on  a  bed  and  dies.) 

Char.  h\  this  wild  world  ? — So,  fare  tiiee  well  — 
Now  boast  thee,  death!  in  thy  possession  lies 
A  lass  unparatlel'd. — Downy  windows,  close ; 
And  golden  Piioebus  never  Be  beheld 
Of  eyes  again  so  royal!  Your  crown's  awry; 
f'll  m^^nd  it,  and  then  play. 

Enter  the  Guwd,  rufhing  in. 
I  Guard.  Where  ig  the  ^ueen  ? 


Char.  Speak  softly,  wake  her  not< 

1  Guard.  Caesar  bath  sent — 

Char.  Too  slow  a  messenger. 

{Applies  the  asp.) 
O,  come  ;  apace,  despatch  :  I  partly  leel  thee. 

1  Guard.  Approach,  ho  !  All's  not  well :  Caesar't 

beguil'd.  [call  him. 

2  Guard  There's  Dolabella  sent  from  Caesar; — 
1  Guard.  What  work  is  here  ? — Charniian,  is  thig 

well  done  ? 

Char.  It  is  well  done,  and  fitting  for  a  princess, 
Descended  of  so  many  royal  kings. 
Ah,  soldier!  '  iDiet.f 

Enter  Dolabella. 

Dol.  How  goes  it  here  ? 

•2  Guard.  All  dead. 

I^ol.  Caesar,  thy  thoughto 

Touch  their  eflfects  in  this  :  Thyself  art  coming 
To  see  perform'd  the  dreaded  act,  which  thou 
So  sough t'st  to  hinder. 

Within.  A  way  there,  way  for  Csesar 

Enter  C-esar  and  Attendants. 

Dol.  O,  sir,  you  are  too  sure  an  augurer; 
That  you  did  fear,  is  done. 

Cees.  Bravest  at  the  last: 

She  levell'd  at  our  purposes,  and,  being  royal, 
Took  her  own  way. — The  nmnner  of  their  deaths? 
I  do  not  see  them  bleed. 

Dol.  Who  was  last  with  them  ? 

1  Guard.  A  simple  countryman,  that  brought  her 
This  was  his  basket.  ,  [fig»; 

Cas.  Poison'd,  then. 

I  Guard.  O  Caesar, 

This  Charmian  lived  but  now  ;  she  stood,  and  spake 
I  found  her  trimming  up  the  diadem 
On  her  dead  mistress  ;  tremblingly  she  .stood. 
And  on  the  sudden  dropp'd. 

Cas.  O  noble  weakness  1— 

If  they  had  swallow'd  poison,  'twould  appear 
By  external  swelling:  but  she  looks  like  sleep. 
As  she  would  catch  another  Antony 
In  her  strong  toil  of  grace. 

Dol.  Here,  on  her  breast. 

There  is  a  vent  of  blood,  and  something  blown; 
The  like  is  on  her  arm.  [leavei 

1  Guard.  This  is  an  aspick's  trail:  and  these  fig 
Have  slime  upon  them,  such  as  the  aspick  leaves 
Upon  the  caves  of  Nile^ 

C<K«.  Most  probable. 

That  so  she  died;  for  her  physician  tells  me, 
She  hath  pursu'd  conclusions  infinite 
Of  easy  ways  to  die. — Take  up  her  bed; 
And  bear  her  women  from  the  monument: — 
She  shall  be  buried  by  her  Antony  : 
No  grave  upon  the  earth  shall  clip  in  it 
A  pair  so  famous.    High  events  as  these 
Strike  those  that  make  them  :  and  their  story  is 
No  less  in  pity,  than  his  glory,  which 
Brought  them  to  be  lamented.    Our  army  shall 
In  solemn  shew,  attend  this  funeral  ; 
And  then  to  Rome. — Come,  Dolabella,  8e« 
High  order  in  this  great  solemnity.  [Eteunt, 


CYMBELINE 


This  play  has  many  just  sentiments,  some  natural  dialogue,  and  some  pleasing  scenes;  but  they  are  obtained  at 
Ihz  espense  of  much  incongruity.  To  remark  the  folly  of  the  Hot  ion,  the  absurdity  of  the  conduct,  the  confusion  oi 
£!s®  ne.TCfs,  and  manners  of  difterent  times,  and  the  impossibility  of  the  events  in  any  system  of  life,  were  to  wast« 
criticism  on  unresisting  imbecility;  upon  faults,  too  evident  for  detection,  too  gross  for  aggravation.  JoAmon. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


fY  MBELINE,  King  of  Britain. 
CLOTEN,  Son  to  the  Queen  hy  a  former  Husband. 
LEONATUS  FOSTHUMUS,  a  Gentleman,  Husband  to 
Imogen. 

BELAllIUS,  a  banished  Lerd,  disguised  under  the  name 
of  Morgan. 

Sons  to  Cymbeline ,  disguised  under 
the  names  of  Polydore  and  Cadwal, 
.  supposed  Sons  to  Belarius. 
PHILARIO,  Friend  to  Posthumus,  ♦  Ttr,i;r,«^ 
lACaiMO,  Friend  to  Philario,      f  Italians. 
A  French  Gejitlemun,  Friend  to  Philario. 
CAIUS  LUCIUS,  General  of  the  Roman  Forces. 


GUIDERIUS, 
ARVlilAGUS, 


A  Romati  Captaitt. 
Two  British  Captains. 
PISANIO,  Serva?it  to  Posthumus. 
CORNELIUS,  a  Physician 

Two  Gentlemen.  ■ 
Tvw  Gaolers. 

QUEEN,  Wife  to  CymbeJine. 

IMOGEN,  JJaiighter  to  Cymbeline  by  a  former  Queex. 
HELEN,  Woman  to  Imogeit. 

Lords.  Ladies,  Roman  Senators,  Tribimes,  Apparitions, 
a  Soothsayer,  a  Dutch  Gentleman,  a  Spa7iish  Gentle^ 
man.  Musicians,  Officers,  Captains,  Soldiers,  Met 
sengers,  and  other  Attendants. 


ScENEj — Sometimes  in  Britain  ;  sometimes  in  Italy. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — Britain.    The  Garden  behind 
Cymheline's  Palace. 
Enter  two  Gentlemen. 

1  Gent.  You  do  not  meet  a  man,  but  frowns:  our 

bloods 

No  more  obey  the  heavens,  than  our  courtiers ; 
Still  seem,  as  dors  the  kiaig's. 

2  Gent.  But  what's  the  matter? 

1  Gint.  His  daughter,  and  the  heir  of  his  kingdom, 

whom 

-He  purpos'd  to  his  wife's  sole  son,  (a  widow, 

That  late  he  married,)  hath  referr'd  herself 

Unto  a  poor  but  worthy  gentleman:  she's  wedded; 

Her  husbatid  banish'd ;  slie  iniprison  d  :  all 

's  outward  sorrow;  though,  I  think,  the  king 

lie  touch'd  at  very  heart. 

2  Gent.  None  but  the  king? 

J  Gent.  He,  that  hath  lost  her,  too  :  so  is  the  queen, 
'J'hat  most  desir'd  tl)e  match  :  But  not  a  courtier, 
Although  they  wear  their  faces  to  the  bent 
Of  the  king's  looks,  hath  a  heart  tl'iat  is  not 
Glad  at  the  thing  they  scowl  at. 

2  Gent.  And  why  so? 

1  Getit.  He,  that  hath  miss'd  the  princess,  isa  thing 
Too  bad  for  bad  report:  and  he,  that  hath  her, 

(I  mean,  that  married  her, — alack,  good  man! — 
And  therefore  banish'd)  is  a  creature  such 
As,  to  seek  through  the  regions  of  the  earth 
For  one  his  like,  there  would  be  something  failing 
Jn  him  that  shoiild  compare.    I  do  not  think. 
So  fair  an  outward,  and  such  stuff  within. 
Endows  a  man  but  he. 

2  Gent.  Yon  speak  him  far. 

1  Gent.  I  do  extend  him,  sir,  within  himself: 
Crush  him  together,  rather  than  unfold 

His  measure  duly. 

2  Gbnt.  What's  his  name,  and  birth? 

1  Gctit,  I  cannot  delve  him  to  the  root :  His  father 
Was  call'd  Sicilius,  who  did  join  his  honour 
Against  the  Romans  with  Cassibelan; 
But  had  his  titles  by  Tenantius,  whom 
He  serv'd  with  glory  and  admir'd  success  ; 
So  gaiu'd  the  sur-addition  Leonatus  : 
And  had,  besides  this  gentleman  in  question. 
Two  other  sons,  who,  in  the  wars  o'tlie  time, 
Died  with  their  swords  in  hand  ;  for  which  their 
father, 

(Then  old  and  fond  of  issue,)  took  such  sorrow, 
Ttiat  he  quit  being  ;  and  his  gentle  la^y. 
Big  of  this  gentleman,  our  theme,  def  as'd 
As  he  was  born.    The  king,  he  takes  the  babfe 
To  \.\s  protection  ;  calls  him  Posthumus  ; 
Breeds  him,  and  makes  him  of  his  bed-chamber: 


Puts  him  to  all  the  learnings  that  his  time 
Could  nmke  him  the  receiver  of;  which  he  took. 
As  we  do  air,  fast  as  'twas  niinister'd  ;  and 
In  his  spring  became  a  harvest:  Liv'd  in  court, 
(Which  rare  it  is  to  do.)  most  prais'd,  most  lov'd: 
A  sample  to  the  youngest ;  to  the  more  mature, 
A  glass  that  feated  them  ;  and  to  the  graver, 
A  child  that  guided  dotards  :  to  his  mistress, 
For  whom  he  now  is  banish'd,. — lier  own  price 
Proclaims  how  she  esteeui'd  him  and  his  virtue; 
By  her  election  may  be  truly  read, 
VVhat  kind  ol  man  he  is. 

2  Gent.  I  honour  him 

Even  out  of  your  report.  But,  'pray  you,  tell  me. 
Is  she  sole  child  to  the  king? 

1  Gent.  His  only  child. 

He  had  two  sons,  (if  this  be  worth  your  hearing, 
I\lark  it,)  the  eldest  of  them  at  three  y^'ars  old, 
I'the  swathing  clothes  the  other,  from  their  nurser 
Were  stolen ;  and  to  this  hour,  no  guess  in  kno^ 
Wliich  way  they  went.  [iedg% 

2  Gent*  How  long  is  this  ago? 

1  Gent.  Some  twenty  years.  {vey'd! 

2  Gent.  That  a  king's  children  should  be  so  con- 
So  slackly  guarded!  and  the  search  so  slow, 
1'liat  could  nut  trace  them  ! 

1  Gent.  Howsoe'er  'tis  strange, 
Or  that  the  negligence  may  well  be  laugh'd  at. 
Yet  is  it  true,  sir. 

2  Getit.  I  do  well  believe  you.  [man, 
1  Gent.  We  must  forbear :  Here  comes  the  gentle- 

The  queen,  and  princess.  [Exeunt, 

Scene  \\,—  The  same. 

Enter  the  Queen,  Posthumus,  and  Imogen. 

Queen,  No,  be  assur'd  you  sliall  not  find  me 
daughter. 

After  the  slander  of  most  step-mothers, 

Evil-ey'd  unto  you :  you  are  my  prisoner,  but 

Your  gaoler  shall  deliver  you  the  keys 

That  lock  up  your  restraint.     For  you,  PosthumnSt 

So  sdou  as  I  can  win  the  olFended  king, 

I  will  be  known  your  advocate :  marry,  yet, 

The  fire  of  rage  is  in  him ;  and  'twere  good, 

You  lean'd  unto  his  sentence,  with  what  patience 

Your  wisdom  may  inform  you. 

Post.  Please  your  highnesi^ 

I  will  from  hence  to-day. 

Queen.  You  know  the  peril 

I'll  fetch  a  turn  about  the  garden,  pitying 
The  pangs  of  barr'd  aftections ;  though  tne  kine 
Hath  charg'd  you  should  not  speak  together.  [JSxit 

I  mo.  O. 
Dissembling  courtesy  !  How  fine  this  tyrant 


Scene  3. 

Can  tickle  where  she  wounds ! — My  clearest  hus- 
band, 

f  something  fear  tny  father's  wrath,  but  nothing, 
Always  reserv'd  my  holy  duty,)  what 
iiis  rage  can  do  o«  me :  You  must  be  gone  ; 
And  I  shall  iiere  abii'e  the  hourly  shot 
Of  angry  eyes;  not  comforted  to  live. 
But  there  is  this  jewel  in  the  world, 
Tliat  I  may  see  again. 

Post.  My  queen  !  my  mistress  1 
O,  lady,  weep  no  more  ;  lest  I  give  cause 
I'o  be  sus|)ected  of  nrore  tenderness 
Than  doth  become  a  ni^in  !  I  will  remain 
The  loyal'st  husband  that  did  e'er  plight  troth. 
My  residence  in  Kome  at  one  Philario's  ; 
Who  to  my  father  was  a  friend,  to  me 
Known  but  by  letter :  thither  write,  my  queen. 
And  with  mine  eyes  I'll  drink  the  words  you  send, 
Though  ink  be  made  of  gall. 

Re-enter  Queen. 
Qmm.  Be  brief,  I  pray  you  : 

If  the  knig  come,  I  shall  incur  I  know  not 
How  mucii  of  his  dis^^leasure  :  Yet  1  11  move  him 

[Aside.) 

To  walk  this  way  :  i  never  do  him  wrong, 
But  he  does  buy  my  iujuiies,  to  be  friends; 
Pays  dt  ar  for  my  oUences.  [Exit, 

Post.  Should  we  be  taking  leave 

As  long  a  term  as  yet  we  have  to  live. 
The  loathnfess  to  depart  would  grow:  Adieu  ! 

Imo.  Nay,  stay  a  little  : 
Were  you  but  riding  forth  to  air  yourself, 
Such  party  were  too  petty.    Look  here,  love; 
This  diamond  was  u\y  mothei's".  take  it,  heart; 
But  keep  it  till  you  woo  another  wife, 
When  Imogen  is  dead. 

Post.  How  !  how  !  another  ? — 
^'ou  gentle  gods,  give  me  but  this  I  have, 
And  sear  up  niy  entbracements  froni  a  next 
With  bonds  of  death  ! — Remain  thou  here, 

[Putting  on  the  ring.) 
Whih;  sense  can  keep  it  on  !  And  sweetest,  fairest. 
As  J  my  poor  self  did  exchange  for  you, 
'J\)  jour  so  infinite  loss  ;  so,  in  our  trifles 
I  still  win  of  you  :  For  my  sake,  wear  this  ; 
It  is 'a  manacle  of  lo\e;  l"ll  place  it 
Upon  this  fairest  jprisoner. 

[Putting  a  bracelet  on  her  arm.) 

Imo.  O,  the  gods  ! 

When  shall  we  see  again? 

Enter  Cymbeline  and  Lords. 

Post.  Alack,  the  king! 

Cpn.  Thou  basest  thing,  avoid !  hence  from  my 
sight ! 

If,  after  this  command,  thou  fraught  the  court, 
VVith  thy  un worthiness,  thou  diest:  Away  ! 
Thou  art  poison  to  my  blood. 

Post.  The  gods  protect  you  ! 

And  bless  the  good  remainders  of  the  court ! 
I  am  gone.  ^       _  [Exit. 

Imv.         There  cannot  be  a  pinch  in  death 
More  sharp  than  this  is. 

CyTTu  O  disloyal  thing, 

That  should'st  repair  my  youth  ;  thou  heapest 
A  year's  age  on  me  ! 

Ifno.  I  beseech  you,  sir, 

Harm  not  yourself  witli  your  vexation  ;  I 
Am  senseless  of  your  wrath  ;  a  touch  more  rare 
■Subdues  all  pangs,  all  iears. 

fCym.  Past  grace?  obedience? 

Imo.  Past  hope,  and  in  despair;  that  way,  past 
grace.  (queen! 
Cym.  Tiiiit  might'st  have  had  the  sole  son  of  my 
hno.  O  biess'd,  that  I  might  not !  I  chose  an  eagle, 
And  cid  avoid  a  puttoik. 

Cym.  Thou  took'st  a  beggar  ;  wonld'st  have  made 
A  srat  for  baseuesa.  [my  throne 

imo.  No;  I  rather  added 

A  iustre  to  it. 


631 

Cym.  O  thou  vile  oue  . 

Imo.  Sir, 
It  is  your  fault  that  I  have  lov'd  Posthumasj 
You  bred  him  as  my  play-fellow;  and  he  is 
A  man,  worth  any  woman ;  overbuys  me 
Almost  the  sum  he  pays. 

Cym.  What!~art  thou  mad  ? 

Imo.  Almost,  sir:  Heaven  restore  me  ! — 'WooU 
I  were 

A  neat-herd's  daughter!  and  my  Leonatus 
Our  neighbour  shepherd's  son  ! 

Re-enter  Queen. 

Cym.  Thou  foolish  thiijig!  — 

Thev  were  again  together  :  you  have  done 

[TotheQuetn, 
Not  after  our  command.    Away  with  her. 
And  pen  her  up. 

Queen.  'Beseech  your  patience  : — Peace, 
Dear  lady  daughter,  peace  ; — Sweet  sovereign, 
Leave  us  to  ourselves;  and  make  yourself  som 
Out  of  your  best  advice.  [comfort 

Cym.  Nay,  let  her  languish 

A  drop  of  blood  a-day  ;  and,  being  aged, 
Die  of  this  folly!  [Exit. 

Enter  PiSANio. 

Queen.  Fye  ! — you  must  give  way . 

Here  is  your  servant. — How  now,  sir?  What  news  ? 

Pis.  My  lord,  your  son,  drew  on  my  master. 

Queen.  fla; 
No  harm,  I  trust,  is  done  ? 

Pis.  There  might  have  been. 

But  that  ray  master  rather  play'd  than  fought. 
And  had  no  help  of  anger:  they  were  parted 
By  gentlemen  at  hand. 

Queen  T  am  very  glad  on't.  [pait. — 

Imo.  Your  son'»  my  father's  friend;  he  takes  liis 
To  draw  upon  an  exile  ! — O  brave  sir  ! — 
I  would  they  were  in  Afric  both  together; 
Myself  by  with  a  needle,  that  I  might  prick 
The  ^oer  back. — Why  came  you  from  your  mast'  * 

Pis.  On  his  command  :  He  would  not  snltf  r  nn 
To  bring  him  to  the  haven  :  lel't  these  notes 
Of  what  commands  I  should  be  subject  to. 
When  it  pleas'd  you  to  employ  me. 

Queen.  This  hath  oeeu 

Your  faithful  servant;  I  dare  lay  mine  horn  ur, 
He  will  remain  so. 

Pis.  I  humbly  thank  your  hig'iiiiehS. 

Queen.  Pray,  walk  a  while. 

Imo.  About  some  half  iionr  hence, 

I  pray  you,  speak  with  me  :  you  shall,  at  h- -  st. 
Go  see  my  lord  aboard  :  for  this  time,  leave  lur'. 

Scene  111.— J  public  Place. 
Enter  Cloten  and  two  Lords. 

1  Lord.  Sir,  I  would  advise  you  to  shift  a  shirt; 
the  violence  of  action  hath  made  you  leek  as  a  sa- 
crifice :  Where  air  comes  out,  air  comes  in  :  there's 
none  abroad  so  wholesome  as  that  you  \  ent. 

Clo.  If  my  shirt  were  bloody,  then  to  shift  it-* 
Have  I  hurt  him  ? 

2  Lord.  No,  faith  ;  not  so  much  as  his  patience. 

( Aside. 

1  Lord.  Hurt  him?  his  body's  a  passable  carcass 
if  he  be  not  hurt :  it  is  a  thoroughfare  for  steel,  if  s 
be  not  hurt, 

2  Lord.  His  steel  was  in  ibbt ;  it  went  o'the 
backside  the  town.  [Aside.) 

Clo.  The  vilain  would  not  stand  me. 
2  Lord,  No;  but  he  fled  forward  still,  tovyard 
your  face.  [Aside.) 

1  Lord.  Stand  you!  You  have  land  enough 
your  own  :  but  he  added  to  your  having ;  gave  you 
some  ground. 

2  Lord.  As  many  inches  as  you  have  oceans; 
Puppies!  [Asirle] 

Clo.  I  would,  they  had  not  come  betwceii  ax 


CYMBELINE. 


CYMBELTNE.  Act  1 


682 

2  Lord.  So  would  T,  tni  yon  had  measured  how  i 
lonff  a  fool  von  were  upon  the  ground.  [Aside.) 

Clo.  Ac\  that  she  should  love  this  fellow,  and 
refuse  me  .' 

2  Lord.  If  it  be  a  sin  to  make  a  true  election,  she 
js  danined.  {Aside.) 

1  Lord.  Sir,  as  1  told  you  always,  her  beauty  and 
her  brain  go  not  together :  She's  a  good  sign,  but 
\  have  st-en  smail  rellection  of  her  wit. 

2  Lord.  She  shiiv-s  nut  upon  fools,  lest  the  re- 
Secliiin  should  hurt  iier.  [Aside.) 

Clo.  Conie,  I'!!  to  my  chamber  :  'Would  there 
bid  b^eri  sotne  hin  t  done  ! 

2  Lord.  I  wish  not  so  ;  unless  it  had  been  the  fall 
cf  an  ass,  which  is  no  great  hurt.  [Aside.) 

Clo.  YouMl  go  with  us  ? 

1  Lord.  I'll  attend  your  lordship. 
Clo.  Nay,  come,  let's  go  together. 

2  Lord.  Well,  my.  lord.  [Exeunt 

Scene  IV. — A  Room  in  Cymbeline's  Palace. 

Enter  Imogen  and  Pisanio. 
Imo.  I  would  thou  grew'st  unto  the  shores  o'the 
haven, 

And  question'dst  every  sail :  If  he  should  write. 
And  I  not  have  it,  'twere  a  paper  lost 
As  offer'd  mercy  is.    What  was  the  last 
That  he  spake  to  thee  ? 

Pis,  'Twas,  His  queen,  his  queen  ! 

Imo.  Then  wav'd  his  handkerchief? 

Pis.  And  kiss'd  it,  madam. 

Imo.  Senseless  linen!  happier  therein  than  I ! — 
And  that  was  all  ? 

Pis,  No,  madam ;  for  so  long 

As  he  could  make  me  with  this  eye  or  ear 
Distinguish  him  from  others,  he  did  keep 
The  deck,  with  glove,  or  hat,  or  handkerchief. 
Still  waving,  as  the  fits  and  stirs  of  his  mind 
Could  best  express  how  slow  his  soul  sail'd  on, 
How  swift  his  ship. 

Imo,  Thou  sbould'st  have  made  liim 

As  little  as  a  crow,  or  less,  ere  left 
To  after-eye  him. 

Pis,  Madam,  so  I  did. 

Imo,  I  would  have  broke  mine  eye-strings ; 
crack'd  them,  but 
To  look  upon  him  ;  till  the  diminution 
Of  space  had  pointed  him  sharp  as  tny  needle  : 
Nay,  foUow'd  him,  till  he  had  melted  from 
The  smallness  of  a  gnat  to  air  ;  and  then  [nio, 
Have  turn'd  mine  eye^  and  wept. — But,  good  Fisa- 
When  shall  we  hear  from  him  ? 

Pis.  Be  assur'd,  madam, 

With  his  next  vantage. 

Imo.  I  did  not  take  my  leave  of  him,  but  had 
Most  pretty  things  to  say :  ere  I  could  tell  him, 
How  1  would  think  on  him,  at  certain  hours. 
Such  thoughts,  and  such ;  or  I  could  make  him  swear. 
The  shes  of  Italy  should  not  betray 
Mine  interest,  and  his  honour;  or  have  charg'd  him 
At  the  sixth  hour  of  morn,  at  noon,  at  midnight, 
To  encounter  me  with  orisons,  for  then 
I  am  in  heaven  for  him  ;  or  ere  I  could 
Give  him  that  parting  kiss,  which  I  had  set 
Betwixt  two  charming  words,  comes  in  my  father, 
And,  like  the  tyrannous  breathing  of  the  north. 
Shakes  all  our  buds  from  growing. 

Enter  a  Lady. 

Lady.  The  queen,  madam, 

Desires  your  highness'  company.  [patch'd. — 

hno.  Those  things  I  bid  you  do,  get  them  des- 
I  will  attend  the  queen. 

Pis.  Madam,  I  shall.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — Rome.    An  Apartment  in  Philario's 
House. 

Enter  Phila.rio.  Iachimo,  a  Frenchman,  a  Dutch- 
maw,  and  a  Spaniard, 
lach.  Believe  it.  sic:  I  have  .s^en  him  'a  Britain : 


he  was  then  of  a  crescent  note*  expected  to  proy« 
so  worthy,  as  since  he  hath  been  allowed  the  name 
of:  but  1  could  then  have  looked  on  him  without 
the  help  of  admiration  :  though  the  catalogue  of  his 
endowments  had  been  tabled  by  his  side,  and  1  tj 
peruse  him  by  items. 

Phi.  You  speak  of  him,  when  he  was  less  fur- 
nished, than  now  he  is,  with  that  which  makes  him 
both  without  and  within. 

French.  I  have  seen  him  in  France  :  we  had  very 
many  there,  could  behold  the  sun  with  as  firm  eyes 
as  he. 

lach.  This  matter  of  marrying  his  king's  daugh- 
ter, (wherein  he  must  be  weighed  rather  by  her 
value,  than  his  own,)  words  him,  I  doubt  not,  a 
great  deal  from  the  matter. 

French.  And  then  his  banishment : — 

lach.  Ay,  and  the  approbation  of  those,  that 
weep  this  lamentable  divorce,  under  her  colours, 
are  wonderfully  to  extend  him  ;  be  it  but  to  fortify 
her  judgment,  which  else  an  easy  battery,  might  lay 
flat,  for  taking  a  beggar  without  more  qualitv.  But 
how  comes  it,  he  is  to  sojourn  with  you:  How 
creeps  acquaintance  ? 

Phi.  His  father  and  I  were  soldiers  together;  to 
whom  I  have  been  often  bound  for  no  less  than  my 
life  :— 

Enter  Posthumus. 

Here  comes  the  Briton  :  Let  him  be  .so  entertained 
amongst  you,  as  suits,  with  gentlemen  of  your  know- 
ing, to  a  stranger  of  his  quality. — I  beseech  you  all, 
be  better  known  to  this  gentlen)an;  whom  1  com- 
mend to  you,  as  a  noble  friend  of  mine  :  How  wor- 
thy he  is,  I  will  leave  to  appear  hereafter,  rather 
than  story  him  in  his  own  hearing. 

French.  Sir,  we  have  known  together  in  Orleans. 

Post.  Since  when  I  have  been  debtor  to  you  ibr 
courtesies,  which  I  will  be  ever  to  pay,  and  yet  pay 
still. 

French.  Sir,  you  o'er- rate  my  poor  kindness  :  I 
was  glad  I  did  atone  my  countryman  and  you  ;  it 
had  been  pity,  you  should  have  been  put  together 
with  so  mortal  a  purpose,  as  then  each  bore,  upon 
importance  of  so  slight  and  trivial  a  nature. 

Post.  By  your  pardon,  sir,  I  was  then  a  young 
traveller;  rather  shunned  to  go  even  with  what  I 
heard,  than  in  my  every  action  to  be  gnirh  d  by 
other's  experiences  :  but,  upon  my  mended  judgment, 
(if  I  offend  not  to  say  it  is  mended,)  my  quarrel  was 
not  altogether  slight. 

French.  'Faith,  yes,  to  be  put  to  the  arbitrement 
of  swords;  and  by  such  two,  that  would,  by  all 
likelihood,  have  confounded  one  the  other,  or  nave 
fallen  both.  [difference  ? 

lach.  Can  we,  with  manners,  ask  what  was  the 

French.  Safely,  1  think ;  'twas  a  contention  in 
public,  which  may,  without  contradiction,  suffer 
the  report.  It  was  much  like  an  argument  that  fell 
out  last  night,  where  each  of  us  fell  in  praisp  of  our 
country  mistresses :  This  gentleman  at  that  time 
vouching,  (and  upon  warrant  of  bloody  affirmation,) 
his  to  be  more  fair,  virtuous,  wise,  chaste,  constant- 
qualified,  and  less  attemptible,  than  any  the  rarest 
of  our  ladies  in  France. 

lach.  That  lady  is  not  now  living;  or  this  geiv- 
tieinan's  opinion,  by  this  worn  out. 

Post.  She  holds  her  virtue  still,  and  I  my  mind. 

lach.  You  must  not  so  far  prefer  her  'fore  ours  of 
Italy. 

Post.  Being  so  far  jirovoked  as  I  was  in  France, 
I  would  abate  her  nothing  ;  though  I  profess  mysell 
her  adorer,  not  her  friend. 

lach.  As  fair,  and  as  good,  (a  kind  of  hand  in- 
hand  comparison,)  had  been  something  too  fair,  and 
too  good  ibr  any  lady  in  Britany.  If  she  went  be- 
fore others  I  hav^  seen,  as  that  diamond  of  yourB 
out-lustt;^s  many  .  have  beheld,  1  coidd  not  but  be., 
lieve  she  excelled  many  :  but  I  have  not  seen  tbt 
most  precious  diamond  that  is,  nor  you  the  lady. 


Scene  6. 


CYMBELINE. 


633 


Posi.  I  praised  lier  as  I  rated  her  :  so  do  I  my 
stone. 

Jack.  What  do  you  esteem  it  at  ? 

Post.  More  than  the  world  enjoys. 

lack.  Either  your  unparagoned  mistress  is  dead, 
or  she's  outpriaed  by  a  trifle. 

Post.  You  are  mistaken  :  the  one  may  be  sold, 
or  given  :  if  there  were  wealth  enough  for  the  pur- 
chase, or  merit  for  the  gift ;  the  other  is  not  a  thing 
for  sale,  and  only  the  gift  of  the  gods. 

lach.  VV  hich  the  gods  have  given  you  ? 

Post.  Which,  by  their  graces,  I  will  keep. 

lacL  You  may  wear  her  in  title  yours  :  but,  you 
know,  strange  fowl  light  upon  neighbouring  ponds. 
Your  ring  may  be  stolen  too  :  so,  of  your  brace  of 
nnprizeable  estimations,  the  one  is  but  frail,  and 
the  other  casual ;  a  cunning  thief,  or  a  that-way- 
accomplislied  courtier,  would  hazard  the  winning 
both  of  first  and  last. 

Post.  Y'our  Italy  contains  none  so  accomplished 
a  courtier,  to  convince  the  honour  of  my  mistress; 
if,  in  the  nolding  or  loss  of  that,  you  term  her  frail. 
[  do  nothing  doubt,  you  have  store  of  thieves;  not- 
withstanding, 1  fear  not  my  ring. 

Phi.  Let  us  leave  here,  gentlemen. 

Post.  Sir,  with  all  my  lieart.  This  worthy  signior, 
I  thank  hiui,  makes  no  stranger  of  me:  we  are  fa- 
miliar at  6rst. 

Jack.  With  five  times  so  much  conversation,  I 
should  get  ground  of  your  fair  mistress  ;  make  her 
go  back,  e\en  to  the  yielding;  had  I  admittance, 
and  opportunity  to  fiiend. 

Post.  No.  no. 

lacA.  I  aaie,  thereon,  pawn  the  moiety  of  my 
estate  to  your  ring ;  which,  in  my  opinion,  o'erva- 
lues  it  SOUK  thing  :  But  I  make  my  wager  rather 
against  your  confidence,  than  her  reputation  :  and, 
to  bar  your  oti'ence  herein  too,  I  durst  attempt  it 
against  any  lady  in  the  world. 

Post.  You  are  a  great  deal  abused  in  too  bold  a 
persuasion  ;  and  I  doubt  not  you  sustain  what  you're 
wortljy  of,  bv  your  attempt, 

lac/u  Wliat's  that? 

Post.  A  repulse  :  Though  your  attempt,  as  you 
call  it,  dost^rxes  more;  a  punishment  too. 

Phi.  Gentlemen,  enough  of  this ;  it  came  in  too 
suddenly ;  let  it  die  as  it  was  born,  and,  I  pray  you, 
be  better  acquainted. 

lack.  'Would  I  had  put  my  estate,  and  my  neigh- 
bour's, on  the  approbation  ol'  what  I  have  spoke. 

Post.  What  lady  would  you  choose  to  assail  ? 

lack.  Yours ;  whom  in  constancy,  you  think, 
stands  so  sale.  I  will  lay  you  ten  thousand  ducats 
to  your  ring,  that,  commend  me  to  the  court  where 
your  lady  is,  with  no  more  advantage  than  the  op- 
portunity of  a  second  conference,  and  I  will  bring 
from  tlience  that  holQOur  of  hers,  which  you  imagine 
so  reserved. 

Post.  I  will  wage  against  your  gold,  gold  to  it : 
my  rinu  I  hold  as  dear  as  my  finger;  'tis  part  of  it. 

lach.  You  are  a  friend,  and  therein  the  wiser.  If 
you  buy  ladies'  flesh  at  a  million  a  dram,  you  can- 
not preserve  it  fiom  tainting  :  But,  I  see,  you  have 
some  religion  in  you,  that  you  fear. 

Post,  'fhis  is  but  a, custom  in  your  tongue;  you 
bear  a  graver  pnipose,  I  hope.  * 

lach.  I  am  tj,e  master  of  my  speeches ;  and 
would  undergo  what's  spoken,  I  swear. 

Post.  Will  you? — I  shall  but  lend  my  diamond 
till  your  return  : — Let  there  be  covenants  drawn 
between  us  :  My  mistress  exceeds  in  goodness  the 
hugeness  of  yonr  unworthy  thinking  :  1  dare  you  to 
this  match  :  here'*  my  rmg. 

Pki.  I  will  have  it  no  lay. 

lack.  By  the  gods  it  is  one  :  —  If  I  bring  j'ou  no 
sufficient  testimony,  that  I  have  enjoyed  thf  dearest 
bodily  p^rt  of  your  mistress,  my  ten  thousand  ducats 
are  yours  ;  so  is  your  djamond  too.  li  I  ( ome  otF, 
and  leave  her  in  such  honour  as  you  have  trust  m, 
■i»e  your  jewel,  this  your  jewel,  and  my  gold  are 


yonrs  :  —  provided,  I  have  your  commendatitkn,  foi 
my  more  free  entertainment. 

Post.  I  embrace  these  conditions ;  let  us  havt 
articles  betwixt  us  : — only,  thus  far  you  shall  an- 
swer. If  you  make  your  voyage  upon  her,  and  give 
me  directly  to  understand  you  have  prevail'd,  I  am 
no  further  your  enemy,  she  is  not  worth  our  debate  : 
if  she  remain  unseduced,  (you  not  making  it  appear 
otherwise,)  for  your  ill  opinion,  a. id  the  assault  you 
have  made  to  her  chastity,  you  shall  answer  mo 
with  your  sword. 

lach.  Your  hand  ;  a  covenant  :  we  will  have 
these  things  set  down  by  lawful  counsel,  and  straight 
away  for  Britain  ;  lest  the  bargain  should  catch  cold, 
and  starve  :  I  will  fetch  my  gold,  and  have  our  two 
wag:ers  recorded. 

Post.  Agreed.  [Exeunt  Post  humus  and  lac  himo. 

French.  Will  this  hold,  think  you  ? 

Phi.  Signior  lachimo  will  not  from  it.  Pray,  let 
us  follow  'em.  [Exeunt* 

Scene  VI. — Britain.    A  Room  in  Ct^mbeline't 
Palace. 

Enter  Queen,  Ladies,  and  Cornelius. 

Queen.  Whiles  yet  the  dew's  on  ground,  gather 
those  flowers :  , 
Make  haste  ;  W^ho  has  the  note  of  them  ? 

1  Lady.  I,  madam. 

Queen.  Despatch. —  [Exeunt  Ladies. 

Now,  master  doctor;  have  you  brouglit  those  drugs  ? 

Cor.  Pleaseth  your  highness,  ay :  here  they  are, 
madam  :  {Presenting  a  small  box.] 

But  I  beseech  your  grace,  (without  offence  ; 
My  conscience  bids  me  ask ;)  wherefore  you  have 
Commanded  of  me  these  most  poisonous  compounds. 
Which  are  the  movers  of  a  languishing  death ; 
But,  though  slow,  deadly  ? 

Queen.  I  do  wonder,  doctor, 

Thou  ask'st  me  such  a  question  :  Have  I  not  been 
Thy  pupil  long?  Hast  thou  not  learn'd  me  how 
To  make  perfumes?  distil?  preserve?  yea,  so. 
That  our  great  king  himself  doth  woo  me  oft 
For  my  confections?  Having  thus  far  proceeded, 
(Unless  thou  think'st  me  devilish,)  is't  not  meet, 
That  I  did  amplify  my  judgment  in 
Other  conclusions  ?  1  will  try  the  forces 
Of  these  thy  compounds  on  such  creatures  as 
We  count  not  worth  the  hanginj^,  (but  none  human,) 
To  try  tlie  vigour  of  them,  and  apply 
AUayments  to  their  act;  and  by  them  gather 
Their  several  virtues,  and  effects. 

Cor.  _  Your  highness 

Shall  from  this  practice  but  make  hard  your  heart: 
Besides,  the  seeing  these  effects  will  be 
Both  noisome  and  infectious. 

Queen.  O,  content  thee.— 

Enter  Pisanio. 
Here  comes  a  flattering  rascal ;  upon  him  [Asidl.) 
Will  I  first  work:  he's  for  his  master. 
And  enemy  to  my  son,— How  now,  Pisanio? — 
Doctor,  your  service  for  this  time  is  ended ; 
Take  your  own  way. 

Cor.  I  do  suspect  you,  madam ; 

But  you  shall  do  no  harm.  {Aside.'\ 

Queen.  Hark  thee,  a  word, — (To  Pisanio.) 

Cor.  (Aside.)  I  do  not  like  her.    She  doth  think 
she  has 

Strange  lingering  poisons  :  I  do  know  her  spirit. 

And  will  not  trust  one  of  her  malice  with 

A  drug  of  such  damn'd  nature  :  Those,  she  has, 

Will  .stupity  and  dull  the  sense  awhile :  [dojSi 

Which  first,  perchance,  she  ll  prove  on  cats,  JUftd 

Then  afterward  up  higher;  but  there  is 

No  danger  in  what  shew  of  death  it  makes, 

More  than  the  locking  up  the  spirits  a  time. 

To  be  more  fresh,  reviving.    She  is  fool'd 

With  a  most  false  eftect ;  and  I  the  truer. 

So  to  be  false  with  her. 

Queen.  No  further  {service,  doctor 


684 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  t 


Until  I  sen<  for  thee. 

Cor.  I  humbly  take  my  leave.  [Exii. 

Queen.  \Vee\)s  she  still,  say'st  thou  ?  Dost  thou 
think,  in  time 
She  will  not  quench  ;  and  let  instructions  enttr 
Wheie  folly  now  possesses?  Do  thou  work; 
When  thou  shalt  bring  me  word,  she  loves  my  son, 
I'll  tell  thee,  on  the  instant,  thou  art  then 
As  great  as  is  thy  master;  greater  ;  for 
flis  fortiities  all  lie  speechless,  and  his  name 
Is  at  last  gasp  :  Return  he  cannot,  nor 
Continue  where  he  is:  to  shift  his  being, 
Is  to  exchange  one  misery  with  another; 
And  every  day  that  comes,  comes  to  decay 
A  day's  work  in  him:  What  shalt  thou  expect, 
To  be  depender  on  a  thing  that  leans  ? 
Who  cannot  be  new  built;  nor  has  no  friends, 

[The  Queen  drops  a  box  ;  Pisanio  takes  it  up.) 
So  much  as  but  to  prop  him  ? — Thou  tak'st  up 

hoii  know'st  not  what;  but  take  it  for  thy  labour: 
It  is  a  thing  I  made,  which  hath  the  king 
Five  times  redeem'd  from  death:  I  do  not  know 
What  is  more  cordial  : — Nay,  I  pr'ythee,  take  it; 
It  is  an  earnest  of  a  farther  good 
That  1  mean  to  thee.    Tell  thy  mistress  how 
The  case  stands  with  her;  do't,  as  from  thyself. 
Think  what  a  chance  thou  changest  on  ;  but  think 
Thou  hast  thy  mistress  still ;  to  boot,  my  son, 
Who  shall  take.notice  of  thee:  I'll  move  the  king 
To  any  shape  of  thy  preferment,  such 
As  thou'lt  desire  ;  and  then  myself,  I  chiefly. 
That  set  thee  on  to  this  desert,  am  bound 
To  load  thy  merit  richly.    Call  my  women : 
Think  on  my  words.  {Exit  Pisa.) — A  sly  and  con- 
stant knave ; 
Not  to  be  shak'd  :  the  agent  for  his  master; 
And  the  remembrancer  of  her,  to  hold 
The  hand  fast  to  her  lord. — I  have  given  him  that, 
Which,  ii"  he  take,  shall  quite  unpeople  her 
0/  liegers  for  her  sweet;  and  which  she,  after. 
Except  she  bend  her  humour,  shall  be  assur'd 

Re-enter  Pisanio  and  Ladies. 
To  taste  of  too. — So,  so; — well  done,  well  done  : 
The  violets,  cowslips,  and  the  primroses, 
Bear  to  my  closet: — Fare  thee  well,  Pisanio; 
Think  on  my  words.    [Exeunt  Queen  and  Ladies. 

Pis.  And  shall  do: 

But  when  to  my  good  lord  I  prove  imtrue, 
I'll  choke  myself :  there's  all  I'll  do  for  you.  [Exit. 

Scene  Vll.—  Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Imogen. 
Imo.  A  father  cruel,  and  a  step-dame  false; 
A  foolish  suitor  to  a  wedded  lady. 
That  hath  her  husband  banish  d  ; — O,  that  husband  ! 
My  supreme  crown  of  grief !  and  those  repeated 
Vexations  of  it !  Had  I  been  thief-stolen, 
As  my  two  brothers,  happy!  but  most  miserable 
Is  the  desire  that's  glorious :  Blessed  be  those, 
How  mean  soe'er,  that  have  their  honest  wills, 
Which  seasons  comfort,- — Who  may  this  be  ?  Fye  ! 

Enter  Pisanio  and  Iachimo. 

Pis.  Madam,  a  noble  gentleman  of  Rome; 
Comes  from  my  lord  with  letters. 

lack.  Change  you,  madam  ? 

The  worthy  Leonatus  is  in  safety. 
And  greets  your  highness  dearly. 

{Presents  a  letter.) 

Imo.  Thanks,  good  sir : 

You  are  kindly  welcome. 

lach.  Ail  of  her,  that  is  out  of  door,  most  rich  ! 

{Aside.) 

If  she  be  furnish'd  with  a  mind  so  rare, 

She  is  alone  the  Arabian  bird  ;  and  I 

Have  lost  the  wager.    Boldne.ss  be  my  friend  ! 

Arm  me,  audacity,  from  head  to  foot! 

Or.  like  the  Parthian,  I  shall  flying  fight ; 

nather,  directly  fly. 


Imo.  {Reads. )  He  is  one  of  the  nobles  I  nofe^  to 
whose  kindnesses  I  am  most  infinitely  tied.  Refiect 
upon  him  accordingly/^  as  you  value  your  truest 

Lbonatus, 

So  far  I  read  aloud  : 

But  e\  en  the  very  middle  of  my  heart 

Is  warm'd  by  the  rest,  and  takes  it  thankfullj.—* 

Vou  are  as  vvelcon»e,  worthy  sir,  as  I 

Have  words  to  bid  you :  and  shall  find  it  so 

In  all  that  1  can  do. 

Inch.  Thanks,  fairest  lady, — 

What!  are  men  mad?  Hath  nature  given  them  eye« 
To  see  this  vaulted  arch,  and  the  rich  crop 
Of  sea  and  land,  which  can  distinguish  'tvvixt 
The  fiery  orbs  above,  and  the  twinn'd  stones 
Upon  the  number'd  beach  ?  and  can  we  not 
Partition  make  with  spectacles  so  precious 
'  Twixt  fair  and  foul  ? 

Lno.  What  makes  your  admiration  ? 

lach.  It  cannot  be  i'the  eye  ;  for  apes  and  mon- 
keys, 

'Twixt  two  such  shes,  would  ciiatter  this  was,  and 
Contemn  with  mows  the  other :  Nor  i'the  judgment; 
For  idiots,  in  this  case  of  favour,  would 
Be  wisely  definite  !  Nor  i'the  appetite  ; 
Sluttery,  to  such  neat  excellence  oppos'd, 
Should  make  desire  vomit  emptiness. 
Not  so  allur  d  to  feed. 

Imo.  What  is  the  matter,  trow  ? 

lach.  The  cloyed  will, 

(That  satiate  yet  unsatisfied  desire. 
That  tub  both  fill'd  and  running,)  ravening  first 
I'he  lamb,  longs  alter  for  the  garbage. 

Imo.  What,  dear  sir, 

Thus  raps  you  ?  Are  you  well  ? 

lach.  Thanks,   madam ;  well : — 'Beseech  you, 
sir,  desire  {To  Pisanio.) 

My  man's  abode,  where  I  did  leave  him  :  he 
Is  strange  and  peevish. 

Pis.  I  was  going,  sir, 

To  give  him  welcome.  [Exit  Pisanio. 

Imo.  Continues  well  my  lord?  His  lualth,  be- 
seech you? 

lach.  VVell,  madam. 

Imo.  Is  he  dispos'd  to  mirth?  I  hope,  -.e  is. 

lach.  Exceeding  pleasant ;  none  a  stranger  there 
So  merry  and  so  gamesome :  he  is  call'd 
The  Briton  reveller. 

Imo.  Wlien  he  was  here, 

He  did  incline  to  sadness;  and  oft-times 
Not  knowing  why. 

lach.  I  never  saw  him  sad. 

There  is  a  Frenchman  his  companion,  one. 
An  eminent  monsieur,  that,  it  seems,  much  loves 
A  Gallian  girl  at  home  :  he  furnaces 
The  thick  sighs  from  him ;  whiles  the  jolly  Briloo 
(Your  lord,  I   mean,)  laughs  from's  free  lungs, 
cries,  01 

Can  my  sides  hold,  to  think,  that  man., — who  knowt 
By  history,  report,  or  his  ovjn  proof. 
What  tcoman  is,  yea,  what  she  cannot  choose 
But  must  be, — will  his  free  hours  languish  for 
Assured  bondage  ? 

Imo.  Will  my  lord  .say  so? 

lach.  Ay,  madam ;  with  his  eyes  in  flood  with 
laughter. 

It  is  a  recreation  lo  be  by,  [know. 
And  hear  him  mock  the  Frenchman  Put,  heavens 
Some  men  are  nmch  to  blame. 

Imo.  Not  he,  I  hope, 

lach.  Not  he:  But  yet  Heaven's  bounty  towards 
him  mi^ht 

be  used  more  thankfully.    In  himself,  'tis  much  ; 
In  you. — which  I  count  his,  beyond  all  talents, — 
Wliilst  I  am  bound  to  wonder,  1  am  bound 
To  pity  too. 

Imo.  What  do  you  pity,  sir  ? 

lach.    Two  creatures,  heartily. 

Imo.  Am  I  one,  sir  ? 

You  look  on  me  :  What  wreck  discern  you  in  mflk 
Deserves  vour  nitv.  sir? 


Act  TI.    Scene  1. 


CYMBELTNE. 


635 


lack.  Lamentable!  What! 

To  hide  me- from  the  radiant  sun,  and  solace 
rthe  dungeon  by  a  snuff? 

Imo.  J  pray  you,  sir, 

De!iv*>r  with  more  openness  your  answers 
To  niy  demands.    Why  do  you  pity  me  ? 

lack.  That  others  do, 
[  w!is  about  to  say,  enjoy  your — But 
rt  is  an  office  of  the  gods  to  venge  it, 
Not  mine  to  speak  on't, 

Imo.  You  do  seem  to  know 

Something  of  me,  or  what  concerns  me  ;  'Pray  you, 
(Since  doubting  things  go  ill,  often  hurts  more 
Tnan  to  be  sure  they  do:  For  certainties 
E  ther  are  past  remedies ;  or,  timely  knowing, 
T;ie  remedy  then  born,)  disciver  to  me 
What  both  you  spur  and  stop. 

lack.  Had  1  this  cheek 

To  bathe  my  lips  upon  ;  this  hand,  whose  touch, 
Wnose  every  toucli,  would  force  the  feeler's  soul 
To  the  ojith  of  Royalty  ;  this  object,  which 
Takes  prisoner  the  wild  motion  of  mine  eye. 
Fixing  it  only  here:  sImjuM  I  (damn'd  then,) 
Slaver  with  lips  as  common  as  the  stairs 
That  mount  the  Capitol;  join  gripes  with  hands 
Made  hard  with  hourly  falsehood  (falsehood,  as 
With  labour;)  then  lie  peeping  in  an  eye, 
Base  and  unlustrous  as  the  smoky  light 
That's  fed  with  stinking  tallowyit  were  fit. 
That  al-1  the  phigues  of  hell  should  at  one  time 
Encounter  such  revolt. 

Imo.  My  lord,  I  fear. 

Has  forgot  Brifain. 

lack.  And  himself.    Not  I. 

Incliii  d  to  this  ii  telligence,  pronounce 
The  beggary  of  his  change  :  but 'tis  your  graces. 
That  from  my  mi  test  conscience,  to  my  tongue. 
Charms  this  report  out. 

Imo.  Let  me  hear  no  more.  [heart 

lack.  O  dearest  soul'  your  cause  doth  strike  my 
With  pity,  that  doth  make  me  sick.    A  lady 
So  lair,  and  fasten'd  to  an  empery, 
Would   make  tne  great'st  king  double  !  to  be 
partner'd 

With  tomboys,  hir'd  with  that  self-exhibition, 
Which  your  own  coffers  yield  I  with  diseas'd  ven- 
tures. 

That  play  with  all  infirmities  for  gold. 

Which  rottenness  can  lend  nature ;  such  boil'd  stuff. 

As  well  might  poison  poison!  Be  reveng'd  : 

Or  she,  til. it  bore  you,  was  no  queen,  and  you 

Recoil  from  your  great  stock. 

hno.  Reveng'd ! 

How  should  I  be  reveng'd  ?  If  this  be  true, 
(As  1  have  such  a  heart,  that  both  mine  ears 
Must  not  in  haste  abuse,)  if  it  be  true. 
How  should  I  be  reveng'd  ? 

lack.  Should  he  make  me 

Live' like  Diana's  priest,  betwixt  cold  sheets; 
Whiles  he  is  vaulting  variable  ramps. 
In  your  despite,  upon  your  i  nrse  ?  Revenge  it. 
I  dedicate  myself  to  your  sweet  pleasure  ; 
More  noble  than  that  runagate  to  your  bed; 
And  will  continue  fast  to  your  affection. 
Still  close,  as  sure. 

Imo.  What  ho,  Pisanio! 

lack.  Let  me  lay  service  tender  on  your  lips. 

Jmu.  Away  I — 1  do  condemn  mine  ears,  that  have 
So  long  attended  thee. — If  thou  wert  honourable. 
Thou  would'st  have  told  this  tale  for  virtue,  not 
For  such  an  end  thou  seek'st;  as  base,  as  strange. 
Thou  wrong'st  a  gentleman,  who  is  as  far 
From  thy  report,  as  thou  from  honour;  and 
Solicit'st  here  a  lady,  that  disdains 
Th'jc  and  the  devil  alike  —What,  ho!  Pisanio  I— 
The  king  my  father  shiill  be  made  acquainted 
Of  thy  assault:  if  he  shall  think  it  fit, 
A  saucy  stranger,  in  his  court,  to  mart 
As  ill  a  Komish  stew,  and  to  expound 
His  beastly  mind  to  us ;  he  hatli  a  court 


He  little  cares  for,  and  a  daughter  whom 

He  not  respects  at  all. — What  ho,  PisanioT  - 

lack.  O  happy  Leormtus !  I  may  say  ; 
The  credit  t,ial:  thy  lady  hath  of  thee, 
Deserves  thy  trust;  and  thy  most  perfect  goodaCS* 
Her  assur'd  credit  I — Blessed  live  you  long! 
A  lady  to  the  worthiest  sir,  that  ever 
Country  cali'd  his !  and  you  his  mistress,  only 
For  the  most  worthiest  fit!  Give  me  your  pardon. 
I  ha\  e  spoke  this,  to  know  if  your  alSance 
Were  deeply  rooted ;  and  shall  make  your  lord, 
That  which  he  is,  new  o'er:  And  he  is  one 
The  truest  manner"d ;  such  a  holy  witch, 
That  he  enchants  societies  unto  him  : 
Half  all  men's  hearts  are  his. 

Imo.  You  make  amends. 

lack.  He  sits  'mongut  men,  like  a  descended  god 
He  hath  a  kind  of  honour  sets  him  off. 
More  tlian  a  mortal  seeming.    Be  not  angry. 
Most  mighty  princess,  that  I  have  adventur'd 
To  try  your  taking  of  a  false  report;  which  hath 
Honour'd  with  confirmation  your  great  judgment 
In  the  election  of  a  sir  so  rare, 
Which  you  know  cannot  enr:  The  love  1  bear  him 
Made  me  to  fan  you  thus  ;  but  the  gods  made  you. 
Unlike  all  other,  chaffless.    Pray,  your  pardon. 

Imo.  All's  well,  sir:  Take  my  power  i'the  couH 
for  yours. 

lach.  My  humble  thanks.    I  had  almost  forgot  ■. 
To  entreat  your  grace  but  in  a  small  request. 
And  yet  of  moment  too,  for  it  concerns 
Your  lord ;  myself,  and  other  noble  friends, 
Are  partners  in  the  business, 

Imo.  Pray,  what  is't  ? 

lack.  Some  dozen  Romans  of  us,  and  your  lord, 
(Ti)e  best  feather  of  our  wing)  have  mingled  sums, 
To  buy  a  present  for  the  emperor: 
Which  1,  tiie  factor  for  the  rest,  have  done 
In  France  :  'Tis  plate,  of  rare  device  ;  and  jewels 
Of  rich  and  exquisite  form  ;  their  values  great; 
And  I  am  something  curious,  being  strange, 
To  have  them  in  safe  stowage:  May  it  please  you, 
To  take  them  in  protection  ? 

Imo.  Willingly  ^ 

And  pawn  mine  honour  for  their  safety:  since 
My  lord  hath  interest  in  them,  I  will  keep  them 
In  my  bed-chamber. 

lack.  They  are  in  a  trunk. 

Attended  by  my  men :  I  will  make  bold 
To  send  them  to  you,  only  for  this  night; 
I  must  aboard  to-morrow. 

Imo.  O,  no,  no. 

lack.  Yes,  beseech  ;  or  1  shall  short  my  word, 
By  length'ning  my  return.  From  Gallia 
I  cross'd  the  seas  on  purpose,  and  on  promise 
To  see  your  grace. 

Imo.  I  thank  you  for  your  pain.<» ; 

But  not  away  to-morrow  ? 

lack.  O,  I  must,  madam : 

Therefore,  I  shall  beseech  you,  if  you  please 
To  greet  your  lord  with  writing,  do't  to  night, 
I  have  outstood  my  time ;  which  is  material 
To  the  tender  of  our  present. 

Imo.  I  will  write. 

Send  your  trunk  to  me  ;  it  shall  safe  be  kept, 
And  truly  yielded  you:  You  are  very  welcome. 

\_Exeunt, 

ACT  IL 

Scene  I.— Court  before  Cymbeline's  Palace, 
Enter  Cloten  and  two  Lords. 

Clo.  Was  there  ever  man  had  such  luck !  when 
I  kissed  the  jack  upon  an  up-cast,  to  be  hit  away! 
I  had  an  lumdred  pound  on't :  And  then  a  whoreson 
jackanapes  must  take  me  up  forswearing:  as  if  I 
borrowed  mine  oaths  of  hin),  and  might  not  spend 
them  at  my  pleasure. 

1  Lord.  Wiiat  got  he  by  that?  You  aave  broke 
his  pate  with  your  bowl. 


636 


CYMBELTNE. 


Act  IL 


2  Lord.K  his  wit  had  been  like,  him  that  broke  it, 
it  would  haie  ran  all  out  (Aside.) 

Clo.  When  a  gentleman  is  disposed  to  swear,  it  is 
not  for  any  standers-by  to  curtail  his  oaths :  Ha  ? 

2  Lord.  No,  my  lord ;  nor  [Aside.)  crop  the  ears 
ofth«m. 

Clo.  Whoreson  dog! — I  give  him  satisfaction? 
'Would  he  had  been  one  of  my  rank ! 

2  Lord.  To  have  sraelt  like  a  fool,  {Aside.) 

Clo.  1  am  not  more  vexed  at  any  thing  in  the 
ftarth, — A  pox  on't!  I  had  rather  not  be  so  noble  as 
I  am;  they  dare  not  fight  with  me,  because  of  the 

?[ueen  my  uiotlier:  every  jack-slave  hath  liis  belly 
uU  of  fighting,  and  1  must  go  up  and  down  like  a 
cock  that  no  body  can  match. 

2  Lord.  You  are  a  cock  and  capon  too;  and  you 
crew,  cock,  with  your  comb  on.  (Aside.) 
Clo.  Shyest  thou  ? 

1  Lord'.  It  is  not  fit,  your  lordship  should  under- 
take every  conipanion  that  you  give  offence  to. 

Clo.  No,  I  know  that :  but  it  is  fit,  I  should  com- 
mit olfence  to  my  inferiors. 

2  Lord.  Ay,  it  is  fit  for  your  lordship  only. 
Clo.  Why.  so  I  say. 

1  Lord.  Did  you  hear  of  a  stranger,  that's  come 
to  court  to  night  ? 

Clo.  A  stmnger!  and  I  not  know  on't! 

2  Lord.  He's  a  strange  fellow  himself,  and  knows 
it  not.  {Aside.) 

1  Lord.  There's  an  Italian  come  ;  and,  'tis  thought, 
one  of  Leonatus'  friends. 

Clo.  Leonatus!  a  banished  rascal ;  and  he's  an- 
other, whatsoever  he  be.  Who  told  you  of  this 
stranger  ? 

I  Lord.  One  of  your  lordship's  pages. 
Cio.  is  it  fit,  I  went  to  look  upon  him  ?  Is  there 
BO  derogation  in't? 

1  Lord.  You  cannot  derogate,  my  lord. 
C/o.  Not  easuy  I  think. 

2  Lord.  You  are  a  fool  granted ;  therefore  your 
issues  being  foolish,  do  not  derogate.  {Aside.) 

Clo.  Come,  I'll  go  see  this  Italian:  What  I  have 
lost  to-day  at  bowls,  I'll  win  to-night  of  him. 
Come,  go. 

2  Lord.  I'll  attend  your  lordship. 

[Ex<^unt  Cloten  and  first  Lord. 
That  su<h  a  crafty  devil  as  is  his  mother 
Sliould  }iel'l  the  world  this  ass  !  a  woman,  that 
Bears  all  down  with  her  brain;  and  this  her  son 
Cannot  take  two  from  twenty  for  his  heait, 
And  leave  eighteen.    Alas,  poor  princess. 
Thou  divine  Imogen,  what  tliou  endur'sti 
Betwixt  a  fattier  by  thy  step-dame  goveru'd  ; 
A  mother  hourly  coining  plots;  a  wooer, 
More  hateful  than  the  foul  expulsion  is 
Of  thy  dear  hustmnd,  than  that  horrid  act 
Of  the  divorce  he'd  make !  The  heavens  hold  firm 
The  walls  of  thy  dear  honour;  keep  unshak'd 
That  temple,  thy  fair  mind  ;  that  thou  may'st  stand. 
To  enjoy  thy  bauish'd  lord,  and  this  great  land  ! 

[Exit 

Sc£N£  II. — A  Bed-Chamber ;  in  one  part  of  it  a 
trunk. 

ImooEM,  reading  in  her  bed;  a  Lady  attending, 
hno  Who's  there  ?  my  woman  Helen  ? 
Lady.  Please  you,  madam. 

hno.  What  hour  is  it  ? 

Lady.  Almost  midnight,  madam. 

Imo.  I  have  read  three  hours  then  :  mine  eyes  are 
weak  : — 

Fold  down  the  leaf,  where  I  have  left:  To  bed: 
Take  not  away  the  taper,  leave  it  burning; 
And  if  thou  canst  awake  by  four  o'the  clock, 
I  pr'ythee,  call  me.    Sleep  hath  seiz'd  me  wholly. 

\Exit  Lady. 
To  your  protectitm  I  commend  me,  gods! 
From  fairies,  and  the  tempters  of  the  night, 
iiuard  me,  beseech  ye  ! 

iSlesps.    lachimo,  from  the  trunk.) 


lach.  The  crickel^  sing,  and  man's  o'er  laboar'd 

sen.se 

Repairs  itself  by  rest:  Our  Tarquin  thus 
Did  softly  press  the  rushes,  ere  he  waken'd 
The  chastity  he  wounded. — Cytherea, 
How  bravely  thou  becom'st  thy  bed  !  fresh  lily  ! 
And  whiter  than  the  sheets !  That  I  might  touch! 
But  kiss  ;  one  kiss  !  Rubies  unparagon'd, 
How  dearly  they  do't. — 'Tis  her  breathing  that 
Perfumes  the  chamber  thus  :  The  flame  o'the  taper 
Bows  toward  her;  and  would  under-peep  her  lids. 
To  see  the  enclosed  lights,  now  canopied 
Under  these  windows:  White  and  azure,  lac'd 
With  blue  of  heaven's  own  tinct. — But  my  design? 
To  note  the  chamber :  I  will  write  all  down  : — 
Such,  and  such,  pictures  : — There  the  window  :— 
Such 

The  adornment  of  her  bed; — The  arras,  figures. 
Why,   such,  and  such: — And  the  contents  o'the 
story, — 

Ah,  but  some  natural  notes  about  her  body 

Above  ten  thousand  meaner  moveables 

Would  testify,  to  enrich  mine  inventory: 

O  sleep,  thou  ape  of  death,  lie  dull  upon  her! 

And  be  her  sense  but  as  a  monument, 

Thus  in  a  chapel  lying! — Come  off",  come  off ; — 

{Taking  off  her  bracelet.) 
As  slippery  as  the  Gordian  knot  was  hard  ! — 
'Tis  mine ;  and  this  will  witness  outwardly, 
As  strongly  as  the  conscience  does  within. 
To  the  madding  of  her  lord.    On  her  left  breast 
A  mole  cinque-spotted,  like  the  crimson  drops 
rthe  bottom  of  a  cowslip.    Here's  a  voucher, 
Stronger  than  ever  law  could  make  :  this  secret 
Will  force  him  think  I  have  picked  the  lock,  and 
ta'en  [end  ? 

The  treasure  of  her  honour.    No  more. — To  what 
Why  should  I  writfe  this  down,  that's  rivetted, 
Screvv'd  to  my  memory?  She  hati)  been  reading  late 
The  tale  of  Tereus  :  here  tne  leaf's  turn'd  down, 
Where  Philomel  gave  up; — I  have  enough  : 
To  the  trunk  again,  and  shut  the  spring  of  it. 
Swift,  swift,  you  dragons  of  the  night ! — that  dawning 
May  bare  the  raven's  eye  :  1  lodge  in  fear : 
Though  this  a  heavenly  angel,  hell  is  here. 

{Clock  strikeg.) 

One,  two,  three, — Time,  time  I 

{Goes  into  the  trunk.    The  scene  closes.) 

Scene  III. — An  Aide-Chamber  adjoining  Imogen^a 
Apartment. 

Enter  Cloten  and  Lords. 

1  Lord.  Your  lordship  is  the  most  patient  man 
in  loss,  the  most  coldest  that  ever  turned  up  ace. 

Clo.  It  would  make  any  man  cold  to  lose. 

1  Lord.  But  not  every  man  patient,  after  the  noble 
temper  of  your  lordship;  You  are  most  hot,  and 
furious,  when  you  win. 

Clo.  Winning  would  put  any  man  into  courage 
If  I  could  get  this  foolish  Imogen,  I  should  have 
gold  enough  :  It's  almost  morning,  is't  not? 

1  Lord.  Day,  my  lord. 

Clo.  I  would  this  music  would  come :  I  am  ad 
vised  to  give  her  music  o'mornings;  they  say,  it  will 
penetrate. — 

Enter  Musicians. 

Come,  on,  tune  r  If  you  can  penetrate  her  with  youf 
fingering,  so;  we'll  try  with  tongue  too:  if  none  will 
do,  let  her  remain  ;  but  I'll  never  give  o'er.  First 
a  very  excellent  good- conceited  thing  ;  after,  9 
wonderful  sweet  air,  with  admirable  rich  words  t 
it, — and  then  let  her  consider. 

SONG. 

Hark !  hark !  the  larh  at  heaven's  gate  singt 

And  Photbus  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 
On  chalicd /lowers  that  iim; 


Scene  3. 


CYMBELINE. 


637 


And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 
To  ope  their  golden  eyes; 
WUh  every  thing  that  pretty  bin  ; 
My  lady  sweet,  arise  ; 
Arise,  arise, 
ho.  get  you  gone ;  If  this  penetrate,  I  will  consider 
your  music  the  bet(er:  if  it  do  not,  it  is  a  vice  in  her 
ears,  which  horse-hairs,  and  cat-guts,  nor  the  voice 
f  unpaved  eunuch  to  boot,  can  never  amend. 

[Exeunt  Musicians, 

Enter  Cymbeline  and  Queen. 

2  Lord.  Here  comes  the  king. 

C/o.  I  am  glad,  1  was  up  so  late  ;  for  that's  the 
reason  I  was  up  so  early  :  He  cannot  choose  but 
take  the  service  I   have  done,  latlierly.— -Good- 
uiorrow  to  your  majesty,  and  to  my  gracious  mo- 
ther, [daughler? 

Cy7n.  Attend  you  here  the  door  of  our  stern 
AVili  she  not  forth  ? 

Clo.  I  have  assailed  her  with  music,  but  she 
\OMclisafes  no  notice. 

Cym.  The  exile  other  minion  is  too  new  ; 
iSlie  iiath  not  yet  forgot  him  :  some  more  time 
JMnst  wear  the  print  of  his  remembrance  out, 
And  then  she's  yorirs. 

Queen.  You  are  most  bound  to  the  king; 

Who  Id's  go  by  no  vantages,  that  may 
Prefer  you  to  his  daughter:  Frame  yourself 
j'j'n  orderly  solicits  ;  and  be  fiiended 
\V  itii  aptness  of  tlie  season  :  make  denials. 
Increase  your  services  :  so  seem,  as  if 
Y'oii  were  inspir'd  to  do  those  duties,  which 
Voii  tender  to  her;  that  you  in  all  obey  her, 
Sa\  e  when  command  to  your  dismission  tends. 
And  therein  you  are  senseless. 

Oio.  Senseless  ?  not  so. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  So  like  you,  sir,  ambassadors  from  Rome  ; 
The  one  is  Caius  Lucius. 

Cym.  A  worthy  fellow, 

Albeit  he  comes  on  angry  purpose  now  ; 
But  that's  no  fault  of  his:  We  must  receive  him 
According  to  the  honour  of  his  sender; 
And  towards  himself,  his  goodness  forespent  on  us. 
We  must  extend  our  notice. — Our  dear  son. 
When  you  have  given  good  morning  to  your  mistress. 
Attend  the  qneen,  and  us:  we  shall  have  need 
To  employ  you  towards  this  Roman.— Come,  our 
queen. 

[Exeunt  Cym.  Qtteen,  Lords,  and  Mess. 
Clo.  If  she  be  up,  I'll  speak  with  her;  if  not, 
Let  her  lie  still,  and  dreani.— By  yoUi  leave,  ho! — 

(Knocks.) 

I  know  her  women  are  about  her  ;  What 
If  I  do  line  one  of  their  hands  ?  'Tis  gold, 
Which  buys  adn)ittance  ;  oft  it  doth  ;  yea,  and  makes 
Diana's  rangers  false  themselves,  yield  up 
Their  deer  to  the  stand  of  the  stealer;  and  'tis  gold 
Which  makes  the  true  man  kill'd,  and  saves  the 
thief;  [What 
Nay,  sometimes,  hangs  both  thief  and  true  ipan : 
Can  it  not  do,  and  undo?  I  will  make 
One  of  her  women  lawyer  to  me  ;  for 
I  yet  not  understand  the  case  myself. 
By  your  leave.  (Knocks.) 
Enter  a  Lady. 

Lady.  Who's  there,  that  knocks? 

do.  A  gentleman. 

Lady.  No  more  ? 

Clo.  Yes,  and  a  gentlewoman's  son. 

Lady.  That's  more 

•Than  some,  whose  tailors  are  as  dear  as  yours. 
Can  justly  boast  of:  What's  your  lordship's  pleasare? 

Clo.  \  our  lady's  person  :  Is  she  ready  ? 

Lady.  Ay, 
To  keep  her  chamber.  {report. 

Clo.  There's  gold  for  you;  sell  me  your  good 

Lady.  How  !  my  good  name  ?  or  to  report  ol  you 
V\rhat  I  shall  think  is  good  ? — The  princess — 


Enter  Imogen. 

Clo.  Good -morrow,  fairest  sister:  Your  sweet 
hand,  [pains 

Imo.  Good-morrow,  sir:  You  layout  too  much 
For  purchasing  but  trouble  ;  the  thanks  1  give, 
Is  telling  you  that  I  am  poor  of  thanks, 
And  scarce  can  spare  them. 

Clo.  Still,  I  swear,  I  love  you. 

Imo.  If  you  but  said  so, 'twere  as  deep  with  me  : 
If  you  swear  still,  your  recompense  is  still 
That  I  regard  it  not. 

Clo.  This  is  no  answer. 

Imo.  But  that  you  shall  not  say  I  yield,  being 
silent, 

I  would  not  speak.    I  pray  you,  spare  me  :  i'faith, 
I  shall  unfold  equal  discourtesy 
To  your  best  kindness  ;  one  of  your  great  knowing 
Should  learn,  being  taught,  forbearance. 

Clo.To  leave  you  in  your  madness^  'twere  my  sin  . 
I  will  not. 

Imo.  Fools  are  not  mad  folks. 

Clo.  Do  you  call  me  fool  ? 

Imo.  As  I  am  mad,  I  do : 
If  you'll  be  patient,  I'll  no  more  be  mad  ; 
That  cures  us  both.    I  am  nuich  sorry,  sir. 
You  put  me  to  forget  a  lady's  manners, 
By  being  so  verbal :  and  learn  now,  for  all, 
That  I,  which  know  my  heart,  do  here  pronounce. 
By  the  very  truth  of  it,  I  care  not  for  you  ; 
And  am  so  near  the  lack  of  charity, 
(To  accuse  myself]  I  hate  you  :  which  I  had  rathet 
You  felt,  than  make't  my  boast. 

Clo.  You  sin  against 

Obedience,  which  you  owe  your  lather.  For 
The  contract  you  pretend  with  that  base  wretch, 
(One,  bred  of  alms,  and  foster'd  with  cold  dishes. 
With  scraps  o'the  court,)  it  is  no  contract,  none  : 
And  tliougii  it  be  allow'd  in  meaner  parties, 
(Yet  who,  than  he,  more  mean  ?)  to  knit  their  soak 

iOn  whom  there  is  no  more  dependency 
iut  brats  and  beggary)  in  self  Hgur'd  knot ; 
Yet  you  are  curb'd  from  that  enlargement  by 
The  consequence  o'the  crown :  and  must  not  soil 
The  precious  note  of  it  with  a  base  slave, 
A  hilding  for  a  livery,  a  squire's  cloth, 
A  pantler  not  so  emment. 

Imo.  Profane  fellow, 

Wert  thou  the  son  of  Jupiter,  and  no  more. 
But  what  thou  art,  besides,  thou  wert  too  base 
To  be  his  groom :  thou  wert  dignified  enough, 
Even  to  the  point  of  envy,  iftwere  made 
Comparative  for  your  virtues,  to  be  sty  I  d 
The  under-hangman  of  his  kingdom;  and  hated 
For  being  preferr'd  so  well. 

Clo.  The  south -fog  rot  him 

Imo.  He  never  can  meet  more  mischance,  than 
conie 

To  be  but  nam'd  of  thee.    His  meanest  garment. 
That  ever  hath  but  clipp'd  his  body,  is  dearer. 
In  my  respect,  than  all  the  airs  above  thee. 
Were  they  all  made  such  men. — How  now,  Pisanio? 

Venter  PiSANio. 

Clo.  His  garment?  Now,  the  devil — 

Imo.  To  Dorothy  my  wonmn  hie  thee  present/y:-— 

Clo.  His  garment  ? 

Imo.  I  am  sprighted  with  a  fool? 

Frigiited,  and  anger'd  worse  : — Go,  bid  my  woman 
Searcti  for  a  jewel,  that  too  casually 
Hath  lelt  mine  arm  ;  it  was  thy  master's :  'shrew  in«^ 
If  1  would  lose  it  for  a  revenue 
Of  any  king's  in  Europe.    I  do  think, 
I  saw  t  this  morning  :  confident  I  am, 
Last  night  'twas  on  mine  arm ;  I  kiss'd  it 
I  hope,  it  be  not  gone,  to  tell  my  lord 
That  I  kiss  aught  but  he. 

Pis.  'Twill  not  be  lost. 

Imo.  I  hope  so:  go,  and  search.         [Exit  Pss, 

Clo.  You  have  abus'd  me-— 


638 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  n 


His  meanest  garment  ? 

Imo.  Ay ;  I  said  so,  sir. 

If  you  will  mak't  an  action,  call  witness  to't. 

Vio.  1  will  inform  your  father. 

Imo.  Your  mother  too : 

She's  my  good  lady ;  and  will  conceive,  1  hope, 
But  the  worst  of  me.    So  I  leave  you,  sir, 
To  the  worst  of  discontent.  [Exit. 

Clo.  I'll  be  reveng'd : — 

His  meanest  garment  ? — Well.  {Exit. 

Scene  IV. — Rome.   An  Apartment  in  Philario's 
House 

Enter  Posthumus  and  Philario. 

Post.  Fear  it  not,  sir :  I  would,  I  were  so  sure 
To  win  the  king,  as  I  am  bold,  her  honour 
Will  remain  hers. 

Phi.  What  means  do  you  make  to  him  ^ 

Post.  Not  any  ;  but  abide  the  change  of  time; 
Quake  in  the  present  winter's  state,  and  wish 
That  warmer  days  would  come:   In  these  fear'd 
I  barely  gratify  your  love  ;  they  failing,  [hopes, 
I  must  die  much  your  debtor. 

Phi.  Your  very  goodness,  and  your  company, 
O'erpays  all  I  can  do.    By  this,  your  king 
Hath  heard  of  great  Augustus:  Caius  Lucius 
Will  do  his  commission  throughly :  And,  I  think, 
He'll  grant  the  tribute,  send  the  arrearages, 
Or  look  upon  our  Romans,  whose  remembrance 
Is  yet  Iresh  in  their  grief. 

Post.  I  do  believe. 

(Statist  though  I  am  none,  nor  like  to  be,) 
That  this  will  prove  a  war;  and  you  shall  hear 
The  legions,  now  in  Gallia,  sooner  landed 
In  our  not-fearing  Britain,  than  have  tidings 
Of  any  penny  tribute  paid.    Our  countrymen 
Are  men  more  order'd,  than  when  Jtduis  Caesar 
Smil'd  at  their  lack  of  skill,  but  found  their  courage 
Worthy  his  frowning  at:  Their  discipline 
(Now  mingled  with  their  courages)  will  make  known 
To  their  approvers,  they  are  people,  such 
ai  mend  upon  the  world. 

Enter  Iachlvio. 

Phi.  See  !    lachimo  ? 

Post.  The  swiftest  harts  have  posted  you  by  land: 
And  winds  of  all  the  corners  kiss'd  your  sails, 
To  make  your  vessel  nimble. 

Phi.  Welcome,  sir. 

Post.  I  hope,  the  briefness  of  your  answer  made 
The  speediness  of  your  return. 

lach.  Your  lady 

Is  one  the  fairest  that  I  have  look'd  upon. 

Post.  And,  therewithal,  the  best ;  or  let  her  beauty 
Look  through  a  casement  to  allure  false  hearts, 
And  be  Ihlse  with  them. 

lach.  Here  are  letters  for  you. 

Post.  Their  tenor  good,  I  trust. 

lach.  'Tis  very  like. 

Phi.  Was  Caius  Lucius  in  the  Britain  court. 
When  you  were  there  ? 

lach.  He  was  expected  then, 

But  not  approach'd. 

Post.  All  is  well  yet*^ — 

Sparkles  this  stone  as  it  was  wont?  or  is't  not, 
Too  didl  for  your  good  wearing  ? 

lack.  If  I  have  lost  it, 

I  should  have  lost  the  worth  of  it  in  gold. 
I'll  make  a  journey  twice  as  far,  to  enjoy 
A  second  night  of  such  sweet  shortness,  which 
Was  mine  in  Britain :  for  the  ring  is  won. 

Post.  The  stone's  too  hard  to  come  by. 

lach.  Not  a  whit. 

Your  lady  being  so  easy. 

Post.  Make  not,  sir, 

Your  loss  your  sport:  I  hope,  you  know,  that  we 
Must  not  continue  friends. 

lack.  Good  sir,  we  must, 

li  you  keep  covenant:  Had  I  not  brought 
the.  knowledge  of  your  mistress  home,  I  grant 


We  were  to  question  further :  but  1  now 
Profess  myself  the  winner  of  her  hooonr, 
Together  with  your  ring ;  and  not  the  wronger 
Of  her,  or  you,  having  |  roceeded  but 
By  both  your  wills. 

Post.  If  you  can  make't  appnrent 

That  you  have  tasted  her  in  bed,  my  hand 
And  ring  is  yours:  If  not,  the  foul  opinioa 
You  had  of  her  pure  honour,  gains,  or  loses, 
Your  sword,  or  mine  ;  or  masterless  leaves  both 
To  who  shall  find  them. 

lach.  Sir,  my  circumstances. 

Being  so  near  the  truth,  as  I  will  make  them, 
M.ust  first  induce  you  to  believe  :  whose  strength 
I  vvill  confirm  with  oath  ;  which,  1  doubt  not. 
You'll  give  me  leave  to  spare,  when  you  shall  find 
You  need  it  not. 

Post.  Proceed. 

lach.  First,  her  bed-chamber, 

(Where,  I  confess,  I  slept  not;  but,  profess, 
Had  that  was  well  worth  watching,)  It  was  hang'd 
With  tapestry  of  silk  and  silver  ;  the  story 
Proud  Cleopatra,  when  she  met  her  Roman 
And  Cydnus  swell'd  above  the  banks,  or  for 
The  press  of  boats,  or  pride  :  A  piece  of  work 
So  bravely  done,  so  rich,  that  it  did  strive 
In  workmanship,  and  value;  which,  1  wonder 4 
Could  be  so  rarely  and  exactly  wrought. 
Since  the  true  lil'e  on't  was — 

Post.  This  is  true; 

And  this  you  might  have  heard  of  here,  by  me, 
Or  by  some  other. 

lack.  More  particulars 

Must  justify  my  knowledge. 

Post.  So  they  must. 

Or  do  your  honour  injury. 

lach.  The  chimney 

Is  south  the  chamber;  and  the  chimney-piece 
Chaste  Dian,  bathing:  never  saw  1  figures 
So  likely  to  report  themselves;  the  cutter 
Was  as  another  nature,  dumb;  outwent  btr, 
Motion  and  breath  left  out. 

Post.  This  is  a  thing. 

Which  you  might  from  relation  likewise  reap; 
Being,  as  it  is,  much  spoke  of 

lach.  The  roof  o'the  chamber: 

With  golden  cherubimsis  fretted:  Her  andirons 
(I  had  Ibrgot  them,)  w^ere  two  winking  Cupids 
Oi"  silver,  each  on  one  foot  standing,  nicely 
Depending  on  their  brands. 

Post.  This  is  her  honour  !— 

Let  it  be  granted,  you  have  seen  all  this,  (and  praisei 
Be  given  to  your  remembrance,)  the  description 
Of  what  is  in  her  chamber,  nothing  saves 
Tiie  wager  you  have  laid. 

lach.  Then,  if  you  can, 

{Pulling  out  the  bracelet. 
Be  pale  ;  I  beg  but  leave  to  air  this  jewel :  See 
And  now  'tis  up  again :  It  must  be  married 
To  that  your  diamond  ;  I'll  keep  them. 

Post.  Jove!- 
Once  more  let  me  behold  it:  Is  it  that 
Which  I  left  with  her  ? 

lach.  Sir,  (I  thank  her,)  that: 

She  stripp'd  it  from  her  arm;  I  see  her  yet; 
Her  pretty  action  did  outsell  her  gift. 
And  yet  enrich'd  it  tou :  She  gave  it  me,  aud  said^ 
Slie  priz'd  it  once. 

Post.  May  be,  she  pluck'd  it  off, 

To  send  it  me. 

lach.  She  writes  so  to  you  ?  doth  she  ? 

Post.  O,  no,  no,  no ;  'tis  true.  Here,  take  this  too 
{Gives  the  ring. 

It  is  a  basilisk  unto  mine  eye. 
Kills  me  to  look  on't: — Let  there  be  no  honour. 
Where  there  is  beauty;  truth,  where  semblaare 
love, 

Where  there's  another  man :  The  vows  of  womeo^ 
Of  no  more  bondage  be,  to  where  they  are  made, 
Than  they  are  to  vheir  virtues;  which  is  nothing: 


Act  111.    Scene  1. 


CYMBELINE. 


639 


O,  above  measure  false  ' 

Phi.  Have  patience,  sir, 

And  take  your  rin^  again  ;  'tis  not  yet  won : 
It  may  be  probable,  sfie  lost  it;  or, 
Who  knows,  if  one  of  her  women,  being  corrupted, 
Hath  stolen  it  from  her? 

Post.  Very  true ; 

And  so,  r  hope,  he  came  by't; — Back  my  ring; — 
Render  to  me  some  corporal  sign  about  her, 
More  evident  than  this  ;  for  this  was  stolen. 

lack.  By  .Jupiter,  I  iiad  it  from  her  arm. 

Post.  Hark  you,  he  swears ;  by  Jupiter  he  swears. 
Tis  true  ; — nay,  keep  the  ring — 'tis  true :  1  am  sure, 
She  would  not  lose  it:  her  attendants  are 
All  sworn,  and  honourable  : — They  induc'd  to  steal 
it! 

And  by  a  stranger ! — No,  he  hath  enjoyM  her  : 
The  cogniaance  of  her  incoiitinency 
Is  this, — she  hath  bought  the  nanie  of  whore  thus 
dearly. — 

There,  take  thy  hire  ;  and  all  the  fiends  of  hell 
Divide  themselves  between  you! 

Phi.  Sir,  be  patient ! 

This  is  not  strong  enough  to  be  believ'd 
Of  one  persuaded  well  of — 

Post.  Never  talk  on't ; 

She  hath  been  colted  by  him. 

lach.  If  yoa  seek 

For  further  satisfying,  under  her  breast 
(Worthy  the  pressing,|  lies  a  mole,  right  proud 
Of  that  most  delicate  lodging:  By  my  life, 
I  kiss'd  it;  and  it  gave  me  present  hunger 
To  feed  again,  though  full.  You  do  remember 
This  stain  upon  her? 

Post.  Ay,  and  it  doth  confirm 

Another  stain,  as  big  as  hell  can  hold, 
Were  there  no  more  but  it. 

loch.  Will  you  hear  more  ? 

Post.  Spare  your  arithmetic :  never  count  the 
Once,  and  a  million  !  [turns ; 

lach.  I'll  be  sworn, — 

Post.  No  swearing. 

If  you  will  swear  yon  have  not  done't,  you  lie ; 
And  I  will  kill  thee,  if  thou  dost  deny 
Thou  hast  made  me  cuckold. 

lach.  I  will  deny  nothing. 

Post.  O,  that  I  had  her  here,  to  tear  her  lin)b-meal  I 
I  will  go  there,  and  do't;  i'the  court;  before 
Her  father ; — I'll  do  something —  [Exit. 

Phi.  Quite  besides 

The  government  of  patience  ! — You  have  won  : 
Let's  follow  him,  and  pervert  the  present  wrath 
He  hath  against  himself. 

lach.  With  all  my  heart.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — The  same.  Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  PoSTHUMUS. 
Post.  Is  there  no  way  for  men  to  be,  but  women 
Must  be  half-workers?  We  are  bastards  all ; 
And  that  most  venerable  man,  which  I 
Did  call  my  father,  was  I  know  not  where 
When  I  was  stamp'd  ;  some  coiner  with  his  tools 
Made  mo  a  counterfeit:  Yet  my  mother  seera'd 
^rhe  Dian  oftliat  time:  so  doth  my  wife 
The  nonpareil  of  this. — O  vengeance,  vengeance! 
Me  of  my  lawi'ul  pleasure  she  restrain'd. 
And  pray'd  me,  ofl,  forbearance:  did  it  with 
A  prudency  so  rosy,  the  sweet  view  on't  [her 
Might  well  have  warm'd  old  Saturn;  that  I  thought 
As  chftste  as  unsunn'd  snow  : — O,  all  the  devils  ! — 
This  yellow  lachimo,  in  an  hour, — was't  not? — 
Or  less, — at  first:  Perchance  he  spoke  not;  but. 
Like  a  full  acorn'd  boar,  a  German  one, 
Cry'd  Oh  !  and  mounted  :  found  no  opposition 
But  what  he  look'd  for  should  o|)pose,  and  she 
Should  from  encounter  guard.    Could  I  find  out 
The  woman's  part  in  me  !    For  there's  no  motion. 
That  tends  to  vice  in  man,  hut  I  affirm 
It  is  the  woman's  part :  Be  it  lying,  note  it, 
Tho  tvumau's;  fiitteritig,  hers;  deceiving,  hers; 


Lust  and  rank  thoughts,  hers,  hers;  revenger,  hern* 

Ambitions,  covetings,  change  of  prides,  disdain,  " 

Nice  longings,  slanders,  mutability. 

All  faults  that  may  be  nam'd,  nay,  that  hell  knowa^ 

Why,  hers,  in  part,  or  all ;  but  rather,  all : 

For  even  to  vice 

They  are  not  constant,  but  are  changing  still 

One  vice,  but  of  a  minute  old,  for  one 

Not  half  so  old  as  that.    I'll  write  against  them. 

Detest  thera,  curse  them  : — Yet  'tis  greater  stiu 

In  a  true  hate,  to  pray  they  have  their  will: 

The  very  devils  cannot  plague  them  better.  [E.titm 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — Britain.    A  Room  of  State  in  Cymbt' 

line's  Palace. 
Enter  Cymbeline,  Queen,  Cloten,  and  Lords,  at 

one  door;  and  at  another,  Caius  Lucius  and 

Attendants. 

Cym.  Now,  say,  what  would  Augustus  Caesar 
with  us? 

Liic.  When  Julius  Csesar  (whose  remembrance  yet 
Lives  in  men's  eyes;  and  will  to  ears,  and  tongues, 
Be  theme,  and  hearing  ever,)  was  in  this  Britain, 
And  conqner'd  it,  Cassibelan,  thine  uncle, 
(Famous  in  Ca?sar's  praises,  no  whit  less 
Than  in  his  feats  deserving  it,)  for  hiui, 
And  his  succession,  granted  Rome  a  tribute, 
Yearly  three  thousand  pounds ;  which  by  thee  lately 
Is  left  untender'd. 

Queen.  And,  to  kill  the  marvel. 

Shall  be  so  ever. 

Clo.  There  be  many  Caesars, 

Ere  such  another  Julius.    Britain  is 
A  world  by  itself;  and  we  will  nothing  pay. 
For  wearing  our  own  noses. 

Queen.  That  opportunity, 

Wliich  then  they  had  to  take  from  us,  to  resuras 
We  have  again. —  Beinember,  sir,  my  liege. 
The  kings  your  ancestors  ;  together  with 
The  natural  bravery  of  your  isle;  which  stands 
As  Neptune's  park,  ribbed  and  paled  in 
With  rocks  nnscaleable,  and  roaring  wafers ; 
With  sands,  that  will  not  bear  your  enemies'  boats^ 
But  suck  them  up  to  the  top  mast.  A  kind  of  conqnest 
Caesar  made  here ;  but  made  not  here  his  brag 
Of",  came,  and  saw,  and  a>jercame :  with  shame 
(The  first  that  ever  touch'd  him,)  he  was  carried 
From  off  our  coast,  twice  beaten ;  and  his  shipping 
(Poor  ignorant  baubles  I)  on  our  terrible  seas. 
Like  egg-shells  mov'd  upon  their  surges,  crack'd 
As  easily  'gaii  st  our  rocks:  For  joy  whereof. 
The  fam'd  Cassibelan,  who  was  once  at  point 
(O,  gig  lot  fortune  !)  to  master  Ca;sar's  sword, 
Made  Lud's  town  with  rejoicing  fires  bright, 
And  Britons  strut  with  courage. 

Clo.  Come,  there's  no  more  tribute  to  be  paid: 
Our  kingdom  is  stronger  than  it  was  at  that  time; 
and,  as  I  said,  there  is  no  more  such  Casars : 
other  of  them  may  have  crooked  noses ;  but,  to  owe 
such  straight  arms,  none. 

Cym.  S  in,  let  your  mother  end. 

Clo.  We  have  yet  many  among  us  can  gripe  as 
hard  as  Cassibelan:  I  do  not  say,  I  am  one ;  but 
I  have  a  hand. — Why  tribute  ?  why  should  we  pay 
tribute?  li'CaBsar  can  hide  the  snn  frou)  ns  with 
a  blanket,  or  put  the  moon  in  his  pocket,  we  will 
pay  him  tribute  for  light ;  else,  sir,  no  more  tri- 
bute, pray  ycu  now. 

Cym.  Vou  must  know, 
Till  the  injurious  Romano  did  extort  [bition 
This  tribute  from  us,  we  were  free :  Caesars  am- 
( Which  swell'd  so  much,  that  it  did  almost  stretcil 
Tlie  sides  o'the  world,)  against  all  cokuir,  here 
Did  put  the  yoke  upon  us ;  which  to  sliake  ofi°, 
Becomes  a  warlike  people,  whom  we  reckon 
Ourselves  to  be.    We  do  say  then  to  Caesar, 
Our  ancestor  was  that  Mulmutius,  which 
Ordain'd  our  laws  ;  (whose  use  the  sword  of  Caesar 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  TH 


Hath  too  much  mangled;  whose  repair  and  fran- 
chise, 

Shall,  by  the  j^ower  we  hold,  be  our  good  deed, 
Though  Rome  be  therefore  angry  ;)  Miilmutius, 
Who  was  the  first  of  Britain,  which  did  put 
His  brows  within  a  golden  crown,  and  call'd 
Himself  a  king. 

Luc.  I  am  awry,  Cymbeline, 

That  I  am  to  pronounce  Augustus  Caesar 
(Cajsar,  that  hath  more  kings  his  servants,  than 
Thyself  domestic  officers,)  thine  enemy: 
Receive  it  from  me,  then  : — War,  ynd  confusion, 
In  Csesar's  name  pronounce  I  'gainst  thee;  look 
For  fury  not  to  be  resisted  : — Thus  defied, 
I  thank  thee  for  myself. 

Cym.  Thou  art  welcome,  Caius. 

Thy  Cajsar  knighted  me :  my  yoHith  I  spent 
Much  under  him  ;  of  hmi  I  gather  d  honour ; 
Which  he,  to  seek  of  tne  again,  perforce, 
Behoves  me  keep  at  utterance;  I  am  perfect. 
That  the  Pannonians  and  Dalmatians,  for 
Their  liberties,  are  now  in  arms:  a  precedent 
Which,  not  to  read,  whould  sliew  the  Britons  cold : 
So  Csesar  shall  not  find  them. 

Luc.  Let  proof  speak. 

Clo.  His  majesty  bids  you  welcome.  Make  pas- 
time with  us  a  day,  or  two,  longer:  If  you  seek  us 
afterwards  in  other  terms,  you  shall  find  us  in  our 
salt  water  girdle  :  if  you  beat  us  out  of  it,  it  is  yours  ; 
if  you  fall  in  the  adventure,  our  crows  shall  lare  the 
better  fur  you  ;  and  there's  an  end. 

Luc.  So,  air. 

Cym.  I  know  your  master's  pleasure,  and  he  mine: 
All  the  remain  is,  welcome.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  H. — Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  PiSANlO. 
Pis.  How!  of  adultery?  Wherefore  write  you  not 
What  monster's  her  accuser? — Leonatus  ! 
O,  master!  what  a  strange  infection 
Js  fallen  into  thy  ear?  VVhat  false  Italian 
(As  poisonous  tongu'd,  as  handed,)  hath  prevail'd 
On  thy  too  ready  iiearing  * — Disloyal  ?  No: 
She's  puiiish'd  for  her  truth  ;  and  undergoes. 
More  goddess  like  than  v^iie-like,  such  assaults 
As  would  take  in  some  virtue  : — O,  my  master' 
Thy  mind  to  her  is  now  as  low,  as  were 
Thy  fortunes. — How!  that  I  should  murder  her? 
Upon  the  love,  and  truth,  and  vows  which  I 
Have  made  to  thy  command  ? — I,  her  ? — her  blood  ? 
If  it  be  so  to  do  good  service,  never 
Let  me  be  counted  serviceable.    How  look  I, 
That  I  should  seem  to  lack  humanity. 
So  much  as  this  fact  comes  to?  Dot:    The  letter 

[Reading.) 

That  I  have  sent  her,  by  her  own  command 
Shall  give  thee  opjiortunity: — O  dauin'd  paper! 
Black  as  the  ink  that's  on  thee  !  Senseless  bauble  ! 
Art  thou  a  feodary  for  this  act,  and  look'st 
So  virgin-like  without  ?  Lo,  here  she  comes. 

Enter  Imogen. 
I  am  ignorant  in  what  I  am  commanded. 

Imo.  How  now,  Pioanio  ? 

Pis.  Madiun,  here  is  a  letter  from  my  lord. 

Imo  Who  ?  thy  lord  ?  that  is  niy  lord  ?  Leonatus  ? 
O.  learn 'd  indeed  were  thut  astronomer. 
That  knew  the  stars,  as  1  his  characters; 
He'd  lay  the  future  open. —  Y'ou  good  gods. 
Let  what  is  here  contain'd  relish  of  love, 
Of  n)y  lord's  health,  of  his  content, — yet  not. 
That  we  two  are  asunder,  let  that  grieve  hini, — 
(Some  griefs  are  med'cinable  ;)  that  is  one  of  them. 
For  it  doth  physic  love*, — of  his  content, 
A.I1  but  in  that ! — Good  wax,  thy  leave  : — Bless'd  be 
You  bees,  that  make  these  locks  of  counsel !  Lovers, 
And  men  in  dangerous  bonds,  pray  not  alike  ; 
Though  forfeiters  you  cast  in  prison,  yet 
You  ciasp  young  Cupid's  tables. — Good  news,  gods ! 
Readi.) 


Justice,  and  your /ather's  wtath,  should  he  take 
me  in  his  dominion,  should  not  be  so  cruel  to  me, 
as  you,  O  the  dearest  of  creatures,  would  not  even 
renew  me  with  your  eyes.  Take  notice,  tfuit  I  am 
in  Cambria,  at  Milford-Haven  :  What  your  own 
love  ivill,  out  of  this,  advise  you,  follow.  So, 
wishes  you  all  happiness,  that  remains  loyal  tc 
his  vow  and  your,  increasing  in  love, 

Leonatus  PosTHuasr*. 
O,  for  a  horse  with  wings! — Hear'st  thou,  Pisanio? 
He  is  at  Milford-Haven:  Read,  and  tell  me 
How  far  'tis  thither.    If  one  of  mean  atfairs 
May  plod  it  in  a  week,  why  may  not  I 
Glide  thither  in  a  day? — Then,  true  Pisanio, 
(Who  long'st,  like  me,  to  see  thy  lord  ;  who  long'st,— 
O,  let  me  'bate, — but  not  like  me  : — yet  long'st, — 
But  in  a  fainter  kind  : — O,  not  like  me  ; 
For  mine's  beyond  beyondj  say,  and  speak  thick, 
(Love's  counsellor  should  fill  the  bores  of  hearing. 
To  the  smothering  of  tlie  sense,)  how  far  it  is 
To  this  same  blessed  Milibrd  :  And,  by  the  way, 
Tell  me  how  Wales  was  made  so  happy,  as 
To  inherit  such  a  haven  :  But,  first  of  alt, 
How  we  may  steal  from  hence  ;  and,  for  the  g'ap 
That  we  shall  make  in  time,  frouj  our  hence-going, 
And  our  return,  to  excuse  : — but  first,  how  get  hence : 
Why  should  excuse  be  born  or  e'er  begot? 
We'll  talk  of  that  hereafter.    Pr'ythee,  speak. 
How  many  score  of  miles  may  we  well  ride 
'Twixt  hour  and  hour. 

Pis.  One  score,  'twixt  sun  and  suq. 

Madam,  's  enough  for  you  ;  and  oo  much  too. 

Imo.  Why,  one  that  rode  to  his  execution,  man. 
Could  never  go  so  slow:  1  have  heard  of  riding 
wagers. 

Where  horses  have  been  nimbler  than  the  sands 

That  run  i'the  clock's  behalf: — But  this  is  foolery  :-— 

Go,  bid  my  woman  feign  a  sickness;  say 

She'll  home  to  her  father ;  and  provide  me,  presently, 

A  riding  suit;  no  costlier  than  would  lit 

A  franklin's  housewife. 

Pia.  Madam,  you're  best  consider. 

Imo.  1  see  before  me,  man,  nor  here,  nor  here. 
Nor  what  ensues  ;  but  have  a  fog  in  tfeem. 
That  i  cannot  look  through.    Away,  J  pr'ythee 
Do  as  I  bid  thee  :  There's  no  niore  to  say  ; 
i^ccessible  is  none  but  Milford  way.  [Exeunt, 

ScENS  III. —  Wales.  A  mountainous  Country,  ivith 
a  Cave. 

Ew^er  Belarius,  Guiderius,  anJ  Arviragus. 

Bel.  A  goodly  day  not  to  keep  house,  with  such 
Whose  roof's  as  low  as  ours !  Stooj),  boys  :  This  gate 
Instructs  you  how  to  adore  the  heavens ;  and  bows 
you 

To  morning's  holy  office  :  The  gates  of  monarchs 
Are  arch'd  so  high,  that  giants  may  jet  through 
And  keep  their  impious  turbans  on,  withoirt 
Good  morrow  to  the  sun. — Hail,  thou  fair  heaven.' 
We  house  i'  the  rock,  yet  use  thee  not  so  hardly 
As  prouder  livers  do. 

Gui.  Hail,  heaven! 

Arv.  Hail,  heaven 

Bel.  Now,  for  our  mountain  sport :  Up  to  you  hill 
Your  legs  are  young;  f'll  tread  these  flats.  Consider 
When  you  above  i)erceive  me  like  a  crow. 
That  it  is  place  which  lessens,  and  sets  off. 
And  you  may  then  revoh  e  what  tales  I  have  told  ya 
Of  courts,  of  princes,  of  the  tricks  in  war: 
This  service  is  not  service,  so  being  done. 
But  being  so  allow'd:  To  apprehend  thus. 
Draws  us  a  profit  from  all  things  w-e  see : 
And  ofteri,  to  our  comfort,  shall  we  find 
'J'he  sharded  beetle  in  a  safer  hold 
Than  is  the  full-wing'd  eagle.    O,  this  life 
Is  nobler,  than  attending  for  a  check  ; 
Richer,  tnan  doing  nothing  for  a  babe ; 
Prouder,  than  rustling  in  unpaid  for  silk  : 
Such  gain  the  cap  of  him,  that  makes  them  fin« 
Yet  keeps  his  book  uncross'd  :  no  life  to  ourt. 


Scene  d. 


CYMBELIISE. 


641 


Gut.  Ont  of  your  proof  you  speak:  we,  poor  nn- 

lledg'd,  _  [not 

Have  never  wiug'd  from  view  o'the  nest;  nor  know 
What  airs  from  home.    Haply,  this  lii'e  is  best, 
ff  quiet  life  be  best:  sweeter  to  you, 
J'hat  have  a  shijrper  known  ;  well  corresponding 
Witli  your  stiff  age  :  but,  unto  us,  it  is 
A  rell  of  ionorance ;  travelling  abed; 
A  prison  for  a  debtor,  that  not  dares 
To  stride  a  limit. 

Aru.  What  should  we  speak  of. 

When  we  are  old  as  you?  when  we  shall  hear 
The  rain  and  wind  beat  dark  December,  how. 
In  this  our  pinching  cave,  shall  we  discourse 
The  freezing  hours  away  ?  We  have  seen  nothing: 
We  are  beastly;  subtile  a$  the  fox,  for  prey; 
Like  warlike  as  the  wolf,  for  what  we  eat: 
Our  valour  is,  to  chase  what  flies ;  our  cage 
We  make  a  quire,  as  doth  the  prison'd  bird, 
And  sing  our  bondage  freely. 

Bel.  How  you  speak  I 

Did  you  but  know  the  city's  usuries. 
And  felt  them  knowingly:  the  art  o  the  court. 
As  hard  to  leave,  as  keep ;  whose  top  to  climb 
Is  certain  falling,  or  so  slij)pery,  that 
Tiie  fear's  as  bad  as  falling :  the  toil  of  the  war, 
A  pain  that  only  seems  to  seek  out  danger 
I'the  name  of  fame,  and  honour;  which  dies  i'the 
And  hath  as  oft  a  slanderous  epitaph,         [search  ; 
As  record  of  fair  act;  pay,  many  times, 
Dotli  ill  deserve  by  doing  well ;  what's  worse, 
Must  court'sey  at  the  censure: — O,  boys,  this  story 
Tlie  world  may  read  in  me : — My  body's  mark'd 
With  Roman  swords  ;  and  n)y  re})ort  was  once 
First  with  the  best  of  note:  Cymbeline  lov'd  me ; 
And  when  a  soldier  was  the  theme,  my  name 
Was  not  far  off:  Then  was  1  as  a  tree. 
Whose  boughs  did  bend  with  fruit:  but,  in  one  night, 
A  storm,  or  robbery,  call  it  what  you  will, 
Sliook  down  my  mellow  hangings,  nay,  my  leaves, 
And  left  me  bare  to  weather. 

Gtd.  Uncertain  favour! 

Bel.  My  fault  being  nothing  (as  I  have  told  you  oft,) 
But  that  two  villains,  whose  false  oaths  prevail'd 
Before  my  perfect  honour,  swore  to  Cymbeline, 
I  was  confederate  with  tlie  Romans:  so, 
Follow'd  my  banishment;  and,  this  twenty  years, 
Tliisrock,  and  these  demesnes,  have  been  my  world  : 
W^here  I  liave  liv'd  at  honest  freedom ;  paid 
More  pious  debts  to  heaven,  than  in  all 
The  fore-end  of  my  time. — But,  up  to  the  mountains  ; 
This  is  not  hunters'  language: — He,  that  strikes 
The  venison  first,  shall  be  the  lord  o'  the  feast; 
To  him  the  other  two  shall  minister; 
And  we  will  fear  no  poison,  which  attends 
fri  place  of  greater  state.  I'll  meet  you  in  the  valleys. 

[Exeunt  Gui.  and  Arv. 
How  hard  it  is,  to  hide  the  sparks  of  nature ! 
These  boys  know  little,  they  are  sons  to  the  king; 
Nor  Cyuibeline  dreams  that  they  are  alive. 
Tiiey  tliiiik,  threy  are  mine :  and,  though  train'd  up 
thus  meanly 

f'the  cave,  wherein  they  bow,  their  thoughts  do  hit 
The  roofs  of  palaces  ;  and  nature  prompts  them, 
In  -simple  and  low  things,  to  prince  it,  much 
Beyond  tiie  trick  of  others.    This  Polydore, — 
The  heir  of  Cymbeline  and  Britain,  whom 
The  king  his  father  called  Guiderius. — Jove  ! 
When  or  my  three-foot  stool  I  sit,  and  tell 
The  warlike  feats  I  ha\e  done,  his  spirits  fly  out 
Into  n)y  story  :  say, — Thus  mine  enemy  fell ; 
And  thus  I  set  my  foot  on  his  neck;  even  then 
I'he  princely  blood  flows  in  liis  cheek,  he  sweats. 
Strains  his  young  nerves,  and  puts  iiimself  in  [wsture 
That  aots  my  words.  The  younger  brother,  Cadwal, 
(Once,  Arviragus, )  in  as  like  a  figure, 
Strikes  life  into  my  speech,  and  shews  much  more 
His  own  conceiving.    Hark  !  the  game  is  rous'd ! — 
O  Cymbeline!  heaven,  and  my  conscience,  knows, 
Tliou  didst  uiyustly  banish  me ;  whereon. 


At  three,  and  two  years  old,  I  stole  these  babeg; 
Thinking  to  bar  thee  of  succession,  as 
Thou  rett'st  me  of  my  lands.  Euriphile, 
Thou  wast  their  nurse;  they  took  thee  for  thelf 
mother. 

And  every  day  do  honour  to  her  grave  : 
Myself,  Belarius,  that  am  Morgan  call'd. 
They  take  for  natural  father.  The  ganie  is  up.  [Exit 
Scene  lY.—Near  Milford- Haven. 
Enter  Pisanio  and  Imogen. 
Imo.  Thou  told'st  me,  when  we  came  from  horsey 
the  place 

Was  near  at  hand : — Ne'er  long'd  my  mother  so 
To  see  me  first,  as  I  have  now: — Pisanio  !  Man ! 
Nyhere  is  Posthunms?  What  is  in  thy  mind. 
That  makes  thee  stare  thus  V  Wherefore  breaks  that 
sigh 

From  the  inward  of  thee?  One,  but  painted  thus. 
Would  be  interpreted  a  thing  perplex'd 
Beyond  self  explication  :  Put  thyself 
Into  a  haviour  of  less  fear,  ere  wildness 
Vanquish  my  staider  senses.    What's  the  matter? 
Why  tender'st  thou  that  paper  to  me,  with 
A  look  untender  ?  If  it  be  summer  news, 
Smile  to't  before  :  if  winterly,  thou  need'st 
But  keep  that  countenance  still.— My  husband's 
hand ! 

That  drug-damn'd  Italy  hath  out  craffied  him. 
And  he's  at  some  hard  point.— Speak,  man;  thy 
tongue 

May  take  olf  some  extremity,  which  to  read 
W^ould  be  even  mortal  to  me. 

Pis.  Please  you,  read, 

And  you  shall  find  me,  wretched  man,  a  thing 
The  most  disdain'd  of  fortime. 

lino.  {Reads.)  Thy  mistress,  Pisanio,  hath 
played  the  strumpet  in  my  bed;  the  testitnonies 
whereof  lie  bleeding  in  me.  I  speak  not  out  ofiveak 
surmises  ;  but  from  proof  as  strong  as  my  (jrief 
and  as  certain  as  I  expect  my  revenge.  That  par  t 
thou,  Pisanio,  must  act  forme,  if  thy  faith  Lh  not 
tainted  icith  the  breach  of  hers.  Let  thine,  oivri 
hands  take  aivny  her  hfe  :  I  shall  (j/ve  the  oppor. 
tunities  at  Milford-Haven  ;  she  hatli  my  letter  fo? 
the  purpose:  Where,  if  thou  fear  to  strike.^  and  to 
make  me  certain  it  is  done,  t/iou  art  the  pander 
to  her  dishonour,  and  equally  to  me  disloyal. 

Pis.  What  shall  I  need  to  draw  my  sword  ?  the 
paper 

Hath  cut  her  throat  already. — No,  'tis  slander, 
Whose  edge  is  sharper  than  the  sword  ;  whose  tungce 
Outvenoms  all  the  worms  of  Nile:  whose  breath 
Rides  on  the  posting  winds,  and  doth  belie 
All  corners  oi'the  world  :  kings,  queens,  and  states 
Maids,  matrons,  nay,  the  secrets  of  the  grave 
This  viperous  slander  enters. — What  cheer,  madam? 

Imo.  False  to  his  bed  !  What  is  it,  to  be  i'alse 
To  lie  in  watch  there  and  to  think  on  him  ? 
To  weep 'twixt  clock  and  clock?  if  sleep  charge 
nature, 

To  break  it  with  a  fearful  dream  of  him, 

And  cry  myself  awake?  that's  false  to  his  bed. 

Is  it? 

Pis.  Alas,  good  lady ! 

Imo.  I  false  ?  Thy  conscience  witness : — lachimo, 
Thou  didst  accuse  him  of  incontinency  : 
Thou  then  look'dst  like  a  villain;  now,  methinks, 
Thy  favour's  good  enough. — Some  jay  of  Italy, 
Whose  mother  was  her  paintings  hath  hetray'd  him  4 
Poor  I  am  stale,  a  garment  out  of  fashion  ; 
And,  for  I  am  richer  than  to  hang  by  the  walls, 
1  must  be  ripp'd  : — to  pieces  with  me  ! — O, 
Men's  vows  are  women  s  traitors  !  All  good  seeming. 
By  thy  revolt,  O  husband,  shall  be  thought 
Put  on  for  villany  ;  not  born,  where't  grows ; 
But  worn,  a  bait  for  la'dies. 

Pis.  Good  madam,  hear  me. 

Imo.  True  honest  men  being  heard,  like  false 
.^neas, 

41 


i642 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  III. 


Were,  i/i  his  time,   tlioiiglit  false :  and  Sinon's 

weeping 

Did  scandal  many  a  holy  tear;  took  pity 
From  most  true  wretchedness :  So,  thou,  Posthu- 
rnus, 

Wilt  lay  the  leaven  on  ill  proper  men  ; 
Goodly,  and  gallant,  shall  be  false  and  perjur'd, 
From  thy  great  fail.--Come,  fellow,  be  thou  honest; 
I>o  thou  thy  master's  bidding:  When  thou  see'st 
him, 

A  little  witness  my  obedience :  Look! 
I  draw  the  sword  myself:  take  it;  and  hit 
The  innocent  mansion  of  my  love,  my  heart : 
Fear  not ;  'tis  empty  of  all  things,  bat  grief: 
Thy  master  is  not  there  ;  who  was,  indeed, 
The  riches  of  it:  Do  his  bidding;  strike, 
Thou  may'st  be  valiant  in  a  better  cause  : 
But  now  thou  seem'st  a  coward. 

Pis.  Hence,  vile  instrument ! 

Thou  shalt  not  damn  my  hand. 

Imo.  Why,  I  must  die  ; 

And  if  I  do  not  by  thy  hand,  thou  art 
No  servant  of  thy  master's:  Against  self-slaughter 
Tliere  is  a  prohibition  so  divine,  [heart ; 

That  cravens  my  weak  hand.     Come,  here's  my 
Something's  afore't: — Soft,  soft;  we'll  no  defence; 
Obedient  as  the  scabbard. — Wliat  is  here  ? 
The  scriptures  of  the  loyal  Leonatus, 
All  turn'd  to  heresy  ?    Away,  away, 
Cov  rupters  of  my  faith  !  you  shall  no  more 
Be  stomacfiers  to  my  heart !  Thus  may  poor  fools 
Believe  false  teachers  :  Though  those,  that  are  be- 
tray'd. 

Do  feel  the  treason  sharply,  yet  the  traitoi 

Stands  in  worse  case  of  woe. 

And  thou,  Pasthumu-s,  thou  that  did'st  set  np 

My  disobedience  'gainst  the  king  ray  father. 

And  make  nie  put  into  contempt  the  suits 

Of  princely  fellows,  shalt  hereafter  find 

It  is  no  act  of  common  passage,  but 

A  strain  of  rareness  :  and  1  grieve  myself, 

To  think,  when  thou  shalt  be  disedg'd  by  her 

That  no vv,  thou  tir'st  on.  how  thy  memory 

Will  then  he  pang'd  by  me. — Pr'ythee,  despatch  : 

'I'he  lamb  entreats  the  butcher:  Where's  thy  knife? 

Thou  art  too  slow  to  do  thy  master  s  bidding, 

Wlien  I  desire  it  too. 

Pis.  O  gracious  lady. 

Since  I  receiv'd  command  to  do  this  business, 
1  have  not  slept  one  wink. 

Imo.  Do't,  and  to  bed  then. 

Pis.  I'll  wake  mine  eye-balls  blind  first. 
hno.  Wherefore  then 

Didst  undertake  it?  Why  hast  thou  abus'd 
So  many  miles,  with  a  pretence  ?  this  place? 
Mint-,  action,  and  thine  own?  our  horses'  labour? 
'J'he  time  irivlting  thee?  the  perturb'd  court. 
For  my  being  absent;  whereunto  I  never 
Purpose  retiirn?  Why  bast  thou  gone  so  far, 
'i'o  be  unbent,  when  thou  hast  ta'en  thy  stand, 
The  elected  deer  before  thee  ? 

Pis.  But  to  win  time 

To  lose  so  bad  employment:  in  the  which 
I  have  consider'd  of  a  course  :  Good  lady. 
Hear  me  with  patience. 

Imo.  Talk  thy  tongue  weary  ;  speak  : 

I  have  hear<3,  I  am  a  strumpet ;  and  mine  ear, 
Tiiereiu  false  strtick,  can  take  no  greater  wound, 
Nor  tent  to  bottom  that.    But  speak. 

Pis.  Then,  madam, 

I  thought  you  would  not  back  again. 

lino..  Most  like ; 

Bringing  me  here  to  kill  me. 

Pis.  Not  so,  rsither! 

But  if  I  were  as  wise  as  honest,  then 
My  purpose  would  prove  well.    It  cannot  be, 
But  that  my  master  is  abus'd  : 
Some  villain,  ay,  and  singular  in  his  art. 
Hath  d{)ne  yon  both  this  cursed  injury. 
Imo.  Some  R '•man  Courtezan. 


Pis.  No,  on  my  life. 

I'll  give  but  notice  you  are  deeid,  and  send  hioi 
Some  bloody  sign  of  it;  lor  'tis  commanded 
I  sl«)uld  do  so  :  You  shall  be  miss'd  at  court, 
And  that  will  well  confirm  it. 

iwo-  Whv,  good  fei'ow, 

What  shall  I  do  tU  while  V  Whert.bide  ?  How  U»«? 
Or  in  my  life  what  comfort,  when  I  am 
Dead  to  my  husband  ? 

Pis.  If  you'll  back  to  the  couHr— 

Imo.  No  court,  no  father  ;  nor  no  more  ado 
With  that  harsh,  noble,  simple  nothinj^; 
That  Cloten,  whose  love-suit  hath  been  tome 
As  fearful  as  a  siege. 

Pis,     _  If  not  at  court. 

Then  not  in  Britain  must  you  bide. 

Imo.  Where  then? 

Hath  Britain  all  the  sun  that  shines  ?  Day,  night. 
Are  they  not  but  in  Britain  ?  I'the  world's  volufija 
Our  Britain  seems  as  of  it,  but  not  in  it; 
In  a  great  pool,  a  swan's  nest ;  Pr'ythee,  think 
There's  livers  out  of  Britain. 

Pis.  lam  most  glad 

You  think  of  other  place.    The  embassador, 
Lucius  the  Roman,  comes  to  Milford  -Haveu 
To-morrow  :  Now,  if  you  coii^-d  wear  a  mind 
Dark  as  your  fortune  is  ;  and  but  disguise 
That,  which,  to  appear  itself,  must  not  yet  be 
But  by  self  danger;  you  should  tread  a  course 
Pretty,  and  full  of  view:  yea,  haply,  near 
The  residence  of  Posthumus  :  so  nigh,  at  least 
That  though  his  actions  were  not  visible,  yet 
Report  should  render  him  hourly  to  your  ear. 
As  truly  as  he  moves. 

Imo.  O,  for  such  means ! 

Though  peril  to  my  modesty,  not  death  on't, 
I  would  adventure. 

Pis.  Well,  then,  here's  the  j  oin|: 

You  must  forget  to  be  a  woman  ;  change 
Command  into  o!jedif>nce ;  fear,  and  niceness, 
(The  handmaids  of  all  women,  or,  more  truly, 
Woman  its  pretty  self,)  to  a  waggish  courage 
Ready  in  gibes,  quick-answerd,  saucy,  and 
As  quarrellous  as  the  weasel :  nay,  you  must 
Forget  that  rarest  treasure  of  your  cheek, 
Exposing  it  (but,  O,  the  harder  heart! 
Alack,  no  remedy  !)  to  the  greedy  touch 
Of  common  kissing  Titan  ;  and  forget 
Your  laboursome  and  dainty  trims,  wherein 
You  made  great  Juno  angry. 

Imo.  Nay,  be  brief : 

I  see  into  thy  end,  and  am  almost 
A  man  already. 

Pis.  First,  make  yourself  but  like  one. 

Fore-thinking  this,  I  have  already  fit, 
('Tis  in  my  cloak  bag,)  doublet,  hat,  hose,  all 
That  answer  to  them  :  Would  you,  in  their  serviugi 
And  with  what  imitation  you  can  borrow 
From  youth  of  such  a  season,  'fore  noble  Lacius 
Present  yourself,  desire  h-is  service,  tell  him 
Wherein  you  are  happy,  (which  you'll  make  him 
know. 

If  that  his  head  have  ear  in  music,)  doubtless. 
With  joy  he  will  embrace  you  ;  for  he's  honourable, 
And,  doubling  that,  most  holy.    Your  means  abroao 
Yon  have  me,  rich  ;  and  I  will  never  fail 
Beginning,  nor  supplyment. 

Itno.  Thou  art  all  the  comfort 

The  gods  will  diet  me  with.    Pr'ythee  away: 
'J'here's  more  to  be  consider'd  ;  but  we  11  even 
All  that  good  time  will  give  us  :  Tliis  attempt 
I'm  soldier  to.  and  will  abide  it  with 
A  prince's  courage.    Away,  I  pr'ythee. 

Pis.  Well,  madam,  we  must  take  a  short  farewell 
Lest,  being  miss'd,  I  be  suspected  of 
Your  carriage  from  the  court.  My  noble  niistreaa, 
Here  is  a  box  :  I  had  it  from  the  queen; 
What's  in't  is  precious;  if  you  are  sick  at  sea. 
Or  stomuch-qualm'd  at  land,  p.  dram  of  this 
Will  drive  away  distemper. — To  some  shade, 


A  n(J  fit  yon  to  j'our  manhood  —May  the  goas 
Direct  you  to  the  best ! 
Into.  Amen:  I  thank  thee.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — A  Room  in  Cymhe{ine''s  Palace. 
Enter  Cymbeline,  Qup.en,  Cloten,  Lucius,  and 
Lords. 

Cymb  Thus  far;  and  so  farewell. 

Luc.  Thanks,  royal  sir. 

My  emperor  hath  wrote  ;  I  must  from  hence ; 
And  am  rigfit  sorry,  that  I  must  report  ye 
My  master's  enemy. 

Cymb.  Our  subjects,  sir, 

Will  not  endure  his  yoke  ;  and  for  ourself 
To  shew  less  sovereignty  than  they,  must  needs 
Appear  UHkinglike. 

Luc.  So,  sir,  T  desire  of  you 

A  conduct  over-land,  to  Milford-IJaven. — 
Madam,  all  joy  befal  your  grace,  and  you  ! 

Cym.  My  lords,  you  are  appointed  for  that  office  ; 
The  due  of  honour  in  no  point  omit : — 
So,  farewell,  noble  Lucius. 

Luc.  Your  hand,  my  lord. 

Clo.  Receive  it  friendly;  but  from  this  time  forth 
I  wear  it  as  your  enemy. 

Luc.  Sir,  the  event 

!s  yet  to  name  the  winner  :  Fare  you  well.  [lords, 

Cym.  Leave  not  the  worthy  Lucius,  good  my 
Till  he  have  cross'd  the  Severn, — Happiness ! 

[Exeunt  Lucius  and  Lords. 

Queen.  He  go<\s  hence  frowning:  but  it  honours 
That  we  ha\e  given  him  cause.  [us, 

Clo.  'Tis  all  the  better; 

Your  valiant  Britons  have  their  wishes  in  it. 

Cym.  Lucius  hath  wrote  already  to  the  emperor 
flow  it  goes  here.    It  fits  us  therefore,  ripely, 
Our  chariots  and  our  horsemen  be  in  readiness  : 
The  powers,  that  he  already  hath  in  Gallia, 
VVil!  soon  be  drawn  to  head,  from  whence  he  moves 
His  war  for  Britain. 

Queen.  'Tis  not  sleepy  business ; 

But  must  be  look'd,  to  speedily,  and  strongly. 

Cym.  Our  expectation,  that  it  would  be  thus, 
Hath  made  «s  forward.    But,  my  gentle  queen, 
Where  is  our  daughter?  She  hath  notappear'd 
Before  the  Roman,  nor  to  us  hath  tender'd 
The  duty  of  the  day  :  She  looks  us  like 
A  tiling  more  made  of  malice,  than  of  duty  : 
We  have  noted  it. — Call  her  before  us ;  for 
We  have  been  too  slight  in  sufferance. 

[Exit  an  Attendant. 

Queen.  Royal  sir, 

Shice  the  exile  of  Posthumus,  most  r^tir'd 
Hath  her  life  been  ;^  the  cure  whereof,  my  lord, 
'Tis  time  must  do.    'Beseech  yoijr  majesty, 
Forbear  sharp  speeches  to  her:  She's  a  lady 
So  tender  of  rebukes,  that  words  are  strokes. 
And  strokes  death  to  her. 

Re-enter  an  Attendant. 

Cym.  Where  is  she,  sir  ?  How 

Can  her  contempt  be  en;swer'd  ? 

xitten.  Please  you,  sir. 

Her  chambers  are  all  lock'd  ;  and  there's  no  answer. 
That  will  he  given  to  the  loud'st  of  noise  we  make. 

Queen.  My  lord,  when  Jast  I  went  to  visit  her. 
She  praj'd  me  to  excuse  her  keeping  close; 
Whereto  constrain'd  by  her  infirmity, 
She  shcnld  that  duty  leave  unpaid  to  you. 
Which  daily  she  was  bound  ta  proffer:  this 
She  wish'd  me  to  make  known  ;  but  our  great  court 
Made  me  to  blame  in  memory. 

Cy.u.  Her  doors  lock'd  ? 

Not  oeen  of  late?  Grant,  heavens,  that,  which  I  fear, 
Prove  false  w  [Exit. 

Queen.       Soi  I  say,  follaw  the  king. 

Clo.  Ttet  man  of  hers,  Pisanio,  her  old  servant, 
I  have  not  seen  these  two  ays. 

Queen.  Go.  look  after. —  [Exit  Cloten. 

P'saoio,  tbm  that  stand'st  so  for  Posthumus  I — 


643 

He  hath  a  drug  of  mine :  T  pray,  his  absence 

Proceed  by  swallowing  that;  for  he  believes 

It  is  a  thing  most  precious.    But  for  her, 

Where  is  she  gone  ?  Haply,  despair  hath  seia'dkw 

Or,  wing'd  with  fervour  of  her  love,  she's  fiowr 

To  her  desir'd  Posthumus :  Gone  she  is 

To  death,  or  to  dishonour ;  and  my  end 

Can  make  good  use  of  either :  Slie  being  down, 

I  have  the  placing  of  the  British  srown. 

Re- enter  Cloten. 
How  now,  my  son? 

Clo.  'Tis  certain,  she  is  fled : 

Go  in,  and  cheer  the  king;  he  rages;  none 
Dare  come  about  him. 

Queen.  All  the  better:  May 

This  night  forestall  him  of  the  coming  day  !  [Exit, 

Clo.  I  love,  and  hate  her:  for  she's  fair  and  royal, 
And  that  she  hath  all  courtly  parts  more  exquisite 
Than  lady,  ladies,  woman  ;  from  every  one 
The  best  she  hath,  and  she,  of  all  compounded, 
Outsells  them  all :  I  love  her,  therefore  :  But, 
Disdaining  me,  and  throwing  favours  on 
The  low  Posthumus,  slanders  so  her  judgment, 
That  what's  else  rare,  is  chok'd ;  and,  in  that  point, 
I  will  conclude  to  hate  her,  nay,  indeed, 
To  be  reveng'd  upon  her.    For  when  fools 

Enter  Pisanio. 
Shall — Who  is  here  ?    What !  are  yon  packing, 
sirrah  ? 

Come  hither:  Ah,  you  precious  pander!  Villain, 
Where  is  thy  lady?  In  a  word  ;  or  else 
Thou  art  straightway  with  the  fiends. 

Pis.  O,  good  my  lord ! 

Clo.  Where  is  thy  lady?  ox,  by  Jupiter, 
I  will  not  ask  again.    Close  villain, 
ril  have  this  secret  from  thy  heart,  or  rip 
Thy  heart  to  find  it.    Is  she  with  Posthumus  ? 
From  whose  so  many  weights  of  baseness  cannot 
A  dram  of  worth  be  drawn. 

Pis.  Alas,  my  lord. 

How  can  she  be  with  him?  When  was  she  miss'd? 
He  is  in  Rome. 

Clo.  Where  is  she,  sir?  Come  neaper^ 

No  further  halting:  satisfy  me  home. 
What  is  become  of  her? 

Pis.  O,  my  all- worthy  lord. 

Clo.  All-worthy  villaia! 

Discover  where  thy  mistress  ia,  at  once. 
At  the  next  word, — No  more  of  worfhy  lord,— 
Speak,  or  thy  silence  on  the  instant  is 
Thy  condemnation  and  thy  death. 

Pis.  Then,  sir, 

This  paper  is  the  history  of  my  knowledge 
Touching  her  flight.  {Presenting  a  letter.) 

Clo.  Let's  see't : — I  will  pursue  he/» 

Even  to  Augustus'  throne. 

Pis.  Or  this,  or  perish,  ^ 

She's  far  enough;  and  what  he  learns  by  f  j  •  j 
this  >Asiae. 

May  prove  his  travel,  not  her  danger.  y 

Clo.  Humph! 

Pis.  I'll  write  to  my  lord  she's  dead.  O  Imogen. 
Safe  may'st  thou  wander,  safe  return  again  !  [A^ide.] 

Clo.  Sirrah,  is  this  letter  true  ? 

Pis.  Sir,  as  I  think. 

Clo.  It  is  Posthumus'  hand ;  I  know't. — Sirrah, 
if  thou  would'st  not  be  a  villain,  but  do  me  true 
service;  undergo  those  employments,  wherein  1 
should  have  cause  to  use  thee,  with  a  serious  indus- 
try,— that  is,  what  villany  soe'er  I  bid  thee  do,  to 
perform  it,  directly  and  truly, — I  would  think  thee 
an  honest  man  :  thou  shouid'st  neitlier  want  my 
means  for  thy  relief,  nor  my  voice  for  thy  preferment. 

Pis.  Well,  my  good  lord. 

Clo.  Wilt  thou  serve  me?    For,  since  patientl'' 
and  constantly  thou  hast  stuck  to  the  bare  fortu- 
of  that  beggar  Posthumus,  thou  canst  not,  in  ' 
course  of  gratitude,  but  be  a  diligent  folio  we 
mine.    Wilt  thou  .s*»rve  me  ? 


CYMBELINE. 


644 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  III 


Pis.  Sir,  I 

Clo.  Give  me  thy  hand,  here's  my  purse.  Hast 
any  of  thy  late  master's  garments  in  thy  possession''' 

Pis.  1  have,  my  lord,  at  my  lodging,  the  same 
unit  lie  wore,  when  he  took,  leave  of  my  lady  and 
mistress. 

Clo.  The  first  service  thou  dost  me,  fetch  that 
suit  hither  :  let  it  be  thy  first  service  }  go. 

Pis.  I  sliall,  my  lord.  [Exit. 

Clo.  Meet  thee  at  Mil  ford-Haven  :— I  forgot  to 
ask  him  one  thing;  I'll  remember't  anon: — Even 
there,  thou  villain,  Posthumus,  will  I  kill  thee.— 
I  would,  these  garments  were  come.  She  said 
upon  a  time,  (the  bitterness  of  it  1  now  belch  from 
my  heart,)  that  she  held  the  very  garment  of  Posthu- 
mus in  more  respect  than  my  noble  and  natural 
person,  together  with  the  adornment  of  my  qualities. 
With  that  suit  upon  my  back,  will  1  ravish  her: 
First  kill  him,  and  in  her  eyes;  there  shall  she  see 
my  valour,  which  will  then  be  a  torment  to  her  con- 
tempt. He  on  the  ground,  my  speech  of  insultment 
ended  on  his  dead  body, — and  when  my  lust  hath 
dined,  (wiiich,  as  I  say,  to  vex  her,  I  will  execute 
in  the  clothes  that  she  so  praised,)  to  the  court  I'll 
knock  her  back,  foot  her  home  again.  She  hath 
despis'd  me  rejoicingly,  and  I  II  be  merry  in  my 
revenge. 

Re-enter  Pisanio,  tvith  the  clothes. 

Be  those  the  garments? 

Pin.  Ay,  my  noble  lord.  [Haven? 

Clo.  How  long  is't  since  she  went  to  Milford- 

Pis.  She  can  scarce  be  there  yet. 

Clo.  Bring  this  apparel  to  my  chamber  ;  that  is 
the  second  thing  that  1  have  commanded  thee  :  the 
third  is,  that  thou  shalt  be  a  voluntary  mute  to  mv 
design.  Be  but  duteous,  and  true  preferment  shall 
tender  itself  to  thee. — My  revenge  is  now  at  Milford ; 
'Would  1  had  wings  to  follow  it! — Come,  and  be 
true.  [Exit. 

Pis.  Thon  bidd'st  me  to  my  loss  :  for,  true  to 
thee, 

Were  to  prove  false,  which  I  will  never  be. 

To  him  tliat  is  most  true.    To  Milford  go, 

And  find  not  her,  whom  thou  pursu'st.    Flow,  flow, 

You  heavenly  blessi.igs,  on  her!   This  fool's  sueed 

Be  cross'd  with  slowness ;  labour  be  his  meed  ! 

[Exit. 

Scene  VI. — Before  the  Cave  of  Belarius, 
Enter  Imogen,  in  boy's  clothes. 

Into.  I  see,  a  man's  life  is  a  tedious  one  : 
I  have  tir'd  myself;  and  for  two  nights  together 
Have  made  tlie  ground  my  bed.    I  should  be  sick. 
But  that  my  resolution  helps  me. — Milford, 
When  from  the  mountain  top  Pisanio  shew'd  thee. 
Thou  wast  within  a  ken  :  O  Jove  !  I  think, 
Foundations  fly  the  wretched  ;  such,  1  mean, 
Where  tliey  should  be  relieV'd.    Two  beggars 
l)ld  me, 

I  could  not  miss  my  way  :  Will  poor  folks  lie, 
That  have -afflictions  on  them;  knowing  'tis 
A.  punisliment,  or  tsial  ?  Yes;  no  wonder, 
Vhen  rich  ones  scarce  tell  true  :  To  lapse  in  ful- 
ness 

..s  sorer,  than  to  lie  for  need  ;  and  falsehood 

Is  worse  in  kings,  than  beggars. — My  dear  lord  I 

Thou  art  one  o'the  false  ones :  Now  I  think  on  thee, 

My  hunger's  gone  ;  but  even  before,  I  was 

At  point  to  sink  for  food. — But  what  is  this? 

Here  is  a  path  to  it :  "^i^is  some  savage  hold  : 

I  were  best  not  call;  I  dare  not  call ;  yet  famine. 

Ere  clean  it  o'erthrow  nature,  makes  it  valiant. 

Plenty,  and  peace,  breeds  cowards ;  hardness  ever 

Of  hardiness  is  mother. — Ho!  who's  here? 

If  aoy  thing,  that  s  civil,  speak;  if  savage, 

Take,  or  lend. — Ho  ! — No  answer?  then  I'll  enter. 

Best  draw  my  sword,  and  if  mine  enemy 

But  fear  the  sword  like  me,  he'll  scarcely  look  on't. 

Such  a  foe,  good  heavens !  {She  goes  into  the  Cave.^ 


Enter  BeIiARius,  Cuimrfus,  and  Arviragi:.s. 

Bel.  You,  Polydore,  have  prov'd  best  woodman 
and 

Are  master  of  the  feast  :  Cadwal,  and  I, 
Will  play  the  c.xik  and  servant;  'tis  otir  match-. 
The  sweat  of  industry  would  dry,  and  die, 
But  for  the  end  it  works  to.    Come;  our  stomachs 
Will  make  what's  homely,  sa\  oury  ;  \\  eariness 
Can  snore  upon  the  flint,  when  restive  sloth 
Finds  the  down  pillow  liard. — Now,  peace  be  here, 
Poor  house,  that  keep'st  thyself! 
Giii.  I  am  thoroughly  weary 

Arv.  I  am  weak  with  toil,  yet  strong  in  appeiite. 
Gui.  There  is  cold  meat  i'the  cave  ;  we'll  browze 
on  that, 

Whilst  what  we  have  kill'd  be  cook  d. 

Bel.  Stay;  come  not  in  :  [hookinij  in., 

But  that  it  eats  our  victuals,  1  should  think 
Here  were  a  fairy. 

Gui.  What's  the  matter,  sir  ? 

Bel.  By  Jupiter,  an  angel  I  or,  if  not, 
An  earthly  paragon! — Behold  divineness 
No  elder  than  a  boy  ! 

Enter  Imogen. 

Lno.  Good  masters,  harm  me  not : 
Before  I  enter'd  here,  I  call'd  ;  and  thought 
To  have  begg'd,  or  bought,  what  I  have  took  :  Good 
troth, 

I  have  stolen  nought;  nor  would  not,  though  1  had 
found  [meat ; 

Gold  strew'd  o'the  floor.    Here's  money  for  my 
I  would  have  left  it  on  the  board,  so  soon 
As  I  had  made  my  meal ;  and  parted 
With  prayers  for  the  provider. 

Gui.  ^  Money,  youth? 

Arv.  All  gold  and  silver  rather  turn  to  dirt! 
As  'tis  no  better  reckou'd,  but  of  those 
Who  worship  dirty  gods. 

Imo.  I  see,  you  are  angry . 

Know,  if  you  kill  me  for  my  fault,  I  should 
Have  died,  had  I  not  made  it. 

Bel.  Whither  bound? 

Imo.  To  Milford-Haven,  sir. 

Bel.  What  is  your  name  T 

Itno.  Fidele,  sir  :  I  have  a  kinsman,  who 
Is  bound  for  Italy;  he  embaik'd  at  Milford; 
To  whom  being  going,  almost  spent  with  hunger, 
I  am  fall'n  in  this  ofience. 

Bel.  Pr'ythee,  fair  youth, 

Think  us  no  churls;  nor  measure  our  good  minds 
By  this  rude  place  we  live  in,    VV'ell  encounter'd! 
''I'is  almost  night :  you  shall  have  better  cheer, 
lire  you  depart;  and  thanks,  to  stay  and  eat  it. — 
Boys,  bid  him  welcome. 

Gui.  Were  you  a  woman,  youth, 

I  should  woo  hard,  but  be  your  groom. —  in  honesty, 
I  bid  for  you,  as  I'd  buy. 

Arv.  ril  make't  my  comfort, 

He  is  a  man;  I'll  love  him  as  my  brother  : — 
And  such  a  welcome  as  I'd  give  to  him. 
After  long  absence,  such  as  yours:  —  Most  wel- 
come ! 

Be  sprightly,  for  you  fall  'mongst  friends. 

Imo.  'Mongst  friends ! 

If  brothers  ? — Would  it  had  been  so,  tluit  \ 
they  [prize  w 

Had  bieen  my  father's  sons  ?  then  had  my  \  Aside. 
Been  less;  and  so  more  equal  ballasting* 
To  thee,  Posthumus.  / 

Bel.  He  wrings  at  some  distrcs* 

Gid.  'Would,  I  could  free't ! 

Arv.  Or  I ;  whate'er  it  b«, 

What  pain  it  cost,  what  danger  I  Gods  ! 

Bel.  Hark,  boys.  {Whispering) 

Imo.  Great  men. 
That  had  a  court  no  bigger  than  this  cave. 
That  did  attend  themselveH,  and  had  the  virtue 
Which  their  own  conscience  soal'd  them,  (laying 
That  nothing  gift  of  dilTerinj;  multitudes,) 


A-tTT  lY.    Scene  2. 


CYMBELTNE. 


645 


Oonld  not  out  peer  these  twain.    Pardon  me,  gods  ! 
I'd  chang^e  my  sex  to  be  companion  with  them. 
Since  Leonatiis'  false. 

Bel.  It  shall  be  so  : 

Koys,  we'll  go  dress  our  hunt. — Fair  youth,  come  in  : 
Discourse  is  heavy,  fasting;  when  we  have  supp'd, 
We'll  mannerly  demand  thee  of  thy  story. 
So  far  as  thou  wilt  speak,  it. 

Giii.  Pray,  draw  near. 

Arv.  The  night  to  the  owl,  and  morn  to  the  lark, 
less  welcome. 

hno.  Thanks,  sir. 

Arv.  I  pray,  draw  near.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  Yll.— Borne. 
Enter  two  Senators  and  Tribunes. 

1  Sen.  This  is  the  tenour  of  the  emperor's  writ; 
That  since  the  common  men  are  now  in  action 
'Gainst  the  Pannoniatis  and  Dalmatians  ; 

And  that  the  legions  now  in  Gallia  are 
Full  weak  to  undertake  our  wars  against 
The  fall'n-oti'  Britons ;  that  we  do  incite 
The  gentry  to  this  business:  He  creates 
Lucius  proconsul  :  and  to  you  the  tribunes. 
For  this  immediate  levy,  he  commands 
His  absolute  commission.    Long  live  Caesar! 
Tri.  Is  Lucius  general  of  the  forces  ? 

2  Sen.  Ay. 
Tri.  Remaining  now  in  Gallia? 

1  Sen.  With  those  legions 

Which  I  have  spoke  of,  whereunto  your  levy 
Must  be  supplyant :  The  words  of  your  commission 
Will  tie  you  to  the  numbers,  and  the  time 
Of  their  despatch. 

Tri.  We  will  discharge  our  duty.  [Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — The  Forest,  near  the  Cave. 
Enter  Cloten. 
Clo.  I  am  near  to  the  place  where  they  should 
meet,  if  Pisanio  have  mapped  it  truly.  How  fit 
his  garments  serve  me!  VVhy  should  his  mistress, 
who  was  made  by  hiui  that  made  the  tailor,  not  be 
fit  too''  the  rather  (saving  reverence  of  the  word) 
for  'tis  said,  a  wouian's  fitness  comes  by  fits. 
Therein  I  must  play  the  workman.  I  dare  speak  it 
to  myself,  (for  it  is  not  vain  glory,  for  a  man  and 
his  glass  to  confer ;  in  his  own  chamber,  I  mean,) 
the  lines  of  my  body  are  as  well  drawn  as  his ; 
no  less  young,  more  strong,  not  beneath  him  in 
forttmes,  beyond  him  in  the  advantage  of  the  time, 
above  him  in  birth,  alike  conversant  in  general 
services,  and  more  remarkable  in  single  oppositions: 
yet  this  imperseverant  thing  loves  him  in  my  des- 
pite. What  mortality  is!  Posthumus,  thy  head, 
which  now  is  growing  upon  thy  shoulders,  shall 
within  this  houi  be  off;  thy  mistress  enforced; 
thy  garments  cut  to  pieces  before  thy  face  ;  and  all 
this  done,  spurn  her  home  to  her  ftither :  who  may, 
haply,  be  a  little  angry  for  my  so  rough  usage : 
but  mv  mother,  having  power  of  his  testiness,  shall 
turn  all  into  my  commendations.  My  horse  is  tied 
op  safe  :  Out,  sword,  and  to  a  sore  purpose !  For- 
tune, put  them  into  my  hand  !  This  is  the  very 
description  of  their  meeting-place;  and  the  fellow 
dares  not  deceive  me.  [Exit. 

Scene  \\.— Before  the  Cave. 
Enter^  from  the  Cave,  Belarius,  Guiderius, 

AitviRAOUs.  and  Imogen. 
BeLYon  are  not  well  :  {To  Imogen)  remain  here 
in  the  cave ; 
We'll  come  to  you  after  hunting. 

Arv.  Brother,  stay  here  :  {To  Imogen.) 

Are  we  not  brothers  ? 

Irno.  So  man  and  man  should  be ; 

But  clay  and  clay  differs  in  dignity, 
Whose  dust  is  both  alike.    I  am  very  sick. 
Gui.  Go  you  to  hunting.  I'll  abide  with  hiio. 


Imo.  So  sick  T  am  not;— yet  I  am  not  well : 

But  not  so  citizen  a  wanton,  as 

To  seem  to  die,  ere  sick  :  So  please  you,  leave  me' 

Stick  to  your  journal  course  :  the  breach  of  custom 

Is  breach  of  all.    I  am  ill ;  but  your  being  by  rue 

Cannot  amend  me  :  Society  is  no  comfort 

To  one  not  sociable  :  I'm  not  very  sick. 

Since  I  can  reason  of  it.    Pray  you,  trust  me  herej 

I'll  rob  none  but  myself;  and  let  me  die, 

Stealing  so  poorly. 

Gui.  I  love  thee ;  I  have  spoke  it 

How  much  the  quantity,  tlie  weight  as  much. 
As  I  do  love  my  father. 

Bel.  What?  how?  how? 

Arv.  If  it  be  sin  to  say  so,  sir,  I  yoke  me 
In  my  good  brother's  fault :  I  know  not  why 
I  love  this  youth;  and  I  have  heard  you  say, 
Love's  reason's  without  reason ;  the  bier  at  door 
And  a  demand  who  is't  shall  die,  I'd  say. 
Mi/  father,  not  this  youth. 

Bel.  O  noble  strain  !  {Aside.) 

0  worthiness  of  nature!  breed  of  greatness! 
Cowards  father  cowards,  and  base  things  sire  base  : 
Nature  hath  meal,  and  bran;  contempt,  and  grace. 

1  am  not  their  father;  yet  who  this  should  be. 
Doth  miracle  itself,  lov'd  before  me. — 

'Tis  the  ninth  hour  o'  the  morn. 
Arv.  Brother,  farewell. 

Imo.  I  wish  you  sport. 

Arv.  You  healtl*. — So  please  you,  sir. 

Imo.  {Aside.)  These  are  kind  creatures.  Gods, 
what  lies  I  have  heard! 
Our  courtiers  say,  all's  savage,  but  at  court : 
Experience,  O,  thou  disprov'st  report! 
The  imperious  seas  breed  monsters ;  for  the  dish, 
Poor  tributary  rivers  as  sweet  fislu 
I  am  sick  still ;  heart  sick  : — Pisanio, 
I'll  now  taste  of  thy  drug. 

Gui.  I  could  not  stir  himi 

He  said,  he  was  gentle,  but  unfortunate ; 
Dishonestly  afflicted,  but  yet  honest. 

Arv.  Thus  did  he  answer  me :  yet  said,  hereaftei 
I  might  know  more. 

Bel.  To  the  field,  to  the  field  :— 

We'll  leave  you  for  this  time;  go  in,  and  rest. 

Arv.  We'll  not  be  long  away. 

Bel.  Pray,  be  not  sick, 

For  you  must  be  our  housewife. 

hno.  Well,  or  ill, 

I  am  bound  to  you. 

Bel.  And  so  shall  be  ever.  [Exit  Imogen, 

This  youth,  howe'er  distress'd,  appears  he  hath  had 
Good  ancestors. 

Arv.  How  angel-like  he  sings? 

Gui.  But  his  neat  cookery !    He  cut  our  roots 
in  characters; 
And  sauc'd  our  broths,  as  Juno  had  been  sick. 
And  he  her  dieter. 

Arv.  Nobly  he  yokes 

A  smiling  with  a  sigh  :  as  if  the  sigh 
Was  that  it  was,  for  not  being  such  a  smile ; 
The  smile  mocking  the  sigh,  that  it  would  fly 
From  so  divine  a  temple,  to  commix 
With  winds,  that  sailors  rail  at. 

Gui.  I  do  note. 

That  grief  and  patience,  rooted  in  him  both, 
Mingle  their  spurs  together. 

Arv.  Grow,  patience  I 

And  let  the  stinking  elder,  grief,  untwine 
His  perishing  root,  with  the  increasing  vine  ! 

Bel.  It  is  great  morning.  Come  ;  away. — WIuJ^ 
there? 

Enter  Cloten 

Clo.  I  cannot  find  those  runagates;  that  villain 
Hath  mock'd  me  : — I  am  faint. 

Bel.  Those  runagates  I 

Means  he  not  us?  I  partly  know  him ;  'tis 
Cloten.  the  son  o'the  queen.    I  fear  some  ambtiaife 
I  saw  him  not  these  many  years,  and  yet 


646 

f  know  'tis  he  :--VVe  are   held  as  otitlaws : — 
Hence. 

Gui.  He  is  but  one:  You  and  my  brother  search 
What  companies  are  near:  pray  yon,  away  ; 
Let  me  alone  with  him.       [Exeunt  Bel.  and  Arv. 

Clo.  Soft;  what  are  yoii 

That  fly  me  thus?  some  villain  mountaineers? 
I  Inne  heard  of  such. — What  slave  art  thou? 

Gui.  A  thing 

Alore  glr.vish  did  I  ne'er,  than  answering 
A  slave,  without  a  knock. 

Clo.  Thou  art  a  robber, 

A  ]f\\v  breaker,  a  villain: — Yield  thee,  thief. 

Gui.  To  who?  to  thee?  What  art  thou?  Have 
not  I 

An  arm  as  big  as  thine  ?  a  heart  as  big  ? 
Thy  words,  I  grant,  are  bigger ;  for  I  wear  not 
/,ly  dagger  in  my  month.    Say,  what  thou  art ; 
Why  I  should  yield  to  thee? 

Clo.  Thou  villain  base, 

Know'st  me  not  by  my  clothes  ? 

Giii.  No,  nor  thy  tailor,  rascal. 

Who  is  thy  grandfather:  he  made  those  clothes, 
Which,  as  it  seems,  make  thee  ? 

Clo.  Thou  precious  varlet, 

My  tailor  made  them  not. 

Gui.  Hence  then,  and  thank 

The  man  that  gave  them  thee.  Thou  art  some  fool ; 
I  am  loath  to  beat  thee. 

Clo.  Tliou  injurious  thief. 

Hear  but  my  name,  and  tremble. 

Gut.  What's  thy  name  ? 

Clo.  Clolen,  thou  villain. 

Gui.  Cloten,  thou  double  villain,  be  fhy  name, 
1  cannot  tremble  at  it ;  were't  toad,  or  adder,  spider, 
'Twould  move  me  sooner. 

Clo.  To  thy  further  fear. 

Nay,  to  thy  mere  confusion,  thou  sliait  know 
I'm  son  to  the  queen. 

GvL  I'm  sorry  for't ;  not  seeming 

So  worthy  as  thy  birth. 

Clo.  Art  not  afeard  ?  [wise : 

Gui.  Those  that  I  reverence,  those  I  fear;  the 
At  fools  1  laugh,  not  fear  tiiem. 

Clo.  \  Die  the  death: 

When  I  have  slain  thee  with  my  proper  hand, 
I'll  follow  those  that  even  now  fled  heuce, 
And  on  (lie  gates  of  Lud's  town  set  your  heads: 
Yields  rustic  nioiintaiueer.  [Exeunt  Jiyhting. 

Enter  Belakius  and  Arviragus. 

Bel.  No  conipany's  abroad.  [sure. 

Arv.  None  in  the  world  :  You  did  mistake  him, 

Bel.  I  cannot  tell :  Long  is  it  since  I  saw  him, 
Biit  time  hath  nothing  bluiT'd  those  lines  of  favour, 
Whicii  then  'ne  wore ;  the  snatches  in  his  voice, 
And  burst  of  speaking,  were  as  his  :  I  am  absolute, 
'Twas  very  Cloten. 

Arv.  In  this  place  we  left  them : 

I  wish  my  brother  make  good  time  with  him. 
You  say  he  is  so  fell. 

Bel.  Being  scarce  made  up, 

I  mean,  to  man,  he  had  not  apprehen.sinn 
Of  roaring  terrors  ;  for  the  effect  ot  judgment 
Is  oft  the  cause  of  fear  :  But  see,  thy  brother. 

Be-enter  GuiDERius,  with  Cloien's  head. 

Gui.  This  Cloten  was  a  fool ;  an  empty  purse. 
There  was  no  money  in't :  not  Hercides 
Could  have  knock'd  out  his  brains,  for  he  had  none  : 
\  et  1  not  doing  this,  the  fool  had  borne 
My  head,  as  I  do  his. 

Bel.  What  hast  thou  done  ? 

Qui.  I  am  perfect,  what :  cut  off  one  Cloten's  head, 
Son  to  the  qiieen,  after  his  own  report; 
Who  cali'd  ine  traitor,  mountaineer;  and  swore, 
With  his  own  siit^le  hand  he'd  take  us  in, 
Displace  our  heads,  where  (thank  the  gods!)  they 
And  set  them  on  Lud's  town.  (grow, 

BeL  We  are  all  undone. 


Act  IV 

Oui.  Why,,  worthy  fattier,  what  have  we  to  loM^ 
But,  tliat  iie  swore,  to  take  our  lives?  The  la^ 
Protects  not  us :  Then  why  should  we  be  tender, 
To  let  an  arrogant  piece  of  flesh  threat  us; 
Play  judge,  and  executioner,  all  himself; 
For  we  do  fear  the  law  ?    What  company 
Discover  you  abroad  ? 

Bel.  No  single  soul 

Can  we  set  eye  on,  but,  in  all  safe  reason. 
He  must  have  some  attendants.  Though  his  ImmouT 
Was  nothing  but  mutation ;  ay,  and  that 
From  one  bad  thing  to  worse  ;  not  frenzy,  not 
Absolute  madness  could  so  far  have  rav'd. 
To  bring  him  here  alone  :  Although,  perhaps, 
It  may  be  heard  at  court,  that  such  as  we 
Cave  here,  hunt  here,  are  outlaws,  and  time 
May  make  some  stronger  head  :  the  which  he  hearings 
(As  it  is  like  him,)  might  break  out,  and  swear 
He'd  fetch  us  in  ;  yet  is't  not  probable 
To  come  alone,  eitlier  he  so  undertaking, 
Or  they  so  suffering:  then  on  good  ground  we  fear 
If  we  do  fear  this  body  hath  a  tail 
More  perilous  than  the  head. 

Arv.  Let  ordinance 

Come  as  the  gods  foresay  it :  howso'er, 
My  brother  hath  done  well. 

Bel.  I  had  no  mind 

To  liunt  this  day:  the  boy  Fidele's  sickness 
Did  make  my  way  long  Ibrth. 

Gui.  With  his  own  sword. 

Which  he  did  wave  against  my  throat,  I  have  ta'en 
His  head  from  hiuj :  1  11  throvv't  into  tlie  creek 
Behind  our  rock  ;  and  let  it  to  the  sea, 
And  tell  the  fishes,  he's  the  queen's  son,  Cloten. 
That's  all  i  reck.  (ExzV. 

Bel.  1  fear  'twill  be  reveng'd  : 

'Would,  Polydore,  thou  had'st  notdoue't!  though 
valour 

Becomes  thee  well  enough. 

Arv.  'Would  I  had  don't. 

So  tl)e  revenge  alone  pursued  me  ! — Polydore, 
I  Kive  thee  brotherly;  but  envy  much, 
Thou  hast  robb'd  me  of  this  deed  :  I  would,  revenges 
Tliat  possible  strength,  might  meet,  would  seek  us 
And  put  us  to  our  answer.  [through, 

Bel.  Well, 'tis  done:— 

We'll  hunt  no  more  to-day,  nor  seek  for  danger 
Where  there's  no  profit.    I  pr'ytiiee,  to  our  rock  ; 
You  and  Fidele  play  the  cooks:  I'll  stay 
Till  hasty  Polydore  return,  and  bring  him 
To  dinner  presently. 

Arv.  Poor  sick  Fidele  I 

I'll  willingly  to  him:  To  gain  his  colour, 
I'd  let  a  parish  of  such  Clotens'  blood. 
And  praise  myself  for  charity,  [Exit. 

Bel.  O  thou  goddess, 

Thou  divine  Nature,  how  thyself  thou  biazon'st. 
In  these  two  princely  boys!  'J'hey  are  as  gentle 
As  zephyrs,  blowing  below  the  violet. 
Not  wagging  his  sweet  head :  and  yet  as  rough, 
'J'heir  royal  blood  enchai'd,  as  the  rud'st  wind. 
That  by  the  top  doth  take  the  mountain  pine, 
And  make  him  stoop  to  the  vale,    "lis  wonderful, 
That  an  invisible  instinct  should  frame  them 
To  royalty  unlearn'd  :  honour  untaught; 
Civility  not  seen  from  other;  valour. 
That  wildly  grows  in  them,  but  yields  a  crsxp 
As  if  it  had  been  sow'd  I  Vet  still  it's  strangt.^ 
What  Cloten's  being  here  to  us  portends ; 
Or  what  his  death  will  bring  us. 

Re-entet  Guiderius. 

Qui.  Where's  my  brother  ? 

I  have  sent  Cloten's  clotpole  down  the  stream, 
In  e»nbassy  to  his  mother :  liis  body's  hos!aj>e 
For  his  return.  {Solemn  muti^ 

Bel.  My  ingenious  instrument ! 

Hark,  Polydore,  it  sounds!  But  what  occasion 
Hath  Ciidwal  now  to  give  it  motion  !  Harli 

Gui.  Is  he  at  borne 


CYMBELINE. 


Scene  2. 

Hel.  He  went  hence  even  now. 

Gui.  What  does  he  mean  ?  since  death  of  my 
dear'st  mother. 
It  did  not  speak  before.    All  solemn  things 
Should  answer  solemn  accidents.    The  matter? 
Triumphs  for  nothing,  and  lanienting  toys. 
Is  jollity  for  apes,  and  e^rief  for  boys, 
2s  Cadwal  mad  ? 

Re- enter  Akviragvs,  bearing  Imogen,  asdaacU  in 
his  arms. 

Bel,  Look,  here  he  comes. 

And  brings  the  dire  occasion  in  his  arms, 
Of  what  we  blame  him  for! 

Arv.  The  bird  is  dead. 

That  we  have  made  so  much  on.    I  bad  rather 
Have  skipp'd  from  sisteeen  years  of  age  to  sixty. 
To  have  turn'd  my  leaping  time  into  a  crutch, 
Than  have  seen  this. 

Gui.  O  sweetest,  fairest  lily  ! 

My  brother  wears  thee  not  the  one  half  so  well. 
As  when  thou  grew'st  thyself. 

Bel.  O,  melancholy ! 

Who  ever  yet  could  sound  thy  bottom  ?  find 
The  ooze,  to  shew  what  coast  thy  sluggish  care 
Might  easiliest  harbour  in? — Thou  blessed  thing! 
Jove  knows  what  man  thou  might'st  have  made."*but  I, 
Thou  died'st,  a  most  rare  boy,  of  meUncholy  !— 
How  found  you  him  ? 

Arv.  Stark,  as  you  see ; 

Thus  smiling,  as  some  fly  had  tickled  slumber, 
Not  as  death's  dart,  being  laugh'd  at :  his  right  cheek 
Reposing  on  a  cushion. 

Gui.  Where  ? 

Arv.  O'the  floor ; 

His  arms  thus  leagu'd  :  I  thought,  he  slept;  and  put 
My  clouted  brogues  from  off  my  feet,  whose  rudeness 
Answer'd  my  steps  too  loud. 

Gui,  Why,  he  but  sleeps : 

If  he  be  gone,  he'll  make  his  grave  a  bed  ; 
With  female  fairies  will  his  tomb  be  haunted, 
And  worms  will  not  come  to  thee. 

Arv.  With  fairest  flowers, 

W^hile  summer  lasts,  and  I  live  here,  Fidele, 
I'll  sweeten  thy  sad  grave  :  Thou  shalt  not  lack 
The  flower,  that's  like  thy  face,  pale  primrose ;  nor 
The  azur'd  hare-bell,  like  thy  veins;  no,  nor 
The  leaf  of  eglantine,  w!iom  not  to  slander, 
Oiit-sweeten'd  not  thy  breath:  the  ruddock  would, 
With  charitable  bill  (O  bill,  sore-shaming 
Those  iicl>-left  heirs,  that  let  their  fathers  lie 
Without  a  monument  1)  bring  thee  all  this  ; 
Yea,  and  furr'd  moss  besides,  when  flowers  are  none 
To  winter-ground  thy  corse. 

Gut.  Pr'ythee,  have  done ; 

And  do  not  play  in  wench-like  words  with  that 
Which  is  so  serious.    Let  us  bury  him. 
And  not  pr«)tact  with  admiration  what 
Is  now  due  debt. — To  the  grave. 

Arv.  i>ay,  where  shall's  lay  him  ? 

Gui.  By  good  Euriphile,  our  mother. 

Arv.  Be't  so ; 

And  let  us,  Polydore,  though  now  our  voices 
Have  got  the  mannish  crack,  sing  hitn  to  the  ground 
As  once  our  mother;  use  like  note,  and  words, 
Save  that  Euriphile  must  be  Fidele. 

Gui.  Cadwal, 
I  cannet  sing  :  I'll  weep,  and  word  it  with  thee  : 
For  notes  of  sorrow,  out  of  tune,  are  worse 
Than  priests  and  fanes  that  lie.  ' 

Arv.  VVe'll  S;peak  it  then. 

Bel.  Great  griefs,  I  see,  medicine  the  less:  for 
Gluten 

la  quite  forgot.    He  was  a  queen's  son,  boys  : 
And,  though  he  came  our  enemy,  remember 
He  was  paid  tor  that ;  Though  mean  and  mighty, 
rotting 

Together,  have  one  dust;  yet  reverence, 

(That  angel  of  the  world,)  doth  make  distincition 

Of  pmce  'tween  \ng\\  and  law.  Our  Ibe  vv  is  pri.«cely; 


647 

And  though  you  took  his  life,  as  being  our  foe,  , 
Yet  bury  him  as  a  prince. 

Gui.  Pray  you,  fetch  him  hither, 

Thersites'  body  is  as  good  as  Ajax, 
When  neither  are  alive. 

Arv.  If  yoiT'll  go  fetch  him. 

We'll  say  our  song  the  whilst. — Brother,  begin. 

[Exit  Belariux 

Gui.  Nay, Cadwal,  we  must  lay  his  head  to  the  eaat, 
My  father  hath  a  reason  for't. 
Arv.  'Tis  true. 

Gui.  Come  on  then,  and  remove  him. 
Arv,  So,— Begin 

SONG. 

Gui.  Fear  no  more  the  heal  othe  sun^ 
Nor  the  furious  winter  s  rages  ; 

Thou  thy  wordly  task  hast  done, 
Home  art  gone,  and  ta'en  thy  wages: 

Golden  lads  and  girls  all  must 

As  chimney-sweepers,  come  to  dust. 

Arv.  Fear  no  more  the  frown  dthe  great, ' 

Thou  art  past  the  tyrant's  stroke; 
Care  no  more  to  clothe,  and  eat ; 

To  thee  the  reed  is  as  the  oak: 
The  sceptre,  learning,  physic,  must 
Allfollotv  this,  and  come  to  dust. 

Gui.   Fear  no  more  the  light' ning  flask, 
Arv.      Nor  the  all-dreaded  thunder-stone  ; 
Gui.  Fear  not  slander,  censure  rash: 
Arv.      Thou  hast  finish' d  joy  and  moan: 
Both.  All  lovers  young,  all  lovers  tnust 
Consign  to  thee,  and  come  to  dust. 

Gui.  .No  exerciser  harm  thee  ! 
Arv.      Nor  no  witchcraft  charm  thee! 
Gui.   Ghost  unlaid  forbear  thee ! 
Arv,      Nothing  ill  come  near  thee! 
Bortb.  Quiet  consummation  have; 
And  renowned  be  thy  grave  ! 

Re-enter  Belarius,  with  the  body  cf  Cloteu. 

Gui.  We  have  done  our  obsequies ;  Come  lay 
him  down.  [more: 
Bel.  Here's  a  few  flowers  :  but  about  midnightji 
The  herbs,  that  have  on  them  cold  dew  o'the  night. 
Are    strewings    fitt'st   for  graves.  —  Upon  their 
faces : — 

You  were  as  flowers,  now  wither'd  :  even  so 
These  herb'lets  shall,  which  we  upon  you  strow. — 
Come  on,  a*vay  :  apart  upon  your  knees. 
The  ground,  that  gave  them  first,  has  them  again  : 
Their  pleasures  here  are  past,  so  is  their  pain. 

{Exeunt  Belarius,  Guiderius,  and  Arviragus, 
Imo.  {Awaking.)   Yes,  sir,  to  Milford- Haven ; 

Which  is  the  way? —  [ther? 
I  thank  you. — By  you  bush  ? — Pray,  how  far  thi- 
'Ods  pittikins  !— can  it  be  six  miles  yet  ? — 
I  have  gone  all  night: — 'Faith,  I'll  lie  down  and 

sleep. 

But,  soft!  no  bedfellow: — O,  gods  and  goddesses  I 

{Seeing/  the  body.) 
These  flowers  are  like  the  pleasures  of  the  world; 
This  bloody  man  the  care  on't.  —1  hope,  I  dream ; 
For,  so,  I  thought  I  was  a  cave-keeper, 
And  cook  to  honest  creatures  :  But  'tis  not  so; 
'Twas  but  a  bolf  of  notliinjj,  shot  at  notliing. 
Which  the  brain  makes  of  fumes  :  Our  very  eyes 
Are  sometimes  like  our  judgments,  blind.  Gottil 
faith, 

I  tremble  still  with  fear :  But  if  there  be 

Yet  left  in  heaven  as  small  a  drop  of  iDity 

As  a  wren's  eye,  fear'd  gods,  a  part  ol  itl 

The  dream's  here  still :  even  when  1  wake,  it  is 

Without  me,  as  with  o  me  ;  not  imagin'd,  fe!L 

A  headless  man  !— The  garirt*^nts  ol  Poslhura 

I  know  the  shape  of  his  leg :  this  is  his  hand ; 

His  foot  Mercurial:  his  Martial  thigh  ; 

The  brawns  of  Hercules :  but  his  Jovial  fac«— 


CYMBELINE 


648 

Murder  i»  heaven  ? — How? — 'tis  gone. — Pisauio, 
Alfe:urses  tnadded  Hecuba  gave  the  Greeks, 
And  mine  to  boot,  be  daited  on  thee  !  Thou, 
Conspir'd  with  that  irregnlous  devil,  Cloten, 
Hast  here  cut  oft'  my  lord. — To  write,  and  read, 
Be  henceforth  treacherous  ! — Damn'd  Pisanio 
Hath  with  his  forged  letters, — damn'd  Pisanio— 
From  this  most  bravest  vessel  of  the  world 
Struck  the  main  top  ! — ,  O  Posthnmtis!  alas, 
Where  is  thy  htad  ?  where's  that?  Ah  nie!  where's 
that? 

Pisanio  might  have  kill'd  thee  at  the  heart, 
And  left  this  head  on. — How  sliould  this  be?  Pisanio? 
'Tis  he,  and  Cloten :  malice  and  lucre  in  them 
Have  laid  this  woe  here.  O,  'tis  pregnant,  pregnant ! 
The  drng  he  gave  me,  which,  he  said,  was  precious 
And  cordial  to  me,  have  I  not  iound  it 
Murd'rons  to  the  senses  ?  that  coritirms  it  home : 
This  is  Pisanio's  deed,  and  Cloten'sl  O  ! — 
Give  colour  to  my  pale  cheek  with  thy  blood, 
That  we  the  horrid er  may  seem  to  those 
Which  chance  to  find  us  :  0,  my  lord,  my  lord ! 

jSnter  Lucius,  a  Captain,  and  other  Officers,  and 
a  Soothsayer. 

Cap.  To  them,  the  legions  garrison'd  in  Gallia, 
After  your  will,  have  cross'd  the  sea  ;  attending 

ou  here  at  Milford-Haven,  with  your  ships  : 
They  are  here  in  readiness. 

Ijuc.  But  what  from  Rome  ? 

Cap.  The  senate  hath  stirr'd  up  the  coiifiners. 
And  gentlemen  of  Italy  ;  most  willing  spirits, 
That  promise  iroble  service  ;  and  they  come 
Under  the  conduct  of  bold  lachimo, 
Sienna's  broLlier. 

hue.  When  expect  you  them? 

Cap.  With  the  next  benefit  o  the  wind. 

Lzic,  This  forwardness 

Makes  our  hopes  fair.  Command  our  present  numbers 
Be  muster'd  ;  bid  the  captains  look  to't. — Now,  sir, 
What  have  you  dream'd,  of  late,  of  this  war's  pur- 
pose [vision : 

Sooth.  Last  night  the  very  gods  shew'u  me  a 

?fast,  and  praj'd,  for  their  intelligence.)  Thus  : — 
saw  Jove's  bird,  the  Roman  eagle,  wing'd 
From  the  spungy  south  to  this  part  of  the  west, 
There  vanish'd  in  the  sunbeams :  which  portends, 
(Unless  my  sins  abuse  my  divination,) 
success  to  the  Roman  host. 

Luc.  Dream  often  so, 

And  never  false. — Soft,  ho!  what  trunk  is  here, 
Without  his  top?  The  ruin  soeaks,  tliat  sometime 
It  was  a  worthy  building. — How  1  a  page  ! — 
Or  dead,  or  sleeping  on  him  ?  But  dead,  rather: 
For  nature  doth  abhor  to  make  his  bed 
With  the  defunct,  or  sleep  upon  the  dead. — 
Let's  see  the  boy's  face. 

Cap.  He  is  alive,  my  lord.  [one, 

Luc.  He'll  then  instruct  us  of  this  body. — Young 
Inform  us  of  thy  fortunes  ;  for  it  seems. 
They  crave  to  be  demanded  :  Who  is  this, 
Thou  mak'st  thy  bloody  pillow  ?  Or  who  was  he. 
That,  otherwise  than  noble  nature  did. 
Hath  alter'd  that  good  picture  ?  What's  thy  interest 
In  this  sad  wreck?  How  came  it?  Who  is  it? 
What  art  thou  ? 

Imo.  I  am  nothing :  or  if  not, 

Nothing  to  be  were  better.    This  was  my  master, 
A  very  valiant  Britain,  and  a  good. 
That  here  by  mountaineers  lies  slain  : — Alas  ! 
There  are  no  more  such  masters :  1  may  wander 
From  east  to  Occident,  cry  out  for  service, 
1'ry  many,  all  good,  serve  truly,  i«?ver 
Find  such  another  master. 

Iduc.  'Lack,  good  youth  ! 

Thou  mov'st  no  less  with  thy  complaining,  than 
Thy  master  in  bleeding  ;  say  his  name,  good  friend. 

Im.0.  Richard  du  Champ.    If  1  do  lie,  and  do 
No  ha  oi  by  it.  though  the  gods  hear,  1  liope 
They'll  pardon  it.    Say  you ^ sir  ?  {^Aside.) 


Act  IV 

Imc.  Thy  name  ? 

Tmo.  FVIele. 

Luc.  Thou  dost  approve  thyself  the  very  samo 
Thy  name  well  fits  thy  faith  ;  Uiy  failh,  thy  nanie. 
Wilt  take  thy  chance  with  me  ?  1  will  not  say. 
Thou  shalt,  be  so  well  master'd  ;  but  be  sure. 
No  less  belov'd.    The  Roman  empercr's  letters, 
Sent  by  a  consul  to  me,  should  not  soon<-r 
Than  thine  own  worth  prefer  th- 1- ;  Gx>  wit):  me. 

Lno.  I'll  follow,  sir.   Uu\  tirst,  an't  please  the  gods, 
I'll  hide  my  master  from  thi*  liies,  as  dr-ep 
As  these  poor  pickaxes  can  dig  :  and  wh^n 
With  wild  wood-leaves  and  weeds  1  have  strew'd 

his  grave, 
And  on  it  said  a  century  of  j)rayprs, 
Such  as  I  can,  twice  o'er,  I'll  weep,  and  sigh. 
And.  leaving  so  his  service,  follow  you. 
So  please  you  entertain  me. 

imc.  Ay,  good  youth; 

And  rather  father  thee,  than  master  thee, — 
My  friends, 

The  boy  hath  taugiit  us  many  duties:  Let  ut 

Find  out  the  prettiest  dL>i2ied  plot  we  can, 

And  make  him  with  our  pikes  and  partisans 

A  grave  :  Come,  a.'  rn  liim, — Boy,  he  is  preferr'd 

By  thee  lb  us;  and  he  shall  be  iiiterr'd. 

As  soldiers  can.    Be  cheerful  ;  wipe  tliine  eyes: 

Some  falls  are  meaius  the  happier  to  arise.  [Exeunt 

Scene  III. — A  Room  in  Cymbfllne's  Palace 
Enter  Cymbkline,  Lords,  and  PlSANio. 

Cym.  Ai^ain  :  and  hrmg  me  word,  how  'lis  with  her, 
A  fevrr  with  the  alt.si^ice  of  her  son; 
A  madness,  of  which  her  life's  in  dai>ger  : — Heavens 
How  deeply  you  at  once  do  touch  me!  Imogen, 
The  great  part  of  uiy  comfort,  gone  ;  my  queen 
Upon  a  desperate  bi  d  ;  and  in  a  time, 
When  feariiil  wars  point  at  me,  her  son  gone, 
Sij  needtul  for  tJiis  present:  It  stiikes  tnt,  past 
The  hope  of  coniiort. — But  for  thee,  fellow, 
Who  needs  must  know  of  her  departure,  and 
Dost  seem  so  ignorant,  we'll  enforce  it  from  tliee 
By  a  sharp  torture. 

Pis.  Sir,  my  life  is  yours, 

I  humble  set  it  at  your  will  :  But,  fur  my  n)istress, 
I  nothing  know  where  she  remains,  why  gone. 
Nor  v.'hen  she  [)urposes  return.     'Beseech  your 

highness. 
Hold  me  your  loyal  servant 

1  Lord.  Good  my  liege,' 

The  day  that  she  w'xs  missing,  he  was  here: 
I  dare  be  bound  he's  true,  and  shall  {/eribrm 
All  parts  of  hi^  subjection  ioyaliy. 
For  Cloten, — 

There  wants  no  diligence  in  seeking  h'lm, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  be  found. 

Cym.  The  time's  troublesome; 

We'll  slip  you  for  a  season  ;  but  our  jealousy 

{To  Pisanio,) 

Does  yet  depend. 

1  Lord.  So  please  your  majesty. 

The  Roman  legions,  all  from  Gallia  dravvn. 
Are  landed  on  your  coast ;  with  a  supply 
Of  Roman  gentlemen,  by  the  senate  sent. 

Cym.  Now  for  t'he  counsel  of  my  son,  and  queen  !— 
I  am  amaz'd  with  matter. 

1  Lo7d.  Good  my  liege. 

Your  preparation  can  afiVotit  no  less 
Than  what  you  hear  of :  come  more,  for  more  you're 
ready : 

The  want  is,  but  to  put  those  powers  in  motion. 
That  long  to  move. 

Cym.  I  thank  you  :  Let's  withdraw; 

And  meet  the  time,  as  it  seeks  us.    We  fear  not 
What  can  from  Italy  annoy  us ;  but 
We  grieve  at  chances  here.—Away.  [Exzutd 

Pis.  I  heard  no  letter  from  n^y  niaster,  since 
I  wrote  him,  Imogen  was  slain  :  'Tis  strange : 
Nor  hear  I  from  my  mistress  who  did  pnunis* 
To  yi«i-id  me  /ten  tidings:  Neither  know  I 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  Y.    Scene  3. 

Wnat  is  betid  to  Cloten  ;  but  remain 
Perjjlcx'd  in  all.    The  heavens  stiil  must  work: 
Wherein  [  am  fals?,  i  am  hooest ;  tuit  true,  to  be  true. 
These  prese!;t  wars  shall  iioa  1  h>ve  my  ccuntiy. 
Even  to  thf  note  o'tli;^  king,  or  Ml  fiiJl  in  them. 
All  otfier  d'luhts,  by  ii-iie  let  them  be  clear'd  : 
Fortijoe  brings  ia  some  boats,  that  are  not  steer  d. 

[Exit. 

Scene  IV. — Before  the  (Jave. 
Bnfer  Belarius,  Guiderius,  Arviragus, 

Gut.  Tiie  noi&e  is  round  about  us. 

Hel.  Let  us  from  it. 

Arv.  What  pleasure,  sir,  find  we  in  lite,  to  lock  it 
From  action  and  adventure  ? 

Gut.  Nay,  what  hope 

Have  we  in  hiding  us?  this  way,  tiit  Romans 
Must  or  lor  Britons  slay  us,  or  receive  us 
For  barbarous  and  unnatural  rexolts 
Durin"  their  use,  and  slay  us  alter. 

Bel.  Sons, 
We'll  higher  to  the  mountains;  there  secure  us. 
To  the  kind's  p:^rty  there';j  nogcinji :  t  ewness 
Of  Cloten's  death  (we  being  not  known,  not  muster'd 
Among  fhe  bands)  may  drive  ui,  to  a  rt;nder 
Where  we  iiave  liv'd  ;  and  so  extort  IVom  us 
Tiiat  which  we've  done,  whose  answer  would  be 
death 

Drawn  on  with  torture. 

Gui.  This  is,  sir,  a  doubt, 

In  such  a  time,  nothing  becoming  you. 
Not  satisiyiiig  us. 

An;.  It  is  not  likely. 

That  when  they  hear  the  K-oit-an  horses  neigh, 
Behold  their  quarter'd  fires,  have  both  tlieir  eyes 
And  ears  so  cioy'd  uiip'irtrtnlly  as  now, 
'I'hat  they  will  waste  tlieir  time  upon  our  note. 
To  know  fVom  whence  we  are. 

Bel.  O,  lam  known 

Of  many  in  the  army :  many  years, 
'J'hough  CU)ten  then  but  young,  yon  see,  not  wore 
him 

From  my  remembrance.    And,  besides,  the  king 
Hath  not  deserv'd  Joy  service,  nor  your  loves  ; 
Who  find  in  my  exile  the  want  of  breeding, 
The  certainty  o^"  tiiis  hard  life  ;  aye  hopeless 
To  have  the  courtesy  your  cradle  promis'd. 
But  to  be  stiil  hot  summers  tanlings,  and 
Tb-e  slifiukiiig  slaves  of  winter. 

Gui.  Than  be  so, 

Better  to  cease  to  be.    Pray  sir,  to  the  army: 
I  and  my  brother  are  not  known  ;  yourself. 
So  out  of  thought,  and  thereto  so  o'ergroAvn, 
Cannot  be  questioa'd. 

Arv.  By  tliis  sun  that  shines 

I'll  thither  :  What  thing  is  it,  that  1  never 
Did  see  man  die  ?  scarce  ever  look'd  on  blood, 
But  that  of  coward  hares,  hot  goats,  and  venison? 
Never  bestrid  a  horse,  save  one,  that  had 
A  rider  like  myself,  who  ne'er  wore  rowel 
Nor  iron  on  his  heel  ?  I  am  asham'd 
To  look  upon  the  holy  sun,  to  have 
The  benefit  of  his  bless'd  beams,  remaining 
So  long  a  poor  unknown. 

Gui.  By  heavens,  I'll  go : 

If  you  will  bless  me,  sir,  and  giv  e  me  leave, 
I'll  take  the  better  care  ;  but  if  you  will  not. 
The  hazard  therefore  due  fall  on  me,  by 
The  hands  of  Romans  I 

Arv.  So  say  I ;  Antien. 

Bel.  No  reason  I,  since  on  your  lives  you  set 
So  slight  a  valuation,  should  reserve 
My  crack'd  one  to  more  care.  Have  with  you,  boys  : 
If  in  your  country  wars  you  chance  to  die, 
Tha-t  is  my  bed  too,  lads,  and  there  I'll  lie : 
Lead,  lead. — The  time  seems  long;  their  blood 
thinks  scorn,  (Aside.) 
fill  it  fly  out„  <»nd  shew  them  princes  bort  lE.xeuni. 


649 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I.— A  Field  between  the  British  and 
Roman  Camps. 
Enter  Pos'rauMUS,  with  a  bloody  handk^-(.kief, 
Post.Ycn,  bloody  cloth,  I'll  keep  thee  j  for  I  wish'd 
Thou  should'st  be  colour  d  thus.    You  mai  ried  ones. 
If  each  of  you  would  take  thia  course,  how  many 
Must  murder  wives  much  better  tliau  themselves, 
For  vvrying  but  a  little  ! — O,  Pisanio  ! 
Every  good  servant  does  not  all  commands  : 
No  bond,  but  to  do  just  ones. — Gods  !  it'  you 
Shoidd  have  ta'en  vengeance  on  my  ikults,  -  never 
Had  liv'd  to  put  on  this:  so  had  you  s:ned 
Tl'.e  noble  Imogen  to  repent ;  auH  struck 
Me,  wretch,  more  worth  your  vengeance.  But,  alack. 
You  snatch  soTie  henct  for  little  faults  ;  that's  love. 
To  have  them  fall  no  more  :  you  some  permit 
To  second  ills  with  ills,  each  elder  worse ; 
And  make  them  dread  it  to  the  doer's  thrift. 
But  Imogen  is  your  own  :  Do  your  best  will, 
And  nuike  me  bless'd  to  obey  !  I  am  brought  hither 
Among  the  Italian  gentry,  and  to  fight 
Against  my  lady's  kingdom  :  ^Tis  enough, 
That,  Britain,  I  have  kill  d  thy  mistress  ;  peace  .' 
I'll  give  no  wound  to  tliee.  Therefore,  good  heavens. 
Hear  patiently  my  purpose:  I  II  disrobe  me 
Ot  these  Italian  weeds,  and  suit  myself 
As  does  a  Briton  peasant:  so  I'll  figlit 
Against  the  part  I  come  with  ;  so  I'll  die 
For  thee,  O  Imogen,  even  for  whom  my  life 
Is,  every  breath,  a  death  :  and  thus,  luiknown, 
Pitied  nor  hated,  to  the  face  of  peril 
Myself  I  II  dedicate.    Let  me  niake  men  know 
More  valour  in  me,  than  my  liaoits  shew. 
Gods,  pi;t  the  strength  o'the  Leonati  in  me  ! 
To  shame  the  guis§  o'the  world,  1  will  begin 
The  fashion,  le.ss  without,  and  more  witiiin.  [Exit, 

Scene  II. — The  same. 
Enter,  at  one  side,  Lucius,  Iaciiimo,  and  the  Bo- 
man  army;  at   the  other  side,  the  British 
army:  Leonatus  Posthumus  Juliowinu  it,  like 
a  poor  soldier.    They  march  over.,  arid  oo  out. 
Alarums.    Then  enter  acjain  in  skirmish,  Ia- 
CHIMO  and  PosTHUi^iUS:  he   vonquisheth  and 
disarmeth  lachimc,  and  then  leaves  him. 
lach.  The  heaviness  and  guilt  within  nsy  bosom 
Takes  off  my  manhood  :  I  have  behed  a  lady. 
The  princess  of  tiiis  country,  and  the  air  on't 
Revengingly  enfeebles  me ;  Or  could  tltis  carl, 
A  very  drudge  of  nature's,  have  subdu'd  me. 
In  my  profession  ?  Knighthoods  and  honours,  borne 
As  I  wear  mine,  are  titles  but  of  scorn. 
If  that  thy  gentry,  Britain,  go  before 
This  lout,  as  he  exceeds  our  lords,  the  odd.-* 
Is,  that  we  scarce  are  men,  and  you  are  gods.  [Exit, 
The  battle  continues ;  the  Britons  Jiy ;  Cymbelinb 
is  taken ;  then  enter,  to  his  r<iACMe,  Belarius, 
Guiderius,  and  Arvir.^gus. 
Bel.  Stand,  stand  !  We  have  the  advantage  of  the 
ground ; 

The  lane  is  guarded  :  nothing  routs  us,  but 
The  villany  ot  our  fears. 

Gui.      Arv.  Stand,  stand,  and  fight ! 

Enter  Posthumus,  and  seconds  the  Britons:  They 

rescue   Cymbeline^  and  exeunt.    Then,  etiter 

Lucius,  Iachimo,  and  Imogen. 

Luc.  Away,  boy,  from  the  troops,  and  save 
thyself: 

For  friends  kill  friends,  and  the  disorder's  such 
As  war  were  hood-wink'd. 

lachj  'Tis  their  fre.<ih  supphes, 

Luc.  It  is  a  day  turn'd  strangely:  Or  betimes 
Let's  re-enforce,  or  fly.  [Exeunt 
Scene  III.— Another  Part  of  the  field. 
■  Enter  PosTHUMUS  and  a  British  Lord. 
Lord.  Cam'st  tbor  frci«where  they  made  the  stand? 


CYMBELTNE. 


650 

P^n,  I  did : 

Though  fou,  it  seems,  come  from  the  fliers. 

Jjord.  I  did. 

Post.  No  blame  be  to  yon,  sir;  for  all  was  lost, 
But  that  the  heavens  fought :  The  king  himself 
Of  his  wings  destitute,  the  army  broken. 
And  but  the  backs  of  Britons  seen,  all  Hying 
Through  a  straight  lane  ;  th«=>.  enemy  full-hearted, 
Lolling  the  toni^ue  with  slaughtering,  having  work 
More  plentiful  than  tools  to  do't,  struck  down 
Some  mortally,  some  slightly  touch'd,  some  falling 
Merely  through  fesr;  that  the  straight  pass  was 
damm'd 

Witlj  dead  men,  htirt  behind,  and  cowards  living 
To  die  with  lengthen'd  shame. 

Lord.  Wiiere  wns  this  lane  ?  [turf ; 

Post.  Close  by  the  battle,  ditch'd,  and  wall'd  with 
Which  gave  advantage  to  an  ancient  soldier, — 
An  honest  one,  I  warrant ;  who  deserv'd 
So  long  a  breeding,  as  his  white  beard  came  to, 
In  doing  this  for  his  country ; — athwart  the  lane. 
He,  with  two  striplings,  (lads  more  like  to  run 
The  country  base,  than  to  commit  such  slaughter; 
With  faces  fit  for  masks,  or  rather  fairer 
Than  those  for  preservation  cas'd,  or  shame,) 
Made  gr>od_the  passage  ;  cry'd  to  those  tliat  fled. 
Our  Brilain's  Juiris  die  flying^  not  our  men  : 
To  darkness  fleet,  souls  tliat  fly  backwards!  Stand; 
Or  we  are  Romans,  and  will  yive  you  that 
Liike  beasts, which  you  shun  beastly;  and  may  save, 
But  to  look  back  infrawn:  stand,  stand! — These 
Tliree  thousand  confident,  in  act  as  many,  (three, 
For  three  performers  are  the  file,  when  ail 
The  rest  do  nothing,)  with  this  word,  stand,  stand, 
Aci;om;iit)dated  by  the  place,  more  charming, 
With  their  own  uobleness,(which  could  have  turn'd 
A  distaff  to  a  lance),  gilded  pale  looks, 
Part,  shame,  part,  spirit  renew'd  ;  that  some  turn'd 
But  by  exampte,  (O,  a  sin  in  war,  [coward 
Damn'd  in  the  first  beginners!  )'g'an  to  look 
The  way  that  they  did,  and  to  grin  like  lions 
Upon  the  pikes  o'the  htmters.    Then  began 
A  stop  i'the  chaser,  a  retire  ;  anon, 
A  rout,  confusion  thick  :  Forthwith,  they  fly 
Chickens,  the  way  wliich  they  stoop'd  eagles ;  slaves. 
The  strides  they  victors  made  :  And  now  our  cowards 
(Like  fragments  in  hard  voyages,  )  became  [open 
The  life  o'the  need  ;  having  found  the  back-door 
Of  the  unguarded  hearts,  Heavens,  how  they  wound  ! 
Some,  siain  before  ;  some,  dying;  some,  their  friends 
O'er-borne  i'the  former  wave  :  ten,  chac'd  by  one, 

re  now  each  one  the  slaughter- man  of  twenty  : 
Those,  that  would  die  or  ere  resist  are  grown 
The  mt)rtal  bugs  o'the  field, 

Lord.  This  was  strange  chance  : 

A  narrow  lane  !  an  old  man,  and  two  boys  ! 

Post.  Nay,  do  not  wonder  at  it:  You  are  made 
Rather  to  wonder  at  the  things  you  hear,  ■ 
Than  to  work  any.    Will  you  rhyme  upon't, 
And  vent  it  for  a  mockery  V  Here  is  one  : 
Tivo  boys,  an  old  man  tivice  a  boy,  a  lane. 
Preserved  the  Britons,  was  the  jflomans'  bane. 

Lord.  Nay,  be  not  angry,  sir. 

Post.  '     'Lack,  to  what  end  ? 

Who  dares  not  stand  his  foe,  I'll  be  his  friend: 
For  if  he'll  do,  as  he  is  made  to  do, 
I  know,  he'll  quickly  fly  my  friendship  too. 
You  have  put  me  into  vhyrne. 

Lord.  Fari?vvell ;  you  are  angry.  [Exit. 

Post.  Still  going  !— This  is  a  lord  1    O  noble 
misery  ! 

To  be  i'the  field,  and  ask,  what  news,  of  mel 
To-day,  how  many  wo        ave  given  their  honours 
lo  have  sav'd  their  carcasses  ?  took  heel  to  do't, 
And  yet  died  too  ?  I,  in  mine  own  woe  charm'd, 
Could  not  find  death,  where  1  did  hear  him  groan ; 
Nor  feel  him,  where  he  struck?  Being  au  ugly 
monster, 

*Tis  strange,  he  hides  him  in  fresh  cups,  soft  beds, 
Sweet  words ;  or  hath  more  mimsters  than  we 


Aci  V. 

That  draw  his  krives  i'lhe  war.— Well,  I  will  fiud 
For  being  now  a  favourer  to  the  Roman,  [timi 
No  more  a  Briton,  I  have  resuni'd  again 
The  part  I  came  in  :  Fight  I  will  no  more, 
But  yield  me  to  the  veriest  hind,  that  shall 
Once  touch  my  shoulder.    Great  the  slaughter  M 
Here  made  by  the  Romans ;  great  the  answw  be 
Britons  must  take  :  For  me,  my  ransom's  death; 
On  either  side  I  come  to  spencl  my  breath  ; 
Which  neither  here  Til  keep,  nor  bear  again. 
But  end  it  by  some  means  lor  Imogen. 

Enter  Two  British  Captains,  and  Soldiers, 

1  Cap.  Great  Jup  iter  be  prais'd !  Lucius  is 
taken  :  'Tis  thought  the  old  man  and  his  sons  were 
angels. 

2  Cap.  There  was  a  fourth  man,  in  a  silly  habit, 
That  g-ave  the  alFront  with  them. 

1  Cap.  So  'tis  reported  : 
But  none  of  them  can  be  foimd. — Stand  !  who  is 

Post.  A  Roman  ;  [there  ? 

Who  had  not  now  been  drooping  here,  if  seconds 
Had  answer'd  him. 

2  Cap.  Lay  hands  on  him  ;  a  dog  ! 

A  leg  of  Rome  shall  not  return  to  tell  [service 
What  crows  have  peck'd  them  here  :  Hf  brags  his 
As  if  he  were  of  note  :  bring  him  to  the  king. 

Enter  Cymbeline,  attended;  Belarjujs.  Gui- 
DERius,  Arviragus,  PiSANio.  and  Roman 
Captives.  The  captains  present  Pos  i  'JUMUS  to 
Cymbeline,  who  delivers  him  over  to  a  Gaoler  } 
after  which,  all  go  out. 

Scene  IV. — A  Prison. 
Enter  Posthumus,  and  two  Gaolerr-. 
J  Gaol.  You  shall  not  now  be  stolen,  yoM  hav< 
locks  upon  yon ; 
So  graze,  as  you  find  pasture. 
2  Gaol.       Ay,  or  a  stomach.  {Exeunt  Gaolers, 
Post.  Most  welcome,  bondage !  ibr  tiiou  art  a  way, 
I  think,  to  liberty  :  Yet  am  1  better 
Than  one  that's  sick  o'the  gout:  since  he  had  rather 
Groan  so  in  perpetuity,  than  be  cur'd 
By  the  sure  physician,  death;  who  is  the  key 
To  unbar  these  locks.    My  conscience  !  tliou  art 
fettc  r'd 

More  than  my  shanks,  and  wrists;  You,  good  goiltj 
give  me 

The  penitent  instrument,  to  pick  that  bolt. 
Then,  free  for  ever!  Is't  enouoh,  I  am  sorry? 
So  children  temporal  fathers  do  appease  ; 
Gods  are  more  full  of  mercy.    Must  I  repeut? 
I  cannot  do  it  better  than  in  gyves, 
Desir'd,  more  than  constrain"d  :  to  satisfy, 
If  of  my  freedom  'tis  the  main  part,  take 
No  stricter  render  of  me,  than  my  all. 
I  know,  you  are  more  clement  tlian  \  ile  men, 
Who  of  their  broken  debtors  take  a  third, 
A  sixth,  a  tentii,  letting  them  thrive  again 
On  their  abatement;  that's  not  my  desire  . 
For  Imogen's  dear  life,  tak\?  mine  ;  and  though 
'Tis  not  so  dear,  yet  'tis  a  life ;  you  coin'd  it : 
'Tween  man  and  man,  they  weigh  not  every  stamp 
Though  light,  take  pieces  for  tlie  figure's  sake  : 
You  rather  mine,   being  yours  :  And  so,  great 
powers. 

If  you  will  take  this  audit,  take  this  life, 

And  cancel  these  cold  bonds.    O  Imogen  ! 

I'll  speak  to  thfee  in  silence.  {He  sleeps.) 

Solemn  Music.  Enter  as  an  appinntion,  Siciliut 
Leonatus,  father  to  Posthumus.  an  old  man^ 
attired  like  a  warrior  ;  leading  in  his  hand  an 
ancient  matron,  his  wife,  and  mother  ia 
Posthumus,  with  music  before  them,.  Then^ 
after  other  music,  foUoiv  the  tivo  young  Leona- 
ti,  brothers  to  Posthumus,  with  n  ounds,  as  they 
died  in  the  wars.  They  circle  PosthumM 
round,  as  he  lies  sleeping. 
Sici.  No  more,  thou  thuude  -master,  siiew 


CYMBfiLINE, 


Scene  4. 


CYMBELINE. 


651 


"  •  Thy  spite  on  mortal  flies: 

With  Mars  fall  out,  with  Juno  chide. 

That  thy  adulteries 

Rates  and  revenges. 
Hath  my  poor  boy  done  aught  but  well, 

\\  hose  face  I  P^-ver  saw  ? 
f  died,  whilst  in  the  ^votnb  he  stay'd 

Attending  Nature's  law. 
Whose  father  then  (as  men  report, 

Thou  orphans'  father  art,) 
Thou  shoiild'st  have  been,  and  shielded  him 

From  this  earth-vexing  smart. 
Moth.  Lucina  lent  not  me  her  aid. 

But  took  me  in  my  Cbroes ; 
That  from  me  was  Posthumus  ript 

Carne  crying  'mongst  his  foes. 
A  thing  of  pity ! 
Sici.  Great  nature,  like  his  ancestry 

Moulded  the  stuff  so  fair, 
That  he  deserv'd  the  praise  o'the  world 

As  great  Sicilius'  heir. 

1  Bro.  When  once  he  was  mature  for  raan, 
In  Britain  where  was  he 

That  could  stand  up  his  parallel ; 

Or  fruitful  object  be 
In  eye  of  Imogen,  that  best 

Could  deem  his  dignity  ? 
Moth.  With  marriage  wherefore  was  he  niock'd, 

To  be  exil'd,  and  thrown 
Prom  Leonati'  yeat,  and  cast 

From  her  his  dearest  one. 
Sweet  Imogen  ? 
SicL  Why  did  you  suffer  lachimo, 

Slight  thing  of  Italy, 
To  taint  his  nobler  heart  and  b»-ain 

With  needless  jealousy ; 
And  to  become  the  geek  and  scorn 

O'the  other's  villany  ? 

2  Bro.  For  this,  from  stiller  seats  we  came, 
Our  parents,  and  us  twain, 

That,  striking  in  our  country's  cause, 

Fell  bravely,  and  were  slain; 
Our  fealty,  and  Tenantius'  right, 

VVith  honour  to  niaintain. 

1  Bro.  Like  hardiment  Posthumus  hath 
To  Cymbeline  perform'd ; 

Then  Jupiter,  thou  king  of  gods. 

Why  hast  thou  thus  adjourn'd 
The  graces  for  his  merits  due  ; 
Being  all  to  dolours  turn'd  ? 
Sici.  Thy  crystal  window  ope  :  look  out ; 
No  longer  exercise, 
Upon  a  valiant  race,  thy  harsh 
And  potent  injuries : 
Moth.  Since,  Jupiter,  our  son  is  good, 

Take  off  his  miseries. 
Siai.  Peep  through  thy  marble  mansion;  help! 
Or  we  poor  ghq«t^  will  cry 
To  the  shining  synod  6f  the  rest. 
Against  thy  deity. 

2  Bt  o.  Help,  Jupiter;  or  we  appeal, 
And  from  thy  justice  fly. 

Jupiter  descends  inthunder  and  lightning,  sitting 
upon  an  eagle  ;  he  throivs  a  thunder-holt.  The 
Ghosts  fall  on  their  knees. 
Jitp.  No  more,  you  petty  spirits  of  region  low, 
Otfend  our  hearing;   hush! — How  dare  you, 
ghosts, 

A.conse  the  thunderer,  whose  bolt,  you  know. 

Sky-planted,  batters  all  rebelling  coasts? 
Poor  shadows  of  Elysium,  hence  ;  and  rest 

Upon  your  never- withering  banks  of  flowers  : 
Be  not  with  niortal  accidents  opprest; 

No  care  of  yours  it  is ;  you  know,  'tis  ours. 
Whom  best  I  love,  I  cross ;  to  make  my  gift. 

The  more  delay'd,  delighted.    Re  content; 
Your  h)vv-laid  son  our  godhead  will  uphft: 

His  comforts  thrive,  his  trials  well  are  spent. 
Our  Jovial  star  reign'd  at  his  birth,  and  in 


Our  temple  Tvas  he  mai /ied.— Rise,  and  fade.— 
He  shall  be  lord  of  lady  Imogen, 

And  happier  much  by  his  affliction  made. 
This  tablet  lay  upon  his  breast ;  wherein 

Our  pleasure  his  full  fortune  doth  rontine ; 
And  so,  away :  no  furllier  with  your  din 

Express  impatience,  lest  you  stir  up  njine.— 

Mount,  eagle,  to  my  palace  crystalline.  {AscendSx 

Sici.  He  came  in  thunder:  his  celestial  breath 
Was  sulphurous  to  smell :  the  holy  eagle 
Stoop'd,  as  to  foot  us:  his  ascension  is 
More  sweet  than  our  bless'd  fields :  his  royal  bird 
Prunes  the  immortal  wing,  and  cloys  his  beak. 
As  when  his  god  is  pleas'd. 

All.^  Thanks,  Jupiter! 

Sici.  The  marble  pavement  closes,  he  is  enter'd 
His  radiant  roof: — Away!  and,  to  be  blest. 
Let  us  with  care  perform  his  great  behest. 

(Ghosts  vanish.) 

Post.  (Waking.)  Sleep,  thou  hast  been  a  grand- 
sire,  and  begot 
A  father  to  me  :  and  thou  hast  created 
A  mother,  and  two  brothers  :  But  (O  scorn  !) 
Gone  !  they  went  hence  so  soon  as  they  were  bona. 
And  so  I  am  awake. — Poor  wretches,  that  depend 
On  greatness'  favour,  dream  as  I  have  done ; 
Wake  and  find  nothing. — But,  alas,  I  swerve: 
Many  dream  not  to  find,  neither  deserve, 
And  yet  are  steep'd  in  favours ;  so  am  I, 
That  have  this  golden  chance,  and  know  not  why.  ' 
What  fairies  haunt  this  ground  ?  A  book  ?  O,  rare 
Be  not,  as  is  our  fangled  world,  a  garment     [one  J 
Nobler  than  that  it  covers  :  let  thy  effects 
So  follow,  to  be  most  unlik^e  our  courtiers. 
As  good  as  promise. 

(Reads.)  When  as  a  lions  whelp  shall,  to  himself 
unknown,  without  .seeking  find,  and  be  embraced 
by  a  piece  of  tender  air;  and  ivhen  from  a 
stately  c^dar  shall  he  lopped  branches,  ivhichy 
being  dead  many  years,  shall  after  revive,  h% 
jointed  to  the  old  stock,  and  freshly  grow; 
then  shall  Posthumus  end  his  miseries, Britain 
be  fortunate,  and  flourish  in  peace  and  plenty, 

*Tis  still  a  dream;  or  else  such  stuff  as  madmen 

Tongue,  and  brain  not:  either  both,  or  nothing: 

Or  senseless  speaking,  or  a  speaking  such 

As  sense  cannot  untie.    Be  what  it  is 

The  action  of  my  life  is  like  it,  which 

I'll  keep,  if  but  for  sympathy. 

Re-enter  Gaolers. 

Gaol.  Come,  sir,  are  you  ready  for  death  ? 

Post.  Over-roasted  rather  :  ready  long  ago. 

Gaol.  Hanging  is  the  word,  sir ;  if  you  be  ready 
for  that,  you  are  well  cooked. 

Post.  So,  if  I  prove  a  good  repast  to  the  spec- 
tators, the  dish  pays  the  shot. 

Gaol.  A  heavy  reckoning  for  you,  sir:  But  the  i 
comfort  is,  you  shall  be  called  to  no  more  payments, 
fear  no  more  tavern  bills ;  which  are  often  the 
sadness  of  parting,  as  the  procuring  of  mirth  :  you 
come  in  faint  for  want  of  meat,  depart  reeling  with 
too  much  drink;  sorry  that  you  have  paid  too  much 
and  sorry  that  you  are  paid  too  much ;  purse  and 
brain  both  empty:  the  brain  the  heavier  for  being 
too  light,  the  purse  too  light,  being  drawn  of  hea- 
viness :  O  !  of  this  contradiction  you  shall  now  be 
quit. — O  the  charity  of  a  penny  cord  !  it  sums  up 
thousands  in  a  trice  :  you  have  no  true  debitor  and 
creditor  but  it;  of  what's  past,  is,  and  to  come,  the 
discharge  : — Your  neck,  sir,  is  pen,  book,  aud 
counters;  so  the  acquittance  follows. 

Post.  I  am  merrier  to  die,  than  thou  art  to  live. 

Gaol.  Indeed,  sir,  he  that  sleeps  ftels  not  the 
tooth-ach  :  But  a  man  that  were  to  sleep  your  sleep, 
and  a  hangman  to  help  him  to  bed,  I  think  he  would 
change  places  with  his  officer  :  for,  look  you,  sir, 
you  know  not  which  way  you  shall  go. 

Post.  Yes,  indeed,  do  1,  fellow. 

Gaol.  Your  death  has  eyes  in's  head  then ;  I  hav« 


/ 


652 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  V 


not  seen  hirw  so  pictured  :  you  miisf,  either  be  (li- 
rectt'd  by  sotiie  tiiat  take  upon  them  to  know;  or 
take  upon  yoiirseU  that,  which  I  am  sure  you  do 
not  kn'jvv  ;  or  jump  the  after-enquiry  on  your  own 
peril  :  and  how  you  shall  speed  in  your  journey's 
end,  I  think  yoii'll  never  return  to  tell  one. 

Post.  I  t>ll  tliee,  fellow,  there  are  none  want 
ej'es  to  direct  them  the  way  I  am  going,  but  such  as 
wmk,  and  will  not  use  them. 

Gaol.  What  an  infinite  mock  is  this,  that  a  man 
would  have  tiie  best  use  of  eyes,  to  see  the  way 
of  blindness !  I  am  sure,  hanging's  the  way  of 
winking. 

Enter  a  Messager. 
Mess.  Knock  off  his  manacles;  bring  your  pri- 
soner to  tlie  kiiii^.  (be  made  free. 
Post.  Tlioii  brinoe;>t  good  news; — 1  am  called  to 
Gcol.  1  11  be  iiangid  then. 

Post.  Thou  shaK.  he  then  freer  than  a  gaoler,  no 
bolls  for  tlie  dfiid.  {E.xewit  Posthumus  and  Mess. 

Gaol.  UnK  ss  a  man  woald  marry  a  gallows,  and 
bet;et  yunng  gibbets,  I  never  saw  one  so  prone.  Yet, 
on  my  conscience,  tliere  are  verier  knaves  desire  to 
live,  tor  all  he  be  a  Roman  ;  and  there  be  some  of 
tliem  too,  that  die  against  their  wills  ;  so  should  I, 
if  I  were  one.  I  vvould  we  were  all  of  one  mind, 
and  one  miud  good;  O,  there  were  desolation  of 
gaolers,  and  gallowses!  I  speak  against  my  present 
profit;  but  my  wish  hath  a  preferment  in't. 

Scene  V. — Cymbeline's  Tent, 
Enter  Cymbelins,  Belarius,  Gciderius,  Arvi- 
RAGUS,  PiSAMO,  Lords,  officers,  and  Attendants. 
Cym.  Stand  by  my  side,  you  whom  the  gods  have 
made 

Preservers  of  my  tlirone.    Woe  is  my  heart, 
That  the  poor  tioldier,  that  so  richly  fought, 
Whose  rags  sham'd  gilded  arms,  whose  naked 
breast 

Stepp'd  before  targe  of  proof,  cannot  be  found  : 
He  sliall  be-  happy  that  can  find  him,  if 
Our  grace  can  make  him  so. 

Btl.  I  never  saw 

Such  noble  fury  in  so  poor  a  thing ; 
Such  precious  deeds  in  one  that  promis'd  nought 
But  beggary  aud  poor  looks. 

C'l'm.  No  tidings  of  him  ? 

Pis.  He  hotij  been  search'd  among  the  dead  and 
But  no  trace  of  him.  [living, 

Cym.  To  my  grief,  I  am 

Tiie  heir  of  liis  reward  ;  which  1  will  add 
To  you,  the  liver,  heart,  and  brain  of  Britain, 

( To  Belarius,  Guiderius,  and  Arviragvs.) 
By  whom,  I  grant,  she  lives :  "I'ls  now  the  time 
To  ask  of  whence  you  are  : — report  it. 

Bel.  Sir, 
In  Cambria  are  we  born,  and  gentlemen : 
Further  to  boast,  were  neither  true  nor  modest, 
Unless  I  add,  we  are  honest. 

Cym.  Bow  your  knees  : 

Arise,  my  knights  o'the  battle,  I  create  you 
Companions  to  our  person,  and  will  fit  you 
With  dignities  br-coming  your  estates. 

Enter  CORNELIUS  and  Ladies. 
There's  business  in  these  faces  : — Why  so  sadly 
Greet  you  our  victory  ?  you  look  like  Romans, 
And  not  o'the  court  of  Britain. 

Cor.  Hail,  great  king ! 

To  sour  your  happiness,  I  must  report 
The  queen  is  dead. 

Cym.  Whonri  worse  than  a  physician 

Would  this  report  become  ?  But  1  consider. 
By  medicine  life  niay  be  proloug'd,  yet  death 
Will  seize  the  doctor  ttio. — How  ended  she  ? 

Cor.  With  horror,  ma<liy  dying,  like  her  life  ; 
Which,  being  cruel  to  the  world,  concluded 
Most  cruel  to  herself.    What  she  coiifess'd, 

will  report,  s<»  please  you  :  These  her  women 
Can  trii*  me,  if  I  err;  wiio,  with  wet  cheeks. 


Were  present  when  she  finish  d. 

Cym.  I'ry  thee,  say. 

Cor.  First,  she  confe«s'd  she  never  I  Jv'd  you;oi»If 
Atfected  greatness  got  by  you,  not  you  : 
Married  your  royalty,  was  wife  to  your  place; 
Abhorr'd  your  person. 

Cym.  She  alone  knew  tiuv; 

And,  but  she  spoke  it  dying,  I  would  not 
Believe  her  lips  in  opening.  Proceed. 

Cor.  Your  daughter,  whom  she  bore  io  hand  ta 
With  such  integrity,  she  did  confess  [love 
Was  as  a  ,scorpion  to  her  sight;  Whose  life, 
But  that  her  flight  prevented  it,  she  had 
Ta'en  off  by  poison. 

Cym.  O  most  delicate  fiend ! 

Who  i,i't  can  read  a  woman  ? — Is  there  more  ?  [ha<| 

Cor.  More,  sire,  and  worse.  Sue  did  confess,  she 
For  you  a  moital  mineral;  which,  being  took, 
Should  by  the  minute  feed  on  life,  and,  ling'ring, 
By  inches  waste  you  :  In  which  time  she  purpos'd, 
By  watching,  weeping,  tendance,  kissing,  to 
O'ercome  you  with  her  shew:  yes,  and  in  time,. 
(When  she  had  fitted  you  with  her  craft,)  to  work 
Her  son  into  the  adoption  of  tl«e  crown. 
But  failing  of  her  end  by  his  strange  absence. 
Grew  shameless-desperate  ;  optn'd,  in  despite 
Of  heaven  and  uien,  her  purposes  ;  repented 
The  evils  she  hatch'd  were  not  etiected  :  so, 
Despairing,  died. 

Cym.  Heard  you  all  this,  her  women  \ 

Lady.  We  did  so,  please  your  highness. 

Cym.  Mine  eyei 

Were  not  in  fault,  for  she  was  beautiful : 
Mine  ears,  that  heard  her  lluttery  ;  nor  my  heart. 
That  thought  her  like  her  seeming ;  it  had  been 
vicious. 

To  have  mistrusted  her :  yet,  O  ray  daughter ! 
That  it  was  folly  in  me,  thou  may'st  say, 
And  prove  it  in  thy  feeling.  Heaven  mend  all ! 

Enter  Lucius,  Tachimo,  the  Soothsayer,  and  other 
Romaji prisoners,  yuarded:  Posthumus  behind, 
and  Imogen. 
Thou  com'st  not,  Caius,  now  for  tribute  ;  that 
The  Britons  have  raz'd  out,  though  with  the  loss 
Of  many  a  bold  one  ;  whose  kinsmen  have  made  suit 
That  their  good  souls  may  be  appcas'd  with  slaughte 
Of  you  their  captives,  which  ourself  have  granted  : 
So,  tliink  of  your  estate. 

Luc.  Consider,  sir,  the  chance  of  war :  the  day 
Was  yours  by  accident ;  had  it  gone  with  us. 
We  .should  not,  when  the  blood  was  cool,  have 
threaten'd 

Our  prisoners  with  the  sword.    But  since  the  gods 

Will  have  it  thus,  that  nothing  but  our  lives 

May  be  calTd  ransom,  let  it  come :  sufficeth, 

A  Roman  with  a  Roman's  heart  can  sufter  : 

Adgustus  lives  to  think  on't :  And  so  much 

For  my  peculiar  care.  This  one  thing  only 

I  will  entreat ;  My  b«)y,  a  Briton  born, 

Let  him  be  ransom'd  :  aever  nmster  had 

A  page  so  kind,  so  duteous,  diligent. 

So  tender  over  his  occasions,  true, 

So  feat,  so  nurse-like  :  let  his  virtue  join  [ness 

With  my  request,  which,  I'll  make  bold,  your  high 

Cannot  deny  ;  he  hath  done  no  Briton  harm, 

Though  he  have  serv'd  a  Roman;  save  him,  sir, 

And  spare  no  blood  beside. 

Cym.  I  have  surely  seen  liim 

His  favour  is  familiar  to  me. — 
Boy,  thou  hast  look'd  thyself  into  my  grace. 
And  art  mine  own. — I  know  not  why,  nor  wherefore 
To  say,  live,  boy:  ne'er  thank  thy  master  ;  live: 
And  ask  of  Cymbeline  what  boon  thou  wilt, 
Fitting  my  bounty,  and  thy  state,  I'll  give  it; 
Yea,  though  thou  do  demand  a  prisoner,  » 
The  noblest  ta'en. 

Lno.  I  humbly  thank  your  highnesi 

Lur,  I  . do  not  bid  thee  beg  my  life,  good  ladj 
And  yet,  1  know,  thou  wilU 


Scene  5. 


CYMBELTNE. 


653 


Imo.  No,  no:  alack, 

There's  other  work  in  hand  ;  I  see  a  thing- 
Bitter  to  me  as  d(  ntli  :  your  life,  good  master, 
Must  sliutiie  for  itself. 

LfUC.  The  boy  disdains  me, 

fie  jea\«s  me,  scorns  nie  :  Briefly  die  their  joys, 
I'hat  pliK  e  them  on  the  truth  of  girls  and  boys. — 
VVliy  stands  lie  so  perplex'd  ^ 

Cym.  Wliat  would'st  thoii,  boy? 

t  love  thee  more  and  more;  think  more  and  more 
What's  best  to  ask.  Know'st  him  thoii  look'st  on  ? 
S|ieak, 

Wilt  ha\e  him  li\e  V  Is  he  thy  kin?  thy  friend  ? 

Into.  He  is  a  Roman;  no  niore  kin  to  me. 
Than  1  to  y(Mir  highness ;  who,  being  born  your 
Am  sometiiiiig  nearer.  [vassal, 

Cym.  Wherefore  ey'st  him  so  ? 

Imu.  I  ll  tell  yon,  sir,  in  private,  if  you  please 
To  give  me  hearijvg. 

Cym.  Ay,  with  all  my  heart. 

And  lend  my  best  attention.    What's  thy  name? 

Into.  Fide  It',  sir. 

Cym.  'I'hon  art  my  good  youth,  my  page  ; 

I'll  be  thy  master:  Walk  with  me;  speak  freely* 

{Cyinin'l'niv  and  Imogen  converse  apart.) 

Bel.  Is  not  tiiis  boy  reviv'd  from  death? 

Arv.  One  sand  another 

Not  mnrr  resembles  :  That  sweet  rosy  lad, 
Who  died,  and  was  Kidele  : — What  think  you? 

Giii.  'I  he  samr  dead  thing  alive.  [ibrbear; 

Bel.  Peacf.  peacr  I  see  further;  he  eyes  us  not; 
Creatures  may  be  alike:  were't  he,  I  arn  sure 
He  would  havf  spoke  to  us. 

G^it.  But  we  saw  him  dead. 

Bel.  Be  silent ;  let's  see  further 

Pis.  It  is  my  mistress;  [Aside.) 

Since  she  is  living,  Irt  the  time  run  on, 
To  good,  or  bad.  [Cymh.  and  Imo.  come  forivard.) 

Cym.  Come,  stand  thou  by  our  side  ; 

Make  tliv  demand  aloud. — Sir,  {to  lack.)  step  you 
■forth  ; 

Give  answtr  to  this  boy,  and  do  it  freely; 
Or,  by  our  greatness,  and  the  grace  of  it, 
Which  is  our  hwnour,  bitter  torture  shall  [him. 
Winnow  tlie  trutli  from  falsehood. — On,  speak  to 

Imo.  My  boon  is.  that  this  gentleman  may  render 
Of  whom  lie  had  that  ring. 

Post.  \V  hat's  that  to  him?  (Aside.) 

Cym.  That  diamond  upon  your  linger,  say. 
How  came  it  yours  ? 

lac/i,  'J'hou'll  torture  me  to  leave  unspoken  that 
Wliich,  to  be  spi>ke,  would  torture  thee. 

Cy7fi.  How  !  me  ? 

lar/i.  I  am  glad  to  be  constrain'd  to  utter  tliat. 
Torments  tne  to  conceal.    By  viilany  [which 
1  got  this  ring  ;  'twas  Leonatus'  jewel : 
Whom  thou  didst  banish;  and  (which  more  may 

gne\e  thee, 
As  it  dotli  me,)  a  nobler  sir  ne'er  liv'd 
'Twixt  sky  an<l  ground.    Wilt  thou  hear  more,  my 

Cym.  All  that  belongs  to  this.  [lord  ? 

lac/t.  That  paragon,  thy  daughter,— 

For  whom  my  heart  drops  blood,  and  my  false  spirits 
Quail  to  remeinber, —  Give  me  leave  ;— 1  faint. 

Cym.  My  daughter'  what  of  her  ?  Renew  thy 
strength  : 

I  had  rather  tliou  should'st  live  while  nature  will, 
Tiian  die  ere  I  iiear  more  :  strive,  man,  and  speak. 

lack.  Upon  a  time,  (unhappy  was  the  clock 
That  struck  the  hour!)  it  was  in  Rome,  (accurs'd 
The  mansion  where  !)  'tv/as  at  a  feast,  (O  'would 
Jiir  viands  had  been  poison'd  I  or,  at  least, 
Those  which  i  heav'd  to  head!)  the  good  Posthumus, 
(What  should  1  say  ?  he  was  too  good  to  be 
Where  ill  men  were  ;  and  was  tlie  best  of  all 
Among'st  tiie  rar'st  of  good  ones,)  sitting  sadly 
Hearing  us  praise  our  loves  ol  Italy 
For  beauty  that  made  barren  the  swell'd  boast 
Of  him  that  best  could  speak:  for  feature,  laming 
The  shrine  of  Venus.  o»-  straight  pight  Minerva, 


Postures  beyond  brief  nature  ;  for  condition, 
A  shop  oi  all  the  qualities  that  man 
Loves  woman  ior :  besides,  that  iiook  of  wiving. 
Fairness  which  strikes  the  v.-ye  : 

Cym.  I  stand  on  fire  ; 

Come  to  the  matter. 

lac  A.  AlU  too  SOI    I  shall, 

Unless  thou  would'st  grieve  qui  -kly,—  Th's  Po* 
(Most  like  a  noble  lord  in  love,  and  one  cthumua, 
That  had  a  royal  lover,)  took  his  hint; 
And,  not  dispraising  whom  we  prais  d  ^therein 
He  was  as  calm  as  virtue)  he  began  [made 
His  mistress'  picture;  which  by  his  tongue  b(ing 
And  then  a  mind  put  in't,  either  our  bra>;s 
Were  crack'd  of  kitchen  trulls,  or  his  description 
Prov'd  us  unspeaking  sots. 

Cym.  Nay,  nay,  to  the  purpose. 

lac/i.  Your  daughter's  chastity — There  itbegb«l 
He  spake  of  her  as  Dian  had  hot  dri  auis. 
And  she  alone  were  cold :  Wiiereat,  I,  wretch 
Made  scruple  of  his  praise;  and  wnger  d  with  him 
Pieces  of  gold,  'gainst  this,  which  tlien  he  wore 
Upon  his  honour'd  finger,  to  attain 
In  suit  the  place  of  his  bed,  and  win  tliis  ring 
By  hers  and  mine  adultery :  he,  true  knight, 
No  lesser  of  her  honour  confident 
Than  I  did  truly  find  her,  slakes  this  ring  ; 
And  would  so,  had  it  been  a  carbuncle 
Of  Phoebus'  wheel;  and  might  f^o  saieiy,  had  it 
Been  all  the  worth  of  his  car.    Away  to  Britaia 
Post  I  in  this  design :  Well  may  you.  sir, 
Remember  me  at  court,  where  I  was  taiit:ht 
Of  your  chaste  daughter  the  wide  dill'eren'  e 
'Twixt  amorous  and  villanous.  Being  thus  queneVd 
Of  hope,  not  longing,  mine  Italian  braia 
'Gan  in  your  duller  Britain  operate 
Most  vilely  ;  for  my  avantage,  excellent; 
And,  to  be  brief,  my  practice  so  prevaiTd, 
That  I  return'd  with  simular  proof  enough 
To  make  the  noble  Leonatus  mad. 
By  wounding  his  belief  in  her  renown 
With  tokens  thus,  and  thus  ;  averring  notes 
Of  chamber-hanging,  pictures,  tiiis  her  braceJet 
(O,  cunning,  how  I  got  it!)  nay,  some  niHrka 
Of  secret  on  her  person,  that  he  could  not 
But  think  her  bond  of  chastity  quite  crack'd, 
I  having  ta'en  the  forfeit.  VVhereupon,— 
Methinks,  I  see  him  now, — 

Post.         Ay,  so  thou  dost,  (Coming  forward,) 
Italian  fiend  ! — Ah  me,  most  credulous  tool. 
Egregious  murderer,  thief,  any  thiiig 
'i  hat's  due  to  all  the  villains  past,  in  being. 
To  come  ! — O,  give  me  cord,  or  knii'e,  or  poisoni 
Some  upright  jiisticer  !  Thou  king,  send  out 
For  torturers  ingenious  :  it  is  I 
That  all  the  abhorred  things  o'the  earth  amend/ 
By  being  worse  than  they.    I  am  Posthumus, 
That  kill'd  thy  daughter: — villain-like,  I  lie  ; 
That  caus'd  a  lesser  villain  than  myself, 
A  sacrilegious  thief,  to  do't : — the  temple 
Of  virtue  was  she  ;  yea,  and  she  herself. 
Spit,  and  throw  stones,  cast  mire  upon  me,  set 
The  dogs  o'the  street  to  bay  me  ;  every  villain 
Be  call'd,  Posthumus  Leonatus  ;  and 
Be  viilany  less  than  'twas  I — O  Imogen  ! 
My  queen,  my  life,  my  wife  !  O  Imogen  ! 
Imogen,  Imogen  ! 

Imo.  Peace,  my  lord  :  hear,  hear— 

Post.  Shall's  have  a  play  of  this?  Thou  scomnfl 
page, 

There  lie  thy  part.  (Striiing  her:  skefalh,\ 

Pis.  O,  gentlemen,  help,  help 

Mine,  and  your  mistress  : — O,  my  lord  Posth'umuf  I 

You  ne'er  kilTd  Imogen  till  now  : — Help,  help! — 

Mine  honour'd  lady 

Cym.  Does  the  world  go  round  ^ 

Post.  How  come  these  staggers  on  me  ; 
Pis.  Wake,  my  mistress! 

Cym.  If  this  be  so,  the  gods  do  mean  to  strike  me 

To  death  with  mortal  joy 


654 


CYMBELTNE. 


Act  Y 


Pis.  How  fares  my  mistress  ? 

Imo.  O,  get  thee  from  my  sight  ; 
Thou  gav'st  me  poison  :  dangerous  fellow,  hence  ! 
Breathe  not  where  princes  are. 

Cf/m.  The  tune  of  Imogen  ! 

Pis.  Lady, 
The  gods  throw  stones  of  sulphur  on  me,  if 
That  box  I  gave  you  was  not  thought  by  me 
A  precious  thing ;  I  had  it  from  the  queen. 

Cym.  New  matter  still? 

Jmo.  It  poison'd  me. 

Cor.  Ogods!— 
I  left  out  one  thing,  which  the  queen  confesstl, 
Which  must  approve  thee  honest :  If  Pisanio 
Have,  said  she,  given  his  mistress  that  confection 
Which  I  gave  him  for  cordial,  she  is  serv'd 
As  I  would  serve  a  rat. 

Cym.  What's  this,  Cornelius  ? 

Cor.  The  queen,  sir,  very  oft  importun'd  me 
To  temper  poisons  for  her;  still  pretending 
The  satisfaction  of  her  knowledge,  only 
In  killing  creatures  vile,  as  cats  and  dogs 
Of  no  esteem  :  I,  dreading  that  her  purpose 
Was  of  more  danger,  did  compound  for  her 
A  certain  stuff",  which,  being  ta'en,  would  cease 
The  present  power  of  life  ;  but,  in  short  time, 
All  offices  of  nature  should  again 
Do  their  due  functions. — Have  yon  ta'en  of  it? 

Imo.  Most  like  I  did,  for  I  was  dead. 

Bel.  My  boys, 

There  was  our  error. 

Gui.  This  is  sure,  Fidele.        [you  ? 

Jmo.  Why  did  you  throw  your  wedded  lady  from 
Think,  that  you  are  upon  a  rock ;  and  now 
Throw  me  again.  {Embracing  him.) 

Post.  Hang  there  like  fruit,  niy  soul. 

Till  the  tree  die ! 

Ci/m.  How  now,  my  flesh,  my  child? 

What,  mak'st  thou  me  a  dullard  in  this  act  ? 
Wilt  thou  not  speak  to  me  ? 

Itno.  Your  blessing,  sir.  {Kneeling.) 

Bel.  Though  you  did  love  this  youth,  I  blame 
ye  not ;       {to  Guiderius  a?icl  Arviragus.) 
You  had  a  motive  for  it. 

Cym.  My  tears,  that  fall. 

Prove  holy  water  on  thee  !  Imogen, 
Thy  mother's  dead. 

Imo.  I  am  sorry  for't,  my  lord. 

Cym.  O,  she  was  naught ;  and  'long  of  her  it  was, 
That  we  meet  here  so  strangely  :  But  her  son 
Is  gone,  we  know  not  how,  nor  where. 

Pis.  My  lord. 

Now  fear  is  from  me,  Til  speak  truth.  Lord  Cloten, 
Upon  my  lady's  missing,  came  to  me  [swore. 
With  his  sword  drawn ;  foam'd  at  the  mouth,  and 
If  I  discover'd  not  which  way  she  was  gone. 
It  was  my  instant  death  :  By  accident, 
I  had  a  feigned  letter  of  my  master's 
Then  in  my  pocket ;  which  directed  him 
To  seek  her  on  the  mountains  near  to  Milford; 
VVhere,  in  a  frenzy,  in  my  master's  garments, 
Which  he  enforc'd  from  me,  away  he  posts 
With  unchaste  purpose,  and  with  oaths  to  violate 
My  lady's  honour:  what  became  of  him, 
I  furtlier  know  not. 

Gtii.  Let  me  end  the  story : 

I  slew  him  there. 

Ci/m.  Marry,  the  gods  forefend  ! 

f  would  not  thy  good  deeds  should  from  my  lips 
Pluck  a  hard  sentence  :  pr'ythee,  valiant  youth, 
Deny't  again. 

Gtfi.  I  have  spoke  it,  and  I  did  it, 

Ci/m.  He  was  a  prince. 

Gui.  A  most  uncivil  one  :  The  wrongs  he  did  me. 
Were  nothing  prince  like  ;  for  he  did  provoke  me 
VVith  language,  that  would  make  me  spurn  the  sea. 
If  it  could  so  roar  to  me  :  I  cut  ofTs  head  ; 
And  am  right  glad,  he  is  not  standing  here 
To  tell  this  tale  of  mine. 

Cym.  I  am  sorry  for  thee  •  ▼ 


By  thine  own  tongue  thou  art  condemned,  and  mast 
Endure  our  law  :  Thou  art  dead. 

Imo.  That  headless  man 

I  thought  had  been  my  lord. 

Gym.  Bind  the  offender. 

And  take  him  from  our  presence.  ' 

Bel.  Stay,  sir  king; 

This  man  is  better  than  the  man  he  slew. 
As  well  descended  as  thyself ;  and  hath 
More  of  thee  merited,  than  a  band  of  ClotetiS 
Had  ever  scar  for. — Let  his  arms  alone  ; 

[To  the  guard) 

They  were  not  born  for  bondage. 

Cym.  Why,  old  soldiert 

Wilt  thou  undo  the  worth  thou  art  unpaid  for, 
By  tasting  of  our  wrath  ?  How  of  descent 
As  good  as  we  ? 

Arv.  In  that  he  spake  too  far. 

Cym.  And  thou  shalt  die  for't. 

Bel.  We  will  die  all  three* 

But  I  will  prove,  that  two  of  us  are  as  good 
As  I  have  given  out  him. — My  sons,  I  must. 
For  mine  own  part,  unfold  a  dangerous  speech. 
Though,  haply,  well  for  you. 

Arv.  Your  danger  is 

Ours. 

Gui.  And  our  good  his. 

Bel.  Have  at  it  then. — 

By  leave ; — Thou  hadst,  great  king,  a  subject,  wliO 
Was  call'd  Belarius. 

Cym.  What  of  him?  he  is 

A  banish'd  traitor. 

Bel.  He  it  is,  that  hath 

Assum'd  this  age  :  indeed,  a  banish'd  man; 
I  know  not  how,  a  traitor. 

Cym.  Take  him  hence; 

The  whole  world  shall  not  save  him, 

Bel  Not  too  hot  ? 

First  pay  me  for  the  nui-sing  of  thy  sons  ; 
And  let  it  be  confiscate  all,  so  soon 
As  I  have  receiv'd  it. 

Cym.  Nursing  of  my  sons  ? 

Bel.  I  am  too  blunt,  and  saucy  :  Here's  my  knee  ; 
Ere  I  arise,  I  will  prefer  my  sons; 
Then,  spare  not  the  old  father.    Mighty  sir. 
These  two  young  gentlemen,  that  call  me  father, 
And  think  they  are  my  sons,  are  none  of  mine  ; 
They  are  the  issue  of  your  loins,  my  liege, 
And  blood  of  your  begetting. 

Cym. .  How !  my  issue  ? 

Bel.  So  sure  as  you  your  father's.  I,  old  Morgan, 
Am  that  Belarius  whom  you  sometime  banish'd  : 
Your  pleasure  was  my  mere  ofif'ence,  my  punishment 
Itself,  and  all  my  treason;  that  I  snffer'd, 
Was  all  the  harm  I  did.    These  gentle  princes 
(For  such,  and  so  they  are,)  these  twenty  years 
Have  I  train'd  up  :  those  arts  they  have,  as  I 
Could  put  into  them ;  my  breeding  was,  sir,  as 
Your  highness  know.s.    Their  nurse,  Euriphile, 
Whom  for  the  theft  I  wedded,  stole  these  childrei 
Upon  my  banishment :  I  mov'd  her  to't; 
Having  receiv'd  the  punishment  before. 
For  that  which  I  did  then  :  Beaten  for  loyalty 
Excited  me  to  treason  :  Their  dear  loss, 
The  more  of  you  'twas  felt,  the  more  it  ahap'd 
Unto  my  end  of  stealing  them.    But,  gracious  sir. 
Here  are  your  sons  again  :  and  I  must  lose 
Two  of  the  sweet'st  companions  in  the  world  : — 
The  benediction  of  these  covering  heavens 
Fall  on  their  heads  like  dew !  for  they  are  worthy 
To  inlay  heaven  with  stars. 

Cym.  Thou  weep'st,  and  speak'st 

The  se'*  ice,  that  you  three  have  done,  is  more 
Unlike  than  this  thou  tell'st  :  I  lost  my  children* 
If  these  be  they,  I  know  not  how  to  wish 
A  pair  of  worthier  sons. 

Bel.  Be  pleas'd  a  while.— 

This  gentleman,  whom  I  call  Polydore, 
Most  worthy  prince,  as  yours,  is  true  Guiderius; 
This  gentleman,  my  Cadwal,  Arviragus, 


Scene  5. 

Your  younger  princely  son  ;  he,  sir,  was  lapp'd 
In  a  most  curious  mantle,  wrought  by  tli«  hand 
Of  his  qiieerr  mother,  which,  for  more  probation, 
1  can  with  ease  produce. 

Cym,  Ginderins  had 

fTpon  his  neck  a  mole,  a  sanguine  star ; 
It  was  a  mark  of  wonder. 

Bel,  This  is  he ; 

Who  hath  upon  him  still  that  natural  stamp : 
It  T7S18  wise  nature's  end  in  the  donation. 
To  be  his  evidence  now. 

Cym.  O,  what,  am  I 

A  mother  to  the  birth  of  three  ?  Ne'er  mother 
Rejoic'd  deliverance  more  : — Bless'd  may  you  be, 
That,  after  this  strange  starting  from  your  orbs, 
You  may  reign  in  them  now ! — O  Imogen, 
Thou  hast  lost  by  this  a  kingdom. 

Imo.  No,  my  lord  ; 

I  have  got  two  worlds  by't. — O,  my  gentle  brothers, 
Have  we  thus  met?  O  never  say  hereafter, 
But  I  am  truest  speaker:  you  call'd  me  brother, 
When  I  was  but  your  sister;  I  you  brother. 
When  you  were  so  indeed. 

Cym.  Did  you  e'er  meet? 

Arv.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Gut.  And  at  first  meeting  lov'd  ; 

Continued  so,  until  we  thought  he  died. 

Cor.  By  the  queen's  dram  she  swallow'd. 

Cym,  O  rare  instinct!  [ment 

When  shall  I  hear  all  through  ?  This  fierce  abridge- 
Hath  to  it  circumstantial  branches-  which      [you  ? 
Distinction  should  be  rich  in. — Where?  how  liv'd 
And  when  came  you  to  serve  our  Roman  captive  ? 
How  parted  with  your  brothers  ?  how  first  met  them  ? 
Why  fled  you  from  the  court?  and  whither?  These, 
And  your  three  motives  to  the  battle,  with 
[  know  not  how  much  more,  should  be  demanded ; 
And  all  the  other  by-depeudei>cies, 
From  chance  to  chance  ;  but  nor  the  Ume,  nor  place. 
Will  serve  our  long  intergatorios.  See, 
Posthumus  anchors  upon  Imogen  ; 
And  she,  like  harmless  lightning,  throws  her  eye 
On  him,  her  brothers,  me,  her  master;  hitting 
Each  object  with  a  joy  ;  the  counterchange 
Is  severally  in  all.    Let's  quit  this  ground. 
And  smoke  the  temple  with  our  sacrifices. — 
Thou  art  my  brother ;  so  we'll  hold  thee  ever. 

{To  Belarius.) 

Imo.  You  are  my  father  too ;  and  did  relieve  me. 
To  see  this  gracious  season. 

Cym.  All  o'er  joy 'd. 

Save  these  in  bonds;  let  them  be  joyful  too. 
For  they  shall  taste  our  comfort. 

Imo.  My  good  master, 

I  will  yet  do  you  service. 

Luc.  Happy  be  you ! 

Cym.  The  forlorn  soldier,  that  so  nobly  fought. 
He  would  have  well  becom'd  this  place,  and  grac'd 
The  f  bankings  of  a  king. 

Post.  I  am,  sir. 

The  soldier,  that  did  company  these  three 
In  poor  beseeming ;  'twas  a  fitment  for 
The  purpose  I  then  foUow'd : — That  I  was  he. 
Speak,  lachimo;  I  had  you  down,  and  might 
Have  made  you  finish. 

laeh.  I  am  down  again,  [Kneeling.) 

But  now  my  heavy  conscience  sinks  my  knee. 
As  then  your  force  did.  Take  that  life,  'beseech  you, 
Which  I  so  often  owe  :  but  your  ring  first; 
And  here  tiie  bracelet  of  the  truest  princess, 
Hiat  ever  swore  her  faith. 

Post.  Kneel  not  to  me ; 

The  power,  that  I  have  on  you,  is  to  spare  you; 
The  malice  towards  you,  to  forgive  you :  Live, 
And  deal  with  otlxers  better. 


655 

Cym.  Nobly  dooia'd : 

We'll  learn  our  freeness  of  a  son-in-law; 
Pardon's  the  word  to  all. 

Arv.  You  help  US,  sir^ 

As  you  did  mean  indeed  to  be  our  brother ; 
Joy'd  are  we,  tliat  you  are.  [Borne, 
Post.  Your  servant,  princes.  — Good  my  lord  oJ 
Call  forth  your  soothsayer:  As  I  slept,  niethougUt 
Great  Jupiter,  upon  his  eagle  back, 
Appear'd  to  me,  with  other  spriteiy  shews 
Of  mine  own  kindred  ;  when  I  wak'd,  I  found 
I'his  label  on  my  bosom  ;  whose  containing 
Is  so  from  sense  in  hardness,  that  I  can 
Make  no  collection  of  it;  let  hm»  shew 
His  skill  in  the  construction. 

Luc.  Pbllarmonus, — 

iSuoth.  Here,  my  good  lord. 
Luc.  Read,  and  declare  the  meaning. 

Sooth.  [Reads.)  When  as  a  lions  whelp.,  shall  to 
himself  unknown,  without  seeking  find^  and  be 
embraced  by  a  piece  of  tender  air;  and  ivhen 
from  a  stately  cedar  shall  be  lopped  branches, 
ivhich,  beiny  dead  many  years,  shall  after  revive, 
be  jointed  to  the  old* stock,  and  freshly  grotu ; 
then  shall  Posthumus  end  his  miseries,  Britain 
be  fortunate,  and  Jiourish  in  peace  and  plenty. 
'i'liou,  Leonati'.s,  art  the  lion's  wiielp; 
The  fit  and  apt  construction  of  thy  name, 
Bsing  Leo-natus,  doth  import  so  much  : 
The  piece  of  tender  air,  thy  virtuous  daughter,  ' 

[To  Cymbeline. 
Which  we  call  mollis  aer;  and  mollis  aer 
We  term  it  mulier:  which  mulier,  1  divine, 
Is  this  most  constant  wife ;  who,  even  now. 
Answering  the  letter  of  tiie  oracle. 
Unknown  to  you,  unso^ight,  were  clipp'd  about 
With  this  most  tender  air, 

Cy7n.  This  hath  some  seemioj} 

Sooth.  The  lofty  cedar,  royal  Cynibeiine, 
Personates  thee  :  and  thy  lopp'd  branches  point 
Thy  two  sons  forth;  who,  by  Belarius  stolen. 
For  many  years  thought  dead,  are  now  reviv'd, 
To  the  majestic  cedar  join'd  ;  whose  issue 
Promises  Britain  peace  and  plenty. 

Cym.  Well, 
My  peace  we  will  begin: — And,  Caii:s  Lucius, 
Although  the  victor,  we  submit  to  Caesar, 
And  to  the  Roman  empire;  promising 
To  pay  our  wonted  tribute,  from  the  which 
We  were  dissuaded  by  our  wicked  queen ; 
Whom  heavens,  injustice,  (both  on  her,  and  hera,^ 
Have  laid  most  heavy  hand. 

Sooth.  The  fingers  of  the  powers  above  do  tune 
The  harmony  of  this  peace.    The  vision 
Which  I  made  known  to  Lucius,  ere  the  stroke 
Of  this  yet  scarce-cold  battle,  at  this  instant 
Is  full  accomplish'd  :  For  the  Roman  eagle. 
From  south  to  west  on  wing  soaring  alolt, 
Lessen'd  herself,  and  in  the  beams  o'the  sun 
So  vanish'd  :  which  foreshew'd  our  princely  eagle. 
The  imperial  Caesar,  should  again  unite 
His  favour  with  the  radiant  Cymbeline, 
Wliich  shines  here  in  the  west. 

Cym.  Laud  we  the  gods; 

And  let  our  crooked  smokes  climb  to  their  nostrils 
From  our  bless'd  altars  !  Publish  we  this  peace 
To  all  our  subjects.    Set  we  forward  :  i^et 
A  Roman  and  a  British  ensign  wave 
Frieiidly  together;  so  through  Lud's  town  march j 
And  in  the  temple  of  great  Jupiter 
Out  peace  we'll  ratify  ;  seal  it  with  feasts.— 
Set  on  there  : — Never  was  a  war  did  cease. 
Ere  bloody  hands  were  wask'd,  witL  flucii    l>eac  . 


CYMBELINE. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


A!I  the  editors  and  critics  agree  with  Mr.  Theobald  in  supposing  this  play  spurious.  I  see  no  reason  for  diffurlBt 
from  them:  for  the  colour  of  tlie  style  is  wholly  different  from  that  of  tne  other  p.ays;  and  there  is  an  attempt  at 
regular  versification  and  artificial  closes,  not  always  inelegant,  yet  seldom  pleasing  The  barbarity  of  the  spectacle*, 
avd  the  general  massacre,  which  are  here  exhibited,  can  scarcely  be  conceived  tolerable  to  any  audience  ;  yet  "^e  ar« 
told  by  Jonsoa,  that  they  were  not  only  borne,  but  praised.  That  bhak-fpeare  wrote  any  part,  thouirh  Tbeabfcy 
eclares  it  iticoHtestable,  I  see  no  reason  for  believing.  Johnson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


SATURNINUS,  So7i  to  the  UAe  Emperor  of  Rome,  and  > 
ajterwurds  declared  Emperor  himself  .  1 

BASSIANUS,    Brother  to   baturninus ;  in   love   vnth  \ 
Ldvinia.  \ 

TITUS  ANDilONICUS,  a  noble  Roman,  General  against  . 

the  Goths.  I 

MARCUS  ANDilONICUS,  Tribune  of  the  People;  and 
Brother  to  Titus, 

LUCIUS, 
QUINTI 
MARTIUS, 
MUTIUS, 

Young  LUCIUS,  a  Boy,  Son  to  Lucius. 


JS,  -) 

rus,  ( 

lUS,  ( 


Sons  to  Titles  Andro?ncus. 


PUBLIUS,  Son  to  Marcus  the  Tribune, 
jEMILIUS,  a  noble  Roman. 
ALAR  BUS,  I 

CHIRON,         >  Sons  to  Tamora. 
DcMETRIUS,  ) 

AARON,  a  Moor,  beloved  by  Tamora. 
A  Captain,  Tribune,  Messenger,  and  Clown; 
Goths  and  Romans. 
TAMORA,  Queen  of  the  Goths. 
LAVIMA,  Daughter  to  Titus  Andronicus. 
A  Nurse,  and  a  black  Child. 
Kinsmen  of  Titus,  Senators,  Tribunes,  Officers,  Seh 
diers,  and  Attendants. 


Scene, — Rome ;  and  the.  Country  near  it. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  1. — Rome.    Before  the  Capitol, 
The  tomb  of  the  Andronici  appearing;  the  Tri- 
bunes and  Senators  aloft,  as  in  the  Senate. 
Enter,  belotv,  Saturninus,  and  his  Followers, 
on  one  side  ;  and  Bassianus  and  his  Followers, 
on  the  other ;  with  drum  and  colours. 
Sat,  Noble  patricians,  patrons  of  my  right, 
^Jefend  tlie  justice  of  my  cause  with  arms  j 
Vnd,  coantrymen,  my  lovinf^  followers, 
i'lead  my  successive  title  with  your  swords  : 
I  am  his  first-born  son,  that  was  the  last 
That  wore  the  imperial  diadem  of  Rome; 
Then  let  my  fathers  honours  live  in  me, 
Nor  wrong  mine  age  with  this  indignity. 

Bas.  liomans, — friends,  followers,  favourers  of 
If  ever  Bassianus,  Csesar's  son,  (my  right, — 

Were  gracious  in  the  eyes  of  royal  Rome, 
Keep  tiien  this  passage  to  the  Capitol, 
And  suffer  not  dishonour  to  approach 
riie  imperial  seat,  to  virtue  consecrate, 
To  justice,  continence,  and  nobility  : 
But  let  desert  in  pure  election  shine  ; 
And,  Romans,  light  for  freedom  in  your  choice. 

Enter  Marcus  Andronicus,  aloft,  with  the 
crotvn. 

Mar.  Princes, —  that  strive  by  factions,  and  by 

friends, 

Ambitionsly  for  rule  and  empery, — 

Know,  that  the  people  of  Rome,  for  whom  we  stand 

A  special  party,  have,  by  common  voice. 

In  election  ior  the  Roman  empery, 

Chosen  Andronicus,  surnamea  Pius, 

For  many  good  and  great  deserts  to  Rome ; 

A  nobler  man,  a  braver  warrior, 

Lives  not  this  day  within  the  city  walls  : 

He  by  the  senate  is  accited  home. 

From  weary  wars  against  the  barbarous  Goths ; 

That,  with  his  sons,  a  terror  to  our  foes, 

Hath  yok'd  a  nation  strong,  train'd  up  in  arins. 

Ten  years  are  spent,  since  first  he  undertook 

This  cause  of  Rome,  and  chastised  with  arms 

Our  enemies'  pride  :  Five  times  he  hath  retura'd 

Hleeding  to  Rome,  bearing  his  valiant  sons 

In  coliins  frorn  the  field; 

And  now,  at  last,  laden  with  honour's  spoils, 

Returns  the  good  Andronicus  to  Rome, 

Renowned  'I'itus,  flourishing  in  arms. 

r<ot  us  entreat,— By  honour  of  his  name, 

Wiiom,  worthily,  yor.  would  have  now  succeed, 

Aad  io  the  Capitol  and  senate's  right. 


Whom  you  pretend  to  honour  and  adore,— 
That  you  withdraw  you,  and  abate  your  strength; 
Dismiss  your  followers,  and,  as  suitors  should, 
Plead  your  deserts  in  peace  and  humbleness. 
Sat.  How  fair  the  tribune  speaks  to  calm  mj 
thoughts  ! 

Bas.  Marcus  Andronicus,  so  I  do  affy 
In  thy  uprightness  and  integrity, 
And  so  1  love  and  honour  thee  and  thine. 
Thy  noble  brother  Titus,  and  his  sons, 
And  her,  to  whom  my  thoughts  are  humbled  all* 
Gracious  Lavinia,  Rome's  rich  ornament. 
That  I  will  here  dismiss  my  loving  friends ; 
And  to  my  fortunes,  and  the  people's  favour. 
Commit  my  cause  in  balance  to  be  weigh'd. 

[Exeunt  the  Followers  of  Bassianus 

Sat.  Friends,  that  have  been  thus  tbrvvard  in  my 
I  thank  you  all,  and  here  dismiss  you  all ;  [fight 
And  to  the  love  and  favour  of  my  country 
Commit  myself,  my  person,  and  the  cause. 

[Exeunt  the  Followers  of  Saturninus 
Rome,  be  as  just  and  gracious  unto  me. 
As  1  am  confident  atad  kind  to  thee. — 
Open  the  gates  and  let  me  io. 

Bas.  Tribunes!  and  me,  a  poor  competitor. 
{Sat.  and  Bas.  go  into  the  Capitol,  and  exeunt 
with  Senators,  Marcus  ^c.) 

Scene  II.—  The  same. 
Enter  a  Captain,  and  others. 
Cap.  Romans,  make  way :  The  good  Andronicus 
Patron  of  virtue,  Rome's  best  champion. 
Successful  in  the  battles  that  he  fights. 
With  honour  and  with  Ibrtune  is  return'd, 
From  where  he  circumscribed  with  his  sword. 
And  brought  to  yoke,  the  enemies  of  Rome. 

Flourish  of  trumpets,  §fc.  Enter  MUTIUS  ana 
Martius  ;  after  them,  two  men  bearing  a  coffin 
covered  ivith  black ;  then  QuiNTUS  and  Lucius. 
After  them,  Titus  Andronicus;  and  then 
Tamora,  ivith  Alarbus,  Chiron,  Demetrius 
Aaron,  and  other  Goths.,  prisoners;  So/di^i 
o.nd  People,  following.  The  bearers  set  dots 
the  cojfm,  and  frrus  speaks. 
Tit.  Hail,  Rome,  victorious  in  thy  tn'ntrniuf 
weeds ! 

Lo,  as  the  bark,  that  hath  discharg'd  her  fr?  ight. 
Returns  with  precious  lading  to  the  bay, 
From  whence  at  first  she  weigh'd  her  anchoragej 
Cometh  Andronicus,  bound  with  laurel  bougt,'. 
To  re-Stilute  his  country  with  his  tears  : 
Tears  of  true  joy  lor  his  return  to  Rones. 


IITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


65T 


Thoci  preat  defender  of  this  Capitol, 

Stand  gracious  to  the  rites  tliat  we  intend  ! — 

Romans,  oJ'  five  and  twenty  valiant  sons. 

Half  of  the  number  that  kina;  Priam  had, 

Behold  the  poor  remains,  alive,  and  dead  ! 

These,  that  svjrvive,  let  Rome  reward  with  love  ; 

These,  that  I  bring  unto  their  latest  home. 

With  burial  auiongst  their  ancestors  ; 

Here  Goths  have  given  :ne  leave  to  sheath  my  sword. 

Titus,  unkind,  and  careless  of  thine  own, 

Why  sulFer'st  thou  thy  sons,  unburied  yet, 

To  hover  on  the  dreadful  shore  ol"Styx  ? — 

Make  wr.y  to  lay  fham  by  their  brethren.  _ 

{T/ie  tomb  is  opened.) 
There  greet  in  silence,  as  the  dead  are  wont, 
A.nd  sleep  in  peace,  slain  in  your  country's  wars  ! 
O  sacred  receptacle  of  my  joys, 
Sweet  cell  of  virtue  and  nobility. 
How  many  sons  of  mine  hast  thou  in  store, 
That  thou  wilt  never  render  to  me  more  ? 

Luc.  Give  us  the  proudest  prisoner  of  the  Goths, 
Ad  manes /m^rwrn  sacrifice  his  flesh, 
That  we  may  hew  his  limbs,  and,  on  a  pile. 
That  so  the  shadows  be  not  unappeas'd. 
Before  this  earthly  prison  of  their  bones  ; 
Nor  we  disturbed  with  prodigies  on  earth. 

Tit.  I  give  him  you  ;  the  noblest  that  survive.s. 
The  eldest  son  of  this  distressed  queen. 

Tam.  Stay,  Roman  brethren;  —  Gracious  con- 
queror, 

Victorious  Titus,  rue  the  tears  I  shed, 

A  mother's  tears  in  passion  for  her  son  : 

And,  if  thy  sons  were  ever  dear  to  thee, 

O,  think  my  son  to  be  as  dear  to  me. 

Sufficeth  not,  that  we  are  brought  to  Rome, 

To  beautify  thy  triumphs,  and  return. 

Captive  to  thee,  and  to  thy  Roman  yoke  ; 

But  must  my  sons  be  slaughter'd  in  the  streets. 

For  valiant  doings  in  their  country  s  cause  ? 

O  !  if  to  fight  for  king  and  common-weed 

Were  piety  in  thine,  it  is  in  these. 

Andronicus,  stain  not  thy  tomb  with  blood  : 

Wilt  thou  draw  near  the  nature  of  tlie  gods  ? 

Draw  near  them  then  in  being  merciful : 

Sweet  mercy  is  nobility's  true  badge  ; 

Thrice-noble  Titus,  spare  my  first-born  son. 
Tit.  Patient  yourself,  madam,  and  pardon  me. 

These  are  their  brethren,  whom  you  Goths  beheld 

Alive,  and  dead  ;  and  for  their  brethren  slain. 

Religiously  they  ask  a  sacrifice  : 

To  this  your  son  is  niark'd ;  and  die  he  must. 

To  appease  their  groaning  shadows  that  are  gone. 

Luc.  Away  witii  him!  and  make  a  fire  straight; 
And  with  our  swords,  upon  a  pile  of  wood, 
Let's  hew  his  limbs,  till  they  be  clean  consum'd. 

[Exeunt  Lucius^  Quintus,  Martius,  and 
Mutt  us,  with  Alar  bus. 
Tam,  O  cruel,  irreligious  piety  ; 
Chi.  Was  everScytliia  half  so  barbarous? 
Dem.  O,)pose  not  Scythia  to  ambitious  Rome. 
Alarbus  goes  to  rest;  and  we  survive 
To  tremble  under  Tit(js'  threatening  look. 
Then,  madam,  stand  resolv'd  :  but  hope  withal. 
The  selfsame  gods,  that  anii'd  the  queen  of  Troy 
With  opportunity  of  sharp  revenge 
Upon  the  Thracian  tyrant  in  his  tent. 
May  favour  Tamora,  the  queen  of  Goths, 
(When  Goths  were  Goths,  and  Tamora  was  queen,) 

,  To  quit  the  bloody  wrongs  upon  her  foes. 

Re-enter  Lucius,  Quintus,  Martius,  andMvjivs, 
toith  their  swords  bloody, 

Luc.  See,  lord  and  father,,  how  we  have  perform'd 
Our  Roman  rites:  Alarbus'  limbs  are  lopp'd. 
And  entrails  feed  the  sacrificing  fire, 
Whose  smoke,  like  incense,  doth  perfume  the  sky. 
Remftiueth  nought,  but  to  inter  our  brethren, 
ind  with  loud  'larums  welcome  them  to  Rome. 

Tit,  Let  it  be  so,  and  let  Andronicus 


Make  this  his  latest  farewe'l  to  their  sonlfl. 

( Trumpets  sounded,  and  the  coffima  im^ 

in  the  tomb.) 
In  peace  and  horour  rest  you  here,  my  sons; 
Rome's  readiest  champions,  repose  you  heie. 
Secure  from  worldly  chances  and  mishap<<  \ 
Here  lurks  no  (reason,  here  no  envy  swells. 
Here  grow  no  danmed  grudges  ;  here  are  no  stormy 
No  noise,  but  silence  and  eternal  sleep. 

Enter  Lavinia. 
In  peace  and  honour  rest  you  here,  my  sons! 

Lav.  In  peace  and  honour  live  lord  Titus  long  ; 
My  noble  lord  and  father,  live  in  fame ! 
Lo!  at  this  tomb  my  tributary  tears 
I  render,  for  my  brethren's  obsequies  ; 
And  at  thy  feet  I  kneel,  with  tears  of  joy 
Shed  on  the  eartii,  for  thy  return  to  Rome: 
O  bless  me  here  witli  thy  victorious  hand, 
Whose  fortunes  Ron;e's  best  citizens  applaud. 

Tit.  Kind  Rome,  that  hast  thus  lovingiy  reserv'd 
The  cordial  of  mine  age  to  glad  my  iieart  ! — 
Lavinia,  live  ;  outlive  thy  father's  days, 
And  fame's  eternal  date,  for  virtue's  praise  ! 

Enter  Marcus  Andronicus,  Saturninus,  Bas- 
SIANUS,  and  others. 

Mar.  Long  live  lord  Titus,  my  beloved  brother  ; 
Gracious  triumpher  in  the  eyes  of  Rome  I 

Tit.  Thanks,  gentle  tribune,  noble  brother  Mar- 
cus, [wars, 

Mar.  And  welcome,  nephews  ,  from  successful 
You  that  survive,  and  you  that  sleep  in  fame. 
Fair  lords,  your  fortunes  are  alike  in  all, 
Tliat  in  your  country's  service  drew  your  swords  : 
But  safer  triumph  is  this  funeral  {K>mp, 
That  hath  aspir'd  to  Solon's  happjness, 
And  triumphs  over  chance,  in  honour's  bed.— 
T)tus  Andronicus,  the  people  of  Rome, 
Whose  friend  in  justice  thou  hast  ever  been, 
Send  thee  by  me,  their  tribune,  and  their  trust, 
This  palliament  of  white  and  spotless  hue; 
And  name  thee  in  election  for  the  empire. 
With  these  our  late-deceased  emperor's  sous:, 
Be  candidatus,  then,  and  put  it  on. 
And  help  to  set  a  head  on  headless  Rome. 

Tit.  A  better  head  her  glorious  body  fits. 
Than  his  tliat  srhakes  for  age  and  feebleness: 
What!  should  I  don  this  robe,  and  trouble  you? 
Be  chosen  with  proclamations  to  day ; 
To-morrow,  yield  up  rule,  resign  my  life, 
And  set  abroad  new  business  for  you  all  ? 
Rome,  I  have  been  thy  soldier  forty  years. 
And  led  my  country's  strength  successfully; 
And  buried  one  and  twenty  valiant  sons. 
Knighted  in  field,  slain  manfully  in  arms. 
In  right  and  service  of  their  noble  country 
Give  me  a  stafl' of  honour  for  mine  age, 
But  not  a  sceptre  to  control  the  world : 
Upright  he  held  it,  lords,  that  held  it  last. 

Mar.  'J'ituf*,  thou  shatt  obtain  and  ask  the  empery 

Sat.  Prond  and  ambitious  tribune,  canst  tho 
tell?— 

Tit.  Patience,  prince  Saturnkie. 

Sat.  Romans,  do  me  right  ;— 

Patricians,  draw  your  swords,  and  sheath,  them  not 
Till  Saturninus  bo  Rome's  emperor  : — 
Andronicus,  'would  thou  were  shipp'd  to  hell. 
Rather  than  rob  me  of  the  people's  hearts. 

Lue.  Proud  Saturnine,  interrupter  of  the  good 
That  noble-minded  Titus  means  to  thee  ! 

Tit.  Content  thee,  prince ;  I  will  restore  to  tliev 
The  people's  heart*!,  and  wean  them  from  theuisekves. 

Bas^  Andronicus,  I  do  not  flatter  thee. 
But  honour  thee,  and  will  do,  till  1  die ; 
My  faction,  if  thou  strengthen  vrith  tJ>y  friends, 
I  will  most  thankful  be ;  and  thanks,  to  men 
Of  noble  minds,  is  honourable  meed. 

Tit.  People  of  Rome,  and  people's  tribunes  htre 
'  ask  your  voices,  and  your  suffrages; 

Il2 


658  TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Will  vou  he8<4.  w  ihera  friendly  on  Andronicus? 

Trlh,  To  gratify  the  good  Andionicus, 
And  gratulate  his  safe  return  to  Home, 
The  people  will  atxept  whom  he  admits. 

Tit.  Tribunes,  I  thank  you:  and  this  suit  I  make, 
That  you  create  your  emperor's  eldest  son, 
Lord  Saturnine  ;  whose  virtues  will,  I  hope. 
Reflect  on  Rome,  as  Titan's  rays  on  earth. 
Ana  ripen  justice  in  this  common- weal : 
Then  il  you  will  elect  by  my  advice, 
Crown  iiim,  and  say, — Long  live  our  etnperorl 

Mar.  With  voices  and  applause  of  every  sort. 
Patricians,  and  plebeians,  we  create 
Lord  Saturninus,  Rome's  great  ernperor  ; 
And  say, — Long  live  our  emperor  Saturnine! 

{A  long  flourish^) 

Sat.  Titus  Andronicus,  for  thy  favours  done 
Tg  us  in  our  election  this  day, 
I  give  thee  thanks  in  part  of  thy  deserts. 
And  will  with  deeds  requite  thy  gentleness : 
And,  for  an  onset,  I'itus,  to  advance 
Thy  name,  and  honourable  family, 
Lavinia  will  I  make  my  emperess, 
Rome's  royal  mistress,  mistress  of  my  heart. 
And  in  the  sacred  Pantheon  her  espouse : 
Tell  me,  Aridronicus,  doth  this  motion  please  thee  ? 

Tit.  It  doth,  my  worthy  lord  ;  and,  in  tins  match, 
I  hold  me  highly  honour'd  of  your  grace: 
And  here,  in  sight  of  Rome,  to  Saturnine, — 
King  and  commander  of  our  conimon-weal, 
']^he  wide  world's  emperor, — do  I  consecrate 
My  sword,  my  chariot,  and  my  prisoners; 
Presents  well  wortiiy  Home's  imperial  lord: 
Receive  them  then,  the  tribute  that  I  owe, 
Mine  honour's  ensigns  humbled  at  tiiy  feet. 

Sat.  I'hanks,  noble  Titus,  father  of  my  life  ! 
How  proud  I  am  ol'  thee,  and  of  thy  gil  Is, 
Ronje  shall  record  ;  and  when  1  do  Ibrget 
The  least  of  tiiese  unspeakable  deserts, 
Romans,  Ibrget  your  fealty  to  me. 

Tit.  Now,  madam,  are  you  prisoner  to  an  emperor : 

(To  Tamora.) 
To  him,  that  for  your  honour  and  your  state, 
Will  use  you  nobly,  and  your  followers. 

Sat.  A  goodly  lady,  trust  me;  of  the  hue 
That  I  v/ould  choose,  were  I  to  choose  anew. — 
Clear  up,  fair  queen,  that  cloudy  countenance; 
Though  chance  of  war  hath  wrought  this  change  of 
cheer, 

Thou  com'st  not  to  be  made  a  scorn  in  Rome : 
Princely  sh  It  be  thy  usage  every  way. 
Rest  on  my  word,  and  let  not  discontent 
Daunt  all  your  hopes  ;  Madam,  he  comforts  you, 
tan  make  you  greater  than  the  queen  of  Goths. — 
Lavinia,  you  are  not  displeas'd  with  this? 

Lav.  Not  1,  my  lord  ;  sith  true  nobility 
Warrants  these  words  in  princely  courtesy. 

Sat,  Thanks,  sweet  Lavinia. — Ronians,  let  us  go; 
Ransomless  here,  we  set  our  prisoners  free  : 
Proclaim  our  honours,  lords,  with  trump  and  drum. 

Bas.  Lord  Titus,  by  your  leave,  this  maid  is  mine. 

{Seizing  Lavinia.) 

Tit.  How,  sir?  Are  you  in  earnest  (hen,  my  lord  ? 

Bas.  Ay,  noble  Titus;  and  resolv'd  withal, 
Tb  do  mysell'  this  reason  and  this  right, 

[The  Emperor  courts  Tamora  in  dumb  shew.) 

Mar.  Suum  cuiqi^e  is  our  Roman  justice  : 
This  priuce  injustice  seizeth  but  his  own. 

Luc.  And  that  he  will,  and  shall,  if  Lucius  live. 

Tit.  Traitors,  avaunt!  Where  is  the  emperor's 
guard  i 

Treason,  my  lord  ;  Lavinia  is  surpris'd. 
Sat.  Surpris'd!  By  whom? 

Bas.  By  him  that  justly  may 

Bear  his  betioth'd  from  all  the  world  away. 

[Exeunt  Marcus  and  Bass ianus,  with  Lavinia. 

Mut.  brothers,  help  to  convey  her  hence  away, 
And  wiUi  my  sword  I'll  keep  this  door  s;ife. 

{Exeunt  Lucius,  Quintus,  and  Martins. 

THi,  F»>)t'ow,  my  lord,  and  I'll  soon  briuj,  her  back. 


Act  L 

# 

Mut.  My  lord,  you  pass  not  here. 
Tit.  What,  villain,  boy! 

Barr'st  me  my  way  in  Rome  ?  [Titus  kills  Mutius.) 
Mut.  Help,  Lucius,  help! 

Re-enter  Lucius. 

Luc.  My  lord,  you  are  unjust;  and,  more  than  ao« 
In  wrongful  quarrel  you  have  slain  your  son. 

Tit.  Nor  thou,  nor  he,  are  any  sons  of  mine  • 
My  sons  would  never  so  dishonour  me  : 
Traitor,  restore  Lavinia  to  the  emperor. 

Luc.  Dead,  if  you  will;  but  not  to  be  his  wife, 
That  is  another's  lawful  promised  love.  [MsU 

Sat.  No,  Titus,  no  ;  the  emperor  needs  her  not. 
Nor  her,  nor  thee,  nor  any  of  thy  stock  : 
I'll  trust,  by  leisure  him  that  mocks  me  once; 
Thee  never,  nor  thy  traitorous  haughty  sons. 
Confederates  all  thus  to  dishonour  me. 
Was  there  none  else  in  Rome  to  make  a  stale  of. 
But  Saturnine  ?    Full  well,  Andronicus, 
Agree  these  deeds  with  that  proud  brag  of  thine. 
That  said  st,  I  begg'd  the  empire  at  thy  hand. 

Tit.  O  monstrous  I  what  reproachful  words  ar 
these  ? 

Sat.  But  go  thy  ways  ;  go,  give  that  changing  piec« 
To  him  that  tiourish'd  for  her  with  his  sword* 
A  valiant  son-in-law  thou  shalt  enjoy; 
One  fit  to  bandy  with  thy  lawless  sons. 
To  ruffle  in  tfie  commonwealth  of  Rome. 

Til.  These  words  are  raz((rs  to  my  wounded  heart 
Sat,  And  therefore,  lovely  Tamora,  queea  of 
Gotiis, — 

That,  like  the  stately  Phonbe  'mongst  her  nymphs. 

Dost  overshine  thy  gallant'st  dames  of  Rome,— 

If  thou  be  pleas'd  with  this  my  sudden  choice. 

Beheld,  I  choose  cliee,  Tamora,  for  my  bride, 

And  will  create  thee  emperess  of  Rome. 

Speak,  queen  of  Gotlis,  dost  thou  applaud  my  choice  7 

And  hert  I  swear  by  all  the  Roman  gods, — 

Sith  priest  and  holy  water  are  so  near. 

And  tapers  burn  so  bright,  and  every  thing 

In  readiness  ibr  Hymeneus  stands, — 

I  will  not  re-salute  the  streets  of  Rome, 

Or  climb  my  palace,  till  from  forth  this  place 

I  lead  espous'd  my  bride  along  with  me.  [sweto* 

Tarn.  And  here,  in  sight  of  heaven,  to  Rome  I 
If  Saturnine  advance  the  queen  of  Goths, 
She  will  a  hand-maid  be  to  his  desii-es, 
A  loving  nurse,  a  mother  to  his  youth. 

Sat.  Ascend,  fair  queen,  Pantheon: — Lcrd«,  a©- 
company 

Your  noble  emperor,  and  his  lovely  bride. 
Sent  by  the  heavens  for  prince  Saturnine, 
Whose  wisdom  hath  her  fortune  coiiquer'd : 
'I'here  shall  we  consummate  our  spousal  rites. 

[Exeunt  Saturninus,  and  his  Followers  ;  Ta- 
mora. and  her  Sons ;  Aaron,  and  Ooths, 
Tit.  I  am  not  bid  to  wait  upon  this  bride  • — 
Titus,  when  vvert  thou  wont  to  walk  alone, 
Dishonour'd  thus,  and  challenged  of  wrongs? 

Re-enter  Marcus,  Lucius,  Quintus, andMxRTiu*. 

Mar.  O,  Titus,  see,  O,  see  what  thou  hast  done! 
In  a  bad  quarrel  slain  a  virtuous  sou. 

Tit.  No,  foolish  tribune,  no  ;  no  son  of  mine,— 
Nor  thou,  nor  these,  confederates  in  the  deed 
That  hath  dishonour'd  all  our  family  : 
Unworthy  brother,  and  unwortliy  sons  ! 

Luc.  But  let  tis  give  him  buriu'l,  as  becoraeji; 
Give  Mutius  burial  with  our  brethren. 

Tit.  Traitors,  away  !  he  rests  not  in  this  tomb. 
TJlis  monument  five  hundred  years  hath  stood, 
Which  I  have  sumptuously  re-edified: 
Here  none  but  soldiers,  and  Rome's  servitors. 
Repose  in  fame;  none  basely  slain  in  brawls: — 
Bury  him  where  you  can,  he  conies  not  here. 

Mar.  My  lord.  Lliis  is  impiety  in  you  : 
My  nephew  Mutius'  deeds  do  p'lead  for  him; 
He  must  be  buried  with  his  brethren.  Ipany 

Quin.  §f  Mar.  And  shall,  or  him  we  will  aucouti 


Act  11.    Scene  1. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


659 


Tit.  And  shall  ?    What  villain  was  it  spoke  that 
word  ? 

Qutn.  He  that  would  vonch't  in  any  place  but  here. 

Tit.  VV'liat,  would  yoii  bury  liini  in  niy  despite? 

Mar.  No,  noble  'I'itns  :  but  entreat  of  thee 
fo  pardon  Mntiiis,  and  to  bnry  hiin. 

Tit.  Marcus,  even  tfion  hast  struck  npon  niy  crest, 
And,  witii   these  boys,   mine  honour   thou  hast 

wounded : 
My  foes  I  do  repute  you  every  one  : 
So  trouble  me  no  mure,  but  get  you  gone. 

Alar,  He  is  not  wifli  himself;  let  us  withdraw. 

Quin.  Not  I,  till  Mutius'  bones  be  buried. 

{Mnrcua  and  the  sons  of  Titus  kneel.) 

Mtir.  Brother,  for  in  that  name  doth  nature  plead. 

Quin.  Father,  and  in  that  name  doth  nature  speak. 

Tit.  Speak  thou  no  more,  if  all  the  rest  will  s{)eed. 

Mar.  lienowned  "^ritiis,  niore  than  half  my  soul, — 

Luc.  Dear  father,  soul  and  substance  of  us  all, — 

Mar.  Siitfer  thy  brother  Marcus  to  inter 
His  noble  nephew  here  in  virtue's  nest, 
That  died  in  honour  and  Lavinia's  cause. 
Thou  art  a  Roman,  be  not  barbarous. 
The  Greeks,  u|)on  advice,  did  bury  Ajax 
That  slew  himself;  and  wise  Laertes'  son 
Did  graciously  plead  for  his  funerals. 
Let  not  young  Mutius  then,  that  was  thy  joy. 
Be  barr'd  his  entrance  here. 

Tit,  Rise,  Marcus,  rise  : — 

The  dismall'st  day  is  this,  that  e'er  I  saw. 
To  be  dishoiiour'd  by  my  sons  in  Rome  I — 
Well,  bury  him,  and  bin-y  nie  the  next. 

{Mutius  is  put  into  the  tomb.) 

Luc.  There  lie  thy  bones,  sweet  Mutius,  with  thy 
friends, 

Till  we  with  trophies  do  adorn  thy  tomb  I — 
All.  No  man  shed  tears  for  noble  Mutius: 

He  lives  in  fame,  that  died  in  virttie's  cause. 

Mar.  My  lord, — to  step  out  of  these  dreary 
dumps, — 

How  comes  it,  that  tlie  subtle  queen  of  Goths 
Is  of  a  sudden  thus  advanc'd  in  Rome? 

Tit.  \  know  not,  Marcus;  but,  I  know,  it  is; 
VV^hether  by  device,  or  no,  the  heavens  can  tell : 
Is  she  not  tht^n  belioiden  to  the  man 
'I'hat  brought  her  for  this  high  good  turn  so  far? 
^'es,  and  will  nobly  him  remunerate. 

Flourish.  Re-enter  at  one  side,  SATURNrNUS, 
ollended;  Tamdra,  Chiron,  Demetrius,  and 
Aakon:  At  the  other.,  Rassianus,  Lavinia,  and 

others. 

Sat.  So  Bassianus,  you  have  (>lay'd  your  prize  ; 
God  give  you  joy,  sir,  of  your  gallant  bride. 

Ban.  And  you  of  yours,  my  lord:  1  say  no  more, 
Nor  w  ish  no  less  :  and  so  1  take  my  leave. 

Sat.  Traitor,  if  Rome  have  law,  or  we  have  power, 
TIkiu  and  thy  faction  shall  repent  this  rape. 

Bas.  Rape,  call  you  it,  my  lord,  to  seize  my  own. 
My  true-betrothed  love,  and  now  my  wile? 
But  let  tiie  laws  of  Rome  determine  all : 
Mean  while  I  am  possess'd  ol"  that  is  nfme. 

Sat.  'Tis  good,  sir :  Vou  are  very  short  with  us ; 
But,  if  we  live,  we'll  be  as  sharp  with  you. 

Bos.  My  lord,  what  I  have  done,  as  best  I  may, 
Answer  I  nuist,  and  shall  do  with  my  life. 
Only  this  nnich  I  give  your  grace  to  know, — 
By  all  the  duties  which  I  owe  to  Rome, 
This  noble  gentlenian,  lord  'fitus  here, 
Is  in  opinion,  and  in  honour,  wrong'd; 
That,  in  the  rescue  of  Lavinia, 
With  his  own  hand  did  slay  bis  youngest  son, 
Fn  zeal  to  you,  and  highly  mov'd  to  wrath 
'I'o  be  coHtroU'd  in  that  he  frankly  gave  : 
Receive  him  then  to  favour,  .Saturnine; 
That  hath  express'd  liimself,  in  all  his  deeds, 
K  father,  and  a  iriend,  to  thee,  and  Rome. 

Tit.  Prince  Bassianus,  leave  to  plead  my  deeds: 
Tis  thou,  ansi  those,  that  have  dishonour'd  nie  : 
Rome  and  the  righteous  heavens  be  my  judge. 


How  I  have  lov'd  and  honour'd  Saturnine  < 
Tani.  My  worthy  lord,  if  ever  Ta*nora 
Were  gracious  in  tliose  princely  eyes  of  thiiie, 
Then  hear  me  speak  indilferently  of  all; 
.And  at  my  suit,  sweet,  pardon  what  is  past. 

Sat,  What!  madam!  be  dishonour'd  openly. 
And  bast-ly  put  it  up  without  revenge  ?  [tend. 

Taui,  Not  so,  my  lord;  'I'he  gods  of  Rome  for»- 
I  shoidd  be  author  to  dishonour  you  ! 
But,  on  my  honour,  dare  I  undertake 
For  good  lord  Titus'  iimocence  in  all, 
Whose  fury,  not  dissembled,  sneaks  his  griefs 
Then,  at  my  suit,  look  graciously  on  him; 
Lose  not  HO  noble  a  friend  on  vain  suppose. 
Nor  with  sour  looks  aftlict  his  gentle  heart. — 
My  lord,  be  rul'd  by  n>e,  be  won  at  last, 
Dissemble  ail  your  griefs  and  discontents  : 
^'ou  are  but  newly  planted  in  your  throne  ; 
Lest  then  the  people,  and  patricians  too. 
Upon  a  just  survey,  take  Titus'  part, 
And  so  supplant  us  for  ingratituae, 
(Which  Rome  reputes  to  be  a  heinous  sin,) 
Yield  at  entreats,  and  then  let  n»e  alone:  \Asidg 
I'll  find  a  day  to  massacre  them  all. 
And  raze  their  faction,  and  their  family. 
The  cruel  father,  and  his  traitorous  sons, 
To  whom  I  sued  for  n>y  dear  son's  lii'e  ; 
And  make  them  know,  what  'tis  to  let  a 
queen  [vain. — 

Kneel  in  the  streets,  and  beg  for  grace  in  / 
Come,  come,  sweet  emperor, — come,  Andronicus,— 
'J'ake  up  this  good  old  man,  and  cheer  the  heart 
That  dies  in  tempest  of  thy  angry  frown. 

Sat.  Rise,  'I'itus,  rise  ;  my  empress  hath  prevail'd. 

Tit.  I  thank  jour  majesty,  and  her,  my  lord: 
These  words,  these  looks,  infuse  new  life  io  me. 

Tarn.  Titus,  i  am  incorporate  to  Rome, 
A  Roman  now  adopted  happily. 
And  must  advise  the  eniperor  lor  his  good, 
'i'his  day  all  quarrels  die,  .Andronicus  ; — 
.\ud  let  it  be  nune  honour,  good  n»y  lord. 
That  I  have  reconcil'd  your  friends  and  you,— 
For  you,  prince  Bassianus,  I  have  pass'd 
My  word  and  promise  to  the  emperor 
That  you  will  be  more  mild  and  tractable.—- 
.And  tear  not,  lords, — and  you,  Lavinia; — 
By  n»y  advice,  all  humbled  on  your  knees, 
Vou  shall  ask  pardon  of  his  majesty.  [highneMi 

Luc.  We  do  ;  and  vow  to  heaven,  and  to  his 
That,  what  we  did,  was  mildly  as  we  might, 
'I'end'ring  our  sister's  honour,  and  our  own. 

Mar.  That,  on  mine  honour,  here  I  do  protest. 

Sat.  Away,  and  talk  not;  trouble  us  no  more. — 

Tain.  Nay,  nay,  sweet  emperor,  we  must  all  be 
friends  : 

The  tribune  and  his  nephews  kneel  for  grace  ; 
I  w  ill  not  be  denied.    Sweet  heart,  look  back. 

Sat.  Marcus,  for  thy  sake,  and  thy  brother's  here. 
And  at  my  lovely  Tamora's  entreats, 
I  do  remit  these  young  men's  heinous  faults. 
Stand  up. 

Lavinia,  though  you  left  nie  like  a  churl, 
1  loimd  a  friend ;  and  sure  as  death  I  swore, 
I  would  not  part  a  bachelor  from  the  priest. 
Conie,  if  the  emperor's  court  can  feast  two  brides, 
^  on  are  my  guest,  Lavinia,  and  your  friends: 
This  day  shall  be  a  love-day,  Tamora. 

Tit.  To-morrow,  an  it  please  your  majesty, 
To  hunt  the  panther,  and  the  hart  with  me, 
With  horn  and  hound,  we'll  give  your  grace  boit' 
jour. 

Sat.  Be  it  so,  Titus,  and  gra mercy  too.  [E*9umt 
ACT  11. 

Scene  I. — The  same.   Before  the  Palace, 
Enter  Aaron. 
Aar.  Now  clin>beth  1  amora  Olympus'  top. 
Sale  out  of  fortune's  shot ;  and  sits  aloit, 
Secure  of  thunder's  crack,  or  lightuiug'f  %«h: 


660  TITUS  ANDRONTCUS. 


Advanc'd  above  pale  envy's  threat'ning  reach, 
As  when  the  goJden  sun  salutes  the  morn, 
And  having  gilt  the  ocean  with  his  beams, 
Gallops  the  zodiac  in  his  glistering  coach, 
And  overlooks  the  highest-peering  hills; 
So,  Tamora. — 

Upon  her  wit  doth  earthly  honour  wait, 
An'l  virtue  stoops  and  trembles  at  her  frown. 
Thnn,  Aaron,  arm  thy  heart,  and  fit  thy  thoughts, 
To  mount  aloft  vvith  thy  imperial  mistress. 
And  mount  her  pitch  :  whom  thou  in  triumph  long 
Hast  prisoner  held,  fetter'd  in  amorous  chains; 
And  faster  bound  to  Aaron's  charming  eyes, 
Than  is  Prometheus  tied  to  Caucasus. 
Away  with  slavish  weeds,  and  idle  thoughts! 
I  wili  be  bright,  and  shine  in  pearl  and  gold, 
To  wait  upon  this  new-made  emperess. 
To  w«it,  said  I  ?  to  wanton  with  this  queen, 
This  goddess,  this  Seniiramis  ; — this  queen, 
This  syren,  that  will  charm  Rome's  Saturnine, 
And  see  his  shipwreck,  and  his  commonweal's. 
Holla  !  what  storm  is  this  ? 

Enter  Chiron  and  Demetrius,  braving. 
Dem.  Chiron,  thy  years  want  wit,  thy  wit  wants 

edge, 

And  manners,  to  intrude  where  I  am  grac'd ; 
And  may,  for  aught  thou  know'st,  alfected  be. 

Chi.  Demetrius,  thou  dost  over-ween  in  all ; 
And  30  in  this  to  bear  me  down  with  braves. 
'Tis  not  the  difference  of  a  year,  or  two, 
Makes  me  less  gracious,  thee  more  fortunate : 
I  am  as  able,  and  as  fit,  as  thou, 
To  serve,  and  to  deserve  my  mistress'  love. 
And  that  my  sword  upon  thee  shall  approve, 
And  plead  my  passions  for  Lavinia"s  love. 

Aar.  Clubs,  clubs!  these  lovers  will  not  keep  the 
peace. 

Dem.  Why,  boy,  although  our  mother,  unadvis'd, 
CJave  you  a  dancing-rapier  by  your  side. 
Are  you  so  desperate  grown,  to  threat  your  friends  ? 
Go  to  ;  have  your  lath  glued  witliin  your  sheath. 
Till  you  know  better  how  to  handle  it. 

Chi  Mean  while,  sir,  with  the  little  skill  I  have 
Full  well  shalt  thou  perceive  how  much  I  dare. 

Dem.  Ay,  boy,  grow  ye  so  brave  ?    {They  draw.) 

Aar.  Why,  how  now,  lords. 

So  near  the  emperor's  palace  dare  you  draw. 
And  maintain  such  a  quarrel  openly? 
Full  well  I  wot  the  ground  of  all  this  grudge ; 
I  would  not  for  a  million  of  gold, 
The  cause  were  known  to  them  it  most  concerns : 
Nor  would  your  noble  mother,  for  much  more, 
Bt  so  dislionour'd  in  the  court  of  Rome. 
For  shame,  put  up. 

Dem.  Not  I ;  till  I  have  sheath'd 

My  rapier  in  his  bosom,  and,  withal. 
Thrust  these  reproachful  speeches  down  his  throat, 
That  he  hati)  breath'd  in  my  dishonour  here. 

Chi.  For  that  I  am  prepar'd  and  full  resolv'd,— 
Foul-spoken  coward  !  that  thnnder  st  with  thy  tongue, 
And  vvith  thy  weapon  nothing  dar'st  perform. 

Aar.  Away,  I  say. — 
Now,  by  the  gods  that  warlike  Goths  adore. 
This  petty  brabble  will  undo  us  all. — 
Why,  lords, — and  think  you  not  how  dangerous 
It  is'tojut  upon  a  prince's  right? 
What,  is  Lavinia  then  become  so  loose, 
Or  Bassiiuiiis  so  degenerate, 

That  fur  her  love  such  qurtrrels  may  be  broach'd. 
Without  controlment,  justice,  or  revenge  ? 
Young  lords,  beware  ! — an  should  the  empress  know 
This  discord's  ground,  the  music  would  not  please. 

Chi  J  care  not,  I,  knew  she  and  ail  the  world  ; 
I  love  Lavinia  more  tiian  all  the  world.      [choice  : 

Vem.  Voungling,  learn  thou  to  make  some  meaner 
Lavinia  is  thine  elder  brother's  hope. 

Aar.  Why,  are  ye  mad  ?  or  know  ye  not,  in  Rome 
How  furious  and  impatient  they  be, 
▲lid  cannot  brook  competitors  in  love  ? 


Act  Tl 

I  tell  yoH,  lords,  you  do  but  plot  your  deaths 
By  this  device. 

Chi.  Aaron,  a  thousand  deaths 

Would  I  propose  to  achieve  her  whom  1  love 

Aar.  To  achieve  her! — How? 

Dem.  Why  mak'st  thou  it  so  strange  f 

She  is  a  womi»3^  therefore  may  be  woo'd; 
She  is  a  woman,  therefore  may  be  won  ; 
She  is  Lavinia,  therefore  must  be  lov'd. 
What,  man!  more  water  glideth  by  the  mill 
Thau  wots  the  miller  of;  and  easy  it  is 
Of  a  cut  loaf  to  steal  a  shive,  we  know  . 
Though  Bassianus  be  the  emperor's  brother. 
Better  than  he  have  yet  worn  Vulcan's  badge. 

Aar.  Ay,  and  as  good  as  Saturninus  may.  {Aside. 

Dem.  Then  why  should  he  despair,  that  knowi 
to  court  it 
With  words,  fair  looks,  and  hberality  ? 
What,  hast  thou  not  full  often  struck  a  doe. 
And  borne  her  cleanly  by  the  keeper's  nose? 

Aar.  Why,  then,  it  seems,  some  certain  snatch  Of 
Would  serve  your  turns.  [ae 

Chi.  Ay,  so  the  tuiu  were  serv'dL 

Dem.  Aaron^  thou  hast  hit  it. 

Aar.  'Would  you  had  hit  it  tcof 

Then  should  not  we  be  tir'd  with  this  ado. 
Why,  hark  ye,  hark  ye, — And  are  you  such  fools 
To  square  for  this  ?    Would  it  offend  you  then 
That  both  should  speed  ? 

Chi.  I'faith,  not  me. 

Dem.  Nor  me 

So  1  were  one. 

Aar.  For  shame,  be  friends ;  and  join  for  that  yon 
jar. 

'Tis  policy  and  stratagem  must  do 
That  yoa  affect;  and  so  must  you  resolve: 
That  what  you  cannot,  as  you  would,  achieve, 
You  must  perforce  accomplish  as  you  may. 
Take  this  of  me,  Lucrece  was  not  more  chaste 
Than  this  Lavinia,  Bassianus'  love. 
A  speedier  course  than  longering  languishment 
Must  we  pursue,  and  1  have  found  the  path 
My  lords,  a  solemn  hunting  is  in  hand  ; 
Tliere  will  the  lovely  Roman  ladies  troop; 
7'he  forest  walks  are  wide  and  spacious  ; 
And  many  unfrequented  plots  there  are. 
Fitted  by  kind  for  rape  and  villany : 
Single  you  thither  then  this  dainty  doe. 
And  strike  her  home  by  force,  if  not  by  words*. 
This  way,  or  not  at  all,  stand  you  in  hope. 
Come,  come,  our  empress,  with  her  sacred  wi^ 
To  villany  and  vengeance  consecrate. 
Will  we  acquaint  vvith  all  that  we  intend; 
And  she  shall  file  our  engines  with  advice. 
That  will  not  suffer  you  to  square  yourselves. 
But  to  your  wishes'  height  advance  you  both. 
The  emperor's  court  is  like  the  house  of  fame. 
The  palace  full  of  tongues,  of  eyes,  of  ears: 
'I'he  woods  are  ruthless,  dreadiul,  deaf  and  dull; 
There  speak,  and  strike,  brave  boys,  and  take  you» 
turns : 

There  serve  your  lust,  shadow'd  from  heaven's  eye. 
And  revel  in  Lavinia's  treasury, 

Chi.  Thy  counsel,  lad,  smells  of  no  cowardice. 

Dein.  Sit  fas  aut  nefas,  till  I  find  the  stream 
To  cool  this  heat,  a  charm  to  calm  these  fits. 
Per  Styya,  per  manes  vehor.  [Exeunit 

Scene  U. — A  Forest  near  Rome.  A  Lodge  seen 
at  a  distance.  Horns,  and  cry  of  houndi 
heard. 

Enter  Tnus  Andronicus,  with  Hunters,  gfa 
Marcus,  Lucius,  Qointus,  and  Martius. 
Tit.  The  hunt  is  up,  the  morn  is  bright  and  gre|, 
The  fields  are  fragrant,  and  the  woods  are  green: 
Uncouple  here,  and  let  us  make  a  bay, 
And  wake  the  emperor  and  his  lovely  bride, 
And  rouse  the  p-ance ;  and  ring  a  hunter's  peal. 
That  all  the  court  may  echo  with  the  noise. 
Sons,  let  it  be  your  charge,  as  it  9  ours, 


Scene  3.  TITUS  AN 

To  tenel  the  emperor's  person  carefully  :' 
f  have  been  troubled  in  my  sleep  tliis  night. 
But  dawning  day  new  comfort  hath  inspi  d. 

Horns  wind  a  peal.  Enter  Saturninus,  Tamora, 
Bassianus,  Lavinia  ,  Chikon,  Deaietrius,  and 
A  ttendants. 

Tit-  Many  good-morrows  to  your  majesty  ; — 
Madam,  to  you  as  many  and  as  good. 
[  promised  your  grace  a  hunters  peal. 

Sat.  And  you  have  runj?  it  lustily,  my  lords,  ^ 
Somewhat  too  early  for  new-married  ladies. 

Bits.  Lavinia,  how  say  you  ? 

Lav.  J  say,  no  ; 

I  have  been  broad  awake  two  hours  and  more. 

Sat.  Come  on  then  ;  horse  and  chariots  let  us  have, 
Atid  to  our  sport: — Madam,  now  shall  ye  see 
Our  [Ionian  hunting.  [To  Tamora.) 

Mar.  f  have  dogs,  my  lord. 

Will  rmise  the  proudest  panther  in  the  chase. 
And  climb  the  highest  promontory  top. 

Tit.  And  I  have  horse  will  follow  where  the  game 
Makes  way,  and  run  like  swallows  o'er  the  plain. 

Dem.  {Aside.)  Chiron,  we  hunt  not,  we,  with  horse 
nor  lionnd. 

But  hope  to  pluck  a  dainty  doe  to  ground.  [Exeunt. 
Scene  \U.—A  desert  Part  of  the  Forest. 
Enter  Aaron,  with  a  bag  of  gold. 
Aar.  He  that  had  wit,  would  think  timt  I  had  none. 
To  bi'.ry  so  much  gold  under  a  tree, 
And  never  after  to  inherit  it. 
liet  him,  that  thifks  of  me  so  abjectly. 
Know,  that  this  gold  must  coin  a  stratagem ; 
Which,  cunningly  effected,  will  beget 
A  very  excellent  piece  of  villany  : 
And  so  repose,  sweet  gold,  for  their  unrest. 
That  have  their  alms  out  of  the  empress'  chest. 

{Hides  the  gold.) 

Enter  Tamoba. 
Tarn-  My  lovely  Aaron,  wherefore  look'st  thou 
saa, 

W^hen  every  thing  doth  make  a  gleeful  boast? 
The  birds  chaunt  nielf>dy  on  evvry  bush  ; 
The  snake  lir-s  rolltd  in  the  cheerful  sun; 
The  green  leaves  quiver  with  the  cooling  wind, 
And  uiake  a  checquer'd  shadow  on  the  ground  : 
Under  their  sweet  shade,  Aaron,  let  us  sit. 
And  wliiist  the  babbling  echo  mocks  the  hounds, 
Replying  shrilly  to  the  well  tun'd  horns. 
As  il'a  double  hunt  were  heard  at  once, — 
Let  us  sit  down,  and  mark  Ihcir  yelling  noise: 
j.\nd — after  conflict,  such  as  was  suppos'd 
The  wandering  prince  and  Dido  once  enjoy'd. 
When  with  a  happy  storm  they  were  surpris'd. 
And  curfain'd  with  a  counsel  keeping  cave, — 
We  may,  each  wreathed  in  the  other's  arms. 
Our  pastiutes  done,  possess  a  golden  slumber; 
Whilst  hounds,  and  horns,  and   sweet  melodious 
birds. 

Be  unto  us,  as  is  a  nurse's  song 

Of  lullaby,  to  brinj  her  babe  asleep, 

Aar.  Mudam,  though  Venus  govern  your  desires, 
Saturn  is  dominator  over  mine  : 
What  signifies  my  deadly-standing  eye. 
My  silence,  and  my  cloudy  melancholy  ? 
My  fleece  of  woolly  liair  that  now  uncurls. 
Even  US  an  adder,  when  she  dotli  unroll 
To  do  son.e  fatal  execution? 
No,  madani,  tlwse  are  no  venereal  signs ; 
Vengeance  is  in  my  he^rt,  death  in  my  hand. 
Blood  and  re\  enge  are  hammering  in  my  head. 
Hark,  Tamora, — the  empress  of  my  soul. 
Which   never  hopes   more  heaven  thau  rests  in 
thee, — 

This  is  the  diy  of  doom  for  Bassianus ; 
His  Philomel  must  lose  he*-  tou^Tie  to-day  : 
Thy  sons  make  pillage  of  her  chastity, 
And/ wash  their  hands  in  Bassianus'  b!aod. 
Seest  thou  this  letter  ?  take  j1  up  I  pray  thee, 


)RONTCUS-  RGl 

And  give  the  king  this  fatal  plotted  scroll : — 
Now  question  me  no  more,  we  are  espied; 
Here  comes  a  parcel  of  our  hopeful  booty. 
Which  dreads  not  yet  their  lives'  destrnctiou. 
Tarn.  Ah,  ray  sweet  Moor,  sweeter  to  me  thta 
life  I 

Aar.  No  more, great  empress,  Bassianus  comes: 
Be  cross  with  him ;  and  I'll  go  fetch  thy  sons 
To  back  thy  quarrels,  whatsoe'er  they  be.  [SsiL 

Enter  Basslanus  and  Lavinia. 
Bas.  Whom  have  we  here?  Rome's  royal  ecsi> 
press, 

Uiifurnish'd  of  her  well  beseeming  tro<>^' 
Or  is  it  Dian,  habited  like  her, 
Who  hath  abandoned  her  holy  groves, 
To  see  the  general  hunting  in  this  forest? 

Laif.  Saucy  controller  of  our  private  steps. 
Had  I  the  power,  that,  some  say,  Dian  had, 
Thy  temples  should  be  planted  presently 
With  horns,  as  was  Actseon's;  and  the  hounds 
Should  drive  upon  thy  new-transformed  limbs. 
Unmannerly  intruder  as  thou  art ! 

Lav.  Under  your  patience,  gentle  emperess, 
'Tis  thought  you  have  a  goodly  gift  in  horning  ; 
And  to  be  doubted,  that  your  Moor  and  you 
Are  singled  forth  to  try  experiments  : 
Jove  shield  your  husband  from  his  hounds  to-day! 
'Tis  pity,  they  should  take  him  for  a  stag, 

Bas.  Believe  me,  queen,  your  swarth  Cimm^riaa 
Doth  make  your  honour  of  his  body's  hue, 
Spotted,  detested,  and  abominable. 
Vvhy  are  you  sequester'd  from  all  your  train? 
Dismounted  fi-bm  your  snow-white  goodly  steed 
And  waudpr'd  hither  lo  an  obscure  plot, 
Acoon'panied  w;th  a  barbarous  Moor, 
If  foul  desire  hud  not  conducted  you  ? 

Lav.  And.  being  intercepted  in  your  sport. 
Great  reason  that  my  noble  ;ord  be  rated 
For  sauciness. — I  pray  you,  let  us  hence, 
And  let  her  'joy  her  raven-colour'd  love  ; 
This  va.'ley  fits  the  purpose  passing  well. 

Bas.  The  king,  my  brother,  shall  have  note  <r^ 
this. 

Lav.  Ay,  for  these  slips  have  made  him  noted 
long : 

Good  king!  to  be  so  mightily  abus'd  ! 

Ta7n.  Why  have  I  patieirce  to  endure  all  this? 

Enter  Chiron  and  Demetrius. 

Dem.   How  now,  dear  sovereign,  and  our  gr3» 
eious  mother. 
Why  does  your  highness  look  so  pale  and  wan? 

7Vitn.  Have  1  not  reason,  tiiink  you,  to  look  pale  ? 
These  two  have  'tie  d  uie  hither  to  this  place, 
A  barren  detested  vale,  you  see,  it  is  : 
The  trees,  though  summer,  yet  forlorn  and  lean, 
O'ercome  with  moss,  and  baleful  misletoe. 
Here  ne\er  shines  the  sun  ;  here  nothing  breeds, 
Unless  the  nightly  owl,  or  fatal  raven. 
And  when  they  shew'd  me  this  abhorred  pit. 
They  told  me  here,  at  dead  time  of  the  night, 
A  thousand  fiends,  a  thousand  hissing  snakes. 
Ten  thousand  swelling  toads,  as  many  urchins. 
Would  make  such  fearful  and  confused  cr.ies. 
As  any  mortal  body,  hearing  it. 
Should  straight  fall  mad,  or  else  die  suddenly. 
No  sooner  had  they  told  tins  hellish  tale. 
But  straight  they  told  me,  they  would  biud  me  hem 
Unto  the  body  of  a  dismal  yew; 
Amd  leave  me  to  this  nsiserable  death. 
Aud  then  they  cali'd  me,  foul  adulteress. 
Lascivious  Goth,  and  all  the  bitterest  terms 
That  ever  ear  did  hear  to  sucli  effect. 
And,  had  you  not  by  wondrous  fortune  corae^ 
This  vengeance  on  me  had  tney  executed. 
Revenge  it,  as  you  love  your  mother's  life. 
Or  be  yp  not  from  henceforth  cali'd  my  children. 

Dem.  This  is  a  witness  that  1  atn  thy  son. 

{Stabs  Bas8mnm4 


€62 


TITUS  ANDRONTCUS. 


Act  II. 


Cht.  And  this  for  me,  strncif  home  to  shew  my 
strength.  [Stabbing  him  likewise.) 

Lav.  Ay,  come,  Semiramis, — nay,  barbarous  Ta- 
niora  ! 

Fcr  no  name  fits  thy  nature  but  thy  own  ! 

Tarn.  Give  me  thy  poniard  ;  you  shall  know,  nay 
boys, 

Your  mother's  hand  shall  right  your  mother's  wrong. 

iDem.  Stay,  madam,  here  is  more  belongs  to  her ; 
First,  thrash  the  corn,  then  after  burn  the  straw; 
Tills  minion  stood  upon  her  chastity, 
Lpon  her  nuptial  vow,  her  loyalty, 
And  with  that  painted  hope  braves  your  mighti- 
ness : 

And  shall  she  cari^  this  unto  her  grave  ? 

Chi.  An  if  she  do,  I  would  I  were  an  eunuch. 
Drag  hence  her  husband  to  some  secret  hole, 
And  make  his  dead  trunk  pillow  to  our  lust. 

Tarn.  But  when  you  have  the  honey  you  desire, 
I>et  not  this  wasp  out-live,  us  both  to  sting. 

Chi.  I  warrant  you,  madam  ;  we  will  make  that 
sure. — 

Come  mistress,  now^  perforce  we  will  enjoy 

That  nice-preserved  honesty  of  yours. 
Lav.  O  Tamora  I  thou  bear'st  a  woman's  face, — 
Tarn.  I  will  not  hear  her  speak  ;  a^/ay  with  her. 
Lav.  Sweet  lords,  entreat  her  hear  me  but  a 
word. 

Dem.  Listen,  fair  madam  :  Let  it  be  your  glory 
To  see  her  tears;  but  be  your  heart  to  them. 
As  unrelenting  flint  to  drops  of  rain. 

Lav.  When  did  the  tiger's  young  ones  teach  the 
dam  ? 

O,  do  not  learn  her  wrath;  she  taught  it  thee  : 
The  milk  thou  suck'dst  from  her,  did  turn  to  marble ; 
Even  at  thy  teat  thou  hadst  thy  tyranny  — 
Vet  every  mother  breeds  not  sons  alike; 
Do  thou  entreat  her  shew  a  woman  pity. 

{To  Chiron.) 

Chi.  Wiiat!  would'st  thou  have  me  prove  my- 
self a  bastard  ? 

Lav.  'Tis  true  ;  the  raven  doth  not  hatch  a  lark: 
Yet  I  have  heard,  (O  could  I  find  it  now  1} 
The  lion,  mov'd  with  pity,  did  endure 
To  have  his  princely  paws  par'd  all  away. 
Some  say,  that  ra\ens  foster  forlorn  children. 
The  whilst  their  own  birds  famish  in  their  nests; 
O,  be  to  me,  though  thy  hard  heart  say  no. 
Nothing  so  kind,  but  something  pitiful, 

Tam.  I  know  not  what  it  means  ;  away  with  her. 

Lav.  O,  let  me  teach  thee  !  for  my  father's  sake. 
That  gave  thee  life,  when  well  he  might  have  slain 
thee, 

Be  not  obdurate,  upon  thy  deaf  ears. 

Tam.  Had'st  thcu  in  person  ne'er  offended  me. 
Even  for  his  sake  am  I  pitiless : — 
Remember,  boys,  1  pour'd  forth  tears  in  vain, 
1  o  save  your  brother  from  the  sacrifice ; 
But  fierce  Androuicus  would  not  relent: 
Therefore  away  with  her,  and  use  her  as  you  will ; 
The  worse  to  her,  the  better  lov'd  of  me. 

Lav.  O  Tamora,  be  call'd  a  gentle  queen. 
And  with  thine  own  hands  kill  me  in  this  place  : 
For  'tis  not  life,  that  I  have  begg'd  so  long; 
Poor  I  was  slain,  when  Bassianus  died. 

Tam.  What  begg'st  thou  then  ?  fond  woman,  let 
me  go.  [more. 

Lav.   'Tis  present  death  I  beg;  and  one  thing 
That  womanhood  denies  my  tongue  to  tell: 
O,  keep  me  from  their  worse  than  killing  lust, 
And  tumble  me  into  some  loathsome  pit: 
W^here  never  man's  eye  may  behold  my  body: 
f)o  this,  and  be  a  charitable  murderer. 

Tam.  So  should  I  rob  my  sweet  sons  of  their  fee  : 
No,  let  them  satisfy  their  lust  on  thee. 

Vem.  Away,  for  thou  hast  staid  us  here  too  long. 

Lav.  No  grace?  no  womanhood?  Ah,  beastly 
creature. 

The  blot  and  enemy  to  our  general  name! 
Confusion  fall — 


Chi.  Nay,  then  I'll  stop  your  mouib  : — Bring 
thou  her  husband ;  [Dragging  off Lavinia?^ 
This  is  tlie  hole  where  Aaron  bid  us  hide  him. 

[Exeunt, 

Tam.  Farewell,  my  sons:  see,  that  you  make 
her  sure  : 

Ne'er  let  my  heart  know  meny  cheer  indeed. 
Till  all  the  Andronici  be  made  away. 
Now  will  I  hence  to  seek  my  lovely  Moor, 
And  let  my  spleeni'ul  sons  this  trull  devour.  [JSsvft 

Scene  IV. — The  same. 
Enter  Aaron,  ivith  Quintus  and  Martius. 
Aar.  Come  on,  my  lord  ;  the  better  foot  before: 
Straight  will  I  bring  you  to  the  loathsome  pit. 
Where  I  espied  the  panther  fast  asleep. 

Quin.  My  sight  is  very  dull,  whate'er  it  bodes. 
Mart.  And  mine,  I  promise  you;  wet't  not  fn* 
shan>e. 

Well  could  1  leave  our  spK)rt  to  sleep  awWle. 

{Martius  falls  into  the  pit.) 
Quin.  What,  art  thou  fallen  ?  What  jubtle  hole 
is  this. 

Whose  mouth  is  cover'd  with  rude  growing  briars; 
Upon  whose  leaves  are  drops  of  new-shed  blood, 
As  fresh  as  morning's  dew  distill'd  on  flowers? 
A  very  fatal  place  it  seems  to  me : — 
Sptak,  brother,  hast  thou  hurt  thee  with  the  fall  ? 

Mart.  O  brother,  with  the  dismallest  object 
That  ever  eye,  with  sight,  made  heart  lament. 

Aar.  [Aside.)  Now  will  1  fetch  the  king  to  find 
them  here ; 
That  he  thereby  may  give  a  likely  guess. 
How  these  were  they  that  made  away  his  brother. 

Mart.  Why  dost  not  comfort  me,  and  help  ma 
out 

From  this  unhallow'd  and  blood-stained  hole  ? 

Quin.  I  am  surprised  with  an  uncouth  fear : 
A  chilling  sweat  o'er-runs  my  trembling  joii*ts ; 
My  heart  suspects  more  than  mine  eye  can  .see. 

Mart.  To  prove  thou  hast  a  true-aiviniag  heart, 
Aaron  and  thou  look  down  into  this  den. 
And  see  a  fearlul  sight  ol'  blood  and  death. 

Quin.  Aaron  is  gone ;  and  my  compassionate 
heart 

Will  not  permit  mine  eyes  once  to  behold 
The  thing,  whereat  it  trembles  by  surmise  ; 
O,  tell  me  how  it  is;  for  ne'er  till  now 
Was  I  a  child,  to  fear  I  know  not  what. 

Mart.  Lord  Bassianus  lies  embrewed  hen». 
All  on  a  heap,  like  to  a  slaughter'd  lamb. 
In  this  detested,  dark,  blood-drinking  pit. 

Quin.  If  it  be  dark,  how  dost  thou  know  'tis  he? 

Mart.  Upon  his  bloody  finger  he  doth  wear 
A  precious  ring,  that  lightens  all  the  hole. 
Which,  like  a  taper  in  some  monument, 
Doth  shine  upon  the  dead  man's  earthly  cheeks, 
And  shews  the  ragged  entrails  of  this  pit : 
So  pale  did  shine  the  moon  on  Pyramus, 
When  he  by  night  lay  bath'd  in  maiden  blood. 

0  brother,  help  me  with  thy  fainting  hand, — 
If  tear  hath  made  thee  faint,  as  me  it  hath, — 
Out  of  this  fell  devouring  receptacle, 

As  hateful  as  Cocytus'  misty  mouth. 

Quin.  Reach  me  thy  hand,  that  I  may  help  the* 
out; 

Or,  wanting  strength  to  do  thee  so  much  good, 

1  may  be  pluck 'd  into  the  swallc  wing  womb 
Of  this  deep  pit,  poor  liassiftnusi  grave. 

I  have  no  strength  to  pluck  thee  to  the  brink. 
Mart.  Nor  i  no  strength  to  climb  without  thy 
help.  [again, 
Quin.  Thy  hand  once  more ;  I  will  not  ioo8« 
Till  thou  art  here  aloft,  or  I  below  : 
'ilhou  canst  not  come  to  me,  I  come  to  thee. 

[Falls  iff.) 

Enter  Saturninus  and  Aaron. 
Sat.  Along  with  me : — I'll  see  what  hole  is  bera^ 


Act  III.    Scene  1. 


TITUS  •ANDRONICUS. 


663 


And  what  he  is,  t}iat  now  is  Icap'ol  into  it. — 
Say,  who  art  thoti,  tliat  lately  didst  descend 
Into  this  gaping  hollow  of  the  earth  ? 

Mart.  The  unhappy  son  of  old  Andronicus  ; 
Brought  hither  in  a  nio«t  unlucky  hour. 
To  find  thy  brother  Bassiaiius  dead. 

Sat.  My  brother  dead  ?  I  know'  thou  dost  but 
jest ; 

He  and  his  lady  both  are  at  the  lodge, 
Ul>on  the  north  side  of  this  pleasant  chase  ; 
"I'is  not  an  hour  since  I  left  him  there. 

Mart.  We  know  not  where  you  left  him  al!  alive, 
Kut,  out  alas!  here  have  we  found  him  dead. 

Eniet  Tajmora,  with  Attendants ;  Titus  Andro- 
nicus, and  Lucius. 

Tarn.  Where  is  my  lord  the  king  ? 
Sat.  Here,  Taaiora ;  though  griev'd  with  killing 
grief. 

Tarn.  VVhere  is  thy  brother  Bassianus  ? 
Sat.   Now  to  the  bottom  dost  thou  search  my 
wound ; 

Poor  Bassianus  here  lies  murdered. 

Tarn.  Tin  n  all  too  late  I  bring  this  fatal  writ, 

[Giviny  a  letter.) 
Thf'  contplot  of  tills  timeless  tragedy; 
And  wonder  greatly  that  man's  face  can  fold 
In  pleasing  smiles  sncli  murderous  tyranny. 

Sat.  {Reads.)  An  if  we  miss  to  meet  niin  hand- 
somely.— 

Sweet  huntsman.,  Bassianus  'tis,  we  mean, — 
Do  thou  so  much  as  diy  the  grave  for  him  ; 
Thoic  knoivst  our  meaniny  :  Look  for  thy  reward 
Amony  the  nHtles  at  the  elder  tree., 
Which  overshades  the  mouth  of  that  same  pit. 
Where  we  decreed  to  bury  Bassiafius. 
Do  this,  and  purchase  us  thy  lasting  friends. 


0„  l  a 


iiora  :  was  ever 


heard  the  like 


This  is  the  pit,  and  this  the  elder-tree. 
Look,  sirs,  if  you  can  find  tlie  huntsman  out, 
That  should  have  murder'd  Bassianus  here. 
Aar.  My  gracious  lord,  here  is  the  bag  of  gold. 

[Shewiny  it.) 

Sat.  Two  of  thy  whelps,  {to  Tit.)  fell  curs  of 
bloody  kind. 
Have  here  berei't  my  brother  of  his  life  : — 
Sirs,  drag  tlieui  from  the  pit  unto  the  prison  ; 
There  let  tlieui  bide,  until  we  have  devis'd 
Some  never-heard-of  torturing  pain  for  them. 

Tarn.  What,  are  they  in  tiiis  pit  ?  O  wond'rous 
thing ! 

How  easily  murder  is  discovered  ! 

Tit.  High  emperor,  upon  my  f«eble  knee 
I  beg  this  boon,  with  tears  not  lightly  shed. 
That  this  fell  fault  of  my  accursed  sons, 
Accursed,  if  the  fault  be  prov'd  in  them, — 

Sat.  If  it  be  prov'd  !  you  see,  it  is  apparent. — 
Who  found  this  letter?  Tamora,  was  it  you? 

Tarn.  Andronicus  himself  did  take  it  up. 

Tit.  I  did,  my  lord  :  yet  let  me  be  their  bail: 
For  by  my  father's  reverend  tomb,  I  vow, 
They  shall  be  ready  at  your  highness'  will. 
To  answer  their  suspicion  with  their  lives. 

Sat.  I'hou  shalt  not  bail  them ;  see,  thou  follow 
me. 

Some  bring  the  murder'd  body,  some  the  murderers: 
Let  them  not  speak  a  word,  the  guilt  is  plain  ; 
For,  by  my  soul,  were  there  worse  end  than  death, 
That  end  upon  them  should  be  executed. 
Tarn.  Andronicus,  I  will  entreat  the  king; 
I  Fear  not  thy  sons,  they  shall  do  well  enough. 

Tit.  Come,  Lucius,  come;  stay  not  to  talk  with 
i\iem.  [Exeunt  severally. 

Scene  Y.— The  same. 
Enter  Demetrius  and  Chiron,  with  Lavinia,  ra- 
vished; her  hands  cut  off  and  her  tongue  cut  'out. 
Dem.  So,  now  go  tell,  an  if  thy  tongue  can  speak, 
VVho  'twas  that  cut  thy  tongue,  and  ravish'd  thee. 


Chi.  Write  down  thy  mind,  bewray  thy  mean 
ing  so ; 

And,  if  thy  stumps  will  let  thee,  play  the  scribe. 
Dem.  See,  how  with  signs  and  tokens  she  ran 

scowl.  [hands. 
Chi.  Go  home,  call  for  sweet  water,  wash  thy 
Dem.  She  hath  no  tongue  to  call,  nor  hands  ta 

wash  ; 

And  so  let's  leave  her  to  her  silent  walks. 

Chi.  An  'twere  my  case,  I  should  go  hang  my- 
se.lf 

Dem.  If  thou  hadst  hands  to  help  thee  knit  tho 
cord.      [Exeunt  Demetrius  and  Chiron, 

Enter  Marcus. 

Mar.  Who's  this, — my  niece,  that  flies  away  so 
fast  ? 

Cousin,  a  word  ;  where  is  your  husband  ? — 
If  I  do  dream,  'would  all  my  wealth  would  w^ak« 
me  ! 

If  I  do  wake,  some  planet  strike  me  down, 
That  I  may  slumber  in  eternal  sleep! 
Speak,  gentle  niece,  what  stern  ungentle  hands 
Have  lo  p'd,  and  hew'd,  and  made  thy  body  bar 
Of  her  two  branches?  those  sweet  ornaments. 
Whose   circling  shadows   kings  have   sought  ^  < 
sleep  in ; 

And  might  not  gain  so  great  an  happiness, 

As  half  thy  love  ?  Why  dost  not  speak  to  me  ? — 

Alas,  a  crimson  river  of  warm  blood. 

Like  to  a  bubbling  fountain  stirr'd  with  wind, 

Doth  rise  and  fall  between  thy  rosed  lips. 

Coming  and  going  with  thy  honey  breath. 

But,  sure,  some  Tereiis  hath  deflour'd  thee  ; 

And,  lest  tliou  should'st  detect  him,  cut  thy  tongvse 

Ah  I  now  thou  turn  st  away  thy  face  for  shame  ! 

And,  notwithstanding  all  this  loss  of  blood, — 

As  from  a  conduit  with  three  issuing  spouts,— 

Yet  do  thy  clieeks  look  red  as  Titan's  face. 

Blushing  to  he  encounter'd  with  a  cloud. 

Shall  I  speak  for  thee  ?  shall  I  say,  'tis  so? 

O,  that  I  knew  thy  heart;  and  knew  the  beast, 

That  I  might  rail  at  him  to  ease  my  mind  I 

Sorrow  concealed,  like  an  oven  stopp'd. 

Doth  burn  the  heai  t  to  cinders  where  it  is. 

Fair  Philomela,  she  but  lost  her  tongue. 

And  in  a  tedious  sampler  sew'd  her  n)ind  : 

But,  lovely  niece,  that  nsean  is  cut  from  thee; 

A  craftier  Tereus  hast  thou  met  withal, 

And  he  hath  cut  those  pretty  fingers  oti'. 

That  could  have  better  sew'd  than  Philomel. 

O,  had  the  monster  seen  those  lily  hands 

Tremble,  like  aspen  leaves,  upon  a  lute. 

And  make  the  silken  strings  delight  to  kiss  them  , 

He  would  not  then  have  touch'd  them  for  his  life: 

Or,  had  he  heard  the  heavenly  harmony. 

Which  that  sweet  tongue  hath  made. 

He  would  have  dropi.'d  his  knife,  and  fell  asleep. 

As  Cerberus  at  the  I'hracian  poet's  feet. 

Come,  let  us  go,  and  make  thy  father  blind : 

For  such  a  sight  will  blind  a  lather's  eye  : 

One  hour's  storm  will  drown  the  fragrant  mead.s; 

What  will  whole  months  of  tears  thy  father's  eyes  ? 

Do  not  draw  back,  for  we  will  mourn  with  thee ; 

O,  could  our  mourning  ease  thy  misery  !  [Exeunt, 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I.— Rome.    A  Street. 
Enter  Senators,  Tribunes,  and  Officers  of  Justice, 
with  M  artius  and  Quintus,  bound,  passing  un 
to  the  place  of  execution  ;  Titus  going  before, 
pleading. 

Tit.  Hear  me,  grave  fathers!  noble  tribunes,  stay! 
For  pity  of  mine  age,  whose  youth  was  spent 
In  dangerous-wars,  whilst  you  securely  slept; 
Foi-  all  my  blood  in  Botiie's  great  quarrel  shed; 
For  all  the  frosty  niglits  that  I  have  watch'd; 
And  for  these  bitter  tears,  which  now  you  we 
Filling  the  aged  wrinkles  in  my  cheeks; 


664 


TITUS  ANDRONTCUS. 


Act  Til 


Re  pitiful  to  my  condemned  sons. 
Whose  souls  are  not  corrupted  as  'tis  thought! 
For  two  and  twenty  sons  I  never  wept, 
because  they  died  in  honour's  lofty  bed. 
For  these,  these  tribunes,  in  the  dust  I  write 

{Throwing  himself  on  the  ground.) 
My  heart's  deep  languor,  and  my  soul's  sad  tears. 
Let  luy  tears  staunch  the  earth's  dry  appetite  ; 
My  sons'  sweet  blood  will  make  it  shame  and  blush. 

[Exeunt  Sen.,  Trib.,  ^'c,  with  the  prisoners. 
Oeartli,  I  will  befriend  thee  more  with  rain, 
That  shall  distil  from  these  two  ancient  urns, 
Than  youthful  April  shall  with  all  iiis  showers: 
In  summer's  droiiglit..  I'll  droi>  upon  thee  still  ; 
In  winter,  wifh  warm  tears  I'll  melt  the  snow. 
And  keep  eteriial  spring-time  on  thy  face, 
So  thou  refuse  to  drink  ray  dear  sons'  blood. 

Enter  Lucius  with  his  sword  drawn. 
O,  reverend  tribunes!  gentle  aged  men! 
Unbind  my  sons,  reverse  the  doom  of  death; 
And  let  me  say,  that  never  wept  before, 
My  tears  are  now  prevailing  orators, 

Li/c.  O,  noble  father,  you  lament  in  vain; 
The  tribunes  hear  you  not;  no  man  is  by, 
And  you  recount  your  sorrows  to  a  stone. 

Tit.  Ah,  Lucius,  for  thy  brothers  let  me  plead: 
Grave  tribunes,  once  more  1  entreat  of  you. 

Luc.  My  gracious  lord,  no  tribune  hears  you 
speak. 

Tit.  Why,  'tis  no  matter,  man  :  if  they  did  hear, 
I'hey  wotdd  not  mark  nic ;  or,  if  they  did  mark. 
All  bootless  to  them,  they'd  not  pity  me. 
Therefore  I  tell  my  sorrows  to  the  stones  ; 
Who,  though  they  cannot  answer  my  distress, 
Yet,  in  some  sort,  they're  better  than  the  tribunes, 
Por  that  they  will  not  intercept  my  tale  : 
When  I  do  weep,  they  humbly  at  my  feet 
Receive  my  tears  and  seem  to  weep  with  me ; 
And,  were  they  but  attired  in  grave  weeds, 
Aome  could  afford  no  tribune  like  to  these. 
A  stone  is  soft  as  wax,  tribunes  more  hard  than 
stones : 

A  stone  is  silent,  and  offendeth  not ; 
And  tribunes  with  their  tongues  doom  men  to 
death.  [drawn  ? 

But   wherefore  stand'st   thou    with   thy  weapon 

Ijuc.  To  rescue  my  two  brothers  from  their  death  : 
For  which  attempt,  the  juda;es  have  pronounc'd 
My  everlasting  doom  of  banishment. 

Tit.  O  happy  man !  they  have  befiiended  thee. 
Why  foolish  Lucius,  dost  thou  not  perceive. 
That  Rome  is  but  a  wilderness  of  tigers  ? 
Tigers  must  prey ;  and  Rome  affords  no  prey, 
But  me  and  mine  :  How  hapuy  art  thou  then. 
From  these  devourers  to  be  nanished  ? 
But  who  comes  with  our  brother  Marcus  here  ? 

Enter  Marcus  and  Lavinia. 

Mar.  Titus,  prepare  thy  noble  eyes  to  weep ; 
Or,  if  not  so,  thy  noble  heart  to  break ; 
I  bring  consuming  sorrow  to  thine  age. 

Tit.  Will  it  consume  me  ?  let  me  see  it  then. 

Mar.  This  was  thy  daughter. 

Tit.  Why,  Marcus,  so  she  is. 

Luc.  Ah  me!  this  object  kills  me  ! 

Tit.  Faint-hearted  boy,  arise,  and  look  upon  her: — 
Speak,  my  Lavinia,  what  accursed  hand 
flath  made  thee  handless  in  thy  fathers  sight? 
What  fool  hath  added  water  to  the  sea  ? 
Or  brought  a  faggot  to  bright-burning  Troy? 
My  grief  was  at  the  height  before  thou  cam'st, 
And  Kow,  like  Nil  us,  it  disdaineth  bounds. — 
Give  me  a  sword,  I'll  chop  off  my  hands  too; 
For  they  have  fought  for  Rome,  and  ail  in  vain; 
A.nd  they  have  nurt^'d  this  woe,  in  feeding  life  ; 
In  bootk-ss  prayer  have  they  been  held  u-p. 
And  they  have  serv'd  me  to  effectless  use  : 
Now,  hi\  the  service  1  require  of  them 
l»,that  the  one  will  help  to  cut  the  other.— 


'TIS  well,  Lavinia,  that  thou  hast  no  hands; 
For  hands,  to  do  Rome  service,  are  but  vain. 

Luc.  Speak,  gentle  sister,  who  hath  martyr'i* 
thee? 

Mar.  O,  that  delightful  engine  of  her  thoughts. 
That  blabb'd  them  with  such  pleashig  eloquence. 
Is  torn  from  forth  that  pretty  hollow  cage; 
Where,  like  a  sweet  melodious  bird,  it  sung 
Sweet  varied  notes,  enchanting  every  ear  I 

Luc.  O,  say  thou  for  her,  who  hath  done  thA 
deed  ? 

Mar.  O,  thus  I  found  her,  straying  in  the  park, 
Seeking  to  hide  herself;  as  dolh  the  deer, 
That  hatl)  receiv'd  some  unrecuring  wound. 

Tit.  It  was  my  deer;  and  he,  that  wotmded  her, 
Hath  hurt  me  more,  than  had  he  kilfd  me  dead: 
For  now  I  stand  as  one  upon  a  rock, 
Environ'd  with  a  wilderness  of  sea; 
Who  marks  the  waxing  tide  grow  wave  by  vv'ave> 
Expecting  ever  wlien  some  envious  surge 
Will  in  his  brinish  bowels  swallow  him. 
This  way  to  death  my  wretched  sons  are  gone  : 
Here  stands  my  other  son,  a  banish'd  man ; 
And  here  n)y  brother,  weeping  at  ray  woes ; 
But  that,  which  gives  my  soul  the  greatest  spurn* 
Is  dear  Lavinia,  dearer  than  my  soul. — 
Had  I  but  seen  thy  picture  in  tliis  plight, 
It  would  have  madded  me  :  What  shall  I  do 
Now  1  behold  thy  lively  body  so? 
Thou  hast  no  hands,  to  wipe  away  thy  tears; 
Nor  tongue,  to  tell  me  who  hath  martyr'd  thee: 
Thy  husband  he  is  dead  ;  and,  for  his  death. 
Thy  brothers  are  condemnM,  and  dead  by  this: — 
Look,  Marcus!  ah,  son  Lucius,  look  on  her  ! 
When  I  did  name  her  brothers,  then  fresh  tears 
Stood  on  her  cheeks  ;  as  doth  the  honey  dew 
Upon  a  gather'd  lily  almost  wither'd. 

Mar.  Perchance,  she  weeps  because  they  kill'd 
her  husband  : 
Perchance,  because  she  knows  them  innocent. 

Tit.  If  Lhey  did  kill  thy  husband,  then  be  joyful, 
Because  the  law  hath  ta'eu  revenge  oin  them. — 
No,  no,  they  would  not  do  so  foul  a  deed  ; 
Witness  the  sorrow  that  their  sister  makes.— 
Gentle  Lavinia,  let  me  kiss  thy  lips  ; 
Or  make  some  signs  how  I  may  do  thee  ease: 
Shall  tl)y  good  uncle,  and  thy  brother  Lucius, 
And  thou,  and  I,  sit  round  about  some  fountain; 
Looking  all  downwards,  to  behold  our  cheeks 
How  they  are  stain'd  ?  Like  meadows,  yet  not  drj 
With  miry  slime  left  on  them  by  a  flood  ? 
And  in  the  fountain  shall  we  gaze  so  long. 
Till  the  fresh  taste  be  taken  from  that  clearness, 
And  made  a  brine  pit  with  our  bitter  tears? 
Or  shall  we  cut  away  our  hands,  like  thine? 
Or  shall  we  bite  our  tongues,  and  in  dumb  shews 
Pass  the  remainder  of  our  hateful  days  "i* 
What  shall  we  do  ?  let  us,  that  have  our  tongues, 
Plot  some  device  of  further  misery. 
To  make  us  wonder'd  at  in  time  to  come, 

Luc.  Sweet  father,  cease  your  tears  ;  for,  at  joul 

See,  how  my  wretched  sister  sobs  and  weejis. 
Mar.  Patience,  dear  niece  : — Good  Titus,  dry 
thine  eyes. 

Tit.  Ah,  Marcus,  Marcus  I  brotlier,  well  I  'yot, 
Tby  napkin  cannot  drink  a  tear  of  mine 
For  thou,  poor  man,  hast  drown'd  it  \ttth  thine  owOi 

Luc.  Ah,  my  Lavinia,  i  will  wipe  tliy  cheeks. 

Tit.  Mark,   Marcus,  nuark !  I    understand  he» 
signs : 

Had  she  a  tongue  to  speak,  now  would  she  »ay 
That  to  her  brother  whicli  I  said  to  thee ; 
His  napkin,  with  his  true  tears  all  bevvet. 
Can  do  no  service  on  her  sorrowful  cheeks. 
O,  what  a  sympathy  oi  woe  is  tliis  ? 
As  /'ar  from  help  as  limbo  is  froui  bhss! 

Enter  Aaron. 
Aar.  Titus  Andronicua,  my  lord  theempero 


Scene  1. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


665 


Sends  thee  this  word, — That,  if  thou  love  thy  sons, 

JUfit  Marcns,  Lucius,  or  thyself,  old  Titus, 

Or  any  one  of  you,  chop  off  your  hand, 

And  send  it  to  the  king :  he  for  the  same, 

Will  send  thee  hither  both  thy  sons  alive; 

And  that  shall  be  the  ransom  for  their  fault. 

Tit.  O,  gracious  emperor!  O,  gentle  Aaron! 
Did  ever  raven  sing  so  like  a  lark. 
That  gives  sweet  tidings  of  the  sun's  uprise  ? 
With  all  my  heart,  I'll  send  the  emperor 
My  hand : 

Good  Aaron,  wilt  thou  help  to  chop  it  off? 

Luc.  Stay,  father:  for  that  no.ble  hai»d  of  thine. 
That  hath  thrown  down  so  many  eot^mies. 
Shall  not  be  sent:  my  hand  will  serve  the  turn: 
My  youth  can  better  spare  my  blood  than  you; 
And  therefore  mine  shall  save  my  brothers'  lives. 

Mar.  Which  of  your  hands  hath  not  defended 
Rome, 

And  rear'd  aloft  the  bloody  battle-axe, 
Writing  destruction  on  the  enemies'  castles? 
O,  none  of  both  but  are  of  high  desert: 
IVTy  hand  hath  been  but  idle  ;  let  it  serve 
To  ransom  my  two  nephews  from  their  death: 
Then  have  I  kept  it  to  a  worthy  end. 
Aar.  Nay,  come  agree,  whose  hand  shall  go 
along,  _ 

For  fear  they  die  before  their  pardon  come. 
Mar.  My  hand  shall  go. 

Luc.  By  heaven,  it  shall  not  go. 

Tit.  Sirs,  strive  no  more ;  such  withe r'd  herbs 
as  thfse 

Are  meet  for  plucking  up,  and  therefore  mine, 
Luc.  Sweet  father,  if  1  shall  be  tliought  thy  son, 

Let  me  redeem  my  brothers  both  from  death. 
Mar.  And,  for  our  father's  saJ-.e,  and  mother's 
care, 

Now  let  me  shew  a  brother's  lave  to  thee. 

Tit.  Agree  between  you  ;  I  will  spare  my  hand. 

Imc.  Tlieu  I'll  go  fetch  an  axe. 

Mar.  But  I  will  use  the  axe. 

[Exeunt  Lucius  and  Marcus. 

Tit.  Come  hither,  Aaron;  I'll  deceive  them  both; 
Lend  me  thy  hand,  and  I  will  give  thee  mine, 

Aar.  If  that  be  cali'd  deceit,  I  will  be  honest. 
And  never,  whilst  I  live,  deceive  men  so; — 
But  I'll  deceive  you  in  another  sort,  ' 
And  that  you'll  say,  ere  half  an  hour  can  pass. 

{Aside.    He  cuts  off"  Titus's  hand.) 

Enter  Lucius  ana?  Marcus. 

Tit.  Now,  stay  your  strife;  what  shall  be,  is 
despatch'd. — 
Good  Aaron,  give  his  majesty  my  hand; 
Tell  h.m,  it  was  a  hand  that  warded  hinj 
From  ttiousand  dangers:  bid  him  bury  it; 
More  hath  it  merited,  that  let  it  have. 
As  for  my  sons,  say,  I  account  of  them 
As  jewels  purchas'd  at  an  easy  price; 
And  yet  dear  too,  because  I  bought  mine  own. 

Aar.  I  go,  Andronicus:  and  for  tivy  hand. 
Look  by  and  by  to  have  thy  sons  with  thee : 
'i^heir  heads,  1  mean. — O,  how  tiiis  villany  (Aside.) 
Doth  fat  me  with  the  very  thoughts  of  it! 
Let  fools  do  good,  and  fair  men  call  for  grace, 
Aaron  will  have  his  soul  black  like  his  face.  [Exit. 

Tit.  O,  here  I  lift  this  one  hand  up  to  heaven, 
And  bow  tliis  feeble  ruin  to  the  earth: 
If  any  f>ower  pities  wretched  tears, 
To  that  I  call : — What,  wilt  thou  kneel  with  me  ? 

{To  Lavinia.) 

Do  then,  dear  heart;  for  heaven  shall  hear  our 
prayers  ; 

Or  with  our  sighs  we'll  breathe  the  welkin  dim, 
An.d  stain  tlse  sun  with  fog,  as  sometime  clouds, 
When  vliey  do  hug  him  in  their  melting  bosoms. 

Mar.  O  brother,  speak  with  possihUities, 
An-d  do  not,  break  into  these  deep  extremes. 

Tit.  is  not  my  sorrow  deep,  having  no  bottom  ? 
Then  be  Hiy  passions  bottomless  with  them. 


Mar.  But  yet  let  reason  govern  thy  lament 
Tit.  If  there  were  reason  for  these  nnscries. 
Then  into  limits  could  I  bind  my  woes  :        [flow  ? 
When  heaven  doth  weep,  doth  not  the  earth  o'er- 
If  the  winds  rage,  doth  not  the  sea  wax  mad, 
Threat'ning  the  welkin  with  his  big-swoln  faee? 
And  wilt  thou  have  a  reason  for  this  coil  ? 
I  am  the  sea ;  hark,  how  her  sighs  do  blow  I 
She  is  the  weeping  welkin,  I  the  earth  : 
Then  must  my  sea  be  moved  with  her  .sighs ; 
Then  must  my  earth  with  her  continual  tears 
Become  a  deinge,  overflow'd  and  drown'd : 
For  why  ?  my  bowels  cannot  hide  her  woes. 
But  like  a  drunkard  must  I  vomit  them. 
Then  give  me  leave ;  for  losers  will  have  leave 
To  ease  their  stomachs  with  their  bitter  tongues. 

Enter  a  Messenger  with  two  heads  and  a  hand* 

Mess.  Worthy  Andronicus,  ill  art  thou  repaid 
For  that  good  hand  thou  sent'st  the  emperor. 
Here  are  the  heads  of  thy  two  noble  sons  ; 
And  here's  thy  hand,  in  scorn  to  thee  sent  back; 
Thy  griefs  their  sports,  thy  resolution  mock'd  : 
That  woe  is  me  to  think  upon  thy  woes, 
More  than  remembrance  of  my  father's  death.  [Exiii 

Mar.  Now  let  hot  JEtna  cool  in  Sicily, 
And  be  my  heart  an  ever-burning  hell ! 
These  miseries  are  more  than  may  be  borne ! 
To  weep  with  i^em  that  weep  doth  ease  some  deal. 
But  sorrow  flouted  at  is  double  death.  [wound 

Luc.  Ah,  that  this  sight  should  make  so  deep  a 
And  yet  detested  life  not  shrink  thereat! 
That  ever  death  should  let  life  bear  his  name, 
Where  life  hath  no  more  interest  but  to  breathe ! 

{Lavinia  kisses  him^ 

Mar.  Alas,  poor  heart,  that  kiss  is  comfortless. 
As  frozen  water  to  a  starved  snake. 

Tit.  When  will  tliis  fearful  slumber  have  an  end? 

Mar.  Now  farewell  flattery  :  Die,  Andronicus; 
Thou  dost  not  slumber  ;  see,  thy  two  sons  heads; 
Thy  warlike  hand  ;  thy  mangled  daughter  here  ; 
T  hy  other  banish'd  son,  with  this  dear  sight 
Struck  pale  and  bloodless ;  and  thy  brotiier,  I, 
Even  like  a  stony  image,  cold  and  numb. 
Ah  !  now  no  more  will  I  control  thy  gi  iefs; 
Rent  off  thy  silver  hair,  thy  other  hand 
Gnawing  with  thy  teeth  ;  and  he  this  dismal  sight 
The  closing  up  of  our  most  wretciied  eyes  ! 
Now  is  a  time  to  storm  ;  why  art  thou  still  ? 

Tit.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  [iiour. 

Mar.  Why  dost  thou  laugh  ?  it  fits  not  with  this 

Tit.  Why,  I  have  not  another  tear  to  shed: 
Besides,  this  sorrow  is  an  enemy, 
And  would  usurp  upon  my  wat'ry  eyes. 
And  make  tliem  blind  with  tributary  tears; 
Then  which  way  shall  I  find  revenge's  cave  ? 
For  these  two  heads  do  seem  to  speak  to  me; 
And  threat  me,  I  shall  never  come  to  bliss, 
Till  all  these  mischiefs  be  return'd  again. 
Even  in  their  throats  that  have  committed  them. 
Come,  let  me  see  what  task  I  have  to  do. — 
You  heavy  people,  circle  me  about; 
That  I  may  turn  me  to  each  one  of  you, 
And  swear  unto  my  sonl  to  right  your  wrongs. 
The  vow  is  made. — Come,  brother,  take  a  head; 
And  in  this  hand  the  other  will  I  bear : 
Lavinia,  thou  shalt  be  employed  in  these  things; 
Bear  thou  my  hand,  sweet  wench,  between  thy  teetll 
As  for  thee,  boy,  go,  get  thee  from  my  sight; 
Thou  art  an  exile,  and  thou  must  not  stay  : 
Hie  to  the  Goths,  and  raise  an  army  there  . 
And,  if  you  love  me,  as  I  think  you  do. 
Let's  kiss  and  part,  for  we  have  much  to  do, 

[Exeunt  Titus,  yV/arcws,  and  LaviniA 

Luc.  Farewell,  Andronicus,  my  noble  father; 
The  woeful'st  man  that  ever  liv'd  in  Rome! 
Farewell,  proud  Rome  !  till  Lucius  come  agaift 
He  leaves  his  pledges  dearer  than  his  life. 
Farewell,  Lavinia,  my  noble  sister ; 
O,  'would  thou  wert  as  thou  'tofore  hast  beeo! 


666 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Act  IV, 


Bsit  now  nor  Luciua,  nor  Lavinia  lives, 
But  ill  oblivion,  and  hateful  griefs. 

ff  Lucius  live,  he  will  requite  your  wrougs  ; 
And  make  proud  Saturninus  and  his  empress 
Beg  at  the  gates,  like  'I  arquin  and  his  queen. 
Now  will  I  to  the  Goths,  and  raise  a  power, 
To  be  reveng'd  on  Rome  and  Saturnine.  [Exit. 

Scene  II.— ^  Rootti  in  Titus's  House.  A  Banquet 
set  out. 

Enter  Titus,  Marcus,  Lavinia,  and  young 
Lucius,  a  hoy. 

Txt.  So,  so;  now  sit :  and  look,  you  eat  no  more 
Than  will  preserve  just  so  much  strength  in  us 
As  will  revenge  these  bitter  woes  of  ours. 
Marcus,  unknit  that  sorrow-wreathen  knot; 
Thy  niece  and  I,  poor  creatures,  want  our  hands, 
And  cannot  passionate  our  ten-fold  grief 
With  folded  arms.    I^his  poor  right  hand  of  mine 
Is  left  to  tyrannize  upon  my  breast; 
And  when  my  heart,  all  mad  with  misery, 
Beats  in  this  hollow  prison  of  ray  flesh, 
I'heu  thus  I  thump  it  down.— 
Thou  map  of  woe,  that  thus  dost  talk  in  signs  ! 

{To  Lavinia.) 
VV  hen  thy  poor  heart  beats  with  outrageous  beating. 
Thou  canst  not  strike  it  thus  to  make  it  still. 
Wound  it  with  sighing,  girl,  kill  it  with  groans ; 
Or  get  some  little  knife  between  thy  teeth. 
And  just  against  thy  heart  make  thou  a  hole  ; 
That  all  the  tears  that  thy  poor  eyes  let  fail, 
May  run  into  that  sink,  and,  soaking  in. 
Drown  the  lamenting  fool  in  sea-salt  tears. 

Mar.  Fy,  brother,  fy  !  teach  her  not  thus  to  lay 
Such  violent  hands  upon  her  tender  lile. 

Tit.   How   now !  has  sorrow  made  thee  dote 
already  ? 

VVhy,  Marcus,  no  man  should  be  mad  but  I. 
What  violent  hands  can  she  lay  on  her  life  ? 
Ah,  wherefore  dost  thou  urge  the  name  of  hands; — 
1  o  bid  vEueas  tell  the  tale  twice  o'er, 
How  Troy  was  burnt,  and  he  made  miserable? 
O,  handle  not  the  theme,  to  talk  of  hands; 
Lest  we  remember  still,  that  we  have  none. — 
Fy,  fy,  how  franticly  i  square  my  talk  I 
As  if  we  should  forget  we  liad  no  hands, 
If  Marcus  did  not  name  the  word  of  hands! — 
Come,  let's  fall  to;  and,  gentle  girl,  eat  this  :— 
Here  is  no  drink  !  Hark,  Marcus,  what  she  says;— 
I  can  interpret  all  her  martyr'd  signs;— 
She  says,  she  drinks  no  other  drink  but  tears, 
Brew'd  with  her  sorrows,  mesh'd  upon  her  cheeks: — 
Speechless  complainer,  I  will  learn  thy  thought; 
In  thy  dumb  action  will  I  be  as  perfect, 
As  begging  hermits  in  their  holy  prayers  : 
Thou  shall  not  sigh,  nor  hold  thy  stumps  to  heaven, 
Nor  wink,  nor  nod,  nor  kneel,  nor  make  a  sign. 
But  I,  of  these,  will  wrest  an  alphabet. 
And,  by  still  practice,  learn  to  know  thy  meaning. 
Boy.  Good  grandsire,  leave  these  bitter  deep 
laments  : 

Make  niy  aunt  merry  with  some  pleasing  tale. 

Mar.  Alas,  the  tender  boy,  in  passion  mov'd, 
Doth  weep  to  8e«  his  grandsire's  heaviness. 

Tit,  Peace,  tender  sapling ;  thou  art  made  of 
tears, 

And  tears  will  quickly  melt  thy  life  away— 

{Marcus  strikes  the  dish  with  a  knife.) 
What  dost  thou  strike  at,  Marcus,  with  thy  knife  i 
Mar.  At  that  that  I  have  kill'd,  my  lord  ;  a  fly. 
Tit.   Out  on  thee,  murderer !    thou  kill'st  m 
heart ; 

Mine  eyes  are  cloy'd  with  view  of  tyranny  : 
A  deed  of  death,  done  on  the  innocent. 
Becomes  not  Titus'  brother:  Get  thee  gone; 
I  see,  thou  art  not  for  my  company. 

Mar.  Alas,  my  lord,  I  have  but  kill'd  a  fly. 

Tit,   But  how,  if  that  fly   had  a  father  and 
mother  ? 

How  would  he  hang  his  slender  gilded  wings. 


my 


And  buz  lamenting  doings  in  the  air? 

Poor  harmless  fly  ! 

That  with  his  pretty  buzzing  melody, 

Came  here  to  make  us  merry;  and  thui  hast  kill'd 

Mar.  Pardon  me,  sir ; 'twas  a  black  ill-favour\l 
Like  to  the  empress'  Moor;  therefore  I  kill'd  him. 

Tit.  0,0,0! 
Then  pardon  me  for  reprehending  thee. 
For  thou  hast  done  a  charitable  deed. 
Give  me  thy  knife,  I  will  insult  on  him; 
Flattering  myself,  as  if  it  were  the  Moor, 
Come  hither  purposely  to  poison  me. — 
There's  for  thyself,  and  that's  for  Tamora.— 
Ah,  sirrah! — 

Yet  I  do  think  we  are  not  brought  so  low, 
But  that,  between  us,  we  can  kill  a  fly, 
That  comes  in  likeness  of  a  coal-black  Moor. 
Mar.  Alas,  poor  man!  grief  has  so  wrought  o 
him, 

He  takes  false  shadows  for  true  substances. 
^  Tit.  Come,  takeaway. — Lavinia,  go  with  me  : 
I'll  to  thy  closet,  and  go  read  with  thee 
Sad  stories,  chanced  in  the  times  of  old— 
Come,  boy,  and  go  with  me  ;  thy  sight  is  young. 
And  thou  shalt  read,  when  mine  begins  to  dazzle. 

[ExeunL 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  l.~The  same.    Before  Titus  s  House. 
Enter  Titus  and  Marcus.    Then  enter  young 
Lucius,  Lavinia  runniny  after  him. 
Boy.  Help,  grandsire,  h^^lp  !  my  aunt  Laviuia 
Follows  me  every  where,  J  know  not  why  : — 
(iood  uncle  Marcus,  see  how  swift  slie  conies! 
Alas,  sweet  aunt,  I  know  not  what  yon  mean. 
Mar.  Stand  by  me,  Lucius  ;  do'  not  fear  thine 
aunt. 

Tit.  She  loves  thee,  boy,  too  well  to  do  thee  harm. 

Boy.  Ay,  when  my  father  was  in  Rome,  she  did. 

Mar.  What  means  my  niece  Lavinia  by  these 
sigris?  [mean: 

Tit.  Fear  her  not,  Lucius  :— Somewhat  doth  sh9 
See,  Lucius,  see,  how  much  she  makes  of  thee: 
Somewhither  would  she  have  thee  go  with  her. 
Ah,  boy,  Cornelia  never  with  riore  care 
Read  to  her  sons,  than  she  hath  read  to  thee, 
Sweet  poetry,  and  Tully's  Orator. 
Canst  thou  not  guess  wherefort  she  flies  thee  thus? 

Boy.  My  lord,  I  know  not,  I,  noj  can  I  guess, 
Unless  some  fit  or  frenzy  do  possess  her: 
For  I  have  heard  my  grandsire  say  f  jll  oft, 
Extremity  of  griefs  would  make  men  mad  ; 
And  I  have  read,  that  Hecuba  of  Troy 
Ran  mad  through  sorrow  :  That  made  me  tofesf* 
Although,  my  lord,  I  know  my  noble  aunt 
Loves  me  as  dear  as  e'er  my  mother  did. 
And  would  not,  but  in  fury,  fright  my  youth : 
Which  made  me  down  to  throw  my  books,  J| 
Causeless,  perhaps :  But  pardon  me,  sweet 
And,  madam,  if  my  uncle  Marcus  go, 
I  will  most  willingly  attend  your  ladyship. 
Mar.  Lucius,  I  will, 

{Lavinia  turns  over  the  hooks  which  Luema 
fMs  let  fall.) 

Tit.  How  now,  Lavinia  ? — iVlarcus,  what  meaoa 
this? 

Some  book  there  is  that  she  desires  to  see  :— 
Which  is  it,  girl,  of  these  ? — Open  them,  boy.— 
But  thou  art  deeper  read,  and  better  skill'd; 
Come,  and  take  choice  of  all  my  li'brary. 
And  so  beguile  thy  sorrow,  till  the  heavens 
Reveal  the  danin'd  contriver  of  this  deed. — 
Why  lifts  she  up  her  arms  in  sequence  thus? 

Mar.  I  think,  she  means,  that  there  was  mor* 
than  one 

Confederate  in  the  fact; — Ay,  more  there  was  :— 
Or  else  to  heaven  she  heaves  them  for  revenge, 
lit.  Lucius,  v»hat  book  is  that  she  tosseth  so? 


ISCENE  2. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


m 


Boy.  Grandsire,  'tis  Ovid's  Metamorphosis  ; 
My  mother  gave't  me. 

Mar.  For  love  of  her  that's  gone. 

Perhaps  she  cull'd  it  from  among  the  rest. 

TU.  Soft!  see,  how  busily  she  turus  the  leaves! 
iflelp  her : — 

What  would  she  find? — Lavinia,  shall  I  read? 
This  is  the  tragic  tale  of  Philomel, 
And  treats  of  Tereiis'  treason,  and  his  rap<  ; 
\iid  rape,  I  fear,  was  root  of  thine  annoy,  [leaves. 
Mar.  See,  brother,  see  !  note,  how  slie  qviotes  the 
Tit.  Lavinia,  wert  thou  thus  surpris'd,  sweet  girl, 
Ra\  ish'd,  and  wrong'd,  as  Philomela  was, 
.Forc'd  in  the  ruthless,  vast,  and  gloomy  woods? — 
|  6ee,  see  ! — 

1  Ajs  such  a  place  there  is,  where  we  did  hunt, 
((),  had  we  never,  never  hunted  there  !) 
rattern'd  by  that  the  poet  here  describes. 
By  nature  made  for  murders  and  for  rapes. 
!    Mar.  O,  why  should  nature  build  so  foul  a  den. 
Unless  the  gods  delight  in  tragedies ! 
Tit.  Give  signs,  sweet  girl, — for  here  are  none 
but  friends, — 
What  Roman  lord  it  was  durst  do  the  deed : 
Or  slunk  not  Saturnine,  as  Tarquin  erst, 
hat  left  the  camp  to  sin  in  Lucrece'  bed  ? 
Mar.  Sit  down,  sweet  niece ; — brother,  sit  down 
by  me. —  « 
A.pollo,  Pallas,  Jove,  or  Mercury, 
Inspire  me,  that  I  may  this  treason  find  I — 
My  lord,  look  here  ; — Look  here,  Lavinia  : 
Tliis  sandy  plot  is  plain  ;  guide,  if  thou  canst, 
This  after  me,  when  I  have  writ  my  name 
W  ithout  the  help  of  any  hand  at  all. 
[He  writt^s  his  name  vjith  his  staff,  and  guides 
it  ivith  his  feet  and  mouth.) 
Curs'd  be  that  heart,  that  forc'd  us  to  this  shift! — 
Write  thou,  good  niece;  and  here  display,  at  last. 
What  God  Will  have  discover'd  for  revenge : 
jjBeaven  guide  thy  pen  to  print  thy  sorrows  plain, 
That  we  may  know  the  traitors,  and  the  truth ! 

{She  takes  the  staff  in  her  mouth,  and  guides 
it  with  her  stumps,  and  writes.) 
Tit.  O,  do  you  read,  my  lord,  what  she  hath 
writ  ? 

Stuprum — Chiroji — Demetrius. 
Mar.  What,  what! — the  lustful  sons  of  Taraora 

Performers  of  this  lieinous,  bloody  deed? 
j     Tit.  Magne  DoinirMtor  poli, 
I  Tarn  lentus  audis  scelera?  tarn  lentus  vides? 
i    Mar.  O,  calm  thee,   gentle  lord !   although  I 
!  know, 

I  There  is  enough  written  upon  this  earth, 
I  To  stir  a  mutiny  in  the  mildest  thoughts, 
And  arm  the  minds  of  infants  to  exclaims. 
My  lord,  kneel  down  with  me  ;  Lavinia,  kneel ; 
And  kneel,  sweet  boy,  the  Roman  Hector's  hope ; 
And  swear  with  me, — as  with  the  woful  feere. 
And  father,  of  that  chaste  dishonour'd  dame, 
Lord  Junius  Brutus  sware  for  Lucrece'  rape,— - 
That  we  will  prosecute,  by  good  advice, 
Mortal  revenge  upon  these  traitorous  Goths, 
And  see  their  blood,  or  die  with  this  reproach. 

Tit.  'Tis  sure  enough,  an  you  knew  how; 
But  if  you  hurt  these  bear- whelps,  then  beware: 
The  dam  will  wake;  and,  if  she  wind  you  once, 
She's  with  the  lion  deeply  still  in  league, 
And  lulls  him  whilst  she  playeth  on  her  back. 
And,  when  lie  sleeps,  will  she  do  what  she  list. 
You  re  a  ouug  huntsman,  Marcus;  let  it  alone; 
And,  co(ne,  I  will  go  get  a  leaf  of  brass, 
And  with  a  gad  of  steel  will  write  these  words. 
And  lay  it  by  :  the  angry  northern  wind 
Will  blow  these  sands,  like  Sybil's  leaves,  abroad, 
And  where's  your  lesson  then  ? — Boy,  what  say 
you  ? 

Boy.  I  say,  my  lord,  that  if  T  were  a  nvan. 
Their  mother's  bed  chamber  should  not  be  safe 
Foi  these  bad-bondmen  to  the  yoke  of  Rome. 

Mar.  Ay,  that's  my  boy!  thy  father  hath  full  oft 


For  this  ungrateful  country  done  the  like. 

Boy.  And,  uncle,  so  will  I,  an  if  I  live. 

Tit.  Come,  go  with  me  into  mine  armoury  y 
Lucius,  ril  fit  thee  ;  and  withal,  my  boy 
Shall  carry  from  me  to  the  empress'  sons 
Presents,  that  I  intend  to  send  them  both: 
Conse,  come  ;  thou'it  do  thy  message,  wilt  thon  nntt 

Boy.   Ay,   with  my  dagger  in  their  bosooii^ 
grandsire. 

Tit.  No,  boy,  not  so ;  I'll  teach  thee  anothet 
course. 

Lavinia,  come  : — Marcus,  look  to  my  hous6  ; 

Lucius  and  I'll  go  brave  it  at  the  court; 

Ay,  marry,  will  we,  sir;  and  we'll  be  waited  on. 

{Exeunt  Titus,  Lavinia,  and  Boy.] 
Mar.  O  heavens,  can  you  hear  a  good  man  groan. 
And  not  relent,  or  not  compassion  him? — 
Marcus,  attend  him  in  his  ecstasy; 
That  hath  more  scars  of  sorrow  in  his  heart, 
Than  foemen's  marks  upon  his  batter'd  shield : 
But  yet  so  just,  that  he  will  not  revenge  : — 
Revenge  the  heavens  ior  old  Andronicus  !  [Exii 

Scene  II. — The  same.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Aaron,  Chiron,  and  Demetrius,  at  on* 
door ;  at  another  door,  young  Lucius,  and  an 
Attendant,  with  a  bundle  of  weapons,  and 
verses  ivrit  upon  them. 
Chi.  Demetrius,  here's  the  son  of  Lucius; 
He  hath  some  message  to  deliver  to  us. 

Aar.   Ay,   some   mad  message  from  his  mad 
grandfather. 

Boy.  My  lords,  with  all  the  humbleness  I  may, 
I  greet  your  honours  from  Andronicus; — 
And  pray  the  Roman  gods  confound  you  both  ! 

[Aside.) 

Dem.  Gramercy,  lovely  Lucius  :  What's  the 
news  ? 

Boy.  That  you  are  both  decipher'd.  that's  !he  news. 
For  villains  mark'd  with  rape.  {Aside.)  May  it 
please  you, 

My  grandsire,  well-advis'd,  hath  sent  by  me 
The  goodliest  weapons  of  his  armoury. 
To  gratify  your  honourable  youth, 
The  hope  of  Rome  ;  for  so  he  bade  me  say, 
And  so  I  do,  and  with  his  gifts  present 
Your  lordships,  that,  whenever  you  liave  need, 
You  may  be  armed  and  appointed  well  : 
And  so  I  leave  you  both,  {Aside.)  like  bloody  vil- 
lains. [Exeunt  Boy  aiid  Attendant, 

Dem.  What's  here?  a  scroll ;  and  written  round 
Let's  see :  [about? 
Integer  vitte,  scelerisque  purus 
Non  eget  Mauri  jaculis,  nec  arcu. 

Chi.  O,  'tis  a  verse  in  Horace ;  I  know  it  well : 
I  read  it  in  the  grammar  long  ago.  [have  it, 

Aar.  Ay,  just! — a  verse  in  Horace; — right,  you 
Now,  what  a  thing  it  is  to  be  an  ass ! 
Here's  no  sound  jest!  the  old  man  hath 

found  their  guilt; 
And  sends  the  weapons  wrapp'd  about  with 

lines,  [quick.  ^Astde, 

That  wound,  beyond  their  feeling,  to  the 
But  were  our  witty  empress  well"  a  foot,' 
She  would  applaud  Andronicus'  conceit. 
But  let  her  rest  in  her  unrest  awhile. 
And  now,  young  lords,  was't  not  a  happy  star 
Led  u"  to  Rome,  strangers,  and,  more  than  so. 
Captives,  to  be  advanced  to  this  height  ? 
It  did  me  good,  before  the  palace  gate, 
To  brave  the  tribune  in  his  brother's  hearing. 

Dem.  But  me  more  good,  to  see  so  a  great  lord 
Basely  insinuate,  and  send  us  gifts. 

Aar.  Had  he  not  reason,  lord  Demetrius  ? 
Did  you  not  use  his  daughter  very  iViendly? 

Dem.  I  would,  we  had  a  thousand  Roman  damei 
At  such  a  bay,  by  turn  to  serve  our  lust. 

Chi.  A  charitable  wish,  and  full  of  love. 

Aar.  Here  lacks  but  your  mother  for  to  say 
amen. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS.  Act  IV 


MB 

Vhi.  /lud  that  would  she  for  twenty  thousand  more. 
DetA.  Come,  let  us  go!  and  pray  to  all  the  gods 
For  our  beloved  mother  in  her  pains. 

Aar.  Pray  to  the  devils ;  the  gods  have  given 
OS  o'er.  {Aside.    Flour  is  h.} 

Dem  Why  do  the  emperor's  trumpets  flourish  thusr 
Chi.  Delike,  for  joy  the  emperor  hath  a  son. 
lietn.  :^3ft ;  who  comes  here  ? 

BfUer  a  Nurse,  with  a  black  a-moor  child  in  her 
arms. 

Nnr.  Good-morrow,  lords : 

O,  tell  me,  did  you  see  Aaron  tlie  Moor. 

Aar.  Well,  more,  or  less  or  ne'er  a  wit  at  all, 
Here  Aaron  is  ;  and  what  with  Aaron  now  ? 

Nur.  O  gentle  Aaron,  we  are  all  undone  ! 
Now  help,  or  woe  betide  thee  evermore ! 

Aar.  Why,  what  a  caterwauling  dost  thou  keep? 
What  dost  thou  wrap  and  fumble  in  tliine  arms  ? 

Nur,  O,  that  which  I  would  hide  from  heaven's  eye, 
Our  empress'  shame,  and  stately  Rome's  disgrace; — 
She  is  deliver'd,  lords,  she  is  deliver'd. 

Aar.  To  whom  ? 

Nur.  I  mean,  she's  brought  to  bed. 

Aar.  Well,  Cxod 

Give  her  good  rest !  What  hath  he  sent  her  ? 

Nur.  A  devil. 

Aar.  Why,  then  she's  the  devil's  dam  ;  a  joyful 
issue.  [sue : 

Nter.  A  joyless,  dismal,  black,  and  sorrowful  is- 
Here  is  the  babe,  as  loathsome  as  a  toad 
Amongst  the  fairest  breeders  of  our  clime. 
The  eujpress  sends  it  thee,  thy  stamp,  thy  seal. 
And  bids  thee  christen  it  with  thy  dagger's  point. 

Aar.  Out,  out,  you  whore!  is  black  so  base  a  hue  ? 
Sweet  blowse,  you  are  a  beauteous  blossom,  siu-e. 

Dem.  Villain,  what  hast  thou  done  ? 

Aar.  Done  !  that  which  thou 

Cansl  not  undo. 

Chi.  Thou  hast  undone  our  mother. 

Aar.  Villain  ,  I  have  done  thy  mother. 

Dem.  And  therein,  hellish  dog,  thou  hast  undone. 
Woe  to  her  chance,  and  damu'd  her  loathed  choice  ! 
Accurs'd  the  oflspring  of  so  foul  a  fiend  ! 

Chi.  \\  shall  not  live. 

Anr.  It  shall  not  die. 

Nur.  Aaron,  it  ntiist:  the  mother  wills  it  so. 

Aar.  Wiiat,  must  it,  nurse  ?  tlieu  let  no  man,  but  1, 
Do  execution  on  my  flesh  and  blood. 

Dem.  I'll  broach  tiie  tadpole  on  niy  rapier's  point : 
Nurse,  give  it  me  ;  my  sword  sliall  soon  despatch  it. 

Aar.  Sooner  this  sword  shall  plough  thy  bowels  up. 
{Takes  the  child  from  the  nurse,  and  draws.) 
Stay,  murderous  villains  !  will  you  kill  your  brother? 
Now,  by  the  burning  tapers  ol  the  sky, 
That  shone  so  brightly  when  this  boy  was  got. 
He  dies  upon  my  scimitar's  sharp  point. 
That  touches  this  my  first-born  son  and  heir! 
I  tell  you,  younglings,  not  Enceladus, 
With  all  his  threat'ning  band  of  Typhon's  brood, 
Niif  great  Alcides,  nor  the  god  of  war, 
Shall  seize  this  prt- y  out  of  his  father's  liands. 
What,  what,  ye  sanguine,  shallow-hearted  boys  ! 
Ye  wbite-lim'd  walls!  ye  alehouse  painted  signs! 
Coal-black  is  better  than  another  hue  : 
In  that  it  scorns  to  bear  another  hue. 
For  all  the  water  in  the  ocean 
Can  never  turn  a  swan's  black  legs  to  white. 
Although  she  lave  them  hourly  in  the  flood. 
Tell  the  emperess  from  me,  I  am  of  age 
To  keep  mine  own  ;  excuse  it  how  she  can. 

Dem.  Wilt  thou  betray  thy  noble  mistress  thus? 

Aar.  My  mistress  is  my  mistress  :  tiiis,  myself: 
T^ne  vigour,  and  ttie  picture  of  my  youth  : 
Tills,  before  all  the  world  do  I  preiVr  ; 
This,  nmiigre  ail  the  world,  will  I  keep  safe, 
Or  some  of  you  shall  smoke  for  it  in  Rome. 

Dem   By  this  our  mother  is  for  ever  sh.-im'd. 

Chi.  Rome  will  des|iise  her  for  tliis  I'oul  escape. 

Mur  The  emperor,  in  his  rage,w.ll  d  joia  her  deaUi. 


Cki.  I  blush  to  think  upon  this  iguouiiny. 

Aar.  Why,  there's  the  privilege  your  beauty  bears. 
Fy,  treacherous  hue  I  that  will  betray  with  blushiqg 
The  close  enacts  and  counsels  of  the  heart ! 
Here's  a  young  lad  fram'd  of  another  leer: 
Look,  how  the  black  slave  smiles  upon  the  father; 
As  who  should  say,  Old  lad,  I  am  thine  own. 
He  is  your  brother,  lords  ;  sensibly  fed 
Of  that  self-blood  that  first  gave  life  to  you  ; 
And,  from  that  womb,  where  you  imprison'd  vcet^. 
He  is  enfranchised  and  come  to  light ; 
Nay,  he's  your  brother  by  the  surer  side, 
Altliough  my  seal  be  stamped  in  his  face. 

Nur.  Aaron,  what  shall  I  stay  unto  the  empress^^ 

Dem.  Advise  thee,  Aaron,  what  is  to  be  done. 
And  we  will  all  subscribe  to  thy  advice  ; 
Save  thou  the  child,  so  we  may  all  be  safe. 

Aar.  Then  sit  we  down,  and  let  us  all  consult 
My  son  and  I  will  have  the  wind  of  you: 
Keep  there  :  Now  talk  at  pleasure  of  your  safety. 

{They  sit  on  the  y round.) 

Dem,  How  many  women  saw  this  child  of  his  ? 

Aar.  Why,  so,  brave  lords :  When  we  ail  joia 
in  league, 

I  am  a  lamb  :  but  if  you  brave  the  Moor, 
The  chafed  boar,  the  mountain  lioness. 
The  oceans  swells  not  so  as  Aaron  storms. — 
But,  say  again,  how  many  saw  the  child  ? 

Nur.  Cornelia  the  midwife,  and  myself, 
And  no  one  else,  but  the  deliver'd  empress. 

Aar.  The  emperess,  the  midwife,  and  yourself: 
Two  may  keep  counsel,  when  the  third's  away: 
Go  to  the  empress  ;  tell  her,  this  I  said  : — 

{Slabbing  her,) 

Weke,  weke  ! — so  cries  a  pig  prepared  to  the  suit 

Dem.  What  mean'st  thou,  Aaron  ?  Wherefosf 
didst  thou  this  ? 

Aar.  O  lord,  sir,  'tis  a  deed  of  policy : 
Shall  she  live  to  betray  this  guilt  of  ours? 
A  long-tongu'd  babbling  gossip  ?  no.  lords,  uo» 
And  now  be  it  known  to  you  my  full  intent. 
Not  far,  one  Muliteus  lives,  my  countryman, 
His  wife  but  yesternight  was  brought  to  bed; 
His  child  is  like  to  her,  fair  as  you  are  : 
Go  pack  with  him,  and  give  the  mother  gold. 
And  tell  them  both  tiie  circumstance  of  all ; 
And  hovy  by  this  their  child  shall  be  advanc'<l. 
And  be  received  for  the  emperor's  heir. 
And  substituted  in  the  place  of  mine, 
To  calm  this  tempest  whirling  in  ihe  court; 
And  let  the  emperor  daurlle  him  for  his  own. 
Hark  ye,  lords;  ye  see  that  I  have  givm  her  f  hyekj, 
{Pointing  to  the  Nurti,) 
And  you  must  needs  bestow  her  funeral ; 
The  fields  are  near,  and  you  are  gallant  groonftaj 
This  done,  see  that  you  take  no  longer  days, 
But  send  the  niidwiie  presently  to  me. 
The  midwife,  and  the  nurse,  well  niade  away, 
Then  let  the  ladies  tattle  what  they  [dease. 

Chi.  Aaron,  I  see,  thou  wilt  not  trust  the  air 
With  secrets. 

Dem.  For  this  care  of  Tamora, 

Herself  and  hers  are  highly  bound  to  thee. 

[Exeunt  Dem  and  Chi.  bearing  off  the  Nurao. 

Aar.  Now  to  the  Goths,  as  swift  as  swallow  fliesj 
There  to  dispose  this  treasure  in  uune  arms, 
And  secretly  to  greet  the  empress'  iViends. — 
Couie  on,  you  thick-li,.p'd  slave,  I'll  bear  you  hence; 
For  it  is  you  that  puts  us  to  our  shifts  : 
I'll  make  you  feed  on  berries  and  on  roots. 
And  feed  on  curds  and  whey,  and  suck  the  goat, 
And  cabin  in  a  cave  ;  and  bring  you  up 
To  be  a  warrior,  and  command  a  camp.  [E:^ii 

Scene  III. — The  same.    A  public  Place. 
Enter  Titus,  bearing  arrovjs,  tvith  letters  at  tk4 

ends  of  them  ;  wit/i  him  Marcus,  young  Lvcim, 

and  other  Gentkmen,  with  bows. 

Tit.  Come,  Marcus,  come     Kinsmen,  tliif  is  tilO 
way :-— 


5CENE  4. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


669 


Sir  boy,  now  let  me  see  yonr  archery: 

A<ook  ye  draw  h  tme  enough,  and  'tis  there  straight: 

Terras  Astraa  reliauit : 

B';  yon  renieniber'd,  Marcus,  she's  gone,  she's  fled. 
Sirs,  take  you  to  your  tools.    Yon,  cousins,  shall 
Go  sound  the  oceao,  and  cast  your  nets  : 
Happily  you  may  find  her  in  the  sea  ; 
1  Yet  there's  as  little  justice  as  at  land  : 
No  ;  Pnblius  and  Senipronins,  yon  must  do  it; 
''I'js  you  must  dig  with  mattock,  and  with  spade. 
And  pierce  the  inmost  centre  of  the  earth  ; 
Then,  w  hen  you  come  to  Pinto's  region, 
I  pray  you,  deliver  him  this  petition  ; 
Tell  him,  it  is,  for  justice,  and  for  aid  ; 
And  that  it  coiner  from  oid  Andronicus, 
Shaken  with  sorrows  in  ungrateful  Rome. — 
Ah,  Rome  ! — Well,  well:  I  made  thee  miserable, 
What  time  I  tlirew  the  people's  suffrages 
On  him  that  thus  doth  tyrannize  o'er  me. — 
Go,  get  you  gone  ;  and  pray  he  careful  all, 
And  leave  yon  not  a  man  of  war  unsearch'd  ; 
This  wicked  emperor  may  have  shipp'd  her  hence, 
And,  kinsmen,  then  we  may  go  pipe  for  justice. 

Mar.  O,  Pnbb'us,  is  not  this  a  heavy  case, 
To  see  thy  noble  uncle  thus  distract  ? 

Pub.  I'herefbre,  my  lord,  it  highly  us  concerns. 
By  day  and  night  to  attend  him  carefully; 
And  ffed  his  humour  kindly  as  we  may, 
'nil  time  beget  some  careful  remedy. 

Mar.  Kinsmen,  his  sorrows  are  past  remedy. 
Join  with  the  Goths;  and  with  revengeful  war 
Ta  e  wreak  on  Rome  for  this  ingratitude, 
And  vengeance  on  the  traitor  Saturnine. 

I'it.  Publins,  how  now?  how  now,  my  masters? 
V\  hat,  have  yon  met  with  her  ? 

Put,  No,  my  good  lord;  but  Pluto  sends  you  word. 
If  you  wiil  have  revenge  from  hell,  you  shall : 
Marry,  for  Justice,  she  is  so  employ'd. 
Be  thinks,  with  Jove  in  heaven,  or  somewhere  else. 
So  tliat  perforce  you  must  needs  stay  a  time. 

Tit.  He  doth  me  wrong,  to  feed  me  with  delays. 
I'll  dive  into  the  burning  lake  below, 
And  pull  her  out  of  Acheron  by  the  heels. — 
Marcus,  we  are  but  shrubs,  no  cedars  we  ; 
No  big-bou'd  men,  fram'd  of  the  Cyclops'  size  : 
But  metal,  Marcus,  steel  to  the  very  back; 
Yet  wrung  with  wrongs,  more  than  our  backs  can 
bear : 

And,  sith  there  is  no  justice  in  earth  nor  hell, 
We  will  solicit  heaven  ;  and  move  the  gods. 
To  send  dovvia  justice  for  to  wreak  our  wrongs: 
Come,  to  this  gear.    You  are  an  archer,  Marcus. 

{He  gives  t/ietn  the  arrows.) 
AdJovem,  that's  for  you  : — Here,  ad  Apollinem : — 
Ad  Martem,  that's  lor  myself : — 
Here,  boy,  to  Pallas: — Here,  to  Mercury: 
To  Saturn,  Cainsi,  not  to  Saturnine, — 
You  were  as  good  to  shoot  against  the  wind.— 
To  it,  boy.    Marcus,  loose  when  1  bid  : 

my  word,  I  ha«e  written  to  effect: 
'1'ii.pre's  not  a  god  left  unsolicited. 

Mar.  Kinsmen, shoot  all  your  shafts  into  the  court. 
We  will  afJlict  the  emperor  in  his  pride, 

Tit.  No^.  masters,  draw.  {They  shoot.)  O,  well 
sata,  Lucius! 
(«aod  boy,  io  Virgo's  lap  ;  give  it  Pallas. 

Mar.  iVly  lord,  I  aim  a  mile  beyond  the  moon ; 
Your  letter  is  with  Jupiter  by  this. 

Tit.  Ha  !  Pnblius,  Pnblius,  what  hast  thou  done  ? 
See,  see,  thou  hast  shot  off  one  of  Taurus'  horns. 

Mar.  This  was  the  sport,  my  lord  :  when  Pnblius 
shot, 

The  bull  bemg  gall'd  gaves  Tries  such  a  knock, 
That  down  fell  b(.th  the  Ram's  horns  in  the  court, 
And  who  should  find  them  but  the  empress'  villain? 
She  laugh'd,  and  told  the  Moor,  he  should  not  choose 
But  give  them  to  his  master  for  a  present.  ' 

TiL  Why,  there  it  goes :  God  give  your  lordship 
joyl 


Enter  a  Clown,  with  a  baslet,  and  two  pigeons. 

News,  news  from  heaven  !    Marcus,  the  post  if 
come. — 

Sirrah,  what  tidings  !  have  you  any  letters  ? 
Shall  I  have  justice?  what  says  Jupiter? 

Clo.  Ho !  the  gibbet-maker  ?  he  says,  that  he 
hath  taken  them  down  again,  for  the  man  must  noi 
be  hanged  till  the  next  week. 

Tit.  But  what  says  Jupiter,  I  ask  thee  ? 

Clo.  Alas,  sir,  I  know  not  Jupiter;  I  never  drank 
with  him  in  all  my  life. 

Tit.  Why,  villain,  art  thou  not  the  carrier  ? 

Clo.  Ay,  of  my  pigeons,  sir;  nothing  else. 

Tit.  V^  hy,  didst  thou  not  come  from  heaven » 

Cio.  From  heaven?  alas,  sir,  I  never  came  there: 
God  forbid,  I  should  be  so  bold  to  press  to  heaven 
in  my  young  days.  Why,  J  am  going  with  my 
pigeons  to  the  tribunal  plebs,  to  take  up  a  matter  of 
brawl  betwixt  my  uncle  and  one  of  the  emperial's 
men. 

Mar.  Why,  sir,  that  is  as  fit  as  can  be,  to  serve 
for  yonr  oration  ;  and  let  him  deliver  the  pigeons  to 
the  emperor  from  you. 

Tit.  Tell  me,  can  you  deliver  an  oration  to  the 
emperor  with  a  grace? 

Clo.  Nay,  truly,  sir,  I  could  never  say  grace  in 
all  my  life. 

Tit.  Sirrah,  come  hither ;  make  no  more  ado. 
But  give  your  pigeons  to  the  emj>eror: 
By  me  thou  shalt  have  justice  at  his  hands. 
Hold,  hold  ; — mean  while,  here's  money  for  thj 

charges. 
Give  me  a  pen  and  ink. — 

Sirrah,  can  you  with  a  grace  deliver  a  supplication? 
Clo.  Ay,  sir. 

Tit.  Then  here  is  a  supplication  for  you.  And 
when  you  come  to  him,  at  ihe  finst  approach,  yoQ 
must  kneel;  then  kiss  his  foot;  then  deliver  up 
your  pigeons;  and  then  look  for  your  reward:  I'D 
be  at  hand,  sir;  see  yon  do  it  bravely. 

Clo.  1  warrant  yon,  sir;  let  me  alone. 

Tit.  Sirrah,  hast  thou  a  knife  ?  Come,  let  me  see  Ht 
Here,  Marcus,  fold  it  in  the  oration  ; 
For  thou  hast  made  it  like  an  humble  suppliants— 
And  when  thou  hast  given  it  to  the  emperor, 
Knock  at  my  door,  and  tell  me  what  he  says. 

C/o.  God  be  with  you,  sir;  1  will. 

Tit.  Come,  Marcus,  let's  go: — Publins,  follow 
me.  [Exeuni, 

Scene  \Y.-—The  same.    Before  the  Palace, 

Enter  Saturninus,  Tamora.  Chiron,  Demetrius, 
Lords,  and  others.    Saturninus,  with  the  ar- 
rows in  his  hand,  that  Titus  shot. 
Sat.  Why,  lords,  what  wrongs  are  these  ?  Was 
ever  seen 
An  emperor  of  Rome  thus  overborne, 
Troubled,  confronted  thus ;  and,  for  the  extent 
Of  legal  justice,  us'd  in  such  contempt  ? 
My  lords,  you  know,  as  do  tiie  mightful  gods. 
However  these  disturbers  of  our  peace 
Bnz  in  the  people's  ears,  there  nought  hath 
But  even  with  law,  against  the  wiliul  .sons 
Of  old  Andi  onicus.    And  what  an  if 
His  sorrows  have  so  overwhelm'd  his  wits, 
Shall  we  be  thus  afflicted  in  his  wreaks. 
His  fits,  his  frenzy,  and  his  bitterness  ? 
And  now  he  writes  to  beat  en  for  his  redress  I 
See,  here's  to  Jove,  and  this  to  Mercury; 
This  to  Apollo  ;  this  to  the  god  of  war : 
Sweet  scrolls  to  fiy  about  the  streets  of  Ro^', 
What's  this,  but  libelling  again.'st  the  sentuie^ 
And  blazoning  c?ur  injustice  every  where? 
A  goodly  humour,  is  it  not,  my  lords? 
As  w  ho  should  say,  in  Rome  no  justice  weer 
But,  if  1  live,  his  fieigned  ecstacies 
Shall  be  no  shelter  to  "these  outrages: 
But  he  and  his  shall  know,  that  justice  live* 
In  Saturninus'  health  :  whom,  if  she  sleep. 


m 


TITUS  ANDRONTCUS 


Act  V 


c'll  so  awake,  as  she  iu  fury  shall 
Cat  off  the  proud"st  conspirator  that  lives. 

Tarn.  My  giacioiis  lord,  my  lovely  Saturnine, 
Lord  of  my  life,  coiiuiiander  of  my  thoughts. 
Calm  thee,  and  bear  the  fault  of  Titiis'  age, 

he  effects  of  sorrow  for  his  valiant  sons. 
Whose  loss  hath  pierc'd  him  deep,  and  scarr'd  his 
heart ; 

And  rather  comfort  his  distressed  plight, 

Than  prosecute  the  meanest,  or  the  hest. 

For  these  contempts.— Why,  thus  it  shall  become 

High-witted  Tamora  to  gloze  with  all :  {Aside.) 

But,  Titus,  I  have  touch'd  thee  to  the  quick. 

Thy  life-blood  out:  if  Aaron  now  be  wise, 

Then  is  all  safe,  the  anchor's  in  the  port. — 

Enter  Clown. 
How  now,  good  fellow  ?  would'st  thou  speak  with  us  ? 

Clo.  Yes,  forsooth,  an  your  mistership  be  imperial. 

7 vat/w.  Empress  [  am,  but  yonder  sits  the  emperor. 

Clo.  'Tis  he. — God,  and  saint  Stephen,  give  you 
good  den :  I  have  brought  you  a  letter,  and  a  couple 
of  pigeons  here.        {Saturninus  reads  the  letter.) 

Sat.  Go,  take  him  away,  and  hang  him  presently. 

Clo.  How  much  money  must  I  have  ? 

Tarn.  Cotne,  sirrah,  you  must  be  hang'd. 

Clo.  Hang'd  I  By'r  lady,  then  I  have  brought  up  a 
neck  to  a  fair  end.  {Exit,  guarded.) 

Sat.  Despiteful  and  intolerable  wrongs  f 
Shall  I  endure  this  monstrous  villany  ? 
1  know  from  whence  this  same  device  proceeds ; 
May  this  be  borne  ?— as  if  his  traitorous  sons, 
That  died  by  law  for  murder  of  our  brother, 

Ha\  e  by  my  means  been  butcher'd  wrongfully.  

Go,  drag  the  villain  hither  by  the  hair  ; 

Nor  age,  nor  honour,  shall  shape  privilege.  

For  this  proud  mock,  I'll  be  thy  slaughter-man  ; 
Sly  frantic  wretch,  that  holp'st  to  make  me  great, 
fn  hope  thyself  should  govern  Rome  and  me. 

Enter  JEmhivs. 
What  news  with  thee,  ^^milius? 
jEmil.  Arm,  arm,  my  lords  ;  Rome  never  had 
more  cause  ! 

The  Goths  have  gather'd  head  ;  and  with  a  power 

Of  high-resolved  men,  bent  to  the  spoil. 

They  hither  march  amain,  under  conduct 

Of  Lucius,  son  to  old  Andronicus; 

Who  threats,  in  course  of  this  revenge,  to  do 

As  much  as  ever  Coriolauus  did. 

Sat.  Is  warlike  Lucius  general  of  the  Goths? 
These  tidings  nip  me;  and  J  hang  the  head 
As  flowers  with  frost,  or  grass  beat  down  with 
storms. 

Ay,  now  begin  our  sorrows  to  approach  : 
Tis  he  the  common  people  love  so  nuich  • 

Myself  hath  often  overheard  them  say,  ' 
When  I  have  walked  like  a  private  man. 

That  Lucius'  banishtnent  was  wrongfully. 

And  they  have  wish'd  that  Lucius  were' their  ew. 

rp  I    ,j         .  [strong? 

Tarn.  Why  should  you  fear?  is  not  foui'  city 
Sat.  Ay,  but  the  citizens  favour  Lucius; 
^lid  will  revolt  from  me,  to  succour  him.  [name. 

thy 


Ta7n.  Kmg,  be  thy  thoughts  impcricns.  iike 
Is  the  sun  dimm'd,  triat  knats  do  fly  it  it  ? 
The  eagle  suffers  little  birds  to  sing, 
\nd  is  not  careful  what  they  uean  thereby  • 
Knowing  that  with  the  shadov  of  his  wings*, 
rie  can  at  pleasure  stint  their  mplody:  "  ' 
Even  so  may'st  thou  the  giddv  men  of  Rome. 
Then  cheer  thy  spiriT  :  for  know,  thou  emperor, 

will  enchant  the  old  Andronicus 
With  words  more  sweet,  and  yet  more  dangerous 
han  baits  to  fish,  or  honey-stalks  to  sheep  ;       ,  ' 
en  as  the  o^e  is  wounded  with  the  bait,' 
e  othtr  rotied  with  delicious  feed. 
Sat,  Bat  he  will  not  entreat  his  son  for  ns. 
If  Tamora  entreat  him,  then  he  will: 
r-/  I  can  smooth,  and  fill  his  aged  ear 


With  golden  promises :  that  were  his  heart 
Almost  impregnable,  his  old  ears  deaf. 

Vet  shoidd  both  ear  and  heart  obey  my  tongue.  

Go  thou  before,  be  our  ambassador  :     {To  jEmil.] 
Say,  that  the  emperor  requests  a  parley 
Of  warlike  Lucius,  and  appoint  the  meeting, 
Lven  at  his  father's  house,  tfse  old  Andronicus, 

Sat.  vEmilius,  do  this  message  honourably  : 
Aiid  if  he  stand  on  hostage  for  his  safety, 
Bid  him  demand  what  pledge  will  please  him  bes 

^m/.  Your  bidding  shall  I  do  effectually. 

rr      XT       •,.  X  lExit  Jblmilim 

Tarn.  Now  will  I  to  that  old  Andronicus  : 

And  temper  him,  with  all  the  art  1  hale. 

To  ijluck  proud  Lucius  from  the  warlike  Goths. 

And  now,  sweet  emperor,  be  blithe  again. 

And  burjr  all  thy  fear  in  my  devices. 

Sat.  Then  go  successfully,  and  plead  to  him. 

L  Exeunt. 

ACT.  V. 
Scene  l.-^Plains  near  Rome. 
Enter  Lucius  and  Goths,  with  drum  and  colours. 

Luc.  Approved  warriors,  and  my  faithful  friends, 
1  have  received  letters  from  great  Rome, 
Which  signify,  what  hate  they  bear  their  emperor. 
And  how  desirous  of  our  sight  they  are. 
Therefore,  great  lords,  be,  as  your  titles  witness 
Imperious,  and  impatient  of  your  wrongs  : 
And,  wherein  Rome  hath  done  you  any  scath. 
Let  him  make  treble  satisfaction. 
1  Goth.  Brave  slip,  sprung  from  the  great  A> 
dronicus. 

Whose  name  was  once  our  terror,  now  our  coi  .far* 
Whose  high  exploits,  and  honourable  deeds, 
Ingrateful  Rome  requites  with  Ibul  contempt. 
Be  bold  in  us:  we'll  Ibllow  where  thou  leai'st,— 
Like  stinging  bees  in  hottest  summer's  day. 
Led  by  tlieir  master  to  the  fiower'd  fields,— 
And  be  aveng'd  on  cursed  Tamora. 

Goths.  And,  as  he  saith,  so  sar^  we  all  with  him. 

Luc.  I  humbly  thank  him,  and  I  tnank  you  all. 
But  who  comes  liere,  led  by  &  lusty  Goth  ? 

Enter  a  Goth,  leading  Aaron,  tvith  his  child  in 
his  arvis. 


2  Goth.  Renowned  Lucius 
stray 'd. 

To  gaze  upon  a  ruinous  monastery  : 
And  as  I  earnestly  did  fix  mine  eye 
Upon  the  wasted  building,  suddenly 
I  heard  a  child  cry  underneath  a  wa 
I  made  unto  the  noise 


from  our  troops  \ 


wall : 


 -  ,  when  soon  I  heard 

1  he  crying  babe  coutroU'd  with  this  discourse  : 
Peace,  tcMny  slave,  half  me,  and  half  thy  dam! 
JJidnoi  thy  hue  bewray  whose  brat  thou  art, 
Had  nature  lent  thee  but  thy  mother's  look, 
Villain,  thou  mighVst  have  been  an  emperor: 
But  where  the  bull  and  cow  are  both  milk-white, 
Ihey  never  do  beget  a  coal-black  calf. 
Peace,  villain,  peace!— even  thus  he  rates  the 
babe, — 

For  I  must  hear  thee  to  a  trusty  Goth  ; 
^^po,  when  he  knows  thou  art  the  empress'  babe, 
Will  hold  thee  dearly  for  thy  mother's  sake. 
VV  ith  this,  my  weapon  drawn,  I  ru.?h'd  upon  him 
Surpns'd  him  suddenly;  and  brought  him  hither, 
lo  use  as  you  think  needful  of  tlie  man. 

Luc.  O  worthy  Goth  !  this  is  the  incarnate  devil, 
rhat  robb'd  Andronicus  of  his  good  hand: 
i  ins  is  the  pearl  that  pleas 'd  your  empress'  eye  ; 
And  here's  the  base  fruit  of  his  burning  lust.— 
Say,  wall-ey'd  slave,  whither  would'st  thou  convey 
I  his  growing  image  of  thy  fiend-like  face? 
Why  dost  not  speak  ?  What !  deaf?  No ;  not  a  word  ? 
A  halter,  soldiers:  hang  him  on  this  tree, 
And  by  his  side  his  fruit  of  bastardy. 

Aar,  Touch  not  the  boy,  he  is  of  royal  blood. 

Luc.  Too  like  the  sire  lor  ever  being  good.  

First  hang  the  child,  tliat  he  may  see  it  sprawl; 


% 


(Scene  2. 


TTTUS  ANDRONICUS. 


671 


A  sight  to  vex  the  father's  soul  withal. 
Get  me  a  ladder. 

(  J.  ladder  brought,  which  Aaron  is  obliged 

to  ascend.) 
Anr.  Lucius,  save  the  child  ; 

And  bear  it  from  me  to  the  emperess. 
If  thou  do  this,  I'll  shew  thee  wond'rous  things, 
That  highly  m?y  advantage  thee  to  hear  : 
If  thou  wilt  not,  befall  what  may  befall, 
I'll  speak  no  more  ;  but  vengeance  rot  you  all ! 
Luc.   Say  on ;  and,  it  if  please  me  which  thou 
speak'st, 

Thy  child  shall  live,  and  I  will  see  it  nourish'd. 
Aar.  An  if  it  please  thee  ?  why,  assure  thee,  Lu- 
cius, 

Twill  vex  thy  soul  to  hear  what  I  shall  speak: 
For  I  must  talk  of  murders,  rapes,  and  massacres, 
Acts  of  black  night,  abominable  deeds, 
Complots  of  mischief,  treason;  villanies 
Ruthful  to  hear,  yet  piteously  perform'd  : 
And  this  shall  all  be  buried  by  my  death, 
Unless  thou  swear  to  me,  my  child  shall  live. 

Luc.  Tell  on  thy  mind  ;  I  say,  thy  child  shall  live. 

Aar.  Swear  that  he  shall,  and  then  I  will  begin. 

Luc.  Who  should  I  swear  by  ?  thou  believ'st  no 
god ; 

That  granted,  how  canst  thou  believe  an  oath  ? 

Aar.  What  if  I  do  not?  as,  indeed,  I  do  not : 
Yet, — for  I  know  thou  art  religious, 
And  hast  a  thing  within  thee,  called  conscience  ; 
And  twenty  popish  tricks  and  ceremonies. 
Which  I  have  seen  thee  careful  to  observe, — 
Hierefore  I  urge  thy  oatli :  For  that,  I  know. 
An  idiot  hold  his  bauble  for  a  god. 
And  keeps  the  oath,  which  by  that  god  he  swears  ; 
To  that  I'll  urge  him  : — Therefore,  thou  shalt  vovr 
By  that  same  god,  what  god  soe'er  it  be. 
That  thou  ador'st  and  hast  in  reverence, — 
To  save  my  boy,  to  nourish,  and  bring  him  up; 
Or  else  I  will  discover  nought  to  thee. 

Luc,  Even  by  my  god,  1  swear  to  thee,  I  will. 

Aar.  First,  know  thou,  I  begot  him  on  the  em- 
press. 

Luc.  O  most  insatiate,  luxurious  woman  ! 

Aar.  Tut,  Lucius  !  this  was  but  a  deed  of  charity, 
To  that  which  thou  shalt  hear  of  ine  an(m. 
*Twas  her  two  sons  that  murder'd  Bassianus : 
They  cut  thy  sister's  tongue,  and  ravish'd  her, 
And  cut  her  hands ;  and  trimm'd  her  as  thou  saw'st. 

Luc.  O  detestable  villain  !  cali'st  thou  that  trim- 
ming? [and  'twas 

Aar.  Why,  she  was  wash'd,  and  cut,  and  trimm'd  ; 
TiTin  sport  for  them  that  had  the  doing  of  it. 

Luc.  O,  barbarous,  beastly  villains,  like  thyself! 

Aar.  Indeed,  I  was  their  tutor  to  instruct  them  ; 
That  codding  spirit  had  (hey  from  their  mother, 
As  sure  a  card  as  ever  won  the  set ; 
That  bloody  mind,  I  think,  they  learn'd  of  me. 
As  true  a  dog  as  ever  fought  at  head. — 
We!!,  let  my  deeds  !je  witness  of  my  worth. 
I  tiaiu'd  thy  brethren  to  that  guileful  hole, 
Where  the  dead  corpse  of  IJassianus  lay : 
I  wrote  the  letter  that  thy  father  found. 
And  hid  the  gold  within  the  letter  mention'd. 
Confederate  with  the  queen,  and  her  two  sons; 
And  what  not  done,  that  thou  hast  cause  to  rue, 
Wherein  I  had  no  stroke  of  mischief  in  it  ? 
I  play'd  the  cheater  for  thy  father's  hand  ; 
And  whi  n  1  had  it,  drew  myself  apart, 
And  almost  broke  my  heart  with  extreme  laughter. 
I  pry'd  me  through  the  crevice  of  a  wall, 
VVhen,  for  his  hand,  he  had  his  two  sons'  heads: 
Beh^^ld  his  tears,  and  laugh'd  so  heartily, 
That  both  mine  eyes  were  rainy  like  to  his  ; 
Aud  when  I  told  the  empress  of  tliis  sport. 
She  swouiided  almoi?t  at  my  pleasing  tale, 
And,  for  my  tidings,  gave  me  twenty  kisses. 

Goth.  What!  canst  thou  say  all  this,  and  never 
bhsh  ? 

Aar.  Ay  like  a  black  dog,  as  the  saying  v 


Lue.  Art  thou  not  sorry  for  these  heinous  deeds? 

Aar.  Ay,  that  I  had  not  done  a  thousand  m^re. 
Even  now  I  curse  the  day,  (and  yet,  I  think. 
Few  come  within  the  compass  of  my  curse,) 
Wherein  I  did  not  some  notorious  ill : 
As  kill  a  man,  or  else  devise  his  death; 
Ravish  a  maid,  or  plot  the  way  to  do  it; 
Accuse  some  innocent,  and  forswear  myself; 
Set  deadly  enmity  between  two  friends  ; 
Make  poor  men's  cattle  break  their  necks  ; 
Set  fire  on  barns  and  hay-stacks  in  the  night. 
And  bid  the  owners  quench  them  with  thfdr  tear* 
Oft  have  I  digg'd  up  dead  men  from  their  grave*, 
And  set  them  upright  at  their  dear  friends'  doors. 
Even  when  their  sorrows  almost  were  forgot; 
And  on  their  skins,  as  on  the  bark  of  trees. 
Have  with  my  knife  carved  in  Roman  letters. 
Let  not  your  sorrow  die,  though  I  am  dead. 
Tut,  1  have  done  a  thousand  dreadful  things. 
As  willingly  as  one  would  kill  a  fly  ; 
And  nothing  grieves  me  heartily  indeed. 
But  that  I  cannot  do  ten  thousand  more. 

Luc.  Bring  down  the  devil ;  for  he  nuist  not  dw 
So  sweet  a  death  as  hanging  presently. 

Aar.  If  there  be  devils,  would  I  were  a  devil. 
To  live  and  burn  in  everlasting  fire  ; 
So  I  might  have  your  company  in  hell, 
But  to  torment  you  with  my  bitter  toneue ! 

Luc.  Sirs,  stop  his  mouth,  and  let  Tiim  speak  M 
more. 

Enter  a  Goth. 

Goth.  My  lord,  there  is  a  messenger  from  Rome 
Desires  to  be  admitted  to  your  presence. 

Luc.  Let  him  come  near. — 

Enter  MmiAHS. 
Welcome,  iEmilius,  what's  the  news  from  Rome? 

j^mil.  Lord  Lucius,  arid  you  princes  of  the  Gothflb 
The  Roman  eniperor  greets  yt)u  all  by  me  : 
And,  for  he  understands  you  are  in  arms, 
He  craves  a  parley  at  your  father's  house  5 
Wilhng  you  to  demand  your  hostages, 
And  they  shall  be  immediately  deliver'd. 

1  Goth.  What  says  our  general  ? 

Luc.  iEmilius,  let  the  emperor  give  his  pledge* 
Unto  my  father  and  my  uncle  Marcus, 
And  we  will  come. — March  away.  [Exsuntt 

Scene  U.—Rome.    Before  Titus's  House. 
Enter  Tamora,  Chiron,  and  Demetrius, 
disguised. 

Tarn.  Thus,  in  this  strange  and  sad  habiliment, 
I  will  encounter  with  Andronicus  ; 
And  say,  I  am  Revenge,  sent  from  below. 
To  join  with  him,  and  right  his  heinous  wrongs. 
Knock  at  his  study,  where,  tliey  say,  he  keeps. 
To  ruminate  strange  plots  of  dire  revenge; 
Tell  him,  Revenge  is  come  to  join  with  him, 
And  work  confusion  on  his  enemies.  {They  knock*) 

Enter  Titus,  above. 

Tit.  Who  doth  molest  my  contemplation? 
Is  it  your  trick,  to  make  me  ope  the  door; 
That  so  my  ^ad  decrees  may  fly  away. 
And  all  my  study  be  to  no  effect? 
You  are  deceiv'd  :  for  what  I  mean  to  do. 
See  here,  in  bloody  lines  I  have  set  dov/n; 
And  what  is  written  shall  be  executed. 

Tarn.  Titus,  I  am  come  to  talk  with  thee 

Tit.  No,  not  a  word  :  How  can  I  grace  nay  talk* 
Wanting  a  hand  to  give  it  action? 
Thou  hast  the  odds  of  me,  therefore  no  more. 

Tarn.  If  thou  did'st  know  me,  thou  would'st  lalk 
with  nje. 

Tit.  I  am  not  mad  ;  I  know  thee  well  enough  : 
Witness  this  wretched  stump,  these  crimso.i  linesf 
Witness  these  trenches,  made  by  grief  and  care; 
Witness  the  tiring  day,  and  heavy  night ; 
Witness  all  sorrow,  that  1  know  thee  well 
For  our  proud  empress,  mighty  Tamora: 


6T2 


TITUS  ANDROXTCUS. 


Act  V 


fs  not  thy  coming  for  my  other  hand  ? 

Tarn.  Know  thon,  sad  man,  I  am  notTamora; 
She  is  thy  enemy,  and  I  thy  friend : 
I  am  Revenge  ;  sent  from  the  infernal  kingdom. 
To  ease  the  gnawing  vulture  of  thy  mind, 
By  working  wreakfiil  vengeance  on  thy  foes. 
Come  down,  and  welcome  me  to  this  world's  light ; 
Confer  with  me  of  murder  and  of  death  : 
There's  not  a  hollow  cave,  nor  lurking-place, 
No  vast  obscurity,  or  misty  vale, 
Where  bloody  murder,  or  detested  rape. 
Can  couch  for  fear,  but  I  will  find  them  out; 
And  in  their  ears  tell  them  my  dreadful  name. 
Revenge,  which  makes  the  foul  oftender  quake. 

Tit.  Art  thou  Revenge  ?  and  art  thou  sent  to  me, 
To  be  a  torment  to  mine  enemies?  [me. 

Tarn.  I  am  ;  therefore  come  down,  and  welcome 

Tit,  Do  me  some  service,  ere  I  come  to  thee. 
Lo,  by  thy  side  where  Rape,  and  Murder,  stands; 
Now  give  some  'surance  that  thou  art  Revenge, 
Stab  them,  or  tear  them  on  thy  chariot  wheels; 
And  then  I'll  come,  and  be  thy  waggoner. 
And  whirl  along  with  thee  about  the  globes. 
Provide  thee  proper  palfries,  black  as  jet, 
To  hale  thy  vengeful  waggon  swift  away. 
And  hnd  out  murderers  in  their  guilty  caves  : 
And,  when  thy  car  is  loaden  with  their  heads, 
I  will  dismount,  and  by  the  waggon  wheel 
Trot,  like  a  servile  footman,  all  day  long; 
Even  from  Hyperion's  rising  in  the  east, 
Until  his  very  downfall  in  the  sea. 
And  day  by  day  I'll  do  this  heavy  task. 
So  thou  destroy  Rapine  and  Murder  there. 

Tarn.  These  are  my  ministers,  and  come  with  me. 

Tit.  Are  they  thy  ministers  i  what  are  they 
call'd  > 

Tarn.  Rapine,  and  Murder;  therefore  called  so, 
'Cause  they  take  vengeance  of  such  kind  of  men. 
Tit..  Good  lord,  how  like  the  empress'  sons  they 
are ! 

And  you  the  empress!  But  we  wordly  men 
Flave  miserable,  mad,  mistaking  eyes. 

0  sweet  Revenge,  now  do  I  come  to  thee  : 
And,  if  one  arm  s  embracement  will  content  thee, 

1  will  embrace  thee  iu  it  by  and  by. 

[Exit  Titus,  from  above. 
Tarn.  This  closing  with  him  fits  his  lunacy  : 
Whate'er  I  forge,  to  feed  his  brain-sick  fits. 
Do  you  uphold  and  maintain  in  your  speeches. 
For  now  lie  firmly  takes  me  for  Revenge; 
And,  being  credulous  in  this  mad  thought, 
I'll  make  him  send  for  Lucius,  his  son; 
And,  whilst  I  at  a  banquet  hold  him  sure, 
I'll  find  some  cunning  practice  out  of  hand. 
To  scatter  and  disperse  the  giddy  Goths, 
Or,  at  the  least,  nmke  them  his  enemies. 
See,  here  he  comes,  and  I  must  ply  my  theme. 

Enter  TiTUS. 

Tit.  Long  have  I  been  forlorn,  and  all  for  thee  : 
Welcome,  dread  fury,  to  my  vvoful  house; — 
Rapine,  and  Murder,  you  are  welcome  too  : — 
How  like  the  empress  and  her  sons  you  are  ! 
VV'ell  are  you  fitted,  had  you  but  a  Moor; — 
Could  not  all  hell  afford  you  such  a  devil  ? 
i-'or,  well  1  wot,  the  empress  never  wags. 
Hut  in  her  company  there  is  a  Moor; 
And,  would  you  represent  our  queen  aright. 
It  were  convenient  you  had  such  a  devil : 
But  welcome,  as  you  are.    What  shall  we  do? 

Tton.  VVhat  would'st  thou  have  us  do,  Andro- 

IllCUS? 

i)etn.  Shew  me  a  murderer,  I'll  deal  with  him. 
(//«".  Siiew  me  a  villain,  that  hath  done  a  rape. 
And  i  am  sent  to  be  reveng'd  on  him. 

Tani.  Shew  me  a  thousand,  that  have  done  thee 
wrong. 

And  I  will  be  revenged  on  them  all.  [Rome ; 

Tit.  Look  round  about  the  wicked  streets  of 
&ad  uhen  thou  find'st  a  man  that's  like  thyself, 


Good  Murder,  stab  him    he's  a  murderer. — 

Go  thou  with  him  ;  and  wnen  it  is  thy  hap. 

To  find  another  that  is  like  to  thee, 

Good  Rapine,  stab  him ;  he  is  a  ravisher.— 

Go  thou  with  them ;  and  in  the  emperor's  coart 

There  is  a  queen,  attended  by  a  Moor; 

Well  may'st  thou  know  her  by  thy  own  proportl(»| 

For  up  and  down  she  doth  resemble  thee ; 

I  pray  thee,  do  on  them  some  violent  death, 

They  have  been  violent  to  me  and  mine. 

Tarn.  Well  hast  thou  lesson'd  us ;  this  shall  we  do. 
But  would  it  please  thee,  good  Andronicus, 
To  send  for  Lucius,  thy  thrice  valiant  son, 
Who  leads  towards  Rome  a  band  of  warlike  Goths, 
And  bid  him  come  and  banquet  at  thy  house  : 
When  he  is  here,  even  at  thy  solemn  feast, 
I  will  bring  in  the  empress  and  her  sons. 
The  emperor  himself,  and  all  thy  foes ; 
And  at  thy  mercy  shall  they  stoop  and  kneel. 
And  on  them  shalt  thou  ease  thy  angry  heart. 
What  says  Andronicus  to  this  device  ? 

Tit.  Marcus,  my  brother! — 'tis  sad  Titus  calk 

Enter  Marcus« 

Go,  gentfe  Marcus,  to  thy  nephew  Lucius; 
Thou  shalt  inquire  him  out  among  the  Goths; 
Bid  him  repair  to  me,  and  bring  with  him 
Some  of  the  cliiefest  princes  of  the  Goths  ; 
Bid  him  encamp  his  soldiers  where  they  are  : 
Tell  him,  the  emperor  and  the  empress  too 
Feast  at  my  house  :  and  he  shall  feast  with  them. 
This  do  thou  for  my  love  :  and  so  let  him. 
As  he  regards  his  aged  father's  life. 

Mar.  This  will  I  do,  and  soon  return  again,  {Exit* 

Tarn.  Now  will  I  hence  about  thy  business, 
And  take  my  ministers  along  with  me. 

Tit.  Nay,  nay,  let  Rape  and  Murder  stay  with  me; 
Or  else  I'll  call  my  brother  back  again. 
And  cleave  to  no  revenge  but  Lucius, 

Tarn.  {To  her  Sons  )  What  say  you,  boys? 
you  abide  with  him, 
WTiiles  I  go  tell  my  lord  the  emperor. 
How  I  have  govern'd  our  determin'd  jest? 
Yield  to  this  humour,  smooth  and  speak  him  fair, 

(Aside.) 

And  tarry  with  him,  till  I  come  again. 

Tit.  I  know  them  all,  though  they  suppose  me  mad  j 
And  will  o'er-reach  them  in  their  own  devices; 
A  pair  of  cursed  hell-hounds,  and  tbeir  dam. 

Dem.  Madam,  depart  at  pleasure,  leave  us  here. 
Tarn.  Farewell,  Andronicus:  Revenge  now  goes 
To  lay  a  complot  to  betray  thy  foes.  [Exii» 
Tit.  I  know,  thou  dost;  and,  sweet  Revenge, 
farewell. 

Chi.  Tell  us,  old  man,  how  shall  we  beemploy'd  ? 
Tit.  Tut,  I  have  work  enough  for  you  to  do.— 
Publius,  come  hither,  Caius,  and  Valentine ! 

Enter  Publilts  and  others. 

Puh.  What's  your  will  ? 

Tit.  Know  you  these  two  ? 

Pub.  "^I  he  empress*  sobi^ 

I  take  them,  Chiron  and  Demetrius. 

Tit.  Fy,  Publius,  fy  !  thou  art  too  much  deceiv'cl; 
The  one  is  Murder,  Rape  is  the  other's  name : 
And  therefore  bind  them,  gentle  Publius; 
Caius,  and  Valentine,  lay  hands  on  them. 
Oft  have  you  heard  me  wish  for  such  an  hour> 
And  now  I  find  it ;  therefore  bind  them  sare. 
And  stop  their  mouths,  if  thev  begin  to  cry. 

[Exit  Titus. —Publius,  §fc.  lay  ht.]d on 
Chixijn  and  Demetrius. 

Chi  Villains,  forbear ;  we  are  the  empress'  sona 

Pub.  And  therefore  do  we  what  we  are  com. 
manded. — 

Stop  close  their  mouths,  let  them  not  speak  a  word: 
Is  he  sure  bound  ?  look,  that  you  bind  them  fast 


Scene  3 

i2e-ew^er  Titus  Andronicus,  with  hAvisix;  she 
bearing  a  baain,  and  he  a  knife. 

Tit,  Come,  come,  Laviuia ;  look,  thy  fees  are 
bound, — 

►Sirs,  stop  their  months,  let  them  not  speak  to  me; 
Cn<  let  thetn  hear  what  fearful  words  1  utter. — 

0  villains,  Chiron  and  Demetrius  !  [niud  ; 
Here  stands  the  spring  whom  you  have  stain'd  with 
This  g^oodly  summer  with  your  winter  mix'd. 

y^ou  kill'd  her  husband  ;  and,  fo"-  that  vile  fault, 
'i'wo  of  her  brothers  were  conderan'd  to  death  : 
My  hand  cut  off,  and  made  a  merry  jest :  [dear 
Both  her  sweet  hands,  her  tongue,  and  that,  more 
Than  hands  or  tongue,  her  spotless  chastity. 
Inhuman  traitors,  you  constrained  and  forc'd. 
What  vrould  you  say,  if  I  should  let  you  speak? 
Villains,  for  shame  you  could  not  beg  lor  grace. 
Hark,  wretches,  how  1  mean  to  martyr  you. 
This  ene  hand  yet  is  left  to  cut  your  throats ; 
Whilst  that  Lavinia  'tween  her  stumps  doth  hold 
The  basin,  that  receives  your  guilty  blood. 
You  know,  your  mother  means  to  feast  with  me. 
And  calls  herself,  Revenge,  and  thinks  me  mad. — 
Hark,  villains;  I  will  grind  your  bones  to  dust. 
And  with  your  blood  and  it,  I'll  make  a  paste ; 
And  of  the  paste  a  coffin  I  will  rear. 
And  make  two  pasties  of  your  shameful  heads; 
And  bid  that  strumpet,  your  unhallow'd  dam, 
Like  to  the  earth,  swallow  her  own  increase. 
This  is  the  feast  that  I  have  bid  her  to. 
And  this  the  banauet  she  shall  surfeit  on ; 
For  worse  than  Philomel  you  us'd  my  daughter. 
And  worse  than  Progne  I  will  be  reveng'd  : 
And  now  prepare  your  throats. — Lavinia,  come, 

{He  cuts  their  throats.) 
Receive  the  blood  :  and,  when  that  they  are  dead, 
Let  me  go  grind  their  bones  to  powder  small. 
And  with  this  hateful  liquor  temper  it; 
And  in  that  paste  let  their  vile  heads  be  bak'd. 
Come,  come,  be  every  one  officious 
To  make  this  banquet ;  which  1  wish  may  prove 
More  stern  and  bloody  than  the  Centaurs'  feast. 
So,  now  bring  them  in,  for  I  will  play  the  cook, 
And  see  them  ready  'gainst  their  mother  comes. 

[Exeunt^  bearing  the  dead  bodies. 

Scene  III.  —  The  same.    A  Pavilion^  with 
tables,  §fc. 

.E'n^er  Lucius,  Marcus,  and  Goths,  ivith  Aaroih 
prisoner. 

Luc.  Uncle  Marcus,  since  'tis  my  father's  mind, 
That  I  repair  to  Rome,  I  am  content. 

]  Goth,  And  ours,  with  thine,  befall  what  fortune 
will. 

Luc.  Good  uncle,  take  you  in  this  barbarous 
Moor, 

This  ravenous  tiger,  this  accursed  devil ; 
Jjet  him  receive  no  sustenance,  fetter  him, 
Till  he  be  brought  unto  the  empress'  face. 
For  ';estimony  of  her  foul  proceedings  : 
And  see  the  ambush  of  our  friends  be  strong: 

1  fear  the  emperor  means  no  good  to  us. 

Aar.  Some  devil  whisper  curses  in  mine  ear. 
And  prompt  nie,  that  my  tongue  may  utter  forth 
The  venomous  malice  of  my  swelling  heart ! 

Luc.  Away,  inhiunan  dog !  unhallow'd  slave  ! — 
Sirs,  help  our  uncle  to  convey  him  in. — 

[Exetmt  Goths,  with  Aaron.  Flourish. 
The  tiumpets  shew  the  emperor  is  at  hand. 

Ente*  Saturninus  and  Tamoka,  ivith  Tribunes, 
Senators,  and  others. 
Sat.  What,  hath  the  firmament  more  suns  than 
one  ? 

Luc.  What  boots  it  thee,  to  call  thyself  a  sun  ? 
Mar.  Rome's  emperor,  and  nephew,  break  the 
parle ; 

These  quarrels  must  be  quietly  debated. 
The  feast  is  ready,  which  the  careful  I'itus 


G7fi 

Hath  6rdain'd  to  an  honourable  end, 
For  peace,  for  love,  for  league,  and  good  to  Roiat'  r 
Plense  you,  therefore,  draw  nigh,  and  take  yoi» 
Sat.  Marcus,  we  will.  [places. 
{Hautboys  sound.  The  Company  sit  down  at 
table.) 

EnterTnus,  dressed  like  a  cook,  Lavinia,  veiled 
young  Lucius,  and  others.  Titus  placet,  ih 
dishes  on  the  table. 

Tit.  Welcome,    y  gracious  lord  ;  welcome,  drea 
queen ; 

Welcome,  ye  warlike  Goths;  welcome,  Lticiur; 
And  welcome,  all  .  although  the  cheer  he  poor, 
'Twill  fill  your  stomachs ;  please  you,  eat  of  it. 

Sat.  Why  art  thou  thus  attir'd,  Andronicus? 

Tit.  Because  I  would  be  sure  to  have  all  well 
To  entertain  your  highness,  and  your  empress. 

Tarn.  We  are  beholden  to  you,  good  AndronicuB. 

Tit.  An  if  your  highness  knew  my  heart,  you  were. 
My  lord  the  emperor,  resolve  me  this; 
Was  it  well  done  of  rash  Virginius, 
To  slay  his  daughter  with  his  own  right  hand. 
Because  she  was  enforc'd,  stain'd,  and  deliour'd? 

Sat.  It  was,  Andronicus. 

Tit.  Your  reason,  mighty  lord  ?  [shajue. 

Sat,  Because  the  girl  should  not  survive  her 
And  by  "'":r  presence  still  renew  his  sorrows. 

Tit.  A  reason  mighty,  strong,  and  effectual ; 
A  pattern,  precedent,  and  lively  warrant 
For  me,  most  wretched,  to  perform  the  like 
Die,  die,  Lavinia,  and  thy  shame  with  thee ; 

{He  kills  Lavinia.) 
And  with  thy  shame,  thy  father's  sorrow  die  ! 

Sat,  What  hast  thou  done,  unnatural,  and  un- 
kind? [me  blind. 

Tit.  Kill'd  her,  for  whom  my  tears  have  made 
I  am  as  woful  as  Virginius  was  ; 
And  have  a  thousand  times  more  cause  than  he 
'i'o  do  this  outrage  ; — and  it  is  now  done. 

Sat.  What,  was  she  ravish'd  ?  tell,  who  did  the 
deed.  [highness  feed  ? 

Tit.  Will't  please  you  eat?  will't  please  your 

Tarn.  Why  hast  thou  slain  thine  only  daught 
thus  ? 

Tit.  Not  I;  'twas  Chiron,  and  Demetrius: 
They  ravish'd  her,  and  cutaway  her  tongue. 
And  they,  'twas  they,  that  did  her  all  this  wrong. 
Sat.  Go,  fetch  them  hither  to  us  presently. 
Tit,  Why,  there  they  are  both,  baked  in  that  pi©,'; 
Whereof  their  mother  daintily  hath  fed, 
Eating  the  flesh  that  she  herself  hath  bred. 
'Tis  true,  'tis  ti-ue ;  witness  ray  knife's  sharp  point. 

{Killing  Tamora.) 
Sat.  Die,  frantic  wretch,  for  this  accursed  deed 
(^Killing  Titus.) 
Luc.  Can  the  son's  eye  behold  his  father  bleed  ? 
There's  meed  for  meed,  death  for  a  deadly  deed. 
{Kills  Saturninus.  A  great  tumult.  The  peo- 
ple in  confusion  disperse.  Marcus,  Lucius^ 
and  their  partisans  ascend  the  steps  before 
Titus's  house.) 
Mar.  You  sad-fac'd  men,  people  and  .sons  oi 
By  uproar  sever'd,  like  a  flight  of  fowl  [Romo, 
Scatter'd  by  winds  and  high  tempestuous  gusts, 
O,  let  me  teach  you  how  to  knit  again 
This  scatter'd  corn  into  one  mutual  sheaf. 
These  broken  limbs  again  into  one  body. 

Sen.  Lest  Rome  herself  be  bane  unto  herself; 
And  she,  whom  mighty  kingdoms  court'sy  to, 
Like  a  forlorn  and  desperate  ca.st-away, 
Uo  shameful  execution  on  herself 
But  if  my  frosty  signs  and  chaps  of  age. 
Grave  vvitnesses  of  true  experience, 
Cannot  induce  you  to  attend  my  words, — 
Speak,  Rome's  dear  friend ;  {To  Lucius)  as  erst  ou 
ancestor, 

When  with  his  solemn  tongue  he  did  discourse, 
To  love-sick  Dido's  sad  attending  ear, 
The  story  of  thit  baleful  burning  night, 

43 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS.^ 


674 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Act  V. 


Wlien  subtle  Greeks  surpris'd  ki,jg  Priam's  Troy  ; 

Tell  »8,  what  SinoTi  hath  bewitrch'd  our  eats. 

Or  who  bath  brought  the  fatal  engine  in. 

That  gi'-fs  our  Troy,  our  Rome,  the  civil  wound. — 

My  heart  is  not  compact  of  flint,  nor  steel ; 

Nor  can  I    ter  all  our  bitter  grief, 

But  floods  of  tears  will  drown  my  oratory, 

And  break  my  very  utterance  ;  even  i'the  time 

VVlien  it  should  move  you  to  attend  me  most. 

Lending  your  kind  commiseration  : 

Here  is  a  captain,  let  him  tell  the  tale  ; 

Your  hearts  will  throb  and  weep  to  hear  him  speak. 

Lue.  Then,  noble  auditory,  be  it  known  to  you, 
That  cursed  Chiron  and  Demetrius 
VVere  they  that  murdered  our  emperor's  brother; 
And  they  it  were  that  ravished  our  sister  : 
For  their  fell  faults  our  brotliers  were  beheaded  ; 
Our  father's  tears  despis'd  ;  and  basely  cozen'd 
Of  that  true  hand,  that  fought  Rome's  quarrel  out, 
And  sent  her  enemies  unto  the  grave. 
Lastly,  myself  unkindly  banished, 
'i'he  gates  shut  on  me,  and  turn'd  weeping  out, 
To  beg  relief  among  Rome'a  enemies; 
Who  drown'd  their  enmity  in  my  true  tears, 
And  op'd  their  arms  to  embrace  me  as  a  friend  : 
And  I  am  the  turn'd-forth,  be  it  known  to  you. 
That  I  have  preserv'd  lier  welfare  in  my  blood; 
And  from  her  bosom  took  the  enemy's  point, 
Sheathing  the  steel  in  my  advent'rous  body. 
Alas  !  you  know,  I  am  no  vaunter,  1 ; 
IVly  scars  can  witness,  dumb  although  they  are. 
That  my  report  is  just,  and  full  of  truth. 
But,  suit;  methinks,  I  do  digress  too  much, 
Citing  iny  worthless  praise  :  O,  pardon  me  ; 
For  when  no  friends  are  by,  men  praise  themselves. 

Mar.  Now  is  my  turn  to  speak  :  Behold  this  child. 
\Pointi7i(j  to  the  Child  in  the  arms  of  an  At' 
tendant.) 

Of  this  was  Tamora  deliver'd  : 
The  issue  of  an  irreligious  Moor, 
Chief  architect  and  plotter  of  these  woes; 
'J'he  villain  is  alive  in  Titus'  house, 
Daufiti'd  as  he  is,  to  witness  this  is  true. 
Now  judge,  what  cause  had  Titus  to  revenge 
These  wrongs,  unspeakable,  past  patience. 
Or  more  than  any  living  man  could  bear. 
Now  you  have  heard  the  truth,  what  say  you, 
Romans? 

Have  we  done  aught  amiss?  Shew  us  wherein. 
And,  from  the  place  where  you  behold  us  now, 
'J'lie  poor  remainder  of  Andronici 
Will,  hand  in  hand,  all  headlong  cast  us  down, 
And  on  the  ragged  stones  beat  forth  our  brains. 
And  make  a  mutual  closurcof  our  house. 
Speak,  Romans,  speak;  and,  if  you  say,  we  shall, 
liO,  hand  in  hand,  Lucius  and  I  will  fall. 

JEmil.  Come,  come,  thou  reverend  man  of  Rome, 
And  bring  our  emperor  gently  in  thy  hand, 
Lucius  oiu-  emperor;  for,  well  I  know. 
The  corumon  voice  do  cry,  it  sliall  be  so. 

Rom.  {^Several  apeak.)  Lucius,  all  hail ;  Rome's 
royal  cmpernr!  {Lucius,  etc.  descend.) 

Mar.  Go,  go  into  old  Titus'  sorrowful  house ; 

{To  an  Attendant.) 
And  hither  hale  that  misbelieving  Moor, 
To  be  adjudg'd  some  direful  slaughtering  death, 
As  jjucishtnent  for  his  most  wicked  life. 


Rom.  {Several  speak.)  Lucius,  all  bail ;  Rotne'i 
gracious  governor ! 

Luc.  Thanks,  gentle  Romans  ;  May  I  govern  BO, 
To  heal  Rome's  harms,  and  wipe  away  her  woe ! 
But,  gentle  people,  give  me  aim  a  while, — 
For  nature  puts  me  to  a  heavy  task ; 
Stand  all  aloof; — but,  uncle,  draw  you  near, 
To  shed  obsequious  tears  upon  this  trunk  : — 
O,  take  this  warm  kiss  on  thy  pale  cold  lips, 

{Kisses  Titus) 

These  sorrowful  drops  upon  the  blood-staiu'd  face, 
The  last  true  duties  of  thy  noble  son  ! 

Mar.  Tear  for  tear,  and  loving  kiss  for  kiss, 
Thy  brother  Marcus  tenders  on  thy  lips  : 
O,  were  the  sum  of  these  (hat  I  should  pay 
Countless  and  infinite,  yet  would  1  pay  them ! 

Luc.  Come  hither,  boy ;  come,  come,  and  leara 
of  us 

To  melt  in  showers  :  Thy  erandsire  lov'd  thee  well : 

Many  a  time  he  danc'd  thee  on  his  knee. 

Sung  thee  asleep,  his  loving  breast  thy  pillow; 

Many  a  matter  hath  he  told  to  thee. 

Meet,  and  agreeing  with  thine  infancy; 

In  that  respect  then,  like  a  loving  child. 

Shed  yet  some  small  drops  from  thy  tender  spring. 

Because  kind  nature  doth  require  it  so  . 

Friends  should  associate  friends  in  grief  and  woe: 

Bid  him  farewell;  commit  him  to  the  grave  ; 

Do  him  that  kindness,  and  take  leave  of  him. 

Bor/.  O  grandsire,  grandsire !  even  with  all  mj 
heart 

Would  I  were  dead,  so  you  did  live  again  !— 

0  lord,  I  cannot  speak  to  him  for  weeping; 
My  tears  will  choke  me,  if  lope  my  mouth. 

Enter  Attendants,  with  Aaron. 

1  Rom.  You  sad  Andronici.  have  done  with  woeS} 
Give  sentence  on  this  execrable  wretch. 
That  hath  been  breeder  of  these  dire  events,  [hiro; 

Luc.  Set  him  breast-deep  in  earth,  and  famish 
There  let  him  stand,  and  rave  and  cry  for  fo»d  • 
If  any  one  relieves  or  pities  him. 
For  the  offence  he  dies.    This  is  our  doom 
Some  stay,  to  see  him  fasten'd  in  the  earth. 

Aar.  O,  why  should  wrath  be  mute,  and  iury 
dumb  ? 

1  am  no  baby,  I,  that  with  base  prayers, 
I  should  repent  the  evils  I  have  done  ; 
Ten  thousand,  worse  than  ever  yet  I  did, 
Would  I  perform,  if  I  might  have  my  w  ill  ; 
If  one  good  deed  in  all  my  life  I  did, 

I  do  repent  it  from  my  very  soul. 

Luc.   Some  loving  friends  convey  the  emperoi 
hence, 

And  give  him  burial  in  his  fathers  grave  ; 

My  father,  and  Lavinia,  shall  forthwith 

Be  closed  in  our  household's  monument. 

As  for  that  heinous  tiger,  Tamora, 

No  funeral  rite,  nor  man  in  mournful  weeds. 

No  mournful  bell  shall  ring  her  burial ; 

But  throw  her  forth  to  beasts,  and  birds  of  prey*. 

Her  life  was  beast-like,  and  devoid  of  pity  ; 

And,  being  so,  shall  have  l^ke  want  of  pity. 

See  justice  done  on  Aaron,  that  damn'd  Moor, 

From  whom  our  heavy  h  ips  had  their  beginoisg 

Then,  afterwards,  to  order  well  the  state  ; 

That  like  events  may  ne'er  it  ruinate.  [Exeunt. 


PEJaiCLES,  PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED, 


ANTIOCHUS,  King  of  Antioch. 
PERICLES,  Prince  of  Tyre. 

fila^NES.^^'    \  tmo  Lords  of  Tyre. 
SIMONIUES,  King  of  Ppntapolis. 
CLKON,  Governor  of  Tharsus. 
LYSIMACHUS,  Governor  of  Mitylene. 
CEHIMON,  a  Lord  of  Epkesus. 
THALIARD,  a  Lord  of  Antioch. 
PHILEMON,  Servant  to  Cerimon. 
LEONINE,  Servant  to  Dionyza. 
Marshal. 


A  Pander,  and  his  Wife%  • 

BOULT,  their  Servant. 

GOWER,  as  Chorus. 

The  Daughter  of  AntiochHS. 

DIONYZA,  Wife  to  Cleon. 

THAISA,  Daughter  to  Simonides. 

MARINA,  Daughter  to  Pericles  and  Tkaitm. 

LYCHORIDA,  Nttrse  to  Marina. 

DLANA. 

Lords,  Ladles,  Kjiights,  Gentlemen,  SailorSt 
Pirates,  Fishermen,  and  Messengers,  etc. 


Scene, — Dispersedly  in  various  Countries. 


ACT  I. 
Enter  GowER. 

Before  the  Palace  of  Antioch. 
To  sing  a  song  of  old  was  sung, 
Froiri  ashes  ancient  Gower  is  come  ; 
Assuming  man's  infirmities, 
To  glad  your  ear  and  please  your  eyes. 
It  hath  been  sung  at  festivals, 
On  ember-eves,  and  holy  ales  ; 
And  lords  and  ladies  of  their  lives 
ITfive  read  it  for  restoratives  : 
'Purpose  to  make  men  glorious  ; 
Et  quo  antiquius.,  eo  melius. 
If  you,  born  in  these  latter  times. 
When  wit's  more  ripe,  accept  my  rhymes, 
And  that  to  hear  an  old  man  sing. 
May  to  your  wishes  pleasure  bring, 
1  life  would  wish,  and  that  I  might 
Waste  it  for  you,  like  taper-light.— 
This  city  then,  Antioch  the  great 
Built  up  for  his  chiefest  seat ; 
The  fairest  in  all  Syria ; 
(I  tell  you  what  mine  authors  say:) 
This  king  unto  him  took  a  pheere, 
Who  died,  and  left  a  female  heir. 
So  buxom,  blithe,  and  full  of  face, 
As  heaven  had  lent  her  all  his  grace; 
With  whom  the  father  liking  took. 
And  her  to  incest  did  provoke  : 
Bad  father !  to  entice  his  own 
To  evil,  should  be  done  by  none. 
By  custom,  what  they  did  begin, 
VVas,  with  long  use,  account  no  sin 
The  beauty  oi' this  sinful  dame 
Made  many  princes  thither  frame. 
To  seek  her  as  a  bed-fellow : 
In  marriage-pleasures  play-fellow : 
Which  to  prevent,  he  made  a  law, 
To  keep  her  still,  and  men  in  awe,) 
That  whoso  ask'd  her  for  his  wife. 
His  riddle  told  not,  lost  his  life  : 
So  for  her  many  a  wight  did  die. 
As  yon  grim  looks  do  testify. 
What  now  ensues,  to  the  judgment  of  your  eye 
I  give,  my  cause  who  best  can  justify.  [Exit, 

Scene  I. — Antioch,   A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Antiochus,  Pericles,  and  Attendants. 
Ant.  Young  prince  of  Tyre,  you  have  at  large 
receiv'd 

The  danger  of  the  task  you  undertake. 

Per.  I  have,  Antiochus,  and  with  a  soul 
Emboldeo'd  with  the  glory  of  her  praise. 
Think  death  no  hazard  in  this  enterprise.  (Music.) 

Ant.  Bring  in  our  daughter,  clothed  like  a  bride, 
For  the  embracements  even  of  Jove  himself; 
At  whose  conception  (till  Lucina  reign'd,) 
Nature  this  dowry  gave,  to  glad  her  presence, 


The  senate-house  of  planets  all  did  sit, 
To  knit  in  her  their  best  perfections. 

Enter  the  Daughter  of  Antiochus. 
Per.  See,  where  she  comes,  apparell'd  like  tbi 
spring, 

Graces  her  subjects,  and  her  thoughts  the  king 

Of  every  virtue  gives  renown  to  men  I 

Her  face,  the  book  of  praises,  where  is  read 

Nothing  but  curious  pleasures,  as  from  thence 

Sorrow  were  ever  ras'd,  and  testy  wrath 

Could  never  be  her  mild  companion. 

Ye  gods  that  made  me  man,  and  sway  in  love. 

That  have  inflam'd  desire  in  ray  breast, 

To  taste  the  fruit  of  yon  celestial  tree. 

Or  die  in  the  adventure,  be  my  helps. 

As  I  am  son  and  servant  to  your  will. 

To  compass  such  a  boundless  happiness! 

Ant.  Prince  Pericles,—- 

Per.  That  would  be  son  to  great  Antiochus. 

Ant,  Before  thee  stands  this  fair  Hesperides, 
With  golden  fruit,  but  dangerous  to  be  touch'd ; 
For  death-like  dragons  here  affright  thee  hard : 
Her  face,  like  heaven,  enticeth  thee  to  view 
A  countless  glory,  which  desert  must  gain  : 
And  which,  without  desert,  because  thine  eye 
Presumes  to  reach,  all  thy  whole  heap  must  dica 
You  sometime  famous  princes,  Uke  thyself. 
Drawn  by  report,  advent'rous  by  desire,  [palft 
Tell  thee  with  speechless  tongues,  and  senjblanc 
That,  without  covering,  save  yon  field  of  stars. 
They  here  stand  martyrs,  slain  in  Cupid's  wars  ; 
And  with  dead  cheeks  advise  thee  to  desist 
For  going  on  death's  net,  whom  none  resist. 

Per.  Antiochus,  I  thank  thee,  who  hath  taught 
My  frail  mortality  to  know  itself. 
And  by  those  fearful  objects  to  prepare 
This  body,  like  to  them,  to  what  I  must: 
For  death  remember'd,  should  be  like  a  mirror. 
Who  tells  us,  life's  but  breath  ;  to  trust  it,  error 
I'll  make  my  will  then ;  and,  as  sick  men  do. 
Who  know  the  world,  see  heaven,  but  feeling  woe 
Gripe  not  at  earthly  joys,  as  erst  they  did 
So  I  bequeath  a  happy  peace  to  you. 
And  all  good  men,  as  every  prince  should  do ; 
My  riches  to  the  earth  from  whence  they  came; 
But  my  unspotted  fire  of  love  to  you. 

(To  the  Daughter  (f  Antiochus]^ 
Thus  ready  for  the  way  of  life  or  death, 
I  wait  the  sharpest  blow,  Antiochus, 
Scorning  advice. 

Ant.  Read  the  conclusion  then ; 

Which  read  and  not  expounded,  'tis  decreed. 
As  these  before  thee  thou  thyself  shalt  bleed. 

Daugh.   In  all,  save  that,   may'st  thou  prove 
prosperous  I 
In  all,  save  that,  I  wish  thee  happiness  ! 

Per.  Like  a  bold  champion,  I  aasame  the  lists, 
Nor  ask  advice  of  any  other  though! 


PERICLES, 


Act  L 


But  fnitliruiness,  and  courage.  [Hereaas  the  riddle.) 
I  am  no  viper,  yet  I  feed 
On  mother's  jiesh,  which  did  me  breed: 
J  souyht  a  husband,  in  which  labour, 
J  found  that  kindness  in  a  father. 
He's  father,  son,  and  husband  mdd^ 
I  mother,  wife,  and,  yet  his  child 
How  they  may  be,  and  yet  in  two, 
As  you  will  live,  resolve  it  you. 
Sharp  physic  is  tlie  last,  but,  O  you  powers! 
That  give  heaven  countless  eyes  to  view  men's  acts. 
Why  clmu]  they  not  their  sights  perpetually, 
If  this  be  true,  which  makes  me  pale  to  read  it?  ' 
Fair  glass  of  iight,  I  iov'd  you,  and  could  still, 

{Takes  hold  of  the  hand  of  the  Princess.) 
Were  not  this  glorious  casket  stor'd  with  ill  • 
But  I  must  tell  you, — now,  my  thoughts  revolt; 
For  he's. no  man  on  whom  perfections  wait. 
That,  knowing  sin  within,  will  touch  the  gate. 
You're  a  fair  viol,  and  your  sense  the  strings ; 
Who,  finger'd  to  make  man  bis  lawful  music. 
Would  draw  heaven  down,  and  all  the  gods  to 
hearken ; 

But,  being  play'd  upon  before  your  time. 
Hell  only  danceth  at  so  harsh  a  chime  : 
Good  sooth,  I  care  not  for  you. 

Ant.  Prince  Pericles,  touch  not,  upon  thy  life, 
For  that's  an  article  within  our  law, 
As  dangerous  as  the  rest.    Your  time's  expir'd  ; 
Either  expound  now,  or  receive  your  sentence. 

Per.  Great  king, 
Few  love  to  hear  the  sins  they  love  to  act ; 
'Twould  'braid  yourself  too  near  for  me  to  tell  it 
Who  has  a  book  of  all  that  monarchs  do, 

e's  more  secure  to  keep  it  shut  than  shewn  ; 
For  vice  repeated,  is  like  the  wand'ring  wind. 
Blows  dust  in  others'  eyes  to  spread  itself ; 
And  yet  the  end  of  all  is  bought  thus  dear. 
The  breath  is  gone,  and  the  sore  eyes  see  clear: 
To  stop  the  air  would  hurt  them.    The  blind  mole 
casts 

Copp'd  hills  towards  heaven,  to  tell,  the  earth  is 

wrong'd 

By  man's  oppression :  and  the  poor  worm  doth  die 
for't. 

Kings  are  earth's  gods :  in  vice  their  law's  their  will ; 
And  if  Jove  stray,  who  dares  say,  Jove  doth  ill? 
It  is  enough  you  Itnow ;  and  it  is  tit, 
What  being  u)ore  known  grows  worse,  to  smother  it. 
All  love  the  womb  that  their  first  beings  bred, 
Then  give  my  tongue  like  leave  to  love  my  head. 
Ant.  Heaven,  that  I  had  thy  head !  he  has  found 

the  meaning ; — 
But  I  will  gloze  with  him.  {Aside.)  Y  oung  prince 

of  Tyre, 

Though  by  the  tenour  of  our  strict  edict, 

Y^our  exposition  misinterpreting. 

We  might  proceed  to  cancel  of  your  days ; 

Yet  hope,  succeeding  from  so  fair  a  tree 

As  your  fair  self,  doth  tune  us  otherwise: 

Forty  days  longer  we  do  respite  you  ; 

If  by  which  time  our  secret  be  undone. 

This  mercy  shews,  we'll  joy  in  such  a  son: 

And  until  tlien,  your  entertain  shall  be. 

As  (loth  befit  our  honour  and  your  worth. 

[Exeunt  Antiochus,  hisDauxjhter,  and  Attendants, 

Per.  How  courtesy  would  seem  to  cover  sin! 
When  what  is  done  is  like  an  hypocrite, 
The  which  is  good  in  nothing  but  in  sight. 
If  it  be  true  that  I  interpret  false, 
Tlien  were  it  certain,  you  were  not  so  bad, 
As  with  foiil  incest  to  abuse  your  soul ; 
Where  now  you're  both  a  father  and  a  son, 
By  your  untimely  claspings  with  your  child, 
(Which  pleasure  fits  an  husband,  not  a  father;) 
And  she  an  eater  of  her  mother's  flesh. 
By  the  defiling  of  her  parent's  bed  ; 
And  both  like  serpents  are,  who  though  they  feed 
On  sweetest  flowers,  yet  they  poison  breed. 
Antioch,  farewell !  for  wisdoui  sees,  those  men 


Blush  not  in  actions  blacker  than  the  night. 
Will  shun  no  course  to  keep  them  from  tiie  light* 
One  sin,  I  know,  another  doth  provoke; 
Murder's  as  near  to  lust,  as  flame  to  smoke. 
Poison  and  treason  are  the  hands  of  sin. 
Ay,  and  the  targets,  to  put  off  the  shame: 
Then,  lest  my  life  be  cropped  to  kee})  you  clear^ 
By  flight  I'll  slum  the  danger,  which  1  fear.  [Mxii 

Re-enter  Antiochus. 
Ant.  He  hath  found  the  meaning,  for  the  wliich 
To  have  his  head.  [we  mean 

He  must  not  live  to  trumpet  forth  my  infamy. 
Nor  tell  the  world,  Antiochus  doth  sin 
In  such  a  loathed  manner: 
And  therefore  instantly  this  prince  must  die; 
For  by  his  fall  my  honour  must  keep  high.  i 
Who  attends  on  us  there  ? 

Enter  Thaliard. 
Thai.  Doth  your  highness  call? 

Ant.  Thaliard,  you're  of  our  chamber,  and  oar 
mind 

Partakes  her  private  actions  to  your  secresy ; 
And  for  your  faithfulness  we  will  advance  you. 
Thaliard,  behold,  here's  poison,  and  here's  gold  ; 
We  hate  the  prince  of  Tyre,  and  thou  must  kill  him 
It  fits  thee  not  to  ask  the  reason  vvhy, 
Because  we  bid  it.    Say.  is  it  done  ? 
^Thfil:  Mj  i^i 

Tis  doEj; 

Ant.  Ecc:zri ; 
Lejst  your  breath  cooi  yourself,  telling  your  haste. 

Mess.  My  lord,  prince  Pericles  is  fled.  [Exi':. 

Ant  As  tho? 

Wilt  live,  fly  after :  and  as  an  arrow,  shot 
From  a  well-experienc'd  archer,  hits  the  mark 
His  eye  doth  level  at,  so  ne'er  return, 
Unless  thou  say.  Prince  Pericles  is  dead. 

T/««/.  My  lurd,if  I_ 
Can  get  him  once  within  my  pistol's  length, 
I'll  make  him  sure  :  so  farewell  to  your  highness. 

\Exii 

Ant.  Thaliard,  adieu  !  till  Pericles  be  dead. 
My  heart  can  lend  no  succour  to  my  head.  [Exit, 

Scene  II. — Tyre.   A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Pericles,  Helicanus,  and  other  Lords. 
Per.  Let  none  disturb  us:  Why  this  change  of 
thoughts  ? 

The  sad  companion,  dull-ey'd  melancholy, 
By  me  so  us'd  a  guest  is,  not  an  hour, 
In  the  day's  glorious  walk,  or  peaceful  night, 
(The  tomb  where  grief  should  sleep,)  can  breed 
me  quiet!  _  fshun  them. 

Here  pleasures  court  mine  eyes,  and  mine  eyes 
And  danger,  which  I  feared,  is  at  Antioch, 
Whose  arm  seems  far  too  short  to  hit  me  here : 
Yet  neither  pleasure's  art  can  joy  my  spirits, 
Nor  yet  the  other's  distance  comfort  me. 
Then  it  is  thus:  the  passions  of  the  mind, 
That  have  their  first  conception  by  mis-dread. 
Have  after-nourishment  and  life  by  care  ; 
And  what  was  first  but  fear  what  might  be  done. 
Grows  elder  now,  and  cares  it  be  not  done. 
And  so  with  me ; — the  great  Antiochus 
(Gainst  whom  I  am  too  little  to  contend. 
Since  he's  so  great,  can  make  his  will  hifl  act,) 
Will  think  me  speaking,  though  I  swear  to  silextse} 
Nor  boots  it  me  to  say,  I  honour  him. 
If  he  suspect  I  may  dishonour  him: 
And  what  may  make  him  blush  in  being  known, 
He'll  stop  the  course  by  which  it  might  be  known; 
With  hostile  forces  he'll  o'erspread  the  land. 
And  with  the  ostent  of  war  will  look  so  huge. 
Amazement  shall  drive  courage  fiom  the  state; 
Our  men  be  vanqirish'd,  ere  tliey  do  resist. 
And  subjects  punish'd,  that  ne'er  tb    ght  ofTence 


SCENS  8. 


PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


677 


Wiiich  care  of  them,  not  pity  of  myself,  | 
(Who  ain  no  more  btu  as  tiie  tops  of  trees,  ! 
iVhich  fence  the  roots  they  grow  by,  and  defend 
them,) 

Wakes  both  my  body  pine,  and  soul  to  langwish, 
And  punish  that  before,  that  he  would  punish. 
1  Lord.  Joy  and  all  comfort  in  your  sacred  breast!  j 
2 Lord.  And  keep  your  mind,  till  you  return  to  us, 
Peaceful  and  comfortable  ! 
Hel.  Peace,  peace,  my  lords,  and  give  experience 
tongue. 

hey  do  abuse  the  king  that  flatter  him: 
or  flattery  is  the  bellows  blows  up  sin; 
he  thing  the  which  is  flatter'd,  but  a  spark, 

which  that  breath  gives  heat  and  stronger 
glowing  ; 

Whereas  reproof,  obedient  and  in  order, 
Fits  kings,  as  they  are  men,  for  they  may  err. 
When  signior  Sooth  here  does  proclaim  a  peace. 
He  flatters  you,  makes  war  upon  your  life  : 
Prince,  pardon  me,  or  strike  me,  if  you  please  ; 
I  cannot  be  much  lower  than  my  knees.  [look 
Per.  All  leave  us  else;  but  let  your  cares  o'er- 
What  shipping,  knd  what  lading's  in  our  haven, 
A-nd  then  return  to  us.  [Exeunt  Lords.]  Helicanus, 
thou 

Hast  moved  us:  whatseest  thou  in  our  looks? 

Hel.  An  angry  brow,  dread  lord. 

Per.  If  there  be  such  a  dart  in  princes'  frowns. 
How  durst  thy  tongue  move  anger  to  our  face  ? 

Hel.  How  dare  the  plants  look  up  to  heaven, 
from  whence 
They  have  their  nourishment? 

Per.  Thou  know'st  I  have  power 

To  take  thy  life. 

Hel.  {Kneeling.)  I  have  ground  the  axe  myself ; 
Do  you  but  strike  the  blow. 

Per.  Rise,  pr'ythee,  rise ; 

Sit  down,  sit  down  ;  thou  art  no  flatterer: 
I  thank  thee  for  it ;  and  high  heaven  forbid, 
That  kings  should  let  their  ears  hear  their  faults  hid  ! 
Fit  counsellor,  and  servant  for  a  prince, 
Who  by  thy  wisdom  mak'st  a  prince  thy  servant. 
What  would'st  thou  have  me  do  ? 

Hel.  With  patience  bear 

Such  griefs  as  you  do  lay  upon  yourself. 

Per.  Thou  speak'st  like  a  physician,  Helicanus; 
Who  minister'st  a  potion  into  me, 
That  thou  would'st  tremble  to  receive  thyself. 
Attend  me  then  :  I  went  to  Antioch, 
Where,  as  thou  know'st,  against  the  face  of  death, 
I  sought  the  purchase  of  a  glorious  beauty, 
From  whence  an  issue  I  might  propagate. 
Bring  arms  to  princes,  and  to  subjects  joys. 
Her  face  was  to  mine  eye  beyond  all  wonder  ; 
Tile  rest  (hark  in  thine  ear,)  as  black  as  incest; 
Which  by  my  knowledge  found,  the  sinful  father 
Seem'd  not  to  strike,  but  smooth:  but  thou  know'st 
this. 

Tis  time  to  fear,  when  tyrants  seem  to  kiss. 
Which  fear  so  grew  in  me,  I  hither  fled, 
Under  the  covering  of  a  careful  nigiit, 
Who  seem'd  my  good  protector;  and  being  here, 
Betliouglti  me  vvhat  was  past,  what  might  succeed. 
1  knew  him  tyrannous  :  and  tyrants'  fears 
Decrease  i;ot,  but  grow  faster  than  their  years: 
And  shoidd  he  doubt  it,  (as  no  doubt  he  doth,) 
That  I  should  open  to  the  listening  air. 
How  m:u)y  wortliy  princes'  bloods  were  shed, 
To  keep  his  bed  of  blackness  unlaid  ope, — 
To  lop  that  doubt,  he'll  All  this  land  vvith  arms, 
And  miike  pretence  of  wrong  that  I  have  done  him; 
When       for  mine,  if  I  nmy  call't  ofteuce. 
Mast  fee!  war's  blow,  who  spares  not  innocence : 
Wiiich  love  to  all  (of  which  thyself  art  one, 
Who  i;ow  reprov'st  me  for  it) — 

Hcl.  Alas,  sir  I 

Per.  Drew  sleep  out  of  mine  eyes,  blood  from 
my  cheeks. 
Musings  ia.u  my  mind,  a  tliousand  doubts 


ow  I  might  stop  this  tempest,  e.^e  it  casae; 
nd  finding  little  coriifort  to  relieve  them, 
I  thought  it  princely  charity  to  grieve  them. 

Hel,  Well,  my  lord,  since  you  havo  givCM  GK 
leave  to  speak, 
Freely  I'll  speak.    Antiochus  you  fear. 
And  justly  too,  I  think,  you  fear  the  tyrant, 
Who  either  by  public  war,  or  private  treason. 
Will  take  away  your  life. 
Therefore,  my  lord,  go  travel  for  a  while, 
Till  that  his  rage  and  anger  be  forgot, 
Or  destinies  do  cut  his  thread  of  life. 
Your  rule  direct  to  any ;  if  to  me, 
Day  serves  not  light  moi-e  faithful  than  I'll  be. 

Per.  I  do  not  doubt  thy  faith ; 
But  should  he  wrong  my  liberties  in  absence — 

Hel.  We'll  mingle  bloods  together  in  the  earth. 
From  whence  we  had  our  being  and  our  birth. 
Per.  Tyre,  I  now  look  from  thee  then,  and  U 
Tharsus 

Intend  my  travel,  where  I'll  hear  from  thee ; 
And  by  whose  lettei*s  I'll  dispose  myself. 
The  care  I  had  and  have  of  subjects'  good. 
On  thee  I  lay,  whose  wisdom's  strength  can  bear  it 
I'll  take  thy  word  for  faith,  not  ask  thine  oath  ; 
Who  shuns  not  to  break  one,  will  sure  crack  both: 
But  in  our  orbs  we'll  live  so  round  and  safe, 
That  time  of  both  this  truth  shall  ne'er  convince, 
Thou  shew'dst  a  subject's  sh'ne,  I  a  true  prince. 

[Exeunt, 

Scene  III. — Tyre.    An  Ante-chamber  in  the 
Palace. 

Enter  Til\liard. 

Thai.  So,   this  is  Tyre,   and  this  is  the  couri, 
Here  must  1  kill  king  Pericles;  and  if  I  do  not,  | 
am  sure  to  be  hanged  at  home :  'tis  dangerous*— 
Well,  I  perceive  he  was  a  wise  fellow,  and  ha 
good  discretion,  that  being  bid  to  ask  what  ii 
would  of  the  king,  desired  he  might  know  none 
his  secrets.    Now  do  I  see  he  had  some  reason  f« 
it:  for  if  a  king  bid  a  man  be  a  villain,  he  is  boun 
by  the  indenture  of  his  oath  to  be  one. — Hush,  her 
come  the  lords  of  Tyre. 

Enter  Helicanus,  Escanes,  and  other  Lords. 

Hel.  You  shall  not  need,  my  fellovv  peers  of  Tyre 
Further  to  question  of  your  king's  departure. 
His  seal'd  commission,  left  in  trust  with  me, 
Doth  speak  sufliciently ;  he's  gone  to  travel. 

Thai.  How  !  the  king  gone!  (Asiafe. 

Hel.  If  further  yet  you  will  be  satisfied. 
Why,  as  it  were  unlicens'd  of  your  loves, 
He  would  depart,  I'll  give  some  light  unto  you. 
Being  at  Antioch — 

Thai.  What  from  Antioch  ?  {Aside, 

Hel.  Royal  Antiochus  (on  whatc&use  I  know  not. 
Took  some  displeasure  at  him  ;  at  least  he  jiidg'd  so 
And  doubting  lest  that  he  had  err'd  or  sinn'd. 
To  shew  his  sorrow,  would  correct  himself; 
So  puts  himself  into  the  shipman's  toil, 
With  whom  each  minute  threatens  life  or  death. 

ThaL  Well,  I  perceive  (Asiek, 
I  shall  not  be  hang'd  now,  although  I  would ; 
But  since  he's  gone,  the  king  it  sure  must  please^ 
He  'scap'd  the  land,  to  perish  on  the  seas. — 
But  I'll  present  nie.    Peace  to  the  lords  of  Tyre  : 

Hel.  Lord  Thaliard  from  Antiochus  is  welcome* 

Thai.  From  him  I  come. 
With  message  unto  princely  Pericles; 
But,  since  my  landing,  as  I  have  understood 
Your  lord  has  took  himf-elf  to  unknown  travels. 
My  message  must  return  from  vvhence  it  came. 

Hel.  We  have  no  reason  to  desire  it,  since 
Commended  to  our  master,  not  to  us: 
Yet,  ere  you  shall  depart,  th's  we  desire,-— 
As  friends  to  Antioch.  'fe  mav  feast  in  Tyre. 


678 


PERICLES, 


Act  H 


Scene  IV. — Tkarsus.  A  Room  tn  the  Governor's^ 
House. 

Enter  CleoiN,  Dionyza,  and  Attendants. 

Cle.  My  Dionyza,  shall  we  rest  us  here. 
And  by  relating  tales  of  other's  griefs, 
See  if 'twill  teach  us  to  forget  our  own? 

Dio.  That  were  to  blow  at  fire,  in  hope  to  quench  it ; 
For  who  digs  hi'.ls  because  they  do  aspire, 
Throws  down  one  mountain  to  cast  up  a  higher. 
O  my  distressed  lord,  even  such  our  griefs  ; 
Here  they're  but  felt,  and  seen  with  mistful  eyes, 
But  like  to  sroves,  being  topp'd,  they  higher  rise. 

Cle.  O  Dionyza, 
Who  wanteth  food,  and  will  not  say  he  wants  it. 
Or  can  conceal  his  hunger,  till  he  famish  ? 
'Our  tongues  and  sorrows  do  sound  deep  our  woes 
Into  the  air;  our  eyes  do  weep,  till  lungs 
Fetch  breath  that  may  proclaim  them  louder ;  that, 
If  heaven  slumber,  while  their  creatures  want, 
They  may  awake  their  helps  to  comfort  them, 
I'll  then  discourse  our  woes,  felt  several  years, 
And  wanting  breath  to  speak,  help  rae  with  tears. 

Dio.  I'll  do  my  best,  sir. 

Cle.  This  Tharsus,  o'er  which  I  have  government, 
(A  city,  on  whom  plenty  held  full  hand,) 
For  riches,  strew'd  herself  even  in  the  streets  ; 
Whose  towers  bore  heads  so  high,  they  kiss'd  the 
clouds, 

And  strangers  ne'er  beheld,  but  wonder'd  at; 
Whose  men  and  dames  so  jetted  and  adorn'd, 
Like  one  another's  glass  to  inm  them  by: 
Their  tables  were  stor'd  full,  to  glad  the  sight, 
And  not  so  much  to  feed  on,  as  delight ; 
All  poverty  was  scorn'd,  and  pride  so  great. 
The  name  of  help  grew  odious  to'repeat. 

Dio.  O,  'tis  too  true.  [change, 

Cle.  But  see  what  heaven  can  do !  By  this  our 
These  mouths,  whom  but  ol"late,  earth,  sea,  and  air, 
Were  all  too  little  to  content  and  please, 
Although  they  gave  their  creatures  in  abundance. 
As  houses  are  defil'd  for  want  of  us'^. 
They  are  now  sfarv'd  for  want  of  exercise  : 
Those  palates,  who  not  yet  two  summers  yonnger, 
Must  have  inventions  to  delight  the  taste, 
Would  now  be  glad  of  bread,  and  beg  for  it; 
Those  tiufthers,  who,  to  nousle  up  their  babes, 
Thought  nought  too  curious,  are  ready  now. 
To  eat  those  little  darlings,  whom  they  lov'd. 
So  sharp  are  hunger's  teeth,  that  man  and  wife 
Draw  lots,  who  first  s!\all  die  to  lengthen  life: 
Here  stands  a  lord,  and  there  a  lady  weeping; 
Here  many  sink,  yet  those  which  see  them  fall. 
Have  scarce  strength  left  to  give  them  burial. 
Is  not  this  true  ? 

Die.  Our  cheeks  and  hollow  eyes  do  witness  it. 

Cle.  O,  let  those  cities,  that  of  Plenty's  cup 
And  her  prosperities  so  largely  taste. 
With  their  superfluous  riots,  hear  these  tears! 
The  misery  ol  Tharsus  may  be  theirs. 

Enter  a  Lord. 
Lord.  Where's  the  lord  governor  ? 
Cle.  Here. 

Speak  out  thy  sorrows,  which  thou  bring'st  in  haste. 
For  comfort  is  too  far  for  us  to  expect. 
Lord.  We  have  descried,  upon  our  neighbouring 
shore, 

A  portly  sail  of  ships  make  hitherward. 

Cle.  1  thought  as  much. 
One  sorrow  never  comes,  but  brings  an  heir. 
That  may  succeed  as  his  inheritor  ; 
And  so  in  ours  :  some  neighbouring  nation. 
Taking  advantage  of  our  misery. 
Hath  stuif  d  these  hollow  vessels  with  their  power. 
To  beat  us  down,  the  which  are  down  already; 
And  make  a  conquest  of  unhappy  me, 
W^hereas  no  glory's  got  to  overcome. 

Lord.  That's  the  least  fear;  for,  by  the  semblance 
Of  their  white  flags  disi)lay'd,  they  bring  us  peace. 


And  come  to  us  as  favourers,  not  as  foes. 

Cle.  Thou  speak'st  like  him's  untutor'd  to  repexit. 

Who  makes  the  fairest  shew,  means  most  deceit. 

But  bring  they  what  they  will,  what  need  we  fear? 

The  ground's  the  low'st,  and  we  are  half  way  there. 

Go  tell  their  general,  we  attend  him  here. 

To  know  for  what  he  coraes,  and  whence  he  come^ 

And  what  he  craves. 

Lord.  I  go,  my  lord.  [Exit, 
Cle.  Welcome  is  peace,  if  he  on  i)eace  consist 

If  wars,  we  are  unable  to  resist. 

Enter  Pericles,  with  Attendants. 
Per.  Lord  governor,  for  so  we  hear  you  are. 
Let  not  our  ships  and  number  of  our  men 
Be,  like  a  beacon  fir'd,  to  amaze  your  eyes. 
We  have  heard  your  miseries  as  far  as  i'yje, 
And  seen  the  desolation  of  your  streets : 
Nor  come  we  to  add  eorrrow.  to  your  te  \rs. 
But  to  relieve  them  of  their  heavy  load  ; 
And  these  our  ships  yon  happily  may  think 
Are,  like  the  Trojan  horse,  war-stntFd  within 
With  bloody  views,  expecting  overthro  v. 
Are  stor'd  with  corn,  to  make  your  nee  ly  bread. 
And  give  ihem  life,  who  are  hunger-star v'd,  half 
dead. 

All.  The  gods  of  Greece  protect  you! 
And  we'll  pray  for  you. 

Per.  Rise,  I  pray  yon,  rise; 

We  do  not  look  for  reverence,  but  for  1  )ve. 
And  harbourage  for  ourself,  our  ships,  and  men. 

Cle.  The  which  when  any  shall  not  gritify. 
Or  pay  you  with  nnthankfulness  in  thought. 
Be  it  our  wives,  our  children,  or  ourselves, 
The  curse  of  heaven  and  men  succeed  their  evils. 
Till  when  (the  which,  I  hope,  shall  ne'er  be  aeen,) 
Your  grace  is  welcome  to  om-  town  and  us. 

Per.  Which  welcome  we'll  accept;  feast  heiea 
while. 

Until  our  stars,  that  frown,  lend  us  a  smile.  [Exeuni^ 

ACTH. 

Enter  GowER. 

Goto.  Here  have  you  seen  a  mighty  king 
His  child,  I  wis,  to  incest,  bring: 
A  better  prij)ce,  an  1  benign  lond, 
Pro  ye  awful  both  in  deed  and  word. 
Be  quiet  then,  as  n»en  should  be. 
Till  he  hath  pass'd  necessity. 
I'll  shew  you  those  in  troubles  teign, 
Losiiig  a  mite,  a  mountain  gain. 
The  good  in  conversation 
(To  whom  I  give  my  benison.) 
Is  still  at  Tharsus,  where  each  man 
Thinks  ail  is  writ  he  spoken  can: 
And,  to  remenjber  what  be  does, 
Gild  his  statue  glorious: 
But  tidings  to  the  contrary 
Are  brought  your  eyes ;  what  need  speak  I  ? 
{Dumb  shetv.) 

Enter  at  one  door  Pericles,  taihing  with  Cleon; 
all  the  train  with  them.  Enter  at  another  door, 
a  Gentleman.,  with  a  letter  to  Pericles ;  Pericles 
shews  the  letter  to  Cleon  ;  then  gives  the  Ales- 
senger  a  reward,  and  knights  him.  Exeuni 
Pericles,  Cleon,  §Cc.  severally. 

Gow.  Good  Helicane  hath  staid  at  home. 
Not  to  eat  honey,  like  a  drone, 
From  others'  labours;  forth  he  .strive 
To  killen  bad,  keep  good  alive: 
And,  to  fulfil  his  prince'  desire. 
Sends  word  of  all  that  haps  in  Tyre: 
How  Thaliard  came  full  bent  with  sin. 
And  hid  intent,  to  murder  him  ; 
And  that  in  Tharsus  was  not  best 
Longer  for  him  to  make  his  rest : 
He  knowing  so,  put  forth  to  seas. 
Where  when  men  been,  there's  seldom  euM, 


Scene  1. 


PRINCE 


OF  TYRE. 


For  now  the  wind  begins  to  blow; 

Thunder  above,  and  deeps  below. 

Make  such  unquiet,  that  the  sliip 

►Should  house  him  safe,  is  wreck'd  and  split; 

And  he.  good  prince,  having  all  lost. 

By  waves  from  coast  to  coast  is  tost ; 

All  perishen  of  man,  of  pelf, 

Ne  aught  escapen  but  himself; 

Till  fortune,  tir'd  with  doing  bad. 

Threw  him  ashore,  to  give  him  glad  : 

And  here  he  conies :  what  shall  be  nert. 

Pardon  old  Gower;  this  long's  the  text.  [£xit. 

Scene  I. — Pentapo2ts.  An  open  Place  by  the  Sea- 
side. 

Enter  Pericles,  wet. 
Per.  Yet  cease  your  ire,  ye  angry  stars  of  heaven .' 
Wind,  rain,  and  thunder,  remember,  earthly  man 
Is  but  a  substance  that  must  yield  to  you  ; 
And  I,  as  fits  my  nature,  do  obey  you : 
Alas,  the  sea  hath  cast  me  on  the  rocks, 
Wash'd  nie  from  shore  to  shore,  and  left  me  breath 
Nothing  to  think  on,  but  ensuing  death  : 
Let  it  suffice  the  greatness  of  your  powers, 
To  have  bereft  a  prince  of  all  his  fortunes ; 
And  having  thrown  him  from  your  wat'iy  grave. 
Here  to  have  death  in  peace,  is  all  he'll  crave. 

Enter  three  Fishermen, 

1  Fish.  What,  ho,  Pilche ! 

2  Fish.  Ho !  come,  and  bring  away  the  nets. 
1  Fish.  What  Patch  breech,  I  say.' 

3  Fish.  What  say  you,  master  ''f 

1  Fish.  Look  how  thou  stirrest  now  !  come  away, 
or  ril  fetch  thee  with  a  wannion. 

3  Fisfi.  'Faith,  master,  1  am  thinking  of  the  poor 
uien  that  were  cast  away  before  us,  even  now. 

I  Fish.  Alas,  poor  souls,  it  grieved  niy  heart  to 
hear  what  pitiful  cries  they  made  to  us,  to  help 
them,  when,  well-a-day,  we  could  scarce  help  our- 
selves, 

3  Fish,  Nay,  master,  said  not  I  as  much,  when  I 
saw  the  porpus,  how  he  bonnced  and  tumbled  ?  they 
say,  they  are  half  fish,  half  flesh:  a  plague  on  them, 
they  ne'er  come,  but  I  look  to  be  washed.  Master, 
I  mar\'ei  how  the  fishes  live  in  the  sea, 

I  Fish.  Why,  as  men  do  a  land  ;  the  great  ones  eat 
up  the  little  ones:  I  can  compare  our  rich  misers  to 
nothing  so  fitly  as  to  a  whale;  'a  plays  and  tumbles, 
driving  the  poor  fry  before  him,  and  at  last  devours 
tliern  ail  at  a  mouthliil.  Such  whales  have  I  heard 
on  a  the  land,  who  never  leave  gaping,  till  they've 
swallow'd  the  whole  parish,  church,  steeple,  bells, 
and  all. 

Per.  A  })retty  moral. 

3  Fish.  13ut,  master,  if  I  had  been  the  sexton,  I 
would  have  been  tliat  day  in  the  bell'ry. 

1  F'uih.  Why,  man  ? 

3  Fish.  Because  he  should  have  swallowed  me 
too :  and  when  I  had  been  in  his  belly,  I  would  have 
kept  such  a  jangling  of  the  bells,  that  he  should 
never  have  left,  till  he  cast  bells,  steeple,  church, 
and  parish,  up  again.  But  if  the  good  king  Siinouides 
were  of  my  mind — 

Per.  Simonides  ? 

3  Fish.  We  would  purge  the  land  of  these  drones, 
tliat  rob  the  bee  of  her  honey. 

Per.  How  from  the  finny  sabject  of  the  sea 
licse  fishers  tel)  the  infirmities  of  men  ; 
And  from  their  watry  empire  recollect 
All  that  may  men  approve,  or  rnen  detect  1 — 
peace  be  at  your  labour,  honest  fishermen. 

2  Fish.  1  lonest !  good  fellow,  what's  that?  if  it  be 
a  day  fits  you,  scratch  it  out  of  the  calendar,  and  no 
body  will  look  afti^r  it. 

Per.  Nay,  see,  the  sea  hath  cast  upon  your  coast — 
'i  Fish.  What  a  drunken  knave  was  the  sea,  to 

cast  tiiee  in  our  way  I 

Per.  A  nvrin,  whom  both  the  waters  and  the  wind, 

\a  that  vast  tennis-court,  hath  made  the  ball 


For  them  to  play  upon,  entreats  yon  pity  him ; 
He  asks  of  you.  that  never  us'd  to  leg. 

1  Fish.  No,  friend,  cannot  you  beg?  here's  thenj  ia 
our  country  of  Greece,  gets  more  with  begging,  than 
we  can  do  with  working. 

2  Fish.  Canst  thou  catch  any  fishes,  then  ? 
Per.  I  never  practis'd  it. 

'2  Fish.  Nay,  then,  thou  wilt  starve  sure  ;  for  here's 
nothiiig  to  be  got  now-a-days,  unless  thou  can'st  fisi* 
for't. 

Per.  What  I  have  been,  I  have  forgot  to  know  ; 
But  what  I  am,  want  teaches  me  to  think  on ; 
A  man  shrunk  up  with  cold  :  my  veins  are  chilly 
And  have  no  more  of  life,  than  may  suffice 
To  give  my  tongue  that  heat,  to  ask  your  help; 
Which  if  you  shall  refuse,  when  I  am  dead. 
For  I  am  a  man,  pray  see  me  buried. 

1  Fish.  Die,  quoth  a  ?  Now  gods  forbid  !  I  have 
a  gown  here;  come,  put  in  on;  keep  thee  warm. 
Now,  afore  me,  a  handsome  fellow  I  Come,  thou  shalt 
go  home,  and  we'll  have  flesh  for  holidays,  fish  for 
fasting-days,  and  moreo'er,  puddings  and  flap-jacks ; 
and  thou  shalt  be  welcome. 

Per.  I  thank  you,  sir.  [not  beg. 

2  Fish.  Hark  you,  my  friend,  you  said  you  could 
Per.  I  did  but  crave. 

2  Fish.  But  crave  ?  Then  I'll  turn  craver  too,  and 
so  I  shall  'scape  whipping. 

Per.  Why,  are  all  your  beggars  whipped,  then  ? 

2  Fish.  O,  not  all,  my  friend,  not  all ;  for  if  all  your 
beggars  were  whipped,  I  would  wish  no  better  office, 
than  to  be  beadle.  But,  master,  I'll  go  dinw  up  the 
net.  [Exeunt  two  of  the  Fishermen. 

Per.  How  well  this  honest  mirth  becomes  their 
labour ! 

1  Fish.  Hark  you,  sir !  do  you  know  where  you 

Per.  Not  well.  fare  ? 

1  Fish.  Why,  I'll  tell  you:  this  is  called  Penta- 
polis,  and  our  king,  the  good  king  Simonides. 

Per.  The  good  king  Simonides,  do  you  call  him  ? 

1  Fish.  Ay,  sir;  and  he  deserves  to  be  so  called, 
for  his  peaceable  reign,  and  good  government. 

Per.  He  is  a  happy  king,  since  from  liis  subjects 
He  gains  the  nanje  of  good,  by  his  government. 
How  far  is  his  court  distant  from  this  shore  '( 

1  Fish.^  Marry,  sir,  half  a  day's  journey  ;  and  I'll 
tell  you,  he  hath  a  fair  daughter,  and  to-morrow  is 
her  birth-day ;  and  there  are  princes  and  knights 
come  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  to  just  and  tourney 
for  her  love. 

Per.  Did  but  my  fortunes  equal  my  desires, 
I'd  wish  to  niake  one  there. 

1  Fish.  O,  sir,  things  must  be  as  they  may;  and 
what  a  man  cannot  get,  he  may  lawfully  deal  lor-— 
his  wife's  soul. 

Re-enter  the  two  Fishermen,  drawing  up  a  net. 

2  Fish.  Help,  master,  help  !  here's  a  fish  hongs 
in  the  net,  like  a  poor  man's  right  in  the  law;  'twill 
hardly  come  out.  Ha!  bots  on't,  'tis  come  at  last 
and  'tis  turned  to  a  rusty  armour.  [see  it 

Per.  An  armour,  friends!    I  uray  you,  let  me 
Thanks,  fortune,  yet,  that  after  all  my  crojises. 
Thou  giv'st  me  somewhat  to  repair  myself: 
And,  though  it  was  mine  own,  part  of  mine  h&ri 
tage. 

Which  my  dead  father  did  bequeath  to  me, 
With  this  strict  charge,  (even  as  he  lelt  his  life,) 
Keep  it,  tny  Pericles,  it  hath  been  a  shield 
'Twixt  me  and  death;  (and  pointed  to  this  brace 
For  that  it  sav'dme,  keep  it  ;  in  like  necessity, 
Which  (J  uds  protect  thee  from!  it  may  defend  ihet 
It  kept  where  I  kept,  I  so  dearly  lov'd  it; 
Till  the  rough  seas,  that  spare  not  any  man, 
Took  it  in  rage,  though  calm'd,  they  give't  agaia 
I  thank  thee  for't;  my  shipwreck's  now  no  ill. 
Since  I  have  here  my  father's  gift  by  will. 

1  Fish.  What  mean  you,  sir  ?  [worth, 
Per.  To  beg  of  you,  kind  friends,  this  coai  ol 
For  it  was  souietiiue  target  to  a  king  ; 


680 

I  know  it  by  this  mark.    He  lov'd  me  dearly, 
And  for  his  sake,  I  wish  the  having  of  it ; 
And  that  you'd  guide  me  to  your  sovereign's  (Ourt, 
Where  with't  I  may  appear  a  gentleman  ; 
And  if  that  ever  ray  low  fortunes  better, 
I'll  pay  your  bounties;  till  then,  rest  your  debtor. 

1  Fhli.  Why,  wilt  thou  tourney  for  the  lady? 

Per.  ril  shew  the  virtue  I  have  borne  in  arms. 

1  Fish.  Why,  do  ye  take  it,  and  the  gods  give 
thee  good  on't ! 

2  Fish.  Ay,  but  hark  you,  my  friend  ;  'twas  we 
that  made  up  this  garment  through  the  rough  seams 
of  the  waters  :  there  are  certain  condolements,  cer- 
tain vails.  I  hope,  sir,  if  you  thrive,  you'll  remem- 
ber from  whence  you  had  it. 

Per.  Believe't,  I  will. 
Now,  by  your  furtherance,  1  am  cloth'd  in  steel; 
And  spite  of  all  the  rupture  of  tlie  sea. 
This  jewel  holds  his  biding  on  my  arm; 
Unto  thy  value  will  I  mount  myself 
Upon  a  courser,  whose  delightful  s-teps 
Shall  make  the  gazer  joy  to  see  hitn  tread. — 
Only,  my  friend,  I  yet  am  unprovided 
Of  a  pair  of  bases. 

2  Fish.  We'll  sure  provide  :  thou  shalt  have  my 
best  gown  to  make  thee  a  pair;  and  I'll  bring  thee 
to  the  court  myself. 

Per.  Then  honour  be  but  a  goal  to  my  will ; 
This  day  1  11  rise,  or  else  add  ill  to  ill.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — The  same.  A  public  ivay^  or  platform, 
leading  to  the  lists.  A  pavilion  bij  the  side 
of  it,  for  the  reception  of  the  King,  Princess, 
Lords,  §fc. 

Enter  Simonides,  Thaisa,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 

Sim.  Are  the  knights  ready  to  begin  the  triumph  ? 

1  Lord.  They  are,  my  liege ; 
And  stay  your  coming  to  present  themselves. 

Sim.    Return  them,  we  are   ready;   and  our 
daughter, 

In  honour  of  whose  birth  these  triumphs  are, 
Sits  here,  like  beauty's  child,  whom  nature  gat 
For  men  to  see,  and  seeing  wonder  at.  [Exit  a  Lord. 

Thai  It  pleaseth  you,  my  father,  to  express 
My  commendations  great,  whose  merit's  less. 

Sim.  "Tis  tit  it  should  be  so;  for  princes  are 
A  model,  which  heaven  makes  like  to  itself : 
As  jewels  lose  their  glory,  if  neglected. 
So  princes  their  renown,  if  not  respected. 
'Tis  now  your  honour,  daughter,  to  explain 
The  labour  of  each  knight,  in  his  device.  [form. 

Thai.  Which,  to  preserve  mine  honour,  I'll  per- 

Enter  a  Knight;  he  passes  over  the  stage,  and  his 
Sqnire  presents  his  shield  to  the  Princess. 

Sim.  Who  is  the  lirst  that  doth  prefer  himself? 

Thai.  A  knight  of  Sparta,  my  renowned  father; 
And  the  device  he  bears  upon  his  shield 
Is  a  black  vEthiop,  reaching  at  the  sun ; 
The  word,  Litx  tua  viia  mihi. 

Sim.  He  loves  you  well,  that  holds  his  life  of  you. 

{The  second  Knight  passes.) 
Who  is  the  second,  that  presents  himsell  ? 

Thai.  A  prince  of  Macedon,  my  royal  father; 
And  the  device  he  bears  upon  his  shield 
Is  an  arm'd  knight,  that's  conquer'd  by  a  lady  : 
The  motto  thus,  in  Spanish,  Pitc  per  diilcura  que 
per  fuerqa.     {The  third  Knight  passes.) 

Sim.  And  what's  the  third  ? 

Thai.  The  third  of  Antioch; 

And  his  device,  a  wreath  of  chivalry  : 
The  word.  Me  pompa:  provexit  apex. 

{The  fourth  Kfiight  passes.) 

Sim.  What  is  the  fourth  ? 

Thai.  A  burning  torch,  that's  turned  u|jside  down  ; 
The  word,  Quod  me  alit,  me  extinguit. 

Sim.  Which  !>hews,  that  beauty  hath  his  power 
and  will, 

Which  can  as  v  ell  inflame,  as  it  can  kill. 

The  fifth  Knight  passes.) 


Act  II. 

Thai.  The  fifth,  an  hand  environed  tvith  clovds  ; 
Holding  out  gold,  that's  by  the  touclistone  tried: 
The  motto  thus,  Sic  spectanda  fides. 

{The  sixth  Knight  passes^ 

Sim.  And  what's  the  sixth  and  last,  which  tha 
knight  himself 
With  such  a  graceful  courtesy  deliver'd? 

Thai.  He  seems  a  stranger;  but  his  present  fa 
A  wither'd  branch,  that's  only  green  at  top  j 
The  motto,  In  hac  spe  vivo. 

Sim.  A  pretty  mora! ; 
From  the  dejected  state  wherein  he  is. 
He  hopes  by  you  his  fortunes  yet  may  f.ourish. 

1  Lord.  He  had  need  mean  better  than  hia  oat> 

ward  shew 
Can  any  way  speak  in  his  just  commend  t 
For,  by  his  rusty  outside,  he  appears  [lance. 
To  have  praetis'd  more  the  whipstock,  than  the 

2  Lord.  He  well  may  be  a  stranger,  for  he  comes 
To  an  honour'd  triumph,  strangely  furnished. 

3  Lord.  And  on  set  purpose  let  his  armour  rust 
Until  this  day,  to  scour  it  in  tlie  dust. 

Siin.  Opinion's  but  a  looi,  that  makes  us  scan 
The  outward  habit  by  the  inward  man. 
But  stay,  the  knights  are  coming;  we'll  withdraw 
Into  the  gallery.  [Exeunt. 
{Great  shouts,  and  all  cry,  The  mean  knight.) 

Scene  III.— The  same.   A  Hall  of  State.  A 

Banquet  prepared. 
Enter  Simonides,  'J'haisa,  Lords,  Knights,  and 
Attendants. 

Sim.  Knights, 
To  say  you  are  welcome,  were  superfluous. 
To  place  upon  the  volume  of  your  d^eds. 
As  in  a  title-page,  your  worth  in  arms. 
Were  more  than  you  expect,  or  more  than's  fit. 
Since  every  worth  in  shew  commends  itself. 
Prepare  for  mirth,  for  mirth  becomes  a  feast : 
You  are  my  guests. 

IViai.  But  you,  my  knight  and  gneisi; 

To  whom  this  wreath  of  s  ictory  I  give. 
And  crown  you  king  of  this  day's  happiness. 

Per.  'Tis  more  by  fortune,  lady,  than  by  merit. 

Sim.  Call  it  by  what  you  will,  the  day  is  yours; 
And  here,  I  hojje,  is  none  that  envies  it. 
In  framing  artists,  art  hath  thus  decreed. 
To  make  some  good,  hut  others  to  exceed, 
And  you're  her  labour'd  scholar.    Come,  queen 
o'the  feast, 

(For,  daughter,  so  you  are,)  here  take  your  pla.ce  : 
Marshal  the  rest,  as  they  deserve  their  grace. 

Kjiights.  We  are  honour'd  much  by  good  Simo- 
nide.s.  [love, 

Sim.  Your  presence  glads  our  days ;  honour  we 
For  who  hates  honour,  hates  tlie  gods  above. 

Marsh.  Sir,  yond's  your  place. 

Per.  Some  other  is  more  fit. 

1  Knight.  Contend  not,  sir  ;  for  we  are  gentlemen, 
That  neither  in  our  hearts,  nor  outward  eyes. 
Envy  the  great,  nor  do  the  low  despise. 

Per.  You  are  right  courteous  knigiits. 

Sim.  Sit,  sit,  sir;  sit. 

Per.  By  Jove,  I  wonder,  that  is  king  of  thoughts, 
These  cates  resist  me,  she  not  thought  upon. 

Thai.  By  Juno,  that  is  queen 
Of  marriage,  all  the  viands  that  I  eat 
Do  seem  unsavoury,  wishing  him  my  meat.' 
Sure  he's  a  gallant  gentleman. 

Sim.  He's  but 

A  country  gentleman ;  .  [done; 
He  has  done  no  more  than  other  knights  have 
Broken  a  stalf,  or  so;  so  let  it  pass. 

Thai.  To  me  he  seems  like  diamond  to  glas3. 

Per.   Yon  king's  to  me,   like  to  my  father's 
picture. 

Which  tells  me,  in  that  glory  once  he  was; 
Had  princes  sit,  like  stars,  about  his  throne. 
And  he  the  sim,  for  them  to  reference. 
None,  that  beheld  him,  but,  like  lesser  lights 


PERICLES, 


Scene  5. 


PRINCE  OF  TYKE. 


681 


Did  vail  their  crowns  to  his  supremacy ; 
Where  now  his  son's  a  glow-worm  in  the  night, 
The  witch  hath  fire  in  darkness,  none  in  light ; 
Wiierehy  I  see  that  Titne's  tiie  king  of  men, 
For  he's  their  parent,  and  he  is  fheir  grave. 
And  gives  them  what  he  will,  not  what  they  crave. 

S'tjn.  VVhat,  are  you  merry,  knights  ? 

I  Kni(jht.  VVho  can  be  other,  in  this  royal  pre- 
sence ?  [brim, 

Sim.  Here,  with  a  cup  that's  stor'd  unto  the 
(As  you  do  love,  till  to  your  mistress'  lips,) 
vVe  di  ink  this  health  to  you. 

Knights.  We  thank  your  grace. 

Sim.  Yet  pause  a  while  ; 
Yon  knight,  methinks,  doth  sit  too  melancholy, 
As  if  the  entertainment  in  our  court 
Had  not  a  shew  mi^ht  countervail  his  worth. 
Note  it  not  you,  Thaisa  ? 

Tkcii.  What  is  it 

To  me,  my  father? 

Sim.  O,  attend,  my  daughter; 

Princes,  in  this,  should  live  like  gods  above. 
Who  freely  give  to  every  one  that  comes 
I'o  honour  them  :  and  princes,  not  doing  so, 
Are  like  to  gnats,  which  make  a  sound,  but  kill'd 
Are  wonder'd  at. 

Thereiore  to  make's  entrarfce  more  sweet,  here  say. 
We  drink  this  standing- bowl  of  wine  to  him. 

Thai.  Alas,  niy  father,  it  befits  not  me 
Unto  a  sti  anger  knight  to  be  so  bold  ; 
He  m;iy  my  proffer  take  for  an  offence, 
Sii'.ce  men  take  women'  gifts  for  impudence. 

Sim.  How  ! 
Do  as  I  bid  you,  or  you'll  move  me  else. 

Tliai.  Now,  by  the  goda,  he  could  not  please  me 
better.  _  [Aside.) 

Sim.  And  fin  ther  tell  him,  we  desire  to  know. 
Of  whence  he  is,  his  name  and  parentage. 

Thai.  The  king  my  father,  sir,  has  drunk  to  you. 

Per.  I  thank  him. 

Thai.  Wishing  it  so  much  blood  unto  your  life. 
Per.  I  thcink  both  him  and  you,  and  pledge  him 
freely. 

Thai.  And  further  he  desires  to  know  of  you, 
Of  whence  yon  are,  your  name  and  parentage. 

Per.  A  gentli  uian  of  Tyre — (my  name,  Pericles; 
My  education  being  in  arts  and  arms  ;)— 
Who,  looking  for  adventures  in  the  world, 
VVas  by  the  rough  seas  reft  of  ships  and  men, 
And,  after  shipwreck,  driven  upon  this  shore. 

I'/iai.  He  thanks  your  grace;  names  himself  Peri- 
A  gentleman  of  "i'y re,  who  only  by  [cles. 
Misfortune  of  tl)e  seas  has  been  bereft 
Of  ships  and  men,  and  cast  upon  this  shore. 

Sim.  Now,  by  the  gods,  I  pity  his  misfortune. 
And  will  awake  him  from  his  melancholy. 
Come,  gentlemen,  we  sit  too  long  on  trifles. 
And  wasre  the  time,  which  looks  for  other  revels. 
Even  in  your  armours,  as  you  are  address'd, 
Will  very  well  become  a  soldier's  dance. 
[  will  not  have  excuse,  with  saying,  this 
Loud  music  is  tuo  harsh  for  ladies'  heads; 
Since  they  love  men  in  arms,  as  well  as  beds. 

{The  Knights  dance.) 
So,  this  was  well  ask'd,  'twas  so  well  perforni'd. 
Come,  sir; 

Here  is  a  lady  that  wants  breathing  too  : 
And  I  have  often  heard,  you  knights  of  Tyre 
Are  excellent  in  making  ladies  trip; 
And  that  their  measures  are  as  excellent.  [lord. 
Per.  In  those  that  practise  them,  they  are,  my 
Sim.  O,  that's  as  much,  as  you  would  be  denied 
( The  Knights  and  Ladies  dance.) 
Of  your  f  ur  courtesy. — Uuulasp,  unclasp  ; 
Thanks,  gentlemen,  to  a'jl ;  all  have  done  well, 
But  you  tiie  best.  {To  Pericles.)  Pages  and  lights, 
conduct  [sir, 
IMtese  knights  unto  their  several  lodgings  :  Yours, 
IVe  have  given  order  to  be  next  our  own. 
Per.  1  am  at  your  grace's  pleasure. 


Sim.  Princes,  it  is  too  late  to  talk  of  love. 
For  that's  the  mark  I  know  you  level  at  : 
Therefore  each  one  betake  him  to  his  rest; 
To-morrow,  all  for  speeding  do  their  best.  [Exeuni, 

Scene  IV. — Ti/re.   A  Room  in  the  Governor's 

House. 

Enter  Helicanus  and  Escanes. 

Hel.  No,  no,  my  I3scanes ;  know  this  of  me,— 
An-tiochus  from  incest  li> 'd  not  free  ; 
For  which,  the  most  high  gods  not  minding  longer 
To  withhold  the  vengeance  that  they  had  in  stfjre 
Due  to  this  heinous  capital  offence  ; 
Even  in  the  height  and  pride  of  all  his  glory. 
When  he  was  seated,  and  his  daughter  with  hhn. 
In  a  chariot  of  inestimable  value, 
A  fire  from  heaven  came,  and  shrivell'd  up 
Their  bodies,  even  to  loathing;  for  they  so  stunk. 
That  all  those  eyes  ador'd  (heirs,  ere  their  fall. 
Scorn  now  their  hand  should  g' ve  them  burial. 

Esca.  'Twas  very  strange. 

Hel.  And  yet  but  just;  for  though 

This  king  were  great,  his  greatness  was  no  guard 
To  bar  heaven's  shaft,  but  sid  had  his  reward. 

Esca.  'Tis  very  true. 

Enter  Three  Lords. 

1  Lord.  See,  not  a  man  in  private  conference, 
Or  council,  has  respect  v.'ith  him  but  he.  [proof. 

2  Lord.  It  shall  no  longer  grieve  without  re- 

3  Lord.  And  curs'd  be  he  that  will  not  second  it. 
1  Lord.  Follow  me  then  :  Lord  Helicane,  a  word. 
Hel.  With  me?  and  welcome  :  Happy  day,  my 

lords.  [top, 
1  Lord.  Know,  that  our  griefs  are  risen  to  the 
And  novv  at  length  they  overflow  their  banks. 
Hel.  Your  griefs,  for  what  ?  wrong  ncjt  the  prince 

you  love.  [cane ; 

1  Lord.  Wrong  not  yourself  then,  noble  Heli- 
Biit  if  the  prince  do  live,  let  us  salute  him. 

Or  know  what  ground's  made  happy  by  his  breath. 
If  in  the  world  he  live,  we'll  seek  liim  out; 
If  in  his  grave  he  rest,  we'll  find  him  there; 
And  be  resolv'd,  he  lives  to  govern  us, 
Or  dead,  gives  cause  to  mourn  his  funeral. 
And  leaves  us  to  our  free  election. 

2  Lord.  Whose  deatii's,  indeed,  the  strongert 

in  our  censure : 
And  knowing  this  kingdom,  if  without  a  head, 
(Like  goodly  buildings  left  without  a  roof,) 
Will  soon  to  ruin  fall,  your  noble  self. 
That  best  know'st  how  to  rule,  and  how  to  reign. 
We  thus  submit  unto. — our  sovereign. 
A/l.  Live,  noble  Helicane  ! 

Hel.  Try  honour's  cause  ;  forbear  your  suffrages i 
If  that  you  love  prince  Periclee,  forbear. 
Take  I  your  wish,  1  leap  into  the  seas, 
Where's  hourly  trouble,  for  a  minute's  ease. 
A  twelvemonth  longer,  let  me  then  entreat  you 
To  forbear  choice  i'tlie  absence  of  your  kingi 
If  in  which  time  expir'd,  he  not  retm-n, 
I  shall  with  aged  patience  bear  your  yoke. 
But  if  I  cannot  win  you  to  tliis  love, 
Go  search  like  noblemen,  like  noble  subjects, 
And  in  your  searcii  spend  your  adventurous  worth  ; 
Whom  if  you  find,  and  win  unto  return, 
You  shall  like  diamonds  sit  about  his  crown. 

1  Lord.  To  wisdonj  he's  a  fool  tliat  will  not  yield) 
And,  since  lord  Helicane  enjoineth  us. 
We  with  our  travels  will  endeavour  it.  [bands-; 

Hel.  Then  you  love  us  we  you,  and  we'll  clasp 
When  peers  thus  knit,  a  kingdom  ever  stands. 

[Exeunt 

Scene  V. — Pentapolis.  A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Simonides,  reading  a  h  Iter;  the  Knights 
meet  him. 

1  Knight.  Good  morrow  to  tl  e  good  Simonides. 
Sim.  Knights  from  my  daughter  this  I  let  yo« 
know, 


682 


PERICLES, 


Act  hi. 


That  for  this  twelvemonth,  she'll  not  undertake 
A  married  life. 

Her  reason  to  herself  is  only  known, 
VV^hich  from  herself  by  no  means  can  I  get. 

2  Kniykt.  May  we  not  get  access  to  her,  my  lord  ? 
Sim.  'Faith,  by  no  means;  she  hath  so  strictly 

tied  her 

To  her  chamber,  that  it  is  impossible. 

One  twelve  moons  more  she'll  wear  Diana's  livery; 

This  by  the  eye  of  Cynthia  hath  she  vow'd. 

And  on  her  virgin  honour  will  not  break  it. 

3  Knight.  Though  loath  to  bid  farewell,  we  take 

our  leaves.  [Exeunt. 
Sim.  So, 

They're  well  despatch'd ;  now  to  my  daughter's 
letter: 

She  tells  me  here,  she'll  wed  the  stranger  knight, 
Or  never  more  to  view  nor  day  nor  light. 
Mistress,  'tis  well,  your  choice  agrees  with  mine; 
I  like  that  well : — nay,  how  absolute  she's  in't, 
Not  minding  whether  I  dislike  or  no! 
Well,  I  commend  her  choice  ; 
And  will  no  longer  have  it  be  delay'd. 
Soft,  here  he  comes  : — I  must  dissemble  it. 

Enter  Pericles. 

Per.  All  fortune  to  the  good  Simonides! 

Sim.  To  you  as  much,  sir  !  I  am  beholden  to  you 
For  your  sweet  music  tliis  last  night:  my  ears, 
I  do  protest,  were  never  better  fed 
With  such  delightful  pleasing  harmony. 

Per.  It  is  your  grace's  pleasure  to  commend  ; 
Not  my  desert. 

Sim.  Sir,  you  are  nmsic's  master. 

Per.  The  worst  of  all  her  scholars,  my  good  lord. 

Sim.  Let  me  ask  one  thing.  What  do  you  think. 
My  daughter  _        [sir,  of 

Per.  As  of  a  most  virtuous  princess. 

Sim.  And  she  is  fair  too,  is  she  not? 

Per.  As  a  i'air  day  in  summer;  wond'rous  fair. 

Sim.  My  daughter,  sir,  thinks  very  well  of  you; 
Ay,  so  well,  sir,  that  you  must  be  her  master. 
And  she'll  your  scholar  be;  therefore  look  to  it. 

Per.  Unworthy  I  to  be  her  schoolmaster. 

Sim.  She  thinks  not  so ;  peruse  this  writing  else. 

Per.  What's  here  ! 
A  letter,  that  she  loves  the  knight  of  Tyre? 
'Tis  the  king's  subtilty,  to  have  my  life.  {Aside.) 
O,  seek  not  to  inti  ap,  my  gracious  lord, 
A  stran><er  and  distressed  gentleman, 
That  never  aim  d  so  high,  to  love  your  daughter, 
But  bent  ail  offices  to  honoin-  hei.  [art 

Sim.  Thou  hast  bevvitch'd  my  daughter,  and  thou 
A  villain. 

Per.  By  the  gods,  I  have  not,  sir. 
Never  did  tiiought  of  mine  levy  offence  ; 
Nor  never  did  n»y  actions  yet  commence 
A  deed  might  gain  her  love,  or  your  displeasure. 

Sim.  Traitor,  thou  liest. 

Per.  Traitor ! 

Sim.  Ay,  traitor,  sir. 

Per.  Even  in  his  throat,  (nnless  it  be  the  king,) 
That  calls  me  traitor,  I  return  the  lie. 

Sim.  Now,  by  the  gods,  I  do  applaud  his  couriage. 

{Aside.) 

Per.  My  actions  are  as  noble  as  my  thoughts, 
That  never  relish'd  of  a  base  descent. 
I  came  unto  your  court,  for  honour's  cause, 
And  rwt  to  be  a  rebel  to  her  state ; 
And  he  that  otherwise  accounts  of  me, 
I'his  sword  shall  prove  he's  honour's  enemy. 

Sim.  No!— 
Here  comes  my  daughter,  sho  can  witness  it. 

Enter  Thaisa. 

Per,  Then,  as  you  are  as  virtuous  as  fair, 
Resolve  your  angry  father,  if  my  tongue 
Did  e'er  solicit,  or  my  hand  subscribe 
To  any  syllable  that  made  love  to  you? 

Thai.  Why  sir,  say  if  you  had 


Who  takes  offence  at  that  would  mAke  o*e  glad 

Sim.  Yea,  mistress,  are  you  so  pcn^'mptory  ? — 
I  am  glad  of  it  with  all  my  heart.  {Asid€.)  I'll  tauu 
I'll  bring  you  in  subjection. —  [you/ 
Will  you,  not  having  my  consent,  bestow 
Your  love  and  your  affections  on  a  straugei  ! 
(Who,  for  aught  1  know  to  the  contrary. 
Or  think,  may  be  as  great  in  blood  as  I.)  {Aude^ 
Hear  therefore,  mistress;  frame  your  will  to  miuc.*«» 
And  you,  sir,  hear  you. — Either  be  rul'd  by  me. 
Or  I  will  make  you — man  and  wife. 
Nay,  conie  ;  your  hands  and  lips  nmst  seal  it  too*  — 
And  being  join'd,  I'll  thus  your  hopes  destroy  ;— • 
And  for  a  further  grief, — God  give  you  joy  I 
What,  are  you  both  pleas'd  ? 

Thai.  Yes,  if  you  love  me,  sir. 

Per.  Even  as  my  life,  my  blood  that  fosters  it. 

Sim.  What,  are  you  both  agreed  1 

Both.  Yes,  plea.se  your  majesty. 

Sim.  It  pleaseth  me  so  well,  I'll  see  you  wed ; 
Then,  with  what  haste  you  can,  get  you  to  bed. 

[Exeunt, 

ACT  in. 

Enter  Gowbr. 

Gow.  Now  sleep  yslaked  hath  the  rout; 
No  din  but  snores,  the  house  about, 
Made  louder  by  the  o'er-fed  breast 
01  this  niost  pompous  marriage  feast. 
The  ca<t,  witli  eyne  of  burning  coal. 
Now  couches  'fore  the  mouse's  hole  ; 
And  crickets  sing  at  th'  oven's  mouth. 
As  the  blither  for  their  drouth. 
Hymen  hath  brought  the  bride  to  bed, 
Where,  by  the  loss  of  maidenhead, 
A  babe  is  moidded ; — Be  attent, 
And  time  that  is  so  briefly  spent. 
With  your  fine  fancies  quaintly  eche 
What's  dumb  in  shew.  Til  plain  with  sfieef  h. 
{Dumb  shew.) 

Enter  Pericles  and  Simonides  at  <me  door,  with 
Attendants ;  a  Messenger  meets  tliem,  kneels, 
and  fjives  Pericles  a  letter.  Pericles  sheics  it 
to  Simonides;  the  Lords  Jcneel  to  the  former. 
Then  enter  'J'haisa  with  child,  and  liYCHOKinA 
Simonides  sheivs  his  daughter  the  latter ;  she 
rejoices  :  she  and  Pericles  take  leave  of  Aer 
Father,  and  depart.  Then  Simonides,  ^'c  re^ 
tire. 

Gow.  By  many  a  dearn  and  painful  perch, 
Of  Pericles  the  careful  search 
By  the  four  opposing  coignes, 
Which  the  world  together  joins, 
Is  made  with  all  due  diligence. 
That  horse,  and  sail,  and  high  expense, 
Can  stead  the  quest.    At  last  from  Tyre 
(Fame  answering  the  most  strong  inquire,) 
To  the  court  of  king  Simonides 
Are  letters  brought,  the  tenour  these: 
Antiochus  and  his  daughter's  dead; 
The  men  of  Tyrus,  on  the  head 
Of  Helicanus  would  set  on 
The  crown  of  Tyre,  but  he  will  none: 
The  mutiny  there  he  hastes  t'appea.se; 
Says  to  them,  if  king  Pericles 
Come  not,  in  twice  six  nioons,  home. 
He,  obedient  to  their  doom, 
Will  take  the  crown.    The  sum  of  this. 
Brought  hither  to  Pentapolis, 
Y-ravished  the  regions  round. 
And  every  one  with  claps,  'gan  sound, 
Our  heir  apparent  is  a.  king  ; 
Who  dream' d.,  who  thought  of  auch  a  thing  f 
Brief,  he  must  hence  depart  to  Tyi  e  : 
His  queen  with  child  makes  her  desire 
(Which  who  shall  cross  ?)  along  to  go ; 
(Omit  we  all  their  dole  and  woe  ;J 
Lychorida,  her  nurse,  she  takes, 


\ 


Scene  5. 


PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


683 


And  so  to  sea.    Their  vessel  shakes 

On  N«5ptune's  billow  ;  half  the  flood 

Hatb  their  keel  cut;  bnt  fortune's  mood 

Varies  again;  the  grizzled  north 

Disgorges  such  a  tempest  forth, 

'J'liat,  as  a  duck  for  live  that  dives. 

So  up  and  down  the  poor  ship  drives. 

The  lady  shrieks,  and,  well-a  near! 

Doth  fall  in  travail  with  her  fear: 

And  what  ensues  in  this  fell  storm. 

Shall,  for  itself,  itsejf  perform. 

I  nill  relate,  action  may 

Conveniently  the  rest  convey: 

Which  rniglit  not  what  by  me  is  told. 

In  your  imagination  hold 

This  stage,  the  ship,  upon  whose  deck 

The  sea-tost  prince  appears  to  speak.  [Exit. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Pericles,  on  a  ship  at  sea. 
Per.  Thou  God  of  this  great  vast,  rebuke  these 
surges,  [hast 
Which  wash  both  heaven  and  hell;  and  thou,  that 
pon  the  winds  command,  bind  them  in  brass, 
aving  call'd  them  from  the  deep!    O,  still  thy 
deaf'ning, 

hy  dreadful  thunders  ;  gently  quench  thy  nimble, 
ulphureous  flashes  ! — O  how,  Lychorida, 
ow  does  my  queen  ? — Thou  storm,  thou,  veno- 
mously 

ilt  thou  spit  all  thyself? — The  seaman's  whistle 
s  as  a  whisper  in  the  ears  of  death, 
nheard. —  Lychorida  ! — Lucina,  O 
ivinest  patroness,  and  midwife,  gentle 

0  those  that  cry  by  night,  convey  thy  deity 
board  our  dancing  boat ;  make  svviit  the  pangs 
f  my  queen's  travails  ! — Now,  Lychorida — 

Enter  Lychorida,  with  an  infcQit. 

Lye.  Here  is  a  thing 
Too  young  for  such  a  place,  who,  if  it  had 
onceit,  would  die  as  I  am  like  to  do. 

ake  in  your  arms  this  piece  of  your  dead  queen. 

Per.  How!  iiow,  Lychorida, 

Lyc.  Patience,  good  sir ;  do  not  assist  the  storm. 
Here  s  all  that  is  left  living  of  your  queen, — 
A  little  daua  liter;  for  the  sake  of  it. 
Be  manly,  and  take  comfort. 

Per.  O  you  gods  ! 

Why  do  you  make  us  love  your  goodly  gifts, 
And  suatch  them  straight  away  ?   W e,  here  below. 
Recall  not  what  we  give,  and  therein  may 
Vie  honour  with  yourselves. 

Lyc.  Patience,  good  sir, 

Even  for  this  charge. 

Per.  Now,  mild  may  be  thy  life ! 

For  a  more  blust'rous  birth  had  never  babe  : 
Quiet  and  gentle  thy  conditions  ! 
For  thou'rt  the  rudeliest  welcom'd  to  this  world. 
That  e'er  wws  prince's  child.   Happy  what  follows  ! 
Thou  hast  as  chiding  a  nativity. 
As  Are,  air.  water,  earth  and  heaven  can  make, 
To  herald  thee  from  the  womb :  even  at  the  first. 
Thy  loss  is  more  than  can  thy  portage  quit. 
With  all  thou  canst  find  here. — Now  the  good  gods 
Throw  their  best  eyes  upon  it! 

Enter  two  Sailors. 

1  Sail.  What  courage,  sir?  God  save  you. 

Per.  Co;irage  enough  :  I  do  not  fear  the  flaw; 
It  hatli  done  to  me  the  worst.  Yet,  for  the  love 
Of  this  poor  infant,  this  fresh-new  sea-farer, 

1  would,  it  would  be  quiet. 

1  Sail.  Slack  the  bolins  there;  thou  wilt  not,  wilt 
thou  '■.  Blow,  and  split  ttiyself. 

2  Sail.  But  sea-room,  an  the  brine  and  cloudy 
billow  kiss  the  moon,  1  care  not. 

1  Sail.  Sir,  your  queen  must  overboard ;  the  sea 
works  high,  the  wind  is  loud,  and  will  not  lie  till  the 
«hip  be  cleared  of  the  dead. 


Per.  That's  your  superstition. 

1  Scdl.  Pardon  us,  sir;  with  us  at  sea  it  still 
hath  been  observed;  and  we  are  .strong  in  trarneat. 
Therefore  briefly  yield  her;  for  she  must  overboard 
straight.  [queen  1 

Per.  Be  it  as  you  think  meet. — Most  wretched 
Lyc.  Here  she  lies,  sir. 

Per.  A  terrible  child-bed  hast  thou  had,  my  dearj 
No  light,  no  fire  :  the  unfriendly  elements 
Forgot  thee  utterly;  nor  have  1  tinie 
To  give  thee  hallow'd  to  thy  grave,  but  straight 
Must  cast  thee,  scarcely  coiiin'd,  in  the  ooze ; 
Where,  for  a  monument  upon  thy  bones, 
And  aye-remaining  lamps,  the  belching  whale, 
And  humming  water  must  o'erwhelm  thy  corpse, 
Lying  with  simple  shells.  Lychorida, 
Bid  Nestor  bring  me  spices,  ink  and  paper. 
My  casket  and  my  jewels ;  and  bid  Nicander 
Bring  me  the  satin  cofler:  lay  the  babe 
Upon  the  pillow ;  hie  thee,  whiles  '  .s:iy 
A  priestly  farewell  to  her:  suddeh.y,  woman. 

[Exit  Lychorida, 

2  Sail.  Sir,  we  have  a  chest  beneath  the  hatches, 
caulk'd  and  bitumed  ready. 

Per.  I  thank  thee.  Mariner,  say  what  coast  is  this? 

2  Sail.  We  are  near  'I'harsus. 

Per.  Thither,  gentle  mariner. 
Alter  thy  course  for  Tyre.  When  can'st  thou  reach  it? 

2  Sail.  By  break  of  day,  if  the  wind  cease. 

Per.  O  make  for  Tharsus. 
There  will  I  visit  Cleim,  for  the  babe 
Cannot  hold  out  to  Tyrus:  there  I'll  leave  it 
At  careful  nursing.  Go  thy  ways,  good  mariner; 
I'll  bring  the  body  presently.  [Exeuni, 

Scene  H. — Ephesus.  A  Room  in  Cerimon's  House. 
Enter  Cerimon,  a  Servant,  and  some  persons  who 
have  been  shipwrecked, 
Cer.  Philemon,  ho! 

Enter  Philemml 

Phil.  Doth  my  lord  call? 

Cer.  Get  fire  and  meat  for  these  poor  nieni 
It  hath  been  a  turbulent  and  stormy  night. 

Serv.  I  have  been  in  many ;  but  such  a  night  as 
Till  now,  I  ne'er  endiir'd.  [this, 

Cer.  Your  master  will  be  dead  ere  you  return; 
There's  nothing  can  be  minister'd  to  nature, 
Tiiat  can  recover  him.  Give  this  to  the  'pothecary. 
And  tell  nie  how  it  works.  [To  Philemon,) 

[Exeunt  Philemon,  Servant,  and  those  whc 
had  been  shipivrecked. 

Enter  two  Gentlemen. 

1  Gent.  Good  morrow,  sir. 

2  Gent.  Good  morrow  to  your  lordship. 

Cer.  Gentlemeo, 
Why  do  you  stir  so  early  ? 

1  Gent.  Sir, 
Our  lodgings,  standing  bleak  upon  the  sea. 
Shook  as  the  earth  did  quake  ; 
'I'he  very  principals  did  seem  to  rend, 
And  all  to  topple ;  pure  surprise  and  fear 
Made  me  to  quit  the  house.  [early; 

3  Gent.  That  is  the  cause  we  trouble  you  to 
'Tis  not  our  husbandry. 

Cer.  O,  you  .say  well. 

1  Gent.  But  I  much  marvel  that  your  lordship 
having 

Rich  tire  about  you,  should  at  these  early  hour» 
Shake  off"  the  golden  slumber  of  repose. 
It  is  most  strange, 

Nature  should  be  so  conversant  with  paia. 
Being  thereto  not  compell'd. 

Cer.  I  held  it  ever 

Virtue  and  cunning  were  endowments  greater 
Than  nobleness  and  riches  :  careless  heirs 
May  the  two  latter  darken  and  expend; 
But  immortality  attends  the  former. 
Making  a  man  a  god.    'Tis  known,  1  «ver 


684 


PERICLES, 


Have  studied  physic,  through  vshich  secret  art, 
Hy  turning  o'er  authorities,  I  have 
[Together  with  my  practice,)  made  familiar 
To  me  and  to  my  aid,  the  blest  infusions 
That  dwell  in  vegetives,  in  metals,  stones; 
And  I  can  speak  of  the  disturbances 
That  nature  works,  and  of  her  cures ;  which  gives  me 
A  more  content  in  course  of  true  delight 
Than  (o  be  thirsty  after  tottering  honour, 
C)i  tie  my  treasure  up  in  silken  bags, 
To  please  the  ibol  and  death.  [forth 
2  Gent.  Your  honour  has  through  Ephesus  pour'd 
Your  charity,  and  hundreds  call  tliemselves 
Your  creatures,  who  oy  you  have  been  restor'd  : 
And  not  your  knowledge,  personal  pain,  but  even 
Vour  purse,  still  open,  hath  built  lord  Cerimon 
Such  strong  renovvn  as  time  shall  never — 

Enter  tivo  Servants^  with  a  chest. 

Serv.  So  ;  lift  there. 

Cer.  What  is  that? 

Serv.  Sir,  even  now 

Did  tfie  sea  toss  upon  our  shore  this  chest; 
'Tis  of  some  wreck. 

Cer.  Set  it  down,  let's  look  on  it. 

2  Gent.  'Tis  like  a  coffin,  sir. 

Cer,  Whate'er  it  be, 

Tis  wondrous  heavy.    Wrench  it  open  straight; 
If  the  sea's  stomach  be  o'ercharg'd  with  gold. 
It  is  a  goud  constraint  of  fortune,  that 
It  belches  upon  us. 

2  Gent.  'Tis  so,  my  lord. 

Cer.  How  close  'tis  caulk'd  and  bitum'd  !— 
Did  the  sea  cast  it  up  ? 

Serv  I  never  saw  so  huge  a  billow,  sir, 
As  toss  d  it  upon  shore. 

Cer.  Come,  wrench  it  open ; 

Soft,  sntt! — it  smells  most  sweetly  in  my  sense. 

2  dnt.  A  delicate  odour. 

Cer.  As  ever  hit  my  nostril;  so, — up  with  it. 
O  yon  most  potent  gf)^s  !  What's  here  ?  a  corse  ! 

1  Gent.  Most  strange  !  [trpasur'd 
Cer.  Shrouded  in  ctoth  of  state  ;  balm'd  and  en- 

W^ith  bags  of  spices  full!  A  passport  too! 
Apollo,  perfect  me  i'the  characters  I 

( Unfolds  a  scroll.) 
Here  I  give  to  understand,  {Reads.) 

ilfeer  this  ccffin  drive  a  land,) 
\  king  Pericles,  have  lost 
This  queen,  worth  all  our  mundane  cost 
W/io finds  her,  give  her  burying. 
She  ivas  the  daughter  of  a  Icing : 
Besides  this  treasure  for  a  fee. 
The  guds  requite  his  cjmrity  ! 
it  thou  liv'st,  Pericles,  ihou  hast  a  heart, 
That  even  cracks  for  woe  ! — This  chanc'd  to-night. 

2  Gent.  Most  likely,  sir. 

Cer.  Nay,  certainly  to-night; 

For  look,  how  fresh  she  looks  !  —  They  were  too 
rough, 

That  threw  her  in  the  sea.    Make  fire  within; 
Fetch  hither  all  the  boxes  in  my  closet. 
Death  may  usurp  on  nature  many  hours, 
And  yet  tlie  fire  of  life  kindle  again 
The  over[)ressed  spirits.    1  have  heard 
Of  an  Egyptian,  had  nine  hours  lien  dead, 
By  good  appliance  was  re(X)vered. 
Entt;  a  Servant,  ivith  boxes,  napkins,  and  fire. 
Well  said,  well  said  :  the  fire  and  the  cloths. — 
The  rough  and  vvoful  music  that  we  have, 
Cause  it  to  sound,  'beseech  you.  [block  ! 

The  vial  once   more; — How  thou  stirr'st,  thou 
The  music  tiiere. — I  pray  you,  give  her  air : — 
Gentlemen, 

This  queen  will  live  :  nature  awakes;  a  warmth 
Breathes  our  of  her;  she  hath  not  been  entranc'd 
Above  five  hours.    Sec,  how  she  'gins  to  blow 
Into  file's  flower  again  ! 

1  Gent.  The  heavens,  sir, 

Tlirough  yon,  increase  our  wonder,  and  set  up 


Your  fame  for  ever. 

Cer.  She  is  alive  ;  behofd. 

Her  eye-lids,  cases  to  those  heavenly  jeweUl 
Which  Pericles  hath  lost, 
Begin  to  part  their  fringes  of  bright  gold  j 
The  diamonds  of  a  most  praised  water 
Appear,  to  make  the  world  twice  rich.    O  live. 
And  make  us  weep  to  hear  your  fate,  fair  creatire 
Rare  as  you  seem  to  be  !  {She  tnates^ 

Thai.  O  dear  Diana, 

W^here  am  I  ?  Where's  my  lord  ?  What  world  ia 

2  Gent.  Is  not  this  strange  ?  [this? 

1  Gent.  Most  rare. 

Cer.  Hush,  gentle  neighbours; 

Lend  me  your  hands  ;  to  the  next  chamber  bear  her. 
Get  linen;  now  this  matter  must  be  look'd  to, 
For  her  relapse  is  mortal.    Come,  come,  come  : 
And  iiSsculapius  guide  us  ! 

[Exeunt,  carrying  Thaisa  away. 

Scene  III. — Tharsus.   A  room  in  aeon's  House. 
Enter  Pericles,  Cleon,  Dionyza,  Lychorida, 
and  Marina. 

Per.  Most  honour'd  CleOn,  I  mu5;t needs  be  gone, 
My  twelve  months  are  expir'd,  and  Tyrus  stands 
In  a  litigious  peace.    You,  and  your  lady, 
'J'ake  from  my  heart  all  thankfulness  !  The  gods 
Make  up  the  rest  upon  you  ! 

Cle.  Your  shafts  of  fortune,  though  they  hurt  yon 
mortally, 
Yet  glance  full  wand'ringly  on  us. 

Dion,  O  your  sweet  queen ! 

That  the  strict  fates  had  pleas'd  you  had  brought 

her  hither. 
To  have  bless'd  mine  eyes ! 

Per.  We  cannot  but  obey 

The  powers  above  us.    Could  I  rage  and  roar 
As  doth  the  sea  she  lies  in,  yet  the  end 
Must  be  as  'tis.    My  babe  Marina  ( whom. 
For  she  was  born  at  sea,  I  have  nam'd  so, )  her* 
I  charge  your  charity  withal,  and  leave  her 
The  infant  of  your  care  ;  beseeching  you 
To  give  her  princely  training,  that  she  may  be 
Manner'd  as  she  is  born. 

Cle.  Fear  not,  my  lord : 

Your  grace,  that  fed  my  country  with  your  corn, 
(For  which  the  people's  prayers  still  fall  upon  3F0a)k 
Must  in  your  child  be  thought  on.    If  neglection 
Should  therein  make  me  vile,  the  common  body. 
By  you  reliev'd,  would  force  me  to  my  duty : 
But  if  to  that  my  nature  need  a  spur, 
The  gods  revenge  it  upon  me  and  mine. 
To  the  end  of  generation ! 

Per.  I  believe  you  ; 

Your  honour  and  your  goodness  teach  me  crediL 
W  ithout  your  vows.    Till  she  be  married,  madam. 
By  bright  Diana,  whom  we  honour  all, 
Unscissor'd  shall  this  hair  of  mine  remain. 
Though  I  shew  will  in't.   So  I  take  my  leave. 
Good  n>adam,  make  me  blessed  in  your  care 
In  bringing  up  my  child. 

Dion.  I  have  one  myself. 

Who  shall  not  be  more  dear  to  my  respect. 
Than  yours,  my  lord. 

Per.  Madam,  my  thanks  and  prayers. 

Cle.  We'll  bring  your  grace  even  to  the  edge 
o'the  shore ; 
Then  give  you  up  to  the  mask'd  Neptune,  and 
The  gentlest  winds  of  heaven. 

Per.  I  will  embrace 

Your  offer.    Come,  dear'st  madam. — O,  no  tears, 
Lychorida,  no  tears : 

Look  to  your  little  mistress,  on  whose  grace 
You  may  depend  hereafter.    Come,  my  lord. 

[Exeunt, 

Scene  IV. — Ephesus.    A  Room  in  Cerimon's 
House. 

Enter  Cerimon  and  Thaisa. 
Cer.  Madam,  this  letter,  and  some  certain  jewe^ 


Act  IV.    Scene  1.  PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


II  Lay  with  you  in  yotir  cnfTer:  which  are  now 
At  yonr  command.    Know  jou  the  character  ? 

T/iai.  It  is  toy  lord's. 
That  I  was  shij'p'd  at  sea,  I  well  remember, 
Even  on  my  yeariiin«  time  ;  but  whether  there 
Delivered  or  no,  by  th^  holy  gods, 
I  cannot  rightly  say:  But  since  king  Pericles, 

|i  My  wedded  lord,  I  ne'er  shall  see  again, 

i  A  vestal  li\  ery  will  I  take  me  to, 
And  never  more  have  joy. 

I     Cer.  Madam,  if  this  you  purpose  as  you  speak, 
Diana's  temj.le  is  not  distant  far, 
Where  yon  may  'bide  until  your  date  expire. 

I  Moreover,  if  yon  please,  a  niece  of  mine 
Shall  there  atiend  you. 

j     Thai.  My  recompense  is  thanks,  that's  all ; 

I  Yet  aiy  good  will  is  great,  though  the  gift  small. 

[ExeurJ. 

ACT  IV. 
Enter  GoWER. 
Gower.  Imagine  Pericles  at  Tyre, 
Welcomed  to  h'S  own  desire. 
His  woful  queen  leave  at  Ephess, 
To  Dian  there  a  votaress. 
Now  to  Marirrj  bend  your  mind, 
Whom  our  fast  growing  scene  must  find 
At  Tharsus,  and  by  Cleon  train'd 
In  music,  letters  ;  who  hath  gain'd 
Of  education  all  the  grace, 
Which  makes  her  both  the  heart  and  place 
Of  general  wonder.  But  alack  ! 
'J'hat  monster  envy,  of  the  wrack 
Of  earned  praise,  Marina's  life 
Seeks  to  take  off  by  treason's  knife. 
And  in  this  kind  hath  our  Cleon 
One  daughter,  and  a  wench  full  grown. 
Even  ripe  for  marriage  fight;  this  maid 
Hight  Philoten  :  and  it  is  said 
For  certain  in  our  story,  she 
Would  ever  with  Marina  be  ; 
lie't  when  she  weav'd  the  sleided  silk 
With  fingers  long,  small,  white  as  milk  ; 
Or  when  she  would  with  sharp  neeld  vvoxmd 
The  cambric,  which  she  made  more  sound 
By  hurting  it ;  or  when  to  the  lute 
She  suug^,  and  made  the  night-bird  mute, 
That  still  records  with  moan;  or  when 
She  would  with  rich  and  constant  pen 
Vail  to  her  mistress  Dian  ;  still 
'J'his  Philoten  contends  in  skill 
With  absolute  M-arina  :  so 
With  the  dove  of  Paphos  might  the  crow 
Vie  feathers  white.  Marina  gets 
All  praises,  which  are  paid  as  debts, 
And  not  as  given.  This  so  darks 
In  Philote-n  all  graceful  marks, 
That  Cleon's  wile,  with  envy  rare, 
A  present  murderer  does  prepare 
For  good  Marina,  that  her  daughter 
Might  stand  peerless  by  this  slaughter. 
The  sooner  her  vile  thoughts  to  stead, 
Liychorida,  our  nurse,  is  dead; 
And  cursed  Dionyza  hath 
The  pregnant  instrument  of  wrath 
Prest  for  this  blow.    The  unborn  event 
I  do  commend  to  your  content: 
Only  I  carry  winged  time 
Post  on  the  lame  I'eet  of  my  rhyme  ; 
Which  never  could  I  so  convey. 
Unless  your  thoughts  went  on  my  way. — 
Dionyisa  does  appear. 

With  Leonine,  a  murderer.  [Exit 
Scene  I. — Tharsus.  An  open  Place  ^  near  t/u 
Sea -shore. 
Enter  Dionyza  and  Leonine. 
Dion»  Thy  oath  remember;  thou  hast  sworn  t( 
doit: 

Tis  hut  a  blow  which  never  shall  be  known. 


am 

Thou  canst  not  do  a  thing  i'the  world  so  soon, 
To  yield  thee  so  much  prcifit.  Let  not  consci''^>^i«, 
Which  is  but  cold,  infiame  love  in  thy  bosct»>. 
Inflame  too  nicely  ;  nor  lei  pity,  which 
Even  women  have  cast  olf,  melt  thee,  buf. 
A  soldier  to  thy  purpose. 

Leon.  I'll  do't;  but  yet  she  is  a  govd'y  cri-aliir* 
Dion.  The  fitter  then  the  gods  slyj^A  have  h^ 
Here 

Weeping  she  comes  for  her  old  nurv  >J  death. 
Thou  art  resolv'd  ? 

Leon.  I  am  resolvV^ 

Enter  Marina,  with  a  baslrjf  cf  flowers. 
Mar.  No,  no,  1  will  rob  Telluy  of  her  weed, 
To  strew  thy  green  with  llowem  /^he  yellows,  bluer 
The  puri)le  violets,  and  marigifVa, 
Shall,  as  a  chaplet,  hang  upo^  thy  grave. 
While  summer  days  do  last.  Ph  me  !  poor  maid. 
Born  in  a  tempest,  when  wr  raother  died. 
This  world  to  me  is  like  a  /j'iting  storm, 
Whirring  me  from  my  frif  aJs. 

Dion.  Hownow,Marii!?.i!  why  doyou  keep  alomj"; 
How  chance  my  daught.^/Ls  not  with  you  ?  Do  not 
Consume  your  blood  v  J!i  sorrowing  :  you  iiave 
A  nurse  ot  me.   Lord  !  how  your  favour's  ciiang'rf> 
With  this  unprofitabJ:!  woe  !  Come,  come  ; 
Give  me  your  wreat'i  of  flowers,  ere  the  sea  mar  iX 
Walk  forth  with  l/icnine  ;  the  air  is  quick  there, 
Piercing,  and  sharpens  well  tiie  stomacli.  Come;  — 
Leonine,  take  her'  uy  the  arm,  vvalk  with  her. 

Mar.  No,  I  Y-{"*y  y^^" ; 

I'll  not  bereavu  /ju  of  your  servant. 
•  Dion.  Come,  conic; 

I  love  the  kinu  your  father,  and  yourself. 
With  more  tVjrti  foreign  heart.  We  every  day 
Expect  hiir  he/e  :  when  he  shall  come  and  find 
Our  paragon  to  all  reports,  thus  blasted, 
He  will  rG:^.^nt  the  breadth  of  his  great  voyage; 
Blame  bot  i  my  lord  and  me,  that  we  have  ta'en 
No  car*  ^,o  your  best  courses.  Go,  I  pray  you, 
Walk^  Jifld  be  cheerful  once  again  ;  reserve 
Thater.celleiit  complexion,  which  did  steal 
'i'he  &yes  of  young  and  old.  Care  not  for  me  ; 
I  c  arj  go  home  alone. 

A/jT.  '         Well,  I  will  go; 

Bjt  yet  I  have  no  desire  to  it. 

Dion.  Come,  come ,  I  know  'tis  good  for  you. 
Walk  half  an  hour,  Leonine,  at  the  least; 
Kemember  what  I  have  said, 

Leon.  /  warrant  you,  madam, 

Dion.  I'll  leave  you,  my  sweet  lady,  for  a  whiU; 
Pray  you  walk  softly,  do  not  heat  your  blood  ; 
What !  I  must  have  a  care  of  you. 

Mar.  Thanks,  sweet  madam. — 

[Exit  Dionysa. 

Is  this  wind  westerly  that  blows  ? 

Leon.  South-west. 

Mar.  When  I  was  born,  the  wind  was  north. 

Leon.  Was't  so  ? 

Mar.  My  father,  as  nurse  said,  did  never  fear, 
But  cry'd,  good  seamen  !  to  the  sailors,  galling 
His  kingly  hands  with  hauling  of  the  ropes ; 
And,  clasping  to  the  mast,  endur'd  a  sea 
'J'hat  almost  burst  the  deck,  and  from  the  ladder- 
tackle 

Wash'd  off' a  canvass-climber  :  Ha!  says  one. 
Wilt  out  /  and,  with  a  dropping  industry, 
They  skip  from  stem  to  stern :  the  boatswaia 
whistles. 

The  master  calls,  and  trebles  their  confusion. 

Leon.  And  vviien  was  this  ? 

Mar.  It  was,  when  I  was  bom  • 

Never  was  waves  nor  wind  more  violent. 

Leon.  Come,  say  your  prayers  speedily. 

Mar.  What  mean  you  ? 

Leon.  If  you  require  a  little  space  for  prayer 
I  grant  it :  Pray  ;  but  be  not  tedious. 
For  the  gods  are  quick  of  ear  and  1  am  avfon 
To  do  my  work  with  haste. 


PERICLES, 


Act  IV 


Mar.  Why  will  you  kill  me  ? 

Leon  To  satisfy  my  lady. 

Mar.  Why  would  she  have  me  kill'd  ? 
Now,  as  1  can  remember,  by  my  troth, 
\  never  did  lier  hurt  in  all  my  life; 
I  never  spake  bad  word,  nor  did  ill  turn 
To  any  living  creature :  believe  me,  la, 
I  never  kill'd  a  mouse,  nor  hurt  a  fly  : 
I  trod  upon  a  worm  against  my  will, 
lint  I  wept  for  it.    How  have  I  offended. 
Wherein  my  death  might  yield  her  profit,  or 
My  life  imply  her  danger? 

Leon.  My  commission 

Is  not  to  reason  of  the  deed,  but  do  it. 

Mar.  You  will  not  do't  for  all  the  world,  I  hope. 
Yoii  are  well  favour'd,  and  your  looks  foreshew 
You  have  a  gentle  heart.    I  saw  you  lately, 
When  you  caught  hurt  in  parting  two  that  fought : 
Good  sooth,  it  shewd  well  in  you;  do  so  now: 
Your  lady  seeks  my  life;  come  you  between. 
And  save  poor  me,  the  weaker. 

Leofi.  I  am  sworn, 

And  will  despatch. 

Enter  Pirates,  whilst  Marina  is  struggling. 

1  Pirate.  Hold,  villain  !    {Leonine  runs  awat/.) 

2  Pirate.  A  prize !  a  prize  I 

3  Pirate.  Half-part,  mates,  half-part.  Come,  let's 
have  her  aboard  suddenly. 

[Exeunt  Pirates  with  Marina. 

Scene  IT. — The  same. 
Re-enter  Leonine. 
Leon.  These  roving  thieves  serve  the  great  pi- 
rate V^aldes ; 
And  they  have  seiz'd  Marina.    Let  her  go : 
There's  no  hope  she'll  return.  I'll  swear  she's  dead, 
And  thrown  into  the  sea. — But  111  see  further; 
Perhaps  they  will  but  please  themselves  upon  her, 
Not  carry  her  abroad.    If  she  remain, 
Whom  they  have  ravish'd,  must  by  me  be  slain. 

[Exit. 

Scene  III. — Mytilene.   A  Room  in  a  Brothel. 
Enter  Pander,  Bawd,  and  Boult. 
Pand.  Boult. 
Buult.  Sir. 

Pand.  Search  the  market  narrowly ;  Mytilene  is 
full  of  gallants.  We  lost  too  much  money  this 
mart,  by  being  too  wenchless. 

Bawd.  We  were  never  so  much  out  of  creatures. 
We  have  but  poor  three,  and  they  can  do  no  more 
than  they  can  do;  and  with  continual  action  are 
even  as  good  as  rotten. 

Pand.  Therefore  let's  have  fresh  ones,  whate'er 
we  pay  for  them.  If  there  be  not  a  conscience  to 
be  us  d  in  every  trade,  we  shall  never  prosper. 

Bawd.  Thou  say'st  true  ;  'tis  not  the  bringing  up 
of  poor  bastards,  as  I  think  I  have  brought  up 
oome  eleven — 

Boult.  Ay,  to  eleven,  and  brought  them  down 
again.    But  ^hall  I  search  the  market  ? 

Bawd.  What  else,  man?  The  stuff  we  have,  a 
strong  wind  will  blow  it  to  pieces,  they  are  so  piti- 
fully sodden. 

Pand.  Than  say'st  true ;  they  are  too  unwhole- 
some, o'conscience.  The  poor  Transilvanian  is  dead, 
that  Ihv  with  the  little  baggage. 

Boult.  Ay,  she  quickly  poop'd  him;  she  made 
him  roast-meat  for  worms  : — but  I'll  go  search  the 
market  [Exit. 

Pand.  Three  or  four  thousands  chequins  were  as 
pretty  a  proportion  to  live  quietly,  and  so  give  over. 

Bated.  VVliy,  to  give  over,  I  pray  you  >*  is  it, a 
shame  to  get  when  we  are  old  ? 

Pand.  O,  our  credit  conies  not  in  like  the  com- 
modity ;  nor  the  commodity  wages  not  with  the 
danger;  therel'ore,  if  in  our  youths  we  could  pick 
ap  8on[»e  pretty  estate,  'twere  not  amiss  to  keep  our 
door  hatcti'd.    Besides,  the  sore  terms  we  stand 


wpon  with  the  gods,  will  be  strong  with  us  for  pv« 
ing  over. 

Bawd.  Come,  other  sorts  offend  as  well  as  we. 

Pand.  As  well  as  we?  ay,  and  better  too;  w« 
o'^end  worse.  Neither  is  our  profession  any  trade; 
—it's  no  calling  : — but  here  comes  Boult. 

Enter  the  Pirates  and  BoULT,  dragging  in 
Marina. 

Boult.  Come  your  ways.  ( To  Marina.) — My 
masters,  you  say  she's  a  virgin? 

1  Pirate.  O,  sir,  we  doubt  it  not. 

Boult.  Master,  I  have  gone  thorough  for  this 
piece,  you  see  :  if  you  like  her,  so ;  if  not,  I  have 
lost  my  earnest. 

Bawd.  Boult,  has  she  any  qualities  ? 

Boidt.  She  has  a  good  face,  speaks  well,  and  has 
excellent  good  clothes  ;  there's  no  further  necessity 
of  qualities  can  make  her  be  refused. 

Bawd.  What's  her  price,  Boult?  [pieces. 

Boult.  I  cannot  be  bated  one  doit  of  a  thousand 

Pand.  Well,  follow  me,  my  masters;  you  shall 
have  your  money  presently.  Wife,  take  her  in; 
instruct  her  what  she  has  to  do,  that  she  may  not 
be  raw  in  her  entertainment. 

[Exeunt  Pander  and  Pirates, 

Bawd.  Boult,  take  you  the  marks  of  her;  the 
colour  of  her  hair,  complexion,  height,  age,  with 
warrant  of  her  virginity  ;  and  cry,  He  that  will  give 
most.,  shall  have  her  first.  Such  a  maidenhead  were 
no  cheap  thing,  if  men  were  as  they  have  been. 
Get  this  done  as  I  command  you. 

Boult.  Performance  shall  follow.  [ExiL 

Mar.  Alack,  that  Leonine  was  so  slack,  so  slow! 
(He  should  have  struck,  not  spoke ; )  or  that  these 
pirates, 

(Not  enough  barbarous,)  had  not  overboard 
Thrown  me  to  seek  my  mother! 

Bawd.  Why  lament  you,  pretty  one  ? 

Mar.  That  I  am  pretty.  [you. 

Bawd.  Come,  the  gods  have  done  their  part  ia 

Mar.  I  accuse  them  not. 

Bawd.  You  are  lit  into  my  hands,  where  you  are 
like  to  live. 

Mar.  The  more  my  fault 
To  'scape  his  hands,  where  I  was  like  to  die. 

Bawd.  Ay,  and  you  shall  live  in  pleasure. 

Mar.  No. 

Bawd.  Yes,  indeed,  shall  you,  and  taste  gentle- 
men of  all  fashions.  If  ou  shall  fare  well ;  you  shall 
have  the  difference  of  all  complexions.  What !  do 
you  stop  your  ears  ? 

Mar.  Are  you  a  woman  ? 

Bawd.  What  would  you  have  me  be,  an  I  be  not 

a  woman? 

Mar.  An  honest  woman,  or  not  a  woman. 

Bawd.  Marry,  whip  thee,  gosling :  I  think  1  shall 
have  something  to  do  with  you.  Come  you  are  a 
young  foolish  sapling,  and  must  be  bowed  as  I 
would  have  you. 

Mar.  The  gods  defend  me! 

Bawd.  If  it  pli»-^e  the  gods  to  defend  you  by 
men,  then  men  must  comfort  you,  men  must  feei 
you,  men  must  st/r  you  up. — Boult's  returned. 

Enter  Boult. 
Now,  sir,  hast  thou  cried  her  through  the  market  ? 

Boult.  I  have  cried  her  almost  to  the  number  o( 
her  hairs ;  \  have  drawn  her  picture  with  my  voice 

Bawd.  And  I  pr'ythee  tell  me,  how  dost  thou 
find  the  inclination  of  the  people,  especially  of  the 
younger  sort  ? 

Boult.  'Faith,  they  listened  to  me,  as  they  would 
have  hearkened  to  their  father's  testament.  There 
was  a  Spaniard's  mouth  so  watered,  that  he  went 
to  bed  to  her  very  description. 

Bawd.  We  shall  have  him  here  to-morrow  with 
his  best  rulf  on. 

Boult.  To-night,  to-night.  But,  tnistress,  do  yOQl 
know  the  French  knight  that  cower  i'the  hamsr 


Scene  4. 


PRINCE 


OF  TYRE. 


687 


Bawd,  Who?  monsieur  Veioles ? 

JBoult,  Ay ;  he  offered  to  cut  a  caper  at  the  pro- 
cloniatioa;  but  he  made  a  groan  at  it,  and  swore  he 
would  see  her  to-morrow. 

Bated.  Well,  well ;  as  for  him,  he  hrought  his 
disease  hither:  here  he  does  but  repair  it.  1  know, 
he  will  coaie  in  our  shadow,  to  scatter  his  crowns 
in  the  sun. 

Boult.  Well,  if  we  had  of  every  nation  a  tra- 
veller, we  should  lodge  them  with  this  sign. 

Baivd,  Pray  you,  come  hither  awhile.  Yon  have 
fortunes  coming  upon  you.  Mark  me ;  you  must 
seem  to  do  that  fearfully,  which  you  commit  wil- 
lingly ;  to  despise  profit,  where  you  have  most  gain. 
To  weep  that  you  live  as  you  do,  makes  pity  in  your 
lovers.  Seldom,  but  that  pity  begets  you  a  good 
opinion,  and  that  opinion  a  mere  profit. 

Mar.  I  understand  you  not. 

Boult,  O,  take  her  home,  mistress,  take  her 
home  :  these  blushes  of  hers  must  be  quenched 
with  some  present  practice. 

Baud.  Thou  say'st  true,  i'faith,  so  they  must : 
for  your  bride  goes  to  that  with  shame,  which  is . 
her  way  to  go  with  warrant. 

Boult.  'Faith,  some  do,  and  some  do  not.  But, 
mistress,  if  1  have  bargain'd  for  the  joint, — 

Bav:d.  Thou  may'st  cut  a  morsel  oft"  the  spit. 

Boiilt.  I  may  so. 

Bau  d.  Who  should  deny  it  ?  Come,  young  one, 
I  like  the  manner  of  your  garments  well.  [yet. 
Botdt.  Ay,  by  my  faith,  they  shall  not  be  changed 
Baiud.  Boult,  spend  thou  that  in  the  town :  re- 

Eort  wl.ata  sojourner  we  have;  you'll  lose  nothing 
y  custom.  \Vhen  nature  framed  this  piece,  she 
meant  ihee  a  good  turn :  therefore  say  what  a  para- 
gon she  is,  and  thou  hast  the  harvest  out  of  thine 
own  report. 

Boult,  1  warrant  you,  mistress,  thunder  shall  not 
80  awake  the  beds  of  eels,  as  my  giving  out  her 
beauty  stir  up  the  lewdly-inclined.  Til  bring  home 
some  to-night 

Bau  d.  Come  your  ways  ;  follow  me. 

Mar,  If  fires  be  hot,  knives  sharp,  or  waters  deep, 
Untied  I  still  my  virgin  knot  will  keep. 
Diana,  aid  my  purpose  ! 

Ban  d.  What  have  we  to  do  with  Diana  ?  Pray 
you,  wJl  you  go  with  us?  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — Tharsus,   A  Room  in  aeon's  House, 
Enter  Cleon  and  Dionyza. 

Dion,  Why,  are  you  foolish  ?  Can  it  be  undone  ? 

Cle.  O  Dionyza,  such  a  piece  of  slaughter. 
The  sun  and  moon  ne'er  look'd  upon ! 

Dion,  I  think 

You'll  turn  a  child  again. 

Cle.  Were  I  chief  lord  of  all  the  spacious  world, 
I'd  give  it  to  undo  the  deed.    O  lady. 
Much  less  in  blood  than  virtue,  yet  a  princess 
To  equal  any  siajle  crown  o'the  earth, 
['the  justice  of  compare  !  O  villain  Leonine, 
Whom  thou  hast  poison'd  too ! 
If  thou  hadst  drunk  to  him,  it  had  been  a  kindness 
Becoming  well  thy  feat:  what  canst  thou  say. 
When  noble  Pericles  shall  demand  his  child  ? 

Dion.  That  she  is  dead.  Nurses  are  not  the  fates. 
To  foster  it,  nor  ever  to  preserve. 
She  died  by  night:  I'll  say  so.    Who  can  cross  it? 
Unless  you  play  the  impious  innocent. 
And  for  an  honest  attribute,  cry  out, 
Slie  died  by  foul  play. 

Cle.  O,  goto.  Well,  well. 

Of  all  the  faults  beneath  the  heavens,  the  gods 
Do  like  this  worst. 

Dion.  Be  one  of  those,  that  think 

The  petty  wrens  of  Tharsus  will  fly  hence. 
And  open  this  to  Pericles.    1  do  shame 
To  think  of  what  a  noble  strain  you  are. 
And  of  how  cow'd  a  spirit. 

Cle.  To  such  proceeding 

Who  ever  but  his  approbation  added. 


Though  not  his  pre-consent,  he  did  col  flow 
From  honourable  courses. 

Dion.  Be  it  so  then: 

Yet  none  does  know,  but  you,  how  she  came  dead. 
Nor  none  can  know,  Leonjne  being  gone. 
She  did  disdain  my  cliild,  and  stood  between 
Her  and  her  fortunes:  None  would  look  on  her. 
But  cast  their  gazes  on  Marina's  face  ;  ' 
Whilst  ours  was  blurted  at,  and  held  a  malkin, 
Not  worth  the  time  of  day.   it  pierced  nie  thorough  1 
And  though  you  call  my  course  unnatural. 
You  not  your  child  well  loving,  yet  I  find. 
It  greets  me,  as  an  enterprise  of  kindness, 
Perforni'd  to  your  sole  daughter, 

(^l<i'  Heavens  forgive  it! 

Dion.  And  as  for  Pericles, 
What  should  he  say?  We  wept  after  her  hearse, 
And  even  yet  we  mourn :  her  monument 
Is  almost  fi'nish'd,  and  her  epitaphs 
In  glittering  golden  characters  express 
A  general  praise  to  her,  and  care  in  us 
At  whose  expense  'tis  done. 

Cle.  Thou  art  like  the  liarpy. 

Which,  to  betray,  doth  wear  an  angel's  face. 
Seize  with  an  eagle's  talons. 

Dion.  You  are  like  one,  that  superstitiously 
Doth  swear  to  the  gods,  that  winter  kills  the  flies; 
But  yet  I  know  you'll  do  as  I  advise.  [Exeunt, 

Enter  Gower,  before  the  monument  of  Marina 
at  Tharsus. 
Gow.  Thus  time  we  waste,  and  longest  league! 
make  short; 
Sail  seas  in  cockles,  have,  and  wish  but  for't; 
Making,  (to  take  your  imagination,) 
From  bourn  to  bourn,  region  to  region. 
By  you  being  pardon'd,  we  commit  no  ciime 
To  use  one  language,  in  each  several  clime, 
Where  our  scenes  seem  to  live.   1  do  beseech  yoa. 
To  learn  of  me,  who  stand  i'the  gaps  to  leach  yoQ 
The  st<igps  of  our  story.  Pericles 
Is  now  again  thwarting  the  wayward  seas, 
(Attended  on  by  many  a  lord  and  knight,) 
To  see  his  daughter,  all  his  life's  delight. 
Old  Escanes,  whom  Helicanus  late 
Advanc'd  in  time  to  great  and  high  estate. 
Is  left  to  govern.    Bear  you  it  in  mind, 
Old  Helicanus  goes  along  behind.  [brought 
Well-sailing  ships,   and  bounteous  winds,  have 
This  king  to  Tharsus,  (think  his  pilot  thought ; 
So  with  his  steerage  shall  your  thoughts  grow  on,) 
To  fetch  his  daughter  home,  who  first  is  gone. 
Like  motes  and  shadows  see  them  move  awhile; 
Your  ears  unto  your  eyes  I'll  reconcile. 

{Dumb  shew.) 

Enter  at  one  door,  Pericles  with  his  Tram, 
Cleon  and  Dionyza  at  the  other.  Cleon  shew* 
Pericles  the  tomb  of  Marina;  whereat  Pericl&s 
makes  lamentation,  puts  on  sackcloth,  and  in  a 
mighty  passion  departs.  Then  Cleon  cLnd 
Dionyza  retire. 

Gow.  See  how  belief  may  snffer  by  foul  shew! 
This  borrow'd  passion  stands  for  true  old  woe; 
And  Pericles,  lu  sorrow  all  devour'd, 
With  sighs  shot  throUj^h,  and  biggest  tears  o'er- 
shower'd. 

Leaves  Tharsus,  and  again      barks.    He  swesTB 
Never  to  wash  his  face,  nor  cut  his  hairs  ; 
He  puts  on  sackcloth,  and  to  sea.    He  bears 
A  tempest,  which  his  mortal  vessel  tears, 
And  yet  he  rides  it  out.    Now  please  you  wit 
The  epitaph  is  for  Marina  writ 
By  wicked  Dionyza. 

{Reads  the  inscription  on  Marina's  monnmenf.) 
The  fairest,  sweefst,  and  best,  lies  here, 
Who  wither' d  in  her  spring  of  year. 
She  was  of  Tyrus,  the  king's  daughter, 
On  whom  foul  death  haUi  made  this  slaughter: 
Marina  was  she  called;  and  at  her  birth^ 


PERICLES, 


Act  IV. 


Thetis,  being  proud,  s wallow' d  some  part  oHhe 
earth : 

Therefore  the  earth  fearing  to  he  o'erflowd. 
Hath  Thetis'  hirth- child  on  the  heavens  bestow'' d: 
Wherefore  she  does,  (  and  swears  she'll  never 
stint,) 

Make  raging  battery  upon  shores  of  flint. 

No  visor  does  become  black  villany, 

So  well  as  soft  and  tender  flattery. 

Let  Pericles  believe  his  daughter's  dead, 

And  beaphis  courses  to  be  ordered 

By  lady  fortune  ;  while  our  scenes  display 

His  daughter's  woe,  and  heavy  well-a-day, 

[n  her  unholy  service.    Patience  then. 

And  think  you  now  are  all  in  Mitylen.  [  Exit. 

Scene  V. — Mitylene.    A  Street  before  the  Brothel. 
Enter,  from  the  Brothel,  two  Gentlemen. 

1  Gent.  Did  you  ever  hear  the  like  ? 

2  Gent.  No,  nor  never  shall  do  in  such  a  place  as 
this,  she  being  once  gone. 

1  Gent.  But  to  have  divinity  preached  there  !  did 
you  ever  dream  of  such  a  thing? 

2  Gent.  No,  no.  Come,  I  am  for  no  more  bawdy- 
feoiises:  Shall  we  go  hear  the  vestals  sing? 

1  Gent.  I'll  do^any  thing  now  that  is  virtuous;  but 
T=am  out  of  the  road  of  rutting,  for  ever.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VI. — The  same.  A  Room  in  the  Brothel. 
Enter  Pander,  Batvd,  and  BouLT. 

Pand.  Well,  I  had  rather  than  twice  the  worth 
of  her,  she  had  ne'er  come  here. 

Batvd.  Fy,  fy  upon  her ;  she  is  able  to  freeze  the 
god  Priapus,  and  undo  a  whole  generation.  We 
must  either  get  her  ravished,  or  be  rid  of  her. 
When  she  should  do  for  clients  her  fitment,  and  do 
me  the  kindness  of  our  profession,  she  has  me  her 
quirks,  her  reasons,  her  master-reasons,  her  prayers, 
her  knees  ;  that  slie  would  make  a  puritan  of  the 
devil,  if  he  should  clieapen  a  kiss  of  her. 

Boult.  'Faith,  1  must  ravish  her,  or  she'll  dis- 
furnisli  us  of  all  our  cavaliers,  and  make  all  our 
swearers  |)riests.  [me! 

Pand.  Now,  the  pox  upon  her  green-sickness  for 

Bawd.  'Faith,  tiiere's  no  way  to  be  rid  on't,  but 
by  the  way  to  the  pux.  iiere  comes  the  lord  Lysi- 
Vnachus,  disguised. 

Boult.  We  should  have  both  lord  and  lown,  if  the 
peevish  baggage  would  but  give  way  to  customers. 

Eiiter  Lv'siMACHUs. 

Lys.  How  now  ?  How  a  dozen  of  virginities  ? 

Bated.  Now,  the  gods  to  bless  your  lionourl 

Boult.  I  arti  glad  to  si  e  your  iiouour  in  good  health. 
s.  You  uiay  so;  "tis  the  better  for  you  that 
your  resorters  stand  upon  sound  legs.  How  now, 
wholesome  iniquity  '(  Have  you  that  a  man  may  deal 
withal,  and  dei'y  the  surgeon? 

Bawd.  We  have  here  one,  sir,  if  she  would — but 
there  never  came  her  like  in  Mitylene. 

Lys.  If  she'd  do  the  deeds  of  darkness,  thou 
would'st  say.  [enough. 

Bawd.  Your  honour  knows  what  'tis  to  say,  well 

Lys.  Well ;  call  forth,  call  forth. 

Boult.  For  flesh  and  blood,  sir,  white  and  red, 
yuu  shall  see  a  rose ;  and  she  were  a  rose  indeed, 
if  she  had  but  — 

Lys.  What,  pr'ythee  ? 

Boult.  O,  sir,  I  can  be  modest. 

hys.  That  dignifies  the  renown  of  a  bawd,  no  less 
than  it  gives  a  good  report  to  a  number  to  be  chaste. 

Enter  Marina. 
Bawd.  Here  comes  that  which  grows  to  the 
talk  ; — never  plucked  yet,  I  can  assure  you.  Is 
she  not  a  fair  creature  ? 

Lys.  'Faith,  she  would  serve  after  a  long  voyage 
At  sea.    Well,  there's  for  you  ; — leave  us. 

bawd.  I  beseech  your  honour,  give  me  leave  :  a 
nrard,  and  I'll  have  done  presently. 


Lys.  I  beseech  you,  do. 

Bawd.  First,  1  would  have  you  note,  this  is  aa 
honourable  man.  (7"o  Mar.  whom  she  takes  aside.) 

Mar.  I  desire  to  find  him  so,  that  I  may  worthily 
note  him. 

Bawd.  Next,  he's  the  governor  of  this  country, 
and  a  man  whom  I  am  bound  to. 

Mar.  If  he  govern  this  country,  you  are  bound 
to  him  indeed ;  but  how  honourable  he  is  in  that,  I 
know  not. 

Bawd.  'Pray  you,  without  any  more  virgina\ 
fencing,  will  you  use  him  kindly?  he  will  line  you» 
apron  with  gold. 

Mar.  What  he  will  do  graciously,  I  will  thank- 
fully receive. 

Lys.  Have  you  done  ?  \ 

Bawd.  My  lord,  slie's  not  paced  yet;  you  must 
take  some  pains  to  work  her  to  your  manage.  Come, 
we  will  leave  his  honour  and  her  together. 

[Exeunt  Bawd,  Pander,  and  Boult 

Lys.  Go  thy  ways. — Now,  pretty  one,  how  long 
have  you  been  at  this  trade  ? 

Mar.  What  trade,  sir? 

Lys.  What  I  cannot  name  but  I  shall  offend. 

Mar.  I  cannot  be  offended  with  my  trade.  Please 
you  to  name  it. 

Lys.  How  long  have  you  been  of  this  profession  •* 

Mar.  Ever  since  I  can  remember. 

Lys.  Did  you  go  to  it  so  young?  Were  you  a 
gamester  at  five,  or  at  seven  ? 

Mar.  Earlier  too,  sir,  if  now  I  be  one. 

Lys.  Why,  the  house  you  dwell  in,  proclaims  yju 
to  be  a  creature  of  sale. 

Mar.  Do  you  know  this  house  to  be  a  plr^ce  of  such 
resort,  and  will  come  into  it?  I  hear  say,  you  are  of 
honourable  parts,  and  are  the  governor  of  tliis  place. 

Lys.  Why,  hath  your  principal  made  known  unto 
you  who  I  am  ? 

Mar.  Who  is  my  principal  ? 

Lys.  Why,  your  herb-woman ;  she  that  sets  seeds 
and  roots  of  shame  and  iniq'-iity.  O,  you  have  heard 
sometliing  of  my  power,  and  so  stand  aloof  for  more 
i  serious  wooing.  But  I  protest  to  thee,  pretty  one, 
:  my  authority  shall  not  see  thee,  or  else,  look  friendly 
npon  thee.  Come,  bring  me  to  some  private  place^ 
:  Come,  come. 

I     Mar.  If  you  were  born  to  honour,  shew  it  now; 
If  put  npon  you,  make  tlie  judgment  good 
That  thought  you  worthy  of  it. 

Lys.  How's  this?  how's  this? — Some  more  ;— 

be  sage.  » 
Mar.  For  me, 
That  am  a  maid,  though  most  ungentle  fortune 
Has  plac'd  me  here  within  this  loathsome  stye,  • 
Where,  since  1  came,  diseases  have  been  sold 
Dearer  than  physic, — O  that  the  good  gods 
Woidd  set  me  tree  from  this  unliallovv'd  place, 
Though  they  did  change  me  to  the  meanest  bird 
That  flies  i'  the  purer  air! 

Lys.  I  did  not  think 

Thou  could'st  have  spoke  so  well ;  ne'er  dream'd 

thou  could'st. 
Had  I  brought  hither  a  corrupted  mind, 
Thy  speech  had  alter'd  it.  Hold,  here's  gold  forthe®: 
Persever  still  in  that  clear  way  thou  goest, 
And  the  gods  strengthen  thee  ! 

I     Mar.  The  gods  preserve  you ! 

I     Lys.  For  me,  be  you  thoughtea 

That  I  came  with  no  ill  intent ;  for  to  me 
The  very  doors  and  windows  savour  vilely. 
Farewell.    Thou  art  a  peace  of  virtue,  and 
I  doubt  not  but  thy  training  hath  been  nt.ble.— 
Hold  ;  here's  more  gold  for  thee. — 
A  curse  upon  him,  die  he  like  a  thief,  [me. 
That  robs  thee  of  thy  goodness !  If  thou  hear'st  from 
It  shall  be  for  thy  good. 

i  {As  Lysimachus  is  putting  «^  kis  pur»§, 

'  Boult  enters.) 

I     Boult,  I  beseech  vour  honour,  one  piece  for  me. 


Act  "V.    Scene  1. 


PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


Ljfg,  Avaimt,  thor  damned  door-keeper!  Your 
bo'iee, 

But  for  this  virgin  that  doth  prop  it  up, 
Would  sink,  and  overwhelm  you  all.    Away  ! 

[Exit. 

Boult.  How's  this  ?  We  must  take  another  course  j 
with  yon.    If  your  peevish  chastity,  which  is  not  ! 
wortl^  a  breakfast  in  the  cheapest  country  under  the 
cope,  shall  undo  a  whole  household,  let  me  be  geld- 
ed like  a  spaniel.    Come  your  ways. 

Mar^  Whither  would  you  have  me? 

Boult.  1  must  have  your  maidenhead  taken  off, 
or  the  common  hangman  shall  execute  it.  Come 
your  way  We'll  have  no  more  gentlemen  driven 
away.    Come  your  ways,  I  say. 

Re  enter  Bawd, 
Bawd.  How  now  !  What's  the  matter? 
Boult.  Worse  and  worse,  mistress  ;  she  has  here 
spoken  holy  words  to  tfie  lord  Lysimachus. 
Bawd.  O  abominable  ! 

Boult.  She  makes  our  profession  as  it  were  to 
stink,  afore  the  face  of  the  gods. 

Bawd.  Marry,  hang  her  up  for  ever  ! 

Boult.  The  nobleman  would  have  dealt  with  her 
like  a  nobleman,  and  she  sent  him  away  as  cold  as  a 
enow-ball ;  saying  his  prayers  too. 

Bawd.  Boult,  take  her  away ;  use  her  at  thy 
pleasure  :  crack  the  glass  of  her  virginity,  and  make 
the  rest  malleable. 

Boult.  An  if  she  were  a  thornier  piece  of  ground 
than  she  is,  she  shall  be  ploughed. 

Mar.  Hark,  hark,  you  gods ! 

Bawd.  She  conjures:  away  with  her.  Would 
she  had  never  come  within  my  doors !  Marry  hang 
you !  She's  born  to  undo  us.  Will  you  not  go  the 
way  of  women-kind  ?  Marry  come  up,  my  dish  of 
chustity  with  rosemary  and  bays!  [Exit. 

Boult.  Corae,  mistress:  come  your  way  with  me. 

Mar.  Whither  would  you  have  me  ?  [dear. 

Boult.  To  take  from  you  the  jewel  you  hold  so 

Mar.  Pr'ythee,  tell  me  one  thing  first 

B(mlt.  Come  now,  your  one  thing. 

Mar.  What  canst  tJiou  wish  thme  enemy  to  be? 

Boidt.  Why^  I  could  wish  him  to  be  my  master, 
or  rather  tny  mistress. 

Mar.  Neitlier  of  these  are  yet  so  bad  as  thou  art, 
Since  they  do  better  thee  in  their  command. 
Thou  hold'st  a  place,  for  which  the  pained  st  fiend 
Of  hell  would  not  in  repi^ation  change  : 
Thon'rt  the  damn'd  doorkeeper  to  every  coystrel 
That  hither  comes  enquiring  for  his  tib  ; 
To  the  choleric  fisting  of  each  rogue  thy  ear 
Is  liable  :  thy  very  fdod  is  stich 
As  hath  been  belch'd  on  by  infected  lungs. 

Boult.  What  would  you  have  me  ?  go  to  the  wars. 
Would  you?  where  a  man  may  serve  seven  years 
for  the  loss  of  a  leg,  and  have  not  money  enough  ioi 
the  end  to  buy  him  a  wooden  one  ? 

Mar.  Do  any  thing  but  this  thou  doest.  Empty 
Old  receptacles,  common  sewers,  of  filth  ; 
Serve  by  indenture  to  the  common  hanguian; 
Any  of  these  ways  are  better  yet  than  this ; 
For  that  which  thou  professest,  a  baboon. 
Could  he  bat  speak,  would  own  a  name  too  dear. 

0  that  the  gods  would  safely  from  this  place 
Deliver  me  !  Here,  here  is  gold  for  thee. 
If  that  thy  niAster  would  gain  aught  by  me. 
Proclaim  that  I  can  sing,  weave,  sew,  and  dance. 
With  other  virtues,  which  I'll  kee4)  from  boast ; 
And  I  will  undertake  all  these  to  teach. 

1  doubt  not  but  this  populous  city  will 
Vield  manv  scholars. 

Boult.  But  can  you  teach  all  tliis  you  speak  of? 

Mar.  Prove  that  I  cannot,  take  me  home  agaio, 
And  prostitute  me  to  the  basest  groom 
That  doth  frequent  your  house. 

Boult.  Well,  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  for  thee : 
if  I  can  place  thee,  \  will. 

Mar.  But,  amongst  honest  women  ? 


Boult.  'Faith,  my  acquaintance  lies  little  among.it 
them.     But  since  my  master  and  mistress  have 
bought  you,  there's  no  going  but  by  Jieir  consent; 
therefore  I   will  make  them  acquainted  with  you< 
purpose,  and  I  doubt  not  but  I  shall  find  theoi 
tractable  enough.    Come,  I'll  do  for  thee  what  e 
can ;  come  your  ways.  \Esitwii* 
ACT  V. 
Enter  Gower. 
Goto.  Marina  thus  the  brothel  'scapes,  f  nd  chaoo«t 
Into  an  honest  house,  our  story  says. 
She  sings  like  one  immortal,  and  she  dances 
As  goddess-like  to  her  admired  lays: 
Deep  clerks  she  dumbs;  and  with  her  neeld  cm- 
poses 

Nature's  own  shape,  of  bud,  bird,  branch,  or  berry; 
That  even  her  art  sisters  the  natural  roses  , 
Her  inkle,  silk,  twin  with  the  rubied  cherry  : 
That  pupils  lacks  she  none  of  noble  race. 
Who  pour  their  bounty  on  her  ;  and  her  gain 
She  gives  the  cursed  bawd.    Here  we  her  place  j 
And  to  her  father  turn  our  thought  again, 
Where  we  left  him,  on  the  sea.   We  there  him  lost; 
Whence,  driven  before  the  winds,  he  is  arriv  d 
Here  where  his  daughter  dwells  ;  and  on  this  coast 
Suppose  him  now  at  anchor.    The  city  stnv'd 
God  Neptune's  annual  feast  to  keep :  from  whence 
Lysimachus  our  Tyrian  ship  espies. 
His  banners  sable,  trimm'd  with  rich  expense; 
And  to  him  in  his  barge  with  fervour  hies. 
In  your  supposing  once  more  put  your  sight; 
Of  heavy  Pericles  think  this  the  bark  : 
Where,  what  is  done  in  action,  more,  if  might. 
Shall  be  discover'd ;  please  you,  sit  and  hark.  [Exit 

Scene  \.—0n  board  Pericle.^'  Ship,  off  Mitulene. 
A  clost  pavilion  on  deck,  with  a  curtain  be/art 
it ;  Pericles  within  it,  reclining  on  a  couch.  A 
bayqe  lying  beside  the  Tyrian  vessel. 
Enter  iwo  Sailors,  one  belonging  to  the  Tyrian 
vessel,  the  other  to  the  barge :  to  them  H  elicanuS. 
Tyr.  Sail.  Where  is  the  lord  Helican.  s  ?  he  caa 
resolve  you.    ( To  the  Sailor  of  Mitylem  ) 

0  here  he  is. — 

Sir,  there's  a  barge  put  off  from  Mitylene  ; 
And  in  it  is  Lysimachus  the  gov  ernor, 
Who  craves  to  come  aboaid.    What  is  your  will? 
Hel.  That  he  have  his.    Call  up  some  gentlemen, 
Tyr.  Sail.  Ho,  gentlemen !  my  lord  calls. 

Enter  two  Gentlemen. 
1  Gent.  Doth  your  lordship  call  ? 
Hel.  Gentlemen,  fyou, 
There  is  some  of  worth  would  come  aboard :  1  pray 
To  greet  them  fairly. 

( The  Gentlemen  and  the  two  Sailors  dexeendy 
and  go  on  board  the  barge.) 

Enter,  from  thence.,  Lysimachus  and  Lords ;  the 
Tyrian  Gentlemen,  and  the  two  Sailorg. 
Tyr.  Sail.  Sir, 
This  is  the  man  that  can,  in  aught  you  would. 
Resolve  you. 

Lys.  Hail,  reverend  sir!  The  gods  preserve  foa) 
Hel.  And  you,  sir,  to  outlive  the  age  I  am, 
And  die  as  I  would  do. 

Lys.  Yon  wish  me  well. 

Being  on  shore,  honouring  of  Neptune's  triumpk% 
Seeing  this  goodly  vessel  ride  before  us, 

1  made  to  it,  to  know  of  whence  you  are, 
Hel.  First,  sir,  what  is  your  place? 
Lys.  I  am  governor  of  this  plac  e  you  lie  before. 
Hel.  Sir, 

Our  vessel  is  of  Tyre,  in  it  tht  king ; 
A  man,  who  for  this  three  months  hath  not  spoken 
To  any  one,  nor  taken  sustenance, 
But  to  prorogue  his  griel. 

Ly9.  Upon  what  ground  is  his  distemneratuiw  P 
Uil.  t^r,  it  would  be  too  tedious*  to  i^peat  ; 

kk 


€90 


PERICLES, 


Act  V. 


But  the  main  grief  of  all  springs  from  th«  loss 
Of  a  beioved  daughter  and  a  wife. 

Lys.  May  we  not  see  him,  then  ? 

if^L  You  may  indeed,  sir. 

Bu-t  bootless  is  your  sight :  he  will  not  speak. 
To  any. 

IdVi.  Yet,  let  me  obtain  mjf  wish, 
Hel,  Behold  him,  sir:  {PHricles  disvovered.){h\% 
was  a  goodly  person. 
Till  the  disaster,  that,  one  mortal  night, 
8)rove  him  to  this. 
Lys.  Sir,  king,  all  hail  I  the  gods  preserve  you  ! 
Hail, 

Hail,  royal  sir! 

Hel.  It  is  in  vain  ;  he  will  not  speak  to  yoa. 

J  Lord.  Sir,  we  have  a  maid  in  Mitylene,  I  durst 

wager, 

Would  win  some  words  of  him. 

Lys.  'Tis  well  bethought. 

She,  questionless,  with  her  sweet  harmony 
And  other  choice  attractions,  would  allure, 
And  make  a  battery  through  his  deafen'd  parts. 
Which  now  are  midway  stopp'd  : 
She,  all  as  happy  as  of  all  the  fairest. 
Is,  with  her  fellow  maidens,  now  within 
The  leafy  shelter,  that  abuts  against 
The  island's  side. 

{He  whispers  one  of  the  attendant  Lords.) 

[Exit  Lord,  in  the  barge  of  Lysimackus. 
Hel.  Sure,   all's  effectless ;  yet   nothing  we'll 

omit  [ness 
rhat  bears  recovery's  name.  But,  since  your  kind- 
We  have  stretch'd  thus  far,  let  us  beseech  you 

further. 

That  for  our  gold  we  may  provision  have, 
Wherein  we  are  not  destitute  for  want. 
But  weary  for  the  staleness. 

Lys.  O,  sir,  a  courf^sy. 

Which  if  we  should  deny,  the  most  just  God 
ff'or  every  grati' would  send  a  caterpillar. 
And  so  inflict  our  province. — Yet  once  more 
Let  me  entreat  to  know  at  large  the  cause 
Of  your  king's  sorrow. 

Hel.  Sit,  sir,  I  will  ret?ountit; — 
But  see,  I  am  prevented. 

Enter,  from  the  barge,  Lord,  Marina,  anld  a 
young  Lady. 
Lys.  O,  here  is 

The  lady  that  T  sent  for.    Welcome,  fair  one  !— 
Is't  not  a  goodly  presence  ? 

Hel.  A  gallant  lady. 

Lys.  She's  such,  that  were  I  well  assur'd  she 
came 

Of  gentle  kintl,  and  noble  stock,  I'd  wish 
No  better  choice,  and  think  me  rarely  wed.— 
Jair  one,  ail  goodness  that  consists  in  bounty 
Expect  even  here,  where  is  a  kingly  patient: 
If  that  thy  prosperous-artificial  feat 
Can  draw  laim  but  to  answer  thee  in  aught. 
Thy  sacred  physic  shall  receive  such  pay 
As  thy  desires  can  wish. 

Mar.  Sir,  I  will  use 

My  utmost  skill  in  hus  recovery. 
Provided  none  but  I  and  my  companion 
Be  suffer'd  to  come  neai  him. 

Lys.  Come,  let  us  leave  her, 

And  the  gods  make  her  prosperous : 

{Marina  sings.) 

Lys.  Mark'd  he  your  music  : 

Mar»  No,  vxm  look'd  on  us. 

Lys.  See,  she  will  speak  to  him. 

mar.  Hail,  sir !  my  lord,  lend  ear : — 

/•er.  Hum!ha! 

Aierr.  l  am  a  maid. 

My  lord,  that  ne'er  before  invited  eyes. 
But  have  been  gaz'd  on.  comet-like  :  she  speaks, 
Mjr  lord,  that,  may  be,  hath  endur'd  a  grief 
Might  equal  yours,  if  both  were  justly  weigh'd. 
though  wayward  fortune  did  malign  my  stacc, 


Mv  derivation  was  from  ancestors 

Who  stood  equivalent  with  mighty  ki^^gus 

But  time  hath  rooted  out  my  parentage, 

And  to  the  world  and  awkward  casualties 

Bound  me  in  servitude. — I  will  desist ; 

But  there  is  something  glows  upon  my  cht«k, 

And  whispers  in  mine  ear,  Go  not  till  he  speai, 

(Asitii  ) 

Per.  My  fortunes — parentage — good  parentage— 
To  equal  mine! — was  it  not  thus?  what  SE;y  yoa'* 

Mar.  I  said,  ray  lord,  if  you  did  know  niy  p«k 
rentage. 
You  would  not  do  me  violence. 

Per.  I  do  think  «a 

I^ray  you,  turn  yoar  eyes  again  upon  me. — 
Y  ou  are  like  something  that — What  count7y-i»* 
Here  of  these  shores  ?  [man? 

Mar.  No,  nor  of  any  shores : 

Yet  I  was  mortally  brought  forth,  and  am 
No  other  than  I  appear. 

Per.  I  am  great  with  woe,  and  shall  deliver 
weeping. 

My  dearest  wife  was  like  this  maid,  and  such  a  one 
My  daughter  might  have  been :  my  queen's  square 
brows ; 

Her  stature  to  an  inch  ;  as  wand-like  straight ; 
As  silver-voic'd  ;  her  eyes  as  jewel-like, 
And  cas'd  as  richly  :  in  pace  another  Juno  ; 
Who  starves  the  ears  she  feeds,  and  makes  them 
hungry,  [live? 
The  more  •she  gives  them  speech. — Where  do  you 

Mar.  Wliere  I  am  but  a  stranger:  from  the  deck 
You  may  discern  the  plare. 

Per.  Where  were  you  bred? 

Aiid  how  achiev'd  you  these  endowments,  which 
You  make  more  rich  to  owe  ? 

Mar.  Should  I  tell  my  history, 

'Twouidseem  like  lies  disdain'd  in  the  reporting. 

Per.  Pr'ythee  speak ; 
Falseness  cannot  come  from  thee,  for  thou  look'st 
Modest  as  Justice,  and  thou  seem'st  a  palrice 
For  the  crown'd  truth  to  dwell  in  :  I'll  bielieve  tliee, 
And  make  my  senses  credit  ttiy  relation. 
To  points  that  seem  impossible  ;  for  thou  look'st 
Like  one  1  lov'd  indeed.    What  were  thy  fritnds? 
Didst  thou  not  say,  when  I  did  push  tii«'e  fc  ack, 
rVVhich  was  when  I  perceiv  d  thee,)  that  thou  cam's4 
From  good  descending  ? 

Mar.  So  indeed  I  did. 

Per.  Report  thy  parentage.    I  think  thou  said'st 
Thou  hadst  been  toss'd  from  wrong  to  injury, 
And  that  thou  thought'st  thy  griefs  might  equal  mine, 
If  both  were  open'd  ? 

Mar.  Some  such  thing  indeed 

I  said,  and  said  no  more  but  what  my  thoughts 
Did  warrant  me  was  likely. 

Per.  Tell  thy  story ; 

If  thine  consider'd  prove  the  thousandth  part 
Of  my  endurance,  thou  art  a  man,  and  i 
Have  suffer'd  like  a  girl :  yet  thou  dost  look 
Like  Patience,  gazing  on  kings'  graves,  and  smiling 
Extremity  out  of  act.    What  were  thy  friends  ? 
How  lost  thou  them?   Thy  uame,  my  most  kind 
virgin  ? 

Recount,  I  do  beseech  thee :  come,  sit  by  me. 

Mar.  My  name,  sir,  is  Marina. 

Per.  O,  I  am  mock'd. 

And  thou  by  some  incensed  god  sent  hither 
To  make  the  world  laugh  at  me. 

Mar.  Patience,  £Ood  Ri; 

Or  here  I'll -cease. 

Per.  Nay,  I'll  be  patient ; 

Thou  little  know'st  how  thou  dost  startl*  me* 
To  call  thyself  Marina. 

Mar.  The  name  Marina, 

Was  given  me  by  one  that  had  some  power ; 
My  father,  and  a  king. 

Per.  How  I  a  king's  daughiw  f 

And  call'd  Marina  ? 

Mar.  You  said  you  would  beiieTe  iw 


Scene  2. 


PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


691 


flut,  uot  to  be  a  Iroiibler  of  your  peace, 
I  will  end  herf . 

Per.  But  are  you  flesh  and  bloud  ? 

Have  yon  a  working  pulse?  and  are  no  fairy? 
No  motion  ? — Well  •  speak,  on.    Wbere  were  you 
And  wherefore  call'a  Mariaa  ?  [born  ? 

Mar,  Call'd  Marina, 

For  I  was  boru  at  sea. 

Per.  At  sea !  thy  mother? 

Mar.  My  mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  king; 
Who  died  the  very  minute  I  was  born, 
As  my  good  nurse  Lychorida  hath  oft 
Dcliver'd  weeping. 

Per.  O,  stop  there  a  little ! 

This  is  the  rarest  dieam  that  e'er  dull  sleep 
Did  mock  sad  fools  withal:  this  cannot  be. 
My  daughter's  buried.    {Aside.)    Well: — where 

were  you  bred  ? 
I'll  hear  you  more,  to  the  bottom  of  your  story, 
And  never  interrupt  you.  [give  o'er. 

Mar.  You'll  scarce  believe  me: 'twere  best  I  did 

Per.  I  will  believe  you  by  t-he  syllable 
Of  what  you  shall  deliver.  Yet,  give  me  leave  : — 
How  came  you  in  these  parts  ?  where  were  you 
bred  [me ; 

Mar.  The  king,  my  father,  did  in  Tharsus  leave 
Till  cruel  Cleon,  with  his  wicked  wife. 
Did  seek  to  murder  me  :  and  having  woo'd 
A  villain  to  attempt  it,  who  having  drawn, 
A  crew  of  pirates  came  and  rescued  me ; 
Brought  me  to  Mytilene.    But  now,  good  sir. 
Whither  will  you  have  me  ?  Why  do  you  weep? 
Ft  may  be, 

You  think  me  an  impostor:  no,  good  faith  ; 
I  am  the  daughter  to  king  Pericles, 
If  good  king  Pericles  be. 
Per.  Ho,  Helicanus ! 

Hel.  Calls  my  gracious  lord  ? 

Per.  Thou  art  a  grave  and  noble  counsellor. 
Most  wise  in  general :  Tell  me,  if  thou  canst, 
W  hat  this  tiKud  is,  or  wliat  is  like  to  be. 
That  thus  liath  made  me  weep  ? 

Hel.  I  know  not ;  but 

Here  is  the  regent,  sir,  of  Mytilene, 
Speaks  nobly  of  lier. 

Lys.  She  would  never  tell 

Her  parentage  ;  being  demanded  that. 
She  would  sit  still  and  weep. 

Per.  O  Helicanus,  strike  me,  honour'tl  sir ; 
Give  nie  a  gash,  |)ut  me  to  present  pain; 
Lest  this  great  sea  of  joys  rushing  upon  me, 
O'erbear  tt»e  shares  of  my  mortality,  ^hither. 
And  drown  me  with  their  sweetness. — O,  come 
Thou  that  beget'st  hiui  that  did  thee  beget ; 
Thou  that  wast  born  at  sea,  buried  at  'I'harsus, 
And  found  at  sea  again  ! — O  Helicanus, 
Down  on  thy  knees,  thank  the  holy  gods,  as  loud 
As  thunder  threatens  us:  This  is  Marina. — 
What  was  thy  mother's  name  ?  tell  nie  but  that, 
For  truth  can  never  be  confirm'd  enough. 
Though  doubts  did  ever  sleep. 

Mar.  First,  sir,  I  pray. 

What  is  your  title? 

Per.  I  am  Pericles  of  Tyre  :  but  tell  me  now 
(As  in  the  rest  thou  hast  been  godlike  perfect,) 
My  drowii'd  queen  s  name,  thou  ^art  the  heir  of 

kingdoms. 
And  another  life  to  Peiicles  thy  father. 

Mar.  Is  it  uo  more  to  be  your  daughter,  than 
To  say.  my  mother's  name  was  Thaisa? 
Thaisa  was  my  mother,  who  did  end, 
Tbe  minute  I  began.  fohild. 

Per.  Now,  blessing  on  thee,  rise ;  thou  art  m;f 
fi»»f!    •  I'resli  garments.    Mine  own,  Helicanus, 
Ifti't  <>«ad  at  'I'harsus,  as  she  shoidd  have  been, 
uj-tava^.r;  Gleon,)  she  shall  tell  thee  all; 
VV'hen  thou  shalt  kneel  and  justify  in  knowledge, 
She  is  thy  very  princess. — Wlio  is  this  ? 

Hel.  Sir,  'tis  the  governor  of  Mytilene, 
Who,  hearing  >i  your  melancholy  state. 


Did  come  to  see  you. 

Per.  I  embrace  you,  sir. 

Give  me  my  robes ;  1  am  wild  in  my  oeholdiuf. 

0  heavens  bless  my  girl !  But  hark,  what  music?— 
Tell  Helicanus,  my  AJarina,  tell  him 

O'er,  point  by  point,  for  yet  he  seems  to  doubt, 
How  sure  you  are  my  daughter. — Bwiwhat  music  7— 

Hel.  My  lord,  1  hear  none. 

Per.  None  ? 
The  music  of  the  spheres:  list,  my  Marina. 

Lys.  It  is  uot  good  to  cross  him :  give  him  way,. 

Per.  Rirest  sounds! 
Do  ye  not  hear  ? 

Lys.  Music  ?  my  lord,  I  hear— 

Per.  Most  heavenly  music  : 
It  nips  me  unto  list'ning,  and  thick  slumber 
Hangs  on  mine  eye-lids ;  let  me  rest.     {He sleeps.) 

Lys.  A  pillow  for  his  head  ; 

( The  curtain  before  the  Pavilion  of  Pericles 
is  closed.) 

So  leave  him  all. — Well,  my  companion-friends. 
If  this  but  answer  to  my  just  belief^ 
I'll  well  remember  you, 

[  Exeunt  Lysimachus,  Helicanus.,  Marina^ 
and  attendant  Lady. 

Scene  il.— The  same. 

Pericles  on  the  deck  asleep ;  Diana  appearing  tt 
him  as  in  a  vision. 

Dia.  My  temple  stands  in  Ephesus:  hie  (he#i 
thither. 

And  do  upon  mine  altar  sacrifice. 

I'here,  when  my  maiden  priests  are  met  together 

Before  the  people  all, 

Reveal  how  thou  at  sea  didst  lose  thy  wife : 
To  mourn  thy  crosses,  with  thy  daughter's,  call 
And  give  them  repetition  to  tlie  life. 
Pel  form  my  bidding,  or  thou  liv'st  in  woe  : 
Do't  and  be  happy,  by  my  silver  bow. 
Awake,  aiid  tell  thy  dream.    {Diana  disappeart.) 
Per.  Celestial  Dian,  goddess  argentine, 

1  will  obey  thee  ! — Helicanus  1 

Enter  Lysimachus,  Helicanus,  and  Marina. 

Hel,  Sir. 

Per.  My  purpose  was  for  Tharsus,  there  to  strike 
The  inhospitable  Cleon ;  but  I  am 
For  other  service  first:  toward  Ephesus 
Turn  our  blown  sails ;  eftsoons  I'll  tell  thee  why.— 

{To  Helicanw.) 
Shall  we  refresh  us,  sir,  upon  your  shore. 
And  give  you  gold  for  such  provision 
As  our  intents  will  need  ?  [ashore, 

Lys.  With  all  my  heart,  sir  ;  and  when  you  come 
i  have  another  suit. 

Per.  Yoti  shall  prevail. 

Were  it  to  woo  my  daughter;  for  it  stems 
You  have  been  noble  towards  her. 

Lys.  Sir,  lend  your  arm. 

Per.  Come,  my  Marina.  [Ex0U«A 

Enter  GowER,  before  the  Temple  of  Diana  ^ 
Ephesus. 

Gow.  Now  our  sands  are  almost  run ; 
More  a  little,  and  then  done. 
This,  as  my  last  boon,  give  me, 
(For  such  kindness  nmst  relieve  n^e,) 
That  you  aptly  will  suppose 
What  pageantry,  what  feats,  what  shews, 
What  minstresly,  and  pretty  din, 
l^litr  regent  made  in  Mitylin, 
I  o  greet  ine  king.    So  he  has  thriv'd. 
That  he  is  proniis'd  to  be  wiy'd 
To  fair  Marina  ;  but     no  wise. 
Till  he  hath  done  his  SKCrifice, 
As  Dian  bade  -  whereto  being  bound. 
The  interim,  pray  you,  all  confound. 


692 


PERICLES. 


Act  V 


in  feather'd  briefness  saiJs  are  fiiKd, 

And  wisbes  fall  out  as  they're  will'd. 

At  Ephesiis,  the  temple  see. 

Oar  king,  and  all  his  company. 

That  he  can  hither  come  so  soon, 

Ts  by  your  fancy's  thankful  boon.  [Exit. 

KcENE  lU.—T/ie  Temple  of  Diana  at  Ephesus ; 
Thaisa  standing  near  the  Altar,  as  lligh- 
Priestess ;  a  number  of  Virgins  on  each  side  ; 
Cehimon  and  other  inhabitants  of  Ephesus  at- 
tending. 

Enter  Pericles,  with  his  Train;  Lysimachus, 
Helicanus,  Marina,  and  a  Lady. 

Per.  Hall,  DIan  !  perform  thy  jnst  command, 
I  here  confess  tnyself  the  king-  of  Tyre  ; 
Who,  friglited  from  my  country,  did  wed 
Tlie  fkirThaisa,  at  Pentafiolis. 
At  sea  in  child-bed  died  she,  but  brought  forth 
A  maid-child  cali'd  Marina  ;  who,  O  goddess. 
Wears  yet  thy  silver  livery.    She  at  Tharsus 
Was  nin  s'd  with  Cleon  ;  whom  at  fourteen  years 
He  sought  to  murder :  but  her  better  stars 
Brought  her  to  Mitylene  ;  against  whose  shore 
Riding,  her  fortunes  brought  the  n>aid  aboard  as, 
Where,  by  her  own  most  clpar  remembrance,  she 
Made  known  herself  my  daughter. 

Thai.  Voice  and  favour! — 

You  are,  you  are — O,  royal  Pericles! — 

{She  faints.) 

Per.  What  means  the  woman?  she  dies!  help, 
gentlemen ! 

Cer.  Noble  sir. 
If  you  Iiav  e  told  Diana's  altar  true, 
This  is  your  wife. 

Per.  Reverend  appearer,  no ; 

1  threw  her  o'erooard  with  these  very  arms. 

Cer.  Upon  this  coast,  I  warrant  you. 

P(ir.  'Tis  most  certain. 

Cer.  Look  to  the  lady  ; — O,  she's  but  o'erjoy'd. 
Early,  on  blust'ring  morn,  this  lady  was 
Thrown  un  this  shore.    I  op'd  the  coffin,  and 
Found  there  rich  jewels;  recover'd  her,  and  plac'd 
Here  in  Diana's  temple.  [her 

Per.  May  we  see  them  ? 

Cer.  Great  sir,  they  shall  be  brought  you  to  ray 
house. 

Whither  I  invite  you.    Look!  Thaisa  is 
Recover'd. 

Thai.  O,  let  me  look! 
If  he  be  none  of  mine,  my  sanctity 
VVill  to  my  sense  bend  no  licentious  ear. 
But  curb  it,  spite  of  seeing.    O,  my  lord. 
Are  you  not  Pericles  ?  Like  him  you  speak. 
Like  him  you  are :  Did  you  not  name  a  tempest, 
A  birth,  and  death  ? 

Per.^  The  voice  of  dead  Thaisa  ! 

Thai.  That  Thaisa  am  I,  supposed  dead 
And  drown'd. 

Per.  Imuiortal  Dian ! 

Thai.  Now  I  know  you  better.-— 

When  we  with  tears  parted  Pentapoiis, 
The  king,  my  father,  gave  you  such  a  ring. 

{Shews  a  ring.) 

Pei :  This,  this  .  no  more,  you  gods  !  your  pre- 
sent kindness 
Makes  my  past  miseries  sport:  You  shall  do  well, 
That  on  the  touching  of  her  lips  I  may 
Melt,  and  no  more  be  seen.    O  come,  be  buried 
A  second  time  within  these  arms. 

Ma,'.  My  beart 

Leaps  to  be  gone  into  my  mother's  bosom. 

{Kneels  tQ  TJtuisa.) 


Per.  Look,  who  kneels  here  !  Flesh  of  thy  fleA 
Thaisa ; 

Thy  burden  at  the  sea,  and  cali'd  Marina, 
For  she  was  yielded  there. 

Thai.  Bless'd,  and  mine  own  I 

Hel.  Hail,  madam,  and  my  queen ! 

Thai.  I  know  you  not 

Per.  Yoo  have  heard  me  say,  when  I  did  S| 
from  Tyre, 
I  left  behind  an  ancient  substitute. 
Can  you  remember  what  I  cali'd  the  man  ? 
I  have  nara'd  him  oft. 

Thai.  'Twas  Helicanus  then. 

Per.  Still  confirmation  :  _ 
Embrace  him,  dear  Thaisa ;  this  is  he. 
Now  do  I  long  to  hear  how  you  were  found ; 
How  possibly  preserv'd  ;  and  whom  to  thank 
Besides  the  gods,  for  this  great  miracle. 

Thai.  Lord  Cerimon,  my  lord  ;  this  man, 
Through  whom  the  gods  have  shewn  their  power 

that  can 
From  first  to  last  resolve  you. 

Per.  Reverend  sir, 

The  gods  can  have  no  mortal  officer 
More  like  a  god  than  you.    Will  you  deliver 
How  this  dead  queen  re-lives  ? 

Cer.  I  will,  my  lord. 

Beseech  you,  first  go  with  me  to  my  house. 
Where  shall  be  shewn  you  all  was  found  with  hwf 
How  she  came  placed  here  within  the  temple  ; 
No  needful  thing  omitted. 

Per.  Pure  Diana! 

I  bless  thee  for  thy  vision,  and  will  otFer 
My  night  oblations  to  thee.  Thaisa, 
This  prince,  the  fair-betrothed  of  your  daughter. 
Shall  marry  her  at  Pentapoiis.    And  now. 
This  ornament  that  makes  me  look  so  dismal. 
Will  I,  my  lov'd  Marina,  clip  to  form  ; 
And  what  these  fourteen  years  no  razor  touch'd. 
To  grace  thy  marriage-day,  I'll  beautify. 

Thai.  Lord  Cerimon  hath  letters  of  good  credit. 
Sir,  that  my  father's  dead. 

Per.  Heavens  make  a  star  of  him !  Yet  there, 
my  queen. 

We'll  celebrate  their  nuptials,  and  ourselves 
Will  in  that  kingdom  spend  our  following  days  : 
Our  son  and  daughter  shall  in  Tyrus  reign. 
Lord  Cerimon,  we  do  our  longing  stiiy, 
To  hear  the  rest  untold.— Sir,  lead  the  way. 

lExeuM, 

Enter  GowER. 
Gotv.  In  Antioch,  and  his  daughter,  you  ha?« 
heard 

Of  monstrous  lust  the  due  and  just  reward  ; 
In  Pericles,  Iws  queen  and  daughter,  seen 
(Although  assail'd  with  fortune  fierce  and  keen,  ) 
Virtue  preserv'd  from  fell  destruction's  blast. 
Led  on  by  heaven,  and  crown'd  with  joy  at  la^ 
In  Helieanus  may  you  well  descry 
A  figure  of  truthj  of  faith,  of  loyalty  : 
In  reverend  Cerimon  there  well  appears, 
The  worth  that  learned  charity  aye  wears. 
For  wicked  Cleon  and  his  wife,  when  fiime 
Had  spread  their  cursed  deed,   and  honoir'4 
name 

Of  Pericles,  to  rage  the  city  turn  ; 

That  him  and  his  fiiey  in  his  palace  burn. 

The  gods  for  murder  seemed  so  content 

To  punish  them  ;  although  not  done,  but  meant 

So  ou  your  patience  evermore  attending. 

New  joy  wait  or  you !  Here  our  play  lias  ending 


KING  LEAR 


The  Irag-edy  of  Lear  is  deservedly  celebrated  amon?  the  dramas  of  Sliakspeare.  There  is  perhaps  no  play  whick 
keeps  the  attention  so  strongly  fixed;  which  so  much  agitates  our  passions,  and  interests  our  curiosity.  Tlie  artful 
uiv6!utions  of  distinct  interests,  the  striking  oppositions  of  contrary  characters,  the  sudden  changes  of  fortune,  and 
Ihe  q'liek  sufcession  of  events,  fill  the  mind  with  a  oerpetual  tumult  of  indignation,  pity,  and  hope.  There  is  no 
tasne  whirh  does  not  contribute  to  the  asjgravation  or  the  distress  or  conduct  to  the  action,  and  scarce  a  line  which 
does  not  conduce  to  the  progress  of  tlie  scene.  So  powerful  is  the  current  of  the  poet's  im?.ginatiou,  that  tlie  mind, 
which  once  veiKures  within  it,  is  hurried  irresistibly  along. 

On  the  seeming  improbabili'y  of  Li^ar's  conduct,  it  may  be  observed,  that  he  is  represented  according  to  histories 
at  that  time  vulgarly  rec<'ived  as  true.  And,  perhaps,  if  we  turn  our  thoughts  upon  the  barbarity  and  ignorance  of 
the  age  to  which  the  story  is  reierred,  it  will  appear  not  so  unlikely  as  while  we  estimate  Lear's  manners  by  our  own- 
Such  preference  of  one  daughter  to  another,  or  resignation  of  dominion  on  such  conditions,  would  be  yet  credible, 
if  told  of  a  petty  prince  of  Guinea  or  Madagascar.  Shakspeare,  indeed,  by  the  mention  of  his  earls  end  dukes,  has  given 
us  the  idra  of  times  more  civilized,  ami  of  life  regulated  by  softer  manners;  and  the  truth  is,  that  though  he  .so 
nicely  discriminates,  and  so  minutely  describes  the  characters  of  men,  lie  commonly  neglects  and  confounds  the  cb»^ 
characters  of  ^ges,  by  mingling  customs  ancient  and  modern,  English  and  foreign. 

My  learned  friend,  Mr.  Warton,  who  has  iu  The  Adventurer  very  minutely  criticised  this  play,  remarks,  that  the 
Instances  of  cruelty  arc  too  savage  and  shocking,  and  that  tlie  Intervention  of  Edmund  destroys  the  simplicity  of 
the  story  These  objections  may,  I  think,  be  answered,  by  repeating,  that  the  cruelty  of  the  daughters  is  an  hisiorical 
fact,  to  which  the  poet  has  added  little,  having  only  drawn  it  into  a  series  by  dialogue  and  action.  But  I  am  not 
able  to  apologise  with  equal  plausibility  for  the  extrusion  of  Gloster's  eyes,  which  seems  an  act  too  ho*Tid  to  be  endured 
in  dramatic  evhibition,  and  such  as  must  always  compel  the  mind  to  relieve  its  distress  by  incredulity.  Yet  let  it 
be  remembered  that  our  author  well  knew  what  would  fjlease  the  audience  for  which  he  wrote. 

The  injury  done  by  Edmund  to  the  simplicity  of  ihe  action  is  abundantly  recompensed  by  the  addition  of  variety, 
by  the  art  with  which  he  is  made  to  co-operate  with  the  chief  design,  and  the  opportunity  which  he  gives  the  poet 
of  combining  perfidy,  and  connecting  the  wicked  son  with  Ihe  wicked  daughters,  to  impress  this  important  moral, 
that  villany  is  never  at  a  stop,  that  crimes  lead  to  crimes,  and  at  last  terminate  in  ruin. 

But  though  this  moral  be  incidentally  enforced,  Shakspeare  has  suffered  the  virtue  of  Cordelia  to  perish  in  a  just  cause, 
contrary  to  the  natural  ideas  of  justice,  to  Ihe  hope  of  the  reader,  and  what  is  yet  more  strange,  to  the  faith  of  chronicles. 
Yet  this  conduct  is  justified  by  I'he  Spectator, who  blames  Tate  for  givingCordelia  success  andhappiness  in  his  alteration, 
and  declares,  that  in  his  opinion,  (he  tragedy  has  lost  half  its  beauty.  Dennis  has  remai-ked,  whether  justly  or  not,  that,  to 
sectire  the  favourable  reception  of  Catu,  the  town  was  poisoned  with  much  false  and  abominable  criticisvi  and  that  en- 
deavours had  been  used  to  discredit  and  decry  poetical  justice.  A  play  in  which  the  wicked  pro.sper,  and  the  virtiiom 
miscarry,  may  doubtless  be  good,  because  it  is  a  just  representation  of  the  common  events  of  human  life :  but  smce 
all  reasonable  be.ngs  naturally  love  justice,  I  cannot  easily  be  persuaded,  that  the  observation  of  justice  makes  a 
play  worse  ;  or  that,  if  other  excellencies  are  equal,  the  audience  will  not  always  rise  better  pleased  from  the  final 
triumph  of  persecuted  virtue.  In  the  present  case,  the  public  has  decided.  Cordelia,  from  the  time  of  Tate,  has 
always  retired  with  victory  and  felicity.  And,  if  my  sensations  could  add  anything  to  the  general  suffrage,  I  might 
relate,  I  was  many  years  ago  so  shocked  by  Cordelia's  death,  that  I  know  not  whether  I  ever  endured  to  read  again 
the  last  scenes  of  the  play,  till  I  undertook  to  revise  them  as  an  editor.  There  is  another  controversy  among  the 
critics  concerning  this  play.  It  is  disputed  whether  the  predominant  image  in  Lear's  disordered  mind  be  the  loss 
of  his  kingdom  or  the  cruelty  of  his  dHUghters.  Mr.  Murphy,  a  very  judicious  critic,  has  evinced,  by  indu<  tion  o/ 
particular  passages,  that  the  cruelty  of  his  daughters  is  the  primaiy  si. lit  ce  of  his  distress,  and  that  the  loss  of  royalty 
affects  him  only  as  a  secondary  and  subordinate  evil.  He  observes,  with  great  justness,  that  Lear  would  move  oar 
compassion  but  little,  did  we  not  rather  consider  the  injured  fatlier  than  the  degraded  king.  The  story  of  this  play,  except 
the  episode  of  Edmund,  wiiich  is  derived,  I  think,  from  Sidney,  is  taken  originally  from  Geotiry  of  Monmouth,  whom 
Holinshed  generally  copied;  but  (lerhaps  immeiiiately  from  an  old  hi-torical  hailad.  My  reason  for  believing  that 
the  play  was  posterior  to  the  ballad,  rather  than  the  ballad  to  the  plav,  is,  that  the  ballad  has  nothing  of  Shakspeare's 
nocturnal  temiest,  which  is  too  striking  tn  have  been  omitted,  and  tliat  it  follows  the  chronicle;  it  has  the  rudi- 
ments of  Ihe  play,  but  none  of  its  amplifications;  it  first  hinted  Lear's  madness,  but  did  not  array  it  in  circumstances. 
The  writer  of  the  ballad  added  somcihing  to  the  history,  which  is  a  proof  that  he  would  have  added  more,  if  mor« 
tad  occurred  to  his  mind;  and  more  must  have  occurred  if  he  had  sctn  Shakspeare.  Johnson. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


LEA  R  King  of  Britain. 

KING  OF  FRANCE.  —  , 

DLKE  OF  BLK GUNDY. 
DL  KE  OF  COHNWALL.-^ 

DUKE  OF  ALBANY.  .  , 

EAHL  OF  KENT 

EARL  OF  GL0STEI^ij5r-__^ 

^DGMi,  Son  to  Closter:-^ 

EDidC  .N  D,  Baitard  Son  to  Gloster. 

CLRAN,  a  Courtier. 

Old  Man,  Tenant  to  Gloster. 

I'hysiciaii. 


Fool. 

OSWALD,  Steward  to  Goneril.-^K..,__^ 
An  Officer,  employed  by  Edmund.  \ 


Gentleman,  attendant  on  Cordelia.  \ 

^I'^^'^'^K^Daughters  to  Lear..     .    /-     ,^    .    i  t 


ACT  r. 

Scene  I. — A  Room  of  State  in  King  Learns  Palace, 
Enter  Kent,  Gloster,  and  Edmund. 
Keytt.  I  thought,  the  kingf  had  more  affected  the 
duke  ot  Albany,  than  Cornwall. 

It  did  always  seem  so  to  us :  but  now,  in„^ 
ion  of,  tlie  kingd(mi,  it  appears  not  wiijch_ 


aio 

the  di\i 

of  tTIe^'crukiis  he  values  most ;  {or  eqna 
vvei^lrd,  that  curiosity  in  neither  can  t 
of  either  s  ftiuiet]^.  ~  {*  ''-'^h  H) 

Kent.  Is  not  tlii.s  your  son,  my  lord  ? 

Gio.  His  breeding,,  sir,  hath  been  at 
!  have  so  offeir'lTlu.siTa  to  acknowledge  him,  tliat 
now  I  am  [)razed  to  it. 

Kent   I  cannot  conceive  yon. 

Gio.  Su,  t i M s.,y 0 11  n;>Ji4km^s ' ni ottlTT'^coii  1  d  :  where- 
upon she  grew  roiind-wombed  ;  and  .,h'a*J5^  indt^ed, 
sir.  a..auii-,i.or  Iwr  cuadi£»«tu:e„sb£.  had  a  husband  lor 
*!«r  bed.    ^^'r  yo'i»  srwell  a  fault  ?  '-—-^^^■^'—--"^ 


GONERI 
REGANf 
CORDELIA 

Knights  at\endi?ig  on  the  King,  Officers,  Mettengtn, 
I     Soldiers,  and  Attendantrs. 

Scene,— Britain.   ^j^nMm^^'t  .  ff^H  J  '^'^^^'^^  '^^ 

Kent.  I  cannot  wish  the  fanlt  undone,  the  issoe 
of  it  being  so  proper. 

Gio.  But44H^mvsir,-a-s(Wii''&y"cn'der^  some 
year  elder  than  this,  wil£^.el  ^s-lto-  differ. Jo  my 
a^cQOunt:  though  this  knave  came  somewhat  saucily 


Ties  are  so 
ake  choice 


ly  charge ; 


into  £B'e  world  belbre  he  was  sent  for, 
mother  fay;:;.,  the|^_jaia^s^  at  his  making, 

and  the  jvli o i:e spj^uin st  Jj e  a cli  fro \v1e dge d.— 'D6~'ydir 
kn6w~thts"noble  getitlemanJ'Editnind  ? 
Edm.  No,  my  lord. 

Gio.  My  lord  of  Kent:  remember  him  bereaftes 
as  my  honourable  friend. 

Edm.  My  services  to  your  lordship. 
Kent.  1  must  love  you,  and  sue  to  know  y«m 
better. 

Edm.  Sir,  I  shall,  study  deservmg. 
Gio.  He  hnth  been  out  nine  years,  and  away  ha 
sihall  again  ; — The  king  is  coming. 

(Trumpets  sound  wit  Aim) 


694 


KING  LEAR, 


«  Act  1 


Enter  Lear,   Cornwall,   Albany,  Goneril, 
Regan,  Cordelia,  and  Attendants. 

Lear.  Attend  the  lords  of  France  and  Burgundy, 
Gloster. 

6?/o.  I  shall,  uiy  liege.     [Exeunt  Glo.  and  Edm. 
hear.  Meantime  we  sliall  express  our  darker 
purpose.  [divided, 
C^ive  me  the  map  there.  —  Know,  that  5aig„^^Jiave 
1 1)  three,  our  kingdom  ;  and  'tis  our  fast  intent 
■^^^°5irafeFlSTlcare§°and  business  from  our  age  ; 
Q.onferring  them  on  younger  strengths,  while  we 
Uuburden'd  crawl  toward  death. — (Jtuji„smi^XJora- 
wally, 

VS^e^nay^TRTi^^  a  constajit  wilL to  puUlish. 
UardaiJigJjlierjj"  several  dowers,  that  future  strife 
May  be  prevented  now.    Th^princes,  France  aud^ 
Burgundy,  J^V^V 
Great  rivals  in  our  youngest  daughter's  love,   ^'  5^^' 
Long  in  our  court  have  made  tlieir  amorous  sojourn. 
And  here  are  to  be  answer'd. — Tell  uie,  my  daugh- 
ters,   _   M  f^""'"^ 
'Since  now  we  will  aiye-st  us,  both  of  rule, 
Interest  of  territory,  cares  of  state.) 
W'hich  of  you,  shall  we  say,  doth  love  us  most? 
That  we  our  largest  b«iinty  may  extend 
Where  merit  doth  most  challenge  it. — Giinee%' 
Qiu;j^r6l€«t4f6fn,  speak  first. 
Iggw^  Sir,  I 

D^^Sejoiirooie  than  worci^  can  wielH'thejnatter, 
Dearer  than^eriLLgM^  space,  and  liberty^  ~ 
Be^jtoiid^KE^t  can  be  valued,  rich  or  rare; 
m)  les^  tlian  life,  with  grace,  health,  beauty,  honour : 
-^!IS^cli. 'tsxhild  e!er  lavid,-  or  father  found. 
A  love,  that  makes  breath  poor,  and  speech  unable  ; 
Beyond  all  manner  of  so  much  I  love  you. 

Cor.  What  shall  Cordelia  do  ?  Love,  and  be 
silent.  {Aside.) 
Lear.  Of  all,  these  bounds,  even  from  this  line  to 
this, 

With  shadowy  forests  and  with  champains  rich'd; 
\V  ith  plenteous  rivers,  and  wide-skirted  meads, 
We  make  thee  lady :  To  thine  and  Albany's  issue 
Be-this  perpetual, — What  says  (Mtr  secTHuf^^ 
Our^  dearest  Re^n,  wife  to  Cornwall  ?  Speak. 
~      '         ?ia"e  of  that  self  metal  as  my  sister. 


Reg.  I  gjujiia'   

And  prize  me  at  her  worth.    Tn  my  true  hearf 
I  find,  she  names  my  very  deed  of  love; 
Only  she  comes  too  short, — tliat  t^jrofejis 
Myself  an  enemy  to  all  other  joys. 
Which  the  most  precious  Mua re  of  seflse_posjes^^ 
And  find ,  1.  ann  alone^^I^^^_>-,$^f,it;5 
_Jln_your  dear  highness'  love. 

Cor.  Then  poor  Cordelia !  {Aside.) 

And  yet  not  so ;  since,  I^am  sure,  my  love's 
^^Vlore  richer  than  my  tongue, 
^^*TKeaf.  Toi:hee,^nd  thine,  hereditary  ever, 
Remain  this^anftjikJkkdaLauJ^^^  ; 
No  less  in  space,  validity,  and  pleasure. 
Than  that  confirra'd  on  Goneril. — Now,  our  joy. 
Although  the  last,  not  least ;  to  whose  young  love 
The  vines  of  France,  and  milk  of  Burgundy, 
Strive  to  be  interess'd  ;  what  can  you  say,  to  draw 
A  third  more  opulent  than  your  sisters?  Speak, 
Cor.  .fiiulluag,  my  lord. 
hear.  Nothing  ? 
Cor.  Nothing. 

hear.  Nothing  can  come  of  nothing :  speak  again. 
/L^    Cor.  Unhappy  that  I  am,  I^gaimist  heave 
-s^Jr^Al^iieaFt-iBto  my-wioii^       lave  your  majesty 
AacatAiiigJo  my  bond ;  nor  nwre,  hdr  less. 

Lear.  How,  how,  Cordelia  ?  mend  your  speech 
a  little, 

Lpst  it  may  mar  your  fortunes. 

Cor  Good  my  lord, 

You  have  begot  me,  bred  me,  lov'd  me  :  I 
Return  those  duties  buck  as  are  rigiit  fit, 
Obey  you,  love  you,  and  most  honour  you. 
Why  have  luy  sisters  husbands,  if  they  say,  <t 


They  love  yon,  all  ?  Haply,  when  I  shall  wed, 
Thjt  iQrii  whose,  h^^  sha!l^ 
cArry  ,.  -^•■■^ 

Half  my  love  witLiliya^ half  ray  care,  and  duly  ; 
Sure,  I  shajj_nevermarryjyi^  \ 

Lear.  But  goes  this  with  thy  heart? 
Cor.  Ay,  good  my  lord 

Lear.  So  young,  and  so  uotender  ? 
Cor.  So  young,  my  lord,  and  true,        [dower : 
Lear.  Let  it  be  so. — Thy  truth  then  be  thj 
For,  by  the  sacred  radiance  of  the  sun; 
The  mysteries  of  Hecate,  and  the  night ; 
By  all  the  operations  of  the  orbs. 
From  whom  we  do  exist,  and  cease  to  be;  . 
Here  I  disclaim  all  my  paternal  care> 
Propinqiiity,  and  property  of  blood. 
And  as  a  strahger  to  my  heart  and  me 
"old  thee,  from  this,  for  ever.   The  barbaroos 
Scythian, 

Or  he  that  makes  his  generation  messes 
To  gorge  his  appetite,  shall  to  my  bosom 
Be  as  well  neighbour'd,  pitied,  and  relieved. 
As  thou,  my  sometime  daughter. 

Kent.  Good  my  liegCi;^ 

Lear.  Peace,  Kent!  >. 
Come  not  between  thq(^agoa^nd  his  vPl^th 
I1^rd1ier^mp.^^:;:and  tl^^ 
Ouiref'ldnd^hursery. — Hence,  and  avoid  my  sight ! 

{To  Cordelia.) 
So  be  my  grave  my  peace,  as  here  I  give 
Her  father's  heart  from  her ! — CailJ£rarjce  ; — Who 
stirs  ? 

Call  Burgundy- — Cornwall,  and  Albany, 
^^'?SL'JlX.i\YO  fiaughters'  dowers  digest  this  tiiird 
Let  pride,  wTircTi'slie  calls  plainness,  marry  !ier. 
I  do  invest  you  jointly  with  my  power, 
Pre-eminence,  and  all  the  large  effects,  [course. 
That  troop  with  majesty.  —  Ojijp&eJii^by  monthly 
\Vith  reservation  of  an  hundred  knights, 
Kyjoii  to  be  Mstain'^^   shall  our  abode  [tain 
Make  with  you  bydne  turns.    Only  we  still  re- 
TKe  nam°er~aiTd~aTrtlTe""srdditions'to  a  kiiig ; 
The  sway, 

Revenue,  execution  of  the  rest, 

Beloved  sons,  be  yours  :  which  to  confirm. 

This  coronet  part  between  you.  {Giving  the  crown.) 

Kent.  Royal  Lear, 

Whom  I  have  ever  honour'd  as  my  king, 
Lov'd  as  my  father,  as  my  master  fbllow'd, 
As  my  great  patron  thought  on  in  my  prayers, — 

Lear.  The  bow  is  bent  and  drawn,  make  froa 
the  shaft. 

Kent.  Let  it  fall  rather,  though  the  fork  invade 
The  region  of  my  heart :  he. Kent  unmannerly, 
When  Lear  is  mad.    What  would'st  thou  do,  old 
man  ? 

Think'giJt^u^that  dutjr  shalj^haye  djead  to  speak, 
Vyiien  power  to  flatteiry^Bows?   To  plainness  ho- 
nour's bound, 
When  majesty  stoops  to  folly.  Reverse  thy  doom ; 
And,  in  thy  best  consideration,  check 
This  hideous  rashness  :  answer  my  life  my  judgment. 
Thy  youngest  daughter  does  not  jove  thee  least: 
Nor  are  tiiose^e«i|jty  hearted,^^  v^^      low  iiouiid 
Reverbs  no  honowiiess.   

Lear.  Kent,  on  thy  life,  no  more. 

Kent.  Myiife  I  never  held  but  as  a  pawn  "  ~ 
Towage  against  thine  enemies;  nor jrear,Ai)  lose  it,, 
Thy  safety  being  the  motk^.^----------— 

Leaf'.  \Out  of  my  sight !  y 

Kent.  See  better,  Lear^Ja^WiHTSe'slTtt'reTfiain 
The  true  blank  of  thine  ^ye.^ 

Lear.  Now,  by  Ap^JLu<«^ 

Kent.  Now,  by  Apollo,  klu^ 

Thou  swear'st  thy  gods  in  vain. 

Lear.  O,  vassal!  miscreant! 

{Laying  his  hand  on  kia  sworcLl 

All.  ^  Corn.  Dear  sir,  forbear. 

Kent.  Do ; 


Scene  1.  KING  LEAR. 

Kill  thy  phxaddasL-  and  thcdee  bestow  '"^f"" 
Upon  the_foiiLdii*©a«|.    Revoke  thy  gift;  *^ 
Or.'wKTlst  1  can  ^bi'6ramour  f\-om  my  throat, 
I'll  tell  thee^^tt  '  — 
hear. 


d93. 


rai  evi  ^ 

Hear  me,  recreant ! 
On  Lbine  allegiance  hear  me  ! — 
j§!(nce  thou  hast  sought  to  make  us  break  our  vow, 
(Whicl<  we  durst  never  yet,)  and,  with  strain'd 
pr:de, 

To  come  betwixt  our  sentence  and  our  power; 
(VVhich  nor  our  nature  nor  our  place  can  bear,) 
Oui-  potency  made  good,  take  thy  reward. 


oe  gO( 

Eve  days  we  dojijixtt-thee-f  for  provision 
"^Xq  s^ilfd  UpeTroni.di^.e.as,e&.£^  ; 
A bHT^  onT "the  s  1  xTH,  to  turn  thy  iiated"^BacTc 
Upon  our  kiiYgdoih :  ii',  on  the  tenth  day  following, 
'Iny  banish'd  trunk  be  found  in  our  dominions, 
The  moment  is  thy  death  :  Away  !  by  Jupiter, 
This  sI'iaH  not  be  revok'd.  [appear, 
Kent.  Fare  thee  well,  king :  since  thus  thou  wilt 
Freedom  lives  liencjej^^and  banishment  is  here.-:; 
TfiFgo^sTo" their  dear  shelter  take  tliee,  maid, 

( To  Cordelia. 

That  justly  think'st,  and  hast  most  rightly  said  \p>^ 
And  your  large- speeches  may  your  deeds  approve, 

( To  Regan  rmd  Gdneril. ) 
That  good  effects  may  spnng  from  words  of  love. — ■ 
Thus  Kent,  O  princes,  bids  you  all  adieu  ; 
He'll  shape  his  old  course  in  a  country  new.  [Exit. 

Re  enter  Gloster  ;  with  France,  Burgundy, 
and  Attendants. 
Glo.   Here's  France  and  Burgundy,  my  noble 
hear.  My  lord  of  Burgundy,  [lord. 
We  first  addn'«;j  towards  you,  who  with  tliis  king 
Hath  rivall'd  for  our  daughter ;  What,  in  the  least, 
Will  you  reqiure  in  present  dower  with  her, 
Ov  ces  se  your  quest  of  love  ? 

Btjr.  Most  royal  majesty, 

(  cravf  no  more  tfian  hath  your  highness  offer'd, ; 
Nor  W  ill  you  tender  less. 

Jiear.  Right  noble  Burgundy, 

'Vhen  she  was  dear  to  us,  we  did  hold  her  so; 
^Miow  her  price  is  falTn  :  Sir,  there  she  stands; 
If  aTrfnTT^Evrnrirrft^^         seeming  substance, 
all  of  it,  with  our  displeasure  piec'd, 


And  nothing  more,  may  fitly  like  your  grace. 
She's  there,  and  she  is  yours. 

Bur.  I  know  no  answer. 

hear.  Sir, 
Will  \ou,  with  those  infirmities  she  owes, 
Unfl•iende^,,'■fl^e#-a<^opfe^  hate,^        _  [oath, 

Dower'd  with  "our  curse,  and  stranger'd  with  our 
Take  her,  or  leave  her? 

Bur.  Pardon  me,  royal  sir ; 

Election  fltiakes^not  up  on  such  conditiopa. 
"ir^ifr.  FHen  leave^errs^  for,  by  the  power 
that  made  me, 
I  tell  you  all  her  wealth. — For  you,  great  king, 

(To  France.) 
I  would  not  from  your  love  make  such  a  stray. 
To  match  you  where  I  hate ;  therefore  beseech  you 
To  avert  your  liking  a  more  wortliier  way. 
Than  on  a  wretch,  whom  nature  is  asham'd 
Almost  to  acknowledge  hers. 

France.  This  is  most  strange ! 

That  she,  that  even  but  now  was  your  best  object, 
The  argument  of  your  praise,  balm  oi"  &^e. 
Most  belt,  most  dearest,  should  in  this  trice  of  time 
Cortirait^  thing  so  nuinstroiiisX  tcdismantle 
ij^^^^^n^^lltr oi'fa vg^     Sure,  her  offence  ^ 
MusFEe^f  8 u c h  tm u a t u ral  degree~*^  "  <|liX*'  y^- 
TEslV  rnon'^'f  eTs  it,  'bryourtbre'rpwch'd  auction 
Fall  iiitn  tiitit :  which  to  believe  of  her, 
Must  he.  a  taith,  tliat  reason  without  miracle 
Coul  I  utver  plant  in  me. 

Cor.  I  yet  beseech  your  majesty, 

fif  for  1  want  that  glib  and  oily  art, 
To  speak  and  purpose  not;  since  what  I  well  intend, 
I'll  do"t  bei'ore  I  speak,)  that  you  make  known 


It  is  no  vicious  blot,  murder,  or  foulness, 
No'tp^haste-actiou,  or  dislionourd^Ufv- 
Jlia£]M^^e|jriv'd  me  of  your  grace  at. J  favo'ir: 
'B^t^iijOar„w:atiL  of  that,  tor  whirli  I  am  riclMir 
A  still  soiiciling  eye,  and  such  a  tongue, 
That  T  arn  glad  I  have  not,  though  not  to"  have 
Hath  lost  me  in  your  liking. 

hear.  Better  thoa 

Had'st  not  been  born,  than  not  to  have  p!*Bis^^|  mt 
better. 

France.  Is  it  but  this  ?  a  tardiness  iu  nature. 
Which  often  leaves  the  history  unspoke. 
That  it  intends  to  do?— My  lord  of  Burgundy, 
What  say  you  to  the  lady  ?  Love  is  not  love. 
When  it  is  mingled  with  respeHsJJiliiand 
Aloonrotn  the  enlirFpoinf.    Will  you  have  her? 
Shelsjierse  If  "avowry. ' 

iBur.       ^'  Royal  Lear, 

Give  but  that  portion  which  yourself  propos'd 
And  here  I  take  Cordelia  by  the  hand,  y 
Duchess  of  Burgundy. 

hear.  Nothing  :  I  have  sworn  ;  I  am  firm. 

Bur.  I  am  sorry  then,  you  have  so  lost  a  father. 
That  you  must  lose  a  husband. 

Cor.  JF^ace j3e.sit,k.Burgu^^  I 
Since  that  respects  of  fottuneliie  h^^^^^ 
t  shall  not  be  his  wife.  -  Jins^porx, 

''France.  Fairest  CordeJja.^Jl3aJ^jj^ 
Most  choiceriorsalcen  ;  an3  mostjoy'd,  despis'd  i 
Tiiee  and  thy  virtues  here  I  s^ii^e  upon  :  . 
BeiFlawfid,  T  take  up  what's  cast  away. 
Gods,  gods  I  'tis  strange,  that  from  their  cold'st 
neglect 

My  love  should  kindle  to  inflam'd  respect.— 

Tliy  dowerless  daughter,  king,  thrown  to  my  chancej 

Is  queen  of  us,  of  ours,  and  our  fair  France : 

oh^aJJjyu^Jiii^jK^^  j^tM.£**^  » 

Bid  them  faiTweUT^Cordelia,  though  unkind: 
Thou  lose.st  here,  a  better  where  to  find. 

hear.  Thou  hast  her,  Frarice  :  let  her  be  tMs®| 
for  we 

Have  no  such  daughter,  nor  shall  ever  see 
That  face  of  iiers  again  : — Therefore,  be  gone^ 
Without  our  grace,  our  love,  cur  |)enizon.jr- 
Corae,  noble  Burgundy.  '"^  k  f^^V^W 

[Flourish.  Exeunt  hear.,  Burgundy,  Com*^ 
wally  Albany.  G/oster,  and  Attendants, 
France.  Bid  farewell  to  your  sisters. 
Cor.  The  jewels  of  our  father,  vvith  wash'd  eye» 
Cordelia  leaves  you:  I  know  you  whatypiji,  are ;  , 
And,  like  a  sister,  a^"moffToalF^t(rca^^ 
Your  faults,  as  they  are  nam'd.  Use  well  our  father* 
To  your  professed  bosoms  I  commit  him; 
But,  j>et,  alas  [  stood  1  wi.thin  his  grace 
I  would  prefer  him  to  a  better  place. 
So'fareWelT  to  you  both. 

Gon.  Prescribe  not  us  our  duties. 
Seg,  Let  your  8tr.df 

Be,  to  content  your  lord ;  who  hath  receiv'd  you  J  I^^^jVa 
At  iortune's  almSj.  Yoo  have  obedience  scanted,  C*****^*^  ^ 
And  well  are  worth  the  want  that  you  have  wanted. 

Cor.  Time  shall  unfold  what  plaited  cunning  hides; 
WhiCLCQver  faults,  at  Jajt=sl»aHi^44i€nL derides. 
Well  may  yotr-prosper! 
France,  Come,  my  fair  Cordeliac 

[Exeunt  France  and  Cordelia, 
Gon.  Sister,  it  is  not  a  little  I  have  to  say,  of  what  , 
most  nearly  a^ertaing^  to  us  both.    I  think,  our  ^CiA4 
father  will  hence  to-n^t.  _  0 

Reg.  That's  most  certain,  and  witi 
month  with  us. 

^GWrYvrr^Seti  how  full  of  changes  his  age  h ; 
the  observation  we  have  made  of  it  hath  not  be^s 
little  :  heahva^^ 

wdiatjpoS?  judgment  "^e^a^hjaoyy^^R^lktXiXi^-ap^ 
pears  '[oSoyo^iy;''"' 

i?c^7'"n^7The~infirmity  of  his  age  :  yet  he  hatk 
ever  but  slenderly  known  himself. 

iron.  The  best  and  soundest  of  his  time  hath  beea 


696 


KING  LEAR. 


but  rash ;  then  must  we  look  to  receive  from  his 
Lage,  not  alone  tl>e  imperfections  of  long-en^irafted 
condition,  but,  therewithal,  the  unruly  wajUiKaiiiiasii, 
that  inhrm  and  choleric  years  bring  with  them. 

Rey.  Such  nnconstant  starts  are  we  like  to  have 
from  him,  as  this  of  Kent's  banishment. 

Gim.  There  in  further  compliment  of  leave-taKing 
between  France  and  him.    Pray  you,  jbJU«feiut42^ 
gvLh^jUi^^^w  {ather_carry  authority  with  such  dis- 
^i)ositilUJS^as  l5?Sel3S^tr^^  fast  smrehder  of  Ins  will 
fnit  otiend  us.  "     " — -  - 

-nR^^TWFihall  further  think  of  it. 

Con.  We  niust  do  someihing,  and  i'  the,.he^. 

"*"^ [Exeunt. 

ScENB  II.— Hall  in  the  Earl  of  Glosiers  Castle. 
Enter  Edmund,  with  a  letter, 
Edm.  TJio^u,  nature^ar^^ny^o^^ss^^_Uiy  law 

^Sf^SiSSilp^iirof custom ;  and  permit, 
VThe  fi|ninfaty  ot  nations  to  deprive  me,  |jU4»Ci)(SI1l^"Si! 
^^Hf'or  that  I  am  some  twelve  or  fourteen  moonshines 
'^i-^J^-^  l^ag  0  fa  b  ro  th  e  r  ?  WJi  vbastard  ?  wherefore  base  ? 
When  my  dimensions  are  as  well  compact, 
My  mind  as  generous,  and  my  shape  as  true, 
As  honest  madam's  issue  ?  why  brand  they  us 
With  base  ?  with  baseness?  bastardy?  base,  base? 
Who,  in  the  lusty  stealth  of  nature,  take 


More  conWVosition  and„fijg,{;ce_  cjujji 
Than  dotli,  within  afdull,  stale,^tired  bed. 


^  y  iJSi?i»4Jt£jGreati ng  a  w 

Got  'tween  asTeep"an(rvvaEe 
i^egiti'nate  Edgar,  I  rnugLjjave  your  land  : 
Our  rather^sTovelsToTheba'stard  Edmund, 
As  to  the  legitimate  :  Fine  word, — legitimate  ! 
J     Well,  my  legitimate,  ilj;hi£j£tterspeed, 
A  ndniijj^^  base 
t?h7n'il^i»lhe  legitimate.  "I  grow ;  I  prosper: — 


j^V"^  ^taking  his  purpose,  it  would  make  a  great  gap 
/  vour  own  honour,  and  shake  in  r«eces  the  earth 


N(j.v>l,_^Us,  sta;id„ u p_  forjbastai:; 

Enter  Gloster. 
Glo,  Kent  banish'd  thus !  And  France  in  choler 
parted ! 

And  the  king  gone  to  night !  subscrib'd  his  power  ! 
Cocfin'd  to  exhibition!  All  this  done 
Upon  the  gad  I — Edmund  !  how  now  !  what  news  ? 
Edm,  i^o  please  your  lords};! p,  none. 

{Putting  up  the  kiter.) 
Glo.  Why  so  earnestly  seek  you  to  put  up  that 
letter? 

Edm.  I  know  no  news,  my  lord. 
Glo,  WliajLpapeiL\!m:£^QiLreading ? 
Edm.  Nothingjjmyjord. 

Glo.  No  ?^vvhat  needecl  then  that  terrible  de- 
spatch of  it  into  your  pocket  ?  thejiuality  of  nothing, 
hath  no  such  ne.ed^jto^hide  itself.  IjetVsee":  Come, 
if  it  be  nothingTl  shall  not  need  spectacles. 

Edm.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  pardon  me:  it. is  a  letter 
fmmjnyJbiollifiiiiJhatJJiave^ 
80  much  as  I  have^peruieHjTliiQd  it  not  tit  jor  xQur 
ovief^j[w)king(7 

^lo.  Give  me  the  letter,  ''ir. 

Edm,  I  shall  offend,  either  to  detain  or  give  it. 
yEheu,«X)nte«4s,  as  in  part  I  understand  them,  areJiQ^ 

^jpS^o.^Let's  see,  let's  see. 
i  Edm.  I  hope,  for,  jny  brother's  justification^he 


fcrrote  this  but  as  an  essay  or  taste  of  my  virtue, 
\GIo.  ( Reads. )  This  policy^  and  reverence  of 
ac/e,  makes  the  ivorid  bitter  to  the  best  of  our 
timet ;  keeps  our  fortunes  from  us^  till  our  oldness 
cannot  relish  them.  I  beain  to  find,  uxtSdle  und 
fond  bondage  in  the  op^r.ission  of  aged  tyranny  ; 

0  sways,  not  as  tf  hath  pujver.  bid  as  it  is  suf 
fei  ed.  Come  to  me,  that  of  this  I  tnny  speak  more. 
j(j  Our  father  ivould  sleep  till  I  waked  him,  you 
ehoidd  enjoy  half  his  retienne  for  ever,  and  live 
the  beloved  of  your  brother,  SiDCAR.  —  Humph  ! — 
Conspiracy  I — ^it'.epti.il  I  waked  him. — you  should 
tnjoy  lialj"  his  revenue. — My  son  Edgar  1  Had  ne  a 


tiiisTa 


Act  t 


hand  to  write  this^  a  heart  and  brain  to  hieed  it  in? 
— When  came  this  to  you  ?  who  brought  it? 

Edm,  It  was  not  brought  n)e,  niy  lord,  there's  the 
cunning  of  it ;  I  found  it  thrown  in  at  the  casemenf 
of  my  closet.  ™" 

~~^?fer¥t)tr  ktjow  the  character  to  be  your  brother'at 
Eidm.  If  the  matter  were  good,  my  lord,  I  durst 

swear  it  were  his ;  but,  in  respect  of  that,  \  would 

fain  think  it  were  not 
Glo.  It  is  his. 

Edm.  (t  is  his  hand,  my  lord,  but,  1  bope,  ius 
heart  is  not  in  the  contents. 

G/oi  Hath  he  never  heretofore  sounded  you  In 
this  business  ? 

Edm.  Never,  my  lord  :  But  I  have  often  heard  j 
him  maintain  it  to  be  fit,  that,  sons  at  perfe(  t  age,  | 
and  fathers  declining,  the  fatlier  should  be  as  ward  ' 
to  the  son,  and  the  son  manage  his  revenue. 

Glo.  O  villain,  villain] — His  very  opinion  in  the 
letter!  —  Abhorred  villain!  Unnatural,  detested, 
brutish  villain  !  worse  than  brutish  I — Go,  sirrah, 
seek  him;  I'll  apprehend  him: — Abominable  vil- 
lain r^Wnere  is  he  ? 

Edm.  I  do  not  well  know,  my  lord.  If  it  shall 
please  you  to  suspend  your  indignation  against  my 
brother,  till  you  can  derive  from  him  better  testi- 
mony of  his  intent,  you  shall  run  a  certain  course ; 
/.where,  if  you  violently  proceed  against  him,  nais- 

in 

[«eces  me  eartn  of-^j 
his  obedience.    I  dare  pawn  down  my  life  for  hiirt, 
that  he  hath  writ  this  to  feel  niy  affection  to  your  | 
honour,  and  to  no  other  pretence  of  danger.  — — 
Glo.  Think  you  so?  if 
Edm.  If  your  honour  judge  it  meet,  I  wijljplace 
you  where  you  shall  hear  us  coiifer^of  ffiis,  aiid  by 
an  auricular  asstirance  have  your  satisfaction ;  and 
that  without  any  further  delay  than  this  very  evening. 
Glo.  He  caimot  be  such  a  monster. 
Edm.  Nor  is  not,  sure.  | 
Glo.  To  his  father,  that  so  tenderly  and  fJitirely 
loves  him. — Heaven  and  earth!  —  Edmund,  seek 
him  out ;  wind  me  into  him,  I  pray  you  .;,ii.ame.Jhies 
business  after  your  own  wisdom:  I  would  uostato 
myseTfTtJrbFtfi'TS  "diie  resol u tion. 

Edm.  I  will  seek  him,  sir,  presently;  c(cvey  the 
business  as  I  shall  find  means,  and  acquaint  yon 
withal  y  " 

Glo.  These  late  feclipses,in  the  siin  and  moon  por- 1 
tend  no  good  to  us  :MWilgh  the  wisdom  of  nature ' 
can  reason  it  thus  and  thus,  yet  nature  finds  itselt 
scourged  by  the  sequent  effects :  love  cools,  friend- 
ship tails  off",  brotliers  divide  :  in  cities,  mutinies; 
in  countries,  discord;  in  palaces,  treason;  and  the 
.bond  cracked  between  son  and  father,    Tvjjiis  villain 
of  mme  comes  under  the  prediction ;  there*s'  son 
against  father :  the  king  falls  from  bias  of  nature; 
there's  father  agaiiisf  child.    We  have  seen  the  best 
of  OUT  time  :  iVlachihations,  holloWness,  treaohgpy, 
and^'attTtrinous  disorders,  follow  us  disqiiietly  to  our 
graves! — Find  out  this  villain,   Edmund;  it  shalj 
lose  thee  nothing;  do  it  carefully  :  —  And  the  noble 
and  true-hearted  Kent  banished !  his  offence,  ho- 
nesty ! — Strange  I  strange  !  [Exit 
Edm.  This  is  the  excellent  foppery  ofth(-  'vorldl 
that,  when  we  are  sick  in  fortune,  ( often  fl)>-  snrfeil 
of  our  own  behaviour, )  we  jnake  guilty  of  our  disi— 
asters,  the- S'U«^-4he.  moon,  and  t!ie  stars  :  us  if  vv€ 
vVei-FviTfains  by  necessity ;  fools,  by  heavenly  coin 
pulsion  ;  knives,  thieves,  and  treachers,  by  spherical 
predominance;  drunkards,  liars,  and  adulterers,  by 
an  enforced  obedience  of  planetary  influence  ;  and 
all  thajLVY,t3i!f  ^^'1      by  a  divine  thrusting  on  :  A 
ad'inirable'^evaMCff'of  \vhbre-rnaster  mnn,  to  lay  hif>' 
goatish  disposition  to  the  charge  of  a  star  I  my  fa-* 
tilers  Ciinpounded  with  my  mother  under  the  dragon' 
tail ;  and  niy  nativity  was  under  ursa,  major  ;  so  that 
it  follows,  1  am  rough  and  lecherous.— Tut,  i  .should 
have  been  that  J  am,  luid  the  fiuiidcnlit  st  star  in  the 
firmament  twinkled  on  my  bastu "diyujii.  Edj^ar— ' 


Scene  4. 


r 

Enter  Edgar. 


KING  LEAR, 


697 


•nd  pat  lie  comes,  like  the  catastrophe  of  the  old 
«oniedv :  Myjcue  is  villanous  melanchol^j,  with  a 
sififi'.  like  'i^m  oTJedlam.  —  O,  tliese  eclipses  do 
portend  these  divisions  !  fa,  sol,  la,  mi. 

Edg,  How  now,  brother  Edmund?  What  serious 
contemplation  are  you  in  ? 

Edm.  J  am  thiDkia&,  brother,  of  a  prediction  I 
read  this  other  day,  what  shpiildJtulliiw  ther*e%lij^se|5 

Bklg.  Do  you  busy  yourself  with  that  ? 

Edm.  I  promise  you,  the  effects  he  writes  of, 
succeed  unhappily ;  as  of  unnaturalness  between 
thg_cbil-d.*uid-ttt*-j^ftrerif ;  death,  dearth,  dissolutions 
of  ancient  amities;  divisions  in  state,  menaces  and 
maledictions  against  king  and  nobles;  needless  ditfi- 
dence.s,  banishment  ol  friends,  dissipation  of  cohorts, 
nuptial  breaches,  and  1  know  not  what. 

Edg.  How  toug  have  you  been  a  sectary  astro- 
nomical y  [last  ? 

Edm.  Come,  come ;  when  saw  you  ray  father 

Edg.  Why,  the  night  gone  by. 

Edm.  Spaji^guyott  Avith~hira  ? 

Edg.  AyTtwo  hours  together. 

Edm.  Parted  you  in  good  terms  ?  Found  you  no 
^|ispl«w<w re  in  him,  by  word,  or  countenance  : 

Ed^iT^qmMh^^-^ 

Edm.  Bethink^..vcM^  \idiierdtt  jou,  may  have 
lOll'end^d  -him  :  ana  at  my  entreaty,  for&ear  his  pre- 
semje^  till  some  little  time  hath  qualified  the  heat 
oi'  his  displeasure ;  which  at  this  instant  so  rageth 
in  him,  that  with  the  mischief  of  your  person  it 
would  scarcely  allay. 

Edg.  Soiue-jv44iaujJiath-d«^ 

Ecltn.  iSiailsjmy^iir.  I  pray  you,  have  a  con- 
tinent forbearance,  till  the  speed  of  his  rage  goes 
slower ;  and,  as  I  say,  ji;etire  with  me  to  my  lodging, 
Irom  whence  I  will  fitly  bring  you  to  hear  my  lord 
speak  :  Fray  you,  go  ;  there's  my  key  : — If  you  do 
sfir  abroad,  go  armed.  >— 

E,/p.  Arrn"?d7"bnytlier  ? 

Brother,  I  adyjse_you  to  the  best]  go 
armed  ;  I  auf  no  honest  n>an,  if  there  be  any  good 
meaning  t)wards  you:  I  have  toW  you  what  1  have 
seen  and  heard,  but  faintiy;  nothing  like  the  image 
and  liorror  of  it;  Pray  yon,  away. 

Edg.  Shall  I  hear  irom  you  anon  ? 

Edm.  I  do  serve  you  in  this  business. — 

[Exit  Edgar. 
A  credidous  father,  and  a  brotlier  noble,^^ 
\ Vhftee  riature  is'  so  far'^roin  doing  harms, 

i'haOiin]!?^^35rr^^^™^^ 

My  practiceiTrTS^easy  ! — 1  see  theBusinels^^'' 

Let  me,  if  not  by  birth,  liave  lands  by  wit : 

Air  wiOf  me's^  meet,  that  I  can  fashion  fit  [Exit. 

Scene  HL — A  Room  in  the  Duke  of  Albany's 
Palace. 

Enter  GoNERiL  and  Steward. 

strike  my  gentleman  for 


With  checks,  as  flatteries, — when  they  are  seen 
Remember  wnat  1  have  said.  [^^bua'd* 
Very  well,  madam. 
Gon.  And  let^hiaJkjaights  have  colder  looks  amoT^ 
yoa;  ''  '  ■  [aot 

What  grows  of  it,  no  matter ;  advise  your  fellow* 
I  would  breed  from  hence  occasions.,  and  I  shall. 
'I'hat  I  may  speak  :— I'll  write  straight  to  my  sister* 
To  hold  my  very  course  :  prepare  for  dinner. 

[ExeuHt» 

Scene  IV. — A  Hall  in  the  same. 
Enter  Kent,  disguised. 
Kent.  If  but  as  well  I  other  accents  borrow. 
That  can  my  speech  diffuse,  my  good  intent 
May  carry  through  itself  to  that  full  issue. 
For  which  I  raz'd  my  likeness. —  Now,  banish'ij 
Kent,  [demn'(]^ 
If  thou  can'st  serve  where  thou  dost  stand  coo- 
fSo  may  it  come  !)  thy  master,  whom  thou  lov'st. 
Shall  find  thee  full  of  labours. 

Horns  within.  Enter  Lear,  knights,  and  Attm» 

Lear.  Let  me  not  stay  a  jot  for  dinner  ;  go,  get 
it  ready.  {Exit  an  AttendantTTiloyi  now,  what  art 
Kent.  A  man,  sir.  [thoa  ^ 

Lear.  What  dost  thou  profess?  what  would'st 
thou  with  us? 

Kent.  I  do  profess  to  be  no  less  than  I  seem ;  tgt 
serve  him  trul^^that^  will  put  me  in^trustj  to  love 
EinTTEaTliTionetfT'toljo^^  fliatls  wise^ 

and  says  little;  to  fear  judgment;  to  fight,  when  I 
cannot  choo.se  ;  and  to  eat  no  fish,  /-t '  /  ,r\ 

Lear.  What  art  tHoTT— t  ^ 
Kent.  A  .very  honest- hearted  fellow,  and  as  poof 
asjhe_  king. 

Leaf^'tttbow  be  as  poor  for  a  subject,  as  he  is  foT 
a  king,  thou  art  poor  enough.  What  would'st  thou  f 
Kent.  Service. 

Lear.  W  ho  would'st  thou  serve  n 
Kent.  You.  ^  J 

Lear.  Dost  thou  know  me,  fellow  ? 
Kent.  No  sir;  but  you  have  that  in  your  coaia» 
tenance,  which  I  woukJ  fain  call  master. 
Lear.  Whafs  that? 
Kent.  Autliority. 

Lear.  What  services  canst  thou  do  ? 

Kent.  I  can  keep  honest  counsel,  ride,  run,  mar 
a  curious  tatH'^"Kinng  it,  and  deliver  a  plain  mes- 
sag?*l)IiinfIy"rThat~wh7oh  ordinary  men  are  fit  for, 
I  am  qualilied^n;  and  th^best  pf  mj  is  diligence.  - 

Lear.  How  old  art  thou  ? 

Kent.  Not  8o  young,  sir,  to  love  a  woman  for 
singing;  nor  so  old,  to  dote  on  her  for  any  thing  :  I 
have  years  on  my  back  forty-eight 

Lear.  Follow  me  ;  thou  shalt  serve  me  :  If  I  liko 
thee  no  worse  after  dinner,  I  will  not  part  from  thee 
yet. — Dinner,  ho,  dinner ! — Where's  my  knave  ?  my 
fool  ?  Gro  you,  and  call  my  fool  hither: 


Gon.  Did  my  father 

chiding  of  his  fool  ?  j  Enter  Steward. 

Stew.  Ay,  madam.  (hour  I 

Gon.  By  day  and  night!  h^ -v^ronpg^me  ;  every    You,  you,  sirrah,  where's  my  daughter? 
lie  flaslies  into  one  gross  cririia^Z^bi&^      .     |     (S/ew;.  So  please  you,—  [Racit, 
That  sets  us  all  at  oddsT  I'll  mit  en  iure  it:   '  •/    -L^  Lear.  What  says  the  fellow  there  ?  Call  the  clot- 
His  knights  grow  riotous,  and  hiniself  Uj4)rai,ds  HS-'jUiV'poll  back.  —  Where's  my  fool,  ho? — I  think  the 

world's  asleep. — How  now  ?  where's  that  mongrel  ? 

Knight.  He  says,  my  lord,  you  daughter  is  not 
well. 

Lear.  Why  came  not  the  slave  back  to  me^  whs  a 

I  call'd  him  ? 
Knight.  Sir,  he  answer'd  me  in  the  rQundeal 
manner,  be  would  not.  ^*««— - 
Lear.  He  would  not! 

Knight.  My  lord,  1  know  not  what  the  matter  is; 
but,  to  my  judgment,  your  highness  is  not  enter- 
tained with  that  ceremonitnis  atiectiou  as  you  were 
V.  cnl ;  t.4ncj^a°grea4^batemejat^yjiintigs_apppars, 
^*^i!^s]iji5-.i^.-..:^5fii^='^  the  (liike 

feirn^Tfaiso,'lSS°j^ir^^la«gMe*^ 


On  every  tnrle  : — V V U^n  h e J:fctlu^ls..fc(^^iy^ u n ti ng, 
I  wUI  not  speak  with  him  ;"say,  I  am  sick  : — 
\f  you  come  slack  oi  former  services, 
Won  shall  do  well  ;  tiie  fault  of  it  I'll  answer. 

Stew.  He's  coming,  madam  ;  I  hear  him. 

{Hortis  within.) 

Qtm.  Put  on  what  we^ry  negligence  you  please, 
y  ou  and  your  fellows;  I  d  have  it  come  to  question ; 
If  he  dislike  it,  let  iiini  to  my  sister, 
Wbotif  inind  and  mine,  I  know,  in  that  are  one. 
Not  to  be  over-ruied.    Idle  old  man. 
That  still  would  majiage  those  authorities, 

h"  hath  given  away  ! — Now,  by  my  life. 
Old  fouls  es  again ;  and  most  be  us'd 


698 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  L 


Lesr.  I?a !  say'st  thou  so  ? 

Kfiigkt.  I  beseech  you,  pardon  me,  my  lord,  if  1 
be  mistaken ;  for  my  duty  camiot  be  silent,  wheu  I 
think  your  liighuess  is  wrong'd. 

ii^ar.  Thou  but  reniember'st  me  of  mine  own 
roDceptlon:  S  have  perceived  a  most  faint  nei^igjut 
of  i-<te ;.  which  I  have_t-atii£iuyaia£d.-a3  fi'l"^ 
jiealou s  ctirios'iTy ,  than  as  a  very  pretence  and  pur- 
s.cse  "or^jk:ijfmt^  :  I  will  look  further  into't— 
l!ut  whf  rp'fi  my  ?  I  have  not  seen  him  tliis  two 
days. 

Kniyht.  SijicejiyL&aiingJjL^^^ 
sir,  the  fool  hath  rnuch  pined  avyay. 

X^rT^bnfnore  oTT-Kat ;  1  havFnoted  it  well. — 
Go  you,  and  tell  my  daughter  I  would  speak  with 
her. — Go  you,  call  hither  my  fool. 

Re-enter  Steward. 
O,  you  sir,  you  sir^,  come  you  hither :  Who  am  I, 
Stew,  MxiadlifeibfiK,  Tsir'i' 
Ijear.  My  lady's  father !  my  lord's  knave  :  you 
whoreson  dog !  you  slave  !  you  cur  ! 

Stew.  I  am  none  of  tliis,  my  lord ;  I  beseech  you, 
pardon  me.  v 

>andy  looks  with  me,  you  rascal  ? 

SfntLTt/Y      {Striking  him.) 
e  struck,  my'lord. 

neither.;  you  base  foot-ball 
{Tripping  up  his  heels.) 


liee,  fellow  ;  thou  servest  me,  and 


Lear.  Do  you 

Steiv.  I'll  not 
;  Kent.  Nor  t 

^^%7ar.  I  tlrfa 
I'll  love  thee. 

Kent.  Come  sir,  arise,  away ;  I'll  teach  you 
djt%rences  ;  away,  away :  If  you  will  measure  your 
^^^Iji's  length  again,  tarry:  but  away:  go  to; 
fTaveyou  wisdom  ?  so.  [Pushing  the  Steward  out.) 

Lear.  Now,  my  friendly  knave,  1  tliaiik  tbee  : 
t]s£r(t's  earnest  of  thy  service.  {Giving  Kent  money.) 

Enter  Fool. 

Wool.  Let  me  hire  him  too* — Here's  my  coxcomb. 

{Giving  Kent  his  cap.) 
Lear.  How  now,  my  pretty  knave  ?  how  dost  thou 
Fuol  Sirrah  ,  you  were  best  take  my  coxcomb. 
KerU.  Why,  lool  ? 

FooL  Why  ?  for  taking  one's  part,  that  is  out  of 
favour:  Nay,  r.ii  thou  canst  not  smile  as  the  wind 
sits,  thou'lt  catch  cold  shortly  :  There,  take  my  cox- 
comb :  Why,  thja.JjdkLiLJjil*iJ2a^'^^^^^  two  of _ his 
drtughters^auii  md  the  third  a  blessing  against  his 
Will ;  if  thou  follow  him,  thou  must  needs  wear  my 
coxcomb. —  How  now,  uuncle  ?  'Would  I  had  two 
coxcombs,  and  two  daughters  I 

Lear.  Why,  my  boy  ? 

Fool.  If  I  gave  them  all  my  living,  I'd  keep  my 
coxcombs  myself:  There's  mine:  h£g  another  of 
ti>y  daughters.  — 

Uear.^l^ke  heed,  sirrah ;  the  whip. 
.   Fool.  Trutli's  a  dog  that  must  to  kennel ;  he  must 
be  whipiTd^olitT'wnith^Lad^^  stand 
by  tiie  fire  and  stink. 

hear.  A  pestilent  gall  to  tue ! 

Fool.  Sirrah,  I'll  teach  thee  a  speeclb 

tdear.  Do. 

FooL  Mark  it,  nuncle  :— 

Have  more  than  thou  shewest,  ''^'yS^' 
Speak  less  than  thou  knowest* 
bentTTesTtimnlthwr?^^ 
Ride  more  than  thou  goest. 
Learn  more  -than  JiwMi-tFowest, 
Set  less  than  tliou  throwest; 
/         Ijeave  thy  drink  and  thy  whore, 
^i^ey,  i»  a-doov. 
And  thou  shalt  have  more 
Than  two  tens  to  a  seore, 
Jiecir.  Tins  is  nothing,  fool. 
¥ool.  Then  'tis  like  the  breath  of  an  unfee'd 
lawyer;  you  gave  me  nothing  for't:  Can  you  make 
no  use  oi^n(ithhig,  nuncle? 

J4ear.  Why,  no,  boy ;  (^nothing  can  be  made  pat 
of  uothing. 


Fool.   Pr'ythee,  tell  him,  so  much  the  reat  of  his  \ 
land  comes  to  ,•  he  will  not  believe  a  fooL  (To  Kent.) 
Lear.  A  bitter  fool  1 

Fool.  Ilost  thou  know  the  differences^  my  boy, 

Lear.  No,  lad  ;  teach  me. 
Fool.  That  lord,  that  counsell'd  thee 
To  give  away  thy  land. 
Come  place  him  here  by  me,  1 
Or  do  tliou  for  him  stand  :  { 
The  sweet  and  bitter  fool  I 

Will  piesently  appear; 
The  one  in  motley  here, 
The  other  found  out  there. 
Lear.  Dost  tliou  call  me  fooj,  boy  ? 
Fooh  AH  thy  <)ther  liJtJi?^  ,thoiUi9i,§i  gi  | 
that  thou  wast  b^wn  with. 

Kent.  This  is  not  altogether  fool,  my  lord. 
Fool.  No,  'faith,  lords  and  great  aien  will  not  let 
me ;  if  I  had  a  monopoly  out.  they  A'ouid  have  part 
on't :  and  ladies  too,  they  will  not  let  me  have  all  fool 
to  myself ;  they'll  be  snatcliing. — Give  me  an  egg, 
nuncle,  and  I'll  give  thee  two  crowns. 
Lear.  What  two  crowns  shall  they  be? 
Fool.  Why,  after  J  have  cut  the  egg  i'tlie  middle, 
and  eat  up  the  meat,  tTie  two  crowns  of  the  egg. 
When  thou  clovest  thy  cfOwn  i'tlie  middle,  and 
gavest  away  boih  parts,  thou  borest  thine  ass  on 
thy  back  over  the  dirt :  Tii*«i.JhajJ^^itUe  w^^  in  thy 
baid-£ro^vn,  w|ieii  tliou  gavest  Oiy  golJen  one  away, 
if  I  speak  fike  ihyseiriu  this,  L.t  him  be  whipp'd 
that  first  finds  it  so. 

Fools  had  ne'er  less  grace  in  a  year ;  {Singing.) 

For  tvise  men  are  groivn  foppish ; 
And  Icnuw  not  how  their  wits  to  wear.,"  , 

Their  manners  are  so  apish. 
Lear.  Wlicn  were  you  wont  to  be  so  full  ofsongiji, 
/'      sirrah?  \J^^ 
/Fool.  1  have  used  it,  uuncle,  ever  since  n(oa 
hiadest  tiiy  daughters  tliv  mother:  for  vviienTirolr* 


'puTsTdown  tiiiue  pvvn..J 


H^gavesTTT 

:    iKeeches,  7 

^  Then  they  for  sudden  joy  did  weep,  {Singing.) 
And  I  for  sorrow  sung, 
Thai  such  a  king  should  play  bo-peep. 
And  go  the  fools  among. 
Pr'ythee,  nuncle,  ke^  a  shuol-master  that  can 
teach  tliy  fool  to  lie;  rwould  fain  learn  to  lie. 
Lear.  If  you  lie,  sirrah,  we'll  have  you  wTnpped. 
Fool.  I  marvel,  what  kin  thou  and  thy  daughters 
are :  theyiljiav£_m^  for  spealiing  true, 

thou'it  have  me_ whipp'd  for  lying ;  and,  so-.uetimefli, 
r  aiu  whipp'd  for  bolaitigT  h»y  peace.    I  jjad  rather 
byajiy  kind  of  thing,  than  a  fool:  and  yet  Tw^ 
rUfit'tse-  tliee,  Buneifi^T^^     hast  t.jared  thy  wit  o'both 
sides,  and  left  iqothing^n  the  midme:  Here  cornea 

Enter  GovfBSnS. 
X»elrr.  How  now,  daughter?  what  makes  that  )( 
frontlet  on?  Methinks,  yoa  are  too  much  oi  late 
i'  the  frown.  W 

Fool.  'J'hon  wast  a  pretty  fellow,  when  thou  had'at 
DO  need  to  care  for  her  frowning ;  now  tiiou  art  an 

0  without  a  figure  :  I  am  better  than  thou  art  now: 

1  am  a  faol,  thou  art^ndtlu^>— Yes,  forsooth,  I  will 
hold  my  tongue ;  so  ytruf  tace  (  3\?  Gon.)  bids  me^, 
though  you  say  nothing.  Mu.m.  mum. 

He  that  keeps  nor  cpust  nor  criim. 
Weary  of  all,  shall  want  some. — 
That's  a  shealed  peascod.  )(.    {Pointing  to  Leot*^ 

Gon.  Not  only,  sir,  this  your  ail-licens'd  fool. 
But  other  of  your  insolent  retinue. 
Do  hourly  carp  and  quarrel ;  breaking  forth 
In  rank  and  not-to-be-endured  riots.  Sir, 
I  had  thought,  by  raakii-g  this  well  known  untoyoaj^' 
To  have  found  a  safe  redress  ;  but  now  grow  fearjlll| 
By  what  yourself  too  late  have  spoke  and  done. 
That  you  protect  this  course,  and  put  it  on 
^y  your  allowance ;  which  if  you  should,  the  fault 


Scene  1       />    >     ✓  i     i      ,/  KING 

Would  not  'scape  ceosnre,  nor  the  redresses  sie^p; 
Which,  in  the  tender  of  a  wholesome  weal,  I, 
Might  in  their  woiking  do  you  that  offence,  f 
Wliich  else  were  shame,  that  then  necessity 
Will  call  discreet  proceeding.  i  / 

Fool.  For  you  trow,  nuncle,  i/y 
The  hedge  sparrow  fed  tlie  cuckoo  so  long; 
That  it  had  its  head  hit  ofT  by  its  young. 
So,  out  went  the  candle,  and  we  were  left  darkling. 

Lear.  Are  you  our  daughter  ? 

Gon.  Come,  sir,  I  would,  you  would  mak.e-«afeof 
that  good  wisdom  whereoi'  I  know  you  ai'^jfeanghtfj 
and  put  away  these  dispositions,  which  of  lat^^trao^^ 
form  you  from  what  you  rightly  are,  i/^^A^^ 

FooL  May  not  an  ass  know,  when  the  cart  draws 
the  horse  ? — Whoop,  Jug  !  I  love  thee. 

Lear.  Does  any  here  know  me  ? — Why,  this  is 
not  Lear  ;'~tJ^£reT"t]rear  walk  thus?  speak  thus? 
Where  are^iis  eyesT  Either  his  notion  weakens,  or 
his  discernings  are  lethargied. — Sleeping  or  waking? 
«.  — Ha!  sure  'tigjK)i..aa>:r::W'ho  is  itjthat  cap  tell  me 
who  I  amlr-^^jear's  shadowTl  wbiiTd  learn  that; 
foT'E^yTEe'  mivrks  of  sovereignty,  knowledge,  and 
reason,  I  sjiould  be  false  persuaded  I  had  daughters^ 
/       FooL  Which  they  wHI  rnake  an  obedient3[|iheE,., 

Lear.  l^rnriiara^^^  f 

Gon.  Come,  sir; 
This  admiration  is  m;*©itjo'the  favour 
Of  otlieQ'our  jj&i^Jc^nk^      do  beseech  you  v 
To  understand  my  purposes  aright ; 
As  you  are  old  and  reverend,  jou  shonld  be  wise  : 
Here  do  you  keep"^  liundTed  ifnights  and^squu'es";"" 
Men~1»o  disorder'd,  so  dtbauch'd,  and  bold. 
That  this  our  court,  infected  with  their  raanjjm-s,  / 
Shews  like  a  riotous  inn  :  epicurmii  and  ^st^/  yf 

Thuu  a  ^rac'd  palace.  'J'he  shame'nseri'*3oth  speak 
For  ii).st;uit  remedy  ;  Re  then  desir'd 
By  hc-r,  fhatelse  will  take  tiiC  tiling  she  begs, 
i  lit  tie  to  di.squantity  your  train; 
f^jSDlIi^^  t'iiiHmdei^  tim^^  shall  "still  depend, 
i"o  he  sucli  7^neTr^J^iJ5 
Aiiiikiiow  themselves  and  yon. 

Lear.  Darkness  and  devils  !—- 

Saddle  my  horses;  call  my  train  together. — 
Degenerate  ba^r^^LllLUiaLtjaiMble-tl^^ 
^^-^JdiaSjefU  ~  -      K  t  KW^rabble 

'  Tiim.  ToS°stnKe  m/ peopre  ;  and  you  disorder  d 
Make  servants  of  their  betters. 

Enter  Albany. 
Lear.  Woe,  that  too  late  repents. — O,  sir,  are 
you  come  ?  [horses. 
Is  it  your  will  ?  [to  Alb.)  Speak, ^^fdrr^a^Prepare  my 
I.DI^mlitiide  !  thoujimrbl^Jl^£te4N|end^ 
More  hioeousi  w  hen  tHoushe  w 's  tteewin  a  child. 
Than  tfie  tfea'-Ulifli^rJ 

Pray,  sir,  be  patient. 
Lear.  Deteste<l1iite/  thou  liest:     [To  Goneril.) 
My  train  are  men  oC-<iioice  and  rarest  parts. 
That  all  particulars  of  duty  know  ; 
And  in  the  most  exact  regard  support 
The  worships  of  their  name. — O  most  small  fault. 
How  uglv  uidst  thou  in  CordeliaTsIiew  1^^^^^^^-^-=--= 
Whu  lijlike  an  engine7  vTre  nch'd  my  frame  of  nature 
From  the  fix'd  place ;  drew  from  my  heart  all  love. 
And  added^ff the  gall.  O,  Lear,  Lear,  Lear  I 
Beat  at  llm  gate,  that  let  thy  folly  in,  _ 
\  {Striking  his  head.) 

l^Lnd  Ihy  dear  judgment  out! — Go,  go,  my  people, 
)  /  Aib.  My  lord,  1  am  guiltless,  as  I  am  ignorant  J 
/  Of  what  hath  mov'd  you.  •  / 

Lear.  It  may  be  so,  my  lord. — Hea^^'nature^hear; 
Oear  goddess,  hear!  Suspend  thy  purpose,  if 
Thou  didst  intend  to  make  this  creature  fruitful! 
N Into  her  womb  convey  sterility!    -  ^-"XJ^^  &M^C 
DrylTpTTTTierttr^TjrpTT?^  ; 
And  fioni  her  derogate  body  never  spring 
A  babe  to  honour  her !  It  she  inystj^em. 
Create  her  c hdd  ov*' -Sbl e e n  ;  "that  it  may  ave. 


LEAR. 


And  be  a  thwart  di 


tar'd  tormenFfo.heci 


:  Tooth  irTs' 
Awaj,  away'!  [Exit 
"ttTat  we  adore,  wiiereof  comes 


Let  it  stamp  wrinkles  in  "^ler  brow  of  youth 
With  cadent  tears  I'ret  cliannels  in  hei  cnefka; 
Turn  all  her  rnotherpains,  and  benefits,  ^ 
To  laughter  and  contempt ;  that  she  may  feel  M^H^tJ^ 
How  sharper  i  h  an  ^^eq^eiit's  Tooth  irts  ' 
,T6"trave  a  thankless  cTTild  !— 
"Alb.  Now,  gods 
this? 

Gon.  Never  afflict  yourself  to  know  th'e  ciause',  " 
But  let  his  disposition  have  that  scope 
That  dotage  gives  it. 

Re-enter  Leak. 
What,  fifty  of  my  followers,  at  a  clap! 
Within  a  fortnight? 
Alb.  What's  the  matter,  sir  ? 

Lear.  I'll  tell  thee ; — Life  and  death  !    I  am 
ashana'd. 

That  thoii  hast  power  to  shake  my  manhood  thus: 

/  {To  Goneril.) 
That  these  hot  tearSj  which  break  from  me  perlorce, 
Shp-uld  iSaKa^       wortly^he^n.— Bla^f^sTnd  foga 

upoin  thee !       ✓  .  -if 

'^^^^^  gStenft^d^woundings  of  a  father's  curse    ^''i  H^'^"!',  j 
Pierce  every  sense  about  thee  ! — Old  fond  eyes,  dZ.'t^A 
Beweep  this  cause  again,  I'll  pluck  you  out;      J'Tn  I 
And  cast  you,  with  the  waters  that  you  lose,^-«^.f^- 
To  temper  clay. — Ha  !_Js_it  rgme  to  this  ?  r"^' 
Let  it  be  so  : — Xit  have  J  left  a  datightt^,  "^  /^,  //  -  J 
Who,  I  am  sure,  is  kind  and  comtoTt'able  Z'-'*^^ ¥] 

When  she  shallhe,a£jtljis  of  thee,  with  her  nails 
She'll  Oay  tliy/^y^fish  \i^ge,,  'J'hou  shalt  find, 
Tliat  Ml  resuiW-the-gtiape  which  thou  dost  think 
I  have  cast  off  for  ever;  thou  shall,  J  warrant  t-he®j 
[Exeunt  Lear,  Kent,  and  Attendants. 

Gon.  Do  you  mark  that,  my  lord  ? 

Alb.  I  cannot  be  so  partial,  Goneril,      , .  ^ 

Gon.  Pray  yon,  content. — WRat,  Oswald,  hi ! 
You,  sir,  more  knave  tlian  fool,  after  your  stef. 

\To  the  Fq&LI 
Fool.  Nuncle  Lear,  nuncle  Lear,  tarry,  and 
the  fool  with  thee. 

A  foa,  when  one  has  caught  her 
And  such  a  daughter. 
Should  sure  to  the  slaughter. 
If  my  cap  would  buy  a  baiter; 
So  the  Ibol  follows  after. 
Gon.  This  man  hath  had  good  counsel : — A  huu' 
dred  knights! 
'Tis  politic,  and  safe,  to  let  him  keep 
At  point,  aJtuiadi-eji-kBifhts,   Yes,  that  on  everj 
dream. 

Each  buz,  each  fancy,  each  complaint,  dislike. 
He  may  enguard  his  dotage  with  their  powers, 
AnHlipld  our  lives  in  mercy^— Oswald,  1  say  !— 

Alb.  Well,  you  may  fear  too  far, 

Gon.  Safer  than  trastt 

l4et  me  still  takeaway  the  harms  I  fear,    ^  >  ^ 
l^E3^iLitGMCEo[5£3akl.ii^^  know  his  heart  :^  ■ 
What  he  hath  utter'd,  I  ha\e  writ  my  sister; 
If  she  sustain  him  and  his  hundred  knights. 
When  I  have  shew'd  the  unfitness. — How  now» 
Oswald  ? 

Enter  Steward. 
What,  have  you  writ  that  letter  to  my  sister? 
Stetv,  Ay,  madam. 

Gon.  Take  you  some  company,  and  away  to  horsfl's 
Inform  her  full  of  my  particular  fear; 
And  thereto  add  such  reasons  of  your  owTi, 
As  may  compact  it  more.  Get  you  gone ; 
And  hasten  your  return.  [Exit  Stew.\  No,  no,  m 
lord. 

This  mijkyjentleness,  and  course  of  yours,  '  ! 
TKoupiT condemn  it  not,^y^  under  pardon, 
Xaajirg  "'"ch  niore^^ttasl^rTor  v.  ant  of  wisdom, 
iHiaiPprais'dToniarr^ 

"■^t^T^HcTvv  far  your  fyes  may  pierce,  J  cannot 


lEzif. 


3 


TOO  KING  LEAR. 

Striving  to  better,  oft  we  mar  what's  well. 
Grow.  Nay,  then — 

Alh  Weil,  well:  the  event.  [Exeunt, 
Scene  V. — Court  before  the  same. 
Enter  Lear,  Kent,  and  Fool. 

Lear,  Go  you  before  to  Gloster  with  these  let- 
ters:  acquaint  my  daughter  no  further  with  any 
thing  you  know,  than  comes  from  her  demand  out 
©f  the  letter :  If  your  diligence  be  not  speedy,  I 
shall  be  there  before  you. 

Kent  I  will  not  sleep,  ray  lord,  till  I  have  deli- 
vered your  letter.  [Exit. 

Fool.  If  a  man's  brains  were  in  his  heels,  were't 
not  in  danger  of  kibes  ? 
hear.  Ay,  boy. 

Fuol.  Ther^I  pr'ythee;  be  merry  ;  thy  wit  shall 

not  go  4iP-.«hod)  -  .sluV2*^4y,  aU"€le;> 
Lear.  fla7T^>  ha! 

Fool,  Shalt  see,  thy  other  daughter  will  use  thee 
kindly  :  f o r  t b 0 " g h  -ghp_gj',?. J i  1^ ^  this  as  a  crab  is  like 
an  apple,  yetXcaOirr^^fiat  I  can  tell. 
"Xe«r.  Why,  what  '•an'st  thou  tell,  my  boy  ? 

Fool.  She  will  taste  as  like  this,  as  a  crab  does 
to  a  crab.  Thou  canst  tell,  why  one's  tms£_j;tands 
i ' tlie  mi dd  i e  ofjhis  face  ? 
Jjenr,  No. 

Fool.  Why,  to  keep  his  eves  on  either  side  his 
nose ;  thst  what  a  man  canaot.smeU  jnit,^  he  may 
fpy  into. 

Jjear.  I  did  her  wrong  : 

Fool.  Canst  tell  how  an  oyster  makes  his  shell? 
Lear.  No. 

Fool.  Nor  I  neither:  but  I  can  tell  why_ajjiail 
Las  a  house. 
Lear.  Why? 

Fool.  Why,  to,^ujL,hia  .beadJi^-^^ 
away  to  his  daughters,  and  leave  hi^norn^  wittout 

Lear.  I  will  forget  n;y  nature. — So  kind  a  fa- 
^  h  lather  ! — Be  my  horses  ready  ? 
C^^'^         Fool.  Thy  asses  are  gone  about  'em.    The  rea- 
,    ^  'N,  son  why  the  seven  stars  are  no  more  than  seven, 
^)S^  lUs  a  pretty  reason, 
"■^^.t^  V    Lear.  Because  they  are  not  eight? 

Fool.  Yes,  indeed    Thou  would'st  make  a  good 

fool.  ^  "7 

"""^eatr.  JjQ^_tete>^'^  again,    perforce  .'-^I'^onst^r 
^giatituder^ 
\      Fom.   TT''ttrrTrr°i:^ert^i^^  nnnr.ig,,  T'd— iiaj^e 

thee  frgi^te 1 1 4iBHagTI^^^^°r&e ior^J^i^Il^ai&^-^ 
'Lear,  flow's  thitt  ? 

Fuol.  Xlli>"  shoiild'st  not  have  been  old,  before 

thou  had^bV'e'n  wiseT"^    '  ^"-ir:: 

'""°^^^^!^teEsmE:jjiot  he , mad,  not  mad',  sweet 
heaven  ! 

lep^e^ifl-^npen^jvodld^n^      mad!  ^---^ 
Enter  Gentleman, 


\C         How  now  !  Are  the  horses  ready  ? 

Gent.  Ready,  my  lord. 

Lear.  Come,  boy. 
y^'  ^        Fool.  She  that  is  maid  now,  and  laughs  at  my 
J^x'-  departure,  , 

^  ^     Shall  not  be  a  maid  long,  unless  things  be  cut 
shorter.    .   ,^it^i/'^^<M^J^  [Exeunt. 

S(7ENE  L — A  Court  wit /tin  the  Castle  of  the  Earl 
of  Gloster. 

Enter  Edmund  and  Cur^n,  meeting. 
Edm.  Save  thee,  Curan.  <^AV;Vx€/ 
C7ir  And  you,  sir.   I  have  been  with  yf>ur  father  ; 

and  given  hitn  notice,  tliiit  the  duke  of  Cornwall. 

andl{,fegatt— his  duchess,  vviiiJbe_hsmlMtLium~to,, 

.  Ev/ How  comes  that? 

You  have  fieard  of  the 


Edn 
Cur. 


How  comes  that  ? 
Nay,  I  know  not: 


news  abroad ;  I  jae^n/the  whispered  ones,  for 
they  are  yet  but;|ar-ki^ng"li^Tmrer^ 
Edm.  Not  I;  'Pi^y 7&ti;'^hiaT;-are-R5f^ 
Cur.  Have  yon  heard  of  no  likely^aha  toward* 
'fwrivt r^hft  duke,,o£XlQraAVAl|^_nd^Alj^T[^^^ 

Edm.  Not  a  word. 

Cur,  You  may  then,  in  time.    Fare  yoc  ^-ell, 
sir.  [Exit, 
Edm.  The  duke  be  here  to-night?  The  ^etter 
Best!  ^«\^^^>VV'^ 
This  weaves  itself 'pg^iji^e  into  my  business! 


MyJaih^  hath  setjg:"ajd  to^tak 


i.|juardUo= 
liner,  of  a  q 


brother; 


Which  I  must  act: — Briefness,  and  fortune,work!<-" 
Brother,  a  word; — descend  : — Bmth£av-I  say; 

Enter  Edgar. 
My  father  watches  : — Q^sir,_flv__tKls--pla€^^ 
Intelligence  is  giv^n  where_you_ai:e-hid_;_ 
iTou  haVeTrowTHe'goocTad  vantage  of  the  night:— 
Haxe  -y atujuit»apikenjgai^^ 
walJJ 

He's  conu5g_hjther4-«ow',  i'the  night,  i'the  haste. 
And  Regan  with  him :  Have  you  nothing  said 
Upon  bus  party  'gainst jhe^  duke  of  AlbaJxy? 
Advise  yourself.""^" 

Edg.  I  am  sure  on't,  not  a  word, 

Edi7i.  I  hear  my  Tiither  coming,^Pai'dbn  me  :— 
III  cunning  I  must  draw  my  sword  uuon  you: — 

nnjg  defend  youj^self :  Now  quit  yoa 


Draw 


Yield  ;  come  before  my  father : — Light,  ho,  here  !— 
Fly,  brother: — Torches!  'torches  !— -So,  farewell.— 

^E^H  Edgan. 
Some  blood  drawn  on  me  would  beget  opinion 

IMjiunds  his  arm)^ 
Of  my  more  fierce  endeavour:  Xhave  seen  drunk- 
.  ards- 

Do  mor£Jhm,JMMjSiSport — Fathei !  father ! 


Stop,  stop !  No  help 
Enter  Gloster  and  Servants,  with  Torches. 
Glo.  Now,  Edmund,  where's  tha villain? 
Edm.  Here  stoed.  hejn  the  dark,  his  sharp  sword  i 

lViimiblinj^=.o£. wicked  charms,  conjuring  the  moon 
Tq,  stand  hisr^uspicioHslnt^rre^s^— 

Edm.  Look,  sir,  I  bleeT  1  I'^^^^  ^^f^  t^f^^  HP 
Glo.  Where  is  the  villain,  Edmund?  ' 

Edm.   Fled  this  vvay,  sir.    VVhen  by  no  means 

Glo.  Pursue  him,  ho! — Go  after. —  [Exit  Serv.] 

By  no  means, — what? 
Edm.  Persuade  me  to  the  jaurder  of  your  lord 
ship ; 

But  that  rt()ld  him,  the  revenging  gods 
'Gainst  pan-iciores"71td  all  tfueir  tiiunders  bend;  , 
Sp^ke,  wit^hovv  manif^    and  strcng  a  bond      ,  v&. 
Tne  child  was  bound  to  the  father: — Sir,  in  fine!  ^X^i^C 
Seeing  how  loathly  opposite  I  stood  '  . 

To  his  unnatural  purpose,  in  felt  motion,  !f,\VvjW 
With  his  prepared  sword,  he  charges  liorae  \  1,mWs 
My  unprovided  body,  lanc'd  mine  arm:  i  C^'*''^-' 

But  when  he  saw  my  beat  alarniti'd  spirits,  V  « 
Bold  in  the  qujiigpl's  right,  rous  d  to  ttie  encountef,'*- 
Or  whether^aste^Jry  ^  "ifi<ft?..  I 

Pull  sudden^T^fleaS  li  i^km 
Glo.  Lethim'-lly  (ail: 

Not  in  this  land  shall  he  remain  uiicanght ; 
And  found — Despatch. — The  noble  duke  my  master, 
My  worthy  arch  and  patron,  comes  to  night 
By  his  authority  I  will  proclaiu)  it, 
That  he,  which  finds  him,  shall  deserve  onr  thanka. 
Bringing  tlie  murderous  coward  to  the  stake  ; 
He  thrit  cooceaLs  him,  death. 
"^^^fer  VVlVFn  I  di^uaded  Fiiti  from  his  intent. 
And  flnind  him^ighpto  do  it,  witli  curst  speech 
I  t'nrpafpri'd  to  oT^over  him  :  Hf  replied, 
Thou  um)6ss~e'ssv^!l^istufU '  jhst-4hm  i 


Scene  2. 


KING  LEAH. 


701 


IfUj^uId  stand  against  thee,  woiild  the  reposal 
l^any  trust, yirfm ^  or  tvorth,  in  thee 
MakeTh:yW6rdH  jm^^^        No,  tv  hat  I  should  deny , 
[As  tJris~i' mould ;  ay.ihotcgh  thou  didst  produce 
My  very  character.)  I  d  turn  it  all 
To  thy  sug(jestion,  plot,  aTtd  damned  practice  : 
And  thou  mustjnake_a,^VardH)f  the  world, 
itoTTIimiqTii  the  ^"UftTsm'  niy  death 


were  ill  af- 


WerelfiTfy  pregnant  andpotenrml  spursj      j#  ^y. 
7^0  makeThee^eelc  it. 

Glo.  Strong-  and  faslen'd  villain  ! 

Would  he  deny  his  letter  ? — 1  never  got  him. 

( Trumpets  within.) 
Hark,  the  duke's  trumpets !  I  know  not  why  he 

conies .  ^ 
AJlj)ortsjnibar  ;  the  villain  shall  not  'scape  ;  '^^^ 
ThTdlT^e'nnTst'^grant  nie  that :  besides,  his  piijture 
I  wiU.sejnd  /ar        near,  that  all  tfie  kingdom 
IViay  have  dur  nottLci' hi'n  ;  and  of  my  land.^. 
CtjQSBl  and  natural  hoy.  1  11  work  the  means 
To  make  thee  capabl&K^^  U  ^ 

Enter  CoRNWALii,  Regan,  antTAttert^t 
Cow?.  How  now,  my  noble  friend  ?  since  I  came 
hither,  [news. 
(Which  I  can  call  but  now,)  I  have  heard  strange 
Regan.  If  it  be  true,  all  vengeance  comes  too 
sliot  t,  [lord  ? 

Which  can  pursue  the  offender.    How  dost,  my 
Glo.  O,  madam,  my  old  heart  is  crack'd,  is 
ci-ack'd  I 

Reg.  What,  did  my  father's  godson  seek  your 

^  He,  whom  my  father  nanal4,?  Your  Edgar? 
V     Glo.  0  lady,  lacj^jfjE^^g^vould  have  it  hid  ! 
^TKe^T"  V^fis  ■Ji&.,..njftC....c.ompauion  with  the  riotous 

Glo.  -=«>»-.^->-—       T  know  not,  roadam : 

It  is  too  bad,  too  bad.—  ^-JK-^^LLli 
Edm.  ^esjn^^ 
Reg.  No  marvel  then^  though  he 
fected  ; 

Tis  they  have  put  him  on  the  old  man's  death, 
To  have  the  waste  and  spoil  of  his  revenues. 
I  Lave  this  present  evening  from  my  sister 
Been  well  inform^2I^31euiT^n3^^         " ch  cau- 
"         "flonsi  ^ 
That,  if  they  come  to  sojourn  at  my  house, 
I'll  not  be  there. 

Corn.  Nor  I,  assure  thee,  Regan, — 

Edmund,  1  hear  that  you  have  shewn  your  father 
A  child-like  office. 

Edm.  .  JTyi?!^§JIlzA"^>  sir. 

Glo.  He  did  b^l^y  his  pracITceTan^  receiv'd 
This  hurt  you  see,  scfljdng  to  apprehend  him. 

Com.  Is  he  pursueaN*^ ^'uiCs/^-J 

Glo.  Ay,  mv  good  lord,  he  is. 

Corn.  ILhgJm.44sJk^JPiiJae  shall  never  more_ 
Be  fe^r^dj>fjdoinjg^^         make  your  own  purpose, 
"How  in  my  strengtK""you  please. — For  you,  Ed- 
■mundj 

Whose  virtue  and  obedience  doth  this  instant 
So  much  con>mend  itself,  yf>w  sha^^  bp  «uirs^ 
Natures  of  such  deep  trust  we  shall  much  need; 
You  we  first  seize  on. 

Edm.  I  shall  s^ rye  _yoiii.  sir, 

Truly,  however  else.  -  '  | 

'Glo.  jTor  him  I  thank  your  grace. 

Com.  You  know  not  why  we  came  to  visit  you, — 

Reg.  Thus  out  of  season;  threading  dark-ey'd 
night.  ..    j  11 

Occasions,  noble  Gloster,  of  somo^^^S^  -  VJCj^|l)]T' 
Wherein  we  must  have  use  of  your  advice 
Our  father  he  hath  writ,  so  hath  our  sister, 
Of  differences,  which  I  lest  thought  it  fit 
To  answer  from  04ir  home  ;  the  several  messengers 
From  hence  attend  despatch.  Our  good  old  friend, 
Laj  conjforts  to  your  bosom  ;  and  bestow 
V  cir  needful  counsel  to  our  business. 
Which  craves  the  instant  use, 


Glo.  I  serve  yon,  madam : 

Your  graces  are  right  welcome.  [ExttimU 

Scene  II. — Before  Gloster's  Castle. 
Enter  Kent  and  Steward,  severally. 
Stew.  Good  dawning  to  thee,  friend:  Art  ofth© 
Kent.  Ay.  [house? 
Stew.  Where  may  we  set  our  horses  ? 
Kent.  I'the  mire. 

Stetv.  Pr'ytliee,  if  thou  love  me,  tell  me. 
Kent.  I  love  thee  not. 
Stew.  Why,  then  I  care  not  for  thee. 
Kent.  If  1  had  thee  in  Lipsbury  pinfv  Id,  I  tvoQld 
make  thee  care  for  me. 
Stew.  Why  dost  thou  use  me  thus?  I  know 

theejnot.  j, 
Kent.  F^lkjws  I  kng^^ 
Stew.  VVhaTcTost  thouTinow'me  for ? 
^rs«/..A,kuave ;  a  rascal,  an  eater  of  broken  meats; 
^  base,  pr(jud,  shallow,  beggarly,  three-suited,  hun- 

'fkfcS^PJJjldv^li'iL)^""!-^^^  knave  ;  a  lilyli- 

ver'd,  actiorTljniingTtnave  ;f^whore^  glass-gazing, 
sjxpgrsef^vic^uible^nical  rogue  ;  pne^i^mik.- i n h e ri ti ng 
sl4ve;  one  that  would'st  be  a  bawd,  in  way  of  good 
service,  and  art  nothing  but  the  cxxmpasition  of  a 
knave,  beg^ar,j:owartlj  papder,  and  the  .son  and  heir 
of  a  mongrel  bitch:  one  whom  Twill  beat  into  cla- 
morous whining,  if  thou  deniest  the  least  syllable  of 
thy  additio!). 

Sleiv.  Why,  what  a  monstrous  fellow-  art  thou, 
thus  to  rail  on  one,  that  is  neither  know.i  of  thee, 
nor  knows  thee  ? 

Kent.  What  a  brazen  faced  varlet  art  thou,  to 
deny  thou  know'st  me?  ^s  it  two  days  ago,  since  I 
tripp'd  up  thy  heels,  and  beat  thee,  before  tlie  king  ? 
Draw,  you  rogue  ;  for,  though  it  he  night,  the  moon 
shines;  I'll  make  a  sop  o'the  moonshine  of  you: 
Draw,  you  whorson  cullionly  barber-monger,  draw. 

{Drawing  his  sword.) 
Sleiv.  Away;  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  thee. 
Kent.  Draw,  you  rascal :  you  come  with  letters 
against  the  king;  and  take  vanity  the  puppet's  part, 
against  the  royalty  of  her  father:  Draw,  you  rogue, 
or  1  11  so  carbonado  your  shanks : — draw,  you  rascal; 
come  your  ways. 

Stew.  H^elp,  ho!  murder!  help  I 
Kent.  Strike,  you  slave  ;  stand,  rogue,  stand; 
you  neat  slave,  strike.  [Beating  him.) 

Stew.  Help,  ho!  murder!  murder  I 

Enter  Edmund,  Cornwall,  Regan,  Gloster, 

and  Servants. 
Edm.  How  now?   What's  the  matter?  Part. 
Kent.  With  you,  goodman  boy,  if  you  please  j 
come,  I'll  flesh  you  ;  come  on,  young  master. 

Glo.  Weapons!  arms!  What's  the  matter  here? 
Corn.  Keep  peace,  upon  your  lives; 
H«-<iTrsr*hat.slnktLa.a^in :  What  is  .he  matter  ' 
Reg.  Tl]Le,jj)e§sengers  from  our  sister  ajpH  the 

Corn.  What  is  your  difference  ?  speak. 
Stew.  I  am  scarce  in  breath,  my  lord. 
Kent.  No  marvel,  you  have  so  bestin'd  your  va- 
lour.    You  cowardly  rascal,  nature  disclaims  in 
thee  ;  a  tailor  made  thee. 

Corn.  Thou  art  a  strange  fellow :  a  tailor  make 
a  man  ? 

Kent.  Ay,  a  tailor,  sir:  a  stone-cutter,  or  a 
painter,  could  not  have  made  him  so  ill,  though  they 
had  been  but  two  hours  at  the  trade. 

Com.  Speak  yet,  how  grew  your  quarrel  ? 
Stew,  lliis  ancient  ruffian,  sir,  whose  life  1  have 

spSr'd,  "  /^T^'^N 

At  suit  of  his  grey  beard,—  ^         /t  ^ /^^H— ^ 

iCen^.  Thou  whoreson  zed  !  thou  unnecessary  ret^" 
ter! — My  lord,  if  you  will  give  me  leave.  Twill 
tread  this  unbolted  villain  into  mortar,  and  daub  the 
wall  of  a  jakes  with  him. — Spare  my  grey  beardi 
you  wagtail! 

Corn.  Peace,  sirrah  \ 


702 


KING  LEAR. 


"1 


Act  II. 


You  beastly  knave,  ^novvjSJM»a.a:fi,XgreD^^  ? 
Kent.  Yes,  siri^buTa^J^lhas  a  pnvflege. 
Corn.  Why  art  tKoifangry  f —  - 
Kent.  That  such  a  slave  as  this  sJiojiild  weata^* 
s\voxd,.„r  [these. 
Who  wears  ng^JigBestv.  Sucli,^smiling--rogueja.^^ 
JUt^^p^ft  bite^e^^  cmds  atwain  ^ 
Whk3h_aTer~{oo^"intrinse  FunlooseTTmo'oth  every 
passion"" 

That  in  the  natures  of  their  lord  rebels  ; 
gjn^  oil  snow  to  their  colder  moods S_ 


affirm,  and  turn  thetHira4g$c^J3eak^ 
'ith  every  gale  and  varY,of4h|'lf  rfifflltersJJ 
LS^knowing  nought,  like^ogs,^Diit  following^ 
rplague  upon  your  epilepliG^isage  I 
Smile  yon  my  speeches,  as  I  were  a  fool  ? 
Goose,  if  I  had  you  upon  Sarum  plain, 
I'd  drive  ve  cackling  home  to  Camelot. 
Corn,  (VfeSP^liff%ou  mad,  old  fellow? 
Glo.  How  fell  you  out? 

Say  that. 

Kent.  No  contraries  hold  more  antipathy, 
Than  I  and  such  a  knave. 

Corn.  Why  dost  thou  call  him  knave  ?  What's 
his  offence  ? 

Kent.  His  countenance  likes  me  not. 

Corn.  No  more,  perchance,  does  mine, , or  his, 
or  lj€rs."  "'^----«^^,,„,...~.,,»--»»«.»'''-™  \ 

Kent.  Sir] '^tis__myoccupation  to  be  plain;  I 
Iliaieseen  letteTTaei's-iB-flijhi^ 
TKan-Sj^TlTfe'tm^^^  that  I  see 

ipt^ore  me  at  this  instant. 

UoTlt'.        "  ^  This  is  some  fellow, 

Who,  having  been  prais'd  for  bluntness,  doth  affect 
A  saucy  roughness ;  and  constrains  the  garb. 
Quite  from  his  nature  :  He  cannot  flatter,  he  ! — 
An  honest  mind  and  plain, — he  must  speak  truth: 
An  they  will  take  it,  so ;  if  not,  he's  plain. 
These  kind  of  knaves  I  kno\\^j\jiich_,in  this  plaiiU- 

HadKmrjnai:e-xu3£t^i.aadJilfy^^ 
Than  t\veiity-J5iilLy|3ui4^ 
TKat^etch  their  tfuties  nicely. 

~K e«?7  SrfTl n  good  sooTRTiTrs i n c e re  verity, 
Under  the  allowance  of  your  grand  aspect, 
Whose  influence,  like  the  wreath  of  radiant  fire 
On  flickering  Phoebus'  front, — 

Corn.  What  mean'st  by  this  ? 

Kent.  To  go  out  of  my  dialect,  which  you  dis- 
commend so  much.  I  know,  sir,  I  am  no  flatterer: 
he  that  beguiled  you  in  a  plain  accent,  was  a  plain 
knave;  which,  for  my  part,  I  will  not  be,  though 
1  should  win  your  displeasure  to  entreat  me  to  it. 

Corn.  What  was  the  offence  you  gave  him  ? 

Stew.  Never  any : 

It  pieas'd  the  king  his  master,  very  late. 
To  strike  at  me,  upon  his  misconstruction; 
When  he,  conjunct,  and  flattering  his  displeasure, 
Trip[)'d  me  behind  ;  being  down,  insulted,  rail'd, 
And  put  upon  him  such  a  deal  of  man, 
That  worthy'd  him,  got  praises  of  the  king 
For  him  attempting  who  was  self-subdu'd ; 
And,  in  the  fleshment  of  this  dread  exploit. 
Drew  on  me  here. 

Kent.  None  of  these  rogues,  and  cowards, 
Bnt  Ajax  is  their  fool. 

Corn.  Fetch  forth  the  stocks,  ho  ! 

You  stubborn  ancient  knave,  you  reverend  braggart. 
We'll  teach  you — 

Kent.  Sir,  I  am  too  old  to  learn ; 

Call  not  your  stocks  for  me :  Lserye JLh^^in^' 
On  whose  employment  I  was  sent  to  you  : 
Yj^a,«hallJo  8nfiaJ[l_,.£S|>ect,  shew  too  bold  malice 
Xgains^t4he^^£iIaS^pSsoia.  of  n»y  master. 
Blocking;  his  messenger. 

Go*^,  Fetch  forth  the  stocks  ! 

As  I've  life  and  horionr,  there  shall  he  sit  till  noon. 

Iteg.  Till  a<K»u  !  till    night,  my  lord ;  and  all 
night  lov^. 

Kent.  Why  madam,  if  I  were  your  father's  dog, 


You  should  not  use  lae  so. 

Rey.  Sir,  being  hia  k  ia  /e,  I  willL 

{Stocks  brought  out)  ^ 

Corn.  This  is  a  fellow  of  the  self-same  colour 
Our  sister  speaks  ef : — Come,  bring  away  the jlloclUL 

Glo.  Let  me  beseech  your-  grace  not  to  do  so : 
His  fault  is  much,  and  the  good  king  his  master 
Will  check  him  fort:  your  pnrpos'd  low  correctioa 
Is  suq^^.jas  basest  and  contemned'st  wretches,  i 
For^^^^fes  and  most  common  trespasses,^        ,  ^  * 
Are  punish'd  with  :  theAiijgjn^ust  take^^^^ 
'^That  he's  so-stightiy-^^v^        in  his  m^essenger,f^*^'-'^  '''^ 
Should  have  him  thus  restrain'd. 

Corn.  I'll  answer  that 

Reg.  My  sister  may  receive  it  much  more  worse^ 
To  have  her  gentleman  abus'd,  assaulted. 
For  following  her  affairs. — Put  in  his  legs. — 

{Kent  is  put  in  the  stocks^ 
Come,  my  good  lord  ;  away.  / 

[Exeunt  Regan  and  CormvalL 

Glo.  I  am  sorry  for  thee,  friend : 'tis  the  duke's 
pleasure. 

Whose  disposition,  all  the  world  well  knows. 
Will  not  be  rnbb'd,  nor  stopp'd:  I'll  eutreal  fts 
thee, 

Kent.  Pray,  do  not,  sir:  I  have  watch'd,  and 
travell'd  hard ; 
Some  time  I  shall  sleep  out,  the  rest  I'll  whistle. 
A  good  man's, fortime  may  grow  out  at  heels  : 
©Te  ymTgood-niorrow  ! 
Glo.  The  duke's  to  blame  in  this;  'twill  be  iU 
taken.  [Exit. 
Kent  Good  king,  that  must  approve  the  com- 
mon saw ! 

Thou  out  of  heaven's  benediction  com^st 
To  the  warm  sun! 

Approach,  thou  beacon  to  this  under  globe, 
That  by  thy  comfortable  beams  I  may 
Peruse  thi*:  letter  !-^NotTiu)g>tmost  sees  miraclei^ 
But  misety  ; — I  knowr"His-fForn  GeT4#14a  ; 
Who  hath,  most  fortvHtately  been  inform'd 
Of  my  obscured  course  ;  and  shall  find  time 
From  this  enormous  state, — seeking  to  give 
Losses   thtir   remedies: — All    weary   and  o'ef- 
watch'd. 

Take  vantage,  heavy  eyes,  not  to  behold 
TJija-Shaineiul  lodging. 

^'ortun^)  good  nichti^  smile  once  raore-;^  iura  jltf 
^'--^  wheel  r        "  {He  sleep*) 

Scene  III. — A  Part  of  the  Heath, 
Ente-  E^AR. 
Edg.  T  heard  myself  proclaim'd  ; 
And,  by  the  happy  h^^^^^^^ 
Escap'tf  the  luinlj^^' ,1^^  ;  no  place. 

That  guard,  and  mosVunusual  vigilance, 
Does  not  attend  my  taking.    While  I  may  'scape> 
I  will  preserve  myself :  and  am  bethought 
To  take  the  ,|>^est  and  most  poorest  shape.  _ 
That  ever  j^^uj^^  in  contempt  of  man,     W^U  *l 
Brought  near  to  beast:  my  face  I'll  gnme  wife 
filth; 

Blanket  my  loins;  elf  all  my  hair  in  knots. 
And  with  presented  nakedness  out-face 
The  winds,  and  persecutions  of  the  sky. 
The  country  gives  me  proof  and  precedent 
tof  Bedlam  beggars,  who,  with  roaring  voices, 
Strike  in  their  oumb'd  and  mortified  bare  arms 
Pins,  wooden  pricks,  nails,  sprigs  of  rosemary; 


hat's;something*yet  ;-r-Eilgar  ilnothine^^^^^^  < 
^tlSRt  lV.— Before  GlosterVtfastle. 
Enter  Lear,  Fool,  and  Gentleman.  „ 
Lear.  'Tis  strange,  that  they  should  so  depat^ 
from  iiotoe. 
And  not  send  back  my  messenf  er 


Scene  4. 


Gent  1^       '  AallearnU 

Tli3  night  befort  there  was  no  purpose  in  thera 
Of  this  remove. 
Kent.  Hail  to  thee,  noble  master ! 

Lear.  Haw ) 
Mak'st  thou  this  sbame  thy  pastime? 
-^  "Kent.  No,  my  lord. 

Fool.  Ha,  ha ;  look !  he  wears  cruel  garters  ! 
Ht)rseisr"are  tied  by  the  heads;  dogs,,  and  bears,  by 
the  neck;  motildes  {ly  the  loins,  and  men  by  the 
legs  :  when  a^fftaTris-tnrer-lusty  at  legs,  th^ti  he  wears 
Nwoeden  neither-stocks.  [mistook, 
Lear.  What's  he,  that  hath  so  much  thy  place 
To  set  thee  here  ? 

Kent.  It  is  both  he  and  she. 

Your  son  and  daughter. 
Lear.  No. 
Kenl.  Yes. 
Lear.  No,  I  saj. 
Kent,  rsay,  yea. 
Lear.  No,  no ;  they  would  not. 
Kent.  Yes,  they  KaveiT*"""""" 
Lear.  By  Jupiter,  I  swear,  no. 
Kent.  By  Juno,  I  swear,  ay. 
Lear.  They  durst  not  do't ; 
They  could  not,  would  not  do't , 
To  do  upon  respect  such  violent  outrage' 
Resolve  me,  with  all  modest  haste,  which  way 
Thou  might'st  deserve,  ar  they  impose,  this  usage 
Corning  from  us. 

Kent.  My  lord,  when  at  their  homek 

I  did  commend  your  highness'  letters  to  them. 
Ere  I  was  risen  from  the  place  that  shew'd 
My  duty  kneeling,  came  there  a  reeking  post, 
Stew'd  in  his  haste,  half  breathless,  panting  forth 
From  Goneril  his  mistress,  salutations; 
Deliver'd  letters,  spite  of  intermission. 
Which  presently  they  read  :  on  whose  contents. 
They  surnraoa'd  up  their  meiny,  straight  took  horse; 
Commanded  me  to  follow,  and  attend 
The  leisure  of  tlieir  answer;  gave  me  cold  look^: 
And  meeting  here  the  other  messenger,  I 
Whose  welcome,  I  perceiv'd,  had  poison'd  mioef 


KING  LEAR. 


703 


(Being  the  very  fellow  that  of  late 
Display'' 


d  so  saucily  against  your  highness,) 
Having  more  man  than  wit  about  me,  drew; 
He  rais'd  the  house  with  loud  and  coward  cries : 
Your  son  and  daughter  found  this  trespass  worth 
The  shame_  which  here  it  suffers. 
^oo/.<Wi liter's  not  gone  yet,  if  the  wild  geese 
fly  that  way. 
Fathers,  that  wear  rags, 

Do  make  their  children  blind  ; 
But  fathers,  that  bear  bags. 
Shall  see  their  children  kind. 
^OFt«ae^hat  arrant  whore, 

'loor.- 


S.  Ne'er  turn 

>  But  for  aH-ftits 


4 


thou  shalt  have  as  many  dolours 
'  for  thy  daugliters,  as  than  canst  tell  in  a  year.  , — ^ 
Lear.  0jjjjiw4h«-~mather  swells,.up  toward  my 
_heart  I  ~" \ 

-ff^&^wa^^assia.  !— down,  thou  climbing  sorrovv,  ' 
Thy-eTetrient  s  below' I  Where  is  this  daughter 
^   Kent.  With  the  earl,  sir,  here  within. 

Lear.  Follow  me  not : 

Stay  here.  "^"""'^""'[Exit. 
Gent.  Made  yci  no  more  offence  than  what  you 

speak  of; 
Kenl.  None. 

How  chance  the  king  comes  with  so  small  a  train  ? 

Fool.  An  thou  hadst  been  set  i'the  stocks  for 
that  question,  thou  hadst  well  deserved  it. 

Kent.  VVhv,  fool? 

Foul.  We'll  set  tl»ee  to  school  to  an  ant,  to  teach 
thee  there's  no  labouring  in  the  winter.  All,  that 
follow  their  noses,  are  led  by  their  eyes,  but  blind 
men;  tnd  there's  not  a  nose  among  twenty,  but  can 
fmel  him  CfIfftV'sSnto^;"'"-k(-t' go  thy-  holi^^^ 
a  grrir^WhFet  ru"ns  down  a  hill,  lest  it  break  thy 
aeck  with  'bJiowingit;  but  the  grcdt  one  that  goes 


up  the  hill,  let  him  draw  thee  after.  When  a  wist 
man  gives  thee  better  counsel,  give  r.e  mine  again: 
I  would  have  none  but  knaves  follow  it,  since  a  fool 
gives  it. 

That,  .sir,  whi^-h  serves  and  seeks  for  gjua,  ' 

And  follows  hut  for  form. 
Will  pack,  when  it  begins  to  rain, 

And  leave  thee  in  th^^urm.- 
But  I  will  tarry;  tkeJbolt^wiifcswyj 


AndJ£i.the  wise  man  fly 
The^fnaveliurnstbol,  that  runs  away|^ 
The  fool  no  knave,  perdy. 
Kent  Where  learn'd  you  this,  fool  ? 
Fool.  Not  i'the  stocks,  fool. 


Re-enter  Lear  with  Gloster. 
Lear.  Deny  to  speak  with  me  ?  'i'hey  are 
they  are  weary  ? 
They  have  travell'd  hard  to-night?  Mere  fetchesf 
The  images  of  revolt  and  Hying  oil'! 
Fetch  me  a  better  answer. 

Glo.  My  dear  lord. 

You  know  the  fiery  quality  of  the  duke  ; 
How  unremoveable  and  fiu'd  he  is 
In  his  own  course. 

Lear.  Vengeance!  plague  !  death!  confusion! 
Fiery  !  what  quality  ?  Why,  Gloster,  Gloster, 
I'd  speak  with  the  duke  of  Cornwall,  and  his  wife 
Glo.  Well,  my  good  lord,  I  have  inform'd  tliena 
so.  (man  ? 

Lear.  Inform'd  them  !  Dost  thou  understand  me» 
Glo.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 
Lear.  1liie^kinsjemLd-,speakjwith^ 
dear  lather 

Would  withJiis  daughter  sgeg^fc^  her 
servicejL.__  '       jblood  !— 

Are   they  iu.'brm'd  of  this?  My   breath  and 

Fiery?  the  fiery  duke  ?— Tell  the  hot  duke,  that-- 
No,  but  not  yet : — may  be,  he  i*  not  well ; 
Infirmity  doth  atill  neglect  all  office, 
Whereto  our  health  is  bound ;  we  are  not  our-  £ 
selves, 

J,  com 


the 


When   nature,  being  oppresa'd*.  comma 
To"Cuffer  wlTh~llie"^d^  I'll  forbear ; 
And  am  fallen  out  with  my  more  headier  will; 
To  take  the  indispos'd  and  sickly  fit 
For  the  sound  man. — Death  on  my  state !  where- 
fore ^  {Looking  on  Keni] 
Should  iie  sit  here  ?  This  act  persuades  nie, 
That  this  remotioa  of  the  duke  and  her 
Is  practice  only.    Give  nie  my  servant  forth:  I 
Go,  tell  the  diMie  and  his  wife,  I'd  speak  with  thean. 
Now,  presently ;  bid  them  come  forth  and  hear  me, 
Or  at  their  cjiauiber  door  I'll  beat  the  drum, 
Till  it  cry-^Slefp  to  death, 
Glo.  I'd  iiave  all  NveU  bet\vixt^yoT^  [Exit. 
Lear.  O  nre,  niy" heart,  my  rising  heart! — but, 
down. 

Fool.  Cry  to  it,  nuncle,  as  the  cockney  did  to 
the  eels,  when  she  put  them  i'the  paste  alive ;  she 
rapp'd  'em  o'the  coxcombs  with  a  stick,  and  cry'd, 
Doivn,  wantons,  down:  'Twas  her  brother,  that, U» 
pure  kindness  to  his  horse,  buttered  his  hay. 

Enter  Cornwall,  Regan,  Glosier.  and 
Servants. 
Lear.  Good  morrow  to  you  both. 
Corn.  Hail  to  your  grace  1 

{Kent  is  jijet  at  lihertjf,] 
Reg,  I  am  glad  to  see  your  highness| 
Lear.  Regan,  I  think  you  are ;  l|  know  wkaj 
reason  ""^ 
I  have  to  thinit  so :  i£tbou.^hould'stjriiot_be^d^ 
I  ,\Yod4illvoixejn^ 
SeipulcFring~a^^ 

 — - — {To  Kent.) 

Some  other  time  for  that. — Beloved  Regan, 
Thy  sister's  naught :  O  Regan,  she  hath  tied 
--SMip^footii^uukmdnesg^tike  a  vulture,  here,— 
—  "  {Points  to  his  heari^ 


J 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  IL 


1.. 


I  can  »caroe  speak  to  thee ;  thon'lt  not  believe, 
Of  how  deprav'd  a  quality. — O  Regan  ! 

Reg.  I  pray  yoM,  sir,  take  patience  ;  I  have  hope, 
Ynii  Ipss  kntvwr  hovv  to  value  her  desert, 
Than  she  t<>^?affl|hei^"3uty.  " 
-  Jbmf.     '^  Say,  how  is  that  ? 

Reg.  I  cannot  think,  my  sister  in  the  least 
Would  fail  her  obligation  :  If,  sir,  perchance, 
She  have  restrain'd  the  riots  of  your  followers, 
Tis  on  such  ground,  and  to  such  wholesome  end, 
As  clears  her  froni  all  blame*., 
Lear.  My  curses  on  her  ! 

Reg.  0,  sir,  you  are  old ; 

f  Natl  ire  i&' you  stanch  very  verge 

Of  her  confine:  you  should  be  rul'd,  and  led 
Ry  some  discretion,  that  discerns  your  state 
Better  than  you  yourself  :  Therefore,  I  pray  you. 
That  to  our  sister  you  do  make  return  ; 
Sav,  you  have  wrong'd  her,  sir. 

liear.  Ask  her  forgiveness  ? 

Do  you  but  mark  how  this  beconies  the  house  : 
Dear  daughter,  J  confess  that  I  am  old: 
Age  is  unnecessary:  on  my  knees  T beg,  [Kneeling.) 
That  you'll  vouchsafe  me  rai7nent,  bed,  and  food. 
,         Reg.  Good  sir,  no  more ;  these   are  unsightly 
^Hj^  -Return  you  to  my  sister.  [tricks: 
..W  ""Lear.  Never,  Regan : 

I  She  hath  abated  me  of  half  my  train  ; 
/  I  Loo^Sbiaatop^^nriT;' slrOT  her  tongue, 

'  Mo^^£X|iejiLliLerupon  the  very  heart. — 

( ihe  «tor'd  vengeances  of  heaven  fall  

Gfl4je4Ungratefiil  top !  Strike  her  young  bones, 
-¥oH-4ak.iug_airs.  with  lameness ! 

Corn.  ^Fy,  fy,  fy! 

2/eflir.-¥o«  «ixnye  lightnings,,  dant,  your  blinding 

 flames  y^^"^  '  -(^\k^  ''.  ^ 

~^«tfl  her  scornfiiLfij^J  Infect  her  beauty, 
\  YojlJen-snck'^Tio^^flravvn  by  the  powerfriT  sufl, 
yEofall  anci  blast'her  pride  ! 

Reg.       '  O  the  blest  gods! 

So  will  you  wish  on  me,  when  the  rash  mood's  on. 
Lear.  No^  Regan,  thou  shalt  never  have  my 

Thy-ten"ftw>4*eftedjiaJ,iire_shall  uot^^'e 

Thee  o'er  to  ^iarshness;  - hef''eji^r%TS_^eix  but 

thine  ^  — 

Doconil^ftJ^wiHieiJaiirp :  'Tis  not  in  thee 
i  To  grudge  my  pleasures,  to  cut  off  my  train, 
^  V=w=.   To  bandy  hasty  words,  to  scant  my  sizes, 
'      And,  in  conclusion,  to  oppose  the  bolt 

Against  my  cotiiing  in  :  t|iou  better  kno^JIsfr 
^    t^l  The  (L(Sce§.jQ£j2ai[m:B5xboi 
I      ;  Effects  of  cCurtesj.  . dues  of  gratittgl^;_^  . 

Thy  half  (Hlrrlungdom  liast  thou  uottorgot, 
Wherein  I  thee  endow'd. 

Reg.  Good  sir,  to  the  purpose. 

[Trumpets  within.) 
Lear.  Who  put  my  man  i'the  stocks  ? 
Corn.  '  What  trumpet's  that? 

Enter  Steward. 

Reg.  I  know't,  my  sister's :  this  approves  her 
letter, 

That  she  would  soon  be  here. — Is  your  lady  come  ? 

Lear.  This  is  a  slave,  whose  easy-borrovv"d  pride 
Dwel.s  in  the  fickle  grace  of  her  he  follows: — 
Out,  varlet,  from  my  sight! 

Corn.  What  means  your  grace  ? 

Lear.  Who  stock'd  my  servant?  Regan,  I  have 
good  hope  [heavens. 
Thou  didst  not  know  oft. — Who  comes  here  ?  O, 

Enter  GoNERlL. 
If  yen  do  love  old  men,  if  your  sweet  sway 
Allow  obedience,  if  yourselves  are  old. 
Make  it  your  cause ;  send  down,  and  take  my 
part! — 

Art  not  asham'd  to  look  upon  this  beard  ? — 

[To  Goneril.) 
O  Regan,  wilt  thou  take  her  by  the  hand  ? 


Gon.  Why  not  by  the  hand,  sir?  How  have  I 
offended  ? 
All's  not  offence,  but  indiscretion  finds. 
And  dotage  terms  so 

Lear.  O,  sides,  you  are  too  tough! 

Will  you  yet  hold  ?~-How  came  my  man  i'the  stocks? 

Corn.  I  set  him  there,  sir:  but  his  own  disorder* 
•Deserv'd  much  less  advancement. 

liear.  You!  did  yon  I 

Reg.  I  pray  you,  father,  being  weak,  seem  so. 
IC,  till  the  expiration  of  your  month, 
Yiiu  will  return  and  sojourn  with  my  sister, 
Dismissing  half  your  train,  come  then  to  me  ; 
[  am  novv  from  home,  and  out  of  that  provision. 
Which  shall  be  needful  for  your  entertainment, 

Lear.  Return  to  lier,  and  fifty  men  dismiss'd? 
No,  rather  I  ^n^>ll  roofs,  and  choose  fprn^^'*^^ 
To  wage  again^tKe  enmity  o'the  air ;  \^<*^ 
To  be  a  comrade  with  the  wolf  and  owl, — 
Necessity's  sharp  pinch  ! — Return  with  her? 
Why,  the  hot-blooded  France,  that  dowerless  took 
0;ir  youngest  born,  I  could  as  well  be  brought 
To  knee  his  throne,  and,  squire-like,  pension  beg 
To  keep  base  life  a-foot :— Return  with  her? 
Persuade  me  rather  to  be  slave  and  sumpter 
To  this  detested  groom.  {Looking  on  the  Steward^ 

Gon.  At  your  choice,  sir. 

Lear.  I  pr'ythee,  daughter,  do  not  make  me  mad: 
I  will  not  trouble  th^-c,  my  child  ;  farewell; 
V\i£Ulno  moremeet,  no  more  see  one  another:- 
Bjjt^eEalKHcareS^piejsh.,  mjTb'loocJ;  my  dau^^^^^^  , 
Q^^-^catiier^_a  disease  jhaJLjs.ijn  my  flesh, 
VVhich  I  ra'ist  needslcan  mine  :  tRou  art  a  boij/^ 
A<;plagJl£ig^,  an  embossed  carbuncle,  y 
In  my  corrupted  blood.    But  I'll  not  chide  t^f  e; 
Let  shame  come  when  it  will,  I  do  not  call  it: 
I  do  not  bid  the  thunder-bearer  shoot. 
Nor  tell  tales  of  thee  to  high-judging  Jove  : 
Mend  when  thou  canst ;  be  better,  at  thy  leisure 
1  can  be  patient ;  I  can>taf-wTtlT~Reg:an, 

^Rf^g^  Not  altogether  so,  sir; 

I  l5rok^jdjQolioii.yxiU^    nor  am  pro v i deSf 
Ftk-ytMMufit  welcome  -."ti  i  ve  ear,  sir,  to  my  sister, 
For  tiiose  that  mingle  reasoiT'witti'your  passion, 
"iVIust  be  content  to  think  you  old,  and  so — 
But  she  knows  what  she  does. 

Lear.  ^      Is  this  well  spoke  i  novv? 

Reg.  I  dare  avouch  it,  sir :  What,  fifty  folio  vers  ? 
Is  it  not  well?  WJiiil-^htTnl^d-T^^H-av^e^^ 
Yea,  or  so  many  T  sith  that  both  charge  and  dange 
Speak  'gainst  so  great  a  number?  How,  in  one  house 
Should  many  people,  under  two  commands. 
Hold  amity?  tis  hard;  almost  impossible. 
I  Gon.  Why  might  not  you,  my  lord,  receive  atten* 
i  dance 

From  those  that  she  calls  servants,  or  from  mine  ? 
Reg.  Why  not,  my  lord  ?  If  then  they  chanc'd  to 
slack  you. 

We  could  control  them:  If  you  vvill  corne^to  me 
(For  now  I  spy  a  danger,)  LHutreaf  you  ""^"^-^ 
'l^Q-bripiLbtit  five-and  tvventy ;  to  no  more 
Will  I  give  place,  or  notice. 
Lear.  I  gave  you  all — 

Reg.  And  in  good  time  you  gave  it* 

Lear.  Made  jronxny  guardians,  my  deposi caries; 
But  kept  a'TesCrvation  to  be  follow'd 
With  such  a  number:  What,  must  I  come  to  yon 
With  five-and-twenty,  Regan?  said  you  so? 
Reg.  And  speak  it  again,  my  lord :  no  mor© 
with  me. 

Lear.  Those  wicktd  creatures  yet  do  look  well. 
favour'd. 

When  others  are  more  wicked  ;  not  being  the  worsts 
Stands  in  some  rank  of  praise  :->-ril  go  wij^h  thee; 
\f^-  [ToGonerii.) 
Thy  fifty  yet  doth  double  five-and-twenty, 
Atid  thou  art  twice  her  love. 
...^Gnn.  Hea^  me,  my  lord  J 

What  need  you  five-and-twenty,  ten,  or  five. 


Corn.  Let  us  withdraw  . 

{Storm  heard  at-a^drftance.) 

Reg.  This  hou^e 

Is  little ;  the  old  man  and  his  people  cannot  i;- 
Be  well  bestow'd.  | 

Gon.  'Tis  his  own  blame ;  he  haOip^itl 

Himself  from  rest,  and  must  needs  taste  his  mm  *^ 

Reg.  For  his  particular,  I'll  receive  him  gladTy, 
Biit  not  one  follower. 

Gon.  So  am  I  purpos'd. 

Where  is  my  lord  of  Gloster  ? 

Re-enter  Gloster. 

Corn.  Follow'd  th^ldman  forth : — he  is  return'd. 

Glo.  Tlie  king-  is  in  high  rage.^ 

Corn.  Whither  is  he  going;? 

Glo.  He  calls  to  horse;  but  will  I  know  not 
whither.  [self 

Corn.  'Tis  best  to  give  him  way ;  he  leads  him- 

Gon.  My  lord,  entreat  him  by  no  means  to  stay.^ 

Glo.  Alack,  the  night  comes  on,  and  the  bleak  wind" 
Do  sore)^'  rofiie  ;  for  many  miles  about  / 
There's  scarce  a  bush. 

Reg.  O,  sir,  to  wilful  menp"""^' 

The  injuries,  that  they  themselves  procure,  V 
Must  be  their  schoolmasters:  Shut  up  your  door| 
He  is  attended  with  a  desperate  train.;  ^ 
Andjgthat  ,tb#y>^ayjncense^l^     to,  being  apt 
To  havfiji»-e4&-ab«§!H^^stlom^^ 

Corn.  Shut  up  your  "doors,  my  ToTd;  '^a  wild 
night ; 

My  Regan  counsels  well :  come  out  o'the  storm. 

[Exeunt 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — A  Heath 

A  storm  is  heard,  with  thunder  and  lightning. 
Entsr  Kent  and  a  Gentleman^  meeting. 
Kent.  Who's  here,  beside  foul  weather  i 
Gent.  One  minded  like  the  weather,  most  un- 
qnietly. 

Kent.  I  know  you  ;  where's  the  king? 

Gent.  Contending  with  the  fretful  element:  1 
Bids  the  wind  blow  the  earth  into  the  sea,  \ 
Or  swell  the  curved  waters  'bove  the  mai!i,^_ 
That  things  might  change,  or  cease  ;  tears  "nlswnite 
hair; 

Which  the  impetuous  blasts,  with  eyeless  rage. 
Catch  in  their  fury,  and  make  nothing  of: 
Strives  in-  his  littLe  world  of  map  to  put-scorn 
T&e  to  and- fro-conflicting  wind  and  raiu.  ' 


Thi 


Act  III.    Scene  2.    ^     q^^^^^-^'^G^  LEAR. 

To  follow  in  a  house,  where  fwice  so  many 
Have  a  command  to  tend  yon  ? 

Meg.  What  need  one? 

Lear.  O,  reason  not  the  need  :  our  basest  beggars 
Are  in  the  poorest  thing  su[)erfluous  : 
Allow  not  nature  morgthannatu^^ 
Man*s  1  ife  is  cheajg_ai2ea^^Ttiv^ art  a  lady ; 
If  only  to  go  warm  were  gorgeous, 
Why,  nature  needs  not  what  thou  gorgeous  wear'st, 
Which  scarcely  keeps  thee  warm. — But,  for  true 
need, — 

You  heavens,  give  me  th^£LtleB«^e»4JAiifi«c^^  • 
jLou-flee-me  liere,  you  go3s7a  poor  old  man. 

As  full  of  grief,  as  age  ;  wretched  in  both  j  _  ^  ? 

If  it  be  you,  that  stir  these  daughters'  hearts  \ 
Against'their  father,  fool  me  not  so  much        ,^,  4* 
To  bear  it  tamely ;  touch  me  with  noble'lKger !  'j 
O,  let  not  women's  weapons,  water-drops, 
Stain  my  man's  cheeks! — No,  you  unnatural  hag! 
I  will  have  such  revenge.s  on  you  both,  .  li^ 

'J'hat^U  the  world  shall— f  will  do  such  things,—^/ 
What  they  are,  yet  I  know  not ;  but  they  shall  b^j 
Tlie  terrors  of  the  earth.  You  think,  I'll  weep ;  ■ 
No,  I'll  not  weep : —      _  _  ^  \ 

I  have  full  cause  of  weeping  ;  but  this  heart      \  \  / 
Shall  break  into  a  hundred  t}-;ousand  flaws,  V'W 
Or  ere  I'll  weep  : — O,  tool,  1  shall  go  mad  !  w 
[Exeunt  Lear,  Gloster,  Kej^rmd  Fool. 

r.  'twill  be  sf^storm.  \ 


705 


night,  wherein  th3  cub-drawn  be?r  would 
cou  ;h. 

The  lion  and  the  belly-pinched  wolf 
Keep  their  fur  dry,  unbonneted  he  runs. 
And  bids  what  will  take  all.  \ 
Kent.  But  who  is  with  him?  \ 

Gent.  None  but  the  fool ;  who  labours  to  outjest  | 
His  heart-struck  injuries.  -  .-  W 

Kent.  Sir,  I  do  know  you  ; 

And  dare,  upon  the  warrant  of  my  art, 
Commend  a  dear  thing  to  you.    There  is  division. 
Although  as  yet  the  face  of  it  be  cover'd 
With.JJ44^4ua,l  cu  Albany  and  Cornwall; 

VYJiaiiave  (as"\v'Ko'"^ave  rTof,  "that-4i*eir~^retit-stars- 
Thron'd  and  set  high  ?j  servants  v/ha,seem  no  les^j-^ 
Which  are  to  France  the  .spies  and  spechlations 
Intelligent  of  our  state  ;  what  hath  been  seen. 
Either  in  snuiis  and  parkings  of  the  dukes  ; 
Or  the  hard  rein  which  both  of  them  have  borne 
Against  the  old  kind  king  ;  or  something  deeper, 
Whereof,  perchance,  these  are  but  fiirnisliings ; — 
But,  true  it  is,  from  France  there  comes  a  power 
Into  this  scattered  kingdom  ;  who  already, 
Wise  in  our  negligence,  have  secret  feet_„ 
In  some  of  our  best  ports,  and  are  at  point 
To  shew  their  open  banner. — Now  to  you  : 
If  on  m.y  credit  you  dare  build  so  far 
To  make  your  speed  to  Dover,  you  shall  find 
S(mie  that  will  thank  you,  niaking  just  report, 
Oj'  ho\v  uimatural  and  bemadding  sorrow 
The  kti-fgiiath  causH  "to  'plain. ' 
I  am  a  gentlenjan  of  Wood  and  breeding; 
And,  from  some  knowledge  and  assurance,  offer 
This  office  to  you. 

Gent.  I  will  talk  further  with  you. 
Kent.  No,  do  not 

For  confirmation  (hat  I  am  much  more 
Than  my  out- wall,  open  this  purse,  and  take..,—^ 
What  it  contain^,:  If  you  shall  see  Corddiii;  / 
(As  fear  not  but  yor  shall,)  shew  her  ring; 
And  she  will  tell  you  who  your  fellow  il^ 
That  yet  you  do  not  know.    Fie  on  this  storra  ! 
1  will  go  seek  the  king.  [gay  ? 

Gent.  Give  me  your  hand  :  Have  you  no  n>ore  to 
Kent.  Few  words,  but,  to  effect,' more  than  all 
yet;  [pain 
That  when  we  have  found  the  king.  Cm  which  your 
That  way  ;  I  II  this;)  he  that  first  lights  on  him, 
Holla  the  other.  [Exeunt  severally.) 

Scene  11.— Another  part  of  the  Heath.  Storm 
continues. 

Enter  Lear  and  Fool. 

Lear.  Blow,  wind,  and  crack  your  cheeks  !  rage! 
blow  ! 

You  cataracts,  and  hnrricanoes,  spout 
Till  you  have  drench'd  our  steeples,  drown'd  the 
cocks ! 

You  sulphurous  and  thought-executing  fires, 
Vaunt  couriers  to  oak-cleaving  thunder-bolts, 
Singe  my  white  head !  And  thou,  all-shaking  thunder, 
Strike  flat  the  thick  rotundity  o'the  world  ! 
Crack  nature's  moulds,  all  germens  spill  at  once. 
That  make  ingrateful  man  ! 

Fool.  O  nuncle,  court  holy-water  in  a  dry  house  is 
better  than  this  rain-water  out  o'door.  Good  nuncle, 
in,  and  ask  thy  daughter's  blessing;  here''s  a  pjght 
pitte-s-Tieither  wise  m©»'-i*®i5«fo0l».~ 

'Lear.  Runrtble  thy  belly-full !  Spit,  fire !  spout,  raial 
N!ar,rain,  wind,  thunder,  fire,  are  my  daughters: 
I  tax  not  you,  you  elements,  with  unkind ness, 
I  never  gave  you  kingdom,  call  d  you  children, 
You  owe  me  no  subscription ;  why  then  let  fall 
Y'our  horrible  pleasure;  here  I  starid,  your  slaTI^ 
A  poor,  infirm,  weak,  and  despis'd  old  man:— 

yfiiJLSEL'^'**^.^^''*'''^  ministers 
That  hare>^fIiTwo  i)ernicioHs  danghtersjiiin,'4- 
Your  high-etrgehder'd  battles  'gi,i.,st  a  head 
So  btd  und;  white  as  this.    0 10  !  't^s  fbiil  I 

/i5 


700 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  III 


Fool.  He,  that  has  a  house  to  put  his  head  in,  has 
B  good  head  piece. 

*J'ne  cod-piece  that  will  house, 

Before  the  head  has  any, 
The  head  and  he  shall  louse  I— 
%^  So  beggars  marry  many. 

J  \  \  The  man  that  makes  his  toe 
.1   1 1      What  he  his  heart  should  make, 
I  ]  Shall  of  a  co  rn  cry  ivoe, 
i        i^^^^^^nc?  turn  his  sleep  to  ivake. 

forth^Muj^as^^nev^Xjet  fair  woman,  but  she  made 
mouth  in  a  glass.  — ™* 

Enter  Kent. 
Lear.  No,  T  will  t  e  the  pattern  of  all  patience,  I 
M'ill  sav  nothing. 

Kent.  Who's  there  ? 

Fool.  Marry,  here's  grace,  and  a  cod-piece ;  that's 
wise  man,  and  a  fool.  ^  [n>^^iila^ 

Kent.  Alas,  sir,  are  you  h e re  ?^4|iin£s^th at  love^ 
Ijovjg„jiotHSwek«i|»^frt^-s~thPB^  the  wratl^rrrrsines 
CTallow  the  very  wanderers  of  the  dark, 
•And  make  them  keep  their  caves  :  Since  I  was  man, 
Such  sheets  (>lt:jffi^i-e",''snch  %iirs>^  of  Jforri'd  thnndeP) 
Such  groans  ofl-oaring  wind  andrafiv  I  never 
Remember  to  have  heard  :  man's  nature  cannot  carry 
Tfip  aflliction,  nor  the  fear. 

Lear.   X<£jUJie_^rea^tgojis, 

That  keep  this  dreadful  pother  o'er  ourtreiids, 
Find  out  tlieir  enemies  novv,  Trcmhlo,  thnu  wretch, 
Ti3atTi"asl"°yTtW 

UnwTnpp'd~o i'^ustr^^^  hand  | 

Thou  perjurd,  and  thou  ^^irtiiilar  man  ITf  virTOe^" 
'I'hat  art  incestuous  :  Caitiff',  to  pieces  shake, 
That  under  covert  and  convenient  seeming 
Hast  practised  on  man's  life  : — Close  pent-up  guilts. 
Rive  your  concealing  continents,  and  cry 
These  dreadful  summoners  grace. — I  am  a  man, 
More  sinn!d  a^amstj  tha^^ 

Kent.  Ittack,  bare-headed ! 

Gracious  my  lord,  hard  by  here  is  ^JiQxei4 
Some  friendship  will  it  lend  you  'gainst  the  tempest; 
Repose  you  there  :  while  I  to  this  hard  house, 
(More  hard  than  is  the  stone  whereof  'tis  rais'd ; 
Which  even  but  now,  demanding  after  you, 
Denied  me  to  come  in,)  return,  and  force 
Their  scanted  courtesy. 

Lear.  M>y--w'4ts-b«g«i4oJ}irii. — 

ome  on,  my  boy  :  How  dost,  my  boy  ?  Art  cold  ? 
am  cold  myself. — Where  is  tiiis  straw,  my  fellow? 
^  The  art  of  .our  necessities-is  strange,  [hovel, 


That  can  make  vile_thu)gs_j3recio^    Come,  your 


oor  fool  and  knave,  I  have  one  part  in  my  heart 
vj-^p^  'x  That's  sorry  yet  for  thee. 
■      --jh"  Foul.  H.&  tJiaLJiMS  a  little  tiriy  tmt;,— 
^   \/  With  heigK^fWTffie  ivind and  the  rain, — 

'  \^  \       M^t^t  make  contmtivith  his  fortunes  Jit; 

For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 
liertrr  True,  my  good  boy. — Come,  bring  us  to 
tlis  hovel  [Exeunt  Lear  and  Kent. 

Fool.  This  is  a  brave  niglit  to  cool  a  courtezan. — 
I'M  speak  a-4wop^ii=e£y.  ere  I  go : 
•  When  priests  are  more  in  word  than  matteir^, 
\Vhen  brewers  mar  their  malt  with  water;  \ 
Wiien  nobles  are  their  tailors'  tutors;  \ 
No  heretics  burn'd,  but  wenches'  suitors: 
When  every  case  in  law  is  right; 
No  squire  in  debt,  nor  no  poor  knight, 
When  slanders  do  not  live  in  tongues  ; 
Nor  cutpurses  come  not  to  throngs ; 
When  usurers  tell  their  gold  i'the  field; 
,A lid  bawds  and  whores  do  churches  build 
Then  ohall  the  realm  of  Aibion 
Come  to  great  confusion. 
Then  comes  the  time,  who  lives  to  see't, 
That  going  sh^H  be  us'd  with  feet. 
This  prophecy  Merlin  shall  make ;  for  I  live  before 
his  time.  [Exit, 


Scene  III.— ^  Room  in  Gloster's  Casile. 
Enter  Gloster  and  Edmund. 

Glo.  Alack,  alack,  Edmund,  1  like  not  this  xm~. 
natural  dealing  :  When  I  desired  their  leave  that  I 
might  pity  him,  they  took  from  me  the  use  of  mine!^: 
own  house  ;  charged  me,  on  pain  of  their  perpetual  ! 
displeasure,  neither  to  speak  of  him,  entreat  fcrf 
him,  nor  ^ny  way  sustain  him. 

Edm.  Most  savage  and  unnatural ! 

Glo.  Go  to ;  say  you  nothing  :  There  ^  division 
between  the  dukes ;  and  a  worse  matte?  than  that : 
J_liax£-£eceived  a^h;Jipr  this  ni;- lit : — 'fs  dangetcus 
to  be  spoken;--!  haveTocked  the  letter  in  my  clo- 
set :  these  injuries  the  king  now  bears  will  be  re- 
venged athome  ;  ath^ere  is  part  of  a  power  already 
footed:  we  inust  incline  to  the  king.  I  will  seek 
him,  and  privily  relieve  him  :  go  you,  and  maintain 
talk  with  the  duke,  that  my-charity  be  not  of  him 

Eerceived  :  If  he  ask  for  me,  1  am  iU,  and  gone  to 
^ed.  If  I  die  for  it,  as  no  less  is  threatened*" me, 
the  king,  my  old  master,  must  be  relieved.  There 
is  some  strange  thing  toward,  Edmund  ;  pray  you, 
be  careful.  [Exit. 

Edm.  This  courtesy  forbid  thee,  shall  the  duke 
Instantly -know.;  and  of  that  letter  too  : — 
This  seems  a  fair  deserving,  and  n)ust  draw  me 
That  which  my  father  loses ;  no  less  than  all : 
Thfij^oun^er  rises,  when  the  old  doth  lalt.  [Exii 

Scene  IV. — A  part  of  the  Heath,  tvith  a  Hovel, 
Enter  Lear,  ICent,  and  Fool. 
Kent.  Here  is  the  place,  my  lord  ;  good  my  lord 
enter : 

The  tyranny  of  the  open  night's  too  rough 
For  nature  to  endure.  {Storm  stilL 

Lear.  Let  me  alone. 

Kent.  Good  my  lord,  enter  here. 
Lear.  Wilt  break  my  heart? 

Kent.  I'd  rather  break  mine  own  :  Good  my  lord, 
enter.  [tious  storta 

V  Lear.  Thou  think'st  'tis  much,  that  this  couteo- 
|[nvades  us  to  the  skin  :  so  'tis  to  thee ;  I 
feut  where  the  greater  Jaaalady  is  fix'd,  f 
iThe  lesser  is  scarce  felt.  Thou'dst  shun  a  bear;  i 
^But  if  thy  flight  lay  toward  the  raging  sea, 
Thou'dst  meet  the  bear  i'the  mouth.     When  the 

mind's  free^-  ,  ; 

The  body's  delicate  >JLk|_tgmpest  in  my  mind^Vi  | 
DotkikTrnTtTy  senses  t^^  I 
Save  what  beats  there. — Filial  ingratitude  / 
IsTt'TorasllirsltiotTtls  should  tear  this  hand,         ,    /  ' 
For  lifting  food  to't? — But  I  will  punish  homer- 
No,  I  wiilw^efijijp  more. — Iiysuch  a  night 
To  shut  me  out! — Pour  on  ;  I  will  endure  : — 
In  such  a  night  as  this  !    O  Regan,  Goneril ! 
Your  old  kin,d,iktber,  whose  fr«»nk  heart  gave  all,—.  \ 
O,  that  wajrvnjadn^^lies ;  let  me  shun  that; 
No  morve"3f°ttrar,~ 
Kent.  Good  my  lord,  enter  here. 

Lear.  Pry  thee,  go  in  thyself;  seek  thine  owo 
ease ; 

his  tempest  will  not  give  me  leave  to  ponder 
n  things  would  hurt  me  more — BiiL  I'll  go  in  : 
n^bjXJp-1ifst^{TojA^-^l.)  You  liomleM 

Nay,  get  thee  in.    I'll  pray,  and  then  I'll  sleep. 

{Fo^il  goes 

Poor  naked  wretches,  wheresoeVe  you  ate. 
That  bide  the  pelting  of  this  pitiless  storu», 
How  shall  yottc  houseless  heads,  and  unfed  sides, 
Your  loop'd  anBTwindiow'drraggedni-ss,  defend  you 
From  seasons  such  as  these  ?  0>-J  Ji^^e  ta'ea 
^'ooHttje  care  of  this  !  Take  physic,  pomp;  ^ 
'^^^goselE^eif  to  feel  what  wretches  feel ;  ^ 
Thartnotimay'st  shake  the  superfliix  to  them,  | 
And  shew  the  heavens  more  just. 

Edg.  {Within.)  Fathom  and  half,  fathom,  an 
half!  Poor  Tom! 

{The  Fool  runs  out  from  the  hovtt) 


KING  LEAR. 


4  ^vaM  ^ 


707 


Fool.  dSine  not  in  here,  D"ocle,  here's  a  spirit. 
Helivme,  help  me ! 
Kent.  Give  me  thy  hand.— Who's  there  ? 
Fcol.  A  spirit,  a  spirit ;  he  says  his  name's  poor 
Tom.  [i'the  straw  ? 

K&nt.  What  art  thou  that  dost  grumble  there 


■  •  ;i 

wind.-* 

1 

ighters  1 
?  whomV 


f  oaig  forth. 

~  -JJa/er  Edgar,  disguised  as<a^dm^^ 

Edg.  Away!  the  foul  fiend  follows  me! — 
Tliroiigh  the  sharp  hawthorn  blows  the  cold  wind, 
Humph !  go  to  thy  cold  bed,  and  warm  thee, 

Lear.  Hast  thou  given  all  to  tinr  two  daughte; 
And  art  thou  come  to  this  ?  gjlwu**^ 

Eda,.JtS^iui  gives  iihy  thing  to  poor  Tom? 
fhe  'm^fien^  hath  led  through  fire  and  through 
flame,  nirottfh  ford  and  whirlpool,  over  bog  and 
qiiasrmire;  that  hath  laid  knives  under  his  pillow, 
and  halters  in  his  pew ;  set  ratsbane  by  his  porridge  ; 
made  him  proud  of  heart,  to  ride  on  a  bay  trotting- 
horse  over  fourinched  bridges,  tfii>xnM.cgfi.4iis  own 
BlfitdflAV-ftCa^aitor  :— Bless  thy  five  wits  !  Tom's 
a-cold. — 07ao'"d«^  do  de,  do  de. — Bless  thee  from 
whirlwinds,  star-blasting,  and  taking !  Do  poor 
Tom  some  charity,  whom  the  foul  fiend  vexes : 
There  could  I  have  him  now, — and  there, — and 
there,— and  there  again,  and  there. 

[Storm  continues.)] 

Lear.  What,  havefiis  daughters  brought  him  toj 
this  pass?—  [all? 
Could'st  thou  save  nothing?  Did'st  thou  give  them 

Fool.  Nay,  he  reserved  a  blanket,  else  we  had 
been  all  shamed.  [air 

Lear.  Now,  all  the  plagu^eJS,  that  inJLhe  pendulojis 
Han^r  fated  o'er  men's  fanif.^,  Ijgbf  on  fjiy  Han^hfprsl^  > 


natiiire 

Tasuch  a  lowness,  but  his  unkind  daughters. — 
Ts  itTTTriastff(^^ 

Should  have  thus  little  mercy  on  their  flesh  ?  | 
Judicious  punishment!  'twas  this  flesh  begot 
Those  pelican  daughters. 

Edg.  Pillicock  sat  on  pillicock's-hill ; — 
Halloo,  halloo,  loo,  loo! 

Fool.  Tliis  cold  night  will  turn  us  all  to 
madmen. 

Edg.  Take  heed  o'the  foul  fiend  :  Obey  thy  pa- 
rents; keep  thy  word  justly;  swear  not;  commit 
not  with  man's  sworn  spouse ;  set  not  thy  sweet 
heart  on  proud  array  :  Tom's  a  cold. 
Lear.  What  hast  thou  been  ? 
Edg.  A  serving-man,  proud  in  heart  and  mind  ; 
that  curled  my  hair  ;ywore  gloves  in  my  cap,  sj,rved 
the  lust  of  my  mistress's  heart,  and  did  the  act  of 
dflrkness  with  her;  swore  as  many  oaths  as  [  spake 
words,  and  broke  them  in  the  sweet  face  of  heaven  : 
one  that  slept  in  the  contriving  of  lust,  and  waked 
to  do  it :  Wine  loved  I  deeply ;  dice  dearly;  and  in 
woman,  out-paramoured  the  Turk  :  False  of  heart 
light  of  ear,  bloody  of  hand  ;  Hog  ijj-jloth. 


steal tJu  woIfjiLgre^^  nmi 
';)rey.iLeTnot  the  creaking'^ shoes,  noirihe rustling 
of  sUks,  betray  thy  poor  heart  to  women  .•  Keep  thy 
fool  out  of  brothels,  thy  hand  out  of  plackets,  thy 
pen  from  lenders'  books,  and  defy  the  foul  fiend. — 
otill  through  the  hawthorn  blows  the  cold  wind : 
Says  suum  man,  ha  no  nonny,  dolphin  my  boy,  my 
boy,  sessa ;  let  him  trot  by. 

(Storm  still  continues.) 
Lear.  Whv,  thou  were  better  in  thy  grave,  than\ 
to  answer  wifh  thy  uncovered  body  this  extremit^ 
thc=r.jd[^iaSte=rJs  man  no  more  than  this?  Consider 
him  weTTfThou  owest  the  worm  no  silk,  the  beast 
no  hide,  the  sheep  no  wool,  the  cat  no  perfume  : — 
Ha!  here's  three  of  us  are  sophisticated  !  Thou  art 
the  thing  itself:  unaccommodated  man  is  no  more 
butTUch  a  poor,  )^aL!:e*_forktd  animal  as  thou  art — 
OflF,  off,  y«^.kn(}ings  ;— TlonTeT'iTfihTitton  here. —  ,n 
^i^^-j  {Tearing  off  his  clotke^^ 


flfuiwjq  >M,)vJk^ 


Fool.  Pr'ythee,  nnncle,  be  contented  ;  this  h  3 
naughty  night  to  swim  in.— Now  a  little  fire  in  a  wild 
field  were  Hke  an  old  lecher's  heart;  a  small  spark, 
all  the  rest  of  his  bo^y  cold. — l^ool^^Jbfitfi-ciuiiea*-^ 
wajying  fire.        ~    L\/  V] 

EdgTT^xs  IS  the  fouV  fiend  Flibbertigibbcl :  he 
begins  at  curfew,  and  walks  till  the  first  c  >clr ;  he 
■igives  >tbje-i££jj-aJadJitft  pin,  ^quints  the  eye,  and 
makes  the  hare-lip  rmTTiSewsthe  white  wheat,  and 
hurts  the  poor  creature  of  earth. 

Saint  Witkold  footed  thrice  the  wold; 
He  met  the  night-mare^  and  her  Hine-fold ; 
Bid  her  alight, 
And  her  troth  plight, 
And<lroint  thee,  witch,  aroint  thee! 
Kent.  How  fares  your  g»-ace  ? 


Enter  Glostkr,  vjith  a  Torek 
Lear.  What's  he  ? 

Kent.  Who's  there  ?  What  is't  you  seek  ? 

Glo.  What  are  you  there  ?  Your  names  ? 

Edg.  Poor  Tom ;  that  eats  the  swimming  frog,  thft 
toad,  the  tadpole,  the  wall-newt,  and  the  wafer; 
that  in  the  fury  of  his  heart,  when  the  foul  fiend 
rages,  eats  cow-dung  for  sallets;  swallows  the  old 
rat,  and  the  ditch-dog;  drinks  the  green  mantle  ol 
the  standing  pool ;  wiio  is  wiiipped  from  tything  to  )^ 
tything,  and  stocked,  punished,  and  imprisoned ; 
\yho  hath  had  three  suits  to  his  back,  six  shirts  to 
his  body,  horse  to  ride,  and  weapon  to  wear, — 
But  mice,  and  rats,  and  such  small  deer. 
Have  been  Tom's  food  for  seven  long  year. 
Beware  my  follower  :  — Peace,  Smolkin;  peace,  X 
thou  fiend ! 

Glo.  What,  hath  your  grace  no  better  company  ? 


Kent.  He  hath  no  daughters,  "sirT^— — ^  Edg.  The  prince  of  darkness  is  a  gentleman; 

Lear.  Y)js>aih.,JjeM^ij^^  Modo  he's  called,  and  Mahu.  f\  ile, 

Glo.  Our  flesh  and  blood,  my  lord,  is  grown 
That  it  doth  hate  what  gets  it. 
Edg.  Poor  Tom's  a-cold. 
Glo.  Go  in  with  me  ;  my  duty  cannot  suffer 
To  obey  in  all  your  daughters'  hard  commands  : 
Though  their  injunction  be  to  bar  my  doors. 
And  let  this  tyrannous  dight  take  hold  upon  you  ; 
Yet  have  1  ventur'd  to  come  seek  you  out, 
And  bring  you  where  both  fire  and  ibod  is  ready. 

Lear.  Eij:.^  let  me  talk  with  this  philosopher  c- 
What  is  the  cause  of  thunder? 
K^nt.  Good  my  lord,  take  his  offer; 

Go  into  the  house.  [Theban  :  

Lear.  I'll  talk  a  word  with  this  same  learned 

V^liat  is  your  study  ?  „ 

^dg.  Hovv  taprevent  thejfiend,  and  to  kill  vermia 

Lear.  Let  me  ask  you  one  word  in  private.  

Kent.  Importune  him  once  more  to  go,  my  lord, 
H  isu  WJ  ts  begirv  to  unsettle, 

'  C^n'st  tjipu  blanje  him  ? 

His  daughters  seek,  his  .-d^afF:  —^        that  'goodl' 

He  said  it  would  be  thus  : — Poor  banish'd  man ! — 
Thou  say'st  the  king  grows  mad;  I'll  tell  tJiee, 
friend, 

w'd  from  mr  hlniirl  •  Vim  sri'r 


1'^ 


outlaw^dyV^^  ;  he^  soilght  my  Ufop 

But  lately,  veryTali  ;  jTlov'd  him7  friend,— 
No  father  his  son  dearer :  true  to  tell  thee, 

{Storm  €oniit»tu9.)i  f\' 
The  grief  hath  craz'd  my  wits.    What  a  night'sl 
this ! 

I  do  beseech  your  grace, — 

Lear.  O,  cry  ym  mercy. 

Noble  philosopher,  your  company. 

Edg.  Tom's  a-cold.  [warm. 

Glo.  In,  fellow,  there,  to  the  hovel    keep  tlie« 

Lear.  Come,  let's  in  all. 

Kent.  This  way,  my  lord. 

Lear.      •  With  himj 

I  will  keep  still  with  my  philosopher. 

Kent.  Good  my  lord,  sooth  him  ;  let  him  take  tiiC 
fellow. 


4 


70S 


KING  LEAR. 


^to.  Take  dun  yon  on. 
Kent.  Sirrah,  come  on  ;  go  along  with  us. 
Jteai    Come,  good  Athenian. 
Qh,  No  words,  no  words  : 

8]ii.oh 

Edfl,.  Child  Rowland  to  the  dark  toiver  came. 

His  word  was  still, — Fie,  fuh,  and  fum, 
I  small  the  btoodofa  British  t7tan.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — A  Bootn  in  Gloster's  Castle. 

Enter  CoRNWALLongL^  

Corn.  I  will  have  my  revenge.,  ere  I  depart  his 
House. 

Edtn,  How,  my  lord,  I  may  be  censured,  that 
nature  thus  gjvgs  way  t£  lojalty,  something  Tears  me 
to  think  ol. 

Corn.  I  now  perceive,  it  was  not  altogether  your 
brother's  fc\il  disposition  made  him  seek  iiis  death; 
but  a  provoking  merit,  set  a-work  by  a  reproveable 
badness  in  himself, 

j?c//«.,4jiii5Ljiialicious  is  my  fortune,  that  I  must 
j:ep.exit  to._lae_jnst !    Tin's  is  the  letter  he  spoke  oK. 
\}niich_approves  him'--ajQ— infeliia-ent  j>arty  to^ 
jdvantages  of  France.    O  heavens!  thatTITis  treason' 


were  nTrC7-~e«^Bot-I-tiie  detector! 
^      Corn.  Go  with  me  to  the  duchess. 
*      Edm.  II"  the  matter  of  this  paper  be  certain,  you 
have  mighty  business  in  hand. 

Corn.  Truej  or  false,  it  hath  made  thee  earl  of 
Gioster.  ^eek  out  where  thy  father  is,  that  he  may 
be  rf-ady  for  o»ir  apprehension. 

Edm.  [Aside.)  If  I  find  him  cottiforting  the  king, 
it  will  stuff  his  suspicion  more  fully. —  I  willq^SXSi?- 
rere  in  my  course  of  loyalty,  though  the  conflict  b6 
BOre  between  that  and  my  blood.  c'-^-^  ht^m  s&.Jih.i 
Corn.  1  will  lay  trust  upon  thee;  and  thou  shaft 
find  a  dearer  father  in  ray  iove.  ^[Exeunt. 

Scene  VI. — A  Chamber  in  a  Farm-House, 
adjoininythe  Castle. 

^ter  Glosteu,  Lear,  Kent,  Fool,  and  Edgar. 
Gio.  Here  is  better  than  the  open  air ;  take  it 
thankfully  •  I  will  piece  out  the  comfort  v/ith  what 
addition  I  can :  I  will  not  be  long  from  you. 
i       Kent.  All  the  power  of  his  wits  has  given  way  to 
'    liis  impatience  : — The  gods  reward  yoivr  kindness  I 

[Exit  Gioster. 

Edg.  Frateretto  calls  me ;  and  tells  me,  ^^m?is 
an  angler  in  the  lake  of  darkness.  Pray,  infJC^ent, 
ftDjl  beware  the  foul  fiend. 

r"  Fool.  Pr'ythee,  nuncle,  tell  me,  whether  a  mad- 
man be  a  gentleman,  or  a  yeoman  ? 
I  ^f^^'  A  kinjr,  a  king ! 

X/Fool.  No  ;  he's  a  yeoman,  that  has  a  ger>tleman 
to  his  son  :  foir  he's  a  mad  yeoman,  that  sees  his  son 
a. ger) tie  u>an  before  him. 

Lear.  To  liave  a  thousand  with  red  burning  spits 
come  hizzing  in  upon  them: — 
Edg.  'I'he  foul  fiend  bites  my  back, 
r"  * '  Fool.  He's  mad,  that  trusts  in  the  tameness  of  a 
\  wolf,  a  horse's  health,  a  boy's  love,  or  a  whore's 

Lear.   It  shall  be  done,  I  will  arraign  them 
straight : — 

C  Onue,  sit  thou  here,  most  learned  justicer ; — 

[To  Edgar.) 

Thou,  sapient  sir,  sit  here.  {To  the  Fool.) — Now, 
you  she-foxes  I — 
Mdg.  Look,  where  he  stands  and  glares  !— 
Waiitest  thou  eyes  at  trial,  madam  ? 
Corne  o'er  the  bourn,  Bessy ^  to  me 
Fool,  tier  boat  hath  a  leak. 
And  she  must  not  speak 
Why  she  dares  not  come  over  to  thee, 
£dcf  .  'i'he  foul  fiend  haunts  poor  Tom  in  the  voice 
of  a  nightingale.    Hopdance  cries  in  Tom's  belly* 
for  two  white  herrings.  ,Croak  noty  black  angel;  I 
have  no  food  for  thee.  '*"'^°°""--~~----.~«- 


^    Act  III 

Kent.  How  da  you,  sii- ?  Standi  you  not  so  amaa'd : 

Will  you  lie  down  nnd  rest  upon  the  cushions^.  ^ 

Lear.  I'll  see  their  trial  first :  —  Brin^  in  the?"  \ 
evidence : —  ^...^^        1  \ 

Thou  robed  man  of  justice,  take  thy  place  I  \ 

-"^ — -  (ToWarlJ""^ 
And  thou,  his  yoke-fellow  of  equity,    (To  the  Fou.) 
Bunch  by  his  side: — You  are  of  the  comniissioD, 
Sit  you  too.  {Tc  Kent,^ 

Edq.  Let  us  deal  justly. 

^leepest,  or  wakest  thou. jolly  shephkid? 

Thy  sheep  be  in  the  corn , 
And  for  one  blast  of  thy  minikin  mouth. 
Thy  sheep  shall  take  no  harm. 
Pur  !  the  cat  is  grey, 

Lear.  PiSxm^l\lSsJS3iA^&zJ^SS^^-  ^  ^^^^ 
my  oath  before  this  honourable  assembly,  she  kicked 
the  poor  king  her  father. 

Fool.  Come   hither,   mistress;  Is  your  name 
Goneril  ? 

Lear.  She  cannot  deny  it. 

Fool.  Cry  you  mercy,  I  took  you  for  a  joint- stool. 
'   Lear.  And  here's  another,  whose  warp'd  looka 

proclaim  \  ; 

What  store  her  hearjHs  made  of. — Stop  her  there ! 
Arms,  arms,  swordnir?;J — Corruption  in  the  place  !^ 
Falsejusticer,  M'hy  liaSt  thou  let  her  'scape^l.  ^^'^ 
"Edg.  TIlemhy'ftviFwttsI — ~- — ,  i4vci-^1 

Kent.  O  pity ! — Sir,  where  is  the  patience  now. 
That  you  so  oft  have  boasted  to  retain  ? 

Edg,  My  tears  begin  to  take  his  part  so  much, 
They'll  mar  my  counterfeiting.  {Aside.) 

Lear.  The  little  dogs  and  all, 
Tray,  Blanch,  and  Sweet-heart,  see  they  bark  at  me, 
Edg.  Tom  will  throw  his  head  at  them : — Avaunt, 
iyou  cnrs ! 

Be  thy  mouth  or  black  or  white. 
Tooth  that  poisons,  if  it  bite ; 
Mastif,  grey-hound,  mongrel  grim. 
Hound,  or  spaniel,  brich,  or  lyra  ; 
Or  botbail  tike,  or  trundle-tail  ; 
Tom  will  make  them  weep  and  wail: 
For,  with  throwing  thus  my  head. 
Dogs  leap  the  hatch,  and  ail  are  fled. 
Do  de,  de  de.  Sessa.    Come,  march  to  wa(£es  and 
fairs,  and  market  towns  : — -Poor  Tom,  thyehorn  l«»  dry.  ^ 

Lear.  Then  let  them  a"natomIze~Kegan,  see  vvhat 
breed-s  about  her  heart:  Is  there  any  cause  iu  na- 
ture, that  makes  these  har^EMiiear^t*— Yon.  sir,  I 
entertain  you  for  one  of  my  hundred;  only,  I  do  not  „^ 
like  the  fashion  of  your  garments:  you  will  say,  they 
are  Persian  attire  ;  but  let  them  be  changed. 

{To  Edgar.) 

Kent.  Now,  good  my  lord,  lie  here,  and  rest 

awhile,  ' 
Lear.  Make  no  noise,  make  no  noise  ;  draw  the 
ciu'tains:  So,  so,  so:  VVe'U  go  to  supper  i'  the 
-  mornltig :  So.  so,  so.       ~~     """"        ^'  — — 
""C  Fool.  Ana  I'll  go  to  bed  at  noon. 


'  Re-enter  Gloster. 


Glo.  Come  hither,  friend :  Where  is  the  king,  my 
master  ?  [are -gone. 

Kent.  Here,  sir;  but  trouble  him  not,^3  ■wjta^ 
Glo.  Good  friend,  I  pr'ythee  take  hina  in  "tKy^ 
arms : 


B<2th_WeS5me^nii^otec^^  Take  np  thy  mastex  i 
If  thou  should'st  dally  half  an  hour,  his  life. 
With  thine,  and  all  that  offer  to  defend  him, 
Stand  in  assured  loss  :  Take  up,  take  up; 
And  follow  me,  that  will  to  some  provision 
Give  thee  quick  conduct. 

Kent.  Oppress'd  nature  skeps: — 

This  rest  might  yet  have  balca'd  thy  broken  seuseii 
Which,  if  convenience  will  not  allow, 


Scene  7.  '  KING  LEAR.  ji^--   709 


Stand  In  b>i  d  cure. — Come,  (lelp  io  bear  thy  master ; 
1'hou  muirt,  not  stay  behind.  (To  the  Fool.) 

Qlu.  Come,  come,  ;i\vay. 

[Exeunt  Kent,  Gloster,  and  the  Fool, 
hearing  off  the  King. 
Edg.  Wl  en  \ve  our  betters  see  bearing  our  woes, 
VVe  scarcery  think  unr  miseries  biir  foes.  Y 
VVTio  alone  giitieis,  suffers  most  i'  the  mind';  ':/ 
t7<^aTing  tree"nTrngs,  ;Viid  ha  i  p she ws^iSBiTui^: 
But  then  tlie  mind  much  sufferance  doth  o'erskip, 
When  grief  hath  mates,  and  bearing  fellowship. 
How  light  and  portable  my  pain  seems  novY,„__ 
When  tiiat,  w  hich  makes lue  bend,  makes  the  king 
bow ; 

Hg-cJj i  1  de d ^  as  I  fat h e r'd  !—  Tom,  away : 
MarktHe  liigh  rioTseSTtrad  thyself  bewray. 
When  false  opinion,  whosf  wrong  thought  defiles 
thee. 

In  thy  just  proof,  repeals,  and  reconciles  thee. 
What  will  hap  more  to-night,  safe  scapeUj^JijjagJ.--- 
liurk,  lurk.   -"""^"'[Exii. 

Scene  VII.-— ^  Room  in  Gloster's  Castle. 

Enter  Cornwall,  Regan,  Goneril,  Edmund, 
and  Servants. 

Corn.  Post  speedily  to  ray  lord  your  husband ; 
fihew  him  this  letter  : — ^he  army  of  France  is  landed  : 
Seek  out  the  villain  Gidstfefr"""™"' 

[Exeunt  some  of  the  Servants. 

Reg.  Hang  him  instantly. 

Gon.  Pluck  out  his  eyes. 

Corfi.  Leave  him  to  my  displeasure. — Edmuod.^ 
kee,/  yau^our  si&ter  company  ;  the  revenges  we"  are 
boCmd  to  take  uuon  your  traitorous  father,  are  not 
fit  f(»r  your  beholding.  Advise  the  duke,  where  you 
are  going,  to  a  most  festinate  preparation;  we  are 
bound  to  the  like.  Our  posts  shall  be  swift,and  intel- 
ligf  ut  betwixt  us.  Farewell,  dear  sister; — farewell, 
Diy  lord  of  Gloster. 

Enter  Steward. 
How  now?    Where's  the  king?  [hence: 
Stew.    My  lord  of  Gloster  hath  convey'd  him 
S.  nie  five  or  six  and  thirty  of  his  knights, 
Hr)t  questrists  after  him,  met  him  at  gate  ; 
VVho,  with  some  other  of  the  lord's  dependants, 
Are  gone  with  hitn  towards  Dov^;  where  they 
-■■^f;gr{^-'~-—- -  

To  have  well-armed  friends. 

iJorn,  Get  horses  for  your  mistress. 

Gon,  Farewell,  sweet  lord,  and  sister. 

[Exeunt  Goneril  and  Edmund. 
Com.  Edmund,  farewell. — Go,  seek  the  traitor 
Gloster, 

Pinion  him  like  a  thief,  bring  him  before  ns  : 

[Exeunt  other  Servants. 
Though  well  we  may  not  pass  upon  his  life 
Without  the  form  of  justice  :  yet  our  power 
Shall  do  a  courtesy  to  our  wrath,  which  men 
May  blame,  but  not  control.    Who's  there  ?  The 
traitor  ? 

Re-enter  Servants,  tviih  Gloster, 
Reg.  Ingrateful  fox! 'tis  he. 

Corn.  Hind  fast  his  corky  arms.  [consider 

Glo.  What  mean  your  graces  ? — Good  my  friends, 
Vou  are  my  guests  :  d;)  me  no  foul  play,  friends. 

Com  Bmd  him,  I  say.       [Servants  bind  him.) 

Reg.  Hard,  hard  :— O  filthy  traitor! 

do.  Unmerciful  lady  as  you  are,  I  am  none. 

Com.  To  this  chair  bind  him  : — Villain,  thou  shalt 
find —  {Regan  fflucks  his  beard.) 

Glq.  By  tlie  kind  gods,--'tis  aibsngtidbljr  done 
To  piuck  me  by  the  beard. 

Reg.  So  white,  and  such  a  traitor ! 

Gio.  Naughty  lady, 

These  hairs,  which  thou  dost  ravish  from  my  chin. 
Will  quicken,  and  accuse  thee  :  1  am  your  host; 
jobi»ers'  hands,  my  hospitable  favourg 


You  should  not  ruffle  thus.    What  will  you  do? 
Corn.  Come,  sir,  what  letters  had  you  late  iuxesk 

France  ? 

Reg.  Be  simple-answer'd,  for  we  know  the  tmth* 
Corn.  And  what  confederacy  have  you  with 
traitors, 

Late  footed  in  the  kingdom  ?  [kJngf 
Reg.  To  whose  hands  have  you  sent  the  luuHtai 
Speak. 

Glo.  I  l|ave  aletter  juessingly  set  down. 
Which  came  from  orie  that's  of  a  neutral  heart. 
And  not  from  one  oppos'd. 

Com.  Cunning. 
Reg.  And  false. 


Corn. 
Glo. 
Reg. 


Where  hast  thou  sent  the  k 


ing 


1 


To  Dover,^ 

Whereforo 


To  Dover?  Wast  thou  not  charg'd  at  thy  peril, — 
Corn.  Wherefore  to  Dover  ?  Let  him  first  answer 


Glo. 
Reg. 
Glo. 


1 4/ 


that.  [course. 
I  am  tied  to  the  stake,  and  I  must  stand  tlie 
Wherefore  to  Dover? 
Because  Lwonld  C2i.!'^-'^-^*^y  C"*'^  nails 
Pluck  out  his  roor  old  eyes  ;  nor  thy  fier^  " 
In  his  anointed  fiesh  stick  boarish  tangs. 
The  seajjivlth  sjjch  a  storm  as  his  bare  head 
IiiJbeHj:i.ladijiigl»t  endur'd,  would  have  buoy'd  up, 
Ana  quench'd  the  stelled  fires:  yet,  poor^oW hearty  •Sv^ivT^^  ' 
He  holp  the  heavens  to  rain.  j^^P 
If  wolves  had  at  thy  gate  howl'd  that  stern  time,  * 
Thou  should'st  have  said.  Good  porter,  turn  th* 

key ; 

All  cruels  else  subscrib'd  : — But  I  shall  see 
"The  vvinged  vengance  overtake  such  children. 
Corn. ~Sipe-it~shalt  thou  never: — Fellows,  hold 
the  chair: 

Ujgtgfljhese  eyes  of  thine  I'll  set  my  foot.  X 

™l:^0MMt:is  held  doton  in  his  chair,  while 
*  Cornivatl  plucks  out  one  of  his  iye4^  ^ 

and  sets  his  foot  on  it.) 
Glo.  He,  that  win  think  to  live  till  he  be  old, 
Give  me  some  help: — O  cruel !  O  ye  gods  ! 

Reg.  One  side  will  mock  another ;  the  other  too* 
Corn.  If  you  see  vengeance, — 
Serv.  .JSpld  your  hand,  my  lord: 

I  have  serv'd  you  ever  siri^ceTl^ra^tAiMji^  --^^ 
But  better  service  have  I  never  done  you. 
Than  now  to  bid  you  hold. 

Reg.  How  now,  you  dog? 

Serv.  If  you  did  wear  a  beard  upon  your  chin, 
I'd  shake  it  on  tliis  quarrel :  What  do  yon  niean  ? 
Corn.  My  villain  !     [Draws,  and  runs  at  him.) 
Serv.  Nay,  then  come  on,  and  take  the  cliance  of 
anger. 

[Dratvs.    They  fight.  -,Coi^vallis.zooundedi^ 
Reg,  Give  me  thy  sword.  (Tolznoiher  Servant.) 
A  peasant  stand  up  thus! 

[Snatches  a  sword,  cornet  behind^  and 
stabs  hitn.) 

Serv.  O,  I  am  slain  I — My  lord,  you  have  one  eye 
left 

To  see  some  mischief  on  him : — O  !  [Dies.) 
Corn.  Lest  it  see  more,  prevent  it : — (Jltt,  vil« 
jelly : 

Where  is  thy  lustre  now  ? 

[Tears  out  Glostet^s  other  ei/iej^,jmd  throtsi 
"^Tton  The  groundi^ 
Glo.  All  daj.k.ai3iU^,«jLl£^^^  my  ton 

Tlclmund  ? 
Edmtmd,  enkindle  all  the  sparks  of  nature. 
To  quiflrtus  horrid  act. 

Reg  Out,  treacherous  villaia! 

.  Thou  call'st  on  him  that  hates  thee :  it  was  he 
T^KfrHnacTeTTiFov^frfre^  to  la» ; 


"Who  1S"t6o"good  to  pity  thee. 

Glo.  O  my  folliea! 

Then_EdgarjKa8,„abAiJ^^^ 
KTn^  goi^^JW^ 

^B?g7''€r^'TnnIst«im  out  at  gates,  and  kid  fcim/ 
arneil  f 


His  way  to  Dover. — How  is't,  my  lord  ?  How  look 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  IV 


yon  f 

Cotn.  I  have  receiv'd  a  hurt: — Follow  me, lady. — 
T\i.rxt  out  that  eyeless  villain  ; — throw  this  slave 
Upon  the  diingliill.— Regan,  I  bleed  apace  : 
tJutimely  cornes  this  hurt :  Give  me  your  arm. 

[Jixit  Cornwall,  let  by  Regan  ; — Servants 
unbind  Oloster,  and  lead  him  out. 
]  Strv.  I'll  never  care  what  wickedness  I  do, 
li'  this  man  come  to  good. 

i!  •%^rv.  If  she  live  long, 

Ar.«,  in  the  end,  meet  the  old  course  of  death, 


]  W<jmi^n  will  all  turn  monsters. 

1  Scrv.  Let's  follow  tlie  old  earl 
To  lead  him  where  he  Would 
AJJ;6W!i  itself  to  anv  thing. 

2  A'erv.  lIoTTiW^-i'lj  Jetch  some 
Tq  apply  to  his  bleeding'Tace".  ""'Wow 


h  i  ii  i ! 


[Bedlam 
the 

diifil 
[of  e"^" 
Xj.^aadx^Hles- 
heaven  help 


-    [Exeunt  severally 


1 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  \.—The  Heath. 
Enter  Edgar. 
Edg.  yxi  better  thus,  and  known  to  be  contemn'd, 
'Than  still  ioiitemii'd  and  flatter'd.    To  be  worsts 
The  lowest,  and  most  dejected  thing  of  fortune. 
Stands  still  in  esperance,  lives  not  in  fear; 
The  lam»Mitable  change  is  from  the  best ; 
The  woi  st  returns  to  laughter.    Welcome,  then, 
Thou  unsubstautiHl  air,  that  I  embrace  I 
The  wretch,  that  thou  hast  blown  unto  the  worst, 
Owes  ^jtoti'.ing   to   thy   blasts. — But   who  comes 
ITere  ? — 

Enter  Gloster,  led  by  an  Old  Man. 
v^My  father,  poorly  led? — World,  world,  O  world! 
But  that  thy  strange  mutations  make  us  hate  thee, 
Lifp  vvo'ild  not  yield  to  age. 

O'd  Man.  O  my  good  lord,  I  have  been  your 
tenant,  and  your  father's  tenant,  these  fourscore 
J-ears. 

Glo.  Away,  get  thee  away  ;  good  friend,  be  gone  : 
IThy  comfo  ts  can  do  me  no  good  at  all, 
ali'^e  they  may  hurt. 

Old  Man.  Alack,  sir,  yon  cannot  see  your  way. 

Glo.  I  have  no  way,  and  therefore  want  no  eyes; 
(  stumb'ed  when  1  saw:  Full  oft  'tis  seen, 
Our  mean  secures  us  ;  and  our  mere  defects 
Prove  our  commodities. — Ah,  dear  son  lidgar. 
The  food  of  thy  abused  father's  wrath  ! 
IViigiit  I  but  live  to  see  thee  in  my  touch, 

Old  Man.  How  now  !  Who's  there? 

Edg.  (  Aside. )  O  gods  !  Who  is't  can  say,  I  am 
at  the  worst  f 
<J[  am  worse  than  e'er  I  was. 

Old  Man.  'Tis  poor  mad  Tom. 

Edg.  (  Aside )  And  worse  I  may  be  yet  :  'I'he 
worst  is  not, 
iSo  long  as  we  can  say,  This  is  the  worst. 
O'd  Man.  Fellow,  where  goest  ? 
Olo.  Is  it  a  beggar-man" 

Old  Man.  Madman  and  beggar  too. 
Glo.  He  has  s(,ine  reason,  else  he  could  not  beg. 
V  I'  th*i  last  ui^'ht's  storm  I  such  a  fellow  saw; 
1  Which  made  me  tiiink  a  man  a  worm  ;  My  son 
M3s.a)e  then  into  my  mind ;  and  yet  my  mind 
VVaa  then  scarce  friends  with  him  :  I  have  heard 

more  since  : 
Aa.fli8.g  to  wiAntoa^hc^s^re  we  to  the  gods  ; 
They  kill  us  for  their^nyrt:  -— 
— should  this  be  ? — 
Bad  is  the  trade  must  play  the  fool  to  sorrow, 
Ang'riivg  itself  and  others.  {Aside.) — Bless  thee, 
master ! 
Glo.  1.4  that  the  naked  fellow  ? 
Old  Man.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Gh.  Ttien,  pr'ythee,  get  thee  gone  :  If,  for  my  sake, 
Ybuu  Wilt  o'ertake  us,  hence  a  mile  or  twain. 


I'the  way  to  Dover,  do  it  for  ancient  love ; 
And  brin^  some  covering  for  this  naked  soni, 

r' liom  I'll  entreat  to  lead  me. 
Old  Man.  Alack,  sir,  he's  mad 

^^0-  '■^h.J^i&^^^E^&£,,,^^E,^^>  when  madmen  lea4 

Do  as  I  bid  thee,  or  rather  do  thy  pleasure  ; 
Above  the  rest,  be  gone.  [hav^ 

Old  Man.  I'll  bring  him  the  best  'parel  thai  I 
Come  on't  what  will.  ^JSjrti* 

Glo.  Sirrah,  naked  fellow.  ^ 

Edg.  Poor  Tom's  a-cold.— I  cannot  ^aub  it  far- 
ther. .  ''^^ Aside.) 

Glo.  Con.e  hither,  fellow.  i< 

Edg.  {Aside.)  And  yet  I  must. — Bless  thy  sweet 
eyes,  they  bleed. 

Glo.  Know'st  thou  the  way  to  Dover  ? 

Edg.  Both  stile  and  gate,  horse-way  and  foot- 
path. Poor  Tom  hath  been  scared  out  of  his  good 
wits ;  Bless  the  good  nmn  irom  the  foul  fiend  !  Five 
fiends  have  been  in  poor  Tom  at  once  ;  of  lust,  a& 
Obidicut  ;  Huhbididance,  prince  of  dumbness  ; 
Muhu,  of  stealing  ;  Modo,  of  murder  ;  and  Flib- 
bertigibbet, of  mopping  and  mowing  ;  who  since 
possesses  chamber-maids  and  waiting-women.  So, 
bless  thee,  master  !  [ven's  plagues 

Glo.  Here,  take  this  purse,  thou  whom  the  hea- 
Have  humbled  to  all  strokes:  th.at  1  any  wretched. 
Makijs  thee  the  hapjjier  : — Heavens,  deal  so  still 
Let  the  superfluous",  and  lust-dieted  man, 
I'hat  slaves  your  ordinance,  that  will  not  see 
Because  he  doth  not  feel,  feel  your  power  quickly; 
So  distribution  shoidd  undo  excess,  [  Dover  r 

And  each  man  have  enough. — Dost  thou  TTuow 

Edg.  Ay,  master. 

Glu.  There  is  a  clifi',  whose  high  and  bending  head 
Looks  feaTltTtiy*itrtbr  confined  deep: 
Bring  nie  but  to  the  very  brim  of'it. 
And  I  11  repair  tlie  nusery  tlioii  dost  bear, 
VVithisanie thing  ricli  about  me:  from  that  place 
I  shall  no^eacfiOg  ueedr  ' '~ 

Edq.  Give  me  thy  arm  ; 

Poor  Tom  shall  lead  thee,  \Exeuwt 

Scene  II. — Before  the  Duke  of  Albany's  Pnlaot, 

Enter  GONERIL  and  Ed:\iu>id;  Steward  tneeting 
them. 

Gon.  Welcome,  my  lord  :  1  marvel,  our  mild 
husband  [master? 
Not  met  us  on  the   way : — Now,  where's  your 
Slew.  Madam,  within  ;  but  never  man  so  chang'd: 
told  him  of  the  army  tiiat  was  landed  ; 
-le  smild  at  it:  I  told  him,  you  were  coming; 
His  answer  was,  The  ivo^rse  :  of  Gloster's  treachery. 
And  of  the  loyal  service  of  his  son,  r 
When  I  inform'd  \va\\,  then  he  cali'd  mep)t;)  Ci  .|^| 
And  told  me.  1  had  turn'd  the  wrong  side~oiit: — *  ^ 
What  most  he  should  dislike,  seems  pleasant  to  him; 
What  like,  oti'eusive. 
Gon.  Then  shall  you  go  no  further. 

(To  Edmund.) 

I ^^J^"  th?  fin"''''h  terror  of  lijs  jpl£il^ 
TJSjlLdares  not  unHei         he'll  not  feel  wrongs, 
VVhicK'Tle~Tiim  to  an  answer:  Our  wishes,  on  the 
way. 

May  prove  efi'ects.    Back,  Edmund,  to  my  brother; 

Hasten  his  musters,  and  conduct  his  powers: 

1  niust  change  arms  at  honi£>-a"d  give  tiit  distaff 

Into  my  Husband's  handsT  This  trusty  servant 

Shall  pass  between  us  :  ere  long  you  are  like  to  heiur. 

If  you  dare  venture  in  your  own  behalf, 

A  mistress's  command.  We.siLilii^S;;-J4^e-fpe£<Dh^ 

{Giving  a  JaMOiiaKifZr- 
Decline  your  head  : -^tlji»_k.iss,  if  it  dTusrspeak, 
VVould  stretch  thy  sbirits_up  into  the  air  ; — - 
Cone  ei  ve ,  ^nd  TareTnee  we  ITT        — - 

Edm.  Yours  in  the  r^^ksc|_deil.t]J. 

Gon.  — ^'"''■'''""''^^'lilym     d«'ar  Gloster! 

iEmt  Kdjiiund 


KING  LEAR. 


711 


O,  the  difFerence  of  n.an,  and  man  !  To  thee^ 
A  woman's  servires  are  due  ;  my  fool  | 
Csiirps  my  bed.  | 

Stffv.  xMadam,  here  comes  my  lord.  [Exit. 

Enter  ALBANY. 

Gen.  I  have  been  worth  the  whistle. 

Alb.  O  Goneril ! 

Von  are  not  \vorth  tljLii-.dttst.  which  the  rude  wind, 
BiovvdirTy^lfOiiiEf^  feaLlSii£.^P^^^ir""^ 

1  hl\tliature,  which  contemns  its  ongm, 
Ca/Miot  be  border'd  certainjif  itself ;  V 
Sne,  that  'uerself  wTmTTver anB!(fisbranch 
EruaL'E&-.uiatPFial  sap^pjerfo 
And  come  to  deadly Jigau._-.'Z°,  _  V 

Alb.  \Visd(im.aJi£Lgo£dness  to  tlie  vile  seern  vilg,: 
FUtjjsjaijiyi^^Sihem^telilsr"^^  you  d^neV 

Tiji^M-s,  notdau^hter^  what  have  yon  perform'd? 
A  j'affigrlJiSSCr^^^^LS  aged  man,  . 
V\Tirisf-  reverence  tii£T^CiGig^!^ 
AiosrHal^HaToTi!?;  niost  degeneratej  have  yon  madded. 
CoiiHl  iny  good  brother  suffer  yon  to  do  it  ? 
A  man,  a  prince,  by  him  so  benefited  i 
H'that  tlie  lieavens  do  not  their  visible  spirits^ 
Send  quickly  down  to  tame  these  vile  offeilces^_^^ 
'Twill  come, 

Humanity  nmst  perforce  prey  on  itfielf^  v"^' 
Like5(n'i»islers  of  the  deep. 

That  b&ar»st--freh#^"fe<»-*4a^  ; 
Who  hast  not  in  thy  brovvs  an  eye  discerning 
Thine  honour  from  thy  suffering ;  that  not  know'st, 
fools  do  those  villains  pity,  who  are  pnnish'd 
Ere  they  have  done  their  mischief.    Where's  thy 
drimi  ? 

Fi-smce  spreads  his  banners  in  our  noiseless  land ; 
With  plumed  helm  thy  slayer  begins  threats; 
WhUst  thou,     m oral,,  fool ,  si t' s t  still,  and  cry'st, 
Aia^'k !  why  does  he  so? 
Alb.         ^  rfSeeJixrf,  devil  ! 

Proper  deformity  seems  noi  in  the 
So  horri<l,  as  in  woman. 

Gon.  O  vain  fool ! 

Alb.  Than  changed  and  self-covert  thing,  for 
shame, 

Be-iiionster  not  thy  feature.    Were  it  my  fitness 
To  let  thfse  hands  obey  my  blond, 
They  are  apt  enough  to  dislocate  and  tear. 
Thy  flesh  and  bones; — Howe'er  thou  ar^  fiend, 
A  'woman's  sha^g,jlath»'«?iTPl^  tlimer 
GwtrM^rfi^oar  man        now  ' 

Enter  a  Messenger, 

Alb.  What  news  ?  [dead  ;| 

Mess  O,  my  good  lord,  the  duke  of  Cornwall's^ 
Slain  by  his  servant,  going  to  put  out  | 
The  other  eye  of  Gloster.  ' 

Alb.  Glohter's  eyes !  [morse. 

Mess.  A  servant  that  he  bred,  thrill'd  with  re- 
Oppos'd.  against  the  act,  bending  his  sword 
'I'o  his  great  master;  who,  thereat  enrag'd. 
Flew  on  him,  and  amongst  them  fell'd  him  dead: 
But  not  without  that  harmful  stroke,  which  since 
Hath  pluck'd  him  after. 

Alb.  Thisshews^^jLi^ 
You  justicers,  that  these  ouinneClTeTTriines 
So  spee4iiy..©aii  venge  I — But,  O  poor  Gloster  ! 
Lost  he  his  other  eye  ? 

Mess.  Both,  both,  my  lord.-^  . 

This,  letter,  madam,  craves  a  speedy  answer  jRjli^NP 
'TIS  ironj  your  sister.  *  . 

Gon.  [Aside.)  One  way  [  like  this  well; 
But  beinj;  widow,  and  my  Gloster  with  her. 
May  all  the  building  in  my  fancy  pluck 
Upon  my  hateful  life:  Anodier  way, 
The  news  is  not  so  tart. — I'll  read  and  answer. 

[Exit. 

Alb.  Where  was  his  son,  when  they  did  take  his 
eyes  ? 

Meis.  Come  with  my  lady  hither. 


r|^e 


r' 


Alb.  He  is  not  here. 

Mess.  No,  my  good  lord  ;  I  njet  him  back  again. 
Alb.  Knows  he  the  wickedness? 
Mess.  Ay,  my  good  lord  ;  'twas  he  ioforia'd 

against  him ; 

And  quit  the  house  on  purpose,  that  their  punishaiearf 
Might  have  the  freer  course. 

Alb.  aioster^JJive 
To  thank  thee  fojj^ifeJaviBjhou  she w 'd st  TTie°k i ng, 
ATulToTevenge  thine  eyes.— rSohie  hither,  rrientf; 
.JelTme^Vvliat  rmTFTtheff  knowest.  [Exeunt 

Scene  HI. — The  French  Camp,  near  Dover. 
Enter  Kent  and  a  Gentleman. 

Kent.  Why  fiie  king  of  France  is  so  suddenly 
'gone  back  know  you  the  reason  I 

Gent.  Something  he  left  imperfect  in  the  state. 
Which,  since  his  coming  forth,  is  thought  of ;  which 
Imports  to  the  kingdom  so  much  fear  and  danger. 
That  his  personal  return  was  most  requir'd, 
And  necessary. 

Kent.  Who  hath  he  left  behind  him  general  ? 

Gent.  The  Mareschal  of  France,  Monsieur  le  Per. 

Kent.  Did  your  letters  pierce  the  queen  to  any 
demonstration  of  giief  ?  [presence  : 

Gent.  Ay,  sir;  she  took  them,  read  them  in  my 
And  now  and  then  an  ample  tear  trill'd  duwu 
Her  delicate  cheek  :  it  seem'd  she  was  a  queen 
Over  her  passion  ;  who,  most  rebel-like, 
Sought  to  be  king  o'er  her. 

Kent.  O,  then  it  mov'd  her, 

Gent.  Not  to  a  rage  ;  patience  and  sorrow  strove 
Who  should  express  her  goodliest.    You  have  seen 
Siinshine  and  rain  at  once  ;  her  smiles  and  tears 
Were  like  a  better  day:  Those  happy  smiles. 
That  play'd  on  her  ripe  lip,  seem'd  not  to  know 
What  guests  were  in  her  eyes ;  which  parted 
thence. 

As  pearls  from  diamonds  dropp'd. — In  brief,  sorrow* 
Would  be  a  rarity  most  belov'd,  if  all 
Could  so  become  it. 

Kent.  Made  she  no  verbal  qnestim? 

Gent.  'Faith,  once,  or  twice,  she  heav'd  tiie 
name  of  father 
Pant^ngly  forth,  as  if  it  press'd  her  heart ; 
Cried,  Sisters!  sisters  I — Shame  of  ladies  !  sisters! 
Kent!  father!  sisters!  What'/  i'the  storm'i  ttk4 
night  ? 

Let  pity  not  be  bcliev'd! — There  she  shook 
'I'he  holy  water  trom  her  heavenly  eyes. 
And  clamour  moisten'd  :  then  away  she  started 
To  deal  with  grief  alone. 

Kent.  It  is  the  stars, 

The  stars  above  us,  govern  our  conditions  ; 
Else  one  self  mate  and  mate  could  not  beget 
Such  different  issues.  You  spoke  not  with  her  since? 

Gent.  No. 

Kent.  Was  this  before  the  king  return'd  ? 
Gent.  No,  sirjce. 

Kent.  Well,  sir;  the  poor  distress'd  Lear  is  j  tiia 
town : 

Who  sdfiietime,  in  his  better  tune,  remembers 
What  we  are  come  about,  and  by  no  means^ 
Will  yield  to  see  his  daughter.  -"--"'"""^ 

Gent.  '  Whv.  good  sir  ? 

Kent.  A  §overejgasliaine.sjo-elbows  htm  :  his  r.wa 
nnkindness, 

That  stripp'd  her  from  his  benediction,  turn  d  her 
To  foreign  casualties,  gave  her  dear  rights 
To  his  dog  hearted  oaughters, — these  tinngs  sting 
His  mind  so  venomously,  that  burning  shame 
Detains  him  from  Cordelia. 

Gent.  Alack,  poor  gentlemaa  ! 

Kent.  Of  Albany's  and  Cornwall's  powers  you 
heard  not  ': 

Gent.  "I'is  so ;  they  are  afoot. 

Kent.  W ell.  sir,  I'll  bring  you  to  oirr  maater  LeaTi 
And  leave  you  to  attend  him:  some  dt^ai  cause 
Will  in  cOnVeaimeut  wrap  me  upawlnle, 
When  I  am  kuowij  aright,  you  shall  not  grieve 


I  %■  tdJ^  ^  9KjLl}r  ] 


712 


KING  'LEAR. 


Act  IV 


Lending  me  this  acqnamtance.    I  pray  you,  s;o 
Aioifg  witn  me.      '  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — The  same.   A  Tent. 
Enter  Cordelia,  Physician,  and  Soldiers. 

Cor.  Aiack,  'tis  he  ;  why^Jie  was  met  even  now 
Asji)ad  aS:tiieJt£x'd  sea:  singin»  aloud; 
C ro \v n j|  \v it h xap k  fumiter,  and  furrow  weejds, 
V^^Tiarlocks,  liemToct.,  nettles,  Quckoo-flowers,;- 
Darnel,  and  all  the  idle  weeds,  that  grow 
In  our  sustaining  corn. — A  century  send  forth  ; 
Search  every  acre  in  the  high-grown  fif.ld, 
Ar}(3  bring  him  to  our  eye.  lExit  an  Officer. 

What  can  man's  wisdom  do, 
In  the  restoring  his  bereaved  sense? 
jle,  that  helps  him,  take  all  my  outward  worth. 

Phy,  There  is  means,  madam  : 
Our  ijijsler-nurse  of  nature  is  repose^-  N|v  > 
t!hg-Vvhicli  he  lacks  ;  that  to  provoke  in  him, 
Are  marTy^sTmptes  operative,  whose  power 
Will  close  the  eye  of  anguish. 

Cor.  All  hless'd  secrets. 

All  you  nnpublish'd  virtues  of  the  earth, 
Spring  with  my  tears!  be  aidant,  and  remediate, 
In  the  good  man's  distress! — Seek,  seek  for  him; 
Let  his  unjovern'd  rage  dissolve  the  life 
That  wants  the  means  to  lead  it. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  Madam,  news: 

JTWi^rtfiab  .mLviers  are  marchinoLhLthexwMd, 

Cor.  'Tis  known  before;  our  preparation  stands 
In  expectation  of  them. — O  dear  father. 
It  is  thy  business  that  I  go  about; 
Xhere fore  great  France 

My;  mourn iiig^,  aud  iiniJorlani.i.fcar.s.  hatlLjiliied. 
No  blown  aiubiLiun  doth  oiuLaiins-iocite^^ 
But  love,  dear  love,  and  our  ag  d  father's-right: 
SBoh  may  I  hear,  and  see  him  I  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — A  Room  in  Gloster\  Castle. 
Enter  R'EGAN  and  Steward. 
Beg.  liut  are  my  brother's  powers  set  forth  ? 
Stew.  A}',  madam. 

Reg.  Himself 

Steto.  Madam,  with  much  ado; 

i'Qur  sister  is  the  better  sobiier.  [home  ? 

Reg.  Lord  Ed,j3aund  spake  not  with  your  lord  at 
Stew.  No,  madam.  t'lhii  ? 

Reg.  What  might  import  my  sister's  letteP^ 
Stew.  I  know  not,  lady. 

Reg.  "Faith,  he  is  posted  hence  on  serious  matter. 
It  4Kas^,great  ignorance,  Gloster's  eyes  berng  out, 
To  let  hinrTTvF;~where  he  arrives,  he  moves 
AlChearj^  agamst'u^^  think,  is  gone 

In  pity  of  his  misery,  to  despatch^  ^     ji  tM^tV  '*  ^4 
Hjg^nighted  life ;  nioroever,  to^aescr^ ,  <'^^ 
Tiie'slrength  o'the  enemy,         '     ^j,  ,3Wkt  .^vyetter. 

Stew.  I  must  needs  after  hirn,  ^ladam,  with  my 

Reg.  Our  troops  set  forth  to-morrow;  stay  with  us ; 
The  ways  are  dangerous. 

Steia.  I  may  not,  madam ; 

My  lady  charg'd  my  duty  in  this  business. 

Reg.  Why  should  she  write  to  Edmund  ?  Might 
not  yoti 

Transport  her  purpose  by  word  ?  Belike, 
Something — I  know  not  what : — I'lMove  thee  mueh, 
Let  nie  unseal  the  letter. 

St6io.  ~^adam,  I  had  rather— 

Reg.  I  knoWj^our  lady  ch)es  not  love  he 
I  am  sure""orthat :  an^,  at  her  late  beingTiere, 
She_gavej«trange  oeiliads,  and  most  speaking  looks 
To  nobje  Bduiund  :  I  know,  you  are  of  her  bosom. 
Slew.  r,~njiadam  ? 

Reg.  I  speak  in  understanding;  you  are,  I  know  it: 
Therefore,  I  do  advise  you,  take  this  note: 
My  lord  is  dead  ;  Edjijiind  and  1  ha\  e  talk'd  : 

jl^;^n(l  uiorf  (■ouvenient  is  he  for  Thil'liaiiid, 
"iJiiauJoi^  youj  jady^  :— You  may  gatlier  more. 


If  you  do  find  him,  pray  yon,  give  hint!  this ; 

Aud  when  your  mistress  hears  thus  mi>  ch  irons  yOV^ 

I  pray,  desire  her  call  her  wisdom  to  her. 

So,  fare  you  well. 

If  you  do  chance  to  hear  of  that  b)Ind  traitor. 
Preferment  falls  on  him  that  cuts  him  olf. 

Stew.  'Would  1  could  meet  him,  madam!  I  wonld 
What  party  I  do  follow.  [shew  , 

Reg.  Fare  thee  well.  [ExeimU 

Scene  VI. — Th^jOquntry  near  Dover, 
Enter  Gloster,  and  E^ar  dressed  like  a 
peasm^ 

Glo.  When  shall  we  come  to  the  top  of  that  same 
hill?  [labour. 

Edg.  Yo«  do  climb  up  it  now;  look,  how  we 

Glo.  Methinks,  the  ground  is  even. 

Edg.  Horrible  steep: 

Hark,  do  you  hear  the  sea? 

Glo.  No,  truly. 

Edg.  Why,  then  your  other  senses  grow  imper- 
By  your  eye's  anguish.  ffect 

Glo.  So  may  it  be,  indeed  : 

Methinks,  thy  voice  is  aiter'd;  andtboii  speak'st 
In  better  phrase,  and  matter,  than  tliou  didst. 

Edg.  \ovi  are  fnuch  deceiv'd ;  in  nuffiing'am  I 
But  in  my  garments.  [chang'd, 

Glo.  Methinks,  you  are  better  spoken. 

Edg.  Come  on,  "sir;  here's  the  place: — stand 
still. — How  fearful 
^nd  dizzy  'tis,^  to  cast  one  eyes  so  low! 
The  crows,  and  chougns,  that  Vv'ing  the  midway  ail> 
Shew  scarce  so  gross  as  beetles  :  half  way  down, 
Hangs  one  that  gathers  samphire;  dieadfnl  trade! 
Methinks,  he  seems  no  bigger  than  his  iseatl : 
The  fishermen,  that  walk  upon  tlie  jjeach, 
Appear  like  inice  ;  and  you'  fatf  ahcTioring  bark, 
Diminish'd  to  her  cock:  her  cock,  a  buoy 
Almost  too  small  for  sight:  The  murmuring  .surj^^ 
That  on  the  unnumber'd  idle  pebbles  chafef^ 
Cannot  be  heard  so  high : — I'li  look  n  >  morfe*^ 
Lest  my  brain  turn,  and  the  deficient  sight 
Topple  down  headlong. 

Glo.  Set  me  where  you  stand* 

Edg.  Give  me  your  hand  :  Y'aB_ax£!,ai0^mitliiu  a 
foot 

Of  the  e_xti:,e!a£_V£Jrge™:  for  all  beneath  the  moon 
WouTH  1  not  leap  upright 

Glo.  Let-go  my -hand. 

V^ce^4r^mA,^&jim^ihet .pjirse i  n  i  t .  a  j e  we  1 
WjeU  worth  a  poor  nian's_tjikjng_:  Fairies  and  gods. 
ProspeTiTwHlhTheTTIGo  thou  further  off; 
Bid  me  farewell,  and  let  me  hear  thee  sioing 

Edg.  Now  fare  you  well,  good  sir.  [Seems  to  oo.) 

Glo.  With  all  my  heart 

Edg.  Why  I  do  trifle  thus  with  his  despair, 
Is  done  to  cure  it. 

Glo.  0  YOU  mighty  gods  ! 

Thia..ffi£ild4Jj^2J££2M^^6,^  and,  in  your  sights, 
Shake  p_atienn£  myRreat  affliction  oli'; 
If  I  coul(ri)earirk)nger,  and  not  fall 
To  quarrel  with  your  great  opposeless  wills. 
My  snutf,  and  loathed  part  of  n.iture,  should 
Burn  itself  out.    lX.^g:aLlivJvO,  bless  him !— • 

[He  leaps  ana  jails  along,} 
Edg.  '~~'Gonersrr7'mte^^^ 

And  yet  I  know  not  how  conceit  may  rob 

The  treasury  of  life,  when  life  itself 

Yields  to  the  theft :  Had  he  been  where  h«  thought 

By  this,  had  thouglit  been  past. — Alive,  or  dead? 

Ho,  you  sir!  fiiend! — Hear  yon,  sir? — speak! 

Thus  might  he  pass  indeed: — Yet  ne  revive*. 

What  are  you,  sir? 
Glo.  Away,  atxd  let  me  dia. 

Edg.   Had'st  thou  been   aught  but  gossamefj 
feathers,  air, 

So  mary  fathom  down  precipitating, 

Thou  had'st  shiver'd  like  an  egg :  luit  thon  doat 
breathe; 


Scene  6. 


KING  LEAR. 


^  y'nz 


Hast  heavj' substance  ;  bleed'st  not;  speak'st ;  art 
jfen  masts  at  each  make  nTft  the  altitude,     [sound  ; 
Which  thou  hast  perijendicniarly  fell;  1 
life's  a  tiiiracle  :  Speak  yet  again. 


_    ave  I  fallen,. or  J)o?  _  ffionr^  : 

Edg.   From  ike  diead   summit  of  this  cliaTky 

Look  up  a  heiglit ; — the  shrill -trorg'd  lark  so  tar 
Cannot  be  seen  or  heard  :  do  but  look  up. 

Gh.  Alack,  I  have  no  eyes. — 
In  wrelchedness  depriv'd  that  benefit, 
To  end  itself  by  death  ?  'Twas  yet  some  comfort. 
When  misery  could  beguile  the  tyrant's  rage. 
And  frustrate  his  proud  will. 

Edg.  Give  me  your  arm  : 

Tp : — So ; — How  is't  ?    Feel  you  your  legs  ?  You 
stand. 

Glo.  Too  well,  too  well. 

Edg.  This  is  above  all  strangeness. 

(Jpon  the  crown  o'the  cliff,  vvbatj^jing  was  that 
which  parted  from  you  ? 

beg^gar. 

Edf,:  A.sJ.jtoModJiereb^ 
Were  l,mJIl.iiiO(>T^^ 

HornfCv^he^^.  anowav^d  like  the  enridged  sea ; 
It„w.as  soiiieliend  :  Therefore,  thou  happy  father, 
ThinF7~tnrjt~~FIie"  clearest  ,go(jsj  who  make  them 

f/u#*^ft"i>ours 
Of  hien's  impossibilities,  have  preser v 'd  thee. 

G/o.  I  du  reujeuiber  nowT  liencetorthT^bear 
.Afrlictiou.  till  it  do  cry  out  itself, 
Enough,  enoiKjh,  and  die.  Tbat  thing  you  speakilfL. 
Ijtoojk.  j  fur  a  man  ;  o^n  'twmiTiLSiilr. 
TTi'eJ^mt  to  that  place- 

Eclg.  HeMr  i  i  ee  and  patient  thoughts. — But  who 
comes  here  ? 

Enter  LiF.\v..fatitasticaUy  dressed  up  with  flowers. 
The  safer  senfe  will  ne'er  accommodate 
His  master  thus. 

I/^.ar.  No,  they  cannot  toiich  me  for  coining; 
I  am  tiie  kiiy  ?>im^sd[t. 

"Ed^gi^^XTl\\(.\i  side-piercing  sight! 

Lear.  Nature's  above  art  in  that  respect. — There's 
rour  press  money.  That  fe.llow  handles  his  bowX 
like  a  crow  keeper:  draw  me  a  clothier's  yard. — 
Look,  iook^a  moiise !  Peace,  peace; — this  piece  of 
toasted  cheese'""wnr*do't. — There's  my  gauntlet ; 
I'll  prove  it  on  a  giant — Bring  up  the  brown  bills 
— O,  vvsli  flown,  bird! — i'the  clout,  i'the  clout: 
hevvoh  I — Give  the  word.  ' 

Edg.  Sweet  marjoram. 

Lear.  Pass. 

Glo.  I  know  that  voice. 

Lear.  Tf1r^■^"^^grferH^with  a  white  J)eard  !— 
They  flatter'd  meTTEe°TTfog;  and  toT3  me  iTiad 
white  hatrs  m '^fyTJearHT'ST^'*^'^  black  ones  were 
there.  '1  o  aay,  ay,  and  no,  to  every  thing  I  said  ! — 
Ay  and  no,  too,  was  no  good  divinity.  When  the 
Tain  came  to  w  et  me  once,  and  the  wind  to  make 
me  chatter;  when  the  thunder  would  not  peace  at 
my  bidding;  there  I  found  them,  there  1  smelt 
them  out.  Go  to,  they  are  not  men  o'their  words  ; 
they  told  me  I  was  every^^ingj^^^is  a 
not  agiVe-priBC 

G/o.  Trie  Iff  of  that  voice  I  do  well  remember  : 
Is't  not  the  king  ! 

Lear.  Ay,  every  inch  a  king : 

W^hen  I  do  stare,  see,  how  the  subject  quakes. 
I  p»fdon  tiiar  rn^'g  life :  What  was  thy  cause  ? — 
'Adultery. — 

Thou  shait  not  die:  EUfcJbr adultery!  No: 
The  wren  goes  to't,  andtlie  small"'fHtlfU  fly  ' 
Does  lecher  in  my  sight. 

L£.t  cojiijdatijuii. tiirive,  f^^  son 

V\^g  kinder  tohisTauTelvfE^ 

Go  T!w^]TitrF'1ir\vtufsKe^ 

T6^t71uxr-ry7]K^ll-mel^       1  lack  soldiers.— 

Bebord^yoiV  siiiiperiiig  dahie. 

Whose  tace  between  her  forks  presagefh  snow; 

l^hat  Qiiuces  virtue,  and  does  shake  the  head 


To  hear  ol  pleasure's  name  ; 
The  fitchew,  nor  the  soiled  horse,  goes  tot 
With  a  more  riotous  appetite. 
I>QAm  from  the  wfiist  they  are  centaurs, 

Thougn  women  all  above  :"  ™'"  ■"■ 

"^^^ESr£R'^^*^?:?^^^od.s  inherit,  _ 

Beneath  is  all  tlj^Hends^  there's  hell,  there's  daifc" 
ness,  there  is  the  sTil^pTIxtforre  pit,  biirning,  scalding, 
stench,  consumption; — Fy,  fy,  f y !  pah;  pah! 
Give  me  an  ounce  of  civet,  good  auothecary,  to 
sweet  my  imagination  :  there's  inoney  (or  thte.. 

Glo.  O'^^^Lxo&^^^Sl^^Js^^]' 

Lear.  kt£t.mp  vvipe  it  first ;  it  smells  of  mortality. 

Glo.  O  rHuT^^piecFotTrat^^  'J'hrs  greart^vorld— 
Shall  so  wear  out  to  nought. — Dost  thou  know  me'^^ 

Lear.  I  remember  thine  eyes  wt-ll  enouyh.  Dost 
thou'?qriiny  at  me  ?  No,  do  thy  worst,  blind  Cupid  ; 
rii  not  love. — Read  thou  this  challenge  ;  mark  but 
the  penning  of  it. 

Glo.  Were  ail  the  letters  suns,  I  could  not  see  one. 

Edg.  I  would  not  take  this  from  report: — it  is, 
And  my  heart  breaks  at  it 

Lear.  Read. 

Glo.  Wliat,  with  the  case  ofeyes_? 

hear.  O,  ho,  are  you  there  with  me  ?  No  eyes 
in  your  head,  nor  no  money  in  your  purse  ?  Your 
eyes  are  in  a  heavy  case,  your  purse  iu  a  light:  Yet 
yon  see  how  tins  world  goes. 

Glo.  I  see  it  feelingly. 

Lear.  What,  art  mad  ?  A  man  may  see  how  thig^ 
Kprld  goes,  wifli' hoTyes.'   CooTi  TviflTTnfhe  ears  : 
see  how  yon"  justice  rails  upon  yon'  sini|'le  thieii 
Hark,  in  thine  ear:  Ciiange  phices  ;  and,  handy-, 
dandy,  which  is  the  jusfice,  which  is  the  thief  ?—' . 
'^Thou  hast  seen  a  farmer's  dog  bark  at  a  beggar  V 

Glo.  Ay,  sir. 

Lear.  And  the  creature  run  from  the  cur  ? 
There  thou  might'st  behold  the  great  image  of  ae- 
thority:  a  dog's  obeyed  in  office. — 
Thou  rascal  beadle,  hold  thy  bloody  hand  ; 
Why  dost  thou  lash  that  whore  ?  Strip  thiue  C  Wl] 
back  ; 

Thou  hotly  lust'st  to  use  her  in  that  kind, 

For  which  thou  whipp'st  her.    The  usurer  hang^t 

the  cozener. 
Tlifougb  talter'd  clothes  small  vices  do  appear  ; 
Robes,  and  iui I  'd  go vvns,  hide  atih^^^ 

""  gold,     ' 1.  ■  €T'y^''^^^lCZ-'  AcK 

And  the  strong  lance  of  justice  hurtless  breaks: 
Arm  it  in  rags,  a  pigmy's  straw  doth  pierce  it. 
None  does  offend,  none,  I  say,  none ;  I'll  able  'em  : 
Take  that  of  me,  my  friend,  who  have  the  power 
To  seal  the  accuser's  lips.         the  glass  eyes ; 
And,  like  a  scurvy  politician,  seem  [now  i 

To  see  the  things  thou  dost  not, — Now,  now,  now, 
Pull  ofi'my  boots  : — harder,  harder;  so. 

Edg.  O,  matter  and  impertinency  mix'd  ! 
Reas,an  in  madness  ! 

uear  I f  thPiUsdlli^^^ P  "^^  fortunes,  take  my  eyes. 
I  know  thee  well  enorigffjntiy^nivme  is^^^G 
Thou  must  be  patient;  we  came  ciying  hither. 
Thou  know'st,  the  first  time  that  we  smell  the  air. 
We  wawl,  and  cry: — I  will  preach  to  thee ;  mark  me. 

Glo.  Alack,  alack  the  day! 

Lear.  When  we  are  born,  we  cry,  that  we  are  corae 
To^is  gFe|t^^  oflbols  ;— Th    a"good  block?—* 
It  were  a  delicate  ^stratagem,  to  shoe 
A  troop  of  horse  with  felt :  I'll  put  it  in  proof; 
And  when  I  have  stolen  upon  these  sons-in-la 
Then,  kill,  kill,  kill,  kill,  kill,  kill.- 

Enter  a  Gentleman^  with  Attendants, 

Gent.  O,  here  he  is:  lay  hand  upon  him. — Sii, 
Your  most  dear  daughter — 

jCeaEif?rTesetreT*--Wiiat,  a  prisoner?  l_am-^Kfia» 
The  natur^JaoLoIibrtune.— Use  me  well ; 
Ydu'sKair:iave  ransom.    Letjnejjiave  a  surgeon 
I  am  cut  to  the  brains. 

Gent.  You  shall  have  any  thing 

Lear,  No  seconds?  all  myself  ? 


714 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  IV 


Why,  tViis  would  make  a  man,  a  man  of  salt. 

To  use  his  eyes  for  garden  water-pots. 

Ay,  and  for  laying  autumn's  dust. 
Gent.  Good  sir,. — 

hear.  I  i^l  d^e  Joaelyr  like  a  bridegroonj; 
What  ? 

I  will  be  jovial ;  come,  come  ;  I  am  a  king, 
Aly  masters,  know  you  that? 
Gent.  You  are  a  royal  one,  and  we  obey  you. 
hear.  Then  there's  life  in  it.    Nay,  an  you  get 
st^  you  shall  get  it  by  running.    Sa,  sa,  sa,  sa. 

Mxit,  running;  Attendants  follow. 
Gent.  A  sight  most  pitiful  in  the  meanest  wretch  ; 
Past  speaking  of  in  a  king] — Thou    hast  one 
daughter, 

^-JWiwi.  re-deems  aatuTP  ^rom  the  general  curse 
3y^jicii  twain  have  brought  hre  to. 
Edy.  Hail,  gentle  sir. 

Gent.  Sir,  speed  you  :  What's  your  will  ? 

Edfj.  Do  you  hear  aught,  sir,  of  a  battle  toward  ? 

Gent.  Most  sure,  and  vulgar :  every  one  heart  that. 
Which  can  distinguish  sound. 

Ed(j.  But,  by  your  favour, 

How  near's  the  other  army  ? 

Gent.  Near,  and  on  speedy  foot ;  the  main  descry 
Stands  on  the  hourly  thought. 

Edij.  I  thank  you,  sir:  that's  all. 

Gent.  Though  that  the  queen  on  special  cause  is 
Her  army  is  mov'd  on.  [here, 

Edg.  I  thank  you,  sir.    [Exit  Gent. 

Glo.  Yoa^ever-gentle  gods,  take  my  breath  from 

'^■^e.-;  " ' '  "   '{"" 

Let  not  my  worser  spririt  tempt  me  again 
To  die  beibre  you  please  ! 

Edg.  Wellj^ray  you,  father. 

Glo.  Now,  good  sir,  what  are  you~?~°°"^-~— — — 

Edg.  A  most  poor  man,  made  tame  by  fortune's 
blows : 

Who,  hy  the  art  of  known  and  feeling  sorrows, 
Am  pregnant  to  good  pity.    Give  me  your  hand, 
I'll  h  ad  you  to  soMe  biding. 

Glo.  Hearty  thanks : 

The  bounty  and  the  benison  of  heaven 
To  boot,  and  boot ! 

Enter  Steward. 
Stew.  A.procJaira'd  prize  !  Most  happy  I 

Ihai-e^^^le&g  head  of  thine  was  first  frani'd  fleshy 
J]o^nusfijj^E3S5sU    T^??)'       unhappy  traitox,^ 

Pj'ffly  ^hyspir  rpTTif  ry{Rpr  ; — Thp  "sworcl  IS  OUt 

That  must  destroy  thee. 

Glo.  Now  let  thy  friendly  hand 

Put  strength  enough  to  it.  {Edgar  opposes.) 

Sietv.  Wherefore,  bold  peasant, 

Dar'st  thou  support  a  publish'd  traitor?  Hence; 
l^est  that  the  infection  of  his  fortune  take 
Like  liold  on  thee.    Let  go  his  arm. 

Edg.  drill  not  let  go,  zir,  without  vurther  'casion. 

Stew.  Let  go,  slave,  or  thou  diest. 

Edg.  Good  gentleman,  go  your  gait,  and  let  poor 
volk  pass.  And  ch'ud  ha'  been  zwagger'd  out  ol'  my 
life,  'twould  not  ha'  been  zo  long  as  'tis  by  a  vort- 
night.  Nay,  come  not  near  the  tdd  man ;  keep  out, 
che  vor'ye,  or  ise  try  whetiier  your  costard  or  my 
bat  be  the  harder:  Ch'ill  be  plain  with  you. 

Stew.  Out,  dunghill ! 

Edg.  Ch'ill  pick  your  teeth,  zir;  Come ;  no  matter 
for  your  foins. 

^         '  [They  fight  t  and  Edgar  knocks  him  down.) 

Stew  SLIa.vejtJthouJiast^  take 
my  purse; 
If  ever  thou  wilt  thrive,  bury  my  body ; 
Andgisai.ihe..letter8,  which  thou  find'st  about  me, 
TcLEdraiind  earl  of  Gloster;  seek  him  out 
lJp(«l  thZHritisli-nacty :—  O  untimely  death  !  [Dies.) 

Edg.  i  know  thee  well:  A  serviceable  villain; 
As  duteous  to  the  vices  of  thy  mistress. 
As  badnefs  would  desire. 
K^___Glo.  What,  is  he  dead  ? 

Edg.  Sit  you  down,  father ;  rest  you. — 


pockets  :  Oi&SfeJfelkrs,  that  lie  s};eaks  of, 
--Ma^h£Juy„Meiulac-^t^^^^^^^        «"ly  sony 
He  had  no  other  death's  man. — Let  us  see  : — 
Leave,  gentle  wax  ;  and,  manners,  blavne  us  not: 
To  know  our  enemies'  minds,  we'd  rip  their  hearts; 
Their  papers,  is  more  lawful. 


>aj\ 

{Reads.)  I'et  our  reciprocal 


he 


bered.    Yjm  have  many  opportunities  to  cut  him  i 
o^JJ^ifour  will  want  not.,  time  and  place  will  he\ 
Jrui^uTty  offered.   There  is  nothing  done,  if  k*  \ 
retwn  the  conqueror :  Then  am  I  the  prisonsry 
and  his  bed  my  gaol ;  from  thFldai/ied  warniih 
v^'er^f^^MSMi^'^fie,        supply  the  place  for  your 

fahofif.     

Ydiir~  wife,  {so  1  would  say,)  and  t/our  af- 
fectionate servant,  GoiNeril. 

0  undistingtiish'd  space  of  woman's  wiil! 

Aiid4h*b^3tSKa.iig.eCffiSi^2l?l^^  ^^^e  sands 

Thee  I'll  rake  up,  the  post  unsaTictified 

Of  auuderous  lechers  :  and,  in  the  mature  time, 

VVi»th  this  ungracious  pager  strike  tlie  sight 

Of  the  death-practis'd  duke  :  For  him  'tis  well, 

I'hat  of  thy  death  and  business  I  can  tell. 

[Exit  Edgar,  dragging  out  the  body. 
Glo.  The  king  is  mad:  How  stitf  is  mv  vile  sense, 
That  I  stand  up,  and  have  ingenious  feeling 
01' my  huge  sorrows!  Better  1  were  di.stract 
„^_should  my  thoughts  be  sever'd  from  my^riefs, 
And  vvoes,  by  w  rong  imaginations,  lose         -  — ' 
The  knowledge  of  theuiselves. 

Re-enter  Edgar. 
Edg.  Give  me  your  hand  : 

Far  off,  methinks,  I  hear  the  beaten  drum. 
Come,  father,  I'll  bestow  you  with  a  frieiid. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  VII. — A  Tent  in  the  French  Camp.    I. ear 

on  a  bed,  asleep;  Physician,  Ge.ntlemen,  aiid 

others,  attending. 

Enter  Cordelia,  and  Kent. 

Cor.  O  thou,  good  Kent,  how  shall  I  live,  and  work. 
To  niatch  tiiy  goodness  ?  My  life  will  be  too  slioit 
And  every  measure  fail  me.  ^ 

Kent.  To  be  acknowledg'd,  madam,  is  o'erpaid.  ) 
All  my  rei^oPtTgcTWitrth^'Tnode'^^  ^  / 

Nor  more,  nor  clipp'd,  but  so. 

Cor.  Be  better  suited  : 

These  weeds  are  memories  of  those  worser  hours; 

1  pr'ythee,  put  them  off. 

Kent.  Pardon  me,  dear  nmdam  ;i 

Yet  to  be  known,  shortens  my  made  intent : 
Mv  boon  I  make  it,  that  you  know  me  n©t,^"\, 
Till  time  and  J  tliink  meet.  >^ 

Cor.  Then  he  it  .so,  my  good  lord. — How  does  the 


nig 


(!Z'o  the  Physician.] 


Phys.  Madamysleeps  still : 
Cor.  O  you  kind  gods,  ;  f 

Cure  this  great  breach  in  his  abused  nature  !| 
'I'lie  untun'd  and  jarring  senses,  O,  wind  up  ' 
Oftlw^^iiii^^.aijgedja^^ 

Phys.  So  please  your  majesty, 

That  we  may  wake  the  king?  he  hath  slept  long. 

Cor.  Be  govern'd  by  your  knowledge,  and  proceed 
I'the  sway  of  your  own  will.    Is  he  array'd  r 

Gent.  Ay,  madam;  in  the  heaviness  of  his  sleep, 
We  put  fresh  garments  on  him.  [hwu: 
Phys.  Be  by,  good  madam,  when  we  do  av\ak« 
I  doubt  not  of  his  temperance. 

Cor.  Very  well. 

Phys,  Please  you,  draw  near. — Louder  the  mu^ic 
there. 

Cor.  O  my  dear  father!  Restoration,  hang 
Th^jjiejdiiarT^ju^^  and  let  thw  kisi" 

Repairthosev^  that  my  two  sister* 

Have  in  thy  reverence  made  ! 

Kent.  Kind  and  dear  piincess! 

Cur.  Had  you  not  been  their  father,  theae  white 
flakes 

Had  challeng'd  pity  of  them.    Was  this  a  face 


Act  V    Scene  1. 


KING  LEAR. 


715 


To  be  expos'd  against  the  warring-  winfLs? 

To  stand  against  the  deep  dread-bolted  thunder? 

In  the  most  terrible  and  nimble  stroke 

Of  quick,  cross-lightnino^?  to  watch  (poor  perdu  !) 

With  this  thin  helm?  MiBte.eil^m^L!^ 

Thon^4e  had  bit  me,  shonld  haye  stood  that  night 

Agairist  injr  tire  :  And  wast  thou  fain,  poor  father. 

To  hovel  thee  with  swine,  and  rogues  forlorn, 

/n  short  and  musty  straw?  Aiack,  alack  ! 

'Tis  wonder,  that  thy  life  and  wits  at  once 

Had  not  concluded  all. — He  wakes  ;  speak  to  him. 

Pkys.  Madam,  do  you  ;  'tis  fittest. 

Cor.  How  does  my  royal  lord  ?  liow  fares  your 
eiajesty  T'  ~  ~  -  [gxave  :— - 

hear.  Yon._dp  me  wrongj  jto_take,rn^^ 
Thou  art  a  soul  inljliss;  but  I  am  bound 
(fpon  a  wheel  of  tire,  that  mine  own  tears 
Do  scald  like  molten  lead. 

Cor.  Sir,  do  you  know  me  ? 

hear.  .Y!oii  are  a  spirit,.  I  Jcnow ;  When  did  you  die  ? 

Cor.  Still,  still,  far  wide! 

Phys.  He's  scarce  awake ;  let  him  alone  awhile. 
hear.  VVhere  have  I  been?  Where  am  I? — Fair 
day-light  ? — 

I  am  mightily  abus'd. — 1  should  even  die  with  pity, 
To  see  another  thus. — I  know  not  what  to  say.— • 
I  will  not  swear,  these  are  my  hands  : — let's  see ; 
I  feel  this  pin  prick.    'Would  I  were  assur'd 
Of  my  condition. 

Cor.  O,  look  upon  me,  sir, 

And  hold  your  hands  in  benediction  o'er  me  : — 
No.  sir,  you  must  not  kneel. 

'hear.  Pray,  do  not  mock  me  : 

I  am  a  very  foolish  fond  old  man. 
Fourscore  and  upward  ;  and,  to  deal  plainly, 
I  fear,  I  am  not  in  my  p|erfect  mind, 
Mel}»itfk's7 T  sh'ouId"lin^  k  now  this  man 

V^t  1  am  douhtj'ut  :  tor  T  am  mainly  iiinorant 
What  place  this  is;  and  all  the  skill  I  have 
Reujernbers  not  these  garments;  nor  I  know  not 
VVhere  I  did  lodge  last  night :  Do  not  laugh  at  me  ; 
For,  as  I  am  a  man,  I  think  this  lady 
To  ise  Ujy  child  Cordelia. 

Cor.  And  so  I  am,  I  am 

hear.  Be  your  tears  wet?  Yes,  'taith.    I  pray, 
wet-p  not  ; 

If  yoli  have  uuis^in  £3«nfi,.Jjftill^^  v 
1  know  you  do  not  love  me :  for  your  sisters 
Ha~re;  asTTto  remember,  done-  me  wrong" r--^ 
V'pu  have  soiiielcMs^^  have  not. 

Cor.  No  cause,  no  cause. 

hear.  Am  T  in  Fiance  ? 

Kent.  In  your  own  kingdom,  sir. 

Lear.  Do  not  abuse  me. 

Phys.  Be  comforted,  good*  madam  :  the  great  rage, 
Vou  see,  is  cur'd  in  hini :  and  yet  it  is  danger 
To  m.Tke  him  even  o'er  the  time  he  has  lost. 
Desii  f  him  to  go  in ;  trouble  liim  no  more. 
Till  furtlier  settling. 

Cor.  Wirt  please  your  highness  walk  ? 

J^ar.  You  must  bear  with  me : 

Pray  now,  forgetjuidJb*^^JUiW-l^^ 

[Exeunt  Lear,  Cordelia,  Physician,  and 
Attendants. 

Cent.  Holds  it  true,  sir. 
Thiit  the  duke  of  Cornwall  was  so  slain? 

Kent.  Most  certain,  sir. 

Gerd.  Who  Is  conductor  ,a£,,bi§!4?.gSiiiie  ? 

Kent.  As 'tis  said. 

The  bastard  son  of  Glo5ter. 

Gent.  They  say,  Edgar, 

U  s  baniyh'd  son,  is  with  the  earl  of  Kent 
l.i  Germany.  .' 

Kent.  Report  is  changeable. 

*Tis  time  to  look  about;  the  powers  o'the  kingdom 
Approach  apace. 

Gent.  Tlie  krbitrement  is  like  to  be  a  bloody. 
Fare  you  well,  sir.  [Exit. 

Kent.  My  goint  and  period  wil]  _be_  Jiiflmughly 

Or  well,  or  ill.  as  this  day's  battle's  fought  [Exit 


ACT.  V. 

Scene  I. — The  Camp  of  the  Br  ii  sh  Forces,  near 
Dover. 

Enter^  with  drum  and  colours,  Edmund,  IlsoM^ 
Officers,  Soldiers,  and  others. 

Mdm.  Know  of  the  duke,  if  his  Isst  purpose  hold } 
Or,  whether  since  he  is  ad\is'd  by  aught 
To  change  the  course;  He's  full  of  alteration, 
And  self-reproving: — bring  his  constant  pleasure. 

{To  an  Officer.,  who  goes  ok/^) 

Reg.  Our  sister's  man  is  certainly  miscarried. 

Edm.  'Tis  to  be  doubted,  madam. 
^  Reg.  Now,  sweet  lord. 

You  kuQAi^-thp  ^f)odnpss  T  intend  upon  you  : 
'/ell  me, — but  truly, — but  then  speak  the  truth, 
Do  vou  apt  love  my  sister  ? 

Edm.  ■  Itt-bfln^w'-d-loxe, 

Reg.  But  have  you  never  found  my  brother's  way 
To  the  forfended  place  ? 

Ed7n.  That  thought  abuses  yoo. 

Reg.  I  am  doubtful,  that  you  ha»  e  been  conjunci 
And  bosom'd  with  her,  as  far  as  we  call  hers. 

Edm.  Nojjby  niine  honajir^  madam. 

Reg.  rTTever  shall  endure  her:  Dear  my  lord. 
Rfe„;jot  Jiimiliar  with  her. 

Edik.  "  Fear  me  not ; 

She,  and  the  duke  her  husband, — 

Enter  Albany,  GoNERiki,  and  Soldiers. 

Gon.  J^liad  rather  Jose  Uie^  baUle^,^^      that  si#fie,_„_ 
%9'4i=-&sES..%oLin£*       '  [Aside.) 

Aio.  Our  very  loving  sister,  well  be  met. — 
Sir,  this  I  hear, — The  king  is  come  to  his  daughter. 
With  others,  whom  the  rigour  ol  our  state 
Forc'd  to  cry  out.  WhereJ^cauldaj^^  / 
I  a£Jt:je£4;.eLtjia:as.A:aJiaiiJ^^  for  this  business,  ' 
It  touches  us  as  France  invades  our  land, 
Not  holds  the  king ;  with  others,  whom,  I  fear. 
Most  just  and  heavy  causes  make  oppose. 

Edm.  Sir,  you  speak  nobly. 

Reg.  Why  is  this  reaaon'd  t 

Gon.  Combine  together  'gainst  the  enemy; 
For  these  domestic  and  particular  broils 
Are  not  to  question  here. 

Alh.  Let  us  then  determine 

With  the  ancient  of  war  on  our  proceedings. 

Edm.  1  shall  attend  you  presently  at  your  tenU  '^"i 

Reg.  Sister,  you'll  go  with  us  ?  ? 

Gon.  No. 

Reg.  'Tis  most  convenient;  pray  you,  go  with  us* 

Gun.  O,  ho,  I  know  the  riddle  :  {Aside.,)— \  will  i 
As  they  are  going  out,  enter  Edgar,  dTsgv^^t^L 

Edg.  If  e'er  your  grace  Tia^rsj5&etTk'1,HtTrn^^^^ 
poor. 
Hear  me  one  word. 

Alb.  I'll  overtake  you. — Speak 

[Exeunt  Edmund.  Regan,  Goneril,  Officert, 
Soldiers,  and  Atteyidants. 
■  Edg.  t^Afr^rf:  you  fight  tlie  battle,  ope  Ihis  letter. 
If  you  have  victory,  let  thetnTmpeismTnc^  " 
For  him  that  brought  it:  wretched  though  I  seem, 
I  can  p.'-oduce  a  champion,  that  will  prove 
What  is  avouched  there  :  If  you  miscarry. 
Your  business  ol"  the  world  liath  so  an  end, 
And  machination  ceases.    Fortune  love  you  I 

Alb.  Stay  till  I  have  read  the  letter. 

Edg.  1  was  forbid  it. 

When  time  shall  serve,  let  but  the  herald  cry. 
And  I'll  appear  again.  [J^jrtl. 

Alb.  Why,  fare  thee  well ;  I  will  o'erlook  thy  papec 
Re-enter  Edmund. 

Edm.  Thjj..eae.niy:aJnjdeAy^  d^^^^^^ 
Here  is  the  guess  of  their  true  strengtn  and  nroet 
By  diligent  discovery; — but  your  haste 
Is  now  urg'd  on  you. 

Alb.  '     We  will  greet  the  tim/-.  [Exdi      ^  / 

Edm.  Ta..bothJjiese  sisters  have  I  sworn  my  lovev^ 
^ch  jealous  of  the  other,  as  the  stung 
Are-ot'ttre-'  aTrde^^^^^^^^  of  them  shall  1  take^?  -x^ 

llolh  fone?  or  neither?  Neither  can  be  eujoy'd. 


T16 


KING  LEAR. 


if 


Act  7 


Ifb^thjremain^I^ 

KHsj^eFal^^  mad  her  sister  Goneril ; 

And  [laFdTy  sliair  r  carry  out  my  side, 
El^J-^imakaM-Jbilill^. alive.    Now  then,  Wll  use 
Hiaj;xiuatexjaj3G&ior  tlie  batye  ;  which  being "^3^6, 
Let  her,  who  won  Id  bsjd^^jaLMiiL^  devise 
H'is  speedy  tnking  off.    As  for  the  mercy  ^ 
Wh*ich  he  iDtends  to  L«ar,  and  to  Cordelia, 
The  battle  titoDe,  and  they  withia  our  power, 
Shall  nevf  r  see  his  pardon  :  for  my  state 
Stands  on  me  to  defend,  not  to  debate.  [Exit, 

Scene  II. — A  Field  between  the  two  Camps. 
Alarum  within^ Enter,  witn  druni  arid  colours, 

Lear,  Cordelia,  and  their  Forces :  and  exeunt. 
Enter  Edgar  and  Gloster. 

Edg.  Here  father,  take  the  shadow  of  this  tree 
For  yoiir  good  host ;  pray  that  the  right  may  thrive  : 
if  ever  I  return  to  you  again, 
rii  br^ng  you  coinfjrt. 

Glo.  Grace  go  with  you,  sir! 

[Exit  Edgar. 

Alarums;  afterwards  a  Retreat.  Re-enter 
Edgar. 

Edy.  Away,  old  man,  give  me  thy  hand,  away; 
King  Lear  hath  lost,  he  and  his  daughter  tft'eu: 
Give  nje  thy  hand,  come  on. 

Glo.  No  further,  sir;  a  man  may  rot  even  here. 

Edg.  What,  in  ill  thoughts  again  ?  Men  must  en- 
dure 

Their  going  hence,  even  as  their_coming_hU 
Kipeness  is  all :  CdiEe~bn. 

Gio.  And  that's  true  too. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — The  British  Camp  near  Dover, 
^nter,  in  conquest,  with  drum  and  colours,  Ed- 
mund; Lear,  and  Cordelia,  as  prisoners; 
Officers,  Soldiers,  etc, 
Edm.  Some  officers  take  them  away :  good  guard  ; 
Until  their  greater  pleasures  first  be  known, 
That  are  to  censure  them. 

Cor.  We  are  not  the  first. 

Who,  with  best  meaning,  have  incurr'd  the  worst. 
Vor  thee,  oppressed  king,  am  I  cast  down  ; 
Myself  could  else  out-frown  fake  fortune's  frown. — 
Shall  we  not  see  these  daughters,  and  these  sisters? 

Lear.  No,  no,  no,  no !  Come,  let's  away  to  prison : 
-WiS.  t.\vo^alone  will  sing  like  birds  i  th&.^;age  : 
When  thoij"lIosf"asFTi^~EIe^Hig^  I'll  kneel ^own, 
'XitT9"asir-«f4We"forgit^er^ 

Ai)3"pray,  and  sing,  and  tell  old  tales,  and  laugh 

At  gilded  buttfrflies,  and  hear  poor  rogues 

Talk  of  court  news;  and  we'll  talk  with  them  too, — 

Who  loses,  and  who  wins  ;  who's  in,  who's  out ; — 

And  take  upon  us  the  mystery  of  things. 

As  if  we  were  God's  spies :  And  we'll  wear  out, 

In  a  wall'd  prison,  packs  and  sects  of  great  ones. 

That  ebb  and  flow  by  the  moon. 

Edm.  Take  them  away. 

Lear.  Upon  such  sacrifices,  my  Cordelia, 
Tile  gods  themselves  throw  incense.  Have  I  caught 
thee? 

He  that  parts  us,  shall  bring  a  brand  from  heaven. 
And  fire  us  hence,  like  foxes.  Wifie  thine  eyes; 
Thefjoujeers  shall  devour  them,  flesh  and  fell. 
Ere  they  shall  make  us  weep  :  we'll  see  them  starve 
first. 

Come.         [Exeunt  Lear  and  Cordelia,  guarded. 

Edm.  Come  hither,  captain  ;  bark. 
Take  thou  this  note ;  {Giving  a  paper.)  go,  follow 

them  to  prison : 
One  step  I  have  advanc'd  thee;  iCj^u  do.st 
makSHvIJuSj 


_^  to^lenderu 
Dijej,  not  become  a  ij^ord  : — Thy  great  employment 
Will  not  bear  question  ;  either  say,  thou'lt  do't. 
Or  thrive  by  other  means. 
Qffi,  I'll  do't,  ray  lord. 


Edm.  About  it,  ancf  write  happy,  when  thou  hast 
done. 

Mark, — I  say,  instantly  ;  and  carry  it  so, 
As  I  have  set  it  down. 

Offi.  I  cannot  draw  a  cart,  nor  eat  dried  oats  ; 
If  it  be  man  s  work,  I  will  do  it.        [Exit  Officer, 

Flourish.  Enter  Albany,  Goneril,  Regan, 

Officers,  and  Attendants. 
Alb.  Sir,  you  have  shewn  to-day  your  valiant 
strain. 

And  fortune  led  you  well :  You  have  thejcaptives, 
Who  were  the  opposites  of  this  day's  strife  :  — 
We  do  require  them  of  you^o  to  use  them 
As  we  shall  find  their  m'erifTan^  bW  safeW  1 


May  eqxradly  detemitne: 
Edm: 


Sir,  I  thought  it  fit 


To  send  the  old  and  miserable  king 
To  some  retention,  and  appointed  guard ; 
Whose  age  has  charms  in  it,  whose  title  more. 
To  pluck  the  common  bosom  on  his  side. 
And  turn  our  impress'd  lances  in  our  eyes 
Which  do  command  them.   With  him  I  sent  the 
queen ; 

My  reason  all  the  same  ;  and  they  are  ready 
To-morrow,  or  at  farther  space,  to  appear 
VVTiere  you^hall  hold  your  session.  At  this  time. 
We  sweat,  and  Bleed :  the  friend  hath  lost  his  friend ; 
And  the  best  quarrels,  in  the  heat,  are  curs'd 
,  By  those  that  feel  their  sharpness  : — 
■  The  question  of  Cordelia,  and  her  father, 
^Requires  a  fitter  place. 

Alb.  Sir,  by  your  patience 

I  hold  you  but  a  subject  of  this  war. 
Not  as  a  brother. 

Reg.  That's  as  we  list  to  grace  him. 

Methmks  our  pleasure  might  have  been  demanded, 
Ere  you  had  spoke  so  far.  He  led  our  powers; 
Bore  the  commission  of  my  place  and  person; 
The  which  immediacy  may  well  stand  up. 
And  call  itself  your  brother. 

Gon.  Not  so  hot ; 

In  his  own  grace  he  doth  exalt  himself, 
More  than  in  your  advancement. 

Reg.  In  my  rkhts^ 

By  me  invested,  he  compeers  the  best.        T  [yoa. 
i,  Gon.  That  were  the  most,  if  he  should  huabaa 
k  Reg.  Jesters  do  oft  prove  prophets. 
iGon.  Holla,  holla  I 

That  eye,  that  told  yon  so,  look'd  but  a-squint 

Reg.  Lady,  I  am  not  well ;  else  1  should  answer 
From  a  full-flowing  stomach. — General, 
Take  thou  my  soldiers,  prisoners,  patrimony 
Dispose  of  them,  of  me ;  the  walls  are  thine : 
Witness  the  world,  that  ^^eate  thee  here 
My  lord  and, inaster.  / 

(?£>n.  Mean  you  to  enjoy  him? 

Alb.  The  let-alone  lies  not  in  your  good  will. 

Edm.  Nor  in  thine,  lord. 

Alb.  Half-blooded  fellow,  jres. 

^  Reg.  Let  the  drum  strike,  and  prove  my  title 
thine.  (To  Edmund.) 

Alb.  Stay  yet;  hear  reason :-^£dmund,  I  arrest 

the£_.  ^  —  

QlLgjlfijjal  treason  ;  and,  in  thy  arrest, 
'rhis,giIc!QUg£j^J^(i^om?5«^^ 

claim  Jpr  sister. 
I^Mnit  in  the  interest  oTmy  wifej 
'Tis^lfie  iaj?ii^^rontrrac£ed^  thlsTord, 
And  I,  her  husband,  contradict  your  bans. 
If  you  will  marry,  make  your  love  to  me. 
My  lady  is  bespoke. 

Gon.  An  interlude ! 

Alb.  Thou  art  arm'd,  Gloster ; — Let  the  trnrapel  I 
sound  ;  ; 
Jfuone  appear  to  prove  upon  thy  person. 
Thy  heinous,  manifest,  and  many  treason,  | 
There  is  my  pledge  :  {Throwing  down  a  glove.)  I'D  t 

prove  it  on  thy  heart. 
Ere  I  taste  bread,  thou  art  in  nothiT^rless  1 
Than  I  have  here  proclaim'd  thee 


Scene  2. 


KING  LEAR. 


717 


Reg.  Sick,  O  sick  1 

j  Gotu  If  not,  I'll  ne'er  trust  poison.  lAside.% 
Edm.  'I'here's  my  exchange  :  {Thi  owing  dotvn  a' 
giove)  what  in  the  world  he  is, 
Th:it  natnes  me  traitor,  villain-like  he  lies: 
Call  by  thy  trumpet:  he,  that  dares  approach, 
|0n  him,  on  yon,  (who  not?)  IjuiUauailjta^ 


II  Edm, 
Alb.  T 

A 


ho! 


A  herald,  hot,  a  herald  ! 
st  to  tby  singlp  virtue;  fof  thysoldierSj,,., 
A lliteAied  in  mv  ^Jaul!eu■i*a^ye4a■JI^L■^aa^lt!!^  ^ 
'i^^li  their  discb^eijCge* 
j    Reg,       "  This  sickcess  grows  upon  me. 

!j  Enter  a  Herald. 

I    Alb.  She  is  not  well ;  convey  her  to  my  tent. 
PlI  [Exit  Regan,  led. 

Come  hither,  herald, — Let  the  trumpet  sound, — 
And  read  out  this. 
Offi..  Sound,  trumpet.  {A  Trumpet  sounds.) 

Herald  reads.  v,,,... 
If  any  man  of  quality,  or  degree,  tvithin  thei\ 
lists  of  the  army,  will  maintain  upon  Edmund^t 
isupposed  earl  of  Gloster,  that  he  is  a  manif  old 
traitor,  let  him  appear  at  the  third  sound  of  the 
trumpet :  He  is  bo(d  in  his  defence. 
Edm.  Sound.  (1  Trumpet.) 

Her.  Again.  (2  Trumpet.) 

Har.  Again.  (3  Trumpet.) 

{Trumpet  answers  within.) 

Enter  Edgar,  armed,  preceded  by  a  Trumpet. 
Alb.  Ask  him  his  purposes,  why  he  appears 
Upon  this  call  o'the  tnuupet. 

Her.  What  are  yon  ? 

Your  name,  your  quality  ?  and  why  you  answer 
This  present  summons  ? 

Edg.  Know,  my^  name  is  lost ; 

By  treason\Jgo.th=fea*#-ginawn,j^^^  canker-bif  ; 
Teram"Tm)ble,  as  the  ad\ersary 
I  come  to  cope  witlial. 
Alb.  Which  is  that  adversary? 

Edg.  What's  he,  that  speaks  for  Edmund  earl  of 
Gloster? 

EJm.  Himself; — what  say'st  thou  to  him  ? 
Kdg-  Draw  the  swerd ; 

'Tfeat,  if  my  speech  offend  a  nob'e  heart, 
Ttfy  arm  may  do  justice :  here  is  mine. 
B'-hold,  it  is  the  privilege  of  my  honours, 
AJy  oath,  and  my  profession  :  I  protest, — 
Maugre  thy  strength,  youth,  place,  and  eminence, 
j  Despite  thy  victor  sword,  and  fire-new  fortune, 
'i1iy  varonf7ar)jdt:fe 

False  to  tIiy„^Q.(l8,  thy  brother,  and'lliy'ianier  ;  y^' 
i  Couspirant  'gainst  this  higK  Tltuslrious  pfincrT 
I  And,  from  the  extreme.st  upward  of  thy  head, 
i  To  the  descent  and  dust  beneath  thy  feet, 
!  A  most  toad-spotted  traitor.    Say  thou.  No, 
This  sword,  tiiis  arm,  and  my  best  spirits,  are  bei^ 
'J'o  prove  upon  thy  heart,  whereto  I  speak,     ,  / 
Thou  liest.  tiX'W  U^i 

Edm.       In  wisdom,  I  shoulSf  ask  thy  name ;  ; ,  ^ 
But,  since  thy  outside  looks  so  fair  and  warlike. 
And  that  thy  tongue  some  'say  of  breeding  breathe 
What  safe  and  nicely  I  might  well  delay  \ 
By  rule  of  knighthood,  I  disdain  and  spurn  : 
Back  do  I  toss  these  treasons  to  thy  head  ; 
With  the  hell-hated  lie  o'erwhelm  thy  heart; 
Which,  (for  they  yet  glance  by,  and  scarcely  bruise,) 
This  sword  of  mine  shall  give  them  instant  way. 
Where  they  shall  rest  for  ever.  —  Trumpets,  speak. 

(Alarums.    T-hey^Jight.    Edmund  falls.) 
Alb.  O  save  him,  save  him  ! 
Gon.  This  is  mere  practice,  Gloster: 

By  the  law  of  arms,  thou  wast  not  bound  to  answer 
An  unknown  opposite  ;  thou  art  not  vanquish'd,  | 
But  cozen'd  and  beguil'd.  I 

Alb.  ^hut  your  mouth,  dame. 

Or  with  tliis  paper  shall  I  <|i>  it : — Hold^  sir : — 


Thou  worse  tban  any  name,  read  thine  ovm  evil:— 
No  tearing,  Lady;  1  perceive  you  know  it. 

{Gives  the  letter  to  Edmund] 
Gon.  Say,  if  I  do ;  the  laws  are  mine,  not  tluDs: 
Who  shall  arraign  me  for't? 

Alb.  ^  M©st  monstrous.' 

Know'st  thou  this  paper? 

Gon.  Ask  me  not  what  1  krow.  fJ?»iA 

Alb.  Go  after  her:  she's  desperate;  govern  her.'> 

( To  an  Officer,  who  goes  oitt.\ 
Edm..  W\\?A,  you  have  charg'd  me  w  ith,  that  have 
I  done  ; 

And  more,  much  more  ;  the  time  will  bring  it  out; 
'Xis-pas4-ajuLso  am  I :  But  what  art  thou. 
That  hast  this  fortune  on  me  ?  If  thou  nrt  noble, 
I  do  forgive  thee. 

Edg.  Let's  exchange  charity. 

I  am  no  less  in  blood  than  thou  art,  Edmund! 
If  mure,  the  more  thou  hast  wrong'd  me. 
My  name  is  Edgar,  and  thy  father's  son.  . 
'i'll£..gads_arej£st^3nd_p  'rMJ~~ 
Mjk£..iLD^Ojm£nts^scou rge  u s  :  AT 
Tl^^jiark.  an  where  thee  he  got, 

Cost  him  his  eyes.  '  '  .^ 

Edm.  Thou  hast  spoken  right,  'tis  true;  J^'^- 

The  wheel  is  come  full  circle;  I  am  here.       <-»  f..J-'  p^VvVsi 

■-^Z^.  MfthouilrttirreTy^TO^  \|    ^^^  ^^ 

A  royal  nobleness  : — I  must  embrace  thee ; 
Let  sorrow  split  my  heart,  if  ever  I 
Did  hate  thee,  or  tliy  father! 

Edg.  Worthy  prince, 

I  know  it  well. 

Alb.  Where  have  you  hid  yourself? 

How  have  you  known  the  miseries  of  your  father? 

Edg.  By  nursing  them,  my  lord.    List   a  brief 
tale  ;— 

And,  when  'tis  told,  O,  that  my  heart  would  burst !— > 

The  bloody  proclamation  to  escape. 

That  foUow'd  me  so  near,  (O  our  lives'  sweetness 

That  with  the  pain  of  death  we'd  hourly  die. 

Rather  than  die  at  once  !)  taught  me  to  shift 

Into  a  madman's  rags  ;  to  assume  a  semblance 

That  very  dogs  disdain'd  :  and  in  this  liabit 

Met  I  my  father  with  his  bleeding  rings. 

Their  precious  stones  new  lost ;  berame  his  gui.Ifl^ 

Led  him.  begg'd  for  him,  sav'd  him  fiom  despau", 

NpverJJQ.^Auit.J)  rfvpal'd  myself  nnto  hiiHL- 

iUritil  some  half  hour  past^  when  I  was  arm'd|_ 

NTrrsure,  iliough  hopTirg,'  of  this  gboiJ  sijccess, 

1  ask'd  his  blessing,  and  from  first  to  last 

ToTd  him  my  pilgrimage:  But  liig^fhrv^'xl-hjeart, 

(Alack,  too  weak  the  conflict  to  support !)  /, 

'Twixt  two  extremes  of  passion,  joy  and  grief,  » 

Burst  smilingly.  ' 

Ed7n.  This  speech  of  yo'jrs  hath  mo"'d  nv-?. 
And  shall,  perchance,  do  good  :  but  speak  you  ot  j 
You  look  as  you  had  something  more  to  say. 

Alb.  If  there  be  more,  more  woful,  hold  it  in; 
For  1  am  almost  ready  to  dissolve. 
Hearing  of  this. 

Edg.  This  would  have  seem'd  a  period 

To  such  as  love  not  sorrow  ;  but  another, 

o  amplify  too  much,  would  make  much  more. 
And  lop  extremity. 

Whilst  I  was  big  in  clamour,  came  there  a  man. 

Who  haying  seenjne^  my  \vcrrst"e«tate-,--  -y" 

Sbunn'd  my  abhorr^  socjefy  ;1)iit  then,  finding 

Who  'twas  that  so  endur'd,  with  his  strong  arms  > 

He  fasfen'd  on  my  neck,  and  bellow'dout 

As  he'd  burst  heaven  ;  threw  him  on  my  father;        \  < 

ToTd  the  hibsf  pilebii^  1 

'iTiat  ever  ear  receiv'd  :  which  in  recounting 

His  grief  grew  puissant,  and  the  strings  of  life 

Began  to  crack:  Twice  then  the  trumpet  spuncli?<l, 

And  there  I  left  him  tranc'd. 

Alb  But  who  was  this? 

Ed^.  Kent,  sir,  the  banish'd  Kent;  who,  ia  dl» 
guise,  ^  ,  * 

FoUow'dhis  enemy  king,  and  did  him  service 
Improper  for  a  .slave 


718 


KING  LEAR.     f  Q|4WU(. 


Act  Y 


Enter  a  Gcttfleman  hastily,  wtih  a  bloody  knife. 

Gent.  Help!  help!  O  help! 

Edg.  What  kind  of  help  ? 

Alb.  Speak,  man. 

Edg.  What  means  that  blood  v  knife  ? 

Gent.  'Tis  hot,  it  smokes ; 

It  came  even  from  the  heart  of— 

Alb.  Who,  man  ?  speak. 

Gent.  Y£uHady»_sir,jour^^^^^^^ 
B^Jrer^ison'd  ;  she  cotifesses  li  _ 

ESTT  was  confracf^    to  them  both ;  all  three 
Now  marry  in  an  instant. 

Alb.  Produce  their  bodies,  be  they  ahve  or  dead!— 
/This  judgment  of  the  heave»s,  that  makes  ns  tremble, 
<(TJWhes  lis  fitjt  with  pity.  [Exit  Gentleman. 

Enter  Kent. 
Edg.  Here  comes  Kent,  sir. 

Alb.  O  !  it  is  he. 
The  time  will  not  allow  the  compliment. 
Which  very  manners  urges. 

Kent.  I  am  come 

To  bid  my  king  and  master  aye  good  night ; 
Is  he  not  here  ? 

Alb.  Great  thing  of  us  forgot ! — 

Speak,  Edmund,  whe re's  the  kingX^M<]l.^J^^ 

Cordelia?— 
See'st  thou  this  object,  Kent  ? 

\/      ( The  bodies  of  Goneril  and  Regan  are 
brought  in.) 
Kent.  Alack,  why  thus  ? 
Edm.  Yet  Edmund  was  belo>^d: 

The  one  the  other  poisoned  for  my  sake. 
And  after  slew  herself.  ~ 
Alb.  Even  so.— Cover  their  faces. 
Edm.  I  pant  for  lil'e  :— Some  good  I  mean  to  do, 
Despite  of  mine  own  nature.    Quickly  send, — 
Be  brief  in  it, — to  the  castle,"  for  myAvrit 
Is  ou  tlie  life  of  Lear,  and  on  Cordelia  - 
^ay,  send  in  time.,. 
~Alh.  Run,  run,  O,  run ! 

Edg.  To  who,  my  lord  ?— Who  has  the  office  ?  send 
Thy  token  of  reprieve. 

Edm.  W ell  tliought  on ;  take  my  sword. 
Give  it  the  captain. 
Alb.         Haste  thee,  for  thy  life.  [Exit  Edgar. 
Edm.  He  hath  commission  from  thy  wife  aadi  me 
To  lian 
ToTiy 


ig  Cordefia  in  tt)"e  pnsonTancT 
the^Hlame  iu)on  jier  own  despair. 


TTiatWeToFH^h^nel 
.A'ifd.  Thegods  delend  her !  Bear  him  hence  awhile. 

{Edmund  is  borne  off.) 

Enter  Lear,  with  Cordelia  dead  in  his  arms  ; 

Edgar,  Officers,  and  others. 
Lear.  Howl,  howl,  howl,  howl !— O,  you  are  men 
of  stones ; 

Had  I  your  tonguesanj^yftS^T'd  iiSfi,A£m.m. 
'l]iat^2Tjn^^^22^llld.^^  '—O,  she  is  gone 

I  know,  when  one  is  dead,  and  when  one  lives: 
■She's  iifiad  as_ e,a£th=ksfLend  me  a  looking-glass  ; 
if  that  her  breath  will  mist  or  stain  the  stone. 
Why,  then  she  lives. 

Kent.  Is  this  the  promis'd  end? 

Edg.  Or  image  of  that  horror  ? 

Alo.  Fall,  and  cease  ! 

i^em: ,  JIhiaJeaJthoLMrs4^^ 
•It  is  a  charye  that  does  redeem  all  sorrows 

Kent.  O  my  good  master !  {hneehng.) 
hefit.  Pr'ythee,  away. 

Mdg.  ,  'Tis  noble  Kent,  your  friend. 

Xitear.  .A  plague  upon  you,  murderers,  traitors aii  I 


r  might  have  sav'd  her ;  now  she*s  gone  for  ever ;  — 
Corddiav^ordeliii7  slay  a  little.    Ha  ! 
What  is't  thou  say'st  f— Her  voice  was  ever  soft. 
CJenneram}  low  ;  an  excellent  thing  in  woman 
I  kiird  the  slave,  that  was  a  hinging  thee. 

Off".  'T-is - tr ue>  ray  lords,  he  did. 

Jbear.  Did  I  not,  frllow? 

I  have  seen  the  day,  with  my  good  biting  faulchion 
i  would  have  made  them  skip:  I  am  old  now. 
And  these  same  crosses  spoil  me. — VVho  are  yotif 
Mine  eyes  are  none  o'the  best: — I'll  tell  you  straight 

Kent.  li^r^i^e  brag  of  two  she  lov'ft  and  hated, 
One  of  thefrTWebehold^^^^^^^^^  -^Ct 
""i/gwr.'  This  is  a  dull  sight :  A^re  you  not  Kent? 

Kent.  ^  The  same ; 

Your  servant  Kent :  Where  is  your  servant  Caius  ? 

Lear.  He's  a  good  fellow,  I  can  tell  you  that ; 
He'll  strike,  and  quickly  too: — He's  dead  and  rotten. 

Kent.  No,  my  good  lord  ;  I  am  the  very  man  ; — 

Lear.  I'll  see  that  straight. 

Kent.  That,  from  your  tirst  of  difference  and  decay. 
Have  follow'd  your  sad  steps. 
Lear.  You  are  welcome  hither. 

Kent,  Nor  no  man  else ;  all's  cheerless,  dark,  and 
deadly.— 

Your  eldest  daughters  have  fore -doom'd  them8e?v2s, 
And  desperately  are  dead. 

Lear.  Ay,  so  I  think. 

Alb.  He  knows  not  what  he  says ;  and  vain  it  is, 
That  we  present  us  to  him. 

Edg.  Very  bootless. 

Enter  an  Officer. 

Off.  Edmpnd  is  dead,  my  lord. 

Alb.  ■  That's  but  a  trifle  here.— 

You  lords,  and  noble  friends,  know  our  iritent. 
What  comfort  to  this  great  decay  may  com^. 
Shall  be  applied:  For  us,  we  will  resign. 
During  the  life  of  this~ola  majesty. 
To  him  our  absolute  power  :— You,  to  your  rights ; 

{To  Edgar  and  Kent) 
With  boot,  and  such  addition  as  your  honours 
Have  more  tlian  merited.    All  friends  shall  taste 
The  wages  of  their  virtue,  and  all' foes 
The  cup  of  their  deservings, — O,  see  j„«ee ! 

Lear.  And  my  poor  fool  is  hang'd  ICNojio,  no  life  : ' 
'^Why  shoTndVd(5^'^^o^se,  "a-  r^^^^ 
>And  tliou  no  breath  at  all  ?  O,  tiiou  wilt  coaie  njb  more^ 
iJfimiiJSevejv  1^^^  AJ  f^^h  A 

Pray  you,  uikTo  this  button:  Thank  yon,  feir.— V  ^ 
Do  you  see  tliis  ? l|-£fjrr:l.fttf-!^j^~.rh^'"  ''jps, — 
Loftk4h££&.Jijok  therej—  '  '""{Medtes: 

Edg.       ^HeTalnFs  !— My  lord,  my  lord,— 

Kent.  Break,  heart;  I  pr'ythee,  break! 

Edg.  Look  up,  my  lord. 

Kent.  Vgji  nothia^osi.j4^  kt4im.  pass  J  Jje^^^^ 
him,  — 
That  would  upon  the  rack  of  this  tough  world/  L 

StFeTc-hTimi3upo^rr  ^  "^m*! 

-"-■"EdgT"    "      """"       O^he  is  gone,  indeed.  ^ 

Kent.  The  wonder  is,  he  hath  endur'd  so  long  : 
He  but  usurp'd  his  life. 

Alb.  Bear  them   from  hence. — Our  prespnl 
business 

Is  general  woe.    Fxignds^of  my  sonil,  you  twain 

'~{Td  Kent  and  Edgar  J 
Rule  in  tlu's  realm,  and  the  gor'd  sUde  sustain. 
'^'Kent.  I  have  a  jotirney,  sir,  shortly  to  go ; 
My  master  calls,  and  I  must  not  say,  at). 

Alb.  'Ihe  weight  of  this  sad  time  we  mast  obey,* 
Speak  what  we  feel,  not  what  we  ought  to  my ; 
The  oldest  hath  borne  most,  we,  that  are  y»aiig. 
Shall  never  see  so  much,  nor  live  so  lone. 

[Exeunt,  with  <\  oUad  mwcL 


KOMEO  AND  JULIET» 


Tills  play  is  one  of  the  most  p1ee.sin^  of  our  author's  performances.  Tne  scenes  are  busy  and  rarious,  tTie  inci- 
dents nomerous  and  important,  the  catastrophe  irresistibly  afrectliijr,  and  the  process  of  the  action  earned  oa  vi(h 
such  prolmbility.  al  least  with  snch  ct  nsruity  to  popular  opinions',  as  tragedy  requires. 

Here  is  one  of  the  few  attempts  of  J^h^kspeare  to  exhibit  the  conversation  of  gentlemen,  to  represent  the  airy 
.^prightliness  of  juvenile  elegance.  Mr.  Dryden  mentions  a  tradition,  which  might  easily  reach  his  time,  of  a  decla- 
ration made  by  Shakspeare,  that  he  wrc>  ohiioed  to  kill  M-rcntio  in  the  third  act,  lest  he  should  have,  been  killed 
by  him.  Yet  he  thinks  him  no  such  formidable  person,  but  that  he  might  have  lilted  through  (hp  play,  and  died 
in  his  bed,  without  danger  to  the  poet.  Drvden  well  knew,  h;ul  he  been  in  quest  of  truth,  a  poimed  sentenre, 
tiiHt  more  regard  is  commonly  had  to  the  words  than  the  thought,  arul  that  it  is  very  seldom  to  be  rigorously  undf-rstocd. 
Mercutio's  wit,  eaicty  and  coiirare,  will  rlways  procure  him  tnends  that  wish  him  a  longer  life;  but  his  death  is  not 
precipitated,  be  has  lived  out  the  time  allotted  him  in  the  construction  of  the  olay;  nordo  I  doubt  the  ability  of  Shak.-  peare 
to  have  continued  his  existence,  though  s(  me  of  his  sallies  are  perhaps  out  of  the  reach  of  Dryden  ;  whose  genius  was  not 
verr  fertile  of  merriment,  nor  ductile  to  humour;  but  acute,  argumentative,  comprehensive,  and  sublime. 

Tne  Nurse  is  one  of  the  characters  iu  which  the  author  delighted  :  lie  has,  with  great  subtility  of  distinction, 
drawn  lier,  at  once,  loquacious  and  seciet,  obsequious  and  insolent,  trusty  and  dishonest. 

His  comic  scenes  are  happily  wrought,  but  his  pathetic  strains  are  always  polluted  with  some  unexpected  depra- 
vations.  His  persons,  however  distressed,  have  a  conceit  left  them  in  their  misery,  a  miserable  conceit. 

Johnson 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


ESCALUS,  Prince  of  Verona. 

PARIS,  a  young  Nobleman,  Kinsman  to  the  Prince. 
MONTAGUE.  »  Heads  of  two  Houses,  at  variance  with 
CAPULKT,      f       each  other. 
An  old  Man,  Uncle  to  Capulet. 
ROIMEO,  Son  to  Montague. 

flIERCUTIO,  Kinsman  to  the  Prince,  and  Friend  to 
Romeo. 

BENVOLIO    Nephew  to  Montague,   and   Friend  to 
Romeo. 

TYBALT,  Nephew  to  lady  Capulet. 
FRIAR  LAURENCE,  a  Franciscan. 
FRIAR  JOHN,  of  the  same  order. 
BALTHAZAR,  Servarit  to  Romeo. 


ABRA.M,  Servant  to  Montague. 

An  Apntheca<y.  • 
Three  Musicians. 

Chorus.  ■ 

BOT/. 

Paae  to  Paris. 
I'ETER. 

An  Officer. 

LADY  M">NTAGUE,  Wife  tc  Montague. 
LADY  CAPULET,  Wife  to  Capulet. 
JULIET,  Daughter  to  Capulet. 
Nurse  to  Juliet. 

Citizens  of  Verona;  several  M^n  and  Women,  rela" 
tions  to  both  houses ;  Maskers,  Guards,  Watchmen,  and 
Attendants. 


GREGOR^,  }  Servants  to  Capulet. 

ScBNE, — During  the  greater  Part  of  the  Play,  in  Verona  ;  once,  in  the  Fifth  Act,  at  Mantua. 


PROLOGUE. 

Two  households,  both  alike  in  dignity. 

In  fair  Verona,  where  we  lay  our  sceiic, 
From  ancient  grudge  break  to  new  mutiny. 

Where  civil  blood  makes  civil  hands  unclean. 
Frosn  forth  the  fatal  loins  of  these  two  foes 

A.  pair  of  stars-cross'd  lovers  take  their  life  ; 
Whose  misadventur'd  piteous  overthrows 

Do,  with  their  death,  bury  their  parents'  strife. 
The  fearful  passage  of  their  death  mark'd  love. 

And  the  continuance  of  their  parents'  rage. 
Which,  but  their  children's  end,  nought  could  re- 
move. 

Is  now  the  two  hours'  traffick  of  our  stage  ; 
Thf  i  which,  if  you  with  patient  ears  attend, 
What  here  shall  miss,  our  toil  shall  stiive  to  mend. 

ACT  I. 

Scene  l.—A  public  Place. 

Enter  Samfson  and  Gregory,  armed  with  swords 
and  bucklers. 

Sam.  Gregory,  o'my  word,  we'll  not  carry  coals. 

Gre.  No,  for  then  we  should  be  colliers. 

Sam.  I  mean,  an  we  be  in  choler,  we'll  draw. 

Gre.  Xy,  while  you  live,  draw  your  neck  out  of 
Ibe  collar. 

Sam.  I  strike  quickly,  being  moved. 

Gre.  But  thou  art  not  quickly  moved  to  strike. 

Sam.  A  dog  of  the  house  of  Montague  moves  me. 

Gre.  To  move,  is — to  stir;  and  to  be  valiant,  is 
»-to  stand  to  it :  therefore,  if  thou  art  mov'd,  thou 
run'st  away. 

8am.  A  dog  of  that  house  shall  move  me  to 
itand :  I  will  take  the  wall  of  any  man  or  maid  of 
Montague's. 

Gre.  That  shews  thee  a  weak  slave;  for  the 
weakest  goes  to  the  wall. 

SaiH.  True;  ind  therefore  women,  being  the 
weaker  vee*»els,  are  ever  thrust  to  the  wall ; — there- 


fore I  will  push  Montague's  men  from  the  wall,  and 
thrust  his  maids  to  the  wall. 

Gre.  The  quarrel  is  between  our  masters,  and  al 
their  men. 

Sam.  'Tis  all  one,  I  will  shew  myself  a  tyrant; 
when  I  have  fought  witlt  the  men,  I  will  be  cruel 
with  the  maids  ;  ]  will  cut  oli"  their  heads. 

Gre.  The  heads  of  the  maids  ? 

Sam.  Ay,  the  heads  of  the  maids,  or  the 
maidenheads  ;  take  it  in  what  sense  thou  wilt. 

Gre.  They  must  take  it  in  sense,  that  feel  it, 

Sam.  Me  they  sh=ill  feel,  while  I  am  able  to  stands 
and,  'tis  known,  I  am  a  pretty  piece  of  flesh. 

Gre.  'Tis  well,  thou  art  not  fi.sh  ;  if  thou  hadst,  Ihoa 
hadst  been  Poor  John.  Draw  thy  tool ;  here  cornea 
two  of  the  house  of  the  Montagues. 

Enter  Abram  and  Balthasar. 
Sap    My  naked  weapon  is  out;  quarrel,  1  wfll 
back  thee. 

Gre.  How?  turn  thy  back,  and  rim? 
Satn.  Fear  me  not. 

Gre.  No,  marry ;  1  fear  thee  !  [begin, 
Sam.  Let  us  take  the  law  of  our  sides  ;  let  them 
Gre.  I  will  frown,  as  I  pass  by;  and  let  them 

take  it  as  they  list. 

Sam.  Nay,  as  they  dare,    I  will  bite  my  thumb 

at  them;  wiiich  is  a  disgrace  to  them,  if  they 

bear  it. 

Abr.  Do  you  bite  your  thumb  at  us,  sir? 
Sam.  I  do  bite  my  thumb,  sir, 
Abr.  Do  you  bite  your  thumb  at  us,  sir? 
Satn.  Is  the  law  on  our  side,  if  1  say — ay? 
Gre.  No. 

Sam.  No.  sir,  I  do  not  bite  my  thumb  ai  yOU 
sir;  but  I  bite  my  thumb,  sir. 
Gre.  Do  you  quarrel,  sir  i 
Abr.  l^uarrel,  sir?  no,  sir, 

Sam.  If  you  do,  sir,  I  am  for  you;  I  as 
good  a  man  as  you. 
Abr.  No  better. 


720 

Sam.  Well,  sir. 

Enter  Benvolio,  at  a  distance. 
Ore.  Say — better;  here  comes  one  of  ruy  master's 
kinsmen. 
Sam,  Yes,  better,  sir. 
Abr.  Yon  lie. 

Sam.  Draw,  if  you  be  men.—  Gregory,  remem- 
b.  r  thy  swashing  blow.  {They  fight.) 

Ben.  Part,  fools;  pnt  np  your  swords;  you 
k  low  not  what  you  do.  {Beats  down  their  swords.) 

Enter  Tybalt. 
Tyb.  What,  art  thou  drawn  among  these  heart- 
less hinds  ? 
Turn  thee,  Benvolio,  look  upon  thy  death. 

Ben,  I  do  but  keep  the  peace  ;  put  up  thy  sword, 
Or  manage  it  to  part  these  men  with  me. 

Tyb.  What,  drawn  and  talk  of  peace?  I  hate 
the  word, 

As  I  hate  hell,  all  Montagues,  and  thee: 

Have  at  thee,  coward.  {They fight.) 

Enter  several  partizans  of  both  Houses,  who  join 
the  fray ;  then  enter  Citizens,  with  clubs. 
1  Cit.  Clubs,  bills,  and  partizans!  strike!  beat 
them  down!  [tagues! 
Down  with  the  Capulets !  Down  with  the  Mon- 

Ertter  CAPUX.ET  in  his  gown;  and  Lady  Capulet. 
Cap.  What  noise  is  tliis? — Give  nae  my  long 
sword,  ho!  [a  sword? 

ha.  Cap.  A  crutch,  a  crutch  ! — Why  call  you  foi 
Ci^'p.  My  sword,  I  say  ! — Old  Montague  is  come, 

And  nourishes  his  blade  in  spite  of  me. 

Enter  MoNTAGUE,  and  Lady  Montague. 
Man.  Thou  villain,  Capulet, — Hold  me  not,  let 
me  go.  [foe. 
La.  Mon.  Thou  shalt  not  stir  one  foot  to  seek  a 

Enter  Prince,  with  Attendants, 
Prince.  Uebellions  subjects,  enemies  to  peace, 
Prolnners  of  tliis  neiohhour-stained  steel, — 
Will  they  not  hear? — What,  ho!  you  men,  you 
beasts, — 

That  qnencli  the  fire  of  your  pernicious  rage 

Witli  [;ur|)lp  tbuntaiiis  issning  from  your  veins, 

On  paui  of  torture,  tVorn  those  bloody  hands 

'J'hrosv  yo'u-  mis  teniper'd  weapons  to  the  ground. 

And  hear  the  sentence  of  your  moved  prince. — 

Those  civ-l  liravvis,  bred  of  an  airy  word, 

By  thee  old  Cispnlet,  and  Montague, 

H  t»e  liistiirb'd  the  quiet  of  our  streets  ; 

And  Mia'le  V^eiona's  ancient  citizens 

Cast  by  their  grave  beseeming  ornaments, 

To  wield  ohi  partizans,  in  hands  as  old, 

Canker'd  with  i;eace,  to  part  your  cankej-'d  hate  : 

If  ever  you  distm  h  our  s^treets  again,  ' 

^'our  lives  shall  pay  tlie  forfeit  of  the  peace. 

For  this  time,  all  the  rest  depart  away: 

Vou,  Capnlet,  shall  go  along  with  me  : 

And,  Montague,  come  you  this  afternoon, 

To  know  our  further  pleasure  in  this  case. 

To  old  Free-town,  our  common  judgment-place. 

Once  more,  on  pain  of  death,  all  men  depart. 

[Exemit  Prince,  and  Attendants;  Capulet, 
Ladu  Capidet,  Tybalt,  Citizens,  and 
Servants. 

ftfow.Who  set  this  ancient  quarrel  new  abroach? — 
S^peak,  nephew,  were  you  by,  when  it  began? 

Ben.  Here  were  the  servants  of  your  adversary. 
And  yours,  close  fighting  ere  I  did  approach : 
I  drew  to  part  them;  m  the  instant  came 
The  fiery  Tybalt,  with  his  sword  prepar'tl ; 
Which,  as  he  breath'd  defiance  to  my  ears. 
He  swung  about  his  head,  and  cut  the  wiuds. 
Who,  nothing  hurt  withal,  hiss'd  kiim  in  scorn: 
While  we  were  interchanging  thrusts  an<^  blows. 
Came  nurre  and  more,  and  fonght  on  pai  ^  an*}  i(>art. 
Till  the  prince  came,  who  parted  either  Jf  Vt. 


Act  L 

La.  Mon.  O,  where  is  Romeo? — saw  you  him 
to-day  ? 

Right  glad  1  am,  he  was  not  at  this  frsy. 

Bvn.  Madam,  an  hour  before  the  worsbipi'^'d  sui 
Peer'd  forth  the  golden  window  of  tlie  ea-rt, 
A  troubled  mind  drave  me  to  walk  ^xbroad ; 
Where, — underneath  the  grove  of  sycamore, 
That  westward  rooteth  from  the  city's  side,— 
So  early  walking  did  1  see  your  son: 
Towards  him  I  made  ;  but  he  was  'ware  of  me, 
And  stole  into  the  covert  of  the  wood : 
I,  measuring  his  affections  by  my  own, — 
Tliat  most  are  busied  when  they  are  most  alone  — 
Pursu'd  my  humour,  not  pursuing  his. 
And  gladly  shuna'd  who  gladly  fled  from  me. 

Mon.  Many  a  morning  hath  he  there  been  scenj 
With  tears  augmenting  the  fresh  morning's  dew. 
Adding  to  clouds  more  clouds  with  his  deep  sighs  % 
But  all  so  soon  as  the  all  cheenng  sun 
Should  in  the  furtliest  east  begin  to  draw 
The  shady  curtains  from  Aurora's  bed. 
Away  from  light  steals  home  my  heavy  son, 
And  private  in  his  chamber  pens  himself; 
Shuts  up  his  windows,  locks  fair  day-light  out. 
And  makes  himself  an  artificial  night; 
Black  and  portentous  must  this  humour  prove. 
Unless  goon  counsel  may  the  cause  remove. 

Ben.  My  noble  uncley  do  you  know  the  cause  ? 

Mon.  I  neither  know  it,  nor  can  learn  of  him. 

Ben.  Have  you  importun'd  him  by  any  means  ? 

Mon,  Both  by  myself,  and  many  other  friends : 
But  he,  his  own  affections'  counsellor. 
Is  to  himself — I  will  not  say,  how  true — 
But  to  himself  so  secret  and  so  close, 
So  far  from  sounding  and  discovery, 
As  is  the  bud  bit  with  an  envious  worm, 
Ere  he  can  spread  his  sweet  leaves  to  the  air. 
Or  dedicate  his  beauty  to  the  sun. 
Could  we  but  learn  from  whence  his  sorrows  grow. 
We  would  as  willingly  give  cure  as  know. 

Enter  Romeo,  at  a  distance. 
Ben.  See  where  he  comes:  So  please  you,  step 
aside ; 

I'll  know  his  grievance,  or  be  much  denied. 

Mon.  I  would,  thou  wert  so  happy  by  thy  stay. 
To  hear  true  shrift. — Come,  madam,  let's  awny, 

[Exeunt  Montague  and  Lady 

Ben.  Good  morrow,  cousin. 

Ro7n.  Is  the  day  so  young  ? 

Ben,  But  new  struck  nine. 

Rom.  Ah  me  !  sad  horrs  seem  long 

Was  that  my  father  that  went  hence  so  fast  ? 

Ben.  It  was: — What  sadness  lengthens  Romeo's 
hours ?  [them  siiort. 

Rom.  Not  having  that,  which,  having,  makes 
Ben.  In  love  ? 
Rom.  Out — 
Ben.  Of  love 

Rom.  Out  of  her  favour,  where  I  am  in  love. 

Ben.  Alas,  that  love,  so  gentle  in  his  view, 
Should  be  so  tyrannous  and  rough  in  proof! 

Rom.  Alas,  that  love,  whose  view  is  muffled  still, 
Should  without  eyes,  see  pathways  to  his  will ! 
Where  shall  we  dine  ?  —  O  me!  —  What  fray  was 
here  ? 

Yet  tell  me  not,  for  I  have  heard  it  al)» 
Here's  much  to  do  with  hate,  but  more  with  love  :— 
WTiy  then,  O  brawling  love !  O  loving  hate  ! 
O  any  thing,  of  nothing  first  create  i 
O  heavy  lightness  .'  senous  vanriy  ! 
Mis-shapen  chaos  of  well-seeming  forma ! 
Feather  of  lead,  bright  smoke,  cold  fir«, 
health! 

Still- waking  sleep,  that  is  not  what  it  isl— 
This  love  feel  I,  that  feel  no  love  in  thi» 
Dost  thou  not  laugh  V 

Ben.  No,  coz,  1  rather  weep. 

Rom.  Good  heart,  at  what 

Beru  At  thy  good  heart's  opprewi^* 


ROMEO  AND  JULTET. 


Scene  2. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


721 


Rom.  Why,  3nch  is  love's  transgression. — 
Griefs  of  mine  jwn  lie  heavy  in  my  breast ; 
VVhich  thou  wilt  propagate,  to  have  it  prest 
With  more  of  thine :  this  love,  that   thou  hast 
shewn, 

I>oth  add  more  grief  to  too  much  of  mine  own. 
Jiove  is  a  smoke,  rais'd  with  the  fume  of  sighs; 
H<*rng  purg'd,  a  fire,  sparkling  in  lovers'  eyes; 
Being  vex'd,  a  sea,  nourish'd  with  lovers'  tears: 
What  is  it  else  ?  a  madness  most  discreet, 
A  choakin^;  gall,  and  a  preserving  sweet. 
Farewell,  my  coz.  (Going.) 

Ben.  Soft,  I  will  go  along; 

And  if  you  leave  me  so,  you  do  me  wrong. 

Rom.  Tut,  I  have  lost  myself;  I  am  not  here ; 
This  is  not  Romeo,  he's  sonje  other  where. 

Ben.  Tell  me  in  sadness,  who  she  is  you  love. 

Rom.  What,  shall  1  groan,  and  tell  thee? 

Ben.  Groan  ?  why,  no  ; 

But  sadly  tell  me,  who. 

Rom.  Bid  a  sick  man  in  sadness  make  his  will : — 
Ah,  word  ill  urg'd  to  one  that  is  so  ill ! — 
In  sadness,  cousin,  I  do  love  a  woman. 

Ben.  I  aim'd  so  near,  when  I  suppos'd  you  lov'd, 

Rom.  A  right  good  marksman  ! — And  she's  fair 
1  love. 

Ben.  A  right  fair  mark,  fair  coz,  is  soonest  hit. 

Rom.  Well  in  that  hit  you  miss :  she'll  not  be  hit 
With  Cupid's  arrow,  she  hath  Dian's  wit; 
And,  in  strong  proof  of  chastity  well  aruj'd, 
Froai  love's  weak  childish  bow  she  lives  ui:»l»arined.  • 
She  will  not  stay  the  siege  of  loving  terms, 
Nor  bide  the  encounter  of  assailing  eyes, 
Nor  ope  her  lap  to  saint-seducing  gold : 
O,  she  is  rich  in  beauty ;  only  poor, 

hat,  when  she  dies,  with  beauty  dies  her  store. 

Ben.  Then  she  hath  sworn,  that  she  will  still  live 
chaste?  I  waste; 

Rom.  She  hath,  and  in  that  sparing  makes  huge  ' 
f or  beauty,  starv'd  with  her  severity, 
(luts  beauty  off  from  all  posterity. 
She  is  too  i'air,  too  wise ;  wisely  too  fair. 
To  merit  bliss  by  making  me  despair  : 
She  hath  forsworn  to  love;  and,  in  that  vow, 
Do  I  live  dead,  that  live  to  tell  it  now. 

Ben.  Be  rul'd  by  me,  forget  to  think  of  her. 

Rom.  O,  teach  me  how  I  should  forget  to  think. 

Ben.  By  giving  liberty  unto  thine  eyes  ; 
Examiiie  other  beauties. 

Rom.  'Tis  the  way 

To  call  her's,  exquisite,  in  question  more : 
These  happy  masks,  that  kiss  fair  ladies'  brows, 
Being  black,  put  us  in  mind  they  hide  the  fair ; 
He,  that  is  struck  blind,  cannot  forget 
The  precious  treasure  of  his  eyesight  lost: 
Shew  me  a  mistress,  that  is  passing  fair. 
What  doth  her  beauty  serve,  but  as  a  note, 
Wliere  I  may  read,  who  pass'd  that  passing  fair  ? 
Farewell ;  thou  canst  not  teach  me  to  forget. 

Ben.  I'll  pay  that  doctrine,  or  else  die  in  debt. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II.— A  Street. 
Enter  Capulet,  Paris,  and  Servant. 

Cap.  And  Montague  is  bound,  as  well  as  I, 
In  penalty  alike  ;  and  'tis  not  hard,  I  think. 
For  men  so  old  as  we  to  keep  the  peace. 

Par.  Of  honourable  reckoning  are  you  both; 
And  pity  'tis,  you  lived  at  odds  so  long. 
But  now,  my  lord,  what  say  you  to  my  suit? 

Cap.  But  saying  o'er  what  I  have  said  before  : 
My  child  is  yet  a  stranger  in  the  world. 
She  hath  not  seen  the  change  of  fourteen  years; 
liet  two  more  summers  wither  in  their  pride, 
Ere  we  may  think  her  ripe  to  be  a  bride. 

Par.  Younger  than  she  are  happy  mothers  made. 

Cap.  And  too  soon  marr'd  are  those  so  early 
made. 

The  earth  hath  swallow'd  all  my  hopes  but  she, 
Stae  is  the  hopel'ul  lad)  of  my  earth :' 


But  woo  her,  gentle  Paris,  get  her  heart, 

My  will  to  her  consent  is  but  a  part; 

An  she  agree,  within  her  scope  of  choice 

Lies  my  consent  and  fair  according  voice. 

This  night  I  hold  an  old  accustom'd  feaat, 

Whereto  1  have  invited  many  a  guest. 

Such  as  I  love  ;  and  you,  among  the  store, 

One  more,  n>ost  welcome,  makes  my  nuniLer  DIOT*! 

At  my  poor  house  look  to  behold  this  night 

Earth-treading  stars,  that  make  dark  heaven  light 

Such  comfort,  as  do  lusty  young  men  feel. 

When  well  apparell'd  April  on  the  heel 

Of  limping  winter  treads,  even  such  delight 

Among  fresh  female  buds  shall  you  this  night 

Inherit  at  my  house  ;  hear  all,  all  see. 

And  like  her  most,  whose  merit  most  shall  be : 

Such,  amongst  view  of  many,  mine,  being  one. 

May  stand  in  number,  though  in  reckoning  none. 

Come,  go  with  me : — Go,  sirrah,  trudge  about 

Through  fair  Verona  ;  find  those  persons  out, 

Whose  names  are  written  there,  {Gives  a  pap^r.) 

and  to  them  say, 
My  house  and  welcome  on  their  pleasure  stay, 

7? 

Serv.  Find  them  ont,  whose  names  are  written 
here?  It  is  written— that  the  shoemaker  should 
meddle  with  his  yard,  and  the  tailor  with  his  last, 
the  fisher  with  his  pencil,  and  the  painter  with  his 
net ;  but  I  am  sent  to  find  those  persons,  whose 
names  are  here  writ,  and  can  never  find  what  names 
the  writing  person  hath  here  writ.  I  must  to  the 
learned  : — In  good  time. 

Enter  Benvolio  and  Rojmeo. 
Ben.  Tut,  man!  one  fire  burns   out  auotherV 
burning, 

One  pain  is  lessen'd  by  another's  anguish; 
Turn  giddy,  and  be  holp  by  backward  turning; 
One  desperate  grief  cures  with  another's  Ian. 
guish  : 

Take  thou  some  new  infection  to  thy  eye. 
And  the  rank  poison  of  the  old  will  die. 

Rom.  Your  piaintain  leaf  h  t  \:;ellent  for  that. 

Ben.  For  what,  I  pray  thee  ? 

Rom.  For  your  broken  shi*,, 

Ben.  Why,  Romeo,  art  thou  mad  ? 

Rom.  Not  mad,  butbotmd  more  than  a  madman  isc 
Shut  up  in  prison,  kept  without  my  food, 
Whippd,  and  tormented,  and — Good-e'en,  good 
fellow.  (read  ? 

Serv.  God  gi'  good-e'en. — I  pray,  sir,  can  yo 

Rom.  Ay,  mine  own  fortune  in  my  misery. 

Serv.  Perhaps  you  have  learn'd  it  without  book; 
But  I  i»ray,  can  you  read  any  thing  you  see  ? 

Rom.  Ay,  if  I  know  the  letters,  and  the  language 

Serv.  Ye  say  honestly  ;  Rest  you  merry  ! 

Rom.  Stay,  fellow  :  1  can  read.  (Reads,) 

Signor  Martino,  and  his  wife,  and  dauyhiers  ; 
County  Ansehne,  and  his  beauteous  sisters ;  The 
lady  tvidotv  of  Vitruvio;  Signor  Placentio,  and 
his  lovely  nieces;  Mercutio,  and  his  brother 
Valentine ;  Mine  uncle  Cajmlet,  his  wife,  and 
daughters;  My  fair  niece  Rosaline;  Livia; 
Signior  Valentio,  and  his  cousin  Tybalt;  Luciog 
and  the  lively  Helena. 

A  lair  assemblv ;  (  Gives  back  the  note. )  Whither 
should  they  come  i 
Serv.  Up. 
Rom.  Whither? 
Serv.  To  supper  ;  to  our  house. 
Rom.  Whose  house  ? 
Serv.  My  master's. 

Rom.  Indeed,  I  should  have  asked  you  that  beforOi 
Serv.  Now  I'll  tell  you  without  asking  :  My 
master  is  the  great  rich  Capulet ;  and  if  you  be  not 
of  the  house  of  Montagues,  I  pray,  come  and  crush 
a  cup  of  wine.    Rest  you  merry.  [Exii, 

Ben.  At  this  same  ancient  feast  ofCapulefs 
Suos  the  fair  Rosaline,  whom  thou  so  lov'st ; 
With  all  the  ad  mi  ed  beauties  of  Verona  : 

Ivi 


T22 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  I 


Go  thither ;  and,  with  unattainted  eye, 
Compare  her  face  with  srme  that  I  shall  shew, 
And  I  will  make  thee  thii-k  thy  swan  a  crow. 

Rom.  When  the  devout  religion  of  mine  eye 

Maintains  such  falsehood,  then  turn  tears  to  fires  ! 
And  these, — who,  often  drown'd,  could  never  die, — 

Transparent  heretics,  be  burnt  for  liars! 
One  fairer  than  my  love  !  the  all  seeing  sun 
Ne'er  saw  her  match,  since  first  the  world  begim. 

Ben.  Tut !  you  saw  her  fair,  none  else  being  by, 
Herself  pois'd  nith  herself  in  either  eye  : 
But  in  those  crystal  scales,  let  there  be  weigh'd 
Your  lady's  love  against  some  other  maid 
That  I  will  shew  you,  shining  at  this  feast. 
And  she  shall  scant  shew  well,  that  now  shews  best. 

Rom.  I'll  go  along,  no  such  sight  to  be  shewn. 
But  to  rejoice  in  splendour  of  mine  own.  [Exeunt. 

ScENB  III. — A  Room  in  Capulefs  House. 
Enter  Lady  Capi^let  and  Nurse, 
ha.  Cap.  Nurse,  where's  my  daughter  ?  call  her 
forth  to  me. 

Nurse.    Now,   by  my  maidenhead, — at  twelve 
year  old,— 

I  bade  her  come. — What,  lamb  !  what,  lady-bird  ! — 
Ood  forbid  ! — where's  this  girl? — what  Juliet! 

Enter  Juliet. 

Jul  How  now,  who  calls? 

Nurse.  Your  mother. 

Jul.  Madam,  I  am  here. 

What  is  your  will  ?  [awhile, 

La  Cap.  This  is  the  matter: — Nurse,  give  leave 
We  must  talk  in  secret. — Nurse,  come  back  again; 
I  have  remember'd  me,  thou  shalt  hear  our  counsel. 
Thou  know'at  my  daughter's  of  a  pretty  age. 

Nurse.  'Faith,  I  can  tell  her  age  unto  an  hour. 

La.  Cap.  She's  not  fourteen. 

Nurse.  I'll  lay  fourteen  of  my  teeth, 

And  yet,  to  my  teen  be  it  spoken,  I  have  but  four, — 
She  is  not  fourteen ;  how  long  is  it  now 
To  Lammas-tide  ? 

La  Cap.  A  fortnight,  and  odd  days. 

Nurse.  Even  or  odd,  of  all  days  in  the  year, 
Come  Lammas-eve  at  night,  shall  she  be  fourteen, 
iiiisan  and  she, — God  rest  all  Christian  souls  ! — 
Were  of  an  age, — Well,  Suzan  is  with  God; 
She  was  too  good  for  me  :  But,  as  I  said, 
On  Lammas-eve  at  night  shall  she  be  fourteen; 
That  shall  she,  marry  ;  I  remember  it  well. 
'Tis  since  the  earthquake  now  eleven  years; 
And  she  was  wean'd, — I  never  shall  forget  it, — 
Of  all  the  days  of  the  year,  upon  that  day : 
For  I  had  then  laid  wormwood  to  my  dug, 
Sitting  in  the  stin  under  the  dove-house  wall, 
My  lord  and  you  were  tiien  at  Mantua  : — 
N  y,  I  do  bear  a  brain  : — but,  as  I  said, 
VV^hen  it  did  taste  the  ^vormwood  on  the  nipple 
Of  my  dug,  and  felt  it  bitter,  pretty  fool ! 
To  see  it  tetchy,  and  fall  out  with  the  dug. 
Shake,  quoth  the  dove-house:  'twas  no  need,  I  trow, 
To  bid  me  trudge. 

And  since  that  time  it  is  eleven  years  : 
For  then  she  could  stand  alone  :  nay,  by  the  rood, 
She  could  have  run  and  waddled  all  about. 
For  even  the  day  before,  she  broke  her  brow: 
And  then  my  husband — Ood  be  with  his  soul ! 
*A  was  a  merry  man: — took  up  the  child  : 
Yea,  quoth  he,  dost  thou  fall  upon  thy  face  ?  [wit; 
Thou  wilt  fall  bactivard,  when  thou  hast  more 
Wiit  thou  not,  Jule  'f  and,  by  my  holy  dam, 
The  pretty  wretch  left  crying,  and  said — Ay  : 
To  see  now,  how  a  jest  shall  come  about! 
I  warrant,  an  1  should  live  a  thousand  years, 
I  nft\er  should  forget  it;  Wilt  thou  not,  Jule? 
quoth  he : 

ind,  pretty  lool,  it  stinted,  and  said. — Ay. 
La  Cap.  Enough  of  this ;  I  pray  thee,  hold  thy 
peace.  [laugh. 
Nurse.  Ves.  madam;  yet  I  cannot  choose  but 


To  think  it  should  leave  crying,  and  say— .Ay. 

And  yet,  I  warrant,  it  had  upon  its  brow 

A  bump  as  big  as  a  young  cockrel's  stone,; 

A  parlous  knock  ;  and  it  cried  bitterly. 

Yea,  quoth  mv  husband,  fall'st  upon  thy  facet 

Thou  wilt  fall  backtoard,  when  thou  com'st  to  ag^ 

Wilt  thou  not,  Jule?  it  stinted,  and  said — A^. 

Jul.  And  stint  thou  too,  I  pray  thc-e,  nurse,  say  I. 

Nurse.  Peace,  I  have  done.    God  mar  thee 
his  grace  ! 

Tlion  wast  the  prettiest  bab(.  that  e'er  I  nurs'd: 
An  I  might  live  to  see  thee  married  once, 
I  have  my  wish. 

La  Cap.  Marry,  that  marry  is  the  very  theme 
I  came  to  talk  of : — Tell  me,  daughter  Juliet, 
How  stands  your  disposition  to  be  married  ? 

Jul.  It  is  an  honour!  that  I  dream  not  of. 

Nurse.  An  honour !  were  not  1  thine  only  nnrsc, 
I'd  say,  thou  had'st  suck'd  wisdom  from  thy  teat. 

La  Cap.   Well,  think  of  marriage  now ;  younger 
than  yon. 
Here  in  Verona,  ladies  of  esteem. 
Are  made,already  mothers:  by  my  count, 
I  was  your  mother  much  upon  these  years 
That  you  are  now  a  maid.    Thus  then,  in  biief;— 
The  valiant  Paris  seeks  you  for  his  love. 

Nurse.  A  man,  young  lady  !  lady,  such  a  ma  , 
As  all  the  world — Why,  he's  a  man  of  wax. 

La.  Cap.  Verona's  summer  hath  not  such  a  flower. 

Nurse.  Nay,  he's  a  flower;  in  faith,  a  very  flower. 

La.  Cap.  What  say  you  ?  can  you  love  the  gen- 
tleman ? 

This  night  you  shall  behold  him  at  our  feast; 
Read  o'er  the  volume  of  youn^  Paris'  face. 
And  find  delight  writ  there  with  beauty's  pen; 
Examine  every  married  lineament. 
And  see  bow  one  another  lends  content; 
And  whatobscur'd  in  this  fair  volume  lies. 
Find  written  in  the  margin  of  his  eyes. 
This  precious  book  of  love,  this  unbound  lever, 
To  beautify  him,  only  lacks  a  cover: 
The  fish  li\es  in  the  sea  ;  and  'tis  much  pride. 
For  fair  without  the  fair  within  to  hide  : 
That  book  in  many's  eyes  doth  share  the  glory_. 
That  in  gold  clasps  locks  in  the  golden  story; 
So  shall  you  share  all  that  he  doth  possess, 
By  having  him,  making  yourself  no  less. 

Nurse.   No  less  ?  nay,  bigger  ;  women  grow  by 
men. 

La. Cap.  Speak  briefly,  can  you  like  of  Paris'  love? 
Jul.  I'll  look  to  like,  if  looking  liking  move: 
But  no  more  deep  will  I  endart  mine  eye. 
Than  your  consent  gives  strength  to  make  it  fly. 
Enter  a  Servant. 
Serv.   Madam,  the  guests  are  come,  supper  serv- 
ed up,  you  called,  my  young  lady  asked  for,  the 
nurse  cursed  in  the  pantry,  and  every  thing  in  ex- 
tremity.    1  must  hence  to  wait;  1  beseech  you, 
follow  straight. 

La.  Cap.  We  follow  thee. — Juliet,  the  county 
stays.  [days. 
Nurse.  Go,  girl,  seek  happy  nights  to  happy 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — A  Street. 
Enter  Romeo,    Mercutio,  Benvolio,  with  five 

or  six  Maskers,  Torch-Bearers,  and  othett. 

Rom.  What,  shall  this  speech  be  spoke  for  out 
excuse  ? 
Or  shall  we  on  svithout  apology  ? 

Ben,  The  date  is  out  of  such  prolixity  : 
We'll  have  no  Cupid  hood-wink'd  with  a  scarf^ 
Bearing  a  Tartar's  painted  bow  of  lath, 
Scaring  ti)e  ladies  like  a  crow-keeper; 
Nor  no  without-book  prologue,  faintly  spc4c 
After  the  prompter,  for  our  entrance: 
But,  let  them  measure  us  by  what  they  will. 
We'll  measure  them  a  measure,  and  be  cjone. 

Rom.  Give  rae  a  torch, — I  am  not  for  toi*  am 
biing ; 


Scene  _5, 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


723 


Being  but  heavy,  I  will  bear  the  light. 
Mer,  Nay,  gentle  Romeo,  we  must  have  you 
dance. 

Rom.  Not  I,  believe  me  :  you  have  dancing  shoes, 
With  nimble  soles  :  I  have  a  soul  of  lead, 
So  stakes  me  to  the  ground,  I  cantiot  move. 

Mer.  You  area  lover;  borrow  Cupid's  wings, 
And  soar  with  them  above  a  coiimion  bound. 

Rum.  \  am  too  sore  empierced  with  his  shaft, 
To  sour  with  his  light  featliers  ;  and  so  bound, 
I  cannot  bound  a  pitch  above  dull  woe: 
IJnder  love's  heavy  burden  do  I  sink. 

Mer.  And,  to  sink  in  it,  should  you  burden  love  ; 
Tdo  great  oppression  for  a  tender  thing. 

Rom.  Is  love  a  tender  thing?  it  is  too  rough. 
Too  rude,  too  boist'rous ;  and  it  pricks  like  thorn. 

Mer,  If  love  be  rough  with  you,  be  rough  with 
love  ; 

Prick  love  for  pricking,  and  you  beat  love  down. — 
(iive  me  a  case  to  put  my  visage  in. 

{Putting  on  a  mask.) 
A  visor  for  a  visor ! — what  care  I, 
What  curious  eye  doth  quote  deformities? 
Here  are  the  beetle-brows,  shall  blush  for  me, 

Ben.  Come,  knock,  and  enter;  and  no  sooner  in, 
Hut  every  maq  betake  him  to  his  legs. 

Rom.  A  torch  for  me  :  let  wantons,  light  of  heart, 
Tickle  the  senseless  rushes  with  their  heels; 
For  I  am  proverb'd  with  a  grandsire  phrase, — 
I'll  be  a  candle  holder,  and  look  on, — 
Tlie  gan»e  was  ne'er  so  fair,  and  I  am  done. 

Mer.  Tut  1  dun's  the  mouse,  the  constable's  own 
word : 

If  thou  art  dun,  we'll  draw  thee  from  the  mire  ^ 
Oi  this  (  save  reverence  )  love,  wherein  thou  stick'st 
Up  to  the  ears. — Come,  we  burn  day-light,  ho. 
Rom.  Nay,  that's  not  so. 

flier.  I  mean,  sir,  in  delay 

Wf  waste  our  lights  in  vain,  like  lamps  by  day. 
Take  our  good  meaning;  for  our  judgment  sits 
Kive  times  m  that,  ere  once  in  our  live  wits. 

Rufn.  And  we  mean  well,  in  going  to  this  mask; 
Bsit  'tis  no  wit  to  go. 

Mer.  Why,  may  one  ask? 

Rom.  I  dreamt  a  dream  to-night. 

Mer.  And  so  did  I. 

Rotn.  Well,  what  was  your's  ? 

Mer.  That  dreamers  often  lie. 

Rom.  In  bed,  asleep,  while  they  do  dream  things 
true.  [you. 

Mer.  O.  then,  I  see,  queen  Mab  hath  been  with 
She  is  the  fairies'  midwife;  and  she  comes 
In  shape  no  bigger  than  an  agate-stone 
Ou  the  fore-Hnger  of  an  alderman. 
Drawn  with  a  team  of  little  atomies 
Athwart  men's  noses  as  tliey  lie  asleep  : 
Her  waggun-spokes  made  of  long  spinners'  legs; 
The  cover,  of  the  wings  of  grasshoppers ; 
I'he  traces,  of  the  smallest  spider's  web  ; 
The  collars,  of  the  moonshine's  watery  beams: 
Her  whip,  of  cricket's  bone;  the  lash,  of  film: 
Her  waggoner,  a  small  grey-coated  gnat, 
Not  half  so  big  as  a  round  little  worm 
Prick'd  from  the  lazy  finger  of  a  maid  : 
Her  chariot  is  an  empty  hnzel-nut. 
Made  by  the  joiner  squirrel,  or  old  grub. 
Time  out  of  mind  the  fairies  coach  makers. 
And  in  this  state  she  gallops  night  by  night 
'J'hrough  lover's  brains,  and  then  they  dream  of 
love; 

On  conrtiers'  knees,  thr\t  dream  on  court'sies  straight : 
O'er  lawyers'  6ngers,  \\ho  straight  drt-ani  on  fees: 
O'er  ladies'  lips,  who  straight  on  kisses  dream  ; 
Which  Oil  tlie  angry  Mab  with  blisttrs  plagues, 
liecaiise  their  breaths  with  sweet  meats  tainted  are. 
Sometimes  she  gallops  o'er  a  courtier's  nose. 
And  then  dreams  he  of  smelling  out  a  suit: 
And  sometimes  comes  slie  with  a  tithe-pig's  tail. 
Tickling  X  parson's  nose  as  'a  lies  asleep. 
Then  dreams  he  of  anoth&''  b<en€fice: 


Sometimes  she  driveth  o'er  a  soldier's  neol  p 
And  then  dreaujs  he  of  cutting  foreign  thrtMte^ 
Of  breaches,  ambuscadoes,  Spanish  blades. 
Of  healths  five  fathom  deep ;  and  then  anon 
Drums  in  his  ear;  at  which  he  starts,  and  wakes; 
And,  being  thus  frighted,  swears  a  prayer  or  tvye. 
And  sleeps  again.  This  is  thai  very  Mab, 
That  plats  the  manes  of  horses  in  the  night; 
And  bakes  the  elf-locks  in  foul  sluttish  hairs, 
Which,  once  untangled,  much  misfortune  bodes. 
This  is  the  ha^,  when  maids  iie  on  their  l»ack8, 
That  presses  tliem,  and  learns  them  first  to  bear. 
Making  them  women  of  good  carriage. 
This,  this  is  she— ^ 

Rom.  Peace,  peace,  Mercutio,  pence; 

Thou  talk'st  of  nothing. 

Mer.  True.  I  talk  of  dreamc  J 

Which  are  the  children  of  an  idle  brain, 
Begot  of  nothing  but  vain  fantasy  ; 
Wluch  is  as  thin  of  substance  as  the  air  ; 
And  more  inconstant  than  the  wind,  who  wooes 
Even  now  the  frozen  bosouj  of  the  north, 
And,  being  anger'd,  puffs  away  from  thence, 
Turning  his  face  to  the  dew-dro)jping  south. 

Ben.  Tills  wind,  you  talk  of,  blows  us  froi*  «WHri 
selves ; 

Supper  is  done,  and  vve  shall  come  too  lata. 

Ilo?n.  I  tear,  too  early  :  for  my  mind  misgives. 
Some  consequence,  yet  hanging  in  the  stars, 
Shall  bitterly  begin  his  fearful  date 
With  this  niglit's  revels  ;  and  expire  the  term 
Of  a  despised  life,  clos'd  in  my  breast, 
By  some  vile  forfeit  of  untimely  death  : 
But  He,  that  hath  the  steerage  of  my  course, 
Direct  my  sail  I — On,  lusty  gentlemen. 

Ben.  Strike,  drum.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — A  Hall  in  Capulat's  House. 
Musicians  waiting.  Enter  Servants. 

1  Serv.  Where's  Potpan,  that  he  hel[.  s  not  to  talo 
away  ?  he  shift  a  trencher  !  he  scrape  a  trenciier.' 

2  Serv.  When  good  manners  shall  lie  all  iu  oi  e 
or  two  men's  hands,  and  they  unwanhed  too,  'tis  a 
foul  thing. 

1  Serv.  Away  with  the  joint-stools,  remo\e  the 
conrt-cupboard,  look  to  the  plate  : — good  than, 
save  me  a  piece  of  marchpane  ;  and  as  thuu  lovest 
me,  let  the  porter  let  in  Susan  Grindstone,  and 
Nell. — Antony  I  and  Potpan  ! 

2  Serv.  Ay,  boy  ;  ready. 

1  Serv.  V'ou  are  looked  for,  and  called  for,  asked 
for,  and  sought  for,  in  tiie  great  chamber. 

2  Serv.  We  cannot  be  here  and  there,  too. — ■ 
Cheerly,  boys;  be  brisk  a  while,  and  the  longer 
liver  take  all.  {Theij  retire  behind.) 

Enter  Capulet,        tcith  the  Guests,  and  i/i3 
M askers. 

Cap.  Gentlemen,  welcome !  ladies,   that  have 
tlieir  toes 

Unplagu'd  with  corns,  will  have  a  bout  with  you  : — 
Ah  ha,  my  mistresses!  which  of  you  all 
Will  now  deny  to  dance?  she.  that  makes  dainty,  she, 
I'll  swear  hath  corns;  Am  I  come  near  you  now  ? 
Y"ou  are  welcome,  geritlemen  !  I  have  secQ  the  day, 
"^rhat  1  have  worn  a  visor;  and  could  tell 
A  whispering  tale  in  a  fair  lady's  ear. 
Such  as  would  please : — 'tis  pone,  'fis  gone,  'ti« 
gone:  ,  fp^ay- 

You  are  welcome,  gentlemen  r — Come,  musiciuriM, 
A  hall !  a  hall !  give  room,  and  foot  it,  girls. 

{Music  plays,  and  ihey  danci  ) 
More  light,  ye  knaves;  and  turn  the  tables  up, 
And  quench  the  fire,  the  room  is  grown  too  hot--. 
Ah.  sirrah,  this  nnlook'd  for  sport  comes  weiL 
Nay,  sit,  nay,  sit,  good  cousin  Capulet ; 
For  you  and  I  are  past  our  dancing  days; 
How  long  is't  now,  since  last  yourself  and  I 
Were  in  a  mask  ? 
i:  Cap  By'r  lady,  thirty  year* 


724 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Aqt  It 


1  Cap.  What,  Man !  'tis  not  so  much^  His  no* 
so  much ; 

is  since  the  nuptial  of  Lucentio, 
Cotne  pentecost  as  quickly  as  it  will, 
Some  five  and  twenty  years;  and  then  we  mask'd. 

5  Cap.  "Vis  more,  'tis  more  :  his  son  is  elder,  sir; 
IWs  son  is  thirty. 

1  Cap.  Will  you       me  that? 

Hlh  son  was  but  a  Ward  two  years  ag-o.  [hand 

Rom.  What  lady's  that,  which  doth  enrich  the 
Of  yonder  knight  ? 

Serv,  I  know  not,  sir. 

Ro?n.  O,  she  doth  teacli  the  torches  to  burn  bright  I 
Her  beauty  han^s  upon  the  cheek  of  night 
Like  a  rich  jewel  in  an  Ethiop's  ear: 
Beauty  too  rich  for  use,  for  earth  too  dear! 
So  shews  a  snowy  dove  trooping  with  crows. 
As  yonder  lady  o'er  her  fellows  shews. 
The  measure  done,  I'll  watch  her  place  of  stand. 
And,  touching  hers,  make  happy  my  rude  hand. 
Did  my  heart  love  till  now?  forswear  it,  sight! 
For  1  ne'er  saw  true  beauty  till  this  night. 

Ti/b.  This,  by  his  \  oice,  should  be  a  Montague  : — 
Fetch  me  my  rapier,  boy: — What!  dares  the  slave 
Come  hither,  cover'd  with  an  antick  face. 
To  lieer  and  scorn  at  our  solemnity  ? 
Now,  by  the  stock  and  honour  of  my  kin, 
To  strike  him  dead  I  hold  it  not  a  sin. 

1  Cap.    Why,  how  now,  kinsman?  wherefore 
storm  you  so? 

Tyb.  Uncle,  this  is  a  Montague,  our  foe: 
A  villain,  that  is  hither  ceme  in  spite, 
To  scorn  at  our  solemnity  this  nigtit. 

1  Cr/p.  Young  Romeo  is't  ? 

Tyh.  'Tis  he,  that  villain  Rorneo. 

1  Cap  Content  thee,  gentle  coz,  let  hirn  alone. 
He  bears  him  like  a  portly  gentleman; 
And,  to  say  truth,  Verona  brags  of  him. 
To  be  a  virtuous  and  well-govern'd  youth  : 
I  would  not,  for  the  wealth  of  all  this  town, 
Here  in  my  house,  do  him  disparagement: 
Therefore  be  patient,  take  no  note  of  him. 
It  is  my  will ;  the  which  if  thou  respect. 
Shew  a  fair  presence,  and  put  oti" these  frowns. 
An  ill-beseeming  semblance  for  a  feast. 

Tyb.  It  (its,  when  such  a  villain  is  a  guest; 
I'll  not  endure  him. 

1  Cap.  He  shall  be  endur'd  : 

What,  ijroodman  boy! — I  say,  he  shall ; — Go  to; — 
Am  I  tlve  master  here,  or  you  ?  go  to. 
You'll  not  endure  him  I — God  shall  mend  my  soul— 
You'll  make  a  mutiny  among  my  guests! 
You  will  set  cock-a-hoop!  you  II  be  the  man! 
Ti/b.  Why,  uncle,  'tis  a  shanie. 
1  Cap.  Go  to,  go  to. 

You  are  a  saucy  boy  : — Is't  so,  indeed  ? — 
This  trick  may  chance  to  scathe  you  ; — I  know  what. 
You  must  contrary  me  !  marry,  'tis  time — 
Well  said,  n)y  hearts  : — You  are  a  princox  ;  go  :— 
Be  quiet,  or — More  light,  more  light,  for  shanae  !— 
I'll  makre  you  quiet;  What! — Cheerly,  my  hearts. 

Tyb.  Patience  perforce  with  wilful  choler  meeting. 
Makes  my  flesh  tremble  in  their  different  greeting. 
I  will  withdraw:  but  this  intrusion  shall, 
Now  seeming  sweet,  convert  to  bitter  gall.  [Exit. 
Bom.  If  1  profane  with  my  unworthy  hand 

{To  Juliet.) 
This  holy  shrine,  the  gentle  fine  is  this,— 
My  lips,  two' blushing  pilgrims,  ready  stand 

To  smooth  that  rough  touch  with  a  tender  kiss. 
Jul.  Good  pilgrim,  you  do  wrong  your  hand  too 
much, 

Which  mannerly  devotion  shews  in  this  ; 
For  saints  have  hands,  that  pilgrims'  hands  do 
touch, 

And  palm  to  palm  is  holy  palmers'  kiss. 
Rom.  Have  not  saints  lips,  and  holy  palmers  too  ? 
Jul.  Ay,  pilgrim,  lips,  that  they  must  use  in 
prayer.  [do  j 

Rom.  O  then,  dear  saint,  let  lip*  do  what  hands 


They  pray,  grant  tbon,  lest  faith  tuni  to  des 
pair.  [sake» 
Jul.  Saints  do  not  move,  though  grant  for  prayers' 
Rom.  Then  move  not,  wlxile  my  prayer's  effect 
I  take. 

Thus  from  my  lips,  by  yours,  my  sin  is  pnr^'d. 

{Kissing  her.) 

Jul.  Then  have  my  lips  the  sin  that  they  havs 
took.  furg'dJ 

Rom.  Sin  from  my  lips?  O  trespass  sweetly 
Give  me  my  sin  again. 

Jul.  You  kiss  by  the  book. 

Nurse.  Madam,  your  mother  craves  a  word 
with  you. 

Rom.  What  is  her  mother^ 

Nurse.  Marry,  bacheliMrf 

Her  mother  is  the  lady  of  the  house. 
And  a  good  lady,  and  a  wise,  and  virtuous : 
1  nurs'd  her  daughter,  tiiat  you  talk'd  withal; 
I  tell  you, — he,  that  can  lay  hold  of  her, 
Shall  have  the  chinks. 

Rom.  Is  she  a  Capulet  ? 

0  dear  account !  my  life  is  my  foe's  debt. 
Ben.  Away,  begone  ;  the  sport  is  at  the  best. 
Rom.  Ay,  so  1  fear;  the  more  is  my  unrest. 

1  Cap.  Nay,  gentlemen,  prepare  not  to  be  gone: 
We  have  a  trifling  foolish  banquet  towards. — 
Is  it  e'en  so?  Why,  then  1  thank  you  all : 

1  thank  you,  honest  gentlemen  ;  good  night : — 
More  torches  here! — Come  on,  then  let's  to  bt'd. 
Ah,  sirrah,  {To  2  Cap.)  by  my  fay,  it  waxes  late; 
I'll  to  my  rest.  [Exeunt  all  but  Juliet  and  Nurse. 

Jul.  Come  hither.,  nurse  ;  What  is  yon  gentleman  ? 
Nurse.  The  son  and  heir  of  old  'I'iberio. 
Jul.  What's  he,  that  now  is  going  out  of  door? 
Nurse.  Marry,  that,  I  think,  be  young  Petruchio. 
Jul.  What's  he,  that  follows  there,  that  would 

not  dance  ? 
Nurse.  1  know  not. 

Jul.  Go,  ask  his  name : — if  he  be  married. 


rave  is  like  to  be  my  wedding  bed. 

daiV 


Nurse.  His  name  is  Romeo,  and  a  Montague ; 
The  only  son  of  your  great  enemy. 

Jul.  My  only  love  sprung  from  my  only  hate! 
Too  early  seen  unknown,  and  known  too  late! 
Prodigious  birth  of  love  it  is  to  ine, 
That  I  must  love  a  loathed  enemy. 
Nurse.  What's  this?  what's  this? 
Jul,  A  rhyme  I  learn'd  even  now 

Of  one  I  danc'd  withal.  {One  calls  J uliet.) 

Nurse.  Anon,  anon: — 

Come,  let's  away  ;  the  strangers  all  are  gone. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  Chorus. 

Now  old  desire  doth  in  his  death-bed  He, 

And  young  affection  gapes  to  be  his  heir; 
That  fair,  which  love  groan'd  for,  and  would  die, 

With  tender  Juliet  match'd,  is  now  not  fair. 
Now  Romeo  is  belov'd,  and  loves  again, 

Alike  bewitched  by  the  charm  of  looks; 
But  to  this  foe  suppos'd  he  must  complain. 

And  she  steal   love's   sweet  bait  from  fearful 
hooks : 

Being  held  a  foe,  he  may  not  have  access 

To  breathe  such  vows  as  lovers  use  to  swear ; 

And  she  as  much  in  love,  her  means  much  less 
To  meet  her  new-beloved  any  where  : 

But  passion  lends  them  power,  time  means  to  mee^ 

Temp'ring  extremities  with  extreme  sweet.  [Exii. 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — An  open  Place,  adjoining  Capulett 
Garden. 

Enter  Romeo. 
Rom.  Can  I  go  forward,  when  my  heart  is  here? 
Turn  back,  dull  earth,  and  find  thy  centre  out. 

(He  climbs  the  wall,  and  leaps  down  wiifUn,\ 


Scene  2. 


KOMEO  AND  JULIEl 


Enter  Benvolio  and  Mercutio. 

Ben,  Komeo !  my  cousin  Romeo  ! 

Mer.  He  is  wise  ; 

And,  on  my  life,  hath  stolen  him  home  to  bed. 

Ben.  He  ran  this  way,  and  leap'd  this  orchard 
Call,  good  Mercutio.  [wall: 

Mer.  Nay,  1  11  conjure  too. — 

Romeo!  humours !  madman  I  passion  !  lover! 
Appear  thou  in  the  likeness  of  a  sigh. 
Speak  but  one  rhyme,  and  f  am  satisfied  ; 
Cry  but — Ah  me!  couple  but — love  and  dove; 
Speak  to  my  gossip  Venus  one  lair  word. 
One  nickname  lor  her  p(jrblind  son  and  heir. 
Young  Adam  Cupid,  he  that  shot  so  trim, 
When  king  Copiietua  lov'd  the  beggar-maid. — 
He  heareth  not,  stirreth  not,  he  moveth  not ; 
The  ape  is  dead,  and  I  must  conjure  him. — 
1  conjure  thee  by  Rosaline's  bright  eyes. 
By  her  high  forehead,  and  her  scarlet  lip, 
By  her  fine  foot,  straight  leg,  and  quivering  thigh. 
And  the  demesnes  that  there  adjacent  lie, 
That  in  thy  likeness  thou  appear  to  us. 

Ben.  An  if  he  hear  thee,  thou  wilt  anger  him. 

Mer.  This  cannot  anger  him  :  'twould  anger  hira 
To  raise  a  spirit  in  his  mistress'  circle 
Of  some  strange  nature,  letting  it  there  stand. 
Till  she  had  laid  it,  and  conjur'd  it  down; 
That  were  some  spite  :  my  invocation 
Is  fair  and  honest,  and,  in  his  mistress'  name, 

I  conjure  only  but  to  raise  up  him.  [trees, 
Ben.  Come,  he  hath  hid  himself  among  those 

To  be  consorted  with  the  humourous  night : 
Blind  is  his  love,  and  best  befits  the  dark. 

Mer.  If  love  be  blind,  love  cannot  hit  the  mark. 
Now  will  he  sit  under  a  medlar  tree, 
And  wish  his  mistress  were  that  kind  of  fruit, 
As  maids  call  medlars,  whf^n  they  laugh  alone. — ■ 
Romeo,  good  night: — I'll  to  my  truckle-bed; 
This  field  bed  is  too  cold  for  me  to  sleep; 
Come,  shall  we  go 

Ben.  Go,  then  ;  for  'tis  in  vain 

To  seek  him  here,  that  means  not  to  be  found. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — Capulefs  Garden. 
Enter  Romeo. 
Rirtn  He  jests  at  scars,  that  never  felt  a  wound, 
{Juliet  appears  above,  at  a  icinduiv.) 
But,   soft!    wtiat   light   through  yonder  window 
breaks  ! 

II  is  the  east,  and  Juliet  is  the  sun  ! — 
Arise,  fair  sun.  and  kill  the  envious  moon. 
Who  is  already  sirk  and  pale  witii  grief, 
That  thou  her  maid  art  far  uiore  fair  than  she: 
Be  not  her  maid,  since  she  is  envious; 

Her  vestal  livery  is  but  sick  and  green, 
And  none  but  fools  do  wear  it;  cast  it  off. — 
It  is  my  lady  ;  O,  it  is  my  love. 
O,  that  she  knew  she  were ! — 
She  speaks  yet  she  says  nothing;  What  of  that? 
Her  eye  discodrses,  I  will  answer  it. — 
I  am  too  bold,  'tis  not  to  me  she  speaks : 
Two  of  the  lairest  stars  in  all  the  heaven. 
Having  sorfie  business,  do  entreat  her  eyes 
To  t\vinkl«-  in  their  spheres  till  they  return. 
What  if  her  eyes  were  there,  they  in  her  head? 
I'he  brightness  of  her  cheek  would  shame  those 
stars, 

As  daylight  doth  a  lamp;  her  eye  in  heaven 
W^)uld  tlnoiigh  the  airy  region  stream  so  bright. 
That  birds  would  sing,  and  think  it  were  not  night. 
See,  h-M\v  she  leans  her  cheek  upon  her  hand! 
O,  th«?  1  were  a  glo\e  upon  that  hand, 
1'hat  I  might  touch  that  cheek  ! 

uL  Ah  me  ! 

Rom.  She  speaks : — 

O,  speak  •As;'^m,  bright  angpl  !  for  thou  Hrt 
As  gioHoiKS  to  tki^  night,  l)eirig  o'er  my  head. 
As  is  a  winge  d  messenge-  of  heaven 


Unto  the  white-upturned  vvond'ring  eyes 

Of  mortals,  that  fall  back  to  gaze  on  him, 

When  he  bestrides  the  lazy-pacing  chnids, 

And  sails  upon  the  bosoni  of  the  air.  (meo? 

Jul.  O  Romeo,  Romeo!  wherefore  art  thau  Yi^ 
Deny  thy  father,  and  refuse  thy  name: 
Or,  if  thou  wilt  not,  be  but  sworn  my  love, 
And  rU  no  longer  be  a  Capulet. 

Rom.  Shall  1  hear  more,  or  shall  I  speak  at  this? 

{Aside.) 

Jul.  Tis  but  thy  name,  that  is  my  enemy  ; — 
Thou  art  tiiyself  though,  not  a  Montague. 
What's  Montague  ?  it  is  nor  hand,  nor  foot. 
Nor  arm,  nor  face,  nor  any  other  part 
Belonging  to  a  man.    O,  be  some  other  name  ? 
What's  in  a  name  ?  that,  which  we  call  a  rose. 
By  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet ; 
So  Romeo  would,  were  he  not  Romeo  call'd. 
Retain  that  dear  perfection  wliich  he  owes, 
Without  that  title  : — Romeo,  doff  thy  name  ; 
And  for  that  name,  which  is  no  part  of  thee. 
Take  all  myself. 

Rom.  I  take  thee  at  thy  word  : 

Call  me  but  love,  and  Til  be  new  baptiz'd  ; 
Henceforth  \  never  will  be  Romeo. 

Jul.  What  man  art  thou,  that,  thus  bescreen'd  m 
night. 

So  sturpblest  on  my  counsel? 

Rom.  By  a  name 

I  know  not  how  to  tell  thee  who  I  am  : 
My  name,  dear  saint,  is  hateful  to  myself. 
Because  it  is  an  enemy  to  thee  ; 
Had  I  it  written,  I  woidd  tear  the  word. 

Jul.  My  ears  have  not  yet  drunk  a  hundred  wotdf 
Of  that  tongue's  utterance,  yet  I  know  the  sound ; 
Art  thou  not  Romeo,  and  a  Montague  ? 

Rom.  Neither,  fair  saint,  if  either  thee  dislike, 

Jul.   How  cam'st  thou   hither,  tell   me  ?  anil 
wherefore  ? 

The  orchard  walls  are  high,  and  hard  to  climb; 
And  the  place  death,  considering  who  thou  art. 
If  any  of  my  kinsmen  find  thee  here. 

Rom.  With  love's  light  wings  did  I  o'er-perch 
these  walls: 
For  stony  limits  cannot  hold  love  out : 
And  what  love  can  do,  that  dares  love  attempt; 
Therefore  thy  kinsmen  are  no  let  to  me. 

Jul.  If  they  do  see  thee,  they  w  ill  nnirder  thee. 

Rom.  Alack  !  there  lies  more  peril  in  thine  eye. 
Than  twenty  of  their  swords;  look  thou  but  sweet. 
And  I  auj  proof  against  their  enmit.y. 
■  Jul.  1  would  not  for  the  world,  they  saw  thee 
here.  [sight; 

Rom.  1  have  night's  cloak  to  hide  me  from  their 
And,  but  thou  love  me,  let  them  find  me  here  : 
My  life  were  better  ended  by  their  hate, 
Than  death  prorogued,  wanting  of  thy  love. 

Jul.  By  whose  direction  found'st  thou  out  this 

glare  ?  [quire ; 

y  love,  who  first  did  prompt  me  to  in- 
He  leut  me  counsel,  and  I  lent  him  eyes. 
I  am  no  pilot ;  yet,  wert  thou  as  far 
As  that  vast  shore  wash'd  with  the  furthest  sea^ 
I  would  adventure  for  8uch  merchandise.  [face; 

Jul.  Thou  know'st  the  mask  of  night  is  on  iny 
Else  would  a  maiden  blush  bepaint  my  cheek. 
For  that  which  thou  hast  heard  me  speak  to-night. 
Fain  would  I  dwell  on  form,  fain,  fain  deny 
What  1  have  spoke  ;  but  farewell  compliment! 
Dost  thoii  love  n)e?  i  know,  thou  wilt  say — Aj  ; 
And  I  will  take  thy  word :  yet,  if  lh()u  swear'st. 
Thou  may'st  |  rove'false;  at  lovers"  perjuries, 
7^hey  say,  Jove  lauglis.    O,  gentle  Romeo, 
If  thou  dost  love,  pronounce  it  faithfully  : 
Or  if  thou  tiiink'st  I  am  too  quickly  won, 
I'll  frown,  and  be  perverse,  and  say  thee  Bay. 
So  thou  wilt  woo;  but,  else,  not  for  the  vvorlil. 
In  truth,  fair  Montague,  I  am  too  fond  ; 
And  tliereiore  tlii.u  may'st  think  my  haviour  light; 
But  trust  u»e,  gentleman,  I'll  prove  more  true 


T26 

Than  those  that  have  more  cunning  to  be  strange, 
I  should  have  been  more  strange,  I  niust  coni'ess, 
But  that  thou  overheard'st,  ere  1  was  ware, 
My  true  love's  passion  :  therefore  pardon  me  ; 
And  not  impute  this  yielding  to  light  love, 
VVhicli  the  dark  night  hath  so  discovered. 

Rom.  Lady,  by  yonder  blessed  moon  I  swear, 
That  tips  with  silver  all  these  fruit-tree  tops, — 

Jul.  O,  swear  not  by  the  moon,  the  inconstant 
moon, 

1"hat  monthly  changes  in  her  circled  orb, 
Lest  that  thy  love  prove  likewise  variable. 

Rom.  What  shall  I  swear  by  ? 

Jul.  Do  not  sweur  at  ali ; 

Or,  if  thou  wilt,  swear  by  thy  gracious  self. 
Which  is  the  god  of  my  idolatry. 
And  I'll  believe  thee. 

Rom.  If  my  heart's  dear  love — 

Jul.  Well,  do  not  swear :  although  I  joy  in  thee, 
I  have  no  joy  of  this  contract  to-night : 
It  is  too  rash,  too  unadvis'd,  too  sudden  ; 
Too  like  the  lightning,  which  doth  cease  to  be. 
Ere  one  can  say — It  lightens.    Sweet,  good  night ! 
This  bud  of  love,  by  summer's  ripening  breath. 
May  prove  a  beauteous  flower,  whea  next  we  meet. 
Good  night,  good  night!  as  sweet  repose  and  rest 
Come  to  thy  heart,  as  that  within  my  breast ! 

Ro7n.  O,  wilt  thou  leave  me  so  unsatisfied? 

Jul.  What  satisfaction  canst  thou  have  to-night? 

Bom.  The  exchange  of  thy  love's  faithful  vow  for 
mine. 

Jul.  I  gave  thee  mine  before  thou  did'st  request  it: 
And  yet  I  would  it  were  to  give  again. 

Rom.  Would'st  thou  withdraw  it  ?  for  what  pur- 
pose, love  ? 

Jul.  But  to  be  frank,  and  give  it  thee  again. 
And  yet  I  wish  but  for  the  thing  I  have  : 
My  bonnty  is  as  boundless  as  the  sea. 
My  love  as  deep  5  the  more  I  give  to  thee, 
The  more  I  have,  for  both  are  infinite. 

{Nurse  calls  tvithin.) 
[  hear  some  noise  within  :  Dear  love,  adieu  ! 
Anon,  good  nurse  ! — Sweet  Montague,  be  true. 
Stay  but  a  little,  I  will  come  again.  [Exit. 

Rom.  O  blessed,  blessed  night !  I  am  afeard. 
Being  in  night,  all  this  is  but  a  dream, 
Too  flattering-sweet  to  be  substantial. 

Re-enter  Juliet,  above. 
Jul.  Three  words,  dear  Romeo,  and  good  night, 
indeed. 

If  that  thy  bent  of  love  be  honourable. 

Thy  purpose  marriage,  send  me  word  to-morrow 

By  one  that  I'll  procure  to  come  to  thee, 

VVhere,  and  what  time,  thou  wilt  perlorm  the  rite ; 

And  all  my  fortunes  at  thy  foot  I'll  lay, 

And  follow  thee,  my  lord,  throughout  the  worid. 

Nurse.  { Within.)  Madam !  [well, 

Jul.  I  come,  anon:  —  But  if  thou  mean'st  not 
I  do  beseech  thee, — 

Nurse.  {WitMn.)  Madam ! 

/«/.  By  and  by,  T  come : — 

To  cease  thy  suit,  and  leave  me  to  my  grief: 
To-morrow  will  1  send. 

Rom.  ^         So  thrive  my  soul, — 

Jul.  A  thousand  times  good  night !  [Exit. 

Rom.  A  thousand  times  the  worse,  to  want  thv 
light.- 

l<ove  goes  toward  love,  as  school-boys  from  their 
books ; 

B  it  h)ve  from  love,  toward  school  with  heavy  loolis. 

{Retiring  slowly.) 

Re-enter  Juliet,  above. 
Jul.  Hist  !  Romeo,  hist  I  —  O,  for  a  falconer's 
voice. 

To  hire  this  tassel  gentle  back  again  ! 
Boud-ige  is  hoarse,  and  may  not  speak  aloud  ; 
Else  would  I  tear  the  cave  where  echo  lies, 
And  make  her  airy  tongue  more  hoarse  than  mine 


Act  IL 

Witli  repetition  of  my  Romeo's  name. 

Rom.  It  is  my  soul,  that  calls  upon  ray  name: 
How  silver-sweet  sound  lo\ers'  tongues  by  night. 
Like  softest  music  to  attending  ears  !  . 
Jul.  Romeo  1 


Rom.  My  sweet ! 

Jul.  At  what  o'clock  to-morrow 

Shall  I  send  to  thee  ? 

Rom.  At  the  hour  of  nine. 


Jul.  I  will  not  fail ;  'tis  twenty  years  till  then 
1  have  forgot  why  I  did  call  thee  bark. 

Rom.  Let  me  stand  here,  till  thou  remember  it  i 
Jul.  I  shall  forget,  to  have  thee  still  stand  there, 
Rememb'ring  how  I  love  thy  company. 

Rom.  And  I'll  still  stay,  to  have  thee  still  forget, 
Forgetting  any  other  home  but  this.  [gone  r 

Jul.  'Tis  almost  morning,  I  would  have  thee 
And  yet  no  further  than  a  wanton's  bird  ; 
Wiio  lets  it  hop  a  little  from  her  hand. 
Like  a  poor  prisoner  in  his  twisted  gyves, 
And  with  a  silk  thread  plucks  it  back  again. 
So  loving-jealous  of  his  liberty. 
Rom.  1  would,  I  were  thy  bird. 
Jul.  Sweet,  so  would  I -. 

Yet  I  should  kill  thee  with  much  cherishing. 
Good  night,  good  night !  parting  is  such  sweet 
sorrow, 

That  I  shall  say— good  night,  till  it  be  morrow. 

[Exit,[ 

Rom.  Sleep  dwell  upon  thine  eyes,  peace  iu  thy 
breast  I — 

'Would  I  were  sleep  and  peace,  so  sweet  to  rest ' 

Hence  will  I  to  my  ghostly  father's  cell; 

His  help  to  crave,  and  my  dear  hap  to  te'i.  [E.iif. 

Scene  III.— Friar  Laurence's  Ceil. 
Enter  Friar  Laurence,  with  a  basket. 
Fri.  The  grey-ey'd  morn  smiles  on  the  i'ruwni 
night, 

Checkering  the  eastern  clouds  with  streaks  of  li-  iit , 
And  flecked  darkness  like  a  drunkard  reels 
From  Ibrth  day's  path-way,  made  by  Titan's  whet-is 
Now,  ere  the  sun  advance  his  burning  eye. 
The  day  to  cheer,  and  night's  dank  dew  to  dry, 
I  must  up-fi!I  this  osier  cage  of  ours. 
With  baleful  weeds,  and  precious-juiced  flowers. 
The  earth,  that's  nature's  mother,  is  her  tomb; 
What  is  her  burying  grave,  that  is  her  womb  : 
And  Irouj  her  womb  children  of  divers  kind 
We  sucking  on  her  natural  bosom  find; 
Many  ibr  many  virtues  excellent, 
None  but  for  some,  and  yet  all  diflerent, 
O,  mickle  is  the  powerful  grace,  that  lies 
In  herbs,  plants,  stones,  and  their  true  qualities  : 
For  nought  so  vile,  that  on  the  earth  doth  live 
But  to  the  earth  .some  special  good  doth  give  ; 
Nor  aught  so  good,  but,  strain'd  from  that  fair  use. 
Revolts  from  true  birth,  stimibling  on  abu.se  : 
Virtue  itself  turns  vice,  being  misapplied  ; 
And  vice  .sometime's  by  action  dignified. 
Within  the  infant  rind  of  this  small  flower 
Poison  hath  residence,  and  med'cine  power 
For  this,  being  smelt,  with  that  part  cheers  eacl: 
part; 

Bemg  tasted,  slays  all  senses  with  the  heart. 
Two  such  0[)posed  foes  encamp  them  still 
In  man  as  well  as  herbs,  grace,  and  rude  will 
And,  where  the  worser  is  predominant, 
Full  soon  the  canker  death  eats  up  that  plant 

Enter  Romeo. 

Rom.  Good  morrow,  father! 

Fri.  Benedicite ! 

What  early  tongue  so  sweet  saluteth  me? — 
Young  son,  it  argues  a  distemper'd  head. 
So  soon  to  bid  good  morrow  to  thy  bed  : 
Care  keeps  his  watch  in  e\ery  old  man's  eye, 
And  where  care  lodges,  sleep  will  never  lie; 
But  where  unbruised  youth  with  unstuflM  brain 
Doth  couch  his  limbs,  there  golden  sleep  doth  reiga  1 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


727 


Therefore  thy  earliness  doth  me  assure, 
rhou  art  up  rous'd  by  some  distenip'rature ; 
Or  if  not  so,  then  here  I  hit  it  right — 
Our  Uoineo  hath  not  been  in  bed  to-night. 

Rom.  That  last  is  true,  tlie  sweeter  rest  was 
mine. 

Fri.  God  pardon  sin  !  wast  thou  with  Rosaline  ? 

Ro7n.  With  llosaline,  my  ghostly  lather?  no; 
\  have  ibrgol  that  name,  and  that  name's  woe. 

Fri.  That's  my  good  son  :  But  where  hast  thou 
been, then  ? 

Mom,  I'll  tell  thee,  ere  thou  ask  it  me  again. 
I  have  been  feasting  with  mine  enemy; 
Where,  on  a  sudden,  one  hath  wounued  me. 
That's  by  me  wounded  ;  both  our  remedies 
Within  thy  help  and  holy  physic  lies : 
[  bear  no  hatred,  blessed  man  ;  for  lo, 
My  intercession  likewise  steads  my  foe.  [drift; 

Fri.  Be  plain,  good  son,  and  homely  in  thy 
Riddling  confession  finds  but  riddling  shriit. 

Rom.  Then  plainly  know,  my  heart's  dear  love  is 
On  the  fair  daughter  of  rich  Capulet :  [set 
As  mine  on  hers,  so  hers  is  set  on  mine ; 
And  all  combined,  save  what  thou  must  combine 
By  holy  marriage :  When,  and  where,  and  how. 
We  met,  we  woo'd,  and  made  exchange  of  vow, 
1  11  tell  thee  as  we  pass ;  but  this  I  pray, 
That  thou  consent  to  marry  us  this  day. 

Fri.  Holy  Saint  Francis!  what  a  change  is  here! 
Is  Rosaline,  whom  thou  didst  love  so  dear, 
So  soon  forsaken?  young  men's  love  then  lies 
Not  truly  in  their  hearts,  but  in  their  eyes. 
Jesu  Maria!  What  a  deal  of  brine 
Hath  wash'd  thy  sallow  cheeks  for  Rosaline  I 
flow  much  salt  water  thrown  away  in  waste, 
To  season  love,  that  of  it  doth  not  taste! 
The  sun  not  yet  thy  sighs  from  heaven  clears. 
Thy  old  groans  ring  yet  in  my  ancient  ears ; 
Lo,  here  upon  thy  cheek  the  stain  doth  sit 
Of  an  old  tear,  that  is  not  wash'd  off  yet : 
If  e'er  thou  wast  thyself,  and  these  woes  thine. 
Thou  and  these  woes  were  all  for  Rosaline ; 
And  art  thou  chang'd  ?  pronounce  this  sentence 
then — • 

Women  may  fall,  when  there's  no  strength  in  men. 

Ro?n.  Thou  chidd'st  me  oft  for  loving  Rosaline. 

Fri,  For  doting,  not  for  loving,  pupil  mine. 

Rom.  And  bad'st  me  bury  love. 

Fri.  Not  in  a  grave, 

To  lay  one  in,  another  out  to  have.  [now, 

Rom.  I  pray  thee,  chide  not :  she,  whom  I  love 
Doth  grace  for  grace,  and  love  for  love  allow ; 
The  other  did  not  so. 

Fri.  O,  she  knew  well, 

Thy  love  did  read  by  rote,  and  could  not  spell. 
But  come,  young  waverer,  come  go  with  me, 
In  one  respect  I'll  thy  assistant  be ; 
For  this  alliance  may  so  happy  prove. 
To  turn  your  households'  rancour  to  pure  love. 

Rom.  O,  let  us  hence  ;  I  stand  on  sudden  haste. 

Fri.  Wisely  aud  slow;  They  stumble,  that  run 
fast.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IV. — A  Street 
Enter  Benvolio  and  Mercutio. 

Mer.  Where  the  devil  should  this  Romeo  be? — 
Came  he  not  home  to-night  ? 

Ben.  Not  to  his  father's ;  I  spoke  with  his  man. 

Mer.  Ah,  that  same  pale  hard-hearted  wench, 
that  Rosaline, 
-Torments  him  so,  that  he  will  sure  run  mad. 
*    Ben.  Tybalt,  the  kinsman  of  old  Capulet, 
flath  sent  a  letter  to  hij  father's  house. 

Mer   A  challenge,  on  my  life. 

Ren.  Romeo  will  answer  it.  [a  letter. 

Mer.  Any  man,  that  can  write,  may  answer 

Ben.  Nay,  he  will  answer  the  letter's  master,  how 
he  dares,  being  dared. 

Mer.  Alas,  poor  Romeo,  he  is  al/eady .  dead  I 
stabbed  wih  a  white  wench's  black  eye ;  shot 


through  the  ear  with  a  love-sting  ;  tlie  \ery  pin  of  his 
heart  cleft  with  the  blind  bow-boy's  butt-shaft;  And 
is  he  a  man  to  encounter  Tybalt? 

Ben.  Why,  what  is  Tybalt? 

Mer.  More  than  prince  oi'  cats,  I  can  tell  you, 
O,  he  is  the  courageous  captain  of  compliments. 
He  fights  as  you  sing  prick-song,  keeps  time,  dis- 
tance, and  proportion;  rests  me  his  minim  rest, 
one,  two,  and  the  third  in  your  bosom  :  the  very 
butcher  of  a  silk  button,  a  duellist,  a  duellist ;  si 
gentleman  of  the  very  first  house,  —  of  the  first  and 
second  cause  :  Ah,  the  immortal  passado !  the 
punto  reverso!  the  hay! 

Ben.  The  what  ? 

Mer.  The  pox  of  such  antic^  lisping,  affecting 
fantasticoes  ;  these  new  tuners  of  accents  !  By  Jesu, 
a  very  good  blade  ! — a  very  tall  man  ! — a  very 
good  whure ! — Why,  is  not  this  a  lamentable  thing, 
grandsire,  that  we  should  be  thus  afflicted  with  these 
strange  flies,  these  fashion-mongers,  these /)ar</o?3- 
nez-moy's,  who  stand  so  much  on  the  new  form, 
that  they  cannot  sit  at  ease  on  the  old  bench?  O 
their  bons,  their  bons  ! 

Enter  Romeo. 

Ben.  Here  comes  Romeo,  here  comes  Romeo. 

Mer.  Without  his  roe,  like  a  dried  herring:—. 
O,  flesh,  flesh,  how  art  thou  fishifled  ! — Now  is  hp 
for  the  numbers  that  Petrarch  flowed  in  :  Laura,  Ut 
his  lady,  was  but  a  kitchen-wench  ; — marry,  she  had 
a  better  love  to  be-rhyme  her:  Dido,  a  dowdy: 
Cleopatra,  a  gipsy;  Helen  and  Hero,  hil<iii)[;s  ana 
harlots;  '^J'liisbe,  a  grey  eye  or  so,  but  not  to  the 
[jurpose. — Signior  Romeo,  bonjour .'  there's  a  French 
salutation  to  your  French  slop.  You  gave  tss  tlie 
counterfeit  fairly  last  night. 

Rain.  Good  inoi  row  to  you  both.  What  couii' 
terleit  did  1  give  you  ?  [cei^ef 

Mer.  The  slip,  sir,  the  slip ;  Can  you  not  coa- 

B.om.  Pardon,  good  Mercutio,  my  (jusiness  waa 
great ;  and,  in  such  a  case  as  mine,  a  man  may  straia 
courtesy. 

Mer.  That's  as  much  as  to  say— such  a  case  9 
yours  constrains  a  man  to  bow  in  the  hams. 
Ro7n.  Meaning— to  court'sy. 
Mer.  I'hou  hast  most  kindly  hit  it. 
Rom.  A  most  courteous  exposition. 
Mer.  Nay,  I  am  the  very  pink  ol"  courtesy. 
Rom.  Pink  for  flov/er. 
Mer.  Right. 

Rom.  Why,  then  is  my  pump  well  flowered. 

Mer.  Well  said  :  Follow  me  this  jest  now,  till 
thou  hast  worn  out  thy  pump ;  that,  when  the 
single  sole  of  it  is  worn,  the  jest  may  remain,  after 
the  wearing,  solely  singular. 

Rom.  O  single-soled  jest,  solely  singular  for  the 
singleness !  [wits  fail. 

Mer.   Come  between   us,  good  Benvolio;  my 

Rom.  Switch  and  spurs,  switch  and  spurs;  oi 
I'll  cry  a  Mtch. 

Mer.  Nay,  if  thy  wits  run  the  wild-goose  chase, 
I  have  done;  for  thou  hast  more  of  the  wild-goose 
in  one  of  thy  wits,  than,  I  am  sure,  I  have  in  niy 
whole  five  :  Was  I  with  you  there  for  the  goose  ? 

Rom.  Thou  wast  never  with  me  for  any  thing, 
when  thou  wast  not  there  for  the  goose. 

Mer.  I  will  bite  thee  by  the  ear  for  that  jest. 

Rom.  Nay,  good  goose,  bite  not. 

Mer.  Thy  wit  is  a  very  bitter  sweeting ;  it  is  n 
most  sharp  sauce. 

Rom.  And  is  it  not  well  served  in  to  a  sw«p4 
goose  ? 

Mer.  O,  here's  a  wit  of  cheverel,  that  stretches 
from  a«  inch  narrow  to  an  ell  broad  \ 

Ro7n.  I  stretch  it  out  for  that  word— -broad; 
which  added  to  the  goose,  proves  thee  far  and 
wide  a  broad  goose. 

Mer.  Why,  is  not  this  better  now  than  groaning 
for  love  ?  now  art  thou  sDciable,  now  art  thou  Ro- 
meo; now  art  thou  what  thou  art,  by  art  as  well 


728 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  IL 


by  nature :  for  this  drivelling  love  is  like  a  great 
natural,  than  runs  lolling  up  and  down  to  hide  his 
bauble  in  a  hole. 

Ben.  Stop  there,  stop  there. 

Mer.  Thou  desirest  me  to  stop  in  my  tale  against 
the  air. 

Ben.  Thou  would'st  else  have  made  thy  tale  large. 

Mer.  O,  thou  art  deceived,  I  would  have  made 
it  short ;  for  I  was  come  to  the  whole  depth  of  my 
tale  :  and  meant,  indeed,  to  occupy  the  argument 
uo  longer. 

Rom.  Here's  goodly  geer  ! 

Enter  Nurse  and  Peter. 
Mer.  A  sail,  a  sail,  a  sail ! 
Ben.  Two,  two ;  a  shirt,  and  a  smock 
Nurse.  Peter ! 
Peter.  Anon? 
Nurse.  My  fan,  Peter. 

Mer.  Pr'ythee,  do,  good  Peter,  to  hide  her  face  ; 
for  her  fan's  the  fairer  of  the  two. 

Nurse.  God  ye  good  morrow,  gentlemen. 
Mer.  Gfxl  ye  good  den,  lair  gentlewoman. 
Nurse.  Is  it  good  den  ? 

Mer.  'Tis  no  less,  I'll  tell  you ;  for  the  bawdy  hand 
of  the  dial  is  now  upon  the  prick  of  noon. 

Nurse.  Out  upon  you  !  what  a  man  are  you? 

Rom.  One,  gentlewoman,  that  God  hath  made 
himself  to  mar. 

Nurse.  By  my  troth,  it  is  well  said; — For  him- 
self to  mar,  quoth'a? — Gentlemen,  can  any  of  you 
tell  me  where  I  may  find  the  young  Romeo  ? 

Rom.  I  can  tell  you ;  but  young  Romeo  will  be 
older  when  you  have  found  him,  than  he  was  when 
you  sought  him :  I  am  the  youngest  of  that  name, 
for  'fault  of  a  worse. 

Nurse.  Vou  say  well. 

Mer.  Yea,  is  tne  worst  well?  very  well  took, 
rfaith ;  wisely,  wisely. 

Nurse.  If  you  be  he,  sir,  I  desire  some  confidence 
K»ith  you. 

Ben.  She  will  indite  him  to  some  supper. 

Mer.  A  bawd,  a  bawd,  a  ba\yd  !  So  ho  ! 

Rom.  What  hast  thou  found 

Mer.  No  hare,  sir ;  unless  a  hair,  sir,  in  a  lenten 
pie,  that  is  something  stale  and  hoar  ere  it  be 
spenti 

An  old  hare  hoar. 
And  an  old  hare  hoar. 
Is  very  good  tneat  in  lent 
But  a  hare  that  is  hoar. 
Is  too  much  for  a  score. 
When  it  hoars  ere  it  be  spent. — 
Romeo,  will  you  come  to  your  father's  ?  we'll  to 
dinner  thither. 
Rom.  I  will  follow  you. 

Mer,  Farewell,  ancient  lady;  farewell,  lady, 
lady,  lady. 

[Exeunt  Mercutio  and  Benvolio. 
fiuree.  Marry,  farewell ! — I  pray  you,  sir,  what 
saucy  merchant  was  this,  that  was  so  lull  of  his 
ropery. 

Rom,  A  gentleman,  nurse,  that  loves  to  hear 
bim.4elf  talk ;  and  will  speak  more  in  a  minute, 
than  he  will  stand  to  in  a  month. 

Nurse.  An  'a  speak  any  thing  against  me,  I'll 
take  him  down  an  'a  were  lustier  than  he  is,  and 
twenty  like  Jacks;  and,  if  he  cannot,  I'll  find  those 
that  shall.  Scurvy  knave  1  I  am  none  of  his  flirt- 
girls ;  I  am  none  of  his  skains-inates : — And  thou 
must  stand  by  too,  and  suffer  every  knave  to  use 
H)e  at  his  pleasure  f 

Pet.  I  saw  no  man  use  you  at  his  pleasure ;  if  I 
tad,  my  weapon  sliould  q  lickly  have  been  out,  I 
ivarrant  yon  :  I  dare  draw  as  soon  as  another  man, 
tf  I  see  occasion  in  a  good  quarrel,  and  the  law  on 
my  side. 

Nurse.  Now,  afore  God,  I  am  so  vexed,  that 
rvery  part  about  me  quivers.  Scurvy  knave  ! — 
Pray  you,   '»ir,  a  word  :  and  as  I  told  you,  my 


young  lady  bade  me  inquire  yo  t  out ;  what  she  bade 
me  say,  I  will  keep  to  myself;  hni  fust  Iv^t  m©  tell 
ye,  if  ye  should  lead  her  into  a  fool's  paradise,  as 
they  say,  it  were  a  very  gross  kind  of  hehavioar, 
as  they  say :  for  the  gentfewonian  is  young ;  and, 
therefore,  if  you  should  deal  trouble  with  her, 
truly,  it  were  an  ill  tiling  to  be  offered  to  any  gen- 
tlewoman, and  very  weak  dealing. 

Rom.  Nurse,  conunend  me  to  thy  lady  and  mis- 
tress.   I  protest  unto  tliee, — 

Nurse.  Good  heart!  and,  i'fuith,  I  will  tell  hei 
as  much  :  Lord,  loid,  she  will  be  a  joyful  woman. 

Ro7n.  What  wilt  thou  tell  her,  nurse  ?  tliou  dost 
not  mark  me. 

Nurse.  I  will  tell  her,  sir — that  you  do  protest  j 
which,  as  I  take  it,  is  a  gentleman-like  olier. 

Rom.  Bid  her  devise  some  means  to  come  to 
This  afternoon ;  [shrift 
And  there  she  shall,  at  friar  Laurence'  cell, 
Be  shriv'd  and  married.    Here  is  for  thy  paina. 

Nurse.  No,  truly,  sir;  not  a  penny. 

Rom.  Go  to ;  I  say,  you  shall. 

Nurse.  This  afternoon,  sir?  well,  she  shall  bc 
there.  [wall*. 

Rom.  And  stay,  good  nurse,  behind  the  abbey 
Within  this  hour  my  man  shall  be  with  thee ; 
And  bring  thee  cords  made  like  a  tackled  stair: 
Which  to  the  high  top  gallant  of  my  joy 
Must  be  my  convoy  in  the  secret  ni^iit. 
Farewell  I — Be  trusty,  and  1  11  quit  thy  pains. 
Farewell ! — Commend  me  to  thy  mistress. 

Nurse.  Now  God  in  heaven  bless  tliee ! — Hark 
you,  sir. 

Rom.  VVhat  say'st  thou,  my  dear  nurse  ? 
Nurse.  Is  your  man  secret  ?    Did  you  ne'er  hear 
say — 

Two  may  keep  counsel,  potting  one  away  ? 

Rom.  I  warrant  tliee  ;  my  man's  as  true  as  steel. 

Nurse.  Well,  sir,  my  mistress  is  the  sweetest 
lady — Lord,  lord  ! — wtien  'twas  a  littiv  prating 
thing, — O, — there's  a  nobleman  in  town,  one  Paris, 
that  would  fain  lay  knife  aboard ;  but  she,  good 
soul,  had  as  lieve  see  a  toad,  a  very  toad,  as  see 
him.  I  anger  her  sometimes,  and  tell  her  that 
Paris  is  the  properer  man;  but,  Ml  warrant  you, 
whei  I  say  so,  she  looks  as  pale  as  any  clout  in  the 
varsal  world.  Doth  not  rosemary  and  Rouieo  begia 
both  with  a  letter? 

Rom.  Ay,  nnrse;  What  of  that?  both  with  an  R. 

Nurse.  Ah,  mocker!  that's  the  dog's  name.  R. 
is  for  the  dog.  No;  I  know  it  begins  with  some 
other  letter  :  and  she  hath  the  prettiest  sententious 
of  it,  of  you  and  rosemary,  that  it  would  do  you 
good  to  hear  it. 

Rom.  Commend  me  to  thy  lady,  [Exit 

Nurse.  Ay,  a  thousand  times. — Peter! 

Pet.  Anon  ? 

Nurse.  Peter,  take  my  fan,  and  go  before. 

[Exeunt, 

Scene  V. — Capulefs  Garden. 
Enter  J  uuet. 
Jul.  The  clock  struck  nine,  when  I  did  send  tht 
nurse ; 

In  half  an  hour  she  promis'd  to  return. 
Perchance,  she  cannot  meet  him  ;— that's  not  so. — 
O,  she  is  lame!  love's  heralds  should  be  thougJits, 
Which  ten  times  faster  glide  tlian  tne  siin's  beams. 
Driving  back  shadows  over  low'rini;  hilU: 
Therefore  do  nimble-pinion'd  doves  draw  love. 
And  therefore  hatli  the  wind-swift  Cupid  wings* 
Now  is  the  sun  upon  the  higiunost  hill 
Of  this  day's  journey  ;  and  trom  nine  till  tweivfl 
Is  three  long  liours, — yet  she  is  not  come. 
Had  she  affections,  and  warm  youthful  biood, 
She'd  be  as  swift  in  motion  as  a  ball ; 
My  wonds  would  bandy  her  to  niy  sweet  love. 
And  his  to  me : 

But  old* folks,  many  feign  as  they  were  dea^; 
Unwieldy,  slow,  heavy  and  pale  as  lead. 


Act  III.    Scene  1. 

Enter  Nurse  and  Peter. 

O  Glod,  she  comes  ! — O  honey  nurse,  what  news  ? 
H«§t  thou  met  with  him  ?  Send  thy  man  away. 

Nurse.  Peter,  stay  at  the  gate.         [Exit  Peter. 

Jul.   Now,  good   sweet  nurse, — O  lord !  why 
look'st  thou  sad  ? 
Thoujrh  news  be  sad,  yet  tell  them  merrily ; 
It'  good,  thou  sham'st  the  music  of  sweet  news 
By  playing  it  to  me  with  so  sour  a  face. 

Nurse.  I  am  aweary,  give  me  leave  a  while ; — 
Fye,  how  my  bones  ache  !  What  a  jaunt  have  I  had  ! 

Jul.  I  would,  thou  hadst  my  bones,  and  I  thy 
news ;  [speak. 
Nay,  come,  I  pray  thee,  speak  ; — good,  good  nurse, 

Nurse.   Jesn,  what  haste  ?   can  you  not  stay 
awhile  ? 

Do  you  not  see,  that  I  am  out  of  breath? 
Jul.  How  art  thou  but  of  breath,  when  thou  hast 
breath 

To  say  to  me— that  thou  art  out  of  breath  !* 
The  excuse,  that  thou  dost  make  in  this  delay. 
Is  longer  than  the  tale  thou  dost  excuse. 
Is  thy  news  good,  or  bad?  answer  to  that; 
Say  either,  and  F'll  stay  the  circumstance  : 
Let  me  be  satisfied,  Is't  good  or  bad? 

Nurse.  Well,  you  have  made  a  simple  choice  ; 
you  know  not  how  to  choose  a  man :  Romeo !  no, 
not  he ;  though  his  face  be  better  than  any  man's, 
yet  his  leg  excels  all  men's  :  and  for  a  hand,  and  a 
foot,  and  a  body, — though  they  be  not  to  be  talked 
on,  yet  they  are  past  compare  :  He  is  not  the  flower 
of  courtesy. — but,  I'll  warrant  him,  as  gentle  as  a 
lamb. — Go  tliy  ways,  wench  ;  serve  God  ; — What, 
have  voii  dined  at  home? 

Jul.  No,  no:  But  all  this  did  I  know  before: 
What  says  he  of  our  marriage  ?  what  of  that? 

Nurse.  Lord,  how  my  head  aches  !  what  a  head 
have  I ! 

It  beats  as  it  would  fall  in  twenty  pieces. 

My  back,  o't  other  side,— O,  my  back,  my  back! — 

B+^shrew  your  heart,  for  sending  me  about. 

To  catch  my  death  with  jaunting  up  and  down.' 

Jul.  I  faith,  1  am  sorry  that  thou  art  not  well : 
Sweet,  sweet,  sweet  nurse,  tell  me,  what  says  my 
love  ? 

Nurse.  Your  love  says  like  an  honest  gentleman, 
And  a  courteous,  and  a  kind,  and  a  handsome, 
And,  I  warrant,  a  virtuous  : — Where  is  your  mo- 
ther ? 

Jul.  Where  is  my  mother? — why,  she  is  within  ; 
Where  should  she  be  ?    How  oddly  thou  reply'st  ? 
Your  love  says  like  an  honest  gentleman, — 
Where  is  your  mother  ? 

Nurse.  O,  God's  lady  dear ! 

Are  you  so  hot?  Marry,  come  up,  I  trow; 
Is  this  the  poultice  for  my  aching  bones? 
Henceforward  do  your  messages  yourself. 

Jul.   Here's   such   a  coil; — Come,  what  says 
Romeo  ?  [day  ? 

Nurse.  Have  you  got  leave  to  go  to  shrift  to- 

Jul.  I  have.  [cell. 

Nurse.  Then  hie  you  hence  to  friar  Laurence' 
There  stays  a  husband  to  make  you  a  wife  : 
Now  comes  the  wanton  blood  up  in  your  cheeks, 
They'll  be  in  scarlet  straight  at  any  news. 
Hie  you  to  church  ;  I  must  another  way. 
To  fetch  a  ladder,  by  the  which  your  love 
Must  climb  a  bird's  nest  soon,  when  it  is  dark : 
I  am  the  ririsrige,  and  toil  in  your  delight  ; 
But  you  shall  bear  the  burden  soon  at  night. 
Go,  I'll  to  ditmer;  hie  you  to  the  cell. 

JuL  Hie  to  high  fortune  ! — honest  nurse,  fare- 
well. [Exeunt. 

ScEfSTE  VI. — Friar  Laurence's  Cell. 
Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Romeo, 
Fri.  So  smile  the  heavens  upon  this  holy  act. 
That  after  hours  with  sorrow  chide  us  not! 

M&m,  Aiflevi,  amen  I  Ir  ut  come  what  sorrow  can. 


729 

It  cannot  countervail  the  exchange  of  joy. 
That  one  short  minute  gives  me  in  her  sight 
Do  thou  but  close  our  hands  with  holy  wordi, 
Then  love-devouring  death  do  what  he  dare. 
It  is  enough  I  may  but  call  her  mine. 

Frt.  These  violent  delights  have  violent  endi 
And  in  their  triumph  die ;  like  fire  and  powder^ 
Which,  as  they  kiss,  consume:  The  sweet  honef 
Is  loathsome  in  his  own  deliciousness. 
And  in  the  taste  confounds  the  ajjpetite: 
Therefore,  love  moderately  ;  long  love  doth  ftoj 
Too  swift  arrives  as  tardy  as  too  slow. 

Enter  Juliet. 
Here  comes  the  lady  ; — O,  so  light  a  foot 
Will  ne'er  wear  out  the  everlasting  flint 
A  lover  may  bestride  the  gossamers. 
That  idle  in  the  wanton  summer  air. 
And  yet  not  fall ;  so  light  is  vanity. 

Jul.  Good  even  to  my  ghostly  confessor. 

Fri.  Romeo  shall  thank  tliee,  daughter,  for  ui 
both.  [much. 

Jul.  As  much  to  him,  else  are  his  thanks  too 

Rom.  Ah,  Juliet,  if  the  measure  of  thy  joy 
Be  heap'd  like  mine,  and  that  thy  skill  be  more 
To  blazon  it,  then  sweeten  with  thy  breath 
This  neighbour  air,  and  let  rich  music's  tongue 
Unfold  the  imagin'd  happiness,  that  both 
Receive  in  either  by  this  dear  encounter. 

Jul.  Conceit,  more  rich  in  matter  than  in  words. 
Brags  of  his  substance,  not  of  ornament : 
They  are  but  beggars  that  can  count  their  worth; 
But  my  true  love  is  grown  to  such  excess, 
1  cannot  sum  up  half  my  sum  of  wealth, 

Fri.  Come,  come  with  me,  and  we  will  makf 
short  work ; 
For,  by  your  leaves,  you  shall  not  stay  alone, 
Till  holy  church  incorporate  two  in  one.  [Exeunin 

ACT  in. 

Scene  T.— J.  public  Place. 
Enter  Mercutio,  Benvolio,  Page,  and  Servonte. 

Ben.  I  pray  thee,  good  Mercutio,  let's  retire ; 
The  day  is  hot,  the  Capulets  abroad, 
And,  if  we  meet,  we  shall  not  'scafie  a  brawl  ; 
For  now,  these  hot  days,  is  the  mad  blood  stirring. 

Mer.  Thou  art  like  one  of  those  fellows,  that, 
when  he  enters  the  confines  of  a  tavern,  claps  me 
his  sword  upon  the  table,  and  says,  God  send  me 
no  need  of  thee  !  and  by  the  operation  of  the  se- 
cond cup,  draws  it  on  the  drawer,  when,  indeed, 
there  is  no  need. 

Ben.  Am  I  like  such  a  fellow? 

Mer.  Come,  come,  thou  art  as  hot  a  Jack  in  thy 
mood  as  any  in  Italy :  and  as  soon  moved  to  be 
moody,  and  as  soon  moody  to  be  moved. 

Ben.  And  what  to? 

Mer.  Nay,  an  there  were  two  such,  we  should 
have  none  shortly,  for  one  would  kill  the  other. 
Thou  !  why,  thoi?  wilt  quarrel  with  a  man  that  hatb 
a  hair  more,  or  a  hair  less,  in  his  beard,  than  thoo 
hast.  Thou  wilt  quarrel  with  a  man  for  cracking 
nuts,  having  no  other  reason  but  because  thou  hast 
hazel  eyes  :  What  eye,  but  such  an  eye,  would  spy 
out  such  a  quarrel  ?  Thy  head  is  as  full  of  quarrels, 
as  an  egg  is  full  of  meat ;  and  yet  thy  head  hatli 
been  beaten  as  addle  as  an  egg,  for  quarrellinpc. 
Thou  hast  quarrelled  with  a  man  for  coughing  m 
the  street,  because  he  hath  wakened  thy  dog  that 
hath  lain  asleep  in  the  sun.  Didst  thou  not  fall  out 
with  a  tailor,  for  wearing  his  new  doublet  hefo 
Easter?  with  another,  for  tying  his;  new  shoes  wit 
old  ribband  V  and  yet  thou  wilt  tutor  me  from  quar- 
rellmg ! 

Ben.  An  I  were  so  apt  to  quarrel  as  thou  art, 
any  man  should  buy  the  lee-simple  of  my  life  tor  Ml 
hour  and  a  quarter. 

Mer.  The  fee-simple  ?    O  simple ! 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


V30 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  III, 


Enier  Tybalt,  and  others. 

Ben,  By  my  head,  here  come  the  Capnlets. 

Mer,  By  my  heel,  I  care  not. 

Tj-^.  Follow  me  (iose,  for  I  will  speak  to  them. — 
Gentlemen,  ^ood  den  :  a  word  with  one  of  you. 

Mer.  And  but  one  word  with  one  of  us  ?  Couple 
it  with  somethiiig;  make  it  a  word  and  a  blow. 

'J'yb.  You  will  find  me  apt  enough  to  that,  sir,  if 
yc*«  will  give  me  occasion.  [giving? 

Mer.  Could  you  not  take  some  occasion  without 

Tvb.  Mercutio,  thou'consort'st  with  Romeo, — 

Aier.  Consort !  what,  dost  thou  make  us  min- 
strels ?  an  thou  make  minstrels  of  us,  look  to  hear 
nothing  bit  discords:  here's  my  fiddlestick;  here's 
that  shall  make  you  dance.    'Zound'j,  consort ! 

Ben.  We  talk  here  in  the  public  haunt  of  men: 
Either  withdraw  into  some  private  place, 
Or  reason  coldly  of  your  grievances. 
Or  else  depart;  here  ail  eyes  gaze  on  us. 

Mer.  Men's  eyes  were  made  to  look,  and  let 
them  gaze  ; 
]  will  not  budge  for  no  man's  pleasure,  I. 

Enter  RoMEO. 

Tyb.  Well,  peace  be  with  you,  sir!  here  comes 
my  man.  [livery : 

Mer.  But  I'll  be  hanged,  sir,  if  he  wear  your 
Marry,  go  before  to  field,  he'll  be  your  follower  ; 
Your  worship,  in  that  sense,  may  call  him — man. 

Ti/b.    Romeo,  the  hate  I  bear  thee  can  atibrd 
No  better  term  than  this — Thou  art  a  villain. 

Rom.  Tybalt,  the  reason  that  I  have  to  love  thee 
Doth  niuch  excuse  the  appertaining  rage 
To  such  a  greeting: — Villain  am  I  none; 
Therefore  farewe'.l;  1  see,  thou  know'st  me  Hot. 

Tyb.  Boy,  this  shall  nut  excuse  the  injuries 
That  tliou  h  ist  done  me  ;  therefore  turn  and  draw. 

Rom.  1  do  protest,  I  never  injur'd  thee  ; 
But  love  thee  better  than  thou  canst  devise, 
Tdl  thoii  shalt  know  the  reason  of  niy  love  : 
And  so,  good  Capulet, — which  name  I  tender 
As  dearly  as  mine  own, — be  satisfied. 

Mer.  O  calm,  dishonourable,  vile  submission  ! 
A  la  s toccata  carries  it  away. —  {Draivs.) 
Tybalt,  you  rat-catcher,  will  you  walk  ? 

Tyb.  What  would  st  thou  have  with  me  ? 

Mer.  Good  king  of  cats,  nothing,  but  one  of  your 
nine  lives:  that  I  mean  to  make  bold  witlml,  and, 
as  you  shall  use  me  hereafter,  dry  beat  the  rest  of 
the  eight.  Will  you  pluck  your  sword  out  of  his 
pilcher  by  the  ears  ?  make  haste,  lest  mine  be  about 
your  ears  ere  it  be  out. 

Tyb.  I  am  for  you.  {Drawing.) 

Rom.  Gentle  Mercutio,  put  thy  rapier  up. 

Mer.  Come,  sir,  your  passado.        {They  fight.) 

Rom.  Draw,  Benvolio ; 
Beat  down  their  weapons  : — Gentlemen,  for  shame, 
Forbear  this  outrage  ; — Tybalt— Mercutio — 
The  prince  expressly  hath  forbid  this  bandying 
[n  Verona  streets : — hold,  Tybalt; — good  Mercutio. 

[Exeunt  Tybalt  and  his  Bartizans. 

Mer.  I  am  hurt ; — 
A  plague  o'  both  the  houses  ! — I  am  sped  : — 
Is  tie  gone,  and  hath  nothing? 

Ben.  What,  art  thou  hurt  ? 

Mer.  Ay,  ay,  a  scratch,  a  scratch ;  marry,  'tis 
enough, — 

VVheie  is  ray  page? — Go,  villain,  fetch  a  surgeon. 

[Exit  Page. 

Rom.  Courage,  man  ;  the  hurt  cannot  be  much. 

Mer.  No,  'tis  not  so  deep  as  a  well,  nor  so  wide 
as  a  church-door;  but  'tis  enough,  'twill  serve  :  ask 
fdr  me  to-morrow,  and  you  shall  find  me  a  grave 
man.  I  am  peppered,  I  warrant,  for  this  world  : — 
A  plague  o'  both  your  houses  I — 'Zounds,  a  dog,  a 
rat,  a  mouse,  a  cat,  to  scratch  a  man  to  death  !  a 
braggart,  a  rogue,  a  villain,  that  fights  by  the  book 
of  arithmetic  ! — Why,  the  devil  came  you  between 
us  ?  I  was  hurt  under  your  arm. 


Rom^  I  thought  all  for  the  best. 

Mer.  Help  me  into  some  house,  BenvoHo^, 
Or  I  shall  faint. — A  plague  o'  both  your  houses  1 
They  have  made  worm's  meat  of  me  ; 
I  have  it,  and  soundly  too  : — Your  houses! 

[Exeunt  Mercutio  and  BenmliuK 

Roin.  This  gentleman,  the  prince  s  near  ally, 
My  very  friend,  hath  got  his  mortal  hurt 
In  my  behalf ;  my  reputation  stain  d 
With  Tybalt's  slander,  Tybalt,  that  an  houl 
Hath  been  my  kinsman  : — O  sweet  Juliet, 
Thy  beauty  hath  made  me  effeminate, 
And  in  my  temper  soften'd  valour's  steel. 

Re-enter  Benvolio. 

Ben.  O  Romeo,  Romeo,  bra^ve  Mercutio's  dead*. 
That  gallant  spirit  hath  asjiir'd  the  cloud.'<, 
Whicli  too  untimely  here  did  scorn  the  earth. 

Roiti.  This  day's  black  fate  on  more  days  dot' 
depend ; 

This  but  begins  the  woe,  others  must  end. 

Re-enter  Tybalt. 

Ben.  Here  comes  the  furious  Tybalt  back  again. 

Rom.  Alive  !  in  triumph  !  and  Mercutio  slain  ! 
Away  to  heaven,  respective  lenity. 
And  fire-eyed  fury  be  my  conduct  now  ! — 
Now,  Tybalt,  take  the  villain  back  again, 
Tlrat  late  thou  gav'st  me;  for  Mercutio's  soul 
Is  but  a  little  way  above  our  heads. 
Staying  for  thine  to  keep  him  company  ; 
Either  thou,  or  I,  or  both,  must  go  with  him. 

Tyb.  Thou,  wretched  buy,  that  didst  consort  hisa 
Shalt  with  him  hence.  [here. 

Rom.  This  shall  determine  that. 

( T/i(^y  fight :  TyhaU  folia, ) 

Ben.  Romeo,  away,  be  gone  1 
The  citizens  are  up,  and  Tybalt  slain: — 
Stand  not  amaz'd ; — the  prince  will  doom  thf-e  deatb^ 
If  thou  art  taken  : — hence  ! — be  gone  ! — av^'ay  ] 

Rom.  O !  I  am  fortune's  fool ! 

Ben.  Why  dost  tliou  stay  ? 

[Exit  Rome^x 

Enter  Citizens,  ^c. 

1  Cit.  Which  way  ran  he,  that  kill'd  Mercutio? 
Tybalt,  that  murderer,  which  way  ran  he  ? 

BeJi.  There  lies  that  'J'ybalt. 

1  Cit.  Up.  sir,  go  with  me  ; 

1  charge  thee  in  the  prince's  name,  obey. 

Enter  Prince,  attended;  IVIontague,  Capulet, 
their  Wives,  and  others. 
Prin.  Where  are  the  vile  beginners  of  this  frayf 
Ben.  O  noble  prince,  I  can  discover  all 
The  unlucky  manage  of  this  fatal  brawl : 
There  lies  the  man,  slain  by  young  Romeo, 
That  slew  thy  kinsman,  brave  Mercutio. 

La.  Cap.  Tybalt,  my  cousin! — O  my  brother*! 
child ! 

Unhappy  sight !  ah  me,  the  blood  is  spill'd 
Of  my  dear  kinsman  ! — Prince,  as  thou  art  true. 
For  blood  of  ours,  shed  blood  of  Montague. — 
O  cousin,  cousin  I 

Prin.  Benvolio,  who  began  this  bloody  fray  ? 

Ben.  Tybalt,  here  slain,  whom  Romeo's  hnnd  did 
slay ; 

Romeo  that  spoke  him  fair,  bade  him  bethink 
How  nice  the  quarrel  was,  and  u-r'd  withal 
Your  high  displeasure  : — All  this — uttered 
With  gentle   breath,   calm  look,  knees  buui 
bow'd. — 

Could  not  take  truce  with  the  unruly  spleen 
Of  Tybalt,  deaf  to  peace,  but  that  he  tilts 
With  piercing  steel  at  bold  Mercutio's  breaai; 
Who,  all  as  hot,  turns  deadly  point  to  point. 
And,  with  a  martial  scorn,  with  one  hand  beat*  , 
Cold  death  aside,  and  with  the  other  sends  ; 
It  back  to  Tybalt,  whose  d  'xt  ^r\ty  ^ 
Retorts  it:  nomeo  be  cries  al^wd, 


Scene  2. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET.^ 


73: 


Hold,  friends !  friends,  pari!  and,  s\vifter  than 
his  tongue, 

His  agile  anii  beats  down  their  fatal  points, 
And  'twixt  them  rushes;  underneath  whose  arm 
An  envious  thrust  from  Tybalt  hit  the  life 
Of  stout  Mercutio,  and  then  Tybalt  fled  : 
But  by  and  by  comes  back  to  Romeo, 
Who  had  but  newly  entertain'd  revenge, 
And  lo't  they  go  like  ligiitning-  for,  ere  1 
Could  draw  to  part  them,  was  stout  Tybalt  slain  ; 
And,  33  he  fell,  did  Romeo  turn  and  fly: 
This  is  the  trutii,  or  let  Benvolio  die. 

La.  Cap.  He  is  a  kinsman  to  the  Montague, 
Affection  makes  him  i'alse,  he  speaks  not  true  : 
Some  twenty  of  them  fought  in  this  black  strife. 
And  all  those  twenty  could  but  kill  one  life  : 
I  beg  for  justice,  which  thou,  prince,  must  give  ; 
Romeo  slew  Tybalt,  Romeo  must  not  live. 

Prin.  Romeo  slew  him,  he  slew  Mercutio; 
Who  now  the  price  of  his  dear  blood  doth  owe  ? 

Mon.  Not  Romeo,  prince,  he  was  Mercutio's 
friend ; 

His  fault  concludes  but,  what  the  law  should  end. 
The  life  of  Tybalt. 

Prin.  And,  for  that  offence, 

Immediately  we  do  exile  him  hence  : 
I  have  an  interest  in  your  hates'  proceeding. 
My  blood,  for  your  rude  brawls,  doth  lie  a-bleeding  ; 
But  I'll  amerce  you  with  so  strong  a  fine, 
That  you  shall  all  repent  the  loss  of  mine: 
I  will  be  deaf  to  pleading  and  excuses  ; 
Nor  tears,  nor  prayers,  shall  purchase  out  abuses. 
Therefore  use  none  :  let  Romeo  hence  in  haste. 
Else,  when  he's  louud,  that  hour  is  his  last. 
Bear  hence  his  body,  and  attend  our  will  : 
Mercy  but  murders,  pardoning  those  that  kill. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — A  Room  in  CapideVs  House.  ♦ 
Enter  Juliet. 
Jul.  Gallop  apace,  you  fiery-footed  steeds. 
Towards  Phoebus'  mansion;  such  a  waggoner 
As  Phaeton  would  vvhip  you  to  the  west, 
And  bring  in  cloudy  night  immediately. — 
Spread  thy  close  curtain,  love-perfonning  night ! 
That  run-away's  eyes  may  wink  ;  and  Romeo 
Leap  to  these  arms,  untalk"d  of,  and  unseen  I — 
Lovers  can  see  to  do  tiieir  amorous  rites 
By  their  own  beauties  :  or,  if  love  be  blind, 
It  best  agrees  with  night. — Come,  civil  night, 
Thou  sober-suited  matron,  all  in  black, 
And  learn  me  how  t')  lose  a  winning  match, 
Play'd  for  a  pair  of  stainless  maidenhoods  : 
Hood  my  unmann'd  blood,  bating  in  my  cheeks, 
With  thy  black  mantle;  till  strange  love,  grovk'n  bold, 
Think  true  love  acted,  simple  modesty. 
Come,  night ! — Come,  Romeo  !  come,  thou  day  in 
night ! 

For  thou  wilt  lie  upon  the  wings  of  night 

Whiter  than  new  snow  on  a  raven's  back. — 

Come,  gentle  night ;  come,  loving,  black-brow'd  night. 

Give  me  my  Romeo :  and,  when  he  shall  die, 

Take  him,  and  cut  him  out  in  little  stars, 

And  he  will  make  the  face  of  heaven  so  fine. 

That  all  the  world  will  be  in  love  with  night, 

And  pay  no  worship  to  the  garish  son. — 

O,  I  have  bought  the  mansion  of  a  love, 

Bat  n-it  possess'd  it;  and,  tiiough  I  am  sold. 

Not  J  et  enjoy'd  :  So  tedious  is  this  day. 

As  is  the  night  before  some  festival 

To  an  impatient  child,  that  hath  new  robes, 

And  may  not  wear  them.   O,  here  comes  my  nurse. 

Enter  Nurse,  with  cords. 
And  she  brings  news  ;  and  every  tongue  that  speaks 
But  Romeo's  name,  speaks  heaven'y  eloquence. — 
Now,  nurse,,  what  news  ?  Wliat  hast  thou  there  ?  the 
That  Romeo  bade  thee  fetch  ?  [cords, 
Nurse.  Ay,  ay,  the  cords. 

{Throws  them  down.) 


Jul.  Ah  me  !  what  news  ?  why  dost  thoa  wring  thy 
hands?  [dead! 

Nurse.  Ah  well-a-day!  he's  dead,  he's  dead,  he'» 
We  are  undone,  lady,  we  are  undone!— 
Alack  the  day! — he's  gone,  he's  kilTd,  he's  deadi 

Jtd.  Can  heaven  be  so  envious  ? 

Nurse.  Romeo  can. 

Though  heaven  cannot: — O  Romeo,  Komeo  ! — 
Who  ever  would  have  thought  if'* — Romeo! 

Jul.  What  devil  art  thou,  that  dost  torment  m« 
thus  ? 

This  torture  should  be  roar'd  in  dismal  hell. 

Hath  Romeo  slain  himself?  say  thou  but/. 

And  that  bare  vowel  /  shall  poison  more 

Than  the  death-darting  eye  of  cockatrice  : 

I  anj  not  I,  if  there  be  such  an  /; 

Or  those  eyes  shut,  that  make  thee  answer,  I 

If  he  be  slain,  say — /;  or  if  not,  no: 

Brief  sounds  determine  of  my  weal,  or  woe. 

Nurse.  I  saw  the  wound,  I  saw  it  with  mine  eyes,-* 
God  save  the  mark  ! — here  on  his  manly  breast: 
A  piteous  corse,  a  bloody  piteous  corse; 
Pale,  pale  as  ashes,  all  bedawb'd  in  blood. 
All  in  gore  blood ; — I  swooned  at  the  sight. 

Jul.  O  break,  my  heart! — poor  bankrupt,  breaK 
at  once  ! 

To  prison,  eyes !  ne'er  look  on  liberty  ! 

Vile  earth,  to  earth  resign  ;  end  motion  here ; 

And  thou,  and  Romeo,  press  one  heavy  bier! 

Nurse.  O  Tybalt,  Tybalt,  the  best  friend  1  had! 
O  courteous  Tybalt !  honest  gentleman  ! 
That  ever  I  should  live  to  see  thee  dead  ! 

Jid.  What  storm  is  this,  that  blows  so  contrary? 
Is  Romeo  slaughter'd;  and  is  Tybalt  dead? 
My  dear-lov'd  cousin,  and  iny  dearer  lord  ?- 
Then,  dreadful  trumpet,  sound  the  general  doom  I 
For  who  is  living,  if  those  two  are  gone  ? 

Nurse.  Tybalt  is  gone,  and  Romeo  banish'd  ; 
Romeo  that  kill'd  him,  he  is  banished. 

Jul.  O  God !— did  Romeo's  hand  shed  Tyba)l'9 
blood? 

Nurse.  It  did,  it  did ;  alas  the  day  !  it  did. 

Jul.  O  serpent  heart,  hid  with  a  flowering  facel 
Did  ever  dragon  keep  so  fair  a  cave  ? 
Beautiful  tyrant,  fiend  angelical ! 
Dove-feather'd  raven  !  wolvish  ravening  Iambi. 
Despised  substance  of  divinest  shew  ! 
Just  opposite  to  what  thou  jijstly  seeni'st, 
A  damned  saint,  an  honourable  villain! — 
O,  nature  !  wliat  hadst  thou  to  do  in  hell, 
When  thou  did'st  bovver  the  spirit  of  a  fiend 
In  mortal  paradise  of  such  sweet  flesh  ? 
Was  ever  book,  containing  such  vile  matter. 
So  fairly  bound O,  that  deceit  should  dwell 
In  such  a  gorgeous  palace  ! 

Nurse.  There's  no  trust. 

No  faith,  no  honesty  in  men;  all  perjnr'd. 
All  forsworn,  all  naught,  all  dissemblers. — 
Ah,  where's  my  man?  give  me  sonje  aqua  viiac—^ 
These  griefs,  these  woes,  these  sorrows  make  me  ok^ 
Shame  corae  to  Romeo! 

Jul.  Blister'd  be  thy  tongoe. 

For  such  a  wish ;  he  was  not  born  to  shame : 
Upon  his  brow  shame  is  asham'd  to  sit; 
For 'tis  a  throne  where  honour  may  be  crown'd 
Sole  monarch  of  the  universal  earth. 
O,  what  a  beast  was  I  to  chide  at  him  ! 

Nurse.  Will  you  speak  well  of  him  that  kilitt 
your  cousin  ? 

Jul.  Shall  I  speak  ill  of  him  that  is  my  husband? 
Ah,  poor  my  lord,  what  tongue  shall  smooth  thy  n&tn©. 
When  I,  thy  three-hours'  wife,  have  mangled  it? 
But,  whereiore,  villain,  didst  thou  kill  n\y  cousin? 
That  villain  cousin  would  have  kill'd  my  husband 
Back,  foolish  tears,  back  to  your  native  spring; 
YoiH"  tributary  drops  belong  to  woe. 
Which  you,  mistaking,  offer  up  to  joy. 
My  husband  lives,  that  Tybalt  would  have  slasn; 
And  Tybalt's  dead,  that  woul^l  have  slaia  my  h«i» 
band: 


732 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET 


Act  Ul 


All  this  IS  comfort ;  WK  arefore  weep  1  then  ? 
Some  word  there  was,  worser  than  Tybalt's  death, 
I'hat  murder'd  me  :  I  would  forget  it  fain ; 
But,  O  !  it  presses  to  my  memory. 
Like  damned  guilty  deeds  to  sinners'  minds: 
Tybalt  is  dead,  and  Romeo — banished; 
Thdit-^anished,  that  one  word — banished. 
Hath  slain  ten  thousand  Tybalts.    Tybalt's  death 
Was  woe  enough,  if  it  had  ended  there: 
Or, — if  our  woe  delights  in  fellowship. 
And  needly  will  be  ratik'd  with  other  griefs, — 
Why  follow'd  not,  when  she  said — Tybalt's  dead. 
Thy  father,  or  thy  mother,  nay,  or  both. 
Which  modern  lamentation  might  have  mov'd  ? 
But,  with  a  rear-ward  following  Tybalt's  death, 
Romeo  is  banished, — to  speak  that  word, 
is  father,  mother,  Tybalt,  Romeo,  Juliet, 
All  slain,  all  dead  : — Romeo  is  banished, — 
There  is  no  end,  no  limit,  measure,  bound, 
In  that  word's  death  ;  no  words  can  that  woe 
sound. — 

Where  is  my  father,  and  my  mother,  nurse  ? 

Nnrse.  Weeping  and  wailing  over  Tybalt's  corse : 
Will  yon  go  to  tliem?  I  will  bring  you  thither. 

Jul.  Wash  tliey  his  wounds  with  tears  ?  mine 
shall  be  spent, 
Wlifn  tlieirs  are  dry,  for  Romeo's  banishment. 
Take  up  those  cords  • — Poor  ropes,  you  are  beguil'd. 
Both  you  and  I;  for  Romeo  is  exil'd  : 
He  tnade  you  for  a  highway  to  my  bed: 
But  I,  a  maid,  die  maiden-widowed. 
Come,  cords  ;  come,  nurse  ;  I'll  to  my  wedding  bed; 
And  death,  not  Romeo,  take  my  maidenhead  ! 

Nurse.  Hie  to  your  chamber :  I'll  find  Romeo 
To  comfort  you  : — I  wot  well  where  he  is. 
Hark  ye,  your  Romeo  will  be  here  at  night; 
I'll  to  iiim  :  he  is  hid  at  Laurence'  cell. 

Jul.  O  find  him  !  give  this  ring  to  my  true  knight ; 
And  bid  him  come  tc  take  his  last  farewell.  [Exeunt, 
Scene  IH. — Friar  Laurence's  Cell, 
Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Romeo. 

Fri.  Romeo,  come  forth  ;  come  forth,  thou  fearful 
Affliction  is  enamoiir'd  of  tliy  parts,  [man  ; 

And  thou  art  wedded  to  calamity.  [doom  ? 

Ro7n.  Father,  what  news?  what  is  the  prince's 
What  s<irrow  craves  acquaintance  at  my  hand, 
•Hiat  I  yet  know  not  ? 

Fri.  Too  familiar 

?s  my  dear  son  with  such  sour  company: 
I  bring  thee  tidings  of  the  [)rin(;e's  doom. 

Rom.  What  less  than  doomsday  is  the  prince's 
doom  ? 

Fri.  A  gentler  judgment  vanish'd  from  his  lips. 
Not  body's  death,  but  body's  banisfiinent. 

Rofn.  Ha!  banishment!  be  merciful,  say — death: 
For  exile  hath  more  terror  in  his  look, 
Much  more  than  death  :  do  not  say — banishment. 

Fri.  Hence  from  Verona  art  thou  banished: 
jBe  patient,  for  the  world  is  broad  and  wide. 

Rom.  There  is  no  world  without  Verona  walls, 
Bat  purgatory   torture,  hell  itself. 
Hence -banished  is  hanisli'd  from  the  world, 
And  world's  exile  is  death  : — then  banishment 
Is  death  mis  term'd  :  calling  death — banishment, 
Thou  cut'st  my  head  olf  vvith  a  golden  axe. 
And  .srnil'st  upon  the  stroke  that  murders  me. 

Frt.  O  deadly  sin!  O  rude  unthankfuiness ! 
Thy  fault  our  law  calls  death  ;  but  the  kind  prince. 
Taking  thy  part,  hath  rush'd  aside  the  law, 
And  turn'fl  that  black  word  death  to  banishment: 
This  is  dear  mercy,  and  thou  seest  it  not. 

Rotn.  "Tis  torture,  and  not  mercy:  heaven  is  here, 
Whf.re  Juliet  lives;  and  every  cat,  and  dog, 
And  little  mouse,  every  unworthy  thing. 
Live  here  in  heaven,  and  may  look  on  her. 
But  Romeo  may  not. — More  validity. 
More  honourable  state,  more  courtship  h'-es 
In  carrion  flies,  than  Romeo:  they  may  seizr 
Ou  tikt  white  wonder  ol  dear  Juliet's  hand, 


And  steal  immortal  blessing  from  her  lips; 

Who,  even  in  pure  and  vestal  modesty, 

Still  blush,  as  thinking  their  own  kisses  sin  5 

But  Romeo  may  not ;  he  is  banished ; 

Flies  may  do  this,  when  I  from  this  mtist  fly: 

They  are  free  men,  but  I  am  banished. 

And  say'st  thou  yet,  that  exile  is  not  death  ? 

Hadst  thou  no  poison  mix'd,  no  sharp-ground  knift. 

No  sudden  mean  of  death,  though  ne'er  so  mean 

But — banished — to  kill  me  ;  banished  ? 

0  friar,  the  damned  use  that  word  in  hell ; 
Howlings  attend  it:  How  hast  thou  the  heart, 
Being  a  divine,  a  ghostly  confessor, 

A  sin-absolver,  and  a  friend  profess'd. 

To  mangle  me  with  that  word — banisnraent? 

Fri.  Thou  fond  mad  man,  hear  me  but  S][)e9.k  a 
word. 

Rom.  O  thou  wilt  speak  again  of  banishment. 

Fri.  I'll  give  thee  armour  to  keep  off  that  word  • 
Adversity's  sweet  milk,  philosophy. 
To  comfort  thee,  though  thou  ail  banished. 

Rom.  Yet  banished  ?— hang  up  philosophy ! 
Unless  philosophy  can  make  a  Juliet, 
Displant  a  town,  reverse  a  prince's  doom  ; 
It  helps  not,  it  prevails  not;  talk  no  more. 

Frt.  O,  then  I  see,  that  madmen  have  no  ears 

Rom.  How  should  they,  when  that  wise  men 
have  no  eyes? 

Fri.  Let  me  dispute  with  thee  of  thy  estate. 

Rom.  Thou  canst  not  speak  of  what  thou  dost 
not  feel : 

Wert  thou  as  young  as  I,  Juliet  thy  love, 
An  hour  but  married,  Tybalt  murdered. 
Doting  like  me,  and  like  me  banished 
Then  might'st  thou  speak,  then  might'st  tliou  tear 
thy  hair, 

And  fall  upon  the  ground,  as  I  do  now, 
Taking  the  measure  of  an  unmade  grave. 

Fri,  Arise ;  one  knocks ;  good  Romeo,  hide  thy  * 
self.  {Knocking  within.) 

Rom.  Not  I ;  unless  the  breath  of  heart  sick 
groans. 

MLft  like,  infold  me  from  the  search  of 

{Knocking.) 

Fri.  Hark,  how  they  knock!  Who's  tliere  .  - 
Romeo,  arise ; 
Thou  wilt  be  taken: — Stay  awhile  : — stand  up  ; 

[Knocking.) 
Run  to  my  study  : — By  and  by  : — God's  will  I 
What  wilfulness  is  this? — I  come,  I  come. 

{Knc.»king.) 

Who  knocks  so  hard  ?  whence  come  you  ?  what's 
your  will  ? 

Nurse.  ( Within.)  Let  me  come  in,  and  you  shall 
know  my  errand ; 

1  come  from  Lady  Juliet. 

Fri.  Welcome  then. 

Enter  Nufse. 

Nurse.  O  holy  friar,  O,  tell  me,  holy  friar. 
Where  is  my  lady's  lord,  where's  Romeo? 

Fri.  There  on  the  ground,  with  his  own  tears 
made  drunk. 

Nurse.  O,  he  is  even  in  my  mistress'  case, 
Just  in  her  case  ! 

Fri.  O  woeful  sympathy ; 

Piteous  predicament! 

Nurse.  Even  so  lies  she. 

Blubbering  and  weeping,  weeping  and  blubbering 
Stand  up,  stand  up;  stand,  an  you  he  a  man: 
For  Juliet's  sake,  tor  her  sake,  rise  and  stand  ; 
Why  should  you  fall  into  so  deep  an  O 

Rom.  Nurse!  [ot  dl. 

Nurse.  Ah,  sir  !  ah,  sir !  —  Well,  death's  the  end 

Rom.  Spak'st  thou  of  Juliet?  how  is  it  with  her? 
Doth  she  not  think  me  an  old  murderer, 
Now  1  have  stain'd  the  childhood  of  our  joy 
With  blood  remnv'd  but  little  frotn  her  own? 
Where  is  she  ?  and  how  doth  she  ?  and  what  sajra 
My  conceal'd  lady' to  our  canceli'd  love  ' 


Scene  5. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET, 


731 


•   Nurte.  O  she  say*  DothiDg,  sir,  but  weeps  and 

weeps; 

And  now  falls  on  her  bed  ;  and  then  starts  up. 
And  Tybalt  calls;  and  then  on  Romeo  cries. 
And  then  down  fails  again. 

Jiom.  As  if  that  name. 

Shot  from  the  deadly  level  of  a  gtin, 
Did  minder  her;  as  that  name's  cursed  hand 
Miirder'd  her  kinsman.— O  tell  me,  friar,  tell  me. 
In  what  vile  part  of  this  anatomy 
Doth  my  name  lodge  ?  tell  me,  that  I  may  sack 
The  hateful  mansion.  [Drawing  his  sword.) 

Fri.  Hold  thy  desperate  hand  : 

Art  thou  a  man?  thy  form  cries  out,  thou  art; 
Thy  tears  are  womanish;  thy  wild  acts  denote 
The  unreasonable  fury  of  a  beast : 
Unseemly  woman,  in  a  seeming  man  ! 
Or  ill  beseeming  beast,  in  seeming  both  ! 
Thou  hast  amaa'd  me:  by  my  holy  order, 
I  thought  thy  disi)Osition  better  temper'd. 
Hasttliou  slain  'VyhAii't  wilt  thou  slay  thyself? 
And  slay  thy  lady  too  that  lives  in  thee. 
By  doing  damnt^d  hate  uPon  thyself? 
Why  rail'st  thou  on  thy  birth,  the  heaven,  and  earth? 
Since  birtii,  and  heaven,  and  earth,  all  three  do  meet 
In  thee  at  once;  which  thou  at  once  would'st  lose. 
Fye,  fye !  tliou  sham'st  thy  shape,  thy  love,  thy  wit; 
Which,  like  an  usurer,  abound'st  in  all. 
And  usest  none  in  that  true  use  indeed 
Which  should  bedeck  thy  shape,  thy  love,  thy  wit. 
Thy  noble  shape  is  but  a  form  of  wax, 
Digressing  from  the  valour  of  a  man : 
Thy  dear  love,  sworn,  but  hollow  perjury, 
Killing  that  love,  which  thou  hast  vovv'd  to  cherish  : 
Thy  wit,  that  ornament  to  shape  and  love, 
Mis-shapen  in  tlie  conduct  of  theni  both, 
Like  pov;der  in  a  skill-less  soldier's  flask, 
Is  set  on  tire  by  thine  own  ignorance, 
And  thou  dismember'd  witii  thine  own  defence. 
What,  rouse  thee,  man  !  thy  Juliet  is  alive, 
For  whose  dear  sake  thou  wast  but  lately  dead; 
There  art  thou  happy :  Tybalt  would  kill  thee. 
But  thou  slevv'st  Tybalt;  there  art  thou  happy  too: 
The  law,  that  threaten'd  death,  becomes  thy  friend. 
And  ti:rns  it  to  exile  ;  there  art  thou  happy  : 
A  pack,  ol  blessings  lights  upon  thy  back; 
Happiness  courts  tnee  in  her  best  array  ; 
But,  like  a  misbeliav  d  and  sullen  wench. 
Thou  pout'st  upon  thy  fortune  and  tliy  love: 
Take  heed,  take  heed,  for  such  die  miserable. 
Go,  get  thee  to  thy  love,  as  was  decreed, 
Ascend  her  ciiaml»er,  hence  and  coinibrt  her; 
But  look,  thou  stay  not  till  the  watch  be  set. 
For  then  ttiou  ciinst  not  pHss  to  Miintua; 
^Vhere  tiioti  shall  live,  till  we  can  hod  a  time 
To  blaze  yuin  mairiage,  reconcile  your  Irieuds, 
Beg  pardon  of  tlie  prince,  and  call  thee  back 
With  twenty  hundred  thousand  times  more  joy 
Than  thou  wenfst  fortti  in  lamentation. — 
Go  befoic,  nurse  ;  commend  ini-  to  thy  lady; 
And  bid  her  hasten  all  the  house  to  bed, 
Which  heavy  sorrow  niakes  tliem  apt  unto: 
Romeo  is  CO  iiing.  [night, 

Nurse.  O,  Lord,  I  could  have  staid  here  ail  the 
To  hear  good  counsel  •  O,  what  learning  is ! — 
My  lord,  i  ll  tell  n>y  lady  you  will  come. 

Horn.  Do  so,  and  bid  my  sweet  prepare  to  chide. 

ffurse.  Here,  sir,  a  ring  she  bade  me  give  you,  sir: 
Hie  you,  make  haste,  for  it  grows  very  late. 

[Exit  Nurse. 

Jtom.  How  well  my  comfort  is  reviv'd  by  this! 

Fri,  Oo  hence:  Good  night; and  here  stands  all 
your  state  ; — 
Either  begone  before  the  watch  be  set. 
Or  by  the  break  of  day  disguis'd  from  hence  : 
Sojourn  in  Mantua  ;  I'll  find  out  your  man, 
And  he  shall  siL;nify  IVom  time  to  time 
Every  good  hap  to  you,  that  chances  here  : 
Give  me  thy  hand  ;  'tis  late  :  farewell ;  good  night. 

Rom.  But  that  a  joy  past  joy  calls  out  on  me. 


It  were  a  grief,  so  brief  to  part  with  thee : 
Farewell.  [jfari 

Scene  IV. — A  Room  in  Capulefs  House. 

Enter  Capulet,  Lady  Capulet,  and  PARig. 
Cap.  Things  have  fallen  out,  sir,  so  unluckily. 
That  we  have  had  not  time  to  move  our  daughter. 
Look  you,  she  lov'd  her  kinsman  Tybalt  dearly. 
And  so  did  I ; — Well,  we  were  born  to  die.— 
'Tis  very  late,  she'll  not  come  down  to-night; 
I  promise  you,  but  for  your  company^ 
I  would  have  been  a-bed  an  hour  ago. 

Par.  These  times  of  woe  alford  no  time  to  woo: 
Madam,  good  night:  commend  me  to  your  daughtei 

La.  Cap.  I  will,  and  know  her  mind  early  to- 
morrow ; 

To-night  she's  mew'd  up  to  her  heaviness. 

Cap.  Sir  Paris,  I  will  make  a  desperate  tender 

Of  my  child's  love  :  I  think,  she  v\'ill  be  rul'd 

In  all  respects  by  me ;  nay  more,  I  doubt  it  not. 

Wife,  go  you  to  her  ere  you  go  to  bed; 

Acquaint  her  here  of  my  son  Paris'  love; 

And  bid  her,  mark  you  me,  on  Wednesday  next— 

But,  soft;  What  day  is  this? 

Par.  Monday,  my  lord. 

Cap.  Monday  ?  ha  !  ha  !  Well,  Wednesday  is  too 
soon, 

O'Thursday  let  it  be  ;— o'Thnrsday,  tell  her. 
She  shall  be  married  to  this  noble  earl : — 
Will  yon  be  ready?  do  you  like  tliis  haste? 
We'll  keep  no  ^reat  ado  ; — a  frimd,  or  two  : — 
For  hark  you,  Tybalt  being  slain  so  late. 
It  may  be  thought  we  held  it  carelessly. 
Being  our  kmsman,  if  we  revel  much  : 
Therelbre  we'll  have  some  half  a  dozen  friends. 
And  there  an  end.    But  what  say  you  to  Thursday  7 

Par,  My  lord,  I  would  that  Thursday  were  to- 
morrow, [then  :— 

Cap.  Well,  get  you  gone : — O'  Thursday  be  '& 
Go  you  to  Juliet  ere  you  go  to  bed, 
Prepare  her,  wife,  against  this  wedding-day. — 
Farewell,  my  lord. — Light  to  my  chamber,  bo! 
Afore  me,  it  is  so  very  late,  that  we 
May  call  it  early  by  and  by  : — Good  night.  [Ejcwmt^ 

Scene  V. — Juliet's  Chamber, 
Enter  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

Jul.  Wilt  thou  be  gone  ?  it  is  not  yet  near  day; 
It  was  the  nightingale,  and  not  the  lark. 
That  pierc'd  the  fearful  hollow  of  thine  ear: 
Nightly  she  sings  on  yon  pomegranate  tree: 
Believe  me,  love,  it  was  the  nightingale. 

Rum.  it  was  the  lark,  the  herald  of  the  morn. 
No  nightingale:  look,  love,  what  envious  streak* 
D<f  lace  the  severing  clouds  in  yonder  east: 
Night's  casidles  are  burnt  out,  and  jocund  day 
Stands  tijjtoe  on  the  misty  mountain  tops; 
I  must  be  gone  and  live,  or  stay  and  die. 

Jul.  V  on  light  is  not  day-light,  1  know  it.  I: 
It  is  some  meteor,  that  the  sun  exhales, 
'i'o  be  to  thee  this  night  a  torch- bearer. 
And  light  thee  on  thy  way  to  Mantua  ; 
Therefore  stay  yet,  thou  need'st  not  to  be  gone. 

Rom,  Let  me  be  ta'en,  let  me  be  put  to  death{ 
I  am  content,  so  thou  wilt  have  it  so. 
I'll  say,  yon  grey  is  not  the  morning's  eye, 
'Tis  but  the  pale  reflex  of  Cynthia's  brow  ; 
Nor  that  is  not  the  lark,  whose  notes  do  beat 
The  vanity  heaven  so  high  above  our  heads: 
I  have  more  care  to  stay,  than  will  to  go ; — 
Come,  death,  and  welcome  !  Juliet  wills  it  so.— 
How  is't,  my  soul  ?  let's  talk,  it  is  not  day. 

Jul.  It  is,  it  is,  hie  hence,  be  sone,  away; 
It  is  the  lark  that  sings  so  out  of  tune. 
Straining  harsh  discords,  and  unpleasing  abarpi 
Some  say,  the  lark  makes  sweet  division  ; 
This  doth  not  so,  for  she  divideth  us : 
Some  say,  the  lark  and  loathed  toad  change  eytt^^ 
O,  now  I  would  they  had  chang'd  vrices  too! 
Since  arm  irom  arm  that  voice  doth  us  afl'ray. 


m  ROMEO  A 

Hunting  thee  hence,  with  hunts-u.p  to  the  day. 
O,  now  be  gone  ;  more  light  and  light  it  grows. 
Rom.  Aiore  light  and  light  ? — more  dark  and  dark 
onr  woes. 

Enter  Nurse. 
Nurse.  Madam  I 

Jul.  Nurse  ?  [ber : 

Nurse.  Yonr  lady  mother's  coming  to  your  cham- 
I'he  day  is  broke ;  be  wary,  look  about. 

[Exit  Nurse. 
Jul.  Then,  window,  let  day  in,  and  let  life  out. 
Jtom.   Farewell,  farewell!  one  kiss,  and  I'll  de- 
scend. {Romeo  descends.) 
Jul.  Art  thou  gone  so?  my  love!  my  lord !  my 
friend ! 

I  must  hear  from  thee  every  day  i'the  hour. 
For  In  a  minute  there  are  many  days: 
O !  by  this  count  I  shall  be  much  in  years, 
Ere  I  again  behold  my  Romeo. 

Rom.  Farewell !  I  will  omit  no  opportunity 
That  may  convey  my  greetings,  love,  to  thee. 

Jul.  O,  think'st  thou,  we  shall  ever  meet  again  ? 

Rom.  I  doubt  it  not ;  and  all  these  woes  shail  serve 
For  sweet  discourses  in  our  time  to  come. 

Jul.  O  God  !  I  have  an  ill-divining  soul; 
Methinks,  I  see  thee,  now  thou  art  below, 
As  one  dead  in  the  bottom  of  a  tomb  : 
Either  my  eyesight  fails,  or  thou  look'st  pale. 

Rom.  And  trust  me,  love,  in  my  eye  so  do  you: 
Dry  sorrow  drinks  our  blood.    Adieu  !  adieu  ! 

[Exit  Rvmeo. 

Jul.  O  fortune,  fortune!  all  men  call  tliee  fickle  : 
If  thou  art  fickle,  what  dost  thou  with  him, 
That  is  renown'd  for  faith  ?  Be  fickle,  fortune  j 
For  then  I  hope,  thou  wilt  not  keep  him  long. 
But  send  hitn  back. 

La  Cap.  {Within.)  Ho,  daughter!  are  you  up? 

Jul.  VVho  is't  that  calls  ?  is  it  my  lady  mother? 
.18  she  not  down  so  late,  or  up  so  early  ? 
What  unaccustom'd  cause  procures  her  hither  ? 

Enter  Lady  Capulet. 
La.  Cap.  Why,  how  now,  Juliet" 
Jul.  Madam,  I  am  not  well. 

La.  Cap.  Evermore  weeping  for  your  cousin's 
death  ? 

What,  wilt  thou  wash  him  from  his  grave  with  tears? 
An  if  thou  could'st,  thou  could'st  not  make  him  live  : 
iherefore,  have  done:  Some  grief  shews  much 
of  love  ; 

But  much  of  grief  shews  still  some  want  of  wit. 

Jul.  Yet  let  uie  weep  for  such  a  feeling  loss. 

La.  Cap.  So  shall  you  feel  the  loss,  but  not  the 
Which  you  weep  for.  [friend 

Jul.  Feeling  so  the  loss, 

I  cannot  choose  but  ever  weep  the  friend. 

La.  Cap.  Well,  girl,  thou  weep'st  not  so  much  for 
his  death, 

A-s  that  the  villain  lives  which  slaughter'd  him, 

Jul.  What  villain,  madam  ? 

La.  Cap.  That  same  villain,  Romeo. 

Jul.  Villain  and  he  are  many  miles  asunder. 
God  pardon  him !  I  do,  with  all  my  heart; 
And  yet,  no  man,  like  he,  doth  grieve  my  heart. 

La.  Cap.  That  is,  because  the  traitor  murderer 
lives. 

Jul.  Ay,  madam,from  the  reach  of  these  my  hands. 
'Would,  none  but  I  might  venge  my  cousin's  death  ! 
La.  Cap.  We  will  have  vengeance  for  it,  fear  thou 
not : 

Then  weep  no  more.  I'll  send  to  one  in  Mantua, — 
Where  that  same  banish'd  runagate  doth  live, — 
That  shall  bestow  on  him  so  sure  a  dauglit. 
That  he  shall  soon  keep  Tybalt  company  ; 
And  then,  I  hope,  thou  wilt  be  satisfied. 

Jul.  Indeed,  I  never  shall  be  satisfied 
With  Romeo,  till  I  beliold  liim — dead-^ 
Is  my  poor  heart  so  for  a  kinsman  vex'd  ~- 
Madam,  if  you  could  find  out  but  a  man 


ND  JULIET.  Act  IH 

To  bear  a  poison,  I  would  temper  it; 
That  Romeo  should,  upon  receipt  thereof, 
Soon  sleep  in  quiet. — O,  how  my  heart  abhon  " 
To  hear  him  nam'd, — and  cannot  come  to  hiia^— 
To  ^^Teak  the  love  I  bore  my  cousin  Tybalt 
Upon  his  body  that  hath  slaughter'd  him  I 
La.  Cap.  Find  thou  the  means,  and  I'll  find  eocfc 
a  man. 

But  now  I'll  tell  the  joyful  tidings,  girl. 

Jul.  And  joy  comes  well  in  such  a  needful  time ; 
What  are  they,  I  beseech  your  ladyship? 

La.  Cap.  Well,  well,  thou  hast  a  careful  father, 
child; 

One,  who,  to  put  thee  from  thy  heaviness. 

Hath  sorted  out  a  sudden  day  of  joy. 

That  thou  expect'st  not,  nor  I  look'd  not  for. 

Jul.  Madam,  in  happy  time,  what  day  is  that? 

La.  Cap.  Marry  my  child,  early  next  Thursday 
morn. 

The  gallant,  young,  and  noble  gentleman. 
The  county  Paris,  at  Saint  Peter's  church, 
Shall  happily  make  thee  there  a  joyful  bride. 

Jul.  Now,  by  Saint  Peter's  church,  and  Petertoo, 
He  shall  not  make  me  there  a  joyful  bride. 
I  wonder  at  this  haste  ;  that  I  must  wed 
Ere  he,  that  should  be  husband,  comes  to  woo. 
I  pray  you,  tell  my  lord  and  father,  madam. 
I  will  not  marry  yet;  and,  when  I  do,  I  swear. 
It  shall  be  Rouieo,  whom  you  know  I  hate, 
Rather,  than  Paris  : — 'Fhere  are  news  indeed ! 

La.  Cap.  Here  comes  your  f'^ther;  tell  him  ap 
vourself, 

And  see  now  he  will  take  it  at  your  hands. 

Enter  Capulet  and  Nurse. 

Cap.  When  the  sun  sets,  the  air  doth  drizzle  dewj 

But  for  the  sui:set  of  my  brother's  sou, 
It  rains  downright. — 

How  now?  a  conduit,  girl  ?  what,  still  in  tears? 

Evermore  showering?  in  one  little  body 

Thou  conterfeit's  a  bark,  a  sea,  a  wind  ; 

For  still  thy  eyes,  which  I  may  call  the  sea, 

Do  ebb  and  flow  with  tears  ;  the  bark  thy  body  is. 

Sailing  in  this  salt  flood  ;  the  winds,  thy  sighs  ; 

Who,— raging  with  thy  tears,  and  they  with  them,— 

Without  a  sudden  calm,  will  overset 

I'hy  tempest-tossed  body. — How  now,  wife? 

Have  you  deliver'd  to  her  our  decree  ? 

La.  Cap.  Ay,  sir;  but  she  will  none,  she  gives 
you  thanks. 
I  would  the  fool  were  married  to  her  grave ! 

Cap.  Soft,  take  me  with  you,  take  me  with  you, 
wife. 

How !  will  she  none?  doth  she  not  give  us  thanks? 
Is  she  not  proud  ?  doth  she  not  count  her  bless'd, 
Unworthy  as  she  is,  that  we  have  wrought 
So  worthy  a  gentleman  to  be  her  bridegroom  ? 
Jul.  Not  proud,  you  have ;  but  thankful,  that  yoa 
have : 

Proud  can  I  never  be  of  what  I  hate  ; 

But  thankful  even  for  hate,  that  is  meant  love 

Cap.  How  now  I  how  now,  chop-logic !  What 
is  this  ?  [not  ;— 

Prond, — and,  I  thank   you, — and,  I  thank  you 
And  yet  not  proud ; — Mistress  minion,  you, 
Thank  me  no  thankings,  nor  proud  me  no  prouds. 
But  settle  your  fine  joints  'gainst  Thursday  next, 
To  go  with  Paris  to  Saint  Peter's  church. 
Or  1  will  drag  thee  on  a  hurdle  thither. 
Out,  you  green-sickness  cttrrion !  out,  you  baggage . 
You  tallow-face  ! 

La.  Cap.        Fye,  fye !  what  are  you  mad? 

Jul.  Good  father,  I  beseech  you  on  my  knees. 
Hear  me  with  patience  but  to  ^peak  a  word. 

Cap.  Hang  thee,  young  baggage  I  disobedient 
wretch ! 

I  tell  thee  what,— get  thee  to  church  o  Thursday, 
Or  never  after  look  me  in  the  face  : 
Speak  not,  reply  not,  do  not  answer  me; 


Act  IV.   Scene  1 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET 


785 


My  fingem  itch.  —  Wife,  we  scarce  thougtit  us 

blc3s  d, 

That  God  hath  sent  us  but  this  only  child  : 
But  now  I  see  this  one  is  one  too  ninch. 
And  that  we  have  a  curse  in  having  her: 
Out  on  her,  hilding! 

Nurse.  God  in  heaven  blesa  her ! 

Von  are  (o  blatne,  my  lord,  to  rate  her  so. 

Cap.  And   why,  my  lady  wisdom  ?  hold  your 
tongue, 

Good  prudence  ;  smatter  with  your  gossips,  go. 

Nurse,  I  speak  no  treason. 

Cap.  O,  God  ye  good  den ! 

Nurse.  May  not  one  speak  ? 

Cap.  Peace,  you  mumbling  fool ! 

Utter  your  gravity  o'er  a  gossip's  bowl, 
For  here  we  need  it  not. 

La.  Cap.  You. are  too  hot. 

Cap.  God's  bread  !  it  makes   me  mad :  Day, 
night,  late,  early, 
At  home,  abroad,  alone,  in  company, 
Waking,  or  sleeping,  still  my  care  hath  been 
To  have  her  match'd:  and  having  now  provided 
A  gentleman  of  princely  parentage. 
Of  fair  demesnes,  youthftil,  and  nobly  train'd, 
StuflTd  ^as  they  say,)  with  honourable  parts, 
Proportion'd  as  one's  heart  could  wisii  a  man, — 
And  then  to  have  a  wretched  puling  fool, 
A  whining  nvainmet,  in  her  fortune's  tender, 
To  answer — Pll  not  wed, — /  cannot  love, 
I  am  too  young, — / prai/  you  pardon  me; — 
But,  an  you  will  not  wed,  t'll  pardon  you: 
Graze  where  you  will,  you  shall  not  house  wit-h  me; 
Look  to't,  think  on't,  I  do  not  use  to  jest. 
Thursday  is  near;  lay  hand  on  heart,  advise: 
An  you  be  mine,  I'll  give  you  to  my  friend ; 
An  you  be  not,  hang,  beg,  starve,  die  i'  the  streets. 
For,  by  my  soul,  I'll  ne'er  acknowledge  thee. 
Nor  what  is  mine  shall  never  do  thee  good : 
'IVust  to't,  bethink  you,  I'll  not  be  forsworn.  [Exit, 

Jul.  Is  there  no  pity  sitting  in  the  clouds. 
That  sees  into  the  bottom  of  my  grief? 

0,  sweet  my  mother,  cast  me  not  away  ! 
Delay  this  marriage  for  a  month,  a  week; 
Or,  if  you  do  not,  make  the  bridal  bed 
In  that  dim  monument,  where  Tvbalt  lies. 

La.  Cap.  Talk  not  to  me,  for  I'll  not  speak  a  word  ; 
Do  as  thou  wilt,  for  I  have  done  with  thee.  [Exit. 
Jul.  O  God  ! — O  nurse  !  how  shall  this  be  pre- 
vented? 

My  husband  is  on  heart,  my  faith  in  heaven  ; 
How  shall  that  faith  return  again  to  earth, 
Unless  that  husband  sent  it  me  from  heaven 
By  leaving  earth? — comfort  me,  counsel  me. — 
Alack,  alack,  that  heaven  should  practise  stratagems 
Upon  so  soft  a  subject  as  myself: — 
What  say'st  thou  ?  hast  thou  not  a  word  of  joy  ? 
8i)inp  comfort,  nurse. 

Nurse.  'Faith,  here  'tis :  Romeo 

1. 'i  banished  ;  and  all  tworld  to  notiiing, 

That  he  dares  ne'er  come  back  to  challenge  yon  ; 
Or,  if  he  do,  it  needs  must  be  by  stealth. 
Then,  since  the  case  so  stands  as  now  it  doth, 
I  think  it  best  you  married  with  the  county. 
O,  he's  a  lovely  gentleman  ! 
Romeo's  a  dishclout  to  him;  an  eagle,  madam. 
Hath  not  so  green,  so  quick,  so  fair  an  eye, 
As  Paris  hath.    Beshrew  my  very  heart, 
I  think  you  are  happy  in  this  second  match. 
For  it  excels  your  first :  or  if  it  did  not, 
Your  first  is  dead ;  or  'twere  as  good  he  were, 
As  living  here,  and  you  no  use  of  him. 

Jul.  Speakest  thou  from  thy  heart  ? 

Nurse.  From  my  soul  too  ; 

Or  else  beshrew  them  both. 

Jul.  Amen. 

Nurse.  To  what  ? 

Jul.  Well,  thon  hast  comforted  me  marvellous 
mucb. 

Go  in ;  and  teil  my  lady  I  am  gone 


Having  displeas'd  my  father,  to  Laurence'  cell. 
To  make  confession,  and  to  be  absolv'd. 

Nurse.  Marry,  I  will  ;  and  this  is  wisely  done. 

[Exit* 

Jul.  Ancient  damnation  !  O  most  wicked  fiend.' 
Is  it  more  sin — to  wish  me  thus  forsworn. 
Or  to  dispraise  my  lord  with  that  same  tongne. 
Which  she  hath  prais'd  him  with  above  compare 
So  many  thousand  times  T — Go,  counsellor ; 
Thou  and  my  bosom  henceforth  shall  be  twain,— 
I'll  to  the  friar,  to  know  his  remedy  : 
If  all  else  fail,  myself  have  power  to  die.  [JEjfil 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  T. — Friar  Laurence''s  Cell. 
Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Paris. 

Fri.  On  Thursday,  sir?  the  time  is  very  short. 

Par.  My  father  Capulet  will  have  it  so; 
And  I  am  nothing  slow  to  slack  his  haste. 

Fri.  You  say,  you  do  not  know  the  lady's  mind  : 
Uneven  is  the  course,  I  like  it  not. 

Par.  Immoderately  she  weeps  for  Tybalt's  deaillf 
And  therefore  haves  little  talk'd  of  love  ; 
For  Venus  smiles  not  in  a  house  of  tears. 
Now,  sir,  her  father  counts  it  dangerous, 
That  she  doth  give  her  sorrow  so  much  sway: 
And  in  his  wisdom  hastes  our  marriage. 
To  stop  the  inundation  of  her  tears ; 
Which,  too  mucli  minded  by  herself  alone,  ' 
May  be  put  from  her  by  society  : 
Now  do  you  know  the  reason  of  this  haste. 

Fri.  I  would  1  knew  not  why  it  should  be  slov'd. 

[Asitk,) 

Look,  sir,  here  comes  the  lady  towards  my  cell. 

Enter  Juliet. 

Par.  Happily  met,  my  lady,  and  my  wife  ! 

Jid.  That  may  be,  sir,  when  I  may  be  a  wife. 

Par.  That  may  be,  must  be,  love,  on  Thursday 

Jut.  What  must  be  sliall  be.  [ncit 

Fri.  'I'hat's  a  certain  text  | 

Par.  Come  you  to  make  confession  to  this  father* 

Jtd.  To  answer  that,  were  to  confess  to  you. 

Par.  Do  not  deny  to  him,  that  you  love'me. 

Jul.  I  will  confess  to  you,  that  1  love  him. 

Par.  So  will  you,  I  am  sure,  that  you  love  me. 

Jul.  If  1  do  so,  it  will  be  of  more  piice, 
Being  spoke  behind  your  back,  than  to  your  face. 

Par.  Poor  soul,  thy  face  is  much  abus'd  with  tear*. 

Jul.  The  tears  have  got  small  victory  by  that ; 
For  it  was  bad  enough,  before  their  spite. 

Par.  Thou  wrong'st  it,  more  than  tears,  with  that 
report. 

Jul.  That  is  no  slander,  sir,  that  is  a  truth  ; 
And  wliHt  1  spake,  I  spake  it  to  my  face. 

Par.  Thy  iace  is  mine,  and  thou  hast  slander'd  it 

Jul.  It  may  be  so,  for  it  is  not  mine  own. 
Are  you  ;»t  leisure,  holy  father,  now  ; 
Or  shall  I  come  to  you  at  evening  mass  ?  [novi'.— 

Fri.  My  leisure  serves  me,  pensive  daughter, 
My  Ktrd,  we  must  entreat  the  time  alone. 

Par.  God  shield,  I  should  disturb  devotion.' — 
Juliet,  on  'i'hursday  early  will  I  rouse  you  : 
Till  then,  adieu  !  and  keep  this  holy  kiss.  [Exit, 

Jul.  O,  shut  the  door.'  and  when  thou  hast  done  so, 


Come  weep  with  me  :  Past  hope,  past  cure,  past  help 

Fri.  Ah,  Juliet,  I  already  know  thy  grief ; 
It  strains  me  past  the  compass  of  my  wits  : 
I  hear  thou  nmst,  and  nothing  must  prorogue  it, 
On  Thursday  next  be  married  to  this  count  v. 

Jul.  Tell  me  not,  friar,  that  thou  hear'st  of  this, 
Unless  thou  tell  me  how  I  may  prevent  it: 
If,  in  thy  wisdom,  thou  canst  give  no  help. 
Do  thou  but  call  my  resolution  wise. 
And  with  this  kniie  I'll  help  it  presently. 
God  join'd  my  heart  and  Romeo's,  thou  om  hands| 
And  ere  this  hand,  by  thee  to  Romeo  seal'd. 
Shall  be  the  label  to  another  deed. 
Or  my  true  heart  with  treacherous  revolt 


736 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  rV. 


Turn  lo  another,  this  shall  slay  them  both  : 
Therefore,  out  ol  thy  long-experienc'd  time. 
Give  me  some  present  counsel ;  or,  behold, 
'Twixt  my  extremes  and  nie  this  bloody  knife 
Shall  play  the  umpire;  arbitrating  that. 
Which  the  commission  of  thy  years  and  art 
Could  to  no  issue  of  trne  honour  bring. 
Be  not  so  long  to  speak. ;  I  long  to  die, 
W  what  thou  speak'st  speak,  not  of  remedy. 

Fri.  Hold,  daughter  i  I  do  spy  a  kind  of  hope 
Which  craves  as  desperate  an  execution 
As  that  is  desperate  which  we  would  prevent. 
If,  rather  than  to  marry  county  Paris, 
Thou  hadst  the  strength  of  will  to  slay  thyself ; 
Then  is  it  likely,  thou  wilt  undertake 
A  thing  like  death  to  chide  away  this  shame, 
That  cop'st  with  death  himself  to  scape  from  it ; 
And,  if  thou  diir'st,  I'll  give  thee  remedy. 

Jul.  O,  bid  me  leap,  rather  than  marry  Paris, 
From  off  the  battlements  of  yonder  tower  ; 
Or  walk  in  thievish  ways;  or  bid  me  lurk, 
Where  serpents  are ;  chain  me  with  roaring  bears  ; 
Or  shut  me  nightly  in  a  charnel-house, 
O'er-cover  d  quite  with  dead  men's  rattling  bones. 
With  reeky  shanks,  and  yellow  chapless-skuUs  ; 
Or  bid  me  go  into  a  new-made  grave, 
And  hide  me  with  a  dead  man  in  hs  shroud ; 
Things  that,  to  hear  them  told,  have  made  me 
tremble ; 

And  I  will  do  it  without  fear  or  doubt, 
To  live  an  nnstain  d  wife  to  my  sweet  love. 

Fri.  Hold,  then  ;  go  home,  be  merry,  give  consent 
To  marry  Paris:  Wednesday  is  to-raorrow  ; 
To-morrow  night  look  that  thou  lie  alone. 
Let  not  thy  nurse  lie  with  thee  in  thy  chamber: 
Take  thou  this  phial,  being  then  in  bed, 
And  this  distilled  liquor  drink  thou  oli": 
When,  presently,  through  all  thy  veins  shall  run 
A  cold  and  drowsy  humour,  which  shall  seize 
Kach  vital  spirit;  for  no  pulse  shall  keep 
His  natural  progress,  but  surcease  to  beat : 
No  warmth,  no  breath,  shall  testify  thou  liv'st ; 
The  roses  in  thy  lips  and  cheeks  shall  fade 
To  paly  ashes  ;  thy  eyes'  windows  fall, 
like  death,  when  he '.shuts  up  the  day  of  life  ; 
Each  part,  depriv  d  of  supple  government, 
Shall  stitf,  and  staik,  and  cold,  appear  like  death: 
And  in  tliis  borrow'd  likeness  of  shrunk  death 
Thou  shalt  remain  full  two  and  forty  hours. 
And  then  awake  as  from  a  pleasant  sleep. 
Now  when  the  bridegroom  in  tlie  moriiuig  comes 
To  rouse  thee  from  thy  bed,  there  art  tliou  dead  : 
Then,  (as  tlie  manner  of  our  country  is,) 
In  thy  best  robes  uncover'd  on  the  bier, 
Thou'shalt  be  borne  to  that  saM)e  ancient  vaiilt, 
Where  all  the  kindred  of  the  Capulets  lie. 
In  the  mean  time,  against  thou  slmlt  awake. 
Shall  Romeo  by  my  letters  know  our  drilt; 
And  hither  shall  he  come ;  and  tie  and  1 
Will  watch  thy  waking,  and  that  very  night 
Shall  Romeo  bear  thee  hence  to  Mantua. 
And  this  shall  free  thee  from  this  present  shame  ; 
If  no  unconstant  toy,  nor  w  oinanisii  fear, 
Abate  thy  valour  in  the  acting  it. 

Jul.  Give,  0  give  me!  tell  me  not  of  fear. 

Fri.  Hold  ;  get  you  gone,  be  strong  and  prosperous 
In  this  resolve  :  I'll  send  a  friar  with  speed 
To  Mantua,  with  my  letters  to  thy  lord. 

Jul,  Love,  give  me  strength  1  and  strength  shall 
help  alFord. 

Farewell,  dear  father!  [Exeunt. 
Scene  II. — A  Moom  in  Capulefs  House. 
Enter  Capdlet.  Lady  Capulet,  Nurse,  and 
Servants. 

Cap.  So  many  guests  invite  as  here  are  writ. — 

[Exit  Servant. 
t?irrah,  go  hire  me  twenty  cunning  cooks. 

•2  Serv.  Vou  shall  have  none  ill,  sir  :  for  I'll  try  if 
ti*fy  Cull  liciv  tiieir  hngers 


Cap.  How  canst  thou  try  them  so^ 

2  Serv.  Marry,  sir,  'tis  an  ill  cook  that  caiK  A  lick 
his  own  fingers  ;  therefore  he,  that  cannot  lick  his 
fingers,  goes  not  with  me. 

Cap.  Go,  begone.—  [Exit  Servant 

We  shall  be  much  unfurnish'd  for  this  time.— 
What,  is  my  daughter  gone  to  friar  Laurence  ? 

Nurse.  Ay,  forsooth. 

Cap.WeW,  he  may  chance  to  do  some  good  on  hen 
A  peevish  self-will'd  harlotry  it  is. 

Enter  Juliet. 
Nurse.  See,  where  she  comes  from  shrift  with 
merry  look. 

Cap.  How  now,  my  headstrong  ?  where  have  you 
been  gadding  ? 

Jul.  Where  I  have  learn'd  me  to  repent  the  s'n 
Of  disobedient  opposition 
To  you,  and  your  behests ;  and  am  enjoin'd 
By  holy  Laurence  to  fall  prostrate  here, 
And  beg  you  pardon: — Pardon,  I  beseech  you! 
Henceforward  I  am  ever  rul'd  by  you. 

Cap.  Send  for  the  county ;  go  tell  him  of  this; 
I'll  have  this  knot  knit  up  to-morrow  morning. 

Jtd.  I  met  the  youthful  lord  at  Laurence'  cell; 
And  gave  him  what  becomed  love  I  might, 
Not  stepping  o'er  the  bounds  of  modesty,  [up. 

Cap.  Why,  I  am  glad  on't ;  this  is  well, — stand 
This  is  as't  should  be. — Let  me  see  the  county  ; 
Ay,  marry,  go,  I  say,  and  fetch  him  hither. — 
Now,  afore  God,  this  reverend  holy  friar, 
All  our  whole  city  is  much  bound  to  him, 

Jul.  Nurse,  will  yon  go  with  me  into  ray  closet. 
To  help  me  sort  such  n«edful  ornaments 
As  you  think  fit  to  furnish  me  to-morrow? 

La.  Cap.  No,  not  till  Thursday  ;  there  is  time 
enough. 

Cap.  Go,  nurse,  go  with  her: — we'll  to  church 
to-morrow.       [Exeunt  Juliet  and  Nurse 
La.  Cap.  We  shall  be  stiort  in  our  provision ; 
*Tis  now  near  night. 

Cap.  Tush  !  I  will  stir  about, 

And  all  things  shall  be  well,  I  warrant  thee,  wife: 
Go  thou  to  .luliet,  help  to  deck  up  her; 
I'll  not  to  bed  to-night ; — let  me  alone  ; 
I'll  play  the  housewife  tor  this  once. —  What,  ho  I— 
They  are  all  *brth :  Well,  I  will  walk  myself 
To  county  Paris,  to  prepare  him  up 
Against  to-morrow:  my  heart  is  wortd'rous  light. 
Since  this  .same  wayward  girl  is  so  reclaim'd. 

[Exetmt, 

ScETvE  III. — Juliefs  Chamber. 
Enter  Juliet  and  Nurse. 
Jtd.  Ay,  those  attires  are  best : — But,  gentle  nurse, 
I  pray  tliee,  leave  me  to  myself  to-night ; 
For  1  have  need  ot  many  orisons 
To  ino\e  the  lieavens  to  smile  upon  my  state, 
Which,  well  thou  kiiow'st,  is  cross  and  full  Oi'  sin. 

Enter  Lady  Capulet; 
Sta.  Cap.  VViiat,  are  you  busy  ?  do  you  need  my 
Ijelp? 

Jul.  No,  madam ;  we  have  cuU'd  such  necessaries 
As  are  behoved  for  our  state  to  morrow  : 
So  please  you,  let  me  i>ow  be  left  alone. 
And  let  the  nurse  this  night  sit  up  with  you; 
For,  I  am  sure,  you  have  your  hands  full  all. 
In  this  so  sudden  business. 

La.  Cap.  Good  night ! 

Get  thee  to  bed,  and  rest;  for  thou  hast  need. 

[Exeunt  Lady  Capulet  and  Nurat. 

Jul.  Farewell ! — God  knows,  when  we  shall  mff«< 
again. 

I  have  a  faint  cold  fear  thrills  through  my  veins, 

That  almost  freezes  up  the  heat  ot  life : 

I'll  call  them  back  again  to  comfort  me ; — 

Nurse !— What  should  she  do  here  ? 

My  dismal  scene  I  needs  must  act  ^lom^^ 

Come,  phial. — 


Scene  5. 


EOMEO  AND  JULIET. 


737 


What  if  this  mixture  do  not  work  at  all  ? 
Must  I  on'orce  be  married  to  the  county? — 
No,  no; — this  shall  forbid  it : — lie  tliou  there. — 

[Laying  down  a  dagger. 
What  if  it  be  a  poison,  whicli  the  friar 
Subtly  hath  minister'd  to  have  me  dead  ; 
Lest  in  this  marriage  he  should  be  dishonour'd, 
fiecanse  he  married  me  beibre  to  Romeo  ? 
I  fear,  it  is :  and  yet,  methinks,  it  should  not, 
For  be  hath  still  been  tried  a  holy  man: 
I  will  not  entertain  so  bad  a  thought. — 
How  if,  when  I  am  laid  i.ito  the  tomb, 
i  wake  before  the  time  that  Romeo 
Come  to  redeem  me?  there's  a  fearful  point! 
Shall  {  not  then  be  stifled  in  the  vault, 
To  \vhos£  foal  mouth  no  healthsome  air  breathes  in. 
And  there  die  strangled  ere  my  Roiiseo  comes? 
Or,  \\  I  live,  is  it  not  very  like, 

liorrible  conceit  of  death  and  night, 
Togetiier  with  the  terror  of  the  place, — 
As  in  a  vault,  an  ancient  receptacle, 
VVliere,  for  these  many  hundred  years,  the  bones 
0(  all  my  buried  ancestors  are  pack'd  ; 
Where  bloody  Tybalt,  yet  but  green  in  earth, 
Liest  fest'ring  in  his  shroud  :  where,  as  they  say, 
At  some  hours  in  the  night  spirits  resort; 
Alack,  alack  !  is  it  not  like,  that  I, 
So  early  waking, — what  with  loathsome  smells; 
And  shrieks  like  mandrakes'  torn  out  of  the  earth, 
'V\\r\i  living  mortals,  hearing  them,  run  mad; — ■ 
O  I  if  I  wake,  shall  I  not  be  distraught, 
Environed  with  all  these  hideous  I'ears  ? 
And  madly  play  with  my  orefathers' joints  ? 
And  pluck  the  mangled  Tybalt  from  his  shroud  ? 
And,  in  this  rage,  with  some  great  kinsman's  bone, 
As  v\  ith  a  club,  dash  out  my  desperate  brains  ? 
O,  look  !  methinks,  I  see  rny  cousin's  ghost 
S'.eking  out  Romeo,  that  did  spit  his  body 

a  rapier's  point : — Stay,  'J'ybalt,  stay  ! 
Uomeo,  I  como  !  this  do  I  drink  to  thee. 

{She  thro  ws  herself  upon  the  bed.) 

Scene  lY.—Capulet's  Hall. 

Enter  Lady  Capulet  and  Nurse. 
La.  Cap.  Hold,  take  these  keys,  and  fetch  more 

spices,  nurse.  [pastry. 
Nurse,  fhey  call  for  dates  and  quinces  in  the 

Enter  Capulet. 
Cap.  Come,  stir,  stir,  stir !  the  second  cock  hath 
crow'd, 

The  curfew  bell  hath  rung,  'tis  three  o'clock: — 
Look  to  the  bak'd  meats,  good  Angelica  : 
Spare  not  for  cost. 

Nurse.  Go,  go,  you  cot-quean,  go, 

Get  you  to  bed  ;  'faith,  you'll  be  sick  to-morrow, 
For  this  night's  watching.  [now 

Cap.  No,  not  a  whit;  What!  I  have  watch'd  ere 
All  night  for  lesser  cause,  and  ne'er  been  sick. 

La.  Cap.  Ay,  you  have  been  a  mouse-hunt  in 
your  time ; 

But  I  will  watch  you  from  such  watching  now. 

[Exeunt  Lady  Capulet  and  Nurse. 
Cap.  A  jealous-hood,  a  jealous-hood  I — Now,  fel- 
What's  there  ?  [low, 

Enter  Servants,  with  spits,  logs,  and  baskets. 
1  Serv.  Things  for  the  cook,  sir;  but  1  know  not 
what. 

Cap.  Make  haste,  make  haste.       [Exit  1  Serv. 
— Sirrah,  fetch  drier  logs; 
Call  Peter,  he  will  shew  thee  where  they  are. 

3  .Slerv.  I  have  a  head,  sir,  that  will  find  out  logs. 
And  never  trouble  Peter  for  the  matter.  [Exit. 

Cup.  'Mass,  and  well  said  ;  A  merry  whoreson  !  ha. 
Thou  shalt  be  logger-head. — Good  faith,  'tis  day: 
The  county  will  be  here  with  music  straight, 

{Music  within.) 
For  so  he  said  he  would.    I  hear  him  near: — 
Nurse  ! — Wile  1 — what,  ho!— what  nurse,  I  say  ! 


Enter  Nurse. 
Go,  waken  Juliet,  go,  and  trim  her  np  ; 
I'll  go  and  chat  wit|i  Paris:— Hie,  make  haste. 
Make  haste!  the  bridegroom  he  is  come  already  : 
Make  haste,  I  say  !  [Exeunt, 

Scene  V". — JulieVs  Chamber;  Juliet  on  the  bed 
Enter  Nurse. 
Nurse.  Mistress  I  —  what,  mistress  !  —  Juliet !  — 

fast,  I  warrant  her  she: — 
Why,  lamb  I— why,  lady  !— fy,  you  slug-a  bed  !— 
Why,  love,  I  say! — madam!  sweetheart !— why, 

bride  !—  [now : 

What,  not  a  word  ! — you  take  your  pennyworths 
Sleep  for  a  week  ;  for  the  next  night,  I  warrant. 
The  county  Paris  hath  set  up  his  rest, 
That  you  shall  rest  but  little. — God  Ibigive  me, 
(Marry,  and  amen  !)  how  sound  is  she  asleep  ! 
I  needs  must  wake  her:— Madam,  madam,  madasnj 
Ay,  let  the  county  take  you  in  your  bed ; 
He'll  friglit  you  up,  i'faith. — Will  it  not  be  ? 
What,  drest !  and  in  your  clothes  !  and  down  again! 
I  must  needs  wake  you  . — Lady  !  lady  !  lady  ! 
Alas  !  alas  !— Help !  help  I  my  lady's  dead  ! 
O,  well-a-day,  that  ever  I  was  born  I — 
'  Some  aqua-vitae,  ho  ! — my  lord  !  my  lady ! 

Enter  Lady  Capulet. 

La.  Cap.  What  noise  is  here  ? 

Nurse.  O  lamentable  day  ! 

La.  Cap.  What  is  the  matter  ? 

Nurse.  Look,  look  !  O  heavy  day  ! 

La.  Cap.  O  me,  O  me  !— my  child,  iny  only  liff. 
Revive,  look  up,  or  I  will  die  with  thee  !-— 
Help,  help! — call  help. 

Enter  Capulet. 
Cap.  For  shame,  bring  Juliet  forth:  her  lord  is 

come.  [the  day  ! 

Nurse.  She's  dead,  deceas'd,  she's  dead  ;  alac  k 
La  Cap.  Alack  the  day  !  she's  dead,  she's  dead, 

she's  dead. 

Cap.  Ha  !  let  me  see  her  : — Out,  alas  !  she's  cold  . 
Her  blood  is  settled,  and  her  joints  are  stifi"; 
Life  and  these  lips  have  long  been  sei)arated; 
Death  lies  on  her,  like  an  untimely  Host 
Upon  the  sweetest  flower  of  all  the  field. 
Accursed  time  ;  unfortunate  old  man  ! 

Nurse-  O  lamentable  day ! 

La.  Cap.  O  wofal  time  !  [wail. 

Cap.  Death,  that  hath  ta'en  her  hence  to  make  me 
Ties  up  my  tongue,  and  will  not  let  me  speak. 

Enter  Friar  LAURENCE  and  Paris,  toith  Mu- 
sicians. 

Fri.  Come,  is  the  bride  ready  to  go  to  church  ? 
Cap.  Ready  to  go,  but  never  to  return 
O  son,  the  night  before  thy  wedding  day 
Hath  death  lain  with  thy  bride  . — See,  there  she  lies. 
Flower  as  she  was,  deflowered  by  him. 
Death  is  my  son-in-law,  death  is  my  heir; 


My  daughter  he  hath  wedded 


ill  di 


And  leave  him  all;  life  leaving,  all  is  death's. 
Par.  Have  I  thought  long  to  see  this  morving's 
face. 

And  doth  it  give  me  such  a  sight  as  this 

La.  Cap.  Accurs'd,  unhappy,  wretcbjd,  h&itfvi 
day! 

Most  miserable  hour,  that  e'er  time  saw 

In  lasting  labour  of  his  pilgrimage  ! 

But  one,  poor  one,  one  poor  and  loving  child. 

But  one  thing  to  rejoice  and  solace  in, 

And  cruel  death  hath  catch'd  it  from  my  si^hi. 

Nurse.  O  woe  !  O  wotul,  woful,  wofuiday! 
Mast  iau^entable  day  !  most  wofnl  day, 
'I'hat  ever,  ever,  I  did  yet  behold  ! 
O  day  !  O  day  !  O  day  !  O  hatelul  day  ! 
Never  was  seen  so  blark  a  day  as  this 
O  woful  (lay,  O  woful  day! 

47 


73S 


KOMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  Y. 


Pur,  BigvaVdf  divorced,  wronged,  spited,  slain ! 
Most  detestable  death,  by  tiiee  beguil'd, 
By  cruoi  cruel  thee  quite  overthrown  ! — 
O  love  !  O  life  ! — not  Life,  but  love  in  death  ! 

Cap.   Despis'd,   distressed,   Ijated,  martyr'd, 
kiil'dl— 

Unconifoi  table  time  !  why  ci  in  V  thou  now 

To  murder  murder  our  solemnity  — 

O  child  !  O  child  ! — my  soul,  and  not  my  child  ! — 

Dead  art  thou,  dead  ! — alack.  !  my  child  is  dead  ! 

And,  with  my  child,  my  joys  are  buried  !  [not 

^ri.  Peace,  ho,  for  shame  !  confusion's  cure  lives 
lu  these  confusions.    Heaven  and  yourself 
Had  part  in  this  fair  maid  ;  now  heaven  liath  all, 
And  all  the  better  is  it  for  the  maid  : 
Your  part  in  her  you  couhi  not  keep  from  death; 
But  heaven  keeps  his  part  in  eternal  life. 
The  most  you  sought  was — hs-r  promotion; 
For  'twas  your  heaven  she  should  be  advanced  : 
And  weep  ye  now,  seeing  she  is  advanc'd, 
Above  the  clouds,  as  high  as  heaven  itself? 
O,  in  this  love,  you  love  your  child  so  ill. 
That  you  run  mad.  seeing  that  she  is  well  : 
She's  not  well  married,  that  lives  married  long; 
But  she's  best  married,  that,  d.es  married  \ou.,^« 
Dry  up  your  tears,  and  stick,  your  rosemary 
Oa  this  fair  corse;  ai'd,  as  the  custom  is, 
In  all  her  best  array  bear  her  to  church ; 
For  though  fond  natiue  bids  us  all  lament. 
Yet  nature's  tearo  a^e  reason's  merriment. 

Cup.  All  things^  l'A[j^t  we  ordained  festival, 
Turn  from  their  olKco  to  black  luneral  : 
Our  in.>struiMepts,  to  nielancholy  bells; 
Our  vveddiufj  cheeij  to  a  sad  burial  feast; 
Our  so!em:i  hymns  to  sullen  dirges  change; 
Our  bridal  flowers  serve  for  a  buried  corse. 
And  all  tilings  change  them  to  the  contrary. 

Fri.  Sir,  go  you  in — and,  madam,  go  with  him; — 
A.nd  j;o,  sir  Paris;  everyone  prepare 
I  o  follow  this  fair  corse  unto  her  grave  : 
The  heavens  do  low'r  upon  you,  for  some  ill; 
Mtrve  them  no  more,  by  cros.sing  their  high  will. 

[Exeunt  Capulet,  Lady  Capulet,  Paris,  and 
Friar. 

1  Mw..  'Faith,  we  may  put  up  our  pipes,  and  be 
gone. 

Nurte.  Honest  good  fellows,  ah,  put  up,  put  up  ; 
For,  well  you  know,  this  is  a  pitiful  case.  [Exit. 
1  Mus.  Ay,  by  my  troth,  the  case  may  be  amended. 

Enter  Peter. 
Pet.   Musicians,   O   musicians,   Heart's  ease, 
heart's  ease  :  O,  an  you  will  have  me  live,  play — 
heart's  ease. 

1  31iis.  Why  /leart's  ease? 

Pet.  O,  musicians,  because  my  heart  itself  plays 
—My  heart  is  full  of  tvue  :  O,  play  me  some 
jierry  dump,  to  comfort  me. 

2  Mus.  Not  a  dump  we  ;  'tis  no  time  to  play  now. 
Pet.  Yun  will  not  then  ? 

Mus.  No. 

Pet.  I  will  then  give  it  you  soundly. 

1  3Jus,  What  wUl  you  give  us? 

Pet.  No  money,  on  my  faith;  but  the  gleek;  I 
will  give  you  the  minstrel. 

1  Mus.  Then  will  I  i;ive  you  the  serving-creature. 

Pet.  'i'hen  will!  lay  the  serving-creature's  dagger 
on  your  pate.  I  will  carry  no  crotchets;  I'll  re  you, 
I'll  fa  yon:  Do  you  note  me? 

1  miis.  An  you  re  us,  and  fa  us,  you  note  ns. 

2  Mus.  Pray  you,  put  up  your  dagger,  and  put 
oat  your  wit. 

Pet.  Then  have  at  you  with  my  wit;  I  will  dry- 
beat  you  with  an  iron  wit,  and  put  up  my  iron  dag- 
ger : — Answer  me  like  men  : 

When  griping  griff  the  heart  doth  wound, 
And  doleful  au?nps  the  mind  oppress, 
Then  music  with  her  silver  sound; 
Why,  silver  sound?  why,  music  with  her  silver 


What  say  you,  Simon  Catling?  [sound. 

1  Mus.  Marry,  sir,  because  silver  hath  a  sweet 
Pet-  Pretty!  What  say  you,  Hugh  Rebeck? 

2  Mus.  I  say — silver  sound,  because  nrjusicians 
sound  lor  silver.  [post? 

Pet.  Pretty  too!  What  say  you,  James  Sound* 

3  Mus.  'i'aitu,  I  know  not  what  to  say. 

Pet.  O,  1  cry  y(ju  irierry  !  you  are  the  singer  :  J 
will  say  ior  you.  It  is — music  tvUh  her  silver  sound, 
because  such  fellows  as  you  iiave  seldom  gold  k« 
sounding  : — 

Then  tmisic,  with  her  silver  sound., 
With  spe-fdy  help  doth  Lend  redress. 

[Exit,  singmg, 

1  Mus.  What  a  pestilent  knave  is  this  same? 

2  AIus.  H^ng  In. 11,  Jack!  Come,- we'll  in  here; 
tarry  for  the  mourners,  and  stay  dinner.  [Exemit 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — Mantua.  A  Street. 
Ent'T^  Romeo. 
Rofn.  Tf  I  may  trust  the  flattering  eye  of  sleep. 
My  dreams  presage  some  joyful  news  at  haod  : 
My  bosom's  lord  sits  lightly  in  his  thnne; 
And,  all  this  day,  an  unaccustom'd  spirit 
Lilts  me  above  the  ground  with  cheerful  thoughtsi. 
1  dreamt,  my  lady  came  and  found  me  dead; 
(Strange  dream!  that  gives  a  dead  man  leave  ^ 
think,) 

And  breath'd  such  life  with  kisses  in  ray  Iipa> 
That  1  reviv'd,  and  was  an  emperor. 
Ah  me !  how  sweet  is  love  itself  possess'd. 
When  but  love's  shadows  are  so  lich  in  joy! 

Enter  Baltiiasar. 
News  from  Verona! — How  now,  BaUhasar? 
Dost  thou  not  bring  me  letters  from  the  friar? 
How  doth  my  lady?  Is  my  father  well? 
How  fares  toy  Juliet?  That  1  ask  again 
I  For  nothing  can  be  ill,  if  she  be  well. " 

Bal.  Then  she  is  well,  and  notliing  e.nn  be  ill; 
Her  body  sleeps  in  Capel's  monument, 
And  her  immortal  part  with  aiigela  lives, 
I  saw  her  laid  low  in  her  kindred's  vault. 
And  presently  took  post  to  tell  it  you  : 

0  pardon  me  for  bringing  these  ill  news. 
Since  you  did  leave  it  for  my  office,  sin, 

Rom.  Is  it  even  so?  then  I  defy  you,  stars!— 
Thou  know'st  my  lodging  :  get  me  ink  and  paper. 
And  hire  post-horses;  I  will  hence  to-nighl 

Bal.  Pardon  me,  sir,  I  will  not  leave  you  thus  : 
Your  looks  are  pale  and  wild,  and  do  import 
,  Some  misadventure. 

i     Rom.  Tush,  thou  art  deceiv'd; 

Leave  me,  and  do  the  thing  I  bid  thee  do ; 
Hast  thou  no  letters  to  me  from  the  friar  ? 
Bal.  No,  my  good  lord. 

Rom.  No  matter;  get  thee  gojM^ 

And  hire  those  horses ;  I'll  be  with  thee  straight 

[Exit  Balthasar  ■ 
Well,  Juliet,  I  will  lie  with  thee  to-night. 
Let's  see  for  means  : — O,  mischief!  thou  art  swift 
To  enter  in  the  thoughts  of  desperate  men! 

1  do  retnembt^r  an  ap;)thecary, — 

And  hereabouts  he  dwells, — whom  late  I  noted 

In  tatter'd  weeds,  with  overwhelming  brow8» 

Culling  of  simples  ;  meagre  were  his  looks, 

Sharp  misery  fiad  worn  him  to  the  bones; 

And  in  his  needy  shop  a  tortoise  hung, 

An  alligator  stulfd,  and  other  skins 

Of  ill  shap'd  fishes;  and  about  his  shelves 

A  beggarly  account  of  empty  boxes. 

Green  earthen  pots.  Madders,  and  musty  seeds, 

Remnants  of  packthread,  and  old  cakes  of  roses,' 

Were  thinly  scatterd,  to  make  up  a  shew. 

Notint;  tills  penury,  to  myself  I  said — 

An  if  a  man  did  need  a  poison  now. 

Whose  sale  is  present  death  in  Mautna, 

Here  lives  a  caitifl'  wretch  wonld  »eU  it  him. 


Scene  §. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


789 


O,  this  same  thought  did  but  forerun  my  need ; 
And  this  same  needy  man  must  sell  it  me. 
As  I  remember,  this  should  be  the  house : 
Being  holiday,  the  beggar's  shop  is  shut. — 
What,  ho!  apothecary! 

Entet  Apothecary, 

Ap.  Who  calls  so  loud  ? 

Rom.  Come  hither,  man. — I  see  that  thou  art  pi 
Hold,  there  is  forty  ducats  :  let  me  have 
A  dram  of  poison ;  such  soon-speeding  geer 
As  will  disperse  itself  through  all  the  veins. 
That  the  life-weaiy  taker  may  fall  dead  ; 
And  that  the  trunk  may  be  discharg  d  of  breath 
As  violently,  as  hasty  powder  fir'd 
Doth  hurry  from  the  fatal  cannon's  womb. 

Ap.  Such  mortal  drugs  I  have^  but  Mantua's  law 
Is  death,  to  any  he  that  utters  them. 

Bom.  Art  thou  so  bare,  and  full  of  wretchedness, 
And  fear'st  to  die  ?  famine  is  in  thy  cheeks. 
Need  and  oppression  starveth  in  thy  eyes. 
Upon  thy  back  hangs  ragged  misery, 
I'he  world  is  not  thy  friend,  nor  the  world's  law  : 
The-  world  affords  no  law  to  make  thee  rich ; 
'J'hen  be  not  poor,  but  break  it,  and  take  this. 

Ap.  My  poverty,  but  not  my  will,  consents. 

Rom.  I  pay  thy  poverty,  and  not  thy  will. 

Ap.  Put  this  in  any  liquid  thing  you  will. 
And  drink  it  off:  and,  if  you  had  the  strength 
Of  twenty  men,  it  would  despatch  you  straight. 

Rom.  There  is  thy  gold ;  worse  poison  to  men's 
souls, 

Doing  more  murders  in  this  loathsome  world. 
Than  these  poor  conipounds,  that  thou  may'st  not  sell  * 
1  sell  thee  poison,  thou  hast  sold  me  none. 
Farewell ;  ouy  food,  and  get  thyself  in  tiesh. 
Come,  cordial,  and  not  poison ;  go  with  me 
To  Juliet's  grave,  for  there  must  I  use  thee. 

[Exeunt 

Scene  II. — Friar  Laurence's  Cell. 
Enter  Friar  JoHN. 

Jokiu  Jloly  Franciscan  friar!  brother,  ho! 
Enter  Friar  Laurence. 

hati.  This  same  should  be  the  voice  of  friar  John.— 
Welcome  from  Mantua:  What  says  Romeo? 
^r,  if  his  mind  be  writ,  give  me  his  letter. 
N/f)Aw.  Going  to  find  a  bare-fbot  brother  out, 
One^  of  our  order,  to  associate  me. 
Here  in  this  city  visiting  the  sick, 
And  finding  him,  the  searchers  of  the  town, 
Suspecting  that  we  both  were  in  a  house 
Where  the  infectious  pestilence  did  reign, 
Seal'd  up  the  doors,  and  would  not  let  us  forth  ; 
So  that  my  speed  to  Mantua  there  was  stay'd. 

Lati.  Who  bare  my  letter  then  to  Romeo? 

John.  I  could  not  send  it, —  here  it  is  again, — 
Nor  get  a  messenger  to  bring  it  thee, 
So  fearfid  were  they  of  infection. 

Lan,  Unhsppy  fortune  !  by  my  brotherhood. 
The  letter  was  not  nice,  but  fnll  of  charge. 
Of  dear  import;  and  the  neglecting  it 
May  do  much  danger  :  Friar  John,  go  hence  j 
Get  me  an  iron  crow,  and  bring  it  straight 
Unto  my  cell. 

John.  Brother,  I'll  go  and  bring  it  thee.  [Exit, 

hau.  Now  must  I  to  the  monument  alone; 
Within  this  three  hours  will  fair  Juliet  wake ; 
She  will  beshrewme  much,  that  Romeo 
Hath  had  no  notice  of  these  accidents  : 
But  I  will  write  again  to  Mantua, 
Acd  keep  her  at  my  cell  till  Romeo  come ; 
Poor  living  corse,  cios'd  in  a  dead  man's  tomb  I 

[Exit, 

Scene  III. — A  Church-Yard;  in  it,  a  Monument 

belonging  to  the  Capulets. 
tinier  Paris,  and  Ms  Page^  beaririy  flowers,  and 
a  torch. 

Par.  Give  me  thy  torch,  boy  :  Heuce,  and  stand 
aloof; — 


Yet  put  it  out,  for  I  would  not  be  seen. 
Under  yon  yew-trees  lay  thee  all  along. 
Holding  thine  ear  close  to  the  hollow  ground ; 
So  shall  no  foot  upon  the  church-yard  tread, 
(Being  loose,  unfirra,  with  digging  up  of  gravea^) 
But  thou  shalt  hear  it ;  whistle  then  to  me, 
As  signal  that  thou  hear'st  something  approac*L 
Give  me  those  flowers.    Do  as  I  bid  thee,  go. 

Paje.  I  am  almost  afraid  to  stand  alone 
Here  in  the  churchyard ;  yet  I  will  adventure. 

{Retires) 

Par.  Sweet  flower,  with  flowers  I  strew  thy  bri« 
dal  bed  : 

Sweet  tomb,  that  in  thy  circuit  dost  contain 
The  perfect  model  of  eternity ; 
Fair  Juliet,  that  with  angels  dost  remain. 
Accept  this  latest  favour  at  my  hands; 
That  living  honour'd  thee,  and,  being  dead. 
With  funeral  praises  do  adorn  thy  tomb ! 

{The  boy  tvhistle^,) 
The  boy  gives  warning,  .something  doth  approach. 
What  cursed  foot  wanders  thi|  way  to-night. 
To  cross  my  obsequies,  and  true  love's  rites  ? 
What,  with  a  torch !— muffle  me,  night,  awhile. 

{Retires] 

Enter  Romeo  and  Baltiiasar  with  a  Torch, 
Mattock,  ^c. 

Rom.  Give  me  that  mattock,  and  the  wrenchiog 
iron. 

Hold,  take  this  letter;  early  in  the  morning 

See  thou  deliver  it  to  my  lord  and  father. 

Give  me  the  light :  Upon  tiiy  life  I  charge  thee, 

Whate'er  thou  hearstor  seest,  stand  ali  aloof. 

And  do  not  interrupt  me  in  my  course. 

Why  I  descend  into  this  bed  of  death, 

Is,  partly,  to  behold  my  lady's  face  : 

But,  aliiefly,  to  take  thence  from  her  dead  finger 

A  precious  ring ;  a  ring,  that  1  must  use 

In  dear  employment  :  therefore  hence,  be  gone  « 

But  if  thou,  jealous,  dost  return  to  pry 

In  what  I  further  shall  intend  to  do. 

By  heaven,  I  will  tear  thee  joint  by  joint. 

And  strew  this  hungry  church-yard  with  thy  limbs  : 

The  time  and  my  intents  are  savage-wild  ; 

More  fierce,  and  more  inexorable  far. 

Than  empty  tigers,  or  the  roaring  sea. 

Bal.  I  will  De  gone,  sir,  and  not  trouble  you. 

Rom.  So  shalt  thou  shew  me  friendship. — Take 
thou  that : 

Live,  and  be  prosperous;  and  farewell,  good  fellow. 

Bal.  For  all  this  same,  I'll  hide  me  hereabout ; 
His  looks  I  fear,  and  his  intents  I  doubt.  {Retires.^ 

Rom.  Thou  detestable  maw,  thou  womb  of  death 
Gorg'd  with  the  dearest  morsel  of  the  earth. 
Thus  1  enforce  thy  rotten  jaws  to  open. 

{Breaking  open  the  door  of  the  Monument.] 
And,  in  despite,  I'll  cram  thee  with  more  food  ! 

Par.  This  is  that  banish'd  haughty  Montague, 
That  murder'd  my  love's  cousin ; — with  which  grie^ 
It  is  supposed,  the  fair  creature  died, — 
And  here  is  come  to  do  some  viJlaooiis, shame 
To  the  dead  bodies  :  I  will  apprehend  him. — 

{Advances,] 
Stop  thy  unhallow'd  toil,  vile  Montague ; 
Can  vengeance  be  pursu'd  further  than  death  ? 
Condemned  villain,  I  do  apprehend  thee  : 
Obey,  and  go  with  me ;  for  thou  must  die. 

Rom.  I  must,  indeed,  and  therefes-e  came  I  hither,  - 
Good  gentle  youth,  tempt  not  a  desperate  man; 
Fly  hence  and  leave  me: — think  upon  these  gone: 
Let  them  affright  thee. — I  beseech  thee,  youth, 
Heap  not  another  sin  upon  my  head. 
By  urging  me  to  fury : — O,  be  gone  ! 
By  heaven,  I  love  thee  better  than  myself; 
For  I  come  hither  arm'd  against  myself: 
Stay  not,  be  gone  : — live,  and  hereafter  say— 
A  madman's  mercy  bade  thee  run  away, 

Par.  I  do  defy  thy  conjurations. 
And  do  attach  thee  as  a  felon  here. 


740 


ROMEO  AND  JULTET. 


Act  V 


Rom.  VVilt  thou  provoke  me  ?  then  have  at  thee, 
boy,  Theyjiyht.) 
Pag.  O  lord  !  they  fight:  I  will  go  call  the  watch. 

[Exit. 

Par.  O,  I  am  slaiu !  {Falls.)— li  thou  be  mer- 
ciful, 

Open  the  tomb,  lay  me  with  Juliet.  {Dies.) 

Rum.  In  laith,  I  will :— Let  me  peruse  this  face; — 
Merciitio's  kinsman,  noble  county  Paris  ! — 
What  said  niy  man,  when  my  betussed  soul 
l>id  not  attend  him  as  we  rode  ?  I  think. 
He  told  me,  Paris  should  have  married  Juliet: 
Said  he  not  so  ?  or  did  I  dream  it  so  ? 
Oram  I  mad,  hearing  him  talk  of  Juliet, 
To  think  it  was  so  ? — O,  give  me  thy  hand, 
One  writ  with  me  in  sour  mislbrtune's  book! 
I'll  bury  thee  in  a  triumphant  grave. — 
A  grave  ?  O,  no;  a  lantern,  slaughter'd  youth, 
For  here  lies  Juliet,  and  her  beauty  makes 
This  v  ault  a  feasting  presence  fu-11  of  light. 
Death,  lie  thou  there,  by  a  dead  man  interr'd. 

{Laying  Paris  in  the  Monu7nent.) 
How  oft,  when  men  are  at  the  point  ol' death, 
Have  they  been  merry  ?  which  their  keepers  call 
A  lightning  before  death :  O,  how  inay  I 
Cail  this  a  lightning? — O,  my  love  !  my  wife  ! 
Death,  that  hath  suck'd  the  honey  of  thy  breath, 
Hath  had  no  power  yet  upon  thy  beauty : 
Thou  art  not  conquer'd  ;  beauty's  ensign  yet 
Is  crimson  in  thy  lips,  and  in  thy  cheeks, 
And  death's  pale  flag  is  not  advanced  there. — 
Tybalt,  liest  thou  there  in  thy  bloody  sheet? 
O,  vvliat  n)oie  favour  can  I  do  to  thee, 
Than  with  that  hand,  that  cut  thy  youth  in  twain. 
To  sunder  his,  that  was  thine  enemy  ? 
Forgive  me,  cousin  ? — Ah,  dear  Juliet, 
VV^hy  art  thou  yet  so  fair?  Shall  I  believe 
'J'hat  unsubstantial  death  is  amorous  ; 
And  that  the  lean  abhorred  monster  keeps 
Thee  here  in  dark  to  be  his  paramour  ? 
For  fear  of  that,  I  will  still  stay  with  thee  ; 
And  never  from  this  palace  of  dim  night 
Depart  again  ;  here,  liere  will  I  remain 
With  worms  tiiat  are  thy  chamber-maids  ;  O,  here 
Will  I  set  <ip  my  everlasting  rest; 
And  shake  the  yoke  of  inauspicious  stars  [last! 
From  this  world-wearied  flesh. — Eyes,  look  your 
Arms,  take  your  last  embrace!  and  lips,  O  you, 
The  doors  of  breath,  seal  with  a  righteous  kiss 
A  dateless  bargain  to  engrossing  death  I — 
Come,  bitter  conduct,  come,  unsavoury  guide  ! 
Thou  desperate  pilot,  now  at  once  run  on 
The  dashing  rocks  thy  sea-siv  k  weary  bark! 
Here's  to  my  love  !  {Drinks.)  O.  true  apothecary! 
Thy  drugs  are  quick. — Thus  witn  a  kiss  I  die. 

{Dies.) 

Efiter,  at  the  other  end  of  the  Churchyard.,  Friar 
Laurence,  with  a  Lantern,  Croiv,  and  Spade. 

Fri.  Saint  Francis  be  my  speed !  how  oft  to-night 
Have  my  old  feet  stumbled  at  graves ! — Who's  there? 
Who  is  it,  that  consorts,  so  late,  the  dead? 

Bal.  Here's  one,  a  friend,  and  one  that  knows 
you  well. 

Fri.  Bliss  be  upon  you !  Tell  me,  good  my  friend, 
What  torch  is  yond',  that  vainly  lends  his  light 
'J'o  grubs  and  eyeless  skulls  ?  as  1  discern. 
It  burneth  in  the  Capels'  monument. 

Bal.  It  doth  so,  holy  sir ;  and  there's  my  master, 


Fri.  Who  is  it  ? 

Bal.  -  Romeo. 
Fri.  How  long  hath  he  been  tltere  ? 
Bal.  Full  half  an  hour. 

Fri.  Go  with  me  to  the  vault 
Bal.  I  dare  not,  sir : 


My  master  knows  not  but  I  am  gone  hence  ; 
And  fearfully  did  menace  me  with  death. 
If  I  did  stay  to  look  on  his  intents.  [me  : 

Fri.  Stay,  then,  I'll  go  alone  : — Fear  comes  upon 


O,  much  I  fear  some  ill  u  lucky  thing 

Bal.  As  I  did  sleep  under  this  yew  tree  here, 

I  dreamt  my  niaster  and  another  louglit, 

And  that  my  master  slew  him. 

Fri.  Romeo ! — {Advances.) 

Alack,  alack,  what  blood  is  this,  which  stains 

The  stony  entrance  of  this  sepulchre  ? — 

What  mean  these  masterless  and  gory  swords 

To  lie  discolour'd  by  this  place  of  peace  ? 

{Enters  the  Monument.] 

Romeo  !  O,  pale  I — Who  else  ?  what,  Paris  too? 

And  steep'd  in  blood  ? — Ah,  what  an  unkind  hour 

Is  guilty  of  this  lamentable  chance  ! 

The  lady  stirs.  {Juliet  wakes  and  stin  , 

Jul.  O,  comfortable  friar,  where  is  n^y  lord  i 

I  do  remember  well  where  I  should  be, 

And  there  1  am  : — Where  is  my  Romeo  ? 

{Noise  within.) 

Fri.  \  hear  some  noise. — Lady,  come  from  that  nest 
Of  death,  contagion,  and  unnatural  sleep  ; 
A  greater  Power  than  we  can  contradict 
Hath  thwarted  our  intents  ;  come,  come  away  : 
Thy  husband  in  thy  bosom  there  lies  dead ; 
And  Paris,  too  :  come,  I'ii  dispose  of  thee 
Among  a  sisterhood  of  holy  nuns  : 
Stay  not  to  question,  for  the  watch  is  coming; 
Come,  go,  good  Juliet,— (iVoise  again.)  I  dure  stay 
no  longer.  [Exit. 

Jul.  Go,  get  thee  hence,  for  I  will  not  away. — 
What's  here  ?  a  cup,  clos'd  in  my  true  love's  hand? 
Poison,  I  see,  hath  been  his  timeless  end  : 
O  churl !  drink  all  ;  and  leave  no  friendly  drop, 
To  help  me  alter  ? — 1  will  kiss  thy  lips: 
Haply,  some  poison  yet  doth  hang  on  them, 
Ts  make  me  die  witli  a  restorative.      [Kisses  him, 
Thy  lips  are  warm  ! 

1  Watch.  {Within.)  Lead,  boy  .-—Which  way  ? 

Jul.  Yea,  noise  ?— then  I'll  he  brief.— O  happy 
dagger  !       (Snatching  Romeo's  dagger,) 
This  is  thy  sheath  ;  {Stabs  herself.)  there  rust,  and 
let  me  die. 

{Falls  on  Romeo's  hody,  and  dies,) 

Enter  Watch  with  the  Page  of  Paris. 
Page.  This  is  the  place ;  there,  where  the  torch 
doth  bum. 

1  Watch.  The  ground  is  bloody:  Search  about 

the  churciiyard  : 
Go,  some  of  you  ;  whoe'er  you  find,  attach. 

[Exeunt  some% 
Pitiful  sight!  here  lies  the  c^iunf-y  slain  ; — 
And  J(diet  bleeding;  warm,  and  newly  'dead. 
Who  here  hath  lain  these  two  days  buried. — 
Go  tell  the  prince,— run  to  the  Capulets, — 
Raise  up  the  Montagues, — some  others  search  ; — 

[Exeunt  other  Watchmen. 
We  see  the  ground  whereon  these  woes  do  lie ; 
But  the  true  ground  of  all  these  piteous  woes. 
We  cannot  without  circumstance  descry. 

Enter  some  of  the  Watch,  with  BalthasaB. 

2  Watch.  Here's  Romeo's  man,  we  found  him  i 

the  churchyard.  [hither 
1  Watch.  Hold  him  in  safety,  till  the  prince  comd 

Enter  another  Watchman  with  Friar  Laurbncb. 

3  Watch.  Here  is  a  friar,  that  trembles,  sigha^ 

and  weeps : 

We  took  this  mattock  and  this  spade  from  hira, 
As  he  was  coming  from  this  churchyard  side. 
1  Watch.  A  great  suspicion  :  Stay  the  friar  too. 

Enter  the  Prince  and  Attendants. 
Prince.  What  misadventure  is  so  early  up, 
That  calls  our  person  from  our  morning's  rest? 
Enter  Capulet,  Lady  Capulet,  and  othert. 
Cap.  What  should  it  be,  that  they  so  shriek 
abroad  ? 

La.  Cap.  The  people  in  the  street  cry— Romeo, 
Some — Juliet,  and  some — Pans ;  and  all  run. 


Scene  3. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


711 


With  open  ouicry,  toward  our  mcmurnent. 
Princi:.  >V liat  fear  is  this,  w  hich  startles  in  our 
ears?  [slain; 
1  Watch.  Sovereign,  here  lies  the  county  Paris 
And  Romeo  dead  ;  and  Juliet,  dead  before, 
VVarin  and  new  kill'd. 
Prince.  Search,  seek,  and  know  how  this  foul 
murder  comes.  [man ; 

1  Watch.  Here  is  a  friar,  and  slaughter'd  Ron»eo's 
With  instruments  upon  them,  fit  to  open 
These  dead  men's  tombs. 

Cap.  O,  heavens  !— O,  wife  !  look  how  our  daugh- 
ter bleeds ! 

This  dagger  liath  mista'en, — for,  lo !  his  house 
is  empty  on  the  back  of  Montague, — 
And'is  mis-sheathed  in  my  daughter's  bosom. 

La.  Cap.  O  me!  this  sight  of  death  is  as  a  bell, 
That  warns  my  old  age  to  a  sepulchre. 

Enter  Montague  and  others. 

Prince.  Come,  Montague ;  for  thou  art  early  up, 
To  see  thy  son  and  heir  more  early  down. 

Man.  Alas,  my  liege,  my  wife  is  dead  to-night ; 
Grief  of  my  son's  exile  hath  stopp'd  her  breath  : 
What  further  woe  conspires  against  mine  age  ? 

Prince.  Look,  and  thou  shalt  see. 

Mon.  O  thou  untaught !  what  manners  is  in  this, 
To  press  before  thy  father  to  a  grave  ? 

Prince.  Seal  .up'the  mouth  of  outrage  for  a  while, 
Till  we  can  clear  these  ambiguities. 
And  know  their  spring,  their  head,  their  true 
descent; 

And  then  will  I  be  general  of  your  woes. 
And  lead  you  even  to  death :  Mean  time  forbear, 
And  let  mischance  be  slave  to  patiejice. — 
Bring  {brth  the  parties  of  suspicion. 

Fri.  i  am  the  greatest,  able  to  do  least, 
^Tet  most  suspected,  as  the  time  and  place 
Doth  make  against  me,  of  this  direful  murder; 
And  here  1  stand,  both  to  impeach  and  purge 
Mvself  condemned  and  myself  excus'd. 

Prince.  Then  say  at  once  what  thou  dost  know 
'  rn-tliis. 

Fri.  I  will  be  brief,  for  my  short  date  of  breath 
Is  not  so  long  ap  is  a  tedious  tale. 
Romeo,  tliere  dead,  was  husband  to  that  Juliet, 
And  she,  the r6  dead,  that  Romeo's  faithfid  wife  : 
^T~ma r r i e hjMm  ^  and  their  stolen  marriage-day 
VVasTybalt's  cfooms  day,  whose  untimely  death 
Banish"d  the  new-made  bridegroom  from  this  city; 
For  whom,  and  not  for  Tybalt,  Juliet  pin'd. 
You — to  remove  that  siege  of  grief  from  her, — 
Betroth'd,  and  would  have  married  her  perforce, 
To  couiity  Paris :— Then  comes  she  to  nse ; 
And,  with  wild  looks,  bid  me  devise  some  means 
To  rid  her  from  this  second  marriage. 
Or,  in  my  celt  there  would  she  kill  herself. 
Then  gave  I  her,  so  tutor'd  by  my  art, 
A  sleeping  potion;  which  so  took  effect 
As  1  intended,  for  it  wrought  on  her 
The  form  of  death:  meantime  I  writ  to  Romeo, 
That  he  should  hither  come  as  this  dire  night. 
To  help  to  take  her  from  her  borrovv'd  grave, 
Beuig  the  time  the  potion's  Ibrce  should  cease.. 


But  he  which  bore  my  letter,  friar  Johu, 

Was  staid  by  accident;  and  yesternight 

Return'd  my  letter  back:  Tlien  all  atooe. 

At  the  prefixed  hour  of  her  waking, 

Came  I  to  take  her  from  her  kindred's  vault* 

Meaning  to  keep  her  closely  at  my  cell. 

Till  I  conviently  could  send  to  Romeo: 

But,  when  I  came  (some  minute  ere  the  time 

Of  her  awakening,)  here  untimely  lay 

The  noble  Paris,  and  true  Romeo,  dead. 

She  wakes  ;  and  I  entreated  her  come  forth. 

And  bear  this  work  of  heaven  with  patience: 

But  then  a  noise  did  scare  me  from  the  tomb; 

And  she,  too  desperate,  would  not  go  with  me. 

But  (as  it  seems,)  did  violence  on  herself. 

All  this  I  know ;  and  to  the  marriage 

Her  nurse  is  privy  :  And,  if  aught  in  this 

Miscarried  by  my  fault,  let  my  old  life 

Be  sacrific'd,  some  hour  before  his  time. 

Unto  the  rigour  of  severest  law.  [man.-— 

Prince.  We  still  have  known  thee  for  a  holy 
Where's  Romeo's  man  ?  what  can  he  say  in  this? 

Bal.  1  brought  my  master  news  of  Juliet's  death* 
And  then  in  post  lie  came  from  Mantua, 
To  this  same  place,  to  this  same  monument. 
This  Iftter  he  early  b'id  me  give  his  father; 
And  threaten'd  me  with  death,  going  in  the  vault, 
If  I  departed  not,  and  left  hiHi  there. 

Prince.  Give  me  the  letter,  I  will  look  on  it. — 
Where  is  the  county's  page,  that  rais'd  the  watch  ?— 
Sirrah,  what  made  your  master  in  this  place  ? 

Page.  He  came  with  flowers  to  strew  his  lady's 
grave ; 

And  bid  me  stand  aloof,  and  so  I  did  : 
Anon,  comes  one  with  light  to  ope  the  tomb; 
And,  by  and  by,  my  master  drew  on  him  ; 
And  then  I  ran  away  to  call  the  watch. 

Prince.  This  letter  doth  make  good  the  friar's 
words, 

Their  course  of  love,  the  tidings  of  her  death : 

And  here  he  writes — that  he  did  buy  a  poison 

Of  a  poor  'pothecary,  and  therewithal 

Came  to  this  vault  to  die,  and  lie  with  Juliet. — 

Where  be  these  enemies  ?  Capulet !  Montague  !— 

See,  what  a  scourge  is  laid  upon  your  hate. 

That  heaven  finds  means  to  kill  your  joys  with  love  ! 

And  I,  for  winking  at  your  discords  too. 

Have  lost  a  brace  of  kinsmen  : — all  are  punish'd. 

Cap.  O,  brother  Montague,  give  me  thy  hand:. 
This  is  my  daughter's  jointure,  for  no  more 
Can  I  demand. 

Mon.  But  I  can  give  thee  more  i 

For  I  will  raise  her  statue  in  pure  gold  ; 
That,  while  Verona  by  that  name  is  known, 
There  shall  no  figure  at  such  rate  be  set. 
As  that  of  true  and  faithful  Juliet, 

Cap.  As  rich  shall  Romeo  by  his  lady  lie  ; 
Poor  sacrifices  of  our  enmity !  [brings  ; 

Prince.  A  glooming  peace  this  morning  wit£  it 
The  sun,  for  sorrow,  will  not  shew  his  head: 
Go  hence,  to  have  more  talk  of  these  sad  things; 
Some  sha-ll  be  pardon'd,  and  some  pncished : 

IFor  never  was  a  story  of  more  woe. 
Than  this  of  Juliet  and  her  Romeo.  [tSsffunt 


HAMLET,  PRINCE  OF  DENMARK 


If  the  dramas  of  Shakspeare  were  to  l)e  characterised,  each  by  tlie  particular  excellence  which  distinguishes  i( 
from  tlie  rest,  we  must  allow  to  the  tragedy  of  Hamlet  the  praise  of  variety.  The  incidents  are  so  numerous,  that 
the  argument  of  tlie  play  would  make  a  long  tale  The  scenes  are  interchangeably  diversified  with  merriment  and 
solemnity:  with  merninent  that  includes  judicious  and  instructive  observations;  and  solemnity  not  strained  by  poc' 
tical  violence  above  the  natural  sentiments  of  man.  New  characters  appear  from  time  to  time  in  continual  succession, 
exhibiting  various  forms  of  life,  and  particular  modes  of  conversation.  The  pretended  madness  of  Hamlet  cauae* 
much  mirth,  the  mournful  distraction  of  Ophelia  fills  the  heart  with  tenderness,  and  every  personage  produces  the 
efltct  intended,  from  the  apparition  that,  m  the  tirst  act.  chills  the  blood  with  horror,  to  the  fop  in  the  last,  that 
exposes  atlectation  to  just  contempt. 

The  conduct  is,  perhaps,  not  wholly  secure  again.«t  objections.  The  action  is  indeed  for  the  most  part,  in  continual 
projfression  ;  but  Int-ie  are  some  scenes  Wrtich  neither  forward  nor  retard  it.  Of  the  feigned  madness  of  Hamlet 
there  appears  no  adequate  cause,  for  he  does  nothing  which  he  might  not  have  done  with  the  reputation  of  sanity, 
lie  i)lays  tlie  madman  most,  wheJJ  he  treats  Ophelia  with  so  much  rudeness,  which  seems  to  be  useless  and  wantua 
cruelty. 

Hamlet  is,  through  the  whole  piece,  rather  an  instrument  than  an  agent.  After  he  has,  by  the  stratagem  of  tha 
play,  convicted  the  king,  he  makes  no  attempt  to  punisli  him ;  and  his  death  is  at  last  effected  by  an  incident  which 
Hamlet  liad  no  part  in  producing. 

The  catasdophe  is  not  very  happily  produced,  the  exchange  of  weapons  is  rather  an  expedient  of  necessity,  than 
astroke  of  urt.    A  scheme  might  easily  be  fnnned,  to  kill  Hamiet  with  tlie  dagger,  and  Laertes  with  the  bowl. 

The  poet  is  accustd  of  having  .shewn  little  regard  to  poetical  justice,  and  may  be  chaiged  with  equal  neglect  of 
poetical  probability  The  apparition  left  the  regions  of  the  dead  to  little  purpose:  the  revenge  which  he  demands 
IS  not  obtained,  but  by  the  death  of  him  that  was  required  to  take  it;  and  the  gratiticalion,  which  would  aiise  front 
the  destruction  of  an  usurper  and  a  niuidercr,  is  abated  by  the  untimely  death  of  Ophelia,  the  young,  the  hei.utifu2^ 
the  harmless,  and  the  pious.  Johnson 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


CLAUDIUS,  Ki7ig  of  Denmark. 

WAMLET,  Soil  (0  the  J'urmtr,  and  Nephew  to  the  present 
King. 

POLONHJS,  Lord  Chanibn-luin. 
HOKATIO,  Vriend  lo  H  unlet. 
LAERTES,  Sun  lo  i^ulonius. 
VOLTIMAND, 

GUH.I)ENSTEiiN,  > 
OSKIC,  a  Cuurlier. 
Another  Courtier. 
A  Priest. 


Officers. 


M.^KCELLUS, 
HEKNAKDO, 
FRANClbCO.  a  Soldier. 
RE'i  NALUO,  Servant  to  Poloniiis. 
A  Capt<uii. 
An  Ainhassculvr 
ahvsl  of  HamifVs  Father. 
FOK'n.\»R.\S,  Vrutce  of  Nor lo ay. 

Oi^RTRLDr.,    Qiit-en    of   Denmark,   and    Mother  0/ 
Ha  M  let. 

OPHELIA,  Daughter  of  roluniiis. 

Lords,  Lut/ies, Officers.  S<dd/er.s,  Players,  Gra?)e- diggers 
Sailors,  Messengers,  and  other  Attendants. 


Scene, — E/si 


ACT  I. 

Scene  T.—  E/siwor«.  A  Platjann  hefure  t.he  Ca.sf.le.. 
Francisco  un  his  post.    Enter  lo  hnn  liEKNAKDO. 
Rer.  Who's  tht-ie 


Fran.  Nay,  answer  ine  :  stand,  dii(i  uiii'olil 

Yonrseii". 

Ber.     Long  live  the  king! 
Fran.  Bernari^o? 
Ber.  He. 


Fran.  You  come  most  carefully  njion  your  hour. 
Ber.  'Tis  now  struck  twelve ;  ^et  tliee   to  bed, 
Francisco. 

Fran.  Foi  this  l  elief,  much  thanks  :  'tis  bitter  cold, 
And  I  am  sick  at  hf^art. 

Ber.  H.ive  you  had  quiet  guard  ? 

Fran.  Not  a  mouse  stirring. 

Ber.  Well,  good  night. 
If  you  do  meet  Horatio  and  Marreiltis, 
The  rivals  of  my  watch,  bid  them  make  haste. 

Enter  Horatio  and  Marcellus. 
Fta*i.  I  think,  I  hear  them.— Stand,  ho !  Who  is 
there  ? 

Hor.  Friends  to  this  ground. 

Mar.      ^  And  liegemen  to  the  Dane. 

Fran.  Give  you  good  night. 

Mar.  O,  farewell,  honest  soldier : 

Who  hath  reliev'd  you? 

Fran.  Bernardo  hath  my  place. 

Give  you  good  night.  [Exit. 

Mar  Holla !  Bernardo ! 

Ber.  Say, 
What,  is  Horatio  there? 

Mor.  A  piece  of  him. 

Ber.  Welcome,  Horatio;  welcome,  good  Mar- 
celjus. 

iWo?-.  W'hat,  has  this  thing nppear'd  again  to-night? 
Ber.  1  uiive  aeeu  nothing. 


Mar.  iJoi-atio  says,  'tis  but  our  fantasy; 
And  will  not  let  behel  take  iiold  of  him, 
Toiicliiiig  this  dreadei;  sigiit,  twice  seen  of  us: 
Theretore  i  have  entreated  him.  along 
Witli  us  to  watch  tiie  minutes  of  tins  night; 
'fiiat,  ii  again  this  apparition  come, 
He  may  a})prove  our  eyes,  and  speak  to  it. 

Hor.  Tush!  tush!  'twill  not  appear. 

Ber.  Sit  down  awhile; 

And  let  us  once  again  assail  your  ears, 
That  are  so  toitiHed  ag:ni)st  our  story, 
What  we  two  nights  iiave  seen. 

Hor.  Well,  sit  we  down. 

And  let  us  hear  Bernardo  .speak  of  tliis. 

Ber.  Last  night  of  all, 
When  yon  same  star,  tliat's  westward  from  the  pole^ 
Had  made  his  course  to  illume  that  part  of  heaven 
Where  now  it  biiriLs,  Marcellus,  ana  myself, 
The  bell  then  beating  one, —  [again! 

Mar.  Peace,  break  thee  olf ;  look,  where  it  comes 

Enter  Ghost. 
Ber.  In  the  same  figure,  like  the  king  that's  dead. 
Mar.  '\  \iou  art  a  scholar,  speak  to  it,  Horatio. 
Ber.  Looks  it  not  like  the  king  ?  mark  \\,  Horatio. 
Hor.  Most  like : — it  harrows  nie  with  fear,  and 

wonder. 
Ber.  It  would  be  spoke  to. 

Mar.  Speak  to  it,  Horatio. 

Hor.  What  art  thou,  that  nsurp'st  this  time  ot  night, 
Together  with  that  fair  and  warlike  (orm 
In  which  the  majesty  of  buried  Denmark  [speak. 
Did  sometimes  march?  by  heaven,  1  charge  thee, 

Mar.  It  is  offended. 

Ber.  See  !  it  stalks  away. 

Hor.  Stay  ;  speak  :  speak,  I  charge  thee,  speak. 

[Exit  Chf/fi. 

Mar.  'Tis  gone,  and  will  not  answer.  (pale: 
Ber.  How  now,  Horatio?  you  tremble,  and  look 


Scene  2. 


HAMLET,  PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


!  s  not  tnis  something  more  than  fantasy  i 
U  hat  think  you  of  it? 

Hor.  Before  my  Ood,  I  might  not  this  believe, 
Without  the  sensible  and  true  avouch 
i)"  mine  own  eyes. 

Is  it  not  like  the  king? 
Hiyr,  As  thou  art  to  tliyself : 
Such  was  the  very  arriioiir  he  had  on, 
VVliea  he  the  ambitious  Norway  combated ; 
So  fi  owo'd  he  once,  when,  in  an  angry  parle, 

smote  the  sledded  Polack  on  the  ice. 
'T\i  strange.  _  [hour, 

Mrrr.  Tims  twice  before,  and  jump  at  this  dead 
With  martial  stalk  hath  he  gone  by  our  watch. 
Hor.  In  what  particular  thought  to  work,  I  know 
not; 

But.  in  the  gross  and  scope  of  mine  opinion, 
Th\s  bodes  some  strange  eruption  to  our  state. 
Mar.  Good  now,  sit  down,  and  tell  me,  he  that 

knows, 

Why  this  same  strict  and  most  observant  watch 
So  nightly  toils  the  subject  of  the  land? 
And  why  such  daily  cast  of  brazen  cannon, 
*  And  foreign  mart  for  implements  of  war; 
Why  such  impress  of  shipwrights,  whose  sore  task 
Does  not  divide  the  Sunday  from  the  week  : 
What  might  be  toward,  that  this  sweaty  haste 
Doth  make  the  night  joint-labourer  with  the  day  ; 
Who  is't,  that  can  ini'orm  rae  ? 

Hor.  ^  That  can  I; 

At  least,  the  whisper  goes  so.    Our  last  king, 
W'liose  image  even  but  now  appear'd  to  us, 
Was,  as  you  know,  by  Fortinbras  of  Norway, 
Thereto  prick'd  on  by  a  most  emulate  pride, 
Dar'd  to  the  combat;  in  which  our  valiant  Hamlet 
(For  so  this  side  of  our  known  world  esteem'd  him,) 
Did  slay  (his  Fortinbras  ;  who,  by  a  seal'd  compact. 
Well  ratified  by  law  and  heraldry, 
Did  forfeit,  with  his  life,  all  those  his  lands. 
Which  he  stood  seia'd  of,  to  the  conqueror: 
Against  the  which,  a  moiety  competent 
Was  gaged  by  our  king  ;  which  had  return'd 
To  the  inheritance  of  Fortinbras, 
Had  he  been  vanquisher;  as,  by  the  same  co-mart, 
And  carriage  of  the  article  design'd, 
His  fell  to  Hamlet:  Now,  sir,  young  Fortinbras, 
Of  unimproved  mettle  hot  and  full. 
Hath  in  the  skirts  of  Norway,  here  and  there, 
Shark'd  up  a  list  ol  landless  resolutes. 
For  food  and  diet,  to  some  enterprise 
That  iiath  a  stomach  in't :  which  is  no  other 
(As  it  doth  well  appear  unto  our  state,) 
But  to  recover  of  us,  by  strong  hand. 
And  terms  compulsatory,  those  'foresaid  lands. 
So  by  his  father  lost:  And  this,  I  take  it. 
Is  the  main  motive  of  our  preparations  ; 
The  source  of  this  our  watch  ;  and  the  chief  head 
Of  this  post  haste  and  roinage  in  the  land. 

Ber.  I  think,  it  be  no  other,  but  even  so: 
Well  may  it  sort,  that  this  portentous  figure 
Comes  armed  throiigh  our  watch  ;  so  like  the  king 
That  was,  and  is,  the  question  of  these  wars. 

Hor.  A  mote  it  is,  to  trouble  the  mind's  eye. 
In  the  most  high  and  palmy  state  of  Rome, 
A  little  ere  the  mightiest  Julius  fell, 
The  graves  stood^tenantless,  and  the  sheeted  dead 
Did  squeak  and  gibber  in  the  Roman  streets. 

If.      jf.     ^      ]^      *      If      ♦       Jf      jf.  if.     Jf     :f     )(.  If 

As,  stars  with  trains  of  fire  and  dews  of  blood. 
Disasters  in  the  sun ;  and  the  moist  star, 
l![)on  whose  influence  Neptune's  empire  stands. 
Was  iiick  almost  to  dooms-day  with  eclipse. 
And  even  the  like  precurse  of  fierce  events, — 
As  harbingers  preceding  sti'',  the  fates. 
And  prologue  to  the  omen  coming  on, — 
Have  heaven  and  earth  together  demonstrated 
Unto  our  climat'ures  and  countrymen. — 

He-enter  Ghost. 
6xit,  soft ;  behold !  lo,  where  it  comes  again  I 


I'll  cross  it,  though  it  blast  me. — Stay,  illusdoal 
If  thou  hast  any  sound,  or  use  of  voice, 
Speak  to  me  : 

If  there  be  any  good  thing  to  be  done,  ''^ 
That  may  to  thee  do  ease  and  grace  to  me, 
Speak  to  me  : 

If  thou  ait  privy  to  thy  country's  fate. 
Which,  happily,  foreknowing  may  avoid, 
O,  speak !  , 
Or,  if  thou  hast  uphoarded  in  thy  life, 
Extorted  treasure  in  the  womb  of  earth. 
For  which,  they  say,  you  spirits  oft  walk  in  death, 

{Cock  crowx^ 

Speak  of  it: — stay,  and  speak. — Stop  it,  Marcellas. 

Mar.  Shall  I  strike  at  it  with  my  partizan  ? 

Hor.  Do,  if  it  will  not  stand. 

Ber.  'Tis  here ! 

Hor.  'Tis  her*  ^ 

Mar.  'Tis  gone  !  ^  [Exit  Ghost 

We  do  it  wrong,  being  so  majestical, 
To  offer  it  the  snew  of  violence; 
For  it  is,  as  the  air,  invulnerable, 
And  our  vain  blows  malicious  mockery. 

Ber.  It  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  cock  crew 

Hor.  And  then  it  started,  like  a  guilty  thing 
Upon  a  fearful  summons.    I  have  heard. 
The  cock,  that  is  the  trumpet  to  the  morn. 
Doth  with  his  lofty  and  shrill-sounding  throat 
Awake  the  god  of  day ;  and,  at  his  warning. 
Whether  in  sea  or  fire,  in  earth  or  air, 
The  extravagant  and  erring  spirit  hies 
To  his  confine :  and  of  the  truth  herein 
This  present  object  made  probation. 

Mar.  It  faded  on  the  crowing  of  the  cock. 
Some  say,  that  ever  'gainst  that  season  comes. 
Wherein  our  Saviour's  birth  is  celebrated. 
This  bird  of  dawning  singeth  all  night  long: 
And  then,  they  say,  no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad  ; 
The  nights  are  wholesome;  then  no  planets  strikci 
No  fairy  takes,  nor  witch  hath  power  to  &harm, 
So  hallow'd  and  so  gracious  is  the  time. 

Uor.  So  have  1  heard,  and  do  in  part  believe  it 
But,  look,  the  morn,  in  russet  mantle  clad. 
Walks  o'er  the  dew  of  yon  high  eastern  hill: 
Break  we  our  watch  up  ;  and,  by  my  advice. 
Let  as  impart  what  we  have  seen  to-night 
Unto  young  Hamlet:  for,  uoon  my  life. 
This  spirit,  dumb  to  us,  will  speak  to  him  : 
Do  you  consent  we  shall  acquaint  him  with  it. 
As  needful  in  our  loves,  fitting  our  duty  ? 

Mar.  Let's  do't,  I  pray  ;  and  I  this  morning  knoxji 
Where  we  shall  find  him  most  convenient.  [Exeuni. 

Scene  II. — The  same.    A  Room  of  State  in  tM 
same. 

Enter  the  King,  Queen,  Hamlet,  Polonius,  Laer- 
TES,  VoLTiMAND,  CoRNELius,  Lords,  and  At- 
tendants. 

King.  Though  yet  of  Hamlet  our  dear  brocn*^r's 
death 

The  memory  be  green  ;  and  that  it  us  bc;itted 

To  bear  our  hearts  in  grief,  and  our  whole  kii'gtiowR 

To  be  contracted  in  one  l)row  of  woe ; 

Yet  so  far  hath  discretion  f  ought  with  nature 

That  we  with  wisest  sorrow  think  on  him. 

Together  with  remembrance  of  ourselves. 

Therefore  our  sometime  sister,  now  our  queen. 

The  imperial  jointress  of  this  warlike  state. 

Have  we,  as  "twere,  with  a  defeated  joy, — 

With  one  auspicious,  and  one  dropping  eye; 

With  mirth  in  funeral,  and  with  dirge  in  marriaf*^ 

In  equal  scale  weighing  delight  and  dole, — 

Taken  to  wife  :  nor  have  we  herein  barr'd  v 

Your  better  wisdoms,  which  have  freely  gone 

With  this  affair  along : — For  all,  our  thanks. 

Now  follows  that  you  know,  young  Fortinbras^- 
Holding  a  weak  supposal  of  our  worth  ; 
Or  thinking,  by  our  late  dear  brothers  death. 
Our  state  to  be  disjoint  and  out  of  fra  ne, 
Colleagued  witli  this  dreaui  of  his  advantage 


744: 


HAMLET, 


Aci  I 


Me  hath  not  failM  io  pester  us  with  message, 
lyipurting  the  snrreuder  of  those  lands. 
Lost  by  his  lather,  vvitli  ail  bands  of  law, 
To  our  most  valiant  brother. — So  much  for  him. 
Now  for  ourseif,  and  for  this  time  of  meeting. 
Thus  much  the  business  is  .  We  have  here  writ 
I'o  Norway,  uncle  of  youngf  Fortinbras, — 
VVlio,  impotent  and  bed-rid,  scarcely  hears 
Of  this  [lis  nephew's  purpose, — to  suppress 
idis  further  gait  herein;  in  that  the  levies, 
The  lists,  and  full  proportions,  are  all  made 
Out  of  his  subject: — and  we  here  despatch 
Yon,  good  Cornelius,  and  you,  Voltimand, 
For  bearers  of  this  greetmg  to  old  Norway  ; 
Giving  to  you  no  further  personal  power 
To  business  with  the  king,  more  than  the  scope 
Of  these  dilated  articles  allow. 
Farewell  ;  and  let  your  haste  commend  your  duty. 
Cor.      Vol.  In  that,  and  all  things,  will  we  shew 
our  duty. 

King.  We  doubt  it  nothing  :  heartily  farewell. 

[Exeunt  Voltimand  and  Cornelius. 
And  now,  Laertes,  wiiat's  tiie  news  with  you  ? 
Yon  told  us  of  some  suit;  What  is't.  Laertes  ? 
Yon  cannot  speak  of  reason  to  the  Dane, 
And  lose  your  voice:    What  wouldst  thou  beg, 
Laertes, 

That  shall  not  be  my  offer,  not  thy  asking? 
The  head  is  not  more  native  to  tlie  heart, 
The  hand  more  instrumental  to  the  mouth, 
Than  is  the  throne  of  Denmark  to  thy  father. 
What  would'st  tlioii  have,  Laertes  ? 

Laer.  My  dread  lord. 

Your  leave  and  favour  to  return  to  France  ; 
From  whence,  though  willingly,  I  came  to  Denmark, 
To  shew  my  duty  in  your  coronatii-n; 
Yet  now,  I  must  confess,  that  duty  done, 
My  thoughts  and  wishes  bend  again  toward  France, 
And  bow  them  to  your  gracious  leave  and  pardon. 

King.  Have  you  your  father's  leave  ?  Wliat  says 
Polonius  ?  [lea\  e, 

Pol.  He  hath,  my  lord,  wrunii:  f'om  me  my  slow 
By  laboursoine  petition  ;  and,  at  last, 
Upon  his  will  I  seal  d  ir.y  hard  consent : 
I  do  beseech  you,  give  him  leave  to  go. 

King.  Take  thy  fair  hour,  Laertrs  ;  time  be  thine. 
And  thy  best  graces:  spend  it  at  thy  will. — ^ 
But  now,  my  cousin  Hamlet,  and  my  son, — 

Ham.  A  little  more  than  kin,  and  less  than  kind. 

{Aside.) 

King.  How  is  it,  tliat  the  clouds  still  hang  on  you  ? 

Ham.  Not  so,  my  lord,  I  ain  too  much  i'the  sun. 

Queen.  Good  Hamlet,  cast  thy  in^hted  colour  oif, 
And  let  thine  eye  look  like  a  friend  on  Denmark. 
Do  not,  forever,  with  thy  vailed  lids 
Seek  for  thy  noble  father  in  the  dust : 
Thou  know'st,  'tis  common ;  all,  that  live,  must  die, 
Passing  through  nature  to  eteniity. 

Ham.  Ay,  madam,  it  is  common. 

Queen.  If  it  be. 

Why  seems  it  so  particular  with  thee  ?  [seems. 

Ham.  Seems,  madam  !   nay,  it  is ;  T  know  not 
'l^is  not  alone  my  inky  cloak,  good  mother, 
Nor  customary  suits  of  solemn  black, 
Nor  windy  suspiration  of  forc'd  breath. 
No,  nor  the  fruitful  river  in  the  eye. 
Nor  the  dejected  haviour  of  the  visage, 
Together  with  all  forms,  modes,  shews  of  grief. 
That  can  denote  me  truly:  These,  indeed,  seem, 
For  they  are  actions  that  a  man  might  play: 
But  I  liave  that  within,  which  passetli  shew; 
These,  but  the  trappings  and  the  suits  of  woe. 

King.  'Tis  .sweet  and  commendable  in  your  na- 
ture, Hamlet, 
To  give  these  mourning  duties  to  your  father: 
But,  you  must  know,  your  father  lost  a  father; 
That  father  lost,  lost  his  ;  ar)d  the  survivor  bound 
In  filial  obligation,  for  some  term 
To  do  obsequious  sorrow:  Bui  to  persever 
Ib  ob.sMnate  coirdolemtnti  is  a  tour.sc 


Of  impious  stjibbornness ;  'tis  unmanly  grief: 

It  shews  a  will  ntost  incorrect  to  heaven; 

A  heart  unfortified,  or  mind  impatient: 

An  understanding  simple  and  unschool'd  : 

For  what,  we  know,  must  be,  and  is  as  couiosoa 

As  any  the  most  vulgar  thing  to  sense, 

Why  should  we,  in  our  peevish  opposition. 

Take  it  to  heait  ?  Fye  !  'tis  a  fault  to  heaveo, 

A  fault  against  the  dead,  a  fault  to  nature, 

To  reason  most  absurd;  whose  common  tbeisso 

Is  death  of  fathers,  and  who  still  hath  cried, 

From  the  first  corse,  till  he  that  died  to-day, 

This  must  be  so.    We  pray  you,  throw  to  tr.nttt 

This  unprevailiug  woe;  and  think  of  us 

As  of  a  lather:  for  let  the  world  take  note. 

You  are  the  most  immediate  to  our  throne; 

And  with  no  less  nobility  ot"  love, 

Than  that  which  deare.st  father  bears  his  son, 

Do  I  impart  toward  you.    For  your  intent 

In  going  back  to  school  in  Wittenberg. 

It  is  most  retrograde  to  our  desire: 

And,  we  beseech  you,  bend  you  to  remain 

Here,  in  the  crieer  and  comfort  of  our  eye, 

Our  chiefest  courtier,  cousin,  and  our  son. 

Queen.  Let  not  thy  mother  lose  her  prayers, 
Hamlet ; 

I  pray  thee,  stay  with  us,  go  not  to  Wittenberg. 

Hatn.  I  shall  in  all  my  best  obey  \ou,  madam. 

King.  Wfiy,  tis  a  loving  and  a  Tair  reply; 
Be  as  ourseif  in  Denmark. — Madam,  come; 
7'his  gentle  and  unforc'd  accord  ol  Hamlet 
Sits  smiling  to  my  heart:  in  grate  whereof. 
No  jocund  health,  that  Denmark  drinks  to-day. 
But  the  great  cannon  to  the  clouds  shall  lell, 
And  the  king's  rouse  the  heavens  shall  bruit  again 
Re-speaking  earthly  tiiunder.    Cfuiie  away. 

[Exeunt  King,  Queen.,  Lords,  ^'c.  Pola 
nius,  and  Laertes. 

Hatn.  O.  ttiat  this  too  too  solid  flesh  would  melt 
Thaw,  and  resolve  itself  into  a  dew  ! 
Or  that  the  Ev  ei  lasting  had  not  lix  d 
His  canon  'gainst  self  slauv'hter  I  O  CJod  !  O  Ood 
How  weary,  stale,  liat,  and  unprofitable, 
Seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  worUl  I 
Fyeon  t!  O  fye  !  'tis  an  unweeded  garden, 
Tliat  grows  to  seed  ;  tilings  rank,  and  gross  in  nature^ 
Possess  it  merely.    Tiiat  it  should  come  to  this! 
But  two  months  dead  1 — nay,  not  so  much,  not  two? 
So  excellent  a  king;  that  was,  to  this, 
Hyperion  to  a  satyr,  so  loving  to  my  mother, 
I'tiat  he  might  not  beteem  the  winds  of  heaven 
Visit  her  face  too  roughly.    Heaven  and  earth  ! 
Must  I  remember?  vvhy,  she  would  hang  on  hini, 
As  if  increase  of  appetite  had  grown 
By  what  it  fed  on:  And  yet,  within  a  month, — 
Let  me  not  think  on't; — Frailty,  thy  name  is  wo- 
man ! — 

A  little  month ;  or  ere  those  shoes  were  old, 
With  which  she  follovv'd  my  poor  father's  body 
Like  Niobe,  all  tears, — vvhy  she,  even  she, — 
O  heaven  !  a  beast,  that  wants  discourse  of  reason. 
Would  have  mouru'd  longer, — married  with  my 
uncle, 

My  father'.*"  brother;  but  no  more  like  my  father, 

Than  1  to  Hercules:  within  a  month; 

Ere  yet  tli*  salt  of  most  unrighteous  tears 

Had  left  the  flushing  in  her  galled  eyes, 

She  married: — O  most  wicked  speed,  to  post 

With  such  dexterity  to  incestuous  sheets  I 

It  is  not,  nor  it  cannot  come  to,  good  ; 

But  break,  my  heart ;  for  I  njust  iioid  my  tojigne. 

Enter  Horatio,  Bernardo,  and  MAho.Li.us. 
Hor.  Hail  to  your  lordship  ! 
Ham.  I  am  elad  to  si  e  you 

Horatio. — or  I  do  forget  myself.  le-f^ 
Hor.  The  same,  my  lord,  and  youi  })oor  ser\oat. 
Ham.  Sir.  my  good  friend;  I  II  ch;ui^e  tiiat  n.^isja 
with  you. 

And  what  make  you  from  VV^ittenhei ^i,  Hoi  atio?— 


bOENE  3. 


PRINCE  OF 


DENMARK. 


745 


Marcellus  ? 

Mar.  My  good  lord, — 

Ham.  I  am  very  glad  to  see  yon  ;  good  even,  sir. — 
Rut  what,  in  faith,  make  you  fiom  Wittenberg? 

Hor.  A  truant  disposition,  good  tny  lord. 

Ham.  I  would  not  hear  your  enemy  say  so; 
Nor  shall  you  do  mine  ear  that  violence. 
To  make  it  truster  of  your  own  report 
Against  yourself :  I  know,  you  are  no  truant. 
But  what  is  your  affair  in  Elsinore  ? 
We'll  teach  you  to  drink  deep,  ere  you  depart. 

Hor.  My  lord,  I  came  to  see  your  father  s  funeral. 

Ham.  I  pray  thee,  do  not  mo<',k  rae,  fellow-stu- 
dent; 

I  think,  it  was  to  see  my  mother's  wedding. 
Hor.  Indeed,  my  lord,  it  follow'd  hard  upon. 
Ham.  Thrift,  ttirift,  Horatio!  the  funeral  bak'd 

meats 

Did  coldly  furnish  forth  the  marriage  tables. 
'VVould  1  had  met  my  dearest  foe  in  heaven 
Or  ever  I  had  seen  that  day,  Horatio  I — 
My  father, — Methinks,  I  see  my  father. 

Hor.  VVhere, 
My  lord  ? 

Ham.  In  my  mind's  eye,  Horatio. 

Hor.  I  saw  him  once,  he  was  a  goodly  king. 

Ham.  He  was  a  man,  take  him  lor  all  iu  all, 
[  shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again. 

Hor.  My  lord,  I  think  I  saw  him  yesternight. 

H'im.  Siw!  wiio? 

Hor.  My  lord,  the  king  your  father. 

Hum.  The  king  my  father! 

Hor.  Season  your  admiration  for  a  while 
Witii  an  attent  ear  ;  till  I  niay  deliver, 
Upon  ttie  witness  of  these  gentlemen. 
This  ni  ir\  el  to  you. 

Ham.  For  God's  love,  let  me  hear. 

Hor.  Two  nights  together  had  these  gentlemen, 
Marct'llus  and  Bernardo,  on  their  vvatc^i. 
In  the  d(-ad  waist  and  middle  of  the  night, 
Been  tints  encounter'd.    A  fii^ure  like  your  father, 
Armed  at  pomt,  exactly,  cap-a  pie. 
Ap  ears  hei'ore  them,  and,  with  solemn  march. 
Goes  slow,  and  stately  by  them:  thrice  he  walk'd. 
By  tiieir  oppress'd  and  (ear-surprised  eyes, 
Within  his  truncheon's  length;  whilst  they,  distill'd 
Almost  to  jelly  with  the  act  of  fear. 
Stand  dumb,  atid  speak  not  to  him.    This  to  rr^e 
In  dreadful  secrecy  \ni  ait  they  did; 
And  I  vvifli  them,  the  third  nigiit  kept  the  watch: 
Where,  as  they  had  deliver'd,  both  in  time. 
Form  of  the  thing,  each  word  nmde  true  and  good. 
The  ap|)arition  comes:  I  knew  your  father; 
Tiiese  hands  are  not  more  like. 

Ham.  But  where  was  this  ? 

Mar.  My  lord,  upon  the  platform,  where  we 
watch'd. 

Ham.  Did  you  not  speak  to  it  ? 

Hor.  My  lord,  I  did  ; 

But  answer  made  it  none  :  yet  once,  methought. 
It  lifted  up  its  head,  and  did  address 
Itself  to  motion,  like  as  it  would  speak: 
But,  even  then,  the  morning  cock  crew  loud-. 
And  at  the  sotmd  it  shrunk  in  haste  away. 
And  vanish'd  from  our  sight. 

Ham.  'Tis  very  strange. 

Hor.  As  I  do  live,  my  honour'd  lord,  'tis  true  ; 
And  we  did  think  it  writ  down  in  our  duty. 
To  let  you  know  of  it. 

Ham.  Indeed,  indeed,  sirs,  but  this  troubles  me. 
Hold  you  the  watch  to-night  ? 

All.  We  do,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Arm'd,  say  you  ? 

All.  Arm'd,  ray  lord. 

Ham.  From  top  to  toe  ? 

All.  My  lord,  from  head  to  foot. 

Hain.  Then  saw  you  not 

His  face? 

Hor.  O  yes,  my  lord  ;  he  wore  his  beaver  up. 
Ham.  W"hat,  look'd  he  frowningly  ? 


A  countenance  mora 
Pale,  or  red  ? 


Hor. 

In  sorrow  than  in  anger. 
Ham. 

Hor.  Nay,  very  pale. 
Ham.  And  fix'd  his  eyes  upon  yoa? 

Hor.  Most  constantly. 

Ha?n.  I  would,  I  had  beciQ  tbcrau 

Hor.  It  would  have  much  amaz  d  you. 
Ham.  Very  like. 

Very  like:  Stay'd  it  long? 

Ilor.  While  one  with  moderate  haste  might  Ull 

a  hundred. 
Mar.  &"  Ber.  Longer,  longer. 
Hor.  Not  when  I  saw  it. 

Ham.  His  beard  was  grizzl'd  ?  noT 

Hor.  It  was,  as  I  have  seen  it  in  his  life, 
A  sable  silver'd. 

Ha?n.  I  will  watch  to-night ; 

Perchance,  'twill  walk  again. 

Hor.  I  warrant,  it  vvill. 

Ham.  If  it  assume  my  noble  father's  person, 
I'll  speak  to  it,  though  hell  itself  shoidd  gape, 
And  bid  me  hold  my  peace,    I  pray  you  all. 
If  you  have  hitherto  conceal'd  this  sight. 
Let  it  be  tenable  in  your  silence  still ; 
And  whatsoever  else  shall  hap  to-night, 
Give  it  an  imderstanding,  but  no  tongue; 
I  will  requite  your  loves:  So,  fare  you  well: 
Upon  the  platibrfn,  'twixt  eleven  and  twelve, 
I'll  visit  you. 

All.  Our  duty  to  your  honour. 

Ham.  Your  loves,  as  mine  to  you;  Farewell. 
[Exeunt  Horatio,  Marcellt(S,  and  Bernardo, 
My  fathers  spirit  in  arms  I  all  is  not  well  ; 
I  doubt  some  loul  play :  would,  the  niglit  were  come  ! 
Till  then  sit  still,  my  soul  :  Foul  d«eds  will  rise. 
Though  all  the  earth  o'erwhelm  them,  to  men's  eyes. 

[Exit 

Scene  III. — A  Room  in  Polonins's  House, 
Enter  Laertes  and  Ophelia. 

Laer.  My  necessaries  are  embark'd;  farewell; 
And,  sister,  as  the  winds  give  benefit, 
And  con.voy  is  assistant,  do  not  sleep. 
But  let  me  hear  from  you. 

Oph.  Do  you  doubt  that? 

Laer.  For  Hamlet,  and  the  trifling  of  his  favoar. 
Hold  it  a  fashion,  and  a  toy  in  blood  ; 
A  violet  in  the  youth  of  primy  nature. 
Forward,  not  permanent,  sweet,  not  lasting. 
The  perfume  and  suppliance  of  a  minute  ; 
No  more. 


No 


but 


Oph. 

Laer.  Think  it  n«  more; 

For  nature,  crescent,  does  not  grow  alone 
In  thews,  and  bulk;  but.  as  this  temple  waxes, 
'I'he  inward  service  of  the  mind  and  soul 
Grows  wide  withal.    Perhaps,  he  lo\es  you  now; 
And  now  no  soil,  nor  cautel,  doth  besmirch 
The  virtue  of  his  will :  but,  you  must  fear. 
His  greatness  weigh'd,  his  will  is  not  his  own; 
For  he  himself  is  subject  to  his  birth: 
He  may  not,  as  unvalued  persons  do. 
Carve  for  himself;  for  on  his  choice  depends 
The  safety  and  the  health  of  the  whole  state  ; 
And  therefore  must  his  choice  be  circurascrib'd 
Unto  the  voice  and  yielding  of  that  body, 
Whereof  he  is  head  :  Then,  if  he  says  he  lovea  yo% 
It  fits  your  wisdom  so  far  to  believe  it. 
As  he  in  his  particular  act  and  place 
May  give  his  saying  deed ;  which  is  no  furllier 
Than  the  main  voice  of  Denmark  goes  witfial. 
Then  weigh  what  loss  your  honour  may  sustain. 
If  with  too  credent  ear  you  list  his  songs  ; 
Or  lose  your  heart ;  or  your  chaste  treasure  opea 
To  his  unmaster'd  importunity. 
Fear  it,  Ophelia,  fear  it,  my  dear  sister; 
And  keep  you  in  the  rear  of  your  atlection. 
Out  of  the  shot  and  danger  of  desire. 
The  chariest  maid  is  prodigal  enough. 


HAMLET, 


Act  1 


If  she  aninask  her  beauty  to  the  moon  : 
Virtue  itself  scapes  not  calumnious  strokes  : 
The  canker  galls  the  infants  of  the  spring. 
Too  oft  before  their  buttons  be  disclos'd: 
And  in  the  morn  and  liquid  dew  of  youth, 
Contagious  biastments  are  most  imminent. 
Be  wary  then  :  best  safety  lies  in  fear  ; 
Youth  to  itself  rebels,  though  none  else  near. 

Oph.  I  shall  the  eH  ect  of  this  good  lesson  keep, 
As  watchman  to  my  heart :  But,  good  my  brother. 
Do  not,  as  some  ungracious  pastors  do, 
Shew  me  the  steep  and  thorny  way  to  heaven  ; 
Whilst,  like  a  puff"'d  and  reckless  libertine. 
Himself  the  primrose  path  of  dalliance  treads, 
And  recks  not  his  own  read. 

Laer.  O  fear  me  not. 

I  stay  too  long; — But  here  my  father  comes. 

Enter  Polonius. 
A  double  blessing  is  a  double  grace  ; 
Occasion  smiles  upon  a  second  leave. 
Pol.   Yet  here,  Laertes !  aboard,  aboard,  for 
shame ; 

The  wind  sits  in  the  shoulder  of  your  sail, 
And  you  are  staid  for:  There, — my  blessing  with 
you  :  {Laying  his  hand  on  Laertes'  head.) 
And  these  few  precepts  in  thy  memory 
Look  thou  character.  Give  thy  thoughts  no  tongue. 
Nor  any  unproportion'd  thought  his  act. 
Be  tlu»u  familiar,  but  by  no  means  vulgar. 
The  triends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried, 
Grapj'le  them  to  thy  soul  with  hooks  of  steel ; 
But  do  not  dull  thy  palm  with  entertainment 
Of  each  new-hatch'd,  unfledg'd  comrade.  Beware 
Of  entrance  to  a  quarrel ;  but,  being  in, 
Bear  it,  that  the  opposer  may  beware  of  thee. 
G'ltie  every  man  thme  ear,  but  few  thy  voice  : 
Take  each  man's  censure,  but  reserve  thy  judgment. 
Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy. 
But  not  expresa'd  in  fancy  ;  rich,  not  gaudy  : 
For  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man  ; 
And  they  in  France,  of  the  best  rank  and  station. 
Are  most  select  and  generous,  chief  in  that. 
Neither  a  borrower,  nor  a  lender  be  : 
For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend  ; 
And  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry. 
This  above  all, — To  thine  ovvnself  be  true  ; 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day. 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 
Farewell;  my  blessing  season  this  in  thee! 

Laer.  Most  humbly  do  I  take  my  leave,  my  lord. 

Pol.  The  time  invites  you  ;  go,  your  servants  tend. 

Laer.  Farewell,  Ophelia;  and  remenjber  well 
What  I  have  said  to  you. 

Oph.  'Tis  in  my  memory  lock'd, 

And  you  yourself  shall  keep  the  key  of  it. 

Laer.  t'arewell.  [Exit. 

Pol.  What  is't,  Ophelia,  he  hath  said  to  you  ? 

Oph.  So  please  you,  something  touching  the  lord 
Handet. 

Pol.  Marry,  well  bethought: 
'Tis  told  me,  he  hath  very  oft  of  late 
Given  private  time  to  you  ;  and  you  yourself 
Have  of  your  audience  been  most  free  and  boun- 
teous : 

If  it  b«  so,  (as  so  'tis  put  on  me. 
And  that  in  way  of  caution,)  I  must  tell  you, 
You  do  not  understand  yourself  so  clearly. 
As  it  behoves  my  daughter,  and  your  honour: 
What  is  between  you  r  give  me  up  the  truth. 

Oph.  He  hath,  my  lord,  of  late,  made  many  tenders 
Of  his  atiection  to  me. 

Pol.  Affection  ?  puh !  you  speak  like  a  green  girl, 
Unsifted  in  such  perilous  circumstance. 
Do  you  beliexe  his  tenders,  as  you  call  them' 

Oph.  I  do  not  know,  my  lord,  what  1  should  think. 

Pol.  Marry,  I  II  teach  you  :  think  yourself  a  baby  : 
That  you  have  ta'en  these  tenders  for  true  pay. 
Which  are  not  sterling.     Tender  yourself  more 
dearly ; 


Or,  (not  to  crack  the  w  ind  of  the  poor  phrase, 
Wronging  it  thus,)  you'll  tender  me  a  fool. 

Oph.  My  lord,  he  hath  importuu'd  me  with  love. 
In  honourable  fashion. 

Pol.  Ay,  fashion  you  may  call  it;  go  to,  go  to. 

Oph.  And  hath  given  countenance  to  his  speedy 
my  lord, 

With  almost  all  the  holy  vows  of  heaven. 

Pol.  Ay,  springes  to  catch  woodcocks.  I  do  kfiOWy 
When  the  blood  burns,  how  prodigal  the  soul 
Lends  the  tongue  vows:  these  blazes,  daughter. 
Giving  more  light  than  heat, — extinct  in  both. 
Even  in  their  promise,  as  it  is  a  making, — 
You  must  not  take  for  lire.    From  this  time, 
Be  somewhat  scanter  of  your  maiden  presence  ; 
Set  your  entreatments  at  a  higher  rate. 
Than  a  command  to  parley.    For  lord  Hamlet, 
Believe  so  much  in  him.  That  he  is  young; 
And  with  a  hirger  tether  may  he  walk. 
Than  may  be  given  you:  In  levy,  Ophelia, 
Do  not  believe  his  vows :  for  they  are  brokers 
Not  of  that  die  which  their  investments  shewr, 
But  mere  implorators  of  unholy  suits, 
Breathing  like  sanctified  and  pious  bonds, 
The  better  to  beguile.    This  is  Ibr  all, — 
I  would  not,  in  plain  terms,  from  this  time  forth. 
Have  you  so  slander  any  moment's  leisure, 
As  to  give  words  or  talk  with  the  lord  Hamlet 
Look  to't,  I  charge  you  ;  come  your  ways. 

Oph.  I  shall  obey,  my  lord.  [Exetmt. 

Scene  l\.—The  Platform. 
Enter  VixMLKT,  Horatio,  and  Marceilus, 
Ham.  The  air  bites  shrewdly  ;  it  is  very  cold. 
Hor.  ft  is  a  nipping  and  an  eager  air. 
Ham.  What  hour  now  ? 

Hor.  I  think,  it  lacks  of  twelve. 

Mar.  No,  it  is  struck. 

Hor.  Indeed  I  I  heard  it  not;  it  then  draws  una 
the  season. 
Wherein  the  spirit  held  is  wont  to  walk. 

{A  flourish  of  trumpets,  and  ordnance  iksA 
off  within.) 
What  does  this  mean,  my  lord  ? 
Ham.  The  king  doth  wake  to-night,  and  take« 
his  rouse. 

Keeps  wassel,  and  the  swaggering  up-spring  reels  J 
And,  as  he  drains  his  draughts  of  Rhenish  down, 
The  kettle-drum  and  trumpet  thus  bray  out 
The  triumph  of  his  pledge. 

Hor.  Is  it  a  custom  ? 

Ham.  Ay  marry,  is't: 
But  to  my  mind, — though  I  am  native  here, 
More  to  the  manner  born, — it  is  a  custom 
More  honour'd  in  the  breach,  than  the  observance. 
This  heavy-headed  re\el,  east  and  west, 
Makes  us  traduc'd,  and  tax'd  of  other  nations: 
They  clepe  us,  drunkards,  and  with  swinish  phrase 
Soil  our  addition  ;  and,  indeed,  it  takes 
From  our  achievements,  though  peribrm'd  at  heigbtp 
The  pith  and  marrow  of  our  attribute. 
So,  oft  it  chances  in  particular  men, 
That,  for  some  vicious  mole  of  nature  in  them. 
As,  in  their  birth  (wherein  they  are  not  guilty. 
Since  nature  cannot  choose  his  origin). 
By  the  o'ergrowth  of  some  complexion. 
Oft  breaking  down  the  pales  and  forts  of  reason; 
Or  by  some  habit,  that  too  much  o'er- leavens 
The  form  of  plausive  manners  ; — that  these  mes>' 
Carrying,  I  say,  the  stamp  of  one  defect ; 
Being  nature's  livery,  or  fortune's  star, — 
Their  virtues  else  (be  they  as  pure  as  grace. 
As  infinite  as  man  may  undergo), 
Shall  in  the  general  censure  take  corruption 
From  that  particular  lault :  'J'he  dram  .)f  baw 
Doth  all  the  noble  substance  often  dout, 
To  his  own  scandal. 


Hor. 


Enter  Ghosi. 
l^ook.  my  lord,  it  comes! 


Scene  5. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


741 


tiam.  Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us  I — 
Be  thou  a  spirit  of  healtli,  or  goblin  damn'd, 
Bring  with  thee  a »  s  from  heaven,  or  blasts  fronj  hell, 
Be  thy  intents  wicked,  or  charitable, 
'I'liou  com'st  in  snch  a  questionable  shape, 
'I'hc.,;  \  will  speak  to  thee;  I'll  call  thee,  Hamlet, 
King,  father,  royal  Dane  :  O,  answer  nie  : 
\4^t  me  not  burst  in  ignorance!  but  tell, 
Why  thy  canoniz'd  bones,  hearsed  in  death, 
Have  burst  their  cerements!  why  the  sepulchre, 
VVfierein  we  saw  thee  quietly  in-urn'd, 
Hath  op'dhis  ponderous  and  marble  jaws, 
To  cast  thee  up  again  !  What  may  this  mean, 
'I'hat  thou,  dead  corse,  again  in  complete  steel, 
Revisit'st  thus  the  glimpses  of  the  moon. 
Making  night  hideous  ;  and  we  fools  of  nature. 
So  horridly  to  shake  our  disposition, 
With  thoughts  beyond  the  reaches  of  our  souls? 
Say,  why  is  this?  wherefore?  what  should  we  do? 

lior.  It  beckons  you  to  go  away  with  it. 
As  if  it  sonie  impartment  did  desire 
'I'o  you  alone. 

Mar.  Look,  with  what  courteous  action 

It  waves  you  to  a  more  removed  ground  : 
But  do  not  go  with  it. 

Hor.  No,  by  no  means. 

Ham.  It  will  not  speak;  then  I  will  follow  it 

Hor.  Do  not,  my  lord. 

Haiti.  Why,  what  should  be  the  fear? 

I  do  not  set  my  life  at  a  pin's  fee ; 
And,  for  my  soul,  what  can  it  do  to  that, 
Being  a  thing  iininortal  as  itself? 
It  waves  me  forth  again  ; — I'll  follow  it. 

Hor.  What,  if  it  tempt  you  tow'ard  the  flood,  my 
lord. 

Or  to  the  dreadful  summit  of  the  cliff. 
That  beetles  o'er  his  base  into  the  sea  ? 
And  there  assume  some  other  horrible  form, 
W^hich  might  deprive  your  sovereignty  of  reason, 
And  draw  vou  into  madness?  think  of  it: 
Tiie  very  place  puts  toys  of  desperation, 
Without  more  motive,  into  every  brain, 
Thjif  looks  so  many  fathoms  to  the  sea. 
And  hears  it  roar  beneath. 

Uitm.  It  waves  me  still : — 

(1  .  ..n,  1  11  follow  thee. 

Mar.  You  shall  not  go,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Hold  off  your  hands. 

Hor.  Be  rul'd,  you  shall  not  go. 

Ham.  My  fate  cries  out. 

And  makes  each  petty  artery  in  this  body 
As  hardy  as  the  Nemean  lion's  nerve. — 

*  {Ghost  beckons.) 

Still  am  I  caird  ; — unhand  me,  gentlemen; — 

{Breaking  from  them.) 
Hy  heaven,  I'll  make  a  ghost  of  hiui  that  ^;ts  me  : — 
I  say,  away  ;— Go  on,  I'i!  follow  thee. 

[Exeunt  Ghost  and  Hamlet. 

Hor.  He  waxes  desperate  vvilii  imagination. 

Mar.  Let's  follow;  'tis  not  fit  thus  to  obey  him. 

Hor.  Have  after : — To  what  issue  will  this  come  ? 

Mar.  Something  is  rotten  in  tiie  state  of  Denmark. 

Hor.  Heaven  will  direct  it. 

Mar,  Nay,  let's  follow  liim.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  V. — A  more  remote  Part  of  the  Platform. 
Re-enter  Ghost  and  Hamlet. 
Ham.  Whither  wilt  thou  lead  me  ?  speak,  I'll  go 

no  further. 
Ghosi.  Mark  me. 
Ham.  I  will. 

Ghost.  My  hour  is  almost  come, 

When  1  to  sulphurous  and  tormeoting  flames 
Must  render  up  nsyself. 

Ham.  Alas,  poor  ghost ! 

Ghost.  Pity  me  not,  but  lend  thy  serious  hearing 
To  what  I  shall  unibld. 

Ham,  Speak,  I  am  bound  to  hear. 

Ghoai.  So  art  thou  to  revenge,  when  thou  sbalt 
hear. 


Ha7n.  What? 

Ghost.  I  anj  thy  father's  spirit; 
Doom'd  for  a  certain  term  to  walk  the  night. 
And,  for  the  day,  confin'd  to  fast  in  fires. 
Till  the  Ibul  crimes,  done  in  my  days  of  nature. 
Are  burnt  and  purg'd  away.    But  that  I  am  forhid 
To  tell  the  secrets  of  my  prison-house, 
I  could  a  tale  unfold,  whose  lightest  word 
^Vould  harrow  up  thy  soul ;  freeze  thy  young  blood  ^ 
Make  thy  two  eyes,  like  stars,  start  from  theur 
spheres; 

Thy  knotted  and  combined  locks  to  part, 

And  each  particular  hair  to  stand  an-end, 

Like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine: 

But  this  eternal  blazon  must  not  be 

To  ears  of  flesh  and  blood  : — List,  list,  O  list!— 

If  thou  didst  ever  thy  dear  father  love, — 

Ham.  O  heaven  !  [der. 

Ghost,  llevenge  his  foal  and  most  unnatural  raur- 

Ham.  Murder? 

Ghost.  Murder  most  foul,  as  in  the  best  it  is; 
But  this  most  foul,  strange,  and  unnatural. 

Ham.  Haste  me  to  know  it ;  that  I,  with  wings  ai 
swift 

As  meditation,  or  the  thoughts  of  love, 
May  sweep  to  my  revenge. 

Ghost.  I  fi-nd  thee  apt ; 

And  duller  should'st  thou  be  than  the  fat  weed 
That  rots  itself  in  ease  on  Lethe  wharf, 
Would 'st  thou  not  stir  in  this?    Now,  Hamlet,  hrarf 
'Tis  given  out,  that,  sleeping  in  mine  orchard, 
A  serpent  stung  me  ;  so  the  whole  ear  of  Denmark 
Is  by  a  forged  process  of  my  death 
Rankly  abus'd  :  but  know,  thou  noble  youth, 
The  serpent,  that  did  sting  thy  father's  life, 
Now  wears  his  crown. 

Ham.  O,  my  prophetic  soul  I  my  uncle  ! 

Ghost.  Ay,  that  incestuous,  that  adulterate  beast, 
With  witchcraft  of  his  wit,  with  traitorous  gifts, 
(O,  wicked  wit,  and  gifts,  that  hive  the  power 
So  to  seduce  !)  won  to  his  shameful  lust 
The  will  of  my  most  seeming- virtuous  queen; 
O,  Hamlet,  what  a  falling-off  was  there  ! 
From  me,  whose  love  was  of  that  dignity. 
That  it  went  hand  in  hand  even  with  the  vow 
I  made  to  her  in  marriage  ;  and  to  decline 
Upon  a  wretch,  whose  natural  gifts  were  poor 
'\  o  those  of  mine  ! 

But  virtue,  as  it  never  will  he  mov'd. 
Though  lewdness  court  it  in  a  shape  of  heaven; 
So  lust,  though  to  a  radiant  angel  link'd, 
Will  sate  itself  in  a  celestial  bed. 
And  prey  on  garbage. 

But,  soft!  metliinks  I  scent  the  morning  air; 
Brief  let  me  be  : — Sleeping  within  mine  orchard, 
My  custom  always  of  the  afternoon. 
Upon  my  secure  hour  thy  uncle  stole, 
With  juice  of  cursed  hebenon  in  a  vial. 
And  in  the  porches  of  mine  ears  did  pour 
The  leperous  distilment;  whose  effect 
Holds  such  an  enmity  with  blood  of  man. 
That,  swift  as  quicksilver,  it  courses  through 
The  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  body  ; 
And,  with  a  sudden  vigour,  it  doth  posset 
And  curd,  like  eager  droppings  into  milk, 
Tlie  thin  and  wholesome  blood  :  so  did  it  mine; 
And  a  most  instant  tetter  bark'd  about, 
Most  lazar-like,  with  vile  and  loathsome  cruit. 
All  my  smooth  body. 

Thus  was  I,  sleeping,  by  a  brother's  hand. 

Of  life,  of  crown,  of  queen,  at  once  despatch'd  • 

Cut  oft' even  in  the  blossoms  of  my  sin, 

Unhousel'd,  disappointed,  unanel'd; 

No  reckoning  made,  but  sent  to  my  account 

With  all  my  impeifections  on  my  head  : 

O,  horrible!  O,  horrible!  most  horriblis ! 

i  If  thou  hast  nature  in  thee,  bear  it  not; 
Let  not  the  royal  bed  of  Denmark  be 
A  couch  for  hixury  and  damned  incest 

I  But,  howsoever  thou  pursu'st  this  act. 


748 

Taint  not  thy  nnnd,  nor  let  thy  soul  contrive 
Against  tl.-y  rnolher  auoht;  leave  her  to  heaven, 
Atud  to  those  tiuriis  that  in  her  bosom  lodge, 
To  prick  and  sting  her.    Fare  thee  well  at  once  ! 
The  glow  worm  shews  the  matin  to  be  near. 
And  'gitis  to  [>a!e  his  nnetfectiial  fire: 
Adieu,  adieu,  adieu!  remember  me.  [Exit. 
Ham.  O  all  you  host  of  heaven  !  O  earth  !  W  hat 
else?  [heart; 
A  ad  shall  I  couple  hell?— O  fye!— Hold,  hold,  my 
And  you,  my  sinews,  grow  not  instant  old. 
Bat  bear  me  stiiiiy  up! — Reuiember  thee ? 
Ay,  thou  poor  ghost,  while  memory  holds  a  seat 
n  tfiis  distracted  globe.    Remember  thee? 
Ik  ea,  from  tlie  table  of  my  memory 
I'll  wipe  away  ail  trivial  loud  records, 
A 'I  saws  oi"  books,  all  tortus,  all  pressures  past, 
'I'hat  youth  and  observation  copied  tiiere  ; 
And  thy  commandmeut  all  alone  shall  live 
VVitiiin  the  book  and  \  olume  of  my  brain, 
Unniix'd  with  baser  matter:  yes,  by  heaven. 
O  most  pernicious  woman  ! 

0  villain,  villain,  smiling,  damned  villain  I 
My  tablet, — meet  it  is,  I  set  it  down, 

Ttiat  one  may  smile,  and  smile,  and  be  a  villain; 
At  least,  1  am  sure,  it  may  be  so  in  Denmark.: 

( Writing.) 

So,  uncle,  there  you  are.    Now,  to  my  word ; 
It  is,  Adiim,  adieu!  remember  me, 

1  have  svvorn  t. 

Hur.  (  Within.)  My  lord,  my  lord,— 

Mar.  {  Wtt/tin.)  Lord  Hamlet,— 

Hur.  {Within.)  ileaven  secure  him j 

Ham.  So  be  it ! 

Mar.  {Within.)  I  lie,  ho,  ho,  my  lord  ! 

Ham.  Hillo,  ho,  ho,  boy  !  come,  bird,  come. 

Enter  Horatio  and  Marcsllus. 
Mar:  How  is't,  my  noble  lord  ? 
Hur.  What  news,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  O,  wonderful! 
Hor.  Good  my  lord,  tell  it 

Ham,  No ; 

Voii  will  reveal  it. 
Hor.  Not  1,  my  lord,  by  heaven. 
31ar.  Nor  I,  my  lord. 

Ham.  How  say  yon  then;  would  heart  of  man 
once  think  it? — 
But  you'll  be  secret, — 

Hor.  ^  Mar.  Ay,  by  heaven,  my  lord. 

Ha^n.  Tliere's  ne'er  a  villain,  dwelling  in  all 
Denmark, 
But  he's  an  arrant  knave. 

Hor.  There  needs  no  ghost,  ray  lord,  come  from 
tlie  grave, 
To  tell  us  this. 

Ham.  Why,  right ;  you  are  in  the  right ; 

And  so,  without  more  circumstance  at  all, 

I  hold  it  (it,  that  we  shake  liands,  and  part: 
You,  as  your  business,  and  desire,  shall  point  you; 
For  e\ery  man  hath  business  and  desire, 

Such  as  it  is, — and,  for  my  own  poor  part. 

Look  you,  \  will  go  pray.  [lord. 

Hur.  'I'hese  are  but  wild  and  whirling  words,  my 

Ham.  1  am  sorry  they  offend  you,  heartily  ;  yes, 
'Faith,  heartily. 

Hor.  There's  no  offence,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Yes^_bv^Sl.Jial^cA^i>^lt  there  is,  Horatio, 
And  much~oTFence  too.  Tttuching  this  vision  here, — 

II  is  an  honest  ghost,  that  let  me  tell  you ; 

K  r  your  desire  to  know  what  is  between  us. 
O'er  master  it  as  you  may    And  now,  good  friends, 
As  you  are  friends,  scholars,  and  soldiers, 
me  one  poor  request. 

Hor.  What  is't,  nvy  lord? 

We  will.  [to-night. 

Ham.  Never  make  known  what  you  have  seen 

Uor  §C  Mar.  My  lord,  we  will  not. 

Ham.  Nay,  but  swear't. 

Uof>  In  faith. 


Act  II 

My  lord,  not  I. 

Mar.  Nor  I,  my  lord,  in  faith. 

Ham.  Upon  my  sword. 

Mar.  We  have  sworn,  my  lord ,  alread}. 

Ham.  Indeed,  upon  my  sword,  indeed. 
Ghost.  {Beneath.)  Swear. 

Ham.  Ha,  ha,  boy !  say'st  tho»i  so  ?  art  ih>m 
there,  true-penny  ? 
Come  on, — you  hear  this  fellow  in  the  cellarage- 
Consent  to  swear. 

Hor.  Propose  the  oath,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Never  to  speak  of  this  that  you  have  8cel^ 
Swear  by  niy  sword. 

Ghost.  {Beneath.)  Swear.  [ground  :— 

Ham.  Hie  et  ubique?  then  we  will  shift  oar 
Come  kither,  gentlemen, 
And  lay  your  hands  again  upon  my  swoxd  : 
Swear  by  my  sword. 

Never  to  speak  of  this  that  you  have  heard. 
Ghost.  {Beneath.)  Swear  by  his  sword. 
Ham.  Well  said,  old  mole !  can'st  work  i'the 
earth  so  fast? 
A   worthy  pioneer! — Once  more  remove,  good 
friends. 

Hor.  O  day  and  night,  but  this  is  wondrous 
strange !  [come. 

Ham.  And  therefore  as  a  stranger  give  it  wel- 
There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio, 
Than  are  dreamt  of  m  your  philosophy. 
But  come ; — 

Here,  as  before,  never,  so  help  you  mercy! 

How  strange  or  odd  soe'er  I  bear  myself. 

As  1,  perchance,  hereafter  shall  think  meet 

To  put  an  antic  disposition  on — 

That  you,  at  such  tunes  seeing  me,  never  shall, 

With  arms  encumber'd  thus,  or  this  head-shake, 

Or  by  pronouncing  of  some  doubtful  phrase. 

As  W ell,  well,  we  know  ;— or.  We  could,  an  if  we 

would ; — or.  If  we  list  to  speak; — or.  There  be^  an 

if  they  might ; — 

Or  such  ambiguous  giving  out,  to  note 
That  you  know  aught  of  me : — This  do  you  swear. 
So  grace  and  mercy  at  your  most  need  help  you ! 
Ghost.  {Beneath.)  Swear. 

Ham.  Rest,  rest,  perturbed  spirit !  So,  gentlemen. 
With  all  my  love  1  do  commend  me  to  you; 
And  what  so  poor  a  man  as  Hamlet  is 
May  do,  to  express  his  love  and  friending  to  yon, 
God  willing,  shall  not  lack.    Let  ns  go  in  together; 
And  still  your  fingers  on  your  lips,  1  pray. 
The  time  is  out  ofjoint;— O  cursed  spite  ! 
That  ever  I  was  born  to  set  it  right  I 
Nay,  come,  let's  go  together.  [Exeunt, 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — A  Room  in  Polonius's  House, 
Enter  Polonius  and  Reynaldo. 
Pol.  Give  him  this  money,  and  these  notes,  Rey- 
naldo. 

Rey,  I  will,  my  lord.  [oaldo, 

Pol.  You  shall  do  marvellous  wisely,  good  Rey- 
Before  you  visit  him,  to  make  inquiry 
Of  his  behaviour. 

Rey.  My  lord,  I  did  intend  it. 

Pol.  Marry,  well  said :  very  well  said.  Look 
you,  sir, 

Inquire  me  first  what  Danskers  are  in  Paris ; 
And  how,  and  who,  what  means,  and  where  thty 
keep, 

What  company,  at  what  expense ;  and  finding; 
By  this  encompassment  and  drift  of  question, 
That  they  do  know  my  son,  come  you  more  nearer 
Than  your  particidar  demands  will  touch  it: 
Take  you,  as 'twere,  some  distant  knowledge  of  him; 
As  thus, — /  know  his  father.,  and  his  friends. 
And,  in  part,  him  ; — Do  you  mark  this,  Reynaldo? 
Rey.  Ay,  very  well,  my  lord.  [well: 
Pol.  And.  in  port,  him  ,  —but,  vou  may  say,  not 
But,  if  t  be  he  I  mean,  he's  very  tvild; 


HAMLET, 


Scene  2. 


PRINCE  OF 


DENMARK. 


719 


Addicted  so  an^to; — and  there  put  on  him 
VVljat  foiHjenes  you  please;  marry,  none  so  rank 
As  may  dislionotir  him;  take  heed  of  that; 
But,  sir,  such  wanton,  wild,  and  usual  slips. 
As  are  companions  noted  and  most  known 
To  youth  and  liberty. 

Rey.  As  gaming,  my  lord. 

Pfjl.  Ay,  or  drinking,  i'encing,  swearing,  quarrel- 
Drahbino  : — You  may  go  so  far.  [liug> 

Jtfey.  My  lord,  tliat  would  dishonour  him. 

Pol.  'Faith,  no ;  as  you  may  season  it  in  the  charge. 
You  must  not  put  another  scandal  on  him, 
That  br  is  open  to  incontinency  ; 
Tiiat  s  not  my  meaning:  but  breathe  his  faults  so 
quaintly. 

That  they  may  seem  the  taints  of  liberty: 
The  flash  and  out-break  of  a  fiery  mind; 
A  savage neas  in  unreclaimed  blood, 
Of  general  assault. 

Rey.  But,  my  good  lord, — 

Put.  Wherefore  should  you  do  this  ? 
Rey.  Ay,  my  lord, 

I  would  know  that. 

Pol.  Marry,  sir,  here's  my  drift; 

And,  1  believe,  it  is  a  fetch  of  warrant : 
You  laying  these  slight  sullies  on  my  son, 
As  'twere  a  thing  a  little  soil'd  i'the  working, 
Mark  you. 

Your  party  in  converse,  him  you  would  sound, 
Having  ever  seen  in  the  predominate  crimes, 
'J'he  youth  you  breathe  of,  guilty,  be  assur'd. 
He  closes  v\'ith  you  in  this  consequence; 
Good  sir,  or  so  ;  or  friend,  or  gentleman, — 
According  to  the  phrase,  or  the  addition, 
or  man,  and  country. 

Rey.  Very  good,  my  lord. 

Pol.  And  then,  sir,  does  he  this, — he  does — 
What  was  1  about  to  say  ?  By  the  mass,  1  was  about 
to  say  something: — Where  did  I  leave? 

Rey.  At,  closes  in  the  consequence. 

Pol.  At,  closes  in  the  consequence, — Ay, marry; 
He  closes  with  you  thus: — I  know  the  gentleman  ; 
I  saiv  him  yesterday,  or  f  other  day, 
Or  then,  or  then,  with  such,  or  such;  and,  as  you 
say. 

There  was  he  gaming  ;  there  overtook  in  his  rouse: 
There  falling  out  at  tennis  ;  or,  perchance, 
1  saw  him  enter  such  a  house  of  sale, 
{Videlicet,  a  brothel,)  or  so  forth. — 
See  you  now; 

Your  bait  ol' falsehood  takes  this  carp  of  truth; 
And  thus  do  we  of  wisdom  and  of  reach,  • 
With  windlaces,  and  with  assays  of  bias, 
By  indirections  find  directions  out: 
So,  by  lay  former  lecture  and  advice. 
Shall  you_  my  son  :  You  have  me,  have  you  not? 
Rey.  My  lord,  I  have. 

Pol.  God  be  wi'  you ;  fare  you  well. 

Rey.  (Jood  my  lord, — 

Pol.  Observe  his  inclination  in  yourself. 

Rey.  I  shall,  my  lord. 

Pol.  Ami  let  hira  ply  his  music, 

Pcey.  Well,  my  lord.  [Exit. 

Enter  Ophelia. 
Pol.  Farewell! — How  now,  Ophelia?  what's  the 
matter  ? 

Oph.  O,  my  lord,  my  lord,  I  have  been  so  af- 
frighted ! 

Pol.  With  what,  in  the  name  of  heaven  ? 

Oph.  My  lord,  as  I  was  sewing  in  my  closet. 
Lord  Hamlet, — with  his  doublet  all  nnbrac'd  ; 
No  hat  upon  his  head ;  his  stockings  fonl'd, 
Ungarter'd,  and  down-gyved  to  his  ancle; 
Pale  as  his  shirt;  his  knees  knocking  each  other; 
And  with  a  look  so  piteous  in  purport, 
As  if  he  had  been  loosed  out  of  hell. 
To  sfieak  of  horrors, — he  comes  before  me. 

Pol.  Mad  for  thy  love? 

Opk.  My  lord,  I  do  not  know ; 


But,  truly,  I  do  fear  it. 

Pol.  What  said  he  ? 

Oph  He  took  me  by  the  wrist,  and  held  me  kard} 
Thrn  goes  he  to  the  length  of  all  his  ariii ; 
And,  with  his  other  hand  thus  o'er  his  brow, 
He  i'alls  to  such  perusal  of  my  face, 
As  he  would  draw  it.    Ijong  stay'd  he  so  ; 
At  last,  a  little  shaking  of  mine  arm, 
And  thrice  his  head  thus  waving  up  and  down,— 
He  rais'd  a  sigh  so  piteous  and  profound, 
At  it  did  seem  to  sliatter  all  his  bulk, 
And  end  his  being  :  'i'hat  done,  he  lets  me  go; 
And,  with  his  head  over  his  shoulder  turned. 
He  seem'd  to  find  his  way  without  his  eyes  ; 
For  out  o'doors  he  went  without  their  helps. 
And,  to  the  last,  bended  their  light  on  me. 

Pol.  Home,  go  with  n;e  ;  I  will  go  seek  the  V'iRgm 
This  is  the  very  ecstasy  of  love  ; 
Whose  violent  property  foredoes  itself, 
And  leads  the  will  to  desperate  undertakings. 
As  oft  as  any  passion  under  heaven. 
That  does  afflict  our  natures.    I  am  sorry, — 
What,  have  you  given  him  any  hard  words  of  late  ? 
Opn.  No,  my  good  lord;  but,  as  you  did  com- 
mand, 

I  did  repel  his  letters,  and  denied 
His  access  to  me. 

Pol.  That  hath  made  him  mad. 

I  am  sorry,  that  with  better  heed  and  jndgnient, 
1  had  not  quoted  him :  1  tear'd,  he  did  but  trifle. 
And  meant  to  wreck  thee  ;  but,  beshrew  my  jealousy! 
It  seems,  it  is  as  proper  to  our  age 
To  cast  beyond  ourselves  in  our  opinions. 
As  it  is  connnon  for  the  younger  sort 
To  lack  discretion.    Come,  go  we  to  the  king : 
This  must  be  known;  which,  being  kept  close, 

might  move 
More  grief  to  hide,  than  hate  to  utter  love. 
Come.  [Exeuni' 

Scene  li.—A  Room  in  the  Castle. 

Enter  King,  Queen,  Rosencrantz,  Guildkm- 
STERN,  and  A^'tendants. 

King.   Welcome,  dear  Rosencrantz,  and  Guii- 
denstern ! 

Moreover  that  we  much  did  long  to  see  you. 
The  need,  we  have  to  use  you,  did  [)rovoke 
Our  hasty  sending.    Something  ha\e  you  heard 
Of  Hamlet's  transformation  ;  so  I  call  it, 
Since  not  the  exterior  nor  the  inward  man 
Resembles  that  it  was:  What  it  should  be, 
More  than  his  father's  death,  that  thus  hath  put  him 
So  much  from  the  understanding  of  himself, 
1  cannot  dream  of:  I  entreat  you  both. 
That, — being  of  so  yoimg  days  brought  up  wirfi 
him ;  [mour,— 
And,  since,  so  neighbour'd  to  his  youth  and  hu- 
That  you  vouchsafe  your  rest  here  in  our  court 
Some  little  time  :  so  by  your  companies 
To  draw  him  on  to  pleasures ;  and  to  gather. 
So  much  as  from  occasion  you  may  glean. 
Whether  aught,  to  us  unknown,  afllicts  him  thus. 
That,  open'd,  lies  within  our  remedy.  fyon  : 

Queen.  Good  gentlemen  he  hath  much  talk'd  of 
And,  sure  I  am,  two  men  there  are  not  li\  ing. 
To  whom  he  more  adheres.    If  it  will  please  yoa 
To  shew  us  so  much  gentry,  and  good  will. 
As  to  expend  your  time  with  us  a  while. 
For  the  supply  and  profit  of  our  hope, 
Yonr  visitation  shall  receive  such  thanks 
As  fits  a  king's  remembrance. 

Ros.  Both  your  majestiftt 

Might,  by  the  sovereign  power  you  have  of  us, 
Put  your  dread  pleasures  more  into  command 
Than  to  entreaty. 

Guil.  But  we  both  obey ; 

And  here  give  up  ourselves,  in  tlie  full  bent. 
To  lay  our  service  freely  at  your  feet, 
To  be  commanded. 


750 


HAMLET, 


Act  11 


Ring.  Thanks,  Roseucranfz,  and  gentle  Guilden- 
stein.  [crantz: 
Qt£€€n.  Thanks,  Ouildenstern,  and  gentle  Rosen- 
And  I  beseech  you  instantly  to  visit 
Bily  too  much  changed  son. — Go,  some  of  yo'ti, 
Anii  bring  these  gentlemen  where  Hamlet  is. 
i    Guil.  Heavens  make  our  presence,  and  our  prac- 
leasant  and  helpful  to  him.  [tices. 
Queen.  Ay,  amen ! 

[Exeunt  Rosencrantz,  Guildenstern,  and 
some  Attendants. 
Enter  PoLONius. 
Pel.  The  embassadors  from  Norway,  my  good 
lord, 

Are  joyfully  return'd.  [news. 

King.  Thou  still  hast  been  the  father  of  good 

Pol.  Hav  e  I,  my  lord  ?  Assure  you,  my  good  liege, 
I  hold  my  duty,  as  I  hold  my  soul, 
Both  to  niy  God,  and  to  my  gracious  king : 
And  I  do  think,  (or  else  this  brain  of  mine 
Hunts  not  the  trail  of  policy  so  sure 
As  it  hath  us'd  to  do.)  that  I  have  found 
The  very  cause  of  Hamlet's  lunacy. 

King.  O,  speak  of  that ;  that  do  T  long  to  hear. 

Pol.  Give  first  admittance  to  the  embassadors; 
My  news  shall  be  the  fruit  to  that  great  least. 

King.  'J'hyself  do  grace  to  them,  and  bring  them 
in.  [Exit  Polonius. 

He  tells  me,  my  dear  Gertrude,  he  hath  found 
The  head  and  source  of  all  your  son's  distemper. 

Queen.  1  doubt,  it  is  no  other  but  the  main  ; 
His  lather's  death,  and  our  o'erhasty  marriage. 

Re  enter  Polonius,  ivith  Voltimand  and  Corne- 
lius. 

King.  Well,  we  shall  sift  him. — Welcome,  my 
good  friends] 
Say,  Voltimand,  what  from  our  brother  Norway? 

Volt.  Most  fair  return  of  greetings,  and  desires. 
Upon  our  first,  he  sent  out  to  suppress 
His  nephew's  levies  ;  which  to  nim  appear'd 
To  be  a  preparation  'gainst  the  Polack  ; 
But,  better  look'd  into,  he  truly  found 
It  was  aoainst  your  highness  :  Whereat  griev'd, — 
That  so  his  sickness,  age,  and  impotence. 
Was  falsely  borne  in  hand, — sends  out  arrests 
On  Fortiubras;  which  he,  in  brief,  obeys; 
Receives  rebuke  I'rom  Norway;  and,  in  fine, 
Makes  vow  before  his  uncle,  never  more 
To  give  the  assay  of  arn»s  against  your  majesty. 
Wiiereon  old  Norway,  overcome  with  joy, 
Gi\es  him  three  thousand  crowns  in  annual  fee; 
And  his  commission,  to  employ  those  soldiers, 
So  levied  as  before,  against  the  Polack; 
With  an  entreaty,  herein  further  shewn, 

{Gives  a  paper.) 
That  it  miiiht  please  you  to  give  quiet  pass 
Tlirou^h  your  dominions  for  this  enterprise  ; 
On  such  rt-gards  ol' safety,  and  allowance. 
As  therein  are  set  down. 

King.  It  likes  us  well ; 

And,  at  our  more  consider'd  time,  we'll  read, 
Answer,  and  think  upon  this  business. 
Mean  time,  we  thank  you  for  your  well-took  labour: 
Go  to  your  rest;  at  night  we'll  feast  together: 
iMost  welcome  home  ! 

[Exeutit  Voltimand  and  Cornelius. 

Pol.  This  business  is  well  ended. 

My  liege,  and  madam,  to  expostniate 
V\'hat  niajesty  should  be,  what  duty  is, 
\^  hy  day  is  day,  night  night,  and  time  is  time, 
Were  nothing  but  to  waste  night,  day,  and  time. 
Therefore, — since  brevity  is  the  soul  of  wit, 
And  tedioMsncss  the  limbs  and  outward  flourishes, — 
1  will  be  brici  :  Your  noble  son  is  mad  : 
Mad,  call  i  it ;  for  to  define  true  madness. 
What  is't,  but  to  be  nothing  else  but  mad? 
But  let  that  go. 

Queen.  More  matter,  with  less  art 

Pol.  Madam,  I  swear^  i  use  no  art  at  all. 


That  he  is  mad,  'tis  true  :  'tis  true,  'tis  pity ; 
And  pity  "tis,  'tis  true:  a  foolish  figure  ; 
But  farewell  it,  for  I  will  use  no  art. 
Mad  let  us  grant  him  then :  and  now  remains, 
That  we  find  out  the  cause  of  this  effect; 
Or,  rather  say,  the  cause  of  this  defect; 
For  this  effect,  defective,  comes  by  cause : 
Thus  it  remains,  and  the  remainder  thus. 
Perpend. 

I  have  a  daughter  ;  ha^e,  while  she  is  mine; 

Who,  in  her  duty  and  obedience,  mark, 

Hath  given  me  this:  Now  gather,  and  surmiM, 

— To  the  celestial^  nr.d  my  soul's  idol.,  the  most 

beautified  Ophelia, — 

That's  an  ill  phrase,  a  vile  phrase ;  beautified  is  • 

vile  phrase;  but  you  shall  hear. — Thus: 

In  her  excellent  white  bosom,  these,  &c.— 
Queen.  Came  this  from  Hamlet  to  her? 
Pol.  Good  madam,  stay  awhile;  I  will  be  faithful.-— 
Doubt  thou,  the  stars  are  fire ;  {Reada.) 

Doubt,  that  the  sun  doth  move : 
Doubt  truth  to  be  a  liar  ; 
But  never  doubt,  I  love. 
0  dear  Ophelia,  I  am  ill  at  these  numbers;  1 
have  not  art  to  reckon  my  groans  :  but  that  I  love 
thee  best,  0  most  best,  believe  it.  Adieu. 

Thine  evermore,  most  dear  lady,  whilst 
this  machine  is  to  him,  Hamlep, 
This,  in  obedience,  hath  my  daugliter  shewn  me: 
And  more  above  ,  hath  his  solicitmgs, 
As  they  fell  out  by  time,  by  means,  and  place. 
All  given  to  mine  ear. 

King.  But  how  hath  she 

Receiv'd  his  love  ? 

Pol.  What  do  you  think  of  me? 

King.  As  of  a  man  faithful  and  honourable. 
Pol.  I  would  fain  prove  so.    But  wliat  might  you 
think. 

When  I  had  seen  this  hot  love  on  the  wing, 
(As  I  perceiv'd  it,  I  must  tell  you  that, 
Before  my  daughter  told  me,)  what  might  yon, 
Or  my  dear  majesty  your  queen  here,  think, 
If!  had  play'd  the  desk,  or  table-book; 
Or  given  my  heart  a  working,  mute  and  dumb; 
Or  look'd  upon  this  love  with  idle  sight; 
What  might  you  think?  no,  I  went  round  to  work. 
And  my  young  mistress  thus  did  I  bespeak  ; 
Lord  Hamlet  is  a  prince  out  of  thy  sphere  ; 
This  must  not  be :  and  then  I  precepts  gave  her. 
That  she  should  lock  herself  from  his  resort, 
Admit  no  messengers,  receive  no  tokens. 
Wiiich  done,  she  took  the  fruits  of  my  advice  ; 
And  he,  repulsed,  (  a  short  tale  to  make,) 
Fell  into  a  sadness ;  then  into  a  feat; 
Thence  to  a  watch  ;  thence  into  a  weakness ; 
Thence  to  a  lightness;  and,  by  this  declension. 
Into  the  madness  wherein  now  he  raves. 
And  all  we  mourn  for. 

King.  Do  you  think,  'tis  this  ? 

Queen.  It  may  be,  very  likely. 

Pol.  Hath  there  been  such  a  time,  (I'd  faia  know 
that,)  _ 

That  I  have  positively  said.  'Tis  so, 
When  it  prov'd  otherwise  ? 

King.  Not  that  I  know. 

Pol.  Take  this  from  this,  if  this  be  otherwise  : 
{Pointing  to  his  head  and  shoulder. 
If  circumstances  lead  me,  I  will  find 
Where  truth  is  hid,  though  it  were  lild  indeed 
Within  the  centre. 

King.  How  may  we  try  it  further? 

Pol.  You  know  sometimes  he  walks  four  hours 
Here  in  the  lobby.  _  [together. 

Queen.  So  he  does,  indeed. 

Pol.  At  such  a  time  I'll  loose  my  daughter  to  hsBt 
Be  you  and  I  behind  an  arras  then ; 
Mark  the  encounter:  if  he  love  her  not. 
And  be  not  from  his  reason  fallen  thereon 
Let  me  be  no  assistant  for  a  state, 
But  keep  a  farm,  and  carters. 


Scene  2. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


7n: 


Kmg,  We  will  try  it. 

Enter  Hamlet,  reading. 
Queen.  But,  look,  where  sadly  the  poor  wretch 

comes  reading. 
Pol.  Away,  I  do  beseech  yon,  both  away; 
I'll  board  him  presently: — O,  give  me  leave. — 

[Exeunt  King,  Queen,  and  Attendants, 
IIow  does  my  good  lord  Hamlet? 
Ham.  Well,  god-'a  mercy. 
PoL  Do  you  know  me,  my  lord? 
Hatn,  Excellent  well ;  you  are  a  fishmonger. 
PoL  Not  I,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Then  1  would  you  were  so  honest  a  man. 
Pol.  Honest,  my  lord  ? 

Ham,  Ay,  sir;  to  be  honest,  as  this  world  goes, 
is  to  be  one  man  picked  out  of  ten  thousand. 

Pol.  That's  vei7  t^ne,  my  lord. 

Ham.  For  if  the  sun  breed  maggots  in  a  dead  dog, 
being  a  god,  kissing  carrion, —  Have  you  a  daughter? 

Pol.  I  have,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Let  her  not  walk  i'  the  sun :  conception  is 
a  blessing;  but  as  your  daughter  may  concfive, — 
friend,  look  to't. 

Pol.  How  say  you  by  that {Aside.)  Still  harping 
on  my  daughter: — yet  he  knew  me  not  at  first;  he 
said,  I  was  a  fishmonger:  He  is  far  gone,  far  gone  : 
and,  truly,  iu  my  youth  I  siitiered  much  extremity 
for  love  ;  very  near  this.  I'll  speak  to  him  again. — 
What  do  you  read,  mv  lord  ? 

Ham.  Words,  words,  M'ords  ! 

PoL  What  is  the  matter,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Between  who  ? 

PoL  I  mean,  the  matter  that  you  read,  my  lord. 

Ham,.  Slanders,  sir :  for  the  satirical  rogue  says 
here,  that  old  men  have  grey  beards  ;  that  their 
faces  are  wrinkled  ;  their  eyes  purging  thick  amber, 
and  plum-tree  gum ;  and  that  they  have  a  plentiful 
lack  of  wit,  together  with  most  weak  hams:  All  of 
•which,  sir,  though  I  most  powerfully  and  potently 
believe,  yet  1  hold  it  not  honesty  to  have  it  thus  set 
down  ;  for  yourself,  sir,  shall  be  as  old  as  I  am,  if, 
like  a  crab,  you  could  go  backward. 

PoL  Though  this  be  madness,  yet  there's  method 
in  it.  [Aside.)  Will  you  walk  out  of  the  air,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Into  my  grave  ? 

Pol.  Indeed,  tliat  is  out  o'the  air. — How  preg- 
nant sometimes  his  replies  are  ]  a  happiness  that 
often  madness  hits  on,  which  reason  and  sanity  could 
not  so  prosperously  be  delivered  of.  I  will  leave 
him,  and  suddenly  contrive  the  means  of  meeting 
between  him  and  my  daughter. — My  honourable 
lord,  I  will  most  humbly  take  my  leave  of  you. 

Ham.  You  cannot,  sir,  take  from  me  any  thing 
that  I  will  more  willingly  part  withal ;  except  my 
life,  except  my  life,  except  my  life. 

Pol.  Fare  you  well,  my  lord. 

Ham.  These  tedious  old  fools ! 
Enter  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern. 

PoL  You  go  to  seek  the  lord  Hamlet;  there  he  is. 

Ros.  God  save  you,  sir  I  [To  Polonius.) 

\Exit  Polonius. 

Guil.  My  honour'd  lord  ! — 
Ros.  My  most  dear  lord  ! 

Ham.  My  excellent  good  friends !  How  dost  thou, 
Ouildenstern  ?  Ah,  Rosencrantz  !  Good  lads,  how 
do  ve  both? 

itos.  As  the  indifferent  children  of  the  earth. 

Guil.  Happy,  in  that  we  are  not  over-happy  ; 
On  fortune's  cap  we  are  not  the  very  button. 

Ham.  Nor  the  soles  of  her  shoe  ? 

Ros.  Neither,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Then  you  live  about  her  waist,  or  in  the 
Eiiiddle  of  her  favours  ? 

Guil.  'Faith,  her  privates  we. 

Ham.  In  the  secret  parts  of  fortune  ?  O,  most 
ti  uf^ ;  she  is  a  strumpet.    What  news  ? 

Ros.  None,  ray  lord  ;  but  that  the  world's  grown 
aonest. 

Ham,  Then  is  dooms  day  near :  But  your  news 


18  not  true.    Let  me  question  more  in  particular 
What  have  you,  my  good  friends,  deserved  at  the 
hands  of  fortune,  that  she  sends  you  to  priaoa  hithei  ? 

Guil.  Prison,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Denmark's  a  prison. 

Ros.  Then  is  the  world  one. 

Ham.  A  goodly  one  ;  in  which  there  ar*?  innny 
confines,  wards,  and  dungeons;  Denmark  being  one 
of  the  worst. 

Ros.  We  think  not  so,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Why,  then  'tis  none  to  you  ;  for  there  is 
nothing  either  good  or  bad,  but  thinking  makes  it  so  ; 
to  me  it  is  a  prison. 

Ros.  Why,  then  your  ambition  makes  it  one  ;  'tis 
too  narrow  for  your  mind. 

Ham.  O  God  !  i  could  be  bounded  in  a  nut-shell, 
and  count  myself  a  king  of  infinite  space  ;  were  it 
not  that  I  have  bad  dreams. 
}     Gtiil.  Which  dreams,  indeed,  are  ambition ;  for 
the  \ery  substance  of  the  ambitious  is  merely  the 
j  shadow  of  a  dream. 

I     Ha?n.  A  dream  itself  is  but  a  shadow. 

j     Ros.  Truly,  and  I  hold  ambition  of  so  airy  and 

I  ligiit  a  quality,  that  it  is  but  a  sliadow's  shadow. 

I  Ham.  Then  are  our  beggars,  bodies  ;  and  our 
monarchs,  and  outstretch'd  heroes,  the  beggars' 
shadows  :  Shall  we  to  the  court  ?  for,  by  my  fay,  I 
cannot  reason. 

Ros.  Guil.  We'll  w^ait  upon  you. 
Ham,  No  such  matter:  I  will  not  sort  you  with 
the  rest  of  my  servants;  for,  to  si>eak  to  you  like 
an  honest  man,  I  am  most  dreadfully  attended.  But, 
in  the  beaten  way  of  friendship,  what  make  you  at 
Elsinore  ? 

Ros.  To  visit  you,  my  lord  ;  no  other  occasion. 

Ham.  Beggar  that  I  am,  I  am  even  poor  in  thanks; 
but  I  thank  you :  and  sure,  dear  friends,  my  thanka 
are  too  dear,  a  halfpenny.  Were  you  not  sent  for? 
Is  it  your  own  inclining?  Is  it  a  free  visitation? 
Come,  come;  deal  justly  with  me:  come,  come| 
nay,  speak. 

Guil.  What  should  we  say,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Anything — but  to  the  purpose.  You  were 
sent  for;  and  there  is  a  kind  of  confession  in  your 
looks,  which  your  modesties  have  not  crai't  enough 
to  colour:  I  know,  the  good  king  and  queen  have 
sent  for  you. 

Ros.  To  what  end,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  That  you  must  teach  me.  But  let  me  con- 
jure you,  by  the  rights  of  our  fellowship,  by  the 
consonancy  of  our  youth,  by  the  obligation  of  our 
ever-preserved  love,  and  by  what  more  dear  a  bet- 
ter proposer  could  charge  you  withal,  be  even  and 
direct  with  me,  whether  you  were  sent  for,  or  no  ? 

Ros.  What  say  you  ?  {To  Guildenstern.) 

Ham.  Nay,  then,  I  have  an  eye  of  you  ;  {Aside.) 
— if  you  love  me,  hold  not  off. 

Guil.  My  lord,  we  were  sent  for. 

Ham.  I  will  tell  you  why;  so  shall  my  anticipa- 
tion prevent  your  discovery,  and  your  secrecy  to 
the  king  and  queen  moult  no  feather.  I  ha\  e  of 
late,  (  but,  wherefore^  I  know  not, )  lost  all  my  mirth, 
forgone  all  custom  ol  exercises  :  and,  indeed,  it  goes 
so  heavily  with  my  disposition,  tiiat  this  goodly 
frame,  the  earth,  seems  to  me  a  steril  promontory; 
this  most  excellent  canopy,  the  air,  look  you,  this 
brave  o'er-hanging  firmament,  this  majestical  roof 
fretted  witli  golden  fire,  why,  it  appears  no  other 
thing  to  me,  than  a  foul  and  pestilent  congregation 
of  vapours.  What  a  piece  of  work  is  a  man  !  How 
noble  in  reason!  how  infinite  in  faculties!  in  form, 
and  moving,  how  express  and  admirable  I  in  action, 
how  like  an  angel!  in  apprehension,  how  h'ke  a  god! 
the  beauty  of  the  world  !  the  paragon  of  animals ! 
And  yet,  to  me,  what  is  this  quintessence  oi'dust? 
man  delights  not  me,  nor  woman  neither ;  though, 
by  your  smiling,  you  seem  to  say  so. 

Ros.  My  lord,  there  is  no  such  stuff  in  my  thonghta. 

Ham.  VVhy  did  you  laughtthen.  when  I  said,  man 
delights  not  me  ? 


752 


HAMLET, 


Act  II 


Ros.  To  tliink,  my  lord,  if  you  delight  not  in  man, 
wliat  lenten  entertainment  the  players  shall  receive 
from  you  :  we  coted  them  on  the  way ;  and  hither 
are  they  coming,  to  oft'er  you  service. 

Ham.  tie  that  plays  the  king,  shall  be  welcome  ; 
his  majesty  shall  have  tribnte  of  me  :  the  adven- 
turous knight  shall  use  his  and  target:  the  lover 
shall  not  sigh  gratis  ;  the  humorous  man  shall  end 
his  part  in  peace  :  the  clown  shall  make  those  laugh, 
whose  lungs  are  tickled  o'the  sere ;  and  the  lady 
shall  say  her  mind  freely,  or  the  blank  verse  shall 
halt  for't. — What  players  are  they? 

Ros.  Even  those  you  were  wont  to  take  such  de- 
light in,  the  tragedians  of  the  city. 

Hmn.  How  chances  it,  tliey  travel  ?  their  resi- 
dence, both  in  reputation  and  profit,  was  better  both 
ways. 

Jios.  I  think,  their  inhibition  comes  by  the  means 
of  the  late  innovation. 

Ham.  Do  they  hold  the  same  estimation  they  did 
when  1  was  in  the  city  ?  Are  they  so  followed  V 

Ros.  No,  indeed,  they  are  not. 

Ham.  How  comes  it?  Do  they  grow  rusty? 

Ros.  Nay,  their  endeavour  keeps  in  the  wonted 
pace  :  But  there  is,  sir,  an  aiery  of  children,  little 
eyases,  that  cry  out  on  the  top  of  question,  and  are 
most  tyrannically  clapped  for't :  these  are  now  the 
fashion ;  and  so  berattle  the  common  stages,  ( so 
they  call  them,)  tliat  many,  wearing  rapiers,  are 
afraid  of  goose-quills,  and  nare  scarce  come  thither. 

Ham.  What,  are  they  children?  who  maintains 
them  ?  how  are  they  escoted  ?  Will  they  pursue 
the  quality  no  longer  than  they  can  sing?  will  they 
not  say  afterwards,  if  they  should  grow  themselves 
to  common  players,  (  as  it  is  most  like,  if  their  means 
are  no  better,  )  their  writers  do  them  wrong,  to 
make  them  exclaim  against  their  own  succession? 

Ros.  'Faith,  there  has  been  much  to  do  on  both 
sides  ;  and  the  nation  holds  it  no  sin,  to  tarre  them 
on  to  controversy  :  there  was,  for  a  vvhile,  no  money 
bid  f  )r  argument,  unless  the  poet  and  the  player  went 
to  cuffs  in  Jthe  question. 

Ham.  Is  it  possible  ? 

Guil.  O,  there  has  been  much  throwing  about  of 
brains. 

Ham.  Do  the  boys  carry  it  away  ? 
Ros.  Ay,  that  they  do,  my  lord;  Hercules  and 
his  load  too. 

Ham.  It  is  not  very  strange:  for  my  uncle  is  king 
of  Denmark  ;  and  those,  that  would  make  mouths 
at  him  while  my  father  lived,  gi\e  twenty,  forty, 
fifty,  an  hundred  ducats  a-piece,  for  his  picture  in 
Utile.  'Si)!u()d,  there  is  something  in  this  more  than 
natural,  if  philosophy  could  find  it  out. 

{P/ouris/i  of  trumpets  within.) 

Guil.  There  are  the  players. 

Ham.  Gi  ntlemen,  you  are  welcome  to  Elsinore. 
Your  hands.  Come  then :  the  appurtenance  of 
welcome  is  fashion  and  ceremony  :  let  me  comply 
with  you  in  this  garb;  lest  my  extent  to  the  players, 
which,  I  tell  you,  must  shew  fairly  outward,  should 
more  appear  like  entertainment  than  yours.  You 
are  welcome  ;  but  my  uncle-father,  and  aunt-mother 
are  deceived. 

Gtiil.  In  what,  my  dear  lord  ? 

Ham.  I  am  but  mad  north-north-west:  when  the 
■wind  is  southerly,  I  knew  a  hawk  from  a  hand  saw, 

Enter  PoLONius. 

Vol.  Well  be  with  you,  gentlemen  ! 

Ham.  Hiuk  you,  Guildenstern ? — and  you,  too; 
-—at  each  ear  a  hearer  :  that  great  baby,  you  see 
there,  is  not  yet  out  of  his  swaddling-clouts. 

Ros.  Happily,  he's  the  second  time  come  to  them 
for,  they  say,  an  old  man,  is  twice  a  child. 

Ham.  I  will  prophesy,  he  comes  to  tell  me  of  the 
players  ;  mark  it. —  Vou  say  right,  sir  :  o'Monday 
morning;  'twas  then,  indeed. 

Pol.  My  lord,  I  have  news  to  tell  you. 

Ham.  My  lord,  I  have  news  to  tell  you.  When 


Roscius  was  an  ai  tor  in  Rome, — 

Pol.  The  actors  are  come  hither,  mj  lyra. 

Ham.  Buz,  buz! 

Pol.  Upon  my  honour, — 

Ham.  Then  came  each  actor  an  hit  ass.,^ 

Pol.  The  best  actors  in  the  world,  either  fj)r  tra» 
gedy,  comedy,  history,  pastoral,  pastoral-comtftat 
historical-pastoral,  tragical-historical,  tragical- fto 
mical-historical-nastoral,  scene  individable,  or  poem 
unlimited  :  Seneca  cannot  be  too  heavy,  nor  Plautus 
too  light.  For  the  law  of  writ,  and  the  liberty, 
these  are  the  only  men. 

Ham.  0  Jephthak,  judge  of  Itrael^ — what  a  trea- 
sure hadst  thou  ! 

Pol.  What  a  treasure  had  he,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Why — One  fair  daughter,  and  no  more. 
The  which  he  loved  passing  well. 

Pol.  Still  on  my  daugliter.  {Aside^ 

Ham.  Ami  not  i'the  right,  old  Jephthah  ? 

Pol.  If  yon  call  me  Jephthah,  my  lord,  I  have  a 
daughter  that  I  love  passing  well. 

Ham.  Nay,  that  follows  not 

Pol.  What  follows  then,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Why,  As  by  lot,  God  wot,  and  then,  you 
know.  It  came  to  pass,  As  most  like  it  was, — The 
first  row  of  the  pious  chanson  will  shew  you  more; 
for  look,  my  abridgment  comes. 

Enter  Four  or  Five  Players. 
You  are  welcome,  masters ;  welcome,  all : — I  am 
glad  to  .see  thee  well : — welcome,  good  friends.— 
O,  old  friend  ?  Why,  thy  face  is  valanced  since  1 
saw  thee  last;  Com'st  thou  to  beard  me  in  Den- 
mark ? — What !  my  young  lady  and  mistress  !  By-'r- 
lady,  your  ladyship  is  nearer  to  heaven,  than  when 
I  saw  you  last,  by  the  altitude  of  a  chopine.  Pray 
God,  your  voice,  like  a  piece  of  uncurrent  gold,  be 
not  cracked  within  the  ring. — Masters,  you  are  all 
welcome.  VTs-'U  e'en  to  it  like  French  falconers,  fly 
at  aay  thing  V9  see  :  We'll  have  a  speech  straight . 
Come,  give  us  a  tasta  of  your  quality  ;  come,  a  pas. 
sionate  speech. 

J  Play.  What  speech,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  I  heard  thee  speak  me  a  speech  once, — 
but  it  was  never  acted ;  or,  if  it  was,  not  above 
once  :  tor  the  play,  I  remember,  pleased  not  tlie 
million ;  'twas  caviare  to  the  general  :  bat  it  was 
(  as  I  received  it,  and  others,  whose  judguients,  in 
such  matters,  cried  in  the  top  of  niine,  )  an  exc  1- 
lent  play  ;  well  digested  in  the  scenes,  set  down  with 
as  mucli  modesty  as  cunning.  I  remember,  one 
said,  there  were  no  salads  in  the  lines,  to  make  the 
matter  savoury;  nor  no  matter  in  the  phrase,  that 
might  indite  the  author  of  affection  :  but  calle  it, 
an  honest  method,  as  wholesome  as  sweet,  and  by 
very  much  more  handsome  than  fine.  One  speech 
in  it  I  chiefly  lov'd  :  'twas  y^ineas'  tale  to  Dido ; 
and  thereabout  of  it  especially,  where  he  s.  eaks  of 
Priam's  slaughter :  if  it  live  in  your  memory,  begin 
at  this  line  ;  let  me  see,  let  me  see  ; 

The  ru(jged  Pyrrhus,  like  the  Hyrcanian  heast^ — • 
'tis  not  so ;  it  begins  with  Pyrrhus. 

The  rugged  Pyrrhus, —  he,  whose  sable  arms, 

Black  as  his  jmrpose,  did  the  night  resemble, 
When  he  lay  couched  in  the  ominous  horse. 

Hath  notv  this  dread  and  black  complexion 
smear'd 

With  heraldry  more  dismal;  head  to  foot 
Notv  is  he  total  gules  ;  horridly  tricked 
With  blood  of  fathers,  mothers,  daughters,  son^ 
Bak^d  and  i7npasted  with  the  parching  streets. 
That  lend  a  tyi  annous  arfd  a  damned  light 
To  their  lords  murder:  Roasted  in  tvrnth,and 
fire. 

And  thus  o'er  sized  with  coagulate  gore. 
With  eyes  like  carbuncles,  the  hellish  Pyrrhua 
Old  grandsire  Priam  seeks; — So,  proceed  you. 
Pol.  'Fore  God,  my  lord,  well  spoken  ;  with  good 
accent,  and  good  discretion, 
1  Pity.  Anon  he  finds  him 


Act  ITT.    Scexe  1. 


PRTNCE  OF  DENMAP.K 


Strilcing  too  short  at  Greehs  ;  his  antique  sivord. 
Rebellious  to  his  artn,  lies  where  it  falls. 
Repugnant  to  command :  Unequal  match' * 
Pyrrhus  at  Priam  drives;  in  rage,  strikes  wide; 
But  with  the  whif  and  tvind  of  his  fell  sivord 
The  unnerved  father  falls.  Then  senseless  Ilium, 
Seeming  to  fell  this  blow,  with  flaming  top  j 
Stoops  to  his  base ;  and  with  a  hideous  crash  \ 
Takes  prisoner  Pyrrhus'  ear :  for,  lo  !  his  sword  ' 
Which  ivas  declining  on  the  mdlcy  head 
Of  reverend  Priam,  seem' din  the  air  to  stick : 
So,  as  a  painted  tyrant,  Pyrrhus  stood; 
And,  like  a  neutral  to  his  will  and  matter^ 
Did  nothing. 

But.,  as  ive  often  see,  against  some  storm, 

A  silence  in  the  heavens,  the  rack  stand  stilly 

The  hold  winds  speechless,  and  the  orb  below 

As  hush  as  death  :  anon  the  dreadful  thunder 

Doth  rend  the  region  :  So,  after  Pyrrhus'  pause, 

A  roused  vemjeance  sets  him  T/etv  a  work  ; 

And  never  did  the  Cyclops'  hammers  fall 

On  Marss  armour,  forg'd  for  proof  eterne, 

tp  ith  less  remorse   than  Pyrrhus'  bleeding 

sivord 
Now  falls  on  Priam. — 

Old,  out,  thou  strumpet.  Fortune!  All  yon  gods. 
In  general  synod,  take  aivau  her  power  ; 
Break  all  the  spokes  and  fellies  from  her  wheel. 
And  bowl  the  round  nave  down  the  hill  of 

heaven, 
As  low  as  to  the  fiends  ! 
Pol.  This  is  too  long. 

Ham.  It  shall  to  the  barber's,  with  your  beard. 
--Pr'ythee,  say  on:  —  He's  for  a  jig,  or  a  tale 
of  bawdry,  or  he  sleeps:  —  say  on  :  come  to  He- 
cuba 

1  Play.  But  who,  ah  woe  !  had  seen  the  mohled 

queen — 
Ham.  The  mobled  queen  ? 
Pol.  That's  good  ;  mobled  queen  is  good, 
]  Play.  Run  barefoot  up  and  down,  threat  ning 

the  flames 

With  bisson  rheum;  a  clout  upon  that  head. 
Where  late  the  diadem  stood;  and,  for  a  robe  , 
About  her  lank  and  all  o'er-teeming  loins^ 
A  blanket,  in  the  alarm  of  fear  caught  up  ; 
Who  this  had  seen,  with  to7igue  in  venom  steep' d, 
^Gainst  fortune'' s  si  ate  would  treason  have  pro- 
noun c'd: 

But  if  the  gods  themselves  did  see  her  then, 
When  she  saw  Pyrrhus  make  malicious  sport. 
In  mincing  with  his  sword  her  husbands  litnbs; 
The  instaiit  burst  of  clamour  that  she  made, 
(Unless  things  mortal  move  them  not  at  all,} 
Would  have  made  rnilch  the  burning  eye  of 

heaven. 
And  passion  in  the  gods. 

Pol.  Look,  whether  he  has  not  turned  his  colour, 
and  has  tears  in's  eyes. — Pr'ythee,  no  more. 

Ham.  'Tis  well ;  I'll  have  thee  speak  out  the  rest 
of  this  soon. — Good  my  lord,  will  you  see  the  players 
well  bestowed  ?  Do  you  hear,  let  them  be  vvell 
used  ;  for  they  are  the  abstract,  and  brief  chronicles, 
of  the  time  :  After  your  death  you  were  better  have 
a  bad  epitaph,  than  their  ill  report  while  you  live. 

Po^.  My  lord,  I  will  use  them  according  to  their 
desert. 

Ham.  Odds  bodikin,  man,  much  better:  Use 
every  man  after  his  desert,  and  who  shall  'scape 
whipping?  Use  them  after  your  own  honour  and 
dignity :  The  less  they  deserve,  the  more  merit  is  in 
your  bounty.    Take  them  in, 

Pol.  Come,  sirs. 

1  Exit  Polonius,  with  some  of  the  Players. 

Ham.  Follovy  him,  IViends  :  we'll  hear  a  play  to- 
morrow.— Dost  thou  hear  me,  old  friend  ;  can  you 
pl?y  the  murder  of  Gonzago  ? 

1  Play.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ham.  We'll  have  it  to-morrow  night.  You  could, 
^or  a  need,  study  a  speech  of  some  dozen  or  sixteen, 


lines,  wliich  1  would   set  down,  and  insert  in't  ? 
could  yon  not? 

1  Play.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Very  well. — Follow  that  lord ;  and  look 
you  mock  him  not.  [Exit  Player.]  My  good  friends, 
[To  Ros.  andGuil.)  I'll  leave  you  till  night:  yoi? 
are  welcome  to  Elsinore. 

Ros.  Good  my  lord  !     [Exeunt  Ros.  and  Guild. 
Ham.  Ay,  so,  God  be  wi'  you  : — Now  1  am  alone. 
O,  what  a  rogue  and  peasant  slave  am  1 
Is  it  not  monstrous,  tliat  this  player  here, 
But  in  a  fiction,  in  a  dream  of  passion. 
Could  force  his  soul  to  his  own  conceit, 
l^hat  from  her  working,  all  his  visage  wann'd; 
Tears  in  his  eyes,  distraction  in's  aspect, 
A  broken  voice,  and  his  whole  function  suiting 
With  forms  to  his  conceit?  And  all  for  nothing! 
For  Hecuba ! 

What's  Hecuba  to  him,  or  he  to  Hecuba, 
That  he  should  weep  for  her?  What  would  he  do. 
Had  he  the  motive,  and  the  cue  for  passion, 
That  I  have  ?  He  would  drown  the  stage  with  tears. 
And  cleave  the  general  ear  with  horrid  speech  ; 
Make  mad  the  guilty,  and  appal  the  free. 
Confound  the  ignorant,  and  amaze,  indeed. 
The  very  faculties  of  eyes  and  ears. 
Yet  I, 

A  dull  and  muddy-mettled  rascal,  peak, 
Like  John  a-dreams,  unpregnant  of  my  'jau.?e. 
And  can  say  nothing ;  no,  not  ibr  a  king. 
Upon  whose  property,  and  most  dear  life, 
A  damn'd  defeat  was  made.    Am  I  a  coward? 
Who  calls  nie  villain?  breaks  my  pate  across? 
Plucks  off  my  beard,  and  blows  it  in  my  face  ? 
Tweaks  me  by  the  nose?  gives  me  the  lie  i'tia* 
throat. 

As  deep  as  to  the  lungs  ?  Who  does  me  thit  ? 
Ha! 

Why,  I  should  take  it:  for  it  cannot  be. 
But  I  am  pigeon-liver'd,  and  lack  gall 
To  make  oppression  bitter  :  or,  ere  this, 
1  should  have  fatted  all  the  region  kites 
With  this  slave's  offal  :  Bloody,  bawdy  villaio  I 
Remorseless,  treacherous,  lecherous,  kindlesfl  v2 
lain ! 

Why,  what  an  ass  am  I?  This  is  most  brave; 
That  I,  the  son  of  a  dear  father  murder'd. 
Prompted  to  my  revenge  by  heaven  and  hell. 
Must,  like  a  whore,  unpack  my  heart  with  words 
And  fall  a  cursing,  like  a  very  drab, 
A  scullion! 

Fye  upon't!  foh !  About  my  brains!  Humph!  I  have 

heard, 

That  guilty  creatures,  sitting  at  a  play. 
Have  by  the  very  cunning  of  the  scene 
Been  struck  so  to  the  soul,  that  presently 
They  have  proclaim'd  their  malefactions  ; 
For  murder,  though  it  have  no  tongue,  will  speak 
With  most  miraculous  organ.  I'll  liave  these  playeiO 
Play  something  like  the  murder  of  my  father, 
Before  mine  uncle:  I'll  observe  his  looks; 
I'll  tent  him  to  the  q-uick;  if  he  do  blench. 
I  know  my  course.    The  spirit,  that  I  have  seen, 
May  be  a  devil ;  and  the  devil  hath  power 
To  assume  a  pleasing  shape;  yea,  and,  perhaps. 
Out  of  my  weakness,  and  my  melancholy, 
(As  he  is  very  potent  with  such  spirits,) 
Abuses  me  to  damn  me  :  I'll  have  grounds 
More  relative  than  this  :  The  play's  the  thing, 
Wherein  I'll  catch  the  conscience  of  the  king.  [JSIactl. 

ACT  III. 
Scene  I. — A  Room  in  the  Castle, 

Enter  King,  Queen,  Polonius,  Ophelia,  Rqs]0«' 
CRANTZ,  and  Guildenstern. 
King.  And  can  you,  by  no  drift  of  conference, 
Get  from  him,  wiiy  he  puts  on  this  confusion ; 
Grating  so  harshly  all  his  days  of  quiet 
With  turbulent  and  dangerous  lunacy  ? 

1  LXO 


754 


HAMLET. 


Act  IIL 


Eos.  He  does  confess,  he  feels  himself  distracted; 
15 lit  from  what  cause  he  will  by  no  means  speak, 

Guil.  Nor  do  we  find  him  forward  to  be  sounded ; 
But,  with  a  crafty  madness,  keeps  aloof. 
When  we  would  bring  him  on  to  some  confession 
Of  his  true  state. 

Queen.  Did  he  receive  you  well  ? 

Jlos.  Most  like  a  gentleman. 

Guil.  But  with  much  forcing  of  his  disposition. 

Ros.  Niggard  of  question  ;  but,  of  our  demands. 
Most  free  in  his  reply. 

Queen.  Did  you  assay  him 

To  any  pastime  ? 

Ros.  Madam,  it  so  fell  out,  that  certain  players 
We  o'er-raught  on  the  way  :  of  these  we  told  him  ; 
And  there  did  seem  in  him  a  kind  of  joy 
To  hear  of  it:  They  are  about  the  court ; 
A^nd,  as  I  think,  they  have  already  order 
This  night  to  play  before  him. 

Pol.  'Tis  most  true  : 

\nd  he  beseech'd  me  to  entreat  your  majesties, 
To  hear  and  see  the  matter. 

King.  With  all  my  heart;  and  it  doth  much  con- 
tent me, 
To  hetir  him  so  inclin'd. 
Jrood  gentlemen,  give  him  a  further  edge, 
knd  drive  his  purpose  on  to  these  delights. 

Ros.  Wii  shall,  my  lord.  [Exeunt  Ros.  andGuild. 

King.  Sweet  Gertrude,  leave  us  too: 

Por  we  have  closely  sent  for  Hamlet  hither; 
That  iie,  as  'twere  by  accident,  may  here 
Affront  Ophelia  : 

Her  father,  and  n)V'self  (lawful  espials,) 

Will  so  bestow  ourselves,  that,  seeing,  unseen, 

We  may  of  their  encounter  frankly  judge  ; 

And  gather  by  him,  as  he  is  behav'd, 

If 't  be  the  affliction  of  his  love,  or  no. 

That  thus  he  suffers  for. 

Queen.  T  shall  obey  you : 

And,  for  your  part,  Ophelia^  I  do  wish, 
That  your  good  beauties  be  the  happy  cause 
Of  Hamlet's  wildness  :  so  shall  I  hope,  your  virtues 
Will  bring  him  to  his  wonted  way  again, 
To  both  your  honours. 

Gph.  Madam,  I  wish  it  may. 

[Exit  Queen. 

Pol.  Ophelia,   walk  you  here: — Gracious,  so 
please  you, 

We  will  hestow  ourselves: — Read  on  this  book; 

(To  Ophelia.) 
That  shew  of  such  an  exercise  may  colour 
Your  loneliness. — We  are  oft  to  blame  in  this,. — 
*Tis  too  much  proved, — that,  with  devotion's  visage, 
And  pious  action,  we  do  sugar  o'er 
The  devil  himself 

King.  O,  'tis  too  true  !  how  smart 

A  lash  that  speech  doth  give  my  conscience! 
The  harlot's  cheek,  beantied  with  plastVing  art. 
Is  not  ii.ore  ugly  to  the  thing  that  helps  it, 
'i~han  is  my  deed  to  my  most  painted  word  : 
O  heavy  burden  !  {Aside.) 

Pol.  I  hear  him  cotiiing;  let's  withdraw,  my  lord. 

[Exeunt  King  and  Polonius. 

Enter  Hamlet. 

Ham.  To  be,  or  not  to  be,  that  is  the  question: — 
Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind,  to  suffer 
Ttie  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune; 
Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles. 
And,  by  opposing,  end  them? — To  die, — to  sleep, — 
No  more  ; — and,  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 
The  heart  ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to, — 'tis  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wish'd.    To  die, — to  sleep; — 
To  sleep !  perchance  to  dream  ; — ay,  there's  the  rub  ; 
For  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  come, 
When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil, 
Must  give  us  pause  :  there's  the  respect, 
That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life  : 
7or  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time, 


TTje  oppressor's  wrong,  tne  proud  man's  contamcly. 

The  pangs  of  despis'd  love,  the  law's  delay, 
The  msolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 
That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes. 
When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 
With  a  bare  bodkin  ?  who  would  fardels  bear. 
To  grunt  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life  ; 
But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death,— 
The  undiscover'd  country,  from  whose  bourn 
No  traveller  returns, — puzzles  tlie  will ; 
And  ri|.kes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have. 
Than  tly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of? 
Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all; 
And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought; 
And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment. 
With  this  regard,  their  currents  turn  awry, 
And  lose  the  name  of  action. — Soft  you,  now! 
The  fair  Ophelia: — Nymph,  in  thy  orisons 
Be  all  my  sins  remeraber'd. 

Oph.  Good  my  lord, 

How  does  your  honour  for  this  many  a  day  ? 

Ham.  1  humbly  thank  you  ;  well. 

Oph.  My  lord,  I  "have  remembrances  of  yours. 
That  I  have  longed  long  to  re-deliver; 
I  pray  you,  now  receive  them. 

Ham.  No,  not  I ; 

I  never  gave  you  aught.  [did ; 

Oph.  My  honour'd  lord,  you  know  right  well  you 
And,  with  them,  words  of  so  sweet  breath  c-ompos'd 
As  made  the  things  more  rich  :  their  perfume  lost. 
Take  these  again  ;  for  to  the  noble  mind. 
Rich  gifts  wax  poor,  when  givers  prove  unkind. 
There,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Ha,  ha  !  are  you  honest  ? 

Oph.  My  lord  ? 

Ham.  Are  you  fair? 

Oph.  What  means  your  lord.ship? 

Ham.  That  if  you  be  honest,  and  fair,  you  shouH 
admit  no  discourse  to  your  beauty. 

Oph.  Cou>Id  beauty,  my  lord,  have  better  com- 
merce than  with  honesty  ? 

Ham.  Ay,  truly;  for  the  power  of  beauty  will 
sooner  transform  honesty  from  what  it  is  to  a  bawd, 
than  the  force  of  honesty  can  translate  beauty  into 
his  likeness ;  this  was  some  time  a  parados,  but  now 
the  time  gives  it  proof    I  did  love  you  once. 

Oph.  Indeed,  my  lord,  you  made  me  believe  so. 

Ham.  You  should  not  have  believed  me ;  for 
virtue  cannot  so  inoculate  our  ."id  stock,  but  we  shall 
relish  of  it:  I  lov'd  you  not. 

Oph.  I  was  the  more  deceived. 

Ham.  Get  thee  to  a  nunnery;  why  would'st  thou 
be  a  breeder  of  siniiers  ?  i  am  myself  inditt'erent 
honest;  but  yet  I  could  accuse  me  of  such  things, 
that  it  were  better  my  mother  had  not  borne  me: 
I  am  very  proud,  revengeful,  ambitious;  with  more 
offences  at  my  beck,  than  I  have  thoughts  to  put 
them  in,  imagination  to  give  them  shape,  or  time 
to  act  tiiem  in  :  What  should  such  fellows  as  I  do 
crawling  between  earth  and  heaven  1  We  are  arrant 
knaves,  all;  believe  none  of  us:  Go  thy  ways  to  a 
nunriery.    Where's  your  father  ? 

Oph.  At  home,  my  lord.  ' 

Ham.  Let  the  doors  be  shut  upon  him ;  that  he 
may  play  the  fool  no  where  but  in's  own  house. 
Farewell. 

Oph.  O,  help  him,  you  sweet  heavens  ! 

Ham.  If  thou  dost  marry,  I'll  give  thee  this  plague 
for  thy  dowry;  Be  thou  as  chaste  as  ice,  as  pure  as 
snow,  thou  shalt  not  escape  calumny.  Get  thee  to  a 
nunnery;  farewell:  Or,  if  thou  wilt  needs  marry, 
nmrry  a  fool ;  for  wise  men  know  vvell  enough,  what 
monsters  you  make  of  them.  Go  a  nunnery,  go  ;  and 
quickly  too.  Farewell. 

Oph.  Heavenly  powers,  restore  hiui ! 

Ham.  I  have  heard  of  your  paintings  too,  well 
enough ;  God  hath  given  you  one  i'ace,  and  you  make 
yourselves  another:  you  jig,  you  arable,  and  you 
lisp,  and  nick  name  Gods  creatures,  and  make  youi 


Scene  2. 


PRINCE  OF 


DENMARK. 


755 


wantonness  youi  ignorance  :  Go  to  ;  I'll  no  more  oft ; 
it  liath  made  me  mad.  I  say,  we  will  have  no  raore 
marriages:  those  that  are  married  already,  all  but 
one,  shall  live  ;  the  rest  shall  keep  as  they  are.  To 
a  nunnery,  go.  [Exit. 

Oph.  O,  what  a  noble  mind  is  here  o'erthrown ! 
The    courtier's,   soldier's,  scholar's  eye,  tongue, 
sword  : 

The  expe<;tancy  and  rose  of  the  fair  state. 
The  glass  of  fashion,  and  the  mould  of  form. 
The  observ'd  of  all  observers  !  quite,  quite  down  ! 
And  I,  of  ladies  most  deject  and  wretched, 
That  suck'd  the  honey  of  his  music  vows, 
Now  see  that  noble  and  most  sovereign  reason, 
Like  sweet  bells  jangled,  out  of  tune  and  harsh  ; 
That  unmatch'd  form  and  feature  of  blown  youth, 
Blasted  with  ecstasy:  O,  woe  is  me! 
To  have  seen  what  I  have  seen,  seen  what  I  see  ! 

Re-enter  King  and  PoLONiUS. 

King.  Love  !  his  affections  do  not  that  way  tend  ; 
Nor  what  he  spake,  though  it  lack'd  form  a  little, 
Was  not  like  madness.  There's  something  in  bis  soul, 
O'er  which  his  melancholy  sits  on  brood ; 
And,  I  do  doubt,  the  hatch,  and  the  disclose, 
Will  be  some  danger:  Which,  for  to  prevent, 
I  have,  in  quick  determiuntionj 
Thus  set  itflown  :  He  shall  with  speed  to  England, 
For  the  demand  of  our  neglected  tribute : 
Haply,  the  seas,  and  countries  different. 
With  variable  objects,  shall  expel 
This  sometliing-settled  matter  in  his  heart ; 
Whereon  his  brains  still  beating,  puts  him  thus 
From  fashion  of  himseli'.    What  think  you  on't? 

Pol.  It  shall  do  well  :  but  yet  I  do  believe, 
The  origin  atid  commencement  of  his  grief 
Sprung  from  neglected  love. — How  now,  Ophelia? 
You  need  not  tell  us  wliat  lord  Hamlet  said  ; 
We  heard  it  all. — My  lord,  do  as  yuu  please  ; 
But,  if  you  hold  it  tit,  after  the  play, 
Let  his  queen  mother  all  alone  entreat  liiiii 
To  shew  his  grief;  let  her  be  round  with  him," 
And  I'll  he  pTac'H,  so  please  you,  in  the  ear 
Of  all  tlieir  cfuiference:  if  she  find  him  not, 
To  England  send  him  :  or  confine  liiin,  where 
Vour  wisdom  best  shall  think. 

King.  It  shall  be  so  : 

Madness  in  great  ones  must  not  unwatch'd  go. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — A  Hall  in  the  same. 
Enter  Hamlet,  and  certain  Players. 

Ham.  Speak  the  speech,  I  pray  you,  as  I  pro- 
nounced it  to  you,  trippingly  hn  the  tongue  :  but  if 
you  mouth  it,  as  tunny  of  our  players  do,  1  had  as  lief 
the  town-crier  spoke  my  lines.  Nor  do  not  saw  the 
air  too  uiiich  w  i(h  your  hand,  thus  ;  but  cse  al'  gently  : 
for  in  tiie  veiy  torrent,  tempest,  and  (as  1  may  say) 
whirlwind  oi  your  passion,  you  must  acquire  and 
beget  a  temperance,  that  may  gi\e  it  smoothness.  O, 
itolfeuds  Hie  lo  the  soul,  to  hear  a  robustious  periwig- 
pated  lellow  tear  a  passion  to  tatters,  to  very  rags, 
to  split  tiie  ears  of  the  groundlings;  who,  for  the 
most  part,  are  capable  of  nothing  but  inexplicable 
dumb  shews,  and  noise  :  I  would  have  such  a  fellow 
whipped  ibr  o'er-doing  Termagant;  it  out-herods 
Herod:  Pray  you,  avoid  it. 

1  Play.  1  wai  rant  your  honour. 

Ham.  lie  not  too  tame  neither,  but  let  your  own 
discretion  be  your  tutor:  suit  the  action  to  the  word, 
the  word  to  the  action  ;  with  this  special  observance, 
that  you  o'er-step  not  the  modesty  of  nature  :  for  any 
thing  80  overdone  is  from  the  purjiose  of  playing, 
w  hose  end,  both  at  the  first,  and  now,  was,  and  is, 
ta  hold,  as  'twere,  the  mirror  up  to  nature  ;  to  shew 
virtue  her  own  feature,  ecorn  her  own  image,  and 
the  very  age  and  body  of  the  time,  his  form  and  pres- 
gi!re.  Now  this,  overdone,  or  come  tardy  off,  though 
it  make  the  unskilful  laugh,  cannot  but  make  the 
judicsjas  grieve;  the  censure  of  which  one  must,  in 


your  allowance,  o'erweigh  a  whole  theatre  of  others. 
O,  there  be  players,  that  I  have  seen  play, — and  heard 
others  praise,  and  that  highly, — not  to  speak  it  pro- 
fanely, that,  neither  having  the  accent  of  christians, 
nor  the  gailt  of  christian,  pagan,  nor  man,  have  so 
strutted,  and  bellowed,  that  I  have  thought  some  of 
nature's  journeymen  had  made  men,  and  not  m-:^de 
them  well,  they  imitated  humanity  so  abominablv. 

1  Play.  I  hope,  we  havo  reformed  that  indiflfV re'ntly 
with  us. 

Ham.  O,  reform  it  altogether.  And  let  those,  thai 
play  your  clowns,  speak  no  more  than  is  set  down 
for  them  :  for  there  be  of  them,  that  will  themselves 
laugh,  to  set  on  some  quantity  of  barren  spectators  to 
laugh  too;  though,  in  the  mean  time,  some  necessary 
question  of  the  play  be  then  to  be  considered  :  that's 
villanous  ;  and  shews  a  most  pitiful  ambition  in  the 
fool  that  uses  it.    Go,  make  you  ready. 

[Exeunt  players. 

Enter  Polonius,  Rosencrantz,  and  Guilde>- 

STERN. 

How  now,  my  lord  ?  will  the  king  hear  this  piece  of 
work  ? 

Pol.  And  the  queen  too,  and  that  presently. 
Ham.  Bid  the  players  make  haste. — 

[Exit  Polonius. 

Will  you  two  help  to  hasten  them  ? 

Both.  Ay,  my  lord.  [Exeunt  Ros.  and  Guild. 
Ha7n.  What,  ho ;  Horatio  ! 

Enter  Horatio. 
Hor.  Here,  sweet  lord,  at  your  service. 
Ham.  Horatio,  thou  art  e'en  as  just  a  man 
As  e'er  my  conversation  cop'd  withal. 
Hor.  O,  my  dear  lord, — 

Ham.  Nay,  do  not  think  I  flatter : 

For  what  advancement  may  I  hope  from  thee. 
That  no  revenue  hast,  but  thv  good  spirits, 
To  feed,  and  clothe  thee  ?  Why  should  the  poor  be 
flatter'd  ? 

No,  let  the  candied  tongue  lick  absurd  pomp ; 

Anel  crook  the  {)regnant  hinges  of  the  knee. 

Where  thrift  may  follow  fawning.   Dost  thou  hear? 

Since  my  dear  sold  was  mistress  of  her  choice, 

And  could  of  men  distinguish  her  election. 

She  hath  seal'd  thee  for  herself:  for  thou  hast  been 

As  one,  in  suffering  all,  tliat  suffers  nottiing: 

A  man,  that  fortune's  buffets  and  rewards 

Hast  ta'en  with  equal  thanks  :  and  bless'd  are  those, 

Whose  blood  and  judgment  are  so  well  co-mingled, 

That  they  are  not  a  pipe  for  fortune's  finger 

To  sound  what  stop  she  please  :  Give  me  that  maO( 

That  is  not  passion's  slave,  and  I  will  wear  him 

In  uiy  heart's  core,  ay,  in  my  heart  of  heart, 

As  I  do  thee. —  Something  too  much  of  this.— 

There  is  a  play  to-night  before  the  king ; 

One  scene  of  it  comes  near  the  circumstance, 

Wiiich  I  have  told  thee  of  my  father's  death. 

1  pr'ythee,  when  thou  seest  that  act  afoot. 

Even  with  the  very  comment  of  thy  soul 

Observe  my  uncle  :  if  his  occulted  guilt 

Do  not  itself  unkennel  in  one  speech, 

It  is  a  damned  ghost  that  we  have  seen ; 

And  my  imaginations  are  as  foul. 

As  Vidcan's  stithy.    Give  him  heedful  note: 

For  I  mine  eyes  will  rivet  to  his  face  ; 

And,  af  ter,  we  will  both  our  judgments  join 

In  censure  of  his  seeming. 

Hor.  Well,  my  lord 

If  he  steal  aught,  the  whilst  this  play  is  playing. 
And  'scape  detecting,  I  will  pay  the  theft. 

Ham.  They  are  coming  to  the  play  ;  I  most  b« 
Get  you  a  place.  [idle  : 

Danish  march.  A  Flourish.  Enter  King,  Queen, 
Polonius,  Ophelia,  Rosencrantz,  Guildbk- 
STERN,  and  others. 

King.  How  fares  our  cousin  Hamlet  ?  ^  . 

Ham.  Excellent,  i'faith;  of  the  c^ielion's  diih; 


756 


HAMLET, 


Act  ITI 


I  eat  the  air,  promise-crammed:  You  cannot  leed 

capons  so. 

King.  I  have  nothing  with  this  answer,  Hamlet  ; 
these  words  are  not  mine. 

Ham.  No,  nor  mine  now.  My  lord,— you  played 
ance  in  the  university,  you  say?       {To  Polonius.) 

Pol.  That  did  I,  ray  lord ;  and  was  accounted  a 
good  actor. 

Ham.  And  what  did  you  enact  i  ,.„,., 

Pol.  I  did  enact  Jnlms  Ca>sar :  I  was  killed  I'the 
Cajjitol;  Brutus  killed  me. 

Ham.  It  was  a  brute  part  of  him,  to  kill  so  capital 
a  cjiir  there.— Be  the  players  ready  ? 

Ros.  Ay,  my  lord;  they  stay  upon  your  patience. 

Qne^n.  Come  hither,  my  dear  Hamlet,  sit  by  me. 

Ham  No,  good  mother,  here's  metal  more  at- 

*  VoFb  ho  !  do  you  mark  that?     {To  the  King.) 
Ham.  Lady,  shall  I  lie  in  your  lap  ? 

{Lying  down  at  Ophelia  s  feet.) 
Oph.  No,  my  lord. 

Ham.  I  mean,  my  head  upon  your  lap 
Oph.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Do  you  tliink,  I  meant  country  matters  f 

Oph.  I  think  nothing,  my  lord,  [legs. 

Ham.  That's  a  fair  thought  to  lie  between  maids' 

Oph.  What  is,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Nothing. 

Oph.  You  are  merry,  my  lord. 

Ham.  VVlio.  I  ? 

OoA.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ham.  O !  your  only  jig-maker.  What  should  a 
mail  do,  but  be  merry  ?  for,  look  vou,  how  cheer- 
fully my  mother  looks,  and  my  lather  died  within 
these  two  hours. 

Oj)h.  Nay,  'tis  twice  two  months,  my  lord. 
Ham.  So  long  ?  Nay,  then  let  the  devil  wear 
black,  for  I  II  have  a  suit  of  sables.  O  heavens!  die 
two  months  ago,  and  not  forgotten  yet?  Then  there's 
hope,  a  great  mans  memory  may  outlive  his  life 
half  a  year:  But,  bv'r-ladv,  he  must  build  churches 
then:  or  else  shall"  he  suffer  not  thinking  on,  with 
the  hobby-horse  ;  vvhose  epitaph  is,  For,  0,  for,  0, 
the  hobby-horse  is  forgot. 

Trumpets  sound.  The  dumb  shew  follows. 
Enter  a  King  and  a  Queen,  very  lovingly  ;  the 
Queen  eynbracing  him,  and  he  her.  She  kneels, 
and  mak  es  shew  of  protestation  tmto  him.  He 
takes  her  up,  and  declines  his  head  upon  her 
neck:  lays  him  dotvn  upon  a  bank  of  flowers  ; 
she,  seeing  him  asleep,  leaves  him.  Anon  comes 
in  a  fellow,  takes  off  his  crown,  kisses  it,  and 
pours  poison  in  the  King's  ear,  and  exit.  The 
Queen  rettirns ;  finds  the  King  dead,  and 
7nakes  passionate  action.  The  poisoner,  with 
some  tico  or  three  Mutes,  comes  in  again,  seem- 
ing to  lament  with  her.  The  dead  body  is  car- 
ried away.  The  poisoner  ivooes  the  Queen  with 
gifts;  she  seems  loath  and  unwilling  awhile, 
hut,  in  the  end,  accepts  his  love.  [Exeunt. 
Oph.  VV'hat  means  this,  my  lord  ? 
Hain.  Marry,  this  is  miching  mallecb^  it  means 
uiischiff.  [the  play. 

Oph.  Belike,  this  shew  imports  the  argument  of 

Enter  Prologue. 
Ham.  We  shall  know  by  this  fellow :  the  players 
t  anuot  keep  counsel ;  they'll  tell  all. 

Oph.  Will  he  tell  us  what  this  shew  meant? 
Ham.  Ay,  or  any  shew  that  you'll  shew  him  ; 
Be  not  you  ashamed  to  shew,  he'll  not  shame  to 
lell  you  what  it  means.  [the  play. 

Oph.  You  are  naught,  you  are  naught;  I'll  mark 
Pro.  For  us,  and  for  our  tragedy. 

Here  stooping  to  your  clemency. 
We  beg  your  hearing  patiently. 
Ham.  Is  this  a  prologue,  or  the  posy  of  a  ring? 
Oph.  'Tis  brief,  my  lord. 
Mam.  As  woman's  love. 


Enter  a  King  one!  a  Queen. 
P.  King.  Full  thirty  times  hath  Phoebus'  cart 
gone  round 

Neptune's  salt  wash,  and  Tellus'  orbed  ground ; 
And  thirty  dozen  moons,  with  borrow'd  sh^en, 
About  the  world  have  times  twelve  thirties  been  ; 
Since  love  our  hearts,  and  Hymen  did  our  hands. 
Unite  commutual  in  most  sacred  bands. 

P.  Queen.  Somany  journiesmay  thesunandjEltWSa 
Make  us  again  count  o'er,  ere  love  be  done  1 
But,  woe  is  me,  you  are  so  sick  of  late, 
So  far  from  cheer,  and  from  your  former  state, 
That  I  distrust  you.  Yet,  though  I  distrust. 
Discomfort  you,  my  lord,  it  nothing  must : 
For  women  fear  too  much,  even  as  they  love; 
And  women's  fear  and  love  hold  quantity  ; 
In  neither  aught,  or  in  extremity. 
Now,  what  my  love  is,  proof  hath  made  you  know; 
And  as  my  love  is  siz'd,  my  fear  is  so. 
Where  love  is  great,  the  littlest  doubts  are  fear: 
Where  little  fears  grow  great,  great  love  grows  there. 

P.  King.  'Faith,  I  must  leave  thee,  love,  and 
shortly  too ; 

My  operant  powers  their  functions  leave  to  do: 
And  thou  shalt  live  in  this  fair  world  behind, 
Honour'd,  belov'd  ;  and,  haply,  one  as  kind 
For  husband  shalt  thou — 

P.  Queen.  O,  confound  the  rest ! 

Such  love  must  needs  be  treason  in  my  breast : 
In  second  husband  let  me  be  accurst 
None  wed  the  second,  but  who  kill'd  the  first 

Ham.  That's  wormwood.  > 

P.  Queen.  The  instances,  that  second  marriage 
move. 

Are  base  respects  of  thrift,  but  none  of  love  ; 
A  second  time  I  kill  my  husband  dead. 
When  second  husband  kisses  me  in  bed. 
P.  King.  I  do  believe,  you  think  what  now  yon 

speak  ; 

But,  what  we  do  determine,  oft  we  break. 
Purpose  is  but  the  slave  to  memory  : 
Of  violent  birth,  but  poor  validity  : 
Which  now,  like  fruit  unripe,  sticks  on  the  tree; 
But  fall,  unshaken,  when  they  mellow  be. 
Most  necessary  'tis,  that  we  forget 
To  pay  ourselves  what  to  ourselves  is  debt: 
What  to  ourselvea  in  passion  we  propose. 
The  passion  ending,  doth  the  purpose  lose. 
The  violence  of  either  grief  or  joy 
Their  own  enactures  with  themselves  destroy  : 
Where  joy  most  revels,  grief  doth  most  lament; 
Grief  joys,  joy  grieves,  on  slender  accident. 
This  world  is  not  for  aye  ;  nor  'tis  not  strange. 
That  even  our  loves  should  with  our  fortunes  Chang's ; 
For,  Itis  a  question  left  us  yet  to  prove. 
Whether  love  lead  fortune,  or  else  fortune  love. 
The  great  man  down,  you  mark,  his  favourite  flies. 
The  poor  advanc'd  makes  friends  of  enemies. 
And  hitherto  doth  love  on  fortune  tend  : 
For  who  not  needs,  shall  never  lack  a  friend; 
And  who  in  want  a  hollow  friend  doth  try. 
Directly  seasons  him  his  enemy. 
But,  orderly  to  end  where  I  begun, 
Our  wills,  and  fates,  do  so  contrary  rua. 
That  our  devices  still  are  overthrown; 
Our  thoughts  are  ours,  their  ends  none  of  oar  own: 
So  think  thou  wilt  no  second  husband  wed  ; 
But  die  thy  thoughts,  when  thy  first  lord  is  dead. 
P.  Queen.  Nor  earth  to  give  me  food,  ncr  hea\ea 
light ! 

Sport  and  repose  lock  from  me,  day  and  night  i 

To  desperation  turn  my  trust  and  hope ! 

An  anchor's  cheer  in  prison  be  my  scope  ! 

Each  opposite,  that  blanks  the  face  of  joy, 

Meet  what  I  would  have  well,  and  it  destroy? 

Both  here,  and  hence,  pursue  me  lasting  strife. 

If,  once  a  widow,  ever  I  be  wile  ! 

Ham  If  she  should  break  it  now, — {To  OpheUa.\ 
P.  King.  'Tis  deeply  sworn.  Sweet,  leave  m*. 
here  a  while ; 


Scene  2. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


767 


My  spirits  grow  dull,  and  fain  1  would  begtiile  1 
The  tedious  day  with  sleep.  {Sleeps.) 

P.  Queen.  Sleep  rock  thy  brain  ; 

And  never  come  mischance  between  us  twain!  [Exit. 

Ham.  Madam,  how  like  you  this  play? 

Queen.  The  lady  doth  protest  too  nuicV  methinks. 

Ham.  O,  but  she'll  keep  her  word. 

King.  Have  you  heard  the  argument?  Is  there  no 
offence  in"t? 

Ham.  No,  no,  they  do  but  jest,  poison  in  jest ;  no 
ofience  i'the  world. 

King.  What  do  you  call  the  play  ? 
Ham.  The  mouse-trap.  Marry,  how  ?  Tropically. 
This  play  is  the  image  of  a  murder  done  in  Vienna : 
Gouzago  is  the  duke's  name;  his  wife,  Baptista : 
you  shall  see  anon;  'tis  a  knavish  piece  of  work: 
But  what  of  that  ?  your  majesty,  and  we  that  have 
free  souls,  it  touches  us  not:  Let  the  galled  jade 
wince,  our  withers  are  unwrung. — 
Enter  LuciANUs. 
This  is  one  Lucianus,  nephew  to  the  king. 
Oph.  Yoa  are  as  good  as  a  chorus,  my  lord. 
Ham.  I  could  interpret  between  you  and  your 
love,  if  I  could  see  tiie  puppets  dallying. 
Oph.  You  are  keen,  my  lord,  you  are  keen. 
Ham.  It  would  cost  you  a  groaning,  to  take  off 
my  edge. 

Oph.  Still  better,  and  worse. 
Ham.  So  you  mistake  your  husbands. — Begin, 
murderer; — leave  thy  damnable  faees,  and  begin. 
Come  ; — 

 The  croaking  raven 

Doth  bellow  for  revenge. 
Luc.  Thoughts  black ,  hands  apt,  drugs  fit,  and 
time  agreeing; 
Confederate  season,  else  no  creature  seeing  ; 
Thou  mixture  rank,  of  midnight  weeds  collected. 
With  Hecat'8  ban  thrice  blasted,  thrice  infected, 
Thy  natural  magic  and  dire  property, 
Ou  wholesome  life  usurp  immediately. 

[Pours  the  poison  into  the  Sleeper's  ears.) 
Ham.  He  poisons  him  i'the  garden  for  his  estate. 
His  name's  Gonaago ;  the  story  is  extant,  and 
written  in  very  choice  Italian:  You  shall  see  anon, 
how  the  murderer  gets  the  love  of  Gonzago's  wife. 
Oph.  The  king  rises. 
Hran.  What !  frighted  with  false  fire  ! 
Queen.  How  fares  my  lord  ? 
Pol.  Gixe  o'er  the  play. 
King.  Give  me  some  light: — away! 
Po/.  Lights,  lights,  lif,hts  ! 

[Exeunt  all  but  Hamlet  and  Horatio. 
Ham.  Why,  let  the  strucken  deer  go  weep, 
The  hart  ungalled  play  . 
For  some  must  watcb.  wHUti  some  must  sleep ;  i 
Thus  runs  the  world  away.— 
Would  not  this,  sir,  and  a  foresi  of  feathers,  (if  the 
rest  of  my  fortunes  turn  Turk  with  me,)  with  two 
Prove ncia!  roses  on  my  razed  shoes,  get  me  a  fei- 
>jwship  in«  cry  of  players,  sir? 
Hor.  Half  a  share. 
Ham.  A  whole  one  I. 

For  thou  dost  know,  O  Damon  dear, 

This  realm  dismantled  vva)» 
Of  Jove  himself;  and  now  reigns  hers 
A  very,  very — peacock, 
ifor.  You  might  have  rhymed. 
Ham.  O  good  Horatio,  I'll  take  the  ghost's  wofd 
for  a  thousand  pound.  Didst  perceive  ? 
Hor.  Very  well,  my  lord. 
Ham.  Upon  the  talk  of  the  poisoning, — 
Hor.  I  did  very  well  note  him. 
Ham.  Ah,  ha! — Come,  some  music;  come,  the 
recorders. — 

For  if  the  king  like  not  the  comedy. 
Why  then,  belike, — he  likes  it  not,  perdy. 
Enter  ivOSENCRANTZ  and  Gltidenstern. 
jJome,  some  music. 

Guil  ^  iood  my  lor/, vouchsafe  ray   word  with  you. 


j^am.  Sir,  a  whole  history. 
Guil.  The  king,  sir, — 

Ham.  Ay,  sir,  what  of  him  ?  '  fpered 

Hull.  Is,  in  his  retirement,  marvellous  (iistem 

Gam.  With  drink,  sir? 

Guil.  No,  my  lord,  with  choler. 
_  Ham.  Your  wisdom  should  shew  itself  mow 
richer,  to  signify  this  to  the  doctor;  for,  ibi  me  to 
put  him  to  his  purgation,  would,  perhaps,  plonge 
him  into  more  choler. 

Guil.  Good  my  lord,  put  your  discourse  into  some 
frame,  and  start  not  so  wildly  frou)  my  affair. 

Ham.  I  an>  tame,  sir  : — pronounce. 

Guil.  The  queen,  your  mother,  in  most  great 
affliction  of  spirit,  hath  sent  me  to  you. 

Ham.  You  are  welcome. 

Guil.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  this  courtesy  is  not  of 
the  right  breed.  If  it  shall  please  you  to  make  me 
a  wholesome  answer,  1  will  do  your  mother's  com- 
mandment :  if  not,  your  pardon,  and  my  return,  shall 
be  the  end  of  my  business. 

Ham.  Sir,  I  cannot. 

Guil.  What,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Make  you  a  wholesome  answer  ;  my  wit's 
diseased:  But,  sir,  such  answer  as  1  can  make,  you 
shall  command:  or,  rather,  as  you  say,  my  motber: 
therefore  no  more,  but  to  the  matter  •.  My  mother, 
you  say, — 

Ros.  Then,  thus  she  says .  Your  behaviour  hath 
struck  her  into  amazement  and  admiration. 

Ham.  O  wonderlul  son,  that  can  so  astonish  a 
mother  ! — But  is  there  no  sequel  at  the  heels  of  this 
mother's  admiration  ?  impart. 

Ros.  She  desires  to  speak  with  you  in  her  closet, 
<?re  you  go  to  bed. 

Ham.  We  shall  obey,  were  she  ten  times  our 
mother.  Have  you  any  further  trade  with  us'-* 

Ros.  My  lord,  you  once  did  love  me. 

Ha?n.  And  do  still,  by  these  pickers  and  stealers. 

Ros.  Good  my  lord,  what  is  your  cause  of  dig- 
temper?  you  do,  surely,  but  bar  the  door  upon  your 
own  liberty,  if  you  deny  your  griefs  to  your  friend. 

Ham.  Sir,  I  lack  advancement. 

Ros.  How  can  that  be,  when  you  have  the  voice 
of  the  king  himself  lor  your  succession  in  Denmark? 

Ham.  Ay,,  sir,  but.  While  the  grass  grows, — the 
proverb  is  something  musty. 

Enter  the  Players,  with  Recordsrs. 
O,  the  recorders  : — let  me  see  one. — To  withdraw 
with  you. — Why  do  you  go  about  to  recover  the 
wind  of  me,  as  ii  you  would  drive  me  into  a  <oil  ? 

Guil.  O,  my  lord,  if  my  duty  be  too  bold,  my 
love  is  too  unmannerly. 

Ham.  I  do  not  well  understand  that.  Will  you 
play  upon  ti)is  pipe  ? 

Guil.  My  lord,  I  cannot. 

Ham.  I  pray  you. 

Guil.  Believe  me,  I  cannot. 

Ham.  I  do  beseech  you. 

Guil.  I  know  no  touch  of  it,  my  lord. 

Ha7n.  'Tis  as  easy  as  lying :  govern  these  ven- 
tages with  your  fingers  and  thumb,  give  it  breath 
with  your  mouth,  and  it  will  discourse  most  eloquent 
music.    Look  you,  these  are  the  stops. 

Guil.  But  these  cannot  I  command  to  any  utter- 
ance of  harmony  ;  I  have  not  the  skill. 

Ham.  Why,  look  you  now,  how  unworthy  a 
thing  you  make  of  me.  You  would  play  upon  me ; 
you  would  seem  to  know  my  stops;  you  would 
pluck  outUhe  heart  of  my  rnystery ;  you  would 
sound  me  from  my  lowest  liole  to  the  top  of  ray 
compass  :  and  there  is  much  music,  exceUent  voice, 
in  this  little  organ ;  yet  cannot  you  make  it  speak. 
'Sblood,  do  you'  think,  I  am  easier  to  be  played  ou 
than  a  pipe  ?  Call  me  what  instrument  you  will 
though  you  can  fret  me,  you  cannot  play  upOH  tne. 

Enter  PoLONIUS. 
God  bless  you,  sir  1 


758 


HAMLET, 


Aci  III 


Pol.  My  lord,  the  queen  would  speak  with  you, 
and  presently. 

Ham.  Do  you  ee  yonder  cloud ,  that's  almost  in 
sliape  of  a  camel  ? 

Pol.  By  the  mass,  and  'tis  like  a  camel,  indeed. 

Ham.  Methinks,  it  is  like  a  weasel. 

Pol.  ft  is  backed  like  a  weasel. 

Ham.  Or,  like  a  whale  ? 

Pol.'  Very  like  a  whale. 

Ham.  Then  will  I  come  to  my  mother  by  and  by. 
—The  y  fool  me  to  the  top  of  my  bent. — I  will  come 
by  and  by. 

Pol.  I  will  say  so.    _  [Exit  Polonius. 

Ham.  By  and  by  is  easily  said. — Leave  me, 
friends.  [Exeunt  Ros.  Guil.  Hor.  §^c, 

Tis  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night ; 
When  churchyards  yawn,  and  hell  itself  breathes 
out  [blood, 
Contagion  to  this  world :  Now  could  i  drink  hot 
And  do  such  business  as  the  bitter  day 
Would  quake  to  look  on.  Soft;  now  to  my  mo- 
ther.— 

O,  heart,  lose  not  thy  nature  ;  let  not  ever 

The  soul  of  Nero  enter  this  tirm  bosom  : 

Let  me  be  cruel,  not  unnatural ; 

J  will  speak  daggers  to  her,  but  use  none ; 

My  tongue  and  soul  in  this  be  hypocrites  : 

How  iu  my  words  soever  she  be  shent. 

To  give  them  seals,  never,  my  soul,  consent! 

[Exit, 

ScF.NE  III. — A  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  King,  Rosencrantz,  and  Guildenstern. 

King.  I  like  him  not ;  nor  stands  it  safe  with  us. 
To  let  his  madness  range.  Therefore,  prepare  you  ; 
I  your  commission  will  forthwith  despatch, 
And  he  to  England  shall  along  with  you: 
The  terras  of  our  estate  may  not  endure 
Hasard  so  near  us,  as  doth  hourly  grow 
Out  of  his  lunes, 

Guil.  We  will  ourselves  provide  : 

Most  holy  and  religious  fear  it  is. 
To  keep  those  many  many  bodies  safe, 
That  live,  and  feed,  upon  your  majesty. 

Ros.  The  single  and  pecuhar  life  is  bound. 
With  all  the  strength  and  armour  of  the  mind. 
To  keep  itself  from  'noyance  ;  but  much  more 
That  spirit,  upon  whose  weal  depend  and  rest 
The  lives  of  many.    The  cease  of  majesty 
Dies  not  alone  ;  but,  like  a  gulf,  doth  draw 
What  s  near  it,  with  it :  it  is  a  massy  wheel, 
Fix'd  on  the  summit  of  the  highest  mount, 
To  whose  huge  spokes  ten  thousand  lesser  things 
Are  niortis'd  and  adjoin'd;  which,  when  it  falls. 
Each  small  annexment,  petty  consequence. 
Attends  the  boist'rous  ruin.    Never  alone 
Did  the  king  sigh,  but  with  a  general  groan. 

King.  Arm  you,  I  pray  you,  to  tliis  speedy  voyage  ; 
For  we  will  fetters  put  upon  this  fear, 
Which  now  goes  too  free-footed. 

Ros.  Guil.  We  will  haste  us. 

[Exeunt  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern. 

Enter  Polonius. 
Pol.  My  lord,  he's  going  to  his  mother's  closet: 
Behind  the  arras  I'll  convey  myself, 
To  hear  the  process;  I'll  warrant,  she'll  tax  him 
home  : 

And,  as  you  said,  and  wisely  was  it  said, 
'Tis  meet,  that  some  more  audience,  than  a  mother, 
Since  nature  makes  them  partial,  should  o'er-hear 
The  speech  of  vantage.    Fare  you  well,  my  liege  : 
1  11  call  upon  you  ere  you  go  to  bed. 
And  tell  you  what  I  know. 
King.  Thanks,  dear  my  lord. 

[Exit  Polonius. 
O,  my  offence  is  rank,  it  smells  to  heaven ; 
It  hath  the  primal  eldest  curse  upon't, 
A  brother's  n)urder ! — Pray  can  1  not, 
i  ttough  inclination  be  as  sharp  as  will; 


My  stronger  guilt  defeats  my  strong  intent; 
And,  like  a  man  to  double  business  bound, 
I  stand  in  pause  where  I  shall  first  begin, 
And  both  neglect.    What  if  this  cursed  hand 
Were  tliicker  than  itself  with  brother's  blood? 
Is  there  not  rain  enough  in  the  sweet  heavenB, 
To  wash  it  white  as  snow  ?  Whereto  serves  vuemf. 
But  to  confront  the  visage  of  offence  ? 
And  what's  in  prayer,  but  this  two-fold  force,— 
To  be  forestalled,  ere  we  come  to  fall, 
Orpardon'd,  being  down?  Tlien  I'll  look  up; 
1  My  fault  is  past.   But  O,  what  form  of  nrayer 
I  Can  serve  ray  turn?  Forgive  me  my  foul  murder!-* 
i  That  cannot  be  ;  since  I  am  still  possess'd 
i  Of  those  effects  for  which  I  did  the  murder  ? 
{  My  crown,  mine  own  ambition,  and  my  queen. 
■  May  one  be  pardon'd,  and  retain  the  olfence  ? 
^  In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this  world. 
Offence's  gilded  hand  may  shove  by  justice; 
And  oft  'tis  seen,  the  wicked  prize  itself 
Buys  out  the  law  :  But  'tis  not  so  above  : 
There  is  no  shuffling,  there  the  action  lies 
In  his  true  nature;  and  we  ourselves  compell'd. 
Even  to  the  teeth  and  forehead  of  our  faults, 
To  g'ive  in  evidence.    What  then  ?  what  rests  ? 
Try  what  repentance  can :  What  can  it  not  ? 
Yet  what  can  it,  when  one  can  not  repent? 
O  wretched  state  !  O  bosom,  black  as  death  1 
O  limed  soul,  that,  struggling  to  be  free, 
1  Art  more  engag'd  !  Help,  angels,  make  assay ! 
j  Bow,  stubborn  knees!  and,  heart,  with  strings  of 
I  steel, 

j  Be  soft  as  sinews  of  the  new-born  babe  ! — 
1  All  may  be  well !  {Retires,,  and  kneels.) 

Enter  Hamlet. 

Ham.  Now  might  I  do  it,  pat,  now  he  is  praying; 
And  now  I'll  do't ; — and  so  he  goes  to  heaven : 
And  so  am  I  reveng'd?  That  would  be  scannd: 
A  villain  kills  my  father;  and,  for  that, 
I,  his  sole  son,  ao  this  same  villain  send 
To  heaven. 

Why,  this  is  hire  and  salary,  not  revenge. 
He  took  my  father  grossly,  full  of  bread  ; 
With  all  his  crimes  broad  blown,  as  flush  as  May : 
And,  how  his  audit  stands,  who  knows,  save  heaven  r 
But,  in  our  circumstance  and  course  of  thought, 
'Tis  heavy  with  him :  And  am  I  then  reveng'd, 
To  take  him  in  the  purging  of  his  soul, 
When  he  is  fit  and  season'd  for  his  passage  ? 
No. 

Up,  sword  ;  and  know  thou  a  more  hoTid  hent: 
When  he  is  drunk,  asleep,  or  in  his  rage; 
Or  in  the  incestuous  pleasures  of  his  bed  ; 
At  gaming,  swearing  ;  or  about  some  act 
That  has  no  relish  of  salvation  in't: 
Then  trip  him,  that  his  heels  may  kick  at  heaven: 
And  that  his  soul  may  be  as  damn'd,  and  black. 
As  hell,  whereto  it  goes.    My  mother  stays: 
This  physic  but  prolongs  thy  sickly  day%  [Esit, 

The  King  rises,  and  advancet. 

King.  My  words  fly  up,  my  thoughts  remain 
below: 

Words,  without  thought,  never  to  heaven  go.  [Exit, 
Scene  IV. — Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Queen  and  Polonius. 
Pol.  He  will  come  straight.    Look  you,  lay  home 
to  him ; 

Tell  him,  his  pranks  have  been  too  broad  to  bear 
with :  [tweea 
And  that  your  grace  hath  screen'd  and  stood  be- 
Much  heat  and  him.    I'll  silence  me  e'en  here. 
Pray  you,  be  round  with  him.' 

Queen.  I'll  warrant  yon; 

Fear  me  not ; — withdraw,  I  hear  him  coming. 

( Polonius  hides  him»§lf^ 


BCENE  3. 

Enttr  Hamlet. 

/lam.  Now.  mother ;  what's  the  matter  ? 
Queen,  Hamlet,  thou  hast  thy  father  much  of- 
fended. 

Ham.  Mother,  you  have  my  father  much  offended. 
Queen.  Come,  come,  you  answer  with  an  idle 
twngue. 

Ham.  Go,  go,  you  question  with  a  wicked  tongue. 

Queen.  Why,  how  now,  Hamlet? 

Ha7n.  What's  the  matter  now  ? 

Qjieen.  Have  you  forgot  me  ? 

Ham.  No,  by  the  rood,  not  so  : 

V  on  are  the  queen,  your  husband's  brother's  wife  ; 
A.nd, — 'would  it  were  not  sol — you  are  my  mother. 

Queen.  Nay,  then  I'ii  set  those  to  you  that  can 
speaL  [not  budge ; 

Ham.  Come,  come,  and  sit  you  down ;  you  shall 
You  go  not,  till  I  set  you  up  a  glass. 
Where  you  may  see  the  inmost  part  of  you. 

Queen.  What  wilt  thou  do  ?  thou  wilt  not  murder 
Help,  help,  ho!  [me? 

Pol.  [Behind.)  What  ho!  help! 

Ham.  How  now  !  a  rat?  [Draws.) 

Dead,  for  a  ducat,  dead. 

[Hamlet  makes  a  pass  throtigh  the  Arras:\ 

Pol.  {Behind.)  O,  I  am  slain.    [Falls  and  dies.)  | 

Queen.  O  me,  what  hast  thou  d^ne  ?  I 

Ham.  Nay,  I  know  not : 

[s  it  the  king? 
[Lifts  up  the  Arras,  and  draws  forth  Polonius.) 

Queen.  O,  what  a  rash  and  bloody  deed  is  this  ! 

Ha7n.  A  bloody  deed; — almost  as  bad,  good 
mother. 

As  kill  a  king,  and  marry  with  his  brother. 
Queen.  As  kill  a  king  ! 

Ham.  Ay,  lady,  'twas  my  word. — 

Thou  wretched,  rash,  intruding  fool,  farewell ! 

[To  Polonius.) 
I  took  thee  for  thy  better ;  take  thy  fortune: 
'I'hou  find'st,  to  be  too  busy,  is  some  danger.— 
lieave  wringing  o^  your  hands :  Peace  ;  sit  you 
down, 

And  let  me  wring  your  heart:  for  so  I  shall, 
If  it  be  made  of  penetrable  stuff ; 
If  damned  custom  hath  not  braz'd  it  so. 
That  it  be  proof  and  bulwark  against  sense. 

Queen.  What  have  I  dune,  that  thou  dar'st  wag 
thy  tongue 
In  noise  so  rude  against  me? 

Ham.  Such  an  act. 

That  blurs  the  grace  and  blush  of  modesty; 
Calls  virtue,  hypocrite  ;  takes  off  the  rose 
From  the  fair  forel'iead  of  an  innocent  love, 
And  sets  a  blister  there  ;  makes  marriage  vows 
As  false  as  dicers'  oaths  :  O,  such  a  deed 
As  from  the  body  of  contraction  plucks 
The  very  soul ;  and  sweet  religidn  makes 
A  rhapsody  of  words  :  Heaven's  face  doth  glow; 
Vea,  this  solidity  and  compound  n«ass. 
With  tristful  visage,  as  against  the  doom, 
Is  thought-sick  at  the  act. 

Queen.  Ah  me,  what  act, 

That  roars  so  loud,  and  thunders  in  the  index  ? 

Ham.  Look  here,  upon  this  picture,  and  on  this; 
The  counterfeit  presentment  ot  two  brothers. 
See,  what  a  grace  was  seated  on  this  brow : 
Hyperion's  curls  ;  the  front  of  Jove  himself; 
An  eye  like  Mars,  to  threaten  and  command  ; 
A  station  like  the  herald  Mercury, 
New-lighted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill; 
A  combination,  and  a  form,  indeed,^ 
Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man:  [follows. 
This  was  your  husband. — Look   you  now  what 
Here  is  your  husband  ;  like  a  mildew'd  ear. 
Blasting  his  wholesome  brother.    Have  you  eyes? 
Could  you  on  this  fair  mountain  leave  to  feed. 
And  batten  on  this  moor?  Ha!  have  you  eyes? 
Vou  canDot  caii  it,  love :  for  at  your  age. 


759 

The  hey-day  in  the  blood  is  tame,  it's  humble. 
And  waits  upon  the  judgment ;  and  what  judgmeut 
Would  step  from  this  to  this  ?  Sense,  sure,  you  have, 
Else  could  you  not  have  motion  :  But,  sure,  that  seoa* 
Is  apoplex'd  :  for  madnv.'ss  would  not  err; 
Nor  sense  to  ecstasy  was  ne'er  so  thrall'd. 
But  it  reserv'd  some  quantity  of  choice. 
To  serve  in  such  a  difference.    What  dev'I  was'i 
That  thus  hath  cozen'd  you  at  hood  man-blind? 
Eyes  without  feeling,  feeling  without  sight. 
Ears  without  hands  or  eyes,  smelling  sans  all, 
Or  but  a  sickly  part  of  one  true  sense 
Could  not  so  mope. 

O  shame  !  where  is  thy  blush  ?  Rebellious  hell. 

If  thou  canst  mutine  in  a  matron's  bones. 

To  tlaming  youth  let  virtue  be  as  wax. 

And  melt  in  her  own  fire  ;  proclaim  no  shame. 

When  the  compulsive  ardour  gives  the  charge; 

Since  frost  itself  as  actively  doth  burn 

And  reason  panders  will. 

Queen.  O  Hamlet,  speak  no  more  : 

Thou  turn'st  mine  eyes  into  my  very  soul ; 
And  there  I  see  such  black  and  grained  spots. 
As  will  not  leave  their  tinct. 

Ham.  Nay,  but  to  live 

In  the  rank  sweat  of  an  enseamed  bed  ; 
Stew'd  in  corruption  ;  honeying,  and  making  love 
Over  the  nasty  stye  ; — 

Queen.  O,  speak  to  me  no  more  ; 

These  words,  like  daggers,  enter  in  mine  ears ; 
No  more,  sweet  Hamlet. 

Ham.  A  murderer,  and  a  villain; 

A  slave,  that  is  not  twentieth  part  the  tythe 
Of  your  precedent  lord  : — a  vice  of  kings  : 
A  cutpurse  of  the  empire  and  the  rule; 
That  from  a  shelf  the  precious  diadem  stole. 
And  put  it  in  his  pocket  I 

Queen.  No  more. 

Enter  Ghost. 

Ham.  A  king; 

Of  shreds  and  patches  :— 
Save  me,  and  hover  o'er  me  with  your  wings. 
You  heavenly  guards! — What  would  your  gracioua 
figure  ? 

Queen.  Alas  !  he's  mad. 

Ham.  Do  you  not  come  your  tardy  son  to  chide, 
That,  laps'd  in  time  and  passion,  let's  go  by 
The  important  acting  of  your  dread  command? 
O, say  f 

Ghost.  Do  not  forget:  This  visitation 
Is  but  to  whet  thy  almost  blunted  purpose. 
Bui,  look  !  amazement  on  thy  mother  sits: 
O,  step  between  her  hnd  her  fighting  soul ; 
Conceit  in  weakest  bodies  strongest  works  ; 
Speak  to  her,  Hamlet. 

Ham.  How  is  it  with  you,  lady  ? 

Queen.  Alas,  how  is't  with  you  ? 
That  you  do  bend  your  eye  on  vacancy. 
And  with  the  incorporal  air  do  hold  discourse? 
Forth  at  your  eyes' your  spirits  wildly  peep  ; 
And,  as  the  sleeping  soldiers  in  the  alarm. 
Your  bedded  hair,  like  life  in  excrements. 
Starts  up,  and  stands  on  end,    O  gentle  son, 
Upon  the  heat  and  flame  of  thy  distemper 
Sprinkle  cool  patience.    Whereon  do  you  look  ] 

Ham.  On  him  I  on  him ! — Look  you,  how  pale 
he  glares  I 

His  form  and  cause  conjoin'd,  preaching  to  stoneai 

Would  m;ike  them  capable. — Do  not  look  upon  met 

Lest  with  this  piteous  action,  you  convert 

My  stern  eftects :  then  what  I  have  to  do 

Will  want  true  colour  ;  tears,  perchance,  for  bloo<L 

Queen.    To  whom  do  you  t>peak  this  ? 

Ham.  Do  you  see  nothing  there? 

Queen.  Nothing  at  all;  yet  all,  that  is,  I  see. 

Ham.  Nor  did  you  nothmg  hear? 

Queen.  No,  nothmg,  but  ourselves. 

Ham.  Why,  look  you  there !  look*  how  it  steala 
awayi 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


HAMLET. 


Ac-  TY 


My  father,  in  his  habit  as  he  liv'd ; 

Look,  where  he  goes,  even  now,  out  at  the  portal ! 

[Exit  Ghost. 

Queen.  This  is  the  very  coinage  of  your  brain : 
This  bodiless  creation  ecstasy 
Is  very  cunning  in. 

Ham.  Ecstasy ! 
My  pulse,  as  yours,  doth  temperately  keep  time. 
And  makes  as  healthful  music  :  It  is  not  madness. 
That  I  have  utter'd  :  bring  me  to  the  test, 
And  I  the  matter  will  re- word  ;  which  madness 
VV  ;uld  gambol  from.    Mother,  for  love  of  grace, 
Lay  not  that  flattering  unction  to  your  soul, 
1'hat  not  your  trespass,  but  my  madness,  speaks: 
It  wilt  but  skin  and  fihn  the  ulcerous  place  ; 
Whiles  rank  corruption,  mining  all  within. 
Infects  unseen.    Confess  yourself  to  heaven  ; 
Repent  what's  past;  avoid  what  is  to  come; 
And  do  not  spread  the  compost  on  the  weeds. 
To  make  them  ranker.    Forgive  me  this  my  virtue : 
For  in  the  fatness  of  these  pursy  times. 
Virtue  itself  of  vice  must  pardon  beg; 
Yea,  curb  and  woo,  for  leave  to  do  him  good. 

Queen.  O  Hamlet!  thou  hast  cleft  ray  heart  in 
twain. 

Ham.  O,  throw  away  the  worser  part  of  it, 
And  live  the  purer  with  the  other  half. 
Good  night:  but  go  not  to  my  uncle's  bed ; 
Assume  a  virtue,  if  you  have  it  not. 
That  monster,  custom,  who  all  sense  doth  eat 
Of  habit's  devil,  is  angel  yet  in  this; 
That  to  the  use  of  actions  fair  and  good 
Ke  likewise  gives  a  frock,  or  livery, 
Tliat  aptly  is  put  on:  Reirain  to-night: 
And  that  shall  lend  a  kind  of  easiness 
To  the  next  abstinence  :  the  next  more  easy  : 
For  use  almost  can  change  the  stamp  of  nature, 
And  either  cuib  the  devil,  or  throw  him  out 
With  wondrous  potency.    Once  more,  good  night; 
And  when  you  are  desirous  to  be  bless'd, 
I'll  blessing  beg  of  you. — For  this  same  lord, 

{Pointing  to  Polonius.) 
I  do  repent :  But  heaven  hath  pleas'd  it  so, — 
To  punish  me  with  this,  and  this  with  me, 
That  I  must  be  their  scourge  and  minister. 
I  wi  1  bestow  him,  and  will  answer  well 
The  death  I  gave  him.    So,  again,  good  night! — 
I  must  be  cruel,  only  to  be  kind  : 
Tluis  bad  begins,  and  worse  remains  behind. — 
But  one  word  more,  good  lady. 

Queen.  ^  What  shalll  do  ? 

Ham.  Not  this,  by  no  means,  that  I  bid  you  do  : 
Let  tlie  bloat  king  tempt  you  again  to  bed  : 
Pinch  wanton  on  your  cheek ;  call  you,  his  mouse ; 
And  let  him,  for  a  pair  of  reechy  kisses, 
Or  paddling  in  your  neck  with  his  damn'd  fingers. 
Make  you  to  ravel  all  this  matter  out, 
That  I  essentially  am  not  in  madness. 
But  mad  in  craft.    'Twere  good,  you  let  him  know  : 
For  who,  that's  but  a  queen,  fair,  sober,  wise, 
Would  from  a  i  addock,  from  a  bat,  a  gib, 
Such  dear  concernings  hide?  who  would  do  so? 
No,  in  despite  of  sense  and  secrecy. 
Unpeg  the  basket  on  the  house's  top, 
Let  the  birds  (ly  ;  and,  like  the  famous  ape, 
To  try  conclusions,  in  the  basket  creep. 
And  break  your  own  neck  down.  [breath, 

Queen.  Be  thou  assur'd,  if  words  be  made  of 
And  breath  of  life,  I  have  no  life  to  breathe 
What  thou  hast  said  to  me. 

Ham.  I  must  to  England  ;  you  know  that  ? 

Queen.  Alack, 
I  had  forgot ;  'tis  so  concluded  on. 

Ham.  There's  letters  seal'd  :  and  my  two  school- 
fellows,— 

VV^hom  I  will  trust,  as  I  will  adders  fang'd, — 

They  bear  the  mandate  ;  they  must  sweep  my  way. 

And  marshal  me  to  knavery  ;  Let  it  work; 

For  'tis  the  sport,  to  have  the  engineer 

Hoist  with  his  own  petar  :  and  it  shall  go  hard, 


But  I  will  delve  one  yard  below  tlieir  mines. 
And  blow  them  at  the  moon :  O,  'tis  most  swee^ 
When  in  one  line  two  crafts  directly  meet. — 
This  man  shall  set  me  packing. 
I'll  lug  the  guts  into  the  neighbour  room  : 
Mother,  good  night. — Indeed,  this  counsellor 
Is  now  most  still,  most  secret,  and  most  grav». 
Who  was  in  life  a  foolish  prating  knave. 
Come,  sir,  to  draw  toward  an  end  with  you: 
Good  night,  mother. 

[Exeunt  severally;  Hamlet  dragging  JR 
Polonius. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  I.— The  same. 
Enter  King,  Queen.,  Rosencrantz,  and 

GUILDENSTERN. 

King.  There's  matter  in  these  sighs;  these  pm 
found  heaves 
You  must  translate  ;  'tis  fit  we  understand  them : 
Where  is  your  son  ? 

Queen.  Bestow  this  place  on  us  a  little  while.— 
( To  Rosencrantz  and  Guildemtern,  who  go  out,) 
Ah,  my  good  lord,  what  hav  e  I  seen  to-night ! 

King.  \Vhnt,  Gertrude  ?  How  does  Hamlet  ? 

Queen.  Mad  as  the  sea,  and  wind,  when  both  cob 
tend 

Which  is  the  mightier :  In  his  lawless  fit. 
Behind  the  anas  hearing  somethinjj  stir. 
Whips  out  his  rapier,  cries,  A  rat!  a  rati 
And,  in  thin  brainish  apprehension,  kills 
The  imseen  good  old  man. 

King.  O  heavy  deed  ! 

It  had  been  so  with  us,  had  we  been  there  : 
His  liberty  is  full  of  threats  to  all  ; 
To  you  yourself,  to  us,  to  every  one. 
Alas  !  how  shall  this  bloody  deed  be  answer'd  ? 
R  will  be  laid  to  us,  whose  providence 
Should  have  kept  short,  restrain'd,  and  out  of  haunt. 
This  mad  young  man  ;  but,  so  much  was  our  love, 
We  would'  not  understand  what  was  most  fit; 
But,  like  the  owner  of  a  foul  disease, 
To  keep  it  from  divulging,  let  it  feed, 
Even  on  the  pith  of  life.    Where  is  he  gone? 

Queen.  To  draw  apart  the  body  he  hath  kiU'd : 
O'er  whom  his  very  madne.ss,  like  some  ore, 
Among  a  mineral  of  metals  base, 
Shews  itself  pure  ;  he  weeps  for  what  is  done 

King.  O,  Gertrude,  come  away! 
The  sun  no  sooner  shall  the  mountains  touch, 
But  we  will  ship  him  hence  :  and  this  \iie  deed 
We  must,  with  all  our  majesty  and  skill, 
Both  countenance  and  excuse. — Ho;  CJuildenstevn! 

Enter  Rosencrantz  and  Guilden stern. 

Friends  both,  go  join  you  with  some  further  aid  ; 
Hamlet  in  madness  hath  Polonius  slain. 
And  from  his  mother's  closet  hath  he  dragg'd  him  • 
Go,  seek  him  out ;  speak  fair,  and  bring  the  body 
Into  the  chapel.    I  pray  you,  haste  in  this. 

{Exeunt  Ros.  and  QuU, 
Come,  Gertrude,  we'll  call  up  our  wisest  friends; 
And  let  them  know,  both  wliat  we  mean  to  do, 
And  what's  untimely  done:  so,  haply,  slander  — 
Whose  whisper  o'er  the  world  s  diameter. 
As  level  as  the  cannon  to  his  blank, 
Transports  his  poison'd  shot, — may  miss  our  natiMj, 
And  hit  the  vronndless  air. —  O  come  away  ! 
My  soul  is  full  of  discord,  and  dismay.  {ExetmL 

Scene  II. — AnotherRoom  in  the  House. 
Enter  Hamlet. 
Ham.  Safely  stow'd, — [Ros.  ^c.  within.  Ham- 
let!  lord  Hamlet!)  But  soit,— what  noise?  wha 
calls  on  H.imlet?  O,  here  they  come. 

Enter  Rosencrantz  and  Guildens  teriw. 

Ros.  What  have  you  done,  my  \ordj  with  thfl 
dead  body  ? 


Scene  4. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


7C1 


jSam.  Corapounded  it  with  dust,  whereto 'tis  kin. 
Ros.  Tell  us  where  'tis ;  that  we  may  take  it  thence, 
Ajid  bear  it  to  the  chapel. 
Ham.  Do  not  believe  it. 
Itos.  Believe  what? 

Hatn.  Tiiat  I  can  keep  your  counsel,  and  not 
piine  own.  Besides,  to  be  demanded  of  a  sponge  ! 
r-  what  replication  should  be  made  by  the  son  of  a 
king:  ? 

Mos.  Take  you  me  for  a  sponge  my  lord  ? 
.  Ham.  Ay,  sir;  that  soaks  up  the  king's  counte- 
nance, his  rewards,  ills  authorities.  But  such  olB- 
cers  do  the  king  best  service  in  the  end  :  He  keeps 
them,  like  an  ape,  in  the  corner  of  his  jaw ;  first 
mouthed,  to  be  last  swallowed :  When  he  needs 
what  you  have  gleaned,  it  is  but  squeezing  you,  and, 
spong-e,  you  shall  be  dry  again. 

Ros.  I  understand  you  not,  my  lord. 

Hatn.  I  am  glad  of  it:  A  knavish  speech  sleeps 
in  a  foolish  ear. 

Ros.  My  lord,  you  must  tell  us  where  the  body 
is,  and  go  with  us  to  the  king. 

Ham.  The  body  is  with  the  king,  but  the  king  is 
not  with  tlie  body.    The  king  is  a  thing — 

Gull.  A  thing,  my  lord? 

Ham.  Of  nothing :  bring  me  to  him.  Hide  fox, 
and  all  after.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  HI. — Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  King,  attended. 

King.  I  have  sent  to  seek  him,  and  to  find  the 
body. 

How  dangerous  is  it,  that  this  man  goes  loose  ? 
Yet  must  not  we  put  the  strong  law  on  him : 
He's  lov'd  of  the  distracted  multitude, 
Who  like  not  in  their  judgment,  but  their  eyes  ; 
And,  where  'tis  so,  the  offender's  scourge  is  weigh'd, 
But  never  the  offence.  To  bear  all  smooth  and  even, 
This  sudden  sending  him  away  must  seem 
Deliberate  pause  :  Diseases,  desperate  grown. 
By  desperate  appliance  are  reliev'd, 

Enter  Rosen  crantz. 

Or  not  at  all. — How  now  ?  what  hath  befallen  ? 

Ros.  Where  the  dead  body  is  bestow'd,  my  lords. 
We  cannot  get  from  him. 

King.  But  where  is  he  ? 

Ros.  Without,  my  lord ;  guarded,  to  know  your 
pleasure. 

King.  Bring  him  before  us. 

Ros.  Ho,  Guildenstern  !  bring  in  my  lord. 

Enter  Hamlet  and  Guildenstern. 

King.  Now,  Hamlet,  where*s  Polonius? 

Ham.  At  supper. 

King.  At  supper  ?  where  ? 

Ham.  Not  where  he  eats,  but  where  he  is  eaten  ; 
a  certain  convocation  of  politic  worms  are  e'en  at 
him.  Your  worm  is  your  only  emperor  for  diet : 
we  fat  all  creatures  else,  to  fat  us  ;  and  we  fat  our- 
selves for  maggots  :  Your  fat  king,  and  your  lean 
beggar,  is  but  variable  service ;  two  dishes,  but  to 
one  table  ;  that's  the  end. 

King.  Alas  !  alas  ! 

Ham.  A  man  may  fish  with  the  worm  that  hath 
eat  of  a  king;  and  eat  of  the  fish  that  hath  fed  of 
that  worm. 

Ki7ig.  What  dost  thou  mean  by  this  ? 

Ha7n.  Nothing,  but  to  shew  you  how  a  king  may 
go  a  progress  tlirou^h  the  guts  of  a  beggar. 

King.  Where  is  Polonius  ? 

Ham.  In  heaven;  send  thither  to  see :  if  your 
messenger  find  him  not  there,  seek  him  i'the  other 
place  yourself  But,  indeed,  if  you  find  him  not 
within  tiiis  month,  you  shall  nose  him  as  you  go  up 
the  stairsi  into  the  lobby. 

King.  Go  se^k  him  tliere.    {To  some  Attendants.) 

Ham  He  will  stay  till  you  come. 

[Exeunt  Attendants. 


King.  Hamlet,   this  deed,  for   thine  ei?pecial 
safety, — 

Which  we  do  tender,  as  we  dearly  grieve 

For  that  which  thou  hast  done, — must  send  the-.e  hence 

With  fiery  quickness  :  Therefore,  prepare  thyself; 

The  bark  is  ready,  and  the  wind  at  help, 

I'he  associates  tend,  and  every  thing  is  rent 

For  England. 

Ham.  For  England  ? 

King.  Ay,  Hamlet 

Ham.  Good 

King.  So  is  it,  if  thou  knew'st  our  purposes. 

Ham.  I  see  a  cherub,  that  sees  them. — But,  come ; 
for  England  ! — Farewell,  dear  mother. 

King.  Thy  loving  father,  Hamlet. 

Ham.  My  mother;  Father  and  mother  ia  maa 
and  wife;  man  and  wife  is  one  flesh;  an^  so,  my 
mother.    Come,  for  England.  [Exit. 

King.  Follow  him  at  foot ;  tempt  him  with  speed 
aboard  ; 

Delay  it  not,  I'll  have  him  hence  to-night : 

Away  :  for  every  thing  is  seal'd  and  done 

That  else  leans  on  the  afiair:  Pray  you,  make  haste. 

[Exeunt  Ros.  and  Guil. 
And,  England,  if  my  love  thou  hold'st  at  aught, 
(As  my  great  power  thereof  may  give  thee  secse  ; 
csince  yet  thy  cicatrice  looks  raw  and  red 
After  the  Danish  sword,  and  thy  free  awe 
Pays  homage  to  us,)  thou  may'st  not  coldly  set 
Our  sovereign  process;  which  imports  at  full. 
By  letters  conjuring  to  that  effect, 
The  present  death  of  Hamlet.    Do  it,  England  ; 
For  like  the  hectic  in  my  blood  he  rages, 
And  thou  must  cure  me :  Till  I  know  'tis  done, 
Howe'er  my  haps,  my  joys  will  ne'er  begin.  [Exit, 

Scene  IV. — A  Plain  in  Demnark. 
Enter  Fortinbras,  a7td  Forces,  marching. 
For.  Go,  captain,  from  me  greet  the  Danish  king ; 
Tell  him,  that,  by  his  licence,  Fortinbras 
Craves  the  conveyance  of  a  promis'd  march 
Over  his  kingdom.    You  know  the  rendezvous. 
If  that  his  majesty  would  aught  with  us. 
We  shall  express  our  duty  in  his  eye. 
And  let  him  know  so. 

Cap.  I  will  do'tj  my  lord. 

For.  Go  softly  on. 

[Exeunt  Fortinbras  and  Forceg* 

Enter  Hamlet,  Rosencrantz, 
Guildenstern,  ^c. 

Ham.  Good  sir,  whose  powers  are  these  ? 

Cap.  They  are  of  Norway,  sir. 

Ham.  How  purpos'd,  sir, 

I  pray  you  ? 

Cap.  Against  some  part  of  Poland. 

Ham.  Who 
Commands  them,  sir  ? 

Cap.  The  nephew  to  old  Norway,  Fortiubras. 

Ham.  Goes  it  against  the  main  of  Poland,  sir. 
Or  for  some  frontier  ?  _ 

Cap.  Truly  to  speak,  sir,  and  with  no  additio 
We  go  to  gain  a  little  patch  of  ground. 
That  hath  in  it  no  profit  but  the  name. 
To  pay  five  ducats,  five,  I  would  not  farm  it; 
Nor  will  it  yield  to  Norway,  or  the  Pole, 
A  ranker  rate,  should  it  be  sold  in  fee. 

Ham.  Why,  then  the  Polack  never  will  defend  it. 

Cap.  Yes,  'tis  already  garrison'd.  [ducats. 

Ham.  Two  thousand  souls,  and  twenty  thousana 
Will  not  debate  the  question  of  this  straw: 
This  is  the  imposthume  of  much  wealth  and  peace; 
That  inward  breaks,  and  shews  no  cause  withoot 
Why  the  man  dies.— I  humbly  thank  you,  sir. 

Cap.  God  be  wi'  you,  sir.  [Exii. 

Ros.  Wiirt  please  yoi)  go,  my  lord? 

Ham.  I  will  be  with  you  straig/it.    Go  a  little 
before.  [Exeunt  Ros.  and  GutL 

How  all  occasions  do  inform  against  me. 
And  spur  ray  dull  revenge !  What  is  a  maia# 


T62 

If  his  ch'ef  good,  and  market  of  his  time, 
Be  but  to  sleep,  and  feed  ?  a  beast,  no  more. 
Sure,  he,  that  made  us  with  such  large  discourse, 
Looking  b«'fore,  and  after,  gave  us  not 
That  capaljility  and  godlike  reason 
To  fust  in  us  unus'd.    Now,  vvhether  it  be 
Bestial  oblivion,  or  some  craven  scruple 
Of  thinking  too  precisely  on  the  event, — 
A  thought,  which,  quarter'd,  hath  but  one  part 
wisdom, 

And,  ever,  three  parts  coward, — I  do  not  know 

Why  yet  1  live  to  say,  This  thing's  to  do; 

Sith  1  have  cause,  and  will,  and  strength,  and  means. 

To  do't.    Examples,  gross  as  earth,  exhort  me : 

Witness,  this  army  of  such  mass,  and  charge. 

Led  by  a  delicate  and  tender  prince; 

Whose  spirit,  with  divine  ambition  puflF'd, 

Makes  months  at  the  invisible  event; 

Exposing  what  is  mortal,  and  unsure. 

To  all  that  fortune,  death,  and  danger  dare, 

Even  for  an  egg-shell.    Rightly  to  be  great, 

I^,  not  to  stir  without  great  argument; 

But  greatly  to  find  quarrel  in  a  straw, 

vVhen  honour  s  at  the  stake.    How  stand  I  then. 

That  have  a  father  kill'd,  a  mother  stain'd, 

Excitements  of  my  reason,  and  my  blood. 

And  let  all  sleep?  while,  to  my  shame,  I  see 

The  imminent  death  of  twenty  thousand  men, 

That,  for  a  fantasy,  and  trick  of  fame, 

Go  to  their  graves  like  beds;  fight  for  a  plot 

Whereon  the  numbers  cannot  try  the  cause. 

Which  is  not  tomb  enough,  and  continent. 

To  hide  the  slain  ? — 0,  trom  this  time  forth. 

My  thoughts  be  bloody,  or  be  nothing  worth  !  [Exit. 

Scene  V. — Elsinore.    A  Boom  in  the  Castle. 
Enter  Queen  and  HoRATlO. 

Quee7t.  — I  will  not  speak  with  her. 

Hoi:  She  is  importunate;  indeed,  distract; 
iler  mood  will  needs  be  pitied. 

Queen.  What  would  she  have  ? 

Hor.  She  speaks  much  of  her  father;  says,  she 
hears,  [heart ; 

There's  tricks  i'the  world  ;  and  hems,  and  beats  her 
Spurns  enviously  at  straws  ;  speaks  things  in  doubt, 
That  carry  but  half  sense  :  her  speech  is  nothing. 
Yet  the  unshaped  use  of  it  doth  move 
The  hearers  to  collection  ;  they  aim  at  it. 
And  botch  the  words  up  fit  to  their  own  thoughts  ; 
Which,  as  her  winks,  and  nods,  and  gestures  yield 
them. 

Indeed  would  make  one  think,  there  might  be 
thought. 

Though  nothing  sure,  yet  much  unhappily. 

Queen.  'Twere  good  she  were  spoken  with  ;  for 
she  may  strew 
Dangerous  conjectures  in  ill-breeding  minds ; 
Let  her  come  in.  [Exit  Horatio. 

To  my  sick  soul,  as  sin's  true  nature  is, 
Each  toy  seems  prologue  to  some  great  amiss: 
So  full  of  artless  jealousy  is  guilt. 
It  spills  itself  in  fearing  to  be  spilt. 

Re-enter  Horatio,  with  Ophelia. 
Oph.  Where  is  the  beauteous  majesty  of  Den- 
Queen.  How  now,  Ophelia  ?  [mark? 
Oph.  Hoiv  should  I  your  true  love  know  [Sings.) 
From  another  one  ? 
By  his  cockle  hat  and  staff, 
And  his  sandal  shoonl 
Queen.  Ala\i,  sweet  lady,  what  imports  this  song  ? 
Opk.  Say  you  'i*  nay,  pray  you,  mark. 

He  7  f  dead  and  gone,  lady,  (Sings.) 

He  is  dead  and  gone  ; 
At  his  head  a  grass-green  turf, 
At  his  heels  a  stone. 

0,ho! 

Queen.  Nay,  but  Ophelia, — 

Oph.  Pra^  you,  mark. 

While  his  shroud  as  the  mountain  snow,  {Sinqs.) 


Act  it, 

Enter  King, 
Queen.  Alas,  look  here,  my  lord. 
Oph.      Larded  all  with  s  weet  Jiowers  ; 
Which  bewept  to  the  grave  did  go. 
With  true  love  showers. 
King.  How  do  you,  pretty  lady? 
Oph.  VVell,  God'ield  you!    They  say,  the 
was  a  baker's  daughter.    Lord,  we  know  what  we 
are,  but  know  not  what  we  may  be.    God  be  al 
your  table  ! 

King.  Conceit  upon  her  father. 
Oph.  Piay,  let  us  have  no  words  of  this ;  but 
when  they  ask  you  what  it  means,  say  yon  this  : 

Good  morrow^  'tis  Saint  Valentine's  day, 

All  in  the  morning  betime, 
And  I  a  maid  at  your  window 

To  be  your  Valentine : 
Then  up  he  rose.,  and  don'd  his  clothes, 

And  dupp'd  the  chamber  door  : 
Let  in  the  maid,  that  out  a  maid 
t^ever  departed  more. 
King.  Pretty  Ophelia  !  [on't : 

Oph.  Indeed,  without  an  oath,  I'll  make  an  end 
By  Gis,  and  by  saint  Charity, 

A  lack,  and Jy  for  shame  I 
Young  men  ivill  do't,  if  they  come  td't ; 

By  cock,  they  are  to  blame. 
Quoth  she,  before  you  tumbled  me, 
You  promts' d  me  to  wed: 
(He  answers,) 
So  ivould  I  ha'  done,  by  yonder  sun, 
An  thou  hadst  not  come  to  my  bed. 
King.  How  long  hath  sh<^  been  thus  ? 
Oph.  I  hope,  all  will  be  well.    We  must  be  pa- 
tient: but  I  cannot  choose  but  weep,  to  think,  they 
should  lay  him  i'the  cold  ground:  My  brottier  shall 
know  of  it,  and  so  I  thank  you  for  your  good  coun- 
sel.   Come,  my  coach!  Good  night,  ladies:  good 
night,  sweet  ladies ;  good  night,  good  night.  {Exit. 
King.  Follow  her  close;  give  her  good  watch,  1 
pray  you.  {Ekit  Horatio. 

O  !  this  is  the  poison  of  deep  grief;  it  springs 
All  from  her  father's  death  :  And  now  behold, 
O  Gertrude,  Gertrude, 

When  sorrows  come^  they  come  not  single  spies. 
But  in  battalions  !  First,  her  father  slain; 
Next,  your  son  gone  ;  and  he  most  violent  author 
Of  his  own  just  remove  :  The  people  muddied, 
Thick    and   unwholesome  in  their  thoughts  and 
whispers,  (greenly, 
For  good  Polonius'  death  ;  and  we  have  done  bul 
In  hugger-mugger  to  inter  him  :  Poor  Ophelia 
Divided  from  herself,  and  her  fair  judgment : 
Without  the  which  we  are  pictures,  or  mere  beasts. 
Last,  and  as  much  containing  as  all  these. 
Her  brother  is  in  secret  come  from  France; 
Feeds  on  his  wonder,  keeps  himself  in  clouds. 
And  wants  not  buzzers  to  infect  his  ear 
With  pestilent  speeches  of  his  father's  death; 
Wherein  necessity,  of  matter  beggar  d, 
Will  nothing  stick  our  person  to  arraign 
In  ear  and  ear.    O  my  dear  Gertrude,  this. 
Like  to  a  murdering  piece,  in  many  places 
Gives  me  superfluous  death.        \A  noise  within.) 

Queen.  Alack !  what  noise  is  this  ? 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

King.  Attend : 
Where  are  my  Switzers  ?  Let  them  guard  the  door : 
What  is  the  maiker  ? 

Gent.  Save  yourself,  my  lord ; 

The  ocean,  overpeering  of  his  list, 
Eats  not  the  flats  with  more  impetuous  haste. 
Than  young  Laertes,  in  a  riotous  head, 
O'erbears  your  officers  !  The  rabble  call  him,  lord  ; 
And.  as  the  world  were  now  but  to  begin. 
Antiquity  forgot,  custom  not  known, 
The  ratifiers  and  props  of  every  word. 
They  cry,  Choose  we ;  Laertes  shall  be  king  \ 
Caps,  hands,  and  tongues,  applaud  it  to  the  cloudj). 


IIAMLET, 


Scene  (5. 


PRINCE  OF  DENjVIARK. 


761 


haertes  shall  he  hing^  Laertes  king 

Queen.  How  cheerfully  on  the  false  trail  they  cry  ! 
O,  this  is  counter,  you  lalse  Danish  dogs. 

King.  The  doors  are  broke.        {Noise  within.) 

Enter  Laertes,  armed;  Danes  following. 
.   Laer.  Whei  e  is  this  king  ? — Sirs,  stand  you  all 

Van.  No,  let's  come  in.  _  [without. 

^  Laer.  I  pray  you,  give  n»e  leave, 

f  Dan.  We  will,  we  will. 

{They  retire  without  the  door.) 

Laer.  1  thank  you  : — keep  the  door. — O  thou  vile 
Give  me  my  father.  [king, 

Queen.  Calmly,  good  Laertes. 

Laer.  That  drop  of  blood,  that's  calm,  proclaims 
me  bastard ; 
Cries,  cuckold,  to  my  father ;  brands  the  harlot 
Even  here,  between  the  chaste  unsmirched  brow 
Of  my  true  mother. 

King.  What  is  the  cause,  Laertes, 

That  thy  rebellion  looks  so  giant- like? — 
Let  him  go,  Gertrude  ;  do  not  fear  our  person  ^ 
There's  such  divinity  doth  hedge  a  king. 
That  treason  can  but  peep  to  what  it  would, 
^Acts  little  of  his  will. — Tell  me,  Laertes, 
Why  thou  art  thus  incens'd? — Let  him  go,  Ger- 
Speak,  man.  [trude  •— 

Laer.  Where  is  ray  father  ? 

King.  Dead. 

Queen.  But  not  by  him. 

King.  Let  him  demand  his  fill.  [with  : 

Laer.  How  came  he  dead  ?  I'll  not  be  juggled 
To  hell,  allegiance  !  vows,  to  the  blackest  devil ! 
Conscience,  and  grace,  to  the  profoundest  pit ! 
I  dare  damnation :  To  this  point  I  stand, — 
That  both  the  worlds  I  give  to  negligence. 
Let  come  what  comes  ;  only  I'll  be  reveng'd 
Most  throughly  for  my  father. 

King.  Who  shall  stay  you  ? 

Laer.  My  will,  not  all  the  world's  : 
And,  for  my  means,  I'll  husband  them  so  well 
They  shall  go  far  with  little. 

King.  Good  Laertes, 

If  you  desire  to  know  the  certainty 
Of  your  dear  father's  death,  it's  writ  in  your  revenge. 
That,  sweepstake,  you  will  draw  both  friend  and  foe, 
Winner  and  loser  ? 

Laer.  None  but  his  enemies. 

King.  Will  you  know  them  then  ? 

Laer.  To  his  'good  friends  thus  wide  I'll  ope  niy 
arms ; 

And,  like  the  kind  life-rend'ring  pelican. 
Repast  them  with  my  blood. 

King.  Why,  now  you  speak 

Like  a  good  child,  and  a  true  gentleman. 
That  I  am  guiltless  of  your  father's  death, 
And  am  most  sensibly  in  grief  for  it, 
It  shall  as  level  to  your  judgment  'pear. 
As  day  does  to  your  eye. 

Danes.  {Within.)        Let  her  come  in. 

Laer.  How  now  !  what  noise  is  that  ? 

Enter  OviiEiAX,  fantastically  dressed  with  straws 

and  flowers. 
O  heat,  dry  up  my  brains  !  tears,  seven  times  salt, 
Burn  out  the  sense  and  virtue  of  mine  eye  ! — 
By  heaven,  thy  madness  shall  be  paid  with  weight 
Till  our  scale  turn  the  bea'm.    O  rose  of  May  1 
r)ear  maid,  kind  sister,  sweet  Ophelia! — 
O  heavens !  is't  possible,  a  young  maid's  wits 
Should  be  as  mortal  as  an  old  man's  life  ? 
Nature  is  fine  in  love  :  and,  where  'tis  fine, 
It  sends  some  precious  instance  of  itself 
After  the  thing  it  loves. 

Oph.   They  bore  him  barefaced  on  the  bier  ; 

Hey  no  nonny,  nonny  hey  nonny  : 
And  in  his  grave  rain'd  many  a  tear  ;— 
Fare  you  well,  my  dove  !  [revenge, 

Laer.  Hadst  thou  thy  wits,  aad  didst  persuade 
It  could  not  move  thus. 


Oph.  Yon  must  sing,  Dotvn  a-down,  nn  ym  call 
him  a-down  a.    O,  how  the  wheel  becomes  it!  14 
is  the  false  steward,  that  stole  his  master's  daughter. 
Laer.  This  nothing's  more  than  matter. 
Oph.  There's  rosemary,  that's  for  remembrance 
pray  you,  love,  remember:  and  there  is  pansies, 
that's  for  thoughts. 

Laer.  A  document  in  madness;  thoughts  and 
remembrance  fitted. 

Oph.  There's  fennel  for  you,  and  columbines  i 
there's  rue  for  you  ;  and  here's  some  for  me  : — wa 
may  call  it,  herb  of  grace  o'Sundays : — you  ma 
wear  your  rue  with  a  diflerence. — There's  a  dais 
— I  would  give  you  some  violets ;  but  they  wither 
all,  when  my  father  died :  They  say,  he  made 
good  end, — 

For  bonny  sweet  Robin  is  all  my  joy,  (Sings.) 
Laer.  Thought  and  affliction,  passion,  hell  itscJf, 
She  turns  to  favour,  and  to  prettiness. 

Oph.  And  will  he  not  come  again?       {Singt  ) 
And  will  he  not  come  again  ? 
No,  no,  he  is  dead, 
Go  to  thy  death- bed. 
He  never  will  come  again. 

His  beard  ivos  as  white  as  snow. 
All  flaxen  was  his  poll : 
He  is  gone,  he  is  gone, 
And  we  cast  away  moan  ; 
God  'a  mercy  on  his  soul ! 
And  of  all  christian  souls!  I  pray  God.    God  l» 
wi'  you  !  [Exit  Ophelia, 

Laer.  Do  you  see  this,  O  God  ! 
King.  Laertes,  I  must  commune  with  your  grief. 
Or  you  deny  me  right.    Go  but  apart, 
Make  choice  of  whom  your  wisest  iriends  you  will. 
And  they  shall  hear  and  judge  'twixt  you  and  naes 
If  by  direct  or  by  collateral  hand 
They  find  us  touch'd,  we  will  our  kingdom  give, 
Our  crown,  our  life,  and  all  that  we  call  ours. 
To  you  in  satisfaction  ;  but,  if  not. 
Be  you  contwit  to  lend  your  patience  to-us. 
And  we  shall  jointly  labour  with  your  soul. 
To  give  it  due  content. 

Laer.  Let  this  be  so; 

His  means  of  death,  his  obscure  funeral, — 
No  trophy,  sword,  nor  hatchment,  o'er  his  boneSy 
No  noble  rite,  nor  formal  ostentation, — 
Cry  to  be  heard,  as  'twere  from  heaven  to  earth. 
That  I  must  call't  in  question. 

King.  So  you  shall ; 

And,  where  the  offence  is,  let  the  great  axe  fall. 
I  pray  you,  go  with  me.  »  [Exeufd, 

Scene  VI. — Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Horatio,  and  a  Servant. 
Hor.  What  are  they,  that  would  speak  with  me  ? 
Serv.  Sailors,  sir ; 

They  say,  they  have  letters  for  you. 
Hor.  Let  them  come  in. 

[Exit  Servant, 
I  do  not  know  from  what  part  of  the  world 
I  should  be  greeted,  if  not  from  lord  Hamlet. 

Enter  Sailors, 

1  Sail.  God  bless  you,  sir. 

Hor.  Let  him  bless  thee  too. 

1  Sail.  He  shall,  sir,  an't  please  him.  There's  a 
letter  for  you,  sir;  it  comes  from  the  ambassador 
that  was  bound  for  England ;  if  your  name  be  Ho- 
ratio, as  I  am  let  to  know  it  is. 

Hor.  {Reads.)  Horatio,  when  thou  shalt  have 
overlooked  this,  give  these  fellows  some  means  to 
the  king  ;  they  have  letters  for  him.  Ere  we  were 
two  days  old  at  sea,  a  pirate  of  very  warlike  ap- 
pointment gave  us  chase :  Finding  ourselves  too 
slow  of  sail,  we  put  on  a  comjpelled  valour  ;  and 
in  the  grapple  I  boarded  them  :  on  the  instant,  the^ 
gut  clear  of  our  ship  ;  so  I  alone  became  their  prt' 
soner.  They  have  dealt  ici^h  me  like  thieves  of 
mercy  ;  but  they  knew  what  they  did;  J  am  to  do 


T64 


HAMLET, 


Act  1Y; 


a  good  turn  for  ihem.  Let  the  Icing  have  the  letters 
I  nave  sent;  and  repair  thou  to  me  with  as  much 
haste  as  thou  would'st  tiy  death.  I  have  words  to 
speak  in  thine  ear,  will  make  thee  dumb  ;  yet  are 
they  much  too  light  for  the  bore  of  the  matter. 
These  good  fellows  will  bring  thee  where  I  am. 
Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern  hold  their  course 
for  England;  of  thetn  I  have  much  to  tell  thee. 
Farewell. 

He  that  thou  knoivest  thine,  Hamlet. 
Come,  I  will  give  you  way  for  these  your  letters  ; 
And  do't  the  speedier,  that  you  may  direct  me 
To  him,  from  whom  you  brought  them.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  VII. — Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  King  and  Laertes. 
King.  Now  must  your  conscience  my  acqurt- 
tance  seal, 

And  you  must  put  me  in  your  heart  for  friend ; 
Sith  you  have  heard,  and  with  a  knowing  ear. 
That  he,  which  hath  your  noble  father  slain, 
Pursa'd  my  life. 

Laer.  It  well  appears  : — But  tell  me, 

Why  you  proceeded  not  against  these  feats. 
So  crimeful  and  so  capital  in  nature, 
As  by  your  safety,  greatness,  wisdom,  all  things 
You  mainly  were  stirr'd  up.  [else. 

King.  O,  for  two  special  reasons  ; 

Which  may  to  you,  perhaps,  seem  much  unsinew'd, 
But  yet  to  me  they  are  strong.    The  queen,  his 
mother, 

Lives  almost  by  his  looks;  and  for  myself, 
(My  virtue,  or  my  plague,  be  it  either  which,) 
She  is  so  conjunctive  to  my  life  and  soul, 
That,  as  the  star  moves  not  but  in  his  sphere, 
I  could  not  but  by  her.    The  other  motive. 
Why  to  a  public  count  I  might  not  go, 
is,  the  great  love  the  general  gender  bear  him  : 
Who,  dipping  all  his  faults  in  their  affection, 
Work  like  the  spring  tliat  turneth  wood  to  stone, 
Convert  his  gyves  to  graces;  so  that  my  arrows. 
Too  slightly  timber'd  for  so  loud  a  wind. 
Would  have  reverted  to  my  bow  again, 
And  not  where  I  had  aim'd  tiiem. 

Laer.  And  so  have  I  a  noble  father  lost; 
A  sister  driven  into  desperate  terms; 
Whose  worth,  if  praises  may  go  back  again. 
Stood  challenger  on  mount  of  all  the  age 
For  her  perfections :  But  my  revenge  will  come. 

King.  Break  not  your  sleeps  for  that  :  you  must 
not  think, 

That  we  are  made  of  stuff  so  flat  and  dull. 
That  we  can  let  our  beard  be  shook  with  danger, 
And  think  it  pastime.    You  shortly  shall  hear  more : 
I  loved  your  father,  and  we  love  oorself  j 
And  that,  I  hope,  will  teach  you  to  imagine, — 
How  now?  what  news  ? 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Letters,  tny  lord,  from  Hamlet: 

This  to  your  majesty;  this  to  the  queen. 

King.  From  Hauilet !  Who  brought  them  ? 

Mess.  Sailors,  my  lord,  they  say  :  I  saw  them  not ; 
They  were  given  me  by  Claudio,  he  receiv'd  them 
Of  fiiui  that  brought  them. 

tiing.  Laertes,  you  shall  hear  them  : 

Leave  us.  [Exit  Messenger. 

[Reads  )  High  and  mighty ,  you  shall  know,  I  am 
set  naked  on  your  kingdom.  To-morrow  shall 
I  beg  leave  to  see  your  kingly  eyes  :  when  I  shall, 
first  asking  your  pardon  thereunto,  recount  the 
occasion  of  my  suadt  n  and  more  strange  return. 

Hamlet. 

What  should  this  mean  ?    Are  all  the  rest  come 
back  ? 

Or  is  it  some  abuse,  and  no  such  thing  ? 
jLaer.  Know  you  the  hand  ? 

Ring.  'Tis  Hamlet's  character.    Naked, — 

And,  in  a  postscript  here,  he  says,  alone  : 
Cau  ytm  advise  me  ? 


Laer.  T  am  lost  in  it,  my  lord.  But  let  hka  COttMy 

It  warms  the  very  sickness  in  my  heart, 
That  I  shall  live  and  tell  him  to  his  teeth. 
Thus  diddest  thou. 

King.  If  it  be  so,  Laertes, 

As  how  should  it  be  so?  how  otherwise  ?— 
Will  you  be  rul'd  by  me  ? 

Laer.  Ay,  my  lord; 

So  you  will  not  o'er-rule  me  to  a  peace. 

King.  To  thine  own  peace.    If  he  be  now  re- 
turn'd, — 

As  checking  at  his  voyage,  and  that  he  raeana 
No  more  to  undertake  it, — I  will  work  hira 
To  an  exploit,  now  ripe  in  my  device, 
Under  the  which  he  shall  not  choose  hut  fall : 
And  for  his  death  no  wind  of  blame  shall  broathe; 
But  even  his  mother  shall  uncharge  the  practice. 
And  call  it,  accident. 

Laer.  My  lord,  I  will  be  rul'd. 

The  rather,  if  you  could  devise  it  so, 
That  I  might  be  the  organ. 

King.  It  falls  right 

You  have  been  talk'd  of  since  your  travel  much. 
And  that  in  Hamlet's  hearing,  for  a  quality 
Wherein,  they  say,  yoa  shine :  your  sum  of  parts 
Did  not  together  pluck  such  envy  from  hira, 
As  did  that  one  ;  and  that,  in  my  regard. 
Of  the  unworthiest  siege. 

Laer.  Wliat  part  is  that,  my  lord  ? 

King.  A  very  ribband  in  the  ciip  of  youth, 
Yet  needful  too  ;  for  youth  no  less  becomes 
The  light  and  careless  livery  that  it  wears, 
Than  settled  age  his  sables,  and  his  weeds. 
Importing  health  and   graveness. — Two  moutha 
since. 

Here  was  a  gentleman  of  Normandy, — 

I  have  seen  myself,  and  serv'd  against,  the  French, 

And  they  can  well  on  horseback  :  but  tiiis  gallant 

Had  witchcraft  in't;  he  grew  unto  his  seat ; 

And  to  such  wond'rous  doing  brouglit  his  horse, 

As  he  had  been  incorps'd  and  detni-natur'd 

With  the  brave  beast :  so  far  he  topp'd  my  thought, 

That  I,  in  forgery  of  shapes  and  tricks, 

Come  short  oif  what  he  did. 

Laer,  A  Norman,  was't? 

King.  A  Norman. 

Laer.  Upon  my  life,  Lamord. 

King.  The  very  same. 

Laer.  I  know  him  well :  he  is  the  brooch,  io- 
And  gem  of  all  the  nation.  [deed, 

King.  He  made  confession  of  you ; 
And  gave  you  such  a  masterly  report. 
For  art  and  exercise  in  your  defence. 
And  for  your  rapier  most  especial, 
That  he  cried  out,  'twould  be  a  sight  indeed. 
If  one  could  match  you :  the  scrimers  of  theii 
nation. 

He  swore,  had  neither  motion,  guard,  nor  eye. 
If  you  oppos  d  them  :  Sir,  this  report  of  his 
Did  Hamlet  so  envenom  with  his  envy, 
Tliat  he  could  nothing  do,  but  wish  and  beg 
Your  sudden  coming  o'er,  to  play  with  you. 
Now,  out  of  this, — 

Laer.  What  out  of  this,  my  lord? 

King.  Laertes,  was  your  father  dear  to  you 
Or  are  you  like  the  painting  of  a  sorrow, 
A  face  without  a  heart  ? 

Laer.  Why  ask  you  this  ? 

King.  Not  that  I  thiak,  you  did  not  love  yoM 
father; 

But  that  1  know,  love  is  begun  by  time  ; 

And  that  I  see,  in  passages  of  proof, 
Time  qualities  the  spark  and  fire  of  it. 
There  lives  within  the  very  flame  of  love 
A  kind  of  wick,  or  snufl',  that  will  abate  ii; 
And  nothing  is  at  a  like  goodness  stills 
For  goodness,  growing  to  a  pleurisy, 
Dies  in  his  own  too  much:  That  we  would  do. 
We  should  do  when  we  woul-. ' ;  for  this  would 
changes. 


Act  y.    Scene  1. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


765 


And  hath  a  atements  and  delays  as  many, 

As  there  are  tongues,  are  hands,  are  accidents  ; 

And  then  this  should  is  like  a  spendthrift  sigh, 

That  hurts  by  easing.    But,  to  the  quick  o'the  ulcer : 

Hamlet  conies  back;  What  would  you  undertake, 

To  shew  yourself  indeed  your  fathers'  son 

More  than  in  words  ? 

haer.  To  cut  his  throat  i'the  church. 

Kimj.  No  place,  indeed,  should  murder  sanc- 
tnarize ; 

Revenge  should  have  no  bounds.  But,  good  Laertes, 
VV^ill  you  do  this,  keep  close  within  your  chamber: 
Hamlet,  return'd,  shall  know  you  are  come  home  : 
We'll  ()ut  on  those  shall  praise  your  excellence. 
And  set  a  double  varnish  on  the  fame 
Tiie  Frenchman  gave  you;  bring  you,  in  fine,  to- 
gether. 

And  wager  o'er  your  heads  :  he,  being  remiss, 
Most  generous,  and  free  from  all  contriving, 
"^A^ill  not  peruse  the  foils;  so  that,  with  ease. 
Or  with  a  little  shuffling,  you  may  choose 
A  sword  unbated,  and,  in  a  pass  of  practice. 
Requite  him  for  your  father. 

Laer.  I  will  do't : 

And,  for  the  purpose,  I'll  anoint  my  sword. 
I  bought  an  unction  of  a  mountebank, 
So  mortal,  that,  but  dip  a  knife  in  it. 
Where  it  draws  blood,  no  cataplasm  eo  rare. 
Collected  from  all  simples  that  have  virtue 
Under  the  moon,  can  save  the  thing  from  death. 
That  is  but  scratch'd  withal :  Til  touch'  my  point 
With  this  contagion  ;  that,  if  I  gall  him  slightly, 
ft  any  be  death. 

K  ing.  Let's  further  think  of  this  ; 

Weigh,  what  convenience,  both  of  time  and  means, 
May  fit  us  to  our  shape:  if  this  should  fail. 
And  that  our  drift  look  through  our  bad  performance.^ 
'Tvvere  better  not  assay 'd  ;  therefore  this  project. 
Should  have  a  back,  of  second,  that  might  hold. 
If  this  should  blast  in  proof.    Soft ; — let  me  see  : — 
We"ll  make  a  solenin  wager  on  your  cunnings, — 
I  ha't: 

When  in  your  motion  you  are  hot  and  dry, 
(As  make  your  bouts  more  violent  to  that  end,) 
And  that  he  calls  for  drink,  I'll  have  preferr'd  him 
A  chalice  for  the  nonce;  whereon  but  sipping. 
If  he  by  chance  escape  your  venom'd  stuck. 
Our  purpose  may  hold  there.  But  stay,  what  noise  ? 

Enter  Queetu 
How  now,  sweet  queen  ? 

Queen.  One  woe  doth  tread  upon  another's  heel, 
So  fast  they  follow : — Your  sister's  drowu'd,  Laertes. 

Laer.  Drown'd  !  O  where  ? 

Queen.  'I'here  is  a  willow  grows  ascauat  the  brook. 
That  shews  his  hoar  leaves  in  the  glassy  stream; 
Tlierewitii  fantastic  garlands  did  she  make 
Of  crow  flowers,  nettles,  daisies,  and  long  purples. 
That  liberal  shepherds  give  a  grosser  name, 
But  our  cold  maids  do  dead  men's  fingers  call  them : 
There  on  the  pendent  boughs  her  coronet  weeds 
Clambering  to  hang,  an  envious  sliver  broke  ; 
When  down  her  weedy  trophies,  and  herself, 
Fell  in  the  weeping  brook.  Her  clothes  spread  wide; 
And,  mermaid-like,  awhile  they  bore  her  up: 
Which  time,  she  chanted  snatches  of  old  tunes  : 
As  one  incapable  of  her  own  distress. 
Or  like  a  creature  native  and  indn'd 
Unto  that  element :  but  long  it  could  not  be, 
'J'ill  that  lier  garments,  heavy  with  their  drink, 
Pull'd  the  poor  wretch  from  her  melodious  lay 
To  muddy  death. 

Laer.  Alas  then,  she  is  drown'd  ? 

Queen.  Drown'd,  drown'd. 

X«er.Too  much  of  water  hast  thou,  poor  Ophelia, 
And  therefore  1  forbid  my  tears  :  But  yet 
It  is  our  trick  ;  nature  her  custom  holds. 
Let  shame  say  what  it  will :  when  these  are  gone. 
The  woman  will  be  out. — Adieu,  my  lord  ! 
I  have  a  speech  of  fire,  that  fain  would  blaze. 


But  that  this  folly  drowns  it.  (fiVt/ 

King.  Let's  follow,  Gertiode  ; 

How  much  I  bad  to  do  to  calm  his  rage  ! 
Now  fear  I,  this  will  give  it  start  again; 
Therefore,  let's  follow.  [Exeunt 

ACT  V. 

Scene  I.— A  Churchyard. 
Enter  Tivo  Clowns^  with  spades,  §Cc, 

1  Clo.  Is  she  to  be  buried  in  christian  burial,  that 
wilfully  seeks  her  own  salvation? 

2  do.  I  tell  thee,  she  is ;  therefore  make  her 
grave  straight :  the  crowner  hath  set  on  her,  and 
finds  it  christian  burial. 

1  Clo.  How  can  that  be,  unless  she  drowned  her- 
self in  her  own  defence  ? 

2  Clo.  Why,  'tis  lound  so. 

1  Clo.  It  must  be  se  offendendo  ;  it  cannot  be  else, 
Fo"  here  lies  the  point :  If  I  drown  niyself  wit- 
tingly, it  argues  an  act :  and  an  act  hath  three 
branches  ;  it  is,  to  act,  to  do,  and  to  perform  :  Argal, 
she  drowned  herself  wittingly. 

2  Clo.  Nay,  but  hear  you,  goodman  delver 

1  Clo.  Give  me  leave.  Here  lies  the  water;  good: 
here  stands  the  man  ;  good  :  If  the  man  go  to  tbe 
water,  and  drown  himself,  it  is,  will  he,  nill  he,  he 
goes  ;  mark  you  that :  but  if  the  water  come  to  him, 
and  drown  him,  he  drowns  not  himself :  Argal,  he, 
that  is  not  guilty  of  his  own  death,  shortens  not  his 
own  life. 

2  Clo.  But  is  this  law  ? 

1  Clo.  Ay,  marry  is't;  crowner's-quest  law. 

2  Clo.  Will  you  ha'  the  truth  on't  ?  If  this  had  not 
been  gentlewoman,  she  should  have  been  buried  out 
of  christian  burial. 

1  Clo.  Why,  there  thou  say'st  :  and  the  more 
pity,  that  great  folks  shall  have  countenance  in  this 
world  to  drown  or  hang  themselves,  more  than  theit 
even  christian.  Come,  my  spade.  There  is  no  an- 
cient gentlemen  but  gardeners,  ditchers, and  grave- 
makers  ;  they  hold  up  Adam's  profession. 

S  Clo.  Was  be  a  gentleman  ? 

1  Clo.  He  was  the  first  that  ever  bore  arms. 

2  Clo.  Why,  he  had  none. 

1  Clo.  What,  art  a  heathen  ?  How  dost  thou  un- 
derstand the  scripture?  The  scripture  says,  Adam 
digged  : Could  be  dig  without  arms?  I'll  put  anothei 
question  to  thee  :  if  thou  answerest  me  not  to  the  pur- 
pose, confess  thyself — 

2  Clo.  Go  to.' 

1  Clo.  What  is  he,  that  builds  stronger  than  either 
the  mason,  the  shipwright,  or  the  carpenter  ? 

2  Clo.  The  gallows- maker  ;  for  that  frame  outlives 
a  thousand  tenants. 

1  Clo.  I  like  thy  wit  well,  in  good  faith;  the 
gallows  does  well  :  But  how  does  it  well  ?  it  does 
well  to  those  that  do  ill:  now  than  dost  ill,  to  say,  the 
gallows  is  built  stronger  than  the  church:  argal,  the 
gallows  may  do  well  to  thee.    To't  again ;  come. 

2  Clo.  Who  builds  stronger  than  a  mason,  a  ship 
Wright,  or  a  carpenter  ? 

1  Clo.  Ay,  tell  me  that,  and  anyoke* 

2  Clo.  Marry,  now  I  can  teil. 

1  Clo.  To't. 

2  Clo.  Mass,  I  cannot  tell. 

Enter  Hamlet  and  Horatio,  at  a  distance 

1  Clo.  Cudgel  thy  brains  no  more  about  it;  for  your 
dull  ass  will  not  mend  his  pace  with  beating :  and 
when  you  are  asked  this  question  next,  say,  a  grave- 
maker  ;  the  houses  that  he  makes,  last  till  doomsday. 
Go,  get  thee  to  Yaughan,  and  fetch  me  a  stoup  o 
liquor.  [  Exit  2  Clown. 

(1  Clotvn  digs,  and  sings*) 
In  youth.,  when  I  did  love,  did  love, 

Methought.  it  tvas  very  sweet. 
To  contract,  0,  the  time,  for,  ah,  my  behoV9, 
0  meihought,  there  ivas  nothing  meet.. 


HAMLET, 


Act  V. 


Ham,  Has  this  fellow  no  feeling  of  his  business  ? 
he  siogs  at  grave-making. 

Hor.  Ciistcm  hath  made  it  in  him  a  property  of 
easiness. 

Ham.  'Tis  e'en  so :  the  hand  of  little  employment 
hath  the  daintier  sense. 
1  Clo.  But  age,  with  his  stealing  steps,  {Sings.) 
Hath  clatv'd  me  in  his  clutch, 
And  hath  shipped  me  into  the  land. 
As  if  £  had  never  been  such. 

{Throws  up  a  skull.) 
Ham.  That  skull  had  a  tongue  in  it,  and  could  sing 
once  :  How  the  knave  jowls  it  to  the  ground,  as  if  it 
were  Cain's  jaw-bone,  that  did  the  first  murder! 
This  might  be  the  pate  of  a  politician,  which  this  ass 
now  o'er-reaches ;  one  that  would  circumvent  God, 
might  it  not? 

Hor.  It  might,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Or  of  a  courtier;  which  could  say,  Good- 
morrow,  sweet  lord!  How  dost  thou,  good  lord? 
This  might  be  my  lord  such-a-one,  that  praised  my 
lord  such-a-one's  horse,  when  he  meant  to  beg  it; 
mi^^ht  it  not? 

ttor.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Why,  e'en  so :  and  now  my  lady  Worm's ; 
chapless,  and  knocked  about  the  mazzard  with  a 
sexton's  spade:  Here's  fine  revolution,  and  we  had 
the  trick  to  see't.  Did  these  bones  cost  no  more  the 
breeding,  but  to  play  at  loggats  with  them  ?  mine 
ache  to  thi^ik  on't. 

1  Clo.  A  pick-axe,  and  a  spade,  a  spade,  {Sings.) 
For — and  a  shrouding  sheet : 
0,  a  pit  of  clay  for  to  be  made 
For  such  a  guest  is  meet. 

{Throws  up  a  skull.) 

Ham.  There's  another :  Why  may  not  that  be  the 
skull  of  a'lawyer?  Where  be  his  qtiiddits  now,  his 
quillets,  his  cases,  his  tenures,  and  iiis  tricks?  why 
does  he  suffer  this  rude  knave  now  to  knock  hitn 
about  the  sconce  with  a  dirty  shovel,  and  will  not  tell 
him  of  his  action  of  battery ?  Humph!  This  fellow 
might  be  in's  time  a  great  buyer  of  land,  with  his 
statutes,  his  recognizances,  his  fines,  his  double  vou- 
.^hers,  his  recoveries:  Is  this  the  fine  of  his  fines, 
and  the  recovery  of  his  recoveries,  to  have  his  fine 
pate  full  of  fine  dirt?  will  his  vouchers  vouch  hiui  no 
more  of  his  purchases,  and  double  ones  too,  than  the 
length  and  breadth  of  a  pair  of  indentures  ^  The 
very  conveyances  of  his  lands  will  hardly  lie  in  this 
bos; ;  and  must  the  inheritor  himself  have  no  more  ? 
ha? 

Hor.  Not  a  jot  more,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Is  not  parchment  made  of  sheep-skins? 

Hor.  Ay,  my  lord,  and  calves-skins  too. 

Ham.  They  are  sheep,  and  calves,  which  seek  out 
assurance  in  that.  I  will  speak  to  this  fellow : — 
Whose  grave's  this,  sirrah  ? 

1  Clo.  Mine,  sir.— 

0,  a  pit  of  clay  for  to  he  made  {Sings.) 
For  .such  a  guest  is  meet. 

Ham.  I  think  it  be  thine,  indeed  ;  for  thou  liest  in't. 

1  Clo.  You  lie  out  on't,  sir,  and  therefore  it  is  not 
yours  :  for  my  part,  I  do  not  lie  in't,  yet  it  is  mine. 

Ham.  Thou  dost  lie  in't,  to  be  in't,  and  say  it  is 
hine  :  'tis  for  the  dead,  and  not  for  the  quick ;  there- 
fore thou  liest. 

1  Clo.  'Tis  a  quick  lie,  sir ;  'twill  away  again,  from 
one  o  you. 

Ham.  What  man  dost  thou  dig  it  for  ? 

I  Clo.  For  no  man,  sir. 

Ham.  What  woman,  then? 

J  Clo.  For  none,  neither. 

Ham.  Who  is  to  be  buried  in't? 

]  Clo.  One  that  was  a  woman,  sir ;  but,  rest  her 
soul ,  she's  dead. 

Ham.  How  absolute  the  knave  is !  we  must  speak 
by  the  card,  or  equivocation  will  undo  us.  By  the 
lord,  Horat'o,  these  three  years  I  have  taken  note  of 
al  ;  the  age  is  grown  so  picked,  that  the  toe  of  the 
peasant  oonies  so  near  the  heel  of  the  courtier,  he 


galls  his  kibe. — How  long  hast  thou  been  a  grare- 
maker  ? 

1  Clo.  Of  all  the  days  i'the  year,  I  came  to't  tfaa< 
day  that  our  last  king  Hamlet  overcame  Fortinbraa. 

Ham.  How  long's  that  since  ? 

1  Clo.  Cannot  you  tell  that?  every  fool  can  tell 
that:  It  was  that  very  day  that  young  Hamlet  wna 
born  :  he  that  is  mad,  and  sent  into  England. 

Ham.  Ay,  marry,  why  was  he  sent  into  England  ? 
^  ]  Clo.  Why,  because  he  was  mad  :  he  shall  recovei 
his  wits  there  ;  or,  if  he  do  not,  'tis  no  great  mattti 
there. 

Ham.  Why? 

1  Clo.  'Twill  not  be  seen  in  him  there ;  there  the 

men  are  as  mad  as  he. 

Ham.  How  came  he  mad  ? 

1  Clo.  Very  strangely,  they  say. 

Ham.  How  strangely  ? 

1  Clo.  'Faith,  e'en  with  losing  his  wits. 

Ham.  Upon  what  ground  ? 

1  Clo.  Why,  here  in  Denmark ;  I  have  been  sexton 
here,  man  and  boy,  thirty  years. 

Ham.  How  long  will  a  man  lie  i'the  earth  ere  he 
rot? 

1  Clo.  'Faith,  if  he  be  not  rotten  before  he  die,  (as 
we  have  many  pocky  corses  now-a  days,  that  will 
scarce  hold  the  laying  in,)  he  will  last  you  some 
eight  year,  or  nine  year:  a  tanner  will  last  you  nine 
year. 

Ham.  Why  he  more  than  another  ? 

1  Clo.  Why,  sir,  his  hide  is  so  tanned  with  his 
trade,  that  he  will  keep  out  water  a  great  while  ;  and 
yonr  water  is  a  sore  decayer  of  your  whoreson  dead 
body.  Here's  a  skull  now  hath  lain  you  i'the  earth 
three-and-twenty  years. 

Ham..  Whose  was  it  ? 

1  Clo.  A  whoreson  mad  fellow's  it  was ;  VVho9« 

do  you  think  it  was  ? 
Ham.  Nay,  I  know  not, 

1  Clo.  A  pestilence  on  him  for  a  mad  rogue !  he 
poured  a  flagon  of  Rhenish  on  my  head  once.  This 
same  skull,  sir,  was  Yorick's  skull,  the  king's  jester. 

Ham.  This?    {Takes  the  sk?dl.) 

1  Clo.  E'en  that. 

Ham.  Alas,  poor  Yorick ! — I  knew  him,  Horatio; 
a  fellovv  of  infinite  jest,  of  most  excellent  fancy  :  he 
hath  borne  tne  on  liis  back  a  thousand  times !  and  : 
now,  how  abhorred  in  my  imag-ination  it  is !  nly  gorge 
rises  at  it.  Here  hung  those  lips,  that  I  have  kissed 
I  know  not  how  oft.  Where  be  your  gibes  now  ? 
your  gambols?  your  songs?  your  flashes  of  merri- 
ment, that  were  wont  to  set  the  table  on  a  roar? 
Not  one  now,  to  mock  your  own  grinning  ?  quite 
chap-fallen?  Now  get  you  to  my  lady's  chamber, 
and  tell  her,  let  her  paint  an  inch  thick,  to  this  favour 
she  must  come ;  make  her  laugh  at  that. — Pr'ythee, 
Horatio,  tell  me  one  thing. 

Hor.  What's  that,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Dost  thou  think  Alexander  looked  o'thif 
fashion  i'the  earth? 

Hor.  E'en  so 

Ham.  And  smelt  so  ?  pah  ! 

{Throws  down  the  skull.) 

Hor.  E'en  so,  my  lord. 

Ham.  To  what  base  uses  we  may  return,  Horatio? 
Why  may  not  imagination  trace  the  noble  dust  of 
Alexander,  till  he  find  it  stopping  a  bung  hole  ? 

Hor.  'Twere  to  consider  too  curiously,  to  consider 
so. 

Ham.  No,  faith,  not  a  jot;  but  to  follow  him  thither 
with  modesty  enough,  and  likelihood  to  lead  it:  As 
thus;  Alexander  died,  Alexander  was  buried, 
Alexander  returneth  to  dust;  the  dust  is  earth;  ol 
earth  we  make  loam  :  And  why  of  that  loam,  whereto 
he  was  converted,  might  they  not  stop  a  beer- 
barrel  ? 

Imperious  Cassar,  dead,  and  turn'd  to  clay, 
Might  stop  a  hole  to  keep  the  wind  away : 
O,  that  the  earth,  which  kept  the  world  in  awe. 
Should  patch  a  wall  to  expel  the  winter's  flaw! 


Scene  2. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


767 


Biit  soft  I  but  soft!  aside  ! — Here  comes  the  king. 

Enter  Priests,        in  procession ;  the  Corpse  of 

Ophelia  ;  Laertes,  and  Movrners,  following  ; 

King,  Queen,  their  Trains,  §fc. 
The  queen,  the  courtiers :  Who  is  this  they  follow  ? 
And  with  such  maimed  rites!  This  doth  betoken, 
The  corse,  they  follow,  did  with  desperate  hand 
Fordo  its  own  life.  'Twas  of  some  estate . 
Couch  we  awhile,  and  mark. 

{Retiring  with  Horatio.) 

haer.  What  ceremony  else  ? 

Ham.  That  is  Laertes, 

A  very  noble  youth:  Mark. 

Laer.  What  ceremony  else? 

1  Priest.  Her  obsequies  have  been  as  far  enlarg'd 
As  we  have  warranty:  Her  death  was  doubtful ; 
And,  but  that  great  command  o'ersways  the  order. 
She  should  in  ground  unsanctified  have  lodg'd 
Till  the  last  trumpet:  for  charitable  prayers, 
Shards,  flints,  and  pebbles,  should  be  thrown  on  her: 
Yet  here  she  is  allowed  her  virgin  crants, 
Her  maiden  strewments,  and  the  bringing  home 
Of  bell  and  burial. 

Laer.  Must  there  no  more  be  done  ? 

1  Priest.  No  more  be  done ! 

We  should  profane  the  service  of  the  dead. 
To  sing  a  requiem.,  and  such  rest  to  her 
As  to  peace-parted  souls. 

Laer.  Lay  her  i'the  earth  ; — 

And  from  her  fair  and  unpolluted  fiesh, 
May  violets  spring! — I  tell  thee,  churlish  priest, 
A  minister'ing  angel  shall  my  sister  be, 
When  thou  liest  howling. 

Ham.  What,  the  fair  Ophelia  ! 

Queen.  Sweets  to  the  sweet:  Farewell ! 

{Scattering  fioivers.) 
I  hop'd  thou  should'st  have  been  my  Hamlet's  wife  ; 
I  thought,  thy  bride-bed  to  have  deck'd,  sweet  maid, 
And  not  have  strew'd  thy  grave. 

Laer.  O,  treble  woe 

Fall  ten  times  treble  on  that  cursed  head. 
Whose  wicked  deed  thy  most  ingenious  sense 
Depriv'd  thee  of! — Hold  off  the  earth  a  while. 
Till  I  have  caught  her  once  more  in  mine  arms : 

{Leaps  into  the  grave.) 
Now  pile  your  dust  upon  the  quick  and  dead ; 
Till  of  this  flat  a  mountain  you  have  made. 
To  o'ertop  old  Pelion,  or  the  skyish  head 
Of  blue  Olyiripus.  _ 

Ham.  {Advancing.)  What  is  he,  whose  grief 
Bears  sucn  an  emphasis  ?  whose  phrase  of  sorrow 
Conjures  the  wander'ing  stars,  and  makes  them 
stand 

liike  wonder- wounded  hearers?  this  is  I, 

Hamlet  the  Dane.  {Leaps  into  the  grave.) 

Laer.  The  devil  take  thy  soul ! 

{Grappling  with  him.) 

Ham.  Thou  pray'st  not  well. 
1  pr'ythee,  take  thy  fingers  from  my  throat; 
For,  though  I  am  not  splenetive  and  rash, 
\et  have  I  in  me  something  dangerous, 
VVhich  let  thy  wisdom  fear:  Hold  off  thy  hand. 

King.  Pluck  them  asunder. 

Queen.  Hamlet,  Hamlet! 

All.  Gentlemen, — 

Hor.  Good  my  lord,  be  quiet. 

{The  Attendants  part  them,  and  they  come 
out  of  the  grave.) 
Ham.  Why,  I  will  fight  with  him  upon  this  theme. 
Until  my  eyelids  will  no  longer  wag. 
Queen.  O,  my  son  !  what  theme  ? 
Ham.  I  lov'd  Ophelia;  forty  thousand  brothers 
Could  not,  with  all  their  quantity  of  love, 
Make  up  my  sum. — What  wilt  thou  do  for  her? 
King.  O.  he  is  mad,  Laertes. 
Queen.  For  love  of  God,  forbear  him. 
Ham.  'Zounds,  sliew  me  vvliat  thou'lt  do: 
Woul't  weep?  woul't  fight?  woul't  fast?  woul't  tear 
thyself? 


i  Woul't  drink  up  Esil  ?  eat  a  crocodile  ? 

I'll  do't. — ^.Dost  thou  come  here  to  whine  ? 

To  outface  me  with  leaping  in  her  grave  ? 
;  Be  buried  quick  with  her,  and  so  will  I  : 
'  And,  if  thou  prate  of  mountains,  let  them  tbr 
!  Millions  of  acres  on  us  ;  till  our  ground. 

Singeing  his  pate  against  the  burning  zone. 

Make  Ossa  like  a  wart!    Nay,  an  thou'lt  mouth, 

I'll  rant  as  well  as  thou. 

Queen.  This  is  mere  madne  ; 

And  thus  a  while  the  fit  will  work  on  him  • 
I  Anon,  as  patient  as  the  female  dove, 
j  When  that  her  golden  couplets  are  discWd, 
I  His  silence  will  sit  drooping. 
I     Ham.  Hear  you,  sir, 

What  is  the  reason  that  you  use  me  thus? 
!  I  lov'd  you  ever :  But  it  is  no  matter  ; 

Let  Hercules  himself  do  what  he  may. 

The  cat  will  mew,  and  dog  will 'have  his  day.  lExiS. 
King.  I  pray  thee,  good  Horatio,  wait  upon  him. — 
[Exit  Horatio. 

Strengthen  your  patience  in  our  last  night's  speech  : 

{To  Laertes.) 
We'll  put  the  matter  te  4he  present  pi:sh. — 
Good  Gertrude,  set  some  watch  over  your  son. — 
This  grave  shall  have  a  living  monument: 
An  hour  of  quiet  shortly  shall  we  see  ; 
Till  then,  in  patience  our  proceeding  be.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II.— J.  Hall  in  the  Castle. 

Enter  Hamlet  and  Horatio. 

Ham.  So  much  for  this,  sir:  now  shall  you  see  the 
other  ; — 

Yo  do  remember  all  the  circumstance  ? 

Hor.  Remember  it,  my  lord  ! 

Ham.  Sir,  in  my  heart  there  was  a  kind  of  fighting, 
That  would  not  let  me  sleep  :  methought,  I  lay 
Worse  than  the  mutines  in  the  bilboes.  Rashly, 
And  prais'd  be  rashness  for  it. — Let  us  know. 
Our  indiscretion  sometimes  serves  us  well. 
When  our  deep  plots  do  pall ;  and  that  should  teac^ 
us. 

There's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends. 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will. 

Hor.  ^      That  is  mosf  certaio. 

Ham.  Up  from  my  cabin, 
My  sea-gown  scarf'd  about  me,  iti  the  dark 
Grop'd  I  to  find  out  them :  had  my  desire ; 
Finger'd  their  packet;  and,  in  fine,  withdrew 
To  mine  own  room  again  :  making  so  bold. 
My  fears  forgetting  manners,  to  unseal 
Their  grand  commission  ;  where  I  found,  Horatio, 
A  royal  knavery;  an  exact  command, — 
Larded  with  many  several  sorts  of  reasons. 
Importing  Denmark's  health,  and  England's  too. 
With,  ho  !  such  bugs  and  goblins  in  my  life.— 
That,  on  the  supervise,  no  leisure  bated, 
No,  not  to  stay  the  grinding  of  the  axe. 
My  head  should  be  struck  off. 

Hor.  Is't  possible  ? 

Ham.  Here's  the  commission  .  read  it  at 
leisure. 

But  wilt  thou  hear  now  how  I  did  proceed  ? 
Hor.  Ay,  'beseech  you. 

Ham.  Being  thus  benetted  round  vvith  villanieg, 
Or  I  could  make  a  prologue  to  my  brains, 
They  had  begun  the  play  : — I  sat  me  down; 
Devis'd  a  new  commission  ;  wrote  it  fair  : 
I  once  did  hold  it,  as  our  statists  do, 
A  baseness  to  write  fair,  and  labour'd  much 
How  to  forget  that  learning:  but.  sir,  now 
It  did  me  yeoman's  service :  Wilt  thou  know 
The  effect  of  what  I  wrote  ? 

Hor.  Ay,  good  my  lord. 

Ham.  An  earnest  conjuration  from  the  king,~» 
As  England  was  his  faithful  tributary  ; 
As  love  between  them  like  the  palm  might  flourisli, 
As  peace  should  still  her  wheaten  garland  wear. 
And  stand  a  comma  'tween  their  amities; 


768 


HAMLET, 


Act  Y 


And  many  such  like  us's  of  great  charge, — 
That,  on  the  view  and  knowing  of  these  contents, 
Without  debatenient  further,  more,  or  less, 
He  should  the  bearers  put  to  sadden  death, 
Not  shriving-time  allow'd. 

Hor,  How  was  this  seal'd  ? 

Ham.  Why,  even  in  that  was  heaven  ordinant; 
I  had  my  father's  signet  in  my  purse, 
Which  was  the  model  of  that  Danish  seal : 
Folded  the  writ  up  in  form  of  the  other; 
Sabscrih'd  it ;   gave't  tlie  impression ;   plac'd  it 
safely. 

The  changeling  never  known:  Now,  the  next  day 
Was  our  sea-fi,3,ht:  and  what  to  this  was  sequent 
Thou  know'st  already. 

Hor.  So  Gnildenstern  and  Rosencrantz  go  to't. 

Ham.  Why,  man,  they  did  make  love  to  this 
employment; 
They  are  not  near  my  conscience  ;  their  defeat 
Does  by  their  own  insinuation  grow: 
'Tis  dangerous,  when  the  baser  nature  comes 
Between  the  pass  and  fell  incensed  points 
Of  mighty  opposites. 

Hor.  Why,  what  a  king  is  this  I 

Ham.  Does  it  not,  tiiinil  thee,  stand  me  now 
upon?  _  [ther; 

He,  that  hath  kill'd  my  king,  and  whor'd  my  mo- 
Popp'd  in  between  the  election  and  my  hopes ; 
Thrown  out  his  angle  for  niy  proper  life. 
And  with  '4ich  cozenage  ;  is't  not  perfect  conscience. 
To  quit  him  with  this  arm  ?  and  is't  not  to  be  damn'd. 
To  let  this  canker  of  our  nature  come 
Id  further  evil  ? 

Hor.  It   must  be  shortly  known  to  him  from 
England, 

What  is  the  issue  of  the  business  there. 

Ham.  It  will  be  short:  the  interim  is  mine; 
A-nd  a  man's  life's  no  more  than  to  say,  one. 
But  I  am  very  sorry,  good  Horatio, 
That  to  Laertes  I  iorgot  myself ; 
m  For  by  the  image  of  my  cause,  I  see 
The  portraiture  of  his  :  I'll  count  his  favours: 
But,  sure,  the  bravery  of  his  grief  did  put  me 
Into  a  towering  passion. 

Hor.  Peace ;  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  OsRic. 

Osr.  Your  lordship  is  right  welcome  back  to 
Denmark. 

Ham.  I  humbly  thank  you,  sir. — Dost  know  this 
water- tly  ? 
Hor.  No,  my  good  lord. 

Ham.  Thy  state  is  the  more  gracious;  for 'tis  a 
vice  to  know  him  :  He  hath  much  land,  and  fertile  ; 
let  a  beast  be  lord  oi'  beasts,  and  his  crib  shall  stand 
at  the  king's  mess :  'Tis  a  chough ;  but,  as  I  say, 
spacious  in  the  possession  of  dirt. 

Osr.  Sweet  lord,  if  your  lordship  were  of  leisure, 
I  should  lu!part  a  thin>;  to  you  from  his  majesty. 

Ham.  I  will  receive  it,  sir,  with  all  diligence  of 
.spirit:  Your  bonnet  to  his  right  use;  'tis  for  the 
Lead. 

Osr.  1  thank  your  lordship,  'tis  very  hot. 

Ham.  No,  believe  me,  'tis  very  cold ;  the  wind 
18  northerly. 

Osr.  It  is  indifferent  cold,  my  lord,  indeed. 

Ham.  But  yet,  methinks,  it  is  very  sultry  and 
liot ;  or  my  complexion — 

Our.  Exceedingly,  my  lord ;  it  is  very  sultry, — 
as  'twere, — I  cannot  tell  how. — My  lord,  his  ma- 
jesty bade  me  signify  to  you,  that  he  has  laid  a 
great  wager  on  your  head  :  Sir,  this  is  the  matter, — 

Ham.  I  beseech  you,  remember — 

{Hamlet  moves  him  to  put  on  his  hat.) 

Osr.  Nay,  good  niy  lord ;  for  my  ease,  in  good 
faith.  Sir,  here  is  newly  come  to  court,  Laertes: 
beliave  me,  an  absolute  gentleman,  full  of  most  ex- 
cellent differences,  of  very  soft  society,  and  great 
shewing;  Indeed,  to  speak  feelingly  of  him,  he  is 
the  card  or  calendar  of  gentry,  for  you  shall  find 


in  him  the  continent  of  what  part  a  gentletuao 
would  see. 

Ham.  Sir,  his  definement  suffers  no  perdition  is 
you  ; — though,  I  know,  to  divide  him  irsventorially, 
would  dizzy  the  arithmetic  of  memory;  and  yet  but 
raw  neither,  ivi  respect  of  his  quick  sail.  But,  in  the 
verity  of  extolment,  I  take  him  to  be  a  soul  of  great 
article  ;  and  his  infusion  of  such  dearth  and  rareness, 
as,  to  make  true  diction  of  him,  his  semblable  is  his 
mirror ;  and,  who  else  would  tra?ce  him,  his  umbrage, 
nothing  more. 

Osr.  Your  lordship  speaks  most  infallibly  of  hi:.**. 

Ham.  Tho  concernancy,  sir?  why  do  we  wrap 
the  gentleman  in  our  more  rawer  breath  ? 

Osr.  Sir? 

Hor.  Is't  not  possible  to  understand  in  anothei 
tongue?  You  will  do't,  sir,  really 

Ham.  What  imports  the  nomination  of  this  gen- 

Osr.  Of  Laertes  ?  [tiemau  ? 

Hor.  Hia  purse  is  empty  already ;  all  his  golden 
words  are  spent. 

Ham.  Of  him,  sir. 

Osr.  I  know,  you  are  not  ignorant — 

Ham.  I  would  you  did,  sir;  yet,  in  faith,  if  yon 

did,  it  would  not  much  approve  me  ; — Well,  sir. 
Osr.  You  are  not  ignorant  ol'  what  excellence 

Laertes  is — 

j  Ham.  I  dare  not  confess  that,  lest  I  should  com- 
;  pare  vvith  him  in  excellence ;  but,  to  know  a  man 

well,  were  to  know  himself. 
!     Osr.  I  mean,  sir,  lor  his  weapon ;  but  in  the  im- 
j  putation  laid  on  him  by  them,  in  his  meed  he's 
!  iiYifellowed. 

Ham.  What's  his  weapon  ? 
Osr.  Rapier  and  dagger. 
Ham.  That's  two  of  his  weapons:  but,  well. 
Ors.  Tiie  king,  sir,  hath  wagered  with  him  six 
{  Barbary  horses  :  againgt  the  which  he  has  impawned, 
j  as  I  take  it,  six  French  rapiers  and  poniards,  with 
their  assigns,  as  girdle,  hangers,  and  so:  Three  oj 
the  carriages,  in  faith,  are  very  dear  to  fancy,  very 
responsive  to  the  hilts,  most  delicate  carriages,  and 
1  of  very  liberal  conceit. 

Ham.  What  call  you  the  carriages  ? 
i     Hor.  I  knew,  you  must  be  edified  by  the  margent, 
ere  you  had  done. 

Osr.  'We  carriages,  sir,  are  the  hangers. 
Ham.  The  phrase  would  be  more  german  to  the 
matter,  if  we  could  carry  a  cannon  by  our  sides;  I 
would,  it  might  be  hangers  till  then.  But,  on:  Six 
Barbary  horses  against  six  French  swords,  their 
assigns,  and  three  liberal-conceited  carriages  ;  that's 
the  French  bet  against  the  Danish  :  Why  is  this  im- 
pawned, as  you  call  it  ? 

Osr.  The  king,  sir,  hath  laid,  that  in  a  doaen 
passes  between  yourself  and  him,  he  shall  not  ex- 
ceed you  three  hits;  he  hath  laid,  on  twelve  for 
nine ;  and  it  would  come  to  immediate  trial,  if  yoiur 
lordship  would  vouchsafe  tlie  answer. 
Ham.  How,  if  I  answer,  no  ? 
Osr.  I  mean,  my  lord,  the  opposition  of  your 
person  in  trial. 

Ham.  Sir,  I  will  walk  here  in  the  hall :   If  it 
please  his  majesty,  it  is  the  breathing  time  of  day 
!  with  me  ;  let  the  foils  be  brought,  the  gentleman 
■  willing,  and  the  king  hold  his  purpose,  I  will  win 
for  him,  if  I  can;  if  not,  I  wilJ  gain  nothing  but  my 
1  shame,  and  the  odd  hits, 
j     Osr.  Shall  I  deliver  you  so? 
!     Ham.  To  this  effect,  sir;  after  what  flourish  your 
nature  will. 

'     Osr.  I  commend  my  duty  to  your  lordship.  [ExiU 
Ham.  Yours,  yours. — He  does  well,  to  commend 

it  himself :  there  are  no  tongues  else  for's  turn. 
Hor.  Tnis  lapwing  runs  away  with  tlie  shell  OD 

his  head. 

Ham.  He  did  comply  with  his  dug,  before  he 
sucked  it.  Thus  has  he  ^and  many  more  of  tb« 
same  breed,  that,  I  know,  tne  drossy  age  dotes  on,) 
only  got  the  tune  of  the  time,  and  outward  habit  ol 


bCENE  iJ. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


T69 


encounter;  a  kind  of  yesty  collection,  whicli  carries 
them  through  and  throiigli  the  most  fond  and  win- 
nowed opinions;  and  do  but  blow  tbein  to  their 
trial,  the  bubbles  are  out. 

Enter  a  Lord. 
Lord.  My  lord,  his  majesty  commended  him  to 
you  by  young  Osric,  who  brings  back  to  him,  that 
vou  attend  him  in  the  hall :  He  sends  to  know,  i 
our  pleasure  hold  to  play  with  Laertes,  or  that  you 
ill  take  longer  time. 

Ham.  I  am  constant  to  my  purposes,  they  follow  the 
kini^'s  pleasure  :  if  his  fitness  speaks,  mine  is  ready ; 
now,  or  whensoever,  provided  1  be  so  able  as  now. 

Lord.  The  king,  and  queen,  and  all  are  coming 

Ham.  In  hapt)y  time.  [down. 

Lord.  'I'he  queen  desires  you,  to  use  some  gentle 
entertainment  to  Laertes,  beiore  you  fall  to  plav. 

Ham.  She  well  instr\icls  n)e.  [Exit  Lord. 

Hor.  You  will  lose  this  wager,  my  lord. 

Ham.  I  do  not  think  so ;  since  he  went  into 
France,  I  have  been  in  continual  practice;  I  shall 
win  at  the  odds.  But  thou  Would'st  not  think,  how 
ill  all's  here  about  my  heart:  but  it  is  no  matter. 

Hor.  Nay,  good  my  lord, — 

Ham.  It  is  but  foolery.;  but  it  is  such  a  kind  of 
gain-giving,  as  would,  perha{)S,  trouble  a  woman. 

Hor.  If  your  mind  dislike  any  thing,  obey  it :  I 
will  forestal  their  repair  hither,  and  say,  you  are 
not  fit. 

Ham.  Not  a  whit,  we  defy  augury ;  there  is  a 
special  providence  in  the  fall  of  a  sparrow.  If  it  be 
now,  'tis  not  to  come  ;  if  it  be  not  to  come,  it  will  be 
now;  if  it  be  not  now,  yet  it  will  come:  the  readi- 
ness is  all:  Since  no  man,  of  aught  he  leaves, 
knows,  what  is't  to  leave  betimes?    Let  be. 

Enter  King,  Queen,  Laertes,  Lords,  OsRic,  and 
Attendants,  with  foils,  ^c. 
King.  Come,  Hamlet,  come,  and  take  this  hand 
from  me. 

{T/ie  King  puts  the  hand  of  Laertes  into 
that  of  Hamlet. 
Ham.  Give  me  your  pardon,  sir:  I  have  done 
you  wrong; 
But  pardon  it,  as  you  are  a  gentleman. 
This  presence  knows,  and  you  must  needs  have 
heard. 

How  I  am  punish'd  with  a  sore  distraction. 
What  I  liave  done, 

That  miglit  your  nature,  honour,  and  exception. 

Roughly  awake,  I  here  proclaim  was  madness. 

^Vas't  Hamlet  wrong'd  Laertes  ?  Never,  Hamlet: 

If  Hamlet  from  himself  be  ta'en  away. 

And,  when  he's  not  himself,  does  wrong  Laertes, 

Then  Hamlet  does  it  not,  Hamlet  denies  it. 

Who  does  it  then?  His  madness:  If't  be  so, 

Hamlet  is  of  the  faction  that  is  wrong'd; 

His  infidoegs  is  poor  Hamlet's  enemy. 

Sir,  in  this  audience. 

Let  my  disclaiming  from  a  purpos'd  evil 

Free  me  so  far  in  your  most  generous  thoughts. 

That  I  have  shot  my  arrow  o'er  the  house. 

And  hurt  my  brother. 

Laer.  I  am  satisfied  in  nature, 

Whose  motive,  in  this  case,  should  stir  me  most 
To  my  revenge  :  but,  in  my  terms  of  honour, 
I  stand  aloof;  and  will  no  reconcilement. 
Till  by  some  elder  masters,  of  known  honour, 
I  have  a  vo  ce  and  precedent  of  peace. 
To  keep  my  name  ungor'd :  But  till  that  time, 
I  do  receive  your  oft'er'd  love  like  love, 
And  will  Dot  wrong  it. 

Ham.  I  embrace  it  freely ; 

And  will  this  brother's  wager  frankly  play. — 
Give  us  the  foils  ;  come  on. 

Laer.  Come,  one  for  me. 

Ham.  I'll  be  your  foil,  Laertes  ;  in  mine  ignorance 
Vour  skill  shall,  like  a  star  in  the  darkest  night, 
Stick  fiery  off  indeed. 

Laer.  You  mock  me,  air. 


Ham.  No,  by  this  hand. 

King.  Give  them  the  foils,  young  Osric. — Cousiv 
Hamlet, 
You  know  the  wager? 

Ham.  ^     Very  well,  my  lord  ; 

Your  grace  hath  laid  the  odds  o'the  weaker  side. 

King.  I  do  not  fear  it:  I  have  seen  you  both: — 
But  since  he's  better'd,  we  have  thereibre  odds. 

Laer.  This  is  too  heavy,  let  me  see  another. 

Ham.  This  likes  me  well :  These  foils  have  all  a 
length  ?  {They  prepare  to  play.) 

Osr.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

King.  Set  me  the  stoups  of  wine  upon  that  ta- 
ble :— 

If  Hamlet  give  the  first  or  second  hit, 
Or  quit  in  answer  of  the  third  exchange. 
Let  all  the  battlements  their  ordnance  fire  ; 
The  king  shall  drink  to  Hamlet's  better  breath; 
And  in  the  cup  an  union  shall  he  throw, 
Richer  than  that  which  four  successive  king^ 
In  Denmark's  crown  have  worn :  Give  me  the  cupa; 
And  let  the  kettle  to  the  trumpet  speak, 
The  trumpet  to  the  cannoneer  vvithout, 
The  cannons  to  tlie  hea\ens,  the  heaven  to  eartn, 
Now  the  king  drinks  to  Hamlet. — Come,  begin;— - 
And  you,  the  judges,  bear  a  wary  eye. 
Ham.  Come  on,  sir, 

Laer.  Come,  my  lord,         {They play.) 

Ham.  One. 
Laer.  No. 
Ham.  Judgment 
Osr.  A  hit,  a  very  palpable  hit. 
Laer.  Well, — again. 

King.  Stay,  give  me  drink  :  Hamlet,  this  pearl  is 
thine ; 

Here's  to  thy  health. — Give  him  the  cup. 

{Trumpets  sound;  and  cannon  shot  off  within) 

Ham.  I'll  play  this  bout  first,  set  it  by  awhile. 
Come. — Another  hit ;  What  say  you  ?  {They  play.) 

Laer.  A  touch,  a  touch,  I  do  confess. 

King.  Our  son  shall  win. 

Queen.  He's  fat,  and  scant  of  breath.— 

Here,  Hamlet,  take  my  napkin,  rub  thy  brows ; 
The  queen  carouses  to  thy  fortune,  Hamlet. 

Ham.  Good  madam, — 

King.  Gertrude,  do  net  drink. 

Queen.  1  will,  my  lord  ; — I  pray  you,  pardon  me. 
King..  It  is  the  poison'd  cup  ;  it  is  too  late. 

{Aside.) 

Ham.  I  dare  not  drink  yet,  madam  ;  by  and  by. 

Queen.  Come,  let  me  wipe  thy  face. 

Laer.  My  lord,  I'll  hit  him  now. 

King.  I  do  not  think  it. 

Laer.  And  yet  it  is  almost  against  my  conscience. 

{Aside.) 

Ham.  Come,  for  the  third,  Ajaertes ;  :'  ou  do  but 
dally; 

I  pray  you,  pass  with  your  best  violence 
I  am  alieard,  you  make  a  wanton  ot  me. 
Laer.  Say  you  so?  come  on.  {They  ptny.) 

Osr.  Nothing  neither  way. 
Laer.  Have  at  you  now. 

{Laertes  wounds  Hamlet;  then,  in  scuf- 
fling, they  change  rapiers,  and  Hamlet 
wounds  Laertes.) 
King.  Part  them,  they  are  incens'd. 

Ham.  Nay,  come  again.  {The  Queen  falls.) 
Osr.  Look  to  the  queen  there,  ho! 

Ho^.  They  bleed  on  both  sides  : — How  is  it,  niy 
lord? 

OsT.  H,ow  is't,  Laertes? 

Laer.  Why,  as  a  woodcock  to  my  own  springe., 
Osric ; 

I  am  justly  kill'd  with  mine  own  treachery 
Ham.  How  does  the  queen  ? 
King.  She  swoons  to  see  them  bleed. 

Queen.  No,  no,  the  drink,  the  drink, — O  my  dear 
Hamlet  !— 

The  drink,  the  drink  ;— I  am  poison'd  !  {Vies.) 
Ham.  O  villany! — Ho!  let  the  door  be  lock'd  : 

49 


rro 

Treachery!  seek  it  out.  {Laertes  falls.) 

Laer.  It  is  here,  Hamlet :  Hamlet,  thou  art  slaiu  ; 
Ivo  medicine  in  the  world  can  do  thee  good, 
In  thf?e  there  is  not  half  an  hour's  life  ; 
The  tr«acherous  instrument  is  in  thy  hand, 
(Jnbated,  and  envenom'd  :  the  foul  practice 
Hath  turn'd  itself  on  me ;  lo,  here  I  lie, 
Nevor  to  rise  again.  Thy  mother's  poison'd  ; 

can  no  more;  the  king,  the  king's  to  blame. 

Ham.  The  point 
Envenom'd  too  !— Then,  venom  to  thy  work. 

{Stabs  the  King.) 

Osr.      Lords.  Treason,  treason  ! 

King.  O,  yet  defend  me,  friends,  I  am  but  hurt. 

Ham.  Here,  thou  incestuous,  niurd'rous,  damned 
Daiie, 

Drink  off  this  potion  : — Is  the  union  here  ? 

Pol  low  my  mother.  _  ^  {King  dies.) 

Laer.  He  is  justly  serv'd ; 

It  is  a  poison  temper'd  by  himsell'". — 
Exchange  forgiveness  with  me,  noble  Hamlet: 
Mine  and  my  father's  death  come  not  upon  thee; 
Nor  thine  on  me !  {Dies,) 

Ham.  Heaven  make  thee  free  of  it!  I  follow  thee. 
I  am  dead  ,  Horatio  : — Wretched  queen,  adieu  ; — 
You  that  look  pale  and  tremble  at  this  chance. 
That  are  but  mutes  or  audience  to  this  act, 
Had  I  bii  time,  (as  this  fell  sergeant,  death. 
Is  strict  in  liis  arrest,)  O,  I  could  tell  you, — 
But  let  it  be  : — Horatio,  I  am  dead  ; 
Thou  liv'st;  report  me  and  my  cause  aright 
To  the  unsatished. 

Hor.  Never  believe  it; 

I  am  more  an  antique  Roman  than  a  Dane. 
Here's  yet  some  liquor  left. 

Ham.  As  thou'rt  a  man, — 

(Jive  me  the  cup  ;  let  go  ;  by  heaven  I'll  have  it, — 

0  God  ! — Horatio,  what  a  wounded  name. 
Tilings  standing  thus  unknown,  shall  live  behind  me  ? 
If  thou  didst  ever  hold  jne  in  thy  heart. 

Absent  thee  from  felicity  awhile, 

^nd  in  this  harsh  world  draw  thy  breath  in  pain, 

To  tell  my  story. — 

{March  afar  off,  and  shot  wiihi».) 
What  warlike  noise  is  this  ? 

Osr.  Young  Fortinbras,  with  conquest  come  from 
Poland, 

To  the  ambassadors  of  England  gives 
This  warlike  volley. 

Ham.  O,  I  die,  Horatio; 

The  potent  poison  quite  o'er-crows  my  spirit ; 

1  cannot  live  to  hear  the  nevvs  from  England  : 
But  I  do  prophecy,  the  election  lights 

On  Fortinbras  ;  he  has  my  dying  voice  ; 

So  tell  him,  witii  the  concurrents,  more  or  less. 

Which  have  solicited, — The  rest  is  sileiirce.  ( 

'^'iw  heart; — Good  night, 


Act  V. 

And  flights  of  angels  sing  thee  to  thy  rv^x' 

Why  does  the  drum  come  hithert  {%l^^.sh  miAitil 

Enter  Fortinbras,  the  English  Ambas^sad&rsf 
and  aihertt. 

Fort.  Where  is  this  sight  ? 
Hor.  What  is  it,  you  would  see  ? 

If  aught  of  woe,  or  wonder,  rease  your  search. 
Part.  This  quarry  cries  on  havoc  ? — O  proud 
death ! 

What  feast  is  toward  m  thine  eternal  cell. 
That  thou  so  many  princes,  at  a  shot. 
So  bloodily  hast  struck  ? 

1  Amb.  The  sight  is  dismal ; 

And  our  affairs  from  England  come  too  late : 
The  earg  are  senseless,  that  should  give  us  hearing, 
To  tell  him,  his  commandment  is  fuliill'd, 
That  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstein  are  dead  : 
Where  should  we  have  our  thanks  ? 

Hor.  Not  from  his  mouthy 

Had  it  the  ability  of  life  to  thank  you  ; 
He  never  gave  commandment  for  their  death. 
But  since,  so  jump  upon  this  bloody  question, 
You  from  the  Polack  wars,  and  you  from  England, 
Are  here  aniv'd;  give  order,  that  these  bodies 
High  on  a  stage  be  placed  to  the  view  ; 
And  let  me  speak,  to  the  yet  unknowing  world. 
How  tliese  things  come  about :  So  shall  you  hear 
Of  carnal,  bloody,  and  unnatural  acts  ; 
Of  accidental  judgments,  casual  slaughters  ; 
Of  deaths  put  on  by  cunning,  and  forc'd  cause  ; 
And,  in  this  upshot,  purposes  mistook 
Fall'n  on  the  inventors'  heads:  all  this  cant 
Truly  deliver. 

Fort.  Let  us  haste  to  hear  it. 

And  call  the  noblest  to  the  audience. 
For  me,  with  sorrow  I  embrace  my  fortune; 
I  have  some  rights  of  memory  in  this  kingdom, 
Which  now  to  claim  my  vantage  doth  invite  me. 

Hor.  Of  that  I  shall  have  also  cause  to  speak, 
And  from  his  mouth  whose  voice  will  draw  on  more. 
But  let  this  same  be  presently  perf'orm'd, 
Kven  while  men's  minds  are  wild ;  lest  more  mis- 
chance. 
On  plots,  and  errors,  happen. 

Fort.  Let  four  captains 

Bear  Hamlet,  like  a  soldier,  tc*  the  stage  ; 
For  he  was  likely,  had  he  been  put  on, 
To  have  prov'd  most  royally  :  and,  for  his  passage. 
The  soldier's  music,  and  the  rites  of  war, 
Speak  loudly  tor  him. — 
'i'ake  up  the  bodies: — Such  a  sight  as  this 
Becomes  the  field,  but  here  shews  much  amiss. 
Go,  bid  the  soldi^^  s  shoot.  {A  dead  march.) 

[Exeunt,  bearing      the  dead  bodies  ;  ajlai 
which^  a  peal      ( » ( 


HAMLET,. PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


OTHELLO,  MOOR  OF  VENICE 


The  beauties  of  this  play  impress  themselves  so  strongly  upon  the  attention  reader,  that  they  can  draw 

BO  aid  from  critical  illustration.  The  fiery  openness  of  Othello,  magnanimous,  artless,  and  credulous,  boundless  in  his 
eonfidence,  ardent  in  his  atfection,  inflexible  in  his  resolution,  and  obdurate  in  his  revenge;  ihe  cool  malignitv  of 
lago,  silent  in  his  resentment,  subtle  in  his  designs,  and  studious  at  once  of  his  interest  and  his  vengeance;  the 
Boft  simplicity  of  Desdemona,  confident  of  merit,  and  conscious  of  innocence,  her  artless  perseverance  in  her  suit, 
and  her  slowness  to  suspect  that  she  can  be  suspected,  are  such  proofs  of  Shakspeare's  skill  in  human  nature,  as, 
I  suppose,  it  is  vain  to  seek  in  any  modern  writer.  The  gradual  progress  which  lago  makes  in  the  Moor's  con 
viction,  and  the  circumstances  which  he  employs  to  inflame  him,  are  so  artfully  natural,  that,  though  it  will,  perhaps, 
lot  be  said  of  him  as  he  says  of  himself,  that  he  is  a  man  not  easily  jealous,  yet  we  cannot  but  pity  him,  when 
It  last  we  find  him  perplexed  in  the  extreme. 

Titre  is  always  danger,  lest  wickedness,  conjoined  with  abilities,  should  steal  upon  esteem,  though  it  misses 
Spprohation;  but  the  character  of  lago  is  so  conducted,  that  he  is,  ft-om  the  first  scene  to  the  last,  hated  and  despised. 

Even  'he  inferior  characters  of  this  play  would  be  very  conspicuous  in  any  other  piece,  not  only  for  their  justness, 
but  th«  T  strength.  Cassio  is  brave,  benevolent,  and  honest,  ruined  only  by  his  want  of  stubbornness  to  resist  an 
insidious  invitation.  Roderigo's  suspicious  credulity,  and  impatient  submission  to  the  cheats  which  he  sees  practised 
Dpunhim,  and  which,  by  persuasion,  he  suffers  to  be  repeated,  exhibit  a  strong  picture  of  a  weak  mind  betrayed, 
by  unlawful  desires,  to  a  false  (riend;  and  the  virtue  of  Emilia  is  such  as  we  often  find,  worn  loosely,  but  not  caal 
oflf;  easy  to  commit  small  crimes,  but  quickened  and  alarmed  at  atrocious  villanies. 

The  scenes,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  are  busy,  varied  by  happy  interchanges,  and  regularly  promoting  the  pro- 
gression of  the  story ;  and  the  narrative  in  the  end,  though  it  tells  but  what  is  known  already,  yet  is  necessary  to 
produce  the  death  of  Othello. 

Had  the  scene  opened  in  Cyprus,  and  the  preceding  incidents  been  occasionally  related,  there  had  bc^n  little 
wanting  to  a  drama  of  the  most  exact  and  scrupulous  regularity.  Jo'iuson, 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED, 


DUKE  OF  VENICE. 

BRABANTIO,  a  Senator. 

Two  othe'>'  Senators. 

GRATIANO,  Brother  to  Brabantio. 

LODOVICO,  Kinsman  to  Brabantio. 

OTHELLO,  the  Moor. 

CASSIO,  his  LifUtenatit. 

lAGO,  his  Ancient. 

RODERIGO,  a  Venetian  Gentleman. 


MONTANO,  Othello's  Predecessor  in  the  Government  of 

Cyprus. 

Clown,  Servant  to  Othello. — Herald. 

DESDEMONA,  Daughter  to  Brabantio,  and  Wife  to 

Othello. 
EMILIA,  Wife  to  lago 
BIANCA,  a  Courtezan,  Mistress  to  Cassio 
Officers,   Gentlemen,  Messengers,  Musicians,  Sailors, 

Attendants,  etc. 


Scene,  for  the  First  Act,  in  Venice  ;  during  the  rest  of  the  Play,  at  a  Sea-port  in  Cyprus. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — Venice.   A  Street. 
Enter  RoDERiGO  and  Iago. 

Rod.  Tush,  never  tell  me,  I  take  it  much  unkindly. 
That  thou,  Ia»o, — who  hast  had  my  purse, 
As  if  the  strings  were  thine, — sliould'st  know  of  this. 

Iago.  'Sblood,  but  you  will  not  hear  me  :— r 
If  ever  I  did  dream  of  such  a  matter, 
Abhor  me.  [hate. 

Rod.  Thou  told'st  me,  thou  didst  hold  him  in  thy 

Iago.  Despise  me,  if  I  do  not.  Three  great  ones 
of  the  city. 
In  personal  suit  to  make  me  his  lieutenant, 
Oft  capp'd  to  him  ;— and,  by  the  faith  of  man, 
I  know  my  price,  1  am  worth  no  worse  a  place  % 
But  he,  as  loving  his  own  pride  and  purposes. 
Evades  th  sm,  with  a  bomba.st  circumstanee. 
Horribly  .••«>uft''d  with  epithets  of  war; 
And,  in  conclusion,  nonsuits 
My  mediators  ;  for,  certes,  says  he, 
I  nave  already  chose  my  officer. 
And  w4Kit  was  he  ? 
Forsooth,  a  great  arithmetician, 

One  Michael  Cassio,  a  Florentine,  ^    .  ^  | 

A  fellow  almost^damti'd^in  a  fair  wife  ;   .-at  ^QHf^ 
That  never  set  a  sqiTa^tTron  in  the  field, 
Nor  the  division  of  a  battle  knows 
More  than  a  spinster  ;  unie.ss  the  bookish  theoric. 
Wherein  the  toged  consuls  can  propose 
As  masterly  as  he  :  mere  prattle,  without  practice. 
Is  all  his  soldiership.  But  he,  sir,  had  the  election: 
And  I, — of  whom  his  eyes  had  seen  the  proof, 
At  Rhodes,  at  Cyprus  ;  and  on  other  grounds, 
Christian  and  heathen, — must  be  be-lee'd  and  calm'd 
By  debitor  and  creditor,  this  counter-caster; 
JHe,  in  good  time,  must  his  lieutenant  be, 
And  1,  (God  bless  the  mark!)  his  Moorship's 
ancient. 

\  Rod.  By  heaven,  I  rather  would  have  been  hi.s 
\     >      hangman.  [service;  i 

lago.  But  there's  no  remedy ;  'tis  the  curse  of  j 


Preferment  goes  by  letter,  and  affection. 
Not  by  the  old  gradation,  where  earh  second 
Stood  heir  to  the  first.  Now,  sir,  be  judge  yourself- 
Whether  I  in  any  just  term  am  affin'd 
To  love  the  Moor.  '  ' 

Rod.  I  would  not  follow  him  theB. 

Iago.  O,  sir,  content  you  ; 
I  follow  him  to  serve  my  turn  upon  him  : 
We  cannot  all  be  masters,  nor  all  masters 
Cannot  be  truly  follow'd.  You  shall  mark 
Many  a  duteous  and  knee-crooking  knave, 
That,  doting  on  his  own  obsequious  bondage. 
Wears  out  his  time,  much  like  his  master's  ass. 
For  nought  but  urovender;  and,  when  he's  oldl, 
cashier'a  ; 

Whip  me  such  honest  knaves  :  Others  there  are, 
Who,  trimm'd  in  forms  and  visages  of  duty, 
Keep  yet  their  hearts  attending  on  themselves  ; 
And,  throwing  but  shews  of  service  on  their  lords. 
Do  well  thrive  by  them,  and,  when  they  have  lin'd 

their  coats,  [soui;\ 
Do  themselves  homage  :  these  fellows  have  noma  )t. 
And  such  a  one  do  I  profess  myself. 
For,  sir, 

It  is  as  sure  as  you  are  Roderigo, 
;  Were  I  the  Moor,  I  would  not  l>e  Iago  : 
[  In  following  him,  i  follow  but  myself  > 
^  Heaven  is  my  judge,  not  I  for  love  and  duty, 
But  seeming  so,  for  my  peculiar  end  : 
For  when  my  outward  action  doth  demonstrate 
The  native  act  and  figure  of  my  heart 
In  compliment  extern,  'tis  not  long  after 
But  I  will  wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve 
For  daws  to  peck  at;  I  am  not  what  I  am. 

Rod.  What  a  full  fortune  does  the  thick-lips  cw» 
If  he  can  carry't  thus !  • 

Iago.  Call  up  her  father  : 

Rouse  him  :  make  after  him,  poison  his  delight, 
Proclaim  him  in  the  streets ;  incense  her  kiusmen, 
And,  though  he  in  a  fertile  climate  dwell. 
Plague  liitn  with  fiies  :  though  that  his  joy  be  joy, 
i  Yet  throw  such  changes     vexation  ou't. 


772 


OTHELLO, 


Act  I 


Aa  it  may  lose  some  colour. 

Rod.  Here  is  her  father's  house;  I'll  call  aloud. 
!a(jo.  Do;  with  like  timorous  accent,  and  dire 
yell. 

As  when,  by  night  and  neglig'ince,  the  fire 

Is  spied  in  populous  cities.  tho ! 

Rod.  What,  ho!  Brabantio !  signior  Brabantio, 
lago.  Awake  !  what,  ho  !  Brabantio  !  thieves  ! 
thieves!  thieves! 

Luok  to  your  house,  your  daughter,  and  your  bags ! 

Tiiievp.--!  thieves! 

Brabantio,  above,  at  a  window. 
Bra.  What  is  the  reason  of  this  terrible  summons  ? 
What  is  the  matter  there? 

Rod.  Signior,  is  all  your  family  within  ? 
lago.  Are  your  doors  lock'd  ? 
Bra.  Why?  wherefore  ask  you  this? 

lago.  'Zounds,  sir,  you  are  robb'd ;  for  shame, 
put  on  your  gown  ; 
Vonr  heart  is  burst,  you  have  lost  half  your  soul ; 
Even  now,  very  now,  an  old  black  ram 
Is  tupping  your  white  ewe.    Arise,  arise 
Awake  the  snorting  citizens  with  the  bell. 
Or  else  the  devil  will  make  a  grandsire  of  you  : 
Arise,  T  say. 

Bra.  What,  have  you  lost  your  wits  ? 

/fog^_MiisjL_i:e4iefeBd_.sig^^    do  you  know  my 
voi^  ? 

Bra.  Not  n  What  arpj^u 


Rod.J^^^me  is— rBoderigo. 
Bra.  -  worse  welcome  : 

f  have  charg'd  thee  not  to  haunt  about  my  doors  : 
111  honest  plainness  thou  hast  heard  me  say, 
My  daughter  is  not  for  thee  ;  and  now,  in  madness, 
Being  fidl  of  supper  and  distempering  draughts, 
Upon  malicious  bravery,  dost  thou  come  A^r^ 
To  start  my  quiet.  ^  ^  ^\>2i*^ 

Sir,  sir,  sir^Cv:r_^  " 
ByTrr—-  But  thou  must  needs  be  sure. 

My  spirit,  and  my  place,  have  in  them  power 
To  make  this  bitter  to  thee. 

Rod.  Patience,  good  sir. 

Bra.  What  tell'st  thou  me  of  robbing  ?  this  is 
Venice ; 
My  house  is  not  a  grange. 

Rod.  Most  grave  Brabantio, 

In  simple  and  pure  soul  I  come  to  you. 

lago.  'Zounds,  sir,  you  are  one  of  those,  that 
will  not  serve  God,  if  the  devil  bid  you.  Because 
we  come  to  do  you  service,  you  think  we  are  ruf- 
fians :  You'll  have  your  daughter  covered  with  a 
Barbarj  horse;  you'll  have  your  nephews  neigh  to 
you  ;  you'll  have  coursers  for  cousins,  and  gennets 
for  gcrr\ians. 

Bra.  W  hat  profane  wretch  art  thou  ? 
lago.  \  am  one,  sir,  that  comes  to  tell  you,  your 
daughter  and  the  Moor  are  now  making  the  beast 
with  two  backs. 

Bra.  Thou  art  a  villain. 
lago.  are— a^ge»ator. 

Bra.  This  thoii^shalt  answer^;  I  kfiow  thee, 

detisi;"  _  ^      ~  Tyom, 

Rod.  Sir,  I  will  answer  aliy  thing.  But  I  beseeclr 
Ift  be  your  pleasure,  and  most  wise  consent 
f  As  partly,  1  find,  it  is,)  that  your  fair  daughter. 
At  this  odd-even  and  dull  watch  o'the  night, 
Transported — with  no  worse  nor  better  guard, 
But  with  a  knave  of  common  hire,  a  gondolier, — 
To  the  gross  clasps  of  a  lascivious  Moor, — 
If  this  be  known  to  you,  and  your  allowance. 
We  then  have  done  you  bold  and  saucy  wrongs; 
But,  if  you  know  not  this,  my  manners  tell  nie, 
W^e  have  your  wrong  rebuke.    Do  not  believe, 
That,  from  the  sense  of  all  civility, 
[  thus  would  play  and  trifle  with  your  reverence  : 
Vour  daughter, — if  you  have  not  given  her  leave, — 
I  say  again,  hath  made  a  gross  revolt; 
Tying  her  duty,  beauty,  wit,  and  fortunes, 
Ea  an  extravagant  and  wheeling  stranger. 


Of  here  and  every  where  :  Straight  satisfy  yourself; 
If  she  be  in  her  chamber,  or  yonr  house, 
Let  loose  on  me  the  justice  of  the  state 
For  thus  deluding  you. 

Bra.  Strike  on  the  tinder,  ho 

Give  me  a  taper; — call  up  all  my  people  ; — 
This  accident  is  not  unlike  my  dream, 
Belief  of  it  oppresses  me  already  : — 
Light,  I  say!  light!  [Exit from  abovt 

lago.  Farewell ;  for  I  must  leave  you 

It  seems  not  meet,  nor  wholesome  to  my  place, 
To  be  produc'd  (as,  if  I  stay,  I  shall,) 
Agaiiist  the  Moor:  For,  I  do  know,  the  state, — 
However  this  may  gall  him  with  some  check, — 
Cannot  with  safety  cast  him  ;  for  he's  embark'd 
With  such  loud  reason  to  the  Cyprus'  wars, 
(Which  even  now  stand  in  act,)  that,  for  their  souls. 
Another  of  his  fathom  they  have  not. 
To  lead  their  business  :  in  which  regard, 
Though  I  do  hate  him  a"  I  do  hell-pains. 
Yet,  for  necessity  of  present  life, 
I  must  shew  out  a  flag  and  sign  of  love, 
Which  is  indeed  but  sign.    That  you  siiall  sarely 
find  him. 

Lead  to  the  Sagittary  the  rais'd  search ; 

And  there  will  I  be  with  him.  So,  farewell.  [Exit. 

Enter,  below,  Brabantio,  and  Servants,  with 
torches. 

Bra.  It  is  too  true  an  evil  •  gone  she  is; 
And  what's  to  come  of  my  despised  time. 
Is  nought  but  bitterness. — Now,  Roderigo, 
Where  didst  thou  see  her? — O,  unhappy  girl !  — 
With  the  Moor,  say'st  thou? — Who  would  be  a 
father  ?  fme 
How  didst  thou  know  'twas  she  ? — O,  thou  deceiv'st 
Past  thought ! — What  said  she  to  you  ? — (let  more 
typers;  [you? 
Raise  all  my  kindred. — Are  they  married,  think 

Rod.  Truly,  I  think,  they  are. 

Bra.  O  heaven! — How  got  she  out? — 0  treason 
of  the  blood  ! — 
Fathers,  from  hence  trust  not  your  daughters'  minds 
By  what  you  see  them  act. — Are  there  not  charms, 
By  which  the  property  of  youth  and  maid  hood 
May  be  abus'd  ?  Have  you  not  read,  Roderigo, 
Of  some  such  thing? 

Rod.  Yes,  sir;  I  have  indeed. 

Bra.  Call  up  my  brother. — O,  that  you  had  had 
her! — 

Some  one  way,  some  another. — Do  you  know 
Where  we  may  apprehend  her  and  the  Mofjr? 

Rod.  1  think,  I  can  discover  him;  if  you  please 
To  get  good  guard,  and  go  along  with  me. 

Bra.  Pray  you,  lead  on.  At  every  house  I'll  call ; 
I  may  command  at  most; — Get  weapons,  ho! 
And  raise  some  special  officers  of  night. —  y.^ 
On,  good  Roderigo  ; — I'll  deserve  your  pains. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — The  same.  Another  Street. 
Enter  Othello,  Iago,  and  Attendants. 

lago.  Though  in  the  trade  of  war  I  have  slain  men, 
Yet  do  I  hold  it  very  stuff  o'the  conscience, 
To  do  no  contriv'd  murder;  I  lack  iniquity 
Sometimes  to  do  me  service  :  Nine  «>r  ten  times 
I  had  thought  to  have  yerk'd  him  here  under  the  ribs 

0th.  'Tis  better  as  it  is.  - 

lago.  Nay,  but  he  prated. 

And  spoke  such  scurvy  and  provoking  terms 
Against  your  honour. 
That,  with  the  little  godliness  I  have, 
I  did  full  hard  forbear  him.    But,  I  pray,  sir, 
Are  you  fast  n\arried?  for,  be  sure  of  this,— 
That  the  magnifico  is  much  beloved  ; 
And  hath,  in  his  effect,  a  voice  potential 
As  double  as  the  duke's;  he  will  divorce  yon; 
Or  put  upon  you  what  restraint  and  grievance 
The  law  (with  all  his  might,  to  enforce  it  on,) 
Will  give  him  cable. 


Scene  3. 


THE  MOOR 


OF  VENICE. 


773 


i)tn.  ^        Let  him  do  his  spite  : 

My  services,  which  I  have  done  the  signiory, 
Shall  out- tongue  his  complaints.    'Tis  yet  to  know, 

i Which,  u'hen  I  know  that  boasting  is  an  lionour, 
shall  promulgate,)  [  letch  my  life  and  being 
From  men  of  royal  siege;  and  my  demerits 
May  speak,  nnbonneted,  to  as  proud  a  fortune  ^ 
As  this  that  I  have  reach'd  :  For  know,  lago,  jja' , 
But  that  I  love  the  gentle  Desdemona,      ,  ^  ^ 
I  w^d_£oljjiy  .unhoii&ed-fl:efi,ja^^  ^  , 
PuLiiit^i-citcnniscription  and  confine      /  V^* 
For  the^ea's  wortli.    But  look!  what  lights  come 
  yotider?  > 

Enter  Cassio,  at  a  distance,  and  certain  Officers 
with  torches. 

lago.  I'hese  are  fhe  raised  father,  and  his  friends  : 
Voii  were  best  go  in. 

Oih.  Not  I :  I  must  be  found  j 

My  parts,  my  title,  and  my  perfect  soul, 
Shall  niasifest  me  rightly.    Is  it  they? 

lago.  By  Janus,  I  think  no, 

0th.  The  servants  of  the  duke,  and  my  lieutenant. 
The  goodness  of  the  night  upon  you,  friends'. 
What  is  the  news  ? 

Cas.  The  duke  does  greet  you,  general ; 

And  he  requires  your  haste- post-haste  appearance, 
Even  on  the  instant. 

0th.  What  is  the  matter,  think  you? 

CVav  , Something  from  Cyprus,  as  I  may  divine  ; 
It  is  a  business  of  some  heat:  the  galleys 
Have  sent  a  dozen  sequent  messengers 
This  very  night  at  one  another's  heels; 
And  many  of  the  consuls,  rais'd,  and  met, 
Are  at  the  duke's  already  :  You  have  been  hotly 
call'd  for; 

When,  being  not  at  your  lodging  to  be  found, 
Tlie  senate  hath  sent  about  three  several  quests, 
To  search  you  out. 

0th.  'Tis  well  I  am  found  by  you. 

I  will  but  spend  a  word  here  in  the  house, 
Arucl  go  with  you.  [Exit. 

Cas.  Ancient,  what  makes  he  here  ? 

Jago.  "Faith,  he  to-night  hath  boarded  a  land 
carack ; 

if  it  prove  lawful  prize,  he's  made  for  ever. 
Cas.  1  do  not  understand. 
Jago.  He's  married. 

Cas.  To  who? 

Re-enter  Othello. 
lago.  Marry,  to — Come,  captain,  will  you  go  ? 
oih.  Have  with  you. 

Cajt.  Here  comes  scaother  troop  to  seek  for  you. 

^nter  Brabantio,  Roderigo,  and  Officers  of 
night,  with  torches  and  weapons. 

lago.  It  is  Brabantio  : — General,  be  advis'd  : 
He  comes  to  bad  intent. 

0th.  Holla  !  stand  there ! 

Mod.  Signior,  it  is  the  Moor. 

Bra.  Down  with  him,  thief! 

[They  dra/w  on  both  sides.) 

lago  You,  Roderigo!  come,  sir,  lam  for  you. 

0th.  Keep  up  your  bright  swords,  for  the  dew 
will  rust  them. — 
Good  signior,  you  shall  more  command  with  years. 
Than  with  your  weapons. 

Bra.  O  thou  foul  thief,  where  hast  thou  stow'd 
my  daughter? 
Damn'd  as  thou  art,  thou  hagt  enchanted  her : 
For  I'll  refer  me  to  all  things  of  sense. 
If  she  in  chains  of  magic  were  not  bound. 
Whether  a  maid — so  tender,  fair,  and  happy; 
So  opposite  to  marriage,  that  she  shunu'd 
The  wealthy  curled  darlings  of  our  nation, 
Would  ever  have,  to  incur  a  general  mock, 
Run  from  her  giiardage  to  the  sooty  bosom 
Of  such  a  thing  as  fhou  :  to  fear,  not  to  delight. 
Jud^e  mo  the  world,  if 'tis  not  gross  In  sense, 


That  thou  hast  pracfis'd  on  her  with  foul  charms; 
Abus'd  her  delicate  youth  with  drugs  or  mineraia^ 
That  waken  motion  : — I'll  have  it  disputed  onj 
'Tis  probable,  and  palpable  to  thinking. 
I  therefore  apprehend  and  do  attach  thee. 
For  an  abuser  of  the  world,  a  practiser 
Of  arts  inhibited  and  out  of  warrant : — 
Lay-bold  upon  him;  if  he  do  resist. 
Subdue  him  at  his  peril. 

0th.  Hold  your  hands, 

Both  5'ou  of  my  inclining,  and  the  rest : 
W^ere  it  my  cue  to  fight,  I  should  have  known  it 
Without  a  prompter.— Where  will  yoa  thul  l  go 
To  answer  this  your  charge  ? 

Bra.  To  prison  :  till  fit  tin* 

Of  law,  and  course  of  direct  session. 
Call  thee  to  answer. 

0th.  What  if  I  do  obey? 

How  may  the  duke  be  therewith  satisfied. 
Whose  messengers  are  here  about  my  side, 
Upon  some  present  business  of  the  state, 
To  bring  me  to  him  ? 

Off.  'Tis  trne,  most  worthy  signior, 

The  duke's  In  council ;  and  your  noble  self, 
lam  sure,  is  sent  for. 

Bra.  How!  the  duke  in  council! 

In  this  time  of  the  night! — Bring  him  away  : 
Mine's  not  an  idle  cause  :  the  duke  himself, 
Or  any  of  my  brothers  of  the  state, 
Cannot  but  feel  this  wrong,  as  'twere  their  own: 
For  if  such  actions  may  have  passage  free, 
Bond-slaves,  and  pagans,  shall  our  statesmen  be, 

[Exewil 

Scene  III.— The  same.    A  Council-Chambet^. 
The  Duke  and  Senators,  sitting  at  a  fable ; 
Officers  attending. 

Duke.  There  is  no  composition  in  these  news, 
That  gives  them  credit. 

1  Sen.  Indeed,  they  are  disproportiou'd ; 
My  letters  say,  a  hundred  and  seven  galleys. 

Duke.  And  mine,  a  hundred  and  forty, 

2  Sen.  And  mine^  two  hundred  I 
But  though  they  jump  not  on  a  just  account, 

(As  in  these  cases,  where  the  aim  re{)ort.s, 
'Tis  oft  with  difference,)  yet  do  they  all  confirm 
A  Turkish  fleet,  and  bearing  up  to  Cyprus. 

Duke.  Nay,  it  is  possible  enough  to  judgment; 
I  do  not  so  secure  me  in  the  error, 
But  the  main  article  1  do  approve 
In  fearful  sense. 

Sailor.  [Within.)  What  ho!  what  ho!  what  ho! 

Enter  an  Officer,  with  a  Sailor, 

Off.  A  messenger  from  the  galleys. 

Duke.  ^  Now  ?  the  business* 

Sail.  The  Turkish  preparation  makes  for  Rhodes^ 
So  was  I  bid  report  here  to  the  state. 
By  signior  Angelo. 

Dule.  How  saj  you  by  this  change  ? 

1  Sen.  This  cannot  be, 

By  no  assay  of  reason ;  'tis  a  pageant, 
To  keep  us  in  false  gaze  :  When  we  consider 
The  importancy  of  Cyprus  to  the  Turk ; 
And  let  ourselves  again  but  understand, 
Tliat,  as  it  more  concerns  the  Turk  than  Rhodes, 
So  may  he  with  more  facile  question  bear  it. 
For  that  it  stands  not  in  such  warlike  brace, 
But  altogether  lacks  the  abilities  [(his. 
That  Rhodes  is  dress'd  in  :— if  we  make  thought  ol 
We  must  not  think,  the  Turk  is  so  unskilful, 
To  leave  that  latest  which  concerns  him  firsl ; 
Neglecting  an  attempt  of  ease  and  gain, 
To  wake,  and  wage,  a  danger  profitless. 

Duk$.  Nay,  in  all  confidence,  he's  not  for  Rh(»des. 

Off.  Here  is  more  news. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  The  Ottomites,  reverend  and  gracious, 
Stet  rinj;  with  due  course  toward  the  isle  of  Rhodes, 


OTHELLO, 


Act  t 


Htive  there  injointed  them  with  an  aflcT-Heev. 
i  Sen.  Ay,  so  I  thought: — How  many,  as  you 
guess? 

Me^a.  Oi'  thirty  sail :  and  now  do  they  re-stem 
Their  backward  course,  bearing  with  frank  ap- 
pearance 

Their  purposes  toward  Cyprus. — Signior  Montano, 
Vour  trusty  and  most  vahant  servitor, 
With  his  free  duty  recommends  you  thus. 
And  prays  you  to  believe  him. 

Duke.  'Tis  certain  then  for  Cyprus. — 
Marcus  Lucchese,  is  he  not  in  town? 

1  6Vn.  He's  now  in  Florence. 

Duke.  Write  from  us  ;  wish  him  post-post-haste : 
despatch.  [Moor. 

1  Sen.  Here  comes  Brabantio,  and  the  valiant 

-  Enter  Brabantio,  Othello,  Iago,  Roderigo, 
and  Officers. 
Duke,  Valiant  Othello,  we  must  straight  employ 
you  / 
Ajjainst  the  general  enemy  Ottoman. 
I  did  not  see  you;  welcome,  gentle  signiot  ; 

{To  Brabantio.) 
We  lack'd  your  counsel  and  your  help  to-night. 

Bra  So  did  I  yours  :  good  your  grace,  pardon  me ; 
Nt^ither  my  place,  nor  aught  I  heard  of  business, 
I  lath  rais'd  me  from  my  bed;  nor  doth  the  general 
care 

Take  hold  on  me  ;  for  my  particular  grief 
I  s  of  so  flood-gate  and  o'erdearing  nature, 
That  it  engluts  and  swallows  other  sorrows, 
And  it  is  still  itself. 

Duke.  Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 

Bra.  My  daughter !  O,  my  daughter ! 

Sen.  Dead  ? 

Bra.  Ay,  to  me ; 

She  is  abus'd,  stolen  from  me,  and  corrupted 
By  spells  and  medicines  bought  of  mountebanks  : 
For  nature  so  preposterously  to  err. 
Being  not  deficient,  blind,  or  lame  of  sense, 
Sans  witchcraft  could  not —  [ing, 

Duke.  Whoe'er  he  be,  that,  in  this  foul  proceed- 
Hath  thus  beguil'd  your  daughter  of  herself, 
A.nd  you  of  her,  the  bloody  book  of  law 
ifou  shall  yourself  read  in  the  bitter  letter, 
After  your  own  sense ;  yea,  though  our  proper  son 
Stood  in  your  action. 

Bra.  Humbly  I  thank  your  grace. 

Here  is  the  man,  this  Moor;  whom  now,  it  seems, 
Your  special  mandate,  for  the  state  atfairs, 
H^th  hilhei  brought. 

\J^uke  §f  Sen.  We  are  very  sorry  focJv 

Duke.  What,  in  your  own  part,  can  you  say  to 
this  ?  ^  {To  Othello.) 

Bra.  Nothing,  but  this  is  so. 
0th.  Most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  signiors. 
My  very  noble  and  approv'd  good  masters, — 
That  I  iiave  ta'en  away  this  old  man's  daughter. 
It  is  most  true  ;  true,  I  have  married  her; 
The  very  head  and  front  of  tn^  ofiending 
Hath  this  extent,  no  more.   Rude  am  I  in  my  speech. 
And  little  bless'd  with  tlie  set  phrase  of  peace  ; 
For  since  these  arms  of  mine  had  seven  years'  pith, 
Till  now,  some  nine  moons  wasted,  they  have  us'd 
Their  dearest  action  in  the  tented  field ; 
And  little  of  this  great  world  can  I  speak, 
More  than  pertains  to  feats  of  broil  and  battle ; 
And  therefore  little  shall  I  grace  my  cause. 
Id  speaking  for  myself :/Yet,  by  your  gracious  pa- 
tience, 

I  will  a  round  uuvarnish'd  tale  deliver  1 
Otiny  whole  course  of  love  ;  what  drugs,  what 
charms, 

What  conjuration,  and  what  mighty  magic.* 

IFor  such  proceeding  I  am  charg'd  withal,) 
wou  his  daughter  with. 

Bra.  A  maiden  never  bold  ; 

Of  spirit  «o  still  and  quiet,  that  her  motion 
Bliish'd  at  her^-'lf ;  and  she, — in  spite  of  nature, 


Of  years,  of  country,  credit,  every  thing, — 
To  lall  in  love  with  what  she  fear'd  to  look  ou  ? 
It  is  a  judgment  maim'd,  and  most  imperfect. 
That  will  confess — perfection  so  could  err 
Against  all  rules  of  nature  ;  and  must  be  driven 
To  find  out  practices  of  cunning  hell. 
Why  this  should  be.    I  therefore  vouch  agair. 
That  with  some  mixtures  powerful  o'er  the  blood. 
Or  with  some  dram  conjur'd  to  this  effect. 
He  wrought  upon  her. 

Duke.  To  vouch  this,  is  no  {iroof ; 

Without  more  certain  and  more  overt  test. 
Than  these  thin  habits,  and  poor  likelihoods 
or  modern  seeming,  do  prefer  against  him. 

1  Sen.  But,  Othello,  speak;— 
Did  you,  by  indirect  and  forced  courses. 
Subdue  and  poison  this  young  maid's  aftections' 
Or^ame  it  by  request,  and  such  fair  question 
As  soul  to  soul  aflbrdeth  ? 

0th.  I  do  beseech  you. 

Send  for  the  lady  to  the  Sagittary, 
And  let  her  speak  of  me  before  her  father: 
]f  you  do  find  me  foul  in  her  report. 
The  trust,  the  office,  I  do  hold  of  you. 
Not  only  take  away,  but  let  your  sentence 
Even  fall  upon  my  life. 

Duke.  Fetch  Desdemona  hither. 

0th.  Ancient,  conduct  them  ;  you  best  know  the 
place. —    [Exeunt  lago  and  Attendanis, 
And,  till  she  come,  as  truly  as  to  heaven 
I  do  confess  the  vices  of  my  blood. 
So  justly  to  your  grave  ears  I'll  present 
How  I  did  thrive  in  this  fair  lady's  love. 
And  she  in  mine. 

Duke.  Say  it,  Othello. 

0th.  Her  father  lov'd  me ;  oft  invited  me; 
Still  question'd  me  the  story  of  my  life. 
From  year  to  year;  the  battles,  sieges,  fortunes. 
That  I  have  pass'd. 

I  ran  it  through,  even  from  my  boyish  days. 
To  the  very  moment  that  he  bade  me  tell  it. 
Wherein  1  spoke  of  most  disastrous  chances. 
Of  moviug:  accidents,  by  flood  and  field  ; 
QiLhail^bjxadUi  scap  deadly  breach; 

Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe. 
And  sold  to  slavery;  of  my  redemption  thence,  \> 
And  portaiice  in  my  travel's  history  : 
Wherein  of  antres  vast,  and  .d^^Kects.- idle. 
RougJij^««meSj,_rocl^^  heads  touch 

Jigayen, 

It  was  my  hinTRTSpeak,  such  was  the  process; 
And  of  the  Cannibals  that  each  other  eat, 
The  Anthropophagi,  and  men  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders.    These  tmngs  to 
hear. 

Would  Desdemona  seriously  incline: 
But  still  the  house  affairs  would  draw  her  thence; 
Which  ever  as  she  could  with  haste  despatch, 
She'd  come  again,  and  with  a  greedy  ear 
Devour  up  my  discourse  :  Which  I  observing, 
Took  once  a  pliant  hour;  and  found  good  means 
To  draw  from  her  a  prayer  of  earnest  heart. 
That  I  would  all  my  pilgrimage  dilate, 
Whereof  by  parcels  she  had  something  heard. 
But  not  intentively  :  I  did  consent; 
And  often  did  beguile  her  of  her  tears. 
When  I  did  speak  of  some  disti-essful  stroke. 
That  my  youth  suffer'd.    My  story  beinfif  done. 
She  gave  me  for  my  pains  a  world  of  sigbs : 
She  swore, — In  faith,  'twas  strange,  'twas  paefing 
strange ; 

'Twas  pitiful,  'twas  wondrous  pitiful : 
She  wish'd,  she  had  not  heard  it;  yet  she  wish'd 
That  heaven  had  made  her  such  a  man:  she  thank  4 
me ; 

And  bade  me,  if  I  had  a  friend  that  lov'd  her, 
I  .sHiould  but  teach  him  how  to  tell  niy  story. 
And  that  would  woo  her.    Upon  this  hint,  I  spake  { 
She  lov'd  me  for  the  dangers  I  had  pass'd ; 
And  I  lov'd  her,  that  she  did  pity  them. 


fCENE  8. 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


77?l 


This  only  is  the  witchcraft  I  have  iis'd;  \ 
Here  comes  the  lady,  let  her  witness  it.  -"""^ 

Enter  Desdemona,  Iago,  and  Attendants. 

Ouhe.  I  think,  this  tale  would  win  my  daughter 
Good  Brabantio,  [too. — 

Take  up  this  mangled  matter  at  tho  best: 
Men  do  their  broken  weapons  rather  use, 
Than  their  bare  hands. 

Bra.  I  pray  you,  hear  her  speak ; 

If  siie  cosfess,  that  she  was  half  the  wooer, 
Destruction  on  my  head,  if  my  bad  blame 
Ijight  on  the  man ! — Come  hither,  gentle  mistress  : 
Do  you  perceive,  in  all  this  noble  company, 
Where  most  you  owe  obedience  ? 

Des.  My  noble  father, 

[  do  perceive  here  a  divided  duty: 
To  you,  I  am  bound  for  life,  and  education; 
My  life,  and  education,  both  do  learn  me 
How  to  respect  you  ;  you  are  the  lord  of  duty, 
lam  hitherto  your  daughter:  But  here's  my  husband ; 
And  so  much  duty  as  my  mother  shew'd 
To  you,  preferring  you  before  her  fatiier, 
So  much  I  challenge  that  I  may  profess 
Due  to  the  Moor,  my  lord. 

Bra.  God  be  with  you  ! — 1  have  done  : — 

Please  it  your  grace,  on  to  the  state  affairs ; 
I  had  rather  to  adopt  a  child^  than  get  it. — 
Come  hither,  Moor: 

I  here  do  give  thee  that  with  all  my  heart, 
Which,  but  thou  hast  already,  with  all  my  heart 
i  would  keep  from  thee.— For  your  sake,  jewel, 
r  am  glad  at  soul  I  have  no  other  child;  _ 
For  thy  escape  would  teach  me  tyranny. 
To  hang  clogs  on  them. — I  have  done,  my  lord. 
Duke.  Let  me  speak  like  yourself ;  and  lay  a  sen- 
tence, 

Which,  as  a  grise,  or  step,  may  help  these  lovers 
[nto  your  favour. 

When  remedies  are  past,  the  griefs  are  ended. 

By  seeing  the  worst,  which  late  on  hopes  depended.- 

To  mourn  a  mischief  that  is  past  and  gone,  ' 

Is  the  next  way  to  draw  new  mischief  on.  - 

What  cannot  be  preserv'd  when  fortune  takes, 

Patience  her  injury  a  mockery  makes. 

The  robb'd,that  smiles, steals  something  from  the  thief; 

He  robs  himself,  that  spends  a  bootless  grief. 

Bra.  80  let  the  Turk  of  Cyprus  us  beguile  ; 
We  lose  it  not,  so  long  as  we  can  smile. 
He  bears  the  sentence  well,  that  nothing  bears 
But  the  i'ree  comfort  which  from  thence  he  hears: 
But  he  bears  both  the  sentence  and  the  sorrow. 
That,  to  pay  grief,  must  of  poor  patience  borrow 
These  sentences,  to  sugar  or  to  gall. 
Being  strong  on  both  sides,  are  equivocal : 
But  words  are  words;  I  never  yet  did  hear 
That  the  bruis'd  heart  was  pierced  through  the  ear. 
I  humbly  beseech  you,  proceed  to  the  affairs  of  state. 

Duke.  The  Turk  with  a  most  mighty  preparatioir? 
makes  for  Cyprus : — Othello,  the  fortitude  of  the'' 
place  is  best  known  to  you:  And  though  we  have 
there  a  substitute  of  most  allowed  sufficiency,  yet 
opinion,  a  sovereign  mistress  of  effects,  throws  a  more 
safer  voice  on  you  :  you  must  therefore  be  content  to 
slubber  the  gloss  of  your  new  fortunes  with  this  more 
stubborn  and  boisterous  expedition. 

0th.  The  tyrant  custom,  most  grave  senators. 
Hath  made  the  flinty  and  steel  couch  of  war 
My  thrice-driven  bed  of  down  :  I  do  agnize 
A  natural  and  prompt  alacrity. 
I  find  in  hardness:  and  do  undertake 
These  present  wars  against  the  Ottomites. 
Most  humbly  therefo:?  bending  to  your  state, 
r  crave  fit  disposition  for  my  wife  ; 
Due  reference  of  place,  and  exhibition  ; 
With  such  accommodation,  and  besort. 
As  levels  with  her  breeding. 

Duke.  If  you  please 

Be't  at  her  father's. 

Bra.  I'll  not  have  it  so. 


0th.  Nor  I. 

Des.  Nor  I ;  I  would  not  there  rcttd*. 

To  put  my  father  in  impatient  thoughts. 
By  being  in  his  eye.    Most  gracious  duke. 
To  my  unfolding  lend  a  gracious  ear; 
And  let  me  find  a  charter  in  your  voic«. 
To  assist  my  simpleness. 

Duke.  What  would  you,  Desdemona  ? 

Des.  That  1  did  love  the  Moor  to  live  with  Uffi, 
My  downright  violence  and  storm  of  fortunes 
May  trumpet  to  the  world ;  my  heart's  subdued 
Even  to  the  very  quality  of  my  lord  : 
I  saw  Othello's  visage  in  his  mind ; 
And  to  his  honours,  and  his  valiant  parts, 
Did  I  my  soul  and  fortunes  consecrate. 
So  that,  dear  lords,  if  I  be  left  behind, 
A  moth  of  peace,  and  he  go  to  the  war. 
The  rights,  for  which  1  love  him,  are  bereft  me. 
And  I  a  heavy  interim  shall  support 
By  his  dear  absence  :  Let  me  go  with  him. 

0th.  Your  voices,  lords : — 'beseech  you,  let  hef 
Have  a  free  way.  [will 
Vouch  with  me,  heaven  ;  I  therefore  beg  it  not. 
To  please  the  palate  of  my  appetite  ; 
Nor  to  comply  with  heat,  the  young  affects, 
In  my  distinct  and  proper  satisfaction  ; 
But  to  be  free  and  bounteous  to  her  mind  : 
And  heaven  defend  your  good  souls,  that  you  think 
I  will  your  serious  and  great  business  scant. 
For  she  is  with  me  :  No,  when  light  wing'd  toys 
Of  feather'd  Cupid  seel  with  wanton  dulness 
My  speculative  and  active  instruments, 
That  my  disports  corrupt  and  taint  my  business. 
Let  housewives  make  a  skillet  of  my  helm, 
And  all  indign  and  base  adversities 
Make  head  against  my  estimation  I 

Duke.  Be  it  as  you  shall  privately  determine. 
Either  for  her  stay,  or  going  :  the  affair  cries— haflti5» 
And  speed  must  answer  it ;  you  must  hence  to-night. 

Des.  To-night,  my  lord  ? 
Vuke.  This  night. 

0th.         _     _  With  all  my  heart. 

Duke.  At  nine  i'the  morning  here  we'll  meet  again. 
Othello,  leave  some  officer  behind. 
And  he  shall  our  commission  bring  to  you ; 
With  such  things  else  of  quality  and  respect. 
As  doth  import  you. 

0th.  Please  your  grace,  my  ancient ; 

A  man  he  is  of  honesty,  and  trust; 
To  his  conveyance  I  assign  my  wife. 
With  what  else  needful  your  good  grace  shall  think 
To  be  sent  after  me. 

Duke.  Let  it  be  so. — 

Good  night  to  every  one. — And,  noble  signior, 

{To  Brabantio.) 

If  virtue  no  delighted  beauty  lack, 

Your  son-in-law  is  far  more  fair  than  black. 

1  Sen.  Adieu,  brave  Moor!  use  Desden)ona  w^ell. 

Bra.  Look  to  her,  Moor ;  have  a  quick  eye  to  see  ; 
She  has  deceiv'd  her  father,  and  may  thee. 

[Exeunt  Duke,  Senators.,  Officers,  §fc. 

0th.  My  life  upon  her  faith. — Honest  lago, 
My  Desdemona  must  f  leave  to  thee; 
I  pr'ythee,  let  thy  wife  attend  on  her ; 
And  bring  them  after  in  the  best  advantage.- 
Come,  Desdemona;  I  have  but  an  hour 
Of  love,  of  worldly  matters  and  direction, 
To  spend  with  thee  :  we  must  obey  the  time. 

[Exeunt  Othello  and  Deadewt&Ha, 

Rod.  Iago. 

Iago.  What  say'st  thou,  noble  heart? 

Rod.  What  will  I  do,  thinkest  thou? 

Jago.  Why,  go  to  bed,  and  sleep. 

Rod.  I  will  incontinently  drown  myself. 

Iago.  Well,  if  thou  dost,  I  shall  never  love  thea 
after  it.    Why,  thou  silly  gentleman  ! 

Rod.  It  is  silliness  to  live,  when  to  live  is  a  tor- 
ment: and  then  have  we  a  prescription  to  die,  vehea 
death  is  our  physician. 

laqo.  O  villanous  !  I  have  looked  i\pon  the  worM 


776 


OrHELLO, 


Act  11 


for  four  titnea  se-^Ti  years ;  and  since  1  could  dis- 
tinguish between  a  benefit  and  an  injury,  I  never 
found  a  man  that  knew  how  to  love  himself.  Ere 
I  would  say,  I  would  drown  myself  for  the  love  of 
a  Guinea  hen,  I  would  change  my  humanity  with  a 
baboon. 

Rod.  What  should  I  do  ?  I  confess,  it  is  my 
Bhame  to  be  so  fond ;  but  it  is  not  in  virtue  to 
amend  it 

lauo.  Virtue?  a  fig  !  'tis  in  ourselves,  that  we 
are  thus,  or  thus.  Our  bodies  are  our  gardens;  to 
the  which,  our  wills  are  gardeners:  so  that  if  we 
wTir  plant  nettles,  or  sow  lettuce ;  Set  hyssop,  and 
weed  up  thyme;  supply  it  with  one  gender  of  herbs, 
or  distract  it  with  many;  either  to  have  it  steril  with 
Idleness,  or  manured  with  industiy;  why,  the  power 
and  corrigible  authority  of  this  lies  in  our  wills.  If 
the  balance  of  our  lives  had  not  one  scale  of  reason 
to  poise  another  of  sensuality,  the  blood  and  ba*se- 
ni-ss  of  our  natures  would  conduct  us  to  most  pre- 
j)osterous  conclusions :  But  we  have  reason  to  cool 
our  rjiging  motions,  our  carnal  stings,  our  unbitted 
lusts;  whereof  I  take  this,  that  you  call — love,  to 
be  a  sect,  or  scion. 

Rod.  It  cannot  be. 

Ia(jo.  It  is  merely  a  lust  of  the  blood,  and  a  per- 
mission of  the  will.  Come,  be  a  man:  Drown  thy- 
seli  ?  drown  cats,  and  blind  puppies.  I  have  pro- 
fessed me  thy  friend,  and  I  confess  me  knit  to  thy 
deserving  with  cables  of  perdurable  toughness ;  I 
could  never  better  stead  thee  than  now.  Put  money 
ill  thy  purse;  follow  these  wars;  defeat  thy  favour 
with  an  usurped  beard;  I  say,  put  money  in  thy 
purse.  It  cannot  be,  that  De?demona  should  long 
continue  her  love  to  the  Moor, — put  money  in  thy 
purse; — nor  he  his  to  her:  it  was  a  violent  com- 
mencement, and  thou  shalt  see  an  answerable  se- 
questration;— put  but  money  in  thy  purse.— These 
Moors  are  changeable  in  their  wills; — fill  thy  purse 
with  money  :  the  food,  that  to  him  now  is  as  luscious 
-/as  locusts,  shall  be  to  him  shortly  as  bitter  as  colo- 
quintida.  She  must  change  for  youth  :  when  she  is 
sated  with  hIsTody7  she  will  find  the  error  of  her 
choice. — Slie  must  have  change,  she  mugt:  there- 
fore put  money  in  thy  purse. — irthou  wilt  needs 
damn  thyself,  do  it  a  more  delicate  way  than  drown- 
ing. Make  all  the  money  thou  canst:  If  sanctimony 
and  a  frail  vow,  betwixt  an  erring  barbarian  and  a 
supersubtle  Venetian,  be  not  too  hard  for  my  wits, 
and  all  the  tribe  of  hell,  thou  shalt  enjoy  her  ;  there- 
fo.ce  make  money.  A  pox  of  drowning  thyself!  it 
is  clean  out  of  the  way:  seek  thou  rather  to  be 
hanged  in  compassing  thy  joy,  than  to  be  drowned 
and  go  without  her. 

Rod.  Wilt  thou  be  fast  to  my  hopes,  if  I  depend 
on  the  issue  ? 

lago.  Thou  art  sure  of  me; — Go,  make  money: 
—  I  have  told  thee  often,  and  I  re-tell  thee  again 
and  again,  1  hate  the  Moor:  My  cause  is  hearted  ; 
thine  liath  no  less  reason:  Let  us  be  conjunctive 
in  our  revenge  against  him:  if  thou  canst  cuckold 
him,  thou  dost  thyself  a  pleasure,  and  me  a  sport. 
There  are  many  events  in  the  womb  of  time,  which 
will  be  delivered.  Traverse;  go;  provide  thy 
money.  We  will  have  more  of  this  to-morrow. 
Adieu. 

Rod.  Where  shall  vve  meet  i'the  morning? 

lago.  At  my  lodging. 

Hod.  I'll  be  with  thee  betimes. 

lago.  Go  to ;  farewell.    Do  you  hear,  Roderigo  ? 

Rod.  Wiiat  say  you  ? 

Jago.  No  more  of  drowning,  do  you  hear. 

Rod.  I  am  changed.    I'll  i«ell  all  my  land. 

lago.  Go  to ;  farewell :  put  money  enough^  in 
your  purse.  [Exit  Roderigo. 

Thus  do  I  ever  make  my  f)ol  my  purse  : 
For  I  mine  own  gain'd  knowledge  should  profane. 
If  I  would  time  expend  with  such  a  snipe, 
6ut  for  my  sport  and  profit.    I  hate  the  Moor; 
And  it  is  thought  abroad,  that  'tvvixt  niy  sheets 


He  has  done  my  office  :  I  know  not  if  it  be  true; 

But  I,  for  mere  sus.picion  in  that  kind. 

Will  do,  as  if  for  surety.    He  holds  me  well ; 

The  better  shall  my  purpose  work  on  him. 

Cassio's  a  proper  man  :  Let  me  see  now; 

To  get  his  place,  and  to  plume  up  my  wiU ; 

A  double  knavery, — How?  how? — Let  me 

Alter  some  time,  to  abuse  Othello's  ear. 

That  he  is  too  lamiliar  with  his  wife : — 

He  hath  a  person,  and  a  smooth  dispose, 

To  be  suspected  :  fiam'd  to  make  women  fal«e. 

The  Moor  is  of  a  free  and  open  nature, 

That  thinks  men  honest,  that  but  seem  to  be  so; 

And  will  as  tenderly  be  led  by  the  nose. 

As  asses  are. 

I  have't; — it  is  engender'd  :— Hell  and  night  ~~~~| 
Must  bring  this  monstrous  birth  to  the  world's  light.\ 

[Exit 

ACT  II. 

Scene  I. — A  Sea-port  Town  in  Cyprus  A  Plat- 
form. 

Enter  Montano  and  Two  Gentlemen. 
Mon.  What  from  the  cape  can  you  discern  at  sea  ? 

1  Gent.  Nothing  at  all :  it  is  a  high-wrought 

flood  ; 

I  cannot,  'twixt  the  heaven  and  the  main. 
Descry  a  sail. 

Mon.  Methinks  the  wind  hath  spoke  aloud  at 
land ; 

A  fuller  blast  ne'er  shook  our  b«ttlemeHts  : 

If  it  hath  ruffian'd  so  upon  the  sea, 

What  ribs  of  oak,  when  mountains  melt  on  them, 

Can  hold  the  mortise  ?  what  shall  we  hear  of  this? 

2  Gent.  A  segregation  of  the  Turkish  fleet: 
For  do  but  Stand  upon  the  foaming  shore, 
The  chiding  billow  seems  to  pelt  the  clouds; 

The  wind-shak'd  surge   with  high  and  monstroaa 
raaio, 

Seems  to  cast  water  on  the  burning  bear, 
Anal  quench  the  guards  ol  the  ever  fixed  pole; 
I  never  did  like  molestation  view 
On  the  enchafed  flood. 

Mon.  If  that  the  Turkish  fleet 

Be  not  inshelter'd  and  embay'd,  they  are  diown'd; 
It  is  impossible  they  bear  it  out. 

Enter  a  Third  Gentleman. 

.3  Gent.  News,  lords  !  our  wars  are  done  ; 
The  desperate  tempest  hath  so  bang'd  the  Turks, 
That  their  designment  halts  :  A  noble  ship  of  Venice 
Hath  seen  a  grievous  wreck  and  sufterance 
On  most  part  of  their  fleet. 

Moti.  How  I  is  this  true  ? 

3  Ge7it.  The  ship  is  here  put  in, 
A  Veronese  ;  Michael  Cassio, 
Lieutenant  to  tiie  warlike  Moor,  Othello, 

Is  come  on  shore:  the  Moor  himself 's  at  sea, 
And  is  in  full  commission  here  for  Cyprus. 

Mon.  I  am  glad  on't;  'tis  a  worthy  governor. 

3  Gent.  But  this  same  Cassio, — though  he  speak 
of  comfort. 

Touching  the  Turkish  loss, — yet  he  looks  sadly, 
And  prays  the  Moor  be  safe;  for  they  were  parted 
With  foul  and  violent  tempest. 

Mon,  Pray  heaven  he  be ; 

For  I  have  serv'd  him,  and  the  man  commands 
Like  a  full  soldier.    Let's  to  the  sea-side,  ho 
As  well  to  see  the  vessel  that's  con.e  in. 
As  throw  out  our  eyes  for  brave.  Otteelio ; 
Even  till  we  make  the  main,  and  the  aeriai  bke 
An  indistinct  regard. 

3  Gent.  Come,  let's  do  80 

For  e\ery  minute  is  expectancy 
Of  m«re  arrivance. 

E7iter  Cassio. 

Cas.  Thanks  to  the  valiant  of  this  warlike  i§le. 
That  so  approve  the  Moor  ;  O,  let  tlie  heaveua 
Give  him  defence  against  the  elements. 


Scene  1.  THE  MOOR 

For  Iha^e  lost  hlrn  on  a  dangerous  sea, 
Mon.  Is  he  well  shipp'd? 

Cus.  His  bark  is  stoutly  timber'd,  and  his  pilot 
Of  very  expert  and  approv'd  allowance  ; 
Therel  fore  my  hopes,  not  surfeited  to  death. 
Stand  in  bold  cure. 

( Within.)  A  sail,  a  sail,  a  sail ! 

Enter  another  Gentleman. 
Cas.  What  noise  ? 

4  Geni.  The  town  is  empty  ;  on  the  brow  o'the  sea 
Stand  ranks  of  people,  and  they  cry — a  sail. 
Cas.  My  hopes  do  shape  him  for  the  governor. 
2  Gent.  They  do  discharge  their  shot  of  courtesy  ; 

{Guns  heard.) 

Our  friends,  at  least. 

Cas.  I  pray  you,  sir,  go  forth, 

And  s:ive  us  truth  who  'tis  that  is  arriv'd. 

2  Geni.  1  shall.  [Kvit. 

Mon.  But,  good  lieutenant,  is  your  general  wiv'd? 

Cas.  Most  fortunately  :  he  hath  achiev'd  a  maid, 
That  paragons  description,  and  wild  fame  ; 
One,  that  excels  the  quirks  of  blazoning  pens. 
And  in  tiie  essential  vesture  of  creation,  [in  ^ 

Does  bear  all  excellency. —  How  now  ?  who  has  put 

Re-enter  Second  Gentleman. 
2  Gent.  'Tis  one  lago,  ancient  to  the  general. 
Cas.   He  has  had  most  favourable  and  happy 
speed  : 

Tempests  themselves,  high  seas,  and  howling  winds. 
The  gutter'd  rocks,  and  congregated  sands, — 
Traitors  ensteep'd  to  clog  the  guiltless  keel, — 
As  having  sense  of  beauty,  do  omit 
Their  mortal  natures,  letting  go  safely  by 
The  divine  Desdeinona. 

Mon.  What  is  she? 

Cas.  She,  that  I  spake  of,  our  great  captain's 
captain, 

Left  in  the  conduct  of  the  bold  lago; 
Whose  footing  here  anticipates  our  thoughts, 
A  se'nnight's  speed. — Great  Jove,  Othello  guard, 
-^nd  swell  his  sail  with  thine  own  powerful  breath; 
That  he  may  bless  this  bay  with  his  tall  ship. 
Make  love's  quick  pants  in  Desdemona's  arms, 
Give  renew'd  fire  to  our  extincted  spirits,. 
And  bring  all  Cyprus  comfort ! — O,  behold, 

Enter  Desdemona,  Emilia,  Iago,  Roderigo, 
and  Attendants. 
The  riches  of  the  ship  is  come  on  shore  ! 
Ye  men  of  Cyprus,  let  her  have  your  knees: — 
Hail  to  thee,  lady  !  and  the  grace  of  heaven, 
Before,  behind  thee,  and  on  every  hand, 
Enwheel  thee  round! 

Des.  I  thank  you,  valiant  Cassio. 

What  tidings  can  you  tell  me  of  my  lord  ? 

Cas.  He  is  not  yet  arriv'd  ;  nor  know  I  aught 
But  that  he's  well,  and  will  be  shortly  here. 
Des.  O,  but  I  fear; — How  lost  you  company? 
Cas.  The  great  contention  of  the  sea  and  skies 
Parted  our  fellowship    But,  hark  !  a  sail. 

{Cry  wit  fun  .  A  sail,  a  sail!  Then  guns  heard.) 
2  Gent.  They  give  their  greeting  to  the  r.itadel ; 
Thiis  likewise  is  a  friend. 
(^Jas.  See  for  the  news. 

[Exit  Gentleman. 
Good  ancient,  you  are  welcome  ; — Welcome,  mis- 
tress : —  {To  Emilia.) 
Lf»t  it  not  gall  your  patience,  good  lago, 
That  I  extend  my  manners;  'tis  my  breeding  | 
That  gives  me  this  bold  shew  of  courtesy.  I 

{Kissing  tier.) 

Iago.  Sir,  would  she  give  you  so  much  of  her  lips, 
As  of  her  tongue  she  oft  bestows  on  me. 
You'd  have  enough. 

Des.  Alas,  she  has  no  speech. 

Iago.  In  faith,  too  much  ; 
I  find  it  still,  when  I  have  list  to  sleep: 
Marry,  before  your  ladyship,  I  grant, 


OP  VENICE.         '  ^/^'j^'^^C-M  777 

She  puts  her  tongue  a  little  in  her  heart. 
And  chides  with  thinking.  • 

Emit.  You  have  little  caitse  to  say  so. 

Iago.  Come  on,  come  on  ;  you  are  pictures  out  of 
doors. 

Bells  in  your  parlours,  wild  cats  in  your  kitchens. 
Saints  in  your  injuries,  devils  being  offended, 
Players  in  your  housewifery,  and  housewi\»s  ta 
your  beds. 

Des.  O,  fy  upon  thee,  slanderer  I 

Iago.  Nay,  it  is  true,  or  else  I  am  a  Turk; 
You  rise  to  play,  and  go  to  bed  to  work, 

Emil.  You  shall  not  write  my  praise. 

Iago.  No,  let  me  not, 

Des.  What  would'st  thou  write  of  me,  if  thou 
should'st  praise  me  ? 

Iago.  O,  gentle  lady,  do  not  put  me  to't; 
For  i  am  nothing,  if  not  critical. 

Des.  Come  on,  assay  : — There's  one  gone  to  the 
harbour? 

Iago.  Ay,  madam. 

Des.  I  am  not  merry ;  but  I  do  beguile 
The  thing  I  am,  by  seeming  otherwise. — 
Come,  how  would'st  thou  praise  me  ? 

Iago.  I  am  about  it ;  but,  indeed,  my  invention 
Comes  from  my  fiate,  as  birdlime  does  from  frize, 
It  |)lucks  out  brains  and  all :  But  my  muse  labours. 
And  thus  she  is  deliver'd. 
If  she  be  fair  and  wise, — fairness  and  wit. 
The  one's  for  use,  the  other  usfth  it.  [witty? 

Des.  Well  prais'd !  How  if  she  be  black  and 

Iago.  If  she  be  black,  and  thereto  have  a  wit. 
She'll  find  a  white  that  shall  her  blackness  fit. 

Des.  Worse  and  worse. 

Emil.  How,  if  fair  and  foolish  ? 

Iago.  She  never  yet  was  foolish  that  was  fair; 
For  even  her  folly  help'd  her  to  an  heir. 

Des.  These  are  old  fond  paradoxes,  to  make  fools 
laugh  i'the  alehouse.  What  miserable  praise  hast 
thou  for  her  that's  foul  and  foolish  ? 

Iago.  There's  none  so  foul,  and  foolish  there 
unto. 

But  does  foul  pranks,  which  fair  and  wise  ones  do. 

Des.  O  heavy  ignorance! — thou  praisestthe  worst 
best.  But  what  praise  could'st  thou  bestow  on  a 
deserving  woman  indeed  ?  one,  that,  in  the  autho- 
rity of  her  merit,  did  justly  put  on  the  vouch  of  very 
malice  itself? 

Iago.  She  that  was  ever  fair,  and  never  proud; 
Had  tongue  at  will,  and  yet  was  never  loud  ; 
Never  lack'd  gold,  and  yet  went  never  gay; 
Fled  from  her  wish,  and  yet  said,— «o?y  /  ma}j , 
She  that,  being  anger'd,  her  revenge  being  nigh, 
Bade  her  wrong  stay,  and  her  displeasure  fly  ; 
She  that  in  wisdom  never  was  so  frail. 
To  change  the  cod's  head  for  the  salmon's  tail ; 
She  that  could  think,  and  ne'er  disclose  her  mind. 
See  suitors  following,  and  not  look  behind  ; 
She  was  a  wight, — if  ever  such  wight  were, — 

Des.  To  do  what  ? 

Iago.  To  suckle  fools,  and  chronicle  small  beer. 

Des.  O  most  lame  and  impotent  conclusion  ! — Do 
not  learn  of  him,  Emilia,  though  he  be  thy  husband. 
— How  say  you,  Cassio  ?  is  he  not  a  most  profane 
and  liberal  counsellor  ? 

Cas.  He  speaks  home,  madam ;  you  may  relish 
him  more  in  the  soldier,  than  in  the  scholar. 

Iago.  {Aside.)  He  takes  her  by  the  palm  :  Ay,  well 
said,  whisper :  with  as  little  a  web  as  this,  will  ] 
ensnare  as  great  a  fly  as  Cassio.  Ay,  smile  upon  her, 
do;  I  will  gyve  thee  in  thine  own  courtship.  You 
say  true:  'tis  so,  indeed:  if  such  tricks  as  these  strip 
you  out  of  your  lieutenantry,  it  had  been  better  you 
had  not  kissed  your  three  fingers  so  oft,  which  now 
again  you  are  most  apt  to  play  the  sir  in.  Very  good; 
well  kissed  !  an  excellent  courtesy  !  'tis  so,  indeed. 
Yet  again  your  fingers  to  your  lips?  would,  they 
were  clyster-pipes  lor  your  sake  !  {Trumpet.)  The 
Moor,  I  know  his  trumpet, 

Cas.  'Tis  truly  so. 


r78 


OTHELLO, 


Act  II 


l)es.  Let's  meet  him,  and  receive  him. 
Cas.  Lo,  where  he  cosnes  I 

Enter  Othello,  and  Attendants. 

0th.  O  tny  Aiir  warrior  ! 

Des.  My  dear  Othello  ! 

0th.  It  gives  me  wonder,  great  as  my  content. 
To  see  yoa  here  before  rae.    O  my  soul's  joy 
if  after  every  tempest  come  such  calms, 
May  thf;  winds  blow  till  they  have  waken'd  death  ! 
And  let  the  labouring  bark  climb  hills  of  seas,  - 
Olympus-high  ;  and  duck  again  as  low 
As  hell's  from  heaven  !  If  it  were  now  to  die, 
n\vere  now  to  be  most  happy ;  for,  1  fear. 
My  soul  liath  her  content  so  absolute. 
That  not  another  comfprt  like  to  this 
Sttcceeds  in  unknown  fate. 

l)es.  The  heavens  forbid, 

But  that  o<ir  loves  and  comforts  should  increase, 
Even  as  our  days  do  grow  ! 

0th.  Amen  to  that,  sweet  powers  I — 

!  cannot  speak  enough  of  this  content, 
[t  stops  me  here  ;  it  is  too  much  of  joy  : 
And  this,  and  this,  the  greatest  discords  be, 

{Kissing  her.) 

That  e'er  our  hearts  shall  make  ! 

lago.  O,  you  are  well  tun'd  now ! 

But  rll  set  down  the  pegs  that  make  this  music, 
Aa  honest  as  I  am.  {Aside.) 

Oih.  Come,  let's  to  the  castle. — 

News,  friends ;  our  wars  are  done,  the  Turks  are 
drown'd. 

How  do  our  old  acqviaintance  of  this  isle  ?— 

Honey,  you  sha)l  be  well  desir'd  at  Cyprus, 

I  have  found  great  love  amongst  them.  O  my  sweet, 

I  prattle  out  of  Ikshion,  and  1  dote 

In  mine  own  comforts. — I  pr'ythee,  good  lago, 

(ro  to  the  bay,  and  disembark  my  coffers  : 

Bring  tbou  the  master  to  the  citadel ; 

He  is  a  goi)d  one,  and  his  worthiness 

Does  challenge  much  respect. — Come,  Desdemona, 

Once  more  well  met  at  Cyprus. 

[Exeunt  0th.  Des.  and  Attend. 

lago.  Do  thou  meet  me  presently  at  the  harbour. 
Come  hither.  If  Uiou  be'st  valiant,  as  (they  say) 
base  men,  being  in  love,  have  tlien  a  nobility  in  their 
natures  more  tlian  is  n  ttive  to  them, — list  me. .  The 
lieutenant  to-night  watches  on  the  court  of  guard  : — 
First,  [  must  tell  thee  this — Desdemona  is  directly 
fn  love  with  hini. 

Rod.  With  him!  why  'tis  not  possible. 

lago.  Lay  tliy  tinger — thusj  and  let  thy  soul  be 
instructed.    Mark  me  with  what  violence  she  first 
loved  the  Moor,  but  for  bragging,  and  telling  tier  fan- 
tastical lies:  And  will  she  love  him  still  for  prating?  j 
let  not  thy  discreet  he;u-t  think  it.    Her  eye  must  j 
be  fed  ;  and  what  delight  shall  she  have  to  looli  on 
the  devil  ?    When  the  blood  is  made  dull  with  the  I 
act  of  sport,  there  should  be, — again  to  inflame  it,  ' 
and  to  give  satiety  a  fresh  appetite, — loveliness  in 
favour;  sympathy  in  years,  manners,  and  beauties  ; 
all  which  the  Moor  is  defective  in:  Now,  for  want  of 
these  required  conveniences,  her  delicate  tenderness 
w'ill  find  itself  abused,  begm  to  heave  the  gorge, 
disrelish   and  abhor  the  Moor;  very  nature  will 
instruct  her  in  it,  and  compel  her  to  some  second 
choice.    Now,  sir,  this  granted,  (as  it  is  a  most 
pregnant  and  unforced  position,)  who  stands  so  emi-  j 
nently  in  tiie  degree  of  this  fortune,  as  Cassio  does  ?  I 
a  knave  very  voluble;  no  further  conscionable,  than  I 
in  putting  on  the  mere  form  of  civil  and  humane  ! 
seeming,  for  the  better  compassing  of  his  salt  and  ^ 
niost  hidden  loose  affection  ?  why,  none  ;  why,  none: 
A  slippery  and  subtle  knave;  a  finder  out  of  oc- 
easioas;  that  hi.s  an  eye  can  stamp  and  counterfeit 
advantages,  though  true  advantage  never  present 
itself :  A  devilish  knave  !  besides,  the.,k.nave  ishand- 
■ome,  young;  and  hath  all  those  requisites  in  him, 
that  fully  and  green  minds  look  after:  A  pestilent 


complete  knave  ;  and  the  woman  liath  fouwd  hiia 
already. 

Rod,  I  cannot  believe  that  iu  her ;  she  is  full  of 
most  blessed  condition. 

lago.  Blessed  fig's  end  !  the  wine  she  drinks  is 
made  of  grapes  :  if  she  had  been  blessed,  she  would 
never  have  loved  the  Moor  :  Blessed  pudding  !  Didst 
thou  not  see  her  paddle  with  the  palm  of  his  hand  ? 
didst  not  mark  that  ?  , 

Rod.  Yes,  that  I  did  ;  but  that  was  but  courtesy.  ^ 

Jago.  Lechery,  by  this  hand  ;  an  index,  and  ob- 
scure prologue  to  the  history  of  lust  and  fpul  thoughts. 
They  met  so  near  with  their  lips,  that  their  breatiis 
embraced  together.  Villanous  thoughts,  Roderigo  ! 
when  these  mutualities  so  marshal  the  way,  hard  at 
hand  comes  the  master  and  main  exercise,  the  incor- 
porate conclusion  :  Pish  ! — But,  I  ir,  be  you  ruled  by 
me  :  I  have  brought  you  from  Venice.  Watch  you 
to-night ;  for  the  command,  I'll  lay't  upon  you : 
Cassio  knows  you  .not; — I'll  not  be  far  from  you  : 
Do  you  find  some  occasion  to  anger  Cassio,  either  by 
speaking  tou  loud,  or  tainting  his  di5ci[>line ;  or 
from  what  other  course  you  please,  which  the  time 
shall  more  favourably  minister. 

Rod.  Well. 

lago.  Sir.  he  i§  rash,  and  very  sudden  in  choler  ; 
and,  haply,  \vith  his  truncheon  may  strike  at  you: 
Provoke  him,  that  he  may:  for,  even  out  of  that,  will 
I  cause  these  of  Cyprus  to  mutiny  ;  whose  qualification 
shall  come  into  no  true  taste  again,  but  by  the 
displanting  of  Cassio.  So  shall  you  have  a  shorter 
journey  to  your  desires,  by  the  means  I  shall  then 
have  to  prefer  them  ;  and  tiie  impediment  most  pro- 
fitably removed,  without  the  which  there  were  no 
expectation  of  our  prosperity. 

Rod.  I  will  do  this,  if  I  can  bring  it  to  any  op- 
portunity. 

lago.  I  warrant  thee.  Meet  me  by  and  by  at 
the  citadel:  I  must  fetch  his  necessaries  ashore. 
Farewell. 

Rod.  Adieu.  [Exit 
lago.  That  Cassio  loves  her,  I  do  well  believe  it ; 
That  she  loves  him,  'tis  apt,  and  of  great  credit: 
The  Moor — hovvbeit  that  !  endure  him  not, — 
Is  of  a  constant,  loving,  noble  nature  ; 
And,  I  dare  think,  he'll  prove  to  Desdemona 
A  most  dear  husband.    Nyw  1  do  love  her  foo ; 
Not  out  of  absolute  lust,  (though,  peradveuture, 
I  stand  accountant  for  as  great  a  sin,j 
But  partly  led  to  diet  my  revenge, 
For  that  I  do  suspect  the  lusty  Moor 
Hath  leap'd  into  my  seat :  the  thought  whereof 
Doth,  like  a  poisonous  mineral,  gnaw  my  inwards  » 
And  nothing  can  or  shall  content  my  soul, 
Till  I  am  even  with  him,  wife  for  wife : 
Or,  failing  so,  yet  that  I  put  the  Moor 
At  least  into  a  jealousy  so  strong. 
That  judgment  cannot  cure.    Which  thing  to  do,— 
If  this  poor  trash  of  Venice,  whom  I  trash 
For  his  quick  hunting,  stand  the  putting  on, 
I'll  have  our  Michael  Cassio  on  the  hip; 
Abuse  him  to  the  Moor  in  the  rank  garb, — 
For  I  fear  Cassio  with  my  night-cap  too; 
Make  the  Moor  thank  me,  love  me,  and  reward  me, 
For  making  him  egregiously  an  ass, 
And  practising  upon  his  peace  and  quiet 
Even  to  madness.    'Tis  here,  but  yet  coufus'd  ; 
Knavery's  plain  face  is  never  seen,  till  us'd.  \ExiL 

Scene  II.— ^  Street. 
Enter  a  Herald,  with  a  proclamation  ;  People 
following. 

Her.  It  is  Othello's  pleasure,  our  noble  and  va- 
liant general,  that,  upon  certain  tidings  now  arrived, 
importing  the  mere  perdition  of  the  Turkish  fleet, 
every  man  pnt  himself  into  triumph  ;  some  to  dance, 
some  to  make  bonfires,  each  man  to  what  sport  and 
revels  his  addiction  leads  him;  for,  besides  these 
beneficial  news,  it  is  the  celebratioo  of  his  nuptials: 
So  much  was  his  pleasure  should  be  proclaimed.  All 


Scene  8.  THE  MOOR 

offices  are  open  ;  and  there  is  full  liberty  of  feasting;, 
fmm  this  present  hour  of  five,  till  the  bell  hath  told 
rtleven.  Heaven  bless  the  isle  of  Cyprus,  and  our 
noble  general,  Othello  !  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — A  Hall  in  the  Castle. 
Enter  Othello,  Desdemona,  Cassio,  and 
Attendants. 
0th.  Good  Michael,  look  you  to  the  guard  to- 
night : 

LiH  a  teach  ourselves  that  honourable  stop, 
Niit  to  out-sport  discretion. 

Cas.  lago  has  direction  what  to  do ; 
But,  notwithstanding,  with  my  personal  eye 
Wi.l  I  look  to't 

0th.  lago  is  most  honest. 
Michael,  good-night :  To-morrow,  with  our  earliest. 
Let  me  have  speech  with  you. — Come,  my  dear 
love. 

The  purchase  made,  the  fruits  are  to  ensue  ; 

{To  Desdemona.) 
That  profit's  yet  to  come  'twixt  me  and  you. — 
Good-night.  [Exeunt  0th.  Des.  and  Attend. 

Enter  Iago. 

Cas.  Welcome,  Iago :  We  must  to  the  watch, 

Iago.  Not  this  hour,  lieutenant ;  'tis  not  yet  ten 
o'clock :  Our  general  cast  us  thus  early,  for  the  love 
of  his  Desdemona ;  whom  let  us  not  therefore  blame  ; 
he  hath  not  yet  made  wanton  the  night  with  her :  and 
she  is  sport  for  Jove. 

Cas.  She's  a  most  exquisite  lady. 

Iago.  And,  I'll  warrant  her,  full  of  game. 

Cas.  Indeed,  she  is  a  most  fresh  and  delicate 
creature. 

Iago.  What  an  eye  she  has  !  methinks  it  sounds  a 
parley  of  provocation. 

Cas.  An  inviting  eye ;  and  yet,  methinks,  right 
modest,  [love? 

Iago.  And,  when  she  speaks,  is  it  not  an  alarm  to 

Cas.  She  is,  indeed,  perfection. 

Iago.  Well,  happiness  to  their  sheets !  Come, 
lieutenant,  1  have  a  stoop  of  wine  :  and  here  without 
are  a  brace  of  Cyprus  gallants,  that  would  fain  have 
a  measure  to  the  health  of  the  black  Othello. 

Cas.  Not  to-night,  good  Iago;  I  have  very  poor 
and  unhappy  brains  for  drinking:  I  could  well 
wish  courtesy  would  invent  some  other  custom  of 
entertainment. 

Iago.  O,  they  are  our  friends  ;  but  one  cup  :  I'll 
drink  for  you. 

Cas.  I  have  drunk  but  one  cup  to-night,  and 
that  was  craftily  qualified  too,  and,  behold,  what 
innovation  it  makes  here  :  I  am  unfortunate  in  the 
infirmity,  and  dare  not  task  my  weakness  with  any 
more. 

Iago.  What,  man!  'lis  a  night  of  revels;  the  gal- 
lants desire  it. 

Cas.  Where  are  they  ? 

Iago.  Here  at  the  door:  I  pray  yon,  call  them  in. 

Cas.  I'll  do  it,  but  it  dislikes  me.  [Exit. 

Iago.  If  J  can  fasten  but  one  cup  upon  him. 
With  that  which  he  hath  drunk  to-night  already. 
He'll  be  as  full  of  quarrel  and  oftence 
As  my  young  mistress'  dog.    Now,  my  sick  fool, 
Roderigo,  [ward, 
Whoia  love  has  turn'd  almost  the  wrong  side  out- 
To  Desdemona  hath  to-night  carous'd 
Potations  pottle  deep;  and  he's  to  watch  : 
Three  lads  of  Cyprus,— noble  swelling  spirits^ 
That  hold  their'honours  in  a  wary  distance, 
I'he  very  elements  of  this  warlike  isle, — 
Have  I  to-night  fluster'd  with  flowing  cups. 
And  they  watch  too.    Now,  'mongst  this  flock  of 

drunkards, 
Am  I  to  put  our  Cassio  in  some  action 
That  may  offend  the  isle  : — But  here  they  come  : 
If  consequence  do  but  approve  my  dream. 
My  boat  sails  freely  both  with  wind  and  stream. 


OF  VENICE.  77S 

Re  enter  Ckssio,  with  Kim  MoNli^o,  and  GeK» 
tlemen, 

Cas.  'Fore  heaven,  they  have  given  me  a  rouse 
already. 

Mon.  Good  faith,  a  little  one  ;  not  past  a  pint,  u 
I  am  a  soldier. 

Iago.  Some  wine,  ho  ! 

And  let  me  the  canakin  clinh,  clink  ;  [Sings^ 
And  let  we  the  canakin  clink: 

A  soldiers  a  man  ; 

A  life's  but  a  span  ; 
Why  then,  let  a  soldier  drink. 

Some  wine,  boys  !  [Wine  brought  iiC 

Cas.  'Fore  heaven,  an  excellent  song. 
Iago.  I  learned  it  in  England,  where  (indeed)  they 
are  most  potent  in  potting  :  your  Dane,  your  German, 
and  your  swag-bellied  Hollander, — Drink,  ho  ! — are 
nothing  to  your  English. 

Cas.  Is  your  Englishman  so  expert  hi  his  drinking  ? 
Iago.  Why,  he  drinks  you,  with  facility,  your 
Dane  dead  dmnk;  he  sweats  not  to  overthrow  your 
Almain  ;  he  gives  your  Hollander  a  vomit,  ere  the 
next  pottle  can  be  filled. 

Cas.  To  the  health  of  our  general.  [justice. 
Mon.  I  am  for  it,  lieutenant;  and  I'll  do  yoa 
Iago.  O  sweet  England  ! 

King  Stephen  was  a  worthy  peer. 

His  breeches  cost  him  but  a  crown  ; 
He  held  them  sixpence  all  too  dear 
With  that  he  caWd  the  tailor — imin. 

He  was  a  wight  of  high  renown, 

And  thou  art  but  of  low  degree: 
*Tis  pride  that  pulls  the  country  down. 
Then  take  tktne  auld  cloak  about  thee. 
Some  wine,  bo ! 

Cas.  Why,  this  is  a  more  exquisite  song  than  thd 
other. 

Iago.  Will  you  hear  it  again  ? 

Cas.  No;  for  I  hold  him  to  be  unworthy  of  his 
place,  that  does  those  things. — Well,- -Heaven's 
above  all;  and  there  be  souls  that  must  be  saved, 
and  there  be  souls  must  not  be  saved. 

Iago.  It's  true,  good  lieutenant. 

Cas.  For  mine  own  part, — no  offence  to  the  g««. 
neral,  nor  any  man  of  quality, —  I  hope  to  be  saved. 

Iago.  And  so  do  1  too,  lieutenant. 

Cas.  Ay,  but,  by  your  lea\  e,  not  before  me  :  the 
lieutenant  is  to  be  saved  before  the  ancient.  Lefa 
have  no  more  of  this;  let's  to  our  affairs. — Forgive 
us  our  sins! — Gentlemvn,  let's  look  to  our  business. 
Do  not  think,  gentlemen,  I  am  drunk ;  this  is  my 
ancient : — this  is  my  right  hand,  and  this  is  my  le/i 
hand: — I  am  not  drunk  now;  I  can  stand  welJ 
enough,  and  speak  well  enough. 

All.  Excellent  well. 

Cas.  Why,  very  well,  then:  you  must  not  thi«k 
then  that  I  am  drunk.  [Exit, 

Mon.  To  the  platform,  masters ;  come,  let  s  sei 
the  watch. 

Iago.  You  see  this  fellow  that  is  gone  before 
He  is  a  soldier,  fit  to  stand  by  Csesar 
And  give  direction  ;  and  do  but  see  his  vice  ; 
'Tis  to  his  virtue  a  just  equinox, 
The  one  as  long  as  the  other :  'tis  pity  of  him. 
I  fear,  the  trust  Othello  puts  him  in. 
On  some  odd  time  of  his  infirmity, 
Will  shake  this  island. 

Mon.  But  is  be  often  tbua? 

Iago.  'Tis  evermore  the  prologue  to  his  sleep: 
He'li  watch  the  horologe  a  double  set, 
If  drink  rock  not  his  cradle. 

Mon.  It  were  v«?ell. 

The  general  were  put  in  mind  of  it.  i 
Perhap  s,  he  sees  it  not ;  or  his  good  nature 
Prizes  the  virtue  that  apptars  in  Cassio, 
A  nd  looks  not  on  his  evils  :  Is  not  tlu?  true  ' 


OTHELLO. 


Aside.) 


Enter  RoDERiGO. 
lago.  How  now,  Roderigo  ? 
I  pray  you,  after  the  lieutenant ;  go. 

{Exit  Roderigo.) 
Mon.  And  'tis  great  pity,  that  the  noble  Moor, 
Should  hazard  such  a  place,  as  his  own  second 
With  one  of  an  ingraft  infirmity  : 
It  were  an  honest  action,  to  say 
So  to  the  Moor. 

lago.  Not  1 ,  for  this  fair  island  : 

I  do  love  Cassio  well ;  and  would  do  much 
To  cure  him  of  this  evil.  But  hark  !  what  noise  ? 

{Cry  within, — Hc!p  !  help  !) 
Re-enter  Cassio,  driving  in  Roderigo. 
Cas.  You  rogue  !  you  rascal  ! 
Mon.  What  s  the  matter,  lieutenant 
Cas.  A  knave  ! — teach  me  ray  duly ! 
■  I'll  beat  the  knave  into  a  twiggen  bottle. 


Rod. 
Cas. 


Beat 


Dost  thou  prate,  rogue  ? 

{Striking  Moo^  rir  :) 
Mon.         Nay,  good  lieutenant;  {Si  iy%  , 
I  pray  you,  sir,  hold  your  hand. 

Cas.  Lnti  p:.e  g^,  s'r. 

Or  I'll  knock  you  o'er  the  mazpSt'.r'^i. 
Mon.  Corv z^,  •     -5,  you're  drunk. 

Cos.  Drunk!  (They fight.) 

lago  Away,  I  say!  go  o\.,%  and  'rj'  -a  mutiny. 

{Aside,  U  Rod.  who  goes  Out.) 
Nay,  good  lieutenant, — alas  gentlemen, — 
Help,  ho! — Lieutenant, — sir.  Montano, — sir; — 
Help,  masters  I — Here's  a  godly  watch,  indeed! 

{Bell  rings.) 
Who's  that  that  rins;s  the  bell  ?~-Diable,  iio  ! 
The  town  will  rise:  God's  will,  lieutenant!  hold; 
1  ou  will  be  shatn'd  for  ever. 

Enter  Othello,  and  Attendants. 
0th.  What  is  the  matter  here  ? 

Mon.  I  bleed  still,  I  am  hurt  to  the  death ; — he 
dies. 

0th.  Hold,  for  your  lives. 

iayo.  Hold,  hold,  lieutenant, — sir,  Montano, — 
gentlemen, — 
Have  you  forgot  all  sense  of  place  and  duty  ? 
Hold,  hold!  the  general  speaks  to  you;  hold,  for 
shame '.  [this  ? 

0th.  Why,  how  now,  ho !  from  whence  ariseth 
Are  we  turn'd  Turks;  and  to  ourselves  do  that. 
Which  heaven  hath  forbid  the  Ottomites  ? 
For  christian  shame,  put  by  this  barbarous  brawl  : 
He  that  stirs  next  to  carve  for  his  own  rage. 
Holds  hi«  soul  light ;  he  dies  upon  his  motion. — 
Silence  that  dreadful  bell,  it  frights  the  isle 
From  her  propriety. — What  is  the  matter,  mas- 
ters ? — 

Honest  lago,  that  look'st  dead  with  grieving. 
Speak,  who  began  this?  on  thy  love  I  charge  thee. 
lago.  I  do  not  know; — friends  all  but  now,  even 
now, 

fn  quarter,  and  in  terms  like  bride  and  groom 
Divesting  them  for  bed  :  and  then,  but  now 
fAs  if  some  planet  had  unwitted  men,) 
Swords  out,  and  tilting  one  at  other's  breastj. 
In  opposition  bloody,  I  cannot  speak 
Any  beginning  to  this  peevish  odds; 
And  'would  in  action  glorious  I  had  lost 
These  legs,  that  brought  me  to  a  part  of  it! 

0th.  How  comes  it  Michael,  you  are  thus  forgot? 

Cas.  1  pray  you,  pardon  me,  I  cannot  speak. 

0th.  Worthy  Montano,  you  were  wont  be  civil ; 
The  gravity  and  stillness  of  your  youth 
The  world  hat-h  noted,  and  your  name  is  great 
In  mouths  of  wisest  censure  ;  What's  the  matter, 
That  you  unlace  your  reputation  thus, 
And  spend  your  rich  opinion,  for  the  name 
Of  a  night-brawler  ?  Give  me  answer  to  it. 

Mon.  Worthy  Othello,  I  am  hnrt  to  danger  ; 
Your  officer  fago,  can  inform  you~  [me — 

Wbile  1  spaie  speech  which  somethiugnow  offends 


Of  all  that  I  do  know  :  nor  know  I  aught 
By  me  that's  said  or  done  amiss  this  night 
Unless  self-charity  be  sometime  a  vice ; 
And  to  defend  ourselves  it  be  a  sin,     va.  \>j 
When  violence  assails  us. 
0th.  Now, 


Act  n. 

■4 


,  by  heave%  | . 

My  blood  begins  my  eafer  guides  to  rule ; 
And  passion,  havmg  roj  best  judgtnent  colliedfl 
Assays  to  lead  the  ij-ay  :  iC  I  once  stir,  ■ 
Or  do  but  lift  thii  arm,  the  best  of  you  ^J" 
Shall  sink  in  tfj  re'suke.  Give  me  to  kuow^'''"^  Jjj^  c 
How  this  fc-^l  r3:.t  began,  who  set  it  on  ^"nT 
And  he  thaf     approv'd  in  this  off(!nce,  ^ 
Thout-h  hie  hf»d  twinn'd  with  me,  both  at  a  birtu 
Shall  !cse  p*. — W"hat !  in  a  town  of  war. 
Yet  wiK,  the  people's  hearts  brimful  of  fear, 
To  n>';iiag?  private  and  domestic  quarrel, 
In  sight,  and  on  the  court  and  guard  of  safety  J 
'Tis  aionstrous. — I^go,  who  began  it  ? 

Mon.  If  partially  affin'd,  or  leagu'd  in  oflSce, 
Thou  dost  deliver  more  or  less  than  truth, 
Thou  art  no  soldier. 

lago.  Touch  me  not  so  near : 

I  had  rather  have  this  tongue  cut  from  my  nu>uf. 
Than  it  should  do  offence  to  Michael  Cassio ; 
Vet,  I  persuade  myself,  to  speak  the  truth 
Shall  nothing  wrong  him. — Thus  it  is,  genera 
Montano  and  myself  being  in  speech, 
There  comes  a  fellow  crying  out  for  help; 
And  Cassio  following  him  with  determin'd  swor''. 
To  execute  upon  him  :  Sir,  this  gentleman 
Steps  in  to  Cassio,  and  entreats  his  pause  ; 
Myself  the  crying  fellow  did  pursue, 
L^st,  by  his  clamour,  (as  it  so  fell  out,) 
The  town  might  fall  in  fright :  he,  swift  of  foot, 
Outran  my  purpose  ;  and  I  return'd,  the  rather 
For  that  I  heard  the  clink  and  fall  of  swords, 
And  Cassio  high  in  oath  ;  which,  till  to-night, 
I  ne'er  might  say  before  :  When  I  came  back, 
(For  this  was  brief,)  I  found  them  close  togetheit 
At  blow  and  thrust ;  even  as  again  they  were, 
When  you  yourself  did  part  them. 
More  of  this  matter  can  I  not  report: — 
But  men  are  men  ;  the  best  sometimes  forget  :-»- 
Tho+Jgh  Cassio  did  some  little  wrong  to  him, — 
As  men  in  rage  strike  those  that  wish  them  best,-— 
Yet,  surely,  Cassio,  I  believe,  receiv'd. 
From  him  that  fled,  some  strange  indignity. 
Which  patience  could  not  pass. 

0th.  I  know,  lago, 

Thy  honesty  and  love  doth  mince  this  matter. 
Making  it  light  to  Cassio  : — Cassio,  I  love  thee  ; 
But  never  more  be  officer  of  mine. — 

Enter  Desdemona,  attende 
Look,  if  my  gentle  love  be  not  rais'd  up  ;- 
I'll  make  thee  an  example. 

Des.  What's  the  matter,  dear  ? 

0th.  A  Il's  well  now,  sweeting ;  Come  away  to  bed. 
Sir,  for  your  hurts, 

Myself  will  be  your  surgeon  :  Lead  him  off. 

(To  Montano,  who  is  led  off.) 
lago,  look  with  care  about  the  town ; 
And  silence  those  whom  this  vile  brawl  distracted. — 
Come,  Desdemona  ;  'tis  the  soldiers'  lite. 
To  have  their  balmy  slumbers  wak'd  with  strife. 

[Exeunt  all  but  lago  and  Cassio. 

lago.  What,  are  you  hurt,  lieutenant? 

Cas.  Ay,  past  all  surgery. 

lago.  Marry,  heaven  forbid  ! 

Cas.  Reputation,  reputation,  reputation  !  O,  I 
have  lost  my  reputation  !  I  have  lost  the  immorta\ 
part,  sir,  of  myself,  and  what  remains  is  bestial. — ■ 
My  reputation,  lago,  my  reputation. 

letgo.  As  I  am  an  honest  man,  I  thought  you  had 
received  some  bodily  wound;  there  is  more  offence 
in  that,  than  in  reputation.  Reputation  is  an  idle  and 
most  false  imposition;  oft  got  without  merit,  and 
lost  without  deserving:  You  have-  tost  no  reputation 
at  all,  unless  you  repute  yourser   i'lch  a  loser 


r 


TIL    Scene  1.  THE  MOOR 

IVhaf.,  man  !  there  are  ways  to  recover  the  general 
ngain  ;  You  are  but  now  cast  in  his  mood,  a  punish- 
ment more  in  policy  tt.an  in  malice  ;  even  so  as 
one  would  beat  his  offenceless  dog,  to  affright  an 
imperious  iioo    sue  to  him  again,  and  he's  your's. 

Cas,  I  wil'  rather  sue  to  be  despised,  than  to 
deceive  so  j;Ood  a  commander,  with  so  slight,  so 
drunken,  and  so  indiscreet  an  officer.  Drunk  ?  and 
speak  pairot?  and  squabble?  svvagger  ?  swear?  and 
discourse  fustian  with  one's  own  shadow? — O  thou 
invisible  spirit  of  wine,  if  thou  hast  no  name  to  be 
known  by,  let  us  call  thee — devil  I 

larjo.  What  was  he  that  yon  followed  with  your 
sword  ?  What  had  he  done  to  you  i 

Las.  I  know  not. 

tagnTls  '\i  possible  ? 

Cas.  I  remember  a  mass  of  things,  but  nothing 
distinctly;  a  quarrel,  but  nothing  wherefors.-^O, 
that  men  should  put  an  enemy  in  their  mouths,  to 
steal  away  their  urains!  that  we  should,  with  joy, 
revel,  pleasure,  and  applause,  transform  ourselves 
into  beasts ! 

lafjO.  Why,  but  you  are  now  well  enough  :  How 
came  you  thus  recovered  ? 

Cas.  it  hath  pleased  the  devil,  drunkenness,  to 
give  place  to  the  devil,  wrath  :  one  imperfectness 
shews  me  another,  to  make  me  frankly  despise  my- 
self. 

lago.  Come,  you  are  too  severe  a  moraler :  As 
the  time,  the  place,  and  the  condition  of  this  coun- 
try stands,  I  could  heartily  wish  this  had  not  be- 
fallen ;  but  since  it  is  as  it  is,  mend  it  for  your  ovvn 
good. 

Cas.  I  will  ask  him  for  iny  place  again  ;  he  shall 
tell  me,  1  am  a  drunkard  !  Had  J  as  many  mouths  as 
Hydra,  such  an  answer  would  stop  them  all.  To  he 
now  a  sensible  man,  by  and  by  a  Ibol,  and  presently 
a  beast !  O  strange ! — Every  inordinate  cup  is  un- 
blessed, and  tlie  ingredient  is  a  devil. 

lago.  Come,  come,  good  wine  is  a  good  familiar 
creating,  if  it  be  well  used  ;  exclaim  no  more  against 
it.  And,  good  lieutenant,  I  think,  you  think  I  love 
you. 

Cas.  I  have  well  approved  it,  sir. — I  drunk ! 

lago.  Vou,  or  any  man  living,  may  be  drunk  at 
some  time,  man.  J  11  tell  you  what  yoa  shall  do. 
Our  general's  wife  is  now  the  general I  may  say 
-JO  in  this  respect,  for  that  he  hath  devoted  and  given 
up  himself  to  the  contemplation,  mark,  a  denote- 
metit  of  her  parts  and  graces: — Confess  yourself 
freely  to  her  ;  importune  her;  she'll  help  to  put  you 
in  your  place  again  :  she  is  of  so  free,  so  kind,  so 
apt,  so  blessed  a  disposition,  that  she  holds  it  a  vice 
in  her  goodness,  not  to  do  more  than  she  is  requested  : 
This  broken  joint,  between  you  and  her  husband, 
entreat  her  to  splinter  ;  and,  m^  fortunes  against  any 
lay  worth  naming,  this  crack  of  your  love  shall  grow 
stronger  than  it  was  before. 

Cas.  You  advise  me  well. 

lago.  I  protest,  in  the  sincerity  of  love,  and  ho- 
nest kindness. 

Cas.  I  think  it  freely ;  and,  betimes  in  the  morn- 
ing, {  will  beseech  the'  virtuous  Desdemona  to  un- 
dertake for  me :  i  am  desperate  of  my  fortunes,  if 
they  check  me  here. 

lago.  Vou  are  in  the  right.  Good-night,  lieute- 
unnt ;  I  must  to  the  watch. 

Cas.  G(K)d-uight,  honest  lago.  [Exit. 

iago.  And  what's  he  then,  that  says,— I  play  the 
villain? 

When  this  advice  is  free,  I  give,  and  honest, 

Probal  to  thinking,  and  (indeed)  the  course 

To  win  :  he  Moor  again  ?  For  'tis  mosl  easy 

The  inclining  Desdemona  to  subdue 

In  any  honest  suit;  she's  fram'd  as  fruitful 

As  the  tree  elements.  And  then  for  her 

To  win  tlue  Moor, —  vvere't  to  renounce  his  r  aptism. 

All  seals  and  symbols  of  redeemed  sin,— 

His  soul  is  so  enfetter'd  to  her  love, 

Tl'a\  she  may  make,  unmake,  do  what  she  list. 


OF  YENTCE.  791 

Even  as  her  apprciie  shafl  play  flie  god 

With  his  weak  function.    How  am  1  then  a  villa!^ 

To  counsel  Cassiotothis  parallel  course. 

Directly  to  his  good  ?  Divinity  of  hell  I 

When  devils  will  their  blackest  sins  put  on. 

They  do  suggest  at  first  with  heavenly  showi, 

As  I  do  now  :  For  while  this  honest  fool 

Plies  Desdemona  to  repair  1ms  fortunes, 

4nd  she  for  him  pleads  strongly  to  the  Moor, 

I'll  pour  this  pestilence  into  his  ear, — 

That  she  repeals  him  for  her  body's  lust ; 

And,  by  how  much  she  strives  to  do  him  gooti, 

She  shall  undo  her  credit  with  the  Moor. 

So  will  I  turn  her  virtue  into  pitch  ; 

And  out  of  her  own  goodness  make  the  net. 

That  shall  enmesh  them  all. — How  now,  Roderigo? 

Enier  Roderigo. 

Rod.  I  do  follow  here  in  the  chase,  not  like  a 
hound  that  hunts,  but  one  that  tills  up  the  cry.  My 
money  is  almost  spent;  I  have  been  to-night  ex- 
ceedingly well  cudgelled ;  and,  I  think,  the  issue 
will  be — I  shall  have  so  much  experience  for  my 
pains:  and  so,  with  no  money  at  all,  and  a  little 
more  wit,  return  to  Venice. 

Iago.  How  poor  are  they,  that  have  not  patience! — 
What  wound  did  ever  heal,  bnt  by  degrees  ? 
Thou  knovv'st  we  work  by  wit,  and  not  by  witch- 
craft; 

And  wit  depends  on  dilatory  time. 
Does't  not  go  well  ?  Cassio  hath  beaten  thee. 
And  thou,  by  that  small  hurt,  hast  cashier'd  Cassio  : 
Though  other  things  grow  fair  against  the  sun, 
Yet  fruits,  that  blossom  first,  will  first  be  ripe  : 
Content  thyself  awhile. — By  the  mass,  'tis  morning; 
Pleasure,  and  action,  make  the  hours  seem  short.-^ 
Retire  thee  ;  go  where  thou  art  billetted  : 
Away,  I  say  ;  thou  shalt  know  more  hereafter. 
Nay,  get  thee  gone.  [Exit  Rod.]  Two  things  are  to 
be  done, — 

My  wife  must  move  for  Cassio  to  her  mistress  ; 
I'll  set  her  on  ; 

Myself,  the  while,  to  draw  the  Moor  apart. 

And  bring  him  jump  when  he  may  Cassio  find 

Soliciting  his  wife  : — Ay,  that's  the  way  ; 

Dull  not  device  by  coldness  and  delay.  [ExiL 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — Before  the  Castle. 
Enter  Cassio,  and  some  Musicians. 
Cas.  Masters,  play  here,  I  will  content  your  pains, 
Something  that's   brief;   and   bid — good-morrow 
general.  [Music.) 

Enter  Clown. 

Clo.  Why,  masters,  have  your  instruments  been 
at  Naples,  that  they  speak  i'the  nose  thus? 

1  Mus.  How,  sir,  how  ?  [ments? 

Clo.  Are  these,  T  pray  you,  called  wind  instru- 

1  Mus.  Ay,  marry,  are  they,  sir. 

Clo.  O,  thereby  hangs  a  tail. 

1  Mus.  Whereby  hangs  a  tale,  sir? 

Clo.  Marry,  sir,  by  many  a  wind  instrument  that 
I  know.  But,  masters,  here's  money  for  you:  and 
the  general  so  likes  your  music,  that  he  desires  you 
of  all  loves,  to  make  no  more  noise  with  it. 

1  Mus.  Well,  sir,  we  will  not. 

Clo.  If  you  have  any  music  that  may  not  be  heard, 
to't  again  :  but,  as  they  say,  to  hear  music,  the  general 
does  not  greatly  care. 

I  Mus.  We  have  none  such,  sir. 

Clo.  Then  put  up  your  pipes  in  your  bag,  for  J'U 
away  :  Go ;  vanish  into  air  ;  away. 

[Exeunt  Musiciam 

Cas.  Dost  thou  hear,  my  honest  friend  ? 

Clo.  No,  I  hear  not  your  honest  friend  •  I  hear  you. 

Cas.  Pr'ythee,  keep  up  thy  quillets.  There's  a 
poor  piece  of  gold  for  thee  ;  if  tiie  gentlewoman,  that 
atten<i.s  tiie  generaTs  wife,  be  stirring,  tell  her  there'i 


782 

one  Cassio  entreats  her  a  little  favour  of  speech :  1 
Wilt  thoii  do  this? 

Clo.  Siie  is  stirring,  sir;  if  she  will  stir  hither,  I  , 
shall  seem  to  notify  unto  her.  [Exit. 

Enter  Iago. 

Cas.  Do,  good  my  friend. — In  happy  time,  Iago. 

Iago.  You  have  not  been  a  bed,  then  ? 

Cas.  Why,  no ;  the  day  had  broke 
Before  we  parted.    I  have  made  bold,  Iago, 
To  send  in  to  your  wife  :  My  suit  to  her 
Is,  that  she  wdl  to  virtuous  Desdemona 
Procure  me  some  access. 

Jago.  I'll  send  her  to  you  presently;  ' 

And  1"K  devise  a  mean  to  draw  the  Moor 
Out  of  the  way,  that  your  converse  and  business 
May  be  more  free.  [Exit. 
'  Cas.  I  humbly  thank  you  for't.    I  never  knew 
A  Florentine  more  kind  and  honest. 

Enter  Emilia. 
Emil.  Good  nforrow,  good  lieutenant:  I  am  sorry  \ 
For  your  displeasure  ;  but  all  will  soon  be  well. 
The  general,  and  his  wile,  are  talking  of  it; 
And  she  speaks  for  you  stoutly:  The  Moor  replies, 
That  he,  you  hurt,  is  of  great  fame  iu  Cyprus, 
And  great  affinity;  and  that,  in  wholesome  wisdom, 
He  might  not  but  rel'use  you :  but,  he  protests,  he 
loves  you  ; 

And  needs  no  otiier  suitor,  but  his  likings, 
To  take  the  saf  st  occasion  by  the  front, 
To  bring  you  in  again. 

Cos.  Yet,  1  beseech  you,— 

If  you  think  fit,  or  that  it  may  be  done, — 
Give  me  advantage  of  some  brief  discourse 
With  Desdemona  alone. 

Einil.  Pray  you,  come  in  ; 

I  will  bestow  you  where  you  shall  have  time 
To  speak  your  bosom  freely. 

Cas.  I  am  much  bound  to  you.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  II. — A  Room  in  the  Castle. 
Enter  Othello,  Iago,  and  Gentlemen. 
Oik.  These  letters  give,  Iago,  to  the  pilot; 
And,  by  him,  do  my  duties  to  the  state: 
That  done,  I  will  he  walking  on  the  works; 
Repair  there  to  me. 

Iago.  Well,  my  good  lord,  I'll  do't. 

O^A.This  fortification,gentiemen,— shall  we  see't? 
Gent.  We'll  wait  upon  your  lordship.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III. — Before  the  Castle. 
Enter  Desdemona,  Cassio,  and  Emilia 

Des.  Be  thou  assur'd,  good  Cassio,  I  will  do 
All  my  abilities  in  thy  behalf  [husband, 

Emil.  Good  madam,  do;  I  know  it  grieves  my 
As  it'  the  case  were  his.  [Cassio, 

Ves.  O,  thafs  an  honest  fellow.— Do  not  doubt, 
But  I  will  have  my  lord  and  you  again 
As  friendly  as  you  were. 

Cos.  Bounteous  madam, 

W^hatever  shall  become  of  Michael  Cassio, 
He's  never  any  thing  but  your  true  servant. 

Des.  O,  sir,  I  thank  you :  You  do  love  my  lord : 
You  have  known  him  long ;  and  be  you  well  assur'd^ 
He  shall  in  strangeness  stand  no  further  off 
Than  in  a  politic  distance. 

Cas.  Ay,  but,  lady 

That  policy  may  either  last  so  long, 
Or  feed  upon  such  nice  and  waterish  diet, 
Or  breed  itself  so  out  of  circumstance, 
That,  I  being  absent,  and  my  place  supplied. 
My  general  will  forget  my  love  and  service. 

Des.  Do  not  doubt  that;  before  Emilia  here, 
I  give  thee  warrant  of  thy  place :  assure  thee 
If  I  do  vow  a  friendship,  1  11  perform  it 
To  the  last  article:  my  lord  shall  never  rest; 
I'll  watch  him  tame,  a'nd  talk  him  out  of  patience  ; 
His  bed  sliall  seem  a  school,  his  board  a  shrift; 
4  ii  intermingle  e\  ery  thing  he  does 


Act  ni 

With  Cassio's  suit:  Therefore  be  raeny,  Casaio, 
For  thy  solicitor  shall  rather  die, 
Than  give  thy  cause  away. 

Enter  Othello       Iago,  at  a  distance, 

Etnil.  Madam,  here  coiaea 

My  lord. 

Cas.     Madam,  I'll  take  my  leave. 

Des.  Why,  glay, 

And  hear  me  speak. 

Cas.  Madam,  not  now  ;  T  am  very  ill  at  ease, 
Unfit  for  mine  own  purposes. 

Des.  Well,  well. 

Do  your  discretion.  [Exit  CasstOk 

Iago.  Ha  !  I  like  not  that. 

I  Ot/i.  What  dost  thou  say  ? 

I  Iago.  Nothing,  ray  lord  :  or  if— I  know  not  what 

Ot/i.  Was  not  that  Cassio,  parted  from  my  wife  ? 

Iago.  Cassio,  my  lord  ?  No,  sure,  I  cannot  think  it, 
That  he  would  steal  away  so  guilty-like. 
Seeing  you  coming. 

OtL  I  do  believe  'twas  he. 

Des.  How  now,  my  lord  ? 
I  have  been  talking  with  a  suitor  here, 
A  man  that  languishes  in  your  displeasure. 

Oth.  Who  is't  you  mean  ? 

Des.  Why,  your  lieutenant  Cassio,  Good  my  lord, 
If  I  have  any  grace,  or  power  to  move  you. 
His  present  reconciliation  take  ; 
For,  if  he  be  not  one  that  truly  loves  you, 
Tiiat  errs  in  ignorance,  and  not  in  cunning, 
I  have  no  judgment  in  an  honest  face  : 
I  pr'ythee,  call  him  back. 

Ot/i.  Went  he  hence  now? 

Des.  Ay,  sooth ;  so  humbled. 
That  he  hath  left  part  of  his  grief  with  me; 
I  suffer  with  him.    Good  love,  call  him  back. 

Oth.  Not  now,  sweet  Desdemona ;  some  other  time 

Des.  But  shall't  be  shortly  ? 

Oth.  The  sooner,  sweet,  for  yoiv 

Des.  Shall't  be  to  night  at  supper? 

Oth.  No,  not  to-night, 

Des.  To-morrow  dinner  then 

Oth.  I  shall  not  dine  at  home; 

I  meet  the  captains  at  the  citadel.  [morn; 

Des.  Why  then,  to-morrow  night;  or  Tuesday 
Or  Tuesday  noon,  or  night;  or  Wednesday  morn  ;— 
I  pray  thee,  name  theJime  ;  but  let  it  not 
Exceed  three  days:  in  fiith,  he's  penitent; 
And  yet  his  trespass,  in  our  common  reason, 
(Save  that,  they  say,  the  wars  must  make  examples 
Out  of  their  best,)  is  not  almost  a  lault 
To  incur  a  private  check:  When  shall  he  come''* 
Tell  me,  Othello.    I  wonder  in  my  soul, 
What  you  could  ask  me,  that  I  should  deny. 
Or  stand  so  mammeringon.  What!  Michael  Cassio^ 
That  came  a  wooing  with  you ;  and  many  a  time. 
When  1  have  spoke  of  you  dispraisiogly. 
Hath  ta'en  your  part;  to  have  so  n)uch  to  do 
To  bring  him  inl  Trust  me,  I  could  do  much, — 

Oth.  Prythee,  no  more;  let  him  come  when  he 
I  will  deny  thee  nothing.  [will; 

Des.  Why,  this  is  not  a  boon ; 

'Tis  as  I  should  entreat  you  wear  your  gloves. 
Or  feed  on  nourishing  dishes,  or  keep  you  warm;  i 
Or  sue  to  you  to  do  peculiar  profit  " 
To  your  own  person :  Nay,  when  I  have  a  suit. 
Wherein  I  mean  to  touch  your  love  indeed. 
It  shall  be  full  of  poise  and  difficulty. 
And  fearful  to  be  granted. 

Oth.  I  will  deny  thee  nothing 

Whereon,  I  do  beseech  thee,  grant  me  this. 
To  leave  me  but  a  little  to  myself 

Des.  Shall  I  deny  you  ?  no :  Farewell,  my  lord 

Oth.  Farewell,  my  Desdemona  •  I  will  come  to 
thee  straight.  ^  lyon; 

Des.  Emilia,  come: — Be  it  as  your  fancies  teach 
Whate'er  you  be,  I  am  obedient.  /  -  , 

lExit,  with  Emilia. 

Oth.  Excellent  wretch!  Perditi  n  catch  my  soul. 


OTHELLO, 


SCENH  8. 


tl  do  iove  thee !  and,  when  I  lovg^ep  nvtp'^ 


THE  MOOPt  OF  VENICE. 


78f 


aosis  come  a^ain.      ^  J 


famr^y  nobleToTcl,-^.^-^.-.  h /vt     ^ / 
O^.  What  dost  thou  say,  la^? 

lago  Did  Michael  Cassio,  when  you  woo'd  my 
lady, 

Know  of  your  love  ?  [ask  ? 

OiA.  He  did,  from  first  to  last :  Why  dost  thou 

lago.  But  for  a  satisfaction  of  my  thought; 
No  further  harm. 

0th.  Why  of  thy  thought,  lago  ? 

lago.  I  did  not  think,  he  had  been  acquainted  with 
her. 

Ol/i.  O,  yes ;  and  went  between  us  very  oft. 

lago.  Indeed?  [in  that? 

Otk.  Indeed  !  ay,  indeed: — Discern'st  thou  aught 
Is  he jiot  honest? 

Togo.'    "         HoncBt,  my  lord  ? 

Otk.  Ay,  honest. 

lago.  My  lord,  for  aught  I  know. 

0th.  What  dost  thou  think? 

lago  Think,  my  lord  ? 

0th.  Think,  my  lord  ! 

By  heaven,  he  echoes  me, 
As  if  there  were  some  ^onsle^  in  his  thought. 
Too  hideous  to  be  shewn. — Thou  dost  mean  some- 
thing : 

1  heard  thee  say  but  now, — Thou  lik'dst  not  that, 
When  Cassio  left  my  wife  :  What  did'st  not  like  ? 
And,  when  I  told  thee — he  was  of  ray  counsel 
In  my  whole  course  of  wooing,  thou  cry'dst,  Indeed? 
And'did'st  contract  and  purse  thy  brow  together, 
As  if  thou  then  had'st  shut  up  in  thy  brain 
Some  horrible  conceit:  If  thou  dost  iove  me, 
Shew  me  thy  thought. 

lago.  My  lord,  you  know  I  love  you. 

Oih.  I  think,  thou  dost ; 

And, — for  I  know  thou  art  full  of  love  and  honesty. 
And  weigh'st  thy  words  before  thou  giv'st  them 
breath, — 

Therefore  these  stops  of  thine  fright  me  the  more :  , 
For  such  things,  in  a  false  disloyal  knave,  y' 
Are  tricks  of  custom  ;  but,  in  a  man  that's  just, 
They  are  close  denotements  working  from  the  heart, 
That  passion  cannot  rule. 

lago.  For  Michael  Cassio. — 

I  dare  be  sworn,  I  think  that  he  is  honest. 

0th.  I  think  so  too. 

lago.  Men  should  be  what  they  seem  ; 

Or.  those  that  be  not,  'would  they  might  seem  none  ! 

0th.  Certain,  men  should  be  what  they  seem. 

lago.  Why,  then, 

[  think  that  Cassio  is  an  honest  man. 

0th.  Nay,  yet  there's  more  in  this : 
I  pray  thee,  speak  to  me  as  to  thy  thinkings, 
As  thou  dost  ruminate;  and  give  thy  worst  of 
The  worst  of  words.  [thoughts 

fago.  Good  my  lord,  pardon  me  ; 

Though  I  am  bound  to  every  act  of  duty, 
I  am  not  bound  to  that  all  slaves  are  free  to! 
Utter  ray  thoughts !  Why,  say  they  are  vile  and 
false, — 

As  where 's  that  palace,  whereinto  foul  things 
Sometimes  intrude  not?  whp  has  a  breast  so  pure. 
But  some  uncleanly  apprehensions 
Keep  leets,  and  law-days,  and  in  session  sit 
With  meditations  lawful  ? 

0th.  Thou  dost  conspire  against  thy  friend,  lago. 
If  thou  but  think'st  him  wrong'd,  and  mak'st  his  ear 
A  stranger  to  thy  thoughts. 

lago.  I  do  beseech  you, — 

Though  I,  perchance,  am  vicious  in  my  guess. 
As,  I  confess,  it  is  my  nature's  pla  V 
To  spy  into  abuses;  and  oft,  my  jealousy 
Shapes  faults  that  are  not, — I  entreat  you  then, 
From  one  that  so  imperfectly  conjects. 
You'd  take  no  notice :  nor  build  yourself  a  trouble 
Out  of  his  scattering  and  unsure  observance  : — 
It  were  not  for  your  quiet,  nor  your  good, 
Nor  for  my  manhood,  honesty,  or  wisdom. 


To  let  you  know  my  thoughts. 

0th.  What  dost  tho\i  mran  ? 

lago.  Good  came,  in  man,  and  womian,  dear  mj 
lord, 

Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls : 

Who  steals  my  purse,  steals  trash  ;  'tis  something, 

nothing ; 

'Twas  mine,  'tis  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thousand?' 
But  he,  that  filches  from  me  my  goon  rianae, 
Robs  me  of  that  which  not  enriches  hira,  / 
And  makes  me  poor  indeed.  / 

0th.  By  heaven,  I'll  know  thy  thought. 

lago.  You  cannot,  if  my  heart  were  in  your  baud; 
Nor  shall  not,  whilst  'tis  in  my  custody. 

0th.  Ha! 

lago.  O,  beware,  my  lord,  of  jealousy ; 

It  is  tlie  green-ey'd  monster,  which  doth  mock 
The  meat  it  feeds  on :  That  cuckold  lives  in  bliss. 
Who.  certain  of  his  fate,  loves  not  his  wronger; 
But,  O,  what  damned  minutes  tells  he  o'er. 
Who  dotes,  yet  doubts ;  suspects,  yet  strongly  loves  I 

0th.  O  misery ! 

lago.  Poor  and  content,  is  rich,  and  rich  enough  ; 
But  riches,  fineless,  is  as  poor  as  winter, 
To  him  that  ever  fears  he  shall  be  poor: — 
Good  heaven,  the  souls  of  all  my  tribe  defend 
From  jealousy ! 

Oih.  Why?  why  is  this? 

Think'st  thou,  I'd  make  a  lile  of  jealousy, 
To  follow  still  the  change's  of  the  moon 
With  fresh  suspicions  ?  No :  to  be  once  in  doubt. 
Is — once  to  be  resolv'd  :  Exchange  me  for  a  goat. 
When  I  shall  turn  the  business  of  my  soul 
To  such  exsufllicate,  and  blown  surmises, 
Matching  thy  inference.  'Tis  not  to  make  nie  jealous. 
To  say — my  wife  is  fair,  feeds  well,  loves  company, 
Is  free  of  speech,  sings,  plays,  and  dances  well; 
Wiiere  virtue  is,  these  are  more  virtuous : 
Nor  from  mine  own  weak  merits  will  I  draw 
The  smallest  fear,  or  doubt  of  her  revolt; 
For  sh§  had  eyes,  and  c        me  :  No,  lago; 
ril  see,  before  I  douht ;  when  I  doubt,  prove 
And,  on  the  proof,  there  is  no  more  but  this,— 
Avcay„atouce  .with  love,  or  jealousy. 

lago.  I  am  glad  of  this ;  for  now  I  shall  have  reason 
To  shew  the  love  and  duty  that  I  bear  you 
With  franker  spirit :  therefore,  as  I  am  bound, 
Receive  it  from  me  : — I  speak  not  yet  of  proof. 
Look  to  your  wife ;  observe  her  well  with  Cassio ; 
Wear  your  eye — thus,  not  jealous,  nor  secure  : 
I  would  not  have  your  free  and  noble  nature, 
Out  of  self-bounty,  be  abus'd  ;  look  to't : 
I  know  our  country  disposition  well ; 
In  Venice  they  do  let  heaven  see  the  pranks 
They  dare  not  shew  their  husbands  ;  their  best  cob. 
science 

Is — not  to  leave  undone,  but  keep  unknown. 
0th.  Dost  thou  say  so  ? 

lago.  She  did  deceive  her  father,  marrying  yon ; 
And,  when  she  seem'd  to  shake,  and  fear  your  looksik.  ' 
She  lov'd  them  most. 

0th.  And  so  she  did. 

lago.  Why,  go  to,  then  ; 

She  tliat,  so  young,  could  give  out  such  a  seeming, 
To  seel  her  father's  eyes  up,  close  as  oak, — 
He  thought,  'twas  witchcraft : — But  1  am  much  to 
blame ; 

I  humbly  do  beseech  you  of  your  pardon, 
For  too  much  loving  you. 

Oih.  I  am  bound  to  theg  for  ever. 

lago.  I  see,  this  hath  a  little  dash'd  your  .««pirit8. 

0th.  Not  a  jot,  not  a  jot  . 

lago.  Trust  me,  I  fear  it 

I  hope,  you  will  consider,  what  is  spoke 
Comes  from  my  love  ; — Buti  do  see  you  are  mov'd  • 
I  am  to  yrray  you,  not  to  strain  my  speech 
To  grosser  issues,  nor  to  larger  reach, 
Than  to  suspicion. 

Oih.  I  will  not. 

lago.  Stiould  you  do  so,  m  lor^ 


784 


OTHELLO-. 


ACT  in 


My  speech  should  fall  into  such  vile  success 

As  my  thoughts  aim  not  at.    Cassio's  my  worthy 

friend  : — 
RIy  lord,  I  see  you  are  mov'd. 

0th.  No,  not  mtich  mov'd  : 

I  do  not  think  but  Desdemona's  honest.     ^  ^-J^l^ 
lago.  Long  live  she  so!  and  long  live  j^u  to 
thinlc  so ! 

0th.  And  yetj'hovv  nature  erring  from  itself, — 
lago.  Ay,  there's  the  point : — As, — to  be  bold 
with  you, — 
Not  to  affect  many  proposed  matches, 
Of  her  own  c  liraey^m  pJexTOTl^nd  degree; 
Whereto,  we  see,  uTan  things  nature  tends ; 
Foh !  one  may  smell,  in  such,  a  will  most  rank. 
Foul  disproportion,  thoughts  unnatural. — 
iBut  pardon  me  ;  I  do  not,  in  position. 
Distinctly  speak  of  her:  though  J  may  fear. 
Her  will,  recoiling  to  better  judgment, 
May  fall  to  match  you  with  her  country  forms. 
And  (happily)  repent. 

0th.  Farewell,  farewell  : 

If  more  thou  dost  perceive,  let  me  know  more; 
Set  on  thy  wife  to  observe  :  Leave  me,  lago. 

IfHjo.  My  lord,  T  take  my  leave  {Going.) 
Olh.  Why  did  I  marry? — This  honest  creature, 
doubtless, 

Sees  and  knows  more,  mtich  more,  than  he  unfolds. 
lago.  My  lord,  I  would,  1  might  entreat  your 
honour 

To  scan  this  thing  no  further;  leave  it  to  time  : 
And  though  it  be  fit,  that  Cassio  have  his  place, 
(For,  sure,  he  fills  it  up  with  great  ability,) 
Yet,  if  you  please  to  hold  him  olF  awhile. 
You  shall  by  that  perceive  him  and  his  means: 
Note,  if  your  lady  strain  his  entertainment 
With  any  strong  or  vehement  importunity; 
Much  will  be  seen  in  that.    In  the  mean  time, 
Let  me  be  thouglit  too  busy  in  my  fears, 
(As  worthy  cause  I  have,  to  fear — I  am,) 
And  hold  her  free,  I  do  beseech  your  honour. 
0th.  Fear  not  my  government. 
lago.  I  once  more  take  my  leave.  [Exii. 
0th.  This  fellow's  of  exceeding  honesty, 
And  knows  all  qualifies,  with  a  learned  spirit, 
Of  human  dealings:  If  I  do  prove  her  haggard. 
Though  that  her  .j^s&eg  were  my  dear  heart-strings, 
I'd  whistle  her  off,  find  let  her  down  the  wind, 
To  prey  at  fortune.    Haply,  (qt X-Am-bdack  ; 
Ana  have  not  those  soft  parts  of  conversation 
That  chamberers  have  :  Or,  for  I  am  declin'd 
Into  the  vale  of  years  ; — yet  that's  not  much  ; — 
She's  gone  ;  I  am  abiis'd ;  and  my  relief 
Must  be — to  loath  her.    O  curse  of  marriage. 
That  we  can  call  these  delicate  creatures  ours. 
And  not  their  appetites  I  1  had  rather  be  a  toad 
J^nd  live  upon  the  vapoui  of  a  dungeon, 
ll^lian  keep  a  corner  in  the  thing  I  love, 
fFor  others'  uses.  Yet,  'tis  the  plague  of  great  ones; 
Prerogativ'd  are  they  less  than  the  base  : 
*Tis  destiny  unshunnable,  like  death; 
Even  then  tfiis  forked  plague  is  fated  tons. 
When  we  do  quicken.    Desdemona  comes: 

Enter  Desdemona  and  Emilia. 
ff  she  be  false,  O,  then  heaven  mocks  itself  !- 
ril  not  believe  it. 

Des.  How  now,  my  dear  Othello  ? 

Your  dinner,  and  the  generous  islanders 
By  you  invited,  do  attend  your  presence. 

Otk.  I  am  to  blame.  [well  ? 

Des.  Why  is  your  speech  so  faint  ?  are  you  not 
*    Otk.  I  have  a  pain  upon  my  forehead  here. 

Des.  Faith,  that's  with  watching ;  'twill  away 
again : 

Let  me  but  bind  it  hard,  within  this  hour 
^t-Avi!l  be  well. 

0th.  Your  napkin  is  too  little  ; 

{He  puts  the  handkerchief  from  him,  and  it 
drops.) 


Let  it  aione.    Come,  I'll  go  in  with  you. 
Des.  I  am  very  sorry  that  you  are  not  well. 

[Exeunt  Ot/u  and  D9§ 
Emil.  I  am  glad  I  have  found  this  napkin  ; 
/rhis  was  her  first  remembrance  from  the  Moor; 
My  wayward  husband  hatha  hundred  times 
Woo'd  me  to  steal  it ;  but  she  so  loves  the  token,\ 
(For  be  conjur'd  her  she  would  ever  keep  it.)  , 
That  she  reserves  it  evermore  about  her, 
To  kiss,  and  talk  to.    I'll  have  the  work  ta'en  out 
And  give  it  lago : 

What  he'll  do  with  it,  heaven  knows,  not  I; 
I  nothing,  but  to  please  his  fantasy. 

Enter  \hGO, 

lago.  How  now  !  what  do  you  here  alone? 

Emil.  Do  not  you  chide  ;  I  have  a  thing  for  yoo 

lago.  A  thing  for  me  ? — It  is  a  common  thing. 

Emil.  Ha  ! 

lago.  To  have  a  foolish  wife. 

Emil.  O,  is  that  all  ?  What  will  you  give  me  now 
For  that  same  handkerchief? 

lago.  What  handkerchief? 

Emil.  What  handkerchief  ? 
Why,  that  the  Moor  first  gave  to  Desdemona: 
That  which  so  often  you  did  bid  me  steal. 

lago.  Hast  stolen  it  from  her  ? 

Emil.  No,  faith  :  she  let  it  drop  by  negligence  \ 
And,  to  the  advantage,  I  being  here,  took't  up. 
Look,  here  it  is. 

lago.  A  good  wench  ;  give  it  me. 

Emil,  What  will  you  do  with  it,  that  you  ha^e 
been  so  earnest 
To  have  me  filch  it  ? 

lago.  Why,  what's  that  to  you  ? 

{Snatching  i1 ) 

Einil.  If  it  be  not  for  some  purpose  of  import. 
Give  it  me  again  :  Poor  lady  !  she'll  run  mad, 
Wheu  she  s.hall  lack  it. 

lago.  Be  not  you  known  oft;  I  have  use  for  it. 
Go,  leave  me.  [Exit  Ert\L 

I  will  in  Cassio's  lodging  lose  this  napkin. 
And  let  him  find  it :  Trifles,  light  as  air,  • 
Are,  to  the  jealous,  confirmations  strong 
As  proofs  of  holy  writ.^    This  may  do  something. 
The  Moor  already  changes  with  my  poison:- — 
Dangerous  conceits  are,  in  their  naturesr-poisons. 
Which,  at  the  first,  are  scarce  found  to  distaste ; 
But,  with  a  little  act  upon  the  blood. 
Burn  like  the  mines  of  sulphur. — I  did  say  so: — 

Enter  Othello. 
Look,  where  he  comes  !  Not  pop})y,  nor  mandragora. 
Nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  oi'the  world. 
Shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep. 
Which  thou  ow'dst  yesterday. 

0th.  Ha !  ha !  false  to  lae  ? 

Tome? 

Ingo.  Why,  how  now,  general  ?  no  more  of  that 
0th.  A  vaunt!  be  gone!  thou  hast  set  me  on  tii« 
rack ;  — 

I  swear,  'tis  better  to  be  much  abus'd. 
Than  but  to  kuow't  a  little. 

lago.  How  now,  my  lord? 

0th.  VYhat  sense  had  1  of  her  stolen  hours  of  lust? 
I  saw  it  not,  thought  it  not,  it  harm'd  not  me  : 
T  slept  the  next  night  well,  was  free  and  merry; 
I  found  not  Cassio's  kisses  on  her  lips: 
He  that  is  robb'd,  not  wanting  what  is.stolen. 
Let  him  not  know  it,  and  he's  not  roBb'd  at  alZ. 

lago.  I  am  sorry  to  hear  this. 

0th.  I  had  been  happy,  if  trie  general  camp. 
Pioneers  and  all,  had  tasted  her  sweet  body. 
So  1  had  nothing  known  :  O  now,  for  ever, 
Farewell  the  tranquil  mind:  farewell  content! 
Farewell  the  plumed  troop,  and  the  big  wars. 
That  make  ambition  virtue!  O,  farewell! 
Farewell  the  neighing  steed,  and  the  shrill  trump 
The  spirit-stirring  drum,  the  ear-piercing  fife. 
The  royal  banner;  and  all  quality, 
i^ride,  pomp,  and  circ  mstance  of  glorious  war  J 


Scene  4. 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


And  O,  yon  mortil  engines,  whose  rude  throats 
The  immortal  Jove's  dread  clamours  counterfeit, 
V'arewell !  Othollo's  occu| nation's  gone  !  / 

lago.  Is  it  pk)ssible  ? — My  lord. —  "A 

Oih.  Villain,  be  sure  thou  prove  my  love  a  whore^ 
Be  sure  of  it ;  give  hie  the  ocular  proof ; 

(Taking  him  by  the  throat.) 
V)x,  by  the  worth  of  mine  eternal  soul, 
rhpu  had'st  been  better  have  been  born  a  dog. 
Than  answer  my  wuk'd  wrath. 

lago.  Is  it  come  to  this? 

0th.  Make  me  to  see  it ;  or  (at  the  least)  so  prove  it, 
That  the  probation  bear  no  hinge,  nor  loop, 
To  hang  a  doubt  on  ;  or,  woe  upon  thy  life .' 

lago.  My  noble  lord, — 

0th.  If  thou  dost  slander  her,  and  torture  me^ 
Never  pray  more  r  abandon  all  remorse 
On  horror's  head,  horrors  accumulate  : 
Do  deeds  to  make  heaven  weep,  all  earth  amaz'd, 
For  nothing  canst  thou  to  damnation  add. 
Greater  than  that. 

lago.  O  grace !  O  heaven  defend  me ! 

Are  you  a  man  ?  have  you  a  soul  or  sense  ? — 
God  be  wi'  you  ;  take  mine  office. — O  wretched  fool, 
That  liv'st  to  make  thine  honesty  a  vice  I— 

0  monstrous  world  !  Take  note,  take  note,  O  world, 
To  be  ili-<*ct  and  honest,  is  not  safe. — 

"I  thank  yon  for  this  profit ;  and,  from  hence, 
ril  love  no  friend,  since  love  breeds  such  offence. 
0th.  Nay,  stay  : — Thou  should'st  be  honest.  V 
lago.  I  shouid  he  wise  ;  for  honesty's  a  fool,  ^  4 
And  loses  that  it  works  for.  '  ^ 

0th.  By  the  world, 

1  think  my  wife  be  honest,  and  think  she  is  not; 
r  think  that  thou  art  just,  and  think  thou  art  hot; 

I'll  have  some  proof:  Her  name,  that  was  as  fresh  ] 

As  Dian's  visage,  is  now  begrim'd  and  black 

As  mine  own  face. — If  there  be  cords,  or  knives. 

Poison,  or  fire,  or  suftbcating  streams, 

I'll  not  endure  it — Would  I  were  satisfied  ! 

lago.  1  see,  sir,  you  are  eaten  up  with  passion ; 
f  do  repent  me,  that iuut  it  to  you. 
You  would  be.«actisfie^?  V 

0th.  ~— /     Wouldl  na£jwill. 

lago.  And  may  :  But,  how  ?  how^lis^J^my  lord? 
Would  you,  the  supervisor,  grosslyg^pgon  ? 
Behold  her  tupp'd  ? 

0th.  Death  and  damnation  !  O ! 

lago.  It  were  a  tedious  difficulty,  I  think. 
To  bring  them  to  that  prospect .  Damn  them  then. 
If  ever  mortal  eyes  do  see  them  bolster. 
More  than  their  own  ?  What  then  ?  how  then?  .  ' 
What  shall  1  say  ?  Where'^i^afiSfartioh?    .  '  ^ 
It  is  impossible  you  should  leethisr~""~~"" 
Were  they  as  prime  as  goats,  as  hot  as  monkeys, 
As  salt  as  wolves  in  pride,  and  fools  as  gross 
As  ignorance  made  drunk.    But  yet  I  say. 
If  imputation,  and  §trong  circumstances, — 
Which  lead  direcUj^,^^  door  of  truth,— -  X 
Will  give  yo^^^satisfactiojl',  you  may  have  it. 

0th.  Give^e  aTIving  reason  she's  disloyal. 

lago.  I  do  jot  like  the  office  : 
But,  sith  I  am  enter'd  in  this  cause  so  far,— 
Prick'd  to  it  by  foolish  honesty  and  love, — 
I  will  go  on.    I  lay  with  Cassio  lately  ; 
And  being  troubled  with  a  raging  tooth, 
I  could  not  sleep. 

There  are  a  kind  of  men  so  loose  of  soul, 

That  in  their  sleeps  will  mutter  their  affairs  ; 

One  of  this  kind  is  Cassio  : 

In  sleep  I  heard  him  say, — Stveei  Desdemona, 

Let  us  be  wary,  let  us  hide  our  loves  ! 

And  then,  sir,  would  he  gripe,  and  wring  my  hand. 

Cry, — 0,  siveet  creature  !  and  then  kiss  me  hard. 

As  if  he  pluck'd  up  kisses  by  the  roots, 

That  grew  upon  my  lips:  then  laid  his  leg 

Over  my  thigh,  and  sigh'd,  and  kiss'd  ;  and  then, 

Cry'd,  Cursed  fate!  that  gave  thee  to  the  Moor! 

OtL  O  monstrous  I  monstrous ! 

lago.  Nay,  this  was  but  his  dream. 


Oth.  But  this  denoted  a  foregonft  conclusion ;  (* 
'Tis  a  shrewd  doubt,  though  it  be  but  a  dream. 

lago.  And  this  may  help  to  thicken  other  proofs^ 
That  do  demonstrate  thinly. 

Oth.  I'll  tear  her  all  to  pieces 

lago.  Nay,  but  be  wise  ;  yet  we  see  nothing  done 
She  may  be  honest  yet.    Tell  me  but  this, — 
Have  you  not  sometimes  seen  a  handkerchief,  ' 
Spotted  with  strawberries,  in  your  wife's  hand? 

Oth.  I  gave  her  such  a  one  ;  'twas  my  fiist  gift. 

lago.  I  know  not  that :  but  such  a  handkerchief, 
(I  am  sure  it  was  y(  nr  wife's,)  did  I  to  day  ( 
See  Cassio  wipe  his  beard  with. 

Oth.  If  it  be  that,— 

/apo.  If  it  be  that,  or  any  that  was  her's, 
It  speaks  against  her  with  the  other  proofs.  ■ 

Oth.  O,  that  the  slave  had  forty  thousand  lives  } 
One  is  too  poor,  too  weak  for  my  revenge  ! 
Now  do  I  see  'tis  true. — Look,  here,  lago; 
All  my  fond  love  thus  1  do  blow  to  heaven: 
'Tis  gone^  J  / 

Arise,^la^ vengeance,  from  thy  hollow  cell!  ylAO^hC-^ 
Yield  npj^  love,  thy  crown  and  hearted  throne  ' 
To  tyrannous  hate  I  swell,  bosom,  with  thy  fraught. 
For  'tis  of  aspics'  tongues  ! 

lago.  Pray,  be  content 

OtJi.  O,  blood,  lago,  blood! 

lago.  Patience,  I  say ;  your  mind,  perhaps,  may 
change. 

Oth.  Never,  lago.    Like  to  the  Pontic  sea. 
Whose  icy  current  and  compulsive  course 
Ne'er  feels  retiring  ebb,  but  keeps  due  on 
To  the  Propontic,  and  the  Hellespont ; 
Even  so  my  bloody  thoughts,  with  violent  pace, 
Shall  ne'er  look  back,  ne'er  ebb  to  humble  love, 
Till  that  a  capable  and  wide  revenge 
Swallow  them  up. — Nov/,  by  yond'  marble  heaven. 
In  the  due  reverence  of  a  sacred  (Kneeli 
I  here  engage  my  words. 

lago.  Do  not  rise  yet  -  (Kneelsj} 

Witness,  you  ever-burning  lights  above  !  *' 
You  elements  that  clip  us  round  about! 
Witness,  that  here  lago  doth  give  up 
The  execution  of  his  wit,  hands,  heart,  . 
To  wrong'd  Othello's  ser\ice  I  let  him  command  J  pnX^HC  / 
And  to  obey  shall  be  in  me  remorse,  J  I  e 

What  bloody  work  soever. 

Oth.  I  greet  thy  love, 

Not  with  vain  thanks,but  with  acceptance  bountooiu. 
And  will  upon  the  instant  put  thee  to't: 
Within  these  three  days  let  me  hear  thee  say, 
That  Cassio's  not  alive.  [quest: 

lago.  My  friend  is  dead  ;  'tis  done  at  your  re- 
But  let  her  live. 


Oth. 


Damn  her,  lewd  minx !  O,  damn  her 


Come,  go  with  me  apart :  1  will  withdraw, 
To  furnish  me  with  some  swiit  means  of  death 
For  the  fair  devil.    Now  art  thou  n)y  lieutenant 
lago.  1  am  your  own  for  ever.  [Exeuntm 

Scene  IV. — The  same. 
Enter  Desdemona,  Emilia,  and  Clown. 
Des.   Do  you   know,   sirrah,  where  lieutenant 
Cassio  lies  ? 

Clo.  I  dare  not  say,  he  lies  any  where. 
Des.  Why,  man  ? 

Clo.  He  is  a  soldier;  and  for  me  to  say  a  soldier 
lies,  is  stabbing. 

Des.  Go,  to ;  where  lodges  he  ? 

Clo.  To  tell  you  where  he  lodges,  is  to  tell  ytw 
where  1  lie. 

Des.  Can  any  thing  be  made  of  this? 

Clo.  I  know  not  where  he  lodges ;  and  for  roe  to 
devise  a  /odging,  and  say— he  lies  here,  oi  he  li?« 
there,  were  to  lie  in  my  own  throat 

Des.  Can  you  enquire  him  out,  and  be  eclified  by 
report  ? 

Ch.  1  will  catechise  the  world  for  him  •  that  is 
make  qu  stions,  and  by  them  answer. 

Des.  Seek  him,  bid  him  come  hither :  tell  \vM.,  I 
50 


786 


OTHELLO, 


Act  in 


moved  mj  lord  in  his  behalf,  and  hope,  all 
will  be  well. 

Glo,  To  do  this,  is  within  the  compasa  of  man's 
\  and  therefore  1  will  attempt  the  doing  it. 

[Exit. 

DeS'.  Where  should  I  lose  that  haRdkerchief, 

Emilia? 
EmtL  1  know  not,  madam. 

Des.  Believe  me,  I  had  rather  have  lost  my  purse 
Full  of  crusadoes;/  And,  but  my  noble  Moor 
Is  true  of  mind,  and  made  of  no  such  baseness 
As  jeaioiis  creatures  are,  it  were  enough 
To  put  him  to  ill  thinking. 

Emil.  Is  he  not  jealous  ? 

Des.  Who,  he  ?  I  think  the  sim,wbere  he  was  born, 
Drew  all  such  humours  from  him. 

Emil.  Look,  where  he  comes. 

Des.  I  will  not  leave  him  now,  till  Cassio 
Be  call'd  to  him. — Bow  is't  with  you,  ray  lord? 

Enter  Othello. 
th.  Well,  my  good  lady: — {Aside.)  O,  hard- 
ness to  dissemble  ! — 
How  do  you  do,  Desdemona? 
Des.  Well,  my  good  lord. 

0th.  Gi\e  me  your  hand:  This  hand  is  moist, 
my  lady.  [row. 

Des.  It  yet  has  felt  no  age,  nor  known  no  sor- 

0th.  This  argues  frnitfulness,  and  liberal  heart ; — 
Hot,  hot,  and  moist:  This  hand  of  yours  requires 
A  sequester  from  liberty,  fasting  and  prayer. 
Much  castigation,  exercise  devout; 
For  here's  a  young  and  sweating  devil  here, 
That  ccMnmonly  rebels.    'Tis  a  good  hand, 
A  frank  one. 

Des.         You  may,  indeed,  say  so; 
For  'twas  fhat  hand  that  gave  away  my  heart. 

0th.  A  liberal  hand :  The  hearts,  of  old,  gave 
hands ; 

Out  our  new  heraldry  is — hands,  not  hearts. 

Des.  I  cannot  speak  of  this.    Come  now,  your 
promise. 

0th.  What  promise,  chuck  ?  [you. 
Des.  I  have  seat  to  bid  Cassio  come  speak  with 
0th.  I  have  a  salt  and  sullen  rheum  offends  me  ; 
Lend  me  thy  handkerchief. 
Des.  Here,  my  lord. 

0th.  That  which  I  gave  you. 
Des.  I  have  it  not  about  me. 

0th.  Not? 

Des.  No,  indeed,  my  lord. 

0th.  That  is  a  fault : 

1'hat  handkerchief 
I>jd  an  Egyptian  to  my  mother  give : 
She  was  a  charuier,  and  could  almost  read  [it, 
The  thoughts  of  people  :  she  told  her,  while  she  kept 
'Twould  make  her  amiable,  and  subdue  my  father 
Entirely  to  her  love ;  but  if  she  lost  it, 
Or  rnade  a  gift  of  it,  my  father's  eye 
iShould  hold  her  l<>athly,  and  his  spirits  should  hunt 
Alter;  jew  fancies  :  She,  dying,  gave  it  me  : 
And  ,id  me,  when  my  fate  would  have  me  wive. 
To  give  it  her.    I  did  so:  and  take  heed  oft, 
Make  it  a  darling  like  your  precious  eye  ; 
To  losf  or  giv't  away,  were  such  perdition. 
As  nothing  else  could  match, 

Des.  Is  it  possible  ? 

0th.  'Tis  true  :  there's  magic  in  the^e^f  it : 
A  sibyl,  that  had  number'd  in  the  worm^'''^ 
The  sun  to  umke  two  hundred  compasses^ 
In  her  propiietic  fury  sew'd  the  work: 
Tjifivjfvwms-v^ere  halloed,  that  did  breedjh^ilk-^ 
Aiid  it  was  died^n  mumTfiyji^which 
Conserv'd  of  maidens'  hearts. 

Des.  Indeed  !  is't  true  ? 

Oih.  Most  veritable ;  therefore  look  to"t  well. 

Des.  Then  would  to  heaven,  that  I  had  never 
seen  it. 

0th.  Ha  !  vherefore  ? 

l)es.  Whj  do  yon  speak  so  startingly  and  ra»h  ? 


0th.  Is't  lost  ?  is't  gone  ?  speak,  is't  out  of  the 
Des.  Heaven  bless  us !  Iway  f 

0th.  Say  you? 

Des.  It  is  not  lost:  but  what  an'  if  it  were? 
0th.  Hal 

Des.  I  say,  it  is  not  lost. 

0th.  Fetch't,  let  me  tee  it 

Des.  Why,  so  I  can,  sir,  but  I  will  not  now ; 
This  is  a  trick,  to  pnt  me  from  my  suit ; 
I  pray,  let  Cassio  he  receiv'd  again.  [gireat 

0th.  Fetch  me  that  handkerchief ;  my  mind  vma- 

Des.  Come,  come ;  | 
You'll  never  meet  a  more  sufficient  man.  | 
The  handkerchief  !— 

Des.  I  pray,  talk  to  me  of  Cassia  ^ 

0/^  The  handkerchief  !— 

Dev  A  man  that,  all  his  time*- 

Hath  founded  his  good  fortune  on  your  love ; 
Shai-'d  dangers  with  you ; — 

0th.  The  handkerchief!— 

Des.  In  sooth. 
You  are  to  blame. 

0th.  Away !  [Exit. 

Emil.  Is  not  this  man  jealous  ? 

Des.  I  ne'er  saw  this  before. 
Sure,  there's  some  wonder  in  this  handkerchief: 
I  am  most  unhappy  in  the  loss  of  it. 

Emil.  'Tis  not  a  year  or  two  shews  us  a  mun  : 
They  are  all  but  stomachs,  and  we  all  but  Hind ; 
They  eat  us  hungrily,  and  when  they  are  lull. 
They  belch  us.  Look  you !  Cassio,  and  my  husband. 

Enter  Iago  and  Cassio. 
lago.  There  is  no  other  way  ;  'tis  she  must  do't; 
And,  lo,  the  happiness !  go,  and  importune  her. 
Des,  How  now,  good  Cassio  ?  what's  the  news 
with  you  ? 

Cas.  Madam,  my  former  suit.   I  do  beseech  yoo. 
That  by  your  virtuous  means,  I  may  again 
Exist,  and  be  a  member  of  his  love, 
Whom  I,  with  all  the  duty  of  my  heart. 
Entirely  honour;  I  would  not  be  delay'd; 
If  my  offence  be  of  such  mortal  kind. 
That  neither  service  past,  nor  present  sorrows. 
Nor  purpos'd  merit  in  futurity. 
Can  ransome  me  into  his  love  again, 
But  to  know  so  must  be  my  benefit; 
So  shall  I  clothe  me  in  a  forc'd  content, 
And  shut  myself  up  in  some  other  course. 
To  fortune's  alms. 

Des.  Alas!  thrice-gentle  Cassio,' 

My  advocation  is  not  now  in  tune  ; 
My  lord  is  not  my  lord ;  nor  should  I  know  him, 
Vvere  he  in  favour,  as  in  humour,  alter'd. 
So  help  me,  every  spirit  sanctified. 
As  I  have  spoken  for  you  all  my  best; 
And  stood  within  the  blank  of  his  displeasure, 
For  my  free  speech!  You  must  a  while  be  patient: 
What  I  can  do,  I  will ;  and  more  I  will. 
Than  for  myself  I  dare  :  let  that  suffice  you. 

Iago.  Is  my  lord  angry  ? 

Emil.  He  went  hence  but  now. 

And,  certainly,  in  strange  unquietness. 

Iago.  Can  he  be  angry?  I  have  seen  the  cannon, 
When  it  hath  blown  his  ranks  into  the  aii ; 
And,  like  the  devil,  from  his  very  arm 
Puff'd  his  own  brother; — And  can  he  be  angry? 
Something  of  moment,  then:  I  will  go  meet  him  ; 
There's  matter  in't  indeed,  if  he  be  angry. 

Des.  I  pr'ythee,  do  so. — Something,  sure  of 
state, —  [Exit  Iago* 

Either  from  Venice ;  or  some  unhatch'd  practice. 
Made  demonstrable  here  in  Cyprus  to  him, — 
Hath  puddled  his  clear  spirit:  and,  insuchcase», 
Men's  natures  wrangle  with  inferior  things. 
Though  great  ones  are  their  objects.    'Tis  eren  flo, , 
For  let  our  finger  ache,  and  it  endues 
Our  other  healthful  members  ev'n  to  that  sense 
Of  pain  :  Nay,  we  must  think,  men  are  not  £ode 
,  Nor  of  them  look  for  such  observaucee 


ACT  IV. 


THE  MOOR  OP  VENICE. 


As  fit  the  bridal. — Bi  ahrew  me  much,  Emilia, 
I  M'as  (unhandsome  warrior  as  1  am,) 
Arraigning  his  unkindness  with  my  soul  ; 
But  now  I  find,  I  had  suborn'd  the  witness. 
And  he's  indited  falsely. 
Emil.  Pray  heaven^     be  state  matters,  as  you 
tbiink ; 

And  no  conception,  nor  no  jealous  toy, 
Concerning;  you. 

Des.  Alas,  the  day!  I  never  gave  him  cause. 

Emil.  Bat  jealous  souls  will  not  be  answer'd  so  ; 
They  are  not  ever  jealous  for  the  cause. 
But  jealous,  for  they  are  jealous  :  'tis  a  monster. 
Begot  upon  itself,  born  on  itself. 

J)es.  Heaven  keep  that  monster  from  Othello's 
mind ! 

Emil.  Lady,  amen !  [about : 

Des.  I  will  go  seek  him. — Cassio,  walk  here- 

If  I  do  find  him  fit,  I'll  move  your  suit, 

And  seek  to  effect  it  to  my  uttermost, 
Cns.  I  humbly  thank  your  ladyship. 

[Exeunt  Desdemona  and  Emilia. 

Enter  Bianca. 

Bian.  Save  you,  friend  Cassio ! 

Cas.  V  yhat  make  you  from  home  ? 

How  is  it  with  you,  my  most  fair  Bianca  ? 
rfaith,  sweet  love,  I  was  coming  to  your  house. 

Bian.  And  I  was  going  to  your  lodging,  Cassio. 
What !  keep  a  week  away  ?  seven  days  and  nights? 
Eight  score  eisjht  hours  ?  and  lovers'  absent  hours. 
More  tedious  than  the  dial  eight  score  times  i 

0  weary  reckoning  I 

Cas.  Pardon  me,  Bianca ; 

1  have  this   while  with    leaden   thoughts  been 

press'd  ^ 

But  I  shall,  ill  a  more  continuate  time. 

Strike  off  this  score  of  absence.    Sweet  Bianca,^ 

{Giving  her  Desdemona' s  handkerchief^ 
Take  me  this  work  out. 

Bian.  O,  Cassio,  whence  came  this  ? 

Tiiis  is  some  token  from  a  newer  friend. 
To  the  felt  absence  now  I  feel  a  cause  : 
Is  it  come  to  this?  Well,  well. 

Cos.  Woman,  go  to ! 

Throw  your  vile  guesses  in  the  devil's  teeth. 
From  whence  you  have  them.     You  are  jealous 
now, 

That  this  is  from  some  mistress,  some  remembrance : 
No,  in  good  troth,  Bianca. 

Bian.  Why,  whose  is  it  ? 

Cas.  I  know  not,  sweet:  I  found  it  in  my  cham- 
ber. 

I  like  the  work  well ;  ere  it  be  demanded, 
.As  like  enough  it  will,)  I'd  have  it  copied: 
Tuke  it,  and  do't ;  and  leave  me  for  this  time. 

Bian.  Leave  you  !  wherefore  ? 

Cas.  I  do  attend  here  on  the  general; 
And  think  it  no  addition,  nor  my  wish. 
To  have  him  see  me  woman'd. 

Hian.  Why,  I  pray  you  ? 

Cas.  Not  that  I  love  you  not. 

Bian.  But  that  you  do  not  love  me. 

I  pray  you,  bring  me  on  the  way  a  little; 
And  say,  if  I  shall  see  yon  soon  at  night. 

Vas.  'Tis  but  a  little  way,  that  I  can  bring  you, 
For  I  attend  here :  but  I'll  see  you  soon. 

Bian.  'Ti''  very  good  ;  I  must  be  circumstanc'd. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT  IV. 

Scene  L — The  same. 
Enter  Othello  and  Iago. 
lago.  Will  you  think  so  ? 
Oeh.  Think  so,  Iago? 

layo.        ^  What, 
To  kiss  in  private  ? 
0th.  An  unauthoria'd  kiss. 

layo.  Or  to  be  naked  with  her  friend  abed 


An  hour,  or  more,  not  mtaning  any  barm  r 

0th.  Naked  abed,  Iago,  and  not  mean  harm? 
It  is  hypocrisy  against  the  devil : 
They  that  mean  virtuously,  and  yet  do  so, 
The  devil  their  virtue  tempts    and  they  tempi 
heaven. 

Iago.  So  they  do  nothing,  'tis  a  venial  slip : 
But  if  1  give  my  wife  a  handkerchief,—- 
Oth.  What  then? 

Iago.  Why,  then  'tis  hers,  my  lord ;  and,  beiuj  , 
hers. 

She  may,  I  think,  bestow't  on  any  man. 

Oth.  She  is  protectress  of  her  honour  too , 
May  she  give  tiiat? 

Iago.  Her  honour  is  an  essence  that's  not  seen ; 
They  have  it  very  oft,  that  have  it  not: 
But,  for  the  handkerchief, — 

Oth.  By  heaven,  I  would  most  gladly  have  fqrj 
got  it:— 

Thou  said'st, — O,  it  comes  o'er  my  memory, 
As  doth  the  raven  o'er  the  infected  house, 
Boding  to  all, — he  had  my  handkerchief. 
Iago.  Ay,  what  of  that? 

Oth.  ^  That's  not  so  good,  now* 

Iago,  What,  if  I  had  said,  I  had  seen  him  do 
you  wrong? 

Or  heard  him  say,— As  knaves  be  such  abroad. 
Who  having,  by  their  own  importunate  suit, 
Or  voluntary  dotage  of  some  mistress, 
Convinc'd  or  supplied  them,  cannot  choose 
But  they  must  blab — 

Oth.  Hath  he  said  any  thing  ? 

Iago.  H   hath,  my  lord  ;  but  be  you  well  assur'd. 
No  more  than  he'll  unswear. 

Oth.  What  hath  he  said? 

Iago.  'Faith,  that  he  did,— I  know  not  what  ha 

Oth.  What,  what?  [did. 

Iago.  Lie — 

Oth.         With  her? 

Iago.  With  her,  on  her;  what  you  will. 

Oth.  Lie  with  her!  lie  on  her! — We  say,  lie  oe 
her,  when  they  belie  her:  Lie  with  her  I  tiiat's 
fulsome.  —  Handkerchief,  —  confessions, — handker- 
chief.— To  confess,  and  be  hanged  for  his  labour. 
— First,  to  be  hanged,  and  then  to  confess : — I 
tremble  at  it.  Nature  would  not  invest  herself  in 
such  shadowing  passion,  without  some  instruction. 
It  is  not  words,  that  shake  me  thus: — Pish! — 
Noses,  ears,  and  lips :— Is  it  possible  ? — Con- 
fess!— Handkerchief! — O  devil! 

{Falls  in  a  trance.) 

Iago.  Work  on, 
My  medicine,   work!    Thus  credulous  fools  are 
caught; 

And  many  worthy  and  chaste  dames,  even  thus. 
All  guiltless  meet  reproach. — What,  ho !  my  lord  ! 

Enter  Cassio. 
My  lord,  I  say  I  Othello! — How  now,  Cassio? 

Cas.  What  is  the  matter  ? 

Iago.  My  lord  is  fallen  into  an  epilepsy  ; 
This  is  his  second  fit ;  he  had  one  yesterday. 

Iago.  No,  forbear 

The  lethargy  mnst  have  his  quiet  course  : 
If  not,  he  foams  at  mouth  ;  and,  by  and  by, 
Breaks  out  to  savage  madness.    Look,  he  stirs. 
Do  you  withdraw  yourself  a  little  while, 
He  will  recover  straight;  when  he  is  gon^, 
I  would  on  great  occasion  speak  with  you.—' 

[Exit  Cass^6, 

How  is  it,  general  ?  have  you  not  hurt  your  head  t]."^' 

Oth.  Dost  thou  mock  me  ? 

Iago.  I  mock  you !  no,  by  heavca 

'Would,  you  would  bear  your  fortunes  like  a  man. 

Oth.  A  horned  man's  a  monster,  and  a  beast. 

Iago.  There's  many  a  beast  then  in  a  popdodi"^"*' 
city, 

And  many  a  civil-  monster. 
Oth.  Did  he  confess  it? 


T88 


OTHELLO, 


Act  17. 


Iago»  Good  sir,  be  a  man ; 

Ihink,  every  bearded  fellow,  that's  but  yok'd, 
M-Ay  draw  with  yon :  there's  millions  now  alive, 
f' ;  at  nightly  lie  in  those  nnproper  beds, 
VViiit  b  they  dare  swear  peculiar ;  your  case  is 
better. 

O,  '(is  the  spite  of  hell,  the  fiend's  arcb-mock. 
To  lip  a  wanton  in  a  secure  couch, 
Anrl  to  suppose  her  chaste !  No,  let  me  know  ; 
&n<l,  knowing  what  I  am,  I  know  what  she  shall  be. 

0th.  O,  thou  art  wise  ;  'tis  certain. 

logo.  Stand  you  awhile  apart ; 

ConHne  yourself  but  in  a  patient  list. 
Whilst  you  were  here,   erewhile  mad  with  your 
grief, 

A  passion  most  unsuiting  such  a  man,) 
!  assio  came  hither  :  I  shifted  him  away 
And  laid  good  'sense  upon  your  ecstasy; 
iViiie  him  anon  return,  and  here  speak  with  me; 
Tiie  which  he  promis'd.    Do  but  encave  yourself, 
And  n)ark  the  fleers,  the  gibes,  and  notable  scorns. 
Thai  dwell  in  every  region  of  his  face  ; 
For  1  will  make  him  tell  the  tale  anew, — 
Wliere,  how,  how  oft,  how  long  ago,  and  when 
He  hath,  and  is  again  to  cope  your  wife; 
1  say,  but  mark  his  gesture.    Marry,  patience  j 
Or  I  shall  say,  you  are  all  in  all  in  spleen, 
nnH  nothing  of  a  man. 

0th.  Dost  thou  hear,  Tago? 

I  will  be  found  most  cunning  in  my  patience  ; 
But  (dost  thou  hear?)  most  bloody. 

layo.  That's  not  amiss ; 

But  yet  keep  time  in  all.    Will  you  withdraw  ? 

[Othello  withdraws.) 
NTow  \v'}U  I  question  Cassio  of  Biauca, 
A  hoiis^-wife,  that,  by  selling  her  desires, 
Buys  herself  bread  and  clothes  ;  it  is  a  creature. 
That  dotes  on  Cassio, — as  'tis  the  strumpet's  plague, 
To  beguile  many,  and  be  beguil'd  by  one ; — 
He,  when  he  hears  of  her,  cannot  refrain 
From  the  excess  of  laughter  : — Here  he  comes: 

Re-enter  Cassio. 
As  he  shall  smile,  Othello  shall  go  mad  ; 
And  his  unbookish  jealousy  must  construe 
Poor  Cassio's  smiles,  gestures,  and  light  behaviour 
Quite  in  the  wrong. — -How  do  you  now,  lieute- 
nant? 

Cas.  The  worser,  that  you  give  me  the  addition. 
Whose  want  even  kills  me. 

lago.  Ply  Desdemona  well,  and  you  are  sure  oft. 
Now,  if  this  suit  lay  in  Bianca's  power, 

{Speaking  lower.) 

H.1W  quickly  should  you  speed  ? 
Cas.  Alas,  poor  caitiff! 

0th.  Look,  how  he  laughs  already  !  {Aside.) 
lago.  I  never  knew  a  woman  love  man  so. 
Cas.  Alas,  poor  rogue  !  I  think,  i'faith,  she  loves 
me. 

0th.  Now  he  denies  it  faintly,  and  laughs  it  out. 

{Aside.) 

lago.  Do  you  hear,  Cassio  ? 
0th.  Now  he  importunes  him 

To  tell  it  o'er:  Go  to ;  well  said,  well  said. 

{Aside.) 

lago.  She  gives  it  out,  that  you  shall  marry  her : 
Do  you  intend  it  ? 
Crs.  Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

0th.  Do  you  triumph,  Roman  ?  do  you  triumph  ? 

{Aside.) 

Cas.  I  marry  her! — what?  a  customer!  I  pr'y- 
Ihee,  bear  some  charity  to  my  wit;  do  not  think  it 
to  luiwholesome.    Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

Oih.  So,  80,  so,  so :  They  laugh  that  win. 

(Aside.) 

lago.  'Faith,  the  cry  goes,  that  you  shall  marry 
her. 

Cas.  Pr'ythee,  say  true. 

/<j!^r.  I  am  a  very  villain  else. 

0th.  Hav8  yon  sconed  me  ?  Well.  {Aside.) 


Cas.  This  is  the  monkey's  own  giving  out :  she 
is  persuaded  I  will  marry  her,  out  of  her  own  lor* 
and  flattery,  not  out  of  my  promise. 

0th.  lago  beckons  me :  now  he  begins  the  story. 

{Aside,) 

Cas.  She  j^as  here  even  now ;  she  haunts  me  in 
every  place.  I  was,  the  other  day,  talking  on  the 
sea-bank  with  certain  Venetians :  and  thither  comet 
this  bauble ;  by  this  hand,  she  falls  thus  about  caj 

neck ; — 

0th.  Crying,  O  dear  Cassio !  as  it  were :  hia 
gesture  imports  it.  {Aside.) 

Cas.  So  hangs,  and  lolls,  and  weeps  npon  me ;  so 
hales,  and  pulls  me:  ha,  ha,  ha! — 

0th.  Now  he  tells,  how  she  plucked  him  to  my 
chamber:  O,  I  see  that  nose  of  yours,  but  not  that 
dog  I  shall  throw  it  to.  {Aside.) 

Cas.  Well,  I  must  leave  her  company. 

lago.  Before  me  !  look,  where  she  comes. 

Enter  Bianca. 
Cas.  'Tis  such  another  fitchew !  marry,  a  per- 
fumed one. — What  do  you  niean  by  this  haunting 
of  me  ? 

Bian.  Let  the  devil  and  his  dam  haunt  you ! 
What  did  you  mean  by  that  same  handkerchief,  you 
gave  me  even  now?  I  was  a  fine  fool  to  take  it.  1 
must  take  out  the  whole  work  ?— A  likely  piece  of 
work,  that  you  should  find  it  in  your  chamber,  and 
not  know  who  left  it  there !  This  is  some  minx's 
token,  and  I  must  take  out  the  work  ?  There, — give 
it  your  hobby-horse :  wheresoever  you  had  it,  I'll 
take  out  no  work  on't. 

Cas.  How  now,  my  sweet  Bianca?  how  now? 
how  now  ? 

0th.  By  heaven,  that  should  be  my  handkerchief! 

{Aside.) 

Bian.  An  you'll  come  to  supper  to-night,  yon 
may:  an  you  will  not,  come  when  you  are  next 
prepared  for,  [Exit, 

lago.  After  her,  after  her. 

Cas.  'Faith  I  must,  she'll  rail  in  the  street  else. 

lago.  Will  you  sup  there  ? 

Cas.  'Faith,  I  intend  so. 

lago.  Well,  I  may  chance  to  see  you ;  for  1  would 
very  fain  speak  with  you. 

Cas.  Pr'ythee,  come  ;  Will  you? 

lago.  Go  to ;  say  no  njore.  [Exit  Cassio, 

0th.  How  shall  I  murder  him,  lago? 

lago.  Did  you  perceive  how  he  laughed  at  his 
vice 

0th.  O,  lago! 

lago.  And  did  yon  see  the  handkerchief? 
0th.  Was  that  mine? 

lago.  Yours,  by  this  hand:  and  to  see  how  he 
prizes  the  foolish  woman,  your  wife!  she  gave  it 
him,  and  he  hath  given  it  his  whore. 

0th.  I  would  have  him  nine  years  a  killing : — 
A  fine  woman !  a  fair  woman  !  a  sweet  woman  ! 

lago.  Nay,  you  must  forget  that. 

0th.  Ay,  let  her  rot,  and  perish,  and  be  damne 
to-night;  for  she  shall  not  live:  No,  my  heart  i 
turned  to  stone :  I  strike  it,  and  it  hurts  my  hand 
O,  the  world  hath  not  a  sweeter  creature:  sW: 
might  lie  by  an  emperor's  side,  and  command  him 
tasks. 

lago.  Nay,  that's  not  your  way. 

0th.  Hang  her!  I  do  but  ^.-.y  what  she  is: — So 
delicate  with  her  needle  ! — An  aamirable  musician ! 
O,  she  will  sing  the  savageness  out  of  a  bear ! — O 
so  high  and  plenteous  wit  and  invention ! 

lago.  She's  the  worse  for  all  this. 

0th,  O,  a  thousand,  a  thousand  times :—  And  thei^ 
of  so  gentle  a  condition! 

lago.  Ay,  too  gentle. 

0th.  Nay,  that's  certain :  But  yet  the  pity  of  it 
lago ! — O,  lago,  the  pity  of  it,  Tpgo  ! 

lago.  If  you  are  so  fond  over  her  iniquity,  g 
her  patent  to  offend ;  for,  if  it  touch  not  yo«, 
comes  nej».r  nobody. 


Scene  2. 


THE  MOOR  CF  VENICE. 


783 


Oth»  I  will  cliop  her  into  messes: — Cuckold  me! 
lago.  0,  'tis  foul  in  her.  " 
0th.  With  mine  officer ! 
lago.  I'hat's  fouler. 

Otk,  Get  me  some  poison,  lago;  this  night: — 
Ml  not  expostulate  with  her,  lest  her  body  and 
beauty   unprovide  my  mind  again: — this  night, 

layo.  Do  it  not  with  poison,  strangle  her  in  her 
bed,  even  the  bed  she  hath  contaminated. 

0th.  Good,  good:  the  justice  oi  it  pleiises;  very 
goo-d. 

lagu.  And,  for  Cassio, — let  me  be  his  undertaker : 
Vou  shall  hear  more  by  midnight. 

[A  trumpet  within.) 
OtL  Excellent  good. — What  trumpet  is  that 
same  ? 

lago.  Something  from  Venice,  sure.  'Tis  Lodo- 
vico,  ^  [him. 

Come  from  the  duke :  and,  see,  your  wife  is  with 

Enter  LoDOVico,  Desdemona,  and  Attendants. 
Lod.  'Save  you,  worthy  general ! 
0th.  With  all  my  heart,  sir. 

Lod.  The  duke  and  senators  of  Venice  greet  you. 

{Gives  him  a  packet.) 
0th.  I  kiss  the  instrument  of  their  pleasures. 

[Opens  the  packet,  and  reads.) 
Des.  And  what's  the  news,  good  cousin  Lodo- 
vico  ? 

lago.  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  signior , 
Welcome  to  Cyprus. 
Lod.  £  thank  you  :  How  does  lieutenant  Cassio  V 
lago.  Lives,  sir. 

Des.  Cousin,  there's  fallen  between  hira  and  my 
lord 

An  unkind  breach :  but  you  shall  make  all  well. 
0th.  Are  you  sure  of  that  ? 
Des.  My  lord  ? 

Oih.         This  fail  you  not  to  do,  as  you  will — 

[Beads.) 

Lod.  II?  did  not  call ;  he's  busy  in  the  paper. 
Is  there  division  'twixt  my  lord  and  Cassio? 

Des.  A  most  unhappy  one ;  I  would  do  much 
To  atone  them,  for  the  love  1  bear  to  Cassio. 

Oih.  Fire  and  brimstone  I 

J)es.  My  lord  ? 

0th.  Are  you  wise  ? 

Des.  What,  is  he  angry  ? 

Lod  'May  be,  the  letter  mov'd  him; 

For,  as  I  think,  they  do  coujaiand  him  home, 
Deputing  Cassio  in  his  government. 

Des.  By  my  troth,  I  am  glad  on't. 

0th.  Indeed  ? 

Des.  My  lord  ? 

0th.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  mad. 

Des.  How,  sweet  Othello  ? 

0th.  Devil !  [Striking  her.) 

Des.  I  have  not  deserv'd  this. 

Lod.  My  lord,  this  would  not  be  believ'd  in  Ve- 
nice, 

Though  I  should  swear  I  saw  it:  'Tis  very  much; 
Make  her  amends,  she  weeps. 

0th.  O  devil, devil! 

If  th;»t  the  earth  could  teem  with  woman's  tears,  ) 
Each  drop  she  falls  would  prove  a  crocodile: —  - 
<)ut  of  my  sight! 

Des  I  will  not  stay  to  offend  you. 

[Going.) 

Lod.  Truly,  an  obedient  lady  : 
I  do  beseech  your  lordship,  call  her  back. 
Oih.  Mistress — 
Des.  My  lord  ? 

0th.  What  would  you  with  her,  sir? 

Lod.  Who,  I,  my  lord  ? 

Dth.  Ay ;  you  did  wish,  that  I  would  nsake  her 
turn  : 

Sir,  she  cap  turn,  and  turn,  and  yet  go  on. 
And  turn  again  :  and  she  can  weep,  sir,  weep; 
And  she's  obedient,  as  you  liay. — obedient.— 


Very  obedient; — Proceed  you  in  your  tears.— 
Concerning  this,  sir, — O  well-painted  passion! 
I  am  commanded  home  : — Get  you  away; 
I'll  send  for  you  anon. — Sir,  I  obey  the  mandais. 
And  will  return  to  Venice  ; — Hence,  avaunt! 

[Exit  Desdemona, 
Cassio  shall  have  my  place.    And, — Sir,  to-night, 
I  do  entreat  that  we  may  sup  together. 
You  are  welcome,  sir,  to  Cyprus. — Goats  mii 
monkeys !  [Exit. 

Lod.  Is  tliis  the  noble  Moor  whom  our  fidl  se- 
nate [ture. 
Call — all-in-all  sufficient?  —  This  the  noble  na- 
Whom  passion  could  not  shake?  whose  solid  virtue, 
The  shot  of  accident,  nor  dart  of  chance. 
Could  neither  graze,  nor  pierce? 

lago.  He  is  much  chang'd. 

Lod.  Are  his  wits  safe  ?  is  he  not  light  of  brain? 

lago.  He  is  that  he  is ;  I  may  not  breathe  my 
censure. 

What  he  might  be, — if,  what  he  might,  he  is  not, — 
I  would  to  heaven,  he  were. 

Lod.  What,  strike  his  wife  ! 

lago.  'Faith,  that  was  not  so  well ;  Yet  'would 
I  knew. 

That  stroke  would  prove  the  worst. 

Lod.  Ts  it  his  use  ? 

Or  did  the  letters  work  upon  his  blood, 
And  new-create  this  fault  ? 

lago.  Alas,  alas! 

It  is  not  honesty  in  me,  to  speak  [him; 
What  I  have  seen  and  known.     You  shall  observ* 
And  his  own  courses  will  denote  him  so. 
That  I  may  save  my  speech  :  Do  but  go  after. 
And  mark  how  he  continues. 

Lod.  I  am  sorry,  that  I  am  deceiv'd  in  him 

[Exeunt 

Scene  II. — A  Room  in  the  Castle. 
Enter  Othello  and  Emilia. 

0th.  You  have  seen  nothing  then  ? 

Emil.  Nor  ever  heard  ;  nor  «^ver  did  suspect. 

0th.  Yes,  you  have  seen  Cassio  and  she  together. 

Emit.  But  then  I  saw  no  harm;  and  then  1  heard 
Each  syllable  that  breath  made  np  between  them. 

0th.  What,  did  they  never  whisper? 

Emil.  Never,  my  lord, 

0th.  Nor  send  you  out  o'the  way  ? 

E^nil.  Never. 

0th.  To  fetch  her  fan,  her  gloves,  her  mask,  nw 
nothing? 

Emil.  Never,  my  lord. 

0th.  That's  strange. 

Emil.  I  durst,  my  lord,  to  wager  she  is  honest. 
Lay  down  my  soul  at  stake:  if  you  think  other. 
Remove  your  thought  it  doth  abuse  your  bosom. 
If  any  wretch  hath  put  this  in  your  head. 
Let  heaven  requite  it  with  the  serpent's  curse! 
For,  if  she  be  not  honest,  chaste,  and  true. 
There's  no  man  happy;  the  purest  of  their  wive« 
Is  foul  as  slander. 

0th.  Bid  her  come  hither  : — go.— 

[Exit  Emilia, 
She  says  enough  ; — yet  she's  a  simple  bawd. 
That  cannot  say  as  much.    This  is  a  subtle  whore, 
A  closet-lock-and-key  of  villanous  secrets  . 
And  yet  she'll  kneel,  and  pray;  I've  seen  her  dot. 

Re-enter  Emilia,  with  Desdemona. 

Des.  My  lord,  what  is  your  will  ? 

0th.  Pray,  chuck,  conie  hittei. 

Des.  What  is  your  pleasure  ? 

0th.  L  >t  me  see  your  eyee  j 

Look  in  my  face. 

Des.  What  horribfp  fancy's  this? 

0th.  Some  of  your  function,  mistress: 

{To  Emilta^ 
Leave  procreants  alone,  and  shut  the  door ; 
Coutih,  or  cry — hem,  if  any  body  come: 


790 


OTHELLO. 


ACJT 


Vonr  mysteiy,  yoar  mystery  ; — nay,  despatch/ 

[Exit  Emilia. 

Des.  Upon  my  knees,  what  doth  your  s,  each 
import  ? 

I  understand  a  fury  in  your  words. 
But  not'the  words. 
Olh.  Why,  what  art  thou  ? 

Des.  Your  wife,  my  lord  ;  your  true 

And  loyal  wife. 

0th.  Come,  swear  it,  damn  thyself; 

/.est,  being  like  one  of  heaven,  the  devils  themselves 
fiaould  fear  to  seize  thee  :  therefore  be  donble- 

damn'd. 
Swear — thou  art  honest. 

Des.  Heaven  doth  truly  know  it. 

0th.  Heaven  truly  knows,  that  thou  art  false  as 
hell. 

Des.  To  whom,  my  lord  ?  with  whom  ?  How  am 
I  false  ? 

0th.  O  Desdemona  ! — away !  away !  away ! 

Des.  Alas,  the  heavy  day! — Why  do  you  weep? 
Am  I  the  occasion  of  t'nese  tears,  my  lord? 
If,  haply,  you  my  father  do  suspect 
An  instrument  of  this  your  calling  back, 
Lav  not  vour  blame  on  me  !  if  you  have  lost  him. 
Why,  I  Lave  lost  him  too. 

0th.  Had  it  pleas'd  heaven 

To  try  me  with  affliction ;  had  he  rain'd 
Ail  kmd  of  sores,  and  shames,  on  my  bare  head; 
Steep'd  me  in  poverty  to  the  very  lips  ; 
Given  to  captivity  ine  and  my  utmost  hopes; 
I  should  have  found  in  some  part  of  my  soul 
A  drop  oi' patience :  but  (alas  !)  to  make  me 
A  tixed  figure,  for  the  time  of  scorn 
To  point  his  slow  unmoving  finger  at, — 
O!  O! 

Yet  could  I  bear  that  too  ;  well,  very  well : 

But  there,  where  I  have  garner'd  up  my  heart; 

W  here  either  I  must  live,  or  bear  no  life  ; 

Tht  fountain,  from  the  which  my  current  runs. 

Or  else  dries  up  ;  to  be  discarded  thence  I 

Or  keep  it  as  a  cistern,  for  foul  toads 

To  knot  and  gender  in  ! — turn  thy  complexion  there! 

Patience,  thou  young  and  rose-lipp'd  cherubim  ; 

Ay,  there,  look  grim  as  hell  I 

Des.  i  hope,  my  noble  lord  esteems  me  honest. 

0th.  O,  ay;  as  suuiuier  flies  are  in  the  shambles. 
That  quicken  even  with  blowing,    O  thou  weed, 
W^ho  art  so  lovely  fair,  and  smell'st  so  sweet. 
That  tlie  sense  aches  at  thee. — 'Would,  thou  hadst 
ne'er  been  born ! 

Des.  Alas,  what  ignorant  sin  have  I  committed  ? 

0th.  Was  this  fair  paper,  this  most  goodly  book, 
iMade  to  write  whore  upon?    What  committed? 
Committed  ! — O  thou  public  commoner! 
I  sliould  make  very  forces  of  my  cheeks, 
'i'hat  would  to  cinders  ourn  up  modesty, 
Did  i  but  speak  tliy  deeds. — What  committed! 
Heaven  stops  the  nose  at  it,  and  the  moon  winks ; 
'I'he  bawdy  wind,  that  kisses  all  it  meets, 
Is  hush'd  within  the  hollow  mine  of  earth, 
And  will  not  hear  it:— What  committed! 
Impudent  strumpet ! 

Des.  By  heaven,  you  do  me  wrong, 

0th.  Are  not  you  a  strumpet? 

Des.  No,  as  I  am  a  christian : 

If  to  preserve  this  vessel  for  my  lord. 
From  any  other  fonl  unlawful  touch, 
Be — not  to  be  a  strumpet,  I  am  none. 

0th.  What,  not  a  whore  ? 

Des.  No,  as  I  shall  be  saved. 

Oih.  Is  it  possible  ? 

Des.  O,  heaven  forgive  us ! 

0th.  I  cry  you  mercy,  then ; 

i  took  you  for  that  cunning  whore  of  Venice, 
That  married  with  Othello. — You,  mistress. 

Re-enter  Emilia. 
That  have  the  office  opposite  to  St.  Peter, 
&ud  keep  the  gate  of  hell ;  You  !  you!  ay,  you 


We  have  done  /»ar  eourse ;  there's  money  for  youn 
pains ; 

I  pray  you,  turn  the  key,  and  keep  our  counsel. 

[Exit 

Emil.  Alas,  what  does  this  gentleman  conceive  ?— 
How  do  you,  madam?  how  do  you,  my  good  lady? 
Des.  't  aith,  half  asleep.  [lord  ? 

Emil.  Good  madam,  what's  the  matter  with  mv 
Des.  With  who  ? 

Emil.  Why,  with  iny  lord  madam. 

Des.  Who  is  thy  lord  ? 

Emil.  He  that  is  yours,  sweet  lady 

Des.  I  have  none:  Do  not  talk  to  me,  Emilia; 
I  cannot  weep  ;  nor  answer  I  have  none. 
But  what  should  go  by  water,    Pr'ythee,  to-night, 
Lay  on  my  bed  my  wedding  sheets, — remember;-^ 
And  call  thy  husband  hither. 
Emil.  Here  is  a  change,  indeed  ! 

[Exit. 

Des.  'Tis  meet  I  should  be  us'd  so,  very  meet. 
How  have  I  been  behav'd,  that  he  might  stick 
The  small'st  opinion  on  my  great'st  abuse  ? 

Re-enter  Emilia,  with  Iago. 

lago.  What  is  your  pleasure,  madam?    How  is 
it  with  you  ?  [babes, 

Des.  I  cannot  tell.   Those,  that  do  teach  young 
Do  it  with  gentle  means,  and  easy  tasks  : 
He  might  have  chid  me  so;  for,  in  good  faith, 
I  am  a  child  to  chiding. 

Iago.  What's  the  matter,  lady  ? 

Eijiil.  Alas,  Iago,  my  lord  hath  so  bewhor'd  her, 
Thrown  such  despite  and  heavy  terras  upon  her. 
As  true  hearts  cannot  bear. 

Des.  Am  I  that  name,  Iago? 

layo.  What  name,  fair  lady  ? 

Des.  Such  as,  she  says,  my  lord  did  say  I  wa.s. 

Emil.  He  call'd  her,  whore;  a  beggar,  in  his 
drink, 

Could  not  have  laid  such  terras  upon  his  callet. 

laijo.  Why  did  he  so  ?  [such, 

Des.   [  do  not  know;  I  am  sure,  I  am  non« 

Iago.  Do  not  weep,  do  not  weep  ;  Alas,  the  day! 

Emil.  Has  she  forsook  so  many  noble  matches. 
Her  father,  and  her  country,  and  her  friends, 
To  be  called — whore  ?  would  it  not  make  one  weep? 

Des.  It  is  my  wretched  fortune. 

Iago.  Beshrew  him  for  it ! 

How  comes  this  trick  upon  him  ? 

Des.  Nay,  heaven  doth  know. 

Emil.  I  will  be  hang'd,  if  some  eternal  villain. 
Some  busy  and  insinuating  rogue. 
Some  cogging  cozening  slave,  to  get  some  office. 
Have  not  devis'd  this  slander:  I'll  be  hang'd  else. 

Iago.  Fy,  there  is  no  such  man :  it  is  impossible. 

Des.  If  any  such  there  be,  heaven  pardon  him ! 

Emil.  A  halter  pardon  him  I  and  hell  gnaw  his 
bones !  [coiiipany  f 

Why  should  he  call  her  whore  ?  who  keeps  her 
What  place  ?  what  time  ?  what  form  ?  what  likeli 
hood? 

The  Moor's  abus'd  by  some  most  villanoHs  knave 
Some  base  notorious  knave,  some  scurvy  fellow:* 
O  heaven,  that  such  companions  thou'dst  unfold ; 
And  put  in  every  honest  iiand  a  whip. 
To  lash  the  rascal  naked  through  the  world. 
Even  from  the  east  to  the  west ! 

Iago.  Speak  within  door. 

Emil.  O,  fy  upon  him !  some  such  squire  he  wai 
That  turn'd  your  wit  the  seamy  side  without. 
And  matie  you  to  suspect  me  with  the  Moor. 

Iago.  You  are  a  fool ;  go  to.  ' 

Des.  O  good  Iago, 

What  shall  I  do  to  win  my  lord  again  ? 
'"Good  friend,  go  to  him ;  for,  by  this  light  of  he 
J  know  not  how  1  lost  him.    Here  I  kn^el :— • 
If  e'er  my  will  did  trespass  'gainst  his  love. 
Either  in  discourse  of  thought,  ot  actual  deed  ; 
Or  that  mine  eyes,  mine  ears,  or  any  sense. 
Delighted  them  io  an   other  form; 

...WW 


Scene  3, 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


Y91 


Or  that  I  do  not  yet,  and  ever  did, 

And  ever  will,— though  he  do  shake  me  off 

To  beggarly  divorcement,— love  him  dearly, 

Comfort  forswear  me  !  Unkiudness  may  do  much; 

And  liis  uukindaess  may  defeat  my  life, 

Bat  never  taint  my  love.    I  cannot  say  whore  ; 

Jit  d\)e3  abhor  me,  now  I  speak  the  word  ; 

V  ^  do  the  act  that  might  the  addition  earn, 

N  )t  the  world's  mass  of  vanity  could  make  me. 

laoo.  I  pray  you,  be  content ;  'tis  but  his  humour  ; 
The  business  of  tixe  state  does  him  otience, 
And  he  does  chide  with  you. 

Des.  If 'twere  no  other,— 

lago.  It  is  but  so,  I  warrant  you.  {Trumpets.) 
Hark,  how  these  instruments  summon  to  supper! 
And  the  great  messengers  of  Venice  stay  : 

o  ia,  and  weep  not ;  all  things  shall  be  well. 

[Exewit  Desdemona  and  Emilia. 

Enter  Roderigo. 
How  now,  Roderigo  ?  [rne. 

Rod.  I  do  not  find,  that  thou  deal'st  justly  with 

la(jo.  What  in  the  contrary  ? 

Rod.  Every  day  thou  doff'st  me  with  some  device, 
lago;  and  rather  (as  it  seems  to  me  now,)  keep'st 
from  me  all  conveniency,  than  suppliest  me  with  the 
least  advantage  of  hope.  I  will,  indeed,  no  longer 
endure  it:  Nor  anj  I  yet  persuaded,  to  put  up  in 
peace  what  already  1  have  foolishly  suffered. 

lago.  Will  vou  hear  me,  Roderigo? 

Rod.  'Faith,'  I  have  h*ard  too  much;  for  your 
words,  and  perl'onnance,  are  no  kin  together. 

lago.  You  charge  me  most  unjustly. 

Rod.  With  nought  but  truth.  1  have  wasted  my- 
self out  of  my  means.  The  jewels  yon  have  had 
from  me,  to  deliver  to  Desdemona,  would  half  have 
corrupted  a  vota  ist:  You  have  told  me— she  has 
received  them,  and  returned  me  expectations  and 
comfort:!  of  sudden  respect  and  acquittance  ;  but  1 
find  noLe. 

lago.  Well;  go  to;  very  well. 

Rod.  Very  well!  go  to!  I  cannot  go  to,  man; 
nor  'tis  not  very  well :  By  this  hand,  I  say,  it  is  very 
scurvy  ;  and  begin  to  find  myself  fobbed  in  it. 

lago.  Very  well. 

Rud.  \  UA\  you,  'tis  not  very  well.  I  will  make 
myself  known  to  Desdemona:  If  she  will  return  me 
my  jewels,  I  will  give  over  my  suit,  and  repent  my 
unlawful  solicitation  :  If  not,  assure  yourself,  I  will 
seek  satisfaction  of  you. 

lago.  You  have  said  now. 

Rod  Ay,  and  I  have  said  nothing,  but  what  I 
protest  intendment  of  doing. 

lago.  Why,  now  I  see  there's  mettle  in  thee; 
aad  even,  from  this  instant,  do  build  on  thee  a  bet- 
ter opini(m  than  ever  before.  Give  me  thy  hand, 
Roderigo  :  Thou  hast  taken  agamst  me  a  most  just 
exception ;  but,  yet,  I  protest,  I  have  dealt  most 
directiv  in  thy  affair. 

Rod.  It  hath  not  appeared. 

lago.  I  grant,  indeed,  it  hath  not  appeared  ;  aod 
your  suspicion  is  not  without  wit  and  judgment. 
But,  Roderigo,  if  thou  hast  that  within  thee  indeed, 
which  I  have  greater  reason  to  believe  now  than 
ever, — I  mean,  pur  ose,  courage,  and  valour, — 
this  night  shew  it ;  if  thou  the  next  night  following 
enjoyest  not  Desdemona,  take  me  from  this  world 
with  treachery,  and  devise  engines  for  nov  life. 

Rod.  Well,  what  is  it  ?  is  it  within  rpason,  and 


comitass 


lago.  Sir,  there  is  especial  commission  come  from 
Venice,  to  depute  Cassio  in  Othello's  place. 

od.  Is  that  true  ?  Why,  then  Othelio  and  Des- 
demona return  again  to  Venice. 

lago.  O,  no;  he  goes  into  Mauritania,  and  takes 
iway  with  hiui  the  fair  Desdemona,  unless  bia 
abode  be  lingered  here  by  some  accident;  wherein 
none  caa  be  so  detei-mlnate  as  the  removing  of 
Cassio. 

Rod.  How  do  you  mean—  removing  of  him  . 


lago.  Why,  by  making  him  incapable  of  Othello'a 
place  ;  knocking  out  his  brains. 

Rod.  And  that  you  would  have  me  do? 

lago.  Ay  ;  if  you  dare  do  yourself  a  profit,  and  a 
right.  He  sups  to-night  with  a  harlot,  and  thithef 
will  I  go  to  him  ; — he  knows  not  yet  of  his  honour- 
able fortune  :  if  you  will  watch  his  going  thence, 
(which  I  shall  fashion  to  fall  out  between  twelve 
and  one,)  you  may  take  him  at  your  pleasure;  1 
will  be  near  to  second  your  attempt,  and  he  shall 
fall  betwe-en  us.  Come,  stand  not  amazed  at  it,  bu( 
go  along  with  me ;  I  will  shew  you  such  a  necessity 
in  his  death,  that  you  shall  think  yourself  bound  ta 
put  it  on  him.  It  is  now  high  supper-time,  and  the 
night  grows  to  waste  :  about  it. 

Rod.  I  will  hear  further  reason  for  this. 

lago.  And  you  shall  be  satisfied.  [Exeunt > 

Scene  III. — Another  Room  in  the  Castle. 

Enter  Othello,  Lodovico,  Desdemona,  Emilia, 
and  Attendants. 

Lod.  I  do  beseech  you,  sir,  trouble  yourself  no 
further. 

0th.  O  pardon  me  ;  'twill  do  me  good  to  walk. 
Lod.  Madam,  good  night;  I  humbly  thank  your 
ladyship. 

Des.  Your  honour  is  most  welcome. 

0  th.  Will  you  walk,  sir?— 

O, — Desdemona, — 

Des.  My  lord  ? 

0th.  Get  you  to  bed  on  the  instant;  I  will  be 
returned  forthwith:  dismiss  your  attendant  there; 
look,  it  be  done. 

Des.  I  will,  my  lord. 

[Exeunt  0th.  Lod.  and  Attendants. 

Ewt/.  How  goes  it  now?  he  looks  gentler  than 
he  did. 

Des.  He  says  he  will  return  incontinent; 
He  hath  commanded  me  to  go  to  bed, 
And  jade  me  to  dismiss  you. 

Emil.  Dismiss  me ! 

De*.  It  was  his  bidding  ;  therefore,  good  Emilia, 
Give  me  my  nightly  wearing,  and  adieu  : 
We  must  not  now  displease  him. 

Emil.  I  would,  you  had  never  seen  him ! 

Des.  So  would  not  1 ;  my  love  doth  so  approve 
him,  ,  [frowns,— 

That   even   his   stubbornness,   his    checks,  and 
Pr'ythee,  unpin  me,  — have  grace  and  favour  in 
them.  [bed. 

Emil.  I  have  laid  those  sheets  you  bade  me  on  the 

Des.  All's  one:  —  Good  father!  how  foolish  are 
our  minds ! 
If  1  \o  die  before  thee,  pr'ythee,  shroud  me 
In  one  of  those  same  sheets. 

Emil.  Come,  come,  you  talk 

Des.  My  mother  had  a  maid  call'd— Barbara  ; 
She  was  in  love;  and  he,  she  lov'd,  prov'd  mad, 
And  did  forsake  her :  she  had  a  song  of— willow ; 
An  old  thing  'twas,  but  it  express'd  her  fortune 
And  she  died  singing  it :  That  song,  to-night, 
Will  not  go  from  ray  mind ;  I  have  much  to  do. 
But  to  go  hang  my  head  all  at  one  side, 
And  sing  it  like  poor  Barbara.    Pr'ythee,  despatcli. 

Emil.  Shall  I  go  fetch  your  night-gown  ? 

Dgg^  No,  unpin  me  here.— 

This  Lodovico  is  a  proper  man. 

Emil.  A  very  handsome  man. 

And  he  speaks  well. 
Emil.  I  know  a  lady  in  Venice,  who  wouM  have 
walked  barefoot  to  Palestine,  for  a  touch  ol 
nether  lip, 

I 

nes  The  poor  sou.  sat  sighing  by  a  sycamore 
tree,  . 
Sing  all  a  green  willow;  {binging.) 
Her  hand  on  hf.r  bosom,  her  head  on  her  k  nee. 
Sing  willow,  willotVs  willow : 


792 


OTHELLO, 


Acrr  V 


The  fresh  streams  ranby  her,  and  murmur' d 
her  moans; 
Sing  willow,  etc 
Her  salt  tears  fell  from  her,  and  softened 
the     stones  ; 
La^  by  Uiese  : 

Sing  willow,  willow,  willow; 

lV\thee,  'lie  thee  ;  he'll  come  anon. — 

Sing  all  a  green  willow  must  be  my  gar- 
land. 

II 

Let  nobody  blame  him  his  scorn  I  approve^ — 
Nay,  that's  not  next. — H  jrk  !  who  is  it  that  knocks  ? 
Emil,  It  is  the  wind. 

Des.  I  call d  my  love,  false  love;  but  what  said 
Sing  willow ,  etc.  [he  then  ? 

If  I  court  mo  wofiren,  you'll  couch  with  mo  men. 
So,  get  thee  gone;  good  night.  Mine  eyes  do  itch ; 
Doth  that  bode  weeping  ? 

Emil.  'Tis  neither  here  nor  there. 

Des.  I  have  beard  it  said  so.  —  O,  these  men, 
these  men ! 

Dost  thou  in  conscience  think, — tell  me.  Emilia, — 
That  there  be  women  do  abuse  their  husoands 
Id  such  gross  kind  ? 

Emil.  There  be  some  such,  no  question. 

J)es.  Would'st  thou  do  such  a  deed  for  all  the 
world? 

Emil.  Why,  would  not  you  ? 

Des.  No,  by  this  heavenly  light! 

Emil.  Nor  I  neither,  by  this  heavenly  light; 
I  might  do't  as  well  i'the  dark.  [world  ? 

Des.  Would'st  thou  do  such  a  deed  for  all  the 

Emil.  The  world  is  a  huge  thing :  'Tis  a  great 
price 
For  a  small  vice. 

Des.  Good  troth,  I  think  thou  would'st  not. 

Emil.  By  my  troth,  I  think  I  should;  and  un- 
do't,  when  I  had  done.  Marry,  I  would  not  do 
aucn  a  thing  for  a  joint-ring  ;*  nor  for  measures  of 
lawn;  nor  fov  gowns,  petticoats,  nor  caps,  nor 
any  petty  exhibition  :  but,  for  the  whole  world, — 
Why,  who  would  not  make  her  husband  a  cuckold, 
to  make  him  a  monarch?  I  should  venture  purga- 
tory for't. 

Des.  Beshrew  me,  if  I  would  do  such  a  wrong 
for  the  whole  world. 

Emil.  Why,  the  wrong  is  but  a  wrong  i'the 
world ;  and,  having  the  world  for  your  labour,  'tis 
a  wrong  in  your  own  world,  and  you  might  quickly 
make  it  right. 

Des.  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  such  woman. 

Emil.  Yes,  a  dozen ;  and  as  many  [for. 
To  the  vantage,  as  would  store  the  world  they  play'd 
But,  I  do  think,  it  is.  their  husbands'  faultSj^^^ 
If  wives  do  fall :  Say,  that  they  slack  their  duties. 
And  pour  our  treasures  into  foreign  laps; 
Or  else  break  out  in  peevish  jealousies. 
Throwing  restraint  upon  us;  or,  say,  they  strike  us, 
Or  scant  our  former  having  in  despite  ; 
Why,  we  have  galls ;  and,  though  wc  have  some 
grace. 

Yet  we  have  some  revenge.    Let  husbands  know. 
Their  wives  have  sense  like  them:  they  see,  and- 
smell. 

And  have  their  palates  both  for  sweet  and  sour, 

husbands  have.    What  is  it  that  they  do^ 
^hen  they  change  us  for  others?  Is  it  sport? 
I  think  it  is ;  And  doth  aftection  breed  it : 
I  think  it  doth ;  Is't  frailty  that  thus  errs  ? 
U  is  so  too :  And  have  not  we  affections  ? 
Desires  for  sport?  and  frailty,  as  men  have  ? 
Then,  let  them  use  us  well  :  else,  let  them  know. 
The  ills  we  do,  their  ills  instruct  us  to. 

Dss.  Good  night,  good  night :  Heaven  me  such 
usage  send, 

Iffot  to  pick  bad  from  bad  ;  but,  by  bad,  mend  ! 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 

ScBNE  I. — A  Street 
Enter  Iago  and  Roderigo. 

lago.  Here,  stand  behind  this  bulk;  strEUghi 
will  he  come  : 
Wear  thy  good  rapier  bare,  and  put  it  home  ; 
Quick,  quick;  fear  nothing  :  I'll  be  at  thy  elbow: 
It  makes  us,  or  it' mars  us ;  think  on  that, 
And  fix  most  firm  thy  resolution. 

Rod.  Be  near  at  hand  ;  I  may  miscarry  in't, 
Iago.  Here,  at  thy  hand ;  be  bold,  and  take  tbj 
sword.        {Retires  to  a  little  distance^ 
Rod.  I  have  no  great  devotion  to  the  deed ; 
And  vet  he  lias  given  me  satisfying  reasons  : — 
'Tis  but  a  man  gone  : — forth,  my  swot  d  ;  he  dies. 

{Goes  to  his  stands) 
Iago.  I  have  rubb'd  this  young  quat  almost  to 
the  sense, 

And  he  grows  angry.    Now,  whether  he  kill  Cassio 

Or  Cassio  him,  or  each  do  kill  the  other. 

Every  way  makes  my  gain  :  Live  Roderigo, 

He  calls  me  to  a  restitution  large 

Of  gold,  and  jewels,  that  I  bobb'd  from  him. 

As  gifts  to  Desdemona ; 

It  must  not  be  :  if  Cassio  do  i^main, 

He  hath  a  daily  beauty  in  his  life, 

That  makes  me  ugly  ;  and,  besides,  the  oor 

May  unfold  me  to  him  ;  there  stand  I  in  much  peril : 

No,  he  nmst  die  : — But  so,  I  hear  him  coming. 

Enter  Cassio. 
Rod.  I  know  his  gait,  'tis  he  : — Villain,  thou  diest. 
{Rushes  from  his  post,  and  makes  a  pass  at 
Cassio. 

Cas.  That  thrust  had  been  mine  enemy  indeed. 
But  that  my  coat  is  better  than  thou  think'st; 
I  will  make  proof  of  tliine. 

{Draws,  and  wounds  Roderigo.) 
Rod.  O,  I  am  slain  ! 

{Iago  rushes  from  his  post,  cuts  Cassio  bihina 

in  the  leg,  and  exit.) 
Cas.  I  am  maim'd  for  ever: — Help,  oh  mur- 


dei 


lurdt 


[Falls.) 


Enter  Othello,  at  a  distance. 
0th.  The  voice  of  Cassio:  —  Iago  keeps  hie 
word. 

Rod.  O,  villain  that  I  am^ 

Otli.  Hark  !  'tis  even  so 

Cas.  O,  help  !  oh  !  light !  a  surgeon ' 
0th.  'Tis  he; — O  brave  lago,  honest,  and  just, 
That  hast  such  noble  sense  of  thy  friend's  wrong.' 
Thou  tearhest  me, — Minioh,  your  dear  lies  dead. 
And  your  fate  hies  apace  : — Strumpet,  I  come  : 
Forth  of  my  heart  those  charms,  thine  eyes,  are 
blotted  ; 

Thy  bed,  lust-stain'd,  shall  with  Inst'fs  blood  be 
spotted.  [Exit  Othello^ 

Enter  LoDOVico  and  Gratiano,  at  a  distance. 

Cas.  What,  ho !  no  watch  ?  no  passage '?  mur- 
der I  murder! 

Gra.  'Tis  some  mischance ;  the  cry  is  very  dire 
ful. 

Cas.  O  help! 

Lod.  Hark! 

Rod.  O  wretchpt*  vi?   n  ! 

Lod.  Two  or  three  groans; — it  is  a  heavy  night: 
These  may  be  counterfeits  ;  let's  think't  unsafe 
To  come  in  to  the  cry,  without  more  help. 

Rod.  No  body  comes?  then  siiall  1  bleed  to  deeth. 

Enter  Iago,  with  a  light. 
W.  Hark! 

Gra.  Here's  one  comes  in     8  shirt,  with  light 

and  weapons. 
lago.  Wiio's  tlife  ?  whose  noise  is  this,  that 

cries  on  murder? 
Lod.  We  do  not  know. 


SCKNE  2. 

lago.  Did  yoti  not  hear  a  cry  ? 

das.  Here,  ere ;  for  heaven's  sake,  help  me. 

lago.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Gra.  This  is  Othello's  ancient,  as  1  take  it. 

hod  The  same,  indeed ;  a  very  valiant  fellow. 

lago.  What  are  you  here  that  cry  so  grievously? 

Cas.  lago?  O,  I  am  spoil' d,  undone  by  villains! 
Give  me  home  help  {this  ? 

iago.  O  me,  lieutenant!  what  villains  have  done 

Cas.  1  think  that  one  of  them  is  hereabout, 
And  cannot  make  away. 

lago.  O  treacherous  villains ! — 

What  are  you  there?  come  in,  and  give  some  help. 

( To  Lodovico  and  Gratiano.) 

Rod.  O,  help  me  here  I 

(Jas.  That's  one  of  them. 

Iago.  O  murderous  slave  !  O  villain  ! 

{Iago  stabs  Roderigo.) 
Rod.  O  damn'd  Iago  !  O  inhuman  dog! — 
O!  O!  O! 

Iago.  Kill  men  i'the  dark! — Where  be  these 
bloody  thieves ! — 
How  silent  is  this  town! — Ho  !  murder!  murder] 
What  may  you  be?  are  you  of  good,  or  evil? 

Lod.  As  you  shall  prove  us,  praise  us. 

Iago.  Signior  Lodovico  ? 

Lod.  He,  sir. 

Iago.  I  cry  you  mercy  :  Here's  Cassio  hurt 

By  villains. 
Gra.  Cassio? 

Iago.  How  is  it,  brother  ? 

Cas.  My  leg  is  cut  in  two. 

Iago.  Marry,  heaven  forbid ! — 

Light,  gentlemen  ;  I'll  bind  it  with  my  shirt 

Enter  Bianca. 

Bian.  What  is  the  matter,  ho?  who  is't  that  cry'd? 

lago.  Who  is't  that  cry'd  ? 

Bian.  O  my  dear  Cassio !  my  sweet  Cassio  I 
O  Cassio !  Cassio  !  Cassio !  [suspect 

Iago.  O  notable  strumpet! — Cassio,  may  you 
Who  they  should  be,  that  have  thus  mangled  you? 

Cas.  No. 

Gra.  1  am  sorry  to  find  you  thus  :  I  have  been 
to  seek  yoif. 

Iago.  Lend  me  a  garter :  So. — O,  for  a  chair. 
To  bear  him  easily  hence  ! 

Bian.  Alas,  he  faints  : — O  Cassio!  Cassio!  Cassio! 

Iago.  Gentlemen  all,  I  do  suspect  this  trash 
To  be  a  party  in  this  injury. — 
Patience  a  while,  good  Cassio.— Come,  come; 
Lend  me  a  light. — Know  we  this  face,  or  no? 
Alas!  my  friend,  and  my  dear  countryman, 
Roderigo?  no ; — Yes,  sure;  O  heaven!  Roderigo. 

Gra.  What,  of  Venice  ? 

Iago.  Even  he,  sir;  did  you  know  him? 

Gra.  Know  him  ?  ay. 

Iago.  Signior  Gratiano?  1  cry  you  gentle  par- 
don ; 

These  bloody  accidents  must  excuse  ray  manners. 
That  so  neglected  you. 

Gra.  I  am  glad  to  see  you. 

Iago.  How  do  you,  Cassio? — O,  a  chair,  a  chair  ! 

Gra.  Roderigo! 

Iago.  He,  he,  'tis  he: — O,  that's  well  saidj — 
the  chair  : —  {A  chair  brought  m.) 

Sfjme  good  man  bear  him  carefully  from  hence  ; 

I'll  fetch  the  general's  surgeon. — For  you,  mis- 
tress, {To  Bianca.) 

Save  you  your  labour. — He  that  lies  slain  here, 
Cassio, 

Was  my  dear  friend  :  What  malice  was  between 
you  ? 

Cas.  None  in  the  world;  nor  do  I  know  the  man. 
lago.  [To  Bian.)  What,  look  you  pale?  —  O, 
bear  him  out  o'  the  air. — 

{Cassio  and  Rod.  are  borne  off.) 
Stay  you,  good  gentlemen : — Look  you  pale,  mis- 
tress? {To  Bianca.) 
Po  you  perceive  the  ghastness  of  her  eye? — 


793 

Nay,  if  you  stare,  we  shall  hear  more  anon  :— 
Behold  htr  well;  I  pray  you,  look  upon  her; 
Do  you  see,  gentlemen  ?  nay,  guiltiness  will  speak. 
Though  tongues  were  out  of  use. 

Enter  Emilia. 
Emit.  'Las,  what's  the  matter?  what's  the  matter, 
husband  ? 

Iago.  Cassio  hath  here  been  set  on  in  the  dark, 
By  Koderigo,  and  fellows  that  are  scap'd  , 
He's  almost  slain,  and  Roderigo  dead. 

Emil.  Alas,  good  gentleman !  alas,  good  Cassio! 

Iago.  This  is  the  fruit  of  whoring.  —  Pr'ythe*, 
Emilia, 

Go  kno%v  of  Cassio  where  he  supp'd  to-night : — 
What,  do  you  shake  at  that  ?  [shake,not 

Bian.  He  supp'd  at  my  house ;  but  I  therefore 

Iago.  O,  did  he  so?  I  charge  you  go  with  me. 

Emil.  Fy,  fy  upon  thee,  strumpet ! 

Bian.  I  am  no  strumpet;  but  of  life  as  honest. 
As  you  that  thus  abuse  me. 

Emil  As  I?  fob!  fy  upon  thee ! 

Iago.  Kind  gentlemen,  let's  go  see  poor  Cassia 
dress'd : — 

Come,  mistress,  you  must  tell  us  another  tale.— 
Emilia,  run  you  to  the  citadel, 
And  tell  my  lord  and  ladv  what  has  happ'd.— 
Will  you  go  on,  I  pray?  This  is  the  night,  {Aside.) 
That  either  makes  me,  or  fordoes  me  quite. 

[Exeunt 

Scene  II. — A  Bedchamber:  Desdemona  in  bedt 
asleep.    A  light  burning. 
Enter  Othello. 
0th.  It  is  the  cause,  it  i»  the  cause,  my  soul,-— i 
Let  me  not  name  it  to  you,  you  cha.ste  stars  !— 
It  is  the  cause. — Yet  I'll  not  shed  her  blood 
Nor  scar  that  whiter  skin  of  hers  than  snow. 
And  smooth  as  monumental  alabaster. 

.Takes  off  his  sworfcL] 
Yet  she  must  die,  else  she'll  betray  more  men. 
I^)toiiUJie-4ifh%-a^^  , 
irTquench  thee,  thou  flaming  minister, 
I  can  again  thy  former  light  restore, 
Should  I  repent  me  : — but  once  put  out  thine. 
Thou  cunning'st  pattern  of  excelling  nature, 
I  know  not  where  is  that  Promethean  heat, 
That  can  thy  light  relume.    When  I  have  pluck'd 

thy  rose, 
I  cannot  give  it  vital  growth  again, 
It  needs  must  wither: — I'll  smell  it  on  the  tree. — 

{Kissing  her. 

0  balmy  breath,  that  dost  almost  persuade 
Justice  to  break  her  sword ! — One  more,  one 

more. — 

Be  thus  when  thou  a^^  will  kill  thee, 

KuS^'W\eJ^e%_^^T>^^  this  the  last 

^6" sweet  was  ne'er  so  fatal.    I  must  weep. 
But  they  are  cruel  tears ;  This  sorrow's  heavenly 
It  strikes,  where  it  doth  love. — She  wakes — 

Des.  Who's  there?  Othello? 

0th.  Ay,  Desdemona. 

Des.  Will  you  come  to  bed,  my  lord  ? 

0th.  Have  you  pray'd  to-night,  Desdemona? 

Des.  Ay,  my  lord. 

0th.  If  yon  bethink  yourself  of  any  crime, 
Unreconcil'd  as  yet  to  heaven  and  grace. 
Solicit  for  it  straight. 

Des.  Alas,  my  lord,  what  may  you  mean  by  that? 

0th.  Well,  do  it,  and  be  brief;  I  will  walk  by; 

1  would  not  kill  thy  unpiepared  spirit; 

No, — Heaven  forefend  ! — I  would  not  kill  thy  soul ' 

Des.  Talk  you  of  killing  ? 

0th.  Ay,  I  do. 

Des.  Then,  heaven 

Have  mercy  on  me  ! 

0th.  Amen,  with  all  my  heart! 

Des.  If  you  say  so,  I  hope  yon  will  not  kill  me. 

0th.  Humph! 

Des.  And  yet  I  fear  you ;  for  you  are  fatal  then. 


/?/-€.: 

THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


T94 


OTHELLO, 


When  youi  syes  roll  so ;  Why  T  should  fear,  I 

kno>  V  not, 

S'nu.<s  guiltiness  [  know  not;  but  yet,  I  feel,  I  fear. 

Ci/i.  riiiuk  oh  Ihy  sins. 

'Jes.  They  are  loves  I  bear  to  you. 

Oi/i.  Ay,  and  for  that  thou  diest.  [in"-.- — 

De^.  That  death's  unnatural,  that  kills  for  lov- 

las,  why  ^naw  yon  so  your  nether  lip? 
iouie  bloody  passion  shakes  your  very  frame: 

hese  at  e  portents  ;  but  yet  I  hope,  I  hope, 

hey  did  not  point  on  me. 

0th.  Peace,  aod  be  still ! 

Des.  I  will  so;  What's  the  matter? 

Ot/i.  That  handkerchief,  which  I  so  lov'd,  and 
gave  thee, 
Thou  gav  st  to  Cassio. 

Des.  No,  by  ray  life  and  soul: 

Send  for  the  man,  and  ask  him. 

Ot/i.  Sweet  soul,  take  heed, 

Take  heed  of  perjury ;  thou'rt  on  thy  death-bed. 

Des.  Ay,  but  not  yet  to  die. 

OtA.  Yes,  presently : 

Therefore  confess  thee  free'.y  of  thy  sin; 
For  to  deny  each  article  with  oath. 
Cannot  remove,  nor  choke,  the  strong  conception. 
That  I  do  groan  witiial.    Thou  art  to  die. 

Des.  Then,  Lord  have  mercy  on  me  ! 

Olh.  I  say,  amen. 

Des.  /^ud  have  you  mercy  too ! — I  never  did 
Oft'eud  you  in  my  life  :  never  lov'd  Cassio, 
Bu'  with  such  general  warranty  of  heaven 
A-^  I  might  love:  I  never  gave  him  token. 

Oih.  By  heaven,  I  saw  my  handkerchief  in  his 
hand. 

0  perjiir'd  woman  !  thou  dost  stone  my  heart. 
And  iiitik'st  me  call,  what  I  intend  to  do,— 
/k  murder,  which  i  thought  a  sacrifice  : 

1  saw  tiie  handkerchief. 

Des.  He  found  it  then  ; 

I  never  gave  it  him  : — Send  for  him  hither, 
And  let  him  confess  a  truth. 

Ot/i.  He  hath  confess'd. 

Des.  What,  my  lord  ? 

OfJi.  That  he  hath— us'd  thee. 

Des.  How  ?  unlawfully  ? 

0th.  Ay. 

Des.         He'll  not  say  so. 

Oik.  No,  his  mouth  is  stopp'd : 

f  'k  nest  lago  hath  ta'en  order  for't.        ^      [dead  ? 

Des.  My  fear  interprets  then,  —  What,  is  he 

Oik.  Had  all  his  hairs  been  lives,  my  great  revenge 
Bad  stomach  for  them  all. 

Des.  Alas!  he  is  betray'd,  and  I  undone. 

Otk.  Out,  strunipet!  Weep'st  thou  for  him  to 
my  tace  ? 

Des.  O,  banish  me,  my  lord,  but  kill  me  not. 

Otk.  Down,  strumpet ! 

Des.  Kill  me  to-morrow,  let  me  live  to-night 

Otk.  Nay,  if  you  strive, — 

Des.  But  half  an  hour. 

Oth,  Being  done, 

There  is  no  pause. 

Des.  But  while  I  say  one  prayer. 

Oth.  It  is  too  late.  {He  smothers  her.) 

Emil.  {Within.)  My  lord!  my  lord!  what  ho! 
my  lord  i  ray  lord !  [quite  dead  ? 

Oth.  What  noise  is  this  ?— Not  dead  ?  not  yet 
I,  that  am  cruel,  am  yet  nierciful; 
}  would  not  have  thee  linger  in  thy  pain. — 
So,  so. 

Emii.  ( Within.)  What  ho !  my  lord !  ray  lord ! 
Oik.  Who's  there  ? 

Emil.  { Within.)  O,  good  ray  lord,  I  would  speak 

a  word  with  you. 
Oth.  Yes ; — 'tis  Emilia : — by  and  by. — She's  dead. 
Tis  like  she  comes  to^ieak  of  Cassio's  death  ; 


The  noise  was  high. 


no  fivore  movjng 


Still  as  the  grave.  Shall  she  come  in  ?  Were't  good  ? 
I  think,  she  stirs  again :— No. — Wliat's  the  best? 
il  she  come  in,  she'll  sure  speak  to  my  wife  : 


My  wife  !  my  wife'!  what  wife?— I  have  no  wifp! 

O,  insupportaLrflt? !  O  heavy  hour! 

Methinks  it  should  be  now  a  huge  eclipse 

Of  sun  and  moon  ;  and  that  the  atfrighted  globe 

Should  yawn  at  alteration.  [with  yoo, 

Einil.  {Within.)  1  do  beseech  you,  I  may  speak 
O,  good  niy  lord  I 

Oth.  I  had  forgot  thee  :  O,  come  in,  Emilia  :— 
Soft, — by  and  by  : — Let  me  the  curtains  draw. — 
Where  art  thou  ?  What's  the  matter  with  thee 
now  ?  ( Unlocks  the  door.^ 

Enter  Emilia. 

Emil.  0,  good  my  lord,  yonder's  foul  murder 

Oth.  What?  now?  (done. 

Emil.  But  now,  my  lord  ! 

Otk.  It  is  the  very  error  of  the  moon ; 
She  comes  more  near  the  earth  than  she  was  wont, 
And  makes  men  mad.  [netiao, 

Emil.  Cassio,  my  lord,  has  kill'd  a  young  Ve- 
Call'd — Roderigo. 

Otk.  Roderigo  kill'd  I 

And  Cassio  kill'd  ? 

Emil.  No,  Cassio  is  not  kill'd. 

Otk.  Not  Cassio  kill'd  ?  Then  murder's  out  of 
And  sweet  revenge  grows  harsh.  [tune 

Des.  Oj  falsely,  falsely  murder'd  ! 

Emil.  Alas !  what  cry  is  that  ? 

Otk.  That!  what? 

Emil.  Out,  and  alas  !  that  was  my  lady's  voice  :— 
Help!  help!  ho!  help! — O  lady,  speak  again  ! 
Sweet  Desdemona!  O,  sweet  mistress,  speak! 

Des.  A  guiltless  death  1  die. 

Emil.  O,  who  hath  done 

This  deed  ? 

Des.  Nobody,  I  myself ;  farewell : 

Commend  me  to  my  kind  lord;  O,  farewell .  {Dies.) 

Otk.  Why,  how  should  she  be  murder'd  ? 

Emil.  Alas,  who  knows  ? 

Otk.  You  heard  her  say  herself,  it  was  not  [. 

Emil.  She  "mid  so  ;  I  must  needs  report  the  trutli. 

Otk.  She's,  like  a  liar,  gone  to  burning  hell  • 
'Twas  I  that  kill'd  her. 

Emil.  O,  the  more  angel  she, 

And  you  the  blacker  devil ! 

Otk.  She  turn'd  to  folly,  and  she  was  a  whore. 

Emil.  Thou  dost  belie  her,  and  thou  art  a  devil. 

Otk.  She  was  false  as  water. 

E?nil.  Thou  art  rash  as  fire,  to  s-ty 

That  she  was  false  ;  O,  she  was  heavenly  true  ! 

Oth,  Cassio  did  tup  her:  ask  thy  husband  else. 
O,  I  were  damn'd  beneath  all  depth  in  hell. 
But  that  I  did  proceed  upon  just  grounds 
To  this  extremity  :  Thv  husband  knew  it  all. 

Emil.  My  husband  r 

Oth.  Thy  husband. 

Emil.  That  she  was  false  to  wedlock  ? 

Oth.  Ay,  with  Cassia. 

Nay,  had  she  been  true. 
If  heaven  would  make  me  such  aaother  world 
Of  one  entire  and  perfect  chrysolite,  M 
I  d  not  have  sold  her  for  it 

Emil.  My  husband  ? 

Oth.  Ay,  'twas  he  that  told  me  first; 

An  honest  man  he  is,  and  hates  the  alime 
That  sticks  on  filthy  deeds. 

Emil.  My  husband  ? 

Oth.  What  needs  this  iterance,  woman  ?  I  say, 
thy  husband.  [love  !— 

Emil.  O  mistress,  villany  hath  made  mocks  witk 
My  husband  say.  that  she  was  false  ? 

Oth.  He,  woman  J 

I  say,  thy  husband:  Dost  understand  the  word? 
My  friend,,  thy  husband,  honest,  honest  lago. 

Emil,  If  he  say  so,  may  his  pernicious  soul 
Rot  half  a  grain  a  day  !  he  lies  to  the  heart; 
She  was  too  fond  of  her  most  filthy  bargain. 

Otk.  Ha! 

Emil.         Do  thy  worst ; 
This  deed  of  thine  is  no  more  worthy  heaven* 


Scene  2. 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


795 


Thau  thou  wast  worthy  her. 

0th.  Peace,  you  were  best. 

Emil.  Thou  hast  not  half  the  power  to  do  me 
harm. 

As  I  have  lo  be  hurt.    O  gull !  O  dolt ! 
As  ignorant  as  dirt!  thoii  hast  done  a  deed, — 
I  care  not  for  thy  sword ;  I'll  make  thee  known. 
Though  I  lost  twenty  lives  : — Help  !  help,  ho  !  help ! 
The  Moor  has  kill'd  my  mistress  ;  Murder  !  murder  ! 

Enter  Montano,  Gratiano,  and  Iago. 
JV/on.  What  is  the  matter  ? — How  now,  general  ? 
Emil.  O,  are  you  come,  Iago  ?  you  have  done  well. 
That  men  must  lay  their  murders  on  your  neck. 
Qra.  What  is  the  matter  ^ 

Emil.  Disprove  this  villain,  if  thou  be'st  a  man: 

fe  says,  thou  told'st  him  that  his  wife  was  false : 
know,  thou  didst  not,  thou'rt  not  such  a  villain ; 
Speak,  for  my  heart  is  full.  [more 
Iago.  I  told  him  what  I  thought;  and  told  no 
Than  what  he  found  himself  was  apt  and  true. 
E?niL  But  did  you  ever  tell  him,  she  was  false  ? 
Iago.  I  did. 

Emit.  You  told  a  lie ;  an  odious,  damned  lie ; 
Upon  my  soul,  a  lie  ;  a  wicked  lie : — 
She  false  with  Cassio  ! — Did  you  say  with  Cassio  ? 

Iago.  With  Cassio,  mistress :  Go  to,  charm  your 
tongue.  [to  speak  ; 

Emil.  I  will  not  charm  my  tongue  ;  I  am  bound 
My  mistress  here  lies  murder'd  in  her  bed. 

All.  O  heavens  forefend  ! 

Emil.  And  your  reports  have  set  the  murder  on. 
0th.  Nay,  stare  not,  masters;  it  is  true,  indeed, 
Gra.  'Tis  a  strange  truth. 
Mon.  O  monstrous  act ! 

Emil.  Villany,  villany,  villany ! — 

i  think  upon't,— I  think, — 1  smell't; — O  villany  ! — 
1  thought  so  then  ; — I'll  kill  myself  for  grief. — 

0  villany,  villany!  ,^ 

Iago.  What,  are  you  mad?    I  charge  you  get 
you  home.  fsp^^l^  5 

E7nil.  Good  gentlemen,  let  me  have  leave  to 
'Tis  proper  I  obey  hi  in.  but  not  now; — 
Perchance,  Iago,  I  will  ne'er  go  home. 

0th.  01  01  01  [Hanging  over  his  wife.) 

Emil.  Nay,  lay  tiiee  down,  and  roar; 

For  thou  hast  kill'd  the  sweetest  innocent. 
That  e'er  did  lift  up  eye. 

Otk.  O,  she  was  foul ! — 

(Rising.) 

1  scarce  did  know  you,  uncle :  There  lies  your 

niece,  [stopp'd : 

Whose  breath,  indeed,  these  hands  have  newly 
I  know,  this  act  shews  horrible  and  grim. 

Gh^a.  Poor  Desdemona !  I  am  glad  thy  father's 

dead  ; 

Thy  match  was  mortal  to  him,  and  pure  griof 
Shore  his  old  thread  in  twain :  did  he  live  now. 
This  sight  would  make  him  do  a  desperate  tarn. 
Yea,  curse  his  better  angel  from  his  side. 
And  fall  to  reprobation. 

0th.  'Tis  pitiful;  but  yet  Iago  knows, 
That  she  with  Cassio  hath  the  act  of  shame 
A  thousand  times  committed  :  Cassio  confess'd  it: 
And  she  did  gratify  his  amorous  works 
With  that  recognizance  and  pledge  of  love 
Which  I  first  gave  her  ;  i  saw  it  in  his  hand; 
It  was  a  handkerchief,  an  antique  token 
My  father  gave  my  mother. 

Emil.  O  heavens!  O  heavenly  powers! 

Iago.  Come,  hold  your  peace. 

Emil.  'Twill  out,  'twill  out ; — I  hold  my  peace, 
sir  ?  no ; 

No,  I  will  speak  as  liberal  as  the  air; 

Let  heaven,  and  men,  and  devils,  let  them  all, 

Ail.  ail,  cry  shame  against  me,  yet  I'll  speak. 

lu'jo.  Be  wise,  and  get  you  home. 

Einil  I  will  not. 

(Iago  offers  to  stab  his  tvife.) 

Gra.  Fyi 


Your  sword  upon  a  woman  ? 
Emil.  O  thou  dull  Moor !  that  handkerchief  tko« 

speak'st  of, 

I  found  by  fortune,  and  did  give  my  husband; 
For  often,  with  a  solemn  earnestness, 
(More  than,  indeed,  belong'd  to  such  a  trifle,) 
He  begg'd  of  me  to  steal  it. 

Iago.  _     _  Villanous  whore ! 

Emil.  She  give  it  Cassio!  no,  alas ;  I  found  it, 
And  I  did  give't  my  husband. 

Iago.  Filth,  thou  liest, 

Emil.  By  heaven,  I  do  not ;  I  do  not,  gentlemen 
O  murderous  coxcomb!  what  should  such  a  fool 
Do  with  so  good  a  wife  ? 

[Iago  stabs  Emilia,  then  runs  out, 

0th.  Are  there  no  stones  in  heaven, 

But  what  serve  for  the  thunder  ? — Precious  villain ! 

Gra.  The  woman  falls  ;  sure,  he  has  kill'd  his 
wife. 

Emil.  Ay,  ay;  O,  lay  me  by  my  mistress'  side  ! 
Gra.  He's  gone,  but  his  wife's  kill'd. 
Mon.  'Tis  a  notorious  villain.    Take  you  this 
weapon. 

Which  I  liave  here  recover'd  from  the  Moor: 
Come,  guard  the  door  without ;  let  him  n-ot  pass. 
But  kill  him  rather;  I'll  after  that  same  villain. 
For  'tis  a  damned  slave. 

[Exeunt  Montano  and  Gratiano, 

0th.  I  am  not  valiant  neither 

But  every  puny  whipster  gets  my  sword  : — 
But  why  should  honour  outlive  honesty  ? 
Let  it  go  all. 

Emil.  What  did  thy  song  bode,  lady? 

Hark,  can'st  thou  hear  me  ?  1  will  play  the  swan. 
And  die  in  music  ; — Willoiv,  willoiv,  ivillow.— 
Moor,  she  was  chaste  ;  she  lov'd  thee,  cruel  Moor^ 
So  come  my  soul  to  bliss,  as  I  speak  true  ; 
So  speaking  as  I  think,  I  die, — I  die.  [Dies,] 

0th.  I  have  another  weapon  in  this  chamber. 
It  is  a  sword  of  Spain,  the  ice-brook's  temper;— 
O,  here  it  is  : — Uncle,  I  must  come  forth. 

Gra.  [Within.)  If  thou  attempt  it,  it  will  cost  the® 
dear; 

Thou  hast  no  weapon,  and  perforce  must  suffer. 

0th.  Look  in  upon  me  then,  attd  speak  with  me 
Or,  naked  as  I  am,  I  will  assault  thee. 

Re-enter  Gratiano. 

Gra.  What  is  the  matter  ? 

0th.  Behold  I  I  have  a  weapon^ 

A  better  never  did  itself  sustain 
Upon  a  soldier's  thigh  :  I  have  seen  the  day. 
That,  w     this  little  arm,  and  this  good  sword, 
I  have  made  my  way  through  more  impediment* 
Than  twenty  times  your  stop: — But,  O  vain  boait! 
Who  can  control  his  fate  ?  'tis  not  so  now.— 
Be  not  afraid,  though  yon  do  see  me  weapon'd; 
Here  is  my  journey's  end,  here  is  my  butt, 
And  very  sea-mark  of  my  utmost  sail. 
Do  yon  go  back  dismay'd  ?  'tis  a  lost  fear; 
Man  but  a  rush  against  Othello's  breast, 
And  he  retires: — Where  should  Othello  go?— 
Now,  how  dost  thou  look  now  ?  O  ill  starr'd  wencbl 
Pale  as  thy  smock !  when  we  shall  meet  at  compt. 
This  look  of  thine  will  hurl  my  soul  from  heaven. 
And  fiends  will  snatch  at  it   Cold,  cold,  my  girl  r 
Even  like  thy  chastity. — 
O  cursed,  cursed  slave! — Whip  me,  ye  devils. 
From  the  possession  of  this  heavenly  sight ! 
Blow  me  about  in  winds  !  roast  me  in  sulphur  ! 
Wash  me  in  steep-down  gulfs  of  liquid  fire  !— 
O  Desdemona  !  Desdemona!  deadf 
Dead?  O!  010!  ] 

Enter  LoDovico,  Montano,  Cassio,  carried  in  a 
chair,  and  Officers,  ivith  Iago,  prisoner, 
Lod.  Where  is  this  rash  and  most  uufortunat* 
man? 

0th.  That's  he,  that  was  Othello;  here  I  am 
Lod.  Where  is  that  viper?  bring  the  villain  fortli 


796 


OTHELLO,  THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


Act  Vv 


0th.  I  look  djwn  tov^ards  his  feet; — but  that'a 
a  fable : 

l^fthat  thou  be'st  a  devil^  I  cannot  kill  thee. 

{Othello  wounds  lagot^ 

Lod.  Wrench  his  sword  from  him. 

lago.  I  bleed,  sir ;  but  not  kill'd. 

Jth.  I  am  not  sorry  neithei ;  I'd  have  thee  U>e  ; 
For,  in  my  sense,  'tis  happiness  to  die. 

Lod.  O  thou  Othello,  that  was  once  so  good, 
Fall'n  in  the  practice  of  a  cursed  slave. 
What  shall  be  said  to  thee  ? 

0th.  Why,  any  thing  . 

An  honourable  murderer,  if  you  will ; 
For  uoiiglit  I  did  in  hate,  but  all  in  honour. 

Lod.  This  wretch  hath  part  coofess'd  his  villany : 
Did  you  and  he  consent  in  Cassio's  death  ? 

OtI).  Ay. 

Cas.  Dear  general,  1  never  gave  you  cause. 

Otk.  I  do  believe  it,  and  I  ask  your  pardon. 
Will  you,  I  pray  you,  demand  that  demi  devil, 
Wliy  he  hath  thus  ensnar'd  my  soul  and  body  ? 

lago.  Demand  me  nothing:  What  you  know,  you 
know ; 

From  this  time  forth  I  never  will  speak  word. 
Lod.  What  ?  not  to  pray  ? 

Gra.  Torments  will  ope  your  lips. 

0th.  Well,  thou  dost  best. 

Lod.  Sir,  you  shall  understand  what  hath  befall'n. 
Which,  as  I  think,  you  know  not:  Here  is  a  letter, 
Found  in  the  pocket  of  the  slain  Roderigo; 
And  here,  another:  the  one  of  them  imports 
The  death  of  Cassio  to  be  undertook 
By  Roderigo. 

0th.  O  villain ! 

Cas.  Most  heathenish,  and  most  gross ! 

Lod.  Now  here's  another  discontented  paper, 
Found  in  his  pocket  too  ;  and  this,  it  seems, 
Roderigo  mt-ant  to  have  sent  this  daumed  villain; 
But  that,  belike,  lago  in  the  interim 
Came  in  and  satisfied  him. 

0th.  O  the  pernicious  caitiff  I — 

Bow  came  you,  Cassio,  by  that  handkerchief 
That  was  my  wif-s's? 

Cas.  I  found  it  in  my  chamber: 

And  he  himself  confess'd,  but  even  now. 
That  there  lie  dropp'd  it,  for  a  special  purpose. 
Which  wrought  to  his  desire. 

Qih.  O  fool!  fool!  fool! 

€aM.  There  is,  besides,  in  Roderigo's  letter. — 
J[|0W  be      raids  (ago,  that  he  made  him 


Brave  me  upon  tfte  watch ;  whereon  it  came 
That  I  was  cast:  And  even  but  now  he  spake. 
After  long  seeming  dead, — lago  hurt  him, 
lago  set  him  on. 

Lod.  Yon  must  forsake  this  room,  and  go  with  m; 
Your  power  and  your  command  is  taken  off. 
And  Cassio  rules  in  Cyprus.   For  this  slave,— 
If  there  be  any  cunning  cruelty, 
That  can  torment  him  much,  and  hold  him  long. 
It  shall  be  his:  You  shall  close  prisoner  rest. 
Till  that  the  nature  of  your  fault  be  known 
To  the  Venetian  state  :— Come,  bring  him  away. 

0th.  Soft  you  ;  a  word  or  two,  before  you  go. 
I  have  done  the  state  some  service,  and  they  know  it; 
No  more  of  that: — I  pray  you,  in  your  letters. 
When  you  s       these  unlucky  deeds  relate. 
Speak  of  me  as  I  am ;  nothing  extenuate, 
Nor  set  down  augf-^t  in  malice  :  then  must  you  spea* 
Of  one,  that  lov'd  not  wisely,  but  too  well ; 
Of  one,  not  easily  jealous,  but,  being  wrought, 
Perplex'd  in  the  extreme;  of  one,  whose  hand, 
Like  the  base  Judean,  threw  a  pearl  away, 
Richer  than  all  his  tribe ;  of  one,  whose  subdu'd  ^jrei, 
Albeit  unused  to  the  melting  mood. 
Drop  tears  as  fast  as  the  Arabian  tre  s 
Their  medicinal  gum:  Set  you  down  this; , 
And  say,  besides, — that  in  Aleppo  once,  | 
Where  a  malignant  and  a  turban'd  Turk  f 
Beat  a  Venetian,  and  traduc'd  the  state,  | 
I  took  by  the  throat  the  circumcised  dog,  I 
And  smote  him — thus.  {Stabs  htmse^,) 

Lod.  O  bloody  period  ! 

Gra.  All,  that's  spoke,  is  marr'd. 

0th.  I  kiss'd  thee,  ere  I  kill'd  tliee : — No  way 
but  this,        {Failing  upon  Desdemona,) 
Killing  myself,  to  die  upon  a  kiss.  [Dies.] 

Cas.  This  did  I  fear,  but  thought  he  had  nc 
weapon ; 
For  he  was  great  of  heart. 

Lod.  O  Spartan  dog. 

More  fell  than  anguish,  hunger,  or  the  sea! 
Look  on  the  tragic  loading  of  this  bed  ;  {To  lago.) 
This  is  thy  work  .  the  object  poisons  sight  • — 
Let  it  be  hid. — Gratiano,  keep  the  house. 
And  seize  upon  the  fortunes  of  the  Moor,  / 
For  they  succeed  to  you. — To  you,  lord  goveriaor, 
Remains  the  censure  of  this  hellish  villain; 
The  time,  the  place,  the  torture, — O  enforce  it! 
Myself  will  straight  aboard  ;  and,  to  the  state. 
This  heavy  ;ict  with  heavy  heart  relate.  [Bx 


GLOSSARY 


OF  OBSOLETP  WORDS,  AND  OP  WORDS  VARYING  FROM  THEIR  ORDINARY  SIONIFICATUMIi 


A. 

tMia,  in  depress,  sink,  subdue. 

1  B  C,  a  catechism. 
Ahbor.to  protest  against. 
Afyects,  debased  servile  persons. 
A.b  e,  to  qualify  or  uphold. 
Ab  irtive,  issuing  heiore  its  time. 
Abs  olute,  complete,  perfect. 
Abuse,  deception. 
Abused,  deceived. 

Abv.  to  pay  dear  for,  tome,  to  suffer. 

Abysifi,  abyss. 

Accile,  to  cite  orsumuon. 

Accuse,  accusation. 

A<'hieve,  to  obtain. 

Aconitum,  wolfs  bane. 

Acfluittauce,  requital. 

Action,  direction  by  mute  signs,  charge 

or  accusation. 
Action  taking,  litigious. 
Actures,  actions. 
Addiiious,  titles  or  characters. 
Address,  to  prepare,  to  make  ready. 
Addressed,  oraddresi,  ready. 
Admittance,  favour 
Advance,  to  prefer. 
Advertising,  attentive. 
Adversity,  contrariety. 
AdTertisemeiil,  a<hnonition. 
Advice,     consideration,  discretion, 

thought. 

Advise,  to  consider,  to  recollect. 
Aery  or  Aiery.  a  hawk's  or  eagle's  nest 
Aftect  the  letter,  to  practise  alteration. 
Affect,  love. 

Affectioa,  affectation,  imagination. 
Affect ioned,  affected. 
Affects,  affections. 
Affcered,  confirmed. 
Allied,  betrothed. 
.Vffined,  joined  by  af&nity. 
Affront,  to  onfront. 
.^ffv,  to  betroth. 

Aglet  habv,  a  diminutive  being,  not 
exceeding  the  tag  of  a  point,  from 
aiffiiiiiettes. 
gnize,  acknowledge,  confess,  vow. 
-good,  in  >;iiod  earnest. 

Aim,  Kue.ss,  suspicion. 

Airy  VAmf  ,  mere  verbal  eulogy. 

Aider  liefest,  best  beloved. 

Ale,  a  merry-meeting. 

/I 'life,  at  life 

lllow,  to  approve. 

illow&nce,  approbation. 

imaze,  to  perplex. 

Amazonian  chiu,  a  beardless  chin. 

imes  ace,  the  lowest  chance  of  the 
dice 

Amiss,  misfortune. 
Amort,  dispirited. 
An,  as  if 
Anchor,  a  hermit. 

Ancient,  au  ensign,or  standa'/d-bearer. 

Angle,  a  lishirig-rud. 

Anight,  in  :be  night. 

Answer,  retaliation. 

Anthropophagi,  caunibflla. 

Antick,  the  too'  of  the  old  play. 

Autiquity ,  old  age 

Antres,  caves  and  dens. 

Appeact,  io  impeach. 

Appeal,  to  accuse 

Appeared,  made  apparent. 

Ikpple  john,  an  apple  that  will  keep 

for  two  vear.s. 
Apply,  to  attend  to,  consider. 
Appointntent,  preparation. 
Apprehension  opinion. 
.Apprehensive,  quick  of  comprehension 
Approt)atioii.  entry  or  probation. 
Approof,  approbation,  proof. 
Approve,  t(-  justify,  prove, establish. 
Approved,  experienced. 
Approvers,  those  who  try. 
Aqua  vita;,  strong  waters,  probably 

usqiiehaiigb. 
Arabian  bird,  (he  phoenix. 
Arch,  chief. 
Argentine,  silver. 
Argectiiie,  the  goddess  Diana. 
Argier,  Alg  ers. 

/irgosies,  ships  laden  with  great  wealth 
Argument,  subject  for  conversation, 

evidence,  proof. 
Arm,  to  take  up  in  the  arms. 
Aroint,  avaunt,  begone. 
A  row,  successively. 
Art,  practice  as  distinguished  from 

theory  ;  also,  theory. 
Articiilale,  to  enter  in  o  articles, 
rtif-i  ial  i;ikenious.  artful. 


As,  as  if. 

Ascauut,  askew,  sideways. 
Aspect,  countenance. 
Aspersion,  sprinkling. 
As  point,  completely  armed. 
Assay,  test. 
Ascapart,  a  giant. 
Assinego,  a  male  ass. 
Astrmger,  a  gentleman  falconer. 
Assurance,  convevance  or  deed. 
Assured,  affiancecf. 

Ates,  instigate  from  hit,  the  goddess 

of  bloodshed. 
Atomies,  minute  particles  T'sible  in 

the  sun's  rays. 
Attasked,  taken  to  task. 
Attended,  waited  for. 
Attent,  attentive. 
Alone,  to  reconcile. 
Af^st,  attestation. 
Attonjey,  deputation. 
Attorneyship,  the  discretional  agency 

of  another. 
Attornied,  supplied  by  substitution  of 

embassies. 
Audacious,  spirited,  animated. 
Audrey,  a  corruption  of  Ethelrea. 
Augurs  prognostications. 
Aukward,  adverse. 
Aunis,  strumpets. 
Authentic,  learned. 
Awful,  reverend. 
Awless,  failing  to  produce  awe. 

B. 

Baccare,  stand  back,  give  place. 

Bairn,  brushwood. 

Baldrick,  a  belt. 

Bale,  misery. 

Baleful,  baneful. 

Balked,  bathed  or  piled  up. 

Ballase,  ballast. 

Balm,  the  oil  of  consecration. 

Ban,  curse 

Band, bond. 

Bando};,  village  dog. 

Bandy,  to  exchange  smartly. 

Bank,  to  sail  along  bank.s. 

Banning,  cursing. 

Banquet,  a  slight  repast. 

Bar,  barrier. 

Barbason,  the  name  of  a  demon. 

Barbe,  a  kind  of  veil. 

Barbed,  warlikely  caparisoned. 

Barber-  monger, an  associate  of  barbers. 

Bare,  to  shave. 

Bare,  mere 

Earful,  full  of  impediments. 

Barm,  yeast 

Barn,  or  baini,  a  child. 

Barnacles,  h  shell  fish. 

Barns,  keeps  in  a  barn. 

Barren,  ignorant. 

Base,  dishonoured. 

Ba,se.  a  rustic  game  called  prison-ba.se. 
Bases,  a  kind  of  loose  breeches  worn 

by  equestrian  knights. 
Basilisks,  h  species  of  cannon. 
Basfa,  'tis  enough. 
Bastard,  raisin  wine. 
Bat,  a  club 
Bate,  st  rife 

Bate  to  flutter  as  a  hawk. 

Batlet  ,aii  instrument  with  which  wash- 
ers used  to  beat  clothes. 

Batten,  to  grow  fat. 

Battle,  army. 

Bawcock ,  a  jolly  fellow. 

Bay ,  tne  %y  ice  between  thejmain 
beams  of  n  house. 

Bay  cui  tal,  a  bay  docked  horse 

Bay  window  ,  a  bow-window. 

Beadsmen,  religious  persons,  main 
tainei*  to  ()ray  for  their  benefactor. 

Beak,  liie  forecastle. 

Bear  a  brain,  perfectly  resemble. 

Beard,  to  defy. 

Bearing,  demeanour. 

Bearing  clnth,  a  mantle  osed  at  christ- 
eniigs. 

Beat  ,  (in  falconry)  to  flutter. 

Beating,  hammering,  dwelling  upon. 

Beaver,  helmet  in  general. 

Beck,  a  snlutation  made  with  the  head. 

Becomed,  becoming. 

Beetle,  to  hang  over  the  base. 

Behave,  to  manage. 

Behests,  commands. 

Beholding,  viewing  with  regard. 

Behov.l,  to  howl  at. 

Be  ng,  abode. 

Beidami;.  aacient  mother. 


Be  lee'd,  becalmed. 

Belongings,  eudowmeots. 

Be-mete,  be-  measure. 

Be- moiled,  bedraggled,  bemb«4 

Bending,  uneqnalto  the  weigM. 

Benefit,  beneficiary. 

Bent,  utmpst  degree  of  any  pmlia 

Benumbed,  inflexible. 

Beshrew,  may  ill  befall. 

Besmirch,  to  foul  or  dirty. 

Best,  bravest. 

Bestowed,  stowed  awaj,  lodged. 

Bestraught,  distracted. 

Beteem,  to  give,  pour  out.  pemiii 

suffer.  ^ 
Bewray,  betray. 
Bezoniam,  a  mean  fellow. 
Bias  cheek,  swelling  out  like  the  biai 

of  a  bowl. 
Bid,  to  invite. 

Bid  the  base  to  challenge  in  a  contest 

Bifold,  two-fold 

Bigfein,  a  cap. 

Bilberry,  the  hortleberry. 

Bilbo,  a  Spanish  blade,  made  at  Bilboa. 

Billioes.  fetters. 

Bill,  articles  of  accusation. 

Bill,  a  weapon,  formerly  carried  Oy 

watchmen. 
Bin.  is. 

Bird- bolt,  an  arrow  shot  at  birds  from 

a  cross-bow. 
Bisson,  blind. 

Blank,  the  white  mark  in  a  target. 
Blank  and  level,  mark  and  aim  (ternu 

of  gunnery). 
Blaze  of  youth,  the  spring  of  early  life. 
Blear,  to  deceive. 
Blench,  to  start  off,  to  fly  off. 
Blent,  blended 

Blind -worms,  the  caecilia,  or  slot». 
worm. 

Blood  b  iltered,  daubed  with  blooflL 

Blown,  puffed  up.  swollen. 

Blows,  swells. 

Bloody, sanguine. 

Blue  caps,  the  Scftrh. 

Blunt  stupid,  insensible. 

Blurt,  blurted,  au  expressioa  0/  6Ci)> 

tempt. 
Board,  to  accost. 
Bobb,  to  trick. 
Bodged,  boggled  clumsy. 
Bodkin,  a  small  dagger. 
Bolted,  silted 

Bolting  hutch,  the  receptacle  ]jt  whick 

the  meal  is  bolted 
Bombard,  or  bombard,  a  barrel. 
Bombast,  the  sfuthna  of  clotljes 
Bona  robas,  strumpets 
Bond, houndeu  duty 
Bony  or  bonny,  handsome. 
Book,  paper  of  conditions. 
Boot,  profit, something  over  and  abovS 
Bore,  demeaned. 
Bore,  the  calibre  of  a  gtju. 
Bores,  stabs. 
Bosky,  woody. 
Bosom,  wish,  heart's  desire. 
Bots,  wonns  i,i  a  l.orse's  stonaaelk 
Bourn,  boundarj ,  rivulet. 
Bow, yoke 
Botds,  emboldens 
Boltered,  bedaubed. 
Borne  in  hand,  deceived. 
Bottled  spider,  a  large  bloated  spider. 
Boulted,  sifieu. 

Bowlins,  or  bowlines,  tackle  of  a  shiih 

BoHen,  swollen. 
Bordered,  restrained. 
Bower,  a  chamber. 
Brace,  armour  for  the  arm. 
Brach,  a  hound. 
Brack,  to  salt. 
Braid,  crafty,  deceitful. 
Brain's  flow,  tears. 

Brake,  an  instrument  of  torture;  atoi 

a  thicket 

Brands,  a  part  ofthe  andirons  ot<whTCfc 
the  wood  for  I  he  fire  was  supported. 

Brasier,  a  manufacturer  of  brass  ;  also, 
a  vessel  in  which  .;harcoalis  b  irned* 

Brave,  to  defy,  also  to  make  fine 

Bravely,  splendidly,  gallantly. 

Bravery,  finery 

Brawl,  a  kind  of  dance. 

Braying,  harsh,  grating. 

Break,  to  begin. 

Break  up,  to  carve. 

Break  with,  to  break  the  mattei  to. 

Breast,  voice. 

Breath,  speech. 


798 


:}LOSSART. 


Breath sng  ctJtJrtesy,  more  verbal  eoi»  i 

plimeat. 

Breeched,  foaUy  sheathed,  mired. 

Breeching,  liable  to  be  flogged. 
Breathed ,  inured  by  constant  practice. 
Breathe,  to  utter. 
Ilrerd-bate,  an  exciter  of  qaarreli. 
Bribe  buck,  a  buck  sent  as  a  bribe, 
bridal,  tiie  auptial  feast, 
dring,  to  attend  or  accompany. 
Brize,  the  gad,  or  horse-fly. 
Brosch,  to  put  ou  the  spit,  to  transfix. 
Brock,  the  badger. 
Brogues,  a  kind  of  shoes. 
Broken,  communicated. 
Broker,  a  match-maker,  a  procures*. 
BroocLed,  adorned. 
Brought ,  attended. 
Brow  of  youth,  the  height  youth. 
Brown  bill,  a  battle  axe. 
Brownist,  a  follower  of  Brown,  sec- 
tarian. 

Bruising  irons,  an  allusion  to  the  au- 

cie  it  mace. 
Bruit,  report  with  clamour. 
Brush  of  time,  decay  of  time. 
Bug,  bugbears,  false  terrors. 
Bumbanl,  a  large  drinking  vesseL 
Bung,  a  cut  purse. 
Bunting,  a  bird. 
Burgoaet,  a  helmet. 
Busky^  woody. 

BuU-shaft,  an  arrow  to  shoot  at  shafts 

with. 
Buxom,  obedient. 
By'rUiken,  by  our  lady. 

C. 

Caddis,  worsted  lace. 
Cade,  a  barrel. 
Cadent,  falling. 
Cage,  a  prison. 
Caiii-(  oloured,  yellow. 
Caitiff,  a  scoundrel. 
Cjalculatf,  to  foretoU. 
Caliver,  a  nmsket. 
Call,  to  visit. 
Callet,  a  woman,  a  witch. 
Calling,  apnellation. 
€alm,  qualm. 

Cameiot,  a  place  where  King  Arthur  ia 

supposed  to  have  kept  his  court. 
Canary,  a  dance. 

Candle  wa^^ters,  tboise  who  sit  up  aH 

nigJit  to  drink. 

Canker,  the  dog  rose. 

Cauntitk,  candlestick. 

Cantons,  cantos. 

Canvas,  to  sift. 

Canvas  climber,  a  sailor. 

Cap.  the  top,  the  chief. 

Cap.-  to  salute  by  taking  off  the  cap. 

Capable  impressure,  hollow  mark. 

Capitulate,  to  make  head  against. 

Capoi  chia,  a  sot. 

Capon,  metaphor  for  a  letter. 

Capricious,  lascivious. 

Captions,  capacious. 

Carack,  a  ship  of  great  balk. 

Caracts,  characters. 

Carbotiado,  a  piece  of  meat  cut  cross- 
ways  for  the  gridiron. 

Card,  a  sea -chart,  perhaps  also  the 
compass. 

Carded,  mixed. 

Care,  iuclioation. 

Careires,  the  motion  of  a  horse;  to 
pass  the  c^reires.means  to  overstep 
thp  boiinds  of  decorum. 

Carkanet,  a  necklace. 

Carl,  clown,  boor. 

Carlnt,  peasant. 

Carnal,  sanguinary. 

Carowses,  drinks. 

Carriage,  import. 

Ca— ied,  conducted. 

Carry,  to  prevail  over. 

Cart,  a  chariot. 

Case,  skin,  outward  garb. 

Case  of  lives,  a  set  of  live,*. 

CasQue.s,  helmets. 

Cassodi,  a  horseman's  loose  coat. 

Cast,  to  empty  ;  also  dismiss,  reject. 

Cast,  reckoned. 

Jastilian,  an  opprobrious  term. 

Casvilianc  vulgo,  a  cant  term  of  con- 
tempt. 

Cast- hps,  left- off  lips. 

Hast  the  wn  'pa  ,  to  finrf  out  disorders  by 
iiispectiag  the  uriue. 

f^fcfaian,  a  liai . 

Catling,  a  small  lutestring,  made  of 

catgnt. 

CavRlero  justice,  a  cant  term. 

Cavaleroes,  gay  fellows. 

Caviare,  too  jood  for,  or  above  the 
coinpreheijsion  of ;  »:o  called  from 
a  rieiicac?  made  of  I  »e  roe  of  stur- 


geons, eaten  by  the  quality. 

Cautel,  subtlety. 

Cautel  or  cantle,  the  comer,  or  piece 

of  anything. 

Cantelous,  insidious,  cautious. 

Cearment.  the  wrapping  of  an  em- 
balmed body. 

Cease,  decease. 

Censure,  to  give  an  opinion. 

Centuries,  companies  of  an  hundrra 
men  each. 

Ceremonious,  superstitious. 

Certes,  certainly. 

Cess,  measure,  tax  or  subsidy. 

Chair,  throne. 

Chaliced,  1.  e.  flowers,  with  cups,  from 

ca/ix 

Challenge,  the  right  of  reftisinga  \urym 
man, 

Chamber,  ancient  name  fo  London ; 
also,  a  piece  of  ordnance. 

Chamberers,  intriguers. 

Champian,  an  open  country. 

Chantry,  a  small  chapel  in  a  cathedral. 

Character,  hand-writing. 

Charactery,  the  matter  with  which  let- 
ters are  made. 

Chares,  task- work. 

Charge-house,  free  school. 

Chariest,  most  cautious. 

Chariness,  caution. 

Charitable,  dear,  endearing. 

Charles- wain,  the  constellation  called 
the  bear. 

Charm  your  tongue,  be  silent. 

Charmer,  one  who  deals  in  magic. 

Ciiarneco,  a  sweet  wine. 

Chance,  fortune. 

Chary,  cautious. 

Chases,  a  term  in  tennis. 

Chaudron,  entrails. 

Cheater,  for  escheatour,  an  officer  in 
the  Exchequer. 

Checks,  probably  for  ethics. 

Cheer,  couuienauce. 

Cherry  pit,  a  game  with  cherry-stonea, 

Clieveril,  soft  leather ;  also, conscience. 

Chew,  to  ruminate,  consider. 

Chewet,  a  i  hattering  bird. 

Chide,  to  resound,  to  echo;  also,  te 
scold,  be  clamourous. 

Chiding,  sound;  noisy. 

Child,  a  knight,  a  hero. 

Child,  a  female  infant. 

Childing,  unseasonably  prcgnaa^u 

Chopine,  a  high  shoe. 

Chough,  a  bird  of  the  daw  species 

Christom  or  chrisom,  the  white  cloth 
put  on  a  new  baptized  child. 

Chuck,  cliicken,atcrm  of  endearment. 

ChuS",  rich,  avaricious. 

Chopping,  jabhe'-ing. 

Cicatrice,  the  scar  of  a  wound. 

Circummured,  walled  round. 

Circumstance,  conduct,  detail,  circum- 
locution. 

Cite,  incite. 

Cital,  recital. 

Civil,  grave,  solemn. 

Civi-1,  human 

Cittern,  a  nmsical  instrument. 
Clack  dish  a  beggar's  dish. 
Camour,  a  term  in  bell -ringing 
Clap  in,  !all  to. 

CIh  jiprd  iv  he  clout,  hit  the  white  mark. 

Cl  ip,  to  join  hands. 

Claw,  !o  flatter. 

Clean,  completely. 

Clean  kam,  awry. 

Clear,  pure. 

Clearest,  purest. 

Clepe,  to  call. 

Clerkly,  learned,  scholar-like 
Cling,  todry,  oi-shrink  up. 
Clinquatii,  glittering. 
Clipt,  embraced. 

Clout,  the  white  mark  at  which  archers 

shoot. 
Clouted,  hobnailed. 
Coach  fellow,  one  who  draws  with  a 

confederate. 
Coasting  conciliatory. 
Codling,  an  unripe  apple. 
Cob  loaf,  a  crusty,  uneven  loaf. 
Cock,  cock  boat. 
Cock- and  pye,  a  vulgar  oath. 
Cockshul  time,  twilight. 
Cockle,  a  corn-weed. 
Cockle  hat,  a  pilgrim's  hat. 
Codding,  nmorous. 
Codpiece,  a  part  of  the  dress. 
Coffin,  the  cavity  of  a  raised  pie. 
Cog,  to  cheat  with  dice,  to  lie. 
Cognizance,  badge  or  token. 
Cogging,  lying. 

Coigne  of  vantage,  convenient  corner. 
Coignes,  corners. 
Coil,  bu.stle.atir. 


Cold,  o^ed 

Collection,  consequenoe«  «  Mllary 
Collied.  black,  smutted. 
Colt,  to  trick. 
Co-mart,  a  joint  bargMilt, 
Come  of,  to  pay. 
Come  of  will,  to  succeed. 
Co  meddled.  mingletL 
Combinate,  betrothed. 
Comfort,  to  aid. 
Comforting,  abetting. 
Comma,  connection. 
Commission,  'authority. 
Commend,  commit. 
Committed,  lain  with. 
Commodity,  self  interest. 
Common ty,  a  comedy. 
Compact,  made  up  of. 
Companies,  companioni. 
Compare,  comparison. 
Comparative,  a  dealer  in  comparisons. 
Compassed,  round. 
Compassed  cape,  a  round  cape. 
Compassed  window,  a  bow-window. 
Compassionate,  plaintive. 
Compose,  to  come  to  a  composition. 
Composturo,  composition. 
Composition,  bargain;  also,  cenaic 
tency. 

Competitors,  con'  derates. 
CompJeraents,  accomplishment^ 
Coinpievion,  humour. 
Comply,  to  compliment; 
Comptible,  submissive. 
Conceit,  imagination,  wit,  idea. 
Conceited,  ingenious. 
Concent,  connected  harmony. 
Conclusions,  experiments. 
Concupy,  concupiscence. 
Condolement,  sorrow. 
Conduct ,  conductor. 
Coney  catched.  tricked. 
Coney-catcher,  a  cheat. 
Confession,  profession. 
Confineless,  boundless. 
Confound,  to  destroy. 
Conjecl,  conjecture. 
Consent,  will,  conspiraoJ« 
Consider,  reward. 
Consigned, -sealed. 
Consist,  staad. 
Consort,  company. 
Conspectuity ,  sight. 
Constancy,  consistency. 
Constant. y,  certainly. 
Contemptible,  contemptnoiUi 
Continuate,  uninterrupted. 
Continue,  to  spend. 
Continent,  containing. 
Contraction,  marriage-contnwt* 
Contrarious,  different. 
Contrary  to  contradict 
Contrive,  to  spend,  to  wear  out. 
Control,  confute 
Convents,  agrees,  is  convenient. 
Convented  summoned. 
Conversion,  change  of  condition. 
Converse,  associate,  iutercLange 
Convertite,  a  convert. 
Convey,  to  steal. 
Conveyance,  slight  of  hand,  theft. 
Conveyers  thieves. 
Conveyed  hiin.self,  derived  his  title. 
Convicted,  overpowered,  batlled. 
Convince  to  convict,  to  subdue. 
Convive,  to  feast. 

Copatain  hat,  a  hat  with  a  conicw 

crown. 
Cope,  encounfer,  covering. 
Copped,  rising  to  a  top  or  head. 
Copy,  theme. 

Coragio,  courage,  be  of  good  cheer. 

Corinth,  a  brothel. 

Corinthian,  a  wencher. 

Corky,  dry,  withered. 

Corollary,  suiplus. 

Corporal,  corporeal. 

Corrigible,  corrected 

Costaro- monger,  a  dealer  in  cogten 

apples. 
Cote,  to  ox  ertake, 
Coted,  qnoced,  regarded. 
Cotsale,  Cotswood  in  Gloucsi 
Couch,  to  lie  with. 
Count,  to  reckon  upon. 
Countenance  favour;  also,  falae  i9> 

pearance,  hypocrisj . 
Counter,  a  hunting  term. 
Counter-caster,  one  who  reckoiM 

counters. 
Counter-check,  a  term  it  chest. 
Counterfeit,  a  portrait. 
Counterpoints,  counterpanes. 
Country,  count,  earl. 
Couplement,  a  couple. 
Courses  the  mainsail  and  fnrnmiit 
Court-cupboard  sid  board. 
Court  coufe    a  spurious  uob 


GLOSSARY. 


799 


Ooort  holr-water,  flattery. 

Gorered,  noilow. 

Cowed,  awed. 

Cover,  to  siuk  down. 

CJowlstRfT,  a  staff  used  in  carrying  a 

basket. 
Coy,  to  soothe. 
Coyed,  yielded  reluctantly. 
Coystril,  a  coward  cock,  a  poltroon. 
Cozier,  a  tailor,  a  botcher. 
Crack,  dissolution  ;  also  a  boy-child. 
Cranks,  windings. 

Cranking  or  crankling,  the  rush  of  a 
fiver. 

Craut^,  garlands. 

Crare,  a  small  trading  vessel. 

Crash,  to  be  merry  o\  er. 

Craven,  a  cowardly  cock,  mean,  cow- 
ardly. 

Create,  compounded,  made  up  of. 
Credent,  credible. 

Credit,  account,  information,  credu- 
lity. 

Cressets,  lights  set  upon  a  beacon. 
Cressive,  increasing. 
Crest,  the  summit. 

Crestless,  those  who  have  no  right  to 

armorial  bearings. 
Crewel,  worsted. 
Crisp,  curled,  winding. 
Critic,  cynic. 
Critical,  censorious. 
Crone,  a  very  old  woman. 
Crosses,  money  stamped  with  a  cross. 
Crow-keeper,  a  scarecrow. 
Crownet,  last  purpose. 
Crulentious.  cruel. 
Crusado,  a  Portuguese  coin. 
Crush,  to  dririk. 
Crush  a  cup,  to  crack  a  bottle. 
Cry,  a  pack  of  hounds. 
Cry  aim,  to  t-ncourage. 
Crystals,  the  eyes. 

Cub-drawn,  alluding  to  a  bear  who.«e 
dags  are  dry. 

Cue,  a  theatrical  term,  the  last  word 
of  the  preceding  speech. 

Cuisses,  armour  for  the  thighs. 

Cullion,  a  paltry  fellow. 

Cunning,  knowledge. 

Curb,  to  bend  or  truckle. 

Curiosity,  curiousness, tinical delicacy. 

Curious,  scrupulous. 

Curled,  ostentatiously  dressed. 

Currents,  occurrences. 

Cursed,  under  the  influence  of  a  male- 
diction 

Curst,  petulant,  ill-tempered, crabbed, 

harsh. 
Cufstness,  ill-humour. 
Curtail,  a  little  cur. 
Curtal,  a  docked  horse. 
Curtle-axe,  a  cutlass,  broad-sword. 
Customer,  a  strumpet. 
Cut,  a  horse. 

Cut  and  longtail,  poor  and  rich. 
Cuttle,  a  knife  used  by  sharpers. 
Cyprus,  a  transparent  stuff. 

D. 

Daff,  or  doff,  to  put  off. 

Dally,  to  trifle. 

Damn,  to  condemn. 

Danger,  controul. 

Dank,  we.t,  rotten. 

Daiiskers,  natives  of  Denmaric. 

Darkling-  in  the  dark. 

Darraing.  to  arrange. 

Daub,  to  disguise. 

Daubery  lalsehood,  counterfeit. 

Day  bed,  a  couch. 

Day-light,  broad  day. 

Day- woman,  dairymaid. 

Dealt,  fought  by  proxy. 

Dear,  immediate,  consequential. 

Dearn,  direful,  lonely,  solitary, 

Dea  h-tokeus,  spots  on  those  infected 

with  ti.e  plague. 
Death's-man,  executioner. 
Debitor,  debtor. 
Deboshed,  debauched. 
Decay,  poverty,  misfortunes. 
l>eck  of  cards,  a  pack. 
Decked,  sprinkled. 

Decline,  to  run  through  (as  in  gram- 
mar) from  first  to  last 
Declined,  the  fallen. 
Deem,  opinion,  surmise. 
Deer,  animals  in  general. 
Dt fault  (in  the),  at  a  need. 
Defeat,  to  free,  to  disembarass. 
T)efeature,  alteiation  of  features. 
i»efence,  art  of  fencing. 
Defend,  to  forbid. 
Deftly,  adroitly,  dexterously. 
Defy,  to  reject. 
Dogrecs,  steps. 
Xtauur.  to  let  slip. 


Demerits,  meritA 

Demurely,  solemn.f. 

Denay,  denial. 

Denayed,  denied. 

Denier,  a  coin. 

Denude,  to  strip,  divest. 

Deny,  to  refu.se. 

Depart,  to  part. 

Departing,  separation. 

Depend,  to  be  in  service. 

Deprive,  to  disinherit. 

Deracinate,  to  root  up. 

Derogate,  degraded. 

Descant,  to  harangue  upon;  also,  a 

term  in  music. 
Deserved,  deserving. 
Design,  to  mark  out. 
Despatched,  bereft. 
Detected,  suspected. 
Dich,  do  it. 
Dickon,  Richard. 
Die,  gaming. 
Diet,  to  compel  to  fast. 
Diffused,  wud,  irregular. 
Digress,  to  deviate  from  what  is  right. 
Digression,  transgression. 
Dilfios,  the  burthen  of  a  song. 
Dint,  impression. 
Disable,  to  undervalue. 
Disappointed,  unprepared. 
Discandy,  to  dissolve. 
Disclose,  to  hatch. 
Di.scontentents,  malcontents. 
Discourse,  rea.son. 
Disease,  uneasiness,  discontent. 
Diseases,  sayings. 
iJisgrace,  hardship,  injury. 
Disfaabited,  dislodged. 
Dislike,  di.splease. 
Dislimn,  to  uupaint,  obliterate. 
Disine,  tenth,  or  tithe. 
Disoatured,  wanting  natural  affection. 
Dispark,  to  destroy  a  park  or  inclo- 

sure. 

Disperge,  to  sprinkle. 
Disponge,  to  discharge  as  a  sponge. 
Dispose,  disposal,  command. 
Dispose,  to  make  terms. 
Disposition,  frame. 
Disseat,  displpce,  depose. 
Dis.semble,  lo  glossover,  disguise. 
Dissembling,  putting  dissimilar  things 

together- 
Distained,  un.<itained. 
Distaste,  to  corrupt. 
Distemper,  intoxication. 
Distemperature,  perturbation. 
Distempered,  out  of  humour. 
Di.straught,  distracted. 
Distractions,  detachments,  separate 

bodies. 
Divert,  to  turn  aside. 
Division,  a  term  in  music. 
Doff,  to  put  off. 
Dole,  alms,  distribution,  lot. 
Dolphin,  the  dauphin. 
Don,  to  put  on,  to  do  on. 
Done  to  death,  killed. 
Done,  expended,  consumed. 
Done  upon  the  gad,  suddenly. 
Dotant,  dotard. 
Double,  lull  of  duplicity. 
Double  vouchers,  a  law  term. 
Doubt,  to  fear. 
Dout,  to  do  out,  extinguish. 
Dowle,  a  feather. 

Down  gyVed,  hanging  down,  like  what 

confines   the   fetters  round  the 

ancles. 
Draught,  the  takes. 
Draw,  to  withdraw. 
Drawn,  embowelled. 
Drawn  fox,  one  which  is  trailed  over 

the  ground,  to  deceive  the  hounds. 
Drachmas,  a  Greek  coin. 
Dressings,  appearances  of  virtue. 
Drew,  assrinhled. 
Drive,  to  fly  with  impetuosity. 
Drollery,  a  puppet-shew. 
Drugs,  drudges. 
Drunibie,  to  act  lazily. 
Ducdame,  (due  ad  me)  bring  him  to 

nie,  the  burthen  of  a  song. 
Dudgeon,  the  handle  of  a  dagger. 
Due,  to  endue,  to  deck. 
Dullard,  a  stupid  person. 
Dump,  a  mournful  elegy. 
Dup,  to  do  up,  to  lift  up. 
Dull,  gentle  soothing. 
Dumb,  to  make  silent. 
Duke,  a  leader. 

Durance,  some  lasting  kind  of  stuff. 
£. 

Eager,  (from  aigre,  Fr.)  sour,  harsh. 

Eanlings,  lambs. 

Ear,  to  plough. 

Eai -kiiung,  whisperias. 


Easy,  flUgbt,  inconsideraMo. 

Eche,  to  eke  out. 
Ecbtasy,  madness. 

Efiects,  aflcctions ;  also,  actions,  deeds 

effected. 
Eflcfjt,  readiest. 
E^ypt,  a  gipsy. 

Eld,  old  time;  also,  aged  penmuu 

Element,  iniliatjon. 

Elf,  done  by  elvex.  or  fairiea. 

Elvish  marked,  marked  by  elYca. 

Embiilling,  distinguished  by  the 
the  emblem  ot  royalty, 

Embare,  to  expose. 

Embarquemeiits,  impediments 

Embossed,  inclosed,  swollen,  pxJh, 

Embowelled,  exhausted. 

Embraced,  indulged  in. 

Empericutick,  empirical, 

Empery,  sovereign  power. 

Emulous,  envious,  jealous. 

Emulation,  envy. 

Encave,  to  hide, 

Endart,  to  dart  forth. 

Enfeoff,  to  invest  with  possessiom. 

Engross,  to  fatten 

Engaged,  delivered  as  an  hostage. 

Engrossments,  accumulation. 

Enkindle,  to  stimu  ate. 

Enmesh,  to  inclose,  as  in  meshea. 

EnniPW,  (in  falconry)  to  force  to  lie  is 
cover. 

Enridged,  bordered. 

Ensconce,  to  secure  in  a  safe  place,  to 
foitify. 

Enseamed,  greasy, 

Eiiseer,  to  dry  up. 

Enshield,  concealed, 

Enste('ped,  immersed. 

Entertainment,  pay;  also,  being  re- 
ceived into  service. 

Entreatinents,  favours;  also. objects of 
entieaty. 

Enrvy,  aversion,  malice. 

Enviously,  angrily. 

Ephesian,  a  rant  term. 

Erring,  errant,  wandfring. 

Escape,  illegitimate  child. 

Escoted,  paid. 

Esil,  or  Eisel,  a  river.  , 
Esperance,  motto  of  the  Percf  fcal^ 

E.spials,  spirs. 
Essential,  existent,  real. 
Estimate,  price. 
Estimation,  conjecture. 
Estridges,  ostriches. 
Eteme,  eternal. 

Even,  to  make  even,  or  evident. 
Even  christian,  fellow  christian. 
Evils,  jakes. 
Examined,  doubted. 
Excellent  differences,  distingoished ex- 
cellencies. 
Excrement,  the  beard. 
Execute,  to  use  or  employ. 
Executors,  executioners. 
Exercise,  exhortation. 
Exhale,  to  breathe  one's  last. 
Exhaust,  to  draw  forth. 
Exhibition,  allowance. 
Exigent,  end,  exigency. 
Exorcism,  the  raising  ot spixViBm 
Expect,  expectation. 
Expedience,  expedition. 
Expedient,  expeditious. 
Expediently,  expeditiously. 
Expostulate,  to  discuss. 
Exsufflicate,  bubble-like. 
Extend,  to  seize. 
Extent,  violence,  seizure. 
Extern,  external. 
Extremity,  calamity. 
Expiate,  to  end. 
Exposture,  exposure. 
Express,  to  reveal, 
ExpuLsed,  expelled. 
Extracting,  distracting. 
Extravagant,  wandering. 
Eyas  musket,  a  young  tum^ 
Eyases,  nestlings. 
Eyliads,  eyes. 

Eyne,  eyes.  / 
Eyry,  a  nest  of  hawks. 
Eysel,  vinegar. 

F, 

Face,  to  carry  a  foolish  appfl  ^ 

Face  royal,  a  prjvilegod  ftaot. 

Facinorous,  wicked. 

Fact,  guilt. 

Factious,  active. 

Faculty,  exercise  of  poWer. 

Fadge,  to  suit. 

Fadings,  a  dnnce. 

Failh,  fidelity. 

Faithfully,  ferventljr. 

Fain,  fond. 

Pair»  for  fairaesa. 


800 


GLOSSARY. 


Pidters,  frsrtoTs. 

Falsing,  falsityinir. 

Falsely,  illegally,  dishonestly. 

ParaiUar,  a  demon. 

Fancies  and  good-nightt,  little  poems 

so  called. 
Fancy,  love. 
Fancy  free,  clear  of  love. 
Pang,  to  seize. 
Fans,  ancient. 
Fantastical,  imaginative. 
Fantasticoes,  afiTected  person* 
Fap,  beaten,  drunk. 
Farced,  stutfed. 
Fardel  or  Farthel,  a  burthen. 
Fa.shion$,tfae  farcenii.a  disease  ofhorses. 
Fat,  dull. 

Favour,  countenance. 

F'avnurs,  features. 

Feai  ,  to  intimidate,  danger. 

Teaied,  afniid.  , 

Fearful,  timorous ;  also,  formidable. 

Feat,  dexterous. 

Feated,  raade  neat. 

Feature,  beauty. 

Federacy,  c()nfedcrate. 

Fee  grief,  a  peculiar  sorrow. 

Feeder,  a  dependant. 

Feeding,  mtinte nance. 

Feere,  or  plieere,  a  companion. 

Feet,  footing. 

Fell,  skin. 

Pell  of  hair,  capilitium,  any  part  co- 
vered with  hair. 

Fell  feats,  savage  actions. 

Fence,  the  art  of  self  defence. 

Feodary,  a  confederate. 

Festinateiy,  hastily. 

Festival  lei  ms,  elegant  phrase. 

Fet,  fetched. 

Pew,  in  brief. 

Fico,  a  term  of  contempt. 

Fielded,  iu  the  field  of  battle. 

Fighti,  clothes  hung  round  a  ship  to 
conceal  the  men  from  the  enemy. 

File,  a  list. 

?iled,  defi'ied 

Filed,  gone  an  equal  pace  with. 
Fills,  Ihe  shafts. 
Filths,  common  sewers. 
Finch  egg,  a  gaudy  fellow. 
Fine,  the  couclusion,  to  make  shewy, 
jirtful. 

Fine  issues,  gre*  conse«aence8. 
Finelajs,  houEdk^s,  endless, 
riner,  fi  al 
Firago  for  Virago. 

Fire  drake,  will- o'- the  wisp,  ora  fire- 
work. 
Fire-new,  quite  new. 
Firk,  to  chastise. 

First  tiouse,  chief  branch  of  the  family. 

FirstJincs,  first  produce. 
Fit,  a  (Jivisiozi  of  a  song. 
Fitchew ,  a  polecat 
Fit  o'  the  face,  a  grimac. 
Fits  o   the  season,  disorders  of  the 
season. 

Fives,  a  distemper  In  horses. 
Frxure,  position. 

Flap-dragou,  intlaramakle  stuff  swal- 

loucd  by  topers. 
Flap-ja-  k,  a  pancake. 
Fiaw,  a  sudden  gust  ofvind. 
Flecked,  spiitted,  streaked. 
Fleet,  tor  float. 
Fleshirienl,  performance. 
Flewed,  <le^p  mouthed. 
Flibbertigibbet,  a  fiend. 
Flickering,  fluttering. 
Flight,  a  sort  oi  shooting. 
Flote,  wave. 

Flouri.sh,  to  ornament ;  also,  to  sanc- 
tion 

Flout,  to  wave  in  mockery. 

Flush,  mature. 

Foemau,  an  enemy  in  war. 

Foin,  to  thrust  in  fencing. 

Foizon,  (d-'iity. 

Folly,  depravity. 

?on<i,  fioiish. 

'ools'  /.anies,  baubles  surmounted  with 

a  fi/oi's  head. 
Foot-cloth  houe  covering. 
For.  bi^(  a.^se. 
Force,  to  ttulT. 
Forced,  tulse. 
Forbid,  accursed. 
Fordid,  destroyed. 
Fordo,  io  undo. 
Foredone,  overcome. 
Forfeudtrd,  forVidden. 
Forepast,  already  had. 
Pore-ilow  to  loiter. 
Forgelive.  inv^^ntive. 
Forked,  horned. 
Forma!,  in  form. 
I'oraier.  foremon*. 


Korspent,  exkausted. 
Forspoke,  contradicted. 

Forslow,  delay. 
Forweai  ied,  worn  oat. 
Fox,  a  sword. 
Foxship,  mean,  cunning.' 
Frainpold,  peevish. 
Frank,  a  sty. 

Franli^in,  a  small  freeholder. 
Frayed,  frightened. 
Free,  artless. 

Fret,  the  stop  of  a  musical  instrument. 
Friend,  a  lover. 

Friend,  for  friendship,  to  befriend. 
Frippery,  an  old  clothes  shop. 
Prize,  a  Welch  cloth. 
Prom,  in  opposition  to. 
Fronted,  opposed. 
Frontier,  forehead. 
Frontlet,  a  forehead  cloth. 
Frush,  to  break  or  bruise. 
Fulham,  false  dice. 
Fuisom*',  obscene. 
Purnishitigs,  colours,  pretences. 
Pustilarian.  fusty  fellow. 
Fulfilling,  tilling  to  the  brim. 
Pull,  comptete. 
Pumiter,  fumitory. 
Furnished,  dressed. 

G. 

Gabardine,  a  loose  cloak. 

Gad,  a  sharp-pointed  instrument. 

Gain  giving,  misgiving. 

Gamester,  a  wanton. 

Gaitj  passage. 

GaUiard,  a  dance. 

Galliasst-s,  ships. 

Gfillimaufry  ,  a  medley. 

Gallow,  to  scare. 

Gallow  glasses,  Irish  foot-soldiera. 
Garboils,  commotions. 
Gaping,  shouting. 
Garish,  gaudy. 
Garnered, treasured  up. 
Gasted,  frighted. 
Gaudy ,  a  festival. 
Gaunt,  meagre. 
Gawd,  a  bauble. 
Gaze,  attention. 
Gear,  things  or  matters. 
Geek,  a  fool. 
General,  generality. 
Generosity ,  high  birth. 
Generi.us,  nobly  born. 
Gennets,  Spanish  horses. 
Gentle,  nobie,  high  born. 
Gentry,  complaisance. 
German,  akin 

Germins,  seeds  begun  to  sprout. 

Gest,  a  stage  or  journey. 

Gib,  a  cat. 

Giglot,  a  wanton. 

Gilder,  a  coin,  value  2s. 

Gilt,  gold  money. 

Girainal,  a  ring  or  engine. 

Ging.  a  gang. 

Gird,  a  sarcasm. 

Glaire,  a  sword. 

Gleek,  to  joke. 

Glib,  togeid. 

Glooming,  gloomy. 

Gloze,  to  expound. 

Glut,  to  swallow. 

Gnarled,  knotty. 

God  'ield  you,  God  yield  you. 

Gongarian,  Hungarian. 

Good-deed,  indeed. 

Good-den,  good  evening. 

Good-jer,  the  venereal  disease. 

Gorbellied,  corpulent. 

Gospelled,  puritanic. 

Goss,  furze. 

Gossamei  atoms  that  float  In  the  sun 

beams. 
Goi.rda,  dice. 
Gouts,  drops. 
Go  your  gait,  go  away. 
Grained,  furrowed,  like  the  grain  of 

wood;  also,  died  ingrain. 
Gramercy,  great  thanks 
Gr  ange,  a  lone  farm-house. 
Gratdlity^  gratuity. 
Grats,  pleases. 
Gratulate,  to  be  rejoiced  in. 
Grave,  to  entomb. 
Grave  man,  a  man  in  his  grave. 
Graves  or  Greaves,  leg  armoar. 
Greasily,  grossly. 
Greek,  a  bawd. 
Greenly,  unskilfully 
Green  sleeves,  an  old  song. 
Gri.se  or  Grize,  a  step. 
Grossly-,  palpably, 

Oroundlings,  those  who  sat  or  st^od  on 
the  gr<nind  in  the  old  theatres;  tht 
common  people. 

Onard.  t.»  frince- 


Guarded,  oniassea 
Guerdon,  a  reward. 
Gules,  (in  heraldry)  r@S. 
Gulf,  the  swallow,  tlkS 
Guiled,  treacherous. 
Guinea-hen,  a  prostitvtie. 
Gun  stones,  cannon  bsiikk 
Gurnet,  a  fi^h. 
Gust,  to  taste. 
Gyve,  to  shackle. 
Gyves,  shackles. 

H. 

Hack,  to  become  cheap. 
Haggard,  wild;  also,  wild 
Hair,  complexion,  orcbara 
Hall !  make  rdom. 
Happily,  accidentally. 
Happy,  accompiishOT. 
Hardinient,  bravery. 
Harlocks,  wild  mustard. 
Harlot,  a  male  cheat. 
Harness,  armour. 
Haj'rows,  subdues. 
Harry ,  to  harrass. 
Having,  pos.sessions. 
Haviour,  beiiaviour. 
Haught,  haughty. 
Haughcy,  elevated. 
Halcyon,  a  bird. 

Hallidon,  doom  at  jud|rment-day. 
Handsaw,  hernshaw,  (a  hawk.) 
Hangers,  that   which  suspends  the 

sword. 
Harlotry,  vulgar,  filthy. 
Hatch,  to  engrave. 
Haunt,  company. 
Hay,  a  fencing  term. 
Heat,  healed. 
Hebynon,  henbane. 
Hefted,  !iea\ed,  agitated. 
Hell,  a  dungeon  in  a  prison. 
Helmed,  steered  through. 
Hence,  hencc.'orward. 
Henchman,  a  page  of  honour* 
Hent,  to  seize. 
Herb  of  grace,  ."-ue. 
Hermits,  bead.sraen. 
Hest,  command. 
Hight,  called. 
Hilding.  a  poltroon. 
Hir.  n,  a  harlct. 
His,  ofieu  used  for  its. 
Htiar,  hoary,  mouldy. 
Hob  nob,  as  it  may  happen 
Hoist,  hoisted. 
Hold,  to  esteem. 
Hold  taking,  bear  handling. 
Holla  !  a  term  of  the  manege. 
Holy,  faithful, 
Hoodnian  blind,  blindman's 
Horologe,  clock. 
Hot  house,  a  bagnio, 
Hox,  to  ham  string, 
Huggermt.gger,  secretly. 
Hull,  luiloai  without  guidance. 
Humming,  o'erwhelming. 
Humorous,  humid. 
Hungi-y,  unprolitic. 
Hunt  counter,  worthless  dog. 
Hunts  up.  a  hunting  tune. 
Hurty,  noise. 
Hurtle,  to 'lash  against. 
Hurtling,  boisterous  merrimeoL 
Husbandry,  thriftiness. 
Huswife,  a  jilt. 
Hyen,  hyu;na. 

I. 

Icebrook,  temper. 

Idle,  barren 

Ifecks,  in  faith. 

Ignomy,  ignominy. 

Ill  inhal)ittd,  ill  lodged. 

Illu.strious,  without  lustre. 

Images,  children,  rcpresentatw* 

Imbare,  to  expose. 

Immanity,  barbarity. 

Immediacy,  close  connexion. 

Imp,  progeny. 

Impair,  unsuitable,  unequaL 

Impartial  partial. 

Impawned,  vt^agered. 

luiperious,  imperial, 

Impetticos,   to  impetticoat,  V  iui 

pocket. 
Importance,  importunity. 
Important,  importunate. 
Impose,  injunction. 
Impositions,  commands. 
Impossible,  incredible. 
Imp  out,  to  suoply  the  deflo 
Impress,  a  device  or  motto. 
Incapable  unintelligent. 
Incarnadine,  to  dye  red. 
Incensed,  incited, 
liiclip,  to  embrace. 
Include,  to  conclude. 
Inclusive,  enclosed. 


GLOSSARY. 


801 


lacompt,  snhjert  to  account. 
Incony  orKony,  aelicate,  pretty. 
Incorrect,  ill  regulated. 
Indent,  to  si^n  an  indenture. 
Index,  something  preparatory. 
Indilferent,  impartial. 
Indigest,  shapeless. 
Indite,  to  convict. 
Induction,  preface,  prelude. 
Indurance,  delay. 
Informal,  deranged. 
Infinite,  extent  or  power. 
Ingaged,  unengaged. 
Ingraft,  rooted 
Inhabitable,  not  habitable. 
Inherit,  to  posses.*;. 
Inhibit,  to  forbid,  decline. 
In  his  eye,  in  his  presence. 
Inhooped,  inclosed. 
Ink-horn  mate,  a  book- mate. 
Inkle,  worsted  Lape. 
Initiate,  young. 
Inland,  civilized. 
Innocent,  a  fool. 
In  place,  present. 
Insane,  that  which  makes  insane. 
Insanie,  in.sauity. 
Insonce,  to  frn'tify. 
Insculped,  engraven. 
Inseparale,  inseparable. 
Instances,  motives. 
Insuit,  solicitation. 
Integrity,  consistency. 
Intend,  to  pretend. 
Intending,  regarding. 
Intendment,  intention. 
Intention,  eager  desire. 
Intentively,  attentively. 
Interessed,  interested. 
Intergatories,  interrogatories. 
In  that,  because. 

Intrenchant,  which  cannot  be  cut. 
Intrinse,  intricate. 
Inwardness,  intimacy. 
Iron,  clad  in  armour. 
Irregulous,  licentious. 
Issues,  consequences. 
Iteration,  repetition. 
Itination,  recitation. 

J. 

.ack-a-Lent,  a  puppet  thrown  at  in 
Lent. 

Jack-guardant,  a  jack  in  office. 
Jack  sauce,  a  saucy  fellow. 
Jaded,  worthless. 

Jar,  the  noise  made  by  the  pendulum  of 

a  clock. 
Jaunce  jaunt. 
Jauncing,  jaunting. 
Jay,  a  wanton. 

Jesses,  straps  of  leather,  festeued  round 

hawk's  legs. 
Jest,  to  play  a  part  in  a  mask. 
Jet,  to  strut. 

Jig,  a  ludicrous  dialogue  inverse. 

Journal,  daily. 

Jovial,  belonging  to  Jove. 

Jump,  to  suit,  just. 

Justicer,  a  judge. 

Jut,  to  encroach. 

Jutty,  to  project. 

Juvenal,  a  youth. 

K. 

Kam,awTy. 

Keech,  a  lump  of  tallew. 
Keel  to  coo  J 
Keisar,  Caesar. 

Kernes,  light  armed  Boldiera. 

Key-cold,  cold  as  iron. 
Kicksy-wicksy,  term*  endearment  for 

a  wife. 
Kindly,  natural. 
Kinged,  ruled. 
Kirtle,  a  woman's  garment. 
Knap,  to  break  short. 
Knave,  servant. 
K.not.«,  figures  planted  in  box. 
Know,  to  acknowledge. 
Know  of,  to  consider. 

L. 

Labras,  lips, 

Laced  mutton  ,  a  prostitute. 
Lackeying,  moving  like  a  lackey. 
Lag  ,  ihe  rabble. 
Lakin,  ladykin,  or  little  lady. 
Lances  huice  men. 
Lands,  landing-places. 
Land-rakers,  wanderers  on  foot. 
Large,  licentious. 

Lass  lorn,  forsaken  by  his  mistress. 

Latch,  to  lay  hold  of. 

Latched  or  Letched,  licked  over. 

Lated,  beniglited 

Latten,  thin  as  a  lath. 

Launch,  lance. 

Laund,  lawn. 

laundering,  wetting. 


LavoUas,  a  kind  of  dances. 
Lay,  a  wager. 
Leaguer,  a  camp. 
Leasing ,' falsehood. 
Leather-coats,  apples. 
Leavened,  matured. 
Leerh,  a  phyitician. 
I^eer,  ieatun  ,  complexio  . 
Leet,  petty  court  of  justice. 
Leg,  obeisance. 
Legerity,  nimbleness. 
Leges,  alleges. 
Leiger,  resident. 
Leman,  a  lover  or  mistress, 
licno,  a  pander. 
Lenten,  spare. 
Let,  to  hinder. 
Lethe,  death. 
L'Envoy,  end  of  a  poem. 
Lewd,  idle. 

Libbard,  or  Lubbard,  a  leopard. 

Liberal,  licentious  in  speech. 

Liberty,  liberiinism. 

License,  licentiousness. 

Liefest,  dearest. 

Lieger,  an  ambassador 

Lifter,  a  thief. 

Light  o'love,  a  dance  tunc. 

Lightly,  commonly. 

Like,  to  compare. 

Liking,  condition  of  body 

Likelihood,  similitude. 

Likeness,  speciousness. 

Limbeck,  a  vessel  used  in  distilling. 

Linibo,  a  place  supposed  near  hell. 

Lime,  bird  lime ;  to  cement. 

Limited,  appointed. 

Limits,  estimates. 

Lined,  delineated. 

Linstock,  the  statf  to  which  the  match 

is  fixed  when  ordnance  is  fired. 
Li.st,  limit. 
Lither,  flexible. 
Little,  miniature. 
Livelihood,  appearance  of  life. 
Livery,  a  law  phrase. 
Living,  estate,  property. 
Living,  speaking,  manifest 
Loach,  n  small  prolific  fish. 
Lob,  a  dullard,  a  looby. 
Lockram,  a  kind  of  linen. 
Lode-!*tar,  the  polar  star. 
Loft'e,  to  laugh. 
Lo>;gats,  a  game. 
Long  purpies,  a  flower. 
Longing,  Belonging. 
Longly,  longingly. 
Li>-.)ted,  brought  close  to  the  wind. 
Loon,  a  base  fellow. 
Looped,  full  of  apertures. 
Lop,  the  branches. 
Lordling,  a  little  lord. 
Lot,  a  prize. 
Lottery,  allotment. 
Love  in  idleness,  a  flower. 
Lover,  sometimes  for  mistress. 
Lowt,aclown. 

Lowted,  treated  with  contempt. 
Lozel,  a  worthless  fellow 
Lubbar,  a  leopard. 
Lullaby,  cradle. 
Lunes,  lunacy. 
Lurch,  to  win,  to  purloin. 
Lure,  a  decoy  for  a  hawk. 
Lush,  rank,  luscious 
Lust,  inclination,  will. 
Lustic,  lusty,  cheerful.  , 
Lusty,  saucy. 
Luxurious,  lascivious. 
Luxury,  lust. 

Lym,  or  Lyme,  a  bloodhound. 
M. 

Mace,  a  sceptre. 
Mad,  wiid,  inconstant. 
Magot  pie.  a  magpie. 
Magnifico,  r.  Venetian  potentate. 
Magnificent,  Ijoasttul. 
Mailed,  wrapt  in  armour. 
Make,  to  bar,  to  shut. 
Makele.ss,  mateless,  widowed* 
Male,  a  bag. 
Malkiu,  a  irull. 
Malleclio,  m.schief. 
Maltworms,  tipplers, 
Mammeniig,  stammering. 
Manimets,  puppets. 
Mammock,  lo  tear. 
Man,  to  la  trie  a  hawk ;  the  devil. 
Maiidragora,  a  soporific  plant. 
Mandrake,  a  root. 
Mankind,  a  wizard. 
Manacle,  a  handcuff. 
Manner,  in  the  fact. 
Man  Que  Her,  a  man-killer. 
Mat  che.s,  confines. 
Marchpane,  a  sweetmeat. 
Margent,  margin. 


Martial  hand,  a  careless  scrawl. 
Martlemas,  tlie  latter  spring. 
Mated,  confounded. 
Material,  full  of  matter. 
Maugre,in  spite  of,  notwithstandinf. 
Maund,  a  basket. 
Meacocl.,  a  dastard. 
Mealed  mingled. 

Mean,  the  middle,  the  tenor  in  music. 
Means,  interest. 

Measure,  the  reach ;  a  solemn  dance; 

means. 
Meazels,  lepers. 
Medal,  portrait. 
Meddle,  to  mingle. 
Medicine,  a  she-physician. 
Meet,  a  match. 
Meiney,  domestics. 
Memories,  memorials. 
iVlemory,  memorial. 
Mends,  the  means. 
Mephistophilus,  a  familiar  spirit. 
Mercatante,  a  merchant. 
Merchant,  a  low  fellow. 
Mere,  entire,  absolute. 
Mered question,  the  sole  question 
Merely,  entirely. 
Merit,  a  reward. 
Mermaid,  a  syren. 
Metaphysical"  supernatural. 
Mete  jard,  measuring  yard. 
Mewed,  confined. 
M:cher,  a  truant. 

Miching  Malleclio,  a  secret  mlMfcltf, 
Mince,  to  walk  atfectedly. 
Minding,  reminding. 
Minnow,  a  very  small  fish. 
Minstrelsy,  office  of  minstrel. 
Minute  jack.  Jack- 'o- lantern. 
Miscreate,  illegitimate,  sporisSfr 
Misdoubt,  to  suspect. 
Mi.ser,  a  miserable  being. 
M'sery,  avarice. 
Misprised,  mistaken. 
Misprising,  despising. 
Missives,  messengers!, 
Mistempered,  angry. 
Mistful,  ready  to  weep, 
Misthink,  to  think  ill. 
Mistress,  the  jack  m  bowlii^. 
Mo,  more. 

Mobled,  veiled,  muifled. 

Model,  mould. 

Modern,  new-fang-led. 

Modesty,  moderation. 

Module,  model. 

Moe,  to  make  mouths 

Moiety,  a  portion. 

Moist  star,  the  moon. 

Mollification,  softening. 

Mome,  a  blockhead. 

Momentany,  momentary. 

Monster,  to  make  monstrous. 

Month's  mind,  a  popish  anniveiflcy. 

Mood,  anger,  manner. 

Moody,  melancholy. 

Moouish,  variable. 

Mops  and  Moes,  ludicrous  anticka. 

Moral,  secret  meaning. 

Morisco,  Moorish. 

Morris  pike,  Moorish  pike. 

Mort  of  the  deer,  a  tune  on  tlie  deaft  9 

the  deer. 
Mortal,  murderous,  fatal. 
Mortal,  abounding, 
.'dortal  staring,  killing  by  a  1  ok. 
Mortified,  ascetic. 
Most,  greatest. 
Mot,  a  motto. 

Mother,  the  hysteric  passion. 
Motion,  divinatory  agitation. 
Motion,  desires. 
Motion,  a  puppet, 
Motions,  inoignation. 
Motive,  a  mover. 
Mouldwarp,  the  mole 
Mouse,  to  tear  to  pieces. 
Mouse,  a  term  of  endearment. 
Mouse  hujit,  a  weasel. 
Moy ,  a  piece  of  money;  also  a  meagre 
)        of  corn. 

'  Much,  strange,  wonderful. 

j  Muck  water,  drain  of  a  dunghill. 

Muffler ,  a  wrapper  for  the  lo\r«r  pall 
of  the  face. 

Muleters,  muleteers. 

Mulled,  soffened. 

Multi|tlied  multitudinous. 

Multiplying,  multiplied. 

Multitudinous,  full  of  raultitndea. 

Mure,  a  wall. 

Murky,  dark. 

Must,  a  scramble. 

N. 

Napkin,  handkerchief 
Napless,  threadbare. 
Native,  naturally. 


802 


GLOSSARY. 


Natare,  natural  parent. 
NauKbty,  unfit. 
Nay- word,  a  by-word. 
Neb,  the  mouth. 
Neelds,  n wiles. 
Neelijction,  neglect. 
Near,  the  Pst. 

Nept?ew,  any  lineal  des«<,eDclKlt. 
Nethe'-st<H-Kf ,  stockings. 
Newness,  innovation 
Newt,  the  eft. 
Nettj  nefjrest. 
Nice,  trifling. 

Nick,  to  set  the  mark  of  fol  7  ot  j 

reckoning. 
Si^h:  rule,  frolic  of  the  nigh  . 
NiehteU,  made  dark  as  night. 
N!T1,  shall  not. 
?flne  men's  morris,  a  game. 
Noble,  a  coin. 
Nobless,  nobleness. 
Noble-touch,  unalloyed  meta". 
Noddy,  fool,  a  game  at  cards. 
Noise,  music. 
Nonce,  on  purpose. 
Non  com,  nonplus. 

Nook-sbotter,  that  which  shoots  intr 

c«pes. 
Northern  man,  a  clown. 
Note,  notice. 

Nott  j)ated,  round-headed. 
Nourish,  to  nurse. 
Nonsle,  to  fondle  as  a  nurse. 
Novum,  a  game  at  dice. 

Sow),  a  head, 
ut-houk,  a  thief. 

O. 

Odd- even,  the  interval  between  twelve 

at  night  and  one  in  the  moreing. 
Od'9  oitikins,  God  me  pity. 
Oeliads,  glances  of  the  eye. 
O's,  circles,  pockmarks. 
Obligations,  bonds. 
Obsequious,  funereal. 
Observation,  celebration. 
Obsfacie.  obstinate. 
Occurrents,  incidents 
Occupation,  mechanics. 
O'er-r.uight,  over-reached. 
O  ercrow,  overcome. 
O'erlooked,  fascinated. 
Of,  through. 
Offering,  the  assailant. 
Oilice,  service. 
Olficcft,  culinary  apartments 
Of  all  loves,  by  all  means. 
Old.  frequent. 
©Id  age,  ages  past. 
Once,  sotnetime. 
Oneyers,  bankers. 
Opal,  a  preciou"  stone. 
Of>eraut,  active. 
Opinion,  obstinacy,  conceit 
Opposite,  adverse. 
Opposition,  combat. 
Or  e'er,  belore. 
Orbs,  fairj'  circles. 
Orchard,  a  garden. 
Ordioisnce,  rank. 
Order,  nteasures. 
l>T>jHlous,  haughty. 
0^T9y,  nil  eagle. 
Oflletit,  ostentation,  appearance. 
Ostentation,  appearance. 
Overblow,  to  dnve  away. 
Overscntched,  whipped  at  a  cart's  tail. 
Overtur-,  opening,  discovdy 
Ounce,  a  tiger-cat. 
Ouph,  fairv. 

Ousel  cock,  the  cock  blackbird. 

Out,  full,  complete. 

Out  vie.i,  defeated,  a  term  at  the  game 

of  gleck. 
Outward,  not  in  the  secret. 
Owe,  fo  possess,  to  own. 
O'Jip.  the  great  cowslip. 

P. 

Pack,  to  bargain  witfc. 

Pack,  an  accomplice. 

Packing,  plotting,  fraud. 

paddock,  a  toad. 

Pagan,  a  dissolute  person. 

Paseant,  a  dumb  shew. 

Pain,  punished. 

Palahras,  words. 

Paie,  tiomiiiions. 

Pale  to  encircle  with  a  crown. 

Pall,  to  wrap  ti>  invest. 

Pallf'd,  vapid, 

Palmer.s,  (ii'grims. 

Palmy,  victorious. 

Paly,  pale. 

Palier,  to  iuggle,  to  cheat. 
Pnrie.  to  afflu-t. 
P.iper.  to  commit  to  writing. 
Paixel.  part,  to  reckon  up. 
Parcel,  bawd,  half-  bawd. 


Parcel-gilt,  partially  gilt. 

Parish  top,  a  large  top,  formerly  keot 

in  every  village,  to  be  whipped  for 

exercise. 
Parle,  parley. 
Parlous,  perilous,  shrewd. 
Part,  to  depart. 
Parted,  endowed,  shared. 
Particular,  private. 
Partizan,  a  pike. 
Parts,  party. 
Pash,  to  strike ;  a  head. 
Pashed, crushed. 
Pass,  to  d   ide,  assure,  convey. 
Pass  on,  to  decide. 
Pas?ed,  em  ent. 
Passing,  surpassing. 
Passion,  sutiering. 
Passionate,  grieving. 
Passioning,  being  in  a  passion. 
Pas.qy  iVleasure,  a  dance. 
Paritor,  an  apparitor,  or  officer  of  the 

bishop's  court. 
Pastry,  the  pastry  room. 
Patch,  a  tool. 
Patched,  in  a  fool's  coat. 
Path,  to  walk. 
PatheticaJ,  promise -breaker. 
Patient,  to  soothe. 

Pavine,  a  dish  used  with  the  chalice  in 

administering  the  Eucharist. 
Paucas,  few. 
Pavin,  a  dance. 
Pay,  to  beat. 
Peat,  pet,  darling. 
Pedascule,  a  pedant. 
Peer-out,  to  jieep  out. 
Peevish,  foolish. 

Peize,  to  weigh,  keep  in  suspense. 
Penthesilia,  Amazon. 
Pelting,  paltry. 
Pennons,  small  flags. 
Perdu,  one  of  the  torlornhope. 
Perdurable,  lasting. 
Perdy,  (Par  Dieu)  a  French  oath. 
Perfect,  certain;  well-informed. 
Perfections,  liver,  brain,  ai.d  hearS. 
Periapts,  charms  worn  about  the  neck. 
Perjure,  a  perjurer. 
Person,  parson. 
Perspectives,  spy-glasses 
Pervert,  to  avert. 
P  stileiice.  poison. 
P.  -v  follow,  a  companion 
Pheere,  companion. 
Phinnomy,  physiognomy. 
Pheeze,  to  tease,  to  currycomk 
Phill-horse,  shaft-horse. 
Pick,  to  pitch. 
Picka-xcs,  fingers. 
Picked,  fopiiish. 
Pickers,  the  hanils^ 
Picking,  insignificant. 
Pickt-hatch,  a  place  noted  for  brothels. 
Pick-thank,  a  parasite. 
Piece,  a  contemptuous  term  for  a  wo- 
man. 
Pied  ninny,  a  fool. 
Pieled,  shaven. 
Pigbt,  pitched,  fixed. 
Pilcher,  the  scabb-ard. 
Piled,  deprived  of  hair. 
Pilled,  pillaged. 
Pin,  a  term- in  archery. 
Pin  and  web,  disorder  of  the  eye. 
Pinfold,  a  pound. 

Pix,  the  box  that  contains  the  host 

Place,  a  mansion. 

Pl^^cket,  a  petticoat. 

Plague,  punish. 

Plainly,  openly. 

Plaited,  complicated. 

Plantage,  plantain. 

Planched.  made  of  planks 

Plant,  the  foot. 

Plates,  silver  m'ney. 

Platforms,  schemes. 

Plausive,  gracious,  applauded. 

Pluerisy,  plethory. 

PI    ched,  folded. 

Plot,  portion. 

Poiut,  negative. 

Point,  hooks  used  to  fasten  uj»  bree- 
ches 

Point-de-vice,  eiiactljr 
Points,  fags  to  laces 
Poize,  weight. 

Polack,  a  Polander  • 

Polled,  bared. 

Pomander,  a  perfume  kali. 

Pome  water,  an  apple 

ro©r-j|i>hn,  salted  fi^. 

Popinjay,  a  parrot. 

Popularity,  iutercourse  w  th  the  vul- 
gar. 

Porjicntine,  porcupine. 
Port,  deportment. 
Port,  a  gate. 


Portable,  bearable. 

Porlance,  behaviour. 

Possess,  to  Inform. 

Potch,  to  push. 

Potents,  potentates. 

Poulter,  poulterer. 

Pouncet  box,  a  perfume-bot. 

Power,  an  army. 

Practise,  stratagems. 

Prank,  to  adorn. 

J^erccjit,  a  justice's  warrant 

Percisian,  a  puritan. 

Preeches,  flogged. 

Prefer,  to  offer. 

Pregnant,  ready. 

Prenominate,  fore-named. 

Prcst,  ready. 

Pretend, to  intend. 

I'revent,  to  anticipate. 

Pricket,  a  buck  of  the  second  .'W, 

Prig,  pilfevw 

Prime,  sprightliness  of  yowtlfc 
Primer,  of  more  consequenoo. 
Priinero,  a  game  at  cards. 
Princox,  a  coxcomb. 
Probal,  prolwible. 
Prodigious,  portentous. 
Protace,  much  good  may  it  doystt. 
Profane,  grossly  talkative. 
Progress,  a  royal  journey  of  state 
I'roguostication,  almanack. 
Project,  to  shape. 
Proiixious,  coy,  delaying. 
Proof,  puborty. 
Prompturc,  suggestion. 
Prone,  humble,  also  prompt 
Propagate,  to  advance,  to  improT9. 
Proper,  handsome. 
Proper- false,  deceitfuL 
Propertied,  possessed. 
Properties,  incidental  necessaries  t* 

theaire. 
Property,  due  performance. 
Fropcse,  to  ir-.agine,  to  converse. 
Proposing,  conversing. 
Provaiid,  provender. 
Provost,  sberitl' or  gaoler. 
Prune,  to  nlume. 
Pugging,  tnievish. 
Puke ,  a  sort  of  russet  colour. 
Purchase,  stolen  gotids. 
Purchased,  unjustly  acquired. 
Purl,  to  curl. 
Purlieu,  border. 
Pursuivants,  heralds. 
l-^is..s€t,  a  low  wench. 
Put  to  know,  foicfcti  to  acknowle^^?^ 
Putter-out,  ouewhf>  leud*  monej  M 

interest. 
Puttiug-on,  Incitement. 
Puttock,  a  hawk. 

Q- 

Quail,  to  sink,  to  faint,  to  be  Tajf 
qulshed. 

Quaint,  fantastical,  also  graceful. 

Ouaintly,  sklUuily. 

Quaint  mazes,  ag<une . 

Quaked,  terrified. 

Quality,  confederates ,  condition. 

Quarrel,  a  quarrtUer. 

Quarry,  the  game  after  it  is  killed. 

Quart  d'6cu,  the  fourth  of  a  French 

criiwu. 
Quat,  a  scab. 
Qut  asy,  squeamish. 
Quell,  to  murder. 
Quench,  to  grow  cool. 
Quern,  a  hand-mill. 
Quest,  pursuit. 
Question,  conversation. 
Questrist,  one  who  seeks  another. 
Quests,  reports. 
Quiddits,  subtleties. 
Quietus,  discharge. 
Quiltets,  law  chicane. 
Quintain,  a  post  sel  up  for  TWkm 

exercises. 
Quips,  scoffs. 
Quire,  to  play  in  concert. 
Quiver,  mmbie,  active. 
Quote,  to  observe. 

R. 

R,  dog's  letter. 

Rabato,  a  neck  ornament. 

Race. original  disposition,also  JavolUr* 

Rack,  wreck. 

Rack,  to  exag-gprafe. 

!?ack",  to  harass  by  exactions. 

Hack,  the  fleeting  away  of  the  clowli 

Racking,  in  rapid  motion. 

Rag,  an  opprobrioi's  epithet. 

Ragged,  ruirged. 

Kake,  to  cover. 

Kam,  ram, 

Kampallion,  a  strumpet. 
Rank,  rate  o\  pace. 


GLOSSARY. 


803 


RRiik,  rapidly  ^rown. 
Rapt,  earap  ured. 
Rapture,  a  fit. 
Rarr-Iy,  curiously. 
Rascal,  lean  deer 

Rash,  remonstrance,  premature  dis- 
covery. 

Rauffht,  reached. 

Ravin,  to  devour  eagerly. 

Ravined,  grlutted  with  prey. 

Rawly,  suddenly. 

Rayed,  betrayed. 

Razed,  slashed. 

Raze,  a  bale. 

Rear-mouse,  a  bat. 

Reason,  discourse. 

Rebeck,  a  musical  instrument. 

Recheat,  a  horn,  a  tune  to  call  the 
dogs  back. 

Receipt,  receptacle. 

Receiving,  ready  apprehension. 

Receate,  a  hunting  terra. 

Reck,  to  care  for. 

Reckless,  careless. 

Record,  to  sing 

Recorders,  a  kind  of  flute. 

Recure,  to  recover. 

Red  lattice  phrases,  alehouse  talk. 

Red  plague,  the  St.  Antony's  fire. 

Reechy,  discoloured  with  smoke. 

Reels,  wheels 

Refel,  to  confute. 

Refer,  to  reserve  to. 

Regard,  look. 

Regiment,  government. 

Eegreet,  exchange  of  salutation. 

Reguerdon,  recompense. 

Rheuiriatic,  capricious. 

Relume,  to  relight. 

Remorse,  pity. 

Remotion,  removal. 

Removes,  journies. 

Render,  to  describe. 

Renege,  to  renounce. 

Reports,  reporters. 

Reproof,  confutation. 

Repugn,  to  resist. 

Reputing,  boasting. 

Reserve, to  preserve. 

Resolve,  to  he  fssured. 

Resolve,  to  dissolve. 

Respective,  respectful. 

Respectively,  respectfully. 

Resty,  mouldy. 

Retailed,  handed  down. 

Retort,  to  refer  back. 

Reverb,  to  reverberate. 

Revolt  of  mien,  change  of  complexion. 

Revolts,  rebels. 

Rib.  to  enclose. 

Ribald,  a  lewd  fellow. 

Sid,  to  destroy. 

Rift,  split. 

Riggisli,  wanton. 

R»gol,  a  cii  cle. 

Rim,  money. 

Ringed,  encircletJ. 

Rivage,  I  lie  bank  or  sb»7e. 

R-ivality,  equa*'  rank. 

ilivals,  parfners. 

S.ive,  to  burst,  to  fire, 
.omage,  rummage,  bustle. 
Roayon,  a  drab. 
?tco<3,  the  cross. 
Rook,  to  squat. 
Hoper)  roguery. 

tope-irlcks,  abusiveness. 
ound  a  diadem. 
Hound,  roush. 
Iflounded,  whispered. 
Roundel,  a  country  dance. 
Rounding,  wh  sparing. 
Uouiidure,  a  circle. 
Rouse,  carousal. 
Roynish,  mangy. 
Royal,  a  coin. 
Ruddock,  red-breast. 
Ruft",  the  folding  of  the  tops  of  boots. 
Ruffle,  to  be  no  sy. 
Rufiiiug,  rus  ling. 
Rump-;"ed,  fed  with  offals. 
Ruth,  pity. 

S. 

Sacarson,  the  n.irae  of  a  bea 

jiacred,  accurseti. 

hacrifictal,  \«orshij»ping. 

Sacring  hell,  the  bell  announcing  the 

approach  of  the  boat- 
Sad  ostent,  grav*.  a  pi>.'*trance. 
Fagg,  or  Swagg,  to  siiut  4  own. 
Sallet,  a  heUntt. 
Bail,  UyArs. 
Saftiers,  satyrs. 
Samirij^o,  Si.  Domirnc-v 
Sandieii.  .sandy  co^ft^' 
Sans,  w  'lihou... 
Saury,  IriN^i  ivM. 
Savage,  ^mki^a. 


Savageness,  wildnegs. 
Saw,  tenor  of  a  discourse. 
Say,  silk. 
Say,  a  sample. 

Scattbldage,  the  gallery  of  a  theatre. 
Scald,  beggarly. 
Scale,  to  disperse. 
Scaled,  overreached. 
Si-aling,  weighing. 
Scall,  scab. 
Scamble,  to  scramble. 
Scan,  to  examine  nicely. 
Scantling,  proportion. 
Scarfed,  decorated  with  flags. 
Scath,  destruction 
Scathfui,  mischievous. 
Sconce,  the  head. 
Sconce,  a  fortification. 
Scotch,  to  bruise. 
Scrimers,  fe  ers. 
Scrip,  a  writing,  a  lift. 
Scroyles,  scurvy  fellows. 
Scrubbed, stunted. 
Sculls,  shoals  of  fish. 
Scutched,  whipped. 
Seat,  to  strengtiien,  or  complete. 
Seam,  lard. 
Seamels,  a  bird. 
Sear,  to  stigmatize,  to  close. 
Season,  to  temper,  to  infix,  to  impress. 
Seat,  throne. 

Sect,  a  cutting  in  gardening. 
Seel,  to  close  up. 
Seeling,  blinding. 
Seeming,  seemly. 
Seen,  versed,  practised. 
Sold,  seldom. 
Semblably^  resemblingly. 
Seniory,  seniority. 
Sennet,  a  flourish  on  cornets. 
Sen.se,  sensual  desires. 
Septentrion,  the  north. 
Sequestration,  separation. 
Sere,  or  sear,  dry. 
Serpigo,  a  tetter. 
Serve,  to  fulfil. 
Setebos,  a  demon. 
Set  of  wit,  a  term  at  tennis. 
Sessa,  be  quiet. 
Several,  separated. 

Several,  or  severell,  a  field  set  apart 

for  corn  and  grass. 
Sewer,  the  placer  of  the  dishes. 
Shame,  modesty. 

Shard-borne,  borne  on  scaly  wings. 
Shards,  be  tie's  wings. 
Shards,  broken  pots  or  tiles. 
Sitark  up,  to  pick  up. 
Shaven  Hercules,  Samson. 
Sheen,  shining,  gay. 
Sheer,  transparent. 
Shent,  to  scold,  rebuke 
Sherris,  sherry. 
Shive,  a  slice. 
Shog,  to  go  off. 
Sbotten.  pioiected. 
Shotien  herring,  a  herring  that  has 

spawned. 
Shoulder  cl  ipper,  a  bailiff. 
Shoughs,  shocks,  a  species  of  dog. 
Shove  groat,  a  game. 
Sl'<«vel  boards,  shillings  used  at  the 

game  of  shovel  board. 
Shrewd,  shrewish. 
Shritt,  auricular  confession. 
Shrive,  to  i  all  to  confession. 
Side,  purpose. 
Side-sleeves,  long  sleeves 
Siege,  a  stool. 
Sieve,  a  common  voider. 
Sightless,  unsightly. 
Sights, the  perforated  parts  of  a  helmet. 
Sinew,  strei  gth. 
Single,  weak. 

Sink-a  pace,  cirvque  pace,  a  dance. 
Sir,  the  tit'e  of  a  parson. 
Sister,  to  imitate  or  re-echo. 
Sithence,  ihence. 
Sizes,  allowances  of  victuals. 
I  Skain's-tnates,  kin's-mates. 
Skill,  reason. 

Skills  not,  is  of  no  importance. 

Skinker,  a  tapster. 

Skirr,  to  scour. 

Slave,  to  treat  with  indignity. 

Sleave,  the  knotty  part  of  silk. 

S  ed<le't,  cpir.cd  on  a  sledge. 
!  Sleide  l,  luitwisted. 

Slighls.  tricks. 

Slip,  comit'.'rfeil  coin. 

Slips,  a  ( oiitrivance  in  leather,  to  start 
two  diitrs  at  the  same  lime. 

Sl.'ver,  to  .slice. 

Slops,  loo.se  breeches. 

Sloujh,  the  .skin  which  the  serpent  an 
nualiy  throws  off. 

Slc«ver,  more  serious. 
1  Slubber  *f*  do  carelessly,  to  obscure. 


'   Shlggabed.  .slusgar.J. 
Smirched,  soiled. 
Sneapt,  rebuke. 
Sneaping,  nipping. 
Sn.  ck-u|).  go  liang  yourself. 
Snipe,  a  poltroon. 
Snuff,  anger. 
Snuffs,  dislikes. 
Soil,  spot,  turpitude,  reproacil. 
Solicit,  courtship. 
Soliciting,  information. 
Solidares,  a  coin. 
Sometimes,  formerly. 
Sooth, truth. 
Sooth,  s.weetness. 
Sorel,  a  deer  d.iring  his  third  year. 
Sort,  to  happen,  to  agree. 
Sort  and  suit,  figure  and  rack. 
Sot,  a  fool. 
So\jd,  sweet. 

Soul- fearing,  soul  appaling.v 
Sound,  to  publish. 
Soused  gurnet,  a  gudgeon. 
Sowl,  to  pull  by  the  ears. 
Sowle,  to  drag  down. 
Sowter,  the  name  of  a  houirt 
Spanielled,  dogged. 
Specialty,  particular  rigbti. 
Speculation,  sight. 
Speculative,  seeing. 
Sped,  the  fate  decided. 
Speed,  event. 

Sperr,  to  shut  up,  defend  by  hem, 

Spill,  to  desiroy. 

Spotted,  wicked. 

Spiag,  apt  to  learn,  alert. 

Sprighted,  haunted. 

Sprights,  spirits. 

Springhalt,  a  di.sease  of  horiiei. 

Spurs,  the  greater  roots  of  trees. 

Square,  to  quarrel. 

Squarer,  a  quarreller. 

Squash  an  immature  peascod. 

Squiney,  to  look  asquint. 

Squire,  a  rule,  or  square. 

Stage,  to  place  conspicuously 

Stale,  a  decoy  for  birds. 

Stannyel,  a  hawk,  or  stallion. 

Star,  a  sear. 

Stark,  still". 

Starred,  destined. 

Statists,  statesmen 

Statue,  a  portrait. 

Stay,  a  hinderer,  a  supporter. 

Siicking-place,  the  stop  in  a  machin*. 

Sticklers,  arbitrators,  judges,  paril* 

sans,  umpires. 
Stigmatic,   marked  with  defcrmitjl 
Stigmatical  stismatisei 
Stilly,  gladly,  lowiy, 
Stinied,  stopped. 
Stith,  an  anvil. 

Stfthied,  forged  at  the  furnace. 
Stithy,  a  smith's  shop. 
Stoccata,  a  slab. 
Stork,  a  slocking. 
Stomach,  pride. 
Stone-bow,  a  cross  bow. 
Stover,  thatch. 
Strain,  de.scent,  lin  age. 
Strain,  diliiculty,  doubt. 
Strait,  narrow,  avaricious. 
Strange, shy. 

Stratagem,  great  or  dreadful  exeat. 

Strawy,  stiaj  ing. 

Striker,  a  borrower. 

Stuck  or  Stock,  a  term  in  fencing.v 

Stuti",  baggape.  substance  or  es.Mcoee* 

Stuffed,  sufficiency,  ample  abilities. 

Subscription,  obedience. 

Success,  succession. 

Sufticiency,  abilities. 

Suggest,  to  tempt. 

Suggestion,  temptation. 

Suited,  dressed. 

Sumpter,  a  horse  that  carries  neMs 

ries  on  a  journey. 
Superfluous,  over  clothed. 
Supposed,  counterfeit. 
Sur  reined,  over  ridden. 
Suspire,  to  breathe. 
Surcease,  an  end. 
Swart,  dark  brown. 
Swashing,  bullying. 
Swath,  grass  cut  at  one  strc&S. 
Swav,  weight. 
Sweeting,  an  apple. 
Sweher^il,  weltered. 
Sw  inge-biicklers,  riotous  fellow^. 
Swounded,  swooned. 
Swoop,  the  descent  of  a  bird  of  BfOT* 
T. 

Table,  the  pahn  of  the  hand. 
Table,  a  picture. 
Tables,  tablets,  memorandnm  b© 
Tabourine,  a  small  ilrinn. 
Take,  to  strike  with  diseaae,  lo  blast, 
i  Take-in,  to  cunauer 


804 


GLOSSARY. 


Take-up, to  co^  radic* 
Talent,  lalon. 
Tall,  courageous. 
Tallow  keech,  tub  of  tallow. 
Tame,  ineffectual. 
Tame-snake,  a  poltroon 
Tarre,  to  excite,  provoke. 
Tartar,  Tartarus. 

Task,  to  keep  busied  with  scruples. 
Tassel  Gentle,  or  Tercel  Gentle,  a  spe- 
cies of  hawk. 
Tasked,  taxed. 

Taurus,  sides  and  heart  in  medicaj 

astrology. 
Tawdry,  necklacea  •worn  by  country 
girls. 

Tawn- y  coat,  the  dress  of  an  apparitor. 

Taxation,  censure,  satire. 

Tear  a  cat,  to  blusier. 

Teen,  grief,  trouble. 

Temperance,  temperature. 

Tender,  to  regard  with  affection. 

Teut,  to  take  up  residence,  to  search. 

Tercel,  the  male  hawk. 

Terras,  the  phraseology  of  courij. 

Tested,  attested,  brought  to  the  test. 

Testerned,  gratified  with  a  tester,  or 

sixpence. 
Tetchy,  touchy,  peevish. 
Tether,  a  string  by  which  any  animal  is 

fastened. 
Tharborougb,  a  constable. 
Theonck,  theory. 
Thewes,  muscuiar  strength. 
Thick,  pleached,  thickly  interwoven. 
Thill,  the  shatis  of  a  cart. 
Thin  helm,  thin  cov  ering  of  hair. 
Thrasonical,  boasting. 
Thread,  to  pass. 

Three  niau-beetle,  an  implement  for 

driving  piles. 
Three  pile,  rich  velvet. 
Thrift,  prosperity,  economy. 
Thrum,  the  extremity  of  a  weaver's 

warp 

Thrummed,  made  of  coarse  woollen. 

Tib,  a  sti  umpet. 

Tickle,  licklish. 

Tickle  hrain,  a  strong  drink. 

Tilly-valiy,  pooh! 

Tilth,  tiila.s^e. 

Timeless,  untimely. 

Tire,  »o  fiwten. 

Tire,  to  he  idly  employed  on. 

Tired,  adorned. 

Tire-valiaat,  a  head-dress. 

Tirra-lirra,  the  song  of  the  lark. 

Toged.  habited. 

Tokened,  spotted. 

Topiess,  supreme. 

Touches,  features. 

Toward,  in  readiness. 

Toys,  whims,  rumours. 

Toze,  to  unravel. 

Trade,  established  custom. 

Trail,  scent  left  by  game. 

Ti  a  tress,  a  terra  of  endearment. 

Trammel,  to  catch. 

Trailed,  a  ferry  or  sluice. 

Translate,  to  transform 

Trash,  to  check. 

Traversed,  across. 

Truy  trip,  a  game  at  drafts. 

Treachers,  traitors. 

Trenclied,  carved. 

Trick,  peculiarity  of  feature. 

Trick,  to  dress  out. 

Tricksy,  adroit. 

Tfigoii,  Aries,  Leo,  and  Sagittarius  in 
Ihe  Zodiac. 

Trip,  to  defeat. 

Triple,  one  of  three. 

Triumphs,  revels. 

Trojan,  cant  term  for  thief. 

Trol  Hiy-dames,  the  game  of  nine  holes. 

Troll,  to  sing  trippingly. 

Tr'Hsers,  trousers. 

Trjt,  a  term  of  contempt. 

Trow,  to  imagine. 

Iruly  good,  or  turlupin,  a  gipsy. 

Trumile-tail,  a  dog. 

Trusted,  thrusted- 

Trv  conclusions,  try  experiments. 

Tub  fast .  the  sweating  process  in  the 

venereal  disease. 
Tuckel ,  or  tucket  sonnuance,  a  flou- 
rish on  a  trumpet. 

Turre,  to  whisper. 

Turlvgood,  or  Turlupin,  a  gipsy. 

Twangiine  jack,  a  scurvy  musician. 

Twicken- bottle,  a  wickered  bottle. 
Twisgiiig,  wickered. 
Tythiiig,  a  district. 

U. 

Umbpr,  a  dusky  colourerj  earth. 
Unaneled.  without  extreme  unction. 
Unavoided,  ujiavoidable 


Unbarbed,  beardless,  nnsbavea. 
Unbated,  not  blunted. 
Unbitted,  unbridled. 
Unbolt  to  explain. 
Unbolted,  coarse. 
Unbonetted,  without  dignities. 
Unbookish,  unlearned. 
Uubreathed,  unpractised. 
Uncape,  to  dig  out,  a  term  in  fox-hunt- 
ing. 

Uncharged,  unattacked. 
Unclew,  to  unwind. 
Uncoined,  unrelined,  unadorned. 
Uncontirmed,  unpractised  in  wordly 
craft. 

Uncurrent,  irregular. 
Undercraft,  to  wear  beneath  the  crest. 
Under  skinker,  a  tapster. 
Understand,  stand  under. 
Undertaker,  the  defender  of  another's 
quarrel. 

Underwrite,  to  subscribe,  to  obey. 
Uneath,  scarcely. 
Unexpressive,  inexpressible. 
Unfair,  to  deprive  of  beauty. 
Un-enitured,  without  genitals. 
Unhaired,  youthful. 
Unhappy,  unlucky,  mischievous. 
Unhoused,  free  from  domestic  cares. 
Unhouselled,  without  having  the  sacra- 
ment. 

Union,  a  species  of  pearl. 
Unlived,  lifeless. 
Unlustrous,  without  lustre. 
Unmanned,  a  term  in  falconry. 
Unmastered,  licentious. 
Unowed,  unowned. 
Unpregnant,  not  quickened. 
Unproper,  common. 
Umiualitied,  unmanned. 
Unquestionable,  averse  to  conversation. 
Unready,  undrest. 
Unrcspective,  inconsiderate. 
Unrough,  beardless. 
Unsistmg,  unresisting,  unfeeling. 
Unsmirthed,  undefiled. 
Unsquared,  uiiadapted. 
Unsiancheil,  incontinent. 
Untempering,  not  softening. 
Unientcd,  not  probed,  virulent. 
Uutraded,  not  in  common  use. 
Untrimmed,  undrest. 
Upspriug,  a  dance. 

V. 

Vail,  to  bow,  to  sink,  to  condescend  *o 

look. 
Vailing,  lowering. 
Vaiii,  vanity. 
Vain,  lying. 

Valance,  fringed  with  a  beard. 
Vaniiy,  illusion. 

Vantage,  opportunity,  advantage. 

Van  brace,  armour  for  the  arm. 

Varlet,  a  servant. 

Vast,  waste,  dreary. 

Vaunt,  theavaiit,  the  fore-part. 

Vaward,  the  fore  part. 

Velure,  velvet. 

Venetian,  admittance. 

Veiit,  rumour. 

Venti^es,  holes  of  a  flute. 

Verbal,  verbose. 

Verify,  to  bear  witness. 

Venew,  a  bout  (in  fencing.) 

Vengeance,  mischief. 

Veneys,  hits. 

Veronese,  a  ."^hip  from  Verona. 

Versing,  writing  verses. 

Very,  immediate. 

Via,  a  (;ant  phrase  of  exultation. 

Vice,  the  fool  of  the  old  moralities. 

Vice,  grasp. 

Vie,  to  brag. 

Viewless,  invisible. 

Villain,  a  worthless  fellow,  a  servant. 

Vild,  vile. 

Violenteth,  rageth. 

Virginal,  a  kind  of  spinnet. 

Virtue,  vaiour. 

Virtuous,  healthy. 

Virtuous,  weil-bred. 

Vixen,  or  Fixen,  a  female  fox. 

Vizameni,  advisement. 

Vox,  tone  or  voice. 

Vulgar,  common. 

Vulgarly,  commonly. 

W. 

Waft,  to  bee 

Wage,  to  com  at. 

Wages,  IS  equal  to. 

Waist,  that  part  of  a  ship  between  the 

quarterdeck  and  the  forecastle. 
Waist,  the  middle. 
Walk,  a  district  in  a  forest. 
Wannrd,  pale. 


Wannion,  vensrenncp. 
Ward,  postur  e  of  deference. 
Ward,  guardianship. 
Warden,  a  pear. 
Warn,  suinin(m. 

Wasselscandle,candleused  at  festirali 
Wassels,  rustic  re^elry. 
Watch,  a  wntch-light 
Water  work,  water  coloui«. 
Wax,  to  grow 
axen,  incref  ^se. 
axen,  soft,  yielding 
Wanton,  a  'eeble  or  effeminate  maa. 
Wappened.  decayed,  diseased. 
Warder,  a  sentinel. 
Warp, to  change  from  thenataral  lUlte 
Wee,  very  little. 
Weeds  clothing. 
Ween,  to  imagine. 
Weigh,  to  value  or  esteem. 
Weird,  prophetic. 
Welkin,  the  sky. 
Welkin-eye,  blue  eye. 
Weli-a  near  I  lack-a-dayl 
Well  liking,  plump. 
Wend,  to  go. 

Westward  hoe,  the  name  of  •  pl8| 

acted  in  Shakspeare's  time. 
Wether,  used  for  a  rain. 
Wear,  the  fashion. 

Whe'ked,  varied  with  protuberanoet. 

Whe'r.  whether. 

Where,  whereas. 

Whifiler,  an  olficer  in  processions 

Whiles,  until. 

Whinidst,  mouldy. 

Whip,  she  crack,  the  best. 

Whipstock,  the  carter's  whip. 

Whirring,  hurrying. 

Whist,  being  silent. 

White,  the  white  mark  in  the  target. 

White  death,  the  green  sickness. 

Whiting-time,  bleaching  time. 

Whitsters,  linen  bleachers. 

Whittle,  a  pocket  knife. 

Whooping,  measure  and  reckoning. 

Wide,  remote  from. 

Wilderness,  wildness. 

Will,  wilfulness. 

Wimple,  a  hood  or  veil. 

Winchester  goose,  a  strumpet. 

Winking-^ates,  gates  hastily  elocwd 

from  tear  of  diinger. 
Winnowed,  examined. 
Winter  ground,  to  protect  aganut 

winter. 
Wis,  to  know. 

Wise  woman,  a  witch,  a  fortune-tellei; 

Wish,  to  recommend. 
Wit,  to  know. 
Witch,  to  bewitch. 
Withy,  judicious,  cunning. 
Wits,  senses. 

Wittol,  knowing,  conscious  of. 
Wittol,  a  contented  cuckold. 
Woe,  to  be  sorry. 
Woman,  to  aftect  deeply. 
Woman  tired,  lienpecked. 
Wondered,  able  to  perform  wondcn. 
Wodd,  crazy,  frantic 
Wooden  thing,  awkward  businesB, 
World  to  see,  wonderful. 
Woodman,  an  attendant  on  the  forestall 
Woolward,  wearing  wool. 
Work,  fortification. 
Workings,  thoughts. 
Worm,  a  serpent. 
Worth,  wealth. 
Worship,  dignity. 
Wreak,  to  revenge;  resentment. 
Wrest,  an  instrument  for  tunillg 
harp. 

Wrested,  obtained  by  force. 
Wretch,  a  term  of  fondnew. 
Writ,  writing. 

Write,  to  pronounce  confidently* 

Writhled.  wrinkled. 
Wry,  to  deviate- 
Wrong,  hurt. 
Wrotli,  misfortune. 
Wrought,  agitated. 
Wrung,  pressed,  strained. 

Y. 

Yare.  nimble,  handy. 
Yarely,  i.itnVily,  adroitly, 
Yearn,  to  grieve  or  vex. 
Yei!d,  to  inform  of. 
Yellowness,  jealousy. 
Yeoman,  a  bailiffs  follower. 
Yerk,  to  kick. 
Yesty  foaming,  frothy. 
Young,  early. 

Z. 

'';Hny,abuti"oon. 

Zealous,  pious. 

Zed,  a  term  of  contempt. 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES 


TEMPEST. 


*  A  rotten  carcass  of  a  boat.  "—Act  I.  Sc.  2. 
Snakspeare  might  liave  read  the  following  in  Holinshed  : 
After  this,  was  E^dwin,  the  king's  brother,  accused  of 
lome  roiispiracie  by  him  begun  against  the  king:  where- 
upon he  was  banished  the  land;  and  sent  out  in  an  oid 
rotff?i  vessel,  witliout  rowers  or  mariner,  onlie  accom- 
panied with  one  esqiiier,  so  that  being  launched  forth 
n  om  tlie  shore,  through  despaire,  Edwin  leapt  into  the  sea, 
and  drowned  himself." 

«  Setehos.'^—KvX  I.  Sc  2. 
We  learn  from  ^InsellanVs  Voyat'ps.  ^hn^  Sefoho'^  was  the 
supn-me  god  of  the  fatagons.  This' fabulaus  deity  is  also 
mentioned  in  Hackluyt's  Voyages,  155*8.  Barbet  says, 
''The  Putaaotis  are  reported  todread  a  great  horned  devil, 
called  Setebos."  And,  in  Eden's  Historye  of  Travayle, 
!577,  we  are  told,  that  the  (liajites,  when  they  found  theni- 
nelves  fettered,  roared  like  bulls,  and  cried  upon  Setebos  to 
help  them. 

«  For  no  kind  of  traffic 

Would  I  admit,  no  name  of  magistrate. "—h-ci  II.  Sc,  1. 
Shakspeare  has  here  followed  a  passage  in  Montaigne, 
•s  ti-ansiat'd  by  John  Florio,  1603:— "It  is  a  nation  that 
hath  no  kind  of  trafficke,  no  knowledge  of  letters,  no  in- 
telligence of  numbers,  no  name  of  magistrate,  no,  of  politic 
tuperioritie ;  no  use  of  service,  qj  riches  or  of  povertie ; 
HO  contracts,  no  successions,  no  partitions,  ko  occupation, 
but  idle;  no  respect  of  kindred  but  common ;  no  apparel  but 
natural ;  no  use  of  wine,  corn,  or  metal.  The  very  words 
that  import  lying,  falsehood,  treason,  dissimulations,  cove- 
tousncss  envie,  detraction,  and  pardon,  were  never  heard 
(imongst  them." 

&vvietiiR£  like  apes,  that  mow  and  chatter  at  me. 
And  after  bate  me;  then  like  hedge  hogs,  which 
Lie  (  HmLling  in  my  bare  foot  way."— Act  II,  Sc.  2. 
Perlups  taken  from  a  passage  in  Harsnet's  Declaration 
OJf  Popish  Impostures.   "They  make  antike  faces,  grin, 
n^i  I  mop,  like  an  ape  ;  tumble  like  an  hed(]e-hogJ>— 

*  A  dead  Indian Ac\  II.  Sc.  2. 

Sir  Martin  Frobisher,  when  he  returned  from  his  voyage 
?f  discovery,  brought  with  him  some  native  Indians.  In 
his  History  of  the  First  Voyage  for  the  Discoverie  of  Ca- 
tayn,  we  have  the  folhiwing  account  of  a  savage  taken  by 
bim:— "  Whereupon,  when  he  found'"  himself  in  caplivitie, 
for  very  choler  and  disdain,  he  bit  his  tong  in  twaine, 
Vtthin  his  mouth  .  notwithstanding,  he  died  not  thereof, 
feet  Uved  iintill  he  came  in  Em/lande.  and  then  he  died 
tfcolde,  which  he  had  taken  at  sea."- STEEVENS. 
"Nor  scrape  trencher ing," — Act  HI.  Sc.  I. 

In  our  author's  time,  trench-  rs  were  in  general  use,  and 
male  domestics  were  employed  in  cleansing  ihem.  «  I  have 
helped,  (sa>s  Lyly  in  his  History  of  his  Life  and  Times, 
1^20,)  to  carry  eighteen  tubs  of  water  in  one  morning  ;  all 
Kuanner  of  drudgery,  1  willingly  performed;  scrape- 
trenchers,"  ^-f.- IVIALONE. 

"  He  were  n  brave  monster  indeed,  if  they  were  set  in  his 
tail."— Act  III.  Sc.  2. 

Probably  in  allusion  to  Stowe.  It  seems  in  the  year 
1574  a  whale  was  thrown  a.shore  near  Ramsgate,  "  a  mons- 
trous fish,  but  not  so  monstrous  as  some  reported,  for 
his  eyes  were  in  his  head,  and  not  in  his  hack." 
"This  is  the  tune  of  our  catch,  played  by  the  picture  of 
Nobody."— Act  III.  Sc.  2. 

A  ridiculous  figure,  sometimes  painied  on  .signs.  West- 

TWO  GENTLEM 

*  Nn>/,  give  me  not  the  boots."— Act.  I.  Sc.  I. 

Th*i  hoot  was  an  instninient  of  torture  used  only  in 
Scotls.id.  Bi.shop  Burnet  mentions  one  Maccacl.  a  prea(  her, 
:yho  being  suspected  of  treason,  underwent  the  punishment 
go  late  as  If^  "  Ke  was  put  to  the  torture,  which,  in  Scot- 
land, they  cf<\\  the  boots;  for  they  put  a  pair  of  iron  boots 
rlose  oi'  the  Isg,  and  drive  wedges  betweea  these  and  the 
kc.  The  common  torture  was  only  to  drive  tliese  on  the 
mil  Mft'Je  leg,  hut  \  have  been  toM  they  were  sometimes 
ihii  /  n  upon  the  shin  boas."— R.ERD. 

«  A  i need  mutton  "—.Act  |.  8c.  I. 

A  tacsd  nuitwu  was.  in  our  auf  linr'.s  time,  so  usual  a  term 
Ibra  courtezan,  that  a  .street  in  Clerkenwell  much  frequent- 
ed fey  prostitutes,  was  called  M^'fon  Laiie.—MALOISE. 

"  1  see  yiM  have  a  month''s  mind  to  them."—Ac\.  I.  Sc.  2. 

A  month's  mind  was  an  anniversary  in  times  of  po- 
pery ;  or  a  less  solemnity  diiectt-d  by  will.    There  was 
also  a  year's  mind,  and  a  week's  mind.    So  in  Strype's 
Rlemorials,  "  July  1556,  was  the  month's  mind  of  Sir  Wil 
Uam  Saxtrn,  who  died  the  last  month,  his  hearse  burning 


waid  for  Sinelts,  a  book  which  our  poets  seems  tohave  read, 
was  printed  for  John  Trundle,  in  Barbican,  at  the  sign  or 
the  No  hod// ;  or  the  allusion  may  be  to  the  print  of 
body,  an  prefixed  to  the  anonymous  coinedv  of  No-body 
auff  S.ome  body,  without  date,  but  printed  before  the  vear 
1606  — MALOiXE. 

"  One  tree,  the  Phanix'  throne."— Act  III.  Sc.  3. 
In  Holland's  Pliny,  the  following  passage  occurs  :  "  I 
myselfe  verily  have  heard  stt  aunge  things  of  this  kind  of 
tree  :  an;!,  namely,  in  regard  of  the  bird  Phosnix,  which  is 
supposed  to  have  taken  that  name  of  this  Dr.te  Tres  ;  fov 
it  was  assured  unto  me,  that  the  said  bird  died  with  that 
tree,  and  revived  of  itselfe  as  the  tree  sprung  ajfalc." 


Mountaineers, 


Dew-lapp'd  like  bulls,  whose  throats  had  hanging  at  them 
Wallets  of  flesh  ?"—Act  HI,  Sc.  3. 

Whoever  is  curious  to  know  the  particulars  relative  to 
these  mountaineers,  may  consult  Maundeville  s  Travels, 
printed  in  l.'jOS :  but  it  is  yet  a  Xnown  truth,  that  the  inha- 
bitants of  the  Alps  have  been  long  accustomed  to  such 
excrescences  or  tumours. — STEEVENS. 

"Each  putter-out  of  one  for  five. "—Act  III.  Sc.  3. 
The  custom  here  alluded  to  was  as  follows:— It  was  a 
practice  of  those  who  engaged  in  long  and  hazardous  ex- 
peditions, to  place  out  a  sum  of  money,  on  condition  oi 
receiving  great  interest  for  it  at  their  return  home.  So  in 
Ben  Jcnson's  Every  Man  in  his  Humour :—"  I  do  intend 
this  year  of  jubilee  coming  on,  to  travel;  and  (because  I 
will  not  altogether  go  upon  expence)  I  am  determimed  to 
put  awwfive  thousand  pounds,  to  be  paid  me  five  for  one, 
upon  the  return  of  ray  wife,  myself,  and  my  dog,  frcm  tlio 
Turk's  court,  in  Constantinople." 

*  Like  poison,  given  to  work  a  great  time  after."* 
Act  HI.  Sc.  3. 
Tlie  natives  of  Africa  were  supposed  to  he  posses.sed  of 
the  secret  how  to  temper  poisons  with  such  ait,  as  not  t» 
oi)erate  till  several  years  after  they  were  administered. 
Italian  travellers  relate  similar  effect's  of  the  aqua  tofana, 
a  subtle,  colourless  and  tasteless  poison,  which  ladies  carry 
about  them,  and  have  at  their  toiiets,  among  their  pei fumed 
waters,  for  the  purpose  of  administering  in  the  drink  ol 
:  faithless  lovers.    In  the  chapel  at  Arundel,  is  the  eliigy  ol 
a  nobleman  of  flie  Howard  family,  who,  having  incurred 
the.jeahmsy  of  an  Italian  lady  during  his  travels,  was  poi- 
soned in  this  manner,  and  died  after  lingering  many  yeari. 
The  effigy  represents  him  nearly  naked,  his  bones  scarcely 
I  covered  by  his  skin,  and  presenting  altogether  a  most  de- 
I  plorable  spectacle. 

''And  all  be  turn'd  to  barnacles,  or  to  apes.— Act  IV.  Sc.  1 
Caliban's  barnacle  is  the  clakis  or  tree- goose.  Collins 
very  sinyjly  tells  us,   that  the  barnacle  wliich  grows  on 
ships  was  meant,   and  quotes  the  following  passage  to 
support  liis  o|)inion ,—"  There  are,  in  the  n^rt'-'  parts  of 
i  Scotland,  oertaim.  tr^es,   whereon  do  grow  stjei'.  ashes, 
'  which,  falling  in  the  water,  do  become  fowls,  whom  we  call 
I  barnacles;  in  the  north  of  England,  brant-neese j  and  in 
':  Lancashire,  tree-geese."— DOVCE. 

I  «  Some  subtiltie  o'  the  isle."— Act  V.  Sc.  1. 

I  Thi.s  is  a  phrase  adopted  from  ancient  cookery  and  con- 
fectionery. When  a  dish  w;is  so  contrived  as  to  appear 
unlike  what  it  renlly  was,  they  called  it  a  subtilty.  Dra- 
eons,  cnstlefc,  trees,  8tc.  made  out  of  suiiar,  had  the  like 
denomiiial  ion. —STEEVENS. 

EN  OF  VERONA. 

witii  wa\,  and  tiie  morrow  mass  celebrated.  Km  a  cermoa 

preached."— GllEY. 

«  Sir  Valenti^ie  and  setvarA  » — Act  II.  Sc.  1. 
Here  Silvia  calls  her  lovtr  servant,  and  again  bela«r« 
l^er  gentle  servant.    This  was  the  language  of  l»iie»  t« 
their  lovers  when  Shakspeare  wrote.— HAW  KINS. 
"A  waxen  image  ^gamst  a fire^AcX  II.  Sc.  4. 
AllUdin;;  to  the  fifpires  made  by  witches,  as  r6?iri-2i?«l4 
lives  of  those  whom  1  hey  de.signed  to  toitnent  or  destroy. 
King  James  ascribes  these  images  to  the  devil,  in  his  Trfa- 
lise  of  Daemonologie  :  "  to  some  others  at  these  lime.s  he 
tearheth  kow  to  make  pictures  of  waxe  or  claye,  that  by 
the  masting  thereof,  the  persons  that  they  bear  the  nf,me 
tfrnay  be  contiiiunily  tnelted,  and  dried  away  by  continual 
birknesse."- W  ESTON. 

"  With  a  end  pifCf-."—Act  II.  Sc.  7. 
Wlioever  wishes  to  be  informed  res|)ec(iiis  thi.s  par/ieular 
relative  todn  ss,  may  consult  Bnliver's  Artili<  ial  Ch:inge- 
lin^.  It  is  mentioned,  too,  in  Tyro's  Roaring  Megge,  15b<J.— 


806 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


*  fyro^i  rovnd  breeches  have  a  cliffe  behind. 
And  that  same  perking  longiludf  before; 
Whick,forapincase,  antique  plowmen  wore." 

Ocular  instruction  may  be  had  from  the  armour  shewn  as 
f<»lin  of  Gaunt's,  in  the  Tower  of  London.  The  custom  of 
slicking  pins  in  this  ostentations  piece  of  indecency  was  con- 
tinued by  the  Tower-wardens,  till  forbidden  by  authority. 
—STEVENS.  ^ 

*  Saint  Nicnolas  be  thy  speed'.»—kci  III,  Sc.  1. 
That  tbss  saint  presided  over  young  scholars,  may  be 

fathered  from  Knight's  Life  of  Dean  CoUett ;  for  by  the 
statutes  of  Paul's  School  there  inserted,  the  chiWren  're 
(-quired  to  attend  divine  service  at  the  cathedral  c«i  his 
jimveisk.ry.  The  jeason,  probably^  was,  that  the  legend 
69  this  sai)it  makes  him  to  have  been  a  bishop,  while  he  was 
boy.-iLlWKINS. 

«  The  cover  of  the  salt  hides  the  sa/f."— Act  III.  Sc.  1. 

The  ancient  English  salt-cellar  was  very  different  from 
L'ie  modern,  being  a  large  piece  of  plate,  fjenerally  much 
croaniented,  with  a  cover  to  keep  the  salt  clt  an.  ! 

MERRY  WIVES 

^  How  does  your  fallow  greyhound,  sir?  I  heard  say  he 
was  out-ruji  on  Cotsale." — Act  I.  Sc.  1. 
He  means  Cotswold,   in  Gloucestershire.    In  the  be-  '■ 

finning  of  James  the  First's  reign,  by  permission  of  the 
ing,  one  Dover,  a  public-spirited  attorney  ofBarton-on 
the-Hcath,  in  Warwickshire,  instituted  on  the  hills  of 
Cotswold  an  annual  celebration  of  games,  consisting  of 
rural  sports  and  exercises.  The.se  he  ccmstantly  conducted 
in  person,  well  mounted  and  accoutred  in  a  suit  of  his  ma- 
jesty's old  clothes;  and  they  were  frequented  above  forty 
years  by  the  nobility  and  gentry  for  sixty  miles  round,  till 
the  ?:rand  rebellion  abolished  every  liberal  establishment. 
T.  WARTON. 

"  Mill- sixpences." — Act  I.  Sc.  I. 
It  appears  from  a  passage  in  Sir  William  D'Avenant's 
Nows  irom  Pliratruth,  that  these  mill  sixpences  were  used 
b  r  way  of  counters  to  cast  up  money  : 

«  a  few  miWd  sixpences,  with  which 

My  purser  casts  accompt.  STEEVENS. 
Edward  sJt.ov el-boards." — Act  I.  Sc.  1. 
"  Edward  shovel  boards "  were  the  broad  shillings  of 
fji'lward  VI.    Taylor,  the  water-poet,  in  his  Travel  of 
rwelve-peuce,  makes  him  complain: 

«  the  tmthrift  every  day 

With  my  face  downwards  do  at  shoave-board  play  ; 
That  had  J  had  a  beard,  you  ntay  suppose,  ' 
th^y  had  jooine  it  nff,  as  they  have  done  my  nose" 

FARMER. 

K  Go,  sin-ah,  for  all  you  are  my  man,  go  wait  upon  my 
^jushi  Shallow .'^—kcX  I.  Sc  I. 

This  passa^2:e  shews  that  it  was  formerly  the  custom  in 
?!^iand,  as  k  is  now  in  France,  for  persons  to  be  attended 
^it  dinner  by  their  own  servants,  wherever  they  dined. 
■"MASON. 

''A  master  offence." — Act  I.  Sc.  1. 
Fencing  was  taught  as  a  regular  science.  Three  degrees 
were  usually  taken  rn  this  art,  a  master's,  a  provost's,  and 
a  scholar's.  For  each  of  these  a  prize  was  played,  as  exer- 
cises are  kept  in  universities  foi  similar  purposes.  The 
T.-eapons  they  used  were  the  axe,  the  pike,  rapier  and  tar- 
get, rapier  and  cloaJi.,  two  swords,  the  two  hand  sword, 
(he  ba-stard  sword,  the  dagger  and  stall",  the  sword  and 
buckler,  tlie  rapier  and  dagger,  &c.  The  places  where 
they  exercised  were,  comimjcly,  theatres,  halls,  or  other 
enclosures  sufficient  to  contain  a  number  of  spectators ,  as 
Ely  place  in  liolborn  ;  the  Belle  Sauvage,  onLudgate-hlU; 
Hamilton-court,  the  Artillery-garden,  STEEVENS. 
«  Sackerson  "—Act  I.  Sc.  2. 
Sackerson  or  Sctcarson  was  the  name  of  a  bear,  exhibited 
in  our  author's  time,  at  Paris  Garden.  See  an  old  book  of 
l^igrams  by  Sir  John  Dav.es  : 

«  Puhlitts,  a  student  of  the  common  law. 
To  taris  Garden  doth  himself  withdraw  ; 
Leaving  old  Floy  den.  Dyer,  and  Broke,  alone. 
To  vee  old  Harry  Hunkes,  and  Sacarson." — MALONE. 
*  She  -iiscourses,  she  carves,  she  gives  the  leer  ofinvitU" 
en."— Act  <   Sc.  3. 

Anciently,  tiie  young  of  both  sexes  were  instructed  in 
carving,  as  a  necessary  accomplishment,  tt  seems  to  have  | 
been  considered  a  mark  of  kindness  when  a  lady  cnrvfd  to 
a  gentleman.  So  in  Vittoria  Corombona :  *  Your  husband 
is  wondrous  discontented.  I  did  nothing  to  di.splease  him; 
\  carved  to  him  at  supper-time."— STEEVENS  and  BOS- 
WELL. 

 for  gourd  andfullam  holds. 

And  high  and  low  beguile  the  rich  and  poor." 

Act  I,  Sc.  3. 

Gourds  were,  probably,  dice  in  which  a  secret  cavity  had 
oeen  made  :  FuUams.  (so  called  bc  ause  chiefly  made  at 
Fulhani,)  those  which  had  been  loaded  with  a  small  bit  of 
lead.  High  men  and  low  men.  which  are  also  cant  terms, 
explain  themselves.  High  numbers  on  the  dice,  at  hazard, 
are  from  five  to  twelve  inclusive  ;  low,  from  aces  to  four.— 
MALONE. 

"Flemish  drunkard."  Act  II.  Sc  1. 

It  is  not  without  cause  that  this  reproachful  phrase  is 


"  Upon  whose  grace  tlou  vow'd'st  pure  chastity.  >* 

.-iit  IV.  .5c  i 

It  was  common  informer  ages  for  widowers  and  wido^'v* 
to  makt»  vowsof  chastity,  in  honour  of  their  deceased  wives 
or  husbands.  luDugdale's  Antiquities  of  Warwickshire, 
there  is  the  form  of  a  commission  by  the  bishop  of  the  dio- 
cese for  taking  a  vow  of  chastity  by  a  widow.  It  seems  that 
besides  observins  thevow,  the  widow  w»<s  for  ifeto  wear  a 
veil,  andamourmngflatit.  The  seme  distinction  we  insy 
suppose  to  have  been  made  in  respect  of  male  YttarMt* 
STEEVENS. 

"  But  .ii?ice  she  did  neglect  her  looking  gtass, 

And  threw  her  sun-expelling  mask  away." — Act  FV.  So.  4. 

"When  they  use  to  ride  abroad,  they  have  masks  or  vi- 
zors, made  of  velvet,  wherewith  they  cover  all  their  faces 
having  holes  made  in  them  against  their  eyes,  whereow 
they  look  ;  so  that  if  a  man  that  knew  not  their  guise  be- 
fore, should  chance  to  meet  one  of  them,  he  would  think  ha 
met  a  monster  or  a  devil,  for  face  he  can  shew  (see)  none, 
but  two  broad  holes  against  their  eyes,  with  glasses  io 
♦hein.''-ANATOMIE  OF  ABUSES,  1595, 

OF  WINDSOR. 

used.  Sir  John  Smythe,  in  Certain  Discourses,  4to.  l»9fl 
says,  that  the  habit  of  drinking  to  excess  was  introduced 
into  Kiigland  from  the  Low  Countries,  "by  some  of  our 
such  men  of  warre  within  these  verie  few  years:  whereof 
it  is  come  to  passe  that  now- a  dayes  there  are  very  few 
feast  es  where  our  said  men  of  warre  are  present,  but  they 
do  invite  and  procure  all  the  companje,  of  what  calling 
soever  they  be,  to  carowsing  and  quaifmg ;  and  because 
they  will  not  be  denied  their  challenges,  they,  with  manie 
new  conges,  ceremonies,  and  reverences,  drinke  to  the 
healthe  and  prosperitie  of  princes;  to  the  liealthe  of  coun- 
sellors, and  unto  the  healthe  of  their  greatest  friends,  both 
ai  home  and  abroad  :  in  which  exercise  they  nevei  cease  till 
they  be  deade  drunke,  or,  as  the  Flemings  say,  doot 
dronken,"  He  adds,  «  and  this  aforesaid  detestable  vice 
hath,  within  these  six  or  seven  years,  taken  wonderful 
roote  amongst  our  English  nation,  that  in  times  past  was 
wont  to  be  of  all  other  nations  in  Christendome  one  oftSie 
soberest.  "—REED. 

"  3Iy  long  sword."— Act  II.  Sc.  1. 
Before  the  introduction  of  rapiers,  the  swords  in  qs* 
were  of  an  enormous  length,  and  sometimes  raised  with 
both  hnn-d.^.  Shallow,  with  an  old  man's  vanity,  censures 
the  ini;ovation  by  which  lighter  weapons  were  introtluced, 
tells  what  he  could  once  have  done  with  h  s  Ic'd  su'ord, 
and  ridicules  the  terms  and  rules  of  the  rapie.r.  Shak.spear® 
commits  a  great  anachronism  in  making  Shallow  lalJs  ot  tag 
rapier  in  Henry  IV. 's  reign,  an  hundred  and  seventy  years 
before  it  was  used  in  England.— JOH^J  SON. 

"  WAeti  Mistress  Bridget  lost  the  handle  of  her  fan," 

Act  II.  Sc.S 

It  should  be  remembered  that in  our  authjt  's  time, 
were  more  costly  than  they  are  at  present,  as  well  as  of « 
difierent  construction.  They  consisted  of  ostrich  feathers, 
(or  others  of  equal  leng  h  and  fleiibility,)  which  were  stucK 
into  handles.  The  richer  sort  of  these  were  composed  ol 
gold,  silver  or  ivory,  of  curious  workmanship,  and  fre- 
quently ornamented  with  precious  stones.  Mention  U 
made  in  the  Sydney  Papers,  of  a  fttn  presented  to  Queet 
Elizabeth,  for  a  new  year's  gift,  the  handle  of  which  was 
studded  with  diamonds.  It  was  not  uncommon  among  tiiA 
foppish  young  noblemen  of  that  age,  to  carry  fnns  of  this 
splendid  description  ;  a  singular  piece  of  effeminacy  for 
that  early  period.— STEEVENS,  &c. 

"  Red  lattice  phrases."— Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

Red  lattice  at  the  doors  and  windows  were  forjnerly  the 
<*xternal  denotements  of  an  ale-house.  Hence  the  present 
chequers.  In  one  of  Shackerley  Marmion's  plays  we  read 
*  a  waterman's  widow  at  the  signe  of  the  Rt  d  Lattice  in 
Southwark."  It  is  a  curious  circumstance,  that  the  sign  ol 
the  Chequers  was  common  among  the  Romans.  It  waa 
found  in  several  of  the  streets  excavated  at  Pompeii. 

STEEVENS. 
"  Amaimon—Barbaton'.— Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

Reginald  Scott  informs  us,  that  "  the  demon  Amaimon 
\rm  king  of  the  East,  and  Barbatos  a  great  countie  or 
earle."  Randle  Holme,  however,  in  his  4kcademy  of  Ar- 
mory and  Blazon,  tells  us  that,  "  Amaymon  is  the  chief 
whose  dominion  is  on  the  north  side  of  the  infernal  gulpb ; 
and  Uiat  Barbatos  is  like  »  Sagittarius,  and  hath  thirty 
legions  under  him."— STEEVENS. 

"  That  becomes  the  ship-tire,  the  tire-valiant,  or  any  tire 
of  Kf7iitian  admittance."— Act  III.  Sc.  3 

The  extravagance  of  female  dress  is  here  satirized.  Wi 
shall  give  an  extract  or  two  on  this  subject  from  contem- 
porary authors  ; 

"  Their  heads,  with  their  top  and  top  gallant  lawne  baby 
caps,  and  snow-resembled  silver  curlings,  tliey  make  a 
plain  puppet  stage  of.  Their  breasts  embushe  up  on 
hie,  and  their  round  roseate  buds  they  immodestly  lay 
forth,  to  shew  at  their  hands  there  is  fruit  to  be  hoped.'' 
Nashe's  Christ's  Teares,  04  — "Oh,  what  a  wonder  it  is  to 
see  a  ship  under  saile  wiih  her  tacklings  and  her  masts, 
and  her  tops  and  her  top  gallants,  with  her  upper  d.  cks 
and  nether  decks,  and  so  bedeckt,  with  her  streamers,  flags 
and  ensignes,  and  I  know  not  what;  yea,  but  a  world  ol 
wonders  it  is  to  see  a  woman  created  in  God's  image,  s* 
miscreate  oft  limes  and  deformed  with  her  French,  her 
Spanish,  and  her  foolish  fashions,  that  he  who  made  bet 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


807 


wksn  de  looks  upon  her,  shall  hardly  know  her  with  her 
plumes,  her  fans,  and  her  silken  vizard,  with  a  rutte  like  a 
saile  ;  yea,  aruffe  Like  a  rainbuv),  v:ilh  a  feather  in  her 
sap.  like  a  fliig  m  her  top,  tu  teii  {I  thiuke)  which  ivny  the 
wind  v)ill  hlutr.  It  is  proverbially  said,  that  far- feti  ht  and 
dear  bought  is  fittest  for  ladies  :  as  now  a-daies  what 
groweth  at  home  is  base  and  lioniely  ;  and  what  everie  one 
eates  is  meate  for  dwgs  ;  and  wee  must  have  breade  from 
another  ;  aiifl  \^  ee  must  liave  meate  from  Spaine,  and  sauce 
out  of  Italy;  and  if  wei' «  fare  anyihing,  ii  must  be  pure 
Veniiian.  Roman,  or  barht?iian  ;  but  the  !a:hion  of  all 
miist  be  Frencli.''  The  M^rvkani  Roy  ail,  asernuiu  preached 
at  VVIiiie  hall,  before  tlu;  kings  maiestie,  at  the  nuptialls 
of  Lord  Hay  and  his  la<Iy,  Twelfth  day,  1607  —REED. 
"  And  smell  like  Buckler sbury,  in  simple  time." 

Act  in.  Sc..  3. 

B'icklfrsbury,  in  the  time  of  Shakspcare,  was  chiefly  in- 
halii.i  dby  druggists,  who  sold  all  kinds  of /ier6s,  greenas 
weii  as  dry.— UTEEW  El>iS. 


"  Let  the  sky  rain  potatoes  ;  hall  kissing-conijits,  and 
snow  erinyoes  ;  let  there  come  a  tempest  of  provocation," 

ActV.  Sc.  5. 

Potaloes,  when  they  were  first  introduced  in  England, 
were  supposed  to  be  stroiig provocatives.  Kissing  -unijita 
were  sugar-plums,  perfumed  to  make  the  breaiii  sufct. 
Eringues.  like  potatoes,  were  esteemed  to  be  stimulaiires. 
But  Shakspcare,  probably,  had  the  iollowing  artifuia.1 
temjiest  in  iiis  thoughts,  when  lie  wrote  the  above  pass;ige 
Holinshr  d  informs  us  that  in  the  year  1583,  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  Prim  e  Alasco,  was  performed  "  a  verie  statelie 
tragedie,  namt  d  Dido,  wht-reiu  the  queen's  banket  (with 
jEneas's  description  of  the  destruction  of  Troie,)  was  lively 
described  in  a  marchpane  patterne  ;  the  tempest  wherein 
it  hailed  small  conjects,  rained  rose-water,  and  snew  an 
artificial  kind  of  snow,  all  strange,  marvellous,  and  ahun- 
dant."— STEEVENS. 


TWELFTH  NIGHT. 


*  Taou  shatt  present  me  as  an  eunuch  to  him. — Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

WTien  the  practise  of  castration  was  adopted  first,  solely 
to  improve  the  voice,  is  \incertain.   The  first  regular  opera 
was  performed  at  Florence,  in  160O.  Till  about  1633,  musical 
dramas  were  only  occasionally  performed  in  the  palaces 
of  princes,  and  cons-  quently  before  that  period  eunuchs 
could  not  abound.   The  first  euuucli  that  was  .sutfered  to 
sing  in  the  Pope's  rha!)ei  was  in  KiOO.  So  early,  liowever,  as 
1604,  eunuchs  are  mentioned  by  Marston  in  the  IMalcontent, 
as  excelling  iu  singing.    «Yes,  i  can  SiUg,  fool,  if  you'll 
bear  the  burden ;  an  1  i  can  niay  upon  instruments  scurvily,  , 
as  gentlemen  do.   O  that  I  had  been  gelded !  I  should  then  ; 
have  been  a  fat  fool  for  a  chamber,  a  squeaking  fool  for  a  i 
tavern,  and  a  private  fool  for  all  the  ladies."— MALONE. 

"  Like  a  parish  top." — Act  I.  Sc.  3.  i 
A  large  top  was  formerly  kept  in  every  village,  to  be 
whipped  in  frosty  weathi-r,  that  the  peasants  might  be  kept 
warm  by  exercise  and  out  of  mischief  when  they  could  not  i 
work.-^TEEVENS.  I 
"  Mistress  MalPs  picture." — Act  I.  Sc.  3.  | 
The  real  name  of  the  woman  here  alluded  to  was  Mary  ! 
Frith.   The  title  slie  was  commonly  known  by  v/as  Mall 
Cutpurse.   She  was  at  once  an  hermaphrodite,  a  prostitute, 
a  bawd,  aiba.ly.  a  thief,  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods.  &c. 
On  the  books  of  the  Stationer's  Company,  August,  1610,  is 
entered,  «A  Booke  cailed  the  Madde  Prancks  of  Merry 
Mall  of  the  Bankside,  with  her  walkes  in  Men's  Apparel, 
and  to  wliat  purpose.   Written  by  John  Day  »  Middleton 
and  Becker  wrote  a  play  oalied  the  Roaring  Girl,  of  which 
she  is  the  heroine,  ami  the  frontispiece  of  this  drama, 
puhlislied  in  1611,  contains  a  full  length  portrait  of  her  in 
man's  cloihes,  smokiiig  tobacco.    There  is  a  MS.  in  the 
British  Museu^B.  iu  which  au  account  is  given  of  Mall's 
doing  penance  at  St.  Pa  il's  Cross.    Her  extrava,gant  con- 
duct and  shameless  vices  seem  to  have  rendered  her  infa- 
mously public. 

"  A  most  ivfak  pia-mater." — Act  1.  Sc.  5. 
The  via  mater  is  th<.>  mi^mhrane  which  immediately  covers 
tlie  substance  of  the  brain.— STEEVENS. 
"  Stand  at  ymrdoor  like  a  sheriff's  post." — Act  I.  Sc.  5. 
It  was  the  custom  Cor  that  officer  t  o  have  large  posts  set 
up  at  his  door  as  an  aidicatioti  of  his  office,  tlie  original  of 
w*ich  was.  that  the  king's  proclamations  and  other  public 
acts  might  be  atixed  thereto.— WARBURTON. 
"  lyid  you  never  see  the  picture  of  we  three  ?" — Act  II.  Sc.  3. 

An  ftilusion  to  an  o^d  print  frequently  pasted  on  country 
ale  house  walls,  representing  two,  but  under  which  the 
spectator  reads.  We  three  are  asses. — MALONE. 

"  Dost  thou  think,  because  thou  art  virtuous,  there  shall 
be  no  mure  cakes  and  ale  ?" — Act  II,  Sc.  3. 

It  was  the  custom  on  saint's  days  and  holidays,  to  make 
cakes  in  honour  of  the  day.  The  Puritans  thought  this  a 
superstition,  and  Maria  -says,  that  *Malvolio  is  sometimes  a 
kind  of  Puritan. "-LETHERLAND. 

 ''Rub  your  chain  with  crums." — Act  II,  Sc.  3. 

Stewards  in  great  families  were  formerly  distinguished  by 
wearing  a  gold  chain.   The  usual  mode  of  cleaning  this  or- 
nament was  by  nibbing  it  with  bread  crumbs.    See  Web 
ster's  Duchess  ofMalfy,  1623.    "Yea,  and  the  chippings  of 
the  buttery  fly  after  him,  to  scouer  his  gold  chain."— S'lEE- 

"  Having  come  from  m  day  bed." — Act  II.  Sc.  5. 

It  was  usual  in  Shakspeare's  time,  for  the  rich  to  have 
ilay-beds  or  couches.    Spenser,  in  his  Fairy  Queen,  has 
irupped  a  stroke  of  satire  on  this  lazy  fa.shion  : 
"  So  v>as  that  chamber  clad  in  goodly  wize 
And  round  about  it  many  beds  were  dight. 
As  wkilome  was  the  antique  worldes  guize, 
S<)mefor  untimely  ease,  some  for  delight," 

STEEVENS. 
^  *  Wind  up  my  watch." — Act  II.  Sc.  5. 

Pocket  watches  were  first  brought  from  Germany  about 
'the  year  ir*0,  go  that  in  Shakspeare's  time  they  wer^  very 
Bncoiuinon  Wlieii  Guy  Faux  was  taken,  it  was  urged  as 
ft  circatDstr^nce  of  suspicion,  that  a  watch  was  found  upon 
him.-JOHNSON. 

«  Yellow  stockings.^— KciW.  Sc.  5. 
Before  the.  civil  wars,  yellov)  stockings  were  mnch  worn. 
We  quote  two  passages  to  prove  this  : — 

«  . ,  xhice  she  cayinot 

Wear  her  own  linen  yellow,  yet  she  shows 


Her  love  to't,  and  makes  kirn  weare  yellow  hose." 

THE  WORLD  TOSS'l)  Al  TENNIS. 
And  in  the  Honest  Whore,  by  Decker  :  "  What  stockings 
have  you  put  on  this  morning,  madam?  if  they  he  not  yel- 
low, change  them."— STEEVENS. 

"  Clovmwith  a  tabor."— Act  III.  Sc.  1. 
Tarleton,  the  celebrated  fool  or  clown  of  the  stage  before 
Shakspeare's  time,  is  exhibited  in  a  print  prefixed  to  his 
jests,  IfiH ,  with  &  tabor.   Perhaps,  in  imitation  of  him,  the 
sub.«equeat  dramatic  clowns  usually  appeared  with  one, 

MAL  NE. 

"  If  thou  thou'st  him  some  thrice,  it  shall  not  be  amiss.  " 

Act  H.  Sc.  2. 

Alluding  to  a  passage  in  the  speech  of  the  attorney  general 
Coke,  at  the  trial  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  «A!1  that  he  did 
was  by  thy  instigation,  thou  viper;  for  i  tkou  thee,  thou 
traytor.  "—THEOBALD. 

"  He  does  smile  his  face  into  more  lines,  than  are  in  t^e 
new  map,  with  the  augmentaiion  of  the  hidies.  " 

Act  III.  Sc.  3. 

A  clear  al'usion  to  a  map  engraved  for  Linschoten's 
Voyages,  an  English  translation  of  which  was  publi.'ilied  iu 
1598.  This  map  is  multilineal  in  the  extreme,  and  is  the 
first  in  which  the  Eastern  Islands  are  included. 

STEEVENS, 
"  Why  dost  thou  smile  so,  and  kiss  thy  hand  so  olt 

Act.  IH.  Sc.  4. 

This  fantastical  custom  is  taken  notice  of  by  Barnaby 
Rice,  in  Faults,  and  Nothing  but  Faults,  1606.—''  And  these 
Fiov)ers  of  Conrtesie,  as  they  are  full  of  aftectation,  so  are 
they  no  less  formal  in  their  speeches,  full  of  fustian  phra 
ses,  many  times  delivering  such  sentences  as  do  betray 
an(i  lay  open  their  masters'  ignorance  ;  and  tliey  are  so  fre- 
fl^ue7it  with  the  kiss  on  the  hand,  that  word  shall  not  passe 
tuf-ir  moutiies,  till  they  have  clapt  their  fingers  over  their 
lippes."— REED. 

"  He  is  a  knight,  duhb'd  with  unhatch'd  rapier,  and  o* 
carpet  consideratio7t." — Act  HI.  Sc.  4. 

That  is,  he  rs  no  soldier  by  profession,  not  a  knight  ban- 
neret, dubbed  on  the  field  of  battle,  but  on  carpet  conside- 
ratinn,  at  a  festi^  ify,  or  on  some  peaceable  occasion,  whea 
knights  receive  their  dignity  kneeling;  not  in  war,  but  on 
a  carpet.  This  is,  I  believe,  the  original  of  the  contemo- 
tuous  term,  a  carpet  knight,  whc  was  naturally  held  ia 
scorn  by  the  men  of  war — JOHNSON 

"  Are  empty  trunks,  o'erflourished  &j,  the  devil.^ 

Act  III.  Sc.  4. 

In  the  time  of  Shakspeare,  trunks,  which  are  now  depo- 
sited in  lumber  rooms,  were  part  of  the  furniture  in  apart- 
ments where  company  was  received.  They  were  rii  hly  or- 
namented on  the  top  and  sides  with  scroll  work  and  emble- 
matical devices,  and  were  elevated  on  feet.— STEEVENS. 
"  Why  should  I  not,  had  I  the  heart  to  do  it. 

Like  to  the  Egyptian  thief  at  point  of  death. 

Kill  what  Hove."— \ct\.  Sc.  I. 
This  Egyptian  thief  was  Thyamis,  who  was  a  native  of 
Memphis,  and  at  the  head  of  a  band  of  robbers.  Theagene* 
and  Chariclea  falling  into  their  hands,  Thyamis  fell  «fespe- 
rately  in  love  with  the  lady,  and  would  have  married  hrr. 
Soon  after,  a  strong  body  of  robbers  coming  down  upon 
Thyamis's  forty,  he  was  in  such  fears  for  his  mistress,  tnat 
he  nad  her  shut  in  a  cave  with  his  treasures.  It  was  cus- 
tomary wi'ih  those  barbarians,  "  when  they  despaired  oi 
their  own  safety,  first  to  make  away  with  those  whom  thev 
held  dear,"  and  desired  for  companions  in  the  next  life. 
Thyamis,  therefore,  benetted  round  with  his  enemies, 
raging  with  love,  jealousy,  and  anger,  went  to  Hie  cave, 
and  c-illiug  aloud  in  the  lEgyptian  tongue,  as  soon  as  he 
hrard  himself  answered  towards  the  cave's  mouth  by  a 
Grecian,  making  to  the  person  by  tlie  direction  of  the  voice, 
he  caught  her  by  the  hair  with  his  left  hand,  and  (sur)posin.? 
her  to  lie  Chariclea,)  with  the  right  hand  plunged  liis  .swoni 
into  her  breast.  This  story  is  taken  from  Heliodorus'i 
.(Ethiopics,  of  which  a  translation  by  Thomas  Unde.'dowtte 
appeared  in  1587.— THEOBALD. 

"  Af  ter  a  passy  measure,  or  a  pavin — Act  V.  Sc.  1* 
The  pavan,  from  pavo  a  peacocK,  is  a  grave  and  majestic 
dance.  The  method  of  dancing  it  was  by  gentlemen  dressed 
with  ca  1  and  sword,  bj  those  of  the  long  robe  in  theit 
gowns,  by  princi-s  in  iheir  nianties,  and  liy  ladies  in  gowns 
with  long  trains,  the  in.tion  whereof,  jn  the  dance,  rc 
sembied  thai  of  r  :  t      ^sui  J.  HAWKINS. 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 
MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  n.  Sc  I. 


"  Some  run  from  brakes  ofvioe 
The  brake  v^ns  an  engine  of  torture  ;  we  fiiKUherolfowing 
passage  m  Hoims-bed  :— "  Tlie  sai(i  I«awkiiff,s  was  cast 

!I!*lVi^i,T°.'r'"n'''?''''''®','?'*'  ^'""ff^'  to  the  brake,  cal  ed 
in  (Jprision  llie  Duke  or  Exeter's  daughter  ;»  that  noble 

n  'n«  n?!n^V'^^"*"'^  /  ^""'^  '^'>^  ^orVi,!  engine  still 
r,  n  f/   K  V  '  of  a  i^trong  iron  frame 

?l  P  .  i,^l  nn'  '7'.^'  ""l''.hree  I  oilers  of  wood  within  it; 
(he  middle  one  of  these,  which  has  iron  teeth  at  each  end 
m.^r^T,")*^    f>y  two  stops  of  iron  and  was,  probably,  that 
pa  t  ot  ihe  mnchiiie  which  suspended  (he  povvers  of  the 
^^'fi'''>  t";  "I'll'appy  sutferer  was  sufficiently  strained 
10  tlie  cords,  &,c.  to  begin  confession.— STEEVENS. 
"  Greateat  thing  about  you."— Act  II.  Sc.  I. 
Mai  nson,  m  his  description  of  Britain,  condemns  the  ex- 
of  apparel  among  his  countrymen,  and  thus  proceeds  • 
—    Neither  can  we  be  more  .j  ustly  burdened  with  any  re- 
proche  than  laordinate  behaviour  in  apparell,  for  which 
most  nations  deride  us ;  as  also  for  l/iat  we  men  doe  seeme 
10  bestow  most  cost  upon  our  arses,  and  much  more  upon 
all  the  rest  of  our  bodies,  as  women  do  likewise  upon  their 
heads  and  shoulders."   Wide  breeches  were  extremely  fa- 

SSt  ;n»S '''''  ^  '''''' 


'  As  novj,  of /ate,  in  lesser  (hinges, 
To  furMijskeforthe  tkeare  pryde  ; 
With  woole,  witkftaxe,  with  hare  also, 
Fo  make  theare  bryches  wirfe."— DOUCE. 

V    1  •  "  .t  —merely,  thou  art  death's  fool  i 

r or  Aim  thou  labour  est.  by  thy  flight  to  shun, 
And  yet  rmis't  toward  him  still."— Act  IH.  Sc.  1. 
J."       ^J'' ^'17"*'^"  the  /oo/  of  the  piece,  in  order  to 
Sov  Jin,  rJi^f    approaches  of  death,  is  made  to  em 
\J   his  stratagems  to  avoid  him  ;  which,  as  the  matter 


ordered,  bring  the  fool  at  every  turn  into  his  very  jaws. 

RTON. 


WARBU 

And  his  use  was  to  put  a  ducat  in  her  clack-dish 
„,    ^  Act  III.  Sec.  2, 

1  he  beggars,  two  or  three  centuries  ago,  used  to  oro- 
clairn  t  leir  svanls  by  a  vwoden  dish  with  a  moveable  co- 
em  pt^.l^^STEE^ENS.*'^'  ''"^  '''''''  '''''' 
"  And  tie  the  beard."— Act  IV.  Sec.  2. 
The  Revival  recommends  Simpson's  emendation,  die  the 
D.-ard,  but  the  present  reading  may  stand.  Perhaps  it  was 
usuHl  to  tie  up  (he  b  ard  before  decollation.  It  .should 
ho'^^e.'er,  be  remembered  that  it  Aas  usual  to  die  beards. 
So  in  the  old  couiedy  of  Ram  Alley,  1611 :  "cdius. 

"  What  colui/r'd  beard  comes  next  by  the  'joindow  ? 
.1  Hack  man's,  I  think. 

I  .kink  a  red ;  for  that  is  most  in  fashion." 


And  in  the  Silent  Woman  '  1  have  fitted  my  divin,  \n4 
canomu,  dyed  their  beards  and  all."-iiTEE\ms 

"  Vou  knovj  the  course  is  comnion.»~ii  cl  IV.  Sec  2 
H^l'-vf  ^".^"^  Herovke  Life  and  Oeplorable  Death  of 

Henry  the  t  ouri he  of  France,  says,  that  Ravailb.c  in  tha 
n.idst  of  his  ortures  lifted  up  his  head  and  shil^k  a  sua  k 
or  tire  from  his  beard  "  This  unprofitable  care  (he  add  )  to 
save  It,  being  noted,  afforded  matter  to  divers  to  praise  tl'e 
c^^^tome  m  Germany,  Switzerland,  and  divers  other 
places,  t  o  shave  off,  and  then  to  burn  all  the  from  all 

Sus  crt e^"S^t'^"^'        ^^'^  '^""^•^^^^       -V  no- 


1  outlaw, 
Adam 
Cloudesle, 


'"'  At  the  bird- bolt: '—Act  I.  Sc.  1. 

*  short  thick  arrow  without  a  point,  and 
^r^ading  at  t  le  extremity  so  much  as  to  leave  a  ftat  sur- 
fece  about  the  breadth  of  a  shilling. -STEEV  ENS. 

'I","  ^''!f  ''Y'  ^''Z  i'"*     clapped  on  the  shoulder, 
ami  calieii  Ailani."— Act  I.  Sc.  1. 

Why  should  he.  be  called  Adam  ?  A  quotation  or  two  may 
l^',-   1  Who  Would  have  Thought  It  ? 

we  f.(.d  this  ..peech .  "  Adam  Bell,  a  substantial  outlaw. 

Pnsstng  good  archer,  yet  no  tobacconist." 
Bell,  Clyme  ..f  the  Cloughe,  and  Wyllyam  of  CI. 
were,  says  Dr.  i^ijrcy.  three  noted  out;aws,  whose  skill  in 
Z'unuV'\^  :Z''^         ;s  famous  in  the  north  of  England, 
" -I'-S^Svl^v'if  anJ  fHEOBALl).'"  '"''^'^"^ 
"  //;  do,  hang  me  in  a  bottle  tike  a  cat."— Act  I.  Sc  I 
Ir  some  counties  of  England,  a  ca<  was  formerly  closed 
DP  w  th  a  quantity  of  soot  in  a  wooden  bottle,  (such  as  that  in 
Mil'^wi''  T'l  t'>fir 'i'l^o'-)  and  was  suspended  on 
oJh  -  T]^"  bottom  as  he  ran  under  it, 

*^1"T*  ''Vr'^'';  to  escape  its  contents,  was  re 

garde  4  as  the  hero  of  this  inhuman  diversion. 

c,  ,.  STEEVENS. 
!>moking  a  musty  room."— Act.  I.  Sc.  3. 

a  vl'i  "^^'e<=t  of  cleanliness  among  our  ancestors  ren- 
dered such  precautions  too  often  necessary.  In  a  paper  of 
?r«inftMt  ^^^'^''^l  ^""t/,^^",  ^bickering's  stewardVelative 
^i't.'^fh  ^  Place,  before  Ehzabelh's  visits  to  it  in  1594,  the 
ftfteenfh  article  vi,  "  The  swetynyug.  of  the  house  in  all 

te.^^n^"^^'Q^^"^V,:  Burton Anatomie  o f 

lelancholie,  1632 :  «  The  smoake  of  juniper  is  in  great  re- 
«B8et  with  OS  at  Oxford,  to  sweeten  our  chambers  ^' 

STEEVENS. 
*  Hundred  merry  tales."—  Act  II.  Sc.  1. 
In  the  London  Chaunticleres,  1659,  this  work,  amoiir 
others,  is  cried  for  sale  by  a  ballad  man.— «  The  Seven 
ivise  Men  of  Gothaw  ;  a  Hundred  Merry  Tales;  Scog 
gin's  Jests,  Sec."  Of  this  collection  there  are  frequent  en- 
tries in  the  register  of  the  Stationers'  Company. 

STEEVENS. 

"  Carving  the  fashion  of  a  new  doublet."— Act  II  Sc.  3. 

"We  are  almost  as  fantastic  as  the  Engli^ll  gentleman 
that  is  pnimed  naked,  with  a  pairc  ot  sheares  m  his  liHiidi 
Bs  not  being  resolved  after  what  lasliion  to  have  his  cjat 
•ut"    R'^REWELL  TO  FOJ  T  ^'  (617. 


REED. 

"fi"^^' here's  young  master  Rash  ;  he's  in  for  a  com- 
modity  oj  brown  paper  and  old  ginger,  ninescore  andtfi- 
veuittn  pounds."— Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 

An  allusion  is  here  made  to  the  abominable  practices  of 
money-  enders  in  our  poet  'sage,  of  which  an  nccoant  is  given 
by  Nashe  in  a  pamphlet  called  Christ's  Tears  over  Jerusa- 
lem, 1594.  He  (a  usurer)  tails  acquainted  with  .genliemen. 
Irequents  ordinaries  and  dancing  bouses  dayly,  where 
when  some  of  them  at  play  have  lost  all  their  money  he  ii 
very  diligent  at  hand,  on  their  chaines,  bracelets,  or  jewels, 
to  lend  them  half  the  value.  Now  this  is  the  nature  of 
young  gentlemen,  that  where  thev  have  broke  the  ice,  and 
borrowed  «nce,  they  will  come  againe  the  second  time;  and 
that  these  young  foxes  know  as  well  as  the  beggar  knows 
bis  dish  But  at  the  second  time  of  their  crmmg,  it  i« 
doubttui  to  say  whether  they  shall  have  money  or  no  The 
world  goes  hard,  and  wee  all  are  mortal ;  let  him  make  nnj 
assurance  before  a  judge,  and  thev  shall  have  some  hundred 
pound  per  consequence,  in  silks  and  velvets.  The  third 
time  If  they  come,  they  shall  have  baser  commodities ;  the 
tourth  time,  licte  strings  and  gray  paper."— MAhOi^E. 
"  Shew  your  shiQi  biting  face,  and  be  hang'd  an  hour.** 

Act  V.  Sc.  I 

The  poet  evidently  refers  to  the  ancient  mode  of  pH- 
nishing  by  collistrigium,  or  the  original  pillory,  made  like 
mat  part  ot  the  pnlory  at  present,  which  receives  the 
neck,  only  it  was  placed  horizonlally,  so  that  (be  culprit 
hung  suspended  .in  it  by  his  chin,  and  tlte  back  of  his  head. 

*'  Stand  like  the  forfeits  in  a  barber's  shop. 
As  much  in  mock  as  mark." — Act  V.  Sc.  1. 
Barbers'  shops  were  at  all  times  the  r-  sort  of  idle  vet> 
pie  ;  formerly  with  us  the  better  sort  of  folks  went  to  t3w 
barber's  to  be  trimmed,  who  then  practised  the  rinder  parti 
01  surgery,  so  that  he  had  occasion  tor  numerous  instfu, 
ments,  which  lay  there  ready  for  use;  and  the  idle  per- 
sons, with  whom  his  shop  was  crowded,  would  be  perpe- 
tually handling  and  misusing  them.  To  remedy  wldch, 
there  was  placed  up  against  the  wall  a  table  offorft  liuTca, 
adapted  to  every  ofience  of  this  sort;  which  it  is  fioi 
lik'-iy  would  lomg  preserve  its  authority,— WARBUliTON, 

MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Her  hair  shall  be  of  what  colour  it  please  God." 

Act  II.  Sc.  3. 

•  V?r-  P'f  ctice  of  dying  the  hair  was  so  common  a  fashion 
in  Elizabeth's  reign,  as  to  be  thought  a  fit  subject  of  ani- 
inadyer.sion  from  the  pulpit.  In  a  homily  aerain.st  gaudy  au- 
parel,  1547,  (he  preacher  breakes  out  into  Ihe  foUowing 
invective  :  "Who  can  pnynt  her  face,  !>nd  curie  her  heere, 
ana  <./tange  it  into  an  unnatural  colu-tr,  hut  there  n  doth 
work  reprofe  toaer  Maker  who  made  her?  as  tlioughe  she 
could  make  herselfe  more  comelye  than  d  d  h^th  ap- 
pointed the  measure  of  her  beautie.  What  do  these  wo- 
men, but  go  about  to  rcforme  that  which  God  hath  made  ? 
not  knowinge  that  all  things  naturall  istheworkeof  God; 
devyl      REED        '^"^  unnatural  be  the  workes  of  the 

"  Press  me  to  death."— Act  III.  Sc.  1. 

The  allusion  is  to  an  ancient  punishment  of  our  law, 
calledp«??f'yor/<f^';rf?/r«,  which  was  formerly  inflicted  on 
those  persons,  who,  being  indicted,  refused  to  p,ead.  In 
coiiiequence  of  their  silence,  they  were  pre.s.sed  to  death  by 
a  heavy  weight  laid  on  the  stomach  —MALON  E. 

Or  in  the  shape  0/  two  countries  at  onae  "—A^  t  III.  Sc  2. 
u  u  ^1  Englishman's  suit  is  like  a  traitor's  bodie  thai 
tiatn  been  hanged,  drawne,  and  quartered,  and  is  set  up  in 
several  places;  his  codpiece  is  in  Denmarke.  thfcollorol 
hisdublet  and  the  belly  in  France,  the  wmg  and  narrow 
sleeve  in  Italy,  the  .shi^rt  waste  hangs  o'er  a  Dutch  bot- 
cher s  staU  in  Utrich,  his  huge  sioppes  speaks  Spanish; 
lolonia  gives  him  the  bootes;  and  thus  we  m^-rke  eurie 
nation  for  keeping  one  fashion,  yet  steale  patches  froia 
eurie  one  of  them,  to  peece  out  our  pride,  and  are  nSw 
laughmg-stocks  tothein,  because  (heir  cut  so  sciirvilv  bp 
^COe*^^      "-SEVEN  DEADLIE  SlNNbS  OF  LONDON, 

"Have  a  care  that  your  bills  be  not  stolen  ' 
Act  III.  Sc.  3. 

A  bill  is  still  carried  by  the  watchmen  at  Lichfield  It  wm 
the  3ld  weapon  of  the  English  infantry,  ^^  hich  savs  Te  nn^ 
aave  the  most  gastly  and  deplorable  JOiiNSOll' 
''  Side-sleeves:'— Act  \\l.  Sc.  4. 

"  This  time  was  used  exceeding  pr'de  in  garment* 
gowns  with  deepeand  broad  sleeves'comnionlv  cfuerpoki 
sleeves;  the  servants  ware  tliem  as  we.l  as  ilieir  masters 
which  might  well  nave  been  called  (he  receptacle" the 
devil,  tor  what  they  stole  they  hid  in  their  sleeve, 
whereof  some  hung  dowue  to  the  feete.  and  at  least  to  ui 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


BOf 


knees,  fuV  of  cuts  and  jagges,  whereupon  were  made  these 
verses  (by  Tho.  Iloccleve)  : 

"  Now  hath  this  landc.  little  neede  of  broomes, 
Tf^weepe  away  the  filthe  out  of  the  streete  ; 
Sen  side- sleeves  of  ventiyless  grumes 
Wile  it  up  licke  be  it  drie  or  vjeete." 
•  He  wears  a  key  in.  his  ear,  and  a  lock  hanging  by  it." 

Act.  V.  Sc.  1. 

In  Shakspeare's  age,  fashicnable  persons  of  the  male 
itic  wore  ear-rings  ;  there  was  also  a  silly  custom  of  wear 
lag  a  single  lock  of  hair  ipreposterously  long,  which  was 


called  a  love-lock.  Fynes  TVforyson,  in  his  account  of  Lor4 

Montjoy's  dress,  says.  "  That  his  haire  was  thinnt  on  the 
heade,  where  he  wore  i(  short,  except  a  locke  wider  hit 
left  ear,  which  he  nourished  the  time  of  the  warre,  and 
being  woven  up,  hid  it  in  his  necke  under  his  rufl«.* 
When  he  was  not  on  service,  he  probably  wore  it  in  a 
ditterent  fashion.  The  portrait  of  Sir  Edward  Sackville, 
Earl  (if  Dorset,  painted  by  Vandyke,  exhibits  this  lock, 
with  a  large  knotted  riband  at  the  end  of  it ;  it  hangs 
under  the  ear  on  the  left  side,  and  reaches  as  low  »■ 
where  th<'  star  is  now  worn  by  the  knights  of  the  garter.w. 
1V1  ALONE. 


MIDSUMMER  NIGUrS  DREAM. 


*  Your  eyes  are  lode-stars."— Act  I.  Sc.  1. 
This  was  a  compliment  not  unfrequent  among  the  old 
poc'ts.  The  lodestar  is  the  /eadhia  or  guiding  star,  that 
is,  the  pole-siar.  The  magnet  is  for  tlie  saitie  reason  c;ill;rd 
the  lode  st.uie.  eitlier  because  it  leads  iron,  or  because 
it  guides  thf  sailor.— JoArtsoM. 

«  Gawds."— ..\ct.  I.  Sc.  I. 
In  th^  nonh,  a  gravd  is  a  child's  p'aytning,  and  a  baby- 
bouse  is  called  a  gawdy  house. 

"  Or  to  her  death  ;  according  to  our  lavj." — 

Act  I.  Sc.  1. 

By  a  law  of  Solon's,  parents  had  an  absolute  power  of 
iife  and  death  over  their  children. 

"Robin  Gooc^ellow."— \ct  II.  Sc.  1. 

*  Your  grandame's  maids  were  wont  to  set  a  bowl 
of  milk  for  him,  for  his  pains  in  grinding  malt  and  mus- 
tard, and  sweeping  the  house  at  midright ;  this  white 
bread  and  bread  and  milk  was  his  standing  fee.* — DIS- 
COVERIE  OF  WITCHCRAFT,  1584. 

«  Puck."— Act  II.  Sc.  1. 

In  the  Fairy  Mythology,  Puck,  or  Hobgoblin,  was  the 
trusty  son/ant  of  Oberon,  and  always  employed  to  watch 
or  detect  he  intrigues  of  queen  Mab.  Mab  has  an  amour 
with  Pigwiggen  :  Oberon  being  jealous,  sends  Puck  to 
catch  them,  and  one  of  Mab's  nymphs  opposes  him  by 
a  spell.  In  DrHyton's  Nymphidia,  we  find  a  close  re- 
nemblance  to  much  of  the  fairx  machinery  employefl  by 
Shakspeare  in  (his  play.— JOHNSON. 

"  In  maiden  meditation  fancy  free." — Act.  II.  Sc  2. 

Thus  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  Entertainment  in  Sutfolke 
and  Norfolke,  written  by  Churchyard  Chastity  deprives 
Cupid  of  his  bow,  and  pre.sents  it  to  her  majesty  :— «  and 
bycause  that  the  queene  had  chosen  the  best  life,  she 
?ave  the  queene  t!upid's  bow,  to  learne  to  shoote  at 
Whome  lihe  pleasad  ;  since  naij«^  could  wound  her  high 
aessf  hart,  it  vjha  mcete  (said  Chaslitie)  that  she  should 
ak  "i^ith  Cupid's  bowe  and  aiTowes  what  she  pleased." 

^  STEEVENS. 
*  Goa  shield  us  !  a  lion  amorirj  ladies  is  a  most  dreadful 
thing.''— Act.  ill.  Sc.  I. 

There  is  an  odd  coincidence  between  what  our  author 
&tt«  here  written  for  Bottom,  and  a  real  occurrence  at  the 


(this  stinckyng  idol  rather),  which  is  couered  all  oner 
with  fiuwers  and  hearbes,   bounde  rounde  ahoute  with 
s'rynges,  from  the  too  to  the  botlome.  and  some  tym$ 
painted  u  ith  variable  co/oKrs."— STEEVENS. 
"  Tv:o  of  the  first,  like  coats  in  heraldry. 
Due  but  to  one  and  crowned  with  one  crest.^ 
^  ^  Act  in.  Scl 

In  heraldry,  every  branch  oi  a  family  is  called  a  bouse 
and  none  hut  the  first  of  the  first  house  can  bear  the  arai 
ot  the  family  without  some  distinction.    Tivo  of  the  Irst 
therefore,  means  two  coats  of  the  first  house,  whic^  nni 
properly  due  but  to  one."— MASON.  *™ 
"  The  rite  of  Mzy. '—kci  IV.  Sc.  1. 
The  rite  of  this  month  was  oiace  so  univeri-ally  observed, 
that  even  authors  thought  their  works  would  obtain  a  monn 
favourable  reception,  if  published  on  May  day.    The  fol- 
lowing is  the  title  page  to  a  metrical  performance  by  ■ 
once  celebrated  poet,  Thomas  Churchyard  :— 
*  Come  bring  in  Maye  with  me, 
My  Maye  is  frei  h  and  greene ; 
A  subiect's  haste,  an  humble  mind. 
To  sente  a  may  den  queene." 
"  A  Discourse  of  Rebellion,  »b'awne  forthe  for  to  wame 
the  wanton  wittes  how  to  kfcepe  their  heads  on  their 
shoulders.   Imprinted  at  London,  in  Fletestreet,  bv  Wil- 
liam Griffith,  Auno  Domini  1570.    The  first  of  Maye  »• 

''TheTong..."-Actiy.  Sc.  l.^^^^^^^^' 
The  old  rustic  music  of  the  tongs  and  key.   The  folic 
has^  this  |^''^|,y^^^^'°"       Musicke  totigs,  Rurall  MU" 

"  Dian's  bud,  o'er  Cupid's  flower."— Act  IV.  Sc.  L 
Dian's  bud  is  the  bud  of  the  aqnus  cas*us,  or  cJiati* 
tree.   Thus  in  Marer's  Herball,  «  The  vert ue  ofthisberbft 
is,  that  he  wyll  keepe  man  and  women  chaste."  Cupnts 
flower  is  the  viola  tricolor,  or  love  in  idleness 

STEEVENS. 
*  Good  .itrings  to  your  beards."— Act  IV.  Sc.  2. 
As  no  false  beard  could  be  worn  without  a  ligature  t«» 
fasten  it  in.  Bottom's  caution  must  mean  more  than  the 
mere  security  of  his  comrade's  beards.    The  good  springs 
he  recommends,  were  probably  ornamentail,  and  emph,  yed 


asis  tidce  written  lor  bottom,  ana  a  reai  occurrence  at  tne  to  give  an  air  of  novelty  to  (he  countenances  of  the  aer 
S*^ofti.sh  court,  in  I59t.-Prm(-e  Henry,  the  eldest  son  of  1  formers.   Thus,  in  Measure  for  Measure,  (where  the  wa^ji- 


Jamcsl.,  was  christened  in  August  in  that  year.  While 
the  king  and  qaeen  were  ut  dinner,  a  triumphant  chariot, 
with  several  Hlieg^oricai  personnges  on  it,  was  drawne  iu 
by  "  a  black-moore.  This  chariot  should  have  been  drawne 
in  by  a  /yon,  hut  b-^-cause  his  presence  might  have  brought 
some  feare  tn  the  nearest,  or  that  the  sight  of  the  lighted 
torches  might  liave  comr^oved  his  taineness,  it  was  thought 
meetr  that  t  e  mom-e  should  supply  that  room."— A  true 
Account  n(  i.l-e  most  triumphal  and  royal  Accomplishment 
of  (he  Baptism  of  the  most  excellent  righ  high,  and 
raighiv  Pniic(\  Slenrv  Frederick,  8tc.  asit  was  solemnized. 
the.3«(h  ot  A  iigust,  1594.   8vo.  1603.— MALONE. 

*  Of  hin(Pri}ig  knot-grass  made."— Act  III.  Sc.  S 

It  appears  that  knot  grass  was  anciently  supposed  to 
preveiii  the  growth  of  any  animal  or  cj  ild.  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher  mention  this  property  of  it  tn  the  Knight  of 
the  Burning  Pestle  ;—"  Should  they  put  him.  in  a  straight 
pair  of  gaskins,  'twere  worse  than  knot  grass;  he  would 
never  grow  after  it."— STEEVENS. 

"  Thou  painted  7n ay  pole."— Act  HI.  Sc.  2. 

So  in  St  tbbe's  Anvtomie  cf  Abuses,  1583  .— «  But  their 
Chiefest  iewell  thei  brvng  from  thence  is  \\\e\r  Mai -pole, 
whiche  the^i  bryng  home  with  great  veneration,  as  thus  : 
Thei  havf-  twentie  or  fourtie  yoke  of  oxen,  everif,  oxe 
tiauym?  a  sweele  nosegaie  of  flowers  placed  on  the  tippes 
of  his  hemes  ;  and  these  oxen  drawe  home  this  Afrtj<'  pc/e 


ral  beard  is  spoken  of,)  the  Duke,  intent  on  disfiguring  the 
head  of  Ragozine,  says,  "  O,  death's  a  great  disauiser,- 
and  you  may  add  to  it    Shave  the  head,  and  tie  the  heard.  '• 

STEEVENS. 

«  To  the  best  bride-bed  will  we, 

Which  by  us  shall  blessed  be."~Act  V.  Sc.  2. 

We  learn  from  artii;1es  ordained  by  Henry  Vfll.  forth© 
regulation  of  his  household,  (hfit  the  ceremony  of  blessing 
the  bridal  lied  was  thus  observed  at  the  m'ar»  iage  of  a 
princess:  "AH  men  at  her  coming  in  to  bee  voided,  except 
woemen,  till  shee  bee  bromiht  to  her  hedd;  and  the  man 
both,  he  sitting  in  his  bedd  in  his  shirte,  v/ith  a  gowne 
cast  about  him.  Then  the  bishoppe,  with  the  chaplaines, 
to  come  iu  and  bless  the  bedd ;  then  everie  man  to  avoide 
without  any  drinke,  save  the  twoe  estates  if  they  liste, 
privilie."  A  similar  ceremony  was  performed  at  all  mar- 
riages in  that  age  —STEEVENS. 

«  Hare-lip."— Act  V.  Sc.  2. 

This  defect  in  children  seems  to  have  been  so  mncb 
dreaded,  that  numerous  were  the  charms  applied  for  its 
prevention.  The  following  might  be  as  efficacious  as  apy 
of  the  rest:  « If  a  woman  with  chvlde  have  her  smoct.e 
slvt  at  the  neather  ende  or  skyrt  thereof,  &c.  the  sarr  e 
chylde  that  .she  then  goeth  withall,  shall  be  safe  from 
having  a  cloven  or  hare  lippe  "  Thomas  Lupton's  Fourth 
Book  of  Notable  Things.— STEEVENS. 


LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 


The  dancing  horse." — Act  1.  Sc.  2. 


A  kori^p  taught  by  one  Bankes,  to  play  many  singular 
tricks.  Sir  Walter  llaleigh,  in  his  History  of  (he  World, 
W}8  "  If  Bankes  had  lived  in  older  limes,  he  would  Lave 
sb**mtd  all  tlie  enchanters  in  the  world;  for  whosoever 
w~s  most  fatuous  amongst  them  could  never  master  or  in- 
struct any  beast  as  he  did  his  horse."  And  Sir  Kenelm 
Digby  observes.  "  Thai  bis  horse  would  restore  a  glove  to 
the  due  owner,  after  the  tn  s  er  had  whispered  the  man's 
-name  in  hi<  ear  ;  wculd  i  -ll  the  just  number  i  f  pence  m 
any  piece  of  silver  com  newly  showed  him  by  his  master ; 
and  even  obey  presently  his  command,  in  discharging  him- 
self of  hi.s  excr(ments,  wiiensoever  he  had  bade  him." 
Among  other  exploits  of  this  celebrated  bi  ast,  it  is  ^aid, 
liiaf  he  went  up  to  the  top  of  St.  Paul's.  His  end  and  his 


master's  was  tragical  ;  Travelling  in  France,  Bankes  ex- 
cited the  anger  of  the  priests,  and  only  escaped  its  efftctd, 
in  the  manner  following: — "  Bankes  came  into  su^pitioa 
of  niagicke,  because  of  the  strange  feates  which  his  horse 
Morocco  plaied  at  Orleance;  where  he,  to  redeem  hit 
credit,  promised  to  manifest  to  the  world  tliat  his  herse 
was  nothing  Icsse  tlian  a  devill.  To  (his  er.d,  he  com- 
manded his  horse  (o  seeke  out  one  in  the  preasse  of  the 
people  who  had  a  cruciiix  in  his  hat  ;  which  done,  he  bade 
him  kneele  down  unto  it  ;  and  not  this  o»ily,  but  also  to 
rise  up  againe,  and  kisse  it.  And  now,  gentlemen  (quotte 
he),  I  thinke  my  horse  hath  acquKted  both  me  uud  himst  Ife: 
and  so  his  adversaries  rested  satisfied;  coiicei\iiig  (as  it 
might  seeme.)  that  the  divell  had  no  power  (o  come  neare 
the  crosse.''  In  Italy,  hou ever,  they  were  lesi>  fortunate, 
since  at  Rome,  to  the  disgrace  of  the  aj^e,  of  the  country 


810 


EXPL  kNA TORY  NOTES. 


and  of  Humanity,  they  were  burnt  by  order  of  ti  e  Pope, 
for  magiciaas. 

«  The  hobby  horse  is  forgot.'^— Act  III.  Sc.  1. 

KTthe  celebration  of  May-day,  besides  the  sports  now 
used  of  hanging  a  pole  with  garhuids,  and  dancing  round 
it,  lonnr.rly  a  boy  was  ".ressfd  up,  representing  Maid 
Marian ;  another  like  a  friar ;  and  another  rode  on  a 
hubhy  korsf;,  with  bells  jingling  and  painted  streamers. 
Ai'trr  the  Reformation  took  place,  and  precisians  multi- 
plied, these  latter  rites  were  looked  upon  to  savour  of 
paganism,  and  Maie  Marian,  the  friar,  and  the  poor  hob  by- 
kijrst,  were  turned  out  of  the  games.— THEOBALD. 
'  A  won'-an  that  is  like  a  Oerman  clock." — Act  III.  Sc.  1. 

In  a  book  called  tfe«  Artificial  Clockmaker,  1714.  we  find 
th&  following  remarks:  «  Clock  making  was  supposed  to 
have  had  its  begirinius  in  Germany  within  less  tlian  these 
two  hundred  years.  It  is  very  probable  that  our  balance 
flocks  or  watches,  and  some  other  automata,  might  have 
tAd  their  beginning  there."  Little  worth  remark  is  to  be 
fo md  till  towards  the  ICth  century,  and  then  clock-work 
was  revived  or  wholly  invented  anew  in  Germany,  as  is 
generally  thought,  because  the  ancient  pieces  are  of  Ger- 
man work.  The  mechanism  of  these  clocks  was  extremely 
complicated,  and  cotisi-queutly  they  frequently  wanted  re- 
pairing.-STEEVENS. 

"   where  is  the  hush 

That  "^e  must  stand  and  play  the  murderer  i)t 

Act  IV.  Sc.  1. 

How  familiar  the  amusement  of  deer-shootiny  once  was 
to  ladies  f>f  quality,  may  be  known  from  a  letter  addressed 
fay  Lord  Wharton  to  the  earl  of  Shrewsbury,  dated  from 
Alnewick,  Aug.  14,  1555.  «  I  besiihe  yor  lordesliipp  to 
tayke  some  sporte  of  my  litell  gmuude  there,  and  to  com- 
mand the  same  even  as  yor  lord^hippes  owne.  My  lady 
may  shote  with  her  cross  bow,''  &c.— STEEVENS. 
"  Here,  good  my  glass.'" — Act.  IV.  Sc.  I. 

To  understand  how  the  princess  hiis  her  glass  so  ready  at 
hand  in  a  common  conversation,  it  must  be  remembered, 
that  in  those  days  it  was  the  fashion  among  the  French 
ladies  to  wenr  n  lookh/ff  g(-jss,  as  Bayle  coarsely  represents 
It.  Oft  thrir  bellies  ,  that  is,  to  have  a  small  mirror  set  in 
gold  hanging  at  their  girdle,  by  which  they  occasionally 
viewed  tlieir  faces,  or  adjusted  their  hair. — JOHNSON. 

*  But,  sir,  I  assure  ye,  it  was  a  buck  of  the  first  head, 

 'twas  a  prickf  t  "—Act  IV.  Sc.  2. 

la  the  Return  f.  om  Parnassus,  IfiiM),  we  find  the.  follow- 
ing account  of  the  different  appeilations  of  deer,  at  their 
different  ages  :— "  I  caused  the  keeper  to  sever  the  raxcal 
deer  from  the  bud  s  of  the  first  head.  Now,  sir,  a  Imck 
is,  the  first  year,  a  fawn;  the  second  year,  a  pricket; 
the  third  year,  asorrell;  the  fourth  year,  a  soar  ;  the 
fifth  year,  a  buck  of  the  fir.'.t  hi-ad ;  the  sixth  year,  a 
compleaie  buck.  Lik(nvise  your  hart  is,  the  first  year,  a 
ciilf ;  the  second  year,  a  brochet ;  the  third  year,  a 
tpade :  the  fourth  year,  a  stag ;  the  sixth  year,  a  hart. 
A  roebuck  i.<;,  the  fir.st  year,  a  kid  ;  the  second  year,  a 
gird;  the  t/iird  year,  a  heiause ;  anid  these  are  your 
«p»cial  beasts  for  the  chase."— STEEVENS. 

"  He  comes  in  like  a  perjure  " — Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 

Perjury  was  punished  by  affixing  a  paper  to  the  breast, 
expressing  the  crime.  Holaished  says  of  Wolsey,  «  he  so 
punished  a  perjurie  with  open  punishment,  and  open 
^aper  wearing,  that  in  his  time  it  was  less  used."  Again, 
lu  Leicester's  Commouvvealth  :  "  Tlie  gentlemen  were  all 
taken  and  cast  into  prison,  and  afterwards  were  sent  down 
to  Ludlow,  there  to  wear  papers  of  perjury.'' 

STEEVENS. 

MERCHANT 

*  Ete  lends  out  money  gratis,  and  brings  down 
The  rate  of  usance  here  with  us  in  Venice." 

Act  I.  Sc.  3. 

«  It  is  almost  incredyble  what  gaine  the  Venetians  re- 
ceive by  the  usury  of  the  Jewes,  both  privately  and  in 
eommou.  For  in  everie  citie  the  Jewes  kepe  open  shops 
of  usurie,  taking  gaiges  of  ordinarie  for  xv  in  the  hun- 
tlred  by  the  yere ;  and  if  at  the  yere's  end  the  gaige  be 
not  redeemed,  it  is  forfeite,  or  at  the  least  dooen  away 
to  a  great  disadvantage,  by  reason  whereof  the  Jewes  are 
oat  of  measure  wealihie  in  those  parts." 

THtJMAS  S  HISTORY  OP  ITALY,  1561. 

*  But  let  us  make  incision  for  your  love, 

To  prove  whose  blood  is  reddest,  his  or  mine." 

Act  II.  Sc.  1. 

Rfd  blood  has  been  considered  a  proof  of  courage. 
^  Baritiolomew  Glanville  says,  "  clothes  ben  layd  upon 
deed  men,  in  remembrance  of  their  hardyness  and  bold- 
ness, whyle  they  were  in  theyr  bloudde."  On  which,  his 
•commentator,  Btitinan,  remarks  : — "  It  appeareth  in  the 
iime  of  the  Saxons,  that  the  manner  over  their  dead  was 
s  red  cloath,  as  we  now  use  blacke.  The  red  o{  valiauncie, 
»nd  that  was  ov<='r  kings,  lords,  knights  and  valyant  soul- 
f  jiours  "—DOUCE. 

JTiTj  more ;  while  grace  is  saying,  nood  mine  eyes, 
Tiv-s  with  my  hat,  and  sig^.  and  say.  Amen." 

Act  11.  Sc.  2. 

It  should  be  remembered,  that  in  .Shakspeare's  time,  they 
wore  Ihi^ir  hats  on  during  the  time  of  dinner.— MALOiNE. 

My  nose  fell  a  bleeding  on  Black- Monday  last." 

Act  n.  Sc.  5. 

*  Black  Monday  is  Easter  Monday,  and  v  as  so  calK  d 
•a  this  occasion.   In  the  34th  of  Edward  Ul  !i360;  the 


"  Like  Muscovites,  or  Russians,  as  J  guns.*' 

Act  V.Se.t 

A  Mask  of  Muscovites  was  no  uncommon  recreation  r% 
ccurt,  long  before  Shakspeare's  time,  in  the  first  year 
of  kiiig  Henry  VlII.  at  a  banquet  made  for  ihe  foieign 
ambassadors  in  (be  parliament  chamber  at  Wesimtnstej 
"  came  the  lorde  ilenry,  earlt  of  Wilt>hire,  aiid  the  loide 
Fitzwater.in  twoo  long  gounes  ef  yelh  wssfio  traversed 
\yhh  white  satin,  and  in  e\ery  ben  of  white  was  abend 
of  crimson  satin,  afier  the  fasi  ion  oi  Huss.a  or  RusliUide, 
with  (urred  hattes  of  giey  on  (heir  h<  drs,  eill.er  of  thtm 
bavvng  an  hatchet  in  their  hamies,  f^nd  bootes  with  pyko 
turned  up.»  Hall's  Henry  VltL— ill!  SON 

"  Seller  wits  have  u>urn  plain  statute  ccps." 

Act  V.  Sc.  1. 

Woollen  caps  were  enjoined  by  act  of  parliament,  ia 

!  the  year  1.571,  the  15th  of  queen  Elizabeth.  ''Besides the 
bills  passed  into  acts  this  parliament,  there  was  one  which 
I  judge  not  amiss  to  be  taken  notice  of ;  it  concerned 
the  queen's  care  for  employment  for  her  poor  fiortB  of 
subjects.  It  was  for  continuance  of  making  and  rearing 
woollen  caps,  in  behalfe  of  the  trade  of  cappers;  provid- 
insr  that  all  abn%'e  the  age  of  six  yeares,  (except  the 
nobility  and  some  others,)  should,  on  sahbath  days  ar.'J 
holy  days,  wear  caps  of  wool,  knit,  thicked,  and  drest 
in  England,  upon  penaltv  of  ten  groats."— STRYPE'S 
ANNALS  OF  ELIZABETH. 

"  Lord  have  mercy  071  us." — ActV.  Sc.  2. 
This  was  the  inscription  put  on  the  doors  of  houses 
infected  with  the  plague.  So  in  Sir  Thomas  Overbury's 
Chara'  ters,  1632  -.—Lord  hare  mercy  on  us  m^»y  well  stand 
over  their  d"ors,  for  debt  is  a  most  dangerous  city  pes/i- 
/enc^-.-JOHNSON. 

I  "  And  if  these  four  worthies  i7i  their  firs:t  show  thrive. 
These  four  will  change  habits,  and  present  the  other  five.'* 

i  Act  V.  Sc.  2. 

Shakspcare  here  alludes  to  the  shifts  to  which  (be  actors 
were  reduced  in  the  old  theatres,  one  person  often  per- 
forming two  or  three  pai  ts. — MA  LONE. 

i  «  Some  Dick.— Act  V.  Sc.  2. 

!  Out  roaring  Dirk  was  a  celebrated  sinprer,  who  with 
William  Wimbars,  is  said  by  Henry  Chf-ttle,  in  his  Kind 
Harts  Dreame,  to  have  got  twenty  sliilliags  a  day  by 
singing  at  Braintree  fair,  in  Essex.— MALONS. 

j  "  Pageant  of  the  nine  ivorthies."— .kci  V.  Sc.  2. 

■  Among  the  Harleian  MSS.  we  find  the  f'llowmg:  "The 
order  of  a  Shone  intended  to  be  mide  Aug.  I,  162L 
First,  Iwo  woodmen,  &c.  St.  George  I'ghting  with  the 
Dragon.  The  nine  Woi  thies  in  ci  niplete  armor  with 
cronnes  of  eould  on  their  heads,  every  (uie  having  his 
esquires  to  beare  before  him  his  sliield  and  penon  of 
armes,  dressed  according  as  these  lords  were  accustomed 
to  be.  3Assaralits.  3  Infidels  3  Christians.  After  them, 
a  Fame,  to  declare  the  rare  virtues  and  noble  deedes  ol 
the  9  worthye  women —STEEVENS. 

"  It  was  eiijoined  in  Rome  for  want  of  linen.'* 

Act  V.  Sc.  2. 

A  Spaniard  fell  in  a  duel.  .As  he  lay  expiring,  a  friend 
;  approached,  and  offered  his  services.  The  dying  man  mad» 
but  one  request,  which  was,  not  to  sidfer  his  body  to  be 
striid,  but  to  bury  him  in  the  habit  he  hud  on.  Jlie  friend 
promised  cnmpliauce,  the  Spaniard  expired  in  peace  ;  bat 
curiosity  prevailed  over  good  faith  :  the  body  wks  stript, 
and  found  to  be  without  a  shirt.— WARBURTOti. 

OF  VENICE. 

I  14th  of  AprM.  and  the  morrow  after  !  aster  day,  king  Ed- 
I  ward,  with  his  host,  iay  before  tlie  city  of  Paris;  which 
]  day  was  full  dark  of  niist  and  hail,  and  so  bitter  cold, 
that  many  men  died  on  their  horses' backs  with  the  cold 
Wherefore,  onto  this  day,  it  hath  been  called  the  Blacke 
Monday."— STO  WE. 

"  It  was  my  turquoise." — Act  III.  Sc.  1. 
A  turquoise  is  a  precious  stone  found  iu  the  veins  of  the 
mountains  on  the  confines  of  Persia  "to  the  east,  subject 
to  the  Tartars.  It  was  said  of  this  stone,  that  it  faded 
or  brightened  in  its  colour,  as  the  health  of  the  wearer 
increased  or  grew  less.  So  Edward  Fenton,  in  his  Secret 
Wonders  of  Nature,  1569,  says,  "  The  Turkeys  doth  move 
when  there  is  any  perill  prepared  to  him  that  weai  eth  it." 

STEEVENS. 
*  Snaky  golden  locks  ."—Act  III.  Sc.  2. 
Periwigs  were  universally  worn  in  Sliakspeare's  age. 
This  will  be  best  shewn  by  an  extract  frcm  an  old  pam- 
phlet, entitled  The  Honestie  ot  this  Age,  by  Barnabe 

■  Riche  ;  1615.— "  My  lady  holdeth  on  her  way,  perhaps  to 
the  tire  maker's  shop,  where  she  shaketh  hsr  crownes  to 

I  bestow  upon  some  new  fashioned  attire,  upon  such  arti- 
ficial deformed  periwigs,  that  they  were  fitter  to  furnish 
a  theatre,  or  for  her  that  in  a  stage  play  should  repre- 
sent some  hag  of  hell,  than  to  be  use  !  by  a  phristian 
woman.   These  attire  makers,  within  the  e  forti'e  yeares, 

;  were  not  knowne  by  that  name  ;  and  hut  now  very  lately 
they  kept  their  lowsie  commodity  of  periwips,  and  their 

'  monstrous  attires,  closed  in  boxes,-  and  those  wcmies 
that  used  to  weare  them  would  not  bu;  them  but  ii,  secret. 

'  But  now  they  are  not  ashamed  to  set  (hem  t'ortli  upof 
their  stalls,  such  monstrous  mop  povi  les  of  ,i0  pro- 
portioned and  deformed,  that  but  within  tli»«e  twcnt] 


EXPLANATORY  NOTt:S. 


«r  tliirtj  yeares  would  liave  drawne  the  passers  by  to 
«tand  and  gaze,  and  to  wonder  at  them  — MALONE. 
«  Like  cift/t-r's  pbelr^."— Act  V  Sc.  1. 
Knives  were  t'otmerly  inscribed,  by  means  cf  acqua 
partis,  with  short  sentences  in  rhyme.   In  Decider's  Sau- 


romastlx.we  have  the  following  alluflon  to  tit  J  custom] 
— '<  Ydu  shall  swear  by  Phoebus,  who  is  your  poet's  goo4 
lord  ami  n.aster,  that  hereafter  you  will  not  hire  Horace 
to  give  you  poesies  for  rings,  or  handkercliiefs,  of  knives, 
which  >ou  understand  not."— KEED 


AS  YOU  LIRE  IT. 


 «  In  the  forest  Arden^—kci  I.  Sc.  1. 

Ardetine  is  a  forest  of  considerable  extent  in  French 
Flanders,  Iving  near  the  Meuse,  and  between  Charlemont 
and  Kocroy,— MALONE. 

«  In  biit  a  qir.iitain,  a  mere  lifeless  hiock." — Act  I.  Sc.  2. 
The  ouintain  was  a  stake  driven  into  a  field,  upon  which 
were  h'ung  a  shield  and  otlier  trophies  of  war,  at  which 
they  shot,  darted,  or  rode,  with  a  lance.  When  the  tro- 
phies aiKl  shield  were  all  thrown  down,  the  quintain  re- 
mained-GUTHRIE. 

*  Which,  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous. 

Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head."— Act  11.  Sc.  1. 

"  There  is  found  in  the  keades  of  old  and  great  toades, 
a  stotie,  which  they  call  borax  or  steloa  :  it  is  most  com- 
toonly  fonad  in  the  head  of  a  hee  toade,  of  power  to  re- 
pulse poysons,  and  that  it  is  a  most  soveraigne  medicine 
for  the  stone."— WONDERS  OF  NATURE,  1569. 

*You  shall  know  whether  the  tode  stone  be  the  right 
Bnd  perfect  stone  or  not.  Hold  the  stone  before  a  toad, 
Bo  thai  he  msy  see  it ;  and  if  it  be  a  ryght  and  true  stone, 
the  tode  will  leape  towarde  it,  and  make  as  though  he 
would  snatch  it.  He  cnvieth  so  much  that  man  should 
»aave  that  stone."— LUPTON'S  NOTABLE  THINGS. 
"  To  the  which  place  a  poor  sequestered  stag 

Did  come  to  languish—  

■   and  (he  big  rovnd  tears. 
Coursed  one  another  down  his  innocent  nose 
In  piteous  chase." — Act  II.  Sc.  1. 
The  stag  is  said  to  possess  a  very  large  secretion  of  tears. 

*  When  the  hart  is  arered,  he  fleethe  to  a  river  or  ponde, 
enrl  roret'j,  cryeth,  and  weepf/h  when  he  is  taken." — 
"WhKH  the  hart  is  sick,  and  hath  eaten  many  serpents  for 
his  recoverie,  he  is  brought  into  so  great  a  heat  that  he 
hasleth  tt  the  water,  and  there  covereth  his  body  unto 
the  very  eares  and  eyes,  at  which  time  distilleth  many 
teares,  from  which  the  bezoar  atone  is  engendered." — 

BATEMAN,  and  DOUCE. 

*  Iwas  never  so  be  rhymed  since  Pythagoras^  time,  that 

I  was  an  Irish  rat." — Act  III.  Sc.  2. 
Rosalin<I  is  a  very  learned  lady.  She  alhides  to  the 
S^f.hagorean  doctrine,  which  teaches  that  souls  transmi- 
arale  from  one  animal  to  another,  and  relates  that  in  his 
si© e  she  was  an  Irish  rat,  and,  by  some  metrical  charm, 
Xrsxi  rhymed  to  death.  The  powf  r  of  killing  rats  with 
fliymtvs,  Donne  mentions  in  his  Satires,  and  Temple  in 
^is  Ti  eatises.  Dr,  Grey  produces  a  like  passage  from  llan- 
tiolph  :— 

"  my  poets 

Shall  Kith  a  satire,  steeped  in  gall  and  vinegar. 
Rhyme  them  to  death  as  they  do  rats  in  Ireland." 

JOHNSON. 
"  Garagantua's  mouth."— AcA  HI.  Sc.  2. 
fiaraganiua  is  the  giant  of  i?rtie/«i.9.~J0[fNS0N. 


"  But  I  answer  you  right  painted  cloth  " — Act  1 11.  Sc.  3. 

This  alludes  to  the  fashion  in  old  tapestry  hangin£:9,  oS 
mottos  and  moral  sentencei?  from  the  moxiths  cf  the  figurea 
worked  or  painted  in  fbem  — THEOBALD. 

Then  your  hose  should  be  ungartur^d."— Act  III.  Sc.  8. 

Inattention  to  personal  appearances  was  one  of  the 
established  symptoms  of  being  in  love.  So  in  the  Fair 
Maid  of  the  Exchange  by  Heywood.  1637  :~«  Shall  1.  that 
have  jested  at  love's  sighs,  now  raise  whirlwinds  ?  Shall  I, 
that  have  flouted  ah  me's  once  a  quarter,  now  practice  ah 
me's  every  minute  ?  Shall  I  dejy  hatbands,  and  tread 
garters  and  shoe  strings  under  my  feet  ?  Shall  1  fall  to 
"falling  bands,  and  be  a  ruffian  no  lonser?  I  must:  I  am 
now  Cur)id's  liegeman,  and  have  read  all  these  informations 
in  the  book  of  his  statutes."— MALONE. 

"  Somethhig  browner  than  Jiidas's." — ^Act  III.  Sc.  4. 

Judas  was  constantly  represented  in  old  paintings  or 
tapestry,  with  red  hair  and  beard.   So  in  the  Insatiate 
Covmtess,  161."? :~"  I  ever  thought  by  hia  red  beard  he 
would  prove  a  /wr/as."- STEEVENS, 
"   The  comman  executioner 

Falls  not  the  axe  upon  the  humbled  neck." 

Act  UI.  Sc.  5. 

There  is  reason  to  believe,  that  during  Elizabeth's  reign 
the  punishment  of  decapitation  was  occasionally  inflicted 
by  an  instrument  resembling  the  French  guillotine.  The 
Earl  of  Morton,  when  condemned  as  an  accomplice  in  the 
murder  of  Darnley,  seems  to  have  suffered  in  this  way. 
The  criminal's  head  and  neck  being  laid  cn  a  block,  the 
axe,  which  was  .suspt^nded  over  him,  was  released  from  the 
cord  which  confined  it,  by  the  executioner,  and  fell  with 
sufficient  force  to  separate  the  head  from  the  bodv. 
"  I  will  weep  for  nothing,  like  Diana  In  the  fountain.''^ 

Ati  IV.  Sc.l. 

An  allusion  to  the  Cross  in  Cheapside  ;  the  religions 
iirages,  with  which  it  was  ornamented,  being  defaced,  (as 
we  learn  from  Stow)  in  1596:— "There  was  then  set  up  a 
curious  wrought  tabernacle  of  gray  marble,  and  in  the 
same  an  alabaster  image  of  Diana,  and  water  conveyed 
from  the  Tliames,  pj-iliing  from  her  naked  breast." 

STEEVENS, 
"  Good  wine  needs  no  hush." — Act  V.  Sc.  4. 
It  appears  formerly  to  have  been  the  custom  to  hangs 
tuft  (if  ivy  at  the  door  of  a  vintner:  ivy  was  rather  useg 
than  any  oti  er  plant,  because  it  had  relation  to  Bacchus. 
The  subjoined  passages  prove  the  custom. 

"  'Tis  like  the  ivy  bush  unto  a  tavern." 

Rival  Friendt  163S» 
"  Green  ivy-bushes  at  the  vintners'  doores." 

Summer's  Last  Will  and  Testament.  IfiOft, 
1  STEEVENS. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL, 


«*  Tih*s  rush  for  Tom's  forefinger."— Act  II.  Sc.  2. 
2n  France  there  was  formerly  a  custom  of  placing  a  rush 
ring  on  the  lady's  linger,  when  a  m:irriai;e  whs  finally 
agreed  upon.  But  in  England,  ru.sh  ring's  were  employed 
to  abuse  the  simplicity  of  young  girls,  by  deluding  them 
Into  a  state  of  concubinag^e  with  a  pretended  marriage. 
Richard  Poore,  Bishop  of  Snlistiury,  in  his  Constitutions, 
1217,  forbids  the  putting  of  rush  rings,  or  any  of  the  like 
matters,  on  women's  fingers,  in  order  to  the  debauching 
them  more  readiiy,  and  he  insinuates,  as  a  reason  for  the 
prohibition,  that  there  were  some  people  weak  enough 
to  believe,  that  what  was  thus  done  in  jest,  was  a  real  mar- 
riage. 

"  Like  him  that  leaped  into  the  custard. — Act  II.  Sc.  5, 
It  was  a  foolery  practised  at  city  entertainments,  whilst 
the  .jester  or  zany  was  in  vogue,  for  him  to  jump  into  a 
large  deep  custard,  prepared  for  the  purpose. 

THEOBALD. 

"  Pa/wers."— ActllL  Sc.5. 
Pilgrims  that  visited  holy  places,  so  called  from  a  staff, 
or  bough  of  palm,  they  were  wont  to  carry,  especially  such 
BS  kad  visited  Jerusalem.  "  A  pilgrim  and  a  palmer  dif- 
^red  thus  :  a  pilgrim  had  some  dwelling,  the  palmer, none; 
the  pi/grim  travelled  to  some  certain  place,  the  palmer 
to  all,  not  one  in  particular;  the  pi/grim  might  bear  his 
Bwa  charges,  the  palmer  must  profess  wilful  poverty;  the 
idlgHm  might  reii]:qui.sh  his  vocation,  the  palmer  must 
©e  Qftuatant  till  he  won  the  palm,  that  is,  victory  over  his 
ftacstly  enemies,  and  life 

BLOUNT'S  GEOGRAPHY. 

"  John  Drum's  entertainment."— kci  III.  Sc.  6. 
Hohnshed,  in  his  History  of  Ireland,  speaking  of  Patrick 
Sarsetield,  a  mayor  of  Dublin,  and  of  his  extravagant  hos- 
pitalit.y ,  says,  that  *■  no  guest  had  ever  a  cold  or  forbidding 
soke  from  any  part  ot  his  family  :  so  that  his  porter,  or 
a7ip  other  officer,  durst  not.  for  both  his  eares,  give  the 
simplest  ?riair.  that  resorted  to  his  house,  Tom  Drum  his 
entertayiicmrnt,  which  is  to  hale  a  man  in  by  the  heade, 
end  thrust  .kirn  out  by  both  the  shoulders."— THEOBAJaD. 


"  The  sheriff's  fool."— Act  IV  Sc.  3. 
We  are  not  to  suppose  that  this  was  a  foul,  kept  Yy  the 
sheriff  for  his  diversion.  The  custody  of  all  idiot:s  pos- 
sessed of  land,  belonged  to  (he  king,  who  was  entitled  t* 
their  income,  but  was  obliged  to  provide  them  necessaries. 
When  the  property  was  large,  this,  prerogative  was  ge- 
nerally given  to  some  favourite,  or  other  person,  who  made 
suit  for  and  had  interest  enough  to  obtain  it,  which  was 
called  begging  a  fool.  But  where  the  land  w  as  of  smali 
value,  the  natural  was  supported  out  of  the  profits,  by  the 
sheriff,  who  accounted  for  tncm  to  the  crown — As  for  those 
unhappy  creatures,  who  had  neither  possessions  nor  rela- 
tions, they  seem  to  have  been  considered  as  a  species  of 

firoperty,  being  sold  or  given,  with  as  little  ceremony, 
reated  as  capriciously,  and  very  often,  it  is  tobefeareai 
left  to  perisli  as  misersibly,  as  dogs  or  cats. — RITSON. 
*•  Villainous  saffron." — Act  IV.  Sc.  5. 
This  alludes  to  a  fantastic  fashion,  of  using  yellow  star^'k 
for  bands  and  ruffs.  Yellow  stan  b  was  invented  by  one 
Turner,  a  tire-woman,  a  court  bawd,  and  in  all  respects  of 
so  infamous  a  character,  that  her  invention  deserve  h© 
name  of  "  villainous  saffron."  This  woman  was  after- 
wards among  the  miscreants  concerned  in  the  murder  of 
Sir  Thomas  Overburv,  for  which  she  was  hanged  at  Tyburn-, 
and  would  die  in  a  yellow  ruff  of  her  own  invei\lion ;  wbicil 
made  yellow  starch  so  odious,  that  it  imiDediately  went  CiSt 
ef  fashion."  Stai  ch  was  used  of  various  colous,  and  is 
dt'claimed  against  most  bitterly  by  StubbcJs  in  his  Auaiomte 
of  .'\bii.ses. 

•Plutut  himself 
That  knowt  tlie  tinct  and  multiplying  u.edicine." 

Act  V.  Sc.  S. 

In  the  reign  of  Henry  IV.  a  law  wa.<!  made  (o  forbid 
thenceforth  to  multiply  gold,  or  use  any  craft  of  multipli- 
cation, of  which  law,  Boyle,  when  he  was  waivn  with  the 
hope  of  transmutation,  procured  a  repeal. —JOHNSON. 
«  i?X(;rci.s7."— Act  V.  Sc  3. 

By  an  exorcist  we  now  mean  one  who  can  lav  spirit*. 


819 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


but  IB  Shafcspeare's  aw,  exorcist  implied  a  person  who 
could  v/ise  spirits.  The  difference  between  a  conjuror,  a 
witch,  and  an  inchanter,  is  as  follows "  The  conjuror 
seemetii  by  praiers  and  invocations  of  God's  powerful 
names,  to  compell  the  devill  to  say  or  doe  what  he  com- 
mandeth  him.  The  witch  dealeth  rather  by  a  friendlie  and 
Toluntary  conference  or  agreement  between  him  or  iier 


and  the  devill  or  familiar,  to  hare  his  or  her  fume  serre* 
m  heu  or  stead  of  blood  or  other  gift  unto  him  ;  especially 
of  his  or  her  soule.  4nd  both  these  differ  from  inchantert 
or  sorci-rers,  because  the  former  two  have  personal  con- 
ference with  the  devill,  and  the  other  meddles  but  with 
medicines  and  ceremonial  formes  of  words  called  charmes, 
without  apparition."— MINSHEU'S  DICT.  1617. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


**  Taie  them  to  the  bult^  —Induction 
*•  llie  top  of  the  profession  were  then  mere  players,  not 
geetlemen  o(  the  stage,-  they  were  led  into  the  buttery  It's 
ihe  steward ;  not  placed  at  the  lord's  table,  or  the  lady's 
Cellette ROWE. 

*'  Marian  llacket,  the  fat  ale-wife  of  Wincot." 

Induction. 

Wilnecotte  is  a  village  in  Warwickshire,  near  Stratford, 
with  which  Shakspeare  was  well  acquainted.  The  house 
kept  by  our  menial  hostess  still  remains,  but  is  at  present  a 
aiiTl.-WARTON. 

**  Be  she  as  foul  as  was  Florentius'  /ove."— Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

"  A  Florentine  youn^  gentleman  was  so  deceived  by  the 
lustre  and  orieritness  ot  her  jewels,  pearles,  rings,  lawns, 
scarfes,  lace?,  gold,  spangles,  and  other  devices,  (hat  he 
was  ravished  overnight,  and  was  mad  till  the  marriage  was 
solemnized.  But  next  morning  by  lisrht  viewing  her  before 
she  was  gorgeously  trimmed  up,  she  was  such  a  leane, 
vellow,  riveled,  deformed  creature,  that  he  never  lay  with 
her,  nor  lived  with  her  afterwards;  and  would  not  sajr  that 
he  had  married  himself  to  a  stinking  house  of  office,  painted 
over,  and  set  out  with  fine  garments;  and  so  for  grief  con- 
sumed away  iti  melancholy,  and  at  last  poysoned  himself." 
Gomesius  lib.  III.  de  SaC.  Gen.  cap.  22.— FARMER. 
"  And  for  your  love  to  her,  lead  apes  in  hell." 

Act  II.  Sc.  1 . 

To  lead  Apes,  was  anciently,  as  at  present,  one  of  the 
beanvard's  employments,  who  often  carries  one  of  those 
animals  about  with  his  bear;  but  it  does  not  appear  how 
this  phrase  came  to  be  applied  to  old  maids.  There  is  a 
similar  passage  in  Much  Ado  about  Nothing.  "  Therefore, 
(says  Beatrice)  I  will  even  take  sixpence  in  earnest  of  the 
hearward,  and  lead  his  apes  in  hell."— M ALONE. 

"  This  small  packet  of  Greek  and  Latin  books." 

Act  II.  Sc.  1. 

A  strange  present  from  a  lover  I  It  might  be  thought  so 
BOW,  but  in  Elizabeth's  time  the  young  ladies  of  quality 
were  usually  instructed  in  the  learned  languages,  if  any 
attention  was  paid  to  their  minds  at  all.  Lady  Jane  Grey 
and  eier  sisters.  Queen  Elizabeth,  &c.  are  trite  instances. 

PERCY. 

"  Counterpoints."— kci  II,  Sc.  1. 

t^oVKterpoints,  or,  as  we  now  say,  CounterpaneSy  were 
iaancient  times  extremely  costly.  In  Wat  Tyler's  rebel 
lioa,  Stowe  informs  us,  when  the  iii.surgeiits  broke  into 
the  waTdrobe  in  the  Savoy,  they  destroyed  a  coverlet  worth 
ti  tiioasftnd  marks  —M ALONE. 

"  Pewter  "—Xct  II.  Sc.  1. 

We  may  suppose  (hat  pewter  was,  even  in  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  too  costly  to  he  used  in  common.  It  appears 
from  the  regulations  and  establishment  of  the  hou.sehold 
of  Henry  Algernon  Percy,  the  fifth  Earl  of  Northumber- 
land;  that  vessels  of  pewter  were  hired  by  the  year.  This 
kousehold  book  was  begun  in  the  year  1512.— STE EVENS. 
"  Quaffed  off  thf  mirscadfl  "— Act  III.  Sc.  2. 

The  fashion  of  introducing  a  bowl  of  wine  at  church  at 
a  wedding,  to  be  drurik  by  the  bride  ami  bridegroom  and 
persons  present,  was  very  anciently  a  cotisfant  ceremony  ; 
tsorwas  it  abolished  in  the  poet's  time.  We  find  it  practised 


at  the  magnificent  marriage  of  Queen  Mary  and  Phllifc 
in  Winchester  Cathedral,  1554.  •'^The  trumpets  soand«(L 
and  they  both  returned  to  their  traverses  in  tl«  quii  e,  ana 
there  remayned  untill  nias.se  -vas  done,  at  which  ty^ns, 
wi/ne  and  sopes  were  hallowed  and  delyvered  to  tnew 
both."— T.  WARTON. 

"  An  old  hat,  and  the  humour  of  forty  fancies  pricks  int 
for  a  feather."— Act  III.  Sc.  2. 

Fancy  appears  to  have  been  some  ornament  worn  for- 
merly in  the  hat.  So,  Peacham,  in  his  Worth  of  a  Penny, 
describing  "an  indigent  and  discontented  soldat,"  says,  "  he 
walks  with  his  arms  folded,  his  belt  without  a  sword  or 
rapier,  that  perhaps  being  somewhere  in  trouLle;  a  iaf 
without  a  band,  hanging  over  his  eyes,  only  :";t-  bears  a 
weatherbeaten/a;if,y  for  fashion  sake."— MALONE. 
"  Their  blue  coats  bnesh'd."— Act  IV.  Sc.  1. 

Blue  was  commonly  worn  by  servants  at  the  time.  So,' 
in  Decker's  Bellman  :  "  The  other  act  lhei«  oarts  in  blew 
coatfs,  as  they  were  their  servinq  men,  though  indeed  they 
be  all  fellows ;"  and  in  The  Curtain  Drawer  of  the  World  : 
"  Not  a  serving  man  dare'appeare  in  a  blew  coat,  not 
because  it  is  the  livery  of  charity,  but  lest  he  should  be 
thought  a  retainer  to  their  enemy."— REED. 

"  The  carpers  laid."~Act  IV.  Sc.  1. 

In  our  author's  time,  it  was  customary  to  cover  tablet 
with  carpets.  Floors  were  commonly  strewed  with  raf'Mt. 

MALONli. 

*'  At/,  but  the  mustard  is  too  hot,  a  little." 

Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 

This  is  agreeable  to  the  doctrine  of  the  times.  In  The 
Glass  of  Humours,  it  is  said :  "  But  note  here,  thai  the 
tirst  diet  is  not  only  in  avoiding  superfluity  of  meat,  and 
surfeits  of  drinks,  but  also  in  eschewing  such  as  are  nost 
obnoxious,  and  least  agreeable  with  our  hai)py  temperate 
state ;  as  for  a  cholerick  man  to  abstain  from  alt  salt, 
scorched,  dry  meats,  from  mustard,  and  such  like  tfaingj 
as  will  a^rgravate  his  malignant  humours."— REE!>. 
"  Come,  tailor,  let  us  see  these  ornaments.*" 

Act  If.  S.  A 

Formerly  women's  gowns  were  made  by  men.  So  in  Vs* 
Epistle  (0  the  Ladies,  prefixed  to  Eupbues  and  his  England,, 
by  .John  Lyly,  1.580  ;  "  If  a  tailor  make  your  gown  too 
little,  you  cover  his  feult  with  abroad  stomacher;  if  t«v> 
great,  with  a  number  of  pleights ;  if  too  short,  with  a  fair 
guard  ;  If  too  long,  with  a  false  gathering."— MALONE. 
"  Custard-coffin."— Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 

A  coffin  was  the  ancient  cnlinarv  term  for  the  raised cniflt 
of  a  pie  or  c?«^arrf.— STEEVENS. 

"  Censer."— Act  IV.  S  c.  3. 

We  learn  from  an  old  print,  that  hese  censers  resevt^ble^ 
in  shape  our  modern  brasieres.  They  had  pierced  convex 
covers,  and  stood  on  feet.  They  not  only  ser\  ed  to  sweeten 
a  barber's  shop,  but  to  keep  his  water  warm,  and  dry  his 
clothes  on.— STEEVENS. 

"  My  banquet."— Act  V.  Sc.  2 

A  banquet,  or  an  afterpast,  was  a  slight  refection,  like 
our  modern  desert,  consisting  of  cakes,  sweetmeats,  &u4 
fruif.-STEEVENS. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


"  TTappy  man  be  his  dole." — Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

The  alms  immemorially  given  to  the  poor  by  the  arch- 
bishops of  Canterbury,  is  still  called  the  rfo/e  — NICHOLS. 
"  Lower  messes." — Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

Formerly,  at  the  tables  of  the  great,  a  large  .salt  cellar 
was  placed  in  the  middle,  the  noble  guests  sat  above  it; 
the  retainers  and  per.sons  of  low  rank,  below  it.  At  the 
upper  end  of  the  bonrd.  the  viands  were  delicate  and  costly ; 
at  the  lower,  plain  and  yuhstautial.  Wine  was  drank  above 
the  salt  ,  beer  only,  below  it  An  allusion  is  made  to  this 
custom  iti  The  Honest  Whore,  by  Decker,  1604.  '  Plague 
Bim,  set  him  bfueath  thf  salt,  and  let  him  not  touch  a  bit 
till  every  one  has  had  his  full  cut. 

"  Still  virf/inalling  — Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

A  virginal  is  a  very  small  kind  of  spinet.   Queen  Eliz- 
Ateth's  virginal  book  is  st  11  in  t)eing,  and  many  of  the 
fessona  ii  it  have  proved  so  difficult,  as  to  b^ffie  our  most 
t2j»srt  players  on  tie  hHrpsichord  —STEEVENS 
«  Like  his  medal."— Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

It  should  be  remembered,  that  it  was  customary  for  gen- 
tleiiien..  in  our  aulhor's  age.  to  wear  jewels  appended  to  a 
ribbon  round  the  neck.  So  in  Honour  in  Perfection,  or 
»  Treatise  in  CommetidHtii  n  of  Henrie,  Earl  of  Oxenforde, 
Henrie,  Earl  of  .Southampton,  &c.  by  Gervais  Nasliham, 
1624;  ''He  liath  hxng  .ahoxt  thi'  neck  of  his  noble  kins- 
man. Sir  Horace  Vere,  like  a  rick  jewel."  Th  -  knights 
of  the  e-arier  wore  the  Geortce,  in  this  manner  till  the 
time  of  Charles  I.— MA  LONE. 

"  Tl/frc  may  he  in  the  cup, 

A  spiiier  steep'd.  and  one  nu/7/  drink."— Act  11.  Sc.  1. 

.That  spiders  were  thought  venomous  appears  by  the 


evidenie  of  a  person  who  was  examined  in  Sir  Thomas 
Overbury's  affair.  "  TheCountesse  wished  me  to  get  the 
strongest  poyson  I  could ,  accord!  glv,  I  bought  ^even  great 
spiders,  and  cantharides.'*— HENDERSON. 

"  A  boy,  or  a  child."— Act  III  Sc  3, 

In  some  of  our  inland  counties,  a  female  infant,  in 
contradistinction  to  a  male  one.  is  still  termed  among  the 
peasantry,  a  cAi/rf —STEEVENS. 

"  With  trol  my -> lames. "—Act  TV.  Sc.  2. 

In  Dr.  Jones's  old  treatise  on  Buckstone  Bafl.es,  he  says, 
*'  (he  ladyes,' gentle  w  omen,  wyves,  maydes.  if  he  weather 
be  not  agreeable,  may  have  in  the  ende  of  a  bei  che,  elevca 
holes  made,  intoo  the  which  to  troule  pummit.' ,  either  wy- 
olent  or  softe,  after  their  own  discretion:  the  pastime 
troule  in  madame  is  termed." — F.4RMER. 

"  Fadings."— Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 

A  rural  Irish  dance.  This  dance  is  .still  practised  on  re- 
joicing occasions  in  many  parts  of  Ireland  A  king  and 
queen  are  chosen  from  amongst  the  young  persons  who 
dance  best ;  the  queen  carrii  s  gai  land,  composed  of  two 
hoops  placed  at  right  ang  es,  and  fastened  to  a  handle; 
the  hoops  are  covered  with  flowers  and  rihbons.  Frequent' 
ly,  in  the  cou  se  of  the  dance,  the  king  and  queen  lift  up 
their  joined  hands  as  high  as  they  can.  she  still  holding  the 
garland  in  the  other.  The  most  remote  couple  fVom  the 
king  and  queen  first  pass  under:  all  the  rest  of  the  line, 
linked  together,  follow  in  succession;  when  the  last  has 
passed,  the  king  and  queen  suddenly  face  about  and  front 
their  companions:  this  is  often  repeated  in  tlie  course  of 
the  dance,  and  the  various  undulations  are  pret(>  enough, 
rese.mbiiiig  (he  movements  of  a  serpent.  The  daricers,  on 
the  first  of  May ,  visit  such  newly  married  pairs  of  a  certain 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


rank,  as  have  teen  married  since  last  May  day  in  the  neigh- 
bomi'.ood,  who  commoTily  bestow  on  them  a  stuffed  ball, 
richly  ked  with  smd  and  silver  lace,  and  accompanied 
wiih  a  present  of  mcuey  to  regale  themselves  after  the 
dance.  This  dance  is  practised  when  the  bonfires  are 
I  sliU'i  up,  the  (|ueen  Iiailing  the  return  of  summer,  in  a 
popular  Irish  song,  beginning  : 

We  Uad  on  Summer — see  !  she.  folloios  in  onr  train.  " 

BOSWELL. 

"  Lawn  a.i  vjfdte  as  driven  smm.  etc."— Act.  IV.  Sc.  3. 

Antolvcus  here  enumerates,  in  his  assumed  character  of 

pedl  ir,  sucii  articles  as  being  on  sale  as  were  likely  to 
al  tract  customers.  What  these  were  we  can  onlv  guess  at. 
fie  has  "  unliraided  wares.  "  This  probably  means  of  the 
best  mnnufactuie  undamaged.  "  Points  more  (^an  all  the 
lawyers  in  Bohemia,  ean  learnedly  handle.  "  These  were 
laces  with  metal  tags  to  them.  "  Caddices  :"  Caddis,  ac- 
tording  to  Maione,  is  a  narrow  worsten  ferret.  "  Inkle  :  " 
Inkle,  as  we  learn  from  the  .same  authority,  is  a  kind  of 
laj-e.   •■  roKiiig  sticks  of  steel  :"Stowe  informs  us,  that 

about  the  sixteenthe  ."eare  of  the  Queen  Elizabeth,  be- 
gan the  iriakingo  steel  poking  sticks,  and  until  that  time 
all  laundi  esses  used  setting  sticks  made  of  wood  or  bone." 
These  poking  slicks  were  Tiea-ted  in  the  fire,  and  made  use 
of  to  adjust  the  plaits  of  rufis.  "  Pomander  :"  a  Pomander 
was  a  little  ball  made  of  perfumes,  and  worn  in  the  pocket, 
or  about  the  neck,  to  prevent  infection  when  the  plague 
waa  prevalent. 

"  A  pair  of  sweet  glooes  "— Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 

Stowes'  continuator,  Edmund  Howes,  informs  us,  that 
Uw English  could  not"  make  any  costly  washe  or  perfume. 


until  aboute  the  fourteenth  or  fifteenth  of  the  Qne9i«  £1isa. 

beth,  the  Right  Honourable  Edward  Vere,  Ear  c<"  Os- 
fiirde,  came  from  Italy,  and  brought  with  hin  glovct^ 
sweet  bagges,  a  perfumed  leather  jerkin,  and  other  plea- 
sant things  ;  and  that  the  Queene  had  a  payre  of  perfumed 
gloves  trimmed  only  with  fonre  tufts  or  roses  of  cullereil 
silke.  The  Queene  tooke  such  pleasure  in  those  glovea, 
tn«.t  she  was  pictured  with  those  gloves  upon  her  hands  : 
and  for  many  years  after  it  was  called  the  Erie  of  Oxfofde% 
p<fr/>rwf."— WARTON. 

"  Here's  another  ballad;  Of  a  fish.  "—Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 
Whoever  was  hanged  or  burnt  a  merry  or  lamentable 
ballad  was  immediately  entered  on  the  books  ot  the  Sta- 
tioners' Company  ;  among  the  entries  for  HK)!,  we  find  the 
following,  to  which,  no  doubt,  Antolyrus  alludes  :  "  A 
strange  reporte  of  a  monstrous  fi.sh  that  appeered  in  the 
shape  '^f  a  woman,  from  her  waiste  upward,  scene  in  the 
sfle.  •' 

"  All  men  of  Aair."-^Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 
Sfen  of  hair,  are  hairy  m«n,  or  satyrs.  A  dsnce  of 
satyrs  was  no  unusual  entertainment  m  the  middle  hjes. 
At  a  great  festival  celebrated  in  France,  the  king  and 
some  of  the  nobles  personated  satyrs  dressed  in  close  habits, 
tufttd  or  shagged  all  over,  to  imitate  hair.  They  began  a 
wild  dance;  and  in  the  tumult  of  iheir  merriment,  one  ol 
them  went  too  near  a  candle  and  set  fire  to  his  satyr's  garb, 
the  flame  ran  instantly  oxer  the  loose  tufts,  and  spread 
itself  to  the  dress  of  those  who  were  next  to  him  ;  a  great 
number  of  the  dancers  were  cruelly  scorched,  being  neithei 
able  to  throw  oft  their  coats,  nor  extinguish  them.  The 
King  had  set  himself  in  the  lap  of  the  Dnches.s  of  Burgundy, 
who  threw  her  robe  over  him  and  saved  him.— JOHNSON, 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


"  Carkanel."— Act  III.  Sc.  1. 

A  carkanet  seems  to  have  been  a  necklace  set  with  stones, 
or  strung  with  pearls.   Thus,  in  Partheneia  Sacra,  I(i33 : 

*  £k!eke  not  vermillion  or  ceruse  in  the  face,  bracelets  of 
oriental  pearls  on  the  wrists,  rubie  carkanets  on  the  neck, 
and  a  most  exquisite  fan  of  feathers  in  the  hand." 

STEEVENS. 
"  An  everlasting  garme?it."— Act  IV.  Sc.  2. 
The  sergeants  or  sheriffs'  officers,  in  Shakspeare's  time, 
were  clad  m  butf.   Buff  is  also  a  cant  expression  for  a  man's 
«kin,  a  covering  which  lasts  him  as  long  as  his  life. 

MASON. 

*  One  that  before  the  judgment  carries  poor  souls  to  hell." 

Act  IV.  Sc.  2. 

jBc/ore  judgment ;  that  is,  on  what  is  called  mesne  pro- 
Cf.is  :  whin  a  man  is  arrested  after  judgment,  he  is  said 
to  be  taken  in  execution.  Heel  was  the  cant  name  for  au 
Bbicure  dungeon  in  any  of  our  prisons. — MALONE. 

have  you  gut  the  picture  of  old  Adam  new  appa- 

reli'dP'-Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 
eems  to  be  an  allusion  to  some  well  known  con- 


temporary painting,  perhaps  of  a  sign.    "  Adam,  whom 

God  (iyd  fyrst  create,  made  the  fyrst  lether  cnates  fovhim- 
seif;  and  hiswyfeEve,  our  old  mother;  leavyng  thereby 
a  patron  to  al  his  posteritie  of  that  crafte."  Polydore  Fir- 
gil,  translated  by  JLangley.— DOUCE. 

*  Thou  peevish  officer. '> — Act  IV.  Sc.  4. 

Peevish, 2is\\ere  used,  is  synonimous  to  foolish,  and  tha 
word  was  frequently  so  employed  by  our  old  writers;  so 
in  The  Curse  of  Corn  Holders,  by  Charles  Fifx  Geoliry, 
1633  :  "  The  Egyptians  relieved  the  Israelites  in  the  famine, 
though  it  were  an  abomination  to  the  Egypt 'an-t,  in  theij 
peevish  superstition,  to  eate  hreade  with  the  liebrewes.* 
"  His  man  with  scissors  nicks  him  like  a  fool."  —Act  V.  Sc.l. 

There  is  a  penalty  often  .shillings  in  one  of  king  Alfred'^ 
ecclesiastical  laws  if  one  opprobriously  sArtve  a  co».  imoa 
man  like  a  fool.  Fools  were  certainly  .shaved  or  nicked  in 
a  peculiar  manner  in  Shakspeare's  time,  as  we  learn  front 
The  Choice  of  Change,  1598  "  lliree  things  used  by  mord«, 
which  provoke  other  men  to  laugh  at  their  follies  ;  1.  Tfeev 
are  shaven  and  notched  on  the  head  likey'oo/cs."— TOLLE'S 
and  VIALONE. 


MACBETH. 


"  Ktrnes  and  Gallowg lasses." — Act  I.  Sc.  2 

\\c  have  the  following  account  of  Kernes  and  Gallow- 
glas.ses,  in  Ba'naby  Riche's  new  Irish  Prognostication  : 
♦The  Gal'oglas  succeedeth  the  horseman,  and  he  is  com- 
Monh  arme  l  Nvitb  a  scull ;  a  shirte  of  maile,  and  a  Galio- 
glas  fi.xe.  His  service  in  the  field  is  neither  §ood  against 
aorsemen,  nor  able  to  endure  an  encounter  ot  pikes:  yet 
ibe  Irish  io  make  great  account  of  them.  Tho  Kerve  of 
Ireland  are  next  in  request,  the  very  dross  and  scum  of  the 
country,  a  Tenerat  ion  of  villaines  not  fit  to  live:  these  be 
they  that  live  by  robbing  and  spoyling  the  poor  countrey- 
man,  that  maketh  him  many  times  to  buye  bread  to  gire 
onto  them,  thouge  he  want  for  himselfe  and  his  pbore 
children.  These  are  they  that  are  ready  to  run  out  with 
everie  rebelt,  and  these  are  the  verie  hags  of  hell,  fit  for 
nothing  but  for  the  gallows. "—BOSWELL. 

<*  Saint  Colmes'  Inch."— Act.  I.  Sc.  2. 

Colmes'  Inch,  now  called  Inchcomh,  is  a  small  island  in 
the  Firth  of  Edinburgh,  with  an  abbey  upon  it,  dedicated 
to  Saint  Calomb,  called  by  Camden  Inch  Colm,  or  the  Isle 
of  St.Cohimha.  Holinshed  thus  relates  the  circumstance 
alluded  to  in  the  plav  :  "  The  Danes  that  escaped,  and  got 
once  to  their  ships,  obtained  of  Rlakbeth  for  a  great  summe 
of  gold,  that  such  of  their  friends  as  were  slaine,  might  be 
buried  in  Saint  Colmes' inch.  In  memorie  whereof  many 
old  sepultures  are  yet  in  the  said  inch,  there  to  be  scene, 
graven  with  the  amies  of  the  Danes. » 

"  The  rump  fed  rony  on."   Act  I.  Sc.  3 

The  chief  cooks,  in  noblemen's  familie.'?,  colleges,  and 
iio,<!pitals,  anciently  claimisd  the  emolumenN  or  kitchen 
(fees  of  kidneys,  fat  trotters,  rumps,  &c.  which  they  sold  to 
the  poor.  The  weird  sister,  in  this  scene,  as  an  insult  on 
the  poverty  of  the  woman  who  had  called  her  vntvh,  re- 
pro.tches  her  poor  abject  state,  as  not  being  able  to  procure 
better  provision  than  offals.— COLEPEPER. 

"  In  a  sieve  Vll  thither  sail."   Act  I.  Sc.  3. 

Ileginald  3c  )tt  says,  it  was  believed  that  witches  "  could 
gail  in  an  rgg  shell,  a  cockle  or  muscle  shell,  through  and 
urder  the  tnHjjestuous  seas."  And  in  a  book,  "  declaring 
the  damnable  life  ofDoci  or  Pian,"  is  the  following  passage: 
"  All  they  (the  witches)  together  went  to  sea,  each  one  in  a 
riddle  or  c'ce.and  went  in  the  .same  very  substantially  with 
fiaggoaa  of  wine,  making  merrie  and  drinking  by  the  way. 
In  the  kaoie  ritidles  or  civet." 


"  And  like  a  rat  tmtkovt  a  tail.— Act  I.  Sc.  3. 
It  was  imagined,  that  though  a  witch  could  assume  th« 
form  of  any  animal  she  pleased,  the  tail  would  still  be 
wanting.  This  deficiency  has  been  thus  accounted  for^ 
though  the  hands  and  feet,  hy  an  easy  change,  might  be 
converted  into  the  four  paws  of  a  beast,  still  mere  was  no 
part  about  a  woman  which  corresponded  to  the  length  ol 
tail  common  to  almost  all  our  tour  footed  animals. 

STEEVENS. 
"  /'// give  thee  a  wind."— Act  I.  Sc.  3, 
This  gift  of  a  wind  must  be  hmked  upon  as  an  act  of  sifr 
terly  friendship,  for  witches  wrre  supposed  to  sell  them. 
So  in  Summer's  Last  Will  and  Teslamejit,  1600. 

"   in  Ireland  and  in  Denmark  both, 

Witches  for  gold  will  sell  a  man  a  winde  ,• 
Wliick  in  the  corner  of  a  napkin  larap'd, 
Shall  blow  him  safe  unto  what  coast  he  will." 
It  may  be  hoped  that  our  witches  behaved  more  hatvd 
somely  than  one  of  their  relations,  as  described  in  an  ap 
pendix  to  the  old  translation  of  Marco  Paulo,  l&7d  :  "  the^ 
demanded  that  he  should  give  them  a  winde ;  and  )if. 
shewed,  setting  his  bands  behinde,  from  whence  the  windi 
should  cowe."— STEEVENS. 

"  The  insane  root."— -Act.  I.  Sc.  3. 
"  You  gaz'd  against  the  sun,  and  so  blemished  your  sight; 
or  else  you  have  eaten  of  the  roots  of  hemli.ck,  that  »;J*ke« 
men's  eyes  conceit  unseen  objects."— GREENE'S  NEVER 
TOO  LATE,  1616. 

*•  The  prince  of  Cumberland.*'— Act  1.  So  .  4. 
*'  Duncan  having  two  sonnes,  he  made  the  elder  of  thon, 
called  Malcolm,  prince  o.'  Cumherla'Hd,  as  it  was  theretoy 
to  appoint  him  successor  in  his  kmgdome  iminedialeh« 
after  his  decease.  Mackbeth,  sorely  troubled  herewith,  for 
that  he  saw  by  this  means  his  hope  .sore  hindered  vWlert 
by  the  old  laws  of  the  realme  the  ordinance  was,  that  7* 
he  that  should  succeed  was  not  able  of  age  to  take  the 
charge  upon  himselfe,  he  tV.at  was  next  of  blo<v<J  «nto  hUtt 
should  be  admitted)  he  began  to  tak--  counsel  Low  he 
might  u.surp  the  kingdmn  by  force,  hs^v^  a  ,f"«t  '4.iarrel 
so  to  doe  (as  he  toote  the  matter,)  for  fLat  Dunraoe  did 
what  in  him  lay  todefraude  him  of  t;il  n.flinner  oi  title  an« 
claime,  which  he  might,  in  tyme  to  come,  oreteBw  to  w 
crowne.^'-HOLINSHED. 


814: 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


*  /  have   rugg'd  their  possets."—  "  Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

£t  was  a  general  custom  to  eat  possets  just  before  bed 
lime.  Raudle  Holmea  in  his  Academy  of  Armory,  says: 
"  Posset  hoi  inuK  poured  on  ale  or  sack,  having  sugar, 
KSTfttejU  bisket,  aad  eggs,  with  other  ingredients  boiled  in  it, 
VtrioQ  goes  all  to  a  curd."— MALONE. 

Co/jwe-ifciV/.''— Act  IL  Sc.  3. 

Colme-kill  is  the  famous  lona,  the  burying  place  of  the 
•Oicieot  Scottish  kings,  one  of  the  Western  Isles,  described 
ky  Johnson  in  his  Tour.— STEEVEWS. 

"  The  pit  of  Acher on. "—A.ct  Ul.  Sc.  5. 

Shakspeare  seems  to  have  thought  it  allowable  to  give 
the  name  of  Acheron  to  any  fountain,  lake,  or  pit,  through 
which  there  was  vulgarly  supposed  to  be  any  communica- 
tion between  this  acd  the  infernal  world.  The  true  origi- 
nal Acheron  was  a  river  in  Greece,  and  yet  Virgil  jjives 
this  name  to  his  Lake  in  the  valley  of  Aimanctvs,  in  fialy. 

STEEVENS. 
«  Enter  the  Three  Witches'^— kc\.  IV.  Sc.  1. 

Sbakspeare  has  chosen  every  circumstance  of  his  infer- 
9^1  ceremonies  with  great  judgment.  A  cat  was  the  usual 
interlocutor  between  witches  and  familiar  spirits.  A 
witch,  who  was  tiled  about  fifty  years  before  the  bard's 
lime,  v/as  said  to  have  had  a  cat  named  Rutterkin  and 
when  any  misciiief  was  to  be  done  she  would  bid  Rutterkin 
go  and  fly.  The  comn  on  afflictions  attributed  to  the  malice 
l>f  witches,  were  melanohoiy,  tits,  and  loss  of  Heeh.  Tticy 
likewise  destroyed  th^  cattle  of  their  neighbours,  and  the 
farmers  have,  to  this  day,  many  ceremonies  to  secure  their 
Bcrds  from  witchcraft.  They  were  very  malicious  to 
Bwin?;;  one  of  Shakspeare's  hags,  says,  she  has  been  kil- 
ling swine  ;  and  Dr.  Harsnet  observes,  that  in  his  time  "  a 
sow  could  not  be  tl!  of  the  measles,  nor  a  girl  of  the  sul- 
lens,  but  some  old  woman  was  charged  with  witchcraft. 
Toads  have  long  been  reproached  as  the  abettors  of  witch 
r  raft.  When  Vaninus  was  siezed  at  Tholouse,  there  was 
found  in  his  lodgings,  «  great  toad  shut  in  a  phial  upon 
which,  those  that  prosecuted  him,  denounced  him  as  a 
wizard.  The  ingredients  of  Shakspeare's  cauldron  are  se- 
lected according  to  the  toniiuiai  ies  prescribed  in  books 
of  magick.  Wiiciies  were  supposed  to  take  up  bodi  s  to 
a')e  ill  eiichajitmcuts,  which  was  confessed  Iiy  the  woman 
whom  king  James  examined,  and  who  had  of  a  dead  body 
that  was  divided  in  one  of  tii'-ir  assemblies,  two  fingers  tor 
her  share.  A  passage  from  Camden  explains  and.justifies 
©ur  author  in  some  other  particulars:  "  Wiien  any  one 
fets  a  fall,  he  stands  up,  and  turning  three  times  to  the 
rigk'.,  digs  a  hole  in  the  earth  ;  for  they  imagine  tliat  there 
f«  t  iipirit  in  the  ground,  and  if  he  falls  sick  in  two  or  three 
dayH,  they  send  one  of  their-  women  that  is  skilled  in  tliat 
way,  to  the  place,  where  she  says,  '  I  call  tiiee  from  the 
e8«t,  west,  north,  and  south,  from  the  sroves,  the  woods, 
Che  rivers,  and  the  fens,  Jrom  the  fairies,  red  black,  and 
tM»<«.'— JOrfNSON.  &c. 


And  yet  the  eighth  appeals,  who  hears  a  - 

A'-t  IV.  WtSm 

Magicians,  in  the  superstitious  age  of  our  atithor*  pro- 
fessed to  have  the  power  of  shewing  future  events  by 
means  of  a  cAamprf  glass  or  mirror.  So,  in  an  exrt 
from  the  Penal  Laws  against  Witches,  it  is  said,  "ITief 
do  answer  either  by  voice,  or  else  do  set  Ufore  thei'-  eyes 
in  glasses,  crystal  stones,  &c.  the  pictures  or  images  of 
persons  or  things  sought  for."  Spenser  has  given  a  very 
circumstantial  account  of  the  glHss  which  Merlin  made  fop 
king  Ryence.  A  mirror  of  the  same  kind  was  presented  to 
Cambuscan  in  The  Squire's  Tale  of  Chaucer ;  and  in  -John 
Alday's  translation  of  Pierre  Boi'steau's  Theatrtim  Mundi. 
"  A  certain  philosopher  did  the  like  to  Pompey,  the  which 
shewed  him  in  a  glass  the  order  of  his  enemies'  joarc);.  * 

STEEVENb. 

*  The  mere  despair  of  surgery  he  fures." —\.ct  IV.  S«.  .1. 

The  power  of  curing  the  king's  evil  was  claimed  by  vttmj 
of  the  Plantagenets.  Dr.  Borde,  who  wrote  in  the  time 
of  Henry  Vlll.  says:  "The  kynges  of  England,  by  the 
power  that  God  hath  given  unto  them,  doyth  make  sycU 
men  whole  of  a  syckness  called  the  kyng's  evylL"  In 
lianeham's  account  of  the  Entertainments  of  Kenelworth, 
it  is  said  :  "  And  also  by  her  highnesse  (queeri  Elizabeth) 
accustemed  mercy  and  charilee,  nyne  cured  of  the  payn- 
fiil  and  dangerous  deseaz  called  the  king's  evil,  for 
that  kings  and  queens  of  this  realme  without  oother 
mcdsin  (save  only  by  handling  and  prayer)  only  doo  it.* 
This  practice  was  continued  so  late  as  queen  Anne's 
time  :  Dr.  Johnson,  when  a  child,  was  touched  for  the  evil 
by  that  princess. 

"  English  epicures.*~\ct  V.  Sc.  3. 

Of  the  ancient  poverty  of  Scotland,  the  following  men- 
tion is  made  by  Froissart: — "  They  be  like  wylde  and 
savage  people — they  dought  ever  to  iese  that  they  have, 
for  it  is  a  poore  countrey.  And  when  the  Englishmen 
maketh  any  rood  or  voyage  into  tin;  countrey,  if  they 
thynke  to  lyve,  they  must  cause  thf;ir  provysion  and 
vitayleto  follow  them  at  their  backe,  for  tiiey  shall  find 
nothing  in  that  countrey."  Surh  a  people,  who  made  but 
one  meal  a  day,  envying  the  "  EiigH.ih  likerous  delicats," 
would  be  ready  enough  to  brand  their  ancient  enemies 

with  the  name  o{ epicures  STEEVENS. 

"  Henceforth  be  earls,  the  first  that  ever  Scotland 
In  such  an  honour  nain'd:" — Act  V.  Sc.  7. 

"  Malcolm,  im»nediately  after  his  coronaticn,  called  a 
parlement  at  Forfair,  in  the  which  he  reward*  d  them  with 
lands  and  livings  that  had  assisted  him  againbt  Macbeth. 
Manie  of  them  that  were  before  thanes,  were  at  this  iim& 
made  enfr/^.v,  as  Fife,  Menteith,  Atb.oll,  Levenox,  Mar'-er, 
Cathness,  Rnsse.  and  Angus,"— HOLINSHEDS  HIS- 
TORY OF  SCOTLAND. 


EING  JOHN. 


«  With  that  half-face.''— KqX.  I.  Sc.  1. 
rhe  poet  sneers  at  the  meagre  sharp  visage  of  the  elder 
biother,  by  comparing  him  to  a  silver  groat  that  hore  he 
king's  face  In  profile,  so  shewing  but  half  the  fac?.  ;  the 
groats ot' all  our  English  kings,  and  indeed  all  their  other 
silver  coins,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  had  a  full  face 
crowned  ;  till  Henry  VII,  coined  groats  and  half  groats,  as 
filso  some  shillings  with  half  faces,  as  all  our  coin  has  now. 
The  first  groats  of  Henry  Vlll.  were  like  his  father's, 
thou,jh  he  afterwards  returned  to  the  broad  faces  again. 
These  groats,  w  ith  the  impression  in  profile,  are  here  al- 
luded to;  thovfgh  the  author  is  guilty  of  an  anachronism  ; 
for  in  John's  time  there  were  no  groats  at  all,lh(  y  being 
first  coined  in  the  reign  of  Edward  III.— THEOBALD. 


■My  face  so  thin. 


That  in  mine  ear  /  durst  not  stick  a  rose. 
Lest  men  should  sat/,  look  where  three  farth'ngs  goes." 

Act  i.  Sc.  1. 

Te  Elizabeth's  time  there  were  three  farthing  silver 
pieces  ;  they  were  impressed  with  her  head,  w  ith  a  full 
blown  rose  behind  it;  these  pieces  were  of  course  ex- 
tremely thin.  In  this  age,  fashionables  of  both  sexes  wore 
flowers,  especially  roses,  behind  their  ear.s.  Combine 
these  circumstances,  and  the  allusion  is  obvious. 

THEOBALD. 

"  Plantagenet." — Act  I.  Sc.  1. 

P^^antagenet  was  not  a  family  name,  but  a  nick-name,  by 
Whick  a  grandson  of  Geffrey ,  the  first  earl  of  Anjou  was 
distinguished,  from  his  vnemng  a  broom  stalk  in  his  bonnet. 
"  Now  your  traveller.'" — Act.  I.  Sc.  1. 
Travelling,  in  Elizabeth's  time,  was  the  fashionable  re- 
Murce  of  those  who  had  no  fixed  occupation;  as  to  have 
teen  foreign  countries  enabled  a  man  to  assume  airs  of 
surieriority  over  his  untravelled  companions.    "  A  fra- 
veller  was  a  good  thing  after  dinner  ;"  a  constant  occasion 
of  wonder  and  amusement.   Yet  travellers  fell  into  strange 
iarjifirti-iences.   Sir  Thomas  Overbury,  speaking  of  one, 
cajs  : — •*  He  censures  all  thmg.^  by  countenances  and 
^ii(igs,  pnd  speaks  his  own  language  with  shame  and  lisp- 
ing; he  will  choke  rather  than  confess  beere  good  driuke, 
lind  his  tooth  pick  is  a  main  part  of  his  behaviom  "  Tra- 
vellers brought  home  many  rid:*~ulous  fashions.  Gascojgne 
4b  ais  Poems,  1572,  describes  some  of  these  : — 
"  Sow,  sir,  if  I  shall  see  your  mastership 
Come  home  disguis'd,  and  clad  in  quaint  array : 
A  with  a  pike  tooth  byiing  on  your  lippe ; 
Ymr  brave  mustachioi  iurt-  'd  the  Turkie  way: 


A  coptankt  hat  made  on  a  Flemish  blocke  ; 
A  night  gowne  cloake  dovni  traynng  to  your  toeSf 
A  slender  slop  close  couched  to  your  dock, 
A  curtolde  slipper,  atid  a  short  silk  hose." 
"  Colbrand."— Act  I.  Sc.  1. 
Colbrand  was  a  Danish  giant,  whom  Guy  of  Warwick 
discomfited  in  the  presence  of  king  Atheistan.  The  com- 
bat is  very  pompously  described  by  Drayton  in  his  Polyol- 
bion.— JOHNSON. 

"  Richard,  that  robh'd  the  l^on  of  his  heart."— Act  U.  Sc.  1. 

So  Rastal  in  his  Chronicle :  ^  It  is  sayd  that  a  lyon  was 
put  to  kynge  Richard,  beynge  in  prison,  to  have  devoured 
him,  and  when  the  lyon  was  gapyiige  he  put  his  arme  into 
his  mouth,  and  pulled  the  lyon  by  the  harte  so  hard  that 
he  slew  the  lyon,  and  therefore  some  say  he  is  called 
Richard  Cure  de  Lyon  ;  but  some  say  he  is  cafled  Cure 
de  Lyon,  because  of  his  boldness  and  hardy  stomake." 

GREY. 

*  By  this  brave  duke  came  early  to  his  grave." 

Act  II.  Sc.  I. 

Richard  was  not  killed  by  the  duke  of  Austria;  he  lost 
his  life  at  (he  siege  of  Ch^luz,  long  after  he  had  been  ran- 
somed out  of  the  hands  of  this  petty  potentate.  Ths  pro- 
ducing Austria  on  the  scene  is  also  contrary  to  the  truth 
of  history.  Leopold,  duke  of  Austria,  bv  whom  Kichardl. 
had  been  thrown  into  prison  in  1193,  died  in  consequence 
of  a  fall  from  his  horse,  in  1195,  some  years  before  the 
commencement  of  the  pr'-sent  play.  The  original  causff 
of  quarrel  between  Austria  and  Richard  is  variously  re- 
lated. Harding  in  his  Chronicle  says,  that  the  source  of 
enmity  was  Ri/;hard  s  taking  down  the  duke  cf  Austria's 
arms  and  banner,  which  he  had  set  up  above  tho.se  of  the 
king  of  France  and  the  king  of  Jerusalem.  The  afi'rout 
was  given  when  they  lay  before  Acre  in  Palestine. 

MALONB 

*  That  thou  may'st  be  a  queen,  and  check  the  worli." 

Act.  IL  So  I. 

"  Surely  queen  Eleanor,  the  kyng's  mother,  was  sore 
against  her  nei)hew  Arthur,  rather  moved  thereto  by  envye 
concevved  against  his  mother,  than  upon  any  just  occa- 
sion, given  in  (he  behaife  of  the  chihle  ;  for  that  she  saw, 
if  he  were  kynge,  AowAiA  OTO?A-!;r  Constance  would  looks 
to  beare  the  most  rule  within  the  realme  of  Englande,  iiM 
her  Sonne  should  come  to  a  lawful  age  to  governe  himselfe. 
So  hard  a  thing  it  is  to  bringe  women  to  a^tree  in  on* 
minde,  their  natures  commonly  being  so  contrary." 

HOLJNSHEa 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


"  Tfie  lady  Blanch:'— \ci  II.  Sc.  2. 
The  lady  Blmich  was  dau^lter  to  Alphonso  IX.  king  of 
r»astile,  and  whs  niece  to  king  John,  by  his  sister  Eleanor." 

STEEVENS. 

"  A  widow."— A-ct  III.  Sc.  1. 
This  was  not  the  fact.  Constance  was,  at  this  time,  mar 
ried  to  a  <Air(i  husband,  Guido,  brother  to  the  viscount  of 
Touars.  She  bad  been  divorced  from  her  .vec-c/«fZ  husband, 
Rarnulph,  earl  of  Chester.— MALONE. 
"  Soma  airy  devil  hovers  in  the  sky  " — Act  III.  Sc.  2. 
"  be  spirits  of  the  aire  wil'l  mixe  themselves  with 
thunder  and  lightning,  and  so  iiift-ct  the  clynie  wliere  tliey 
raise  any  tempest,  that  sodainely  great  inortalitie  shall 
ensue  to  the  inhabitants.    The  spirits  of  fire  have  their 
man.sions  under  the  regions  of  the  moone."— FIERCE 
PENNILESSE,  HIS  SUPPLICATION  ,  1592. 

Bell,  book,  and  candle,  shall  ?iot  drive  me  back." 

Act  IJI.  Sc.  3 

in  Archbishop  Wincbelsea's  Sentences  of  Exrommuni- 

caitioii,  anno  1208,  it  is  directed,  that  the  sentence  against 
the  infringers  of  certain  articles  should  be  "  throughout 
explained  in  order  in  English,  with  hells  tolling  and  can- 
dles I  ig  filed,  that  it  may  cause  the  greater  dread;  for  lay- 
men have  greater  regard  to  this  solemnity,  than  to  the 
effect  of  such  sentences."— REED. 

"  Yonng  gentlemen  would  be  as  sad  as  night. 
Only  for  wantonness  "  Act  IV.  Sc.  1. 

It  was  once  fashionable  to  affect  melancholy  in  company. 
Ben  Jonson  ridicules  this  folly  in  Every  Man  in  his  Hu- 
mour; again,  in  Questions  concernyng  Conie  hood,  and 
the  Nature  of  the  Conie:—"  That  conie  hood  which  pro- 
ceed.", of  melancholy,  is,  when  in  feastings  appointed  fc-r 
merriment,  this  kind  of  conie  man  sits  like  Mopsus  or 
Corydon,  blockish,  never  laughing,  never  speaking,  hut  so 
l-carishlie  as  if  he  would  devour  all  the  companie,  which 
he  ilotb  to  this  end,  that  the  guests  might  mutter  how 


3, 


this  his  deep  melancholy  argueth  grpat  learning  in  Mm, 

and  an  iniendmeiit  to  most,  \veiglj;v  atfaire.s  and  heavenlf 
speculations.^'  Again  in  Lyiy's  Midas,  \:m :  "Melan- 
choly? is  melanchiiit/  a  word  for  a  b  rber's  iiioutl\?  Thou 
should'st  say,  heavy,  dull,  and  d()lti.sh  :  melmi  .hnly  is  the 
crest  of  courtiers,  and  now  every  base  companion  says. 
Wis  ?)telanc/io/y."  And  in  the  life  and  Death  of  the  Lord 
Cromwell,  Hi  1.3  :— 

"  My  ti'ibilily  i.9  u  ondrrf)il  melancholy. 

Is  it  not  most  gentleman  like  to  be  meiajichnly 

STEEVENS. 
"  And  here's  a  prophet:''— kci  IV.  Sc.  2. 
This  man  was  a  hermit  in  great  repute  wiih  the  common 
people.    Notwithstanding  the  event  is  said  to  have  falle- 
oul   as  he  prO|)hecied.   the  poor  fellow  was  inhumanly 
d  agged  at  horses'  tails  through  the  streets  of  VVarhain, 
and  together  with  his  son,  who  appears  to  have  been  eve 
more  innocent  than  his  father,  hsnged  afterwards  upon 
gibbet— DOUCE. 

"  The  wall  is  high,  and  yet  I  will  leap  duvn  ,-- 

Act  I'  .  Sc.  i 

In  what  manner  Arthur  was  deprived  of  life  i.f  uncerttua 
it  seems  that  John  conducted  the  assassination  with  im' 
penetrable  secrecy.  The  French  writers,  however,  say 
that  John  coming  m  a  boat,  during  ihe  night  time,  to  to* 
castle  of  Rouen,  where  the  young  prince  was  confined, 
ordered  him  to  be  brought  forth,  and  having  stabbed  him, 
while  supplicating  for  mercy,  the  king  fastened  a  stone  to 
tlie  dead  body,  and  threw  it  into  (he  Seine  in  order  to  give 
some  colour,  which  he  afterwards  caused  to  be  spread, 
that  tlie  prince,  attempting  to  escape  out  of  a  window 
of  the  tower  of  the  castle,  fell  into  the  rivet  and  waa 
drowned.— MALONE. 

"  At  Worcester  must  his  body  be  inter r\L"-^\ct  V.  Sc.  7. 

A  stone  coflin,  containing  the  body  of  king  John,  wxa 
di.scoveri'd  in  the  cathedral  church  of  Worcester.  July  17. 
1797.— STEEVENS 


RING  RICHARD  II. 


"  Old  John  of  Gaunt  time-honour''d  Lancaster r 

Aot  I.  Sc.  1. 

John  of  Gaunt,  who  is  here  supposed  to  be  extremely 
old,waNat  this  time  only  tifty-eight  years  of  age.  But  it 
was  usual  with  our  old  authors  to  attribute  senility  to  per- 
lons  whom  we  should  only  think  in  their  middle  age. 
King  Henry  is  represented  by  Daniel  as  extremely  oid, 
when  he  had  a  child  by  the  lady  Rosamond.  This  monarch, 
at  his  death,  was  only  fifty  six.  The  earl  of  Leicester  is 
called  an  old  man,  by  Spenser,  when  he  was  not  fifty ; 
and  the  French  admiral  Coligny,  is  represented  by  his 
biographer  as  a  very  old  man,  though  at  tlie  time  of  bis 
death  he  was  but  fiitj;-three.  This  might  arise,  in  some 
ftieasure,  from  its  being  usual  to  enter  life  much  earlier 
than  we  do  at  present ;  those  who  were  married  at  fifteen 
ftiad  been,  at  fifty,  masters  of  a  house  and  family  far  thirty- 
tve  years.— MALONE. 

«'  The  duke  of  Qloster's  rfea/A."— Act  I.  Sc.  I. 

Thomas  of  WoodstorJc,  the  youngest  son  of  Edward  III 
Who  was  murdered  at  Calais,  in  1397  —MALONE. 

"  Since  last  I  went  to  France  to  fetch  his  queen." 

Act  I,  Sc.  1. 

Isabel,  the  daughter  of  Charles  VI.  was,  at  the  time  of 
her  marriage  with  Richard  II.  not  more  than  eight  years 
old.  Consequently,  the  part  ^he  is  made  to  take  in  this 
plav,  is  a  palpable  deviation  from  historical  truth,  as  she 
was'  .still  a  mere  child  at  her  husband's  death.— MALONE. 
"  Lions  make  leopards  tame  "—Act  I.  Sc.  1. 
The  Norfolk  crest  was  a  golden  leopard.— MALONE. 

"  Duchess  of  Gloster."— Act  I.  Sc.  2. 
The  duchess  of  Gloster,  was  Eleanor  Bohun,  widow  of 
dake  Thomas,  son  of  Edward  III —WALPO.LE. 

"  Aumerle:'— Act  I.  Sc.  3. 
Edward,  duke  of  Aumerle,  so  created  by  bis  cousin- 
germaii,  Richard  11.  in  1397.  He  was  the  eldest  son  of 
SkJward  of  Langley,  duke  of  York,  fifth  .son  of  king  Ed- 
Ward  III. ;  and  was  killed  in  141:),  at  the  battle  of  Agin- 
court.  He  cfMciaied  at  the  lists  of  Coventry,  as  high  con- 
stRble  cf  England.— M-iLONE. 

"  Mowbray's  waxen  coat.*' — Act  I.  Sc.  3. 
TliebrigantuJies,  or  coats  of  mail,  then  in  use,  were  com- 
posed of  small  pieces  of  .steel  quilted  over  one  another, 
and  yet  so  flexibie  as  to  accommodate  the  dress  they  form 
to  every  motion  of  the  body  ;  of  these  many  are  still  to  be 
seen  in  the  Tower  of  London.-STEEVENS. 

"  Warder.''— Act.  I.  Sc.  3. 
Awarder  appears  to  have  been  a  kind  of  truncheon, 
(SSnied  by  the  peruon  who  presided  at  these  .°ingle  combats. 

SX  EE  VENS. 
«  The  duke  of  York."- Act  II.  Sc.  I. 
Edmond.  duke  Df  York,  was  the  fifth  son  of  Edward  HI. 
and  was  born  in  1441,  at  Langley,  near  St  Albans  in 
Herf^rd.fro.'svN hence  he  had  his  surname.  This  pnnce, 
fs  bishop  Lowth  has  observed,  «  was  ot  an  indolent  dispo- 
sition, a  lover  of  pleasure,  and  averse  to  business ;  easi  y 
Drevai.ed  upon  to  lie  still,  and  consult  his  own  quiets 
and  never  acting  with  spirit  upon  any  occasion. 

«  -  This  land 

Is  novj  teas'd  out  f  I  die  pronovncing  it,) 
Like  to  a  tenement,  or  pelting  J  arm,"     ,„  „  , 
Act  II.  Sc.  J. 


"  In  this  twenty-second  year  of  King  Richard,  the 
common  fame  ranne  that  the  king  had  lelten  to  farme 
the  realme  unto  Sir  Willam  Scroope,  earle  of  Wiltshfje, 
and  then  treasurer  of  England,  to  Sir  John  Bushcy,  Sir 
John  Bagot,  and  Sir  Henry  Grene,  knightes."— FABIAN. 
'*  Nor  the  prevention  of  poor  Baling  broke, 
About  his  marriage:*  Act  II.  Sc.  I. 

When  the  dake  of  Hereford,  after  his  banishment,  wcHi 
into  France,  he  was  lionourably  entertained  at  that  court, 
and  would  have  obtained  in  raarriage  the  only  child  i  f  (its 
duke  of  Berry,  uncle  to  the  French  king,  had  not  Riciar^ 
pre-eited  the  match.— STEEVENS. 

*'  to  sue 

His  livery."  Act  II.  Sc.  I. 

On  the  death  of  every  person  who  held  by  knights' ser- 
vice, the  escheator  of  the  court  in  \vl;ich  he  d  ed,  sum- 
moned a  jury,  who  enquired  what  estate  he  died  seiaed  of, 
and  of  what  age  his  next  heir  was.  if  he  was  under  age, 
he  became  a  ward  of  the  king's  ;  but  if  he  was  found  to  ha 
of  full  age,  he  then  had  a  right  to  sue  out  a  writ  of  ouster- 
le-main,  that  is,  his  livery,  that  tl\e  king's  band  might  b« 
taken  off,  and  the  land  delivered  to  him. — M  ALONE. 
"  As  blanks,  benevolences,  and  I  wot  not  what.*' 

Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

Stowe  records,  that  Richard  II.  "  compelled  all  the  re- 
ligious, gentlemen,  and  commons,  to  set  their  sealcs  to 
biankes,  to  the  end  he  might,  if  it  pleased  him,  oppress 
them  severally,  or  all  at  once  :  some  of  the  commons  paid 
a  Uiousand  marks,  some  a  thousand  pounds."  &c. — HOLT 
and  WHITE. 

"  Archbishop  late  of  Canterbury." — Act  II.  Sc.  1. 
Thomas  Arundel,  archbishop  of  Canterbury,  brother  to 
the  earl  of  Arundel,  who  v.as  beheaded  during  this  reign, 
had  been  banished  by  the  parliament,  and  was  afterwards 
deprived  by  the  pope  of  his  see,  at  the  request  of  the  iiing  ; 
whence  he  is  here  called  "late  of  Canterbury." 

STEEVENS. 
Like  perspectives,  which,  rightly  gaz*d  upon. 
Shew  nothing  but  confusion  ;  ey'd  awry^ 
Di-tiinguish  form."  Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

Amongst  OTrt^A(?/wfl«(7«/ recreations,  there  is  one  in  op- 
tics,\r\  which  a  figure  is  drawn,  wherein  all  the  rules  of 
perspective  are  inverted,  so  that  if  held  in  the  same  poa 
tion  with  those  pictures  which   hxe  drawn  according 
the  rules  of  perspective,  it  can  present  nothing  but  con- 
fu.sio7i :  and  to  be  seen  in  form  and  under  a  regular  mp 
pearance,  it  must  be  looked  upon  from  a  contrary  .static  a: 
or,  as  Shakspeare  s..ys,  "  eyed  awry."— WARBURTOK, 
•  The  bay  trees  .V  OUr  country  all  are  wither',!.** 

Act  II.  Sc  4. 

«  In  this  yeare,  in  a  manner  throughout  all  the  realme 
of  England,  old  baie-trees  withered."— HOLIN.^HED. 
"  From  my  own  windows  torn  my  household  coat." 

Act  III.  Sc.  I 

It  was  the  practice,  when  coloured  glass  was  in  use,  ot 
which  there  are  still  some  remains  in  old  seats  an4 
churches,  to  anneal  the  arms  of  the  family  in  the  windows 
of  the  house.-JOHNSON. 

"  My  gay  apparel:' — Act  III.  Sc.  3. 

King  Richard's  expense  in  dress  was  very  extraordl 


«I6 


EXPL A x\ A  10 n V  NOTES. 


nary  :  Holinshel  says,  "  he  bad  one  cote,  wliich  be  caused 
to  be  made  for  bim  of  gold  and  stone,  valued  at  30,000 
marks,"— STKEVENS. 

'   Westmitmter  hall."— Act  IV.  Sc.  1. 
The  re  building  of  Westminster  ball,  which  Richard 
had  begun  in  13&7,  being  finished  in  1399,  the  first  meeting 
of  parliament  in  the  new  edifice  was  for  the  purpose  of  de- 
posing him."— MALONE. 

"  In  Go(Vs  name,  I'll  ascend  the  regal  throne." 

^  Act.  IV.  Sc.  1. 

The  words  actually  spoken  by  Henry,  on  this  occasion, 
were  as  follows,  standing  upright,  that  every  one  might 
»ee  him  ;  after  he  had  crossed  himwlf  on  the  forehead  and 
breast,  and  called  on  the  name  of  Christ  he  said;  "In 
the  nam-e  of  Fadher,-  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost,  I-,  Henry  of 
Lancaster,  challenge  the  rewme  of  Ynglande,  and  the 
croun,  with  all  the  inembres  and  the  appurtenances,  and 
al.s  I,  that  am  de^cendit  by  right  line  of  the  blode,  coming 
from  the  goode  king  Henry  Tnerde,  and  throge  that  right 
that  God  of  his  grace  hath  sent  me,  with  help  of  kyn,  and 
of  my  friendes  to  recover  it,  the  which  rewme  was  in  poynt 
to  be  undone,  by  defaut  of  governaunce,  and  oadoyng  of 
the  gude  lawes."— MALONE. 

"  Did  keep  ten  thousand  men." — Act  IV.  Sc.  1, 

Richard  II.  was  very  magnificent  in  his  household.  The 


old  chronjcles  say,  "  that  to  his  household  came  even 
day  to  meate  ten  thousand  men."  ' 

"  To  Julius  Ccesar's  ill-erected  tower."— kci  V.  Sc.  J. 

The  Tower  of  London  is  traditionally  .said  to  have  been 
the  work  of  Julius  Ciesar.   Ste<  vens  sr{y  s,m-erected  meaii« 
erected  for  bad  purposes.— JOHNSON . 
"  Thus  play  I,  in  one  person,  many  people."— \ci  V.  Sc.  5, 

This  alludes  to  the  neccssitits  of  our  early  theatres.  Th» 
fitlc-pages  of  some  of  our  Moralities,  shew,  that  tAree  »f 
/owr  cAa»w:/^r«  were  frequently  represented  by  one  pet- 
tow.— ST£EVE^S. 

"  Here  to  t/l«."— let  V.  8e.  R, 

King  Richard's  body  was  publicly  exposed  in  St.  Paul's, 

and  as  no  marks  of  violence  eppeered,  he  could  not  have 
been  assassinated,  as  represented  in  (he  drama  ;  though 
a  similar  account  is  given  in  Hall's  Chronicle,  and  Sir 
Pierce  Exton's  Narrative  was  to  the  same  efiect.  Stow's 
account  seems  the  most  probable,  and  is  confirmed  by 
many  other  authors.  He  says,  "he  wa-s  emprisoned  in 
Pomfract  castle,  where  fifteen  days  and  nightes  they  vexed 
him  with  continual  hunger,  thirst,  and  cold,  and  finally 
bereft  him  of  his  life  with  such  a  kind  of  death  as  never 
before  that  time  was  knowen  in  England." 


KING  HENRY  IV.  Part  I. 


"  The  gallant  Hotspur  there, 

Young  Harry  I'ercy."  Act  I.  Sc  1. 

"  This  Harry  Percy  was  surnamed,  for  his  often  prick 
htg,  Henry  Hotspur  ;  as  one  that  seldom  times  rested, 
if  there  were  anie  service  to  be  done  afcroad." 

HOLINSHED. 
"  The  prisoners.".— Act.  I.  Sc.  1. 

By  the  law  of  arms,  every  man  who  had  taken  any  cap- 
tive, whose  ransom  did  not  exceed  ten  thousand  crowns, 
had  him  clearly  for  himself,  either  to  redeem  or  retain  at 
his  pleasure.— TOLL ET. 

"  A  hare."— Act  I.  Sc  2. 

A  hare  may  be  considered  as  melancholy ,  because  she 
is  upon  lier  form,  always  solitary;  and  according  to  the 
physic  of  the  limes,  the  flesh  of  the  hare  was  supposed  to 
generate  melancholy.  The  Egyptians,  in  their  hierogly- 
phics expressed  a  melancholy  man  by  a  hare  sitting  in 
her  torm.— .JOHN.SON,  and  STEEVENS 

"  The  melancholy  of  Moor-ditch."— Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

It  appears  from  Stow's  Survey,  that  a  broad  ditch  called 
Deep-ditch,  once  parted  the  hospital  from  Moorfields; 
sad  wli^t  has  a  rnore  melancholy  aspect  than  stagnant 
water?  It  is  mentioned  in  Taylor's  Pennylesse  Pilgrim, 
1618.  "  My  body  being  tired  with  travel,  and  my  mind 
altered  with  moody,  muddy,  Mooredilch  melancholy." 

STEEVENS. 
"  Lincolnshire  bagpipe."— Aci  1.  Sc. 2. 

"  At  a  Chri.stmas  time,  when  great  logs  furnish  the  hall 
fire  ;  when  biawne  is  in  season,  and  indeed  all  reveJling 
is  regarded,  this  gallant  knight  kept  open  house  for  all 
cominers,  where  beefe,  beere,  and  bread  was  no  niggard. 
Amongst  all  the  pleasures  provided,  a  noyse  of  minstrells 
and  a  Lincolnshire  bagpipe  was  prepared:  the  minsirells 
for  the  great  chamber,  the  bagpipe  for  the  hall;  the  min- 
strells to  serve  up  the  knightes  meafe,  and  the  bagpipe  for 
the  common  dancing."-A  NEST  OF  NINNIES,  BY  R. 
AHMIN,  1608. 

"  Sir  John  Sack-and- Sugar." — Act  I.  Sc.  2, 

There  has  been  much  discussion  as  to  what  wine  or 
liquor  FalstalFhas  immortalized  by  the  name  of  sack.  The 
commentators,  as  usuil  when  they  diller,  have  left  the 
affair  more  obscure  than  they  found  it.  Yet  it  seems  pro- 
bable that  Sherry,  Canary,  and  Mountain  Malaga,  were 
drank  indifferently  under  that  appellation.— The  fat  knight 
mixed  sugar  with  his  sack,  but  this  will  not  be  thought  ex- 
traordinary,  since  we  know  that  in  our  poet's  time,  it  was 
a  common  practice  to  "pwi  sugar  in  all  wines.  '*  Clownes 
and.  vulgar  men  (says  Fynes  Moryson)  only  use  large 
drinking  of  beere  or  ale,  but  gentlemen  garrawse  only  in 
wine,  with  vMch  they  mix  mgar,  which  I  never  observed 
in  any  other  place  or  kingdom  to  be  used  for  that  purpose." 
It  was  customary  for  the  waiters  in  taverns,  to  have  small 
parcels  of  white  sugar  about  them,  in  order  to  supply  those 
who  took  sr/rA:.  SoinThe  Guls' Horn  Bookc,  1609.  "  En- 
quire what  gallants  sup  in  the  next  roome,  and  if  they  be 
any  of  your  acquaintance,  do  not  you  ( after  the  cHy  fash- 
ion,) send  them  in  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  your  name  sweet- 
ened in  two  pitiful  papers  of  sugar,  with  some  filthv 
apology  crammed  into  the  mouth  of  a  drawer."  Falstaff 
romptains  that  there  was  lime  in  his  sack.  This  was  a 
common  mode  of  adulterating  this  almost  national  drink. 
Allot,  in  his  Orthoeapia,  speaking  of  sack  and  rhenish, 
saj^s.  "The  vinters  in  London  put  in  /f;we,  and  thence 
proceed  infinite  malidies,  specially  the  gouttes."  It  was 
nstial,  as  a  token  of  kindliness,  in  Shatspeare's  day,  for 
lb«  guests  in  taverns,  to  .send  presents  of  which  was 
lometimes  mulled,  from  one  to  the  other.   An  anachronism 


tk  committed,  by  furnishing  the  hosts  of  Henry  IV's  reiXD 
■"    "■  -    -  -  —  om  Taylor's  Life 

of  Pair  will  shew;  «  The  vintners  sold  no  other  sacks. 


with  this  wine,  as  the  following  extract  from  ' 


muscadels,  malmsies,  bastards,  alicants,  nor  any  other 
wines,  hot  white,  and  claret,  till  the  33d  year  of  Henry  I 
VIII.  1543,  and  then  was  old  Parr  60  years  of  age.    All  | 
those  sweet  wines  were  sold  till  that  time  at  the  apothe 
cary's,  for  no  other  use  but  for  medicines.    «  Two  gallons 
of  sack  cost  Falstaff  5s  Sd.;"  and  from  the  annexed  uas-  \ 


sa?e,  our  poet's  computation  will  be  fotmd  very  accurate. 
"Claret  wine,  red  and  white,  is  sold  for  five  pence  the 
quart,  and  sac*  ior  six-pence :  muscadel  and  malmsey  for 
eight."  Florio's  First  Fruites,  1.578.— Twenty  years  after- 
wards, sack  had  probably  risen  to  eight-pence  or  eight- 
pence  half  penny  a  quart,  aA  which  rate  two  gallons  would 
cost  .OS.  8d.  What  Sir  John  says  of  the  excedent  effect  of 
sack  on  the  intellect,  was  seriously  believed.  *  These 
wines  are  goode  for  men  of  cold  and  &  gmaticke  com. 
plexion  ;  for  suche  wines  redresse  and  amende  the  cold- 
nesse  of  complexion."  Regiment  of  Health, 
«  All-hallown  summer."— Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

All  hallows  \a  All-hallow n-tide,  or  All  saints-day, -wh'^ch 
is  the  first  of  November.  All-hallown  summer  is  that  short 
period  of  fine,  bright  weather,  which  frequently  occurs 
ahout  the  commencement  of  November. 

"A  pouncet  box." — .\ct  I.  Sc.  3. 

A  small  box  for  musk  or  other  perfumes  then  in  fashion; 
the  lid  of  which,  being  cut  with  open  work,  gave  it  its 
name,  from  poinsoner,  to  prick,  pierce,  or  engrave. 

WAKBURTON. 
*  Heir  to  the  crown."— Aci  I.  Sc.  3. 

Roger  Mortimer,  earl  of  March,  who  was  bcrn  in  1371, 
was  declared  heir  apparent  to  the  crown  in  the  ninCh  year 
of  king  Richard  II.  He  wss  killed  in  rre!a)id,  1308.  Th« 
person,  who  was  proclaimed  by  Rkbard  heir  apparent, 
previous  to  his  last  voyage  to  Ireland,  was  Edmund  Mor- 
timer, (the  son  of  Roger,)  who  was  then  but  seven  yeart 
old;  but  he  was  not  Percy's  wife's  brother,  but  her  nephew. 

IVIALONE. 
"  Sword-ajid-buckler." — Act  I.  Sc.  3. 

The  following  extract  from  Stowe  is  worth  notice: 
"This  field,  commonly  called  West  Smithfield,  was  for 
many  years  called  Ruthan's  hall,  by  reason  it  was  the  usua* 
place  of  frayes  and  common  fighting,  during  the  time  that 
swords  and  bucklers  were  in  use.  W^hen  every  sertying- 
man,  from  the  base  to  the  best,  carried  a  buckler  at  his 
back,  which  hung  by  the  hilt  or  pomel  of  his  sword.* 

HENLY, 

"  We  have  the  receipt  of  fern  seed,  wi  walk  invisible." 

Act  II.  Sc.  1. 

Fern  is  one  of  those  plants  which  have  their  seed  on 
the  back  of  the  leaf,  so  .«mall  as  to  escape  the  sight.  Those 
who  perceived  that  fern  was  propagated  by  semination, 
and  yet  could  never  see  the  seed,  were  much  at  a  loss  for 
a  solution  of  the  difficulty ;  and  as  wonder  always  endea- 
vours to  augment  itself,  they  ascribed  to  fern  seed  many 
strange  properties,  some  of  which  the  rustic  virgins  have 
not  yet  forgotten  or  exploded —JOHNSON. 

«  Out  of  all  cess. "—Act  II.  Sc.  1. 

That  is,  out  of  all  meaisure ;  the  phra.se  being  taken 
from  a  cess  or  tax;  which  being  by  regular  and  moderate 
rates,  when  anything  was  exorbitant  it  was  said  to  be 
out  of  all  c«ss.— WAKBURTON. 

«  Gadshill."— Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

Gadshill,  the  scene  of  the  robbery  in  this  play,  is  on  th» 
Kentish  road.  Steevens  informs  us,  that  as  early  as  1558, 
a  ballad,  entitled.  The  Robbery  at  Gadshill,  was  entered  oo 
the  books  of  the  Stationers'  Company.  The  poet,  however, 
on  whom  the  more  noted  facts  of  his  time  were  never  lost, 
probably  alluded  to  the  conduct  of  a  particuLir  gang,  who 
appear,  in  l.o90,  to  have  infested  Gadshill  and  its  ireighbour- 
bood  with  more  than  common  boldness,  and  who,  like  ouf 
author's  robbers,  were  mounted  and  wore  vikirs. 

BOSWELL. 

^  Look  down  into  the  Pomegranate." — Act  II.  Sc.  4. 
To  have  windows  or  loop-holes  looking-  into  the  roofld 
beneath  them  was,  anciently,  a  general  custom. 

STEEVENS. 
«  Crystal-button."— Act  II.  Sc.  4. 
Pavjnhrokers  former.ly  wore  a  peculiar  dress,  the  buttoyg 
of  which  were  of  crystal.  "  A  black  talfafa  doublet,  anri  a 
spruce  leather  Jerkin  with  crystal  buttons.    I  inquired  ol 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


817 


•rhal  occupation  ;  marry ,  sir,  quoth  he,  a  broker."— Grene'a 
Quip  for  an  L'pstan  Courtier. 

*'  Caddis  t/arter."— Act  II.  Sc.  4. 
Caddis  wa«  a  kind  of  coarse  Jcrretl.   In  Sliakspeare's 
time,  the  fnr  ers  were  worn  iu  sight,  and  were-  often  very 
costly.    He  who  wore  a  plainer  sort  was  probably  called 

•  caddis  garti^r"  in  contempt.  "  At  this  day,  (about  l(>25j 
sajs  tlie  continuator  of  Stow's  Chronicle,  7nen  of  vifune 
fanke  wi'are  garters  and  shoe  roses  of  more  than  five 
pound  p7  tee."  In  a  inemorandum  book  kept  by  Henslowe, 
«tep  father  to  the  wife  of  Alle\ n  the  pla>er.  is  tbe  following 
itenn:  "Leal  unto  Thomas  Hewode,  (the  dramatic  writer) 
the  )  of  September,  16U2,  lo  bye  liim  a  payre  of  silver  gar- 
ters, y  8.  vi  d."— IMALONE,  and  STEEVENS, 

«  The  strappado."— Act  II.  Sc.  4. 
'  The  strappado  is  when  the  person  is  drawn  up  to  his 
height,  and  then  suddenly  to  let  him  fall  half  way  with  a 
jerk,  which  not  only  breaketh  his  arms  to  pieces,  but  also 
shaketh  all  his  Joints  out  <>f  joint,  whicli  punishment  is  bet- 
ter for  a  man  lo  be  hanged  than  to  undergo. — HANDLE 
HOLME'S  ACADEMY  OF  AllMES  AND  BLAZON. 

*  /  could  have  crept  itito  any  alderman's  thumb  ring.  » 

Act  II.  Sc.  4. 

An  alderman's  thumb  ring  is  mentioned  by  Broome,  in 
Tlie  Antipodes,  1641.  "  Item,  a  distich  graven  in  his  thumb 
rine."  Again,  in  The  Northern  Lass,  I()32.  "  A  good  man 
in  the  city,  &c.  wear*;  nothing  rich  about  him,  but  (he  gout 
or  a.  thumb  ring;"  and  in  The  Wit's  Constat)le,  1640,  "No 
more  wit  than  i he  rest  of  the  beach ;  what  lic»  in  his  thumb 
riMi/.»— STEEVENS 

«  A  Welsh  hook."— Act  II.  Sc.  4. 

The  Welsh  hook  was  pointed  like  a  spear,  to  push  t)r 
thrust  with  ;  and,  below,  had  a  hook  to  se  ze  the  enemy,  if 
he  should  attempt  to  escape  by  flight.— WHALLEY. 
*  Manningtree  ox.'»— Act  II.  Sc.  4. 

Manningtree  in  Essex,  and  its  neighbourhood,  are  famous 
for  rich  jvastures.  The  farms  are  chiefly  tenanted  by 
graziers.  Some  ox  of  an  uriusual  size  was  probably  roasted 
there  on  some  occasion  of  public  festivity,  or  exposed  for 
niouey  to  public  show.— STEEVENS. 

*  Hide  thee  behind  the  arras  "—Act  II.  Sc.  4. 

When  arms  was  first  used  in  England,  it  was  suspended 
on  hooks  driven  into  the  bare  walls;  this  practice  was  soon 
changed,  for  after  the  damp  of  the  wall  had  been  found  t{) 
rot  the  tapestry,  it  was  fixed  on  wooden  frames,  at  sn  h  a 
distance  from  the  wall,  as  to  prevent  its  being  injured.  In 
old  mnnsious,  therefore,  sufficient  space  could  have  been 
easily  found,  to  conceal  even  one  of  Falstaff's  bulk. — 
MALONE. 

*  As  if  thou  never  walked'st  further  than  Finsbury." 

Act  III.  Sc.  1. 

Open  walks  and  fields  near  Chiswell  street,  London- 
will,  by  Moorgate,  the  common  resort  of  the  citizens,  as 
appears  from  many  of  our  ancient  comedies. — STB}  EVENS. 


"  Holland  of  eight  shillings  an  ell."— Act  HI.  Sc.  3, 
FalstaJ'^s  shirts,  according  to  tki*;  calculation,  wocld 
come  (o  about  22s.  each,  and  we  Icain  from  Stubb's  Auato- 
mie  of  Abuses,  that  the  shirt  of  the  meanest  man  cost  •! 
least  &s.  He  thus  concludes  his  invective  on  this  .subject; 
"  Insomuch  as  I  have  heard  of  shirts  that  1  ave  cost  sobi« 
ten  shillings,  some  (tceniie,  some  for  tie,  some  Jhfe  pound, 
some  twenlie  nobles,  and  (whiche  is  horrible  to  hearej  som<9 
ten  pound  a  piece,  yea  the  meanest  shirt  that  commonly  ie 
worn  of  any  doe^t  cost  a  crovjne.  or  a  noble  at  the  least  § 
and  yet  this  is  scarcely  thought  fine  enough  for  the  simpleirt 
persoathat  is."— .vjALONE. 

*  Maid  Marian."— Act  III.  Sc.  3. 
It  appears  from  the  old  play  of  Robert,  Earl  of  Huntt-ng. 
don,  1601,  that  Maid  Marian  was  originally  a  nameassum^ 
by  Matilda,  the  daughter  of  Robert,  Lord  Fitzwater,  whil# 
Kobiu  Hood  remained  in  a  state  of  outlawry : 

*  Next  Uis  agreed  ( if  thereto  shee  agree ) 

That f aire  Matilda  henceforth  change  her  names 

And  while  it  is  the  chance  of  Robin  Hoode 

To  live  in  Skerewodde  a  poore  outlawes  life. 

She  by  maide  Marian's  name  be  only  caWd. 

MAT.  / am  contented;  reade  on,  little  John : 

Henceforth  let  me  be  nam'd  maide  Marian." 
This  lady  was  poisoned  by  king  John,  at  Dunmow  priory, 
after  he  had  made  several  fruitless  attempts  on  herchasiity. 

STEEVENS. 

*  I  saw  young  Harry  vjith  his  beaver  on."— Act  IV.  Sc.  1. 

The  beaver  of  a  helmet  is  the  lower  part  of  it,  adapted  to 
the  purpose  of  giving  the  wearer  an  opportunity  of  taking 
breath  when  oppressed  with  heat ;  or,  without  putting  on 
the  helmet,  of  taking  his  repast.— DOUCE. 

*  They'll  find  linen  enough  on  every  hedge."— Act  IV.  Sc.  2. 
This  propensity  of  soldiers  on  a  march  to  purloin,  is  no. 

ticed  by  a  writer  contemporary  with  Shakspeare,  Barnaby 
Richesays:  "Fyr.steby  the  way  as  they  travayle  through 
the  countrey  where  thf  y  chance  to  lye  all  night,  the  good 
wyfe  hath  spedde  well  if  she  fynde  hyr  sheets  in  the  morn- 
ing, or  if  this  happe  to  layle,  yet  a  coverlet  or  curtena 
from  the  bed,  or  h  carpet  from  (he  table,  some  bed  clothes, 
or  table  napkins,  or  some  other  thing,  must  needs  packe 
away  with  tliein  ;  there  comes  nothing  amisse  if  it  will 
serve  to  by  drinke." — REED. 

*  Twrit  Gregory  never  did  such  deeds  in  arms." 

Act  V.  Sc.  a. 

Meaning  Gregory  VII  ,  called  Hildcbrand.  This  furioiw 
friar  surmounted  almost  invincible  obstacles  to  deprive  th« 
emperor  of  his  right  of  investiture  of  bishops,  which  his  p»e' 
decessors  had  long  attempted  in  vain.— VVARBURTON. 
«  If  Percy  be  alive.  I'll  pierce  him."— Act.  V  gc.  3. 

The  name  of  Percy,  according  to  Boetius,  was  derived 
from  piercing  the  king's  eye:  a  most  extraordinary  etyniA. 
logy.-SKINNER.  '  ' 


RING  HENRY  lY.  Put  11. 


•  Yea,  this  man's  brow,  like  to  a  title-leaf, 
ForelelU  the  nature  of  a  tragic  volume." — Act  I.  Sc  1. 

It  may  not  l)e  pmiss  to  observe,  that  in  the  time  of  our 
poet,  the  title  page  to  anelegv,  as  well  as  every  interme- 
diate leaf,  was  to' ally  black,  t  have  -several  in  my  posses 
sion.  written  by  Chapman,  the  translator  of  Homer,  which 
are  ornamented  in  this  manner.— STEEVENS. 

*  Fillip  me  with  a  three  man  beetle." — Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

A  diversion  is  common  with  boys  in  Warwickshire,  on 
finding  a  toad, to  lay  a  board,  about  two  feet  long,  over  a 
■tick  about  three  inches  in  diameter,  at  right  angles;  then 
placing  the  toad  on  ti  e  lower  end  of  the  board,  the  upper 
end  is  struck  by  a  bat  or  large  stick,  which  throws  the 
reptile  forty  ortifty  feet  perpendicular  from  the  earth,  and 
(he  violence  of  the  fall  usually  kills  it ;  this  is  caUedJilliping 
the  toad.  A  three-man  beetle  was  an  implement  used  for 
driving  piles;  it  was  made  of  a  log  of  wood  about  twenty 
incheti  in  diameter,  and  filteen  in  thickness,  with  one  short 
and  two  long  handles.  A  man  at  each  of  the  long  bandies 
manag^es  the  fall  of  the  beetle,  and  a  third  man  at  the  short 
handle  assists  in  raising  it  to  strike  the  blow.  Such  an  im- 
plement was  very  suitable  for  filliping  so  corpulent  a 
•ubject  as  FaAs fa/. "—STEEVENS. 

«  A  parcel  gilt  goblet  ."— Act  II,  Sc.  1. 

A  "parcel  gilt  goblet"  is  a  goblet  gilt  only  on  such  part« 
of  it  as  are  embossed.  On  the  books  of  the  Stationers* 
Company,  among  their  plate  1560,  is  the  following  entry: 
"  Item,  nine  spoynes  <>f  silver,  whereof  viigylte  andiipar- 
Ktl-gylte.  "-STEEVENS. 

*  /  must  be  fain  to  pawn  my  plate."  

"  Glasses,  gla.^ses,  is  the  only  drinking."— Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

Mrs.  Quickly  is  here  in  the  .same  state  as  the  earl  of 
Shrewsbury,  who,  not  having  been  paid  for  the  diet  of 
Mary,  queen  of  Scots,  while  she  was  in  his  custody  in  1.580, 
writes  as  follows  to  Thomas  Bawdewyn  :— "  I  wold  have 
you  bye  me  glasses  to  drink  in.  Send  me  word  what  old 
plat  yelds  tbe  ounce,  for  I  will  not  leve  me  a  cuppe  of 
tylvare  to  drink  in,  but  I  wvlle  see  the  next  terme  my 
•reditors  paydt."-STEEVENS. 

'*  Boar's  Head  tavern  in  Eastcheap." — Act  II.  Sc.  4. 

The  historical  Sir  John  Fastolf  was  a  considerable  bene- 
ftetoi  lo  Maedaleu  Colleae,  Oxford,  for  which  he  u  cele- 


brated in  an  annual  speech,  andthou|iwe  cannot  obtain 
the  particulars  at  large,  the  Boar's  Hend,  in  Southtvark. 
which  still  retains  (hat  name,  though  divided  into  tene- 
ments, yielding  £1!50  per  annum;  and  CuhU-cct  Manor,  in 
Sutt'olk,  were  part  of  the  lands  he  bestowed.  The  Boar'i 
Head  was  very  properly  selected  as  the  scene  of  Princa 
Henry's  revellings,  as  it  was  close  to  his  residence.  Rymer 
says:  "A  mansion  called  Cold  Harbour,  (near  Allhallows 
church.  Upper  Tliatnes  street.)  was  granted  to  the  Prince 
of  Wales,  11th  Henry  IV.  1410"  Shakspeare  must  have 
passed  this  tavern  daily,  in  his  way  to  the  Globe  Theatre. 

•  Thou  whorson  little  tidy  Bartholomew  boar  pig." 

Ac  t  fl.  Sc.  4, 

From  Ben  Jonson's  play  of  Bartholomew  Fair,  we  learo 
that  it  was  the  custom  formerly  to  have  booths  in  Bartho- 
lomew fair,  in  which  pigs  were  roasted,  and  to  these,  it  is 
probable,  an  allusion  is  here  made  STEEVENS. 

«  Do  not  speak  like  a  death's  head."— Act  II.  Sc.  4. 
It  appears  from  a  passage  in  Marston's  Dutch  Courtezan, 
1605,  that  it  was  the  ru.stom  for  the  bawds  of  that  ,ige  to 
wear  a  death's  head  in  a  ring,  very  probably  with  the  com- 
mon motto.  Memento  Mori.  Cocledemoy  speaking  of  some 
of  these,  says :  "  As  for  their  death,  how  can  it  be  bad,  since 
their  wickedness  is  always  before  their  eyes,  and  h  death't 
head  most  commonly  on  their  middle  finger?" 

STEEVENS 
*  Skogan's  head."— Act  III.  Sc.  2. 
There  has  been  much  dispute  about  a  John  Scogan, 
lived  in  the  reign  of  Edward  IV.,  and  n  Henn  Scogan,  wba 
wrote  some  poetical  trifles  during  the  time  o*"^ Henrv  Iv,  [■ 
a  masque  by  Ben  Johnson,  Wid,  we  find  the  following  : 

"  ....  methinks  yowthoxdd  enquire  nc\l  afterSkelton, 

And  master  Scogan. 

....  Scogan  ?  what  was  he  ? 

Oh,  a  fine  gentleman,  and  a  master  of  arts 

Of  Henry  the  Fourth's  times,  that  made  disguiset 

For  the  king's  sons,  and  writ  in  ballad  royal 

Daintily  well." 

Scogan's  Jests  were  published  by  Andrew  Borde,  A  phy- 
sician in  the  reig'i  of  Henry  VIII.  Shakspeare  had  pruliabi} 
met  with  this  book;  and  as  be  was  careless  about  auachro* 

52 


18 


EXPLANATORY  I^^i-A 


•lusas,  this  person  might  have  been  in  his  thoii«hts.  Cer- 
Matjr,  however,  cannot  be  arrived  at  on  such  a  subject. 
"  Harry  ten  shillings." — Act  III.  Sc.  2. 

This  is  an  anachronism ;  there  were  no  coins  of  fen 
•hillings  value  in  the  reign  of  Henry  IV.  Slinkspeare's 
Harry  ten  skUlings  were  tho*e  of  Henry  VII.  or  VIII  ;  but 
he  thought  those  might  dofoi  any  oiher  Henry. — DOUCE. 
•**  /  was  then  S/rDagonet  inArthur^s  show."— Act  III.  Sc. 2. 

The  story  of  Sir  Dagonet  is  to  be  found  in  La  Morte 
4'AJihure,  ati  old  romance,  mach  read  in  our  author's  line, 
or  a  litt  e  before  it.  "  When  papistry,  (says  Ascham,)  as  a 
Btniidiug  pool,  overflowed  all  Enjr'and,  few  books  were  read 
in  our  tongu  •,  saving  certain  books  (if  chivalry ,  as  they  said, 
for  pastime  and  p  easurc;  which  books,  as  some  say,  were 
made  in  mo:iasl>  ries  by  idle  monks.  As  one  for  exaniple. 
La  Mor»e  d'Ai  thun-."  la  this  romance  Sir  Dagonet  is  King 
Arthur's  fool.  Sliakspeare  would  not  have  shewn  his  Jus- 
lice  capable  of  taking  any  higher  character. — .JOHNSON. 
"  T/o  nhull  street."— Avt  III.  Sc.  2. 

Turjibnll  or  Tiirmill-street,  is  near  Cow  Cross,  West 
Smithfn  Id:  it  was  infamous  on  account  of  the  debauched 
characters,  of  both  sexes,  with  which  it  abounded. 

"  Philosopher's  two  .stones." — Act  III.  Sc.  2. 

One  of  which  {says  Warburton)  was  an  universal  medi- 
cine, and  the  other  a  transnmter  of  base  metals  into  gold. 
This  interpretation  has  been  ridiculed,  an«l  various  others 
offered.  We  shall  content  ourselves  with  giving  an  extract 
I  from  a  letter  on  the  subiecf  of  the  Grand  Klixir,  written  by 
Villiers,  Duke  ot  Buckingham,  to  James  I.  **  I  confesse,  so 
long  as  lie  conaeied  the  meHues  he  wrought  by,  f  iiespi.s8d 
all  ne  said  .  but  wht-n  he  told  me  that  which  he  tiaMi  given 
VQur  sovcrainsliip  to  preserve  you  from  all  .sicknesever 
hereafter,  was  extracted  out  of  a  t — d.  I  admiied  tiiefelow, 
and  for  ttieis  rrasons :  that  bein?  a  slrangt- r  to  yen,  yeit  he 
hath  found  out  the  kind  you  are  come  <  f,  and  your  natural 
affections  and  apf^fis :  and  so,  like  a  skilful  inan,  liath  given 
you  natural  tisioke,  which  is  the  onlie  means  to  preserve 
the  nviica:  humotirs;  and  thus  I  conclude :  My  sow  is 
bealthf.ill,  rnv  di\ ill's  luckie,  myself  is  liappie,  and  needs 
BO  more  than  your  blessing,  which  is  my  trew  feJosovhrr's 
»tone,  upon  which  I  build  as  upon  a  rocke.  Your  mafesties 
most  humble  slav>  and  doge,— 5/i/<j«."— S TEEVENS 
"  Whose  v}hiteinvfstmf'jitsfi(jvre  iniiocevce." — Act  IV  Sc.  1. 

Formerly,  all  bishops  wore  white,  even  when  they  tra- 
velled; but  irhile  invstment  here  meant  must  be  the 
episcvpnl  rochet,  which  should  be  worn  by  the  theatric 
arohbishop-G;{EY,  and  TOLLET. 

Kfp'  f>y  a  devil."— Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 

It  was  anciently  supposed,  and  is  still  a  viilgar  super- 
•tition  of  the  east,  that  mines,  containing  precious  metals, 
were  guarded  by  evil  spirits.  So,  in  certaitie  Secrete 
Wonder,-!  of  Nature,  by  Edward  Fenton,  InCO,  '•  There 
tppeareat  ihi^day  muny  strange  vi-ions  and  wicked  spirites 
\ti  the  nii-tnl  mines  of  the  Greate  Turke.  In  the  min.- at 
Annebu  g  wns  a  metnl  sprite  which  killed  twelve  workmen  ; 
the  same  causing  the  test  to  forsake  the  myne,  albeit  it 
was  very  rich  ■.•'—STEEV  ENS. 

'  Therefore,  thov  best  of  gold,  art  vforst  of  gold; 
O'hfr,  lc\sflfie  in  carat,  is  more  precious, 
Freserviiiy  /iff.  in  med'cine potable  "— .\ct  IV.  Sc.  4.  ■ 

There  has  iong  prevailed  an  opinion,  thai  a  solution  of 
eold  h^s  i;rcHl  mt-dicirul  virtues,  and  that  the  inc  orrnpti 
Bility  of  gold  might  ^>e  communicated  to  the  bi  dy  impreg- 
nated with  it.    So  lie  h  ve  pretend' d  to  make  polnlile  t/oid, 
among  other  frauds  practised  on  credulity.— JOHNSON. 
"  Land  he  to  God !  even  there  my  life  must  end." 

Act  IV.  Sc.  4, 

**  At  length  he  recovered  his  speech,  and  'uuierstanding 
and  perc  iri.ig  himself  to  be  in  a  strange  place  which  he 
knew  not.  he  wii:ed  to  know  if  the  chamber  had  any  par- 
ticular name,  whereunto  answer  was  toad  •  that  it  was 
CHMeiSi  Jerusalem.  Then  said  the  kinir,  La  ids  be  given  to  the, 
Father  of  heaven,  f»r  now  I  know  I  shall  die  here  in  this 
chamber,  according  lo  the  prophesie  of  me  declared,  that 
I  should  depirt  this  life  in  Jerusalem."— HOIASSH^D 

"  If  I  cannot  once  or  tivice  in  a  quarter  hear  out  a.  knave 
Against  an  honest  man,  J  have  very  little  crrdit  with  your 
lordship."— Act  V  Sc.  I. 

This  is  no  exaggerated  picture  of  the  course  of  justice  in 
those  days.  The  lord  keeper.  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  in  liis 


•peech  to  both  bouses  of  parliament,  1559,  says :  "  I«  H  ■«! 

a  monstrous  disguising,  to  have  a  .iu.stice  a  maintftineT, 
acquitting  some  for  gain,  enditing  others  for  malice,  bearr 
ing  with  him  as  his  servant,  ovtrthrowin.g  the  other  as  hit 
enemy  ?"  A  member  of  the  bouse  of  commons  in  1601, 
says:  "A  justice  of  peace  is  a  living  creature,  that  for 
half  a  dozen  of  chickens  will  dispense  with  half  a  dozen  of 
penal  statutes.  If  a  warrant  comes  from  tlie  lord  of  the 
council  to  levy  a  hundred  men,  ho  will  levy  two  hundred, 
and  wlvat  with  chopping  in  and  chusing  out,  he'll  gain  a 
hundred  pounds  by  the  bargain:  nay.  he  will  write  the 
warrant  himseif,  and  you  must  put  two  shillings  in  hia 
pocket  as  his  clerk's  fee,  (when  Oodkwyvs  be  keeps  but  two 
or  three  hindes)  for  bis  better  maiBteaauce." 

BLAKEWAY. 

"  With  a  dish  of  carrawaifs ,  and  so  forth." — Act  V.  Sc.  3. 

It  seems  to  have  been  usual  to  serve  up  carraway  seeds 
in  sugar,  as  a  part  of  the  dessert.  This  custom  is  evident 
from  a  passage  in  Cogan's  Haven  of  Health ;  '*  This  is  a 
confirmation  of  our  use  in  England,  for  the  serving  of 
apples  and  other  fruites  last  after  meals.  How  be  it  we  are 
wont  t't  tut  carrawies  or  biskets,  or  some  other  kind  of 
comfits  or  seeds,  together  with  apples,  thereby  to  breake 
winde  engendered  by  them:  and  surely  it  is  a  very  good 
way  for  students."— STEEVENS. 

"  Afid  toelcome  merry  Shrovetide." — Act  5.  Sc.  3. 

Shrovetide  was  formerly  a  season  of  extraordinary  sport 
and  fea-sting  In  the  Romish  church  there  was  a  (east 
immediate  y  previous  to  Lent,  which  lasted  niany  days. 
In  some  c  ties  of  France,  an  officer  "  as  annually  chosen  to 
preside  over  the  spori's  for  six  days  before  As};  Wednesday. 
Some  traces  of  these  festivities  "mny  be  still  found  in  our 
universities.  In  the  Prrcv  Household  Uook.  1.t12  it  ai)pears, 
"  that  the  ele  gy  and  officers  of  Lord  Percy's  chapel  per- 
formed a  play  befo -e  his  lordship  upon  Shrofwtewesday  at 
night."— T.  VVAllTON. 

"  Fiq  me  like 

The  bragging  Spaniard." — Act  V.  Sc.  3. 

To  fig,  in  Spanish,  higas  dar,  is  to  insult  by  putting  the 
thumb  between  the  fore  and  middle  fiiigf-r  This  phrase  is 
of  Italian  origin.  VVton  the  i\li!a  i';se  revolted  asrainst  the 
Emperor  Frederick  Harbaros<a,  they  idaced  the  Eirtpress, 
his  wife,  upon  a  mule,  with  her  head  towat'fls  the  tni!,  -^iid 
ignoininiously  exj>elled  her  their  city.  Frethrick  after- 
wHrds  hes  eged  and  took  the  place,  and  compelled  every 
one  i!f  his  prisoners,  on  pain  of  dea  h  to  take  with  his  teeth 
a  fig  from  the  nosteriors  of  a  mule.  The  pir'y  wms  at  the 
SJime  time  obliged  to  rene-it  to  the  executioner  the  wonis, 
"  Ecco  la  fica  >.  "  (Behold  the  fig!)  From  this  circuinstHjice, 
" /r<r /rt/ca" became  H  fer'o  of  derision,  and  was  adopted 
by  other  nations.— JOHNSON,  and  DOUCE. 

"  Censers."— Act  V.  Sc.  4. 

The  sluttery  of  ancient  houses  rendered  cen.Sfrs  or  fire 
pans,  in  which  coarse  perfiunes  were  bu'  n',  most  iivcessnrA 
utensils.  Lodge  tells  us.  that  Lord  Pnget's  house  was  so 
small,  that  "  after  one  month  it  would  wt.x  u)isaifr'/  i'or 
hym  to  contynue  in  it."  In  a  letter  of  the  earl  «».'  Shteivs- 
biiry's,  respecting  his  prisoner  Mary  queen  of  Scots,  we 
read,  "that  her  majesty  was  to  be  removed  for  fyve  or 
sixe  dayes.  to  klense  h^r  chamber,  being  kept  n-ry  nti- 
klenly."  And  in  the  Memoirs  of  Anne.  Cotintess  of  Dorset, 
we  are  informed  of  a  party  of  lords  and  ladies,  who  '  were 
all  hiw.'-y  hi/  sitting  in  Sir  Thomas  Emkin's  chamber." — 
STEEVENS. 

"  To  pray  for  the  9?/^^/i."— EPILOGUE 

It  was  usual,  at  the  end  of  a  play,  for  the  actors  to  pray 
for  their  patrons.   We  will  an  give  instance  or  two : 
''Preserve  our  noble.  queenElizabeih,  andher  anincf/l  all." 

New  Custom. 

*•  This  skoivs  like  kneeling  after  the  play  ;  I  praying  for 
my  lord  Owemuch  and  his  good  countess,  our  honoirrahle 
lady  and  mistress  "  Middleton's  Mad  World  my  Masters 
"  As  duty  bids  us,  for  our  noble  queene  lei  us  pray. 

And  for  her  honourable  councel,  the  truth  that  they  may 
use. 

To  practise  justice,  and  defend  her  grace  eche  day  ; 

To  maintain e  Quil's  word  they  may  not  refuse. 
To  correct  nil  those  that  would  her  grace  and  grace's  laws 
abuse, 

Bes'eching  God  over  us  she  may  reign  long. 

To  be  guided  by  trveth  and  dt-f ended  from  VDTong. 

Amen,  q.  Thomas  Preston."  CambystS, 


KING  HENRY  V. 


"  Gun- stones."— Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

When  ordnance  was  tirst  used,  they  discharg  d  balls,  not 
©f  iron,  but  of  stone.  So,  Holiashed:  '  .About  seven  of  the 
clocke,  marched  forward  the  light  pieces  of  ordnance,  with 
Mftone  and  powder."  In  the  Brut  of  England,  it  is  said,  that 
when  Henrr  V  before  Hare  flete,  received  a  taunting  mes- 
sage fraio  the  daiiphin"  of  France,  and  a  ton  of  tennis  hulls 
bf  wjf  of  eonfempt,  "  he  anone  lette  make  tenes  balles  for 
the  Dolfiii  (Henry's  ship),  in  all  the  hayste  that  they 
myjht.and  they  were  great  gonnestones  for  the  Doifiri  to 
pjaye  with  alle.  Hut  this  game  of  tennis  was  too  rough  for 
Ibe  besieged,  when  Henry  pJayed  at  the  tennis  with  his 
hard  gonnestones."— STEE,Vt:NS. 

"  The  man  that  was  his  bedfellow." — Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

Holinshed  says:  'The  said  lord  Scroop  was  in  such 
tevour  w  ith  the  king,  that  he  admitted  him  sometime  to  be 
Mb  bedfellow  "  The  familiar  name  of  bedfellow,  which 
leeBu  Btrwage  to  us,  was  rommon  with  the  ancient  nobility. 


There  is  a  letter  from  the  sixth  earl'of  Northumberland, 
(still  preserved  in  the  collecti'.m  of  the  pre.sent  <lnke,)  ad- 
dressed y  To  his  l>eloveU  co  isyn,  Thomas  AruruJel,"  which 
begins,  "B^'f/ZeAow,  after  my  most  liarie  recmtnuendacion." 
This  unseemly  custom  contiui^ed  common  till  the  middle 
of  last  century,  if  not  hier.  Cromwell  iJhtaii.ed  much  of 
his  intelligence  during  tlie  cti^il  wars  from  the  mean  inea 
with  whom  he  slept.— SI  EEVENS.  and  M ALONE. 

'*  Isaw  him  fumble  with  the  sheets."— Act  II.  Sc.  .3. 
Catching  and  pulling  at  the  bed  clothes  has  a.  l  ays  been 
considered  as  a  sign  ol  approaching  dis.s(dution  Pliny  ip 
his  Chapter  on  the  Signs  ot  Death,  mentions,  "  a  lumhli>ig 
and  pleitingof  the  »>ed  clothes,"  So  also  m  the  Ninth  Book 
of  Notable  Things,  by  Thomas  Lnpton ;  "  If  the  foreJieade  of 
the  sicke  wax  redde,  and  his  nose  waxe  sliarpe;  if  br  soUa 
straws,  or  the  cloalhes  of  his  htdtU,  these  are  most  cert^l 
tokens  of  death."— STEEVENS. 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


"At  tutning  of  the  tidey^Kct  II.  Sc.  3. 
It  fefts  been  a  very  old  opinion,  which  Mead,  de  imperio 
to/w.qjioies,  as  if  he  believed  it,  that  nobody  dies  but  in  the 
Sim*  of  eb'ii :  h  .If  the  deaths  in  London  confute  the  notion  ; 
but  it  wfis  common  in  Shakspeare's  age.— JOHNSON. 
A  pix."—\ct  III.  Sc.  6. 
In  Henry  V'llliirs  will,  we  read:  "  Forasmoch  as  we 
have  often  and  m-iny  tvmes  to  our  inwarde  regrete  and 
displeasure,  seen  at  our  jen,  in  diverse  inanie  churches  of 
our  reame.the  holie  sacrament  of  the  aulter,  kept  in  full 
•implc  and  inhonest  pixex,  specially  pixfix  of  copre  and 
tymbre  :  have  appointed  and  conimaunded  the  treasurer 
of  our  chair<l)re,  and  maistre  of  our  juell  houss,  to  cause  to 
be  made  furthwifh.  p/xes  of  silver  and  gilt,  in  a  great 
noml)re,  for  the  keeping  of  the  holie  sacrament  of  the  aulter, 
ttfier  the  faction  of  a  which  we  have  caused  to  be  de- 
lifered  to  theim.  Every  of  the  said  pixes  to  be  of  the  value 
of  lail.  garnished  with  our  armes,  and  rede  roses  and  poart- 
colis  crowned."— K,KED. 

"  A  heard  of  the  general's  cut."— Act  III.  Sc.  6. 
It  appears  from  an  old  ballad,  inserted  in  a  miscellany, 
entitleil  Le  Frince  d'Amour,  Svo.  ICCO.  that  our  ancestors 
were  very  curious  in  the  fashion  of  their  beards,  and  that 
a  certain  cut  or  form  was  appropriated  to  the  soldier,  the 
bishop,  the  judge,  the  clown,  &c.    The  spade-heHrd  and  the 
itilettu  beard  bcloiigi  d  to  the  military  profession.  The  carl 
of  Southampton,  our  author's  patron,  who  passed  much 
of  his  time  in  camps,  is  drawn  with  (he  latter  of  these 
feeards,  and  his  huo'ess  friend,  lord  Essex,  is  represented 
with  the  former.   The  ballad  is  worth  transcribing : 
"  Now  of  beards  there  be 
Such  a  companie. 

Of  fashions  such  a  throng  ; 
Thai  it  is  xjery  hard. 
To  treat  of  the  beard, 
Though  it  be  ne'er  so  long. 


"  The  steeletto  beard, 
0,  it  makes  me  afeard. 

It  is  so  sharp  beneath  ; 
For  he  that  doth  place, 
A  dagger  in  his  face. 

What  vjears  he  in  his  sheath  f 


"  The  soldiers  beard 
Doth  match  in  this  herd. 
In  figure  like  a  spade  { 
With  which  he  mil  make 
His  enemies  quake. 
To  think  their  grave  is  made." 

MALONE. 
"  The  feast  of  Crispian."— Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 
T>e  battle  of  .\gincourt  was  fought  upon  the  25th  of  Octo- 
l*r  (1415),  St.  Crispin's  day.   The  legend  upon  which  this 
It  foiuided,  follows:  —  "Crispinus  and  Crispianus  were 


brethren,  born  at  Rome ;  from  \rni,zxjc  they  travelled  t« 
Soissons  in  France,  about  the  year  303,  to  propngate  th« 
Christian  religion ;  but  becau.se  they  would  not  be  clmrge- 
able  to  others  for  their  maintenance,  they  exercised  tha 
trade  of  shoemakers ;  but  the  governor  of  the  town  dis- 
covering them  to  be  Christians,  ordered  them  to  be  be- 
headed. From  which  time,  the  shoemakers  made  cnoice  ot 
them  for  their  tutelar  saints,"— GREY. 

"  2'his  day  shall  gentle  his  condition." — Act  IV.  Sc  3. 

King  Henry  V.  inhibited  any  person  but  such  as  had 
right  by  inheritance,  or  grant,  to  assume  coats  of  arms, 
except  those  who  fought  with  him  at  (he  battle  of  Agin- 
court,  and  these  last  were  allowed  the  chief  seats  of  honour 
at  all  feasts  and  public  meetings.— TOLLET. 
•*  Thou  hast  unwished  five  thousand  men."— Act  IV  Sc.  3. 

The  numbers  efigaged  at  the  battle  of  Asiucourt  ar© 
variously  stated  ;  Holin.shed  makes  the  English  army  consist 
of  15,000,  and  the  French  of  60,000  horse,  besides  foot,  in  all 
100,000;  while  Walsingham  and  Hardinse  represent  the 
English  but  as  9,000;  and  other  authors  say  that  the  number 
of  the  French  amounted  to  150,000.— STEEV ENS. 

"  Monmouth  caps."— Act  IV.  Sc.  7. 

Monmouth  caps  were  formerly  much  worn.  "  The  best 
caps  (says  Fuller,  in  his  Worthies  of  Wales,)  were  former- 
ly made  at  Monmo2ith,  where  (he  Capper's  chapel  dolh 
still  remain.  If  (he  add.s)  at  (his  day,  (lf>60)  the  phrase  of 
'  wearing  a  Monmouth  rap,'  be  taken  in  a  bad  accep(ion,  | 
hope  (he  inhabitants  of  that  town  will  endeavour  to  dis- 
prove the  occasion  thereof."— MALONE. 

"  When  Alencon  and  myself  were  down  together." 

^  Act  IV.  Sc.  7. 

This  circumstance  is  not  an  invention  of  SLakspeare's. 
Henry  whs  feiled  to  the  ground  at  the  battle  of  Agincourt, 
by  the  duke  of  Alenqon,  but  recovered  and  s  ew  two  of  (he 
duke's  attendants.  Afterwards,  Alencon  was  killed  by  the 
king's  guard,  contrary  to  Henry's  intention,  who  wished  to 
have  saved  him.— MALONE. 

"  Davy  Gam,  esquire."— Act  IV.  Sc.  8. 

This  gentleman  being  sent  by  Henry,  before  the  battle, 
to  reconnoitre  the  enemy,  and  to  lind  out  their  strength, 
made  this  report : —  '  Mriy  it  please  you,  my  liege,  (here  aie 
enough  to  be  killed,  enough  to  be  taken  prisoners,  and 
enough  to  run  away."  He  also  saved  the  king's  life  during 
the  engagement —MALONE. 

"Do  we  all  holy  rites."— Act  IV,  Sc.  8. 

"Tlie  king,  when  he  saw  no  appearance  of  enemies, 
caused  the  retreat  to  be  blowen,  and  ^-adiering  his  army 
together,  gave  thanks  to  Almighty  God  fi>r  so  happy  a  vic- 
tory, causing  his  prela  es  and  chapclineg  to  sing  this  psalme, 
In'exilu  Israel  df  Ef/ypto  ;  and  commaunding  every  matt 
to  kneel  downe  at  this  verse,— ATo/i  nobis,  domine,  non  no- 
bis, sed  nomini  tuo  da  gloriam  ;  which  done,  he  caused  Tt 
Devm  and  certain  anthems  to  be  sung,  giving  laud  and 
prai.se  to  God,  and  not  boasting  of  his  owL.e  force,  or  an» 
huinaine  i)ower."— HOLINSHED. 


KING  HENRY  VI.  Part!. 


Hung  be  the  heavens  with  black."— Act  I.  Sc.  1 
ding  to  our  ancient  stage  pra( 
was  to  be  performed.  So  in  Sydne 


Alluding  to  our  ancient  stage  practice,  when  a  tragedy 
"ydney's  Arcadia:  "There 
even  with  the  sunne,  a  vaile  of  darke  cloudes,  before 


his  fecc  ;  which  shortly  had  blackened  over  all  the  face  of 
heaven,  preparing  (as  it  were;  a  mournfull  stage  for  a  tra- 
gedie  to  be  played  upon."— STEEVENS. 

"  Sir  John  Fastolfe."— Act  I.  Sc.  1. 
The  historical  Fastolfe,  here  introduced,  was  a  lieutenant- 
general,  deputy  regent  to  the  Duke  of  Redford,  in  Nor- 
mandy, and  a  knight  of  the  garter.  Hall  and  Hoiinshed 
sajr  that  he  was  degraded  for  cowardice ;  but  Heylin,  in  his 
Saint  George  for  England,  tells,  that  "  He  was  afterwards, 
upon  good  reason  by  him  alledged  in  his  defence,  restored 
to  his  honour."  "This  Sir  John  Fas(olfe,"  continues  he, 
"was,  without  doubt,  a  valiant  and  wise  captain." 

FARMER. 

"  England  all  Olivers  and  Rowlands  bred  " — Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

These  were  two  of  the  most  famous  in  (he  list  ofCharle 
ma^ne's  twelve  peers ;  and  such  an  extravagant  detail  of 
their  exploits  is  given  by  the  old  romancers,  that  from 
thence  arose  the  saying,  of  '  giving  one  a  Rowland  for  his 
Oliver,'  to  sianify  the  rn;ttching  one  incredible  lie  with 
another."— WARBUliTON. 

Enter  the  Bastard  of  Orleans."— Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

Bastard,  in  former  times,  was  not  a  (erm  of  reproach. 
Bishop  Hurd,  speaking  of  the  agreement  between  the 
heroic  and  Gothic  manner,  says,  (hat  "  Bastardy  was  in 
credit  with  both;"  and  one  ol  William  the  Conqueror's 
charters  begins,"  Ego Gulielmus,  cgnomento  Bastardus." 
(I.  William,  .surnamcd  the  Bastard.)— VAILLANT. 
 —  Here  is  my  keen  edg'd  sword, 

Deck'd  lOith  five floxaer-de -luces  on  each  side." Act  I.  Sc.J. 
In  a  secret  plrice  tuere  among  old  iron,  appointed  she 
hir  sword  io  he  .<iought  out  and  broudit  her,  that  with  Jive 
foure  de  luces  was  graven  on  both  HOLINSHED. 
"  Was  Mahomet  inspired  with  a  dove  ?"—Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

Mahomet  had  a  dove,  "  which  he  used  to  feed  with  wheat 
out  of  his  ear;  whi  h  dove,  when  it  was  hungry,  lighted  on 
his  shoulder,  and  thrust  its  bill  in  to  find  its  breakfast  ; 
Mnbuniet  persu-i  led  (he  rude  and  simple  Arabians,  that  it 
was  ttie  Holy  Ghost  that  gave  him  advice."— LIFE  OF 
MAHOMET,  by  Dr.  FRIDEAUX. 


"  This  he  Damascus,  be  thou  cursed  Cain, 
To  slay  thy  brother  Abel,  if  thou  wilt."— Act  I.  Sc.  > 
About  four  miles  from  Damascus  is  a  high  hill,  reported 
to  be  (he  same  on  which  Cain  slew  his  brother  i4 

POPE. 

 The  terror  of  the  French, 

The  scare-crow  that  affrights  our  children  so." 

Act  I.  Sc.  4. 

"This  man  (Talbot)  was  to  the  French  people  a  very 
scourge,  and  a  daily  terror,  insomuch,  that  as  his  person 
was  fearful,  and  terrible  to  his  adversaries,  so  his  name  and 
fame  was  spiteful  and  dreadful  to  the  commcm  people  ab- 
sent ;  insomuch  that  women  ix\  France  to  feare  their  yong 
children,  would  crye.  The  Talbot  comnieth,  the  Talbot 
comme(h."-HALL'S  CHRONICLE. 
"  Thy  promises  are  like  Adonis'  gardens." — Act  I.  Sc  .  6. 

The  gardens  of  Adonis,  so  frequently  mentioned  by  Greek 
wri(ers,  Plato,  Plutarch,  &c.  were  nothing  but  portable 
earthen  pots,  with  some  lettuce  or  fennel  growing  in  them. 
On  his  yearly  fes  ival,  every  woman  carried  one  ofthem  for 
Adonis's  worship,  because  Venus  had  orce  li<i>t  him  in  a 
lettuce  bed.  The  next  day  they  were  thrtfwn  away.  It  w«l 
be  seen  bv  the  text,  (hat  the  poet  has  totally  misapplied  this 
circumstance.— BENTLEY,  &c. 

"  Rhodope."— Act  I.  Sc.  6. 

/?Ao(/opf  was  a  famous  strumpet,  who  acquired  immense 
riches  by  her  trade.  The  least,  but  most  Mnished  of  the 
Esyi  tian  pyramids,  was  built  at  her  cost.  She  is  said  after- 
wards to  have  married  Psammetichus,  king  of  F  gypt 

STEEVENS. 
"  Coffer  of  Darius,"— Act  I.  Sc.  6. 

When  Alexander  the  Great  took  the  city  of  Gnz.a.  (he 
metropolis  of  Syiia,  amidst  the  other  sports  and  we;ii(h  of 
Darius,  treasured  up  there,  he  found  an  exreedio?  rich  and 
beautiful  little  chi-st  or caske-',  and  asked  (ho.se  about  him 
what  they  thought  lit  est  to  be  laid  up  in  it.  Wh'  n  they 
had  severally  delivered  their  opinions,  he  told  them,  he 
esteemed  nothing  so  worthy  to  be  preserved  in  it  as  Ho- 
mer's Iliad —THEOBALD. 

«  The  Parliamejtt  house."— kct  III.  Sc.  I 

This  parliament  was  held  in  1426,  at  Leicester,  (hongl 
the  author  of  this  play  has  represented  it  to  have  f  uen  held 
in  LondoD.  King  Henry  was  now  in  the  fifth  year  of  ida 


V 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


■re.  lu  the  first  parliament  which  was  held  in  London, 
■fiortlj'  I  ter  his  father's  death,  his  mother  Queen  Kalherine 
brought  (h  vouiig  kitis;  I'roin  Windsor  to  the  metropolis, 
aud  sat  on  the  ihrone  of  the  parliament  house  with  the 
tafant  in  her  lap  — MaLONE. 

*  Thou  bastard  of  my  grandfatim-  '."—^ci  III.  Sc.  1. 
Tlie  Bishop  of  Winchester  was  an  illegitimate  son  of  John 


KING  HENrxY 

"Margery  Jourdain."— Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

It  appears  from  Rymer,  that  in  the  tenth  year  of  Henry 
VI,  Maraery  Jourdemayn,  John  Virley.  clerk,  and  friar 
John  Ashwctl.  were,  on  the  9th  of  May,  1433,  brought  from 
Windsor  by  the  constable  of  the  castle,  to  which  they  were 
committed  for  sorcery,  before  the  counsel  at  Westminster, 
and  afterwards,  by  ati  order  of  council,  delivered  into  the 
custody  of  the  lord  chancellor.  The  same  day  it  was  order 
ed  by  the  lords  of  council,  that  whenever  the  said  Vi'-ley  and 
Ashwell  should  find  security  for  their  good  behaviour,  they 
should  be  set  al  liberty;  and  in  like  mantier,  that  Jourde- 

ayn  should  be  discharged,  on  her  husband's  finding  secu- 
rity. This  woman  was  atterwards  burned  in  StnithCield. 

DOUCE. 

*A  sand  baff."— Act  II.  Sc.  3. 
As,  according  to  the  old  laws  of  duel,  knights  were  to 
fight  with  the  lance  and  sword,  so  those  of  an  inferior  rank, 
fought  with  an  ebon  stair  or  battoon,  to  the  farther  end  of 
Which  was  fixed  a  bag  crammed  hard  with 

*  A  cup  of  charneco." — Act  U.  Sc.  3. 

*Some  drinking  the  neat  wine  of  Orlea7ice,  some  the  Gas- 
eony,  some  the  Bordeaux.  There  wanted  neither  sherry, 
•ack,  nor  charneco,  maligo,  nor  amber  coloured  candy, 
nor  liquorice  ipccras,  brown  beloved  bastard,  fat  Alicant, 
or  any  quirk  spirited  liquor."  —  THE  BLACK  DOG  OF 
NEWGATE,  1612. 

«  This  knave's  tongue  begins  to  double."— Act.  II.  Sc.  3. 

Hoiinshed's  account  of  this  combat  between  the  armourer 
and  his  man  is  curious :  "  In  the  same  yeare  also,  a  cerleine 
armourer  was  appeached  cf  treason  by  a  servant  of  his 
owne.  For  proofe  whereof  a  dale  was  giuen  them  to  fight 
in  Smithfield,  insomuch  that  in  conflict  ihesaid  armourer 
was  overcome  and  slaine ;  but  yet  by  misgouerning  of  him- 
nelf.  For  on  the  morrow  when  he  should  have  come  to  the 
field  fresh  and  foisting,  his  neighbours  came  to  him.  and  gaue 
him  wine  and  strong  drinke  in  sue  h  excessive  sort,  that  he 
was  therewith  distempered,  and  reeled  as  be  went ;  and  so 
was  slaine  without  guilte.  As  for  the  false  servant,  be  liued 
»ot  lonj."  The  original  exchequer  record  of  expenses  at- 
tending the  combat  has  been  preserved,  from  yhence  it 
appears,  that  the  armourer  was  not  killed  by  his  opponent, 
but  conquered,  and  immediately  afterwards  hanged  The 
following  is  the  last  at  tide  in  the  account,  and  was  struck 
off  by  the  barons  of  the  exchequer,  because  it  sontained 
charges  unauthorised  by  the  sheritls : — 

*Also  paid  to  ofBcers  for  watching  of  ye 
ded  man  ia  Smith  felde  ye  same  day  and  ye 
nyghte  after  yt  ye  battail  was  doon,  and  tori 
liors  hyre  for  the  officers  at  the  cxecuciou  L  s  d 

ioyng.and  for  ye  hangman's  labour  v.js.  vid.  Vcum  vii  viL 

*Also  paid  for  yeclolh  yat  lay  upon  ye  ded  '  *'"^'^J> 
men  in  Smj;th  felde,  \\i\d. 

"AJso  paid  for  1  pole  and  naylis,  and  for 
settyng  up  of  ye  said  mannys  hed  on  Lon- 
don Briga:e,  \d. 

The  sum  (otal  of  expence  incurred  on  this  occasion  was 
rflO.  18*.  9rf.-STE£VENS. 

*  Would  curses  kill,  as  doth  the  mandrake's  groan." 

Act  III.  Sc.  2. 

Bulleine,  in  his  Bulwarke  of  Defence  against  Sicknesse. 
speakinj;  of  mandragora,  says,— "They  doe  affyrme  that  this 
herbe  cometh  of  the  seede  of  some  convicted  dead  men,  and 
also  without  the  death  of  some  lyvinge  ttiinge  it  cannot  he 
drawne  out  of  the  earthe  to  man's  use.  Therefore  they  did 
lye  somme  dogge  or  other  lyvinge  beast  unto  the  roote 
thereof  with  a  corde,  and  digged  the  earth  in  compasse  round 
about,  and  in  the  meane  ijme  stopped  iheir  own  cares  for 
leare  of  the  terreble  shriek  and  cry  of  this  mandrack.  In 
whych  cry  it  doth«  not  only  dye  itselfe,  but  the  feare  thereof 
kylleththe  dosce  or  beast  which  pulleth  it  out  of  the  earth." 

REED. 

EING  HENRY 

•*  Stern  Faulconbridge  commands  the  narrow  seas.'* 

Act  I.  Sc.  1. 

The  person  here  meant  was  Thomas  Nevil,  bastard  son 
to  the  Lord  Faulconbridge ;  "  a  man/' says  Hall,  "of  no  less 
courage  then  andacitie,  who  for  his  euel  condicions  was 
iuch  an  apt  person,  that  a  more  meter  could  not  be  chosen 
to  set  all  the  worlde  in  a  broyle,  and  to  put  the  estate  of  the 
realm  on  an  yl  hazard."  He  was  appointed  by  Warwick 
vice  admiral,  and  had  in  charge  to  keep  the  passage  between 
Dover  and  Calais.  On  Warwick's  death  he  fell  into  poverty, 
and  robbed,  both  by  sea  and  land,  from  friends  and  foes.  He 
once  brought  his  ships  up  the  Thames,  and  made  a  spirited 
attack  on  the  city.  After  a  roving  life,  he  ventured  to  land 
at  Southampton,  where  he  was  tak«n  and  beheaded. 

RITSON. 

•*  /*  he  dead  already  ?  Or  is  it  fear 
That  makes  him.  close  his  eyes  ?"— Act  I.  Sc.  3. 
Whilst  this  battail  was  fighting,  a  priest  called  Sir  Ro- 


of Gaunt,  Duke  of  Lancaster,  by  Katherine  Swriifori,  wtal 

the  duke  aftei  wards  married. — MALONE. 

"  Ye  charming  spells  and  periapts."— Act  V.  Sc.  3. 
Periapts  were  portions  of  sciipture  enclosed  in  bags  of 
silk  or  velvet,  and  worn  round  the  neck;  they  were  some- 
times quilted  on  parts  of  the  dress.    They  were  esteenu4 
preservatives  from  disease.— STEii-VENS,  &c. 

.  Paet  II. 

"  If  thou  be'st  death,  I'll  give  thee  England's  treasure,* 

Act  HI.  Sc.  S. 

In  Hall's  Chronicle,  Beaufort's  last  moments  are  thui 
described  :  «  Daring  these  doyngs,  Heury  Beauford.  I'.yshop 
of  Winchester,  and  called  the  riche  cardynall,  dr^ parted  oat 
of  this  worlde.  This  man  was  haunt  in  .-^(omacb  and  hygh  in 
countenance,  ryche  above  measure  of  all  men  and  to  fewo 
liberal;  disdaynlul  lo  his  kynne,  and  drea<!f'.il  to  his  lovers. 
His  covetous  insaciable  and  hope  of  lon^  lyfe  m'ide  hitn  botho 
to  forget  God,  his  pr\  nee,  and  hymselfe.  in  his  latter  dayes ; 
for  Doctor  John  Baker  his  privie  counsHiler  and  his  chapel- 
layn,  wrote,  that  lying  on  his  death  bed  he  said  (hese  words : 
*  Why  should  I  dye,  having  so  muche  rychi  s  '  If  the  whole 
realme  would  save  my  lyte,  I  am  abell  either  by  policie  to 
get  it,  or  by  riches  to  buy  it.  Fye,  wi  l  no(  death  be  hired, 
nor  will  mon.^y  do  nothing  ?  When  my  nephew  of  Bedforde 
died,  I  thought  myself  half  up  the  whele,  but  when  I  saw 
mine  other  nephew  of  Gloucester  disceased,  then  1  thought 
my.selfe  able  to  be  equal  with  kinges,  and  so  thought  to  in- 
crease my  trea.sure,in  hope  to  have  worn  a  irypple  croune. 
But  1  see  now  the  world  fayleth  me,  and  so  I  am  deceyrcd; 
praying  you  all  to  pray  for  me." — MALONE, 

•  The  sea-shore  near  Dover."— Act  IV.  Sc.  1. 
*But  fortune  would  not  that  this  flagitious  person  (thfl 
duke  of  Sutfolk,)  should  so  escape ;  for  when  he  shipped  intc 
Suftolk,  entendynge  to  be  transported  into  France,  he  was 
encountered  with  a  shippe  of  warre  aimcrtalning  to  th« 
duke  of  Excester,  the  constable  of  the  Towre  of  Loudon, 
called  the  Nicholas  of  the  Towre.  The  c  aptain  of  the  sam« 
bark,  with  small  tight,  entered  into  the  duke's  shyppe,  and 
perceyying  his  person  present,  brought  him  to  lover  rode, 
and  there,  on  the  one  syde  of  a  cocke  bote,  caused  his  head 
to  be  stryken  off,  and  left  his  body,  with  th<-  head  upon  the 
sandes  of  Dover;  which  corst-  was  there  found  by  a  chape- 
layne  of  his,  and  conveyed  to  Wyngfielde  ci'llefje  in  Suffolke, 
and  there  buried."— HALL'S  CllRONICLtt;. 

«  This  monument  of  the  victory  will  I  hear." — Act  IV.  Sc.  5. 

*  Jack  Cade,  upon  his  victory  against  ihe  Staffords,  ap- 
parelled hiiaseif  Ui  Sir  Humphrey's  brigatuiine,  set  full  of 
gilt  nails,  and  so  in  some  glory  returned  again  towards 
Loudon."— HOLIN  SHED. 

"  The  pissinq-conduit  run  nothing  hut  claret.* 

Act  IV.  Sc.  6. 

This  pissiug-conduit  was  the  stcmdardf  in  Cheape, 
which,  as  Stovve  relates,  "  John  Wels,  grocer,  niaior,  1430, 
caused  to  be  made  with  a  stnall  cesierne  for  fresh  water, 
having  one  cock  continually  running  " — RITSON. 
«  Set  London  bridge  on  fire."— Act  IV.  Sc.  6. 
At  that  time,  London  bridge  was  made  of  wood.  "  Aftet 
that,"  says  Ball,  "he  entered  Limdoa,  and  cut  the  roper 
of  the  drau-  b  idge."  In  tliis  rebellion,  the  houses  on  Lon- 
don brid^fe  were  l>urut,  atulmauy  of  the  inliabitauts  perished. 

MALONE 

"  That  the  lams  of  England  may  come  out  of  you% 
mouth."— \ct.  IV.  Sc.  7. 

Holinshed  .-Jays  of  Wat  Tyler,  "  It  was  reported,  indeed- 
that  he  should  saie  v,  ith  great  pride,  putting  his  hand  to  his 
lips,  that  witliiii  four  days  a//  the  laws  of  England  should 
comefoorth  of  his  mouth." 

"  Matthaw  Gongh."— Act  IV.  c.  7. 
"  A  man  of  great  wit  and  much  experience  in  feats  of 
chivalrie,  the  which  in  conliiuiall  wai  res  had  spent  his  time 
in  serving  of  the  king  and  of  his  father."— Mt)  LIN  SHED. 
"  Kent.    Iden's  garden.— Kct  IV.  Sc.  10. 
"  A  gentleman  of  Kent,  named  Alexander  fJf/^n, awaited 
so  his  time,  that  he  took  the  said  Cade,  in  a  garden  in  Sus- 
sex, so  that  there  he  was  slaiue  at  Hothtield  " 

HOLINSHED. 


Part  III. 

bert  Aspall,  chappcllaine  and  schole  master  to  the  jonge 
earle  of  llutlande,  ii  sone  to  the  above-named  duke  of  York, 
scarce  of  the  age  of  xii  yeres,  a  fair  gentleman,  and  a  may* 
denlike  person,  r)€rcyving  that  flyght  was  more  safe  gard 
than  tarrying  both  for  hym  and  his  master,  secretly  con- 
veyed the  crieout  ofthefe!de,by  the  lord  Ciiffcrdf 'sbande, 
toward  Ihe  towne;  but  or  he  could  entre  into  a  house,  ha 
was  by  the  sayd  lord  Clifford  espied,  followed,  and  taken, 
and  by  reason  of  his  apparell,  demanded  what  he  was  Tho 
young  gentleman,  dismayed,  had  not  a  word  to  speke,  but 
kneled  on  his  knees,  imploring  mercy,  and  desiring  grace, 
both  with  holding  up  his  hands,  and  making  dolorous  coun- 
tenance,/«r  his  speache  was  gone  for  feare. 

HALLS  Cl»RONICLE. 
"  Putting  a  paper  crown  on  his  head."— Act.  1.  Sc.  4. 
"  Some  write  that  the  duke  was  taken  aliTe,  and,  in  deri- 
sion, caused  to  stand  upon  a  mole  hill;  on  whose  bead  the} 
pul  a  garlaude  instead  of  a  crowne,  which  they  had  fa 


EXPLANATORY  ^OTES. 


en 


sliioned  and  made  of  seggos  or  bnlrnshes ;  and  having  so  I 
crowned  hiin  with  that  garlande,  they  kneeled  downe  afore  j 
bim,  as  the  jews  did  to  Christe  in  sconie,  sayin?  to  him, 
'  hayle  king  without  rule,  hayle  king  without  heritage, 
hayle  duke  and  prince  w  ithout  people  or  possessions.'  And, 
It  length,  having  thus  scorned  him  with  these  and  dyverse 
Dther  the  like  despiteful  woordes,  they  strooke  oft' his  head, 
which  (as  ye  have  heard)  they  presented  to  the  queen.* 

HOLINSHED. 
"  Off"  vnth  his  head,  and  set  it  on  York  gates ; 
So  York  may  overlook  the  town  of  York."— Act  I.  Sc.  4, 
This  gallant  prince  fell  by  his  own  imprudence,  in  conse- 
quence of  leading  an  army  of  only  five  thousand  men  to 
engage  with  twenty  thousand.  He  and  Cecily  his  wife,  with 
his  son  Edmond.earl  of  Rutland,  were  originally  buried  in 
the  chancel  of  Foderingay  church,  -md  (asPeacham  informs 
us  in  his  Complete  Gentlen.an,  1627),  '•  when  the  chancel, 
in  that  fune  (if  knocking  churches  and  SMcred  monuments 
iu  the  head  was  also  felled  to  the  ground,"  they  were  re- 
moved into  the  church  yard;  and  afterwards  ''  lapped  in 
lead;  they  were  buried  in  the  church,  by  the  command- 
ment of  queen  Elizabeth,  and  a  mean  monument  of  plais- 
ter,  wrought  with  the  trowel,  erected  over  thetn,  very 
homely,  and  far  unfliting  so  noble  princes.  I  remember," 
adds  the  same  author,  '  master  Creuse,  a  gentleman  and 
my  worthy  friend,  who  dwelt  at  the  college  at  ihesame  time, 
told  me,  that  their  colHns  being  opened,  their  bodies  ap- 
peared very  plainly  to  be  discerned,  and  withal,  that  the 
duchess  of  Cicely  had  about  her  necke,  hanging  in  a  silken 
ribbande,  a  pardon  from  Rome,  which,  penned  in  a  very  tine 
Roman  hand,  was  as  faire  and  freshetobe  reade,  as  it  had 
been  written  yesterday."— .MALONE. 

"  Do  I  see  three  suns  ?"— Act  II.  Sc.  1. 
•*  At  which  tyme  the  sou  (as  some  write)  appeared  to  the 
erleof  Blsirche  like  three  sonnes,  andsodainely  joyned  al- 


togither  in  one  ;  upon  whiche  sight  hee  took  such  couraiie, 
that  he,  fiercely  setting  on  hiseiiemyes,  put  them  to  flight  ^ 
and  for  (his  cause  mene  ymagined  that  he  gave  the  son  ia 
his  full  brightness  for  his  badge  or  co^nisctiice  * 

HOLINSHED. 
"  Sir  John  Gray."— Act.  III.  Sc.  2. 
Sir  John  Gray  is  here  stated  to  have  ditd  fghtinr  for  tho 
bouse  of  York,  than  which  nothing  can  be  mor  e  opposed  to 
';ruth  He  fell  in  the  second  bat«tle  of  St.  Alhaiis,  which  war 
fought  on  Shrove  Tuesday.  Feb.  17,  1460,  fi^'htiiig  on  tlk 
side  of  kiftg  Henry.  In  Richard  III.  the  manner  ot  hii 
death  is  truly  stated.— MALONE. 

"  I  was  not  ignoble  of  descent."— Act  IV.  Sc.  1. 
Lady  Elizabeth.  Edward  IV. 's  queen,  was  the  daughter  ol 
Sir  Richard  Widvilie  afterwards  earl  of  Rivers  ■  her  mothei 
was  Jaqueline,  duchess  dowager  of  BediVrd,  who  wa$ 
daughter  to  Peter  of  Luxeniburgh  earl  of  St.  Paul,  and 
widow  of  John,  duke  of  Bedford,  the  brother  of  Henry  V. 

MALONE. 

"  This  pretty  lad  will  prove  our  country's  b/iss." 

Act  IV.  Sc.  6. 

When  Richmond,  whose  future  grandeur  is  here  prophe- 
cied,  became  king,  hisgralitude  to  Henry  VI.  lor  his  early 
presage  in  his  favour,  made  him  solicit  pope  Julius  to  ca- 
nonize him  as  a  saint ;  but  either  Henry  V/I  would  not  pay 
the  money  demanded,  or,  as  Bacon  supposes,  (he  pope  re- 
fused, lest  "  as  Henry  was  reputed  in  the  world  abroad 
but  as  a  simple  man,  the  estimation  of  that  kind  of  honour 
might  be  diminished,  if  there  were  not  a  distance  kept  be- 
tween innocents  and  saints."— MXIjONE. 

During  the  contest  between  the  houses  of  York  and  Lan- 
caster, sixteen  battles  were  fought,  and  upwaids  of  ninety 
thousand  per.sonE  were  slain.  This  carnage,  though  con- 
siderable, sinks  into  insigniticance  when  we  remember  the 
battles  of  Moskwa,  Leipsic, and  Waterloo. 


RING  RICHARD  III. 


"  He  hearkens  after  prophecies  and  dreams."— Act  I.  Sc.  1. 

"  Some  have  reported,  that  the  cause  of  this  nobleman's 
death  (the  duke  or  Clarence,)  rose  of  a  foolish  prophecie, 
which  was,  that  after  king  Edward,  should  raigne  one 
w  hose  first  letter  of  his  name  should  be  a  G ;  w  herewith  the 
king  and  queen  were  sore  troubled,  and  began  to  conceive 
a  grievous  grudge  against  this  duke,  and  couid  not  be  quiet 
till  they  had  brought  him  to  his  end."— HOLINSHED, 

Some  historians  say,  that  when  Clarence  endeavoured  to 
obtain  in  marriage  Mary,  the  daughter  and  heiress  of  the 
duke  of  Burgundy,  his  brother,  king  Edward,  was  dis- 
pleased, because  he  wished  to  unite  that  lady  with  Rivers, 
ihe  queen's  brother;  and  in  this' wav  the  breach  betweea 
the  tif  others  has  been  explained.— MALONE. 

"  ■  See !  dead  Henry's  wounds. 

Open  their  congealed  mouths,  and  bleed  afresh." 

Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

It  is  a  tradition  very  generally  received,  that  the  mur- 
dered body  bleeds  on  the  touch  of  the  murderer.  This  was 
so  much  believed  by  Sir  Kenelm  Digby,  that  he  has  en- 
deavoured to  explain  the  cause  .JOHNSON. 

"  Pattern  of  thy  butcheries."— Act  1.  Sc.  2. 

"  The  dead  corps,  on  the  Ascension  even,  was  conveied 
rith  bills  and  glaives,  pompouslie,  (if  you  will  call  that 
i  funeral  pompe)  from  the  Tower  of  the  church  of  Saint 
?aule,  and  there  laid  on  a  beire  or  coffin  b  ire-facced;  the 
same  in  the  rjresence  of  (he  beholders,  did  bleed,  where  it 
rested  the  space  of  one  whole  dale.  From  thence  he  was 
carried  to  Blackfriars,  and  bled  there  likewise. 

HOLINSHED. 
"  Crosby  place." — Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

Crosby-place  is  now  Crosby  square,  in  Bishopsgate- 
street;  part  of  the  house  is  yet  remaining,  and  is  a  meet- 
ing-place for  a  presbyterian  congregation.  This  magnifi- 
cent nr.  ision  was  built  in  the  year  14^6,  by  sir  John  Crosby, 
grocer  and  woolman.  Sir  J.  Crosby's  tomb  is  in  the  neigh- 
bouring church  of  St.  Helen  the  Great  — STEEVENS. 
"  Th^  Countess  Richmond." — Act  I.  Sc.  3. 

Margaret,  daughter  to  John  Beaufort,  first  duke  of  So- 
merset, after  the  death  of  her  first  husband,  Edmund 
Tudor,  earl  of  Richmond,  half  brother  to  king  Henry  VI, 
by  whom  she  had  only  one  son,  afterw  ards  king  Henry  VII.; 
she  married  first  sir  Henry  Stafford,  uncle  to  Humphrey, 
duke  of  Buckingham.— MALONE. 

"  Wert  thoii  not  banished  on  pain  of  death  ?" — Act  I.  Sc.  3. 

Margaret  fled  into  France  after  the  battle  of  Hexham,  in 
1461,  and  Edward  thereupon  issued  a  proclamation,  pro- 
hibiting any  of  his  subjects  from  aiding  her  to  return,  or 
harbouring  her,  should  she  revisit  England.  On  the  14th  of 
April,  1471,  she  landed  at  Weymouth.  After  the  battle  of 
Tewskbury,  in  the  same  year,  she  was  confined  in  the  Tower, 
where  she  continued  till  1475,  when  .she  was  ransomed  by 
her  father.  Regnier,  and  removed  to  France,  where  she 
died  in  1482.  The  present  scene  is  in  1477,  so  that  her  ap- 
pearance here  is  a  mere  poetical  fiction. — MALONE. 
"  Your  brother  Gloster  hates  you," — Act  I.  Sc.  4. 

Gloster  hated  Clarence,  because  he  would  not  share  with 
him  that  moiety  of  the  estate  of  the  great  earl  of  Warwick, 
to  which  Gloster  was  entitled  on  his  marriage  with  the 
younger  sister  of  the  duche.ss  of  Clarence,  lady  Ann  Nevill, 
who  had  been  Iv-trothed  to  Edward,  prince  of  Wales.  This 
■eems  proved  by  a  letter  from  Sir  John  Paston  to  his  bro- 
ther, dated  Feb.  14,  1471:  "  Yesterday,  the  king,  the 
ifueene,  my  lords  of  Clarence  an  i  Gloster,  went  toShene 
t«  porduB;  men  say,   not  all  in  charity.   Tbe  king  en- 


treateth  my  lord  of  Clarence  for  my  lord  of  Gloster;  and 
as  it  is  said,  he  answereth,  that  he  may  well  have  my  lady 
his  sis(erinlaw,  but  they  sha/l part  no  Hvi-Iihood,  as  he 
saith  ;  so  what  will  fall  can  I  not  say."— MALONE. 
"  Welcome,  sweet  prince,  to  London,  to  your  chamber." 

Act  III.  Sc.  1. 

London  was  anciently  cal'ed  Cameja  Regis.  So  in  Hey- 
wood's  If  you  know  not  Me,  you  know  Nobody,  1633; 
"  This  city,  our  great  chamber."— 

"  Enter  Buckingham."— Act  III.  Sc.  2. 

The  jesting  remarks  here  given  to  Buckingham  were 
'•eally  made  by  Sir  Thomas  Howard,  afterwards  intro- 
duced in  this  play  as  earl  of  Surry.  "  The  same  morning 
ere  he  (Hastings)  were  up  from  his  bed,  where  Shore's 
1  wife  lay  with  him  all  night,  there  came  to  him  sir  Thomajl 
Haward,  [Howard]  sonne  to  the  lord  Howard,  as  it  werj 
of  courtesie,  to  accompaignie  him  to  counsaill ;  but 
forasmuche  as  he  the  lord  Hastings  'ffttf  not  readie,  he 
taried  awhile  for  him,  and  hasted  him  away.  This  sir 
j  Thomas,  while  the  lord  Hastings  stayed  awhile  com- 
munyng  with  a  priest  whom  he  met  in  the  Tower  strete, 
'  broke  the  lord's  tale,  saying  to  him  merrily,  '  What,  my 
lord,  I  pray  you  come  on,  wherefore  talk  you  so  long  with 
the  priest  ?  you  have  no  need  of  a  priest  yet ;  and  laughed 
upon  him,  as  thoushhe  would  saye,  you  shalThave  nede  ol 
one  soone."  Continuation  of  Harding's  Chronicle. 

"  Bishop  of  Ely."— Act  III.  Sc.  4. 

Dr.  John  Morton,  elected  bishop  of  Ely  in  1478,  advanced 
to  the  see  of  Canterbury  in  1486,  appointed  lord  chancellor 
in  1487,  died  in  1500.  He  deserves  the  gratitude  of  pos- 
terity as  having  first  suggested  a  marriage  betw  ecn  Henry 
VII.  and  Elizabeth,  the  eldest  daughter  of  Edward  IV., 
which  union  terminated  the  long  and  bloodv  contest  be- 
tween the  hou.ses  of  York  and  Lancaster.— MALONE. 
"  Put  to  death  a  citizen."— Act  III.  Sc.  5. 

This  person  was  one  Walker,  b  substantial  citizen  and 
grocer,  at  the  Crovm,  in  Cheapside. — GREY. 

"  Baynard's  Castle."— Act  III.  Sc.  5. 

It  was  originally  built  by  Baynard,  a  nobleman,  wTio, 
according  to  Stowe,  came  in  with  the  Conqueror.  This 
edifice,  which  stood  in  Thames  street,  has  long  been  pulled 
down,  though  part  of  its  strong  foundations  are  still  visible 
at  low  water.   The  site  of  it  is  now  a  timb  r  yard. 

STEEVENS. 
Doctor  Shaw."— Act  II.  Sc.  5. 

Shaw  and  Penker  were  two  popular  preachers.  Instead 
of  a  pamphlet  being  published  to  furnish  the  advocates  of 
the  administration  with  plausible  arguments  cn  great  po- 
litical measures  it  was  formerly  usual  to  publi.sh  the 
court  creed  from  the  pulpit  of  Saint  Paul's  cross.  At 
Richard  now  employed  doctor  Shaw  to  support  his  claim 
to  the  crown,  so  about  fifteen  years  before,  the  great  earl 
of  Warwick  employed  his  chaplain,  doctor  Godard,  ta 
convince  the  people  that  Henry  VI.  ought  to  be  restored, 
and  that  Edward  IV.  was  an  usurper.— MALONE. 
"  The  brats  of  Clarence."— Act  HI.  Sc.  5. 

Edward,  earl  of  Warwick,  who,  after  (he  batt'e  of  Bos- 
worth,  was  sent,  by  Richmond,  to  the  Tower,  withoutevea 
the  shadow  of  an  allegation  against  him,  and  executed, 
with  equal  injustice,  on  Tower-hill,  Nov.  21,  I4!)9;  and 
Margaret,  afierwards  married  to  sii  Richard  Pole,  the  last 
princess  of  the  house  of  Lancaster,  who  was  restored  to  her 
honours  in  the  fifth  year  of  Henry  VII  [.  and  in  the  thirty- 
first  year  of  his  reign,  (1.540,)  at  the  age  of  seventy,  was  put 
to  death  by  that  sanguinary  tyrant    The  immediate  caust 


n 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


»f  Warwick's  l.e\ng  pnt  to  death  was,  tliat  the  king  of 
Bpaiii  would  iidt  marry  his  daughter  Katherine  to  Arfhur, 
prince  of  Wales,  during  his  life  <ime.  This  murder  (for  it 
aeserves  no  other  name,)  made  such  an  imi)ressioii  on  Ka- 
Iheriiie,  that  when  she  was  informed  of  Henry's  intention 
torepudia  e  her,  she  exclaimed,  "  I  have  not  offended. but 
it  is  a  just  ju>!gment  of  God,  for  my  first  marriage  was  made 
ia  blood."— MALONE. 

"  Wil/i  Ms  contract  with  Lady  Lttcy."— Act  III.  Sc.  7. 

The  kins;  had  been  familiar  with  this  lady  before  his  mar- 
riage,  to  ol)-.truct  which,  his  mother  aili  ged  a  precunlract 
between  tlienn:  Wheretipon  dame  Elizabeth  Lucy  whs  sent 
for,  and  albeit  she  was  by  the  kyng  his  mother,  and  many 
other,  put  in  goode  comfort  to  aihnne  that  she  was  assured 
to  the  kyiige,  jet  when  she  was  solemnly  sworn  to  saye  the 
truth,  she  confessed  she  was  never  ensured.  Howbeit,  she 
sayed  iiis  grace  spake  such  lovyiMge  wonles  to  her,  that  she 
verily  hiipedhe  woulde  have  married  htr,  and  that  yfsuche 
kinde  wordes  had  not  bene,  she  would  never  have  .shi-wed 
such  kinduesse  to  hym  to  kt  hyui  so  kyudely  gette  her  with 
«fcylde."-iJALL  S  CHRONICLE. 
■*  0,  woulri  to  God,  that  thf  iyiciusivf  vfrge 
Of  golden  metal,  that  must  round  nty  broiv. 


Were  red  hot-steel,  to  sear  me  to  the  hr 

Act  IV.  §8.  I* 

An  allusion  to  the  ancient  mode  of  punishing  a  regicidei 
or  any  other  egregious  criminal,  by  placing  a  cro'i!»n  of 
iron,  ht  att'd  red  hot,  upon  his  head.— MALONE. 

"  The  earldom  of  Hereford."— \ct  IV.  Sc.  2. 

!"hakespeare  makes  Richard  refuse  to  grant  (he  Hereford 
estate  to  Buckingham,  and  their  quarrel  is  tlie  consequence 
in  the  tragi  dy.  This  is  contrary  to  the  truth  of  history. 
Buikin^lLam  actually  obtained  fromRicha  d  IH.  when  h« 
usurped  the  throne,  the  earidom  of  Hereford,  and  the 
olhce  of  constable  of  England,  which  had  lon^  been  an- 
nexed by  inheritance  to  that  earldom — MALONE. 
"  Lest,  being  seen,  thy  brother,  tender  George, 
Be  exectitedr  Act  V.  Sc.  3. 

"  The  lord  S'anley  lodged  in  the  same  town,  (Stafford) 
and  heaving  that  the  earle  of  Richmond  was  marching  thi- 
therward, gave  to  him  place,  dislodging  him  and  his  to 
avoide  ail  suspicion,  being  afraide  least  being  seen  openly 
to  be  a  factor  or  aydcr  lo  the  earle,  his  .son  in-law,  before 
the  day  of  battyle,  that  king  Richard,  which  yet  not  utterly 
put  him  in  diiiidence  and  mistrust,  would  put  to  some  evil 
demh  his  son  and  heir-apparent."— HOLINSUED. 


RING  HENRY  VIII. 


Butcher's  cur."— Act  I.  Sc.  1. 
When  the  duke  of  Buckingham's  death  was  reported  to 
the  emperor  Charles  V.  he  said,  "  The  first  buck  of  England 
was  worried  to  death  by  a  butcher's  dug.'' — .STEEVKNS. 
"  The  duke  being  at  the  rose. "—Act  I.  Sc.  2. 
Tliis house  was  piirchased  about  the  year  I5fil,  by  Richard 
Hill,  soni' time  master  of  the  Merchant-  Tailors' Com|)any, 
and  is  now  the  Merchant-Tailors' School,  in  Suffolk  lane. 

WHALLEY 

"  Leave  these  remnants 

Of  foul,  and  feather."  Act  I.  Sc.  3. 

"At  that  time  (in  tVie  court  of  Henry  VHI.)  I  was  no 
Ciomniou  squire,  no  under  trodden  torch  brarer;  I  had  my 

i'eaihcr  in  rny  cap  as  big  as  a  /lag  in  (he  fore  top,  my 
'"rench  duubiet  gelt  in  the  belly,  as  though  (lik  ■  a  pig 
readie  to  be  spitted. )  all  my  guts  had  been  plucked  out  ; 
a  paire  of  .side-naned  hose  thai  hung  dovv  n  like  two  scales 
filled  with  f  to. iHiid  cheeses  ;  my  long  stock  ihat  sate  close 
10  niy  dock,  my  rapier  pendent  like  a  round  sticke,  &c. ; 
iriy  bfacie  clnake  of  black  cloth,  ouerspreadLng  my  backe, 
iyfce  a  thornbacke  on  an  elephant's  eare ;  and  in  con 
iumniation  of  my  curiositie,  my  handes  without  gloves, 
miia  more  Frem  h." 

NASHE'S  LIFE  OF  JACKE  WITTON,  1594. 
"  Enter,  the  King,  and  mvelve  others,  as  maskers." 

Act  I.  Sc.  4. 

"Before  the  king  began  to  dance,  they  requested  leave 
io  accompany  the  ladies  at  mumchance.  Leave  being 
erunted,  ihen  went  the  masquers  and  fiist  saluted  all  the 
dames,  and  tuen  returned  to  the  most  worthiest,  and  then 
opened  the  great  cup  of  gold,  filled  with  crownes  and 
other  pieces,  to  cast  at.  Thus  perusing  all  the  gentle- 
women, tf  some  they  wonne,  and  lo  some  they  lost.  And 
having  viewed  all  (he  ladies,  they  returned  to  the  cardinal 
with  great  reverence,  pouring  downe  all  their  gold,  which 
was  above  two  hundred  crowns.  At  all,  quoth  the  car- 
dinal, and  casting  the  die,  he  won  it ;  whereat  was  made 
great  joy  "— CAV  EiNDISii'S  LIFE  OF  VVOLSEY. 
"  J  vJi-re  unmannerly  to  take  you  out, 
And  not  to  kiss  you."  Act  1.  Sc.4 

A  kiss  v\'as  ancieiitly  the  established  fee  of  a  lady's 
partner.  So,  in  A  Dia'logue  between  Custom  and  Veritie, 
on  the  Use  and  Abuse  of  Dauncing  and  Minslrelsie,  no 
date,  "  imprinted  at  London,  at  the  long  shop,  adjoining 
unto  Saint  Mildred's  church  in  the  Tultrie,  by  John  Alide," 
we  hud  ilie  following  stanza. 

"  But  some  reply,  what  foole  would  daunce, 

if  that  when  daunce  is  doon. 
He  may  not  have  at  ladyes  lippes 

That  which  in  daunce  he  ivoon  STEEVENS. 

"  .  Your  grace, 

I  fear,  with  dancing  is  a  little  heated.— .\ct  I.  Sc.  4. 

The  king,  on  being  discovered,  and  desired  by  Wolsey  to 
tske  his  place,  said  tliat  he  would  "  lirst  go  and  shift  him; 
aud,  theresipon,  went  into  the  cardinal's  bed  chamber, 
where  was  a  great  fire  ptepared  for  him,  and  there  he  new 
appareled  himself  with  riclie  and  princelie  garments.  And 
in  the  king's  absence  the  dishes  of  tbe  banquet  were  cleane 
taken  away,  and  the  tables  covered  wit)  ?w  and  per./'umed 
clothes.  Tli'Mi  tlie  king  took  his  seat  under  the  cloath  of 
estate,  commanding  every  person  to  sit  still  as  before .  and 
men  catne  in  a  new  banquet  before  his  majestie  of  tivo 
hundred  dishes,  and  so  ihey  passed  the  night  in  banqueting 
lUld  dancing  till  morning." 

CAVENDISH'S  LIFE  OF  WOLSEY. 

•  Norfolk  opens  a  folding  door  :  the  king  is  discovered 
sitting,  and  reading  petisiuely.  Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

The  stage  direction  in  the  old  copy  is  a  singular  one. 
"  Exit  lord  Chcmherlain,  and  the  king  draivs  ihi'  cirrtaiji, 
and  sits  reading  pensirely and  it  v  ill  enable  us  to  as- 
certain ur*  cisely  the  state  of  tlie  theatie  ii>  Shakspeare's 
time.  V\'liei>  a  ].>erson  was  to  be  discovered  in  a  dilferent 
apartmetii  from  that  in  which  the  original  speakers  in  the 
»f.ene  are  exhibited,  the  method  was  to  place  .such  person 
in  tilt*  liark  (lari  of  the  stage,  behind  the  curtains  which 
Were,  otcusionally,  suspended  across  it     These  the  person 


who  was  to  he  discovered  (as  Henry  in  the  present  case,) 
drew  back  just  at  the  fit  moment.  Rowe,  looking  no  fur- 
ther than  the  modern  stage,  changed  the  directii  n  thus: 
"  The  scene  opens,  and  discovers  th"  king  "  &c.  but  besides 
the  f(dly  of  introducing  scenes  when  there  were  none,  such 
an  exhibition  would  be  improper,  for  Norfolk  has  just  said 
"  Let's  in,"  and,  therefore,  should  himself  do  some  act  in 
order  to  visit  the  king.  This,  indeed,  in  the  simple  state  of 
the  old  stage,  was  not  attended  to;  the  king,  very  civilly, 
discovering  Aew/se//'.— MALONE. 

"  That  he  ran  mad  and  died."— Act  II.  Sc.  2. 
"  Aboufe  this  time  the  king  received  into  favour  Dr.  Ste- 
phen Gardiner,  whose  service  he  used  in  matters  of  greal 
secrecie  and  weighte,  admitting  him  in  the  roome  of  doctof 
Pace,  the  which,  being  continually  abrode  in  ambassades, 
and  the  same  oflentymes  not  much  necessarie,  by  the  car- 
dinalle's  appointment,  at  lengthe  he  tooke  such  greefe 
therewithe,  that  he  fell  out  of  his  right  wittes." 

HOLINSHED. 
"  Two  gentlemen,  bearing  two  great  silver  pillars 

ActIL  Sc.4, 

Wolsey  had  one  pillar  borne  before  him  as  cardinal,  and 
another  as  legale.  So  in  The  Treatous,  an  ancient  satyrica? 
poem,  by  William  Roy  : 

"  With  worldly  pompe  incredible. 
Before  him  rydeth  two  prestes  stronge  : 
And  they  bear  two  crosses  right  longe, 

Gapynge  in  every  man's  face  : 
After  them  folowe  ttvo  laye  men  secular. 
And  each  C(f'  theym  holdyn  a  pillar. 
In  their  hondes  steade  of  a  mace." — STEEVENS. 
*  The  queen,  and  some  of  her  women,  at  work  " 

Act  III.  Sc.l. 

Her  majesty,  (says  Cavendish,)  on  being  informed  that 
the  Cardinals  were  corning  to  visit  her,_  *  rose  up.  having  a 
skein  of  red  silke  about  her  necke,  being  'it  work  with  her 
maidens."  Cavendish  at  tended  Wolsey,  on  this  visit,  and 
the  Queen's  an.swer  in  the  play  is  exactly  conformable  to 
that  wliicli  he  has  recorded,  an.i  which  he  appears  to  have 
heard  her  pronounce."— MALONE. 

"  0,  good  my  Lord,  no  Latin." — Act  III.  Sc.  1. 
*Then  begane  the  cardinallto  speake  to  her  in  latine. 
Naie.goodmy  lord,  (quoth  she,)  speak  to  me  in  English." 

HOLINSHED. 
"  Worse  than  the  sacring  bell  "— Act  III.  Sc.  2. 
Tlie  little  bell  which  is  rung  to  give  notice  of  the  host  ap- 
proaching, when  it  is  carried  in  proce.ssion,  as  also  in  other 
otlices  oflhe  Romish  church,  is  called  tlie  sacring,  or  co«- 
secration  bell ;  from  the  French  word,  sacrer." 

THEOBALD. 

«  Ipswich."- Act  IV.  Sc.  2. 

*  Tlie  foundation-stone  of  the  college,  which  the  cardinal 
founded  in  this  place,  was  discovered  a  few  years  ago.  It 
is  now  in  the  chapter-house  of  Chri.st  cliurcli.  Oxf-rA." 

SEWARD'S  ANECDOTES. 

*  You'd  spare  your  spoons." — Act  V.  Sc.  2. 

It  was  the  custom,  long  before  Sliakspeare's  time,  for  the 
.sponsors  at  chri.stenings  to  offer  gilt  spoons  as  a  pre.sent  to 
tne  child.  Tti'-se  spoons  were  called  apostlf  spoons,  because 
the  figures  of  the  apostles  were  carved  on  the  handles.  Such 
as  were  opulent  atid  generousgave  the  %Oi';le  twelve  ;  tho.se 
who  were  less  rich  or  liberal  escaped  at  tJie  exfienseof  the 
four  evangelists  •  and  some  ga\e  one  spoon  only,  which 
exhibited  "the  'igure  of  f  t  e  saint  in  honour  of  whom  the 
child  was  named.— STEEVENS. 

«  Varis  garden."— Act  V.  Sc.  3. 

This  ce]ebrB.^e(\  Bear  garden,  on  \he  Bankside,  was  nc 
called  from  Robert  de  Paris,  who  had  a  hnt  house  and 
garden  then^  in  the  time  of  Richard  U.  The  globe  theatre  _ 
in  which  Shakspeare  was  an  actor,  stofid  on  the  southern' 
side  of  the  Thames,  and  v/as  contiguous  to  this  noted 
place  of  tumult.  [See  the  Account  of  the  Theatres  in 
Shaksi.eare  s  Time,  in  the  former  part  of  this  ToliUBeJ 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


829 


OILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


«  Thou  stovlfor  a  witch  ''—Act  II.  Sc.  1. 

la  one  way  of  iryiiiR  a  witch,  they  wsed  to  place  Ler  on 
BChair  or  stool,  with  her  legs  tied  across,  that  all  the  weight 
^  her  liodv  might  rest  upon  her  seat,  and  by  that  means, 
after  some  "time,  the  circu'.ation  of  the  blood  would  be  much 
stuppod,  nml  her  ailtiug  would  be  as  painful  as  the  wooden 
horse.— OkEY. 

"  The  elephant."— kct  II.  Sc.  3. 

It  was  an  old  opinion  xhat  ^/V?jArt?/^.<;  had  no  joints.  Hence, 
in  The  DialoRues  of  Creatures  Moralysed,  mention  is  made 
of*  the  olefawnte  that  bowyih  nut  (he  kneys ;"  a  curious 
gpecimen  of  our  early  natural  history.— STEEVENS. 

«  the  death-tokens  of  it 

Cry,  No  recovery.''  Act  II.  Sc.  3. 

Dr.  Hodges,  in  his  Treatise  on  the  Plague,  says,  "  Spots 
of  a  dar  k  complexion,  usual!  v  called  tokens,  and  looked  on 
a.s\  the  pledges  or  forewarniiigs  of  deoth,  are  minute  and  dist- 
inctblasts,  which  have  theiroriginal  tromwitiun,  and  rise  up 
with  a  little  |)yraiiiidal  protuberance,  the  pestilential  poi- 
son chietiy  cOllfCied  at  their  bases,  taintintr  the  neigh- 
bouring parts,  and  reaching  to  the  surface."— RE liD. 


«  Keep  this  sleeve."— Act  V.  Sc.  J. 

The  custom  of  wearing  a  lady's  sleet^e  for  a  favonr  ti  men* 
fioned  in  Hall's  Chronicle  :  "One  ware  on  his  head-piMce 
his  lady's  ,</^«s');e?,  and  another  bare  on  his  belme  the  giw* 
of  his  deareling.''-STEEVENS. 

«  The  dreadful  sagiltary.'^kci  V.  Sc.  5. 

«  Beyonde  the  royalme  of  Ama.sonne  came  an  auncyea< 
kynge,  wyse  and  dyscreete,  named  Epystrophiis,  and 
brought  u  >  knyghfes,  and  a  mervallouse  beste  thiit  wa» 
called  sagittayre,  that  behynde  the  middes  was  an  horse, 
and  to  fore  a  man:  this  beste  was  heery  like  an  horse, 
and  had  his  eyn  rede  as  a  cole,  and  sliotte  well  with  i; 
bowe:  this  beste  maile  the  Grekes  sore  aferde,  and  slew 
many  of  them  with  his  bowe." 

THE  THREE  DESTRUCTIONS  OF  TROIE<, 
*  Some  galled  goose  of  Winchester." — Act  V.  Sc.  II. 

As  the  pitblic  stews  were  under  the  controul  of  thebishof 
of  Winchrxtcr,  a  strumpet  was  called  a  Wiiichester  nvuse, 
and  a  galled  Winchester  goosemay  mean.eithera  strumpet 
alliictcd  with  disease,  or  one  that  felt  offended  by  the  re- 
marks of  Pandarus  in  the  play. — MASON. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


*'  In  a  wide  sea  af  wax," — Act  I.  Sc.  1. 
Anciently  they  wrote  upon  waxen  tables  with  an  iron 
style.— HANMER. 

"  Methinks  they  should  invite  them  without  knives." 

Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

It  w.<js  the  cu.stom  in  our  author's  time  for  every  guest  to 
bring  his  own  knife,  which  he  occasionally  whetted  on  a 
stone  that  \\\in^  beiilnd  the  door.  One  of  the.se  whetstones 
mav  be  seen  in  Parkinson's  Museum.  They  were  strangers, 
at  that  period,  to  the  use  of /ort«.— RITSON. 

"So  soon  as  dinner's  done  we'll  forth  again." 

Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

It  TPay  here  be  noticed,  that  in  Shakspeare's  day,  it  was 
usual  Lo  hunt  as  well  after  dinner,  as  before  Thus,  in 
Laneliam's  Account  of  the  Entertainment  at  Keuelworth 
Cafslle,  we  find  that  Queen  Elizabeth  always,  while  there, 
hunted  in  the  afternoon.  "  Monday  was  Lot,  and  therefore 
her  highness  kept  in  till  fine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  M'hat 
time  it  pleased  her  to  ryd  for  h  into  the  chase  ;  to  hunt  the 
hnrte  ot  furs  ;  which  found  anone,  and  after  sore  chased, 
8-C.-REED. 

"  I  dreamt  of  a  silver  bason  and  ewer  to-night." 

Act  HI  Sc.  1. 

A  basin  and  ewer  were  things  of  importance  formerly. 
They  were  usually  of  silver,  and  probably  very  costly 
srot  kmanship  was  bestowed  upon  them,  as  they  were  exhi 
felted  to  the  quests  before  and  after  dinner,  it  being  the 
fa.ihion  to  wash  at  both  tho.se  times.  In  The  Retunie  from 
Parnassus,  we  have  the  following  passage;—"  Iminerito 


his  gifts  have  appeared  in  as  many  colours  m  fheraynbow; 
first,  ti>  tnaister  Amoretlo,  in  colours  of  the  sattine  suit 
he  weares  ;  to  my  lady  in  the  similitude  of  a  loose  gowne; 
to  my  maisler  in  the  likeness  of  a  silver  bason  and  ewer  ■'^ 

MALONE. 

Let  molten  coin  be  thy  damnation.^* — Act  III.  Sc.  1. 

In  The  Shepherd's  C-ilendnr,  Lazarus  declares  himsell 
to  have  seen  in  hell  "a  great  number  of  wide  cauldrons 
and  kettles,  full  of  boyling  lead  and  oyle,  with  other  hot 
metals  molten,  in  the  which  were  plunged  and  dipped  the 
covetous  men  atid  women,  for  to  fulfill  and  replenish  them 
of  their  insatiate  covetise."— STEEVENS. 

"  Enter— Phrynia." 

Phrynia  was  an  Athenian  courtezan,  so  exquisitely 
beautiful,  that  when  her  jud>res  were  proceeding  to  con- 
denuiherfor  numerous  and  enormous  offences,  a  sight  ol 
her  bosom  (which,  as  we  learn  from  Quintillian,  had  been 
artfully  denuded  by  her  advocate,)  di.sarmed  the  court  ol 
its  severitv,  and  secured  her  life  from  the  sentence  of  the 
law.— STEEVENS. 

"  The  wticorn."— Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 

Tlie  account  of  the  unicorn  is  this  :  That  he  and  the  lion 
being  enemies  by  nature,  as  soon  as  the  lion  sees  tlig 
unicorn,  he  betakes  himself  to  a  tree  ;  the  unicorn  in  hia 
fury,  and  with  all  the  swiftness  of  his  course,  running  e( 
him,  sticks  his  horn  fast  in  the  tree,  and  then  the  lion  lalS 
upon  him  and  kills  him.— GESNER'S  HISTORY  09 
ANIMALS. 


CORIOLANUS. 


"  BrovJs  bound  with  oat."— Act  I.  Sc.  3 
The  crown  given  by  the  Romans  to  him  who  saved  the 
life  of  a  citizen,  which  was  accounted  more  honourable 
than  any  other,  was  compo.sed  of  oak  leaves.— JOHi'iSON. 
"  Those  centuries." — Act  I.  Sc.  7. 
Centuries  were  companies,  each  consisting  of  a  hundred 
men.— STEEVENS. 

Towards  the  napes  of  your  necks."— kci  11.  Sc.  I. 
In  allusion  to  the  fable,  which  .says,  that  every  man  has 
a  bag  hanging  before  him  in  wliich  he  puts  his  neiifhbour's 
faults,  and  another  behind  him,  in  which  he  stows  his  own. 

JOHNSON. 
The  kitchen  malkin.—Xct  II.  Sc.  1. 
A  maukin,  or  malkin,  is  a  kind  of  mop  made  of  clouts  for 


the  use  of  sweeping  ovens;  thence  a  frightful  figure  of 
clouts  dressed  up  ;  thence  a  dirty  wench. — HANMER. 
"  The  breath  of  garlick -eaters." — Act  IV^.  Sc.  6. 
To  smell  of  garlick  was  once  such  a  brand  of  vulgarity, 
that  garlick  was  a  food  forbidden  to  an  ancient  order  oi 
Spanish  knights,  mentioned  by  Guevara.— JOHNSON. 
"  As  is  the  osjjrey." — Act  IV.  Sc.  7. 
The  osprev  is  a  rare,  large,  hlacki.sh  hawk,  with  a  long 
neck  and  blue  legs.   It  commonly  feeds  on  fish. 

STEEVENS 
*'  To  have  a  temple  built  you." — ^Act  V.  Sc.  3. 
Plutarch  informs  us,  that  a  temple  dedicated  to  the  For- 
tune of  the  Ladies,  was  built  on  this  occasion  by  order 
of  the  senate.— STEEVENS. 


JULIUS  CiESAR. 


"  That  unicorns  may  be  betrayed  with  trees, 
And  bears  with  glasses,  elephants  with  holes." 

Act  II.  Sc.  1. 

Unicorns  are  said  to  have  been  taken  by  one,  who, 
runniqg  behind  a  tree,  eluded  the  violent  push  the  animal 
was  making  at  him,  so  tha'  his  horn  spent  its  force  on  the 
trunk,  and  stuck  t'a.'it,  ch'^iining  the  heast  till  he  was  dis- 
patched by  the  hunter.  He  n  s  were  surprised  by  mean-;  of 
a  wtrror,  wliich  they  would  gaze  on,  affording  their  pur- 
suers an  opportunity  of  taking  a  surer  aim.  EiepUants 
vere  seduced  into  pitfnlLs,  lightly  covered  with  hurdles 


and  turf,  on  which  a  proper  bait  to  tempt  them  wa»  tXr 

posed.-STEEViSNS. 

'•  When  beggars  die,  there  are  no  comets  seen  ; 
The  heavens  themselves  blaze  forth  the  death  of  princes.** 

Act  11 .  Sc.  2. 

This  mijjht  have  been  suggested  by  what  Suetonius  sayg 
of  the  blazing  star,  which  appeared  for  .seven  days  together, 
during  tlie  celebration  of  games  instituted  by  Augastu* 
in  honour  of  Julius.  The  common  people  believed  that 
the  comet  indicated  his  reception  amcwig  the  gods. 

DOUCE, 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


"  Like  the  courser's  hair." — Act  I.  Sc.  2. 
Holin.shed  says,  "  a  horse  kaire  laid  in  a  full  i)ale  of  the 
like  water  will  in  a  short  time  stirre  and  become  a  living 
crea^ture.    But  «ith  the  certamtie  of  theae  things  is  rather 
proved  by  few."— STEEVENS. 

Gilded  puddle."— .Kct  I.  Sc.  2. 
There  is  frequently  observable  on  the  surface  of  stagnant 
jools,  that  have  remained  long  undisturbed,  a  reddish 
j{old  coloured  slime  :  to  this  atipearance  the  poet  here 
Wfe  .-aENLEY. 


"  Mandragora." — Act  I.  Sc.  5. 

Gerard,  in  his  Herbal,  says  of  the  mandragoras  t 
"  D  oscorides  dothe  particuUirly  set  downe  many  farultte 
hereof,  of  which  noi withstanding  there  be  none  prope 
unto  it,  save  those  that  depend  upon  the  drowsie  an 
sleeping  power  thereof."— PERCY. 


"  That  gr'>at  medicine  hath 
With  his  tinct  gilded  thee." — Act 


Sc.  r>. 


Alluding  to  the  philosopher's  stone,  which,  by  its  to 
converts  base  metal  into  £old.    The  alchemista  call  t 


824 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


Batter,  D»ha(ever  it  be.  by  which  they  perform  transmuta- 
tiou,  a  medioiiie.—SOA'S^ON. 

"  Vll  set  ihee  in  a  shower  of  gold,  and  hail 
Mich  p'urls  upon  thee. — Act  fl.  Sc.  5. 
St  is  an  eastern  ceremony,  at  the  coronation  of  their 
klBfs,  to  powder  them  with  gold-dust  anrf  .'ted  pearl. 

WARBUJiTON. 
*''  A  certain  queen  to  Casar  in  a  mattress." 

Act  II.  Sc.  6. 

*'  Cleopatra  trussed  up  in  a  mattrasse,  and  so  brought 
iQ  Cdtsar,  upon  ApoUodonts  backe." 

NORTH'S  PLUTARCH,  1579. 
"  The  goddess  Act  III.  Sc.  6. 

"Now  for  Cleopatra,  she  did  not  only  weare  at  that  time 
(Imt  al  otiier  times  els,  when  slie  came  abi  oadj  the  apparell 
Off  the  yoddesse  Isis,  and  so  gaue  audience  vnto  ail  her 
*ubjects,  as  a  new  Isis."— NORTH'S  PLUTARCH. 
"  Whom  leprosy  overtake.'— Act  III.  Sc.  8. 
Pliny,  who  says,  the  white  leprosy,  or  elephantiasis,  was 


not  seen  in  Italy  before  the  time  of  Pompt j  the  Oreata 
adds,  it  is  "  a  peculiar  maladie,  and  naturull  to  the  Rgyp' 
tiaiis;  but  looke  when  any  of  their  ki/igs  fell  into  it,  woe 
worth  tlie  subjects  and  poor  people:  for  then  were  th|i 
tubs  and  bathing  vessels  wherein  ihey  saie  in  the  baiue, 
tilled  with  men's  bloud  for  their  cure." — REED. 

«  It  was  a  king's."— Act  IV.  Sc  8. 
*  Then  came  Antony  again  to  the  palace  greatly  boastiwjj 
of  this  victory,  and  sweetiy  kissed  CleopatrH,  armed  as  he 
was  when  he  came  from  the  fight,  recommending  one  of  his 
men  of  arms  unto  her,  that  had  valiantly  fought  mi  thi» 
skirmish.  Cleopatra,  to  reward  his  manliness,  gave  hini  aa 
armour  and  head  piece  of  clean  gold."— NORTH'S  PLJ- 
TARCH. 

*  The  pretty  worm  of  Nile."— Act  V.  Sc.  2. 
Worm  is  the  Teutonick  word  for  serpent ;  we  have  th« 
blind  worm  and  s/ow-wor»«  still  in  our  language,  and  tbe 
Norwegians  call  an  enormous  monster,  sometimes  seen 
in  the  iNorihern  ocean,  the  sea-worm. — JOHNSON. 


CYMBELINE. 


*  Tenantius." — Act  I.  Sc.  1. 
Tenantius  was  the  father  of  Cymbeline,  and  nephew  of 
C^ssibelan,  being  the  younger  son  of  his  elder  brother 
Lud,  king  of  the  southern  part  of  Britain  ;  on  whose  death, 
Gassibelan  was  admitted  king.  Cassibelan  repulsed  the 
Romans  on  their  lirst  attack,  but  being  vanquished  by 
Julius  Caesar,  he  agreed  to  pay  an  annual  tribute  to  Rome. 
After  his  decease,  Tenantius  was  established  on  the  throne. 
According  to  some  writers,  he  quietly  paid  this  tribute, 
others  say  he  refused  it,  and  warred  with  the  Romans. 
Shakspeare  supposes  the  latter  to  be  true,  and  loUows 
Holinshed,  from  whom  he  got  the  name  of  Sicilius.  Leo- 
oatus  is  a  name  which  occurs  in  Sydney's  Arcadia. 

MALONE. 

*  All  sworn  and  honourable.^ — Act  II.  Sc.  4 
It  was  anciently  the  custom  for  the  attendants  on  our 
nobility,  and  other  great  personages,  (as  it  is  now  for  the 


servants  of  the  king)  to  take  an  oath  of  fidelity  on  their 

entering  Into  oiiice.— PERCY. 

 "  The  ruddock  would 

With  charitable  bill,— bring  thee  all  this; 

Yea,  and  furred  moss  besides,  when  flowers  are  none. 

To  winter-ground  thy  corse." — Act  IV.  Sc.  2. 

The  ruddock  is  the  redbreast,  and  is  so  called  by  Spensor 
and  Chaucer.  T<  e  office  of  covering  the  dead  is  ascribed 
to  this  bird  by  Drayton  : 

"  f'ov'ring  vnlh  moss  the  dead's  unclosed  eye. 
The  little  red-hrrast  teacheth  charitie." 
And  in  an  old  book  called  Cornucopia,  it  is  said:  "The 
Robin  Rfdbreast,  if  he  lind  a  man  or  woman  dead,  will 
coverall  his  face  with  mosse,  fand  some  ihinke  that  if  the 
bodye  should  remaine  unburied,  that  he  would  cover  the 
whole  boilye  also."  We  all  remember  *' The  Children  in 
the  Wood." 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


"  Ay,  come,  Semiramis." — Act.  II.  Sc.  3. 
Queen  Semiramis  loved  a  great  horse  that  she  had,  so 
terre  forth,  that  she  was  content  he  should  doe  his  kind 
W]thher."-PLINY'S  NAT.  HIST. 

"  A  precious  ring."— Act.  II.  Sc.  4. 
There  is  supposed  to  be  a  gem  called  a  carbuncle,  which 
fmits  not  reflected,  but  native  light.   Boyle  believed  in  its 
Wtistence.— JOHNSON. 

"  As  far  from  help  as  litnbo  is  from  bliss." 

Act.  III.  Sc.  1. 

The  limbtis  patrum,  as  it  was  called,  is  a  place  that  the 
schoolmen  fancied  to  be  in  the  vicinity  of  hell,  where  the 
souls  of  the  patriarchs,  and  of  those  good  men  who  died 
before  our  Saviour's  resurrection,  were  detained. 
,  "  Honey  stalks  to  sheep." — Act  IV.  Sc.  1. 

Honey  slalks  are  clover  flowers,  which  contain  a  sweet 
juice.  It  is  common  for  cattle  to  overcharge  themselves 
with  clover,  and  die."— JOHNSON. 

"  Bring  down  the  devil."— Act,  V.  Sc.  1. 
It  appears  from  these  words,  that  the  audience  were 
amu<;ed  with  part  of  the  apparatus  of  an  execution,  and 
that  Aaron  was  mounted  on  a  ladder,  as  ready  to  be  turned 
©tf.— STEEVENS. 


"Eating  the  flesh  that  she  herself  hath  bred." — Act.V.  Sc.3. 

The  additions  made  l)y  Ravenscroft  to  this  scene,  are  so 
much  of  a  piece  with  it,  that  we  cannot  omit  shewing  the 
reader  how  he  continues  the  speech  before  us : — 

"Thus  cramm'd,  thou'rt  bravely  fattened  up  for  hell. 

And  thus  to  Pluto  1  do  serve  thee  up.^ 

[Stabs  the  EmpereM.] 
And  then—*  A  curtain  drawn  discovers  the  heads  and  hands 
of  Chiron  and  Demetrius  hanging  up  against  the  wall;  their 
bodies  in  chains  in  bloody  linen." — STEEVENS. 

«  Some  stay  t6  see  him  fastened  in  the  earth. " 

Act  V.  Sc.  3. 

That  justice  and  cookery  may  go  hand  in  hand  to  tb« 
conclusion  of  this  play,  in  Ravenscroft 's  alteration  ol  it, 
Aaron  is  at  once  racked  ani\  roasted  on  the  stage. 

We  have  already  given  specimens  of  the  changes  made 
in  this  piece  by  Ravenscroft,  who  revised  it  successfully 
in  the  year  1087;  and  may  add,  that  when  the  empress  stalls 
her  child,  he  has  supplied  the  Moor  with  the  following  lines : 

"  She  has  outdone  me,  ev'n  in  mine  own  art. 
Outdone  me  in  nnirder.  kill'd her  own  child  ; 
Give  it  me.  III  eat  it."  STEEVENS. 


PERICLES,  PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


That  the  reader  may  know  through  how  many  regions  the 
scene  of  this  drama  is  dispersed,  it  is  necessary  to  observe, 
that  Anlicch  was  the  metropolis  of  Syria ;  Tyre,  a  city  of 
Phoen  cia  in  Asia;  Tarsus,  the  metropolis  of  Cicilia,  a 
ct)uu  ry  of  Asia  minor ;  Mitylene,  the  capital  of  Lesbos,  an 
island  in  (he  iEgean  sea;  and  Epliesus,  the  capital  of  Ionia, 
a  country  of  tlie  Lesser  Asia.— STEEVENj. 
*  When  1  saw  the  porpus,  how  he  bounded  and  tumbled." 

Act  II.  Sc,  1. 

Captain  Cook,  in  his  .second  voyage  to  the  South  Seas, 
mejitlons  the  jilaying  of  porpusses  round  the  ship  as  a  cer- 
tain sign  of  a  violent  gale  of  wind.  MASON. 
"  A  pair  of  bases."— Act  II.  Sc.  1, 

VMiat  bases  mean  is  quite  uncertain,  but  from  a  passage 
in  Sydney's  Arcadia  we  may  suppose  they  were  a  kind  of 
breeches.  "  His  bases  (which  he  ware  so  long  as  thf  y  almost 
came  to  his  ankles)  were  embrodiered  onley  w.th  Wacke 
wormes,  which  seemed  to  crawle  upanddowne,  as  readie 
Blreadie  to  devour  him.»— STEEVENS. 

«  Till  the  ship  be  cleared  of  the  dead."— Act  III.  Sc.  1. 

There  was  an  ancient  superstition,  that  a  ship  at  sea 
wodid  ^ink  if  a  corpse  remained  on  board.  So  Fuller's 
Historic  of'the  Holy  Warre:— "His  body  was  carried  into 
France,  there  to  be  buried,  and  was  most  miserably  tossed; 
it  being  observed,  that  the  sea  cannot  digest  th^  crudity  of 
a  dead  corpse  being  a  due  debt  to  be  interred  where  it 
dieth;  and  a  ship  cannot  abide  to  be  made  a  bier  of." 

STEEVENS. 

«  These  roguing  thieves  serve  the  great  pirate  Valdes." 

Act  IV.  Sc.  2. 

Tfae  Spanish.A*rmada  probably  furnished  tbf  HUthor  with 


this  name.  Don  Pedro  de  Valdes  was  an  admiral  in  that 
fleet,  and  had  the  command  of  the  great  gaileon  of  Anda- 
lusia. His  slii))  being  disabled,  he  was  takeri  by  Sir  Francis 
Drake,  on  the22d  of  July,  1.%S,  and  .sent  toDartmouth  The 
making  one  of  this  Spaniard's  ancestors  a  pirate,  was  pro- 
bably relished  by  the  audience  in  hose  days.— IVIALONE. 
*  To  keep  our  door  hatched."— Act  IV.  Sc.  2. 

The  doors  or  hatches  of  brothels  seem  to  have  had  some 
distinguishing  mark.  So  in  Cupid's  Whirligig.  1607:  "Set 
some  picks  upon  your  hatch,  and,  I  pray,  profess  to  keep  a 
bawdy  house." 

"  And  cry,  he  that  will  give  most,  shall  have  her  first.  " 

Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 

The  prices  of  first  and  second  prostitution  were  exactly 
settled ;  so  in  an  old  prose  romance  : — "Go  thou  and  make 
a  crye  through  the  citie,  that  of  all  men  that  shall  eiilmbyte 
with  her  carnally,  the  fyrst  shall  give  me  a  pounde  of  golde, 
and  after  that  echone  a  peny  of  golde." — STEEVENS. 
"  /  have  drawn  her  picture  with  my  voice."— Act  IV.  Sc.  3« 

It  was  formerly  the  custom  at  Naples  to  hang  up  the 
pictures  of  celebrated  courtesans  in  the  public  parts  of  the 
town,  to  serve  as  directions  where  ibey  livfed.— MASON. 

*  Crack  the  glass  of  her  virginity,  and  make  the  rest  mal" 
leabte."—Act  iV.  Sc.  6. 
A  skilful  workman,  who  had  discovered  the  art  of  making 
glass  malleable,  carried  a  specimen  of  it  to  Tiberius,  who 
asked  liirn  if  he  alone  was  in  possession  of  the  secret.  H« 
replied  in  the  aliirmative  ;  on  which  the  tyratit  ordered  hii 
head  to  be  struck  oft' instantly,  lest  the  invention  should 
injure  th»  workers  in  precious  metals. — DION  CASSiUS. 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


825 


RING  LEAR 


•  And  tpeea  no  JlBh."— Act  I.  Sc.  4. 

ftiElifshfth's  time,  the  papists  were  thought,  and  with 
reason,  enemies  to  tlie  government.  Hence  the  proverbial 
expression  of,  he's  an  honest  man,  and  eats  no  fish,  to 
•igttify  he's  a  friend  to  the  government,  and  a  protestant  ; 
the  eating  of  fish  being  considered  such  a  badge  of  popery, 
hat  when  it  was  en.jonied  by  parliament  to  encourage  the 
fish  towns,  it  was  held  proper  to  declare  the  reason ;  hence 
It  was  called  Cecil's  fast— W  XRBURTOfi . 

«  That  frontlet. "—Act  I.  Sc.  4. 

A  frontlet  was  a  forehead  cloth,  used  formerly  by  ladies 
•t  night,  to  render  that  part  smooth.— MALONE, 
"  That's  a  shealed  peascod."— Act  I.  Sc.  4, 

The  robeing  of  Richard  II. 's  effigy  in  Westminster  Ahbey, 
\»  wron^ht  with  peascod$  op^n,  and  the  peas  out;  perhaps 
an  allusion  to  his  once  being  in  possession  of  full  sovereignty, 
but  soon  reduced  to  an  empty  title.— TOLLET. 

*  Stocks  brottffht  out." — Act  II,  Ac.  2. 

This  was  not  the  first  time  of  introducing  stocks  on  the 
stage.  In  Hick  Scorner,  which  was  printed  early  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  Pity  is  put  into  them,  and  left  there 
till  he  is  freed  by  Perseverance  and  Content  viae  yon, 

STEEVENS. 

*  Of  Bedlam  beggars."— Act  II.  Sc.  3. 

In  the  Bell  man  of  London,  by  Decker,  1640,  is  an  account 
of  one  of  these  characters,  under  the  nanie  of  an  Abraham 
Man.  "He  sweares  he  hath  been  in  Bedlam,  an  1  wil!  taike 
frantickly  of  purpose :  you  see  pinnes  stuck  in  sundry  places 
of  his  naked  liesh;  especially  in  his  amies,  which  paine  he 
gladly  puts  himself  fo,  only  to  make  you  believe  he  is  out 
of  his  wits.  He  calls  himiielf  by  the  name  of  Poore  Tom, 
and  coming  near  any  body  crys  out,  Poore  Tom  is  a-cold; 
of  these  Abraham  iMen,  some  be  exceeding  merry,  and  doe 
nothing  but  sing  songs  fa.shioned  out  of  their  own  braines : 
some  will  dance,  some  will  doe  nothing  but  either  laugh  or 
weepe  ;  others  are  dogged,  and  so  sullen  both  in  looke  and 
speech,  that  spying  but  a  small  company  in  a  house,  they 
boldly  and  bluntly  enter,  compelling  the  servants,  through 
fear,  to  give  theta  what  they  demand."— STEEVENS. 

*  The?i  he  wears  vwoden  nether-stocks."— Act  II.  Sc.  4. 

Nether-stocks  is  the  old  word  for  stockings.  Breeches 
being  at  that  time  called  overstocks.— STEEVENS. 

"  Who.  gives  anything  to  Poor  Tom  ?  whom  the  foul  fiend 
katk  led  through  fire  and  through  flaitie  ."—Act  HI.  Sc.  4. 

Edgar's  ravings  may  be  explained  by  reference  to  a  pas- 
sage in  Harsnet's  book:-" This  Examt.  further  sayeth,that 
one  Alexander,  an  apothecary,  having  brought  with  him 
from  London  to  Denham,  on  a  time,  a  new  halter,  and  two 
blades  of  knives,  did  leave  the  same  upon  the  gallerie  floore, 
in  her  master's  house :  a  great  search  was  made  in  the  house 
to  know  how  the  said  halter  and  knife-blades  came  thither, 
till  Ma.  Mainy,  in  his  next  tit  said,  it  was  reported  that  the 
devil  lay'd  them  in  the  gallerie,  that  some  of  those  that 
were  possessed  might  either  hang  themselves  with  the  hal- 
ter, or  kill  themselves  with  the  6/a</es."— MALONE. 
"  Wore  gloves  in  my  cap." — Act  III.  Sc.  4. 

It  was  anciently  the  custom  to  wear  gloves  in  the  hat,  on 
three  ditferent  occasions,  viz  :  as  the  favour  of  a  mistress; 
the  memorial  of  a  friend ;  and  as  a  mark  to  be  challenged  by 
an  enemy.  A  passage  or  two  may  be  given  to  prove  the 
usage. 

In  the  play  called  Campaspe  :  ''Thy  men  turned  to  wo- 
men, thy  soldiers  to  lovers,  gloves  worn  in  velvet  caps, 
instead  of  plumes  in  graven  helmets." 

And  in  Decker's  Satiromastix :  "Thou  shalt  wear  her 
glove  in  thy  worshipful  hat,  like  to  a  leather  brooch."^ 

STEEVENS. 
«  Web  and  the  pin."— Act  III.  Sc.  4. 

Tie  Lapland  method  of  cure  for  "a  disease  of  the  eyes 
called  the  pin  and  vjeb,  which  is  an  imperfect  stage  of  a 
cataract,"  is  given  by  Acerbi,in  his  travels. — BLAKEWAY. 
"  Winpped from  tything  to  tything." — Act  III.  Sc.  4. 

A  tything  is  a  division  of  a  place,  a  district ;  the  same  in 
the  country,  as  a  ward  in  the  city.  In  the  Saxon  times, 
every  hundred  was  divided  into  (ythings.  By  a  statute  of 
Elizabeth,  it  is  enacted,  that  every  vagabond  shall  be 
publicly  whipped,  and  setit  from  parish  to  parish." — 
STEEVENS. 

"Peace,  Smolkin,  peace."— Act  III.  Sc.  4. 

The  demons  here  mentioned  by  Edgar,  were  the  popular 
fiends  of  the  poet's  age,  and  were  well  known  among  the 
superstitious  of  every  class.  Even  the  learned  and  noble 
fell  into  the  same  grovelling  delusion  ;  King  James  was  a 


staunch  believer,  not  merely  in  their  existence,  but  In  fio 

every  day  agency  which  was  ascribed  to  them  by  the  viilf«r. 
Shakspeare  has  made  Edgar,  in  his  feigned  madness,  allude 
to  an  imposture  of  some  Engli.sh  Jesuits.  The  tnck  was  in 
substance  as  fo  lows  :— While  the  Spaniards  were  preparing 
their  armada  against  Ensland,  the  Jesuits  were  busy  t9 
promote  it,  by  making  converts:  one  method  they  em- 
ployed was  to  dispossess  pretended demoniacks,  by  which 
artifice  they  made  several  hundred  converts  among  tlie 
common  people.  The  principal  scene  of  this  faice  ivaj 
laid  in  the  family  of  one  Peckham,  a  catholic;  <ihere  Mar- 
wood,  (a  servajit  of  Antbony  Babinglon,  who  wasaflerward.? 
executed  for  treason,)  Trayibrd,  an  attendant  on  Feckbain, 
and  three  chamber  maid.\,  in  that  family,  came  into  the 
priest's  hands  to  be  cured.;  but  the  discipline  ot  the  patients 
was  so  long  and  severe,  and  the  priests  were  so  tlate  and 
careless  with  success,  that  the  plot  was  discovered  on  tlw 
confession  of  the  parties,  and  the  contrivers  of  it  deservedly 
punished.  The  devils  mentioned  by  Edgar,  are  those  wno 
were  made  to  act  in  this  farce  upon  tlie  chambermaids, 
and  they  w  re  generally  so  ridiculously  nick-named,  thai 
Harsnet  has  one  chapter  "  On  the  strange  names  of  theii 
devils;  lest,  (says  he)  meeting  theni  otherwise  by  chance, 
you  mistake  them  for  names  of  tapsters  or  jugglers." 

WAUBURTON. 

*  Hopdance  cries  in  Tom's  belly."— Act  III.  Sc.  6. 

In  Harsnet's  book,  one  of  the  pretended  demoniacs  de- 
poseth— " that  if  at  anytime  she  did  belch,  as  often  times 
she  did  by  reason  that  shee  was  troubled  with  a  wind  in  her 
stomacke,  the  priests  would  say  at  such  times,  that  then 
the  spirit  b  gan  to  rise  in  her,  and  that  the  wind  was  the 
devil;"  and,  "as  she  saith,  if  they  heard  nny  croakifig  in 
her  belly,  then  they  would  make  a  wonderful  matter  of  that.* 

STEEVENS. 
''Poor  Tom,  thy  horn  is  dry."— Act  III.  Sc.  6. 

A  horn  was  usually  carried  about  by  every  Tom  of  Bed- 
lam, to  receive  such  drink  as  the  charitable  might  afibrd 
him.  See  A  Pleasant  Dispute  between  a  Coach  and  a  he- 
dan,  16.36.  "l  have  observed  when  a  coach  is  appendant 
but  two  or  three  hundred  pounds  a  yeere,  marke  it,  the 
dogges  are  as  leane  as  rakes ;  you  may  tell  all  their  ribbes 
lying  by  the  fire  :  and  a  Tom-a-Bedlam  may  sooner  eat  his 
home,  than  get  it  filled  with  sw«//</riM*e;  and  tor  his  old 
alms  of  bacoii  there  is  no  hope  in  the  world."— MA  LONE. 
"Upofi  these  eyes  of  thine,  Pll  set  my  foot."— Act  III.  Sc-  T. 

In  helimus.  Emperor  of  the  Turks,  one  of  the  sons  o1 
Bajazet  pulls  out  the  eyes  of  an  Aga  on  the  stage,  and  8aj8» 

*  Yes,  thou  shalt  live,  but  never  see  that  day. 
Wanting  the  tapers  that  should  give  thee  light." 

Immediately  after,  his  hands  are  cutoff.  In  MarstoB'f 
Antonio's  Revenge,  1602,  Piero's  tongue  is  turn  out  upon 
the  stage.  We  give  these  instances  of  depraved  faste,  to 
prove  that  Shakspeare's  drama  was  not  more  sanguinary 
than  that  of  his  contemporaries.  "—STEEVENS  and  MA- 
LONE. 

"  Half  vjay  dovm 

Hangs  one  that  gathers  samphire;  dreadful  trade  !" 

Act  IV.  Sc.  6. 

Samphire  ^ows  in  great  plenty  on  most  of  the  sea 
cliffs  in  this  country :  it  is  terrible  to  see  how  the  people 
gather  it,  hanging  by  a  rope  several  lathom  from  the  top  of 
the  impending  rocks,  as  it  were  in  the  air."— SMITH'S 
HISTORY  OF  WATERFORD,  1774. 

*  That  fellow  handles  his  bow  like  a  crow-keeper." 

Act  IV.Sc.4. 

In  several  counties,  to  this  day,  they  call  a  stutt'ed  figure, 
representing  a  man,  and  armed  with  a  bow  and  arrow,  set 
up  to  fright  the  crows  from  the  fruit  and  corn,  a  croW' 
keeper,  as  well  as  a  scare-crow. — THEOBALD. 
*  It  were  a  delicate  stratagem,  fo  shoe 
A  troop  of  horse  with  felt."— Act  I   .Sc.  6. 

This  ''delicate  stratagem"  had  actually  Wen  put  in  prac- 
tice about  fifty  years  before  Shukspeare  was  born,  as  w« 
learn  from  Lord  Herbert's  Life  of  Henry  VIII.;  "And  now," 
says  that  historian,  "having  feasted  the  ladies  royally  for 
divers  days,  he  (Henry)  departed  from  Tournay  to  Lisle, 
Oct.  13,  1513;  whither  he  was  invited  by  the  Lady  Marga- 
ret, who  caused  there  a  juste  to  be  held  in  an  extraordinary- 
manner;  the  place  being  a  fore  room,  raised  high  from  the 
ground  by  many  steps,  and  paved  with  black  square  stones, 
like  marble;  while  the  horses,  to  prevent  sliding,  were 
shod  with  felt  or  flocks;  after  which  the  ladies  danced  «11 
night."— MALONE. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


"We'll  net  carry  coals."— Act  I.  Sc.  1. 
One  that  would  carry  coals,  formerly  meant  a  mean- 
gpirited  fellow,  who  would  submit  to  any  indignity  without 
resentment.   A  passage  or  two  from  old  plays  will  abun- 
dantly prove  this. 

«  Now  my  ancient  being  a  man  of  an  tin  coal  carrying 

spirit."— Chapman's  May-Day,  1610. 
"  Here  ernes  one  that  vnll  carry  coals,  ergo,  will  hold  my 

dog  " — Every  Mu7i  out  of  his  Humour. 
«  He  kas  had  wrong,  and  if  I  vjere  he,  I  would  beare  no 

vo<iUe.$."^AHtoHio  andMellida,  1002. 


"  I  will  bite  my  thumb  at  them."^Ac\  I.  Sc.  I. 
This  mode  of  quarrelling  appears  to  have  l)een  commoa 
in  our  author's  time.  "What  swearing  is  there,  (.says  Dec- 
ker, describing  the  various  groups  that  daily  frequented  the 
walks  of  St.  Paul's  Church)  what  shouldering,  what  justlinjf, 
what  jeering,  what  bytinq  oj  thumbs  to  beget  quarrelsl*— 
The  Dead  Term,  1608— 31  ALONE. 

"Your  plantain  leaf  is  excellent  for  that." 

Act  I.  Sc.  SI, 

Tachius  tells  us,  that  a  toad,  before  she  engages  wiUiiJ 
«pider,  will  fortify  herself  with  som.e  of  this  plant ;  and  tMl 


6 


EXPLANAl'ORY  NOTES. 


e  comes  off  wounded,  she  cures  herself  aftemards  with 
GREY. 

*  Conrt-cupboard. — Act  I.  Sc.  5. 
A.  vourt-eapboard  was  a  moveable,  a  boufet,  a  fixture, 
The  Ibrraer  was  open,  and  made  of  plain  oak;  the  latter 
had  folding  di-ors,  and  was  both  painted  and  gilded  ou  the 
:asi<ie.— STEEVENS. 

-  Turn  the  tables  wp."— Act  I.  Sc.  5. 
[t  should  be  observed,  that  ancient  tables  were  flat  leaves, 
joined  by  hinges  and  placed  on  tressels.  When  they  were 
So  be  removed,  they  were  therefore  turned  up. 

STEEVENS. 

" Like  powder  in  asMIl-less  soldier'sJlask  '>— Act  III.  Sc.  3. 

To  understand  this  allusion,  it  should  be  remembered, 
that  the  ancient  English  soldiers,  using  matchlocks,  instead 
of  locks  with  flints  as  at  present,  were  obliged  to  carry  a 
lighted  match  hanging  at  their  belts,  very  near  to  the 
wooden  flask  in  which  they  kept  their  powder. 

STEEVENS, 
"Lie  thou  there."— kci  IV.  Sc.  3. 
It  apiiears  from  several  passages  in  our  old  plays,  that 


knives  were  fomnerly  part  of  the  bride's  accoutreraentiL 
and  every  thing  bzhoveful  for  .Juliet's  state  had  been  just 
left  with  her.   So  in  Decker's  Match  Me  in  Loudon,  1631. 

*  See  at  my  girdle  hang  my  wedding  knivzs,* 
And  in  King  Edward  HI.  1599 : 

'Here  by  my  side  do  hang  my  wedding  knives.* 
"And  shrieks  like  mandrakes  drawn  out  of  the  earth* 

Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 

The  mandrake  (says  Thomas  Newton,  in  his  Herball  to 
the  Bible,  8vo.  1587)  has  been  idly  represented  as  "acrea 
ture  having  life,  and  engen  iered  under  the  earth  of  the 
seed  of  some  deade  person  that  bath  been  convicted  and  put 
to  deathe  for  some  felonie  or  murther;  and  that  they  had 
the  same  in  such  dampishe  and  funerall  places  where  the 
saide  convicted  persons  were  buried."— STEEVENS. 

"  One  of  our  order,  to  associate  me.^—Kct  V.  Sc.  2. 
Each  friar  has  always  a  companion  assigned  him  by  his 
superior,  when  he  asks  leave  to  go  out ;  and  thus  they  aro 
a  check  upon  each  other.— STEEVENS. 


HAMLET. 


«  Tk«  morning  cock  crew  loud."— Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

Bourne,  of  Newcastle,  in  his  Antiquities  of  the  Common 
People,  informs  us,—"  It  is  a  received  tradition  among  the 
vulgar,  that  at  the  time  of  cock  crowi?ig,  the  midnight 
spirits  forsake  these  lower  regions,  and  go  to  their  proper 
places.  Hence  it  is,  (says  hej  that  in  country  places,  where 
the  way  of  life  requires  mure  earlv  labour,  they  always  go 
cheerfully  to  wo.rk  at  that  litne ;  whereas,  if  I  hey  are  called 
abroad  sooner,  tliev  imagine  every  thing  they  see  a  wander- 
ing ghost."— FARMER. 

"  They  clepe'us,  drunkards."— Act  I.  Sc.  4. 

And  well  our  Englishmen  might ;  for  in  Elizabeth's  time, 
there  wajs  a  Dane  in  London,  who  is  thus  nientioned  in  a 
collection  of  characters,  entitled  Looke  to  It,  for  He  Slab 
Ye: 

"  You  that  will  drink  Reynaldo  unto  deth. 
The  Dane  that  would  carowse  out  of  his  boote." 
And  It  appears  from  one  of  Howell's  Letters,  dated  at 
Hnmburgh,  in  the  year  1632,  that  the  then  king  of  Denmark 
had  not  degenerated  from  his  jovial  predecessors.   In  his 
account  of  an  entertainment  given  by  his  majesty  to  the  earl 
of  L>:'icester,  he  tells  us,  that  the  king,  after  beginning 
thirty-Jive  toasts,  was  carried  away  in  his  chair,  and  that 
Bll  t'ue  officers  of  the  court  were  drunk.— STEEVENS. 
"  Doomed  for  a  certain  term  towalk  the  night, 
And,  for  the  day,  cotijin'd  to  fast  in  fires." 

Act  I.  Sc.  V. 

Amoag  the  other  punishments  of  hell  and  purgatory,  con- 
cinual  hunger  and  thirst  were  enumerated.  Chaucer  says, 
—"And  moreover  th-i  misese  of  hell  .shall  be  ii  Jefaut  of 
meat  and  drinke.'^  Nashe,  in  his  Pierce  Penniless,  „.is  fbe 
same  idta  :  "Whether  it  be  a  place  of  horror,  stench,  and 
darkness,  where  men  see  meat,  but  can  get  none,  and  are 
ever  thirsty,"  So,  likewise,  at  the  conclusion  of  an  ancient 
pamphlet,  called  The  Wyll  of  the  Devyll : 

"  Thvu  shalt  lye  in  frost  and  fire 
With  sicknesse  and  aunger." 
"  In  her  excellent  white  bosom,  these." — Act  IT.  Sc.  2. 

It  was  customary  for  ladies  to  have  a  pocket  at  the  bosom 
of  (heir  dress,  in  which  they  kept  letters,  or  any  other  va- 
Vuable  which  they  desired  to  have  constantly  about  them. 
"An  eyry  of  children."— Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

This  relates  to  the  young  singing  men  of  the  Chapel- 
Royal,  or  St.  Paul's,  of  the  former  of  whom  mention  occurs 
in  a  puril-anical  pamphlet  so  early  as  lf,69 :  "  Plais  will 
never  be  supprest,  while  her  Majesties  unfledged  minions 
flaunt  it  in  silkes  and  sattens.  They  had  as  well  be  at  their 
popish  service  in  the  iJevill's  garments.  Even  in  her  Ma- 
lestie's  chapel  do  these  pretty  upstart  youthes  profane  the 
Lonlft's  day  by  the  lascivious  writhings  ot  their  tender 
litn'rH's.  inii  gorgeous  decking  of  their  a.pparell,  in  feigning 
bawtlie  fables  gathered  from  the  idolatrous  heal  hen  poets,." 

STEEVENS. 
«  By  the  altitude  of  a  chopine." — Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

«A  thing  made  of  wood,  and  covered  with  leather  of 
sundrj  colours,  some  with  white,  some  with  redde,  some 
yellow.  It  is  called  a  ckapiney,  which  they  wear  under 
their  shoes.  Many  of  thcia  are  curiously  painted,  some  also 
of  them  have  I  seen  fairly  gilte.  There  are  many  of  these 
chapineys  of  great  height,  evtn  half  a  yarde  highe,  whiche 
mfd^-eth  many  of  their  women,  whiche  are  very  short,  seeme 
much  taller  than  the  tallest  woman  we  have.in  Eugland- 
Also,  1  have  heard  it  observed  among  them,  that  by  how 
much  the  nobler  a  woman  is,  by  so  much  the  higher  are  her 
chapineys.  All  their  gentlewomen,  and  most  of  their 
wives  and  widows  that  are  of  any  wealth,  are  assisted  and 
supported,  eyther  by  men  or  women,  when  they  waike 
abroade,  to  the  end  lliey  may  not  fall.  They  are  borne  up 
most  commonly  by  the  left  arme,  otherwise  they  might 
quickly  take  a  fall."-C()RYAT'S  CRUDITES,  16il. 
"  Like  Ftenckfalcoiiers." — Act  II.  Sc.  2. 

The  amusement  of  falconry  was  much  cultivated  in 
pTHnce.  In  Sir  Thomas  IJrowne's  Tracts,  we  are  told,  that 
"the  French  st^m  to  have  been  the  first  and  noblest  ya/- 
coners  in  the  western  p  in  of  Europe."  And,  that  "the 
Vrench  king  sent  over  his  falconers  to  shew  that  sport  to 
Mng  lames  the  First."— STEEVENS. 


*  /  have  heard  of  your  paintings,  too,  well  enough.* 

Act  HI.  Sc.  1. 

Painting  the  skin  was  very  common  anciently,  and  wag 
frequently  alluded  to  by  Shakspeare's  contemporaries.  So« 
in  Drayton's  Mooncalf : 

"  No  sooner  got  the  teens, 

But  her  oton  natural  beauty  she  disdains ; 
With  oyls  and  broths  most  venomous  and  base. 
She  plaisters  over  her  well- favoured  place ; 
And  those  sweet  veins  by  nature  rightly  placed. 
Wherewith  she  seems  that  white  skin  to  nave  iac'd. 
She  soon  doth  alter,  and,  with  fading  blue. 
Blanching  her  bosom,  she  makes  others  new." 

STEEVENS. 
*  Out-herods  Herod."— Act  III.  Sc.  2. 
The  character  of  Herod  in  the  ancient  mysteries  was  al- 
ways a  violent  one.   The  following  language  is  put  into  bit 
mouth  in  an  old  play. 

"Now  Ireig?i  lyk  a  king  array'dfull  rych, 
Rollyd  in  rynggs  and  robys  of  array, 
Duki/s  with  Dentys  I  drive  into  the  dych. 
My  dedys  be fitll dowty  demyd  be  day." 
"  Of  bewte  and  of  boldnes  I  ber  evermore  the  ieSe, 
Of  mayn  and  of  myght  I  master  every  man ; 
I  dynge  with  my  doivtiness  the  devyl  down  to  kelle. 
For  bathe  ofhevyn  and  of  earth  lam  kynge  certann.* 
STEEVENS  and  MALONE» 
"Lying  down  at  Ophelia'' s feet."— kct  HI.  Sc.  2. 
To  lie  at  the  feet  of  a  mistress,  during  any  dramatic  re- 
presentation, seems  to  have  been  a  common  act  of  gal- 
lantry.  So  in  the  Queen  of  Corinth,  by  Reaumont  auJ 
Fletcher  : 

"  Ushers  her  to  her  coach,  lies  at  her  feet 
At  solemn  masques,  applauding  what  she  laughs  at.* 

STEEVENS. 

*  Behind  the  arras  Pll  convey  myself  "—Act  III.  Sc.  3. 

The  arras  hangings,  in  the  poet's  time,  were  hung  at 
such  a  distance  from  the  wall,  tnnt  a  person  might  easily 
stand  behind  them  unperceived.— MALONE. 
"Look  here,  upon  this  picture,  and  on  this." — Act  III.  Sc.  4. 

The  introduction  of  miniatures  in  this  place  is  a  modern 
innovation.  A  print  prefixed  to  Rowe's  edition  of  Ham- 
let, 1709,  proves  this.  There  the  two  royal  portraits  are 
exhibited  as  half  lengths,  hanging  in  the  queen's  closet; 
and  either  thus,  or  as  whole  leiigths,  they  were  probably 
exhibited  from  the  time  of  the  original  performance  of  this 
tragedy,  to  the  death  of  Betlerton.  We  may  also  learn, 
from  this  print,  that  the  trick  of  throwing  down  the  chair, 
on  the  appearance  of  the  ghost,  was  adopted  by  modern 
Hamlets,  from  the  practise  of  their  predecessors. 

MALONE,  and  STEEVENS. 

*  Thunders  in  the  index." — Act  HI.  Sc.  4. 

In  many  old  books  we  find  the  index  inserted  at  the  be* 
ginning  instead  of  the  end,  as  is  now  usual. 

«  Hide  fox,  and  all  after."— Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 
There  is  a  play  among  children,  called,  hide  fox  and  all 
after,  which  Decker  seems  to  allude  to  in  his  Satiroraas- 
tix  :— "  Our  unhandsome-faced  poet  does  play  at  bo-peep 
with  your  grace,  and  cries, — 'All  hid,  as  bo'js  do." 

HANMER. 

*  By  his  cockle  hat  and  staf. 

And  his  scandal  shoon." — Act  IV.  Sc.  5. 
This  is  the  description  of  a  pilgrim  Wliile  this  kind  of 
devotion  was  in  favour,  love  intrigues  were  carried  oo 
under  that  ma.sk.  The  cockle-shell  hat  was  one  of  the  es- 
sential badges  of  this  vocation ;  for  the  chief  places  of 
devotion  being  beyond  sea,  or  on  the  coastjt,  the  pilgrima 
were  accustomed  to  put  cockle-shells  in  heir  hats,  to  denote 
the  due  performance  of  their  vows.— WARBURTON. 

"  The  owl  was  a  baker's  daughter."— Act  IV.  Sc.  6. 
This  is  a  common  story  among  the  vulgar  ia  Glouces- 
ter.shire,  and  is  thus  related :  "  Our  Saviour  went  into  • 
baker's  shop,  where  they  were  baking,  and  a.sked  for  som* 
bread  to  eat.  The  mijtress  of  the  shop  immediately  pul 


EXPLANATORY  ^iOTES. 


.  piece  of  Aorsxh  into  the  oven  to  bake  for  him ;  but  "was  " 
epriroaDdcd  by  her  daughter,  who  insisted  tiiat  the  piece 
of  dou?b  was  too  large,  and  reduced  it  to  a  vei  y  small  size. 
"Tae  douftii,  however,  iimnedialely  afterwards  began  to 
swell.  aaJ  presently  became  of  a  most  enormous  size. 
^Vnci«£poa,  the  baker's  daughter  cried  out.— "  Jietigh, 
heugh,  neu^**.'*  which  owl-like  noise  probably  induced 
our  Saviour,  for  he^  wickedness,  to  transform  her  into 
that  bird.»— DOCCF, 

«  Sy  S&int  Charity."— Act  IV.  Sc.  5, 
In  the  sceiw  between  the  bastard  Faulconbridge  and  the 
friars  and  nun,  in  The  First  Part  of  the  Troublesome 
Raigne  of  Kinsr  John, — "  the  nunne  swears  by  Gis,  and  the 
friiis  prays  to  Sabit  Withold,  (another  obsolete  saint 
mentioned  in  King  Lear)  and  adjure  him  by  Saint  Cha- 
ntie  to  hear  them."— BLACKSTONE. 

*  There's  rosemary,  that's  for  remembrance." — Act  IV  .Sc.  5, 
Rosemary  was  anciently  supposed  to  strengthen  the  me- 
mory, and  was  not  only  carried  at  funerals,  but  worn  at 
weddings.  Thus,  in  the  Noble  Spanish  Soldier,  1034:  "I 
meet  few  but  are  stuck  with  rosemary :  every  one  asked 
me  who  was  to  be  married."  Pa?iszes  is  for  thoughts, 
because  of  its  name  pensees ;  so,  in  All  Fools,  a  comedy 
by  Chajiraan,  1605 : 

«  WJiat  flowrh  ane  these  ? 
The  pansit  thii 

0,  that's  for  /overt*  thoughts  . " 
Greene,  in  Ms  Qnin  for  an  Upstart  Cowrtiei,  m?0,  calls 
fennel,  women's  w^eds,  "fit  generally  for  that  sex,  siih 
while  they  are  maidens,  they  wish  wantonly."  Columbines 
arc  thus  mentioned  by  Cliapman  in  his  All  Fools  ; 

*  What's  that  ?—a  columbine  > 

No  :  that  liiankless  flower  grows  not  in  my  garden.'* 
Ophelia  calls  rue,  the  herb  qf  grace  :  the  following  passage 
from  a  Quip  for  an  Upstart  Courtiev ,  is  much  to  tlie  pur- 
pose :— Some  of  them  smiled  and  said,  rue  wfci  called  herbe 
grace,  which,  though  they  scorned  in  their  youth,  they 
might  weare  in  their  age,  and  that  it  was  never  too  late  to 
sav  miserere."  In  the  .same  work,  the  emblematical  cha- 
racter of  the  daisy  is  thus  given  :  "  Next  them  grew  the 
assembling  daisy,  to  warue  suchlight-of  love  wenches  not 
to  trust  every  faire  promise  that  such  amorous  bachelors 
make  them."  llie  violet  is  thus  characterised  in  an  old 
cjilection  of  sonnets,  printed  1584. 

*  Violet  isforfaithfulnesse. 

Which  in  me  shall  abide  ; 
Hoping  likewise  that  from  your  heart 

You  will  not  let  it  slide.** 


»  To  play  at  loggats  with  them."— Act  V.  Sc.  1. 
This  is  a  ga)ne  still  played  in  several  parts  of  England.  A 

OTHELtO 


stake  IS  fixed  into  the  ground;  those  who  play,  ttrow  lo^ 
gats  at  it,  ai  d  he  that  is  nearest  the  stake,  wins  :  we  havt 
seen  it  played  at  sheep  shearing  ff  asts,  where  thewinncs 
was  entitled  to  a  black  (lecce,  which  he  afterwarda  pre- 
sented  to  the  farmer  s  maid  to  spin,  for  the  purpose  of  mak- 
ing a  petticoat,  and  on  condition  that  she  kuelt  down  on  the 
fleece,  to  be  kissed  by  all  the  rustics  present.— STEE\£NS. 

«  The  age  is  grown  so  picked."— Act  V.  Sc.  1. 

This  alludes  to  a  very  absurd  fashion.  Shoes  with  pointed 
toes,  of  a  monstrous  length,  Avere  so  generally  worn  ia 
England,  that  it  was  restrained  at  last  by  proclamation,  to 
long  ago  as  the  5th  of  Edward  IV.  when  it  was  ordered 
"that  the  beaks  or  pykes  of  shoes  and  boots  should  not  pas,i 
two  inches,  upon  pain  of  cursinij  by  the  clergy,  and  for- 
feiting twenty  shillings,  to  be  paid,  one  nohle  to  the  king, 
another  to  the  Cordwainers  of  London,  and  the  third  f^.c  tea 
chamber  of  London:  and  for  other  countries  and  tuwus 
the  like  order  was  taken.  Before  this  time,  and  since  (ho 
year  I4S2,  the  py  kes  of  shoes  and  boots  were  of  such  length, 
that  they  were  fain  to  be  tied  up  to  the  knee  with  chains  of 
silver,  and  gilt,  or  at  least  silken  laces. — STEEVENS. 

« In  the  bilboes."— Act  V.  Sc.  2. 
The  bilboes  is  a  bar  of  iron  with  fetters  annexed  to  it,  hj 
which  disorderly  or  mutinous  sailors  were  ancientl^y  linkpS 
together.  The  word  is  derived  from  Bilbao,  a  [jlace  in 
Spain,  famous  for  its  steel  manufactures.  The  legs  ofper- 
lons  suttVring  the  punishment  were  connected  .«o  closely 
(hat  it  was  impossible  for  one  to  move  without  di.stresaing 
the  other;  so  that  any  attempt  to  rest  under  such  circum- 
stances was  wholly  tniitless.  The  bilboes  are  still  shewn  in 
the  Tower  of  London,  among  the  other  spoils  of  the  Spanish 
A  rm  ada .  —STEE  V  ENS . 

"  I  once  did  hold  it,  as  our  statists  do, 
A  baseness  to  write  fair."— Act  V.  Sc.  2. 
*  I  have  in  my  time  (says  Montaigne),  scene  some,  who,  by 
writing,  did  earnestly  get  both  their  titles  and  living,  to 
disavow  their  apprenlissage,  marre  their  pen, and  atiect  the 
ignorance  of  so  vulgar  a  qnalilie. "  So,  in  Fletcher's 
Woman-Hatei  :  "  'Tis  well,  and  you  have  learned  to  write 
a  bad  hand,  that  the  readers  may  take  |);iins  for  it.  Vour 
lordship  haih  a  secretary  that  can  write  fair  when  you  pui  • 
pose  to  be  understood.  ^'-BOSWELL. 

«  Hangers.  "—Act  V.  Sc.  2. 
Under  this  term  were  comprehended  four  grailuate«i 
straps,  &c.  that  hung  down  in  a  belt  cn  each  side  of  itg 
receptacle  for  the  sword.  I  have  sern  a  most  gorgeous  belt 
of  this  description,  at  least  as  old  as  the  time  ol  James  I. 
It  was  of  common  velvet,  embroidered  with  gold,  and  had 
belonfrcd  to  the  Sommerset  family.  Pope  mistook  the 
meaning  of  this  term,  conceiving  it  to  signify  "  short  uen- 
dulou.s  broadswords  "—STEEVENS. 


'  Special  officers  qf  night.**— Act  I.  Sc.  2. 

Shaksptare  must  have  read  the  Commonwealth  and  Go- 
vernment of  Venice,  translated  by  Lewkenor ;  in  which  the 
fbilowing  passage  occurs:  "For  the  greater  expedition 
lliered",  of  these  kinds  ofjudgements,  the  heads  or  chieftains 
of  the  officers  by  night  do  obtain  the  authority  of  which  the 
advocators  are  deprived.  These  officers  of  the  night  are  six, 
and  six  likewise  are  those  meane  officers,  that  have  only 
power  to  correct  base  vagabonds  and  trifling  offences."— 

MALONE. 

*  Valiant  Othello,  we  must  straight  employ  yvfx. 
Against  the  general  enemy  Ottoman." — Act  I.  Sc.  3. 
It  was  part  of  ihe  policy  of  the  Venetian  state,  never  to 
entrust  the  command  of  an  army  to  a  native.  To  exclude 
therefore  (says  Contareno,  as  translated  by  Lewkenor, 
1599),  from  the  Venetian  state,  the  danger  or  occasion  of 
ambitious  enterprises,  our  ancestors  held  it  a  better  course 
to  defend  the  dominions  on  the  continent  with  foreign  mer- 
cenary soldiers,  than  with  the  home  bred  citizens.  Their 
charges  and  yearly  occasions  of  disbursement  are  likewise 
very  great;  for  alwaise  they  do  entertain  in  honorable  sort 
with  great  provision  a  captaine  generalie,  who  alwaise  is 
a  stranger  6or«e.— MALONE, 

"  The  Antropophagi,  and  men  whose  heads 
Do  grois  ber.fat.h  their  shoulders— Act.  1.  Sc.  3. 
The  Cannibals  and  Anthropophagi  were  known  to  an 
English  audience  before  Shakspeare  introduced  them.  In 
The  History  of  Orlando  Furioso,  played  before  Elizabeth, 
they  are  naentioned;  and  Raleigh  speaks  of.  people  whose 
heads  appear  not  above  their  shoulders.  Histories,  says 
Gilpin,  in  a  sermon  before  Edward  IV.  notice  a  "people 
called  Antropophagi,  eaters  of  men."  In  Hackluyt's 
Voyages,  K'jOS,  we  tind  this  passage  :— "On  that  branch 
I'.'bich  is  called  Caora,  are  a  nation  of  people  whose  heades 
appear  net  above  their  shoulders  :  they  are  reported  to  have 
their  eyes  in  their  shoulders,  and  their  mouthes  in  the 
middle  of  their  breastes."— REED,  and  STEEVENS, 

«  Thrice  urtven  bed  of  down.  "—Act  I.  Sc.  3. 
A  driven  bed  is  a  bed  for  which  the  feathers  are  selected, 
by  Invino  witJt  a  fan,  which  separates  tu>  light  from  the 
heavy.— JOHNSON. 

•  As  luscious  as  locusts.  "—Act  1.  Sc.  3. 
of  the  locust  tree  is  a  long  black  pod,  tliat/con- 


tams  the  seeds,  among  which  there  is  a  very  sweet  Inicioya 
juice,  of  mucli  the  same  consistency  as  fresh  honey.— 

STEEVENS. 

"  Though  that  her  jesses  were  my  dear  heart  strings." 

Act  III.  Sc.  3. 

Jesses  are  short  straps  of  leath..f  tied  about  the  foot  of  a 

hawk,  by  which  s,he  is  held  on  the  fist  HAJS3IER. 

"  4fthe  general  camp. 

Pioneers  and  all.  "—Act  Hi.  Sc.  3. 
Pioneers  were  generally  degraded  .soldiers,  appointed  to 
the  ■  If.ve  of  pixoieer  as  a  punishment  for  misbehaviour. 
"  A  soidier  ought  ever  to  retaine  and  keepe  his  annes  ia 
saftie  and  forthcoming,  for  he  is  more  to  be  detested  than  4 
cowaid,  that  will  lose  or  play  away  any  part  thereof,  or 
refuse  it  for  his  ease,  or  to  avoid  panics;  wherefore  such  a 
one  is  to  be  demissed  with  punishment,  or  to  be  made  some 
abject  pio7ieer."   The  Art  of  War,  by  E.  Davies.  Jfil'J. 

GROSE. 

"  Crusadnes."— Act  III.  Sc.  4. 
The  crnsado  is  so  called  from  the  cross  which  is  stamped 
upon  it;   it  is  a  Portuguese  coin,  in  value  about  three 
shillings  of  our  money.— GREY. 

"And it  was  died  in  mummy." — Act  III.  Sc.  4. 
The  balsamic  liquor  running  from  mumnties,  was  formerly 
celebrated  for  its  anti  epileptic  virtues.   We  are  now  wise 
enough  to  know  that  the  qualities  ascribed  to  it  are  all 
imaginary.    Mummy,  however,  is  still  much  coveted  bj 
painters,  as  a  transparent  brown  colour  which  throws  a 
warmth  into  their  shadows.— STEEVENS. 
"  If  that  the  earth  could  teem  ivith  woman's  tears 
Each  drop  she  falls,  would  prove  a  crocodile." 

Act  IV.  Sc.  I, 

Shatispeare  here  alludes  to  the  fabulous  accounts  of  cro- 
codiles. "  It  IS  written  (says  Bull(Jiar),  that  lie  jhall  weep 
over  a  man's  head,  when  he  hath  devoured  the  bodv,  and 
then  Will  eat  up  the  head  too.  Wherefore,  in  Laiin  there  ii 
a  proverb, cro(70f/?Vi  lacrynice,  cmcodile's  te^rs  t"  signify 
such  tears  as  are  fained."  It  app''ars,  that  a  dc«dc  ocodile, 
"but  in  perfect  forme,"  of  about  nine  feet  Ii'/^i-,,  ad  been 
exhibited  i^i  London  in  our  poet's  time.— MALON  . 
"  For  a  joint  ring."— Act  IV.  Sc.  3. 

The  n?/ureof  a  joint  ring  will  be  best  explained  by  « 
passage  in  Dryden  s  Don  Sebasiiau : 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


*  ^^0**'  artist  iorought  them, 
^Ufi joints  so  close  as  not  to  be  perceived; 
Vet  are  they  both  each  othei-'s  counterpart : 
Mer  part  had  Juan  mscrib'd,  and  his  had  Zayda, 
I  row  know  those  names  are  theirs)  and  in  the  midst, 
A  ke»rt  divided  in  two  halves  wasplac'd. 
Now  ^tke  rivets  of  those  ring$  inclos'd, 
Fii  mitfich  other,  I  have  forged  thi*  ige  • 


But  if  they  Join,  you  must  fer  ever  pavt^ 
'  Chrysolite.'— Act  V.  Sc.  1. 
Pliny  informs  ns,  that  Ptolemy  PhilBrielphMtaaa 
of  his  wife,  Arsmoe.  made  of  one  topaa,  fam 
length.   Topaz  and  chrystolite  were  tmoe  mpm^ 
nyHiouiterms.-PLUMTREE. 


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